Chains of Command (Closed RP)

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Post  Izdazi on Fri Aug 10, 2012 3:00 pm


Gadgetzan, Tanaris

“My dear, I can hit a target at five-hundred yards without any difficulty. And my rifles have the firepower to turn your skull into a fine paste at even greater distances,” the goblin professed with a smirk.

Yevana kept her gaze neutral and then made a show of shrugging, as if everything he’d just said was the most unimpressive thing she’d ever heard. She truly hoped he wasn’t lying to her about his skill. He could be a powerful ally for them.

“Now, if you don’t have any more questions regarding my abilities or my hardware, then I have a couple about your little proposition. What exactly would I be doing? And, of course, how much would I be paid?” the goblin asked.

“Joo be needed to help protect some of my shaman friends,” Yevana replied after a short pause. She didn’t want to scare him off, but she also needed him to know the risks. “Der be dees bad people who be attacken us. Defend us, fight wit us and joo be rewarded.”

She started to say something, but then fell silent. She wasn’t sure how much they could pay. Hell, she wasn’t even sure if they had money. But then she shrugged. They needed help and it would be easier to ask for forgiveness if they couldn’t pay, rather than for him to dismiss them outright.

“We pay joo good. I dun know how much, though. Come wit us and speak to dem when we get der,” the young troll explained. She glanced back and saw that Mattaka was already outside, presumably heading for the wyvern masters. Lurena was undoubtedly there already.

“What say you, Gobby?” she asked, leaning over the counter and staring down at the goblin.

Seya Stealclaw

Somewhere in Northern Silithus

"There is no way that either of those damn draenei are still alive..." the death knight whispered. There was surprise in his voice and utter shock in his face.

As far as Seya was concerned, it was perfect.

"While I am interested as to how you learned of what I did, I'll ask about that later. To answer your question, if this survivor is who I think it is, I will see to her undoing personally. And I will gladly serve you and your master.”

“Perfect,” Seya purred. She turned, faced the death knight and raised the crystal rod so he could see it. The emblem etched on one of the facets was clearly titan script. “I will share what this showed me at my camp. And then you will understand how great an opportunity it is that you have received. Not many can say that they have been given a second chance to amend their… failings. I trust you will make the most of this gift.”

She placed the crystal back into the pocket of her cloak. Then, the orcess pulled a thick glove from her right arm, revealing the heavily scarred olive colored skin for the first time. She raised the nearly maimed arm up and began chanting in a language that was clearly not orcish. Within a few seconds, a tear formed in the air before her. It wasn’t particular large, just big enough for a single individual to pass. The perimeter flashed with sparkling purple light and then, with a pulse that seemed to absorb the light around them, one could suddenly see through the portal.

It looked like a large camp on the other side. Others wearing robes similar to Seya could be seen moving around. And a little further away there was an enormous skeletal structure. Four large wooden pillars protruded out of the ground, and suspended in the air between them was some sort of large platform. Scaffolding had been erected along the pillar allowing cultist to climb to the object and continue whatever construction they’re doing.

Seya’s cracked black lips spread into a smirk as she studied the object with what could only be described as hope and pride. She lightly touched the scarred side of her face with her good hand and then, taking a deep breath, she gestured for the death knight to step through the portal.

She followed him in and the portal slowly closed just as the thick roiling cloud of sand and wind blasted through the area.

* * *
Moments later.
Twilight Coven

“Any word on our resident dogs?” Seya demanded of the goblin waiting for them near the portal aperture. She could hear the metallic clicks of Alarde’s armor as he followed behind her.

“The Petigrews haven’t returned yet,” Wikers Book said as he looked over his notebook and then glanced warily toward the towering death knight. He walked faster to keep up with Seya, rather than to stay behind closer to the death knight.

“And the project?”

“I estimate that we are nearly eighty percent complete with it. Xan has left to try to procure some parts. He should return by tomorrow,” the bookish goblin rattled off quickly as he nervously straightened his glasses. “M-mistress? Who is this?”

“My new lieutenant,” she said without hesitation. She stopped, turned and glared at the suddenly tiny goblin. “And if this isn’t completed in a week, you will answer to him and then to me. Am I clear?”

The goblin nodded frantically before scampering away. Meanwhile, Seya had returned her attention to the large suspended object hanging from the two pillars. Up close, it was a platform of some kind. Thing wooden beams and supports crisscrossed the object. Black leather, wrapped several parts tightly. Covered machinery and parts were slowly being winched up toward it. And all around it, like ants swarming a proportionally giant bug, cultists continued working.

Never taking her eyes off the object, she slowly pulled the hood over her head and then sighed. “Tell me, death knight, do you consider what you were your true form, or what you are now?”

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Post  Sorrowrunner on Sun Aug 12, 2012 1:22 pm

In all honesty, Indiriel hadn't the ability to read people that this shaman did, he saw changes in her countenance as she shifted about, her ears lower in perhaps 'disappointment'. Though all and all Niashado didn't appear to be as excited to learn she was being assisted by Dalaran's finest, as she should have.

Perhaps he was detached from the situation and didn't understand the gravity of it, the need to heal the wounded, rebuild a camp, but his first response to her concern about being cut off was an uncontrollable, almost reflexive "Why not walk?" He ignored his own question as he had quickly answered it, it might've been too much of a risk for an ill prepared, poorly fed, improperly equipped, shaman.

As petty as it might have been as soon as he was pelted by sand from the gust that didn't quite die down, sand like particle were drawn from the mana saturated air to form a visor that protected the knight's eyes from the not so savage buffet.

Protected from the sand, the blood elf, strangely enough did not complain, while he would've preferred to put his mind to work, strategise or lead, he was willing to work. " Noblesse oblige ." And under his breath "And all that shit." In a way, it was his role to protect the entirety of the world, what kind of protector could he be if he wasn't able to protect a handful of people, or something like that, well at least while he couldn't do much more than hear what the shamaness had to say.

And to hear that he had to work. Before accepting the hammer, the elf whispered a few choice Thallassian words, his armor shined a bright red, a fiery red and loudly rang, singing as metal slipped past metal and the plate fell into the sand. In one hand he took the mallet, in the other he dragged the armor, which itself seemed to repel the sand.

Of course the elf was by no means nude, of course his tabard remained, the unnatural, arcane visor, though not really attached to any piece of armor sort of just hovered in front of his face, a cool to the touch bag with another set of clothing and supplies, and of course a cotton tunic and a pair of pants. And then he started hammering things like a good blood elf.

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Post  Quixoticus on Mon Sep 10, 2012 2:04 pm


The elf’s curiosity and energy were a bit much for Tahirus to handle in his current state. Just turning to make eye contact with her seemed to expend a great deal of energy, though it was more likely a result of the headache left in the wake of the mana bomb.

“Much to do in very little time,” said Tahirus. When he realized how cryptic and uninformative the statement was, he shook his head and grumbled. “Trouble with the Twilight Hammer. Our resources are spread thin, and now we’re trying to be in two places at one time.”

He switched his totem from one shoulder to the other and shrugged the tenderness away. “The explosion’s left my in a bit of a haze. The migraine I’ve got is probably the least of my worries.”

He turned to look down at the elf again. “Why are you so cheerful?”



The group hadn’t made a stop in a long while. Yuri’s legs had begun to burn on the trek in the sand, a terrain he hadn’t worked in for months. He’d slung his rifle on his shoulder and was freely waving his arms, stretching away the fatigue in his joints. At one point, he’d begun to eat another bread roll, but the earlier fiasco had drained his appetite.

Soon, the scenery began to change. The open desert slowly turned into a forest of rocky crags. It became harder to keep an eye on the group’s movement, so Yuri had to move closer, and as a result, maintain a more delicate approach.

His focus nearly cost him. His attacker was close, to Yuri’s disadvantage, but his attacker was also clumsy, and dislodged a large rock as he launched himself from a nearby crag. Yuri threw his arms up and met the tackle, feeling something scrape heavily against his studded wrist guards. He concluded that his attacker was either an amateur, or female, because despite the downward assault aided by gravity, Yuri was able to stay on his feet.

When his attacker lashed out with a leg and deftly kicked him across the face, he settled on the latter. He took an extra pair of steps as he stumbled from the blow to distance himself. His attacker was dressed in black, wrapped close for mobility. She held a dagger in one hand, and judging by the reverse grip and poised off-hand, she was an orc.

Orc assassins were, by a moderate gap, the most aggressive assassins. She reinitiated almost immediately, feinting with her dagger and attempting a full spinning backhand with her offhand. Yuri, already low to the ground, went lower and stepped forward into the attack, throwing an elbow into her sternum and simultaneously unsheathing one of the daggers on his shoulder armor. Weapon in hand, he tried a short stab, which the orc sidestepped, back into range of his free hand, which he swung into a punch across her face to repay her kick from earlier.

They separated, and Yuri took the opportunity to unsheathe his second dagger. The orc began moving sideways, and so Yuri fell into step, and they circled.

“Protecting your masters?” asked Yuri, in Orcish.

“Wetting my blade,” answered the orc.

“You’re wasting your time. They’re using you,” said Yuri.

“I get five hundred gold pieces per head,” said the orc.

After considering the figure for a moment, Yuri shrugged. It was an ample reward.

The orc made her move. She leapt forward, then sidestepped to attack Yuri’s flank. The dwarf retreated a step, then swept his foot around to kick up a plume of the fine sand. It wasn’t enough to blind the orc, but it foiled her depth perception, and her slice fell short several inches. Yuri smashed his left fist into her side, then reversed his momentum and sliced with his right dagger. Simultaneously, the orc came around with her dagger in a reversed grip.

Yuri was faster. His blade sliced open the orc’s throat, and by the end of his stroke, he had stepped out of her range. The orc’s blade swept passed unobstructed, and then the orc teetered over. As she thrashed in the sand, gasping for air, Yuri stepped up to her and pressed a boot to her neck. He shouldered his rifle, took aim, and fired a muffled round into the dying orc’s head.

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Post  Alarde Orig on Wed Sep 19, 2012 11:10 am


Helping shamen... I guess that's why she's dancing around how much I'll get paid. And I really am not keen on helping people who are more than likely in the Earthen Ring, but there really is nothing else that seems promising. All Zelg could gather from the description was that defensive tactics were all that would be needed. Meaning, he could use heavier weapons and more ammunition and not worry about having to lug it all around. Except for getting it there to begin with. Glad we got means of transportation for that.

“What say you, Gobby?” the troll asked, now leaning over the counter and staring him down. He really did hate it when people did that deliberately, but on the other hand this troll was offering him a supposedly paying job. And on top of that, he could conduct some field tests on some of his newest equipment. Even though his mind was made up, Zelg made it look like he was seriously thinking the offer through.

"Well, you've convinced me; Zelg Ironbore at your service. If you will give me a little time, then I will go fetch my equipment and I will meet you at the flightmaster." Hopping down from his bar stool, Zelg quickly walked out of the inn and began heading to his shop with a grin. Now... what to use... I am willing to bet that I'll need as much stopping power as possible. And if I don't, so what? Hah!

The door opened with a familiar creaking sound and closed behind him with a dull thud. Walking into the back room with all of his machinery, Zelg opened a door marked "Supplies". The room, which was at best an over sized closet, was filled on one side with various boxes and crates labeled with various names of ores and ingots. The other half had smaller boxes labeled "Ammunition" along with various rifles and what appeared to be pipes strewn about.

Let's see... No, not enough power... The action on that one needs more refinement... Oh fell no, that recoil would snap my collar bone on the first shot! Slowly, the goblin began to walk around the room, giving quick once-overs to each rifle he passed. No... no... n- Yes! Grabbing one by the barrel, the rifle stood almost as tall as the goblin and had a large, ornate scope attached near the breach of the rifle.

"Perfect!" Operating a lever like a lock on a door, Zelg gave a quick glance inside the weapon to confirm what ammunition he needed. "Six tenths by two and a half. Excellent!" Before searching for the munitions he needed, the goblin's eyes locked onto what looked like a pipe with handles attached to it, causing a wide and sinister grin to cross his face.

~~~~A few minutes later~~~~

With his shop now locked up, Zelg had begun dragging a crate that was about the same size as him towards the flgihtmasters. His grimy work clothes had been replaced with faded and worn leather armor neck to toe, and yet his trademark goggles remained on his bald head. In addition to his armor, Zelg also appeared armed to the teeth with a pistol with ammunition on his belt, rifle slung over his shoulder, and bandoleer filled with rifle rounds around the other. The crate however, carried weapons that put the visible ones to shame... and it was all for his targets to find out once he began firing.

~~~~~~Twilight Coven~~~~~~

From the wastelands and then through a portal to an unusual encampment with a sniveling goblin reporting to the orc. Alarde almost wanted to say something along the lines of "Your worst nightmare," when the goblin inquired about him. He could not help but give a sinister grin as she told the goblin that he would have to report to him should whatever their little project was not be finished on time.

Something was suspended in the distance, partially covered with something dark in color. However, something weird happened, as Alarde thought he heard a woman's voice echoing in his ears. All he could understand was "Monster", but just as quickly as he began to hear it, the voice dissipated.

“Tell me, death knight, do you consider what you were your true form, or what you are now?” The orc did not appear to have heard the voice, nor did it originate from her. Odd...

"True form? An interesting question. Being undead, I am but one step from ceasing to exist, and yet I have the power to annihilate a legion of elite soldiers now. In a sense, I believe that what the Scourge did to me qualifies as ascending to a higher form. Even if the majority of the beings here view me as an abomination now." Th elf paused as he gave a quick glance around, taking in what he could.

"Quite the operation you have set up here, makes one curious as to what all you have planned... and how someone stands in the way of it."
Alarde Orig
Alarde Orig

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Post  Izdazi on Fri Nov 30, 2012 2:10 pm

Mercer Petigrew

Earthen Ring Camp - Silithus

Mercer gasped as he felt his injuries rapidly mend themselves under the careful ministrations of draenei shaman. Occasionally, he’d let out a quiet gasp as she set a bone before beginning the magical part of the healing. Mercer had no idea how shamans worked. It was all so primitive compared to the priests and alchemist he’d dealt with growing up in Duskhaven. The times when he required healing, his father could afford the best.

And now here he was, far far away from his father’s estate, being tended to by this healer’s primitive magics. He wasn’t accustomed to feeling pain while being mended.

And he loved it. He was careful to keep his countenance neutral, but each jab of pain was a welcome feeling. When he closed his eyes, he imagined Anessa inflicting more injuries. He could almost feel her sinking her jaws in his shoulder.

Mercer opened his eyes upon realizing that the shaman had stopped. A tentatively test of his arms revealed that it was back in working order pain was gone. He could move with ease.

He felt whole… and yet empty at the same time.

Unconsciously, he licked his parched lips and lay back on the mat. He regarded the draenei with a closer look. She appeared exhausted from the effort. Behind her, a troll stood near the exit of the tent. He seemed bored and was absently drawing on the sand with his finger. He looked back at the draenei when she spoke.

“How do you feel?” she asked. The fatigue in her voice was unmistakable.

“I feel… much better,” he replied. “You know your art, draenei. I am grateful.”

His mind, however, was busy trying to hear for anything that sounded like Anessa approaching. She should have begun the distraction already. Or was she waiting for him.

“It is important that I speak with your leader. Summon her,” he said. His eyes turned darker and he struggled to suppress his true self from coming to the surface.


Aerilyia murmured a quiet thanks in draenic to water for giving her the power to mend the man. The blue crystal dangling from the crook of her staff, her totem to Water, continued to pulse steadily, though it was more to help steady her than for the Gilnean man. It had been a far greater task than she had expected to tend to his injuries, and no one in the camp was running on any reasonable amount of sleep. Instead of answering Mercer, she lifted her head to the troll.

“Dango? Would you mind getting our guest and myself some water?” she requested politely.

The troll looked up from his doodles, his countenance concerned. “I don' tink dat I should be leavin' ya alone wit dis one, Aeri...”

She gave a soft laugh. “I am perfectly capable of defending myself, Dango. But I am thirsty, and I believe that our guest is as well. Please.” The last word was quiet, serious. The troll looked between her and the man, then nodded.

“I gon' getcha dat water, Aeri... den I be right back.” He shot the man a sharp look, then stood and hurried away. When his footsteps were far enough away for her, Aeri focused back on the man.

“You came to us a man near death, brother, and was shown nothing but kindness, but you still intend to go through with this plan of yours?” Her voice is low and soft, not about to risk being overheard. She was playing a gamble. No traveler could be presumed completely innocent, not in these times, and his adamant refusal to speak to her instead of Niashado, combined with her quick flash of farseeing, made her almost certain that she was not wrong.

There was no man so far gone down a path of darkness that he could not be saved. Aerilyia believed that with all of her heart. She had to.


As soon as the troll departed, albeit, reluctantly, Mercer allowed his real form to reveal itself. It had taken a great deal of practice, but he had very nearly mastered the technique of shifting in near silence. His eyesight grew clearer and his hearing became more acute. His hands grew rigid and tight as his nails grew into long sharp claws.

He could hear the troll’s footsteps well beyond their tent. He could hear sounds of hammering and voicing calling out as they frantically built something outside. He could even feel the barometric pressure dropping, from the incoming storm.

His dark eyes narrowed on the lone draenei in the tent with him and his lips curled upward, revealing rows of sharp teeth. In a single motion, he jumped off the mat, over the shamaness, and landed deftly on the balls of his clawed feet behind her. With one hand, he wrenched the staff from her and and tossed it aside. He wrapped his other arm tightly around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides.

Mercer began sniffing around her neck, letting his snout brush along her tendrils. Slivers of drool dripped onto her shoulders.

“Runt, I am not your ‘brother.’ In fact, it would be inaccurate to even call me a man,” he whispered softly in her ear. Although his voice had become gruff, he still carried a Gilinean accent. “If you cry out I will think nothing of tearing out your neck bones with my jaws. It’ll be easy. Let me show you.”

Mercer clamped his teeth over her neck and slowly began apply pressure until he felt one of his canines slightlybreak flesh. He released her neck and turned away and licked the tooth.

“What do you know? Blue does taste sweeter than red,” he remarked thoughtfully. Still holding Aerilyia tightly around her waist, he tilted his head up and sniffed the air. His ears panned around and then huffed. “Where the hell is she?” he muttered to himself.

Anessa should have been here by now. There should be screaming and panic. Then, in the midst of the chaos, he would be able to rush out, find and kill their leader.

If he didn’t get that diversion before the troll or anyone else came in, he wasn’t going to make it out of this alive.


“All who live are my brother or sister,” Aeri replied, her voice serene. “We are all children of the Light, of the spirits, of the Titans. We are all soldiers against forces of darkness that would devour us, swallow us whole and leave nothing, not even a husk, behind. I can understand why someone would lose themselves on a destructive path. Destruction is so much easier than creation,” she murmured gently. “It is carrying on in a world that does not care for us that is difficult, not bringing the whole thing down.”

She ignored the blood trickling down her neck, staying still in his arms so that she would not alarm him. “I beg of you to think this through, brother. I do not enjoy employing the blessings of the spirits in conflict. It is the nature of the elements to seek balance, not to rage. But if I must, I will defend myself. And if my death is needed to keep the balance from shifting in favor to the Twilights, then I will give it gladly.”

Brave words, but the draenei was uncertain how great a defense she could mount. She could feel the man's fur against her, hear the growl in his voice. Gilnean, so clearly a worgen. They were dangerous and powerful, and she was still tired from healing him.

“Please, brother. Is there not enough hatred and anger and pain in the world? Must we add to it?” she pleaded.


Mercer growled and snapped his jaws near the face of the shamaness. He re-tightened his grip on her waste and pulled her around as he glanced fervently around the tent.

"You talk too much, draenei. You are not my sister. You are not my equal. You are prey. This 'balance' you seek is a quest born of failure. The weak feed the strong. That is the order of things," he all but snarled. He took a swift sniff of the air and then spun around just in time to see three individuals enter the tent.


Niashado wasn't sure what to expect as she walked toward the tent where the injured newcomer was being looked after. What would a lone person being doing wandering around Silithus? Had he encountered one of the many wild creatures that inhabitant this land? Or worse, did he encounter or Twilight. She wasn't sure.

The shamaness was still a bit upset by Magistrix Indiriel Dawnlance's arrival and the demeanor in which he had introduced himself. Was he there to help them, or would he impose his will on an steadily degrading situation?

Though she and Azgard didn't get along, she would have appreciated his council at this moment.

A second set of footsteps caught her attention and she turned to see Dango walking up. He was carrying a small bucket of water.

"You goin to see da human?" he asked, while maintaing stride with her.

"Yes. Is Aeri still with him?"

"She is. She finished healing him and asked for some water," the troll reported. "I don't be trusting him, boss. Him eyes aren't right."

Niashado nodded, but said nothing. They were just outside the tent. The draenei stilled her thoughts and took a deep breath. She was full of doubts and second guesses, but she couldn't risk allowing a total stranger to see those feelings in her.

For a moment, she wondered if the ability to put forward a faux appearance of confidence was the biggest struggle leaders faced. Or did these struggle signal that she was in fact a weak leader.

The shamaness brushed away the though as she pushed open the tent flap and promptly found herself facing a brand new crisis.

There were only too indivuals in the tent, and not a single one was a human. There was Aeri, being held by a towering worgen. As soon as she and Dango had entered, he had spun around and held her tightly in front like a shield.

"Are you Niashado?" he hissed.

Niashado studied this worgen intently and then to her fellow draenei. She noted the blood stain on Aeri's neck and felt her anger rising. Next to her, Dango dropped the bucket and pulled out his battle axes and began step forward before Niashado restrained him with her arm.

"I am. Release Aeri without harm and I will allow you to leave, unchallenged," the shamaness quietly responded.

"I will spare her, but in exchange, I need your head," the worgen replied. "Call for alarm, and I'll kill her and you. Test me, draenei."

With the arm wrapped around Aeri’s waist, he dug his claws into her abdomen, and slowly pressed them in. With a little more pressue, he could disembowel her. His other hand grabbed one of her horns and jerked her head slightly.

The message was clear. With one hand he could kill her slowly. With the other, he could snap her neck.

"You would treat the person who selflessly healed you like this?" Niashado replied. Even though she tried to keep her voice steady, some of her ire leaked into her words. She knew exactly what had happened. Aeri had hoped to talk this worgen out of doing this. She had probably hoped to avoid bloodshed, both his and her fellow shamans.

Niashado knew this because up until a few days earlier she would have done exactly the same thing. And she'd been burned many times in the past for hoping to change her attacker's way. Yet, despite the betrayals and failures, it never deterred her from trying.

