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#51
The Campfire / Failure
Last post by Rhonya - February 16, 2021, 08:09:01 PMThe nights here were never really different from the days, all sense of time lost. So when Rhonya was sitting there on the edge of the camp, keeping her eyes on the two comatose orcs on the floor, she couldn’t help but slowly slipping towards sleep state herself. The monotone colors, no light changes, it made one zone out eventually. She was thinking about Rykana’s words, about trying harder and how she herself had responded. Exhaustion caught up with her before long and her eyes fully closed. Maybe she could take a nap, for a second…
The elven woods were as oppressing always. Some of the orcs loved them, but to Rhonya they were dark, secluded and slightly claustrophobic, the way the sky wasn’t even visible through the dense, dark tree tops.
The tribe was here on business, as usual. She had left Sadok and Sukeenah and the cubs in her hut in the Northern Barrens. There’d been some odd rumors coming from the woods, so the tribe had offered to investigate. Rhonya’s mate hadn’t felt up for it, so she’d gone without him. Which was fine, he could use some time with the children either way.
It was almost evening when the call came.
A voice, in her head. Sadoks voice.
“I love you. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you I love you I love you iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouILOVEYOUILOVEYOUI--â€
Rhonya was instantly alert. She reached back out to him, but there was no answer. Nothing. Instant fear gripped her heart as she dropped everything she was doing and yelled for Keren, her wolf. Sensing the urgency in her call, Keren ran towards her, unsaddled and all. Others of the tribe noticed Rhonya’s distress, but Rhonya wasn’t answering anyone.
One that followed her without question was Siyah’gosh, but Rhonya didn’t pay him any mind at first. She had to move. What was going on?
A green sky greeted her as Orc and Wolf ran as fast as Keren could go, Rhonya hanging on to the scruff of Kerens neck, clinging to her back. Rhonya looked up as they crossed the border to the Barrens. This sky wasn’t normal.
This thought was instantly supported by the feeling of the runic ward tattoo on her back activating. Which could only mean there was a high concentration of fel in the air.
Her hut wasn’t far. But the trip seemed to be taking hours, her ward burning on her back, sapping her energy to keep the fel from influencing her. There were.. things, in the sky. She paid them no heed.
Her breath caught as she rounded the corner into the patches of trees that surrounded her hut.
Or.. What was once her hut. Charred beams, the few remaining walls that were still standing were blackened and crumbling. The roof had collapsed and most of the furniture was burned and gone. The tattoo burned painfully now.
Without hesitation Rhonya threw herself off Kerens back, running towards the hut.
“Sadok?! Sukeenah! Skorm..?†She yelled, but there was no answer. She was trembling now, scenarios of her children and mate burning to death inside the hut in her mind. No. She had to focus.
Looking on the ground, the grass was blackened in a circle around the hut, as if something burning had fallen with great speed on the structure. But, in the grass, footsteps. Many of them. Both small and large, they made their way away from the hut.
So they’d escaped? Relief filled her. But why wasn’t Sadok answering her?
A soft sound could be heard from the hut. It was barely audible, a soft moan. Rhonya turned, her eyes going wide. She found a way inside the hut, climbing over fallen beams, burned up furniture, some threatening to fall on her as she shifted some things out of the way.
“Sadok!†She called out to her mate, before she saw him.
Only his torso was visible. One of the walls was pinning him on one side, a support beam had fallen over him on the other, crushing his legs. Blood streaked his face. One hand was stiffly held in a position as if he was holding something, but.. it was empty. On the floor nearby him she could see the ugly spiked mace they had kept in the hut for years. Mruth’gors scepter, the Scepter of the Shaman King.
He was still alive. Rhonya sped over towards him, tears filling her eyes. How was he even still alive? His face was charred, the wounds fatal, she could tell that right away. Yet, he breathed.
Their last moments were short. Some of the tribe arrived, but as they noted her distress and the fact they couldn’t help in any way, they left her alone. Only Siyah’gosh stayed, and talked to her.
Sadok would die. Nothing could change that. The beam on him was somehow the only thing still keeping him alive. If it was moved, he’d die instantly. But if they left him like this, he’d die a slow, agonizing death.
Sadok could hardly speak. But he noticed her there, her recognized her. He told her Sukeenah had escaped with the children. He mentioned the scepter, but his words were all jumbled up.
Rhonya was numbed. She held his hand, feeling… nothing. She couldn’t accept this…
In the end Siyah’gosh convinced her she couldn’t leave him like this, in his own way. She agreed… And the odd but honest orc slit his throat. Ended his suffering.
The image forever burned into Rhonya’s memory, never to forget, the pain never fading. If only she’d taken him along. If only she’d been there and not in the woods. If only she’d tried harder.
If only…
Images. Orcs, in her arms.
Her sister. Grogona. Someone found her corpse, brought it to the clan. In her arms, that trusted face, the spirit gone forever. Failed her.
Under her bloodied hands. A newblood...what was his name again? Kargush. Wounded in battle and she’d been too late. He died, her hands bloody on his chest, tears burning in her eyes. Failed him.
That burned face of her mate, making her promise to be strong… Failed him most of all.
Krogon, an arrow in his back, the poison spreading through his veins, the Chieftains knife kissing his throat and sending him to the Plains, under Rhonya’s hands. She’d failed him.
Makaroth. Blood brother. Warlock. Fallen from grace, seduced to return to his old ways, killed for betraying the tribe… failed him, her bond broken.
Failed them all. She didn’t try hard enough.
Nakobu, burning up right in front of her eyes. One moment he was there, the next, he was gone. Failed him.
Thronk, getting carried over the edge, drowning, his suffering spared by an arrow-..failed him…
Failed them all. Their blood on her hands. She didn’t try hard enough. It was her fault. So many dead, because she failed, because she hadn’t been strong enough. Failure… failure…
Failure.
She awoke with a start, touching her face. Something warm and wet was covering her cheeks. It took her a moment to realize she was crying. Her gaze found Nakobu’s form right away. She stumbled over to him, checking his pulse. He was alive… thank the spirits, he was alive.
Rhonya moved over to Thronk, doing the same. His heartbeat steady under her hand.
Wiping her face, Rhonya turned around, moving a little bit away from her clan. Rykana’s words echoing in her ears. “I did everything I could and it wasn't enough.â€
Rykana had been talking about herself. But the words had hit home for Rhonya too, clearly. Her heart hurt.
These two were not dead. But they could’ve been, easily. She still wasn’t strong enough.
With a sigh Rhonya buried her face in her hands, hiding a little behind some of the bones. Steelheart, was her name. A name she often felt she didn’t deserve…
The elven woods were as oppressing always. Some of the orcs loved them, but to Rhonya they were dark, secluded and slightly claustrophobic, the way the sky wasn’t even visible through the dense, dark tree tops.
The tribe was here on business, as usual. She had left Sadok and Sukeenah and the cubs in her hut in the Northern Barrens. There’d been some odd rumors coming from the woods, so the tribe had offered to investigate. Rhonya’s mate hadn’t felt up for it, so she’d gone without him. Which was fine, he could use some time with the children either way.
It was almost evening when the call came.
A voice, in her head. Sadoks voice.
“I love you. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you I love you I love you iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouILOVEYOUILOVEYOUI--â€
Rhonya was instantly alert. She reached back out to him, but there was no answer. Nothing. Instant fear gripped her heart as she dropped everything she was doing and yelled for Keren, her wolf. Sensing the urgency in her call, Keren ran towards her, unsaddled and all. Others of the tribe noticed Rhonya’s distress, but Rhonya wasn’t answering anyone.
One that followed her without question was Siyah’gosh, but Rhonya didn’t pay him any mind at first. She had to move. What was going on?
A green sky greeted her as Orc and Wolf ran as fast as Keren could go, Rhonya hanging on to the scruff of Kerens neck, clinging to her back. Rhonya looked up as they crossed the border to the Barrens. This sky wasn’t normal.
This thought was instantly supported by the feeling of the runic ward tattoo on her back activating. Which could only mean there was a high concentration of fel in the air.
Her hut wasn’t far. But the trip seemed to be taking hours, her ward burning on her back, sapping her energy to keep the fel from influencing her. There were.. things, in the sky. She paid them no heed.
Her breath caught as she rounded the corner into the patches of trees that surrounded her hut.
Or.. What was once her hut. Charred beams, the few remaining walls that were still standing were blackened and crumbling. The roof had collapsed and most of the furniture was burned and gone. The tattoo burned painfully now.
Without hesitation Rhonya threw herself off Kerens back, running towards the hut.
“Sadok?! Sukeenah! Skorm..?†She yelled, but there was no answer. She was trembling now, scenarios of her children and mate burning to death inside the hut in her mind. No. She had to focus.
Looking on the ground, the grass was blackened in a circle around the hut, as if something burning had fallen with great speed on the structure. But, in the grass, footsteps. Many of them. Both small and large, they made their way away from the hut.
So they’d escaped? Relief filled her. But why wasn’t Sadok answering her?
A soft sound could be heard from the hut. It was barely audible, a soft moan. Rhonya turned, her eyes going wide. She found a way inside the hut, climbing over fallen beams, burned up furniture, some threatening to fall on her as she shifted some things out of the way.
“Sadok!†She called out to her mate, before she saw him.
