+rep good trade fast and secure
21/08/2018 20:12Posted by SquierFearless hasn't linked the fire yet.
The age of dark is more beneficial to us Forsaken anyway
Linked the fire? Why not claim the fire for yourself.
28/08/2018 16:35Posted by Ragnalozfully adoring of the one true Queen that will rule all
You lot really don't look like naga.
The Rotgarde are currently stationed in Stormsong Valley, causing a ruckus to disrupt Alliance and Kul Tiran movements in the area as part of Her Majesty's war campaign.
This Wednesday, we're going hunting!
This Wednesday, we're going hunting!
Ours is a cycle of hatred, alliances forged and broken.
We have paid the price for sharing this world, and we have forgotten what makes us strong.
We have paid the price for sharing this world, and we have forgotten what makes us strong.
05/09/2018 22:34Posted by InetzenOurs is a cycle of hatred, alliances forged and broken.
We have paid the price for sharing this world, and we have forgotten what makes us strong.
Blight. Answer to everything
06/09/2018 13:20Posted by Squier05/09/2018 22:34Posted by InetzenOurs is a cycle of hatred, alliances forged and broken.
We have paid the price for sharing this world, and we have forgotten what makes us strong.
Blight. Answer to everything
How did you gain access to our battle plans?!
06/09/2018 13:24Posted by Dreadbore06/09/2018 13:20Posted by Squier...
Blight. Answer to everything
How did you gain access to our battle plans?!
It was left on the table
Dinkleberg.
Chyou'ka completes and delivers a letter to the Executor's makeshift desk in Tranquillen. It is left there marked for his attention.
Executor Perroy,
Though we have succeeded in securing our position here against this immediate elven threat, it came to my attention just how many were wounded in last eve's battle.
We must remind ourselves that despite the confirmed Gnomish presence, this is a geurilla effort on the Alliances part. If we hope to leave here with as many soldiers as came on the ship, we cannot meet this foe with the chaotic might that we would when combatting a frontline of Stormwind's infantry.
Organisation is key to survival, and your Legion must work in parts, not as collective individuals. I propose you delegate trusted men and women with level heads and an eye for victory to call the shots and keep the majority both safe and effective against these cowardly strikes.
I trust you will weigh this input how it suits you. May our victory bring peace to Quel'thalas.
-Chyou'ka
After a successful campaign in the Ghostlands (minus one of Dreadbore's eyes, RIP), we're remaining in Orgrimmar for a time and have events running there.
We're always looking for Forsaken RPers both new and old to join us - feel free to ask any member for more information. : )
We're always looking for Forsaken RPers both new and old to join us - feel free to ask any member for more information. : )
Are you a new guild or?
can't even buy monster yet28/09/2018 13:01Posted by PerroyOnly 9 years old28/09/2018 09:59Posted by BarxtonAre you a new guild or?
krrrk01/10/2018 20:49Posted by SyanidiSoon01/10/2018 20:27Posted by Bloodshroudcan't even buy monster yet
sip
ahhhhh
These guys are cool.
It's good to be back.
1 Like
âThis might just workâŚ.â he mused as he cast his eyes over the massed aerial wings of the Horde Forces. As he had hoped, the Queensguard had answered his request. Enemy air forces were sighted out of Theslamar, a long trek, but headed north.
Elven eyes were good. Damned good. But a Batrider who knew what they were doing, on a Bat that could sense things beyond the horizonâŚ.
They were better.
No one had given a name to it yet. It was just one of those mystical senses animals had. He didnât know if giant bats were intelligent, they only had a few at the Aerie, and of course he could not try to Bond with one in order to find out, that would be disgusting...as vile as the idea of cheating on his wife, such a close relationship could only...he shuddered, and not just from the cold at five hundred feet as they crossed over the Thalassian Pass.
Grows Emotional, Wingless Self
The voice came unbidden in his head, before he leant forward and remarked
âDonât tempt me to trade you in for a newer modelâ his voice whipped away by the wind, but his words heard, nonetheless.
They Stink.
âNot any of our faults how we are made, Sunspear, I remember you as an Egg, the Forsaken have proven good allies to us, and trueâ
Didst not mean the wingless ones.
Brigante looked to his left and right, behind him, his own fliers, to their left, and right, Forsaken. He had a plan, should battle be joined, but so much depended upon contact being made, and that depended uponâŚ
He raised a gauntlet, for a moment struggling to remember the appellations the Queensguard fliers had given themselves. Some of them were clearly more expert than others, some he would have benched if they were under his command, Straggling across the skies like wayward pups, dipping and rising like uncertain Orcaâs, their resolution was solid, if their skill was not, and some of them did seem to have natural skill...and beggars could not be choosers, and the Forsaken had much to fight for, they had after all, just lost their home.
