[A/H-RP] Kalimdor Rumour Mill - Revival

Argent Dawn
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Greetings, AD!

In the wake of 8.3’s release, and the allusion to the fact that not everyone within the Alliance are so keen on the armistice with the Horde, I figured it would be an opportune time to attempt at reviving the old Kalimdor rumour mill, as an addition to the initiative set by the already existing Stormwind one.

Anything that happens around the titular continent goes, be it related to N’zoth or faction tensions, or anything between - and everything posted is free grabs for anyone to incorporate into their day-to-day RP. Feel free to share your prompts and spread the good (or the bad) word!

Without further ado, here are my initial contributions, with hopefully more to come:

Copies of the same letter are distributed through variable means across the night elf population in Stormwind, Ashenvale, and as far down as Feathermoon Stronghold. Chances are high for some of them to be waylaid, and perhaps even fall under the wrong hands. The author of the original message appears anonymous, though the exquisite writing suggests it to have been penned with elven grace.

An official call-to-arms, or an attempt by some upstart to perpetuate conflict - perhaps to serve some ulterior motive? Who could say. With rumours of an ancient evil unleashed upon the land, the timing might seem questionable. Though the actions of a few can sometimes be enough to stoke the flames of war.

Sisters and brothers of Kalimdor,

The ashes of those who burned with our beloved Teldrassil have yet gone cold - and still the Alliance presume to broker peace with the Horde while the Banshee Queen roams free. She cannot be allowed to continue her scheming in exile. Until she is defeated, neither the sentinels of Feathermoon, nor the army of the Black Moon will stand down. Our leaders have wisely chosen to ignore the Lion’s pleas for an armistice; we each have a duty to prepare for the challenges that lies ahead. This is not the time lay down our glaives, or forgive the atrocities committed unto our people. Stay vigilant, continue to show the defilers that they are unwelcome, and wait for the call. Whenever it shall come, our reach will spread to the four corners of Azeroth - and beyond, if need be. There is no place where Sylvanas or her lackeys get to hide.

Vengeance for Teldrassil
Glory to Elune

The owlbeasts of Kalimdor have dwindled in numbers over the recent years. Adding to the ongoing turmoil, one of their ilk has allegedly been seen in the glades across Ashenvale, driven mad by some kind of sickness. Whenever approached, the beast has lashed out at any attempts to understand its plight. Few have even perished from the encounter. The sentinels of Astranaar have set up a bounty for the creature, yet there are some druids who believe that it could yet be swayed from continuing down this dark path.

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Around the campfires of Tauren roaming the homelands of Kalimdor, a pale hided and gaunt visitor has made numerous appearances. A storyteller.

He joins them to revel in tales of ancestors old and great, but soon the conversation turns to a failed Horde, a weak and spineless High Chieftain with none of the greatness of his father. Of a leadership that will, before long, bring the once noble and proud Tauren to ruin.

To those who would listen and sympathise, he leads into the hills on the promise of a new tribe, strong and independent of the shackles of a Horde that is indifferent to them and the stagnation of a lukewarm Bloodhoof dominion.

For others however, those who listen closely, they come away from the encounters uneasy. Though his voice and words are compelling, they swear they hear three others echoing behind it.

Rumours begin to spread of a growing band of Tauren in the Stonetalon Mountains, smoke rising high into the air from their fires and the beat of their drums echoing long into the night.

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Rancorous word spreads amongst members of the Cenarion Circle that the extremist druidic group known as the Hand of Cenarius - branded by some as terrorists - slayed a Troll Death Knight on the neutral grounds of Moonglade during the Lunar Festival.

The general peacekeepers of the Circle, the Cenarion Wardens, are encouraged to keep a close, careful eye on the group whenever they enter or near any of the Circle’s settlements.

Adding some more consequences to our deeds at the Lunar Festival - Cenarion Circle roleplayers of all kinds are free to know about this event if they interact with us!

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There’s been recent growth in the gruesome display of horde and even highborne across selected parts of Ashenvale. Presumed to serve as a warning towards others, some left with the mark of the crescent moon.

Looking to remove the taint that shrouds itself around the Kaldorei. It’s believed to be a radicalised group of elves being under the guided hand of a Priestess.

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Supply caravans travelling between Goblin strip mining operations in the Stonetalon Mountains and the Crossroads have recently been hit by a series of ambushes.

Initially assumed to be another brazen attack by the Army of the Black moon, the Bilgewater insurers on investigation found that the pattern didn’t match anything that they had seen in other similar attacks; Namely the goblins had been killed in close range with melee weaponry as opposed to arrows from a distance and hoof prints were found at the site.

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Leaflets are written and pinned to the noticeboards in Orgrimmar, then swiftly distributed to the neighbouring Bilgewater Harbour. Some are even brought by hand to Astranaar by various hired goons.

