Onyx Sun

To The Grim

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To The Grim:

No words can describe the hatred the Onyx Sun has for any who carry your banner. Nearly as worse as the Forsaken who wrought death upon the gate in the north, slaying humans and orcs alike. Your colors only back up the actions.

There is no trust.

There is no redemption.

Only death awaits you.

You and yours will eventually turn amongst yourselves, once your so called threats lie dead upon the grounds.

We watch your moves, we watch your actions. We wait.

The opportunity will arise when you are alone. You will fall.




And the blood that splays the ground...will be glorious to walk upon.

~~A simple black circle sits upon the bottom of the folded parchment~~

Simple posters line the walls within Orgrimmar, Thunder Bluff and even as far as Silvermoon. Each containing the same threats to the same group. Each written in the same darkened ink, smeared ever so slightly.

Threats turned to promises. Nothing would stand in the way of the Onyx Sun and the morals and beliefs in which it believed.

And throughout each city, the night before the posters began to appear, a hooded figure marched through the streets seemingly without purpose. But the morning sun told otherwise.

Onlookers gathered around as they went out to do their morning shopping, reading over the posters, rumors spreading quick throughout the streets. The messages have been delivered. The fires will fuel themselves.

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Bloodscream laughed softly as he read the threat.

"Oh noes!" he though with mock trepidation.

"Someone is afta me!" he shouted, grabbing a passing goblin by the shirtfront and lifting him to eye level.

"WHAT?!?" He shouted shaking the gobbo violently.

"ARE" the goblin considered wetting himself.

"WE'ZE" If he kept this up the goblin would lose consciousness and be spared the rest.

"GUNNA" The goblin considered throwing up and decided that would be bad so he clenched his teeth and prayed.


"Oh the calamity!" he whined loudly, throwing his arms in the air, launching the gobbo onto a nearby awning.

"We're doomed!" he cried as he ran down the street.

He saw Malstrom standing by the bank, reading the very same notice.

"Malstrom!" he called out to the troll.

"Malstrom dear gods it's horrible! Have you heard?!?"

Malstrom raised an eyebrow and puffed on his herbal communion.

Bloodscream, unable to look his old friend in the eyes and maintain his mock panic, grinned wide and both chuckled a deep menacing laugh.

"You crazy Orc." the shaman commented once he'd stopped chuckling.

"Ayup... wanna git sometin to eat? All dis fearin fer me life made me hungry."

The pair wandered off towards a stall that smelled of cooking meat.

"Should we tell da odas?" Bloodscream asked as he walked down the road.

The shaman shrugged.

"I think they'll find out soon enough."

Bloodscream grinned.

"Silly bastards" he said as he ripped a notice from a nearby wall.

"It's one thing to not fear the storm..." his gaze washed over the notice, his eyes stopping where he saw mention of his Grim.

"Is quite anoda to put on a tall metal hat and go stand on da mountaintop during da storm"

Malstrom nodded in that shamanic way.

"Joo know, fer a crazy person, joo make alot of sense."

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Lascivious ripped the page from the wall it was pinned to and read with narrowed eyes. Grunting she tossed it to the ground. When she was Mistress no one would have dared been so presumptuous as to challenge The Grim outright.

Perhaps it was time to talk to the priest.

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She stood silently in front of one of many notices she had seen peppered about like confetti in the streets of Orgrimmar. She ran a nail tip along the edge and under the paper to lift it from whatever glue held it in place and reading it again laughed.

"Yet another group of children and fools seeks to challenge us. Well The Grim have faced death on many occasions and walk away from it blood soaked and victorious. This Onyx Sun will be no different."

Holding the notice in her hand she murmured strange nonsense words and watched as the thin paper burst into bright crimson flames. Then turning she walked away leaving a wisp of papery ash on the packed earthen streets of the city.

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Qabian tears down one of the pages and grins as he reads over it, musing aloud to himself. "Ah, this all sounds so very familiar. Hmm, I wonder if it's seasonal again. Well, I've no mothers left to kill this year.

"'When you are alone?' Why address the Grim as a collective if the idea is to wait for any of them to be alone? Just another set of vultures that enjoy stirring up trouble, I presume.

"And I don't believe any of us have asked for either trust or redemption, hm?"

