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Cutting through the jungle ferns and vines with her knife, Faldrin nearly crawled her way through the most dense jungle areas of Opej'nor. She made a good effort to avoid its most dangerous denizens, and scared away one of its oversized vipers with a fire show before it would get too close. Even as the terrain in front of her seemed impenetrable she kept going, her survival knife occasionally blazing with flames to help her carve a path in the thick vegetation. Her mind set on one direction, she cared little what she had to do to reach her destination. Even when the island would push her back in a last attempt to stop her she would reply with a flurry of jagged ice, opening a hole within the swaying, dark green wall big enough for her to jump into, not looking at the fall that awaited her below. And as she recovered, with a hand rubbing on her battered head, her bright green glowing eyes landed upon the image of her dreams. An uncharacteristic entrance, reminiscent of Thalassian architecture, disguising a cave going into the depths of the earth. To each side of the faux gate lied an anchor and a hammer, crossed to bar her way in. She prepared to muster her little strength and push them aside, but as she set her hands on each of the items they moved to let her pass. Unrelenting, she marched forward. "Moras?" The cave floor was as soft as the jungle. The walls were wide, and tightened around her with every step forward into the increasing darkness. "Moras?!" Her shoulderpads grazed on edges of rock and moss. Her hands and feet navigated through unfriendly territory, avoiding bumps and holes that could further injure her. "-Beoveld-!" A faint light at the end of the corridor shone upon a figure, donning green and gold armour, still partly shrouded by darkness. To the approaching Sin'dorei, it opened its arms. "Faldrin. I knew you'd come and find me." With little hesitation, she stepped forward. Her own arms spread to reflect his gesture. "As I promised I would." The figure stood still. The pristine metal nearly sparkled, contrasting with its surroundings, a lighthouse welcoming lost ships into the harbour. "We are reunited. Let us set sail once more, together, away from this cursed island. As captain and first mate." Faldrin stopped a few steps away from the Judge. She stared into the darkness covering his eyes, and she smiled. "You are wrong." Bringing her arms together only to sweep them upwards, she conjured three ice lances which burrow themselves into Moras' body, sinking themselves into his chest with ease. "You are not Moras. I will only join him!" Blood began to coat the spikes poking out of his body, completely still and nonreactive to the physical punishment it withstood. The man smiled, and the corners of his lips kept expanding outwards. "You will join me. In life or in death." His smile widens into a grin, and his grin expands into a maw. Slowly, his face now revealed by a light turned violet, strains as it is ripped into half, the tear splitting his head as an amalgam of blood and tentacles pours out with a deafening, guttural scream. The armour breaks off, the skin of his body peeling off alongside it, a naked body of the darkest of magics revealing itself to the nearly paralysed elf. The grotesque mass of tentacles, claws and ever-expanding void matter sheds its guise and envelops the cavern, surrounding the elf and approaching her from all directions. "You have no friends, no home, no safety. Your actions led you to your failure. What did you hope to achieve by coming here, into my trap?" As its monstrous voice shook the cavern, she stood still. Her expression was unmoving, as if frozen in place by her will or by the abomination toying with her past. "You will never escape this island. You will never redeem yourself. You have no hope, Faldrin Duskgale." Her arms slowly lifted up. As the creature roared, lashing out its myriad of limbs against her frail form, her visage would move. "You. Are. Wrong." With the wail of a banshee, her arms extended outwards, her eyes shining brightly blue and repelling the darkness of her foe. As the void reached out to strike her down it could not touch her. It could only retract, shrivelling from a frozen advance that cut sharp and bit harder. With a scream the darkness receded in an instant, leaving nothing but a glacier where it once stood. The fiend from below was defeated, with only one small price to pay. In Faldrin's mind, devoured by the void long before they met, there was peace. Beyond it, in the realm of the sane and the material, her frozen form was lost in the jungle, untouched by the elements and all living creatures, a permanent reminder to beware dreams and voices that will lure the unwary into a fate worse than hers.

(This is also my goodbye to Unknown Shores. I am not one for theatrics or drama, but I needed to send out one last peaceful message to those few who have been with me throughout this journey, most of which left before I have. Faldrin is now a frozen statue somewhere in the jungle, victim to a sea of illusions, and perhaps someone will meet her again. As will I in the future.)

