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Clan Skullcrusher Profiles

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***Volonazra Skullcrusher***(aka Volnazra)

Physical Traits: Medium height and build for an orc. Estimated age 75 to 80. His skin is dark jade green and weathered, scarred, and wrinkly. He bears tattoos of many black tribal glyphs. Jet black hair with long streaks of grey. His crimson eyes are burning and intense. Has a slight hunched over stance and walks with a noticeable limp. His speech has slight impediment due to 9 inch jagged tusks. He speaks the in the old dialect often becoming incomprehensible to any but the eldest of the clan.

Early Life: Born and raised on Draenor before the fall of the orcs. Descendant of Nekros Skullcrusher of the Dragonmaw bloodline. A former shaman, taught the shadow magic by Gul'dan himself. Corrupted for many years during the demonic possession of the orcs. He fought in the first, second and third wars following Doomhammer on many campaigns.

Middle Years: Vol was captured and enslaved by the human King Terenas. Spent many years as a human prisoner and slave. Eventually freed by Thrall and Grom during their raids upon the prisoner camps. After his rescue, Vol still was gripped by blood lust and rage. He was unable to accept the new Horde laws and ideals established by Thrall. He decided to roam alone and free in the orc kingdom of Durotar. Cut off from the shadow power he slowly returned to the spiritual path of shamanism. During this time of wandering, he found a kinship with a rogue band of orc outlaws and their friends. Whom historians refer to as Skullcrusher Orcs.

Emergence of a Chieftain: Soon Vol was looked upon to lead the band of misfit outcasts. First as captain, under Grulg and then became chieftain when he was assassinated. In time, the blood lust subsided. Then, the wisdom of Thrall was realized by the outcasts. It is then that the band formally became Clan Skullcrusher. The first base camp was established and relative peace reached the clan. Soon after, the Clan was besieged by enemies. Scourge, force of nature, and Demi gods alike were crushed by the now mighty clan.

Exodus: Over time, the inner demons took hold of Vol. Time came that he needed to return home and face them. Magical study and the combined power of the clan allowed Vol to pass back through the Black Gate. He left the Clan in the hands of Maube and the wise elders. Not much is known about the details of this exodus. Vol speaks little of it, only to say he won a spiritual battle personally and helped pave the way for the clan in outland. He garnered many new allies for the clan, meeting with the Sin'dori Scryers and helping establish the outposts around outland. It was noticed that upon his return, Vol was more omnious, fierce, and powerful than ever.

Present: He find himself once again with his beloved family. He welcomes shedding his blood, and pouring out his soul energy; side by side with those he loves. Valiantly they face the dangers of Outland, the forces of the Legion, and the vast armies of Illidan. He is fearless when backed by the Clan. Outnumbered and overwhelmed, he'll fight to keep his people safe and free until the ancestors take him from the plane of the living.

Edited by Volonazra
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Tsuro 'Jin "Ole Ro"

Physical Traits

Standing at about 7 foot 2 inches tall, reaching a full 8 feet if you count his green spiked hair, the first thing you notice are his large tusks, shooting straight down, about as long as his face, often seen without a shirt on, a large scorpid is burned onto his back, he is lean and tall, and speaks in a mix of troll and orc dialects

Usual Apearance

He carries a wooden spear, a sharpened piece of flint tied to one end, and a warn, leather grip, his pet, a black and red scorpid is usually seen with him, and if you were to come across the two at night you would see him sleeping with his head resting on the scorpids back, inches away from the deadly stinger. prefering the tall hights of his mountain home, he prefers to travel above the road, climbing the high walls of a canyon, or jumping through the trees

Early History

He is of the Shatterspear tibe, high in the mountains of northern Kalimdor, but was expelled from the tribe, charged with the murder of two older males when he was a child, he holds a secret love for the place, and hopes to return one day, a hero, so he may be accepeted back into the fold.


Standing outside the gates of Orgrimmar thirty years after his exile from his homeland, ready to pledge his life the Horde, and earn the respect and honor he needs to return home

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Physical Traits

A simple Orc by most, He stands 5.2 feet tall, has a Blackish-purple Pony-tail, And long sideburns. Has few Scars ((most of them from Falling off his Drake))

Age: about 25 years old

Early life

Tonac was born in the Jungles of Stranglethorn vale, He has no memory of his parents, Just of his only true Friend, Scooter.

Growing up in the Wild, He became quite the Skilled Hunter, with the help of Scooter, He is able to bring down some of the most fearsome Pray.

As he Grew older, He left the Jungle and headed out to Explore the rest of Azeroth, going from the Deserts of Tanaris, Lush forest of Ashenvale, the Snow peaks of Winterspring and the Jagged canyons of the Blasted lands. All lands had an Equal amount of Sport and Hunt to be had.


Tonac has Become a master at the Hunter arts, he now Hunts the wild of Outland, Mostly in the Plans of Nagrand Along side his life-time Friend Scooter, And his new found Family, Clan Skullcrusher.

(( I gave it by best shot! most of it was made up on the spot, I didn't say Simple for no reason :D ))


Edited by Tonac
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No worries Tonac. Its great. Gives much more life to the character and explains that old public message. Now, work your battle cry into the story. That would be killer.

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Are the rest of you Crushers going to let this PEON show you up like this?!? :grunteek:

For shame >:[

*cracks knuckles*

Physical Traits: Rhoach keeps his face and head covered at all times, as he considers direct light most unpleasant. Often all that is visible of his face are his tusks protruding from his face mask. He is constantly shifting his eyes left and right, and occassionally makes twitchy stabbing motions when he is forced to wait for something. He usually wears a lopsided grin, and is prone to giggling. His best friends are the Clan, his battle partner Harne, and his pet roach, Lyudmila.

Upcomin' retellin' of an ol' story...

