#khornoth

[khornoth-blog]

“For war, we must be cruel.” 

[martyrized]

khornoth replied to your post “grump.”

*Soothing vibes*

ilu lorge angery

[thepeachpen]

Second place giveaway prize! Khornoth for @khornoth! 

[khornoth-blog]

Khornoth's maybe around... 70, given the time from BFA to pre-Dark gate. Since WoW time isn't totally recorded accurately, he's more accurately "venerable". But that's not slowing him down!

Please reblog if you play a character who is 30 years of age or older

I don’t care if it’s an OC or a canon character, and while I play a human, I don’t care if your fandom isn’t but for the love of god, why is everyone in their twenties? Give me some mid thirties or even some fourties. Hell, throw me some silver foxes. Please.

[khornoth-blog]

“Ancestors, I am troubled.”

It has been weeks since his leave of officer. Khornoth, whom had served so long in the Horde, was left to his own works and the cultivating of his people’s culture. In times of trouble, of rumbling woe, he has come to commune with the dead Orcs of the past, and even the elements whom he serves and whom serve him. The Heart of Blackhand rests before him atop of Kalma, channeling the Ancestors. Khornoth is seated upon his knees, head bowed in respect to the Ancestors. “It has been days since I had really been with them. To see them in full. I am disturbed. In this time where I have moved from the march of war, it has given me more time to think. Do I, Khornoth, son of the Skull-Takers, still do what is best for myself and the Clan? I am disturbed. My reflection does not resemble I. I feel displaced. Off the ground.” He reaches a hand down to scoop the sand. He had been taking residence in the large house of Severidan in Orgrimmar. In the city, he has been able to teach Shaman the ways of Invocation, forge masterful weapons for the war, and even gift the orphanage gold frequently for the children to enjoy Hallow’s End. He’s even considered adopting a child. 

His mind shakes out of the cloud. He looks up to the stars that loom over Durotar, and then once more bows his head. Fires crackle from the blessed blade Kalma, the heart of Blackrock responding to his weakly pleas. Now, the orc faced scorn and anger from his ancestors, as he expected. The sand cracked, the stone burnt. For hours more, the Farseer would wait and humbly accept the scorn and advice.

[khornoth-blog]

“Burn it all. We must finish what we started.” 

[khornoth-blog]

“Where is she?”

<Trigger warning for gore and not so nice things! ; - ; > 

It had been a long week of treachery and warfare. The Alliance were masters by now in the tactic of guerrilla warfare. Whereas Khornoth helped entrench some of the best lines the Horde had, there was never enough time before some Alliance spy had managed to lay down a trap or sabotage their efforts. Some of the younger Blackrocks have simply snapped and fought one another for accidents that could not be explained. Cannot be explained, until a Shaman uncovered a sickening goblin hired by the Alliance was the source of our snapping tempers. 

The next  thing to snap was his neck when i threw him to the grunts.

Still, the Alliance has made such remarkable attacks on Khornoth and his Khornites merely on foot. Always in range and always with a light step, often attacks came as so; A single bulk unit of Kul Tiran and Seventh Legion warriors move in, gaining our force’s attention with ranged attacks. When the main forces focus on them, the Alliance sends their rats to cut down at the legs of blessed Khornites. It’s come to a point the old orc has extended his own salary towards goblins specifically claiming themselves ‘knee cap protectors’. As it would seem, the war was firm on its disbelief of honor. 

