The Great War, the Roleplaying Game

[Timolas]

Azeroth: The Great War, the Roleplaying Game

http://i95.photobucket.com/albums/l136/Salomit/TGWTitle_zps38ba0a59.png

So yeah, the Risk has been changed into a more traditional roleplaying style.
You command your faction leader as you specified; example, Kerrah is playing through the hand of Javali, dictator of Dalaran. Xarthat is his Proudmoore; Wabbajack and his King of the Dwarves. Zula, his troll is the Warlord of the Amani.

If anyone else is still interested in playing, post here and choose your character. Start anywhere you like. Be creative. You don't have to be good or evil, or human even. Do what you want. I assume Yubes, Xie and so on and so forth aren't showing up, so I won't give them an introduction.

I'll post introductions for the players I believe are coming. Anyone can join in at any time.
----------------------------------------------------------------------

Introduction:

An era before the beginning of Warcraft 1.

It is the beginning of the Summertide in the Eastern Kingdoms. The snows have long since melted and the soils thawed out. Within months the lands swelter with a rough heat in Lordaeron, and the ice has grown thin in the southern lands of the dwarves.
The change in season is followed by a change in politics.

Throughout the entirety of the kingdoms, rumours arise within the homes and inns of the lands that the mighty kings and queens of the realms are tense and withdrawn. It is said that dark things stalk the night. Within the churches of the Holy Light, priests issue sermons warning against the evils of paganism. To worship false idols in place of the Light is dangerous, priests say. The people murmur. Crops fail.
Blame falls on the shoulders of the pagans.

Suspicion and fear turn to witch burnings and ambushes, slaughter of any who do not conform to society. The rage spreads, and soon the authorities have to take action. Some choose to shield their people from the paranoia, and become supporters of paganism in the eyes of the believers. Other monarchs support the witch trials, becoming enemies of those in need.

Ultimately, the nations are on the brink of war. What is to come next is up to the respective masters of the realm.

---

Dalaran (Javali, Kerrah's character)

It has been several months since Javali has deposed the Council of Six. He is now sole dictator of Dalaran, overseeing its territories.
However, the Kirin Mora, a rebel movement in favour of the Holy Light, has arisen under the leadership of one of the former admitted members of the Six, Grigori Dosantos.

It is morning as Javali surveys the city around him from the safety of the Violet Citadel.

Someone taps Javali's shoulder. He turns to face Archmage Franek Snowburn, of his loyalist magi.
"I am sorry to bother you, liege, but a mage has arrived at the gates wishing to speak with you. He says he has vital information for you; a proposition. I think he might be a defector from the Kirin Mora. What shall we do?"

---

Lordaeron (Alford Menethil, Wulf's character)

Lordaeron is suffering a period of turmoil. In their panic at persecution, many people have banded together in the townships, screaming their hatred at the Light worshipping monarchists of Lordaeron City. They have been joined by opportunistic freedom fighters, seeking a democracy in place of a monarchy. These men are led by Maximus Krowl, who they say is on a personal vendetta.

In the throne room of Lordaeron City, Alford Menethil sits to hear the complaints of his people. Also in council are Marshal Sherman, head of the military, and Archbishop Thomas Marden of the Holy Light, head of the entire church in the Kingdoms.

A ragtag group of peasants is led into council in chains. It is Sherman who announces them.
"My king, these men were captured in Brill. They were allegedly accused of consorting with powers other than the Holy Light. A local told the guards that they are Muharists. We have brought them here for judgement."

One of the peasants falls to his knees, teary eyed and desperate.
"My dear, dear king, spare us! We were falsely accused! The man who reported us was only seeking personal vengeance!"

---

Kul Tiras (Thaumas Proudmoore, Xarthat)

The nation of Kul Tiras has not escaped the recent political upheavals unscathed. Lord Admiral Thaumas has been bitterly betrayed. Though Kul Tiras remains under his grasp, the islands of Zul'Dare and Tol Barad have rebelled openly, and have fallen under the command of self-proclaimed Admiral Janus. Janus was Thamas' right hand man before his betrayal.

Within the capital of Boralus, Thaumas is making a public announcement to his people, gathered in the main square. As he stands atop a stone platform, flanked by his personal entourage, a man jumps from the crowds. He lunges at Thaumas, a dirty, scab-ladden beggar with a knife. Just in time, one of the guards steps in front of his Admiral. He takes the dagger in his throat and falls dead.
The rest of the entourage try to grapple the man, but he fights with incredible skill. Ultimately, the Guard Captain, Reginald Redpath, knocks the man to the ground and holds him down.

He is taken into custody. A chuckle sounds behind Thaumas. He turns to see a gnarled old man, wearing a green cloak and hood which hides his face.
It is Phorcys, a cowled man who appeared in Boralus and worked his way into the courts. He claimed to be the messenger of Mnesthes of the Four Gods, and thus an object of scorn to the Lightist population. Janus betray Thaumas because of this very 'demigod'.
"Admiral, you must take action. Mnesthes grows impatient. His people are persecuted far and wide." Phorcys mumbles, his viridian eyes wide and stern.

Thaumas is left to contemplate his next course of action. There is still the prisoner to consider, and it is said that Admiral Janus' fleet is but several days away from the port of Drisburg. There is much to be done.


---

The Amani Tribe (Warlord Jin'thek, Zula)

The Shrine of Ula'tek is the heart of Forest Troll civilization in Zul'Aman. It is the territory of the Amani tribe, who waged the Troll Wars and unified the clans many, many years ago. Since the Troll Wars, the Amani have fallen into decline. Rival factions have arisen; other tribes. The Witherbark are the greatest of rivals to the Amani, controlling much of the Hinterlands to the south of Zul'Aman. North are the Maisara Hills, under the grasp of the Mosstusk tribe.

Jin'thek concludes the tribal ritual honouring the Loa, under the eaves of his great forest. Smoke rises into the night from the cauldron in the centre of the village. Behind them, the Shrine of Ula'tek rises into the sky, a massive stone structure which acts as fortress and home. It is sacred to them, and they do not use it for idle pleasures or loitering.

Several things lie ahead now that the Summertide grand festival is scheduled to begin. Jin'thek wishes to unifty the tribes once again, and restore Zul'Aman.

Witch Doctor Gruc'jen has informed Jin'thek that the Mosstusks have set up a trapping encampment to the west, alongside a river which cuts down into a valley leading towards the Maisara Hills.
They are preying on game which is essential to the Amani. Food is running short, the trolls are thirsty for war and Jin'thek's ambitions have yet to achieve fruition.

[Wulfang]

You wore wrongfully accused you say? I am a just king: I will allow you to retell your version of the story but be warned, I won't tolerate the filthy lies of heretics to be spoken in my halls. Be reminded that you speak to the man who represents the mighty Lordaeron itself and the Archbishop of the Holy Light. If a shadow of a lie even crosses your face, I'll have your throats instantly cut.

Now, speak!

[Timolas]

Introduction - Ironforge (Wabbajack, Skirvar Thaurissan)

A shadow falls across the kingdom of Ironforge. The Highthane has fallen grievously ill. Some say that his ailment is the fault of evil spirits. Some blame Skirvar Thaurissan, who is regent. Skirvar is a Dark Iron Sorceror, and leader of the Dark Irons. His brethren are suspicious of him, to say the least.
The people are unhappy. They grumble that the Highthane's will is not his own. Word arrives to Ironforge that many dwarves in the Wetlands are turning to pagan practices, influenced by their human friends.
Port Baradin, they say, is under the grasp of the Four Gods.

Skirvar Thaurissan is faced with a choice. He does not know whether to put stock in the rumours about Port Baradin, though he knows himself and his own ambitions well enough, whatever they may be.

Blackhammer Silverbeard, the Dark Iron governor of Port Baradin, is on his way to Ironforge for a routine visit and pay of taxation. Mountaineers report that he has an unusually high amount of guards with him, and some say that he is on his way to plan a coup in the name of his gods.

Perhaps the situation can be avoided by assassinating Blackhammer, but that may arouse even more suspicion in Ironforge. It might go wrong; Blackhammer could go ahead with a coup. Perhaps he is planning nothing. Or else, if he is indeed an agent of these Four Gods, then he might make a valuable ally...

---

Lordaeron

The chief of the villagers remains on his knees as he surveys his king Menethil.
"Liege, what is the penalty for paganism? Will you have mercy if we confess?"
Everyone knows Sherman's hatred of pagans, and it is clear they fear him.

The Archbishop moves to whisper in the king's ear.
"King Menethil, it is my will that these men die if they are guilty. However, it would be wise to see what they know first. I have heard that Maximus Krowl is moving to take Andorhal from his base in Hearthglen. If he does, your grain distribution centre will be lost, and Lordaeron will be cut in half."

[Xarthat]

OOC: Franek, you say? I had the same laugh as when seeing Karolek for the first time in Orgrimmar...

Lord Admiral turned to see the captive assassin.
"Do you realize you have tried to murder the only true and rightful Lord of Kul Tiras? If you speak now who have send you, I might show you some mercy... and let you die quickly. However, if you prefer to keep your mouths shut... I may be not be so good to you."

Back to Phorcys:
"Please tell Commodore Periandrus to gather all of the fleet to protect Duisburg. We need to get that scum out of my lands as soon as possible... but not sooner that we gather up more forces to destroy it. Once this "invasion" is broken, I will take some "separatist cult" into my own hands."

OOC: Isn't Phorcys like... my father? He acts like a complete stranger.

[Timolas]

OOC: Phorcys is your father?

[Xarthat]

OOC: Um, yeah. :P Whole idea behind the character was to be a supposed son of an Old God. Once Phorcys turned into a Mnesthes' demigod, I can safely assume I really am his son, so I'm now... one-quarter god. :P

[Wulfang]

Lordaeron

The chief of the villagers remains on his knees as he surveys his king Menethil.
"Liege, what is the penalty for paganism? Will you have mercy if we confess?"
Everyone knows Sherman's hatred of pagans, and it is clear they fear him.

The Archbishop moves to whisper in the king's ear.
"King Menethil, it is my will that these men die if they are guilty. However, it would be wise to see what they know first. I have heard that Maximus Krowl is moving to take Andorhal from his base in Hearthglen. If he does, your grain distribution centre will be lost, and Lordaeron will be cut in half."

You are all of Lordaeronian stock, born and raised in the care of our great nation. Your duty should be to your fatherland instead of some false idols whose followers are trying bring damnation to us all! Show once in your life the respect this nation deserves, and say the truth.

I will spare your life if you tell me everything you know about the pagan movements in my kingdom, especially anything about Maximus Krowl.

[Wabbajack]

I send one of my most trustworthy messengers to one of my contacts in the wetlands [which should be even more dangerous and swampy then in WoW because the dam isn't build yet]. He will give the contact a letter wich says that he has to give the letter to one of the local bandit lords I know and that this bandit should attack Silverbeard and his men and that he gains the taxmoney as payment as long as Silverbeard and some of his bodyguards survive. In the letter is also the date on which they should attack.

Simultaneous I send one of my fastest and at least a bit trustworthy messengers to the dwarven squad that is nearest to the wetlands and strong enough to defeat the bandits. Officialy they are sent to protect Silverbeard but I command the messenger that he has to time the message so that the squad only arrives after the attack has already begun and a big part of Silverbeards men are dead.

[Timolas]

OOC: Um, yeah. :P Whole idea behind the character was to be a supposed son of an Old God. Once Phorcys turned into a Mnesthes' demigod, I can safely assume I really am his son, so I'm now... one-quarter god. :P

OOC: Tis' okay. Then that's canonical. He became the Messenger of Mnesthes long after you were born though. Just ignore the unfamiliarity thing. Your father vanished, you became Admiral, and he returned to your side a changed man.

You are all of Lordaeronian stock, born and raised in the care of our great nation. Your duty should be to your fatherland instead of some false idols whose followers are trying bring damnation to us all! Show once in your life the respect this nation deserves, and say the truth.

I will spare your life if you tell me everything you know about the pagan movements in my kingdom, especially anything about Maximus Krowl.

The Archbishop frowns at King Menethil, but steps aside. It is clear that he recognizes his place, despite his power. Or so it seems. His eyes narrow.

Sherman nods at you in affirmation. Though he is no fan of cultists, he seems to respect your apparent mercy.

The leader of the villagers sighs and looks to his comrades. One of them lands him a punch before being restrained by the guards.
"Tell him nothing, Henrick!"

Henrick shrugs.
"My king, we were not involved in any pagan worship. However, we are agents of the People's Front. Maximus Krowl promised to liberate us within a year, and that we would find a rich place in his new kingdom for our cooperation. But we have no choice. Your taxes are too high, and witch hunters run rampant in this kingdom, murdering anyone who steps out of line. They must be stopped."

Henrick points an accusing finger at the Archbishop.
"That man is behind it!" he fails. "His Witch Hunters answer to him and his Church of the Holy Light! The Church in northern Tirisfal is the centre of his mad inquisition! Freedom or paganism, it matters not. My king, you must save us!"

---

Kul Tiras

The assassin spits in Thaumas' face.
"Your father will be the doom of us all!" he yells.

Phorcys shakes his head and sighs.
"My son, you must be strong. There are more who support your choices than there are those who are against you. You have an armada at your command, and I have the power to call our god to assist us. Mnesthes ftang. Mark those words. They are the key. With them we can enslave creatures of water, of sky. Admiral Janus will strike at Drisburg, I am sure of this."

[Xarthat]

To the servant:
Put this scum on a very special bed... and flow water into him. Directly into the mouth. Then stop for a moment, and see if he spills the beans. If he's not, flow more and more water. Keep this until he says what we want or until he's dead. If he 'cooperates'... just chop his head off. A quick death I promised.

To Phorcys:
I am already sending my armada to Duisburg, to protect it from the traitor. But as you say, I will order my people to mark those words upon all the sails. If it brings us a victory, you have my word, I'll put them in each single weapon in the kingdom I can reach and see.

And you say... we can tame creatures of the sea with those words... Remember those... flying fishes? Couatl, are they called, aren't they?

Shouting with hands raised towards the sky filled with Couatl:
Oh, mightly Couatl, I call to thee, come to my aid. Serve my people. Serve Mnesthes. Mnesthes ftang!

(OOC: Isn't it Duisburg, not Drisburg?)

[xie323]

What bout my side?

[Drz]

OOC: Xie type in "OOC" if you make post like that damn you! It means: Out of Character.

PS. Patiance is virtue!

[Zula]

The Amani Tribe (Warlord Jin'thek, Zula)

Witch Doctor Gruc'jen has informed Jin'thek that the Mosstusks have set up a trapping encampment to the west, alongside a river which cuts down into a valley leading towards the Maisara Hills.
They are preying on game which is essential to the Amani. Food is running short, the trolls are thirsty for war and Jin'thek's ambitions have yet to achieve fruition.

It was a summer night, the wind blowed through the forest trees surrounding the shrine while Gruc'jen informed his Warlord of the news coming from the North. The warlod looked down to the sky for a brief moment and then looked to his advisor.

''Its time, send the runners to the other tribes invite their chieftans for the Summertide festival in one week'' said with a grim voice

''All of them my master even the Whiterbark??'' Said Gruc'jen with a esceptic tone.

''Epecially them'' Replied

''But why I can't..'' Gruc'jen tried to finish his speech but was quickly interrupted by the Trollish Warlord

''The rumors say there is upheaval among the human and elven lands by seeing who comes we will know which chieftan is smart enough to see the oportunity... also tell the warriors to be prepared for battle if I need them just in case''

''As you wish mighty Warlord''

[xie323]

I'll say it again with Drz's rules:


[OOC] Xie: So what bout my side?

[Wabbajack]

[That aren't "Drz's Rules", it is to distinguish what you say about the game and similar things and what your character says. Most people just write "OOC" in front of the written, but you can just put it in [] or {} ^^]

*Skirvar impatiently waits for the results of his commands*

[@ Xie: ** is used to show actions instead of "" which shows speech.]

[Timolas]

I'll say it again with Drz's rules:


[OOC] Xie: So what bout my side?



OOC: Alright Xie, I'll give you your introductory post. You must respond to the actions I present just like Zula did. Try not to control anyone other than your own character unless it's an obvious decision or one of your own characters that is currently with your King. Remember, you are the King of Alterac. The world around you is in turmoil because the cultists of the Four Gods are rumoured to be causing trouble. There are followers of the Holy Light persecuting them under supposed orders of the Archbishop, who is in Lordaeron, which is controlled by Wulf.
This means that cult players may wish to attack Wulf to end the threat.

You will have to choose where you stand.

Alterac

Within the mountain city of Alterac, the nobles assembled with a grand petition. The King knew that they were coming, and preparations had been made. Richly decorated with tapestries, candles and exotic souvenirs, the halls of the royal palace were certainly fit for the coming guests.

The guests arrived by nightfall, and were greeted politely, and allowed to unpack from their long journey from Strahnbrad.
They were promised an opportunity to present the petition at the coming feast that night.

The King of Alterac soon oversaw the feast, ringed by his personal guards. The nobles feasted heartily and became drunk, before remembering why they had came.
One of them called for a moment of quiet, and staggered before the king. As he was drunk, his dignity seemed to have taken negative strides. It was what the King had intended by preparing the feast. Or at least, one reason.
"Lord, king." The fat noble exclaimed. "We thank you for your hospitality, but that is not enough!"
"Not enough!" one of the other nobles roared. "Our lands are untended because our peasants are being carried away in the night by fanatics of the Holy Light! Our towns live in suspicion and fear. We wish - no, we demand, that you call for an audience with the neighbouring kings! Diplomatic talks must begin! The anarchy must stop!"

---

Ironforge

I send one of my most trustworthy messengers to one of my contacts in the wetlands [which should be even more dangerous and swampy then in WoW because the dam isn't build yet]. He will give the contact a letter wich says that he has to give the letter to one of the local bandit lords I know and that this bandit should attack Silverbeard and his men and that he gains the taxmoney as payment as long as Silverbeard and some of his bodyguards survive. In the letter is also the date on which they should attack.

Simultaneous I send one of my fastest and at least a bit trustworthy messengers to the dwarven squad that is nearest to the wetlands and strong enough to defeat the bandits. Officialy they are sent to protect Silverbeard but I command the messenger that he has to time the message so that the squad only arrives after the attack has already begun and a big part of Silverbeards men are dead.



"Aye, Thane." Yarin responds. He is one of your swifest and most trusted messengers. He takes the letter with caution, his amber eyes never leaving yours. "I'm not one to question ye, Skirvar, but ye be playin' a dangerous game I tell ye."
He pulls his white hood over his eyes and heads off, leaving Skirvar at the gates of Ironforge to watch him ride off atop a ram.

"Thane Skirvar Thaurissan." a voice beckons. Skirvar is left facing Cagrelm Flamebeard, one of the Highthane's bodyguards and one of your competitors. He leers at you through his bushy red eyebrows, his stout form weighed down by uniform plate. "The Highthane requests your presence. He wishes for you to make your weekly report to him. And make it quick."

---

Kul Tiras

To the servant:
Put this scum on a very special bed... and flow water into him. Directly into the mouth. Then stop for a moment, and see if he spills the beans. If he's not, flow more and more water. Keep this until he says what we want or until he's dead. If he 'cooperates'... just chop his head off. A quick death I promised.

To Phorcys:
I am already sending my armada to Duisburg, to protect it from the traitor. But as you say, I will order my people to mark those words upon all the sails. If it brings us a victory, you have my word, I'll put them in each single weapon in the kingdom I can reach and see.

And you say... we can tame creatures of the sea with those words... Remember those... flying fishes? Couatl, are they called, aren't they?

Shouting with hands raised towards the sky filled with Couatl:
Oh, mightly Couatl, I call to thee, come to my aid. Serve my people. Serve Mnesthes. Mnesthes ftang!

(OOC: Isn't it Duisburg, not Drisburg?)

OOC: Drisburg in Wowwiki, but yet again, it's Wowwiki.

-

The guards drag the prisoner away, as he struggles against his bonds. Thaumas and Phorcys are left together, silence reigning over the square after the Admiral's speech to Mnesthes.

"You were unwise to have made such a public performance of your summoning." Phorcys shrugs. A sigh escapes the old man, and he turns to leave. "It will take time, but know that the winds have carried your call. Just be careful, Thaumas, my son. You have summoned creatures but they will be wild upon arrival. They may wreak havoc. Prepare for their coming or Boralus will be overrun. I will take my leave. I must meditate."

The people in the square trickle away as fast as is possible, and twilight falls across Boralus. Fear is setting in like a cancer. Janus is coming. Has Mnesthes heard the prayer?
Whatever the case, the Lightists in Kul Tiras will now likely throw their lot in with the Admiral unless something is done to appease them.

---

Amani

It was a summer night, the wind blowed through the forest trees surrounding the shrine while Gruc'jen informed his Warlord of the news coming from the North. The warlod looked down to the sky for a brief moment and then looked to his advisor.

''Its time, send the runners to the other tribes invite their chieftans for the Summertide festival in one week'' said with a grim voice

''All of them my master even the Whiterbark??'' Said Gruc'jen with a esceptic tone.

''Epecially them'' Replied

''But why I can't..'' Gruc'jen tried to finish his speech but was quickly interrupted by the Trollish Warlord

''The rumors say there is upheaval among the human and elven lands by seeing who comes we will know which chieftan is smart enough to see the oportunity... also tell the warriors to be prepared for battle if I need them just in case''

''As you wish mighty Warlord''

OOC: Excellent roleplaying there Zula. Like I told you, this is basically what I was envisioning for the thread. Not just dialogue but hopefully interaction and scene creation as well. I'd rather this thread be everyone's story rather than mine, so none of you hesitate to be creative and give me opportunities just as I give you opportunities. Speech responses alone are up to you, but they might bore you for all I know. Don't hesitate to control a few characters that are going to make obvious decisions. You don't need me to play your servant to tell you "Okay, I SHALL fetch you a glass of water as you commanded."
Let's write this together!

-

Jin'thek watched as Gruc'jen vanished into the forest. He was not delaying in performing his task. Gruc'jen had been the sage and oracle of the Amani for generations. He was reputed and rumoured to be the voice of the Loa in Zul'Aman. His diplomatic skills and wisdom were invaluable indeed.

Left to his own devices that night, Jin'thek was approached by one of his trappers, sweating and heaving heavily.
"Warlord! The Mosstusk trappers that invaded our territory are dead. Good for us, but the reasons why bode badly for the Amani! They were shot by arrows. Not ours. It could either by elven raiders or a rival tribe. But we might be in danger!"

[Xarthat]

OOC: Let's just say Lord Admiral is kind of a performer, loves to be spectacular. Are we now waiting for end of turn or whatever?

[xie323]

I'll stand as the king.

[Kerrah]

Dalaran (Javali, Kerrah's character)

It has been several months since Javali has deposed the Council of Six. He is now sole dictator of Dalaran, overseeing its territories.
However, the Kirin Mora, a rebel movement in favour of the Holy Light, has arisen under the leadership of one of the former admitted members of the Six, Grigori Dosantos.

It is morning as Javali surveys the city around him from the safety of the Violet Citadel.

Someone taps Javali's shoulder. He turns to face Archmage Franek Snowburn, of his loyalist magi.
"I am sorry to bother you, liege, but a mage has arrived at the gates wishing to speak with you. He says he has vital information for you; a proposition. I think he might be a defector from the Kirin Mora. What shall we do?"

"Have him give a wizard's oath that he does not intend to harm me. If he speaks truthfully, show him to me."

I next turn to spread the word into the city states surrounding Dalaran. Previously Dalaran has existed in a nice little peace with them, but now the time has come to harness the power of these lands for the greater good. I send diplomats to the leaders of all major cities and towns nearby and call for a political meeting to discuss our future and the possible dangers of the upcoming war.

[edit: I'm not reading other people's updates to keep myself in-character. Will there be a "happenings of the land" kind of thing going on?]

[Timolas]

OOC: Let's just say Lord Admiral is kind of a performer, loves to be spectacular. Are we now waiting for end of turn or whatever?

OOC: Nah; you decide what Thaumas does next. I've set the stage for events. Maybe you'll want him to ride to Druisburg/Drisburg, maybe you will decide to make him run naked through the streets, or put some plan into action to comfort them. Who knows? Not I alone!
This is what I mean about making it everyone's game; I'm not making it that a long dialogue but rather everyone writing a story together.
See what Zula did there for example.

Xie, now that I've set the event for you, you may respond and write as your king.

I'll rename this thread to the Great War of Lordaeron RPG and I'll set major event updates to about one or two times a day for the record so that everyone has a chance to reply.

Also Kerrah, to your question, yes! Happenings of the land play a huge role, because this is, after all, a game about managing the country. When I tell people that their people are unhappy and torn by religious differences, it's probably a bad thing to ignore.

---

Dalaran

"Have him give a wizard's oath that he does not intend to harm me. If he speaks truthfully, show him to me."

I next turn to spread the word into the city states surrounding Dalaran. Previously Dalaran has existed in a nice little peace with them, but now the time has come to harness the power of these lands for the greater good. I send diplomats to the leaders of all major cities and towns nearby and call for a political meeting to discuss our future and the possible dangers of the upcoming war.

[edit: I'm not reading other people's updates to keep myself in-character. Will there be a "happenings of the land" kind of thing going on?]

Archmage Franek Snowburn nods at Javali and turns to carry out his orders, his trademark white curls disappearing behind the curtains of the Violet Citadel chief balcony. Javali is soon able to see a small host of riders galloping through the streets below from the magocracy's private stables. They ride off through the streets to deliver their messages to the townships.

Javali is not allowed any rest. Franek soon returns with the mage.
"He was not lying, Archmage Javali." Franek announces somberly, before taking his leave. The newcomer is wearing a simple brown cloak, and is middle-aged. He has a firm build and the manner of a noble, but he is no doubt a mage as well.
"My name is Ulyssan." he announces proudly. "I've ridden for several days, harried by Witch Hunters from the Church. I come to you because the Kirin Mora has gone down a road I do not approve of."

The man seems intent on saying his part.
"The sole remnant of the Council of Six has lost his dignity. He turns to revenge against you. In their clamour, the Kirin Mora incite the rabble and advocate the slaughter in the countryside. They have become puppets for the Archbishop in exchange for a chance to reclaim Dalaran. Ambermill feigns allegiance to you, Javali, but in truth it harbours Grigori Dosantos of the Kirin Mora. I come here to pledge myself to you. Perhaps your vision was, after all, a lot clearer than theirs."

Javali is left facing a man that was formerly his enemy, one of the magi who chose exile from Dalaran instead of allegiance to the new dictatorial rule. Uncertain times lie ahead. A meeting has been called for with the localities, but are they all firm of mind?

Either way it would be best to decide what next to do with this man, and to see what to do about the trouble with the witch hunts. If they are not stopped, people will die. If they are stopped, the Archbishop may excommunicate Dalaran.

[Xarthat]

OOC: Okay, let me pretend some conversation with an advisor.

THAUMAS: May the gods of the sea be with you, Grand Vizier.
VIZIER: May them be with you too, my lord. What is your wish?
THAUMAS: You see... I've heard a lot about this new religion spreading around the folk. This... cult of Holy Light. They seem to become more and more dangerous as the time is going. I want to know everything about them. For the beginning... what kind of god do they worship?
VIZIER: Most of them do not worship any specific kind of god. They're more about philosophy, denying actual worship to the gods of old.
THAUMAS: They're denying existence of gods?
VIZIER: That's not the case. They acknowledge their existence, but refuse to worship them, as they say gods cannot help them in salvation, nor stand in their way to it. Thus, they do not worship neither deny our gods.
THAUMAS: How gods cannot help in salvation? Only by our pure devotion, we may reach afterlife by their side.
VIZIER: They do not share our beliefs in this. They seek something more than merely a place to rest their souls on eternal joy. They believe that by their devotion to the Light, they can unite with it in the afterlife and reach the state of perfect happiness.
THAUMAS: Well... I guess that's not so bad. So what's the problem with them?
VIZIER: Because it's a theory. In practice, they're hunting for "pagan" - as they call us - children and forcefully convert them to their faith, blocking them from their ancestral gods. In fact, they're enemies of the gods. Their true goal is to make people believe only in their... "Light".
THAUMAS: Look... I don't want to be... intolerant. I want to really see with someone important of their community and discuss some things. Give him my guarantee that he'll not be hurt in my court, whatever he'll say.
VIZIER: As you wish, my lord. I shall bring one before sunset.

OOC: I hope you meant something along those lines.

[Zula]

Amani

Jin'thek watched as Gruc'jen vanished into the forest. He was not delaying in performing his task. Gruc'jen had been the sage and oracle of the Amani for generations. He was reputed and rumoured to be the voice of the Loa in Zul'Aman. His diplomatic skills and wisdom were invaluable indeed.

Left to his own devices that night, Jin'thek was approached by one of his trappers, sweating and heaving heavily.
"Warlord! The Mosstusk trappers that invaded our territory are dead. Good for us, but the reasons why bode badly for the Amani! They were shot by arrows. Not ours. It could either by elven raiders or a rival tribe. But we might be in danger!"

''Arrows you say...... This stinks of treachery the Mosstusk may blame us for this incident'' Jin'thek said. the tone of anger of his voice was far from being subtle ''We can't allow the meeting to fail. Prepare the Shrine's defenses incase someone attacks''

''But Warlord are you leaving?''

''Indeed You will come with me and my best warriors to Maisara Hills, we will have to explain them what happened, we will take the bodies already blessed by our Priests, we will have to end this incident before it scalates, also send our best scouts to look for any tracks near were the Mosstuks were killed''.

[Wabbajack]

Skirvar hastens into the Highthanes chamber.

"Ah, Skirvar I already awaited ye. Come near, me eyes ain't as good as they used to be."
The Highthane starts to cough stong but short.

"I have some good news my lord, but some bad too. We found a new darkiron deposit under Bael'lorn, or the "Northern Redridge Mountains" how the humans call it. This is the first time after the depletion of the local darkrion that we can build new magma channels for our forges.
Our alchemists and tinker also have made considerable advancements with the development of a chemical substance they call "blackpowder". It is highly unstable and bursts into stone-crushing flames if it is heated to much, but I am sure that it can be made controllable with the assistance of some Dalarani alchemists. I only need your authorization to send a diplomat to the Wizards."

"Ye may have it. Now, what are these news so terrible that you deem them bad to a dwarf who all but feels the embrace of death?"

"My lord, I spoke with the priests that tend to you and they fear that you are victim of a poison. They say neither the Light nor the paganic priests, or "heretics" how they call them can heal you from it. If you allow it I will take a last measure and personaly go on a diplomatic mission to the troll empire of Zul'Aman and bring on of their Witchdoctors to you."

"If ye think that it is for the best of our people I will allow it..."
*Cough, cough*

After this Skirvar uses a magical portal that leads to a dwarven outpost in the Hinterlands. There he sends a diplomat to Dalaran and starts his journey. On his black war-ram, only equiped with some rations and some ingots of the dwarves' finest metals and flanked by his friends and bodyguards the priest Jaril Bronzebeard and the scout Urel Wildhammer he rides towards the capital of all forest trolls...

[Edited a lil' bit x2]

[Timolas]

OOC: Wabbajack, I'm impressed! I'll update for everyone tomorrow.

[Wabbajack]

[Thanks^^ I added a lil' bit into the last "black"-part]

[Wulfang]

The Archbishop frowns at King Menethil, but steps aside. It is clear that he recognizes his place, despite his power. Or so it seems. His eyes narrow.

Sherman nods at you in affirmation. Though he is no fan of cultists, he seems to respect your apparent mercy.

The leader of the villagers sighs and looks to his comrades. One of them lands him a punch before being restrained by the guards.
"Tell him nothing, Henrick!"

Henrick shrugs.
"My king, we were not involved in any pagan worship. However, we are agents of the People's Front. Maximus Krowl promised to liberate us within a year, and that we would find a rich place in his new kingdom for our cooperation. But we have no choice. Your taxes are too high, and witch hunters run rampant in this kingdom, murdering anyone who steps out of line. They must be stopped."

Henrick points an accusing finger at the Archbishop.
"That man is behind it!" he fails. "His Witch Hunters answer to him and his Church of the Holy Light! The Church in northern Tirisfal is the centre of his mad inquisition! Freedom or paganism, it matters not. My king, you must save us!"

Menethil: The Church's Witch Hunters have my complete approval. Their actions are necessary to rid our land of the pagan blight. Their conflicts and petty rivalries over which of their foul gods is better have killed more innocent people than the Inquisition ever will. I mourn the death of the righteous, but your joining of Krowl and his personal band of ruffians is like spitting on their graves.

Haven't I given you enough proof over my rule that I am a good king? Hasn't Lordaeron prospered and grown? You protest the high taxes, but not the army of valiant sons and daughters of our nation that allow you to sleep safe at night that those taxes support. Instead, you join a group of rebels who wish to bring down everything I and my forefathers have built! To crush the spirit of our nation under their heels and twist it into a mockery of what it is!

Never. NEVER!

*The peasant restrained by the guards spits in the King's face, thrashing and spouting his support for Maximus Krowl through mottos the madman clearly branded in their heads. One of the outraged guards punches him in the face, knocking him out.*

Menethil: *cleans his face* Take them to the dungeons. Make sure these betrayers never see the light of the sun again.

*The guards drag the rebels out of the throne room, leaving the king alone with Sherman and the Archbishop.*

Archbishop: *with a slight smile on his face* Thank you, my lord. I'm pleased to see the progress of my Witch Hunters pleases you.

*King Alford turns to face the Archbishop and, in one swift motion, slaps him in the face with the back of his hand. The holy man falls to the ground in an undignified mess of robes and gives a confused look at the king.*

Menethil: I may be fully supportive of your actions in front of my subjects, but make no mistake: that is merely because a king should show no weakness or regret in his choices. Restrain your followers, Marden. You may be the Archbishop of the Holy Light and one of my advisors, but I will not tolerate your fanatics running rampant among my people!

Marshall Sherman, appoint someone trustworthy to oversee the Inquisition and provide me with reports on their actions. Also, gather every information we have available on Maximus Krowl and the People's Front and bring it to me as soon as possible. Go now, the both of you.

Archbishop: *wipes the blood from his mouth and bows to the king with an acid look* As you wish.

Sherman: *smirking and bowing* Yes, my liege.

[Timolas]

EDIT: I nerdgasmed when he slapped the Archbishop.
You know, I actually love this method of storytelling way more. I much prefer it to being a grouchy intrusive GM. In fact I guess I'll continue presenting you with the opportunities and making sure all goes smoothly without stepping on anyone.
Of course expect me to have to be a lot more brutal with my moderation once you guys meet in person, because of course there are tight restrictions about how you handle one another. Godmoding. Egh.

[Wabbajack]

[This gets better with every post^^]

[Timolas]

Kul Tiras


VIZIER: Because it's a theory. In practice, they're hunting for "pagan" - as they call us - children and forcefully convert them to their faith, blocking them from their ancestral gods. In fact, they're enemies of the gods. Their true goal is to make people believe only in their... "Light".
THAUMAS: Look... I don't want to be... intolerant. I want to really see with someone important of their community and discuss some things. Give him my guarantee that he'll not be hurt in my court, whatever he'll say.
VIZIER: As you wish, my lord. I shall bring one before sunset.

OOC: I hope you meant something along those lines.

The Vizier Kalabrond bows low and leaves. Thaumas retires to the throne room, eager to seat himself and rest. He enjoys grandeur, as he has demonstrated with his grand speech, a signature of power, but yet it is a tiring thing nonetheless.
Kalabrond returns several hours later with a fair haired young man at his side.
"Admiral, this is Cyrus, a representative of the community in Boralus who advocate the Holy Light."

Thaumas looks upon the man, who is clearly nervous.
"Er, sire, sir. The man who attacked you had nothing to do with the more level headed Lightists in Boralus, I assure you." he begins, slowly gaining his bearings and confidence. "However, I must warn you that it is a sign of things to come. The rebel admiral Janus is coming, and because he has contacts in the Church, you may find that your own people may rise up against you and support him. I can, however, do my best to stop such a thing happening if you... show your support for the Holy Light. Not change your religion of course, but, eh, accept it. Build a church in Boralus. Let us both live in peace and harmony!"


Vizier Kalabrond visibly sighs.
"And at what cost, damnit? Dare you speak to the Admiral like that? Have you any idea of the ramifications. Would you like to anger Phorcys, our collective father? Father of your Admiral by royal blood?"

---


Amani

''Arrows you say...... This stinks of treachery the Mosstusk may blame us for this incident'' Jin'thek said. the tone of anger of his voice was far from being subtle ''We can't allow the meeting to fail. Prepare the Shrine's defenses incase someone attacks''

''But Warlord are you leaving?''

''Indeed You will come with me and my best warriors to Maisara Hills, we will have to explain them what happened, we will take the bodies already blessed by our Priests, we will have to end this incident before it scalates, also send our best scouts to look for any tracks near were the Mosstuks were killed''.

That very same night, Warlord Jin'thek gathers his very finest and leaves the safety of the Shrine of Ula-tek. Alongside Baj'al, the lieutenant who gave him the report, Jin'thek and his warriors steal into the night atop their bears. Jin'thek, however, rides not a bear but instead he rides a staple of leadership; a bird of prey. Yet it is something more than that; it is a beast of talons and colour, a proud mark of favour that was said to be a gift from the Loa of the dragonhawks. Some trolls murmur that it is a strider of the plains, other say it is an abomination crossbreed between a dragonhawk and one of the fabled gryphons of the Hinterlands. None know for certain, other than Jin'thek, perhaps.

They ride throughout the night, thundering through the forest unopposed, until by dawn, they arrived at a clearing at the foot of the Maisara Hills. The Maisara Hills rise above the canopy of the forest, leaving a bitter taste in the mouths of the Amani who have come here.

"Whoosa goes there?" a deep voice bellows, just as a dozen heavily armed forest trolls drop from the trees, surrounding the party of Jin'thek. Yet Jin'thek explains his business, and the company escorts him and lieutenant Baj'al to the Mosstusk village atop the chief hill in the Maisara.
There, a bulky troll warlord greets them, watched by his people. It is Overlord Nuvazgal Mosstusk himself.
"Ah, what you be doing in these lands, mon? What has the mighty Jin'thek to tell me? You are bold, mongrel. You been my enemy for many winters. Do you think I offer you hospitality this fresh morning in the forest?"

Clearly the situation requires tact. Overlord Nuvazgal Mosstusk is clearly itching for a fight; perhaps a personal challenge. If he does challenge Jin'thek to single combat it could be fatal for either of them, and decide the outcome of events. Or perhaps diplomacy is a preferable route. Either way, Jin'thek knows that the situation is delicate. All rests upon the edge of a knife as the Summertide festival approaches...

---

Skirvar

After this Skirvar uses a magical portal that leads to a dwarven outpost in the Hinterlands. There he sends a diplomat to Dalaran and starts his journey. On his black war-ram, only equiped with some rations and some ingots of the dwarves' finest metals and flanked by his friends and bodyguards the priest Jaril Bronzebeard and the scout Urel Wildhammer he rides towards the capital of all forest trolls...

[Edited a lil' bit x2]

The trio of dwarves had been worn out by the teleportation process. Such magics were incredibly costly, but none contested the necessity of the mission. The Highthane's health, was after all, a priority for the entire dwarven nation.
Urel Wildhammer and Jaril Bronzebeard had been chosen for a reason. Jaril, as a powerful priest, would hopefully learn the weave necessary to heal the Highthane, while Urel was a skilled tracker. They spoke little at first, though it was Jaril who broke the silence first.
"You're proving many lads back in Ironforge wrong about ye', Skarivar. If you can heal the Highthane, then ye will no doubt be a hero amongst us."
"Aye, but do ye seriously think that these here trolls are going to help us?" Urel chimed in. Both had clearly been worrying about this matter. "Truly Skirvar, you be brave an all, none of us contest that. But do tell us why in the bloody hell are ye takin us to Zul'Aman?"
Skirvar ignores them both at first, intent on his task. Yet they look to him for an answer.

---

Lordaeron

Menethil:

Marshal Sherman, appoint someone trustworthy to oversee the Inquisition and provide me with reports on their actions. Also, gather every information we have available on Maximus Krowl and the People's Front and bring it to me as soon as possible. Go now, the both of you.

Archbishop: *wipes the blood from his mouth and bows to the king with an acid look* As you wish.

Sherman: *smirking and bowing* Yes, my liege.

The King's will had to be done. He had spoken. Alford Menethil was not a paltry, lesser man. His will was law. That is why Archbishop and Marshal left with a heartfelt bow. They obeyed.

By the following morning, ever efficient Sherman walks up to the king and makes a report in the throne room. Birds whistle outside, and light trickles in through stained glass windows, illuminating them all as if the palace itself were a church of the Holy Light.
Sherman bows deeply, unwilling to anger his liege.
"Sir, some of your magi are insisting on your presence in the royal gardens."
Curious, Alford complies, though he walks at his own pace.

The royal garden is packed with high ranking officials, many of them from the magical quarter of the city. Court Wizard Thomassy, young for his position but nonetheless talented, presents himself to the king.
"We have made quite a discovery, my lord." he says with pride. "We detected magical residue in the gardens, as well as patterns we had never before felt. Something has set these things in motion; we are not sure what. The superstitious folk say that it is the work of the Four Gods. That something is sleeping beneath the earth. What we want is your permission to dig, liege. It may upset many of your people and destroy an object of beauty in the city, but believe me; we may be stumbling across something big. Some kind of ancient machinery of magic may be beneath our city! Let us claim it!"

Before Alford can speak, a messenger interrupts them. He seems to have been running for quite a bit to reach his king.
"Liege, I come bringing you two letters. One is from the Archbishop, the other, from an informant in Andorhal."

The Letter from the Archbishop reads
"Good king, I apologize for upsetting you the previous day. In accordance with your wishes for an efficient Inquisition, I have made several inquiries and have unearthed some records in my Church of the Holy Light. I believe that if we form this Inquisition, we will need strong men and women, free of sin, to lead it. I theorize that if we use the old rituals of binding, we can infuse select warriors with the Holy Light, turning them into its avatars. It may have been used in the past by pagans to create champions of heathen gods, but in the hands of the Holy Light, it could be a miracle.
I also took initiative on suggesting several candidates to lead this new order. One is a priest under my wing, Cerzimon, who will succeed me when I die. The other is your captain of the guard, Friedrik de Mon, a man of virtue. These are just suggestions, liege."

The other letter is from the informant in Andorhal.
"I pray that this letter reaches the royal court as soon as is humanly possible. Maximus Krowl has captured me. That is all I can reveal about my own situation. He allowed me to send this letter, however, containing his offer. He will refrain from attacking Andorhal under the condition that the king meets with him in his own territory of Hearthglen. He promises unconditional protection to his king, whom he says that he loves and respects. Krowl says that it is not the king whom he fights, and that he only wishes to speak with him. He says that if his message is ignored, he will strike at Andorhal immediately."

[Zula]

That very same night, Warlord Jin'thek gathers his very finest and leaves the safety of the Shrine of Ula-tek. Alongside Baj'al, the lieutenant who gave him the report, Jin'thek and his warriors steal into the night atop their bears. Jin'thek, however, rides not a bear but instead he rides a staple of leadership; a bird of prey. Yet it is something more than that; it is a beast of talons and colour, a proud mark of favour that was said to be a gift from the Loa of the dragonhawks. Some trolls murmur that it is a strider of the plains, other say it is an abomination crossbreed between a dragonhawk and one of the fabled gryphons of the Hinterlands. None know for certain, other than Jin'thek, perhaps.

They ride throughout the night, thundering through the forest unopposed, until by dawn, they arrived at a clearing at the foot of the Maisara Hills. The Maisara Hills rise above the canopy of the forest, leaving a bitter taste in the mouths of the Amani who have come here.

"Whoosa goes there?" a deep voice bellows, just as a dozen heavily armed forest trolls drop from the trees, surrounding the party of Jin'thek. Yet Jin'thek explains his business, and the company escorts him and lieutenant Baj'al to the Mosstusk village atop the chief hill in the Maisara.
There, a bulky troll warlord greets them, watched by his people. It is Overlord Nuvazgal Mosstusk himself.
"Ah, what you be doing in these lands, mon? What has the mighty Jin'thek to tell me? You are bold, mongrel. You been my enemy for many winters. Do you think I offer you hospitality this fresh morning in the forest?"

Clearly the situation requires tact. Overlord Nuvazgal Mosstusk is clearly itching for a fight; perhaps a personal challenge. If he does challenge Jin'thek to single combat it could be fatal for either of them, and decide the outcome of events. Or perhaps diplomacy is a preferable route. Either way, Jin'thek knows that the situation is delicate. All rests upon the edge of a knife as the Summertide festival approaches...

The morning mist was always refreshing for Jin'thek, indeed few people knew his favorite time of day was actually Dawn. He was indeed in a dire situation he knew he Overlord Nuvazgal despised him but he knew him well he could see that his hate was in fact jealousy, jealousy of his heritage, of his condition of his intelligence.

He wanted to kick the hell out of this so called 'Overlord' ass but he wouldn't start a fight, not now, not when the moment he hoped all his life was upon the horizon.

''Heh, I don't need you hospitality my good foe. I just came to bring you some ill news, someone killed the trappers you sent into my territory and before you jump it wasn't me.. they were shot down by arrows.'' Said in a modest and tone

''My trackers are looking right now for the ones responsible I suspect the elves, or I just I want to believe they are the ones responsible and not another tribe''

''Don't worry I saved yo the work of bring the bodies, I thought you would want to bury them in your lands before the wild animals hate them.
Also just in case you killed my messenger or he hasn't arrived yet, you are invited to the Summertide festival in the Shrine of Ula'tek, every chieftan its invited so you don't want to be the odd one.... don't you?'' Said in a slightly sarcastic voice.

[Xarthat]

"With all due respect to you, Grand Vizier... shut up! Let me speak for myself.

So, sir... Cyrus, right? I want to hear your response to the accusations that your people are kidnapping our children and forcefully converting them and raising them as Lightists. Worshippers of Mnesthes fear that you might persecute us if we allow you to freely worship your philosophy.

I might be eager to listen to your plea... but under some conditions. If a single incident of tension between our faiths happens, this is closed. And you will have to pay monthly offerings to the priestdom of Mnesthes and acknowledge our divine father's godhood. If you fail to follow any of those conditions, you'll be outcasted. Is that clear?"

[xie323]

OOC: I'm ready to RP now

Meanwhile at the palace of Alterac lord Xie(OOC: Lorewise I heard that the highest position in Alterac is a "lord" instead correct me if Im Wrong) makes an announcement to the other nations......

The holy light & The pagan cults are a plague upon the land and if not stopped will force the advancement world into halt! If we keep to the confines of religion and false beliefs we will be enslaved! Enslaved by the forces that control us, the forces that will cause the realm to fall into ruin!

So now I will send this message every nation in the land: Dismantle your religions and excute those who oppose my order--or else SUFFER MY WRATH!

[Xarthat]

OOC: Looks like we're back in the same shoes as in Ludditia. I mean, complete obliteration of Xie's forces. Timolas, once his "messenger" arrives to Kul Tiras, you may roast him over a campfire, cut to little pieces, flavor it and then send back to Alterac.

[xie323]

[OOC] Xie323:Xarthat this time I'm not godmodding ok please don't be too harsh.

But yeah if they side with me nothing will happen!

[Drz]

[OOC] He wasn't saying god modding, but you basicly just prolly made all nations pissed off and most will prolly just go to your country and kill you and your soldiers, but then the armies are at the same spot which might cause a larger war alltogether.

[Timolas]

OOC: Well, it is Xie's choice if he wants to be an atheist lord I guess. But of course, there are logical ramifications to that. Alterac is a small nation; be careful Xie. If you make an enemy out of both Lightists and pagans, then you might stand alone and be destroyed. It is probably a better idea to choose a side for now, even if Lord Xie is atheist. But it remains entirely your choice. I'll update the events soon enough; once a few more people respond with their decisions.

[xie323]

Meanwhile.....

Xie: There are two factions lightist and cultist I hate them both but the people are all wanting to be lightist as most of them cannot stand the constant persecution and harrasement. But they hate the pagan cults more. Hmm..

(a while later)

I call for an order to resend the messenger back to Alterac. Let's side with the "lightists" for the upcoming "holy war"...

But only for military purposes....Don't expect us to be lightist.

[Drz]

OOC: You have to remember your now basicly resending a messenger, you can't wipe out the moments such as Xarthat's nation receiving the messenger and deciding to butcher him. Remember that you have to face the consquences of your decisions, theres no "restart from checkpoint" like in video games. ;[

[Xarthat]

OOC: No, no, in the game I don't even know yet about this messenger going. That was out-of-character statement. As he cancelled them, Thaumas never knew about them.

[Kerrah]

Javali is not allowed any rest. Franek soon returns with the mage.
"He was not lying, Archmage Javali." Franek announces somberly, before taking his leave. The newcomer is wearing a simple brown cloak, and is middle-aged. He has a firm build and the manner of a noble, but he is no doubt a mage as well.
"My name is Ulyssan." he announces proudly. "I've ridden for several days, harried by Lightslayers from the Church. I come to you because the Kirin Mora has gone down a road I do not approve of."

The man seems intent on saying his part.
"The three remnants of the Council of Six have lost their dignity. They turn to revenge against you. In their clamour they incite the rabble and advocate the slaughter in the countryside. They have become puppets for the Archbishop in exchange for a chance to reclaim Dalaran. Ambermill feigns allegiance to you, Javali, but in truth it harbours Grigori Dosantos of the Kirin Mora. I come here to pledge myself to you. Perhaps your vision was, after all, a lot clearer than theirs."

Javali is left facing a man that was formerly his enemy, one of the magi who chose exile from Dalaran instead of allegiance to the new dictatorial rule. Uncertain times lie ahead. A meeting has been called for with the localities, but are they all firm of mind?

Either way it would be best to decide what next to do with this man, and to see what to do about the trouble with the witch hunts. If they are not stopped, people will die. If they are stopped, the Archbishop may excommunicate Dalaran.

I have Ulyssan fall to his knees and swear (with a wizard's oath active, nonetheless) his utter and complete loyalty to the New Dalaran. If he does so, I immediately position him in a high rank in the military hierarchy and have him share any and all troop positions and possible incoming attacks with my generals.

After he leaves, I have someone keep an eye on him, just in case.

Then I call the Archhareveim of Zinine to a personal meeting. I want to come to an agreement on the terms of my coexistence with her.

---

[OOC: Here are some names for my side-characters so you don't have to come up with them all.

Mayor Remus
General Marius
General Leo
Archmage Augusta
Archmage Franek (included for listing's sake)
Archhareveim Zinizar]

[Drz]

OOC: No, no, in the game I don't even know yet about this messenger going. That was out-of-character statement. As he cancelled them, Thaumas never knew about them.

OOC: Sorry then. ^^

[Vicious]

OOC: So i heard that Timolas said "fuck it" and began a fanfiction writing contest instead?

So why was Silvermoon barred? At least give me a reason why i have to play with GALNEAS.

[xie323]

[OOC:] Can I name my generals after the judgemasters from ff12?

[Zula]

[OOC: Lest use the Azeroth risk theard for OOC: discussion]

[Wulfang]

Lordaeron



The King's will had to be done. He had spoken. Alford Menethil was not a paltry, lesser man. His will was law. That is why Archbishop and Marshal left with a heartfelt bow. They obeyed.

By the following morning, ever efficient Sherman walks up to the king and makes a report in the throne room. Birds whistle outside, and light trickles in through stained glass windows, illuminating them all as if the palace itself were a church of the Holy Light.
Sherman bows deeply, unwilling to anger his liege.
"Sir, some of your magi are insisting on your presence in the royal gardens."
Curious, Alford complies, though he walks at his own pace.

The royal garden is packed with high ranking officials, many of them from the magical quarter of the city. Court Wizard Thomassy, young for his position but nonetheless talented, presents himself to the king.
"We have made quite a discovery, my lord." he says with pride. "We detected magical residue in the gardens, as well as patterns we had never before felt. Something has set these things in motion; we are not sure what. The superstitious folk say that it is the work of the Four Gods. That something is sleeping beneath the earth. What we want is your permission to dig, liege. It may upset many of your people and destroy an object of beauty in the city, but believe me; we may be stumbling across something big. Some kind of ancient machinery of magic may be beneath our city! Let us claim it!"

Before Alford can speak, a messenger interrupts them. He seems to have been running for quite a bit to reach his king.
"Liege, I come bringing you two letters. One is from the Archbishop, the other, from an informant in Andorhal."

The Letter from the Archbishop reads
"Good king, I apologize for upsetting you the previous day. In accordance with your wishes for an efficient Inquisition, I have made several inquiries and have unearthed some records in my Church of the Holy Light. I believe that if we form this Inquisition, we will need strong men and women, free of sin, to lead it. I theorize that if we use the old rituals of binding, we can infuse select warriors with the Holy Light, turning them into its avatars. It may have been used in the past by pagans to create champions of heathen gods, but in the hands of the Holy Light, it could be a miracle.
I also took initiative on suggesting several candidates to lead this new order. One is a priest under my wing, Cerzimon, who will succeed me when I die. The other is your captain of the guard, Friedrik de Mon, a man of virtue. These are just suggestions, liege."

The other letter is from the informant in Andorhal.
"I pray that this letter reaches the royal court as soon as is humanly possible. Maximus Krowl has captured me. That is all I can reveal about my own situation. He allowed me to send this letter, however, containing his offer. He will refrain from attacking Andorhal under the condition that the king meets with him in his own territory of Hearthglen. He promises unconditional protection to his king, whom he says that he loves and respects. Krowl says that it is not the king whom he fights, and that he only wishes to speak with him. He says that if his message is ignored, he will strike at Andorhal immediately."

Alford's expression becomes more severe as his reading progresses through the informant's letter. The small glint of hope the Archbishop's letter had brought to the dismal situation was quickly erased by the dire spot Krowl had forced him into. He needed to take action quickly, or those brutes could destroy the kigdom's breadbasket and leave his people to starve. There was no other way: Krowl wanted him, and Alford would give him more than he could ver chew.

Still, there were also other decisions that needed to be made before he departed for Andorhal.

