Orcs of the Red Blade


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Topics - Bamm

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The Campfire / Home again
« on: April 28, 2022, 10:26:53 PM »
Home again

A storm raged though booty bay almost typhoon level of wind and rain battered the small coastal port, lightning cracked the sky illuminating a small hut high in the scaffolded dwellings a hastily repaired roof, machinery parts strewn about the roof and leaning against walls.


A crash of a door, one repaired one too many times flung open and off its hinges, flat into a wall opposite, it creaked and slid down till it clattered against the floor, A mechanical blurr burst though, its metal claws struggling to find purchase upon the ground, it slammed into the same wall that door had just done and howled a happy mechanical wail, spinning on the spot off into a burnt, chewed and heavily damaged corner of the hut and curled up to chew on some rebar, then followed by a equally eager if somewhat soaking wet young orc, nearly loosing his footing as he too barrelled in, spinning on his heel and happily yelling a loud sound of mirth and joy.

Man shitfire boss it done raining sideways! man its like dang old Teeeeeeeeeeee-rential, i tell you what!"

A low dishearted grumbled came from a small goblinoid figure sitting at it work bench, and it seemed to worked his powertools harder to emit a loud whirrling and drilling sound from them.

"GOOD TALK BOSS! That's what i likes bout ya!" The young orc said earnestly, he panted and smiled sub consioucly scratching the soft bearded fuzz growing on his cheeks.

"PA! hey PA!

Arkail! hey hey hey , you awake hey PA! its me BAMM, HEY!"  The young seemed to talking to the singular dark corner of the hut the shape of a bed with bundeled bedding upon it.

Another dishearted and almost defeated grumble came from the figure working at his bench and the keen of ear would swear the powertool's whine got louder as if to drown out any other... distratcion

A gnarled emaciatted thin clawed hand heavily tattooed reached from the bedding and from it followed the frail frame of orc, wild unkempt hair matted, near every inch of his skin now covered in runic tattoos, one eye half battle damaged close.  a rasped breath followed by a singular statement

"D---d---dala.... taught you know... ran ... i dalaran...sword, yes?"

The young orc cheered and jumped clicking his heels as he did, landing with an ungracefull thud bellowing loudly

"Yeah BLASTBLADE YEAH! i gots it right where you said .. left at the yes! past the i taught at dalaran! and then straight on past the have you seen my sword hmmm!"
the young orc produced a small collection of tomes and books of various types and subjects and placed them upon the bed. all except one which he thumbed though tilting his head left and right at it with excitement.

A tome labelled  "Demons: A bestiary grimore of the ilk of known included in the ranks of the burning legion and beyond" by Gashuk felhand

"Lookie here pa!" Bamm the young orc proclaimed. Lookie at this one here ha! looks like a dang ol dog wearing a octopus for a hat, a felhound?.... felllllll houuuuuund shitfire. Bamm showed the open tome to Arkail who only wheezed in repsonse a... yes

Bamm chuckled and plonked himself down on the bed reading the tome and examining it with great detail.

"These them thangs that ensalved us..... Hoooo'eee them thar sucubussis and incbusus?... Shitfire pa is it incubiisisss or incubussys? HA! Its incubi and sucubi! PA I dont reckon i'd mind none i tell you what" Bamm nudged and laughed loudly winking at Arkail as someone with little to know experience in such matters would. Arkail didnt in anyway respond, however the power tool noise did seem to suddenly get louder.

Arkail had been flicking though a thick iron bound tome the others he had discarded, its pages blank, untill he touched the page, a small runic tattoo inside his bicep glowy briefly, lettering would appear until his hand lifted from the page.

"Have you seeen... have you yes hmmm, in dalaran i sword... I yes taught in d...d...dalaran hmm Have you have you?" Arkail rambled, not so much looking at Bamm but though him.

Bamm chuckled and scratched his cheek again. "UH yeah sure pa you can say that again, i tell you what. But uh what if you 'sword' in 'didnt you know  yes, dalaran and taught?" Bamm's eyes flashed open and wide. for which arkail only rambled nonsense again.

Bamm smiled and briefly touched arkail's hand as he flicked though pages.

I gots ya pa. Boomer me and even Durashaft there will looks after ya! wont we

Boomer BOOFED a happy BOOF
Arkail cheered and clapped loudly.
The small goblinoid figured stoppped his work the tools falling it slient spining round in his chair...
"IT'S GEAROID DURASHAFT  you dang pup i tell you what man shiiitfire are you gonna do somethang useful i got this induction manifold to reconfigure and you got re submit your pattent for a non gryoscoptic copter to submit to the cartel by the end of month. get to work! and dang it boy how many time you gotta fix that door before you learn how to open one?"  Several goblin curses mainly involing somekind of suffering well though his curse came from the goblin before the power tools began to whine and whirr again.

"You gots it BOSS Bamm hooted" he smiled at Arkail, his head buried in a book. Bamm picked up the door and slammed it into place

The wind howled and rain battered the small scaffold hut high in Booty bay. But all was good and great in this moment

The Campfire / Bamm's Booty Bay Bedtime Bonanza
« on: January 30, 2022, 04:11:46 PM »
Evening was drawing in Booty bay the gulls where cawing on the evening sea breeze. The hustle and bustle of sailors, merchants, smugglers and pirates was drawing from the docks to the Tavern and small dwellings of the town. A top a wooden platform with rickety gangway planks sat a hastily built or rebuilt hut parts of a gyrocopter sticking halfway though its roof, echoing bangs a loud muffled "noise" coming from its interior.


"Shitfire maaan i tell you what this is dang ol great i tell you what!"
 Bamm proclaimed his voice imitating from inside a self made diving helmet as he stomped and marched around the workshop in heavy diving boots.

"Maaaan making it pump air into it as i walk was innnnssspired if id do say so myself i tell you what HooooooeeeeEEE!"

A defeated sigh came from Gearoid the goblin. Bamm's mentor, teacher, friend, subject of abuse to his very presence and adoptive guardian from the time his mother left him there to go to sea.

