[A-RP] The <Lionheart>

Argent Dawn
201
Very excited to see what these new changes bring for the Lionheart!
202
09/08/2018 13:16Posted by AmĂšly
09/08/2018 11:44Posted by Dawntraitor
This sounds marvellous! Another reason to be excited for BfA's launch. How would one get involved with the Lionheart Community? - love from your favourite traitor xxx


You wouldn't happen to be the Alliance alt of a certain Sin'dorei hunter who tried to shoot me in Andorhal?


I am! But this chap will be my main heading into BfA.
203
Now this is an excellent way of using the Community system! Very interested in both seeing how it goes, and of course how to sign up!

Edit: I can assure you, I won't be any trouble! No towers will be burnt, unless someone decides to insult my mother.
204
Community is a good idea. Encouraging others to take the reins and run their own small plots is a great idea, and something I've wanted to see for a while. Hard to pull off but very rewarding if done properly.
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Tales From the City: Carcaroth AĂ©lin
Part 1

It was a beautiful day in Stormwind. A gentle breeze wafted through the busy streets as the sun edged ever so slowly across the afternoon sky. In a peaceful world, a day like this would be the perfect opportunity to spend time with one’s family and just enjoy life.

But to Carcaroth AĂ©lin, the notion of a peaceful world had never seemed as distant as it seemed now, a mere day after he had returned from the siege of Lordaeron. A siege that ended not with the promise of peace, but with the promise of continued war. The only question now was when and where the next strike would fall. It was a question that had plagued Carcaroth ever since he returned to his home. Once again, he found himself returning to Stormwind after fighting in the war, and once again he was unable to truly lower his shoulders and be at peace. The knowledge of what he had seen, what he had experienced
 and what was almost assuredly coming next? How could he not constantly think about it?

Thankfully, Carcaroth had a wife who knew him. As soon as Saleisha saw how Carcaroth was having trouble with getting his mind off the war, she came up with something that she knew would do him some good. The next thing Carcaroth knew, he was walking through the streets of Stormwind, flanked by his family and tailed by Kcavin who was carrying what had to be a heavier load of supplies than a man his age should carry.

Aidan and Emily were both snoozing lightly in their baskets, which were floating along at waist-level beside their parents. They were kept suspended in the air through the magic of their mother, whose penchant for making things float was well-known to her husband – and anyone else who knew her even remotely, for that matter.

“Hurry!” Sam urged his parents. He was in the front of the little ‘convoy’, and if it had been up to him, they would have reached their destination several minutes ago. Despite his light frustration with the pace at which his father and mother were walking, however, Carcaroth knew the reason for his eagerness and his good mood; both of them had made it back from the war. Today, they were just a family going out for a walk. But there was also another reason for Sam being so eager.

“He is such a good little boy,” Saleisha said with a soft smile as her hand gently squeezed Carcaroth’s. He nodded, even smiling a little himself.

“I see where he gets it from,” he replied.

Until recently, the Stormwind City Outskirts had been of little import to most people. After the Legion’s fall on Argus, however, the area suddenly became the site for a brand-new district of sorts where allies of the Alliance could come and gather in its brand-new embassy. After the burning of Teldrassil, the outskirts were given yet another purpose – housing scores of displaced refugees from the kaldorei lands. They were the reason why Carcaroth and his family were out for a walk today, and why poor Kcavin was burdened so heavily as he trudged along, doing his best to keep up. He would never admit to being too old for heavy duties like this, but he still let out a sigh of relief when he was finally able to set down the supplies. Then came the task of passing them out to the refugees.

Sam was by far the most eager to get started. Refugees and sentinels alike could not help but stare at this little ball of energy as he bounced across the grass with blankets and bags of fruit. It didn’t take long before they warmed to his enthusiasm, and he was even allowed to pet one of the nightsabers. Saleisha walked over to watch over their son, bringing along the snoozing twins in their baskets as well so that Kcavin and Carcaroth could focus on delivering supplies to the refugees, a task that both of them were more than eager to do. Carcaroth in particular could feel sorrow gripping him as he saw just how many refugees there were, and this was hardly all of them. He could see kaldorei of all ages; some were huddling together for warmth and comfort, others were crying in despair over the loss of their homes and loved ones, yet others were seething with anger and bitterness towards the Horde and their Banshee Queen. Carcaroth was glad that Saleisha thought to bring him here; it pained him deeply to see the kaldorei in this state, and he wanted to do what he could to alleviate their suffering.

Delivering the supplies took a while, even with Kcavin and Carcaroth both working together to do so (Sam was having too much fun with the nightsabers to help). When Carcaroth handed off the last blanket to a mother and her child, the late afternoon was starting to head into the evening. But as Carcaroth gazed around the refugee camp, he could see that Sam and the others weren’t quite ready to leave yet, and he felt relieved. He didn’t feel ready to leave either. He wanted to do more, to say more. And yet, there was nothing to do and nothing to say. He couldn’t even tell them that the monster responsible for the atrocity had been put down. Sylvanas Windrunner was still alive somewhere, probably plotting her next scheme already.

“You seem perturbed, child.”

Carcaroth blinked and directed his gaze at the elderly elf who had just spoken to him. It was the first time Carcaroth had even seen a visibly aged night elf – the man’s hair was long and greyed out, and his skin was wrinkled. But his eyes were sharp, as sharp as any other night elf Carcaroth had met. He was sitting down, warming himself by the campfire with a blanket tucked around his shoulders.

“I’m – I guess I am,” the human admitted, scratching his neck absent-mindedly.

“Sit,” the elf said. “Let me hear your woes.”

Carcaroth hesitated. “With respect, sir – “
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Tales From the City: Carcaroth AĂ©lin
Part 2

“I am no sir,” the elf corrected sternly. “I am just an old man who wants you to have a seat.”

Carcaroth looked around, eyebrows furrowed. Then he slowly went to sit beside the campfire as well, looking at the aged night elf somewhat doubtingly. The elf either did not notice or decided to ignore this.

