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**Amerason** · 10-29-2010, 06:03 PM

OOC Information

The Summit will act as a pre-RP storyline for the creation, formation, and focus of Orgrim's Outriders. This is going to act as a closed storyline for only those of the Officer position that I have on the roster in the guild post. And without further a do, let's get this show on the road!
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Orgrimmar, Grommash Hold.

"Warlord, your time is running out, the Warchief and his staff ordered you to choose your staff... is there any progress or shall you send me back with your shame on my shoulders?" Spoke a young Shattered Hand, the orc was likely in his late twenties, his hair was bound in a top knot and he was sporting a rough five o'clock shadow.

"Yes I've made my decision and have prepared the letters for the runners, inform the Warchief and his advisers that he has not made a mistake in appointing me Warlord." The Blackrock's visage tightened into a grim smile as he shifted his position in his seat, glaring at the young Shattered Hand, "And next time you should think it wise to insult me, do not be surprised when I have you brought to the Ring of Trials and I teach you a lesson in respect and humility, now go, be gone from my sight."

The young Shattered Hand had made no attempt to defend himself against the insult, rather, he had taken his bow and had departed from Kron's sight as was instructed with the message for the Warchief in his hand. Kron had set a slight grin across his grizzled visage as he pushed out of his seat and made a round about his table, he left his axe lying behind the seat as he made his way for the entrance. Dawn had yet to rise, and the brazers were casting their golden red light about the fortified halls of the Horde's most important structure. The Blackrock had bowed his head low as he passed the shamans and made his way to the entrance, he passed a pair of Kor'kron, the best of the best, those few who had been chosen to serve as elite soldiers for the glory of the Horde. The grizzled war veteran had saluted them in honor as he stepped into the cool morning night.

"Grom" He said in a low voice as he bowed his head to the monument set in his honor. The fire that once raged through Kron's heart had been cured by the actions of the legendary savior of the Orcish people, the fire that raged through all of his people... as he gazed at the monument, his mind began to drift to the past, "Orgrim Doomhammer, legendary Warchief and the man whom I have the most respect for... it is in his honor that we name the Outriders." He nodded once, "Rend and Maim, the sons of my former Chieftain, had you controlled your hatred... you would likely be here and bask in the glory that we've created..." He sighed with a slight look of regret on his face, "Blackhand, the man who had made this all possible... despite your corruption and failures, we owe you much to have brought us this far... ancestors look kindly on your tortured soul." The Blackrock had caught himself grinning as he glanced back to the Hold, "And it is to a generation of Orcs who have sacrificed more than many of our ancestors that I owe the greatest of respects for... Broxxigar, Saurfang, Grommash, Thrall, Nazgrel, and the son of our savior, Garrosh." He lifted his gaze to the monument's foul head, "Mannoroth..." The name spilled from his mouth as if though it were vulgarity, "... May your name forever be stained with hate." He shook his head and then saluted the monument, remembering why it stood as it did, "And may the ancestors grant to me wisdom to serve the Horde." With that the Warlord had turned and made way for his seat, it was time to send the summons and begin the Summit.
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For the better half of the morning, Kron had spent his time fine tuning his work, finally, he presented the letters before him, eight in total. He glanced over each as he awaited the runners to arrive to take them to the candidates for joining the Warlord's staff, each of the letters had an official seal planted on it.

To Zbek,

Spoiler:

To Garrok,

Spoiler:

To Renolt,

Spoiler:

To Durik,

Spoiler:

To Balmak,

Spoiler:

To Rokthar,

Spoiler:

To Naruntan,

Spoiler:

To Alcippe,

Spoiler:

And so the letters were sent with the runners late in the afternoon to their designated personnel and so began a new story of Blood, Honor, and Strength.

**Darkneon** · 10-29-2010, 06:54 PM

Another runner makes his way across Orgrimmar, his coarse, black ponytail bouncing in rhythm with his pace, occasionally fluttered by a light wind. He makes his way up high into the brooding ramparts, and begins crossing through the gruff gossip amongst the sentries and the grunts of orcs carrying this and that to here and there, all under the glare of a high sun. He approaches a troll set upon a box, as she talks idly with a fellow guard. He stops and stands there, at attention, and retrieves a sealed envelope from his pouch.

Ã¢Â€ÂœA message from Warlord Kron to Alcippe Bosa'detiÃ¢Â€Â, he states. She pauses in mid-sentence and freely rises to take it from him.

They share a parting salute after the letter is in her hand, and he leaves her to her own. By now, the other guard has already retrieved his axe and is slowly patrolling further down the ramp way. She breaks the seal and gives its content but a glance, before pocketing it without a thought. She grabs the satchel that had been resting lazily against the railing and begins descending the high wall into the liveliness of the city.

