Aureliya

March Of The Mandate (Open RP)

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"Dreadweaver, where does tonight's patrol begin?"

"We will set out from Stonard."

"Very well."

The voices of Durma and Malanath crackled across the goblin communication device carried by all Grim, signaling that it was once again time to gather and patrol the lands. The location varied each week- but the purpose always remained the same. To protect those that were too weak to fight against those that would prey on the defenseless. And to remind the Alliance who The Grim were, and what their Mandate stood for. Peace Through Annihilation. And to see the Grim tabard was to see their death.

"Those that wish to join in tonight's march, now is the time."

"I will meet you just outside Stonard." Aureliya Raindawn spoke into her communicator. Standing in the Valley Of Honor, she reached into her reagent pouch and found what she was looking for. Her eyes half closed and she rubbed her thumb slowly across the portal stone, whispering a chant under her breath. The air in front of her shimmered, slowly coming into focus to reveal a portal that would lead into Stonard, within the Swamp Of Sorrows.

"If anyone else wishes to join, speak up. We are capable of summoning those that need it."

"Gadu, the Mandate demand that you join us here."

"What are you doing my brother?"

"We patrol the Swamp Of Sorrows, in defense of the weak, and to whet our appetites for blood."

"Valindria, what of you?"

"I will be there as soon as I am done with this mercenary work."

"So be it."

The voices continued to carry across the communication device, as more Grim gathered to join the March. One by one, they disappeared through the portal.

"Gadu, what occupies you this eve?"

"I will join your march, and a summon would be appreciated."

Stepping through the portal herself, Aureliya joined her Brothers and Sisters in the Swamp Of Sorrows, where already preparations were underway for the patrol. Weapons were checked, armor secured and blessings applied. The air seemed charged with excitement as The Grim set out on foot, ready to sate their thirst for violence and Alliance blood.

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Arriving first in The Harborage, they met little resistance. Cutting down everything in their path, within minutes the small outpost was still and silent- left in ruins from the swift and brutal attack. Seeking more of a challenge, the patrol ventured east towards Marshtide Watch, where the Alliance held a stronger military presence. The outcome was largely the same. Although the soldiers fought back relentlessly, the fire and destruction rained down on them from The Grims death dealers and the fury of their vanguards proved to be too much, and soon the ground was muddy with the blood of the fallen.

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Before departing, the patrol took the opportunity to board an Alliance ship at the dock. Taking a leisurely break and enjoying some rum, before looting the vessel of anything of value and leaving it in flames, as they set out towards Lakeshire.

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Their attack on the peaceful town nestled within the hills of Redridge was particularly brutal. Word had began to spread that The Grim were coming, and most of the civilians had taken refuge in the basement of one of the buildings. It didn't take long to storm the city, and seek out every human hiding inside.

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Eager to fight more worthy adversaries, Durma and Malanath led the group on foot through Elwynn Forest, knowing full well that the local defenses would have alerted Stormwind by now, where more powerful enemies would be gathering forces for a counter attack. The Grim marched directly into the heart of Goldshire, which they held for several minutes as wave after wave of Alliance attempted to force them out. It was quite some time before their numbers were eventually overwhelmed, and they were pushed back into Westfall.

Despite being driven out at the end, the night was considered a success and filled with savage brutality, and they represented The Mandate well, after cutting a bloody swath through the heart of Alliance territory.

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*The floating tarot card deck plummets to the ground and scatters.*

With a pale, panic-stricken visage, the Draenei Tarot Card Reader stared at the parchment letter delivered by a Stormwind Gnome courier.

He mentally totaled up the damages listed in the letter. The destruction of Marshtide Watch was only a minor setback, for he figured that the cargo on the Maiden’s Tear could be replaced within a few strategic deals with the Steamwheedle Cartel. Thankfully, most of the crew’s valuables and personal belongings had recently been transferred to the new headquarters up in Farshire. Evellin’s ship, the Stormrunner, also happened to have been docked in Stormwind at the time and, thus, was spared.

No, it was the attack on the Harborage, Tuuroto believed, that was irrevocably unforgivable. The letter listed Tuuroto’s only living relative as one the severely injured during a certain Horde organization’s raid on the defenseless swamp-village.

