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[WIKKETPEDIA MAKE BY BIB-BIB]

*nestled within the various papers and scrolls accompanying the Tribe's Annals is a strange bamboo-spined tome that smells faintly like mud... or at least, I hope it's mud. Acquired during the Pandaria campaign, within the tome is a series of crudely scrawled and scribbled symbols in the common speech -- the clay-paint used to draw these words has long since dripped and smudged, but the inane script is still mostly legible*

WIKKETPEDIA MAKE BY BIB-BIB

WHY BIB-BIB MAKE

Bib-Bib wiseman in Grookin Hill. Bib-Bib all the ookin’ time ask by horkin’ hozen who jooglin’ wikket is, by wikket what hozen word mean - some the time ask by hozen what hozen word mean! Bib-Bib nab ink from skreekin’ Ork and make word write for hozen and wikket to learn and no forget.

WORD LIST

Banana - Banana good! Old hozen saying: peel first, eat second. Good saying for eat peel grooks in the kroog.

Beast-Haver - Beast-haver have beast. Beast-haver shoot pew pew with boomstick or thwack-splat with string-ouch! Dikkety dookers when face strong hozen in fair fight.

Chief - Him in charge! You do what him say or grooked in the nook with ouch-maker or boomstick! Whakkin’ brokker when mean but good when give munch or shiny for make gift. Kah Kah Chief of Grookin Hill.

Dook - Big warrior and master of ouch! Have many hozen do war and ravage for them to gork ‘em grookers clean. Want friend-having Dook else him make horker hole in you nibs!

Deadman - Not life-having wikket! Friend-haver with Ork, but some the times florkin’ wikket with Blight. Also, whakkin’ reek like dook! Ookin’ mankers.

Dook-Manker - Him take dook not in dookin’ grounds and put in dook-pile. Good manker use stick for manking. Bad manker use hand and make stinky yuck all over fur.

Dorf - Other wicked wikket, but florkin’ teeny. Friend-haver with Hooman. All beard-haver with tik nibs and grookin’ gorkers.

Hooman - Wicked wikket. Jeekin’ dookers friend-havers with skreekin’ slickie-men Jinyu. Blikkin’ brokkers!

Hork - Not the jeekin’ hork! No want get grooked or blikkered there. Make for big ouch when sit or take a dook.

Hozen - Bib-Bib hozen! ‘Em no wikket - ‘em make smart and strong with ouch-maker and poo-throw. All wikket make scared of hozen ravage incase ‘em dead-make!

Jibnibber - A grookin’ dooker, or brokkin’ blikk jeeker. Skreekin’ jibnibber that horked clean with point-ouch.

Jinyu - Like slickie and hooman flork an ook and make baby. Not friend-having with Hozen but make friend-have with Hooman. Wicked ickin’ blikkers!

Joogler - Boss ookin’ hozen around! Can be Chief or mean grooker with boomstick or else.

Munch - Munch nice for make tummy-ouch stop. Need eat munch two time in day. Two time make number two out dook-hole. Make ravage when no munch.

Nab - Make shiny of grookin’ skreeker you own shiny. Where ravage be florkin’ strong, nab be tik sneak-making.

Ork - Good wikket! Make friend-having with Hozen. Fight wicked wikkets like hooman and dorf. Green like tree but some color of dook, like Chief of ork! Yucky but him not ick.

Panman - Fuzzy but not let hozen pet fuzz. Hozen ookin’ nook-nibbing near panman - most in own clan, but some Ork friend-haver and some Hooman friend-haver! Silly wikket.

Poo - Munch goes in, poo goes out! Best make in dookin’ grounds or on face of florkin’ wicked wikket. Hozen no eat poo. Have tried and not ookin’ good.

Ravage - When no munch, when no slickie or snapper and only dook to eat, Chief-Chief call ravage on wicked wikkets! Hozen strong to nab munch from wikkets for cold days, or if hozen not get munch, many die so no need as much munch. Smart-smart!

Shiny - ooh, shiny! Wikket often have shiny and hozen want for keep and grookin’ look. Some round shiny, some ouch-maker shiny! Can give shiny and get munch back.

Slickie - Good for taste-making and munch, or for bait to make bigger munch like snapper! Wet-livers and slippy for hozen paw. Be tik grookin’ careful when nab slickie.

Snapper - Beast with ookin’ shell. Hide in when hozen want poke with ouch-stick. Make for good munch, but no eat shell!

Stinky - Smell yuck or ick. Dook-manker, munch-rotter, deadman and wicked wikket all stinky. Hozen with poo-fur stinky also.

Torn - Friend of Ork! Like Hozen cept not skreekin’ joogler like clever hozen. No pull torn tail, unless hozen want whacked in the gorker.

Wargen - Sound like hozen but with war! Look like hozen too - big and strong and ookin’ grookers with their horkin’ ouch-makers! Friend-haver with Hooman though. Make hozen sad. Could be having good friends.

END-MAKE

IF LIKE GIVE BIB-BIB SHINY OR MUNCH. THANK HAVING YOU

Orcs of the Red Blade celebrate their tenth anniversary on 8th October 2015. It's been one fel of a journey thus far -- from Durotar to Garadar, from the frigid wastes of Icecrown to the savage wilds of Tanaan, we have brought quality orc role-play to every corner of Azeroth. And hopefully, we have helped forge treasured memories for each and every person who has joined us along the way -- New Bloods and Red Guards; Chieftains and Matriarchs.

Did I say Matriarch? As part of the tenth anniversary celebrations, we've reached out and now welcome back our founder, Matriarch Akesha Redblade, after over five years away. The Red Blades have gone from strength to strength, with a band of seasoned veterans and eager newcomers alike on our new home of Argent Dawn. The future looks bright: later this month, we celebrate our seventeenth Kosh'harg Festival, a cross-realm celebration that promises to be the largest such event yet.

But this thread is not so much about the future as it is the past and even present. As part of our tenth anniversary celebrations, we invite both current and former members to weigh in and discuss their memories and recollections of everything Orcs of the Red Blade -- from their favourite RP characters to fondly-remembered events and storylines, this is the place to weigh in and reflect about what the guild and its people have meant to you over the years.

I will also be reaching out to inactive members via PM, and I hope we see some old but familiar faces contribute here also, even if it's just to say hi!

Let's get this thread rolling: whether or you've been here a week or a decade, I'd love to hear about your experiences with Orcs of the Red Blade. If you're stuck for ideas, here are a couple of suggestions:

- Your favourite OotRB characters, and the people behind them!
- Your favourite events, plots, storylines or even spontaneous encounters!
- Guilds and individuals outside of OotRB with a fond place in your heart!
- What OotRB meant to you over the years, and if you're no longer with us, what you're up to now!

This isn't just a thread meant to write your one-and-done speeches though -- it's a discussion thread, so feel free to comment, reply and chat in general about all things nostalgic!

Thanks in advance!

http://eu.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/15161313333?page=3

Gorgashi from the Blademaster of the Horde guild is hosting an IC Hellfire Citadel raid-run, with a minimum ilvl of 680, with an event series from the 30th of September until 4th of October.

Anyone from OotRB is able to join the fun on a voluntary basis, but it's first come, first serve and 20 out of the 30 available slots have already been filled. If this is something you're interested in, use the template provided in her thread and state your interest.

