Blue eyes blazed with undead flame as Gorum Chaoseater gazed evenly at the one who called himself Smashblade. The orc had ridden through the gates of Rockard, a necrolyte close behind him, the red of late day sun glinting off blackened armor, making it seem drenched in blood. Chaoseater sniffed the air, smelling the baked dust of the land, the sweat of the grots, but above it all the rot coming from the Orc. Something was wrong here, the gargantuan Tauren could feel it, imperceptibly. The so called Smashblade was talking to one of the Sythgar, Gorum’s ear twitched, only half listening. He could hear the whispers of the dead, sounds he had worked extremely hard to banish from his mind. They had started with renewed vigor when he saw the dark rider’s approaching the gates. He briefly caught the eye of the Smashblade’s companion, Virroth he had been called, and the voices seemed to shriek out a discordant strain through his head. Gorum’s rage welled up and he narrowed his eyes, Virroth looked away, returning to the conversation with the sythgar, and the voices went silent. Slowely, the giant circled the two orcs, drawing his weapon he moved between them and the exit, to cut off any escape should this unnamed uneasiness break into actual trouble. No, he chastised himself, no matter what happened, one way or the other, trouble had come, it was standing there before him. A crunch of gravel behind him, Gorum sniffed the air and knew who it was without looking. He slightly inclined his head in acknowledgment to the shaman Mido. Though he would shy from no fight, it comforted him to have the healer nearby. The slight troll edged closer, and standing on tiptoes whispered “Is it really?” gesturing towards the Smashblade. Groum leaned down slightly and rumbled “It is possible. I know of the Smashblade only through legends. And death….Changes you somewhat.” The two unlikely allies watched as the Orc removed a gauntlet, showing skeletal fingers. After a moment, the Sythgar smiled. Gorum grunted, resheathing his weapon as the two Orcs addressed the gathered clan, speaking of a newfound focus on maic use, and abandoning honor. The Tauren felt his hands tightening into fists, and the glowing tattoo of anguish burned across his face. No good would come from this…..
((I am reposting this here since the other units have their posts on the matter, and someone from Gol'Kosh needs to have something.))