“You fought in Darkshore?” he said, setting his sharp gaze into the human once again. “And Lordaeron?”

“I did,” Carcaroth said lowly. His eyes did not meet the elf’s, but fixed themselves upon the crackling fire instead.

“Good,” the elf continued, nodding his head slowly. “Good. You must be happy to be home again.”

Carcaroth shifted a bit uncomfortably where he sat. Was this old man being bitter for losing his home? Was he genuine in his inquire? It felt as though any response would be inappropriate, so Carcaroth simply nodded and remained quiet. There was a pause as neither of them said anything, but the human could tell that the old elf was still looking at him. It made every passing second of silence more and more unbearable.

“I’m Carcaroth,” he said, just to break the silence between them. The elf smiled back at him.

“My name is Felrian,” he replied. “I lived in Darnassus.”

“Yeah
” Carcaroth muttered, having figured as much. “I live here, in the city. With my wife and children.”

“I saw them too,” Felrian said, a wrinkled hand stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Your little boy gave me this blanket. He ran off before I could thank him, so please do pass on my gratitude to him.”

“I will,” Carcaroth said. “He was very eager to come here. He likes to help.”

Felrian chuckled heartily. “What a wonderful child. He will grow up to be a great man, I can tell.”

Carcaroth’s lips curled into a smile, but he remained quiet. I hope he will get the chance to grow up. Even thinking those words made his stomach turn. How many kaldorei children had been denied that chance? How many mothers and fathers had been claimed by the fires?

Felrian regarded him with raised eyebrows for a while. Then he spoke again. “I was in the city when it happened, you know.”

“Pardon?” Carcaroth said with a frown.

“When the fire started. I was in the city.” Felrian was no longer looking at him. Now it was he who gazed into the campfire. “We thought the Horde were coming to take the tree. There were loud noises, and smoke
 and heat. We didn’t know it was a fire at first.”

Carcaroth swallowed, averting his gaze again. “It must have been horrible,” he said eventually. “I can only imagine – “

“Can you?” Felrian said suddenly. He looked at the human, but not with anger or sorrow. He seemed curious, more than anything. “You seem young. Were you born yet when the Horde came to Stormwind, the first time around?”

“I was not born in Stormwind,” Carcaroth said quietly. “I am from Lordaeron.”

Felrian nodded slowly. “I see. You must have been glad when the Alliance marched to reclaim it.”

“Part of me was.”

Another pause. Then Felrian finally spoke again. “Was?”

“I was
 I’d pretty much given up,” Carcaroth explained. “I have a family here now. A home. But when I learned that we were taking the fight to Sylvanas, I
 yeah, I was glad. And when we went up there, to oust her from her seat of power, I fought with all my might to help make that happen.”

Yet another pause. Felrian kept quiet, looking at the human paladin with a neutral expression.

“But now
 look, I know what it’s like to flee from my home,” Carcaroth said, more to the campfire than to the old elf. “I know what it’s like in the days after. The confusion. The anger. The sorrow. The
” He took a deep breath. “
 helplessness. But it’s not my home anymore. My home is here now, with my family. There is nothing left for me in Lordaeron except
 memories.”

Felrian started to nod slowly. Then he began to shuffle closer to Carcaroth, until they were seated right next to each other. The human raised an eyebrow, looking at the old elf skeptically.

“You don’t recognize me,” Felrian said. His sharp eyes were looking straight into Carcaroth’s.

“I – what? I don’t – “

“I told you, I was in the city when the fire started. I was trapped in my house – a big burning log, right on my doorstep. The smoke was getting thicker, the flames were getting bigger
 I thought I was a dead man, so I just sat down and started waiting for it.”

Seeing the confusion still on Carcaroth’s face, he continued. “Next thing I know, someone’s gotten the log out of the way and is scooping me up, carrying me. I was coughing the whole time so I didn’t get to ask the man’s name, but I did get to see his face when he dropped me down by the portal before he sped off to save someone else.”

His face cracked into a bright smile. “I meant it when I said that your son will grow into a great man. Like his father, he just runs off before I get to thank him.”

“I – I don’t know what to say,” Carcaroth stammered.

“I am sad that my home is gone,” Felrian continued. “I grieve for my lost brothers and sisters. I wish to see the Banshee Queen brought to justice for her crimes. But I also feel gratitude – gratitude that I am still alive, and that we kaldorei have allies who will take us in and fight for us when we are at our lowest point.”

The elf’s extended a wrinkled hand towards Carcaroth, who eventually took it in his own after a moment’s hesitation and gave it a firm and respectful shake.

“Sylvanas may have burned our tree, but we still have hope,” the old elf said, a clever glint in his eye. “Elune will guide us. And now, I do believe your family is waiting."

Carcaroth looked over his shoulder to see Saleisha wait for him with Sam dozing off in her arms. He nodded and moved to stand, but the old elf still held on to his hand as he did so. "Take good care of your family, Carcaroth.”

“Thank you, Felrian,” Carcaroth said. He smiled earnestly. “I will.”
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Winterspring.

It was as beautiful as it ever was. The rolling hills sported a thick layer of snow and the tall trees stood mighty as ever, rooted deep into the frozen ground. The contrast with the fires of which she often dreamt could not have been greater. The Highborne Enchantress did not suffer from the cold though. She had grown used to it when she lived in Northrend. Those times seemed so long ago now.
Ever since she rejoined her kin, in the time of great turmoil caused by Xaxas, Deathwing, everything seemed to go so much faster.
Perhaps she just could not keep up with the rush of humans, or any of the short-lived races.

Thyasa Danu'serrar slowly walked through the hills, unhindered by the snow, upon which she walked, never sinking into it.
They lived too fast. But she knew why, her earlier conversation with Darys, Amely and Regina had made it clearer. They lived short, but full lives. They had said that immortality kept one away from a full life. She had denied that, naturally, but in a way, they had been right. To this day, Thyasa had not lived a full life.
Most of it had been spent alone. No one but herself as company. She had lived in ruins, in caves, in every place where she could find some warmth, or shelter.