We'll be holding our own events during that period of time for the majority of the guild, but in the name of cross-guild cooperation and making memories, we do encourage anyone interested to take part! It -does- sound like fun.

Brewfest Bazaar - 2-3rd October
http://eu.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/15161283322

We’re most likely attending this market event after Kosh’harg. If any of you want to be a merchant or offer some service or entertainment at the market, you need to fill out the template and post it in the thread.

We’ll also be hosting our own Garadar Market on 26th September, as part of Kosh’harg, so you can double-dip and act as a trader/entertainer there too.

[seventeenth]

Orcs of the Red Blade have hosted Kosh’harg twice a year uninterrupted since September 2007 â€" this will be our seventeenth Festival, and our first on Argent Dawn.

I’ve done thorough research about past AD Kosh’hargs, and it seems as though they were ad-hoc initiatives by different individuals with varying degrees of success. Assuming that nobody else has planned their own festivities yet, we’re hoping to offer a full week of RP to the whole Horde community, with a selection of à la carte events and casual RP.

If you would like to help out with one of the events or add your own activities to the Festival, please let us know â€" we love to collaborate with people, and we want this week to be as successful as possible. We’d particularly like to hear from people wanting to run stalls at the Garadar Market on Saturday 26th September.

When is it?: The Festival kicks off Sunday 20th September, with an event every night for a week, concluding with the Kosh’harg Celebration on Sunday 27th September. RP usually picks up from the early evening until the wee hours of the morning.

Where is it?: Garadar, Nagrand â€" the final Celebration will be held in the shadow of Oshu’gun, as is customary.

What is it?: In times of old upon Draenor, the orcish clans would forsake their grudges and grievances and gather around the spring and autumn equinoxes to feast, tell tales and honor the ancestors. With Outland’s rediscovery some years ago, orcs eager to reclaim their traditions have continued to hold the Festival â€" now expanded to all peoples of the Horde.

During the Festival, Nagrand is considered sacred ground, and so it is a grave dishonor to commit violence or pursue vendettas against others in attendance. Sparring and honor-duels in a competitive, respectful fashion are of course permitted, and tournaments are not uncommon during the festivities.

Who may attend?: Any Horde-affiliated peoples or neutral parties willing to respect the Kosh’harg’s rules are welcome to attend. Alliance-aligned individuals are recommended not to attend, but the brave, respectful and curious may be tolerated.

Why Outland's Nagrand, not Draenor? With some stranded upon the alternate Draenor during the last festival, they are eager to honor the ancestors upon the original Draenor’s remains once more, where the other past festivals have been held. Despite the problematic status of the Dark Portal, skilled portal magi from major Horde cities are still able to open portals to Shattrath City.

((OOC: We held Kosh’harg on Draenor last time, and it proved more problematic than anything â€" higher level mobs everywhere, phasing issues and a lack of a good central camp. Returning to Outland enables use of Garadar, opens the event up to lower-level characters, and avoids a lot of those awkward phasing headaches.))

Event Calendar [subject to change]:

SUN 20/9 - Opening Ceremony
An introduction to the Kosh’harg, followed by feasting and chatter around the Garadar campfires.

MON 21/9 - Brawl For All Tournament
A bare-knuckle fighting series with minimal armor. Those gathered compete to demonstrate their strength, agility and tenacity. ((No-frills roll-dueling.))

TUE 22/9 - Challenge of the Wyvern
Teams use their cunning and wits, traversing the lengths of Nagrand to solve riddles and win fabulous prizes.

WED 23/9 - Storytelling Night
Everyone is welcome to tell stories around the Garadar campfires, or simply listen in.

THU 24/9 - Tournament of Honor [PvP]
Equip your finest armor and weapons as the gladiators of the Horde do battle in a bid to become Champion of Kosh’harg. ((RP-PvP tournament with minimal restrictions, full rules posted soon.))

FRI 25/9 - The Lucid Tale
With the influence of ancient shamanistic magics and hallucinogenic substances, old campfire stories come alive â€" dangerously so! ((IC raid-run of a selected TBC/WotLK/Cata raid, to be announced.))

SAT 26/9 - Garadar Market
Traders and merchants peddle their wares across Garadar, with a range of luxurious souvenirs and stranger goods guaranteed.

SUN 27/9 - Kosh’harg Celebration
The climax of the Festival â€" the ancestors are honored in the shadows of Oshu’gun. Additional activities include feasting, brawling, storytelling and the infamous drunken backwards-race.

And finally…

We’re keen to get as many individuals and guilds from the Horde community involved as possible, to make Garadar an RP hotbed for a full week. If this sounds like the kind of thing you or your guild might be interested in, please post in this thread to indicate your interest.

If you have any further questions, don’t hesitate to message an Orcs of the Red Blade officer: Kozgugore, Therak, Rhonya, Srelok, Gridish, Kargnar or Sadok.

I need as many RP screenshots from Kosh'harg or Nagrand (Outland or Draenor) as possible for an upcoming project, and I'm stuck on a laptop without access to my wealthy screenshot archives from past years.

I've already pruned the best stuff from the Gallery, but if you have -any- Nagrand or Kosh'harg screenshots, I'd be full of gratitude if you could upload them now in the Gallery or link them in this thread.

Thanks in advance!

[OotRB HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP (AT LIFE) OF THE WORLDâ,,¢]

Round three of everyone's favourite shitpost thread!

Umaua toppled Rashka last round under completely unfair and dubious circumstances involving a website outage that he was somehow immune to! But now, in record-setting fashion, Umaua must defend the OotRB HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP (AT LIFE) OF THE WORLDâ,,¢ against all comers!



Last post wins! If you are the last poster for a period of 24 hours or more, this thread is locked, you become a CHAMPION AT LIFEâ,,¢, and you get a custom graphic below your name to let everyone know how SPECIALâ,,¢ you are.

Your Name Here
Champion At Life
Proven

Posts: The Last

There can only be one CHAMPION AT LIFEâ,,¢, so if Umaua doesn't retain, she'll no longer have her title!

Let the games begin!

It was morning, and the familiar sounds of the jungle were all around them â€" insects buzzing around his head, exotic birdsong, and the sound of flowing water from the nearby stream.

Sadok lay there with Rhonya curled up on her side, her eyes closed. She seemed restful, as if she were just thankful to have something to hold, someone to put her arms around and sleep. For his own part, Sadok held her close, his hand lightly smoothing her bare side as he buried his nose in her hair and sniffed up the familiar scent of someone he loved and trusted.

Sadok still wasn’t quite sure what to make of this fresh development. He had developed a hypothesis that his Vision Quest had gone catastrophically wrong somewhere along the way, and with his mind and spirit untethered from reality, he had slipped from nightmarish tableau to another as he fumbled hopelessly for a way back â€" stuck in the hall of mirrors of his psyche, his worries and fears and hopes and dreams endlessly refracting back and forth.

There had been some common ground in these visions. All took place in the jungle, which led Sadok to believe his body was still in Stranglethorn; and nearly all took place beside the same winding river that now trickled so pleasingly near the couple. That was harder to psychoanalyse. Was it a flowing river of illusion, running with confusion? Never gone, flowing on and on...



