[PCU] Horde Elf RP - Highblood Myrmidons đŸ’«

Argent Dawn
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What’d I miss?

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Nothing, nothing at al.

Now /shoo, dirty human.

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Don’t make me come over there and eradicate another 90% of your race.

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The Scourge is beaten, though, so you couldn’t


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I disagree with that assessment.

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Nice bunch of people, let me politely involve myself in their role-play. Good people, thanks!

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‘I tire of your chores, “High Warlord”.’

Mekgorod’s simmering anger was evident as the Wrathguard’s mental message invaded Daelhad’s mind. The demon’s usually animalistic rage seemed tempered by the fatigue the warlock’s relentless sparring sessions built up, but it nonetheless thundered against Daelhad’s psyche.

‘Release me. RELEASE ME!’

‘Cease this whining or I will have Hesneri castrate you.’ Daelhad responded out loud, startling the orc sitting next to him. The Nightborne looked at the ritualist with an arrogant sneer and the orc’s features twisted with contempt until he realized who Daelhad was addressing with his threats. The orc, realizing his mistake, sulked back into one of the tents, leaving the other warlock to his work.

With a gesture Daelhad prompted Mekgorod to strike once more, guiding the demon’s impotent rage into heavier and more brutal strikes with each swing. However, instead of his flaming sword the Wrathguard wielded an oversized mining pick that cleaved large chunks of granite from the Cleft of Shadow’s natural walls. Each blow sent a slight tremor within the vicinity and some of the Cleft’s denizens seemed agitated.

However, they knew better than to interrupt either the Wrathguard or his master. A pile of charred bones had to be cleared away after the last local, a Forsaken mushroom trader, complained about the ruckus. The grunts were oddly cooperative and decreed that the warlock may continue undisturbed until his demonic servant decides to start slaughtering the Horde with its pickaxe instead of the rock wall he’s focused on.

With the last spectators slithering away Daelhad was content to ignore the Wrathguard’s mental onslaught about indignity, the Nightborne’s family, Suramar’s weakness and a myriad of other insults in Demonic that he cared little about. He instead raised the runestone the Emissary of the Highblood Myrmidons gave him.

What memory will the trinket dig up? He turned the runestone in his grasp slowly, eyeing it for any fault in the runes or form, but there seemed to be little to criticize. A simple, almost dumb looking curio.

He eyed Mekgorod toiling away as a common peon for a little longer before he walked over to a flattened boulder and used it to seat himself comfortably. He sent a mental threat to the Wrathguard to continue digging while he inspected the trinket before turned his focus once more to the runestone. He probed it for a few seconds, feeling out any failsafes or hidden functions. Finding none, he skimmed its magic and found the incantation embedded within the runes that would activate it. He muttered it softly under his breath.

A surge of events and memories exploded within Daelhad’s mind, a merciless tide of grief, rage and decay. Images of the fall of Silvermoon City, the Scourge, the Lich King’s unholy crusade implanted themselves, interlaced with the emotions and horrified thoughts of unknown entities. He wanted to recall what the Emissary may have said about these memories and where they are from, but the overwhelming sense of loss seized his functions. He was vaguely aware that to anyone else he seemed like he was having a seizure. He didn’t care.

The images of Silvermoon City and a few glimpses from the aftermath of its fall were replaced by something more familiar. Suramar City in all its decadent glory loomed over him. New memories entered his mind, but they were no less debilitating in their intensity than what the Sin’dorei imprinted. Nightborne nobles slaughtered in plain view, executed by Demonic overlords or the Duskwatch. Familiar faces flashed past, but wherever Daelhad looked he only saw felfire and blood concealing the features of many.

The onrush of memories suddenly stopped, allowing the warlock to take a long breath. He realized he was no longer in Orgrimmar, but back in his homeland. Nor was he alone any more.

Mekgorod stood with a group of Duskwatch troops, armed to the teeth and eyeing Daelhad with glee. Two more Nightborne flanked him, holding up his arms. His legs and chest hurt. He looked down and saw that he was bruised in a dozen places. He tried to squirm and felt his broken ribs grind against each other, making him gasp with pain.

He slumped back into the iron grips of their captors who hauled him to his knees with ease. One of them, a slender woman, grabbed his bald scalp and forced him to look up.

He saw his household with all its inhabitants. Servants, sellswords, family, even Shun’tas, his manasaber he vaguely remembers to have raised since she was a cub. All were shackled and chained to fel iron bolts struck into the once pristine walls of his home. Their pleading or enraged looks at the Duskwatch and Daelhad made him feel ashamed of something he has already forgotten.

