((
B = Story.
I = Spoken.
= Thought.
))
Dust scatters over the plain of the Barrens as an elderly orc falls from the sky. As he lands he grunts in pain, and is unheard.
He awakes in a total new world, somehow familiar to his childhood in Draenor, with the Scarlet sky and the never-ending plains. The white-eyed orc blinks in suprise as he is finaly freed from the 'sphere'.
Slowly he rises, being followed by him falling down, his strenght unable to carry his weight in the pain he is in. He tries again to raise to his knee, peering the surroundings for a sign.
Gol'Kosh! The spirits guided me to this forsaken land... After all that time in the sphere, I thought it to end. Have they no mercy?
He quickly dismisses the thought, assuming the spirits have plans made for him.
Step by step he crawls toward a distance the spirits say him to follow. After a while thirst overcome him, luckely the spirits have fortold this, for they have guided the orc to an oasis. The orc musters all his strenght in an effort to hasten his pase to the oases, once arrived he reaches down, and gulps water. After he satisfied his needs he stands up, peering the area and notices a sandcloud approuching.
He sighs.
No mercy indeed.
He softly chuckles, which ends to a cough as he is not feeling well.
He sits down, examining the comming storm which he sees as a 'test'. He starts peering at one spot, then blinks in recognision.'
Riders.. Riders on.. No, wait.. Centaurs!
He quickly looks around for a place to hide, knowing that he is not a match for them in the condition he is in. Seeing none in this forsaken land, he look up for a sign from the spirits.
A bird flies over, following it is a cloud of bad weather. He assumes the bird is being chased by the weather, and sees himself as the bird. Slowly he nods in recognision, seeing the wisdom in this message. He speaks a word of appreciation in an old shamanic-language.
At that moment he sits down, accepting the fact of their arrival, and looks no-where else for the exeption of the incomming centaur raid.
Slowly they approach, comming closer and closer as the orc wonders about this land.
He thinks: 'These centaurs have feet comming out of their upper-belly... And, they use it to kick their lower body? To what test have the spirits guided me this time. And, they have shining skin on their upperbody? How unlikely.'
They are at the other side of the oases as the orc eyes them up and down, trying to understand what they're doing. None seem to raise attention to the orc, they spotted him but simply ignored him. Suddenly all four do the impossible, they split up with their lower body! Three, walking on two legs, go down towards the oasis, drinking and putting it in a waterskin as the other one stays with their lower bodies.
His curiosity overcomming his instinct he ask them who they are, in the language of the centaurs which he picked up over the years.
The lowerparts are revolting, they are afraid of him which he can see in their eyes. One of the upper parts of the Centaur grabs a small spear with feathers on the lower half.
He snickers to himself, mumbeling: 'At least our tribe had the strenght to create mightier weapons then that.. Spear.'
When he spoke that, the upperhalf with a spear stands up, grabbing a bigger spear without a point but with a rope.
Unsurely he ponders what it is, perhaps he is the shaman of his tribe?
The centaur takes the largest 'spear' and bends it, tightening the robe between it to make a 'D' shape. He gets the smaller 'spear' and puts it on the rope, aiming at the orc. He pulls the rope back, and let's it loose, the 'spear' flying towards him.
I'm glad the spear misses my ar-.. My paw? He quickly examines himself, and sees that he is transformed into a wolf. The spirits have granted me the strenght of a predator to aid me against those creatures. He re-thinks his thoughts, and mumbles.
No.
The sign I was given is that even the-.. I must leave, as the spirits have shown me.
He turns around and runs in the descolace, carrying no water. After sometime running, he sees a farm in the distance, he increases his speed and enters the house, being greeted by an orc peon with an axe.
I'm merely a Lo'Gosh, no harm is intended. The peon doesn't anwser, but lowers his axe.
He sighs softly, looking up and thanking the Spirits in an old shamanic-language. His body begins to stretch and twist.
Curse the centaurs, they.. They must have cursed me!
After he thought that it was over, and he could see himself.
(( Physical Description:
-5 ft, Bit shorten then other orcs, same size as human.
-250 pounds, thanks to his muscles he weighs more then an average human.
-Age 342, but he didn't live all of that since he was captured in a portal from Draenor-Azeroth. He refers it to 'the sphere'.
Your gaze falls upon an elderly orc with thick white hair and a small beard. He has white eyes, and a brownish tint upon his green skin.
He is strongly build which indicates that he was a warrior in his younger years, but always wears simple cloths, showing his rank as a shaman of his tribe. ))
By Thrall, the peon mumbles.
The shaman smiles.
Would you be so kind to gain a loincloth for me?
Da-bu The peons shouts something and a moment later his wife appears with a loincloth.
The shaman thanks the woman and quickly dresses himself.
Allow me to introduce myself. I am Dargesh Shar'kul, former shaman of the Bleeding Axe.
He adds a warm and powerfull smile to the peon.
You be no welcome here, Bleeding axe.
The shaman raises an eyebrow but steps outside, blessing them. Aka'Magosh, may your blades never dull, Friend.
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