There, units of deaf grunts stand erect as sergeants shoutto them, elders laugh while youngsters wrestle, and armed trolls skitter along the tops of buildings like cats. The lingering sounds of these districts fade as the troll, Alcippe, walks into the Valley of Wisdom and up towards the gateway of Grommash Hold. She presents the folded message to the honor guards, signals respect, and goes through, swallowed by the chambers of the Horde capital.

**Jason** · 10-29-2010, 07:04 PM

The old shaman ran a hand down his graying beard, reading over the letter with a steady expression. He folded the summons and looked upward at the wall, gazing at it and thinking deeply to himself. As seconds passed, he placed the folded parchment on his table and approached his crude chest, lifting the lid off and retrieving each piece of his battle garb in turn, setting it on his bed reverently. He dressed, walking proudly to where his mace, it's head the shape of the Horde symbol, and axe stood mounted - reduced to decorations as of late.

The drums of war sound again, then. He thought to himself. He was old, and he knew it. He could feel the weight of it bearing down on him at times; yet he was strong. He would again cry out in the Bleeding Hollow fashion, For the Horde roared in the din of battle as he struck his enemies down. The Glory Days. The Darkest Days. Bittersweet to his tongue, like the blue, and later scarlet, blood that he drank of so greedily in his prime.

This time, I have the fury of the Elements. For all elements fathom passionate hate - the crushing anger of earth, the bitter bite of frost, the tearing seethe of air, and the smoldering rage of fire. I will use this anger against those that would harm the wilds, the fifth benefactor, in the name of the Ancestors. Alliance filth. They are worse than goblins.

And thus, war regalia donned and weapons at his hip once more, he strode out of the Valley of Honor in Orgrimmar, down the wide road to the Valley of Wisdom. He nodded to each Grunt as he passed, receiving bows and inclinations of his own. He lifted his head to the great Grommash Hold, striding forward with more purpose than he'd mustered for years. If he was soon to be an elder, he would first brand his mark upon the Alliance encroachment. The Horde would not be the only ones to know the name Garrok'thar Embergaze of the Bleeding Hollow. The Alliance would quake in fear at the sight of his massive form charging them, eyes glazed with fury and axe raised high, fire bursting from the ground at his call.

Or he would die, with the highest glory of all.

He entered Grommash Hold with his head held high, ready for his re-baptism in blood.

**Spiralin** · 10-30-2010, 07:20 AM

As he's helping a few youngin's place a roof over their play hut he hears a voice. "Zbek."
He turns yawning, he walks over to his bow and picks it up. Walking towards the runner.
"What ya' be needin' mon?" He asks, using his bow to lean on. "Here." The runner hands him the letter and heads off. Zbek looks at it as his most favored hawk lands on his left arm. He reaches up and pets it before looking back down to the letter, reading it over. He manages a trollish chuckle, "Well mon, looks lok we gotta job ta do." He puts the letter into a side pocket. He then whispers to his bird, "Come when ah ca', got it?" The bird nods back as it flys off. The troll holsters his bow on his back and runs full speed, pulling reigns off his belt. He jumps high and lands on the back of his raptor. "Les' go mon!" He kicks it in the side as the raptor charges off to Orgrimmar.

Zbek holds up the letter as he steps into Grommash Hold, nodding to the guards.

**ForsakenSoul** · 10-30-2010, 08:49 AM

" Elves! "

Young orc's voice echoed trough the forest, as an elven arrow flew by his head and hit a tree behind him. Several more arrows appeared out of the treetops and towards the Warsong Outriders patrol.
"Arrows! "
En elderly shaman leading the group shouted ,as he took cover behind a trunk of a large tree. The rest of the patrol followed his example as a barrage of arrows made its way towards them. The wave of arrows missed most of the orcs, so it seemed to them, before an other shout echoed across the woods.
"Aaargh"
The eyes of the orcs were turned to a grunt sitting by a tree, with an arrow plunged into his right hand.
Few more arrows made their way towards a group before a moment of silence ensued. A sound of few voices talking hastly in Darnassian reached the patrol, before a complete silence was resumed, only broken by sounds of the animals of the forest.
"Are they gone?" The young orc inquired.
The leading officer leaned behind a tree and nodded. " We shouldn't have wondered this far, they seem to be leaving. "
Durik drew his large hammer and headed towards the last known direction of the elves. " Not on my watch they're not. "
"Bloodhammer, stop!" The shaman slow arose to his feet. " Take the two scouts and try to cut them off north, I assume they are returning to Forest Song. " The rest of you, with me!" He started running towards the treetop the arrows came from. Durik nodded and headed north. He motioned to the two young scouts to follow him before bursting into a sprint. A quarter of an hour trough the tick forest later, the third scout cough up with them. He saluted Durik before reporting. " They have fled further to the west. The Centurion has ordered us to return to the camp. " Durik nodded and headed back, with an expression of disappointment on his face.
-------------