Only his torso was visible. One of the walls was pinning him on one side, a support beam had fallen over him on the other, crushing his legs. Blood streaked his face. One hand was stiffly held in a position as if he was holding something, but.. it was empty. On the floor nearby him she could see the ugly spiked mace they had kept in the hut for years. Mruth’gors scepter, the Scepter of the Shaman King.
He was still alive. Rhonya sped over towards him, tears filling her eyes. How was he even still alive? His face was charred, the wounds fatal, she could tell that right away. Yet, he breathed.
Their last moments were short. Some of the tribe arrived, but as they noted her distress and the fact they couldn’t help in any way, they left her alone. Only Siyah’gosh stayed, and talked to her.
Sadok would die. Nothing could change that. The beam on him was somehow the only thing still keeping him alive. If it was moved, he’d die instantly. But if they left him like this, he’d die a slow, agonizing death.
Sadok could hardly speak. But he noticed her there, her recognized her. He told her Sukeenah had escaped with the children. He mentioned the scepter, but his words were all jumbled up.
Rhonya was numbed. She held his hand, feeling… nothing. She couldn’t accept this…
In the end Siyah’gosh convinced her she couldn’t leave him like this, in his own way. She agreed… And the odd but honest orc slit his throat. Ended his suffering.
The image forever burned into Rhonya’s memory, never to forget, the pain never fading. If only she’d taken him along. If only she’d been there and not in the woods. If only she’d tried harder.
If only…
Images. Orcs, in her arms.
Her sister. Grogona. Someone found her corpse, brought it to the clan. In her arms, that trusted face, the spirit gone forever. Failed her.
Under her bloodied hands. A newblood...what was his name again? Kargush. Wounded in battle and she’d been too late. He died, her hands bloody on his chest, tears burning in her eyes. Failed him.
That burned face of her mate, making her promise to be strong… Failed him most of all.
Krogon, an arrow in his back, the poison spreading through his veins, the Chieftains knife kissing his throat and sending him to the Plains, under Rhonya’s hands. She’d failed him.
Makaroth. Blood brother. Warlock. Fallen from grace, seduced to return to his old ways, killed for betraying the tribe… failed him, her bond broken.
Failed them all. She didn’t try hard enough.
Nakobu, burning up right in front of her eyes. One moment he was there, the next, he was gone. Failed him.
Thronk, getting carried over the edge, drowning, his suffering spared by an arrow-..failed him…
Failed them all. Their blood on her hands. She didn’t try hard enough. It was her fault. So many dead, because she failed, because she hadn’t been strong enough. Failure… failure…
Failure.
She awoke with a start, touching her face. Something warm and wet was covering her cheeks. It took her a moment to realize she was crying. Her gaze found Nakobu’s form right away. She stumbled over to him, checking his pulse. He was alive… thank the spirits, he was alive.
Rhonya moved over to Thronk, doing the same. His heartbeat steady under her hand.
Wiping her face, Rhonya turned around, moving a little bit away from her clan. Rykana’s words echoing in her ears. “I did everything I could and it wasn't enough.â€
Rykana had been talking about herself. But the words had hit home for Rhonya too, clearly. Her heart hurt.
These two were not dead. But they could’ve been, easily. She still wasn’t strong enough.
With a sigh Rhonya buried her face in her hands, hiding a little behind some of the bones. Steelheart, was her name. A name she often felt she didn’t deserve…
#52
Contact Us / A RP Propositon!
Last post by Crowmore - February 15, 2021, 06:15:34 PMHello! I represent the Crimson Covenant on Alliance.
I wish to discuss with you all about running a prolonged IC RP-PvP 'Rivalry' between our two guilds!
So, I wonder if it would be possible to arrange an OOC meeting between our two guilds on discord to discuss such further in case it is something that would interest you lot!
My discord is; Three#6171 - Toss me a friend request and we can discuss further in case it is of interest
I wish to discuss with you all about running a prolonged IC RP-PvP 'Rivalry' between our two guilds!
So, I wonder if it would be possible to arrange an OOC meeting between our two guilds on discord to discuss such further in case it is something that would interest you lot!
My discord is; Three#6171 - Toss me a friend request and we can discuss further in case it is of interest
#53
The Campfire / A plan of action
Last post by Drazhul - February 10, 2021, 06:35:41 PMThe following is scribbled down in black ink inside Draz'hul's personal notebook.
Step 1: Aquire knowledge.
This realm holds many a creature whom are closely familiar with necromancy and spirits, perhaps they could be of use. Perhaps they have written tomes on it as well. Might aid in the ritual to free the spirit, or help with locating the staff.
Step 2: Aquire power.
Crude but neccesary. Can't pinpoint the staff with regular scrying. In need of more power or powerful spells, either works. Could sollicit help from the clan but might risk too many questions concerning the nature of my search and actions.
Step 3: locate and retrieve the staff.
Self explanatory.
Step 4: Free the spirit.
If the plan works out there'd be enough magical power and knowledge to safely extract the spirit from the staff, thus releasing it from it's prison. Help might be needed, may lead to being scrutinized by the clan.
Step 5: Free him.
A reluctant step, even with my own emotions set aside. Subject has vowed to kill me and hurt Bashul, several times. Proclaimed to kill Bashul before he was trapped. Will be troublesome, subject is hostile and can't count on clan support due to the nature of it's capture, even if capturing it was a accidental result of purging Bashul's lantern.
Risks
Final thoughts:
I promised my parents to find Ralka and reunite her with them, therefore I have to do whatever it takes to do so. Freeing Gun'garom can prove dangerous, he might try to posses Bashul once more, a fate I'd rather spare her from by keeping him chained in the orb. Though, with the proper ritual that can be prevented. Regardless, I have decided to free his insidious spirit and face my highly probable punishment. I should talk to Bashul about all of this, difficult as it may be.
Step 1: Aquire knowledge.
This realm holds many a creature whom are closely familiar with necromancy and spirits, perhaps they could be of use. Perhaps they have written tomes on it as well. Might aid in the ritual to free the spirit, or help with locating the staff.
Step 2: Aquire power.
Crude but neccesary. Can't pinpoint the staff with regular scrying. In need of more power or powerful spells, either works. Could sollicit help from the clan but might risk too many questions concerning the nature of my search and actions.
Step 3: locate and retrieve the staff.
Self explanatory.
Step 4: Free the spirit.
If the plan works out there'd be enough magical power and knowledge to safely extract the spirit from the staff, thus releasing it from it's prison. Help might be needed, may lead to being scrutinized by the clan.
Step 5: Free him.
A reluctant step, even with my own emotions set aside. Subject has vowed to kill me and hurt Bashul, several times. Proclaimed to kill Bashul before he was trapped. Will be troublesome, subject is hostile and can't count on clan support due to the nature of it's capture, even if capturing it was a accidental result of purging Bashul's lantern.
Risks
- Clears conscience but might incur severe punishments for breaking of clan rules.
- Might incur resentment with Bashul towards myself, I fear this the most.
- Hostile spirit might try and enact revenge towards me, I deem this unavoidable.
- Might get exiled as punishment, a fair and harsh punishment I hope to avoid.
Final thoughts:
I promised my parents to find Ralka and reunite her with them, therefore I have to do whatever it takes to do so. Freeing Gun'garom can prove dangerous, he might try to posses Bashul once more, a fate I'd rather spare her from by keeping him chained in the orb. Though, with the proper ritual that can be prevented. Regardless, I have decided to free his insidious spirit and face my highly probable punishment. I should talk to Bashul about all of this, difficult as it may be.
#54
The Campfire / Re: Campaign: Shadows Over Sha...
Last post by Verzan - February 10, 2021, 01:35:20 PMShadowlands Report: A Change of Camp
They interrogated the prisoners we had captured last night. I didn’t watch but some orcs did and reported that they had set the little corpse cleavers to work on taking them apart, the captured ones told their tormentors nothing and died. If you can say that is what happens to those who fall here?
There is discontent among the clan orcs. What sort of a place is this? Every fresh new day it tests our honour and the limits of what we consider decent in the face of this strange alien war. It is a war that we are not part of and should not become part of but what choices do we have? It feels like the petty squabbles of the clans of Draenor and an endless conflict where the souls of those who fall do not seem to ever die.
How else are we supposed to get to this ‘Oribos’ we have been told about, how else can we save Sharguul but continue to earn ourselves allies here who can get us there. It's challenging. I keep trying to reassure others that we will get out of here soon but there is no clear sign of when we will leave. Things cannot go on as they are right now - if nothing else we will run out of supplies here soon and the food and water are not good.
There is a strange atmosphere in the camp tonight, has the clan orcs discontent at the treatment of the prisoners been heard? Did our new hosts notice our scorn for their necromancy or the mishap the Ebon Knight had while handling their anima. I cannot be sure what has caused this but whatever it is - there is a clear change in the air as though we are overstaying our welcome.
Maybe that Kultiran construct did have a grudge against the orcs after all?
---
We are approached by the Constructs and offered new lodings for the clan. We are to move to the other gate of the Stitchworks. I called it North but I am reliably informed the new camp's position lies in the East, direction here is difficult to find as we cannot see the stars. There has been no obvious sign of day nor night yet either, just an endless half twilight.