Menethil: Thomassy, are you and your wizards adept in the casting of illusions?

Thomassy: *confused* Uh... yes milord. Why do you ask?

Menethil: You may start with your digging in the gardens, but set an illusion so that only people privvy to this information see the operation. They should still appear as gardens to the populace. You might even spread a warning that the gardens are closed for rennovation.

Thomassy: *overjoying* My greatest thanks, your honor! I'm sure whatever we find will be tremendously fun! *suddenly remembering he's talking to the king* Oh! ... and it'll certainly further our knowledge of the arcane arts so we can better serve you!

Menethil: *dismissively* Yes, yes... Start with this digging of yours soon and finish it as fast as possible. I'm now retiring to my quarters, I have ore pressing issues to attend to. Marshall Sherman, come with me.

As the wizards hastily bow so they can begin their digging, Alford and Sherman return the the royal quarters. With Sherman patiently standing by the door in his ever so vigilant stance, the king grabs two scrolls and a magnificent white quill (fashioned from a gryphon feather and a gift from Highthane Anvilmar in a meeting a few years before) and begins writing two letters.

---

Archbishop, you have my royal permission to proceed with these rituals as long as they don't endanger my subjects. You may approach Captain de Mon with you proposal and recruit the necessary warriors.

I also want you to send some of your priests and a unit of your witch hunters to The Bulwark. Maximus Krowl has requested a meeting with me in person and I fear it may not end well and blood may need to be shed.

Remember, you're on a tight leash.

---

Maximus Krowl. I, Alford Menethil, Sovereign and rightful King of the Lordaeron, accept your request for a parley. If you truly are a patriot as you say, perhaps we can reach an agreement.

Be warned: should you or your men break the promises of non-violence you made, my soldiers will overrun Andorhal and I will personally ensure that your head is separated from your body.

I will leave for Andorhal at once. Await me there.

---

Menethil: Marshall, send messengers to deliver these two letters, as fast as possible. Afterwards, leave instructions for Captain Friedriek de Mon and gather a small unit of knights to escort us. We're leaving at once and as covertly as possible.

[Timolas]

Meanwhile.....

Xie: There are two factions lightist and cultist I hate them both but the people are all wanting to be lightist as most of them cannot stand the constant persecution and harrasement. But they hate the pagan cults more. Hmm..

(a while later)

I call for an order to resend the messenger back to Alterac. Let's side with the "lightists" for the upcoming "holy war"...

But only for military purposes....Don't expect us to be lightist.

The nobles of Alterac who had announced their petition fall into a shocked silence. Lord Xie has made his choice. They have come to complain of Lightist fanatics, and yet the lord would ally with the Church. It was not an unwise move; they know this much. Perhaps as allies of the Church, they will be spared the coming crusades. Or so they hope.

Soon the feast is over, and silence reigns over Alterac. The nobles return to their estates to prepare. Messengers are sent to Lordaeron to intercept the king and present him with Alterac's offer of an alliance.

Lord Xie is now in the midst of political upheaval.

The following day, within the palace of Alterac, he is approached by General Drace. Drace is smiling visibly, his helmet under his arm.
"My lord." Drace speaks, still grinning. "I bring you good news. Your declaration has pleased the Lightist populace of the city. The people are taking up arms. They want to attack Tarren Mill, my lord. Tarren Mill's governor was murdered by cultists, and now the cult rules the town. We can move and take it within days if you but command it."

Xie is now in a difficult position. If he attacks Tarren Mill with the excuse of liberating it, he might anger nearby Dalaran. However, if he does not, the Lightist fanatics within his city might turn on a new target in their frenzy.

That same day, General Drace returns to him with a proposition.
"My lord, I have spoken with the Court Wizard Caxagord. The Court Wizard and I have come to an agreement, and we need your permission to carry through a grand operation. We wish to train our best magi and soldiers into a new organization; an organization of Assassin-Magi. It will be heavy on the people because of the taxes, but it may be worth it."

---

Amani

The morning mist was always refreshing for Jin'thek, indeed few people knew his favorite time of day was actually Dawn. He was indeed in a dire situation he knew he Overlord Nuvazgal despised him but he knew him well he could see that his hate was in fact jealousy, jealousy of his heritage, of his condition of his intelligence.

He wanted to kick the hell out of this so called 'Overlord' ass but he wouldn't start a fight, not now, not when the moment he hoped all his life was upon the horizon.

''Heh, I don't need you hospitality my good foe. I just came to bring you some ill news, someone killed the trappers you sent into my territory and before you jump it wasn't me.. they were shot down by arrows.'' Said in a modest and tone

''My trackers are looking right now for the ones responsible I suspect the elves, or I just I want to believe they are the ones responsible and not another tribe''

''Don't worry I saved yo the work of bring the bodies, I thought you would want to bury them in your lands before the wild animals hate them.
Also just in case you killed my messenger or he hasn't arrived yet, you are invited to the Summertide festival in the Shrine of Ula'tek, every chieftan its invited so you don't want to be the odd one.... don't you?'' Said in a slightly sarcastic voice.

Overlord Nuvazgal nods at Jin'thek, his powerful brow furrowed. He makes as if to say something, but hesitates. Clearly, he expected Jin'thek to take up his challenge, but he dares not press the matter. Nuvazgal is a deadly opponent and a feared lord in Zul'Aman, commanding the absolute respect of his Mosstusks, but he similarly knows that Jin'thek is no fool to be trifled with. The two warlords maintain eye contact, before exchanging a formal bow and praising the Loa.
"We will be there, mon. But you be sendin' your lieutenant there to avenge my people. Our trolls will hunt togetha' for these murderer long-ears. Now leave us, Jin'thek. We be seein' eachother real soon, mon. Ula-Tek guide you brotha'."

Lieutenant Ba'jal exchanges a glance with Jin'thek, eager to question his master as to whether he should indeed go out and hunt the elves.
"Later, Ba'jal. I must think." Jin'thek whispers, as the Amani leave to return home. They leave the bodies of the Mosstusk trappers behind for their brothers and sisters to bury them, and return to the Shrine of Ula-Tek.
Jin'thek still has much to decide. Time is of the essence.

Back at Ula-Tek his orders are being carried out. Preparations and defenses are being put in place to ensure that the coming festival goes well.
Witch Doctor Gruc'jen has returned, and rushes to meet Jin'thek as he dismounts from his hawkbeast.
"Jin'thek, I return from the southern tribes. Them Witherbark been told 'bout tha' Summertide. They promised to tell the lesser tribes they protect to come as well. Mossflayers from Zul'Mashar. Firetree and Smolderthorn from the east. Revantusk from the Hinterlands, Shadowpine from the west. I will now go to the Mosstusk my lord."
"No need, mon. I told them myself." Jin'thek explains.
"Jin'thek." Gruc'jen pushes. "One tribe might be refusing your offer. It be them Vilebranch. They hole themselves up in their city of Jintha'Alor, self admitted children of the Loa they call Elortha no Shadra. They be sayin' it be heresy to leave their city and consort with us in a festival dedicated to the other Loa. They will pay tribute to no other than Shadra."

---

Kul Tiras

"With all due respect to you, Grand Vizier... shut up! Let me speak for myself.

So, sir... Cyrus, right? I want to hear your response to the accusations that your people are kidnapping our children and forcefully converting them and raising them as Lightists. Worshippers of Mnesthes fear that you might persecute us if we allow you to freely worship your philosophy.

I might be eager to listen to your plea... but under some conditions. If a single incident of tension between our faiths happens, this is closed. And you will have to pay monthly offerings to the priestdom of Mnesthes and acknowledge our divine father's godhood. If you fail to follow any of those conditions, you'll be outcasted. Is that clear?"

Cyrus grins at his Admiral and passes a venomous look to the vizier.
"Of course liege. If you accomodate us, we will accomodate you. The Lightists of Boralus will remain loyal. I assure you. Appoint me as the lord of their community and I will handle the reins."

Soon, Thaumas is left in contemplation in his throne room alone. The weight of the nation bears down upon him. With his old, dear, dear friend, Janus, sailing to depose him but a day away, there is no limit to what he must worry about.
Suddenly, his musings are interrupted by a gentle hand on his shoulder. It is his father Phorcys, self-proclaimed messenger of Mnesthes.
"I have meditated as I promised, my son. I bring you a warning." Phorcys' face was graven and serious, his long, greying hair which falls around his face and shoulders does little to hide the worry on his face. "I sense that you are in terrible danger, as am I. We are being hunted, my lord. Mnesthes has granted me a vision. Two powerful magi accompany the false Admiral Janus. They bear the mark of an ancient order, and they come to end us and wrest this nation from us. We must waste no time. Come with me to Drisburg. Let us take all that we have at our disposal. If those ships land we may be doomed. Use your mind, dear Thaumas, else we shall fail."

---

Dalaran

I have Ulyssan fall to his knees and swear (with a wizard's oath active, nonetheless) his utter and complete loyalty to the New Dalaran. If he does so, I immediately position him in a high rank in the military hierarchy and have him share any and all troop positions and possible incoming attacks with my generals.

After he leaves, I have someone keep an eye on him, just in case.

Then I call the Archhareveim of Zinine to a personal meeting. I want to come to an agreement on the terms of my coexistence with her.

Ulyssan makes his pledge, though he does not make eye contact with Javali regardless. He quickly excuses himself after thanking Javali.
Archhareveim Zinizar answers the call to attendance immediately. She is a strong woman, the head of the worshippers of Zinine within Dalaran. Javali had sheltered her in the face of the Lightist fanatacism, and in exchange she had helped him take command of the city. She surveys him with keen, calculating and cold eyes. Wisdom is the mark and boon of Zinine, but Javali cannot help but wonder if in the case of Zinizar, wisdom is replaced with cunning.
They meet on the grand balcony of the Violet Citadel, Javali's usual and favoured place for such meetings.

"I know why you have called me, Javali. We have put off this meeting for long enough. Yet before you even think about beginning our negotiation, I have one single demand to make. This is outside of any former agreements. It is a formal request. My Hareveim have come into conflict with the Archivists."

Javali knew the Archivists well. They were an ancient, monastic order within Dalaran, maintaining the libraries of the city. Within their own lair beneath the city, it is said that they write prophecy. It is said that they can trace the pattern of future events in the wind and in the air, and they scribble their ravings on parchment day and night, forever gnashing their teeth over the sad fate of the world that they are cursed to perceive.

Zinizar continues.
"I want you to solve this problem, whatever the solution may be. The Archivists carry information crucial to the network of cults within the kingdom, but they allow no one within their hallowed halls. The gods whisper of the necessity of the acquisition of their scrolls."

---


Menethil: Marshall, send messengers to deliver these two letters, as fast as possible. Afterwards, leave instructions for Captain Friedriek de Mon and gather a small unit of knights to escort us. We're leaving at once and as covertly as possible.

Sherman closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. He is clearly hesitant to carry out these orders.
"But my king; to deliver ourselves into the hands of Krowl? Are you sure this is wise?"
For Sherman to question Alford he must truly be shaken. Due to the magnitude of Sherman's loyalty and the rarity at which he would ever dare to even think twice about asking such a question, Alford decided to let the issue pass.
"It is necessary, Marshal. I will not risk Andorhal and leave my people starving."
"Aye, my king." Sherman affirms.

Alford Menethil's letters and instructions are provided, and a personal retinue is assembled to accompany him to Andorhal. As the company rides for the gates disguised, they are intercepted by Court Wizard Thomassy and another wizard at his side, who is wearing orange.
"My king, before you leave; this here is Court Wizard Caxagord from Alterac. He just teleported in with a message from Lord Xie. Xie wishes to propose an alliance between our nations in the face of the heretical discord going on in the continent."

[xie323]

[RP]: General Drace and Court Wizard Caxagord I agree it would be worth it despite the costs. To please our "allies" we need to build an army first and then do as they say!

I now comission the new regiment-Assassin-Magi!!

[OOC]: Whoo so far good story btw how much money do we have? And when do we start Azeroth Risk?

[Timolas]

[RP]: General Drace and Court Wizard Caxagord I agree it would be worth it despite the costs. To please our "allies" we need to build an army first and then do as they say!

I now comission the new regiment-Assassin-Magi!!

[OOC]: Whoo so far good story btw how much money do we have? And when do we start Azeroth Risk?

OOC: Azeroth Risk, well, uh, this is the replacement I guess. If I had the talent to make and update photoshop maps I'd have stuck with Risk. But let's just have fun with this for now. Moneywise, don't worry about numbers for now, but the more you spend, the greater the consequences. Spending means taxes, taxes mean upset people, upset people mean revolution, betrayal, murder. If you all like I can induce a gold system.

[xie323]

[ooc:]

Ok add it.:)

[Kerrah]

Ulyssan makes his pledge, though he does not make eye contact with Javali regardless. He quickly excuses himself after thanking Javali.
Archhareveim Zinizar answers the call to attendance immediately. She is a strong woman, the head of the worshippers of Zinine within Dalaran. Javali had sheltered her in the face of the Lightist fanatacism, and in exchange she had helped him take command of the city. She surveys him with keen, calculating and cold eyes. Wisdom is the mark and boon of Zinine, but Javali cannot help but wonder if in the case of Zinizar, wisdom is replaced with cunning.
They meet on the grand balcony of the Violet Citadel, Javali's usual and favoured place for such meetings.

"I know why you have called me, Javali. We have put off this meeting for long enough. Yet before you even think about beginning our negotiation, I have one single demand to make. This is outside of any former agreements. It is a formal request. My Hareveim have come into conflict with the Archivists."

Javali knew the Archivists well. They were an ancient, monastic order within Dalaran, maintaining the libraries of the city. Within their own lair beneath the city, it is said that they write prophecy. It is said that they can trace the pattern of future events in the wind and in the air, and they scribble their ravings on parchment day and night, forever gnashing their teeth over the sad fate of the world that they are cursed to perceive.

Zinizar continues.
"I want you to solve this problem, whatever the solution may be. The Archivists carry information crucial to the network of cults within the kingdom, but they allow no one within their hallowed halls. The gods whisper of the necessity of the acquisition of their scrolls."

"I shall help you." I inform her calmly. "But there will be a price for my services. [Elven phrase for "quid pro quo" goes here], if you will.

The Archivists are under the protection of the Archbishop. Attacking them will surely make any Lightist nation on the continent make war on me. However, there is a thing you can have your followers do for me before I put them out of business and and give you your information."

I spread out my hand to show the entirety of the land surrounding my beloved city. "The lands of Hesperia are full of cities like this one, each with their own leaders, each with their own customs, each with their own cultures. To fulfill the greatness I envision, there must be unity, but there must also be... fear.

Hareveim are allowed anywhere due to the major Zininean traditions of this land, and what's more, they aren't linked to me yet, as our alliance isn't common knowledge. Send them into the cities, have them blend in, have them lay low..."

I pause for emphasis. "You can not believe how powerful a coordinated war of terror can be in the right hands. With hundreds of talented and deadly wizards right there, where they're needed, things can be made much less difficult. When the conference day comes, and I am in the same table with the ambassadors of the city-states, any who does not leave that room allied to me will feel our wrath.

Do this, Zinizar, and the very same day will be the last moment of the Archivists."

[Wabbajack]

"My dear friends, first and foremost you must know that I don't do this because of heroism, honor or patriotism. I do it to save myself and more important to prevent a civil war. If the Highthane should die because of poisoning the main subject would be me. I have many followers, but so have other. Dwarves would fight with one another and blood would flow in torrents.
We can't afford that the dwarven unity is fractured. Not now, not with the dire news my spies reported to me. Trouble and discord is brewing in the mightiest human nations and soon there will be war.
The war between the pagans and the followers of the light is only the beginning and I fear that soon brother will fight against brother.
And now to answer your question: Why the Amani?
My spies range from the mighty empire of Zul'gurub to the elven lands of Quel'Thalas and it has come to my attention that the forest trolls are splintered. There are many warlords that would like to unite them, and with our help one of them could do it. After that it would be easy to make an agreement: They give us something we wan't and they will gain something they will want.
We gain witchdoctors which help our alchemists and try to heal our king. Even if they can purge the poison from him: He is old and weak. He won't make decisions until he dies, but at least we will stay united.
And they will gain something their arch nemesis, the elves used against them: Mithril. We have more than enough of it to equip our soldiers several times.
But most important: We will stand united in war between fanatics. The trolls don't care who their allies worship and I won't allow that one half of our race gets doomed should we choose a site in the conflict."

[EDIT: Added "the elves" after "arch nemesis,"]
[How good/bad was that? I never wrote that much in english, only school stuff and forum posts and I would like to know if I made any critical errors^^]

[Timolas]

[COLOR="DarkRed"]

[How good/bad was that? I never wrote that much in english, only school stuff and forum posts and I would like to know if made any critical errors^^]

OOC: A job well done Wabba! I'm glad you're still around. I'll make my next big post and have your message delivered to Dalaran soon, and you will arrive as well. Nice companions you chose, they'll grow and develop with you.

Also, to everyone, I will use dice rolls for battles. In other words, no character shielding. If you get down and dirty you might die. If you do, you can play an alternate character; say, your general. Or anyone else. Of course chances are in theses rolls you won't die, that's a small chance with alternatives being injury, victory, etc etc. Just putting this out there.

[Xarthat]

Cyrus grins at his Admiral and passes a venomous look to the vizier.
"Of course liege. If you accomodate us, we will accomodate you. The Lightists of Boralus will remain loyal. I assure you. Appoint me as the lord of their community and I will handle the reins."

Soon, Thaumas is left in contemplation in his throne room alone. The weight of the nation bears down upon him. With his old, dear, dear friend, Janus, sailing to depose him but a day away, there is no limit to what he must worry about.
Suddenly, his musings are interrupted by a gentle hand on his shoulder. It is his father Phorcys, self-proclaimed messenger of Mnesthes.
"I have meditated as I promised, my son. I bring you a warning." Phorcys' face was graven and serious, his long, greying hair which falls around his face and shoulders does little to hide the worry on his face. "I sense that you are in terrible danger, as am I. We are being hunted, my lord. Mnesthes has granted me a vision. Two powerful magi accompany the false Admiral Janus. They bear the mark of an ancient order, and they come to end us and wrest this nation from us. We must waste no time. Come with me to Drisburg. Let us take all that we have at our disposal. If those ships land we may be doomed. Use your mind, dear Thaumas, else we shall fail."

"Oh well, he's now dealing with Mages? He's everchanging loyalties will finally bring death upon him. Once a worshipper of Zinine... then a devoted Lightist. Now he's dealing with Mages. Oh my, my... You have my word that once I get this snake in my hands, I shall bring to him an excruciating pain man never known before... For this is the price of betraying me."
"And Mnesthes, of course." added after a moment.
"I'm naturally coming with you. I shall pay my special attention to catching this snake alive. And before... making a little show of the demise of his armada."

[xie323]

[OOC] Can I pm Timolas for private orders?

[Timolas]

[OOC] Can I pm Timolas for private orders?

OOC: Sure thing. Although I discourage it generally. The update in response to that will still have to exist, technically. So I can only do so much to censor the secret orders. I'll just camouflage your true intention of course.
Also, I'll update tomorrow. There are awesome events and plans in the works, trust me. I've been planning with Wulf. You will all be together soon, in a cauldron of tension.

[Yuber8900]

OOC: Sure thing. Although I discourage it generally. The update in response to that will still have to exist, technically. So I can only do so much to censor the secret orders. I'll just camouflage your true intention of course.
Also, I'll update tomorrow. There are awesome events and plans in the works, trust me. I've been planning with Wulf. You will all be together soon, in a cauldron of tension.

Someone opened up a Dark Portal didn't they?

[Zula]

Someone opened up a Dark Portal didn't they?

OOC:Look who showed up

[Timolas]

Someone opened up a Dark Portal didn't they?

Foiled again!
And I'd have gotten away with it too if it wasn't for you pesky Thornbyans.

Nah not really though.

[Yuber8900]

OOC:Look who showed up

I've been moving in secret this whole time!

[Zula]

I've been moving in secret this whole time!

Don't give me illusions.

[Yuber8900]

Don't give me illusions.

Hallucinations then.

[Zula]

Overlord Nuvazgal nods at Jin'thek, his powerful brow furrowed. He makes as if to say something, but hesitates. Clearly, he expected Jin'thek to take up his challenge, but he dares not press the matter. Nuvazgal is a deadly opponent and a feared lord in Zul'Aman, commanding the absolute respect of his Mosstusks, but he similarly knows that Jin'thek is no fool to be trifled with. The two warlords maintain eye contact, before exchanging a formal bow and praising the Loa.
"We will be there, mon. But you be sendin' your lieutenant there to avenge my people. Our trolls will hunt togetha' for these murderer long-ears. Now leave us, Jin'thek. We be seein' eachother real soon, mon. Ula-Tek guide you brotha'."

Lieutenant Ba'jal exchanges a glance with Jin'thek, eager to question his master as to whether he should indeed go out and hunt the elves.
"Later, Ba'jal. I must think." Jin'thek whispers, as the Amani leave to return home. They leave the bodies of the Mosstusk trappers behind for their brothers and sisters to bury them, and return to the Shrine of Ula-Tek.
Jin'thek still has much to decide. Time is of the essence.

Back at Ula-Tek his orders are being carried out. Preparations and defenses are being put in place to ensure that the coming festival goes well.
Witch Doctor Gruc'jen has returned, and rushes to meet Jin'thek as he dismounts from his hawkbeast.
"Jin'thek, I return from the southern tribes. Them Witherbark been told 'bout tha' Summertide. They promised to tell the lesser tribes they protect to come as well. Mossflayers from Zul'Mashar. Firetree and Smolderthorn from the east. Revantusk from the Hinterlands, Shadowpine from the west. I will now go to the Mosstusk my lord."
"No need, mon. I told them myself." Jin'thek explains.
"Jin'thek." Gruc'jen pushes. "One tribe might be refusing your offer. It be them Vilebranch. They hole themselves up in their city of Jintha'Alor, self admitted children of the Loa they call Elortha no Shadra. They be sayin' it be heresy to leave their city and consort with us in a festival dedicated to the other Loa. They will pay tribute to no other than Shadra."

''Arghh'' Jinthek grubmled ''Those damm Vilebranch and their obsession with spiders''

''What are we going to do my Warlord they are quite stubborn''

''Well my friend we are gonna tell them the thruth, Send them this message

Mighty Hexx priest of the Vilebranch, Its a petty you refuse to come to a festival that is dedicated to all Loa shadra included of course. But however I understand yor choice. The invitation will still stand and I and the other Chieftants will be pleased that if atleast you sent a representative to the festival.
Also after the festival we will send you the same offerings the attending Chieftants will get.

''Of course mon, I will do it right away''

Jin'thek looked around until he found Ba'jal.


''Ba'jal!!' Jin'thek shouted.

''Yes my Warlord what do you need'' Ba'jal shiftly replied.

''If you get any news on the ones that killed those Mosstusks you better tell me, cause we are going to hunt those bastards with the Help of my dear friend Nuvzalg''

[xie323]

A new decree shall be passed from the king of Alterac:

-Spend money on fortifing the city and to build some towers to defend our kingdom!

[Zula]

A new decree shall be passed from the king of Alterac:

-Spend money on fortifing the city and to build some towers to defend our kingdom!

Where is the roleplay in there? :(:glare:

[xie323]

Zula that was an order.

[Zula]

Zula that was an order.

Yeah but now we are supposed to give them with some roleplay. I am just saying don't get angry with me:(

[Wulfang]

Sherman closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. He is clearly hesitant to carry out these orders.
"But my king; to deliver ourselves into the hands of Krowl? Are you sure this is wise?"
For Sherman to question Alford he must truly be shaken. Due to the magnitude of Sherman's loyalty and the rarity at which he would ever dare to even think twice about asking such a question, Alford decided to let the issue pass.
"It is necessary, Marshal. I will not risk Andorhal and leave my people starving."
"Aye, my king." Sherman affirms.

Alford Menethil's letters and instructions are provided, and a personal retinue is assembled to accompany him to Andorhal. As the company rides for the gates disguised, they are intercepted by Court Wizard Thomassy and another wizard at his side, who is wearing orange.
"My king, before you leave; this here is Court Wizard Caxagord from Alterac. He just teleported in with a message from Lord Xie. Xie wishes to propose an alliance between our nations in the face of the heretical discord going on in the continent."

Alford ponders the situation for a moment. While at first sight an alliance would bring nothing but benefits, the current uncertainty about whose side each ruler is on requires the situation to be more clearly analyzed.

Suddenly, Alford remembers something which could prove to be the solution to this problem. A long forgotten protocol, not called upon since the time of his grandfather and which he had only heard about scarcely during his tutelage. Something each kingdom of man was forced to abide by.

Alford: Court Wizard Thomassy, I want you to send some of your mages to each of the other six kingdoms. Inform their kings or rulers that they are to be present at Fenris Keep seven days from now, and make sure the populace of every kingdom at large knows about it. Make both an announcement in the city square of every capital and a private one to the king.

Sherman: Milord, may I ask what you intend to do? Some of those people probably won't even show up! And why Fenris Keep?

Alford: They have to show up, they are honor bound. When the seven kingdoms were founded and their borders were yet to stabilize, the founding kings realized they needed a place free of violence, where they could gather and make the decisions that would shape the nations as we know them today. To that end, Fenris Keep was built in the middle of Lordamere Lake, bordering Alterac and Lordaeron and close enough to Dalaran and Kul Tiras that the seven kings could consider it neutral territory.

They swore that they and anyone sharing their bloodline would be bound to gather at the Keep should such a meeting be called, and the laws of every kingdom state that if the current ruler does not abide by this rule then he will lose his right to the throne. The Dalarani Council of Six was, likewise, bound to send one of their members to attend the meeting. Which is why I'm sure that the man who recently usurped the Council - Javali, I think he is named - will have to show himself or face revolt among his people.

Thomassy, make your wizards spread the word. The Court of the Seven is going to be held once more.

[Timolas]

ALTERACCCC!
[RP]: General Drace and Court Wizard Caxagord I agree it would be worth it despite the costs. To please our "allies" we need to build an army first and then do as they say!

I now comission the new regiment-Assassin-Magi!!


"As you command, lord Xie." General Drace says. Work on the city is quickly begun, and the people are called out to work on the fortifications day and night. It is clear that lord Xie is preparing for something.

The arrival of the evening heralds the return of Court Wizard Caxagord from Lordaeron, with the answer from its king.
"Lord Xie, King Alford Menethil did not yet accept an alliance, but instead has decreed that you meet with him at Fenris Isle, to the west in Lordamere Lake."

Meanwhile, Drace trains the first Assassin-Magi beneath the city.

---

Dalaran


I pause for emphasis. "You can not believe how powerful a coordinated war of terror can be in the right hands. With hundreds of talented and deadly wizards right there, where they're needed, things can be made much less difficult. When the conference day comes, and I am in the same table with the ambassadors of the city-states, any who does not leave that room allied to me will feel our wrath.

Do this, Zinizar, and the very same day will be the last moment of the Archivists."

Zinizar seems to contemplate Javali's offer for a moment, but it does not take long for her to accept. Whatever the Archivists mean to her, it is clear enough that she is willing to use her Hareveim to achieve the common goal.
"So be it. If you disband the Archivists, then I will bestow upon you a gift, Javali. We know the secrets of Zinine, and though Hareveim are strictly women, we can found you a new order of male warriors, loyal to you and the Azure Goddess. Zaramim. Battle-magi." Zinizar explains eagerly. "Choose one of your Generals, either Leo or Marius, and I will annoint him as the first Zaramim when the time comes."

Archmage Franek stands at attention, catching both Javali and Zinizar off guard.
"A messenger to see you, lord. It is a dwarf of all things. He says he is from distant Ironforge. And a letter from Lordaeron, bearing the seal of King Alford Menethil."
Curiously, Javali breaks the wax seal and reads the letter.

In accordance with the ancient oaths and honourable traditions of our ancestors, you are called to Fenris Isle on the first day of the Summertide to discuss matters of state with your neighbouring kingdoms.
-Signed, King Alford Menethil of Lordaeron

Zinizar takes her leave. The dwarf messenger steps forward, a short and stocky figure with a greying beard and a beer gut outlined by his leather armour. He is worn and tired from his journey, but is happy to see Javali.
"I been told you are the man in charge in Dalaran, aye? I bring greetings from Thane Skirvar Thaurissan, regent of Ironforge. I come all this way because he wishes to work with ye. We discovered a black powder which we wish to turn into a weapon, and your researchers may help us in the affair."

---

Skirvar


My spies range from the mighty empire of Zul'gurub to the elven lands of Quel'Thalas and it has come to my attention that the forest trolls are splintered. There are many warlords that would like to unite them, and with our help one of them could do it. After that it would be easy to make an agreement: They give us something we wan't and they will gain something they will want.
We gain witchdoctors which help our alchemists and try to heal our king. Even if they can purge the poison from him: He is old and weak. He won't make decisions until he dies, but at least we will stay united.
And they will gain something their arch nemesis, the elves used against them: Mithril. We have more than enough of it to equip our soldiers several times.
But most important: We will stand united in war between fanatics. The trolls don't care who their allies worship and I won't allow that one half of our race gets doomed should we choose a site in the conflict."

Skirvar's words seem to comfort both Urel and Jaril, who nod their heads and continue the ride contentedly. They pass by the Quel'Danil high elven hunting lodge but do not stop for rations. Elves are mysterious folk, and the dwarves have very little contact with them. Imposing the company on strange folk was unwise and would hinder their journey. The three dwarves head straight over the mountains and slowly descend into ever thicker forests. It is a miracle that the native Vilebranch or Witherbark trolls have not hindered their passage... yet.

Eventually they vanish under the true eaves of Zul'Aman and its ancient pines, the trees growily steadily larger the deeper they rode.
"I think we be lost, Skirvar. What do ye propose?" Jaril mumbled.
"You forget I'm a good tracker, Jaril! Don't be so insultin', lad." Urel chimed in heartily. "I just hope these damn trolls don't kill us on sight."

The dwarves rest by a river for the night. They are unable to shake off the feeling that they are being watched. With morning light they ride further north, but eventually even Urel has to admit that he has no idea where they are.

It is fortunate that they took precautions and supplied themselves well. Suddenly, however, a spear thuds into the cold earth next to Jaril, sending his ram into a panicked frenzy. As a result, both Skirvar and Urel's mounts rear and buck, but both dwarves manage to keep control of them. Jaril does not manage to take control, and his ram gallops off into the hills with him on its back, leaving Urel and Skirvar behind him. Fear is clear on Urel's face as he looks to Skirvar for instruction.

Feet thud to the ground, and both dwarves look to see a company of trolls approaching them. The forest trolls surround them and hold spears at the ready. Two of them are bulkier and stronger than their brethren, and appear to be the leaders. They face eachother and grumble and growl to one another in their native language, probably to decide on the fate of the dwarves. Finally, one of them walks up to Skirvar and speaks in broken Common. Skirvar only barely manages to understand him.
"I be being Ba'jal, mon, second chief of the Amani tribe." he says through narrowed eyes, impressive tusks raised in defiance. "This be troll land. Our land. What you be doin' here? Do you be wanting us to bury you here? No outsiders allowed, mon. You best explain yo'self, 'cause I got an angry Mosstusk overlord back there who thinks you might be to blame for the deaths of his men."

Skirvar swallows, his mouth dry.

---

Kul Tiras

"Oh well, he's now dealing with Mages? He's everchanging loyalties will finally bring death upon him. Once a worshipper of Zinine... then a devoted Lightist. Now he's dealing with Mages. Oh my, my... You have my word that once I get this snake in my hands, I shall bring to him an excruciating pain man never known before... For this is the price of betraying me."
"And Mnesthes, of course." added after a moment.
"I'm naturally coming with you. I shall pay my special attention to catching this snake alive. And before... making a little show of the demise of his armada."

Phorcys nods at his son with a grim smile on his gnarled face.
"Prepare yourself, young man. Teleporation makes one prone to feel ill if you're not used to it."
Thaumas is suddenly blinded by green light. A wrenching feeling knocks him over, giving him the sensation he had been punched in the gut. His head clears, and he has to blink twice before his eyes adjust at his new surroundings. He is standing on a hill overlooking the village of Drisburg. It is one of the chief trading ports of Kul Tiras, hosting foreign residents, some of which were even dwarves or elves. Tiled rooves stuck out above a network of streets, all opening up to the shipyards and the actual docks. Thaumas could not help but see that the battle had already begun. People were screaming, women crying. He saw captain Reginald Redpath, the man who had saved his life, leading his soldiers in the streets. They are facing men wearing green, like them, but the anchor crest on their tabards is a silver white rather than gold. Janus' separatists had arrived.

The separatist fleet had already dropped anchor, and soldiers were rowing into the port by the minute.
Phorcys raised his staff and began walking down towards the struggle at a leisurely pace. Thaumas takes up arms and joins his men. He is no coward.

He quickly notices two figures in robes watching from the rebel flagship. Perhaps it is the magi that Phorcys sensed. However, the magi are not making any moves to attack his soldiers, or even help the rebels at all. They are just watching.

Meanwhile, Phorcys is not yet casting any magic. He is simply fighting hand to hand, gliding through flesh with his sword as if he were still just as young as Thaumas.
The batte is not going well. Captain Reginald Redpath rushes up to Thaumas at the side of the docks. His vest is covered in blood.
"My lord, get to safety! We can't hold them for much longer! What would you have us do?"

Thaumas recognizes that he has several options. He understands why Phorcys has not used his magic. It might provoke the magi to join in on the fight. However, there are not many options. A full scale retreat might offer them a chance to regroup and bring in the main army from Boralus, or Phorcys could use his magic.

He pauses for a second. Thaumas remembers his prayer to Mnesthes. Perhaps he could bring in the couatl... but that would pose a terrible risk. If the couatl are wild, they might turn on his own men. His mind races.

---

Amani


''Ba'jal!!' Jin'thek shouted.

''Yes my Warlord what do you need'' Ba'jal shiftly replied.

''If you get any news on the ones that killed those Mosstusks you better tell me, cause we are going to hunt those bastards with the Help of my dear friend Nuvzalg''

Ba'jal immediately left to carry out his orders. Messengers were sent to deliver Jin'thek's reply to Jintha'alor.
There was not much left to be done. The Summertide was only days away now. The next afternoon, however, a scout runs into the village.
"Jin'thek! Ba'jal has captured two dwarves not far from here! You must come immediately!"

---

Lordaeron


They swore that they and anyone sharing their bloodline would be bound to gather at the Keep should such a meeting be called, and the laws of every kingdom state that if the current ruler does not abide by this rule then he will lose his right to the throne. The Dalarani Council of Six was, likewise, bound to send one of their members to attend the meeting. Which is why I'm sure that the man who recently usurped the Council - Javali, I think he is named - will have to show himself or face revolt among his people.

Thomassy, make your wizards spread the word. The Court of the Seven is going to be held once more.

Thomassy complied with his king's wishes immediately. Court Wizard Caxagord was sent back to his lord Xie with the message that had been given. In turn, Thomassy set off to inform the other nations and send letters to the respective rulers to inform them of the meeting at Fenris Isle.

In all haste, King Alford Menethil, Sherman and their guards make for Hearthglen. It took them a day of hard riding, but they do not stop anywhere because they are, after all, disguised. They cannot let anyone know that they are meeting with the rebels.

Eventually, Alford stops before the closed gates of Hearthglen. The proud, white walls of the city rise up before the party. Alford remembers Hearthglen from his childhood, as he had spent a lot of time there when growing up. His earliest, secret romances, the few rules he broke; all were a part of his childhood in Hearthlgen. He had been a fool. His father had shown him the path, had forged his manhood, turning him from a child into the next king. Those memories were unworthy of him.

None opposed their entrance to Hearthglen. Alford had been expected. Sherman remained uneasy, his hand at his sword as they trotted through the town. They halted in the courtyard of the central keep. A heavily armoured young man awaited them, his brown hair tied back to show fine cheekbones and an arrogant expression. It was Maximus Krowl, certainly a lot younger than Alford had expected him to be.
"Come inside, good king. You may remain armed; I understand. I expect no less. Captain, take my sword." Krowl beckoned to one of his men, unstrapping his blade and handing it over.
It certainly helped Alford feel more confident of the situation. At least Krowl was showing good will... so far.

Sherman remained awkward, his eyes shifty.
"Keep on your guard, my king." he mumbles as they are led inside.
Soon they are all seated before a blazing fire which a servant feeds with fresh wood. Krowl calls for drinks to be served, and takes the first gulp to show that it is safe.

"Tell me what this is about, Krowl." Alford demands.
"Of course, dear king." Krowl responds. He clears his throat, beckons for silence around him, and he begins. It is clear, however, that no love is lost between him and Sherman.

"A couple of years ago, I served under Sherman in the provincial guard, rising through the ranks. It was what my father had wanted me to do, as he had done in his younger days, as his own father had done before him. Service to the crown. No better way to serve Lordaeron." Krowl spoke steadily, lingering on certain parts as he thought back. "I hope you can respect me for my weakness of heart, good king, but I was struck down by the most idle of trivialities. It was a mix of jealousy and love for a noble's daughter. However, being nothing more than a lowly captain, I was not eligible to ask for her hand in marriage. It made me bitter. I served on nonetheless, but that set in motion my loss of faith in the system."

Sherman ground his teeth.
"How can you possibly speak so freely of my cousin, as if she were some trophy?"

The complicated nature of the situation set in. Sherman was related to Krowl's love interest. Still, Alford could not understand why a man would betray his country over something so small.
"You still do not explain what you want. Did you call me here to Hearthglen so that I might give you therapy? Is that it? Speak, Krowl!"

Maximus Krowl shook his head solemnly, regaining his composture. He rose, towering above them.
"No. What did displease me was Sherman kicking me out of the military as punishment for my feelings. I met her and she returned the sentiments, and Sherman took his revenge by disgracing my entire family and stripping me of my rank."

"Why do you blame me?" Sherman spat. "I spared you far worse under the eyes of the law by making you leave. I could have had you beaten, Krowl."
"My king, your laws are unjust, your system unfair. Cast out and disgraced, the first of generations to fail in his duty, I realised that it was not my own fault, but rather the fault of aristocracy. I joined the budding People's Front. The witch hunts only meant that pagans joined our ranks as well. And now you face our united front. You want a solution? Strip Sherman of his rank. Do what he did to me. Return the favour. Let me marry lady Thera and restore my honour. I will serve at your side in Sherman's place, and in exchange I will disband the entire People's Front."

Alford feels foolish for daring to hope that the situation could be resolved by a few friendly words after all. Sherman slams his fist down on the table, and draws his sword.
"How dare you, Krowl!"

[xie323]

Lord Xie: I will meet him at Fernis isle but I also got a nightmare yestday..it..was...terrible!

[Timolas]

Lord Xie: I will meet him at Fernis isle but I also got a nightmare yestday..it..was...terrible!

Alterac
General Drace frowns at his king.
"Are you alright my lord? A nightmare you say. Share it with me... tell me what you saw. I am forever your servant, lord Xie. I will serve you till death. What did you dream? Tell me so I can remove your fears."

[xie323]

Alterac
General Drace frowns at his king.
"Are you alright my lord? A nightmare you say. Share it with me... tell me what you saw. I am forever your servant, lord Xie. I will serve you till death. What did you dream? Tell me so I can remove your fears."

..but I will still go neverless its my political duty!

[Timolas]

..but I will still go neverless its my political duty!

Alterac
A moment of silence passes. Drace then looks up graciously, and takes off his helmet. Golden hair falls across his shoulders - no; her shoulders. Drace is a woman!
"It is true, Xie. I am Samhus Drace, daughter of Helenor of Amanazak. And long have I watched you. Take me, Xie! I know you dream of me as I dream of you; you haunt me Xie! Take me! Take me like an aminal Xie!"

Just then Court Wizard Caxagord walks.
"Drace, you're a women? How could this be?"
"I'm sorry, Caxagord!"
"I know."
"It's okay."

Caxagord turns to Xie.
"It is indeed your duty to go to the meeting Xie. It will be on the Summertide." laughed the man.

[Wulfang]

Alterac
A moment of silence passes. Drace then looks up graciously, and takes off his helmet. Golden hair falls across his shoulders - no; her shoulders. Drace is a woman!
"It is true, Xie. I am Samhus Drace, daughter of Helenor of Amanazak. And long have I watched you. Take me, Xie! I know you dream of me as I dream of you; you haunt me Xie! Take me! Take me like an aminal Xie!"

Just then Court Wizard Caxagord walks.
"Drace, you're a women? How could this be?"
"I'm sorry, Caxagord!"
"I know."
"It's okay."

Caxagord turns to Xie.
"It is indeed your duty to go to the meeting Xie. It will be on the Summertide." laughed the man.

[All hail Timolas, the new demigod of SoL!]

[Kerrah]

Zinizar seems to contemplate Javali's offer for a moment, but it does not take long for her to accept. Whatever the Archivists mean to her, it is clear enough that she is willing to use her Hareveim to achieve the common goal.
"So be it. If you disband the Archivists, then I will bestow upon you a gift, Javali. We know the secrets of Zinine, and though Hareveim are strictly women, we can found you a new order of male warriors, loyal to you and the Azure Goddess. Zaramim. Battle-magi." Zinizar explains eagerly. "Choose one of your Generals, either Leo or Marius, and I will annoint him as the first Zaramim when the time comes."

I choose Marius silently in my mind as soon as the question is presented. Leo, like me, does not have a religious allegiance, while the other general is a devout Zininist.

In accordance with the ancient oaths and honourable traditions of our ancestors, you are called to Fenris Isle on the first day of the Summertide to discuss matters of state with your neighbouring kingdoms.
-Signed, King Alford Menethil of Lordaeron

I idly finger my beard and immediately wonder which magical precautions I can set up in case of any... mishap. Best put an archmage to study all possibilities.

[OOC: How long time is it until this?]

Zinizar takes her leave. The dwarf messenger steps forward, a short and stocky figure with a greying beard and a beer gut outlined by his leather armour. He is worn and tired from his journey, but is happy to see Javali.
"I been told you are the man in charge in Dalaran, aye? I bring greetings from Thane Skirvar Thaurissan, regent of Ironforge. I come all this way because he wishes to work with ye. We discovered a black powder which we wish to turn into a weapon, and your researchers may help us in the affair."

I ask him for details. What kind of weapon? What kind of help? How much resources would be needed for the research? Isn't the Thane named Anvilmar?

[xie323]

Alterac
A moment of silence passes. Drace then looks up graciously, and takes off his helmet. Golden hair falls across his shoulders - no; her shoulders. Drace is a woman!
"It is true, Xie. I am Samhus Drace, daughter of Helenor of Amanazak. And long have I watched you. Take me, Xie! I know you dream of me as I dream of you; you haunt me Xie! Take me! Take me like an aminal Xie!"

Just then Court Wizard Caxagord walks.
"Drace, you're a women? How could this be?"
"I'm sorry, Caxagord!"
"I know."
"It's okay."

Caxagord turns to Xie.
"It is indeed your duty to go to the meeting Xie. It will be on the Summertide." laughed the man.

[OOC]:sweatdrop

But funny!

[Zula]

[OOC]:sweatdrop

But funny!

Xie take your woman! XD

[xie323]

[RP]: Sorry Drace but I already have a wife!!!(Xie's REAL wife steps out of her room)

Xie's wife: What's wrong dear?

Xie: Oh just some lady who dosent know I'm married and tries to flirt with me.

Xie: We don't look too kindly on having multiple wives here! Drace!!

And oh my nightmare isn't bout you its about...me seeing me being killed by someone named "Perenolde"! His line will rule for eons. I see that a thousand years later this world lies in RUIN!!! And my kingdom dies long before it. I see a hood figure and it says.......death...........is........nigh....! At least that was just a nightmare!

I guess you just disguised yourself as a general just to get close to me! Well this is a serious offence and....

Since excecuting you will anger the nobility. I place you under house arrest for 10 years!!

You will now be replaced with another trused noble in my realm.....General Gabranth!!

[(Gabranth steps forward). he is male and dosent wear a helmet at the moment]

General Gabranth here are the plans for the Assassin-Magi train them in Drace's stead!

Gabranth: As you wish!

Now take Drace away!

Gabranth: As you wish milord!!

(two guards come to incarcenate Drace)

(Drace is taken away and she screams)

Caxagord you're coming with me to the meeting!

[OOC] P.S: Tim If you do this again im leaving the game!

[Wabbajack]

[Actually I had planed that Skirvar speaks Zandali, but with a jungle-troll accent. I think I will just write that he didn't understand them because of their forest accent and because they spoke too quiet^^]
[And that with Xie was just evil. But that was a good counter Xie, you only need to pratice english a bit more^^]
[I will write my text soon, I only need to go on a short walk with our dog^^]

[xie323]

[Actually I had planed that Skirvar speaks Zandali, but with a jungle-troll accent. I think I will just write that he didn't understand them because of their forest accent and because they spoke too quiet^^]
[And that with Xie was just evil. But that was a good counter Xie, you only need to pratice english a bit more^^]
[I will write my text soon, I only need to go on a short walk with our dog^^]

[OOC:]

1. I am intending to be evil. Later there will be an event which overthrows him.

2. Xie will have more nightmares that will become part of his backstory. And explains why he hates the light so much.

3. He is not a Perenholde. The Perenholde line will overthrow him near the end.

4. Some of Xie's nightmares will forshadow future lore events.

5. I will try to connect this with the lore.

[Xarthat]

(OOC: Can I summon the couatl there or I have to go back and forth to Boralus to get them?)

[Timolas]

OOC: You can summon them there but they'll probably introduce a whole new problem for you. I'll roll a dice to see if they go wild, kill your own men, etc.

GILNEAS :odd:

Omg!

---

Smoke rises from the forges of the capital of Gilneas, the city of Ginchar, and Jamal Hildebrand the Perspicacious ascends the highest tower in the city. He is awaited by his king, Viktor Greymane. Viktor is getting on in years, but his iron rule has kept the nation safe throughout hard times nonetheless. Now in the recent years of religious tension, his Light worshipping fancies are beginning to backfire. The people scream for change, and want to replace Viktor with a pagan queen.
"What have you to report, court wizard?" Viktor asks his regional governor.
Jamal Hildebrand the Perspicacious heaves a sigh.
"Our forces were decimated at Henlinn, liege. General Mordred had an inside man, Captain de Bracy himself. Both of them stand poised to march on Ginchar. General Mordred sent us but one message, my king."
"What message is that, Jamal?" Viktor asks.
"Make your time."

Timolas presents...

The Zinite Azure army of Mordred marches northwards towards Ginchar, streaming blue banners as they draw nearer to their goal.

An IPC Production...

Jamal Hildebrand and Viktor send the city guard to man their positions.

Produced by the Cult of Yubes

Viktor chooses a sword from a large rack in his personal armoury.
"I choose you, Painbrand."
Jamal laughs.
"You choose the sword, my king? No, dear master. Painbrand chooses you!"

*Camera pans in.*

Jamal and Viktor stand on the city walls of Ginchar as the Azure rebel army approaches. Ever helpful, Jamal turns to his king.
"What are your orders? We can attempt to hold them and break Mordred's strength against the city walls in a siege, but we lost most of our forces at Henlinn." Jamal explains, eager to be fill in his advisory role as always. "Or, my king, we could try other means. There are secret tunnels beneath the city. In ages past, they served as secret headquarters for cultists, but they have been deserted now. If you wish, we can use them to escape Ginchar. In seven days, King Alford Menethil of Lordaeron is hosting a meeting at Fenris Isle. We could plead for help there. Unless you have any better ideas, of course."

"Damnit, Jamal." Viktor grumbles. It would be a humiliation to lose Ginchar to Mordred, his former protege. Beneath them, the Azure army is setting up camp.
Suddenly, Viktor catches sight of a wing of cavalry riding down from the hills. It is the Leafhill Brigade!

A cry rises from the reinforcements.
"For Great Justice!"
And the Leafhill riders are charging through Azure lines like the wind, tearing and trampling.
Unfortunately, they did not account for the Hareveim of Zinine. The female spellcasters amidst the enemy ranks begin tearing the riders down with blasts of blue magic.

"Oh." Jamal grumbles.

[Xarthat]

OOC: So what other options do I really have? Call upon Mnesthes and smash a huuuge tsunami at the enemies? Get back to Boralus SOMEHOW and SOMEHOW get the couatl there, already ridden?

[Timolas]

OOC: So what other options do I really have? Call upon Mnesthes and smash a huuuge tsunami at the enemies? Get back to Boralus SOMEHOW and SOMEHOW get the couatl there, already ridden?

OOC: Well, calling forth a tsunami would be godmoding, and even if you did I'd roll the dice to see if it drowns you all. But don't hesitate about being creative with what you have at hand. You've got a demigod father, a retinue of loyal men, the town at your disposal, and other environmental situations to consider, including the ships themselves. Try to sink them, perhaps. Who knows! Not I! I cannot read minds!

And Gilneas is Vicious!

[Xarthat]

OOC: So give me time until tomorrow evening. Had a bad day today and I'm not very creative right now... and I might come up with something stupid.

[Timolas]

OOC: So give me time until tomorrow evening. Had a bad day today and I'm not very creative right now... and I might come up with something stupid.

No rush dear. No rush.

[Wabbajack]

Skirvar

Skirvar's words seem to comfort both Urel and Jaril, who nod their heads and continue the ride contentedly. They pass by the Quel'Danil high elven hunting lodge but do not stop for rations. Elves are mysterious folk, and the dwarves have very little contact with them. Imposing the company on strange folk was unwise and would hinder their journey. The three dwarves head straight over the mountains and slowly descend into ever thicker forests. It is a miracle that the native Vilebranch or Witherbark trolls have not hindered their passage... yet.

Eventually they vanish under the true eaves of Zul'Aman and its ancient pines, the trees growily steadily larger the deeper they rode.
"I think we be lost, Skirvar. What do ye propose?" Jaril mumbled.
"You forget I'm a good tracker, Jaril! Don't be so insultin', lad." Urel chimed in heartily. "I just hope these damn trolls don't kill us on sight."

The dwarves rest by a river for the night. They are unable to shake off the feeling that they are being watched. With morning light they ride further north, but eventually even Urel has to admit that he has no idea where they are.

It is fortunate that they took precautions and supplied themselves well. Suddenly, however, a spear thuds into the cold earth next to Jaril, sending his ram into a panicked frenzy. As a result, both Skirvar and Urel's mounts rear and buck, but both dwarves manage to keep control of them. Jaril does not manage to take control, and his ram gallops off into the hills with him on its back, leaving Urel and Skirvar behind him. Fear is clear on Urel's face as he looks to Skirvar for instruction.

Feet thud to the ground, and both dwarves look to see a company of trolls approaching them. The forest trolls surround them and hold spears at the ready. Two of them are bulkier and stronger than their brethren, and appear to be the leaders. They face eachother and grumble and growl to one another in their native language, probably to decide on the fate of the dwarves. Finally, one of them walks up to Skirvar and speaks in broken Common. Skirvar only barely manages to understand him.
"I be being Ba'jal, mon, second chief of the Amani tribe." he says through narrowed eyes, impressive tusks raised in defiance. "This be troll land. Our land. What you be doin' here? Do you be wanting us to bury you here? No outsiders allowed, mon. You best explain yo'self, 'cause I got an angry Mosstusk overlord back there who thinks you might be to blame for the deaths of his men."

Skirvar swallows, his mouth dry.


Skirvar tries to remember the lessons of Zandali he received during on of his expiditions into the southern parts of Azeroth, but due to their heavy accent and their low volume he couldn't understand what the trolls said to one another.
{Zandali (with a thick "jungle" accent): "Greetings mighty Amani, we come in grandmother!} No wait, I think that was wrong {I meant, we come in peace. My name is Skirvar Thaurissan and this is my companion Urel Wildhammer. The other dwarf that "escaped" was Jaril Bronzebeard, a priest of the light. We are on a diplomatic mission and want to make an offer to the High Warlord of the Amani.
I asure you that only we three are on this mission and that you are the first trolls we saw.
I also carry with me a letter signed by Zul'kutha, highpriest of Zanza in which he attests that I am an ally to all trolls.}"

Skirvar nimbly slides his hand into his long sleeve and takes a papyrus scroll out of it which he opens toward Ba'jal.

[I hope this doesn't count as godmoding, I have a backstory for Skirvar that explains why he can speak Zandali etc. and wish to explain it a bit when/if he speaks with the warlord/s^^]

[Yuber8900]

And Gilneas is Vicious!

GASP!

[Xarthat]

OOC: I have actually thought Gilneas are quite nice guys... :P

[Zula]

Ba'jal immediately left to carry out his orders. Messengers were sent to deliver Jin'thek's reply to Jintha'alor.
There was not much left to be done. The Summertide was only days away now. The next afternoon, however, a scout runs into the village.
"Jin'thek! Ba'jal has captured two dwarves not far from here! You must come immediately!"

Jin'thekl:''Dwarves?? Here?? in our land?'' Said with a mixture of disdain and surprise in his voice.

Scout: Has you heard mon.

The Troll Warlord rushed outside of his tent then lifted his head up to the cloudy sky and made some strange shrieking noise. In almost an instant his mighty mount landed infront of him.

Jin'thekl:''Well then, lead the way'' said while getting up the bird's back.

They rushed outside of the settlement and into the forest, The sound of thunder was heard in the distance warning of the coming rain. They traveled through the forest until they got to clearing.

There they were the Amani and Mosstusk warriors forming a circle an pointing their weapons towards their Dwarven captives, while near them Ba'jal and Overlord Nuvzagal talked. When Jin'thek and the scout came out the forest Ba'jal noticing them aproched to their position, Jin'thek meanwhile noticed that Nuvzagal nodded his head towards greeting him.

Jin'thekl:''Tell me the news Ba'jal'' Said Jin'thek, while he responded Nuvzagal's gesture.

The skies resounded with thunder again.

Ba'jal:''Well, like the scout probably told you mon, we were looking for the elves when we found these Dwarves. We waited to see where they were going hoping they would take us to the elfs but.....''

Jin'thekl:''But?''

Ba'jal:''But they were aparently lost, they just wandered aimlessly when we decided to catch them''

Another thunder was heard, this time even nearer

Jin'thekl::'' Are they the ones responsible?''