He walked into the Warsong Outriders camp, with his hammer over his right shoulder. He took a flask of water from his belt and took a large swig, as a troll approached him. " This be for you mon, it came while you were gone." Durik took the letter and nodded to the troll, who then walked off. He opened the letter and scanned trough it quickly, before heading to his officer. Durik saluted and handed him the latter. The old centurion took the letter and upon reading it nodded " Don't let the Warlord wait for you. " In less then ten minutes he rode out of the camp on his trusted wolf with nothing but his armor and hammer.

----
Much later that day, an old orc walked up the Valley of Wisdom and nodded at the guards with a smile on his face as he entered the Grommash Hold.

**Beltharean** · 10-30-2010, 09:30 AM

A fresh sea mist pressed against Renolt's face as he stood at the bow of his vessel, one leather-boot-covered foot set up against the guard rail, the other keeping him steady on the deck of the ship. His right arm rested on the raised knee as he looked out into the fog that surrounded his ship. Several days ago he had received a letter at his home near Sunsail Anchorage, telling him that his recent appeal to be brought back into the military was accepted. Instead of being shipped off to Outland, or Northrend however, he was being sent to Orgrimmar... It was a fine place, but had no port, and that might prove a problem for the middle aged elf.

Renolt brought his raised foot back down to the deck, and turned back to face the main deck. His ship was not large, by any means, rather small really. But it was enough to get him across the Great Sea without too much trouble, and had the advantage of speed in case any rogue vessels chose to attack them. All in all, Renolt felt comfortable back at sea once more, with the hard planks of a sturdy vessel beneath him, and the waves beneath that.

----

Renolt was forced to harbor his ship in the port town of Ratchet, a place that no captain truly wants to leave his most prized possession. As such, he left his crew onboard, deciding on bringing only one of the crew to act as a guard while they were here. The two left their ship, and briskly made their way to the flight master, not paying any heed to the thieves and buccaneers around them. The duo payed the fees required of the flight, and were off to Orgrimmar; Their final destination, Grommash Hold.

**Protesilaus** · 10-30-2010, 11:07 PM

Rokthar slowly walked towards the tavern he was so fond of, located right by the entrance of Orgrimmar. He made his way down the Valley of Strength, enjoying his slow afternoon walk as he took in the details of the mighty Horde capital, with young Orcs running about and wrestling, the wise elders shuffling away slowly as they approached sensitive subjects with care, debating and arguing in a friendly manner, peons and trolls working together to craft simply stunning works of art, from long, slender yet equally strong bows, to sturdy, light-weight and well-balanced swords and axes. He smiled to himself as the sounds of a blacksmith's hammer slammed into the anvil rose to the air, the mouth-watering smell wafting from the kitchens tempted him, and the laughter of young Orcs enjoying themselves all came at him in harmony. Perfect, undisturbed, peaceful harmony.

After a long walk that started from the Valley of Honor, he finally reached his destination - the Valley of Strength, where just but a little ahead, lays his favorite tavern in which he spent the last few months of his life enjoying. Eager to join in the commotion he already hears from tens of yards away, he quickened his pace slightly, smiling to himself as he wonders whom he shall meet today. As he walked closer to the inn, he could hear the steady patter of a wolf's paw approaching him, as he stopped, looking up and to his right, in time to spot a messenger approaching him, slowing down as he reaches Rokthar. After exchanging respectful greetings, the messenger hands him the letter without another word, as he quickly clambers onto his wolf, whom was burdened with a sack full of similar letters. After watching the messenger ride off, Rokthar frowns as he spots the official seal on the letter, slowly making his way into the inn.

Ha! Prestigious military past! Don't make me laugh! Rokthar slammed his mug onto the table, startling a few nearby guests, but not stopping the lively buzz of the inn, in which he was thankful for. Grabbing the letter with both hands, he was just about to crumple it, tear it and whatever else he could do to a piece of paper to vent out his years of frustration and anger before he stopped. He stared at the letter, before rising from his seat, putting down three copper pieces for his drink as he walked out of the tavern, pushing aside the leather flaps that kept the dust out.

