Outland is moving fast enough that only the top members like Kil'jaeden can get there with out a portal. Everyone else isn't strong enough.
Kir the Wizard
The Sun King
- Location
- Ukraine
Even with KJ, it's possible he was just bullshitting everyone with a big magical "hologram", given how quickly it disappearead away.
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Kir the Wizard
The Sun King
- Location
- Ukraine
Well, that, and the fact that the undead were just asking for an asskicking.
Massgamer
Advance toward the Future
- Location
- The Future
I know right?
It's a proven fact: no matter how powerful you are, as long as your enemy has this strange, omniscient being called 'the player' on their side, you will lose, unless the greater beings known only as 'the devs' deem in necessary for you to win.
Massgamer
Advance toward the Future
- Location
- The Future
No problem family and RL comes first afterall.
Still can't wait to see what happens next.
Ia! Ia! 'player mods' fhtagn.
The Ritual of Winds, Part Two
The Ritual of Winds, Part Two
You struggle to form an answer for the Furies. You struggle simply to function in this strange place. But your body is strength, and your will unyielding. The wind howls from its path, the water crashes louder and louder, the fire crackles and roars, the earth bellows as it cracks and crumbles against itself. A great torrent of all four elements surround you, pushing you to your knees and then raising you back up. The demanding booms that are the voices of the Furies would have split your eardrums apart had this place been the real Throne of Elements and not this…wherever this is. Instead, you find their touch and their words echoing louder and louder until you finally are forced into your own mind in a strange twilight of unconsciousness and consciousness.
There, you see…yourself. Four of you, all standing before you in a strange parody of the positions that the Furies were in just before.
A thousand colors of flame contained in a vaguely orcish frame glares out at you with an axe held at its side. Thick magma blood drips from a dozen wounds that this version of you seems to care nothing for, as if they are merely part of its existence. Even as you watch those wounds of time and battle warp and flash outwards. Blood twists itself into heavy armor akin to the most elite warriors of old and surrounds the entire orc of fire. There is incredible strength there, unyielding power that will never surrender as it strives forward. Pain is nothing compared to what must be done for victory.
But then you see the blood dripping across the ground from the edge of its – your - axe upon the ground. What was the cost of the orc's 'taking the world for their own'? What glory did that path truly bring your people without fel haze clouding their minds?
Fire escapes 'your' lips as it speaks.
"It brought us land. It brought us forward," your own voice comes from its throat. "It still does."
It flips the axe in its grip so that the edge is now facing upwards rather than the ground.
"You temper iron. You purify the ores to make steel."
Its axe, dripping with the blood of ancestor's know how many, cracks abruptly at several points.
"An axe, the Horde, the orcish people…they can have cracks," another one appears as if to punctuate the avatar's words, "They have impurities," black sludge begins to pour out from inside of the axe itself, "But they can be reforged."
The avatar of fire then rears up and smashes the axe – that most quintessential of orc weapons – upon the ground where it shatters into a dozen white hot pieces.
"If you have the strength for it."
(Fire: 96/100)
Then it disappears, leaving the ruins of its axe behind.
"Perhaps they shouldn't be," another copy of your voice speaks up from behind you, this time without the undercurrent of crackling flame and pulse of blood pounding in your ears.
It appears made of rock and dirt, but it is just as the previous one…you. Solid crackling rock mirrors the color of your skin while shards of gemstones form your teeth and tusks. There is little of the violence that appeared prevalent in the last version, no trembling of unrestrained fury. The bleeding, the strange black bile that was present before, has disappeared entirely now from the shards of the axe. Pants of woven grass and leaves are all that it wears to protect its dignity, and instead of speaking to you immediately it steps forward and then crouches to gaze at the shards better.
Then it looks up at you with eyes the color of obsidian stone.
"The Horde...," it's expression twists with displeasure, "The orcish people…tainted and gleefully so. We aren't that anymore. We are the Mag'har. We are something entirely different. Pure, now," it nods before standing to its full height.
Then it stomps down on the axe, on its bloody shards and the tainted sludge that was still pouring from somewhere. All at once the sludge disappears, though the shards of the axe and its haft are left behind. As it withdraws it leaves the stomping leg behind and somehow from one instant to the next has regrown a new leg to replace the one it left behind. Also somehow the leg it left behind has formed into a solid column of hardy stone. Despite yourself you cannot help but reach out and touch it…at which point it crumbles away and leaves a long hafted hammer behind. There is no evidence of the axe left behind.
"We are free. We shouldn't have to follow in their footsteps," it shakes its head slightly as it speaks.
