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Old 09-21-2015, 08:46 AM
Hagrid Hagrid is offline

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Default Lok'tra on-Orgrimmar

The Songseer's hymn, lost in the storm of Rebellion. It is remembered only by a few of those surviving Red Fang, who have taken all to the Goron'kari.

"Boar butcher,
Maker of arms,
Carver of stone,
Singer of lok'tras and the desert's hard blood.

Stormy, husky, brawling,
Stronghold of earth-blood
Wind-howling canyons.

Your enemies claim you are wicked and I believe them,
For I have seen your warriors with blades painted red,
Under the grim shadows of the ravines,
Luring the gruntlings with the tales of their scars.
They say that you are cruel and I answer: Yes, it is true.
I have seen the Hands of the Cleft kill and go free to kill again,
In bleak caves where the canyons grind
And the dry winds howl with the song of the pack.
They say that you are brutal and my reply is:
On the faces of your women and children I have seen the marks of wanton hunger.
On the faces of your peons and Shamans I have seen the eyes of starved wolves.
And upon their faces all
Have I seen inscribed the same desert pride;
Stones windblown but deathly defiant.
And having answered so I turn once more to those who sneer at this my home,
And I give them back the sneer and say to them:
Come.
Come and show me another city with lifted head roaring,
So proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.
Show me another city with canyons who thunder
With living lok'tras.
Show me another fortress born of stone,
Wrought by ragged limbs grinding
Gasping with a homeless vigor
That was never once voiced
From these proud, tacit maws.
Show me another hold
Wreathed with the grim armaments of the Lohn'goron,
Whose gates are passed only
By those storm-stricken with awe.
Show me another city whose very name is a lok'vadnod,
Whose spirit is forged anew
In trk'hsk, the ever-becoming lifeblood
Of fathomless forebears.
Here, even the gold handlers,
Whose blood dampened Hyjal,
Fling their earth-quaking curses
Amidst the toil of iron spines and wyvern wings.
Here, myths are alive.
Here, the storm waves crash in vain against the walls of our earth.
Here, the scorn of the strong dares invaders to come.
Here, no goron'kar may enter
Without the very soul of this scarred city penetrating their hearts.
Here is a rocky bold wolf den set stark against the soft cities of the four winds;
Fierce as a Raider with tongue lapping for action,
Cunning as a savage pitted against the wilderness,
Bareheaded,
Shoveling,
Wrecking,
Planning,
Building, breaking, rebuilding,
Under the smoke, dust all over his mouth,
Laughing with white fangs, long tusks, and horns.
Under the terrible burden of destiny
Laughing as a young Orc laughs at death,
Laughing even as an ignorant warrior laughs who has never lost a battle,

Bragging and laughing that under his wrist is the pulse. and under his canyon ribs the heart of the people,
Laughing!
Laughing the stormy, husky, brawling laughter of vigor and valor,
Half-naked, sweating, proud to be
Boar Butcher,
Maker of armaments,
Carver of stone,
Singer of lok'tras and the desert's hard blood."

Thrall-Hall on-Stormdrum. Rest knowing your Lok'tra is alive.
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