Everywhere she did not belong.

Fenarfen made her life more complete. He looked past her history, her heritage. He had been kind when others of her kin had not. And while she thought that he worried too much for her, she could not help but love him for it.

And yet, her life was not complete.
Only hours ago, she had held Aiden, the child of Carcaroth, in her arms. A child, so sweet, so innocent as the unspoiled snow of Winterspring.
A child of her own. She had wished it long ago, when the world was still younger and complete. But when that world had been destroyed, so had her chances of a complete life.
She had always believed that.
This was a chance to prove herself wrong. It was her right to be happy, to live a full life. It is never too late to do exactly that.
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Grannd Thunderbraid near threw himself from his ram as it came to a sliding stop outside the large dwelling inset into the wall of Ironforge’s second depth.

His childhood home. Where he grew up, he took a brief glance up at the many balconies attached to the three-story building, towards one room in particular that had light, before hurrying up the stairs to the iron door that was opening, the matronly dwarven lady greeting him with a sad smile.

“Grannd, you got my message?” She asked, her voice only slightly shaky, and he couldn’t blame her. The two dwarves that were her employers and best friends were wasting away in front of her and there was nothing she could do. He admired the matron immensely, she was braver than many soldiers he knew.

“I did. How is he?” Was the quick, earnest reply as he removed his helmet, the metal plates locking it in place retracting backwards with repeatedly clinks, he regarded the woman who had helped raise him and his brother. All business for now.

She shook his head, “I think he is leaving us, Grannd. He asked me
 In a moment of lucidity
 To bring his boys to him.” The normally stoic and strict dwarf paused and halted as if struggling for words. She was always very careful when discussing his father’s deteriorating mental state.

Grannd grimaced. His boys. His brother was dead, killed in a collapse during the Cataclysm. His father had known, of course, attended the funeral, gave a speech, but since then he had only gotten worse. If he now thought Drong was still alive


The Mountain King shook off the black curtain dropping down in his mind’s eye, and declared; “He’ll pull through. He always does.”

The woman watched the dwarf she had helped raise for a long moment, and bowed her head, “As you say.”

Removing bits of armour as he went, handing them off to a younger, more spritely attendant who was following him, Grannd made his way through the expansive house that constituted where he grew up. And his stride slowed as he looked around. It was dark, there were candles lit, fireplaces active
 But still it felt dark. Like the stone itself was reacting to the grim state of the two who had owned it for two-hundred years.

The attendant left him with a wave of his hand, now minus his shoulderplates, gauntlets and the bulkier parts of his chest and leg plates, he made his way up flights of stairs towards the top floor, pausing briefly at the second to look down the darkened corridor, towards where his room was. He continued on his way.

When he came to the double doors that led to the master bedroom, he paused for a moment, and leaned to listen. He heard nothing.

Carefully, he took a hold of the handles and slid one of the doors to the side, stepping into the room. And he stopped himself as he smelt that smell he had experienced on so many battlefields, infirmaries, other houses.

Death.

It made him feel sicker than he expected it to, even if he had been preparing for this moment. And he instantly felt foolish for declaring his father would pull through to the matron. How would he know any better than her the situation? Being away constantly as he was, fighting countless battles and killing hundreds to keep this very house safe.

And death had come regardless, as it always managed to.

He moved to the end of the grand bed, on it’s right side his father lay. The once mighty warrior was emaciated, he had been fed well and cared for with the best magic and alchemy, but that could not stop the inexorable march of time.

A great grey beard, carefully braided and immaculate, spread out across the top of the covers. The elder Thunderbraid was propped up with many pillows, but green eyes that Grannd’s mind told him were still sharped looked towards him.

With seemingly great effort, his father brought up his hand and made a beckoning gesture, “Come a bit closer, my son.”

So, it seemed he was in a moment of lucidity, Grannd thought to himself as he obeyed and moved down the side of the bed, “You summoned me and I come, father.” He replied.

“You are a great son.” Was the quiet reply, the voice held just that hint of strength that had so characterised his father in his mind, but it was weak and raspy now. His chest was barely rising and falling. Then he looked to the still open door, “When is your brother joining us?” There was a hint of a proud smile, there was utterly no malice behind it. Just obliviousness.

Grannd remind silent for a few moments, before he replied; “He’s too far away, father. Fighting.”

“Ah
” Came the reply, a sad look crossing the old dwarf’s expression, “Fighting? Are you fighting, too?”

“I am.”

Despite the quietness of the sigh, it still hit Grannd like a sledgehammer. It was a sad sigh, a pitying sigh. He had never heard this before, but why not? Why-

“You’re always fighting
” There was another tilt to the voice that Grannd had only heard twice before, at the funeral of his son, and his brother. Grief.

“Always fighting,” His father continued as the once-General watched on in stunned silence, “Always there’s war
 It took my brothers and sisters, it took my parents
” The elder’s eyes teared up, “It took my grandson
”

Grannd took in a sharp intake of breath, trying to still his heart as it leapt several beats. The last time he had come to visit, he had left in barely contained fury after his elderly father had lamented that his grandson was too lazy to visit him, when he had been dead since the Horde’s invasion of Khaz Modan. But now in this moment, his father now realised Grannd’s son was gone.

“We
” A faint wheeze, but no cough came, though the Mountain King reached for a half-full glass of medicinal water on the side table, but he stopped when his father continued, “We thought you were the explorer, you know?”

Another pause, no reply, the old dwarf continued, “Always going off on your own, climbing mountains, running from yetis and bears, making your own maps of imaginary places.”

With herculean effort, the old man brought his hand up to rest on his son’s arm, “Now look at you. How are your soldiers? They still
 Fighting, the good fight?”

Grannd winced. Many of his soldiers were dead. Killed by the Legion. His brigade was gone, there were too few to justify its existence. He himself had said so when he recommended the colours be withdrawn from service. He decided to nod, and again that sad gaze met him.

“More parents and children to be lost
” The old dwarf wheezed out, and again it felt more like Grannd had been hit by a Pit Lord sized warhammer rather than words, such was the pain in his gut.

