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Colour me stupid, but is this a literal merge of the realms or just one of those odd cross realm things where you occassionally see someone that's been invited to Defias?

I will be going away from the 1st of August til the 9th, so you'll all have to do without your friendly neighbourhood warlock until then.

Absolutely quality writing, enjoyed every chapter immensely.

That's pretty lame, thanks for looking! Just a good job I went Affli and will be tasting the sweet powah of Soulburn:Haunt

Warlocks!!! I don't know if I am alone with this but I feel there has been a distinct lack of information on Warlocks, how does the new perma Doomguard/Infernal work with GoSac being one major thing I can't find anything on!!! Would appreciate any info.

[Spiritwalking - Part Two - The Hillsbrad Grunt]

Spiritwalking - Part Two - The Hillsbrad Grunt

“See what ye think o' this, ye dark Spirit Walker”, muttered the now fading spirit of Garrak, father to Gashuk now trapped in the mind's eye of a orc grunt, his consciousness flickering until Gashuk finally managed to concentrate on the situation. The grass was unmistakable, a fresh green, the scent of it penetrated the grunt's nostrils and attacked Gashuk's own senses overwhelming the wet scent of Sholazar's jungle that flowed through his softly snoring shell. The air whipped around the orc, jogging now to catch up with the gathered war band, his knotted black hair stood to attention, the static electricity just the aftermath of the previous battle's Magi calling down thunder bolts of arcane on the encroaching Horde. Now however, cheers of victory could be heard before a harsh tongue pierced through.

“Ye weak rats, ye think tha' we won!? T'Pink scum just fled t'regroup, we didn't even slay a single one o' their spellweavers!”, spat out a familiar voice, “Aye, m'Son is right, it was a shallow victory pushin' t'Alliance back. We all need t'get back into position an' keep our guard up!” The grunt was breathing heavily now, Gashuk felt his weakness as his sickly green hand clenched a festering wound on his side, he peered up at towards the voices and a sickening sense of deja vu shot into Soulfury's mind. There stood amongst the crowd, elevated by mere confidence, was two dark green orcs in blood stained robes, a necklace of bones and skulls adorning both their necks. “Felhands, yer needed in the back with the rest of t'Warlocks, we can't have ye in the front line.” ordered another superiorly armoured orc both hands clutching onto crude rusty axes. “Aye, Doomhammer wouldn't appreciate seeing his weapons actually fight, it might bring about another slaughter.” spat Garrak, the elder of the two. “Hold yer tongue, be glad Gul'dan is provin' himself useful, back, now!”. Tenaciously Soulfury watched through blood hazed eyes as his own younger self barged through the mass of the gathered Horde as he remembered his first taste of prejudice against his magick. He could remember the words he could now only see being whispered into his younger ears by Garrak. “Don't worry m'Son, they'll all die face first in t'mud before we falter.”, and remember with a hint of regret, his own cruel cackle of agreement.

Suddenly Gashuk's attention was torn away from his own past, the grunt he possessed had turned away, eager to escape the two distrusted warlocks. He sniffed, the air was foul with the smell of orc shit mixed with pink-skin, and as he sniffed the grunt exhaled a small trickle of blood extending his tongue to meet it as it travelled down towards his lips. The blood tasted bitter and a piercing shot of pain hit both the grunt and Gashuk, internal bleeding. It took only a few moments for Gashuk to realise that his host was dying.

Suffocated amongst the Horde, it was almost impossible to know that the Alliance had attacked. Gashuk groaned, his vision tied to the squinting hazy eyes of the dying grunt, and from his position you could barely see over the heads of the other orcs. Only when the horns sounded did you know, only when you all started running, tripping and beating each other down fighting to get to the humans first did you realise that your enemy was all around you and your blood haze knew no friend. “Such was the Horde”, thought Gashuk feeling every bash and bruise as if it was his own skin. The excitement of battle started to rise, the grass once lush crumbled under the stampede, the Alliance had gathered a counter attack and the plains of Hillsbrad were not yet under Horde control.  â€œLok'tar Ogar!”, screamed the orcs, the first line in front of Gashuk's grunt meeting the alliance head first, hacking and slashing wildly. He could no longer feel the pain from the festering wound, the adrenaline had taken over now and Gashuk was amazed to observe the grunt fight. He parried, blocked and dodged blows countering with deathly strikes clearly using his muscle as an advantage over the weak in comparison humans, even under such duress from the previous battle. Thunder started to rain down again, but this time the Horde was prepared. Warlocks led by the two Felhands counter attacked the Alliance Magi, Felhounds running alongside them with eager tentacles hungry for the magic they wielded.


