Ruins

Vuzabar sighed heavily as his fingers brushed against the stone wall. All this culture and the empire that it embodied; nothing more than shelter for the wind now, not even good shelter as the wall were cracked and with plenty of holes. He breathed in the cold air of Zul'Drak with the stench of death ever present; he hoped that he wouldn't get interrupted from his admiration of the fallen kingdom. He knew it was just a matter of time before he would be discovered by something as he crept along the ruined temples and infrastructure that was left of his home; the home he had only seen the decline of.

Vuzabar was not normally much for history or the like but every day of fighting the scourge alone was taking it's toll on his mind. It had been many moons now since the last major events of Zul'Drak took place. Many long agonizingly slow moons, he lost count after twenty, with nothing but death to keep him company. At first he was hopeful about his actions making an impact on the undead hordes; even on a miniscule level maybe as a distraction or diversion, anything! But as the years passed he got fewer and fewer meet ups with the strangers sharing in his work until all of the sudden they stopped altogether.

The days blurred into a mess with the only outstanding event that happened was when the ground roared in pain and the elementals in the area went mad with rage or agony. He saw some of those strangers again if a particularly big rift had opened up, he recognized a few, he watched with happiness as they returned and waved for them to stay a while to share stories or help cull a few of the rotting numbers. When the ground went still again however they stopped coming, some even stopped coming after taking care of a single of those bigger rifts, and he was alone again.

A couple of moons later he noticed that the red haze that he had as a companion for as long as he could remember got more and more intense as he waged his little war; it started to take control over him as the battles started and later he would come to in a sludge of bile and gore by his feet, oftentimes bruised or worse, and he realized he was losing himself to the bloodlust.

That's why he started reading the inscriptions and carvings; it was a way to stay connected with himself and his people and it worked, kinda. The Red haze was there but not as overbearing; Vuzabar retained consciousness but not always control. He noticed that while the haze blanketed his mind he felt gleeful as he drew blood, almost so much so that he started giggling or laughing, when he cut through the mindless undead one by one but as soon as the enemies were gone the feeling ebbed out and the haze lifted.

It lasted a couple of moons before he noticed that the haze started to become overbearing. So he took to the inscriptions again and muttered in zandalari, telling the stories to himself and whoever was around. You didn't have to be undead to be a zombie, he had seen plenty of trolls that showed him that, and he had no intention of becoming one. He found a calmness in the stories and hearing a voice, even if it was his own. However that soon became infuriating to him as the supposedly strong empire was now destroyed under the metal boot of the scourge; finding nothing but resentment for the stories of the past he instead turned to the future, making his own stories that he crudely hacked into the walls of his hideout over the old stories. And when that eventually failed him he turned to the last resort he could think of; he started doing low hymns. The hymns ranged from old battles of the stories, be it a victorious battle or not, to day to day of loa worship.

Maybe the hymns and crude scribbles still can be found in the ruins of Zul'Drak but Vuzabar is long gone.

Character small list

#Bakrul is my mercenary centaur, he was originally made for a dnd so that's why he has horns (Centabra Centaur) but I'll probably adapt him into a wow setting. Big burly and prone to anger with exception he's like... The main dude I guess as you might see both with name and profile picture, art by the lovely #hubedihubbe.

#Vuzabar is my Drakkari Warrior/Berserker, a pretty hard character but with a heart of gold. You don't want him close to you during a fight though he's kinda out of control and his actions scream C O L L A T E R A L D A M A G E.

#Tam’dyla is my Orc Warlock, a pretty young upstart bold and brash and not afraid of breaking a few rules to get her way, not the brightest when it comes to summoning though.

#Meneath is my blood elf paladin, Champion of the cleansing flame you most likely will not be able to see him without his armor and helmet on. A blood elf with a burning passion and a fire theme to his abilities, should not be allowed outside during hot summer days.

