Post by Deleted on Nov 14, 2014 20:41:31 GMT -5
Camp. Home. A place where people from the Rageskull Clan could meet and discuss happenings, sometimes spar, sometimes insult Nokita. It didn't matter to the warlock. She knew where they came from, and she too hated demons, yet at the same time she was enthralled by them. The power they possessed was beyond measure, and she was one of many who could harness it while others would refuse the gift of power. She couldn't help but find herself judging them at times, but others she wondered what her life would be like if she had not accepted the gift of power.
The firepit at the Rageskull Camp was burning, like always, and Nokita was staring into it, like always, as she sat on a small cushion. She had a journal in her lap and about a thousand thoughts to put into it. Going back to the idea of warlocks and what they stood for, she couldn't help but think about Azlzaran. She always thought that she would be the one to kill him because he'd get drunk and attack her again, but things had gone down much differently. The connections to other clans, it seemed like the theory of Mok'Rell being behind all of this was the most likely route. Get a clanmate of the clan lead by an ex-clanmate to kill one of our clansmen and you bring anger, and everyone was going for Nash'la's head. Nokita wondered if simply killing her would resolve their issues, or even if it was the safest route, but meeting with her in Orgrimmar with the Stormfist Clan somewhat set that idea aside. She seemed peaceful, likely not at all the culprit.
It all made perfect sense. Azlzaran, Oasna, Aventhoar, and myself all went to confront Mok'Rell in Orgrimmar. A little later one of us is dead, and the rest in a fit of rage and wanting a possibly innocent orc's head. No, Nokita thought, I won't rule out Nash'la. Not yet. But Mok'rell already had a lot to pay for, and regardless of if he was behind this or not, the Rageskull Clan would have his head.
She finally left her thought trance and grabbed her quill, scribbling in the journal that she had written in much before, writing down these ideas. The area around her was silent, and with all that was happening, it only served to anger Nokita further. She kept scribbling until the edge of her quill broke, splatting a blob of ink on what she was writing. In a fit of rage, Nokita slammed the book shut and put it back into her satchel.
"Awful. Terrible. We can do nothing for him now..." said Nokita under her breath, actually sad with the loss of her nemesis. She was surprised in herself about how much she cared. He was a good fighter and Nokita had respect for him. He knew where his priorities lied. It almost made her wish that she hadn't said so many bad things about him, even though she already knew deep down that she could never have been friends with him anyways. Besides, she already had friends, like Oasna or Irsha'kra and maybe Bargathungar. Did she really need more?
Her eyes returned to the fire, though she refused to fall back into a trance, and so she stood up and walked away. "I can't wait to see that demon's head to be found on a pike at camp. Save someone else the trouble of dealing with him." She knew that whenever she went to the cleft of shadows she would be reminded of those like her who perished under Garrosh's rule. Warlocks were executed for embracing power. Power for the horde. But he didn't see that, and surely by Zaela's influence she pushed him to eliminate them absolutely from under his rule. He got what he wanted, and now he's gone. Not dead, Nokita regretted, but no longer would those like Nokita need to hide. There would, of course, be those who opposed her anyways. Garrosh had his influence over society, and so did Zaela. And thanks to Zaela, there would be a lot less Dragonmaw. Her old clan was as good as dead.
"I thought I was done with them..." said Nokita, mounting her wolf at the base of the mountain so she could begin her journey to Orgrimmar. "My clan is the Rageskull Clan. Why should I care?" she asked the wolf, who paid her seemingly no mind as it strode along the path up to Orgrimmar's way.
"Those like me were slaughtered, butchered like animals, for looking out for our people; ensuring our survival. That bitch Zaela was so selfish." The wolf still, not surprisingly, said nothing in return.
It was a quiet ride home for them both. Nokita knew she'd get nowhere with the wolf; it was just a wolf. Wolves are not anything that could ever respond to her, nevertheless understand, but somehow Nokita felt that the only one that would be able to understand what she was thinking would be that very wolf. Maybe she had finally lost it, or maybe she had reached a point in her life where she was about to give up. There was a surprisingly high amount of conflict in her new clan, the clan she loved, the clan she would never leave; Mok'Rell's assault on the chieftain and Izoka, not to mention his horrid past with them to go with that-- then the encounter in the drag. It weighed heavily on the warlock's mind.