From all his years on Azeroth, the Draenei Tarot Card Reader balked on labeling this “Grim” organization as the monstrosity that Alliance leaders before him had warned. Madam Stormguarde, the late Urivial Beckett, Lady Riverdawn, and even ol’ Branny: all of them cautioned him of the threat that the Grim posed. Like a fool, Tuuroto ignored the signs as he held fast to the naïve notion that even the Horde had a heart.

Never would Tuuroto make that mistake again.

Tuuroto squeezed the parchment letter with such rage that it disintegrated into tiny specks that blew away with the ocean's breeze. With a twist of his Admrial’s Hat and taut pull of his astral gryphon’s reins, he swiftly made his way to Duskwood to call for some “unexpected reinforcements.”

"Zhis..." Tuuroto shouted aloud in a hoarse, baritone voice that echoed above the Elwynn treetops,

"Zhis MEANS WAR!!!"

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This is only the beginning.

It was sunset. The view was great, the sky resembled fire. To most, this would be a pleasant experience. For Ultorag, these were the fires of war.

Yet no matter how good his day had been, how good the view was atop the hill, only dark thoughts made it's way into Ultorag's mind.

Only dark thoughts ever did.

He listened to the sound of the duelists in Goldshire, the Marshal sizing them up to run into battle as a soldier of Stormwind and to be the first cut down. Ultorag spared no sympathy for the fools. Sometimes the cannon fodder is valuable.

Marshtide was once home to the corsairs. It wasn't just a strike against the alliance.

The Gladiator snatched up his scythe of the ground, using it to stand himself up.

These men and women of the horde were to suffer greatly for their actions.

Don't take action yet. Raise it with the Admiral. Go from there. Nothing rash. Ultorag thought to himself.

His nitro boosts flared. The warrior placed his scythe on his back, sprinting, and jumped, activating his parachute, looking in the direction of stormwind harbour.

This would not go unanswered.

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He stood on his tiptoes to keep from choking. The noose cinched up tight to his neck, cut the flow of blood between his heart and his brain down to a weak trickle. The man struggled against the ropes that bound his hands behind his back. His body ached. The pressure in his head built and built, pulsated behind his eyes, pounded in his ears.

A dead man leaned against the stone entryway. Blood flaked from the black and red dye on his tabard. The colors of The Grim.

The dead man spoke, “Where be Matthias Shaw?”

The living man arched his back, tried to find more slack in the rope so that he could breathe easier. “I don’t know,” he managed.

The dead man stood straight, tilted his head, studied his captive. Then he limped to the rope, traced its path with eyes - from the man’s neck, over the rafter, and to the cleat on the wall. He reached up, grasped the rope, pulled with surprising strength. The choking man rose up, his feet kicking for the ground, bare inches beneath his feet. Animal noises escaped from his throat: wet growls, tortured squeals.

The dead man released the rope. His captive found the ground, found air.

“Thing about the undead, ye see, we don’t need te eat or sleep. I can keep this up fer weeks. Months. We be a patient lot, ye know? Yer gonna break, sooner or later. Might as well save us both the trouble and break now.”

The man choked. Wept.

A resonant voice spoke from the shadows behind the entry way, “Addikus.”

The forsaken rogue turned to greet a very large orc. His face was cold, serious, Grim. He carried large sack that smelled of copper and hair. “I have the report on tonight’s patrol.”

The choking man wheezed, “Help…”

Addikus rolled his eyes. He took the sack from the Orc and set it on the ground. He pulled a human scalp from within. “How many?”

The Orc’s voice was monotone, “Seventy two.”

Addikus nodded, bounced the scalp in his hand. The hair was blonde, had belonged to a woman. The Forsaken walked to his captive and stuffed the scalp into the man’s mouth. The man retched. Slobber and vomit leaked from his lips, rolled down his chin.

Addikus addressed the Orc, “Anything special happen?”

Durma answered, “We began in the Swamp of Sorrows, raided a small Dranei encampment and an Alliance-controlled dock. We rode through the Redridge Mountains, then to the Elwynn forest. We fought at Goldshire for a time, before we were outnumbered and forced to retreat.”

