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Genesis 2, The Burning Crusade (Open RP)
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Post by
oneforthemoney
Every age has its heroes. Every war is different.
When the Dark Portal opened to the shattered lands of Draenor, there were those marched to meet the unknown. A new world broken and broad with mountains of spikes, shattered stone, verdant flatlands and barren fields of rust and iron.
But the world of Azeroth was not idle when Outland opened. The Draenai crashed upon their isle, the Blood Elves proved themselves and joined the Horde, and later would do battle with their traitor prince as he attempted to bring one of the greatest enemies of Azeroth into being. These are the ones who rose against these challenges. Those who fought against or for the Burning Crusade.
Their age began when the skies darkened over the capital cities, the heavens rained infernals, and Highlord Krull arrived at their gates seeking out the Aspect Shards, and declared the Burning Crusade against the mortal races.
This is the sequel to the RP Genesis and its reincarnation Regenesis. There are a few differences one may notice. For one, it is set in BC rather than Vanilla, and begins right around when the Dark Portal opened once again.
To be more specific, the Dark Portal is open and the demons are met by soldiers of Nethergarde and the Argent Crusade who have just managed to push them back and have pressed into the portal itself to establish themselves at the Stair of Destiny. In doing so however, some demons managed to slip by, and war parties have plunged into the interior of the Swamp of Sorrows and roving around the Blasted Lands.
At the same time this is occurring the doomguard Highlord Krull has shown up before the gates of Stormwind and Orgrimmar, raining down infernals and opening some gateways in the city to attack them with demons.
A second change is that characters can be of a somewhat ‘higher’ level than before to accommodate the challenges that would wait beyond the dark portal. I would say around level twenty experience wise. What that would mean is that they would have either training but little actual experience in battle, or practical experience but little formal training. So apprentices who know how to do things and unless you wish it, are unlikely to be killed by a random wolf. Again, that is more a level cap, and they can be as weak as you like.
Here
and
here
are links to the previous two RPs. Feel free to reminisce or take a look.
Third is the standard disclaimer of no god moding, forcing others characters, and so on. Enjoy.
Post by
oneforthemoney
Reserved
Post by
oneforthemoney
Character:
Felicity Brighthammer, Sir Terrus
Location:
Stormwind, Old Town, Barracks
Steel flashed and crashed like thunder as the two armoured figures attacked. Dust swirled, kicked up by their feet as they maneuvered about the parade ground. Blades painted silver arcs in the air and rang like bells as they hammered at shields and deflected in deft strokes and parries. Training dummies and several stable hands on the fence watched idly as the man and woman, for such could plainly be discerned by the fit of their armour, battled on, their armour both plain, functional, but polished so even under the dirt they shined in the hot Stormwind sun. He had foregone a helm while hers was decorated with wings spread in triumph. They watched as the man suddenly rushed forward, his shield slamming into hers, knocking her off balance for a grim moment. In a thrice it was over, his leg lashing out and catching hers, she tumbling to the ground in a crash of steel and finding when she would rise a blade pointed at her golden breast.
The battle done, the stable hands dispersed to drift once more to their duties as, laughing, the man helped his opponent back to her feet.
“A good match, Felicity,” he praised as he hoisted her up.
“But not good enough, Sir Terrus,” came the stiff reply from the helm’s slit.
“Perhaps,” he replied with a good natured laugh, leading her by the hand towards the stable. “But now you know this tactic, and when next you battle you shall know to expect it, or even use it.”
Reaching the water trough he pulled off his gauntlets and dipped his hands in the water, splashed it against his face, gasping at the cold and roughly washing the sweat and grit from his eyes.
At the click of a latch he turned and watched as Felicity removed her helm. He traced the curve of her neck to her slender jaw, travelling further up the regimented and stern features, smiling when he saw the fierce fire their match had lit in her brilliant blue eyes. Her hair was the colour of spun gold and, he well knew, when unbound from the tight bun she wore it in would stream to her shoulders. Her sun kissed brow denoting her outdoor life was dotted with sweat that gleamed like diamonds in the light of day. To him, she looked like a marble sculpture carved by some master in search of the divine, regal, untouchable...
Sir Terrus turned away and splashed more cold water against his face savagely. His own features met him in the calming waters of the trough, he observing them with a trace of bitterness. They were rough, as though ground from granite by hard times and shattered dreams. His salt and pepper hair showed his age, over thrice Felicity’s seventeen.
He sighed and flicked the clinging droplets from his hands. “We practice so when we truly need to fight, we know how to,” he mused to the water. “I know you would much rather be earning some more on hand practice, Felicity, but I must be sure you are ready.” His fists clenched against the trough. “I would hate for something to happen to you because you were unprepared.”
