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  3. Syreena

    A Rogue's Diary

    08.03.18 People are liars, or maybe they’re just fools. They claim to understand what The Grim is, what we do, and what our purpose is. Then, when they witness it in action, they are shocked and disappointed. It is clear to me now why members of The Grim have so few outside friendships. Outsiders sometimes say they want to be friends with us. They say they understand us, and still want to be friends. But they don’t. Not really. They want to be friends with who they want us to be, not with who we really are. They want us to change, to fit into their idea of right and wrong, good and bad. They offer, in their kindness, their support and help if we choose to “improve” ourselves into what they think we should be. To fel with that. I am Grim. I will not change. If people get upset because they see me attack humans, that is their problem. They obviously do not know what it is to be Grim, even though they claim to understand. I make no apology for my actions. I have no regrets. And I will not change. Peace through annihilation. By any means necessary.
  4. Qabian

    Time Shattered

    War for peace. War for peace. War for peace. And no one sees the irony. No one. I love it. Hit them while they're bleeding. Yes, we're bleeding, too, and risk everything in making the strike, but... But if we win this now, we can force acceptance and servility for centuries. Really? How has that worked out historically? If you insist. If there's one thing I'm never going to argue with, it's scorched earth. Scorch it all. Especially Lordaeron. The Windrunners have had their claws in human scalps their entire lives. Sylvanas was only too happy to find herself gifted with the power to hold human lives in her hands and have them worship her for it. Nathanos isn't just any corpse. I hope she regrets what she's done. I hope it saddens her to see her people, her human people removed from the home they bought with the blood of their families. That pit was disgusting before they turned it into a literal sewer, and it's disgusting now. Leaving it unusable for generations is all it has ever deserved. I hear the rumors trying to pin Malfurion's escape on Saurfang. Maybe so. That might explain his little failed death wish drama. To return their hero to them is a crime that cannot go unpunished. But was Sylvanas not there? Shouldn't she have seen it done? While everyone else bemoans the lack of honor in murdering hundreds maybe thousands of civilians, I'll be over here wondering why they failed to cut the head off the snake. Keep leaving nothing but ash and blight in your wake, Warchief. I certainly don't care how many innocents on either side you take with you in the name of some sort of necessity or survival. This is the annihilation we've been preaching for more than a decade. This is what we live for.
  5. Kimiji

    A Druid's Regrets

    [[I can't figure out how to edit or delete this one. Can Someone help me out?]]
  6. Kimiji

    A Druid's Regrets

    The druid of the claw coughs blood up onto my gloves. Her purple skin fades to a dull blue, much closer to mine than any of her race. As I look up and around the fields of Lordaeron I see everywhere. I am Kenjin. A Zandali Troll. A part of the Horde. A member of Sanctuary. That means a lot to me. More importantly, I am a Druid. I have sworn to help who I can and heal any who need it. My true loyalty is to life and nature. I will keep any I can alive. I’ve spent years working with Druids of every race to ensure there is balance in the world. As I hold the night elf, dying, in my arms, I try to figure out how we let it get this far. I feel as if we, the druids, have failed. There has always been a common bond between us, no matter our race or faction. We serve nature. When the “Warchief” struck down Malfurion I was torn. I was furious. He was a symbol of Druidry, not just alliance Druidry, but for all of us. The elf coughs, sputters, and dies in my arms. My healing arts can’t overcome the massive blood loss. I say a blessing as I lay her down to rest on the field of battle, searching for someone I can save. There is a small troll boy, maybe sixteen, but he looks much younger. I run over and begin healing him, hoping I can do something in the face of this stupidity. I look down at his face. ~~~~~~~ The night elf girl looks up at me, confused and hurt. I helped her shift out of her bearform, but that may not have been a good idea. The weapons stuck in her hide that were an inconvenience as a bear are debilitating as an elf. As she looks up at me, I begin a rejuvenation on her. The pain on her face eases and she lets her head relax to the side. That is a mistake. She sees the tree. I’ve been avoiding looking at it. I can’t stand the shame. The feeling of failure. The betrayal of everything I’ve ever stood for. The little elf sees it and collapses. Her wails rip my heart apart. I can’t meet her eyes, right up until the moment her cries die out, and her body goes slack. ~~~~~~~ I lower the troll to the ground, lift my mask and brush the tears off my face. There are more dead or injured here than I could help in a lifetime. That doesn’t mean I should stop. I drop my bear mask back in place and run to the next downed person. A dwarf this time. I start again. ~~~~~~~ I’ve saved a few, most have died. I’m exhausted. I can’t stop now, there are too many that still need help. The fields of Lordaeron are covered with the dead and wounded of both sides. At this point I’m reluctant to consider myself a part of the Horde. As I bend over a human, trying to return her to life, I think back to the druids I have gotten to know since the legion war began. We had, if not peace, then at least a solid understanding between druids of all races. Under Malfurion’s eye we had a community that worked for the betterment of the world. The girl coughs and her eyes open. There is at least one more saved. The gates of Undercity open and a team of Forsaken emerge. They have green, glowing tanks on their backs. I pick up the human girl, looking for someone to hand her off to before I find out what the Forsaken are here to do. As I’m walking toward a group of dwarves I begin to cough. A green fog floats around me. My head goes light and I wonder how we ended up on the ground. My last thought is of a burning tree.
  7. Kenjin

    A Druid's Regrets

    The druid of the claw coughs blood up onto my gloves. Her purple skin fades to a dull blue, much closer to mine than any of her race. As I look up and around the fields of Lordaeron I see everywhere. I am Kenjin. A Zandali Troll. A part of the Horde. A member of Sanctuary. That means a lot to me. More importantly, I am a Druid. I have sworn to help who I can and heal any who need it. My true loyalty is to life and nature. I will keep any I can alive. I’ve spent years working with Druids of every race to ensure there is balance in the world. As I hold the night elf, dying, in my arms, I try to figure out how we let it get this far. I feel as if we, the druids, have failed. There has always been a common bond between us, no matter our race or faction. We serve nature. When the “Warchief” struck down Malfurion I was torn. I was furious. He was a symbol of Druidry, not just alliance Druidry, but for all of us. The elf coughs, sputters, and dies in my arms. My healing arts can’t overcome the massive blood loss. I say a blessing as I lay her down to rest on the field of battle, searching for someone I can save. There is a small troll boy, maybe sixteen, but he looks much younger. I run over and begin healing him, hoping I can do something in the face of this stupidity. I look down at his face. ~~~~~~~ The night elf girl looks up at me, confused and hurt. I helped her shift out of her bearform, but that may not have been a good idea. The weapons stuck in her hide that were an inconvenience as a bear are debilitating as an elf. As she looks up at me, I begin a rejuvenation on her. The pain on her face eases and she lets her head relax to the side. That is a mistake. She sees the tree. I’ve been avoiding looking at it. I can’t stand the shame. The feeling of failure. The betrayal of everything I’ve ever stood for. The little elf sees it and collapses. Her wails rip my heart apart. I can’t meet her eyes, right up until the moment her cries die out, and her body goes slack. ~~~~~~~ I lower the troll to the ground, lift my mask and brush the tears off my face. There are more dead or injured here than I could help in a lifetime. That doesn’t mean I should stop. I drop my bear mask back in place and run to the next downed person. A dwarf this time. I start again. ~~~~~~~ I’ve saved a few, most have died. I’m exhausted. I can’t stop now, there are too many that still need help. The fields of Lordaeron are covered with the dead and wounded of both sides. At this point I’m reluctant to consider myself a part of the Horde. As I bend over a human, trying to return her to life, I think back to the druids I have gotten to know since the legion war began. We had, if not peace, then at least a solid understanding between druids of all races. Under Malfurion’s eye we had a community that worked for the betterment of the world. The girl coughs and her eyes open. There is at least one more saved. The gates of Undercity open and a team of Forsaken emerge. They have green, glowing tanks on their backs. I pick up the human girl, looking for someone to hand her off to before I find out what the Forsaken are here to do. As I’m walking toward a group of dwarves I begin to cough. A green fog floats around me. My head goes light and I wonder how we ended up on the ground. My last thought is of a burning tree.
  8. Bronwen