#Vuzanzibo is my unaffiliated feral: animalistic troll for the ones that haven't seen them around, I've mostly only seen them in art so I don't know much about their rp potential so I'm leaving it blank until I'm able to research on them.

And hopefully more to come, no art so far I draw with my dominant hand like some do with their non-dom hand ;^)

Captured Pt. 4

Vuzabar feels a hand to his lips; muffling his screams. He bites down hard and taste blood as he hears an equally muffled yelp of pain.

The room is dark save for a small window, letting in the cold moonlight. As Vuzabar’s eyes get accustomed to the darkness he sees an old man. The man’s other hand is holding one finger by his lips and quietly hushes at the troll.

“My name is Tom and if you release my hand I will let go of your mouth but you need to be quiet otherwise Master will wake up.” Vuzabar nods and opens his mouth, granting him a sharp hiss from Tom.

Tom is a very gaunt old man with long unkempt hair. He looks well into his late years with hair white as snow and more shriveled than a raisin. He moves quickly over to a table standing in the moonlight and waves his arm around muttering to himself about misplacing items. He finally found a piece of cloth and wraps it around the hand before tying a clumsy knot on the makeshift bandage.

Vuzabar looks at the old man in slight confusion; the man had spoken in zandali, the troll language. He had a weird accent but it was understandable.

“How… How do you know Zandali?” Vuzabar had to know.

“I guessed right then?” Tom smiled back at him, with only a few teeth left in his old mouth. As he turned around in the moonlight Vuzabar can see that Tom’s eyes are almost as white as his hair, he snarl as he has only seen the undead with such eyes. Tom gestures to keep the voice down.

“Easy there fella, you don’t want to wake Master believe you me.” Tom navigates the room, despite his apperent poor eyesight, with relative ease as he walks closer to Vuzabar again and sits down on a chair next to the troll.

“I guess introductions are in order, no not me. You were brought here a couple of days ago, most of us didn’t think you’d make it.” He waves his hand outward “This here is Gilbert, dont let his face fool you he’s quite the master at cooking!” Vuzabar looks in confusion at the empty spot that Tom points towards. Suddenly someone clears his throat on the opposite side of Tom and starts speaking in a soft voice in a language Vuzabar doesn’t know. “Yes yes Gilbert Gildranel potato potato.” Tom responds in Zandali to the other person. It’s clear that Tom isn’t properly present, he had same pronunciation on both potatoes.

Vuzabar have seen this kind of person before when he was in Zul'Drak, usually emerging from the shadows. Tall and with glowing eyes; their skin different hues of blues or purples that help them blend in with the darkness around them.

Vuzabar interrupt the conversation between Tom and Gilguy. “Where are we and how do I get back home?” Tom’s face turns sad as he “looks” at Vuzabar. “Hate to be the bearer of bad news but… This IS your home now.” His face lights up again. “But don’t you worry Master will take good care of you yes he will!” Gilguy seems to have had enough and goes back to bed. He says something in that foreign language before laying down in a corner with straw. Vuzabar is suddenly made extremely aware of his own bed, nothing more than a layer of straw on top of a stone floor, and by extension the chain going from the wall to his neck. He was quite stuck. He felt stronger, though not as strong as he had been, and tried to open the collar but to no avail. He’d have to wait and it infuriated him; he couldn’t be stuck here, there were hordes of undead still plaguing his home. Suddenly the fury was gone, replaced with exhaustion, and he fell into deep and empty sleep.

He woke up to the sound of a cane clicking against the stone floor, it was the fat goblin again. Sunlight was streaming in from the little window and there were lamps hanging from the ceiling. He saw a lot more people when the light shone brightly and they had all laid in a position of worship aimed at the goblin. The goblin himself was short, fat, and green and had to waddle as he moved anywhere. For a split second the red haze filled his view before it disappeared again, leaving him extremely exhausted. The goblin grinned at Vuzabar and took a hold of his head and started turning it back and forth as if inspecting an animal. Vuzabar wanted to bite, kill, maim, anything but as quickly as the thoughts entered they also left, leaving him more and more exhausted. He got away a weak growl at the inspection which rewarded him with a sharp hit from the cane before the inspection continued. Suddenly there was a bright voice coming from the door and a female goblin entered, barely developed, and started talking to the other goblin. They discussed for a while many times pointing at Vuzabar and the fat goblin stomped off while the young goblin sat down next to Vuzabar and stared in childish wonder.