Brigante intended to make sure the Sinâdorei did not lose theirs.
Again.
The names came to him, and he clicked his communicator âFayewing, Roachwing, We need your Bats to tell us where to head, can you do that?â
A Few moments of silence to both Elven and Undead ears, before a voice came over the Comms, rasping, harsh, clearly one of the unliving gifted a communicator by his Lieutenant. âOver Andorhal, Headed Northâ.
Brigante nodded, before speaking again âAll Wings, Head due West, initial point of intercept is Andorhalâ
He smiled to himself, a crooked smile, half happiness, half grimace. He had watched them file in, his Fliers, all wearing their Flight Harnesses, the straps and buckles that would attach them to their Battle-comrades trailing, unwieldy on the ground, never worn normally except when flying. They held both state secrets and methods that made them a weapon unparallelled in the skies. The Queensguard would not have these of course, and it was above his paygrade to issue them, even if, which there was not, there was time to individually fit each rider to their mount. Did the Forsaken even -care- for their mounts the way his fliers did? Were they Battle Brothers and Sisters? Equals in life and death, or had that cold embrace stolen from them any empathy.
He had to believe it had not. Had to, else they would not have come to the aid of the Shining City, the one bastion of Hope for the Horde in the Eastern Kingdoms.
He had looked up from the briefing table, and seen them, stood in the Rangerâs Lodge. So ManyâŚA Host such as less than twenty years ago he would have loosed arrow after arrow into their headsâŚ.Funny, the games that time plays with us⌠He knew there were mutterings, he had heard several, âWhy are there Forsaken -Here-?â He did not care. Elves already thought him either a warmonger, a madman, or something in between.
He closed his eyes and thought of his children, of the world he wanted for them.
One day, people would see him as a saviour. Or rather they would not. They would never know.
They didnât need to. This wasnât about thatâŚ
He heaved in a breath. Not all Hope was lost. Their Allies were still true.
He had given a speech, it was probably a good one, he could not at this moment remember a single word of it, as his vision focussed and what was Brigante Summerisle faded, and the Predator took over, scanning the skies like an eagle.
Some of the Forsaken had wandered off, by accident or choice he could not know. He heard scattered reports âStratholme is clear!â He grimaced and his scarred eye twitched, a sign of annoyance âWho asked them to go there!â he growled to himself.
âGet all your Wings in Order!â He barked down the Communicators.
âFayewing, Roachwing, I need more information on those inbound, can you get me that?â
A Few seconds of delay, before the same rasping voice came back âI Have what you need Commandant. Thirty, Inbound, over Andorhal now, headed North, I would guess about five hundred feetâ
The Same Forsaken...Useful piece of kit, whoever that lad was, he would have to find out, later...althoughâŚ.Thirty? If there was a later perhaps..
âAll Wings head due North West, make approach to Menderâs Stead, climb to seven hundred feet.â
Whoever that Forsaken was...he was bang on the money, there they were, a formation, twenty Alliance Fighters, Gyrocopters, and ten of the twin engined bombers, headed north. No telling for sure where they were going, but no reason to take chances.
âRoachwing, Fayewing, engage the Fighters. Sunwing, engage the bombersâ It was with bitterness he said the last, for that was the dangerous task, they would come under fire from both the enemy bombers themselves, and their escorts, and there were not enough Forsaken to occupy them all. The Alliance had the numbers, and as good as the Forsaken may prove to be, being an unknown factor, numbers always told. He was setting his Sun Hawks to be in the crossfire, but there was no other choice, it had to be this way.
In Thalassian he muttered down the Comms âSunwing, hold oneâŚâ
The Forsaken Batriders dived down upon the enemy fighters, who broke and turned to fight, all of them eager for a kill, the Bombers carrying on.
He smiled. Good, that taught him all he needed to know, they regarded their lives as more important than the mission. Of course they did. An Invader never fought as desperately as the one defending their home, but still, he could use that knowledgeâŚ
The Bludgeon had smashed them in the face, now the time for the Stiletto in the ribsâŚ
âSunwing engageâ
Unlike the bulky bats and shining Gyrocopters the Dragonhawks peeled off and turned, thin missiles diving through the aerial combat, as he passed through he saw a particularly daring Forsaken, slam his Bat at the tailpiece of a Gyro, ripping it off even as its Gnomish pilot fired a gun over his shoulder, as the Gyro bellied up, the Batrider had his steed grab the mechanical contraption and hurl it at the close by mountains over Menderâs Stead, an explosion of black smoke and red fire.
âInventive!â He remarked calmly, as his eyes narrowed, the sky a sudden aerial bar fight, nothing of finesse, the Forsaken fliers obviously working off some tensions.. his Hawks however sailing serenely through it, their focus on the bombers. Callous? Yes. Practical? Yes. and the Sinâdorei were nothing but practical.