    The Blade and The Cat

    The next victim, or would-be victim, is a woman carrying a bag on each arm, walking from Brill on a road going towards one of farms. When she falls to the ground after getting hit by a more solid person from out of nowhere, neither of the satchels make any harsh noise like clanking metal or ores, or acidic alchemical bottles breaking and hissing as their foul concoctions eat through the cloth holding them. It is a muted and hollow sound, nothing close to even a thud, and even less substantial than the frail undead woman frozen in fear with a blade poking into her neck. She wears a dress that looked like it was once white, a threadbare shawl, and nothing more past sandals on her feet. Probably young when she was living, and a civilian obviously, as she has no weapons on her. Nothing that she might have effectively held in a fight. Bronwen could sense no magic on her, nothing aside from the foul plague animating the poor lady, and she this far made no attempt to protect herself in any form whatsoever. She just stared up at this strange human woman crouched over her with wide eyes, much like anyone else that feared for their life might. For the longest time, the two stood still, nearly still as death as they watched one another. “What are you doing?” Bronwen asked finally. Harshly, but slowly, so the woman could understand her more easily if she was going to understand at all. The Forsaken woman only moves her eyes to look towards one of the fallen bags. With the blade steady and a knee braced against her shoulder to keep her in place, Bron lifts the bag with the other hand and empties its contents onto the ground. Bread, all sorts of different types, topples in loaves and rolls mostly. The human frowns and quickly reaches for the other to do the same, and out of that one tumbles bundles of morels, button mushrooms, and various other fungi. In her own frustration, she looks at the poor woman like she has the audacity to lie about such a thing. “You people don’t have to eat!” she says in a growl. “I... it’s... we still... like.... it's nice to eat,” is her choking reply, in a quiver that would suggest she’d be sobbing if she still had the capacity to make tears fall from her eyes. For what feels like another eternity to each of them, Bronwen stares at her. Entirely apprehensive, but less at the woman's tale and more at the revelation that… undead people eat? because they like to? And bake, it seems? She can't just let herself believe something like that out of nowhere, but now she finds herself stuck in doubt. As if there wasn't already enough in her life for her to doubt. Normally, she'd end her and be done with it, but now there is something even louder telling her to just stop. It draws her stomach into a painful knot that she ignores best as she can. “Do not tell anyone you saw me,“ she says, and suddenly picks the poor woman up by her collar to force her to her feet. “Tell them hounds chased you for your bread. I'm going to let let you live. But if you figuratively breathe a single word, I will find you. Do you understand?” The woman's mouth moves but no sound comes out. Bronwen sighs in annoyance, and after finally drawing the blade away from her throat, she shoves her into the town's direction. That is enough to make her bolt away for her life, thankfully silently and without as much as a glance back over her shoulder. She crouches down and breaks apart the loaves, which are all indeed entirely bread. If it wasn't for her realizing she was still standing in plain sight more or less, she'd have let herself stare at it a while longer. She sheathes her dagger, pulls her cloak a little more tightly around herself, and backs off into the tree line.
  9. Vilmah

    The Ruin of Ruins

    "Warchief.. why?" The voice was frail, and then it was gone. Vilmah stood on the ramparts looking down, following the voices toward the sound of chaos and calamity that erupted outside of the city walls. Down in the field, spreading among the already yellow grass and weeds, a green gas was billowing toward the Alliance. In its wake, bodies were falling. It can't be, Vilmah thought to herself, watching the large bodies hit the ground, horns and antlers of the tauren digging into the dirt. The orcs stumbled a few feet, and fell on their faces. The trolls pinned themselves with their tusks. The goblins fell so quickly, like flies almost, and the elves in all their bravery reached for the sky for a few final words she could not hear. But those orcs were loud, and even as they died they asked; "Warchief, why?" Until the breath left them and the plague continued to cover their corpses, which grew thin and frail as flesh appeared to melt from their bones. Vilmah watched in horror as soldiers of the Horde stumbled, died, and fell apart. The yellowish bones of their corpses lay like stones among the armor and weapons. There wasn't even any blood, really. Just the swift decay of muscle and organs, falling to the earth in graying clumps that disappeared into the dirt. How did she even witness such a thing? She heard the call to arms. Ridan spoke to her through the hearthstone, hours before. "Undercity is under attack!" With Nika and Einar, the three snuck into Undercity disguised as Forsaken. It was chaotic inside, and the Alliance's SI:7 assassins had already stolen into the deepest parts of Lordaeron's crypts. Their mission was simple; rescue Steinburg as Infection rallied to defend their city. Nika and Einar proved a capable duo, and led the Warboss down toward Infection's guildhall. They were briefly intercepted by a priest, though Vilmah's shouting managed to stave off whatever mind control she was capable of. Then he arrived. The High Warlord of Infection. Vilmah had known Keraph since she was old enough to enlist. He saw most orcs as filthy creatures unfit to live on his world and treated Vilmah with only the barest of respect. Back then, they drank together. Traded insults. She called him 'old man', and never considered that someday they might be on sides so opposed that they would actually face one another in battle. Yet here he was, approaching her with a massive axe that seemed almost too big for his bony hands. Nika and Einar were already on their way to getting Steinburg released. "I'll hold him off!" Vilmah had told them. "Don't wait for me!" Nika wanted to argue, but gave Vilmah some smoke bombs instead. It was all she could do when Vilmah was that serious and wanted no argument, but Keraph wasn't going to be distracted by a few smoke bombs. Sanctuary was breaking into his home and retrieving one of his "guests", and that would not stand. "Bloodborne!" He shouted, snarling with yellow decaying teeth. "You traitorous green mongrel!! Have you truly abandoned the Horde so thoroughly as to betray the Warchief while we are under attack!?" "I'm not betraying anyone, Keraph," Vilmah argued, her sword drawn. It was long and thin, nothing compared to Keraph's axe but fluid in Vilmah's slender hands. "I'm just picking up a friend. You can get in my way or you can let me take him home, but I don't think you want to be dealing with me while the Alliance attacks from the outside." The rage in Keraph's face was readable, even from behind his helmet. The Warlord's mouth twisted into a deep frown, the wrinkles and flaking skin of decay contorting with rage. "If you do this there will be no peace for you, or Sanctuary! Do you hear me, Vilmah?" He shouted, using her name now. What did that mean? "You and your little group are going to pay. You will suffer. These are not empty threats, little girl." Her eyes narrowed. The last time someone called her little girls was... "I'm not letting you bully me and my men, Keraph!" The orcess shouted, moving into an offensive stance. Left arm forward, right arm back; Vilmah's thin blade was poised to slash and her knees bent, ready to spring. She and Keraph were both warriors, but their disciplines were different, and hers was fairly new. How long has she been training like that? He thought, raising his axe. "The Alliance has marched forward! their siege weapons are attacking the gates!!" Shouted a voice nearby. Both Keraph and Vilmah's attention were stolen. The Warboss felt a buzzing in her pocket, heard the familiar voice of Nika from afar. We have Steinburg, Warboss! We're going home! Mission complete, Vilmah thought, but Keraph still glared at her. A decision was being made. "Watch yourself, Vilmah," he said finally, through rotting teeth. "The end of your days grows near. You, Sanctuary, and all you hold dear. The Dark Lady will not accept failure, and I will not accept this--" "The boy king has arrived!!" Keraph pursed his crusted lips and pointed the axe at Vilmah. "Soon." And then he was gone. Vilmah stood in position, waiting. Part of her wondered if this was some sort of trick, but that wasn't possible. Keraph's home was being attacked from the outside, surely he wanted nothing more than to cut through the Alliance more than defend his honor against Vilmah. Then again, what honor does he have? She watched him go and ran in another direction, through the sewers, sheathing her blade on the way. The splashing of putrid liquid at her boots was something that no longer reviled her, nor did the smell. She followed the sewers to a secret entrance, one that brought back so many memories. The Alliance attacked from there, once. Led by an ally. A shaman. Outside of the crypts, the Undercity was much louder. The cries of battle were loud and told the tale of a battle still raging. She wanted to help her allies, but from where? Scrambling to the broken bricks and stones of Lordaeron's past, Vilmah climbed up as high as her hands and feet would allow her. Once she climbed high enough to see what was happening outside, Vilmah crouched down and looked for an opportunity to join the Horde in the defense of their city. To join her brothers and sisters as they defended their home. What she saw was poisoned orcs, trolls, tauren and elves. Goblins, too. As she leaned forward to understand, they all fell like sacks of meat, flesh falling from their bones to hit the ground like liquid. "Warchief.. why?" Vilmah hesitated. If she joined them, she too would die. Heart pounding in her chest, she reached for her blade and heard a voice telling her to stop. Be safe, and try to stay out of trouble ha'rega. Clenching her teeth, she made a pained sound and let the sword slide back into it's sheath as a dark presence made itself known. Near the wall, she watched as Sylvanas, their own Warchief, cast what looked like some strange spell. Vilmah was too distracted by Sylvanas to notice that beneath her, bones were stirring. A chattering sound, like the tiny tapping of seashells rattling caught her attention only when it grew so loud that it mimicked a strange music. Turning toward the unsettling noise, her hazel eyes widened in horror at the sight unfolding before her. The soldiers she saw fall in battle were standing. Gone was their flesh, and any semblance of life. They were skeletal, gnarled and twisted, and walked forward with a singular purpose. ..has she killed them just to raise them? Did she become everything she hated about the Lich King? Battle waged below, and Vilmah knew she couldn't stay. She would either enter the fray with the blight at her feet, or escape. Neither seemed both intelligent and honorable. Which to choose? Be safe... "Oh... fine," the orcess muttered, looking into the courtyard. Clenching her jaw, she climbed back down the ramparts and made her way into what looked like a gathering of Horde soldiers. Some of them gave her a curious look, but that look was forgotten when a nearby explosion drew their attention. "They're inside!!" Vilmah shouted, finally drawing her blade. The Alliance was flooding in from the outside. She caught sight of some strange faces in the fray, but was thrown from her concentration as a human soldier caught her attention. He attacked her with a massive broadsword, and while she could defend herself, Vilmah wondered just how much she actually wanted to defeat him. After everything they had done, after watching the war machines torch Teldrassil, why was she fighting for Sylvanas' broken kingdom? Because it was still the Horde. Because Steinburg worked so hard to make it a home, and was nearly killed for it. Because years ago, she came to Undercity as a child, and was welcomed as a friend. Without considering these things outright, Vilmah fought. She was accompanied by other Horde military, but there went enough to hold them all off. She went blow to blow with the human before her, an overhead swing meeting an underhand thrust, steel against steel, honorable combat between two living beings. She swung her blade forward and bit into armor, then flesh. It was a well placed blow and pierced the surface, ripping through muscle to open the human's throat. There was no time to consider this though, and soon enough she was engaged in combat with another human. Then another. Then another. Vilmah was small, but she was experienced. The foot soldiers didn't know what to make of the blademaster in her skant armor, and made the mistake of aiming for her bare torso. Surely it would be easy to slay her by piercing the orcess' stomach, chest, neck. Anything. But they never came close enough. She was fast, and she was willing to accept an injury in exchange for a kill. A few cuts to her shoulder or side were nothing compared to the way her sword slid into someone's lungs. Blood flowed, the smell intoxicating and almost enough to overpower the stench of rot. After an exhausting fight, Vilmah stood among a pile of bodies covered in cuts, her mind cloudy with blood loss. Then she heard the horn. Behind the human she was fighting, a morningstar struck his skull. The human went down in a heap and Vilmah looked into the eyes of her assistance, a Forsaken woman in plate armor. One quick salute and she was gone. Vilmah looked toward the horn and saw that the Horde was retreating. Baine waved his massive arms, calling the remaining Horde soldiers to follow. Without questioning why, Vilmah followed the call to a goblin airship, praying that there were more on the way. But there were no more ships. Huddled among the Horde soldiers gathered by Baine, Vilmah watched as below them, the Undercity became engulfed in green smoke. She knew what that smoke would do to anyone nearby; orc, tauren, goblin, elf, it didn't matter. They all died, and without Sylvanas to raise them, they all remained dead. Still breathing heavily, her wounds began to sting. The adrenaline was fading and the reality of what happened slowly crept into her thoughts. She killed them.. she killed them and raised them, and for what? Undercity is gone.. Undercity is gone.
  10. Bronwen

