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Delurk Bloodsnarl and the Breaking of Mists Act 2
Cheers rang through the Valley of Strength that night as the warriors returned home from battle. A massive feast, encored by a party, was prepared for the victors, and Delurk wouldn't miss a moment of it.
Clanking his mug with both Scargash and Bloodhilt, the three reckless orcs chugged grog. Delurk had removed his Kor'kron regalia for the occasion, and he wore only his titanium legplates. It'd be a shame to get grease on his gear!
''....And then the tauren said, 'That's not a shovel!' '' Delurk concluded to one of his bar jokes.
The warlord and commander hooted with laughter, slapping their knees and clapping each other on the back. Taking another ludicrous bite off a plainstrider leg and forcing it into his mouth, Delurk washed down the meat with more grog.
''How many gnomes does it take to paint a wall red?'' Bloodhilt inquired, nobly attempting to hold in his laughter.
''How many?'' Scargash grinned
''Why, it depends on how hard you throw them!'' Bloodhilt answered.
Scargash shot h
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Delurk Bloodsnarl and the Breaking of Mists Act 1
The days converted into months and the months into years since the time of Rika's death. Depression settled into Delurk's titanium-shrouded heart, worsening with each passing day. His quest for genocide against the Alliance was seemingly all but forgotten, as he spent his time gravitating from drinking his sorrows away in the Wyvern's Tail tavern, to making vain attempts in resurrecting his mate. Collaboration with the warlocks of the Cleft of Shadow proved futile, however, as their research was restricted by Garrosh Hellscream's anti-fel magic agenda. Nontheless, Delurk kept the ashes of his beloved closer to him than his own armor, finding them important in case they were required as a reagant in a ritual.
It was midday, and Delurk was in the tavern. By now, he had developed a strong liking to grog, and it seemed to be the only thing that took his mind off his worries.
However, he was approached as he drank.
A huge orc abruptly sat beside him, nearly shaking the table with his aggres
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Delurk Bloodsnarl: Origins - Finale
Delurk found the stench of Dustwallow a tad overwhelming. The journey through the marsh had been dreadful, including several loathe-worthy nuisances such as flies, crocolisks and less than friendly ogres.
Suspiciously, Delurk clenched the reins of Durek tightly as he plodded through the mud. There had been rumors of oozes that erupted from the ground and pulled the unfortunate soul who stepped on them into the ground, where they were never to be seen again.
''Human-folk tales, used to coerce children,'' Delurk scoffed to himself.
Alas, something in the marsh caught his eye.
Human footprints.
Zealously as a Scarlet Crusader, Delurk kicked Durek in the ribs, sending his wolf jolting forward. Durek glided across the trail of clues.
Hauntingly, Durek drew closer and closer to the footprints until alas, the tracks were an hour fresh. Delurk dismissed his mount, then flung himself behind a tree. He heard horses.
And smelled humans.
This was it. Rika was behind that tree, and Delu
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Delurk Bloodsnarl: Origins - Act 1
Delurk Bloodsnarl grew up in Alterac Valley, a chilly home, yet relatively comfortable. He and his brother, Unorak Bloodsnarl, squabbled frequently over the Stormpike invaders. Were they all diabolical looters? Could they be swayed away?
''Do you not see your disgustingly foolish antics?!'' Delurk would bellow at Unorak.
''Peace isn't foolish! It's common sense! Why, brother, must we shed unnecessary Frostwolf blood?''
''It's simple, ''Delurk grunted, ''We don't. The Stormpike must be handled brutally and decisively, not with compassion and affection. Such is madness.''
Scornfully, Unorak faced away from his bloodthirsty brother. While Delurk didn't hate the Alliance, he was staunchly proud of his people. This might be the death of him...
Weeks went by, then months. Unorak began to disappear at night. While he was a novice shaman and felt the elements were closest to him by night, Delurk sensed his Stormpike-sullying brethren was up to something else.
Anxiously, Delurk Bloodsnarl sat i
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Cheers rang through the Valley of Strength that night as the warriors returned home from battle. A massive feast, encored by a party, was prepared for the victors, and Delurk wouldn't miss a moment of it.

Clanking his mug with both Scargash and Bloodhilt, the three reckless orcs chugged grog. Delurk had removed his Kor'kron regalia for the occasion, and he wore only his titanium legplates. It'd be a shame to get grease on his gear!

''....And then the tauren said, 'That's not a shovel!' '' Delurk concluded to one of his bar jokes.

The warlord and commander hooted with laughter, slapping their knees and clapping each other on the back. Taking another ludicrous bite off a plainstrider leg and forcing it into his mouth, Delurk washed down the meat with more grog.

''How many gnomes does it take to paint a wall red?'' Bloodhilt inquired, nobly attempting to hold in his laughter.

''How many?'' Scargash grinned

''Why, it depends on how hard you throw them!'' Bloodhilt answered.

Scargash shot his Mulgore Firewater out of his nose, causing Delurk, who was now on the tipsier side, to reel back in sarcastic repulsion.

Wiping the remaining liquid off his face, Scargash caught a busty Blood Elf ordering something from the counter.

Foolishly, Scargash nudged Delurk. ''There's another battlefield to conquer,'' he said snidely, pointing toward the figure of his fancy. ''Why don't you ask her for her name?''

Snarling through his teeth, Delurk shoved Scargash. ''You motherless son of a centaur! Watch your wretched tongue!''

Caught unaware by the attack, Scargash stumbled back onto a table, flipping it over, and covering his face in food.

The larger orc wouldn't just stand there and take it, though. Bellowing fiercely, Scargash grabbed Delurk's waist and threw him against the tavern wall. Bloodhilt stepped fourth to intervene, but Scargash shoved him out of the way and onto the dinner of a group of tauren. They looked down upon their crushed feast furiously.

Bloodhilt's brow creased. ''You don't want to strike me, friend.''

The leader of the group, a jet black tauren, seized Bloodhilt by the neck. ''On the contrary.''

It wasn't long before the entire tavern was a mosh pit.


Eliyne Fallglade saddled her panther, prepared to depart into the night. The Sentinels had called her to action, and she had to heed the orders. While it was true that she now craved for Talion's embrace more than anything else Azeroth had to offer, she had a duty to the Sentinels, and it bound her both by her personal sense of honor and by the oath she swore to the Sisters. If she betrayed that oath, she'd be ostracized by Night Elven society, and she would endanger both herself and Talion.

She couldn't risk that.

She wanted to tell Talion that she was leaving, but she wasn't sure she could bear the weight of his sorrow on her mission. Perhaps it was better to tell him. Perhaps not.

Whatever the case, by the time she truly realized what she was doing, she was already half way to Ruth'eran Village. Passing through the glades, she admired Teldrassil's beauty a final time. The majestic trees, the untouched, tranquil waters...

Night Elves appeared from the treetops to examine the young woman as she disappeared into the portal.

''All aboard for Stormwind!'' a distant voice called.

As she crossed the harbor onto the boat, she pondered the terrifying moment she first recieved the summons. Shandris Feathermoon had went to Theramore to assist in the war against the marauding Horde...

...And Theramore was obliverated in an arcane calamity.

Miraculously, Shandris managed to survive somehow. Doubtlessly, she avoided the explosion altogether, because anything unlucky enough to be caught in it was arcane residue by this point.

Her resourcefulness and tenacity were all the more reason to revere her.

She proceeded into her assigned cabin and dumped all the cargo her panther had held into the room. The mounts would take a different boat.

''Just another loved one I must cast away for the whim of war.'' she sighed.

''Another?'' called a voice from the shadows.

Startled, she jumped to her feet.

Talion's familiar, waving white hair soothed her spirit. He chuckled as he took her by the hands.

''Come, now. It's not THAT easy to abandon me!''

He smiled, bringing Eliyne's soul both calmness and guilt.

Eliyne opened her mouth to object, but knew that the intent of the statement was a mere joke. Unfortunately, she knew he was right. She DID leave him out of her own weakness.

''I'm coming with you,'' Talion stated boldly. ''You may have a duty to do the sentinels, but my duty is to you.''

She couldn't help but to throw her hands around his neck and hold him tightly. Talion laughed softly.

''I never want to leave your side again."" Eliyne said, her embrace still strong around him.

''Hmmm...'' Talion pondered thoughfully. ''Come.''

Eliyne sat beside her lover on the bedside as he withdrew a razor sharp knife from his belt. He began to carve something in his hand, grunting through the pain as he went.

''What are you doing?'' Eliyne gasped with alarm, yet somehow managing to keep a soft tone.

He finished carving, then looked up at her. He showed her his blood soaked hand, which bore six letters on it: Eliyne.

''This way, I'll be reminded of this moment with you even if we're ever separated,'' he said gently.

She held out her hand breathlessly, her motive transparent. Talion opened his mouth to object, but decided it was best not to. He began to carve his name into her palm as tears ran down her marked cheeks. Whether they were tears of pain or tears of joy, he did not know.


It had been over a year since Unorak was first banished from Frostwolf Village by Delurk's spiteful hand. While it pained him greatly, he didn't pursue vengeance against his brother, or even hold a grudge against him. Instead of seeing the casting out as the end, he saw it as a new beginning.

A beginning of a life with the elements.

His eyes sealed shut, Unorak sat on the mountainside of the Hinterlands, his only companion a basic campfire. The darkness of night only served to enhance the fire's beauty, but despite all its majesty, Unorak preferred to keep his eyes shut. He was content to listen to the low crackling of the fire as it generously provided him warmth against the chilling winds of Azeroth.

Unfortunately, he wasn't yet a master shaman. It is said that true mastery of the elements is declared once the shaman has successfully transformed into an elemental ascendant and back again. There was a long life of learning ahead of him, and he anticipated the road ahead with patience, yet eagerness to learn about the secrets of the world.

Suddenly, the fire took shape and the winds fell silent. Unorak's eyes darted open to listen.

The matronly silhouette of Mother Yazgra Bloodsnarl stood before him. While she wasn't a shaman herself, there was undeniably another shaman in the village who was able to convince the elements to send him this message from her.

''My son... my wise and humble son...'' she began. ''Since the day Delurk saved the Village and banished you from it, the Stormpike have doubled their efforts. The monster of a dwarf Vannader Stormpike began to push down the valley a second time, and Drek'thar was forced to send what little champions the Frostwolves had left to combat them. Your father, Mergosh Bloodsnarl, was among the enlisted.''

Unorak closed his eyes painfully, unready as to where this conversation might lead.

''Your father was last seen fending off the pouring invaders to his dying breath, never allowing the enemy an inch.'' she smiled, attempting to choke back a tear. ''Maybe that's where Delurk got his spirit from.''

Her fiery visage blew in the wind as she continued.

''Son, I beseech you to discover the fate of your father. Drek'thar no longer senses his presence in the Valley. There might have been a time in his more youthful day that he could detect Mergosh anywhere in the world, but that time has passed.''

Chewing his beard, Unorak nodded silently, even though he knew his mother couldn't see his response.

''You must delve deeper into your shamanistic practices to find Mergosh. After you have mastered the five elements, they will reveal him to you.''

''Five?'' Unorak thought.

''I pray to the ancestors you are successful, and always remember... your mother loves you, Unorak.''

Smiling, her image was extinguished in the wind. Slowly, Unorak picked up his staff and gazed toward the sky.

''It appears my spiritual journey has just begun.'' he thought. ''Elements aid me.''

Clutching his head, Delurk stumbled to his feet outside a wrecked Wyvern's Tail tavern. His memory still foggy, he dumped his head into a nearby lake to refresh himself.

''Thrall's balls...'' he muttered under his breath, shaking his doused head dry.

A shrill voice cackled from nearby shadows.

''Hello, orc.'' it called.

Suspiciously, Delurk readily donned his titanium helmet and pursued the voice. Alas, he was able to identify it.

''Rotzinger,'' he growled.

''Indeed,'' he stated. ''I am not here to brawl with you orc. I have information you might find.... useful. It regards your dead wife, Rika.''

Delurk's hands plunged into the shadows and yanked Conclavis out of them by his chalk white robe. ''Orcs have mates, not wives, bonesack. Now tell me what you know.''

''Unhand me, you oaf!'' Conclavis scowled.

Unfortunately, Delurk knew that he'd have to be very mindful of his behavior with this priest if he was to discover whatever mystery of revival the undead had to share. He complied.

''Well then,'' Conclavis began, dusting himself off. ''I've accumulated research that has led me to believe that the titan artifacts contained somewhere within Northrend's snowy peaks may have the ability to create life from stone.''

''I want Rika back, not a statue of her,'' Delurk grunted.

