Times of Change

[Volonazra]

The Winter Veil festivities had come and gone. With the new year, much was to change for the Skullcrushers. Most obvious was the accord with Warchief Thrall's decree to accept some new Sin'dori allies and the reopening of the Black Portal for all.

Volonazra had returned to Azeroth and been rejuvenated. Volonazra relayed all his findings and knowledge of Outland to the clan. Plans were now being made, and preparations were underway for another long campaign for the Skullcrushers.

The journey to Outland had strengthened Vol's control over both shadow and the spirits. However, it also gave rise to that old rage within him. The home he dreamed was in some way preserved was not to be found. Corruption and the Legion's taint had spread everywhere. The Cenarians, and others, made their attempts to cleanse and heal the land for certain but, he felt that it was a futile struggle. Draenor, was no more. Only Outland existed. The ancestors anguished. Vol's hatred seethed.

Volonazra was already tired of war, tired of the lengthening list of enemies, tired of strife, tired of it all. Volonazra had wanted to be at peace in his old age. He had passed the torch of leading the clan, and sought a quieter time in his waning years. He had finally found balance in his soul for shadow and spirit. He felt too old to start another campaign. Serenity was what he desired but this was not to be his fate. Anger and pain boiled and burned inside him like times of old. This was the rage inherited from his ancestors and it was compelling if not consuming. Vol would bring vengeance upon the Legion and its allies. Woe to those standing against the clan.

**this is an open RP thread. Please add your own ideas,stories, thoughts from the time of Winter Veil to the present (and possibly beyond) **

Edited February 3, 2007 by Volonazra

[Bula]

Bula sat alone in the dark tavern as he drank his ale. Many things had changed in the past few seasons that had past. Bula sat staring at his now bare forearms. Still a strange site considering how much hair used to cover them. The ogre blood that runs through his veins had become more prominent as of late creating changes in his appearance. Bula couldnt help but wonder if the opening of the dark portal had anything to do with it.

"Another drink deary?" questioned a barwench as she made the rounds. Bula looked up and replied "Yeh me tinkz me hab anudder round, are u still serbin sum ub dat gud ol gnome pudden?" "nay i believe we are fresh out hun" the wench replied. "ohh u sure u no hab no gnomish pudding, all fresh and gooy wid just dah rite amount ub elb blood fer spice and ground up gnome bonez sprinkled on top?" Bula replied as he licked his lips. The wench had never seen this ogre in the tavern before or any ogre for that matter and wasnt sure she wanted to upset one. "I will see what i can do fer you hon" the barwench replied as she headed back to the storage room.

Bula continued to drink his ale as he stared down at the table when he noticed something etched into the table. "Kazraq3rg stinkz ub elbz sweat" Bula began to chuckle to himself. He had forgot that he had etched that into the table many years before. Bula began to wonder if his brethren would reconize him after all these years after all so much has changed since last they met. "Here you go deary" said the barwench. Bula had been deep in thought and hadnt noticed she came back with a fresh ale and a nice big bowl of gnomeish pudding. Bula beamed a smile at the wench and tossed her a few coins. "will that be all deary?" asked the wench. "yeh me be all set tankz" Bula replied as he took a bite of his pudding. "you sure deary?" the wench asked as she lifted the side of her skirt up her leg. Bula had not seen anyone with hairier legs then a tauren before. "Ummm no me am gud here me just eatz me pudding now" Bula replied as he took another big bite of the pudding. "Nothing at all i can help you with big fellah?" The wench asked again as she twirled the hair protruding from the mole on the left side of her face. Bulas face started to become pale. "luuk wench, me no am interested me just wunts to eat me pudden and drink me ale and wait fer me brudderz and dat all me wunt" Bula said in a raised voice. "oh come now, im sure i have something to offer a big strapping lad like yourself." the wench replied as she ran a finger down his forarm. Her finger nails were darker then the deepest pitch of night and her finger felt like old tree bark. The stench alone made Bula wonder where the finger had been. At this point Bula had had enough as he pulled his arm back and coldcocked the wench. She went down before she knew what hit her and was out cold. Bula then returned to eating his pudding and drinking his ale.

With his pudding finished and his ale gone Bula tossed a few coins onto the table grabbed his axe and stepped over the still knocked out wench and made his way for the door to meet with his brethren that should be arriving in town at anytime. They would soon be makeing there way to the outlands and Bula sure hoped they had some good ol gnomish pudding somewhere there.

[Toldar]

It had been a week since Toldar had recieved the message that he was to meet Bula and Kazragerg in Orgrimmar and from there set out to join the rest of the clan. He had heard rumors that the great portal was once again open and that demon forces were pouring forth into Azeroth but he thought they were just that, rumors.