WARNING: This story is best read in pieces and parts. I wouldn't suggest tackling the whole thing at once, unless you don't mind reading a lot of stuff off of a computer screen. That being said, grab some popcorn, sit back, and enjoy one of Unkie Rhoach's stories!

A Roach Joins the Clan

Part 1

Stranglethorn Vale

10 years Before Present

Rhoach peered out of the thick foliage into the clearing. The 11-year old troll had developed keen survival instincts during his childhood. One of these instincts was staying hidden, and that instinct dictated that open, bright spaces were to be avoided as a rule. This ingrained behavior had served him well during his flight from the human city of Stormwind. A thieves’ guild was not an organization to be left lightly in the best of times. With a master like Kzar the Knife, desertion meant certain death for the deserter unwary enough to be caught ((but that is a story for another time, dear reader)). Rhoach’s ruminations were interrupted by the sound of rustling branches.

Slowly turning his ears toward the source of the noise, he shrank further back into the shadows, dropping on all fours into a feral, alert crouch. Only the faint yellow gleam of his eyes betrayed his presence in the wall of greenery. Two tall humans and a dwarf walked into the clearing. One of the humans, a female, was clearly a mage, using a staff with a glowing gem on top as a walking stick. The other human walked with a noble bearing. He was clad in chainmail and wore a shield over a large warhammer strapped across his back. The dwarf seemed typical of his race, holding a two-handed battleaxe against his shoulder and wearing a dour expression.

“I think we’re off course, Chorich,” the dwarf spoke grumpily, addressing the human with the sword. “No tellin’ what lies in these woods,” he added gloomily, fingering his axe and throwing suspicious glances at their surroundings. Rhoach crouched a little lower and stilled his breathing.

“Patience, Kerlack,” the mage spoke softly, fingering the gem on the top of her staff. “Kivian will lead us aright. He has never failed us before.”

“Where is that damned ranger anyway….” the dwarf grumbled.

Too late, Rhoach heard the slight sound of a dry autumn leaf crunching less than a foot behind him. Muscular, purple hands grabbed Rhoach underneath his armpits and hoisted him into the air from his prone position. A night elf, apparently Kivian, held the squirming Rhoach aloft as he walked into the clearing.

Chorich merely raised his eyebrow when he saw the ranger’s prize. “Find yourself some vermin, Kivian?”

“It would appear so, paladin,” the night elf spoke, disdain in his voice. Whether the disdain was directed at his wiggling captive or the human, Rhoach couldn’t tell.

The small troll (he was about a foot shy of the paladin’s height) was dumped unceremoniously in the middle of the clearing and immediately surrounded by the company of Alliance members.

Part 2

Rhoach scrambled to his feet and found a hammer spike pointed at his throat. He reflexively stumbled back and fell into a sitting position. He cut a rather pathetic figure, his scrawny form betraying the fact that he hadn’t eaten a substantial meal in weeks. His clothes, being little more than rags at the outset of his journey, had hardly benefited from the long days of slogging through t###### vegetation. He was equipped with nothing but his clothing, save for a hidden dagger he kept strapped to the underside of his forearm. His darting eyes and lean appearance gave the impression of a hunted animal.

“What’ll we do with the little monster?” Chorich asked coldly, looking down the point of his hammer at the cringing ball of misery on the other end. He obviously assumed that their catch didn’t understand what he was saying.

“What do you mean, ‘what’ll we do with it,’ Chorich?” Kerlack spoke growlingly. “Kill it, of course. Its kind has been responsible for the deaths of many of my people. If it is set free this day, the blood of my kin will be on my hands.”

“Kerlack!” the mage cried. “Look at it, it’s just a child!”

The words of Rhoach’s old master feverishly flashed through his mind; ‘There is a reason the wolf goes to the effort to dress himself in sheep’s clothing,’ his old master used to say. That was one of Rhoach’s first lessons. He reminded himself to keep his teachings foremost in his mind, as they had saved his life more than once in the past. Rhoach put on his most pathetic face and puppy dog eyes, hoping to glean some more sympathy from the mage, as she appeared to be the only one who stood between him and a slit throat. It worked.

“Chorich,” the mage spoke scoldingly, “it’s scared! Just put down your weapon and let’s ask it what it’s doing out here.”

“Ask it what it’s…?” the paladin sputtered. “Marianne, you speak as if it’s more than a beast! I know how trolls conduct their ‘business,’ living mostly naked in the jungles, tundras, and forests where no sane race would even dream of living. My apologies, Kivian,” he added quickly as the elf bristled a bit at the forest comment. “Why, I’ve even heard they eviscerate live captives for the sport of it!” he continued, eyeing Rhoach balefully.

“You put too much stock in rumors, paladin,” Kivian stated softly. “Trolls are worthy opponents, and are more similar to my own people than any Alliance race. I doubt they would commit such heinous acts, outside of their witch doctory.”

“Ha! Any race that condones such heathenistic practices deserves everything the heavens can throw at them,” Chorich spoke, sneering. “Besides, trolls cannot speak any of God’s languages. We couldn’t communicate with it even if we wanted to,” he said, waving the matter aside.

Rhoach’s mind had raced during the conversation. Should he betray the fact that he was, for all cultural intents and purposes, a non-troll? What would he gain by revealing this? What would he lose? “Lesson nine: when the darkness fails you, words must be your cloak of shadows,” Rhoach muttered quietly to himself, remembering. Also, during the small company’s debate, Rhoach’s ears had caught the faint sound of what sounded like… chanting? When the wind shifted, it seemed to fade. It had gone unnoticed by the arguing Alliance members, however.

Part 3

“…don’t know that it’s evil just because it’s a troll,” Marianne was saying, gesticulating with her staff. Chorich had obviously lost some of his holy conviction under the onslaught of the mage’s words. He now held his hammer at Rhoach as if he had forgotten why he had done so in the first place. Watching the two, Rhoach surmised that they were probably very close, a mated pair perhaps.