A jolt of pain tensed his muscles as an arcane bolt singed his back. Daelhad looked at his attacker and saw a grinning Duskwatch officer unfolding a parchment. He cleared his throat as he glanced at the captives and then looked Daelhad straight in the eyes. There was no conflict in those eyes, no doubt in his righteousness, only an appreciation of total victory.

The officer lowered his gaze and began reading aloud.

‘Daelhad Ithiris. By the will of the good people of Suramar, the Duskwatch, the noble houses of the Shal’dorei and the Royal dignitaries who deemed your actions unforgivable, your duplicity irredeemable, you have been found guilty of housing dissidents who have opposed the rule and commands of the Grand Magistrix. You have secreted away scrolls and parchments that spoke of treachery, rebellion and an uprising. While your knowledge of the Fel can remain an asset for years to come, your worldly wealth and influence have been used to harbor ill will against all that the Shal’dorei stand for.’

The duskwatch officer slowly turned his missive to observe the reaction of the warlock and his noble house. The captives stared at him with disbelief and barely contained outrage. Cries for forgiveness, ignorance and innocence rang out across the street as the household’s wailing increased. Mekgorod’s demonic bellow silenced them all as if they were thrown into a stasis field.

‘As leader of your house you have been issued an ultimatum. An ultimatum of noble sacrifice or dignified servitude.’ The Nightborne cleared his throat again before continuing. ‘You can choose to serve to strengthen the bonds between our people and the emissaries of the Burning Legion, assisting in our efforts to bring greatness to our growing power and an alliance that will never be undone. You will aid these efforts totally for you will forfeit all your possessions and connections. You will dedicate your body and soul in their entirety to the will of Wrathguard Mekgorod and his subordinates, while all you see in front of you will be passed on for judgment of the Duskwatch and our Legion allies.

You may also choose to forfeit your life. Your sacrifice will be a message to all who oppose the rule of the Grand Magistrix. Your considerable household will remain intact, a leader will be appointed by other noble houses and will be kept under scrutiny of all those present. Without your foul influence there is no doubt that House Ithiris will continue to prosper. However, in doing so, we are aware that we would be rid of a potentially grand researcher and competent spellweaver, someone who might prove to be more useful than this entire noble household.

By the generous will of the Nightborne, you are allowed to choose your fate, Conspirator.’

Daelhad looked at the Duskwatch with incoherent rage. He tried to struggle against his captors to no avail. All strength left his body as if the arcane blast did more than just burn his back. Still on his knees he looked at those he tried to protect all this time against the predations of Suramar nobility. Servants who have raised him. A sister and brother, younger and more vibrant than he ever has been. A mother whose stare said everything he needed to know. I raised you to be the lord of our House. Your tongue and twisted soul brought us ruin and disgrace. You unmade everything your father had built.

Daelhad stared back at his mother. Something broke in him. A wide, idiot grin spread across his face.

‘I will serve the Legion’ he muttered.

‘I couldn’t hear that.’ The Duskwatch officer snapped.

The warlock raised his gaze and looked at Mekgorod. The Wrathguard stared down at the wretch with a look of neutrality. Daelhad took a deep breath and mustered enough strength to shout.

‘I WILL SERVE THE LEGION!’ he bellowed, his grin turning into a vile laughter.

He continued laughing as the Duskwatch officer gestured for Mekgorod and the unit surrounding him to carry out the sentence. He laughed as the Wrathguard raised his gigantic claymore and cleaved apart his relatives. He cackled as a blast of Felfire raked across the chained servants. He howled as the fires, seemingly fed by the suffering and death of those he has known for his entire life, spread across his mansion. He bellowed with laughter as Shun’tas was ripped apart and consumed by Felstalkers in plain view. After an hour of butchery and destruction his laughter died on his lips and was replaced by wracking sobs as the Duskwatch dragged him away. The ground was covered in mangled and burnt corpses. House Ithiris was unmade within an hour by the will of Suramar City.

His entire legacy and chances at a future whisked away because he dared speak out against the wrong house at the wrong time.

The memory rocked his mind in a way he didn’t think possible. He woke from his trance with an enraged shout, scaring away a group of bats from the cave entrance above him. He stared, wild-eyed, at Mekgorod, ready to blast the demon into ash with fire and brimstone.

His incandescent rage ebbed as he realized where he was. He slowly took in his surroundings and noted how much time has passed by the elf-sized tunnel the demon has dug into the cleft’s wall. The Wrathguard stared at him like a beaten yet defiant dog.