She bombarded him with questions in Orcish, learnt from adventurers that was relieved to see him not being hostile to them, and he did his best to answer but something kept draining his energy.

She grinned widely at him and pointed with a giggle “You’re my champion!” she then threw herself around his neck and hugged him tightly. She waved as she left leaving him confused once again.

A couple of days passed, everyone else in the room left at sunrise and came back at sundown, usually looking tired and bruised. Vuzabar was still chained to his “bed” though but the others brought food with them for him that they barely was able to give to him from fear. The first few days he snarled at them for showing such fear to his weakened state, but it didn’t change anything in their behavior. He started getting bigger again as well, gaining both weight and mass at an alarming rate. Then one day it was his turn.

The girl skipped in and looked at Vuzabar, shortly thereafter came two oafs; one grabbed the chain tightly and the other unlocked it from the wall, like a chain leash. As he growled at the oafs the girl thwacked him with a metal rod, not hard just a slight sting.

“No, Ruffles, no growling. We’re going to do something fun today!” She giggled again and started skipping out of the room, the oafs following shortly thereafter bringing Vuzabar with them. The sun had just reached zenith and Vuzabar shielded his eyes from the brilliant burning sun. The girl, that told him to call her Princess, led him around town like a parade and a few of the residents stopped and gawked at the weird troll, the ones they were used to weren’t as blue or hairy as Vuzabar. After one round through the small town she pointed at a big cage in the middle of an otherwise open place. “There, Ruffles, that’s where the fun will happen!” The oafs walked into the cage with Vuzabar and set him free, giving him a hard shove to stop any advances, and then quickly got out and closed the gate. “First, Ruffles, you get to sparr I’ve heard it’s important so your sparring partner will be… That bug!” Princess points further into the cage at a big scorpion. The pit had been prepared with some weapons before he had gotten there and he picked up one shield and one mace. “And begin!” It was over a few seconds after it began; Vuzabar blocked the stinger with the shield, cracking the shield from the big stinger, and then smashed the head of the scorpion easily crushing the exoskeleton with the mace. Princess clapped happily and squealed in delight at her champion’s victory and a couple of bystanders that stopped to watch applauded politely, knowing full well that it was an easy fight.

“Sparring is over, who wants to challenge my champion?” Princess shouted out over the gathered bystanders. Nobody answered the challenge and Princess clapped her hands again happily. “Yay undisputed champion!” She rush into the cage, happy and excited about the victory, and jumps to hug Vuzabar. Seeing the gate being unlocked and a way out he catches her with the shield and throw both further into the cage and runs faster than he ever ran before, out of the cage and into freedom, still clutching the mace he waves it at the terrified bystanders and a few run off to get the guards. There was a small patrol that raised alarm with a horn and then the chase was begun. They throw nets, which misses, and fire a volley of arrows at him, he gets one lodged into his arm and grunts in pain, the red haze is layering his mind like a blanket, he runs out the north gate and runs west, east has nothing but the coast. He can hear yelling from inside the town and runs right into the desert.

The sun had barely moved but it felt like ages since he escaped; his breath heavy and jagged from the sprint and his body doused in sweat. Vuzabar’s throat burns from dehydration and exertion but he can see an oasis not too far away he just needs to persevere. The call from town has all but died down and he doesn’t think they are after him anymore, he grins they wouldn’t have survived a day in Zul'Drak. Sun is halfway down but still the oasis isn’t getting closer, better run so he can reach it faster. Vuzabar’s vision is blurry and his legs unsteady, curse that oasis! He collapse onto the ground; the arrow still sticking out of his shoulder and in only a loincloth, the mace having been dropped long ago. Everything is a blur and then black.