Gashuk could just about make out his former self cause unspeakable pain to a young soldier, merely twenty by the looks of it, as he attempted to protect one of the Mages from the reaches of Luushon, the demon-wolf. The malefic magic wielded by the Warlocks was raw, it had no boundaries and sheerly crushed the mind and body of the foe, it was unlike any sword blow or arrow bite, it lingered and burnt at the Human until his body decayed like time itself was sped up, the flesh melted from his face and his skull disintegrated into dust so nothing remained to even bury. Soulfury watched in shock, his host managing to keep himself alive despite coughing on the corpse dust now flitting through the air. The grunt was facing the Felhands now, they attacked the same foe, ganging up on them as the Horde only could, before out of nowhere a arrow flung itself into Gashuk Felhand's side, “Grah!”, growled the Warlock as he pulled it out with haste weaving the blood split into a bolt fired back towards the elven archers. The grunt looked at Gashuk with awe, watching as the warlock weaved his blood like a bandage, leaving only a scar that looked to have been there his entire life. Soulfury could feel a deep hope not his own build up inside him, as more blood seeped out of his host's nose falling freely onto the grass beneath him.

“Retreat!”, cried voices clearly orcish and confusion filled the air. They had won, no? The Magi had been countered, it was perfect. “Cavalry!”, then with no more words, the fight began anew, the Horde turning on it's feet to run away towards the shores and their stolen naval ships. The struggle as orcs pounced on each other to get away, grabbing and shoving with their own lives at stake. The Felhands had begun to weave spells not only on the mounted knights but their steeds too, weak but effective curses casted with a mere utterance of an incantation as the two ran with equal haste. Gashuk felt his host grow weaker, his run started with a sprint but was now no more than a jog for his life. He had kept up thus far with the attacking warlocks, but now even the distracted robe wearers outran the breathless orc. They knew what was coming, both of them was ready for it, a deep slash through the grunt's side knocked him plummeting towards the ground and Soulfury roared in anguish unheard by anyone but himself. The knight roared at his steed as the horse kicked back, surrounded now by fleeing orcs. Felhand himself turned and set alight to the horse's barding, it spread to the knight's tabard and the horse finally managed to kick him off before being beaten to death, the knight found no footing and with a sickening crack fell head first his neck snapping before the weight of his heavy plate helm.

Then for the first time, Soulfury heard the voice of his host. “Felhand...”, it croaked, profusely bleeding from both his side and his nostrils now, the external bleeding matching his internal wounds. “Help...”, the hope still lit up the grunt's heart as his eyes pleaded with both his own desire to live, but Soulfury's desire to see his old self do good. Yet with a derisive snort, he saw himself turn away and felt the sting of tears trickle down both the grunt's face and also his own back in the Basin.

Gashuk Soulfury, Spirit Walker, Speaker of the Dead, felt the lingering death as if it was his own and as the battlefield turned dark, there born from the darkness stood the shadow of his father's spirit passive as if nothing had occurred.

“Now speak t'me about forgiveness, -Soulfury-”...

[Spiritwalking- Part 1 - The Elder's Elder.]

Spiritwalking- Part 1 - The Elder's Elder.

Sholazar's stars shimmered bursting into life as Gashuk peered up into the night sky, his eyes now deep pools of black. Constellations he barely recognised formed and danced around reflecting their swirls of yellow and black in the Elder's dreamy gaze. For all of Northrend's misgivings, the sky at night was almost equal to the piercing beauty of the star-studded sky that was home to the shadowmoons of the Gashuk's ancestral homeland. Tonight was unlike most, spent under nature's watch with nothing but spare robes to rest your head on, it all played havoc with Gashuk's still mending wounds and whilst comfort was often a rare commodity, sleep was scarce enough for the budding spiritualist.

