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Sound of Iron (Open RP)
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In one moment, the history of an entire planet had been altered. Garrosh had been brought back in time. There, he proved himself a hero, he saved his species. The Orcs of this timeline would not be swayed by Demons. Instead, they would reject the Legion's offering, using their strength to destroy the mighty Pit Lord who had tried to trick them. Draenor's path had been altered.
Unfortunately, the former warchief would soon set his sights on those who had defeated him in his madness. From his position as a hero, he would guide the Orcs to Azeroth, and lead them to war against the forces there.
Azeroth, however, held fast. And even pushed back through, into the Draenor of another time than their own. There, heroes of Horde and Alliance set their gaze of the leaders of the Iron Horde, breaking through the lines of the army stationed at the Dark Portal and managing to escape, making allies in the forms of those who still opposed the Iron Horde.
But, as the forces of Azeroth prepare for their campaign on this world from another time, a sound echoes across the land, approaching them.
The sound of iron.
So yeah. I did it. I made a Draenor RP.
A fairly standard Sandbox RP as it stands. Set in the altered Draenor, characters are free to be anything you wish, anwhere you with. Plots are only as limited as your imagination.
So, with that said, the only rules I can really think of are the standard ones.
1. Put some effort into your posts. Consider the perspective of others, and remember they want to have fun, just like you.
2. In a similar vein, no god-moding or meta-gaming. There's no reason to try to "win" an RP, and in doing so you just cause everyone to lose, and noone likes losing.
3. This rule in here to remind you that rule number four in the most important.
4. Have fun!
Silence was a rare luxury upon Draenor. The sounds of war were known to echo for miles, and haunt many in their sleep. Thus, it was not surprising when the woman took the moment to sit, relaxing in the silence of the night. Her skin was purple, her hair long and brown. On her right side, it was held back by a horn, keeping her eye free to gaze upwards. Her other eye was covered, the horn's mirror seemingly absent from the right side of her head and allowing the brown hair to cover its side of her face.
From her right ear, a large and elaborate earring hung, the shape of a crescent moon, dangling and bouncing upon her neck. Her clothes were loose, made of a thin, silk-like fabric. Her shirt was tight upon her shoulders and chest, leaving her stomach exposed. It was also cut low, but with a thin strip wrapped tight around her neck, connecting back into the main fabric at the shoulders and around the back, and leaving an upside-down triangle exposing her chest.
Her sleeves were separate from her shirt, loose and baggy, except for where they clung tight at their ends, covering a little past her elbows in either direction. A large cloth connected them, wrapping around her back, light and a somewhat transparent blue in color, contrasting the black fabric that made up most of her outfit.
Her pants were much the same, baggy and bulging, except where they tightened around her hips and just above her hooves.
The Draenei sat quietly, gazing skywards at the moon above Shadowmoon Valley, The Pale Lady. Sighing, she fell backwards, laying in the grass and closing her eyes.
'You. We? I?
I must mediate. I. Which one am I? This, this is
flesh. Not theirs. We- I. I have seen this place. I was born in this place. Which place? So many places. This world. Draenor.'
'It is not as good a home as Argus.'
'Hush. You disrupt her thoughts.'
'She is a vessel. All that matters is that we save our people.'
'She IS our people, and our place is not within her, not like this!'
'She chose that we be here. The responsibility lies upon her shoulders.'
'She had no choice! Her only other option would have damned us all!'
'It matters not. This is what is. We are as one, she is among our number even if she was never consigned to rest in the halls among us.'
'I. We? We cannot go back. We cannot change what we are. Together, we are Isvaelandrii. I am no more Kisaeva than you are Auturesh, Ilviaras, Durenai, Elegrenor, Hallin.'
'There are others. We are without number.'
'Don't be so poetic.'
That was Hallin and Elegrenor. The names swirled like mists, senseless in a sea of voices, thoughts, memories, lives, emotions, deaths. So many deaths. Isvaelandrii's head filled with so much weight, so much thought.
'You are distressing her.'
Ilviaras. Durenai. How could she manage learning so many of these names? She could hardly discern the difference between them all. There were so many hidden depths to a single life that one person could hardly know themselves. And there were so many individuals within her. Or was there only one?
'Focus. You will learn to sort yourself eventually, or we will all meet our end with you.'
