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Off Topic / Reminiscing!
August 01, 2019, 11:29:42 AM
Hello, you.

I highly doubt that a lot of people remember me, but I still wanted to stop by and actually write something for once. I think it's about 11-12 years since I forst joined Orcs of the Red blade, and it's humbling and so very warming to see it still alive. Reading through your stuff and looking at this forum makes me remember and miss all the fun times that were once had.

You're all great  :-*
Red Blade Records / Morgeth Feralheart
June 08, 2015, 09:56:23 PM

Name: Morgeth Feralheart
Alias: Taint, Highness, Snarler
Rank: Former High blade Varog'gor

Age: Late teens, early twenties.
Gender: Female
Race: Orc
Clan: Unknown
Class: Warlock
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Family: Kozgugore Feraleye (mate), Kraag (son), Katashka (daughter), Muzg (son), Mazguul Sharpeye (blood-sister), Nazkhur Iceblood (blood-sister, deceased).
Known Friends: -
Known Enemies: The Burning Legion

Morgeth's an overall small orc, being both short and somewhat more slender than your average female. Her oval face sports a pair of pale blue eyes and sharp, youthful features, spared from many of the atrocities of war, which causes her to appear even younger than she actually is. The sun has tanned her skin into a darker green and she carries a large tail of black hair atop her otherwise shaved head.  She is usually found carrying an armour issued for the warlock of the Horde during the Northrend campaign, but the one item consistent with her changing outfits is a large necklace that is made out of bone.

Morgeth's an orc of ever changing personality. She has a knack for the lesser crimes, and often acts young and brash, giving the term "loud mouth" a face to be recognised by. Some might dub her insane, whilst others would simply call the young orc a passionate soul. The latter does ring true, because Morgeth loves wholeheartedly and devotes herself fully to whatever purpose she deeems worthy. True to her nature, as dictated by the fel, she is however prone to paranoia and a lust for power. Deeply insecure, and unsure of her place in the world, Morgeth sports a fiery temper and will fight, surely to death, for that which she considers to be hers.

Spoiler: The Desert • show

Morgeth's first memories are those of bitter survival. Her fragmented recollection of her childhood has led her to draw her own conclusions. She firmly believes herself to having been abandoned by her parents, who left her to die in the vastness of a desert landscape. The harshness of the environment shaped the orc child into a remorseless creature, driven only by her need to eat and drink. In the end, Morgeth was more beast than orc, and cowardly scavenged from whatever the larger predators left behind. She became filled with envy over the strength and tenacity of these creatures, and hated the softness of her own flesh.
The orc was kept reasonably sane by the fact that despite not remembering any ties to her people, she dreamt about them. In due time, however, even those dreams became an object of resentment and hatred for Morgeth. Believing herself unwanted, to the degree that her parents had in fact left her to die, she eventually grew to think that the dreams were only there to taunt her and remind her of what she could never have. One day, she denounced her connections to whatever spirits may whisper to her during her lonely nights, and decided to embrace the harsh reality as it was. From that night to this day, Morgeth's dreams are only of the kind that haunts her.
Severing the ties to the essence of her heritage left Morgeth vulnerable to more things than death. The void that consumed her being, causing her to degenerate even further into a bestial state of mind, ached to be filled with something; strength and power. Such a wish can be dangerous at any time and place, and the deserts proved no different. It was the fel that granted Morgeth her final wish, and even though it is uncertain how and when she invited it in, she has been heard claiming that she gave everything to have its power.

Despite forging a connection with the fel, Morgeth remained a pitiful creature in the midst of the deserts. Her powers were unreliable, and her body had become so frail and emaciated that even calling upon them threatened to kill her. The young orc's diseased mind was driven to the brink of insanity, when she suddenly stumbled upon a small goblin caravan. This would become an event most crucial in the shaping of this orc's path back to her people.

Spoiler: The Road • show

Too weak to kill, and perhaps slightly intriguied, Morgeth became a somewhat reluctant traveling companion to the goblins. In exchange for her aid with physical labour, the orc child was promised to be taken to an actual settlement of her own kind. The existence of Orgrimmar was finally revealed to her. Against all odds, Morgeth befriended an elderly goblin female who was part of the caravan. The goblin helped the young orc learn more of her kin, and even took it upon herself to tutor Morgeth in the orcish tongue. To this day, Morgeth still talks with a strange accent, inherited from these times. It was also during her initial meeting with the goblins that Morgeth gave herself a name, after realising that "orc" was only a mean through which to describe her entire race, and not her true identity.

As the caravan drew closer to Orgrimmar, the goblin female succumbed to a fit of guilt, and confessed to Morgeth that there was no intention to bring her the entire way to Orgrimmar, but that she would instead be taken by boat to Booty Bay to be sold at a slave market. The goblin urged Morgeth to flee while she still could, and was kind enough to point her in the direction of the city they had initially set out to reach. Hastily and distraught, the young orc was sent out on her own again, but she was determined to reach Orgrimmar. Perhaps because she, in the depths of her own mind, dared hope that her family would be there to embrace her. Just as those dreams of old had promised.

Spoiler: Orgrimmar • show

From when she first laid eyes on the orcish city, it took Morgeth a week to dare to actually enter it. The cold nights of Durotar offered her a new set of enemies, and being chased by quillboar was the final push this orc needed to finally enter what could potentially be her new home. Having been raised i the wilds, Morgeth was somewhat foreign to the idea of coin and trading services. Her brief encounter with the goblins had taught her some, but nothing could have prepared her for the cultural chaos that is Orgrimmar. Amidst the haggling trolls, goblins and orcs, the young orc was gripped with fear.

Cowering in the masses, Morgeth kept herself hidden in an entirely new fashion. She paid no heed to social rules, and that which pushed her down a road of crime and ill behaviour was not greed, but hunger. It seemed only natural to her to do whatever she could to survive, regardless of the predators surrounding her. She could already sense it, however, that even amongst those that were supposed to be like her, she was already different. Morgeth's emaciated frame did make her stand out from the crowd, as did the tattered clothes the goblins had left her with. Not to mentions her hands, which had been branded by her deal made with the fel. Instead of denying the blood given curse she shared with her peers, Morgeth had embraced it fully, which would come back to haunt her for the rest of her life.

Spoiler: Orphanage • show

Morgeth never bothered with counting the years of her life; the one time that mattered was how long it would be to the next drink or meal. She was, however, around twelve years old when she first came into contact with Orgrimmar's orphanage. Two grunts had found the orc child stealing, and with the obviousness of lacking parents shoved into her face once more, Morgeth was handed over to Matron Battlewail. Her stay there would prove anything but peaceful.
The social hierarchy that existed within the orphanage amongst the older children did not suit Morgeth well. She understood little to nothing of how to care for the smaller children, whilst she frequently found herself getting into fights with those of her own size. At a certain age, the young orcs would be forced to leave the orphanage. Many of them would then enlist to become grunts of Orgrimmar, safeguarding the city they had grown up in themselves. For some, however, exiting the orphanage meant something else. Those few orcs were attracted to the Drag and the cleft of Shadow, where dark deeds brewed like a troll stew. There they would become infamous thieves, mercenaries, whores and whatever titles one can gain in the gutter.

The marks upon Morgeth's skin was one of the many reasons why she got herself into so many fights, and it sparked curiosity in matron Battlewail, who eventually sent for a shaman to speak with the young orc. It was this elderly shaman who first spoke to Morgeth about the fel, and the kind of orcs that dwelled in the bowels of Orgrimmar; the cleft. Some of the other children, having eavesdropped on the conversation, made quick work of mocking the small, strange female for her affiliation with that which had threatened to doom their race not long ago. Some particularly vindictive individuals of the older orphans went as far as to threaten with death.

Still keen on survival, Morgeth saw little choice but to run away. She fled the orphanage, and retreated where she could - at the very least - find some of her supposed peers. Perhaps it was down there she truly belonged, amongst thieves and whores. The Cleft called out to her.

Spoiler: Survival of the lowest • show

The seedy underworld of Orgrimmar held secrets aplenty, especially for a young orc looking for any means to stay alive. Morgeth's descent down into the den of the warlocks did not go unnoticed. She became a brief object of interest of a few of the older warlocks, who were keen to see what could possibly have been taught to an orphan who - to their knowledge - had not been tutored by a fellow warlock. Some opted that she be killed, due to her undisciplined nature. In the end, however, Morgeth was dismissed and became of no further interest to the circle of warlocks. She was a rat in their midst.

And like a rat, she then lived. Again succumbing to the simple actions of theft, Morgeth kept herself alive, but just barely. Surrounding herself with the worst of the worst, be it warlocks, whores, murderers and thieves, it takes a rat to make it out in one piece. Scavenging of whatever others left behind, occasionally snatching from the market, and avoiding becoming a victim herself, became Morgeth's way of life. She made her home by sleeping in the narrow nooks between the huts in the Cleft, many times managing to escape harm by pushing her emaciated body into cramped areas where few could follow. But no matter the escape route, there was no way for Morgeth to avoid what was coming. As her cursed, erratic powers began to manifest once more, whispers stirred in the dark. Whispers about a criminal gang working their way to the very core of Orgrimmar. Word spread about the coming of the Sixty Thieves.

Spoiler: The Gang • show

In truth, it took a long time before Morgeth took any real notice of the Sixty thieves, and this simply because she managed to avoid them for so long. Soon enough, their dominion over the Drag's criminal activity was undisputed, and Morgeth found herself cornered, both physically and mentally. The Sixty represented a superior predator, because with their sheer numbers and intelligence, they were not only allowed to survive, but to do so well. They bribed the grunts into silence, and suffered no anguish to the stray figures skulking about. Eventually the young orc was drawn to the fact that she might be a part of all this, would the Sixty only see some promise in her. Devoted to this, Morgeth made an attempt at furthering her skills with the fel, but this time in a more academic manner. Having gathered the necessary silver, she was finally able to convince one of the Cleft's warlocks to give her a lesson.

And so, the day came when Morgeth approached the Sixty Thieves, and gained entry into their ranks. This mostly due to the fact that one more thief would not hurt, rather than her expertise in any area. As a thief, Morgeth slowly acquired some allies, even if most of her initial relations in the thieves were tentative and a bit clumsily handled on her part. The few orcs Morgeth met in the Sixty Thieves were all convinced that honour had long since died. With such conviction Morgeth's childhood fantasies finally perished entirely. Even the heroes of her imagination could not survive.