The mage tucks the page into his belt with a smirk, and continues on his way.

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Aquizit sneered at his accountant, Valonae, near the Royal Exchange bank in Silvermoon before the slip of paper caught his eye on the wall. Green eyes narrowed as he studied it carefully, smirking inwardly even as his suited brother apologized profusely at him while trying to fix the warlock's vaults.

"Oh this should be fun," he yawned, dismissing the 'banker' and going about his business. He turned, leaving the notice right there on the wall. "Let the propaganda remain, we all know who will have the glory when it's time to put up or shut up."

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Kiaransalius smirked as she read the notice, "What is the term...? 'Get in line?'"

So many wished harm to those that donned the colors of the Grim, the knight did not even bother to keep note. Shaking her head slightly, she could not help but laugh lightly as she walked away.

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Mharren examined a water-stained copy of the notice addressed to The Grim and looked around as if she would see the poster. She read it over again, noting the efforts the writer had taken to utilize expressive text and syntax. She rolled her eyes and crumpled up the notice, tossing it up and obliterating it with a short spurt of flame.

A passerby stopped and regarded her with puzzlement. She motioned towards the wall where the notice had been posted and offered a casual explanation. "Failed writer's really shouldn't be plastering their uninspiring abstracts on Silvermoon walls."

The passerby gave a frank, affirmative nod and continued on his way. Mharren smirked and continued on herself towards the bank, wondering absently who or what in the nether the 'Onyx Sun' was.

Certainly not a bright spot in pipedal intelligence

She smirked at her own spec of humour, pleased with herself.

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Gorthus tore a banner from the wall, stared at it with the piercing blue that were once his eyes and sneered. His hand reached to his side and found his horn, he drew it to his lips and unleashed all the death his lungs harbored.

The booming howl of his horn disturbed the onlookers and drowned out the rumor mongers. The blast of his horn pounded through the streets of Orgrimmar again. The morning shopping ceased, there were no footsteps, no hammers of blacksmiths, no sound at all save the loud looming rumble. There were no eyes on banners or notices, for all eyes were now cast on the lone Death Knight and his horn.

Gorthus held up the banner so all could see it and then he spoke.

"I care not for your trust or redeeming myself to you, I have already stared death in the eye, lost, and await nothing more. We, the Grim, shall not turn among ourselves, we serve something more meaningful than anything you will ever fathom in your lives, perhaps your deaths will allow you to realize this.

You can watch and wait, like cowards if you like, but I call you out now, today, tommorrow, forever. Bring out your pitchforks and torches with honor, and bring me the sweet taste of death that was stripped from my lips if you can, for this, what you wish to bring me, I would treasure for all eternity.

Give me this and I shall bleed for you in this very street and you may dance upon it."

The armored fist wads the parchment like trash and casts it upon the ground beneath his feet.

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Thrysta's dimunitive frame was nearly lost amidst the large high backed

chair in which she sat. The fabric of her seat had already grown

dark with stains of ichor and viscera as she sat staring into the fireplace

of the Grim guild hall.

The vestments of the priestess were torn and tattered, her dessicated

flesh displaying ghastly wounds to which she was completely oblivious.

The air around her was heavy with the scents of copper and death.

Hugging herself tightly, a wan smile crossed the face of the priestess,

dark blood leaking from the corner of her mouth.

"Perhaps they will," Thrysta murmured softy, "Perhaps they will kill me."

Closing her eyes, Thrysta pressed one taloned hand against her frail chest.

She sighed, the soft sound building into a shuddering cough.

One of her thin ribs broke with the sound of snapped kindling.

Thrysta giggled wetly.

Leaning back into the large chair, her body creaking, the priestess

stared into the crackling flames.

"That would be acceptable," she whispered to herself.

Closing her eyes once more, Thrysta smiled, her sharpened teeth

wet with blood.

"They will join me, for we will pull one another open until the

screaming stops," she murmured.

"...and it will be so very fine to rest."

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She did not smirk. She did not yawn. She did not rip anything from a wall or feel the need to destroy it. Instead, she leaned in closer to peer at the smeared writing.

"They've obviously never tried 'walking' on blood splayed across anything."

She turned back around, taking a bite out of an apple.

"It's quite slippery."

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