He had seen Vashnarz in the prime of her youth, full of the innocence that defined her early days with the tribe â€" but as faint recriminating whispers spilled into the air from far away, her form twisted and writhed into a vengeful half-wolf beast whose claws swung at Sadok. Fleeing her, he ran as hard as his feet would carry, but quickly started to slip and stumble over the jungle overgrowth. As the beast pounced upon him, and all faded to black, only two words called to him endlessly: “YER NEW, YER NEW, YER NEW, YER NEW.”

It was shortly thereafter when he came across the towering form of Rargnasha, a thirty feet tall colossus of flesh and plate-armor, bloated with his own self-importance. He was scooped up into the giant Bloodmark’s hands with the greatest of ease, and could feel the life being choked out of him as indistinct but patronising words cascaded like glorious rainbows tumbling from the sky. Speeches, battle-cries â€" all things focused relentlessly on the honour of battle and following the commander’s orders.

And then there were other strange visions â€" innumerable iterations of the tribe in retreat due to his own shortgoings, the Horde’s townsteads wreathed in flame, a tribe where Siyahgosh had become an authoritarian tyrant, commanding all to wear cat-masks upon their heads. He had endured Keishara and Vezara’s advances, had survived a hateful Rhonya’s grief-filled rantings, even fought off his own children twisted with dark magicks. Yet his mental, physical and spiritual energies were eroded by the endless nightmares, and soon he sought refuge in a strange cave in the jungle â€" a cool, dark cul-de-sac.

In the entrance of the cave, a figure ancient beyond reckoning slowly went about his sacred practise, chanting lowly. “With their blood I dyed the Frostwind peak red as red wool; while the ravines and the torrents of the mountain swallowed the rest of them.” He performed his invocations to the Spirit of Earth, reaching his hand into a stemmed cup with strange incased herringbone decorations, and scattered a rich golden dust into the air. Sadok, the unseen observer, thought it smelled of sandalwood.

Catching his breath, he simply watched the ancient shaman tend to his duties. He soon began to fashion strange disembodied limbs from terracotta â€" a left leg, an arm severed at the elbow, half of a torso, even a crude wolf figurine. As the shaman cast the terracotta to the flames and stood upright in military stance, his fist clenched to his forehead, Sadok began to understand what he was seeing. The ancient orc had assumed an attitude of prayer, burning anatomical votives, as though it would mend or safeguard whatever the clay pieces represented.

He walked deeper into the cave, finding a set of tall cedar gates with tree-trunks as door-posts, and grotesque alabaster statues with the heads of wolves standing guard to ward away evil spirits. Sadok contemplated whether he should go forward â€" he was not evil, but he was absolutely a spirit not where he was supposed to be. Frowning stubbornly, he pushed hard against the gates, with their embossed frescoes of wolves and riders hunting.

Gaining entrance after much exertion and finally pushing one gate aside, he found himself in a long narrow corridor, dimly-lit by torches. Each side of the corridor was decorated with an elaborate frieze of various scenes of warfare â€" prisoners or tribute-bearers brought before a great orcish warlord; the warlord and his companions hunting wild animals; the warlord leading his embattled riders to a great victory against overwhelming odds.

As he strode along the corridor, walking into the darkness, he heard yet more voices calling to him across the stale air â€" a booming, proud boast from another ancient voice.

“I AM IMPORTANT, I AM MIGHTY. THE VALIANT ORC WHO HAS NO EQUAL AMONG THE WARLORDS OF THE FOUR QUARTERS OF THE WORLD.

THE WONDERFUL SHEPHERD WHO IS NOT AFRAID OF BATTLE. THE GREAT FLOOD WHICH NONE CAN OPPOSE. THE SHAMAN-KING WHO MAKES THOSE WHO ARE NOT SUBJECT TO HIM SUBMISSIVE. THE GREAT WARRIOR WHO TREADS ON THE NECK OF HIS ENEMIES, TRAMPLES DOWN ALL FOES, AND SHATTERS THEIR ARMIES.

THE SHAMAN-KING WHO RULES WITH THE SUPPORT OF THE GREAT SPIRIT-GODS, WHO COMMANDS SUPPORT FROM ALL LANDS, WHOSE HAND HAS CONQUERED CREATURES OF THE ICY MOUNTAINS AND THE SEAS, FASHIONED THEM IN WHITE LIMESTONE AND ALABASTER, AND PLACED THEM AT MY GATES. I HAVE ADORNED MY SETTLEMENT OF KRAAG’GOL, AND MADE IT GLORIOUS.

I AM MRUTHGOR, THE CELEBRATED SHAMAN-KING.”

…And by the time the boast had finished, Sadok believed he may have walked the same corridor for days. He continued to trudge onwards, knowing that it was the only way forward, until the shadows started to draw closer and he was enveloped entirely in darkness. He felt cold and constricted, as if the walls were now closing in about him in the pitch black. He let out a muffled cry of panic, as he began to realise there was no escape.



And so against all odds, Sadok found himself in the jungle overgrowth once more. His eyes were glazed, with a tired and far-away look in them, his clothing ragged and torn to shreds, his skin cut and irritated from various stumbles and falls. Collapsed face-first on the ground, he felt exhausted and defeated… but the rancorous hunger in his belly and the fatigue in each of his spread-eagled limbs seemed to suggest it was over. He had finally found his way out of the endless nightmares.

As he lay there in the humid heat, listening to the birds and apes chatter, he started to feel flies or hands or -something- crawling over him. He swatted away the invisible insects and sat up, peering around. It looked the same as Stranglethorn ever did andâ€" he stopped in his tracks as his ears picked up a familiar voice in the distance. It was Kyrazha. She’d come for him.

He started to crawl towards the sound of the sweet, soothing voice, near the river. He was not disappointed when he saw Kyrazha sat upon the sandy bank â€" naked, heavily pregnant and contentedly washing herself, droplets of water glistening in the tropical sun. He tried to call out to her as he slowly slumped towards his mate, but his throat was dry and sore, and he only let out a choking half-sob. Finally, after much spluttering, he was able to speak. “Y’came fer me… thank y’.”

Then everything started to go wrong. She couldn’t recognise him, and as he insisted he was Sadok, she started to grow increasingly alarmed and distressed. “Ya can’t be Sadok. ‘E died, mont’s ago. Let’, said ‘e woul’ return, an’ never did. Be ya a g’ost, come ta ‘aunt me even more?”

No. Sadok couldn’t be dead, he said. He was out of the Vision Quest now, he was beaten, sore, hungry â€" but alive. Kyrazha would not budge. “I foun’ ya… broken, starved an’ dead, ‘alf eaten by da wildlife.” She grew angrier, accused him of playing a prank on her or simply lying â€" and nothing he could say would convince her otherwise. Soon the ruckus attracted more attention, as Sukeenah’s veiny green eyes emerged from the jungle to eye Sadok deviously.

Sukeenah smirked snidely at Sadok as she moved to comfort Kyrazha, stroking her hair and putting an arm around her waist. “Sssh… it’s all alright. He’s not real. You’re safe here, with me.” The sight of Kyrazha and her unborn cub caught in Shadra’s proverbial web was enough to enrage Sadok, but Sukeenah was undeterred â€" accusing him of abandoning Kyrazha, and reminding them of their own drunken tryst. “We had quite the fun time, I enjoyed it…”

She invited Sadok to look at his reflection in the river as confirmation of his death, and as Sadok begrudgingly obliged her, he saw his own corpse looking back at him â€" ripped and torn skin, milky-white eyes, rotting flesh. The sight was enough to send Sadok reeling into a murderous rage, as he turned to lunge at Sukeenah, hoping to bring down fist upon fist on those smug, blueskinned features. He may be dead, but he was taking the Spider-Witch with him.

