Didnāt the Brewfest kinda get canonically cancelled Horde-side? I didnāt see any of the tents or drunk people around during the latest cinematic.
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https://i.gyazo.com/d72c7e3b6cbea0da6f88d0c625dc3c44.png
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He doesnāt have the right to do that, assuming he could somehow enforce it. But seeing as he canāt, and that it is just RP, people can choose to accept him and his order, and play along. Or donāt.
Thatās all thereās to it, really.
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as someone who played a loyalist to a tyrannical dictator on the run i can offer free legal advice to those of the abandoned flock of the banshee queen currently on the run to argentina
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I guess youāre mad they get off scott-free so long as they swear fealthy to the new regime?
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Harbingerās Soliloquy
Iād love to stick around the Hall and do some more work
Signing off reports takes my mind off the hurt
But the hour grows late and the Queen calls
And thereās a lot to do, before the end of all.Thereās roads left to travel and enemies to slay
Posters to burn, and soldiers to sway
Traitors to kill, and others to spare
While some groups yet I have to strip bareā¦
Red dust from the plains below settled on the armour of the Forsaken Serjeant, dusted off by a his claw-like hand. It was not the first time Lawson had seen Durotar from the ramparts like this. In the far distance, he could make out Alliance banners erected around Razor Hill, smoke and ash rising from the settlement. A near perfect parallel to Brill, excusing the vast difference in landscape.
More red dust kicked up as the Alliance and traitor forces lined up outside the gates. They were in shambles, barely any military structure. Orcs, Trolls, Tauren, Blood Elves, Nightborne, and every race under an Alliance banner. It disgusted himā¦ how could they betray the Horde like this? He knew what must be done.
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Harbingerās Solioquy, continuation
Yet of all the tasks I need to complete
One road grows dark, and shall not see my feetā¦
For Sylvanasā legions do not have my favour
I leave her behind, and instead help the traitors.
It was unfair. No matter how much Lawson strived to be the man his Queen wanted him to be, it all came back at his face. It would keep taunting him. Each time he found a moment to himself, his sadness re-emerged. He diligently analysed the situation again, hoping that this time he could find meaning behind Her actions, but to no avail. Like a shadow, it would forever loom.
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Rly upset that Blizz didnāt release the cinematic where we see a blood elf adult whoās been shrunk down to be 4ft tall interrupts the makāgora between saurfang and sylvanas to remind them itās Brewfest and theyāre interrupting the festivities.
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Grit had never approved of the idea of joining the Rotgarde. He had seen the cruelty they so openly displayed towards each other and heard the torture between the syllables of their words. They were the words of cultists, dangerous things uttered not by believers, but by people forced into belief. People made to wildly dance in their own little vortex of insanity and fear, until they wore their feet down to their ankles. Until they stumbled, and would dance no more.
To fit a free spirit into such a tight suit had been everything but easy. Every day he had struggled to control himself, struggled to hide just a little bit more of what was him, and make himself be what they wanted him to be. To do what they wanted him to do.
It had all been a lie. He had made sure to take no oath. Sign no contract. Avoid the brand that was the Loyalist tattoo. He had never even been properly recruited. He had simply slipped into their ranks under the cover of the Tirisfal invasion and eventually been made to pull the surcoat with the Jaws over his head, all while hating how it chained him to something so contrary to his being.
With time he had learned to play along to the point of being convincing. Learned to pretend for just one day longer. Speak their words, take their patrols, write their papers, train the recruits, push them to do better, to be better, and beat them into submission when they refused to fall in line. Act as if he wanted to be there. Act as if it meant something.
It never had. Although the unit had become less extreme compared to the first time he saw them, the sickness of the Third Tirisfal remained underneath it all. The stiff greetings, the lies, the deceit, the display. Always the display. The High Executor enjoyed a good show.
How the gods of fate must have laughed when the world made a show out of him.
Yet, there had been no joy in it. There was no sense of victory. No sense of freedom. There had been only the gloating of people who suddenly saw the Forsaken as theirs. People who, despite claiming to fight for what was just, had delightedly grabbed the reins and drank themselves heavy with power. One master was yet again traded for another.
The following days of recovery had been surreal. In the dark of the Cleft he looked at the people he had fought beside through it all, and saw that they were lost. The people he hated, the enlists he had carved into being āThe Queenās Finestā - not because he cared to protect them, but because it had been his job - the ones who had chosen their shackles willingly and gone against everything it meant to be a liberated Forsaken, the idiots, the naive, the weakā¦ The ones who would die, without their deaths making any difference to him whatsoever. He saw them then, for the first time, looking to him for guidance. And in that lonely darkness their forms so gently dissolved, and reshaped themselves to be what they should have been all along. Brothers, and sisters. Children of the Shadow. They were all that were truly left.
Rotgarde on a raft.
The realization and the irony of it all struck him hard. They had been nothing. And now, when their Queen had so clearly branded them as such, she had unleashed the rest of the world to tear apart what remained of them. They would have to keep fighting, more fiercely than ever before.
From now on, they would all be worth something.
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A cool early-morning wind rushed through the Cleft of Shadow, whipping beaches of crimson dust into the caveās mouths and rumbling against the aged kodohide that topped tents and hung darkly from the roof. Gutterspeak jawing amongst the scattered refugee Forsaken came hushed, croaked and barely audible over the gentle crackle of the infrequent braziers, yet fell silent to Blossomās ears. The purple glow of shadowfire illuminating the cavernous gloom went unseen, despite the wide and perpetual stare of Blossomās lidless eyes.
