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((Well, some explanation before I copy and paste this from the Word document it's currently in. This is the full version of some IM RP I and a friend of mine got up to last night. A few days ago, whilst searching for hints of Twilight eggs in Dustwallow Marsh, Gremkarc got into a fight with a dragonkin, which slashed his cheek wide open. The battle ended in Gremkarc's favour, but the shaman was hurt, and made his slow way back to Mudsprocket. One the way, a young shaman came across him. There were unusual things about this shaman - she did not speak like other orcs, but instead spoke as if telling prophecies. And crucially, she healed Gremkarc's wound not with water, but with Fire.

The shaman is an outcast, and lives with the ogres of Brackenwall Village. She used to receive some training from an older shaman, but since he died, she has not been able to make proper sense of the voices which resonate in her head. Because of the lack of interaction with other mortals, she has slowly become less accustomed to communication. Gremkarc can see this, and being bound by mental conditioning to help, he has set about bringing her back to the world of mortals, to strike a balance between that, and the world of spirits. He has brought her to the Barrens, to Orgrimmar... and he hopes that she can become a soldier of the Horde, and a shaman of Orgrimmar. It's probably the most emotionally in-depth RP I've had. So much moving stuff is in it. I just wanted to share some. This takes place in the Crossroads, as Shazula has just handed in some quilboar ears. Apologies for any crappy formatting - as this was copied and pasted from MSN to Word, and now to the forums. AND NOW TO THE WIKI, TOO))

"How goes it, friend?" asks Gremkarc, looking down at Shazula.

Glancing to the massiveness of her own axe, the younger she-orc furrows her brow. "Well.. it's better, in a way. But it's still a world put in strife; everyone fighting for their piece of land. Like Brackenwall and the ogres, but.. alot bigger."

She shifts in her stance, resting the bloodied blade down to the ground - a final hint of regret fading from her gaze. "And.. hm.. yourself?"

Gremkarc nods, appreciating the weapon in her hands. He gazes around the Crossroads, and back at her, and smiles. 'You're fitting in well here, in any case, and every job you carry out here is one step closer to ending that strife, yes?"

"Is it? Maybe. Or I am just partaking in an endless cycle of strife. But such is life." The she-orc, obviously not too bothered with the slaughter in the end turning out to be meaningless, scrapes a foot across she dusted ground. As she peers to the much larger orc, a hint of honesty enters her gaze. "But you approve then, of.. hm.. me?"

"I approve of you?" Gremkarc grunts lightly. He looks down to the scratching! foot, and then back at her. "What do you mean?"

"Is this better than the wolf in Brackenwall? Some winds whisper of change - is this a good one?" Tilting her head to the side, not fully understanding the trouble, Shazula looks to the chieftain with brutal honest in her visage.

"That depends,' answers the Chieftain. Despite himself, and perhaps because of how much of a fragile outcast he perceives the other shaman to be, he looks reproachful to answer the question. "Do you feel better here, than you do there, as a wolf?"

"Feel" She tastes the word, glancing around the settlement as she does so. "I am not sure. Somehow, I feel lonely. But then again, I have always been alone. Hm. Alone, but never lonely."

"Do not feel lonely, friend," says Gremkarc. His words are friendly, but his face remains calm. He is meaning these words, and they have a purpose. "There is me, and through me, you will meet many. But yes, friend. I approve of you as you are. It fills me with joy to see you here, working in the Crossroads."

"It does not seem fleeting to you at times, like you are cut off from the rest of them? Some voices become so low, like whispers, in comparison to what I've heard." Still frowning to her own words, Shazula leans forward with a slow shake to her head. "It is strange, and maybe even sad, to not feel a stronger connection to your people in flesh."

"You do not have to be similar, to feel kinship, friend," Gremkarc replies, looking across at the entrance of town, wherein a kodo caravan is arriving. "There are many here who have not heard the elements. They look to me, and soon I hope to you, with hopeful eyes. But we are all orcs, all in the Horde. Our duty to the Warchief binds us - our love for Durotar, the Barrens, Dustwallow... "

"In our Horde, there is stupid folk, intelligent folk, folk who use...dark magics, people who would look upon these practices with scorn. But the salute that we all give to each other... the ideals we share, and what we have been through as a race, those are things that unite us."

"If they looked to me, I would not know what to say. Maybe that they will all live, burn and die - but that they should do some in reverance of the elements that brought them here. It's hard to speak to hopeful ears." Suddenly remembering something, the she-orc leans down to whipe the blade of the axe clean, using a crude rag for such a task. She puts the weapon aside, leaning it to a small crate, and looks back to the more seasoned shaman. "And others, to they feel the same - can they taste this unison?"