Regardless with the growing tensions in the air it's time to move. Collecting the supplies we can and every wolf, child, orc and other associated Red Blade person and thing we depart.
The Stitchyard is a busy place, the dead do not seem to ever sleep and there are always more bodies and bones to be put together. Things seem to be on a war footing however and after a short walk you do not need to be a veteran of any wars to notice the forms the constructs are crafting. Many are bulky heavy shapes with spikes and scythe like arms, made entirely for battle.
Some of the smaller chopper creatures and the twine carriers seem to whistle as they work, it is an awful tune and it lingers in your ears like bad bird song. The ‘music’ is a near relentless stream of sea shanties in a dock yard as each different group seems to have their own work tune. None of them are worth remembering, it is all bad.
We pass a necromantic looking pillar and the vats of green, orange and purple liquid. The same stuff we saw poured into the constructs to give their new bodys life. While the fumes from these are acrid they at least are not toxic to the orcs who need to breath, I still would not advise anyone jumping in the strange liquids.
---
Across this part of the yard we drop down a long set of stairs and are presented with a different area of the House of Constructs. The created warriors seem to gather here, tended by Surgeons nursing any splits and tears in their new forms. They seem to be idling and waiting for something - a battle to come maybe?
Regardless we can already see the gate we are heading towards but it is the other side of the yard. Trouble is these giant bulbous war formed constructs aren’t the best at seeing who or what is around them, even just watching into the yard we were witness to one surgeon getting knocked over by an inconsiderate bump.
There was no alternative pathway to be taken, it was a matter of waiting for the constructs to part and make a dash for it and for many orcs that was a simple feat. Myself and Targnar Windsong made the first dash without incident, for an old orc he practically danced past the constructs.
For others it was a little rough. Thronk and Bamm took a bit of a jostle from inconsiderate constructs who seemed more than a little focused on the glory of the battle to come.
But it was Karak Stormsong who was due to have quite the terrible night of crossing this yard, he quickly found himself stepped on by one of the constructs and knocked down, expecting perhaps some level of notice and decency to let him through. He tried to get up but was quickly swatted a second time.
These were not planned attacks but rather just unthinking or unseeing ‘accidents’ but their accidents were more than a small strike when something bigger than a Kodo is excitedly bimbling around and has hatchets for arms.
Rykana Skywise was quick to leap to Stormsongs rescue, dragging him clear of a further flattening and helping the older orc to regroup with the rest of us but we had only made it as far as the corner of the yard. Recovering as best we could it would be another dash before we could get to the gates at the front of the House of Constructs.
I shall confess, having seen Stormsong struggle once we let him take the lead on the charge ahead toward the gate, just in case something came up. He at least would have two Skywise carers and most of the assembled orcs watching his back but -surely- his luck wouldn’t be so bad and he wouldn’t get stomped by these inconsiderate hosts twice--
Well. Seems his luck dislikes him immensely as yet another construct swatted him once again and he went down flat across the stones. Keshrakk his son seeming to stick with his father for a moment before I scampered over to try and help. Getting the boy first to run on ahead might have been the right idea but it was a costly delay and another construct backed up, broadsiding both myself and Stormsong.
It was like being a ball here in this cresh for constructs only here to be kicked about as meaty walls of flesh and knives jaggedly wobbled about in all directions. I scrambled across the floor. Rolling to dodge blades and feet to find Stormsong now unconscious in a heap but at least the other orcs had made it to the far side of the yard.
Getting to the unconscious orc was difficult and much of his equipment had been smashed but I got there and being a little shorter than most, I picked him up by the boot and dragged. If not for the quick thinking of Targnar Windsong who distracted one hulky construct and Bamm who directed Ragnar Whiteclaws wolf while her rider was also unconscious in his saddle who knows what might have happened.
It wasn’t the tidiest escape from unwitting peril we had bimbled into but we got clear - that's all I care for and we won’t be returning across that death trap again if I have anything to say about it.
---
The gates were as tall as Orgrimmar city’s walls. Huge and flanked in places by twitching quivering structures of bone that moved seemingly of their own will. High above a Necropolis floated in the air casting its shadow over the gates and whatever jelly-like treacle it was tipping out from a skull shaped sculpture in its side - this of course hit some of the orcs passing below it. A seeming parting gift from the Stitchyard.
After a brief walk through the gates it was easy for the Red Blade to find their future encampment. Corpses from the scouts we had located lay in various piles, some already chopped to pieces by the smaller constructs and others waiting their turn. There was a project being built for certain and we were to be camped close by.
Weary and injured, the orcs took to camp building if anything to avoid peering at the butchery on the lawn or spending too much time peering out at the constructs continuing to mass for battle. When camp was made mending took place and others began to investigate a strange stone pillar close by the stonework seeming different to the overall feel of Maldraxxus. It seems anywhere we go leaves us only with more questions.
-- Verzan Skywise --
Nag’Ogar Elite, Red Blade Clan
They interrogated the prisoners we had captured last night. I didn’t watch but some orcs did and reported that they had set the little corpse cleavers to work on taking them apart, the captured ones told their tormentors nothing and died. If you can say that is what happens to those who fall here?
There is discontent among the clan orcs. What sort of a place is this? Every fresh new day it tests our honour and the limits of what we consider decent in the face of this strange alien war. It is a war that we are not part of and should not become part of but what choices do we have? It feels like the petty squabbles of the clans of Draenor and an endless conflict where the souls of those who fall do not seem to ever die.
How else are we supposed to get to this ‘Oribos’ we have been told about, how else can we save Sharguul but continue to earn ourselves allies here who can get us there. It's challenging. I keep trying to reassure others that we will get out of here soon but there is no clear sign of when we will leave. Things cannot go on as they are right now - if nothing else we will run out of supplies here soon and the food and water are not good.
There is a strange atmosphere in the camp tonight, has the clan orcs discontent at the treatment of the prisoners been heard? Did our new hosts notice our scorn for their necromancy or the mishap the Ebon Knight had while handling their anima. I cannot be sure what has caused this but whatever it is - there is a clear change in the air as though we are overstaying our welcome.
Maybe that Kultiran construct did have a grudge against the orcs after all?
---
We are approached by the Constructs and offered new lodings for the clan. We are to move to the other gate of the Stitchworks. I called it North but I am reliably informed the new camp's position lies in the East, direction here is difficult to find as we cannot see the stars. There has been no obvious sign of day nor night yet either, just an endless half twilight.
Regardless with the growing tensions in the air it's time to move. Collecting the supplies we can and every wolf, child, orc and other associated Red Blade person and thing we depart.
The Stitchyard is a busy place, the dead do not seem to ever sleep and there are always more bodies and bones to be put together. Things seem to be on a war footing however and after a short walk you do not need to be a veteran of any wars to notice the forms the constructs are crafting. Many are bulky heavy shapes with spikes and scythe like arms, made entirely for battle.
Some of the smaller chopper creatures and the twine carriers seem to whistle as they work, it is an awful tune and it lingers in your ears like bad bird song. The ‘music’ is a near relentless stream of sea shanties in a dock yard as each different group seems to have their own work tune. None of them are worth remembering, it is all bad.
We pass a necromantic looking pillar and the vats of green, orange and purple liquid. The same stuff we saw poured into the constructs to give their new bodys life. While the fumes from these are acrid they at least are not toxic to the orcs who need to breath, I still would not advise anyone jumping in the strange liquids.
---
Across this part of the yard we drop down a long set of stairs and are presented with a different area of the House of Constructs. The created warriors seem to gather here, tended by Surgeons nursing any splits and tears in their new forms. They seem to be idling and waiting for something - a battle to come maybe?
Regardless we can already see the gate we are heading towards but it is the other side of the yard. Trouble is these giant bulbous war formed constructs aren’t the best at seeing who or what is around them, even just watching into the yard we were witness to one surgeon getting knocked over by an inconsiderate bump.
There was no alternative pathway to be taken, it was a matter of waiting for the constructs to part and make a dash for it and for many orcs that was a simple feat. Myself and Targnar Windsong made the first dash without incident, for an old orc he practically danced past the constructs.
For others it was a little rough. Thronk and Bamm took a bit of a jostle from inconsiderate constructs who seemed more than a little focused on the glory of the battle to come.
But it was Karak Stormsong who was due to have quite the terrible night of crossing this yard, he quickly found himself stepped on by one of the constructs and knocked down, expecting perhaps some level of notice and decency to let him through. He tried to get up but was quickly swatted a second time.
These were not planned attacks but rather just unthinking or unseeing ‘accidents’ but their accidents were more than a small strike when something bigger than a Kodo is excitedly bimbling around and has hatchets for arms.
Rykana Skywise was quick to leap to Stormsongs rescue, dragging him clear of a further flattening and helping the older orc to regroup with the rest of us but we had only made it as far as the corner of the yard. Recovering as best we could it would be another dash before we could get to the gates at the front of the House of Constructs.
I shall confess, having seen Stormsong struggle once we let him take the lead on the charge ahead toward the gate, just in case something came up. He at least would have two Skywise carers and most of the assembled orcs watching his back but -surely- his luck wouldn’t be so bad and he wouldn’t get stomped by these inconsiderate hosts twice--
Well. Seems his luck dislikes him immensely as yet another construct swatted him once again and he went down flat across the stones. Keshrakk his son seeming to stick with his father for a moment before I scampered over to try and help. Getting the boy first to run on ahead might have been the right idea but it was a costly delay and another construct backed up, broadsiding both myself and Stormsong.