His father’s head lulled, and Grannd brought up a hand to steady him, and he had to lean in close to listen to the rasping words that still came from the elder.

“I promised. I wanted to die
 When there was peace
”

Ulforth Thunderbraid closed his eyes, gave a last breath, and then went still.

He was gone, Grannd had seen enough people die to know. But still he waited.

And waited, “... Father?”

No response. He had passed on. He had died whilst war raged beyond the mountains once again, and could well rage within those mountains as well.

With a hand he barely stopped from shaking, Grannd brought it up to rest on the still chest, passed the expansive beard. Slowly, the hand clenched into a fist, brought up and back down to gently tap against the chest.

Then slowly, with reverence, Grannd lowered his father down so he was lying on his back, bringing thin and weak hands that were once muscular and strong up to lie across Ulforth’s chest.

The Mountain King backed away from the bed, and drew up into a military salute, for no other reason than he had no idea what else to do. He held the salute for a length of time he didn’t keep, before relaxing and slumping, turning towards the door. Preparations had to be made-
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He stopped and went still as he looked at the figure that stood in the doorway. Supported by a flawless metal walking stick, dressed in a simple but masterfully woven white nightgown, his mother watched the still form of her husband unblinkingly as Grannd watched her. Then she moved, making her way over, hunched and like she carried a great weight.

His mother loved gardening. She had worked on her family farm before moving to Ironforge to marry his father, and she had missed that life so much she had gone to great efforts, with her own money, funding an underground conservatory to be built in this very house where she could indulge her passion and grow plants and herbs from across the world that were both beautiful and useful.

She had loved Teldrassil. Grannd had taken her there a few years ago. She had wanted to go again before she passed on. She couldn’t now, and the elderly dwarven woman hadn’t taken it well.

He continued to watch her, and opened his mouth as she made her way to the opposite side of the bed from him, slowly but with purpose, but she spoke first. Her voice was weak like his father’s, but still carried a hint of strength. But it’s tone was so sad. Grannd had endured a lot, but if he were honest with himself, his heart nearly broke now in that very moment.

“We promised each other.” She began, allowing her stick to drop as he brought her hands onto the bed and began to ease herself onto it, every movement slow and calculated, but Grannd knew still caused her pain, he wanted to help her, but the last time he had tried he had gotten a severe tongue lashing, “We promised each other that we’d die when the kingdom was at peace.”

She looked up to her son with cool blue eyes, and he felt as if he was within the frozen wastes of Icecrown once again, and couldn’t even respond as she continued to speak, “Dying in battle, like those savages want to do. It’s useless. Pointless.” She caught herself from growing anger that would do her no good, and slowly sat cross-legged by the still form of her husband, now lying in state.

Her eyes teared up as she regarded him, and Grannd immediately moved around the bed with the intent to embrace her, but she brought up a shaking hand that halted him in his tracks where even a thousand charging orcs would not.

“My darling had no choice but to break his promise, I might soon break it as well.” She closed her eyes, taking a deep shuddering breath, “I do not have much time, my son. This
 Illness of mine, it is fast catching up, magic no longer works, only my herbal remedies have some small effect.”

She bowed her head, reaching out with a hand to carefully arrange a stray braid on her husband’s beard.

“Live, Grannd. So you can pass on when there’s peace like he wanted to. Promise me.” She held out a hand to the side, and he reached to take it, firmly but gently.

“I promise, mother. But
 You will be okay?”

She smiled over her shoulder, an impossibly sad smile, but he saw the strength, and was heartened by it.

“Go.” She didn’t answer, but it was a quiet command that he had to obey, he brought up her hand to his lips briefly, before letting go and departing.

---

I regret to inform you that your mother passed away last night


Grannd Thunderbraid stared down at the letter in his hand, the bustling of the war camp on the southern side of the Thandol Span drowned out.

It was a good thing he wore a helmet.

"... SERGEANT!" He abruptly roared, the grief drowned out by the volume.

"Sir!" A nearby dwarf saluted.

"Get a team together."

"Sir?"

"We're getting this war started." Came the growled response.


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EGTPE9aO9J0
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Meanwhile on the other side of the world to Lordaeron:

“Strange” Threndual muttered to himself as the ancient tome he was holding slipped through his fingers. “Did I always have such a weak grip?” The elderly Highborne sank into the floor to retrieve his book, flicking through the pages as he rises to his feet and wanders over to the bookshelf. Rows upon rows of books, both new and ancient alike decorate three our of four walls of the elves chambers. The chandelier hangs empty from the ceiling and the bedside candle remains unlit for Threndual had no need for conventional light.

For months now he had remains in his study, pouring over the same books he had been reading for millennia time and time again to the point he knew most of them off by heart. Every now and then a youthful trio of Night Elves would knock on the door, enter and leave a new book on Threnduals bed. The sentinel of the trio would always have a look of uneasiness on her face every time she visited, the druid somewhat sombre while the thirds occupation was unclear as she wore simple robes, likely a civilian. The trio never said a word to Threndual, nor did he speak to them. He simply watched them from the shadows of the room until they left as unexpectedly as they arrived. The books they left him were all so fascinating. Some were freshly written theories of arcane from the pens of the Kirin Tor and others philosophical works of the Pandaren to name but a few.

It had been some time since the trio had visited his room, and Threndual began to wonder who they were, why they visited and why they left him gifts? He had thought about warding his door to prevent them intruding again, but the gifts they left had never failed to pique his curiosity. A knock on the door. “Ahh, at last!” The highborne thought to himself. “A new addition to my collection!” As the door slowly creaked open, a familiar pair of youthful elves crossed the threshold into the elder mages personal chambers. As was their ritual, Threndual remained silent in the darkest recesses of the room although the pair never noticed him anyway. This time however, something was amiss. The sentinel bore signs of recent battle, her armour sundered and gashes adorning her face and arms. The Druid fared no better, horrible burns decorate his normally fair features and his natural attire clung to him by scraps of cloth. More importantly, they did not bring Threndual a gift this time.

