Grim Views

Greetings, fellow and non fellow members of The Grim. I currently go by Rakluz. Allow me to tell you a bit about myself.

I was once a Human by the name of Clarence. I was simply a commoner residing in Gilneas, there was nothing special about me. Then, one day, as a teenager, my "friends" and I had gone beyond the gates, into the Silverpine forest. It was risky, but with youth brings a certain degree of foolishness. Within ten minutes of walking around, a scout from Slyvanas' Forsaken Army had spotted us. My friends left me there, as I was a bookish child and was not able to outrun the Forsaken. I was killed and brought back to life as Forsaken, and adapted the name "Clarence" into "Clarode". I was quickly taught the powers of Fire, Frost, and Arcane, and devoted my life to the Horde.

I have always been an insecure being, and ever since my life in the Horde I have been taught bits and pieces by various people that I've put together in order to learn how to transform my look. Although I still to this day, speak like a Gilnean, I have been able to so far change my form to a Human, Worgen, Gnome, Goblin, Blood Elf, Night Elf, Orc, Troll, and back to Forsaken at various times, all when it benefits me.

With all this said, for quite some time I have kept in the shadows, being very passive about my allegiances and hostilities towards various groups and people. However, now is the time to fight. The Alliance has pushed me too far off the edge, and one day I hope to destroy those who betrayed me in my former life. The Horde leaders that preach peace are incompetent and I believe it is in the hands of us, the Horde, to maintain and acquire dominance throughout Azeroth-and beyond. After hearing word of this wonderful allegiance, The Grim, I knew I could not ignore the wonderful opportunities ahead, and so, I am lending myself as an ally to every single member of The Grim, for eternal prosperity of the Horde and everyone in it.

A letter is returned promptly to whatever hole in which Rakluz dwells. The parchment reeks of rancid meat and unwashed marching boots. It is quite possible that the crumpled missive had at one point been stuffed into an orc's shoe. Upon unfolding it, your eyes would read blocky orcish penned with incarnadine ink and a few splotches from spilled ale. Strangely, miniature toadstools grow wiltingly in the ale-stains, but they are far less interesting than the contents of the message:

Aspirant Rakluz,

Your newfound interest in the Mandate has been noted. All of those who flock to our banner would do well to present their fel-sodding flesh to the gathering of the Inquisition. You will find us this night within the Sanctum of Silvermoon City, when the goblin clock strikes seven past noon. Be prepared to leave behind all that binds you to your past life - The Grim reshape our Supplicants only from your crude flesh. The blight-addled details of your history do mean kodo shit to me.

Finally - you will keep the form of a Troll, mage. If you do show your face as a bloody night elf, I will not be responsible for what the Executioner Brightwing does with your remains.

High Inquisitor Bloodstar