''Ah, yes. Well, no doubt that we might be able to tamper with it to recreate flesh. All you'd need is something from the deceased to bring him or her back to life.''

Delurk glanced at his bag. The ashes...

And what do you want from me?'' he questioned, his suspicions still high.

''Why, I want you to protect me during my research! Certainly a big dumb orc like you would be able to keep me safe?''

Roaring, Delurk leaned in so close to Conclavis's face that the priest was forced to back away.

''You're lucky I care about Rika more than I do about grinding your bony little head into the dirt.'' he spat

''Yes, well, you do. So are you coming or n--''

Conclavis was silenced by the heralding of a deafening trumpet heralding the Horde call to arms across Orgrimmar.

Instantly, it seemed the entire city ran from their homes to hear the news. Shopkeepers closed shop for an hour to hear the announcement. Blacksmiths stopped the crafting of their happens mid-hammer swing. Even the matron of the orphanage came to see the commotion.

Doomfang phased in from the other plane and bowed his head, ready to ferry his titanium master. Delurk looked down at Conclavis.

''We will finish this later, priest.''

With that, Doomfang took to the skies.


A huge crowd of all Horde races gathered outside Grommash Hold, eager to hear the reason for the occasion. Across the courtyard, Delurk noticed Commander Scargash, covered in bruises. Warlord Bloodhilt caught Delurk's stare from across the field and shook his head.

''Whatever happened earlier was probably something worth remembering,'' he thought.

''People of Orgrimmar!'' shouted an orc in orange with sideburns running down either cheek. ''The Horde has discovered a massive, uncharted landmass south of here! The human prince Anduin has taken shelter there with his men, thinking he can hide from us and steal the land's precious resources for the Alliance.'' he tossed his gleaming red war axe in front of the crowd. ''We must not let this come to pass.''

Malkorok abruptly stepped in front of him. ''In Hellscream's name, all able-bodied citizens of Orgrimmar must report to the barracks at once!''

The audience gasped.

''Those who are unable to fight will provide services for the warriors. Those caught chaefing their duties will be drawn and quartered,'' he grinned, unearthing the orange-clad orc's axe and handing it back to him. ''Now get moving!''

Since Doomfang was superlative in speed, Delurk had the honor of being one of the first to recieve his orders. He was to build a coastal stronghold on the first plot of land he struck, then construct a signal fire by hacking down, piling, and burning any surrounding trees. Bearing the respectable rank of Legionnaire, he was honored with a warship and a raiding party of three trolls, two tauren, and five orcs. (himself included). The Legionnaire was confident he could make this party of ten as lethal as an army of 1,000.

As he began to saddle Durek with supplies he'd need for the trip, Conclavis's creaking voice pierced the air with a taxing question.

''I see you have chosen the Horde over Rika.''

''I have a duty to fulfill to my people.'' the orc gruffly stated. ''You can handle yourself while gather information.''

''Ah, but the process with be greatly inhibited. And if I die? What then?'' Conclavis smirked.

''Rika would want me to do this!'' Delurk's stentorian voice boomed.

''Are you sure?'' Conclavis replied, his tone innocent but his intention more wicked than Sargeras himself.

He turned around to face the sack of bones before saddling up and riding out.


Courageously, he marched out of the city with his war party. As he approached Bladefist Bay, he saw the familiar face of Warlord Bloodhilt, his glistening golden armor radiating in the crimson sunset. Scargash was near him, but Delurk couldn't quite make out what the two orcs were discussing.

''Delurk is a loyal warrior and a brutally effecient fighter,'' Bloodhilt said to his larger friend. ''But if you insult his dead mate or even try discussing her with him, he'll turn on you like a hungry wolf.''

''Grrggh...'' Scargash muttered, still sore from the wholloping Delurk gave him at the tavern a few nights past.

Bloodhilt laughed. ''Surely spilling some filthy Alliance blood will lift your spirits. Sail well, Commander.''

Scargash nodded at Bloodhilt. ''Blood and thunder, Warlord.'' He embarked onto his warship.

Just as the large orc had climbed aboard his ship, Delurk and his crew finally managed to make it over to Bloodhilt.

''I must stay back in Orgrimmar to prepare with the main fleet.'' he said, placing a hand on Delurk's spiked shoulderplate. ''Scargash's warband will accompany yours closely. Be patient with him, Legionnaire. Like you, he is brash, but useful.''

Delurk nodded. ''I will try.''

''Make the Horde proud. Bring honor to your people, and remember the most valuable lesson I have taught you.''

''Cunning,'' they mutually chanted.

''Lok'tar ogar, Bloodhilt.'' Delurk said, saluting as his warship set sail for the south.

Bloodhilt returned the gesture, outwardly silent and expressionless, but inwardly swelling with pride at the orc he had raised from the pits of despair to the reverence of his people.


((Play… while reading))

Eliyne and Talion disembarked their transportation ship and arrived in Stormwind. Thankfully, it'd seemed the military crowd had gathered at the docks, so there was no need for any unnecessary travel. A human female stood above an assortment of boxes, her short, cropped black hair nearly fully concealed by her admiral's hat. A hungry look lit her eyes as she publicly addressed the masses.

''Citizens of the Alliance, it warms my heart to see you gathered here this evening! The Horde has committed their last henious crime against us! Unspeakable crimes! They have taken Southshore, Andorhal, and now,Theramore! But I say they have taken too much!'' a lock of the admiral's mangy hair dropped down, revealing her passionate, yer frightfully horrendous appearance.

She rapidly gestured the audience to crowd around her. ''Come to me, so that I may chart out the path each of you must take to secure a prosperous and peaceful new generation for your children!''

Eliyne and Talion cautiously approached the restless, overly eccentric admiral with prudent forethought.

After she was finished delegating instructions to the majority the massive mob, she caught sight of the violet couple.

''You two,'' she said, pointing a finger at them. ''Will escort Captain Randal Murphy south and establish a beachhead on the land you find there. You can find him in the second to last boat at the end of the harbor.'' she paused before finishing. ''Oh, and a word of advice. He's a loose cannon, so mind your surroundings under his eye.''

''Knows how to navigate a ship, though,'' she muttered under her breath in admiration.

''What do you mean, 'a loose cannon'?'' Eliyne asked out of curiosity.

''You'll see.'' the Admiral responded, chuckling disarmingly.

''HEAVE!'' roared the Legionnaire on his warship, his voice thundering across the ocean.

The unforgiving ocean fought against the boat as is it was hewn to and fro. Rain poured down from the skies as Delurk oversaw the rowing operations.

There were eight oars total, so one member was allowed into the cabin at a time while the others worked. The tauren and troll crew members noticed how they seldom recieved their break from the watery struggle. The titanium captain almost always selected other orcs to break instead.

''Ey, mon. Wen you gonna give one of us a break?'' complained a troll in shamanistic garb.

Delurk whizzed around to face the troll. ''When I feel you need one, troll.'' he growled. ''If you have enough energy to complain to me, then you definitely have enough energy to last another hour.'' he stood imposingly over the blue-skinned sailor. ''NOW KEEP ROWING!''

''No, mon. Dis not be right.'' the darkspear threw down his oar, rallying the other two trolls to do the same. Resolved not to be lost to the ocean, the tauren and on-duty orcs kept rowing diligently.

Furiously, Delurk unslung his axe from his back. ''That wasn't an option, whelp.''

The troll stared at Delurk unflinchingly. Growling, Delurk knew that he needed to make an example of him.

''So be it.''

Flashing his axe through the air, Delurk brought his blade down on the troll in a diagonal cleave. The Darkspear managed to anticipate the strike and attempted to block the weapon with one of his axes, however, his hatchet was no match for Delurk's atrocious strength.

The one handed axe knocked out his hand due to the impact and hewn into the sea, the troll had one weapon remaining. Processing the events before him quickly, he wrapped his skinny fingers around his remaining weapon and enchanted it with blazing fire.

''Hah! As if that will stop me.'' Delurk chortled.

Smirking, the troll clutched his weapon tightly. ''It just might, mon.''

At that moment, he chucked the weapon at Delurk's titanium faceplate.

Delurk caught the weapon before it could strike home and squeezed it, ignoring the scorching pain it dealt to his titanium hand. Staring with a locked, scowling expression into the belligerent troll's eyes, he tossed the second weapon into the sea, stepped on the handle of the oar, and forced it up, then shoved it into the troll's chest.

''If I didn't need hands to row this warship, I'd gut your worthless hide right now.'' he spat. He faced the entire crew. '' NOW GET BACK TO WORK!''


Randal Murphy extended his eyeglass out into the mysterious ocean, his musket resting comfortably by his stead.

''Storm's comin','' he said to himself. ''I should probably tell the crew.''

As a cabin boy rang the bell, summoning all hands to the deck, a strapping, muscular human stood at the top of the boat, his hands focused on steering the boat. An eyepatch covered his face, and gray stubble riddled his chin.

''I'm Randal Murphy, folks. You can call me Patches. Guess why?'' he guffawed aloud, aware none of the crew was laughing with him.

''Oh, never mind.'' he grumbled. Tough crowd.

''We should be seein' land a few days from now. From what I've been noticin,' though, there's a storm coming. Best get tuckered on into your cabin's because it's gonna be a rough one.'' he scanned the audience for timidness as he spoke, and he found it in the eyes of many of the crew. He frowned, sighing.

''Anyway, if y'all have any questions, just ask. I'll ring the bell again if we have some trouble. On that note, try to enjoy yourselves.''

He turned his eye back to the horizon.


As the night set over the sea, the journey became increasing rough. Waves slammed themselves against the boat, rocking it to its foundation. Eliyne and Talion cuddled by a candle for warmth as Captain Patches's inane shouting could be heard from the top of the deck. Times like these tested their love, but it seemed that their destiny together would be to survive this turbulent trek across the ocean.

''No matter what happens, Eliyne..'' Talion whispered, extending out his carved palm.

Eliyne took it with hers, and their lips communicating the message their words couldn't. Unarguably,, it'd be a long night.

But they'd weather the storm.


His eyes hungering for any sight of land, Delurk stared over an ocean more tranquil than he'd experienced the night before. Needlessly to say, there was a storm on two fronts the previous evening.

A majority of the crew was fast asleep by now, as the additional manpower needed to propel the boat forward was no longer necessary. However, the troll who defied him was granted no pause to his labors as punishment for his behavior.

Dark, gloomy circles overshadowed the troll's eyes. He was able to last this long to begin with due to his shamanistic prowess in restoration, but his mana ran low, and his breath was heavy. He would expire at any moment.


Finally, the troll fell unconscious.

Disgusted with the weakness of the troll, Delurk drew his axe and approached his unconscious body. He began to shake him rapidly.

''You will keep rowing or go overboard!'' Delurk roared at the unconscious shaman.

Mortified at his treatment of their brother, the other two Darkspear stepped forward. ''Stop, mon! Please!'' they cried.

Delurk reared his head to face the duo of trolls, paused, then put his axe down.

''Very well. You both shall take his place.''

A startled tauren cry could be heard in the distance. ''Look, friends! Land!''

''Garrosh's shoulders!'' Delurk exclaimed, charging up the ship to take a better look. ''You're right!''


Delurk raised his hands triumphantly, and the orcs and tauren cheered in approval. Their first victory of many.


Heavy boots and hooves thudded against new soil. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Delurk exhaled fresh oxygen. While it was a necessicary part of war, sometimes sailing could nauseate an orc. He flashed open his blood red eyes a second time to examine his surroundings.

He cleared his lungs before speaking. ''You two tauren.'' he said, ''Will scavenge the land for iron deposits to build our fortresses with. The trolls will chop down all worthy lumber in the nearby area. The orcs..'' he chewed his beard before giving his edict. ''....Will follow me to assess our surroundings. Scargash's troops will be here by nightfall, and I'll be damned if we don't have any resources to show them by the time they get here. Press forward, brothers and sisters of the Horde, and remember, Hellscream's eyes are always upon you!''

Wolfish snarls chorused the air as Durek led the pack in patrolling the land.

''I doan like him, Koah.'' said one Darkspear to the troll who had defied Delurk earlier.

''Me netha, mon.'' Koah responded. ''But in dis new land, we don't got any options. At least not yet.'' he turned to face the ocean, then held out his hands to it. The tides boomed in acknowledgement of Koah's request, and they handed him back the weapons their titanium overlord had callously thrown away earlier.



''LAND HO!'' called Randal Murphy, enthusiastically spinning the boat's wheel.

Eliyne and Talion raced out of their cabin to look upon the new land. It emulated with beauty, the thin mists parting in the sky, the birds, elegant as they were swift. Eliyne placed her purple head on Talion's black leather vest.