He looked to the girl, and watched with some confusion as a shadow passed over her face. Following her gaze found the sky as black clouds boiled from the south. He stood, hairs rising at the back of his neck, nerves alive with the same sensation of disgust which filled Felicity, the feeling of a deep wrong from the green light glowing amongst the obscuring mass of clouds.
“Is the time for practice over, Sir?” Felicity asked, already donning her winged helm.
“Yes,” Terrus replied as a voice filled with malice and hatred boomed from the Valley of Heroes. “I’m afraid so.”
Together they rushed towards the gate as meteors wreathed in green flame spilled from the sky and into Stormwind.
Character:
Dmitri Flavell
Location:
Stormwind, Mage District, Catacombs
Deep beneath the Stormwind streets. Deep, deeper than anyone could hear, deeper than anyone would look, the chalk scraped against stone. What would the girls at the Pig and Whistle say to see him in his black robes scrawling graven symbols on the floor by meager torchlight? What would the boys say, who so often saw this young man with hood turned up and smelling of strange spices arrive and order wine while all the others took ale? Who, with his features more plain than handsome, unremarkable save perhaps the sharp brows long and arched like the wing of a bat, a face of poise and silent confidence and mute arrogance, now bent in silent concentration as he finished his design. What would they say of the second figure, taller, sterner, crooked and dressed in black robes stitched with silver, face a void of darkness beneath the hood? Who guarded a heavy wooden door, a black horned and green imp on one shoulder watching the boy labour with silent judgement and intensity?
They would say warlock, and they would be right.
With a final scrape Dmitri rose and surveyed his work. He licked his lips uncertainly, and frowned at the taste in the air. “Well master?” he asked, turning to the man at the door. “What do you think?”
“Good enough,” the imp sneered. “The reagents?”
With confidence Dmitri held aloft a sagging linen sack. The bottom was a deeper tint, what dripped from there uncertain in so dim a lighting.
“Surprise you managed,” cackled the imp. “Though suppose you had a pick. Guess that must be why you always hung about that cathouse all hours of the day.”
Dmitri ignored the imp and addressed the hood. “I am ready master.” It was an old game now. The elder warlock, throughout Dmitri’s apprenticeship, had never spoken a word to him, only communicating through the imp as proxy. In turn, Dmitri endeavoured to only address the face he had never seen behind the hood. An old game, one that Dmitri always felt that merely by playing he was somehow losing.
“Remember kid,” the garrulous imp went on. “Summoning a succubus ain’t like an imp or even a voidwalker. That circle’s plenty strong to keep her in. It’s you crossin’ that the problem lies. She’s no trollop from an eating house. You get a contract out of her, then you can have your fun.”
Dmitri nodded at the hood and repeated. “I am ready, master.”
“Knock yourself out,” the imp said, lounging on the shoulder and waving carelessly. “I’ve got money on this after all.”
Peeling back his sleeves, Dmitri turned to the circle. Drawing a red and black serrated blade, he licked his lips and frowned once more at the taste. It was as though the air were greasy, filled with an invisible smog which settled on his skin, far different from the familiar mustiness of the catacombs. It felt…corrupt. He dared a glance towards his master, but save an odd uneasiness on the imp’s part could discern nothing amiss. Still troubled, he was spurred on by the thought of betraying weakness, and raising the bag dropped it into the central circle. It struck wetly, something spattering on the stone. Raising his arms, Dmitri began to cast.
Though the language he spoke was a bitter one, Dmitri’s voice was smooth and sonorous. In another life it would have filled the vaulted ceilings of a cathedral with praises to the Light rather than the cylindrical chamber deep beneath the earth, singing the blackest of rituals in language that profaned the ears.
“Il ark sathan, duylathal nerental.” The chalk flashed with a pale glow. Dmitiri smiled. Slowly, he pressed his palm against the blade. Blood oozed from the cut, and with it he felt something deep within him, pull it forward, and drip with every drop into the circle at his feet. It struck, the white turned violet with the nether’s glow, drawing this piece of him through, bait for that which lurked beyond the mortal sphere. The net was cast, he felt something tug upon the other end. He smiled and spoke more, calling it to him.
“Is al ectherus in as-“
He choked. Something was wrong. The torches went out. The circle glowed red.
A presence gripped him and filled the room with power. He fell to his knees. Every muscle was strained. Someone was shouting. He tried to stop, to scream, but words he did not know spoke themselves with his treacherous tongue. The air was alit with a fel green glow. He felt as though he was being torn apart, his insides wrapped in a string pulling from the circle. With a crack the stone floor broke, the circle was disrupted. Something roared with a presence like fire.
