Recent content by Azrakar

Azrakar felt the heavy groan of the portcullis as it rose, a slow and jagged sound that seemed to grate against his sensitive hearing. To the humans, it was the sound of safety; to him, it was the opening of a maw. He walked into the belly to kill the stone beast from the inside. He didn't...

He knew that her mind would be several steps ahead of his own in conjuring that torment. That was why he felt this was a game that would sustain them for centuries. His gaze flicked up before sliding back down, tracing every curve into his memory. “Keep the crown on.”

Azrakar's hand snapped around Vyx'aria's wrist. His grin faltered as her grip tightened. Drawn up onto his toes, he flashed his teeth back at her and met her challenge directly. He remembered those words. What he had done felt pale in comparison to how she had greeted him from his own...

The dancer gave a sudden start. Azrakar remained quite still. He slowly set a cup back down on the table. "I am so sorry, my queen," Azrakar said politely. The dancer stood and offered a bow. Azrakar stayed where he was until the dancer hissed at him. He stood and bowed. "I am afraid your...

"Neither had I," Azrakar replied. "Elm Section," he called back up. The Allirian Rangers had always been a loose band of fighters who protected the wilds around alliria. He was hoping that was still the case. "Plenty of orc scouts around but caught this one off guard. They still killed my...

Alak Rasivrein Axrakar could be a deceitful creature when he needed to be. They were far from the biting alpine wind of the peaks or the dry, volcanic heat of his own halls. Azrakar moved with a fluid, measured gait that felt unnatural to his true spirit. In this humanoid guise his immense...

The Battle of Crowfort: Introduction Welcome to the opening march of the Northern Campaign of the Hollow King. Following the gathering of the Obsidian War Council, the forces of the Hollow King have descended upon Crowfort, a vital strategic stronghold that guards safe road from the Ixchel...

Azrakar smiled. Dealing with drow as one of their own was always tricky business. He was a perfectly capable manipulator when he had time to plan. Much of his power had come from strength of arms, but in the old days he had preyed upon weak kings and devilish deals to expand his influence...

Azrakar strode down the centre of the largest tent. He walked with a slow, deliberate pace. He wanted to be seen. The tent was alive with the rough clamor of orcs: laughter like rolling boulders, the crash of tankards, the wet tear of meat from bone "Bring me ale!" Azrakar cried out. He...

Azrakar looked across the shoulder of the dancer. He caught just the slightest shift in the queen's expression. Perhaps now was not the moment for their back and forth. Not when she had an endless stream of visiting dignitaries. "It's a large city," Azrakar said. It was hardly an...

"My... Nerves?" He glanced past the dancer to see Vyx’aria smirking. Azrakar took a slow, deep breath. He wondered how the party would take a fiend striding across the floor beneath a crown of flame. He fixed a thin smiles onto his lips and took the offered bottle of wine. He met...

How the worms would dig beneath the surface when they thought they could find food. Azrakar listened to the proclamation. Alliria. It would not be long until his forces crossed their own. Allirian Rangers would meet his orcs in the Ixchel wilds when he took the stone. He wondered if the...

Azrakar’s gaze remained fixed on the map, his fingers splayed against the parchment as though he could feel the pulse of the land through the ink. He did not look up when Urzak and Gartz finished speaking, but the slow, rhythmic pulsing of the crimson runes on his forearms signalled his...

Azrakar followed the crowd. They almost moved as one organic mass, drawing him in their wake. He had seen enough of drow culture to know that they took pride in the excess. In a way they reminded him of the orc tribes. They drew strength from competition but would put it aside for revelry. He...

Azrakar remained still long after the silver of her hair had vanished down the mountain pass. The phantom heat of her thumb still lingered on his lower lip, a stark, singular point of warmth against the biting alpine chill. Ask me to be yours. A low, tectonic rumble of a laugh started in his...