[Stories] Ogrepowered - Azerite Island Hopping 📩

[Rogmasha-argent-dawn (Rogmasha)]

( This thread is intended to house character reports, diaries, stories, first-hand witnesses etc. from characters attending the Ogrepowered campaign - linked here.)

Brother
Is this how you felt on that first night, shipping off to war not just at the head of your clan, but at the head of a small army?

Did you feel the looming weight of responsibility? The lingering fear that at any moment this house of cards could collapse beneath you?

I don’t. Not any longer. Not since seeing the seeds I planted blossom, the people I’ve helped grow. I have found an unwavering faith that dawn is coming, for I see the Sun’s tendrils looming in the distance. No matter how dark the night gets, we will live to feel it’s warmth once more.

Strength and Honour.
Rogmasha

[Colleth-argent-dawn (Colleth)]

(I don’t claim this report to be entirely accurate, authoritative, nor impartial, OOCly. It is based entirely on events witnessed by characters in the Dawn Patrol and reported to Colleth in character by other characters. Naturally, unless you’re Halduron Brightwing, you will not be reading this in-character, either. ^^ )

Attn: Eyes Only: Office of the Ranger-General of Silvermoon

First Dispatch from Stonemaul Island, Dawn Patrol

Sir,
The Patrol disembarked under the cover of darkness and the sea mist early this morning, landing in boats from the destroyer Selama, bringing with us what light equipment we carry with us. Leaving what we could behind at Axehold in preparation for our later camp, we set about ensuring that our maps of the island, and our knowledge of the political situation of the inhabitants, were up-to-date. I am pleased to report that the information we received in advance was broadly correct, though the number of Ogres remaining loyal to the Horde was perhaps somewhat less than was optimistically anticipated by some members of the expedition.

As the main forces began to arrive, the Horde made early gains against the Ogre Confederation, securing control of Brute’s Rise and Cho’gall’s Throne, as well as the crossroads. Combat at the crossroads continued until well after dark, with some forward Horde elements managing to reach close to the gates of Lion’s Keep before being forced to retreat. During this period of combat, we observed Alliance scouts performing similar duties, but, as per orders, we evaded detection and did not engage these reconaissance elements. The actions of Pathfinder Ethir during the battle are of particular note - while her zeal and eagerness to get to grips with the enemy are to be commended highly, I believe it is more likely than not that any decorations for this bravery will be awarded posthumously.

After both sides had largely withdrawn back to their camps to recuperate from the lengthy skirmishes across the stream, I personally made a further patrol around all friendly outposts on the island, collecting any reports of activity that I could gather. The lines were quiet in all sectors, without combat occurring, but there were several reports of past and current activity that will bear noting and further consideration when analysing Alliance stategy and tactics in this conflict.

Firstly, the Alliance’s swift deployment of artillery, and rumours of siege engines also being under construction, are the most concerning - combined with the size of the Alliance forces, it seems indicative that they consider the acquisition of this island’s Azerite deposits a very high strategic priority, and one which has been planned for some time in advance. Given the fortified position of the artillery, it will take more than a simple surgical strike to remove the threat.

Secondly, the picket lines on the southern border, in addition to reporting Alliance artillery being set up in one of the old towers, noted that they had sighted enemy sharpshooters attempting to take positions on the high ground in the north-eastern portion of the island, using the cover of the darkness. While this strikes me as a nuisance more than a threat, given their obvious inferiority in quality to our own skirmishers, this is something that should be noted - for we can ill-afford a prolonged battle of attrition here on Stonemaul Island.

Thirdly, and most intriguingly, were the reports of attempted infiltration by Alliance spies into our presently-held territory. The first were the several reports of a Kaldorei Druid, whom had been using animal forms in an effort to blend in and fleeing when discovered. This will bear specific investigation in the coming days, with some of our own druids and Illidari having already begun their search for this Druid as I write. Secondly, word reached my ears of an incident in which three Dwarves and one Draenei approached out forward pickets, claiming to be ‘neutral’ and seeking to enter our fortress in search of ale. The sentries turned them back, but not before some mild furore ensued. Generally, the feeling is that this was a transparent effort for the Alliance to infiltrate spies into our encampment, though some take the position that these travellers were genuine neutrals. Personally, I feel that regardless of the truth of the matter, it will pay to err on the side of caution with regard to any group claiming neutrality in this conflict.

Overall, the expedition is presently going well, in my estimation, even if it is too early to tell what the overall outcome will be. Complacency strikes me as the biggest threat within our camp, as our early victories, while improving morale, have created a comfortable sense of security in the minds of many. Our forces may have seized and maintained the upper hand today, with our enemy seeming comparatively disorganised and poorly led, but as our opponents learn and adapt, and begin to bring their numerical advantage to bear, it will take a Light-given miracle to maintain our advantage as easily as we have done so far.

I have the honour to be, your obedient servant,
Captain Colleth Glicalen of the Dawn Patrol.

