Elf together stronk. Who do I talk to to reveal movement plans of Crusade’s blood elven “allies” to true owners of High Home?
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More elves to bully. Always loved these guys.
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Guild thread updated to better fit our new concept!
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Now this is actually based
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My great nemesis…
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I remember seeing you guys walk around with badass uniforms sometime ago… good luck with everything my friends!!
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The sound of a quill, diligently scratching away on parchment filled the otherwise silent room within Highvale Lodge. Sat at a desk made of dark wood, Talirei penned several urgent messages to the various elves of her Order, currently scattered in the southern Eastern Kingdoms after a few days of revelry in Lakeshire.
Your immediate return to Highvale is requested for an emergency gathering, by order of Lady Everwood.
On the floor by the desk were several crumpled early iterations of this letter, most providing more detail. But how could this ever be explained by hand? What she had seen, what she had witnessed, it simply couldn’t be summarised on paper. Written word could not, would not suffice.
With the letters sent, finally her quill was put to rest and she leant forwards against the desk, cradling her face in her palms. A single thought raced through her mind, as it had since the secretive encounter in the Eastweald earlier that day.
This changes everything.
And so kicks off the new direction of the Azure Dawn, having also very recently joined the PCU. Thank you all above for your warm welcomes, we look forward to our future stories with you all!
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I am SO HYPED to see where this new journey of the Azure Dawn will bring us. I already know a few faces in the oh-so-evil pcu, so I know this’ll be a great change! Can’t wait to clash blades with the Horde and clink wineglasses with the Alliance.
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Did make me chuckle thanks, a real shame but hope it works for you guys. Will miss the rp campaigns in ghostlands and so forth.
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Aranal Finel Belore
An uneasy quiet had settled over Quel’Danil Lodge. It had been long since the Dawn had last gathered here. Too long. For many, the Lodge was home - for others, a place that held nothing but bad memories. Losses, blows against the people, and deaths. The burning pyres by the lakeside where two of their own elves had been laid to rest still burned bright in the minds of many, although they had been extinguished months ago.
“Gather in, all.”
The High Priestess’ concerned voice split the relative quiet. All eyes now fell on her, and the idle buzz of nonsensical small-talk dimmed to an eerie silence. The gathering of elves was small, yet not as small as it had once been. These men and women were the most devoted; those that had stood the test of time. Those that had crossed blades with their lost cousins across the faction divide. Those that had loved, and those that had lost.
“What would you say if there was -another- way for us to return home? A way in which the false Regent would see himself overthrown?”
Silence. Stunned silence. Looks of disbelief, and even mild amusement passed between the gathered elves. Confused murmurs, half-spoken sentences grasping for a choice of words, trying to make sense of it all.
“It is clear that our methods are no longer working.” The High Priestess started, her gaze travelling across the small congregation. “Peace, while amicable, has failed. While, it has certainly made us friends here and there… On a grander scale, it has accomplished nothing.”
Again, the air filled with murmurs; some agreed, others, not so much. Some voiced concerns, afraid of more unnecessary bloodshed, but soon, the noise settled again.
“What is the -only- thing that could overthrow the false Regent?”
The High Priestess turned to the crowd again, gesturing the rest of the conclave closer as the air filled with answers to a question that, unbeknown to most, was rhetorical. Finally, someone among the elves called out, in a near-uncertain voice, and swiftly, the name spread among the gathering.
“A King… A Sunstrider…”
This did little to calm the confused crowd. The last Sunstrider was long dead - a blip in the long history of the elves. The monarchy all but snuffed out with the death of King Anasterian, and the steep decline into darkness by his son, the Traitor-Prince… Surely, there was no way.
Some took the news with surprise - others refused to believe, yet one thing was evident. The results of a mind-scrying were put forward for the Dawn to view - displaying events that only one already privy to the life of the Sun-King’s court could’ve seen. Royal balls, military parades of hundreds upon hundreds of elves, all clad in cerulean colours. Then, glimpses of blades in the dark. Assassins sent to kill a cowering child in halls gilded with the regalia of Dalaran, tasked with ending another ancient branch of the esteemed bloodline.The arcane display in front of them was difficult to ignore, even for the staunchest critic. Yet the night still gave way to much in the way of diplomatic debate - concerns growing heated - fears of unnecessary bloodshed growing amongst some, but eventually, a common understanding was reached.
“I will not ask you to swear an oath now, but instead, to think on what has been discussed tonight, and the implications of such. We shall make way for Stromgarde - to greet our new allies.”
Again, the High Priestess took a step back, allowing the weight of her words to settle amongst the concerned gathering of elves.
“And, once your mind has settled, those that are confident in the new cause shall reconvene to swear an oath.”
“An oath, to our new King.”
And with that, the first event of the new chapter of the Dawn has kicked off! If you’re looking to get into elven RP, now’s the best time. We all look forward to seeing what the future holds.
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“You will have a seat at the Conclave…”
Those words echoed in Andelir’s mind ever since hearing them, in addition to the news of the presumed heir’s return. It was baffling in reality, more so maddening on the papers. Warlock hastily wrote letter after letter to send away to the potential allies, but his mind still processed the information he received.