“Outrageous! How dare they intrude without presenting a gift!” were the first words to cross the mages mind as he took his first step towards the pair. Before he could berate them for their foolishness in forgetting his gift, Threndual froze as he realized “Where is the third?” He was certain there had always been three visitors to his chambers. Before reaching an answer to this question the Druid spoke for the first time since he began visiting the chambers.
“More have fallen father 
 Annalia, Solian, Nemris” Droplets of tears began to leak from the Druids eyes while Threndual stared with a scholars curiosity. Who were these names again? They sounded familiar, yet distant, as if trying to peer through the fog on a wet winters morning. “Even Loreanne was killed” Ahh yes sweet Loreanne! The name filled Threnduals heart with pride, his youngest daughter had always been a talented botanist and he was sure that she would one day 


It took several moments for Threndual to fully comprehend what was being said. Killed? More have fallen? What was this nonsense? The legion had been defeated, there was no more killing to be had! He’d had just about enough of this nonsense. Stepping forward without a sound Threndual made himself known, raising his voice he demanded “What tomfoolery is this? You barge into my room without a gift and speak of my daughter being killed? I’ve tolerated your visits long enough, explain yourselves before I turn you into snow elves!”

He had expected the pair to turn tail and flee, or begin making stammering excuses but instead there was no reaction. The pair of elves simply stood up and began to take their leave of the room. “Hold it right there you rapscallions! You will explain yourself and show proper respect for your elders!” With a wave of his hand the door to Threnduals room slammed shut, causing the pair to jump as he stood infront of the large oak frame.

“If only you’d stayed at home, father.” The druid mutters as he approaches the door and walks -through- Threndual causing both elves to shivver, followed quickly after by the sentinel. Madness! What manner of magic was this? Why it’s almost as if 


The realization his the Highborne like a stampeding kodo. “Ahh yes of course, I died.” Months ago Threndual had succumbed to madness induced by monstrosities of the void and perished after committing terrible terrible crimes. Looking down at himself, he also saw the flagstones that made up the floor. His incorporeal self completely translucent and incapable of interacting with the metaphysical world beyond moving a few books and shutting a door. What has become of the world since his death? What could have possibly killed his beloved, talented children now that the legion was gone? The answers to these questions lay beyond the confines of Eldre’thalas, beyond the borders of his home, beyond the limit of his reach. Threndual knew the rules when he chose to tether his spirit to the mortal world and exist as one of the many ghosts of Dire Maul. He knew he could not travel outside of the crumbling walls no matter how much he desired it.

“So that’s why I forgot.” He knew something was amiss out there in the world, he thought for sure when he died he would be able to spend an eternity in peace studying his beloved arcane. Despite his cold nature, despite his best attempts Threndual still had ties to the rest of the mortal world through his children. Children which he could do nothing for except to wait until the next visit to hear about the next death.

Holding his face in his hands, Threndual began the incantation to strip the memory of this past visit from his mind as he’s sure he had done so on previous occasions. Better off spending an eternity in blissful ignorance he thought, instead of suffering his own uselessness.
Fortunately. Ghosts can’t cry.


Short version: Thren is a ghosty boi in Eldre'thalas (Not that I'll RP him again except for maybe an event)
211
Hello everyone!

In preparation for recruitment that opens up on the 21st of August I'd like to request people who are interested to send Lotheridan, AlarĂ­k, KĂ­ngston, CarcarĂłth or AlĂȘxia an in-game mail, IC, asking to join the Lionheart. That way a list can be made in advance and recruitment will be dealt with smoother.

There will be some adjustments made to how we recruit, especially since the community itself will serve as a 'trial' of sorts where people will prove their worth to eventually be allowed to the 'core' should there be room available.

I'm looking forward to reading your various letters!
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Rikart calmly stared at the grey, sculpted stone that stood in front of him. Under his hood, his face was passive, showing no sign of any emotion towards the cold stone sticking out of the ground. His eyes flickered down to read what had been carved into it with expert precision. His façade remained unbroken as each word sunk into his heart and his soul.

“In memory of Alexei Helmesfall
A Hero and Protector of the Alliance-”


He ripped his eyes from it and gave a heavy sigh. He glanced at the sky before he drew his hood further down his face and struck a slow stride away from the graveyard in Stormwind.

Hero. He licked his dry lips as if tasting the word before he removed a stray ginger hair from in front of his eyes. Did it truly carry that much meaning? He had heard from the Lionheart what his father had done before he had perished, far away from Azeroth on a planet filled only with enemies, shutting down a portal meant to bring countless demons into this world. And yet he was only branded a hero. A farmer protecting his livelihood with his life before he was struck down would be heralded as a hero.

He couldn’t live with that. He would aim higher than his father ever had. He would survive where he had failed. His actions would become things spoken of in legends, and he would live forever. Once they forgot his father’s name, his would be written down in eternity. But he realised that in order to make it so, working in solitude would not do.

He quickly found the inn he was staying at and retreated to his room.
213
Reminder that recruitment opens TOMORROW (the 21st), but if you want to make this go as smooth as possible read the quoted post down below. Also keep in mind you may need to wait a few days regardless due to busy schedules of the officers!

11/08/2018 21:08Posted by Lotheridan
Hello everyone!

In preparation for recruitment that opens up on the 21st of August I'd like to request people who are interested to send Lotheridan, AlarĂ­k, KĂ­ngston, CarcarĂłth or AlĂȘxia an in-game mail, IC, asking to join the Lionheart. That way a list can be made in advance and recruitment will be dealt with smoother.

There will be some adjustments made to how we recruit, especially since the community itself will serve as a 'trial' of sorts where people will prove their worth to eventually be allowed to the 'core' should there be room available.