Spoiler: Taint • show

When joining the thieves, anyone was forced to pick a new name for themselves, forsaking their prior identity. Whilst this might have been a challenge to some, it was not for Morgeth. In an attempt to cast away the horrors of the past, she adopted the new psuoedonym. In the gutters of Orgrimmar, Taint was born. The thieves did not shun the young orc for being a warlock, and in a way Morgeth's new name let her embrace her curse and her taint. It was pity, and perhaps a misplaced sense of kinship, that made the acting enforcer of the thieves take notice of her. Calling himself Crude, the older orc took Morgeth under his wing and attempted to teach her the more subtle ways of survival. The relationship eventually took a romantic turn, but was conflicted from the very start. Crude took pride in planning ahead, whilst Morgeth could not break the habit of living on a day to day basis.

Whilst Morgeth may have been a grand survivor, Taint was a useless thief. At this level of thievery, one had to do more than rely on speed and a lithe body. A favourite method of the Sixty was to gang up upon unknowing travelers in the Drag, as was the case the day they encountered an orc warrior by the name of Gnash. Caught by the warrior's blade, Morgeth was nearly disembowelled. She was not alone in frequently getting hurt, however, as most of the gang were somehow prone to get into trouble. Crude's sinister plots caught up with him, and in a fit of desperation, he faked his own murder. This event left Morgeth in turmoil, believing herself to have failed protecting the one person who had ever made any attempt at taking care of her. Numbing the pain of such a loss, the young orc found solace in the friendship in a pair of new thieves, being the male orcs calling themselves Trill and Gash.

The three would spend a lot of time together, and whilst their thieving conquests were more successful than usual, it would eventually have to come to an end. It was during an act of revenge against the orc Gnash, who's actions still were fresh in the memories of most thieves, that both Trill and Gash were nearly killed by the warrior and his friend Greggar Ironfoot. Morgeth tried to aid in tending the two back to health, but the event left Gash blind and in time he left the thieves, never being able to surpass his handicap. Trill and Morgeth, however, grew closer. When Crude eventually revealed himself to be alive, Morgeth grew furious, and thought herself betrayed. Her descent into madness was perfected by her attempting to murder Crude, which promptly ended their relationship, and left her open to Trill's advances.
Beginning to think of the thieves as a family of sort, Morgeth became plagued with the inadequacy of her powers. Wishing to protect those around her, she began to delve deeper into the teachings of the Cleft. She was encouraged by Trill, who claimed that he would need protection. But to embrace the fel proved dangerous, because with every sliver of power gained, Morgeth's sanity seemed to wane. She began to bleed profoundly from her nose and mouth, and her nights were consumed by nightmares. Eventually she did not sleep at all.

Spoiler: Red Dogs and Thieves • show

The only force not willing to be bribed into looking the other way when it came to the thieves, was the well known Red blade tribe. Even though the two opposing groups had a shaky truce, which stated that the thieves would never steal from other orcs, they held little love for each other. Morgeth was initially curious of the tribe, said to consist only of orcs. Stories of old, and perhaps with some faint hope for herself, fuelled that curiosity. Despite being told to keep her distance, she sought contact with the tribe, and was approached by one of its members, a male by the name of Mhokdor Spinesnapper. The orc was an old warlord, used to getting his will done, and when Morgeth proved difficult, she was punished accordingly. This left the warlock with a bitter taste in her mouth, and was the initial blow that would eventually lead her to regard the Red Blades as nothing but a pack of honourless dogs.

Over time, the animosity between the thieves and the orcs grew. The Red blade's chieftain Kozgugore Feraleye had returned to lead his orcs down the desired path. The thieves took notice of his renewed efforts, and even Morgeth did not fail to notice the new presence amidst those that threatened her dysfunctional family. She could do little, however, before things took a turn for the worse.

Spoiler: A king's mistake • show

Since the day Morgeth first joined the Thieves, the gang had been ruled by a bandit King. The title itself was passed to the thief ruthless enough to claim it, and during Morgeth's time in the Sixty, the one who held it was a forsaken man known by the name of Boom. Boom's insanity was well known, both within the thieves and beyond. The bandit king had unnerving habits, amongst which one was his fascination with eyes. On plenty of of occasions, he would rip out the eye of an enemy, perhaps even some friends. The eyes were later placed in large glass jars, which the king kept with himself. Regardless of his insanity, Boom was still the unquestionable leader of the Sixty, and nobody would challenge him for his title, until he did something so dire that it could not be ignored.

Together with two other thieves, King Boom paid a visit to Orgrimmar's orphanage. When they left, the orphanage was set ablaze, and when the flames cleared five of the children were dead, and several left badly injured. Rumour soon spread of who was responsible for the fiendish deed, and the city of Orgrimmar was teeming with fear and anger. Perhaps surprisingly, those feelings where shared by a number of thieves as well. Several did not agree with what the King had done, and amongst those was Morgeth herself. Whilst she held no love for those orphans who had tormented in the past, Morgeth saw little use in murdering children. Fearing a counter-attack from the city guards, or perhaps the famous Red blades, Morgeth and several of her friends fled to the far corners of the world. There they would fuel each others discontent, and what began as disgruntled whispers, slowly grew into a plot to overthrow the King that had wronged them so.

Filled with an almost sincere care for her fellow thieves, Morgeth assumed a prominent role in the plotting against the King. Whilst the elven thief named Ghost hungered for the title of king for himself, the young warlock cared little for such sentiments of power. She craved revenge, and who better to claim it than those that thought themselves to honourable?

Spoiler: Your Highness • show
Not sharing her plan with any of the thieves, Morgeth took it upon herself to, one night in Garadar, approach Kozgugore Feraleye. With him being chieftain of the Red blade tribe, Morgeth argued that he, if anyone, would feel anger over what the king had done. The warlock became convinced that if she only offered the king out on a platter, knowing few thieves would help him, that the Red blades would surely be able to take care of him. Regardless of such a conviction, it was a truly nervous, young orc that approached the chieftain. Perhaps sensing her insecurities, the older orc refused her offer.

This marked the beginning of several meetings between the two, and with every meeting the flavour became more and more bitter. They would argue, and when Morgeth finally spoke up on her opinions of the red blade orcs, the chieftain made it clear to her that she would either leave him be, or she would die. This struck a nerve with the young orc, who was torn between either viewing the older chieftain as one of her childhood heroes, or as a pompous bigot. Kozgugore dubbed her "Highness", being a bitter reminder of her ties to the thieves and their king, as well as a remark upon her argumentative, demanding nature.
Angered over how the chieftain viewed her, Morgeth retreated to her fellow thieves, only to find them stuck in the same situation as before. She slowly grew to realise how, despite any efforts made by her, they would always end up getting themselves into trouble. She was reminded by Kozgugore's prediction of how she would die alone, without any family to properly care for her passing or her pyre, because such was the fate of an outcast thief.

The chieftain did end up giving Morgeth a proper fire, but it was not her body that burned, but her home. Together with his orcs, the chieftain finally decided to exact revenge on the thieves, burning their hideout to the ground and banishing them from Orgrimmar. Unlike with most of her friends, this action did not spark any hatred within Morgeth. Instead she almost dared view the Red blades' action as just, which led to even more doubt, not only of herself, but the situation she had put herself into.

Spoiler: For love • show
Eventually Morgeth was driven to a point where she knew that she would have to change. Something within her compelled her to turn away from her days of thievery and make a last push towards doing something honourable with her life. Perhaps she could sense the coming of her own death, and in the looming prospects of such a thing, she was reminded of how the chieftain had said that she would die forgotten and alone. This resulted in her somewhat hasty decision to join the Horde in its fighting in Shadowmoon valley. There Morgeth was thrown into the fray, raised above the rank of peon only due to her affinity for fel magic. Had the Horde been less desperate she would perhaps have met her demise then and there, put down at kor'kron's mercy, but again the young warlock was allowed to live. She corresponded with Red blade chieftain during these events, telling him about the realisations that dawned upon her as she fought. Eventually Morgeth's uselessness in the field led to her accompaning one of the few messengers back to Orgrimmar.

It was in Durotar, on the hill overlooking Razor Hill, that she finally met the chieftain again, and burned her thief's tabard. But whilst the smoke of the garment spiralled towards the sky, Morgeth would not forget her friends in the thieves, and for a very long time, they would be the people she considered her closest family. One can always argue that it was the inspiration of honour and glory that drove Morgeth to take her initial, wobbly steps out of the gutter. Truth is, the reason behind it was so much simpler. Kozgugore Feraleye did, after all, represent everything her childhood dreams had told her about orcs. He was strong, older, experienced and had a strong sense of honour. He commanded his orcs with confidence, and whatever spark of admiration Morgeth had initially felt now burned like a raging fire inside of her. The young orc's infatuation was in no way innocent, but instead bordered on sheer obsession. She went to such lengths as to disguise herself, letting their frequent meetings persist under the guise of someone else, even if revealing herself would surely result in her imminent death. Whatever curses she might have spoken, or which ears having listened to her pleas, Morgeth's chase did finally pay off. Not only did the chieftain swear by blood to protect her from the thieves, even when she had revealed herself to be his hated "Highness", but she was soon able to squeeze more passionate promises from him as well.

Spoiler: A world painted red • show
Kozgugore kept true to his blood given word, and protected Morgeth from the thieves. Eventually, he did so much more than that. When it became clear that Morgeth was with child, she was introduced to one of the tribe's shamans, an orc named Norviskrall. Because whilst Morgeth had managed to get pregnant, her previous life - being one of starvation and fel magic - made it impossible for her to carry the child enough for it to survive. Desperate for a solution, Morgeth pleaded with Norviskrall to aid her. Whilst Kozgugore's ties to the child were kept secret, Norviskrall conducted a ritual through which he was able to communicate with a spirit. The spirit turned out to be no other than Kraag the Wolfking, an ancestor of the Red blade tribe. His blessing secured the life of the unborn child, and it was in honour of him that Morgeth and Kozgugore later named their firstborn Kraag.