If it were just her, she'd follow the peaceful course of action. However, she was a leader now. She couldn't afford to think that way, if only for the sake of those who depended on her. She hated having to resort to doing harm.

"Release her and I will take her place," Niashado offered. She saw the worgen's lips peel back, revealing a row of sharp teeth, in what she took to be a grin. His arm, however, grew tighter around his hostage's neck.

"Step forward and we will trade, then," he offered. She took the first hoofstep forward before Dango reached out and touched her shoulder.

"Dis not good. You be da leader. Aeri understands dis," the troll shaman whispered while shaking his head.

Aeri's ears were very sharp, after twelve hundred years of life spent depending on them instead of her eyes, and she nodded at Dango's whisper.

"Nia, don't. Light, you're far too important. We've already lost one leader. How do you think that they will handle losing another?" she asked, ignoring the furry body behind her, and the claws on her skin.
'They', she had said. She'd already accepted her fate.

Niashado made no effort to hide the roiling storm of conflict raging in her mind. The logic of what Dango said was clear. Even Aeri understand, as she was fully prepared to sacrfice herself. But to Niashado, the very idea was aborrent. She wasn't worth more then anything of these shamans. In some ways, in many ways, they were better.

But, she'd already watched Xan murder another person in front of her and she'd been powerless to stop him. She couldn't bare the thought of watching it happen again.

"You... you have been asking to see me. I assume you have been sent to kill me," she said. It wasn't a question. "If... I go with you, may I trust you to take me to your camp so that I may parley with Seya first?"

The worgen started to shake his head, but then, as if changing his mind, nodded.

" I can do that. That can be arrange, blue blood," the worgen replied with the most insencere glint his eyes that would make a merchant goblin's smile look positiviely honest.

"Der be no honor in dis dog, Nia. Dun do dis," Dango hissed in her ear. Niashado ignored him and took several steps toward him.

"Nia, no!" Aeri protested vehemently, struggling forward a step in the worgen's grip. "I cannot see his face, and even -I- can tell that he tells lies longer than my tail!" Her face settled into an expression of peace as she allowed her body to relax. "I am not afraid to die. Not if you may live." She fell silent a moment. "You will have to tell Hona's parents in my stead, Nia. I am sorry."

"All is well, Aeri. Be calm." Niashado coolly spoke as she took another step forward.

"Lose the staff and the totems, blue blood," Mercer growled. He tightened his grip on Aeri's throat, roughly silencing her protesses. Carefully, Niashado laid the staff on the tent floor and then unclipped the crystalline totems hanging from her belt. She was a bit more hesitant in doing this, though. The removal of the totems would severely limit her ability to communicate with the elements.

In essense, she would become truely powerless.

Gripping them tightly, she offered a quiet prayer. Then, with a nervous gulp, she laid the string of totems on the floor and stood up.

"Release her, now. I have done all you have asked," The worgen growled again and, still in his grips, she saw Aeri shaking her head. Then, he shoved her forward.

"Follow my voice and keep walking. Dango is just several steps behind me. Do nothing but walk, Aeri," Niashado said, speaking softly and hoping that her friend would just do as she was told. "Remember what Farseer Stonehoof taught us. Everything, every moment, has a purpose. This is just another thread in a large picture."

Tears streamed down Aeri's cheeks as she stumbled forward before catching herself. She bowed her head in acquiescence, her long, lopsided pigtails falling to either side of her face. Having to let Nia die for her was the hardest thing she could ever be asked to do. "Yours is a thread about to be cut far too tragically short, sister..." But she obeyed, walking slowly towards Nia and past her to Dango

Niashado lowered her head as Aeri stepped past her. She felt tears stinging her eyes, not out of what was to happen, but out of the truely selfless action Aeri had been about to commit for her. Niashado felt unworthy of this, but she remained silent and fought the tears back. If this was to be her time, she wasn't going show and weakeness before this assasin.

"Stonehoof," Mercer said with a chortle. "You fools still hang by that traitor's every word? How amusing. You shamans are truely so pathetic!"

"Traitor? What joo be talking about? Da Farseer was strong en fearless. He would do anyting for us!" Dango rebutted angrily.

"He has betrayed you all, morons! He's one of Seya's liutenants." The worgen laughed heartily and then turned a leering eye towards Niashado. "Come, 'leader.' Let us be making our way so that you may speak with great Seya."

Niashado felt the blood drain from her face as she heard this. She was at a loss for words. Dakota? A traitor? Impossible.

No. This worgen was lying. Everything he was saying was a lie. She knew with almost absolute certaintity that he was going to kill her. And by the way his ears twitched and the impatient way his tail turned, she had a feeling that he was waiting for someone.

Aeri turned her head up to Dango. "Please... Light, stop her!" she begged. Spirits damn her for wasting so much energy on the worgen. She didn't know if she could hold him back if she tried to defend their leader.
"Dango," Niashado called out to the troll behind her, without taking her eyes from Mercer. "I want you and Aeri to leave this tent right now. Tell the others what has transpired her. Tell them to arm themselves at once. An attack is imminent. No questions. Go. Now!"

Dango gently began to guide Aeri out of the tent, but both he and the draenei were pushed aside by a dark gray blur. The wolf that had just bolted into the tent sped past Niashado and leapt up to tackle Mercer to the ground. Both worgen and wolf rolled around the floor of the tent, scratching and snapping their jaws near each others' neck, desperatly trying to tear out their opponents' jugular.

Without hesitation, Niashado retrieved her totems and staff and turned her attention to the primal fight going on. The wolf and worgen had rolled against the cloth wall of the tent and were pushing against it as they fought. The seems in the cloth wall gave out and with a loud tear they rolled outside, in the midst of the other shamans.

Niashado rushed out, with Dango and Aeri following close. At this point, the two fighters had backed away. Both were sporting crimson injuries, but their rage had hardly dissapated. If anything, it had only fueled their bloodlust. Their lips were peeled upward and trembling as they bared their fangs.

Then, with puff of smoke, the dark wolf shifted into a gray hair orc. It was Azgard. The older orc thrust his large axe forward and called out to the elements. The camp lit up with blinding blue-white light as a thick shard of lightning arced from his axe and struck the worgen directly on the center of his chest. With a strangled yelp, the worgen was thrown back several dozen feet in the dirt.

The reprieve was only momentary. The worgen stood up, looked up to the sky and howled into the night. Then, hunching his shoulders and splaying his clawed fingers wide, he crouched low and prepared to spring on Azgard.

But the orc was prepared, and just as he sprung, Azgard called down a strong gust of wind that blew dust into his eyes. Blinded, Mercer didn't see Azgard roll away from the direction of his attack. The worgen slipped past him and then felt a strong jolt on the back of his head.

Dazed, the worgen fell head first into the sandy ground. He tried to stand, but felt the air explode from his lungs as the orc's boot connected with solar-plexus. Another kick to his head stole away his consciousness.

Just before everything went black, he managed to utter one word.



Azgard felt his legs burning from the sustained run. He wanted nothing more then to take a short breather. He wasn't as young as he'd once been, so many years ago.

He quickly pushed that thought aside. Like so many orcs his age, his youth had been stolen when the orcs had become minions of the Legion back on Draenor. The warlike orcs of old needed warriors, not children, in those dark days.

His tongue lolling from the side of his canine jaws, he crested another hill and then, suddenly slid to stop. His eyes widened at the new battle scars the camp had sustained while they were gone. The Twilights must have returned! Only a pair of tents were up, and judging by the way they sagged, he guessed they weren't in the best of conditions.

If his suspicions were true, then Niashado must have betrayed them. But he still didn't have proof and he loathed the idea of accusing her without anything more concrete then a gut instinct.

With renewed energy, his raced down the hill, still in wolf form. His entrance into the camp was disturbingly easy. If his defenders had been on duty, there wouldn't have been any gaps in the perimeter.

In his wolf form he could detect her scent and followed it. There was also another scent. One that he couldn’t put his finger on but it seemed disturbingly familiar.

He crept nearer to one of the tents and his ears flicked at the sound of several low voices.

"Dango." It was Niashado’s voice. "I want you and Aeri to leave this tent right now. Tell the others what has transpired her. Tell them to arm themselves at once. An attack is imminent. No questions. Go. Now!"

An attack? What was going on?

He rushed into the tent, and with a warrior’s instinct for assesing the battleground, he did a split second glance of the occupants. There was the troll, Dango, holding the blind draenei, Aerilyia. Almost a dozen feet away was Niashado, standing before a worgen.


He spurred forward and tackled the worgen. Despite the creature’s considerable strength, Azgard’s surprise attack paid off. He paid heed to nothing but the worgen’s neck. He felt impacts and lacerations upon his canine body. He smelled the blood, both his and worgen’s and it only spurred him more frantically.

Then they seperated. The worgen stood up and brought himself to full height. Clearly he hoped to use that as an advantage. To Azgard, however, it signalled that the worgen saw him as nothing more then a wolf.

When the worgen charged, Azgard shifted back into his orc form. His axe in hand, he called out to the elements and it was answered by a shaft of blue-white lightning that arced from his axe to the worgen’s chest.

The creature recovered and charged again, but Azgard could tell that he was lost in his bloodlust. Whoever this worgen once was, he certainly no trained warrior. Probably a young tavern brawler who thought this curse was probably a blessing. He was faster and stronger, but not skillful.

The worgen charged again and the orc shaman answered with a burst of wind that blinded him. Then, in what any young orc warrior would consider humiliating, Azgard turned to the side and slammed the blunt edge of his axe against the back of the worgen’s head.

The creature slid in the sand several feet… dazed but beginning to recover.

Not sparing him the chance, Azgard slammed boot against the worgen’s gut and then against his head. The worgen muttered something before falling unconscious. Azgard raised his axe and prepared to finish of the intruder.


The orc froze, holding the axe above his head. He glanced at Niashado who was approaching.

“We need to question him. He said…” she began, and then froze and glanced around. The other shamans who had been busy preparing for the storm had stopped their work to watch the fight. Their expressions varied between shock, fear and uncertaintity. Some appeared relieved to see that Azgard had returned. “We need to question him,” Niashado repeated, yet pointedly, not revealing more.

“And I will have words with you,” he all but growled, lowering his axe. He turned to pair of tauren and pointed at the unconscious worgen. “Restrain and muzzle him. Then guard him.”


“Please finish reinforcing the tents. We do not have much time,” the shamaness added, gesturing to the western horizon that had grown darker.

Azgard pointed to the south and she could see a line of figures approaching. It was the rest of the team he had scent to investigate the ruins. The were only a mile or so out. With some concern, there appeared to also be a figure with a saber.

“Dango. Aeri. Go to them. There appear to be wounded,” Niashado ordered. She made a show of withdrawing a small bandage and gently pressing it against Aerilyia ‘s neck. The bite to her neck was small and had mostly healed, but she needed the excuse to whisper to both of them. “Say nothing.”

She needed to keep this revelation about Stonehoof quiet. At least for the time being.

Then she followed Azgard back into the tent. No sooner had the tent flapped slid closed before the orc spun around and pressed one of his smaller axes against her neck.

She stared back at him, first in fear, and then in anger. She knew exactly what this was about.

“I just now learned of Stonehoof’s betrayal. The worgen, Mercer, told me,” she stated in a cool voice. Her eyes never wavered from the orc’s. After a tense minute in which the only sound was the steadily increasing wind, Azgard withdrew the blade.

“Who is Seya Stealclaw?” she asked and was rewarded with a sudden flash of shock in the orc’s face. That only lasted a fraction of section.

“She’s dead,” he responded dismissively.

“She paid us a visit while you were out. An orc woman with long black hair. Half of her face is horribly disfigured. And she claims you betrayed her. She razed the settlement to call you out. I watched Kernd die because I refused to tell her where you were. Who is she?” Niashado again asked. Her voice grew angrier when she spoke of Kernd’s death.

“She is dead!” Azgard insisted, although he seemed to lack conviction in that proclamation.

“Azgard-“ her began to say but stopped when he abruptly spun around and stormed up to her.

“She. Is. Dead.”

“And what of ruins?” Nishado asked, deciding that for the time being, it was better to table any further discussion about Seya. The orc began to pace around the room.

“Tahirus was correct. The Twilights are amassing a great many supplies. Large wood timbers. Steel parts. And more components for mana bombs,” he explained. He paused to turn toward her. “We destroyed the camp. However, we also had casualties.”

A younger warrior would probably have reveled in the victory, but she could see that Azgard was more troubled by the losses he had incurred. Niashado said nothing, however. They had argued earlier about his decision to use shamans who had little combat experience. What was done was done and the cache the Twilights had amassed was at least gone. They would mourn the deaths later.

“And of Farseer Stonehoof?”

“I saw him. He has indeed chosen to follow the Twilights. He has fallen succumb to despair.”

Despair? Azgard, he has betrayed the Ring. He has betrayed us and his calling.” Niashado began. She began pacing the room. Her tail swished about abruptly, mirroring her agitation. “He knows everything about us.”

From the corner of her vision, she could see Azgard nod silently. She knew that the orc and tauren farseer had been friends for many years. Despite how betrayed Niashado, and anyone in the settlement felt, she knew it was many times worse for him.

“Why bother appointing a successor if he intended to destroy us?” she pondered aloud.

“Perhaps… because deep down, he hopes we can stop them, even if he is… too weak to do so himself,” Azgard offered. This gave her pause and she regarded the veteren orc cautiously.

“You believe he is conflicted?”

“I believe he is scared. Perhaps something he has seen in a vision has shaken his faith in the elements. But, during our short conversation, he mentioned several things that give me pause. He has shielded us from the full fury of the Twilight’s wrath.”

“And the bombings in our camp? The loss of our warriors? The razings? The worgenn assasin?” Niashado pointed out. “I know he is your friend, but are you certain that it is not your blind hope that he has not truly turned?”

“He could have killed us at the ruins,” Azgard added, but then he shook his head. “I can not be certain.”

Niashado had never imagine she’d hear those words from him. Despite their opposing views on many things, his conviction had always impressed, and in someways, strengthened her resolve. Azgard seemed so unshakable. But now…

“Light…” Niashdao muttered. “I do not know what to do, Azgard. Part of me thinks we should cut our losses and retreat. We have no defenders and no intelligence on what the Twilights are doing. We do not even know where their coven is located. But, what if they are planning something devastating. We are in the unique position to make a difference.”

In agitation, she resumed pacing. “I can not arbitrarily decide to hurl these shamans into harm’s way.”

“Like you, these shamans chose to serve here. They chose to follow their calling to help mend Azeroth. And they recognize that many are more powerful then one,” the old warrior said. “We may not know what the Twilights are up to, but they had dozens of mana bombs, many times larger then the ones that struck us. I believe we should stop them.”

The shamaness shook her head. She still wasn’t sold on risking their lives.

“And we have a worgen to question,” Azgard added in a darker tone. She didn’t like the direction that would take them.

Before she could reply, an especially strong gust of wind shook the tent. The cloth walls bellowed violently against the barrage and they could hear particles sand pelting it.

“We will finish this conversation later. For now, let us get our people inside.”


Gadgetzan, Tanaris

“I got someone else to help!” Yevana announced happily as she approached Mattaka and Lurena at the flight master. It appear that Lurena has already bartered several wyvern to fly them the way. The sun had finally cleared the horizon and was bathing Gadgetzan in a harsh orange glow.

Yevana was beaming with self-congratulation at two trolls standing near her. A fierce druid and a skillful fighter. And now they have a goblin who can shoot things. This was getting better. Her father would be proud. Azgard would be proud.

Then she turned and her eyes widened at the sudden transformation that had befallen the goblin. He looked completely different. He was wearing leather armor and several different kinds of firearms. Behind him was a crate that was closed, but she surmised it carried more weapons.

Oh… dis gonna be good!

A few minutes later they were airborne and flying toward Silithus.

Seya Stealclaw

Twilight Coven - Silithus

The death knight didn’t answer her directly, but Seya was nevertheless pleased with the response. He was clearly not affected at the loss of his life. In fact, he seemed to see his second rise as a gift of sorts.

"Quite the operation you have set up here, makes one curious as to what all you have planned... and how someone stands in the way of it,” the death knight announced.

“A small group of vermin shamans in a settlement not far away have dealt me a serious setback. We are recovering. Nevertheless, I was promised several things by one of my… lesser lieutenants. He has failed to deliver on those things and now the thorn continues at my side. I do not abide failure, Death knight.” Seya explained.

She closed her eyes and imagined the fires of her Master’s making glowing all over Azeroth. Her lips spread into a grin. She turned and gestured for Alarde to follow her as they walked away from the construction site and toward the center of the camp.

“Our lives… our existence, are defined by our successes. With each failings, with each wrong that befalls us, we fall into obscurity. We fade into nothing. We become nothing but another drop water in a sea of nothing. Just as you have, I have had people wrong me. I have had people who fail me. But I am better then them. I will not be obscured. I will not be forgotten.”

She looked at the death knight and nodded. “Two of the individuals who have wronged you are here in Silithus. They have probably forgotten about you. They go about their days being a pest to me and chanting in the winds to an element that probably ignores them most of the time. Pathetic!

"I am here to give you a chance to be remembered by all who have wronged you. But before I can do these things for you, I need you to do something for me. Prove your worth.”

Seya stopped at a large bonfire. The other Twilights who were warming themselves suddenly scattered at the sight of their leader. Only one remained, however.

“Dakota Stonehoof. I have decided that your failures can no longer be ignored. You begged me to spare most of your shamans if your brought me their warriors. You promised me they’d leave. I upheld my part of the agreement and you made me out to be the fool,” Seya announced. “And I have now learned that you spared the lives of the very shamans who destroyed my depot. This is unacceptable.”

The tauren slowly stood up and pulled the hood off his head and allowed the cloak to fall to the ground, revealing a brownish gray fur. He glanced at the shrouded orc and then to the death knight.

“Death knight. Kill this traitor and you may take his place. Once you do, you will become important enough for me to learn your name.”

As if she’d just assigned some kind of mundane order, the orc female turned and departed from the scene. She had no interest in witnessing a boring battle. She only cared that Stonehoof was dead and that the death knight was all she hoped for.

The tauren snorted and raised a heavy two-handed war hammer. Oddly, he didn’t seem concerned about the fight. In fact, he didn’t seemed surprised at all that this had happened.


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Chains of Command (Closed RP) - Page 3 Empty Re: Chains of Command (Closed RP)

Post  Izdazi on Fri Nov 30, 2012 2:23 pm

Anessa Petigrew

With Mercer safely on the other side, Anessa circled the camp and began to make her approach. The wind was constant enough that she would be able to catch the scent of any patrols they might have. But she had not run into any, and it was very likely that the shamans’ numbers had diminished to such a point that they could not spare any extra patrols beyond the perimeter. As she saw it, they were a cornered prey, and all that had to be done was close in for the kill.

Anessa stopped at a rocky crag a few meters out of the camp. It didn’t look too difficult to make the kill and get out before the shamans rallied. After the bombs and the confrontation in the ruins, she reckoned that their morale was at an all-time low. As she planned out her next moves, the wind picked up. A smell on the warm breeze set her on edge.

She spun around and lashed out with one of her claws. She felt her nails scrape something, but almost as quickly as she had attacked, her opponent retaliated. A hand came out of the darkness and clamped over her face, slamming her head against the rock crag behind her. Stunned by the force of the blow, Anessa lashed out blindly with her claws, but her attacker had slipped past her guard. She felt hands wrap around her throat. Anessa attempted to break the grip, but her opponent was strong enough to match her worgen muscle. As Anessa struggled for breath, her attacker slammed her against the rock again, viciously, and repeatedly. The first two times struck Anessa with a daze. She blacked out on the fourth.

* * *

Anessa came to her senses and immediately noticed her headache. It wasn’t painful, as she would have expected from getting one’s skull cracked open against a rock. She opened her eyes.

She was in a room of some kind. There was a single torch on the wall next to her. From what she could see, she was in a cave. Her hands and feet were not bound. She reached up and felt the back of her head. It was swollen, but intact. It didn’t seem right to her, because she was sure the force of the blow would have drawn blood.

She abandoned her musings when she caught the same scent from earlier. She focused on the dark areas of the cave around her, and as her eyes adjusted, she saw her captor.

“You,” she growled. He seemed different now. Maybe it was the effects of the bomb, or maybe her mind was playing tricks on her now; she had taken several heavy blows to the back of the head. Still, Anessa could not shake the feeling that something was off.

“I took care of your wound,” he said, tapping the back of his head. “It would have been easier if you weren’t so stubborn.”

She lunged at him. Her powerful legs carried her from a lying position on the ground to a charge in one motion. She’d used the same trick on many unwitting opponents before. But her captor was faster. His left hand flashed out, and suddenly her balance was thrown and her senses were reeling, and it wasn’t until she regained herself on the ground that she realized he’d struck her. As Anessa began to rise, he clamped a hand on her throat and pushed her down on the ground.

“Take a hint,” he said.

So close to her, she could see now that he was indeed different. Something about his face seemed elongated. His forehead bone seemed more prominent. And his arm looked bulkier. He seemed to display a great deal of strength, and Anessa was certain it did not come from the spirits.

“You’re not a shaman,” she hissed.

He released his grip on her throat, but continued to stand over her. “Not in the traditional sense.”

She could smell the Arcane on him. He was practically bathing in it. Anessa couldn’t understand why she hadn’t noticed it before. Even with Arcane fallout from the bomb, it didn’t impede her sense enough to mask it. “Why are you with those Earthen Ring shamans?” she asked.

“I ask the questions,” returned her captor. “What are you doing out here? Why did your masters send you?”

Anessa sneered. “Why should I tell you? You run with that foolish rabble.”

“I care about that ‘foolish rabble’ as much as I care about you,” he answered, taking a step back. “I am asking you politely. I can take the information I need from you, but it won’t be pleasant. Not for you.”

“I’d die first,” growled Anessa. She stood up and flexed her claws. Her captor held out his right hand with his palm out. Anessa couldn’t hear what he was muttering, but in the time that she took a step toward him, purple lightning arced out of his hand and struck her in the chest. She crumpled over as her muscles cramped involuntarily. The worgen wanted to cry out in pain, but her jaw and throat had locked up. She winced instead.

“Your choice,” he said. He started toward her with his hand outstretched. He was muttering again. She could smell the Arcane gathering.

Anessa shook her head and waved him off. “No more. I will tell you what you want to know.”

The incanting trailed off. “Why were you at the expedition?”

