Little did they know, I sabotaged all the parachutes.
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Bug-eyes the arch-traitor!
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Once more the Seventh and Kestrels have bought victory in the name of the Alliance! Parting ways for now but we look forward to when we undoubtedly manage to fight alongside each other. Good luck in Zandalar!
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Role played with these folk in the past, a solid bunch with a high standard of RP, if you are looking for military RP, The Seventh Legion is a good call!
Hope to Collaborate at some stage ![:slight_smile:](https://d1bg94bbsh66ji.cloudfront.net/en/wow/images/emoji/twitter/slight_smile.png?v=6" ":slight_smile:")
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Thanks guys! Look forward to working with you both in the future!
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The campaign in Nazmir is well underway! Weâre so big we need three DMs nowdays!
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The Drop - Raiyenâs encounter:
âAll clear so far.â
Raiyen almost immediately regretted those words, as a shape moved in the mist below, a single Pteradon, it spotted the dropping soldiers and called out. The scream caused Raiyen to shift a little on Amaterasu, the Sergeantâs Dragonhawk, out of the mists came the swarm, Pteradons ready to feast on the Alliance soldiers as they slowly descended to the swamps below. Kelâsharaâs voice caused him to snap out of the trance like horrified state he was in.
âS-sir! Multiple contacts! Multiple contacts! Moving to engage!â
With that, Raiyen was off! Diving to intercept, they only had to buy the Alliance soldiers time, time to reach the ground. Amaterasu opened her mouth and out rushed the fire, scorching the wing of a pteradon causing the larger beast to arch widely in order to try and snatch at the Dragonhawk, which meant it wasnât going for the soldier. Glancing around Raiyen noticed Kel was doing pretty much the same thing, albeit with more skill and grace, Raiyen was much like a bumblebeeâŠ. He really did not look like he should fly and hadnât done so until recently. He had had to learn and learn fast.
Claws of a pteradon nearly missing his face snapped Raiyen back to his thoughts. Swinging sideways in the saddle, Raiyen used the unusual harness that Kel had given him to leave his seat, swinging with a surprising amount of grace for one so tall as he launched himself upwards and to the right slightly in order to drive his dagger through the fleshy skin of the pteradons wings, before returning to the saddle, a smirk spread across his features beneath his mask as the beast faltered and began to descend.
It felt like eons passed as the two fliers hounded and aggravated the pteradons and their riders, watching helplessly as some of the Alliance soldiers were ripped from the air and eaten whole or taken into the mists where their screams echoed, hauntingly. Slowly the skies became clearer, then the blessed sound came from their Commander.
âEveryone who can land has landed, get out of the skies.â
They moved higher, so that they could be out of range of the pteradons, seeing each other across the mists they cheered and removed their masks, hoods and goggles, before speaking into their comms.
âYou did well, idiot.â
âHah! Thanks, so didââŠ. what was that?â
Raiyen shifted in his saddle as he heard the noise behind him, as he looked back at Kel, he noticed the elf was spurring Feloâsin towards him then he felt the pain, with a gasp he realised what he had heard, but it was too late. The pteradon had him now, claws cut through leather and skin, sinking deep into his shoulders and pulling him into the mists. Amaterasu screamed as she was chained to the elf, Raiyen made the split-second decision and pushed three switches on his harness, causing it to release and free the Dragonhawk.
âNo point both of us dyingâŠâ he muttered before speaking into his comms; "Iâm sorryâŠ.â
Then he removed it from his ear and hid it within one of the few hidden pockets within his armour, especially placed by Rune their Quartermaster, Raiyen didnât have much time to do anything else, as he was ripped from the claws by the pteradons mouth and thrown in the air, as he fell he watched the mouth get closer but was suddenly hit hard in the side by another pteradon, they were fighting over him. Like dogs would a bone, luckily not ripped into pieces.
The pteradons began to squabble too much and lost him, he fell, luckily the trees in Nazmir were tall, as he hit the top, it knocked the wind from him. He fell through the branches and hit the swampy floor with a squelch. Swimming in and out of consciousness as he watched Blood Trolls approach him⊠and their creature. A strange looking beast they looked like tadpoles with legs and horns, as they approached, one of the trolls knelt next to him, the coppery smell of blood filling his nostrils before she starts to remove parts of his gear, tossing it over her shoulder when there is nothing of interest in it.
