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Open-ended RP starter
((a bit of information that Tribemates can use for delving into some RP if they wish))

Four years ago, the near-feral Anca was adopted by the Ironsong Tribe, as an exceptional five-year-old orc.

Today, she appears to be...five years old.
Zlinka had Luna stand straight up against the door frame and put the flat side of one Oryx's totems on her head. She marked Luna's height on the wood with a small notch from her dagger, and noted with satisfaction that Luna had grown almost two inches in the last year! It was harder to get Zora to stand still, but Zlinka was swift and notched her height, too, at a pleasing three inches above Zora's previous mark the year before.

Out of the corner of her eye, Zlinka saw a movement. She turned. Anca was watching the little domestic ritual with great interest. Zlinka smiled. She had measured Anca several years ago. She beckoned the child over.

"Do you want me to measure you again, too?"

Anca nodded and came over to stand straight against the door frame.

Zlinka placed the totem flat on Anca's head. She made a notch. Then she frowned.

The notch was not one whit higher than the one Zlinka had made for her years before.
Krell sat quietly in the Guild Hall, and watched Anca closely. There was something about her that he couldn't quite understand. As her stared at her, lost in his thoughts, it finally occured to him. The young Kor'kron did not show any signs of aging. But how could this be? Being an Orc himself he had seen the tell-tale signs of old age creeping up on him over the past four years. In fact, he feels as if he has aged twice those years. His hair has turned white, and his pace has started to slow. But he could see no discernable difference in her appearance. He muttered to himself, "Does her hair even grow...never seen her cutting it..." and as his words were trailing off he noticed Coranda glance over at him and smile. He politely nodded back to her and returned his gaze to Anca.

What was it with her...
Shantow the Bear
The Ironsong Tribe

"The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed." King
Dentik paces around the Guild Hall thinking about how all the wonders of nature will be destroyed if the Tribe is to fail in their mission to end this war. This is too troubling for him, why must there be a Lich King? How can one being hold so much power, the power to destroy so many others?

The druid was tall, but not as broad-shouldered as some tauren. Perhaps one could say he did not look to be a warrior or hunter just by that, but it was also to be remarked that he did not carry any obvious weapons and wore the robes of some type of shaman or holy man.

He needed a break from this, something to distract him from these thoughts. Ah, there is an orc in the guild hall. He had seen this man before, but had never been formally introduced. What was it they called him? Krang? Krull? Keller? Well there was only one way to find out.

He bowed politely and asked if he could join the orc. “Hello friend, blessings of the Earthmother upon you. May I sit and share a drink?” The orc looked sour and grizzled, but perhaps he would share his burdens and in doing so there might be one problem that the tauren could solve. This seemed like an excellent idea at the time, but it turned out to be quite a bit of trouble that he landed himself into as a result.
Phoronid could feel his age today and feel the scars in his flesh and spirit.

Most days he was distracted by war tactics, detailed practice and preparation, and the endless time spend caring for his enormous number of pets and combat partners, especially the twin black and white cats he was in the middle of training.

Today though, the cats were out playing with Phoeni, the bear and hydra were out visiting their broods, and the multitude of adopted pets were mostly on loan to the orphanage, or in their elemental planes. They spent more time in their home planes recently, but Phoronid did not demand permission nor ask for information.

Instead, today this old orc had a rare chance to be alone. He should revel in some time without the chatter of the animals, but instead the weight of years was heavy on his shoulders. He inevitably thought of his murdered mate and child, his exterminated clan, and the actions that lead him to his troubled wanderings. The solace of being a simple leatherworker seemed so far longer then a lifetime ago, and he ached for a time when his deeds did not overwhelm him whenever he was not distracted by the demands of diplomacy or warfare.

He was tired of sleeping with nighmares. Every night, re-living his steps into an innocent Azeroth, of Silvermoon burning, of innocent Draenei lost in the haze of blood fury and demonic persuasion, and countless damaged faces - where his arrow was their deserved forever being lost. He was tired of remembering his last name, slaughtered on Draenor, while he crouched in the woods on another planet, helpless and ignorant - unable to save his own family. He felt horrible guilt at joining the first war - apart from his clan, his hunter wanderlust overtaking his family instinct. He felt even more guilt that by the time he returned years alter, his world was gone.