Gearoid scuttled across the workshop to tinker with something, his metallic crab like legs clinking, his eyes glowing blue, his face palid green devoid of life.

"Bamm the ones that sleep in deep dark blue of the sea can hear you. Grrmm"

SHITFIRE! I could find them thar fellas with this helmet and say howdy! imagine meeting a deep dark fella.  AWESOME! I have been told i  am a very tall dark and handsome myself! hoooeeeeEEE! Imagine that Gearoid! Gearoid! can you hear me?

Another defeated sigh came from Gearoid as the goblin peered at the ceiling.

"Son dang it when, when are you gonna fix that thar roof! and.... another thing" Gearoid said pinching his nose with his one remaining flesh and bone hand it doesnt count when its your own mother who says your handso... shitffire you what it dont matter none... just, just fix the dang roof.


hey, hey boss what do you think of this i made it up as i was a walking here"

Bamm produced his banjo and began to play loudly in tune with his stomps of heavy diving boots, the helmet's viewing window only showing the briefest flash of a wide grin. Boomer vocalising with a metallic off key Awooo!

The Campfire / Letters to Home
« on: April 11, 2021, 11:50:42 AM »


ITS YOUR SON BAMM!!!!!!!!! <3

"What in fel tarnation i can hear you say?"

Well shitfire 'member how i told y'all before bout how these Red blade folk Arkail was telling me about to join and learn about Orc life and how y'all said it sounded like a good idea, but not to get too carried away? You remember dad right? well y'all said he was like real smart and charming and could talk his way into and outta more trouble than it was worth and spoke purdy like? Well he is nuttier than marmot shit now i tell you what.... rambling and raving nonsense. i am looking after him dont worry i am a good boy like you raised me to be! :)

Anyhow what was i saying? Oh yeah I am BAMM IRONSPARK now! I took part in a Om'riggor and i killed talbulk real smart like using a trap! I was naked as the day i was born at the time but that aint important. Yeah so i did that and gave me a name and i swore an oath to the demi gods they follow nice folk we had to go to the afterlife to rescue one recently he is nice!!

What was i saying oh yeah :)
Uh yeah i am adult now you're lil fella all grown up. I even started training in a part of the clan called Nag'ogar which is like the shield of the group. I am gonna protect them cause they my friends but its also like leadership and bringing hope in bad times and taking respsonibility for yourself and others conduct! You and gearoid always said that was important. So i doing as you taught me!

If ya see gearoid say howdy from his bestest student BAMM IRONSPARK. i hope his robo legs aintseizeing up too much!

How are things with y'all hope the captain is treating you right and y'all are sailing well and getting into fun adventures?

Making you proud i hopes
your ever loving son


p.s Boomer says hi!

The Campfire / Keeping the faith, a short short-story by Bamm
« on: February 08, 2021, 02:04:12 PM »
Keeping the faith

Bamm had adjusted to his surroundings like he always did his mothers’s words in his head always ringing in his head.
 “Dangit son with a good positive attitude nothing is impossible hope is best dang weapon we ever discovered I tell you what and will be strongest thing you ever forge”.

He awoke much the same as he had the last few days a single thought in his head. Hope.
 He had noticed others in the camp where struggling especially those with spiritual inclinations or strong hopes for the perception of the afterlife. Bamm had reminded those that this was only one realm of possibility The big horned fella Sagewind had mentioned that and seemed genuine and those that where here wanted to be regardless of what side of what seemed to be an eternal civil war of death rebirth and conflict, he didn’t care much much it but tried to see what those that would find enjoyment in this place point of view.
 He handed given his rations freely cracked jokes smiled and as always was hopeful, he had crafted a banner bearing the red blade sigil to remind those why they where here and who they where. He hoped it helped. He set out for a new morning in this place to see what was happening

He sauntered about the camp a happy dance to his step a happy song in his heart and mind Boomer followed it he swaying to the beat, he waved at a same creature chopping up parts who disregarded him for the most part “Choppa choppa?” The creature screeched at Bamm returned the greeting “Choppa choppa fella” with a wink and fingergun click. The creature look profoundly puzzled and returned to his work. He passed some red blade around the fire all peering silently into it and heart almost sank he waved howdy and loud happy “MOK’RA YA’LL!!”

Most gave him half smiles and a wave as he passed. They where good folk like that. He had to do something to cheer em up it was then he remember his early years at Sea with his mother and the songs the crew would sing in rough weather to boost their spirits. He began to try and hum one, maybe he could sing it for them! That's it a song! He thought. Music is food for the soul and what better place to do that in a world of souls! He let out a loud "HOOOOO’HAAAAA!" and jumped for the joy upper cutting the air and caused several of the scavenging creatures to scurry and flee. A song wouldnt be a enough he would need a instrument! But what could he play well and what could he create in this place. He rushed over to now vacant scavenger table and began creating a blueprint in his head as hands crafted a stringed instrument there was thin strings a long thin bone for a neck and a round flat piece of bone he stretched a thin piece of leathery skin over it, gluing it together inspiration taking him over he didn’t notice time passing was it an hour maybe four of five he knew not or cared. He had yet to meet a person not cheer by a song accompanied by a banjo!

He twanged and tuned the instrument and tried to think of a good song he knew well about lost love, hope despite everything. He wandered up to lonely outcropping of bone and sat down, patted Boomer on his head, looking out over the wastes of Maldraxxus, he cleared his throat closed his eye smiled and  he began to sing and play and old song.

“♫♫Blue moon of Draenor keep on shining
Shine on the one that's gone and proved untrue
Blue moon of Draenor keep on shining
Shine on the one that's gone and left me blue
It was on a moonlight night
The stars were shining bright
And they whispered from on high
Your love has said good-bye
Blue moon of Draenor keep on shining
Shine on the one that's gone and said good-bye
Blue moon of Draenor keep on shining
Shine on the one that's gone and proved untrue
Blue moon of Draenor keep on shining..♫♫”

He sang long into the day perfecting the song and tuning his new bone banjo he would sing it for the Red Blade when he could.