    The Blade and The Cat

    Many hours later on the way north towards Brill, Bronwen slowly moves toward the city proper first to peer at the entrance once again. A few guards are there, of course, but still a couple more than she would have expected to have riled up just yet. She frowns and collapses her spyglass between her hands. Of course, she still wants to go inside anyway despite her orders, and it wouldn’t be the first time that she defied that specific instruction in a situation much like this. She's fortunately wise enough to know the difference between merely wanting to go cause problems for the enemy and instinct telling her to diverge from the plan, and this time she again chooses to not be so careless. West of Brill, just far enough away that the town itself is obscured by the gloom in the air, she encounters a watch post. It's one she doesn’t remember having seen on this spot before with three guards: one forsaken standing beyond the perimeter and staring north, one sitting on a log and poking at the campfire with a stick, and an orc of all people that appears to be sleeping. By the noise he’s making it sounds as if he's sleeping, too. The rogue curls a lip in mild disgust and adjusts her cowl before she grabs a handful of the sandy dirt she gathered a few days prior. It gets moistened by some of the little bit of water she has left, because she knows very well that plain dirt or sand or powder of any kind has little hold over decaying skin and dry eyes. The orc is dispatched as he sleeps with a precise dagger to the throat, since he would have been the more difficult fight by far. The man by the fire gets a face full of sticky mud as he turns and draws his weapons, but instead of backing off like others might until they get their bearings again he swings his swords at her, just as she expects. Bronwen dodges them and barely twists out of the way of a crossbow bolt in time for its point to cut across her forearm. Predicting the armsman’s next move, the human spins around to give a rude gesture towards the bowman, and her form fades into wispy shadows to get cut through, and then blown away over the campfire by the breeze as the other stumbles about in his assault on the air around him. The bowman lowers his bow the smallest bit as he glances around, just in time for a foot shoved squarely into his back to knock him into one of the blindly flailing blades wielded by the other. A sword shoved through the chest of an undead man doesn’t kill him. It might not even really hurt, for all Bronwen knows, but it’s been enough to cause some chaos for the moment. She leaves them to escape into the shadows and moves on her way. They would have seen her heading south if they were paying attention. After she is sure she has entirely escaped their perception, Bronwen circles north again until she can at worst see the faintest outline of northern border guards in the distance from a dead and hollowed out tree she chooses to rest in. For some time, she watches and listens without much in way of idle thought like before until she finally decides to stitch and bandage herself after she uses her runestone to quickly report what she’s seen and done. She’s hardly gotten her armor refixed over her arm when she hears a quiet and muffled noise, just outside of the trunk. Not one to take chances, her daggers are drawn before she even rises to her feet in preparation for a confrontation, but the golden eyes that meet hers through the darkness aren’t lich fire. A night elf, one she definitely recognizes after a second or few and scowls at to express the frustration she can’t quite speak aloud right now. “The hell are you doing here?” she demands of him at a barely audible level. She’s prepared to tell him off as quietly as she can, tell him to go find his own work, but she instead pauses when he leans down to slide his arms around her under her own and pull her into a tight embrace. Once she realizes what’s happening, she rolls her eyes. “You did not... just come all this way just to-” “Don’t go into the city,” he murmurs into her ear. “... okay? I wasn’t going to, they told me not-" “Good. Do not go into the city,” he says with more feeling. What feeling exactly she couldn't quite put her finger on. He releases her, a stony yet mournful look on his face. She’s about to question him, her face growing red with her frustration at this whole thing, but like kaldorei often do he disappears into the dead forest without a trace. For a short while, all she can do is stand there in the darkness and wonder what just happened.
  11. Svetlaena

