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Gratha

Gratha

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Name: Gratha
Race: Orc  
Age: 28
Class: Shaman
Affiliation: Dragonmaw Clan, Grom'goshar


Although stunted in stature, Gratha possesses the semblance of a capable fighter with sturdy shoulders and a vigorous posture. Her thick black mane is decorated with a plethora of minuscule braids, and various clan-related trinkets. A pair of glowing amber eyes bring warmth to her grey features, that most often bear marks of battle in various forms.

 

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An outlandish tempest filled the air with unbearable pressure in the Twilight Highlands. A lone Shaman scaled down the mountains with what seemed like crawling pace, eyes directed to the slithering path ahead. The havoc that was slowing her down was wrought by those loyal to the Old Gods, and were now tearing land and skies apart. 

Howling of the wind and the unspoken threats of the blackened forest below deafened the Dragonmaw from everything else. It was the mistake she made, trusting to her hearing over other senses, and in a heartbeat she was off the cliff, followed by a trail of flames by her winged challenger.

*

I was falling, falling from a great height. Nothing would stop me and there was roaring black air all around me as I was plunging through it. I heard myself call out for the elements, a desperate shriek in the thick of the living storm. 

I woke with a violent lurch and laid winded against a cluster of rocks, torn fabric and sand was caught to my rough features. I had no memory of what happened. I scrabbled in my brain, but it was blank - an empty cavern, no echoes. Nothing. I tried to think of the last day I clearly remembered, but it was like looking into an impenetrable mist, with indistinct shapes looming. 

I possess the ability to call the elements to my aid, but as I laid here, I could feel nothing familiar surrounding me.  Perhaps I had wronged the elements, demanded their aid to bring me here alive. The seawater was burning at my damaged body, prompting me to stop reminiscing and to focus on my survival, and to soothe the agitated elements.

*

Stranded, the scrawny Shaman began to make her way further away from the shore. Having never communicated with an ally other than a Dragonmaw, she had no faith in finding anything but hostility from where she now was. With that belligerent mindset, she ventured on.

 

 

 

OOC: If anyone has found errors, please tell, my english is not the most fluent. Other feedback is also most welcome. 

Edited by Gratha
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OOC: Because there are no comments, I'll continue by filling this space with random 'journal' stuff.

Because I rather keep it all together than spread across the forums.

 

Trusting a condescending Warsong had seemed like an unlikely compromise, but grudges were a luxury ill-afforded on these forsaken isles. I knew not if the ideals of this Horde would suit those that I upheld, yet for survival’s sake even certain ideals had to be tucked away into the shadows. I could still not feign a promising attitude, for I saw naught but despair and destruction when trying to reminisce the moments of my retreat. Would I still have a clan to return to? Or would the internal disturbance be the end of our Warchief? 

I poked the charred logs further in the campfire, and added a few fresh ones into the fray. It was silent now, as silent as I imagined it could be in such an exotic forest at night-time. I steadily stood up to skulk out of the encampment to the nearby shore, with that same silence and darkness as my protective cloak.

The sight of an endless sea was a hopeless reminder of complete isolation from what was familiar. To no avail, I tried to communicate with the water elements with calm regret fresh in my mind. Never had I felt so distanced and disconnected from the elements, and it hurled turmoil all across the crevices of my damaged mind. Paranoia had made a nest in my heart and as soon as a simple crack of a breaking branch reached my ears, I was already headed back to the camp. At least there I would be safe, for now.
 

Edited by Gratha
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Right now, Grom’thar was a lazy little dot on the map, if someone was to sketch one of the island. Freshly cut wood was a scent afloat within the encampment, for the stakes of the assembled barricades were so recent. I couldn’t decipher most of the dialogue spoken in the camp by the many visitors of varying origins, and a headache pounded behind my eyes by it.

Long purple shadows had swept across the forest, and the first few stars winked in the sky by the time I finally felt I had a moment to untangle my mind. With the exhaustion my defenses had plummeted, and those memories, the ones I’d tried so hard to tamp down, assailed me. My throat grew thick, and a mere thought of unravelling all the deeds that had festered in my brain for years, made my spirit weep. Curiosity, addiction or pure desire for familiar company soon drove me to join a harvest unlike any other, and a shrivelled corpse at a time, those long-hidden memories began to feel insignificant again. 
 

Edited by Gratha
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