It was like being a ball here in this cresh for constructs only here to be kicked about as meaty walls of flesh and knives jaggedly wobbled about in all directions. I scrambled across the floor. Rolling to dodge blades and feet to find Stormsong now unconscious in a heap but at least the other orcs had made it to the far side of the yard.
Getting to the unconscious orc was difficult and much of his equipment had been smashed but I got there and being a little shorter than most, I picked him up by the boot and dragged. If not for the quick thinking of Targnar Windsong who distracted one hulky construct and Bamm who directed Ragnar Whiteclaws wolf while her rider was also unconscious in his saddle who knows what might have happened.
It wasn’t the tidiest escape from unwitting peril we had bimbled into but we got clear - that's all I care for and we won’t be returning across that death trap again if I have anything to say about it.
---
The gates were as tall as Orgrimmar city’s walls. Huge and flanked in places by twitching quivering structures of bone that moved seemingly of their own will. High above a Necropolis floated in the air casting its shadow over the gates and whatever jelly-like treacle it was tipping out from a skull shaped sculpture in its side - this of course hit some of the orcs passing below it. A seeming parting gift from the Stitchyard.
After a brief walk through the gates it was easy for the Red Blade to find their future encampment. Corpses from the scouts we had located lay in various piles, some already chopped to pieces by the smaller constructs and others waiting their turn. There was a project being built for certain and we were to be camped close by.
Weary and injured, the orcs took to camp building if anything to avoid peering at the butchery on the lawn or spending too much time peering out at the constructs continuing to mass for battle. When camp was made mending took place and others began to investigate a strange stone pillar close by the stonework seeming different to the overall feel of Maldraxxus. It seems anywhere we go leaves us only with more questions.
-- Verzan Skywise --
Nag’Ogar Elite, Red Blade Clan
#55
The Campfire / Re: Campaign: Shadows Over Sha...
Last post by Verzan - February 10, 2021, 01:34:34 PMShadowlands Report: Flesh, Bone and Logistics
If you just sit and watch them for a few hours you can see the whole thing come together like a creepy work of art. A little one will chop things with the precision of a butcher and a hauler will fetch the thread to a surgeon. They stitch them together much like you might the wounded except these creatures were never actually alive. Then tubes of stuff go in - like we discovered and anima animates it with a spirit hopping in, they say there is a drought so they must be spending big for something important.
And then comes the letter from Seaworth, the dead Kul Tiran seems very keen to use our strengths to benefit the House of Constructs and with the letter informs us that we’ve caused a shortage of eyes and other bits in the Stitchyard thanks to our construct building efforts a night ago.
But he told us not to worry as reports had made their way to him about scouts being on the nearby ridges peeping into the House of Constructs business. He wanted us to go and take them out and let the parts be claimed by the bodybuilders in the yard.
The feeling we’re being used is pretty rampant among the orcs and the action of dismembering enemies seems to touch a little close to some orcs personal honour. I cannot say I am best pleased about it - except we have to keep these constructs on our side as much as we can for the moment. We don’t have anything else to go on right now that can get us closer to rescuing Sharguul.
So we take up Seaworths job - it's not too difficult to put a few enemies on the deck and we cannot entirely be certain what happens when you cut the corpses down here, seems like they have some never ending battle going on.
---
The clan orcs head out in a large enough group and the ridges where the enemy scouts are rumoured to be are not actually far from our own location. Which begs the question of what the Necrolords are actually up to so close to hostile turf.
There is a general consensus that we need to ask these enemies some questions of our own and the thought to take prisoners is a strong one at the front of many orcs minds as Karak Stormsong notices the first hint of where the scouts might be.
We make our efforts to try and sneak up on them but such a large group of orcs with very varied skills and abilities was never going to actually get the drop on these foes. We are spotted and a hail of arrows spills down in our direction. The fight started before we could even ask a question or take command of the situation.
I quickly run into the melee, getting into the fighting with my bow and regret every moment of not fetching the sword on this mission. Thronk is quick to join me alongside Karak Stormsong’s pets and Bamm who seemed cheerful even when deadly arrows are being sent his way - can’t tell if he’s mad or just genuinely having a good time.
The archer who had no doubt spotted us was taken down swiftly, Rykana Skywise taking it down with a well aimed shot to the face that cut through their helm. At the same time Nakobu Shadowbreaker called upon the powers of the light igniting one of the nearby mushrooms in a blast of holy flame.
It was odd to behold as it caused a blinding flash that made the undead pull away from it. The light seemed to cause trouble to the unliving here in the shadowlands as much as it might those back on Azeroth - it was a good lesson to learn. Though it caused Shadowbreaker to become the target of one of the enemies attacks, he was lucky at least that I could get over and using a discarded enemy helmet parry the incoming shot before it caused the light user injury.
The fighting became a tangled melee of arrow shots and grapples. Karak Stormsong’s dinosaur Tyrri clamped her jaws about one of the surviving undead scouts and began to thrash while Thronk wrapped his arms around it and then I threw a scavenged helmet at its face. Subduing it from the rest of the fighting.
The final Necrolord would not go down easily and the skeletal warrior clad in tarnished plate gave the larger group of Red Blade orcs quite the scrap as they held their ground for what seemed a very long time.
But it was a decisive crack to the back of the skull from Rykana Skywise that finished the combat. She was quick to bind the scout and Thronk was ready to scoop them up.
It was at this point I will add that many orcs noticed Drastal Halfbuk had fallen in their second or possibly third hole of the evening. Though they had been contributing to the violence we saw them in the hole and only had more questions about how they were unfortunately finding every single one in Maldraxxus.
---
The Camp on the Ridge was empty by the time we had found it, hurried tracks suggested that the enemies seemed to know the jig was up and had time to get all of their material and supplies out.
Drastal Halfbuk from within a hole noticed the sound of voices just around the corner and we quickly discovered that it was the last of the scouting group getting away on the backs of giant bone construct birds. The first two got themselves airborne even as Bamm attempted to bring them down using a power flashbang device, turns out undead birds don’t need to see to fly but it was a worthy effort.
The last rider threw themselves at us. Hollering ‘For Krexus!’ and ‘For Maldraxus!’ as they furiously charged our waiting blades. Their bird might have gotten away but they were very quickly overpowered and captured by the orcs.
---
And this is where things took a turn that I cannot say I am content about.
We had three ‘live’ prisoners, two were unconscious and one was kicking and fighting though restrained. Hauling them back to the Stitchyard felt dubious as many could paint in their own minds what might happen to these scouts under House of Construct interrogation. Especially as here and there we saw the little nimble chopper constructs peeking out from under tables ready to come claim the corpse parts.
We did not have long and aimed to ask a few questions of our own. A little way out of the yard a number of us clustered around the one conscious captive and sought to strike a deal. They were resentful of us. Leaving us in no uncertain terms that they would never break and never tell us anything of what they had been doing here.
Stormsong explained our situation, offering up that we genuinely were new to this land and knew nothing of the battles here. This actually seemed to open the scout to sharing one small tidbit of information with us, except we would have to give our word that we would take their life and end things before the choppers got hold of them.
Deal made and word given. The scout chuckled cruelly about the fact the Necrolords had a person on the inside who had been helping them and that if we didn’t know who they were already we never possibly would. When asked who? The scout laughed and asked us to pay up our side of the deal.
Perhaps we took too long in following through on the matter - perhaps they didn't trust us to hold to our word. The Scout lunged for Thronk and I grabbed for an arrow stuck through their chest to finish them off while at the same time my sister Rykana Skywise shot the scout in the back of the head. They died.
And then the haulers came to claim them all. Dragging them off to wherever the House of Constructs takes their captured. I advise orcs not to think on it too much. This was a grim task but we must stay focused on our task, we can hope it buys us some favor in getting closer to Sharguul.
-- Verzan Skywise --
Nag’Ogar Elite, Red Blade Clan.
If you just sit and watch them for a few hours you can see the whole thing come together like a creepy work of art. A little one will chop things with the precision of a butcher and a hauler will fetch the thread to a surgeon. They stitch them together much like you might the wounded except these creatures were never actually alive. Then tubes of stuff go in - like we discovered and anima animates it with a spirit hopping in, they say there is a drought so they must be spending big for something important.
And then comes the letter from Seaworth, the dead Kul Tiran seems very keen to use our strengths to benefit the House of Constructs and with the letter informs us that we’ve caused a shortage of eyes and other bits in the Stitchyard thanks to our construct building efforts a night ago.
But he told us not to worry as reports had made their way to him about scouts being on the nearby ridges peeping into the House of Constructs business. He wanted us to go and take them out and let the parts be claimed by the bodybuilders in the yard.
The feeling we’re being used is pretty rampant among the orcs and the action of dismembering enemies seems to touch a little close to some orcs personal honour. I cannot say I am best pleased about it - except we have to keep these constructs on our side as much as we can for the moment. We don’t have anything else to go on right now that can get us closer to rescuing Sharguul.