Addikus rubbed the mask that covered the lower half of his face. The white cloth, a scrap from one of Drinn’s old shirts.

Durma continued, “We did find some materials belonging to an organization calling itself the Redblade Corsairs. Judging by the assets we saw, their group is small, but it is another name to add to our list of enemies.”

Addikus cracked his jaw. “Redblade Corsairs?”

“Yes.”

Addikus turned back to his captive. “If the group be small, let’s just squash ‘em afore they get a chance te get any bigger.”

Durma nodded. “I’ll pass the order to Dreadweaver Malanath. It shall be done.”

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Ria barely made it out of Red Ridge unnoticed, hobbling on her still swollen hoof she pushed the head of her mace into the ground to use as support. Tears streamed down from her eyes as she watched the city, it torn at her insides to leave the people of the town defenseless against the onslaught. However Ria, even on a good day was no match for the Horde numbers that flooded into town that night. Ria would hobble a bit further, cross the bridge into Elwyenn before calling for her talbuk, it would be the only way to make it to Turro in time to do any good for anyone that was left hiding in the town.

The draenei stubbled a few times as she made her way down the path, one time in particular due to a spider leaping on her, after a few good swings with her mace the spider’s exoskeleton finally gave and the mace broke through its head, finally giving the women a fair chance to get away. “Blasted Hell” Ria pushed herself back up to her feet… well foot as it was. Ria pulled a whistle from her plate, wasting no time to place it between her now bleeding lips, the noise it produced was loud, clear and unmatched by anything else. Within minutes a white talbuk came galloping over to the paladin. “We have to hurry, I’m sure those demon spawns heard me..” She pulled herself up into the saddle, sitting sideways however she leaned herself forwards against the talbuk and clicked her tongue.

The two were off, making their way through the forest, guards were running the other way, heading towards the battle the paladin had left, cursing under her breath as she tightly closed her eyes, fighting back more tears.

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Ranavos' minion Ironclad had finished bandaging his masters open wound in the middle of the forests of Elwynn. The lich was Silently cursing and ranting to himself as Ironclad made sure the bandage was secure. It covered a rather grizzly circular wound that went right though Ranavos' left shoulder. Ironclad ran off deeper into the forest as Ranavos' ranting escalated, slowly, he started to impersonate Tuurotos voice. "The Horde are our friends, no need to attack them, they have honour and hearts just like the rest of us, they wouldn't dare attack the innocent. no, no, no..." His mockery of the Redblade admiral stopped as the armoured construct came back with a hand full of herbs, painkilling herbs... Herbs that tasted awful.

Ranavos huffed and turned his face away from the foul herbs. This childish display of refusal didn't stop Ironclad from simply shoving the herbs in Rans mouth. It tasted horrible, but it worked to ease his pain. His ranting continued as his minion sat down beside him.

"No one listens to me. The Horde are vermin, especially the Grim. I saw this coming a mile away. If I was still captain, none of this would of happened!" He snarled.

"Damn Grim and their DAMN impaling banners!"

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Squizzle emptied a satchel that had been filled to brim with bits of the previous night's adventures. Bones, teeth, hair, scalps and various bits of 'shiney' she had collected toppled into a pile on the lion pelt that adorned her overly decorated bedchamber. Methodically she set about picking through the prizes, selecting out her favorites and absently tossing any others over her shoulder.

Humming and bouncing her feet to her tune as she worked, she spotted a scalp with long brown hair and braided sections of it into ropes of sorts, tying rings, skulls, and even a badge she had found on that big fancy boat to its ends. 'Yep! So Pretty!' she thought as she worked.

Upon completing five or six 'dangly bits,' as she called them, Squizzle stood and walked over to the only 'clean' corner in the room. In it stood an object that was easily three times the height of the tiny goblin and had been draped in a heavy hide.

As she stood there looking up at the massive object, she stopped to think on recent events.

In weeks leading up to the brutal assault, The Grim had held a scalp hunt that awarded titles to those who were most proficient in their duties. Over Forty thousand were killed during this game by Grim hands.

Squizzle had taken particular joy in the game was appointed Standard Bearer for The Grim for her contributions.