''Get your things, folks! We're a-headin' ashore!'' enthusically called the Captain.


Every wolf in the orcish riding pack panted profusely as they trudged along the sand, save Delurk's fatigue immune phatom beast. A cove awaited them only slightly north of their location, but as the warband began to enter the mouth of the cove, Delurk held up a fist, signalling them to stop. Taking a whiff of air, he dropped three fingers from his fist, so that two remained. The signal to draw their weapons..

The clicks of loaded muskets and drawn weapons filled the air.

''AMBUSH!'' the Legionnaire bellowed.

The wolves whizzed around to face their advesaries. The Warband whooped with laughter as their wolves plunged into battle, lacerating Alliance hearts from their bodies.

As archers opened fire on the party, Delurk clutched a grenade from his belt. He tossed it at the middle of the firing party, and bloodied limbs splashed everywhere.

Dwarven marines managed to slay the majority of the wolves, and the bruised orcs were forced to the ground. Countless bodies laid squarely at the party's feet, and not a single orc died that battle.

Or so it seemed.

Members of all Alliance races took the places of their fallen comrades. A platoon of fresh human marksmen, five draenei shaman, and a pair of Night Elves replaced the foes they had just felled. Of the Elven duo, tne female sentinel had luxorious purple hair with decorated marks running from her eyes to her lips, while the male sported black leather, gleaming twin swords as pointed as a dragon's tooth, and thin, white hair. They stood near what appeared to be the leader of the enemy war party, a grizzled, middle aged man whose mannerisms hinted slight insanity.

He scowled, gripping the hilt of his greataxe. He refused to be beaten by the Alliance, or much worse, surrender to them.

Bullets reflected off Delurk's indestructible titanium armor as he rushed forward. The marksmen slowly began to back away as their iron adversary closed in with his unpleasant entourage, undeterred by their gunfire. First blood was drawn as Delurk's blade bit deep into the neck of a female marksman. The scatteredbrained shaman attempted to fend off the light-armored riders with the wrath of earth and waves. One unfortunate orc was hoisted into the air by a watery bubble, then impaled upon a cavern stalagmite.

''HURGH!'' a second orc was gutted by the male Night Elf's blades.

Their backs faced toward each other, the three remaining orcs slashed without regret or hesitation. Draenei and human corpses alike toppled to the floor, yet ultimately the small scouting party couldn't stand against the fully prepared Captain's overwhelming numbers.

Two earsplitting gunshots could be heard, and Delurk soon realized he was alone. His party had been defeated in an ambush, only hours after landing ashore Pandaria.

Delurk clutched his greataxe, backing up slowly while Randal lit a cigar as he approached the cornered orc. Only the pair of elves as well as a quartet of marksmen remained of his forces, but he seemed to take inappropriate pride in his shallow victory.

The white haired Night Elf knocked him over the back of the head with the hilt of his blade, and the Legionnaire hit the floor with a dull thud.

''Score one for Captain Patches.'' the gray haired lunatic grinned. ''Talion, Eliyne, do me a solid and take this sorry lad away.''
The days converted into months and the months into years since the time of Rika's death. Depression settled into Delurk's titanium-shrouded heart, worsening with each passing day. His quest for genocide against the Alliance was seemingly all but forgotten, as he spent his time gravitating from drinking his sorrows away in the Wyvern's Tail tavern, to making vain attempts in resurrecting his mate. Collaboration with the warlocks of the Cleft of Shadow proved futile, however, as their research was restricted by Garrosh Hellscream's anti-fel magic agenda. Nontheless, Delurk kept the ashes of his beloved closer to him than his own armor, finding them important in case they were required as a reagant in a ritual.

It was midday, and Delurk was in the tavern. By now, he had developed a strong liking to grog, and it seemed to be the only thing that took his mind off his worries.

However, he was approached as he drank.

A huge orc abruptly sat beside him, nearly shaking the table with his aggresive seating. He was covered from toe to neck in sturdy armor the titanium warrior wasn't familiar with, but it donned the Horde tabard. The sizable orc titled his bald head at Delurk and pondered him for a minute before speaking.

''Is THIS what Legionnare Delurk Bloodsnarl has been reduced to?''

Delurk placed his grog down onto the table and met eyes with the agitator. ''Leave me to my shame.'' was all he mumbled.

The other orc grunted. ''Have you no Fury, orc of the Barrens?''

Clasping his head with both muscular hands, Delurk plopped his head onto the bar table. ''There is nothing left for me on Azeroth. I will grow old here with my grog and my sorrows, for there is nothing left to fight for. Not even myself.''

The large orc stood up, offering his hand to Delurk.

''Come, there's something I want to show you.''


Two Night Elves sat together in an open glave, one male and one female. Purple leaves gently fell from the sky like tears from heaven.

Eliyne Fallglade looked searchingly into the pure, angellic-white eyes of her partner, Talion Nightbreaker.

''I wish we could share this moment forever,'' she whispered gently in his ear.

He stroked Eliyne's silk thin hair. The feeling of his lover's beautiful purple locks in his palms made him wish she was right. Unfortunately, they both knew what they mutually desired was impossible.

''Garrosh Hellscream grows even more reckless with every passing day, my Eliyne. You have sworn an oath to Shandris Feathermoon proclaiming your loyalty to the Sentinels. Perhaps, once we have won this terrible war...'' Talion's voice drifted.

''There's a chance we may not win!'' Eliyne said, her eyes flickering with uncertainty. ''I'd never see you again...''

Talion chuckled. ''All the more of a reason to fight harder.''

Eliyne's mind was soothed by her lover's reassuring words, and she temporarily cast aside the burdenous worries of war.

They embraced each other once again, and shared a passionate moment under Teldrassil's sheltering, majestic trees.

Two monsterous wolves trailled down the path from Orgrimmar to Razor Hill. The orc, who revealed his name as Commander Scargash to Delurk, was leading the party of two. They eventually reached Razor Hill, and heads turned as Delurk rode in on his remorseless ghast-wolf, Durek. What he experienced next was nothing short of a miracle.

It seemed that every orc in the village knew him. Even the starving, homeless, straggly orcs hollered in approval as he reached the town square.

The Commander took a long, dramatic wiff of air. ''Do you hear that, Legionnare? That's the sound of a hero.''

The two were abruptly cut off by a small orc boy who was racing toward the two. He was riddled with fleas, and his poor frame hinted malnutrition. The small boy's mouth was agape with astonishment at the sight of the two renowned orcs atop their wolves. He was too startled to speak.

His parents, equally as frail as their son, began to step foward to collect the boy, but Scargash waved a metal-plated hand.

He faced Delurk. ''The Alliance has refused trade with us. Denied our people the resources and land that rightfully belongs to the Horde! They invaded our lands!''

He leaned in close to Delurk. ''They are responsible for the death of Rika. But will you let it stand? Will you allow the Alliance to take everything from your people? Or will you dominate them and their people? Will you stand up for the starving citizens of the Horde? Will you become a legend to be sung for ages to come?!

Delurk looked at Scargash, then back to the child and his family. He unslung his axe, and pointed it toward the sky.


Commander Scargash couldn't help but to crack a huge, wolfish smile. He tossed a pouch full of gold the boy's way, and then tugged on his wolf's reins to turn him around.

''Good. Let's get back to Orgrimmar. Ready your axe, Legionnare. War is on the horizon.''


The pair of wolves proceeded back to Orgrimmar, where they waited patiently for Garrosh's edict to be pronounced. All great leaders of the Horde had gathered, and the Warchief was positing his plans. Finally, the leaders trickled out of Grommash Hold.

''I'll contact you tomorrow with the Warchief's orders.'' Commander Scargash said to the titanium warrior. ''Rest in the Valley of Strength's Inn for tonight.'' He placed several gold on Delurk's palm and sent him off.

''He's a fine warrior,'' Scargash mused to himself. ''Bloodhilt has taught him well.''

That night, Delurk contemplated Scargash's words as he dined. He spoke truth, but Delurk's heart extended toward Rika further than it did the people of the Horde. Or even the Horde itself.

Nontheless, deep within Delurk's heart, he knew he was doing all he could to make Rika whole again, and she would've wanted him to bring glory to the Horde. He couldn't spend the rest of his life mourning her.

Delurk finished his haunch of meat and proceeded up the stairs to bed. Still, the thoughts kept their tyrannical reign over his mind.

What if he ultimately had to choose between the Horde and Rika? What if Rika didn't WANT to be resurrected, and she was loathing every second he tried to bring her back? What if he DID resurrect her, but she was nothing more than a shadow of her former self, or even worse, a hostile monster?

In an attempt to banish these thoughts from his mind, Delurk gazed into the fire of a nearby candle. Finally, his eyes fell, and he was asleep.

Part 2

Commander Scargash watched the sun rising over Orgrimmar, signaling the dawn of a new day. For him, however, this carried symbolic weight. This day would be the dawn of the new Horde. The greatest Horde.

Hellscream's Horde.

10,000 marching feet sang of oncoming war as Scargash noticed them from atop the gate. Without hesitating, he rushed from the fortification to the Valley of Strength. It was time to move.

The commander ran into the tavern and awoke the still-slumbering titanium orc. Unlike others, despite having little rest, Delurk could explode into action from the moment he first woke to the second he drifts back to sleep.

''Commander!'' the Legionnare exclaimed. ''There is Alliance blood to spill?''

''Yes.'' the Commander replied. ''Fly to Ratchet. The head of operations will await you there.''

Delurk nodded, saluted his comrade and commander, and took off.

After the battle against Blackhorn some years ago, Delurk found it necessicary to reanimate his wyvern, Doomfang, into an undead creation similar to what had been done to his wolf, Durek. After all, spectral beasts carried several advantages over regular ones. Firstly, they could become corporal or incorporal at will, making them prime canditates for charging into a wall of pikes. However, when they become incorporal, Delurk would fall through his beast. Henceforth, the special ability must be crucially timed to be effective in combat.

Secondly, they were invulnerable to pain and wouldn't submit until their second death. This natural traite created an unspoken bond between rider and mount, making them twice as efficient on the battlefield.

Thirdly, their spectral forms would never tire, their endurance a perfect match for their perserverance.

And their fourth traite that makes them better than all the rest....

Their ability to strike fear into the hearts of men.

Doomfang whizzled through the sky as both thoughts and transparent Barrens wind brushed against the Legionnare's bald forehead.

Sorrow swept over Delurk as glanced down at the familiar and unrivaled beauty of his land. It reminded him of the ineffably magical moments he had shared with his mate. Without her, they felt more barren than the most scorching corner of Azeroth.

He clenched Doomfang's reins as he descended. It had been too long since the last time he had felt the warm gushing of Alliance blood splash against his face.

Finally, his wyvern's feet touched ground, and he disembarked. The wyvern faded away into the spirit realm, never to be too far from his master, should he need him.

''Legionnare Delurk Bloodsnarl!'' bellowed a familiar voice.


The two orcs clasped each other in a manly embrace, patting each other on the back several times before withdrawing to an upright position.

''I knew you'd join us on this campaign! Hellscream's drums of war have thundered, summoning ALL loyal citizens of the Horde to take up arms! We will throw these vermin back into the sea they emerged from!'' Bloodhilt said, searching Delurk's eyes for emotion.

He found nothing but seething, passionate hatred for the enemy. A weapon more dangerous than the sharpest of blades and the most potent of poisons.

This was good.

He beckoned toDelurk. ''Come, the Warchief has a gift he wants me to deliver you.''

Unsure of what the Warchief possibly offer, but refusing to deny an order given by the Warchief, Delurk pursued Bloodhilt up Ratchet's road cobblestone road.

They came upon a forge, which appeared to make a convenient double as a house. Bloodhilt motioned Delurk to follow him inside.

As he entered, he was astounded to discover a glistening set of Kor'kron armor which seemed to be calling for an owner. Two huge obsidian blades accomponied the suit.

''Your service has been noted, and your sense of duty to your people is admired, Delurk Bloodsnarl. The almighty eyes of Hellscream have noticed this, and they like what they see. By order of Warchief Garrosh Hellscream....''

He saluted Delurk.

''Welcome to the Kor'kron.''

'''As you demonstrate your worth to the Warchief, he will reward you with even greater spoils. Power! Soldiers! Even fortresses. Remain loyal, and they will all be yours. You will wear your Kor'kron regalia at ALL TIMES while representing Hellscream, including and beyond the battle to come.'' He turned around to leave, but paused with one foot out the door.

''Oh, and keep the forge. I'll see you on the warfront.''