Isvaelandri closed her eyes. The glow of the Pale Lady washed over her. Different thoughts washed among her, some thundering with anger, with hatred and fear, others whispering, encouraging, disrupting, cherishing.
She took a moment to remember what she looked like. What she thought she looked like. What she KNEW she looked like. Dark green hair spilled over her face, hiding her glowing silver eyes. Her horns curved upwards and back, stylized charms hanging from hoops in them. Her dark purple skin was covered in the ritualized dress of a soul binder, frayed from abuse and mayhem.
As time slid forward, the notion of quiet grew closer.
Beneath the sheets, the girl tossed and turned, legs kicking and arms flailing, causing the blanket to wad up into uselessness beside her. She suddenly stopped, bolting into a sitting position. She panted, long pink hair let down and falling over her shoulders.
Sasha sighed, realizing it was just a bad dream. Slowly, she glanced around her, shelves lining the small room, full of vials and flowers and other alchemy supplies. A single window illuminated the bedroom of the tiny shack, the moon outside glowing bright.
She slowly reached down, grabbing her blanket. She had intentionally set herself up outside of the nearby Garrison. She didn't want to align with the military, and more importantly wanted access to the various herbs and flowers of Draenor without big armored boots stomping all over them.
Slowly she laid back down, staring out the window. Several minutes inched by, the Chromatic sighing and throwing the blanket off her again. "Fine, so I won't sleep." She sighed.
Eranya Shiven, Alten
“Shoot it down! It must not reach the portal!”
“Where did it come from?”
“It’s too big.”
“What are they doing?”
“They’re…Light! He’s going to ram it! He’s going to ram it into the portal! Fire! Fire! Blast it to pieces!”
“We’ve got it! It’s going up!”
“What’s that? Look. In the flames. What is that? Light no! What is that!”
“It’s coming right at us! Stop it!”
“We’re reloading! Its armour is too thick! We can’t! It’s going through!”
“I’m going after it.”
“He can’t be allowed there! He can’t!”
Eranya woke with a start. He could still smell the gunpowder, smoke, and flames; could hear the clang of steel and roar of cannon, and the scream like a bird of prey as the vast metal container soared through the sky, cut of sharply as it passed through the gate. They faded quickly back to the ether of sleep, and she was left with the ringing of a bell and the shift of moving curtains. She groaned, her black hair highlighted with streaks of red sticking in all directions as she rose from the pillows and hurled the blanket from her. She threw her legs over the side of the bad and pressed her face into her hands.
“Wha’s going on?” she asked.
“It is time to seize the day,” said the silhouette before the window. Eranya squinted at the figure, and features gradually began to resolve themselves. He was a tall and robust man, his arms corded with muscle, highly visible for his blue robes were sleeveless. Yet the most arresting feature was that he had no eyebrows, or any hair for that matter. His face was smooth like polished glass, his eyes blue, striking and penetrating. He held no expression, aided by the lack of eyebrows, merely calm, and a pair of plain, domed pauldrons of some undecipherable material sat on his shoulders.
Eranya squinted at him. “Who…who’r you?”
“I am Altan. You are in the Shadowmoon Garrison, better known as Lunar Fall. The medical bay of the barracks, to be precise. How do you feel?”
Eranya groaned and returned to the darkness of her palms. “Like &*!@.”
“Better than when we found you,” he informed her steadily. “Though I would ask what you were doing out there. They had to drag you on board the ship during the escape. You should be dead.”
Eranya scowled, challenge rising in her knitting brows and curling lip. “You wanna know what happens to people who say that, ya weirdo?” she asked.
“No. But without your axe I imagine it would be difficult. It’s over there,” he added on seeing her alarm, nodding to the end of the bed where an immense double faced axe lay. Nearly the size of Altan’s forearm, the axe gleamed in the sunlight as if aflame. The two blades were rounded and hooked at the tips, the weapon looking oddly crude with its many notches and scratches, but unmistakeably deadly. “We assumed it was yours because we had to pry it from your hands. You were reluctant to come with us. Your clothes, what remained, are in the trunk, along with what we could find that might suit you.”
“Oh. Thanks.” She rose and went to the trunk. Opening it she began sorting through the clothes inside. Altan turned away as she began to dress. “So this is Draenor?” she asked, muffled by a coarse shirt.
“It is. Shadowmoon, as I said. You must have been among those who assaulted the portal. You were unconscious for some time.”
