“Will it be ready?”
The orcs eyes met those of the pandaren briefly, before he focused his attention back onto the breastplate.
“Yes- Do you think you’re the only one who comes to me for last minute repairs?”
The smith glowered at the pandaren, pointing at the rest of the blacksmiths working since early hours. The whole of Mithril order and all the rest- The quarter filled with the beating of hammers against metal and grindstones sharpening each and every blade. Sweat poured from their labour over the still glowing red pieces of metal, sizzling away like a blessing of one’s craft.
Shen’s armor was different. It wasn’t covered in sweat. It was covered in blood.
“…Then again, it seems you have had use for it. You haven’t denied it the sweet song of steel and blood.”
Shen stared silently at the work of the orc as the blacksmith peeked at him, lifting a brow before returning to his work.
Shen didn’t move his gaze, his eyes fixated on the worked piece of metal, the dried blood having by now beaten off of it by hammer and heat alike. Only a few more swings, and it’d be over-
“…Who had the honours?” the orc asked, abruptly, as his hammer hit the plate once more, striking out a dent.
“My own kin.” Shen answered, near hesitantly, as if having waited for a chance to confess.
The orc stopped briefly, glancing at Shen, then the rest of the bloodied armor laid beside the workbench.
“Does that bother you?”
Shen rolled his thumbs, straightening himself as he cracked his neck to the left.
“A gruesome death for a gruesome deed. Traitors are traitors.”
“That isn’t what I asked.” the blacksmith snorted, returning his attention to the hammering, before he lift the entire breastplate with the clamps, quenching it in the water as steam erupted into the air.
Shen squinted his eyes, grunting. “What’s one more face among the others to haunt my sleep? At least I have some company.”
The Blacksmith snorted, placing the now cooled breastplate down and briefly busying his hands with the front of his apron. He reached for the helmet of the pandaren, looking it over before walking it over to the bench, sparing the pandaren a glance as he passed him.
“Grim company you keep, pandaren.” the orc quipped, before refitting new rivets for the helmet.
“That’d be the Baron and his men.” Shen quipped back, smirking.
“Yes, I recognized the tabard. A penal unit- What’d you do, then?” The orc yabbed back, placing the front of the helmet against the anvil as he bent out the faceplate back to its proper shape.
“Nothing. I came to the Baron’s employment for gold.” Shen responded, squinting his eyes at the curious orc.
With a single hammer swing, the helmet was back in shape. He placed it down, before moving to the plackard. For a while, he remained silent as he continued his work, Shen studying his work from behind as he sat on the bench, looking briefly to the valley. The Stygians patrolled the street, traitors were dragged out into the ope and executed. The rebels were preparing to siege the city. It’d only be a matter of time now, before all chaos would break loose.
“Not a very honorable position, then.” the orc snorted, hammering out the dents of the plackard.
Shen glowered, fixating his eyes on the back of the orc.
“Loyalty is Honor.”The orc paused, looking over to the Pandaren. “Loyalty to whom?”
Shen rose up, walking over to the orc, half-a-head taller than the greenskin, glaring down to him.
“To my Baron. To my Warchief.”
The orc sized up the pandaren. He batted his eyes slowly, fixating his eyes with those of the pandaren.
“Not the Horde?” the orc responded, lifting his hammer over the plackard.
“Are they not the same?” Shen quipped back, his hands cuffing into fists.
“We’ll find out tonight.” the orc answered, grinning before he turned his back to the pandaren.
Shen stood there, looking down at the wide, broad shoulders of the orc. His thick, muscular neck within arms reach.
His hand finddled with the cheese string wound around his left hand, as he hesitated.
“…Yes. We will.” he answered after a brief eternity. He turned around, taking a seat back on the bench.
“Finish up your work. I must prepare for the siege.” Shen glowered at the orc, rubbing his knees in his annoyance.
“And more.” the orc quipped back.
We’re all on the Orgrimmar wall in preperation for the final confrontation of the fourth war (since some people are roleplaying it having happened off-screen)
If anyone wants an invite, there’s some phasing so PM Skabb
raid 1 is now full. whisper me for raid 2.
@Bloodshroud
Whisper Railcraft/Albrecht/Turanil if you’re here on Alliance. We’re gatherin
raid 1 and 2 are full. whisper grittlebone for raid 3
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
This is why I wasn’t allowed to do it
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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