Phoronid sighed. Why would the spirits choose him to live so very long, aging so very slowly, still and forever an elder of his clan, though they had been lost for so many years? Was their a purpose to his unusually long life, or was that lost when the Draenor earth spirit was rended into pieces?

He looked over at the young orc Anca, drawing on the wall with the innocence of youth.

Phoronid shook his head for a moment. Wait. Innocence of youth? This was a warrior of the horde, who Phoronid had personally witnessed participate in endless slaughter of undead and living alike, with a skill that was close to his own veteran training. He frowned and turned away. Either this youth was naive and the world would land with a vengeance of reality someday, or had some way of not feeling the weight of deed. That might be an eventual burden to the horde in general, another example of an orc who cannot comprehend consequences.

Phoronid knew how much one orc can change the world if they do not see the consequences of their actions. He had witnessed and suffered and been mislead by such an orc more then once. Such an orc had torn Draenor asunder, ravaged Azeroth, and destroyed his own kind in a haze of being unable to see consequence to their power.

Shaking his head again, Phoronid looked at Anca and sighed. His own bloody past was not necessarily the horde's future, he must try to make diplomacy and respect win over the endless ache of the blood lust. We must watch the youth, like this one, and make sure they understand consequences.

- - -

Phoronid ne-Thunderlord was tired, the weight of his years and losses driven like spears into his spirit, heavy and scarred. Still he waited for Thrall or Drek'Thar to finally respond to his request, but in the meantime he was just Phoronid. Exalted of a score of races, but an orc with no clan, no last name, and only a new motley tribe of diplomats to support him.
"Maybe investing in some of those new-fangled rocket boots..." thought the old goblin, "but how to get them onto a kodo? Wouldn't do much good if Trundleputter can't keep up with me..." He patted the side of the kodo as it plodded along at its slow, steady pace. He stretched his back and felt the creaks of old age. "Maybe at least a riding kodo then...bah, would that eat too much into the profits?"

Old Sparkleting, master metalworker, neared the end of the latest leg of his circuit: the Ironsong Tribe guild hall. His correspondence with the tauren lad, Wakamito, had indeed been profitable. The boy had saved up his gold and convinced Sparkleting that the upgrades he could make to the forges at the Hall would be worth the time and effort, the materials and travel.

"Wakamito!" he called toward the entrance. "Old Sparkleting been out here waitin' fer hours!" He hadn't, of course, but he was old and would be forgiven for exaggeration.

The tauren pushed the doors open and invited the goblin in. Sparkleting managed to keep up his grumpy facade for nearly ten minutes while Wakamito put up with his demands for a pillow, a skin of water, a leg of mutton. The Tribe seemed very welcoming, of course. And the goblin soon set himself to work, despite the near-constant offer of cookies. Which were delicious.

Three days of work on the forges to get the new additions installed, and Wakamito's gold was as real as was hoped. The Tribe was very nice to him while he worked, too. But then, it was strange to see that little orc girl running around the Hall, especially wearing that costume armor before she would head out with the adults. A mascot, maybe? Huh, and she really looked familiar, maybe his old mind playing tricks on him. And anyways, all the orcs kind of look alike...
Sitting in the living room of her house on Thunder Bluff, Coranda looks at the picture Anca made for her with a wry smile.

Mother of all, when did I get to be so old? I'd barely budded when I married Amato; Anca was like a sister to me when I first met her. It hasn't even been five years since then, and already I feel like Greatmother Geyah. I'm up to my knees in calves and children and ... I'm not even sure how one quantifies Gorshin. How have I lost so much time?

The picture is tucked away in a sealed scroll-tube and placed on a growing pile in front of a large saddlebag, and the endless march of cleanup continues...
Krell was hopelessly lost in thought when a Tauren ambled over and greeted him. He was actually relieved at the interruption and stood up and bowed gracefully to Dentik. Together, they sat and chatted about Tribal business and even shared a quick meal which had been prepared by someone, and laid out on the serving table. But always, Krell's gaze returned to the young one.

Finally, when Krell had had enough of the distraction, he slowly turned to face Dentik and looked him square in the eyes, and asked the Tauren, "So tell me, what do you know about Anca?"
Shantow the Bear
The Ironsong Tribe

"The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed." King
Dentik enjoyed the conversation greatly. It was uncommon for him to speak at great length with others. Mostly he stayed in his quarters writing and researching his treatises on religious and philosophical matters. While his adventures with the Tribe, while demanding much communication, usually did not allow time to socialize. Sometimes the Tribe would call on him to do inventory or request a certain item, but those times were pretty rare.