Dmitri collapsed as though the cord which held him was suddenly cut. The stone was cool against his cheek though the air was hot. He stared at the wall, watching a pantomime of silhouettes without comprehension. His master was casting. No. He was screaming. He watched stupidly as the smaller shadow had some of its size removed by the larger one. Something landed with a wet sound near his twitching hand. Dmitri realized he was crying.
A hand grabbed him by the collar and slammed him into the wall. Every nerve screamed in protest and with the pain Dmitri returned to the world.
One of six arms held him to the wall. They belonged to a statuesque woman, nearly twice as tall as he, with skin blue as the depths of the sea. She wore golden armour in piecemeal fashion connected by strips of long silk and a crown which bled fel fire like a sconce. Her eyes caught him, and only then did Dmitri manage to speak.
“Sh-Shivarra!”
Character:
Drag’Then Stormsunder, Solark
Location:
Swamp of Sorrows
Drag’Then had achieved the standing stones some time past. Now he merely waited, his eyes looking out from a white worg’s eyesockets onto the rest of the swamp, the skinned beast’s upper jaw baring its teeth to the world, hiding the rest of his head before falling over his shoulders in a cloak. He was a tall, broad orc with deep green skin and an assertive square jaw. On either hand he bore steel claws fashioned as though a part of the pelt he wore.
The mound was some distance from Stonard and was an unusual sight out in the Swamp of Sorrows. A dozen irregular menhirs formed a ring, placed without the aid of mortal hands. Fetid water stroked the mound like a moat, separating it from the greenery that seemed to infest the very air, colour it with a haze between tall trees that clung to the earth or rose above it on roots like stilts, festooned by vines hanging with moss. Said air was of suffocating humidity, but Drag’Then had not minded much. He had even exhilarated in the exercise through the bog.
He doubted the same could be said of the young orcess slogging towards him now. Solarck was nothing like the powerful orc watching her progess. Her black hair clung to her forehead at the effort already expended, her figure delicate when compared to even an average orc, bones fine and pronounced as though she had suffered starvation recently. A satchel banged against her thigh as she struggled through the waters. Drag’Then could not help but smile to himself at the variety of orcish lettering and sigils embroidered in her sleeveless tunic and leather skirt, as though she were trying to assure anyone who looked at her that she was indeed an orc. Around her neck jangled a necklace fitted with a solitary black worg tooth.
She struggled out of the water and onto the mound, trying to even her breathing before the other orc. “I…I am here, master,” she gasped.
“Good,” he praised, praise which failed to reach his eyes. “Then we might begin.” Stepping back he led her into the center of the mound. It was a bare patch of earth as though scourged by fire, a striking contrast the vivacious life which filled their surroundings. Drag’Then indicated the center with a steel claw. “Here. Sit here.”
Hastening to obey, Solarck sat cross legged in the circle, hands clutching her knees as though afraid they would spring into a more casual stance to spite her.
The worg’s head nodded, pelt rustling as Drag’Then slowly began to circle his apprentice. “Good. Good. These stones,” he continued, addressing her undivided attention to the menhirs surrounding them, “were brought here when the world was young, when great mountains of ice retreated across this world.” His claws scraped a stone with a sharp, piercing sound that made Solarck wince. “It is a place strong in the elements.”
He removed the claw from the rock and examined the tips. “Hopefully, here, the elements might deem it fit to speak to you.”
The younger orc shivered. “I shall not fail you, master.” Again, remained unspoken, though both heard it.
“We shall see.” Taking several steps back Drag’Then left the circle. “You may begin,” he uttered with a wave.
Finding herself alone, Solarck sat very still, afraid to move, afraid to speak, afraid to err. She breathed deeply, her exhalation quivering. She closed her eyes to the world outside, and tried to find a center within herself that insisted on careening everywhere. Opening her eyes she glanced to Drag’Then, only to see him on the shore, amusing himself by idly scraping bark from a tree.
“No. No,” she murmured, turning forward once more and bowing her head. “Can’t rely on him forever. I…” She grew silent. Her face coloured as she recalled what was missing. From a thong about her belt she retrieved her hammer with fumbling fingers, the flat face engraved with symbols of the storm. A simple weapon, she took the head in one hand and handle in the other, gripped them tight, and tried to hear the land.
So gently she did not realize it, the crickets and flies, snakes and toads, the life which grew upon the earth faded from her hearing. She was deaf to all, and when she realized this she gasped with amazement, and did not hear that either.
