The Warlord's Recluse

A blog dedicated to the various campaigns, records and writings of Velonar Dawnstorm, an RP character on the realm of Wyrmrest Accord. This blog's theme is still being worked on and may change later. You can find my OOC blog at: cicatrixumbra.tumblr.com

[ablacktalon]

Refusal

This roleplay was done on August 17th. It had no edits aside for minor grammatical and spelling corrections and the attempt of new format for consecutive NPC speech. It was done in collaboration with @verena-wintour, also known as @doriandrin

Verena was not escorted in this time, the guards outside Ambermill's worn down town hall recognized her. It seems ever since the incident with the experimental ordinance ship the Legion brought to bear, word has gotten around that it was her acute listening that got it noticed. Inside, the previously damp air has been more or less cleared out by the open windows, and all the candles had been lit. Some additional, glowing with azure magics, contrasted the orange flames as they floated near the walls. It was clear that since the last of Ambermill's resistance has been wiped out, the little mage town has not seen use since. Not until the Third marched in, set itself up and started consolidating their efforts and accounting for resupply. Some of the officers thought it silly to set a trap and then retreat so far behind, and Verena would hear one's discontent upon entering. "A string taut too far will become visible. Now we've that much more ground to cover should Tarren Mill come under attack!" It wasn't an officer she'd easily recognize. The Undead made few appearances, and wore a dark blue tabard with the crest of the Forsaken. Hunched with heavy brown and black armor, he shook his head. "If I didn't know any better Dawnstorm, I'd call you a coward."

Velonar had his gaze matched dead on, looking rather displeased. "If I didn't know any better, I'd call your brain rotted beyond repair." He chastised. "I understand that the Forsaken do not fear throwing their... ‘unlives’ into a meat grinder should the need arise, but the Third cannot handle such attrition. The retreat was necessary, as the Legion is overconfident." "You think they won't be able to scout this camp out?" "As a matter of fact, I know they won't! The prior defeat forced their gaze upon Tarren Mill. Dun Garok was entirely ignored." "That is why we abandon a clearly superior defensive position. Brav--" "That is why we abandon the obvious position. Demons are cunning creatures. If they intend to level the hills by means of brute force, no amount of Dwarven engineering will save our lives." "And lives--" Velonar barked, cutting him off again. "And lives are everything." He raised his hand for the door, extending a slender, long nailed finger that showed itself past a crimson glove. "I've permitted you in under the new Warchief's demand. If you assume Sylvanas can mingle in my strategies, then you are welcome to invite her in person to be proven wrong, and be done with this farce." "You insult the Banshee Queen?" "Dismissed." And that was that. Stared down by a pack of no less than fifteen other members of the high command, blademasters and warmages alike, the Undead warrior spat on the floor and left with a dirty look. -- Verena had entered just at the end of the conversation and watched with a frown as the officer shuffled past her through the door of Velonar's temporary command office and back out into the camp. She furrowed her brows and gazed back at the general, waiting for him to finish his important work before so much as knocking on the doorframe to announce her presence. She seemed more casual now than when she had first arrived among the troops with Lansael in tow, but still wearing her battle-ready robes should trouble arise; and in her bare hand she carried a rolled piece of parchment. -- Velonar didn't give the envoy a second look, staring down the place where he used to stand with a searing fel glower. After a few seconds it rose, exchanging a look with the others. They didn't seem to fear him in the same way that a regular soldier might have. Or rather, they knew they had no reason to. Vesok, on the far side of the table with one leg crossed over another, hunched in a thinker's pose, graveled out. "First the bloody lord, now my bloody lady." He seemed conflicted. Ashdawn frowned and made a move to approach, but another already has. It was a tall Orcish woman, dressed in blue and silver metals. Chains emblazoned off her shoulderpads that had the adoration of wolves. Clearly, she was a shaman. Setting her hand onto his shoulder, she smiled. "Don't worry. I have seen - most of you will not have to face this conundrum." Velonar then spoke up, grim at the prospect. "None will." He stated in a rising determination. "We are all brothers and sisters here. In life and in death. Who brought you back is none of my concern." He looked to Vesok, who's eye-less pits rose to meet him. "We've all sworn the oath. We will all perish by it." A Death Knight added solemnly, his crimson armor clinking as he nodded firmly, the heavy helmet unrestricting of his movement. "In life and the Light." Then suddenly, WHAM! A fatty green fist smashing into the table. Orash's maw full of giant fangs and pointed teeth widened as the Orc roared out. "With blood and glory!" The table replied with "Aye!" Velonar smiled. "As if a man couldn't be blessed with better companions." Amid the commotion, a hand laid on his shoulder, as another warmage sought to get his attention. Nodding back to Verena, the Elf dressed in a vivid orange and violet finally got Velonar to spot her. "Alright you bloody louts, study the plans! We win this, and then, WE FEAST!" He shouted to the group's cheer, shaking off any prior threats and implications. The Third had work to do. Velonar in the mean time turned and approached his visitor. "Lady Wintour. Your work has helped us. How can I help you now?" --

Verena took one swaying step into the room. She started to play coy, to ask him if he was only willing to help her because of her prior work, but stopped when she considered the others present. She tilted an eyebrow at him. "Lord Dawnstorm," she spoke with a confident air, "I wish to speak to you about a matter concerning this little 'project' of mine." She thumbed over her shoulder with her free hand, indicating the direction of her quarters, where she had left Lansael with a maid in her service.

-- The General furrowed his brows, but glanced over his shoulder with a rather neutral expression. "Orash." "Yes, lord?" "If the Paladin fights over the van position, give him a smack for me." The noted paladin spoke up, shrugging. "If m'lord says it, I obey. Just thought I'd have a bloody chance to play soldier where I like it." He was golden armored man with pitch black hair, lips thinning toward a smirk, and giving off a a visible shrug. He had a short sword and a large round shield, both strapped to his back. Velonar turned, sighing. "You'll get your chance soon. I suspect a second vanguard party will be very much necessary." "Aye." Orash spoke up. The blademaster then started scratching his scruffy chin, grinning. "You're not missin' all that much anyway." The Paladin seemed more perplexed than frustrated. "Explain?" "The Demons, for all their talk of might, actually have a surprisingly squishy center when forming out of teleportation. M'lord, can you explain it better, I--" Velonar interrupted, "No. Get Ashdawn to help." Turning, the warlord looked at Verena with an incredulous shake of his head and continued out. As they left, behind them would be the parting pleas of a blademaster that didn't want to lose favor with a triage healing expert. Well, that and plenty of laughter. - Scene transition to an inn building - Entering the guest room of one of the previously abandoned inns unveiled a rather quiet post-dinner scene. The folks that got their food late were sitting around a few tables, sharing drinks and tales. The occasional guffaw would break this, though nobody seemed to really mind. Just soldiers enjoying a little peace and relaxation before the next storm. Velonar looked to Verena, expecting her to lead the way to her room. -- Verena turned and silently followed him, but not before casting an entertained look at the men they were leaving behind. She followed him out and to the nearby, more informal building where they could speak. She noted his indication and did lead him further into the inn, but stopped short of actually leading him to her room. She did not want to speak near the girl. "I sent word to Lady Noviar," she informed him. "I did not tell her our location." -- Velonar blinked at this, speaking a little quieter himself. This was nothing his comrades needed to concern them selves with. Some gave them a glance, but soon returned to their conversations and food. Seems ever since Velonar's first lover, he seemed to put down rumors rather quickly. Not to mention, most were just happy to have a little silence after the week of Fel storms and rushing that they had to endure. "Noviar... ah. Right. That woman. Good. Please do not - letters can be intercepted. If the enemy knew, I fear our position would become very dire, very quickly. Not to mention the drama." The Blood Mage sighed. "What did you tell her?" -- Verena practically frowned at him. "I assure you I am not that stupid, Velonar." She seemed to emphasize his name as she said it, intentionally using his first name as if to remind him that before the current situation they had come to be tentative friends at least. She did at least say it with a low tone so as not to draw more attention to them. She sighed. "I simply told her that I had taken her daughter into my protection and that she was safe. I -finally- received a reply." She held up the rolled parchment she'd been carrying, but spared a once-over gaze of Velonar, down and back up. -- Finding the parchment, Velonar's nose crunched. He didn't look angry, but rather gave Verena this look of almost childish dismay. His brows rising, head tilting slightly lower, everything seemed to say '...again? Really?' Pressing his lips, the Elf looked down and sighed, resigning himself to this fate. "Alright. Okay. Lets..." he paused, looking at the door. "Do you want me to read it? I'm guessing the little shit shouldn't hear this."

--

Verena held the parchment out to him almost insistently and nodded. "I am sure you know her better than I do. I've only recently been acquainted with the lady, you'll recall." She seemed to have no concern over his dismay or hesitation.

--

Receiving the parchment with a clear lack of desire, he pried open the wax seal and unrolled it to take a look. What would it say?

--

The letter was hastily scribbled on plain parchment in handwriting that didn’t quite match the presumed author’s – except for the signature. It read: Magistrix Wintour,

We are well and quite worried over Lansael. Silvermoon is safe and our estate has been warded by both myself and Logaine to be as protected as it can be. Further, we are arranging other locations to move to should things escalate again.

We greatly miss our daughter and want to see to her return to our care. You are also welcome.

Lady Doriandrin Noviar

-- Holding it as though an announcer or town crier of some very armored sort, Velonar seemed to quietly mouth the words out. His expression turned more and more neutral as he did. Clearly, years away from the court cost him the skill of not moving your lips to a letter's rhythm-- either that, or he just trusted Verena enough to not bother with such nonsense. "Warded." He stated, looking up to the magistrix and folding the letter in both hands. "Doriandrin wouldn't give a second thought as to warding and any such magical nonsense. She'd say her home was safe, and that was that. Who wrote this?" he questioned, handing the letter back. "The woman is mad about her children. I once called one of hers a cunt for being a disobedient wretch when she tried to join my corps. She wouldn't live it down ever since." Velonar shook his head. "Maybe she's learned to speak 'politics' since becoming a lady? Either way. The woman wants her kid back." -- Verena listened to his words carefully, gleaning any wisdom he had on the subject from him. She considered his history with the lady, his supposed bitterness toward the subject, and the words that were on the page before speaking. "You don't belive she wrote it," she observed. "I had always heard that the lady was a bit of a hot-head. This letter is very diplomatic and ... cool. No doubt she wants her kid back but you seem to indicate you don't believe she warded her house? You think she lies?" She peered at him quizzically. This is why she had come to him. He knew Doriandrin in ways most people didn't dare or care to. -- "I think." Velonar paused, looking down and narrowing his eyes. He frowned a little, but didn't seem as agitated as he once might've been. "I think her wards wouldn't be enough for one. She must've hired another wizard to help in that regard. If the Legion was to come to Quel'thalas..." Velonar sniffed through the nose, pressing his lips and shaking his head from side to side. He seemed disappointed. "Probably wouldn't do much in the long run. That said, I believe her husband was a magister? Maybe he believes in his own magics enough to claim that folly. Either way, assuming you folks aren't playing any kind of game-- of the political, of course-- then this is just a feeble attempt at getting someone else to write something coherent for her. She isn't eager to offend you, Verena. Or at least, her magister might've intervened after realizing who she'd be going off on." He paused again. "I honestly don't see the complexity of this situation. If you'd like to elaborate why there'd be ulterior motives, other than her obsession with children... please, enlighten me." Velonar lightly shrugged. -- Verena's eyes were wide as she peered at him. "I believe you are correct. There is no complexity here. You have confirmed -- or rather solidified -- my suspicions." The next she said with confident determination. "Lansael is safer with me. Even here." She gestured with one hand out to indicate the military encampment they stood in. "So the next question is how I should proceed. The girl obviously loves and misses her family, and that is something that is sure to become more troubling and problematic for me as time goes by. At the same time, I can't help feeling some sympathy for Lady Noviar. I'm sure I would stop at nothing to be reunited with a child that was apart from me against my own will. I need to convince them somehow that this is for the best." -- Velonar's eyes narrowed on her. "Are you implying I should do something? The girl is hers legally. By all rights, what you've done is kidnapping." He paused, glancing to the door beside them. "Though I personally don't have a stake in this fight, it's true that I could perhaps state that she's under my guardianship for, say, trespassing in a war zone and is therefore forced to be a guest in my encampment. But what will that do?" Velonar furrowed his brows and leaned back slightly. "It's just some brat of Doriandrin. Unless she proves otherwise, I haven't the words to mince. She has the potential to become special, and perhaps even powerful in the future. If you believe that growth will be ruined by being near her mother, then why not take things into your own hands? Shift the adoption. You have the power to do that." -- Verena blinked at him repeatedly. "I didn't mean to imply that I wanted you to become actively involved in the situation. And I don't consider protective custody to be kidnapping, especially when my intentions were nothing but good. The world turned to chaos and I did what I felt was best. Only now am I faced with the knowledge that her family is well and prefers her to be in their care -- danger not withstanding. Perhaps in the courts she would bring kidnapping charges but we both know that would not stick. And yes, I could shift the adoption but ... at the moment I don't find that necessary. Given the proper tutelage and attention Lansael will be grateful and loyal to me no matter who her family is. I do appreciate your ideas but ... there must be a more subtle way to solve this." She cast her gaze aside and softly bit the corner of her lip in thought for a moment. "The only solution I see right now is to return to Silvermoon and remain close to Lansael and therefor her family as well. ... Although I do miss the luxuries of my own home." She paused to peer at Velonar. -- Velonar eyed her, the visible shrugging just growing more and more pronounced. "Erm. Alright, that sounds fine. I'm sorry, I ah... I'm a little accustomed to using force in my politics. I'm sure you're all too aware by now." He paused, looking at the door. "You could try making..." he struggled with the name for a moment, though the poker face saved it. "...Lansael understand and be okay with this predicament. If she informs her mother that she wants to stay, then it'd be an appeal to the emotional. Otherwise, I would personally come straight about the whole affair. That she's safer here, in the finest standing fighting force on all of Azeroth. So far she's been quiet and polite, and hasn't pissed me off like some other little shits might've, so I'm not kicking her out. There's that." -- Verena lifted an eyebrow at him and nearly smirked. "You suggest that I inform Doriandrin that her daughter is with the Third. I'm not sure that would go over very well for -either- of us." -- Velonar bobbed his head, appreciating that fact a little. "You're wrong. It wouldn't go over very well for her, and assuming the forces I've brought under your command aren't up to snuff, possibly for you. I trust that death knight that spoke up though. What was his name again? Good lad, foremost bannerman, I thought." -- Verena continued to smirk, "Oh I'm not implying they have the means to challenge either of us. But you might end up with Doriandrin on your doorstep and I doubt she'd willingly allow me to mentor her daughter anymore if she had a say in it.  ... I think you're referring to Leon -- the one who assisted in the matter of the enemy within my own house?" -- His brows rose and the general smiled, wagging a finger towards Verena. "Yes! Leon! That's the guy! I've spoken to him, but only briefly to confirm support. Things were rather confused back then for most of your bannermen, I had to set some straight. He has some pedigree in combat, squired in the second war, fought in the third. Not certain of his strategic prowess, but he's reliable. That's all you need where politics are concerned. Reliable, loyal swords." He returned the smirk. "That said, if the lady An'daran wishes to trudge for six hours on foot under the guard of my grey legion, like a prisoner all the way to camp, she's welcome to do so. Her contribution to my war effort was paltry. Her contribution to my psyche rivaled that of any enemy general. I have no qualms of telling her to promptly go eat a fat one. At least she'll be good at that. But that is more out of a personal spite. I would still like it best if you settled this so I didn't have a wailing mother blaming the world's ills on my shoulders. Enough ungrateful shits do that as it stands." -- Verena shook her head with a "tsk" at him for a moment. "I'm sure you were not the first or the last, but I am sure the lady did not intentionally go to war with your psyche. As for her monetary contributions, give me time and perhaps I can loosen her purse for you. As far as the current matter, I will find a way to handle it. Your ... intelligence ... on the matter is appreciated though. Without it I would have to base my decisions on our few interactions, hearsay, and speculation." -- Velonar rose a hand before his chest rather promptly, indicating a 'stop'. "You won't. Such a thing is not necessary. The day I wish to owe Doriandrin anything again will be the same day I cut my legs off at the prospect of groveling. Just keep her at a distance, that's all I ask. Did you plan on telling the kid about this?" --