With Morgeth pregnant, and the tribe slowly growing to accept her presence, Kozgugore finally made his choice official. He would take the young warlock as his mate, and despite some eyebrows being raised at such a thing, the two set out on the ritual mating hunt. They made vows in blood to each other, and Morgeth had finally gained the family she had always been longing for. It seemed only natural for her to eventually join the tribe as well, but Morgeth took her time. She knew that it would be hard for the orcs to fully accept her, given her history as a thief and a warlock, and she did not want to gain their rivalry by appearing to be favoured by the chieftain himself. After some months Morgeth put such concerns aside, and entered the Red blade tribe as a new blood. This marked the dawn of a new life for the young orc, having finally escaped the destructive path of her previous life.

Spoiler: Cold blood • show
Morgeth did not had long to settle into her new role of being not only a mate, but a mother to be, and a somewhat honourable orc. Whilst trying to refrain from the highly addictive use of fel magic, she was quickly drawn into the events that originated from the scourge in the north. Having gotten used to a life in the shadow, Morgeth felt the harsh clash of reality when she was confronted with the raging war that followed. She accompanied Kozgugore and the warchief Thrall during the Battle for the Undercity, and followed her tribe to Northrend where she battled the scourge. Such fighting, however, made it hard for her to keep abstinent from the use of the fel. Through her continuing use Morgeth grew more powerful, something that led her to take further lessons in control from the warlocks in the Cleft of shadow. Both to the chieftain's great dismay. It was during this time that Morgeth met two female orc that she began to regard as especially important. First was Mazguul Sharpeye, a budding shaman of a maternal nature that came to be regarded as one of the tribe's wisest members. Despite her previous encounters with shamans, thinking them stuck up and full of themselves, Morgeth could not stop herself from becoming very fond of Mazguul. She'd protect the other female, and was in turn rewarded with a precious friend. Eventually the two became sisters, sworn to each other in blood, a bond that is of great importance to Morgeth. Aside from Mazguul, Morgeth also met another female by the name of Nazkhur Iceblood, who had died during battle and been raised as a death knight by the infamous Lich King. Nazkhur was early on eager to prove her mettle, and made it clear to both Morgeth and Kozgugore that they were to be protected and safeguarded by her. Despite her tough exterior, Nazkhur was an orc full of humour and honour, and Morgeth tied bonds of sisterhood to her as well.

The strength lent to her by her sisters would soon prove vital to Morgeth, as chieftain Kozgugore suddenly went missing for a number of months. As the chieftain dealt with the demons of his past, Morgeth's entire world was shattered. She was with child, and could first hand witness the decline of her orcish tribe as they struggled to maintain a brave visage, despite the lack of Kozgugore's leadership. Despite her knack for despair, Morgeth would not give up on Kozgugore. Instead she wasted all of her resources, and some of the tribe's own as well, to hire professional scouts to look for Kozgugore. When all her coin had been wasted, she set out herself, often accompanied by Mazguul, as the two searched for the lost chieftain. Kozgugore was found many weeks later, when several members of the tribe had begun to assume him dead. He was soon back to his full health, and resumed his undisputed leadership of the tribe. It was then that Morgeth finally gave birth to her firstborn son, who came to carry the name Kraag.

Spoiler: Growth • show
A year passed during which Morgeth's aspiration towards having her own family was made even more a reality. Kraag was joined by two siblings: the twins Katashka and Muzg. It was, however, not a time without losses. During the months in the cold north the sister Nazkhur Iceblood met her own demise, leaving Morgeth to mourn the first orc she had invited to be a true kin.

Gaining favour with the tribe, undoubtedly fuelled by her relations with the chieftain, Morgeth climbed the hierarchical ladder of the tribe. It was not without difficulty, seeing as how her affinity for fel magic left her vulnerable for the classic blade and shield, but the young orc grew more familiar with her own trade. She would, with time, become considered somewhat competent in her use of vile magic, which inspired disgust in some and fear in others. Morgeth chose to saw this as a sign of respect and enjoyed it thoroughly. She would eventually become known as the High Blade Varog'gor, a position that brought her close to the Chieftain in ways other than the furs of his bed, and with this Morgeth was finally acquainted with the responsibility of leadership. She ruled her fellow orcs by employing a skill set of fear, humour and force, which brought on conflict, but in time she was considered a respectable member of the top hierarchy.

Spoiler: The Shattering of the known world • show
Deathwing came, and the world crumbled in his wake. Orcs went missing, and Morgeth was one of those orcs. She and Kraag were caught in the camp of Taurajo as the world broken down around them. The ordeal left Morgeth on the run, along with a tauren named Ituaneh, and whilst the tauren met her fate by quilboar blade, Morgeth was found days later in a poor state, having almost lost a leg. The ordeal frightened the orc, and made her all the more keen to search for more ways to wield more power. She would again explore the limits of her fel given ways, causing tense relations with not only Kozgugore, but her sister Mazguul as well. The latter, however, was in time lost to her own ways, and Mazguul seemed more spirit than orc, until she disappeared entirely. Morgeth mourned the loss of her sister, and would spend a lot of time chasing after her, but sadly finding nothing.

Hellscream's power grew with his rise to become the Horde's warchief, and Morgeth approved of the mag'har, as he employed methods that differentiated from Thrall's. Hellscream was not afraid to make use of the Horde's warlocks, and with the discovery of Pandaria this gave Morgeth an opportunity to join with the army and actually do a half decent job at it. In truth, she aspired to he a "true" member of the Horde, giving Kozgugore further reason to appreciate her and eradicating any doubt that she was a worthy orc, which she believed was an aspiration often sullied by the presence of overly zealous shaman. Morgeth was, however, positioned on one of the many ships that crashed upon the cliffs of the strange island, leaving meagre supplies and a less than impressed first impression of the current leadership of her particular battalion. Thus Morgeth welcomed the tribe to Pandaria's shores, and devoted herself further to its cause rather than the original agenda put forth by the warchief.

As Kozgugore was called back to Orgrimmar at Garrosh's behest and finally revealed to be captured and awaiting execution, Morgeth was faced with a difficult choice. She could run after her mate and appeal to the mercy of the warchief, which might as well earn her the brand of traitor. Instead the warlock chose to assume control of the tribe, seizing it with force and threatening anyone opposing her with exile. A few chose to stray from the tribe, but others stayed with the young self appointed Matriarch. Their faith was rewarded, as it turned out Morgeth had announced herself the new Red blade leader, and in so denouncing Kozgugore, only to be able to set forth a plan to spring the chieftain free from his unjust imprisonment. The plan was a success and Morgeth shared in the happy reunion, restoring Kozgugore's place as chieftain as soon as she was able.

It was shortly after these events that Morgeth, without a trace, disappeared. She left friend and family behind, leaving no clue as to where she went. Most think her dead, and others speculate about darker, more sinister things.

Things you may know about this character:

  • Speaks with a heavy accent.
  • Holds the spirits in very low regard.
  • Carries the skull of one of her blood-sisters with her.
  • Was branded by the fel, leaving strange markings upon her hands.
  • Can eat just about anything.

Things you may not know about this character:

  • Was once a thief, going under the name of "Taint".
  • Has killed other orcs outside of war, both in acts of survival and because it was convenient to her.
  • Has eaten the flesh of her kin.

Other Information:


  • Perdition â€" Morgeth's fate during the shattering.
  • Descent - A glimpse of insanity

Spoiler: Gallery (click to enlarge pictures) • show

^Classic Morgeth (by Karniz)

^Much mystery. (by Lilium)

^Kozgugore and Morgeth. (by Karniz)
The Campfire / The Red blade Matriarch
December 23, 2012, 04:21:21 AM
”Feraleye is lost. He has committed treason and awaits execution.”

Morgeth's eyes closed as she tossed the letter aside. The news it had brought were already old; she had known for days of Kozgugore's capture. Perhaps they had expected her to return to Orgrimmar, to grieve and plead for his immediate release in honour of their bond. Instead she had seized control of Kozgugore's tribe and named herself matriarch. She had threatened the others with mutilation, exile and death, had they been of any mind to try and take the position of leadership from her. Even so, she knew that a rule of fear would not last for long.

She had surrounded herself with the strong, the wise and the vile, and had made sure that they would support her in this new role. This was not a time for tears, but for assertiveness, and hers was a will of steel. The shoes were too big to fill, however, by a long shot. Others would perceive her as weak, no doubt; a child attempting to reach for position and acclaim better suited for veterans.

They would be right to do so, because she was no true leader. But as much as they could ridicule her attempts at creating order through her own means, they would be fools to underestimate her. Because in all of this, she knew that she would go so far as to kill to remain in control of the tribe. Victory seemed to always carry a price of blood with it, and she was no stranger to those methods.

Warlock, thief and now matriarch. The Horde would find no grief with her, but see only the resolve of leadership. She had long since forsaken the weakness of Thrall's guidance, and grown to appreciate Hellscream's approach. He had opened the doors of his army to warlocks; allowed them to gain their own honour. She repaid the warchief with devotion, and all would know that Kozgugore's capture made this no different.

They had asked her if there was any message she would like to have delivered to her imprisoned chieftain and she had given them one:

”Tell 'im tha' th'tribe be mine.”
Game Related / TRP2 Fix
September 02, 2012, 12:25:35 PM
This is from defiasRP Forums. It's basically a fix for TRP 2. The creator of TRP has decided to not continue with the addon, but the boyfriend of "Simaria" on the defiasRP-forums has decided to update it so that it works for MoP.

Here's the link for the download:

"To install, Drag the content of the TotalRP2 folder into your WoW addons directory which is found in the following wow directory:
\World of Warcraft\Interface\AddOns\

It should look something like this once you're done:
The Campfire / A cultist's plight
September 02, 2012, 04:51:34 AM

In the beginning was shadow eternal.
Hate blazed forth, and FIRE was born.
Wounds scabbed, and so begat EARTH.
Cries of anguish birthed howling WIND.
Wherein the skies wept seas of TEARS.
We live in the shadow.
The world we know.
Built of rage, hurt, anguish and sorrow.