Gashuk had picked a spot a little out of the way from the rest of the Tribe, he snuggled against the trunk of a tropical tree. It was mid way through the night, as it always was, when the troubled Orc felt the supernatural tug of sleep at his spirit. For nights now Garrak Felhand had entered the Elder's mind and almost as soon as Gashuk's eyelids shut and his mind grew lucid, out of shadows, walked the image of the great Stormreaver. “Aka'magosh, son”, greeted the Spirit, his wispy robes still portraying stains of human blood. “Throm'ka, father”, replied the slightly more solid image of the spirit walker.

“I feel a shift, m'son, yer not yerself, not as I made ye.” grunted the inquisitive spirit, peering deep in and through Gashuk's presence, as if he wasn't truly there. “I undertook Om'riggor again, they call m'Soulfury now” came the answer, tenacious and meek for Gashuk's usual aura of confidence. “Ye're kiddin'? Ha!” barked Felhand, “Ye some kind o' Pup, Gashuk? Did I bear t'worlds first Orc t'age in reverse? Ye always looked like a wrinkled bag o' bones as a sucklin' babe.” The words stung at first, Garrak's often did, he was a harsh father but a good one but this wasn't the Garrak Gashuk knew. He was bitter, twisted by his final actions, unable to truly roam the eternal plains like all Orc's deserved.

“Fer all m'studies, Father, I still don't kno' how t'help ye. Why lash at m'with words? One o' t'reasons I took t'this change so well was because o' yer blood in m'veins.” returned the younger Orc, “Wha' happened?” The pity in his voice was almost physical, smacking Garrack firmly across his ethereal cheek. “Gul'dan...” started the spirit, his tongue trying to find the words as Gashuk interrupted “Gul'dan!? When are ye goin' t'take responsibility fer yer own actions? Ye'd rather stick in purgatory watchin' yer only son grow old an' die than admit ye was a fool an' move on.” The shadows around the pair seemed to react to the anger, the mists turned darker and grew around Gashuk's feet, his tongue ablaze with sheer audacity, all tenaciousness forgotten. “All Orcs kno' what ye Stormreavers did, Father, by t'Spirits we even 'ave a survivor amongst us an' even 'e isn't shunned as much as ye shun yerself! We all were led in directions we didn't want t'go, it was t'Second War, we 'adn't even settled on this planet! Our eyes were as red as our anger an' no Orc should blame themselves fer t'actions of our Chieftains.” Gashuk's temper started to run low, the growing shadows begun to shrink and pale away once more, his eyes previously wide and piercing grew placid and peaceful once more. “It would've been worse t'disobey...”, finished Soulfury, turning his gaze from Garrak's vunerable spirit to the translucent floor that supported their images.

“Have ye forgotten, son, t'horrors we unleashed?” lowly grunted Garrak, his hands gesticulating, his eyes firmly fixed on Gashuk. “Allow m't'remind ye.”, and as the questioning gaze of his son slowly rose to meet Garrak's gaze, the shadows dispersed revealing the blood stained grass of the Hillsbrad Foothills.



More to come of that night, enjoy.

A shout out to his Blood Magic \o/

Really nice interesting read, I liked the visions!

Fixed the format to ease the read and done a proper check over the story with a few minor tweaks.

That's what you think!! Ha who else?

Written on an IPad, excuse some formatting, the above is an attempt to cover up Gashuk's absence and depict his struggle to abandon Fel Magic solo. Enjoy!

["I can't do this"]

Gashuk grunted, wiping his brow of sweat as he stood by the Crossroads Inn, strapping his fully packed saddlebags across Greymane's back with a grunt of exertion. "I can't do this" spat the Orc, mounting his Wolf with an elder's speed, "I can't just stop, it's impossible, the Fel it's been too long, it's too strong..." thought Felhand, kicking his Wolf extra-ordinarily hard to pace into the desolate Barrens. "Sadok's heart is in the right place, maybe if I had more years in me, I could be this Arcanist he desperately wants me to be."

As Greytooth's paws padded silently over the Barren's harsh savanna, Gashuk's thoughts flickered back to his first hunt, without Fel Magic, it was only a few days ago and the scars he bore from it were the first the once-Shaman bore with shame.