A shudder thrummed through her as she felt the twelve stones, bearing down upon this intruder to their midst, their silence castigating her impertinence. She choked on it, the feeling of another failure. Her obeisance was pleading. “Please…”
Silence filled her, but with it now, the sense of ill ease in the stone beneath her, the tremors of the wind and tumult of rippling water around the mound.
“Demons…”
Her eyes snapped open. Did she say it or did they? It mattered not. The elements were gone. Her gaze was flung to the tree tops, and there the thick plumes of smoke rising.
Stonard burned.
Post by
Sparkbolt
Character: Richard Grindgear
Location: Dwarven District, Stormwind
Amongst the sounds of hammers striking steel and the occasional explosion a lone human sat at the inn by the Deeprun Tram. He had short blond hair and blue eyes with a pair of green goggles that sat on his forehead at the moment. He wore brown leather pants and heavy boots with a blue linen short sleeved shirt with a long jacket and a revolver that sat on his belt. Richard sat at a table writing a letter. "Just got back from the Plaugelands. Met some interesting people and made some new blueprints." He mumbled as he wrote but looked up as he heard shouting outside.
He quickly stuffed his letter into the envelope as he made his way outside and looked around noticing everyone staring at the sky and he looked up to see the growing clouds. He quickly shoved the letter into the mailbox before turning and running back into the inn and towards the table he was at before where a backpack and metal box sat. "We got work to do." He said putting on his backpack then grabbed the handle on the box and rushed back outside and towards the city gates.
Post by
R1TeR
John "JB" Brink
Outside Stormwind city
John looked at his trembling hand that was slightly scorched. "
Damn it all.
" He said out loud to himself. He then began to channel a fire spell that was much bigger then a normal fireball.
"
Come on, focus.
" He thought to himself as he aimed his spell at a nearby tree. Suddenly he lost control of the spell and it blew up in his hands. The force knocked John on his back.
John was harshly cursing to himself when he felt his sleeve was on fire. He franticly patted it out. He laid there on his back looking up at the sky. "
What in the world....
" He said as he noticed things falling from the sky.
Post by
355559
This post was from a user who has deleted their account.
Post by
R1TeR
John "JB" Brink
Outside Stormwind city
John stood up and cursed to himself as looked down at his robes. "
Well, its not too bad.
" He thought to himself as the scorch marks were barley visible to the pitch black color of the robe. He dusted himself off down to the bottom of the robe that were highly detailed with red flames.
Shortly after John began to wrap his hands in bandages as they were slightly burned. "
....Wasn't something happing?
" He thought to himself completely spacing out what was going on.
Just as he looked up a meteor crashed into the ground not but ten yards away.
Post by
Stabhorn
Character:
Jason Ravenbanner
Location:
Stormwind City
Corpses littered the streets; bodies of women, children, elderly, animals, soldiers and demons. Their bodies were torn apart even as they lay dead. The Legion advanced, a wave of blood and death. Hundreds of Fel Guards crushed the dead beneath them, silver swords slick with blood.
Men garbed in the blue and white of Stormwind battled against there foe. Mortals and demons alike fell screaming, transfixed by arrows or crushed by a spell. Mages, Paladins and Priests stood behind the foot-soldiers, along side the archers. They cast hundreds of spells into the ranks of the Legion, causing explosions and other disasters.
Foul winged Dreadlords and Eredar, held aloft by dark spellwork, combated the spellcasters. Mages screamed, imploding in on themselves, or simply melting off of their skeletons. Blood trickled from Jason Ravenbanner's nose as he flung a fireball at a distant Dreadlord. The demon arrogantly bushed it aside like a gnat.
I can do this! I can do this!
Jason groaned, a paladin died alongside him. He saw an eredar tear itself apart as spores latched on to it. Druids joined the battle. An abyssal suddenly landed amongst their ranks. It crushed scores of spellcasters before anyone could react. Coupled with attacks from the Dreadlords, the defenders were crushed. Jason cried out, falling to the ground as demons advanced.
_____________________________________________
Character:
Gorshank, Anhi
Location:
The Stair of Destiny
The Pit Lord watched his command clash against the mortals at the Portal, "Bah! These rabble need to be crushed, Gorshank!"
Gorshank the Ruiner perched upon a broken pillar, looking like some grotesque bird of prey. The Nathrezim smiled, "Have no fear, Anhi. I have faith that you will be able to hold them here. Soon, you shall lead the Legion to glory in the world beyond."
Anhi sniffed, "The mortals shouldn't be underestimated; Hakkar, Mannoroth and even Archimonde discovered that the hard way."