Verena peered at him. "Telling her about what, specifically?"

--

"The letter, and what you intend on doing." Velonar watched her curiously. Wasn't it obvious that Lansael shouldn't know? That the kid would freak out..? -- "Well," she answered matter-of-factly, "I'm not completely decided on what I intend on doing or how to handle it. I may tell her that I have been in contact with her mother. That should at least provide some comfort. In the meantime we will work on her lessons and that should keep her mind occupied. I am personally still not convinced that Silvermoon is as safe as they claim." -- Velonar rose his chin, and the brows rose with it. "Occupied. I suppose that is fair." Velonar paused, turning to the door and eyeing it carefully. "Silvermoon is indeed not safe, but that is why I am here. If you hadn't noticed, the Legion has the ability to appear anywhere it wishes, at will. We've been working against the schedule until you've intercepted that transmission." He paused, giving Verena a look of acknowledgement. "That was the significance of your task, helping us understand when and how they will strike. From there, our abilities are magnified exponentially. We will test that ability soon. As for Lansael..." He looked back to the door, head tilting to the side slightly. "Had I not forced my self in the politics I wished to be involved in, had I not made allies early, I would have no support when leaving for Silvermoon. I would be unable to strike my father without the training and wisdom they had given me. All war is deception, be it with swords or speeches. I suggest she begins understanding that sooner, rather than later, or my words of choice would've been for naught. Even now, I suspect she is listening... just behind the door." He gave Verena a brief look. "Or I might just be paranoid." The corners of his lips drove out into a smile. -- Verena smirked at him again. "Ah, you -are-that. But you may not be wrong either. You rarely are, it seems." She gave him a faux-annoyed look and a scrutinizing glance. -- He shook his head. "I don't like to deal in vague implication. You've got the key. Go on, see how fast she is at getting to a seat." -- "Trying to get rid of me?" -- "I do have work to do. Not to mention, discussing Doriandrin and her child..." Velonar pressed his lips in a very frank way. "I suppose I'm not immune to politics either." -- "I have to admit that I find it regrettable that it seems to be all we've talked about lately. SHE is a particular distraction for you when referenced in any capacity." Verena frowned as if this fact greatly disappointed her. -- "It doesn't help if she's a recurring theme in my life. I am a man of blood and steel and victory, Verena. Some odd forty years ago, I made my choice to be that. I made my choice, I picked up my sword, and I did not look back since. Now this woman is forcing me to look back in the walking daylight, when I am at last relieved of the nightmares that haunt me in my sleep. I am forced to endure the blame of a lacking attention to a woman whom I had once given my heart and Light. My only days of rest, wasted on her incessant hoarding and qualms and.." Velonar spat the words like venom, growling. "Social... garbage I had given my life to protect. Vanity I had sacrificed everything for." He peered down, a hard stare. A stare that stretched for miles and miles, that did not reach the ground. "I had thought once that she would be my chance at love. At life. But I now know the truth. My life is war. My life is this ever-ending world. From one brink to the next. From one chaos to another. That is why she is such a sore spot. That is why I contemplate time and time again to just drive Sanguine Morrow through her vile heart, and tear it out the same way she's done it to me. But I know, deep down, that it would be her victory." Turning his eyes to Verena, he scowled. "And I refuse to lose." -- Verena blinked and peered at him. "If what I have come to understand about her is true, the two of you should never have been a ... involved." She spoke as if she was diagnosing a disease. "You're both very passionate, unrelenting people. That's a recipe for disaster. And why do men always take it so personally when things don't work out in their ultimate and extremely self-biased favor? I can tell you I have loved passionately a few times in my life but never would I have considered destroying a person I held dear unless the way they hurt me was a betrayal that wrecked me forever. You are right about her winning if you killed her, for it would show your ultimate weakness and vulnerability when it comes to that particular subject." She paused, sensing her words might seem too harsh ... but she did take his reaction to Doriandrin a bit personally, considering that she was technically, but only so far as etiquette was concerned, mourning. And also because speaking of Doriandrin made her invisible in the sight of Velonar, and Verena was not used to being invisible -- ever. "I don't mean to offend you by saying these things. I just wonder if perhaps you don't realize." -- Velonar sighed, uneasy. His shoulders rolled, now lowered down a tad. His hands drifted behind his back, underneath the heavy leather cloak that engulfed it. Clasping together, he cast his gaze forward again. "Of course I do. If I win this war, there may be other chances. Chances that might work out even better in my favor as far as something better goes. It should've never happened, you're right. I was driven in part by jealousy. By haste. By desire. I needed to know what it was like to love. To be honest with you, I'm not even certain if I have from that experience... There was so much lust, so much hate." The corners of his lips sagged, and he looked genuinely depressed. His face was frozen in sadness, no grim determination or power to it. Slowly, it turned anxious, and hardened in frustration. "Every time I obtain something of potential, it crumbles beneath my hands. Everything I touch, burns." His eyes turned to Fel green enamored, cold steel. "How can I not take that personally? I've crushed every enemy I've come across. My soldiers are the only ones that can resist my bruising touch." -- Her lips pouted casually at him. "Perhaps you just take it much too seriously?" she suggested. "Let it come to you. I married for political reasons and certainly never saw myself loving my husband as much as I did. Love can grow from friendship, casual lust, even hatred. Don't put so much expectation into it. I am happiest when I give it no regard. What will be will be. In the meantime, I am fulfilled otherwise." Verena resisted the urge to reach out and lay her hand on his cheek softly and comfortingly as a means of encouragement. There were too many of his soldiers nearby. Instead she held her lightly closed hand close to her. -- Pausing, his eyes lifted to Verena. Taking his right hand out from behind his back, he turned to face her. He then rose the hand gently and set it on her shoulder, grasping it tight. "What will be, will be." He echoed her words, now looking a little more determined. "Though it pained me, I did not permit one woman to control my destiny. Nothing has the strength to do so! I've had my fill anyhow - outwitting an opponent at the table is just as fun. So... thank you." He'd let go soon after. "I should be going. There are bigger fish to fry than some Silvermoon trollop - if you'd like, you're welcome to join us tomorrow as we discuss more planning." -- She smiled at him. "I would like to do that. In the meantime, if you need anything to preoccupy your mind, to give it some rest, whether that be listening to poetry, talking, playing a game, or anything else," she leaned forward at that last bit, "please don't hesitate to call on me. I am a very versatile woman and I would hate to think I am only useful to you in one or two ways." She frowned at him to drive the point home. Then she once again gave an encouraging smile. -- Velonar blinked a few times, thinking on that. Glancing to the side for a moment, he considered the offer. "You know. I might take you up on that. We shall see!" He returned the smile, furrowing his brows. "If you'd excuse me." He paused before leaving. "The Pandaren cook said something about roasted quail today, I believe. Lansael must be hungry by now." He bobbed his brows once before departing. -- Verena stood there for a moment, looking around, returning to the world of the inn around her. "Roasted quail," she repeated before turning to go up to her room to check on Lansael.

[ablacktalon]

Shrapnel

This roleplay was done on August 11th with @verena-wintour, also known as @doriandrin. In it, I finally get to write some off-the-cuff military related gobbledygook, some of which might not make sense or lack detail for that exact reason. It has not been edited in any way aside for minor spelling correction

Verena might've seen the Third's camps plenty of times, but probably never once like this. They were in full mobilization, blades drawn, magics all asunder. On her way down, escorted by an Arakkoan talonguard, she would notice shadow priests and Trollish witch doctors draining the remaining haunting Dwarvish spirits of Dun Garok. Those would be useful in the coming weeks. There was the vicious hum and wing-beat of mounts, the swirling rattle of gyrocopters rising into the air, the yells of commands all about. Blades being sharpened, quick breaks for a meal, some of which might be that warrior's last. Stretching and encouragement all about, banners weaving the crimson sigil of the Horde. The feathered warrior would stop at the top of the stairs, expecting Verena and the child to continue down on her own. At the heart of this iron Dwarvish fortress was a common room, now refurbished into a command center. A large, lengthy table in the very center, surrounded by chairs on all sides. There was commotion, as at the sides were arcane command arrays, with Elf and Goblin alike receiving communications and telepathic envoys from all around the foothills. At the center of this commotion, right before the table, bent down before a map with his hands clenched into fists in thought, was the crow that lead this operation...