While the paladin and mage were trading words, the dwarf, Kerlack, had grown more and more impatient. His face had grown redder and redder, until finally he hoisted his axe and shouted, “By my beard! You humans are hopeless! I’m disposing of this little rat right now!”

The dwarf took a step toward Rhoach, who, desperately looking for something to buy time, shouted back in the common Alliance language, “I’m no rat, you gnomelicking midget!” He had learned some creative insults as a master thief’s apprentice.

The entire company widened their eyes in amazement and stared at him. The dwarf’s jaw nearly hit the ground as he held his axe aloft in midstrike. “It… speaks common?” he asked nobody in particular.

At that moment, the chanting in the woods that Rhoach had heard earlier returned suddenly with a vengeance. This time it was loud enough to make a small flock of crows take flight from some nearby trees, cawing raucously.

Time seemed to freeze as a confused, then angry expression crossed Kerlack’s face. Before he could say whatever was on his mind, however, a bolt of electricity streaked down from the strangely clear sky and ripped through the dwarf’s axe, which acted as a lightning rod. A blinding light and a boom of thunder knocked captive and captor alike to the ground.

Part 4

Kivian was the first to recover his wits. “Chorich?” he called.

“I’m here,” a groggy voice responded.


“I’m alright,” a voice near Chorich’s shakily reported.

“Kerlack?” Silence. Angry with himself for not being more alert, Kivian stood up warily in the tall prairie grass to peer over at the large scorch mark that used to be Kerlack. “A trap,” he snarled. “Where’s that little demon?”

Rhoach, during all this time, had lain prone after the explosion. He hadn’t seen a blast like that since Sharky had botched the job on the alchemist’s lab((again, a story for another time)). Upon hearing the elf’s snarling accusation, Rhoach had decided that it was time to disappear. He had the feeling that he’d be spitted on the nasty looking spear the infuriated elf now brandished before he got a chance to plead his innocence.

Before he could do anything, however, he heard a loud crashing of branches as an orc came hurtling out into the clearing, seeming to destroy a small part of the forest in the process. This was the first time Rhoach had ever seen an orc, and this one certainly seemed to live up to the fearsome rumors Rhoach had always heard about them. This one had many trappings about it, bearing numerous trophies and medals on its scant armor. It had an insignia on its right breast depicting a broken skull. The only thing more terrifying than its growling, gaping-mouthed countenance was the huge claymore that the rapidly approaching creature wielded in one hand as if it were a short sword.

Rhoach heard a rough voice with a strange accent calling from the forest, “Grulg! Waid ub!”

The heedless Grulg (for Grulg it was) did not stop his charge until he had reached Kivian, who had risen to meet the orc’s charge, gripping his spear and quickly assuming a defensive stance. His bow hung uselessly on his back; the orc’s mad dash had been too quick for him to even nock an arrow.

“It’s the Horde!” the night elf screamed as he raised his spear to parry Grulg’s incoming blade. When the blow landed, however, the elf’s spear did no good. Grulg brought the weapon crashing down with such viciousness and brute strength that it snapped the steel haft of the weapon without stopping, continuing its deadly arc until it had ripped the elf from shoulder to groin. Kivian fell with a slight sighing sound and lay still.

Part 5

The paladin had struggled to his feet just in time to see the ranger cut down. His face contorted with righteous fury and lit with a strange inner glow as he raised his warhammer to the heavens. The very air around the human seemed to ripple with power. Even Grulg looked a little unsure of his chances. Letting out a battle cry that seemed to come straight from the gods themselves, the paladin fairly flew across the battlefield to meet his enemy in glorious combat…. and promptly tripped over the cowering Rhoach, who had been trying to crawl his way back into the woods unnoticed.

Grulg grinned at the prone form in front of him and reversed his enormous sword in his right hand, preparing to deliver the killing blow. A cry sounded from the ground nearby.

“Chorich!” Marianne, the mage, had regained her feet and was pointing her finger at the orc standing over the paladin. She quickly spoke an arcane word and a small ball of fire shot from her index finger and hit the orc in the chest. He stumbled backward and beat his chest with his free hand, attempting to snuff out the flames without success.

“UGLUUUUUUUUUUUUUTZ!” the burning orc howled as he continued to stumble back towards the forest’s edge.

“Wud lat wunt?” another orc, also wearing the emblem of a broken skull, spoke crankily as it hobbled out of the woods.

Grulg gestured at his flaming chest frantically.

“Me blah lat, waid ub!” Uglutz muttered moodily. He glanced over at the humans. The paladin was up again, and the mage was chanting. Still muttering, Uglutz raised his hands and made a few gestures. A small raincloud appeared above Grulg’s head, dousing the flames quickly. Then the icestorm hit. As Marianne finished her chanting, daggers of ice came shooting down, embedding themselves in trees, the ground, and whatever else they happened to come into contact with. One struck a horned helmet worn by Uglutz, shattering one of the horns with its kinetic force.

Uglutz gained an even crankier look(if that’s possible) and waved his hand once more. A wave of intense heat radiated outward from the orcish shaman, melting the incoming shards of ice fifteen feet before they ever reached the ground.

Grulg looked around in wonderment and exclaimed, “Dis nu vudu bubhosh, Uglutz!”

His companion merely grunted and pointed back at the battlefield, where the paladin seemed to be running around the clearing in random patterns. Grulg shrugged at the spectacle and rushed back into the clearing, leaving Uglutz to chant. Or whatever it was that shamans did when they were left alone, the orc thought to himself.

Part 6

Rhoach had taken off as soon as he had recovered from Ulrich’s boot in his ribs. It was well, as the paladin had gotten up soon after and chased Rhoach with surprising speed for one who was wearing chain armor and heavy boots. As the incensed Chorich gained on him, Rhoach feinted left and doubled back around the surprised human. Rhoach darted past his pursuer… straight into the raging Grulg who was running the other way. The startled troll had enough wits about him to tuck himself into a ball and roll in between the orc’s legs, who appeared to see only his foe in the deepening twilight of the forest clearing.

