Grey.

DC had spend the last night within the forest, frequently assaulted by smaller or larger zards. The few plates on his leather armor had been dented, and large parts of his unprotected limbs showed deep claw and bite marks. His face was pale, his hat had been shredded to bits (a loss he couldn't quite cope with) and his endurance was nearing it's limit. Thick green blood dripped from his dagger as he stumbled deeper into the forest. A clearing revealed itself, low groans and rather rough shouts. What he found when he pulled aside twigs and leaves, was an encampment of sorts. Hides, the stench of orcs in the air. As he staggered into the open, the greenhide sentries' eyes widened in shock ~Have I turned into such an abominable figure?~ He briefly looked down at himself, finding that he was indeed bleeding from several deep cuts, and he could imagine that his broken nose had turned his face into quite a mess. He swept blood encrusted hair aside to get a better view, then spoke in broken orcish a few words ~Thank god languages is one of the few things I actually didn't suck in~
"I come not to haunt or harm you, as dread an apparition I might be"
Heavy axes left their belts and sheaths and DC finally noticed how his hand was still clutching the dagger. He dropped it quickly, bowing his head and holding his hands up
"I am a mere wanderer, seeking solace. I promise to pay you in gold and service, or may the spear of glorious Gruumsh cleave my head in twain"

They grunted for quite some time, yet DC did not lift his head for a second. The orcs grabbed him by his neck and shoulders, urging him forward with cold brutality. He did not dare move anything but his legs, as he was brought before the warlord for inspection. A bulk of greenish meat, a heavy double bladed Axe behind his throne of bones and horn, the warlord was indeed a sight that would freeze the blood if faced on a battlefield. DC fell to his knees as the guards loosened their hold, not intentionally, but strength was leaving him with every drop of blood he lost. Suspicious eyes observed him, gazed briefly at the many dents on his armor, then the warlord snorted once before lifting his heavy axe and trodding forward
"Tell me, elf" And his voice echoed in DCs ears in broken elfish "Why spare your life when it would be so much easier to create a goblet out of your empty skull?" DC reflected on these words for a few seconds, then spoke quietly and slowly, realizing that one wrong word would cost him his life "Dread lord, I come to you a humble servant. If it is your will to stop my beating heart, there is no need to hestitate. Yet I beg you, let me prove to you that my service is of value. Let me show you how my blades can dance to the tune of your wardrums" A shiver ran down his spine, as he saw the grip of the warlords hands tighten around his axe "And you have my oath, you will not regret it" Silence fell once again upon the hut, as the orc chief considered the words of the bleeding elf before him
"A man with this many wounds should be dead, yet you grovel before me, your lungs breathing and your heart beating. If Yurtrus rejects you, there must be reason for your coming here"

DC did not see how the warlord jerked his head in the direction of his 2 retainers, did not hear the coals sizzle, but as the burn mark of the one eyed deity Gruush was pressed into the naked skin on his back, he did indeed gasp in pain, yet bit on his tongue to prevent himself from screaming. The warlord grunted in approval as DC was dragged away by his hair, body and will broken.

He awoke hours later in an empty tent, first streams of daylight creeping in. His broken body had been tended to. They had scorched his wounds shut, knowing that every scar would remind him of his servitude "I made the right choice" He tried to convince himself ~I am not going to break this oath. There is no going back~ News of his arrival had spread, and after having a long conversation with the camp's smith, his armor had been mended, and his daggers reforged. A brand new shortsword dangled from his belt, a mask of iron now covered his face, forged in the shape of a leering demon. "We march today" came the grumpy voice of a wardrummer "You better prepare"
~March I will, against whatever fate will throw my way~
Little did he suspect....

Gentlemen, if you fight me, or interact with me, please don't just mend the outcome the way you want it. Winnie has already turned me into a brute who doesn't even know what air freshener is, Vamp has defied me, and if I face one of you on the battlefield, I don't just want you to write "DC recognized the TR members and turned on the orcs". Don't we all want to develop our characters ourselfes?

This is the way we RolePlay. We all contribute to the storyline, and we can use each others characters as long as we don't godplay. Meaning we can't just kill off someone's character without their assent.