He enjoyed his solitude, but he had begun thinking that perhaps it was time to get to know more of those who he fought beside. Krell’s question to him piqued his curiosity, and perhaps there was some juicy gossip coming his way.

“I don’t know much. I know she’s a very skilled hunter and exceptionally young for being such. Why do you ask?” Dentik wondered if there was something Krell knew, or guessed at that perhaps would shed some light on her peculiar talents.
Lucinther smirked. He was sitting at his usual spot in the guild hall, halfway hidden by the shadowy corner, idly cleaning under his nails with the tip of his dagger as he casually leaned the chair back onto two legs, his feet resting on the table top in front of him. So many people had taken an interest in Anca lately... even the visiting goblin. he shrugged. It was only a matter of time before they started asking questions, just as Malfurion had predicted.
[Image: 3994085VvROm.png]
Winalyna sat quietly in the guild hall near the warm crackling fire. She smiled and enjoyed the sound of laughter, stories of victory, and the smell of fresh baked cookies. In her mind she tried to place the sounds and voices with names. Lucinther and Anca we sharing tall tales about cookies and forts, Aracna was sipping tea, Cirsie was using a grinding wheel to shape a gem, Mula was speaking to someone about the next assault of Ice Crown, Kosath was sharpening his axe, and there were others she did not yet recognize.

There was a squeal of excitement, followed by a green flash of light. The room lit up to Winlayna in a strange green glow that only Winlayna could see. While she no longer had eyes, she was still very sensitive to magic.

The glow faded.

Then a loud giggle and another flash of green light outlined the tribemates in the guild hall.

She focus her attention to the people in the room. Another green flash covered the room seeming to come with the excited giggle. She quickly scanned the room before the glow faded. As the glow faded something stood out more brightly than the rest, Anca.

“Anca dear, could you come over here please” Winlayna said as she stood up.
“Sure!” replied Anca as she scampered quickly over to the old mage.
Winlayna placed her hand on the child’s head and Anca gave her a curious look.
Pain coursed through Winlayna’s body and images flooded her mind … thousands of orcs, a swamp, a portal… the pain was too great, she pulled away.
“What’s wrong?” Anca asked.
“Nothing dear, I am fine.”
“How old are you?” asked Winlayna.
“I dunno” shrugged Anca.
The hall was completely silent, everyone watching Winlayna closely. Lucinther and Aracna gave Winlayna a concerned look.
Winlayna stood up, “Thank you Anca; have an extra cookie for me. I must rest now”.
“ok!” Anca ran off and went back to playing her games.
Winlayna picked up her staff and prodded her way back to the sleeping quarters and retired for the evening.
[Image: 2295174RBdsr.png]
Phoronid entered the main hall, tired and irritated. He was sleeping worse then usual, his nightmares even worse then his usual tempest of past regrets and actions.

The scars of demon blood were guiding his broken memories for some reason, the images of walking through the portal from Draenor dominating his thoughts. Usually, he only had a single incident of his past puncture his mind when he had some present reminder. He would have rare relaxation when he had Phoeni on the mind, reminding him of his beloved Draenor, now called Nagrand.

A week now, all remembering the howls and precision as the troops strode onto the innocent land of Azeroth for the first time, standing as the lone member of his clan, eyes twinking with wanderlust as much as his heart burned with blood rage.

There had been no reminder of these times recently, the bronze had not demanded that he see his past again, his recent trips to Outlands that was Draenor had been brief and used portals that avoided the black archway. Why the reminder?

Phoronid looked at the assembled tribemates in a half glance. All too young or not orcs. No reminder here. He tramped to the kitchen, frustrated and groggy.
Lately, Anca has been scribbling pictures on the walls of the guild hall, little stick figures and simple scapes, though some of them seem very strange. She has also been scribbling little maps, again very simplistic and not at all to scale, but some of strange landmasses that do not exist, or with borders and labels that vary widely from the current borders.

Misspellings abound, but Anca doesn't seem to mind.

And the big table in the Hall has been declared "Orgrimmar." It was formerly "Fort Stormwind," but she apparently let the alliance have that back and moved on to "Orgrimmar."

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