Last Sunstrider? Last royal blood that would replace the unwashed masses currently controlling the kingdom? It was hard to believe, but he saw the truth in the heir’s words - he was right to fear the world, for it has gone mad. Quel’Danil has been nothing but a refuge of failure and regret, and changes were necessary, but supporting a forgotten line is dangerous - both outside and inside the Grand Alliance, for it treads beyond the realms of reason.
But did the warlock care? Did he care if the heir was nothing but a pretender? Or that it would reignite the flames of war? This newly-designated course would bring a lot of ruin…
And opportunity…
The quill stopped.
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I look forward to slaying green-skins in the name of justice and the Light alongside these elves… even though they do employ a heretic or two. grunts
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I knew I should’ve brought the voidwine…
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Azure Dawn spends its night in the outskirts of Gilneas, hunting for a group of bandits, who managed to steal precious and powerful artifacts. But instead of finding the relics - elves found out that dead do not wish to stay dead, which called for a more thorough investigation 
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“If you have a drop of mercy in you, save our souls.”
The words of the blood-stained letter still lay heavy in Ithilvaen’s mind. Written hastily, on the back of what was once a map; it was painfully evident that the writer had compiled what he firmly believed would be his final words.
Their expedition had taken them to Gilneas. Their arrival had been simple, a short journey by portal, from the garrison-town of Stromgarde, to the reeling, rebuilding capital of Gilneas City. Barely had they stepped onto the rain-slicked cobblestones, before they caught the gossip of the local garrison.
“Undead, swarmin’ ‘round Tempest’s Reach. They don’t die like they oughta’.”
The trek from the city was just as miserable as their arrival. By the time they found their way into Tempest’s Reach, their clothes hung heavy with rain, both clinging to their bodies, and allowing the wind to chill them to the bones. The highlands of Gilneas had proven as hostile as ever.
They had fought their undead foe for the first time here. A pack, clad in rags and stolen armour - a pack that was swiftly dispatched, yet the stinging pain of Ithilvaen’s void-mended shoulder remained as a constant reminder. In his sleepless state, his eyes, again, fell on the crumpled letter on the table:
“We were celebrating our success when Quickdraw appeared and choked two of our friends to death. We knew things were bad because Quickdraw had already been dead for about four hours. The old man was a drunk, and his heart had failed on the steep mountain roads. Terrified, we cut Quickdraw down. But a few hours later he came for us again, and he brought with him the two he killed earlier.”
Desperate words, from a desperate man - and he was soon to discover why.
The letters brought them north, to the near-abandoned mine of Emberstone. The Forsaken war-effort had rendered the earth undesirable - pockets of blight still remained below the dying grass, and as such, the mine had been marked as inoperable.
At the bottom of the mine shaft, they found their bandits.Dead, yet shambling, they charged the group of elves, and were cut down in swift order.
Only to then stand back up. Again, and again, and again.
It didn’t matter how many limbs the fighters took, or how desperately the ghoulish thieves were battered - they simply refused to die. Snarling, biting, slashing, even the stoutest blade could not hold them back for long. For how do you even kill that which refuses to die?
Only when Ithilvaen himself found the source of the magic binding these creatures to the mortal realm, could they be stopped - yet even now, as he sat in a tavern in Stromgarde, he was regretting -how- he did it. His hands had clutched around the staff, the magic of which was keeping the undead alive. The power had been alluring, and he had attempted to drain it for himself. Time, and time again.
As he did, his comrades continued being battered by the ghouls. He gave in. The whispers were too loud. Booming in his ears, and reverberating off of the walls of the mine so loudly that he swore the others must’ve heard them. So loud that the calls for his name went unheard, and unanswered.
Finally, he regained a moment of self-control, and in pure desperation, he hammered the staff against the cave wall - shattering it, and breaking the remnants of one leg. Finally, the undead collapsed. This time, for good. He was startled - both by the sudden lack of control, and by his actions, and never truly regained his composure until he finally sat foot in Stromgarde again…
He had much to explain.
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Azure Dawn has made it to Darkshire for the upcoming days.
Got some walking bushes 
to kill and worgen 
to subdue!
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I’ll beat up Violet
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Not if we beat you up first… 
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“We appreciate your help with finding an efficient cure for our citizens…”
“You cannot comprehend how much we are in debt before your Order…”
“Our very survival depends on your research, and you didn’t fail to deliver…”
Letter after letter from nobles and military officers alike praises the actions of the elves done in Duskwood, yet Andelir cannot help but wonder if they deserved such praise. Some spoke hard truths about the inhumane treatment towards the Nightbane worgen, yet for progress to succeed - some lines had to be crossed, for warlock and his alchemist friend would’ve faced stagnation.
A lingering thought was gnawing at the back of Andelir’s head - questions of morality, correctness, principles and so on - as questions besieged him after the Dawn had done the work. Yet same thoughts were dismissed as quickly as they appeared, for he had been bold once, before the Fall.
It was time to be bold once more.
Azure Dawn continues to do their hearts and minds crusade in Duskwood, somewhat attempting to bend the nobles to their side, as adventures will soon take them to a forgotten land that no one dares to go to… 
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