***Heavily plagiarized from Blue moon of Kentucky of course
Spoiler: show

Bone Banjo
Spoiler: show

The Campfire / Bamm at the Hill
« on: October 30, 2020, 01:22:39 PM »
Bamm at the Hill

Bamm was racing Boomer around Razorhill as the sun set, a wide grin on his face he was winning.  Boomer let out a happy mechanical bark and then engaged his turbo and sped past Bamm to Bamm’s loud infuriated laughter.

“ Dang it Boomer hahahah you scamp that’s cheating!!!”

 Bamm was secretly proud Boomer’s ability to use abilities without prompt was getting stronger, his instinct programming was getting more mailable and more creative, Boomer didn’t engage his turbo till the last hundred meters. He hollered loudly and cheered at Boomer patting and making a fuss of his to Boomer’s happy delight he span on the spot and let out another happy bark.

Bamm thought dwelled on his friends in Northrend he hoped they would be ok. Verzan’s and Throatrender's patronizing comments affected him, “Protect the hill?” Why did they always speak to him like a peon, he’d never bring it up, he would never hurt his friends feelings but he wasn’t a peon his eyes focused on Boomer as the mechanodog stalked a lizard then ignited it with his flamethrower, Bamm chuckled. A peon couldn’t create that, he was so close to creating life, real life, mechanical life that didn’t act on command but instinct. The complex math, science and engineering he put into Boomer his blood sweat and tears. Was it because he refused to be sad or dour like the others? Was it his love of life mistaken for stupidity.

No he thought. He refused to change if they saw him as stupid he would let them, he would care for them regardless, he would never be, moody, dour, angry or angsty.
His Momma always said you get back what you put into the world  and then something about hydras being angry because they got all them teeth and no toothbrush and that made him laugh out loud for  quite a while. A Razorhill guard peered at him as he walked past and slightly recoiled confused. Bamm returned to his camp at first whistling a happy if somewhat off key tune, He wanted to be happy so he would be happy, Boomer bounced a ran around his feet, Bamm did a few happy steps of a dance backwards and forth and span on the spot clapping his hands and then breaking into a ditty of a song about Goblin with large assets as he used a wrench as a microphone.
There was explosives to create, if these undead attack Razorhill again. He would tear them to pieces with explosive force, shrapnel, fire and Boomer.

Red Blade Records / Bamm Ironspark
« on: September 05, 2020, 06:47:37 PM »
Name: Bamm Ironspark
Alias: Him again?, Goblin Orc
Rank: Nag'ogar grunt
Age: 17
Gender: Male
Race: Orc
Clan: Orc? Redblade
Class: Engineer
Alignment: Chaotically Good

Mom: First Mate Sariss Saltblood
Dad: Arkail Blastblade
Known Friends: Boomer,  Gearoid Durashaft And everyone of The Red Blade clan they're all just neat.
Known Close Friends:  Boomer. The fantabulous Master Engineer Gearoid Durashaft
Known Enemies: None, dont be silly


A unusually short Orc. yet very well built stocky and muscular. Is in his late teens his hair wild unkempt burnt at the ends is always covered in oil and grease. Wearing Oily overalls and hefty well maintained toolbelt with all manner of tools and gizmos many he uses as makeshift weapons from crafting hammers to blowtorches and wrenches. His Boots appear to have shiny new Rockets attached to them.

Childish, happy, naïve, excitable, reckless, loyal, sees the best in everyone and every situation, loves learning, thinking and a tinkering

Born at sea to a loving pirate mother and a recently found travelling Orcish scholar. At an early age had strong love of engineering tinkering near as soon as he could walk, he mother saw potential in him so apprenticed him to a Skilled Goblin Engineer Gearoid Durashaft, who worked for various cartels. Has had a very happy life. His magnum opus is his best pal Boomer a near sentient Robotic Dog companion, he built himself and all his energy is working towards giving Boomer True sentience and free will. He recently discovered his father an Arkail Blastblade felt Bamm could do with some orcish culture having no real education in such matters, Bamm sought his father's clan The red blade and he is really enjoying his time with them, they are all so nice, friendly and welcoming, everyday he learns more and more about Orc life, has even been given a wolf of his own to ride Ripmaw who is a very good girl.

Things you may know about this character:
Is loud,  Loves blowing stuff up, happy, is  impossible to insult, loves Boomer and engineering

Things you may not know about this character:
Is natural mimic and impressionist, with a wide array of accents and noises
Wants to give Boomer free will an true level of sentience so he can choose what he wants to do and just be happy

Bone Banjo
Spoiler: show

Memorable Quotes:

Voice and Art references: GulfyDraws and Thiama ** see above

EA Battlefield Bad Company and King of the Hill

The Campfire / Frustration and acceptance
« on: May 06, 2020, 03:44:27 PM »
Frustration and acceptance

He had somehow found the Red Blade, he had fewer and fewer moments of clarity he remembered booty bay, he remembered ungoro talking to two orcs like him lost his own kind, if he could save them he could perhaps save himself or the memory of himself. For years now he had felt himself slipping away time for what it was, was almost done.

The voice, sounding like his own now, never left him now he felt it


The voice rattled in the base of his skull up over his ears clashing as they met in the center of his mind. The wards he had placed to keep his mind safe breaking crumbling all his focus maintaining them. But now he was amongst red blade again. How had he found them again. His mind was a fog they where there familiar faces and new, but one blood. New voices in his mind but not. Portals, translocation self scarifcation, that was his saving grace up until now he kept moving changing relocating peppered in where battles, chases, clashes of magic and conflict.

 The Kirin tor or someone was hounding him as for what he could only half remember an image like memory only half dreamed. A auditorium of young horde race magi laughing and elder kirin tor shouting and roaring a young orc standing hands on hips in the center with all the brash immortal bravado of youth legion grimoire in hand. Arkail watching it the spells clashing between the two factions of old and young. Arkail had orchestrated it all or had he? Fragments swirled clashed consequence came before effect time was as always was an abstract concept to Arkail even before his mind began to fail him. With his return to Red Blade tribe he felt more himself than he had in days, months, years? He did not know but he knew these last days what few he had left would be with them.