--

Verena enters holding Lansael close at her side. They both take it all in as they enter and Verena nods to her young charge both in assurance and also in confirmation that the girl should keep quiet. Verena guides them both to Velonar's position and stands several feet away, knowing the importance of the work that is happening around them. Verena peers at Velonar as if to watch him work while Lansael continues to look around, taking it all in. -- At last, he rose from the map and turned to the left, barking out to a fellow by the roaring fire, what was once the center-piece of comfort in this hill embedded stronghold. "Malzek, I want anti-materiel cannons on the fingers above Tarren Mill within the next hour. The petty bastards will not take a defeat for an answer." "Sir!" was the reply form the Blood Elven mage, a magister by the looks of it. Verena might've noticed that this was one of the many absent from the Thalassian court these days. One of Velonar's ilk, the officer turned to the one of the communication receptionists and bent down to speak, then stormed off, grabbing his bladed staff on the way. Velonar then moved his eyes to Orash, his right hand man. The hulking Orcish blademaster approached when addressed, thumping his chest with a salute. "Gorefang." "Present. What'cha got for me?" Velonar reached down with a slender finger and pressed it to a point on the map, tapping it a few times. "I want a detachment there within the hour. Grab Azzok and force march--" Velonar had to stop as the communications started buzzing, and an alarm rung hard within the building. Red lights crackling in arcane to alert to the coming threat. "We've got a level three assault incoming!" One of the Goblins cried out. Velonar scowled. "Stick to the plan. Raise our birds, give me coordinates. NOW!" At last, he'd turn, in search of those following orders, finally spotting Verena. He didn't speak, just looking a little dumbfounded to find her here. -- Verena peered at him curiously as Lansael watched the others rush around. The lady wondered why he had stopped his work upon seeing her and her face indicated that she understood urgency. She paused to look down at Lansael and then look around the room as if searching for a place to stick the little thing. -- Velonar sighed and shook his head. There was no time for babysitting. Orash had already rushed up the stairs and out the door, barking orders along the way. "First and second van platoons, with me! Bloodguard, we take the front! I want the 15th Grey Legion with me for support..." his harsh voice grew fainter as the roaring commotion in the halls grew more and more loud and busy. Velonar immediately walked over to the communications array. "Where is my update?! Their ship needs to go down!" In the distance, the thunderous crash of munitions began to pour down. The earth tremored slightly, prompting all those in the hall to shudder and grasp for purchase. Velonar himself found the back of a chair, exhaling as he held on. "Sir! Fourty-six, fifty-two, sir!" yelled out one of the radio operators, looking rather perturbed by the whole situation. Nodding, Velonar rushed back to the table with a haggard pace, finding the location with his pointer. "I want sixth battalion to lance the boil. Get Gearshatter to pound them from the sea and clear the way!" The chatter grew exponentially more loud as commands were demanded and given into fatty, circular iron receivers. Soon, the pounding of larger guns began its orchestra. "Status on aircav!" "They are up and ready, my lord." "Give it all they've got once the primary shield is breached!" "Yessir! Calling all units..." Narrowing his eyes, the general turned sharply and walked over to the two. "This is not the place for a child." He pointed to a chair behind them. "Take a seat, you're safe here, but do not get in the way!" Velonar barked with authority. -- Lansael was not surprised or much affected by Velonar's demeanor though she did flinch slightly at the volume and authority in his voice. Verena stopped to guide her to the indicated chair but Lansael did not need a second  prompt and had already found her way to it herself. She sat there holding onto the edges of the seat, still looking around, wide-eyed, taking it all in, perhaps a little scared but quiet as a churchmouse. Verena nodded to the girl in repeated assurance and looked at Velonar. "What can I do?" -- Velonar paused for a moment, eyeing Verena with curiosity. She intended to fight as well? He bobbed his head as a wordless 'very well'. "I need you to attend to the communications array. Though I don't expect you to have any telepathic abilities, you are to pour mana into the network, and search for signs of Fel treachery. The Legion will always attempt to twist and send false signals, to mislead our attack. Do not send any messages of your own!" He then rushed back to the table, using it for support. An azure matrix rose like steam from the map's decorative illustration, indicating points of interest and troop maneuvers. This was the eagle's eye view from which Velonar oversaw a battle, when such luxury and magics were available. This was one of the rare times in which it was. From an outsider's perspective, it was easy to disassociate the glowing effigies from the thousands of men and women that they represented. It took a long time for Velonar himself to make the difference plain. "The outer shield is breached, my lord! We are moving in the skycav!" Came one of the calls from the side. "Deliver the payload. Make sure they cannot teleport away-- I want an anti-dislocation barrier up the moment they attempt it!" -- Verena immediately stepped to the side and started her work. She had to admit to herself she was slightly disappointed that this was the way he chose to utilize her, but if it was needed, it was needed. She concentrated on her work, pouring mana into the communications network. Her mana was readily available at the moment. She closed her eyes for a moment to concentrate and then opened them to continue her work, paying attention... almost as if she was listening, searching for something that could be heard or seen, when in fact it was the fingers of her mana that scouted for false signals. She barely glanced back at Lansael, only enough to register that the girl was still doing as told. -- The moment Verena entered the network, she would find that the menial task was a lot more difficult than initially described. Her mind was flooded with messages, commands, demands. Some of those around her, some in this very room. Others, more wicked, with a fel influence, attempting to infiltrate her mind and corrupt her very own tendrils of mana. Others still, utterly ridiculous, and counterproductive to Velonar's plans, yet seeming so genuine at first gander. She even found others like her, scouring the complex network Velonar created in order to have a quicker, more hands-on communication system for this particular defense style. Counter-espionage meeting face to face with counter-espionage. She would even stumble upon messages sent from and to the Legion, yells of a desperate demonic lord to steer the skyship, to activate the teleportation array. Calls for reinforcements. They were winning! And indeed, in the real world, mere minutes later, yells started coming in of "The secondary shield is breached!" "Launching payload--" "Unit four, inbound for runs!" "Make them sing all the way down, boys!" "Vanguard, engaging the enemy!" "3rd Grey Legion, reinforcing." "Flank prepared--" "Deploy the flank reserve!" "The enemy is routing! Lead them to the pocket!" "Spears, engajin'!" And soon, as Velonar's map displayed, the retreating demonic force was encircled. Pockets of resistance, being taken out at an angry leisure. Buildings and fortresses, demolished, or cut off from any assistance, awaiting a thundering doom. The plague of Fel, driven back piece by piece. At last, after a few more minutes, the cries of victory roared through the comms, prompting some of the receivers to malfunction and screech. Cheers of bloodied winners, announcing the glory they had attained today, bragging and decrying the Legion for weakness. Velonar backed up from the table, exhaling and drawing back his hood. "My lord, the ship is not coming down!" This gave him pause. "It is teleporting away!" This put the sour note on what should've been naught but success of valor. "They got away..." Velonar spat. "No matter, rejoin all units and return for the count. Bring as many bodies as you can, no one gets left behind!" "Sir yes sir!" -- Verena winces, puts one hand to her head as they rally in victory, but continues to listen, even as the voices in her mind seem to coalesce and calm, she listens, curiously, whispering to herself, searching for any more demonic voices as the Legion retreats. -- The final message she would hear is "Bring in the executor. These hills need to be leveled!" before vanishing into the aether of static. Velonar took a few heavy breaths and barked to the side. "Someone get me some water!" A squire immediately ran over with a skin, which the crow took and turned upside down, gulping greedily. Some ran down his chin and spilled to the floor. Dipping forward, he let the skin down and let out a satisfied "Ahh, alright!" What was he acting so tired for? He's behind a desk! Apparently generalship was similar in stress to that of an orchestra conductor. Now you know why those are sweat-ridden by the end as well, you're welcome. Handing the skin back to the squire before dismissing him with "Go greet your lord. He'll need some clean armor!" Dawnstorm grinned and walked over to the kid, looking to Verena. "Alright. I've got a little bit of time before the boys return - explain your selves." -- "They're coming back." Verena furrowed her brows as she stepped away from the comm, her magic fizzling. She looked tired already, but more in thought than anything. "They're going to double their efforts. I need to learn how to talk to them... to confuse them..." She turned as if just now hearing what Velonar had said. Lansael was peering at her, expecting her to answer. Lansael knew her place in the scheme of things, unlike her older sister. Verena looked at Velonar. "I came as soon as I saw what was happening. I didn't have time to return her to her mother." It is clear Verena had more to say, more explanation, but she was wary of saying it in front of the child. -- Eyeing from her to Lansael, Velonar paused. "Her mother?" He seemed perplexed, as though he'd never seen the girl before, much less said implicated mother. Raising a finger to hold, Velonar glanced over his shoulder. "Get the cannons on those hills! I want to be ready next time they come along! Do not let their ships get away, you hear me?!" He sighed, clearly anxious about that particular loss. "Right." He pointed to the girl. "You stay put." He then looked to Verena. "Come, explain what 'they're coming back' means this time. I must've heard their 'we'll be back' threat a hundred times by now." He turned and walked back to the desk, expecting her to follow. -- Verena does follow. She does not wait until she is still to explain. "They're going to come directly after your cannons, try to annihilate the hills. They're going to be more strategic – removing any natural barriers, any defenses that are in place. They are not used to being beaten and will only regroup and adapt each time." -- Velonar paused, blinking a few times. "Leveling the playing field? That's just rude." He stroked his chin for a moment, bringing in the elbow of his right hand using the left. Covering his mouth, his eyes narrowed. "Yeah, we can deal with this. You're saying they're bringing in heavy ordinance then. Any confirmation on that?" He suddenly piped up in question around the room. "They mentioned an 'executor', sir." "Executor class trans-dimensional warship, m'lord." Velonar paused. "That sounds huge." He smirked. "Must be an experimental weapon. Alright-- belay the order on the cannons. Bring in only half, and set up a camouflaged secondary force. I want the positions to look heavily fortified and authentic!" He approached the map, pondering. "A large ship like that will require a large portal. If we ruin the portal, we ruin their little project. Get Gadz to bring out the arcano-pulse disruptors." He looked to Verena like a kid that was having fun with a bunch of new toys. "The bigger they are." -- Verena peered at him curiously. She was not as amused by all this as he was, but she nodded, taking his meaning. Poor Lansael just sat there waiting. "The harder they fall." Verena said for Lansael's benefit. -- Velonar sighed, nodding. "Alright. Yeah. Who's brat is that, and to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?" -- Verena looked apologetically at the girl before answering. "This is Lansael An'daran. ... Your reputation precedes you Lord Dawnstorm. ... Lansael is my apprentice. She is quite adept." She side-eyes the girl for a moment as Lansael moves in her chair to face Velonar and peer up at him. -- His features suddenly grew more skeptical and he backed up a bit, bending backwards physically as though in mock disgust. "An'daran." He looked to the little girl with furrowed brows and thinning lips. "I swear, I will never be rid of that woman. But, I suppose I congratulate you for acquiring a worthy apprentice. If you see ability in her, she must be quite the gift. But praytell, why bring her to me? It is indeed safe here, but you know my... distaste." -- Verena locked her eyes on Velonar's, waiting for him to meet her gaze before answering with strong intent. "Why bring her to YOU? Because I trust ... you." After a moment of staring at him she looked at the girl again. "She is indeed adept but we have barely scratched the surface of what her future could hold. I'm not ready to give up on her because of extenuating circumstances, and I certainly don't trust others to guide her like I could. If our world is changing for the worse, young Lansael here could be one of the few of the next generation to hold the lines, so to speak." She gave that intense gaze to him again. "Do you think it would have been more beneficial to relinquish my student in Silvermoon City?" After a few more moments of staring she looked back to Lansael with sympathy. The girl really had no concept of what exactly was happening in her life right now.

-- Looking back at Verena, the general frankly just looked perplexed. With her impassioned plea, he rose his hands at his sides and literally visibly shrugged. "Hey, be my guest. As long as the little shit doesn't get in the way of my work, and as long as that wretch of a woman doesn't come seeking me for answers, I have no problems with it. You're absolutely right - we're a dying race, and will need ever man and woman we can get to survive the coming conflict. But does she, a lady of Silvermoon, understand that mine is a war camp? That the word 'luxury' is often redefined here, should we fall on hard times? I'm good at my job, but I will make sacrifices in that department if it means we attain victory." -- Verena glanced at the girl again. Lansael seemed unfazed. She looked back at Velonar. "I have no doubt her mother will be seeking her, so I will try to get in touch with her and assure her that her daughter is fine. As for Lansael, she lived a good portion of her young life with no luxuries, watching the street rats and refugees scour the Lower City outside her door in barely a home, where everything was shared. Despite her current upbringing and her desires, I find she has a deep understanding of necessity." -- The haze of blood and victory seemed to be washing over him. That euphoric thrill of outwitting an opponent. Velonar's eyes shifted from Verena to the girl upon learning this. Suddenly, he gave a singular exhale into a smirk. "...Does she now." There he was. There was the crow. That depth of intrigue in his eyes began to surface as he took the kid more seriously. He walked past Verena, back slowly falling on the way. Looming over the child, his head tilted, gazing directly into her eyes. "...yeah... what do ya know." He spoke quietly. "You've seen death. You've seen poverty. You've had the taste of sated hunger. You're not like your mother, are you, girl?" -- Verena stayed silent, watching carefully as if testing her young student. Lansael looked over as if to question if she was allowed to speak and it seems she was expected to. "They tell me I am." she answered the general. "But... I don't know." It was clear she also felt a great affection for her mother and would not speak ill of her. -- His right hand drifted down and gently took up her chin, raising it in the pinch between his pointer and thumb. "'They' are negligible. Your voice is the only one that should speak a final word, in matters that relate to you. So, what do you think you are?" His putrid fel stare widened upon her, peering through her. Velonar had no mercy, not even for a child, in this particular subject. "Careful now. You speak to someone that 'they' say is important. So clearly, you must speak truthfuly." -- Lansael peered at him curiously, as if trying to figure him out, considering the implications of his words. She speaks with some regret, as if betraying something. "I am ... what my mother thinks she is, but she can't ever be. She has lost a lot, I know, but ... she wasn't born to loss." She peers at the general curiously, wondering if he can comprehend what her child mind is trying to say. "People ask me what I want to be. Some people think I should be a mage. Derryk thinks I should stay a child. ... I don't think I will have a choice." She turns her eyes to Verena now, her chin still in Velonar's hand. Verena seems slightly surprised by Lansael's final words. -- A genuine smile lit Velonar's lips and he released the girl's chin, suddenly grasping his blade and unsheathing it upward. Switching the handle to bear the bastard sword in reverse, he slammed the tip down beside the girl with a clang. Sanguine morrow had the glint of tormented enchantments placed upon it, the darkened shape of curved Elvish steel, reforged over the years. Its edge coarse with the decades of blood it had fed upon. "They are wrong!" He growled, clear as day. "There is always a choice." Despite the display, Velonar's stern, piercing gaze never shifted to that of anger. He was making a point, not chastising her. "I'll make sure you two get decent quarters." His back rose, turning and slowly walking to Verena, sheathing the blade along the way. "For now, let me go greet my victors." -- Lansael winced slightly as the blade came down next to her. She eyed it cautiously and curiously over before he re-sheathed it. Verena said nothing. She kept her eyes fixed on Lansael, gauging the young one's reaction to Velonar. She smirked to herself as she turned to him. "Stay prepared," she nodded in consent. "I thank you." -- Nodding, Velonar looked over his shoulder. Spotting the first aide, Velonar waved him over. "You! Get Lady Wintour and her charge a quarter if you can find it, *inside* the fortress. If you can't, I want a shaman to bore a new one in a wall." "At once my lord. Right this way, my lady." The aid extended a hand back into the fortress. "Blood and glory." Velonar stated his trademark and then returned to his command. -- Verena watched him. She wished to watch him with his soldiers but prioritized getting Lansael settled. "Thank you again, Lord Dawnstorm." she called to him as she ushered Lansael to follow the first aide.

[ablacktalon]

Vert Horizon

This roleplay took place on August 7th, prior to the invasion pre-patch release. I am posting it here because a good majority of my writing gets lost in the ether of roleplay, never to see the light of day, even if they do tend to be a bit more rough and off the cuff than my edited works. It was written in co-operation with boogie-bird who does not have a tumblr for her character, Du’nai. The posting order is myself, then boogie-bird.