She reached up with both hands and pulled off the cloth, revealing an item designed to represent The Grim.

Standing in the corner was a tall banner. It's pole and supports were of carved bones that were tied together with sinew. The cloth had been stitched together from the skins of Dwarves, Night Elves, Gnomes, Pandaren, Dranei, Worgen and Humans alike. Painted in bold inks that had been mixed from both blood and extracts to enhance and preserve color, was the symbol of The Grim.

Smiling as she ran her tiny hand over the hides, Squizzle recalled some of the battles that resulted in the pile of Forty Thousand scalps that these were taken from.

She then removed a rod from her bag that was used for making holes for leatherworking, and pressed her rope creations through the hides. Skulls and bone that were taken from last night's assault now dangled from the banner. A few rings and gems she had stitched to the rope caught the light and sparkled proudly. Near the top, she placed a mangled insignia she had found in a crate on the boat, believing it to be the insignia of the Redblade Corsairs.

Finished with her work, she covered the banner again.

Squizzle turned to walk out of the room, stopping only briefly to look back and smile as she thought of the destruction to come.

'This is only the beginning.' she said quietly to herself and stepped through the hide covering the entrance.

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(( I just wanted to mention that the Scalp Hunt actually happened a short time ago, and we really did accumulate 40,000 honorable kills in a fortnight. Squizzle raked in about 6,000 herself. You make me proud, Grim! ))

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Evellin scanned the paper over her morning coffee, boots propped up on the table. She took a measured sip, wrinkled her nose faintly as all she detected was heat, and set the mug back down. In the kitchen behind her she heard more bustling and quiet cursing as Vlynor made good on his end of their little wager. Had her nose been working properly, she might have been able to smell breakfast cooking. A faint grin tugged at her lips.

Then again, given that her husband no longer had a reliable sense of taste or functioning nose either, it was probably a good thing that nobody could smell what was cooking.

The Death Knight flipped the page and froze, spotting news of recent attacks on Alliance soil. It wasn't anything particularly surprising, or new. She'd known organizations of the Horde more monstrous than others, organizations that should have been put down a long time ago. Soldiers in a war they were not. Cultists, more like- worshipers of violence, they had no noble causes, no redeeming qualities. Not unlike some others she had known, but Eve wasn't accustomed to liking or approving of people anyway. Azeroth was too full of monsters... and worse, too full of people who worshiped and enabled those monsters.

Yet habit caused her fists to clench as she noted some of the names of casualties, and things and places destroyed. Her teeth snapped firmly together. It wasn't her ship, but it could have been. It wasn't her family or friends, but it could have been.

Evellin counted to ten, and slowly relaxed her body, sinking back into the chair. She didn't want to go and help. Not the monsters, or the monster-sympathizers. Not for those mutineers.

"Maybe I'll just watch this time," she mused aloud, taking another, contented sip of her coffee.

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Alathir Malanath dismisses the orc's report with a nod. "So, Addikus desires the destruction of this organization? So be it. But I must learn more of these... Redblade Corsairs."

The undead turns and climbs the spiral staircase leading up onto the top of the tower. There, he pauses for a moment to look out over the ruins of Lordaeron, before turning towards the other creature on the cupola. The demon blinks a single, massive eye and strains against the magical bindings holding it in place, but to no avail. Malanath grins and nods at the bound demon, and reaches his hands around the creature. His fingers flare with fel power, and the warlock blinks his eyes, opening them to the sights of hundreds of observer demons scattered throughout Azeroth. Malanath concentrates for a moment on the colors and insignia of the Redblade Corsairs, knowing that the linked demons would see the same. "Go forth, my minions. See what there is to see. Show me those that walk under this banner. Show me where they hide... where they live. Show me their forces... their families. Do not keep any details from my sight... or you shall share the fate of your sire. Do as I command!" Malanath's mental command thunders across the nether, and the demons begin their hunt.

"Now, I will wait. And see what there is to see. " mused the Warlock as he began to filter through the images.

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“To ask why we fight, is to ask why the leaves fall. It is in their nature.”

Master Mojo Stormstout taught me many things. The most important was this: We fight to protect Home and Family, to preserve Balance and bring Harmony.