Rhoach came out of his roll and hit the ground running. Free! He thought to himself. As he neared the clearing’s edge, he heard the mage speak a sharp command and a crackle sounded behind him. Before Rhoach had time to wonder what it was, electricity suddenly surged through his body, causing him to hit the ground and twitch convulsively, little arcs of light dancing through his teeth.

The paladin immediately gave up chasing the wretched troll and steeled himself to meet his opponent’s charge, this time slinging his shield from his back and holding it close to his body. Now the orc would flail uselessly at the wall of metal, allowing Choric to choose his blows as he pleased. Or so the paladin thought. His look of smug satisfaction turned to one of surprise as Grulg planted his feet and hurled a throwing axe from his belt faster than Chorich could blink. It whistled by the startled paladin’s face by mere inches. The human’s surprise turned to relief… and then he heard a groan behind him. A horrible feeling growing in his gut, he turned around slowly, his worry making him heedless to his foe.

Marianne lay on the ground, the axe embedded in her sternum. Her life’s blood was quickly spilling itself into the rich soil of the clearing.

“Mari!” Chorich cried out tearfully, hurrying to her side and kneeling. He laid his hands on her, crying out to his god to heal her. Her bleeding slowed to a trickle. He felt life flow from his limbs into her body, and urged himself to give more. As he desperately worked his craft, he heard the heavy, clomping steps of his hated foe closing in quickly. Cursing, he gave up healing Marianne for the moment and hastily readied his shield and hammer. Grulg came at him with a bloodthirsty yell, and soon the two were locked in combat.

Part 7

Meanwhile, Uglutz had lackadaisically ambled his way over to where Rhoach lay, still twitching slightly. Grulg knelt down next to the wounded troll and stared at him for a bit.

“Don’ wanna go ta lockpickin’ practice…” the juvenile troll was muttering feverishly in his comatose state.

“Hmm…” Uglutz pondered to himself. “Dis olog blah oomie blah…” Nodding to himself, Uglutz called upon his shamanistic powers to heal the jagged scar of charred flesh running down the length of Rhoach’s back. Gradually, Rhoach stopped muttering as the magic did its work. The shaman’s powers restored the blackened skin and scrambled muscle the way Rhoach’s natural powers of regeneration could not. Rhoach’s eyes fluttered a bit, then opened fully. When he saw Uglutz crouched over him, he sprang backward and would have sprinted into the forest in a blink had the shaman not called out to him.

“Ug! Lat der!” the orc called after the starved, but still spry, troll. “’less lat stup, me vudu lat!” Rhoach froze upon hearing the word voodoo, if he understood nothing else. He had witnessed the power of Uglutz’s magic. He did not wish to be hit by lightning twice in one day. He turned back slowly to Uglutz. The shaman grinned and tapped his fingernails together, out of which sprang large dragonflies. Rhoach stood, not daring to move.

“Olog. Lat hep Grulg. Dat Grulg.” The shaman pointed at the field of battle. Rhoach assumed that this strange being was referring to the other orc, now in the action of parrying a strike from the human’s warhammer. “Clomp da oomie.” Uglutz pulled his lips down to cover his jutting teeth in an impression of a human, then mimed hitting himself with a large axe he unstrapped from his back, wearing an exaggerated expression of fear and speaking in a high falsetto: “No! Dun’ clomp me, me jus’ liddul panzee!” The shaman looked over to Rhoach, who wore a befuddled expression on his face. He was trying to figure out if the orc before him was playing some kind of trick on him, wanted him to do something, was mentally unbalanced, or perhaps all of the above. Uglutz interpreted the befuddled look as complete understanding. “Gud. Go. Clomp. Or me vudu lat.”

Rhoach cocked his head to the side. He understood what the shaman wanted of him (after a little pondering), but he didn’t know what he would get out of it. The privilege of being allowed to remain in the world of the living? A particularly loud clash sounded from the center of the clearing. Uglutz poked him and pointed sharply towards the duelists, his patience at an end. Rhoach shrugged and slinked off in the direction of the combatants, keeping low to the ground and fingering the dagger strapped underneath his forearm. His smart aleck attitude had been the cause of several scars from Kzar. He wasn’t fond of making himself appear meek, much to his former mentor’s chagrin.

Part 8

As Rhoach neared the battle, he took stock of the situation. Both combatants had slowed down considerably from their initial fervor. They were circling each other guardedly, each not daring to take his eyes off the other for a second. Their movements were slow and halting. It was clear they were both at the point of exhaustion. The mage lay on the ground twenty paces or so away from the fight. Rhoach could not tell if she was dead or just unconscious. He decided to find out. Skirting the fighters, he made his way over to the still form. Unnoticed by either of the meleers, Rhoach knelt down beside the mage. After poking her a few times with no response, he decided to check her heartbeat. He started to put his head to her chest, then realized something was in his way. It was an axe, embedded in the mage’s sternum. “That’ll have to go,” Rhoach muttered to himself. He tugged on it. Nothing. He pulled harder. It didn’t budge. Frowning, Rhoach hopped up onto the mage’s chest, locked both hands around the axe handle, put his feet against her stomach, and heaved with all his strength. After a second of straining, the axe ripped free of the mage, and Rhoach found out the messy way that the axe had been keeping the mage’s blood inside her. A spray of crimson hit Rhoach in the face, startling him and causing him to lose his grip on the axe as he was falling back. The axe sailed behind Rhoach and flew in between the nearby duelists, making both fighters jump back and peer warily around them. Rhoach looked down to discover that if the mage hadn’t been dead before, she was now, judging by the gaping hole in her chest.

