Thread: Tournament of Lost Champions (WoW RP - Dameon x Feral.Desires)

As the support beams groaned at the new weight planted square atop the stables and the Orc's amusement carried on a bit further as the tall, Draeneic female began posturing to the hired help. It was always a sight to watch the less warlike races trying to act imposing with their brandished blades and bulky armor. No matter how much the 'fairer' races tried, they always seemed like children trying to bare capped teeth to him. Even the harshest times of war for the allied races that opposed the Horde rarely equaled the harsh, daily life of those that lived in the hellish mesas of Durotar where poisonous creatures the size of horses lucked beneath the dust and sand, demons and cultists try to sacrifice your infants and the threat of constant starvation and dehydration. He watched as the female Draenei watched as her, what he assumed, was her companion settled in with his new roost. He looked towards his own dire wolf that was still clad in armor with his family's crest burned into the neck guard. The large beast made eye contact with the Orc and he smiled behind his mouth guard. It was a very misleading scene, the great beast was resting comfortably in a pile of hay, a haunch of stripped meat and gnawed bone resting beside it meat that the Orc couldn't remember giving to the beast, so either the hands had fed it, or he had made the meal himself but the lack of smeared blood on his coat suggested the first possibility. It's breath steamed the snow, and occasionally it's tail would flop in a small display of happiness at the sight of it's owner, almost like a pup. But earlier that day, on the very trip to the tournament grounds, that happy wolf had ripped several frost wyrmlings wing from wing while his master dealt with some surviving cultists. It was a killing machine, as well as a loyal companion. Was the Proto-Drake so controlled? It seemed unlikely, but with such a fair handed owner it wasn't a surprise. He snorted as he walked beyond the frightened stable hands and towards his mount, his pack resting beside the beast, not locked or even hidden as he had no fear of thieves as long as his hound remained nearby. You should put a leash on that lizard. If the tournament is delayed because it has a little tantrum more than stable hands are going to be trying to shove it into a wooden box. He rumbled. Even for an Orc he was tall, although it was only his voice and build that let anyone know his race. His body was covered from head to toe in armor so much so that not even a fleck of skin could be seen. He looked as much like a Demolisher made out of ebony steel as an Orc. Two massive axes with hooked blades slung over either shoulder as he attached two smaller, single handed ones still large enough to need two hands were it to be used by a slighter race attached to either hip. He eyed the female, and took note of her blade, as well as the hum to her voice. She obviously had some kind of magic air to her existence, but he was no caster of tricks and illusions, he only knew that magic users tended to go down faster with an axe to the throat then those that swung steel. You might want to just head back to Dalaran. He snorted derisively as he thought of the city of robe wearing librarians. I'm sure there's a Gnome that could give your horns and hooves some polish, take your pet to have a couple of biscuits. I'm sure his feathers are particularly ruffled. He moved to head back towards the gate of the Coliseum once more, not caring if there was any rebuttle, the gates would be opening soon and he had no care for idle chit chat or wastes of time and energy in the ring either.