The grassy hillock provides just enough cover – and for once, my green skin is a boon. The two short, pink hill-dwellers seem to argue with each other, before breaking into guffaws.
One ventures into a dilapidated house, working his way into the cellar.
The other chuckles to himself, wiping his tattooed forehead before pulling a flask from his belt. Too comfortable, for a look-out. He will soon learn why.
A grin stretches around my too-small tusks.
Rashka let her mind wander as she smeared an herbal salve over a few nasty gashes, and a rather large puncture wound in her arm.
She had heard tales of a fierce sabertooth matriarch in Old Hillsbrad – Araga, she was called. Her prowess in the region was told in whispers – she was feared by many, and she protected her pride with tenacity. Rashka had taken interest in the tales, and set out to tame this wild huntress.
The orc had tracked the lioness for days, finally finding her den at the top of a rise...and it was there that the two predators faced off.
Seeking Pvpers! Well seasoned, and beginners alike are welcome!
I had some inspiration for a new event -"Friday" Night Fights; I was thinking maybe a large scale cross-faction event one night a week (not necessarily on Fridays, per se).
It could be presented in different "rings", or if held in an arena, the different matches would take turns competing in the one ring. This would be a *real* PvP event, but with both sides welcome. Matches can be Horde/Horde, A/A, or H/A - no discriminating in the ring.
If anything, it could be the same nights as the RP market, and there could be vendors selling their wares outside the fighting area.
The chill wind blew from behind her as she raised her new crossbow - Ravage stood by her side, the two heads fighting with each other. She stood atop a snowy crest, looking down on the battle..the sounds reaching her ears seemed a bit muffled, but they were fighting in a valley covered in snow. How had they pushed this far? She couldn't recall, maybe the bloodlust had blinded her earlier in the battle. She sighted down her bow, trying to pinpoint a target in the roiling mass below her...and couldn't - what was wrong with her?
Where was Daraman, wasn't he usually at the front of the battle, his axe hacking them to bits? Rashka grew uncomfortable, wondering if her friend had been stricken down.
Something about this battle wasn't right.
She had heard rumors...whispered words over heard in the street; she frowned as she thought of the puny blood elf male she had pinned against a wall in the tavern that night, holding him by his throat as she demanded an accurate description of the tauren he had seen leaving the club in the presence of a female elf.....Rashka had asked around after that, searching for the truth, surely this babbling drunkard she had terrified couldn't be telling the truth.
She tightened the cinchs of the leather saddle on her war-raptor, Pakhet - and with the grace of one has fought her entire life, lifted herself up and into the saddle.
She shivered as she rode her war-raptor, Pakhet, through the front entrance to Lordaeron...the eery, tattered banners flapping in the chill Tirisfal breeze. Undercity always made her uncomfortable, not to mention her beasts. Pakhet walked with a quicker step, sensing his master's wariness, and quickly took the ramp leading up to the orb to Silvermoon. Rashka leaned forward and put her hand out towards the metal elves bearing the orb...and had to shade her eyes as she was teleported to Silvermoon - the sudden change in lighting momentarily blinding her.
Rashka patted her faithful war-hound, Lykaios, "I may have fallen in love with the new Orgrimmar...but it seems all my friends are in this curtained city...", she sighed to the wolf as they padded along beside each other, headed towards the inn in the Bazaar.
((My Shattering Snippet, unfortunately late. Loads of irl drama have been postponing the inevitable. Sorry for the week delay, hehe))
She sighted her next target, hefted her bow and notched an arrow...all with lightning speed. Her hunter's mark illuminated the rogue trying to backstab her battle mate- the gnome rogue quickly fell under the death knight's blade. Next was a human warrior, charging an elven priest. She took careful aim, to note the weakest areas in his armor, then notched an arrow and took a breath....and promptly fell forward to her knees.
The ground was shaking violently - as she looked around her, she saw the battle had come to a stand-still as human and orc alike were thrown about like rag-dolls. She managed to get to her feet, and looking around her saw magi from both sides opening emergency portals to other cities. She quickly ran over to the nearest portal to Orgrimmar and hurriedly rushed through...she had to save her home - her family.
She stood atop a snowy hill...they had almost pushed the Alliance back to their fortress at the other end of the Valley...when she spotted her target amidst the carnage. She marked him, and he knew it instantly. The warlock grinned like a maniac as he caught sight of the hunter who had him lined up...and could be seen spouting some bit of filthy demon magic- clearly aimed at Rashka. She didn't even have to warn Ravage, he had already begun to attack the man...who seemed unfazed, when suddenly searing pain- an agony she had never known coursed through her mind!...her muscles!...her bones! The sounds of wicked laughter...voices tormenting her, laughing at her weakness...like so many voices in her youth...the familiar feeling of wishing for death to come, came back to her...
Clutching her head, her skin seeming to burn her from the inside out...she sank to her knees, letting the darkness envelope her...
The wind chilled her to the bone. There was no doubt about it- she hated the cold. "And Orgrimmar is in flames, and yet here you are," she thought, but shook her head - she wasn't ready to go back there yet.
((I've sat and put alot of thought behind this character recently, and have finally come up with an acceptable background/personality. Forgive me if this contradicts with any of my in game RP, this blog will from now on reflect accurately upon her personality. As of late I have been flying by the seat of my breeches, grasping for Chris'/Rashka's personality. For those without flagRSP, Rashka is Chris' first name))
She could never forgive them...most likely never would. The images from her childhood would always be there, burned into her memory - the pale, sneering faces...the kicks from plate boots, the rotting food they were only sometimes given- the spit that landed on her face with a hot sting...and never knowing why, or when the next beating would come. She lifted her crossbow and smiled at her faithful demon tainted corehound- Ravage, as the horn sounded in the Warsong Lumber Mill, and the gate dropped.