@Bloodshroud
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Whisper Railcraft/Albrecht/Turanil if you’re here on Alliance. We’re gatherin
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raid 1 and 2 are full. whisper grittlebone for raid 3
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Start the damn /rw’s before I piss myself!
I want you to know that I forced the experimental NPCing on my officers at zero notice
I hope you thought it was cool or at least memborable because when Lawson almost dropped the Dark Ranger form, I was close to going off the rails
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This is why I wasn’t allowed to do it
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There was no rest for the Prefect this night.
Her crumpled body rose, her eyes opening to see the world in a new light.
“For the Dark Lady”, muttered Dark Ranger Koriane Andari’mas.
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Following the exile of Sylvanas, Crowton Blakemore found no rest for himself during the night as he watched the sea from the top of Tiragarde Keep. It looked as if it was victory and so King Anduin Wrynn declared, but victory it was not. Many cheered and many were angered.
He looked at his trusty Gilnean flintlock, memories fading back to the times of the Northgate Rebellion. King Greymane was wrong at the time and people rebelled through show of violence. Now, King Wrynn is in the wrong and yet he’s sworn to serve him – what happens next?
Gilneans and Kaldorei, both driven to extremes by the conflict, the Dirge being the embodiment of these extremes. History will remember this day as the end of the Fourth War and Crowton will be nobody else but another veteran of it, but this war is far from over. This time around, King Wrynn is in the wrong, but so are many those who are against him – what happens next? Is the Alliance going to fight itself, just as Sylvanas had planned…?
Tired of these dark thoughts, Blakemore reaches for his trusty canteen and takes a sip of alcohol, his eye slowly closing after so many sleepless nights… Some rest, at last.
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Man when she almost dropped it I was bricking it for you guys, ha. Very cool, thanks a ton for running it! Memorable as hell and well done on short notice.
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Watrus had felt that the future of the Red Venturers was safe.
A contract with the Stygian Legion had been offered, and taken immediately after the campaign in the Storm Peaks. They had finally been recognised.
It was lucrative, and it was meaningful. They could show their loyalty to this Horde, fight for it; protect its people. Retain their individual freedoms. Watrus had what she’d wanted.
They hadn’t been with it very long. Which was why, when Sylvanas had made her statement… when the Stygian Legion had scrambled and negotiated, she’d realised that it was all falling around her ears. Now, the Red Venturers were again on their own; overlooked and forgotten, like the very people they had sworn they would always prioritise.
She read the missive again, and again, and again. Each time it stung as bitterly as it always would. Nothing to Sylvanas, nothing to the High Executor, nothing to the Stygian Legion.
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Clachtree watched the Rotgarde leave the room he had been guarding for the last few hours trying to decided if he should wish them luck. He had after all witnessed there murder spree the night before. In the end he just let them pass by and then left himself. Downing 3 mugs of ale in quick succession. “Tonight has been a long one.”
Well guarding the tower tonight was an interesting experience. and my chat with one of the Rotgarde about what should befall them was interesting even if my partner decided to stop talking.
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Hastily printed posters appear around the city, in the aftermath of the recent events.
Citizens of Orgrimmar, of the Horde! These are extraordinary times we live in! The fiendish Banshee Queen, Sylvanas Windrunner, hath betrayed this very institution!
In the aftermath of the death of the glorious comrade, High-Overlord Varok Saurfang, Supreme Commander of the Might of Kalimdor, we can happily proclaim that the war is over, and we are at peace with the Alliance. And yet, we now face the difficulties of working with those who once opposed us as we opposed them.
In the chaos that erupted in the Valley of Honour, revelations have come to light that Executor Phillip Perroy, of the Third Tirisfal Queensguard and Stone Guard Apawi Summersnout, have both passed from this mortal coil.
After frank discussions with the remnants of both organisations, it has been agreed that there will be no exiles nor executions; the need to move forward and to heal is genuine for both sides. Whilst the Stygian Legion has dissolved, the “Rotgarde” and “Hand of Conquest” remain loyal and able forces, in servitude to the glorious Horde.
This has been subject to intense debate, but this decision is for the best, for we are one Horde, on one world. It is down to each and every one of us to move forward and defend what we hold true to our hearts.
Glory to the Horde, Glory to Saurfang, Glory to the fallen!
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El’quein made her landing after the shameful display at the gates of Orgrimmar. The Banshee Queen made her exit. Should now everything be forgiven and forgotten ? Does the burning of her house go unpunished ? As she jams her still-bloodied knife, used to swear a bloodoath earlier to see the crimes of the Horde avenged to the last drop of blood owned, in a tree, she sits and looks around her. Ashenvale Forest, still under threat of the Horde, Banshee Queen of not. Even if the Alliance would back down, she would not. She would take the hunt to them, make the greenskins fear the moment when the trees would start to speak Darnassian. They would fear for every step taken in these woods, for the shadows that would spring out. They would not sleep at night in fear of the knife in the darkness. They would look over their shoulder in anticipation of an arrow that might strike true. Such is the Vengance of the Kaldorei. Such would be her life’s work.
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as the war near its end, Raz Dolwar an orignal necromancer would leave the horde and Eborns behind to follow his savior his queen. Knowing he be hunted down yet gives no care
A city of traitors. Cowards. Heretics.
Brighthorn spat at the very thought of serving under this new abomination of a Horde, yet… what choice remains? His duty is sworn. True to the Horde, true to the warchief. Whoever the warchief might be.
Even if it’ll be one of the fools who freely lets the boy-king, the sea-witch, and Bloodhoof step into what was once a city of warriors. The fools who would follow a senile old orc chasing after nostalgic dreams that never were.
Now, it’s nothing more than a den of cowards. Nevertheless, cowards need their guardians, which is precisely what he has sworn to be.
No matter what manners of unyielding rage might cloud his mind, Vaoto protects and serves. The Horde is all that matters.
And so, the grunt raises his spear once more and returns to his duties, with but one thought to comfort himself.
Saurfang lies slain. His delusions die with him.
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Vengeance, retribution, justice. The concept blurred to Turanil.
The example at Ogrimmar, sowed only deeper, a gnarled thorn in his mind; the Alliance can’t be trusted to complete the vengeance of his people.
Returning to the forests, he brooded, his next plan already decided, only the details mattered.
But the war, it wasn’t over for him.
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She saw it on the faces of the elven refugees in passing. The disappointment and confusion at the trickling news from Kalimdor was clear, and no small amount of her kinsmen voiced their sympathies that very evening.
The Banshee had escaped justice.
The Horde had suffered no punishment for their actions - for their monstrosities at Darkshore. It was as though the thousands of slain innocents were simply cast aside, their cruel deaths unavenged and their spirits denied peace.
She did not know what to make of the rumours. She hadn’t been there.
Upon overhearing a ship’s captain mention a supply run set for the draenei isles, Jane Bramblecrest resolved to see for herself. To learn from the elves who would know the state of things, and how she could finally repay the kindnesses of the past.
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