To protect Home…there are many Draenei and Krokul in the Swamp of Sorrows, most of them peaceful. I can see no reason for this attack on the small village there. These people do not fight, many are friendly with the nearby orcs. *the last word comes out sounding like it was spat* Have the Krokul not suffered enough, at the hands of the Legion?

Peace through Annihilation? What a short-sighted battlecry. These “Grim” obviously serve Kil'jaeden.

Death to the Legion!

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Skyriver walked listlessly over to her mailbox expecting little more than the mound of dust that had been accruing over the last six months. Her slender hand searched blindly until she came upon a thin object. Pulling it into view, she discovered the parchment was indeed addressed to her. There was no indication of who the sender might have been.

In neat calligraphy it simply read, 'Skyriver Maneweave'

Skyriver carefully opened the crisp letter and read its contents.

My friend,

I am in dire need of assistance.

Please meet vith me in ze Harborage at your earliest convenience, dah.

-Tuuroto, the Starseer

Admiral of the Redblade Corsairs

Vigilante Group of Stormwind

Skyriver smirked. 'He even writes how he talks. she thought.

Her mirth at hearing from her comrade was short lived. Attached was what appeared a casualty report.

She had heard the whispers around town vague details on the attacks that took place, but she had no idea it had been this horrific.

Whatever Turroto needed of her, she was surely going to aid him in any way she could.

Without further delay, the priestess saddled up her hippogryph and took flight to answer her dear friends call.

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In and around Alliance cities all across Azeroth...

Large spears made of bone protrude from the ground, wicked-looking barbed tips pointing towards the sky. Three severed heads are impaled upon each of them, belonging to the various Alliance races... male and female, young and old, human, dwarf, elf... all are represented in some way. Dark magic suffuses the macabre effigies, and whenever anyone comes within earshot the magic animates the heads to speak, the numerous voices all echoing the same grim tidings...

The war for Azeroth has waged for far too long. The Horde struggles to remain united... the Alliance clings to the belief that this world is theirs. And through it all, The Grim have been there, to do what must be done. And so it shall be once again.

This message shall serve as the only warning the Alliance will get. Irredeemable Addikus Grace and Dreadweaver Alathir Malanath have called for a new hunt upon the Alliance. This time The Grim will not be content to meet the Alliance forces upon the fields of battle. This time, we will hunt you where you live, blissfully unaware of the threat that comes for you in the shadows... we will hunt you where you hide. The skies over your greatest cities will darken, the streets will run red with the blood of your fallen. The blades of your greatest champions will clatter to the ground, dropped by lifeless fingers, and the echoes of your unanswered prayers to the Light will mingle in the air amidst the tortured screams of the dying. In that moment, you will know that The Grim have come. You will know that to see the black and red colors of The Grim is to see your own death. And you will know that it matters little whether you choose to stand and fight, or cower under your bed as your world burns down around you; your fate shall be the same.

Prepare yourselves, defenders of the Alliance, for the time has come. Those among the Horde with the strength and resolve to join in our hunt will be welcomed... those that do not had best stay out of our path.

PEACE THROUGH ANNIHILATION!

OOC Info

The Grim will be starting a new World-Kill scalp hunt tonight, the 3rd day of June. This post is to notify the Alliance to be on their toes. The Grim has a no-camp policy in place, however, while our patrols are on the warpath, there is a chance for multiple kills if enemies find themselves in the wrong places. Lowbie ganking will be allowed, but Grim are encouraged to only do so once to satisfy IC obligations, and potentially bring out those that would otherwise ignore guard spam. We will not be aiming to harass or otherwise ruin the fun of others intentionally. That said, if you feel that you have been excessively ganked, or camped in any way, please feel free to contact myself or Addikus either in-game or here on the TNG forums. Other than that, this is just a fun event... so if you see your local defense channels screaming, either suit up for a fight or get outta the way!

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Squizzle watched the fire dance on her fingertips as The Grim assembled around her. She could barely contain her excitement for the evening's planned events. All morning she had been packing and preparing for her return to Ironforge.... The place of her birth... the heart of her hate.

"GRIM!! MOVE OUT!!" Abric yelled as mounts began to ascend into the air around her.