"I am different," said the Dreadlord, "Stick with me, Anhi. I am going to bring us glory beyond comprehension!"
Post by
oneforthemoney
Character:
Felicity Brighthammer, Sir Terrus
Location:
Stormwind, Old Town, Barracks
Streets were choked with people as they fled towards the tram station, the docks or keep, hampering defender and attacker alike though the latter minded little. The haze of smoke and smell of burning hung in the air, the sky blackened by storm and reddened by ash as though the apocalypse was nigh while infernals continued to fall.
Such a crowd struck both Sir Terrus and Felicity like a wave as they came into Old Town. "To the keep!" Felicity shouted over the screaming mass, keeping her naked blade high and waving it towards the great stone fortress off in the distance, even as she tried to force her way the opposite direction. "To the keep!"
Her voice seemed to echo in her helmet and armour like a prison cell. Overcome, she whirled about, caught in the maelstrom of bodies, her head addled. She wasn't sure of the direction anymore, carried one moment, fighting the crowd the next, still she shouted "To the keep! Safety is there!" She fought to stay upright, for to fall would mean death beneath the feet of the multitude. She gasped like a drowning man.
With suddenness that made her stumble she was free. She looked back as the last ragged figures vanished about a corner, and realized then she was alone.
"Damn," she cursed, spinning about in search of Sir Terrus, finding nothing. She hesitated, looking about, but quickly chose an alley and hurried down it, reasoning he most likely had moved towards the battle.
Two alleys down she slowed. The sound of screaming was now a distant echo, only the crackling of fires close at hand. More cautiously she began to advance. Breaking into a main thoroughfare she stopped at once.
The street was abandoned of humanity, only the vestiges remaining in the form of several corpses. Amongst all this death was some life, twisted though it may be. Crouched over a corpse, its scales and blood red flesh glistening in the light, a fel hound savaged a corpse. Bones snapped and flesh tore viscerally as the sightless creature feasted.
Felicity watched it silently, morbidly fascinated by the sight of the demon, clutching her blade in suddenly sweaty palms.
It stopped chewing. The antennae above it twitched and coiled boneless above its sightless head. It turned to Felicity with a vicious grin in its blood stained fangs and howled.
On instinct, Felicity bared her shield with the golden hammer of the Brighthammer family on a field of red and raised her sword.
Character:
Dmitri Flavell
Location:
Stormwind, Mage District, Catacombs
"Silence, mortal!"
The shivarra lifted him from the wall only to knock him against it once more. The world faded to a point in Dmitri's mind. Seemingly from a tunnel her voice reached him, pounding into his skull as though to inscribe every word upon his brain. "Listen to me closely and repeat these words. Now! Il tharum es darric." He hesitated. "Do it!"
"I-Il tharum e-es darric," Dmitri gasped breathlessly.
"Est therus anaduem Sarringal es dairium."
"I-"
Lifted he was slammed against the wall again. "Do it!"
"E-est therus anaduem Sarringal es dairium!"
Dmitri shuddered and writhed at a feeling deep in his chest, as though someone had passed a silver blade into his heart, and anchored it to the very essence of his being. Daring a glance at the demon, he saw her burning eyes closed, face disciplined calm, but the warlock caught an indication of relief in the slight smoothing of the few lines upon her features. Her eyes opened, the orbs burning with fel light caught Dmitri's.
"There," she breathed. "Now, you are my warlock."
"W-what!"
Character:
Drag’Then Stormsunder, Solark
Location:
Swamp of Sorrows
"Master!"
At her cry Drag'Then looked to the sky and the smoke rising. His jaw fell, every muscle stiffening. "Greka! Tullin!"
With those names on his lips the orc plunged into the swamps.
Struggling to her legs which ached from sitting in so awkward a position Solarck cried, "Wait for me, master!" Stumbling, she splashed into the water and struggled to the shore. By the time she arrived the elder shaman was already gone, swallowed by the forest's haze. Solarck at once made to follow, moccasin bound feet pounding into the damp soil and spongy earth, chasing the specter of the white worg pelt into the green. She was nowhere as fit as the other, her stride shorter, and her efforts to deny these facts sent her lungs burning and heart pounding in short order. She pressed on regardless, begging for air from the humid atmosphere with every gasp as she stumbled over roots and vines, sudden dips and ponds of fetid water.
She lost sense of time, every step a plodding nightmare forgotten in favour of the next until she quite abruptly found herself at the edge of the cleared area for Stonard.
Leaning against a tree, she gasped at what she saw.