He feel hands on his skin, soft with small bumps, he murmurs before drifting off again. Suddenly cold blessed water; he tries to get more but whoever is giving it to him is holding back, making sure not too much at once, his vision still blurry but stabilizes for a moment and he sees the most beautiful troll he’s ever seen before.

There’s a gloria around her head; her tusks are perfectly shaped. Her exotic caramel colored skin with lighter spots. Her curves that are just barely out of sight by her light clothing. He wheeze out through cracked lips: “A-ah a loa of beauty, so this is the end?” The world goes black as he faints again, but this time a smile on his lips.

Captured Pt.3

Vuzabar awakens and stands up; straightening his back and breathes in heavily, the smell of snow and death hangs heavy in the air. He is in Zul’Drak again. He feels the comfortable weight of his gauntlets and the smooth handle of his broad punch knives in his clenched fists. He hears the guttural roar of an abomination that is lumbering towards him and he lowers into a fighting stance. The abomination gets closer and raises its arm to strike with the cleaver; Vuzabar dashes right, just avoiding the strike and drives his two fists into the arm of the abomination. Vuzabar can hear the bones crack as the skin parts and spews out putrid blood and bile but the monstrosity doesn’t seem to even notice and turns with frightening speed to knock the troll off his feet and despite bringing up his arms to brace the impact he gets thrown back from the force.

Vuzabar is barely able to stand up and jump to the side as the massive hook comes flying his way before being pulled back. Vuzabar can feel his cheeks pulling his lips slowly going from a grin into a wide smile; his eyes shining brightly as he views the abomination. The troll thunks his fists together before charging headfirst towards his enemy; landing several hits against the bloated body. Deftly dodging the log-sized arm before ripping a large chunk out of the side of the monstrosity on the verge of giggling, only thing stopping him is the putrid flesh and tainted blood flying all around him.

Several minutes later a bruised and battered Vuzabar is standing on top of a bloody mess that once was an abomination; knee deep in gore and blood he keeps hitting the decaying flesh with sloshing sound as it burst under his fists, his punching knives back in their sheath. Eager for more he looks around in a red haze and with a low chuckle. He sees a couple of females and children huddling next to a ruin; Odd they should have all been evacuated. He moves over to them, his weapons dripping blood into the snow, but before he can ask them why they are still here they scream and cower. He looks behind himself and grins as he see a couple of fallen Drakkari running at him with their weapons raised.

He parries the first blade with his right armguard, deflecting the blow from the decaying troll before hitting him with a heavy left hook, the second blade does a glancing hit that he shrugs off. As the first troll staggers from the hit Vuzabar quickly slams both hands into the temples of the second troll, cracking the skull, and turns to the first troll; kicking it in the stomach and slamming down his fists onto the head as it doubles over, slamming it into the ground so it bounces once before it lays still. The haze returns as he turns back to the living; one of the girls, not even adult yet, points a sword, where did that come from, with tears streaming down her cheeks. Vuzabar’s grin widens as the red haze thickens, he haven’t fought the living for so long, as she screams and rush against him. He stands fully exposed for her and laughs her straight into the face; at the reaction she stumbles, a fatal mistake, he snorts and brings his fist into her belly before kneeing her face so she is sent flying onto her back, dropping the sword and curls into a ball. Vuzabar stares down at her with contempt: “Don’t go picking up weapons if you can’t use it properly, whelp.” Slowly as he watches the group of trolls the start to decay and turn into undead before his very eyes. Another of the girls, probably bigger sister of the first, picks up the sword and slashes at him but her form and stance reveals it’s just bravado or idiot’s courage. Vuzabar just takes a step backward to get out of the immediate range of the blade and snarls at the group. His lips twitching into a smile again as he close the distance again with a uppercut straight into the older trolls face as she kneels over the younger troll, her face a mixture of pain and surprise as the plated gauntlet connects. Clutching her face screaming and the older trolls in the group cover the eyes of the younger trolls. Normally Vuzabar would just leave them be but he was worked up now and they had the gall to not only attack him but also being beyond worthless at it, chuckling to himself as he rocks back and forth and walks closer to the group. Stomping on both the girls laying in the snow as he walks over them towards the group. They acted weird, not like most undeads he encountered; he made quick work with the group while laughing before he turned back to the girls that took up the sword. Straddling across the belly of the first girl he caress her cheek with the bloody hands while hushing her; she sobs uncontrollably and her fear reeks. Frowning he pulls back his fist and just as he’s about to drive it into her face he wakes up, screaming and sweaty in a dark room.