*I breathed slowly, standing at my command tent. I had finished offering the last blessing to my warriors, and finally were we able to set down one trench line for the riflemen and the shield guard. Our warriors have dwindled lower, and now we await reinforcements from the main force to take the offensive here. The Ranger Lord has charmed me and promised this would not take long with the forces I had. But even now twelve of my poor warrior kin has been slaughtered, and three times the amount of grunts. Losses that I cannot shake off me, where some nights I do not sleep. Young warriors, some barely of age to find mates. But we must hold here until the Ranger Lord’s reinforcements arrive.*

At hold, the Champion of Blackrock stood behind the trench in his soldier’s burrow. Several warriors were sleeping, and Khornoth was put on watch for them along with the other twelve Blackrocks sitting in the trench. Shifts would be switched in the morning, and those at guard would get some rest. Khornoth did not think about rest right now though. He was constantly glaring through the skinny slits of the burrow, keeping an eye on the local fauna. The peons under his command had been tasked with ruining trees and using their lumber for structures and protection. They only had to worry about one side of the enemy, because behind them was a steep mountain wall that halted the need for a full enclosure. And the best part was that there was an escape path. This was an ideal position, assigned by the Ranger Lord that commanded Khornoth. He did hate however how far it was from the head quarters of Wyldegleam. It was a distance away from the shore, but still in Tiragarde no less. Khornoth wanted to see Faetrix, Andar’thael. Some nights were restless because he could not find the warmth inside his tent despite the fires and his own bodily heat. No. Being here always crept this coldness... Like the first second when stone in the winter is pushed against skin. That shocking cold that feels unbearable to the senses, but just for a moment. Khornoth twitched, snapping his head upward when he saw movement with a shrubbery. Nothing of course, came out.

I sighed, putting my ironclad hand on my face. But I broke the short pleasure of closed eyes when I heard the start of words behind me. My gauntlet’s hand on my face became a fist and I spun around to strike the potential assassin, only to recoil back before I could strike the Stone Guard that had approached. I was caught in a recoil, losing balance for a short embarrassing moment before regaining my step. The warrior flinched and had recoiled herself, fearful of the strike that would have just ruined her tusks. I cursed her, daz’kook, shaking my fist at her. She cringed, before bowing her head. “We spotted elves coming this way. Night elves, drunken and armed. There are at least seven of them, all heading here. We are ready to go when you are.

Khornoth still had grunts and scouts, despite the losses he suffered from the rushing tactics of the Alliance. Khornoth however, was itching to spill blood. ��Tell the other scouts to come, and keep hidden. I will handle them myself. If anything suspicious comes, engage and I will flee. We must have no losses. Tell the warriors in the trench and prepare our towers for battle,” said the old orc. The scout nods, before running off to inform the Khornites and grunts. 

It was a few minutes, of quick shouts and the lighting of torches until I was met with the scouts that had spotted the elves. Two trolls, a goblin, a pandaren and finally the Stone Guard who informed me were all that was my war party that could seperate from the main force. I motioned for them to follow, dimming the flames on my armor quickly so I was much harder to see in the darkness of night. 

Go north, just ahead. We will follow, lay on the short hills here with the bushes. 

Khornoth moved ahead of the trench, as it was conveniently pointed north from the perspective of the camp. The orc was walking only a pair of minutes before stumbling upon the drunk and enraged elves. They looked at Khornoth, and they all became enraged and started to shout. One of them spoke common. 

“BURNING ORC SCUM! W-” The elf hicccups, “WE WILL AVENGE THE WHORES OF DARNASSUS AND THE BIRDIES!” That one elf’s voice cracked as he finished his sentence, snorting and stumbling with a drunken stupor. The elves cheered and shouted some more. They were Seventh Legion, easily recognizable by the uniforms they wore. Khornoth advanced towards them, hammer in hand and his Kalma in his other.

I charged them. One of them attempted to charge me, but it was foolish. Others tried to join in that drunken heroic run, but they lost their footing and one of them even fell. The one that did collide with me, I ran against and proceeded to flatten him under my boots. I stomped hard, digging my heel into the head of the elf. Crunching and a slight slip. That, was what I enjoyed to hear when I fought these feeble tree lovers. Pushing forward, several of the elves met with me with swords and daggers. Simple swings with my kalma rendered them corpses. A slice across two of them, a crush of another with my hammer. Using the gifts of my ancestors, I burned the rest. To prevent fire spreading, I stomped on their bodies as they burned. Perhaps just to end their pain quicker. That would be a kindness.