Al Walter paced the walls of Northwatch Hold, his fel robes collecting dust as he traced the ramparts. The post had been warned of Horde activity increasing dramatically in the Barrens, and he had learned through an Eye of Kil'rogg that the Foward Command had fallen completely, swept away by the tide of tauren and troll alike.

''They aren't warlike creatures,'' Walter mused as he stroked his small goatee. ''Hell, you could murder a tauren's who family right under his nose and he'd forgive you in a day.''

Caught unaware in his silent humor, a hazy spirit sprang from his chest. Sternly Al cited an incantation to control the monster.

''No, Zin'oxx. You'll have all the souls your dark heart hungers for soon enough.''

The demon swooshed behind the warlock, whispering in his ear. ''Come, Walter. It's unwise for you to fight a war on two fronts. Allow me passage from your mortal shell so that I may summon greater creatures to withstand a potentional invasion. A little boost of numbers couldn't do you wrong, now could it?''

Walter scowled. ''I've spent too long a time in the Mage District to be taken as a fool,''

''Suit yourself,'' the demon responded. ''It'd be a shame for you to be the cause of so many deaths.''

Al peered from over the castle's steep walls to see the men scurrying about like ants, unsure what the future held for them.

''Bah. They're not my concern.'' he waved his hand dismissively as he faced away from his comrades.

With that, Al arrogantly cracked open a book, determined to ignore both the demon and the needs of his colleagues.


A whole day had passed before the armies were finally all gathered and ready to move. His eyes narrow and his expression locked in a snarl, Delurk made his way up the hillside with the Horde armies. Northwatch was in sight.

The Horde assembled, by boat or by foot. Creatures of all sorts stood ready, their hides warm in the blazing Barrens sun. Turbulent drums of war began beating rapidly as the orcs marched in formation closer and closer to their prize. The swarming numbers of orcs raced down the hillside, but as Delurk was charging, he noticed that the shaman among his ranks stayed behind.

''Hmmph. Those timid whelps would do well in the Frostwolf ranks.'' he cursed under his breath.

Suddenly, a gust of wind blew over the archers atop the fortress, knocking them from their points of strategic advantage.

Delurk growled, his statement clearly nullfied, but pressed on nontheless. The barbaric Legionnare was closer to the front of the charging line, and he bellowed intimdatingly as the Horde ran into the Hold.

He was met by two human men and a worgen. Without hesitation, he unslung his blades just in time to parry two slashes. His arm, which was temporarily exhausted from the timely block, caused the worgen to seize the opportunity by rushing foward..

A cleated foot surged foward to meet the savage mutt, however, and he was hewn into the other two humans. His blood fury now in full swing, Delurk capitalized on their vulnerable state by charging foward and bringing his swords down on the two humans pinned under the worgen. One fortunate human managed to evade the obsidian blade by swinging to the left, however his companion wasn't as lucky.

Blood spurted from the mutilated human onto Delurk's face as he was split in two. Delurk couldn't help but to feel slightly satisfied by the first blood he drew.

His satisfaction vanished when his skull was met by an uppercut. The worgen hopped onto its hind legs ready for a second go at Delurk's head, and the human slowly crawled to his feet.

Furiously, Delurk made two horizontal slashes with his blade. Both blades knicked the worgen's arm, and he reeled with pain. The second human came forth with a standard longsword and shield, but Delurk snatched his sword hand and broke its bones with his plated grip. He sliced off the human's shield hand with his left sword, then brought his left sword back up, beheading the remaining human.

Blood from the open neckhole of his deceased comrade soaked the worgen, who was still mending his wounds from the arm injury. Dropping one sword, Delurk picked up the worgen with abominable strength and lifted his obsidian blade to deal the deathblow.

Fire engulfed Delurk, however, and the sudden piercing pain forced him to drop his victim.

''Walter!'' the worgen gasped, surprised.

''And here Zin'oxx accuses me of not caring...'' Al muttered.

Spontaneously, several Kor'kron warriors burst from the fray, keeping a close vindication of those they were guarding. The shamans that had previously stayed behind.

A massive inferno erupted in the center of the battlefield, and molten aberrations appeared from the wreckage.

Al's jaw dropped at the sight. Taking advantedge of the stunning moment, Delurk hoisted his blade off the ground and rushed for the sorcerer's head.

''You'll be staying right where you are, greenskin!'' Al scowled.

Malevolent shadowflame ate at Delurk's armored flesh and banished the breath from his body. The, inflamed, irate, and until recently seemingly indestructible orc took a knee.

The molten giants wouldn't wait for him to recover. Large chunks of Northwatch Hold were hewn in all directions by the catacylsmic rampage, and if Delurk stayed where he was, he'd be finished.

Suddenly, Walter's head was split in two by an axe from behind. Managing to get a glimpse of his savior, Delurk looked up to see the warlock crumple to the ground. An elderly orc stood above the mangled corpse. An orc he knew.

Vrang Wildgore.

Just before they could exchange each other a salute, Al Walter's corpse began to shake violently. An earsplitting roar pierced the wind, and the broken body arose once more.

The skull-splitted warlock tore open two nefarious portals from out of the nether.

''Behold, mortal vermin! It is I, Zin'oxx of the Legion! For too long, the shackles of a meddling man has kept me in check! But no more! Your streams will run dry with famine, and your children shall be infested with pestillence, for I bring nothing bu---''

A stray chunk of Northwatch Hold struck home on Walter's demon-possessed remains, crushing his host's body instantly.

''Hmmph,'' Delurk, examining the decimated remains ''Demons.''

He spat on what was left of the sorcerer and then proceeded onward. The Alliance fled like sheep in the face of wolves! A bulky Blackrock orc led the offense in slay the retreaters. Grinding his teeth, Delurk summoned his wolf and mounted him. There was killing to do.

Fearfully, a gnome was heading for a cliff, ready to plunge into the sea. Delurk narrowed his eyes, muttering two words.

''No mercy.''

Just as the gnome was about to make the leap to safety, Durek caught the gnome between his two depraved fangs and chucked him against a pile of rubble. Delurk hopped off as Durek pursued the gnome, literally pulling him apart with his jaws while the tiny man.struggled fruitlessly to free himself from the ruins. The gnome's cries became desperate pleas for mercy, his pleas became bloodcurling shrieks, and finally, his shrieks became...


intentionally stepping on deceased Alliance soldiers as he walked across the battlefield, the victorious titanium orc observed as the Dark Shaman struggled tremendously to place their molten giants in submission. The elements churned with unruly anger and shook the earth in defiance, but ultimately, the deed was successful.

Vrang Wildgore pushed his way through rubble and Horde alike to find Delurk.

''Delurk!'' he exclaimed.

''Vrang Wildgore,'' Delurk said, simeltaneously grinning and wiping bloodstains from his armor. ''The Great Warchief is even wiser than many percieve him to be for recruiting you to the battlfield.''

Shaking his head, Vrang looked at him with dismay. ''Delurk.... I didn't choose to serve our tyrant of a Warchief willingly.''

In a zealous frenzy, Delurk grabbed Vrang by his shoulder and pulled him behind a chunk of rubble. ''You will watch what you say about the Warchief. Your sharp tongue puts you in danger not only with the Kor'kron.... but with me.''

Vrang brushed off Delurk's hands, insulted. ''You would threaten an old friend for a new allegiance? I don't think you realize what Hellscream will do to the Horde.''

Mockingly, Delurk threw back his head in laughter. ''You mean, beside bring glory and domination for the orcs and genocide and subjugation for the Alliance? What beside that could the warchief bring, old friend?''

Biting his lip, Vrang's wisdom held him back from verbally abusing his longtime friend and clansman. ''This battle was not one by orcs, Delurk. It was won by the Horde. Look around you.''

He led Delurk to the ruins of Northwatch where the Horde already began to set up camp. The stench of decaying corpses gave an overpowering auroma to the air, and they both knew it wasn't the forsaken alone.

A Blood Elf man stood kneeling over a woman who Delurk assumed was his bride, her skull clearly damaged to the point of either a coma or death. A single tauren scream pierced the air as Delurk noticed spotted him in the distance, He was just in time to see a furry arm plod to the floor, amputated from its body. A troll was rummaging through the rubble in a mad attempt to find his Darkspear brothers.

Vrang's gray head veered back at Delurk. ''The Horde itself isn't the only thing that has been scarred today.'' he jerked a finger toward the distance, and Delurk noticed a massive, black crater in the distance. ''The Barrens herself is a victim of this calamity.''

''Hnnnnng...'' Delurk gritted his teeth at the old orc, shealthing his swords in the event that he lost his temper and wanted to punch him. ''But look at what has been accomplished! The Alliance has been pushed out, and soon we will completely banish them from Kalimdor, then Azeroth! Surely a small stain in the earth is a worthy price to pay!''

''The orcs cannot conquer Azeroth alone, Delurk. Garrosh is on the verge of severing age-old bonds! What if the rest of the Horde forsakes us, and we must face the various races of the Alliance by ourselves? What if Garrosh needs more pieces of the Barrens to go about his conquest? What's it worth, Legionnare? Twenty more yards of the Barrens? A mile more? THE ENTIRE BARRENS ITSELF?'' Vrang chastised. The next six words he said would be the most dangerous of them all.

''What would Rika think of this?''

''I have had enough of your defiance to the Warchief, and I'll be dead before I sit here and watch you sully the name of my mate!'' Delurk shoved Wildgore to the ground and stormed off into the decently sized crowd that had assembled to listen to them bicker.

In that moment, Vrang's old heart felt a father's pain for the young orc. It seemed that the only way for Delurk to recognize his mistake of loyalty was for him to suffer for it.

Agiatated, Delurk stormed off into a newly Alliance-cleansed Dustwallow Marsh.The forest of damp trees grew thicker as he trekked.

''Vrang may be a friend, but I will be Dead before I see him sully the name of the Warchief!'' he shouted to the wind, slamming his fist against a tree. instantaneously; half of the tree's branches fell off, and the tree itself bent.

''Hmmph,'' muttered the orc, eyeing upward. He sat under the clobbered tree to contemplate his thoughts.

''Perhaps he is right.'' Delurk fancied the thought. He considered it again. ''No, our warchief is great and wise! He will force Azeroth to her knees and make her our servant, The other races of the Horde will help us, whether they want to or not! We are above them!''

He groaned at this mentally taxing decision, but eventually drew himself to a conclusion. Standing up from the curved tree, he recited three words. ''Honor through loyalty.'' Attemping to relax, he returned back to the camp.

A Blackrock orc snaked out from behind a nearby tree. ''I will not have doubt amongst the ranks of my Kor'kron!'' he thought to himself. ''Garrosh will be interested in hearing what I have heard.''


Dismally, the armies of the Horde waited for what seemed like ages as Garrosh remained in his tent with his Kor'kron. Whether it be a positive or negative twist of fortune, Delurk had been summoned to defend the warchief, should he need it, among an entourage of yellow-and-black plated bodyguards. The Blackrock orc Delurk had seem from the battlefield, who introduced himself under the name of Malkorok, was closest to the warchief, as well as the staunch head of the Kor'kron.

Despite the fact that the Kor'kron were astonishingly well fed and entertained in the tent, Delurk couldn't help but feel uneasy. He had every right to, because every so often Malkorok would occasionally throw him a glance through slanted eyes.

Delurk dismissed the suspicion. The Kor'kron leader had every right to be cautious of a new recruit, even if he was a Legionnare. He'd have to prove his loyalty through the rage of battle to gain respect with his superior.

He was just fine with that.

Grog filled in for Delurk's thirst for Alliance blood during the time they remained there, and grog was enough to keep him satisfied. Enough to withstrain him from seeing the rising discontent within the ranks as the days passed. Enough to ignore Vrang Wildgore's melancholy gazes from across the camp into the tent.

Finally, action.

Alas, the familiar sound of wheels grinded against the Dustwallow road as the Horde pressed south. A small regiment of the Horde had been dispatched to raze Fort Triumph, an activity Delurk would've been overjoyed to parttake in. His task, however, would be whatever the great Warchief or a commanding officer gave him.

Only a handful of unprepared patrol squadrons and a few watch towers seperated the unstoppable Red juggernaught from its final prize: Theramore.

The two armies split off along the trail, one, Garrosh's army, would march through Brackenwall to resupply and gain reinforcements, while the other, Malkorok's army, (which Delurk was in), would move along the road toward the east.

The two armies would meet at Theramore and crush the city in a brutal, two pronged attack. ''A brilliant strategy,'' Delurk noted.