Toldar strode into the Steel Fist Tavern. A dense cloud of smoke hung in the air and the place reeked of sweat, and stale beer. The tavern was almost empty, which Toldar suspected it often was. He never could understand why Bula loved this place so. Stepping over the barmaid, who was sprawled out in the middle of the floor, Toldar chuckled to himself. Obviously his friend had already been here. Bula didn't have much patience and this was clearly his handywork.

Seating himself at a table in the back corner, Toldar ordered a flagon of mead from the small goblin that was presently waiting tables. The goblin fidgeted nervously as he took orders, clearly rattled by what had become of the last barmaid. Again Toldar chuckled to himself. Downing his mead he tossed a gold piece on the table, grabbed his pack and headed back out the door. There was only one place that Bula would be.

The grunts and shouts of combat and the singing of steel upon steel filled the air as Toldar approached the Hall of the Brave. He knew that inside he would find his friend, and sure enough as he entered the great hall he could see Bula inside the training ring taking on two orc's in armed combat. Bula roared as he swung his axe and splintered the shield of the smaller orc. The orc gasped as the force of the blow sent him stumbling out of the ring. Bula now turned and faced the second orc, the orc charged but Bula easily side stepped the attack and as the orc passed him Bula swung one of his large fists catching the orc in the back of the head sending him to the groud with a loud thud and thus ending the match. "Gud work brudderz, you gib Bula gud wurkout" Bula said, as he helped the second orc to his feet.

"Greetings Bula, it has been too long." Toldar said, as he approached the ring. "Toldar!" Bula exclaimed. "It ib bery gud to see you agin me frind." Bula looked very different than the last time they had met. Large patches of his fur had fallen out and bare skin was exposed. "He almost looks like one of those afflicted mongrol hounds from the back alleys" Toldar thought to himself. "Could this be the doing of the portal and the demonic taint?" Toldar quickly shook the idea from his head and asked "Have you seen Kazragerg yet?" "no me hab not seen Kaz yet, but me tink he be along soon." replied Bula. Thumbing his sword blade Toldar stepped into the ring, "well then, how about some real competion while we wait." A crooked grin cracked Bula's face, "ub course, brudder, ub course."

Edited February 2, 2007 by Toldar

[Tainish]

Tainish dropped his heavy pack on the first open table he found, then stretched mightily to realign his crooked spine. He was halfway to the bar for a large mug of ale when he had to laugh at himself. It sure was a manly scene -- bone weary warrior returned from battle with a bag full of loot and a thirst for ale. It was a good thing that no one else knew his bags were full of sewing supplies. His smile lasted all the way to the bar, where he found out that they were out of Dwarven Ale.

"Fine, I'll take the Stout."

The staff was busy gabbing about the recent violence toward barmaids in Orgrimmar. It was hardly surprising, what with all those orcs there, but still...who would knock out the person who brings the ale?

Tainish gathered his stout and headed back to his table to sew. He knew that his power as a warlock was improved by sewing his own clothing in the same way that a warrior knew he was more powerful by creating his own armor. And Tainish also knew that sewing could never be as manly as working in the forge, but he never, ever, sewed at the loom. He sewed in the bar over a mug of ale. Like a real man. Sort of.

Tainish was sewing because he had heard the news. After the great portal reopened, there were stories of tailoring with techniques that would make the most advanced sewing seem obsolete. It had been a while since Tainish had picked up a needle and thread, and he thought he would brush up on his skills to prepare for these new patterns.

Tainish started off a bit slowly, but his boney fingers quickly picked up the rhythm and movements of sewing again. Then, after the third stout, his boney fingers began to loose the rhythm and movements of sewing. His mind drifted a bit as well as he tried to remember where we was when he learned this stitch or that stitch.

And any stroll down memory lane always lead back to The Old Orc. Lately Tainish had been thinking a lot of the last time he had seen his friend. They both knew it was probably the last time they would see each other, even though they never said anything about it. The closest they came was when the orc asked Tainish for a favor.

"Tain," he said, "Ah hab sum frenz dat hab had sum very bad timez lately. Dey're land was destroyed and dey need sum helb. Send sum shinez to dis address ebery week until yur letters are returned. Dese are proud people. When dey nub longer need da shinez dey will stob taking dem. Ub all my 'sons' yu da ash dat I trust ta helb dese frenz."

Of course Tainish sent gold every week until one week the letter was returned with a simple "Thank you." But he had always wondered why the orc choose him. At first he thought it was because he was the most responsible, but when the word came out that the Undercity had built a portal to Silvermoon he started to wonder. Had the old orc made friends with elves?