But all turned dark again as he pounced into nothingness, Sukeenah’s echoing laughter sounded in his ears â€" “Mine, little orc. You were mine, your mind is mine, I took what I needed from you… and now I’ll take your mate as well, and your child. Itsy bitsy spider, spun her web so carefully!"

Awakening from the phantasmagoria again in the same old jungle, Sadok despaired. The Vision Quest would never end â€" dead, alive, or whatever he was. There was no escape, no way to win the game.



And so when yet another familiar voice bid him to come to the river-bank, he simply accepted his fate and walked towards it. He found Rhonya again, but unlike the prior time, she actually seemed happy to see him. “Sadok! There you are, love. I was getting worried already you wouldn’t come back.” Hurrying over to him, she gave him a big hug and gave him a kiss on the mouth as though it were the most normal thing in the world.

It was only then, as her lips found his, that Sadok realised that when you cannot win the game, the only winning move is not to play. And so instead of being shocked and trying to flee the vision, he kissed Rhonya back. He kissed her firmly and deeply, holding onto her as if she were a lifeboat in the middle of a stormy sea. He had always loved her, in spite of everything. She had never loved him the same way. And even if it was a vision, even if it was a lie â€" he would take this over any of the other hundred nightmares.

Later, as they lay sweaty and naked upon the riverbank, their panting breaths mingled, he looked down upon her. There was a shy but satisfied smile on her lips, her cheeks were flushed with exercise, and her loving whispers were hushed and husky. If this was a vision, it felt utterly real â€" even if this wasn’t the Rhonya he had known, she seemed indistinguishable to him.

Of course, she hadn’t believed his claims that she was an illusion on his Vision Quest â€" but then, when she explained carefully and affectionately to him that he had simply hurt his head again, he wondered whether that wasn’t a more reasonable explanation. Maybe this -was- reality, and everything else he had known was a dream. Maybe he was dead, as Kyrazha and Sukeenah had insisted, and this was his afterlife.

He knew one thing, however â€" he wasn’t going to stray from Rhonya’s side anytime soon. As she stroked his head gently, Sadok realised just how tired he was after all of the nightmares and visions he had experienced. He needed to rest if he was ever to regain enough spiritual willpower to return to his body, and Rhonya could provide that for him. She seemed so happy and content to be around him, and in earnest, he felt a kind of safety and security in her arms that not even Kyrazha had provided.

They made a good couple, Sadok reflected upon himself that morning as Rhonya lay there, her chest rising and falling softly as she slept. His bonhomie soothes her nervousness and guilt, and her infinite kindness and understanding made him feel better about himself. She liked to talk problems out, unlike Kyrazha, and he didn’t feel the same constant paranoia that she would be attracted away to a better male like a firefly to light.

Things would be perfect with Rhonya… if it were real. The Rhonya he had known was so careful and proud that she would never act upon feelings towards a mated orc, even if she had ever had them towards him. And as the Rhonya beside him had explained, they had only found one another after Kyrazha’s untimely death. He didn’t want Kyrazha to die so they could be together â€" he wasn’t even sure if he would leave Kyrazha if Rhonya declared feelings towards him.

Sadok inhaled deeply, then gave his Rhonya a soft kiss on her cheek. She murmured unconsciously, a slow smile curling around her lips. The sight filled Sadok with a strange melancholy â€" maybe dreams were sweeter than reality, but they cannot last forever.

((OOC announcement: I've stopped playing WoW for an indefinite period of time. I may be back one day, but until then, Sadok is stuck in an endless Vision Quest.))

[OotRB HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP (AT LIFE) OF THE WORLDâ,,¢.]

Time to play again! Rashka won last time, after some stiff competition, but now the Champ at Life stands to win not a mere pizza-trophy, but the OotRB HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP (AT LIFE) OF THE WORLDâ,,¢.



Last post wins! If you are the last poster for a period of 24 hours or more, this thread is locked, you become a CHAMPION AT LIFEâ,,¢, and you get a custom graphic below your name to let everyone know how SPECIALâ,,¢ you are.

Your Name Here
Champion At Life
Proven

Posts: The Last

There can only be one CHAMPION AT LIFEâ,,¢, so if Rashka doesn't retain, she'll no longer have her title!

Let the games begin!

[Rise of Clan Felblade]

Rise of Clan Felblade

Play video for article soundtrack.

   â€œBy Mannoroth’s blood, who would -ever- have thought I would be glad to see you again?”

   Akesh the Poisoner’s eyes shone a sickly bright green, sparkling keenly with infinite malevolence as he regarded his captive. Bound in chains with a coarse burlap sack over his head, the prisoner still seemingly had some fight in him â€" he squirmed and growled, struggling against his bonds even now.

   Akesh paused, his clawed hands clasping together, as he savoured the sight of the captive squirming and flailing in the jungle muck and vines. His prisoner’s once-gleaming armor was now filthy, disheveled and ragged; and at last, he let out a muffled wheeze of protest and ceased his writhing, just panting pathetically now. 

   Not broken yet… but so close to the brink, the Poisoner thought. Akesh’s cracked lips parted and twisted into a maddened smirk, as he afforded himself a moment to gloat, a guttural chuckle rumbling from his taut, muscular body. The captive was still, his chest rising and falling weakly.

   â€œLet us see that face once again,” Akesh grinned down to the captive, pulling the sack off his head with a sadistic flourish.

   Akesh’s piercing eyes narrowed as he scrutinised Grenth Stonebrow, now glaring silently at him through tired-looking slits. Grenth’s long, narrow face was still unmistakably proud and brown-skinned â€" but covered in cuts, bruises and sores, with an overgrown and tangled beard. Even now, he was still crowned with his iconic armored wolf-mask. All the better, the Poisoner mused to himself.

   â€œDid my orcs mistreat you, oh King of Wolves? I must humbly beg forgiveness, I only commanded that you were brought back… alive.” Grenth gave no response, so the Poisoner snapped his sharp ochre fangs in amusement and spoke again.

   â€œLife is full of choices,” Akesh lectured, pacing restlessly back and forth amongst the thick jungle overgrowth. “When I rose against you and your kind to serve a greater master, you chose to condemn me to exile rather than take my head. That was a mistake.

   â€œAnd then, when I returned to seize -my- Clan and defeated you, the mighty Wolfking fled and went into exile himself. That too was a mistake. Two long winters you hid from us. And you hid well, far from our prying eyes. But there is no escape save for death. I might have killed you, once. But now, I have other plans for you.”

Akesh flexed his grotesque claws idly, then slowly withdrew from his satchel a rounded flask glowing ominously with eldritch glyphs. It contained a bubbling green liquid, and Grenth could feel its heat irradiating outwards. A dire energy emanated from within the flask, its very presence casting shadows about the undergrowth.

Grenth’s weary bloodshot eyes widened at the sight, and he spoke at last.

   â€œâ€¦No.”

   Akesh’s manic grin returned. “I see fear in your eyes, my old friend. But there is no reason to be afraid.”

   The Poisoner straightened his back, looking at the flask as if momentarily mesmerized. Grenth’s eyes darted up and down his form with a kind of exhausted panic, noticing for the first time the strange growths protruding from Akesh’s shoulderblades.