As traveled nearer and nearer to Theramore, Delurk closed his eyes, silently hoping that the merchants, women, and children hadn't fled yet. They were the spine of the Alliance, and if he shattered it, they'd be paralyzed. Of course, only a disappointing amount of them were probably there to begin with, but every Alliance body dead helped the Horde cause.

''Our approach has doubtless been heralded'' Malkorok said. ''I will send some runners ahead and we will proceed with-''

Suddenly, unkempt, ferocious beasts leapt from the hills and ambushed the party! Allies dropped dead left and right as Delurk flung his blades from behind his back, ready to fight.

''Ambush! Attack!'' Malkorok screamed.

A brawny bear propeled itself toward Delurk and knocked him to the ground with its unstoppable force. The beast's drool dripped onto Delurk's shoulder as it tried to bash Delurk's face in. Unwiling to be beaten, especially by what seemed to be an Alliance druid, Delurk snatched the bear's encroaching claws and clenched them with his fists. They were grinded like dust under a boot.

The druid withdrew with pain, instinctively reverting to his humanoid form. Pushing the advantage, Delurk grabbed the male Night Elf druid's shoulder and plunged his obsidian blade into the purpleskin's stomach. Blood oozed from the gaping stomach wound like ale from a popped beer keg.

Finally, he shoved the druid into the dirt and removed the blade from his stomach. Unfortunately, many good orcs already died thusfar, and the battle wasn't over yet. He overheard Malkorok bellow vigorously over locked blades with a Night Elf female, who appeared to be a warrior.

Unflinchingly, Delurk put a foot foward to assist his Blackrock commander in dispatching the wretched woman, but another druid, this time assuming the form of a cat, inhibited the assistance.

Furious at the distraction, Delurk brought his right obsidian blade down on the cougar. Adeptly, the cat struck the orc's wrist, causing him to drop the blade before the blow fell.

The cougar seemed to take a sense of sadistic amusement to the warrior's injury, fueling Delurk's rage. Swiftly, the cat darted back and fourth, repeatedly dodging Delurk's left handed strikes. After managing to land a fatal strike on Delurk's knee, the druid went in for the kill.

Struggling ineffably to stand, Delurk decided it was better to remain on a controlled knee. Savagely, the cat took off, running into the distance. Still growling and huffing profusely, Delurk began to take a knee.

His life would've been taken at the moment if he didn't catch the cat coming back in a mad, rabid dash.

Cunningly, Delurk resumed his position on a knee, and just as the druid was about to pounce, he thrust his left sword in a horizonal direction, splitting the mangy beast up the middle. Two halves of a dead druid crumbled to the floor.

The attackers had lost, however there was little time for rest and recuperation. Screams rang in the distant battle in Theramore.

To add to their troubles, cannons sang a song of death and gunpowder from atop the towers of Theramore.

Malkorok called for a retreat. ''Those who are clever at stalking and murder - go now. We will draw their fire. Creep up on those Alliance worms who hide safely behind their technology, and put a knife in their ribs. Then take the equipment and turn it on Theramore itself!''

Delurk joined in the rally of cheers that erupted from Malkorok's flawless plan.

''FOR THE HORDE!'' Malkorok pridefully proclaimed above the applause.

Ironically, despite the rousing plan orchastrated by Malkorok, the attack failed. A dragon had put out the flames and threatened to trap Garrosh's army within its walls, along with destroying the rogue siege piloted by the clever Horde rogues.

Bickering was heard in the camp that night. Delurk stood solemnly near Malkorok and Garrosh as they bouted with a tauren. But not any tauren. The High Chieftain, Baine Bloodhoof.

The tauren shoved a bloodied cloth into Garrosh's face, which was aptly the blood of a dead, young brave under Baine's protection. Garrosh swatted the cloth out from Baine's hand, and growled, while Malkorok stepped fourth to the shove the tauren back. Seizing Baine's wrists, the Blackrock orc began to squeeze them with intensifying force.

''Let him go, Malkorok.'' the Warchief called out.

Delurk grunted at the Warchief's apparent weak decision, but wisely remained silent.

Garrosh looked at Baine, then began to break into a laugh. It was a slow, deep rumble of mirth, building into a loud guffaw that seemed to echo across the water. ''You stupid beast,'' Garrosh regarded him, still busting a gut. ''The moment of our victory has finally come!''

Vol'jin began to interject. ''We just lost! Not only lost, but it was a disastah!''

''Disaster,'' Garrosh repeated, contemplating the statemen. ''No, I do not think so. You were all so very angry with me for waiting. You had secret meetings, you had complained to me again and again, and again. You did not trust my wisdom. My plans. And now, can you tell me what my decison to wait has bought us?''

''Defeat?'' grunted a nearby tauren.

Garrosh guffawed a second time before quickly recovering himself. ''Behold what happens to those who dare stand against the will of the Warchief of the Horde!''

A modestly close zeppelin covered ahead, bearing the Focusing Iris as cargo. Delurk marveled at the ship's luggage, not because he knew what the Iris was, but because even a warrior unfamiliar to magic sensed the potent destruction it was soon to unleash.

The zeppelin hovered nearer and neareer to the dreaded city of Proudmoore, until finally...

The mystical relic was unleashed, its full, unsullied wrath brought down upon the Alliance stronghold in a blaze of righteous, arcane justice.


Tearing everything unlucky enough to be near it into a painful oblivion, the mana bomb seemed to warp the whole of Theramore. A blinding, purple flash illuminated the sky, before alas, only a glowing crater remained.

''Victory!'' Garrosh's brutal, thunderous voice resonated across the continent.

''Yes it is, my Warchief,'' Delurk said, bursting with pride, unable to conceal his delight that the human kingdom was completely annihilated. ''And I will follow you to many more, until I draw my dying breath.''
Delurk Bloodsnarl and the Breaking of Mists Act 1
First part of Delurk Bloodsnarl's adventures in MOP! There will be two large stories for his total adventures in Pandaria, with the first delving into his service as a Kor'kron, while the second focuses on the the consequences of his - and Garrosh's - decisions.
Delurk Bloodsnarl
Sketch that a stranger from the forums gave me some time ago for my first OC. I think her name was Doodlegnome, but I could have the wrong name. Regardless, its had a lot of mileage!
Delurk found the stench of Dustwallow a tad overwhelming. The journey through the marsh had been dreadful, including several loathe-worthy nuisances such as flies, crocolisks and less than friendly ogres.

Suspiciously, Delurk clenched the reins of Durek tightly as he plodded through the mud. There had been rumors of oozes that erupted from the ground and pulled the unfortunate soul who stepped on them into the ground, where they were never to be seen again.

''Human-folk tales, used to coerce children,'' Delurk scoffed to himself.

Alas, something in the marsh caught his eye.


Human footprints.

Zealously as a Scarlet Crusader, Delurk kicked Durek in the ribs, sending his wolf jolting forward. Durek glided across the trail of clues.

Hauntingly, Durek drew closer and closer to the footprints until alas, the tracks were an hour fresh. Delurk dismissed his mount, then flung himself behind a tree. He heard horses.

And smelled humans.

This was it. Rika was behind that tree, and Delurk was going to take back his mate. He grinned at all the human blood that would be shed in vengeance for this atrocity.

He'd slay their entire race.

But first...

His massive, bare-skinned bulk blowing against the wind, Delurk charged forth into the human encampment. To both his amusement and horror...

The humans were all dead. Every last one.

The supplies had been pillaged, and Rika had been...

Where was she? Who did this?

Delurk roared to the forest, shaking the trees. But there was SOMEONE who knew the answer. And he intended to contact him.

Melancholy of his unsuccessful objective, Delurk rode back to Orgrimmar. To his surprise, the citizens were staring at him, smiling at him, some even cheering!

A familiar voice rang across the Valley of Strength.


Delurk grinned between his tusks. ''It is good to see you, Bloodhilt.''

''As it is you, friend. In slaying Hawthorne, you have both brought glory to Orgrimmar, safety to the Barrens, honor to yourself, and vengeance for what has been stolen from you. As Warlord of Desolation Hold, I pronounce you Legionnare of the Horde!''

Delurk eyed Bloodhilt. ''My vengeance is not complete yet, warlord. I cannot join your ranks until every last human soul has been wrung from their body.''

Bloodhilt boomed a bloodcurlling laugh. ''And that is exactly what we will be doing, friend! Come, I will show you that serving Hellscream has its perks.''

Bloodhilt escorted Delurk to the Hall of Legends. ''You will wear THIS into battle!''

Greatly boastful of his gift, Bloodhilt tore off the blanket to reveal a bolsterous titanium set of armor. Spikes emitted from all sides, even the helmet. This suit was nearly unbreakable.

''Your offer is generous,'' Delurk began, ''And I will accept it. Once I've found out what has become of my mate.''

Bloodhilt ran his huge, green hand through his greasy black hair. ''Do you know someone who could direct you to her?''

''I do.'' Delurk nodded, ''But I'll need a mage.''

Mere moments went by before a thin, female orc mage was escorted into the room.

''Mage,'' Delurk faced the fresh-looking young woman.

''What do you need?'' she inquired?

Delurk narrowed his eyes.

''Take me to Frostwolf Village.''

Part 6

A blazing fire burned in Frostwolf Village. Elders were gathered, Unorak standing by Drek'thar's side. The Stormpike had begun gathering their armies, amassing them to pillage the valley of its resources.

Abruptly, an immaculate portal blinded the masses. Delurk stepped through.

Curiously, the entire crowd turned to him. They didn't identify him through his titanium gear.

He tossed his helmet into the snow, and let everyone gaze upon him, his head now completely bald from strife and toil.

The audience as a whole gasped, startled by the re-appearance of their banished kin.

Unorak got up to speak. ''Brother, the Stormpi-''

''The Stormpike are encroaching, aren't they?'' Delurk growled. ''I have spent many years away, Frostwolves, and in that time, I have grown to understand what the Alliance is.'' Delurk brushed close enough to Unorak that he could smell his breath. ''The enemy. They will always be the enemy, no matter what third party comes for us, no matter WHO tells us different.''

Unorak scrunched his nose at how Delurk referred to the Frostwolves.

Delurk boomed to the crowd ''The banishment was until the Frostwolves requested me back.''

Delurk scanned the audience, silently thanking the ancestors for his timely arrival.

''If you do not need my blade, I will leave from the portal I have returned. Should you choose that, your Clan is doomed.''

Unorak kneeled down, drawing his hand in the snow. He needed guidance from the elements.

He saw the fate of Frostwolf Village, should Delurk leave. Huts burning. Dwarves toasting to an ill-won victory. Drek'thar's crumpled body lying peacefully in the main Fortress.

And then he saw the fate of Frostwolf Village should Delurk stay. A messy victory and a bloody victory, but a victory nonetheless. He saw Delurk challenging him to a second Mak'gora. Would he spare Unorak if he won, as Unorak had spared him? Not even the elements knew.

Nontheless, it was clear what he had to do.

''You may fight.'' was all he could utter.

This meant Delurk was now a Frostwolf once more.

Capable of challenging Unorak to a second Mak'gora. But that would be a risk he'd have to take.

The days passed by as Vannader's army marched south. Delurk brandished his axe, remaining in his tent most of the time. Yet he had not forgotten why he was here. His father, like his brother, was also an expert shaman.

And he intended to capitalize on this.

One night, as Mergosh and Delurk were sitting alone in his tent, Delurk explained his plight and requested revelation.

''I will give you the knowledge you seek, son,'' Mergosh began. ''If you give me security in that you won't challenge Unorak to Mak'gora once this is over.''

''Do not bargain with me.'' Delurk's fiery stare impaled Mergosh. ''You will tell me what I need to know, or I will leave now.''

''My son! We need Unorak to fend off future Stormpike invasi--''

''DO NOT BARGAIN WITH ME!'' Delurk roared over the basic campfire. He searched his father's eyes for a challenge, but found only pity and sadness.

''You may regret your decision, my son.'' Mergosh warned.

No sooner did he say that, Mergosh clenched Delurk's shoulder and implored the Elements for answers.

And Delurk saw everything.

The Taujaro abductors were taking the dirt road to Theramore, keeping Rika gagged and beaten on the way. In the cloak of night, an astonishing sight was beheld. A rogue group of looters had stabbed the others and robbed the carts of their riches. Soon, they shed their Alliance disguises. Soon, Delurk would recognize who Rika's current abductors were. Rika was no longer prisoner of the Alliance...

She was now prisoner of the Twilight's Hammer.

Part 7

The Stormpike didn't tarry in the assault of Frostwolf fortifications. Captain Galvager and Delurk crouched behind one of a fortress's massive walls, along with an elf.

Their breath was heavy.

Their hands were sweaty.

And their hearts....