So we take up Seaworths job - it's not too difficult to put a few enemies on the deck and we cannot entirely be certain what happens when you cut the corpses down here, seems like they have some never ending battle going on.
---
The clan orcs head out in a large enough group and the ridges where the enemy scouts are rumoured to be are not actually far from our own location. Which begs the question of what the Necrolords are actually up to so close to hostile turf.
There is a general consensus that we need to ask these enemies some questions of our own and the thought to take prisoners is a strong one at the front of many orcs minds as Karak Stormsong notices the first hint of where the scouts might be.
We make our efforts to try and sneak up on them but such a large group of orcs with very varied skills and abilities was never going to actually get the drop on these foes. We are spotted and a hail of arrows spills down in our direction. The fight started before we could even ask a question or take command of the situation.
I quickly run into the melee, getting into the fighting with my bow and regret every moment of not fetching the sword on this mission. Thronk is quick to join me alongside Karak Stormsong’s pets and Bamm who seemed cheerful even when deadly arrows are being sent his way - can’t tell if he’s mad or just genuinely having a good time.
The archer who had no doubt spotted us was taken down swiftly, Rykana Skywise taking it down with a well aimed shot to the face that cut through their helm. At the same time Nakobu Shadowbreaker called upon the powers of the light igniting one of the nearby mushrooms in a blast of holy flame.
It was odd to behold as it caused a blinding flash that made the undead pull away from it. The light seemed to cause trouble to the unliving here in the shadowlands as much as it might those back on Azeroth - it was a good lesson to learn. Though it caused Shadowbreaker to become the target of one of the enemies attacks, he was lucky at least that I could get over and using a discarded enemy helmet parry the incoming shot before it caused the light user injury.
The fighting became a tangled melee of arrow shots and grapples. Karak Stormsong’s dinosaur Tyrri clamped her jaws about one of the surviving undead scouts and began to thrash while Thronk wrapped his arms around it and then I threw a scavenged helmet at its face. Subduing it from the rest of the fighting.
The final Necrolord would not go down easily and the skeletal warrior clad in tarnished plate gave the larger group of Red Blade orcs quite the scrap as they held their ground for what seemed a very long time.
But it was a decisive crack to the back of the skull from Rykana Skywise that finished the combat. She was quick to bind the scout and Thronk was ready to scoop them up.
It was at this point I will add that many orcs noticed Drastal Halfbuk had fallen in their second or possibly third hole of the evening. Though they had been contributing to the violence we saw them in the hole and only had more questions about how they were unfortunately finding every single one in Maldraxxus.
---
The Camp on the Ridge was empty by the time we had found it, hurried tracks suggested that the enemies seemed to know the jig was up and had time to get all of their material and supplies out.
Drastal Halfbuk from within a hole noticed the sound of voices just around the corner and we quickly discovered that it was the last of the scouting group getting away on the backs of giant bone construct birds. The first two got themselves airborne even as Bamm attempted to bring them down using a power flashbang device, turns out undead birds don’t need to see to fly but it was a worthy effort.
The last rider threw themselves at us. Hollering ‘For Krexus!’ and ‘For Maldraxus!’ as they furiously charged our waiting blades. Their bird might have gotten away but they were very quickly overpowered and captured by the orcs.
---
And this is where things took a turn that I cannot say I am content about.
We had three ‘live’ prisoners, two were unconscious and one was kicking and fighting though restrained. Hauling them back to the Stitchyard felt dubious as many could paint in their own minds what might happen to these scouts under House of Construct interrogation. Especially as here and there we saw the little nimble chopper constructs peeking out from under tables ready to come claim the corpse parts.
We did not have long and aimed to ask a few questions of our own. A little way out of the yard a number of us clustered around the one conscious captive and sought to strike a deal. They were resentful of us. Leaving us in no uncertain terms that they would never break and never tell us anything of what they had been doing here.
Stormsong explained our situation, offering up that we genuinely were new to this land and knew nothing of the battles here. This actually seemed to open the scout to sharing one small tidbit of information with us, except we would have to give our word that we would take their life and end things before the choppers got hold of them.
Deal made and word given. The scout chuckled cruelly about the fact the Necrolords had a person on the inside who had been helping them and that if we didn’t know who they were already we never possibly would. When asked who? The scout laughed and asked us to pay up our side of the deal.
Perhaps we took too long in following through on the matter - perhaps they didn't trust us to hold to our word. The Scout lunged for Thronk and I grabbed for an arrow stuck through their chest to finish them off while at the same time my sister Rykana Skywise shot the scout in the back of the head. They died.
And then the haulers came to claim them all. Dragging them off to wherever the House of Constructs takes their captured. I advise orcs not to think on it too much. This was a grim task but we must stay focused on our task, we can hope it buys us some favor in getting closer to Sharguul.
-- Verzan Skywise --
Nag’Ogar Elite, Red Blade Clan.
#56
The Campfire / Keeping the faith, a short sho...
Last post by Bamm - February 08, 2021, 02:04:12 PMKeeping the faith
Bamm had adjusted to his surroundings like he always did his mothers’s words in his head always ringing in his head.
“Dangit son with a good positive attitude nothing is impossible hope is best dang weapon we ever discovered I tell you what and will be strongest thing you ever forgeâ€.
He awoke much the same as he had the last few days a single thought in his head. Hope.
He had noticed others in the camp where struggling especially those with spiritual inclinations or strong hopes for the perception of the afterlife. Bamm had reminded those that this was only one realm of possibility The big horned fella Sagewind had mentioned that and seemed genuine and those that where here wanted to be regardless of what side of what seemed to be an eternal civil war of death rebirth and conflict, he didn’t care much much it but tried to see what those that would find enjoyment in this place point of view.
He handed given his rations freely cracked jokes smiled and as always was hopeful, he had crafted a banner bearing the red blade sigil to remind those why they where here and who they where. He hoped it helped. He set out for a new morning in this place to see what was happening
He sauntered about the camp a happy dance to his step a happy song in his heart and mind Boomer followed it he swaying to the beat, he waved at a same creature chopping up parts who disregarded him for the most part “Choppa choppa?†The creature screeched at Bamm returned the greeting “Choppa choppa fella†with a wink and fingergun click. The creature look profoundly puzzled and returned to his work. He passed some red blade around the fire all peering silently into it and heart almost sank he waved howdy and loud happy “MOK’RA YA’LL!!â€
Most gave him half smiles and a wave as he passed. They where good folk like that. He had to do something to cheer em up it was then he remember his early years at Sea with his mother and the songs the crew would sing in rough weather to boost their spirits. He began to try and hum one, maybe he could sing it for them! That's it a song! He thought. Music is food for the soul and what better place to do that in a world of souls! He let out a loud "HOOOOO’HAAAAA!" and jumped for the joy upper cutting the air and caused several of the scavenging creatures to scurry and flee. A song wouldnt be a enough he would need a instrument! But what could he play well and what could he create in this place. He rushed over to now vacant scavenger table and began creating a blueprint in his head as hands crafted a stringed instrument there was thin strings a long thin bone for a neck and a round flat piece of bone he stretched a thin piece of leathery skin over it, gluing it together inspiration taking him over he didn’t notice time passing was it an hour maybe four of five he knew not or cared. He had yet to meet a person not cheer by a song accompanied by a banjo!
He twanged and tuned the instrument and tried to think of a good song he knew well about lost love, hope despite everything. He wandered up to lonely outcropping of bone and sat down, patted Boomer on his head, looking out over the wastes of Maldraxxus, he cleared his throat closed his eye smiled and he began to sing and play and old song.
“♫♫Blue moon of Draenor keep on shining
Shine on the one that's gone and proved untrue
Blue moon of Draenor keep on shining
Shine on the one that's gone and left me blue
It was on a moonlight night
The stars were shining bright
And they whispered from on high
Your love has said good-bye
Blue moon of Draenor keep on shining
Shine on the one that's gone and said good-bye
Blue moon of Draenor keep on shining
Shine on the one that's gone and proved untrue
Blue moon of Draenor keep on shining..♫♫â€
He sang long into the day perfecting the song and tuning his new bone banjo he would sing it for the Red Blade when he could.
***Heavily plagiarized from Blue moon of Kentucky of course
Source
Spoiler: show
Bone Banjo
Spoiler: show
#57
The Campfire / Re: Campaign: Shadows Over Sha...
Last post by Verzan - February 07, 2021, 03:15:51 AMShadowlands Report: Bodybuilding
There has not been night or day, just a strange grey murk for countless hours. Some orcs wrestle with their demons and their expectations of what the afterlife would be, while others prepare for what must be done to get us to Sharguul’s side.
It would have been easy to place the ‘nights’ actions as something none of us would ever lower ourselves to do, not in our darkest dreams. To sit in the monstrous construct yard we make our camp in and actually build these fleshy totems of necromancy. But that is exactly what happened. That is what we had to do, we caused the problem the night we first arrived here when we took down a patrol seemingly of Scourge enemies in this wasteland of bones and plague. Cutting them down with little effort only to find things were not what they first seemed.
Sagewind informed us of the crime and how we could make recompense.
It was not all talk of crime at least, if we are to find a way to this city of gateways Oribos we have to fix what was broken and that quite literally meant rebuilding the constructs we had killed. There is hope that this at least moves us toward earning some merit and passage away from this place. This clearly isn't the only thing we will have to do, it's just the start.