Why did I not try to stop him right then, right there? thought Nokita to herself as she neared the Western entrance of Orgrimmar, across the bridge from it. The warlock offered a polite nod to the guards as her companion took them both into the city. They went past the troll's district, past the slums, past the Valley of Strength, through the Drag, then into the Valley of Honor. She needed a drink, and the only bartender she trusted was the troll Gravy.
She dismounted outside of the bar, securing the wolf's reins to a post out back, before entering. She saw nobody she recognized, which was a shame since she had personally hoped to run into one of her clansmen. Gemok, maybe, or perhaps Azlzaran-- well, that wasn't going to happen. She moved past the cooking table and up to the bar, reaching into the same satchel that held her diary, and grabbed a few silver coins which she would offer to Gravy.
"I need something strong," said Nokita to the barkeep, which was responded to only with a nod as Gravy moved to fill a mug with Mulgore Firewater before bringing it back to the warlock. She took her drink with a nod to the barkeep and moved to one of the tables, setting her drink down on it, and at last observing her surroundings to the best of her ability. There was the usual stupor present in the bar as there almost always was; racist Orcs trying to throw Trolls out, despite the fact that the Trolls now lead the Horde. Madness, thought the warlock, as she took her first gulp of the firewater before turning her eyes to the right at the table under the stairs.
An Orc was staring at her. She appeared middle-aged, perhaps a little younger than Nokita, and had green skin which contrasted greatly with the warlock's own. Nokita only responded by tilting her head, causing the other orc to at last get up and stand near her table, looming over Nokita.
"You are a long way from the Cleft of Shadows," she started, bringing a finger to her chin as if to ponder why Nokita was at the bar.
"I am just trying to think with a drink. Is there a problem?" she asked the other Orc. Whoever she was, she did not hesitate to make herself comfortable by sitting at her table across from Nokita. She carried her own drink, which was probably some kind of ale that had been partially downed.
"No problem at all," spoke the other as she took a gulp of her own drink before continuing, "I just thought you might need some company. I'm Geroka, and what about you?"
"I'm not interested in your petty flirts, or whatever this is."
"I promise you that's not why I am here. I am really just here for the conversation. If you want me to go, I can go."
Nokita couldn't help but think that over, though she only shrugged. "Stay then. I am Nokita. Tell me about yourself." It was Nokita's hallow concern of the day; one she truly did not feel. Whoever this stranger was, she just felt that she could somehow entertain Nokita. Somehow the warlock disagreed with that assumption.
"Born of the Frostwolf Clan, trained as a totemic warrior, currently getting ready to go fight the Iron Horde mennace massing at the portal... ah, but to tell you my life's story would be difficult. Let's just say that I'm a soldier."
The warlock was not impressed. So unimpressed was she that she almost downed her entire drink right there, but she merely gumped it normally.
"A soldier. Wow. Impressive..." said Nokita in a monotonous voice.
"It is," said Geroka, who seemed oblivious to the lack of amusement in the other's voice. "I'm going to see if I can't do my best to put an end to this Iron Horde menace." She paused for a moment before speaking again. "What about you? What can you tell me about yourself?" she inquired, taking a gulp of her drink.
"...There is too much to tell from just that. What can I say that you do not already know, though? I am a warlock, plain and simple. Probably more powerful than the other Dragonmaw Warlocks, and that's only because they are dead. As you can see, I did not die. I escaped Zaela's horrible onsalught, went into hiding for most of Garrosh's rule disguised as a tailor. Now that he's gone? I am finally free to practice in the open, help the Horde and my clan. Yet my life remains without any entertainment in it."
Geroka paused after the warlock spoke before setting her drink slowly back down onto the table. "I see..." she said silently, looking around uncomfortably first before returning her gaze to the warlock. "Your life story must be more than that. You must've done something worth mentioning."
Nokita paused for a moment, thinking about her children. Mugara-- the older of the children, who fought her mother at every turn and finally just ran away. Romgul-- ever loyal to his mother was he that he was willing to undergo brutal experiments, only to end up with terrible brain damage which he survived. No, there's nothing worth mentioning, thought Nokita to herself. All while she thought, she appeared distraught, catching Geroka's further attention.