Leaving him in just his trousers and top, she speaks to the other Blood Troll before standing and walking away, the odd creature approaches him and licks him across his back and then re-joins the trolls. They didnât even think he was worthy of sacrifice, which just meant he was closer to death than he first thought⊠he waited until they were out of range, when he felt like he was completely alone he dragged himself through the mud, filth and water to the roots of a swamp tree. Before finally stopping, thisâŠ. May just be his final resting placeâŠ. A swampâŠ. Bleeding outâŠ. With the saliva of a strange creature over him. It stank like death anywayâŠ.
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Nice recap of the drop, Raiyen.
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Week two of the Zandalar campaign is going well! Lots of wounds and new scars!
Fishing Trip!
Kelâshara had been on the last watch, another uneventful night in the Nazmir jungle. The odd rifle round would come from the bridge as Horde scouts would attempt to sneak across in the night, but nothing to warrant sounding the alarm. Kelâs fingers had become numb during the watch, his gloves had been wet for days and it was impossible to find a dry spot in the damp jungle.
A sigh escaped his lips as he lingered near the mouth of the cave, behind him the rest of the Legion was fast asleep. Resting after a week of constant fighting and patrolling. The Horde forces in the region had taken their toll, and even his fellow Legionaryâs were starting to show the signs of fatigue. However as always, theyâd made the best of the situation. What had once been hole in the earth had been transformed into a camp, a captured cart transformed into a command center and logs had been drug down from the jungle above to be made into makeshift benches.
Kel smirked to himself, he knew that everyone was hurting just as much as him at this point, but still they would continue to fight. As that is what it meant to be a member of the Seventh.
The sound of footsteps coming from the cave behind him broke Kelâs line of thought, he spun to face the newcomer. Suddenly standing to attention, his heels would come together with a snap. Commander Theon stood before him the Quelâdorei glancing out of the cave, in his hand a tin cup of steaming coffee.
âGood morning, Legionary. All quiet still?â
Kelâshara blinked for a moment before nodding in confirmation. Speaking back with a serious tone for once.
"All quiet, Commander. If they really do know our location, they havenât chosen to act on it yet.â
Theon nodded as he took a swig from his coffee, the Quelâdorei never seemed phased. And just like every morning his armour and uniform were perfect, his chin shaved and generally appearing presentable. Kelâshara enjoyed that about his commander, the man never seeming worried filtered down and brought some normality to the strange situation of jungle warfare.
âSir with your permission, once my watch has ended I would like to head down to
the stream bellow our camp. I spotted some razormaw trout, I reckon I could catch some. Spice up the rations a little.â
Theon looked to the Renâdorei, he remained silent for a moment as if judging the request. Heâd offer a slight smile and nod of his head.
âVery well, Legionary. Just do not stray too far from the camp and take a flare pistol with you.â
With that the Commander returned into the cave, speaking lowly to any Legionary that had begun to wake. The Legion would have to defend the bridge again shortly, the Zandalari would not respite for long. But for now, Kelâshara smiled as heâd at last get some time to himself. Living in a cave with thirty other soldiers had left little time for self-reflection.
Before long Legionary Fredrickson arrived to relieve him on watch, heâd offer his brother in arms a nod and the spyglass, rushing inside to find his Bergen. Pulling the large backpack onto his back, heâd begin the short climb down the cliff face to the stream below. The waters here were still clear, coming from the mountains of Zulâdazar they had yet to be fetid by the swamps of Nazmir. And even from the banks of the stream, Kelâshara smirked as he could see the crimson fish swimming through the shallow waters.
Setting down his Bergen, the small gryphon that had called this backpack itâs home launched free! Pouncing out of the pack it would snort at the air, looking around for what had dared to awaken it. Kel tilted his head, waiting for the gryphon to notice him. Eldrin looked from side to side, before spotting Kel! It would spin on the spot itâs body wiggling with excitement.
âMorning you little idiot. Want to help me catch some breakfast?â
Eldrin chirped happily in response, just happy to be out of the cave at last. The small gryphon begun to sniff through the undergrowth around Kelâshara. The baby still small enough to be hidden in the thick bracken around the river. Kel shook his head as heâd go about putting together his fishing rod.
Eldrin remained nearby, harassing the smaller wildlife in the area, and devouring lizards and insects alike. Kelâshara however had to work a little harder for his food, flicking back the rod heâd cast the line into the water. Fishing was always fun for Kelâshara, and a stark difference to his normal pass time of flying. All he had to do was cast the line and wait for something come along and take the bait.
The fishing as he had suspected was good! Pulling fish after fish from the water, the only thing the young Renâdorei had to worry about was the feral baby gryphon snatching them from him. At last, Kelâshara could relax let down his guard a little, and enjoy himself. However, this was Zandalar, and more importantly this was Nazmir. And as the young Renâdorei hunted for his breakfast, so too did one of the local Raptors.