“How long’s some?”
Eranya grunted. She finished dressing, the somewhat sparse plait, leather and chainmail fitting her snugly. It was no uniform, for it itself wasn’t uniform. It was lopsided and looked almost awkward, put together in pieces much as that of a grunt’s armour from the Horde, though her equipment was unmistakeably of Alliance make. The steel was smooth though bearing only one shoulder pad and the chest piece fitted her like a bodice. Knee and elbow guards, heavy boots, with these pieces held together by leather where appropriate, though she still ended up showing more skin than perhaps deemed proper, consisted of the rest of her kit. Nevertheless, there was certain specificity in where it was lacking. A trimming of the unnecessary, never more, and she wore it well. She was muscled heavily, and the lifting of her axe, built for wielding with one or two hands, posed little difficulty. She rested the weapon over her shoulders and gripped it at either end. She spun her torso from side to side experimentally. Her back popped audibly.
“Hoo,” she breathed. “Great.”
“Good.” He stepped past several unoccupied cots towards the door.
“Hey! Where’r you going?”
“I have work to do.”
“Yeah?” Eranya sauntered after him. “Like what?”
He paused, hand upon the door. He glanced back. “There is always work to do in Draenor.” He then pushed his way outside and into the daylight.
The Draenei's eyes fluttered open, staring into the bright sky above.
She had fallen asleep.
Slowly, she picked herself up, leaning on her elbows and glancing around. "Well..." She observed. Carefully, the woman picked herself up, stretching. "Guess I should see where the day brings me." She stated, beginning to walk.
Sasha looked down into the cauldron, watching the bubbling concoction carefully. Slowly, she lowered the flower into the liquid, dropping it.
There was a sudden burst of smoke, covering her form and billowing into the air above. Slowly settling, Sasha stood up straight, nodding. "Okay, so that's not the best combination..."
Eranya Shiven, Alten
Alten stepped outside precisely. His back was straight as a rod and his arms folded behind his back, the picture of control. The main road of the garrison was already heavy with people. Champions, warriors, porters, and civilians chatted or went on with their business. The sun shone through the leaves of trees scattered about, and in the distance the roar of the sawmill and bang of the blacksmith resounded. Alten paused on the last step of the stoop and glanced at the ivory bricks of the town hall and walls. The bell rang once more.
"Hey! Wait up!" Eranya burst out of the door, nearly losing her feet as the head of her axe caught on the door. Alten looked back and waited for her to emerge more fully. "I said wait! What are you deaf?"
"Look. I was with someone when I came through the portal."
Alten cocked his head slightly. "...No one asked for you. Specifically, at least."
"Well...Look," she fumed. "Who are you supposed to be anyway? What if I want to leave?"
"I would say that is highly inadvisable." He started off again.
"Hey! I'm talking to you!"
"Then try to keep up."
"I will throw down!"
"The guards would not appreciate that," he answered calmly, noting as he did she was indeed following him.
Their gaze turned upwards at the spectacle. A brilliant flash of gold crested over the hill, followed by a flash of jade, then another of crimson, then finally a flash of Azure. Beasts like gems, wingless and magnificent swam through the air. The lead serpent twisted in the air, exposing it's belly to the moon for a moment, and in that moment a thunderous explosion rattled the peaceful glen. A flash of bright red spilled across a distant hilltop, and as she looked closer, they noted the flailing of orcs gone ablaze.
'Someone brings war to the Iron horde! Join them now!'
Auturesh thundered above all the other spirits, '
So many other voices chanted in unison,
'Vengeance! Vengeance! Vengeance!'
'There is something new. We must not leave without the knowledge of what,'
Which voice she heeded was not clear. Nonetheless, that which was once Kisaeva collected herself from off her hooves and moved towards the rise.
The azure serpent differed from its brethren. It glistened in the morning light not just with its scales, but the armor that lined its back glimmered. Dented and scratched along its length, the metal still shone bright, still taken care of well enough. Its saddle was simble, save a huge curving back positioned behind its rider.
The Human was an asymmetric suit of plate. His right shoulder and most of his chest was exposed, his arm only lightly armored, offering the grim almost perfect mobility. His left shoulder was covered in a large metal plate, protecting his shoulder, the side of his head, and a portion of his bicep. A handle jutted out from the front; the pad acting as a sheath to a short sword. The left arm was armored similar to his right, although its side of his torso was also armored lightly, opposed to not at all.