    On the Ashen Beach

    This… isn’t supposed to happen. It was hard for Svetlaena Ascent to even think for a moment before more coughing racked her body and sent shockwaves through her mind. The Sin’dorei lurched forward and caught herself on her hands and knees amongst sands rapidly being blanketed in ash. Her head was pounding, her eyes stinging and tearing over. Despite the efforts of her lungs to cleanse themselves, all she managed to do was hack some gray slime onto the beach. Not like this. Nearby, the priestess’s hippogryph Ipolit collapsed, breathing but utterly spent, twitching his singed wings every now and then. She watched him for a time to assure herself. Once confirmed, she set about trying to rise to her feet. Easier considered than done. Svetlaena’s head was spinning far too much. It wasn’t just the pain and suffocation, either. She settled for simply kneeling there, falling ash sticking in her frayed hair, and staring back at the horrible beacon of war that the Horde had lit. Not like this… Within this burning ruin of the world tree a dark splotch of smoke amassed into the form of a storm crow as it propelled towards the Sin’dorei woman like a meteor, falling mere feet from her where she knelt. Sand, ash and cinder alike spilled in the area around them as the scent of smoke threatened to overwhelm her once more. As the disturbed debris once more began to settle, a silhouette of a druid stood where the crow had fallen. Standing about a head shorter than the average Kal’dorei female, the figure stood ready for martial combat; one hand held a shard of something, the other balled in a fist illuminated with a blue light. A familiar, wrathful tone of gravel greeted her after a hacking cough. “...I should have guessed... I should have known. Of all people to be spearheading this… atrocity…” ‘Atrocity’ was right. She wanted to tell Vaedoras that, but of all the people on Azeroth, he was probably the least likely to believe her. He had seen her blazing hatred for his people first-hand; an inner fire born of past betrayals and lingering resentment, he himself had been burned by it more than once. She wanted to say that she would have at least taken prisoners. She wanted to tell the druid how she’d tried to save as many as she could until the heat burnt the very air out of her lungs and forced her back for good. She wanted to say so very much, but all Svetlaena managed was more painful coughing fits, shaking her head and hoping the despair in her face and the burns on her skin said enough. “Five years.” The druid growled, gripping on the shard that pulsed with brilliant shades of red as if feeding its owner’s rage. It cut into his skin, blood dropping into the ash-ridden sand. “For five years, I’ve known you a Monster. But She begged me to spare you. She said you could be saved.” Vaedoras began the first step of his march. “And I did, for Her. But what has it cost us? I should have done this a long time ago…” “No. Syl...Sylvanas…” Svetlaena stammered out, trying to explain despite her scorched throat, beginning to realize just how vulnerable she was and just how enraged Vaedoras was. If only She were here. An attempt was made to stand. It failed. She fell back into a sit, reduced to trying to scramble backwards. The head-shaking became more frantic. “I didn’t… I-I wouldn’t… she’s…” And the strain was too much, the small priestess breaking into more coughing spasms, only broken up by the occasional ‘no’. “You wouldn’t?” The rough, incredulous voice raised in indignation at the perceived lie. “I wouldn’t!” Svetlaena spat back, finally with some conviction behind her voice, sounding nearly as rough as the druid in her current state. He would normally have found this absurd, perhaps even laughed at her, but any sense of humor seemed burned with the tree and those within. He continued his grim march towards justice. “You’ve always been an opportunist, I assume those burns are from trying to steal more victims for your wretched sins. Too long have I stood idle, too many have suffered at your hands because of it. I have neglected my burdens from Elune for too long, may I remain forever damned for it.” At this rate, he’d be upon her in moments and she had precious little strength left. The backwards flailing ceased. She raised a hand, realizing he was closing the gap far too fast and trying in vain to halt him. “I know what I’ve done,” her voice cracked, “I know what I am.” Eyes that burned struggled to focus on his to convey her honesty. “It isn’t this!” “Is that so?” Short as he may be in comparison of his own people, he still towered over the priestess. Behind him his trail was marked by his own blood, that which stained the crystalline shard that he pointed at her. “This is your last chance to confess, Svetlaena Ascent. May Elune hear you and judge you accordingly.” Cornered, guilt-ridden and at the peak of frustration, she slammed her fist into the sand beside her, “She won’t hear me. Nor will she hear you, nor did she hear them--” she gestured to the tree. “I saved as many as I could. She did nothing.” “Then I will serve in her place.” His natural fangs remained bared, the shard still poised to strike as a makeshift blade to deliver some supposed divine justice. “You expect me to believe you actually sought to save my people? After all your past crimes?” Svetlaena’s defiance seemed to lose its fire; she lowered her head, and slowly shook it to answer him in the negative. “Of course not. Not after all we’ve been through together.” Her tone suggested that she was almost amused by the question. Almost. It fell just short, too deflated and defeated to really embrace the irony as she typically did. “All I could think of was when my own city fell.” She just stared at the ground now, watching the ash accumulate. At least this way she could avoid the terror of that final moment if, or when, it came… and rob him of the satisfaction of seeing it in her eyes. “A fate that you’ve now brought upon us.” The Druid’s fist surrendered its illumination, only to grab the woman’s chin and force her to look back up at him. “You and your abomination of a leader. She was one of yours in life, was she not?” Svetlaena raised one of her weary, singed hands to grab at his wrist, but little else. She simply hadn’t the strength to pry him away or even tear out of his grasp. “She is no kindred of mine. Merely a shadow of it.” There seemed to be some hesitation to these words, but once they were said, it was replaced by the tiniest shred of relief. “And yet you still march to her commands.” Vaedoras hissed as he kneeled, getting closer to her face. “You’ve made this mistake before, with the brown orc. He destroyed a city, like your ‘Shadow’. He renewed conflicts that benefited none but his own ego-- as this one does, this wicked Windrunner and her designs. How do I know you truly regret it this time? What will you do to prove you have learned from your past, Svetlaena? Why should I believe that you can still meet salvation? Tell me, why are you worth sparing again?” His increased proximity seemed to be fanning the faded inner flame of defiance, for she ceased to avoid his gaze once more, “What makes you think you have this right? We once agreed that we two are monsters, didn’t we?” Narrowing her stinging eyes, she continued, “This is beyond us both. You’ve no right to be talking like a paladin… nor do I have any defense for myself.” “Because, I have the only thing Monsters like us seem to respect.” The Druid waved the now crimson shard where her gaze lingered before applying pressure on her entire jaw. “Might. You are right that we are both monsters forged in elven flesh-- cast from Elune’s graces for our sins. If she has truly turned a blind eye on us all this eve, then it is my time to do my proper duty as an apex predator and feed upon those like us. For the rest of my nights, I will seek out and hunt those who will prey upon the weak and innocent, as is my destiny-- endowed upon me at the hour of my birth when I claimed my first victim.” His voice was deathly calm, seething as the shard began its approach. His amber eyes never leaving his prey as he made her position painfully clear. “And yet, in my neglect of these burdens, I have caused far more suffering than if I had my fill. I see this now, Svetlaena… tonight's the night I accept my dark purpose as one of Elune’s Damned. Tonight I, Vaedoras Starshade, realize my true nature as an Apex Predator. And so I ask one final time, why should your final judgement not mark the start of this new era? Are you certain you have nothing more to say in repentance?” The entire speech was so long-winded and bizarre that it assisted the priestess’s disorientation; it all eventually becoming a blur of his anger and a strange awareness of the silence that now hung in the air, outside of the sphere of Vaedoras’s crazed declarations. Previously one could hear the echoes across the water, cries of the doomed and dying… now there was nothing. The flames on Teldrassil didn’t roar quite as high now. The fire was finally running out of life to consume. All this talk of predator and prey. She’d said similar things to Vaedoras, once, at a time when he had been at her mercy rather than the other way around. But this was amplified. Demented, even. Or, perhaps, she had always sounded just as mad as he. Svetlaena wasn’t sure anymore. “Do what you feel you have to,” she spoke with some strain from his grip on her, “if someone had tried to talk sense into me after Silvermoon fell, I wouldn’t listen either. I don’t blame you.” A deep breath. “But as someone who knows what I am, and what I am capable of, all I ask is that you answer me one question.” The shard lingered within her peripherals, his harsh gaze seemingly unblinking. “...I will grant you this request. Speak.” Her gaze is unwavering, despite the tightness in her throat. “Would I have allowed so many children to die that way?” There was a silence between them, the shard close to her neck, ready to bleed her out at any given moment-- assuming the searing heat that seemed to radiate from it didn’t cauterize her wound. “Fair enough.” The improvised weapon retreated. “Pray that you are telling the truth, and if not… that I never learn of your deception. You are granted one final chance from the Damned of Elune that stands before you. My mercy is spent, this is my final favor to Her and you both. Use it wisely, for my wrath will not be spared a second time if I hear you so much as touch another one of mine inappropriately.” He released the woman, pushing her back into the sand as he stood. “Have I made myself clear?” The wind knocked out of her, it took Svetlaena a moment to reply with a weak, “...yes.” Physically and emotionally spent, the Sin’dorei made no effort to move from where she lay, watching the ashes that continued to drift down from above. So many things she thought to say, but none of them would help at this point, and she knew it. With a sigh she settled on, simply, “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.” “And yet we bask in the fruits of the pale’s efforts.” Starshade scoffed as he turned his back on the woman that lay in ash and sand. He retreaded his dread march, as if it were the only path that remained for him. “Tell Windrunner and those who follow to enjoy her little empire of ashes, we will not forget this day. These flames will spread to all your Horde holds dear, and from this divine retribution, the Kaldorei will once again flourish. This is nature’s way.” When his foot finally touched where his march had begun, his form shifted back into the stormcrow, grasping that foreboding shard as he flew towards the east beyond the mountains to leave her to her thoughts.
  12. Nikaa

