((Taking a first stab at rounding out some backstory for my character...))
Orda entered the hut, throwing her bow onto her mattress in disgust. Rongar looked up from from the table where numerous dried plants were scattered about.
"Disappointing hunt, I take it?", he said to his wife.
"You could say that", Orda snarled. "I had a clear shot, but at the last moment, one of those tremors cost me my footing, and my arrow sailed straight into a tree. Of course, that gave away our position."
Rongar sighed. This attack had been planned for weeks and was meant to eliminate a Night Elf by the name of Diran Windsong. Windsong had been tormenting various orcish outposts. Fear of death had spread among the farming Orc peons, leaving many unable to complete even a minimal amount of work for the war effort.
This failed attempt meant that Windsong would likely increase his attacks on the Horde outposts in Ashenvale, and bring reinforcements.
"You could not have known that another quake would come right at that moment," Rongar offered.
Orda spat on the floor. "You are right. I could not have know that it would hit me right at that moment, but I should have been ready. A warrior should always be ready. And these quakes are happening at least six times a day now."
As if on cue, both Rongar and Orda felt the floor tremble, though his time it felt much stronger than ever before. Rongar saw the wooden furniture move about the room. Small pieces of mud and straw were falling from the ceiling.
Looking up, he saw cracks appear in the roofing joints of their small hut. "Out, now!", he bellowed, and in an instant Orda lept towards the entrance. But as soon as she opened the door, she froze. Rongar was just a step behind when he saw what had made his wife stop so suddenly.
Outside, Orgrimmar was bathed in flames. The latest earthquake had torn a deep scar into the ground. Traces of molten rock gave the Valley of Spirits the appearance of bleeding from a deep cut. Flames were bursting out in various places, charring buildings and immediately setting the straw rooftops ablaze. The heat nearly took Rongar's breath away.
He took a few steps forward past his wife to reach out to the spirits of the fire elementals that were springing up all around the city. This time, instead of finding an old, familiar friends, Rongar sensed a deeply disturbed and chaotic force. The elementals were no longer responding to his call.
All of a sudden, a large fire elemental rose from the ground in front of him. Concentrating, Rongar tried to reach out to the flickering force, begging, soothing and asking for a reprieve.
The response was immediate and swift - a bolt of flames shot past Rongar, singeing his mantle. The shaman spun around, only to see his home burst into a violent ball of fire. The heat knocked him off his feet.
"Orda!", he screamed, but the torrent of fire and destruction already completely engulfed his home. There was no trace, no sign of her. His wife of 40 years and the mother of his children was gone.
Orda entered the hut, throwing her bow onto her mattress in disgust. Rongar looked up from from the table where numerous dried plants were scattered about.
"Disappointing hunt, I take it?", he said to his wife.
"You could say that", Orda snarled. "I had a clear shot, but at the last moment, one of those tremors cost me my footing, and my arrow sailed straight into a tree. Of course, that gave away our position."
Rongar sighed. This attack had been planned for weeks and was meant to eliminate a Night Elf by the name of Diran Windsong. Windsong had been tormenting various orcish outposts. Fear of death had spread among the farming Orc peons, leaving many unable to complete even a minimal amount of work for the war effort.
This failed attempt meant that Windsong would likely increase his attacks on the Horde outposts in Ashenvale, and bring reinforcements.
"You could not have known that another quake would come right at that moment," Rongar offered.
Orda spat on the floor. "You are right. I could not have know that it would hit me right at that moment, but I should have been ready. A warrior should always be ready. And these quakes are happening at least six times a day now."
As if on cue, both Rongar and Orda felt the floor tremble, though his time it felt much stronger than ever before. Rongar saw the wooden furniture move about the room. Small pieces of mud and straw were falling from the ceiling.
Looking up, he saw cracks appear in the roofing joints of their small hut. "Out, now!", he bellowed, and in an instant Orda lept towards the entrance. But as soon as she opened the door, she froze. Rongar was just a step behind when he saw what had made his wife stop so suddenly.
Outside, Orgrimmar was bathed in flames. The latest earthquake had torn a deep scar into the ground. Traces of molten rock gave the Valley of Spirits the appearance of bleeding from a deep cut. Flames were bursting out in various places, charring buildings and immediately setting the straw rooftops ablaze. The heat nearly took Rongar's breath away.
He took a few steps forward past his wife to reach out to the spirits of the fire elementals that were springing up all around the city. This time, instead of finding an old, familiar friends, Rongar sensed a deeply disturbed and chaotic force. The elementals were no longer responding to his call.
All of a sudden, a large fire elemental rose from the ground in front of him. Concentrating, Rongar tried to reach out to the flickering force, begging, soothing and asking for a reprieve.
The response was immediate and swift - a bolt of flames shot past Rongar, singeing his mantle. The shaman spun around, only to see his home burst into a violent ball of fire. The heat knocked him off his feet.
"Orda!", he screamed, but the torrent of fire and destruction already completely engulfed his home. There was no trace, no sign of her. His wife of 40 years and the mother of his children was gone.