Chorich looked and saw that little scab of a troll crouched over Marianne, her chest a bouquet of blood and splintered ribs. The paladin’s face turned a deathly white as he stood, eyes transfixed upon the sight. It felt like the bottom had dropped out of his soul as he unconsciously stretched out his arm to his beloved. Then the world seemed to turn upside down, everything was black, and he knew no more.

Rhoach watched the human fall, a blank expression on the young troll’s face. Once more, his mentor’s words tumbled through his mind like sand through an hourglass; ‘Lesson six: a turned back is no defense against an assassin’s blade.’

Part 9

Grulg wiped his blade on the corpse of the now-headless human, grinning. “Pushdug oomie no see zult. Gud muv, olog!” he yelled to Rhoach. The wary troll waved back at him cautiously, having no idea what had just been said. Now what? Rhoach wondered to himself

Uglutz came stumping up to Grulg and whispered a few things in the other orc’s ear. Grulg raised an eyebrow, nodded back to Uglutz, and the pair approached the flighty troll still perched upon the mage’s ruined breast. On the way, Uglutz knelt and severed the paladin’s leg just below the knee, placing it in a filthy boarskin bag he unhooked from around his waist.

“Wer lat frum, olog?” Uglutz asked Rhoach, tossing the bag near the troll’s feet. Rhoach shrugged, not understanding the question.

“Hmph. Lat blah oomie blah.” Pointing to himself, Uglutz said, “Me Uglutz, Vuduboss Clan Skullcrusher. Dis Grulg, Warboss Clan Skullcrusher.” Grulg grinned down at Rhoach. “Lat?” Uglutz asked, pointing at Rhoach. After a couple seconds of silence, Rhoach realized that he was expected to introduce himself.

“Oh, uh… me Rhoach.”

The shaman nodded, leaned down close to Rhoach’s ear and spoke conspiratorially. “Skullcrusherz prob’ gunna’ be on own sun. Cud uze gud olog. ‘specially ash whu blah oomie…” Uglutz looked down at the troll to see how his audience was listening. Rhoach was picking his nose, looking bored. Uglutz sighed, then noticed the young troll’s hand lingering on one of the dead mage’s baubles, a gold necklace.

“Hmmm…” Uglutz wondered aloud. “Dis ash sneek’r…” He snapped his fingers and reached into a pouch at his side, withdrawing a handful of silver and gold pieces he had looted from a merchant’s stall during the last Horde plunder. “See dis?” He smiled in satisfaction as he saw Rhoach’s eyes widen slightly and gain a covetous look. “Menny shineez wid uz. Lat go tu ORGRIMMAR. Ax fer SKULLCRUSHER CLAN. Be wid uz, git SHINEEZ.” Uglutz practically shouted these last words, as he figured those would be what the troll understood.

The troll was covering his ears and squinting back at the eccentric shaman, but repeated, “Orgrimmar. Skullcrushers… shinies?” Rhoach pondered the orc’s words, looking down and screwing up his face in concentration. He nodded to himself and locked his gaze with Uglutz’s. “You saved my life. I’ll be there.”

Uglutz nodded in satisfaction, not totally understanding the little troll’s language, but taking the response as a positive one, nonetheless. Gesturing at the bag he had tossed at the troll’s feet, he said, “Take. Eet. Oomie meat gud. Lat luk lyk skinee elbzie. Go.”

The sound of more orcish voices came from the east side of the clearing. After one last questioning glance, Rhoach picked up the bag and swiftly skittered into the dense vegetation of Stranglethorn Vale.

Part 10 (final chapter)


1 year Before Present

A lanky troll walked into the gates of Orgimmar with smooth, fluid motion. He looked like any other troll save for the gleam in his eye when he eyed a passing tauren merchant’s bulging pouch. He accosted the tauren. The bull man snorted in irritation, but stopped, wondering what the troll had to say.

“Skullcrushers?” the troll asked with a strange accent. The tauren had no idea what the troll was talking about. It shook its head and began to walk away. The troll quickly stepped in front of him and repeated, “Skullcrushers?”

The tauren growled and attempted to walk around this irritating troll. Once more, the troll blocked the tauren’s path and repeated once more, “Skullcrushers?”

The tauren had had enough. It picked the troll up by the neck with one massive arm and tossed him to the dirt against a nearby stone wall. Harumphing to itself in indignation, the tauren continued on its way.

Rhoach stood up and dusted himself off. “Thank you for your help, kind sir,” he chuckled as he emptied the tauren’s purse into his own, tossing the emptied pouch to the dusty streets of Orgrimmar…

It took him the rest of the day to find an individual who could point him in the right direction. That was fine by him, however. More time in the city meant more time to enrich himself. Ah, how good it was to be back in a populated area, with all the interesting inhabitants and their equally interesting accumulated wealth. Finally, he ran into a fellow troll who gave him the directions to the nearby Skullcrusher encampment. Rhoach nodded his thanks and set off.

A couple hours later, he walked into the camp. After asking around for Uglutz, he was pointed in the direction of a tent with, oddly enough, purple smoke billowing out the front.

And who emerged from that smoking abode but that strange figure from ten long years ago, back when he was just a whelp: the odd orcish shaman. He was even wearing that helmet that had had one of its horns shattered on that fateful day.

As Rhoach approached the grizzled orc, a voice spoke up in his head. ‘Lesson fifteen: always honor your word. It is all our people have.”

Edited by Rhoach
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  • 2 weeks later...

Physical - Brenel Earthsoul stands an imposing 7 feet 8 inches from hoof to mane. Especially proud of his warfiled tusks, Brenel can be seen wearing leather based clothes from animals he has bested. His lumbering Tauron gait quickly changes into his cat sprint when he assumes the shape that he likes the best. The sheer feeling of agilty and speed of his cat form give him great pleasure.

Intellectual- Although Brenel fashions himself an intellectual (witness his constant ramblings to his guildmates), he remains a simple being surrounded by complexity. He leans on his ally, Marcos, to teach him the ways of the world, but he would not admit that to any Crusher. His mental ability remains relatively dulled, but his constant interaction with others make him yearn to better himself. He hides his feelings of intellectual inferiority with loud outbursts of tauron bravado.