Ba'jal:''Negative mon, they aren't carrying any bows just axes, quite bold if you ask me'' '' But thats why we called you my Warlord, they asked for you''

Jin'thekl::They asked for me?

Ba'jal:''One of them babbled in our language something about his grandmother, and offer and the amani warlord.''

Jin'thekl:'' But they speak human?'' Said with his face twitching in disgust

Ba'jal:''It seems so but for some reason he knows some of our tounge''

The sound of thunder was becoming stronger with each passing moment.

Jin'thekl:''Well my friend lets find out''

Jin'thek and Ba'jal walked forwards leaving the scout and Nuvzagal behind and aproched the warriors, who moved so the Warlord and his lituenant coul pass. He looked down to the Dwarves and said in a broken common

Jin'thekl:''Well who of ya asked for me presense''

And just then the first summer rain began to fall in Zul'aman.

[xie323]

I will now go to Fernis Isle. General Gabranth will start training the magi while the court wizard will accompany me.

[Xarthat]

OOC: Sorry for holding it in, but Timolas totally cornered me... and had no idea what to do without killing out both myself and Phorcys. However, even if it will be the shortest adventure of mine, I shall go on now. Don't forget I'm sort of unorthodox (non-Kirin Tor) mage, just as Phorcys is runecaster.

"Father, teleport us both to those two mages. We shall duel them personally. What are they to such as we? Without them, we should break apart morale of those scums, and finally manage to destroy them from within."

OOC: Once we'll be dealt with those two, make him teleport us to Boralus and check in the Couatl situtation.

[Timolas]

Kul Tiras

Phorcys nods at his son and raises his hands into the air, gathering the divine magics of his deity around him.

In an instant, Thaumas and Phorcys are on the deck of the flagship.

Two robed magi turn to face them. One is an elf, arms folded, head cocked as he studies the newcomers. The other is a human, dark haired, tall and powerfully built. Silence passes between the two parties, until finally, the human mage speaks.

"I am Magna Scavell, and this is my comrade, Relfthra. We come from Dalaran as observers. I presume that you are none other than Admiral Thaumas Proudmoore?"

As they chat, soldiers continue to fight and die in the port below. It is certainly an unnerving reality surrouding an otherwise polite discussion.
"What do you want from this land?" Phorcys asks suspiciously. "Why do you accompany the rogue admiral?"

Scavell clears his throat.
"Tides of war are upon as all. It is evident in your own kingdom and within the kingdoms of all others. The People's Front fights in Lordaeron against the crown, the Liberation Movement would usurp the Stromgarde monarchy, and the cults of this world rise up to banish the agents of the Church."

"Lies and blasphemy!" Phorcys barks. "It is the fanatics of the Light who persecute and burn the pagans!"

Bemused, Scavell shakes his head.
"Secret wars are fought under your very noses, old man of the sea. We have heard of you, the self-appointed voice of paganism in the waters of the south. Do not pretend you do not know of what we speak. The Council of Six of Dalaran was usurped by a man named Javali, with the help of Zinite cultists. Do not excuse yourself. We are magi of Dalaran, and we would see the extent of the pagan threat. That is why we have come."

Thaumas straightens himself out, prepared to assert his authority.

[Xarthat]

"Not so long ago, I think I managed to maintain a religious truce inside my own kingdom. Why couldn't we all follow that way? Why couldn't we... cooperate? As long as you don't seek to challenge Mnesthes, he does not seek to challenge you. The same is with me and you. If you want to be spared, leave them now, abandon the traitor admiral, and let me finish the battle. Once I'm dealt with him, I shall take your problems into account. But for now, they are no concern to me."

[Wabbajack]

Jin'thekl:''Well who of ya asked for me presense''

And just then the first summer rain began to fall in Zul'aman.

[Sorry that I didn't write sooner, hadn't that much time the last days^^]

Skirvar: "Greetings, oh great warlord Jin'thek, leader of the mighty Amani. My name is Skirvar Thaurissan and I am here to represent the kingdom of Ironforge. Pardon my bad skills in Zandali I demonstated, but I thought it would be best to greet you followers in their native language.
I am certain that you noticed the tension between the human nations and that you know that we, your nation as much as mine, are cought between the fanatic followers of light and the extremistic pagan movement.
I know that you wan't to unite your people and we dwarves offer you our support.
If you would allow it I would search for my lost second companion and then discuss the matters with you privatly."

[Kerrah]

You know, the Zaramim were supposed to be heavy infantry in enchanted armour, not magi.

[Timolas]

You know, the Zaramim were supposed to be heavy infantry in enchanted armour, not magi.

I know; that is what they are isn't it?

[Kerrah]

Well, you made them sound like just battle-magi.

Wizards with swords.

I didn't count on any spellcasting abilities.

[Timolas]

Well, you made them sound like just battle-magi.

Wizards with swords.

I didn't count on any spellcasting abilities.

If you don't want them to be able to cast spells that won't be a problem mister man.

Anyway, the major update will come in soon enough. This is going well.

[Zula]

[Sorry that I didn't write sooner, hadn't that much time the last days^^]

Skirvar: "Greetings, oh great warlord Jin'thek, leader of the mighty Amani. My name is Skirvar Thaurissan and I am here to represent the kingdom of Ironforge. Pardon my bad skills in Zandali I demonstated, but I thought it would be best to greet you followers in their native language.
I am certain that you noticed the tension between the human nations and that you know that we, your nation as much as mine, are cought between the fanatic followers of light and the extremistic pagan movement.
I know that you wan't to unite your people and we dwarves offer you our support.
If you would allow it I would search for my lost second companion and then discuss the matters with you privatly."

Jin'thek:Heh mon, you speak well of me despite you don't know me. You must think me dum to fall to such flattery.
I can see you need something from Jin'thek and you need it badly. But don't worry mon, Jin'thek its not a barbarian like you and your elfs and human buddies are.
I will hear you but first you have to do me a favor mon, your pretty papers don't work here, but don't worry we will find you buddy anyways even if you refuse.

See that Troll over there, Jin'thek turned to its side and pointed towards Nuvzagal, his men were killed in my territory a few days back and it weren't my men the ones responsible I bet it was the elfs.

You may be wondering why I telling you this mon in rainy day like this, the reason is I don' want they to shift their eyes over to Zul'aman right now so I need you to find out exactly which elves did this. Do what you want mon I will leave for a moment my friend Ba'jal here will hear your answer.

Jin'thek turned his way and walked towards Nuvzagal, the rain was getting heavier with each second it passed. Nuvzagal seemed like he was about to ask something when Jin'thek raised his hand.


Jin'thek:Before you say anything, let me tell you something. I don't know if you realized why the elfs killed your men, but I did. It wasn't some random attack they wanted to exploit that fact we stand divided and makes us fight each other, but the important thing is they did it cause they are afraid of us mon, they fear troll kind. They know that if we stand together they have no hopes of winning against us, and even less now when they are the ones that are quarreling, like the humans.

Let me get to the point, I need the support of you and the Mosstusk during the Summertide. Its time to gather the tribes and show that human and elf scum who are the true barbarians, to stand united when they are divided, and thats a feat I can't do alone.

You may be wondering why I am telling all of these to my oldest enemy and rival and the reason its quite simple, because I trust you. And I know you understand that our differences don't matter since in the end if we fight each other the real winner its our common enemy.

[Wabbajack]

Skirvar: "Very well, so be it. I only need to find my priestly companion and we shall see into this matter."

To Urel quiet and in dwarvish: "I hope you can follow Jaril's track. And we need to make sure that no forest troll sees me casting anything."

Skirvar looks to Ba'jal: "Could you please, after we have found our priest, show us the scene of the murder and say us where the nearest elvish village is? They won't suspect us to work for you."

After this Skirvar and Urel started the search for Jaril.

[Timolas]

Amani

Nuvazgal grunts at Jin'thek.
"We be seein' about that, mon. Time will tell, methinks. I keepin' a real close eye on all of you. We didn't find no elves after all, no souls have been avenged this day. I return to Maisara now, but I be seein' you real soon, mon, real soon."

The rains begin to abate as the Mosstusks begin pulling out of the clearing.
Ba'jal leers suspiciously at the dwarves, and returns to the side of his master.
"Boss, these dwarves be wishin' to find their companion. He can't be far. With your leave I go after them. But we gots a problem, mon. Their friend rode south, and that be the territory of them Shadowpine tribe. They don't like no tresspassers mon."

---

OOC: Thanks Wabba; I'll soon give you your next decision situation. Just have to let Zula resolve this little issue and you'll be off to find your friend.

Skirvar

Urel sighs deeply, before whispering into his master's ear.
"Skirvar, the rains will be makin' this search most difficult. Hopefully our hosts will be able to find the way. But whatever happens, remember that we are expendable in our mission. If worst comes to worst we might have ta' make a martyr out of Jaril. But not if I gots anythin to do wiff it."

[Zula]

Amani

Nuvazgal grunts at Jin'thek.
"We be seein' about that, mon. Time will tell, methinks. I keepin' a real close eye on all of you. We didn't find no elves after all, no souls have been avenged this day. I return to Maisara now, but I be seein' you real soon, mon, real soon."

The rains begin to abate as the Mosstusks begin pulling out of the clearing.
Ba'jal leers suspiciously at the dwarves, and returns to the side of his master.
"Boss, these dwarves be wishin' to find their companion. He can't be far. With your leave I go after them. But we gots a problem, mon. Their friend rode south, and that be the territory of them Shadowpine tribe. They don't like no tresspassers mon.

Jin'thek: Damm mon, it seems we will have to escort the Dwarves through Shadowpine territory.

Ba'jal: But mon the Shadowpine don't like tresspassers.

Jin'thek: Indeed thats why won't be tresspassers, they have probably captured the dwarf by now so, we will go and buy him back.

Ba'jal: But what about the Dwarves mon?

Jin'thek: Tell the scout to go as fast as he can to the shrine and bring us some chains with the offerings for the Shadowpine, we will pass the Dwarves as our slaves until we pass Shadowpine territory.

Ba'jal: Nice idea mon, do you want me to tell the Dwarves?

Jin'thek: Yes mon, I don't feel like talking with the Dwarf. Also tell the warriors that are guarding him.

Ba'jal:As you wish mon.

Jin'thek:Oh and before I forget, tell the Scout to bring the elven arrows too, our little friends will need some kind of clue to find the scum.

[Wabbajack]

[Good plan, I think I will control Ba'jal a bit^^]

After that Ba'jal returns to Skirvar and his companion.

Ba'jal: "There be a problem, shorties. Yo' friend rode into Shadowpine territory, and tha Shadowpine are known for tha fiercy defense of their territory. But tha warlord got a' idea: We shackle you both with chains and pass yo' as slaves and then buy yo'r friend."

Urel answers angry: "Chain us?! Are ye daft, or do ye realy think we are that stupid?!"

Skirvar gestures Urel to be silent.
Skirvar: "We will do as your leader wishes."

[I'm really bad at accents :( ]

[Wulfang]

"My king, your laws are unjust, your system unfair. Cast out and disgraced, the first of generations to fail in his duty, I realised that it was not my own fault, but rather the fault of aristocracy. I joined the budding People's Front. The witch hunts only meant that pagans joined our ranks as well. And now you face our united front. You want a solution? Strip Sherman of his rank. Do what he did to me. Return the favour. Let me marry lady Thera and restore my honour. I will serve at your side in Sherman's place, and in exchange I will disband the entire People's Front."

Alford feels foolish for daring to hope that the situation could be resolved by a few friendly words after all. Sherman slams his fist down on the table, and draws his sword.
"How dare you, Krowl!"

As Krowl's guardsmen ready their weapons to face the enraged Marshal, Sherman's pat is suddenly blocked by Alford's hand. Momentarily stunned, Sherman gives his king a confused look, as if demanding an explanation for an irrational act.

Alford: *calmly* Sheathe your sword, Sherman.

Sherman: *his anger returning* But milord, this insolent-

Alford: *looks at Sherman in the eye, stressing each syllabe of his sentence* Sheathe. Your. Sword.

Looking as if he had just been thrown into freezing water, Sherman quickly returned his sword back into its scabbard. While Krowl's guards relaxed at the sight, it was clear Sherman was still boiling to tear the rebel leader apart, his devotion to his king the only thing holding him back.

One of his problems solved for the moment, Alford turns to speak to Krowl.

Alford: The rebel leader. The man whose love and passion could overturn a nation. Certainly inspiring... *a proud smile grows in Krowl's face* Inspiring, but delusional. *... and is quickly substituted by a mix of shock, outrage and confusion* Did you think the tragic story of your infatuation with a noblewoman justified fueling a rebel movement? Fueling the deaths of your countrymen? I respect the guts you had in meeting with me this way and the good will you showed, but your motivations reek of nothing but childishness.

As Krowl struggles to digest what he just heard, a glimmer of a victorious look crosses Sherman's face before he realizes that Alford is now staring at him.

Alford: Do not think yourself so superior, Marshal, for your actions were reprehensible and child-like as well. I do not condone of you letting your petty squables influence the way you lead our armies and how you mistreat the families you have sworn to protect. The nobles and aristocrats are to serve the people and be guiding examples to the masses, not tyrants who crush the disfavoured under their heel. You better than anyone should understand that even the lowliest peasant has the right to change his stars. Do not forget that again, James Muhrixan.

Sherman breaks eye contact and looks to the side, humbled. The mention of the name he once carried stirred old memories inside him. The faceless images of his Muharist parents, whom he barely remembered; the raging flames that took his family away from him; the priests of the Church of the Holy Light who found him and took him under their wing; his first gaze at the radiant Lordaeron City, where he would grow to be a strong and pious youth; the day he was adopted by the Shermans, a noble family closely tied to the military who saw great potential in him and gifted him with nobility.

Krowl: *having regained his composure* So what does this mean, good king? My motives at first may have been selfish, but I assure you I am a patriot at heart. I truly wish to keep our kingdom safe from harm, but it is impossible in its current state. The corruption and self-righteousness of the higher circles of power has to go if Lordaeron is to keep true to the freedom it promises to its people.
What is your choice? My allegiance and respite from the pagan rebellions, or Sherman's and a lifetime of bloodshed?!

Alford retreats into his thoughts. His hand smoothly scratching his chin, the king wonders how he should act. Much needed peace but betrayal of his right-hand man (and Lordaeron itself), or bloodshed but approval of the masses? As the moments fly by and Krowl seems more and more impatient, a door finally opens up in the king's mind. A third door.

Alford: *takes his sword and hands it to Sherman* Marshal, take my sword and wait for me outside. Krowl, have your man do the same. I hope you're not afraid of a private conversation with your king.

Krowl: *suspicious ... Do as he says.

The guards leave the room without hesitation, while Sherman lingers on for another moment, giving both men a serious stare before leaving.

Alford: Now that we have finally been left alone, I have a proposal for you. If you accept it, I expect you to disband the People's Front as you promised, though I'll allow you to keep in contact with a select few of your lieutenants.

Krowl: *curiously raises as eyebrow* I'm all ears.

Alford: *exhales heavily and adopts a regal pose* My father once told me that the truest victory was not obtained in battle, but in stirring the hearts of the people. I recognize your skills as a leader, Krowl. You went from a disgraced army captain to being the leader of the most troubling rebel movement this countr has faced in decades. I've noticed how your men see you. Sheer admiration. Unquestioning loyalty.
I cannot, however, have you take Marshal James Sherman's place. Sherman is an icon for the people: a pious and fearsome warrior and a brilliant tactician. I can't, I don't want to and I won't accept anyone else but Sherman as my right-hand man, nor would I betray everything I have stood for during my rule by forgiving a rebel who mingles with the pagans and giving him such a position.
On the other hand, this land will soon be stricken by war. I know of the pagan movements rising all across the place. Even Kul Tiras' Grand Admiral is proudly declaring his worship of the Viridian God. The pagans and their infighting have only brought suffering to the world, which is why it needs something to unite it once more.
Once this war has ended, there will be a power vacuum. Nations will crumble and thrones will be left empty. New kings will need to rise to lead those people. Kings who care about freedom and equality above the thrall of eldritch gods. A shining beacon of reassuring light - that's what a king should be!
Do you understand what I offer you!?

Krowl: *mix of confusion and awe* No milord, I cannot.

Alford: I offer you not a life of service under me.
I offer you a chance to be my peer.
*spreads his arms wide open*
I offer you a crown.

[Timolas]

Kul Tiras

"Not so long ago, I think I managed to maintain a religious truce inside my own kingdom. Why couldn't we all follow that way? Why couldn't we... cooperate? As long as you don't seek to challenge Mnesthes, he does not seek to challenge you. The same is with me and you. If you want to be spared, leave them now, abandon the traitor admiral, and let me finish the battle. Once I'm dealt with him, I shall take your problems into account. But for now, they are no concern to me."

A violent cry startles them. Captain Reginald Redpath is pushing the rogue admiral's men back towards their ships. The sight of this push drives the loyalist Tirasians into a heartened charge as their morale is raised.
"For Proudmoore!" Captain Redpath roars, driving his sword through the chest of one of Janus' men.

The magi remain resolute. Scavell speaks.
"Admiral Thaumas Proudmoore, we are watching you. We expect to see you at the council at Fenris Isle in several days time. If you do not attend, we will consider you our enemy and we will depose you and your crazed father. At that meeting we expect you to address the issues of national secuirity and global peacekeeping. We warn you that the dictator of Dalaran is not our friend, and do not expect you to show him any support."

Phorcys grunts. The boat rocks beneath their feet as the weather begins to pick up and storm clouds rumble overhead.
"Do not seek to command the children of Mnesthes, magus. You have no authority here."
Lifting his hands into the air, Phorcys mutters a spell. He is on the beach with Thaumas once more.

A cry goes up from the rogue admiral's ships.
"Retreat!"

"Well, my son. We lie at a crossroads. It seems like the meeting at Fenris Isle is our next destination. And there is one last matter to attend... shall we please the people with a church to the Light? They surely don't deserve it after what has happened here. Many citizens worked with Janus' men."

---

OOC: Wabbajack can control Ba'jal when Skirvar is unable to say anything for the time being; it worked out.

Amani and Skirvar

Jin'thek and his company shackle the dwarves, and immediately begin moving south into Shadowpine territory. It is a dense location of forest and brambles, rank with rotting shrubbery and clogged with mist. They descend deeper and deeper, past totems and skulls hoisted on spears. Shadowpine territory borders with Quel'Thalas, forcing the tribe to be especially defensive and violent.

Finally, the trolls and their captives approach the Shadowpine village, nestled amongst the trees, connected by rope bridges. Only a few trolls are present, working at repairing their homes or crafting weapons. One of them approaches Jin'thek.

"What you be wantin', mon? Why you bring shortbeards here? This be our land, you have no right!"

Jin'thek maintains his stiff stance, standing tall.
"One of our slaves escaped; you be seein him?"

"No mon. We seen nothin." the Shadowpine spokesman responds.

"They're lyin'!" Urel growls, though only Skirvar understands him.

---

Lordaeron

James Sherman waits outside in the courtyard of the keep, surrounded by the king's bodyguards. Tension is high between the rebels of the People's Front and the king's men, both of which face one another at opposite ends of the courtyard. Violence is a likely outcome here.

Eventually, Maximus Krowl and Alford Menethil emerge from the keep. They stand side by side.
"An agreement has been worked out." Krowl confesses, looking to his men. "Stand down, brothers."

Over several hours, Krowl gathers his militia, including countrymen from farms just outside Hearthglen. They stand assembled in the town square. Maximus and Alford stand on a wooden platform, ringed by the king's guards.
Maximus clears his throat for silence. Eager eyes look to him.
"Comrades of the People's Front. Hear me out. It has been an honourable year amongst you. We have turned the king's tax collectors aside and have protected ourselves from the witch hunters of the Archbishop. Together, we perservered. Our local customs have been guarded. I have spoken with the king, and he has agreed not to overlook us. We will be safe here. The People's Front has accomplished what it set out to do."

An uneasy silence falls across the crowd. One of the rebel soldiers, an old white haired figure, steps forward.
"How dare you? This was never about taxes or protection, and you know that, Krowl. It was you who assembled us. We fight for democracy! Do we have democracy?" The man is looking to and fro at his comrades. "Do we lay down our swords because Krowl has shown his true colours?"

Krowl raises his hands in a gesture of peace.
"Lay down your arms, Canbrad. It's over. The king has graced us."

"You are a liar and a traitor to the People's Front!" Canbrad exclaims. Murmurs of agreement run through the crowd. "This is not democracy! This is blackmail! You contradict yourself, Krowl!"

"Traitor!" one of the townsfolk roars.

"Enough!" Krowl shouts. "Lay down your arms. I hereby disband the People's Front. King Menethil will take me in chains for judgement to Capital City. There, fate will be the judge. Maintain a militia to protect yourself from witch hunters, but expect a governor from the court to take over in my absence."

Canbrad broods silently, and walks away. He is followed by a great trail of his men. They vanish into the forest outside of the city. Krowl turns to Alford.
"I wouldn't expect this to be the end of your troubles in the countryside, my king. But now we must leave. I don't think we are safe here anymore."

---

Dalaran

I choose Marius silently in my mind as soon as the question is presented. Leo, like me, does not have a religious allegiance, while the other general is a devout Zininist.


I idly finger my beard and immediately wonder which magical precautions I can set up in case of any... mishap. Best put an archmage to study all possibilities.


I ask him for details. What kind of weapon? What kind of help? How much resources would be needed for the research? Isn't the Thane named Anvilmar?

The dwarf ambassador barks a laugh, and lifts a parchment out of his coat pocket. He unfolds it before Javali, showing a design of something that roughly resembled a tube.
"We be refinin' black powders to create what our technicians be callin' a boomstick. It could be a weapon of the age if we harness it."

Javali puts his hand to his chin in consideration.
"Not enough detail there, dwarf. Now excuse me. We can speak again once I make up my mind."

By the next few days, the nobles from the surrounding lands have gathered in the Violet Citadel. They assemble to hear Javali speak in the banquet hall. The dinner is surrounded by women dressed in blue; symbols of terror. They are the Zinite pagan witches, the Hareveim of Zinizar.
Zinizar whispers into Javali's ear as he moves to take a seat.
"We are already working to instill fear in your enemies. Fear and pain, Javali. Make your speech. Gather your followers. Then abolish the Archivists."

[Wabbajack]

[COLOR="Olive"]Amani and Skirvar

Jin'thek and his company shackle the dwarves, and immediately begin moving south into Shadowpine territory. It is a dense location of forest and brambles, rank with rotting shrubbery and clogged with mist. They descend deeper and deeper, past totems and skulls hoisted on spears. Shadowpine territory borders with Quel'Thalas, forcing the tribe to be especially defensive and violent.

Finally, the trolls and their captives approach the Shadowpine village, nestled amongst the trees, connected by rope bridges. Only a few trolls are present, working at repairing their homes or crafting weapons. One of them approaches Jin'thek.

"What you be wantin', mon? Why you bring shortbeards here? This be our land, you have no right!"

Jin'thek maintains his stiff stance, standing tall.
"One of our slaves escaped; you be seein him?"

"No mon. We seen nothin." the Shadowpine spokesman responds.

"They're lyin'!" Urel growls, though only Skirvar understands him.


Skirvar turns to Uril: "[Common] Silence, or our slavers will punish us."
Then he turns to Jin'Thek: "[Zandali] Sorry for the insolence of my brother. Please don't punish him master, I will make certain that he remains silent."

[Timolas]

Skirvar turns to Uril: "[Common] Silence, or our slavers will punish us."
Then he turns to Jin'Thek: "[Zandali] Sorry for the insolence of my brother. Please don't punish him master, I will make certain that he remains silent."

Urel nods hesitantly, and speaks yet again in common, though this time silently to Skirvar alone.
"Listen, brother. We're in trouble, deep trouble. The elves aint far. If it means savin' Jaril, I think they prolly aint bad an option to get our asses saved here. Just sayin', thane."

"Be quiet!" Ba'jal roars in trollish, kicking Urel to the ground. "Let Jin'thek speak!"

[Wabbajack]

[A question: How is the situation of the elves? Polotical wise and similar^^]

[Timolas]

[A question: How is the situation of the elves? Polotical wise and similar^^]

[A good question! Originally Vic was going to play as them and I'd introduce them in that fashion. Since he will be Gilneas;
Quel'Thalas is currently ruled by Anasterian Sunstrider, who is not religious or a devotee of the Holy Light. Many high elves follow the Holy Light, however. They keep their borders shut since the religious civil war started boiling over in human lands. Although many elves are Lightist, there is a sect of high elves who worship the Four Gods, and they are called the Benefactors.]

[Wulfang]

Lordaeron

James Sherman waits outside in the courtyard of the keep, surrounded by the king's bodyguards. Tension is high between the rebels of the People's Front and the king's men, both of which face one another at opposite ends of the courtyard. Violence is a likely outcome here.

Eventually, Maximus Krowl and Alford Menethil emerge from the keep. They stand side by side.
"An agreement has been worked out." Krowl confesses, looking to his men. "Stand down, brothers."

Over several hours, Krowl gathers his militia, including countrymen from farms just outside Hearthglen. They stand assembled in the town square. Maximus and Alford stand on a wooden platform, ringed by the king's guards.
Maximus clears his throat for silence. Eager eyes look to him.
"Comrades of the People's Front. Hear me out. It has been an honourable year amongst you. We have turned the king's tax collectors aside and have protected ourselves from the witch hunters of the Archbishop. Together, we perservered. Our local customs have been guarded. I have spoken with the king, and he has agreed not to overlook us. We will be safe here. The People's Front has accomplished what it set out to do."

An uneasy silence falls across the crowd. One of the rebel soldiers, an old white haired figure, steps forward.
"How dare you? This was never about taxes or protection, and you know that, Krowl. It was you who assembled us. We fight for democracy! Do we have democracy?" The man is looking to and fro at his comrades. "Do we lay down our swords because Krowl has shown his true colours?"

Krowl raises his hands in a gesture of peace.
"Lay down your arms, Canbrad. It's over. The king has graced us."

"You are a liar and a traitor to the People's Front!" Canbrad exclaims. Murmurs of agreement run through the crowd. "This is not democracy! This is blackmail! You contradict yourself, Krowl!"

"Traitor!" one of the townsfolk roars.

"Enough!" Krowl shouts. "Lay down your arms. I hereby disband the People's Front. King Menethil will take me in chains for judgement to Capital City. There, fate will be the judge. Maintain a militia to protect yourself from witch hunters, but expect a governor from the court to take over in my absence."

Canbrad broods silently, and walks away. He is followed by a great trail of his men. They vanish into the forest outside of the city. Krowl turns to Alford.
"I wouldn't expect this to be the end of your troubles in the countryside, my king. But now we must leave. I don't think we are safe here anymore."

Alford: Reassure your men, Krowl. Remind them of what you've done for them and how you've fought at their side. Make them see the leader they placed their trust in is still the one talking to them. Tell them that the dream isn't over, whether you live or die.

[Xarthat]

Kul Tiras



A violent cry startles them. Captain Reginald Redpath is pushing the rogue admiral's men back towards their ships. The sight of this push drives the loyalist Tirasians into a heartened charge as their morale is raised.
"For Proudmoore!" Captain Redpath roars, driving his sword through the chest of one of Janus' men.

The magi remain resolute. Scavell speaks.
"Admiral Thaumas Proudmoore, we are watching you. We expect to see you at the council at Fenris Isle in several days time. If you do not attend, we will consider you our enemy and we will depose you and your crazed father. At that meeting we expect you to address the issues of national secuirity and global peacekeeping. We warn you that the dictator of Dalaran is not our friend, and do not expect you to show him any support."

Phorcys grunts. The boat rocks beneath their feet as the weather begins to pick up and storm clouds rumble overhead.
"Do not seek to command the children of Mnesthes, magus. You have no authority here."
Lifting his hands into the air, Phorcys mutters a spell. He is on the beach with Thaumas once more.

A cry goes up from the rogue admiral's ships.
"Retreat!"

"Well, my son. We lie at a crossroads. It seems like the meeting at Fenris Isle is our next destination. And there is one last matter to attend... shall we please the people with a church to the Light? They surely don't deserve it after what has happened here. Many citizens worked with Janus' men."


"First of all, we shall go back to Boralus and check in what happens with the Couatl. As soon as we get hold of them, I will tell this Tsaerus man, or whatever was name of this Lightist, to hold on with his decisions until after the conference at Fenris. There I shall see as everything proceeds. I will not make decisions based around an emotion of the minute. Because on this minute... I'd crush those two magi under my feet and order all the Lightist scum to be slain... but emotion is a bad advisor. Just return home right now."

[Timolas]

Lordaeron

Alford: Reassure your men, Krowl. Remind them of what you've done for them and how you've fought at their side. Make them see the leader they placed their trust in is still the one talking to them. Tell them that the dream isn't over, whether you live or die.

The guards protecting Alford are clearly getting nervous as the crowd shifts and mutters angrily. Krowl acknowledges Alford's words.
"Brothers of the Front, do not end our friendship so. Please, go home now. There is nothing left for you to do here. What we aspired to achieve has not been forgotten, but we must never forget our priorities; our families. Go home to your families, then. What more would you have me do now?"

Nobody reacts at first. Then, one of the militia simply shrugs and walks off. It sets of a reaction. Another follows, and then another. Interest wanes, and the townsfolk simply shrug and leave. Whatever they might be thinking, they certainly don't hope to kill anybody today.

"Let's leave, before my less level headed countrymen can cause trouble." Krowl grumbles, dusting himself off.

The retinue departs Hearthlgen within the hour, and returns to Capital City be evening. As nobody even knew the king was absent, they are not greeted by tolling of bells, nor by cries of alarm or courteous welcome. Krowl is hooded, and the guards weary. Court Wizard Thomassy rushes to greet his king as the company enters the royal palace area.
"My king, I was just readying a precautionary battalion to ride to your rescue. What a relief. Oh my, is that actually Maximus Krowl with you? By the Light, milord, you must have a way with words or a very persuasive sword."
Sherman has said little so far, but he mumbles something as he dismounts. Alford guesses it is a half-hearted curse.

Thomassy seems worn out and tired.
"The illusion spell in the gardens is holding out, but we've already had a young couple fall in, one of them getting her neck broken. Two servants thought to sneak away and have some fun in the gardens. We found them in the pit a little too late for the lass. Of course we had to kill the man who survived. Can't have rumours abound." He does brighten up however. "We did, on the other hand, begin to unearth something. It looks to be the top half of a giant black golem. It seems that our work is paying off!"

Alford sighs. It was tragic news to be greeted by. Nonetheless there is a matter at hand.
"Thomassy, swear me a wizard's oath that you will carry out my upcoming plan to the letter, and that you'll keep it confidential."
"I'm offended you'd have to ask that of me lord, you should know to trust me. But of course I will."

[xie323]

[OOC]: When's the meeting at fernis isle?

[Timolas]

[OOC]: When's the meeting at fernis isle?

OOC: I'm going to start it on Saturday.
But I can give you something to do till then, I might as well.

Alterac

Lord Xie and Court Wizard Caxagord soon depart Alterac City with a detachment of elite soldiers. Their destination is Fenris Isle; the location of the grand meeting of nations. Xie knows how important it will be to forge diplomatic relations.

Caxagord sighs heavily.
"What is wrong, Caxagord?" Xie asks his humbled court wizard as they ride through the lush mountain passes towards Lordamere Lake.
"I be miss Drace."
"She was a fool, and is under house arrest now!" Xie insists.
"Okay." Caxagord concedes.
"Our new general will do nicely." Xie laughs. "He will do a better, powerful job. I left him in charge so he can rule in my absence, because he is trustworthy like your father."

The company stumbles across a haggard band of terrified women and children on the road.
"Be getting out of the way, please!" Caxagord spits.
"No wait, they might be suffering injuries of the bad kind." one of the guards says.
"You shut up, you aren't Lord." Caxagord hisses back.

One of the women wails and tugs at Caxagord's robes.
"Let go, miss." Caxagord commands.
She only continues crying and wailing, tugging viciously.
"You must save the children! We were ambushed by witch hunters who said that we were evil heretics! They killed our husbands, burned our homes and raped our cattle! Please, Lord Xie! Have mercy and take us with you! We can serve you if you will feed and clothe us!"

"You be going now, or else what!" Caxagord roars, quite angrily.

[Wulfang]

Pushing away from his mind the unfortunate fate of the poor young couple, Alford focuses on the matter at hand.

Alford: Sherman, escort Krowl to the dungeons. Make sure his stay there is the most comfortable the situation can allow. Thomassy, acompany me to my quarters.

Sherman bows, issues some commands to the guards and they all march towards the dungeons, surrounding Maximus Krowl who sports a distraught expression. Alford, closely followed by Thomassy, swiftly walks to the royal chambers and locks the door behind them.

Alford: I'm sorry for forcing you to take a Wizard's Oath, Court Wizard, but it is necessary. Know that I only ask this of you because you are the only person I can rely on for this matter and it's of the utmost importance that what we are about to discuss does not leave this room.

Thomassy: *feeling more reassured, lifts his palm and conjures a glowing blue orb* I swear I will not talk about this matter to no one but you, my king.

The orb remains undisturbed and, after a small nod from Alford, it vanishes.

Alford: Thomassy, Maximus Krowl will be executed tomorrow at noon. Marshal Sherman has already received orders to spread the news to the populace. However, I need you special talents to make sure everything goes according to my plan...

---

An enormous commotion fills the streets of Lordaeron City. Thousands and thousands of people are gathered in the town square, eager to see wht fate has in store for Maximus Krowl, the notorious rebel leader.

A seldom seen guillotine has been assembled in the center of the square and is being tested by an executioner in a stern black outfit. Court Wizard Thomassy stands by the device with a focused look on his face, overseeing the procedure.

The sound of a dozen deathly trumpets pierces the noise, turning it into a tense silence. A cadre of guards march into the square, escorting King Alford, a victorious-looking Marshal Sherman and a chained Maximus Krowl. The people make way for the procession, whispering among themselves.

"All according to plan.", Alford thought. "In half an hour, I'll have killed two birds with one stone."

[Zula]

Amani and Skirvar

Jin'thek and his company shackle the dwarves, and immediately begin moving south into Shadowpine territory. It is a dense location of forest and brambles, rank with rotting shrubbery and clogged with mist. They descend deeper and deeper, past totems and skulls hoisted on spears. Shadowpine territory borders with Quel'Thalas, forcing the tribe to be especially defensive and violent.

Finally, the trolls and their captives approach the Shadowpine village, nestled amongst the trees, connected by rope bridges. Only a few trolls are present, working at repairing their homes or crafting weapons. One of them approaches Jin'thek.

"What you be wantin', mon? Why you bring shortbeards here? This be our land, you have no right!"

Jin'thek maintains his stiff stance, standing tall.
"One of our slaves escaped; you be seein him?"

"No mon. We seen nothin." the Shadowpine spokesman responds.

"They're lyin'!" Urel growls, though only Skirvar understands him.


Jin'thek: Damm that slave mon! I am sorry to ask mon but we really need to find it. If doesn't poses a problem could you ask some of your scouts to help mine look for him?? He shouldn't be far away.

Ba'jal:You will be rewarded of course mon. 'Ba'jal turned to one of the warriors ' Show him mon

The golden coins and idols fell to the floor while the troll shaked the bag.

Jin'thek:Sadly mon its all I can offer you for now, but the Amani never forget so what we can't pay in gold we will pay it with honor.

[xie323]

Yes Caxagord let us ignore them bah!

==meanwhile at Alterac==

General Gabranth: we have more Assassin-magi ready I've decided to recurit a leader for them-Shade.

A bald-haired male wearing a Assassin's Creed-esque clothing appears.

Gabranth: You will take control of the Assassins. I shall send a messenger to Xie to inform him of this.

Shade: Yesssssss my lord..........I wil do as you ssssay.......

[Wabbajack]

[@Timolas: could you arrange that Skirvar is alone for a short bit or something? He needs to receive his magical-transmited spy reports, for example the last things one of his spies in Lordaeron saw: The fast approaching bottom of a magicaly veiled pit *wink wink*^^]

[Timolas]

Lordaeron



The sound of a dozen deathly trumpets pierces the noise, turning it into a tense silence. A cadre of guards march into the square, escorting King Alford, a victorious-looking Marshal Sherman and a chained Maximus Krowl. The people make way for the procession, whispering among themselves.

"All according to plan.", Alford thought. "In half an hour, I'll have killed two birds with one stone."

Drums roll as the apparent figure of Krowl is paraded towards the guillotine. The crowd falls silent, though the drums continue their rhythmic beat. Two burly guards haul Krowl into position.

Alford clears his throat to condemn the man one last time.

And a cry goes up from the crowd.
"Freedom!"

Several figures wearing hoods and cloaks rush from the crowd, brandishing daggers. Three riders thunder down the streets, pushing and kicking their way through the panicking mass of people.
Sherman is immediately calling out orders, calling for his retinue.

Much to his surprise, it looks as if some of his own guards are charging side by side with the dissidents. Krowl's executioner is run down by one of the horsemen.
Alford recognizes the man. It is the aging Canbrad from Hearthglen. These must be the men who walked out of town, refusing to lay down their arms.

The People's Front was here for Maximus Krowl.
"You aint becoming a martyr on my watch." Canbrad shouts out, loud enough for all to hear. The people start screaming, women wailing, children crying, as the Front rebels form a defensive circle around Maximus Krowl.

It looks like Canbrad is trying to hoist Krowl onto one of the horses.

"Godamnit." Sherman spits.

---

Amani

Jin'thek: Damm that slave mon! I am sorry to ask mon but we really need to find it. If doesn't poses a problem could you ask some of your scouts to help mine look for him?? He shouldn't be far away.

Ba'jal:You will be rewarded of course mon. 'Ba'jal turned to one of the warriors ' Show him mon

The golden coins and idols fell to the floor while the troll shaked the bag.

Jin'thek:Sadly mon its all I can offer you for now, but the Amani never forget so what we can't pay in gold we will pay it with honor.

The Shadowpine spokesman manages a grin, spreading behind his tusks greedily.
"So you be talkin' in the common language o' gold? Now that be more like it. Howeva', I was na' toyin with ya when I said we don' have you little friend. We saw 'im get captured. By elfscum. You know we be close to elf lands, mon. It be no surprise. Why would be bother ta' intervene, I askin myself? No reason. You give us gold, and you go now."

Ba'jal stretches his shoulders out menacingly.
"You been no help, mon. Why you want our gold?"

Jin'thek pulls Ba'jal back for a moment.
"Take dem back to Ula-tek. You can do that for me?"
"Of course, chief. You sure you don' need me here?" Ba'jal answeres.
"Sure mon, I got the rests o' the axethrowers here to cover me. But we need them dwarves alive and safe back at Ula-Tek. Summertide is comin' on mon. I want Gruc'jen to ready things."

Jin'thek turns his attention back to the Shadowpine.
"Elves, you said?"

---

OOC: Probably would be a bit unfair to allow you to spy on Wulf without having made a mention of it before, but you can certainly contact your 'messengers'; send some to Lordaeron. Just make sure you have logical RP reasons of course.

Skirvar

Skirvar and Urel are led east through the forests by Ba'jal and a small company. Whatever this 'Ula-tek' is, it probably won't be comfortable.
Urel whispers into Skirvar's ear again.
"This prolly be our last chance to make a break for it, lad. But if not, at least we canae get some time to sit and rest at this 'Tek place. I hopes 'nyways."

---

ALTERAKC

Yes Caxagord let us ignore them bah!

==meanwhile at Alterac==

General Gabranth: we have more Assassin-magi ready I've decided to recurit a leader for them-Shade.

A bald-haired male wearing a Assassin's Creed-esque clothing appears.

Gabranth: You will take control of the Assassins. I shall send a messenger to Xie to inform him of this.

Shade: Yesssssss my lord..........I wil do as you ssssay.......

Lord Xie orders that the villagers be ignored.
"We don't be needing them, methinks. Let's go. Fenris Isle awaits and our ponies and horses are getting tired looking at nothing like dumb aminals."
Caxagord nods. The guards kick their steeds to continue, but the women and children get in the way.

"Help us by the gods! Oh why!" one of them wails.
Caxagord therefore jumps off his horse, spins in the air, kicks the woman in the face and sends her flying into the sun.

"That'll teach her to mess with Lord Xie. When you mess with Xie, you get some serious booty sweat." Caxagord laughs.

Half an hour later they are intercepted by a shadowy figure on the road.
"Oh sh-" Caxagord manages, before the shadowy figure rushes towards them.
Fortunately, the strange man does not butcher them like aminals, but rather unmasks himself.

Xie recognizes the man from Alterac. It was one of his guards.

"I am Sssssssssssssssssssssssssssshade." the man speaks. "Once I ssserved you as a mortal man, but I have been TRANSSSSSSFORMED into one of your Assasssin-Magi! Gabranth sented me to report that the training goes well."

Xie smiles at the strange man.
"This be great. Shall we ride to Fenris now? The meeting of kings is not far off."


Back in Alterac City, a messenger arrives.
"Lord Gabranth, the spies we sent to Tarren Mill have returned!"
"Indeedily doo?" Gabranth responds, stroking his beard. "What do they report?"

The messenger salutes roughly.
"They are a town defended by many men. They have cattle militia and pagans leading them. We could send our Assassin-Magi to take it in Xie's name!"

---

Kul Tiras

"First of all, we shall go back to Boralus and check in what happens with the Couatl. As soon as we get hold of them, I will tell this Tsaerus man, or whatever was name of this Lightist, to hold on with his decisions until after the conference at Fenris. There I shall see as everything proceeds. I will not make decisions based around an emotion of the minute. Because on this minute... I'd crush those two magi under my feet and order all the Lightist scum to be slain... but emotion is a bad advisor. Just return home right now."

Captain Reginald Redpath escorts Admiral Thaumas, Phorcys and the surviving Tirasian loyalists back to Boralus. The fighting has worn them all down, and as the sun sets, there is a heavy feeling of loss. Many of the men who fell had both friends and family, and they would be missed. It was even worse that the rebel Tirasians were fighting those that they had once served with. Thaumas even recognized some of the rebel soldiers.

"I can't believe that I once shook hands with some of them once." Redpath grumbles as the company rides into town.
Phorcys is barely able to stay awake. The strain of teleporation spells has drained him. Thaumas halts them and turns to face them.
"Take your rest. I have a few matters to attend to. Tomorrow I want you all ready. If I do decide to go to the meeting at Fenris Isle, there is no time to lose. It's a long journey."
"As you wish, liege." Redpath answers with a flourish.

As Thaumas and Phorcys walk into the courtyard of their private manor, the Vizier hurries to greet them.
"News arrived of the battle, my lords. We feared the worst, but it pleases me greatly to see you alive and well, back home."
Phorcys kicks the man to the floor.
"They had someone working on the inside!" he yells. "There is no other way the garrison of the town would have been prepared to rebel like that!"

The Vizier is terrified.
"What would I know of such a thing?"
"We will find out." Phorcys hisses.

Thaumas' attention is diverted by a screech. He notices for the first time that there is a massive blue creature perched on the wall. Another screech resounds, but this comes from behind the wall. Another creature flies up and lands on top.

Couatl. Yet, they look so small. His fantasies of couatl riders start to dissolve, as nothing would ever be able to ride things so small.

When suddenly, a third and more ferocious screech alerts him. Another couatl flies up and lands among her two younglings. This mother is huge. He realises that he had only looking at children before.

However, these couatl look hungry. They eye him nastily.

[Xarthat]

Thaumas mutters under his nose, barely audible.
"Crap. Why is everything happening to me at once?"
After a few thoughts, he quickly came back to remember the 'magic words' Phorcys gave him.
"Listen to me, mighty beasts, feed yourself upon the cattle on the city's side, and once your appetite is sated, respond to my subjects and listen them as your masters. I call to thee in the name of the great Mnesthes - Mnesthes ftang! Mnesthes ftang! Mnesthes ftang!"
Looking as Couatl fled to search for the cattle, Thaumas turned his face to the Vizier and his matters.
(OOC: I hope this is not godmodding, I needed to resolve it somehow to move along)
"Stand up, Vizier. I don't want you dead, just not yet. I know what my father implied by knocking you out, he... knows things. To prove me your loyalty... I want you to send an assassin against Janus. And to bring Janus' head on my table by you. Then and only then I might once again trust you... a bit."

[Kerrah]

By the next few days, the nobles from the surrounding lands have gathered in the Violet Citadel. They assemble to hear Javali speak in the banquet hall. The dinner is surrounded by women dressed in blue; symbols of terror. They are the Zinite pagan witches, the Hareveim of Zinizar.
Zinizar whispers into Javali's ear as he moves to take a seat.
"We are already working to instill fear in your enemies. Fear and pain, Javali. Make your speech. Gather your followers. Then abolish the Archivists."

I stand up and smile at the lords and ladies of Hesperia. Aside from the few city-states whose leaders are fully Lightist, all are represented. There are noblemen who have inherited power, bureaucrats who have worked for it and wizards who have studied for it. If I am to succeed, I will have to appeal to all.

I let the tension build up for a moment before speaking. When I do, I use a conversational tone. "Qos telennas un moborsas extentores, benegelennos successas. Those words were spoken by the leader of the first one hundred human magi when they left their homeland of Strom to establish a new home for themselves, weary of the tyranny of the Arathi kings.

The phrase is elven and stands for 'those who are plagued by wrongness and pain will succeed the most magnificently'. And truly, our forefathers suffered and went hungry when they left Strom, but they did succeed greatly by founding not only Dalaran, but the other cities of Hesperia, our homeland.

Many do not remember it anymore, but Hesperia was once a nation, my countrymen. It was because of the arrogance and lust of power of the early Councilmen of Kirin Tor that we have three dozen city states instead today. I respect the choices of your cities to distance themselves from Dalaran, but..."

My explanation is cut, predictably enough, by a count from a major city standing up and shouting: "But what? You want to be King, Javali. It's that simple!"

Some of the other leaders and diplomats join in on the complains, and I patiently wait for them to pass before addressing them. "Count Scipio of Andriano, will you remind everyone of the events of the Third Stromgarde war, which your father fought in, or shall I?"

He surely was not expecting this, so you go on before he can react. "Fifty years ago Stromgarde reacted to the previous Count Scipio limiting his wine trade to the east by sending an army to pressure him a bit. Even though the people of Hesperia are well-trained in the arts of war, the militiamen of Andriano stood no chance against the enemy army and the count was forced to pay blood money in exchange for having his wineries and, more importantly, his people saved from enemy pillaging.

Where were the other people of Hesperia when Stromgarde attacked Andriano? They were sitting in their homes because all of them had been enemies to this city before, as well as each other. Nobody could care to save their fellow countrymen from a foreign monarch because this land is too divided!

Thirty years ago the port of Seashire in Hillsbrad was blockaded by Gilneas' armada and all of our cities lost their trade with Kul Tiras for a full year as a consequence, but none of us could do a thing because no single city is powerful enough to stand a chance against Gilneas. Thousands were left in poverty and hunger because this land is too divided!

I do not want to be a king. Anyone who says I do is either a liar or a madman. Hesperia has never had a king and will never have one. I do not propose a return to Dalaran leading this land, but I do want this land to survive.

Storm clouds are gathering across Lordaeron, if you allow me to use such a worn phrase. Alterac's king wants to kill all who would worship, be it a god or the Light. Lordaeron is actively supporting genocide against its non-Lightist population. Stromgarde gathers its armies for conflict. Either Hesperia does something to bring itself to the level of power these large kingdoms have or Hesperia is turned into a battleground and a prize squabbled over by its neighbors.

If we can not have a single nation, we will at least have a military alliance to protect ourselves from foreign conquerors. A senate of leaders will gather here, in Dalaran, to decide what will be done, and all members are bound to accept the common vote. With a united army and a united will, the Alliance of Hesperia will survive through the tough times."

I wait just a moment to let it all sink in before speaking again in warning: "I have thought about this idea for a long time, and it is clearly the best choice to allow the country to survive. Therefore, I am bound by my sense of nationalism to make it happen. I think all who agree on the necessity of the Alliance will also agree with me that those who decide to stay out are enemies, rather than by-watchers.

Be warned, if you do not join the Alliance willingly, you will not have a say after you are made to join by the might of the sword and the arcane."

----------------------------------------------------------

OOC: Before the meeting, I had the Militia of Dalaran assembled and started a propaganda campaign to enlist young men into becoming professional soldiers.

http://i73.photobucket.com/albums/i212/Kerrah_photos/TalesofHesperia.jpg

[Wabbajack]

[I had a rather "inefficient" spying in mind that only gives broad informations of the nation's political situation, but I think I will delay it until I am in an elvish town^^]

[Timolas]

Sorry that I've been away. First it was the pre-weekend exams then it was the after exam celebrations and some of the weirder crap that one can experience in a couple of nights.
I guess the Summertide wasn't yesterday after all, but we should have it soon.

[Wulfang]

Lordaeron



Drums roll as the apparent figure of Krowl is paraded towards the guillotine. The crowd falls silent, though the drums continue their rhythmic beat. Two burly guards haul Krowl into position.

Alford clears his throat to condemn the man one last time.

And a cry goes up from the crowd.
"Freedom!"

Several figures wearing hoods and cloaks rush from the crowd, brandishing daggers. Three riders thunder down the streets, pushing and kicking their way through the panicking mass of people.
Sherman is immediately calling out orders, calling for his retinue.

Much to his surprise, it looks as if some of his own guards are charging side by side with the dissidents. Krowl's executioner is run down by one of the horsemen.
Alford recognizes the man. It is the aging Canbrad from Hearthglen. These must be the men who walked out of town, refusing to lay down their arms.

The People's Front was here for Maximus Krowl.
"You aint becoming a martyr on my watch." Canbrad shouts out, loud enough for all to hear. The people start screaming, women wailing, children crying, as the Front rebels form a defensive circle around Maximus Krowl.

It looks like Canbrad is trying to hoist Krowl onto one of the horses.

"Godamnit." Sherman spits.

Alford: *shouting towards Sherman* Beware Marshal, they have allies among our own guards! Gather your men and stop them from hurting my people!

Sherman quickly complies, him and his men engaging the rebels in battle and forcing them to break their circle formation. Alford briefly watches as one of the riders slashes the throat of one of his guards and Sherman, enraged, cuts off one of the horses' legs in a mighty sword strike, sending both beast and rider to the ground. The rider cries in pain, his leg crushed under his wounded steed.

Sherman: Heretical bastard! *kicks the rebel's head with his sabaton, breaking his neck*

Meanwhile, Canbrad has managed to hoist the chained Krowl into an empty horse he brought along. Krowl trashes around, trying to free himself, but the older rebel hits him in the head with the pommel of his sword, dazing him. Canbrad grabs the reigns of both horses and spurs his forward, giving Alford a triumphant gaze.

Canbrad: We have the traitor, brothers! Retreat!

The many rebels around him try to move towards the city gates, some succeding, some not. Canbrad is fleeing unopposed, the guards having their hands full with his henchmen.

Alford: *shouting* As if! *turning to Thomassy* Court Wizard, immobilize the legs of those horses, NOW!

Thomassy focuses and waves his hands for moments that seem to draw out like hours, causing them to glow with a faint white light. Pointing his hand at the horses, the wizard closes it as if grasping something midair - and the horses' legs turn stiff, making them fall to the ground and dropping their riders alongside them.

Alford grabs the executioner's dropped sword from the floor and runs towards Krowl, reaching him before Canbrad can recompose himself from the fall. Blood is flowing from an open wound in his head - nothing that a good healer can't treat. Canbrad, on the other hand, seems to be perfectly healthy and ready to fight.

Canbrad: I won't let you make this traitor into a symbol! His head is mine!

Alford: *giving him a passionless stare* No.

And the king lunges at the rebel, aiming for the heart.

[Timolas]

Copying Kerrah's character themes idea. Ill add more later.

Theme of the Witch Hunters (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Y2kj8RPwgM&feature=channel)under the Holy Light, Agents of Archbishop Marden

King Alford Menethil of Lordaeron (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nI5k8kkSu08&feature=channel_page)

Imperial Stromgarde Victory Parade (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FgCevpO18t4&feature=channel_page)

Javali (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OEUQ7Xkdz9g), Dictator of Dalaran
I imagine this to be his 'parting' theme. Particularly the end. I'm sure you all remember this one.

Hesperia Reborn! (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YFsQDlhgC5g&feature=channel) (Javali's speech in the last update)

Thaumas, Phorcys and Pagan Kul Tiras (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ueQjSO1N61w&feature=channel)

I'll update for everyone tomorrow, and Spooky will be starting now. He's been making plans. Sorry for the delays.

Lord Xie Attacks! Alterac, Forever! (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GOPEt5oDHqE)

Skirvar's Quest to Save the Highthane (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QnflSWxyEWI)

[Kerrah]

Lord Xie Attacks! Alterac, Forever! (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GOPEt5oDHqE)

ROFL.

[Yuber8900]

Why does Stromgarde have a theme if no one is playing them?

[Zula]

Why does Stromgarde have a theme if no one is playing them?

Cause thats what you think!

[Timolas]

Skirvar

It does not take long for Skirvar to realise that he is being led west rather than east. The passing of the sun is evidence enough. What he does remember is that Ula-Tek is further east.
Ba'jal and his couple of guards do not slow down.
"Where ye be takin us?" Skirvar asks.
"Away where ya can't be causin' trouble to us, mon. I should kill ye, it's what the other tribes would do. But I got plans o' me own. The boss wanted me to keep ya alive." Ba'jal mumbles

Skirvar cannot shake off an uneasy feeling.
"Your boss told ye to take us to Ula-Tek din' he?"

Ba'jal turns his head to look back at the trailing dwarves and smiles unpleasantly. A forest troll's smile appears more like a frown or a grimace than a smile. Skirvar shudders.

"No, mon. Not Jin'thek. Jin'thek not know half of da big plan. I talkin' bout da boss here. Da big mojo. Now off with ya. Get moving. Get out o' Zul'Aman. I ever see ya here again, I kill ya."