Velonar took a breath of the drab, dusty air of Durotar. He frankly didn't like the place. It wasn't... authentic to him in a sense. A thousand times before had he experienced the grueling destitute wastelands of Azeroth. The chill blizzards of Winterspring, the summer monsoons of Tanaan. Durotar just felt destitute, like it couldn't quite commit to any one extreme or the other. Yet here there were Orcs, acting like they were tough shit for managing to eke out a living in a place that by all accounts was just a poor strategic decision on Thrall's account. A 'penance', they claimed it was, while the smarter clans migrated to the Barrens, where farming could be done in at least some meager capacity. But we're not here to discuss that, and neither was he. Flanked by a lanky undead with a crossbow on his back, Velonar had come for a summons under the oath of service. The word of the Warchief had to be answered, even with his recent rebellious tendencies towards Lor'themar. Receiving a standard chest thumping salute from the bloodguards at the door, the general gave a brief look to his master of scouts, just over the shoulder. Vesok nodded, his black saronite bands no longer rattling. They were nailed in place, crisscrossing the bridge of his nose. Poor bastard would never resemble an Elf again. And with that, he proceeded onward, into the hall of legends...

-- The Hall of Legends stood as an unremarkable monolith of stone and iron on the west side of Orgrimmar, often overlooked in the hustle and bustle of city life in one of its' most busy districts. However, not all was calm in the heat haze of mid-afternoon-- raised voices sounded from the depths of the corridor. "The Warchief, I know he's in there!" Came the low growl of a vaguely feminine voice, being obviously Orcish by the nature of its' ease with the language. Trollish accents responded, professional, cold. "He ain' wanna see ju, Du'nai!", It spat back without a hint of apology. "Ah gonna say de SAME ting ah said de last time ya came thunderin' in dis buildin'. Go aweh, o' we gonna make ya. It ja choice, make it quick." A pause and a derisive snort meeting this, along with the scuff on stone of a turned heel. "Fine. I will be back." She spat, the sound of steps growing louder through the tunnel. -- The general paused, seeing commotion. Whoever this woman was, garbed from head to toe, veiled in black and purple, clearly didn't deal in the best of intentions. She wanted an audience with the Warchief himself, but the Trollish wardens clearly didn't think so. Leaning back, his companion quickly approached and whispered. "My lord. That's Du'nai, a savant of the cleft of shadow. She's a demon summoner, a consort to the Shadowmoons at one point. Ignore her, the talons report she is clearly unstable." Velonar rose his right hand, pressing the back of it to shoo the scout off. He appreciated information, but not advice where political matters lay. Besides, he knew exactly who 'Du'nai' was – it wasn't surprising Vesok did not, since he was at a different front at the time. This Orc... Velonar's eyes scoured her with interest. "I see negotiations have gone poorly, Breaker." -- The woman's stride was severe, and undoubtedly behind the plate guarding her visage the expression was likely the same. Her walk of purpose stops abruptly when she is addressed, that eyeless gaze turning on the Elves. Things had not been easy for her lately, one might guess, and the clutter did not allow room for recognition of the 'strangers'... well, one stranger at least. "I am not one to be turned away for long, if you know me-- which clearly, you do-- you know that I will have my audience. Again. Perhaps when they have pulled the dung from their ears will they hear sense." She said in a calm tone, obviously forced with clipped enunciation. Hood craned closer, taking in his features. "Have we met before?" --

"We have, but not directly." The crow's hands drifted behind his cloak and he slowly turned to Du'nai, facing her a bit better. His back was slouched, and the shadow of his hood cast a deep darkness thanks to the poor torch lighting in the hallway. If it wasn't for the vividly glowing Sin'dorei gaze, one could assume he had no face to begin with. The Forsaken behind him sighed, but chose not to interfere. Velonar smiled a little sour. "It was twenty years ago, I believe, when the Second Thalassian was making a firm march for the portal." he spoke deliberately, but didn't seem intent on offending. "What could the Warchief's ears need to hear so much, that you'd come and be rejected multiple times, warlock?" He wondered for a moment, "And should mine hear them instead? If they are the words of the Shadow Council's remnant, you will have to speak them slowly, so I understand." -- The hood tilted back ever so slightly while she listened in silence, processing his comments and questions alike with all the concentration of a monk. Ah, so they were adversaries... they had all been adversaries, once, when the Orcs threatened the peace of Azeroth so long ago. It was easy to gloss over for the shorter-lived races, she thought, but perhaps less so for the Elves. They had long memories. "I see," She began in a careful tone, her hands clasping behind her back. "Different times for all of us, it cannot be helped. But that is neither here nor there." She cast a glance back to the darkness of the hallway, her tone roughening to almost a grunt. "It is something that should be made public, not that they would see that happening, so I would tell you plainly. The Legion is intent on invading once more. And..." She trailed off, turning her head back to side-eye the pair of Elves. "It is of a scale this planet has not seen since the days of the Sundering." -- Velonar had to pause, his sour smile fading instantly at the very mention of the Legion. His long brows furrowed, Fel eyes flashing a spark. Clearly, he took the words seriously. Though, he had to test her first. "What prattle do you give me, warlock? The Legion is returning? An event on the scale of the Sundering? Madness. The Well of Eternity is safely guarded now, no intruder can possibly breach its defenses. Though the flights lost power, drakes and dragons alike safeguard it along with Darnassus' finest. It's... a shame that the well is in the hands of the Alliance, but.." he trailed off. Looking about, Vesok seemed to get his meaning. He went outside to the grunts, quietly chatting something up. One of them exclaimed. "What?! But... he'll be furious! He requested it him--" before being hushed up and calmed down. "What idiocy you give me." Velonar sighed, turning and walking out of the hallway. "Fine. Humor me, charlatan. Show me this 'threat' of yours." -- Scoffs, barbs, insults; she was accustomed to this response by now, and as a result her demeanor remained visibly unchanged. Perhaps he might have seen her back stiffen slightly, but that was the only sign that he might have irritated her. After a long inhale, she sighed and followed behind the haughty Elf. "Prattling, madness. You name me a charlatan. Would you like my qualifications, Elf?" She asked briskly, hands still clasped firmly behind her while she strolled behind him. "I have been collecting information from the Shadow Council of Tanaan for months, even before the fall of the Citadel. Demons, grand warlocks, every letter, every whisper has been subject to my gentle ministrations. But this," She paused in her speech, glaring down at him. "This was gathered from a darkcaster of our own timeline. A warlock by the name of 'Athrok the Ravenous'. A prize chicken, to be sure, as he received orders directly from Kil'jaeden-- both before, and after his demise. Such a prize fell into my own hands, chance would have it, and he has been in my loving grasp for nearly five months now. Or, had been." -- Velonar's jaw tightened, and he gave a little grimace, imitating the idea that he was very impressed with her accomplishment. "Aye? You found a rat and tortured it to death. Well done. Would you like to throw a little double-sided sign board on yourself and start handing out pamphlets?" he turned to her. "I've rescheduled my appointment with the Warchief. You should be grateful first, and show me to either the traitor's corpse or your place. Wherever the evidence for your claim lies. There, we'll also check your qualifications. And step two, warlock, it's not every day that you get a general's audience." he eyed her expectantly.

--

"And it is not every day that you meet a Grand Master, but I won't be throwing myself any parties for that." She says coolly, gesturing to her left with a moderate bow-- it was his guess as to whether or not she was mocking him. "Let is be off then, General. I have much to tell you." With that she straightened and started off in the direction of the Cleft briskly. "You call him a rat, I call him a gift to the Horde. It is not often that one of the higher echelons of the Shadow Council shows himself in the open, and he was secured at great cost, with a few documents to boot."

-- "I'm disappointed the Shadow Council hasn't been stomped out yet." He gave a pointed notice, alongside a stare back over the shoulder toward his Undead companion. Vesok sighed and rolled his shoulders. "Easier said than done, my lord, now that there are two of them." --                            ((Scene transitions to the Cleft of Shadow)) Upon lifting the furred skin that veiled the shop area, he would see that it hardly resembled a tailor's abode-- books lined the hut's taut walls like a fortress, staves hung on hooks that were previously reserved for cloaks and hangers, baubles and magical artifacts rested on every available space. It resembled a cluttered library more than anything, one would think. Between a row of books was an extended 'hall' to the sleeping portion of her hut, and it was there that she beckoned him. "Come in, the shop is closed and we will not be disturbed." If he followed the woman further inside, he would see a surprisingly utilitarian living space. A wardrobe and armor stand, a set of pulsating runes meticulously carved into the rock floor to the side, and a cot stuffed with straw. The one thing that stood out was a body; etched in myriad runes and desiccated, the cadaver of a -very- unfortunate orc that appeared to be starved. There was no smell that emanated from it, nor was there decay apparent, though it was quite dead. The sheen of magic across the body seemed to be what was preserving it. -- On entering the tent, Velonar gave Vesok a look. "Shall I?" The Undead questioned, to which Velonar nodded. "Sure. Warlocks. Can the boys see inside?" "It will be easier if I'm inside." The grated rattle that constituted for the huntmaster's voice escaped his shredded throat. It was mostly bone now, little chunks jutting out. Poor guy has been losing skin, nailing, clipping and sowing what bits he could retain to the rest. Sometimes bartering for more on places of less than lawful repute. Some measure of this mail covered horror still wanted to be Human. At least he smelled nice, so there was always that working to his advantage. Velonar smirked and entered. "Well. You're in urban areas more often. Your council's law for safety's sake." "Yessir." Taking a moment, Velonar took a good look around the place. Tomes, grimoires, magical essays, books, scrolls... He had to wonder for a moment where exactly the old woman ate, or took bodily function. She lived worse than a soldier. His eyes narrowed, and he proceeded past the corridor of tomes, giving the titles a look on the way. He expected a stench - the carrion lord had his pickings of cadavers for a thousand lifetimes now, and found the lack of it rather uncanny. His lips thinned. "Impressive. I should recruit you so you could freshen up the battlefields for me. Is this him, then?" His voice was lowered now, changed in tone. There was no more of that same goading that he had back in public. Clearly, the triumphant manly man that Du'nai saw on posters and the practical general were two somewhat different men. -- "Indeed, though Athrok is markedly worse for wear than when he was initially delivered to me. He was one of my most difficult to fully break down." She said with as much regard for the dead man as she would a piece of refuse baking on the side of a Durotar road, swaying off to the side with a gesture to the corpse. "You are welcome to examine the body, I kept it immaculate with the intention that Vol'jin would come to see it himself...but it seems that my findings fall on deaf ears. They are loath to break this temporary peace." She muttered, unbuckling and dismantling the hood that shrouded her face. It seemed overly complex, but removing it released an unnatural heat into the confines of her chambers-- something that strange metal plate endeavored to hold back while she was traversing the city. "But, onto the meat of the matter. The documentation he held was heavily coded and enchanted, but once decrypted it corroborated with the information he provided while under the effects of heavy illusion. I am not one to trust the screams of the freshly tortured...they would flay their mothers if it would make the pain stop. But, illusions and light compulsion are another matter entirely when the mind joins the body in breaking." -- The crow approached, nose crunching a bit. It wasn't the corpse, but the Fel stench. His mouth twisted down into a hard scowl, eyes flashing in disapproval. Still, weaving his hands once before him, they garnered a protective shell. What was the deal? Wasn't he a Blood Mage? Blood Mages were renown for taking Fel energies and subduing them as though pilfering a candy store. He touched the dead body, hands drifting up an arm and torso to examine the muscle structure. "Cultist filth." He remarked, looking to Du'nai. "Why is he dead?" He demanded grimly, revealing a more serious intent. Wasn't that obvious...? She was torturing him. Of course he'd be dead. Velonar looked to Vesok, who was guarding the doorway. The Undead looked down and away, unwilling to face the horrifying stare that finally surfaced. "You've grown lax. We will attend to that later." The Undead stood up straight, immediately setting the underside of his fist to his chest. It was a salute, indicating his unquestioning comprehension. Velonar's subtle glare returned to Du'nai. "Your work is impressive, warlock. The wretch couldn't have been easy to break. Though next time you find something this valuable, come to the authorities first. Had I given him to my cult, the release of death would not be his pleasure." Taking his hands off, he turned to the Orc, meeting her eyes head on. "I assume you have these documents." -- At his request of the documents, she places her hood on the armor rack and turns to reach under her cot to produce a box; a simple box, without a single seam, hinge, or crevice to open. It may as well be a polished block of wood to the untrained eye. "He is dead because I had better use for him that way. After I was done with him he wouldn't have been fit to put a single sentence together." She waved a hand dismissively at the ominous crystal adorning her staff. "He is with us in spirit, I can assure you." Placing her hand on the top of the box, light traced its' way around it in intricate runework as the wards holding it unraveled, cutting like a scalpel with neat precision all the way around the top until the lid was fully formed. Removing it, she parsed through the contained contents carefully to find what she sought. "And, General, you act as if the people that lead this Horde treat me with little more than forced respect. I have proven my loyalty in such a way that they will grant me an audience on behalf of the Black Harvest, but little more. Any prisoners I bring them will be killed within hours, why risk such things when I know I will get the answers I need with my own two hands?" When she stands, she has three pressed pieces of parchment in her hand-- two belonging to the dead orc, one depicting the codex she used to decrypt them. They were written in hasty Eredun. -- He watched her open up the box and have a gander inside for his request, unflinching at the quips and clever quotes slung his way. Now out of the public's eye, his expression indicated that he clearly didn't have the time nor interest. Eyes as hard as ever, he slowly approached her, peering at the documents. "I see. I will require these for an additional inspection. If what you say is true, and the Legion is indeed coming, I must know through what method." He paused and looked up. "Vesok will take these tomorrow, so as to give you time to prepare copies of both the original and the translation." His eyes narrowed and he resumed forcefully, "Permit me to explain the 'why', Du'nai of the Shadow Council. Resources. What you are capable of doing with this prisoner and these documents is no small feat, I will grant you, but for all your sophistry, you are one woman with two choices. To provide this information to those capable of utilizing it to its fullest potential, or proceed to the enemy in hope that the treachery will not be uncovered. I assure you, I am more than grateful you have chosen the former." He set a hand on his chest. "Whether you despise the fruits of bureaucracy or not, at the end of the day, we are the men and women who get things done. However, to make sure you do not lose your credit, I invite you to visit with me after the second check. You may be interested in what I have to say concerning your findings. --

The lines of her face were hard, her eyes stonelike above the hollows of her cheeks. Despite this, some relief flashed across her expression with the understanding that she was being taken seriously. With the appearance of the doomsayers the Horde's high council had refused to give her credence, something she desperately desired so they would not be decimated in the initial attack. Every day of preparation counted. "I will have the documents and the analysis ready for your men to receive tomorrow...I will even give up the body should they want it. It has little value to me, and I tire of continuing to enchant it." She places the parchment carefully on her table, then turning to almost loom over the elf as she stared down at him. "I neither despise nor love the agents of bureaucracy, I simply see things as they are when they are unwilling to change; and not for a lack of reason. I have looked my mistakes in the eye and made peace with them, for all of the regret involved." She murmured quietly, her voice growing cold. "I chose the former for that very reason, General. I have sacrificed as much as I have gained righting the evils I have inflicted in the name of duty, and treachery would not add to that score. I do not desire recognition, nor do I desire compensation-- the only thing I request is that you cease to name me Shadow Council, as I have not numbered among them for almost twenty years and have spent my time since doing everything within my power to be the instrument of their downfall." Her nails dug into the wood of her table, hand tremoring slightly as she leaned back once more. "That being said, you have my gratitude for doing what the Warchief would not. Ancestors willing, we will have some measure of preparation before the hammer falls."