"Hope is not what brought our people out of Internment, friend. It's not even what brought us to victory at Hyjal. You do not have to give people hope. Orcs are strong." He watches her clean her axe, noticing the crude rag. He shrugs off his bag, and begins to root inside it, pulling out a roll of Frostweave cloth. He passes it over, with a smile. "Use that in future. It's clean and strong."

Blinking her eyes, obviously not used to seeing anything remotely "clean" the orc perks an eyebrow over to the larger shaman. "Uh, thank you. It feels strange to the touch, but.. most things do." Shaking her head, having a bit too much on her mind, Shazula wipes the blade of the axe clean a second time, and pockets her newly-aquired rag.

Gremkarc watches, and shivers in the night air, an unusual characteristic. "If you wish for me to take you back to Brackenwall," he says, as if pushing something out which is tightly inside, "I can. You can forget all about this strife, and go back."

"Forget" As if the word itself was drenched in liberty, the she-orc breathes an almost excited sigh upon saying it. Her eyes trail the distant horizon, beyond which the sun escaped a long time ago. "You seem sad." She glances to him, tilting her chin in a small challenge of sorts - since stating a mood can be percieved as just that. "Is it because you will lose another fighter for the cause?"

Gremkarc shakes his head, and grunts. "No. It isn't that. It is... it is the fact that I do not know what I am doing. You are someone I can pour so much into, friend. You help me as much as I can help you. With you, I can set myself the task of bring out the orc in you again, and introducing you to our city - our glorious city. But...do I have the right? Am I severing something which is too beautiful to be severed? Am I making you unhappy? I do not know the answers, and I doubt you do either. I am guilty."

Sparing the crude shape of her own hands a brief glance, the younger orc steps closer, examining the features of the talking shaman. Her eyes narrow, in an interest almost innocent, and with just a hint of hestiation, she motions one of the previously mentioned hands towards his right upper arm. "But is it not life to want, try and maybe fail? To be happy is hard, especially when you can not tell your thoughts from someone elses. I do not linger here only due to your words. Hands can only guide one so far, and maybe this taste lingering to the roof of my mouth is the one of my heritage. I want to be here, and feel purpose again. Do not despair, even if blood will drench this path. Such is life."

Gremkarc does not move as he is touched. His mouth, however, opens. He has trouble shutting it again as he mulls on her words. "Heh," he says, but it is more out of habit than humour. He seems reassured, but...humbled? "You make all my speech seem insignificant, friend."

As if not wanting to linger on the touch, maybe simply unsure or not used to the feel of it, the she-orc ends it in a rather awkward pat, before allowing her arm to drop back down along her side. Blinking up to the male's face, she gives a meek smirk. "How do I do that?"

"The way you speak, and the things you say. Such is life? I... look at life as if an objective. Things that must be achieved, and issues to be addressed. I think in terms of the Horde, the... Forsaken, Durotar... yet, you do not see the world this way, do you? For you, your objective is not to save the lives of thousands, or project the elements from the Venture Co, or dwarves, or from themselves."

Gremkarc looks down at the hand which had been on his arm, and then looks to Shazula. "And... as a Chieftain, I must do things this way - how else am I meant to lead? How else am I meant to give my troops orders they can follow. But... such is life, as you say. I focus on just a small part, I think."

"Well.. I.. " Shazula doesn't seem to disagree to the eloquently put words of the chieftain, but instead seems to have a hard time grasping the essence of them. She looks to the sky again, and gives a small grunt. "Yes, yes. I suppose it is another part of life to chase it. To protect your .. interests and reach for goals. Strife is a part of is, as is betrayal and death. It's a strange walk.

"I am not entirely sure how I think of it. I've just lived. Sometimes I feel like I have done this dance a thousand-time overs now, and that I've simply become so tired, that I want to sit down for a while. Sit down and forget."

As if her words prompt him, Gremkarc lowers himself to the floor, the conversation weighing heavy on him. "You look upon that way, my way, badly, don't you?" he asks, looking up, and for the first time he seems to be the less confident in the conversation. "To be a shaman now is to be a leader of orcs. It always has been, but back before the Blood Curse, there wasn't so much politics. "Sometimes, I feel that I am too clinical in my shamanism. Too assured. I follow a routine. I have not explored myself in sometime. But then... in the Horde, with such a large body of orcs, we need routine, I think. I am far more orc than shaman. I would hate that to happen to you. You, friend, need a balance. I only hope to give that to you."