“To kill the draenei,” answered Anessa. “The female. Niashado.”

“Why? She’s hardly a tactician. And even less of a threat.”

The worgen shrugged. “I do not ask questions. I follow orders.” She tilted her head up and narrowed her eyes. “Why do you stick by her if you think so little of her?”

“I need her,” he replied, as if the answer had been obvious. “She might not be a leader, but she has her uses.” He seemed to relax slightly as he continued to speak. “Let me make something clear. I know about the bombs. I know you’re smuggling them into Silithus.”

Anessa smiled crookedly. “So?”

“Tell me what Seya is planning.”

The worgen laughed heartily. The howl echoed in the confines of the cave. “Even if I knew, why would I tell you? What’s keeping you from telling the shamans?”

“I don’t want to end this war any sooner than it needs to. The shamans saw the stockpile in those ruins, too. They know you’re planning something. Tell me what that is.”

“I’ll tell you, but only if you let me go,” bargained Anessa.

After a moment, her captor nodded. “Tell me, and I’ll let you go.”

They regarded each other silently for several seconds. Then Anessa coiled and narrowed her eyes. “You’re lying. I can smell it on you.”

He moved toward her. As he came into the light of the torch again, Anessa momentarily froze at the sight of his face. As he began muttering an incantation, she saw how sharp his teeth were. She saw the barbs that protruded from his flesh, and the dark tinge of his skin. The smell, which had been masked by the Arcane, was stronger.

A burst of brackish smoke shot out of the his hand and obscured Anessa’s vision. As the spell took hold of her mind, Anessa’s suspicions were confirmed as she glimpsed the psyche of her captor.

She tried to speak, but the magic had taken complete control and forced her consciousness to a dark corner of her mind. She was filled with utter terror as the energies flayed her mind apart.

The spell ended. Anessa sagged to the floor, unconscious.

“Seya is careful. Clever mortal.”

Anessa’s captor stood up and went to a corner of the cave, returning a moment later with a large, jagged crystal in hand.

“Still…there is work to be done.”

He knelt down beside her and drove a sharp edge of the crystal into her forehead.

“I won’t let you go to waste.”

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Chains of Command (Closed RP) - Page 3 Empty Re: Chains of Command (Closed RP)

Post  Miss Tiger on Fri Nov 30, 2012 6:05 pm

Emilysse Manaleaf

Emmy smirked. “Whiner,” she teased, lightly bumping her hip against Tahirus's as they walked. “Why wouldn't I be cheerful? My headache's going away, and I'm -surrounded- by attractive men. That's practically the recipe for happiness, Blue.” Her silvery eyes swept over the other shamans. “Kalesh and I tend to travel alone, but we-” The cat sneezed a bit too pointedly. “...I always enjoy company when I find it.”

Movement caught her eye, distracting her from any further conversation. Two forms resolved themselves in the rising dust, turning out to be two wolves, one the normal sandy brown, the other pure white. Emmy reached for the arcane on instinct and hissed as the act sent a lance of pain through her temples. Clearly not as over the mana bomb as she thought... A moment later, though, where there had been two wolves there were a troll man and a draenei woman. The woman's head turned, seeming to survey the group, but Emilysse was confused to see that her eyes were closed. After a moment, the draenei woman approached her. Kalesh growled, but the kaldorei silenced him with a gesture.

“I am Aerilyia, and this is Dango. We are shamans of the Earthen Ring, from the camp down the hill. We would like to help, if you would permit.” The shamaness inclined her head politely to Emmy and Tahirus. The kaldorei considered her, tilting her head to the side. Tall. Emmy was short for one of her kind, coming up at six feet one inch, and the draenei woman towered over her. Pale skin, just this side of pure ivory white, with hair the same, pulled into mismatched pigtails that blew in the wind. A sweet, lovely face, though the closed eyes continued to confuse her. Below that was full, ripe curves, barely concealed in a tattered and worn top that had once been bright green and a long, soft brown kilt. Emmy could contentedly lose herself for hours exploring every single inch of the draenei's body. Perhaps later...

Kalesh gave another pointed sneeze, pulling Emmy out of her reverie. “Oh! Of course, Pigtails. And you too, Tusks.” She shot the troll a sly wink before leading the way to the most seriously wounded shamans stretched out across Kalesh's saddle. She kept on eye on how the draenei woman walked, noting how she used her staff to sweep ahead for obstacles. Blind. That would explain the closed eyes. The blind shamaness stopped beside Kalesh's saddle, gently touching the brows of each of the wounded, then shook her head.

“Too much to deal with now. But...” The blue crystal dangling from her staff lit up and a soft, pulsing warmth came from it. The headache that Emmy had given herself in reaching for her magic subsided a bit with each pulse. “That should help at least. We need to get to camp, quickly. There is a storm coming, and we need to be under cover.”

Emmy snorted a laugh. “Naw, Pigtails, really?” she drawled, but chivied Kalesh to walk faster. “Come on, you lump, we're almost there.” Her silver gaze swept over the group. A few shamans on their feet and walking, Tusks gone back to puppy to scout around, Pigtails trotting beside the cat's head, a hand resting on top of his. There was something...

“Huh... Where'd Blue go?” she murmured. Aeri lifted her head with a small frown, casting out a wind around her to try and get a feel for anything around her, but she shook her head.

“There is no one else here. Wherever your Blue went, he had better get under cover quickly,” she murmured.

The group made their way back to camp as quickly as they could, but even then Emmy was having to cling to Kalesh's saddle just to not be swept away. And even then, she got the sense that it wasn't as bad as it could have been. The green crystal hanging from Aeri's staff was lit up, and she could see the draenei's lips moving in soundless speech. Shaman, so clearly she was taking the harshest edge off of the wind. The strain of it showed on the draenei's face, and sweat slid down her cheek, but they kept moving forward.

It felt like an age with the wind moving against them, but they finally made it to the camp and managed to get into the larger of the two tents before they tied it up. Aeri sank to her knees, shaking from the effort, and Emmy went to her side instantly. The other shamans taking cover from the windstorm helped get the injured off of Kalesh, and the large cat padded over, nudging Emmy's shoulder with his nose before laying down nearby, tail flicking as he watched with that lazy feline stare that didn't miss a single thing.

Aeri gave Emmy a smile. “I am fine. It was harder than I expected. I can still feel it...” The draenei shuddered delicately before moving over to the injured. Emmy sat back against Kalesh's side, leaning against him and watching as the shamaness worked. Aeri moved among the injured, murmuring soothing words, laughing softly and assessing injuries. Some she used more traditional methods of healing to tend, relying on the use of poultices and and creams and herbal remedies mixed in water, all of which the healer tasted before using to be sure she had the right one. Others she drew on the power of the elements. That was interesting to Emmy. She'd never seen shaman magic before. Really, there were very few similarities between what she did and the magic the draenei worked.

But mostly, she watched the lovely shamaness. Barely upright on her own, and Emmy could see something in the set of Aeri's shoulders that made her think that there was something weighing on her mind, but still the draenei was giving of herself to help others. Kalesh nudged her shoulder again and snorted.

“Just admiring the view, furball,” Emmy murmured, ruffling his ears and relaxing against his side.
Miss Tiger
Miss Tiger

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Chains of Command (Closed RP) - Page 3 Empty Re: Chains of Command (Closed RP)

Post  Izdazi on Wed Jan 23, 2013 4:57 pm

Un'goro Crater

The jungle canopy below concealed the surface of Un'goro crater like kobold protecting its candle. Occasionally, a monstrous roar would rise from the hidden confines below, as a warning against any who would dare trespass.

Yevana's eyes occasionally glanced at the forest below as they flew on, but said nothing. Now that they were getting closer to Silithus, thoughts of adventure were turning to concern for her fellow shamans.

She glanced back briefly to confirm that Mattaka and the goblin, Zelg were following. The troll druid was in bat form and seemed to be keeping pace. She was careful to maintain a slow pace so he wouldn't tire himself out.

The same was true of the goblin's wyrvern, which had been burdened with what appeared to be a small arsenal that he'd brought. Even with the goblin's small size, it appeared to be struggling to keep up.

Nevertheless, even with the reduced speed, she estimated that they'd arrive in only a few more hours.

Lurena stayed quiet but alert, keeping a look out for anything that might come their way. She had only smirked at Yevana when the young troll presented a goblin to join their party. Lurena could only think of when she would have to bully her way with this one as she does with all the others. Goblins liked to be manipulative, and Lurena was not fond of being manipulated by something that only came up to her knees.

What did bother her, though, was Mattaka. She tried not to let the troll druid’s accusatory comment of her being like every other rogue get to her, but it did. Since leaving the inn, she only acknowledged the druid and said nothing more to him. She was grateful for the distraction of the wyvern flight, otherwise she would have to endure an uncomfortable silence with the druid.

As they flew over Un’goro Crater, Lurena looked back to make sure the goblin and the troll druid were still with them. Turning back, Lurena patted Yevana’s shoulder and decided to break the silence.

“Joo ready to get back to ja friends?” she asked lightly.

Yevana glanced over her shoulder and nodded to Lurena.

"Joo betcha," she replied with a wry grin. "Azgard gonna be pleased for da help."

Her grin faded after a moment.

"Dat be, if they still der."

"If Azgard be with dem, I’m sure dat dey will be,” Lurena answered confidently.

"I would feel better if he were in charge, Lurena," the girl replied. "But our elder left a weakling in charge."

“What weakling did dey leave in charge?” Lurena asked, ignoring Yevana’s concern. She couldn’t imagine someone not leaving Azgard in charge. The orc was a veteran and a hardened one at that. She couldn’t think of a better leader than he.

"I forget da name," Yevana replied, as if that piece of detail was unimportant to her.

“Hmm.” Lurena was sure that when they got there, she could figure out what was going on. She was going to help in any way that she could. Even if her personal life was a mess, she was fine helping others with their own lives. That much she enjoyed doing, because at least she could forget about her own problems. “No problems, mon. We’ll take care of tings once we get dere.”

Yevana kept her eyes forward for a few minutes as she adjusted the wyverns flight path. Then she looked to the side and offered Lurena a toothy grin. "Thank you for getting my totems. I know it was risky to joo for something I foolishly lost."

The rogue couldn’t help but return the smile. “Don’t worry about it, mon. It was no big deal. I needed to tie up some loose ends while we be in town anyway, and dat opportunity presented itself.”

Patting Yevana on the shoulder once more, Lurena raised her eyes towards the horizon. “Joo tink dat we gonna be facin’ a big fight when we get dere?”

"I dun know. Dey hit us hard da first time. But I dun understand why. We have no shiny riches," she explained. "Dey did not even send anyone to talk us."

Narrowing her eyes, Lurena tightened her grip on the leather saddle she was riding on. “Well, next time dey try to do anyting will be dere last time,” she growled. “I won’t let dem try and get away with hurting any more of our friends!”

Yev glanced over her shoulder and nodded with that. She was pleased that Lurena was eager to help, just as Mattaka and Zelg were. She had picked up on some tension between the two trolls, but she hoped things would get better.


Un’goro certainly looked larger from the air, when Zelg mentally compared it to maps he had seen. And the goblin had only ever ventured barely into the wilderness on the few occasions he visited the area.

Chills raced up his spine every time he had heard a roar from one of the monstrosities within the jungle. Even now, well above them, he still flinched when the occasional bellow broke the silence. What made it worse was that he had never actually seen one of, whatever the fel was making such a racket.

Stories drifted through Gadgetzan about gargantuan, lizard like beasts boasting enormous maws filled with dozens, if not hundreds of razor sharp fangs. Alongside these were plants that seemed to spring to life and attack like feral beasts. To be honest, Zelg was never able to discern when someone was being truthful, or just trying to scare him, and as a result he chose to just believe every story he overheard.

In part, such stories drove him to begin designing incredibly powerful weapons, like the ones he was taking on this job, just in case something really unpleasant were to happen while out in the open.

Behind him came a more relaxing sound; metal on metal as the contents of his crate shifted in flight. The wyvern did not seem too happy to be carrying the box of weapons, and sounded as though it were struggling slightly. But to Zelg, having that crate meant more than almost anything, and he had made sure it was secured before the group left. It was his swords, shield and a large investment of money, materials and time, all in one bulky package. If it fell, he would probably dive off after it, regardless of whatever large beasty it landed near.

The only other thing on his mind was a constant stream of ideas for new weapons and modifications to one she had already built. His workshop held at least a hundred different designs for anything from crossbows, to rifles, to highly explosive bombs, and yet only a few had ever made it past schematics. Further, of those that were ever built, an even smaller percentage ever proved to be reliable enough for sale and use. The rifle and pistol he had opted to take on this expedition were such weapons, having been tested before hand and proved their worth.

The crate carried more experimental weapons that were built only when the goblin had come by the required materials for prototyping. They were by far his biggest financial investment, as quite often they were made of large quantities of high value metals and were never bought for a number of reasons.

All he could hope for was that he would get an excuse to use them now in Silithus to see if they really worked, and then how much destruction they could cause.

Another roar broke the silence, causing Zelg to nearly jump before looking down towards the jungle, still unable to see past the dense jungle canopy. Maybe someday I’ll build something to annihilate one of those… things


Earth Ring Settlement
A few hours later

The only sound that was shared between the huddling shamans was the angry howling of the gales and the violent flapping of the tents. The few tents poles they’d manage to repair and erect creaked ominously throughout the onslaught. Each prayed that their shelter would make it through the storm.

Niashado knew that collectively they could have tempered the storm. It was well within the power of a shaman to do so. Before the Cataclysm, a farseer could have calmed such fury alone.

But things were different now. The Elements were chaotic and unstable. And from the wearied glances of the others, she knew risking such an exploit for the sake of comfort was foolhardy.

Indeed, despite the dangers of being skinned alive and suffocated by windblown particles of sand, or electrocuted by lightning, or even getting lost from the lack of visibility, this storm was a respite. If she hadn’t known that the storm was just a random aggregation of chaotic Elementals, Niashado would be inclined to even think of this as a blessing.

A respite. That’s what this storm is; a respite from the Twilights Cultists, who had taken so much from them. No one would be idiotic enough as to attack during a sandstorm. And Niashado had seen into the eyes of their leader. Seya was not an idiot.

The shamaness raised her head slowly and glanced at Azgard, who in turn, was keeping a careful eye on their worgen prisoner. Azgard knew Seya. In fact, he feared her. She’d seen it in his eyes. The flash of fear was oh so brief, but it was there.

But, being true to his hardened stubbornness, the orc refused to reveal anything.

Lowering her head again, the draenei felt herself fall into prayer. She needed guidance and wisdom now more then ever. The burden of becoming a leader to these people, many of whom were far better skilled at shamanism then she was, had been heavy at first. But learning of Farseer Stonehoof’s betrayal only exasperated her uncertainties.

Was she chosen intentionally to lead this settlement into ruin? Did he think that little of her, that putting her as leader would guarantee the failure of the Earthen Ring in this region?

Shaking her head, as if to figuratively purge her mind of the doubt, the shamaness instead pondered their options. Realistically, they should evacuate.

But then, who would resist whatever it was the Seya was up. Clearly the orcess viewed the Earthen Ring as a potential threat to whatever her plans might be. What if they had the unique opportunity to stop her?

She looked back at the others. It was too crowded to lay down, so people sat. Some read. Others rested. The other tent was similarly as crowded.

What Niashado saw was disheartening. They were downtrodden. Fatigue and tired. Fearful.

She glanced at the two newcomers. They might help, but she wasn’t sure how, or even whether she should involve them. The shamaness was still cautious of Indiriel Dawnlance's reasons for being here.

And now there was the night elf, Emilysse Manaleaf. She’d been well received by the other shamans at the ruins and Niashado was grateful that she’d offer to assist their wounded to the camp. That this kal’dorei was also a practicing mage was… unusual, but nothing that should make working with her a problem. Indeed, Manaleaf seemed to have an endless amount of things to speak about and an art for delivering it in a manner that at times, even brought forth a few quiet chortles.

Niashado looked toward the opposite end of the tent where even now Emilysse was sitting next to her saber and talking in hushed tone to a few of the nearby shamans. It seemed like she was telling a story, but the shamaness couldn’t hear for where she sat and with the racket the wind produced. There was a brief burst of chuckling from her side of the tent, though. It was a welcomed sound to hear.

And then there was Tahirus. According to Emilysse and the other shamans returning from the ruins, the draenei mage, now turned shaman, had disappeared just before they returned to the settlement. With the storm so close, Niashado didn’t want to risk anyone getting lost searching for him. Tahirus was smart. He knew what he was doing. He always had plan.

And that was what bothered Niashado the most about his presence here. Tahirus’s plans usually didn’t leave much in the way for others. In fact, sometimes others were more of an ends to a means, for him. She’d learned that the hard way and only by a completely random happenstance, did the shamaness survive.

There then, there was also the possibility of a second worgen somewhere out there. Mercer, the worgen prisonner, had been most emphatic in that during his threat laced tirades.

As suddenly as it struck, the winds dwindled down to a steady breeze. The interior of the tent began brightening, as sunlight pierced the veil of the sand clouds. The worse of the storm had passed.

Eager for some fresh air and to survey the damage, Niashado untied the flap of the tent and stepped outside. She was blinded by the sudden brightness, but slowly, her vision recovered.

All that remained of their settlement were two sagging tents. Everything else had either been blown away or buried. Here and there, things could be seen sticking out of the sandy ground. Off to the east, was the mechanical contraption their goblin shamans had built to extract water from the dry air. It was on its side and, at least to her untrained eyes, appeared more broken then before.

Without given them much chance to despair over the disarray, Niashado began issue tasks. They needed sentry totems to be placed and fresh wards to be activated to prevent unexpected teleports. Supplies needed to be recovered. That mechanical contraption needed to be fixed before their two-day supply of water dwindled.

She also added that everyone was to work in groups of two or three. They were still in danger and she wanted desperately to avoid losing more people.

Niashado had Aerilyia and Dango move the wounded and their guests to the other tent. Once that was done, it was just her, Azgard and the restrained Mercer inside.

“I did some thinking during the storm,” Niashado began as she tried to collect her thoughts. Although she depended on Azgard’s council, she usually didn’t look forward to his adversarial responses. “You were right. We need to find out what the Twilights are doing here.”

The orc snorted gruffly and turned his back to her.

“We need to leave this place,” he stated much to her surprise.

“What!? After you argued and berated me so hard to take the fight to them, now you want us to leave!” Niashado very nearly bellowed. She struggled to control her frustration at Azgard’s unexpected change.

Still seated near them, the worgen’s chuckled through his tied-shut muzzle. Azgard responded by lashing out with his fist and striking the right side of his face. The shamaness jumped at the sudden display of violence, but held her ground.

“Things have changed,” he replied simply, as he rubbed his knuckles. Niashado moved around him until they were face to face again.

“Things have changed? Like what? Farseer Stonehoof betraying us? The storm destroying most what we have? The losses of our fellow shamans?” Niashado rapidly counted off. Then she stepped closer, her tail taut and her jaws set fiercely. “Or is it that the appearance of Seya that has changed your mind?"

“She’s nobody. You were right before. We are weak and in disarray. Our warriors are gone. Our farseer has betrayed us. We should leave.”

The shamaness could hardly process what she was hearing. After everything they’d been through, after how hard he had argued with her to strike, now he wants to leave?

Clenching her fist, Niashado held her ground.

“We are staying. We are going to find out what Seya's coven is up to. If we determine that we can not stop them, then we will take what we have learned and attempt to get word to Cenarion Hold. But I need everyone committed on this,” Niashado replied seethingly. “They have taken so much from us, Azgard. How can we just let them continue uncontested?”

The orc’s eyes widened and he reared himself to full height, putting himself just a little taller then Niashado.

“We can not-” he began to say, but was interrupted by a sudden call of alarm from outside.

“Wyrverns incoming!”

Adrenaline burned through her veins as Niashado retrieved her staff and stormed toward the tent flap. Azgard was just a step behind.

Outside, the other shamans had retrieved the weapons and were forming defensive ranks. The shamaness took her place in front of the crowd. She felt a somewhat strengthened by Azgard standing just behind her.

There were three wyrverns and something that looked like a giant bat circling the camp. They landed between the two tents and two tall figures, who had been sharing a wyvern stepped off. Another figure, clearly a goblin with several rifles strapped on his back followed behind. The third wyvern was loaded with supplies.

There was a tense silence between the two groups that stretched on for what felt like hours, although in reality, it was maybe a few seconds. Only the residual breeze from the transient storm and the skittering of wind blown sand at their feet passed between them.

Then, one of the figures before them removed her hood and mask and the mood of the entire encounter completely changed.

Yevana! She was back! Niashado felt such relief at the site of their wayward young shaman returning. She heard a sigh of relief from Azgard as the other shamans in the village rushed past them to welcome the young troll back.

“So you were worried about her too,” Niashado said, looking sideways at Azgard.

“It was a dangerous mission,” he answered simply.

“She is a child, Azgard. A child you sent on an extremely dangerous mission. Thank the Light she had returned safely.”

“She was a child. She faced her fears and has brought us help. Now she’s a true warrior for the Horde. ”

The response galled the draenei, but she merely shook her head while looking on as the others welcomed Yevana back.

“Let me know when you have faced your fear,” she replied to Azgard before moving on to meet the newcomers.

She nodded at the goblin rifleman and was about to welcome when the other tall figure removed her mask and hood. The shamaness felt her eyes widen at the sight of the very last person she’d hoped to see in this place.

“You!” Niashado cried out.

“You!” Azgard called out, also staring at the other troll.

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Chains of Command (Closed RP) - Page 3 Empty Re: Chains of Command (Closed RP)

Post  Alarde Orig on Wed Jan 30, 2013 5:22 pm


“A small group of vermin shamans in a settlement not far away have dealt me a serious setback. We are recovering. Nevertheless, I was promised several things by one of my… lesser lieutenants. He has failed to deliver on those things and now the thorn continues at my side. I do not abide failure, Death knight.” The orc was making this group of shamans sound like an opposing army, on top of one of her subordinates causing trouble for her.

Whatever she and her “master” had planned, she sounded proud to be a part of it and seemed to be counting on it to happen. The last part about not wanting to be forgotten reminded Alarde of a time before his turning to the Scourge, when he wanted nothing else than for that to happen. But that was in the past; now all the elf wanted was vengeance.