Personality- Brenel is a very cheerful sod. Left to his own, he would be content rambling the hills of his home, Mulgore, searching for berries. Proud of his Tauron heritage and spirituality, Brenel is quick to chide others that he feels do not share his feelings toward the Earth Mother. Fiercly loyal to allies, Brenel will risk anything to help a comrade. Even though Marcos, his best friend, ia a shifty elf, Brenel has seen enough of Marcos to know that he can count on him in a pinch. He repays this aid with a deep level of commitment, even though he is quick to shame Marcos for any shortcomings.

Past history- forthcoming!

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  • 2 months later...


Physical Description:

An average sized Undead standing at 5' 10'' Unknown age as from after dieing awoke many years later, with many bones protruding from his armor, which are very worn and scarred. He has a broken jaw, which makes it hard for him to talk in orcish, but speaks much of the orcish dialect because of beeing with the crushers for so long, just taking in their way of speaking. He often wears long robes, proudly, and always showing the tabard of the crushers.

Early History:

When he was alive from what he can remember he knows he remembers patrolling the Scarlet Monastary when he was killed, leading for him to believe he was part of their group. He remembers being ambushed by the likes of his own kind, for a reason unknown. He now HATES the Scarlet group and whenever he has the chance to kill them he jumps at it wanting to get revenge for his death. When he first awoke from after his death he was taught by another undead warlock in his ways and taught to destroy anything that was trying to harm him. He was taught to be the warlock he is today by this other warlock. Unfortunately Helreath never heard from his teacher but thanks him for all of his power today.

Most Recent:

Recently Helreath has been fighting alongside his crushers, and loves crushing the forces of Illidan when fighting alongside with the crushers. Although he sleeps most of every day, he enjoys the time spent with the crushers, and hopes to be with the crushers for many more a time to come.

(( My first post hope yah like it!!!!! And Also I may be adding more on to the middle years another time. Feel free to comment on it!))

Edited by Helreath
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Physical Description:

BULA stands roughly around 10ft. BULA is alittle smaller then his ogre brethren being that he is half tauren. When inraged BULA seems to go in size and strength makeing a force to be reckoned with. BULA's arms are the size of tree trunks and his legs stand firm in battle as if he was rooted in the ground. BULA isnt not the smartest ogre/tauren around but he more then makes up for it in brawn. With large teeth and a over shadowing stature BULA intimidates even the most seasoned of enemies. His skin is usually a pale yellow or a dark grey depending on when the last time he had actually bathed.


BULAs father was a ogre warrior that helped lead a raiding party on a small Tauren village. BULAs mother was the unfortunate victim of the ogres spoils of war. Shortly after giving birth to BULA she had passed away. BULA was eventually taken in by a orcish clan where he was trained in the arts of armed combat. It is written that BULAs father had met his end by the hands of taurens but BULA stubornly still seeks out his birth father.


BULA currently is helping aid the horde in there fight against the alliance...and the many fearsome rabits that inhabit the lands.


BULA's history is available for reading in the stories section.


Ogre Warlord


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  • 1 month later...

Holyssa Fargleam


Holy stands at exactly 5ft in height, making her rather small for a Sin'Dorei, but slender in terms of overall fitness. Her hair is platinum colored, and her eyes flicker with a warm emerald glow. Around town, she can be commonly seen wearing a kilt adorned with small runed plates, a small jet-black Libram filled with Thalassian proverbs & rites dangling by a similarly-colored chain draped around her waist, with a black blouse that you'd typically see worn by nobility.

While most Blood Knights are trained to be strict defenders for the Sin'Dorei cause, Holyssa has been known to show a very compassionate side that only a handful of people have witnessed.


She had lost her parents during the Legion's invasion of Dalaraan, and spent a good portion of her life studying the ways of the ranger before the Scourge devastated her beloved Silvermoon. With the discovery that a newfound power could be drawn from M'uru's "light", Holyssa leapt at the chance to train & understand this power so that she could punish the very filth that had torn her home apart. Lady Liadrin had become a second mother to Holyssa in many ways, diligently teaching the youthful Sin'dorei the ways of the Blood Knights while providing her shelter within Silvermoon's decorated halls.

It didn't take long for her to rise among the elites of Silvermoon's royal guard, but she quickly grew bored with the stuck up code of honor her fellow Blood Knights swore their lives to. She craved adventure, and the desire to help the less fortunate people that her brethren had so often put down & shunned...it was a feeling she herself could not figure out no matter how hard she tried, but it felt damned good. They may not be able to understand or experience the power of this "light" she wielded with an iron fist, but it brought her more satisfaction than even the most expensive bottle of port could ever hope to.


Having recently sworn a blood oath to the Clan, Holyssa feels as though she is among family, but also wishes to guide these newfound friends closer to Illidan's front doorstep in an attempt to wrest the Outlands from his tainted grip. When she isn't carrying her sword & shield, Holy can often be found on the Aldor Rise of Shattrath city, or strolling through Silvermoon's streets with her mind up in the clouds.

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  • 8 months later...

Forgarr Stonehorn


He stands a little over 8 feet tall and weighs roughly 600 pounds when not wearing his mail armor. His soft brown fur is a dark contrast to his white horns, which extend out in front of his head. His dark brown hair falls braided to either side of his head, while his beard, which is also braided, hangs from his chin. He can often be seen wearing his mail armor, and carrying his one fist weapon and his one mace. He is very compassionate in nature, as most Tauren are, but he is very quick to anger, and will often rush into situations without thinking. His short fuse has gotten him into trouble many times. He also, for some strange reason, becomes very shy around females, and will suddenly be very flustered and clumsy in everything he does. This would explain his current state of bachelor.


