Orcs of the Red Blade


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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Making you proud i hopes
your ever loving son


p.s Boomer says hi!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bone Banjo
Spoiler: show

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

Bone Banjo
Spoiler: show

Memorable Quotes:

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

EA Battlefield Bad Company and King of the Hill

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

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

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


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

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

Game Related / Re: Character Voices
« on: April 15, 2020, 01:06:16 AM »
I'll add Bamm's voice in case you havent guessed he's sweet, dumb and  goblin'eske but savant with explosives and engineering. Think

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

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

“my son” a voice spoke echoing around him

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“OK boomer lets go, find these red blades”

Off Topic / Re: RL photos of yourself!
« on: October 03, 2019, 10:30:26 PM »
Thinking bout some bad jokes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We will have order in this hall”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

 “Weak trickery, lil wretch!?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Game Related / Re: BfA - Screenshot comeptition!
« on: March 11, 2019, 07:33:16 PM »
Love is a Battlefield..

Off Topic / Re: Art Section and creations!
« on: September 11, 2018, 06:02:11 PM »
Aw i love it! :o

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


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

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

Arkail was falling the ground was rushing to meet him.


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

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

Everything went black

The Campfire / Re: The Pursuit of Dependant
« on: August 06, 2018, 02:11:00 AM »
A figure sat in the darkness that no light could pierce even waving his hand in front of his face he could not detect it and the cold now bit at his bones. He sat cross legged in his rune the light now gone from it, burnt into the ground; his fingers at his temples moving deftly and in odd patterns. The runestones, he had placed in the folds of his tattered robes that once had been a source of heat now cold. The whispers though however here not. Over and over, wave after wave the hallucinations hit him too over and over but he kept a grip the endless void twisting and absorbing him. The blinding heatless light enveloped him and becoming him.  Kept his mind spilling out like a burst water skin by compartmentalising his mind locking it off sectioning it placing wards within wards In an effort to trap and contain whatever madness had finally taken root in him, dangerous but effective.

The longer the process the more and more he felt himself again Days and days past. What had he been running from and why? The Elderly arrogant Arch mage he had accidentally killed That had refused to let him leave the floating city, a tragedy no doubt one he would answer for to Kirin Tor.  But he needed to get back to the world, find the tribe again he had crossed paths briefly with them in Outlands, they were never hard to find. He was resolute to this course of action now.

 He in his madness had somehow ended up in a cave somewhere in the Stormpeaks of Northrend, he would need to go home to Undercity perhaps find a book or two on this madness before finding the tribe but first he would need to leave this cave. Or did he, he reckoned he could possibly generate a portal. His time in Dalaran had been fortuitous and worthwhile he had realised his aptitude laid not in offensive magics but spells such “blink” as was the common parlance or translocate 2-3 times without struggle, focusing on places in his mind and manipulating the leylines to tear a small hole to a place of his choosing, He had done so in his manic state several times by his own reckoning, he had bounced all over Azeroth running from himself. Arkail would return to Undercity...

He knelt in the dark a deft singular waving motion of his hand igniting the symbols on the floor a brief flash of purple light and Arkail had left the cave

“Arrrrrkkkkillllllll “the  familiar whispers crept up the side of his neck as Arkail crashed into the wet mud bouncing and rolling before crashing into the side of a old crumbling wall. Opening his eyes a familiar grey overcast dead sky loomed above him the stench of decay and death assaulted his senses. Arkail was home.  A frenzied commotion greeted him as he staggered though the ruins of Lordaeron. Supplies being moved all races now not just the Forsaken moved and carrying setting up various weapons and implements for a siege. The legion surely couldn’t have gone this far, how long had he been gone? A troll female stopped him and scolded him for dalliying hefting a large crate into his arms and gesturing with bemused bewildment Arkail’s inability to comprehend  what he was to do with it.

“Damn peon, Legba be give me strength not to end this bumbaclot carry them supplies over to the others in the western quadrant do you understand the words coming out of my mouth”

Arkail blinked his good eye asking how went the war with the Legion ?

To which the irate Troll female gave a barrage of curses mainly at her own lot in life being one of pain and hardship. But inbetween the cursing and self pity Arkail considered that Legion threat had ended. He gave a few choices curse back in Zandalii and handed the crate back to the troll. Now stunned into a confused silence.  And headed deeper into the Undercity he would discover what had happened in his absensce and if possible find a tailor and if possible a bath.

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