Grim Views

Skash sat atop his wolf Simba on a cliff overlooking Durotar. His home for the past few years… since the defeat of the Burning Legion. Memories came to him as he watched the wild pigs move about. Memories he always awoke to in a cold sweat at night.

Skash had grown up with the taint of demons in his blood; the endless rage that drove him as an orc pup that drove him to the path of an orc warrior. Skash was one of the young orcs that came through the dark portal to wage war on the humans. Though too young at the time to actively help in the war effort, his warrior spirit drove him to help where he could. Working alongside the peons Skash grew stronger, and soon was put into training at the barracks as a warrior of the hoard. The blood rage took a terrible toll on Skash as he grew in strength and ability. The taint fueled him, drove him, it consumed his very mind and pushed him to the brink of insanity at times. Only the endless war was able to contain him. Skash did not merely slay his enemies; he utterly decimated them, often smashing the corpse to an unrecognizable pulp through his continuous blood fury. During the war, Skash was captured and held in Durnholde. All Skash recalled was being hit by an arrow, then dropping to the ground, succumbing to the poison on the tip. His prison only fueled his rage, leading to him being tightly caged and isolated at all times. When Thrall came and rescued the orcs trapped there, he was reluctant to release Skash… the taint was obvious and his bloodlust was near uncontrollable. However, he found that he did have some sway over Skash as Skash respected the new position of warchief that Thrall held at the end of that battle, and followed him.

Thrall helped Skash control the rage within him as they traveled. With the help of the other shaman, the taint was slowly being driven out of him. With the sacrifice of Grom Hellscream, the last of the taint left Skash, and he was forever a changed orc. Though his bloodlust and battle prowess earned him the surname “Bloodbringer”, he no longer reveled in the endless rage he had lived in most of his life. Repressed memories came surging forward, threatening to eat away him emotionally. Once again Thrall and the shaman helped him, teaching him to focus himself into a disciplined and able warrior. The shaman also discovered there was some residual demon taint within Skash. His stomach could handle anything that was put in it, even metal. It astounded the shaman when Skash would eat a full course meal, sometimes swallowing a knife and fork here and there, and then eating entire pies, pan and all. When they asked, he would just shrug and just continue eating.

Several years had passed now, the war with the alliance still raging, and now the threat from Silithis and the old gods pounding on their doorstep, Skash needed to try and put his own demons to rest… by facing them head on. He needed to find Lupen or Pincus, master warlocks of the Grim.

Skash rode up to the guild hall, and tied his wolf up out front, leaving him a big juicy steak to munch on. With grim determination, Skash threw open the doors to the hall and called out in a booming voice “Where Pincus or Lupen hidin??? Skash need dere help!”

by Lupen

((Oh, we're master warlocks now... Well well.))

Lupen sat in the common grounds of The Grim Halls, sipping on Moonberry Juice and calmly reading through a Tome of Old, in languages most could not identify, let alone read. His Felhunter, Traanum, sat resting at the Dread Magus' side, breathing slowly and calmly, nearly asleep. When not clutching onto his goblet, the Forsaken would stroke Traanum's razor-like mane.

Skash's yell for aid had been heard by his Felhunter before it reached his ears. Traanum's head perked up, growling, scanning the room for any faint trace of magic. Lupen quickly after picked up Skash's words and placed his goblet upon the table, bringing his tome alongside him. Lupen lumbered into the Doorway, in an insomnia-induced daze.

"Yes, Skash... What is it?" Lupen muttered to the Warrior.

((Hey, you two are soulreaver and irredeemable, what else would Skash think?))

Skash did not carry his typical silly grin on his face. Something was obviously on the orcs mind. Skash stomped his way up to Lupen and asked "Lupen, yous know how ta call one a dem infernals, don't ya?"

Skash looked the warlock square in the eye. To ask about infernals was not something many took lightly, as a single one could whipe out many many horde at once.

Lupen folded his arms across his chest while analizing what Skash had inquired. The serious look upon the Orc's face, in the least, concerned Lupen. The Warlock finally nodded and stated, "Yes, Brother... I can summon the Infernals from Xoroth." Lupen paused, wondering, considering the question, "Why would Skash, one of the most demon-hating Orcs, alongside Bloodscream, question me about such things?" He decided to further his statement with an inquiry, "... Might I ask as to... Why, brother?"