    The House

    This was an incredible RP experience, and resulted in some pretty big changes and character development for Shaelie. For one, she got the opportunity to apologize to Myaka and Ketani of Twilight Empire for wronging them in the past. It gave her a chance to make amends and form new friendships with people- including members of the Alliance, that she might not have ever gotten to meet before. She also was able to officially reclaim her original name and identity of Nika Davies, which was very important to her.
  13. Moonthorn

    The House

    ((<3 Thanks for having me. Going to miss it, but really going to love having the free time back. WHEW. Longest RP I've ever done.))
  14. Razz

    The House

    SIXTY DAYS later..... The House event is finally over. Some highlights from the show: A band of murloc pirates who took over the pirate ship playhouse in the back yard, followed by fish fillet sandwiches the next day. A kraken with frikkin' lasers. Peachicks Shower stabbing Women in bikinis Piranha pond Outcasts Interviews The audience Mind-wiping Fights and Romance The WHEEL OF MisFORTUNE! The coffin, truth serum, fish broth, lava floors, itching powder Spa Day Bun huggers for buns and hot dogs Lunk, Lonk, Lank, Ponk, Cronk, Wonk, and Bob WOMP WOMP Fireworks exploding the house after the final awards ceremony, mysteriously at the same time other fires started elsewhere in the house and throughout the grounds The challenges: What's In the Box guessing game won by Nokh and Bor'ghul Drunken Obstacle Course won by team of Nokh, Megeda, Bor'ghul, T'suro Talent Show won by Shaelie for individual and team of Nokh, Megeda, Bor'ghul, T'suro Pool Chicken Fights - several won points for this one Trivia Contest won by Myaka Riddles won by Ketani Foam Sword Balloon Popping won by Soren Cooking Contest won by Myaka The big winner of the trophy and 100,000 gold is...... Ketani Addison of Twilight Empire! The Bilgewater Cartel Entertainment Division would like to thank the other contestants as well: Draquesha and Soren Bearcharger Nokh Deadeye and Mythiis Myaka Winterborne Kirsune Aedious and Mardalius Anterius Niala Moonthorn Aruku Hitowa Hayleigh Davenport, Tynalie and Shaelie Brightwing Megeda Dustrunner Sanjay Aaren Anastasis Bor'ghul Flamespeaker T'suro Sunspear Murue Azurehammer Asteray Yu'una Syreena Shadowblade And now, we leave you with this final thought...... NUH! ((Thank you to everyone who participated! ❤️ ))
  15. supermoop


    LUNK RITE MOAR WORDS hai hi, me iS stIlL Lunkkk, wriTe stOry bout scarY day! :O haHa :O looK likE LoNk facE! 2dayYyYyy ScAry. FeW days b4r, sCar LadY brinG frned, n he bIg n mean. anyWay, 1day 2day end of miss Razzy contest. PRETTY LADY WIN! lunK very happppy. Affer she Win, HOUSE CATCH FIARRRR! :OOOO luNk watch shoWs in room wid friends crOnk n PonK. n boB n Lonk2 buttt dey naht frinds. dey sUck. So, we watchIn show, LunkkKk look like tis: \o/ he hav good time. Den, get HAWT. BoB tell turn air, buT no AiR, AirrR hot! B4r no, rooM on fiahr in Mid of Ahll miiii gren chilrend! N lunk Lock in firarr room! bOoB haZ good ida, Hee spiLl dranK oN fiarrhs! N CrOonk spits on fiaarhrs! smmMart cRoNk..s Luank try same. Den! PRETTY LADY COME SAVE LUNK! Door opn, pretti ladi derE wid nothAr pretY lady! TwO pretTy Ladies! :O Dey Yallink at moOks n wE run out RooM n dey SavEe liFE!!!! BesTtest ladIes evarh! baD stuf happeN miSs RazzY housE brrrn 2 groun, but MisS RaZzY sayyfe! n moOks sayyfe! we go Poooorrt? Purt? Pert now! NEwww hOomE 4 Lunk Lunk! luv lunk ❤️ The text is written in the same shambled up journal as before, the mook having had it stuffed in his pants as he left the burning building. The edges of the paper is charred, as the mook attempted to fan the flames away. There is a wrinkles where some stray saliva got on the paper. It is written in the same messy text, but it is full of love. Lunk loves his job and loves the people he works with. Especially Miss Razz ❤️. He won't forget his time at the house with all the pretty ladies and silly men! Or, that's what he thinks!
  16. Earlier
  17. Novadragon

    Smoke Dreams

    “…can sneak up and be in place to support the injured falling…back. Sir?” Blinking once Sol shook his head and glanced around with a somewhat confused look. This had already happened hadn’t it? “Sir are you alright?” Apparently not. Rubbing his face roughly the paladin turned to the man who was talking. One of his assistants, what were they talking about? “Fine, sorry simply tired. Go over that once more?” The man gave him a concerned look but turned back to the notes on the table between them “I was saying that if we fall out now and shift our position we can be in place when the inevitable wounded start arriving.” Nodding the paladin stood and waved a hand “See to it then.” The priest saluted and slipped out of the tent leaving Sol to stare at the canvas wall with a frown. He wasn’t left to his thoughts long as a scratch at the flap announced the arrival of his squire. “Dalithen. Anything to report?” “Nothing of interest. Horde is stalled so we’ve been tending to the scrapes that get filtered back to us.” Sinking down on his cot Dal shot Sol a look”This is gonna be bad isn’t it dad?” Sinking onto his own Sol just gave his son a tight lipped smile in return “We knew it was going to be with that right turn.” ——————- “Commander! We’re under attack, left flank!” Letting out an oath Sol kicked his horse into a gallop “On it. Get the injured and priests to the center!” As his men scrambled to follow his orders the paladin lunged off of his charger letting it dissipate back into the light and took a quick look around. Kaldorei? Here? No, this was wrong. The faces were wrong, he was wrong. Giving his head another shake Sol shook out his flail then took a defensive stance. If need be he would defend those they were protecting with his life but he really really hoped it would come to that. “Stand ready, here they come!” The night elven charge was strange to behold, the normally graceful movements were broken and disjointed as if they themselves had too many joints. It was only when they got closer that Sol realized this was because to a man the force was made of walking corpses. Inhaling sharply the paladin moved to consecrate the ground under his feet only to scream in pain as the light itself turned against him. Undeterred by the show of light the night elven corpses marched through the Sin'dorei forces knocking aside any they cam in contact with till they stood surrounding Sol. Twisting in place the paladin gave them a pained look “What are you doing? Why are you doing this? We are not part of the slaughter!” If the corpses cared for his words they did not show it. As one the group closed in reaching out to drag the paladin down into darkness. ——————- Sitting up with a gasp Sol let out a groan as his arm and ribs protested the movement. Looking around groggily he did his best to figure out where he was before finally sinking back down. He was at the hospital with Dustin. There had been no night elves, no ambush aside from the one Dustin’s mercenaries had set and most importantly no light turning against him. Pushing the sweat soaked hair back from his eyes Sol stared up at the ceiling. Strange dreams indeed.
  18. Bronwen