Their hearts beat like a kodo's hooves against the dirt.

Instantly, a platoon of Stormpike came bursting through the door. The first attacker, a Night Elf, launched a menacing sideways slash at Delurk's broad chest. Energy pumping through his veins, Bloodsnarl ducked the attack and put his hands on the elf's thighs. He propelled himself forward and impaled the purpleskin onto the wall.

Thundering roars could be heard in the background as Galvager and the Elf fended off the bottlenecked invaders. The Stormpike numbers slowly began to dwindle, and eventually the siege relented. ''Galvager may have been old, and he may have been Frostwolf, but he was no weakling,'' Delurk mused.

''As for the elf, she was just fortunate to have orcs at her side.'' Delurk mentally grinned to himself. ''A weak race.''

His thoughts were abruptly silenced by an odor gravitating toward his nose. Smoke.

''Tower Point is under attack!'' a distant Frostwolf yelped.

Delurk rushed outside, his armor still splattered with blood. Promptly, his Spectral Wolf, Durek, took form. Delurk spurred the beast forward with a forceful kick. Thick paws treaded rapidly across the snow. Flashing his head upward, Delurk caught a glimpse of motion on the top of the tower. He bolted off his mount and dared his way up the stairs.

Warily, Delurk pressed his ear to the wall before spinning around. He heard... sniffing.

Delurk twirled over only to stare directly upward.

He was met by a titanic, black worgen, fangs decorating its blood.

''THRALL'S BALLS!'' he gasped.

Its claws extended for the kill, the beast scooped Delurk up with one hand. Startled, Delurk dropped his axe. Furiously, the beast bashed him against the tower. In the jagged movement, Delurk noticed the explosives set directly behind the worgen. If they went off, the tower would blow.

His head pounding, his mind raced for answers. He couldn't outstrengthen this creature. He had to use...


Delurk's hand snaked toward his belt, and he trigged his Nitro Boosts. Flailing wildly, he pressed both feet against the worgen's chest, sending it crash out of the tower.

Delurk turned his attention toward the bomb. He'd seen this type of thing so many years ago. Eyes slit, his fingers lurched to tear out the blue wire.

''Mannoroth's teeth! It was supposed to be the red wire!'' Delurk jolted his hand back. His head too bruised from the pounding to think, he placed both hands on the explosives and tossed them out of the tower.

Luckily for him, the explosives detonated in the snow, making him a damned fine blockade. By the time the Stormpike Offensive would be able to brush through the thick element, the Frostwolves would be ready for retribution.

The hours drew late as Delurk dragged himself back to the village.

''Join us, son!'' Mergosh gestured Delurk over to sit. ''A great feast has been prepared to celebrate our victory!''

''I am not here for your feast.'' Delurk roared, tossing an ugly eye at the food, ''I am here so that the heathen who claims my blood to pay for what he has done.''

Without warning, Delurk flashed a titanium fist at Unorak's shamanistic garb and scooped him up. ''WE FIGHT NOW!''

The scenery was not like it had been so many months ago. There was no temporary ceasefire between the Stormpike and the Frostwolves this time. Nor were there avid cheers. All that was heard was the dialogue being shot between Delurk and Unorak.

''You don't look at an untrained pup today, brother, but a warrior of Hellscream!'' Delurk boasted. ''When I am finished with you, there won't even be enough for the sparrows.''

''I have not been idle in my time either, brother'' Unorak responded, ignoring Delurk's claim of no ancestory. ''I have been granted visions of this moment by the elements, and they have properly prepared me.''

Unorak plopped two totems in front of him, and two large elementals tore out of their planes soon after. Fire and earth.

''Hmmph,'' Delurk growled.

Fury lighting his way, Delurk attempted to bury his fist into the earth elemental. The rocks would not be so easily assaulted, however, and they shifted backward. The fire elemental struck from behind, burning Delurk's armor into his skin.

Delurk roared in pain and twirled around to face the elemental. Drunk with rage, Delurk stuck his axe into the dirt and plunged his hands into the fire elemental.

Sparks licked at Delurk's face as his found the elemental's fiery core. An intimidating shout was bellowed as the titanium gauntlet emerged from the creature, and it returned to the elemental plane.

The earthern elemental returned, its unbridled brawn hellbent on serving Unorak. Delurk maneuvered away from the creature's overhead smash by darting backwards. While the summoned spirit was still caught off-guard from the momentum, Delurk, who was still holding the first elemental's fiery core, chucked the volatile crystal at the second elemental. It violently exploded.

Alas, Delurk turned to face Unorak, the summoner. Unorak hadn't been able to assist his elementals in the battle, for they had been blocking his way. But now...

Unorak's axes flared with zeal as he extended a blazing weapon forward in a downward slash at Delurk's face. Delurk caught the hand, and bent it. He leaned over to Unorak, so close that the shaman could practically smell the seething hatred on his breath.

''Your elements have softened you,'' the warrior grinned.

Delurk reclined his titanium fist and brought it against Unorak's face for an audible crack. The shaman spirled backward in pain.

Not let him recover, Delurk pulled his axe from the ground and chucked it Unorak's feet, forcing him to jump. As the shaman landed, Delurk met him with a whirling second fist to his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. The fight was finished.

Delurk dramatically picked the axe from the ground and raised it high over his head. Unorak closed his eyes.

''Soon, I will be with the ancestors.'' he silently mumbled.

All Unorak heard was a ''thump.'' Delurk had dropped his axe.

''I will not kill you, ''brother.'' I will force you to live in shame of what you did, as I had lived in shame on my journey to Orgrimmar. You will suffer a fate worse than death - dishonor.''

Mergosh attempted to interject. ''Delurk, when those Stormpike get fre--''

''This whelp should've thought about that before challenging me!'' Delurk roared, turning his back on his saddened father and toward the exit of the Valley.

Without looking back, Delurk stated that this would likely be the last time that either of the Bloodsnarl brothers would return.

He didn't know if he was right or not.

All he knew was that he was going to find Rika in the Bastion of Twilight, if he had to kill every last cultist to get to her.

And he would do this as he had always done things.


Part 8

Sweat trickled down Delurk's face as his wyvern clawed its way up to the entrance of the Twilight Bastion. The journey from Alterac had been gruesome, and he took as little rest as possible. Every moment he wasted drew a greater chance of the demise of his mate.

Or worse.

Cautiously, Delurk dismounted his wolf and heroically leapt into the portal. He exploded into the citadel to find....


The smell of mutilated cultists carried itself to Delurk's nose. He inhaled it. It was a good smell. The less combat he'd face against the cultists, the higher chance he'd get out of this dark place with his mate alive.

''My allies within the Horde must've cleared the Bastion, but within their haste, had left many of its occupants unhindered.'' Delurk grunted.

He made a deathly pause.

What if the previous attackers had slain Rika?

No, he couldn't afford to think like that. Not here. Not now.

Delurk walked melancholy across the elementium floor. He made a brisk right turn...

Where a proto-drake of immense proportions awaited him.

The black behemoth caught Delurk out of the corner of its monsterous eye and charged. Screaming a war song of fury, Delurk rushed at the drake with equal ferocity. Flames erupted from the maw of the creature as it leaned forward to belch heated death. Masterfully, Delurk made a titanic leap in an attempt to mount the creature, avoiding the death breath.

Now atop the beast, with one hand Delurk maintained control with one hand as he burrowed his howling axe into the hide of the creature. It took flight and had its eyes on the deadly stalagmites of the cavern, hellbent on impaling Delurk on them.

''Thrall's balls!'' Delurk exclaimed. He had to do something fast, lest he be more impaled than a boar on Jaggedswine Farm. Speedily scruffling through his bag, Delurk gripped a saronite grenade. It'd have to do.

His heart filled with zeal, he chucked the baleful bomb at the stalagement, then plunged back onto the elementium floor.

The dragon made a vain effort to turn its attention back to him, only to be rewarded with an impaled neck. The daunting monster plunged into the lava, and upon its death, did not emit a roar, but a whimper.

Delurk's next paces were heavy ones. The previous plunderers had done a damned fine job of clearing out the cultists and their twilight dragons in the hallway, but he took nothing for granted.

He navigated the halls, knowing full well each step could mean death in this unfriendly environment. Then again, an orc unwilling to die for something is unfit to live.

A horrifying sight would be seen by his eyes next. Numerous figures channeling their energies into one horrendous elemental. It seethed of all powers, earth, stone, fire, and air. The cultist in charge of the operations was caught unawares upon seeing him, and the summoner's concentration was broken, as well as the concentration of the figure's colleagues.

The elemental snapped from its bonds and lurched forward. Hulking, earthern spikes dotted the floor in a menacing shockwave aimed toward Delurk. Skillfully, Delurk met this attack with his own shockwave, and a shattering wave knocked both orc and elemental off balance.

Blazing with passionate anger, the elemental burned itself into fiery tempest. Unfortunately, Delurk doubted he could rip the core from this elemental as he had Unorak's, for this one bore tremendous, foul strength.

The flame's ardour couldn't be stopped.... easily. Frantically, Delurk swept himself into a bladestorm and recklessly charged toward the elemental, serving himself as a titanium candle, blowing out the twilight fires.

Taking momentum on the elemental's weakened state, Delurk vertically cleaved it in two. He boomed forward, ready to take off the twilight cultist's head. Rabidly, he hacked and slashed at the summoner's defenses, until the cultist was unable to defend no more. Triumphantly, Delurk unhooded the figure so it could stare into the eyes of its executioner.

Delurk's eyes grew wide, then he dropped his axe.

It was Rika.

Rika mutely gazed into Delurk's eyes. Did she even recognize him? What had the Hammer done to her?!

Delurk knelt down, unable to stand directly straight. Had he lost his mate's soul to the cult?

Finally, a beautiful, but shallow voice rang out. It was eerie, yet familiar.

''Delurk!'' it called.

Immediately, Delurk's yellowish-green ears perked up. She was back!

Sparing no time to waste, Rika ran into Delurk's arms with an open embrace.

Something was wrong.

Her eyes were sheer black.

Steel flashed in the room as Delurk's crimson blood spilled across the room. Rika stabbed him.

The colors of Delurk's world began to illuminate, flashing all sorts of shades as Delurk tumbled for ground. Inevitably, Delurk collapsed, only to cry out as a still-corrupt Rika psychotically trotted through a twilight portal.

His eyes began to grow heavy, and the last thing Delurk saw was a illuminate figure on a white horse scoop him up.


Delurk's blood-red eyes fluttered open as he smelled rancid breath brushing against him. He opened his eyes to find an Undead Priest staring down at him. He scrambled to his feet.

''Do not touch me, scourge filth!'' the warrior roared.

The priest sighed. ''Of course the orc who tried to throttle me back in the Undercity hasn't changed.'' the priest snidely shook his head. ''Orcs.''

''Do not belittle my race, bonesack!'' Delurk growled.

Unexpectedly, the sound of a Dragon's awe-striking roar lit the air.

''Thrall's balls!'' Delurk gasped. ''Where are we?''

The priest chuckled. ''Why, it's the end of days! The ''Twilight Hour,'' so to speak. The Hammer has collaborated and brought all their forces on a final assault of Wyrmrest Temple.''

''Conclavis...'' Delurk said, still remembering the name of the priest after all these months. ''Are ALL the Twilight Forces here?''

''I'd imagine so,'' Conclavis mused. ''Looking for someone?''

Delurk narrowed his eyes, ''Yes.''

''Enough idle banter! Our prescence is required up top!'' Conclavis chimed.

With envious haste, Delurk rushed over to a parked wyvern and jolted the reins. The best flew up.

A combat raged up top. The Aspects, along with diverse heroes of all races, were fending off the Hammer, refusing to be crushed. Delurk buried himself into the fray. A Draenei lurched foward at the titanium warrior. Anticipating the force, Delurk ducked and flipped the fighter onto his back. As the cultist attempted to regain posture, Delurk drew his axe and split him in two. A second caster, a human female, charged a shadow bolt from his hindsight. With a bestial growl, Delurk attempted to catch the spell with his axe. Unfortunately, his parry didn't land in time, and he was struck in the chest. The wind was beaten out of him.

Refusing to surrender, Delurk rustled through his bag for a bomb. As the second shadow bolt emerged from the caster's hand, Delurk chucked the grenade at it, and the girl was hewn from the platform.

The assault had abated. It was time to press the offensive.

While the Aspects' champions entered the first portal to fight the Twilight Stormbinder within, Delurk took to the second. It stabbed his heart that he knew who likely lurked behind the spell. And he was right.