Captured pt.2

Vuzabar stirred as he lay down, his arms brushing up against some kind of material he couldn’t quite make out. He groaned as he opened his eyes, his vision blurry and gaze unsteady; quickly grasping at his head as the pain blossoms up and he closes his eyes again. The troll tries to stand up but his legs buckle beneath him and as he sits down his back comes to rest against a wall. Why is there a wall behind him? He opens his eyes again, slower this time. He have no clue where he is or how he got there but he sees other people and that odd troll again, it looks at him. The sun shines a warm red as it is setting on the horizon and his senses are starting to come to, he can see that thing that was “hiding” before it turned to black talking to a human.

“Great work, Rogue. Looks like we’ll be keepin’ Budd around a little longer. We’ll have your cage picked up right away. Here’s your share of the bounty. Oh and welcome to the camp. Stick around and I’m sure we’ll find a use for ya…”

The thing tip his head on a silent nod. It looked half sinister and half ridiculous with the mismatched armor pieces, some pieces of gray and black leather and the rest various scavenged leather pieces in a variety of colors ranging from yellow to brown.

Vuzabar tries to say something but as soon as he opens his mouth it goes black again.

This time when he opens his eyes it doesn’t hurt anymore but the world is rocking back and forth and he can taste iron. The troll looks around in confusion, he had heard of something called ship before but only really seen canoes so this was foreign to him. He realize he’s naked as a babe and nowhere is the sight of his weapons. The troll looks around frantically, but all he can see is ship; ship and ocean, or at least he assumes it’s the ocean because it was blue and filled the entirety of the small holes he could see through. He then notice there are people around him, various races from all kinds of places. And they were all staring at him; some with envy, some with lust, some with pity, and some with disgust. One of the troll shipmates clapped his hands together and spoke:

“Alright then ya scoolywags go back to de wurk, if we don’ get dis sheepment to port befo’ next moon de boss be mighty angri”

Vuzabar assumed he was some kind of leader and was about to ask him something but was interrupted by a rough fabric thrown into his face; as he removed it he found that the other troll was staring straight at him with a grin.

“ya bettah not be makin’ ani trooble, it be a shem if I ‘ave to cut ya toonge”

Still confused and stunned by everything new he didn’t get to answer or do anything before the troll sashay away and he gets left to his own devices. Nobody interacted with him through the entire trip, the only difference was at lunch as he had to eat, but he was technically never alone, there were exotic animals and other luxurious items on the boat as well; some items he recognized as Drakkari fetishes or relics while some looked like junk someone had sold because it took up space.

The time turned into an unrecognizable mash as the days bled into each other only knowing two things were certain; food and sleep. His muscled form were losing shape from the stale and poor food and he barely had energy to stand. But it didn’t last for long as he was roused from his slumber by the sound of the crewmen as they took hold of his cage and lifted it up, they spoke on a foreign language and then laughed.

They brought him up onto deck and bore him onto shore, opened the cage and dumped him in the sand in front of a goblin, fat and big eared with fancy clothing, he looked at Vuzabar and then barked at the troll that had thrown the fabric to Vuzabar.

“What is this supposed to be? I bought a… A beast, a monster, a… A massive killing machine and you bring me this?! Can he even stand?”