“Two of the individuals who have wronged you are here in Silithus. They have probably forgotten about you. They go about their days being a pest to me and chanting in the winds to an element that probably ignores them most of the time. Pathetic!” The death knight was still trying to fathom how this shaman had survived their last encounter. It seemed impossible. Perhaps I’ll get the chance to beat the answer out of her…

“I am here to give you a chance to be remembered by all who have wronged you. But before I can do these things for you, I need you to do something for me. Prove your worth.” I think I see where this is going. The pair approached a bonfire, where all but one cloaked figure had departed upon their arrival. The orc called him out as Dakota Stormhoof, and began listing off his failures in a fashion that sounded an awful lot like a prelude to an execution.

“Death knight. Kill this traitor and you may take his place. Once you do, you will become important enough for me to learn your name.” As the orc departed, Alarde’s face twisted into a sickening, evil grin. So many ways to end lives… and I have to pick just one. What a shame. While the tauren had readied his weapon, the elf folded his arms and continued to grin as he formulated how he was going to dismember the tauren.

“I was accused of treason once,” Alarde announced with a chuckle. “Get on your knees and I might make this painless.”
All his life, he’d been told he’d be a great shaman. In his village, the elders saw great promise in him. He had an affinity for the Elements that most needed years to achieve. And he’d been well liked and respected. He was on the front lines at Hyjal. He’d traveled around Kalimdor at the beck and call of Elementalal disburances. His life afforded little time for the family he often wanted, but still he gave himself whole heartedly toward his calling and his faith.

His ancestors would be proud.

But the Elements, with their immeasruable strength and immature bearing rewarded his faith by showing him dying, in this desert, alone. A great farseer, dying for nothing. Mourned by no one. Forgotten.

His faith wavered.

Dakota felt he deserved better. If he couldn’t survive as a farseer, maybe he could survive subverting the Twilights from within. The more he thought about, the more the plan seemed promising. Unfortunatly, proving his loyalty to the Twilights involved placing several of there mana bombs in the settlement. Some of the shamans, all of whom trusted him wholeheartedly, would be killed.

And so he conjured a justifiaction for this.

The needs of the many, outweight the needs of the few. I he could make his plan work, the deaths of those shamans would be justified by his attempt to prevent the Twilights from enacting the plan.

And then he led Azgard’s warriors to the Twilight coven, only to allow them to be captured, tortured and eventually killed.

And so he rationalized, that their sacrficie would mean something when this was over.

And Dakota waited for the oportune time, but the leader, Seya, still kept him at arms length. No matter the dreadful things he’d done, Dakota was still no closer to discovering what they were building, or what their plans were. And to make matters worse, the shamans he had abandoned had made to move to depart from Silithus.

And still, he was silent. He wanted to stop the Twilights, but he had to be patient.

Stumbling upon Azgard had been unfortunate. He couldn’t ignore the shock and dissapointment in his old friend’s eyes when realized Dakota’s betrayal.

At that moment, all of the justifications and rationalizations he had cultivated crumbled. His mad quest to destroy the Twilights from within had really been nothing more then him running scared.

And so, the tauren farseer, once respected and loved by those who followed him, finally made a choice that he knew the spirits would approve of. He spared Azgard and the other shamans at the depot, and allowed them to leave.

At that very moment, Dakota knew his life was forfeit. Seya would see this as nothing less than betrayal. He would die for this.

But he accepted this, because for the first time since he’d been given the vision, Dakota finally understood the meaning. The Spirits didn’t want him to die alone and unmourned. They were warning him, but instead of following his faith, he allowed himself to be guided by fear. He had dishonored his faith, his calling and those who believed and trusted in him.

He, a great farseer, will die alone in this desert. Mourned by no one. The Twilights will think him a traitor. His fellow shamans will believe him a traitor. But his ancestors will welcome him home with wide open arms. The Spirits will know that, although Dakota had become a victim of his fear, he had also found his courage and returned to his calling.

Even now, with this twisted abomination of a night elf standing before him, he felt the Elements returning to him. His name may be cursed by mortals, but the Spirits were forgiving.

“I was accused of treason once,” the death knight announced with a sinister chuckle. “Get on your knees and I might make this painless.”

“I am a traitor,” Farseer Dakota Stonehoof stated. “I have betrayed everything I once believed in. Now, I do not.”

Tiny slivers of electricty arced between the taurens fur and his war hammer errupted into flames. Dakota’s eyes narrowed on the deathknight and his lips peeled back along his snout.

“Tell me, death knight, how much of your former life have you betrayed?”

With that, he stretched his free arm toward the deathknight and called out to the Elements. Blue-white light strobed in the center of the Twilight coven as a thick shard of lightning lanced from his arm directly toward the death knight.


The tauren’s attack caught Alarde slightly off guard, but he had a feeling this one would not be going quietly. As a result, he did not summon any energy to buffer his body against the lightning bolt. There was no real pain, just disorientation from the blast and enough force to knock the elf to the ground. It reminded him of Northrend, one of his first assignments; the equivalent of finding a needle in a haystack. His method was to simply set the hay on fire.

Destroying all caravans in sight within Dragonblight, in search of an ancient and potentially powerful artifact. One unlucky group was with the Earthen Ring; three dead and one blind fool left to tell the tale, something Alarde should have never done. But, that was in the past, and there was not even a shred of hope for this shaman before him. The grin emerged again as the elf got himself back on his feet, just in time for another blast of lightning.

This time, however, Alarde’s hand shot out and managed to “catch” the lightning. The bolt seemed to swirl around his armor, following his outstretched hand back to the fractured armor on his torso. In one swift motion, the elf retracted his outstretched arm and extended the other. A small swirl of black and green energy flowed along his arm until it reached his palm.

With a familiar feeling, a bolt of energy leapt from his hand, streaking forward and striking the tauren square in the chest. “I was the one who was betrayed, and now I am making sure those debts are paid in blood.”

With a bone chilling laugh, Alarde drew his blade from his back, all six runes glowing.

“I’m going to enjoy this.”

Blade raised, the death knight charged directly at the tauren, still sporting the same twisted grin.


The tauren grunted and stumbled back several steps at the impact from the deathknight’s spell. He’d fought deathknights before, but this one was different. This one was more powerful and far more driven then he’d ever seen.

Raising himself to full height, Dakota managed to swing his war hammer into a wide arc before crashing into chest of the charging deathknight. The creature was thrown back almost a dozen feet into the sand.

The farseer intended to give him no quarter and pressed forward with his attack. He called out to the earth and the ground began rumbling under the prone deathknight. A fissure opened up and it was as if the ground wanted to consume the creature whole.

Wasting no time, Dakota rushed toward the deathknight slammed his hoof down on Alarde’s rune blade. The tauren smashed his war hammer against the elf’s midsection, hoping to force him into the fissure.

He repeatedly smashed his hammer downward and took some satisfaction in seeing that the deathknight was losing his grip.


The elements seemed to answer the tauren well, as the earth beneath Alarde began to open. He felt the tauren stomp down on his blade, and did his best to hold on with each bash from his opponent’s weapon.

Small grooves now lay in line with the elf’s hand as with each impact the tauren threatened to drive him down into the fissure. He felt his lower body fall in, causing his hand to slip even more, and yet he was not worried. For a brief moment, all six runes on Alarde’s blade glowed brighter, before going out altogether.

With another smash, the elf released his grip on his weapon to appear like he needed more grip to keep from falling in entirely. Instead, his entire body felt as though it were buzzing with energy, particularly his hands. Focusing, Alarde felt a light series of tremors in the ground as his plan went into action. Something grabbed hold of his feet, holding him up while the tauren raised his weapon for what looked like the final strike.

Just as the hammer reached the top of his foe’s swing, what was holding the elf began to push up rapidly. Alarde seemed to rise from the ground, reaching up now with both hands. One grabbed hold of the falling stone head of the hammer, the other snatching the tauren’s arm. Beneath Alarde were six ghouls comprised of all sorts of parts of creatures that had dies in the area, holding him up so he was now eye level with the shaman.

Stepping forward, the death knight maintained his grip on both weapon and arm, all the while channeling energy into his palms. The temperature in them began to fall rapidly, resulting in ice crystals to form on the shaman’s arm and weapon. Alarde then clenched both hands and hard, causing the now brittle head of the hammer to creak and crack, while holding his prey in place.

Shortly, the head shattered, allowing the elf to swing his now free fist in one savage motion, clocking the tauren right in the jaw. Not allowing his prey to gather himself, Alarde swung again and caught him right in the gut with another haymaker.

The ghouls that had raised him from the crevasse now gathered behind their master as the elf threw the shaman to the ground. One of the abominations trudged forward with the massive runeblade, allowing Alarde to point it at his fallen opponent.

“Any last words?”


Dakota struggled to take in a breath and he scampered away from the deathknight. His weapon laid about in pieces at the foot of the deathknight. Ghouls and even an abomination clustered behind the deathknight.

“Any last words?” the night elf sneered as he pointed his runeblade at the farseer.

The tauren grunted as he pushed himself to his hooves. His dark eyes glinted as he studied the deathknight.

And comes to this. In fear of death, I run directly into death's hands. He chuckled mirthlessly and then glances past the deathknight and his undead minions. With the moon glowing behind it, the massive platform that the coven had been working nonstop on for months hung in the air from the rickety scaffolding. The wooden supports creaked in the inconsistent gusts of cool desert air.

Dakota's fear had failed his honor, his friends and his calling. But perhaps, there was still a glimmer of redemption for him. Perhaps not in the eyes of those betrayed, but at least his ancestors will know of it.

That would be all that he needed. It was much more then he deserved.

The tauren farseer closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He felt the liberating feeling of his fears sliding away. He was just a small piece in an enormous universe.

His eyes reopened and he grinned at the deathknight. Still unarmed, he held out his arms.

"May this be the first of many failures, deathknight," he declared, before calling to the Elements. To his relief and humility, they answered him strongly.

At first the trembling was barely noticeable, but within a short time, the ground began heaving. Waves could be seen as solid ground undulated as if it were mere water. Cultists began screaming as they tumbled in jarring impacts of the earth.

But, as if he was the eye of a hurricane, the ground under Dakota's hooves was solid. The waves actually reverberated outward from where he was.

The piercing sound of wood timbers snapping cut through the yells of people and the rumble of the earth. A chain holding up the platform snapped and part of the suspended structure began listing. More of the scaffolding cracked and creaked as the entire structure began swaying dangerously. Already, parts of the structure had collapsed.

Just a little longer Dakota hoped as he kept calling to the Elements.


As the ground quaked, Alarde could hear the sound of multiple things breaking, in the distance behind him. Clearly this tauren saw the importance of the unusual project, something Alarde could not despite what the orc had said. He and his minions stood firm, well, as firm as a group of shambling corpses could during an earthquake. Failure…

The shaman seemed to have put the existence of Alarde and his ghouls out of his mind, focusing only on his spell. It was something the death knight would have commended if he were still alive, and still gave damn about honor. But, all that was well in his past now, and all the elf really cared about now was killing this tauren.

In a graceful stride, the death knight closed in and lunged forward with his sword. The wretched blade met little resistance as it sliced straight through the shaman, impaling him through the midsection.

“You are but the first to meet their doom by my hand here, shaman. Soon your friends will join you.” His final move was both simple and savage; withdrawing the runeblade from the tauren, Alarde spun rapidly to bring the edge around in a lethal arc. After stopping, the body of his opponent fell to the ground, followed by his head, rolling a couple of feet away.

The quaking of the earth slowed and stopped, allowing the ghouls to approach the fallen body. Alarde had already sheathed his weapon and picked up the severed head, and with a wave of his hand five of the ghouls pounced on the corpse in a feeding frenzy. The sixth, and largest, followed its master as he searched for the orc who had given him the assignment.

The traitor’s head would serve both as proof, and a fitting trophy.
Alarde Orig
Alarde Orig

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Chains of Command (Closed RP) - Page 3 Empty Re: Chains of Command (Closed RP)

Post  Akatora13 on Sun Feb 10, 2013 9:35 pm

Mattaka didn't find the flight too taxing after most of a night's sleep. He was somewhat wary of their new goblin friend, but he seemed to be excited about explosions and was was offering his personal arsenal for the aid of the shamans. He supposed it was some sort of mix of altruism (a rare sight in a goblin indeed) and an insatiable desire to blow things up.

Lurena, however, still bothered him. His attitude towards her had softened somewhat since he had observed the acts of kindness she displayed towards Yevanna. But her motivations were still unclear.

That's unfair, he mentally chastised himself. Maybe she had done something in her past, and was now trying to make right. The elders at Nighthaven preached keeping an open mind, and honestly it was something Mattaka still struggled with. He supposed it was an effect of seeing prejudiced everyday. He felt pretty rotten for insinuating she was a criminal when she had only shown them kindness. Maybe she did have some secrets. That didn't have anything to do with their mission now.

Mentally, he let it go and enjoyed the flight over Un'goro. The hot air rising from the massive crater had him gliding most of the way, keeping him afloat. Eventually, the flush foliage thinned out, giving way to the hard, merciless landscape of Sithilus. Soon, the camp was in sight.

Mattaka's ears twitched and his nostrils flared in alarm as he took in the devastation before him. His movements became automatic as thoughts fled. What tents were left of the settlement looked like a light breeze would knock them down. Remnants of what could Mattaka could only guess was a funeral pyre were prominent. The rest of the camp looked like people had just run through it. There were tools everywhere, and no organization Mattaka could see.

He glanced towards Yevanna's face. Her wide eyes and open mouth mirrored his own shock. Whatever she had been expecting to return to, it hadn't been this.

A spike of anxiety suddenly seized Mattaka and he pushed it down angrily. There was no time for fear. These people needed his help. He wasn't about to to let them down and come crawling back to the Cenarion Circle a failure.

They landed, Mattaka's legs extending as he did so. He shifted back into his normal body as he landed, standing up to full height. Yevanna's face beamed when she caught sight of an orc and a draenai approaching them. People began moving up to Yevanna, offering her congratulatory pats and huge smiles. Mattaka smiled gently at Yevanna's overwhelming pride.

Lurena followed the younger troll, putting her hood down as she did so. The orc and draenai Yevanna had been beaming at earlier instantly froze.

"You!" they both shouted simultaneously.

Mattaka narrowed his eyes slightly as he glanced towards Lurena. Perhaps his premonitions had been right after all. Then why did he feel a slight sense of betrayal tugging at him?

He crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

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Post  Izdazi on Fri Apr 05, 2013 2:35 pm

Earth Ring Settlement

Barely did Lurena have any chance to get her bearings when she stopped short at the group that had gathered to greet them. Two voices shouted at her in unison, and she recognized, with much dread, both of them.

Before her stood Azgard, the veteran orc who had been a close family friend years ago, and the draenei shaman who had aided Lurena when she had been trapped on a pirate ship a few years earlier.

Neither seemed happy to be with each other, and neither seemed happy to see her. The young rogue couldn’t understand why, though. Unless…

“Well, shit.” Lurena blurted out as she grimaced at the sight of both Azgard and Niashado glaring at her. Meekly, she raised a gloved three-fingered hand and waved at the two while trying to turn her grimace into a very forced smile.

“How uh…how joo doin’?” she began with a weak laugh. “Ja seem to uh…need some help, right? Dat’s…uh, dat’s why I’m here?”

She was really grasping here.


Niashado was at a loss for words at seeing Lurena here. The last time she'd seen the troll was in Booty Bay. The young troll had been on a quest to buy back her mother from slavery, but the quest had taken her down several dark paths.

Now here she was; a little older and experienced, but still on the dangerous path of mercenary.

She was just about to ask what she was doing here when Azgard spoke.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded in a gruff voice. There was something else in his voice that caught Niashado's attention.


Azgard knew Lurena, and judging by the rogue's facial expression, it appeared she knew him. The draenei decided to hold her comments to see how this would go.


“Just said dat I came to help,” she replied mildly, but with a bit of attitude, to Azgard. The veteran was still the same; there were just a few more lines in his face than there were before. Quite a few more lines. “Dere someting wrong wit’ dat?”

"Der's nuttin wring wit dat," Yevana interjected. "I dink dat-"

"Stay out of this!" Azgard snarled, pushing the girl out of the way.

"Azgard!" the shamaness snapped, stepping between him and the trolls. "Control yourself," she added in a quieter tone of voice.

"This… this is family business," he muttered before brushing past her and gesturing for Lurena to follow him.

Heaving a big sigh and rolling her eyes, Lurena pulled down her hood over her eyes and stomped past Niashado and Yevana to follow Azgard.

Once he'd led her a little distance away from the others, Azgard turned and roughly flipped the hood off her head.

"What is this?" he asked, running a finger over her daggers and her armor. "A thief? An assassin? Is that the life you have chosen to follow?"

Making a sound of dismay, Lurena defensively threw her arms up and tried to push Azgard’s prying hands away.

“I did what be necessary to get my mama back,” she growled impatiently as she readjusted the daggers on her belt. “Joo weren’t dere. No one was.”

"You could have summoned for me! I would have come. You know I would have!" Azgard bellowed, still holding her left arm tightly just under the shoulder.

"But this life. This is not what your father would have wanted. There is no honor in this life you have chosen."

“Dere is honor in da choices I make!” Lurena suddenly screamed, primarily out of pent up frustration from over the years that came out of nowhere. She gave Azgard the look of a bewildered animal as she forcefully tore her arm from his grip. “She needed me. No one believed dat she still lived, but I knew dat she was dere. And I needed money to get her. Too much for honest work.”

“Joo assume, just like everybody else, dat because I wear dese clothes, dat I wander a dark path. And here I thought dat joo would be happy to see me. Proud of me.” The young troll’s eyes were mixed with anger and hurt. “I couldn’t be more wrong,” she finished bitterly.

Azgard's visage softened as he was forced to release Lurena's arm. He had always thought little of those who worked independently of the Horde military. Most, he thought as nothing but money hungry mercenaries, who thought little of the tasks given to them.

He was proud to see her and in some ways, he was proud that she'd been relentless in her pursuit to rescue her mother. Little Lulu was never one to give up, though. He remembered that about her when she was just knee high.

Yet, it was difficult for him to see the little troll girl he remembered, a young woman now and one who had chosen such a dangerous and uncertain path. Azgard couldn't help but to think he'd betrayed his friend's dying wish, to protect his family.

He tried to find the right words, but nothing would formulate. He wanted to say he was proud of her, but all he could see was the happy little girl, now an adult so experienced in dealing death at close quarters.

The orc opened his mouth and then closed it. The only thing that moved between them was the desert breeze.

Sniffing, Lurena unceremoniously wiped her nose with her arm. Looking up at the sky to try and will away any tears that tried to come, she pulled herself together before facing Azgard again.

“It don’t matter. I be happy to see you anyway,” she said quietly, her voice distant.

Azgard suddenly pulled her into a brief, yet tight hug. Then, he rested both his heavy hands on her slim shoulders.

"Throm-Ka, daughter of Rennax and Framnali," he said with a short and heartfelt smile before motioning for her to follow him back to the camp.

The young troll couldn’t help but grin at the orc veteran. She followed him back to where the others were. Once they returned, she gave a small, fleeting wave to Niashado but didn’t say anything to indicate that there had been any issues whatsoever.


"Did… did I do something wrong?" Yevana asked meekly as she and Niashado watched Azgard lead Lurena off somewhere. Niashado shook her head and laid a hand on the girl's shoulder.

"No. You were exemplary. You did a brave thing and you came back to us," the draenei explained. "Azgard is simply dealing with a lot right now.

And he had better come to terms with them soon.

She looked past the troll to the other newcomers she had brought.

One was a troll druid sporting a green disheveled Mohawk. His skin tone was greenish and he sported a pair of long tusks coming out and forward of his jaws. Meeting a troll druid was first for her and she was indeed interested in learning more about him.

The other was a goblin carrying what appeared to be an army’s arsenal worth of firearms. His attire wasn't anywhere as austere as some of the goblin businessmen she'd met before. In addition to the worn leather garments he wore, she also noted the heavy and complex goggles set on his forehead.

"And who are these newcomers you have brought," she asked. The smile returned to Yevana's face and she led the shamaness toward them.

"Dis one is Mattaka. He's a druid. He… ahhh… 'helped' me in Feralas," Yevana quickly explained. Niashado's ear twitched at the way the girl hesitated. The young troll quickly moved on to the goblin. "And dis here is Zelg Ironbore. He is willing to offer his marksmanship to help us."

The shamaness eyed the two of them carefully. She still wasn’t content with the idea of bringing mercenaries into this situation. But now that they were here, she couldn’t just dismiss them.

"I want to thank you for offering your assistance."


Watching the orc practically explode at the taller female troll before leading her away was more than enough of a cue for Zelg to begin unloading his equipment from the beast that had carried him here. ‘Bet there’s a good story behind that.

As a last second decision, the goblin had opted to bring a few shorter, lighter carbine versions of his large “World Beater” of a rifle. Same caliber, same basic bolt action, but no elaborate telescopic sights, mainly due to how limited their range was with shorter barrels.

He had brought them mainly for spare parts should the big one need them, but maybe he would just be able to convert one of these shamen to become a shooter like himself, and make a quick stack of gold!

First though, he felt he needed to wait for the big orc to return, seeing as he looked like the one in charge; his payment still needed to be arranged. But for now, the young troll who ruined his breakfast and ultimately recruited him was conversing with and introducing the two of them to a gray-haired draenei. They always look like demons… at least their skin is more or less telling

"I want to thank you for offering your assistance." The draenei spoke to both of them after seeming to calm the young troll after the other two’s departure.

“If the price is right, you’re welcome blue-bell.” Zelg almost muttered as he carefully inspected one of the carbines. “Marksmanship, demolitions, weapons, basic constructs and repairs as needed. You’d be amazed how many problems can be solved with the proper application of explosives or bullets.” Not nearly as many that are caused, but what the hell…


Niashado barely managed to suppress a frown at the Zelg’s commentary on his preferred methods of solving problems. But she opted not to bother correcting his misguided belief. The truth was, as much as she loathed admitting it, they were beyond diplomacy and understand with the nearby Twilights. If she wanted her protect her people, they would need to be prepared to fight back.

“Well, Mr. Zelg, as you can see, we are in a bit of a disarray at the moment. I can promise you that you will be paid,” Niashado explained. She glanced at Mattaka and then to Lurena and Azgard who were approaching. “You will each be paid for your services. But, to be honest, I do not know exactly how much or when compensation will be provided.

“We had some money stored away to procure supplies from Cenarion Hold. However, a supply caravan has not passed through our area in weeks and without mounts, such a journey is dangerous. Not that it matters now. We lost many things in the last sandstorm, including the money.”

Without waiting for them to respond Niashado turned to other shamans.