Khornoth was simply pushing his foot down on an elf’;s head, before something jumped onto his back. 

“I’M BACK BITCH!” Screamed a woman. A woman that has tried to kill Khornoth multiple times! The orc had her alone, without Kul Tiran scum, and he grabbed her by her red locks. As he lifted his hand, pulling her hair and getting her off him, she had stabbed his arm with a knife. Khornoth roars in pain, as the awful device shot out spikes to anchor into the wound. Khornoth quickly worked to cauterize the wound, burning his black skin and attaching it to his armor. 

I screamed while I  combined my own armor with my skin, and with my roar the war party I had came to my aid. They scared off the woman, and I was guided back to the camp.

The wound I thought I had cauterized was only worsened by the procedure. The armor I would had pulled more skin, and I mistook the stream of blood going down my arm for sweat. 

I fainted.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Morning now. The Ranger-Lord’s reinforcements arrived, and so did a Centurion to hold my position. I was relieved for a short time, two days unless I was in need of an emergency. Arm in a metal battle-cast, I had a gun mount on it and my gun on my back. Never go without a weapon. 

My first destination was the Ranger-Lord’s ship. I was excited to see him and Faetrix. I wished to spend the night with them, to care for my mates and to feel their warmth again.

But when i returned, I couldn’t find either of them. The cabin was locked, and no knock roused anyone.

I asked one of the stationed Rangers.

The Ranger-Lord disappeared, and Faetrix was no where to be found. 

I waited. I waited at my tent, next to the ship, watching the captain’s cabin from my position. No one came out, no one entered. 

Night came back, and I couldn’t take it. I marched up the ramp to the boat, and when I slammed the door open, the Ranger Lord was there, sitting, hands on his head. 

“Where is she?” I asked.

“Gone,” he said.

[khornoth-blog]

Horrible night.

“I can feel it in me. 

More anger. 

It festers, and I wish to expel it.

I must burn it.” 

...

“Have you seen one of those weird skull thrones? 

I have before. They’re pretty comfy actually. Whoever makes them knows how to make a good chair. 

But, that’s really it. Otherwise they stink, they’re awful to look at and usually most of them don’t discriminate what kind of skulls they are. Seeing fellow gnome skulls as crotch covers is pretty scary. 

it’s skulls though that really make the difference. 

What? Last night? I uh. Screw it, sure i’ll tell you. You got all those other witnesses. 

Ahem.

Last night, I was all by my lonesome. Scouting for the King, I really got into my job. No one, and I mean no one, not even my pop has ever caught me sneaking. I am the best. Like really, the best. So I do my scouting thing, and you know, it’s just making sure that all the places we have here on the East is happy and swell. We’ve had some Horde mobilizing down to Arathor doing who knows what and as a responsible gnome of the highest retinue, I have to make sure my charge is clean as a Dark Iron’s tush. I’ve got to admit though. There’s been some crazy stuff lately. 

Let me tell you about last night. Last night, I was scouting ahead for one of the League patrols. Everything was cool, and I was making sure our front was in tip top shape. We’re going up to meet with this officer named Johnathan, when suddenly we hear yelling. Now when i mean we, I mean me and all the patrol fellas. It was that loud. And when we looked up, Fel, it was a sight in the night with a full moon.

There was this... Muscle guy. Orc was obvious, because who can mistake that bulgy body? Ew. Orcs got too much muscle. But back to what he was wearing. Or did I not talk about that? Well, he had pipes. Pipes all over him. Pipes? He had them. 

Pipes for days.

Like seriously, he had the plate armor equivalent to pipes. But also he was fat. Yeah, looked like he was a super hunch. 

Here was this orc, in a gas mask with pipes coming out of almost every part of his body with big green googly goggle eyes. He didn’t move, even as the sniper with us was getting her aim on. 