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Squizzle quickly mounted and rode with everything she was worth. Today would be the day for the best scalps! Today she would take dwarf hides!

They approached low as to avoid the mounted sentry detection just long enough... long enough to initiate their attack!

A swath of Grim banners poured from the sky, raining death upon the common rabble that had assembled. Their goal was nothing more than death and destruction.

"Fill the pits with their blood and corpses!" One yelled as his axe bit into the skull of a merchant.

The attack had obviously caught them by surprise and the assembled might of Sixteen Grim tore through Ironforge into their Mystic ward with ease.

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"There!! Destroy their forge!" One yelled and led his troops, cutting down every man woman and child who dared come near their path of destruction.

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As they worked their way around the pits of bubbling lava and mechanical structures that had been built into the face of the stone labyrinth, Grim, nearing a psychotic glee born of hatred, methodically entered every building and slaughtered any inhabitant who had been too ignorant or stubborn to flee. Although most who attempted to flee were cut down all the same.

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The sirens had been blaring for some time now, and the horde had killed hundreds in their wake before any semblance of resistance started to pour in.. until THEY came. Turning the corner, The Grim came face to face with Clan Battlehammer, the infamous group of Dwarves who were known for protecting their home city of Ironforge.

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With battle lines drawn, the conflict that ensued would go down in history. Neither side would budge and each took his turn at advancing and falling back under waves of assaults. The Grim pressed hard into their ranks before reinforcements from Stormwind and other Alliance citadels began to arrive. All in all, the grim held off nearly three to one odds before being forced to take refuge in a small house they had butchered earlier. Sensing the overwhelming odds directed at them, the order for retreat was given and our mages quickly transported the assembled force to the sanctity of their halls.

The Grim are not defeated. We are not afraid. And this is NOT over.

We will strike again.. We will strike harder.. and We will annihilate all of you.

For the mandate demands no less.

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((I expect you lot to be spawn camping and spam killing, gankig me repeatedly. Well trying ;). Send your best. >:) ))

Korveth walked slowly through Ironforge, eyeing the damage done. The Dwarves ran around and in to him, as if he wasn't there.

This... Organization are on hellish crusade.

Korveth had never been a friend of fanatics. Or horde for that matter.

These Grim had successfully raided Ironforge and left with little to no casualties. It is not often you find an enemy both Intelligent, trained, and experienced as well as derailed and idiotic enough to strut into an enemies capital and well fortified city.

Intelligent and Psychopathic are both dangerous traits. The only wall which holds these kind of people back were walls of spears, halbierds, shields, and warriors with minds as sharp as their swords - and a determination strong as their shield.

The Dwarven Soldiers did not fight these Zealots - they were slaughtered. The only fighting done was by my fellow men-at-arms who bravely fought back visionaries of the horde.

Fight or not, Korveth thought, The Alliance are inferior to any horde which can get along. We are winning this war with our unity but when they fight fire with fire the overconfident heroes of the alliance are butchered where they stand.

The Alliance have not avoided the horde's dark times. If no one else fought this war, Korveth would fight or die alone.

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((Camping and griefing are against guild policy, here at the Grim. So, no repeated ganking. I promise. If you or any other person ever feels that they've been abused by Grimies, they should contact me or Malanath))

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Maxxinius reads the letter he recieved from "an old friend" with a smirk.

"Well.. it looks like I'm off to go get my hands dirty".

The man now in his mid fifties gets up from his chair with a grunt and mutters before heading out the door of his home. "One last time, into the only thing I've ever known... one last time."

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The elf had been sitting at one of Silvermoon’s in when some sort of excitement seemed to buzz through the town. People were talking about raids on Alliance cities; there had already been a few that had taken place. But there was something else in the banter, something that made the elf take notice. It had been floating on the wind that the groups that had been organizing the raids have been clearing whole towns of their occupants. The huntress put down her drink. Fighting and Kill alliance soldiers is fun and all but killing the innocents in towns that had no real way of protection themselves is a different thing all together.

