A Pandaren male wanders through the forests of Feralas on his way to Feathermoon. He finally sees an opening in the trees after a long days trek he makes his way to the large stronghold. He walks up to the inn and sits in the comfort of the welcoming place, drinking tea and sharing tales of long ago to anyone who would gladly listen.
I’ve just arrived in Feathermoon if you see me say hi!
Something have stirred the restless dead of Eldre’thalas. Previously tied to the lower catacombs, whatever had bound these spirits to the bowels of the city is now broken, causing them to surface amidst the ruins above. Ogres, elves, treasure hunters - there is little discrimination in regards to who they assault. Surely there are those who would reward any efforts in removing this infestation of ghosts.
Some unforeseen consequences to an event!
If anyone wants to take up on it, feel free to do so.
Alternatively, I can provide the DMing. Just hit me up in game, if anyone is interested!
A number of Tauren can be seen making their way into Mulgore.
Some say there is a great gathering of the Shu’halo upcoming, others are of the opinion it is nothing more than the nomadic wanderings that their people are so well known for.
Some individuals in particular are seen stopping to pick Corn Pollen from land blessed by the Earth Mother and placing it into pouches.
Around the Sentinel Stronghold of Feathermoon suddenly more then the amount of normal flowerbushes and colorfull plants seem to be popping up as if somebody was growing them for the preperation of something big. If not it looks very lively more then usual!
"Rumours are spreading between the locals and the travellers concerning a priestess, who has notably claimed authority at Feathermoon Stronghold and has the support of her entourage. Witnesses have seen the priestess ordering and even recently banning visitors as well as unaffiliated locals off the premises. A druid has proclaimed that the priestess in question has been arrested before due to this disdainful practice in Ashenvale four years ago (https: //www. argentarchives. org/node/184898).
One can hear a low, disapproving murmur within the community of such conduct."
The Handmaidens of Elune have gone into Haitus, the leader taking leave to Winterspring while other remaining sisters tend to their own duties across Azeroth. Niamh’s mate, Hedris Mistoak, has taken stewardship of Isildien to maintain it in their absense, forming the Feralas Waykeepers to keep the dream alive, and to gather other likeminded folk to make a new home in Feralas.
The Inside of the temple has remained unchanged for the most part, the Handmaiden Banner still hangs suspended over the well, the incense burners sit in place creating a welcoming aroma, and the cushions scattered around the well itself are all present, if maybe a little less organised. outside the temple however, the entrance is flanked by two new banners, the Waykeepers banners. an ancient Isildien symbol from the fallen cities old inhabitants.
cough more info here cough
Three blood elves appeared through a portal close to Feathermoon, bound in chains. They were quickly taken into custody by the local Sentinels, where they remain under scrutiny.
Some time later during the same evening, their captors presented themselves in the Stronghold: A watcher and a huntress, who claims to have been working together to foil a hostile incursion into Eldre’thalas. The interrogation of the blood elves are well underway, the sentinels determined to get to the bottom of the situation.
If your character is of higher rank in the Sentinels, or the Watchers, feel free to get in touch with me in-game. They would undoubtedly have access to excerpts from the hearings with the prisoners, and other information regarding this plot.
Rumours of a new Sentinel order based in Feralas arises during the end of the night, talking quite loudly and gathered around as they begin to get to know one another. As the group starts to get smaller, the night going on, some people in Stronghold might overhear that they want to go to the heart of Orgrimmar to tackle the Horde head-on.
The plains of Mulgore had been busy as of late.
Talk of Shu’halo beginning to organise and celebrate the changing of seasons with one another.
Some talk from the Shu’halo was had with reaching out to the Night Elves, the Black Moon Army and others.
A short while after the celebrations and moot had finished, two Tauren druids could be seen flying away from Fargaze Mesa.
Three pandaren can be seen setting up a stall along the road leading down into Feathermoon Stronghold. They seem to be peddling various foods and drinks and announce their presence as follows:
“The Portable Pandaren have arrived in Feralas! We are currently stocked with the freshest mushrooms and plum wine, all made by fabled chefs from Pandaria!”
https://i.imgur.com/7lJYJi6.png
Whispers among the Stronghold as information from Camp Ataya made it’s way back to the Druids, Sentinels and Priestesses being forewarned first, then the citizens of the Stronghold. Then those informed made their way to the Tower of Estulan.
Meng the name whispered most in the conversations between Druids and Sentinels, as his two friends remained unnamed for now. He was last seen at Camp Ataya with a Blood Elf and a Forsaken. The plot to kill Elves was discussed, claiming that the trio would take up their disguises once more to be invited in and then later to kill the Elves.
The truest of those words were the last words heard from Meng were: “There is a temple south of here. The elves invited me – well, the Pandaren trio – to sell their wares there. We use the disguises again, head there to scope it out and… if it looks good, we bring the rest. And kill them.”
Elves and Alliance alike within the lands, begin to set the watch, looking for any suspicious passersby claiming to be someone they are not.
Feralas is buzzing feel free to incorporate it into your RP 
As someone living in that temple, they arnt going to have a good day with this little plan on theirs lol
Still getting back into the flow of roleplay, I’d figure I do so by continuing slightly on a small plot I had going on surrounding some of my characters. \o/
Silence surrounds the jailed Priestess Bluewing, just weeks perhaps even months ago caught for her crimes against her kin. Inspiring the likes of a purge of those that dabbled in the arcane, fel and the likes. Viewing their behaviour as heretical and part of the problem that the Kaldorei had faced within the recent years.
