1 point“Here, the prisoner has given us the location of their supply caravans. Utilize the mountain passes, burn everything we cannot take.” The form of Grand Marshal Sakainu Redmoon towered over a sprawled map laid before him, the armored kaldorei traced an invisible line through one corner of the parchment as he spoke. Hunched over the map as well was a pandaren fellow in heavy plate, stroking a thickened auburn beard; at his side was a female Dark Iron woman, wreathed in reinforced ebonweave that glimmered but slightly with innate magical defenses woven in. “That will cripple the local garrison, and we can take-” The door to his room suddenly burst open, startling all but the night elven commander, who merely lifted his gaze to regard the newcomer. Red hair disheveled, helmet at his side, was the young spellsword Thoel, hand clutched tight around a missive bearing the royal seal. He did not bother with commentary on the matter, it was little wonder Thoel broke into the conversation without the standard procedural greetings. Skainu merely held out a hand, the order silent. Little heed was needed, as Thoel practically slammed the letter into his commander’s hand. “...Orders from Stormwind.” Not ordinary orders if his tone had anything to do with it, Sakainu mused to himself as he read the notice himself. Thoel gulped, “...An armistice has been signed, we’re to cease hostilities with the Horde.” His teeth ground against each other with every word, fists clenching as though clutching onto reins to steer his growing temper away. Letting his captain stew, Sakainu focused on the orders at hand; to indeed halt operations against the Horde, and to return to Stormwind posthaste; commands to hand over all his gains and return to the status quo like an obedient hound. “Captain.” The sudden word caught Thoel out of his trance, him rigidily snapping to attention. “Assemble every soldier on the island.” His hands found the edges of the decree, and in one swift motion tore it in two, then four, the into eights. The process repeated itself until it was naught but confetti in his palm. Slowly he paced to the blazing hearth nearby, firelight reflecting in the lone ebony stare. “What naivete.” The torn shreds of paper drifted into the fire, piece by piece slowly consumed with each twist of his hand. “Peace. What peace can there be while our enemies still linger? The disease remains whilst the sheep cry out that the body is healthy enough.” The final shred sifts into the fire, devoured to the last, yet still he stares at the fire’s dance. “There will be no peace, not until justice has been meted out.” Drawing from the hearth, he turned to his officers and strode forward. “We are the Ashen Legion, we are those who carry the colors of those who came before,” The strolling pace became a stride, making to glide past those in the room, as though leading them beyond the confines of the room. “We are sworn to vengeance, no matter the cost, no matter the price.” His face was awash in moonlight then, the fires of the room replaced with white glow from Elune’s grace above them; yet still it burned within his gaze, staring down at the soldiers who had gathered in the twilight. His officers and more stood behind him on the terrace, stone-faced and resolute. “Victory will come when Orgrimmar suffers the fate of Teldrassil...when Thunder Bluff is a ruin...when Silvermoon begs for the days of Arthas after what we have wrought...when Suramar and Highmountain tremble in fear when they see the horizon turn gray with our numbers.” Redmoon’s fist shot into the air, as though clutching a sword that would not relent in its brutality. “Look to the skies of Darkshore! Look upon the wrathful gaze of Mother Moon herself! The Black Moon has risen, and it WILL NOT SET...UNTIL THE DAWN IS STAINED RED!” The rallying cry setting forth a mimicking pattern of hands rising in unison to salute the speech rendered unto them. Along with it, the crashing of a thousand voices yelling their approval.