Stalking through the undergrowth the raptor had its eyes locked on Eldrin, the young gryphon would make an easy meal for the predator. He walked slowly and lowly through the undergrowth. Creeping within metres of the pair. CRACK a twig broke under the raptors foot. And suddenly the forest came alive.
Kelâshara spun suddenly dropping his rod into the river, hand reaching for the dagger. Eldrin sprinted towards Kelâshara hiding behind its masterâs legs as it screamed in fear. The raptor screeched in frustration. The easy meal was out of the question, now it had to take down the Renâdorei. Kelâshara and the raptor circled one and other, his dagger held at chest level ready to strike out at the raptor. Kel knew that if he missed the first strike the raptor would kill him.
In a flash of crimson, the raptor lunged forward, its fangs latching into Kelâs forearm, a spike of pain shooting up Kelâs arm. He acted in fear not skill as he slammed the dagger into the raptorâs shoulder. Not enough to drive it back. The raptor pushed forward, slamming its feet into Kelâs chest as it pinned him to the ground. Itâs jaw opening to bite down on Kelâs neck.
The void took control, Kelâs body turning an inky tar black. He thrusted his hand towards the creaturesâ mouth, just as fangs were about to find flesh Kel entered the creatures mind. The raptor was primal, dull and easy to gain control of. He wouldnât have long, he had to do enough damage inside its mind to cause the raptor to fall. Searching through the mind Kel was less then gentle, damaging and everything he came across. He aimed to literally crush the beasts mind. A sharp pain rushed through his body suddenly, causing him to lose control.
âGrape! Are you alive!â
The raptor lay dead on Kelâshara, a bullet wound having ripped through its side. Kel was relatively unharmed, the bite marks on his arm would heal with time. Corporal Dureas stood over him, his rifle still smoking heâd offer his hand to get Kel up on his feet. Theyâd both stand there in silence for a moment before both bursting out with laughter, death and danger were a part of the Legion. If they couldnât laugh in the face of it, they wouldnât have signed up.
âWell Iâm taxing that, thatâs my breakfast.â
Dureas said with his normal matter of factness, Kel knew better then to argue and gave up the raptor, watching as Dureas carried up the small track leading to the Legionâs camp. Kelâshara sat on the floor, breathing heavily as he wathced the Corporal leave.
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Old habits, they do die hard.
It was another night at camp, the Cohort having relocated to a new location after the last was found, and promptly attacked by the Honorbound, resulting in the Cohort managing to escape, but leaving their previous camp a blighted mess.
Heâs dreaming, itâs an uneasy one, a memory of his home, a memory of ruin.
This particular one is always the same, heâs in line with his comrades in arms from Lordaeron, holding the line against waves and waves of the undead, ghouls; zombies you name it. As always, this particular dream ends in the same old fashion. The line breaks, the men run. He calls for assistance, but for it to fall on deaf ears. Thereâs an Abomination in the distance, a Gheist jumps on him, he struggles.
As is the case with this dream, heâll wake up right before the ghouls manage to tear his limbs from his body, but in reality, his trusted hound would jump on him, doing whatever to wake him up, snap him out of his nightmare.
Heâs gotta check his surroundings to realize once more, it was just a dream, it wasnât real. Nobody died, his limbs didnât tear off, but the undead masses seemed so real.
After such a dream, itâs usually the case of not being able to get some proper sleep after that. Another long night for him, it seems.
Dureas winces in pain, he was struck with a hammer twice, his armor taking the majority of the blow, but it left him with some bruised ribs. People have offered to heal the wound, but he was determined to tough it out, at leastt for the night, he was stubborn, the painkillers given to him earlier in the day having worn off, as well as the nice, warm buzz that go along with them, the pain shooting through his nerves as if thunder had struck him. âIn the morningâŠâ He would say to himself, having said that he would get it looked at, and healed.
There was no sleep to be had, he couldnât even toss and turn as that would just call for more pain that he wasnât in the mood for, instead- he puts on his gloves, straps on his shoulderpads, brings up his hood and cape, leaving his chainmail armor in the camp, it hurt too much to wear, after all.