- Excerpt from Apocrypha


The hand was already in motion, cutting through the air. It was as if she could already feel the pain from it, right before it actually hit her cheek. An ominous crack was heard as Zhor'arasha's father's hand crashed into her face, sending her stumbling backwards until her back hit one of the stone walls of the small room. Her own fingers were immediately raised, checking if he had managed to finally break her jaw again. Despite a small clicking noise, she found that her bones remained intact. He, of course, wasn't paying attention to that.

”You are to stay behind”, he muttered, as if stating something not particularly out of the ordinary. ”These orcs have been closing in on us for months, and now they are practically at our gates. I will need for you to hold them back.” The hand that had struck out at her now wafted through the air, whilst the older, male orc began to walk around the room. ”I will not have them ruin all this work, and make it for naught.”

She didn't voice any doubts, knowing they would be useless. But they still mulled inside her mind. The older orc, perhaps sensing this, turned towards her with a more diplomatic tone of voice. ”I will leave others with you as well, of course. They will serve under your command, and their powers will be set to bring strength to yours.” He closed in on her, placing heavy hands upon her shoulders, squeezing his fingers around the cloth of her purple robe. ”You will keep the dogs at bay”, he reassured her.

Unbeknownst to him, she had listened in on previous reports. She knew of the numbers of these orcs, of their reputation and even of some of their particular members. A single orc, a handful of vessels, to keep them at bay? She would be a delay, at best. ”Is there no one else?”, she blurted, knowing full well how such words would displease him. His response didn't delay, delivered in a violent snort and a push at her shoulders to again shove her back against the wall. ”Is it not within my right to call on you as I wish, daughter? Have I failed you somehow, slacked in your training, to make you doubt that I would put you where you are needed most?”

She stared back at him, fearless before his anger, but not fearless to the notion of disobeying him. To turn from purpose, from the order of which her life had been arranged, would be against her very nature. Torture, pain and suffering were fleeting, and could be put out of mind, but if purpose would be the same, then her existence would be for naught. Her own hands lifted, briefly squeezing his wrists in a sign of reassurance. ”Of course it is your right, father. I was wrong to question. When will you leave?”

His hands left her shoulders as soon as his demands were seemingly met, and as Zhor'arasha's father walked across the room, towards the exit, he threw a last glance at his daughter. ”Immediately. You'd do well to don your battle gear, child. I imagine you are in for one fel of a fight.”


((Something written together for the cultist character I created for one of our events and who got captured during it too. Might write some more eventually!))
Odds & Ends / The voice of Hellscream (IC-Propaganda)
August 26, 2012, 04:33:51 PM


"Lok'tar ogar! Victory or death - it is these words that bind me to the Horde.
For they are the most sacred and fundamental of truths to any warrior of the Horde.
I give my flesh and blood freely to the Warchief. I am the instrument of my Warchief's desire.
I am a weapon of my Warchief's command.
From this moment until the end of days I live and die - For the Horde!"

Brothers and sisters of the Horde, heed the call of your warchief.

The time to idly sit, to prattle with needless negotiation, is long since gone. It is time for the Horde to push aside trivial differences, and join with purpose to reclaim a glory lost, one stolen from us by past weakness.

The Horde banner welcomes all to join in our efforts as brothers and sisters. You will receive training, you will become stronger and you will contribute with body and mind to bring force to the plans made by our Warchief. You are his will, you are his weapon.

Cast away any shame that comes with your craft. The Horde knows to appreciate talents beyond the ordinary. Skulk no more in shadow, but rise above the actions of the past and prove yourself more. The shame of old is no more. Ahead of us lies glorious conquest!

And for those who have ventured into this vast world, seeking personal gain or to satisfy a need not for the betterment of the Horde, I say this: Return home. Do not forsake the duty to the Horde, which should stand above all others, but join by your Warchief's side at this time of change.

The blood of our enemies, the sweetness of conquest and glory will be our reward.
We need nothing else.
We are the Horde.

- Shraknath Goreclaw, Kor'kron commander.


((A first initiative towards giving a political feel of the state of the Horde. I plan to continue writing these as the storyline progresses. Shraknath Goreclaw is my NPC commander. If you wish to give him items to write about, or any other ideas, then just PM me. I hope it's enjoyable to read and serves some purpose. Also, just to make it clear, I do not think I can decide what Garrosh thinks or does. I hope that this'll just be viewed as a general thing, and not that I'm trying to make up his opinions for him.))
Event Planning / Focus: Sands of the Past
May 29, 2012, 08:55:19 PM

The Sands of the Past

"We shall be as wolves; ferocious and spirited. The blood our enemies will flow before us, as we - the Red blades - move as a pack."
- Mruthgor, the Shaman king.

I. Beyond the veil
The call has been made, and the tribe has answered to it. Beset by dreams of various nature, members of the tribe has gathered information and come to the conclusion that the spirit of Mruthgor, the first Shaman king of the old Red blade clan, has become furious.

He seeks an old relic of the clan, which has fallen into and been corrupted by the hands of the Twilight's hammer, and looks to the tribe - the only living memory of his old clan - to find it. The relic has been used to subdue and abuse elements and spirits alike, which in turn has led to their anger to be directed towards the Red blade clan. Thus the tribe is also tasked with soothing the elemental upset and restore honour to the Red blade name.

II. Through the marsh
The tribe breached into the marsh, where the great human port of Theramore lies. Whilst avoiding grabbing the attention of the entire alliance population of the area, the orcs were still able to fight off a smaller group of soldiers. In doing so they Red blade tribe were able to rescue an orc of their own, Mozrogg Doomhowl, who had been held captive for a week weeks.

With confidence bolstered the Red blades made a temporary home of Brackenwall village where they drew up plans for their spiritual quest. Meetings were held in the dark dead of night, and it was through some of tribe's shamans that they were able to draw their next conclusion of this campaign. They would have to go to Thousand Needles. There, in the flooded canyons, laid their next clue.
The Campfire / Descent
April 29, 2012, 04:11:36 AM

”Any power drawn from a demon is not a power in itself, but only another step towards dooming those you love, and yourself.
Those who succumb to the lure of the fel should not walk among us, for they are no longer orcs.”

Darlek, Frostwolf shaman.


The day was drawing near its end, its last rays of sunshine beating down upon the orc where she sat. Morgeth peered to the sky, searching in its vastness for any of those spirits that the shaman spoke so warmly of. She had, however, already bitterly concluded that the spirits knew nothing of her troubles, and little would they ever care.

Truth be told, nobody knew of her troubles, not even those supposed to be closest to her. Ties of blood, of love, had dissolved. In this, she knew, she was utterly alone. What evil would keep an orc from sharing her burden with her brothers and sisters, even the one she had chosen to call mate? The answer would indeed be that she owed this to the greatest evil of all; her own fear.

As she sat upon the still warm grass, the small hut behind her back was filled with life. It was crowded by no less than three children. The eldest was Kraag, who had grown into a strong and mindful orc. His younger siblings were Katashka, also known as ”the Loud” and then there was Muzg.

Muzg was Morgeth's youngest son, and was held close to her heart. Perhaps too close, some would argue. She had noticed, early on in Muzg's life, how he had been incapable of keeping up with his twin sister. Where Katashka's energy had seemed never ending, Muzg had become short of breath and eventually his breathing had taken on a wheezing strain.

The child was merely ill, Morgeth had told herself. She had nursed him, paid particular awareness to his state, only to notice how quickly it would deteriorate, would she push him even a little. Eventually she had come to the conclusion that the child had been born with some kind of flaw, one that would not be kindly regarded in the harsh reality of orc society.

It was tradition, after all, to present your mate with the new born soon after its birth, so that he could examine it and judge whether the child was strong enough to be raised to a full grown orc, or should be drowned, sparing it and its kin of the misery of a weakling amongst them. Kozgugore had deemed Muzg worthy of life, but would he now, knowing his son would never grow to be strong, fast or capable of downing his own game?

Fearing that her mate would not show the boy mercy, Morgeth had taken it upon herself to search for a cure. She had sought out both elves and tauren, asking for information and the possibility of a cure. In the end there had gained little but vague theories, concoctions meant to temporarily soothe the young orc, and â€" in some cases â€" advice to trust in the wisdom of the spirits. Nothing had paid off.

And now she sat there, alone again, to mull her options. She could not help but remembering what Rargnasha had told her a few weeks back, when they had spoken about past events, where the use of fel had saved his life. ”You know who truly cares about you when they get their hands dirty to save your hide”. She had never hesitated to use all her might to save him back then, but now she hesitated to do the same for her own son?

She had become weak.

Morgeth's eyes darkened at the notion, her hand reaching for the grimoire laid out in front of her. The tips of her fingers touched the aged parchment, upon which demonic words had been scribbled. It was an untapped resource, given to her by Krogon. Next to it was the crystal lens that Groshnakk had bestowed upon her at an entirely different ritual. The last item was the small box, the device, constructed by Mazguul Sharpeye; containing curses powerful enough to translate the demonic tongue.

These items had been given to Morgeth for safekeeping, for decrypting; out of trust. In her hands, orcs believed, these items would do no harm. It had taken her years to reach such a peak with her own kin, to have them stand at her back with their blades drawn, ready to fight alongside a Drag bred lowlife such as herself. It was for the sake of honour that she had tried to rid herself of the taint of the fel, in hopes of a longer life together with her mate and kin.

The marks upon her hands and wrists, once prominently black, had seemingly dulled into a shade of grey. It ha convinced her of her success, of how she had turned from an old path of her life in order to find strength elsewhere. But what if, hidden in this grimoire, there was something that could help her son. Perhaps not a cure, but a sacrifice, a deal to be made. Would she be able to live with herself  once Kozgugore had drowned the child, had she known that she had not done everything in her power to save it?

A growl in desperation departed from behind clenched teeth as the young orc picked the three items for the ground, only to bring them inside the hut that had so lovingly been crafted to provide a safe haven and storage place for her children. The wilds and its untempered allure pulled at Kozgugore, drawing him from her on occasion. This was such a day, such a week, and as such she was indeed alone with her plight, and her solution.

She knew he would not approve, and that would be putting it lightly. But this decision was not his to take, and would she reveal anything to her, he would perhaps sooner leave Muzg to the waves, than let her examine every option available. And the option was there, scribbled in a frightful language, right in front of her. As she sat upon the floor of her hut, Morgeth again put the ancient tome in front of her, spreading its ledgers wide.