I'm looking forward to reading your various letters!
214
Part 1:
Regina frowned with worry, her hair flowing in the wind as she rode her horse Baron across the plains and hills of Stormsong Valley. An hour ago, she had received word from her contact in Stormsong by the name of Charles Aberkan, a retired Mage who settled down in Brennadam with his wife. Charles and his wife were friends of Regina’s sister Varessa, however since her passing in the War against the Legion, Regina befriended the couple and soon enough Charles would happily pass along information to Regina that could help her in her job. She wasn’t expecting word from Charles, but she was immediately fraught with worry upon opening the letter that was teleported into her hands, the words scribbled clearly but messily.



“Brennadam is under attack, Horde everywhere, HELP!”



Even now as she rode across the plains, she didn’t want to believe it. Were the Horde making their move on Kul Tiras so soon? Could Charles have just been referring to a Horde of creatures instead of the actual Horde? She didn’t know, but she needed to know. As her thoughts flooded her mind she spurred Baron onwards, finally stopping on a hill overlooking Brennadam. As Regina gazed upon the scene, she muttered weakly.

“No...” she replied as she stared in horror at the Zeppelins unleashing their explosives over the buildings of Brennadam, the majority already aflame: It was clear she arrived late. She saw footsoldiers parachuting from the skies, landing in the square. She needed to get into the square, now. There may still be civilians in the city. She rode Baron down the hill and swiftly dismounted him at the boundaries of the city, slapping him on his rear to get him running off to safety. Drawing her blades, Regina sprinted into the burning city.

As soon as she reached the alleyways of the city, she looked over the place: The corpses of Civilians lay around the floor, some pinned to the walls via spears... Blood was everywhere. Few corpses of the Horde soldiers lay by the civilian corpses, the majority of the Civilians were unarmed and defenceless: No match for the hardened soldiers of the Horde. As she pressed on through the carnage, she soon noted two familiar corpses: The remains of Charles and his wife, their eyes wide open in terror. Kneeling down beside the corpses, she closed their eyes... Regina then closed her own eyes and let out a breath, already her emotions were running wild upon seeing the corpses... She felt grief, she felt anger and fury, she felt sick... But she needed to press on and save who still survived.

She pulled her mask up, activated her trusty stealthman and cloaked into the city. She pressed on into the centre where she saw several Horde soldiers. Some were holding civilians in their iron grip, intimidating and preparing to finish them off. Some were patrolling, looking for people to kill. Others were strapping explosives to the foundations of the homes and buildings to level what stood. Silently moving as quickly as she could, Regina drew her blades and snuck behind an Orc, his attention focused on choking the life out of a Man in his brutish grip. She swiftly put a hand on the Orc’s shoulder and slit his throat with her blade, the Orc making a gurgling noise as he dropped the Man and fell to the ground, dying immediately due to the precise cut to her throat. Regina frowned at the Orc, before focusing her attention to the Man she had just saved.

“Get to safety, now.” she replied to the Man, who immediately nodded his thanks and sprinted away in fear. Regina turned around to see a small gathering of Horde soldiers approaching her: Clearly an armed target was more interesting than a civilian. An Orc sprinted forward, a massive Mace in hand. Regina knew this sort, they focused on brute strength over defense. As he sprinted, Regina swiftly pulled out her pistol and fired a lone bullet, the Orc’s charge preventing him from dodging the bullet entering through his forehead, swiftly causing him to tumble to the ground, dead. She quickly reloaded and holstered her pistol, pulling her blades back out just in time to parry the Spear of a vicious Troll Headhunter, a female one. Regina attempted to strike back, but the Troll was just as fast: Though her spear was simple, it was strong and able to deflect her blades. Neither Regina nor the Troll were able to strike each other until Regina swiftly planted her foot on the Troll’s foot, before shadowstepping behind and plunging her blades deep into the Troll’s back, causing her to stumble downwards. As Regina watched the Troll fall to the ground, she heard a click from behind her... She quickly turned around to see a Goblin with a flamethrower aimed at her, immediately spewing flames towards her: Regina quickly rolled to the side, though not fast enough to avoid all of the flames: Her leather armour smouldering slightly and catching a few embers, which Regina swiftly patted out. Regina knew she couldn’t shadowstep behind the Goblin, the fuel tank on his back would blow them both up... But then the idea clicked in her head. Focusing on the Goblin as his flamethrower clicked once more and he began to spray some more flames towards Regina, she immediately shadowstepped behind him and planted a swift boot to his head, knocking him to the ground. Pulling out her pistol once more, Regina sprinted away and turned back to fire a bullet at the fuel tank: The bullet rupturing the fuel tank and causing a large explosion, consuming the Goblin in a furious blaze that he would no doubt he proud to go out in.

Letting out an exhausted pant as she reloaded her pistol once more, she braced herself to press on further before suddenly hearing a scream from help from the north. Sprinting forth, she ran towards the source of the scream and looked on at a grisly scene: A house with people inside, the roof on fire. At the door, an Orc, armoured from the down up but with his arms and head exposed with fresh blood dripping from his axe stood over the corpse of a Human just recently killed... But her eyes widened as she saw past the Orc: A female Human standing in front of two Children, terrified at the Ordeal... No doubt this was a family, and the father was just killed. The Orc stormed forward and grabbed the Female without any resistance, prepared to execute her...

“ORC!”

The Orc turned around to see Regina standing outside, blades drawn and dripping with the blood of her previous kills. She shot a fierce glare at the Orc, who no doubt saw Regina as a much bigger challenge. He tossed the Female aside as if she was a ragdoll, knocking her out cold: The two children trying to wake her up. The Orc walked outside, spinning his axe and brandishing a wicked grin towards Regina, who stood her ground. The Orc then charged forward, letting out a fierce Orcish war-cry and swinging his axe towards Regina, who swiftly darted backwards. She slashed forward with both her blades, her first sword parried but her second briefly slicing against the Orc’s arm, though his thick Orcish skin didn’t take much damage from the small slice. Suddenly, the Orc planted a swift foot into Regina’s leg, causing her to yell in pain as the Orc then suddenly swung his axe forward like a mace, the blunt side smacking her in the side as she was swept off her feet and onto the ground. Quickly pushing herself up, Regina heard a rumbling from the ceiling of the house in front of her... Discarding the thought of the rumbling for now, Regina gripped her blades tighter as she dashed towards the Orc, the Orc once more parrying her first blade before getting a slice in at his arm once more. Before the Orc could harm Regina however, she shadowstepped behind him: Swiftly plunging her blades as deep as she can into the Orc’s exposed arms: Her blades cut deeply this time. The Orc let out a roar as he spun around, smashing his fist into Regina’s gut causing her to stumble backwards... It was clear both combatants were tired from the fight. As both charged once more, Regina swiftly shadowstepped a final time behind the Orc, however he tried to immediately swipe back. Regina kept agile however, ducking the swipe and quickly swiping her blade towards the Orc’s neck: Cleanly decapitating the Warrior. She peered at the body that fell down, and then the head... She was sure the Orc would be proud he had such an honourable death, she thought...