Ba'jal and his trolls turn their backs and climb up into the pine trees, vanishing from sight. Urel and Skirvar are left on the borders of Zul'Aman, a fringe of land in which the trees abrupty stop and make way to an open grassland. Far below them is a new stretch of forest, but the canopies are of yellow leaves that make Skirvar think of Autumn.

Urel scans the distance. This must be Quel'Thalas, home of the high elves.
"What shall we do now, Skirvar? If Jaril was taken by elves tis be our best bet we find him someplace 'ere."


---

Amani

OOC: Since it's what you were waiting for, and it's long overdue. I present, the Summertide Festival.

The Shadowpine speaker grunts and snatches a gold trinket from the grass. Jin'thek stares at him expressionlessly.
"Take it, den. Thanks for your... information."

"We be seein' eachother real soon, mon. Real soon." The Shadowpine speaker says. "An' I be Ha'lin. Don' you forget."

Jin'thek nods and walks out of the Shadowpine village. His warband is waiting for him. Ba'jal has already left with the dwarves.
"Let's go home."

As the sun sets over the massive Shrine of Ula-tek, final preparations are being made. Witch Doctor Gruc'jen has been leading the effort, overseeing the preparation of food and incense. It is his responsibility to ensure that all goes according to plan. For an entire mile, Amani sentries remain perched in the trees every so often. Jin'thek is not taking any chances.

Over the course of a few hours, the rival tribe ambassadors begin to arrive. Jin'thek embraces Nuvazgal of the Mosstusk in a gesture of mutual respect. Nuvazgal slams his fist into his chest in salutation.

The Shadowpine are next to arrive, led by Ha'lin, their speaker. As expected, the Mossflayers arrive alongside the Firetree, Smolderthorn, Witherbark and Revantusk. Lastly, a single representative of the Vilebranch makes an appearance. She is a messenger from Jintha'alor, a disciple of the spider goddess, Shadra.

They are seated around a massive bonfire under the light of the moon and the stars, singing, chanting and playing raging tunes and songs of past glories. These tribes are the remnants of the Amani Empire, scattered though they are. For once, they chant as one.

Gruc'jen throws powders into the fire, and with gusts of wind the flames change colour, turning purple, green and blue, dancing and twisting according to the story being told, creating shapes and figures. It is a glorious festival.
Only the witness from Jina'thalor does not join in. She sits quietly, singing in praise of the spider god Shadra alone.

Eventually, Jin'thek stands atop one of the steps of the Shrine of Ula-Tek, and beckons for a moment of silence.

---

Dalaran

The assembled crowd looks to Javali with mixed feelings. Some representatives, such as those from Seashire, Tarren Mill and Andriano clearly approve.

The counts of Nevezia, Firezne and Venege, three of Hesperia's largest cities, appear deep in thought. Expressionless, the Hareveim remain ringing the banquet hall. Archareveim Zinizar stands at attention, leaning against the wall in the shadows of the corner of the room.

They are Javali's secret police. Those who do not conform today would have to be dealt with. Javali cannot suppress his nerves. His heart and soul have been poured into his words. Now to await the response to this feeling of nationalism.

"And what of the Witch Hunters, then?" Count Scipio of Andriano shouts. "The Lightist rabbles are marching through the countryside already! If you can't even keep the peasants and their rebel magi in check, how are we going to trust Dalaran to help us maintain unity? You, Javali, cannot even protect your own borders."

"All in good time." Javali says, motioning for Scipio to seat himself. "We have to teach the larger nations that they have no jurisdiction here. The King of Lordaeron is calling for a meeting of kings in a matter of days at Fenris Isle. There I can proclaim the birth of the Hesperian Alliance."

"We haven't agreed to anything yet!" Zartus of Seashire yells, shooting to his feet.

"We have no choice!" Dorian of Nevezia replies, throwing his hands up.

"I pledge Andriano to the new alliance!" Scipio suddenly declares. This shocks the crowd into silence. "I will never allow my people to suffer at the hands of Stromgarde again!"

To see count Scipio side with Javali sent a ripple of shock with the crowd. The old count was known for being brash and snide, but it seemed that Javali might have reminded him of something he feared worse than Dalaran.

"Then prove your words!" Mayor Juntridge shouts. He is the leader of the city of Tarren Mill. "My city is being oppressed by Alterac! Already they poison our wells and our supplies. They are preparing an invasion!"

---

Alterac

At the shore of Lordamere Lake, Xie and his company stop at the ferry known as the Lakefold. Several small houses are situated here, guarded by villagers from the highlands. This hamlet is an extension of Strahnbrad, serving as a means of trade with the towns of Silverpine and Tirisfal.

"Find us a ship, do it I say!" Xie commands.

Caxagord teleports onto one of the docked ships, and looks around for the captain.
"Have ship, will travel!"

"Any of these be belonging to us?" Xie asks one of the guards.
"Yes liege, they are in Alterac, and you are the lord, so yeah, I guess that means you can take your pick." one of the guards answers.

"Are there any dolphins in this lake? I like sea mammals." Caxagord muses, returning to the company. "And I say we take this ship to Fenris Isle. Who needs a ship captain when you have a court wizard and a special army?"

They set sail for Fenris Isle. In this time of hardship, Alterac would need to parley like a house on fire to ensure that the country survived.

War was beginning.

Halfway across the lake Caxagord runs onto the deck frantically.
"Oh goodness! There are holes in the boat!"
"What you say?" Xie asks.
"Somebody put holes in the boat! It's a set up!" Caxagord answers.

Suddenly, a small fleet of ships appears from behind a nearby island. They are flying the purple sails of the Dalaran navy, but they are flying the flags of the Kirin Mora. These are magi who are not with Javali, the dictator. They are rebels.
"We get a signal." Caxagord says.

An archmage with two eye patches teleports onto the deck of the boat.
"Greetings, gentlemen."
"What?!" Xie roars.
"All of Dalaran will belong to us soon!" the archmage cackles maniacally. "And you, treacherous supporters of paganism, will die! You are sailing to your destruction. I am Archmage Saadhal Mundis of the Kirin Mora, right hand of Grigori Dosantos. You have little time to make before we sink you. You have no chance to survive."

Suddenly Shade, the Assassin-Mage, barrel rolls into the invading Archmage Saadhal.
"Who say the man?! I'm the man!"

Saadhal teleports out.

Xie is left facing a tough decision. The ship is in danger.
"This still no explain why we sinking."
"Logic is a fallacy." Caxagord shrugs. "But I can teleport us safely to Fenris Isle, Lord Xie! On Fenris Isle we have diplomatic immunity! It's sort of like wearing a helmet of politics! We will be safe!"

---

Lordaeron

Alford clashes blades with Canbrad. They stare into one another's eyes, not as lovers, but as opponents, both passionate about their cause.

Sherman is already cutting through the rebels which Thomassy froze. The panic of the crowds is finally working against him, though. People are rampaging to get out of the way, and as a result, are getting in the way.

Alford is a skilled swordsman, one of the best in court, but it seems that this old veteran has an edge of personal experience on his side. Canbrad feints and dives with ease, his silver ponytail dancing in the wind with the motion of his movements.

"Your line has been the cause of a tyrannical regime lasting centuries! It ends here!" Canbrad spits, pushing the king back. "Today I will free the people of this land!"

"You are nothing if not misguided!" Alford replies, maintaining his strength of will against the onslaught. "Why have you come here, rebel. Krowl has already forsaken you."
"I should have known Krowl would soften up and take it like a man eventually, but he's too good a symbol to waste on a public execution." Canbrad answers. "I am the true blade behind the People's Front. As long as I live, so will the people forever scorn your very name, Menethil."

"Thomassy, what the hell are you doing back there?" Sherman calls as he drives one of the rebels back.

Alford finally realises that his court wizard is locked in combat with a figure clad in a simple brown robe. The stranger blasts Thomassy back with a flash of fire, and turns his back on the fallen man. He motions to the rebels who are being pushed back.

Alford and Canbrad face one another, but amidst the confusion, realise that the matter has been settled already.
"We'll meet again soon." Canbrad growls, and pushes his way through the stampeding crowds. "Get us out of here, Oran!"
"For Brux!" the strange hedgewizard calls, as he covers the retreat of the rebels.

Sherman rushes to Alford and grabs a hold of him.
"Are you alright, my king?"
"Krowl! Where is Maximus Krowl!"
"We have him. It's alright, my king. Aside from the panic we did not lose many men, and we might still be able to hunt down the rebels before they escape."
"They had a pagan sorceror with them!" Thomassy calls, ambling over to them. "A servant of the Maroon god, Brux. That is something we could not have anticipated."

"What are your orders, my king?" Sherman asks.

---

Kul Tiras

OOC: Sorry for the short one, Xarthat. There's not much left to do here just yet.

Vizier Kalabrond continues to cower on his knees, but he seems resolved.
"I will do as you say. I will prove my fealty. I promise you."

"That is settled then." Phorcys says with a nod. "Now, my son. Shall we set sail for the mainland? That is, if we wish to go to this meeting."

---

Stromgarde (Spooky)

King Eralas Trollbane.

That is the name of the lord and master of the lands of Stromgarde, successor to the nation of Strom under the Light.

In recent years, Eralas has ensured national isolation from the rest of the world. He has been working hard, harbouring secret dreams, labouring to a future that he has envisioned for his people. They have been secured. The countryside has been guarded, stabilized and farmed. Since the incursion into Hesperia decades ago, there has been relative peace.

That is, except for the Arathi Freedom Movement. So far they have been an idle threat in the mountains overlooking Hillsbrad.

A week ago, a messenger arrived in Stromgarde City, bringing word from Lordaeron. Eralas greeted the messenger courteously, allowing him to take in the glorious sight of the massive stone walls of his realm, and the rich markets and feasts at hand. It was always a wise idea to impress the messenger, so that he may take back word of the power of the kingdom.

"Why bother with such a meeting?" Dorath Trollbane asked his brother after the messenger departed. Dorath, an avid supporter of Stromgarde's new imperialist movement, thought that to leave the kingdom for such a diplomatic gesture would be futile.

Yet, Eralas was king for a reason. Despite being the older brother, he knew the values of wisely placed words. War, though usually inevitable, must be followed by negotiation. Every war must be followed by peace. Eralas knows the value in such.

Thus did he depart on the second day with a battalion of his finest knights, clad in the crimson splendour of the nation. At his side is his squire, bearing the banner of the gauntlet of Strom. The ride was uneventful, up until they reached the defensive wall at the border.

"Something is wrong." the squire mutters.
"Yes. I can't see any guards watching over their stations." one of the knights replies.

Eralas begins to feel uneasy, and yet, furious. Was it desertion? Whoever was responsible would have to be punished.

Suddenly, a hail of arrows whistles through the air, impaling the earth right before the riders. Nobody is hit, but the horses are startled.
Eralas sees a line of archers on the top of the wall. They are wearing yellow tabards.

They are Freedom Fighters.
"What have we here?" one of them asks.

[Wabbajack]

[Once again I only can applause you. The alterac part was perfect^^
And Skirvar doesn't have an accent, he is a far traveled dwarf and learned hard to lose it^^
My update will come soon]

[Xarthat]

Kul Tiras

OOC: Sorry for the short one, Xarthat. There's not much left to do here just yet.

Vizier Kalabrond continues to cower on his knees, but he seems resolved.
"I will do as you say. I will prove my fealty. I promise you."

"That is settled then." Phorcys says with a nod. "Now, my son. Shall we set sail for the mainland? That is, if we wish to go to this meeting."

"Yes, we're going there, my father, although I think I have some special orders you may pass on to my subjects."
(OOC: You've got that PM?)

Before leaving, Thaumas called upon Xanthus Alverold, his beloved son-in-law, husband of his eldest daughter. Despite being already in his 40s, Thaumas had no sons that could inherit his kingdom after his death. Only hope was Xanthus or... getting a new wife. His late wife, Iole, died in childbirth two years later, although the child was another girl.
"Listen me, Xanthus, into your hands I give the kingdom during my absence. If that coward Janus shows up, deal with him with all the might you can muster, but remember to call for me about the troubles. I hope you understand that."

(OOC: Guess Tim where I've got Alverold (http://www.wowwiki.com/Lieutenant_Alverold) as a last name)

[Kerrah]

Dalaran

The assembled crowd looks to Javali with mixed feelings. Some representatives, such as those from Seashire, Tarren Mill and Andriano clearly approve.

The counts of Nevezia, Firezne and Venege, three of Hesperia's largest cities, appear deep in thought. Expressionless, the Hareveim remain ringing the banquet hall. Archareveim Zinizar stands at attention, leaning against the wall in the shadows of the corner of the room.

They are Javali's secret police. Those who do not conform today would have to be dealt with. Javali cannot suppress his nerves. His heart and soul have been poured into his words. Now to await the response to this feeling of nationalism.

"And what of the Witch Hunters, then?" Count Scipio of Andriano shouts. "The Lightist rabbles are marching through the countryside already! If you can't even keep the peasants and their rebel magi in check, how are we going to trust Dalaran to help us maintain unity? You, Javali, cannot even protect your own borders."

"All in good time." Javali says, motioning for Scipio to seat himself. "We have to teach the larger nations that they have no jurisdiction here. The King of Lordaeron is calling for a meeting of kings in a matter of days at Fenris Isle. There I can proclaim the birth of the Hesperian Alliance."

"We haven't agreed to anything yet!" Zartus of Seashire yells, shooting to his feet.

"We have no choice!" Dorian of Nevezia replies, throwing his hands up.

"I pledge Andriano to the new alliance!" Scipio suddenly declares. This shocks the crowd into silence. "I will never allow my people to suffer at the hands of Stromgarde again!"

To see count Scipio side with Javali sent a ripple of shock with the crowd. The old count was known for being brash and snide, but it seemed that Javali might have reminded him of something he feared worse than Dalaran.

"Then prove your words!" Mayor Juntridge shouts. He is the leader of the city of Tarren Mill. "My city is being oppressed by Alterac! Already they poison our wells and our supplies. They are preparing an invasion!"

I hit my fists on the table. "Gentlemen and Ladies. My fellow compatriots. Wizards. Noblemen. Elected officials.

I do not claim I have all the answers. I do not present myself as the solution. I do not want you to throw your symbols of power to my feet as some kind of ritual to solve whatever ails you. What I do know is that we are all in danger and most of us will not survive unless we work together to sail through this tempest.

Any who wish to unite their forces to make our land safe and secure will join me in the creation of the Alliance of Hesperia, which will make the safety of all people of this land its first priority."

I stop for a moment before turning to an archmage to my left. I loudly announce, to make sure that all the hall will hear. "Archmage Augusta. Inform generals Leo and Marius to prepare all of Dalaran's troops and divide them equally between themselves. Leo will march his army southeast and will be joined by the armies of all Alliance members along the way. The armies will move all the way to Tarren Mill, where they will await for further orders. He is to use his consideration to determine whether Alterac's transgressions in the area can be counted as a reasonable causa belli. If they are, he has the freedom to force them into stopping said transgressions.

Marius will take his half west and prepare to make war on the Kirin Mora rebels in the hillside the forests bordering Silverpine. He too, will be joined by all the forces from our allies among the way. Any and all former members and agents of the Kirin Tor will be captured alive if possible so they can be tried here by the Council of Leaders of the Alliance. They will see that by standing in the way of the progress of this nation, they have paved their own road to ruin."

I turn back to address the rulers directly: "I do not oppose my former colleagues because they are Lightists. They did not abandon this city and go hiding to collect rebellious peasants because I have chosen a side in the conflict of religions. I oppose their side because their side includes trying and killing people for what they believe in! Whichever 'side' is harmful to the people and the nation is my enemy...

Whoever is harmful to Hesperia and its people, is OUR ENEMY!"

[I have secretly informed about my troop orders to the army before this speech: 20% of soldiers will actually stay in Dalaran while 80% marches out.]

[Zula]

Amani

OOC: Since it's what you were waiting for, and it's long overdue. I present, the Summertide Festival.

The Shadowpine speaker grunts and snatches a gold trinket from the grass. Jin'thek stares at him expressionlessly.
"Take it, den. Thanks for your... information."

"We be seein' eachother real soon, mon. Real soon." The Shadowpine speaker says. "An' I be Ha'lin. Don' you forget."

Jin'thek nods and walks out of the Shadowpine village. His warband is waiting for him. Ba'jal has already left with the dwarves.
"Let's go home."

As the sun sets over the massive Shrine of Ula-tek, final preparations are being made. Witch Doctor Gruc'jen has been leading the effort, overseeing the preparation of food and incense. It is his responsibility to ensure that all goes according to plan. For an entire mile, Amani sentries remain perched in the trees every so often. Jin'thek is not taking any chances.

Over the course of a few hours, the rival tribe ambassadors begin to arrive. Jin'thek embraces Nuvazgal of the Mosstusk in a gesture of mutual respect. Nuvazgal slams his fist into his chest in salutation.

The Shadowpine are next to arrive, led by Ha'lin, their speaker. As expected, the Mossflayers arrive alongside the Firetree, Smolderthorn, Witherbark and Revantusk. Lastly, a single representative of the Vilebranch makes an appearance. She is a messenger from Jintha'alor, a disciple of the spider goddess, Shadra.

They are seated around a massive bonfire under the light of the moon and the stars, singing, chanting and playing raging tunes and songs of past glories. These tribes are the remnants of the Amani Empire, scattered though they are. For once, they chant as one.

Gruc'jen throws powders into the fire, and with gusts of wind the flames change colour, turning purple, green and blue, dancing and twisting according to the story being told, creating shapes and figures. It is a glorious festival.
Only the witness from Jina'thalor does not join in. She sits quietly, singing in praise of the spider god Shadra alone.

Eventually, Jin'thek stands atop one of the steps of the Shrine of Ula-Tek, and beckons for a moment of silence.



Music for this scene (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=22uMmq37nUs)

All his life he had dreamed for that chance. Every action he took, every alliance he made or broke, every being he killed. All was done so one day he could be where he was today. But the journey was indeed just starting. All he had done, in the end, was just to prepare for its start.

The chieftains looked expectantly at him and he knew that, despite feeling smothered with attention, they were expecting an explanation for why they had been invited. He closed his eyes and took some breath.

“Thank you, thank you all for being here. Before I tell you why I called you , let me ask you a question.

‘’What happened to us? How come now we are struggling to survive, fighting over food and pathetic stretches of land, when once we ruled half of the world. How come we lost our honor?”

The crowd sent intrigued and suspicious looks at the Amani chieftain.

“How come we allowed the human scum that was just learning to handle fire we while erected monuments like this temple, and the elf scum that shattered the world because of their own incompetence handling magic, to steal our land?” He took a deep breath again.

“And the saddest question” He let some time pass before continuing. “Why didn’t the Jin’rohk save us? Like it did during the Great War and the Shattering?”

The crowd was murmuring, some of the chieftains were beginning to get impatient.

“I will tell you why our gods didn’t save us: because the worship of the false gods was widespread in the royal family, gods who only care about being worshipped, no matter the race, the allegiance or the intentions of their followers.”

“The empire was doomed to fall because of that heresy. And so we shouldn’t wail about the past anymore, what is done is done, and especially since the future seems bright again.”

“What’s your point mon?”, “Tell us already why you invited us!” and similar shouts were thrown by the crowd. He expected them to say that it was time for the final part of his speech. He looked towards Gruc’jen for a second. The old Witch Doctor understood what his master meant and swiftly disappeared.

“I found it.” Jin’thek said with a clear smile in his face. The crowd begin to mutter. Some looked confused, some intrigued and some even outraged, thinking they were being fooled.

“You found what mon?” A troll from the Witherbark tribe asked. Jin’thek smiled and looked behind him, where the Witch Doctor stood, holding something covered by a piece of cloth. He took what the Witch Doctor was holding, turned towards the crowd and removed the piece of cloth.

“The Jin’rohk mon”, Jin’thek said, lifting the sword high into the air. The trolls looked in awe, for the Jin’rohk was a sword of legend, one of two swords granted by the Loa to trollkind thousands of years ago.

“I am tired of seeing us fight each other, I am tired of the elfs and humans provoking fights among us, as my good foe Nuvzagal of the Mosstusk tribe is a recent example of” He lifted his voice “Now when our foes are divided thanks to the same gods that brought us ruin, it’s a time when we should forget about our petty fights and rivalries, ‘cause mons, I have a dream. A dream of seeing the unholy city of the elfs paved with their own bones, where we all stand together like we did, when hunger is only a problem for humans and our empire standing even higher than in the days of old!”

“So my dear guests, what do you say? ARE YOU WITH ME?!”

OOC:'Show time :D. And damm you tim :)'

[Sp00ky]

Stromgarde (Spooky)

King Eralas Trollbane.

That is the name of the lord and master of the lands of Stromgarde, successor to the nation of Strom under the Light.

In recent years, Eralas has ensured national isolation from the rest of the world. He has been working hard, harbouring secret dreams, labouring to a future that he has envisioned for his people. They have been secured. The countryside has been guarded, stabilized and farmed. Since the incursion into Hesperia decades ago, there has been relative peace.

That is, except for the Arathi Freedom Movement. So far they have been an idle threat in the mountains overlooking Hillsbrad.

A week ago, a messenger arrived in Stromgarde City, bringing word from Lordaeron. Eralas greeted the messenger courteously, allowing him to take in the glorious sight of the massive stone walls of his realm, and the rich markets and feasts at hand. It was always a wise idea to impress the messenger, so that he may take back word of the power of the kingdom.

"Why bother with such a meeting?" Dorath Trollbane asked his brother after the messenger departed. Dorath, an avid supporter of Stromgarde's new imperialist movement, thought that to leave the kingdom for such a diplomatic gesture would be futile.

Yet, Eralas was king for a reason. Despite being the older brother, he knew the values of wisely placed words. War, though usually inevitable, must be followed by negotiation. Every war must be followed by peace. Eralas knows the value in such.

Thus did he depart on the second day with a battalion of his finest knights, clad in the crimson splendour of the nation. At his side is his squire, bearing the banner of the gauntlet of Strom. The ride was uneventful, up until they reached the defensive wall at the border.

"Something is wrong." the squire mutters.
"Yes. I can't see any guards watching over their stations." one of the knights replies.

Eralas begins to feel uneasy, and yet, furious. Was it desertion? Whoever was responsible would have to be punished.

Suddenly, a hail of arrows whistles through the air, impaling the earth right before the riders. Nobody is hit, but the horses are startled.
Eralas sees a line of archers on the top of the wall. They are wearing yellow tabards.

They are Freedom Fighters.
"What have we here?" one of them asks.

A moment of silence followed the sarcastic remark of the would be assailant, and as the yet cold winds of the mountain pass swept though his oak brown hair not covered by his crown, lord Eralas carefully considered the words with which he would address these most unlawful men-at-arms who had dared not only to block his path but to unleash their weapons, most definitely stolen or otherwise wrongfully acquired, against his person and his royal guard of knights.

Having recognised the symbolism of the tabards with which they boosted themselves, that of the accursed and self-righteous Freedom Movement, whom had been thorn in the side of the royal house since the time of his grandfather, Eralas, controlling his temper, decided that the situation called for a modest display of authority but in a form so unexpectedly unlike him that it would shook not only his escort but most likely the rebels themselves.
Having made up his mind and mentally considered his plan one last time did he, with a twisted smile, dismount his horse and pulled it by its leash towards the squire asking him politely to hold it for him as he went about his business and the squire, who at this moment was equally astonished and surprised and in no position to object the word of his lord, obeyed the request of his king.
Freed from the burden of worrying over the welfare of his four legged companion.

Eralas, understanding fully the boldness of the actions he was about to commit, walked away from the escort until he felt that the distance between himself and the escort was equal to that between himself and the rebel occupied gate. He then drew his sword, an ancient heirloom and symbol of his royal authority, and stuck it softly into the ground before crossing his arms across his chest and once more lifting his guise towards the tabard clad warriors atop the majestic gatehouse of Thordins Wall.

“Normally I would find such sarcastic remarks insulting” he then spoke with a confident voice”but as a gesture of good will and the sake of dialog I shall answer your rhetorical question, and rhetorical it is as my identity and that of my pairs are not unknown to you just as yours are not unknown to me”

He then slowly pulled the royal ring of Arathor, easily recognisable due to the crimson colour of the mighty amberstone which dotted its centre, from the middle finger of his right hand and lifted it high into the air for all men to see and then, he spoke with a thundering voice:

"I am King Eralas Trollbane, Son of Falrion, lord and master of these lands, hills and mountain peaks, servant of its people both young and old”

He paused for a moment and then continued

“And you, unless my eyes deceive me, are members of the rebellious Freedom movement, who have plagued these lands for nearly an age and claim to fight for the future and right of my realm and subjects”

Then he paused a second time and took a deep breath, as if to control his emotions as he moved on to the more outrageous actions of these self-proclaimed freedom fighters.

“And doing the cause of your most heroic struggle”
He continued
“you have continuously attacked defenceless farmsteads, claiming everything from corn, life stock and much needed water to farm tools, which I suppose you intended to use as weapons, and resorting even to sinful acts of kidnapping and murder in an effort to strengthened an already weakened and deluded movement”

A third pause followed in which he observed the reactions of the rebel bowmen, who now seemed to show signs of faltering determination.

Encouraged, he continued

“I must admit, however, that I find myself impressed by the share scale of what you have accomplished here, who would have thought that a band of untrained brigadiers, who most likely abandoned their families, loyalties and loved ones in favour of fame and glory, could somehow overrun the greatest and most important bastion in Stromgarde, second only to Strom itself, de-manning it so such an extent that it will take me weeks if not months to scramble a force with which to rearm it and in the meantime this vital strategic stronghold, which has shielded us from the horrors of troll kin since the heydays of the Arathorian Empire, will stand empty and unguarded, leaving Stromgarde mostly if not utterly defenceless”

Once more he considered his words, his anger lessened and hiding his concern over fact that the great wall was indeed defenceless, before proceeding, with a slight hint of sarcasm:

“What a great victory this is for a movement which claims to fight not only for the freedom of the subjects of this realm, but also for its safety and protection, do you think that my people will rejoice when they hear that the great Wall of Thordin has been sabotaged, that they will show restrict when they realise just whom they have to thank for this insult? have happen my doubts regarding such an ourcome”

He allowed the would be revolutionaries to fully understand the meaning of the words he had just uttered, after all most of these people were either farmers or former blacksmiths.

“But do not despair you proud soldiers of rigorousness” he said with a slight hint of sarcasm “for I have an offer, a compromise if you will, which may deliver you from this most cruellest of fates and assure that neither of you will ever find yourselves in the close proximity of a noose or the hands of an angry mob and I and my companions will not be denied our passage to a summit of greatest importance, but only” He made clear “if you chose to listen”

He waited for awhile, listening as the brigadiers above exchanged opinions and a few moments later they were in agreement, they would listen to what the lord of the land had to offer.

He answered their questioning eyes with a less sarcastic tone, dominated by a plea for reason and understanding:

“Your faction has, as stated before, bothered this land and its people for many generations, but the reasons for your hostility to my bloodline and the crown we wear was never fully established” he spoke with great confidence “In fact, gentlemen, your past leaders never approached Stromgarde with any official demands or requests, making the chances of us understanding your misguided uprising all the more difficult”

He remembered the tales his late father used to tell him about the start of the uprising, which had occurred towards the final years of his grandfathers’ reign, when a noble of the lower houses had suddenly left the royal court in anger, an anger which was most assuredly unfounded and unexplained, assembling a host of dissidents from all flocks of life while marching north in to the mountain passes bordering the hinterlands, which had been their main area of operations for as long as this generation could remember, which was why this conquest of the great wall was as surprising, considering its once formidable garrison, as it was unnerving.

He then continued:

“Never once did your founding lords seek peace and understanding, not a single time were our summons and calls for reason acknowledged, as you all already know we had no choice but to hunt you down whenever we could, knowing not why our former subjects had so suddenly turned their back on the very country which had feed and protected them.

His tone lessened for a while, the fact that the legions of Stromgarde had ever been used against its own people, though misguided, had always been a course of great discomfort and concern to him. Once more he spoke:

“But with this latest act, though impressive, have you robbed this land and its people, for awhile at least, from the very protection which was once given to you and the lords you serve, I evoke the right to question the wisdom and fairness of such exploits, for if you ever fought for the people then why would you offer them this? Not to mention the many children who will now mourn the loss of a father”

He paused , carefully considering his words of conclusion:

“I stand before you, offering you a chance to abandon your ways of warfare and murder, to embrace a calls for peace, friendship and union under my reign and that of my successors, I offer you a hand with the promise of understanding and openness, should you decide to finally inform me and my realm of your reasons for rebellion and bloodshed, do this, and I shall be open and just, as is the way of the Kings of Stromgarde, you have my word for this and in the name of the ever holy light, it shall be kept”

Eralas then released his sword from the ground and returned to his mount and escort, clearly relived that he had returned to them, he then turned, mounted, once more to the rebels and declared:

“You have heard my offer, men of the movement, and the outcome of this encounter shall be decided on the nature of your answer, know that should you accept then I shall show mercy, as I and my forbears have always done, but know as well that I am in a hurry and time is as ever of the essence and as such I cannot await your reply with the patience it would otherwise deserve”

“And finally, know that should you refuse and seek to spill my blood, then this matter would be forever decided and the nation would know that you had chosen war over peace and embraced your own destruction, the legions would show restraint no more”

The offer of peace as well as the warning had now been given, the outcome of the day was now in the hands of the light and the bandits above him, as the rebels considered their answer to the kings offer and ultimatum, Eralas, discreetly, called the captain of his escort to this side and made it informed him, with a very low voice, that he had his doubts regarding the movements ability to overcome the full might of the garrison which had been stationed here, and that it was his wish, once the current situation had been death with, that preparations were made for a full investigation of what had actually occurred here and whether or not the garrison that the rebels had fought and slain had in fact been weakened by defection or other acts of treason. The Captain nodded in approval of his king’s decision.

He then sat silent, awaiting the reply of the criminals above and hoping that this annoying interference, whatever the outcome, would not result in any further unnecessary delays. He had planned to visit and spend the night in the Hesperian city of Andriano, a city which had suffered greatly at the hands of his father doing the last great incursion into Hesperian territory, with this visit he hoped, to an extent, to improve Stromgardes standing and reputation in the region, a move which could prove decisive and important in the days ahead.


OOC: I might need a day or two, in game, to get to Fenris before the meeting, to make it more realistic as it is a rather long journery

[Wabbajack]

Skirvar

It does not take long for Skirvar to realise that he is being led west rather than east. The passing of the sun is evidence enough. What he does remember is that Ula-Tek is further east.
Ba'jal and his couple of guards do not slow down.
"Where ye be takin us?" Skirvar asks.
"Away where ya can't be causin' trouble to us, mon. I should kill ye, it's what the other tribes would do. But I got plans o' me own. The boss wanted me to keep ya alive." Ba'jal mumbles

Skirvar cannot shake off an uneasy feeling.
"Your boss told ye to take us to Ula-Tek din' he?"

Ba'jal turns his head to look back at the trailing dwarves and smiles unpleasantly. A forest troll's smile appears more like a frown or a grimace than a smile. Skirvar shudders.

"No, mon. Not Jin'thek. Jin'thek not know half of da big plan. I talkin' bout da boss here. Da big mojo. Now off with ya. Get moving. Get out o' Zul'Aman. I ever see ya here again, I kill ya."

Ba'jal and his trolls turn their backs and climb up into the pine trees, vanishing from sight. Urel and Skirvar are left on the borders of Zul'Aman, a fringe of land in which the trees abrupty stop and make way to an open grassland. Far below them is a new stretch of forest, but the canopies are of yellow leaves that make Skirvar think of Autumn.

Urel scans the distance. This must be Quel'Thalas, home of the high elves.
"What shall we do now, Skirvar? If Jaril was taken by elves tis be our best bet we find him someplace 'ere."


Skirvar thought for a moment. This was not what he hoped for, but at least it gave him informations that could prove crucial to the outcome of the future war.
"Even if we didn't get a witchdoctor for the Highthane, this mission may have been more important then it seems.
The first thing we must do now is to find Jaril."

"Aye, but what then?"

"We are in the land of the Highelves. Im certain that they have means to magicaly transport us to a city that is closer to Ironforge than here. Dalaran for example, and I still have matters to attend there."

"Lets hope that we may find Jaril. I think the next elvish city is that way."
And so the companion go into the direction Urel indicated, without their lost mounts and depressed by the failure of their last mission.

[I want to go to Fenris, too. Would that be okay?^^]

[Wulfang]

[I want to go to Fenris, too. Would that be okay?^^]

[If you find a good RP reason for it, sure, I'd agree with it, but I don't see how Skirvar could know about the meeting.]

[Wabbajack]

[I am certain that he will find out about it when he finaly is in Dalaran and asks for a meeting with its leader. I just hope I make it in time and that I find (i.e. Timolas alows it) a way to teleport to Dalaran. It would lorewise make sense that the elves have ways to teleport there^^]

[Wulfang]

[I am certain that he will find out about it when he finaly is in Dalaran and asks for a meeting with its leader. I just hope I make it in time and that I find (i.e. Timolas alows it) a way to teleport to Dalaran. It would lorewise make sense that the elves have ways to teleport there^^]

[But didn't you teleport to the Hinterlands back in the beginning of the story?]

[Wabbajack]

[But didn't you teleport to the Hinterlands back in the beginning of the story?]

[Basicly yes, but that was a crude dwarven-made portal and kind of a deus-ex, but where else could a portal to Dalaran be if not in elven land? I mean, they are the virtual ({is the word "quasi" used in english?^^}) co-founders of Dalaran^^]

[Wulfang]

Lordaeron

Alford clashes blades with Canbrad. They stare into one another's eyes, not as lovers, but as opponents, both passionate about their cause.

Sherman is already cutting through the rebels which Thomassy froze. The panic of the crowds is finally working against him, though. People are rampaging to get out of the way, and as a result, are getting in the way.

Alford is a skilled swordsman, one of the best in court, but it seems that this old veteran has an edge of personal experience on his side. Canbrad feints and dives with ease, his silver ponytail dancing in the wind with the motion of his movements.

"Your line has been the cause of a tyrannical regime lasting centuries! It ends here!" Canbrad spits, pushing the king back. "Today I will free the people of this land!"

"You are nothing if not misguided!" Alford replies, maintaining his strength of will against the onslaught. "Why have you come here, rebel. Krowl has already forsaken you."
"I should have known Krowl would soften up and take it like a man eventually, but he's too good a symbol to waste on a public execution." Canbrad answers. "I am the true blade behind the People's Front. As long as I live, so will the people forever scorn your very name, Menethil."

"Thomassy, what the hell are you doing back there?" Sherman calls as he drives one of the rebels back.

Alford finally realises that his court wizard is locked in combat with a figure clad in a simple brown robe. The stranger blasts Thomassy back with a flash of fire, and turns his back on the fallen man. He motions to the rebels who are being pushed back.

Alford and Canbrad face one another, but amidst the confusion, realise that the matter has been settled already.
"We'll meet again soon." Canbrad growls, and pushes his way through the stampeding crowds. "Get us out of here, Oran!"
"For Brux!" the strange hedgewizard calls, as he covers the retreat of the rebels.

Sherman rushes to Alford and grabs a hold of him.
"Are you alright, my king?"
"Krowl! Where is Maximus Krowl!"
"We have him. It's alright, my king. Aside from the panic we did not lose many men, and we might still be able to hunt down the rebels before they escape."
"They had a pagan sorceror with them!" Thomassy calls, ambling over to them. "A servant of the Maroon god, Brux. That is something we could not have anticipated."

"What are your orders, my king?" Sherman asks.

Alford screams his lungs out. The rebels managed to make him look like a fool, in a moment that should be his. Suddenly realizing he's still in public, he mentally chastises himself - he shouldn't lose control like this.

Alford: *trying to reagain his calm demeanour* Sherman, get a cavalry regiment and go after those pagan wretches. Call the nearest witch hunter chapter to help you with that sorcerer of theirs - they should know how to counteract his foul magics. You are allowed to kill them all, but I want you to bring back Canbrad's head and show it to populace, as an example and to ease their hearts.

Sherman: But what about this other scum? *points at the unconscious Krowl*

Alford: The execution will go on. I won't let them mark this day as a victory for their side. I believe Captain de Mon and his guards are enough to oversee the procedure.

Sherman: *hungering for retribution* At once, my king! *bows and hastily leaves towards the stables, yelling for his men to follow*

---

The city square is filled with people once more, though not nearly as many as before. The remaining ones look weary, afraid that something might endanger their lives again. The guards look especially unnerved as well, their eyes constantly shifting.

Atop the stand, their look is replicated on Krowl's face. Alford and Thomassy stand by as well, stern and vigilant. A second executioner makes the rebel leader kneel and closes the guillotine around his neck, facing very little resistance from him.

Alford walks closer to the edge of the stand, drawing attention from his people.

Alford: Lordaeronians! My people, my countrymen! This man here, kneeling before you, is Maximus Krowl, leader of the movement known as the People's Front. For years, him and his followers have attacked our villages, killed our soldiers and seeded doubt in your hearts. Today, that would end. I thought the death of their leader would be enough to disband the Front, to spare a king from having to kill his own people.

But blood was shed here today. Blood of your kinsmen, who pledge their lives to defend you and the land you call home. The rebels could not allow their mad dream to be taken from them. So they came here, to turn this day into a victory for them - the day they attacked Lordaeron City itself.

I will not give them that pleasure. I have to defend you, my people. Yes, for you, the true patriots, not them, are my people. You who support what Lordaeron stands for and whose resolution shines brightly in these dark days. My heart is resolute as well - the rebels will pay for hurting my people, who are as if my own flesh and blood.

I will make them tremble. Their legs will tell them to run at the bare mention of my name. This will be an example to all of them. This day will not be theirs. THIS DAY BELONGS TO LORDAERON!


And as a silvery gust of wind passes through the square, the blade of the guillotine descends. Krowl's head falls neatly into the basket under it, the small thump it makes cutting through the silence.

A moment passes.

Another one as well.

A fist rises among the crowd.

"Long live King Alford! ALL HAIL LORDAERON!!! (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1ehtgW2BByA)"

The rest of the crowd soon joins, echoing those two hearfelt cries, trying to make the whole Azeroth pay notice to their unbreakable spirit.

---

Thomassy: Despite the... interference, all went as planned, milord. I dare say it even made the people support you more.

Alford: Perhaps, Court Wizard, perhaps. But for now, we should focus on the meeting at Fenris Isle. That is where I will be able to see on whose side the other monarchs stand.

Krowl: And who the one to hand his crown to me will be.

The three are within one of the palace's many guest rooms, one the servants and guards think unoccupied at the moment and far enough from the main corridors for it not to regularly passed by. The former rebel speaks with a glimmer in his eyes, already imagining the tales to be written about his reign.

Krowl: *to Thomassy* I was surprised to see all of this worked so well. I actually got worried that blade would chop my head off. It's good to see I have allied with capable people.

Thomassy: *looking offended, but letting pride fill his face* I didn't become Court Wizard by enchanting brooms, Krowl.

Alford: Enough chitter-chatter for now. I have more pressing matters to attend to. Do not worry Krowl, I will keep up to my end of the bargain. During my absense, Thomassy will visit you regularly to provide you with food. Endure these iddle times, and you'll feel the weighth of a crown.

Court Wizard, let us depart. And inform the Archbishop that I want to hear what him and his witch hunters have been up to.


As the two men close the door behind themselves, Thomassy slightly flicks his wrist, locking the door behind them.

[Vicious]

OOC: You can summon them there but they'll probably introduce a whole new problem for you. I'll roll a dice to see if they go wild, kill your own men, etc.

GILNEAS :odd:

Omg!

---

Smoke rises from the forges of the capital of Gilneas, the city of Ginchar, and Jamal Hildebrand the Perspicacious ascends the highest tower in the city. He is awaited by his king, Viktor Greymane. Viktor is getting on in years, but his iron rule has kept the nation safe throughout hard times nonetheless. Now in the recent years of religious tension, his Light worshipping fancies are beginning to backfire. The people scream for change, and want to replace Viktor with a pagan queen.
"What have you to report, court wizard?" Viktor asks his regional governor.
Jamal Hildebrand the Perspicacious heaves a sigh.
"Our forces were decimated at Henlinn, liege. General Mordred had an inside man, Captain de Bracy himself. Both of them stand poised to march on Ginchar. General Mordred sent us but one message, my king."
"What message is that, Jamal?" Viktor asks.
"Make your time."

Timolas presents...

The Zinite Azure army of Mordred marches northwards towards Ginchar, streaming blue banners as they draw nearer to their goal.

An IPC Production...

Jamal Hildebrand and Viktor send the city guard to man their positions.

Produced by the Cult of Yubes

Viktor chooses a sword from a large rack in his personal armoury.
"I choose you, Painbrand."
Jamal laughs.
"You choose the sword, my king? No, dear master. Painbrand chooses you!"

*Camera pans in.*

Jamal and Viktor stand on the city walls of Ginchar as the Azure rebel army approaches. Ever helpful, Jamal turns to his king.
"What are your orders? We can attempt to hold them and break Mordred's strength against the city walls in a siege, but we lost most of our forces at Henlinn." Jamal explains, eager to be fill in his advisory role as always. "Or, my king, we could try other means. There are secret tunnels beneath the city. In ages past, they served as secret headquarters for cultists, but they have been deserted now. If you wish, we can use them to escape Ginchar. In seven days, King Alford Menethil of Lordaeron is hosting a meeting at Fenris Isle. We could plead for help there. Unless you have any better ideas, of course."

"Damnit, Jamal." Viktor grumbles. It would be a humiliation to lose Ginchar to Mordred, his former protege. Beneath them, the Azure army is setting up camp.
Suddenly, Viktor catches sight of a wing of cavalry riding down from the hills. It is the Leafhill Brigade!

A cry rises from the reinforcements.
"For Great Justice!"
And the Leafhill riders are charging through Azure lines like the wind, tearing and trampling.
Unfortunately, they did not account for the Hareveim of Zinine. The female spellcasters amidst the enemy ranks begin tearing the riders down with blasts of blue magic.

"Oh." Jamal grumbles.

At the sight of slaughter of his Leafhill Riders, a vein poped in Vikt´s Greymane forehead. He grabbed one of the top cobblestone of his massive city wall lying in front of him in a futile attempt to vent his anger.

Viktor: Send 2 archers and order them to shot warning arrows to retreat. Call them back this very instant!!

Jamal: Yes Sir but...the spellcasters...they will most likely kill almost the entire cavalry...

Viktor: Then make haste! Better for a few stand guard over my walls than all of them getting slaughtered for no good reason.

Jammal screams for an attendant and issues the orders. Viktor leaves the balcony and descends through the wall stairs, calling for his advisor.

Viktor: Jammal! How is the Main Gate holding? How much material have the soldiers stacked in it?

Jammal: So this means we´ll be holding the City, my liege? I do believe that a tactical es-

Viktor: Answer me, Jammal.

Jammal: We´re using every piece of non-essential furniture and non-used building material to stack up and fortify the gate. But judging from the sheer number of General Mordred‘s army and the spellcasters among them, it will most likely not hold for too long

Viktor: I want every remaining forces to finish the defense preparations and have all available archers and gunners by the Wall immediately, they´ll be crucial in the coming days if Ginchar is to persevere.

Jammal: Sir, I can´t stress this enough but I do believe that it should be wise to

Viktor: I´ll be damned if i let my kingdom be taken by a opportunist traitor with delusion of grandeur! Ginchar will hold not matter what, I will hold no matter what, do you hear me Jammal?!

Jammal:....

The King of Gilneas turns his back to his trusted advisor gripping Painbrand in front of him, lost in thought and frustration, as part of him knew all along that he and his current forces alone cannot overcome his current predicament.

Viktor:....verify if the tunnels are in good condition enough for safe passage....but don´t think we´ll give Menethil the luxury of patience, we are too leave and the moment we arrive at Fenris Island, i plan to have a talk to him straight away!

[Timolas]

OOC: Sorry it's been so long. More exams. But next Saturday my Summer begins. And thus we come to this merry chapter in the epic saga of... stuff.

Kul Tiras

Xanthus Alverold provides Admiral Thaumas with a modest bow.
"My eternal thanks, Admiral. I will keep an eye on the kingdom in your absence, as is my duty."

Thaumas and Phorcys depart for the city's lower district, accompanied by a platoon of soldiers. Citizens stop routines, and the sound of metalwork and daily chores comes to an abrupt halt as the Admiral passes. The people salute him, courtesy and bow. Thaumas is a beloved man. Only very few of the people slink away, likely being Lightists or troublemakers.

"Were my wishes carried out?" Thaumas asks as they round the corner into the trade district.
Phorcys has his arms folded behind his back. Now, under the clarity of full daylight, Thaumas can see how time has taken its toll on his father. The man is old; truly old. His face is lined and harsh, and his gnarled form, though proud, exerts itself with every step.
"Of course, my son. While we sail to the mainland, we will be tailed by your special new cavaliers. The creatures you summoned are hard to tame, but with my assistance, their will was broken... eventually."
"Excellent. Then what remains to be done?"
"Not much, Thaumas. Your men are ready, your riders are equipped and your ship has been provisioned. All that remains is for you to decree where we make our landing."

Thaumas' brows knot.
"Yes, I had almost forgotten. What are our options?"
"To reach Fenris Isle we must traverse Hillsbrad; or rather, Hesperia, as its locals like to call it. Unfortunately, we don't have many friends in Hesperia. The city states there do not take kindly to outsiders. There are two coastal towns we can make a landing in. One is Seashire, which we blockaded years ago. They probably won't be friendly, but they are too small to stop us. The other is Firezne, a larger city, but we will attract a lot of attention. It all depends on how you want to make your entrance, though it is best not to alert the entire country to our presence. If we have any enemies in Hesperia, it is best they not know we are passing through before we are already at Fenris."

Captain Reginald Redpath is awaiting them at the riverside. A huge ship is moored safely. Workers are exchanging instructions across the deck, rigging the craft for its voyage. Redpath passes his standard salute to Thaumas.
"We await your word, my lord."

---

Dalaran

Hours after the grand meeting, Javali is meeting his two generals in private. Not all words are for the public ear to absorb.
Generals Leo and Marius stand at attention, two burly men from different areas of life, drafted together to serve one man; one dictator. Now it was Hesperia that they would serve.

"You received your instructions before the meeting." Javali says calmly in the sanctity of his private chamber. "I want you to affirm that all has gone according to plan."

It is Leo who speaks first.
"Aye, liege. The propoganda campaign has been successful, and we have both the Militia of Dalaran and the army ready to be mobilized. All that is left are your final orders."
"Excellent. What you will do in the following days and weeks will determine the future of our glorious home." Javali speaks earnestly. "I have chosen you two to be my hands in action because I trust you dearly. Do not let me down."
"Never." Marius grunts. "I would rather suffer death than let Hesperia slide into the hands of the enemy!"

"Then this is what you will do. Leo, you are to meet with reinforcement battalions from the other members of the Alliance of Hesperia. You will travel to Tarren Mill, where you will await further orders. I expect we might have trouble from the mountains, so be on your guard. You, Marius, will go west. The Kirin Mora rebels must be dealt with once and for all!"

The two generals salute.

Before they can be dismissed, a pair of gentle hands rest on Javali's shoulders. A sweet, feminine voice whispers into his ear.
"I see you are busy working. I am sorry to disturb you."

Javali's recognizes Zinizar's voice. A chill runs down his spine.
"Next time, knock before you enter. These are my private chambers."
"Oh? Did I interrupt you boys and your little party? Are no girls allowed? I'm so sorry."
The woman was a mystery, but not one Javali ever planned to figure out.
"What do you want, Zinizar?" he asks, turning to face the gorgeous woman who haunted the Violet Citadel.
"Tell your cronies to get out." Zinizar's only answer is.
"Yes, yes." Javali grumbles, waving for Leo and Marius to leave.

When they are gone, Javali returns his attention to her.
"Are you trying to make me look like a fool before my generals?"
"Don't be so sensitive, Javali." Zinizar teases. "But to business."
"To business." Javali affirms.
"Hesperia is under your thumb, and my Hareveim are spreading through every city, from Tarren Mill to Seashire. Now we will train your elite to be Zaramim, the chosen soldiers of Zinine. They will bear our enchanted arms into battle against the infidels of the Holy Light."

As Zinizar speaks, Javali can only acknowledge the list of debts building up.
"You have my eternal gratitude, of course. And Dalaran is now open to you; an entire city in the middle of this half of the continent which will harbour your pagan worship after years of oppression."

Zinizar's mouth is clearly home to a forced smile. The edge of her mouth twitches.
"Dear Javali. None of that means anything to me. Your thanks will not pay tribute to Zinine. Nor will they sate the wrath of any of the other Four Gods. No. It is time for you to honour the first half of your bargain. You have made a pact with the Blue Child. She would have her due. I want the Archivists to be assembled. Let your wisdom judge them for their misdeeds."

Javali heaves a sigh. This was a long time coming, and yet, still he hesitates, for he knows that such a motion would have echoes throughout Azerothien history. Some things can never be reversed.

---

Amani

Jin'thek stands above the vast crowd, bearing the legendary blade of the past in his hands. The sight of it, coupled with his words, drives over half of the asssembled trolls into a frenzy. They cheer and cry out, and the beating of drums resumes. The pace of the music increases into a tempest. Already, Zul'Aman is celebrating. The crescendo reaches a climax, and Witch Doctor Gruc'jen throws his arms into the air in jubilation.

A great screech is heard, and Jin'thek turns to face his ferocious mount, his landed hawk, the creature that they said was a gift from the Loa. It bristles its colourful feathers, beak gaping as it screeches in triumph at the call of its masters. Jin'thek grins at Ker'ah; for that is the name of his mount. He climbs atop its back, and it bounds down amidst the crowd. Trolls clamber around, cheering Jin'thek on.

"Zul'Aman! Let it be one again!" Jin'thek cries.

"No!" a rival roar arises. It is the messenger from Jintha'alor. "Elortha no Shadra does not will it!"

Jin'thek knew something like this might happen, but he would never have imagined that the troll emissary would be as bold as this. Suddenly, several trolls in the crowd bound up and leap at him. He swings Jin'rokh, cleaving two of them to the floor instantly. Ker'ah's beak catches another, gouging into its chest.

Two rival trolls remain, axes drawn, but they are quickly cut down by the surrounding loyalists. Only the Jintha'alor emissary is left.

"I be Vile Priestess Jo'ra, mistress of Jintha'alor. You step out of place doin' this, Jin'thek, mon. This not be your empire. Da Amani Empire is dead. Now we of Jintha'alor rise to take its place!"

"Madness!" Gruc'jen spits. "You be a heretic; you praise one Loa alone, when we trolls must serve all!"

"Dis' not be the last you heard o' me." Jo'ra shouts to the assembled crowd. Suddenly, her form shifts, and mandibles rip from her face. Her limbs extend and duplicate, and her colour changes until she appears as a humanoid spider. She clambers through the trees and into the darkness.

"What was 'dat, mon." Gruc'jen says, shaking his head.

Nuvazgal of the Mosstusk steps forward grimly.
"No matter, mon. All who are here tonight!" he roars. Attention turns to him. All of Zul'Aman respects Nuvazgal's power. They will hear his words.
"I think I have a say in all 'dis'."

Gruc'jen nods at Nuvazgal.
"Aye, mon. Speak, or hold your peace."

"Jin'thek may'a been my enemy for a decade, and he may not even be full forest troll in blood." Nuvazgal begins. "But he brings da' Jin'rokh, and his words be true. My men were killed by elves... IN ZUL'AMAN. Dis is OUR LAND. No more shall them long-ears come in here and kill our people. I stand behind Jin'thek!"

"Jin'thek! Zul'Aman! Zul'Aman!" the crowd roars.

"For Jin'thek! Jin'rokh!" Nuvazgal bellows, head high.

Jin'thek raises his mighty warblade into the night sky one last time, and the Summertide festival then truly begins in earnest...

The following morning, the tribes awake and assemble again under the morning light before the Shrine of Ula-Tek. Lieutenant Ba'jal sits at the foot of the temple on one of the stone steps, sharpening his axe. Jin'thek walks to address him.
"Two things, mon." Ba'jal whispers.
"Anything, Ba'jal." Jin'thek says.
"Dem dwarves escaped. That be one." Ba'jal grumbles. "Two; you gots a visitor."
"A visitor you say." Jin'thek muses. "Who be this visitor."
"Throw me into Shadra's web if I know, boss." Ba'jal shrugs. "He a troll; he came at night after the festival, wearing a green robe. By the light o' the bonfire I saw that his skin was purple, mon. Purple. I tol' 'im that in this festival, all trolls were welcome. He took up lodging in an old hut. I think we wants to speak with you, mon."

Jin'thek scratches his chin thoughtfully.
"A strange description. A purple troll?"
"Aye." Ba'jal confirms. "That be wot I said."
"Later I address him. Now I think that my people will want to hear what our next move is, now that the tribes obey me."

---

Stromgarde

As King Eralas Trollbane begins his journey through Hesperia, he remembers the events of the previous couple of days.

The rebels at the wall had been foolish to reduce the strength of the fortifications. They had endangered the entire nation; and yet, it seems, they had listened to reason after all. Eralas recalls how they had been struck by fear at the thought of their own deaths at the hands of the imperial army, as was inevitable. Thus had they dispersed. A few had asked for a pardon, but the rest had mounted their horses and had made for the hills, likely returning to their noble patrons with word of what had transpired.

Now it was Hesperia that would be the next challenge. The land was not unfamiliar to Eralas. He had visited it in the past, and decades ago, the city of Andriano had been attacked by Stromgarde for its choices. Nonetheless, it was a relatively peaceful land, filled with farmers and wildlife which rarely stepped onto the roads. Crossing the main river, Eralas and his company come across an unsettling sight.

In the distance to the north, banners rise above the horizon. They bear an unfamiliar mark; as if the symbolic eye of Dalaran had been combined with the crests of many nobles. Bearing these banners were men assorted from different factions, for their uniforms were different. Most of them seemed to be from Dalaran.

