09-25-2009, 10:17 PM
Lok'tar brothers of the Horde. I am Drakthor Firetooth, son of Kolkar Firetooth. I am the last remaining of the Firetooth clan. My brothers and I were one of the fiercest fighting forces of Draenor. We were feared by some of the most awe inspiring Orcs.
I don't remember much of my home world, but I do remember when we destroyed it. Complete exhaustion of natural resources, bloody civil war, it was horrific, although it was where I gained my bearings. I can recall very clearly tearing rival Orcs to shreds, eviscerating their organs, destroying entire families. These were brutal times, and they called for brutal measures. One night, while asleep at our camp, my entire clan was wiped out by a surprise attack. I was the only one to escape that night.
I remember being much a child soldier...more or less a mercenary. I killed for anyone that would feed me and give me shelter, even if only for a night. I fell in line with a particularly notable clan, The Warsong Clan under the masterful leadership of one of the greatest Orcs to ever live, Grommash Hellscream. Under the Warsong banner, i maimed, slaughtered, and killed anything and everything i was commanded to.
Although i was till young, I recall the day through the portal very clearly. Staring at the door, i remember thinking of this large portal as a door to a new home, and new opportunities. On my way through, i remember feeling my insides twisting and my skull vibrating. Although it was quick, it was quite a strange experience. Once through the portal, i followed Grom all throughout the Eastern Kingdoms. We traveled all over the continent, fighting battles with strange pink skinned animals. They fought with strength, but too much pride.
From here, much of it all blurs together. I remember when our clan slew Cenarius, destroying the forests, and finally, when Grom and the now-Warchief Thrall to the Canyon. The canyon where the Pit Lord Mannoroth who had placed the demon blood curse on our people many years ago, was destroyed. I watched as my Warchief and Thrall fight with bestial valor and godlike strength against the might Mannoroth in a battle only heard of in books of lore. But I watched as Grom Hellscream, one of the greatest leaders and humble Orcs died lifting our racial curse. I remember feeling a distinct weight lifting off my shoulders. After Grom's demise, I resumed my "career" as an Orc mercenary. Now, i have found myself in Orgrimmar, lending my horrific fighting skills to the aid of the newly united Horde.
I don't remember much of my home world, but I do remember when we destroyed it. Complete exhaustion of natural resources, bloody civil war, it was horrific, although it was where I gained my bearings. I can recall very clearly tearing rival Orcs to shreds, eviscerating their organs, destroying entire families. These were brutal times, and they called for brutal measures. One night, while asleep at our camp, my entire clan was wiped out by a surprise attack. I was the only one to escape that night.
I remember being much a child soldier...more or less a mercenary. I killed for anyone that would feed me and give me shelter, even if only for a night. I fell in line with a particularly notable clan, The Warsong Clan under the masterful leadership of one of the greatest Orcs to ever live, Grommash Hellscream. Under the Warsong banner, i maimed, slaughtered, and killed anything and everything i was commanded to.
Although i was till young, I recall the day through the portal very clearly. Staring at the door, i remember thinking of this large portal as a door to a new home, and new opportunities. On my way through, i remember feeling my insides twisting and my skull vibrating. Although it was quick, it was quite a strange experience. Once through the portal, i followed Grom all throughout the Eastern Kingdoms. We traveled all over the continent, fighting battles with strange pink skinned animals. They fought with strength, but too much pride.
From here, much of it all blurs together. I remember when our clan slew Cenarius, destroying the forests, and finally, when Grom and the now-Warchief Thrall to the Canyon. The canyon where the Pit Lord Mannoroth who had placed the demon blood curse on our people many years ago, was destroyed. I watched as my Warchief and Thrall fight with bestial valor and godlike strength against the might Mannoroth in a battle only heard of in books of lore. But I watched as Grom Hellscream, one of the greatest leaders and humble Orcs died lifting our racial curse. I remember feeling a distinct weight lifting off my shoulders. After Grom's demise, I resumed my "career" as an Orc mercenary. Now, i have found myself in Orgrimmar, lending my horrific fighting skills to the aid of the newly united Horde.