Time Capsule

[Sadok]

*On the tenth day of the eleventh cycle in the year 35 ADP, the tribe buried a time-capsule, to be opened in twenty years' time by the children and descendents of its present members, should they never return to Azeroth after the assault on the Dark Portal.*



A list of offerings and voice-recordings made by each orc on a primitive crystalline transceiver:

*An armor-reinforced tan wolf-mask, soft and floppy with wear and tear.*

“I am Sadok Sharptongue, Thur'ruk o'the tribe. T'whoever listens t'this, let it be known tha' no matter our fate, foe an' friend, we were all equal in the end â€" all wolves o’the tribe.”



*A folded Red Blade banner, worn and slightly tattered at the edges.*

“I am Krogon Devilstep, Oathbound of the the tribe... and I give to you a symbol. Great weapons and armour can be broken, bent, destroyed... bodies ruined and lives ended. But a symbol is an idea, and an idea -never- dies as long as you hold too it. Hold high the ideals of our tribe. Strength, cunning. Wisdom.”



*A well-worn bone necklace attached to a snapped line of cord.*

"My name is Kozgugore Feraleye of the Warsong. High Blade of the Varog'Gor. Perhaps you will find her where I failed. If you have, tell her I tried”.



*A sodden cloth blindfold.*

“I am Grek'thar Earthstorm, Gosh'kar. My words are for my blood, spiritually and physically... I cared for each of you equally. Regardless of origin. I only hope you have done the same. I leave you this token, so that even in your darkest hours... you can see the light. No, not the Human Light before you get clever.”



“Groalen. I want to share my experience, what was useful for me in Northrend. Hope, never surrender. And how badly situation was â€" there is always chance to change everything. Maybe with you strength, or help power of Nature.”



*A well-worn war-horn crafted from a ram’s curled horn.*

“I could place any sort of weapon in this chest, and it would have plenty of battles to it's name. However, it is not our weapons that is the greatest strength of the Red Blades. I place my war-horn in this chest, a gift made to me by my Blood Brother after our raid of vengeance into the Dwarven lands.

This war-horn represents our greatest strength - The strength we will draw upon to keep this world safe.. The strength of our unity!”

[muffled, distorted yelling â€" deafening and completely incomprehensible]

“I am Rargnasha Bloodmark, Chieftain of the Red Blades. Let it be known that we have always gone where we were needed the most.”



*A simple etched iron arrow-head.*

“I am Gro'kul, Oathbound. Never dishonor your tribe. Aim true.”



*Two ancient, primitive-looking axes half-wrapped in a thick, shaggy wolf-pelt, almost as old.*

“Trakmar. Oat'breaker. My words be f' Rokarna. I 'ave done m'best t'raise y'. Even if i' be f'jus' a brief par' o' y'life. I be leavin' with you three things t'a 'ave been passed down our line.

T'wolfpelt o' Mag'ok, worn by t'first o' our line. An' ancestral axes - Fang an' Claw. Grow ferocious an' untamed, daug’ter.”



*A piece of fine blue cloth with a white wolf-head embroidered on it.*

“I am Sinami, Newblood of the tribe... let it be remembered that the tribe is a place for family. Whether you join as one, or find a new one among its members.”



*A razor-sharp harpy talon attached to a waxen cord.*

“Ah, there it is. I suppose this thing is on now? Right! I am Kogra Windwatcher, Gosh'kar of the tribe. I've merely wandered among its members for a few moons now but the things that I've experienced have been enough for a lifetime.

I have but a few words to bestow upon the new members of the tribe. It are the encounters we face in our lives that makes the person who we are. For this reason, I bestow upon this chestcapsulething my trophy I got from my Om'riggor as a symbol of one of the encounters I faced.

Whatever you face, take the things that you can learn from it and put them to use for the future.  Things are never sure for the future until the moment arrives, you might aswel make the best out of it.”



*A sturdy wolfmask with little sign of wear.*

“I be Vanara and I see the tribe as me family, be yerself and don't hide anything. Oh... I should turn this thing on… ehh…”



*A chipped, pounded iron shield with the Lion of Stormwind still shining brightly, undulled by the passage of time.*

“I… I am Izeria Emrest, foster child of Lord Tyran Emrest. I give you the last remeniant of my past and hope it serves as a reminder that though we might fight. The Alliance is not our enemies and that you will stand for than the Horde but for a united Azeroth.”