   â€œUnto Grenth of the Line of Kraag, I bestow this gift â€" the blood of rebirth, the nectar of ecstacy, the same blessing of unity offered to all orcs by the great Gul’dan and his Shadow Council. We have all drank eagerly, and we have been reborn as Clan Felblade â€" now submit to me and accept this gift, or you will know the pain of a thousand deaths.”

   Grenth’s jaw clenched, and straining against his iron bonds, he spoke slowly, his indignant voice still carrying the same weight and authority of a Chieftain.

   â€œBy the spirits, I will not bow,” he spat at Akesh, “I will not bend my knee to you or any orc, and I will not submit to this madness. You have damned our Clan twice over, foul Poisoner, and enslaved its soul for the sake of your thirst for power.”

Akesh looked back at Grenth and cackled madly, his cracked ashen skin visible beneath his iron armor. “What you say amuses me! The only thirst is bloodthirst, and I have tasted the enemy’s blood, trampled the weak underfoot, and delivered -my- Clan from hiding in caves and shivering in the snow to conquerers serving a Legion with power beyond your reckoning!”

   Grenth shook his head sadly. “By my honor, I will neverâ€""

   Akesh interrupted Stonebrow, snarling. “Silence,” he demanded. “Now -you- will listen and I will speak, wretch. As I have said, life is full of choices â€" and as you have chosen to refuse this gift, you will have it forced upon you.”

   Akesh clenched the flask tight in his grip as he began to chant in the dae’mon’s tongue. Grenth growled angrily as his body began to levitate from the undergrowth, still immobilised by his bonds. With a flick of his wrist and more foul words, Akesh invoked a circle of demonic sigils on the ground under Stonebrow, who let out a howl of intense pain. The iron chains binding him began to glow with the same bright-green sigils, the metal heating up and scalding his flesh as it began to fuse with his skin.

   Entirely helpless and suspended in mid-air, Grenth writhed in agony. His chains were now permanently melded to his form, smoke rising from his burnt flesh. Akesh took slow strides towards him, still muttering the dark invocations â€" and uncorked the flask, waves of heat and light irradiating upwards. He forced the flask to his former Chieftain’s lips and spoke forcefully.

   â€œDrink.”

Since the Shoutbox has been clogging up as of late with posts about 6.2 changes, new items and the like, figure it'd be easier for everyone to instead house it in a discussion thread.

Two topics to start discussion:

Flying in Draenor, starting in 6.2
http://us.battle.net/wow/en/blog/19800551/dev-watercooler-flying-in-draenor-6-10-2015

6.2 Release Build announced
http://media.mmo-champion.com/images/news/2015/june/release62.jpg

Thanks to Vezara and Rashka for those two! Please discuss these topics plus anything else related to WoW the game here.

[Name:]

[Source: Adapted from Varrgosh's DefiasRP Character Profile]



Name: Varrgosh Bloodrend
Alias: Rockfist
Rank: Oathbreaker

Age: Mid-50s
Gender: Male
Race: Mok'Nathal
Clan: Mok'Nathal Clan, Warsong Clan
Class: Warrior
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Family: No living family except for two twin pups that are missing since birth.
Known Friends: The Shatterskull Marauders and Morgeth Feralheart.
Known Enemies: Most of the Red Blade tribe, more prominently Kozgugore Feraleye and Rargnasha Bloodmark.

Appearance:
Varrgosh is slightly smaller than the average Mok'Nathal, yet imposingly large compared to his orcish cousins. Due to being both a berserker, but also a man lost to anger and he's a permanent expression of rage etched upon his face, like a rabid beast.

Varrgosh has red burning eyes of hatred adorn this already crude facial expression. His skin is light brown fading into a yellow hue, with pitch black hair often tied into a tail, he also sports a smaller beard.  He's got a scar crossing from his forehead across his right eye and down to his chin, the eye is rendered blind.

Personality:
Varrgosh is a hotheaded, ill-tempered near emotion-void half-orc.
He's steered by anger and hatred for the human race and their allies, which often blinds his judgement. He's easy to anger, and even easier to gauge into violent behavior. He values and respects physical strength above all else, and will often hold no respect to those he meet until they've proven their worth. However on rare occassions when in calm and safe company he can show a much calmer and understanding nature.

History:
Born on Draenor to Magrokh Bloodrend and Thranieth, Varrgosh was the dispute that would lead to his uncle Turgash slaying his own brother Magrokh to claim Varrgosh as his own. Turgash sought to breed Varrgosh into a warrior, a weapon. However the young pup would never forget the day he saw his father die, and thus wouldn't obey his uncle, he only went as far as to become a pit fighter, specializing as unarmed combat since he did not want to fight wars and battles.

Varrgosh in his early years met a she-Mok'Nathal whom would become his lifetime mate. She encouraged his pacifist morals and pushed him to decline his uncle's request to join the First Horde.
Once the second war came and went, the Alliance Expedition came to Draenor which would change Varrgosh's life forever. He found his mate tied up, tortured and violated by three human scouts, he had never seen the creatures before but did not hesitate as he in blind rage slew the two first he could reach before interrogating the third, once he knew what he needed he dropped the man into the Abyss.

It was now he became what his uncle for so long had tried to accomplish, a merciless weapon, a killing machine. He joined the orcs on Draenor in the defense against the Expedition from Azeroth. Despite the growing amount of humans he killed, he felt ever so unsated, which was why a year after the Dark Portal reopened that he sought to join the 'New Horde' on Azeroth, his first step; to join the Red Blade tribe.

Varrgosh would be given the name "Rockfist" after his Om'riggor, replacing his father's name in honour of his new 'family'. Tutored by Morgeth Feralheart, and allied with Gnash Bloodfist, Varrgosh learnt a great deal of Azeroth and the dispute with the 'Grand Alliance'. He also found a new mate, the she-orc Mazguul Sharpeye. These three orcs would be instrumental in his stay with the Red Blade tribe.  Through Mazguul Varrgosh came into trouble with Osan and Gruulg, and through Gnash with the chieftain himself.

Varrgosh has both left and been exiled from the tribe, his second chances spent. He served the Warsong Offensive in Northrend dutifully when he was not with the Tribe, later on the Mad Grin Legion of Shro'gan, God-Emperor to the Gurubashi Empire, a move he performed when he lost faith in Kozgugore leadership capabilities,
and saw more promise in the jungle troll.

Held captive by Alliance mad scientists and wizards he missed the shattering of the world, when Deathwing wrought the Cataclysm to Azeroth. But once word reached him that Hellscream was the new Warchief, he made his escape. First he tried to rekindle ties to the Red Blade, but once it was apparent they would never truly accept him again, he took up the Warchief's fight in the Twilight Highlands, aiding the Dragonmaw Clan in their everlasting struggle against the Wildhammers.

Just a few months prior to the mists parting around the continent Pandaria, Varrgosh enlisted in the Shatterskull Marauders warband where he has made his new home. Tasked by the Warchief to create a divertion for the Alliance during the Fall of Theramore, Varrgosh gathered the tribes, clans and factions of the Horde to lure the Alliance troops out of Theramore and into the marshes, to allow the Kor'kron safe passage into the city through the harbour.

