Post by Drozgul on Dec 3, 2009 6:28:36 GMT -5
Drozgul Ax. One of only four remaining members of the once revered Ax Clan. These mighty orcs who walked the Barrens as nomads, but respected as elder shamans and huntsmen alike.
He, his eldest brother Shump, his younger brother Gulgrad, and their sister Miazz, the youngest of them all, hid away nearby where they were but children playing as the Night Elves surrounded the camp of the celebrating orcs. Insulting the camp's time of festivity, the elves demanded surrender. To be made captives of war in a world that never knew any other life besides exactly that.
As their father, the bold Shur'groz Ax stood proudly before the elves, he refused of course. Asked once more to yield, he simply stood poised for battle. Weaponless. Fearless.
The stern face of the mounted elf smirked a bit before a hand rose, signaling the attack. The orcs bled and screamed under a unending flurry of arrows and flame that quickly dispatched the Ax Clan. Shur'groz was surrounded and being brutally beaten to submission as he was forced to watch his family and companions die around himself. The arrogant elf captain dismounted and began to personally insult the orc further with pain.
The children nearby could have seen the action, but were taught by their father to lay low in the face of the enemy until properly trained to fight them back. Drozgul had begun to tell a story to his younger siblings about the clan he had heard told many times before about the Great Thrall's rise to glory. Shump looked out over the scene until his heart could stand no more of this.
The eldest boy, having just reached his rite of passage and coming of age among the clan felt that he was responsible as this celebration was for his recent accomplishments. He marched forward, a simple club in hand and made directly for the captain who not only saw the boy, but held off his archers from riddling him with fletching.
Shump drew back his club at the ready and ran the final steps into the captains reach where he was received with a low kick to trip bring him to the ground. Looking up to his father, he grew furious and rose to swing again, only to be dodged and pushed into mud, embarrassing him once more.
The beaten orc father held a strong face through his sadness as he watched his oldest boy be further humiliated with a sound kick to the face. Drozgul finally looked up from his younger siblings to find the scene as the elf captain laughed at each of the weakened pathetic orcs before him. Drozgul held a hand over Miazz's eyes, but unable to blind young Gulgrad as well, the boys watched as the captain slowly drew his long slender blade and swiftly and unceremoniously delivered a perfect thrust through the heart of their father, finishing him. The broken orc fell in front of his son, helplessly hoping that his children would not suffer further pain from this moment as life left him.
Shump lay there in the mud, in pain, in utter ruin before the stone face of his fallen hero. Drozgul would bring the others to help him up, to walk him away to sit as the fire died down, piling the ashes of the only life they knew all in one large circle. The air stank, the smoke billowed. These orphans of the Horde would have to start over.
But that was so many years ago. Now as Shump learned to hear the call of spirits and summon the clan totems, Drozgul and Miazz would hunt together, and commune with nature. Then Gulgrad had made his decision to leave them for a time. The temples of the mystics, the warlocks had called to him, leading him to its studies and dark power.
One day they would walk the roads together again. One day Azeroth would again hear a familiar name, see the swaggering banner rise. These few meager orcs may have been left with little, bent and fettered to the harshness of a world at war, but they were not destroyed. The Broken Ax Clan is born anew!
He, his eldest brother Shump, his younger brother Gulgrad, and their sister Miazz, the youngest of them all, hid away nearby where they were but children playing as the Night Elves surrounded the camp of the celebrating orcs. Insulting the camp's time of festivity, the elves demanded surrender. To be made captives of war in a world that never knew any other life besides exactly that.
As their father, the bold Shur'groz Ax stood proudly before the elves, he refused of course. Asked once more to yield, he simply stood poised for battle. Weaponless. Fearless.
The stern face of the mounted elf smirked a bit before a hand rose, signaling the attack. The orcs bled and screamed under a unending flurry of arrows and flame that quickly dispatched the Ax Clan. Shur'groz was surrounded and being brutally beaten to submission as he was forced to watch his family and companions die around himself. The arrogant elf captain dismounted and began to personally insult the orc further with pain.
The children nearby could have seen the action, but were taught by their father to lay low in the face of the enemy until properly trained to fight them back. Drozgul had begun to tell a story to his younger siblings about the clan he had heard told many times before about the Great Thrall's rise to glory. Shump looked out over the scene until his heart could stand no more of this.
The eldest boy, having just reached his rite of passage and coming of age among the clan felt that he was responsible as this celebration was for his recent accomplishments. He marched forward, a simple club in hand and made directly for the captain who not only saw the boy, but held off his archers from riddling him with fletching.
Shump drew back his club at the ready and ran the final steps into the captains reach where he was received with a low kick to trip bring him to the ground. Looking up to his father, he grew furious and rose to swing again, only to be dodged and pushed into mud, embarrassing him once more.
The beaten orc father held a strong face through his sadness as he watched his oldest boy be further humiliated with a sound kick to the face. Drozgul finally looked up from his younger siblings to find the scene as the elf captain laughed at each of the weakened pathetic orcs before him. Drozgul held a hand over Miazz's eyes, but unable to blind young Gulgrad as well, the boys watched as the captain slowly drew his long slender blade and swiftly and unceremoniously delivered a perfect thrust through the heart of their father, finishing him. The broken orc fell in front of his son, helplessly hoping that his children would not suffer further pain from this moment as life left him.
Shump lay there in the mud, in pain, in utter ruin before the stone face of his fallen hero. Drozgul would bring the others to help him up, to walk him away to sit as the fire died down, piling the ashes of the only life they knew all in one large circle. The air stank, the smoke billowed. These orphans of the Horde would have to start over.
But that was so many years ago. Now as Shump learned to hear the call of spirits and summon the clan totems, Drozgul and Miazz would hunt together, and commune with nature. Then Gulgrad had made his decision to leave them for a time. The temples of the mystics, the warlocks had called to him, leading him to its studies and dark power.
One day they would walk the roads together again. One day Azeroth would again hear a familiar name, see the swaggering banner rise. These few meager orcs may have been left with little, bent and fettered to the harshness of a world at war, but they were not destroyed. The Broken Ax Clan is born anew!