[Alryette-argent-dawn (Alryette)]

“Make yourself useful,” she had said, and now Alryette found herself doing just that, much to her chagrin. In all the years she had spent studying her tutor’s field, years working as an esteemed gatherer of information and researcher, she never would have guessed she would end up working in an infirmary.

She sighed lightly as the sun began to sink in the sky, heralding the coming of another violent night. The night before had been thankfully blissful; enough actual menders had made the infirmary their home as she worked on turning the ravages of time backward. While she mended ancient stone and rotten fur they helped her in mending the flesh of the wounded. It was a blissful exchange for the time, one she was willing to tolerate as she wracked her brain.

An Orc groaned from a hammock nearby, grumbling for a moment about being treated by an Elf of all things. Her staff did the work for him, zipping from its levitating position to deliver a sharp whack on the head for his complaining. “Rest,” she said brusquely as he yelped in pain, “Others are trying to sleep!” Hiding her briefest of grins beneath her hat she turned back to her diagrams, scrawling runic circles as she endeavored to improve the flow of magic around the area.

“Make yourself useful.”

“Oh, don’t worry my dear… I plan to.”

[Watrus-argent-dawn (Watrus)]

There’s always a catch.
Watrus had felt stifled when she was in a squad.
Stand straight, eyes forward, march, line up, onward, halt…
When she’d been part of the military, she’d spent her days thinking about how it’d be when she was out of it.
She wouldn’t go back, no matter the price, but she’d still found herself watching the gathered squads.
All confident that they had a purpose here. That they mattered.

She’d turned to him then; this troll male, this mate of hers. She’d said it before she could stop herself.
“We could be winked inta the void and no one’d notice. It’s a good thing ain’ me an’ ya rottin’ away in them prisons!”.
There’s a moment, when one says something regrettable, or foolish. A moment in which the gravity of it lingers, while the want to have said nothing at all becomes more and more consuming.
What does this mean? Has she no faith in her fellows, or in her self? In her place within this Horde? To believe that she was of such little importance that she’d be left to such a foul fate.
She recalls that time, so long ago within Pandaria. The way that… thing… had looked at her. The feelings it’d summoned just by being there.

Doubt.

Closing her eyes, Watrus takes a deep breath, waiting for the inevitable. Khaltarr will surely have some harsh words for her; some unwanted truths.
There’s nothing, this time. When she looks again, there’s only sympathy on his face.

That’s somehow worse.

[Rogmasha-argent-dawn (Rogmasha)]

Elder

Where did we go so wrong?

Where did I step off the track of honour, and drown myself in the same stubborn pride as my forebears? Fighting a people who do not wish to fight us, over a resource both of us wish to use for… good.

I have become so used to seeing the Alliance as our enemy, so adjusted to the malice of the few that I have failed to see the good will of the many.

The Horde has shown it too, out here. Despite our differences, and desperate position, we’re still here. Still fighting over this glowing rock - but, more importantly, for the homes of our Horde kin.

I can feel it in my bones that there is something on the horizon - I know not what. Hopefully it is the Sun.

May you be at peace with the Ancestors,
Rogmasha

[Solavel-argent-dawn (Solavel)]

During the nocturnal hours, in the thick of the dark, a moment of time was dedicated just for this act by the Kalimdor savage. She sat cross-legged atop a distant hill overseeing the Horde territories, idly veering her gaze from one spot to another while cradling and caressing a black crow idol on her lap. Words were soundlessly murmured, eyes were scanning with a grim calm. Not long after, veiled faerie creatures of micro proportions visited the various sects and corners of the Horde-controlled area, leaving mysterious seeds before retreating back into the Emerald Dream dimension. The seeds were shadowmelded. A moment later they showed themselves in the shape of wooden figurines:

A curled-up sleeping saber, a roaring bear, a stormcrow with wings spread out, and a coiled orca hovering up and down mid-air somehow.

Not only those, however, but also figurines of dead Night Elf children with swords in their stomachs and with figurines of the original Horde races (plus Blood Elf) surrounding the bodies and cackling triumphantly at the sky.

And last but not least, wooden figurines in the identical shape of Teldrassil. All of those wooden figurines were approximately the size of an Orc’s hand.

Whenever any of those figurines come under any contact -physical or magical- they suddenly sprout long thorns capable of impaling deep like daggers, but they’re still easily destructible regardless of this defensive act, should someone be trying to destroy them. Also whenever contact is made with them, the following whisper from a male Night Elven spirit’s gruff, feral voice will be heard in the person’s head, once: “The final Feralscar comes for you.”

[Groverunner-argent-dawn]

Spending hours upon hours when not in need for duty, a wildling elf, the druid Nethanel, spends her time in communion with the local flora of the island; almost molded with it in a trance of green - surrounded by branches, roots and leaves. Her voice made her jestful similarity to a dryad only closer to perfection, as she had almost adopted its appearance as well.