Skash snorted, obviously turning something over in his mind. "It time for Skash ta face those dat corrupted Skash... an da biggest an nastiest dat Skash remember wus dem big rocks. Skash want... no, need ta face one in single combat. Skash need ta con... cunse... ta talk wit da shaman an mebbe Thrall as ta where. Skash gonna go an find Hektar mebbe... him smurt orc shaman. Skash come an find yous Lupen when Skash knows where we needs ta go if'n yous willin ta help."

Lupen eyed Skash, admiring his... Seemingly blind courage. The Warlock nodded, and returned to the commons room.

Skash grunted and nodded at the warlock, and quickly turned and headed for the door and mounted Simba. Skash quickly rode up to Thrall's throneroom, asking for an audience with the warchief. He was quickly admitted and brought before Thrall where he kneeled before the mighty orc shaman.

"Might warchief, Skash need yous advice an wisdom again. Da dreams... dey no go away... da spirits tell Skash he need ta face da demons, need ta face one a dere mightiest warriors, an infernal. But dey no tell Skash where. Skash askin Thrall an da shaman here ta ask da spirits as ta where Skash has ta do battle... mebbe for da last time."

Thrall walked up to Skash, lifting his head to look into his eyes. He needed to know if Skash was serious. Facing an infernal was madness, and single handedly was perhaps suicide. But Thrall knew of Skash's past, had helped him overcome his own rage. Skash had grown into one of the mightiest vanguards the horde had ever seen, and if the orc meant what he spoke, there was a chance he would survive. With a grin, Thrall nodded to Skash. "You will need to bring me some items to aid us in speaking to the spirits. First, we need something that best represents you Skash, and no, one of your pies will not suffice. Next, we need something to represent the legion. And finally, we need something to represent your friends. Bring me these three items, and we shall hold a ceremony to find your destiny Skash. I do not know exactly what these items would be, but you will know them when you find them. No go! For the horde!"

Skash rose up and saluted the warchief, and quickly turned and left to seek out these items.

The battle was short and brutal. Seven satyrs lay dead at Skash's feat. The demon camp in Azshara proved to be the best place to hunt for what he seeked. He had hunted these demons before for the dark magics they held. Rumaging through the bodies, Skash finally found what he seeked. The demonic stench made Skash snort in disgust. He pulled the demonic rune from around one of the satyrs neck and quickly put it in his belt pouch away from his other belongings. He now held one of the items he seeked, an item that represented the the Burning Legion.

The doors of the guild hall swung open as Skash stomped his way in to the common area. He needed to think. Grabbing a pie and a mug of ale from the larder, he sat in front of the fire and began to concentrate. What best represented him? Who was he? Who was the orc behind the armor? He wasn't the bloodthirsty maniac he once was. He was now a vanguard of the Grim. Calm, cool and collected. Well, maybe just cool as he chuckled to himself.

Various images floated about in his mind. Images of past battles won and lost, clashes with the alliance here and there, even friendly scuffles with fellow Grim. Images of him crafting his wares at the various anvils in Orgrimmar, Thunder Bluff, the Undercity, and even the Black Anvil came to him. Something was becoming apparent to Skash... something was connecting all of these images together. Always in the crafting images was he making armor. Always in his images of battle was he at the forefront in his finest armor. Armor... his armor... it's what the Grim counted on him for. It's what he crafted with pride. It's what represented Skash. The orc was on his feet immediatly, spilling his beer and carrying his pie as he burst out the door knocking tables and chairs over in his wake. "Sowwy!" Skash yelled back as he ran out the door, straight to the bankers. There was a suit of armor he had crafted... one infused with fel energies... one that would suit his purpose well. The demon forged breastplate.

Returning to the Grim hall with a large box that clanked and clunked along with the rest of Skash's armor, Skash was quite pleased with himself. However, he still had one more riddle to solve. He needed to find something that represent his friends. Something that represented the Grim. Something... something... something...

Skash went to the common room where other Grim often relaxed after a long day of battles and bloodshed. Skash just grunted to those who greeted him. It was obvious Skash was deep in thought. He took his favorite chair in front of the fire, his favorite place to be when his head was full. He stared into the flames, letting their dance excite his imagination, hoping something would come to mind. Skash reached into his sack and dug out a pie. Just as he was about to eat it, he stopped and looked at it. Pie... his friends always sent him pie. They knew he loved it, ate it everyday. When they thought of what would cheer Skash up after a defeat, it was pie. He pulled a knife from his belt, and carefully cut the symbol on the Grim tabbard onto the crust. This would represent his friends well.

