#korkron

[omusasteelhorn]

Omusa Steelhorn went through some dark times serving in Vol’jin’s revolution.  I hope to one day go through her story at some point.

[omusasteelhorn]

I spent a lot of time working on this line art and I’m very very happy with it.

[caitrakazkal-blog]

Made a new friend in this #KorKron #Battlewolf. #BloodElf #Rogue #WOW #WorldofWarcraft #gaming #gamer #WarcraftPhotography #AzerothPhotography

[demonhimbo]

Swim

Sighing quietly with relief, he allowed himself a moment to relax against the rock face that was jammed into his shoulders. They wouldn't find him up here; they couldn't. The shouts soon died down, and gave proof to his hope-driven thoughts. Only when night had fallen did he dare peek his head out from the crevice, eyes wide and nervous, expecting the sound of gunfire and the putrid odor of blasting powder to fill his senses. But there was no such; neither green skin nor rifle barrel were to be seen. And with a quiet prayer of thanks to his Loa, he clambered out of his spot, dropping to the dirt on his shoulders, rolling with the action. Pushing himself to his feet, he slinked off to the dark corners of the desert,  eyes up on the sky, watching the stars and the path of the two moons.

After a while of trudging, he knew where he was and more importantly, where he was headed. The beach wasn't too far; follow the shore, and you'd eventually hit Sen'jin. That's what his old and worn mother had said to him the night before last-- the night he escaped. The orcs had arrived to the small shanty-town they had set up for the trolls, a pathetic excuse for a village strewn with garbage. Water flooded every inch of the area, and was thick with sludge and held the stench of old, dead things quietly rotting beneath the creaky raised wooden pathways set up. The nearby goblins had ruined their water source, and were ruining the trolls' as well. But the orcs didn't seem to notice, or otherwise didn't care about the state of the troll village within the massive city of Orgrimmar. It was late at night when they began grabbing people.

He had seen his neighbor and long-time friend get tossed into the polluted water, only to be yanked back upwards by his tusks, shaken until he begged for peace. The orc obliged him, but not in the way any of them had hoped-- a knife nestled itself into the trolls ribs, and twisted. The orc ripped free the blade, raising it and the dead troll upwards, for the village to see, shouting, "ALL SHALL SEE THE MERCY OUR WARCHIEF GRANTS TO TRAITORS!"  From there, the night exploded into a flurry of Kor'kron grabbing trolls from their homes, their beds. Children were screaming, women were sobbing for their children, and the men were fighting back only to be shot or gutted or beaten.

His mother had told him to get out of the city, and he did. Her purple fur, tinged with gray around the face, her long white hair braided carefully, and her quiet yet strong look of determination was an image he would never get out of his head.  But he escaped, and he was free. But the desert held more Kor'kron, these armed with rifles and worgs; sniffing beasts of brutal force and fury. He had traveled far, but still had miles to go before he would reach Sen'jin.  The shoreline was long, unbroken, and utterly pale in comparison to the rest of the red, red desert. Cool teal waters lapped at his feet, and was a great relief after a couple days of wandering in the heat.

Just on the horizon, a faint jagged dot appeared. Flat for miles, save for rock formations that jutted upwards towards the night sky, clawing their way into twisted shapes just to try and scrape the moon; but the troll knew that this was no rock formation. Sen'jin, and it was drawing nearer with every step. And as his foot pressed down into the damp sand, the water retreated-- and then retaliated, rising upwards and snaking around his ankle, twisting and turning and tightening. He jerked his foot back, stomped at the water with his free foot, but it only caused another tendril to clamp around the knee of his free leg. With a sudden yank, he was thrown to his hands and knees, water trickling around his wrists, jerking him forwards so his tusks were nearly buried in the sand. His chin touched the ground, his eyes wildly looking about for an attacker.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Footsteps over dry red dirt. Heavy boots caused the earth to shudder with each step. A sense of dread filled up inside the troll as the footsteps moved around to stand before him. He was eye-to-eye with the boots, thick leather, well-worn, and coated in a layer of red dust. "Now that you're on your knees and bowing, why don't we take a moment to talk this out, mmm?" A gold-and-black gauntleted hand gripped his half-buried tusk and jerked it upwards. Still restrained by his watery bonds, it caused his neck to strain,  and in turn caused him to yelp at the pain. "I don't think that's a name, fuzzy. How about we try again, here, I'll start." The hand squeezed and twisted sharply. A splintering crack and a creaky groan, much like a tree being felled, followed by a sharp yowl into the night. Twirling the now-broken tusk in one hand, the orc barked, "I am Jurra Stormshriek." Her face got uncomfortably close to his, black lips, even blacker skin, cracked and crisscrossed by pale silver scars. A grin curled about the four fangs that jutted upwards from her bottom lip, and up close, the troll could see the markings upon them. One even had a cuff of steel strapped around it. A chuckle soon followed the grin.

"And you're dead."

Water filled up his vision, his throat, his lungs. Screaming, shrieking, pleading as needles, tiny needles pressed against his innards, his skull. Shrieking, shrieking, shrieking--

Silence.

[spineofdeathwing]

WOW WHAT THE EVERLIVING FUCK????????????

Where is this ever okay?

Why are people letting players get away with this shit?