“By the Naaru! Peacekeepers, to arms!”
The same sequence of attacks met the same sequence of parries and blocks. Day by day, night by night. The village was contested between the draenei settlers and the sunfury attackers who just a week prior had sent a simple message.
“Submit, or perish.”
He was at the forefront of the vanguard, running his ranseur into a draenei peacekeeper; the last expression on his face being that of surprise before falling to the ground. A pool of blood quickly began to coalesce around the corpse, revealing a lack of armour or military weaponry that he had been certain was there before, but before he could confirm such the blood knight’s attention was quickly diverted upon the sound of a war horn in the distance.
The ground quaked rapidly as the blood elves formed a defensive wall; the peacekeepers had been slaughtered, yet in the distance, past the draenic buildings was a long row of marauding spectres.
Who knew they could be so quick?
The ground only intensified in its struggle, so much so that it would have resulted in another facture of the decimated planet had its stampede not found their targets. The elekks were towering monstrosities, each one gilded in gold with a rider to match; wielding crystallised warhammers and wearing the sigil of the Aldor. They were only a few metres away.
“SUBMIT.”
A short, loud exhale permeated the bedroom, as Marus shot upright with the familiarity of cold sweat and a rapidly intensifying headache joining him in bed.
He knew how the encounter ended. What the Aldor forever branded him as. Perhaps the naaru had forever cursed him to dream that battle as a reminder of his atrocities, or perhaps they were always watching him. He could never tell, nor could he tell anyone for that matter.
The dim lights of midnight Silvermoon comforted the elf as he looked out from his apartment onto Murder Row; the headache and sweat slowly fading in place of a another familiar feeling: warm air.
The Merciless are few, for their burdens create fissures in their wake.
Honour.
He remembered honour - it had a delightful taste that could sate the inner demons. It was honourable indeed to defend your kingdom shoulder-by-shoulder with other brothers-in-arms against numerous invaders. It was honourable to follow your prince, hoping to ensure the survival of your kin. It was honourable to embrace the upcoming changes for the good of others.
But war makes monsters of them all, and it was the only thing that Valteryl managed to make peace with - the fact that he wasn’t alone in his ways. Aerilen’s words echoed in the old man’s mind, reminding him of what he used to be himself - a paragon, virtuous crusader.
“Dawnfold.”
He has seen better days but will never see them again, for no matter how flames of conflict extinguish themselves with the sweet premise of a long-lasting peace - unforeseen circumstances will reignite them once more, burning all to ash in their wake.
"Dawnfold!”
The blood knight blinked as he turned his attention back to his friend, Magister Larethal.
“What was that you wanted to know about her? She is a nobody, a forgotten priestess in Quel’Danil.” Larethal replied with a tone of worry. But that did little to satisfy the weary veteran, as his hands were scratching for revenge, for the needed blood that could wash away the embarrassment and lies she inflicted upon his order.
Valteryl’s golden eyes closed for a moment as they opened with a new spark in them - a new idea, new intention, new resolve.
“You said her closest family is still alive and well?” he asked quietly.
“Where are they now?”
“What is it, Volkher?”
Viktorin sighed, why the cleric had her deal with this miscreant was beyond her own reasoning. But here she was looking down at him from atop her long-dead horse much earlier than usual. She didn’t make a habit of lurking in the hills at night and the needy courier was doing his best to change that.
“Those elves came back–” he mewled.
“What of it?”
She snapped at him, spittle spraying from her mouth. His shabby blue tunic clung to his rotten body as though it was way too big. Did it belong to his father or something? She sneered at the thought. As though he had heard her thoughts, Volkher began anxiously tucking the baggy tunic into his trousers.
“Well- you see they started asking questions”, he was already shying away from her. Of course he was. The cowardly wretch gave them answers and it was obvious.
“Father Monty wouldn’t stop my pay would he? For speaking to them. He never said nothing about speaking with the travellers or merchants.”
All he cared about was money. Coppers and silver. Silvers and copper. Gold. She grimaced in disgust. The cleric was right, the Horde had made her people weak. They had turned away from the Banshee Queen and instead grown fat; dependent on mortal vices. Just like the humans. It all ought to burn to ashes.
“Of course he wouldn’t, you’ve done a very good job for us Volkher.” The skin around Viktorin’s lips peeled back as they spread into a sickly grin. Her right hand strayed to her hip, to pull free the sharp axe clipped to her belt.
“Here, Father Monty sends a bonus payment for your loyalty.”
It was disgusting how eagerly Volkher stepped close to her, reaching up for his damned coins. Viktorin swung her axe at him. Cleaving his head free from his shoulders in one sharp, merciless moment.
The cleric known as Crypts had to be told of Volkher’s loose lips.
kill valteryl
kill valteryl
kill valteryl?
How about you two get together and work it out? Maybe through a Holmgang?
Secluded respite on the shore of the Lordamere Lake was something Valteryl met with enthusiasm, as long travel from Hillsbrad to Silverpine made him wary of where the adventure would take him and his companions. The rugged shore was a perfect place for the camp, and the evasive tactics used by Ashforge let the company of disguised blood knights have a peaceful night under the sky, littered with distant stars.
However, it wasn’t the Alliance that had made a sudden appearance, or the recently uncovered network of shady warmongers that now made Valteryl uneasy. It was the inability to remember when, the last time, he had peace with himself.