The translating device would not work without sacrifice. This she knew, and thus Morgeth pulled a small blade from her belt and cut a small wound into the palm of her hand. Any sharp pain seemed dulled by the rush of adrenaline brought forth by her purpose, and as she lowered her blade, the young mother glanced to the side, only to find her eldest soon looking straight at her.

”Bring m' y'brot'er, Kraag. T'en take y'sister out t'play”, she spoke to him, her words grim with the seriousness of the situation. The child simply nodded, dutiful as he was, and soon returned with his two younger siblings. Katashka's smile became an eerie mirror to Muzg's seemingly lethargic state. It was obvious that the two had been playing, not only by their different states of energy, but by the audible wheeze coming from Muzg's lungs.

The strained breathing from her youngest caused Morgeth to grit her teeth, before holding out the unbloodied hand towards him. ”C'mere”, she urged, as Kraag â€" holding true to what his mother had asked for â€" turned to bring Katashka outside. Muzg was brought in to sit in his mother's lap, in which he had always found safety. This time would be no different, Morgeth told herself.

Her bloodied fingers reached for and closed around the small box. With a low hiss in anticipation, she then leaned forward, letting her eyes rest upon the demonic verse. At first, there was nothing. No thoughts of realisation entered her mind as her gaze lazily drifted from one row of insanity to the other. It would take moments, perhaps even hours, before their meaning began to become more and more clear. They spoke of no particular events, of no crafty spell to put in use, instead they seemed to channel the raw energy of those places and creatures of old that orcs had done their very best to forget.

The words poured over her, sank deep into her mind. Soon the warlock found that she needed not feast her eyes upon the demonic writings to read them, as they seemed to speak to her â€" all too softly â€" in all the corners of her mind. The blood stained fingers pried themselves free of the small box her sister had once made, only to soon envelope the lens that had once served her in channelling her abilities.

Her eyes closed, for she needed them no longer. Power had never been granted to her by careful plans, or perfectly read spells of the known. No, power would always come in chaos. She felt it, within her reach; the ability to reach over the knowledge of a race so unlike her own and pluck to her the parts of use. Her enemies would burn, and her loved ones safely guarded. There was no need for a tribe, or a chieftain, in this. The victory would be hers alone.

A taste so sweet burned over the warlock's tongue as she imagined it; all those moments of glory that she had forsaken for a life in someone else's shadow. She had forgotten what it was like, to wield such destruction. But even amidst such thoughts, she did not fail in hearing the small whimper at her chest.

”Yes”, the warlock hoarsely gasped as she grabbed the young orc and laid him down in front of her. She bent over him, placing the now bloodied lens over his chest. Muzg whimpered in protest, but to this she paid no heed. It was intoxicating to realise that she would give him life. And in exchange for what? Nothing! Nothing would be lost, but the gain would be immense.

In time they would all see that. She would convince them.

She didn't even have to think for her lips to produce words, and even though the language was foreign and guttural, it still rang beautiful to her. The air ran thick with incantation as whatever remaining light, lent to the hut by the moon, seemed now to be snuffed out. The child's whimpers grew into a soft crying as his mother's trembling fingers painted strange symbols over his now cold body.

And then, finally, Muzg screamed. The pitch in his wail, pure of any ailment â€" of any strain â€" was a victory almost too great for the warlock to comprehend. His screaming continued, mirrored by her victorious laughter as she felt his healthy, cured lungs draw breath underneath her shaking, black-tainted hand.

The warlock's eyes opened, wanting to feast upon the sight of her healthy son. Instead they met with the image of a bloodied, young orc pinned to the ground. Her smile faded as she heard the tang of terror within his scream, and saw the raw fear within his gaze. His fear of her.

Before she could draw breath to hush him, to soothe him, to be more a mother than what she was now, Morgeth felt a foot connect with the mid section of her body, pushing her off the screaming child and sending her back first into a wall.

.. to be continued
Event Planning / 22/4 Dueling tournament
April 10, 2012, 03:35:23 PM

Dueling tournament
22/4, 20:30

This is a tournament intended for the fun of all, and for everyone to get the possibility to test their mettle in our very own self made arena environment. The tournament will be held between two guilds: Orcs of the Red blade and the Shatterskull Marauders. The fights will be 1v1 and held as a /duel-contest.

There will be prizes beyond the honour of winning. The winner will recieve 1k gold, whilst second place will recieve 500 gold and third place will recieve a prize of 250 gold. IC'ly these prizes will merely be mentioned as a "gold prize" as the value of IC coin no doubt differs from what players carry.


The rules are fairly simple.
a) No healing specs.
b) No CD's over 9 minutes. Bloodlust/Time Warp/Ancient hysteria are not allowed.
c) Professions are allowed.
d) Potions or bandages are not allowed, nor is standard food or drink during the actual fight.
e) Stealthing for more than 30 seconds means you give up.

These rules may be changed upon the convenience of those arranging the tournament.

How do I sign up?

You simply talk to me (Morgeth) and add your name here in this thread. Reason I am taking sign ups for this event is to make the match-making easier. I'll allow any level. If your gear is very poor in regards to PvP (for example no PvP gear at all) feel free to state so, and I'll try to make the match making fair to you, but I can't promise that you won't immediately face off with that Garrosh wannabe that's been grinding cataclysmic gear since the last patch hit.

In short: Write your name here if you wish to compete in the tournament. If you don't, then show up for the event itself and cheer/boo on your favourites!
Odds & Ends / Ideas Concerning Honour
April 10, 2012, 04:18:50 AM
A note pinned onto several notice boards within Orgrimmar..

"Lok'tar ogar! Victory or death - it is these words that bind me to the Horde.
For they are the most sacred and fundamental of truths to any warrior of the Horde.
I give my flesh and blood freely to the Warchief. I am the instrument of my Warchief's desire.
I am a weapon of my Warchief's command.
From this moment until the end of days I live and die - For the Horde!"

These are words upon which entry into the Horde is granted. As such they lay the foundation for our ideals, and the structure upon which our society rests. It falls upon the orcs to make sure that these words are not forgotten, and that their meaning remains clear.

But orcs have been divided, made different by the flow of time and the experiences brought along with it. Walking amongst us are the veterans, who remember a time before the corruption, when our old Homelands were green and our blood untainted. Also with us are the camp bred orcs, that were born into a life of misery, devoid of meaning or purpose. War ties us all together. Through its bitter defeats and sweet victories we have been forged into the race we are today. Our resolve is undeniable, and our strength immense. Dwell not on our differences, but take heart in that we are all one. From the bowels of Orgrimmar and out into the vastness of the wilds; we are all orcs.

Fear is and has always been a useless ally. It will not protect you; awareness and preparation will. Do not waste time or strength upon matters that lie beneath you, but continue to strive for that which make a difference for our race as a whole. Do not claim to be an orc of honour if you do not actively pursue it. Honour does not come cheaply, served amongst strangers in taverns at night. It is earned through effort, through blood and hardship. Honour becomes yours when you fight for it, each and every day. Once earned it will not stay at your side like a dog, so let tomorrow's actions ring just as true as those from last night. Never let others forget that you are an orc, and as such you will not succumb to weakness.

Our lives are often ruthless, as the Horde demands of us. But let those lives be spent as a blade for our people. We should kill our enemies without hesitation, never lock them up within dungeons for amusement. This is below us, and most certainly a waste of precious time. Let our allies know when they deserve our respect, and let them equally know when they do not. Wonder not what power dwells in the shadows, for we have stared into its abyss and cast it aside once and for all. Do not let the axe of Grommash Hellscream to have struck without reason. The spirits and ancestors honoured us with their actions in the past, but now we must honour them in turn with our blood, our sweat and our determination. Do not look for signs written in the sky, or the sands we walk upon, but take action into your hands and join with your brothers and sisters to create a better future for all.

Do not forget who we are. Uphold the honour of the orcs.

- These are the thoughts of Shazula, new blood of the Red blade tribe as recorded by Urthak, shaman of the Warsong Clan

The Campfire / Bound in blood
January 06, 2012, 02:02:12 AM
A short series of stories devoted to an orc by the name of Rakgrim.

I. The consuming flame.

I. The consuming flame

"Love is strong and dutiful. When it becomes a distraction it is no longer love, but weakness."
- Rurgnak, Kor'kron.

Years ago, in Northrend...

The fire had been lit. From its wooden base, the red flame worked itself into an inferno; the heat of its red tongues reaching to be so close to his face that it caused a distinct burning sensation over his skin. His eyes defied the rising smoke, instead peering intently at the body hidden within the fire. Its wrappings blurred before his vision and then â€" finally â€" he lost sight of its contours entirely. Rakgrim's jaw slackened slightly.

She was gone. Of course he had known that long before, back when he had seen her get cut down by the blades of the walking dead. He had known the cut into her to be fatal, even as he had later taken her into his arms and tried to call her back to him. But now her body had gone entirely from this world, left nothing but ash, and her spirit would rise beyond this plane. The shamans had assured him, in their own cryptic ways, that her spirit would remain untouched by the necromantic energies of this place. It had been a comfort, because he would not have her tainted. That favor he could do her. It did not change the fact that she was gone, however. His strong, passionate and dedicated love. As he watched the pyre slowly collapsing into itself, her name grew upon his lips, but became a whisper lost in the winds.


Rakgrim closed his eyes, briefly loosing himself in the sound of the subtle crackling of flame over dry wood. He would remember and treasure the times they had shared. They had met shortly after the release from the camps. He had been miserable back then, a weak excuse for an orc. But she had not let the camps break her spirit, not entirely. When he had first gazed upon her, it had been her youth and the fire within her eyes that had assured him that she had been as orcs were supposed to be. Passionate, dedicated and dutiful, until the very end.

He felt, more than heard, how the other orcs were beginning to leave the pyre. For them the ceremony was over, their battle sister had gone to the ancestors, and they would resume their fighting tomorrow. A hand or two clapped his shoulder in signs of consolation, but no words were spoken. Finally, as the burning embers laid dying on the ground, did Rakgrim turn to face the undeniable chill of the northern winter. He felt no overwhelming grief, no need to scream and beg for her return. He wished no such shame upon a mate so beloved.