"Grhm, I admit I have always been capable o' Arcane Fire, ever since t'Firelands but it's o' a completely different nature. It mimics t' character o' real fire, burns unnaturally sure, but is fuelled by air t'same, is doused by Water, it's weak compared t' what I am used too." noted the Warlock, strapping his Mageblade to his side as he explains to his onlooking Tribe-Orcs, "Fel Fire is entropic, it lives from feedin' off life. It will burn through anything as long as it has somethin' t'feast upon. A plate helmet housin' a human head, a dwarf, who 'as leapt into t' water in false attempt t' escape it. It burns off me too, takes it's toll fer evoking it into this plane! If I do not feed t' felfire, it would feed off me. Bloodweavin' be my sword an' shield against this, a corruptive circle, and round an' round it goes..." as Gashuk finished his speech, he nodded in turn at the gathered Orcs, they knew what he planned, some approved but most were disappointed at his insistence to go at this alone, after all, the Red Blades were more than a Tribe, they were family and family stood by each other in testing times. Yet alone the Orc went, no Wolf by his side, no sickly green aura soaking in the Barren's heat, and thus the Warlock sweated, his simple robes soaked through. It didn't take long for the Mageblade, famed for being ignited in green Fel-Flame turned into little more than a dull walking stick, it's blade used to sinking into flesh like butter was resorted to sinking into dry earth. Gashuk had no idea what he was hunting, it was almost like the Orc had undertaken a Om'riggor ritual, a test of his own will to adjust to the nature of Arcane completely cold turkey of Fel and it's gifts.

As the sun's heat bore down mirages began to appear, voices from nowhere piercing Gashuk's vulnerable brain. "Master! Master!" barked a desert snake, slithering silently, "The Centaur will find you soon, Master, summon me and we will hunt together!" and empowered by mirage, the snake morphed, contorting into a Fel-Hound- Luushon. "No!" roared the grizzled Orc, his walking stick lashing out cutting through the illusion but rending no harm. The demon-wolf sniffed around, it's powerful tendrils nearly stroking Gashuk's cheeks with affection before it turned and faded sensing danger faster than any Orc could. Surely as warned, two Centaur rode forward their powerful horse-legs carrying them high, "Surely too a mirage..." thought Felhand, right before a arrow struck home in his left shoulder. Luushon was nowhere to be seen now, only whimpers of it's desire to help remained lingering in the back of Gashuk's mind.

"Grrah!" roared the Orc, as conjured red not green fire circled around his body, lashing out towards the approaching horse-men. One drew a second arrow from it's quiver and nocked it for battle whilst the second, a Shaman of their kind, summoned wicked thunder to counter the flickers of magefire. As the second arrow flew, Gashuk was prepared, raising a wall of flame to burn it to cinders as more flew through behind it, each and every one fell to the sand as dust. Only the thunder shot through piercing through the flames striking Gashuk directly in the chest, knocking him to the floor. As the Orc fell, as too did his conjured flame, falling to the sand hopelessly trying to cling onto combustion to remain aflame without the pyromancer's gesticulation. Yet this was not entropic fire, it didn't cling to the caster like a cloak ready to leap out and leech off the centaur's life spirit. "By t'blood!" burst Gashuk, clenching his burnt, now bleeding, flesh as the Centaur bore in closer another arrow at the ready. In a flash of dark crimson, the blood soaking the Warlock rose and attacked in defence, disarming the Archer and boiling his skin as the Centaur began to bleed from it's nose and eyes, the curse improving it's hold with every second before the victim fell, the Shaman's eyes grew alight with grief staring down at the still weakened Warlock. "I will end you, Orc!" it screamed, reaching it's arms high towards the Barren's sky to summon yet more lightning. Gashuk's eyes widened, his mind blank as the lightning struck him again bursting through his tough green hide. Visions of spell books flew through Gashuk's thoughts, ideas of abjuration, wards and shields all commonly used but lost to the Warlock that was used to sacrificing demon's for their boons and redirecting the incoming damage into the nether. It was like a switch flicked in his mind's eye, and as the pain turned numb, a single phrase was uttered into the open in a cruel tongue- Eredun.

"X adare laz rikk veni shi!"

A dark bargain was struck and the lightning was wholly absorbed allowing Gashuk to stand, again conjuring flames to circle around him, this time as green as his skin. It lashed out as fierce as it's caster, instantly catching the centaur alight as it feasted on it's strong life essence. The assault was over nearly as soon as it begun and with a heap of ashen bone in front of him, Gashuk finally breathed relief.