The Campfire / Purpose a Brewing
« on: April 13, 2020, 03:28:26 PM »
Ungoro Crater a primal and time forgotten place

The stocky Orc hunched over his chemical cauldron it bubbled and popped the fire crackled softly underneath, a whole suite of chemical equpiment gathered around the small cauldron. He chanted softly not in any magical sense but more for good luck. Spinning around he pulled out one of the small pterodactyl chicks from one of his trap cages, wrung its neck, disembowelled it and slung it into the cauldron in which the cauldron sizzled in delight. Raptor bones where piled in small heaps at his bedroll grabbing several he took a small mallet splintering them, then with his mortal and pestle ground them to dust placing a small amount into an homemade ambleic a glass vial for distillation.
The stocky orc reviewed the cauldrons contents and poured small amount into the ambelic swilling it inspecting it holding it up to his eyes.
It was then he saw the silhouette behind him reflecting in the vial, dropping it and turning to face the intruder to his small camp, a blur and no more is what he saw, he turned again again and again, blurs of figure evading his vision. The orc grabbed a vial from his bandoleer and downed its contents he felt the power coursing though him grabbing a second vial in his hand. When the attack came he would be ready. Moments passed only hearing his own heart beat in his chest.

“my son” a voice spoke echoing around him

The Orc flung the vial at the voices direction it exploded in sticky fire mid air but he nothing but the jungle floor.

Was he fighting spirits? Ghosts? A though flashed though the orcs mind no, no this intruder of flesh and blood and he would make it pay for disturbing his brewing

“My Son” the voice spoke again The Stocky orc spun on his heel to find a frail skinny orc dressed in a manner of clothing he wasn’t familiar with sitting in his camp’s chair. Rage filled the stocky orcs mind. Grabbing another vial he slung it at the orc, it exploded mid air its contents again in a sticky fire. The frail figure blurred moving at a speed his eyes couldn’t follow and avoided the fiery concoction only setting ablaze the chair. The frail orc was now behind him.

“Cease your magic and face me frail one” the stocky Orc roared 

“My Son” The frail orc asked “why are you alone, alone in this strange land. Did you not come to this strange land to fight for the Horde?”

The stocky orc gazed at the features of the frail one, similar yet not his skinned a pallid green festooned with scars and blemishes one eye half closed a scar encircling it.

“Cease your prattling what do you want from me corrupted one use that magic again and I’ll remove your head from your shoulders” The stocky orc demanded

The frail one tilted his head and rubbed his chin. "My head unlike yours is attached to my neck my son, but you have your mother’s spirit. I am Arkail, arkail blastblade your father. I knew your mother well in your timeline 35 years ago, but to me only a few years have passed. Fascinating isn't it the time lines" Arkail began to speak of metaphysics and chromatic dragon nonsense

The stocky one roared silence interrupting arkail
"Cease your nonsense and prattle regardless of where your head is attached I’ll remove it My father, my father was a great, great warrior of the Bleeding hollow he fell fighting lightforged…"

“Is that what Kitrana said. Hmm I like that story.. heroic and noble self sacrificing. a good death experience" Arkail mused

“How do you know my mother’s name conjurer speak and be clear my next vial will not miss, I see your magics and know its limits I’ll burn this whole jungle down. Speak her name again and it’ll be your last” The Stocky orc spat

“Kahm my son I know many things and speak only truth, this is not the life me or Kitrana would wish for you. Alone. A life alone with out clan, purpose or fight” Arkail met his eyes dead on unblinking

“You may know my name and my mothers but you are not of my clan. And not my father conjurer with that Kahm grabbed a vial from his bandolier squeezing it tightly ready to end this nonsense

Arkail only raised his hand in it entwined where prayer beads, his mother’s prayer beads.
I am your father and we have much to speak about my Son I will tell you of a purpose worthy of your skills in alchemy

Kahm upon seeing the beads, placed the vial back on his bandoleer. His anger subsiding

They spoke long into the night the fire caused by the vials exploding and the campfire dying down in the many hours they spoke of all the things, why he had sought him out now of all times and the many adventures

Dawn was breaking Kahm nodded and rubbed his chin I will do as you ask… father

Arkail stood up if he was to smile it was only the slightest of smirks a wave of his hands a portal appeared and the frail old orc disappeared in it

Kahm stood silently for some time, he packed up his camp and set out.
There was a purpose and red blade to find

The Campfire / A Explosive Revelation
« on: April 07, 2020, 08:25:20 PM »
A explosive revelation

Gulls cried in the scorching heat of Booty Bay, the waves lapped gently at the dock, shanties sung out front the bar. All manner of life’s little noises from the arguments and profanity riddled conversation of dock workers and traders to passengers disembarking the ship. Sitting at the edge of one of the upper boardwalk a Young Orc sat barely 17, tinkering as he always did this mornings tinkering involved a small sail regulating gizmo for a local goblin airship, he sat absentmindedly tinkering when a explosion rocked the boardwalk a large hole blasted though the roof building behind him plaster, wood and tile launched into the air. The young Orc winced he knew what was coming

 A hoarse Goblin roared coughing and spluttering emerging from the Building’s smoking enterence

Bamm put down his tools, stood up dusted down his overalls and turned to face the Goblin

His mentor and teacher Gearoid Sivershaft was a one armed, no legged rotund elderly fellow of a Goblin no mean feat old age was not really something many Goblin’s experienced. His mechanical legs whirred and spluttered as he hobbled up to Bamm whacking him in the arm with mechano cane

“Every damn time boy”. The goblin hollered “every fel damn time that profit sucking robo hound monster of yours is left unattended in my shop it gets into something and BOOM
That’s two roofs, four tables, six arc spanners and 3 walls you owe me now Boy You gonna be working for me till your hundred, whats your mother gonna say when she gets back?”

Bamm rubbed his whacked arm and shrugged “it was in standby mode, it doesnt have sentience it has no mind of its own unless I plug into it, most of the time. Its sync servos are ionising as of late and….”