"But…," you whisper, your mind flashing to your wife and possible future children and even grandchildren. Your green skinned wife. Your potentially green skinned children.
Only for a finger made of rock poke you in the chest, right over your heart.
"Forward. The earth moves. Steadily, but it can't be stopped. It changes, for better or worse, but it does. Even if it can't be seen all at once. A mountain can rise and fall without the truth of it being realized in our lifetime. Pure now," your own voice chuckles, "Not stamping out what came before."
(Earth: 97/100)
You blink as a sudden whirlwind surrounds you and obscures your vision with a cloud of impossibly opaque dust. When you open your eyes again you find yourself…up.
"Wh-!"
"Nagrand," you hear your voice again speak with plain awe and earnest love, only this time with an odd bounce and echoed whistling in the faint background.
You don't see the Twisting Nether. You see…Nagrand, below you, and an actual sky above you. Wind caresses you and holds you up but that doesn't stop you from knowing that you are so high in the air that if you were too fall then you would most certainly die.
"Land of the Wind," your voice comes again, though you do not see another version of you walking around. "Land of our ancestors."
Those damn bloody axe shards rise up in front of you held somehow in the vague shape of the weapon they once formed. Then they whirl away and are replaced with the hammer. This too falls away before…a spear forms. Made of pure wind, a tip of deadly intent but of humble construction.
"Before there was the fire of war and the glory of conquest, we were just hunters," your voice comes quietly now. "Even now that we are free of the demons and we forge our mighty weapons and armors…we are still hunters. Pure, or not, we cannot forget who we are."
The wind picks up again, and your vision is once more obscured by clouds of dust…before you realize you are back where you started.
"We are orcs. We always will be. No more, no less…because we define what an orc is."
(Air: 94/100)
By now you know what to expect, and so turn to face the steps coming towards you.
It is you, just as the others were, only…not. Where the you of fire was wreathed in molten magma and cloaked in armor, where the version of you that was of earth wore only a pair of woven pants, where the you of wind was impossible to see really at all, this one…is hurt. Bleeding. Not in the stoic manner of the other version of you were even a dozen wounds seemed to be utterly ignorable but instead each appears to be a near mortal wound. Never the less it staggers forward, a massive two handed blade carried on its back and held together with liquid straps of water. Even that pales before the sight of the massive lance stabbed into its right shoulder that pierces all the way through and out the other side.
A lance with the blue and golden lion pennant attached to the end.
It is not the only wound of its kind.
There is a sliver of bone that bears the markings of some ogre clan or another. A feather stuck into the neck in the vibrant plumage of the arrakoa. An entire set of claws jabbed into the thigh where they now float, claws from the lost saberon. A small axe with a dwarf sigil and a bevy of arrows of clearly elven make are embedded in its back. The shattered crystal of a draenei mace. There are more and yet they come and go without warning as you blink. Sometimes there are things anew, sometimes there are not. The lance remains the entire time however.
Then it – you – smiles, and comes to a halt.
"If you think these are bad," it chuckles with your voice though as if it were somehow underwater but…also somehow not. "You should see how we left their homelands as we tore our way through them. The pain suffered by our people is almost entirely self-inflicted, in truth."
It taps a sword which was plunged into its chest lightly, and then locks its gaze with you.
"Fire can warm a cold body, earth provide a place to rest, and wind to cool the body…but what are these to the soothing of water to a throat parched dry?"
Water burbles about its feet, a large and somehow incredibly deep puddle forming. You blink at that and then at the avatar before you in shock as suddenly all but the lance have been replaced with…with orcish weapons. Swords, spears, arrows, axes, all with different symbols painted on them. Blackrock, Frostwolf, Warsong, and so many more, more than you even yourself knew and you were supposed to know them all!
"We are more than just the fury of the Blackrock, struggling ever onward to fulfill our goals no matter the cost. There is purity in us and our fellows but we are more than that as well if we choose to be. And," it laughs, "We will show the world what an orc can do…can be. Because what are we?"
Now you are speaking. You. Not these avatars, these…strange creations of your own mind and soul.
"We are the unifier," you say, "We are the brother who seeks forgiveness and to heal the pains caused by my kind."
All four of the avatars appear before you now utterly devoid of expression.
"I am…all of you," you realize, for it was not the Furies that were speaking to you, it was you, this entire time it has been you. "But my course, my path, my destiny, is the one I choose."
"It will take strength. There will be hardship," crackles the flames.