Ok, everybody can now kill off my characters. I don't think I can survive this way, so just kill me off at some point and don't mourn.

As all of TR emerged from their designated areas on and around the West Greenguard Fortress, they saw just how massive the approaching threat was. The Sea Dragons were apparently much more powerful than anyone had expected, for an army made up of hundreds upon hundreds of Orcs of all kinds was marching steadily toward them.

At the armys head was an Orc vehicle, made of wood and heavy iron*. Four Orcs dragged it along behind them, acting as beasts of burden. It wasn't covered, so there was a clear view of the ornate steel throne that adorned it. Upon this throne sat not an Orc, but an extremely tall and muscular man, clothed not in the robes of a king, but in the armor of a tank soldier. As the army reached the one strip of land that connected the massive fortress to the rest of Greenguard, the bethroned vechicle halted, the rest of the force following suit. The man rose from his throne and spoke, his voice booming across the open air that seperated him and the members of TR.

"Greetings, Vamparagon. I am Zamdine, the warlord of the Sea Dragons, and I've brought a little gift for your clan to make up for taking... this," he said as he lifted something into the air. He was close enough to the fortress that everyone could see the fish that he grasped. It looked to be as old as time itself. Its scales were pitch black, and small ridges of bone trailed across the length of its body. It had two icy blue eyes that glowed with potent magick. Although it was out of water, it didn't seem to be having any trouble breathing.

"The Fish of Origin!" Vamp gasped. "Your hands aren't fit to touch him! TR, we fight now!"

Hordes of TR members poured out of the fortress gates as the Orcs began to stampede down the stretch of land toward them. Swords and axes clashed, spells rocketed across the battlefield, and bodies fell to the ground on both sides. The hydras head reared out from the water with Atriax on top of it and breathed its salty flames on the Orcs. Flawsie and Alfredo led a group of members as they flew down through an altered gravity field onto the tops of the attackers. Ryzaa and Rage led the main attack force as they hacked away at their enemies. Charon acted alone, taking out every Orc that crossed his path with a combination of his Scion powers and his deadly scissors. At first, it looked like TR was winning.

But the Orcs kept coming.

They climbed onto the Hydra and pummeled it until it crashed into the lake, sending a wave over the warring clans. They began to adapt to TR's fighting style, knocking floating members out of the air with the flat sides of their broad axes, dodging spells, and countering attacks. Their brute strength would have eventually won their side the war if an immense burst of magic hadn't erupted in the middle of the field, seperating the forces and sending them back to their own sides. All of the warriors stared in wonder at the man at the center of where the blast had occured.

He wore an immaculate grey suit that was partially covered by dark grey, silver trimmed platemail. Dark black hair fell to his back. He rose one hand, pointed his finger at the Orc army, and uttered a string of words under his breath. The entire Orc force except for Zamdine turned grey, frozen in the positions that they had been in a moment before.

Every TR member's jaw dropped. They all looked at the stone army, then at each other, and then back again. Finally, they began to cheer. The man turned his head to look behind him, one cold eye staring at the joyous clan. "This victory comes at a price," he spoke without any emotion. The clan stopped and stared once more, this time in fear.

"What do you mean, a price? And who are you, anyway?" Charon asked in his sonorous baritone voice.

The man emitted what would have been a chuckle, had it not sounded so dead. "They call me Grey. And I want you, Scion." Before anyone could move, Grey spun around and pointed his finger at Charon, who turned to seeming stone just like the Orcs. Grey snapped his fingers, and Charon and the Orcs were teleported away.

"Hey, what have you done with my army!?" Zamdine bellowed from his throne, still holding the Fish. "Come down here and fight like a man, you coward!"

Grey disappeared and reappeared directly in front of the warlord. Zamdine's eyes widened as Grey slid his hand through his body and back again. Zamdine looked at the gaping hole where the center of his chest had been. Grey took the Fish from him as his eyes rolled back in his head. "Never doubt the power of Anima," he stated, and teleported away.

*Heavy Iron: A type of Iron that only Orcs know how to create. It is rougher than any other form of iron, but what it lacks in smoothness it makes up for in strength.


(Sorry for taking the entire battle scene, it was necessary)