The goblin wiped his wrinkled brow with a greasy rag in frustration
Boy I tell you what if that damn robo hound thing of yours does it again I’ll plug it into to I tell you what and you wont like where I plug it shit fire boy I cant get a minutes piece you know we gots that Airship parts to service and you fel damn tinkering about out here shiiit, I am gonna get a fel damn drink and you better shit damned better get this shop dang well tidied by the time I get back.

Gearoid launched his mechano cane again at Bamm cracking him on the side of his head. Gearoid’s mechanical arm extending and then grabbing the cane before it fell, spun on his robotic legs and hobbled down the boardwalk off into the distance.

Bamm watched his mentor leave, rubbing his head, shrugged and went to check the damage inside.

Carnage awaited him inside, timbers and metal workshop parts littered the floor walls and what was left of the roof. Bamm lifted a timber and discovered his masterwork, his lifes goal and focus, his robotic hound. The hound was upside down his legs gyrated and shuddered in error.
“You Ok Boomer?” He asked resetting the hounds controls, Bamm flipped a few switches on interface attached to his wrist and pressed a button on his goggles.
“Lets see the damage eh Boomer?”  Bamm began to run a diagnostic “ No real damage, I see a few gyros out of alignment again, I need to create a stronger flux casing for those..”

Hours may have passed as Bamm sat among the wreckage tinkering with Boomer the mechohound Time he found always stopped when he was tinkering

“Bamm“ a unfamiliar voice echoed  “Bamm? Boy look at me”
Bamm unlinked from his hound and turned to face the voice tightly gripping a wrench as he did. Another one of Gearoid’s loansharks coming a calling
 What Bamm saw though was a middle aged Orc familiar as if looking into a future version of himself the orc was dressed oddly fancy tailoring, a fancy sigil on his clothing

“Bamm my son the Orc explained, its time we talk…”
“My name is Arkail Blastblade and we don’t have much time, I am your father. The orc was short to the point unemotional, This may be a shock, yes indeed but do try to keep attention I see you enjoy the pursuit of the intellectual too. Interesting indeed hmm quite I should think”

Bamm scratched his head with his wrench sat down dumbfounded and listened to the Orc he did always enjoy stories

Arkail explained who he was how he found and learned of his existence, how he met his mother and what he wanted over the next few hours

Bamm my boy I am hunted by Kirin tor mage hunters, there was an incident, the details don’t matter, time is short.  you need to know your hertitge your place your people, this life you lead though it seems to have born some fruits and you seem to have learned a craft you deem rewarding. I spent too long among others that where not my own. Ten years I spent in Undercity, You years among these Goblins. I belong… or did to a group of Orcs… Theyre called to the Red Blade. You would benefit from them, I sense your curious. Say my name, prove yourself useful to them and the rewards are great family, tribe belonging a life of purpose and adventure.

Bamm and Arkail talked and discuused things long into the night. In the morning Bamm awoke to find Arkail was gone leaving only directions on how to find the red blade.

“Ask the tavern keepers in Durotar and follow the ‘chaos’ they leave”

Bamm crumpled the note and packed his things, tools equipment, plugged into Boomer the mechano hound. He left a iou note for Gearoid  and walked out of Booty Bay at the gates to the town he stopped looked back on the place and shrugged

may as well he thought why not chaos and adventure sounds fun, he nodded at his mechano hound and said

“OK boomer lets go, find these red blades”

The Campfire / The Trial
« on: September 15, 2019, 04:38:32 PM »
The Trial of Arkail Blastblade

A gavel bangs loudly echoing though a hall, the sound of teleportation zings though the air robed figures appearing from each portal and taking their seats. Two robed guards prod and poke a shackled figure as they lead him into the centre of the hall.
A thin tall human eyes glowing faintly begins to speak in a disinterested yet harsh tone.

“We are gathered here for the Trial of one Arkail Blastblade ‘Scribe’ and Associate Archivist for the Kirin Tor for the crimes of Child endangerment, relic misuse leading to the loss of said legion relic, Lewdness not limited to vulgarity not befitting a member of the Kirin Tor, base trickery and flagrant disregard of Portal and translocation magic policy, fraud, vandalism, professional misconduct, polymorphic assault and assault with archival records”

Arkail remained silent, his eyes fixed in the middle distance.

“Several young novices gone, vanished without a trace where are they? We don’t know, you refuse to say anything. A expedition to the Broken Shore without authorisation, The Shore which still contains pockets of Legion demon TOO this day.  A grimoire relic of the legion taken from the vault, several guards left with concussion with several tomes damaged in the means to do so. Two Polymorphic assaults upon fellow magisters to which one hasn’t fully reformed and may have sustained permant polymorphic injures. Fellow Magister Sheeowyn cannot hold a lecture on the ley line infrastructure of semi permanent planes of existence if his head is that of a sheep!   Does the accused have anything to say in this matter, before sentencing is carried out?”

A child like voice echos in the hall “Sheepowyn Makes you sleep-o-wyn  !!!” Followed by a short stifled laugh

A thundering shout  from the Thin tall man for Order followed by several bangs of his gavel silenced and refocused the room

“We will have order in this hall”

Arkail hadn’t reacted to the disturbance but now cleared his throat and began to speak.

“I have merely found that learning is done better when done in  tandem with real world situations and real physical threat. While i apologise for the assault of the guards that was in no small part due to my condition which the court is well aware of..”   
The old familiar voice creped up arkail’s spine and into the base of his skull. “AAAAAARRRRRRRKKKKILLL”

 Arkail’s face remained composed as he paused for breath and continued speaking. "I merely lead a small outdoor lecture on the dangers of and proper use of fel based magic while abstaining from the actual use of Fel and merely borrowed the Grimore of Xel’nazxtil to show that knowledge is knowledge and that use of that in a proper and constructive way"

“9 novices Lost? “The thin mage interjected. “The youngest barely 8 the oldest, a fellow Orc ilk of yours only 15”

Arkail met the thin mage’s gaze square in the eye, calmly stating
“The kirin tor are not stating that race has anything to do with ones moral value are...”
The gavel bangs again frantically. "absolutely not coolywoddle and nonsense “ The thin mage replied cutting Arkail’s off.