--
For some the task that was asked of them was too much, the stain against their honour too great. They kept themselves away from the activity entirely and there was no grudge held against them for doing so -- however someone had to do it, we had to fix what had been broken.
It seemed as a sign of good faith to our Scourge-like hosts when even our Chieftain Feraleye stood among the collection of construct building orcs who gathered to hear the colossal self proclaimed ‘Admiral’ Wallace Seaworth explain the task.
Seaworth himself was a grotesque construct taller than even the tallest of Tauren and about as wide with cruel blades and hooks about him, he appeared to have once been a Kul Tiran sailor of the second war, though he had forgiven orcs for being the ones who brought the former sailor to his end on Azeroth.
None Could be too sure if he had purposely come to meet us to get some sort of petty revenge by making us do what was clearly an abhorrent task to our people - either way he seemed to be enjoying swaggering about and loosely explaining what was to be done if we wanted help.
It was Sagewind who actually gave us a little insight into how we would be building the constructs. He also explained to us about a strange substance known as ‘Anima’ and what we must do. While he did this a dozen or more smaller constructs dragged out pre prepared corpse bases, mostly skeletons ready for us to effectively fill in the blanks and tailor to the waiting spirits' needs.
There were three spirits, an Ogre, a Quilboar and an Ethereal.
Three teams rapidly formed around each spirit and lively discussions about their needs ensued shortly afterwards before a creative level of assembly began. Some dived right in with both hands, while others chalked out their plans on the ground. Karak found himself attempting to haul large body parts alongside Thronk as they attempted to meet the needs of the Ogre.
Elsewhere Bamm and Soulwalker attempted to gift the Ethereal eyes for the first time and somewhere around the middle Kozgugore Feraleye stood alongside Enrah the Death Knight attempting to make their creation although both ended up falling at various points, spilling pieces of corpse everywhere when they did.
Another delivery of parts arrived once construction was well underway and it did not take long before the crafters were ready to reveal their handiwork, fill it with goo from the giant vats of green and purple sludge and then bond them with their patiently waiting spirits.
First up was the Ogres new body. Keshrakk was keen to make things right, taking charge of his fathers clumsy actions as Thronk presented a hulking body of pale green skin with large bulky limbs and head seemingly from a Gronn of Draenor. The right arm of the creature seemed to have been forged with a large crushing hammerfist ready to crush and laced with spikes.
The Ogre was pleased and the procedure was made easier by a very willing spirit leaping into the body without much effort nor ‘anima’ consumed.
--
Next up came Soulwalker and Bamm with their slender creation. Seemingly not too tall of nature, athletic and almost elegant with four very long arms, two of which having eyes placed as part of them. There were more eyes placed as part of the construct's friendly face, four in fact. Lastly the legs, they seemed strong and agile, seeming prepared for swift running.
The Ethereal stood ready, accepting this new shape. There was seemingly a more lengthy process this time as the stream of ‘anima’ became wild. Soulwalker struggled to control it and Torm stepped in. Between them the stream is secure enough for the spirit to pass into its new body.
--
Lastly the Chieftain Feraleye, Rykana Skywise and Enrah the Death Knight. They had fashioned for themselves a squat, soft footed, spiny creature with so generous a collection of eyes the construct yard may suddenly be lacking for them. Hideous to behold the small creature seemed to loosely resemble a Quillboar in life but much shorter. This was a thing made for stealth and scouting more than anything else.
The team seemed especially proud of the spine louse they had captured and placed at the constructs ‘rear’ as some sort of twitchy louse tail, that moved of its own will. Nobody seemed very convinced it would remain attached for long but it was very wriggly and bitey.
However things did not proceed entirely as planned. It is unclear what happened entirely whether it was a miscommunication between Ebon Knight and Sagewind himself but Enrah seemed certain she could infuse the spirit into the corpse her way using Unholy magic and when doing so her Runeblade seemed to consume the ‘Anima’ set aside for the spirit.
Sagewind rushed in to correct the Knight but much was already taken and tempers frayed as the Maldraxxi Tauren and Ebon Knight clashed on their methodology.
Sagewind pushed her away from the process, finishing it himself. The Spirit was put into its body and seemed content to take the last of the ‘Anima’ in the canister so little harm had been done and there was no further incident between them.
It appears that the Ebon Knight’s blade can consume this ‘Anima’ which Sagewind had described as a sort of energy attached to life rather than actual souls.
The presence of ‘anima’ here in this realm is an interesting one and many orcs with knowledge of similar concepts mentioned that they had encountered demons focusing upon the collection of similar rare substances back in the world of the living. There is so much more to be learnt - but we cannot lose focus on why we are here, we still feel no closer to finding nor rescuing Sharguul and must await the next task of our Maldraxxi hosts.
-Anon-
There has not been night or day, just a strange grey murk for countless hours. Some orcs wrestle with their demons and their expectations of what the afterlife would be, while others prepare for what must be done to get us to Sharguul’s side.
It would have been easy to place the ‘nights’ actions as something none of us would ever lower ourselves to do, not in our darkest dreams. To sit in the monstrous construct yard we make our camp in and actually build these fleshy totems of necromancy. But that is exactly what happened. That is what we had to do, we caused the problem the night we first arrived here when we took down a patrol seemingly of Scourge enemies in this wasteland of bones and plague. Cutting them down with little effort only to find things were not what they first seemed.
Sagewind informed us of the crime and how we could make recompense.
It was not all talk of crime at least, if we are to find a way to this city of gateways Oribos we have to fix what was broken and that quite literally meant rebuilding the constructs we had killed. There is hope that this at least moves us toward earning some merit and passage away from this place. This clearly isn't the only thing we will have to do, it's just the start.
--
For some the task that was asked of them was too much, the stain against their honour too great. They kept themselves away from the activity entirely and there was no grudge held against them for doing so -- however someone had to do it, we had to fix what had been broken.
It seemed as a sign of good faith to our Scourge-like hosts when even our Chieftain Feraleye stood among the collection of construct building orcs who gathered to hear the colossal self proclaimed ‘Admiral’ Wallace Seaworth explain the task.
Seaworth himself was a grotesque construct taller than even the tallest of Tauren and about as wide with cruel blades and hooks about him, he appeared to have once been a Kul Tiran sailor of the second war, though he had forgiven orcs for being the ones who brought the former sailor to his end on Azeroth.
None Could be too sure if he had purposely come to meet us to get some sort of petty revenge by making us do what was clearly an abhorrent task to our people - either way he seemed to be enjoying swaggering about and loosely explaining what was to be done if we wanted help.
It was Sagewind who actually gave us a little insight into how we would be building the constructs. He also explained to us about a strange substance known as ‘Anima’ and what we must do. While he did this a dozen or more smaller constructs dragged out pre prepared corpse bases, mostly skeletons ready for us to effectively fill in the blanks and tailor to the waiting spirits' needs.
There were three spirits, an Ogre, a Quilboar and an Ethereal.
Three teams rapidly formed around each spirit and lively discussions about their needs ensued shortly afterwards before a creative level of assembly began. Some dived right in with both hands, while others chalked out their plans on the ground. Karak found himself attempting to haul large body parts alongside Thronk as they attempted to meet the needs of the Ogre.
Elsewhere Bamm and Soulwalker attempted to gift the Ethereal eyes for the first time and somewhere around the middle Kozgugore Feraleye stood alongside Enrah the Death Knight attempting to make their creation although both ended up falling at various points, spilling pieces of corpse everywhere when they did.
Another delivery of parts arrived once construction was well underway and it did not take long before the crafters were ready to reveal their handiwork, fill it with goo from the giant vats of green and purple sludge and then bond them with their patiently waiting spirits.
First up was the Ogres new body. Keshrakk was keen to make things right, taking charge of his fathers clumsy actions as Thronk presented a hulking body of pale green skin with large bulky limbs and head seemingly from a Gronn of Draenor. The right arm of the creature seemed to have been forged with a large crushing hammerfist ready to crush and laced with spikes.
The Ogre was pleased and the procedure was made easier by a very willing spirit leaping into the body without much effort nor ‘anima’ consumed.
--
Next up came Soulwalker and Bamm with their slender creation. Seemingly not too tall of nature, athletic and almost elegant with four very long arms, two of which having eyes placed as part of them. There were more eyes placed as part of the construct's friendly face, four in fact. Lastly the legs, they seemed strong and agile, seeming prepared for swift running.
The Ethereal stood ready, accepting this new shape. There was seemingly a more lengthy process this time as the stream of ‘anima’ became wild. Soulwalker struggled to control it and Torm stepped in. Between them the stream is secure enough for the spirit to pass into its new body.
--
Lastly the Chieftain Feraleye, Rykana Skywise and Enrah the Death Knight. They had fashioned for themselves a squat, soft footed, spiny creature with so generous a collection of eyes the construct yard may suddenly be lacking for them. Hideous to behold the small creature seemed to loosely resemble a Quillboar in life but much shorter. This was a thing made for stealth and scouting more than anything else.
The team seemed especially proud of the spine louse they had captured and placed at the constructs ‘rear’ as some sort of twitchy louse tail, that moved of its own will. Nobody seemed very convinced it would remain attached for long but it was very wriggly and bitey.