The war in the north would not cease because of her death, nor would his dedication to its cause lessen. He would not throw himself into an early death, just out of the notion to be with her again. Such weakness would, if anything, deny him any right to stand with such a formidable warrior once more.

Returning to camp, Rakgrim found most of the other orcs already asleep, save â€" of course â€" for the ones that had been assigned to the nightly patrols. With a grunt, he slumped himself down into a chair, and in doing so, had to maneuver the hilt to a massive weapon slightly to the side. Looking down upon said weapon â€" a massive, two-handed axe â€" he could not help but curl a crooked smile to his lips. The weapon had been Kashar's. He had taken it because of something she had said just weeks before. That perhaps, one day, she would make the axe worthy of such renown that it'd earn itself a name and that her own blood â€" her offspring â€" would pick it up to use it after her death.

Kashar had been apt at many things, but motherhood had never suited her fully. That was why they had left Kraya â€" their first- and only born daughter â€" in the care of Kashar's sister when they themselves had headed towards Northrend. But Kashar had undoubtedly been the best mother she could have been; fighting for a future for all orcs. With a quiet sigh, Rakgrim grabbed a small parchment and began to hastily scribble his first message back to Orgrimmar.

”Hail Nakhri

Kashar has fallen and her pyre burned tonight. I remain with Overlord Hellscream in Northrend until the end. Tell Kraya the truth and that I wish for her to be strong. Your sister died honourably.


He had little way with words, but the message â€" Rakgrim believed â€" would be clear enough. Putting Kashar's axe aside, to rest with his own gear, he finally got up to make his way over to the place where they had put their bedrolls. He rolled her bedroll up, and tied it neatly together, until it could be placed in a corner. Slowly he slid himself into the relative warmth of his own bedding and turned over to the side, hoping to get some rest. He'd need his strength for the fights to come.
Off Topic / Merry Christmas!
December 23, 2011, 03:20:34 AM
Going away (if only for a short while) tomorrow, so I take this opportunity to wish you all a:
Merry Christmas!
Odds & Ends / Northrend: Call of the North
November 13, 2011, 11:17:07 PM

Call of the north


"The vast, cold north; lands filled with darkness and disease. There an orc's spirit is easily lost. If you go there, do so boldly, and without hesitation. Its harsh fjords are littered with the frozen corpses of the weak and doubt-ridden."
- Gruktak, kor'kron overseer.


I. The tribe meeting:

At the tribe meeting of the longest night in Feralas (13/11) the chieftain announced that the tribe had been called upon and would move towards Northrend. With such a future ahead of them the tribe was made aware of that preparations would have to be made: furs, food and courage needed to be gathered.

The tribe ended the evening by departing to Shadowprey village, where they'd plan out their strategy towards pushing further north. The village, it seemed, would provide with shelter, warmth and perhaps even some fishing for the time being.


Added into Morgeth's personal diary: "Northrend. All that place spells for me is cold and death, but Kozgugore's wisdom is greater than mine, and I trust him. We'll all die on the boat to that miserable place, but at least we'll do it together".

II. Moving back to Durotar:

From Shadowprey Village the tribe left with more supplies than they had first arrived with. Having attended a local fishing contest, several orcs of the tribe had not only aquired prizes, but also a vast amount of fish. The fish was added to the supplies deemed necessary for the tribe's coming venture into Northrend. Together they made their way back to Durotar, where the chieftain assured them that the sight of their known, dried out homelands would make for a nice memory to hold onto before they'd enter the harsh north.

There was also talk about snow and cold, and needing to prepare for the journey. Looming ahead of the orcs was a war training, that the chieftain supposedly planned to take part in Winterspring, known to be one of the coldest areas within Kalimdor.


Added into Morgeth's personal diary: "Everything smells of bloody fish. My clothes, my wolf, my mate. It's a bit sickly. But then again, even their slimy meat make for some kind of feeling of fullness. I just hope it'll be enough. The news that not only Talonslayer and Highblade Sharpeye are with child, but Frostwalker as well, worry me. How will they fare in Northrend? I have faith in the strength of my fellow orcs, but we better make sure they have a nice layer of fat on them before we shove them into those cursed lands".

III. War training in Winterspring:

The tribe headed into Winterspring, where the chieftain tasked them to split into two groups and endure gruesome trials within the unforgiving climate of one of the coldest places in Azeroth. Braving snow, bears and other beasts the tribesorcs were tested and got a taste of what was to come, as the coming travels to Northrend drew ever closer.

Once the trials were over the chieftain announced that the tribe would remain in Winterspring for some tribe. This to try and see how well the orcs would cope with the harsh climate, as well as giving them a somewhat secluded spot to plot their plans further.


Added into Morgeth's personal diary: "I'm cold. So very cold. Winterspring is all slopes and cliffs, and angry beasts. I remember coming here a long time ago, with Crude. He loved it here. Then again, he was always a bit of an idiot. We suffered through Kozgugore's trials today. Cruel orc, but I suppose he is so with necessity in mind. My group had Sadok and Orok in me. Both orcs surprised me with how well tehy worked together. Despite our differences in other contexts, I can count on them when it really matters. A reassuring thought.

When we came up against some kind of elementals, however, I could not stop myself. Despite all the promises I made about the fel, I used it. Several times. Got a bit of a nosebleed from it, but I do not think I raised any eyebrows to such a degree that they will tell Kozgugore about it. Might as well keep quiet about it. It was a one time thing, and if I don't do it again for a while, then hopefully the temptation will wear off. He has to understand that he can't throw me into situations where I have to protect myself and other orcs and expect that I won't do.. those things.

It's too much a natural part of me, woven into my spirit. No matter how furiously I deny it, the fel is in my blood.".

IV. Journey back to Bilgewater:

After enduring the cold of Winterspring, the tribe had prepared itself as much as it could for the unforgiving could that awaited them in Northrend. They made ready to venture back to milder climates, in order to prepare for the inevitable journey north. Their destination: Bilgewater Harbour, Azshara.

Once there, they were greeted by a representative of goblin merchant, "Truthteller". Though she, as promised, had a ship ready and lying in the docks to be used at the tribe's leisure, it was heavily neglected and in dire need of repair. Haggling with the chieftain, eventually lowering the price, the orcs agreed to harvest any necessary materials to finish the remaining repairs during their stay in the Bilgewater Harbour.


An excerpt from Kozgugore's notes: "Some of the orcs be getting edgy. I recognize the look in their eyes, the impatient demeanour. It feels as if we go to war, but all we do here is sit and wait until we can depart for some simple expedition, unfit for a tribe such as this. Perhaps we are all expecting some kind of trouble in the northern lands still. Whatever it may be, it can't be any worse than these goblins we have to put up with now. I have to remind the orcs not to sign any papers whatsoever. You never know when goblins come back to bite you in the arse with that. Perhaps it is a good thing not all of them actually know how to write.".

V. Clearing  a path:

Since the contracted ship had proved faulty and in dire need of repairs, the orcs amassed under the leadership of chieftain Kozgugore, who had agreed to help the goblins to gather the materials necessary to complete any repairs on the ship. A group of orcs was sent out to deal with the naga on the nearby beach. After having located the apparent leader of the naga, the orcs desposed of the scaly creature, only to uncover several tablets with written texts of the highborn. Several were brought back with the orcs, who were then called upon to approach a furbolg encampment in an attempt to free up some lumber in use for the ship.
The furbolg proved hostile, and the tribe answered in turn, cutting its way into their den where they wreaked havoc and left their mark in blood. Amongst the furbolg the orcs also spotted several kaldorei, who were equally eager to attack, and equally fast to fall. Returning to their chieftain, the red blade orcs had made significant progress towards repairing the ship intended to bring them to Northrend.


Added into Morgeth's personal diary: "The boat is supposedly going to be repaired now, and we’ll soon be on our way. To say that I’m excited would be to lie, but all in all, there are bright sides to these times. Devilstep has returned to the tribe, and this in itself is a good thing. Another is that he brought items with him, supposedly retrieved from a warlock facility in Shadowmoon. I confess myself intrigued and since they were left in my care, I have taken the liberty to study the grimoires. The writing is horrible, obviously in some kind of advanced demonic that I have very limited knowledge in. But there might be ways to amend that. The curse that afflicted both Sadok and Grek’thar was channeled into an item, left to me by my sister. She trusted me to care for it with caution, but what if I used it to aid the tribe and further our knowledge of the enemy and the texts they use? Surely there can’t be a fault to that.. ".
VI. The Blessing Hunt:

Under the spiritual leadership of Highblade Thur'ruk Mazguul Sharpeye the Red blade tribe participated in a ritual to grant them the favour of the spirits for their travels. The ritual itself called for a hunt, and divided into two groups, the tribe hunted down a seal and a hippogryph for Sharpeye to read the entrails from.

The entrails spoke of travels to come, and whilst Sharpeye did not delve into detail, she made the eerie statement that a head would be cut off. Exactly what that meant, no orc could say.


Added into Morgeth's personal diary: "I will never understand the spirits, or the shamans. Reading entrails of sea creatures. I trust in the visions of my sister, because she has aided me in the past, but I can not help but feel like most of this life is up to ourselves. When it comes down to it, all orcs are alone, unless they make the choice to bind themselves to each other. I have my tribe.".
VII. Departure:

Having given the goblins a chance to mend the boat, the Red blade tribe finally set out to their journey towards Northrend. Spirits remaind relatively high, despite the hardships that would surely come. To pass the time on their long and somewhat tedious travels, Gosh'kar Sadok Sharptongue held a moot in regards to wheather warlocks should be excluded from higher power and not. The discussion proved an engaging one, and the tribe as a whole seemed pleased with a chance for something else to do than watch the idle waves go by.

The water was starting to grow colder, however, making it obvious what kind of place they would arrive at when next they saw land.


Added into Morgeth's personal diary: "I have bid my children farewell, and we are now on our way. I have not been able to translate any further from Krogon's texts. Too many orcs around. Instead I spend my time watching my dinner float away in the sea as it spews back from the depths of my stomach. I hate ships. I am not sure if Kozgugore pities me, or if he misses our children. Either way I do not mind, when he wraps his arms around me at night it is a comfort greater than any other.