Bella had two boys of her own; they were not hers by birth but casualties of war. Their actual parents were in the wrong place at the wrong time and had gotten taken from them. Hate only breeds more hate.. she had seen that first hand. Placing her coin on the bar she quickly stood and made her way out of the bar. Once out in the city the elf made her way to the Inscription outlets, handing over a few pieces of copper for some loose pieces of parchment.

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Battle Report: S.H.2.03

Our party consisted of Aureliya, Philomena, Suilebro, Sunderpalm, and myself. A brief pass through the Northern Barrens yielded no Alliance scalps; the land is secure. We received distress calls from Gallywix, where we found and killed two Kaldorei vermin. From there, we attacked the Alliance FOB on the Isle of Thunder: The Violet Rise.

A few guards and a few Alliance "champions" put up a token resistance. We slew all the defenders, and suffered no casualties.

Peace through annihilation.

- Senior Sergeant Durma Redtooth

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Ria was asked to stay back while the rest of the Corsairs went out to fight, she was tending to the wounded with the few skills she had in the healing arts; even knowing so little she was able to provide some assistance in the cause. When she wasn’t tending to the victims she was attached to the radio device, listening for signs of her mates, there was speak of an attack sometime ago on Dreadmaul but the radio had fallen silent since then. She could only hope that no one was hurt or even slain in the battle.

This particular night, while the Paladin sat in the small shack that was put up for her as an attempt to make her time off duty seem more..tolerable.. she continued to listen for any news on the radio, the sound of the static that would come through now and again was once annoying to the women, but now had become more of a background noise.. hope that perhaps good news would come through. There was a knock on her door however that startled her. “Come in.” She called out; turning yet another page in the book she was re-reading for the 20th time. The door did not open, nor did anyone call out. “I said come in.” Her voice was louder, almost demanding at this point, and when nothing continued to happen she arose with a huff, grasping at the doorknob and pulling the door open. The dead body that fell into the room caused her to scream, she was more startled then anything, seeing dead bodies while at war was second nature but this one seemed to have been placed there with a purpose.

Ria calmed herself enough to see that attached to the dead man’s back as a letter and it was held on with an arrow, more than likely the arrow that killed him. Before taking the letter she did say a small prayer for the solider who’s death came to quickly and had better have good reason. The letter was written on light parchment, making it harder to track who had actually sent it, but the letter read.

“I hope this finds you in time, there is a group that has intentions to march on every last Alliance village that stands, while I think the idea is wonderful I do not agree with harming those that do not wish to be involved in the war before they have a chance to make the choice themselves. Letter will arrive when I am able to find out the location of their attacks and my hope is that you will protect the innocents that do not wish to fight until they come of age. Failure to do so will only add to the blood that soaks the land.

An Unlikely Informant,

S”

Ria re read the letter several times.. sending a letter to warn us while killing a guard to send it.. the Horde truly are devils.

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*An anonymous, unsigned note reaches Greebo sometime during the night. The simple letter bears no indication of who sent it.*

Greebo,

A night elf rogue by the name of Illisade has returned, and is gathering his forces to prepare a series of attacks against The Grim. He appears to be intimately familiar with your guild and it's members, past and present. He claims to have a network of spies in place to locate members of The Grim and strike them down, one by one. He knew you and Ashenfury by name, as well as names of the past such as Nymare and Qabian. I believe he intends to begin seeking those of your banner out in the immediate future. You may want to warn those that follow you to carefully watch their surroundings- Illisade and his team intend to strike from the cover of shadow.

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A ruffle of the paper, and a smirk comes to the young Sin'dorei's face, ears are perked up above the pages as she leans back against the wall of the Wyvern's Tail. She had been hiding here for days after the last slaughter in Alliance territory, if she and her sister were ever caught, they'd likely be immediately put to death. Setting the paper aside, there was a glimpse of red and black colored leather before the woman's form faded into the shadows with much ease.

She crept out of the Tail, not wanting to even draw the attention of those below-stairs. In fact the ones that sat around boozing and whatnot frustrated her, with her temper as short as it has been since Sha energies had been tested upon her, she'd likely snap the neck of an ally if they uttered the improper words to her.

Perhaps it was time to go and speak with old members of the Grim once more, she was beginning to like what they were doing...and her daggers called to her for the blood of her enemies...

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