    The Blade and The Cat

    Nothing happens as she sits and watches until even the smoke from the burnt-out torch no longer rises. Nothing happens quickly, at least, and Bronwen has a lot of ground to cover so she ultimately decides that she shouldn’t be wasting time on this. She had expected maybe someone coming quickly when a regular patrol was delayed, but they don’t come before she begins to get impatient. Perhaps Command was more than correct in assuming much of the bulk of their excess soldiers were on Kalimdor and there was less than imagined to spare on something so mundane on forest patrol. That thought made her uneasy, and in accepting that it might be a great while before someone was to appear and check on the dead, she moves on. This time she plans on going to back west and towards the northern wall of Brill, but not until after she sets up a lure. Eventually, late night into early morning, two guards do march down the road with their best attempts at scowls on their faces to search for a stalker that may or may not have taken a break on his route for who knows what reason tonight. Neither of them carry torches themselves, just so they wouldn't ruin their chance to be able to sneak up on the lazy or distracted guard. The one with daggers at his sides watches the road, while the one holding a bow in her hand peers through the trees. Even if she’s *not* watching the road, she spies the corpse laying in the middle of the way and stops the man beside her by swinging her bow in front of him. He's annoyed at first, until he looks ahead and realizes what she sees. His hand moves to his daggers, and her bow is flicked up to smack him in the jaw before being nocked. The woman turns her head to tell the man to dash to town and alert the guards there of their findings, but when she turns her head she can see a small fire smoldering within the trees in perfect view of the road. Her words stop short as her eyes narrow, and instead she signals to her fellow. It’s punctuated with a smack to the back of the head, but that is the only sound that’s made between here and creeping upon the small burning pile. No one is there, neither are there footsteps leading to or away from it. No evidence of anyone being around is here, aside from the very deliberate creation of the tiniest bonfire. The woman peers through the woods through hiding, even if she’s sure the two are safe, makes a breathless snorting sound upon seeing another small blaze ahead. “What?” “Another one.” She points out towards the west. “Signals.” “Are you sure?” “Do you want to keep your head?” He doesn’t answer. She’s about to continue when she sees yet another two flare up in the distance, many meters apart, like they were each just lit. The archer grabs onto the stalker’s head and turns it so he can see them too. “Let’s go rally the boys and stomp out some pests,” she says, and tugs on the collar of his armor to quickly drag him back towards town.
  19. Murue

    [H] Hunting the Harlequin

    The Death Knight James Riley (Freakke) has posted a reward for the serial killer Frostbite Jak (JRiley) for crimes against Azeroth and the Horde. 1000 gold to be paid for proof the Forsaken villain has been bested. James will be in the Ruins of Lordaeron at the stairs East of the shattered statue on August 8th (Wednesday) at 8pm (server time) to give would be Bounty Hunters information on where their prey will be and what to expect. --- Come and roleplay as bounty hunters or an angry mob in this player run quest! Chase down a dangerous criminal and get paid for doing good work for the Horde. First person to find and beat Jak in a duel gets the prize but I hope you all get to have a good time.
  20. Ninorra

    Hello there!

    Sounds good! The Discord channel I gave you is for all of our server's RPers so you'll be able to chat with people from many guilds!
  21. DeeStar

    Hello there!

    Hi there! Thanks for the response! I am glad to know TN is still active and has some good guilds. I actually love the idea of an Honorable Horde guild, as I believe most Horde are a lot more honorable than what we see at face value. A mercenary guild sounds like it could have a lot of fun for sure. This actually makes me quite excited to drop a new toon or port over a couple from other servers... though ouch on my wallet. I will have to wait and see who else might respond and I may take you up on that discord channel when I am off work again.
  22. Ninorra

    Hello there!

    Hello! TN is indeed still active! Hordeside I'm GM of Sanctuary (honorable Horde!) and we have several great RP guilds still going including Infection (evil undead) and Borrowed Time (mercenary company). I know there are more so I'll let them chime in but feel free to jump into our Discord server to chat!
  23. DeeStar

    Hello there!

    Hi there indeed! I used to run on Twisted Nether but due to a long line of dead guilds and lack of people I actually knew, I left. I am considering coming back and was just wondering how active the community is, RP and otherwise. Are there any guilds that still RP or is it still fairly few and far between? If not casual, leveling guilds are always a favorite. I don't know, I am tired and rambling, I hope you don't mind. I have been playing WoW on and off since BC and RPing longer, but I am very much needing a lore update so I have started buying the books finally. So behind. That's about all I have at the moment... Oh, I have Discord if that matters. Off I go, for now, thanks for reading!
  24. Vilmah

    History Revisited (War of Thorns spoilers)

