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Violent Tides... [Blasted Lands], [Orgrimmar]
The Calling... Answered...

Rain poured heavily over a cloaked figure that strode high atop a blackened horse, not blackened as one might think by fur but one charred with flames. The black horse’s hooves clopped along the cobblestone road as the cloaked figure neared a small caravan of travelers; a small troupe of salesmen and supplies from the nearby Alliance outpost in the Blasted Lands. Far off in the distance the storm wrought skies hung low above the Dark Portal just over the next ridge line of mountains. As the group of merchants neared the traveler the cloaked figure adjusted the reigns to draw the steed off the path allowing them to pass by without incident, the figure nodded in passing. One of the merchants noted that his chin structure was Elven though oddly pale. The man paid it no mind with a shrug he pushed the caravan onwards heading for Duskwood. After a moment the cloaked figure glanced backwards seeing the caravan vanish into the heavy rain that beat the earth like a war drum sounding. With a stiff kick to the creature’s side the horse’s mane was set ablaze with fire as it rose up on its hind legs the fire raced downwards over its char blackened body engulfing the hooves, a second kick set the beast racing off towards the distant storm clouds near the Dark Portal leaving behind only sulfur and scorched hoof prints that faded into the Blasted Lands red earth.

On the other side of the world Orgrimmar was breaking down their celebration tents for the Harvest. A large group of soldiers and citizens gathered in the Arena to watch a series of bouts that were previewed at the Harvest. Several strong warriors had boasted their prowess and now it was time to test the metal. With howling roars the stands were packed with spectators and eager warriors looking at their future combatants. The citizens of the Horde were enjoying the day they earned through the recent hardships of the Cataclysm and their new ruthless leader Garrosh. They knew tomorrow it was back to the war and from there a violent and bloody future would ensue but that did little to stop their day of joy that they had been awarded for their victories in Ashenvale. The crowd surged forward as the combat heated up with intense roars of rage that echoed over the shouting fans. A fever of carelessness washed over the guards at their posts as they too enjoyed the revels of combat; however their captain was not impressed for he had seen battle countless times and fought himself on more than one occasion within the Arena.

The Captain’s eyes swept over the crowd as his gaze narrowed now having noticed something oddly strange about the opposite side of the Arena. With his index finger he counted pointing at several figures that stood out to him. Grumbling he made his way to the nearest guard at her post, snatching her by the collar “Did you check them?” He said pointing at the figures that were all wearing dusty boar hides and heavy leather hoods. With a slight shrug she replied, “I..I…” she stammered. The Captain snarled slamming her backwards with his snatching hand, “Fool!” He rounded facing the Arena as he cupped his hands over his mouth to shout but quickly realized what little good that would do with the roaring crowd.

Roars and howls continued to rage as the spectators watched the battle. The figures remained seated, not moving, even when bumped or nudged they kept their heads low. The Captain began to walk around the Arena towards them reaching for his brass knuckles and heavy club, his pace quickened as he watched the cloaked figures all stand in unison. Now centered at one of the end caps in the Arena he could see several were also on the side that he just came from and they too were now standing. His eyes locked on the closest one, his quick pace became a charge… But he was far too late… The figures wrapped in boars hide all rose their hands in time and called out, “Immolateus!”

A vibrant brilliant light shown in each of the figures as they threw off the cloaks revealing Orcs with deeply carved runes gouged into their flesh. The lights sent an instant panic through the crowd as Orcs, Tauren, and Trolls alike clamored to escape whatever was happening. Spectators trampled the Captain knocking him flat. Swinging his heavy club to clear the area where he fell. The Captain rose with a bloodied lip and nose to see the glowing figures. All in unison they shouted for the last time, “IMMOLATEUS!”

Without warning the glowing figures and their flesh began to split apart violently until each one exploded sending a rushing fire outwards killing those closest to them. Each one detonated with vicious intent as the bleachers were blown apart in various areas all over the Arena….

When the explosions had ceased the Captain rose to see nearly seventy dead Orcs splayed out across the Arena’s grand stands. A strange purple hue hovered in the area where the glowing detonations took place, after a moment the purple hazes vanished into plumes of smoke leaving behind only the devastation and a puzzled Captain left wondering….

On the further side of the world deep in the heart of the Blasted Lands stood a cloaked figure near a flaming nightmarish steed with an out stretched palm. The figure’s palm began to gather energy…. An energy that vibrated with a violet hue. Lightning crashed against the nearby mountains. After a moment a large amount of purple flowing smoke and electricity gathered around the figures hand. The free hand reached into the cloak revealing a small dirk which was calmly slid over the glowing palm. There came a voice, a man’s voice, it chanted “Devious, Diaobolist, Encarti.” He began to walk as he spoke. The path on which he walked formed a large circle, holding out his glowing hand he allowed the blood to drip down his wrist into the red earth at his feet near the circles center. A violent wind came whipping his cloak from left to right and back again as he continued to channel, “Vingorti, Engrievous, Direous!” With those words spoken he stopped himself holding the hand firmly out over the circle and the blood pooled at its center. A smirk formed beneath his hood, “The Orcs have done well…” He chuckled for a moment as the purple haze drifted downwards surrounding the pool of blood. The figure shot both hands up to the sky, “DEVIOUS, DIABOLIST, ENCARTI!” He shouted at the sky where storm clouds swirled horridly overhead.

Without warning lightning bolts struck the nearby earth exploding with force on impact, the man held his feet firm through the explosions, his voice shouting out, “RISE! RISE! RIIIIIIIIIISE!” Both hands extended further up towards the swirling mass of devastation. Lightning gathered at the storms center forming one large bolt of lightning that struck the purple hue covered blood… There came a vicious explosion of force that threw the man backwards causing his body to skitter across the ground coming to a rolling stop nearby. Several long moment passed by before the man rose to his feet dusting off the red dirt. He limped over to the site of impact where the lightning had struck; his eyes went wide with joy at the sight of a rune seared into the rock face…. It pulsed with a vibrant blue aura….. The man’s right hand still bleeding from the slice across the palm drifted up to slip off his hood revealing an elder Elf of notability, he laughed hard at the rune bending slightly to touch it with his hand, “Now the world will see…. Now the world will cry out for their savior, me… Lord Elrohir Seregon!” A hearty guttural laugh rose deep in his belly as he jerked up his hood once more and made for his steed…. Leaving behind the burning rune.

[Image: 177px-Rune_of_Return_zps2552ecde.jpg]
[Image: 15.jpg]
[-] The following 1 user Likes Grogloki's post:
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I like this, a lot.
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