And then the bullets started to flash by his head, from a pursuing fighter as yet unengaged, and ahead, he set his sights on a target, and saw the human in the rear of the bomber swing around the gun mounted on the back and with a âPom Pom Pom!â sound, rounds lazily zipped towards him, only seeming to take on speed as they neared, when suddenly they were like lightning flashes around his head.
HIs fliers started to take hits, he could hear, through the lended Comms on a different frequency, the Forsaken were also. Didnât matter to him right now, a fixed grin on his face, banners flying behind him proclaiming who he was, his kills, as if the red armoured Dragonhawk was not enough... the panic on the enemy gunnerâs face even behind their goggles, it wasnât that he didnât care, but if he stopped to care, heâd get them all killed..
Sunspearâs flame washed over the left engine which started to trail black smoke, the pilot was clever, play to your strengths, He went with the damage, spinning the bomber, bringing his gunner into play again âPom Pom Pomâ sounded the gun, trailing in closer to Brigante, he was still taking fire from behind., so dived even lower, below the Bomber, the gunner couldnât hit him here, Before rising and giving flame to set the left engine not to smoking, but to explode, taking the wing with it, the bomber span over and over, before slamming into the patchwork fields below..
There were no parachutes.
âBad luckâ he remarked.
All over the Comms he was hearing similar, from Sinâdorei and Forsaken fliers alike âEnemy Downâ. Equally, he was hearing that both Sinâdorei and Forsaken were taking Hits, they had to break the enemy morale, or lose this battle, they could not win it on numbers.
âPress On! Press on! Break Them!â
Elven eyes were good. Damned good. But a Batrider who knew what they were doing, on a Bat that could sense things beyond the horizonâŚ.
They were better.
No one had given a name to it yet. It was just one of those mystical senses animals had. He didnât know if giant bats were intelligent, they only had a few at the Aerie, and of course he could not try to Bond with one in order to find out, that would be disgusting...as vile as the idea of cheating on his wife, such a close relationship could only...he shuddered, and not just from the cold at five hundred feet as they crossed over the Thalassian Pass.
Grows Emotional, Wingless Self
The voice came unbidden in his head, before he leant forward and remarked
âDonât tempt me to trade you in for a newer modelâ his voice whipped away by the wind, but his words heard, nonetheless.
They Stink.
âNot any of our faults how we are made, Sunspear, I remember you as an Egg, the Forsaken have proven good allies to us, and trueâ
Didst not mean the wingless ones.
Brigante looked to his left and right, behind him, his own fliers, to their left, and right, Forsaken. He had a plan, should battle be joined, but so much depended upon contact being made, and that depended uponâŚ
He raised a gauntlet, for a moment struggling to remember the appellations the Queensguard fliers had given themselves. Some of them were clearly more expert than others, some he would have benched if they were under his command, Straggling across the skies like wayward pups, dipping and rising like uncertain Orcaâs, their resolution was solid, if their skill was not, and some of them did seem to have natural skill...and beggars could not be choosers, and the Forsaken had much to fight for, they had after all, just lost their home.
Brigante intended to make sure the Sinâdorei did not lose theirs.
Again.
The names came to him, and he clicked his communicator âFayewing, Roachwing, We need your Bats to tell us where to head, can you do that?â
A Few moments of silence to both Elven and Undead ears, before a voice came over the Comms, rasping, harsh, clearly one of the unliving gifted a communicator by his Lieutenant. âOver Andorhal, Headed Northâ.
Brigante nodded, before speaking again âAll Wings, Head due West, initial point of intercept is Andorhalâ
He smiled to himself, a crooked smile, half happiness, half grimace. He had watched them file in, his Fliers, all wearing their Flight Harnesses, the straps and buckles that would attach them to their Battle-comrades trailing, unwieldy on the ground, never worn normally except when flying. They held both state secrets and methods that made them a weapon unparallelled in the skies. The Queensguard would not have these of course, and it was above his paygrade to issue them, even if, which there was not, there was time to individually fit each rider to their mount. Did the Forsaken even -care- for their mounts the way his fliers did? Were they Battle Brothers and Sisters? Equals in life and death, or had that cold embrace stolen from them any empathy.
He had to believe it had not. Had to, else they would not have come to the aid of the Shining City, the one bastion of Hope for the Horde in the Eastern Kingdoms.
He had looked up from the briefing table, and seen them, stood in the Rangerâs Lodge. So ManyâŚA Host such as less than twenty years ago he would have loosed arrow after arrow into their headsâŚ.Funny, the games that time plays with us⌠He knew there were mutterings, he had heard several, âWhy are there Forsaken -Here-?â He did not care. Elves already thought him either a warmonger, a madman, or something in between.