The goblin kicks Vuzabar to emphasize his point but the Vuzabar is too weak to do anything but growl in response which rewarded him with a hard thwack from the bejeweled walking cane and a sharp “Silence, slave!” Vuzabar exhausted and weak started to drift off as they discussed and then raised their voices at each other; but he didn’t hear any of it as he drifted into blissful unconsciousness.

Captured Pt. 1

Vuzabar looked over Zul'Drak with disgust; looking at what the Drakkari, his people, have fallen to. The troll shakes his head and turns around to never return again.

He wears his armor, rather heavy protection, as he walks out through the gates of Drak'Tharons keep. He remember how these stairs were filled with trolls fleeing from the undead scourge that swept the nation a few years prior; the bodies tight together and some being trampled in the hysteria, the smell of fear still infused in these walls. He was stationed at the top of the stairs to stop the undead from getting to the escapees; sometimes he cut down the living too if he deemed them a threat to the other escapees, trolls with hollow eyes, bite and scratch marks all over their bodies, and the weak. In the end he was the only one standing watch over the escapees; the other guards either left in disgust of his killing or died by his hand as they tried to stop him. That felt like ages ago.

To say that he liked battles and killing would be an understatement; its what he lived for. The troll was standing proud and tall with an air around him that was unusual for his young age. The troll looked tired; while his body was in prime condition his eyes, once so passionate and smiling, was now dull and empty.

As he kept wandering into Grizzly Hills he relived the escape, the campsites, the fear, the weakness… He couldn’t go with them that time and he didn’t know what happened with the tribe as he turned his heel and ran back to exact revenge on those that died. He snaps back to the present; no idea where he is but he knows that he is followed, he looks around. The troll sees a very strange looking troll standing in front of him, the arms are fair and not very muscled, his head looks like a flat disc, and he’s not hunched over. But more importantly, he’s not alone. Vuzabar looks at the weird troll and then to the “hidden” thing in the bush and then back to the troll and is just about to ask him what this all is about as it goes black.

Character list

Bakrul is my mercenary centaur, he was originally made for a dnd so that’s why he has horns (Centabra Centaur) but I’ll probably adapt him into a wow setting. Big burly and prone to anger with exception he’s like… The main dude I guess as you might see both with name and profile picture, art by the lovely #hubedihubbe.

Vuzabar is my Drakkari Warrior/Berserker, a pretty hard character but with a heart of gold. You don’t want him close to you during a fight though he’s kinda out of control and his actions scream C O L L A T E R A L D A M A G E.

Tam’dyla is my Orc Warlock, a pretty young upstart bold and brash and not afraid of breaking a few rules to get her way, not the brightest when it comes to summoning though.

Meneath is my Blood Elf Paladin, Champion of the cleansing flame you most likely will not be able to see him without his armor and helmet on. A blood elf with a burning passion and a fire theme to his abilities, should not be allowed outside during hot summer days.

Vuzanzibo is my unaffiliated feral: animalistic troll for the ones that haven’t seen them around, I’ve mostly only seen them in art so I don’t know much about their rp potential so I’m leaving it blank until I’m able to research on them.

Thondalar is my Void Elf Rogue, not exactly the... stealthiest of rogues but he’s got a pure heart. He really isn’t good at being a rogue but he has pledged himself to being a “shadow” of Alleria after the events that turned him and his fellow Blood Elves into Void Elves.

And hopefully more to come, no art so far I draw with my dominant hand like some do with their non-dom hand ;^)

Ruzhak is my Lightforged Draenei Paladin he’s a bit of a zealot when it comes to crushing demons under his gilded hoof. Other than that he’s a guardian with plenty of stories about various fights against the Burning Legion.

Jum'Ambo is my Troll Death Knight, a mistake he and his brother did as pretty young killed them both and raised Jum'Ambo as a death knight and filled his body with diseases. He's a diehard Sylvanas fan because she eases the Shadowy tendrils that scream in his mind.