A small murmur rippled though the room, followed by more frantic gavel banging
The thin mage shouted for order.
“Sentencing is to be carried you are to be judged by a group of your fellows and peers”

A small zing of teleportation magic echoed in the hall, a small gathering of wide grining children each holding a hand on a large grimore appeared in the corner. lead by a young orc standing in a wide gait a hand on each hip. He cocked his head back a laughed like a teenager who had read too many heroic stories would do and released a bolt of fel energy that soared its way across the room towards Arkail’s magical restraints they melted as the bolt struck. The young boy leaped to the center using the grimore as a weapon ducking under a guards attempt to grab him and planting a upward strike between the guards legs the spine of the book connecting with force followed by a backhanded swipe across the guard’s face with the books iron bound cover causing the guard to spin and fall to the floor.

Arkail sighed with mirth rubbing his wrists.
"Sarsis this isn’t what i meant when i said that knowledge is the best weapon to wield"
 Around the room the 9 young novices jumped and leap causing chaos two or three clinging the to backs of magisters whacking their mounts with books and little bolts  of arcane energy
The gavel banged frantically as order was shouted to established shouts for Arkail and his novices to be caught and restrained.

“Archivist Blastblade” Sarsis explained “Probably best sir if you make your escape, don’t think you’d be welcome here sir nope not at all. We got this i am out of here, these kirin tor aint for me nope, not all no sir'ree  gonna keep the book, like the way it makes me feel,but had to get the nippers home was fun!”

Arkail gave the young orc a long look and sighed. “ just be careful with it remember the lessons and discipline, patience and abstaining all magic is corrupting but knowledge is not”
Sarsis gave him a wink and youthful roar of laughter, a hand on each hip as Arkail summoned a portal a vanished though it.  Sarsis stood proudly smiling at the chaos he had caused as the children one by one where restrained and caught. He hugged the book close to his chest, falling back as he vanished too.

The Campfire / Awakening
« on: June 20, 2019, 03:45:05 PM »

Arkail came too,  his good eye blinking in confusion, how long had he been gone? Curled up in his now tattered robes, his Kirin Tor tabard and raised collar and cloak filthy. He was in Orgrimmar in the drag?  Arkail scrambled to his feet, unsteady and weak, hunger wracked his frail body.


The whisper shot up his spine to the base of his skull, paralysing him in place briefly before releasing him causing him to fall to his knees, then to the floor. seizures shook him, his fingers bent & contorted, his mouth clenched shut, legs kicking... darkness and whispers descended and engulfed him... 

The seizure had \passed and Arkail gasped for air
How long had he been gone?

“Whats all this then?” a unfamiliar voice enquired “ 'nother weak wretch not fit to lift 'n axe ehh?”

A booted  kick to Arkail's ribs landed before he could answer, driving the air from his lungs.
Arkail glancing up saw the voice's owner a large maghar grey skinned eyes aflame like red coals, a blackrock.
The Maghar sent a second kick towards Arkail, instinctively teleported  across the dark marketplace of the Drag, causing the plate booted kick to miss striking a wall. Arkail rose to his feet staggering  and clutching his ribs. The Maghar cursed & roared

 “Weak trickery, lil wretch!?!”

Charging down upon Arkail, the Maghar's fists balled up ready to strike. Arkail teleported again just before the Maghar connected a strike, causing him to collide with a empty closed market stall.
Arkail breathed hard as the Maghar emerged from the ruined stall, drawing his weapon charging again, cursing and roaring.
Arkail fumbled frantically though his ruined pockets finding two runed stones, if he was a spiritual orc he would have thanked them. One in each hand, he preformed a series of gestures series as the Maghar charged, a small portal appeared at its feet the Maghar vanished a perplexed look upon his face as he did. Reappearing about 4 meters above where he had vanished, the perpetual motion transferred to the fall, hitting the ground with a crunch as his plate armour compressed ever so slightly.
Unconscious groans emitnating from the fallen Maghar his face buried in the dirt floor of the Drag
Arkail stumbled he preformed a series of gestures with the two runed stones & vanished,
reappearing in his quarters of purple and gold. Back in Dalaran

Arkail blinking his good eye as he was greeted with a familar voice

“Ah  Archivist  Arkail you've returned? Charming choice of attire, may perhaps you should chnge before your lecture at eight,? No? Hmmm regardless breakfast is there for you“
It was Mergenfauker, his dorm mate & research partner, a smug arrogant but typical  Kirin Tor forsaken mage.

Arkail didnt respond, but agreed, he changed, ate and left for the lecture. He approached the front of the hall and began to speak to those assembled

“A good use for transmutation magic is teleportation. The most basic teleportation spell is blink, and it remains among the most useful. Blink can be used to quickly escape a foe - or save a mage who has accidentally fallen off a cliff. Do not attempt to use blink to escape falling to your death unless absolutely necessary. This is the kind of trick you can only fail once.
Make absolutely certain you know your destination before attempting to teleport. There's a reason we have very specific spells to teleport to certain locations - attempts to cast a teleportation "on the fly" often result in one very dead mage inside a wall, chair, or another mage. And I don't mean in a fun way....”

Arkail lecture continued for hours accompanied by the sound of faint snores of the bored apprentices

The Campfire / Those nimble nautical nuisances
« on: August 15, 2018, 02:32:56 PM »
The ship was sinking the sounds of battle, cries and splashing as orcs abandoned ship rang out  Arkail had been below decks working on the wards he had placed on his mind to keep himself right crossed legged and both hands at his temple weaving arcane into it. He couldn’t break from it the wards were continually broken andrequired full concentration he only needed a few more moments.


The hull to the left handside of him shattered sending shards of wood into his direction. The force sending him flying instinctively shield himself with his left arms  his arm peppered by shards, but catching himself from hitting one of the ships internal walls by weaving a quick translocation spell with his right hand blinking him across the deck and bringing him to mere inches from the wall. He let out a guttural low gasp of pain as his left arm exploded in pain and agony. He needed to get out he had to get out the ship was sinking now water pouring in. Why hadn’t he fully noticed that? His warding spells would be the death of him.  Arkail took a sharp intake of breath and with his right hand waved it over his left hand and arm hovering up most of the shards, slipping from his skin in quick succession discarding them in the same movement another gasp of pain for which Arkail felt he’d nearly pass out.