A success, the forces watched how the mana-bomb erased Theramore from Azeroth's surface. A bit to Varrgosh's dismay, he may be a brute but he believe firmly in fair battle, which he thought his Warchief did too. He was never told what of the mana-bomb, and his faith in Garrosh falters because of it.

It is unknown at present what became of Varrgosh after these events.

Things you may know about this character:
- His military servitude in the various Horde forces.
- He's an oathbreaker to the Red Blade tribe.
- He's (willingly) served under Emperor Shro'gan of the Gurubashi Empire's private army the "Mad Grin Legion", the Gurubashi whom are not Horde alligned.

Things you may not know about this character:
- Varrgosh has a worg named Morg, in honour of his former tutor, Morgeth.
- Varrgosh was the tutor of Rargnasha Bloodmark, and an inspiration of "What Rargnasha did -not- want to be, should he gain rank."
- Varrgosh values honourable combat, but in the case of humans he would slaughter unarmed children and women, due to his vendetta against the entire human race.

Memorable Quotes:
N/A

Other Information:
N/A

[Name:]

[Source: Adapted from Mozrogg's DefiasRP Character Profile and OotRB Wiki Entry.]



[/i]
Name: Mozrogg Doomhowl
Alias: Doomhowl
Rank: Nag'Ogar, Formerly Rrosh-tul

Age: Late 40s - Early 50s
Gender: Male
Race: Orc
Clan: Warsong Clan
Class: Warrior
Alignment: Chaotic Good

Family: Mrug'esh Bloodforge (Father, Deceased) Shak'ra Wolfmother (Mother, Deceased) Kyrazha Throatrender (Mate) Goru Swiftblade (Daughter)
Known Friends: Friends and foe alike found within the Red Blades, as well as newly forged friendships within the Blood Wolves and the odd Shatterskull.
Known Enemies: N/A

Appearance:
Before you stands a hulking and imposing orc, almost as wide as he is tall. He is of a slouched posture, his curved shoulders bulging with slabs of muscle.

The orc's hair is a pitch black, his beard thick and unkempt, however the hair on his head is thinning slightly, with the odd strands of grey dotting the otherwise dark mane. Recently however due to shamanistic magic his hair has been changed, not to his liking into a ghostly shade of grey and white.

Various scars and bruises litter this one's body, This orc's right tusk is also broken. A large scar stretches from his left shoulder down to his elbow. Mozrogg's nose is noticably crooked, the sign of various breaks perhaps. A scar runs down from above the left eyebrow ridge, across the eye and down the cheek. The hands of this orc are heavily scarred. A horrifically large scar is upon the orcs' abdomen, burnt shut.

Upon Mozrogg's chest, the tattoo of a wolf's maw can be seen and around his neck is a hand-made necklace of bone and wood beads, as well as an old tattered rope adorned with fangs, teeth and claws. Upon his waist a dried up yak-brain can be seen dangling from a chain.

Mozrogg has two different coloured eyes, one glistens with the moonlight, whilst the other is merely a dull oxblood.

Personality:
Mozrogg is hot-headed, arrogant, extremely sarcastic and easily angered. Often mistaken as stupid which isn't the case, he merely uses his brain a lot less than he should, however when it comes to those close to him he is extremely passionate and protective.

The orc will usually bully or make fun out of other orc's within the tribe, however this is merely his way of showing interest and affection, he can be extremely xenophobic unless proven wrong. An easy way to gain the orc's respect is usually through a show of strength, or beating him into a bloody pulp.

History:
During some of the most violent years of Draenor's history. Not too long after the Draenei had been all but annihilated and the individual clans resorted to fighting amongst each other, the orc known as Doomhowl would be born. From the moment he was brought into the world, Mozrogg would know only violence and chaos, brother fighting brother, clan fighting clan and it was from this environment that would shape Doomhowl into fearsome warrior that he is today.

Born from a fearsome warrior and blacksmith, as well as a visionary shaman the orc would boom promise. From an early age, Mozrogg was pushed into manual labour, whether this be assisting his father, the clans blacksmith by mining the raw materials required to make the weapons of war to hauling said minerals many miles back to the clans village the young orc would quickly put on muscle mass rare for one so young.

Mozrogg would frequently fight with the other boys of the clan, namely being picked on for being so freakishly big at such age, perhaps not a wise decision for the assailants part. Mozrogg's prowess in combat due to these incursions was soon picked up on by the older warriors of the clan. Perhaps a life outside of being a blacksmiths apprentice was in store for young Doomhowl.

Gul'dans influence continued to spread amongst the various orcish clans and the construction of the Dark Portal began. The widespread practise of necromancy and the use of fel magic began to affect the very land of Draenor itself, the once beautiful and lush landscape was being twisted and corrupt, dying as it were. If Mozrogg were to survive in this harsh environment he would have to drink the demon's blood like many of his brethren, thus it was done.

As the First War began, Mozrogg was considered too young at first to fight within the ranks of Blackhand's Horde, so remained behind on Draenor growing as an orc and as a warrior as he trained with the others of the clan, most notably those who were much older and you'd think greater in combat skill, however Mozrogg bested them all the same. By the age of fourteen due to Mozrogg's increased speed at his learning with an axe was drafted into now Doomhammer's Horde, the only action he would see in this war was the sacking of Stormwind.

Mozrogg faught extensively throughout the Second War, mainly following the bulk of Doomhammer's forces and their push northward, which ultimately led to their retreat back the way they came, their forces scattered and crushed at the Battle of Blackrock Spire forced Mozrogg to flee with the remaining Warsong clan back to the Dark Portal, realising the way had been shut, the clan fled into the wilds to evade capture from the hands of human.

Growing up within the wilds of outer Lordaeron meant Mozrogg grew into a cunning warrior, and when the Orcish Horde was mobilised he, along with the rest of his kin crossed the sea to the long forgotton lands of Kalimdor, it was here that Mozrogg was mainly put to work in Ashenvale along with the rest of the Warsong in guarding the precious lumber camps and fighting the vile Night Elves. Following the advise of their clan Chieftain, Mozrogg along with his kin once again drunk the blood of Mannoroth to aid in their plight against the forest guardians, this soon resulted in the Warsong Clan and himself fighting against their former comrades only to be freed once the vile demon was slain.

With the rise of the Lich King, Mozrogg was amongst one of the first to travel to Northrend, aiding in the fortification of Warsong Hold and after, spending the majority of his time in Northrend aboard Orgrim's Hammer, much to the orc's dismay. Upon returning to Kalimdor the orc soon met up with the Red Blade Tribe and now pledges himself to their will.

After many campaigns and adventures with the Tribe, Doomhowl soon climbed the ladder and obtained the rank of Rrosh-Tul, a rank in which he held with the highest of regards, however upon the tribes' latest visit to Nagrand the orc would soon become possessed by a cunning and vile demon, bent on eradicating his blood-line for reasons still unknown, his pack left him there, in his eyes abandoned. However through the perseverance of the Mag'Har spiritualists Mozrogg was able to regain control, for the most part, the ritual took it's toll upon him and yet gifted him with something, his inner shamanistic potential, long hidden away as a child was unlocked and he soon began to hear the screaming of the land and the spirits that suffered, he still to this day carries the confusion and misunderstanding of this, as well as the soul stone in which the demon resides, an ever burden around his heavily scarred neck.