“Dango. Please, consult with Aeri and help her select and secure our most gravely wounded into these wyverns. The rest of you, please begin gathering our supplies. Water and food is a priority,” the shamaness explained. Then she turned to Yevana. “Once our wounded are secured, you will take one of the wyverns and lead them to Cenarion Hold.”

“What are you doing?” Azgard asked.

“I don’t want to be leavin!” Yevana protested.

“The storm has cleared, Azgard. We need to make our way to Cenarion Hold before the Twilights ret-”

“We can’t leave. We need to find out what they’re doing here. We need to find out why they want us gone,” the orc interrupted.

“I got us help!” Yevana exclaimed.

“We are leaving!” the draenei snapped, baring her sharp teeth at the orc. Her trembling hands were clutched tightly into fists and her tail was taut. “I have lost more then enough people in this Light forsaken land! I will not lose anymore!”

Turning away from the elder orc, Niashado paced around for a short while and then glanced up when she realized there was little activity going on. Everyone was staring at her. Some appeared openly shocked by her outburst. A few were opening their mouths as if to say something.

She wasn’t going to have that.

“Stop just standing there and get to work!” she cried out, storming toward an empty tent. She took hold of one of the tent poles and savagely pushed it away, causing the already drooping cloth structure to collapse lazily to the ground.

The shamaness eyed the others sternly and dropped the pole on the ground unceremoniously. With a reluctant shuffle of feet, the other shamans began dutiful going about the task of disassembling the camp and selecting what could be carried and what had to be left behind. The kodos that they had utilized to bring supplies had been killed, meaning they’d have to abandon much of the supplies and tools.

She would see to it that anything left behind was destroyed to prevent them from aiding the Twilights.

Without another glance, she stormed past Azgard and the newcomers and into the other tent.


Azgard sighed deeply and then turned his attention to the other mercenaries. He studied the troll druid briefly. Having never worked with one, he wasn’t sure what to make of him. However, if he was anything like the tauren, and even the few night elf druids, he’d had dealing with, he was confident in this young troll’s abilities.

The goblin, he had mixed feelings about, but his sureness of his methods was at least encouraging.

He also had mixed feelings about Lurena’s presence here, but this time it wasn’t so much about her abilities, but more so about her personal safety. Then again, it wasn’t like she’d listen to him. He should have been there for her more. He had promised as much to her father when he’d been killed, but military duty kept him away often.

But, when he looked beyond who she was to him, he could see that she was confident and capable.

“Azgard. I want to fight. Not run away. Don’t be making her send me away,” Yevana whined.

“She’s the leader. It’s her call,” he told her. Even as he said that, however, he was working out how he’d tried to convince Niashado to change her mind. “Now go help Dango with the wounded.”

With a huff and sagging her shoulders, the troll girl walked away. Azgard turned his attention to the mercenaries she had brought.

“We have been repeatedly attacked by a nearby Twilight Coven. They had used unconventional weapons such a mana bombs. We know they’re collecting materials for some kind of project, but we don’t know the details of their plans, yet.”

He allowed that last sentence to hand between them as he studied each of them. The two trolls were too young for his liking. And the goblin… Azgard could only hope he wasn’t as eccentrically insane as the others he’d had dealing with.


Alone inside the only remaining tent, Niashado paced around while nervously tugging on one of her tendrils. It rankled her that she’d lost her temper outside before the others. A leader shouldn’t lose their calmness like that.

Farseer Stonehoof never lost his temper. Acantha, a friend she had worked with a few years ago, never seemed to lose her calm even when everything around them seemed to spiral out of control. The Prophet Velen, she’d never seen him lose control of himself.

The sound of someone snorting surprised her and when she looked, she realized that the tent hadn’t been completely vacant. The restrained worgen, Mercer, sat staring at her. He was bound tightly to one of the tent poles. His legs were also bound together, as was his muzzle.

But his dark eyes stared deeply at her and to her astonishment, they seemed to radiate mirth. Cautiously, she approached the worgen and quickly untied the rope wrapped around his muzzle. He opened his maw widely, as if to stretch his jaw and licked his chops. Then, he looked up at her and chuckled darkly.

“Stonehoof’s replacement already losing control. That was priceless,” Mercer said with a chortle.

The shaman's eyes narrowed.

“You have information we need and there is talk of using torture to extract such information. I am vehemently against torture, which is why you have not been harmed yet. I am sure if our roles were reversed you have no such compulsion for the safety of your prisoner.”

“I would tear you limb, from bloody limb,” Mercer confirmed, baring his jaws. “And my mate, Anessa, would do worse. What have you done with her?”

“We have not encountered another cultist, much less a worgen. If she was out there when the storm struck, then it is likely she has perished,” the draenei replied. She opted to not offer her condolences. While it was clear that Mercer cared deeply for this Anessa person, as far as she was concerned, these two were sadistic monsters who reveled in the pain of others.

“And what are you going to do with me. Take me with you as you make your way to Cenarion Hold?”

“No. We will leave you here, tied and muzzled. Thirst will take care of the rest.”

The worgen looked at her in stillness and then began laughing.

“You’re not a good liar, draenei.”

“Fine. Then, what guarantee can you give me that you will lead me to your leader, Seya?” the shamaness asked. The worgen immediately fell silent and cocked his head slightly.

“You want to see her?”

“She wants me dead. If I give myself to her, I want her to guarantee the safety of my people.”

Mercer grinned again and flashed his teeth.

“She’s a woman of her wooooord, draenei. The walk is long and the terrain is steep. Are you sure you can keep up?”

“Steep you say? You mean the canyon to the north, just before the shield mountains?” she asked.

“Aye. Just beyond the stone pillar. A long way, for one who hasn’t had water or food in over a day.” Mercer replied. “Untie me, and I will take you to her. I promise”

Niashado though it over and then she nodded. Leaning next to him, she moved behind and made to untie his wrists. Suddenly, however, she reached around his head and quickly tied the rope around his muzzle again. The worgen growled through his clenched jaws and tried to swing his head around to push her off, but it was already too late.

“I am not an idiot," she hissed in his wolfin ear. "You were sent here to kill me. Your companion is dead and returning to the coven empty-handed would be tantamount to suicide for you. I have no doubt that you would have brought my head to Seya, but that will not do. I will not see anymore of my people be killed and to do that I need to speak with her. Therefore, I will go alone, to the canyon in the north, where the coven sits between the rock pillar and the shield mountains. Thank you for providing me with the directions.”

The worgen snarled and struggled furiously, as she left the tent.


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Post  Miss Tiger on Sat Apr 06, 2013 6:59 am

Emilysse Manaleaf

Emmy watched the arrival of the newcomers with no small amount of amusement. Though really, she watched most things with amusement. She was a woman who could find a good time in damn near anything. It was a gift, really. Her silver gaze moved over the newcomers. Little troll, lady troll and handsome man troll. Lady troll wasn't bad either... Oh, oh! Both at once! That thought brought a curl to her lips and her toes at the same time. A goblin, looking very... gobliny. The mage could shoot a bow with reasonable accuracy; all kaldorei were trained in basic self-defense. Of course, she'd gotten far more than the basics training under her sister, but it had been around twenty-five years since she'd decided, to her sister's dismay, that the path of a Sentinel wasn't for her. Twenty-five years without holding a bow tended to diminish one's skill with it. But she could handle one. Those guns, though... She wasn't even certain she could LIFT one, let alone hold it steady enough for a shot.

“Love a man with a big weapon though,” she purred, leaning against her cat's side. Kalesh snorted out a breath. “Yes, or a small one, if he knows how to use it,” she replied, ruffling his ears.

Her eyes followed Green and the apparently very famous 'YOU' as they made some distance, then returned to the apparent leader of the camp, a pretty draenei she'd dubbed “Hooves”. Her eyebrows drew together as she tugged on her braid. There was something in her bearing that she didn't care for all of a sudden, and it wasn't the yelling, though fits of temper -did- seem out of sorts for her. Perhaps that was part of it. There was something going on in her head. She watched as Hooves stalked into the tent, then slunk around, waiting at the door for when she came back out.

“You know, yelling at the troops gets a bad rap, really, Hooves,” she commented, studying her dark red nails. One was CHIPPED! Dammit! “I mean, these aren't soldiers, by and large. They've not had three or four decades of having military protocol drilled into their skulls. And when they won't do what they're ordered, then by rainbows you've gotta put the fear of the Goddess in them!” She fell into step beside the draenei. “But if this were a military operation, one might wonder why the leader was taking her frustration out on her troops. It might make one wonder what exactly is going through her head, you know?”

She shot the draenei a sideways glance, lifted an eyebrow, then grinned. “Hooves, you've got the look of someone about to sneak out and do something very stupid. It's a look I know well, since I tend to wear it every time I escape a man's bedroom. Remind me to tell you someday about the time I slept with a paladin who didn't tell me he was married and how I broke his wife's nose on the door when I opened it to sneak out and she was about to open it to come in,” she laughed, then looked ahead, her voice and expression sobering.

“I want in, Hooves.”



Aeri hadn't stopped tending to the injured at the arrivals. She could make acquaintances later, surely. She lifted her head as Dango approached, tilting her head to the side at the sound of lighter footsteps following him. She sent a soft wind out to explore the newcomer, then her face lit up with a radiant smile.

“Little sister Yevanna! I am so glad that you're back!” she exclaimed, reaching a hand out to lightly touch her arm before turning her head to Dango.

“Pick out da mos' wounded, Aeri. We be loadin' dem up on wyvern. We gon' be headin' back ta Cenarian Hold,” he explained. The draenei sighed softly, then nodded. It was perhaps a decision that should have been made long ago. And of course, they really weren't up to withstanding another attack.

“It seems like such a waste, though,” she murmured softly as she moved back to the wounded, checking them over swiftly, assessing their injuries. “We have spent so much to preserve our camp, and now we leave.” Her fingers brushed over Hona's totems on her belt and she bowed her head. But the decision was not an easy one, she knew. She didn't know if she would choose anything else, were she in Niashado's position.
Miss Tiger
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Post  Izdazi on Mon Apr 08, 2013 2:33 pm

Niashado left the tent feeling no more or less resolved the she had before. While her indecision had cost enough lives, this new plan she was concocting was too rash and perhaps even too little too late. Now that the frustration and fear was slowly abating, she was starting to rethink some of her plans.

Azgard was right. They should make an effort to learn exactly why the Twilights wanted them gone. But nor were they trained for such things. It was the same argument all over again. With an exasperated sigh, she continued wrapping and unwrapping one of her tendrils around her finger.

She would do anything ensure the well being of the people under her charge. But she didn’t have a death wish. Seeking Seya was foolhardy. The orc would likely kill her and even then, there’d be no guarantee that such a sacrifice would secure the other shamans’ safety.

“You know, yelling at the troops gets a bad rap, really, Hooves.” The shamaness turned around and saw Emilysse following behind her. So lost in thought, Niashado had been, she didn’t know how long the night elf mage had been there.

Although she appreciated the assistance Emilysse had freely provided, Niashado wasn’t in the mood to have her outburst thrown back in her face so soon. Before she could say anything, however, the kal’dorei continued on.

As she did, the shamaness busied herself with gather the various articles that had been strewn around the settlement during the storm.

“Hooves, you've got the look of someone about to sneak out and do something very stupid,” Emilysse finally said, causing the shamaness to freeze.

How could she know? Niashado slowly turned to the night elf. She was going on about some foolishness she’d apparently done and laughed as if it was nothing in the world before her countenance suddenly grew serious.

“I want in, Hooves.”

Her eyes said it all. Despite, or perhaps because of the silly commentaries on her other imprudent exploits, Emilysse somehow knew what Niashado was doing.

The draenei knew she wasn’t the best at concealing her motives. She’d been warned by more then a few friends to avoid card games. But it’s not as if she had announced anything to anyone else. How could the kal’dorei have surmised so quickly?

The shaman’s eyes narrowed and she shook her head. How she found out was ultimately irrelevant. Niashado wasn’t sure if she was even going to go through with this. It was a spurious and irrational decision that was a long shot at best, but more then likely would amount to nothing but failure.

“Whatever I may, or may not, be planning, it is not some simple tryst bedroom jaunt,” Niashado replied darkly. "I need you here to help us move to Cenarion Hold. When we arrive I will compensate you for your troubles just as I will the others.”
She turned and resumed gathering materials from the ground, all the while irked that she could be so easily read.

This was the last thing she needed.


“Heya Aeri!” Yevana replied as she hugged the shamaness tightly. She enjoyed being around the other draenei. She was a patient teacher and had an amazing talent for the healing arts. That, and something about how she was still willing to serve out here despite her blindness was amazing.

Still, Yevana was still irked by the other draenei’s choice to run away to Cenarion Hold.

As Dango explained Niashado’s orders, Yevana grumbled quietly to herself. Then she turned to Aeri.

“I dun think we should be runnin away!” the troll girl blurted out. “Da cultist hurt us. Dey killed some of us. Dey killed my father. Dey should be made to pay. I brought help to fight dem. Not to be runnin.”

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Post  Miss Tiger on Tue Apr 09, 2013 5:43 pm

Emilysse Manaleaf

The kaldorei mage lifted a long eyebrow at the draenei's sharp retort, her lips quirking in a grin. "No one gives credit to a proper bedhopper. It's not so easy as we make it look, you know," she stated, apparently not at all put off by the sharpness of Nia's response. She knelt beside her, helping to gather various materials, falling silent for a moment.

"I said that your people aren't soldiers. Neither are you, Hooves," she finally stated bluntly, though she kept her voice low. "You're reacting to your emotions, rather than thinking things through rationally. If you were thinking rationally, you'd think of those bombs. The first one I felt from across Silithus. It was painful enough even at that distance to wake me up and give me a migraine for hours. The second one I'm still feeling if I turn my head the wrong way. Yes, I'm likely more sensitive to it than many, but there are plenty at Cenarion Hold who would have felt it as well. No help has come."

She dropped her armful in a pile and looked up at Nia, her silvery eyes locking on the shamaness's white. "You think that they'll save you, but the druids and warriors there, some of them among the oldest, most traditional types I've ever known, were willing to accept assistance from -me-. They're short-handed even for the maintenance and cleanup work on the silithids. They won't save you, lovely. By the Ancients, they may not even be able to save themselves."

Her gaze moved around the camp. "For whatever reason, the Twilights have decided that you're a threat to them. Leaving now is giving them what they want and removing the only barrier in their path. " She turned back to the draenei, then grinned, the serious expression melting away as she winked. "Of course, what do I know? I'm just a silly, vapid whore with great taste in fashion and a chipped nail. Take that counsel with a whole shaker of salt if you have to. Regardless of what you decide, Kalesh and I will stick around to help. In for a copper, in for a gold, you know."

She picked up one of the fallen and frankly-terrifying goblin totems that had been generating water, gave it a skeptical look, and placed it very carefully aside. "Goddess save all of us from goblins," she muttered under her breath. Advising bringing the fight to the Twilights in one breath, frightened of goblin technology in the next. The kaldorei figured her odds were better with the former than the latter.



Aeri hugged Yevana fiercely, then gestured to several of the most wounded. Dango started to pick them up to carry to the wyverns, and the draenei turned her head back to the young troll. "There are many that would agree with you, little sister," she replied, not indicating whether she was among them or not. "We have all lost friend and family. It hurts, deeply. And perhaps in our pain we are willing to trade those still living for vengeance. But think of this from Niashado's perspective. We are all her responsibility. We are all her family. If your mother were here, would you throw her to the fire to avenge your father? That is the choice that Nia is looking at, and the idea of giving up one of her children to avenge another is unfathomable to her. I don't envy her the decision or the position she's been placed in."

She moved to an unconscious tauren man, checking him over and deciding he needed immediate evacuation as well. "But perhaps she will change her mind. After all, you did bring us allies. That was an incredibly brave thing you did, little sister. It will surely rouse even the weary hearts of our order. And we've had a couple travelers show up and offer their support. If she does change her mind, though, she will want at least the wounded out." She offered the troll a warm smile. "So if it helps, think of this as preparation for battle. Help me? Tohn is a bit too heavy for me alone." She hooked her arms around his shoulders, lighting up the green crystal hanging from her staff as she called wind to help lift his bulk.
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Post  Mammona on Thu Apr 11, 2013 10:38 pm

The Earthen Ring camp was in ruins, with only one tent left standing. Smoke still curled from the remnants of the others, with goods and other objects strewn about the ground. The smell alone was enough to assault Swift's keen nose, and make his eyes water. Even in this form, he thought, this place reeks of death. Glancing around, he let his senses guide him, until he came up with a possible scenario. This was a warning, he thought. They left the one tent because it was the leader's. They burnt the rest as an example of what would happen next. Swift knelt and ran his fingers through the sand, his eyes twitching this way and that as one thought bubbled to the fore of his mind. She said there would be chaos here.

The Gilnean tracker had found finding the camp easy enough. He had been in Silithus for about a week, traversing over the sand-blasted landscape. He had found out many things in his time there, the most important being that he could not stay in his worgen form for very long. The sand was everywhere, and clogged his nostrils, reducing him to a fit of sneezing. After the first episode, he had been forced to wear a mask fashioned from a strip of cloth torn from a spare tunic. He had spent most of his time in the desert as a human. Still, he had covered significant ground, and he had not covered it alone.

His companion had been a kal'dorei, with beautiful features and long raven hair. She went by the name of Ma'dra, although she could have been Deathwing himself for all she gave away. Swift had found himself shying from her more than once. It was her eyes. They were cold and blank, and betrayed nothing of her intentions. She had said little, and Swift was glad of it. The sooner he could be out of her company, the safer he would feel.

She had left him within sight of the camp, disappearing into the sands with only a single sentence to remind him that she had been there at all. "Remember what to say..."

Slinking past the inexperienced sentries had been easy. They were not thorough in their sweeps, and none noticed the lupine form stealing amongst them. Now he had shifted back to human, and was looking for the one he needed to speak to. He would have preferred to introduce himself, but his instructions had been most explicit. He was to see the draenei first, and speak only to her.

Not for the first time did Michael Swift curse his luck. He did not want to be here, away from his precious forests. It did not feel natural, this place of sand, stone and evil. The wildlife were different, and there was the obvious stench of black magic that had made his fur crawl. His new employers seemed to think that there was something here worth sending him for, but it sounded more and more like a personal vendetta to Swift. He thought back on the unfortunate series of events that had lead him to Silithus. It had been something which he had been falsely accused of, but accused of nonetheless. Now he was on the other side of the world, looking for one draenei lost in the desert.

He found her in conversation with a Night Elf. A mage, by the look of her staff, and the reek of magic around her. Swift cast a quick glance from a short distance away, making sure he had his quarry. Shorter than average, twirling a tendril, nervous-looking. It must be her. He stepped into the open, made sure he was in his human form and walked up to the pair. As he did he inclined his head and held both his hands palm up.

"Excuse me, for interrupting, miladies." His voice was raspy and metallic from disuse, and he spoke with the unmistakable Gilnean accent that belied his origins.

"I do not wish to intrude, but I have a message for Niashado. My name is Michael Swift, called the Blackmane."

Brown eyes locked on Niashado. "I bring a message from an old friend. Do you by any chance know of an Acantha Mistbringer?"

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Post  Izdazi on Fri Apr 19, 2013 3:53 pm

As much as she dreaded what it meant, Emilysse had made a very strong point. The druids in Cenarion Hold knew they were out here. The druids had offered the Earthen Ring a small area of the Hold, but, as Farseer Stonehoof had explained, the shamans needed to be distant of any interference in order to study the elements in Silithus.

But surely someone would have come from the Hold to look into their condition. Especially after that large arcane explosion. Though, the shamaness didn’t dabble in the arcane arts, she too had felt a mild headache, despite the distance. It wasn’t anything like the headaches she and the other survivors had suffered after the mana bombs in their camp had detonated, though.

The shamaness stopped gathering debris and listened quietly while staring out into the desert. It was a struggle, but she fought to force down the panic that her mind was running in. Since the moment the farseer had left her in charge, she had been eagerly waiting for someone to come and rescue her from the burden of this responsibility. These people’s lives were in her grossily inexperienced hand.

But, Emilysse was assuming correctly that the druids had bigger problems to contend with. No one was coming to relieve her and lead them out. Nor could she run to Cenarion Hold and seek their direction in this matter.

"For whatever reason, the Twilights have decided that you're a threat to them,” the night elf pressed on. “Leaving now is giving them what they want and removing the only barrier in their path. "

Their path?

That was one of the myriad of mysteries that was haunting her. They hadn’t intentionally set out to provoke anyone. They didn’t even know where the Twilight Coven was. Yet, with no warning or provocation, they had been attacked. Their numbers had been ruthlessly whittled down.

Somehow, they were threat to Seya and her followers.

There was no support or help coming. It was just she, these shamans and the handful of people who’d come to fight alongside them. What if she led them back to the possible safety of Cenarion Hold only to later learn that they had been in a position to stop it?

But, would it matter if she led them into a slaughter? Did she have the right to demand them of that?

The draenei closed her eyes and forced her mind to calm before it could spin into another panic.

“I-“ she began to say only to be interrupted by a new, and startling unfamiliar, voice.
"Excuse me, for interrupting, miladies.”

Niashado spun around toward the human who was slowly entering the settlement. He appeared strong and had a bit of wildness to his appearance, thanks to his hair and stature. His skin tone suggested he spent a great deal of time outdoors. The quiver and bow slung over his shoulder confirmed that, as did the pair of knives hanging from his belt.

He was approaching them purposefully, but also as nonthreatening as possible.

Yet, it was his accent that had the shamaness already calling to the elements. She could feel tendrils of electricity arcing between her fingers and her eyes flashed with fear and determination.

He was Gilnean, which mean, likely, he was a worgen. She’d just finished conversing with another worgen who, despite his imprisonment, seemed all but eager to finish her off. He’d probably have killed Aerilyia, even after she had healed him, if she hadn’t stepped in.

“Not another step closer,” the shamaness warned. She shot Emilysse a furtive glance.

"I do not wish to intrude, but I have a message for Niashado. My name is Michael Swift, called the Blackmane,” the Gilnean introduced. The shaman’s eyes narrowed as she wondered what this message would be.

"I bring a message from an old friend. Do you by any chance know of an Acantha Mistbringer?" he asked.

Of all the things Niashado expected, this wasn’t remotely one of them. The shamaness relaxed slightly and felt the buildup of electricity in her hands quickly dissipate.