He had to get out. The rattle in the base of skull “Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrkkkkkkkkkkkillllll” faintly whispered up and around his neck and ears. The sounds of battle still raging Ark had to get out.  Arkail began weaving a portal spell dangerous stupid reckless and most likely useless. A knife sprung to his hand from inside his robe a black knife and he began carving into the deck his bleeding left hand filling it with arcane energy. He tugged at the ley lines concentrated on a location, any location calculating the energy needed to get there. His fingers moving in odd patterns his hands waving and weaving a flash of arcane energy sent a shockwave Arkail was gone.

Arkail was falling the ground was rushing to meet him.


Arkail hit the ground hard, it was wet and muddy and he skidded and rolled as he did. Arkail hit the ground so hard it knocked the wind from his lungs laying face down in mud, a moment passed an Arkail used his arms to lift himself from the muddy earth it was raining. The heavens themselves had opened a deluge of water. Arkail took several deep breaths.

“Well well well?!”
A voice lean and sharp echoed
“Looky look what we, we got ‘ere then. Capt’n will wants to t-talk to yous eh, eh?”  Followed by  an equally sharp and lean cackle.
Arkail managed to crane his head to turn to the voice, but a pistol whip cut short his endevor

Everything went black

The Campfire / The Pursuit of Dependant
« on: April 27, 2018, 07:30:12 PM »
The Pursuit of Dependant

The figure gasped for breath, he been a fugitive now for what felt like days, weeks, months? The figure collapsed to his knees behind a rocky alcove, scurrying back and out of sight. Unclasping the now slack water skin at his belt upon opening it and carefully extending it above his move the figure let the few last precious drops hit his mouth, it only stoked his thirst. His whole body fire his mouth ashen.  He was the fox and the hounds where closing in. It had chased him across what felt like the entire breadth of Kalimdor and now Outland. The figure glanced around the large jutting peaks of blade edge mountains he had given his pursuers the slip for now but he knew but morning they’d have his trail again, and it would begin anew. His hands shook from fatigue, but he gestured loosely drawing with his fingers in the air a soft glow of purple blue energy grew in the right hand before fading. The figure let out a pained sigh almost a whimper. The figure reached into his tattered robe producing a softly glowing crystalline rock, illuminating the figure a pale green scrawny wretch of a creature, hair wild and long at its temples his tattered robes once pristine and finely tailored now mud caked, bloody and torn one sleeve missing, it’s left hand gloved a tattered tabard baring the sigil of Kirin Tor spread across it chest.

 A gesture of its hand, the crystal struck the ground at his feet, the energy dispersed into the soil. The ground began glowing, pulsing even, the figure scrambled into it drawing odd sigils and symbols into the dirt around it mumbling ranting to himself, before sitting cross legged in the centre, rocking softly back and forth. A sense of calm briefly came over the figure. Arkail exhaled and said to himself.

“This, my dear fellow is getting to be a rather nasty habit. if the others could see you now... well most would wonder what on earth i was doing and what was wrong”

 He let a pained stifled laugh escape his lips as if scared to give it sound, sweat drenched his forehead and Arkail shoulders sunk, he curled up into ball upon the faintly pulsing ground. Arkail’s whole body shook softly his teeth chattered in the center of the pulsing circle. His good eye closed, the image of the elderly archmagi spinning to a crumpled heap to the floor as flashed across his mind. arkail had struck out more in annoyance than self preservation, he didnt mean to kill.. fevered sleep claimed Arkail dawn would come soon and the hunt would begin anew.

The Campfire / Awakening
« on: November 12, 2017, 07:08:55 PM »

A voice out across the library, Blastblade!
Arkail's one good eye twitched and its monocle dropped into his blackrock coffee. He sighed and fished it out wiping it on his purple tabard. The kirin tor where not what he expected, but time had passed much like it did when he was in Undercity. The world continued on with him barely glancing up from his desk. He was filling a report on one of the various minor relics housed in this part of this library.

 When the voice rang out again. "Blastblade! Damn it you damnable orc, what on earth kind of cipher is this your using and more to the point why are you encrypting it in the first place"

 Arkail picked up the sandwich at his desk and took a bite he didnt respond he chewed it slowly around his mouth as the elderly human figure swirled and materialised in front of him, before he had time to swallow the report landed on his desk with a thud he met the gaze of the elderly human figure and arkail raised his one working brow. The elder was tall for a human near 7ft tall but whip thin to a painful degree draped in purple robes wearing the tabard of the kirin tor his long thin greying beard near his waist, eyes blazing purple with arcane energy.

Well said the elderly wizard, i am waiting. Arkail put down his sandwich and scanned the report he had indeed encrypted the document, and old Red Blade one. One he hadnt used in an age it seemed now. Most odd he retorted most odd indeed  Markaius, here arkail said wont take much, save me re-writing it. A wave of arkail's hand a shimmer of purple blue energy and the pages glowed briefly illuminating before becoming readable. The wizard  snorted and snapped.

“You'll do well to mind your place apprentice, why i got lumbered with an orc of all things is beyond in my day...”
The wizard continued... Arkail maintained eye contact but began running though his meditations, the arcane mathematics of translocation, abjuration, scyring.. he sipped his coffee and nodded. The wizard was finishing up his rant.

“And that my green fellow is why Orcs can never fully master the arts of arcane. Look at you what are you 30-35 and can just about manage the basics why when i was your age i could polymorph my fellow apprentices and translocate them to the other side of the city while blindfolded and”

 ... Arkail tuned out again, and began scanning over the report he had decrypted a simple report about activity around the stonetalon mountains. Now Blastblade the wizard said, straightening himself snatching the report
“dont do it again. I mean really ciphers i could have worked that out of course but i am far too busy for this”
"Of course master Markaius" before Arkail had finished the wizard had disappeared in a haze of purple energy. Arkail took another bite of his sandwich and continued he work his mind however lingered upon the report it was an odd thing to do encrypting that he hadnt even know he had done it. He smiled his crooked smile as he thought of the days that was common place for him, the days within the tribe how he recorded everything, always watching noting every tribes orc details, weaknesses, buttons to press and relations within the tribe.He did his best to keep up with there whereabouts since the link broke and the legions attack caused their parting. But as days turned to weeks turned to months legitimate information of individuals whereabouts became near impossible. He had joined the Kirin Tor to finish out his education to find purpose again and if at the very least find a damn good near death experience if it was all to end anyways.

