Odenn's Arrival at the CS Camp

[Odenn]

The tale of Odenn Bloodfist starts in the green lands of Ashenvale Forest. Not always the master tracker that most know now. Many seasons ago, he led a much simpler existence. Raised in the collective of the Warsong Lumber Camps, Odenn grew among the tall trees, working in the mills. The forest was his home and the home of his Clan; it provided for them. It was in that same forest he learned of the beasts and their lore, became a marksman in the hunt and aided in the lumber gathering efforts of the Horde. Even at a young age his skill with a bow was unmatched within the camps, though he had never fired a shot in battle.

It was a late evening, on a day that would change the destiny of the young Orc forever. The daily hunt had finished and as Odenn’s party returned to their homes with food for the night’s feast. The sounds of battle echoed in the air. The smell of burned wood was thick and as they dashed towards the camp, the orange glow told only one tale. Elven raiders had set upon the camp destroying all they could touch. Homes and stockpiles of lumber alike were set to the torch. As he entered the camp he could see the few remaining Orcs fighting back against the onslaught; there were not many left as most were cut down by surprise in the first few moments of the battle. Without hesitation Odenn drew his bow and began shooting; arrow after arrow leapt forth, cutting down the Kaldorei raiders. He knew this was a battle that could not be won but he was determined to make them pay a heavy price in blood for their actions. As enemies fell before him, he felt a sharp pain in the back of his head, the ground rushed up to meet him and all went dark….

Many hours later, Odenn opened an eye; then another. While he had been unconscious, the rain had begun to fall. The hunter lay prone in the mud for many minutes; his head felt like it had been split in two. He sat up and ran his hand over his head, his hand came away wet with blood. When he had struggled to his feet he took stock of the scene before him. Despite the rain, small fires still smoldered throughout the camp. There was nothing left of the camp that had stood there a few hours before; now it was just ash and blood…

From that day, his former life was shattered, Odenn began training his skills in the art of warfare. He vowed one day to be able to take revenge on the Elves though he knew he could not do it alone. After seeking training in warfare in the Valley of Trials, Odenn wandered throughout Durotar searching for meaning and allies in his quest for revenge. The exploits and tales of the Clan Skullcrusher reached him in the Inn of Razor Hill and he knew it would be with these warriors that he would be able to achieve what he sought.

Being young and not overly skilled in the art of warcraft; Odenn knew he would have to work to gain acceptance with such a group. He took it upon himself to learn all he could of the lore and language of the legendary clan. Once he had done so, he sought out the great chief Volonazra and surprised the chief when he addressed him in the dialect of the Clan. “How lat be learnin da Skullcrusha blah?” he asked, a little surprised and a little angry that an outsider would have that knowledge. “Me been watchin an learnin an wish ta fight wid lat and yer warriurz.” Shocked by the approach yet intrigued, the Chief continued the conversation with the hunter.

To this day no one is sure why Volonazra did it. If he was impressed by the young hunter he never showed it, perhaps something from the shadows told him of destiny to come. Nonetheless, the old warlock uncharacteristically slapped the colours of the guild tabard on the young hunter on the spot, forgoing the usual process of trial and review, turned and walked off into the night… Thus it was, the young hunter was now a Skullcrusher.

[Rhoach]

*claps*

[Jeroabem/Sabrianica]

*Nicely done!*