    What else can we do.. what else can we do.. what else... The Kaldorei looked at Vilmah Bloodborne with accusing eyes. She spoke of mercy in Common, promised them safety, but what safety could an orc ensure these people? How could she tell an elf who watched the slaughter of her loved ones that orcs were honorable at all? What honor was there in this conquest, this brutality? Where was Saurfang? How could he let this happen again? Blood on their faces, blood in their tears. The Kaldorei would not forget this affront to their forest, their people, their dignity-- "Do you have those crates ready, Warboss?" "Huh?" Vilmah looked up from the wooden crate in front of her, and a bright-eyed death knight looked back. Strands of dark purple hair, still damp with sweat from the night before, hung over Vilmah's eyes. She didn't bother to swipe them away. The two women exchanged a look of mutual dread, though the latter cracked a hopeful smile. "The crate, ma'am. Is it ready?" Looking back down, Vilmah hadn't noticed that she'd been overpacking the crate in front of her for the past few minutes. Thick bandages nearly spilled out from the top, so she stood and pressed down on them with her mechanical arm to ensure they all fit. "It's ready, Cat," she answered distractedly. They had been packing crates with medical supplies since the sun rose. The smell of smoke still haunted Vilmah's nose and she couldn't shake the faces of night elves, horrified, terrified, or expressionless in death. The tree was too far to hear them screaming, but she knew what that sounded like. A wave of nausea caught her when she realized that she knew exactly what it was like to have her home burned to the ground by the Warchief of the Horde, innocents be damned. Catalinetta grabbed the wooden lid and carried it to Vilmah's crate. Though the blood elf death knight was small, almost frail looking, the heavy wooden lid appeared almost weightless in her hands. The power of the Lich King, Vilmah thought offhandedly, vaguely ashamed for thinking it. Cat was loyal to Sanctuary, and to their cause. If the Lich King cursed or blessed her with unnatural strength, it didn't remove her optimism. "Thanks boss," she said before hammering in nails to secure the crate. It was the last of them, a series of crates with all of the medical supplies in Razor Hill that could be spared. They would be passed through a portal to Ashtotem and distributed to the wounded there, many of whom were night elves, some blinded by the flames that left them not realizing exactly who was helping them but grateful all the same. What happens when they realize who some of us are? Vilmah thought to herself. Will they hate the Horde who helped them? Will they understand? She knew she was hurting her, this Kaldorei in her arms. The elf was so much taller than Vilmah, but she carried her anyway. The fire from her burning home had blinded the once beautiful woman, turning pale lavender flesh into a mess of red and black. It was unlikely that she would ever see again, but still she breathed and still she stared at Vilmah with the dead eyes of a-- "Hey, so, if you need I might be able to get the Kingfisher to deliver some more stuff," Cat suggested, referencing the flying elvish yacht she shared with Kreyen. Vilmah blinked slowly, as if trying to get whatever Cat was trying to tell her to make sense. When it finally clicked, she shook her head. "I wouldn't risk it right now. Airspace might be compromised. Just use the portal networks for now. Moving things by hand may be slower, but, it's going to be safer in the long run." One of Cat's ears twitched as the Warboss spoke. She had always known Vilmah to be a very capable, if not confident orc, who had the strength to keep up a brave face during these hard times. But after the burning of Teldrassil, she could see that brave face was cracking under the pressure, and if this was a good or a bad thing, the death knight couldn't be sure. "Okay, boss. I'm just gonna.. maybe go see if I can be of any help in Ashtotem, then," she suggested, trying to keep her spirits lifted. Swallowing down some apprehension, she nodded ventured another tactic. "I um.. it's been kind of hard to forget what we saw out there. I was thinking that.. maybe.. if the Alliance does come for us--" "You mean when," Vilmah interrupted, not coldly but certainly not happy. "..r-right, when the Alliance attacks, I was thinking.. maybe we could um.. have groups created? With a healer, and a vanguard, this way everyone has what they need?" It wasn't a bad idea, but Vilmah felt herself grow distracted with other thoughts regarding the Alliance's inevitable attack. "A good plan. I'll look into it." Again, Cat noticed the Warboss staring off into space. Had she slept since they saw the tree? Could anyone? Cat considered herself lucky, sometimes, that she didn't need sleep. As a death knight, sleep came only when she wanted it to, and right now all she wanted was to hold Kreyen somewhere dark and let sleep take her somewhere that wasn't quite so cruel. The Kaldorei struggled in Vilmah's arms. The smell of orc was strong, how could she know she was being taken to safety and not a cage? How could she know that Vilmah couldn't bear to see her this way? They couldn't communicate with words, but Vilmah tried. She spoke as soothingly as she could in Common, tried to reassure her, tried her best to convince her-- "Are you okay, ma'am?" The Warboss was squeezing a roll of bandages. She cleared her throat and turned to Cat, biting her lips anxiously. "Did you see it, Cat?" The death knight's long thin ears twitched. "..the tree, ma'am?" "Yes," Vilmah said dourly. "The tree." In truth, she was trying to forget it. Cat knew about casualties, she had been one herself. "I-I did, ma'am. I was trying to see if there were any more civilians to help. When they started setting up those catapults, I was.. I guess I was confused, but.. then the Warchief gave the order and Saurfang--" "Did nothing," Vilmah finished for her. Cat shook her head quickly. "N-no ma'am, he was *yelling*. At the guys manning the catapults. He tried to get them to stop, but, the Warchief--" "What?" Vilmah took a few heavy steps toward Catalinetta, her eyes wide and disbelieving and shiny with tears. There was still some ash in her hair, on her skin, and beneath her fingernails. It made the Warboss look slightly ashen herself, brownish green skin dull and almost lifeless. Stopping herself from grabbing the death knight, Vilmah looked pointedly at Catalinetta from just a step away. "What are you talking about?" "W-well.. I saw him try to stop them," Cat explained nervously. So close, she could smell the smoke still lingering on Vilmah's skin and hair. "I saw him say something to the Warchief, but, I couldn't make it out. I was so far away and there were so many of us, but, I saw him try ma'am. Then she left, and.. they just left him there. I didn't see him leave." She remembered his face, so proud and yet so old. Mournful. None of the strength he usually exuded was present in his slumped posture, his usually rigid back and chest curved like a peon. Saurfang was broken. Hadn't she seen it? The revelation that Saurfang did indeed make the attempt to stop Sylvanas practically stopped Vilmah's heart, but what was effort, really? He hadn't stopped her. He, like the rest of the Horde, were complicit in their actions. They stood behind the Warchief as she watched the world tree and its inhabitants burn, like a maniacal warlord taking pride in the suffering and not the banshee queen whose followers saw hope in her. In Sylvanas, hope is a disease, and she is the cure. "Thank you, Cat," Vilmah said a little more spirited than before, her tusks pressing gently against each cheek as she tried to smile. "Thank you for your help. I've got to make some plans." "Aye aye, ma'am!" The death knight said brightly, happy she could be of some assistance but confused about what that assistance even was. Vilmah watched the death knight go and looked back toward the entrance to Razor Hill. At that moment she had no shaman to ask for guidance, but he was not the only orc whose wisdom she could depend on.
  25. Syreena

    ((OOC)) [WR] July - Character Submission

    Catalinetta OMG this was so hard!
  26. ((So sorry this is late!)) “….and that is why you should never try to milk a kodo!” Loud, drunken laughter rang out at the long table in the Filthy Animal, where an old orc just finished his joke. A Sindorei death knight female laughed along with them, happily clapping hands to cheer for the entertainment. “Catalinetta? Is that you?” a female voice inquired, interrupting as Cat was about to take a drink of her whiskey. The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but it had been a long time since Cat heard it, and she couldn’t place it. Her pigtails bounced as she turned toward the owner of the voice and saw a pretty blonde elf woman. Cat smiled, but it took her a moment to pull the name from her memories. “Hi….Lyanae!” Lyanae came from a family that was much richer than Cat’s, and she was never shy about letting Cat know that. They knew each other briefly during Blood Knight training, but they weren’t exactly friends. Lyanae, of course, wouldn’t lower herself to be friends with people who weren’t in the upper circles of society. Now Lyanae was dressed in plate armor that was mostly gold with red trim, a Blood Knight’s armor. Cat wanted to be a Blood Knight, but she had died before her training was complete, and her life took a very different path than she ever imagined. Now she was a Death Knight, and not very happy about being undead. “It’s so good to see you! How’ve you been?” Cat asked sociably. Lyanae’s snobbishness toward her was a long time ago. Surely a Blood Knight would have long ago let go of such pettiness, especially with what was going on in the world now. There were much more urgent matters than how much gold someone’s family had. “Wonderful,” Lyanae said without much expression. Her fel green eyes looked Cat up and down as if she were a dirty bum off the streets. Her lip curled in distaste. “Much better than you by the looks of things. I didn’t die.” Cat hid a frown and smiled again instead. “It’s okay. I can still do almost everything I did before. And more, actually. I work with a group called Sanctuary now. They help a lot of people and try to make peace between the Horde and Aliance, so I’m doing okay.” “I’ve heard of Sanctuary and their deeds. Still trying to be a hero, are you, Cat?” Lyanae asked. Her tone held the perfect balance of friendly interest and cruel teasing, so Cat couldn’t be sure of her intent. “Sanctuary helps a lot of people,” Cat explains, deciding to give the other woman the benefit of the doubt. “Can I buy you a drink? The whiskey’s good here.” As if to prove it, she lifted her glass toward Lyanae in a one-sided toast and took a drink. “Can you even taste that? I mean, you’re dead, right?” Again that balanced tone as Lyanae looked the death knight up and down again. “Does your body even still work normally?” Catalinetta decided to change the subject, not wanting to talk about her state of undeath. “Are you out here to fight the Legion?” That was a stupid question, she thought as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Why else would a Blood Knight be here? “No, I’m here for the fancy parties,” Lyanae said with a roll of her eyes, gesturing to the rugged interior of the Filthy Animal. “Of course I’m here to fight the Legion. Why else would I be here? Why are you here?” “Sanctuary is fighting against the Legion too, so I’m here with them. They have-“. Cat was interrupted by a scream outside followed by sounds of combat. Cat and Lyanae both rushed outside to find a rogue felguard in the street. It wasn’t the first Cat had seen in Dalaran, but it made no sense. Why would the Legion send one demon into a city full of mages and combat-seeking adventurers? A few such adventurers were in battle with the demon while civilians scurried up the stone stairs next to the Filthy Animal’s entrance. Cat and Lyanae joined in the battle. Just as the demon was bringing a giant sword down at a troll’s head, a bubble of Light encircled him, thanks to Lyanae. The troll dodged to the side, and the demon’s sword glanced off the bubble. Once the troll was clear, Cat caused the ground under the demon to bubble and rot, infecting the demon’s feet. The disease spread slowly but steadily up its legs. A few totems lay scattered on the ground just a few feet away, with an older orc laying on the ground among them. He was still breathing, but barely. While Cat continued to assault the demon with rot and deadly diseases, Lyanae healed the orc shaman. Finally, after Cat’s continued attacks, along with some blows by the other adventurers involved in the battle, the demon staggered and fell. Cat moved in with her runesword drawn to finish it off. Just as she was about to strike at the demon’s neck, a golden hammer nudged her sword aside. She looked up in time to see Lyanae lift the hammer again. In the next instant, the hammer came back down hard, crushing the demon’s head. Cat was confused by Lyanae’s apparent need to claim the killing blow for herself. It was a demon, and Cat and Lyanae were on the same side against them. Weren’t they? “You’re dead, Cat,” the Blood Knight said with a smirk. Her tone was clear now, lacking the false friendliness to mask the disdain. “Dead people don’t get to be heroes.” With an arrogant toss of her head, she turned to walk up the hill back into the main part of the city. Cat watched her walk away with a mixture of emotions. Eventually, she went back inside for another whiskey, pondering the truth of Lyanae’s words.
  27. Bronwen