Leaving Conclavis behind to stay with the Aspects, Delurk mosied through into the Twilight Realm to face his beloved. Twisted stars lit the sky like corrupted flames. Woefully, Delurk peered searchingly into his mate's eyes. A sadistic smirk crossed her face.

This would hurt him more than it would her, no matter the outcome.

Knowing at this point she was beyond reason, Delurk readied his axe. The Beauty of the Barrens charged for him.

Delurk slammed his titanium shoulder into her, impaling her on his shoulders. He launched her across the room, and onto the floor. An audible crack was heard as she splattered to the ground. Delurk winced.

Still, she came. Expertly, as Delurk made a downward cleave at her, she stepped over his axe and kicked him in the head. The titanium rang on his skull helmet as he fluttered backwards. Delurk released his axe and let it fall to the floor. Rika charged up a twilight bolt to send at her mate, however was rewarded with a hard jab to the stomach, knocking the wind out of her.

She fell to the floor once more. Delurk slowly made his way up to her, ready to take her back to Conclavis. But she wasn't finished yet.

A leather boot tripped Delurk, causing him to fall on his !@#$. Rika ripped a knife from her robe and tried to bring it down on Delurk's heart. Reacting swiftly, Delurk rolled out of the way and clocked her behind the skull. She was out cold.

Being gentle (as he could be), Delurk picked Rika off the ground and brought her back to the Aspects' platform.

''Well, you missed quite a bit,'' Conclavis smirked as Delurk gently placed Rika's head down on the platform. Conclavis jerked his thumb toward a great Twilight Dragon lying dead in an ice canyon.

''Hmmph,'' Delurk grunted. ''Cleanse Rika while I take vengeance upon the Destroyer.''

''Why? After the uncivilized treatment you've been giving--''

Delurk grabbed Conclavis by the neck and pinned him against a pillar. ''There are no Deathguards to save you here, maggotbag. Watch what you say.''

Delurk dropped Conclavis, allowing the priest to dust himself off.

Conclavis scoffed, but hustled over to the fallen female orc.

A familiar buzzing could be heard in the distance. A... skyship?

''All aboard! We've got a Destroyer to catch!'' A peppy human chuckled. The champions piled onto the ship.

''You expect me to work with a human?!'' Delurk roared at the Aspects. Alexstrasza threw him a sharp gaze. He looked over at Rika, crumpled down, mind nearly torn apart.

''One time.'' Delurk snarled. ''And then he dies.''

Breeze rushed over Delurk's scalp as the Skyfire cruised along the clouds. Delurk sniffed the air.

''Something smells like...'' Delurk was cut off.


''Goriana! Give them hell!'' a malicious voice sneered.

Twilight Drakes filled the sky as Vrykul fell from them like metal rain.

''All ahead full! Everything depends on our speed! We can't let the Destroyer get away!'' Sky Captain Swayze yelped.

The ship shook as a hulking black figure thudded to the poop deck. The biggest damned tauren Delurk had ever seen.

Out of the corner of his eye, Delurk caught a snivelling goblin trying to sneak past his and blow up the engine!

Delurk raced the goblin to the cabin, picked it up by its tunic, and chucked it the Warmaster. The twilight tauren croaked as the burns melded into his flesh. His eyes burned with malcontent as he stared at Delurk from across the battlefield.

''Looks like I'm doing this myself. Good!''

The tauren let out a raucous, threatening laugh as he bent his head down and pointed his horns for Delurk. He charged.

''Feel the Fury of the Barrens!'' Delurk shouted as he took off toward the tauren.

The two powers met. and Delurk went crashing into the cabin. His footsteps shaking the zeppelin, the Warmaster pursued. Raising his two handed mace into the air, the tauren aimed to finish Delurk by splattering his head against the ship, however Delurk emitted a whistle.

His wyvern headbutted the Warmaster from behind, causing him to drop his mace and yelp in pain. Delurk took the opportunity to slam his titanium fist between Blackhorn's legs. The tauren's eyes grew large as he knelt down. Howling a song of victory, Delurk brought his two fists down on the tauren's bare back. Blackhorn thudded against the ground, but as Delurk turned around to finish the beast with his axe, the Warmaster grabbed his right leg and threw him down the airship. Roughly, Delurk's spine made a snap as he crashed into the floor.

Seeing that his assault was doomed, Blackhorn leaped onto Gorianna and took off for the sea. Despite Delurk's back pleading him to stay down, his heart demanded that he stand up. Delurk mounted his wyvern in pursuit.

Lightning flashed in the sky as Delurk's mount neared Blackhorn's. A rabid snarl emerged from Blackhorn as he jolted Gorianna's reins to crash against Delurk's wyvern. Quickly, Delurk yanked the reins upward, jolting him above Blackhorn. Enraged at the dupe, Blackhorn yanked his bulky hand up and pulled the wyvern's heart right out! Energy coursing through Delurk's veins, he jumped from the slain mount as it plunged into the sea.

What would he do now?! His life flashed before his eyes. And then he remembered.


Fervently, Delurk grabbed the back of the Warmaster's skull and dug his fingers into his eyes. Gorianna span out of control as the two tumbled for authority of the drake. Blinded and furious, Blackhorn elbowed Delurk in the back of the chest, crushing his ribs. Delurk croaked for breath, and with a final shove, sent Blackhorn into the churning sea. With the heavy armor the tauren was wearing, it was bound to drown.

Finally, Gorianna had reached the Maelstrom. After being dumped on the isolated rock, Delurk laid on his back, still attempting to recover from the melee. He looked up. The Destroyer was falling!

Using his arms to shelter himself, Delurk remained crrouched as the ridiculously large waves crashed against the rocks.

The Aspects, Thrall, and the Champions had landed on a nearby rock, cheering over their heroic triumph, which would be sung for ages to come. It wasn't that easy.

The ground shook. The oceans wailed. The Destroyer emerged.

It was time for vengeance. Delurk began to stand up....

.... And crashed back down.

His ribcage was broken, his spine was shattered, and his body was bruised. Delurk had spent his fury on his previous enemies.

Bloodhilt would be disappointed.

He lay helpless there as the Champions battled the Dragon with ferocity. The Destroyer was no match for Thrall, the Aspects, and these ground-shaking champions, AND he was falling apart.


Deathwing was made of fire, and while the Champions would most likely be protected by a ward made by Thrall and the Aspects, he was defenseless.

He sighed, accepting his fate as Deathwing was torn apart. He would never see anyone again. Rika. Bloodhilt. Even Conclavis. Go'el fired up the Dragon Soul, aimed at Deathwing's twisted heart. Intense magics surrounded the weapon as it glowed with might.

Instantly, a twilight portal opened. It was Rika!

''Delurk!'' her face grew bright into a grin, unaware of what was behind her. Those crystal eyes fixed on Delurk in merriment. Conclavis had succeeded.

And then it happened.

Thrall unleashed the Dragon Soul, and Deathwing's final blaze was unleashed.

As Rika extended her hand out to him, the fires consumed this unfortunate shield, reducing her gentle fingers to ash before they could touch Delurk.

Delurk's eyes went wide with fear, and his skin grew pale. He held the ashes of his mate, the Beauty of the Barrens, the soul he wished to be with forever, the one who loved him like no one else had...

And he despaired.
Delurk Bloodsnarl: Origins - Finale
Second half of my first RP character's backstory! Please keep in mind that I wrote this while I was pretty young, so it's hardly my best work. 

With that out of the way, feel free to leave your thoughts on the story!
Delurk Bloodsnarl grew up in Alterac Valley, a chilly home, yet relatively comfortable. He and his brother, Unorak Bloodsnarl, squabbled frequently over the Stormpike invaders. Were they all diabolical looters? Could they be swayed away?

''Do you not see your disgustingly foolish antics?!'' Delurk would bellow at Unorak.

''Peace isn't foolish! It's common sense! Why, brother, must we shed unnecessary Frostwolf blood?''

''It's simple, ''Delurk grunted, ''We don't. The Stormpike must be handled brutally and decisively, not with compassion and affection. Such is madness.''

Scornfully, Unorak faced away from his bloodthirsty brother. While Delurk didn't hate the Alliance, he was staunchly proud of his people. This might be the death of him...

Weeks went by, then months. Unorak began to disappear at night. While he was a novice shaman and felt the elements were closest to him by night, Delurk sensed his Stormpike-sullying brethren was up to something else.

Anxiously, Delurk Bloodsnarl sat in his wooden hut, waiting for his brother to exit. Deceptively, Delurk placed his hands over his long, braided black hair as he faked slumber.

Unorak subtly crept to his feet at left Frostwolf Village.

Delurk in hot pursuit.

''Sneaking around my own damn land like a Stormpike,'' Delurk growled to himself. ''This better be worth it.''

Delurk peered from behind an overturned wagon as he saw Unorak sitting alone in the Field of Strife.

''He's doing that shaman kodo-crap,'' Delurk started to his feet, but noticed a massive cougar was approaching his brother!

Instinctively, Delurk grabbed for his axe, but then paused. His mouth went agape. This was no ordinary beast.

This was a druid.

A Night Elf Druid.

''Keya,'' Unorak began.

The elf reached out to Unorak, only to have a massive axe hack her down from her backside.

Unorak glanced up in horror to see his brother, blood glistening on his face.

''You... Beast! You are no brother of mine!''

''You challenge me, pup?'' Delurk roared.

The two orcs muttered one word simultaneously: Mak'gora.

Adrenline pumping through the crowd, mercenary, Frostwolf, the brothers' parents, Yazgra and Mergosh, and even a few Stormpike rogues gazed at the two warriors before combat. Unorak had a minor connection to the elements to assist him, but Delurk was physically stronger and was skilled in engineering scrap metal from the valley into devious gadgets.

An even match.

''Do not expect mercy, brother.'' Delurk boomed.

Unorak said nothing.

The two orcs lunged at each other, their weapons clashing.. Delurk's two handed axe abused Unorak's smaller one hand blade. Unorak swung his left axe at Delurk's chest, only for it be caught by Delurk's hand. Delurk pulled out a rough copper bomb from his belt and punched Unorak in the chest with it, the explosive impact knocking the shaman to the ground. Unorak's head rapidly span.

Desperately, the shaman extended his right hand toward a blazer and invoked the spirit of fire. Ready for battle from conception, the elemental slashed at Delurk's face, temporarily blinding him and giving Unorak the opportunity for a killing blow.

The elder brother shoved Delurk to the ground, and when the warrior's vision came to, he saw Unorak standing over him.

Despite numerous voices in the ground singing for his death, Unorak tossed aside his axe.

''You are no longer a Frostwolf. You will leave this place without a clan, only to return if called upon personally by Drek'thar himself. You have seven moons to leave this valley before I extend the wrath of the elements on you. I am sorry brother. What I do, I do for the good of the Frostwolves.''

Unorak left the arena in a brisk pace.

He didn't even take a final glance at his banished brethren.

Part 2

Rain thundered down Alterac Valley. Respectfully, the Stormpikes had signed a day-long armistice with the Frostwolves as they banished their warrior into the unforgiving wilds.

A hundred eyes were set upon Delurk. Mergosh Bloodsnarl, Delurk's father, stepped up first. ''The skies weep for your loss, son,'' Mergosh unslung his axe and handed it to Delurk. He glanced up at his youngest, saluted, then stepped back.

Delurk nodded, then began to turn his head, but just as he was about to leave, an old voice, musky but confident, spoke. Vrang Wildgore.

''You'll die on the way to Orgrimmar, brother. When I first began to understand what it was to be a Frostwolf, it was to abandon no clansman, no matter how dire the circumstance.'' Vrang jerked his head forward, and two other figures emerged from the shadows.

''I bring my son and daughter with me, Razonek and Drayna. I am responsible for them as I am you, and I will guide them to this new world you journey to.''

Dutifully, the three orcs clamored behind Delurk. Again, Delurk began to turn, and he was stopped by a final time by his mother, Yazgra Bloodsnarl.

She wrapped her hands around Delurk, tears streaming down her face, clear as ice, yet as melancholy as a lone wolf's howl to the moon.

A feral state of rage crept over Delurk as he gave a final look at Frostwolf Village, and into the eyes of his brother, Unorak.

He spat at the shaman's feet, and this time, he didn't look turn back.

Delurk and the Wildgores trailed up through the hulking mountains. Through hail, fatigue, and attacks by ogres, beast, bird, or blistering wind, the travelled. Amongst every crackling fire, every dream, and every waking moment, Delurk clenched his fists. One day, he'd be called upon again by Drek'thar, and on that day of redemption, it would be he who banished Unorak.

But for now, he wouldn't look at the past.

The Undercity was near.