Note, this guy was on a big hill, looking down at us. Actually, I don’t know how I didn’t see him with all that pipe. So much PIPE. So we got the sniper aiming and all, and when she fires, she misses. Kind of more than embarrassing, so she fires again. But she misses again, because the orc starts running towards us! And when you see him, his back is bouncing every time. Like something on his back. A big canister of glowing green and red, and for a second there I really thought that this orc was some sort of damn suicidie blight guy. 

I was so wrong. So archers aimed on their horses and started shooting him. Arrows and all go in him, and he’s only four meters away. He pulls on something on his chest, and I can see from a side view all that stuff on his back emptied through I assume the pipes. Then he started growing! 

He kept running towards the patrol, and before we knew it, or I knew it, he grew twice his size. All that leather ripped off, and the orc revealed itself to be red. A Fel-sucking RED ORC. Have you seen RED ORCS?! I sure didn’t until then! But he was so angry. Arrows and all sorts, swords and stuff, weren’t stopping him.

He tore a poor horse in half with his bare hands.

I, a responsible and very smart gnome, sat back in my bushes and started taking notes. I had to be prepared in case this happened to me. Can’t help anyone else if I can’t help myself can I? 

Swords went inside him. He didn’t seem to care. Even at one point, an arrow went straight through his forehead and he DIDN’T CARE. Thought it might be a new fleshy thing the Forsaken made. You’d think, because the next moment the captain guy on the patrol lifted up his hammer and got light all over that monster. it started burning, and it fell apart. 

It managed to kill a fourth of the fifteen man patrol, and a poor horse. 

But then that... That wasn’t the worst to come. I kind of regret telling you all this. I really do, because... I hate thinking about the next part.

Because there were more.”

[khornoth-blog]

Chapter 1: Family

I am Khornoth Skulltaker. I have lived long and still live for longer more, and for my entire life I have been dipped in the ways of war. I was trained in my childhood, even using the gifts of my ancestors for it, and would eventually come to be corrupted and once more reconnect to the greatness of my people and our heritage. As of recently, I resigned on good terms from the Horde Army and still serve my Horde for the good of its people and my clan, Blackrock. Since I left the major battlefields and my rank of Centurion to Ranger Lord Wyldegleam, taken to my independance, I have dedicated my time to teaching the culture of Blackrock to my kin and preserving our legacy while supporting the people of the Horde from within. With idle time I have, especially while traveling in pilgrimage to several locations, I decided to have this story. This story, for the sons and daughters of the Horde in Orgrimmar and everywhere else. The children of our Horde are what will replace us, and it is important we watch over them. They are our lifeblood, and for many, the reason we fight. I have no children of my own, and I doubt I will ever have such. And so I dedicate these stories to the children.

THE STORY OF THE LITTLE WARRIOR

In the land of Bazga, there was a little child named Dargul. Dargul lived in a shack, under a bridge, with a family. A happy family, who did not have to worry of the rain or sun. They lived close to the great city, and they had many other families to be their friends. Bazga is a beautiful place. Magical creatures live with its people, who help each other in the long winters, the long springs, the long autumns and long summers. Everything is longer in Bazga, but everyone likes that. There is always enough time for everything.

In the long winters, it got very cold. The Fires, dogs made of molten rock, would run around to people’s homes offering their burning stones to families in need of a fire to last them until the next winter. The Fires were thanked by the people of Bazga with stone hills they made their homes to take care of their own families.

In the long springs, homes were hurt from the long seasons. The Earths, fat chunky rocks that wobbled and rocked with little hands and stubby legs, waddled and rolled to fix the stone homes of Bazga’s families. The Earths were thanked by the people of Bazga with large forests they could live in, to raise rocks that would become their new families.

In the long autumns, children all across Bazga were bored. The Airs, small snakes of cool and fast wind, would fly through the sky and lift the colorful kites of the children. Festivals would come where the Airs fly and fly, making every kite dance and glimmer with shiny little stones on them. The Airs were thanked by the people of Bazga with small houses on top of families homes, where the Airs slept and taught their baby Airs how to fly to make the kites go into the sky.

