- Joined
- Apr 30, 2007
- Messages
- 1,939
So, at last I decided to write this story. It has been in my mind for a long time, and a campaign about it has been started, though progress is slow. Enjoy
!
"In with ya, filthy greenskin! Yer age ain't gonna do ya any good in here!" The warden said, kicking Nurokh into the large cage with the other orcs. The cage was without any roof, and these isles were rainy, very rainy, this was going to be a cold stay. Nurokh was an aging warlock from the almost annihilated Stormreaver clan. He was the brother of the shaman Morg Wolfsong who presumably lived in the newly founded land of Durotar on the coast north-west of here. Pathetic! This was a secret Interment Camp, run by Kul Tiras to keep orcish prisoners in hope of them telling Grand Admiral Proudmoore anything about Durotar. Most of the prisoners here however, had never seen Durotar, they were mostly orcs from the broken isles or orcs who had followed Thralls example and fled from the Eastern Kingdoms by ship, but who had been run ashore by Kul Tiran Frigates. "You alright master?" a towering giant of an orc, nearly nine feet tall, clothed in an ornate hood and lamellar breeches, had just spoken. He held a large hand out, offering to help the old orc up on his feet. "Thank you, Shakar." Nurokh replied, and took Shakar's hand, who helped him up. "It ain't gonna end like this, we orcs have been prisoners long enough on this world."
More to come...

"In with ya, filthy greenskin! Yer age ain't gonna do ya any good in here!" The warden said, kicking Nurokh into the large cage with the other orcs. The cage was without any roof, and these isles were rainy, very rainy, this was going to be a cold stay. Nurokh was an aging warlock from the almost annihilated Stormreaver clan. He was the brother of the shaman Morg Wolfsong who presumably lived in the newly founded land of Durotar on the coast north-west of here. Pathetic! This was a secret Interment Camp, run by Kul Tiras to keep orcish prisoners in hope of them telling Grand Admiral Proudmoore anything about Durotar. Most of the prisoners here however, had never seen Durotar, they were mostly orcs from the broken isles or orcs who had followed Thralls example and fled from the Eastern Kingdoms by ship, but who had been run ashore by Kul Tiran Frigates. "You alright master?" a towering giant of an orc, nearly nine feet tall, clothed in an ornate hood and lamellar breeches, had just spoken. He held a large hand out, offering to help the old orc up on his feet. "Thank you, Shakar." Nurokh replied, and took Shakar's hand, who helped him up. "It ain't gonna end like this, we orcs have been prisoners long enough on this world."
More to come...
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