‘No warlock, no matter how powerful or arrogant they are, does this to their servants.’ The demon’s voice echoed in Daelhad’s mind. ‘No Wrathguard enslaved to another’s will toils like some common slave.’

Daelhad looked at his demon as the last vestiges of his anger left him. He massaged his temples as he looked down at the runestone as it rested next to him, inert, yet its effect was still too profound to his liking. He unsheathed his sword and ignited its enchantment, letting a gout of sickly green felfire envelop the dull blade. He pointed it at the Wrathguard.

‘Either you quit your mewling or I will remove more than your tongue, mongrel.‘ Daelhad growled. ‘Now keep digging.’

The pickaxe struck another hard layer of ground. Mekgorod continued his work without a word, only occasionally staring back at the prone body of the sleeping warlock, his expression unreadable.

It could be worse, the demon thought. The warlock could have done to him what he did to the Felborne.

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I joined these lovelies idk like a week ago not even, and it is a great new home! Could not recommend more

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You could’ve just said Horde RP, there’s enough non-elven RP on this side to put behind one’s not elven ear and never notice.

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Yeah I hate when there’s information on the guild threads topic that sets my expectations appropriately

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Such a nice guild. I can’t wait for the next time we spread elven glory to the filthy Alliance!!

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Lovely guild, fit right in almost immediately, coolest people you’ll meet :ok_hand:

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Without a doubt, the most based and also best guild I’ve ever been in. Nothing’s touched it so far. Interesting casual rp every evening, member hosted events every Tuesday with main guild storyline events every Thursday and Sunday
 diverse range of characters which keeps every RP sesh interesting and enforced high standards of RP which delivers quality time and time again.

Join right now.

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It’s been nice to rp with this guys, definitely one of the best guilds out there. 5*

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Thanks Hungaro, very cool!

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I’m going to have to agree with my friend Hungaro really mysteriously. Very based guild

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There are so many great people in HBM, but Cinderflare needs a special call out. The poor thing is used only for his portals, and we seem to shock him whenever we meet! xD

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The Highblood are currently in the midst of dealing with grim news of demonic resurgence in the great and glorious Suramar, with many more storylines in the future!

Join now for ‘The Absolute Best’ elven experience and help us bring restored glory to their kingdoms


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Thank you Kyandrial ahahah

He’s crying in a corner as I type this


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‘Another day, another missive, “High Warlord”. Why did you forsake your allies again?’

The imp’s giggling was becoming more and more enraging to Daelhad as he continued poring through yet another grimoire. He had assigned his minion to be his messenger, a task that angered every other demon he has enslaved. The Fel Imp was more than willing to become the Nightborne’s lackey once more, albeit with the annoying drawbacks its race is known for.

Daelhad flicked his wrist and muttered an incantation, causing the demon to fall off the stack of books it used as a throne and bounce into the rushing waters of the Arcway. Its panicked screams echoed in the sewers for a short while longer until the deluge claimed the imp’s form.

‘Useless cretin’ Daelhad muttered. He will summon it back later.

He looked at the stack of letters neatly piled at the entrance and shook his head. The Highblood have been good to him, in their own haughty way, but the resurgence of Fel abominations within Suramar required his solitary approach. The fruit of his labors, a handful of dissected Felborne and a small number of disemboweled demonic monstrosities, lined the wall, pinned with knives and bolts or sprawled across slabs of stone. Almost every inch of the room was covered with warding runes, as if Daelhad had never left his private study.

The warlock brushed away the notions of nostalgia and turned his focus to his grimoire once more. The Emissary will need an explanation for his sudden disappearance and he can’t simply show up with a meat wagon filled with fel-touched corpses. He had to bring something of value.

He looked at a small stack of leather-bound books separated from the all-encompassing mess of the other grimoires, ledgers and parchments that stretch wall-to-wall. What should he take to the Myrmidons? A collection of rituals intended for Burning Legion Inquisitors to create a gateway to a demon world. The diaries of a chronomancer from her time as an apprentice of a skilled mage from the inner circle of the former Grand Magistrix of Suramar. A lexicon on reagents and ingredients to create Hellblight from a defunct Alliance research project.

A few possibilities have presented themselves to guide the Highblood on a path that can lead to glory and a new means to destroy the Alliance. All it takes is the right words spoken to the right people along with a bit of luck and courage.

Daelhad sat on his chair contemplating his next move for a few quiet minutes. He then stood up and began summoning Zigqua to finally respond to the queries of his superior. The Foul Conspirator must return with something better than a body count and he will not disappoint.

7 Likes