I worry, though. What if Sharptongue's moot has made the orcs doubt my position, my rightful place among them. As long as Kozgugore is not in doubt, I can remain relatively safe. Should that change I will take action. I am just not sure what action."

VIII. The crash:

As the cold of Northrend began to seep into water and wind, the tribe made good progress in their journey, but once they reached the treacherous outskirts of the frozen lands, a strange mist enveloped them. The mist itself was so thick that one could hardly breathe in it, and moreover it seems to have disturbed the spiritual connection between the members of the tribe, rendering it useless.

If it was the mist, or something else, that led to the ship crashing, one can not safely say. But the ship did crash, and the orcs plummeted into the icy embrace of Northrend's chilling waters. There they lost most of their supplies, and a lot of their personal affects. Furthermore the entire senior group of orcs, ranging from the chieftain to his High blades and his Varog'Gor, disappeared in the crash. Some believe them to be lost forever, whilst others cling to the hope that they are alive somewhere.

The survivors of the tribe made their way to a nearby cave, where they began warming themselves and trying to look for ways to orientate and perhaps move towards a Horde base. The looming thread of nearby alliance made some wish for a more hasty retreat, but hypthermia and shark attacks provided enough distraction for the tribe to remain inside the cave for the time being. In order to survive, however, they would most likely have to retrieve more supplies and move away from the vulnerable position of the cave.


Added into Morgeth's personal diary: "[blank]"
IX. Getting out alive:

Leadership amongst the orcs got divided between Sadok and Karak. As Karak set out to investigate the position it fell upon Gosh'kar Sadok gather the orcs and lead them out of the cave that would undoubtedly be the place for their demise, should they decide to linger for too long. The ice cold water proved a challenge to most orcs, but eventually all made it out. Even the somewhat mentally unstable Ragaresh was dragged along, and when the tribe reached land they set out to scout the nearby area.

They were met with the sights of shoveltusk, vrykul and a few giants. Amongst these they were also able to locate a small forsaken camp, which refused them any take of supplies, but pointed them in the direction of Vengeance landing. The tribe gathered up, and set out to seek shelter in the main forsaken base. Sighs of relief were heard when they could finally consider themselves to be under the safety of a Horde banner, but many grew uneasy in the company of these forsaken individuals. For now, at least, they would be able to gather their strength.


Added into Morgeth's personal diary: "[blank]"
X. Cutting a deal:

Asking the forsaken for aid proved just as difficult as before, but insteda of denying them any help what so ever, the forsaken saw fit to instead enlist the orcs to perform a number of tasks. One would be to attack the nearby alliance settlement which had vexed the forsaken stronghold for a longer period of time. Along with this the tribe was also tasked with retrieving the heads of a few of the leaders within the camp. Bravely they set forth to venture into hostile territory, seeking the means to liberate themselves from the somewhat awkward position the crash had led them into.

The orcs managed to perform their tasks well, and even found a captive apothecary within the alliance encampment. Bringing him back to his commander, they now requested that the forsaken share with them any information of supplies that he could. As such the tribe learned that the forsaken themselves had picked up a few pieces of gear, amongst which one could recognise a dagger belonging to Kozgugore Feraleye, the tribe's chieftain, who had gone missing in the crash. They were also told that more orc-like equipment had been washed ashore further north within Howling fjord, and as such - some orcs argued - that could be where their lost orcs could be found as well. With this new found hope, as well as a lingering disgust for the forsaken, the tribe set out to venture forth and found some rest within the wilderness. On their way, a few set out towards a nearby camp, which they initially believed to be of other orcs, but that instead turned out to be the temporary home of a pair of vrykul, that held not only a strange looking scroll, but also several pieces of the orcs' gear. Thus some members of the tribe managed to retrieve pieces of their beloved armour, and could once more feel like wolves, instead of naked dogs, as they made their way over the harsh fjords of Northrend.


Added into Morgeth's personal diary: "[blank]"
XI. A head found:

The tribe set out to, under the leadership of Nag'Ogar Karak Dirgesong, reach the small taunka camp known as Winterhoof. There they established contact with the locals and learned of difficulties with some nearby dwarves. After having sabotaged a nearby dwarven digsite, the orcs reunited with a set goal: one of locating their missing orcs. They had already, upon arrival in Winterhoof, been greeted by Orok Felbane, who had been missing since the crash.

This inspired new hope within the orcs, and they divided into groups, before setting out to search for their missing Chieftain, Highblades and Varog'Gor. It was Yondurosh who finally found the missing orcs, who had been keeping themselves hauled up within a cave in an attempt to escape Northrend's cold. Highblade Thur'ruk Mazguul Sharpeye had suffered a grievous injury to her leg, which made all orcs eager to return to Winterhoof. There they shared in a campfire and despite leadership being restored to the chieftain, the tribe could only compliment on the excellent efforts of both Sadok Sharptongue and Karak Dirgesong, who had proved invalueable in providing safety for the tribe in absence of its true leadership.

There was still, however, the issue about mising gear.. and vrykul..


Added into Morgeth's personal diary: "Never travel by boat again. Ever."
XII. A first assault

Having gathered the entire tribe, the orcs regained some of their strength through the means of meat and drink, but soon enough set out to attack the nearby vrykul settlement of Skorn. There they found some of their stolen gear - most likely salvaged by the vrykul from the wreckage of their ship - which gave the orcs reason to feel better prepared for the north.

Come nightfall after the attack, however, something happened. Gosh'kar Sadok Sharptongue was taken, kidnapped by vrykul that were most likeli out to claim some kind of revenge, or simply knowledge about the orcs.


Added into Morgeth's personal diary: "The vrykul took Sadok. I've had Groshnakk scout for tracks. We think they may have taken him to the keep. We'll kill them all."
XIII. Destroying the keep:

Not wanting to leave anyone behind, the chieftain ordered the tribe to set up a search after Gosh'kar Sadok. Having determined that he had to be either in the keep or one of the nearby villages crossing over to it, the orcs gathered all of their equipment and strength to set out and mount an assault upon the vrykul. Having used some cloak and dagger technique to get themselves closer to the keep, the orcs split into two groups that ventured into the keep to find their missing kin.

Alas neither group found Sadok, but they were able to retrieve information that lead them deep into the keep's own catacombs, where the gosh'kar was finally found. Having endured the vrykul's torture, Sadok seemed relieved to find that his tribe would not forsake him. Before leaving the keep and their horrid catacombs to their fate, the orcs managed to retrieve an artifact from one of its bottom rooms as well.

In the end they returned to camp Winterhoof, content with the outcome of the day.


Added into Morgeth's personal diary: "We located and found Sadok. I'm relieved that it all went according to plan. I am not doing as well. This sporadic spellcasting is eating away at me, and it's becoming increasingly hard to resist the simple resorting to the fel. I sometimes wonder why I even try to resist. The temptation will never leave me, and I even doubt the shamans of the tribe would raise their voices against me. If they would, I'd deal with it accordingly."
The Campfire / Looming shadows
September 19, 2011, 04:32:14 AM
As part of an IC plot, I plan to take the opportunity to write out some (hopefully) inspiring stories to bring the events somewhat to life. The orcs who have been with us for a longer while will recognise the theme of this as with a plot I ran a while back as well. I like to revisit old villains. Hopefully I'll fill this topic with some more in due time.


”Do not speak to me of foul deeds. To submit to weakness, to cast away our destiny and ascendence over all other races is to betray the orcish race as a whole. You coddle the ancestors and seek never to better yourself or your kin. You will decay along with the sickly teat from which you draw your supposed strength. Begone!” - Arughnak, warlock of the fifth circle.


The endless halls of this place felt eerie. Not so much because of the darkness, but rather the absence of anything else. Every place has its own spirit, its own meaning, but this fortress – one of the last of its kind – no longer harboured any. Its memories of better days had been carved out of its very being and instead it now laid spread as a hollowed out carcass for these orcs to walk upon.

In one of the more spacious halls one orc knelt before another. The one on his knee was red in skin and eyes, his bulky frame lowered in a sign of respect; a quality evident in his voice as well.
”No disturbances to report, mistress. Everything is proceeding according to plan. The coming of the Kosh'harg has not interfered with our plans thus far.” As he spoke, the male dared to raise his eyes, briefly gazing upon the figure which he was currently addressing.

In doing so he was met with the sight of Her. She was older than the wars, as one could tell by the state of her. The aged skin had dried up and wrinkled itself around her bones, which seemed to protrude quite extensively, giving her an emaciated look. Overall there was a sickly feel with the undoubtedly once female creature. Her brittle physique bore obvious resemblance to that of a forsaken, but in her eyes shone not the determination given by a banshee or a lich, but instead they radiated the power of countless millenniums of demonic knowledge. What sweet whispers that had reached her ears throughout her cursed lifetime had slowly, but surely, chipped away at the orc she had once was. Now she was something else; cursed or elevated, it all depended on who one would ask.

Her lips parted, and he immediately bowed his head to lock his gaze upon the floor once more. Her voice seemed as if full of dust, but even the briefest of sounds from it nested deep into your soul. The fel orc had heard her speak before, and on many nights he would dream of those words. They stayed with him, as if a sick fragment of her had driven itself deep into him.
”Red blade”. The words rolled over her colourless lips and tongue, causing the scraping orc to briefly dig his fingers against the coldness of the stone floor. He swallowed to fight back the terror which had gripped at his heart at the though of her displeasure. Briefly biting his lip he lowered his head further; a submissive display for her pleasure alone.
”Yes, mistress. They gather for the celebrations. We know you lost a.. a..”
He could hear her move as her bony figure leaned from its seat. Even if it was only a minor motion the stench of her breath seemed all that much closer now, enough to make him inhale sharply as she spoke to finish his sentence: ”A daughter.”

”Yes”, the fel orc replied, now quicker on his words. ”A daughter beloved, mistress. Cherished for her power. But this time we are prepared. We have carried out your commands at great speed, and should it be necessary, then surely the blood you've acquired from their shaman come in handy?”. He could feel his own attempts at reassuring her becoming more and more of a plea to lessen any eventual anger. It was not that he was a weak orc born into a life of servitude, but he – just like anyone else – valued his own life and knew better than to needlessly upset those above him. He found himself holding his breath as he awaited her reply. During those quiet, seemingly endless seconds he could not help but feel his senses elevate and overwhelm with the various impressions of his surroundings. The trickle of a single bead of sweat down his spine marred his skin like a battle scar of old, and the sounds of his own heartbeat - pulsating through his ears – were like that from a war drum. He could see her naked, skeletal feet protruding from underneath her robes, and his gaze become caught, enthralled perhaps, by how they subtly and idly swayed from side to side.

