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The website has never looked better!
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I think Rashka.exe has stopped working.
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AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA... A.
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Such shouty people in here, gosh.
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Remember to shout your lungs out every once in a while!!
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<dances>
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I too am testing the shoutbox for non-nefarious reasons.
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This is me testing the shoutbox, because shouting is a great stress relief and it would be a shame if it doesn't work.
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Ice cream for all
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2020 Aug 23 09:36:02
*Grabs a camera to record what happens*
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*prods shoutbox*
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<dances>
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Swedish Pagans?
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Purpose a Brewing

Started by Bamm, April 13, 2020, 03:28:26 PM

Previous topic - Next topic

Bamm

Ungoro Crater a primal and time forgotten place

The stocky Orc hunched over his chemical cauldron it bubbled and popped the fire crackled softly underneath, a whole suite of chemical equpiment gathered around the small cauldron. He chanted softly not in any magical sense but more for good luck. Spinning around he pulled out one of the small pterodactyl chicks from one of his trap cages, wrung its neck, disembowelled it and slung it into the cauldron in which the cauldron sizzled in delight. Raptor bones where piled in small heaps at his bedroll grabbing several he took a small mallet splintering them, then with his mortal and pestle ground them to dust placing a small amount into an homemade ambleic a glass vial for distillation.
The stocky orc reviewed the cauldrons contents and poured small amount into the ambelic swilling it inspecting it holding it up to his eyes.
It was then he saw the silhouette behind him reflecting in the vial, dropping it and turning to face the intruder to his small camp, a blur and no more is what he saw, he turned again again and again, blurs of figure evading his vision. The orc grabbed a vial from his bandoleer and downed its contents he felt the power coursing though him grabbing a second vial in his hand. When the attack came he would be ready. Moments passed only hearing his own heart beat in his chest.

“my son” a voice spoke echoing around him

The Orc flung the vial at the voices direction it exploded in sticky fire mid air but he nothing but the jungle floor.

Was he fighting spirits? Ghosts? A though flashed though the orcs mind no, no this intruder of flesh and blood and he would make it pay for disturbing his brewing

“My Son” the voice spoke again The Stocky orc spun on his heel to find a frail skinny orc dressed in a manner of clothing he wasn’t familiar with sitting in his camp’s chair. Rage filled the stocky orcs mind. Grabbing another vial he slung it at the orc, it exploded mid air its contents again in a sticky fire. The frail figure blurred moving at a speed his eyes couldn’t follow and avoided the fiery concoction only setting ablaze the chair. The frail orc was now behind him.

“Cease your magic and face me frail one” the stocky Orc roared 

“My Son” The frail orc asked “why are you alone, alone in this strange land. Did you not come to this strange land to fight for the Horde?”

The stocky orc gazed at the features of the frail one, similar yet not his skinned a pallid green festooned with scars and blemishes one eye half closed a scar encircling it.

“Cease your prattling what do you want from me corrupted one use that magic again and I’ll remove your head from your shoulders” The stocky orc demanded

The frail one tilted his head and rubbed his chin. "My head unlike yours is attached to my neck my son, but you have your mother’s spirit. I am Arkail, arkail blastblade your father. I knew your mother well in your timeline 35 years ago, but to me only a few years have passed. Fascinating isn't it the time lines" Arkail began to speak of metaphysics and chromatic dragon nonsense

The stocky one roared silence interrupting arkail
"Cease your nonsense and prattle regardless of where your head is attached I’ll remove it My father, my father was a great, great warrior of the Bleeding hollow he fell fighting lightforged…"


“Is that what Kitrana said. Hmm I like that story.. heroic and noble self sacrificing. a good death experience" Arkail mused

“How do you know my mother’s name conjurer speak and be clear my next vial will not miss, I see your magics and know its limits I’ll burn this whole jungle down. Speak her name again and it’ll be your last” The Stocky orc spat

“Kahm my son I know many things and speak only truth, this is not the life me or Kitrana would wish for you. Alone. A life alone with out clan, purpose or fight” Arkail met his eyes dead on unblinking

“You may know my name and my mothers but you are not of my clan. And not my father conjurer with that Kahm grabbed a vial from his bandolier squeezing it tightly ready to end this nonsense

Arkail only raised his hand in it entwined where prayer beads, his mother’s prayer beads.
I am your father and we have much to speak about my Son I will tell you of a purpose worthy of your skills in alchemy

Kahm upon seeing the beads, placed the vial back on his bandoleer. His anger subsiding

They spoke long into the night the fire caused by the vials exploding and the campfire dying down in the many hours they spoke of all the things, why he had sought him out now of all times and the many adventures

Dawn was breaking Kahm nodded and rubbed his chin I will do as you ask… father

Arkail stood up if he was to smile it was only the slightest of smirks a wave of his hands a portal appeared and the frail old orc disappeared in it

Kahm stood silently for some time, he packed up his camp and set out.
There was a purpose and red blade to find