Through the roots of life she was given their eyes, sensing the constant shed of blood. The waste of life. The unending slaughter on both Horde and Alliance, the unjust and abominable mutilation of brothers and sister in arms, kin and even enemies. War is Hell.

Through the tree of barbed roots that was risen to induce horror, terror reignited. Feeling the agony of burning trees in the area of Lion’s Rest, trauma rekindled. The blood saturating the soil from her fellow Sisters, made for dishonoured trophies, her heart was shattered. War is Hell.

An audible cry, the snap and creak of wood retracting as the elf parted away from her place of trance-like ritual… So much life wasted. So much hatred in constant fires. Unending defilement and abuse of the dead as they’re even denied rest. She refused to let it stand, calling to volunteers with tears in her throat - demanding a mount from the local stables to follow as she’d set out in the field to recover the dead. War is Hell, but she’ll be damned if she let them suffer in it again.

[Solavel-argent-dawn (Solavel)]

“A parent? You?”

This was not the first time the Elder Druid would spend himself so much in a debate with her, but while the debates were slowly leaving an influence, those three words alone left much more, stinging deep. No one ever before attacked her role and responsibility as a mother, but he did, and within a sharp context that took place within Lion’s Keep before the battle of today.

And when the battle was over, when the feasting was over, it was time not only to heal and indulge an hour or two of respite, but also reflect on all her deeds, most of all the morbid ones born of blazing vengeance.

It seems she looked too deep into the flames of Teldrassil and this alone shrouded her heart in limitless fury.

It seems she looked for too long into the eyes of the monster over the ten years past, and became a monster herself. So she mulled, so she assumed.

The gnawing amount of contemplation fueled her with so much restlessness that she left the Keep for lone wandering across the shattered roads and decimated wilderness of this utterly wartorn island, the horned guardian-mount walked protectively nearby, but was told to keep his distance as contemplated so deep. They walked miles.

As she scaled a mighty hill and walked the heights, she began absentmindedly overseeing the land below, then beheld what she assumed would be a message; an omen of clarity from a certain stellar constellation which composes the spirits of her family, lifted by the Night Warrior as with many other martyrs. This message ascertained the Elder’s words to her.

This message was the sight of Nethanel, a young, wild child of Kalimdor with an abundance of feral energy, hope, happiness, positivity, and a great natural potential. The same Kaldorei who sought knowledge, training and advice from Solavel.

Except this time, the beaming and positive Wildling was broken and fragile from the inside, lamenting oh-so deeply in a display that Solavel never saw before, and this was courtesy of Solavel herself; the manifestations of her vengeance into morbid examples made of the Horde soldiers’ remains. She realized that she had a hand in bringing suffering and sorrow to one who she was supposed to guide and teach, and wondered to herself if her unbound vengeance would as well consume her own children into this depression that may have consumed Nethanel.

Her developed reflection of the feline spirit whispered: "I broke her? Oops? The hunt must continue. Only survival matters. I shall terrorize the Horde and toy with them, break their will before their body, or they’ll become the predator, and I’ll become the prey, like the rest of my family.

But then, her reflection of the ursine spirit whispered: “I have a responsibility. I must saveguard the land, and I cannot do this alone. I must nurture my kin and my allies, take care of them, protect them, or they will abandon me and I will stand alone, and no matter how brave and cunning a predator is, it will fall if standing alone.”

Then, her reflection of the avian crow spirit whispered: “… or I can carry on with dispensing the wrath of nature to the most monstrous of measures, but without allowing my kin or my allies to witness it. They do not have to. All it takes is some wisdom and tactic. A pinch of clever thinking, with a careful pinch of magic…”

Finally, her aquatic reflection of the orca spirit whispered: "But this would be too much lies and deception, this would feed a certain darkness in my heart. A darkness I dread. The sea always believed that I am both the tranquility of the still-seaweed and the sorrow of the crashing typhoon. But I must once again feed my tranquility, not my sorrow. Death, damage and destruction can only go so far in so little time, but healing and restoration can persist for an eternity. I must focus more on nurturing my allies and empowering them, than on terrorizing my foes and torturing them. Defilers deserve death, but nothing more. No torment, no desecration.

The predatory spirits within contended endlessly among themselves and it frustrated her, but she still reached some conclusion and clarity, and also learned a lesson from the lamenting Thero’shan she peeked at from above the mountain. This night, she would return to the Keep, in isolation by the coast near the moonwell; no horns to blow, no bodies to desecrate, no any kind of tactics to deploy.

She ripped the necklace of Horde ears off her neck with a snarl and glowered at it, then carefully buried the ears instead. Soil to soil, earth to earth, rest beneath the land in peace. She still harbored a deeply sated rage and hate for the Horde, dangerously powerful feelings that she could never recover from, but she thought to herself: “Perhaps I should use the fuel of those feelings elsewhere, in different ways. In better ways. If anything, it would settle the raging conflict within me.”

“… or it will not, and I’ll roil endlessly in the storm within.”

Characters involved were Nethanel Groverunner and Rethion Moonshred.