Who remembers the conquests of Garrosh Hellscream? The battles in Ashenvale? The war in Pandaria? Some members of the current Horde couldn’t name a single outpost established during his reign, while others remember these events as though they only happened yesterday.

What everyone remembers, however – what everyone should have noticed – is that these conflicts were never started randomly. These wars were waged out of necessity; to stay alive. Orgrimmar is surrounded by harsh desert on all sides. The rivers are almost dried up. The soil is barely good enough for crops, and our homes must be fashioned out of cold, hard metal instead of the warm, welcoming wood the Alliance has aplenty.

Why is that? Why must the Horde always make the greatest sacrifice, why must we again and again watch and help our enemy march on our city gates? If we are already the downtrodden, struggling to get by, when will it be the Alliance’s turn to sacrifice?

I, Meng Jo, say this time is now. The armistice is in full effect. Both factions are agreed: peace is the only way forward. But if the Alliance desires peace, they need to make at least some effort to maintain the current equilibrium – starting with their surplus of resources. There is a vast forest not far from Orgrimmar, rich with both wood and fresh, drinkable water. This will be my – should be the Horde’s – first stop. Half of the forest should belong to us. Half of the rivers should belong to the Horde. Balance should be maintained.

I urge any and all members of the Horde to follow me to Ashenvale! Help me convince the night elves for lasting Peace, for a better Future and For the Horde!

On the border between Ashenvale and Azshara, a pandaren sets up camp with a cart filled with various tools. He raises a banner with the Horde’s symbol on it, and occasionally leaves his encampment to walk the road west into the forest, informing any travellers he meets about his cause.

https://imgur.com/vxvtSwo

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A Tauren dressed in the traditional clothing of his people arrives in the Crossroads talking excitedly about a pale coloured storyteller.

He suggests all the Shu’halo who believe in the true traditions of their people and who revere the Earthmother listen to him as he insists, they will not be disappointed. He mentions again and again in Taurahe where they can go to listen to this, in his words, visionary.

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A sentinel is swift to pick up some of the leaflets, soon reporting to his superiors. A small group is sure to gather the coming days to dispose of both Pandaren and banner…

You might get visitors the coming days!

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Atop the wind swept slopes of the Stonetalon Mountains, a caravan begins to move.

Down into the lowlands they travel, into the plains from which their people were given birth. On hoof and kodo they move with a sure purpose, stopping only briefly at each camp and outpost they pass to restore their supplies, tell tales and summon their lost and disillusioned kin to join them.

Their kodo carry tents, weapons, food and totems aplenty. They are few in numbers, young and old, weak and strong and of different tribes and backgrounds; Yet they are united in purpose.

They make their long way to a sacred mountain, where the destroyer in years not long past carved a burning scar through lands that once were theirs. They have called a moot here, in keeping with their ancient tradition, and their voice will be heard.

Their drums and song echo far and wide for all to hear. The drumming of a heart that will not die quietly in the night, and a spirit that will be ignored no longer.

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In the Crossroads a single Tauren can be seen speaking to his fellow brothers and sisters who are passing through the settlement, the message he gives to them is as follows;

I bring news you may be interested to hear.

A storyteller of our people has emerged, speaking the truth many of our kin would be interested in hearing.

He speaks to all who would hear him at the Owakeri moot.

Travel south east of here for half a day in two days time, atop the tallest mountain you will see in front of you, where sacred Shu’halo ground is found at the pinnacle of the mountain, that is where he will speak.

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One might catch a rumor of a spiritual night elven ritual having happened by one of Desolace’s moonwells. An old artifact had been unearthed, a dagger called Shal’alator, or when translated to common, the Noble Shadow Purger. It had been discovered by a small night elven party and depleted of the power its name suggests. Five Moon Priestesses are said to have performed an intricate rite to replenish the blade’s power with Elune’s blessings. Whether true or merely a tale might be difficult to discern, for in most cases the word had already passed several mouths before wandering beyond Desolace.

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Following a brief spot of commotion by one of the rivers in Ashenvale, word has it the protesting pandaren has left the forest. Whether he was chased off by the loud voices from the natives or if he was convinced to leave by his Blood Knight companion is unclear, but it seems a pandaren dressed in similarly garish robes is now hiring peons – and paying a respectable sum to any that are willing to brave the night elves’ forest.

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The lowlands of the Barrens are a buzz with Tauren activity, individuals and small tribes coming from all corners of their domain to gather around the base of the mountains on the northern edge of the great chasm of fire.

Camps are erected and celebrations had as the people prepare for a traditional moot atop the summit on the final day of the week. The day and night ahead promises festivities and celebrations between the various tribes and groups that have gathered as well as great hunts and the telling of legends around the fires.

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The Warlord set out from Camp Ataya in northern Feralas in the early morning, the heavy rain that often covered the land provided some help for the Blackrock to hide himself from the night elves at Dreamer’s Rest.