"Nothing..." said Nokita.
"Well. This was delightful. I'm going to go get a drink..." she said, puring her drink out on the ground and tossing the mug aside.
The firepit at the Rageskull Camp was burning, like always, and Nokita was staring into it, like always, as she sat on a small cushion. She had a journal in her lap and about a thousand thoughts to put into it. Going back to the idea of warlocks and what they stood for, she couldn't help but think about Azlzaran. She always thought that she would be the one to kill him because he'd get drunk and attack her again, but things had gone down much differently. The connections to other clans, it seemed like the theory of Mok'Rell being behind all of this was the most likely route. Get a clanmate of the clan lead by an ex-clanmate to kill one of our clansmen and you bring anger, and everyone was going for Nash'la's head. Nokita wondered if simply killing her would resolve their issues, or even if it was the safest route, but meeting with her in Orgrimmar with the Stormfist Clan somewhat set that idea aside. She seemed peaceful, likely not at all the culprit.
It all made perfect sense. Azlzaran, Oasna, Aventhoar, and myself all went to confront Mok'Rell in Orgrimmar. A little later one of us is dead, and the rest in a fit of rage and wanting a possibly innocent orc's head. No, Nokita thought, I won't rule out Nash'la. Not yet. But Mok'rell already had a lot to pay for, and regardless of if he was behind this or not, the Rageskull Clan would have his head.
She finally left her thought trance and grabbed her quill, scribbling in the journal that she had written in much before, writing down these ideas. The area around her was silent, and with all that was happening, it only served to anger Nokita further. She kept scribbling until the edge of her quill broke, splatting a blob of ink on what she was writing. In a fit of rage, Nokita slammed the book shut and put it back into her satchel.
"Awful. Terrible. We can do nothing for him now..." said Nokita under her breath, actually sad with the loss of her nemesis. She was surprised in herself about how much she cared. He was a good fighter and Nokita had respect for him. He knew where his priorities lied. It almost made her wish that she hadn't said so many bad things about him, even though she already knew deep down that she could never have been friends with him anyways. Besides, she already had friends, like Oasna or Irsha'kra and maybe Bargathungar. Did she really need more?
Her eyes returned to the fire, though she refused to fall back into a trance, and so she stood up and walked away. "I can't wait to see that demon's head to be found on a pike at camp. Save someone else the trouble of dealing with him." She knew that whenever she went to the cleft of shadows she would be reminded of those like her who perished under Garrosh's rule. Warlocks were executed for embracing power. Power for the horde. But he didn't see that, and surely by Zaela's influence she pushed him to eliminate them absolutely from under his rule. He got what he wanted, and now he's gone. Not dead, Nokita regretted, but no longer would those like Nokita need to hide. There would, of course, be those who opposed her anyways. Garrosh had his influence over society, and so did Zaela. And thanks to Zaela, there would be a lot less Dragonmaw. Her old clan was as good as dead.
"I thought I was done with them..." said Nokita, mounting her wolf at the base of the mountain so she could begin her journey to Orgrimmar. "My clan is the Rageskull Clan. Why should I care?" she asked the wolf, who paid her seemingly no mind as it strode along the path up to Orgrimmar's way.
"Those like me were slaughtered, butchered like animals, for looking out for our people; ensuring our survival. That bitch Zaela was so selfish." The wolf still, not surprisingly, said nothing in return.
It was a quiet ride home for them both. Nokita knew she'd get nowhere with the wolf; it was just a wolf. Wolves are not anything that could ever respond to her, nevertheless understand, but somehow Nokita felt that the only one that would be able to understand what she was thinking would be that very wolf. Maybe she had finally lost it, or maybe she had reached a point in her life where she was about to give up. There was a surprisingly high amount of conflict in her new clan, the clan she loved, the clan she would never leave; Mok'Rell's assault on the chieftain and Izoka, not to mention his horrid past with them to go with that-- then the encounter in the drag. It weighed heavily on the warlock's mind.