His legs were covered in thick layers of metal, only the joints showing vulnerability. Similarly, his face was hidden behind a full helm, the visor pulled down. Slits only offered glimpses of his blue eyes, bathes in shadow. They locked on the target, a massive cannon turning to target the quartet of riders. His right arm reached back, gripping a handle position on the back of his saddle, and revealing it to be a tower shield as he pulled it free from the position.
Rising, the warrior stood atop his Serpent for a moment, the flying beast breaking the formation and turning sharpy. Suddenly, he threw himself free, bringing the shield before him in mid-air. The large, curving metal concealed his body in its entirety, his muscles flexing just from moving it. The cannon spun to life, firing a flaming ball of metal through the air and impacting with the falling man.
All around him, the air flared to life with defensive wards upon the shield. The flames shot behind him in all directions, their red light shimmering off his armor before dying down. The shield slammed into the ground first; digging into the dirt and kicking up grass and other plant life. It was pulled free quickly enough, the Human moving forward. "Could we be any louder?" He shouted, quickly approaching the encampment.
The woman stopped, the entire ground seeming to shake beneath her face. Curiously, she looked around, a flash of light filling the horizon. "By the heavens." She gasped; moving quickly to see what had happened.
Eranya Shiven, Alten
"Look!" Eranya barked. "Just tell me how to get back to that jungle. I can take it from there."
"Tanaan?" Alten shook his head. "Sorry. No alliance patrols or forces are going in that direction any time soon. The area has yet to be explored again, as it serves as something of a fortress for every faction of the Iron Horde."
"Then what am I supposed to do! I have to get back there."
"Why?" He stopped and turned on his heel. Hands still clasped behind his back he gave her a steady look. "What is so important you need to return there?"
Eranya stopped and scowled. "Look. There's...something there I need to get back to, okay? Got a probelm with it?"
"No. But I'm afraid it's quite impossible."
"Bull$%^&!" Eranya snapped. She threw her arm out defiantly. "Fine. Don't come. I'll make my way on my own!"
"I see." Alten now found himself following the irate girl. "And how do expect to do so."
"Duh! There's a gate. Outside the gate is the world, and somewhere, is the jungle. Not hard, is it?"
Alten watched her march purposfully towards the looming gate. "...My," he murmured. Unexpectedly, he found their positions reversed, with him following her.
Another corkscrew from the gold came with another explosion as the cannon went off again. A roiling sheet of lightning coupled the explosion, landing square in the center of a moving squad of orcs that were charging the cobalt rider a moment before.
The jade serpent coiled in the air for a moment, dropping it's rider before breathing a cone of lightning onto the another moving squadron. He Draenie that descended made a gesture, quickly erecting a statue of mists and chi in the image of the serpent herself.
The red serpent slid low to the ground so it's rider could roll off. The black skinned orc laughed loudly, "We aren't loud enough yet!" In an arcing slash he leapt into the fray with a quickly drawn great axe.
All this Isvaelandrii watched in silence, her hooves carrying her forward as quickly as possible.
Eranya Shiven, Alten
Ernaya stopped at the first house. One, noticeably, billowing smoke out every orifice. The blakc and red head forced open the door. "Hey!" she shouted at a blackened figure before a cauldron. "How do I get to Tanaan Jungle?"
Sasha stared at the woman at her door, her hand reaching up to wipe soot from her face. "The jungle?" She blinked. "But... why?"
The Human looked over, stepping forward. "If you think so." He exclaimed, driving his shield forward into an Orc's face.
The Draenei stopped at the sight suddenly, watching the battle coming underway in shock, her hands moving to cover her mouth.
Eranya Shiven, Alten
"Why is everyone here so damn curious?" she demanded.
"You must excuse her," Alten said, filling the doorway behind the, in comparison, somewhat short woman. He tapped a finger to his temple meaningfully. "She hit her head."
Sasha crossed her arms. "I might have a way, if you need to get there. But I need to know why." She stated.
Eranya Shiven, Alten
"Wait, you do? For real? Well, come on. Tell me."
Alten arched a brow, but since he had no eyebrows to speak of, it would be more precise to say he twitched a muscle in his face.
"I can fly you there." Sasha said. "But I'm not risking my neck without a reason."
"We have no weapons!"