She loomed motionless, gazing into the middle-distance beneath the banner of the Rotgarde; the Jaws of Undeath. These bared teeth were mirrored in the tabard draped neatly across her bony chest, a symbol which may have inspired hatred in the eyes of many, but a symbol she carried with pride, nonetheless. It had once been a promise that her will was that of the Dark Ladyās, voluntary volition, servitude to the Queen. Now it was something else, a twisted focus for which shifting implications unfurled their way into Blossomās mind.
āExemplarā. Others would look to her now more than ever for guidance, yet the way ahead was shrouded in a fog of uncertainty and she did not know what to expect.
Blossomās willowy, desiccated body stood fixed and vacant.
Blossomās spirit wandered into the mantled mists of misgiving. Intangible footsteps fell through to the crunch of deep powder snow and the unknown fog tore away in an instant, destroyed and replaced by a squall of vicious ice and howling wind. She turned on the spot, searching, trying to make sense of her new surroundings; a landmark, a friendly face, any indication at all.
A bursting mountain gale launched Blossom from her feet and sent her sliding downward violently; her arms struck out and claws dragged desperately at the blinding white snow, seeking a handhold where none could be found. Buffeting winds wrapped across the heights and pushed at her descent; she tumbled helplessly over sheer drops, bones cracking thunder against ancient rocks worn smooth by the ceaseless turmoil of the peaks.
Grasping claws eventually met with hard branches, digging splinters. Dark, gnarled wood with deep roots, twisted into shapes the brutal winds had willed. It did not buckle or break under Blossomās weight, nor from the impact of the fall; enduring life from hostile ground. She gained purchase, dragging herself laboriously into the thin protection the tree could offer and sitting firm to wait out the storm.
As Blossom held, the snowstorm waned. Glimpses of distant familiarity gradually shifted into vision beyond the dwindling flakes until finally they settled. Kun-Lai Summitās fresh snow glistened beneath sunrays which pierced the thick cloud overhead. The Temple of the White Tiger lay in view, far below and far away. Above her, far above her, loomed the Peak of Serenity. In the shade of the small, ancient tree, she weighed up her options, then began to climb.
A faint purple glow swept across the icy rock ahead of her. The brilliant white snow faded swiftly to black. The cool early-morning wind rushed through the Cleft of Shadow, whipping beaches of crimson dust into the caveās mouths and rumbling against the aged kodohide that topped tents and hung darkly from the roof. Blossom listened to the tension in the voices around her, the fear of the unknown future. And they were right; the journey may be dangerous, the path unknown, and the destination unclearā¦
She set her roots deep. She would not buckle, nor break. Enduring life from hostile ground. Protection for those who would not find their way without it.
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The tormenting whistle of wind howled, furious and unanswered. Natureās rage knew no end.
The bright snow-laden hills of Alterac lay behind him, silhouettes of ruined buildings joined by a single tower, at the mercy of the furious winds.
The plains were empty, not much remained of the once encompassing Syndicate. These lands died long ago and itād seem only those who cling to a might which couldāve been remain here. The ogres crossed his mind, theyād occupy the keep and ruins before it, the old township to the west.
The thought simmered and vanished as quickly as it had appeared. It was not a simple task. The conversation he had with the Executor was a calm one, a pause in the malignant melody he had to suffer. The word āUniqueā rang through his mind, repeated in the same manner which he had spoken it during that conversation.
He ventured onward, holding close to the hills. His eyes missed none of the surroundings, the purple orbs glaring intensely through the veil of night. Mantling himself to a position where he could overlook it all. It wasnāt long before he spotted a small cavern.
There, he gazed upon it.
A beast bearing the mane befit the mantle of Lothar himself.
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Donāt expect you to go into too great a detail if its going to play too much into your guilds future but how are you guys handling the current situation with Slyvanas?
Are you guys still strictly loyal to her and thus banished from Orgrimmar and the like or playing it a bit more subtly, remaining behind with what appears to be a large Forsaken contingent, loyal to the Horde?
Got some very interesting times ahead for Forsaken Roleplay, itāll be interesting to see how it pans out and who remains loyal to Slyvanas in what looks like it could be a real testing moment for the Forsaken.
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As you say it has been and still is a very interesting angle for our current roleplay. We have been put in a new position with this shift of power that I, personally find a lot of fun!
As for what we as a guild do, Iāll leave that for people to discover through roleplay! I Look forward to seeing all of you about in game.
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Itās certainly brought an interesting new view upon the roleplay your character has to go through!
Itās also a great opportunity for anyone interested in Forsaken RP. You could join the guild and very quickly find yourself among some great and helpful people.
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Hello. Hoping to move to AD soon especially for Forsaken rp. Was checking you guys out but the link for your Morbid Doctrine seems to be dead and I couldnāt find your site in google. Any other link I could use?
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https://rotgarde.wordpress.com/doctrine/
here you go!
if you have any questions, make an alt on AD and whisper Lawson at around 8 server time. iāll answer any questions you have
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[leans close to your ear] hail sylvanas
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I love rotegard. Very cool gguild
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Much like winter, a new season of the Rotgarde has arrived. Join us now and find out what will happen in the next episode of Rotgarde Z!
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