In the long summers, it was very hot. The Waters, great living puddles with golden eyes, served their water to every home, every day in the summer so that the people of Bazga did not have to leave their cool homes. They were thanked by the people of Bazga with clean and healthy river basins where all puddles from the rain would be able to pour into, so that the Waters were never lonely and could find their families.

Dargul loved the magical creatures. The rolling Earths, the windy Airs, the soothing Waters and the warm Fires. And even though Dangul had a family, they did not have a mother or father. Dargul had them self, and with them one Air, one Fire, one Earth and one Wind living with Dargul in harmony. Dargul was raised by these four, and they were Dargul’s family. Dargul loved them very much, and they were no different to Dargul’s friends families. Because they were Dargul’s, and they loved Dargul.

One day, the sun did not rise after a long summer’s last night. It was another whole day and night until everyone would awake. The next day, the long winter came. But the Fires did not come, and Dargul’s Fire was gone. All the families were cold, and they had to take from the hot stone hills the Fires lived in.

The sun did not rise again on the winter’s last night. The next day, the long spring came. But the Earths did not come, and Dargul’s Earth was gone. All the families homes were not fixed, and so they had to take the trees from the forests the Earths lived in.

The sun did not rise yet again on the spring’s last night. The next day, the long autumn came. But the Airs did not come out of their houses, and Dargul’s Air was gone. All the children of Bazga were sad and cried, so the smartest of Bazga had to make great spinning machines to create wind with the little homes the Airs lived in.

The sun did not rise again on the autumn’s last night. The next day, the long summer came. But the Waters did not come out of the lakes, and Dargul’s Water was gone. All the families were not given water, so they had to create smaller dirty rivers to their homes from the lakes the Waters lived in.

Bazga became sad. Its magical friends were gone, and no one knew why. On the summer’s last night now, came a great monster. It was a monster made of blackness, with many blade-shaped legs that went down its sides… It had a lions head, with a golden set of teeth and it rose over Bazga with its white eyes.

“I am Aallinec! I am the forever night! I have taken your Fires, your Earths, your Airs and your Waters. They will serve me in my new kingdom. You are all with families, and with that I shall grant you all mercy. But know that your precious friends shall never return, until I am defeated by your greatest warrior!”

And so Aallinec, the great monster, the forever night, would fly away to the North where his great kingdom was away from Bazga. The many families of Bazga were sad, but thankful they had their own families. But families without their magical friends were scared and fearful of what Aallinec would do to them. The people of Bazga did not want to fight the monster in fear Aallinec would return to destroy their family only. All had a family, except one now.

Dargul was lonely, and now had no more family. Dargul was sad, and so Dargul cried. Dargul in the harsh seasons had become harder and harder with those long seasons, and Dargul was strong but still oh so small. Dargul had no family, because it was taken from Dargul. And Dargul wanted the family back. Dargul, with a kilt, cape and spear swore to travel through Bazga and defeat the evil Aallinec. Aallinec will return all the family’s magical friends, Dargul swore. And so Dargul became,

THE LITTLE WARRIOR

[khornoth-blog]

Conundrum of Loyalty!

Hi! So I have a personal problem with the upcoming 8.1 update. This has some spoilers, so uh, don’t look here if you don’t want spoilers! D: 

First of all, I do not dislike the 8.1 update at all. Infact I like it a lot! But my main concern is with the Saurfang and Sylvanas choice... And what should I do! 

I have read the lore of the Horde and gotten to know mentality of its people. Especially its founders, the orcs, whom took a different perspective with the Horde when Thrall escaped with the lethargic orcs and remade the Horde. I play a character whom is one of these orcs, and who is an older orc that’s admired the Horde for its attempts at redemption and trying to restore its sense of honor after being totally enthralled to the ruinous powers of the demon blood. This is my boy Khornoth, whom fights independently though with massive loyalty to the Horde. 