"Rip it from their hands!"
A clear voice rung above the others,
"We are not helpless. By my hand, we shall see this through."
Her hands moved with a certainty not her own, raw magic blistered in her hands for a moment before shining into pure arcane. It gathered into a sphere, then sailed overhead, striking down orcs as it rolled.
The monk with the greatsword laughed, dipping out of the way of an iron horde legionaire's maul. The infantryman roared with anger, "STAY STILL BLACKROCK! DIDN'T ANYONE TEACH YOU HOW TO FIGHT!" The greatsword cleft through the haft of the hammer suddenly, and his elbow came out, sailing into the Iron Horde's face. The monk grinned mockingly, "Nope!"
The draenie monk vaulted, flinging herself off the shoulders of a Iron Horde soldier to plant both of her hooves into a shaman's face. The bleeding hollow rolled back, completely blown off her feet. She hadn't come to a stop yet by the time the mistweaver was on another target, her staff sweeping the feet under a rifleman and battering him into submission.
The gold cloud serpent corkscrewed again, and the thundering explosion rocked the final Iron Horde cannon. With the last of the heavy weapons disable, the rider, a dwarf, dropped from her mount.
Eranya Shiven, Alten
“Oh c’mon,” Eranya cried “Are you serious?” She glared at the woman, and particularly her pink hair, but, yes, evidently she was quite serious. Eranya simmered for a moment. She sighed, finally, and wiped her hand across her face.
She tramped inside and directly at Sasha, as if to inform her inquisitor that it was she who was calling the shots. Her hobnailed boots stopped several feet from the sooty woman. Alten stayed in the doorway respectfully like an iron column cutting the light. Eranya looked into Sasha’s face, then away. “Look Here’s the thing. I was near the portal during the Iron Horde invasion. Little while before the Horde and Alliance managed to beat those brown bastards back through. I was hanging around with some SI7 people. So, anyway, while I was there, there was…” She pursed her lips, as if wondering how to say this. “…There was something. Something that went through from our side.” Now, she looked into Sasha’s eyes. “Something that shouldn’t have.”
He realized at once why Baltaroc had called him. He had not been present when it had come through the portal, but had heard much afterwards from those who had been. It had torn, screaming with fire and smoke right through the gate like an iron star loosed. Many thought it had been one, hurled back against them by the enemy. But they had been wrong. Once through it spread wings and soared, not up, but away, gliding on the arms of the wind far into the distance like an awkward bird, far away and out of sight. Scouts had been dispatched at once, but then the portal was destroyed, and more important matters had needed tending. After all, whatever it had been could not breach the great gates at the end of the jungle.
But something had changed.
His legs pumped like pistons and hurtled him across the jungle. His arms swayed in time, his whole body fluid in its workings, precise, like a well-oiled machine the goblins so loved. His brown chest, covered in dark, jagged tribal tattoos like blades of ink all across his form, heaved with the exertion. The orc huffed and puffed like a running boar. His mouth was slightly agape revealing the sharp ends of his tusks, his whole body sweating in the humid jungle air.
He came to a stop at the top of the hill and looked down on Tanaan jungle with one eye, for the other, the left, was only a crater in his skull. His prominent jaw slowly closed. He stared for some time at the great, black gash through the verdant green, like a shadow, or a scar upon the landscape. He was Bleeding Hollow, and believed strongly in omens. He practically threw himself down the mountain until it could no longer be seen.
He hit the ground with a grunt. He moved cautiously now. His tattoos and brown skin vanished among the shadow of the fronds and vines. He stalked warily forward, uncertain what lay ahead.
He smelled the smoke long before he found the fire. A lonely camp built in the middle of the jungle, little more than a fire crackling away and some upended logs for chairs. Three figures sat about it. Two were garbed in the heavy black steel of the Blackrock, the gaps in the armour glowing faintly with heat, as though the orcs within burned. The third was a female, Bleeding Hollow like him, dressed in the more conservative robes of a shaman of their people; a leather cape like a shawl trimmed with black fur was thrown over her shoulders. Fabric was pooled around her throat revealing short black hair decorated with several bone charms and many black and violet feathers. Her hands were clasped before her and head bowed. Her tattoos swirled along her bare arms and midriff like whirlpools in a brown ocean, before circling finally her naval. If one watched them too long, it almost looked like they were moving.