Since his early childhood, he never knew the full potential of his shamanistic powers. Sure, with his hot head and short temper, a good frost shock here or there never really hurt anybody, and got him out of many sticky situations. All the shaman trainers he learned from only told him the benefits of elemental combat, but he thought it weak fighting afar with magic. After growing bored with his elder trainers, he went out looking for a different teacher. One that would help him use his powers not only to bolster himself in combat, but his friends as well. He soon found a trainer that would help teach him the ways of enhancement. After a few years of perfecting his techniques, he learned the necessary skills to summon not only totems that would bolster his strength, heal him, or cure any poison or disease afflicting him, but he was able to summon elemental totems that would help him defeat his foes in combat.


After swearing his allegiance to the Skullcrusher Clan, he now feels more at home. He has many close friends, and is willing to aid them in their adventures. His hot headed nature still comes out sometimes, but he would do anything to protect his new family. He is often found in Orgrimmar, or Thunder Bluff, admiring the beauty of what the Earthmother created. Although he knows that with the constant war with the Alliance, one day he might not be able to enjoy that beauty anymore.

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Yay resurrection of an old thread!

Rise, my sticky-threads! Rise and bump once more! >.>

Here's a profile for my DK (it's a bit lengthy):

Hikoria Fargleam


She is roughly 107 years of age (Quel'dorei years), just shy of adulthood compared to her older sister, Holyssa. In her prior life, her skin complexion was somewhat dark due to all the time she spent in the outdoors training to become a Ranger, and had developed an amazingly swift spring in her step as a result of training every morning in Eversong. Family and friends would refer to Hikoria as the "rabbit", while the once lazy and carefree Holyssa was jokingly called "the turtle", who always failed to catch up to her sister when challenged to friendly races around Silvermoon. Unlike her sister's platinum hair color, Hikoria inherited a few shades of red from her father's genes, and is roughly an inch and a half taller than her sibling. Because of this, many confuse Hikoria for being the older of the pair.

As a Death Knight, her skin is cold and pale due to the everlasting effects of the plague, her once dark and rich hair now sheet-white. Her once athletic frame had lost a considerable amount of weight, but the unholy power she has gained control over has done well to compensate for this. Five small, tightly stitched holes are scattered along her abdomen, and a more noticeable hole can be seen on the side of her throat from a barrage of arrows, which had brought about her original demise.

In terms of personality, Hikoria remains surprisingly cheerful and jubilant even after wresting free of the Lich King's control, and wastes no time in trying to impress or out-do her older sibling. She is very fond of collecting robes, and has gone through the trouble of rebuilding and cleaning her Acherus Knight training garments. Hikoria's biggest flaw happens to be her fear of crows, having been knocked out of a high tree branch by one during archery training.


Hikoria and Holyssa once trained side-by-side as archers, but Holyssa eventually grew tired of the effort needed behind the skill, and quickly fell behind her younger sibling, much to their parents' dismay. Shortly after the fall of Silvermoon at the hands of Arthas, the sisters fell into a depressed, magic-craved slump, quietly refusing to follow Kael'thas's pipe-dream of a paradise beyond the Dark Portal while their beloved home was in disarray. Hearing news of Dalaran's destruction (where their parents traveled to so their father could train in the magic arts) made matters even worse.

The royal guard had called for any able-bodies to deliver supplies to the newly set up Forsaken base at Tranquellien. As the pair made their way south with a group of volunteers and soldiers, a Scourge assault party launched a surprise attack. Hikoria was the first to fall, having blocked a barrage of infected arrows from striking down her older sister. Help had just barely arrived for the group, and the Scourge were forced to retreat, but it was too late for the young Sin'dorei, who died just moments before medics could get to her at the Forsaken camp.

No more than a few days after her burial, the Cult of the Damned were performing nightly grave-robberies across Quel'thalas and Lordaeron in search of infected or stable corpses to use for the latest phase in the Scourge's plans. Hikoria's body was delivered to Icecrown along with hundreds of fallen soldiers, and reconstructed at the Fleshwerks, then brought under the icy grasp of the Lich King himself along with an army of potential Death Knight candidates.

It did not take long for her to be chosen for the assault team at Acherus. Her prior training and reflexes from her archery days gave her a decent advantage, and the mere thought of tearing people apart innocent with her new Runeblade made the young Blood Elf grin with ecstasy.

At the Battle of Light's Hope Chapel, Hikoria stood alongside the other Death Knights, and felt as if she were in paradise as she killed so many Argent Protectors. Many innocent bystanders and militia also joined the fray, one among them being her older sister. When the two locked eyes on the chaos-littered grassland, Holyssa was terrified at what the Scourge had done to her beloved sibling, but had no choice but to relieve her of her suffering after failing to reason with her through the Lich King's control.

The pair clashed head-to-head, and neither had an advantage over the other: Holy had trained hard as a Blood Knight under the watchful eyes of Lady Liadrin's order, and Hikoria was ready to beat her back with the newly acquired powers of darkness.

With broken weapons, shattered armor, and dwindling magic on both ends, the two had reach a point where it was a platemail fist-fight. Using the last ounce of power within her, a pair of golden wings sprouted from Holy's back, using whatever energy she had left to try and score once last blow and end this mess in either a win or a loss.

Suddenly, a bright light flashed in the distance as Tirion Fordring dealt a critical blow to the Lich King with the cleansed Ashbringer, releasing the mindless grip he held over the Knights of Acherus. Hikoria had regained control over herself, but the timing could not have been any worse: the first thing her eyes would bear witness to would be Holyssa's Lightbringer-armored knuckles colliding with her face. The force of the blow had sent Hikoria a good few yards backwards - she did not have time to react after finally breaking free of the Lich King's spell. Holyssa herself collapsed in exhaustion on the field, the last words echoing in their ears being Tirion's speech far in the distance.