But how could one dwell on something he scarce remembered? He once feasted at one of the eastern ports of Lordaeron, celebrating victory over the relentless assault of dragons, and there was a woman in whom he had found great interest. Yet he couldn’t find the harbour now nor tell anyone the colour of his lover’s hair. Who accompanied him throughout his journeys? What drink was his most favourite? All of it faded with time, being replaced by recent affairs, and most troublesome incidents.
The blood knight splashed his face with still water from the lake as he glanced back into the darkened waters. It was time to head out, but he still knew; he was less than he had been before, but still more than many.
Bladewing spent their night in Silverpine Forest after a very productive hunt on their enemies. A shoutout to Unit Decima, whom we encountered randomly and had a blast nonetheless, trying not to escalate the meeting, despite -really- wanting to! 
Many thanks for that spontaneous and intricate encounter in Eastern Silverpine! The presence of Bladewing has surely caught the attention of Unit Decima and the 7th Legion, especially due to the intriguing disguise that may or may have not been recognised! 
Bladewing, as a guild, is purely made up out of Blood Knights.
Cries in priest.
There is always time to convert! 
Stars twinkled on the still surface of Brightwater Lake; their light reflected up to the heavens by the calm water. Shrouded by the outstretched limbs of oak and willow trees, the lake’s banks only had one visitor at this hour.
Standing in the sticky mud with lakewater pooling about his boots, Aerilen clutched the head of “Dalson” in one hand. The elusive wretch had done her best to manipulate fighting between the Alliance and the Horde, she even had some success; innocent life stained his hands by her doing.
This was one small way to rectify that. Though it could never bring back the dead. It could never stop a twitchy finger from squeezing the trigger of a crossbow. Time only ever marched forwards, but isn’t hindsight cruel?
At the very least it was closure. Closure for the humans. Closure for his knights. Not that they would ever know, or even care to understand the weeks of racing through Lordaeron they had undergone. All to catch the architect of Hillsbrad’s chaos.
Silent nights such as these were always fitting for inward reflection, to pull apart at the frayed ends of worrisome knots. Until it all unravelled.
The road to absolution, the quest for forgiveness, is one fraught with distractions and pitfalls. One that I have repeatedly stumbled and strayed away from. Though with all the blood and ash that numbs my soul and suffocates my heart, I increasingly wonder why I care.
In one swift and angered movement, Aerilen lurched forwards with an arm and in his irritation, the head was thrown into the lake. Ripples cascaded outwards from where “Dalson” broke the surface, distorting and stretching the reflected starlight.
What a waste of time and energy.
They should have left her to drown the humans in the blood they so willingly want from Bladewing. It was time to return to the High Home.
Hello, hello! We will very shortly be returning to Silvermoon for some rest and recuperation! I’ve tinkered with the original post a bit to expand on the joining criteria, which was pretty poorly written out (sorry).
They told me to convert, they told me ‘lose the cloth’, I ain’t about that Blood Knight life.
The welcoming into Bladewing was top-notch the first night and still going strong, solid 10/10 would join again.
Our inevitable adventure to Northrend under the leadership of one Master Aerilen Ashforge
It has been an unbelievably busy weekend for Bladewing!
The guild has set off seeking out the Circles of Binding in the Arathi Highlands for enchanting reagents, though on the way there they had some high elven troubles (big props to the Azure Dawn) and they were met in Arathi with a rag-tag band of what they assumed to be vagabonds and bandits (cheers Lordamere Rangers!)
Now in Hammerfall licking the numerous bumps, scrapes and burns they have. Bladewing begins to plan how they’re going to harvest the cores from elementals.
On an OOC note, we are not considering any non-blood knight character to join us at this time or for the foreseeable!
Honestly couldn’t have described us better myself mate bloody spot on
A very good bunch to interract with. We had tons of fun scrapping with the knights and will certainly be looking out for them again.
Hey that’s us!
It’s been great fun fighting these guys, and our guild have thoroughly enjoyed our little weekend of skirmishes.
Looking forward to seeing what the future brings!
People do whatever it takes to strengthen their resolve in desperate times: some pray, others drink. Yet it wasn’t the bottle or prayer Valteryl was after, as the humiliation didn’t attempt to ebb from his consciousness after the proud knights escaped the treacherous forests of the Hinterlands.
It wasn’t the cold floor that humiliated the Champion or the grandiose welcoming he had received from the local rangers. No, it was their absurd idea of unification that they were actively seeking to foster - the idea of the forsaken kin returning to the High Home, a home he was actively protecting. It was maddening on paper, more so in reality, as Valteryl’s resolve subsided, reducing with each passing day shortly after. Was he in the wrong? Is it truly the only future his kin faces?
Thoughts clouded the man’s mind, only to be interrupted by a loud bang behind him.
"Your shield, Knight-Champion." one masked courier spoke as he impaled the grey shield into the ground, with a murderous flail laying on the grass next to it.
The blood knight’s gaze filled with renewed life as it set its piercing stare on the set of weaponry, freshly forged in Silvermoon. It only took a gentle touch of the heavy aegis for the flames to reignite themselves along its sides. But as the fire sparked, so did his determination, reminding him of what he was fighting for. The bright blaze gifted him with a malign inspiration of further dancing to the steps of war.
Bladewing is currently enjoying the sights of Arathi Highlands, as we are making our stay in Hammerfall for the foreseeable future. Friend or foe are welcomed (and encouraged by some) to come and say hi!
Bladewing had spent the evening roaming around the Arathi Highlands, seeking out the elemental circles specifically. Though their hunt for enchanting material has become frustrated and ground to a halt by the encroachment of the renewed Stromgarde. The circle they need to get to is also host to a small human settlement. Now in a bind, what will Bladewing plan to do next?