One of the Blackrock paced about the fire. His body language screamed nervousness. His helm had been abandoned revealing grey skin and burn marks all across his face, like someone had ground his head in still burning coals. A wide barrelled rifle, like a portable cannon, rested across his broad back.
Abruptly, the woman raised her head. She smiled, but almost sadly, and Sul had the strange impression it was her missing eye which looked through the jungle and found him.
“Come out, Sul. Our guests have been most impatient.”
“Krelya!” the Blackrock snapped. He stopped moving and watched as Sul exited the jungle. Krelya rose, as did the still helmeted orc. The four stood together around the fire quietly, as if they were feeling the air.
“You have found it?” Sul asked.
Krelya nodded. “We were waiting for you. You had best come see,” she said. She turned and moved into the jungle with the others following close. Shoving aside the last of the fronds, they stopped, and Sul saw what had come to their world.
It was not shaped like a bird. Rather, it looked like one of those bullets in the ammunition belt around the Blackrock’s waist. It had dug a long ditch in the jungle, crushing trees, tearing them from the very roots, before plowing into the earth, as if it were digging its own grave. It was huge, towering over them from where it had come to rest, almost as large as one of the Iron Horde’s juggernauts.
Ah, Sul thought. That’s what it reminded him of. A ship, but one made to cut through the air, rather than sea. He looked along its steel body. It did not survive the crash unscathed. Immense rips had been torn through the metal body during the crash. Sul looked down, and found his face reflected in a shard of glass, all that remained of the few windows. He approached and his gaze lingered on a marking, almost lost among the soot. He could see a symbol, what looked like two wrenches crossed inside a gear.
“Where the wings were,” the scarred orc said, gesturing at a large broken metal arm projecting from the side. “We assume. They must have broken off earlier.”
“It is impressive,” he said, gazing on the mass of steel and machinery. He glanced at the iron clad orc. “But this seems the business of the Blackrock. Why was I summoned?”
“The biggest cut is this way,” the Blackrock said. “We found some of the crew.”
Sul nodded. “Take me.”
The grey orc led the hunter about the machine. This last must have formed when they finally hit the ground for the last time. Beneath an awning, what appeared to be a loading ramp had been knocked free revealing the dark recesses within. Several bodies lay about. Some were human, goblin or even green skinned orc in strange, ad hoc equipment. But others were in uniforms. Garbed in red great coats trimmed with gold, they wore metal helmets that covered the neck and sides of the head, and masks with protruding, bulbous eyes and grilled mouths. The symbol from the vessel was stamped on their helmets. On their backs were slung long barrelled rifles. Nothing of their skin was visible. Sul squatted by the body and his eyes at once narrowed. They had only three fingers.
“Take off the mask.”
Sul glanced back to see Krelya watching him. He frowned and looked to it again. He reached forward. “Ancestors above!” He lurched to his feet and took a step back. He glanced to the shaman, who had closed her one good eye and, once more, clasped her hands before her as if seeking answers in prayer. Sul looked at her, then back at the man-no, creature disgorged from the vessel.
“What has come here?” Krelya breathed.
“There were footprints,” the Blackrock said. “More than a few.”
“They were burdened.” Krelya opened her eye and looked away. Sul followed her gaze. He had not noticed thanks to the bulk of the vessel, but there was a trail in the trees leading away. He frowned deeply. It looked as if the jungle had been…melted? “I do not know by what.”
Sul growled low. He stood before the gash in the jungle and reached back, drawing his axe with a blade of sharpened onyx embedded in a club.
“They must all die.”
Sasha nodded. "Well that's certainly ominous." She observed. "Let me clean up and we'll get some supplies together."
There was a sliding sound, the warrior pulling his sword free and cutting an Orc down with it. He planted his shield, several of the soldiers charging. They moved right past him, however, forcing him to spin in confusion.
He spotted the Draenei woman who had stumbled upon the battle, moving quickly to intercept the Orcs rushing. He blinked, watching as motions suddenly came to the woman.
The violet-skinned Draenei spun, lowering herself to the ground as he baggy clothes splayed out. She rose slowly, seeming to glow with power as she hummed. Halting, she opened her hands at the charge, a wall of light springing into existence before her, catching the Orcs suddenly.
The man stared, rushing forward and stabbing his sword into one of their backs. He was curious, but wasn't about to let that halt him.
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