"What in the Light?" the Captain mutters.
Eralas reigns his horse in.
"I have not heard of such an army before."
The Captain sighs.
"I had heard rumours, and it seems they might have been confirmed by this sight.
"What rumours, Captain?" Eralas asks sternly.
"During our shorty journey, the peasants I questioned spoke of a union being made in the northwest. Dalaran called the Hesperian nobles together and formed an alliance, or so they say. It seemed far too odd to believe, but it seems that this army might be the result of that."
"The likes of this has not been seen for centuries!" Eralas' squire shouts in dismay. "Their forces seem so vast."

The Captain seems resolved.
"My lord, may I make a suggestion?"
"Of course, Captain." Eralas replies.
"I think that we stand at a crossroads. Our destination remains Fenris Isle; but we have a new problem. The army is marching across the road we had planned to use. That road leads to the city of Andriano, which we were set to rest in. The other roads will take us many days more to reach Fenris Isle, leading us along the sea to Seashire."

Eralas covers his face with the palm of his hand in frustration.
"They are a sea of steel; the first sign of military might I have seen outside of Stromgarde in a long time indeed. If they are to be our enemies we may have a difficult war at hand. But nonetheless, they are not our enemies yet."

"Aye liege." the Captain confirms. "Not yet. We can still use the road to Andriano and go directly to Fenris Isle. They have no reason to stop us. In fact, perhaps you can speak with the general of that army and ask him where he is going. After all, it is our business to know. Or else we can be safe and go past Seashire."

Eralas halts to ponder for a moment.
In the distance, the Hesperian army continues its march east.

East lies Stromgarde. Wherever this army is marching, it would be best to find out soon... somehow.

---

Skirvar

Urel adjusts his backpack as the two dwarves move into the lowlands towards Quel'Thalas.
"I aint got a clue where we are exactly, just so ye know."
Skirvar passes Urel a wink.
"We will figure this out, either way. I can see a road ahead, and a road always leads to civilization."

Contented at that fact, Urel leads the way.
"Aye, me pappie always used to use that sayin'. Amongst others. But we got one issue 'ere, Skirvar. Roads lead in many directions. This one leads in two. South is prolly faster to human territory, north should take us to their capital. But I gots no clue how safe we are in elf territory either, lad."

"One thing is certain, Urel." Skirvar grumbles. "We can't fail the Highthane again."

"But wot can we possibly do now?" Urel asks.
"We can find Jaril. Maybe he can find a cure for the Highthane amongst these elves. And then we have our other duty. We sent a messenger to Dalaran, did we not?"
"Aye, we did." Urel remembers.
"Well, we should check up on him. We cannot return to Ironforge empty handed. Perhaps the elves can take us to Dalaran to find out what happened to him."

As the dwarves reach the road, they nearly bump into someone.
"How in the 'ells didn' we see this one in front of us?" Urel gasps as the elf looms above them.

"I can choose not to be seen when I wish." the elf says with a smile. He is tall and imposing, with black hair streaking down his shoulders. His eyes shine a brilliant blue, crowning his gentle face and fragile, pointy ears. "I remained hidden, lest you two be enemies. My name is Kariel Winthalus; it is an honour to meet you. Still, what are two dwarves doing in Quel'Thalas?"

"That be our business." Urel snaps back. His trust has clearly been eroded by recent events.

"The last dwarf to amble into our land told us that as well." the elf says with disdain. "But he talked eventually. I presume you are the companions he jabbered about in his thick, drunken accent. And oh, he did talk. There's nothing you can hide from me. Believe me."

"I dun' like this one." Urel mutters to Skirvar.

Skirvar gathers himself.
"Sir, we're lost. We stumbled into Quel'Thalas looking for our friend, who you seem to have found."

"Your friend? He said you came out of Zul'Aman. ZUL'AMAN. Are you friends with the trolls?"

---

Lordaeron

King Alford, Thomassy and Sherman return to the throne room, where Archbishop Marden awaits them. He has been summoned from the Church of the Holy Light complex in northern Tirisfal, at the king's behest. Alford dearly hopes that he has only comforting things to report. Canbrad and the rebels escaped into the countryside again, and this fact has greatly bothered Alford. It means that despite his pact with Krowl, the People's Front has endured.

"Do you bring word of success?" Alford asks, as he walks up to the Archbishop. He expects a positive answer, for Marden's face has been lit up with some semblance of glee.
"Word of success, my king? Word of success?" the Archbishop guffaws with a tinge of sarcasm. "Never underestimate the Church, my king! I bring you nothing but good news. My experiments yielded some unpleasant results, but quite a few fascinating ones as well."

"Walk with me." Alford commands briskly, and heads towards the royal gardens. It is easy to forget that they have been dug up. As they walk towards them, Marden talks.
"While men of the cloth such as myself can wield the Holy Light with ease, it is another thing entirely to be infused with the Holy Light." Marden says eagerly. "Do you understand? It is the same difference between wielding the sword, and actually being the sword. In swordmastery, the teacher always speaks of the blade as an extension of oneself. What I have done is learned to make that a literal truth in regards to the Holy Light!"

Alford shakes his head slowly.
"You use a lot of fancy words, but what I need is a plain meaning, Marden. Summarise your findings."
"At your word, I can change your chosen into a new order of Witch Hunters of the like that the world has never before seen!"

Alford suddenly stops. They have entered the royal gardens, or rather, what is left of them. A massive set of trenches stretches out before them. Several magi are walking around half a dozen massive, black statues.

"What are those?"

Thomassy steps up behind Alford.
"Those are Black Iron War Golems. Or at least, that is what we are calling them."

---

Gilneas

Several hours later, Jamal returns to his king with news.
"Liege, as you ordered, the tunnels have been scouted out. It seems they are in good enough condition for us to brave them, should you command it. We can be behind enemy lines by tomorrow. Though if you have any last orders for your forces in the city they should be made now. Mordred's Zinites are breaking through. I think that we have been compromised, so we should hurry. I believe they have agents within your personal guard. Trust no one."

Viktor spits in anger, as he steps up onto the battlements. Below, the Zinites are bringing a huge ram up against the city gates.
"They're at it again."

"My lord? My lord!" Jamal grunts.
"Shut up!" Viktor hisses, slapping the man. "I'm thinking, damn you! But what do you want?"

"We need to move, my lord. Riots are breaking out in the market. The pagans in the city who pretended to convert to the Holy Light are showing their true colours. We also have one last problem. There are three tunnel networks for us to choose from. One leads through the Mines of Dorios, long since abandoned by our forefathers. It is said that they awoke an ancient evil in their digging. Something that was slumbering; a remnant of the old world."

"What? Are you seriously proposing that as an escape option? Damnit, Jamal! Think before you speak!" Viktor says, slapping Jamal again.

"Let me finish!" Jamal shouts defensively, covering his face. "My lord, you haven't heard our other options yet. The other passage leads to the Underdeep, a place dug out by ancient cultists during the time of the founding of Gilneas. We are not even sure what lies within, but it is certain to lead us out of the city."

"Ancient cultist tunnels you say." Viktor muses.

"Finally, there's the secret exit you constructed for this very purpose."

"Damnit Jamal! Why didn't you mention that before!" Viktor shouts yet again.

"Don't hit me!" Jamal pleads. "I didn't mention it before because Zinite forces are using it to enter the city! We might sneak past them somehow, but we would probably end up in Mordred's grasp.

"Damnit, Jamal!"

[Xarthat]

Kul Tiras

Xanthus Alverold provides Admiral Thaumas with a modest bow.
"My eternal thanks, Admiral. I will keep an eye on the kingdom in your absence, as is my duty."

Thaumas and Phorcys depart for the city's lower district, accompanied by a platoon of soldiers. Citizens stop routines, and the sound of metalwork and daily chores comes to an abrupt halt as the Admiral passes. The people salute him, courtesy and bow. Thaumas is a beloved man. Only very few of the people slink away, likely being Lightists or troublemakers.

"Were my wishes carried out?" Thaumas asks as they round the corner into the trade district.
Phorcys has his arms folded behind his back. Now, under the clarity of full daylight, Thaumas can see how time has taken its toll on his father. The man is old; truly old. His face is lined and harsh, and his gnarled form, though proud, exerts itself with every step.
"Of course, my son. While we sail to the mainland, we will be tailed by your special new cavaliers. The creatures you summoned are hard to tame, but with my assistance, their will was broken... eventually."
"Excellent. Then what remains to be done?"
"Not much, Thaumas. Your men are ready, your riders are equipped and your ship has been provisioned. All that remains is for you to decree where we make our landing."

Thaumas' brows knot.
"Yes, I had almost forgotten. What are our options?"
"To reach Fenris Isle we must traverse Hillsbrad; or rather, Hesperia, as its locals like to call it. Unfortunately, we don't have many friends in Hesperia. The city states there do not take kindly to outsiders. There are two coastal towns we can make a landing in. One is Seashire, which we blockaded years ago. They probably won't be friendly, but they are too small to stop us. The other is Firezne, a larger city, but we will attract a lot of attention. It all depends on how you want to make your entrance, though it is best not to alert the entire country to our presence. If we have any enemies in Hesperia, it is best they not know we are passing through before we are already at Fenris."

Captain Reginald Redpath is awaiting them at the riverside. A huge ship is moored safely. Workers are exchanging instructions across the deck, rigging the craft for its voyage. Redpath passes his standard salute to Thaumas.
"We await your word, my lord."


Thaumas could barely withstand the idea of grand entrance, but he is just a performer, not an idiot.
"So we shall take the smaller city's way. We don't want to make much... ado without a serious reason. At least not yet. And while we will be at the mainland, maybe we could take a little break for a hunt. I've not been on a hunt since a few weeks. It will do good to my mind."

After the ship set the sails, Thaumas asked his father one more thing.
"O father, you sometimes do see things. Things that are to come. Do you see... a great war coming? 'Cause I feel sometimes like the whole internal peace I managed to maintain not so long ago was very... volatile."

[Wabbajack]

Skirvar

Urel adjusts his backpack as the two dwarves move into the lowlands towards Quel'Thalas.
"I aint got a clue where we are exactly, just so ye know."
Skirvar passes Urel a wink.
"We will figure this out, either way. I can see a road ahead, and a road always leads to civilization."

Contented at that fact, Urel leads the way.
"Aye, me pappie always used to use that sayin'. Amongst others. But we got one issue 'ere, Skirvar. Roads lead in many directions. This one leads in two. South is prolly faster to human territory, north should take us to their capital. But I gots no clue how safe we are in elf territory either, lad."

"One thing is certain, Urel." Skirvar grumbles. "We can't fail the Highthane again."

"But wot can we possibly do now?" Urel asks.
"We can find Jaril. Maybe he can find a cure for the Highthane amongst these elves. And then we have our other duty. We sent a messenger to Dalaran, did we not?"
"Aye, we did." Urel remembers.
"Well, we should check up on him. We cannot return to Ironforge empty handed. Perhaps the elves can take us to Dalaran to find out what happened to him."

As the dwarves reach the road, they nearly bump into someone.
"How in the 'ells didn' we see this one in front of us?" Urel gasps as the elf looms above them.

"I can choose not to be seen when I wish." the elf says with a smile. He is tall and imposing, with black hair streaking down his shoulders. His eyes shine a brilliant blue, crowning his gentle face and fragile, pointy ears. "I remained hidden, lest you two be enemies. My name is Kariel Winthalus; it is an honour to meet you. Still, what are two dwarves doing in Quel'Thalas?"

"That be our business." Urel snaps back. His trust has clearly been eroded by recent events.

"The last dwarf to amble into our land told us that as well." the elf says with disdain. "But he talked eventually. I presume you are the companions he jabbered about in his thick, drunken accent. And oh, he did talk. There's nothing you can hide from me. Believe me."

"I dun' like this one." Urel mutters to Skirvar.

Skirvar gathers himself.
"Sir, we're lost. We stumbled into Quel'Thalas looking for our friend, who you seem to have found."

"Your friend? He said you came out of Zul'Aman. ZUL'AMAN. Are you friends with the trolls?"


Skirvar grins slightly.
"Friends? What's next: Call us friends with the barbaric Gnolls? Or even the lowly Kobolds? No, we are as much friend to these... beast as your people.
We merely are in need of their savage magics. A good friend and comrade of mine has fallen gravely ill and neither the Light nor the Pagans gods could help him.
Alas, it seems that our... negotiations didn't bear fruit, and I fear that the Trolls plan something.
I know it seems bold to ask, but could you please reunite us with our lost companion and bring us to your leader?"

Urel mumbles but nonetheless remains silent.

[Wulfang]

Lordaeron

King Alford, Thomassy and Sherman return to the throne room, where Archbishop Marden awaits them. He has been summoned from the Church of the Holy Light complex in northern Tirisfal, at the king's behest. Alford dearly hopes that he has only comforting things to report. Canbrad and the rebels escaped into the countryside again, and this fact has greatly bothered Alford. It means that despite his pact with Krowl, the People's Front has endured.

"Do you bring word of success?" Alford asks, as he walks up to the Archbishop. He expects a positive answer, for Marden's face has been lit up with some semblance of glee.
"Word of success, my king? Word of success?" the Archbishop guffaws with a tinge of sarcasm. "Never underestimate the Church, my king! I bring you nothing but good news. My experiments yielded some unpleasant results, but quite a few fascinating ones as well."

"Walk with me." Alford commands briskly, and heads towards the royal gardens. It is easy to forget that they have been dug up. As they walk towards them, Marden talks.
"While men of the cloth such as myself can wield the Holy Light with ease, it is another thing entirely to be infused with the Holy Light." Marden says eagerly. "Do you understand? It is the same difference between wielding the sword, and actually being the sword. In swordmastery, the teacher always speaks of the blade as an extension of oneself. What I have done is learned to make that a literal truth in regards to the Holy Light!"

Alford shakes his head slowly.
"You use a lot of fancy words, but what I need is a plain meaning, Marden. Summarise your findings."
"At your word, I can change your chosen into a new order of Witch Hunters of the like that the world has never before seen!"

Alford suddenly stops. They have entered the royal gardens, or rather, what is left of them. A massive set of trenches stretches out before them. Several magi are walking around half a dozen massive, black statues.

"What are those?"

Thomassy steps up behind Alford.
"Those are Black Iron War Golems. Or at least, that is what we are calling them."

Still enticed by the massive golems, Alford tries to shift his thougts back to the discussion at hand.

Alford: Archbishop, how many "chosen" do you propose to empower this way?

Archbishop: I considered about 24, milord. They'll be few, but their powers will be unmatched by any mortal man!

Alford: *nodding* I agree. Start picking the men and women you find most fit for this. Unless you have something against it, I think the empowering should be performed during a public ceremony after I return from Fenris Isle.

Archbishop: *triumphant* Of course, good king, of course. We will show the heathens the true splendor of the Holy Light!

Alford: Indeed. *turning to Sherman* Marshal, I'd like to hear your reports on any military movements, both in our kingdom and in the nearby nations, please.

[Timolas]

Still enticed by the massive golems, Alford tries to shift his thougts back to the discussion at hand.

Alford: Archbishop, how many "chosen" do you propose to empower this way?

Archbishop: I considered about 24, milord. They'll be few, but their powers will be unmatched by any mortal man!

Alford: *nodding* I agree. Start picking the men and women you find most fit for this. Unless you have something against it, I think the empowering should be performed during a public ceremony after I return from Fenris Isle.

Archbishop: *triumphant* Of course, good king, of course. We will show the heathens the true splendor of the Holy Light!

Alford: Indeed. *turning to Sherman* Marshal, I'd like to hear your reports on any military movements, both in our kingdom and in the nearby nations, please.


Lordaeron:

Sherman produces a scroll and hands it to Alford.
"Two things. First, you should be aware that the southlands have united. They follow the Dalarani dictator now. I have just received this message as well. It's a report from the border garrisons."

"More good news?" Alford says sarcastically, squinting to read the sloppy handwriting.

The note is brief, but it does its job well. Alford looks up, teeth grinding. Sherman seems uncomfortable, and taps the hilt of his sword expectantly.
"The Maroon Cult of Brux has moved from Corin's Crossing, as you can see." the man begins, a dangerous look in his eyes. "And they're marching in every direction against our cities. Tyr's Hand is under siege, and Stratholme is preparing for the worst of it."

"Goodness." Marden murmurs, eyebrows high. "I would have thought that my Witch Hunters would have reported such movements sooner."

Alford throws the scroll to the floor in frustration. The light is suddenly blinding and his head aches. How could this have happened?
"What of the border legion? Where were they in all of this?"

Sherman grunts, obviously hesitant to relay more such information. His voice shows hints of weariness and resignation.
"They defected. I have reason to believe that the People's Front was paying them off."

"Are you implying that these two forces are in an alliance?"
"Implying? Damn well right, my king." Sherman continues. "They've got a bulwark in Hearthglen up against any reinforcements we might send, and behind this bulwark, the Maroon Cult is ravaging Eastern Lordaeron. Unchecked."

All of the crowd are startled by Thomassy. His confident demeanor is somewhat encouraging, and Alford regards his Court Wizard with curiosity.
"Of course you've forgotten that we have just discovered... these." He says, extending his arms to present the Black Iron War Golems. "If we can activate these things, they would be utterly unstoppable."

"No, no!" Marden shouts suddenly. "It's too risky! Besides, do you even know how to control them, should you somehow activate them? I can have our special soldiers ready within the week. Why turn to these monstrosities?"

Alford calls for silence. His head continues to throb, but as always, he is the first and last voice of authority in this kingdom. He cannot afford to show weakness.
"Stop, both of you. Whatever I decide is what will be decided. Thomassy, are you sure you can activate and control these golems?"

"I can't say yet, liege. I am afraid that if we do turn to activating the golems, it will require immense sacrifice on our part. Whoever probes them magically to get them functioning might suffer a backlash of energy. I could do it, but I would be at great risk. The alternative is to take the path of engineering to figure them out; but I'm no engineer. We'd need dwarven expertise."

Gilneas

Hours pass as King Viktor stands there thinking. To some it may have seem like days, a week, perhaps.

Realising that it was his fault, Jamal says.
"No one's to blame but me."

[Kerrah]

Hours after the grand meeting, Javali is meeting his two generals in private. Not all words are for the public ear to absorb.
Generals Leo and Marius stand at attention, two burly men from different areas of life, drafted together to serve one man; one dictator. Now it was Hesperia that they would serve.

"You received your instructions before the meeting." Javali says calmly in the sanctity of his private chamber. "I want you to affirm that all has gone according to plan."

It is Leo who speaks first.
"Aye, liege. The propoganda campaign has been successful, and we have both the Militia of Dalaran and the army ready to be mobilized. All that is left are your final orders."
"Excellent. What you will do in the following days and weeks will determine the future of our glorious home." Javali speaks earnestly. "I have chosen you two to be my hands in action because I trust you dearly. Do not let me down."
"Never." Marius grunts. "I would rather suffer death than let Hesperia slide into the hands of the enemy!"

"Then this is what you will do. Leo, you are to meet with reinforcement battalions from the other members of the Alliance of Hesperia. You will travel to Tarren Mill, where you will await further orders. I expect we might have trouble from the mountains, so be on your guard. You, Marius, will go west. The Kirin Mora rebels must be dealt with once and for all!"

The two generals salute.

Before they can be dismissed, a pair of gentle hands rest on Javali's shoulders. A sweet, feminine voice whispers into his ear.
"I see you are busy working. I am sorry to disturb you."

Javali's recognizes Zinizar's voice. A chill runs down his spine.
"Next time, knock before you enter. These are my private chambers."
"Oh? Did I interrupt you boys and your little party? Are no girls allowed? I'm so sorry."
The woman was a mystery, but not one Javali ever planned to figure out.
"What do you want, Zinizar?" he asks, turning to face the gorgeous woman who haunted the Violet Citadel.
"Tell your cronies to get out." Zinizar's only answer is.
"Yes, yes." Javali grumbles, waving for Leo and Marius to leave.

When they are gone, Javali returns his attention to her.
"Are you trying to make me look like a fool before my generals?"
"Don't be so sensitive, Javali." Zinizar teases. "But to business."
"To business." Javali affirms.
"Hesperia is under your thumb, and my Hareveim are spreading through every city, from Tarren Mill to Seashire. Now we will train your elite to be Zaramim, the chosen soldiers of Zinine. They will bear our enchanted arms into battle against the infidels of the Holy Light."

As Zinizar speaks, Javali can only acknowledge the list of debts building up.
"You have my eternal gratitude, of course. And Dalaran is now open to you; an entire city in the middle of this half of the continent which will harbour your pagan worship after years of oppression."

Zinizar's mouth is clearly home to a forced smile. The edge of her mouth twitches.
"Dear Javali. None of that means anything to me. Your thanks will not pay tribute to Zinine. Nor will they sate the wrath of any of the other Four Gods. No. It is time for you to honour the first half of your bargain. You have made a pact with the Blue Child. She would have her due. I want the Archivists to be assembled. Let your wisdom judge them for their misdeeds."

Javali heaves a sigh. This was a long time coming, and yet, still he hesitates, for he knows that such a motion would have echoes throughout Azerothien history. Some things can never be reversed.

[First thing first: SUPERB WRITING! Seriously, I can't believe how you're managing to do all of this.]

I walk to my window and look at the city of Dalaran. "First, let me assure you that the Archivists will be done away with. They are of no use to me. But I want to tell you something before I give the order."

I pause to double-check that all the charms preventing outsiders from hearing anything said within the room are intact. "For all my talk about Hesperia, about its people, about safety, about freedom, I am a simple man. I do not care for those things. I say things of beauty, things that people can rally behind, things they find easy to support, to ensure they are willing to go against their better judgement and do as I tell them to.

No matter how grand Hesperia might become due to my leadership, one day it will be crushed and forgotten. No matter how free and happy the people are under my rule, they'll die and even their progeny will cease respecting me for that as decades go on. No matter how just I am, one day people will look past that and see all my shortcomings and judge me as if they were here, making these choices for me.

As a young man, I thought I could make a difference by rising in the ranks of Dalaran's magocracy. When I realised the foolishness of that thinking through my study of history, I almost killed myself, faced with the futility of my own life.

Today I begin to prove myself wrong. I will change the world. I will be remembered. Future generations will cower in the shadow of my memory..."

I take calming breaths. I had almost raised by voice in that last part. Zinizar gives a little laugh under her breath and then quips about this being my third speech within a few hours. I smile and agree with her.

After taking a sip of fine wine, I look into her blood-red eyes. "You are one of the first people I can relate to on a personal level. With most people, I can just see their struggles to survive or to indulge themselves. Whenever a person doesn't have to work to live anymore, they will sink into a pitiful state of hedonism and greed, always seeking more just because they want more.

I do not consider myself to be in that state. I strive for more, yes, but I seek more than the immediate goals of pleasure and gratification. I desire to do something that I will never be able to enjoy and will never even know whether I succeeded in doing. I see that in you too. You support me not because it would ease your conscience to know your fellow Zininists are not suffering prejudice, but because you are chasing something more, a change in the world around you.

I..."

I open my mouth to continue, but no more words come out. After a moment's silence, I nod my head to nothing in particular. "I trust you will not speak to anyone of my revelations, thank you. Now let us leave down below and have the matter of the archivists taken care of." That is not what I originally meant to say, but it will have to do.

[insert Zinizar's reaction here, if necessary]



We exit the highest tower of the Violet Citadel. I call for Archmage Franek, my right hand. He is to leave with General Leo tomorrow (Archmage Augusta leaves with General Marius), which means he is open to use tonight.

"Archmage. Gather nine other wizards as well as one hundred soldiers from my elite corps. You have half an hour." I leave the cause unsaid, but I trust Franek will only call those most loyal to me.

As I sit waiting for the men to gather, I am struck with inspiration and call for Mayor Remus, the highest non-wizard authority of the city. The Archivists' eternal work of prophecy is too much a risk. It will attract all kinds of dangers, possibly. "Yes, of course", I mutter to myself as I think the plan through.

When the mayor arrives, I explain what I want of him. The empty space under the great gathering hall, where the wine cellar used to be before it was moved a few years ago, will be prepared to house the entire collection of prophecy from the Archivists. The entire work will be done by workers who do not know what the room will be used for, and they will be paid well, but not enough to attract attention.

I will enchant the cellar myself. With some help from the artefact hoard, the room will be cut out from the rest of the city centuries beyond my death. As if it matters even if someone finds it the day after my death.

After those instructions are given, my troops are finally gathered. I quickly tell them the story I had prepared: The Archivists have been secretly organising the witch hunters across Hesperia, they need to be put out of business for the good of the country, blahblahblah.

As we lead the men into the street and head to the Grand Archive, I lean to Zinizar and state: "Tell your god that tonight we make history."

[Timolas]

Thanks Kerrah. Looks like we're managing some pretty damn decent characterization for our Dalarani protagonists... or antagonists.

I'll update once Zula and Sp00ky post. Sp00ky assured me he will very, very soon.

My last exam is tomorrow, then Summer starts. I'm bleating overjoyed.
At least our moderate pace gives everyone a chance to chill out rather than feel rushed to update.

[Wabbajack]

[A quick question: Who are the dwarves other than Skirvar and Cagrelm Flamebeard that could become the next leader of the dwarves?
A quick list with their religion, "class" (i.e. warrior, mage etc.), their political power in comparison with Skirvars and their attitude to one another (Skirvar included) would be nice. Other informations would make me even more happy^^]

[EDIT: Basicly other players could come up with one or two of them aswell. Timolas would probably just make some random dwarves, and only because I asked for them^^

So, if someone has the time and the desire to make one I would be very pleased^^]

[Timolas]

[A quick question: Who are the dwarves other than Skirvar and Cagrelm Flamebeard that could become the next leader of the dwarves?
A quick list with their religion, "class" (i.e. warrior, mage etc.), their political power in comparison with Skirvars and their attitude to one another (Skirvar included) would be nice. Other informations would make me even more happy^^]

[EDIT: Basicly other players could come up with one or two of them aswell. Timolas would probably just make some random dwarves, and only because I asked for them^^

So, if someone has the time and the desire to make one I would be very pleased^^]


Of course. I've also given up waiting on Spooky and Zula. I might update today or tomorrow.

Blackhammer Silverbeard
Class: Warrior
Influence: Port Baradin and the Wetlands are under his control.
Attitude: He is generally unfriendly to Ironforge, and as time passes he becomes more and more distant in his little private 'kingdom' to the north. He has a minor rivalry with Skirvar.

Thane Featherbeard of the Wildhammer
Class: Druid
Influence: All Wildhammers in the realm answer directly to him, and he is a favourite of the Highthane.
Attitude: Honourable and considerate of his rivals and friends. Views Skirvar with suspicion, but respect as well.

Cagrelm Flamebeard
Class: Warrior
Influence: He has many friends in high places in Ironforge, and the Highthane listens to what he says. Cagrelm is like a son to him.
Attitude: Proud of his lofty position as one of the royal guards and snobs many politicians.

Relgast Anvilmar
Class: Mountaineer
Influence: Himself and his few compatriots
Attitude: Relgast is the Highthane's one and only son, but he abandoned Ironforge to forsake his political duties. He is probably the only legitimate candidate to become next Highthane by right, and thus the only one who would not cause a civil war. However, he disappeared to a life of solitude. It is known that he has contacts with Thane Featherbeard, because he respects his druidism.

[Zula]

Amani

‘They escaped mon? Well, it’s their loss, not ours.’ Ba’jal just kept looking towards his axe, avoiding looking Jin’thek in the eye as he spoke. ‘So go and do me a favour: tell our guest I will meet him in a while. I want to attend to some important matters first’.

As he ascended to the top of the temple he could hear Ba’jal standing up and walking away. There was something strange about what he had told him. Why would the Dwarves escape? He remembered what he felt when he looked the leader in the eyes. He was ruthless and greedy but he wasn’t lying. He really doubted Ba’jal would lie to him, but... merely a month ago he would have doubted a lot of things, and he was proven wrong. He would find a solution to this mystery later, for right now he had a lot of more important things in his mind. He was looking for Gruc’jen, so he had to walk behind the altar and take the stairs into the inner chambers of the old temple. It took him a while but finally he found him in his small lodge.

Gruc’jen: ’Oh Warlord, what are you doing here? It’s quite strange to see you here mon.’ He said upon noticing the presence of Jin’thek.

Jin’thek: ‘I came to ask for your help mon.’

Gruc’jen: ’Of course my chief, what do ya need?’ Said the witch doctor, intrigued.

Jin’thek: ‘Remember last night? The Vilebranch emmisary?’

Gruc’jen: ‘Yeah mon, I doubt I would be able to forget that. Never thought I would see something like that before. It seems they are really blessed by Shadra.’

Jin’thek: ’I agree. I never thought I would see something like that but... The Vilebranch always claimed to be connected to Shadra but despite that they were never as agressive as now. They respected the other Loas even if Shadra was their favourite.’

Gruc’jen: ’So you say there something strange goin’ on mon?’

Jin’thek: ’I can’t shake the feeling that they may not be worshipping the right god, that something took the image of Shadra and appeared to them. That’s why I need you to commune with the Loa. Ask them what the true identity of the god being worshipped in Jintha’alor is. I bet the real Shadra would be happy to have someone restoring her place.’

Gruc’jen: ‘I will mon... but it will take time.’

Jin’thek: ‘Also, you know we captured some dwarves right? According to Ba’jal, they apparently escaped, but there is a feeling I can shake off that he may not be telling me the whole truth. If the Loa are willing, ask them the whereabouts of the Dwarves.” With a troubled voice.

Gruc’jen: “I will try mon.’

The warlord saluted his faithful friend and ascended towards the top. He was certainly tired of those stairs and wondered how Gruc’jen climbed them every day. When he finally got to the top, where the altar stood, he heard someone calling his name. He looked down to the main stairs and there he saw Nuvzagal walking towards him.

Nuvzagal: ‘I have been looking for you mon.’

Jin’thek: ‘So have I‘, he said while taking some parchment to write on.

Nuvzagal:’ I was wondering what your orders are, chief.’

Jin’thek:’ Take this. I took the freedom of writing them down. I suppose you know how to read, don’t you?’, a sarcastic smile drawing upon his face.

Nuvzagal:’ Of course mon. Do you think the only thing I am capable of is beating you in battle?’, he said with a laugh

Jin’thek:’ So mon there you have the inminent plans. We won’t attack yet. First we must organize ourselves. Like the partchment says, I want each tribe to gather their strongest warriors.’

Nuvzagal: ’I get it, I will be going now mon. We will show the barbarians how to fight!’

‘With all of this matters finally solved, I guess its time of meeting my guest.’, Jin’thek said to himself while walking down with Nuvzagal. ‘I wonder what a dark troll is doing in this part of the world...’

[Wabbajack]

[So Jin'thek saw greed in Skirvar's eyes? Pah! Wealth is something for the weak... Well, maybe he saw the greed for power Ò.ó]

[Zula]

[So Jin'thek saw greed in Skirvar's eyes? Pah! Wealth is something for the weak... Well, maybe he saw the greed for power Ò.ó]

[Yeah I meant greed for power]

[Sp00ky]

Stromgarde

Eralas watched with a heavy heart as the armies of Hesperia marched east and many moments passed as he lost himself in thought. The restlessness of the Hesperian city-states had never been unknown to him, he had himself experienced the growing discomfort to Stromgardes generation long influence in the region, when he himself had lead a host of men into the region to punish the actions of a selfish count.

Though he had later grown to question the wisdom of that incursion the damage and its long lasting political fallout had none the less been made. He had occasionally harbored fears that the region would one day come together in open defiance of Stromgarde and its line of kings unless something was done to improve the long decaying relations.

And yet he found himself both surprised, astonished and to some extent even frightened by what was marching before him. To be faced so suddenly by the combined militias of the city-states was one thing, to find them bolstered, equipped and supported by the army of the violet citadel of Dalaran was another and far more serious matter. It was most unnatural of Dalaran to be this bold, challenging so openly Stromgardes interests in the region and sending its armies east.

And what did they seek to accomplish? Surely they could not be expecting his realm to stand idly by as the lands east of it was united under the banner of a long standing regional rival, even less to tolerate such a display of military might at its western frontiers. More importantly, it echoed the sense of urgency which had been present in the invitation from Lordaeron. The signs of a coming storm had been sighted and the clouds were gathering.

“Your majesty?”

The captain asked, puzzled and worried by the long silence.

“Captain”

The king replied

“You have long been a faithful and loyal servant, making what I ask of you now all the harder. Though I would rather have you by my side in the summit at hand, you must now leave my side with half of the escort and return to Stromgarde with all haste, once there you will inform my brother of what we have witnessed here, he will know what to do, if Dalaran desires war than Stromgarde will be prepared ”

And that was true, the brother of Eralas had long called for the preparation and mobilization of their nations mighty legions. Faced with the twin threats of a united Hesperia and Dalaran, Eralas expected his brother to initiate his massive and long planned rearmament of Stromgardes legions, in which citizens from all flocks of live, rich to poor, would be given the oppotunity of serving their nation as full-time legionnaires, with all the benefits this position would grant them.

The popularity of the legions amongst the populace, his brother had assured him, would ensure a stabile influx of raw-recruits, meaning that the Legions of Stromgarde would, in time, be larger and stronger than ever before.

“And captain”

Eralas continued:

“Inform my brother that I would like him to not only accelerate the reinforcement of the great western wall, but also, if they refused the offer I presented to them, to utterly destroy the rebel movements of Arathi, if war is indeed at hand then we shall suffer no insurgency within our borders, the stability of the realm depends on it”

The captain, though reluctant to leave his lord, nodded in agreement, knowing fully the importance of his task. He then assembled his own escort and went eastward, towards Stromgarde.

King Eralas, now alone with his escort, decided to hasten his journey towards Fenris Keep. He would choose the fastest of the paths presented to him by the captain before his departure, taking him southwest, towards the shorelines of Hillsbrad. Eralas yearned for the chance to confront the sovereigns of Dalaran with what he had seen, whoever was in charge of that light forsaken city would have much to answer for.


(ooc: terribly sorry about this delay...I've ran into a series
of rather annoying internet issues, I'm hoping to get it fixed within
the comming week. And thanks to Wulf and zula, they were
prepared to post this in my name if my internet hadent returned,
and for that I am thankfull) (ooc - I will take control
of the kings brother once the captain returns to Stromgarde,
is that okay Tim? ^^)

[Timolas]

(Of course it is. I'm sorry if I sounded like I was rushing you. I'm going up to Gozo in two minutes, typing fast, but I'll try update once I get back this evening!)

EDIT: Gurt will likely be joining us. My computer is having some problems and I've been really busy since the holidays started. I know both Spooky and Kerrah have exams as well this week, so hence the slow progress. Wulf also lost his update information. So no rush.

[Wulfang]

Lordaeron:

Sherman produces a scroll and hands it to Alford.
"Two things. First, you should be aware that the southlands have united. They follow the Dalarani dictator now. I have just received this message as well. It's a report from the border garrisons."

"More good news?" Alford says sarcastically, squinting to read the sloppy handwriting.

The note is brief, but it does its job well. Alford looks up, teeth grinding. Sherman seems uncomfortable, and taps the hilt of his sword expectantly.
"The Maroon Cult of Brux has moved from Corin's Crossing, as you can see." the man begins, a dangerous look in his eyes. "And they're marching in every direction against our cities. Tyr's Hand is under siege, and Stratholme is preparing for the worst of it."

"Goodness." Marden murmurs, eyebrows high. "I would have thought that my Witch Hunters would have reported such movements sooner."

Alford throws the scroll to the floor in frustration. The light is suddenly blinding and his head aches. How could this have happened?
"What of the border legion? Where were they in all of this?"

Sherman grunts, obviously hesitant to relay more such information. His voice shows hints of weariness and resignation.
"They defected. I have reason to believe that the People's Front was paying them off."

"Are you implying that these two forces are in an alliance?"
"Implying? Damn well right, my king." Sherman continues. "They've got a bulwark in Hearthglen up against any reinforcements we might send, and behind this bulwark, the Maroon Cult is ravaging Eastern Lordaeron. Unchecked."

All of the crowd are startled by Thomassy. His confident demeanor is somewhat encouraging, and Alford regards his Court Wizard with curiosity.
"Of course you've forgotten that we have just discovered... these." He says, extending his arms to present the Black Iron War Golems. "If we can activate these things, they would be utterly unstoppable."

"No, no!" Marden shouts suddenly. "It's too risky! Besides, do you even know how to control them, should you somehow activate them? I can have our special soldiers ready within the week. Why turn to these monstrosities?"

Alford calls for silence. His head continues to throb, but as always, he is the first and last voice of authority in this kingdom. He cannot afford to show weakness.
"Stop, both of you. Whatever I decide is what will be decided. Thomassy, are you sure you can activate and control these golems?"

"I can't say yet, liege. I am afraid that if we do turn to activating the golems, it will require immense sacrifice on our part. Whoever probes them magically to get them functioning might suffer a backlash of energy. I could do it, but I would be at great risk. The alternative is to take the path of engineering to figure them out; but I'm no engineer. We'd need dwarven expertise."

The king closed his eys, his fingertips pressed against his forehead. He thought he had gotten rid of the rebel problem with Krowl's execution, but now he realized he had only made them gain allies. He hadn't thought of this possibility, and that greatly troubled him. Damn Canbrad and the warmongering Maroon God!

He needed to take action fast, or he would lose half of his kingdom to the rebels and their pagan allies. Amassing an army large enough to ensure victory would take too long and give the enemy enough time to fortify their position. Resorting to Thomassy's Black Iron Golems was too risky - he would not let those things kill his loyal wizards or run rampant among his people. And besides, they had managed to turn his border legion against him, whose knowledge of the region could not be taken lightly.

Alford tried picturing the region in his mind. The rebels were sieging Tyr's Hand, in the southeast, with the loval Witch Hunter chapter and the town garrison the only things holding them back. There would surely be enemy troops at Thondroril Bridge, the main access point for Eastern Lordaeron. Meanwhile, to the north, stood Stratholme, the kingdom's second biggest city, in risk of being taken by the rebels.

What should he do? He already pictured the city in flames, taken from him by the pagans, his people forced to comply to their will. Alford clenched his hands with such force that his fingers tore into the flesh. He remembered the beauty of Stratholme, the splendorous streets, the hallowed church, the sunset in the cliffs to the north...

Cliffs. Coast. Sea.

Ships.

Alford's eyes fly open and his mouth curves into a wide grin.

Alford: Marshal, call every legion we can spare to move at the moment and tell them to assemble to the east, close to Thondroril Bridge. The campaign to retake the east will start from there. Archbishop, I'd appreciate it if you send a few Witch Hunter chapters to support our army, as well as having the Tyr's Hand chapter protect the civillians, reinforce the town and hold it for as long as they possibly can, with the help of any willing townspeople.

Archbishop: As you wish, good king. I will also begin preparations for the "birth" of the holy warriors. The Light shall triumph! *slightly bows, turns and quickly leaves*

Sherman: worried But milord, that army will take too long to reach the east lands. Stratholme will be under attack by then!

Alford: Which is why you are going to gather as many troops as you can easily fit in a few ships right now and take them through the sea to the coast north of Stratholme. There's a mountain pass you can take to easily reach Stratholme and prepare the city for an attack well before the enemy arrives.
There, they will be trapped. If they attack Stratholme, you will hold them and wear them down for the main army to easily crush. If they choose to take on the main army, you will be able to close their escape route from the rear, exterminating them at Thondroril Bridge.

Sherman: *excited* Masterful plan, milord. I will get my most elite troops and leave for the harbour at once. *salutes the king and runs off, shouting commands to nearby guardsmen*

Alford: *turning to Thomassy* Now, dear Thomassy. Worry not, for we will indeed master these constructs. I want you to contact some foreign powers which I think will be willing to lend us their aid.

Thomassy: *curious* I'm already guessing Ironforge, for their engineering expertise. But who else?

Alford: Very sharp, Court Wizard. Besides Ironforge's engineers, I want you to contact an archmage by the name of Grigori Dosantos, in Ambermill.

Thomassy: *shocked* The leader of the Kirin Mora!? We're gonna deal with rebels now?!

Alford: Lightist rebels, Thomassy. From what I've gathered, that Javali fellow usurped the Council of Six and has been maintaining contacts with pagan factions in the region. Dosantos is the only remaining member of the Council and he has more right to rule the Violet Citadel than the usurping dictator ever will. He won't refuse our request if it can mean our support in retaking Dalaran.

Thomassy: Agreed, then. Anyone else?

Alford: Of course! *lowering his voice* Today, Krowl will show his usefulness to us once more. Help him contact his lieutenants and tell them of the army coming from the wast. Canbrad surely doesn't fully trust them right now and correct military intel ahead of everyone else's could prove instrumental in changing that. If they can place themselves inside his circle of trust, we will be able to manipulate him and know of his decisions in advance. The outcome of the battle will be the same, and it will probably mean they leave our towns alone and group at Thondroril Bridge, where the open field will be more favorable to our cavalry. And besides, they won't knoiw of Sherman's army coming from the north.

Thomassy: *taking mental notes* Sounds like a good plan. *echoing* Very sharp of you, milord.

Alford lets out a rare chuckle, placing his hand on the wizard's shoulder. The east will be retaken.

[Timolas]

OOC:

First off, I'm sorry it took a week for me to update. I finished my exams, went to the beach a little, visited the neighbouring island for a day, met family, helped my mother move some things for her exhibition, etc.
It's been busy. But I finally sat myself down and got around to doing it. I was finished by page 11 of Microsoft Word. This time I wanted to give everyone a large and fair update, rather than uneven text here and there. I hope I gave everyone an interesting scenario to work with. Sure is difficult to come up with a completely unique set of ideas for seven different people every turn. Hope I'm doing alright.

----

Skirvar

Skirvar and Urel shift uncertainly under the shadow of the imposing elf. Kariel Winthalus' mouth twists as he hums and ponders.
"Not a bad answer, not bad at all." he muses. "But regardless, you are now under my power. If I wanted, I could have you all killed. You could try to run, but you wouldn't get far. Southern Quel'Thalas belongs to me."

Urel is taken aback by the elf's bold rudeness.
"How dare ye treat your guests so? If you were in Ironforge we'd have put ye up in our finest inn, with the best ale! What we'd expect in return? Some godamn respect, long ears."

"We are not in Ironforge, shortbeard." Kariel hisses back, his words dripping with venom. "I will be clear with you. I am not a friend of King Anasterian and his Lightist servants. Your friend is a priest. A priest of the Holy Light."

"What's wrong with that?" Urel asks threateningly.

"Must I repeat myself? I am Kariel Winthalus. Not Anasterian Sunstrider. This is my domain. All who follow the Holy Light are my enemies. Give me a reason not to slaughter you like animals."

Skirvar finds the opportunity to insert himself into the heated debate. He has no interest in ending the encounter with pointless bloodshed. Although, after looking over the elf, he believes that he might stand a chance in magical combat, it would be an unfortunate turn of events.
"Calm down, Urel." Skirvar says, gripping his friend's shoulder comfortingly. Then he turns his attention to Kariel Winthalus. "Jaril's beliefs are his own, but I am my own man, as is Urel. We want no part in your religious war."

"Be that as it may." Kariel begins, his voice powerful and confident. "It seems that you want something that I have to offer. Safe passage, first of all. And a magical cure for your Highthane, perhaps?"

"Aye, elf. Both of those would be pleasant." Skirvar answers eagerly.

"Then tell me. What have you to offer the Benefactors of Quel'Thalas? Why should I, Kariel Winthalus, give you the safe passage you seek, your friend, or a cure for your Highthane? Make me an offer, dwarf."

---

Kul Tiras

Thaumas Proudmoore and Phorcys continue their discussion as their flagship sails across the channel.

"Your earlier question." Phorcys grumbles, as the pair stare out at the dark seas around them. Night conceals them, save for the light of lanterns hung across the vessel. "You wanted to know if war would come to Kul Tiras?"

"That was a part of my inquiry, father, yes." Thaumas responds, hands on the rails of the ship as he gazes for signs of land in the pitch black.

"Then hear what I have to say!" Phorcys responds with a brief laugh. "Mnesthes has granted me hints of what is to come, nothing more. Sometimes I feel things; indications. Nudges in a certain direction. It was what made me suspicious of your Vizier. Mnesthes, our great master, has also provided me with a greater warning. In a dream, I saw the continent drowning in blood. The storm threatens to engulf Kul Tiras as well. Whether it does or does not is entirely up to you, Thaumas."

"That's a weight of responsibility." Thaumas sighs.

"It always is, though, isn't it?" Phorcys says with a smile. "Remember that I was once Grand Admiral as well. I know the burdens of leadership just as well as you do. You are lucky that you have me to advise you, Thaumas. During my reign, I had no one. Your grandfather passed on a long time ago."

Thaumas nods, squinting as if to recollect somethings.
"Grandfather. How did he die? I don't remember him."

Phorcys shrugs, his bushy, grey eyebrows knotted.
"He set sail for the west, my boy. He said that there was a land, vast and free, somewhere beyond the horizon. His fleet never returned."

Hours later, as the sun begins to rise in the distance, a call rings out.
"Land ahoy!"
Thaumas is awoken from a nightmare. In his dreams, he envisioned his grandfather sailing blindly into a gigantic whirlpool, which consumed him. Rubbing the burning sweat from his eyes, Thaumas dresses and goes to meet his crew aboard the deck of the ship. Phorcys is waiting for him.
"Father, have we arrived?"
"Seashire is an hour away. You can see it; look."

Surely enough, the first signs of land are swimming into view. Towers, huts and villas emerge from the morning haze, perched within a small bay.
Captain Redpath begins leading preparations to drop anchor and negotiate with the town's authorities.
"Admiral." Redpath grunts with a salute. "We will need to leave our ship docked here while we travel to Fenris Isle. I will leave a small detachment of soldiers here to watch over the craft."
"Excellent." Thaumas affirms offhandedly. His attention is focused on Seashire.

The town proves to be a small heart of trade and activity. When Thaumas was young, and Phorcys was Admiral, Kul Tiras had blockaded Seashire after a diplomatic disaster.

"My lord, we have a problem." Redpath suddenly reports, after returning from a meeting with the dockyard superviser. The Tirasian ship is nestled along the docks. "Apparently, the mayor of the town is saying that he refuses our request to leave the ship here. He says that Seashire is bound by a treaty with Dalaran to refuse you such a liberty. If you like, Seashire is poorly garrisoned. We could insist on keeping a safe route open for you, using force of arms. Or we could send the ship back... but that would mean that we are stranded in Hesperia."

Phorcys interrupts them.
"Another problem."

Thaumas covers his face with the palm of his hand, and manages to silence a groan.
"What is it now?"

"I feel that we are in danger. Either the natives of this land are ready to resist our passage... or else it might be the rogue Admiral Janus. We don't know where he is sheltering... it might even be in this very city." Phorcys explains.

"What are your orders sire?" Redpath asks.

---

Amani

Witch Doctor Gruc'jen takes on the task of personally leading Jin'thek to meet with his visitor. It is not long before they are at the outskirts of Ula-Tek. A delapidated old hut shows signs of habitation, because smoke rises from an opening in its centre.
"This be it." Gruc'jen whispers. "The stranger be in there, mon."
"Come with me, Gruc'jen." Jin'thek commands. "Maybe you be sensin' if anythin' be wrong with this fellow. Keep a hex ready."

They set foot inside the hut, which is stifling and hot. The air is thick with herbs and spices being brewed in a cauldron in the centre of the room. A lone figure is crouched over his concoction, shrouded in filthy rags and robes, his face covered by a huge mask resembling some kind of insect. Jin'thek wrinkles his nose in disgust at the stench. The visitor's skin is barely visible under his clothing, but it is clearly purple. Indeed, it seems that this stranger is possibly a dark troll of legend, one of Jin'thek's cousins from across the Great Sea.

"You be tellin' me now, mon, what be a dark troll doing in Zul'Aman? They say it be near impossible to cross the Great Sea; a think of legend. What you doin' here?"

Jin'thek is answered only be silence.

He waits for a reply.

There is only more silence.

Gruc'jen steps forward, raising his cane.
"The High Warlord be talkin' to you!"
Finally, a response is shaken from the dark troll. His voice is free of any accent. In fact, it is smooth and his mastery of the dialect of the forest trolls is utterly perfect. If not for his purple skin, Jin'thek would have guessed that he was from a local tribe.
"I do not answer to the High Warlord." he replies.

"You be in my land, mon. You answer to me when you in my land." Jin'thek responds firmly. "But aside from hostilities; you are welcome to join us in our feasting."

The dark troll raises his heavy mask, finally facing Jin'thek. Two luminous yellow eyes shine through twin openings in the mask. Those clear eyes blink twice.
"Feasting? That is not why I came. I am here because times are changing." the dark troll explains. "Because the Master is moving the pieces on the board; he is arranging the puzzle to suit his design. That is why I am here. You, Jin'thek, are a piece of this puzzle. I am here to move you into the right place; to complete the picture. Perfectly. Do you understand?"

Gruc'jen grips Jin'thek and pulls him back for a private word. In a low voice, he warns;
"I don' like this mon. He speaks in riddles'. Maybe he's here on behalf of one of his foreign Loa?"
Jin'thek shrugs Gruc'jen aside and returns to speak with the dark troll directly.
"What shall I be callin' you, stranger?"

The dark troll cocks his mask, peering curiously at Jin'thek.
"You may call me the Prophet. The Viridian Prophet perhaps; but that is not entirely accurate. I am a child of all of the Four Gods, not merely one of them. But I am not here to debate religion. I am here to make you an offer. Jin'thek, you command a massive legion of trolls who are now, more or less, Amani. I know that your next goal is to retake Quel'Thalas."

"Perhaps, perhaps not. What business be it of a dark troll and his 'Four Gods', mon?" Jin'thek asks.

The Prophet sifts a finger through the liquid in the cauldron.
"I'm not guessing, Jin'thek. I know. But hear me. I can help you take Quel'Thalas. But these are my conditions. You will scratch my back just as I scratch yours. Southern Quel'Thalas serves my interests. While the north bickers to the whims of the 'Holy Light', the south is under the control of pagans. Pagans, Jin'thek; servants of the Four. They are my tools."

"All elves be the same to me, mon." Jin'thek grunts. "What are ya askin' for?"

"I am asking that you accept the help of my Benefactors. They will help you take Quel'Thalas; under one condition."

"What condition, then?" Jin'thek presses.

The Prophet seems pleased that he is being heard out this far.
"There is an island, far to the south. It is called Caer Darrow. On that island is a runestone, one unlike the rest. It shelters a powerful artefact called the Heart of Aether. The druids of Caer Darrow protect it. Slay them, and bring it to me. Then our bond will be sealed eternally. In exchange, the Benefactors will deliver Quel'Thalas into your hands. Or do you think, Jin'thek, that you will have the power to overwhelm the kingdom's ancient defenses alone? No, you need me, just as I need you."

Gruc'jen laughs loudly.
"You think you be makin' deals with Jin'thek, mon? Every forest troll in Zul'Aman calls him master. He don' need your slimey elf friends."

"Perhaps the time has come for the Amani to accept that they have the option of living with other races. You can rule this land, Jin'thek, just so long as you do it... correctly."

---

Dalaran

Everything is going according to plan. Excitement wells up in Javali. It is not often that such a thing happens. Having studied every section of history with intense detail, Javali has found that the modern world has offered little in the ways of excitement. Deposing the Council of Six had not been nearly as thrilling as he had hoped. His actions paled in comparison to the achievements of the likes of Thoradin. That is why he had to try harder, to work harder, to fight harder. Javali swore to himself that he would make history. No, he would remake it, and he would remake it in his image.

Zinizar walks by his side as they ascend the steps of the Grand Archive. He looks to her fondly, his beautiful and deadly protege in reforging Hesperia. This was her hour just as much as it was his. Today, history would bow to them. The Archive would be theirs.

Behind them, the thundering chorus of marching steps thunders in unison. Franek leads the fanatics crashing behind their dictator. These men are the very best. They will be the first Zaramim, when the time comes.

Javali decides to make an entrance. There will be no turning of keys to open the massive wooden doors of the Archive.

Inside, a gathering of blind old men drifts amongst the bookshelves which rise up to the ceiling. They are unaware of what is coming. They are alerted to the sound of a colossal smash. Blind, they do not see its cause, but they know it nonetheless. The doors of the Archive have been splintered. One of the Archivists is thrown to the ground. He gropes around him to gain his bearings, and his hands feel along the robe of a fellow Archivist. His hands come away wet. He does not doubt that it is blood on his hands. Suddenly, a heavy boot lands on his chest. Somehow, he does not even have to ask who it is. He knows.

"I am Lord Javali of Dalaran, and you, all of you, have been charged with treason."

The Archivist searches within himself for traces of eldtrich power, with which to silence this madman, but the moment he tries to do so, he is set alight, and his burning, screaming form is tossed out of one of the glass windows. He lands in one of the streets below, crashing into an unsuspecting crowd.

Javali looks to Zinizar, delighted at the feeling of power coursing through him.
"Is this what you wanted? Because it is what you are getting. I hope it makes you happy."
"It makes me very, very happy." Zinizar laughs, her voice serpentine. "I'll have to thank you sometime, Javali. In private."
"Be my guest. But first, we have an Archive to reoder."

Within hours, the Archivists are rounded up and led away by Archmage Franek. Immediately, the soldiers begin collecting the prophecies. Javali does not put much stock in them, and he ignores them for the most part. Whatever Zinizar wanted out of this endeavor was her business. He sees her fingering the parchment of one of the scrolls. Her eyes are wide.
"What is it, my dear? You seem distressed in our hour of triumph."
"I found what I was looking for." she mumbles. It is the first time Javali has seen her shaken and without her guise of alluring temptation. For once, she is just a woman; a clearly shocked and afraid one.
"What is it, then? Surely you can tell me."
Zinizar turns to him, her sapphire eyes alight with emotion.
"The words promise a thousand paths, Javali. A thousand possible roads which history might tread."
"And what good are prophecies when they all they do is speculate?" Javali asks, suddenly angry. "What good were these Archivists?"

Zinizar puts a finger to her lips, though her eyes remain on the paper.
"You misunderstand. The Prophecies highlight that things can change; that personal choice may win the day. But they are nonetheless clear. It speaks of a fel fire from beyond, returning to consume all life; while tentacles of madness strangle all that we behold from beneath the earth. It speaks of demons and the very old gods that tried to replace the Four Gods and steal their aspects."