Having retrieved his gear, he picks up his softpack of cigarettes and old busted up lighter, he checks his rifle and bayonet, making sure itâs loaded before taking his hound and walking out of the camp, but not before glancing around the camp, it was quickly set up in a matter of hours, he gives the sleeping members of the Cohort a once over, counting heads, wishing those brave fighters would be able to get the rest he couldnât. He turns and leaves the campâs fortified positon, built by the groupâs Sapper expert, not having been able to help that much due to the state of his ribs, he appreciates the defenses for a moment, nodding and walking off into the night.
He finds a spot, itâs close to the camp and concealed, the waterfall is in the distance, he lights his cigarette, observing that nightâs watch, his lit cigarette lighting up like a firefly every time he takes a drag. Normally the watch would have to make sure that whoever they see, is actually a friend, and not foe, everyone has to identify themselves. Heâs not sure if they notice him, or if they decide itâs best to not draw this Corporalâs attention.
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You have Commander but not captains? Someone is a special snowflake?
The Seventh Legion lorewise uses the rank âCommanderâ as a Senior CO rank. Iâd much prefer captain however we will be sticking with the lore rather then using headcannon in this case.
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Uh⊠think youâre straying a bit close to being a pot calling the kettle black, if I remember rightly.
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I seem to recall him leading some prisoner guild that made itâs own island up as well, yeah.
Yeah, that guild caused quite a âŠstorm on AD forums.
I get you on that matter, I was not aware, I just felt it was a big jump between the officer ranks. And tbf, just to straighten the reply up, the isles werenât just pulled forth, they were roleplayed for atleast 3 years, but it matters little now as the char is dead. Alas, bid you the best of luck with the guild.
The campaign in Nazmir roles on and as things grow more desperate the Legion pull together to make their stand against the coming tide.
Recruitment is open for part 2 of the Zandalar campaign! Recruitment will run from 05/02/2019 - 11/02/2019
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Dureas woke, it would be the last day in the jungle of Nazmir, where he and the rest of his Cohort were stationed behind enemy lines, blocking reinforcements from Zuldazar to cross in to Nazmir, with help from Dwarven Machinegunner crews.
The air was fresh as usual, the sound of the jungle creatures creating what resembles a white noise, it looked relatively peaceful.
âGather round!â the Lieutenant barked out when night came.
Orders were given, they were to march to the bridge to reinforce it, the Dwarves and the Commander had to move out, the main army was moving ahead to assist and relieve the men held up behind enemy lines, today was the day, it seemed.
The Cohort marched for battle to the bridge, once they got there, there were foxholes and a single grave, it belonged to one of the brave men who perished holding the position, the Dwarves here did give their everything, something to be grateful for.
In the foxholes, there was a near mountain of spent shell casings, it littered the place, he would have to try and clear the casings away, as to not slip on them during battle.
On the other side of the bridge, the Zandalari had gathered- they were ready for one last fight to take the bridge and storm the swamp of Nazmir, taking out whatever Alliance forces they might find, and the Cohort was their one sole obstruction at this point in time.
One of the trolls, presumably their leader marched up ahead onto the bridge, waving a ragged white flag, did he want⊠a truce?
The Troll from across the other side of the bridge yelled out, he wanted the Sixth Cohort to send out one of their champions to battle one of theirs, who would win got the bridge.
The Lieutenant denied, calling for the Troll to instead surrender their arms, and give themselves up to the Alliance.
The Troll commander, he wasnât amused.
The Troll marched back, Dureas contemplated shooting the man right there and then, but before he could act on it, the Zandalari Shamans started a ritual chant, one of them stepped forth and cut the palm of their hand, droplets of blood dripping down was the last thing he could see from a distance before he had to duck into his foxhole, strong gusts of wind were blowing over the Cohort, nearly sending people to their feet or flinging them away.
In this confusion, Dureas looks up and witnesses a peculiar sight⊠a horde of Pteradons, flying creatures- it mustâve been hundreds of them.
They soared ahead, rifle fire rippling to no avail as the ever so strong blasts off air would knock any projectile weaponry off their course.
Dureas felt a sharp pain, in both of his shoulders⊠He didnât know what was going on, he was floating away?!
Then, it struck him- one of the nasty buggers had gotten him and tried carrying him away with it.
Dureas had to act quick, this was life or death all over again, he used his rifle with the bayonet affixed and begun thrusting for the creatureâs throat, gore spraying all over the place.
The creature bled out in an instant, too weak to continue carrying Dureas it dropped him, he hit the ground with a very loud, and audible CRACK!, he hadnât noticed it yet as the adrenaline was coarsing through his veins, his ankle had snapped.
He continued on, noticing he couldnât move as quickly as he used to- damn. He had to limp to keep going on. (p1, p2 tomorrow)
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