Her final command came to him as if spoken in a dream, and in a certain kind of stupor the fel orc got to his feet, and began to stumble out of the room. He left only to be swallowed up by the endless halls, aimlessly wandering until the rotted womb of the council would push onto him a new order to follow. Left behind, now alone in the room, sat the crone. Her brittle shoulders subtly shook as she began to laugh.
The Campfire / Omen
July 21, 2011, 05:06:16 PM
In the bottom of Morgeth’s bags lies a hastily scribbled series of notes. They have clearly been written in a frenzy, with the letters sloppily done.

I can’t sleep. Together we are strong; bound in blood, in glory, by family and tribe. But in my dreams, then we suffer. Because of me. Do not think me weak, because I am not. But I might grow weak, one day, and I can not tell what happens then. Perhaps then you would have to kill me, and give all those hypocritical shamans a reason to think that they were ever right. I would prove them wrong, my love. But the blackrocks did something to me; a poison of the mind.

I would have you remember me like I am now, strong in body and mind, and at your side. War is upon us, as always. I would have you focused, and determined. I wonder what you would do if you knew what thoughts occupy me.

I wonder what you would do if you knew that I am thinking about leaving you.

((Something hastily written, for my own sake mostly. A small heads up regarding future stuff, perhaps!))
Game Related / Arena: 3v3
July 12, 2011, 11:20:42 AM
ARENA 3vs3
I’ve noticed lately that many of our members tend to casually PvP together, which made me think about setting up an open arena team. With open I mean that we could invite anyone wanting to give arenas a try, and then you can set up your team on a basis of who’s online at the given time, and not have to spend gold on remaking your team every time.

This means that if you want to try, you’d get invited to a team. I am not sure how the maximum numbers of members is looking at the moment, but I’ve seen teams with 6 people in them. Obviously you can only play 3 at a time, but then you can at least vary your set-up and everyone gets the chance to try in a more casual manner.

This is obviously not an attempt at getting high rating, or forcing people to do something they don’t want to. It’s about getting to try something out in a less serious environment. All kinds of drama should just be left at the door.

If people are interested in this, just leave a note in this thread and I’ll see what I can set up!
I always loved our forums, simply because they contain a lot of old stories, and a lot of information that’s very helpful in my RP, but also because this is a place for random stuff and for just getting to know each other. I suppose in some cheesy way I’d just like to encourage all members, new and old, to make these forums your own.

How to do this, one could wonder. I propose a number of actions:
-   Write a story and post it in the campfire section. Don’t worry about not being a pro writer or not writing very lengthy. You can always browse around the area for some inspiration.
-   Add your orc to our wiki:
There’s again no need to feel uncertain, and if you can’t wrap you mind around the wiki format, then you can just send your text to me and I’ll help you set your page up (I stole the template from Koz anyway :3).
-   Add pictures to the gallery! Nothing treats the eye such as the view of orcs standing in a line, or danci-.. ehr. You get the drill, screenshots are nice and can be fun to see!
-   Introduce yourself. We’re all playing this game to have fun, and to socialize a bit. You’re not invited into the guild to feel like you stand at the side of some tightly knit group; you got invited for a reason.
All in all, these forums are ours, and they are something to be proud of. Don’t let it become some relic of the orcs who were here before you!
The Campfire / Flames of old
July 09, 2011, 11:36:08 AM
The large hall of the orphanage was empty, bar two individuals who sat opposite of each other. An aged shaman with wrinkled, green skin and a white beard and mane, regarded his company â€" an orc child - in silence. He watched her, and she watched him. What a curious child, he thought to himself. Her body seemed brittle; emaciated and marked by old wounds. Her eyes, however, pale blue and soulful, peered back at him with not only fear, but a sense of defiance as well. He smiled at her, perhaps in an attempt to sway her from her suspicion of him, and gave her a quick nod.

“Do not be alarmed, young one. I am not here to harm you.”
The smile remained upon his lips, even as he turned his face from her, to glance at an open crate sat in the corner of the room. The crate was filled with numerous things, but mostly wooden swords and axes, small totem-like things and idols of wolves and kudos.

“Ah”, the shaman spoke as he gave a soft laugh. “You have a box full of dreams, there. I come here now and then, you see, to speak to younglings such as yourself about what they aspire to become once they have grown out of this place. I wonder what they see, and dream of, when they close their eyes.”
Turning back towards her, he could not help but notice that the young female had froze entirely. She stared at him, like a beast caught in between its urges to fight or flee. The shaman let out a low grunt in surprise, before he leaned towards her in an attempt of diplomacy.

“So tell me, young one. What do you dream of?”

Once the question fell from his lips, the aged orc could not help but notice how the orphan began to clench her fingers into her thighs. It wasn’t the motion itself that disturbed him, but the fact that her hands â€" sloppily garbed in dirty cloth that had been partially wrapped around them â€" seemed to carry black markings of some sort. As he watched these, her voice cut through the void between them; its words hissed and just as distorted and disfigured as her skin.

“W’en I dream, I dream o’ fire.”

And such was the look upon her face, this young orc, that when the shaman returned his gaze to her features, he recoiled with a sense of shock. Those pale blue eyes held no more childish innocence to them, but instead seemed to convey that which she spoke of. Old fear gripped at the shaman’s heart, and she could see that â€" he could tell â€" as she curled a smirk to her lips and leaned in towards him.

“So burn.”

The Redridge air nipped at Morgeth’s naked skin as she stood next to the carcass of yesterday’s fire. Above her head, the nightly sky remained dark, and around here stood the stone keep that had once belonged to the Blackrock orcs of the area; it felt like a tomb to her. The walls seemed to always close in on her, both in Orgrimmar and here. Thus she slept outside, regardless of weather. But for now, there was no sleep to be had, despite the promise of soft furs and the warmth of a chieftain’s flesh.

All around her, orcs had found their spots to rest. Some were still on watch, of course, guarding those that slept. In between the sounds of steady breaths, and snores, emitted from all around, Morgeth could almost hear them; those disgruntled whispers. They had always been there, the shamans, ever since her time in the orphanage. Judgemental, stuck-up and fearful of her. Why they feared her, she could never understand. After all, she was the fruit of their own doing, and a testament of their past weakness. If anything, they should treasure her for being such a warning to others: don’t drink demon blood, it tends to backfire slightly. You’d think those of infinite wisdom, with their spiritual connections and elemental buttkissing, would know that. Alas, shamans could not be said to be all that savvy.

Regardless, their word still held weight, and Morgeth still bathed in their utter dismay. She found herself wondering, on those few occasions that she didn’t occupy herself with utterly ignoring the notion, if this could possibly come to haunt her in a serious manner one of these days. The chieftain, she knew, had a reputation to uphold and a personal honour that was at stake every time she did something out in the open. She feared, most of all, that one day he would grow tired of her doings, and cast her out. Not an eyebrow would be raised at that, she figured. After all, she was just a warlock, with neither clan nor ancestry to grant her even a sliver of former glory.

Screw the ancestors, she had told herself. She’d claim her own glory, in her own way, and leave a mark upon this world somehow. She wondered, though, if the only thing left in the end would be nothing but rotting flesh and withering bone. Prone to such thoughts Morgeth muttered to herself, and tightened the fold of her arms. These lands were at fault; to walk upon human soil always made her mind darken.

But in the edges of her own mind, those flames of old seemed to flicker still.
Game Related / Shamanism: A discussion
June 17, 2011, 05:53:25 PM

A while back Nazrug from the Warsong Blades asked me to look through a piece he wrote on shamanism a few years back. I read through it, and had a bit of a discussion with him about what shamanism involves and the differences you see in how people play it. I got permission from him to post his piece here. I post it because I thought it might be interesting to discuss how we all view shamanism, and how we RP our characters around it.

This is in no way a "this is what it has to be like".
Event Planning / Truthteller's Dating Services
April 24, 2011, 04:45:55 PM


    Tired of being lonely? Are you looking for that special someone to share dinner, a bone, a night or perhaps a life with?

    Then wait no longer. Let Truthteller's dating agency Shackles of Love find you a perfect match!

    By simply leaving some basic information to us, we will through certified goblin technology calucate percentages such as:  matching your levels of attractiveness, willingness for bloodshed, and your cannibalistic tendencies. Finally, based on a likelyhood of fornication diagram, we will make sure to set you up with the person that will bring you the most happiness!

    Are you ready to rid yourself of the shackles of loneliness and instead cuff yourself with the brilliant jewels of LOVE? Submit your application today, as according to this summary below:

    • Name:

    • Race:

    • Gender:

    • Age:

    • Likes:

    • Dislikes:

    • What do you prefer in your partner in terms of looks?

    • What do you prefer in your partner in terms of behaviour?

    • How likely are you to eat your partner during mating (scale 1-10, where 1 is "not at all - honest!"):

    • What is your image of a perfect date?:

    • Whips, chocolate or flowers?:

    The results of the match making process will be revealed on the week's upcoming Ratchet Market, also known as the Market of LOVE! Be there, at the first of the next month, for your chance at true love! The couples matched up together will recieve different dating experiences according to your matching values!

    Captain Chuckles Approved!
    "If it wasn't for Truthteller's Love Shackles I never would have found Candii.
    Being a rotting piece of hunky manflesh, I wanted an easy goin' gal', who
    wasn't afraid of playing a bit of Sylvanas dress up! Now I am the happiest
    corpse on Azeroth! Thank you, Truthteller. You saved my boner!"



    When? You can send in your application anytime. The first official announcement of the couples will take place during the Ratchet Market, which will take place at the 1st of May.

    Where? Ratchet! After that: Cloud nine.

    For who? Everyone of the Horde faction. I'd include Alliance too, but that might get messy!

    How? Just respond with your characters application in this thread, or send me a PM here on the forums, alternatively a (very) long mail to the character Truthteller. Participants wishing to stay anonymous until the date is revealed can be so.