Dunkrik Howlingaxe

# Dunkrik Dragonbait

## Dunkrik

Dunkrik dressed for battle in the Wetlands

## Connections

### Affiliations

Howling Axe Clan (leader)Dragonmaw Clan (formerly allied)Dark Horde (formerly)Horde

### Current Residence

Wetlands

https://grobbulus.org/c/dunkrik

## History

Chief of the small Howling Axe clan, Dunkrik lived in the Wetlands for the entirety of the Second War and was a close ally of Dragonmaw clan, even joining the Dark Horde for a short time before being defeated by alliance at Grim Batol. During the battle he briefly battled with a red dragon, he barely escaped with his life and save a handful of his clan's warriors by leading it away. The fight left him with a large burn scar that covered most of his upper-right side and claimed his eye but also earned him the name Dragonbait

## Personality

Dunkirk has a sour personality and a bleak outlook on life. Nothing is as good as it should be for him, finding faults to complain about in anyone and anything. His keen eye for deficiencies may appear to others as apathy, but his high standards and strategic mind make him an ideal commander on the battlefield with great personal skill at arms as well.

## Journal Entries

### 8 years after the opening of the Dark Portal

The Wetlands. Never has a name so accurately described a location, in all of its aspects; the grounds is wet, the sky is wet, the beasts are wet, and despite all of my best efforts, my feet are wet. I thought I would have grown used to damp environments, growing up in those early war camps in the Blackmorass and even earlier, the jungles of our ancestral homeworld, but the main difference between these wetlands and those southern rainforests is the cold. Despite being the lowest altitude of all the regions of Khaz Modan, the Wetlands remains colder than even Loch Modan as the glacial runoff and icy winds constantly descends from the steep northern slopes of Ironforge Mountain, cooling the marshy plains and even the secluded hills where my Clan has made their home since the end of the First War.

During my youth Clan Howling Axe earned great honour during the First War when my father, the chief, and our people fought the humans of Stormwind. Our clan won many battles using our famous war cries which destroyed their morale. Our signature fighting style of twin axes was empowered by the bloodrage bestowed upon us by Gul'dan and his demons. As forward scouts and skirmishes the Howling Axes ranged the furthest north in that time, settling down here in the Wetlands alongside our close allies, the Dragonmaw Clan. Our glories were not to last however.

When the drums of war thundered once again our people answered the call, though I too wished to fight but my father ordered me to remain behind, that was the last I saw of my father. I do not know all of the details of those events but I learned of how Gul'dan betrayed the Horde by sailing away with half of Doomhammer's forces, I assume my clan's warriors were wiped out during the siege of Capital City.

Now I am a full grown orc, oldest and strongest of our warriors, this, as well as being the son of the last chieftain has made me de facto leader of the Howling Axes. I turn my fur collar to the biting winds from the mountain and make my way to the central campfire. A messenger from Grim Batol arrived today, I am going to speak with him, something about an invitation from Nekros Skullcrusher...

Maybe the campfire will dry my feet.

### 10 years after the opening of the Dark Portal

Nothing could have prepared me for the inescapable stench that permeated the entirety of Grim Batol. The Dragonmaw have been breeding and raising red dragons within these underground halls since the early days of the Second War. Even if you ignored the smell of all the excrement, the creatures reptilian musk is enough to drive me to retching. I would rather avoid this place but it is part of my responsibilities as a chieftain of the Horde.

The “True Horde” as Warchief Rend Blackhand calls it, to distinguish himself from Doomhammer’s Horde. I suppose our horde is the only horde now, since Doomhammer’s defeat in Lordaeron. The Blackrocks, the Dragonmaw, the Blacktooth Grin, and now too, Howling Axe clan are the only unified clans in all of Azeroth.

The Blackrock mainly keep to south, fighting the humans of Redridge, when their not hold up in their mountain, that leaves those of us in Khaz Modan with Ironforge to our south and the humans of Lordaeron to our north. The Dragonmaw are powerful but they can’t do it alone and that’s where we come in. Dragons and Warlocks are devastating when deployed properly, but as strong as your armour and artillery are, you can’t win wars without grunts putting boots on the ground and the Howling Axes are more than glad to put in the legwork.

I’m on my way Nekros Skullcrusher’s war room. The warlock has made a lot of preparations recently, the rumour is that he’s had some premonition on an imminent alliance attack and has called us in for additional reinforcements. I don’t put much stock in magic, but my recent scouting reports have been troubling. I have a bad feeling about this.

I’m caught off guard as a whelping swoops over my head from some unseen roost in the chambers high ceiling and drops, a steaming load right in front of me, a near miss. A grunt runs over to me and babbles some apologies but I sigh and continue to the war room. I can still smell the shit, some must have gotten on my boots.

At least my feet are dry.

### 12 years after the opening of the Dark Portal

An icy wind is blowing hard, down from the steep cliffs of Ironforge Mountain. the cold air causes the right side of my face and shoulders to ache. though two years have passed since the battle of Grim Batol, the burn scars left by the dragon fires still constrict painfully in cold weather, and It's almost always cold here. The scar should be a badge of honour, few orcs claim to have survived a fight with an adult red dragon, but for me it serves only as a reminder of my own cowardice how I abandoned the fight and was unable to protect my people.

Today I am hunting game with one the clans oldest members, Trongorn our master hunter. While we patiently wait for prey I reflect on the current state of affairs. With the fall of the Dragonmaw there is almost nothing left of the horde. Each and every clan smashed to pieces and sent scattering to the hills, hiding in their huts for fear and more retribution from the humans, and we Howlingaxes are no different. The days of warchiefs and hordes are now over and now it’s up to the likes of us, failed leaders and aged hunters, up to us to claw what meager existence we can form this world that despises us.

Trongorn wakes me from rumination with a hoarse grunt, he’s spotted a bear. We set traps and split left and right. The bear catches our sent and begins to run, I leap out and scream our signature war-howl, scaring the bear and diverting it towards Trongorn. The elder orc belts out a war-howl in echo of my own, the bear diverts again. Together we herd the bear directly into the trap we set earlier. With the bear incapacitated I swiftly end its life by splitting its skull with my axe. The kill is invigorating, blood splatter on my lips leaves me hungry for more blood, more violence.

Will this passive lifestyle of mere survival be enough to satisfy the bloodlust? Only time will tell.

## RP Hooks

You might know Dunkrik if:

* You are live in the Wetlands,
* Were in the Dragonmaw clan,
* In the battle of Grim Batol