However things did not proceed entirely as planned. It is unclear what happened entirely whether it was a miscommunication between Ebon Knight and Sagewind himself but Enrah seemed certain she could infuse the spirit into the corpse her way using Unholy magic and when doing so her Runeblade seemed to consume the ‘Anima’ set aside for the spirit.
Sagewind rushed in to correct the Knight but much was already taken and tempers frayed as the Maldraxxi Tauren and Ebon Knight clashed on their methodology.
Sagewind pushed her away from the process, finishing it himself. The Spirit was put into its body and seemed content to take the last of the ‘Anima’ in the canister so little harm had been done and there was no further incident between them.
It appears that the Ebon Knight’s blade can consume this ‘Anima’ which Sagewind had described as a sort of energy attached to life rather than actual souls.
The presence of ‘anima’ here in this realm is an interesting one and many orcs with knowledge of similar concepts mentioned that they had encountered demons focusing upon the collection of similar rare substances back in the world of the living. There is so much more to be learnt - but we cannot lose focus on why we are here, we still feel no closer to finding nor rescuing Sharguul and must await the next task of our Maldraxxi hosts.
-Anon-
#58
The Campfire / Re: Campaign: Shadows Over Sha...
Last post by Verzan - February 04, 2021, 12:14:19 AMCampaign Report: Arrival in the Shadowlands
The solemn beat of a single drum brought the clan to the place known as Sindragosa’s Fall, a clutch of Argents waited and watched sentries to the clan's departure from this world. All around us flickered candles, one for each clan member, placed around the circle and waiting for us to gather.
The Death walker Enrah took the middle of the circle and began to cast their magic, drawing the power from the reliquaries recovered by the Clan and deemed fit for this purpose. The light around the clan faded to the illumination of Death Knight rune glow and the air grew chill and biting. Some orcs reported witnessing dozens of shadowy figures watching from beyond the circle, were these the same spirits who had aided us when trying to locate Sharguul several weeks ago? We found no answers to that question as they silently peered at our actions.
As the circle darkened, the death walker's hand began to bleed some strange dark liquid. It had no scent and seemed not to be blood but part of the invocation we had all now become bound to. A method they said of marking the orcs so that they could easier guide so many to the Shadowlands, more than a few orcs were dubious but none refused the gesture - more fool the Death walker if they tried a trick on this many Red Blade orcs.
Had it been a trap it would not have ended well for them.
It however seemed not to be a trap and was exactly as explained. Only causing upset when Keshrakk, the youngest orc among the clan, Karak Stormsong’s son enthusiastically stood forward against his father’s wishes to be painted. The child would go to the Shadowlands to rescue Sharguul.
I can recall Chieftain Kozgugore Fereleye’s words. ‘I have been ready to venture to the afterlife a long time already, I just did not think it would be like this. So be it.’
Some orcs spoke of glory. Others of honour, soft gestures exchanged between those with close bonds. Wolves snarled and whined. The ritual continued forward at a pace, the wait was almost painful.
When the magic was thickest in the air Enrah paused ‘’Remember our purpose in this act, remember why you travel to the place where the dead walk. Do not forget yourselves…’’ she said, using her runeblade to seemingly slice open a death gate through to the unknown.
‘’I will see you on the other side. It has been an honour Orcs of the Red Blade’’ were the last words spoken by our navigator into death as she stepped through the gateway.
--
Through the gateway senses rapidly found themselves warped of colour and shape, dark grey mute tones expanded to a dazzling light of radiant blue swirling around them. A feeling of being pulled along on threads while all the time buffeted by the strongest of gales that consumed all sound to the roar of winds.
A horizon painted itself in the distance of this cosmic journey the clan undertook. Closer and closer toward this destination they were pulled, when suddenly the energy shifted. Difficult to understand at first and only recognisable by the distinct change in the ‘air’
This change began to manifest with purpose, becoming the large shape of a giant spectral hand. Seeming of an irritable demeanor the hand swung at the travelling clan with a backhand gesture as one might swat insects buzzing about them on a hot evening.
It hit each orc with enough force to wind them and send them spiralling away from the distant exitway upon the horizon.
Outwards and away from the streams of energy that had previously guided all of us. The orcs scattered, all around the flow of energy was broken, a stormy and seemingly never ending abyss. It becomes difficult to sense time how long we were floating, falling or twisting in that other place - none know.
Finally we see more than just the storm all about us, finally a different slither of colour beyond that grows larger and larger before the eyes until it becomes clear that we are all tumbling toward it.
It is only when the green colours of the storm about us take hold do orcs finally feel themselves return to the stability this journey had originally been. The ebb and flow of magic restored the tug of thread that kept us on our way, dragged us toward a similar exit point on the edge of sight.
And we are allowed to pass beyond this gateway.
--
The landing was clean, it took time for senses to refocus having fallen a few feet and landed upon the spongy wet ground. It seemed all had arrived bar Razaron Madeye, the elder was missing. As was the Chieftains wolf Shrewd.
There was a feeling of shock among the clan orcs as they peered out at a landscape not too dissimilar to the plaguelands of Azeroth, they had been expecting many things but this? This seemed beyond the pale for many.
Recovering their wits quickly the orcs were swiftly confronted by a group of the shambling horrors of this plagued landscape as they came to investigate the sudden crowd and, as expected, the Red Blade defended themselves. Hurriedly mustering a battle line and cutting down the enemies before them. These creatures were horrible, their bodies made of many different pieces of people. Bones and grafted skin, bolted together to make a whole.
When they are cut down, in the distance heavier footsteps can be made out approaching, the orcs rally once again. Rykana Skywise shoots into the fog and lands a hit into the obscure distance but it does not halt the steady progress of step. Whatever it is merely grunts and then approaches.
The creature might have once been a Tauren, he is tall for his kind and seemingly grafted together from the bodies of many other creatures. A reinforced spine bears spikes that might have been horns and his right hand seemingly replaced with a vicious looking scythe-like blade larger than a swine.
The Tauren monstrosity approached and raised his hand in a gesture of peace to halt the aggression. He seemed to look over the bodies of the fallen and some orcs recognised the ethereal shapes of spirits lingering about the fallen corpses, he seemed disgruntled to see such a mess.
‘Please...lower your weapons mortals…’ the Tauren speaks in orcish common. There is a sense he is not familiar with the term and a tense exchange of words begins.
Many orcs simply do not trust the creature, while others seem curious to know more of the alien landscape they now find themselves within. There is a surge of questions thrown at this stranger. Who introduces himself as Torm Sagewind, a shaman who died in the time the orcs came to Kalimdor. He does his best to answer the orcs.
Explaining that they now find themselves in a place known as Maldraxxus. One of the many different realms that make up the Shadowlands themselves. He confirms to the orcs that he is not Scourge though some seem to find it difficult to believe this, convinced it could be a trick.
He seems certain that his purpose here is to protect spirits and the Shadowlands themselves. Building bodies for those who are too weak to manifest their own and making them stronger.
The conversation is cut short when an enemy patrol is sighted just on the edge of the gully where the orcs arrived. He offers to take the Red Blade back with him to the House of Constructs, where he explains more of this strange land. The House of constructs is one of five great houses.
Some have fallen to ruin, others have not and there are enemies here. Necrolords they call themselves, he and many like him are fighting against them.
---
We were taken to an even stranger place than the wilderness that met our arrival. A town constructed of bone, with piles of fleshy pieces both old and fresh. Where abysmal creatures wretched in their design sort through the piles to build together an endless work line of fleshy constructs. Oozing pus and great vats of ominous liquids stood all about us and next to butchers tables more fitting of the Azeroth Scourge factories than any settlement the orcs had ever discovered.
It is made clear that the orcs are not welcome but they are not unwelcome either, they are allowed to remain for now until those in charge have spoken with the clan. Sagewind also offered to ‘lie’ on our behalf by suggesting that the group the Red Blade had butchered were taken by the enemy patrols and none seem to speak out against the idea.
Too much hangs in uncertainty with there being war in this place for us to depart out on our own and we are far from our intended destination, the city of doorways Sagewind had called ‘Oribos’. Maybe Sagewind is good to his word. That we can find allies here and those allies can help us get to the city?
Right now the clan face different challenges - we are reliant on our rations for both food and water, our shaman face the challenge of forging a bond with the new elements of this place. We are in a hostile landscape and we have few friends here. Sharguul is still in danger and it feels like he is still so very distant from us.
-Anon-
The solemn beat of a single drum brought the clan to the place known as Sindragosa’s Fall, a clutch of Argents waited and watched sentries to the clan's departure from this world. All around us flickered candles, one for each clan member, placed around the circle and waiting for us to gather.
The Death walker Enrah took the middle of the circle and began to cast their magic, drawing the power from the reliquaries recovered by the Clan and deemed fit for this purpose. The light around the clan faded to the illumination of Death Knight rune glow and the air grew chill and biting. Some orcs reported witnessing dozens of shadowy figures watching from beyond the circle, were these the same spirits who had aided us when trying to locate Sharguul several weeks ago? We found no answers to that question as they silently peered at our actions.