"I remember you speaking of such ancient evils." Javali mutters thoughtfully. "Your Four Gods were at war with monsters from beyond, who tried to steal their thrones. Gods of madness. Old gods from another realm."

Zinizar waves Javali's trail of thought away.
"This world is host to a hundred different gods, Javali. The trolls and their Loa, the madmen and their old gods, the tales of a blood god; Hakkar. Our very Four Gods. All vie against one another. It is clear what I have to do now; what the goddess Zinine inspired me to do. We must prevent the future from happening. History promises us a road of torment, in which the Four Gods are forgotten and erased from history. A bleak, freakish future. We must continue what we are doing now. We must rewrite history."

"Rewrite history." Javali mutters to himself. "Do you mean this literally?"
"No. I know that there are dragons who can travel within the borders of time, but that is not what interests us. I must manifest Zinine's presence on Azeroth. A god has power when it can make itself felt. While we cannot bring the Blue Child to us, we can bring her voice to us."

"Zinizar, let's be clear. I'm not going to meddle with mad magic. There will be no summoning. All conflicts in any wars we fight are to be battles of mortal steel. That is how I want to be remembered. Summoning things never works out."

Zinizar narrows her eyes.
"I never needed your permission for anything, my dear. I hope to summon D'vorjakque, the Azure Emperor Sorceror of the ancient Kelani Empire. I am Archareveim of the Hareveim; our order stems from the Kelani. We must restore what was lost. With, or without you."

"Don't forget who is in charge here, my dear." Javali says, raising his voice in concealed anger. "Do not tempt me to break our ties."

"There is no need." Zinizar says gingerly, taking Javali's face in her hands. "Go and rest. You and I; we are one. Go and rest. You have done well. It has been a hard day for all of us. I will join you shortly. Tomorrow, we can see what to do next. Understood?"

Javali wonders whether he should indeed retire.

The weight of the world suddenly seems too heavy, if only for a brief moment. He begins to wonder what he got himself into with these Hareveim. Fenris Isle will await him soon, and the Kirin Mora have yet to be dealt with.
Franek pulls him aside quite suddenly, before he can even so much as reply to Zinine.

"I have a report from General Marius; it just came in. It is urgent." Franek grates. "My lord, the Kirin Mora are receiving assistance from the Church in Lordaeron. They have Witch Hunters assassinating our Hareveim at every turn. We believe they are hiding, disguised amongst the civilian populations of the towns close to Ambermill. We can't route them out."

---

Stromgarde

Eralas and his retinue decide to take the fastest route to Fenris. They ride north, towards the Hesperian legions crossing the roads. They demand to be let through, and are eventually greeted by a company of richly dressed riders. The leader is clearly surprised to see the king of Stromgarde, and he is also clearly humbled. He is a relatively young man, with fair, cream coloured hair and a thin beard and moustache covering his face. His eyes are a light green, and coupled with his expression make him seem like a rather friendly and innocent fellow. At least, that was what one would believe if not for the fact that he was wearing the grand colours and decorations of a leading general.

"Hail, King Eralas Trollbane!" he shouts out, loud enough for all of his riders to hear. "I am General Leo of Dalaran, hand of Lord Javali of Hesperia. What brings you to our lands?"

Eralas inclines his head in a slight demonstration of respect; only what is the general's due.
"We are on our way to Fenris Isle. I trust you have heard of the political meeting there."

"I have indeed." General Leo affirms with a forced smile. "It is a shame that you did not ask for an escort through Hesperia. We are one realm now. This is no longer a country you can just pass through because you feel like. It is no longer your right, I am afraid."

Eralas suddenly feels the direction of the conversation turning sour.
"It is my right, good general. My line once ruled all of this land and more. However, I wish you no disrespect. But tell me, where would such a large army as this be marching? I dare hope you are making no political decisions that would affect Stromgarde without my knowledge."

"It is Hesperian business." Leo answers. "What we do, we do for Hesperia. We are not moving against Stromgarde, if that is what you are asking. No, we are marching to Tarren Mill. The king of Alterac has issues with our realm. We would settle them for him."

Meanwhile, miles away, the Captain arrives back at the city of Stromgarde. He has galloped long and hard to return to the capital, but has finally arrived. Swiftly, he insists on being taken to Dorath Trollbane, brother of the king and acting regent in his absence.
Dorath sits on a silver seat, which is nestled near the golden throne of the king. It is the seat of advisor and heir. Eralas has yet to bear issue, and thus it is Dorath who occupies the seat.

"Captain? You bring word of my brother?" Dorath asks. He is a burly man, larger and more imposing than Eralas, and yet, less refined.
The Captain salutes and bows deeply.
"The King would have you mobilize, for I bring ill news. The time has come."

---

Lordaeron

Alford Menethil issues his orders and allows himself a reprieve, as he sits back in his throne. The situation was developing in a volatile direction. There was potential for so much to go wrong. Canbrad would have to be reined in; and now this Cult of Brux as well. Sherman was already off issuing orders. Whatever forces could be spared would be sent overland and by ship to carry out the grand expedition to retain the east.

Archbishop Marden steps into the imperial hall, and unsteadily approaches the king. He is ill at ease, and that is never a fantastic sign.
"What is wrong now, Marden?" Alford asks with a sigh.
"My lord, since you mentioned the Kirin Mora."
"Yes?" Alford presses.
"Well, I may have forgotten to mention..."
"Go on, Marden. By the Light, say it before my bad day yields nasty results for you." Alford says, beginning to seethe.
The Archbishop's mouth works, gaping for a moment.

"I assumed you would approve of my sending a dozen Witch Hunters chapters south. To help the Kirin Mora. And Grigori Dosantos. Who you are asking for help from."

"Are you telling me that you might have provoked aggression from Dalaran, Marden? Is that what you are honestly telling me?"

Marden folds his arms and attempts to retain his demeanor.
"No, lord. I am telling you that the assistance you are asking from Grigori will surely be granted, because he owes the kingdom. My Witch Hunters are acting undercover to route out pagans. They will not incite aggression."

Guard captain de Mon enters the throne room, bearing a report.
"Sorry to interrupt, my lord. But we have news that your nephew, Tileot just arrived from the borderlands. I thought you might wish to know."

Alford is suddenly at attention. Tileot. His son.

Memories flood back. Many, many years ago, before Alford was married to his current wife, Lora Menethil, he had enjoyed a small love affair with a noble. She had secretly borne him a son, Tileot. Alford knew that such illegitimate offspring would dishonour him if brought to public light. Thus, he claimed that Tileot was the child of his late brother, and covered up the affair. He gave Tileot an estate far to the north, in lands by the sea. Meanwhile, Lora had not given him any children. It left a rather thorny position for him to wallow in.

"Yes, yes, captain. Set Tileot up in a comfortable room and tell him I will be with him eventually. I am very, very busy, as he can guess from the rebel uprisings. He will understand." Alford says gruffly. "As for you, Archbishop Marden. You've yet again acted without my permission, and stepped out of line."

The captain did not yet leave.
"My lord? Your wife wishes for an answer on her private request."

Hours earlier, Lora had confronted Alford. She said she wished to visit the guest in the downstairs dungeon. Namely, Maximus Krowl. How she had discovered him was beyond Alford. However, it seemed his wife remained oblivious to his true nature. She was often bored and longed for conversation. That was most likely what she wanted from their guest. She had explained that she felt obligated to be hostess. He had put off the matter.

"By the gods, I must be the unluckiest man in Lordaeron." Alford mutters to himself.

---


Ravenholdt (Gurtogg Bloodboil; not the guy from the Black Temple. I crack me up.)

Introduction

"Long ago, the Arathi tribe of humans embarked on a campaign of necessity to conquer and assimilate its rivals through combat and politics. The cause was righteous, as the Arathi offered peace, security, and equality to those they conquered. However, many rival tribes were resistant to the idea of relinquishing their own authority and becoming part of a larger whole.

It was at this time that a guild of assassins arose within the Arathi. Infiltrating rival tribes and removing dissidents and other opposition, this group was very successful and aided in what ultimately became the founding of the united human nation of Arathor. Over time, the guild grew in size and autonomy, and when Arathor dissolved into smaller Kingdoms they established a small, independent settlement in the Alterac Mountains, Northwest of the Hillsbrad Foothills. This community took the name Ravenholdt, after the man who spearheaded its founding.

Too small to contend with larger kingdoms in any head to head confrontation, the mostly self-sustaining Ravenholdt trains its forces to be masters of melee combat and discipline. Stories say they are so skilled that they are “invisible”. The county has remained small, and only invites new residents if they possess extraordinary skill. Ravenholdt at the time of The Great War of Azeroth possessed a standing force of only a few hundred warriors. The country retains independence with impunity from the Kingdom of Alterac through a combination of their own skill (the settlement is well hidden and the mountain is trapped) and the negligence of Alterac itself (Lord Xie doesn’t seem to know what’s going on).

As part of the family legacy, the Ravenholdt Bloodline runs the day to day, menial tasks of leadership. However, true authority has always lied with the Grand Master since the early days of the guild." -Gurtogg

Issues are recently boiling over in Ravenholdt. Not long has passed since the assassination of the last Grand Master; the practical ruler of the community. Travot Ravenholdt, however, has managed to maintain order by allowing for Warester Van Dam to rise to become the new Grand Master.

Now, in the dawn of his career, Warester Van Dam is faced with a myriad of problems. While Travot wishes to hire out Ravenholdt to any paying party, regardless of justification, Van Dam feels otherwise. It is a bad time for dissent or disagreements. However, the matter is simply thus.

Ravenholdt hosts a splendid view in all directions. Hesperia stretches out to the west, and the Arathi Highlands to the east. From one of the highest peaks of the mountainous reaches of the hills, Van Dam is enjoying the sanctity of privacy. He can see both realms to either side of him, and Ravenholdt just below. This place makes him feel in control; up here where only the singing of the birds can disrupt him. Every so often, a gryphon might just fly up from the Hinterlands to the north, and once Van Dam was even lucky enough to get up close enough to feel it gently. Gryphons were proud creatures, but were tame enough when shown proper respect and caution.

"Oi. I'm talking to you."

Van Dam sighs. So much for solitude and sanctuary. He opens his eyes to Master Wallis, a short, hairy man who has always seemed to remain oblivious to rank or station. All that has ever concerned Wallis is fighting prowess and ale.

"What's wrong, Wallis? What can I do for you."
There was not much point in reminding Wallis that he was talking to the Grand Master.
"Travot sent for you. 'Bout two hours ago, actually. He's mighty pissed off you haven't shown up yet. Somehow I knew I'd find you up here. But I let you rest a bit. Travot can fume all he wants."
Van Dam nods and runs a hand through his hair. It was always difficult dealing with Travot. While Travot Ravenholdt had endorsed his rise to Grand Master, there was still the problem of ethics between them. Travot had little regard for the notions of morality. While assassins could seldom afford that luxury, the Ravenholdt community had enjoyed that priviledge for generations. Hard times were demanding changes, however.

"I'll go see what he wants." Van Dam grunts, and hoists himself up. He gathers his equipment and treads down to the manor. Workers greet him as he passes. Ravenholdt's civilian population has dwindled as of late, but enough people remain to tend to the estate's personal crops.

Once inside, the acknowledgement fades. Van Dam knows that the manor is garrisoned only by those whom Travot Ravenholdt trusts most, and those he trusts most are usually those who believe that the Grand Master should answer to the hereditary ruler. It was a balance of power which was difficult to maintain. The old Grand Master had been assassinated, and none knew by who. Van Dam secretly guessed that one of Travot's cronies had acted on his beliefs.

"What in blazes took you so long? Damnit, have you no manners, Warester?" Travot begins, as soon as Van Dam steps towards the small private balcony Travot uses to oversee the estate grounds.
"I was not aware you had a desire to see me until now." Van Dam answers. He makes sure to avoid the notion that it was at Travot's request that he had come. There were, after all, no obligations for the Grand Master to obey the ruling Ravenholdt. It was only a matter of courtesy.

"Doesn't matter, Warester. I'm a patient man." Travot explains.

Seeing Travot now is somewhat disheartening to Warester, who remembers the days when the old Ravenholdt ruled, just as he remembers the days the old Grand Master ruled. They were safer and more calm times.

"What is it you want, Travot?"
"I just received word from some of our field agents. There are urgent matters we need to go over."
"Of course." Van Dam answers routinely.
"A Hesperian army is marching towards Tarren Mill. That brings them incredibly close to our sanctuary here. Other than that, I think it is time we sent somebody to the impending political meeting at Fenris Isle, don't you think? It is something we can't afford to miss."

"I knew all of these things already, Travot. Was there anything else? Or shall we reach some decisions for a change?"
"There was a private matter." Travot begins. He turns away from Van Dam, lacking confidence for a change. "I have no heir."
"Do you want to sire one from me, then? Is that why I'm here?" Van Dam asks, bemused.
"Don't be like that, Warester." Travot says with the wave of a hand. "This estate, however, hosts a tiny amount of inbred women, all of which make my stomach turn. I have no time to flirt away from home either. Do you know what this means? I need to hurry up the affair and get it over with. During one of my routine assignments in Andriano, I saw a young woman. The daughter of the Count Scipio."
"Where are you going with this?" Van Dam inquires, suddenly worried that Travot is up to something.
"I'm going to have her kidnapped and brought to me." Travot explains. "I need a beautiful wife, and an heir. None here can provide me with my needs."


OOC: Man, I'm starting to hate writing in the present.

[Kerrah]

OOC: Man, I'm starting to hate writing in the present.

You tell me about it. I have to write in you-form as well, which makes it even worse.

[Xarthat]

Kul Tiras

Thaumas Proudmoore and Phorcys continue their discussion as their flagship sails across the channel.

"Your earlier question." Phorcys grumbles, as the pair stare out at the dark seas around them. Night conceals them, save for the light of lanterns hung across the vessel. "You wanted to know if war would come to Kul Tiras?"

"That was a part of my inquiry, father, yes." Thaumas responds, hands on the rails of the ship as he gazes for signs of land in the pitch black.

"Then hear what I have to say!" Phorcys responds with a brief laugh. "Mnesthes has granted me hints of what is to come, nothing more. Sometimes I feel things; indications. Nudges in a certain direction. It was what made me suspicious of your Vizier. Mnesthes, our great master, has also provided me with a greater warning. In a dream, I saw the continent drowning in blood. The storm threatens to engulf Kul Tiras as well. Whether it does or does not is entirely up to you, Thaumas."

"That's a weight of responsibility." Thaumas sighs.

"It always is, though, isn't it?" Phorcys says with a smile. "Remember that I was once Grand Admiral as well. I know the burdens of leadership just as well as you do. You are lucky that you have me to advise you, Thaumas. During my reign, I had no one. Your grandfather passed on a long time ago."

Thaumas nods, squinting as if to recollect somethings.
"Grandfather. How did he die? I don't remember him."

Phorcys shrugs, his bushy, grey eyebrows knotted.
"He set sail for the west, my boy. He said that there was a land, vast and free, somewhere beyond the horizon. His fleet never returned."

Hours later, as the sun begins to rise in the distance, a call rings out.
"Land ahoy!"
Thaumas is awoken from a nightmare. In his dreams, he envisioned his grandfather sailing blindly into a gigantic whirlpool, which consumed him. Rubbing the burning sweat from his eyes, Thaumas dresses and goes to meet his crew aboard the deck of the ship. Phorcys is waiting for him.
"Father, have we arrived?"
"Seashire is an hour away. You can see it; look."

Surely enough, the first signs of land are swimming into view. Towers, huts and villas emerge from the morning haze, perched within a small bay.
Captain Redpath begins leading preparations to drop anchor and negotiate with the town's authorities.
"Admiral." Redpath grunts with a salute. "We will need to leave our ship docked here while we travel to Fenris Isle. I will leave a small detachment of soldiers here to watch over the craft."
"Excellent." Thaumas affirms offhandedly. His attention is focused on Seashire.

The town proves to be a small heart of trade and activity. When Thaumas was young, and Phorcys was Admiral, Kul Tiras had blockaded Seashire after a diplomatic disaster.

"My lord, we have a problem." Redpath suddenly reports, after returning from a meeting with the dockyard superviser. The Tirasian ship is nestled along the docks. "Apparently, the mayor of the town is saying that he refuses our request to leave the ship here. He says that Seashire is bound by a treaty with Dalaran to refuse you such a liberty. If you like, Seashire is poorly garrisoned. We could insist on keeping a safe route open for you, using force of arms. Or we could send the ship back... but that would mean that we are stranded in Hesperia."

Phorcys interrupts them.
"Another problem."

Thaumas covers his face with the palm of his hand, and manages to silence a groan.
"What is it now?"

"I feel that we are in danger. Either the natives of this land are ready to resist our passage... or else it might be the rogue Admiral Janus. We don't know where he is sheltering... it might even be in this very city." Phorcys explains.

"What are your orders sire?" Redpath asks.

"What? Janus? Here? I can't let him sneak out of here. Do we have enough force to raze this city to the ground? If we do, you shall leave no one alive. And especially search for Janus. If you find him here, bring him alive before me. I'll personally cut his heart out. I can't let those who betray me to run away."

"Seems like my little hunt is for a bit different thing than I suspected... Heh, the destiny's sentences are always surprising."

"But, sire" asked Redpath "We will surely make war upon Dalaran by doing so."
"I DON'T CARE!" shouted Thaumas "I want to see the heart of this rat beating out of his chest, just before his very eyes."

(OOC: Wasn't Phorcys son of Mnesthes? I hope he meant his mortal foster father)

[Wabbajack]

Skirvar

Skirvar and Urel shift uncertainly under the shadow of the imposing elf. Kariel Winthalus' mouth twists as he hums and ponders.
"Not a bad answer, not bad at all." he muses. "But regardless, you are now under my power. If I wanted, I could have you all killed. You could try to run, but you wouldn't get far. Southern Quel'Thalas belongs to me."

Urel is taken aback by the elf's bold rudeness.
"How dare ye treat your guests so? If you were in Ironforge we'd have put ye up in our finest inn, with the best ale! What we'd expect in return? Some godamn respect, long ears."

"We are not in Ironforge, shortbeard." Kariel hisses back, his words dripping with venom. "I will be clear with you. I am not a friend of King Anasterian and his Lightist servants. Your friend is a priest. A priest of the Holy Light."

"What's wrong with that?" Urel asks threateningly.

"Must I repeat myself? I am Kariel Winthalus. Not Anasterian Sunstrider. This is my domain. All who follow the Holy Light are my enemies. Give me a reason not to slaughter you like animals."

Skirvar finds the opportunity to insert himself into the heated debate. He has no interest in ending the encounter with pointless bloodshed. Although, after looking over the elf, he believes that he might stand a chance in magical combat, it would be an unfortunate turn of events.
"Calm down, Urel." Skirvar says, gripping his friend's shoulder comfortingly. Then he turns his attention to Kariel Winthalus. "Jaril's beliefs are his own, but I am my own man, as is Urel. We want no part in your religious war."

"Be that as it may." Kariel begins, his voice powerful and confident. "It seems that you want something that I have to offer. Safe passage, first of all. And a magical cure for your Highthane, perhaps?"

"Aye, elf. Both of those would be pleasant." Skirvar answers eagerly.

"Then tell me. What have you to offer the Benefactors of Quel'Thalas? Why should I, Kariel Winthalus, give you the safe passage you seek, your friend, or a cure for your Highthane? Make me an offer, dwarf."


Skirvar lets out a hearty laugh.
"The Benefactors! I wonder why I hadn't recognised your name earlier, lord Winthalus.
Hearing that you know that my friend in need is the Highthane shows me that it wasn't exaggerated when you said that you made our friend talk. I hope he didn't take any damage?"

Urel: "If ye did anything ta him I will..!"

Kariel: "I assure you that he is in good condition. As yet."

"That is good to hear.
You asked what we can give you. You know that we can't risk a war with the non-Benefactor elves, which means that we can't give you military support. But I make you two offers in exchange for our companion, travel as fast as possible to Dalaran, whether magical or not, aid in the healing of our Highthane and the ceasing of hostilities against dwarvish followers of the light.
First: The permission to trade with Ironforge for armaments, at a lowered price, which should be affordable by the wealth of so much elves of higher stands that are gathered under the Benefactors.
And second: The construction of a national Pagan church in the dwarven kingdom with a central temple in Ironforge itself.
What do you say?"

[Gurtogg_Bloodboil]

Ravenholdt (Gurtogg Bloodboil; not the guy from the Black Temple. I crack me up.)

Introduction

"Long ago, the Arathi tribe of humans embarked on a campaign of necessity to conquer and assimilate its rivals through combat and politics. The cause was righteous, as the Arathi offered peace, security, and equality to those they conquered. However, many rival tribes were resistant to the idea of relinquishing their own authority and becoming part of a larger whole.

It was at this time that a guild of assassins arose within the Arathi. Infiltrating rival tribes and removing dissidents and other opposition, this group was very successful and aided in what ultimately became the founding of the united human nation of Arathor. Over time, the guild grew in size and autonomy, and when Arathor dissolved into smaller Kingdoms they established a small, independent settlement in the Alterac Mountains, Northwest of the Hillsbrad Foothills. This community took the name Ravenholdt, after the man who spearheaded its founding.

Too small to contend with larger kingdoms in any head to head confrontation, the mostly self-sustaining Ravenholdt trains its forces to be masters of melee combat and discipline. Stories say they are so skilled that they are “invisible”. The county has remained small, and only invites new residents if they possess extraordinary skill. Ravenholdt at the time of The Great War of Azeroth possessed a standing force of only a few hundred warriors. The country retains independence with impunity from the Kingdom of Alterac through a combination of their own skill (the settlement is well hidden and the mountain is trapped) and the negligence of Alterac itself (Lord Xie doesn’t seem to know what’s going on).

As part of the family legacy, the Ravenholdt Bloodline runs the day to day, menial tasks of leadership. However, true authority has always lied with the Grand Master since the early days of the guild." -Gurtogg

Issues are recently boiling over in Ravenholdt. Not long has passed since the assassination of the last Grand Master; the practical ruler of the community. Travot Ravenholdt, however, has managed to maintain order by allowing for Warester Van Dam to rise to become the new Grand Master.

Now, in the dawn of his career, Warester Van Dam is faced with a myriad of problems. While Travot wishes to hire out Ravenholdt to any paying party, regardless of justification, Van Dam feels otherwise. It is a bad time for dissent or disagreements. However, the matter is simply thus.

Ravenholdt hosts a splendid view in all directions. Hesperia stretches out to the west, and the Arathi Highlands to the east. From one of the highest peaks of the mountainous reaches of the hills, Van Dam is enjoying the sanctity of privacy. He can see both realms to either side of him, and Ravenholdt just below. This place makes him feel in control; up here where only the singing of the birds can disrupt him. Every so often, a gryphon might just fly up from the Hinterlands to the north, and once Van Dam was even lucky enough to get up close enough to feel it gently. Gryphons were proud creatures, but were tame enough when shown proper respect and caution.

"Oi. I'm talking to you."

Van Dam sighs. So much for solitude and sanctuary. He opens his eyes to Master Wallis, a short, hairy man who has always seemed to remain oblivious to rank or station. All that has ever concerned Wallis is fighting prowess and ale.

"What's wrong, Wallis? What can I do for you."
There was not much point in reminding Wallis that he was talking to the Grand Master.
"Travot sent for you. 'Bout two hours ago, actually. He's mighty pissed off you haven't shown up yet. Somehow I knew I'd find you up here. But I let you rest a bit. Travot can fume all he wants."
Van Dam nods and runs a hand through his hair. It was always difficult dealing with Travot. While Travot Ravenholdt had endorsed his rise to Grand Master, there was still the problem of ethics between them. Travot had little regard for the notions of morality. While assassins could seldom afford that luxury, the Ravenholdt community had enjoyed that priviledge for generations. Hard times were demanding changes, however.

"I'll go see what he wants." Van Dam grunts, and hoists himself up. He gathers his equipment and treads down to the manor. Workers greet him as he passes. Ravenholdt's civilian population has dwindled as of late, but enough people remain to tend to the estate's personal crops.

Once inside, the acknowledgement fades. Van Dam knows that the manor is garrisoned only by those whom Travot Ravenholdt trusts most, and those he trusts most are usually those who believe that the Grand Master should answer to the hereditary ruler. It was a balance of power which was difficult to maintain. The old Grand Master had been assassinated, and none knew by who. Van Dam secretly guessed that one of Travot's cronies had acted on his beliefs.

"What in blazes took you so long? Damnit, have you no manners, Warester?" Travot begins, as soon as Van Dam steps towards the small private balcony Travot uses to oversee the estate grounds.
"I was not aware you had a desire to see me until now." Van Dam answers. He makes sure to avoid the notion that it was at Travot's request that he had come. There were, after all, no obligations for the Grand Master to obey the ruling Ravenholdt. It was only a matter of courtesy.

"Doesn't matter, Warester. I'm a patient man." Travot explains.

Seeing Travot now is somewhat disheartening to Warester, who remembers the days when the old Ravenholdt ruled, just as he remembers the days the old Grand Master ruled. They were safer and more calm times.

"What is it you want, Travot?"
"I just received word from some of our field agents. There are urgent matters we need to go over."
"Of course." Van Dam answers routinely.
"A Hesperian army is marching towards Tarren Mill. That brings them incredibly close to our sanctuary here. Other than that, I think it is time we sent somebody to the impending political meeting at Fenris Isle, don't you think? It is something we can't afford to miss."

"I knew all of these things already, Travot. Was there anything else? Or shall we reach some decisions for a change?"
"There was a private matter." Travot begins. He turns away from Van Dam, lacking confidence for a change. "I have no heir."
"Do you want to sire one from me, then? Is that why I'm here?" Van Dam asks, bemused.
"Don't be like that, Warester." Travot says with the wave of a hand. "This estate, however, hosts a tiny amount of inbred women, all of which make my stomach turn. I have no time to flirt away from home either. Do you know what this means? I need to hurry up the affair and get it over with. During one of my routine assignments in Andriano, I saw a young woman. The daughter of the Count Scipio."
"Where are you going with this?" Van Dam inquires, suddenly worried that Travot is up to something.
"I'm going to have her kidnapped and brought to me." Travot explains. "I need a beautiful wife, and an heir. None here can provide me with my needs."


Warester is taken aback by Travot’s bold statement. He always considered the current Lord of Ravenholdt to be somewhat of a scumbag, but he never expected depravity of this magnitude. He’d have to handle this situation delicately. Looking to buy time to think, he first addresses the other matters.

Warester Van Dam: First things first, Travot. I’ve already been planning on attending the meeting at Fenris Isle personally, and alone. They’ll no doubt be expecting Krol, but I will have to suffice. I’ll fill you in on the details afterwards.

Travot Ravenholdt: At least take some guards with you. I’ll assign a security detail myself!

Warester Van Dam: They’d only slow me down.

The truth was that Van Dam didn’t trust Tavot, or anyone he would assign. The assassination of Grand Master Krol, Van Dam’s mentor and friend, was recent enough that it was still fresh in Warester’s mind. The perpetrator or perpetrators had yet to be brought to justice or even identified, but Warester had his suspicions. Once he had proof, there would undoubtedly be a reckoning.

In addition, as Grand Master of Ravenholdt he simply needed no guards. He was more than capable of protecting himself in almost any situation. He stood at approximately six feet tall, and weighed in at around 220 pounds of lean muscle mass. He was a certified master of combat, subtlety, and assassination, proficient with almost all forms of weaponry as well as unarmed, hand-to-hand combat. While still relatively young, he has also had years of practical combat and infiltration experience.

Warester Van Dam: As far as the Hesperians, I’ve had their march under surveillance since they departed. They should arrive at Tarren Mill shortly, no doubt en route to Alterac to deal with Lord Xie. There has been some enmity between the two, nasty business about poisoning wells and such. So long as we don’t provoke them, I foresee no reason our community should be in jeopardy.

Ravenholdt as a whole had no love for Alterac, whose citizenship was generally regarded as cowardly and weak by the small nation operating within its borders. Travot certainly wouldn’t object to allowing Alterac to take a beating. However, now Warester was going to have to address the trickier issue…

Warester Van Dam: This woman that you’ve taken interest in, why not simply invite her to Ravenholdt? I could have one of the guild spirit her away and have her here within a day.

Travot Ravenholdt: Come now Warester, if it was that simple I’d have already done it! No, something tells me she wouldn’t come of her own accord. We’re not going to give this rare beauty a choice in the matter.

Van Dam thought Travot must have lost his mind. He was still seething about the crass comments Travot just issued about Ravenholdt’s women, who generally possessed athletic and toned physiques he personally greatly preferred to those of the soft and weak women that were so prevalent in other locales. Not only that, but the idea of abducting a woman and holding her against her will to be some kind of sex-slave was repugnant to everything Ravendoldt stood for. The community took Arathor’s tenant of equality very seriously, and women were always afforded the same rights and respect as men. The lightly-armored, stealthy, and agility-focused methodology of Ravenholdt made gender discrimination obsolete. In fact, some of their greatest assassins were women, including Van Dam’s own mother. What would she say about what Travot was suggesting?

Was this Travot’s way of testing his new authority as Grand Master? Travot would never have been so bold as to suggest such a thing if Grand Master Krol were still alive and in charge. Was this why Lord Ravenholdt formally endorsed his ascension to grand Master, because he thought he was a push-over?

Regardless, this suggestion was not merely morally reprehensible, but it put Ravenholdt in jeopardy. This wasn’t just any woman after all, it was the daughter of Count Scipio of Andriano.

Warester Van Dam: I won’t allow that Travot. Not only does your plan disgust me, but it endangers us all. Surely you know about Andriano’s new allies? They’re under Javali and New Dalaran’s thumb now. Scipio practically leapt at the chance to join them.

Travot Ravenholdt: So? Don’t we specialize in killing wizards? Besides, I’d expect it to be a simple matter to arrange for her “disappearance”. Nobody will know what happened to her, let alone that she is here. Don’t tell me you are lacking confidence in your own guild’s capabilities?

Warester Van Dam: It’s not going to happen Travot! That’s it. Chose a woman from Ravenholdt or from anywhere in the world that will have you, but there will be no abductions for this purpose. Is that understood?

His question is met with scorned silence.

Warester Van Dam: Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting on Fenris Isle I must prepare for. I’ll be in the armory.

[Kerrah]

Dalaran

Everything is going according to plan. Excitement wells up in Javali. It is not often that such a thing happens. Having studied every section of history with intense detail, Javali has found that the modern world has offered little in the ways of excitement. Deposing the Council of Six had not been nearly as thrilling as he had hoped. His actions paled in comparison to the achievements of the likes of Thoradin. That is why he had to try harder, to work harder, to fight harder. Javali swore to himself that he would make history. No, he would remake it, and he would remake it in his image.

Zinizar walks by his side as they ascend the steps of the Grand Archive. He looks to her fondly, his beautiful and deadly protege in reforging Hesperia. This was her hour just as much as it was his. Today, history would bow to them. The Archive would be theirs.

Behind them, the thundering chorus of marching steps thunders in unison. Franek leads the fanatics crashing behind their dictator. These men are the very best. They will be the first Zaramim, when the time comes.

Javali decides to make an entrance. There will be no turning of keys to open the massive wooden doors of the Archive.

Inside, a gathering of blind old men drifts amongst the bookshelves which rise up to the ceiling. They are unaware of what is coming. They are alerted to the sound of a colossal smash. Blind, they do not see its cause, but they know it nonetheless. The doors of the Archive have been splintered. One of the Archivists is thrown to the ground. He gropes around him to gain his bearings, and his hands feel along the robe of a fellow Archivist. His hands come away wet. He does not doubt that it is blood on his hands. Suddenly, a heavy boot lands on his chest. Somehow, he does not even have to ask who it is. He knows.

"I am Lord Javali of Dalaran, and you, all of you, have been charged with treason."

The Archivist searches within himself for traces of eldtrich power, with which to silence this madman, but the moment he tries to do so, he is set alight, and his burning, screaming form is tossed out of one of the glass windows. He lands in one of the streets below, crashing into an unsuspecting crowd.

Javali looks to Zinizar, delighted at the feeling of power coursing through him.
"Is this what you wanted? Because it is what you are getting. I hope it makes you happy."
"It makes me very, very happy." Zinizar laughs, her voice serpentine. "I'll have to thank you sometime, Javali. In private."
"Be my guest. But first, we have an Archive to reoder."

Within hours, the Archivists are rounded up and led away by Archmage Franek. Immediately, the soldiers begin collecting the prophecies. Javali does not put much stock in them, and he ignores them for the most part. Whatever Zinizar wanted out of this endeavor was her business. He sees her fingering the parchment of one of the scrolls. Her eyes are wide.
"What is it, my dear? You seem distressed in our hour of triumph."
"I found what I was looking for." she mumbles. It is the first time Javali has seen her shaken and without her guise of alluring temptation. For once, she is just a woman; a clearly shocked and afraid one.
"What is it, then? Surely you can tell me."
Zinizar turns to him, her sapphire eyes alight with emotion.
"The words promise a thousand paths, Javali. A thousand possible roads which history might tread."
"And what good are prophecies when they all they do is speculate?" Javali asks, suddenly angry. "What good were these Archivists?"

Zinizar puts a finger to her lips, though her eyes remain on the paper.
"You misunderstand. The Prophecies highlight that things can change; that personal choice may win the day. But they are nonetheless clear. It speaks of a fel fire from beyond, returning to consume all life; while tentacles of madness strangle all that we behold from beneath the earth. It speaks of demons and the very old gods that tried to replace the Four Gods and steal their aspects."

"I remember you speaking of such ancient evils." Javali mutters thoughtfully. "Your Four Gods were at war with monsters from beyond, who tried to steal their thrones. Gods of madness. Old gods from another realm."

Zinizar waves Javali's trail of thought away.
"This world is host to a hundred different gods, Javali. The trolls and their Loa, the madmen and their old gods, the tales of a blood god; Hakkar. Our very Four Gods. All vie against one another. It is clear what I have to do now; what the goddess Zinine inspired me to do. We must prevent the future from happening. History promises us a road of torment, in which the Four Gods are forgotten and erased from history. A bleak, freakish future. We must continue what we are doing now. We must rewrite history."

"Rewrite history." Javali mutters to himself. "Do you mean this literally?"
"No. I know that there are dragons who can travel within the borders of time, but that is not what interests us. I must manifest Zinine's presence on Azeroth. A god has power when it can make itself felt. While we cannot bring the Blue Child to us, we can bring her voice to us."

"Zinizar, let's be clear. I'm not going to meddle with mad magic. There will be no summoning. All conflicts in any wars we fight are to be battles of mortal steel. That is how I want to be remembered. Summoning things never works out."

Zinizar narrows her eyes.
"I never needed your permission for anything, my dear. I hope to summon D'vorjakque, the Azure Emperor Sorceror of the ancient Kelani Empire. I am Archareveim of the Hareveim; our order stems from the Kelani. We must restore what was lost. With, or without you."

"Don't forget who is in charge here, my dear." Javali says, raising his voice in concealed anger. "Do not tempt me to break our ties."

"There is no need." Zinizar says gingerly, taking Javali's face in her hands. "Go and rest. You and I; we are one. Go and rest. You have done well. It has been a hard day for all of us. I will join you shortly. Tomorrow, we can see what to do next. Understood?"

Javali wonders whether he should indeed retire.

The weight of the world suddenly seems too heavy, if only for a brief moment. He begins to wonder what he got himself into with these Hareveim. Fenris Isle will await him soon, and the Kirin Mora have yet to be dealt with.
Franek pulls him aside quite suddenly, before he can even so much as reply to Zinine.

"I have a report from General Marius; it just came in. It is urgent." Franek grates. "My lord, the Kirin Mora are receiving assistance from the Church in Lordaeron. They have Witch Hunters assassinating our Hareveim at every turn. We believe they are hiding, disguised amongst the civilian populations of the towns close to Ambermill. We can't route them out."

[OOC: The eyes of Hareveim are red, not blue.]

I take a deep calming breath, rubbing my fingers to my temples. The infinite eternal powers that control this world and countless others have freely been studied and manipulated by people in this city for thousands of years, and yet no one has discovered a simple cure for a head ache. Woe is me.

"I will take care of the problem with Lordaeron at Fenris Isle. Mindless brutes such as Sherman the Butcher rule that land, so intimidation will make them cower until we have taken care of the Kirin Mora. I'll show the King power. Until then, however, give the Hareveim full authority to arrest, interrogate or execute anyone of whom there is reasonable suspicion of being related to these assassinations."

I breathe and stare at the Archivists' ruined headquarters around myself. The walls are covered with scrolls. Each one could contain enough information to cause untold destruction and death, or even the failure of my plans. For the first time in years, I feel a small tinge of fear creep into myself. I turn back to Franek. "Have all the remaining prophecies buried under the Great Hall in the Violet Citadel. During the transportation, turn them invisible. If anyone who knows about them is found to have mentioned their existence, they will have a private appointment with a Harev."

I remember that after all this, Franek will still be the leading wizard on an army which leaves the city tomorrow. I smile at the man, honest gratitude to his work bringing a wide smile to my face. "Good luck with your military expedition, Archmage. When I restore the Kirin Tor, you will no doubt receive a seat. I will retire for the night now."

After receiving his thanks and good tidings, I leave the ransacked building. Perhaps I will turn it into a museum of Hesperian Culture after the war is gone. Nationalism is like a drug that makes men forget their own good and do things they would never do otherwise. What a wonderful tool, indeed.



After arriving to the Violet Citadel, I ponder the situation with Lordaeron more. They are in the middle of a civil war, but still. They have a small navy on Lordamere Lake, more than I can say for myself, and there aren't any nations between them and myself. If I make a wrong step, all may be for nothing yet...

On my wall is a painting. In it blue, red, white and green stand together. The symbolism is evident: Even if they believe in different things, the followers of the Four Gods should still bond together before crises. With the destruction of the Archivists, it seems Dalaran is de facto a pagan state.

Of course...

Kul Tiras.

I immediately walk to my desk and grasp a quill and a bottle of ink. I can not stand alone any more. Even if Hesperia is united, it is one country.

I close my eyes for a moment before writing. Admiral Proudmoore may not announce it out loud, but I know he is no Lightist. The islands are largely populated my Muharists and Mnesthians.

Just as my quill touches the parchment, my door is opened. A wizard runs in. Before I have time to tell him to learn manners, he shouts: "Archmage! It's Seashire. Their mayor sends word that a group of Tirasians are causing trouble!"

"Write of a demon and he shall appear..." I mutter and stand up. Rest and relaxation will have to wait. Instead of asking for further details, I simply walk out of the room and into the Port. This specifically enchanted room, created the Kirin Tor ten generations ago, allows wizards to use transportation and communication magic half a dozen times more efficiently. I focus on Seashire and without much more than a thought, vanish from the face of Azeroth and reappear, hundreds of miles south, in Seashire.

As soon as I arrive, I assure the mayor that I will take care of the problem. At first he seems thankful, but after I start ordering his guardsmen around, he remembers what I said back in Dalaran and questions me: "You said you're not a leader. Who are you to come here to boss us around?"

I give an irritated sigh, growing weary of this eternally out-stretching stressful day. "You called me to solve your problem. I'm doing that."

His men follow me, though looking for their leader for confirmation first. I march the troops to the street and walk to the Tirasians. Thanks to magical communication and travel, they haven't yet had time to turn violent. "Halt!" I shout, bringing up a hand and igniting a bright warning light to signify my arcane powers, a common procedure in events such as this. "I am Javali, Grand-Archmage of Dalaran and member of the Council of Hesperia. What is the problem here?"

There are more of them than there are us. I want to talk my way out of this. If I can't, I'll just have to burn them all to a crisp before any of them can move an arm. The teleport drained much of my energy, but I still have enough.

[IN-CHARACTER DIALOGUE REQUEST WITH XARTHAT]

[OOC: Hope that wasn't too much godmoding in there. Feel free to tell me if it was.]
[edit OOC: Tim, you're doing fantastic. I'd never be able to juggle all of this.]

[Xarthat]

(OOC: We're duking out the dialogue personally, or through Tim as a GM?)

[Kerrah]

[OOC: Well, since it's straight character-to-character interaction, I don't see the need to GM ruling. What say you, Tim?]

[Timolas]

OOC: Be my guest. You may reply to him in the same format we've used this whole time, except instead of writing to me, Kerrah will be reading it and he will reply as his character. You can control Phorcys or whoever you want in the same fashion as before as well.
This is one idea of how the conference at Fenris could work.

[Xarthat]

Thaumas appeared before his men, along with his closest advisors and commanders, including Phorcys and Redpath. Thaumas shouted to a several metres away standing Dalaranian on his full lungs:
"You're harboring the traitor Janus in this city. Give him away alive, and you'll be spared!"

(OOC: What was your name? Javali?)

[Kerrah]

I lick my lips, uncomfortable with not knowing what is going on, not being in control. This must be what everyone else feels like all the time.

The leader of the guardsmen is the highest-ranking Seashirean present, so I turn to him. "Care you tell me whether you ARE harbouring a foreign rebel in this city?" I do not know his name, but it doesn't matter right now.

The man stutters a bit. "Uh... I- no, sir. Nobody but a few merchant ships have sailed here in weeks from southeast."

I nod to him in approval and turn back to the foreign man. "See? Hesperia does not have a hand in foreign civil wars. If this rebel has somehow sneaked here unbeknown to us, he will be turned in as soon as he is found. I will personally make sure everyone who has arrived in town recently will be double-checked."

Before the man can speak, I give him an inquiring look and ask: "May I know who I am being so generous to?"

[OOC: I double-checked the guard's reply with Timolas.]

[Xarthat]

"Here is Lord Admiral Thaumas Proudmoore, son of Phorcys, son of Mnesthes, King of Kul Tiras. I don't believe in your words of not knowing anything of Janus. I have been reported that this city is harboring him. You may ask my father, he knew it."
Phorcys looked with a troubled gaze at his admiral, only to respond:
"My son, it was a guess. I was not sure of his existence here."
Thaumas silenced himself and threw down his sword on the ground with an anger.
"Damn it. Halt! Halt you all! I order you to stop this!"

"Pardon me for my rash actions and possible damage. I will pay for everything that was destroyed. Who I am speaking with? Are you some kind of local authority... or who?"

[Kerrah]

I dully scratch my head at the man introducing himself and his companion. The Son of Mnesthes? This is interesting...

After he apologises and tells his men to stop whatever they are doing, he asks me my name.

I have rarely in my life had to introduce myself twice to someone. Never before has anyone forgotten my name within five minutes of me stating it. My eyes narrow down as I call out: "I am Javali, Grand-Archmage of Dalaran and a member of the Council of Hesperia." He does not even state his being sorry for making me repeat myself. I walk closer and speak: "I was called here merely to pacify a situation the local authorities had problems with. Luckily we could resolve the situation with words before you could do anything... unforgivable."

I see that the soldiers with him had already moved in and started questioning people at random, breaking items. Nobody is hurt, yet.

"Can I inquire why you have brought military presence within our fair homeland? Normally one asks before doing a thing such as this."

[Xarthat]

"Weren't you telling your name before? I think I heard something, but the noise didn't allow me to hear what I wanted to hear. Lord Javali, we're going for the meeting at Fenris Isle, and our only choice was to pass through Seashire. But then, the local people have forbidden us from entering their harbour... and then I decided to act instead of speak. You see, I'm a man of action. And even when I don't intend to enter with a loud roar... I do it."

"Wait a moment, you're the supposed dictator of Dalaran the Tirisfalen was speaking about? Haha, for Mnesthes' sake, they want your head as badly as I want Janus'."

[Kerrah]

I scratch my chin at the monarch's talk. I don't know what he is speaking of the Tirisfal, but it can't be good. Now is not a good time to find out, though.

"If you are on your way to Fenris Isle, I may be able to help you with that. I will myself be travelling with magic, and in fact I arrived here merely minutes ago by arcane teleportation. Your entire entourage can not be moved around that way, of course, but I suggest you allow my wizards to take you first to Dalaran and later, when the conference comes, to Fenris Keep. You may take a handful of guardsmen and other retinue-members with you.

I doubt the keepers of the Isle will let your entire force in, whichever way you choose to travel there."

[I am assuming you have like five hundred soldiers with you, if you were going to raze a town/city with them. Correct me if I'm wrong.]

[Xarthat]

Thaumas was struggling inside himself if should he trust the Dalaranian or not, but decided that in return for some trust, he might gain one too.

"So should it be. I'll be coming with my father and few guardsmen with you. But first, let me give one final order."
Thaumas came to Redpath and spoken to him:
"Make THEM follow. You know who. The air frog. You know what I mean, right?"
Redpath just nodded, and then Thaumas came back to Javali.
"I am ready."

But then, on a side, Redpath just whispered to his lieutenant:
"The air what?"

[Kerrah]

I tell the mayor the trouble is over, ask him to have the new arrivees at the town investigated and to make sure nobody among the locals tries to take revenge on the... little mistake, on the part of our guests.

After that is done, I use an Anchor Stone to create a stable portal into the Port within the Violet Citadel. After everyone has crossed, I close the portal.

In the Port, I call for servants and have them house our guests in the finest rooms the citadel has for foreign diplomats and the like. I bid them farewell and leave to rest. I am spent and drained from the long day.

Tomorrow I'll have to talk about the possibility of an alliance with the foreign king. It surely is lucky that I ran into him.



[OOC: Going to sleep IRL. Too tired to write anything to deep right now.

EDIT:]



I wake up very late, only an hour before noon, the following day. I immediately rise up and bring the events of the previous day to my mind to make sure I haven't forgotten anything.

Hesperia is now a single nation once again. There are those who refuse to take part, but they will be brought to order shortly.

The Archivists are gone and their dangerous prophecies buried beyond human memory.

Zinizar wants to summon some powerful agent of her goddess into our world. It has something to do with battling the Old Ones.

The King of Kul Tiras is in Dalaran, as my guest.

As I put on my robes, I also remember that my two armies have left this morning, at sunrise. Led by generals Marius and Leo, they will be joined by troops of allies from all the other city-states they pass on their way to battle the Kirin Mora and block off an invasion from Stromgarde, respectively.

But enough summation of the past, I decide, as I exit my room. There is much to do.



In the early hours of the evening, I am dining. On the other end of the grand table is sitting a woman dressed in a magnificent blue gown. Her eyes are blood-red, matching with her bright hair.

We have just finished the meal and I have asked all my servants to leave, but one. We are enjoying some hot tea, with the young blond man nearby, ready for my order. Zinizar smiles a little, thinking she knows what is happening. She doesn't.

"Marry me," I announce. It's not a question, but neither is it an order.

Her eyes widen a little and she lays down her teacup. "Are you serious?"

I rise up, start walking to her and explain: "We're capable of producing offspring, both highly intelligent and possess the same goals. It makes perfect sense to get married."

"True... But what about... love?" She blushes so that practically her entire head is now red. "I mean, I am fairly sure that when two people plan to marry each other, there should be love involved." A mocking smirk appears on her face, a bit too forced to be convincing.

"I think we love each other." I tell her and put my hand on her shoulder. The servant walks to us, holding a large box. I walk Zinizar towards the container and say: "As much as two people such as us are capable of that emotion."

She looks at the box questioningly. I smile broadly. "And in case love fails us, there are always alternate ways. As my father used to say, 'if you can't make friends with someone, try blackmailing'."

The servant opens the box. There is an ornate parchment scroll inside which the woman immediately recognises. "That... How did you..."

It is the Scroll of Lore, an ancient artefact rumoured to be a gift from Zinine herself. It has belonged to the Hareveim for thousands of years, up until today. "I had it stolen."

I nod to the servant, who closes the box and walks away with it. Zinizar looks into my eyes. "Why?"

"Because it contains the summoning spell for D'vorjakque. I am afraid I can not have him summoned during these dangerous times. You made it clear that you would do it without me if necessary, practically inviting me to rob you of the ability."

A wave of hatred passes to her face, but I shush and smile calmly. "Oh please. All you have to do is help me win the war and we will summon your Goddess' champion after that is done. You are trying to prevent a distant future, you are not in a hurry."

She stutters a little: "And what if you lose the war?"

"That is not a possibility, my dear, but if it makes you feel any better..." I rise up a palm and conjure a blue orb, the Wizard's Oath. "I will give the scroll back the moment victory seems impossible for us. Either way, you will get to summon D'vorjakque.

In the meanwhile..." I flick my hand and the servant returns with a different, smaller box. "Please do take this as a compensation."

The gem-box is opened. Within lies a truly beautiful opal necklace. I lift the piece of jewelry up and hold it against a light to show it to her better. "A Galechain. The first leader of the Kirin Tor, Archmage Fonasar, created five of them. Each contains powerful magical properties. This one was sealed in the Vault, along with other magical artefacts of power."

I kneel down before her and present the trinket. "I, Cenus Zanaxer, hereby propose to you, Laura Agnesi. Will you be my wife?"

[OOC: I checked with Tim last night and he approved of the stealing business, so that's okay, I guess.

Also, as much as I'd like to take responsibility for this scene, I owe it all to Greg Weisman. Watch and be afraid. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=STScGngcvU4)]

[Xarthat]

(OOC: Am I free to take Phorcys [not Thaumas] on a little conversation with Javali?)

[Kerrah]

[OOC: Yes, right after Tim tells me whether Javali got lucky.

...actually, it might be better if we do that now and just say it was chronologically before the above scene.

edit: You went offline just when I came back to my computer. I'll be online most of the evening, so I'll be checking every now and then for a time when we're both on.]

[Xarthat]

(OOC: I want to be sure, since Tim's early premise to the game was "you won't control Phorcys". But as it is no magical fight, I guess I can, but need confimation. Ya' know, I used to have very strict and authoritarian GMs, also being one myself)

[Timolas]

OOC: Hey; just got home. Thanks for the consideration, both of you. Though you are both free to have your character discuss whatever it is you wish. I only meant you can't control Phorcys in the style of godmoding in battle, since he's a pretty powerful pagan spellcaster. It'd be wrong of me to make you wait for the next major update.

Dalaran (Mini-update)

It was clear that the matter weighed heavily upon Zinizar's shoulders. Her expression revealed betrayal, bemusement and what might just be relief. Javali observed that perhaps, by stealing the Scroll of Lore, he had lifted a weight off of her shoulders. The responsibility was now his rather than hers.

Despite her anger, she finally looked up to him. Her crimson eyes flared, and she managed a faint smile.
"I'll accept, Javali. It is unorthodox, but perhaps, for once, I'll think about myself. For what it's worth, I'd have killed any other man who dared ask such a thing. But you stole the Scroll and had the nerve to propose marriage at the same time. You are unlike any other man I have ever met."

[Wulfang]

Lordaeron

Alford Menethil issues his orders and allows himself a reprieve, as he sits back in his throne. The situation was developing in a volatile direction. There was potential for so much to go wrong. Canbrad would have to be reined in; and now this Cult of Brux as well. Sherman was already off issuing orders. Whatever forces could be spared would be sent overland and by ship to carry out the grand expedition to retain the east.

Archbishop Marden steps into the imperial hall, and unsteadily approaches the king. He is ill at ease, and that is never a fantastic sign.
"What is wrong now, Marden?" Alford asks with a sigh.
"My lord, since you mentioned the Kirin Mora."
"Yes?" Alford presses.
"Well, I may have forgotten to mention..."
"Go on, Marden. By the Light, say it before my bad day yields nasty results for you." Alford says, beginning to seethe.
The Archbishop's mouth works, gaping for a moment.

"I assumed you would approve of my sending a dozen Witch Hunters chapters south. To help the Kirin Mora. And Grigori Dosantos. Who you are asking for help from."

"Are you telling me that you might have provoked aggression from Dalaran, Marden? Is that what you are honestly telling me?"

Marden folds his arms and attempts to retain his demeanor.
"No, lord. I am telling you that the assistance you are asking from Grigori will surely be granted, because he owes the kingdom. My Witch Hunters are acting undercover to route out pagans. They will not incite aggression."

Guard captain de Mon enters the throne room, bearing a report.
"Sorry to interrupt, my lord. But we have news that your nephew, Tileot just arrived from the borderlands. I thought you might wish to know."

Alford is suddenly at attention. Tileot. His son.

Memories flood back. Many, many years ago, before Alford was married to his current wife, Lora Menethil, he had enjoyed a small love affair with a noble. She had secretly borne him a son, Tileot. Alford knew that such illegitimate offspring would dishonour him if brought to public light. Thus, he claimed that Tileot was the child of his late brother, and covered up the affair. He gave Tileot an estate far to the north, in lands by the sea. Meanwhile, Lora had not given him any children. It left a rather thorny position for him to wallow in.

"Yes, yes, captain. Set Tileot up in a comfortable room and tell him I will be with him eventually. I am very, very busy, as he can guess from the rebel uprisings. He will understand." Alford says gruffly. "As for you, Archbishop Marden. You've yet again acted without my permission, and stepped out of line."

The captain did not yet leave.
"My lord? Your wife wishes for an answer on her private request."

Hours earlier, Lora had confronted Alford. She said she wished to visit the guest in the downstairs dungeon. Namely, Maximus Krowl. How she had discovered him was beyond Alford. However, it seemed his wife remained oblivious to his true nature. She was often bored and longed for conversation. That was most likely what she wanted from their guest. She had explained that she felt obligated to be hostess. He had put off the matter.

"By the gods, I must be the unluckiest man in Lordaeron." Alford mutters to himself.

While a desire to lay eyes on his son's face filled his heart, Alford knew that his wife's discovery of Krowl in the palace could undo his plans, even if unwittingly for her. Tileot would have to wait.

Alford: Archbishop, I will let you go unpunished this one time. Just this one time. I do not enjoy having your Witch Hunters prodding into foreign territories without my knowledge or permission. Leave me now, and go finish your preparations for the empowering.
Captain de Mon, go fetch the Queen. Tell her I will attend to her request now. Privately.

[Timolas]

While a desire to lay eyes on his son's face filled his heart, Alford knew that his wife's discovery of Krowl in the palace could undo his plans, even if unwittingly for her. Tileot would have to wait.