Why did I not try to stop him right then, right there? thought Nokita to herself as she neared the Western entrance of Orgrimmar, across the bridge from it. The warlock offered a polite nod to the guards as her companion took them both into the city. They went past the troll's district, past the slums, past the Valley of Strength, through the Drag, then into the Valley of Honor. She needed a drink, and the only bartender she trusted was the troll Gravy.
She dismounted outside of the bar, securing the wolf's reins to a post out back, before entering. She saw nobody she recognized, which was a shame since she had personally hoped to run into one of her clansmen. Gemok, maybe, or perhaps Azlzaran-- well, that wasn't going to happen. She moved past the cooking table and up to the bar, reaching into the same satchel that held her diary, and grabbed a few silver coins which she would offer to Gravy.
"I need something strong," said Nokita to the barkeep, which was responded to only with a nod as Gravy moved to fill a mug with Mulgore Firewater before bringing it back to the warlock. She took her drink with a nod to the barkeep and moved to one of the tables, setting her drink down on it, and at last observing her surroundings to the best of her ability. There was the usual stupor present in the bar as there almost always was; racist Orcs trying to throw Trolls out, despite the fact that the Trolls now lead the Horde. Madness, thought the warlock, as she took her first gulp of the firewater before turning her eyes to the right at the table under the stairs.
An Orc was staring at her. She appeared middle-aged, perhaps a little younger than Nokita, and had green skin which contrasted greatly with the warlock's own. Nokita only responded by tilting her head, causing the other orc to at last get up and stand near her table, looming over Nokita.
"You are a long way from the Cleft of Shadows," she started, bringing a finger to her chin as if to ponder why Nokita was at the bar.
"I am just trying to think with a drink. Is there a problem?" she asked the other Orc. Whoever she was, she did not hesitate to make herself comfortable by sitting at her table across from Nokita. She carried her own drink, which was probably some kind of ale that had been partially downed.
"No problem at all," spoke the other as she took a gulp of her own drink before continuing, "I just thought you might need some company. I'm Geroka, and what about you?"
"I'm not interested in your petty flirts, or whatever this is."
"I promise you that's not why I am here. I am really just here for the conversation. If you want me to go, I can go."
Nokita couldn't help but think that over, though she only shrugged. "Stay then. I am Nokita. Tell me about yourself." It was Nokita's hallow concern of the day; one she truly did not feel. Whoever this stranger was, she just felt that she could somehow entertain Nokita. Somehow the warlock disagreed with that assumption.
"Born of the Frostwolf Clan, trained as a totemic warrior, currently getting ready to go fight the Iron Horde mennace massing at the portal... ah, but to tell you my life's story would be difficult. Let's just say that I'm a soldier."
The warlock was not impressed. So unimpressed was she that she almost downed her entire drink right there, but she merely gumped it normally.
"A soldier. Wow. Impressive..." said Nokita in a monotonous voice.
"It is," said Geroka, who seemed oblivious to the lack of amusement in the other's voice. "I'm going to see if I can't do my best to put an end to this Iron Horde menace." She paused for a moment before speaking again. "What about you? What can you tell me about yourself?" she inquired, taking a gulp of her drink.
"...There is too much to tell from just that. What can I say that you do not already know, though? I am a warlock, plain and simple. Probably more powerful than the other Dragonmaw Warlocks, and that's only because they are dead. As you can see, I did not die. I escaped Zaela's horrible onsalught, went into hiding for most of Garrosh's rule disguised as a tailor. Now that he's gone? I am finally free to practice in the open, help the Horde and my clan. Yet my life remains without any entertainment in it."
Geroka paused after the warlock spoke before setting her drink slowly back down onto the table. "I see..." she said silently, looking around uncomfortably first before returning her gaze to the warlock. "Your life story must be more than that. You must've done something worth mentioning."
Nokita paused for a moment, thinking about her children. Mugara-- the older of the children, who fought her mother at every turn and finally just ran away. Romgul-- ever loyal to his mother was he that he was willing to undergo brutal experiments, only to end up with terrible brain damage which he survived. No, there's nothing worth mentioning, thought Nokita to herself. All while she thought, she appeared distraught, catching Geroka's further attention.
"Nothing..." said Nokita.
"Well. This was delightful. I'm going to go get a drink..." she said, puring her drink out on the ground and tossing the mug aside.