Demons, doubtless spill over who had eluded the guards at the Dark portal, filled the area in a gibbering, howling host. Forming a band they had struck out, and on reaching Stonard did as they were born to do. The town had doubtless been caught off guard, some of the palisade torn down, several buildings dancing with flame and more than a few bodies flung almost carelessly about. But by now the defenders had rallied, and the battle was more even. As she watched lightning and fire flashed to scour infernal's shells while weapons clanged against felguard's halbreds, the fighting spilling from the settlement and into the surroundings swamp.
Solarck stared at the fighting with amazement, the scene almost beyond her comprehension. Only the pain of the coarse trunk beneath her fingers assured her she did not dream, and with that realization came the one that were she to join the fighting, she would swiftly be found dead. She felt that to be cowardice, and writhed in shame of it. To know her master would doubtless see it so only filled her with more and, as shame overcame her fear, she gripped her hammer and hesitantly broke from the tree line.
Post by
355559
This post was from a user who has deleted their account.
Post by
oneforthemoney
Character:
Drag’Then Stormsunder, Solark
Location:
Swamp of Sorrows
She skirted the fighting like some sort of scavenger, seeking out the one that she might be able to fight, clutching the hammer in both hands. A grunt battled a felguard, chopping off the demons armoured hand and when it bent in sudden agony, taking the helmeted head as well, only to be tackled by a slavering felhound the next moment. Solark paused and took a step forward. A shadow fell over her and looking up, she wondered when the sun had come so close.
The next instant she was sent tumbling across the ground, head ringing and world spinning. Pushing herself up, she stared in horror at the crater as the infernal rose like a titan of flame.
It seemed her opponent had found her.
Character:
Felicity Brighthammer, Sir Terrus
Location:
Stormwind, Old Town
The fel hound flew at her and met her shield. Its weight send Felicity down hard, the shield between them and the demon's weight pressing down. And as they fell, the demon impaled itself upon her sword. Tainted blood poured over her arm. Curved talons scrabbled at the steel, the demon writhing, trying to get away but only driving the blade in deeper. Realizing what happened the paladin pushed, wriggling her blade about its insides, coating her arm in its blood. Fetid breath slapped her. Felicity turned her head away as blood from the demon's meal splattered against her helmet.
All at once, the demon stiffened, the blade at last finding something vital. With a shudder it collapsed, the weight crushing her, but no longer struggling.
With a grunt she rolled the corpse off her, blade sliding free with a clear sound, belying its bloody state. She did not rise at once, panting heavily and staring at the obscured sky, feeling the corrupted blood on her armour.
With a grunt she rolled upright. She stared at the blood staining her sword arm. "I hope...it's not corrosive..." she muttered at length.
Post by
355559
This post was from a user who has deleted their account.
Post by
morginar
Character
: Krenakh Stormeye, Gor'zok Huzak, Fizbix Cogdirk
Location
: Swamp of Sorrows
Wandering on the soft surfact of the marsh walked two orcs and a goblin. All three green of skin. The one walking first was a fourty year old orc of the stormreaver clan and a warlock. A elder of his race. Walking side by side with death itself seemingly. And it didn't help that as a price for his arts he looked even older and weaker. White beard hanged down his green and blue robes. A hood over his face to hide him for eyes that might recognize him. He walked with a wooden cane with his scared hand, scars he had made himslef. Due to his weak right leg. A price he had to pay for the errors of his ways.
Following after him was a fifteen year old blue eyed brunette female orc. A few years after adulthood. And now a shaman in training. Her master as fate would make it was the warlock. Who once was a shaman. But the elements will speak with him no more for his betrayal. She was dressed in furs from a brown worg. Not two worgs, but one. Kilt over her waist. It's paws as gloves and boots. It's head as a cowl she had pulled hown. It's teath in a necklace. The worg was her first kill. She had been born in the saftey the enslavement camps. So she never had the need for killings. Once she grew older her eyes told of the path of a shaman. And thus she began a new life.
And lastly was a goblin strugling slightly strgling in the water becouse of his height. The goblin carried a hat with gogles onto it. black hair in a ponytail grew underneath it and down his neck down to the metal backpack he carries. Brown pants and green shirt he wears. On the left side of his hip in the belt the hilt of a dagger with a cogwheel onto it lays. On the right side lies five bombs. In his hand he posses a rifle.
The trio wandered into the wilds and filanly rested in a glade. The warlock quicly started a fire.
"Now you are to meditate and
feel
the fire *cought* . And if it gets angry you shall calm it..." The elder warlock said. And the youngling did as she was told and sat down to talk to the flames. First was she felt nothing. Then as she focused she could see a canlde in the dark. The fire.