Time must have passed as his next sip of coffee had become cold, a quick waft of his hand a soft purple glow underneath the cup and it was again a decent temperature he took a sip again when his Master appeared once more before him

 “Blastblade where is the book you where copying it was meant to be on my desk this morning, you do still speak taurahe” 

Arkail looked at his pocketwatch the date read that it was the day after tomorrow already. Most odd he pondered.
“ well i am waiting blastblade i have my own reports to file and present” 
It was at that moment Arkail realised how asleep he had become again. His life had became worse now than it was in Undercity, at least there he wasnt hounded and belittled by halfwits they only ever tried to kill or experiment on him and he could respect that. He missed the world, the undercity the adventures with the tribe. He finished he coffee and took one last bite of his sandwich. He stood up and slammed the book closed scooping it up with one hand, his chair fell back with a crash as he did. The wizard snorted and took a step in front of Arkail

“..and where are you going now you damnable stupid Orc if i...”
 Arkail didnt let the wizard continue his rant in one single motion the book arkail had in his hands had cut short the rant striking the wizard square across his face the wizard spun on his heel and collapsed in a purple robed heap, unconscious upon the floor.
Arkail considered this to be handing in his resignation within the kirin tor. He felt a odd pull towards the Stonetalon mountains it vexed him, gave him a headache and so arkail gathered his things from his quarters. His books, inks satchel filled to the brim and with his good staff he set out for Kalimdor, he had seen enough of the flying city, he longed for a good near death experience.

His sword neatly leaning against his desk as always he had forgotten it.

The Campfire / Homecoming
« on: February 08, 2017, 05:11:13 PM »


Arkail departed the zeppelin and headed down the tower. Thunder and lightning crashed and broke upon the sky illuminating the ruins of Lordaeron briefly. The rain poured down increasing the stretch of decay and rot in the ruined husks of trees and fields surrounding the dead city.

Arkail let out a hacking cough one that shook his very core and made him gasp for breath. His lungs were not what they were used to be he thought to himself a small smile appearing on his lips. He passed the old throne room of Lordaeron giving as always the slightest of salutes; a single finger to his brow and embarked the elevator. The stench made his stomach churn as he descended and he dabbed some smelling salts under each nostril. Arkail closed his eyes briefly, Home, he thought. It is good to be home. He begin his way to his quarters though the twisting halls and corridors of the Undercity and at once felt eyes upon him in the dark, the very shadows on the walls seemed to follow him, the hairs stood up on the back of his neck and that small primal part of his brain that feared the dark raced though his mind increasing his heart rate and breathing. Arkail smiled to himself, he had missed Undercity, he felt safe.

He turned the latch on the door to his quarters and as always the the latch came away in his hand and the door creaked and then slammed to the ground sending a thick dust cloud to envelop his room, all many of spiders and insects inside scattering for cover.  Arkail gave out an annoyed but amused chuckle as he trampled inside over the door picking it up with one hand and slamming it back into place, jamming the latch back into place with a click. He surveyed the room, fanning the dust away clearing his vision a rough hewn wooden desk and chair sat as he left it a shoddily repaired bookcase in the corner and simple half broken bare bed frame in the other. With a click on his finger the small candle sparked up, first a purple flame which then became a more natural orange red hue upon the desk illuminated the room. Arkail sat down a produced a book from his satchel. A dossier of tribe member,  he flicked though a few pages making small amendments here and there. The Legion's return had cost several tribe members their lives and many more were missing presumed dead or worse. He had pondered briefly what had become of them, lost in his own thoughts, it was then the door to his quarter flew open and then towards him, followed the familiar sound and green glow and smell of fel magic.

 Arkail reacted nearly without thinking he blinked across the room out the way the door and the bolt following it, the door skidding into his chair and desk and the fel bolt striking the wall igniting the cobwebs and ruined tapestry sticking to it, burning slowly now illuminating his room a sickly green.  Arkail's translocation magic had become more and more competent, to point now he considered it to be second nature and of an Arcanist level, the only area of magic his magic he considered to be so. Arkail stood frozen and ready one hand outstretched a purple glow pulsing in his hand ready to fire his other grasping about his side for his blade which as always he had misplaced. Arkail smirked, one day that is going to be the death of me he thought. Arkail waited what felt like an eternity staring at the doorway. Before saying firmly and loudly

“I suggest you show yourself and follow though with your aggressive convictions or bugger off and bother someone else, you'll find no sport in here.”

There was silence followed by a familiar echoing disembodied laugh and then a few claps.

“My dear boy, i thought you were dead and some fool and was rifling though your possessions, thought i'd give him what for and damn good thrashing”

It was Pembroke the bony figure appeared in the doorway glowing eyes the only thing visible and not in silhouette.

Pembroke? I though you were dead? Grrm much apriated Arkail chuckled.

Sorry about the door, You've gotten better i see at your translocation magic, your offensive capability's still need work, that spell in your hand could barely damage anything..

Arkail snorted and grumbled to himself in an odd language to which Pembroke replied
“dont count on it, Cant speak gutterspeak to me boy and not expect me not to understand you are not around your orcs now”

A wide toothy grin appeared on Pembroke as he entered the room to which Arkail returned in kind with his own.

They began to speak of current events the avenues of research, legions return, The dark lady's 'promotion'  and Undercitys defences and naval capabilities for several hours.

Until Pembroke interrupted Arkail and handed him an envelope marked with the sigil of the Kirin Tor.

My boy i think it is time for you to go to Dalaran.

** ooc Will return to rp when i feel the urge again, have lost my desire to rp as of late sorry**

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