"You cannot go back, but to be the untainted, to forge that legacy…that is freedom," rumble the earth.
"You are an orc. Nothing more, nothing less…for an orc will be what they want to be," sings the wind.
"This is your path, the one you will fight for, the one you strive for, this is who you are," they say in tandem, but with the crashing waters rising the highest in volume.
At some point you fell to your knees…but now you rise, and it is with the Furies speaking through you that you in speak.
"This is Dranosh Saurfang."
(Water: 99/100)
The darkness rushes up to meet you upon your proclamation as you are pulled back from that border of consciousness.
=======================================
In that space between places, you are met not by the Furies of Fire, Earth, Water, or Wind.
But by another Fury. One grander than them all, and one you had not actually truly been able to comprehend until now.
You know not how you know the name of the Fury of the Life, but you do. Unlike the others it does not take some strange shape that mirrors your own and instead appears as…an orc.
Just an orc.
That is, until you blink, and it is a human.
Then an elf. A draenei. A dwarf.
There is no grand field of…anything. It is, in fact, a featureless void save for you…and the Fury.
"You are not a shaman," it speaks then and not with a voice that thunders or is so loud as to make your ears bleed.
It is a statement, not a question.
"You respect the Furies, but you do not devote yourself to them," a small saberon child tilts its head as it talks to you, "You cannot. There is resentment in your heart. And," a suddenly massive ogre pokes a finger at you, "Some small part of you even considers abandoning them forever like Jorin."
It shames you with its words but they are also the truth.
"I-,"
"It is only fair," it interrupts, this time as some kind of…dragon? "They were petulant. Complaining. Grieving. As if you did not have enough problems," a small tiny fish thing with a trident chuckles wetly.
"But they are the Furies," you say, bowing your head. "They are…vital not just to my people but to the world."
"Such as it is," the Fury sighs sadly. "But I am the hearts of all living things, and yet…pain is relative."
"I…don't think I understand," you finally say, but the Fury only shakes its head.
"You aren't really supposed to. Such contemplations are for a shaman, and yet…the Throne of Elements is in disarray, so much destroyed…it is not really a surprise that the ritual has gone this way, hmm?"
You blink only for the Fury to rub its chin in the form of an orc again only this time a woman.
"The Furies…they are afraid. Afraid of failing again, of being abandoned again, of…dying."
Any other time, the words would have shocked you to your core, but your mind is so hazy that you struggle to even manage that much.
"But you do not come to them to contemplate, to beseech for powers. You come…to channel them. To take a part of them into yourself, even just a small amount. You come for a way to empower yourself."
"I…I do," you bow your head, "I have."
"The bird wishes to fly faster to catch its prey, the hunter wishes to be stealthier in his hunt and stronger to bring down more, the prey wishes to be faster to escape," a human woman shrugs at you. "It is the nature of life to strive for such – though occasionally that drive goes…awry," the look on the dwarf's face is dark and you know quite well as to what fel drives it refers to.
"Then…"
"Have you proven yourself worthy? More than enough times, young Saurfang. Had the world not been…as it is…then the ritual would have been over before now. The communing would have been done, the Furies would have infused a small fragment of the elements themselves into your body, and so on and so forth."
Oh.
"Then…why…"
"Has it felt like an eternity?"
The Fury of Life twisted itself into a thousand shapes at once, it seemed.
"It is the first time this has been done since the world was changed. There were always going to be…changes."
Finally, it settles on the image of an elderly human, a staff in one hand and a feathered cloak about him.
"It is not the best of outcomes, nor is it the worst," its voice now matching its form, "Yet…there yet remains some strength in the Furies of Draenor."
"Go, young Saurfang. Lead your people…with our blessings…"
==============================================
"GAH!"
You rise like a catapult, lifting nearly off the ground with the sheer force of your rising. It is…night. The Furies are gone. You are utterly alone, but it is only moments later that you are checking over yourself for signs of damage or change. There is nothing…at first. Until a light tickling of the wind pulls you upwards and you realize how much lighter you feel in body. How much…hardier your body feels as well. Tremors of energy run through you, enough to make your blood almost feel like it is jittering in your veins. Yet despite all of this there is a wave of calm and control which seems to suffuse you for all of it.
You…don't think that the Ritual of Winds worked the way it was meant to.
But it certainly did something.
