Feral by Kromag

[Keeper Of Lore]

Melchisedech hefted his book and stood, nodding to one of the Forsaken beneath Spirit Rise. "I am in the city of the c-... of the Tauren, among our people in the Pools of Vision. Are you all right?" He began moving toward the entrance to the Pools, toward the main bulk of Thunder Bluff proper.

[Keeper Of Lore]

Acherontia walked unsteadily across the swaying bridge, headed for the main rise. "I am. There may be trouble, though." The warlock sighed heavily. "You should not have aggravated him, Melchisedech."

[Keeper Of Lore]

Melchisedech scowled. "Is there trouble with Kromag? Bah. I am not afraid of him. Perhaps I should be, but I am not." Melchisedech winced as the bright light of Mulgore pierced his shadow-weakened eyes. "Regardless, I have promised not to antagonize him further... or, rather, to try. He DOES make it fairly easy, however.

Why? Where are you?"

[Keeper Of Lore]

Acherontia stepped into the long shadow of the spire that stabbed through the heart of the city. "Meet me at the tower. We have to go to the Undercity." Dodging the massive, hairy bodies of the Tauren, she made a beeline for the entrance to the spire and looked around for Melchisedech. They would wait it out. When the immediate danger had passed...then they would see. Perhaps they should seek Yichimet's counsel... Acherontia shook her head. Spirits. What did she know of the spirits? One thing she knew for certain, though - this was beyond the orcish bloodrage. She would keep the two apart at whatever cost. "You cannot bait him anymore, Melchisedech."

[Keeper Of Lore]

Melchisedech scowled deeply. "Acherontia, I do not take kindly to being kept in the dark, nor to being told what I can or cannot do. I presume from the fear in your voice that Kromag has taken offense from one of the many things I have done that irritate him, and that he or someone close to him is at the very least considering taking some kind of revenge."

The Forsaken began moving along the rickety wooden bridge toward the spire. "If, as you say, we need to leave here, is there a reason Undercity is better than Silvermoon? Silvermoon is more civilized, and thus, less likely to attract the feral hunter."

[Keeper Of Lore]

Acherontia paused, considering. On one hand, Melchisedech spoke the truth. She had been to Silvermoon only once before, but had not seen anyone there who was not Sin'dorei. On the other hand, if Kromag did think to seach for them there, he would discover them in no time. Searching for them in the Undercity would be tantamount to searching for a needle in a pile of needles. The scents would cover them more effectively. She shared her thoughts with the priest, hesitated, then continued. "I do not speak to you as I do now because I have no respect for you; I speak to you in this manner because I fear for you. Kromag is in the grip of something dangerous. No doubt it started off as revenge for your words the other night, but now, it is impossible to know when or where he will stop."

[Keeper Of Lore]

For the first time, Melchisedech seriously considered Kromag's actions. He did not believe the orc would be foolish enough to attack him, a priest of the Grim, but if he were uncontrolled... The Forsaken remembered Anaie, and the rogue's wild assaults against Acherontia and himself. He sighed deeply.

"Where can we hide from the hunter? He can track us anywhere. I agree with you that Undercity would be the BEST place to hide, but we cannot hide forever. Nor can we hope to fight him. We have to outsmart him, more difficult than it sounds. We need to find a safe place. I recommend the Grim guild hall."

[Keeper Of Lore]

Acherontia spied the familiar strangeness of him approaching in her shadowy vision and slipped the stone back into her pouch. "I had considered that also, but it seemed like one of the places he would frequent. It is in Orgrimmar, after all." She turned her face up toward the priest as he stopped in front of her. "I hadn't planned to hide forever, just to wait him out. If that is what you truly think is best, then that is where we shall go. I trust you...but I hope I can also trust you to keep things as peaceful as you can." Her voice was steady but her face betrayed her concern. Melchisedech had told her that he would always be there, but she knew in her heart that that would not always be up to him.

[Keeper Of Lore]

"I do genuinely believe it would be for the best. We cannot hide from Kromag... whatever my opinions of his deficiencies, skill is not among them. He will find us, and if he does so when he is enraged, he will kill us. We need protection." He tucked the hearthstone in his pouch as he stepped up to the warlock. "Fly with me to Orgrimmar... our safest location is with our allies among the Grim. They will restrain Kromag if it comes to that."