Acantha Mistbringer. Why did it have to be her, the shamaness mentally lamented. Ship captain, business woman, ruthless criminal, treasure hunter, mentor, friend. All these things described Acantha and Niashado was sure she’d only knew a tiny portion of the night elf’s life.

Acantha was in many ways, not a person Niashado would have normally socialized with. But, the woman was probably the first person outside of her mentors in Exodar, to see her as shaman. Thanks to her insistence, the shamaness had been dragged from one misadventure to another.

It was true, she’d always come out. But not sometimes, not without making compromises that the draenei felt wholly ill at ease with making.

Their last adventure involved retrieving an artifact from Draenor. It had ended under less then ideal circumstances. And afterward, Niashado had promised herself to avoid the night elf. It wasn’t dislike that she felt for Acantha. In many ways, she owed the night elf her life. With her help, Niashado had become stronger and more confident.

However, Acantha’s methods conflicted greatly with her own. They both operated by a very different set of ideals.

It’d been over two years since they had seen each other. And yet, somehow, the mysterious night elf knew where she was.

Niashado regarded Michael Swift with trepidation, and yet with a bit of trust. It was a strange feeling, knowing you can trust a person merely at the mention of someone who was as frightening as Acantha.

“We have had dealings in the past,” Niashado replied, keeping her voice carefully neutral. “Why has she sent you?”


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Post  Mammona on Tue Apr 23, 2013 9:13 am

The draenei’s reaction to Swift was as he expected. He only had to say one word nowadays to have people instantly on guard. All Gilneans were the subjects of such reactive fear. News of the curse had spread far and wide, and there was little that could be done to keep people’s minds from wandering. Add to that the very real possibility of feral monsters living within the midst of society, and one came up with quite a disturbing view of the subjects of Genn Greymane.

Swift had endured this disdain whenever he had ventured close to Alliance settlements during his time on the military. As a scout and a tracker, he rarely had to interact with others, but when he did, the way people were towards him ranged from frank suspicion to open hostility. This was why Swift preferred the wilds. No people judging or mocking him. Just the earth under his paws and the moon over his head. No people.

At the mention of Acantha’s name, an interesting change swept over Niashado’s facial features. Swift, who made a living out of noticing things, saw these changes as clearly as if the shamaness were only inches away from him. A moment of surprise, followed by a mixture of acknowledgement, calculation and no small amount of apprehension. However, it did seem to temper the open hostility that had been evident before, and for that Swift was grateful. He had no desire to become the object of such hostility.

“We have had dealings in the past,” Niashado said, her voice flat. “Why has she sent you?”

I would expect no other answer, Swift thought. Acantha was that kind of person. Swift had not been in her company for more than half an hour, but already he knew that this was not someone to be taken lightly. Something about her set his fur standing on end. The Acantha he met seemed to be only the tip of the iceberg, as if something vast was concealed within her, leaving Swift with only the smallest vestige of the elf in the open. Swift had no doubt that Acantha was telling him only what he wanted him to hear, and the worgen tracker knew better than to press the point. He had simply nodded and left in the company of Ma’dra.

Swift inclined his head in a gesture of respect. “Acantha Mistbringer has sent me to aid you.” He reached into a small pouch at his hip, and brought out a message. It was written on basic paper, rolled and sealed with wax. The symbol on the seal was a Scorpid’s tail. Swift handed the message to the shamaness.

“Here, milady. She made me memorize it, in case it was lost.”

Little Niashado,

Greetings from the other side of the world. It has been far too long since our last encounter. That business with the artifact, I recall. Nasty work, that. However, we did get out of it in one piece, though. This was due in no small part to you and your abilities. I shudder to think of the elemental power you hold at your disposal after two more years of practice. Anyway, the important issue was that we both emerged breathing. Speaking of breathing, I wonder how our mutual friend Kaz’kah is doing…

Anyway, to business. Word has reached me of the Earthen Ring’s little expedition. Imagine how surprised I was to learn that you had been appointed the leader of such an expedition! I am so proud of you, my little Niashado. You seem to be finally realising your potential!

I hope you do not find it remiss of me, but I still feel responsible for you after so many years. This is why I have sent Mr Swift to you. Despite being in my employ for only a short time, I have found him to be an excellent scout, hunter and tracker. He will be a great asset to you and yours. He is under instructions to help you in whatever way he can, although I am sure you can handle this affair on your own.

Please do not hesitate to contact me in Stormwind if you need further assistance. I am sure Ma’dra would be delighted to help you as well. Good hunting, little Niashado.

Yours faithfully,

Acantha Mistbringer.

Swift waited a few moments after handing the message to Niashado. He shifted uncomfortably, a blush spreading across his tanned features, before saying “Apologies, milady, but Ms. Mistbringer also told me something else. I was leaving her office, when she called to me, and said to apologise for calling you ‘little Niashado’. She said it was a term of endearment in her own mind, and forgot that you did not like it.”

The worgen resumed his waiting, glancing around uncomfortably at the surroundings, as he waited for his new commander’s orders.

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Post  Miss Tiger on Wed Apr 24, 2013 10:22 am

Emilysse Manaleaf

Emilysse had been more than a little surprised by Nia's response to the newcomer, but at the draenei's glance, she also began to gather her power. She held it ready to throw, but took the time to look the man over. He was tall. She -liked- tall men. Tall and broad-shouldered and he had such big hands. Her eyes sparkled with delight and her lips curved into a wicked grin at his accent. Many kaldorei had taken the entrance of the Gilneans, cursed and uncursed, into Darnassas as an intrusion. Emmy hadn't. After all, they were -new-. They had new viewpoints to explore, new stories to hear. New positions to try... And new outlooks on magic to consider. She'd gotten the lion's share of her training from the Highborne that returned shortly before the Gilneans joined them, and learning with the newcomers had helped refine her raw talent.

This one was clearly no mage. Tanned, muscular, with a bow slung over his shoulder, and a knife and axe on his belt? A tracker, perhaps. A scout of some sort. If he meant an attack, she heartily doubted he would do it from up close. He'd snuck past the guards (to be fair, that wasn't the greatest feat; if her sister had seen those guards, she would have thrown a FIT) without any difficulty that she could discern, and the bow showed signs of use. Safest bet would have been a strike from a distance. That being said, she didn't relax her spell until the draenei beside her had. She held the remnants of it close, though, ready to pull up with a thought, and her sharp, glowing silver eyes stayed on the worgen. Much to her pleasure.

She peeked over the draenei's shoulder as she unrolled the message. Manners were for those who cared and weren't insanely curious about things that she shouldn't be reading. She laughed softly, her lips close to Nia's. "Little Niashado?" she teased, looking over the note before quickly losing interest and returning her attention to the Gilnean. "It seems that you're tripping over people willing to help you, Hooves," she commented as she looked him over, then stepped towards him. With smooth, graceful movements almost reminiscent of a hunting cat, she prowled around the powerfully-built man.

"Mmm, just as nice of a view from behind as the front," she noted, her voice a velvety, seductive purr. "I'm Emilysse Manaleaf, and I can think of MANY things that you can... 'assist' me with, Mr. tall, dark, and delicious." She moved back in front of him and rested a hand on his arm as she did, trailing it slowly over and upwards. Her silvery gaze moved up to his expressive brown eyes, gauging his reaction.
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Post  Izdazi on Thu Apr 25, 2013 4:45 pm

“Acantha Mistbringer has sent me to aid you,” the Gilnean replied. With a polite bow of his head, he then handed her a rolled letter. “Here, milady. She made me memorize it, in case it was lost.”

The shamaness quietly studied the rolled parchment for a few moments. She was eager to read it, as one would after receiving a letter from a friend they haven’t seen in years. But at the same time, she was also weary. The symbol on stamped on the wax did little to quell her concern.

She finally peeled the seal off and carefully unrolled it. Her eyes alighted at the first sentence. She shook her head and failed to suppress a brief smile.

"Little Niashado?" she heard Emilysse snicker lightly over her shoulder. The shamaness felt her cheeks darken and despite the immaturity of, took a step away from the eavesdropping night elf.

Not that it mattered. Apparently, Emilysse was more interested in appraising Michael. The draenei could only shake her head at the blatant lust in the night elf’s countenance before turning her attention back to the letter.

The ‘little Niashado’ phrase was something that only Acantha ever called her and ithad always irked Niashado. It had taken her weeks to muster the courage to ask her to stop saying that, and for the most part, she had.

I guess now there can be no doubt that it’s from her.

She went back to reading the letter. Her eyes narrowed somewhat at the mention of Kaz’kah. The shamaness regretted the way they had parted ways. She wondered if the troll deathknight would ever trust the living again.

Anyway, to business. Word has reached me of the Earthen Ring’s little expedition. Imagine how surprised I was to learn that you had been appointed the leader of such an expedition! I am so proud of you, my little Niashado. You seem to be finally realising your potential!

The shamaness felt flush with shame upon reading that. What would Acantha think if she’d actually seen how well she’d been handling the responsibility of leadership and the less then ideal situation surrounding her ‘appointing’ to said leadership role? She was no one to be proud of.

She reread the letter before carefully rolling it up and depositing it in one of the small pockets hanging from her belt.
Why hasn’t the Earthen Ring sent someone? Acantha found out about this and sent this gentleman to help us. Are things so bad that the Ring simply couldn’t assist them, or is Acantha’s information network that much more efficient?

Her eyes went back to Michael. Why him? Why not Ma’dra or even Acantha’s herself? Not that their presence would have made the shamaness feel better about the situation. Acantha’s solutions, while effective, were also far more violent then she was comfortable with. It was bad enough having to rein Azgard in.

Niashado also knew from their last adventure how reluctant some of Acantha's ‘hired’ help tended to be. Favors were something that she never forgot and always called on.

What did poor Mr. Swift do to deserve being indebted to Acantha? the shamaness wondered.

"Mmm, just as nice of a view from behind as the front," she heard Emilysse purr. "I'm Emilysse Manaleaf, and I can think of MANY things that you can... 'assist' me with, Mr. tall, dark, and delicious."

Niashado rolled her eyes and sighed.

“Emilysse,” the draenei quietly warned as she put herself between the night elf and the fidgety worgen.

“Apologies, milady, but Ms. Mistbringer also told me something else. I was leaving her office, when she called to me, and said to apologise for calling you ‘little Niashado.” The Gilnean interrupted. It wasn’t difficult to note the lack of comfort he had telling her this. It wouldn’t have surprised Niashado if Acantha had planned it like this, if only to make him more uncomfortable. “She said it was a term of endearment in her own mind, and forgot that you did not like it.”

I am sure she did not forget. But, the usage of the phrase confirmed the legitimacy of the letter, so this can be forgiven.

“I understand,” Niashado replied; giving him a comforting smile. “Please forgive me for the less then warm introduction. Yesterday, one of the Twilight cultists, a worgen, attempted to kill a shaman who was tending to his wounds,” she went on to explain. “We have suffered other attacks from them, as you can see.

“We are at a crossroads at this point and I am… considering what path we should take next,” she continued, shooting the night elf a quick glance. In a lower voice, she added, “I do not know what Acantha has over you that has led you here, but as far as I am concerned, you have as much right as any other. You are free to leave at any time.”

“Who is this?” a gruff voice called out. The shamaness turned in time to step between Azgard and Michael. The elder orc shaman had his axe in his hand and was eyeing the human carefully.

“He is here to help,” Niashado calmly stated.

“How do you know you can trust him? He smells of worgen.” The orc brushed her aside and stormed toward him.

“Stand down, Azgard!” Niashado ordered, causing the orc to spin around and face the challenge. “He was sent by a friend of mine. I trust this friend and I trust him.”

They stood facing each other for a few moments before he broke off and pointed at their newcomer.

“I’ll be keeping a close eye on you,” Azgard warned.

“Emmy. Please take Mr. Swift to the camp. Introduce him to the others,” the shamaness ordered. “Walk with me, Azgard.”

She led the orc out of earshot of the others. Together, they began a slow circuit around the disheveled mess that had once been their settlement. The silence between them was like the calm before the storm.

A quick glance at the orc told her that he wasn’t happy about their newcomer, or that she vouched for him without giving him a more detailed reason. Azgard didn’t like being kept in the dark.

“I-I was out of line earlier. I lost control,” Niashado began. “It was wrong of me to explode like that before the others.”

The elder orc shaman merely snorted. She didn’t sense derisiveness from the sound. It was more of a confirmation.

“I think I know where the Twilight camp is,” she continued, carefully gauging the usually inscrutable visage of the orc. “After doing some thinking, and listening to some unsolicited advice, I believe that we can not afford to leave the Twilight’s unchallenged.

“The failure of the Earthen Ring and Cenarion Hold to send help is an indication of how dire things have become elsewhere. That, and Seya’s violent ‘encouragements’ for us to depart has me worried about what they are planning.” She noted how Azgard stiffened upon the mention of Seya.

“You were right,” the shamaness confessed. “Whatever they are doing out there, we need to investigate and perhaps even attempt to put to a stop.”

“You don’t know what you’re going up against,” he finally responded. There was no anger or insistence in his voice.

“You are right. But, can we risk the consequences of possible inaction? We are the only ones here and now. They thought our presence was too much to ignore. I do not think we should do the same.”

They paused at an elevated rock outcropping and looked down at the camp. Most of the remaining supplies had been boxed up. The wounded could be seen being helped toward the wyrverns.

The dismal level of morale in the camp was unmistakable. She had led them to this failure.

“But before I send anyone into harms way, I need to know something,” Niashado said. She cast a steely gaze at Azgard. “Who is Seya?”

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Post  Mammona on Sun Apr 28, 2013 9:15 am

The Gilnean forest is a harsh place for animals to live. The presence of the great wall over so many years had led to a fixed ecosystem – as no animals could get in or out, they were forced to struggle to survive in the contained environment of Gilneas. This battle for survival was always evident to Swift, whenever and wherever he had gone during his forays into the forest. This struggle was particularly evident in the forest’s predators. It sometimes became so evident that Swift could see the hunger in the eyes of a wolf stalking its prey or looking for its mate. It was a look of such blatant hunger that it almost made Swift feel uncomfortable to behold it.

It was that same look that was written across the kal’dorei mage’s face as she stepped forward. Swift immediately felt the colour blast across his tanned features as the elf padded around him. Her gaze swept this way and that. Her voice was a sultry sound that served only to raise the amount of colour on Swift’s face.

“Mmm, just as nice of a view from behind as the front," the mage purred. Swift’s hand flinched instinctively towards his bow as the elf’s hands began to trace his upper body.

"I'm Emilysse Manaleaf, and I can think of MANY things that you can... 'assist' me with, Mr. tall, dark, and delicious." The eyes were on his face now, probing his features with a look that Swift found both oddly desirable and intensely frightening.

Swift was never one to subscribe to the games of men and women. As a scout, he was accustomed to spending long periods of time in his own company. Of course, this lifestyle had bred a certain lack of social skills within the tracker, and this only served to hinder his chances when it came to the opposite sex. Add to that a preference to sleeping on the ground and a worgen curse, and Michael Swift considered himself one of the least desirable characters in Azeroth, which was why, in the face of this newfound bout of female attention, he found himself staring at the ground as the blush spread even to the tips of his ears.

Thankfully, Niashado’s voice broke the moment. The shamaness stepped between worgen and night elf, and fixed her own gaze upon Swift.

I understand,” she said, smileing. “Please forgive me for the less then warm introduction. Yesterday, one of the Twilight cultists, a worgen, attempted to kill a shaman who was tending to his wounds. We have suffered other attacks from them, as you can see. We are at a crossroads at this point and I am… considering what path we should take next.” She shot a glance as Emilysse as she said this.

Swift caught the glance between the two. Something they’re not telling me, he thought. No matter, I just got here.

Suddenly, deep, gruff voice split the air. “Who is this?” A large orc with an obvious air of soldier about him had appeared on the scene, and was now looking suspiciously at the worgen. Swift, who knew better than to speak, simply raised his hands, and inclined his head in a show of submission and respect. As Niashado explained the circumstances of his arrival, the orc continued to stare at him. Finally, with a warning, he seemed to accept Swift’s presence, before he and Niashado took their leave. As they did, the shamaness spoke to Emilysse.

“Emmy. Please take Mr. Swift to the camp. Introduce him to the others,”

Swift breathed a sigh of relief. He turned back to the elven mage, noticing for the first time that she was quite attractive, with flawless skin and forest-green hair. There’s something about her. Something I like. Upon realising that he was staring, the blush began to spread back into his features as he stood there in the desert, leagues away from home, and leagues away from any environment he felt comfortable in. He finally worked up the nerve to speak.

“Well, milady, Michael Swift, at your service.” As soon as the words came out, the worgen winced inwardly.

That may have been the wrong choice of words.

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Post  Izdazi on Fri May 03, 2013 11:07 am

Twilight Cult Camp

"I don't care whose fault it is, I want it repaired as soon as possible!" Seya growled at the sniveling goblin next to her. Before them, the platform the goblins and others of the coven had been working on for months sagged precariously from the massive posts that had been supporting it.

"We were so close to completion," Wikers Book complained while thumbing through the pages of his leather book. His slim green fingers quickly shifted the beads on his abacus as he calculated the difference in the timetable and material expenditure.

Seya waited impatiently as Book. Around her, cultists worked diligently (or at least fearful of her wrath) at cleaning the debris at the foot of the platform. She'd been in her tent when the earthquake had happened. The damage to the Project appeared quite severe.

"If work progresses efficiently, the repairs should take 2.3 days. We will need to acquire an additional 60 square yards of heavy leather and two additional metal frames for section A," Book finally responded.

"Only two days? It appears worse then that."

"Two point three days," the goblin corrected. "It may 'appear' worse, but the damage is minimal. It actually held up well against the vibrations. Our engineers took the opportunity to study the damage and have amended their plans to strengthen the platform further. We only need 1.8 days to mend the damage. The other half day is the additional time they'll need for the upgrades."

Seya started to open her mouth to chastise the goblin scribe for changing the schedule without her approval, but in an uncharacteristic display of boldness, the goblin interrupted her.

"I approved the upgraded timetable. I feel these changes in the plans will better suit your goals, milady. They will guarantee success."

With a huff, the orcess straightened her robes and turned her attention to Project. She wanted to incinerate the goblin for his presumption, but she restrained herself. Book was the only person, other then her, who knew everything about the Project and her plans for it. He was a mathematical genius and a cunning designer and planner. Without his help, she'd still be struggling to bring her goals to fruition.

"You had better be right," she finally relented.

"You will be pleased, Mistress," Book replied. He glanced past her momentarily and then leaned closer to her. "Your deathknight approaches," he whispered before quietly moving away to inspect the progress more closely.

Straightening her robes again, Seya turned and regarded the approaching deathknight kal'dorei. The large ghoul trailing behind him didn't warrant a second look. However, the severed the head held under his arm merited a slight grin from her.

"So it is done." She glanced at the platform and then back to the tauren's severed head. "The traitor showed his true intention. I should have ended that tauren long ago. His fear led him to betray his followers. My hesitance to dispatch him provided yet another opportunity for him to hinder me.”

Her dark red eyes locked on the deathknight's. "What can you do for me?"


Despite allowing the shaman to cause damage to the large project, Alarde felt that this orc was pleased with the task done. And if not he could just tell her the truth, that he wanted to watch the worm squirm before killing it.

“Death, destruction and general mayhem; I am at your service now.” The same sick grin spread across the elf’s face as he spoke, “As are my minions, however many that are required.”

Gesturing back to the large fiend, the ghoul gave a low pitch groan in recognition. “Wondrous beings, really. No conscience, resistance, freewill… no real mind to speak of actually. I command, and they obey.”

As if to punctuate the last claim, Alarde suddenly tossed the severed tauren head at the ghoul, which acted a little quicker than anticipated. Catching the head, it now held it fairly close to its own face, but did nothing more than stare. Waiting a moment, Alarde waved his hand, resulting in the utter mutilation of the head as the ghoul ate like a starving orphan.

“You may call me- oh hell, might as well keep with the old name. Alarde Windraiser, former to SI:7, then the Scourge…” The deathknight’s mind wandered back to their earlier encounter when the orc revealed knowledge of his activity in Northrend. “But then, you already seem to know about me, Ms. …”


A smile slowly spread of Seya’s scarred face as she listened to the deathknight describe his undead minions. This, Alarde Windraiser, was perfect.

It’s not his powers that impressed her. Necromancy was an old magic and to her, it was nothing spectacular. Controlling the dead was mediocre and beneath her. There were so many deathknights, warlocks and necromancers out there. He was hardly unique his power.

But the way he described his power and even his bearing was a sight to behold. He wasn’t selling her his services. He wasn’t boasting of his powers. He wasn’t begging for her to see him worthy.

He was anarchic, yet content. Unfulfilled, yet centered. The world was beneath him, yet the procuring of greater power wasn’t something he desired.

Alarde Windraiser wasn’t a night elf anymore. In her eyes, he wasn’t just another undead. He had elevated his mind to something else. Something that Seya surmised only few mortals ever achieved.

Alarde thirsted for death and destruction. Vengeance was just a bonus that could be overlooked. His thirst to reap horror upon mortals was as a whirlwind.

He was as close to an elemental as a mortal could ever become. An elemental of chaos.

“For now, you may call me Seya Steelclaw,” she replied, returning his malicious smile. “I confess, what I know of you did not prepare me for what you just described. You continue to impress me.”

The orcess looked past him at the deathknights ghouls that were busy licking their chops and gnawing on what remained of Stonehoof’s crimson stained skull.

“It’s an amazing gift. To say a word and know that change will be effected that can forever alter things. But you know this,” Seya explained. “The Lich King made you his instrument of change. I know what he wanted you to do in the Storm Peaks. I know of the Algalon Failsafe that you had attempted to activate. I also know how you attempted to alter the failsafe.”

The orc slid the hood of her cloak back of her head and gestured for Alarde to follow as she walked.

“The failsafe, if it had worked as intended, would have destroyed all of Azeroth. Imagine, a clay vase with intricate painted designs and glazed, stained with decades of whatever was once stored in it. Then, imagine if the potter could, in a single stroke, revert the vase into malleable clay and remolded it to his new plan. All the painted designs on the outside and the stains of what it once held in the inside would be gone. The very shape of the vase would be made to match the creator’s fresh new design. It would be like it was never something else before. Even history isn’t immune from such power.

“The Titans had such a defense. I wonder if SI:7, or the Violet Citadel realize how Arthas could have activated it before they’d ever even heard of the failsafe.. By your very hands, it could have been over before they ever realized what kind of danger they were facing.”