Alford: Archbishop, I will let you go unpunished this one time. Just this one time. I do not enjoy having your Witch Hunters prodding into foreign territories without my knowledge or permission. Leave me now, and go finish your preparations for the empowering.
Captain de Mon, go fetch the Queen. Tell her I will attend to her request now. Privately.

Lordaeron

"Aye, milord." de Mon says, and hurries off. Archbishop Marden takes the opportunity to slink away, leaving Alford Menethil a moment for himself, this once.

It does not take long for Captain de Mon to return with Lora. Alford experiences a brief period of mixed feelings upon looking at his wife. They have always had a few things to disagree over during their few short years of marriage. Lora's hair is dark, and her skin tanned. Her eyes share her complexion, being in themselves a rich brown. Alford had met her years ago at a festival in the distant realm of Stormwind. The nobles there owned many lands across the relatively new kingdom, home to the noble bloodline that once ruled Arathor.

"You called, dear?"

Alford sighs. This would be difficult to diffuse. He was a man who had fought battles which had nearly cost him his life, he had ventured up the most hostile of mountains and through the darkest of swamps over the course of his life; and yet he still had trouble with one woman.
"Tell me my dear, what do you know of our guest?"
Lora blinks in surprise.
"I saw a gentleman being led by the lot of you through into the lower quarters. When I heard that your nephew Tileot arrived this afternoon, I assumed that it had something to do with him-"

[Kerrah]

Dalaran (Mini-update)

It was clear that the matter weighed heavily upon Zinizar's shoulders. Her expression revealed betrayal, bemusement and what might just be relief. Javali observed that perhaps, by stealing the Scroll of Lore, he had lifted a weight off of her shoulders. The responsibility was now his rather than hers.

Despite her anger, she finally looked up to him. Her crimson eyes flared, and she managed a faint smile.
"I'll accept, Javali. It is unorthodox, but perhaps, for once, I'll think about myself. For what it's worth, I'd have killed any other man who dared ask such a thing. But you stole the Scroll and had the nerve to propose marriage at the same time. You are unlike any other man I have ever met."

I smile and slide behind her, putting the necklace on. "And you are unlike any woman, at all."

As we embrace, I choose to push my planned meeting with the Tirasians into tomorrow. This evening will be... busy, I predict.



The following day, a little before noon, I walk into another grand room within the citadel. The elder Tirasian, Phorcys, is sitting there, waiting for me. "Excuse me for yester-eve, Lord," I announce. "There was an emergency beyond my control which forced me to cancel our arranged meeting. The situation has been dealt with, several times over."

The man seems more intelligent than his son, the current king, though I do wonder why he insisted on talking with me in person. I would not allow anyone below myself to have a private talk with a foreign leader. Perhaps, I theorise, this is the power behind the throne.

I sit down in a grand chair and put my hands on the table, waiting for him to make the first move.

[Wulfang]

Lordaeron

"Aye, milord." de Mon says, and hurries off. Archbishop Marden takes the opportunity to slink away, leaving Alford Menethil a moment for himself, this once.

It does not take long for Captain de Mon to return with Lora. Alford experiences a brief period of mixed feelings upon looking at his wife. They have always had a few things to disagree over during their few short years of marriage. Lora's hair is dark, and her skin tanned. Her eyes share her complexion, being in themselves a rich brown. Alford had met her years ago at a festival in the distant realm of Stormwind. The nobles there owned many lands across the relatively new kingdom, home to the noble bloodline that once ruled Arathor.

"You called, dear?"

Alford sighs. This would be difficult to diffuse. He was a man who had fought battles which had nearly cost him his life, he had ventured up the most hostile of mountains and through the darkest of swamps over the course of his life; and yet he still had trouble with one woman.
"Tell me my dear, what do you know of our guest?"
Lora blinks in surprise.
"I saw a gentleman being led by the lot of you through into the lower quarters. When I heard that your nephew Tileot arrived this afternoon, I assumed that it had something to do with him-"

"Good", Alford thought. "She doesn't even suspect who he might be." Even though he loathed lying to his wife, the situation called for it.

Alford: I'm sorry for confusing you, Lora. The man you saw us "escorting" is an emissary from Kul Tiras, a kingdom that has openly declared itself pagan. We have been holding him under arrest in one of our guestrooms so he doesn't accidentally find anything about Lordaeron that we don't want him to. And that way, I don't have to worry about Marden going behind my back trying to have the man killed.
*Alford rises from his throne and takes Lora's hand, gently kissing it* I am sorry for not telling you sooner, my love, but I have so many untrustworthy people around me that I sometimes forget who I can trust. Forgive me.

[Timolas]

"Good", Alford thought. "She doesn't even suspect who he might be." Even though he loathed lying to his wife, the situation called for it.

Alford: I'm sorry for confusing you, Lora. The man you saw us "escorting" is an emissary from Kul Tiras, a kingdom that has openly declared itself pagan. We have been holding him under arrest in one of our guestrooms so he doesn't accidentally find anything about Lordaeron that we don't want him to. And that way, I don't have to worry about Marden going behind my back trying to have the man killed.
*Alford rises from his throne and takes Lora's hand, gently kissing it* I am sorry for not telling you sooner, my love, but I have so many untrustworthy people around me that I sometimes forget who I can trust. Forgive me.

Lordaeron ('nother meenee-update, will post the major one once Zula updates)

That settles the affair, Alford says to himself. The matter of Tileot had yet to be resolved. He had not seen his son in almost a year by this point. In truth, Alford was one of the very few who knew that Tileot was not his nephew, but his only child. Even Tileot himself was unaware of the fact. Alford's brother had agreed to take the child under an oath of secrecy and raise him as his own.

Now it was time to build bridges. Tileot had never been close to him, nor had Alford gotten much opportunity to talk to the boy. He did not approve of all of the decisions taken in Tileot's upbringing. Alford had even wanted to name the boy Rowen, but his brother, being the foster father, had made it clear that if he was to take on such a burden, then Tileot would be his to manage as he saw fit. It was his only condition.

Alford has de Mon lead him to the private apartment provided for Tileot. He knocks at the door lightly, and waits. For once, he is the one seeking permission to enter. It is a strange feeling, for a king.

A young man opens up for him, wearing plain yet formal garb to his feet. His hair is golden and curly, like his true mother's had been. Tileot perks up at seeing his uncle, and invites him in without hesitation.
"It's been a long time, uncle. I mean, my lord. My king."
Alford waves the formalities away.
"No need for titles in the presence of your... uncle... Tileot."
"As you wish, sir." Tileot replies plainly.

After an awkward silence, Alford seats himself and looks out of the window.
"So, boy, tell me. How is life in Northstone? How fares your mother?"
"She is fine. Times have been hard since father was taken by the gnolls, as you can imagine. But thanks to your gracious funding, the farms run well, and the peasants are happy."
"That's great." Alford replies, trying to sound genuinely interested.
The boy pouts idly, patting his lap to pass the time.
"So, what about you?"
"Hm?"
"How are things?"
"Oh. Fine." Alford replies. "Although, uh. There's the whole rebellion business, I'm sure you've heard of it. Pesky bandits. You know. Haha. Nothing your old man can't handle."

Alford makes for a brief and hearty demonstration of punching thin air and barks a laugh afterwards.
"We'll show 'em!"
Tileot forces another smile.
"Yeah. You're the best."
"Mm. So, kid." Alford manages. "Did your father teach you how to use a sword?"

[Zula]

Lordaeron ('nother meenee-update, will post the major one once Zula updates)

Damm you putting that weight over my shoulders, I will update tomorrow I promise.

[Timolas]

Damm you putting that weight over my shoulders, I will update tomorrow I promise.

No rush, Zula. :P It's only been a few days; post when you feel inspired or get a few ideas.

[Xarthat]

The following day, a little before noon, I walk into another grand room within the citadel. The elder Tirasian, Phorcys, is sitting there, waiting for me. "Excuse me for yester-eve, Lord," I announce. "There was an emergency beyond my control which forced me to cancel our arranged meeting. The situation has been dealt with, several times over."

The man seems more intelligent than his son, the current king, though I do wonder why he insisted on talking with me in person. I would not allow anyone below myself to have a private talk with a foreign leader. Perhaps, I theorise, this is the power behind the throne.

I sit down in a grand chair and put my hands on the table, waiting for him to make the first move.

"This city is very... unique. Even the air have the scent of arcane that I can feel in my nostrils.
But, straight to the point, huh?
I have heard some... rumors. I heard... you want to bring goddess Zinine herself to this world. Is this true?"

[Timolas]

OOC: It'd be a bit unfair to find out a secret like that so easily, so to speak; it seems a bit illogical. They weren't going to summon Zinine but one of her lieutenants.
However, since it's Phorcys you're controlling anyway, you could try and ask something similar, that he is sensing that the Zinites are up to something.
Rumours are unlikely, since it's mostly a plan between Javali, Zinizar and her Hareveim.

I'm fine as long as Kerrah doesn't mind, of course.

[Wabbajack]

[I think it show the misinformation. They don't want to summon Zinine, but Phorcys thinks so^^]

[Xarthat]

(OOC: Yes, it includes some misinformation, but as Kerrah is posting it on open text in game [not PM - like one my action], I guess it's nothing so secret that a rumour couldn't be made)

[Wulfang]

(OOC: Yes, it includes some misinformation, but as Kerrah is posting it on open text in game [not PM - like one my action], I guess it's nothing so secret that a rumour couldn't be made)

[OOC: That's not how it works sonny. That way, there'd be rumours about me trying to make Krowl king of Kul Tiras just because I said it in a post. If it's a private conversation, then it's private and there's no way rumours would spring up.]

[Xarthat]

(OOC: If I want something to keep secret from other nations, I don't post it in open game text. Although, one thing you convinced me to is that I need to pay attention to your posts)

[Wulfang]

(OOC: If I want something to keep secret from other nations, I don't post it in open game text. Although, one thing you convinced me to is that I need to pay attention to your posts)

[OOC: Like I said, that's not how it works. There's no way you could know about that, because the only people who do know are magically bound to not reveal it. That's why it's roleplay: you can't use info your character can't know.]

[Wabbajack]

[Or else we all would be metagaming^^]

[Zula]

[If we all played how you say we should Xarthat. I should had executed the lieutenant that's obviously serving another master.]

[Xarthat]

(OOC: Well, when I don't want you to know something, I am just not posting it openly. End of off-topic, waiting for Kerrah's response)

[Wulfang]

(OOC: Well, when I don't want you to know something, I am just not posting it openly. End of off-topic, waiting for Kerrah's response)

[OOC: Good for you, just don't go using info that your character doesn't know.]

[Timolas]

[OOC: I can see how you will all shed blood killing one another when the Great War itself starts! I imagine you'll all try to kill one another at the conference.)

[Wulfang]

[OOC: Fellow kings, if you want to hold the Meeting at Fenris Isle through MSN, say so now so I can prepare things - in a way that won't reveal anyone's email, for privacy's sake, of course.]

[Wabbajack]

[I would like to participate, if the short folk is welcome.]

[Wulfang]

[I would like to participate, if the short folk is welcome.]

[OOC: Find yourself some way to be at Fenris Isle and you'll get in. Though you're bound to be ill recieved by some of the members. It's a meeting for human kings, after all.]

[Wabbajack]

[Im working on it^^ And if there is a representative of Ravenholdt, why not one of Ironforge?^^]

[Wulfang]

[Im working on it^^ And if there is a representative of Ravenholdt, why not one of Ironforge?^^]

[OOC: I think the guys at Ravenholdt are, like you, just showing up because it suits them, not because they were invited. The meeting is public knowledge.]

[Gurtogg_Bloodboil]

[OOC: I think the guys at Ravenholdt are, like you, just showing up because it suits them, not because they were invited. The meeting is public knowledge.]

[OOC: Plus, humans only! I actually envisioned Ravenholdt as a still small but slightly bigger community back in the day, it reduces in size during modern times... perhaps as a result of the war?? We'll have to find out.]

[Wulfang]

[OOC: Plus, humans only! I actually envisioned Ravenholdt as a still small but slightly bigger community back in the day, it reduces in size during modern times... perhaps as a result of the war?? We'll have to find out.]

[OOC: Sounds fine. Perhaps you can argue that, as an independent realm, you have the same right to be there as the 7 kings do.]

[Timolas]

[OOC: Way I see it, Wabbajack is going to Dalaran to meet the messenger he sent there. By then he'll have allied with the pagans through Kariel Winthalus, and will arrive in the midst of a pagan Dalaran with two pagan dictators in his midst. He can just tag along to Fenris from there I guess.]

[Wulfang]

[OOC: Way I see it, Wabbajack is going to Dalaran to meet the messenger he sent there. By then he'll have allied with the pagans through Kariel Winthalus, and will arrive in the midst of a pagan Dalaran with two pagan dictators in his midst. He can just tag along to Fenris from there I guess.]

[OOC: Yeah, exactly what I was thinking of.]

[Kerrah]

(OOC: Well, when I don't want you to know something, I am just not posting it openly. End of off-topic, waiting for Kerrah's response)

[OOC: I'm not responding to a question your character can't have asked because he doesn't have the necessary information to ask it.

It's called ROLE PLAYING because you're supposed to be PLAYING THE ROLE of your character. He doesn't know everything you do.

In other words: Try again.]

---

[EDIT: If we're going to go MSN with the conference, I'll be open pretty much at any time except tomorrow. I think next weekend might work. How are people busy/unbusy in those days?]

[Xarthat]

(OOC: Just get the explanation that he's sensing power)

[Kerrah]

Phorcys opens his lips and speaks. "I have sensed certain fluctuations with the powers granted to me by my patron God and father, Mnesthes. The Azure magics flow within this city, rampant, as if readying for some great future event. I can't help but remember that the Hareveim, your allies, own an object capable of summoning powerful agents of their Goddess into this world..."

I sigh. This can be a problem. I have to think up a way of circumventing it, while not appearing weak or secretive. "I assume your senses must be right, My Lord," I speak, nodding my head and appearing thoughtful. "I did not know about gathering magics, for I do not have a connection with any of the Four Gods myself. However, it is not true that the Azure Sisters possess the power to summon any agent of their deity into this world."

The man opens his mouth to speak but I cut in: "They did, until yesterday. I had the object you mentioned stolen, for I will not have my rule compromised by a religious sect, no matter how useful they might be to me."

[Xarthat]

"Are you a friend of Zinine and Mnesthes, or are you not?" Phorcys looked at Javali with a look that could be described only as inhuman, from another world, "Because I might help with bringing here forces unseen and impossible to be harnessed by a mortal mind. This way, the dark future where the Four Gods don't exist, might not come. This way, they might rule the world. With you as their immortal servant. Think of that possibility. Immortality, power. Unimaginable power."

(OOC: Don't worry, I'm not changing timeline, I guess this plan would be thwarted in some manner later in the future)

[Wabbajack]

[I thought that this was what defines the game: That we can change the future, because we, as our character, are there this time.
Or else we wouldn't have any room for our actions^^]

[Kerrah]

[OOC: We can get an ending which doesn't lead to canon Warcraft in this game, methinks. However, when I fanonise the war into Kerrah-verse, I'll obviously make the ending so that it more or less naturally flows into the situation Lordaeron is in by WC2.

After all, one of the original reasons I thought this war up a year or so ago was "Lordaeron had to become colossally huge in SOME war".]

"Are you a friend of Zinine and Mnesthes, or are you not?" Phorcys looked at Javali with a look that could be described only as inhuman, from another world, "Because I might help with bringing here forces unseen and impossible to be harnessed by a mortal mind. This way, the dark future where the Four Gods don't exist, might not come. This way, they might rule the world. With you as their immortal servant. Think of that possibility. Immortality, power. Unimaginable power."

I smile warmly at the man. "I am afraid I was born a mortal, and immortality has never been a very tempting concept to me. I did study the possibilities at one point, but from what I have seen, none of the options seemed that grand to me."

I stand up and walk to a window. The metropolis outside bristles with activity. I barely manage to avoid bursting into a speech about the people being my true path to immortality. An immortality through history.

"What I am trying to say is, My Lord, that I would stick to mortal means of conquest if possible. That is why I would ally with your son against the Lightist zealots. I am sure our two nations have shared interests..."

[Timolas]

[OOC: What Kerrah said. I'm letting everyone do what they want, as you can see. Only that fanonically, we'll only retain what we want. It won't affect the game, though. So don't worry. From now on it's a good idea if we speak in OOC only in the Risk thread. We have two pages of OOC. It looks nasty.]

[Xarthat]

I smile warmly at the man. "I am afraid I was born a mortal, and immortality has never been a very tempting concept to me. I did study the possibilities at one point, but from what I have seen, none of the options seemed that grand to me."

I stand up and walk to a window. The metropolis outside bristles with activity. I barely manage to avoid bursting into a speech about the people being my true path to immortality. An immortality through history.

"What I am trying to say is, My Lord, that I would stick to mortal means of conquest if possible. That is why I would ally with your son against the Lightist zealots. I am sure our two nations have shared interests..."

Phorcys grumbled "You shall see in time that this is the best possible option. But for now... I shall leave you alone. I will let you come to this conclusion on your own. If you want to speak of... mortal matters, my son is the better person to speak to. He might be reckless sometimes... but he's a wise person, if he listens to his reason, not to his emotions."

Phorcys turned to leave the room, but let out one last line: "If you ever change your mind, just call for me. I'll come to help then." Soon Sea Vrykul's silhoutte faded into corridor.

[Kerrah]

I stroke my beard. What a curious man. Better keep an eye on him.

Next I have a servant ask the King for a diplomatic meeting about the futures of our two homelands and their mutual interests.



[OOC: The following is assuming he accepts the invitation.]



I sit in my chair until the monarch arrives. He does look a bit like his father, but I know they are different. All so different.

"Welcome, King Proudmoore." I say while standing up and bowing deeply. "I am honoured you grace our small town with your presence." I gesture for a servant to bring us the finest Venegian wines. They pour us both glasses with quick precision.

[Xarthat]

"Greetings to you too, Lord Javali. Could I...?" asking for permission to us both to sit down. When we both were sitting back, I decided to open the discussion.
"I have heard of you already, both good and bad things. May I ask you... have you ever heard of name... Magna Scavell?"

[Kerrah]

I raise an eyebrow and sip wine. "The name seems distantly familiar to me. Care you remind me who it was again?"

[Xarthat]

"I'm asking because I happened to meet this man on the battlefield, being supported by an enemy navy... and cut a little chat with him, along with my father. He claimed to be head of some... Tirisfalen. And certainly he wants to see you dead because of your little makeover of Dalaran. He's dangerous, as even my father sensed great power in him, rivaling his own, and when Mnesthiades feels so, that's a reason to worry."

"Sorry, I'm not very strong with wine today. I had a... uh... bad evening."

[Kerrah]

I nod at the servants, who immediately rush the wine out. I skip the possibility of offering the man tea instead; Simple manners are obviously lost to him.

I bring my attention back to his speech, rising an eyebrow. "The Tirisfalen? Hmm... that reminds me of a folk legend in these parts, one about secret sects and conspiracies. I am afraid the Scavell I remember hearing of had nothing to do with the stories about the sect I have been treated to..."

[Xarthat]

"Or those two are one and the same. There is something playing in the background. Some subtle note in the grand orchestra that we can't yet identify... but a good composer hears that something is amiss.

It looks like we have common enemies. They want you dead and they said 'they will watch carefully my father'. I think that under such conditions... Dalaran and Kul Tiras are bound together."

(OOC: And if the following isn't breaking the rules...)
Strange screeching sound turned away attention of one of the servants.
"Couatl? In these parts?" Said the servant.
"Couatl?" Thaumas looked surprised when repeating this word.

[Kerrah]

(OOC: And if the following isn't breaking the rules...)
Strange screeching sound turned away attention of one of the servants.
"Couatl? In these parts?" Said the servant.
"Couatl?" Thaumas looked surprised when repeating this word.

[OOC: Eh, how does a flying monster get to Dalaran? I'd prefer if we finish the chat and then leave the Coatl possibility open for Tim to judge tomorrow.

If that's okay with you:]

"Or those two are one and the same. There is something playing in the background. Some subtle note in the grand orchestra that we can't yet identify... but a good composer hears that something is amiss.

It looks like we have common enemies. They want you dead and they said 'they will watch carefully my father'. I think that under such conditions... Dalaran and Kul Tiras are bound together."

I put a grim look on my face. "I agree. In fact, it was mere moments before we first met the day before yesterday that I thought that in the stormy days ahead, it would be best if the nations which refuse to give in to zealotry would bind their forces together against oppression.

In fact, I would suggest we sign an official treaty of alliance. There has to be careful consideration, of course, but it would be best if we had already agreed that there will be some kind of alliance by the time that the Grand Conference is held. The radical Lightists in our north and east may not dare touch us if they see that we will combine our strengths."

[Timolas]

[OOC: No worries, he had the couatl follow him at a distance since departing from Kul Tiras. The 'frogs' he mentioned to Redpath in code were his couatl. I'll make the major update today. I'll update for Zula and Spooky individually when they post, when they have time.]

[Kerrah]

[OOC: I noticed I haven't actually given any ADMINISTRATIVE orders yet, so here they are. These scenes happen after the meeting with Thaumas.]



I walk the corridors of the Violet Citadel, thinking back to the talks with the Tirasians. A strange breed, they are.

Time to put them into use.

At one turn, when no one is looking, I blanket myself with an enchantment which will make everyone ignore who I am, merely seeing a faceless passer-by instead. Under the guise of the spell, I quickly walk to the front doors of the building and enter the bristling city. My steps through the masses of people are quick and resolved; I know where I am going.

Soon I arrive to a fancy inn. I enter and, showing the owner a small silver ring with the right symbol in it, walk right through into a small private room.

There is a man in a heavy cloak there. He does not know who I am, I do not care who he is. I put three leather pouches and a letter on the table. I point at the largest pouch. "You will travel to Ravenholdt and hire an assassin with the money in that pouch. The target, his location and the preferred time of assassination are written in the letter." I pause for a moment. "The exact sum of gold in the payment is there as well. It will be known if you have stolen any."

The man nods and I continue: "Your salary, eight hundred gold coins, is in the second pouch. The smallest one contains a spell. One day after you leave Ravenholdt, you will scatter the dust within behind you and anyone following you will lose track."

The man studies the pouches a moment, and I study him. Truly fitting to his profession, he does not look like a person from any one nation: his clothes are Lordaeronian, his face looks Tirasian and the knife on his belt is of Hesperian design. As he speaks, he reveals an Alteracian accent.

"I will do this, mister."

I nod my head and smile. "I appreciate it."

As I turn and leave the building, I go through the contents of the letter inside my head.
Target: The King of Kul Tiras
Location: On or near Fenris Isle.
Time: Immediately before, during or immediately after the Summertide Conference.
The hit will probably fail. It does not matter. What matters is that it will look like the Lightists are behind it. In the eyes of history, Hesperia is dragged into war against its will, having its sensible neighbours attacked brutally by those horrible foreigners.

Four thousand gold coins is a small price for that.



After arriving back in the citadel, I seek out Ulyssan, the rebel of Kirin Mora mage who joined me the day I initiated the creation of the Alliance. I need him for two things. No, three.

Soon I find him in a workshop, working on the positioning of wizards in upcoming battles. While it is standard military practice to do so, I find it useless, so I do not feel bad about interrupting him.

"Ulyssan. I have an important task for you," I speak. The young wizard almost jumps out of surprise.

"Uh, yes, sir," he stutters as I walk across the room and sit on the opposite side of the table. I take out a piece of rusty metal from my pocket and place it between us.

The young man stares at the object for a moment. "Ulyssan, what is this?" I ask.

He hesitates a moment before saying: "It's a piece of metal, sir."

I nod. "It's just a piece of rusty metal. Nothing more. But now, see what happens." I place a hand on the thing and release magic. The metal lets out a sickening grinding noise, making me bite my teeth together. After about ten seconds, I stop and raise my hand. The metal is replaced by fine shiny powder.

"This is the exact same metal, it hasn't changed its being," I explain, pointing a finger at the pile. "But it's powderised AND, this is the important part, each grain of this powder is covered in jagged edges. Should anyone get this in their eyes, they will lose their sight in mere moments. Should anyone breathe this, they will surely cough blood for hours before dying in pain. Even skin contact can be life-threatening accourding to my estimates."

The man's face is now white with shock. I put a hand on his shoulder. "I want you to select five magi to form a unit which makes this powder for military uses. With a little effort, we can propel a large barrel of it on the top of an enemy army and make it explode, showering them all in it. Or just release it and change the direction of the wind to blow at our foes. I trust you can do this?"

He stammers a little. "I, uh, yes, I, sir."

"Good," I say and smile. "There's another thing. As you well know, the great conference between nations is being held in about a week. I am taking you with me to testify against Archmage Dosantos and the Kirin Mora."

I leave without allowing him to reply. This should be interesting.



Next I go inside the Vault, where magical objects of all kinds lie. I remembered the existence of one last night. The time has come to unearth it.

The guards eye me questioningly. They do not question my authority to enter the Vault, but they do question my reasons for doing so. I do not speak to them.

Inside, I walk the small corridors, looking at the objects on both sides. They all technically belong to me, but most of them are of questionable origins and uses, so I can not tap into this resource node often.

The Galechain I gave to Zinizar was taken from here. There is another thing, but it hasn't been used in two hundred years now. I know it is here, but I do not know where it is.

I browse through the trinkets, staffs, wands, amulets, rings, swords, shields, orbs, cubes and what have you. Eventually I find it, a solid black granite orb with no features in it except a single white streak running from top to bottom. The Legion Stone.

I take it into my hands and pour my magic into it. A warmth pours into my palms as I feel my mind being linked into another.

I calm myself before mentally announcing myself to the person on the other end of the telepathic connection. 'General Perinany, are you there? This is Javali, the current leader of Dalaran. The Violet Citadel needs protection once again.'

For a moment, nothing happens. Then the thoughts of the Perinany Legion's leader echo in my head. 'I am listening.'

Technically he wasn't, but I decided not to point out. 'Nations all across Lordaeron are showing increasing hostility to Dalaran for giving worshippers of the Pagan Gods equal rights to others. The Perinany Legion is required to protect its Patron State from possible attacks.'

'The Pact only requires the Perinany bloodline to protect humanity from inhuman monsters, nothing more.'

I nod despite knowing he can't see it. 'Yes. I am not demanding this of you because the Pact requires you to do it. I ask of you as another person, protect Dalaran from its enemies.'

[Tim continues from here. If you do not know what the Perinany Legion is, I'll tell you on the other thread.]



With that done, I walk into the Port. It is time for the first meeting of the Council of Hesperia. It is a few hours before sunset now. Time sure does fly.

All the leaders who agreed to form the Alliance have enough magic at their hands to allow us to hold council-meetings without going through the effort of travelling in the same location. How lovely.

I prepare for the mass-contact, listing the things I want accomplished in this council-meeting in my mind:
-I will be chosen to officially represent the entire Alliance of Hesperia in the great conference.
-The possible military alliance with Kul Tiras will be given approval by the council.
-All members of the Alliance will declare war on the Kirin Mora.
-All members will outlaw "extreme religious groups" (namely, all branches of the witch hunters) and all forms of religious persecution.
-All members will agree to increase their military presence as a precaution to future foreign aggression.
[Tim continues from here.]

[Xarthat]

(OOC: Two things: 1, I'm confused to which post I'm supposed to respond, 2 - why?)

[Kerrah]

"Or those two are one and the same. There is something playing in the background. Some subtle note in the grand orchestra that we can't yet identify... but a good composer hears that something is amiss.

It looks like we have common enemies. They want you dead and they said 'they will watch carefully my father'. I think that under such conditions... Dalaran and Kul Tiras are bound together."

Strange screeching sound turned away attention of one of the servants.
"Couatl? In these parts?" Said the servant.
"Couatl?" Thaumas looked surprised when repeating this word.

Just about to launch into a proposal of alliance, I walk to a window and stare outside. There is a giant blue... thing out there, flying above my city.

I blink my eyes. I think I once read about things such as these in the bestiary. I find myself inactive for two moments too long.

"Do not worry," I assure the foreign King, "our magi will bring it down in moments. You are not in danger."

[Xarthat]

Just about to launch into a proposal of alliance, I walk to a window and stare outside. There is a giant blue... thing out there, flying above my city.

I blink my eyes. I think I once read about things such as these in the bestiary. I find myself inactive for two moments too long.

"Do not worry," I assure the foreign King, "our magi will bring it down in moments. You are not in danger."

"Um... no sir, it doesn't look dangerous." Thaumas waved his hand and the creatured flied away. "Heh, you see? It just flied away. Strange things are those, aren't they?"

Thaumas sat back to the table.
"Could we get back to our matters? Nothing happened."

[Kerrah]

I rub fingers at my forehead. Why am I being punished? After a moment's pause, I walk back to my chair. Best get this done with as soon as possible.

"Your Highness," I begin, looking deep into his eyes. "It is unfortunate that our nations have a long history of animosity. However, 'tis the season of change. For the first time in millennia, Hesperia is a single nation, and I would like to reevaluate things, as it is.

I make this no secret: I wish for our two nations to establish a military alliance so that we might be defended from the zealotry advancing from the north and the east. I will have to see if other reasonable peoples in Lordaeron might join too."

[Xarthat]

"That's what I just said - we have common enemies and it's natural to forge an Alliance for the coming times. My father said you're a very promising ruler that might bring much of our mutual contract."

"Shall we be now contracting it? Because I have a little hunt to attend..."

[Kerrah]

I smile and signal for a servant to call in the scribes I had at stand-by. We spend a short time getting a contract started, promising to finish it the following day. After that, the King leaves.

I thank the scribes and wander off into the corridors.

[Timolas]

OOC: Long delayed update. As usual. So yeah, I'll update for our current parties at play. Poor Gurt only got one opportunity to contribute so far. I'll rectify this and give him his phase two, starting with him.

I also have a big question to ask of you all; would you prefer we write in the past tense or the present? So far it's been the present, and it is better for roleplaying in many aspects, but also a less practiced form, most likely with all of us, and I'm willing to just continue the game in the past tense if the general agreement is in favour of that. I'm asking you guys what you prefer, personally.

Ravenholdt

Warester Van Dam's unpleasant confrontation haunts him for the remainder of the day. He begins preperations for his journey ahead, but all the while is unable to shake off the unpleasant feeling that matters with Travot Ravenholdt are far from over. Naturally, the administrator would cause the argument to resurface, despite Van Dam's insistence on leaving the count's daughter alone.

Warester straps on his daggers and selects his poisons in the dim basement of the manor. He is soon alerted to the sound of footsteps descending the staircase. Instinctively, he slinks back into the shadows, ever prepared for the worst, the fate of the old Grand Master fresh in his memory.

His paranoia had saved him in the past, but this time there is no cause for worry. It is just Hellen von Xie, a distant relative of the ruling family of Alterac. She is considerably young for an assassin, but nonetheless has proven herself to be a worthwhile asset. She sets foot in the basement, eyes fast scanning the room. They settle upon Van Dam, who steps out to greet her.
"Milady Hellen, how can I help you?" Van Dam asks curtly. His superiority of rank is no cause for impudence.
Hellen smiles from beneath her encompassing dark hood.
"I hear you are setting off for Fenris Isle?"
"I am indeed. No news is long kept from you, is it?" Van Dam replies, turning his attention back to the racks of weapons. A few final selections have yet to be made.

Hellen von Xie fixes her eyes on Warester's every movement, and she purses her mouth as she considers the words yet unspoken.
"Van Dam, are you going alone?"
"I haven't decided yet." he answers frankly.
"There is another thing." Hellen says with a sigh.
"What is it, my dear?" Van Dam asks.
"An emissary just arrived. One of our contacts from Dalaran. There is a new contract. A contract you would be able to accomplish during the course of your visit."

Warester Van Dam's interest peaks. Whatever Hellen was suggesting had to be something noteworthy for her to be so hesitant.
"You sound reserved, Hellen. What is so special about this contract?"
"The target is the master of Kul Tiras. Admiral Thaumas Proudmoore, who is said to be attending the conference."
"Ah." Van Dam mutters in a low tone. Perhaps this would be problematic indeed. "Does Travot know?"
Hellen nods, biting her lip.
"He received the emissary in the first place."

Van Dam simply shrugs and finishes adjusting his belt.
"No matter. Such affairs are my business. I will have the final word. I don't even have to tell Travot what I decide. I am in a hurry."
Hellen folds her arms and follows him to the ground floor of the manor. As she pursues him, she continues to talk.
"Don't anger him, Van Dam. You know how he gets."
"It's too late for that, my dear."
"Van Dam?" she asks, as Van Dam climbs atop his mount in the courtyard.
"Yes, Hellen?"
"What of our contracts with Alterac?"

Van Dam is reminded of the deal that was brokered with Court Wizard Caxagord of Alterac, and General Gabranth. The middle-aged spellcaster and his general had requested that Ravenholdt poison the water supplies of the military garrison of Tarren Mill. What had once been a simple task had become a political problem, should Ravenholdt be found out. Tarren Mill had since become part of the Hesperian Alliance, giving it powerful allies. Business opportunities were running out. Van Dam could not help but wonder if he was being cornered into choosing sides in the conflict. Thus far, Ravenholdt had maintained interests against many powerful men and women in Hesperia, all of which now had the network to strike back. That was, of course, should they ever discover that Ravenholdt was behind it all.

---

Skirvar

Skirvar and Urel are left with their nerves on edge while the imposing elf considers their proposal. Surely he would not be foolish enough to refuse the opportunity to be friends with mighty Ironforge. No less, to have a pagan church and sanctuary constructed for his people. By dwarven standards, Skirvar was being rather generous. He only hoped that Kariel Winthalus understood that.

Finally, the elf speaks. He is clearly amused, and one of his fine, auburn eyebrows is raised.
"You would offer me what exactly, dwarf? Arms deals? Do you think we need your clumsy metals dragged across half the continent just to rust in a corner? And you would offer us churches? Churches! That is quite an entertaining notion. Yes, surely we of the Benefactors will travel to the cold, muddy south to wallow in such churches."

Skirvar can see that Urel is becoming enraged. Urel's face is broiling red, and his powerful jaw is clenched shut while his fists tense. However, the dwarves are surprised when Kariel speaks again.

"And yet, what is my alternative? To kill you? What would that achieve, dwarf? Nothing. I am no fool, believe you that much." Kariel says with a laugh. "I will accept your propositions. They are meagre in comparison to the splendour that we strive for, but they are more useful to us than your bloated corpses."

Urel finally exhales, and scratches his beard.
"Ye don' have much courtesy, elf."
Kariel grins at him and winks.
"And you smell like piss and toddle into my homeland without first wiping your feet. Now follow me. My spire is not far. There you will find your Light suckling bastard. I hope you can figure out how to unchain him yourself."

Despite the verbal confrontation, Kariel Winthalus leads his new guests to an imposing white tower rising above the golden canopy. Standing at the entrance are two figures, dressed in heavy green plate armour designed in the patterns of leaves. Kariel pauses as he walks between them.
"These are vindicators of the High Order. Their patron has donated them to ensure my safety. Don't touch them, don't breathe on them and don't look them in the eyes, or they will kill you."

Once inside, Skirvar and Urel are led upstairs. Much to their surprise, Jaril is not actually in chains. On the contrary, he is comfortably seated at a table, upon which a great feast rests. Aromas and scents tickle Skirvar's senses. He has just walked in on a banquet. Several other elves are seated at the table, including an imposing woman with ebony coloured hair. She is the first to rise and bow before Kariel Winthalus.
"Master Winthalus, welcome home. I see you have found more bearded animals."

Kariel softens before the woman.
"Magus Rimtori." he whispers, clearly awed by her. "I apologize, but indeed, these are the rest of the party that accompanied our other short guest. Seat yourselves, dwarves. There is fine eating to be had."

Skirvar and Urel hastily take places alongside Jaril. They watch him keenly for injuries or signs of madness or mental damage. Their friend seems fine, however, and beckons them to relax.
"I started te' wonder if ye'd ever find me, lads." Jaril mutters gloomily. "I harly' been ere' for long an' already I'm dyin for some proper ale and real food."
Urel grabs him by the shoulder.
"What'd they to do ya, Jaril? Is all well?"
"Aye Urel, calm yourself. I'm fine, son. They interrogated me, but left me alone once they were done."

The conversation is interrupted when Kariel Winthalus clinks his glass for silence.
"Our finery has been desecrated by hairy midgets, and for this, I apologize. However, it appears that our dirty, pink kobold friends here are potential allies, despite the religious vocation of our first guest."
Magus Rimtori clears her throat.
"How can they be our 'friends', Winthalus?"

Kariel smiles again, and explains Skirvar's offer.
There is a brief silence. Then Kariel speaks again.
"Dalaran has fallen to the Zinites of the Archareveim, and Gilneas too buckles under pagan weight. Kul Tiras remains, as always, a steadfast nation in its devotion to the Four Gods. We are not alone, my brothers and sisters. Tomorrow, we travel to Dalaran, where we will consult with our pagan brothers. The time has come for us to create a grand alliance against the Holy Light! We will restore this world to a time when our primordial deities ruled! I have forged a pact with the Prophet, and he has spoken. The time is now!"

That night, the dwarves are given a room to share. They finally have a chance to speak. After talking about their experiences in Zul'Aman, Skirvar and Urel confront Jaril about his own situation.
"Well lads, them elves were not gentle. I spoke too much, per'aps. But I see now that the Holy Light is in trouble. Skirvar, I am forever your friend. But ye cannae get tangled in the politics of this madness. Many o' us dwarves follow the Holy Light. Don' forget me either, Skirvar. I won' fight against my own religion."

Urel coughs, and twirls a finger in his bushy beard.
"Well, 'em elves were not exactly friendly or polite! But they might give us one grand opportunity. Per'aps they can give us the magic we need for our domestic affairs, a cure for the thane an' all. But we gotta make a decision, Skirvar. They seem to think we're gonna be poolin' our forces to side with 'em."

Skirvar realises that he needs the elves to get to Dalaran, and that they would probably harm him if he does not satisfy them once there. It seems to Skirvar that again he is a prisoner, or at least, a guest without much freedom.

Jaril sighs.
"Whether ye' make an alliance with them pagans or no, Skirvar, it prolly a good idea to spy on 'em, tag along for the ride. See what they know, or what's useful to us. But still, ye gotta decide what choices ye gonna make for Ironforge. Kariel will prolly confront us tomorrow before the portal is opened."

OOC: You can include your reply to Kariel in your update, and you can even write the sequence to teleport the Benefactors and dwarves to Dalaran. There you can approach whom you want or make the next big choice yourself. I don't want to get you trapped in one place. You can also write as your lieutenant in Ironforge as well, if you want anything to be done back at home.

---

Dalaran

Javali cannot help but feel apprehension while asking for General Perinany's help. The Legion truly had no set obligations to help Dalaran at this time, and yet, if it did, it meant that the Hesperian Alliance would have a truly invaluable tool at its disposal.

General Perinany takes his time in replying. This only unnerves Javali more, as he is a man who always likes to know where he stands. At this point, he has no idea. His worst fears begin to materialize once the General replies.

"You are not Grigori Dosantos, are you? At least, you do not look like him."

"No, I am lord Javali, I-"

"Silence!" Perinany shouts. "I know who you are; there is no need to tell me. It was a rhetorical question, dear dictator. All I wish to know is why I should favour your call over that of the Kirin Mora."

Javali's mouth twists in disdain.
"I am the ruler of Dalaran. Grigori Dosantos and the rest of the Council of Six are history. History which will hardly be remembered for its paltry nature."

The General is not amused.
"And who decrees the right to rule in Dalaran?"

"I do." Javali replies. "My position has been legalized and the people flock to me. I am now the foundation that keeps Hesperia standing. I do not know how informed you are, dear General, but in your long absence, Hesperia has been united. The Kirin Mora is nothing more than a rebellion. Since the inception of that rebellion, I have killed two remaining members of the Council of Six. Only Grigori Dosantos remains, and he is a man more selfish than I. His own magi begin to desert him."

General Perinany can be heard drawing in a deep breath. Then he shouts.
"These things were not for you to decide! The Perinany Legion has defended Dalaran for generations upon generations, and forever have we served the Kirin Tor. Why would we insult them by aligning ourselves with you?"

Javali maintains composture.
"Because the Kirin Tor is defunct. Grigori Dosantos leads the Kirin Mora. They are a brief flame that will be snuffed out. Come home, Perinany. Our people need you. If you act against me, you will only destroy Hesperia and contradict your oath."

General Perinany takes a moment to contemplate.
"I will need time to deliberate. The Perinany Legion has been inactive for too long. We grow restless. But do not assume it is your side we will fight on. Not until you can prove to us that it is Dalaran that you serve, and not yourself."

It is Perinany who cut off the line of communication. Javali is left in the gloom of the chamber, the Legion Stone cold and dead once more.

^[Opportunity]

Eventually, the time comes for the other leaders of the Hesperian Alliance to be called. The purposes of the meeting are catalogued as glassy images of each ruler of each city appear suspended around Javali in a chamber specially designed for such communications. No doubt each ruler was being assisted in the communication by special orbs like the Legion Stone, and magi to operate them. To this end, the smallest and weakest villages and towns of Hesperia were unable to attend. However, they answered to the larger cities anyway, so it mattered little.

As always, Count Scipio of Andriano leads the procceedings.
"You have called for a grand meeting once again, and we answered your summons, Javali. We thank you for the communication stones."
"Anything to preserve our good relations." Javali says half-heartedly. "Now, for the matter at hand. I think it is right to bring to our attention the matter of the Fenris Isle conference."

"Ah, yes. That waste of time." pompous Zartus of Seashire mutters.
"Why attend such a thing? It is only so that we may be insulted by the selfish kings of our enemies!" Dorian of Nevezia shouts.

"Because, my friends, we must maintain integrity; announce ourselves to the world. In this fashion, we will be branded in their memories, and not soon forgotten. Is that not in our best interests?" Javali asks, extending his hands as if to appeal to each ruler in turn.

Count Scipio raises his voice.
"Perhaps. As always, I assume you want the role of representative?"

"It would be only right." Javali answers plainly. "However, I have other issues to discuss."

"Discuss them." Count Dorian of Nevezia utters gruffly.

Javali looks from one ruler to another.
"I am on the verge of finalizing an alliance with Kul Tiras."

This causes uproar. It is most evidently Zartus of Seashire who is most upset.
"You would ally with our enemy? It was Kul Tiras who helped Gilneas blockade Seashire in the first place so many years ago!"

"You forget one key point, Count Zartus." Javali intones. "It was, indeed, so many years ago. We must put aside old hatreds. The Tirasians are pagans."

"I am not pagan." Scipio grumbles. "Neither is most of Andriano. What does that have to do with us?"
"Or us." Zartus growls. "Seashire despises paganism!"
Javali raises his hands for silence. He suddenly begins to wonder if Zinizar's Hareveim did a good enough job in terrorizing the countryside.
"Ah, but you cannot ignore that the fanatics of the Holy Light are persecuting our people regardless of religion. Dosantos simply uses the zealotry of the masses to burn and murder our farmers with the excuse of paganism, no matter the truth! The Tirasians are thus willing to help us brunt this crusade. You must all recognize this, and declare war on the Kirin Mora to ensure the safety of Hesperia."

Mayor Juntridge of Tarren Mill seems to surrender to the propostion.
"I would rather have Kul Tiras as a friend than an enemy."
"Aye, I suppose. Although they did nearly sack my town yesterday." Zartus says, almost sarcastically. "If they will instead trade with me, I won't refuse them. And the Kirin Mora have proven to be nothing but a nuisance. We haven't been able to contact our families in Ambermill since the rebellion began."

"Outlaw fanaticism, then." Javali says, keeping in mind the next one of his ambitions for the meeting. "Then you will immediately make every witch hunt illegal, and protect your people. Begin drafting soldiers rather than allowing the unemployed to sit around lazily. The time has come to crush the Kirin Mora. Assist me in this!"

"I'm with you." Scipio declares. The rest confirm their dedication as well.

"Excellent." Javali says with relief. At least that settled one matter. It was certainly a breath of fresh air from the Perinany's denial of his demand.

Just as he steps outside of the room after dismissing the counts and countesses, he is confronted by Ulyssan.
"My lord, attempts are being made to form a portal in the courtyard. We can block off the attempt if you so wish it."
"Where is the source of this spell from?" Javali asks.
"Quel'Thalas."

It had been awhile since such a thing had occured. There were few elves in Dalaran these days. Most had retired back to Quel'Thalas in the past two decades, viewing Hesperia as a decaying land and Dalaran as the jewel of such rot.


Meanwhile, several miles away, General Marius sits atop his horse, overlooking the potential battlefields before him. A towering region of highlands cuts him off from easy access to the distant town of Ambermill. One of the paths open to his army would take him along the coast and straight into the Ambermill rural areas.

However, it has been reported that one of Grigori Dosantos' best archmagi, Saadhal, is patrolling Lake Lordamere. It would be a risk to take the army along that route. On the other hand, travelling through the highlands would risk easy ambush from the Kirin Mora. The decision of how to move his legions of thousands upon thousands of men has to be made. Javali is counting on him.

---

Kul Tiras

OOC: There isn't much I could think of introducing for Thaumas in Dalaran just now.

Xanthus Alverold; regent of Kul Tiras until the return of Thaumas Proudmoore. A proud young man, and one dedicated to honouring his bloodline. A man tasked with the defense of Boralus and the defeat of Admiral Janus.

It has been but a few days since the departure of his Thaumas, and Xanthus has had his hands full handling domestic affairs. The Lightist population has been demanding that it be honoured for remaining largely docile instead of defecting to Janus. The Lightist artistocrat, Cyrus, was the one who ensured that tension between pagans and Lightists did not flare in Boralus. Xanthus was told that he was to work hand in hand with Cyrus to ensure religious tolerance.

Then there was Vizier Kalabrond. Something was amiss with the man. Phorcys had fumed at him, and ever since, Kalabrond was forced to prove himself to prevent his execution.

Xanthus is on a routine patrol through Boralus when a company of riders trots up to greet him under the shadow of the palace. It is the de-facto guard captain of Boralus, at least, until the return of Redpath from Hesperia. It is Captain Henry Caldwell. In his company is Cyrus, the Lightist artistocrat.

"Hail, lord Alverold!" Caldwell says, riding up alongside the young man.
"What news, captain?"
"I think we might just have a lead, my lord." the man says.
"A lead to what, may I ask?" Xanthus inquires.
Cyrus grins ear to ear, and takes upon himself the honour of presenting the information.
"As Admiral Thaumas Proudmoore chose peace with his Lightist population, he gained quite a few friends. It appears that some of those friends have divulged information as to the location of Admiral Janus' rebel fleet."

This certainly peaked Xanthus' curiosity.
"Tell me, then."

"It is said that Janus is moored at Zul'Dare, in a series of inlets. The population there has always been somewhat isolationist, and loyal to Muhar alone. Janus is hiding in the veil of their silence. A few Lightists on the island managed to get a message out, however."

Caldwell slams a fist onto the palm of his hand.
"This is our chance to prove ourselves! We still have a few couatl stabled, and we can scuttle the fleet in time. We just need you to organize preparations, lord Xanthus. If there are any tactics or approaches to make, I will leave you to detail them."

[Kerrah]

Meanwhile, several miles away, General Marius sits atop his horse, overlooking the potential battlefields before him. A towering region of highlands cuts him off from easy access to the distant town of Ambermill. One of the paths open to his army would take him along the coast and straight into the Ambermill rural areas.

However, it has been reported that one of Grigori Dosantos' best archmagi, Saadhal, is patrolling Lake Lordamere. It would be a risk to take the army along that route. On the other hand, travelling through the highlands would risk easy ambush from the Kirin Mora. The decision of how to move his legions of thousands upon thousands of men has to be made. Javali is counting on him.

Marius lazily eyes the terrain. He did not expect to battle even the soil of this land when he moved here from Alterac as a young man, desiring to be a great warrior.

In Alterac, the standards of warfare are different. In the uneven terrain and great forests of that land, cavalry rushes are foolish at best. Heavy armour on infantrymen is likewise unpractical. In there, it is all about... bows. While the crossbow was invented in Venege, Hesperia, Alterac is the native land of the composite bow, the strongest version of the "classic bow" which exists in modern times.

Because hunting is a way of life rather than a sport up in the mountains, every noble learns to use a bow from childhood up. Likewise, there will always be abundant amounts of bowmen to bolster one's army with. What horses can be spared for warcraft are given to especially skilled archers, who can ride circles around a foe while pinning them full of projectiles. The mounted archers of Alterac are feared by all its neighbours.

Here in Hesperia most armed forces are militiamen, drafted or hired from the populations of its many city-states. Because they can not be given very extensive training, the crossbow fits their ranged troops all the better. With it, all one needs to do is to aim and fire. The reloading time is slower and the weapons are more expensive to make, but in most cases the range and power of the shots are better.

But enough of that. Marius turns back to his retinue. The woman in green robes meets his eyes. "Archmage Augusta," he addresses her, riding his horse a few steps closer. "Do you have any spell to protect us from possible attacks to the back were we to travel through the mountains? Possibly something to see them before they attack?"

She thinks about it a moment. "It depends on how great their numbers are. It is easy to detect a force of thousand from a mile away. Of course, we live in Hesperia; All armies have at least one mage in them, and if they are any talented, they might be able to hide from our detections."

Marius strokes his beard. It's probably not worth it. Even if he manages to make it past the highlands without sufficient losses, the army he would be trying to avoid could come and fight him there in any case.

He nods his head. "We are going by the coast. It's better if we face Saadhal's forces soon rather than later. With his major trump card stolen from his sleeve, Dosantos' power over the towns in this region will wane.

As the army begins to move north, Marius ponders the strategy for the battle, as far as it can be pondered without knowing the field of battle. The enemy will mostly be formed of inexperienced and ill-equipped brutes, people blinded by their faith. The general's militiamen can easily fight them face-to-face. Hesperia does not have a strong knightly tradition, but is does have the versatile and agile mounted militias. They can be used to flank the enemy and strike down their ranged support and wizards if the battlefield is favourable at all. Augusta will deal with the tactics of magic. That's her field.



[I'll do the rest later today]

[Gurtogg_Bloodboil]

OCC: This might be a little long, but I had a lot I wanted to say! I feel since I’m a bit new I have some catching up to do, and I have to establish the “character” of both my characters and kingdom, so you guys can get an idea of what my Ravenholdt is all about.


Van Dam’s steed is fast, and it carries him crashing through the main gates directly into Ravenholdt Manor in the brashest, most un-stealthy fashion imaginable. His calm demeanor moments before expertly masked a sense of urgency. If he was swift enough, he could still meet this “emissary” who came offering a contract. He was just in time, as Travot’s incredulous expression indicated.

Travot Ravenholdt: What the Hell is this Van Dam?!?

Van Dam doesn’t react to Travot’s consternation and instead turns his attention towards a man who is blindfolded and being escorted by two guards.

Warester Van Dam: Is that the man with the contract for the King of Kul Tiras?

Travot Ravenholdt: It is! Don’t worry, he’s been sensory-deprived as per custom. He has no idea exactly where in the mountains our little home is. And I turned him down. Killing a Head of State is worth a lot more than what he was offering…

Warester Van Dam: I want to know the details. All of them!

And so he was told. During the debriefing, Hellen made her way into the Manor. The blindfolded man was still being held, somewhat uncomfortabley. Finally, Warester had heard and seen it all.

Warester Van Dam: Tell your master, whoever he may be, that Ravenholdt accepts his offer. Now guards, get him out of here.

Travot, Hellen, and everyone else seems utterly shocked by what has just transpired. Van Dam remains calm until the emissary has been removed from the Manor and the door closed behind him.

Warester Van Dam: I want that man followed, and I want to know where he goes and who he reports to. Understood?

The guard he was addressing nods in understanding, and then sprints out of the room to accomplish the task.

Travot Ravenholdt: Mind telling me what that was all about?

Warester Van Dam: The continent has become a powder keg Travot, and all our intelligence reports that its explosion is inevitable. We can no longer afford to linger silently in the shadows. The pagans have attained more power than I’d ever thought possible, and they’re no friends of Ravenholdt. Do you remember the old stories of our guild’s formation?

Hellen von Xie: I do. We began killing dissidents of hostile tribes behind their lines so humanity could unite into great Arathor.

Warester Van Dam: That’s right, Hellen. And the strongest dissidents are always religious zealots. Since our very inception, we were set against the worshippers of the Ancient Evil Gods, the Loa, and the 4 Gods alike.

Travot Ravenholdt: Pffft. Nobody living could possibly remember that.

Warester Van Dam: And what of the Gods themselves? We have a vested interest in keeping the Lightists in power. The Light is a philosophy. While the current zeal the Church and their witch-hunters possess is way overboard, at least we don’t have to worry about them summoning in tangible vessels of their worship. If I know pagans, that’s their goal, and that doesn’t bode well for anyone who wants to live in a world they do not rule.

Travot Ravenholdt: So you actually intend to kill Proudmoore? I hear that he himself is some kind of divinity.

Hellen von Xie: Indeed. His father, who never leaves his side, is said to be the direct offspring of one of the 4 Gods, if you believe the stories. His powers make such claims hard to deny, though.

Warester Van Dam: And what gifts does this King’s lineage afford him?

Hellen von Xie: He’s obviously a powerful spell-caster. He’s been witnessed controlling schools of flying beasts from the oceans. And, this isn’t confirmed, but they say he may also be clairvoyant.

Warester Van Dam: Damn, that’s an impressive skill set. He’s obviously a key player in the pagan hierarchy. That’s why it behooves us to take that emissary’s offer, despite the fact that its an obvious set-up.

Travot Ravenholdt: Obvious? It seems straight-forward enough. It was probably one of the Lightist Kings that sent him our way in the first place. They have every reason to want him dead.

Warester Van Dam: Or is that what somebody wants you to think? Did you look at that messenger? He was wearing no colors. In fact, he was conspicuously the opposite, as if there was effort taken so that nobody would know where he was from. Hellen thought he was from Dalaran, he had the look of a Tirasian to me. He was nebulous by design. Now tell me, why would any Lightist have to hide their desire to want a prominent Pagan dead? Furthermore, consider the amount of money he offered… not a Kingly sum, but not such a pittance that an average wealthy nobleman couldn’t afford it. Could have come from anyone, or could it have? Most tellingly… they paid the entirety upfront. Nobody pays upfront unless they want absolutely no trace to lead back to them and are willing to invest some serious capital into a very risky venture. This tells me its someone sufficiently high up, perhaps trying to make a power play. They could be trying to take Thaumas’ position.