[Keeper Of Lore]

Within minutes, they were both soaring over the vastness of Mulgore, the wings of the wind riders carrying them higher and higher as Thunder Bluff fell away behind them. Acherontia clutched handfuls of the beast's mane as her heart dropped into her stomach as it always did when flying, but it was not exhiliration that pulsed within her today. The warlock would tell Melchisedech about her conversation with Chaindog when they landed. She glanced to her left to see the priest flying alongside her, the currents of air and the powerful creatures carrying them both forward...into battle or safety, though, she could not say.

[Keeper Of Lore]

Kromag awoke in the tree he was resting in after a couple of hours. Looking about he realized his wounds were feeling much better. Dropping down from the tree he called to his mount, sweeping his legs up he mounted the saddle and rode off toward the Undercity.

It was his prefered home, he liked the Undercity more then Orgimar. For some reason he felt a greater kinship toward the Forsaken then orcs or trolls. It was odd but it was true. He was not sure why, but he had a strong urge to seek out both Acherontia and Melchisedech.


He could not understand why he felt this way, so he began to search for them in the undercity. They must have a place they rest here, they are Forsaken.

[Keeper Of Lore]

by Tuskinar

Nature had a funny way of connecting individuals without distance being much of a concern. Trees whispered soft words of secret to those whom had the attention span to catch them and campfires often foretold many-a-story within their burning embers. Grengori happened to be settled within a quiet thicket inside the Western Plaguelands, away from the gaggles of corrupted zombies that littered the area. And more importantly, away from the vile forces of the Scarlet Crusade whose main camp rested not far from where his camp was settled. A small, grey colored tent lay rested up along one of the indiginous, crystallized trees that were strewn in that area.

Outside of the tent was a small fire that burned with hot flame. He had to bring a couple of logs with him and used the severed limbs of animals in the area to help keep the flames alive. Something about the diseased flesh helped to fuel the fire..as well as make its flame burn a blackish-orange. The moon had long settled in comfort in the sky, yet was unseen by the muscled Tauren as he lay asleep on the floor-bed. Thick, muscled arms folded beneath his chin, eyes half-closed as the lull of sleep overcame him. It'd been a very long and tiresome day of slaying the humanoids of Uldamann, as well as the intensely powerful ravagers that roamed Hellfire's arid deserts.

He had a fair amount of smoked ham to eat that day and stopped off for water whenever he could. But to say the least, the calmer more cooler landscape of the Plaguelands was a welcome retreat. The bountiful amounts of thorium to be found there, a welcome change. The raspy voices he heard in his head? ... were certaintly not a welcomed occurance. He groaned to himself, rolling over onto his side; large hooved foot thudding on the ground as he did so.

"..What are you telling me..."

"..Kromag....bloodlust...help...confrontation. Animosity brews, Grengori, where the dead lie to slumber. Go there and act as a median between your comrade and those involved. This is the will of the Earthmother. Go now..." the voice whispered from nearby, into the tauren's ear.


"...Show me now, where it is that the dead sleep. If it is the will of the Earthmother, she will show me the way.."

Although Grengori was not trained in the ways of the druid, his people -- the Tauren -- were very spiritual beings. And tasks given to them by the Earthmother's will were not contested in any sense. However, in order to fulfill her wish, he required more information. He rose groggily from his tent and began to crawl out from its warm, comfortable interior. Nightfall surrounded him and the noises of bear and wolf sounded in the distance. Unafraid by the noise, he lazily dragged himself to his knees and knelt by the fire. One of his throwing knives was grasped within his left hand, while the right rose above it, with fingers sprawled out to their full span. The firelight seemed to glint and waver, as if sensing something was about to happen.

"I offer, as sacrifice for this knowledge, the blood that runs hot in my veins. Knowledge cannot be gained without self-sacrifice and it is willingly I offer this to the Earthmother. May her good eye always be held upon me and may her infinite wisdom guide me toward a better tomorrow."

He grasped the hilt of the dagger within meaty digits and dug the razor-sharp tip of the blade into his palm, starting up near the web of his index finger. A slow, painful path cut itself down toward the center of his palm and further still until it met at his wrist. Thick rivulets of blood spilt from the tauren's hand and into the fire until it began to change. Flames began to climb high in the sky and the color of the flame itself turned a dark, unnatural green. Grengori heard a loud roar as the flames billowed higher, revealing unto him the images he needed.