-- Velonar eyed her carefully as she spoke, inquisitively almost. He was studying her, silently, before sighing and bobbing his head a little. "I see. Then it is as I suspected. You and I have much in common, Du'nai the Breaker. Your brand of loyalty to the Horde, your quelling of mistakes." He rose his right hand to chest level, wagging a finger at her. "What you desire in that regard is of no consequence, as I will have you visit with me regardless." He turned, walking back to the body. Once more the hunch took his back. Maybe his shoulders were too heavy? Silly Elves and their ornaments. "A noble soul that knows sacrifice would be hand in hand with our ideals. It belongs in service to the Horde, where it can make an actual difference. Not... here, where it can only preach it." His left hand set onto the naked Orc's body once more, head tilting slightly to the left. "To do what our proud politicians refuse to, in the name of a greater good. Mm?" His ominous stare turned back to her, and past the shadow of his hood, a smile appeared on his lips.  "I will indeed have the body picked up. It's a matter of principle that Legion filth earn their death... if we can make him come back. Vesok will have your date tomorrow. Expect him." Turning to her, he rose a fist to his chest and pressed the bottom to his body. "If that is all, I must depart. The Troll is eager to hear of my disobedience." -- It seemed almost as if he gave her an offer, something that would have piqued her interest had she not had more pressing matters on her mind...the mountain of books to the fore of her shop was not there for show, and she had brought them for the sole purpose of being at the pinnacle of her skill when the Legion did arrive. And it would be soon. Still, this man held sway and it seemed ill-advised that she deny a meeting with him.  She dipped her head in understanding. "Then a meeting we will have, General. I'm afraid there is no ripping his soul back from where I have placed it, but his remains should make for an interesting servant." She doesn't deign to look at the body, the tone of her voice utterly irreverent. Shadow Council hardly qualified as 'people'. "You are welcome to give my regards to the Warchief, but I do not advise it. Even those held close to his breast are likely to be thrown out for suggesting the Horde prepare for war." With that she gave her own salute, turning to seal the box with the contents inside once more. "Al diel shala, and good fortune to you." -- "Fear not. Being discourteous to heads of state is something of a hallmark by now. Ishera-do, blood and glory." And with that, he and his master of spies departed from the shop.

[ablacktalon]

Beach Assault (4)

((This one had some serious pacing issues, much like part 5 still does. But I think I’ve bashed out a few of the harder kinks in the original posting. I don’t promise part 5 to be done any time soon - I still haven’t decided on a few thing concerning it.)) Velonar's ears twitched and he forced a habitual sniff, scrunching his nose for a moment whilst looking around his personal transport. The ironclad torpedo, much in the same basic form as the vanguard's speedy landing craft, was usually a little more crowded by his own directive. He hated wasting resources if possible and it was a form of personal flare, denouncing the idea of a pompous high ranking general and instead enforcing the vision of a "soldier's general", there to share their burdens through actions rather than words. Ironically that in its self was technically cold calculation, not too nonidentical of a political machination-- but those were thoughts he'd rather avoid. Despite the rare show he had to put on to maintain relevance in the public's eye, he truly did value his comrades. Each and every Oathsworn that pledged them selves in the vanguard to his cause was a rare treasure he had the displeasure of constantly battering against an endless mount of foes. Indeed, it was no white lie if he spoke nothing but unflinching truth – the true loyalists would see through the politics and the greens would follow by example.

He scowled a little, giving a blank stare to the various blinking lights around the interior. This vessel was certainly a bit nicer on the inside than the regular transport, despite his request to not bother with the Elvish knack of regality. Too late now of course, there was no point in battering him self internally for the extra plush on the seats. To Dawnstorm, luxury was for times of victory or peace. His propaganda team disagreed of course. The transport could have easily served as a viable command vessel in a direct sea battle, designed with less speed and more protection in mind. 'A well dressed commander stirs the hearts of men!' they said. He knew as much him self, but both heart and mind yearned for the practical, the obvious. Velonar was no peacock to dress up pretty, he was a warrior, one that'd bleed with his men as he'd always done. And why shouldn't he share their suffering? Their joys of victory or glower of defeat? Their lives rested in his palms, thus he would treasure them as his own. Besides, this battle in particular would require a land based HQ to make it easier on the scouts and additional micromanaging!

Radio traffic was not safe at this time on the shores due to the multiple listening posts Garrosh had his Goblin lackeys erect on the cliffs to the west. That, among regular sniper duty, would be Vesok's duty to handle - to sabotage and dismantle the enemy's intelligence network, proverbially cutting off their ears and darting their eyes. Until then, he opted to use an older fashioned method of safe information: Shadow priests with their mind magic, using the medium of those close to him. Shaman and their spirits-- what few had yet to be torn to shreds through Garroshar's vile dark counterparts – would too serve to whisper enemy movements in his pointy ear. The sky, filled with his windrider, dragonhawk and drake battalions, savage in their onslaught would pass down their own signals. With eyes upon the entire field, Velonar would be armed and armored to the teeth with the sharpest blade of all: information; And would use it gladly to gut the Kor'kron menace from head to toe.

Speaking of which, his radio beeped and he hefted the blocky beast up to his face. Extending the antenna, he turned to the receiving channel and demanded. "Report." Still at sea, a radio grey zone for the patchwork aggregates the opposition slapped together to get their hands upon. "The sky is more or less secure, sir. Your wings request new directive." It was Gadz, keeping an eye on his part of the situation back at the fleet. Velonar paused and narrowed his eyes before replying. "Send ahead a scouting pack. I want them to take a higher altitude north and transmit as many visions of physical enemy defenses up the beachhead before our next push. The rest are to begin their runs. Attend to Vesok's team if they still require assistance with his mission on the overlook. I will not afford any surprises." "Roger that! Switchfuse out!" Velonar sat back into the side seating and rubbed his face. He knew Vesok didn't particularly like using brute force when dealing with elements behind the lines, but that's simply a fact the scout master would have to live with. Air superiority meant exploiting the sky-cav to its utmost and reigning terror and devastation when and where the enemy least expected it.

One of the four others present inside the craft chimed in, a heavily armored Orc sitting directly across on the right side of the ship. It was a wonder how his echoed voice even made it out of that obsidian tin can of an impregnable, walking iron hedgehog. "Lord, forgive me for asking but... didn't you already inspect the enemy's defenses up close but a month or two ago?" Velonar looked at him through the fingers, drifting his hand back down before nodding slowly, "Aye, it's how we know for certain that this part was weakest to an attack as swift as this. They'd neglected it due to its supposed range from the capital. Unfortunately for them, the Third is expert in lightning maneuvers." The Orc leaned forward, setting his right arm on a thigh and resting his chin upon the open palm while working on the followup question. "Why the extra scouting with the wings, rather than direct bombing raids?" He soon asked, causing Velonar to smile inward as much as outward. "Garrosh is no fool, he surely ordered to relocate and replace defensive arms in key positions. The one we besiege now has not been subject to much change, hence why we've exploited it despite being right under the enemy's nose. The defensive lines will shift and morph as the fight goes on, hence alacrity, surprise, and fresh intel are my edge."

He paused and added, "In addition, I rarely trust a single source of information. Multiple strands confirming the same thing are often key to revealing enemy deception. Standard practice, such as our soothsayer brigade being the first signals, left to be confirmed by our eyes on the ground." The Orc bobbed his head, sponging in the information. "I see. Subtlety then." Velonar once more firmly nodded in accord. Really, it's no wonder he'd enjoyed the company of his officers so much – few others truly listened when he spoke of stratagem. Being at war for so long a good commander was something to be appreciated and learned from, as only the Light may tell when another grows up to fill the role. To Dawnstorm's delighted ego, the lessons of his battlefield tactics is something even his general's bodyguard took with an almost inquisitory interest. They knew they could ill replace his talents, but should the day ever come when their career set them to leading the operation rather than following it, these nuances could be the difference between life and death. In addition, the man or woman that knew their role with particular acuity in the scheme of his massive war machine could better do their job, knowing the stakes and where the tides of Velonar's battle would take them.

"I guess you can call it that. Don't worry, we'll have our big push once this piece is ours." The Blood Elf remarked with confidence. "Who's taking that one?" A Trollish woman asked, his second companion sitting just to Velonar's right. She'd often chew air, small white tusks pronged from beneath her lower lips."The Red Rats." Velonar replied immediately, prompting the entire crew to pause and then echo a resounding "...Ohhhh..." Velonar opened up a toothy grin. They knew full well the might of the old Lordaeronian knight's order. A charge from the fallen warriors would make any who dared refer to them selves as 'Death Knight' rethink their title quickly enough, along with their prior boasts of feeling no fear. "Yeah," Velonar brimmed, eyes narrowing "hence the evidence of enemy resistance must be doubly confirmed. From there the game is ours, and we roll the line up until we reach the joined forces at the main beachhead!" "A pincer..." the Orc remarked whilst visualizing the battlefield to him self, to which the Troll cleared her throat, correcting him abjectly. "Scorpion maneuver." Velonar glanced to her and bobbed his head all the way back, pressing his lips with a clearly impressed expression.

It was at this point a red bulb above the main exit invigorated its self with a stark, red light. This was the signal, and thus the third of his present bloodguard - a harness-dressed, hakama wearing Tauren blademaster – furrowed his brows and rose to his full, menacing height. The skulls and trinkets hanging off his sash clattered as he did, the transport shuddering a bit due to the inner gyrostabilizer contending with increasingly higher waves. "We're almost here, m'lord." He addressed them in a stern bass, Velonar in particular. The Blood Elf looked at his tall companion and took a deep premeditative breath, then exhale through the mouth to steel his mind. "Alright," He slapped both hands down onto his own knees to shake off an incoming stream of thoughts "mounts at the ready! I believe the HQ should be no more than a minute or two off our position – we are to be there posthaste, as I'm anxious for the state of my vanguard!" The bodyguards all nodded in unison. "Should've landed us closer." The Troll remarked dryly with a sigh.

"Just something you can bring up to Gadz when the little snot mentions his-- how did he say it, 'nigh-magical mathematical abilities'?" The fourth companion snarked whilst rising, her black leather bound by fur, with many a tooth and piece of bone adorning the tribal fittings. The group collectively chuckled as the steely, proud statured Orcish Beastmistress approached the back of the transport, taking a seat to brace for the coming landing impact and shorten preparation time. And then it came, an impact lighter than expected due to Mr.Switchfuse's advances in the counter-thrust mechanism. A prime, new addition made almost a month before the operation's emergence. It reared its head, as though on queue with the main lower engines, letting forth its last gurgling throttle before quieting down. But a light shake-up and settling the matter of landing, front light turned green. The Orcess immediately rose and pressed a clear black button at the back, releasing the party's individual steeds. Having a calming presence with but the faintest look on the animals, they obediently marched  forward in two neat rows, halting beside their riders. Only the Tauren's armored tank of a kodo took pause, still a tad claustrophobic. He wouldn't be mounted until lead outside due to a simple matter of size.

Making ready, the majority of the group saddled up and prepared. Velonar's ears twitched, as aside the crashing of guns popping in the distance, the grinding mechanics and noise of larger, nearby transports made it ashore on either side. These mountains of magitech and gnashing steel opened up far quicker, belching forth the contents of hundreds of warriors from two floors. More floating fortresses than the coffins some disbelievers jokingly referred to them, these were the second wave following the vanguard's destructive path. Loud and clear, they could hear their steam exhausts moaning, and soon the roar of his warriors charging out onto the beachhead to the cries of their commanding officers. It wouldn't be but a few moments until their own transport's forward wall began to drive forward, revealing the first glints of sunlight past its protective borders. After making a few meters of room, it would then divide in half to reveal a glowing defensive matrix forming immediately to protect the general's unit.

Clearly, the Goblin built to impress. Both a good and bad thing for him, really, Velonar smirked – he'd have him install this feature on all of his machines following this campaign. No doubt he co-opted for a more conservative solution with mana-disolving barriers for his vanguard due to extreme time constraints. A frankly admirable feat of engineering, all things considered. Thankfully for now there was no enemy fire to be concerned about – the Third's brave van had buried them selves as deep as possible into the enemy front line and by the looks of the rising smoke and blood crawling back from the sandy hills, were causing a storm of havoc. With the second wave reaching Durotar's shores, it would be their role to steady and buckle down until the main charge but half a scarce minute or so away. It was the second wave's job to make sure their efforts did not go to waste.