Now the goblin tossed a small pouch of gunpowder into the burning tounges. The canlde exploded in rage and wished nothing more than to burn evrything in it's fury. But the shaman mentaly huged it and carrased it as one would a pet.
The explosion stoped before it started. The gunpowder burned. And Gor'zok smiled in pride over the achivment of his student. Fizbix looked more confussed than ever as he was a man of sience not magic. Krenakh shivered as something malevolent came closer. The fire in fear to ash and the shaman was in the dark. But a wicked green light loomed over her.
"D-demons." She muttered and opened her eyes. The warlock looked terified. The tinker, sceptic as he was doubted the source. The fire was nothing more than smoke and charcoal.
From the woods ran a Felhunter. Smelling magic in the air. It ran for the shaman. But the tinker shot it in the head with his homemade rifle.
Where there was a Felhunter, there is sure to be more lurking around. And so came forth three felhounds and a Felguard leading them. A wicked green fel iron spear in his hand.
The three Felhunters charged for the shaman. They couln't care too much for the warlock. Felcasters are friendly, right?
"Get out of here. Leave this old one behind! I will only slow you down!" Shouted Gor'zok. Knowing he couln't beat the demons, even with the two others. But this might be the redemtion he needed. For trying to demolish the world. The Felhunters stoped. Gor'zok began to channel his magic, and the Felhunters like moth to a flame ran to the Stormreaver. Their tentacles attatced themself to the green old body. Even the Felguard walked closer to spit him in the face.
Fizbix pulled Krenakh arm. "Let's move girl. Don' look back." The goblin told her and the two ran to the Stonard.
Gor'zok smilled. He began to drain from the Felhunters and used that energy together with all of his remaining life force to cast a explosion to slay this demonic invaders.
Far behind Fizbix and Krenakh a loud explosion filled their pointed ears.
Character
: Mugrik Shalecleaver, Nadrim Vodker
Location
: Stormwind
In the training field in the southern edge of the old town in the giant city of Stormwind trained two brave combandants with eachother in spar. One a manly Wildhammer dwarf with dark brown beard,blue warpaint and a helmet with two ox horns on his head. Armed with a two handed axe and dark iron armor. The berserker was quite the grim looking one.
The other duelist, a nineteen year old human girl. Eyes that are a deep blue that appeared violet and lava like red hair. Steel daggers and black leather armor covering her body. The two clashed their weapons, parrying their blows, dodging and. Dirt and dust covering their armor. As the two began to tire.
Dreanched in foul smelling sweat the two took a break. Siting in the grass and drinking water.
Then the demons came. A rain of chaos filled the skies. Flames and shadow tormented the city and bathed in it's blood.
Mugrik smiled. As he was always looking for a battle. For glory and honor. To form a legacy in warfare is his goal. "Looks like a oponents has layed down a challange ey?" He said in his dwarven dialect.
"Guess so." Nadrim replied, eyes wide in fear. She desierd to join SI:7 and too do good. Once she had though she did good in the defias brotherhood. But she was but a pawn. Now she wanted to use her skills for beter.
Quickly the pair ran to the demons and desolation.
It didn't take long before the duo found a doomguard, three times as large as a human. Burning claymore in it's hand. Well not burning as it looked as if the blade itself was solid flames.
Nadrim eyed it in fear, taking a slow step backwards.
Mugrik charged right ahead. For glory. Death would bring him honor. Why would be despair?
But the deamon had no need to bother with this hothead and simply kicked him as if the dwarf was a mere insect.
Mugrik flew into the air and landed on a building and thurgh it's wall. Bearly conscious Nadrim ran to her friend and carried him away. The demon couln't care less for the weaklings.
Character
: Velnessia Nertheledil
Location
: The Eye, Thempest Keep
In the shattered world of Dreanor. Now renamed outland. In the mystical keep made by the Narru. Now owned by Prince Keal'thas. In one of the rooms of the eye. In a bed possibly made for Dreanei. There was a sunfury blood elf dressed in fine crimson elven silks. Brown like the bark on a tree was her hair. Green like the flames of demons was her eyes. And in her hand was a book labled
"Blood mages for beginners"
. And her name was... Velnessia Nertheledil.
Post by
R1TeR
John "JB" Brink
Outside Stormwind city
More and more meteors crashed all along John. Demons rose up and surrounded him. "
By the light...
" He thought as he backed up with no where to go.
"
What is this feeling?
" John said as something came over him, but it wasn't fear it was anger.