Tainish wasn't sure how he felt about that. He had learned from his father that a common enemy did not necessarily make for good friends. Perhaps the Blood Elfs required a wary eye, but if the old orc thought this one named "Bindle" was worthy of aid then he may be a worthy friend. But Tainish would have to find him first.

But for now, he would have another stout.

And put away his sewing.

[Wolf]

Grawuulf leaned casually against the rough hewn stone of Orgrimmar's Inn. The central firepit cast long shadows between the buildings that hid his features from prying eyes. A gold coin danced across the knuckles of his left hand as his right rested on the hilt of a worn dagger.

He had been watching the movement of the clan since the portal open. News of the threat from Outland had spread like wildfire amongst the ranks of the Crushers and young and old alike had headed to the front lines in search of honor and glory or other less virtuous undertakings.

He flipped the coin high into the air and watched as the firelight reflected back off its spinning form. Catching it in his palm he stared down at the image looking back at him. Sighing to himself, the orc slipped the coin into one of his many pockets and stepped out of the protective shadows into the light of Orgrimmar's main chamber.

Orgrimmar, normally filled with the throng of traders and adventurers, was ominously quiet. It's streets were mostly deserted save the odd miscreant and the regular patrol of the town guard. The old Rogue had sent many of his informants to the four corners of Azeroth to analyze the shifting balance of power.

Disturbing news had surfaced. The return of the Drenai, the rise of the Blood Elves. Perhaps most disturbing of all was the reports of the Cursed power of the Unholy Paladins. The thought drew a snarl from the orc. He had lost several of his network garnering valuable information on the Cursed Ones. Though accustomed to violent and unpleasant ways when neccessary, Grawuulf found their vileness and propensity for treachery distasteful. Their goals were their own and although tenuously allied with Thrall, the orc knew they were not to be trusted.

He had already placed watchers on the few the Chief had permitted to walk amongst the Crushers. Their orders were clear, he was to be notified at the first sign of their inevitable treachery. He paused a moment and drew his daggers, their cold steel glinting in the firelight. Smiling to himself, the daggers vanished back into their sheaths as the Rogue stepped back into the shadows.

[Amahli]

From atop one of her favorite perches (a tallish tower, overlooking the Auction House and Bank in central Orgrimmar), Amahli looked down at the scene below, a stack of papers in one hand.

She leaned over the low-rise wall, never one to be afraid of heights, and followed the movements of the people. So many new people.. so few old friends. Everyone was out on the front lines, it seemed. Amahli frowned, turning her gaze from the streets and taking a step or two into the shadows, seating herself where no one would be able to see her, and set the letters and messages down in front of her.

Drawing her knees up to her chest, her face was a mask of concentration.

Daily, she'd been sending reports of her explorations to those who would want them: Elders of Moonglade, various mapmakers who regularly employed her, and her Clan's leader. On her reports, of course, she did her best to mark out where certain herbs could be found, as well as safe travel paths and troublesome areas alike. Afterall, Amahli prided herself on her skills of gathering and exploration. Her face cracked into a grin. Her Ma always said she was a nosy calf, butting into folks' business she had no right to.

She sorted through the messages and found one from a senior mapmaker in the Cenarion Circle. Skimming over the letter, she noticed it was just a doublecheck of her own explorations, including a few copies of others' maps for comparison. She set that aside to be dealt with later.

The next few letters were from various Clanmates, as well as friends from other clans, asking for materials. With a small sigh, she put those off to the side as well, to be forwarded to her accountant and banker, Scene. Thank the Earth Mother for Scene. She at least can keep things in order! Amahli thought to herself, chuckling.

Not finding much else of importance, she reached into a pouch and retrieved a small flask of some strong alchohol. Tossing a few gulps back, she shook her head to clear it. They weren't lying about the strength of it.. She blinked.

Leaning back against the wall, and stretching her legs out before her, she closed her eyes and slipped into a quiet doze, to dream of happier times than war.

Edited February 4, 2007 by Amahli

[Qiris]

Luciris flitted through the woods as silently as a mouse. She left no footprint, no smell, no trace by which an enemy could track her. She smiled briefly at the notion she would run across an enemy so close to home, then remembered the Sun Well. That soured her mood immediately. "Well at least we have new allies now," she thought, "or well I think we do."

She laughed silently as she recalled the way the cows and the smelly orcs and even the Deadies got so riled up when she spoke plainly to them about their ways. Did they not realize times were changing and that their old notions of what was right and proper no longer held true? If the Sun Well could be destroyed, then really why even bother with archaic notions of manners and etiquette? All that mattered now was swords, knives, bows and war.

Yes, she thought as she approached the city, times were definitely changing.