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Drogu
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« on: August 25, 2011, 12:43:24 AM » |
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Details of your Orc character: A former member of the Dragonmaw Clan and former Death Knight.
Name: Drogu
Class: Death Knight
Level: 78 (But levelling fast!)
RP experience: I spent a year on Scarshield Legion, in the House of Sylvanas. I've done different forms of Forum rp. I also rp a mage in the Disciples of Light on the Alliance side of Defias B.
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(( Decided to show how Drogu was turned into a Death Knight! ))
IC
The snow that fell formed a thick fog around the band of orcs that camped within it. They had been here, in the barren wastelands of Northrend for weeks now. Nine Dragonmaw clans members set off with Drogu, now only four (not including himself) remained. They had done much to escape their clan and travel so far, but Drogu was beginning to have doubts. They all were. He had convinced them that they were going to become free and have scores of game to hunt, bears to fight and honourable deaths to look forward to. Drogu was wrong. He had led them to an ice filled desert of only death and suffering. In the journey to the land, two of his nine had died when their boat capsised. One had been mauled by some plague ridden bear whilst he slept. The other two had wondered off in a furious rage, but they could not long last against the horrors of the Northern lands.
"Bleurgh! If I have to eat any more of this.." Brulk spat on the ground beside the rock he sat on "Boars shit-"
"You will eat it, if you value your life. We push on tomorrow and we can not have you slowing us down." the older Orc, Morok said calmly, his once white tuft of a beard now layered in a snowy armour prickled as he spoke to the young, rash orc.
"Meat is all I ask, old timer. Meat to dig my teeth into. I would have plenty of it if that fool did not drag us Nor-"
"Keep going and I'll have your meat on my plate tonight, Brulk!" Tork, the largest of the group, roared.
Drogu stared out into the fog, ignoring any talk and fude the group were having. Something was different about this night. Drogu wore no armour from waist up; preferring to dress like that of a Blademaster. He was not one, but he respected their ways and believed it gave him strength. He did not fear the cold, nor did it penetrate his thick skin. Not until this night. A chill was in the air, his every breath felt as if the very air around him was trying to choke him, but he did not falter. He merely stared out.
"What would you know of the pink skins, Tork? You can barely understand your own people." Brulk sneered, a grin creeping across his face.
"You keep pushing me, Brulk, I wi-"
"Where is Grunok?" Drogu said in a hushed tone. The others went silent, surprised to see their 'leader' speak after hours of silence. "Answer me."
"He said this filth did not go down well. He had to empty his bowels." Brulk roared with laughter as he spoke, but he came to a sudden stop when the sound of a pained scream filled the air like a banshee, "ARGHHHHHHHHHHH!
Drogu grabbed hold of his large blade and simply rose to his feet. He had been anticipating an attack tonight. The air, the chill; it was the calm before the storm. He knew. How could he have been so blind as to lead his people here? To the haunted wastelands where they would die in agony, not glory. Drogu spoke "Lok-Narash, form a line, keep your eyes to the fog. I don't care if an army of dragons comes soaring at us, we will stand our ground and kill what ever comes at us. Hold the line, my broth-"
"Lok-Tar Ogar, I will be the first to wet my blade!" Grulk roared aloud, his legs pushing him onward, into the fog.
"Grulk! I gave an order, damn you!" Drogu was never meant to lead. He had no experience in it.
"RAAAAARGH! The sound of clashing steel filled the air. Their fire was dying, the cold thickened and they were becoming blind to the snow that blanketed them. Clattering of teeth. A stench so foul, Drogu could taste it at the back of his throat.
All around them, as if moving as one, undead humanoids with rusty armour stepped from the fog merely a few yards from where they stood. Drogu turned to press his back on his companions, forming a defensive triangle.
"Lok-Tar! Strike first and true, my brothers!" Drogu roared, pushing himself forward into the fearless figures of the cold.
His skill with a blade outmatched all of the undead that came at him. He relentlessly cut through the hordes that came at him, but they did not stop coming. Where he blocked one, another sliced - cutting him. He was getting weaker by the second and he could feel his blood trickling down several wounds around his body. Backing up, his feet collided with a solid object behind him and he almost lost his footing. His eyes peered down for a moment to see the motionless corpse of Tork, one who had killed an ogre bare handed. How could I have been so reckless?. "Get your hands off of me, wretched dead!" Morok's voice faded with every passing syllable. Drogu turned his head, but his old friend was gone. He was alone with the dead now. They came at him from all sides. He kept swinging his blade, but still a cut here and a slice there, he was tiring. He felt a cold shooting pain through his back and out of his chest. Looking down, Drogu bore sight of a poorly forged blade, that had long rusted in the cold. Pushing himself off of it, he swung his blade around, taking the head off of the undead that dare mortally wound him. He fought on for what felt like hours, but in truth was seconds, before dropping to his knees - his blade beside him. "Lok..Lok-Tar" He tried to shout it, but the words came out as a wheeze. The undead were not coming though. They had stopped around him. "What.. what are you waiting for? Come.. claim your pri..Prize!" Horses footsteps. Clumph .. Clumph.. they were getting closer.. Clumph
"This one could prove useful to our masters cause. Bring him." The voice was like none other he had heard before. The common tongue of a human, but deeper. Colder. Drogu raised his eyes to catch a glimpse of the one who spoke. He could barely see past the blood that trickled over his vision, but he could make out the black plated armour that the rider wore and he knew that he could expect no mercy, honour or death from this .. creature. Only suffering. Then, at last, Drogu closed his eyes. The next time he opened them, he would see only pain and anguish. He would only hear.. his Kings voice.
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