Upon returning to Kalimdor due to blurred visions of the happenings in Orgrimmar he soon discovered the Horde in a sorry state of affairs, not agreeing with the current regime of the rebellion forming an alliance with their hated enemies he soon cut all ties to his former tribe and sought out those who still carve up the alliance in the name of the new Horde. Doomhowl, reluctantly sought out Grim Stonepaw and pledged his allegiance to the Blood Wolf Clan.

Things you may know about this character:
Whatever you see upon the surface.

Things you may not know about this character:
Fear of heights; Mainly when propelled by goblin technology. Has an adverse effect when in contact with demon blood and magic. Unintentionally aided in the release of a first generation Death Knight's spirit.

Memorable Quotes:
N/A

Other Information:
N/A

[spoiler=Gallery]

[Picture by Kiro]

[Picture by Shargla]
[/spoiler]

[The Spirit of Kalimdor]

The Spirit of Kalimdor

In preparation for the commemoration of the fallen, orcs must gather a trophy from each beast or sapient species listed, along with mixing their blood into a cauldron:

Group 1:

• Quilboar
• Raptor
• Furbolg
• Wolf
• Scorpid
• Lion
• Stag
• Vulture
• Giraffe
• Plainstrider

Group 2

• Harpy
• Naga
• Hippogryph
• Basilisk
• Bear
• Boar
• Crocolisk
• Zhevra
• Hyena
• Turtle

[Time Out]

Time Out

((A mediation on the nature of change, in terms of WoW, Defias Brotherhood, OotRB and Sadok as a character.))

I was stood in the Valley of Strength, my arms folded defensively, trying to absorb some of its ambient excitement as locals bustled back and forth. I had been in a melancholy, almost miserable mood as of late â€" doubting my purpose in the tribe, worrying about my mate, and growing increasingly irritable and eccentric. I had achieved so much, and yet it could all be lost in a moment. Only memories would remain of my fulfilment, and memories are poor company in a time of solace.

I snorted, shaking my head. I had to find some way of distracting myself, of breaking the vicious cycle of negativity and insecurity. My thoughts scattered on the wild wind, and brought me back to the first time I had walked these sun-baked streets.

Orgrimmar was different then, and so was I.



The morning sun shone through the arid canyons nestling the city. In the Valley of Strength, far-flung travellers patronised the auction-house â€" the only such facility on Azeroth available to the Horde, unless you were brave enough to try and trade with the dwarves of Ironforge. Aspiring heroes of the Horde loitered on the roof of the district’s bank. I did not understand this strange custom, but then, there was much about the city I found unfamiliar. I had not set foot on Kalimdor in three years, by my count.

We strode casually through the streets, my travel-companion Vileclaw and I, having no particular business to attend to this morning. I wore a coarse hooded cowl and ragged robes, for I was still unused to the blinding heat and oppressive sunlight. Vileclaw wore a dark tunic with finely-embroidered red stitching. We looked an unorthodox pair, and a grunt soon stopped us. “Warlocks belong in the Cleft,” he stated matter-of-factly. Vileclaw smirked crookedly. “We are orc magi,” he claimed grandly, seeming to forget that both of us had trained for barely a couple of years and had a decidedly limited grasp of arcana. The grunt laughed heartily, moving to smack Vileclaw on the back. “Orc mages, har-har! As likely as elves joining the Horde, that!” He let us supposed warlocks off with a warning.

I was no warlock, but then again, I didn’t feel particularly orcish either. My “home”, if I had any, was still across the waters in the dusty libraries of the Magic Quarter, but Vileclaw had convinced me to visit the burgeoning capital of our Horde. “Our names will be known across this city, and across this Horde,” Vileclaw assured me with a wry confidence, as though it had long since been decided. I had a tall opinion of myself, but I still felt very small and insignificant in this great city. “We shall see,” I replied.

He wasn’t even looking at me as we spoke, his wandering gaze instead having fixed upon a rotting dragon’s head, which was casting a long shadow across the Valley of Strength. Some said it came from a lair in the murky marshes far south of these lands, where humans held their lone outposts in this land. I did not know if that was true. But humans, and dragons for that matter, were far from the first thing on the mind of Orgrimmar’s commoners.

Orgrimmar seemed to grow with each passing season, or so it was said, and its populace’s demand for basic victuals and supplies far outstripped what the desert around it could provide. Durotar’s farmlands had yielded little but lean pork, over-ripe cactus apples and gnarled wood â€" not enough to feed or house a nation, and so Orgrimmar looked outwards. With the tenuous peace of recent times, a range of exotic wares were flooding into the city, the merchant class swollen and opportunistic. As we sauntered through the cool, shady Drag, I took some time to linger â€" to the annoyance of my restless companion. “What’s your rush anyhow?” I snorted. “It’s not even noon, and it’s going to get hotter before it gets cooler. Let’s stay a moment.” So we did.

Before us, a tired-looking elderly orc trumpeted his wares, stood behind a rickety stall with various dried fruits. “Dates, figs, nuts!” he proclaimed, before adding: “Dates, figs, nuts!” He would repeat this three-word mantra as long as we were in earshot, and no doubt continued to extol the virtues of dates, figs and nuts until night fell. I wondered if he dreamt of dates, figs and nuts, or of old glories instead. He looked to be in his twilight years â€" I doubt he sold dried fruits in the Dying Times, or when the Old Horde razed Stormwind to the ground. Maybe he did, I was not there.

Across the way, a slender orc bartered with a tiny green man (a goblin, as Vileclaw informs me) who flaunted a battered case of gleaming gemstones and cheap-looking rings in one hand and a dripping wax candle in the other. A trollish street-busker tunelessly thumped a kodo-hide drum with a chipped femur-bone, wailing elegiac gibberish in whatever language it is his people allegedly speak. A primitive hut had a hand-written sign hanging from the open passage (Orgrimmar had few doors), reading “Do Not Disturb”. Vileclaw gazed within discretely, and grinned from ear to ear as if privy to some inside-joke. “An orc in his bare feet with a rope around his neck. Coward.”

In the nearby alley, a shy and provocatively dressed she-orc approached an off-duty grunt lazily lounging in the shade. She looked young and hungry â€" still a child by some orcs’ estimation, but her profession was clear by her expression. She smiled thinly and winked at the grunt, but he looked the other way, as if she did not exist. The female huffed and tugged on his harness, but he shrugged her off. She cried: “These toothaches are killin’ me! If ah don’t raise some coin somehow to git ‘em looked at, ah’ll be toothless one day, I vow it by Thrall!” I started to feel a sense of discomfort watching them, so we walked on.

Ashenvale lumber was piled high in the Valley of Honor, the spoils of the Warsong marauding far to the west. As the sun beat down and rusted cranes soared overhead, peons paced back and forth, their foreman yelling angrily at them. “Peons,” Vileclaw mused aloud to himself, “disgusting creatures.” I nodded silently, as if in agreement, but I had no disdain for the peon caste myself. I may have ended up as one myself, if I had stayed on Kalimdor, and was deemed unworthy for anything but drudge-work.

This seemed to be the quieter part of the city, and for once, the hubbub of locals going their way receded as I could hear the distant clink of hammer against anvil, and even further away, the cawing of sea-gulls. Then I heard a weak moan from behind me, and turned to see a sunburnt orc with peeling skin and two charred stumps at his knees, laid in his own filth and excrement. My sense of smell had begun to fail me as of late, but even a faded scent was offensive to me.