Delurk boldly strode up to an Undead Priest fiddling with a white bird. He hadn't seen many Forsaken before, and his manners were rusty.

''You. Rot-monger. Where do I find the zeppelin to Orgrimmar?''

The priest let out a hollow cackle upon seeing the band of orcs. ''Back the way you came with that attitude, fool.''

Delurk seized the priest by the throat and boomed his query again. ''WHERE IS IT?!''

Several forsaken dreadguards brushed to attention, but the Wildgores jerked Delurk back before he did something he'd regret to the bonesack. The undead flashed a surprisingly well-preserved grin, but said nothing.

A loud blarring sliced through the wind, followed by a chorus of goblin hollering. ''It's coming from the south!'' Razonek observed.

''Indeed.'' the periled priest replied.

Delurk set one foot toward the zeppelin, but briskly turned around to face the undead a final time. ''What's your name, priest?''

''Conclavis Ludwig Rotzinger at your service,'' the undead smiled.

''Duly noted,'' the titanium orc grunted.

And with that, they departed onto the zeppelin.

Several hours later, Delurk and his comrades departed the Zeppelin.

''My duty is complete,'' the elderly orc smiled. ''I take my family now to the Barrens, where I will take my family to the Barrens. Razonek will hunt, I will craft platemail, and Drayna....''

Drayna swiftly brushed her head to meet her father's eyes. ''I have considered my path during this journey, father. I feel the ancestors guiding me to wander the land, befriend the earth. To know every root, crevice, and hole that Azeroth has to offer. If I am needed, I am sure the Ancestors will notify me.''

This pained Vrang, but he agreed. With that, he clapped his hand on Delurk and bode him farewell.

''Thrall's balls...'' Delurk muttered.

Indecisively, the orc stumbled across the streets of Orgrimmar. His boot crushed a scorpion as he looked above his head. ''A tavern!''

Greedily, the orc dashed into the bar. ''A bott-a-bott...''

Both fatigue and wonder cut off Delurk as he gazed upon the most beautiful female orc he had ever saw. Her hair was as black as goblin oil, and her hips as broad as a tauren. Her face would put the most sexy Blood Elf in Silvermoon to shame, and her eyes glowed with the spark of life.

The maiden looked at Delurk, then slipped a faint grin. ''I'm Rika,'' she whispered in his ear, as peacefully as snow falls.

Instinctively, Delurk's warrior-like reflexes kicked in. ''I am Delurk Bloodsnarl of the Fro-''

No, he was no longer of the Frostwolves. Here in this new land, he'd build a new life with this new mate.

A life that would later be taken from him.

Many months went by. Countless a time, the sun and the moon commenced their endless chase as the two would stare up into the sky together. Delurk had convinced Rika to leave the city of Orgrimmar and begin her life with him in the Barrens, where his close allies, the Wildgores, happily toiled, be it by bow or by forge.

The two did many things together. They trotted through the Barrens on their dire wolves, savage as they were noble, reflecting their masters. They climbed to the tip of one of the mountains in the Barrens, their fortitude reflecting their undying love for each other. They set at the docks of Ratchet simply staring into each other's eyes, their silence reflecting their passion.

Rika leaned against Delurk as he stroked her hair.

''You are the beauty of the Barrens, Rika. Your eyes pure as the waters before us, your skin, as untainted as the land itself. I... I wish you to be my mate.''

Fervor lit Rika's face as she flashed one of her perfect smiles Delurk's way. She nodded her elegant head several times, words unable to reach them. But they didn't need to.

Joyfully, Delurk rode out to tell his friend, Vrang Wildgore, the good news. He requested the older orc wed the two, and with a boastful smile that'd put a successful goblin to shame, the elder agreed.

''The ceremony will take place on the tranquil tauren hunting camp of Taujaro.'' the orc announced, ''I will leave Razonek to tend to the home, and I will depart as soon as you are pronounced mates.''

The journey was long, but worthwhile. Vrang pronounced the couple officially, but spared no time staying in Taujaro. Razonek had the heart of a lion, and Vrang had to watch over him.

Yet this burden was a one of fortune.

Rika and Delurk both sat alone inside the Inn, the tavernkeeper giving the newlyweds privacy.

''Now that we're officially mates,'' Rika began, unfastening her leather vestments.

Delurk, who wasn't wearing a shirt at the time, grinned at his beloved. He liked where this was going.

Suddenly, the sky cracked open. A roar was heard across the camp, followed by several firebombs splashing against the huts like fiery waves of carnage.

''DELURK!'' Rika attempted to screech over the carnage.

Delurk coughed as he sifted through the smoke, and soon enough, it cleared.

But that wasn't a good thing.

''SMASH AND GRAB, BABY!'' hollered a distant voice.

Tauren and orcish screams alike filled the sky with dread as Delurk, with Rika at his stead, rushed out to see the commotion.

A rider emerged from the flames, bloodthirst and greed in his eyes. He lassoed a rope around Rika's arm and dragged her from the camp as his colleagues bellowed cruel laughs.

Delurk swiped a nearby shield idly lying on the floor and hurled it at the horse. Though he had little training. The shield missed, and everything turned black.

The Barrens sun was lit again. The world altered, but moreso on a personal level to him than a global one. It took him only a moment to realize what had happened, but he realized it soon enough.

He plucked a weed from the ground, Rika's blood still on it. Tears streaming down his face, he clenched it. Then he shook his head.


Delurk dizzily rose to his feet.

''The Alliance shall cringe before my vengeance! They will tremble before my rage! They will succumb to my fury!'' The Fury....

Of the Barrens.

Part 3

A silhouette stood over Delurk, staring down at him through the hot Barrens sun. Familiar breath could be felt brushing against his neck.

Orcish breath.

A melancholy grin lighting the orc's face, he offered a hand to lift Delurk up.

''I am Warlord Bloodhilt, and I have been assigned to safeguard the Barrens against the mangy Alliance curs who encroach here. You're fortunate to be alive, as many were not as fortunate.''

Delurk clenched his fist. ''What has happened?!''

Warlord Bloodhilt sighed before responding. ''General Hawthorne had issued the firebombing of Taujaro. Innocent tauren were murdered, loot was stolen, and the false 'mercy' he left the fleeing tauren was into the warted grip of the Quilboar.''

Hostages.... taken.


''Take me to Hawthorne, Warlord! I will hollow out his skull with my thumbs and mount it on my wolf!''

''Your wolf....'' Bloodhilt frowned, ''He was slain in the Taujaro massacre. Fortunately, a Forsaken warlock took the liberties of reanimating it for you. Without asking.'' Bloodhilt flashed a glare at the warlock. ''It should prove useful nonetheless.''

Hesitantly, Delurk gawked at his now spectral wolf. Slowly, he gathered his wits.

''When do we depart to find the raiders who stole my mate?'' Delurk inquired.

''WE don't. Not yet. Firstly, our numbers are scarce here. We'll need you battle-hardened before we throw soldiers at the enemy. Secondly, I'd imagine only Hawthorne knows where the Alliance looting party is. Yes, he may have APPEARED to condemn those motherless knaves for their transgressions against us, but behind that mask of mercy is a face of malice. That aside, are you ready to begin your training?''

Delurk eagerly nodded.

A small pit surrounded by twigs was placed in a circle around Delurk and the Warlord.

''The first thing you must know is how to fight with your hands! Strike me like the orc you were meant to be!'' Bloodhilt boomed.

Delurk powered his right fist forward, only to be caught by Bloodhilt's left. Bloodhilt used his free right hand to slam into Delurk's ribs, creating an audible crack. Delurk roared in agony, blindly tugging his fist from Bloodhilt's grip and bringing them both down on the Warlord.

Bloodhilt slammed his raw, muscled hand into Delurk's naked chest while his hands were still descending, sending Delurk crumpling to the floor.

''You will NEVER see Rika again if you do not use CUNNING as well as strength! We are not ogres, boy! Now get up, and fight like an orc!''

His ribs gasping for air, Delurk's body trembled before Bloodhilt. He slammed both fists against the scorched grass and emerged up.

Bloodhilt grinned.

Resilience. He liked it.

Bloodhilt faked his right forward, but withdrew it for a surprise snapkick. Delurk anticipated the movement, caught Bloodhilt's leg and hurled him against a tree, rattling it.

''Good!'' Bloodhilt cheered. ''But we are not done.''

Several weeks passed, involving spirited sword training, battle tactic discussing, and conditioning. A normal orc wouldn't pull through the will to learn what the Warlord had to offer in such a quick time, but Delurk did. He had to.


His mate depended on it.

Part 4

The Barrens sun gleamed dimly. Apathetically, Delurk rolled around his straw mat, dreams of Rika still in his mind and muscles aching from training. Rustling broke the peaceful sunrise as Bloodhilt rushed to Delurk's bedside.

''Bloodsnarl! Get up! NOW!''

Annoyed by his teacher, yet compelled to obey, Delurk shot out of his bed.

''What do you want, warlord?'' the orc stuttered.

''General Hawthorne, butcher of Taurjaro, has been sighted stretching his legs outside his 'Forward Command!' You shall not only take this chance to incite vengeance, but reclaim your soulmate!''

Delurk gritted his teeth, tusks pointed upward. ''You will come with me, Bloodhilt?''

''I cannot. Vendetta Point must be defended at all times, unless we want another catastrophe. You will go alone, as this will be a trial determining your place in the Horde.''

Delurk nodded, and he began to saddle his wolf. Logically, he cast his hands through his hair at the mountainous task. This is when he realized...

He was going bald.

The unrelenting agony, anguish, and anger Delurk had spent the past month training for this moment with Bloodhilt had done a number on it. But he couldn't focus on that now.

There was a general to slay.

Menacingly, Durek trotted through the lands once so familiar to he and his master. A side glance granted Delurk the rage he would need for the task at hand.

Taujaro... burned to ashes.

Then he spotted them.

Two figures in basic Stormwind regalia, escorting a gray-haired man in splendid armor.

The three figures were chuckling their way down the golden road, no doubt still giddy from their cowardly victory they had struck earlier.

''I will give you something you did not give me,'' Delurk interrupted the humans.

''Wha--?'' one of the guards interjected.

''A warning.'' Delurk spat.

Delurk gave a sideways slash to one of Hawthorne's shocked bodyguards. His head tumbled to the floor, his body nothing but a scrap-covered stain next to Delurk's axe.

The second human stepped forward and took a massive right step toward Delurk, while swinging his standard sword at Delurk's unarmored torso. Delurk stepped back, unbalancing the human and sending him tumbling into Hawthorne.

The bulky orc mercilessly swept down and picked up the footman's leg. Hawthorne, still on the ground, watched helpless as Delurk hurled the human to a tree. The human's torso was met with an axe, and from his shoulders up, he was split in two.

Frightened, Hawthorne made a cowardly stab at Delurk's raw back. Delurk roared in anguish, then turned to face the human.

''HAWTHORNE! Butcher of Taujaro, invader of the Barrens, thief of Azeroth! You answer to the FURY of the Barrens!''

''I answer only to Varian, pig.'' Hawthorne retorted.

Delurk growled, then eyed Hawthorne's weapon.

''Cunning,'' Bloodhilt had explained.

''After I have slain you, Hawthorne, I will find all you hold dear and bury them in your shallow grave.'' Delurk grinned through his tusks.

Enraged at the threat, Hawthorne leapt into the air and bring his sword down on Delurk.

It would win this battle.

With the speed of a Zherva, Delurk darted from the dastardly devious swing. Hawthorne cringed as he heard his sword bury itself into the ground. He was unable to withdraw it.

Capitalizing on the opportunity, Delurk slammed his shoulder into Hawthorne's chest, knocking the wind out of him.

''Where.... is... Rika?!'' the orc boomed at the frightened human, saliva dripping from his tusks.

Delurk bashed Hawthorne's head against the golden road. Blood spurted upward into Delurk's eye.

''Who---'' Hawthorne screeched.

Delurk flipped the human over on his back and grippled Hawthorne's wrinkly neck. He began squeezing the oxygen from it.

''Graa--- Looting party! Dustwallo---Going to Thera--'' Hawthorne peeped

Wordlessly, Delurk snatched Hawthorne by his scalp and had him face Taujaro. The sun was rising above the Great Gate.

''The LAST thing you shall see in this life, pinkskin, is the place where you took my life from me.'' Delurk dug his fingers into Hawthorne's skull, then, after a brief period of struggling, the wiggling stopped.

The General was dead.

All he had to do now was to pay a visit to Dustwallow.
Delurk Bloodsnarl: Origins - Act 1
The very first fanfiction I've ever written! 

Character is Delurk of Emerald Dream for any curious.


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