Theme: "Someday, we all die. But what is important is how we choose to die. In glorious battle. For me, there could be no better death." Dragor Bloodfury Race: Orc Age: 62 Allegiances: The Horde, The Warsong Clan, The Warsong Offensive, Grom'goshar Aliases: The Old Wolf, Warleader of the Warsong Clan, Warleader of Grom'goshar Birthplace: Nagrand, Draenor Languages: Orcish, Common The Wars of Old Dragor Bloodfury was born into the Warsong Clan, many years before the opening of the Dark Portal and the subsequent wars that followed. For a time, Bloodfury had known what he described as "peace", if you could call it such. Before the Blood Curse ever tarnished the name of the Orcs of Draenor, there was the savage and primal time. For Bloodfury, his time was spent fighting alongside his father, battling the Gorian Empire in their twisted and ruthless efforts to place the Warsong back into slavery. No more would the Warsong become slaves, or so they thought... When Gul'dan rallied the Horde together to sate his own twisted plans, the Warsong Clan were the first to follow. Watching as Hellscream became the first to harness the power of the Fel, Dragor joined his kin, believing this new-found power could give them glory beyond measure. But how wrong he was, something he remembers to this very day. The memories of what transpired over the coming years act as a grim reminder of what atrocities he and his people had committed. With the Fel powering them, the Warsong lay waste to the Gorian Empire in an effort to completely topple the once mighty ogress. Though the thought of destroying the ogres was something Bloodfury relished, this was a manner he thought dishonorable, the way in which they massacred their people was neither proper nor honorable in his eyes. But he pressed on, as his father instructed. The bloodshed would continue until the Draenei, Ogres and other races had been annihilated. The siege of Shattrath was one of the next battles which saw Bloodfury question their actions. After succumbing to blood lust, Dragor found himself at the front of a slaughter of a collection of women and children of the Draenic people. To this day, he receives nightmares, the faces of those he massacred coming to him in vivid, haunting memories of the past. In time, this blood lust would only continue, before the rest of the Clan succumbed. Because of this, they were left behind on Draenor, whilst Warchief Blackhand lead the Horde during the First War. Though the Clan would be spared the defeat of the First War, they had to deal with the aftermath. As the world around them withered and died, the Warsong continued to fight with the other orcs and ogres, preventing Doomhammer to replenish his forces for the Second War. After the defeat of Doomhammer, the Warsong would finally partake in the war, being sent through the portal to protect it from the Alliance. This battle saw the fall of Dragak Bloodfury, Dragors father, as the Alliance Expedition slammed through Hellscreams lines, entering Draenor. In the chaos and confusion, a furious and sorrowful Bloodfury charged the Alliance forces, finding himself cornered. In the chaos, the orc would refuse to be slain. Despite the blows the Alliance soldiers inflicted, a strange force carried him on. Was it his rage? His might? The Fel? Even to this day he is unsure. In the end, he was rescued by a warband of orcs who came to his aid, offering a worg upon retreat. The last glimpses of that battle were the humans storming Draenor through the portal, with a number of scattered orcs being slain in the process. Despite the massacre he had witnessed on Draenor, and the acts he committed, this day would scar him. First hand, Bloodfury would realize that the humans were just like the orcs, and he bore a fierce grudge due to the death of his beloved father... Reign of Chaos Many years later, after countless efforts of evading the humans of Lordaeron, the Warsong Clan endured. Though hindered and beaten, they spat in the face of death many times over. At this point, Dragor resented the humans for locking up his people like dogs in cages, a poor display of what the Horde currently was. During such time, the relentless effects of lethargy plagued the orcs mind threatened to drive Bloodfury into weakness and incapability. Seeing the resilience of his Chieftain, Hellscream, he would continue to push on. At this point, he had a family. A mate, and two children, who shared the same strength and determination that he had shown before. But this would not last. Dragor would soon take a warband into the Hillsbrad Foothills, laying waste to the towns and camps in an effort to cause chaos and confusion, as well as provide the Warsong with essential supplies. At this time, the orcs began to break their chains and reunite along the new Warchief, Thrall, son of Durotan. This came after Doomhammers death at the hands of the Alliance whilst liberating Hammerfall. In time, the Horde traveled west to Kalimdor. Once again, Bloodfury allwoed himself to be consumed by old hatreds, joining his Clan in the strike against the humans who had traveled there to escape the Eastern Kingdoms. Blood would be shed, and Dragor would bathe in it... That is until the Warchief redirected the Warsong to the North, Ashenvale. It was there that certain events would indeed shape the orc to whom he was today. But theses events were not joyous, not one piece. There the raging battles between the Kaldorei and the Warsong were waged in the forests of Ashenvale, with the Kaldorei gaining the upper hand with the assistance of their demi-god, Cenarius. It was here that the Warsong made a desperate choice. Hellscream, having seen his Clan pushed to the brink, decided to drink the blood of Mannoroth once more. After loosing his family in the battles, and now a broken and demoralized orc, Bloodfury would drink. Regardless of what Thrall had taught them before about the