Enough of hiding, and the shame he brought to his name. It was time for change, time to redeem his name and to regain the honor he lost not too long ago. Or die trying, in the glory of battle.
With those thoughts set in his mind, he donned his armor, removing all the official medals and badges he's received from the military. Warlord Krom wouldn't want to see that, he thought. I serve him now, in the name of the Horde. He walked out of his quarters, approaching the guards at Grommash Hold as he gives a brief salute, a respectful nod and a greeting. "Lok'thar," he began. "I'm here to see Warlord Krom."

**Darkneon** · 11-01-2010, 05:49 PM

The inner workings of Grommash Hold were hushed and motionless, like a resting sea rippled by slowly pacing, gold-trimmed guards. The humming of chants flowed throughout the fortress from its many antechambers, all coming to meet in the main hold (a chamber large enough to provide accommodations for a dragon). Heavy wooden pillars supported its tall walls; walls made impregnable by thick canvas and stone, with flaps high above that caught the orange glow of the sun and spilled it across the floor. Sunset was approaching as the troll, Alcippe, found herself in the middle of the place, the letter still pinched between her fingers.

She stood for but a second, when she found herself flanked by others. A few feet from her stood an Orc, his graying beard doing nothing to hide his age. She looked him over, finding a mace and axe in his possession. To the old Orc's left stands a troll, hunched over upon a bow. Next to him, another Orc, this time dressed in Warsong armor, with a hammer sleeping indolently upon his shoulder. Then there was an odd specimen, --one made even more anomalous when seen in a place such as Grommash Hold -- an elf with his hair beaten to death by the elements of the world.

The troll woman looks behind them as the last figure approaches, an Orc clothed with military armor. She watches him until he stops and aligns himself with the others.

Ã¢Â€ÂœLok'tar, comradesÃ¢Â€Â, she states, with a voice hardly hinting an accent, and salutes.

**Nexi** · 11-02-2010, 03:39 PM

The thundering of heavy feet grew louder as they came near, armed with blades atop their wolves they were, and a small arena they came across where Naruntan and his lieutenant had been sparing. The riders stopped short of them and watched from some distance away.

A large hammer of black stone swung downward onto the other, who wielded a blade not unlike the standard during the wars, but he managed to keep him at bay by holding it parallel to the ground, and the sound of metal on metal was so loud that the Orcs in the distance had heard.

The blade-wielder forced his captain backward, and the weight of the hammer forced Naruntan to stumble some steps back, but it was a ruse, and not one his lieutenant was unfamiliar with. The hammer was brought in full circle by its wielder, horizontally across the other, but so lithe and so agile was Naruntan's lieutenant, that he easily dropped to the ground below the stone, standing once more to force the end of his hilt in his captain's skull, who was too slow to stop the stone's momentum and whose blood trailed along the path of the hilt.

On his back he soon found himself, and his lieutenant rushed to bring his massive blade down upon him, but a plated foot met his chest and the force of his leap was turned against him, and he was lifted over Naruntan to land on his own back a short distance away.

"Darkhammer!" came a yell from one of the three who stood watching, and he held up the sealed envelope as Naruntan and his lieutenant looked in their direction.

"What's this that is so important as to disturb our sparring?" Naruntan grunted, snatching the letter away but not reading it.

"Warlord Kron has requested your presence in Grommash Hold."

And it was unceremoniously that he tore the end of the envelope and scanned it over quickly.

Naruntan Darkhammer, you have received this letter as a summon to Orgrimmar for special assignment as delegated by the Warchief. A bloody history has been sewn at your back, Raider, as an honorable servant of the Horde, you have been chosen for reassignment into a new Outrider unit, prepare yourself, Warrior. Upon receiving this letter it is expected of you to report immediately to Grommash Hold and await further orders, failure to report shall result in imprisonment.

May honor be to you,
Warlord Kron, the Black.

"Result in punishment," he grunted. "Am I so much a pup in the eyes of our kin to threaten me dare I show cowardice?" He eyed the riders in turn briefly. "Your job is done." He nodded in the direction they came and turned to his second as they left. "Tell the men we ride for Orgrimmar at dawn."

His lieutenant nodded, as did Naruntan, and he re-read the letter with a grin as his second walked toward the camp.

"A bloody history indeed..."

**Amerason** · 11-04-2010, 02:49 PM

"Warlord, seven of the eight you have sent summons to have arrived, shall I herald them in to your sanctum?" The young Shattered Hand had spoken, clearly humbled by their last encounter. He kept his head below Kron's in a clear show of respect to the Warlord's authority.