He struck the reigns of his windrider and rode out onto the beach just slightly ahead of his compatriots, taking but a moment longer to get a better view of the situation with his own eyes. Although he could not see the smouldering ruins of the Kor'kron base camp, he could certainly hear it from all the way here. Billowing smoke rose into the skies and lashing tongues of flame all along what was once a relatively heavily fortified position rising towards the hills, gun nests and wire nothing more than blasted wrecks. The clash and clatter of steel made its self evident, his braves standing for blood and honor regardless of what futility the Garroshi scum decided to throw in their path. Velonar's heart coaxed his mouth into a smile, his stare filled with overflowing pride. But something caused his gaze to turn – the noise of a few kilometers away revealing another of his hulking Second War transport variants that had made ashore. Heroes of every color, of every race, wielding every kind of menacing blade, bow or scroll of spell. With roughly 300 soldiers per transport, thousands were now swarming the shore, preparing their individual formations, raising their company's banners with rallying cries burning from their throats!

Such as one that caught his attention, one he knew all too well coming out of and forming with a secondary transport-descending pack. This battalion of valiant killers was lead by a man he'd bitterly forced to take a hiatus due to personal issues; Dawnstorm could ill afford descension in his ranks, even for something that hadn't fully manifested into action. The loss however, was the morale of these soldiers. Their leader was a source of fire in their hearts, a fire that now needed rekindling in the wake of the coming clash. Indeed, with the Mage's absence, the general would briefly fill those sabatons. Riding forth in suit of his companions, he reached down and tore out Sanguine Morrow, pointing the golden blade toward the sky in a triumphant gesture. Jerking the windrider's reigns to a stop, the beast growled to gather their attention. But it was Velonar's own that would do the trick: "Witchbloods!" he howled, pouring over the now directed gaze of his brethren. "Hear my call! Your brothers and sisters await up that hill, in need of aid and respite; In need of sharing the prize of spilling traitor's blood! Your enemies too, a pittance in comparison to your skill and prowess! Display it to me, and fill with pride lord Duskweaver's weary heart! Strike down their spellcasters, swift as a warp stalker! Forth, with blood and glory; Show them the fury of the Twisting Nether's finest hunters!" And hear they did, runeblades and pistols raised in turn. Calls and roars of that bristling bonfire, now rising like the shaking banners of a lunging white warp stalker on a dark purple field.

This was the burst of energy that they needed, spilled them over the edge and spurring them ahead towards conflict. Its current co-commander, an Undead raising his rune-engraved rapier, sounded with his thankfully intact vocal cords a mighty charge! The ground trembled as they'd began speeding up the beachhead, many weaving arcane energies and runes at the next command. These were his brothers and sisters, he thought, practically beaming on the inside. The children of an endless war, the treasure he beat against a mount of foes. He'd heard the commander growl out a hoarse cry, "Witchbloods, PORTAL!" and saw line after line of almost 600 warriors vanish in a glowering haze of white and blue. They had to make sure not to dislocate all at once, in order to maintain cohesion. Turning forth on his original path, the Blood Mage looked ahead and sighed – alas he could not watch them all burst into the fields of blood. Ahead were tents, a table with maps and fresh communique. Without a second thought, he struck the reigns of his beast and rode in haste, ahead, to his war.

[ablacktalon]

Beach Assault (3)

From the grey walls on either side of each passenger, as well as below those that sat in the central row, ejected every manner of menacing blade, mace, gun and bladed staff. Each decorated in their own right, many by specific cultural quirks of their origin. Baldris took up his phoenix guarded longsword, looking over to Odenka to examine her weapons of choice. Gripping a slightly angled stone maul into her right hand, the Tauren's eyes opened with a glint of fury deep within, still suppressed by a relatively approachable exterior natural to her typically peaceful race. Her left hand dove into the straps of a rather large punch shield, at one point it might have bore the insignias of the Horde races, a scarlet, proud calling card of any aspiring champion. The colors have long since been worn, now taking on a metallic mesh of rust-brown with the occasional speck of white paint trying to sneak out in between.

She returned the glance, knowing the Blood Elf's rising anticipation and sharing it despite years of experience. This was it. This is where the bloodshed begins. She rose in the very front row on the right side of the ship, brows furrowing – this is where she wins! The down-sloped front of the ship ejected steam, depressurizing and being pushed out to the front with around 3 meters to maneuver. Its enormous steel plating encountered gunfire right away, but did not bulk an inch, its plates then extended to the sides with 4 on each, and the internal mechanics growled and fumed. A natural wall formed for the crew to exit in temporary safety, pushing and dividing cumbersome sand in the process. "Go go, disperse!" The leading Shaman called and the 30 ran out to make use of the new room created by a barrier. Odenka took a central position before the giant wall, slamming her shield into a specific central socket left on her side. Even now, her ears harangued with the drumbeat of a bullet rain chewing at the steel on the other side.

"Enchant!" she called, signaling her preparedness to a nearby mage. The Undead pressed both hands into the wall and it was detached from the rest of the ship's mechanical handling. It then began to glisten, a chorus of magic into which 4 of the designated priests joined, raising their hands towards the sky. Creating a temporary barrier of Light, they gave the mage time to convert the natural energy of the steel into mana by means of draining its existing enchantments. These were specifically designed to do nothing more than give additional mana when removed, aiding the spellcaster and destroying the material in the process to give soldiers view of the coming battlefield. The mana was redirected into Odenka's shield, creating a golden glowing barrier with a crimson tint, which the priests immediately began empowering.

For but a brief second, Odenka could see her comrades in the other platoons in the distant sides, their shields either preparing or already set and awaiting the co-joined move. Orash's first was to the left, and give or take 98 other ships stretching into the distance on her right. "Second platoon, advance!" the leading sergeant cried out and the packs sprung into action as others have done the same. Marching up the sandy beach, she immediately felt her hand ache as the machine gun fire increased in quantity. She saw the bullets strike and ripple, dropping lifelessly to the ground as the crimson bulwark attained endless repair from the priests behind. Her shield arm began to quiver – not due to fear, but the sheer amount of kinetic force distorting its hold. Most of the shieldbearers had this issue along the coast, even if most of them were designated for either great magical inclination or sheer physical force. Her forte was the latter.

Leading the way on her rise ahead, she made great care not to slip on the initial sandy slopes – it wouldn't seem like such a big deal if one mishap could kill her entire platoon. Squinting as the first rays of the Sun's light pierced smog and rising smoky sand, Odenka saw a fiery hellscape. The land was uneven, crawling with ironbound soldiers and their cries of anguish. The artillery had certainly done a number on them, and only halted now to avoid friendly fire. Through the disarray, desperate officers tried to coordinate the Kor'kron elite into formations at the coming vanguard. Their few nests were still working their best to keep the Third at bay, only serving to slow their advance to buy precious seconds for recuperating organization.

Her sergeant howled out, "This is it, prepare the scroll--!" his command was cut short however as the shield tore a heavy ripple with a glowing tracker line coming right through. Yelping, the great Tauren was stopped dead in his tracks, tipping backwards and falling over with a look of horror as the last reflex frozen upon his face. Odenka stopped with the disaster setting into the hearts of her comrades and yelled out as immediate as she could, "Armor piercing-- reinforce the shield!!" Kneeling, she steadied the defenses, allowing the priests to focus harder. Another tracer round sent harsh waves across its red sea, but this time withheld. Stonehoof's eyes widened, along with those of Baldris behind her, as they saw the sniper round stuck in the shield, dropping just millimeters short of piercing her head in the same fashion as their commanding officer.

An Orcish Shaman ran over to the dead and glanced to Odenka with grit teeth. "He's gone. I can resurrect him with some time, but we need to move now." The pack exchanged looks and Stonehoof grit her teeth, giving Baldris a brief glance. The kid was shivering and meeting her grim eyes gave little comfort for the road ahead. "...I will take command of this attack! Barrok, resume resurrecting him." The Shaman nodded and began singing and chanting to the spirits, attempting to retrieve the round and maintain his spirit within the living world. She lifted the barrier, bringing her frightening hammer close to the side in preparation and called out the new, old command. "All on me, activate the scroll of speed!" They were falling behind the other platoons because of the loss, leaving gaps in the line, making every second precious. Their mage rose a crumpled piece of paper, whispering a chant to him self, causing the runic letters to begin glowing. Odenka then glanced behind her to a nearby druid. "And scroll of the beast!" The latter nodded and rose a slightly neater looking paper scroll, chanting something and then roaring out a savage call of inspiration.

With both cantrips prepared, Odenka glared forth, opened her eyes wide and roared a hoarse instruction: "Bloodlust! Sons of war, CHARGE WITH ME!" And to a Shaman's searing song, the platoon saw red dead ahead. Their feet sprang forth, raising sand in their wake and were unperturbed in the rising adrenal rush. With the empowerments they'd received, the range of their charge was far greater than before and they'd managed  to catch up with the other parties in great haste, reforming the line without issue. Like a tidal wave of blood, they came over the hill to witness the iron shores on the other side, preparing to face them. Their lack of sleep had them on edge, causing heavy armor to be more of a detriment.

Odenka saw this ragtag up close with each step, time slowing down in the haze of their Shaman's menacing chant. She saw the frightened eyes of her enemy behind their spiked tin cans, she heard their heart beats increase, and felt their final breaths in her mind. Augmenting the grip of her rune emblazoned warhammer, she cried out. "Release the shield, we'll break their line!" And so it was, allowing the Tauren to finally lower the arm into a more proper, self-defensive guard. Now was the time... The throes of bloodlust consuming her mind, a battle trance slowly starting to take the hearts of her comrades, she let out a savage cry and slammed away a rising enemy spear, following suit with the rotating grim reaper's scythe of a mallet that collapsed the Kor'kron's helm -- and everything it hoped to protect.

"FOR THE HORDE!"

[ablacktalon]

Beach Assault (2)

((This will be from the perspective of a new character in the Third Horde Army corps. Velonar is not directly participating in this battle as of yet.)) "Strap in ladies, the order's in!!" Her eyes opened in acknowledgement, coming out of a meditation to glance toward the front in this elongated room. Like a metallic coffin, there wasn't really a pilot for this sort of job, it's already been estimated mathematically by the engineers upstairs. She gripped both handlebars that flanked her head with all available 3 fingers, pressing up against one of the walls of the transport and held on tight. Command gave the order, now it was time to carry it out. Her snout scrunched and brows furrowed, this was about as far from tribal warfare as it got and she felt she'd never get used to it. She'd have little time to dwell on it at the moment as her comrades called out to each other, interrupting the attempted focus. "Here we go!" Some excited for the prospect of battle, "...Light, give me strength..." others, like the red armored Blood Knight beside whispering for holy grace, not so much. Three rows of warriors, two sitting on either side, one strapped to chairs in the middle, cut in two in order to have the metal seating backs welded to each other. Each conformed for the whirlwind clash to come, battlescared beasts caged with a newbie. She glanced down on the quivering Elfling – it wasn't unheard of that a man or woman of their kind would be forced to join the military for prestiege, tradition and pressure from the family was a deadly combination. A sudden jerk took the pod and everyone within felt the same destitute hover, as though the bottom fell out. Thank the Light it actually hasn't. Instead, the elongated pod was fired out from the Juggernaut's bottom and began its acceleration, taking on depth. The walls creaked and moaned for a moment, but as the transport began to glide beneath the sea and the designated shaman at the back started his work, fears were alleviated... most at any rate. Her eyes diverted left, once more catching the Blood Knight. He didn't notice until she questioned, "First time?" His head twitched her way, sizing the woman up. "I- I fear nothing. You needn't be concerned." She met the Fel gaze, brows still furrowed with determination and importance. "Relax, you're among friends here. Stick close to me, and you'll get through this alive." He paused, blinking "You shall be greatly rewarded if I do." "Thanks kid," she grinned on the side, easing up on the stare. "I won't refuse extra coin, but the job is its own reward." "You're not afraid? Aren't you the shieldbearer for this mission..?!" She paused, leaning back and bumping her head on steel plating, making a little noise when a horn followed with the contact. Her grin faded, but into a smile. "Yeah, I am. That's why you gotta trust me on this." She once more met his stare. "You will rely on me to keep you alive, so when the time comes to repay that favor, you will not run." The Elf paused, looking down, his ears wilting. He did not respond for a little while, so she extended one of her large hands right up to his nose to make sure he'd notice. "Odenka Stonehoof." He twitched, but tentatively took the dark furred hand. The fingers squeezed, and he felt a little more encouraged by the warmth of this presence. His gaze lifted, she gripped his hand tighter and lowered her chin slightly, asking once again with a confronting stare. "The most important man on the battlefield is the man beside you who does not run. Will you stand with me today?" He swallowed, but nodded firmly. "Baldris Truearrow. I-... On the honor of my house, I shall!" The smile returned to her lips and she slowly nodded, causing the little rings and trinkets hanging off her braids to chime a little. Letting go of his hand, the Tauren grabbed onto the handlebars to steady her self as the sergeant at the front rose to make an announcement. "This is it boys – the engineering's done their jobs. Now it's our turn!" He swayed briefly as the gleaming ship resurfaced from the sea. A narrower version of the original Second War transport, a Horde insignia imprinted on the heavily plated front with three blades going through the top, the mark of Velonar's vanguard. "We land in one minute, your weapons will retract from the sides. Grab 'em, and rise as soon as you can 'cause the seats are sliding back to give more room, three lines total!" Just moments after the Taurahe Shaman began speaking, Odenka and the rest of the crew glanced up to the armored ceiling at the sound of an orchestra of guns rising from whence they came. Velonar's order was to fire on sync with the resurfacing, to give his soldiers as close of a gap as possible before the enemy realized what was happening. "Odenka!" He called out. "You will take the shield once it synthesizes and enchants to yours. Everyone else, disperse behind her. Priests--" he was interrupted, almost falling over but grabbing onto one of the handlebars up top at the last moment as the ship suddenly burst forward. The fiery rear thrusters have been activated! Getting a grip, the sergeant sighed and then repeat him self "Priests are on healing the barrier, and the barrier only! Do not bother them! If you sustain an injury, I and the other Shaman or Druids will come tend to you. I believe we've also got a Paladin on board." Odenka glanced to Baldris, who was hanging on for his life with the ship's sudden burst of speed. "Kesiks!" He then made the last call, "You will be on healer duty." The Troll sniper he was referring to nodded and replied from the back fo the ship. "Yessa'h!" One of the few designated marksmen Vesok could spare for the vanguard. Taking his seat before another bump in the waves, sarge gripped both sides and held on. Odenka shut her eyes for the last time, reminiscing, remembering, premeditating. Now was the time for duty – command's words ran through her head – now was the time to remind Garrosh what the Horde was truly about! Balris stared at her for a moment but refused to participate; if his eyes shut now, he was weary they might not open again. Not but a few seconds later, the popping noise of the torn coast grew close and the ship suddenly bumped for the last time, grounding to a halt whilst its frontal thrusters settled its speed. The vanguard had landed.