A lonely stag sought shelter from the rain under the canopy of a large tree near the road. It thought itself save until an orcish axe was brought down upon its neck.

The head of that same stag was mounted atop a crude spear at the ruins of Oneiros. A simple warning to the night elves of troubles to come.

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It seems that internal division has started to take its toll amidst the war-torn night elves and their allies. Yesterday evening, a worgen was allegedly attacked by a pale elf of nondescript garb, right in the middle of Astranaar. The assailant is said to have imbibed poison before the detaining sentinels could begin questioning him.

Rumours and hearsay claim that he was on the payroll of some Highborne noble, and that the assassination attempt was of personal nature. Though his supposed self-slaughter indicates an underlying religious zeal below the fracas…

To add to these troubles, a priestess and a huntress were seen leaving the town early the following morning. Hours later, scouts reported having found the priestess dead in a grove, mutilated from several cuts and bruises.

The huntress’ tracks were reported to be leading away from the scene, but she have yet to been found, or shown up in any of the other sentinel outposts scattered across Ashenvale, leading some to question whether they have an infiltrator in their ranks.

If anyone wants more information to any of these, for characters who may be privy to sensitive details, such as higher ranking sentinels or watchers, feel free to get in touch!

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A broken crate with the Horde’s sigil is left near the bridge overlooking Feathermoon Stronghold. Within are several necklaces of orcish make adorned with wolves’ teeth and a finely crafted wolf’s head at the center made from thorium. A note is pinned on the crate written in common saying the following:

“CONTENTS TO BE DELIVERED TO CAMP MOJACHE.”

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The drums echo far and wide across the barrens, smoke rising high into the air as the setting of the sun begins. Chanting and song can be heard from as far away as the crossroads and the earth rumbles gently with the movement of numerous kodo arriving from far and wide.

Atop the summit of the sacred mountain, a great plume of fire rises high into the sky and the last son of the Palehide tribe prepares himself for the night to come.

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A druid clad in the usual uniform of the Black Moon Army spots the crate on his way back to the Stronghold. After the cautious opening and attempt to detect any foul magic upon the crate itself and the trinkets within, he the requests the same to be done by a priestess. After confirming its harmless properties, he takes it into the grand tree within the Stronghold, not to be seen again for a couple of hours.

Around the 8th bell in the evening, a brandnew crate with the same original note is placed near the bridge overlooking Feathermoon Stronghold. It is a little less heavy than before.

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As the Tauren moot drew to an uncomfortable close late into the evening of the final day of the week, the caravans and individuals waited til morning to disperse back into the lowlands and return to their territories or into the wilds.

As An’she rose above the crests of the mountains to begin a new day, one camp did not stir. Noon arrived and still no movement from within any of the tents or around the central fire that they had been assembled.

Upon investigation, neighbouring Tauren found that the inhabitants of this particular camp slain in their bed rolls, blood soaked into the dusty earth they had set themselves upon. Each tent revealed the same story, young and old, male or female, none had survived the night and had been cut down silently.

In the central tent however, no corpse was there to be found and instead there were signs of a struggle and at it’s centre the flag of the Horde hung from the roof beam, drenched in blood. At the back of the tent stood a lone totem, abandoned in the struggle. It was decorated with symbols and lines of varying colours, with a bear paw carved at it’s peak.

This was the tent of Akamito Palehide, Storyteller and caller of the moot that had just the evening before caused so much ruckus and lead to the death of one of it’s attendees. Now, the pale one was nowhere to be seen and his small band of followers no longer of this world.

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In the far Southern tip of the Barrens, nested in an abandoned Quillboar hive, lies the broken remnants of a large scorched encampment. It is not a new site, in-fact it is quite old and scavengers, both beast and mortal, have picked the ruins clean long ago. What remains is scattered fabric, burnt-out shaped wood and gunpowder residue. There are places where great fires have clearly burnt and ashes are all that is left. One such surviving piece of fabric shows a depiction of a bull, a Tauren, with great and glistening horns blackened by soot.

There are no bodies, not any more, and the hoofprints or footprints have been washed away like the blood of those who have died here.

An old notice in Desolation Hold, Southern Barrens, reads:

“Tauren of the Proudhorn Tribe spotted migrating into nearby territory. Allegiance unknown. Threat, small.”

A later notice:

“Proudhorn Tribe destroyed. Likely causes: Centaur, Quillboar, Night Elves(?). More scouting needed. Threat, none.”

A small campfire crackles in the cool Barrens night. Around it three Tauren, three Proudhorn, perhaps the last. There is a wolf also and a kodo. They avoid the roads by day and do their best to evade watching eyes from both the Horde and the Alliance.

Steadily, slowly, the survivors move South and then West. They leave few hoofprints to mark their passing.

The last of their kind, migrating again.

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