Not particulary distressed, but more a tad questioning, the she-orc views the descent of the male orc. As he sits down, her gaze follows him, attentivly peering to his eyes. "Badly? No, it is.. part of it, isn't it? And part of life, is imbalance as well. A path if never straight. You're not wrong for being more orc than anything else, and maybe I am not wrong for being who I was either... you just thought you had to remedy it, turn me towards your cause. Which is, in the end, the natural thing to do. One day I might be balanced, but I suppose something like that only stays for a short period of time. It will be an interesting experience, no-doubt." Lowering herself to a crouching position, even keeping her face to an inquisitively close level of the other orc, Shazula frowns. "Do I make you sad?"

"I did... not want to turn you to my cause, friend," he says, looking sideways at her as she crouches. "I was not looking for a new recruit. I was looking to...save, I think. Save you from the overwhelming wave of the elements which had drenched your mind - the influence that flamed inside you that Fire had put there, because... you didn't know how to deal with it. How to channel it."

He turns from her, to look at the ground which he is sat on. The dry soil of the Barrens seems to give him some respite, some support in amongst the solemnity. "Sad? You make me feel many things. Guilt, mostly. Confusion, too. And desire. Desire to assist. For that is a shaman's duty - that is my duty. I was bred to assist. But... sad? If I do, then I do not resent the feeling."

Inhaling the freshness of the air, seemingly not tainted enough to bother her nose, the younger orc lowers her hands to the ground. She folds her fingers into the loose soil, almsot wishing they were paws, and smiles.

"And you have helped, in many ways. Unpredictable, isn't it? Life. Your sense of duty has crossed paths with my.. own way. I am not sure what to call it." The smile till pride's the shaman's lips as she looks up to Gremkarc, giving him the benfit of a small nod.

"Raw shamanism," offers Gremkarc, looking to the orc. He nods too, and watches her fiddle with the soil. It seems to spur him on to do the same, and gauntlet-clad hands are suddenly without gauntlets, as he digs into the ground with his own hands, needily.

"There's a certain feel to it, no - to help others? I can feel it, even as I turn in .. cut-off ears. Feels good, somehow. I suppose that's why you are of more use to the elements, because you reach out." Without hesitation, or shame, the smaller orc moves her hand out to slap up and push confidently at the chieftain's chest. "From one strong point, to reach out to many. I am more..." She pauses, and her hand is again removed, having given its statement."...shattered".

Gremkarc shifts back a bit at her touch, evidently not prepared for it. His mouth hardens as he tries to make sense of the other shaman's words. He reaches a hand up, to clasp one of the wolf ears upon his helm. "Shattered?"

"Broken. Spread into different parts. One thought here becomes a reaction tomorrow. One wolf can only do so much, but an entire race." A fleeting motion takes the mastery of the previously outreached hand,".. they can even affect an old argument along the likes of 'such is life'"

"Heh." It's a way for Gremkarc to acknowledge that he knows what the other shaman is talking about. He looks at her. "Then I do not stop trying to fix you? I carry on, wishing to making you a shaman of Orgrimmar - not a raw shaman, barely coherent in emotion? This is the course of action we shall take?"

"Maybe." The shaman lifts her chin, and her eyes narrow. "Or - in the end - there will be two wolves running towards the horizon, wishing that their elusive dance will never end." The graveness of her words break gain a brief pause, before a smle is forced into green lips. "But yes, your way does seem the most fitting, hm? It benefits more. I'd like to be part of that."

"Two...wolves?" asks Gremkarc, taken aback. This seems to effect him more than her response to the main question. "Elusive dance? What do you mean?"

The female counterpart, now vastly more interested in a tauren riding by, gives a low hum in response. "Uh. Nothing important. I am tired now, too much to think about. I suppose it's only natural. Will you sit, just for a while? It is good, to feel earth in your grip and wind in your hair once in a while."

Gremkarc grunts in agreement, offering no words in response as he enters into relaxation. His eyes do not roam, but his breath, accentuated thanks to the silence of the Crossroads at night, is unsteady. He shivers, despite his mail armour. He is also tired.

There's some sigh of relief within the female orc as reality shifts around her, allowing her to resume the transparent form of a ghostly wolf. The massive creature lies down next to the tired shaman, leaning its head in with a content, little snort.

Gremkarc does not need to look down, or even feel the ethereal fur on his side, to know the transformation. And seemingly, he's encouraged to do the same. Reality shifts again, this time around the male shaman, and he too takes the form of a Ghost Wolf, albeit smaller. His fur brushes against hers.

The wolf gains a lazy wag to its tail, even yawning as it does so, whilst glancing to the side and taking in the sight of the other shaman. It keeps an undeniable closeness to its smaller - in many ways bigger - companion, that seems only natural in the end.

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