World of Warcraft - Against the Razormanes... Pt. 1

The morning air is salty with the vapor of the sea, as the wind blows steadily from the south over the rocks, and wretched shrubs of the rugged red stained terrain that was Durotar. On a cliff rise overlooking the sea lays the village of Korga’s Stand, a settlement of the Horde. The land is rough and hardy like the great people of the Horde.

The early morning gives way to industry as the settlers begin their morning with hard work and slim meals. The children follow their parents in their duties and those too young to work, play child-like games and basically make a nuisance.

But this morning… in the distance, a menace lurks, and motions for his brethren to follow in the early morning.

Take liberities to describe what your character is doing in the early Spring morning....

Snarrek stretched in the morning sun, breathing in the salty air. With a rumble the jungle troll's belly anounced his great hunger. Scratching at himself the tusked warrior reached out a brilliant green hand for the chunk of meat he had saved from last night's carousing, deciding to leave the jug of ale for later.

"It's good to have a break from the fighting every now and then" the banished troll mused to himself as he recalled how his last three companies had been decimated in the fighting causing him to have to band together with new units again and again. The crew he hung out with now was a mixed bunch but all right in the troll's eyes.

Groog Profit, Tinker Genius.

"My head is so heavy ... and work is waiting."
Moaned Goblin smith,while waving his hand to Snarrek. Little one was chewing on something.
"Snarrek, You could find me at smithy if You would need any repairs ... I will give special discount for an old friend."
Groog grinned to towering troll in friendly manner and strided towards the smithy while muttenring to himself.
"Why, och, why Trolls have to overcome headache so fast ? I must brew potion against hangover, cheap one too. It will be vein of gold, ach, my head."

OOC:
Yay, Hello, we are ready now. DM, all of Groog's stuff is in smithy, except his gun. Safety first trust later don't You agree ?

Garrak Stormcaller had rose early that morning, and now somberly went through his morning rituals. He stood on a cliff before the ocean, and prayed for divine strength as the sun started its climb into the sky.

A new day dawns. May the might of the elements bolster me in my daily duties. I seek to make myself a pillar of support for my Horde brethren.

He sprinkled a pinch of sparkling dust off the cliff, and having concluded his prayers, walked back into town.

Talos rose from his shallow tidepool next to his settlement and breathed in the morning suface air. He could never really get used to sleeping upove water. He started into town to see were they would need his help with that day, they'l propably have me helping the fishers again.

Captain Horga sips his tea as he watches the sun rise over the sea in the horizon. He is a tall broad shouldered orc with a blue patch covering an empty eye socket. His vantage point from the tower gives him quite the view of the sea and the surrounding red stained terrain of the Durotar coastline.

Down below the citizens go about their daily chores with the diligence and straight forwardness born of a hardy life. A child chases a field mouse through the cactus patches with the nimble recklessness that is many a young boy’s nature. He pauses as a shadow looms over him, just as he catches the field mouse in his palms crouched on his knees in the red dust amidst the prickly, yet sweet fruit bearing cacti just south of the village.

A terrible war horn sounds… and the villagers freeze, for the sound is one that brings the coming storm of blood and savage fury. The terrible baleful warhorn of the Razormanes…

I will give you guys a chance to respond in the perhaps ten seconds that precede my next post which will most likely herald combat…

Groog Profit, Tinker Genius.

Evil Ujio said:

A terrible war horn sounds… and the villagers freeze, for the sound is one that brings the coming storm of blood and savage fury. The terrible baleful warhorn of the Razormanes…

Click to expand...

"Huh ? Thousand unpaid debts, not again ... I forgot to make grenades !"

Cursed Groog while stopping smithy hammer from burying in his other hand. With grimface he closed the smithy and run towards concentration of warriors in the middle of the village. Yelling loudly and clenching his trusty splinter gun in sweating hands.

"Women and children ! Barricade Yourselves in the main hall ! Prepare bows and crosbows ! Hurry !"

I hate combat, why I alvays end in the middle ?!

OOC:
Groog runs towards the biggest concentratrion of Orc warriors. With eyes open and gun ready to shot.

Garrak's head jerked to face the direction of the sound. The Razormanes were coming. He enjoyed the thought of them being crushed before the might of the Horde, even in a remote location such as this. He hastily threw up a divine barrier around himself, and hurried to where his colleagues would be gathering.

[ooc: Shield of Faith: +2 deflection (duration 2 min)]

With a snarl the jungle troll Snarrek ducked back inside to grab his axe and armor.

"Here we go again" he thought to himself.