And then her thoughts were interrupted by another loud crack. She looked back to the house, it was clear the house wouldn’t hold up much longer. She saw inside the house, the two kids trying to wake their mother... Regina stared at horror at the kids and then the ceiling once more, holding out a hand and sprinting towards the door.

“GET OUT OF THERE, NOW!” she screamed as she sprinted to try and save the children, but the house let out a loud rumble, the ceiling collapsing onto the ground floor: The shockwave of the impact knocked Regina backwards, the last thing she heard before the crashing sound of the house falling apart was the screams of the children.

Regina pulled down her mask, looking at the burning, collapsed building with pure grief on her face. Her eyes started to water: Seeing people die was never easy... But it was especially hard for children, children who had no part in the conflict... And she couldn’t save them. She could have, but she chose to focus on the Orc instead of the Children: Her choice gave her little time to save the Children... And she was too slow. She was always too slow.
215
Part 2:
Regina dropped her blades, looking at the flaming wreck of the house as more and more tears spread down her cheeks. It was more death she could have prevented, but failed to. She was not the killer, but it was nonetheless her fault for not saving them... Regina couldn’t do anything but scream, scream for the people lost in the attack, scream for the innocence lost, scream for the Children she watched die...

Then her scream was cut off by an intense pain. Pain in her upper right back. Something had struck her, the impact knocking her down to her knees... She briefly glanced behind her... A jagged Troll’s throwing axe stuck in her back, the wound bleeding badly: It was lodged in fairly deep. She let out slow, shallowed breath as she felt her body going numb, her thoughts taking her over once more as she knelt there, her blood continuing to leak out of her wound...

‘This is it. The Ethereal Prophet on Argus promised you lies, you knew that... You weren’t going to retire happily and raise a family, you were going to die in battle: Burdened in death with your failure. Your long punishment in the afterlife will begin shortly... Are you still happy to meet your end, knowing you let two children die... And the Horde get away with everything?’

“...N...No...” Regina weakly replied to herself. She suddenly screamed out in pain as she felt the axe yanked out of her wound, the blood flowing stronger. She then felt a fierce kick to her stomach, the Troll knocking her off her knees and onto her back. Her attacker begun to raise his bloodied axe to finish Regina off... But she caught a glimpse at her attacker, a Male Troll who looked familiar... And indeed, the Troll suddenly hesitated to kill her. She couldn’t recall where, but she knew this Troll from somewhere... Was it the Siege of Orgrimmar? The Uncrowned? ...It didn’t matter, he was an ally once, but not now. The Horde would never be her allies again.
Using what strength she could muster, Regina quickly grabbed her pistol and fired her last bullet towards the Troll’s forehead: The Troll’s hesitation preventing him from dodging in time causing him to slump forward onto Regina, the Troll dead immediately. Crawling out from underneath the heavy body, Regina grabbed the Throwing Axe that struck her... She peered down at the Troll’s corpse, the neck specifically. Peering at the axe, she nodded to herself and swiftly brought the axe down upon the Troll’s head: Decapitating him. She didn’t trust the Troll to stay dead, she knew how powerful their regeneration could be.

Discarding the bloodied axe, Regina limped forward. The siege had ended, the zeppelins retreated: Any Horde soldiers dead or gone, the same with civilians. She continued to hobble through the burning town, leaving a trail of blood from her open wound. She weakly muttered to herself as she dragged herself through the city, with either will or fury keeping her conscious:

“I... I will not die here... The Horde... The Horde will pay for everything today... I will not let a single one of those savages remain on Kul Tiras alive, regardless of race... They are ALL guilty of what happened at Brennadam... And I will see justice for those who died... They will stay only in a mass-grave, or imprisoned by the Admiralty... I swear it...”

Regina muttered to herself repeatedly as she limped through the city, her vision starting to fade... As she reached the bridge back to the Eastern section of Brennadam, she saw Soldiers in a line: Kul Tiran soldiers... The last thing she saw before collapsing into unconsciousness on the spot was the soldiers rushing towards her.


Whilst everyone else is recovering from the Siege of Lordaeron and biding their time, Regina has departed off to Kul Tiras to help protect her homeland from the inevitable threat that wishes to kill her people.
216
Regina trod up the mountain path, keeping a firm grip on her hooded cloak as it blew around in the cold snowy wind. The mountains of Drustvar were as cold as Northrend, especially towards the peak. Regina continued walking until she reached a split in the mountain path, the right path heading upwards to the peak with the left path heading forward. Peering up to the peek, Regina frowned and advanced up the left path. Eventually she made her way to an overlook, the Crimson Forest just about visible through the snowy winds. Regina peered to the side of the overlook, noting a small cave: If her research was accurate, this was her location.

Stepping into the cave, Regina pulled down her hood. The cave was abandoned, no sign of any life whatsoever. She couldn't see any bones, likely this was too high up or too cold for any native wildlife to dwell in. Lighting a torch, she advanced deeper into the cave: Her footsteps silent in case something did decide to dwell in the cave. She made her way to the farthest point unscathed, the cave was completely abandoned... It would be completely unremarkable if not for the ancient metal door built into the back of the cave. Regina tried to pull the door open: Nothing. She pushed: Nothing. There was no keyhole, so it couldn't have been locked... Likely the tomb's door had been sealed shut by either time or magic. Regina had planned for this however, pulling out a small seaforium charge. Normally, planting explosives in a cave on top a mountain would be dangerous, but the seaforium charge she brought was built to have a reduced explosive payload: Just enough boom to destroy what she needs, but not enough to level the place. Regina planted the charge at the base of the door and stood backwards, covering her face with her hand as the charge detonated in an explosion.