"You must travel West from where you kneel, beyond the Bulwark and toward the dead-city that remains. You now know the way...go there..." the voice also sounded as the images came; images of a ruined, delapidated city, surrounded by thick, lush greenary. Patrons were seen entering the city and exiting, mounted atop a series of varied beasts and creatures. He saw the courtyard of Lordaeron and the elevator that led into the depths of the Undercity. It was upon seeing these images that he understood where the Earthmother willed him to go.

"I will go there upon morning's light...Thank you for granting me this wisdom.."

The warrior bowed his head and turned toward his tent, ready to bandage his bleeding hand, wipe clean the bloodied dagger, and rest for the remainder of the evening. Tomorrow, he ventured to Undercity.

[Keeper Of Lore]

Kromag searched as long as he could for the two Forsaken, but he grew tired again. Raging so hard as he did had drained him more then he really knew. Finding a nice quiet hidden point in the depths of the Undercity he sat down to rest. Kromag looked about at his surroundings and sighed softly.


"Blasted necromancers and their scourge brothers. What the hell did they do to me to lust for blood in such a manner? It's the demons blood all over again, I swear this is pissing me off!" Kromag tried to remain calm as he spoke to himself, the last thing he needed was to become the feral creature again.


He could not remember all exactly that happened when he was mad, thought was mainly shut down. It was instinct, the only time thought actually had pull was in ways to better gain his targets. He could not explain why he had a strong pull and desire to track down Melchisedech and Acherontia. His mind continued to pour through these thoughts, even as he passed out in his quiet little spot.

His dreams came as blood red visions of pain and agony, he saw all. The necromancers that tortured him so long ago. The alters, the chemicals that were used on him. Greenish liqued dripped into a tube that was connected to one of the major veins in Kromag's neck. Three necromancers stood over him chanting and working their powers over him.

They cut on him for days, blood flowed freely. The odd alter, the ground, all covered in orcish blood. After a few days a large winged beast entered the camp and found Kromag on the alter with the necromancers. Kromag saw the demon beast, rage filled his red eyes. The demon standing over him slit his own wrist and began to let the blood seep into Kromag's wounds.

Kromag thrashed against his bindings, pain lanced through him like fire burning from inside out. His screams echoed into the night as the creatures continued their work.

Days passed, no way of telling how many, but he was alone in the room. He was enraged, anger at what had been done to him, at his father for sending him to be some scout for his war. His already blood red eyes grew to a deeper red, his pupils grew smaller. An insane rage took him, his muscles bulged and his physical power seem to grow.

As he ripped through the bindings he pulled himself off the alter and looked about. He sniffed at the air, the dead were all over. To many, he had to plan..had to run. A necromancer entered at that exact moment and saw Kromag standing there in a crouched style. Just before he could call the guards Kromag pounced. Right away Kromag ripped the neck out of the necromancer, his jaws chewing and ripping into it like it was jerky.


Kromag ran through the camp, on his way he killed a couple more necromancers. But he managed to escape the camp before the enemy could react fully. Kromag fled into the woods, in his path he left death and destruction. Anything or anyone he came across died horribly, and Kromag loved it!

As the dreams carried on Kromag flinched and and thrashed about. Tears of blood slowly began to leak out of his closed eyes.

[Keeper Of Lore]

As the priest and warlock entered the guild hall, Melchisedech breathed a sigh of relief. No sign of Kromag throughout Orgrimmar. As much as he did not fear for himself in the face of the hunter's wrath, he DID fear for Acherontia. The lout had already made his intentions toward her plain at their first meeting, and Melchisedech had never forgotten that. Even thinking about it made him scowl. His dislike for the orc stemmed almost entirely from that one encounter, and while he was able to admit that to himself, he was not ready to admit it to Acherontia just yet.

"Well, it seems we have reached relative safety." He turned to the warlock. "Perhaps you should attempt to contact Kromag again... if he has recovered, he may reply, and if not, well, luring him here will be our best chance of survival."

[Keeper Of Lore]

by Sammuel

Sammuel looks up as the two enter the guild hall. Hearing the words from the undead's mouth he sets the whetstone aside and speaks.

"What is this speak of Kromag, and survival?"