Post by
morginar
Character
: Mugrik Shalecleaver, Nadrim Vodker
Location
: Old Town, Stormwind
"You okay!" Nadrim loudly told Felicity as she found her lying on the ground, green blood indicatign a battle with the foul demons. Nadrims companion Mugrik was still semi unconscious. His arm resting around Nadrims neck and shoulder.
Post by
R1TeR
John "JB" Brink
Outside Stormwind city
Fire came easily to John, he quickly shot a fireball at a closing felguard. It had little effect as the demon closed. "
It cant end like this..
" He thought to himself as he felt a fire burn within him, he was angry that he was gonna die so young.
He then began to channel the spell he had been practicing. The felguard rasied its axe for the killing blow, just then John released his spell at point blank range.
Post by
Sparkbolt
Character: Richard Grindgear
Location: Stormwind
Richard rushed towards the battle though it didn't take long for the engineer to meet the attacking force. "Demons." He gasped stopping seeing an Infernal rampaging threw the canals outside the trade district. It was a scream that brought Richard back to reality as the infernal found a group of stragglers trying to get to the keep and began to chase them down. "Hey!" Richard shouted grabbing his gun and aimed at the creatures head and fired. The bullet hit the infernal's head but did little other then change his focus from the group to Richard and with a deep roar began to charge the engineer. "Oh shi-!" Richard exclaimed suddenly running off with the infernal close behind.
"Think. Think." He repeated as he as ran threw the canals dodging carts that the demon simply knocked away. He took a sharp left into the tunnels leading into the district as the infernal rushed past towards the mage district. He looked out no longer seeing the demon. "Dam that thing's just a pile of fel fire." He grumbled then slapped his hand against his head. "Of course." And as he pulled down his goggles he went running after the infernal.
Post by
oneforthemoney
Character:
Drag’Then Stormsunder, Solark
Location:
Swamp of Sorrows
Solarck stared in terror at the demon of fire and stone. "No..." Every step it took sent the earth shuddering. Swamp water hissed beneath its feet sending white steam flitting about like snakes. Solarck scuttled back on her hands and feet. "No. Nonononono."
She threw an arm out, begging the elements for aid. Heat bloomed in her chest as a totem popped from the earth before her like a mushroom. Even in her terror she managed a gasp of surprise as orbs of flame flitted about it.
With a crunch it fell beneath the infernals foot. She looked up to the head crowned with emerald flame as the demon raised a fist. Curling into a ball, she grabbed her head and screamed for help.
The ground beneath the infernal exploded, and for Solarck the world went white.
Character:
Felicity Brighthammer, Sir Terrus
Location:
Stormwind, Old Town
Felicity appeared to be unaware of the other two. She seemed utterly enthralled in the slow opening and closing of her bloodied fist, the helmet over her head hiding what revelations she saw within.
Character:
Dmitri Flavell
Location:
Stormwind, Mage District, Catacombs
"Quiet!" Effortlessly the Shivarra lifted Dmitri off the wall, his feet dangling over the floor. "Listen to me and know this as your truth. You summoned me to this world, and bound me to you. I will play the role of your demon minion, wretch, and you will act as such.
"But hear me now!" One of her other arms rose. Powerful fingers grabbed the dagger - Dmitri amazed he had retained it - and wrenched it from his hands. With a snap she broke it. "I will not suffer your petty indiscretions! Fail me, betray me, displease me, and I shall be the instructor of untold agonies beyond your puerile imaginings!"
She hurled Dmitri across the room effortlessly. Skidding across the floor, he crashed into something soft. Pulling away his hands, he stared in incomprehension at the red coating them, then gasped and scrambled away from the torso garbed in once black robes. He looked up and watched as she approached, her long legs and feminine form outlined sharply by the crown blazing upon her head, six arms looking ready to break his every limb. One of her palm opened, and the shards of his blade clattered to the floor.
Dmitri shuddered and nodded hastily. "I...I understand."
Post by
Sparkbolt
Character: Richard Grindgear
Location: Stormwind
As Richard ran he slipped his backpack off one shoulder and began to rummage threw it. "Where is it?" He grumbled as he stopped on the bridge to the mage district. "Ah here it is!" He exclaimed pulling out a set of metal disks the size of dinner plates and sat them down then grabbed his metal box and dropped it next to him causing it to unfold and a tiny single barreled turret popped up only reaching up to his knees the turret began to beep. He reached down and picked up the metal plates again and began to set them out before the bridge. "And now for the bait." He nodded reaching into his backpack and pulled out a wrench. "Hey demons! Your mother was a hamster and your father smelled of elder berries!" He shouted towards the trade district.
Post by
355559
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