A wide grin crossed the elder Orc's visage at the news, he shifted the bulk of his weight as he pushed from his ornate stone chair adorned with leather and bone, "Help me don my armor, Gorum, and I shall go forth to meet with my Staff myself." The Blackrock proudly paced towards his trophy wall and nodded as aged eyes set their gaze upon the host of his trophies, finally landing on a large elven skull. He lifted it and set in the palm of his hand, "Gorum, you have served me well, I give to you this for your service."

The young Shattered Hand had taken it slowly and nodded without words, he began to gather the Warlord's armor from the racks and immediately went to work on aiding his superior...
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

After approximately thirty minutes the Warlord had exited his chambers, a pair of Kor'kron had been stationed outside and they quickly snapped to attention, "At ease, come to my side, my Honor Guard." They had saluted and then gripped their axes tight as they followed in suit after Kron.

Within moments he had made his way to the waiting chambers of Grommash Hold, the brazers had cast their glow about the chambers as Kron glanced over the gathered officers, his visage was hardened as he looked each one over, "Eight have been summoned yet only seven have answered this call," He pointed towards Garrok and grunted, "Answer me this."

**Jason** · 11-04-2010, 05:20 PM

Braziers burning, Garrok'thar padded down the wide hallway into the main antechamber, where the Warlord was to meet him and those that followed behind. He bounced off of each step, letting his body swing as he walked. He could hear the footfalls behind him, echoing in the stone passage. It sent thrills of pride down his spine, the Horde coming together as a whole. A force to be reckoned with. He passed through the doorway, into the Antechamber, looking about at the circular abode. Not long after, Warlord Kron enters, barking his question.

He shifted his weight and saluted fluidly, then rested at ease. "Perhaps, Warlord, there has been a delay with the letter. I do not doubt you chose the most reliable for this assignment," he assured in his deep voice, "for many a Horde warrior obeys the code of death before dishonor."

**Amerason** · 11-04-2010, 05:55 PM

Kron paused for a long moment as he idly leaned against the hilt of his axe buried against the stone, finally, the Warlord nodded and then glanced to his Honor Guard, "You are dismissed." He ordered, the two Kor'kron guards saluted and bowed before glancing over the seven officers-to-be and leaving as they were ordered.

"Certainly this must be truth or the last of you must be either insane or a traitor." Kron set his eyes upon each of them once more before he lifted his axe and strapped it to his back, "Lok'Tar, my brothers and sisters of the Horde, I have sent summons for each of you as the Warchief has given to us a glory and honor that is reserved for few! You have each been selected to take up the positions of your forefathers and help usher in a new age of prosperity for the Horde, and to bring the Horde's enemies to their knees! The Lich King lies defeated at the hands of brave adventurers and the might of our brothers!" The Warlord set a grin across his grizzled and aged visage, "Yet the war is not over... the Alliance pigs have declared war against our great nation and it comes upon each of you to rise up and serve your people and Warchief proud in this new age of blood and thunder!"

Kron had nodded and remained silent for a few moments before pacing up and down their ranks, "Come forth and introduce yourselves before each other, as we are to act as one with the coming days, after all, it is the strength of our arms, honor, and unity that sets us apart from the dogs of the Alliance, and we are not Alliance pigs in this Hold!"

**Beltharean** · 11-04-2010, 06:10 PM

Renolt immediately stepped forward toward the Warlord, setting his feet perfectly together, bringing his right hand up to his brow in a salute practiced for nearly a century now, "Renolt Felo'dinoriel, prepared for service sir. Expertise; Naval navigation and warfare." After a moment, the elf would take a step back, melding back into the line alongside the six other officers-to-be.

**Spiralin** · 11-04-2010, 06:16 PM

Zbek would look around at everyone in the room, inspecting their attire before shrugging to himself. He'd casually walk forward, turning on his heels in one step. Straightening himself out, standing seven feet and three inches tall, he'd place his arms behind his back, resting them near his large war bow. His ax strapped to his waist, hanging.

"I ahm Zbek of tha Da'kspea'. Ah've had twen'teh yea's of millitahry 'sperience. Most of which 'ave been ambushes an' counter 'tacks, long with clos'-combat war fronts."

He'd give an affirmative nod to everyone before walking back over to where he was standing. Waiting to see who's next to go.

**ForsakenSoul** · 11-04-2010, 06:32 PM

Durik slowly arises and looks around, as his heavy plate armor clinks. He straightens his posture and looks around, before pounding himself twice in the chest and exclaiming:

"I am Durok Bloodhammer of the Warsong Clan, and like our Darkspear brother I also have an almost life long experience of guerrilla warfare and close combat encounters. My life for the Horde. "

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