He closed his eyes and thought of his children, of the world he wanted for them.
One day, people would see him as a saviour. Or rather they would not. They would never know.
They didnât need to. This wasnât about thatâŚ
He heaved in a breath. Not all Hope was lost. Their Allies were still true.
He had given a speech, it was probably a good one, he could not at this moment remember a single word of it, as his vision focussed and what was Brigante Summerisle faded, and the Predator took over, scanning the skies like an eagle.
Some of the Forsaken had wandered off, by accident or choice he could not know. He heard scattered reports âStratholme is clear!â He grimaced and his scarred eye twitched, a sign of annoyance âWho asked them to go there!â he growled to himself.
âGet all your Wings in Order!â He barked down the Communicators.
âFayewing, Roachwing, I need more information on those inbound, can you get me that?â
A Few seconds of delay, before the same rasping voice came back âI Have what you need Commandant. Thirty, Inbound, over Andorhal now, headed North, I would guess about five hundred feetâ
The Same Forsaken...Useful piece of kit, whoever that lad was, he would have to find out, later...althoughâŚ.Thirty? If there was a later perhaps..
âAll Wings head due North West, make approach to Menderâs Stead, climb to seven hundred feet.â
Whoever that Forsaken was...he was bang on the money, there they were, a formation, twenty Alliance Fighters, Gyrocopters, and ten of the twin engined bombers, headed north. No telling for sure where they were going, but no reason to take chances.
âRoachwing, Fayewing, engage the Fighters. Sunwing, engage the bombersâ It was with bitterness he said the last, for that was the dangerous task, they would come under fire from both the enemy bombers themselves, and their escorts, and there were not enough Forsaken to occupy them all. The Alliance had the numbers, and as good as the Forsaken may prove to be, being an unknown factor, numbers always told. He was setting his Sun Hawks to be in the crossfire, but there was no other choice, it had to be this way.
In Thalassian he muttered down the Comms âSunwing, hold oneâŚâ
The Forsaken Batriders dived down upon the enemy fighters, who broke and turned to fight, all of them eager for a kill, the Bombers carrying on.
He smiled. Good, that taught him all he needed to know, they regarded their lives as more important than the mission. Of course they did. An Invader never fought as desperately as the one defending their home, but still, he could use that knowledgeâŚ
The Bludgeon had smashed them in the face, now the time for the Stiletto in the ribsâŚ
âSunwing engageâ
Unlike the bulky bats and shining Gyrocopters the Dragonhawks peeled off and turned, thin missiles diving through the aerial combat, as he passed through he saw a particularly daring Forsaken, slam his Bat at the tailpiece of a Gyro, ripping it off even as its Gnomish pilot fired a gun over his shoulder, as the Gyro bellied up, the Batrider had his steed grab the mechanical contraption and hurl it at the close by mountains over Menderâs Stead, an explosion of black smoke and red fire.
âInventive!â He remarked calmly, as his eyes narrowed, the sky a sudden aerial bar fight, nothing of finesse, the Forsaken fliers obviously working off some tensions.. his Hawks however sailing serenely through it, their focus on the bombers. Callous? Yes. Practical? Yes. and the Sinâdorei were nothing but practical.
And then the bullets started to flash by his head, from a pursuing fighter as yet unengaged, and ahead, he set his sights on a target, and saw the human in the rear of the bomber swing around the gun mounted on the back and with a âPom Pom Pom!â sound, rounds lazily zipped towards him, only seeming to take on speed as they neared, when suddenly they were like lightning flashes around his head.
HIs fliers started to take hits, he could hear, through the lended Comms on a different frequency, the Forsaken were also. Didnât matter to him right now, a fixed grin on his face, banners flying behind him proclaiming who he was, his kills, as if the red armoured Dragonhawk was not enough... the panic on the enemy gunnerâs face even behind their goggles, it wasnât that he didnât care, but if he stopped to care, heâd get them all killed..
Sunspearâs flame washed over the left engine which started to trail black smoke, the pilot was clever, play to your strengths, He went with the damage, spinning the bomber, bringing his gunner into play again âPom Pom Pomâ sounded the gun, trailing in closer to Brigante, he was still taking fire from behind., so dived even lower, below the Bomber, the gunner couldnât hit him here, Before rising and giving flame to set the left engine not to smoking, but to explode, taking the wing with it, the bomber span over and over, before slamming into the patchwork fields below..
There were no parachutes.
âBad luckâ he remarked.
All over the Comms he was hearing similar, from Sinâdorei and Forsaken fliers alike âEnemy Downâ. Equally, he was hearing that both Sinâdorei and Forsaken were taking Hits, they had to break the enemy morale, or lose this battle, they could not win it on numbers.
âPress On! Press on! Break Them!â