[ablacktalon]

Beach Assault (1)

September 17th, 31st year after the First War.

The sea was relatively calm, swaying lightly only after being parted by the mighty vessels that gave it course. Four great ships, adorned with wooden detail but plated in cold steel, made a slow turn in sync, adjusting their sides towards the horizon on one end and the far away land on the other. There was a light anxiety looming over them, crew and hands rushing about whilst the battleships slowly halted. Aboard the 'Iron Crow', standing before the steel bordered side of the deck, Velonar Dawnstorm shifted his position to look up towards the steam pipes of the new engines.

Not a single puff of smoke, he smiled – the material and liquid they burned had been enchanted prior to mask their approach on this mellow, dark morning. The ships were masked by it for now, dark silhouettes give or take 4-5 kilometers off the shore, looming just on the horizon. Turning his gaze towards the beach, his back rose a little and stretched, making a satisfying pop in the neck. His hands clasped behind him and eyes squinted. Today would be his day. Approaching from his left, a Goblin glanced up and nodded firmly to announce his presence. "We're setting initial coordinates." he said, prompting Velonar to look over the other ships. With prior calls to move out of the way, it seems all the Second War style steam transports were finally in place. Relatively slow, but heavily armored. It's no wonder the Alliance made such great use of them in previous campaigns.

Just in time too, as further waves rose and between the gap left by the battleship party's formation, squeezed in the mighty wooden juggernaut. An Orcish vessel previously designed to tear down harbors on approach, its two lower levels were packed with the pitch black Longshot Wallbreaker cannons. On its flanks where space was easier to come across, a mortar each. Calling them such was giving little credit the massive bombards, as these would serve to lob 536 mm high explosive shells across up to 5 nautical miles-- however inacurate. Atop, squeezed in for good measure were a pack of 5 Arcano-Pulse X07, a model too heavy for his other ships, and previously thought to be unusable in the field due to that fact. Their barrels let out an energized rumble when the automation winded up in preparation of the coming storm.

Light humming and whirring, the dampened noise of other mechanics somewhere in the distance, along with those of his flagship. Enormous guns, enamored with titansteel and elementium, barrels spinning and winding up with magical incantations, these were his new toys. Arcano-Pulse X09, obliterators he took from the field and made mobile by the means of naval artillery. They could sling arcane powered shells and spells from the horizon and make the opposition pray they weren't the intended target. Lighter and more stable on the intake of mana, they could also discharge a far greater variety of spells than their older cousins.

Alongside them, the slightly more standard (however cutting edge) Duo R-28 Beetle, built directly into the ship on the front and back. These somewhat patchworked siege guns were designed by Goblin engineers during Garrosh's monumental campaign on Theramore, but not deployed until now due to occasional malfunctions. Their massive domes served to not only protect the cannoneers them selves, but stabilize two Longshot Wallbreakers on a single platform, maximizing space and turning speed. The guns them selves had their barrels greatly extended, increasing accuracy and range, while not skimping on the rate of fire these cannons were originally known for.

Velonar's own engineering core was inspected by all races, including those that valued safety as a priority, managing to stabilize all these monstrous shell slingers. Their leader was now beside him, raising a cumbersome, blocky looking radio to his mouth and responding to a call. "...45, 89, 26. Yeah. Proceed on command." He then switched channels and several horns installed along the fleet relayed his command. "All siege detachments, prepare incindeary volley. Arcano-pulse, prepare impact incantation. All guns on initial coordinates and await Dawnstorm's command." Velonar looked down at his chief engineer. "Switch, when I call the second wave, you take command of the fleet. I'm going aboard." "I'll try not to blow anything up, sir." Velonar squinted his icy stare and Gadz Switchfuse rose his hands defensively, grinning a bit. "Hey, hey! I'm kidding!"

Dawnstorm let out a heavy sigh and shook his head. You never know when Goblins are involved! Still, Gadz was among the brightest minds available in this field and had experience in naval combat back on Kezan. Being admittedly bad at it, Velonar internally battered him self for having qualms about putting full trust (and pressure) in his comrade. His portion of the planning would be the landing stages and the battle beyond, but he felt bad about not being able to follow what he preached, however momentary. "I know." he replied, assuring him self in the process. Gadz elbowed his left knee. "Like a fish outta water, eh? Don't worry sir, I'll make ya proud." Velonar's mouth badgered for a moment, but then spread into a grin. "Aye aye, cap'n!"

Gadz glanced to his radio and his ears twitched, jingling the pair of cut gold coins attached to the tips whilst listening to another report. He then nodded and replied. "Affirmative." Lifting the radio with both hands, he extended it to the general. "We're all locked down and ready, sir. Vanguard's in, field positions spotted and targeted, and the Sun's still set. We await your command." Taking up the hefty device, Velonar exchanged a look with the engineer and nodded. "Right." Bringing the transmitter's earpiece up to his person, he inquired. "Vesok, all set?" After its measure of static, a hoarse voice came through from the other side. It almost blended in with the poor reception, barely escaping it. "The birds sleep, m'lord. Raise the Sun."

Pausing, Velonar switched channels, activating all available speakers in the fleet. "Children of blood, loyalists of the crimson banner, hear my word – your warlord speaks. When Thrall took this land for the Orcs, he envisioned justice and honesty for its reign. The Horde has since been dishonored at the hands of its misbegotten inheritor, one who would call him self Warchief whilst spitting on his brothers and sisters! Today we honor a tradition as old as the Horde he claims to rule, for along the horizon rest the iron-clad vermin of a tyrant." Velonar paused, looking towards the far away beaches. "Restore their honor, take their price and show Garrosh the meaning of betraying family! Dawnstorm out."

This was it, switching channels to central engineering and loading bays, the Blood Mage narrowed his eyes, scowled in premeditation and gave the order. "All clear, launch the attack!"

[ablacktalon]

No Eyed Rain (2)

((Scroll for the first part.))

The "arena" of the venue was nothing more than a field flanked by two lakes, one of the larger islands of this archipelago. Its two borders were soldiers, shields together, spears high, rank and file awaiting the clash to come. They wouldn't be fighting, single combat between champions was sacred even in this savage place. Honor, the brand of both sides would be waged in this contest, unconditional surrender until the campaign's end and the possibility of a worse fate once it has. While only a few tents were set up for the sake of preparation, as usual the Third did not fear providing a little fanfare. It came with drinks and song, banners of all companies. Often a time the enemy was unnerved by their lax understanding of the contest, an air of inevitability and perhaps even pride. A Pandaren might've said they were fools for ignoring the lessons of Pandaria, but most veterans saw well the irony in killing pride, anger and greed through overwhelming force. War demanded emotion, it was simply a matter of controlling rather than discarding it, and he who managed their ire best was most often the victor for the simple crux of organization. This victory would be their path towards a feast of epic proportions, a game they've played many times before. Today was different. Orash slipped on his second bracer, flicking his wrist about to tie it nice and firm. He snarled in anticipation, ‘Kaminari’ being tended to just to the side of him. He licked her with his eyes, the gleaming surface, the little crimson tussles off the backside, the decorated dress coloring her waist. The leg armor attached firmly, he took a few confident steps like he owned the world and wrapped a hand around the hilt, taking the elegantly brutal blademaster's oodachi up for a closer look. Sharpened to perfection, ‘Lightning’ served him well. Beyond it, he saw his opponent, already prepared. A white variation of the Burning Blade sashimono flapped up his back. The tall Orc grinned - this one will make good warmup. He took the heavy sword with a second hand, clenching in an almost a prayer-like fashion. He was the blade of the Third, his soul was fire, his hand, a black, bloodsoaked talon. His vanguard among the finest in the world. A skull for each champion who's life he stole, he had enough to fill a banquet. The glorious crimson of the Horde behind him, a grey morrow stands ahead. He will raise the Su-- He had to pause as a hand was placed on his forearm, bicep tensing. With a snarl, he opened his eyes to glare at the interloper who dared trounce his concentration, but that didn't last long. Velonar stood, peering with a blank fury glazing over his gaze, the likes of which he hadn't seen in years. Taking his hands down, blade in tow, Orash grinned once more. "Don't worry, I'll carve the bastard for you." Velonar was silent, a blunt scowl scrunching his nose. Orash didn't really get it, sniffing. "...You mind? I gotta prepare." He didn't hear him. Behind, the same Blood Knight peeked inside and then entered, offering Velonar his blade with both hands. "Lord Dawnstorm?" Velonar swiped the sword by the golden throat, glaring at the opposing champion and did something Orash could not approve of. He took a swaying step forward, leaving the curtains of the tent. The Orc growled "Oi!" causing the general to take pause. He used this moment to continue. "Speak after the--" "Stand down!" Velonar hissed a venom-tipped interrupt, his head turned to take a look over his shoulder to meet the blademaster's eyes. "You takin' my fucking kill, Dawnstorm?!" He demanded in confused anger. It scalded nothing, Velonar turned sideways, meeting Orash head on. If glares could kill, there would probably be a mana bomb worthy conflagration between the mage and warrior. Despite this, Velonar stated about as plain as a brick. "Challenge me after if you still feel the need. He's mine." He turned to the enemy ahead, an enemy who was pacing quite confidently and enjoying the commotion. He even took the chance to call the interloper out "What's the matter greenskin, you sending me an Elf bitch for a present?" Orash ignored the brownskin, staring into Velonar's back with mouth agape. He couldn't very well strike his leader now. Even Orash Gorefang could not deny he was a tad unnerved, however far the insult took him to that desire. The crow made his responce by making slow, elegant steps forward. His back rose, shoulders forced to broaden and there was a light pop in the spine. "Oooh, long hair. Alright, c'mere sweetie, I'll treat you gently!" The enemy line laughed. Velonar brought Sanguine Morrow up before his face and took its hilt with the right hand, fingers twitching with rolling taps upon the steel coated wood. Raz'gor the Bloodreaver has had enough by this point and looked around, glancing back to his elder Shaman. "So, is this allowed?" The Shaman shrugged and looked over, howling a question as best as his dried throat could. "Is this your chosen!?" Velonar responded by drawing his bastard sword down onto a right side's angle with such force, it tore the leather sheath clean through. Letting it fall limp into the grass, that was everything the Stormfangs needed. Laughing, Raz’gor spat to the side and bounced a couple of times to prepare his feet for the coming steamroll of a victory. "Alright then, you scrawny shit--!" He interrupted him self before lunging forward with an almost unnatural speed, crushing the dew-soaked streams of grass and dirt on his several-step sprint towards the crow. His hands hurled up and then down, attempting to simply smash the Elf with a single stroke. Weighing the blade up to his chest, Velonar turned the edge upside-down and suddenly drew his hands back in a clockwise motion, parrying the onslaught. The Orc was quick, but misunderstood his own momentum, causing him to hurl forward. A lot of weight, a lot of force. Velonar's eyes narrowed, he wouldn't have enough time to take advantage of this blunder, so he sidestepped the oncoming mass. Raz’gor tumbled into a quick recovery, rising up to prepare a likely second lunge. From his point of view, the enemy was slow and frail, thus the same mistake would not happen twice. He shot forth with confidence, preparing another overhead slam. Unfortunately for him, Velonar's forte was in exploiting weakness rather than creating it. Repeating the clockwise rising motion on the left side, the Blood Mage turned into the strike, his feet compressing into a squat-like position. The curved sword followed the motion, almost springing in a rotation to slice his kneecaps clean open and several steps later, the Bloodreaver fell to an angry, agony-swamped roar. Dawnstorm turned to face him, weapon in tow. This was still a potentially dangerous opponent - even if disabled the hulking Mag'har could probably turn the tables quickly. Velonar stuck to his back. "Son of a... you think I'm done, huh..?" he let out a breathy curse and took up his carving knife. Springing with his hands, he couldn't move his legs below the thighs, so Raz'gor opted to try and use the sheer size of the metal pole to just cleave Velonar in a turning motion. "YOU PIECE OF SH--" He roared, pitting his all when the Elf got cocky and approached into a whirling killing zone. A desperate and bold move, the general did the impractical by meeting it head on. Placing the sword against his left side, he braced both hands against the hilt and the rest of the blunt side against his body, practically tackling into the strike. The blunt shock that coarsed through his body screamed into his left forearm, threatening to take out a tendon or even a bone... But held. Diving in, Velonar lifted the bastard sword and in a circular cut and delivered an executioner's slice to his hands, unburdening his wrists. As the latter party roared and flailed, the Elf took his chance. He walked before the unwillingly kneeling enemy and stared him down. He didn't even know this Orc, he frankly didn't hate him, or any of his. The indignant rage contorting his face churned and the boil spilled. "Your price." He whispered cold, taking a step back to bring Sanguine Morrow around in a counter clock-wise upward swing, tearing the Bloodreaver open from crotch to neck and erupting a volcano of his person. The merrymaking has long ceased, and had Velonar not been seeing red, he would have known how easily this could backfire in terms of morale. To watch their leader slowly turn to the enemy tent and raise his hands skyward, as a rain of blood claimed the dueling field and him with it. His eyes rose towards the sky, shutting, his mouth opening up just a tad in a strange delight. It did not matter to him now, the crow felt something he hadn't since he returned to Silvermoon. It soaked his plated robes, he felt it in his skin, in every breath. He felt it thorough and did not hold back in acting upon it. As his eyes opened, he was fully turned towards the Shaman, who stood back in relative, disoriented fear. He did not expect to lose, much less to this pointy eared thing. "You--" "Silence." Velonar commanded in an eerie calm. This did not last, as his hands slowly lowered to the sides he resumed, now louder, in a way he was known for. "I am far more than an Elf, scum." He clenched his teeth, finishing with "I... am Horde!" And as the Stormfangs kneeled in submission per the duel's ritualistic demand, Velonar felt alive.

