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Don't be, Tag is just too thickheaded to ask someone to come with him! It gave me a reason to sit and write this little thing that everybody can have a look at rather than just saying bye to three people all in all.

As he watched Ironclaw move away from the bonfire with his bundle in hand, Tagrok took a look to his left. Facebreaker and Silverlight were already engaged in deep conversation about a warlock and the Elder. He cocked an eyebrow and moved towards the Inn to tend to his wounds. The makeshift troll hut could hardly be called an Inn but at least it was sheltering him from the ever-present rain of Zangarmarsh.

He took a seat near the eastern balcony, threw his chainmail onto one of the hammocks and placed his weapon next to him on the ground. He pulled out several bandages, a rather clean rag and a small container from his backpack. Eventually he called out to the "Innkeeper" and asked for a basin of clean water. The troll complied and soon Tagrok was dabbing at the claw marks on his neck with slow and tender movements.

As he got used to the stinging sensation, his mind drifted towards the task at hand. He would set out to Shattrath this very night, find a portal to Orgrimmar and - if lucky - catch the next boat that would ship out a fresh regiment to the isles.

Eventually he tossed the rag into the basin and opened the small container, revealing a salve. He couldn't even remember who handed it to him. Was it Steelheart or Windwatcher? Perhaps Silverlight? It didn't matter, it was a gift from an ally and he made good use of it. He sighed to himself - As much as he felt disconnected from the orcs and elf the past weeks, all the more did leaving them behind sting him.

As he was bandaging his neck he caught a glimpse of the letter he had received a while ago. The purple wax seal had been broken, but it was still clinging to the parchment.

"Scout Tagrok,
Your services are required in the latest operation of the Horde's campaign on the Broken Isles. Our forces are about to head into Suramar, ancient capital of Elven civilization and current Legion stronghold. All able-bodied soldiers are hereby being recalled to the isles. Report to Orgrimmar on the 21st day of this month, there will be several ships waiting to move the troops.

Victory or death
under orders of the Warchief,
Forsaken High Command"

The orc was now getting dressed and from his position near the balcony could spot the other two still talking near the bonfire. He gathered up his furs, put on his armour and stuffed his belongings into his backpack. Bow slung over one shoulder and axe in hand, Tagrok vaulted over the railing and left Zabra'jin - and the Red Blade - under the cover of night.

Rue~ *keeps smiling and nodding*

... did you hint that Kronnor is struggling with his problems?

Nope, he didn't even cross my mind when I wrote that sentence.
Thank you for your kind words by the way. It's encouraging since I thought this was quite lacking.

I guess this topic will serve as an anthology of stories about Tagrok - should there be more. Without further ado, here it goes.



Rain - Not just now, the whole day. It kept raining ever since he arrived in this swamp, tracking the Red Blade all the way to the distant outpost of Zabra'jin in the Zangarmarsh. The tribe had moved ahead a few days ago, leaving him in Garadar to sort himself out. As he moved towards the gates of the outpost he remembered the days he spent seperated from them.

Even though he had never stepped into Nagrand before the orcs there were very forthcoming - as long as he pulled his own weight. He went on several hunts, restocking the food supplies with the other hunters and helping with menial tasks around the village. Some of the nights were spent in the watch towers, his eyes scanning the horizon for threats. The orc snorted as he recalled the day after their arrival, being chewed out by Beastbane for sleeping in one of the towers.

Everything went rather smoothly until two nights ago. The moon had already risen far overhead and he was sitting at the central bonfire, watching the mag'har orcs and occassionally conversing with them. Most of the time however, was spent staring into the fire and thinking back over the choices he had made the past weeks.

He had followed the Red Blade on nothing but a whim. Petty dreams about living in a tribe, of being connected to something else but life on the frontlines. Not that he escaped battles for long as he stuck with them - But he got a taste of kinship, even though he still barely understood any of them. And those he did start to understand were struggling with their own problems, keeping to themselves and seldom appearing at the bonfire as they did on most days.

A rasping voice interrupted his reverie: "Tagrok the archer, I presume?"

The orc turned his head to look over his shoulder, frowning as he spotted the owner of the voice. There, outside of the circle of orcs, stood a member of the Forsaken. Most of his face below the nose was covered in a black bandana, the necromantic glow in his eyes flickering from time to time. The undead was clad in nondescript leather armour, which failed to cover the jutting out bones and receeding flesh. The only other discernible item on his person was a messenger's bag, slung over his right shoulder, strap crossing his gaunt chest.

With a snort the orc answered: "That would be me. Who's asking?"

Inclining his head ever so slightly, the Forsken kept his eyes on the orc as he spoke again: "Corbinian Valford, Attaché to the Deathstalkers stationed on the Broken Isles." After he finished Valford pulled a scroll from his bag - A purple wax seal covered the parchment.

Tagrok's eyes widened for a moment before he looked at the broken sky and gave a grim nod. "So... Time to head back then?"

I never knew Siyah hailed from South Park!

That truly is a face only a denmother could love.

Whoa. That looks so badass! And reminds me of some of the rough Crusader artwork for diablo 3. Awesome!

*pat*

And I like it. Looks ephemeral.

June and August are hnngh.

Oh I like! Kinda reminds me of Dishonored. Very steampunk.

I feel like I have to add this after the previous Freeman machinimah.

Triarii are a particular kind of "band". They are considered Martial Industrial.