Title Gained: The Uniter
Quest Unlocked: The Uniter's Blade
Traits Gained
Blessing of Water: The Fury of Water has suffused you with a mote of its power. To unify and soothe pains and anger, to seep between the shadows and flow (+3 Diplomacy, +3 Intrigue, +2 Piety)
Blessing of Earth: The Fury of Earth has suffused you with a mote of its power. To remain pure and stand free in thought and body (+1 Martial, +3 Piety, +1 Stewardship)
Blessing of Fire: The Fury of Fire has suffused you with a mote of its power. To forge ahead with strength and passion in all things (+4 Martial, +2 Piety)
Blessing of Wind: The Fury of Wind has suffused you with a mote of its power. Swiftness in motion, and memories of the past. To be of the Land of the Wind is to be an orc, never forget this. (+2 Martial, +2 Diplomacy, +2 Piety)
Blessing of Life: The Fury of Life is the most powerful of all, and granted you less than a mote of its power. That is more than enough. (Vitality increased notably).
GM Note: We've been gone for more than 4 months and you jerks roll these rolls. I know it might not be exactly what everyone was expecting, but it's been quite a while and I didn't have any more idea what I was doing before I started. I hope that it's all right. As for all these damn increases...well fuck, it's Warcraft, stuff like that is way more common and open than something like Warhammer...not to mention the rolls...anyhow I'm going to bed now so I guess I'll wake up and see what you guys thought.
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Welp. We might have just about stolen Thrall's position as a Shaman even though we are not supposed to be one.
All hail Dranosh Saurfang! The new Orc Jesus and the Ender of Hordes! :lol
All hail Dranosh Saurfang! The new Orc Jesus and the Ender of Hordes! :lol
Nix's Warden
Welcome to Hades
- Location
- United States
....KEK!!!
Oh this! This is fucking glorious! It's Absurd! It's Perfect!
Oh 10/10 Torroar. Not just for the perks either. The Scene, the Elemental Dranosh, the Life Fury. It was all Perfect!
Oh this! This is fucking glorious! It's Absurd! It's Perfect!
Oh 10/10 Torroar. Not just for the perks either. The Scene, the Elemental Dranosh, the Life Fury. It was all Perfect!
- Location
- the Netherworld Dood
Wow this is some seriously good stuff right here.
- Location
- his hidden lair
Not only is it back, Dranosh went and made himself Brown Orc Jesus! This is amazing!
I'm not going to lie, seeing this- with the rolls and the story was a perfect way to end the weekdays. Thanks a lot for this Torroar, seeing this back from the dead is a wonderful surprise.
I'm not going to lie, seeing this- with the rolls and the story was a perfect way to end the weekdays. Thanks a lot for this Torroar, seeing this back from the dead is a wonderful surprise.
IT's BACK!
And holy crap on a pogo stick. Dranosh IS the heart of Draenor.
And holy crap on a pogo stick. Dranosh IS the heart of Draenor.
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Asmodemus
Subversive Element
I've completely forgotten what we were doing.
But hey, stat increases! Nice.
7 Martial, 5 diplomacy, 3 intrigue, 9 piety, 1 stewardship and 'vitality'. Great haul.
I hope our position is more partner-like than Thrall's 'I listen to the Elements!' bit. Now we do our best to reassure the Furies, keep the world patched together and do our part of the deal.
But hey, stat increases! Nice.
7 Martial, 5 diplomacy, 3 intrigue, 9 piety, 1 stewardship and 'vitality'. Great haul.
I hope our position is more partner-like than Thrall's 'I listen to the Elements!' bit. Now we do our best to reassure the Furies, keep the world patched together and do our part of the deal.
Nix's Warden
Welcome to Hades
- Location
- United States
For those interested?
Old Stats.
Martial: 20+2+2=24
Diplomacy: 18+2=20
Stewardship: 10+2=12
Piety: 18+2=20
Intrigue: 14+2=16
Learning: 10+2=12
New Stats.
Martial: 20+2+2+1+4+2=31
Diplomacy: 18+2+3+2=25
Stewardship: 10+2+1=13
Piety: 18+2+2+3+2+2=29
Intrigue: 14+2+3=19
Learning: 10+2=12
That is some Seriously Divine Bullshit right there. I approve!
Old Stats.
Martial: 20+2+2=24
Diplomacy: 18+2=20
Stewardship: 10+2=12
Piety: 18+2=20
Intrigue: 14+2=16
Learning: 10+2=12
New Stats.
Martial: 20+2+2+1+4+2=31
Diplomacy: 18+2+3+2=25
Stewardship: 10+2+1=13
Piety: 18+2+2+3+2+2=29
Intrigue: 14+2+3=19
Learning: 10+2=12
That is some Seriously Divine Bullshit right there. I approve!