Oftentimes she had been found standing silently staring at the wall, with the same accursed look upon her face that sent shivers down others’ spine. Those black soulless eyes filled with nothing but anger, despair and hatred. It is with these feelings she ‘inspired’ others, a small sector of Kaldorei, to follow her, claiming it to be Elune’s word.
It is through those few that pockets of radicalised activity popped around close to home for the Kaldorei. Missing reports still coming in for family and friends, every now and again without much of a trace being led behind. One thing most knew was that the activity surrounded the likes of Feralas and Ashenvale.
There’s been word floating around that another Bluewing seeks to clean up the mess their mother has made after their recent return to Feralas.
A rumour circulates out of Camp Ataya and is then spread outwards by traders, wanderers and - well - anyone who passes by. It naturally distorts and grows arms, legs and twists that only holds a half truth of what really happened. Who doesn’t love a good story or embellish it?
“Trouble brewing in Feralas”, grumbles a brave at the tavern in the crossroads.
“Cual’li was saying there has been fighting there, the Night Elves have been attacking anyone who leaves the camps. Wont even let them collect water from wells without cutting them down.”
He solemnly stares at his drink, “I have family there.” The words are quiet and meant for the barkeep only. The barkeep looks on with empathy, quite unsure what to say to console the tauren.
It’ll likely take another day to reach Orgrimmar and Thunder Bluff and by then, no doubt, there’ll be rumours of dead uncles, mothers and brothers. All at the hands of bloodthirsty and savage kaldorei.
Feathermoon Stronghold, Feralas
A couple nights after the Spring Festival, Hidani Stardew could be heard having a very vocal disagreement with a Highborne sorcerer about the presence of many Demon Hunters and Void Elves in Feathermoon. The priestess did not approve of their ilk loitering in the settlement, and during the heated debate also praised High Priestess Whisperwind for having had the bravery to leave the Alliance’s peace treaty with the Horde unsigned. According to Stardew their people didn’t need the Alliance led by an inexperienced High King to protect their lands; they wouldn’t need its Void Elves either, nor the demonic hunters who strutted their dark legacy about the streets.
Passed from person to person, the tales of Feralas and downtrodden Camp Ataya eventually reach the Valley of Strength.
A young orc stood in front of a small crowd, clad in neglected armour and stinking of sweat. A fist is clenched into a tight, mean ball and raised in the air.
“They’re making a mockery of you! They’re making a mockery of me! They’re making a mockery of this peace!”
There’s a quiet grumble of agreement from some in the crowd.
“Four days ago now, they attacked Camp Ataya. They attacked tauren children who were fetching water.”
His voice was filled with a deep bitterness as he spoke, his words were nothing short than pure venom. His clenched fist swings down into an open palm.
“They cannot be trusted, they cannot be bargained with. These Black-Moon-Demons, they will come for us all!” The young orc punctuated his remark by spitting on the floor, that’s what he thought of these black eyed monsters.
It was clearly getting too much of a scene, grunts were beginning to notice and make their way over.
“It’ll be Ataya first, and then Mojache. And then the Crossroads. And what then? It won’t be distant tauren children being killed. It will be your mothers, your children!”
Clearly concerned, the assorted crowd looks about itself, looking for some form of comfort from this wretched news. And it comes, but in the form of grunts dispersing them all.
“That’s enough, Kurog”, one of the more grizzled looking grunts grumbles. “Back to your drink now.”
The crowd is swiftly dispersed and the trouble-maker sent away. But still, the thoughts of Camp Ataya lingered.
What’s happening in Feralas?
"First, traitorous hunters, now the beastial races of the Horde. What next?
Thoughts raced through the mind of the demon hunter. Especially considering the “clandestine” meeting he had with the enemy and their apparent nonchalance
“Atleast, it may force the hand of my enemies. Perhaps, the bear can stoke the feral saber.”
The demon hunter watches the surrounding wilds. A dark anxiety forming in his mind, no doubt influenced by his nature. One thought begins to muster, of one he safeguarded. Bloodlust and vigilance, two sides of a glaive.
One thing was sure, Feralas was not as quiet as he had hoped in his hunt here.
Word about Horde brigands roaming Feralas spreads throughout the Feathermoon barracks. Supposedly, a Huntress had gotten waylaid just outside the stronghold. Some say she had been robbed only of coins. Others say she lost pieces of her equipment, and that a troll ate her saber.
Whatever the truth is, the mere idea of outlaws operating so close to the heart of the sentinel army is sure to be quite the embarrassment indeed. Who knows for how long the night elves will suffer these provocations, before war once again threatens to thrust Kalimdor back into turmoil?
Feralas has erupted with violence.
Blood makes patches of the unkempt stone road between Feathermoon Stronghold and Stonemaul Hold slick underfoot. Rent shields and discarded weapons jut out from the overgrowth like vicious flowers among the ferns and grasses. Arrows litter the ground like fallen leaves.
A number of Shu’halo and Kaldorei seem to be working together, or at least not outright attacking one another in Desolace.
They seem to be edging towards the border with Feralas. The news of the troubles there has reached the glade in Desolace where they are based already.