From Within by Skash

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Keeper Of Lore
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From Within by Skash

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From Within

Skash Bloodbringer 11/21/2006


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!”


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.


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.
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Keeper Of Lore
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Re: From Within by Skash

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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...

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.


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.


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.


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.
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