Thrall's thronroom was to be the site of the ceremony. A shaman from each of the horde races was present, and Thrall himself. They stood in a square, with Skash seated in the middle with his chosen items. "Let us begin" rumbled Thrall, his eyes already taking on a blue tinge as he let his power grow. In turn, each of the shaman present dropped a totem of power. The troll dropped a water totem, the orc one of fire, the tauren a wind totem, and Thrall dropping one of earth.

The totems began to slowly glow with power. Each shaman focused intently on their own totem, pouring their energies into it. Skash had never been privy to such a ceremony, and was a bit nervous. Magic was not something Skash understood very well. Skash feared no enemy, but his axe could not cleave flesh from vengeful spirits. Skash watched as ghost like forms began pouring from each totem. Soon there were far too many spirits to count quickly darting around the circle. They passed around Skash and through his chosen items he held in his hands. The armor, the rune, and the pie all glowed earie colors.

The items glowed brighter and brighter with each passing second. Suddently, Skash froze in place, his eyes becomming pure white as a vision overtook him. A burning and desolate landscape appeared before his eyes. In the distance, Skash recognised Blackrock Mountain. The vision took him accross the landscape, to the far west. There, Skash was shown his testing grounds... The Alter of the Storms in the Searing Gorge. Then the world went black.

Skash awoke with a start. He found himself back in the Grim halls in his bed. "You have been asleep for three days. Many Grim have been watching over you Skash. You chose your friends well." came an all too familiar voice. Thrall simply grinned at Skash as he recalled what he saw. Skash looked to the warchief, who simply nodded to him. "Good luck Skash. Should you return, the horde will need your shield. There is much that is comming." and Thrall left the guild hall.

((If anyone wishes to jump in here for the three day black out feel free. I will be posting an event in regards to all of this soon.))

by Guduk

((during the three day black out))

Guduk feels a shiver down his spine and rolls his shoulders to be rid of the feeling of just stepping through a Mage Portal. The battle had been good and bloody, and Guduk had done his job well, though he noted Skash was not presant and missed the reliable Orc. He moves towards the Grim Hall and to Skash's bed where the Orc sleeps.
Guduk grunts and bats Skash in the shoulder with his plated fist "Could have used you today, Brother. But you, lazy bones, decide to sleep in."
Guduk sighs as Skash does not move and he takes a step back and slumps into a chair nearby, it groans with the sudden weight of the Tauren Warrior. "Guess i better let you know what yah have been missing..."

Spending the next few hours, Guduk converses with the sleeping Skash, chuckling over the recent skirmish.

((3 Day Blackout))

Lupen eyed his surroundings intently, he hand fumbled back and forth throughout the Mess Area and the Den, he was hungry, and quite sick. Coughing blood into his food was a common occurance. In between the Mess to Den transition, he spied Skash, sleeping in the Warrior Halls. He walked over, conjured bread in his hand, the Forsaken, for one time, stood over the Orc. He spied the mammoth of a man, armour and all. Lupen smirked, admiring the raw power that Skash possessed in mere muscle. The Warlock placed the loaf of bread beside the Warrior, and walked off.

((Have put this off long enough. Was hoping for a few more responses but oh well))

Skash watched Thrall exit his chamber, then rubbed his aching head. The images that he saw with the shaman had been bombarding him in his sleep. Skash now knew where he needed to go and what to do. Spying the bread by his bed, he grabbed it and began eating it as he made his way to the Grim common room.

Skash made his way from Grim to Grim, asking them to recount the past three days to Skash. Once his curiosity had been satisfied, Skash went in search of Lupen. When he found the Forsaken, he spoke "It is nearly time Lupen. Da test be near... tell Skash wut he need ta bring for yous ta call down da rock beast."

Skash then went to the streets of Orgrimmar, seeking something with great haste. He spotted the green floppy ears of a goblin near by, trying to swindle some young orc out of a few more silver. Skash stomped up to the goblin, his glare chasing off the young orc but not phasing the goblin one bit.

"Ah, potential customer! What can I do for...". The goblin didn't even get to make his sales pitch, for Skash had scooped him up by his shirt collar. "Yous can read an write, right?" Skash asked the goblin. "Oh indeed I can! Why just last week I..." Again, Skash didn't let the goblin finish before carrying him to the guild hall and into one of the private studies, fully equipped with parchment, ink, and quills. All the other Grim heard before Skash slammed the door was "WRITE!".

Roughly 30 minutes later, Skash immerged with the goblin and a piece of parchment. Skash went to the notice board, grabbed a nail, and literally punched the notice up.

"See here, you gonna pay me or what orc?" the goblin chittered at Skash. Skash gave a handful of coins to the goblin then litterally threw him out of the hall.