On the other hand and in a way the same, Khornoth admires strategy and forethought before a battle, the cause of the battle and plans to win during the battle. He saw the pros of Sylvanas’ aggressive tactics and afterall, she is the Warchief. He accepted non orcs taking the position, especially after seeing the rule of Blackhand, Orgrim,and Garrosh he wasn’t apart of Ner’zhul’s Horde due to him being captured on Azeroth.  He approved of the sudden conflict enacted by Sylvanas because the Gilneans actually started the war again during the Legion invasion by attacking the Forsaken in Stormheim. He didn’t approve of the tree burning, but he didn’t have much say and he had to move on in the battlefield. Later during the Siege of Lorderon, he approved of getting everyone out, but was shocked to see the warriors of the Horde raised to attack the Alliance. But later, he somberly admitted it did help hold the Alliance for some time. 

My problem with Khornoth is where his sense of loyalty. Where would it be, in the choice between Saurfang and Sylvanas?! 

He prefers an older Horde where honor is held and the Horde doesn’t turn to strategies its demon-blooded predecessors would have done.

But, he admits the grim strategies used by Sylvanas are best used in specifically WAR to accomplish victory.

During his own skirmishes against the Alliance however in Kul Tiras while he was still an enlisted officer, he tried his best to have his soldiers fight honorably 

Fighting honorably though proved to be counter-productive, because the Alliance would fight with colder strategies. This includes quick moving gnomes using poisoned weaponry, shield walls with point blank gun fire, unforgiving use of the elements... All IC interactions that had Khornoth and warriors that mostly ended in brutal and bloody deaths. (Such as crushed by ice block, bled out, hammered, skinned, sharpshooted, neck bashed...)

Still can’t help but feel empathy for Saurfang and his own struggles for not staying with the Horde. The current Horde’s strategies goes against many ideals Thrall had instilled into veterans and young orcs from the internment camps, and also feels like a step backwards from getting away from questionable Warchiefs such as Garrosh. 

At the same time, commends Sylvanas for maintaining her position and doing what’s best for the Horde. He also is excessively flabbergasted from learning how she had rebelled against the Lich King. He empathizes with her, with how he too had been controlled by a force beyond him and rebelled against it once his leash had been loosened.

Anyone care to bud in? I’d grealty appreciate it. \ o  / 

[khornoth-blog]

From the Frontline

"Its in these times of war, I remember the words of Durotan. 'I've led thousands of warriors into battle, but I fear being a father. Does that make me a leader, or a coward?' It was not until my third wife, that I understood this. And by that time it was all too late to have my child or thank Duraton for his wisdom. Now in this next war which I would call, making history, the Fourth Great War, I fear death not for personal gain. So I can return to my mates, and take care of children. Teach them my clan's tradition. Protect them from their fears, then train them to fight and recognize new ones. I now know the fear. And I will harness it into the fury of my dear Kalma."

Khornoth, Tiragarde Sound, south border Blackrock Front.

[khornoth-blog]

The Broken Shore; Monsters Without Leashes, The Devourer

"I remember serving the Horde and returning to the Broken Shore; where the Warchief had been killed. A skirmish was taking up to the hills, and we were in need of reinforcements. A warband's worth of heroes and warriors were fighting beside me, Alliance and Horde alike. A Pit Lord had breached our realm, and was now running rampant with an army of Fel Guard. Here, we hoped to stop him. The battle was not with fortune however; the demons were simply getting stronger and stronger - while also mutliplying by the agonizingly dragging seconds. Warriors perhaps a hundred strong, were now teetering to half that amount. It was a slaughter, all until we were all startled.

A screech that sounded like a dying hawk.

The sky suddenly fluttering with a blue hue.

The distorted cries of our reinforcements;

'For the Ebon Blade!'

It was a matter of seconds which were filled with plated warriors swooping down to break the Fel Guard formation surrounding us. Plated warriors atop skeletal abominations. Some crashed, only to stand and join us in the fight. More landed hastely and raised our roster more than a dozen. Then the undead came behind us, charging as a single mass to slam against the demons. Corpse warriors of the Lich King, we realized. To battle we joined, and to our astonishment, these corpse warriors had even demolished the Fel Guard's portal. The Pit Lord was left now, but none of us could get close enough to strike him before any of us. Arrows landed, uneffective on his hide skin.

