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Updated with a second entry.

I'll be away chasing waffles from the 27th of june to the 8th of july

I think the initial post contains some fair points, since I can relate. There are some IC logic flaws with fighting and conquering a zone that close to a major city, and obviously it'll disturb some RP going on there. Unavoidable. At the same time, as far as I know Rargnasha and TTH have talked about and sorted this between themselves. If you personally want to give Rargnasha some constructive tips or ideas, then I suggest you do that by opening up to the thought that he can handle criticism, otherwise you're simply wasting time.

I don't have to tell Krogon that the blame isn't on TTH, he knows it himself by now.

As for the Red blade participation. I haven't been on a single of these events myself, so I can't say how strong our presence is. What I can say is that it's nothing we organise our guild around. The people that do participate are free to. We've never really tied our members down to our RP focuses. If they want to be elsewhere - even if only for a night - they are free to. How they IC'ly justify their travels is up to them. Be it portals or otherwise.

You just got your accounts activated. To be fully registered you need to post under "Register here" and have people vouch for you. And I can do that.

Lovely Groshnakk, who I for the longest while fully believed to be a woman. Take care of yourself out there, and don't be a stranger. <3 You've made for a lot of fun and nice RP. Do come back, when you feel like it.

OOC: This thread is all about our recent focus on finding the old relic of the Red blade clan. I mean to use this topic to create an overview of what's going on, and to give people a chance to both IC and OOC reflect upon it. A suggestion is to keep an IC diary or to just write small stories, or some constructive feedback.

I hope you all have fun with it!

Reserved for future madness.

The Sands of the Past

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"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.
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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.

This topic didn't -at all- lead me towards chasing for a new computer, only to grudingly accept that I have other stuff to prio first. Bah!

  The pain. You'll be missed indeed. Enjoy your time out there (and treacle sponge don't tell me you're rerolling worgen).

Shazula awoke with a growl lingering at the back of her throat. Her hand slowly lifted towards her hear, which inside seemed to burn with words that lingered from beyond the spiritual veil. Heaving herself from her simple bedroll, the female orc grabbed a skin of water and washed her face.

The chilling damp upon her features brought few feelings of true enlightenment, however. No, this was not a riddle she would be able to decipher on her own. It was much more serious. The phrases, she could perhaps piece them together, but the meaning of them seemed so dire, and so urgent. This was not a spirit reaching out to her personally; this was tribal.

She would have to seek them out, her brothers and sisters of Red blade, to discuss these visions. Perhaps they, too, would have seen things. They'd solve this together, she was sure of it.

Voicing another grunt, the shaman donned her armour and shield, only to set out into the dawn of the morning. The tribe needed to be told.

Loving those pictures, Sadok! You've got an eye and a talent for that stuff. 

Ahahah. It's sunny here, and warm! And.. and.. ooh.. green smileys...

[T]

”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.

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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

Aheh. I don't think putting a ban on preparation is the way to go, because that'd mean that rogues aren't allowed to stealth or apply their poisons, and hunters wouldn't get to shoot traps or anything pre battle. If anything I'll take the LoS to heart and see if we can get a more open arena for next time.