“Spare a copper for a proud warrior of the Horde, lads?” he begged, clasping his grubby hands and wringing them. Vileclaw was unamused, measuring him with a cool glare. “Look Slitherblade, it’s a proud warrior-beggar,” he sneered. “What was more recent, old orc â€" your last battle or your last bath?” The beggar looked indignant, but looked down submissively to his stumps and grumbled wearily. “I’ve had everything taken from me,” he grunted. “My homeland, my legs, my mate and two daughters… my honor. I did not choose… this.” He bowed his head, looking rather miserable.

Vileclaw smirked, his teeth sharp like razors. When it seemed as though as was about to respond, he simply strode off from the foul-smelling beggar, shaking his head in amused disbelief. I followed. “Seems like everywhere you turn, there’s another hard-luck story that you’re going to hear,” I said, not entirely sure of how to feel. Vileclaw cackled gruffly: “Hard -Luk- story, ha-ha! That’s what I like about you Slitherblade, quick wit and keen mind. Just like me.” I sometimes wondered why I spent so much time with Vileclaw, but it was true â€" iron sharpens iron, and he was a cunning and perceptive orc himself, despite his occasional cruelty.

We passed a wooden poster-board and I decided to read the notices. There was news of battles in the Warsong Gulch or Alterac Valley. Accounts of adventurers’ exploits within the Blackrock Depths or the Molten Core. Details of skirmishes and campaigns between Horde and Alliance organisations I had never even heard of. Starseeker Sentinels. Mistrunner Tribe. Holy Lightbringers. The Old Lordaeron. Dragonblood Conclave. The Alliance Watch. Second Gurubashi Empire. The Arathi Nation. Orcs of the Red Blade.

Vileclaw grumbled at the latter name, and shook his head. “I’ve heard of them,” he noted drily. “Their Matriarch Akesha, she claims to recruit orcs from all sorts. All Clans. But you and I would never belong, what they want are pack-members, team-players who shut up, do as they’re told and like it. We’re free-thinkers, we have no master or Matriarch, we do as we want.” I found it hard to disagree with him. I was shy and somewhat withdrawn, but I was not submissive. I had learnt in the internment camps not to trust warden or fellow orc. Even though I enjoyed Vileclaw’s company, I did not trust him â€" I knew I could expect to be sacrificed or discarded if fortuitous. If an orc doesn't put his own interests first, who will?



As the rustling palm-branches swayed in the warm breeze, I found myself returning from my distant memories to the present. I realised that I had long since come to view Vileclaw’s words on that distant day as false. After all, I had joined the tribe he so deplored once. But obeying orders is not a sign of weakness and facile submission. It is the opposite. We do not run with the tribe because we have to, but because we have chosen to unite and because we are stronger together. It is this philosophy that binds clans and tribes, but it is also one which justifies the building of cities for mutual benefit. A Chieftain is not a master, and a disgruntled, proud free-thinker cannot build a settlement like Orgrimmar, he can only destroy it.

And so, much as Orgrimmar found itself rebuilt and reforged under a succession of Warchiefs, all the old names and organisations had fallen or faded away. I was only dimly aware that the Gurubashi still eked out an existence somewhere in Stranglethorn, but besides that, only the Red Blade tribe had still survived. I couldn’t help but struggle to grasp why. The Red Blades were no stronger than most of those groups, no larger and certainly no wealthier. But then, I had rode with the tribe for over four years now, and many orcs within it had faded away also. Good orcs like Mazguul and Regorn. Strong orcs like Gnash and Tazok. Tenacious orcs like Morgeth and… Vashnarz. I was no better than any of them, and yet I had endured also, for reasons equally inexplicable to the Red Blades’ longevity.

I gazed about the new buildings in the Valley of Strength, and decided I would go on a walk to retrace our steps. Vileclaw may be gone now, but his companion on that day endures and the city we traveled still stands.

Orgrimmar is different now, and so am I.

Posting dog photos. Cute dogs, weird dogs, scary dogs, dog-dogs.

Please don't post more than one dog a day per person! I will not tolerate those who dare to double-dog post.



A PARADE FOR DOG

[Ravenmore's Fantasy Icon pack]

Made up some forum icons, adapted from Ravenmore's Fantasy Icon pack. The brighter versions are when there are new messages in a forum, the faded-out ones are for no new messages.

Applications


Contact Us


Game Related


Off Topic


Event Planning


The Campfire


Red Blade Records


Odds & Ends


Officer Forum (Top Secret!)


Admin Area


The question now is... does any RP guild have a sexier website than ours?

Ahead of the big transfer on the 9th of June, we already have some New Bloods on AD who have been accepted ICly into the tribe. They don't have our guild-tag and they can't see our event calendar yet, but more importantly, they can't interact with us unless they're cross-realm invited.

To make them feel as welcome as possible, I would encourage members to add their Battletags, and to send them a whisper before events or during campfire RP to make them feel especially welcome.

Here are the Battletags. This list will be updated as and when we get more AD applicants:
Barrox -- Nappeh#2166
Dolgrub -- MegaMe#2411
Skullchewer -- DarkIron#2583
Uglúk -- W0lffe#2277
Réshka -- InsanePhil#1479
Rimefury -- RossGiles#1134

Thanks in advance for your cooperation and support!

An insomniac with OCD has to keep busy, so here we go.

Orcs of the Red Blade have had a lot of members in the past decade. How many? The answer is below, and the scary thing is that this is an incomplete list.

Can you find your orc? Hint: the more important or long-tenured your orc is, the closer to the middle you probably are -- for instance, Akesha is at the dead centre on both the Y and X axis. Yes, it's those levels of obsession which has inspired this graphic.

Since there seemed to be demand for this in the Question Thread, here we go. Name your favourite characters inside and outside of the tribe to RP with, and why -- no, you can't choose yourself or any of your alts. 

• I liked RPing with Karak, basically because he's the complete antithesis of what an orc should be (light-worshipping well-spoken bard) and a decade of abuse over this fact has slowly broken him down, before building him right back up as a strong independent woman who don't need no tribe. Plus he was Rrosh-tul, who would have seen that one coming?
• Kyrazha's another character that's weird and shouldn't work, but absolutely does. It's really funny to RP with her on Sadok, because they get on perfectly well and have lots of fun despite having practically nothing in common. Sadok and Kyra getting together was a complete accident, involving a lot of angry words and screaming, but they somehow managed to get over that.
• Mozrogg was a really fun character to interact with. He was in some ways your completely generic orc warrior, but the person behind the character gave it a very interesting twist -- with a crude wit and flaring temper, he was the life around every campfire, unlike some warrior characters who only look comfortable on the battlefield.
• We're going to see Kristeas again on AD, and he was my favourite belf to RP with. Cool and always dignified, he was your archetypal polite gentleman who was utterly baffled and somewhat patronising around all these brutish orcs. His calmness under pressure didn't even break when he was being tortured by the Alliance -- a gentleman must have priorities, of course.
• Drustai is love, Drustai is life. The way she RPed her draenei and the intensive preparation and thorough reasoning behind every little emote made me look at my frankly terribad mage RP, and resolve to put in the research and get better. Playing such a long-lived character as a draenei can be difficult at the best of times, but she pulled it off with considerable aplomb.

So, what about you guys? What characters have you most enjoyed interacting with?