    The Blade and The Cat

    Early on the third day the agent makes good time reaching the Ruins of Lordaeron, if one could call sneaking past a choke point filled with undead troops in any form 'quick'. Crossing to Fenris Isle, then crossing again to the mainland shore would be much too conspicuous to even the least vigilant peering eyes, so Bronwen pays off a band of rebellious worgen with a good chunk of her supplies to create some trouble on the other side of the road closer to the water to draw the guards' attention. Even if one or a few are ordered to keep watch, the nearby commotion helps her pass through the shadows, and the skirmishers are more than happy to help out, both for the reason to charge in and create trouble and for the small reserve of first aid supplies, dried meat and fruit she leaves with their camp. "At least someone appreciates it," she thinks, but not until she's safely past the redoubt and allows herself the chance to roll her eyes. The relatively clear but still sickly-looking skies of Silverpine become even more clouded and gloomy with every step of the human's creeping advance. It is the same as she expects. Same as it always was, but it makes her frown a little bit more, this time. The dead winds are a little more fetid and the howls of blighted hounds more ominous to her, and that's even without the haze of knowing nothing more than Astranaar has been attacked, at this point. Attacked again, more appropriately. There are elves all over the forest there hiding in the trees, she believes. If the fantastical stories about them are to be believed there is one kaldorei for each tree and they each can fell an orc between the boughs before a human eye can even see them, but that particular conversation has never come up between her and a night elf. She tries to think nothing of it, as she has her own tasks before her. The first of which is to find a tree to climb for watch, reporting, and somewhat of a nap while she can manage such a thing. There is one in particular she likes to choose while here that's fairly close to the sewers, but far enough that even the patrols with the widest avenues don't reach. It's tall with plenty of foliage and broad offshoots and it works perfectly as watching the giant disgusting divide in the side of the hills is one great note to check off of the list of things she has to scout. Her eyes stay on it and the sporadic bat-traffic that comes and goes, but her mind wanders just enough so she doesn't zone entirely out. She thinks about how she wants to go peek inside, despite orders stating not to do that very thing. She knows better, and she'd not come out until she'd wasted all her time harassing poor merchants and throwing dust into bats' faces as they passed through the arches up high to throw their riders to the ground. At least she'd do that if she wasn't bored and daring enough to throw it into the faces of the mages maintaining the city's portals and interrupt their focus enough to break the connection to the others for a few moments. She wonders if she should have first run off to Kalimdor to get her nightsaber from Darnassus, as she's planned to bring her home and put off for a couple weeks now, instead of reporting to Command for orders that ultimately brought her here. There are plenty of other things she thinks on, particularly the more comfortable things that have been left behind for who knows how long. While watching the great lack of activity happening around the sewers for a good while, Bronwen uses a runestone to recount her actions and observations in both Silverpine and Tirisfal up until this point. It amounts to very little, but little change this far gives her more focus for what's to come next. When the day is yet young, she shifts her cloak to wrap it around herself a little better, both for hiding from sight within the shadows of the branches and for a strangely comforting warmth. On the fourth day, after activity doesn't pick up, Bronwen makes her way uneventfully to the Bulwark, and gives her report on it and the barren entrance to the ruined city. Late on the fifth day, she turns back and makes her way towards Brill again, scooping fine sandy dirt into a pouch or two to stash in a leg pocket near her potions and antidotes. Upon fitting it inside and loosening the strings just enough to be able to reach into it when she needed it, she spies a lone patrolman walking down the road in her direction with a sword strapped across his back, a torch in his hand, and the Icon of Torment on his chest. She crouches in the bushes with a blade drawn and waits for him to pass, and in a quick flurry from behind a clean dagger is sent up through his throat and into his head with precision. She only looks down the road and back towards the other direction with little mind paid to his gurgling and lurching, since she expects and accounts for it in her own bracing movements. She hardly even looks at his face when she pulls her blade free once he falls still and inspects him just enough to be sure that he is in fact entirely dead, now. The body is left unpilfered in the middle of the road, and the torch left to burn itself out. Bronwen finds another tree to climb into a great distance away from the scene so she can watch what comes next, and plan accordingly.
  28. Resileaf


    ((Transcript of the last part of the Darnassus burning RP from TE's Discord channel)) Resileaf watches as all the Imperials stream through the Temple of the Moon and enter the portal to Stormwind. She stood beneath the arch of the Temple's entrance for a moment, looking at the portal... Looking back into the blazing city... She stepped back into the Temple and stood in front of a group of Priestesses. None of them were going through that portal, she knew. "Sisters. I will seek more survivors... Protect the Temple just a little bit longer." "Elune watch you, Priestess Ravenwing." "And may She welcome you in Her embrace as well." She stepped back towards Leon, Myaka's gryphon, and climbed on his back. "Just one more trip, friend. Just one more.", she said as she cast a protective barrier around him and herself. And back into the inferno they went. Resileaf flew through Darnassus from atop Leon, seeking to hear the screams and pleas through the crackling fire. If there was even a single person left in the city, she had to find them. She couldn't leave anyone to perish... Finally she heard them. Screaming voices calling for anyone's help. Directing Leon in that direction, she found a house, miraculously still intact. Inside, a family of five, trapped behind the flames. "There! Take me closer!", she called as she cast a divine beam of silver light before the entrance to the house, extinguishing the flames instantly. Leon landed, and the Priestess motionned for the family to come out. The five elves streamed out, crying and breaking into thanks. Each of them climbs on top of Leon... And Resileaf realizes that the gryphon is struggling to carry all five of them. She is silent for a moment, as she slowly grows to understand what this means. She approaches the gryphon, and leans in to whisper into his ear. "Go now... Save them and yourself... You have been more than brave enough." The gryphon would caw disapprovingly, probably trying to convince Resileaf to climb as well. "Hurry and go! Do not let those five lives be extinguished with us. Save them, and return to Myaka. I will... I will find my own way out of here..." Leon gave her a disapproving glare again, but relented. Flapping his wings hard, he took flight, leaving Resileaf behind. The Priestess was trapped by the flames now. She did not even try to find a way back to the Temple. The only thing that kept her alive was the aura of silvery light that kept the inferno at bay. And it was fading fast. The heat was getting to her. The smoke was choking her. She felt weak in the knees, and stumbled only a few steps before she lost her footing and fell on her knees. Grabbing at her throat, Resileaf felt strangely numb. Emotionally numb. As she looked around, she saw images going through her mind. The Horde rampaging through Ashenvale. The piles of dead in Astranaar. The destruction of Darkshore. And now this. "We had surrendered...", she found herself saying. "There were only civilians here..." "You killed them all..." "You killed us all..." "You murderers..!" As the flames intensified around her, Resileaf felt rage bubbling up within her. As the fire engulfed her, she began to scream to the sky. As the inferno consumed her, she bellowed in rage. As she was lost to the fires, Resileaf screamed until the flames drowned her screams. Until there was nothing left. Until she died.
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