Among other minor injuries the elves dealt to one another, Hikoria suffered a minor concussion, and Holyssa's right hand was wrapped in thick bandaging. The two laid within an Argent Dawn medical tent side-by-side. Holy was the first to open her eyes, seeing the pale knight sobbing uncontrollably:

"What have they done to you...how...?"

Hikoria tiredly answers, "I'm not sure...for so long, everything was dark. His voice was all I could hear."

The younger Sin'dorei curled her legs in front of her chest, shaking uncontrollably.

"I could see the faces of all those people I killed, but I couldn't stop. No matter how much I wanted to scream, my lips would not move...what have I done?"

The Blood Knight blinked twice, then achingly rose to tightly embrace her long-lost sibling.

"The voice will stop." She whispered. "...I will do whatever it takes, to silence it forever."


Currently she is traveling close by Holy's side, having recently been allowed into the ranks of the Skullcrushers. The two can occasionally be seen training together in the Outlands, and she eagerly awaits the day when they can fight side-by-side in the snows of Northrend as a family.

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  • 2 months later...

Tuhka Thunderhorn


Tuhka is somewhat larger than your average Tauren female and is covered in a thick coat of white fur adorned with brown spots. The thickness of her fur and her size can be attributed both to her past residency in the forests of Winterspring and her inheritance of her mother's looks. Her glossy, bleached horns point outward from her face.

Tuhka is generally a very emotional and occasionally boisterous character, prone to outbursts of passion regarding her father's lineage and other aspects surrounding her calling towards the hunt. She also is very vocal about her resentment towards the class of druids involved in the Cenarion Circle. However, her years spent in the wilderness not only dulled her connection to her people's culture, but rendered her ignorant of the Horde's presence in Kalimdor over the past decade and a half. In general, her communication with her Horde brethren is hindered by an uncertainty in both the Orcish and Taurahe languages, and as a result she is believed to be a typical "strong-but-silent" Tauren. For now she is slow to respond to her fellow Horde, picking her words carefully, but as she becomes fully immersed in her people's culture, the huntress is bound to open up.


Tuhka Thunderhorn was born to Kesek Thunderhorn and Maide Mistrunner, a rather tragic couple whose coupling had been the result of a very brief period of intense infatuation. Kesek belonged to a tribe of renowned hunters, veritable heroes in the war against the Centaur. Though rough around the edges, the Thunderhorn were lauded by the Tauren populace as great protectors of their collective goodwill. Maide descended from a long line of druids, whose docile nature and fixation upon nature made them prime diplomats with the Kaldorei druids. The tribe was somewhat divided, as a significant portion of them resided in north Kalimdor and were rather integrated into Night Elf culture and tradition. Shortly before she was to follow her mother up towards Moonglade, Maide had a chance encounter with Kesek after he had returned from a successful hunt. After straying away from his brothers, Kesek saw Maide across the bonfire. At first sight, he was struck with longing for this fair Tauren. She stared back, drunk with a lust for the celebrity of these Thunderhorn hunters. Immediately they began courting and, in spite of her parents' disapproval, the two were married.

Shortly after Tuhka was born, the fighting began. Maide's parents continued to harp on their disappointment of her rejection towards her druid calling, undermining her feelings for Kesek. His prolonged stays in the wilderness inspired much frustration in Maide and his occasional wounds would send her emotions reeling. After a few years of this, the tensions and minor quarreling erupted into a massive fight and Maide took the infant Tuhka, leaving Kesek behind for an indeterminate amount of time. After only a few days, Maide received word that a Centaur ambush had resulted in Kesek's death. After the burial rites, she reconciled with her parents and her obligation to the Cenarion Circle was renewed.

Tuhka spent her formative years in Nighthaven watching her mother rise in the ranks of the Circle. Despite her mother's urgings, Tuhka took no interest in the role of the druids. Through the thinly-veiled criticisms her aunts gave of her mother's past, Tuhka began to learn more and more about her father. Instead of seeing him as the caricature of recklessness that her relatives provided, she glorified the other half of her ancestry. She often wandered off into the wilder growths of Moonglade and sometimes would be gone for days, driving her mother into hysterics over her well-being. She eventually befriended a moth, which she dubbed Poli and began to take pleasure in watching the occasional Kaldorei hunter exhibiting his excellent marksmanship. After several years of her mother's pressure, Tuhka stormed out of her mother's domicile very much an adult Tauren and very much disowned.

As she traveled outwards from Moonglade, she sometimes took to learning from adventuring Kaldorei hunters about the finer points of her class. As she roamed northern forests, she became more skilled and eventually took to icy Winterspring to master her abilities. For a period of time, she abandoned the valley due to the insistence by a band of Kaldorei, warning of massive creatures called "demons" marching from the south. After her brief flight into the mountains, she returned to find the great tree that towered over the land missing. After that event, many of the Furbolg that she traded with became hostile and she retreated deeper into the wilderness. Living off the land she was cut off from most aspects of society and it wasn't until she was in the middle of her adulthood that she began to encounter her own kind in the frosty reaches of her hunting grounds. Adventuring Tauren, though not very common, would approach her and offer kind words. She was hesitant to respond, but after several encounters she began to tap into the free flow of information about the world she had been whisked away from. The events of the past decade had mostly shocked her, but the news of her kind conquering the Centaur and founding Thunderbluff filled her with glee.

Now into her prime, Tuhka longed to reconnect with her brethren and to bask in the glory of the Tauren resilience. She felt ashamed that she allowed herself to leave her father behind at a time when his cause, no the entire Tauren cause, needed unity and strength the most. Resolving to rejoin her heritage, Tuhka and her moth Poli began the long trek south towards her new homeland.


Though she has been inducted back into the Horde, Tuhka still feels an overwhelming sense of alienation in the face of the Horde masses. Unable to find a connection with any fellow soldier (just yet), she traverses the land mainly focusing on her various assignments and little else.

Edited by Tuhka
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