[ablacktalon]

No Eyed Rain (1)

December 27th, Nagrand steppes. It's been a rather grueling time for this particular expedition. Velonar's lightning fast onslaught came but a week earlier and while excitement and bloodshed has not been in short supply, actual supply very well might have been. If only one could feed an army through the simple clash of steel, it'd probably taste just as well as the local Ogre cuisine. Less stomach, more filling one's head with further lust for battle, the Third has been carving a delectable path through the Warsong lands, exploiting their lack of portal comprehension as they have with the Thunderlords just a month earlier. Thanks to the offset of a lacking Winter Veil, as celebrated one week early by the order of their general, morale was relatively low until they started winning. Luck was on their side, as well as the initiative and only today would they encounter a force prepared enough to pose a threat. A Blackrock reinforcement detachment combined with a solid pack of Stormfang tribesmen. Normally negligible, but they'd gotten to high ground before Velonar's forward command could bounce it. And so the two parties stood off, uncommonly static for the reckless frenzy-driven tactics of the savage planet. The occasional exchange of artillery, some minor skirmishes between scavenging parties. Indeed, the sons and daughters of both Hordes were getting antsy. Velonar's opposition was about as overstretched as him, detesting having to resort to a Fabian method of defense. The entirety of the Stormfang clan were risen with a sense of pride and a deep personal honor, once owing their heritage to the Burning Blade and deeply collaborating with them til this day despite some of their more sketchy traditions. The Blackrocks didn't have the same qualms; armed and armored with new technology, they were more than willing to sit steady until additional parties came to swipe the Third off the grassy plains. Taking the refuge of some rest within his tent, Velonar simmered on his new predicament. Mok'gol was successfully avoided, and the ancient Ogre waystone was in reach – if his forces could crack through this shell, they would have a clear path towards the new year's roast. Frostwall would at last have a stable portal connection with Nagrand, allowing his forces to consolidate for the next move. He leaned back in a high-backed wooden chair, letting out an audible sigh. Shutting his eyes, the crow gave them a hard rub. His shoulders were stiff, so he reached up to start unbuckling the crimson steely pads on either one. Perhaps he was overworking him self today... the solution to his issue, he'd already proposed the day before. Unfortunately it would depend on a factor he despised most of all: his enemy. If nothing else, this new Horde has proven that in many ways it simply couldn't be trusted or relied on the same way the old one. Orcs were reckless murder machines in the First War, their tactics were simple but effective. Here, a lot more variables were present to consider. They had minds of their own, they had minor understanding of advanced technology, and as such adapted their strategy to a more suited, modern style of warfare. Still... The crow blinked his eyes open in consideration. Because they now had minds of their own, the majority acted in a non-cohesive manner. The Orcs were a diverse bunch, differing in tradition and mindset. Not all were loyal to the mighty Grommash Hellscream, and between a thousand different tribes and a thousand different cultures, it was a wonder how he had most if not all bend the knee. Velonar had no qualms about exploiting their specific quirks, and would this time with the Stormfangs. He'd challenged them to single combat, placing their honor in question; Two champions enter, one leaves. Whom ever is the victor, claims the battle. The loser must surrender. It was a gamble to say the least – he had no doubts that Orash, his chosen right hand, would crush anything the Iron Horde would throw at him. It was keeping several thousand prisoners that had him worried. Nothing to feed them and still a fair distance trek to his checkpoint. Unruly Orcs were difficult enough to command, he found at one point. A rabble of honor-stripped, angry ones, constantly being whispered thoughts of revolt from their Blackrock companions? The thought of executing half of them to prove a point did cross his mind, but this would cross any possibility of surrender from any other opposing faction on Draenor. Holding your blade, fighting the good fight, a man or woman would rather fight to the end if he or she knew the opposition would cut their throat out of inconvenience. Velonar fiddled with the leathery shoulder strap, a bit frustrated that it wouldn't will its self to unclip. He usually didn't need assistance with this sort of thing. Evidently he needed a break. Getting up, he made his way through the dimly, naturally lit tent to anything more comfortable, picking the closest fur-coated chair out of the crowd. But before he fell back into it, a voice called form the outside. "M'lord! Word from high command." The general paused, opting to savor the comfortable seat until after this bit of work was done. "Report." he called back, prompting Jared to come inside. The Undead carried two scrolls and an additional letter this time, immediately making his way to pass them on. Velonar jot a brow, looking them over as the deathstalker approached. He snagged the latter letter first and examined it with a rising brow. "Personal letters, sir, as per request." Jared reminded, causing Velonar to briefly glance up in confirmation. "Of course, thank you Jared." The Undead gave a thin-lipped, brief smile and a salute, making his way out to give Velonar some peace of mind. The green-eyed crow watched him leave, absently kneading a small part of the envelope in his fingers. Opening it up with a rip, it was surprisingly long, but the handwriting, scent and even style were all familiar. His gaze softened for a moment, pronouncing his black rings of exhaustion, and perhaps a small smile tugged at his lips. Doriandrin An'daran. He let the other two scrolls fall onto the comfortable chair behind him. Although he could not spare the men or time to write back, it was always a pleasure to hear her thoughts. The right hand dwelt up behind his back, to try and prop his spine just a tad whilst handling the letter with a left. There was a lot of care put into this one, as with all the others, but unfortunately no baked treats. His eyes rolled across it, slowly at first. Then, quicker so. His smile began to fade. His teeth began to clench, and lids rose in shock. His breath sped and heart shot. 'How could it be', he wanted to ask, but already knew. The right hand fell and caught the letter from the left's, taking on a light indignant quiver. She could not even lie... the crow's beak stammered and his teeth grit, a heated breath seething through as his eyes seared an emerald flame. She couldn't even lie! The anger rose inside him, a headache coursing through his mind as potent as the fire in his veins. The hand clenched, and the paper crumpled on its lower half. "M'lord, it's starting!" he heard a call from the outside, one of his bloodguards calling for the duel destined for today. His gaze rose, ears plugged by an onslaught of thoughts. He's heard him alright, but the bloodguard was a persistent one, taking a look inside past the entryway. "It's time, lord Dawnstorm." It peaked inside him and the letter caught blaze, Velonar swinging his hand off to the side. In a single blazing fling, it was nothing more than floating flitting ash and dead embers. He stared a blank stare at their fall. The Blood Knight that came to ask for his presence took his pause, not daring to question the display. A livid coiling pain took his chest, a kind only the prideful Elves could feel. She couldn't even LIE! Immediately catching the knight's eyes with a frightful glare, Velonar demanded with a low growl. "My sword. Now." The Paladin didn't understand at first, what caused -this-? "I... beg your--" "Sanguine Morrow, NOW!" He barked, sending a mighty warrior to the blacksmith as though the latter was a squire. Looking towards the right shoulder and scrambled fingers to clip it back on proper with a jerk, he immediately exit his tent with a hastened step.

[ablacktalon]

I had died Of the joy of love; I lay buried In her arms; I was awakened by her kisses; I saw heaven In her eyes.

[ablacktalon]

War dog

It was a cold evening, a restless evening. The evening outside was a soothing Fall's chill with the rising signs of a cricket chorus. The last rays of the sun now joining the sea, birds making their final calls. A pair of cold, Fel-engrained eyes watched as the setting light lost its golden shine, attaining an orange and then crimson hues. Violet bathed the sky and twilight embraced the day. The gaze moved up, the last breath of the light giving rays still clung to the drifting bare clouds above. Time was fast approaching behind him, so the Elf turned to meet it. Someone was behind the door, yet to knock, he felt it in his bones. His head came first and lightly dipped, as though leading the way with a turn to the left. His back fell into a hunch, but he had to pause, looking down at his hands. They wished to huddle to his stomach, but he's had enough bad habits to haunt his visage. He'd force them behind his back, holding the right hand's fingers with his left. The black gaze rose and the crow croaked. "Who is it?" The door creaked open, revealing a bony silhouette off the candle-lit hall behind him. The figure slowly walked in, with pride as his behest. He did not announce him self, looking Velonar over with a shining azure glare. The office was poorly lit, but one candle at the main table and the leftover withering glow of the balcony behind the general. He could barely make him out. Nothing but a glare and a tattered, famished body. "I've a letter for you." It spoke, but the hissing whisper made no noise. Velonar's eyes widened. "Who has it?" he repeat him self. The figure was already in the room, that was the wrong question. He noticed, but his mind refused to correct him self. "A slave." Three knocks on the door. Velonar's eyes glazed in shock as he forced an exhale from his mouth. He peered over the dark double doors of his office, they were shut. The figure was gone. The warlord did not respond to the portal's request, looking over the empty spot. Another three knocks came. "M'lord? May I?" The crooked Blood Elf stopped, once more eyeing the door with distrust. Slowly, he came to with a couple of hard blinks. "...Come in." The door was opened, revealing an Undead. It was a pretty well patched Undead, although coated in leather and metal armor, two sabers at his sides. On him was a tabard of black and venom green - one of the few Deathstalkers that officially joined the Third, now part of the scouting legion under his command. "I am sorry to disturb you, my lord. It's a communique from Orgrimmar." He slowly limped in, bits of armor clanking. Velonar specifically requested him to do this when around him and out of hiding, to not wrench his paranoia. The Forsaken set a scroll and another letter on the table, backing off moments after. Velonar approached. "Thank you," he took a breath. "Jarod, was it?" The Forsaken bowed his head. "Jar-ed, my lord. You were close." Velonar smiled. "Ah. I see, sorry about that." He then peered at the table, moving the official scroll to spot the second letter. Picking it up, his brows furrowed. "What's this..?" He uttered whilst looked it over with mild care, as though the envelope would tell him something good from the outset. It looked neat and pretty, it felt carefully packed and prepared. It probably even smelled good if he gave it a try. He knew the answer before his Undead companion grated his response. "Lady An'daran has passed another letter." Velonar peered past it, then downward. He sighed and walked around the table, taking a seat in his decorated family's chair. Snapping his fingers, the fireplace beside him lit up. Flickering orange licked a figure made of iron, the decor of an ancient firebird. "I see. Jared, could you wait outside? The communique might have me deliver orders." The Undead set a firm upper side of his right fist to his chest, "Of course." and then left the stage, shutting the doors behind him. While there was no need for true formality in Velonar's manor, he'd lie if he said he didn't enjoy a good salute. Velonar, My anger towards you was never insatiable. It just seemed that you did not know how to quell it, which fed my frustration. This would seem to be evidence that you did not know me as well as you claim to have. Your ambition is perhaps an honorable one. Just know that my days are not boring, my ambitions and hopes are intact. I have people who care about me, and I them. My decisions are not based on some glorious calling, but on something real and tangible. Doriandrin. He frowned and folded the letter down in his lap, still held by both hands. She was arguing for the sake of it. Moreso, he felt she regret it. Stubborn. Proud. Vain. For someone who refused to be called "someone else's", selfish. Yet she was in anything but name. Yet he regret it too, didn't he? Doriandrin may be many things, but she was no coward. Lady Rosemourne... he sat back into the chair in thought. The Blood Mage ran once when he fell from grace. But that, he could excuse with ease. The terror of the three lieutenants chilled him to the bone until he lost that sense to rage. Yet now, when he needed her most? He wasn't particularly heartbroken, but sad at the loss of an old comrade. Velonar had learned long ago that love was something he probably wasn't meant for. He had the resources, the gold to spare on every whim, the politics, even the name. The Crone's words harkened in his mind. His confines were his own. He held his own chain. But he had to wonder - was he a willing slave to war and his own cause, or was following his cause and ambition meant he was more free than any other man? He thrived in war. He was good at it! But it was hard to not look upon his many comrades with envy heaving down his heart. Even with the oath, they could resign. They could have rest and peace, and in the past 13 months, friends and relatives to care for them during it. To make sure it was the best they could attain. He held up the letter in his right hand with an exhausted look. He had this. For a little while, anyway. He could have written a response, but both the desire and the words completely eclipsed him. His hand rose slightly and he let go, letting the fire consume the page. He'd write it later, if he felt more masochistic than usual. If he felt more alone. His eyes moved towards the royal sealed scroll of the new warchief. For now, his soul would take hearth in the fact that because of his actions, she could have the conditions to write that letter. For now, he had a price to pay.

[doriandrin]

How I feel about this character:

Doriandrin may never forgive Velonar for what he said to get her to walk out the door.

There is something to be said, though, for a man that knows her well enough that he can actually push that button — a man perceptive enough to know exactly what needs...