dangers of Fel. He would have vengeance against the Kaldorei. The Warsong, now bolstered by Mannoroths "gift", would lay waste to the Kaldorei and to Cenarius, ending his life. Victory came, but at what price? Bloodfury remembers being freed from the blood curse, standing over the bodies of Kaldorei and Frostwolf alike. He had slain his own kin in his blood lust once again. Something that haunted him. But it was not all for naught. Hellscreams sacrifice had freed the orcs from the blood curse, and allowed them to eventually defeat the Burning Legion atop Mount Hyjal. Dragor would take the time to go into exile due to his actions, and reflect upon what had transpired during the 3rd War. There, the Old Wolf would question himself, and his honor. The Frozen Wastes When the Scourge invaded Azeroth in a bid to turn its people into the living dead and plunge the world into darkness, the Old Wolf returned. Having spent years in exile, he had prepared himself for what was to come. Having heard that the son of Hellscream had made a triumphant return, he was one of the first to pledge his blade in the fight in the North. Joining the ranks of the Warsong Offensive, he traveled North to do battle with the Scourge. Arriving in the Borean Tundra, the fight was like nothing he had experienced before. The way of battle had changed, especially with the living dead. Bloodfury would lead a number of raids upon the scourge camps in the Tundra in a bid to halt their operations, but at times it proved a daunting task. For all the undead they slew, more would take their place, some were even kin who Bloodfury had served with before. The task of putting them down grieved him deeply.. However, he was redirected to serve beneath Saurfang the Younger at Wrathgate. At Angrathar, the battle started positively, with the Horde charging gloriously into battle. It was at this moment that Bloodfury thought a decisive blow could be struck against the Scourge, until that moment came. The Lich King himself arrived, forcing Saurfang to charge in an effort to take the glory for himself. This proved to be his downfall, as the Lich King decimated him with Frostmourne, taking his soul. This was not the worst of it, as the forsaken revealed their treasonous nature. They released the new plague upon Horde and Alliance alike, with Bloodfury being forced to watch his own people succumb and die. Blacking out, he awoke to find that he was dragged off the battle with a number of wounds. There he would spent a period of the war confined to the hospital of the Warsong Hold. The Old Wold grew impatient. His fellow warriors were out dying whilst he was there, stuck in a bed, useless. He spent time honing his skills again, training so he could be fit enough to serve on the battlefield. Once he was ready, he was relocated to Orgrims Hammer, the airship hovering over Icecrown. It was here that he partook in more skirmishes, both with the Scourge and Alliance. After witnessing the Argent Tournament, something he found loathsome and pompous on behalf of the Argents, he prepared himself for the pivotal battle that would take place. Icecrown Citadel. The siege came swiftly, and gloriously. The chance to redeem himself, in his mind, had come. Leading a unit of Warsong soldiers, Bloodfury aided in the battle for the lower spire with the rest of the Horde and Alliance. They fought through scores of scourge forces who tried to halt their advance up the citadel. Once they made their way to the upper levels, they aided Orgrims Hammer in a fierce battle with the Alliance. Despite that battle threatening to undo the work that had been made, they soon went their own ways. Bloodfury and his soldiers were deployed in the upmost levels, to stop the Scourge rallying to prevent the heroes of Azeroth from being disturbed as they moved to engage the Lich King. In the end, he was defeated, and the Azerothians were victorious. At this moment, the Old Wolf felt he had redeemed himself. For the innocents he had murdered, for the times he succumbed to dark magic. It was here that he felt renewed. When the war ended, he returned to his Clan, to aid and teach them on what it meant to be a true Warsong. The Forsaken Isles When Deathwing shattered the world with the Cataclysm, the Warsong naturally rallied for war. Bloodfury was one of the first to join the fight against the Kaldorei in Ashenvale, when Hellscream commenced the Fourth War. The Kaldorei threatened the home of the Warsong, and Bloodfury did not take kindly to this. A brutal siege would occur, lasting a number of weeks before a daring counter-offensive would see the Warsong liberate their camp from the jaws of the Kaldorei. Even at this point, he was still searching for his friend, Gruk Charrbone, who had gone missing during the time of the Northrend Campaign. Having both served together in previous battles against the demons of Ashenvale, he sought to find his old friend. But at the same time, honor and duty demanded he remain with the Horde during the war. Once again, Bloodfury felt torn between the path he should take, and how best to go about it. In time, Hellscream would redirect some of the Warsong to the Twilight Highlands, to begin the invasion there. After years of knowing the treason of the Twilights Hammer Clan, Bloodfury would soon be able to bring them to justice, and he relished it. This would be short lived, however, as the vessel would be assaulted by a contingent of Alliance Vessels. In the battle, their ship was sunk, sending Bloodfury into the depths. It was here that he questioned whether he would get the glorious death he sought. If he would ever see his friend Gruk again. As the waves receded, he found himself on a strange, new series of Isles... The Doldrums. After hearing a number of his kin are on the Isle, and of the Horde, Bloodfury would set out to unify their people, so that they would survive under the banner of the Horde.