"How little I truly understand" grunted the aged Orc, "T'Arcane is so weak, so grom'damned weak, at least in my hands."



"I was right, the Arcane is weak, like a rattle compared to Doomhammer. I can't do this, the Fel is too strong, too woven into me that betraying it feels like forsaking the Elements all over again." thought the Warlock, more grimacing thoughts of failure and weakness once again over coming his desire to purify himself for the Spirits. "Maybe instead of gaining years of experience wielding the Arcane myself, I can take what I lack from Sharptongue and Rimeweaver, perhaps..." Again kicking Greytooth perhaps a tad too hard, the pair bound northerly towards the dry hills. "Maybe he can make me this Arcanist he so desperately wants me to be."

After much stress, me and my significant other have finally got her passport sorted, so I will be jetting off on the morning! I'll be back a week tommorow, I'll try and nab her iPad for a IC story to justify the absence! Much love, hopefully when I return I will be in a new job with more wow socialable hours;) woo! Ciao.

[“I'll do this, Father, for you and for the Blood of the Tribe.”]

“Grhm, grom'damnit Sharptongue, makin' me out t'be some sort o' sick twisted demonsblood drinkin' fool, I respect t'Orc, he's a long standin' Thur'ruk but I'm getting' fed up o' proving myself t'the Tribe.” muttered Felhand lowly to himself, as he flickered lazily through a large tome resting by the hearth's equally lazy fire. “I mean no ill will t'any Orc, I made a sacrifice, why can't they see...” Raising to his feet, Gashuk grunted as his back cracked from the effort, as the tome is shut dust coughs out of the pages and with a minor incantation the grimoire shimmers out of the existence.

“Blood Magic offendin' t'Spirits...”, grumbled the Elder as he walked out of the Inn along the dusty paths of the Crossroads, “Aye, I agree tha' Blood be a offerin' to the Spirits, I do this often, especially t'Ancestors tha' belong to tha' Blood Linage bu' t'use such a Energy without their consent? No, I am no Shaman, I do not do thin's solely with t'consent o' Spirits naymore, not since they abandoned me in t'first place. I made tha' choice.” spat Gashuk, a foul grimace on his face, meditating on the subject. “Perhaps if Steelheart was t'practice more Bloodweavin' like I, then she would adapt tha' mentality, offer t'Blood up and treat t'ritual t'same as any spiritual o' elemental undertakin', but how can I beseech tha' role wieldin' t'eldritch like I do.” grunting more than speaking, the Orc slowly but surely lowers himself into the shade of a tree's shadow, turning his words more into thought now out in the open.

“I promote Shamanism more than any Warlock I know, even the ones I converted to my thinking. Yet still, I can't be both a Shaman and a Warlock, can I, the Fel is in me, I control that but my Blood pumps fierce with my Shadowmoon heritage. Perhaps, if I developed my Bloodweaving more and portrayed it as a spiritual undertaking, if I found a balance between taking and asking, the Tribe wouldn't be so wary, especially Sharptongue and Bloodmaw.”, the Warlock-Shaman pondered, wiping his brow of a bead of sweat, “Perhaps I could rise as a Gosh'kar, using Blood as my connection to our Ancestors, and Fel as my weapon for their vengeance. Can I truly see myself as a Rrosh'tul leading our forces, at my age, with my Magic, no but I proved my point as Nag'ogar.”, grunting to himself, Felhand proves his name, igniting his hand with a cruel flicker of entropic fel-fire. “I could see myself a Thur'ruk, a Elder by age and by title, developing our Tribes-Orc with the mind of a aged Shaman, one who made that sacrifice into Warlockry, and kept his sense of Orc intact. I cannot hide behind my supposed intents no longer, not as an Iron Warrior, it is time to prove them.” a smirk curls around the side of Gashuk's tusks, not a cruel smirk but a challenging one, “Wolfheart be first, once she has safely solidified her connection with the Spirits of Life, I can prove the true nature of Bloodweaving...” and as the battle-worn Orc rose to his feet once more, a final thought flickered through his head.

“I'll do this, Father, for you and for the Blood of the Tribe.”