It was until a single beast rose from us. Even bigger than I, this beast was shaped like a Worgen. But its face. Its face looked like that of a Sha demon's face, like the ones from Pandaria. He charged, and as he did, his axe was raised above his head and no other Corpse Warrior followed.

He was dead in moments. Swooped by the spear of the Pit Lord, he was then taken and consumed. You could see him be torn apart in its massive jaws, but the other Corpse Warriors did nothing. We, did nothing.

The Pit Lord mocked us and approached. We backed away. He had control over us; our fear. To fight him was suicide. Inglorious. But when he was to speak again, after heated words and drabbles of what he wanted to do with our corpses he held his tongue.

His chest distorts from under the skin.

His eyes flutter like the wings of the dead gryphons.

His entire body shakes with the power of a tremor.

And he drops his spear.

Out from his chest came the single Worgen - without legs, its arms had distorted into massive black limbs... His head had grown two hulking horns that were like the ones on my helm. His jaws were open wide, past how far any mutt could open them, and his teeth were in an unmeasurable cone making his throat and jaws. Covered in blood, he looked like a demon himself. We readied ourselves, incase this monster was to attack us but the Corpse Warriors did not even flinch.

Two now, approach this beast, and hoist it out from the body of the Pit Lord. And like that, they leave on a skeletal hawk, onto the next battle.

We who survived watched them fly away - the air would be silent were not for the distant sounds of war stayed rampant across the shore. But this left us a lesson.

It is with fortune we have these monsters on our side; but will the leash keep them from turning on us?"

The Broken Shore, Dok'nothal, written by Khornoth, Centurion serving Warlord Gro'kal.

[khornoth-blog]

Personal sigil of Khornoth, titled Skull Taker! The helmet he wears is a caricature of a great demon and is iconic to his legacy.This sigil is on his robes and on his traditional loin belt. 

[khornoth-blog]

Language in WoW

So I have some lowkey headcannon of language in WoW that especially reflects the language and speech patterns of the more “savage” races like the Horde’s orcs or Trolls. 

The language system in WoW permits that every word you type is translated to the language you have set (like Orcish or Thalassian). You can still comprehend and “speak” any word though if someone says that word in the same languages you can comprehend. Therefore, saying  the orcish version of inconspicuous would be understood by orcs! So in turn I believe that when language is interpreted as savage in WoW, it’s all upon the audience to understand. I was wondering this because I thought of “why no orcs use big words?” Maybe they ARE using big words... We just don’t understand such a c o m p l e x language.

I mainly went about this when I was asked why I was using big and more complicated words for Khornoth. I asked why not and presented the same argument. They found it sensible! :D 

Here’s some Horde warriors speaking when you poke them. Lots of poking. 

[khornoth-blog]

“I am tired, Andar. Perhaps it is after the sleepless nights, or the sons and daughters i have witnessed slain. I have realized, I am tired.”

-----------------------------------------------------

Yet another long night of holding the Cave. 

Before, the Blackrock Clan was barely keeping a place in this war for Azeroth. They were barely a warband. Ever since the Garrosh incursion, the Blackrocks were left to wallow with their Dragonmaw kin from the great atrocities they were involved with the Kor’kron.. The Blackrock Clan had no significant place during the Legion invasion. In that time, they rebuilt. And now they were here, in Kul Tiras, half of their warband having been slaughtered by the savage tactics of crazed elves and honorless guerrilla warfare. 

But, it was the Mag’har of Draenor that shot the morale of the Blackrock Clan up beyond the stars. The Blackrock Clan from Draenor was similar to its Azeroth alternative. Beyond just the name of their clans, the Draenor Blackrok were an exaggerated form of the Azeroth clan’s glory before the Dark Portal invasion in the first war. Both of these Blackrocks combined with ease, and understood not only eachother’s crafts crafts in unity but their cultures as well despite the separation of worlds. It is a beautiful mingling and reunion of the culture. 