When Regina looked forward, the door hadn't been completely destroyed but damaged just enough to pry open. Reaching into her hiking backpack and retrieving a crowbar, she wedged the tool between the damaged door and used all her might to force the door open: Just about managing to open enough of a space to squeeze through. Once doing so, Regina advanced forward, one hand on her torch to light the way and her other hand on her crowbar. Unlike the cave, this room was man-made: Someone had built a tomb inside this cave up atop the peak.

It didn't take long for Regina to reach the end of the room, where two metal coffins lay. Carefully strolling forward, Regina kneeled down in front of the first coffin, noting an inscribed message on the side.



'INQUISITOR NORMAN CARVALIA: Warrior of Drustvar, Defender of the Innocent, Shield of the Order. Here he lies with Drustrender, in eternal slumber after his valiant service.’



Regina nodded to herself, this was it: The tomb of her oldest recorded ancestor. She didn’t come to the tomb to discover her family’s past, nor to reflect on her ancestor’s deeds... As dishonourable as it is, she came for the prize that lay inside the tomb. Frowning to herself, she turned around to the other coffin, an inscribed message on its side like it’s twin:



‘INQUISITOR FRANCIS VALMER: Battlemage of Drustvar, Protector of Kul Tiras, Scholar of the Order. Here he lies with Stormcarver, resting until the end of time for his heroic deeds.’



Valmer. Regina closed her eyes and let out a sigh as she read the last name. She had known of the pact made long ago by Norman and Francis: The two were so strong friends that they made a pact to protect and honour each other and their future kin, to remain steadfast friends and allies no matter what happened. Indeed, the Carvalia and Valmer families had kept to that pact even to current times, though barely anyone remembered it. She remembered back to her youth, her time spent with Lucy Valmer. Though Regina was born of the Gilnean Surname Montero, Regina has always been more of a Carvalia, even if she didn’t use the name. Just as Norman and Francis held a bond during the Drust War long ago, so did Regina and Lucy... The bond persisting even after Lucy’s death. Regina wondered if it was fair for her to do what she was about to do to Lucy’s ancestor... She wondered what she would think of her actions... But it didn’t matter. The Horde had forced her hand.

Placing the torch on a nearby sconce, Regina grabbed her Crowbar once more and began to pry open the coffin of Norman Carvalia. As the coffin opened, Regina grimaced as she saw the skeleton of her ancestor: A sword clutched in his hands, entombed with him. This was the prize she sought: Drustrender, Blade of the Carvalia Family. Carefully moving the skeletal hands to the side, being ever so delicate as to not collapse her ancestor’s bones, Regina grabbed the sword and sheathed it into her sword-sheath on her belt. She then closed the lid of the coffin, covering Norman’s remains once more.

Regina then turned to the Coffin of Francis Valmer. Opening the coffin with her crowbar, she saw the remains of Francis: Just like Norman the skeleton had his boney hands wrapped around the hilt of the sword. Her final prize: Stormcarver, Blade of the Valmer Family. Just as before, Regina carefully moved the hands to the side and took the blade, sheathing it in her other sword-sheath and closing the lid.

Regina rested her hands on the hilts of the blade, closing her eyes. She was no Mage, but she could feel that the swords were magically powerful: Ancient enchantments applied long ago that still lingered. Opening her eyes, she saw nothing... But she felt the magic flow through the hilt and soon into both her intact right arm and her left shoulder, which her prosthetic was attached to, then the rest of her body. Perhaps the magic of the blades was simply attuning itself to Regina, perhaps it was just feedback for not being used so long... She didn’t know, but it felt safe.

After a small while, the sensation stopped. She felt lighter on her feet, lighter in both her arms. Though nothing could compare to the feeling of having two arms and the sluggish nature of her prosthetic, with the power of the blades she felt more lightweight in her left arm, similar to when it was still flesh, but still the distinct lack of any sensation in her arm remaining.

She peered back at the coffins. She knew graverobbing was a disgusting crime, the sort of thing the Forsaken would do... But the Horde had left her no choice. After her failure at Brennadam, her failure to save the two children... She had to do anything in her power to get stronger in order to fight the Horde: Even if it meant taking a pair of blades from old, long dead war heroes.

Grabbing the torch from the stonce, Regina departed the tomb. After squeezing through the pried open tomb doors, she planted a final seaforium charge: This one planted at just the right position to collapse rubble over the door to seal it even further. Regina didn’t want to risk anyone using the bones of the Inquisitors for anything now that she had pried open the doors. She primed the charge and reached a safe distance, watching as rocks and rubble formed a barrier in front of the tomb door. Nodding to herself, she pulled her hood up once more and headed back outside, descending down the mountain.

217
Rescuing this thread from the SIXTH PAGE to note that we're back to adventuring!

https://i.imgur.com/q12cJhp.jpg

Today's episode of Loth Kills Us All involved an ambush at sea and one dwarf's unilateral decision to ram us into an enemy ship, followed by shipwreck and separation in Kul'''Tiras!

Will the Lionheart survive, or will Lotheridan fulfil his murderous fantasies?
Find out next week!
218
22/09/2018 02:16Posted by Tallat
https://i.imgur.com/q12cJhp.jpg

Avoiding the hat at all costs tbh
https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/222063106753429504/492761212983967746/2ce0e7232f05f5d7034958ea7c76c4d0.png
219
22/09/2018 02:16Posted by Tallat
Kul'''Tiras!


do you enjoy tormenting me

is this the fate i have to live with
220
23/09/2018 03:13Posted by Montero
do you enjoy tormenting me


Yes.