Seya approached one of the bonfires and with a quick order, the other cultist huddling around its warmth quickly scattered.

“Arthas had you reconfigure the failsafe. Instead of sterilizing Azeroth, it was going to spread the modified Plague of Undeath to all of Azeroth. An entire world, nearly instantaneously under the control of the Lich King.”

“You would have succeeded if those draenei hadn’t interfered. Now, the Titan mainframe is buried under a mountain and the override disk was destroyed,” Seya went on, staring distantly at the tongues of flames darting around the logs of the campfire. After a short pause, she slowly turned her head to the deathknight. Her dark reddish eyes glinted in the flicker firelight. “But I can see now that you never forgot the feeling. The power of knowing that the entire world could have changed with one push of a button.”

She took a deep breath and looked over the camp. The sounds of construction filled the air. The sun had just cleared the eastern shield mountains, bringing welcomed warmth to the dry desert.

“Deathwing has returned. The world cowers under his wings and I assure you, he is not done. You and I, Alarde, are probably the only two in all of Kalimdor, if not the world, who have even a fraction of the understanding of that power. Who are these unworthy who dare stand against us?”

She turned and pointed to the southeast.

“Right now a group of a around dozen druids from Cenarion Hold are coming to stop us. They have sensed the failure of my past lieutenants. The effects of the mana bomb that was detonated have probably been felt by every arcane wielder in southern Kalimdor. Our time is short and our list of enemies has greatly increased. Even your two draenei are here. The shamans have not left and now the druids are coming. If they make it to the shaman settlement they will become a threat.”

She looked back at the suspended platform, where construction workers continued their hasty repairs.

“Destroy the druids for me. Make certain any who stumble upon the battlefield know to fear us. Make the battlefield… a work of art,” the orcess finished, adding a slightly sultry tone to the end of the sentence. She handed Alarde a large golden medallion inscribed with a large hammer. “Take anyone you need. I don’t care if they return, but you need to be back here before the sun reaches apex. Time is short and soon, we will change the world.”

Seya gently caressed the deathknight’s face with the back of her hand. “Can you do this thing for me?”


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Chains of Command (Closed RP) - Page 3 Empty Re: Chains of Command (Closed RP)

Post  Izdazi on Fri May 03, 2013 5:04 pm

((Introducing a new character.))

Southeastern coast of Duskwallow Marsh
Three days ago.

“Open fire! All starboard batteries!” Sky-Reaver Scrathal bellowed. The deck under foot rumbled with the explosive fury all eight of Draka’s starboard facing cannons firing nearly simultaneously. The smoke of spent gunpowder wafted over the deck burning eyes and obscuring vision. Still, the brown skin orc didn’t move from his station at the rear of his airship.

“Enemy firing back! Shields!” Great Reaver Junah called out. The battle mages, a mixture of blood elves, trolls and orcs arrayed along the starboard edge began casting a spell that would hopefully protect the ship from the brunt of the attack.

She winced as several hundred pounds of ordnance fired from the Alliance gunship, Skylance, hurled into the shields. A bright yellow aura flashed around the ship.

Likewise, she noted with dismay as their own projectiles were deflected by the Alliance mages.

Wyrvern and gryphon riders from both sides battled each other in a desperate attempt to bat the other away. Flak rounds exploded in the air between both of the massive airships, making the zone a virtual kill box for any flyer foolish enough to attempt a direct flight to either ship.

“Alliance gunship changing course. They’re rapidly gaining altitude,” the blood elf navigator reported. Junah heard the Sky-Reaver curse. While the Horde gunships tended to be faster then their foe, Alliance gunship could change altitude much faster.

“Damnit!” Scrathal cursed again. “Set course dead ahead and go to full burn!”

“We can’t!” Junah called back. “Fire in da engine room!”

The sound of cannons died off unexpectedly, confirming Junah’s fear. The Alliance airship had gained enough altitude to exceed their cannons’ pivot range. The Alliance airship, however, was still raining fire on them and the troll second-in-command could see fatigue starting to creep into the visage of their concentrating mages.

If the Skylancer got into position over their gunship, it could drop clusters of bombs on them.

“Sky-Reaver!” a high pitch voice suddenly called out. Junah put down her telescope and watched as their head goblin engine rushed into the command deck. His overalls reeked of smoke and his green skin was blotched with engine grease. She could see burns in his arms and face.

“I need speed!” Scrathal demanded.

“Burners two and three are heavily damaged. It’ll take a day to fix,” the goblin engineer explained between coughs. The orc captain slammed his fist on the wood map table, leaving a sizable dent; one of many such dents.

“I need more speed, or I swear by my ancestors, I’ll throw you in the fires myself!”

“I can’t! There’s not enough time!” the goblin screamed back. Part of the parapet behind him suddenly exploded as cannonballs began tearing through the arcane shields.

Looking down on the main deck, she caught sight of two of their mages laying on the deck. A thin line of blood was issuing from one of the caster’s noses.

“Our mages are dropping,” she stated.

“Weaklings,” Scrathal spat. His contempt for mages was well known. Although Junah didn’t trust magic users anymore then her commanding officer, she at least understood that without them, they’d have suffered much more damage. They had their uses and for the most part, they weren’t ‘weaklings.’

The Sky-Reaver roughly brushed past her and grabbed the engineer by the front of his overcoat. Effortlessly he lifted him up, he walked to the edge of the deck, where he dangled him off the side of the airship.

“I need ideas, worm! Not pathetic excuses” he demanded as he shook the terrified goblin.

“Scrathal!” Junah started to warn, but a quick smoldering glance from him was enough for her to back down.

“Ummmm! Ummmmm! Uhhhhhhh!” the goblin sputtered. “We-we can surge heat from the engines into the balloons. That might get us to a higher altitude. But I can’t do it alone and most of my engineers were injured or killed in the fire.”

The Scrathal threw the goblin onto the deck and pointed at Junah. “Help him! Do it, fast!”

Junah nodded and helped the goblin up. They raced through the smoke field corridor below decks before reaching the engine room. The smell of smoke, burnt flesh and oil filled the space. Despite her jungle troll upbringing and living in Durotar, the heat the room was nearly intolerable.

The engine room was large, but there was barely any room for her to navigate around. There were pipes, cables and hoses going in to seemingly random places. The three burners, each had pipes that led to the single massive nozzle at the back of the ship.

Junah cringed at the feeling of warm oil and grease on her bare feet.

“Here!” the goblin called out. He handed her a large wrench and pointed to a nearby pipe. “When I tell you to, turn that bolt clockwise a little. Don’t do it too much.”

“Fine,” she replied as she set the wrench in place and waited for the goblin to call on her. The engineer was busy as a wall station completed covered with valves, levers and gauges of various sizes. Some gauges had numbers she couldn’t begin to understand the meaning to. Others were color-coded. She hoped goblins thought green was good and red was bad, but one could never tell with the varying degrees of insanity these little brilliant mad engineers operated on.

One of the gauges had a picture of happy face and sad face and several other facial expressions that were either really happy, really angry, really terrified or really confused. She couldn’t tell.

The engineer busied himself turning valves everywhere and checking the needles on the gauges… all of which had begun dancing around chaotically.

“Why dun we be using dis for changing altitude if it’s faster?” Junah asked.

“Because this is calibrated. Once you turn that valve, this ship will become very difficult to manage. We could go up uncontrollably until the pressure in the balloons causes them to explode. Or, we may cause a backflow that will cause us to fall from the sky like a brick.”

“Ok, den. Let’s try to remember where left all these dings den,” she replied. She didn’t understand the science or engineering behind what he was saying, but if a goblin suggested this was a bad idea, then there was no point arguing.”

“Turn it! Slightly!”

Junah carefully pulled down the wrench. It didn’t budge. Brushing her sweat covered red hair from her eyes, she applied more pressure. It still didn’t budge.

Rushing to the other side of the standpipe, she pushed all her weight against the wrench. With an ear splitting screech, the bolt turned a fraction of an inch.

“No so much!” the engineer cried out. She looked up to see a half dozen gauges swing to the red side. On the large gauge, the needle danced between the image of a screaming goblin and an evilly cackling goblin.

Opening and closing valves and levers, the engineer frantically tried to regain some control. Junah was about to push the wrench in the hopes of returning it to its previous position but the goblin stopped her.

“How long are we suppose to keep pouring on the heat?” he asked.

His answer came at the sound of the Draka’s cannons once again firing.

“What do I do?” Junah asked as the goblin engineer kept spinning two of the gauges in front of him.

“Nothing, toots…. err, Great Reaver,” he said. “It’ll take me awhile to calibrate this, but you’ve done what I needed.”

Without a word Junah raced from the engine room, partially to escape the heat and partially to get back to duty. The scene on the deck was little better then the engine room. Three more battle mages were on the deck, either unconscious or exhausted. Crewmembers and medics raced across the burning deck repairing damage and mending wounds.

Both gunships were flying southward and trading artillery.

“Keep firing! Tell those flyers to start attack runs on the Alliance’s engines! Make it tumble from the sky!” Sky-Reaver Scrathal called out from the command deck. Junah shielded her eyes as shards of wood and metal flew about the deck. She raced up the steps and approached her commanding officer.

What she saw didn’t improve her confidence. The brown-skinned orc’s eyes were blazing bloodlust. Spittle sprayed from his maw as he issued orders harshly. With so many mages down, more and more of the Alliance ordinance was starting to score direct hits.

Taking a telescope, she surveyed the damage they had managed to inflict on the Alliance gunship. The Skylancer’s four propellers were still keeping her in the air. They hadn’t inflicted nearly as much direct damage as she had hoped, and what did hit, was far from anything vital.

They weren’t winning this skirmish.

“Sky-Reaver,” Junah began, speaking slowly and quietly. “As your second-in-command, I suggest dat we withdraw. We have taken too much damage and…”

The world around the troll exploded with light and she fell hard on the deck. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth as she coughed and tried to sit up.

Had they been hit by a nearby explosion? Did something go wrong catastrophically with the airship?

As her eyes regained focus, she found Sky-Reaver Scrathal staring down at her with an axe in his hand. His eyes flashed with furious hatred.

He had punched her.

“You cowardly troll bitch!” he snarled. “We are Garrosh’s Horde. We don’t run from Alliance!”

He’s out of control, Junah realized as she crawled back. The Draka was issuing a mournful groan as its superstructure started to lose integrity. More explosions rang out along the deck. Part of the scaffolding that spanned the two enormous balloons crashed into the middle of the deck, crushing two peons.

“Sky-Reaver. Da ship need fixin! We can not win dis wit da ship coming apart!” she tried to explain, but the captain had lost all resemblance of control.

“Traitors and cowards are to die!”

Junah rapidly rose to her feet put the chart table between her and the crazed orc. His axe swung out at her and cleaved part of the table. Maps and other pieces of windblown parchments blew out of the damaged table and trailed behind the ship.

With much reluctance, Junah unsheathed her katana brought the blade to a readying strike. Killing Scrathal was the last thing she wanted to do. He was a friend of the Warlord’s. It would mean death for her with no questions asked. But, nor could the Horde afford to lose more gunships and and good soldiers. Especially to a crazed captain.

Scrathal finished hacking the table to pieces and kicked part of it aside. He raised his great axe over his head and surged toward Junah.

There was a sudden blast of heat and pressure. The Darkspear troll felt herself thrown against the stern rails with enough force to break a rib or two. She gasped and struggled to breathe in. She shielded her face with her arms and felt the flesh sting as slivers of wood pelted her.

Junah wasn’t sure how long she was out when her eyes opened again. Her arms were covered in blood, mostly from superficial shrapnel damage. She’d been lucky.

The battle was still going strong, so she couldn’t have been out for long, maybe a minute or two at most. Her ears were ringing and sound seemed all muffled. Shaking her head caused it to surge with pain, but it also helped her snap to alertness.

Sky-Reaver Scrathal was gone. The remains of the chart table were gone. All that was left was a thick stain of red and black on the deck that led from where he’d been about to cut her down to the side of the deck where a section of parapet railing was missing.

The Sky-Reaver was dead. Even better was that Junah didn’t need to resort to killing him herself. She staggered toward the helm station and called out to the tauren manning the wheel.

His eyes grew wide when he saw her. She must be in worse shape then she realized. Junah was about to order him to engage when she saw his head snap away from him and to the main deck.

The remaining four battle mages were holding their heads. Their mouths were wide open, but she couldn’t hear them scream over the sound of the deck cannons, the wind blowing and tinnitus from the explosion that had freed them from Scrathal’s insanity.

Something was happening to their mages! Was it some sort of Alliance weapon to incapacitate their magic wielder? Even the blood elf navigator next to her appeared nauseated and was holding his head.

The sound of explosions suddenly increased and her red eyes widened as she saw multiple artillery shells began scoring direct hits on the Skylancer.

Snatching the scope, she panned it across the deck of the Alliance ship. Through the smoke she caught sight of Alliance medics tending to a draenei mage who also appeared to be in agony and clutching her horned head.

Whatever had happened was affecting arcane wielders on both sides.

More explosions rang at along the Skylancer’s hull as they continued pouring on the damage. The engine on the starboard stern exploded in flaming even as a shot from the Alliance ship blew through the hull of the Draka. The ship suddenly felt very strange under foot. Something important and vital was just damaged inside her gunship. She prayed it wasn’t the spine.

“Turn starboard. Easy,” she ordered the tauren helmsmen. Without a second thought, he turned the wheeled slowly, as to not introduce any more stress to the gunship’s superstructure. “Recall wyverns! Cease fire!” she called out to the deck.

A peon on the bow of the ship began waving white and red flag and the cannons slowly ceased their bombardment. Grabbing her scope, she scanned the Skylancer again and prayed the Alliance would do the same. It took a few minutes, but soon their cannons also quieted. The listing airship banked to the northwest, leaving a trail of smoke. Their gryphon riders and gyrocopters circled around the damaged airship protectively.

“Slow us to ten knots,” she ordered. Turning, she looked down on the crew in the main deck. “The Sky-Reaver has been killed. As Great Reaver, I am taking command and ordering us to Tanaris for repairs.”

And perhaps we can find some answers at dat.

Gadgetzan, Tanaris
A day later.

The Steamwheedle Cartel had refused her request to use the drydock facilities to repair the Draka, despite the money Junah had promised them. Neutrality was still paramount to the Steamwheedle Cartel and the idea of allowing Bilgewater Cartel members to operate in their facilities was a deal breaker.

They’d been forced to repair the gunship while floating over the bay just east of the goblin town. The crew had made a lot of progress with repairs during the long slow fight and with the engines having cooled down; they were able to repair most of the burners.

The Steamwheedle Cartel, of course, had no issue selling them parts as long as Junah allowed her crew a few hours shore leave at the city.

Near the end of the day, she’d taken the opportunity to visit the city herself. The bulk of the repairs were completed and more superficial damage was being mended. She planned to stay at station over Tanaris a few more days while the engineer completed calibrations and whatever else it was he said needed adjustments.

Her time in the city also led her to discover a few things. Whatever had harmed the mages during the battle had also affected magic users here and in other places around southern Kalimdor.

“There’s some strange things going on in Silithus,” she overheard a kal’dorei tell his friends at one of pubs. She sipped her mug of grog while surreptitiously listening. The night elf went on to describe a brilliant flash of purple light that lit up the southern horizon a couple of nights ago.

Someone else brought up that they’d heard that a group of Earthen Ring shamans were asking for help in Silithus.

“Shamans ain’t got money. That’s a fat waste of time going to that stinky bug infested desert,” one of the humans complained. The others nodded in confirmation.

Junah, however, had heard enough from them and after a short meeting with the flightmaster in Gadgetzan, she returned to her airship with a plan. An hour later she was in her quarters having a quiet meeting with the newly appointed officers.

“You think what happened to us occurred all the way in Silithus?” the blood elf mage asked while she filed her nails.

“I think dat its worth investigating?” Junah responded.

“I don’t know. Now that the mages are feeling better and the damaged is repair, shouldn’t we hunt down that Alliance airship again,” the tauren helmsmen quipped.

“I agree. The Earthen Ring aren’t exactly a Horde problem,” the engineer added.

Junah turned her attention to the blood elf mage and snatched the file from her hands.

“Is it possible dat something out der can interfere wit mages?” she asked sternly. The sin’dorei huffed and stopped inspecting her fingernails.

“Possible? Of course. It’s magic. Like, anything is possible.”

“Den, we go,” she stated matter-of-factly.

“You know, like, just saying, if whatever gave us those migraines did come from Silithus, then the closer to source we get, the more severe the effect it will have,” the mage warned.

“I still don’t see why it has to be us,” the tauren complained.

“The mandate of da Draka is to protect da interests of da Horde. Dat be what we doin,” Junah explained. “Mages losing their magic is kind of a trouble. A big trouble. Dat kinda includes da interests of da Horde. Don’t joo think dat?”

Her officers glanced at each other and then back at her. Their facial expression varied, but she could tell she’d won them over.

“We leave in two hours den.”

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Chains of Command (Closed RP) - Page 3 Empty Re: Chains of Command (Closed RP)

Post  Izdazi on Mon May 13, 2013 4:58 pm

Cassia and Xan

Ratchet, The Barrens
Several Days Ago

“Where’s the rent?” a shrill voice rang out into the small cabin. The door had flung open to reveal a short, angry goblin woman, her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail and heavy red lipstick painted onto her wide lips. Her yellow eyes narrowed as she stomped inside.

There was shuffling as a woman behind a desk full of jewels and chains rose from her chair. She had immediately turned away from the goblin, bowing her head as she knelt towards a chest and started going through it.

“What have I told you about knocking, Grobknuckle?” the woman screamed as she continued to keep her back to the goblin woman. A pair of bright green goggles dangled in her hands as she fought to put a necklace on. Once she got it on, she finally turned to the goblin woman, revealing a blonde human woman in a red dress.

“Oh, enough with the disguise!” the goblin woman bellowed. “I know who you are!”

“How do I know there’s not someone behind you?” the human woman demanded angrily. “Could you at least try to help me out?”

“I’m telling you, no one cares about you since you were captured years ago. There’s no more reward for your head anymore, so you can stop with the disguise! As far as anyone knows, you’re dead.” Grobknuckle snapped. “And I’d be more inclined to help you if you would pay your rent on time!”

Rolling her eyes, the blonde woman placed her goggles down on the desk and took a small sack out of her dress pocket. She tossed it towards the goblin, who snatched it out of the air and immediately opened it to start counting the coins.

“It’s all there,” the human huffed. “And you never know if someone from my past is lurking about. I prefer to live my life in peace.” She made sure to glare at Grobknuckle as she enunciated her last sentence.

“I’d prefer not to have to hunt you down to get the rent!” Matilda Grobknuckle growled. “Why is it so difficult for you to just give it to me?”

“Why should I have to come to you to give YOU money? If it’s my money you want, you should be coming to me,” the human woman said in a stuck up tone as she sat back down to her desk and picked up her goggles.

“You blood elves are the laziest, nastiest lot!” With a loud harrumph, Matilda turned on her heel and stormed out of the small shop and slammed the door behind her, making a picture frame crash to the floor. Sighing, the human woman lifted her finger, and the picture frame magically came back together and returned to its post.

“Obnoxious. I can’t stand her,” she muttered. Taking off the necklace that she had put on around her neck, the illusion of the blonde human woman dissipated, revealing a voluptuous red headed blood elf. A headband of mana cores shone over her neatly trimmed tresses.

Cassira Firestride had been adopting the disguise of a human woman named Alere Blackstone since coming to Ratchet years ago. Once, she had been known as Demonheart, but those days ended when she was captured for the crimes she committed to earn that name. Sold into slavery, Cassira got tangled with the wrong crowd, but was soon freed by the kindness of a draenei woman she had wronged once before.

Despite becoming successful with her jewelcrafting business, which allowed her a safe and stable living in the town of Ratchet, she was still weary.

As she returned to her work, Cassira lost herself in completing a few more trinkets that she had hoped to sell in the morning. It wasn’t until a few hours had passed when Cassira was preparing her wares when she felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise up.

Narrowing her eyes, the magess wasted no time in grabbing her necklace and putting on her disguise as she ran outside. Something was wrong.

Raising her hand to cast a light spell, Cassira looked over towards the east, where the Barrens lay ahead. To her right, the town of Ratchet lay below, lights flickering and some activity despite the lateness of the hour.

Then it happened. A force that seemingly came from nowhere, knocking the light out of Cassira’s hand. In shock, the magess stumbled back and fell onto the hard ground. She never saw it coming.

Bending over and holding her head, Cassira clenched her teeth in agony. What had caused this? Her head pounded and her mouth felt dry. Reaching for the door with a grasping hand, Cassira forced herself to get back up with the help of the handle.

Leaning against the door and still holding her forehead with her hand, Cassira looked towards where the surge could have come from, but saw nothing over the sprawling Barrens. The source of the power must have come from farther away, but where?

Throwing out her hand, Cassira tried to summon the light back but found that she could not access her magic. Somehow, that surge had interrupted her ability to cast spells. Knots tightened in her stomach. Her magic had to come back to her soon.

Shouts from down below in the middle of town alerted Cassira that she wasn’t the only one affected. Curious, she tried to hear what people were saying, but couldn’t make anything out.

Clenching her cloak, Cassira thought quickly. She had to investigate.

The Next Morning

Grimacing, Cassira handed Matilda Grobknuckle a small sack of gold coins, to which the goblin woman eagerly snatched. The magess had found the goblin in her tavern.

“So I take it you’ll be gone for a while?” the goblin woman remarked as she counted the coins. “There’s enough money here for six months!”

“No, I am just tired of you harassing me all the time.” Cassira had her human disguise on, which she had created with the use of a powerful spell and many expensive reagents, including a hard to find gem to help activate the illusion in the necklace. Finally, she sighed and turned to Matilda. “Yes, I am leaving. Something strange happened last night and I’m not content to wait around and hope it doesn’t happen again. I was tipped off that the source came from Sithilus. I’m going to Tanaris to investigate more first before heading out there. So keep an eye on my shop while I’m gone, please.”

“Whatever. If you die, I’m selling your place!” Matilda pocketed the gold before flashing Cassira a predatory smile.

“Yeah, okay,” Cassira replied airily as she stepped out of the tavern. “Make sure it doesn’t get ransacked. Jeez.”

Once she was outside in the sunshine, Cassira peered out at the streets below her. She had actually come to enjoy Ratchet. There was a lot of diversity, and not many gave her a hard time. In fact, it had been peaceful since she started her jewelcrafting business. Since she had her shop right near the port, she was able to make a nice living by profiting off the adventurers who needed gems for their travel.