And as so, the Blackrocks forge proudly and stand stalwart. Now with their numbers bolstered, they were more involved. Spread into different units across Kul Tiras, even some small warbands in the skirmishes of Arathi. This was fortune for the Blackrock clan, truly. 

So why did he decide to do what he shall do? 

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Khornoth had gathered his warriors that night. He gathered his Khornites, the newly joined Mag’har, the mercenaries that acted as the auxiliary and the craftsmen that tempered their weapons. The only ones who did not attend the elder’s tent were the guards on the walls and gate. 

“Sons and daughters of Blackrock. Brothers and sisters of Blackrock. Companions and coined of Blackrock. Today, I have gathered to tell you the history of our people.” 

The mix of orcs, Draenor and Azeroth, did not share the same past.  But the Elder would try his best to make them both understand his reasons.

“For the longest time, our people no matter what world or enemy, has been drowned in the sea of blood. Clans have bloodied eachother and have bloodied themselves. Sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, companions and coined... You are to die in battle, as fortold by our great people. You are to die in glory, for the Horde. For future sons and daughters, brothers and sisters and even the companions and coined.” 

Many shifted in impatience - but they did not speak against their Elder for the sake of respect.

“Our people have endured. Demons, the Light, the beasts, the ogres. And even now the men, the elves, the dwarves and gnomes, the dogs and the bears. We will continue to endure and even step to victory as always. You all will. But from today, I will not be with you to celebrate victories until I have come to peace with my own demons, Light, beasts and ogres. I have much to do, for the good of our clan. I will be leaving this night. Another officer will be taking  my place here, a Blackrock, whom shall arrive in the morning. A name was requested to be kept silence.” When warriors tried to speak, the Elder raised his hand in denial. The only one to speak would be him, and he did not want to make this any longer than needed.

“Lok’tar Ogar, my warriors. Stone’s Honor, and glory to the Blackrock Clan. Aka’magosh.” 

The heavy steps of the Elder brought him outside the tent, and he marched to the gates of his hold. In short moments, angered warriors parted the leather drapes of the tent to confront the Elder. But when they got close, they could feel the very flame the Elder imposed on his surroundings. Dare not to play with fire that you cannot control.

Without words, the gate opened. And now started the walk of the Elder, to his commander’s very ship.

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Khornoth had traveled back to the Libertine, adorned in his firey armor. He had informed his warriors of his intentions, his legionnaires and all those that he commanded. They deserved to know. In the night, he was a torch that no one would approach. It was either because they feared him, or because they simply ignored him. It was his fortune that he did not attract the blood thirsty patrols of Alliance dogs. 

When he arrived at the camp of the Libertine, he entered without heed of its guards or any other. His helmet alone was familiar to its inhabitants. No guard stopped him as he walked up the ramp of the human ship, before turning to the captain’s cabin and proceeding to knock. 

In this time of the night, he disrupted the sleepless nights of another. This one, who could not sleep just like the Elder, shared the pain that the orc felt in his core.

“Ranger-Lord Wyldegleam. I cannot continue. I am tired, Andar. Perhaps it is after the sleepless nights, or the sons and daughters I have witnessed slain.. i have realized, I am tired.” He did not enter the doorway, instead, keeping his distance. His flaming armor could start a roaring barge, or his helm’s horns could tear down the ship’s upper deck.

“I will not leave this war alone, but I cannot fight like I have fought for all these years. I need sleep. I need rest, before I can continue. You will know where to find me. I have not abandoned my Horde, and I have informed my warriors. And now that you know, I am able to finally leave my place here.”

“Do not stop me.” 

He spoke without restraint of patience. Because when he was finished, he closed the door. From there, he descended from the Libertine, and hoped, he would never have to set foot on it again.