*A strange-looking dagger crafted out of an eldritch, mighty beast’s tooth â€" the residual corruption seemingly long since purged.*

“I be Rashka Facebreaker. Oathbound of t'Red Blade Tribe. This dagger be made out of a Pitlord's tooth, one tha' I won fightin' in a tournamen' of t'Horde. I place this item 'ere, with t'opes of whoever tha' migh' find this, 'aven't forgotten 'ow ter figh’ with ‘onour.”



*An adamantite boot-dagger caked from blade to hilt in dulled, dried blood.*

“I be Groshnok Gorewrath, Oat'bound o' t'Red Blades. Even though I's an axewielder, this bloody dagger 'as passed me through many fights, an' slain many foes. Le' it show t'blood we shed fer our tribe, an' t'blood o' t'enemies we shed wit' our weapons.”



*A greyish wolfmask with a lock of glossy black hair carefully curled inside.*

“I am Rhonya Steelheart, Thur'ruk. Remember that the strenght lies in the pack. Stay true to your brothers and sisters, stand together, fight together, fall together… and howl in unity.”



*A pointed dagger shaped like a wyvern’s tooth, well-worn.*

“I am Therak Duskstalker, Varog'Gor of the Red Blades… Remember, the tribe needs the strength to use, the cunning to know how to apply it and the wisdom to know when not to apply it.”



*A strange, cryptic parchment with a melanistic Barrens wildcat sketched upon it. Below the picture is a caption reading “Not Here”, and an abstract code.*

“Siyah-Gosh. Wellwisher. I present a secret. Also: for recording to the one digging this up. 11.7.36. 4th Brick down on the hearth.”



*A desiccated bun with little arms, its pastry face frozen forever in terror.*

“Mok'ra... Is this thing turned on? Err.. Right, Oathbound Nyruk here.... And a word of advise. Axes are the fangs of orcs, but fangs are the axes of life. Life is a dark forest where a wolf must kill to live. In such place, it is better to be a wolf than an orc.

Oh, and one more thing. The perfect recipe for a bacon and egg bun is... the use of juicy barren-boar-strips, cooked on a high fire until sizzling and topped with toasted arcane manipulated buns made by me.”



*A small leather fetch-ball, its skin pock-marked.*

“Be like water making its way through cracks. Do not be assertive, adjust to tha object, you shall find a way around or through it. If nothin' within you stays rigid, outward things will disclose themselves.

Empty your mind, be formless. Shapeless, like water. If you put water into cup, it becomes cup. put water into bottle....it becomes tha bottle. Put in a teapot, it becomes tha teapot. Now, water can flow or it can crash... Be water, my friend.”



*A white wolf mask, lightly dusted.*

“I...Lo'gush Heartseeker offer a mask of the white wolf...a trophy from my Om'riggor hunt with the Red Blades...strength and honor.”

[Gashuk]

*At the midnight hour, a shadow of an orc flickers against the ground making low grunts with each painful step, clasping it's side in agony, the shadow slowly makes it's way to the area of the time capsule; peering over the disturbed earth with a faint smile.*

"There be times in a Shaman's path where meditatin' t'Spirits must come second, I should've been here, grom'damnit..."

*Falling to it's knees, every movement makes piercing noises through the night's silence, as creaking bones and rustled grass orchestrates the event, the figure brings it's hand over the covering earth and with shut eyes, the faint smile shifts into a dark frown, a single warm tear running down the figure's face to stain the earth with it's moisture.*

"I have no kin, I have no pups, I have...nothing, but this Tribe" whispered the figure as if talking directly to the capsule through the earthen prison protecting it, "I have nothin' t'give but m'heart an' soul; m'life to protect what may come o' my Pack, know this, when ye honour us; yer parents, yer grand-parents, tha' even faceless lone wolves, long forgotten, bared tooth an' claw fer t'next generation."

*Wiping the tear from it's face, the figure struggles to rise to it's feet, aided by the lifting winds now whistling around the area. It turns it's back to the scene and begins to limp away.*