It took her a long time, but she managed to live comfortably. By being overly cautious, she was able to maintain her secret identity, only allowing her landlady truly know who she was. The crabby goblin didn’t care much anyway; as long as she paid the rent, that was all that mattered.

Even though she was alone, she enjoyed it. She was able to focus on her arcane magic and ignore the nightmares of the past by devoting herself to her work. She still longed to return to the comfort of Silvermoon, but she knew that as long as her crimes remained fresh in the minds of her people, she could not.

But this interruption had gone too far. Something was going on, and she wanted to know what. Maybe it would be a better idea to stay home and hope that someone else took care of it. Pretend it never happened. Keep selling trinkets to adventurers and returning to her home, alone, each night.

Four years of hiding had been long enough. She was ready to leave Ratchet and see what was going on in the rest of the world instead of hearing about it from travelers.


Gadgetzan, Tanaris

Pulling her cloak tightly around her and making sure her human disguise was still working, Cassira walked away from the flightpath and looked around. She had spent more than she wanted to on a wyvern to get to Gadgetzan, and she wasn’t looking into spending even more money on renting a mount or flying the rest of the way to the druid’s hold in Silithus. Flying was expensive. There had to be others who were looking into what was going on, or knew more about what had happened. Perhaps someone who she could help out in fixing this situation that would be willing to pay her for her talents.

Passing through the gate, Cassira was surprised to see how busy Gadgetzan was. There had probably been another arena fight going on. Inwardly, she shuddered. Having been forced to fight in the underground arena in Booty Bay for nearly a year had taken a toll on her. Sure, she was stronger as a mage and perhaps as an elf now for it, but it didn’t mean she enjoyed it.

Making her way through the crowd, Cassira saw that the tavern was especially busy. She knew there had to be someone there that knew what was going on. Tossing back her illusionary blonde hair, Cassira entered the tavern, trying to make herself look as approachable as possible.

Grabbing a drink from the bartender and sitting down at an emptier end of a long table, Cassira waited to see what she could overhear from the other patrons in the tavern. It was only a matter of time.

* * *

"That little troll girl… she was a shaman wasn't she?" a dwarf muttered while gulping down a tankard of ale at the table he shared with several other dwarves.

"Yeah. And according to one of the flight masters, she left for Silithus before dawn. A small group followed her." a female dwarf grumbled.

"Are we?"

"Hell no. I don't want to go there. There some weird stuff going on there," another said. "And I don't like bugs."

While slowly nursing her drink, Cassira picked up on the conversation from the dwarves at the table behind her. Casually, she turned her head to get a look at them.

“Pardon me,” Cassira said in her best Stormwind accent that she had practiced over the years, “did you mention something about Silithus? I’m trying to find more information on the matter for Stormwind.”

The dwarves glanced up at Cassira then, somewhat annoyed. Cassira plastered a bright smile on her face, and rose from her seat with her drink in hand. She sat down next to the female dwarf while looking at one of the other male dwarves.

“Stormwind has heard about this already?” one of the dwarves asked, his beard full of crumbs from the bread he was eating.

“Of course,” Cassira said as she looked over at Crumbly McCrumbston. “Whatever that surge of power was affected a large part of the continent. I’m here to investigate into it.” She puffed out her chest slightly, as she got into her role as a more important mage.

“Heard that maybe one of them crazy cultists out there is causing the problems in Silithus. That’s the rumor, though. Bunch of shamans out there trying to deal with it.”

“Cultists?” Cassira repeated, bringing a finger to her lips. “Interesting.”

“‘Interesting,' she says," Xan cooed as he sauntered closer to the young woman talking to the dwarves. Keeping his hands behind his back, he approached the human and leaned against the wall next to her. "This is Tanaris. Unless sand and bugs intrigue you, there's nothing interesting here. An exception of course, would be you."

For the second time in two days, Cassira felt the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. She had not heard that voice in nearly four years.

Slowly, she turned her head, and it took everything she had not to completely lose her shit.

Xan Nightraven was standing right behind her.

Inside, Cassira felt panic, fear, and fiery anger boil together. This night elf has purchased her and kept her enslaved in Booty Bay for nearly a year, until everything fell apart when he had messed with the wrong family. During those final days, she had actually managed to convince Xan to allow her to stand by his side. She had ultimately planned to run, but something kept her behind. Yet when he sold her off to try and recoup his losses, Cassira was ready to murder. If it wasn’t for the kind draenei shaman that bought her out, who knows where she could have ended up.

And now, after all these years of hiding and trying to forget him, he was here.

And he was still a prick.

Taking a quiet, deep breath, Cassira turned to face the night elf. He looked almost the same, wearing a tan colored tunic with a dark vest. He still had his long white hair, and the scar on his face.

She couldn’t believe it. After all these years, despite what had happened to him in Booty Bay, he was still preying on women. Cassira thanked her lucky stars that she was wearing her human disguise.

“Is that so?” she asked in her carefully practiced Stormwind accent. The magess took the opportunity to casually glance around the tavern before looking back to the night elf. There were too many people inside for her to set him on fire. She’d have to wait for another opportunity. “I’m sure there is more to this desert than what you want me to believe,” she continued in velvety tones, leaning ever so slightly to showcase more of her cleavage.

"Oh, occasionally a flower has been known to bloom in the middle of the desert," he replied, as he reached up and gently flicked a strand of blond hair from her green eyes. "Little surprises like that are hard to miss," he added as his eyes drifted lower and then slowly back to hers.

"So in the category of what's interesting, what brings a gorgeous woman like you to the desert?"

It would be really nice to just touch his face and watch it melt in her grip. Cassira’s hidden hand was clenched so tightly into a fist that her nails nearly drew blood as they dug into her palm.

“You flatter me,” Cassira said loftily. Inside she just wanted to scream at him, not pretend to be interested in him. After what he did to her, the last thing she wanted to do was let this man think he had another chance with her.

But maybe he knew something about what was going on. It was worth a shot. She could use him for information. It seemed that he had been here for some time, after the way he was bragging about how he knew the area.

“I’m just trying to find out what caused the magic disruption the other night,” she finally answered innocuously, giving Xan an innocent smile. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about it, would you?”

Xan grinned inwardly as he worked out how he was going to snag this particular catch.

"I've heard a few things, but I haven't asked much. This isn't the kind of place where you wander around asking people. You’re likely to get a knife in your back for your troubles," he replied. He made a show of glancing suspiciously around the tavern. "I have contacts in Silithus who might be able to help you. You see, I run cargo shipments for a cartel that's exploring for oil in Silithus. I'd be happy to take you to them, even though it'd be at considerable cost to… me."

He was trying to move her out of the tavern already. The man sure didn’t waste any time. That was fine with Cassira. She could use him for whatever information he had to offer, then finally have her vengeance and kill him for the way he kept her enslaved for so long. It was a long time coming. He didn’t have any control over her, not anymore.

She couldn’t wait to sear the flesh off his bones.

“Oh, I would appreciate it so, so much,” Cassira purred sweetly in her Stormwind accent. By the Sunwell, it was easy playing a clueless human. They came into her shop all the time, knocking things over and trying to get a lower price on rare gems because they didn’t understand the process. “I’d be happy to reimburse you for the cost, of course…”

Clasping her hands together in her lap, Cassira made a show of looking up at Xan in an adoring manner, making her assets appear even bigger. Damn, was she glad that she wore the low cut robes today.

“I’m already heading out that way, so it shouldn’t be that much more trouble,” he said, pretending to feign as much disinterest as he could muster. After months of suffering through the limited selection of women in the Twilight camp, it felt refreshing to find someone fresh.

It didn’t matter much that this girl was a human. Despite their frailty, he’d often been surprised by their manner. Of course, in the past, his idea of dumping them was to sell them off in the shadow markets at Booty Bay. The less reputable goblin cartels didn’t ask many questions. He’d made a living in the slave trade and the procuring of rare magical artifacts. Gadgetzan was little different from Booty Bay in the shady side, if perhaps less travelled. But with rumor of the mysterious lands to the far south being discovered, he imagined that traffic through Gadgetzan would be increasing.

Putting his hands behind his back, he covertly rubbed his prosthetic left hand. The phantom itching was becoming more irritating, no doubt from being in this sand ridden desert. The artificial hand didn’t really do anything other then look like his natural hand. The thought of having something like a hook or a goblin contraption jutting out of the stump didn’t appeal to his vanity. And, it could hold a few things, although, not without fidgeting.

There was one feature that Xan really wanted. If he twisted it a certain way, a short blade affixed to the stump would jut out of the artificial skin covering over the hand. It was only good for emergencies, but considering the circumstances behind the loss of the limb, Xan felt it prudent.

The night elf glanced back at the young woman and suddenly froze. Someone had opened the door, allowing harsh white sunlight to pour into the usually dark interior of the tavern. The human girl’s face, silhouetted against the stark light, suddenly looked vaguely known to him. The door closed, extinguishing the light and with it, all sense of familiarity.

He blinked a few times, as his eyes readjusted to the darkness, and noticed her looking at him expectedly.

“I’m sorry,” Xan stated. “For a moment you reminded me of someone I once knew,” Then, shaking his head as if to brush the thought away, he wrapped his right hand over her shoulders and started leading her towards the exit. “You know, I never got your name.”

“I never gave it,” Cassira replied in the same lofty tone, with the hint of a playful smile. However, inside, she was starting to panic. For a moment there, she was afraid he had indeed recognized her. Wasn’t her illusion working? Had she overworked the gem? For the amount of money she spent on it, it shouldn’t be faulty.

Letting out a small, flirty laugh, Cassira got closer to Xan as they walked out of the tavern together. She still couldn’t believe at how quickly he worked. There was no doubt that he was charming, but if she weren’t taking on the role of a ditzy shopkeeper mage from Stormwind, she would still be enjoying her drink while his charred remains lay on the ground.

“I’m Alere Blackstone,” she said at last, beaming a smile at Xan.

"Xan, Xan Nightraven, at your service," he said with a quick bow. "It's quite a beautiful name you have. And if I may ask, that's an interesting necklace you have. Looks like it was made in Lordaeron. A gift?"

The last thing Cassira wanted was any attention to her necklace. She had to divert him. “Actually, I made it myself. I’m a jewelcrafter when I’m not running errands for Stormwind.”

Tossing her hair back, Cassira looked up at Xan then. “So, have you been living here long?”

She's a jewelcrafter, Xan realized with some disappointment. Skilled tradesmen were always of high value in the underground slave markets in Booty Bay. He could have made a lot of money off her.

"I have only been here a few months. It's been awhile since I've been a less… dry place."

Squinting his sensitive eyes, the night elf, with Alere following close, made his way toward the flightmaster. He had already procured the parts they needed for whatever crazy plan Seya had. All that was left to do was to get back.

"Ready to go? he asked as his gryphon was prepared by a pair of goblins.

At this, Cassira hesitated. She didn’t think he was actually going to TAKE her out of town. She had to be careful.

“Oh, we’re heading out of town?” she inquired, mildly surprised.

"Of course. It's a long flight. I'm not going to look for your information and then return. Surely, you understand that I have work I must attend to."

“Ah, yes, I do. I’m just glad I hadn’t planned on staying here for very long.” She ran her fingers through her hair, then a thought dawned on her. “Oh, by the way. You mentioned that I looked like someone you knew. Was she from Stormwind like me?”

The question caught Xan off guard. He wasn't sure how to answer it, most because he wasn't sure who it was that had seemed so familiar.

"Just someone I knew sometime ago. She's not from Stormwind. But, she was,…gifted," he replied quickly. His eyes appeared distant for a few moments, before he abruptly shook off the thought and began double checking the saddle straps and verifying the health of the wyvern. "We need to leave. It won't do us any good to fly after dark."

“I’ve always wanted to fly off somewhere with a handsome stranger,” Cassira said with a giggle. “Maybe you can tell me more about yourself on the flight there.”

At this Xan shot Alere a charming smile and gestured for her to take a seat. "I'd love to, but first-"

He suddenly wrapped his arm around her neck and began squeezing as tightly as possible.

And she blew it. So caught up in the act of convincing Xan that she was some Stormwind tramp that she actually let her guard down. Immediately, Cassira grasped at his arm, trying to stop him from choking her.

Kicking and jerking her body around, Cassira tried to fight him off. She gasped for breath, but his grip was incredibly tight.

It was no use. Xan was physically stronger than her. All Cassira could hope for as darkness surrounded her was that no one ruined the good reputation that she had put into her shop.


He wouldn’t have had to bribe the goblin flight master as much in Booty Bay. Then again, Booty Bay handled far more traffic then Gadgetzan. It didn’t matter, however. As long as the flightmaster conviniently forgot about what he’d just seen, the cost we irrelevent to Xan.

It’s hard to put a price on discreteness, he mulled while securing Alere to the saddle. In Booty Bay he would have recouped the cost when he sold her in the Shadow Markets. Now, he’ll probably have to leave her body to rot somewhere in the desert.

He briefly considered throwing her off while they flew over Un’goro. No doubt the strange creatures in the crater jungle will leave no trace of her body when they were done.

He looked at the unconscious human again and shook his head. It seemed a waste to throw out something as pretty her.

The night elf shook his head as if annoyed by the choices. Maybe she’d provided a little entertainment before he returned the camp.

The part he had procured couldn’t be installed the other phase of the project was complete anyway. A little detour could be the distraction he’d need.

He shot Gadgetzan another look. He was glad to be out of here. The air was too dry and the business deals weren’t as lucrative as in other places. And the women here were only slightly better then the wacko cultist he’d been dealing with for awhile.

Above the goblin desert town hovered a massive Horde gunships. Despite hearing of the gunships used by the Alliance and Horde, he’d never seen one until now. There was no telling what it’s reason was for visiting this spit of a town.

Xan wondered if Seya would want to know about this gunship. He shook the idea away. She’d probably have a fit. Besides, it’s not like they’ve received any intelligence regarding anyone from the Horde or Alliance investigating their activities in Silithus.

So far, the Twilight Cult had done a fine job blocking any communication to Cenarion Hold. There was only that small camp of shamans… and no one cares about helping shamans. There’s simply no profit in it.

Climbing on the wyrvern, he dug his boots in the side of the creature and a moment later he was in the airborne with his delivery and ‘passenger.’

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Post  Alarde Orig on Thu May 16, 2013 1:34 am

Somewhere South East of the Twilight Camp

“They’re near…” It had only taken a couple hours travel for Alarde and the two cultists he’d grabbed before departing to reach a narrow pass among the rocks; a perfect ambush point. The unholy, skeletal mounts summoned by the deathknight, nicknamed “death-chargers”, were quite useful with their speed and unending endurance. Although pin-pointing where a magical being was damn-near impossible for the elf, he could get a general bearing and plan accordingly.

“How can you tell?” One of the two human cultists spoke up, dismounting with the elf and other human cultist. For a moment, Alarde did not respond as he surveyed the area, silently plotting how to turn it into a masterpiece of gore.

“Simple… manure.” The elf paced about, still thinking about how to slaughter the approaching druids.


“Manure, dung, crap, shit… It is what their magic smells of to me. And it has been growing steadily stronger as we have gone . I give it a few hours tops before we encounter them.”

“Then why not press forward and sweep them under the rug?” No sooner had both cultists dismounted, the trio of steeds collapsed into three piles of bone and dust.

“Because doing so would only endanger this operation. As I have been able to sense them, they can surely sense my proximity, and would be able to prepare for any attack. Ambush is our best option.” The elf snapped, as if lecturing a recruit.

“But, you’re invincible. How can they be a threat to you?” An audible, heavy sigh came from the deathknight.

“Get one thing through that thick, human skull of yours; no one is invincible. Not me, not Seya, no one. Among my weaknesses are the natural magics used by druids and shamen, and in this case we’re also outnumbered. Our only true advantage is the element of surprise.”

“But, the tales of Scourge death knights, especially those like you, are the things of legend. Paladins of the Crusade cut down like children, and a group of druids makes you cautious?” The cultist finished with a quick laugh, further irritating the night elf.

“Arrogant like the rest of your pathetic, traitorous race I see.”

“You’re one to talk.” He almost lost control at that remark, but Alarde quelled the surge of anger and power, quickly formulating a modification to his plan. “So how do you plan to deal with this sudden issue?”

“And why are we even here?” Another foul grin spread like plague across Alarde’s pale face.

“I believe I can answer both questions with one simple answer; deception.” Before either could react, the elf had drawn his blade, bringing it around in a vicious swing that caught the nearest chump across his back. Before the other could react, a large blast of shadow energy shredded most of his robes and sent the cultist to the ground, smoke whisking from his body.

“W-wha- why?” Through blurry eyes, he could see the death knight now towering over him.

“Your friend will likely bleed out before the druids arrive, so it’s up to you to be my bait. Oh, and be sure to make plenty of noise, or I’ll make you wish you were dead.” A final, searing blast left much of the man’s torso blackened and shriveled, joined now by the man’s screams of agony.

About an hour later

He could now hear the approaching druids, who must have been aware of both his presence and the screaming of the one live cultist. His cries of pain had turned to desperate pleading with the nearing group. After a few minutes, he heard one druid, a female by the sound of it, asked him what happened; the only words he could understand from the response were “death knight” and “near”.

That’s my queue… In an almost ritualistic motion Alarde plunged his runeblade into the ground, channeling an immense amount of energy into the earth. With a light quaking, the sound of earth breaking gave way to the groaning and snapping of a near countless mass of ghouls clawing their way from beneath the ground.

”Break them!” Groans gave way to howls as the horde began to scream down and around one of the assorted boulders, hurdling directly for the group.

About thirty minutes later…

“YOU BASTARD!” In truth, Alarde had kind of forgotten about the one live cultist… whom he had maimed. He was busy inspecting the near total destruction of the supply laden cart and its now deceased protectors. Many had been mauled, decapitated, and even bifurcated in some cases from either Alarde himself, or one of his many ghouls. “I could have died!”

“And what a shame you didn’t,” One of the druids had actually had time to begin patching the man up before Alarde’s forces. This had actually allowed the mad to live, much to the elf’s annoyance. “However, you did serve your purpose well enough. I’ll see about getting you back and actually getting fixed up.”


With all that had happened, Zelg had been mostly keeping to himself since meeting the draenei. Having checked his rifles and pistol to ensure they would work, the goblin now lazily laid upon the crate that had come with him. Even if the payment wasn’t certain, he was sure to conduct some valuable field tests during the endeavor.

With all the orc had said, the  job seemed very straight forward; bad guys attacking, shoot anyone  who came close, the same old deal for defense. There really wasn’t all that much he wanted to talk about with the present company, since it was more than likely none would be able to comprehend his inventions and the work that had been invested into each of his weapons.

Boredom would always be a problem to him, needing constant stimulation from either fighting or tinkering. He had actually begun fidgeting, now balancing one of his cartridges on the tip of his fingers, and was now trying to see how long he could keep it balanced.

“Seems pretty straight forward… Anyone else bored?” A light rumble escaped from the goblin’s gut, “Or hungry for that matter?”

((Finally done, with a number of things Very Happy, little time off before I begin panicking about the real world. So here is my delayed response and start of banter post.  Cool ))

Last edited by Alarde Orig on Fri Jun 28, 2013 2:44 pm; edited 2 times in total (Reason for editing : Timeline correction)
Alarde Orig
Alarde Orig

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Post  Izdazi on Fri Jun 28, 2013 11:26 am

“But before I send anyone into harms way, I need to know,” the draenei asked.  There was an unusual glint of determination in her countenance that Azgard had never seen in her before.  Then, she repeated the question he was loathed to answer.  “Who is Seya?”

The old orc soldier sighed and rolled his shoulders to get the stiffness out of it.   Then, he did what he'd sworn many years ago he'd take to his grave.   He told her who Seya was.

He hadn't seen a draenei turn that pale since the dark days when he and his orcish breathen were rampaging though the streets of Shattrath butchering her kind.  

Her glowing white eyes stared widely at him as she struggled to come up with a response.   Occasionally, her mouth would open and then close, as if the words she had was gone.

"Wh-why?" she finally managed to stutter.  He was shocked at the sudden vehemence in her voice.   Her hands were tightened into fists and she leaned closer to him.  "This changes everything, Azgard!  Why did you not tell me?"

"It was my burden to carry alone," Azgard replied.

"No.  It ceased being your lone burden when she threatened us. It was irresponsible of you to keep this hidden when she started killing us!" she hissed, stomping her hoof on the gray sandy ground.   Tugging on one of her tendril she turned away from him and paced around.  

"We can stop her.  These mercenaries can help us," he added.   Her head snapped toward him and he could see that she wanted to rebuff his suggestion.   But he knew Niashado wasn't the kind who would refuse an idea out of personal enmity.   "You said it yourself.  We have to find out what they're up to and stop them if we can."  

Her eyes flashed in ire at being cornered and she turned away from him and toward the other shamans around the settlement as they way went about their tasks.  

"We need to stop them," she finally announced with a tone of resignation.  "But, the others need to know what they will be getting into.   You will need to tell them everything you just told me about Seya.   They need to know what they the full extent of the danger before they commit."  

"We still need to find the Twilight camp before we try anything."

"Mercer gave me directions…"

"You can't trust him," Azgard snapped, shaking his head.  How could she be daft then to trust that worgen?   He had seen it in the worgen's eyes.   "He wants you dead.  He'll have led you into the desert to die."

She bit her lip and seemed thoughtful a moment, before glancing toward where Emilysse  was escorting the newcomer, Michael Swift into the settlement.

"Blackmane.  He's a tracker and apparently a skilled one," the shamaness said.  Azgard raised an eyebrow in question as to how she'd know that.   She’d didn’t offer an explanation.

"We release our prisoner and have this Blackmane quietly track him?" he asked, starting to understand her plan.

"Yes.  In the meantime, we have Yevana take our injured by wyverns to Cenarion Hold.   Those who are uninjured and decide not to join us will travel there by foot."

“We should consider feeding our prisonner misinformation,” Azgard added after a moment of thought.   Niashado looked at him with a questioning gaze that irked the orc briefly.  He had to remind himself that unlike her and many others in the camp, he had military experience and strategies.   “If we’re releasing him to return to the coven, we should have him convinced that we’re in disarray.”  

The shamaness nodded.  “That should not be difficult sentiment to convey.”  

Then she turned and called out for Emilysse and Michael to return.  

Azgard sighed, thinking back to the last time he had encountered Seya.  Dark days are coming, which was an understatement considering how bad things were already.

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