As the circle darkened, the death walker's hand began to bleed some strange dark liquid. It had no scent and seemed not to be blood but part of the invocation we had all now become bound to. A method they said of marking the orcs so that they could easier guide so many to the Shadowlands, more than a few orcs were dubious but none refused the gesture - more fool the Death walker if they tried a trick on this many Red Blade orcs.
Had it been a trap it would not have ended well for them.
It however seemed not to be a trap and was exactly as explained. Only causing upset when Keshrakk, the youngest orc among the clan, Karak Stormsong’s son enthusiastically stood forward against his father’s wishes to be painted. The child would go to the Shadowlands to rescue Sharguul.
I can recall Chieftain Kozgugore Fereleye’s words. ‘I have been ready to venture to the afterlife a long time already, I just did not think it would be like this. So be it.’
Some orcs spoke of glory. Others of honour, soft gestures exchanged between those with close bonds. Wolves snarled and whined. The ritual continued forward at a pace, the wait was almost painful.
When the magic was thickest in the air Enrah paused ‘’Remember our purpose in this act, remember why you travel to the place where the dead walk. Do not forget yourselves…’’ she said, using her runeblade to seemingly slice open a death gate through to the unknown.
‘’I will see you on the other side. It has been an honour Orcs of the Red Blade’’ were the last words spoken by our navigator into death as she stepped through the gateway.
--
Through the gateway senses rapidly found themselves warped of colour and shape, dark grey mute tones expanded to a dazzling light of radiant blue swirling around them. A feeling of being pulled along on threads while all the time buffeted by the strongest of gales that consumed all sound to the roar of winds.
A horizon painted itself in the distance of this cosmic journey the clan undertook. Closer and closer toward this destination they were pulled, when suddenly the energy shifted. Difficult to understand at first and only recognisable by the distinct change in the ‘air’
This change began to manifest with purpose, becoming the large shape of a giant spectral hand. Seeming of an irritable demeanor the hand swung at the travelling clan with a backhand gesture as one might swat insects buzzing about them on a hot evening.
It hit each orc with enough force to wind them and send them spiralling away from the distant exitway upon the horizon.
Outwards and away from the streams of energy that had previously guided all of us. The orcs scattered, all around the flow of energy was broken, a stormy and seemingly never ending abyss. It becomes difficult to sense time how long we were floating, falling or twisting in that other place - none know.
Finally we see more than just the storm all about us, finally a different slither of colour beyond that grows larger and larger before the eyes until it becomes clear that we are all tumbling toward it.
It is only when the green colours of the storm about us take hold do orcs finally feel themselves return to the stability this journey had originally been. The ebb and flow of magic restored the tug of thread that kept us on our way, dragged us toward a similar exit point on the edge of sight.
And we are allowed to pass beyond this gateway.
--
The landing was clean, it took time for senses to refocus having fallen a few feet and landed upon the spongy wet ground. It seemed all had arrived bar Razaron Madeye, the elder was missing. As was the Chieftains wolf Shrewd.
There was a feeling of shock among the clan orcs as they peered out at a landscape not too dissimilar to the plaguelands of Azeroth, they had been expecting many things but this? This seemed beyond the pale for many.
Recovering their wits quickly the orcs were swiftly confronted by a group of the shambling horrors of this plagued landscape as they came to investigate the sudden crowd and, as expected, the Red Blade defended themselves. Hurriedly mustering a battle line and cutting down the enemies before them. These creatures were horrible, their bodies made of many different pieces of people. Bones and grafted skin, bolted together to make a whole.
When they are cut down, in the distance heavier footsteps can be made out approaching, the orcs rally once again. Rykana Skywise shoots into the fog and lands a hit into the obscure distance but it does not halt the steady progress of step. Whatever it is merely grunts and then approaches.
The creature might have once been a Tauren, he is tall for his kind and seemingly grafted together from the bodies of many other creatures. A reinforced spine bears spikes that might have been horns and his right hand seemingly replaced with a vicious looking scythe-like blade larger than a swine.
The Tauren monstrosity approached and raised his hand in a gesture of peace to halt the aggression. He seemed to look over the bodies of the fallen and some orcs recognised the ethereal shapes of spirits lingering about the fallen corpses, he seemed disgruntled to see such a mess.
‘Please...lower your weapons mortals…’ the Tauren speaks in orcish common. There is a sense he is not familiar with the term and a tense exchange of words begins.
Many orcs simply do not trust the creature, while others seem curious to know more of the alien landscape they now find themselves within. There is a surge of questions thrown at this stranger. Who introduces himself as Torm Sagewind, a shaman who died in the time the orcs came to Kalimdor. He does his best to answer the orcs.
Explaining that they now find themselves in a place known as Maldraxxus. One of the many different realms that make up the Shadowlands themselves. He confirms to the orcs that he is not Scourge though some seem to find it difficult to believe this, convinced it could be a trick.
He seems certain that his purpose here is to protect spirits and the Shadowlands themselves. Building bodies for those who are too weak to manifest their own and making them stronger.
The conversation is cut short when an enemy patrol is sighted just on the edge of the gully where the orcs arrived. He offers to take the Red Blade back with him to the House of Constructs, where he explains more of this strange land. The House of constructs is one of five great houses.
Some have fallen to ruin, others have not and there are enemies here. Necrolords they call themselves, he and many like him are fighting against them.
---
We were taken to an even stranger place than the wilderness that met our arrival. A town constructed of bone, with piles of fleshy pieces both old and fresh. Where abysmal creatures wretched in their design sort through the piles to build together an endless work line of fleshy constructs. Oozing pus and great vats of ominous liquids stood all about us and next to butchers tables more fitting of the Azeroth Scourge factories than any settlement the orcs had ever discovered.
It is made clear that the orcs are not welcome but they are not unwelcome either, they are allowed to remain for now until those in charge have spoken with the clan. Sagewind also offered to ‘lie’ on our behalf by suggesting that the group the Red Blade had butchered were taken by the enemy patrols and none seem to speak out against the idea.
Too much hangs in uncertainty with there being war in this place for us to depart out on our own and we are far from our intended destination, the city of doorways Sagewind had called ‘Oribos’. Maybe Sagewind is good to his word. That we can find allies here and those allies can help us get to the city?
Right now the clan face different challenges - we are reliant on our rations for both food and water, our shaman face the challenge of forging a bond with the new elements of this place. We are in a hostile landscape and we have few friends here. Sharguul is still in danger and it feels like he is still so very distant from us.
-Anon-
#59
The Campfire / Campaign: Shadows Over Sharguu...
Last post by Verzan - February 04, 2021, 12:13:42 AMNew Campaign - First Adventure into the Shadowlands!
This is a place for me to collect together various battle reports mostly written by Verzan Skywise all in one place from the campaign, they would be accessible to Clan members and there are several copies.
-Verz
This is a place for me to collect together various battle reports mostly written by Verzan Skywise all in one place from the campaign, they would be accessible to Clan members and there are several copies.
-Verz
#60
The Campfire / Re: Campaign: Northrend under ...
Last post by Verzan - January 29, 2021, 12:41:26 AMA notice is placed where the orcs can see it, passed to them directly or slipped into the front of tents when they can be found. The missive is also announced clearly where many might hear
Orcs of the Red Blade,
Many have fallen victim in recent weeks to the terrors soaring down from the broken skies above, the Argent Crusade are stretched thinly across the ruined landscape. They are fighting fires but the time has come to take direct action.
The Ebon Blade will be attempting an ambush upon these winged intruders.
They believe themselves without threat in the skies above Icecrown, untouchable in their efforts to raise further troops against us from the frigid ground. We must strike so that they hesitate to increase their strength further.
The Ashen Pact have laid a trap for one of these intruders. The corpse of a rotting giant has been placed at the foot of a tower at Icecrown citadel directly below the great hole in the sky and we will await their keen eyes to spot it and attempt to raise it.
The target is too good for them to ignore.
We will use our powers of death to drag the flying intruder to the tower where we can fight it and bring one of these enemies to death and help turn the tide of this war.
While we will face this threat alone if needed, more fighters would make our victory a certainty. We have cooperated in the past and so if you wish to lend your strength, it will be accepted.
We do battle with what some are calling a ‘Herald of the Maw’ and it will be no simple task.
Greirath,
Knight-Captain of the Ashen Pact
Orcs of the Red Blade,
Many have fallen victim in recent weeks to the terrors soaring down from the broken skies above, the Argent Crusade are stretched thinly across the ruined landscape. They are fighting fires but the time has come to take direct action.
The Ebon Blade will be attempting an ambush upon these winged intruders.
They believe themselves without threat in the skies above Icecrown, untouchable in their efforts to raise further troops against us from the frigid ground. We must strike so that they hesitate to increase their strength further.
The Ashen Pact have laid a trap for one of these intruders. The corpse of a rotting giant has been placed at the foot of a tower at Icecrown citadel directly below the great hole in the sky and we will await their keen eyes to spot it and attempt to raise it.
The target is too good for them to ignore.
We will use our powers of death to drag the flying intruder to the tower where we can fight it and bring one of these enemies to death and help turn the tide of this war.
While we will face this threat alone if needed, more fighters would make our victory a certainty. We have cooperated in the past and so if you wish to lend your strength, it will be accepted.
We do battle with what some are calling a ‘Herald of the Maw’ and it will be no simple task.
Greirath,
Knight-Captain of the Ashen Pact