Hellen von Xie: Or trying to turn him into a martyr.

Warester Van Dam: Indeed. I’d say this makes my little excursion to Fenris Isle a lot more interesting, doesn’t it? I’m going to get their early, stealth around and see what intel I can turn up on all the parties involved. If it turns out the pagans are what I think they are, I will take out Thaumas, his father, and anyone else that I gauge is a major threat to Ravenholdt. Travot, I want you to use the money we just got and stock up on basic supplies. Also, raise the alert level. I want rogues behind every rock and bush of this mountain in case things go wrong. We’ve got pagan-allies mobilized at our very doorstep, we need security. Hellen, you’re with me.

Travor nodded and obeyed with surprising deference. He knew he was partially responsible for putting Ravenholdt in danger. It was he who took the contract from Alterac to poison the wells of Tarren Mill. Van Dam was furious when he learned of this and unleashed upon Travot in a fit of violence, as he felt such actions were far beneath the guild. Poison, when used properly, is honorable. When used indiscriminately, it takes the lives of innocent children. Any fool can dump chemicals into a water supply, hardly the behavior of world-class assassins.

Such behavior jeopardized the security of the Ravenholdt community. Its exact location was kept as secret as possible. Should a larger force learn the exact whereabouts however, it would be hell to get up the mountain. The incline is so steep that it is nigh impossible to get any cavalry or siege equipment up to the summit. The jagged rocks fall into a formation such that marching infantry up the mountain restricts movements, and no more than 2, perhaps 3 soldiers could fit up any potential path. Add to that the fact that the area is booby-trapped to hell, and it’s a test of cunning just to get up to Ravenholdt when nobody is around. When factoring in invisible assassins around every corner, you really want an invitation before trying to go there.

Van Dam himself exited back to the armory, with Hellen in tow. Ravenholdt possessed one of the truly great armories in all of Azeroth, a testament to both their high adventuring and their thievery. Only the revered were permitted access though, as many great weapons had been lost forever on failed raids. This time, Van Dam would need every advantage he could get. The assassins of Ravenholdt were not mages or priests, and had no supernatural gifts or advantages. Instead, they had to rely on training, skill, and premeditation to be able to not only stand against such powerful enemies, but to kill them!

As Grand Master Krol used to say, “Any foe, no matter how insurmountable they may seem, can be defeated if you have enough prep time.” Warester remembered those instructions well, and it was time to armor up. And there was one man he knew he could consult to do it.

Qu: Back so soon, Warester?

Warester Van Dam: I’m going to be needing some special stuff this time, Qu. Wow me.

Qu, of course, wasn’t a name. It was a title, and stood for “Quartermaster.” He handled all the equipment that Van Dam would need to complete this, or any other mission. Warester was already equipping his utility belt, littered with pounces that contained, amongst other things, thieves tools, flash and blinding powders, heavy runecloth bandages, crippling and mind-numbing poisons, healing and swiftness potions, and a trusty grappling hook. He also had various enchanted and bejeweled trinkets, to counter magical opposition and detection. But you need special gear for special jobs. Qu tossed him what appeared to be a pair of goggles.

Qu: Try those on. You’re going to like them. Ultra-Spectropic Detection Goggles. They’ll see through most any magical cloak or deception. Be careful though, you might find out you been dating a fatty for the past couple of months. Trust me... its not fun. Moving on... if that doesn’t thrill you, these will. Direct your attention to the table to your right. Those are arcane bombs. Spellcasters will be evacuating their bowels when they see one of these bad-boys in your hand. Not only does it prevent any spell from being cast for enough time for you to get out of there or to finish the job, but it also ignites the very magical energy they’d use against you!

Hellen von Xie: You can’t be serious.

Qu: I never joke about my work. As always Warester, take your pick of the weapons.

Warester eyed his choices. Ah, a Thrash Blade. The small sword was one of a series that was so perfectly balanced that sometimes you could seemingly attack twice in one strike. This was his choice. He looked around for a weapon to hold in his off-hand…. And he found it.

The Fang of Korialstrasz. This dagger was truly a legacy weapon, forged by the late Master Krol. The story goes that some time ago, a young girl from Strahnbrad was cursed by a rogue magus. The only way to remove the curse was a blood-letting, but no ordinary blade would suffice. The infection was magical in nature, and a magical edge was needed to remove it. Krol, like many, had heard the tales of the legendary Red Dragon Korialstrasz, who was said to be so awesome he was nigh unto a god. Krol managed to track the leviathan to his cave, defeat both the magical and mundane traps and alarms that were set in place, and, through the use of anesthetic poison, was able to remove one of the giant’s teeth! For years after they called him the Draconic Dentist. He brought the tooth back, crafted a blade out of it, and cut the girl in time to remove the infection and save her life. He then used the blade to kill the rogue magus. Master Krol was a legend… Van Dam knew he could never fill his shoes. But, he would use this weapon.

Warester Van Dam: I have what I need. Thanks Qu.

Qu: Yeah, yeah. Try not to break those goggles. Oh I almost forgot, something for the lady. The little thing you requested earlier.

Qu produces a small stone and hands it to Hellen, She clearly doesn’t know what it is.

Warester Van Dam: Its magic. Put it in your ear, you‘ll be able to communicate with me. I am going to Fenris alone, Hellen, but I need you to stay here and be my eyes and ears. Can you do that for me?

Hellen von Xie: I can.

Warester Van Dam: Good. Wish me luck then, because I might just need it…

[Xarthat]

Kul Tiras

OOC: There isn't much I could think of introducing for Thaumas in Dalaran just now.

Xanthus Alverold; regent of Kul Tiras until the return of Thaumas Proudmoore. A proud young man, and one dedicated to honouring his bloodline. A man tasked with the defense of Boralus and the defeat of Admiral Janus.

It has been but a few days since the departure of his Thaumas, and Xanthus has had his hands full handling domestic affairs. The Lightist population has been demanding that it be honoured for remaining largely docile instead of defecting to Janus. The Lightist artistocrat, Cyrus, was the one who ensured that tension between pagans and Lightists did not flare in Boralus. Xanthus was told that he was to work hand in hand with Cyrus to ensure religious tolerance.

Then there was Vizier Kalabrond. Something was amiss with the man. Phorcys had fumed at him, and ever since, Kalabrond was forced to prove himself to prevent his execution.

Xanthus is on a routine patrol through Boralus when a company of riders trots up to greet him under the shadow of the palace. It is the de-facto guard captain of Boralus, at least, until the return of Redpath from Hesperia. It is Captain Henry Caldwell. In his company is Cyrus, the Lightist artistocrat.

"Hail, lord Alverold!" Caldwell says, riding up alongside the young man.
"What news, captain?"
"I think we might just have a lead, my lord." the man says.
"A lead to what, may I ask?" Xanthus inquires.
Cyrus grins ear to ear, and takes upon himself the honour of presenting the information.
"As Admiral Thaumas Proudmoore chose peace with his Lightist population, he gained quite a few friends. It appears that some of those friends have divulged information as to the location of Admiral Janus' rebel fleet."

This certainly peaked Xanthus' curiosity.
"Tell me, then."

"It is said that Janus is moored at Zul'Dare, in a series of inlets. The population there has always been somewhat isolationist, and loyal to Muhar alone. Janus is hiding in the veil of their silence. A few Lightists on the island managed to get a message out, however."

Caldwell slams a fist onto the palm of his hand.
"This is our chance to prove ourselves! We still have a few couatl stabled, and we can scuttle the fleet in time. We just need you to organize preparations, lord Xanthus. If there are any tactics or approaches to make, I will leave you to detail them."

Xanthus quickly dispatched two sacks of gold coin.
"Thank you. Take the first one, sir Cyrus, for you... and your church, if you want. And you, Caldwell, deliever the second one to the person responsible for getting this information out. If I take that two-faced traitor out on my own... I'll be surely rewarded with much more than I gave you."

"Caldwell, we need to get Janus as a most important matter. Without him, his armada would be just a pack of floating wood. Send some couatl in a covert mission to kidnap Janus from Zul'Dare and bring him to Boralus. Once he's gone, we will crush the fleet from above."

"For this shall be... the most important day in my career."

---
Meanwhile, in forests near Dalaran, Thaumas and his retinue have gone on a long delayed hunt. Thaumas was sitting atop his favoured horse, the Bucephalus, while looking at his father, mounted atop some kind of beast from another world (http://www.mesopotamia.co.uk/gods/explore/mush.html).
"What is it father?" asked Thaumas upon seeing anxiety in Phorcys' face.
"I sense magic... even in this very forest. Some... volatile creature hides between those trees, laughing at us."
"Is it... dangerous?"
"No... it's curious. And naive. It might be blessing to get this creature's good attention."
"So let it be..." Thaumas grinned, much to Phorcys dissatisfaction. "Double your efforts, men. We're searching for a magical being. Very volatile. First of all, act calmly."
"You're not intending... to capture it?" asked dissatisfied Phorcys.
"Why not?"

After some search, huntsmen looked as if caught air in their net.
"Sir, we've got something!"
"Invisible... really rare specimen. Let me think...
Tegul nematomas matomas vėl."
Spell casted by Thaumas protruded a sicklish green glow from his staff, and then made the creature visible. It was a beautiful forest nymph, trying to get out of the net. When she saw Thaumas approaching on his horseback, she stopped moving and gazed at him, frightened. He started to carefully examine her green body and leaf-hair (http://images1.wikia.nocookie.net/wowwiki/images/d/dc/Nymph.jpg).
"Well... to me it looks like the problem of not having a wife is solved. What do you think, father?"
"I think you're getting mad."
"A bit of madness... never hurts anyone."
(OOC: I just hope it doesn't break any rules :P)

[Sp00ky]

Stromgarde

Dorath Trollbane listened to the captain’s report with an ever growing interest, long had he sought to mobilize and expand the military might of Stromgarde and now, with the threats to the realm growing ever larger and permission from his king, could he finally initiate what he had so long envisioned, a Stromgarde so formidable that even the mighty Arathor would pale in comparison.

He had always treasured the legacy of ancient Arathor, an empire so great that the echoes of its accomplishments had irreversibly affected the outlook and cultural foundations of the many realms which now dotted the landmass of continental Lordaeron. Though each and every element of Arathorian history was equally important to him, the military aspect of the empires legacy remained his single greatest obsession. Stromgarde, though having already the largest, most powerful and most disciplined military in the world, had always existed in the shadows of its imperial predecessor, its mighty legions but garrisons when compared to the glories of ages past.

Having dreamt of reconnecting Stromgarde with its imperial heritage since the earliest days of his life, Dorath had long been a voice of rearmament and expansion within Stromgaridan court. In his opinion, the other realms of the land could and never would be worthy of the trust and respect of his country, after all, were they not descendants of the very provinces who had brought the great empire to its knees? Who had betrayed the trust of their emperor by separating themselves from the Arathorian state? To speak with such counties was to invite treachery.

Though his respect and loyalty to his brother the king was unquestionable, he had none the less spoken against his decision to guest the summit at Fenris Keep, believing that such diplomatic efforts would do little to ease the tension between the realms, at most postponing the inevitable. The captain’s report, though alarming, did well to prove that such a stance was not as ill-advised as his brother had initially thought. Deciding to break the silence which had followed the captain’s report, Dorath spoke.

“So Dalaran has united the Hesperian city-states and is now sending a coalition force to the north-eastern frontiers? Do we know the reason for such an aggressive display of martial strength, what the cause might be?”

“We do not, lord Trollbane”

The captain replied with regret in his voice

“But your brother the king was certain that whatever the reasons might be, it was imperative that this information be brought to you as you would know how best to approach such a dramatic turn of events”

Dorath was pleased to hear that his brother’s trust remained unshaken despite their recent disagreement and indeed he had long expected that Stromgarde would one day be faced with just such scenario, rivaling powers uniting in arms against it, and thus he had planned accordingly.

“Summon the riders!”

Dorath yelled with resounding force and moments later five lightly armored figures, each representing their respective bastion, entered the throne room, greeting their lord by striking their right hand fists against their chests. After returning their greeting with a slight nod, Dorath spoke.

“King Eralas has requested the mobilization of each and every Legion and you will given the honour of setting in motion the single greatest mobilization and rearmament act in the history of this most glorious realm!”

Dorath spoke with great determination as he addressed the riders, who were standing right in the center of the room.

“Let it be no secret that we are faced with the greatest and toughest challenge in recent years, to the west of our borders the formerly independent city-states of Hesperia have sided with Dalaran, turning a formerly peaceful but unstable region into a hotbed of anti-Stromgardian sentiment, this is a development that we cannot and must not ignore”

“Our first priority will be to strengthen our defenses, not long ago the great western wall fell victim to a most outrageous act of terrorism, rebels from the north succeeded in overcoming the garrison there, destroying utterly our western defenses”

“Had the actions of our most heroic king not succeeded in driving these traitorous heathens away, then our second greatest line of defense would with all captaincy have remained in their control, but thank the light it is not so!”

Dorath observed the reactions of the runners as they were informed about the foul actions of their former countrymen, watching their emotions of hate and disgust, only to be replaced with joy and pride when they learned about the deeds of their beloved king

“Faced with the existence of the Hesperian coalition we cannot afford to leave the wall in such a disgraceful state, I herby task the rider from Arathi-point to inform his superiors of the task at hand, they are to dispatch the 3rd and 7th legion to the great wall an reinforce it, only then will our borders be safe!

“Reinforcing the wall however, will do little to restore the pride which was lost when the wall fell to traitors, thus I herby call upon the rider from Strom’s hand, let your superiors know that it is my wish that the 1st, 4th and the heroic 13th legion, bane of the rebels, are sent north into the mountains and deal with this uprising once and for all”

“They are, however, first to approach the rebels with the banner of truce held high, it is my brothers wish that we seek to sway these people from their path though dialog and benevolence, should they prove willing to accept the offer of dialog, than the presence of the 13th legion should do its part in assuring that our terms, and our terms alone, are accepted and signed, if not then the legions may do what they must, and destroy them”
“Once their objective has been achieved, one way or the other, they too are to march to the western wall, teaming up with the two legions from Arathi-point”

Dorath paused for a moment, carefully choosing his words before proceeding

“The remaining legions of each and every bastion from Arathi-point to Stonehold, with the exception of those already tasked with regional defense, are to march to within close proximity of the great wall, there they make camp and await further orders. The tribunes of the legions are called to Stromgarde, where we, in a great counseling, shall discuss the tasks at hand, including the prospect of increasing our already formidable military strength”

Finished with the distribution of orders to the runners, he declared

“Four full legions from Stromgarde keeps own defense forces are to be sent northwest, their task will be to follow and observe the great Hesperian war host, whatever might have provoked the region into mustering such a force would be equally threatening to Stromgarde, should the Hesperian’s make camp than the expedition shall do so as well, should the expedition be approached by the Hesperian force than the existence of a common defense interest should be expressed, whatever poses a threat to Hesperia will inadvisably pose a threat to Stromgarde as well ”

“And who will lead this force?”

The captain asked curiously

“That, brave one, would be you”

He then handed the captain two letters, different only though the color of the seal and declared

“The blue, my friend, is yours to read once you and your legions have left the borders of Stromgarde, the red is meant for the king, you shall dispatch a rider to Fenris Keep who shall request an audience with him, you are to assemble the men and depart at once”

The captain, obviously confused, looked at his lord with questioning eyes and spoke with great care

“Bur lord, I am not one to question the wisdom of your actions, but such responsibility belongs to a Tribune”

Dorath Agreed

“Indeed it does”

“Consider yourself promoted, dismissed”

The runners and the new tribune saluted Lord Dorath in unison, then they left the throne room making haste to perform the duties they had been entrusted. Dorath, now alone in the throne room, considered the decisions he was about to make and their possible consequences.

“The Crimson Cabal”

Dorath spoke to himself

“They too will have to be instructed, no lord since the days of my great great grandfather has ever entered the Tower of Arathor, light willing, I will be worthy”

Meanwhile in Hesperia, King Eralas was growing tired of the company of the young Hesperian general, though his manners were to be respected, his comments were not. Deciding to cut short the conversation Eralas said

“I shall leave you and your men to the matters at hand, the lords of the land, including your own, expects me at Fenris and thus I must make haste “

“Let it be known that I shall request an escort the day the existence of your newfound nation is officially recognized by all the realms of Lordaeron, including my own. Until that day, general, I shall go where ever I please”

With that said, Eralas gave the general his farewells, wishing him luck with his campaign and rode onwards towards Fenris keep, light willing, he would suffer no further delays

((OOC: once more I am sorry about this delay, this time however the cause was me wanting to do too much within a small time-frame, and also the result of perfectionism, this was by far the most deficult turn-post I've ever made, from now on I will write my turn on the same day I get the update)

[Kerrah]

General Leo rides his black stallion into the outskirts of Tarren Mill. His raven black hair flows in the air, thrown around by the strong winds.

The army had taken the quickest route, just by the roots of the Alterac mountains. Even though they took the slight risk of an ambush, the choice had allowed them to reach their destination in record time. They were now atop Corrahn's Dagger, a tall foothill named after an Alteracian king who had died in a battle fought up there.

The man eyes the town. He can't help but see the freshly dug graves outside it. A passionate hate for Alterac relights itself inside his chest. He points the site out to the lieutenants around him. "King Xie has much death to pay for!" After a short murmur of agreement, the man grimly motions for the march to continue. Will circle north, avoiding crossing Alterac's border just by a few miles before going to the main road and taking it south to Tarren Mill. It's not worth it going down this steep ledge here.

As he rides forward, followed by his men, the general can't help but feel proud. Riding into the protection of this defenceless settlement like the proverbial cavalry, he is truly helping the innocent against the wicked. He was protecting Hesperia, his homeland, from its foes. And he owed it all to his leader, his commander, his ducha*, Javali.



Before arriving to Tarren Mill the general gathers his cavalry to accompany him in, just to give the locals a sight to remember. The rest of the army is to establish an encampment half a mile away. Leo moves into the town, seeing its inhabitants in an amazed awe. Accourding to his estimation, the numbers of his cavalrymen are roughly one fifth of the town's population.

After making it to the town square, he has the horsemen get in rank behind him as he speaks to the populace present.

"I am General Fabian Leo of Dalaran. I have been sent here by Javali, the leader of my home city, to protect this land from the insanity of King Xie. In addition, I bring you supplies from Firezne to relieve you of the troubles caused by the poisoned wells."

The people cheer at the announcement and General Leo smiles. He can see starving people who are finally being offered food. And yet, this will not be enough...

Mayor Juntridge arrives with a small troop of bodyguards, clapping with the people. "Excellent, dear general! You show us the first glimpse of light after a period of darkness!"

Leo nods his head and gives the leader a respecting salute. "I am but a messenger, My Lord. It is Grand-Archmage Javali and Count Albizzi of Firezne you should be thanking."

He dismounts and motions for Archmage Franek, the wizard of his army, to do the same. "I was told to help you with the well problem while I am camped outside the city. Archmage Franek is an accomplished alchemist, he will do his best to find a cure for the problem."

The mayor thanks both the men. Leo gets back on his horse and leads the rest of the men outside to rejoin the army at large, leaving Franek and the extra supplies inside.



*Ducha, derived from the Thalassian word for "Lord". A common rank of honour in Hesperia.

[Wabbajack]

Skirvar

Skirvar and Urel are left with their nerves on edge while the imposing elf considers their proposal. Surely he would not be foolish enough to refuse the opportunity to be friends with mighty Ironforge. No less, to have a pagan church and sanctuary constructed for his people. By dwarven standards, Skirvar was being rather generous. He only hoped that Kariel Winthalus understood that.

Finally, the elf speaks. He is clearly amused, and one of his fine, auburn eyebrows is raised.
"You would offer me what exactly, dwarf? Arms deals? Do you think we need your clumsy metals dragged across half the continent just to rust in a corner? And you would offer us churches? Churches! That is quite an entertaining notion. Yes, surely we of the Benefactors will travel to the cold, muddy south to wallow in such churches."

Skirvar can see that Urel is becoming enraged. Urel's face is broiling red, and his powerful jaw is clenched shut while his fists tense. However, the dwarves are surprised when Kariel speaks again.

"And yet, what is my alternative? To kill you? What would that achieve, dwarf? Nothing. I am no fool, believe you that much." Kariel says with a laugh. "I will accept your propositions. They are meagre in comparison to the splendour that we strive for, but they are more useful to us than your bloated corpses."

Urel finally exhales, and scratches his beard.
"Ye don' have much courtesy, elf."
Kariel grins at him and winks.
"And you smell like piss and toddle into my homeland without first wiping your feet. Now follow me. My spire is not far. There you will find your Light suckling bastard. I hope you can figure out how to unchain him yourself."

Despite the verbal confrontation, Kariel Winthalus leads his new guests to an imposing white tower rising above the golden canopy. Standing at the entrance are two figures, dressed in heavy green plate armour designed in the patterns of leaves. Kariel pauses as he walks between them.
"These are vindicators of the High Order. Their patron has donated them to ensure my safety. Don't touch them, don't breathe on them and don't look them in the eyes, or they will kill you."

Once inside, Skirvar and Urel are led upstairs. Much to their surprise, Jaril is not actually in chains. On the contrary, he is comfortably seated at a table, upon which a great feast rests. Aromas and scents tickle Skirvar's senses. He has just walked in on a banquet. Several other elves are seated at the table, including an imposing woman with ebony coloured hair. She is the first to rise and bow before Kariel Winthalus.
"Master Winthalus, welcome home. I see you have found more bearded animals."

Kariel softens before the woman.
"Magus Rimtori." he whispers, clearly awed by her. "I apologize, but indeed, these are the rest of the party that accompanied our other short guest. Seat yourselves, dwarves. There is fine eating to be had."

Skirvar and Urel hastily take places alongside Jaril. They watch him keenly for injuries or signs of madness or mental damage. Their friend seems fine, however, and beckons them to relax.
"I started te' wonder if ye'd ever find me, lads." Jaril mutters gloomily. "I harly' been ere' for long an' already I'm dyin for some proper ale and real food."
Urel grabs him by the shoulder.
"What'd they to do ya, Jaril? Is all well?"
"Aye Urel, calm yourself. I'm fine, son. They interrogated me, but left me alone once they were done."

The conversation is interrupted when Kariel Winthalus clinks his glass for silence.
"Our finery has been desecrated by hairy midgets, and for this, I apologize. However, it appears that our dirty, pink kobold friends here are potential allies, despite the religious vocation of our first guest."
Magus Rimtori clears her throat.
"How can they be our 'friends', Winthalus?"

Kariel smiles again, and explains Skirvar's offer.
There is a brief silence. Then Kariel speaks again.
"Dalaran has fallen to the Zinites of the Archareveim, and Gilneas too buckles under pagan weight. Kul Tiras remains, as always, a steadfast nation in its devotion to the Four Gods. We are not alone, my brothers and sisters. Tomorrow, we travel to Dalaran, where we will consult with our pagan brothers. The time has come for us to create a grand alliance against the Holy Light! We will restore this world to a time when our primordial deities ruled! I have forged a pact with the Prophet, and he has spoken. The time is now!"

That night, the dwarves are given a room to share. They finally have a chance to speak. After talking about their experiences in Zul'Aman, Skirvar and Urel confront Jaril about his own situation.
"Well lads, them elves were not gentle. I spoke too much, per'aps. But I see now that the Holy Light is in trouble. Skirvar, I am forever your friend. But ye cannae get tangled in the politics of this madness. Many o' us dwarves follow the Holy Light. Don' forget me either, Skirvar. I won' fight against my own religion."

Urel coughs, and twirls a finger in his bushy beard.
"Well, 'em elves were not exactly friendly or polite! But they might give us one grand opportunity. Per'aps they can give us the magic we need for our domestic affairs, a cure for the thane an' all. But we gotta make a decision, Skirvar. They seem to think we're gonna be poolin' our forces to side with 'em."

Skirvar realises that he needs the elves to get to Dalaran, and that they would probably harm him if he does not satisfy them once there. It seems to Skirvar that again he is a prisoner, or at least, a guest without much freedom.

Jaril sighs.
"Whether ye' make an alliance with them pagans or no, Skirvar, it prolly a good idea to spy on 'em, tag along for the ride. See what they know, or what's useful to us. But still, ye gotta decide what choices ye gonna make for Ironforge. Kariel will prolly confront us tomorrow before the portal is opened."

OOC: You can include your reply to Kariel in your update, and you can even write the sequence to teleport the Benefactors and dwarves to Dalaran. There you can approach whom you want or make the next big choice yourself. I don't want to get you trapped in one place. You can also write as your lieutenant in Ironforge as well, if you want anything to be done back at home.


The following morning the three dwarves are approched by Kariel.
Urel sits on his bed, looking as if he just had awakened. Jaril meditates on his own bed. Skirvar sits on a chair and reads one of the elvish books he found in the room.
"We will leave shortly. You" *he points at Skirvar* "follow me. You other two should remain here, or else we will need to transport two people less."
Skirvar puts the book away and follows silently, Urel mumbles something abour hunger.

Outside, the dew already has dried up.
Skirvar and Kariel take a walk together, bith their hand behind their backs.
"This forest is really lovely. What is it that you wanted?"
"We will conjure a portal to Dalaran soon. When we are there you will speak with the current power of the magi nation and request, in our and Ironforge's name, that they help us bring Quel'Thalas under pagan administration as soon as possible. Even the word of other pagans doesn't carry much might between these backstabbing humans, but they can't ignore the demands of a pagan nation as powerfull as Ironforge. Do you understand?"
"I will do as you ask, under one condition."
"You are not in the position to ask for something. But what is it you would wan't?"
"I wan't to contribute in the making of the portal."
Kariel stops and raises an eyebrow.
"I didn't know that monkeys could cast spells..."
"Oh yes they can, I once met a rhesus macaque that mastered a minor flight spell. It terrorized a whole settlement.
But I myself are a sorcerer. I know that the Quel'dorei don't follows this path very often. The temptation to give in to their addiction is just to strong if they serve as conduit for the pure arcane. Sadly you people aren't so... stubborn as we dwarves."
Kariel becomes red with anger.
"Fine, at least we won't be responsible for your dead when you blow yourself up."
"Good, good. Four mages should be suffice to control the spell. We sorcerers have some problems with the finer weavings of spells such as the ones that are used to creat portals."

Some time later that day. The three dwarves, Kariel and Rimtori and about fifty soldiers and twenty mages have gathered.
Eight mages gather in a circle and wan't to open the portal.
"Don't begin yet. One if this midgets wanted to show us that he can cast spells to. He said two of us would be enough to help him open the portal!"
Most of the elves start to laugh.
"I changed my mind."
"What, are you to scared?"
The laughter grows stronger.
"No, but two will be enough."
Now nearly all elves scream with laughter.
"Well, go on."
Six of the magi leave the cirlce.
"Just stabilize the portal, I will empower it."
The elves start their spell.
Skirvar closes his eyes. The laughter fades away, silence takes it's place. He starts to feel the magic around him. The bright silhouettes of the magi and the glowing points that even the elvish warriors emanate. The growing portal, created by the two elves and not big enough for even one person. Then he searches deeper, beneath the cold earth and finds it: The brilliant lines of power, like the net of a giant spider, hidden deep beneath his feet. Blinding they lay in mesmerising pattern that crie out for him to use them, to take them, to be one with them. But he resists, I'm not like the elves. he says to himself, I can control the hunger. And even if he quells his thirst, the power would not be enough for the portal. No, he would need something stronger. He turns his "view" to the location of the spire. And there they are, two blistering lines, nearly shattering his mind with the raw energies they are composed of. As I thought. A leyline crossroad. The elves are so predictable.
He inhales deeply, reaches for them and gathers as much of the tempting energy as his body can contain. As he collects more of it his whole body starts to burn with the sensation of both pain and delight. Soon both his mind and body are a single fire of magic, a symphony of agony and bliss, both desiring more of it and crying for the release through death.
Then he simultaneously exhales and opens his eyes.
The outburst shakes the earth. Brilliant white-blue streams of magic shoot from his arms that he points into its direction directly into the portal. Most of the elves near him are thrown to the ground. The conjures of the portal barely can stand.
"YOU NEED TO CONTAIN THE ENERGY!"
The mages steady themself.
Skirvar closes his eyes again, but this time he looks into the portal. He can see the powers, twisting Maelstrom and as chaotic as the nether they lead through. He tries to look deeper but is stoped by a magical barrier. They haven't lowered the protection, but it neither completly powered up yet. They seem to be unceartain if we are enemies of Dalaran. Well, let's take the burden of that decision from their shoulders. He gathers the energies again, this time to the limit of his abilities. He holds his breath, concentrates on the hard and denying wall and releases the power.
A second outburst, stonger as the first one.
And then silence.
In front of the shocked elves, above an area of burned gras hovers a portal showing the city of Dalaran, large enough that four people can fit through it side by side.
Suddenly the redfaced Kariel appears besides Skirvar and, grabing his robe, raises him.
"What did you do?!?"
"I only opened a portal. You conventional means would have taken more than one hour."
Rimtori appears beside Kariel and put's her hand on his.
"That's enough, Kariel. We have matters to attend to. And besides, we still need him."
Kariel puts Skirvar down.
"Yess.
Men, followe me through the portal. Two of you will lead the dwarves as last though the portal."
The elves salute by pounding their outstretched upper arm on their chest.
Then the elves go through the magical gateway, followed by the dwarves and their escort.

On the other side, in Dalaran.
The elves are surrounded by smoking debris strewn on the paved street. Behind them lies the portal, inside a crater half a meter deep and infront of a small house with only three remaining walls. Besides it lies a half of a market stand.
Skirvar, grinning: "Oops. I hope that they aren't angry with you."

[Kerrah]

Just as he steps outside of the room after dismissing the counts and countesses, he is confronted by Ulyssan.
"My lord, attempts are being made to form a portal in the courtyard. We can block off the attempt if you so wish it."
"Where is the source of this spell from?" Javali asks.
"Quel'Thalas."

It had been awhile since such a thing had occured. There were few elves in Dalaran these days. Most had retired back to Quel'Thalas in the past two decades, viewing Hesperia as a decaying land and Dalaran as the jewel of such rot.On the other side, in Dalaran.
The elves are surrounded by smoking debris strewn on the paved street. Behind them lies the portal, inside a crater half a meter deep and infront of a small house with only three remaining walls. Besides it lies a half of a market stand.
Skirvar, grinning: "Oops. I hope that they aren't angry with you."

Just as I am about to make a choice a sharp wave through the arcane fields flashes through all of Dalaran. Every magically inclined person in the city must have felt that.

...and it wasn't coming from the courtyard.

I quickly walk to the location this crisis was supposed to happen in. It is empty, and the wizards who had been guarding the ripple are standing still, dumbstruck. I slap one of them in the head and ask what happened. Getting no answer, I spit in the ground and curse.

After a moment's thinking, I speak loudly enough for them all to hear: "Something must have interrupted the teleportation. Whatever was getting sent here is now somewhere out there. You all felt the ripple out from the city. Form pairs and go search it. In case a demon got here, do not try to kill it alone. Call for back-up."

Finally gaining a grain of adequacy, the magi pair up and leave. I turn around, finding Ulyssan there, seemingly unsure whether I want him to go with the others or not. I size him a little before asking: "Aren't you busy with the task I gave you, powdering scrap metal?"

He blinks his eyes, blushing a little. "Actually, you told me to create a group of five to do it. I didn't know you wanted me to be among those five."

I stare at him. "Are you stupid, Ulyssan?" As he opens his mouth to answer, I burst out laughing.

"I'm having a busy week," I tell him. "Thank you for the entertainment. I really needed a laugh. Come, I need some wine, and company wouldn't hurt me."

[Zula]

Jin’thek believed that eyes where a reflection of one’s soul, a place where you could see the true intention of living things, even emotions showed themselves through eyes. But the luminous yellow eyes of the Prophet were an enigma unlike any he had seen before, the eyes of that Skiv-something dwarf were like an open book in comparison. They showed nothing it was like there were empty or full, they only showed a slight glance of curiosity when he revealed his name, however even that felt forced more like an act of diplomacy than anything else. They didn’t showed disdain to what surrounded them but neither interest, like they had seen enough to be interested in something so common, like they were old, older than their body actually showed.

Also the offer was surely tempting, with some inside help he knew the elves will surely be defeated, at least the ones didn’t served the Prophet….. His words resounded inside Jin’thek mind. "Perhaps the time has come for the Amani to accept that they have the option of living with other races. You can rule this land, Jin'thek, just so long as you do it... correctly."

All of this thinking took him some time, but that mattered little to the troll. He looked into the Prophet eyes, took and deep breath and prepared his answer.

‘ It seems you cornered me, that I am truly just a piece in a bigger board, that no matter what I say your gods will win. If one hand if I accept your offer I would probably retake most of our lands but, the elves and humans that worship your gods would had to be spared for the sins they committed. I would give you this ‘hearth’ you seek and your gods will rise up to prominence at the side of your servants.’


‘And on the other hand if I refuse your offer I have no guarantee of retaking anything, we may enter Zul’guazu and sack the cursed capital. However your ‘Benefactors’ would probably take advantage of the mess caused by us and take over Zul’guazu or Quel’thalas name it like you please. No matter what you win, the game seems to be rigged’

The Prophet’s mask moved, it seemed like small smile drew under it.

‘No matter what I do I am just a piece....’ a brief silence built in the air ‘Or am I? I am really a piece? Are we troll kind really a piece that fits your master’s plans? The fact you showed the very same night most of them united under one banner seems to prove it. However its also very convenient to your plans that one of the biggest tribes refused to join, presumably under the orders of a Loa, making your offer even more tempting.’

The position of the mask changed again, it used to had a smile under it now it was gone.

‘Quite strange mon quite strange indeed. Want to know my opinion on all of this? I wasn’t in your masters plan, you didn’t expected this to happen you just saw it coming a while ago and that's why you sent your agents to infiltrate me, there is no other way you could knew when to come. But why you will do that? What's so dangerous in us that you need to tempt me like this?' Jin'hek took a little breath, he needed to finish his speak. '

'I will tell you why: because the game its not rigged, because the pieces don’t fit in fixed ways....... Because destiny its not just a path its a combination of infinite roads and its up to each one of us to choose which one to follow.

You are just here trying to make me follow the paths that suit your master’s needs and I won’t do that mon, because that is against the interest of my people’

[Insert the Prophet's reaction here]

[Wabbajack]

A few days ago in Ironforge...
A medium sized, gloomy room, only illuminated by a few torches on the walls.
Opposite to the door sits Urkath Oilfist, Overseer and leader of the Thorium Brotherhood and Skirvar's second in command. He is working on a large bunch of paperwork.
Enter Agor Forgewright, chief architect of Ironforge.
Urkath: "What is it, Agor?"
Agor: "We encountered another incendosaur nest during the expansion of the lower living quarters. And our alchemists achieved a breakthrough in the development of an explosive. They found a gas they call "Phlogiston", after the old word for "burning"."
Urkath seems interested.
"And what does this "gas" do?"
"It is completly scentless and non-combustible in it's gaseous form. But it becomes an extremly potent combustible when it is mixed with water and oil. They say that it will take some time until the blackpowder is usable without danger, and I think that..."
He is interrupted by Urkath.
"Wait, how potent is it?"
"Our alchemists calculated that darkiron is the only substance that it couldn't smelt. But why is that important?"
"I think I have an idea for a new device. Send Highengineer Steelknee and Highalchemist Embereye to me when you leave. And bring me a list of Thane Thaurissans private metal stocks."
"And what about the incensoraurs?"
"Extinct them. We will need their hides for my plan. Continue with the expansion of the city as the Thane has ordered. And instruct the Runehide clan to strengthen the anti-conjuration runes on the outer walls. I don't want anyone to enter or leave the city without using the great gates. Did you Understood?"
Agor salutes.
"Yes, Overseer"
Agor leaves.
Urkath tends his finger together ["Mr. Bruns"-style] and grins.
"The master will be pleased when he returns."

[@Timolas: This post won't necessary need a follow-up post^^]
[EDIT: Forgott about the Oil in the Phlogiston mix^^]

[Wulfang]

Lordaeron ('nother meenee-update, will post the major one once Zula updates)

That settles the affair, Alford says to himself. The matter of Tileot had yet to be resolved. He had not seen his son in almost a year by this point. In truth, Alford was one of the very few who knew that Tileot was not his nephew, but his only child. Even Tileot himself was unaware of the fact. Alford's brother had agreed to take the child under an oath of secrecy and raise him as his own.

Now it was time to build bridges. Tileot had never been close to him, nor had Alford gotten much opportunity to talk to the boy. He did not approve of all of the decisions taken in Tileot's upbringing. Alford had even wanted to name the boy Rowen, but his brother, being the foster father, had made it clear that if he was to take on such a burden, then Tileot would be his to manage as he saw fit. It was his only condition.

Alford has de Mon lead him to the private apartment provided for Tileot. He knocks at the door lightly, and waits. For once, he is the one seeking permission to enter. It is a strange feeling, for a king.

A young man opens up for him, wearing plain yet formal garb to his feet. His hair is golden and curly, like his true mother's had been. Tileot perks up at seeing his uncle, and invites him in without hesitation.
"It's been a long time, uncle. I mean, my lord. My king."
Alford waves the formalities away.
"No need for titles in the presence of your... uncle... Tileot."
"As you wish, sir." Tileot replies plainly.

After an awkward silence, Alford seats himself and looks out of the window.
"So, boy, tell me. How is life in Northstone? How fares your mother?"
"She is fine. Times have been hard since father was taken by the gnolls, as you can imagine. But thanks to your gracious funding, the farms run well, and the peasants are happy."
"That's great." Alford replies, trying to sound genuinely interested.
The boy pouts idly, patting his lap to pass the time.
"So, what about you?"
"Hm?"
"How are things?"
"Oh. Fine." Alford replies. "Although, uh. There's the whole rebellion business, I'm sure you've heard of it. Pesky bandits. You know. Haha. Nothing your old man can't handle."

Alford makes for a brief and hearty demonstration of punching thin air and barks a laugh afterwards.
"We'll show 'em!"
Tileot forces another smile.
"Yeah. You're the best."
"Mm. So, kid." Alford manages. "Did your father teach you how to use a sword?"

The palace's training grounds were empty, save for two figures trading blows with wooden swords. Alford had asked the guards to make sure him and Tileot could spar without a crowd of curious onlookers forming around them.

A small grunt from Tileot forced him to remember he was sparring, just in time to parry an incoming swing. Their swords locked against each other, Alford used his superior strength to push the youngster, making him lose his balance and immediately slashing at him. Tileot, however, quickly dodged the blow, jumping backwards to create some distance. Exhausted, they looked into eachother's eyes. Alford smirked - Tileot's look of determination reminded him of himself.

Alford was glad they had traded Tileot's room for the training grounds. Their conversation was so bumbling it could have been used as a comedy routine. Here, Alford could let his body speak in his mind's stead. Perhaps this way he'd feel more at ease around his son instead of sounding like a kobold with a speech impediment.

Suddenly, Tileot charges at him, certainly looking to end the fight. They clash, their wooden swords striking eachother or even just thin air as they attack, defend and dodge in quick succession. Just as Alford misses a blow, the youth takes the opportunity and strikes at the opening in his defenses.

Tileot: Caught you!

Just as Alford had expected, Tileot had thrown away any semblance of defense so he could take advantage of the opening in his opponent's defenses. "Here comes my first lesson to you", Alford thought, shifting his body in a flash of movement and catching Tileot off guard, hitting him in the neck with enough control to hurt him without truly harming him.

The boy drops to his knee, moaning in pain but without dropping his sword. His gaze never leaving the man in front of him. Alford let pride fill his heart - the boy had the strength of the Menethils within him.

Alford: *extending a hand* I'm impressed Tileot. You have more talent for this than I did at your age. Very good work!

Tileot: *taking Alford's hand and rising to his feet* I don't see why. I underestimated my opponent and made a dumb move.

Alford: We all have to make our mistakes so we can learn from them, and better you make those mistakes sparring with your uncle than fighting for your life during a battle. You're a bright and dedicated young man, so I'm sure you'll improve.

Tileot: *smiling* Thanks, Uncle. That means a lot to me.

Alford: *hesitantly laying his hand on Tileot's shoulder* You know Tileot, I've been thinking... what would you say about living for a while here at the palace? *stuttering* And, I mean, it's all up to you, don't think that I'd force you to do it or something like that, it's your choice! I just feel that you could learn a lot here and we're family, afterall! Not spending more time with you during your childhood is one of my greatest regrets, you know...
So... would you accept spending some time with your uncle?

Tileot: *nodding* I'd love to, Uncle.

[Timolas]

Dalaran

OOC: Dice rolls decided the encounter. Three, to be precise.

Archmage Augusta's eyes are restless as she scans Lordamere Lake for signs of the Kirin Mora fleet. While it would be easy to see incoming ships from a vast distance had the line of sight to be clear, there are many mountains, bays and inlets that the enemy fleet could be harboured in.
As she rides, she can see that General Marius is nervous. Though he is a military genius, the unexpected always presents challenges, and Augusta can see the strain on his face as he thinks and calculates.

Numbers; chances. Odds. A stray arrow here, a soldier slain by an unlucky blow there. Such little triggers in a situation can affect the outcome of history. It was something Javali, her master, had always seemed to understand. Marius was not going to overlook the details.
The Western Legion begins to round the narrow roads leading to Ambermill, marching side by side in a thin line past the lakeshore. All is calm. To the west are highlands, and to the north is Port Ambermill. It is a small town connected to the small city that the Western Legion hopes to take.

By some ill turn of fate, several warships of the Kirin Mora are soon sighted rounding the bend of one of the bays. They are fresh vessels, heading straight for Port Ambermill. From their location, they can easily spot the Western Legion.

"We must get the army to open ground, or we'll be funnelled in these narrow beaches!" General Marius cries to Augusta. "Ride ahead with your magi and buy us time!"
Augusta leads a charge of riders ahead of the columns, and into the open farms and fields of the Ambermill region. Slowly but surely, the Western Legion is assuming formations and entering the locality safely. However, the Kirin Mora ships are fast approaching. Augusta can also see that the local militia of Port Ambermill is more than ready for them. The distant town is flanked by barricades and soldiers. They even have a few siege weapons.

It is not long before the warships are sailing in range of the Western Legion's exposed side. A distant call is heard. It is a gruff and raspy voice which Augusta cannot mistake. It is the voice of Archmage Saadhal, the blind majordomo of Grigori Dosantos of the Kirin Mora.
"Paint the beaches with their blood!"

A hail of arrows flies from the decks of the warships and cascades into the marching ranks of the Western Legion. Archmage Augusta exchanges glances with her magi, and suddenly knows what must be done.
"We will burn those ships. Ride with me."
Augusta rides with all haste to the shoreline, and begins to lead her spellcasters in channeling. Fire is the element of choice, and it is directed at the nearest warship.

It is as if the wind itself catches fire, and glides towards the enemy vessel in a tempest. Just as the wall of flames is about to reach the warship, it is buffeted by an unseen force and vanishes. Meanwhile, casualties continue to mount as arrows rip the Western Legion apart. Augusta can barely make out General Marius riding through the ranks, spurring his men on to reach safety in the open fields away from the shore.
Augusta sighs and turns to face her magi once more.
"They've got anti-magic fields. We may breach them, but it will cost too much time. Serena."
"Yes, milady?"
"Remain here with ten of our number to continue firing at the ships. The rest of you are with me. The ships are open to one thing. Teleportation."

General Marius is alerted to the sound of an explosion, nearly scaring his horse into a frenzy. He looks to the sea; and is startled. His heart lifts as he sees one of the warships ablaze. The magi must have found a way to break the Kirin Mora's defenses. Soon, the result is repeated. Another ship simply explodes. The noise is overwhelming. His soldiers cheer and rush on to the fields. Marius can see that the Port Ambermill militia are rallying to strike, but they are a preferable enemy to face than ships at sea.

Suddenly, a blaze of light blinds Marius temporarily. He blinks to see Augusta and a handful of her magi standing before him. They must have teleported. Between them, they carry the limp figure of a wizard. His hair is grey and his form is battered and bloodied. The old man is held upright only by the effort of the magi alongside him. He wears a blindfold. This stirs Marius' memory. It must be none other than -
"Archmage Saadhal." Augusta exclaims. "We teleported onto the Kirin Mora vessels and captured him. In doing so, we broke the anti-magic fields on their crafts. The Kirin Mora fleet is in full retreat."

Marius nods.
"We suffered heavy casualties, but nothing out of this world. You impress me, Archmage Augusta."
"My thanks, General Marius." she replies.
"But now, I think we have another problem at hand. Our forces are not yet safely through, and I think that our enemies are making their move on land. Whatever the case, we have a valuable political prisoner."

Saadhal raises his head and smiles.
"I can see you, you know."
He removes the blindfold. His eyes are clear.

Marius grits his teeth.
"This is not Archmage Saadhal. Augusta, how can you have made this mistake?"
Augusta looks over the man again and gasps.
"He must have cast an illusion, I-"

Then the man closes his hands around the necklace at his throat. He takes a deep breath, and mutters something. The necklace flares. A blast of energy ripples from the object, tearing through the decoy's flesh, and striking through several of Augusta's magi. It continues, shredding ranks of soldiers before dying out. Marius is left speechless.
"By the gods. You nearly got us killed, woman!"

Augusta barely avoided being hit. She seems even more stunned than Marius.
"I had no way of knowing in the heat of battle; how could Saadhal have anticipated this?"
"You said there was an anti-magic field? And you can conveniently teleport aboard?"
They both turn to see the remaining warships anchor at a safe distance. Augusta silently swears to herself that she will never make such a mistake again.


On the other side of Hesperia, General Fabian Leo and the Eastern Legion continue their operations in Tarren Mill. Relief is given to the needy, and with the purification process for the wells underway, the populace seems sedated. There are still several important matters to attend to, however.
It has yet to be deduced who is behind the poisoning of the wells, and if Alterac does plan on invading. Agents are dispatched. Hareveim move in the night, prepared to exact information.

Leo is invited to rest with Mayor Juntridge in his manor, but he refuses, choosing to stay with his own men in their grand encampment on the outskirts of town. By morning light, a messenger arrives, summoning General Leo to the town hall. There, he finds Mayor Juntridge and a strange man, dressed in orange and black attire.

"What do you need, Mayor?" Leo asks, taking a seat before the two figures. Mayor Juntridge is a nervous fellow, twitching and sniffing at random. The man at his side is no more pleasant, with a slight sneer on his face. Juntridge says his part.
"This man here is an emissary from Alterac. He wanted to speak with you."
"Well, I am here." Leo affirms, and looks the newcomer in the eyes. "What can I do for you?"

The man acknowledges Leo and folds his arms.
"It has come to the attention of Regent Lord, recently appointed High General His Other Majesty Highness Master Gabranth of Alterac, servant of Lord Xie, that Dalaran be sending large army north. They send me here, I, yes, to ask w'hai."
"Pardon, emissary?" Leo asks, cocking his head.
"W'hai."
Juntridge clears his throat and intervenes.
"I think the man is trying to ask you why you have mobilized your forces."

Leo composes himself and stands to his full height.
"We have reason to believe that Alterac is initiating hostilities with Tarren Mill. We come here in the name of the Hesperian Alliance to intervene in case of such hostilities. Can you please affirm or deny such political tension?"
The emissary manages his best smile. His expression looks like that of a man dying from poison.
"I, that be me, Messenger Prax under his Lordship Gabranth who just loves to be serving Lord Xie, can clearly say that yes, we - No. I mean no. We are your friends."
"Hmmm."

That same evening, Archmage Franek Snowburn approaches Leo in the grand encampment. The general is seated by a campfire, drinking some rather unpleasant looking porridge.
"Really, General." Franek begins, with a look of distaste on his face. "I know it is typical of a good general to subject himself to the same conditions as his soldiers; but for once, get some rest and some good food. It upsets me to see you drinking mud."
Leo remains impassive.
"Can I help you, Franek?"
The Archmage suddenly looks rather distressed. It is not unusual for him. He has had an aura of uneasiness about him ever since Javali became dictator. Franek had been one of the Council of Six to vote in Javali's favour, and had become one of his highest ranking officials because of it. However, the recent turmoil seems to have upset him a great deal.
"It's not me you need to help. General Leo, the Hareveim we sent out have brought back some interesting information. One of the mayor's clerks ratted him out. I think the mayor is actually in contact with General Gabranth of Alterac. Directly."
"What does this mean, then?" Leo asks, rising and dusting himself off.
"It means that the mayor might be working with Alterac behind our backs. Of course, it could be anything. I don't suggest you confront him about it yet. I could send for the clerk if you wish."


Back in Dalaran, Javali and Ulyssan sit comfortably in one of Dalaran's pleasant gardens. They are making pleasant conversation; something that Javali has not done in months. His new role as dictator has left him unable to talk to anyone. All he has had time to do is give orders. Ulyssan has turned out to be a refreshing and charming change.

They are interrupted when Zinizar storms into the gardens, tailed by at least a dozen elves wearing green ritual garments. Javali rises to his feet hastily.
"What's this, Zinizar?"
"These elves are the cause of the disturbance, Javali. They tried to open a portal which got redirected and blew up one of the streets. They're from Quel'Thalas."

One of the elves pushes his way to the forefront.
"Let me explain myself, Zinizar. I have a tongue." he says proudly. "Lord Javali, I am Kariel Winthalus, master of the Benefactors. We are the pagan lords of Quel'Thalas. We congratulate you on your recent... policies."
"Why have you come here?" Javali asks calmly, but plainly.
"Because the world is changing!" Kariel exclaims. "I can feel it in the water... I can smell it... in the air. Much that once was, is lost, for none now live, who remember it."

Javali raises an eyebrow. Kariel continues.
"I come because the Prophet of the Four Gods; the old man of legends, has come to me. He has warned me of what is to come. We pagans must stand together. Or we shall fall."

---

Kul Tiras

Xanthus raises his hands into the air as the couatl stream overhead, wheeling through the skies with vicious screeches. Their target is Admiral Janus. This is Xanthus Alverold's chance to earn distinction. If the couatl manage to capture the rogue Admiral, then there is hope for an easy victory over the enemy fleet in Zul'Dare.
Captain Caldwell and Cyrus are at his side. The trio remain at the docks of Boralus, issuing orders to prepare the ships for their voyage.

"And what if the couatl are not successful?" Caldwell asks, as Xanthus looks over the rigging of one of the vessels.
"Then, my dear captain, we will just have to kill him ourselves." Xanthus replies smugly.
"And can we achieve that? Look at the ships we have here; damaged by storms or outfitted by imbeciles. The grand fleet has been inactive for too long. Janus took the best of our ships with him into rebellion."
This seems to upset Xanthus, who avoids eye contact with Caldwell.
"That's not my fault, is it?"
"No sir! I didn't mean to imply-"
"Then be silent, captain. Ready my vessel and be quick about it."

Xanthus is soon approached by Vizier Kalabrond. Thaumas did not trust the man, because it was said that Phorcys envisioned him being traitorous. The truth of the matter had not yet come to light. Thaumas had ordered Kalabrond to arrange Janus' assassination to prove his loyalty, but such an event had not yet come to pass.
"Grand Vizier, what is it you want?"
"My lord." Kalabrond intones nervously. "I have information that may be of interest."
Xanthus is immediately suspicious. Whatever the Vizier could be suggesting was possibly a trap, if he was indeed disloyal.
"Speak, Vizier."
"The information about the Zul'Dare rebel fleet came from a Lightist. Don't you think that is suspicious?"
"Perhaps, but Admiral Thaumas made a deal with Cyrus and his people. They have reason to be loyal."
"My lord, please." the Vizier pleads. "I have agents in Seashire. They claim that Mayor Zartus is secretly harbouring Janus. Zul'Dare may be a trap. Janus' fleet may be anchored, but his army is on land there. They are probably expecting us."

---

Stromgarde

Within days of mobalisation, Dorath Trollbane and his new Tribune have driven the Freedom Movement into the gutters. The local Arathi rebels do not even make a stand against the full might of the thousands upon thousands of men of the imperial legions. Thoradin's Wall is retaken overnight. The land is awash with glorious patriotism. Men rise up as they are called, armed and sent to honour their nation.

Stromgarde has been mobilised.

With domestic affairs secured in one swift stroke, one thing is left to handle. The Crimson Cabal has yet to be called.

In the capital, Dorath Trollbane sits upon his silver seat alongside the golden throne, awaiting the arrival of the conjurers of the sacred fire. With the Tribune leading the armies, Dorath remains to oversee operations from the capital.

Soon, three men enter. They are dressed in splendid red, their faces covered by masks. Their arms are bare and tattooed, and they wear a plethora of ornaments and rich garments about them. One would almost assume they were ritualists or priests.

They were far from priests. These men are the three leaders of the Crimson Cabal; Magus Lijou, Magus Aszhard and Magus Elrich. The Crimson Cabal; hundreds of years ago, during the Troll Wars, Arathor had entered into an alliance with Quel'Thalas. The elves had taught one hundred humans how to wield magic. Those one hundred men had become fire magi; the Crimson Cabal. While many spellcasters had moved on to found Dalaran, Arathor never lost its original order of magi; its Crimson Cabal.

The Crimson Cabal was isolationist and rarely interfered in any public affairs. However, Dorath had called them from their Tower today. It was something that had not been done in many years.
Magus Aszhard bows to Dorath.
"My lord, you summoned me?"

---

Skirvar

The Benefactors and the dwarves are soon surrounded by soldiers with pikes. They bear the violet eye of Dalaran upon their tabards, and seem to fear the newcomers who have blasted a portal into the open for them.
Kariel turns to Skirvar and bends low to whisper to him.
"I hope you feel proud of the mess you made, little monkey. The blame is yours."

Magus Rimtori raises her hands to settle the soldiers.
"Be at ease, brave men and women of Dalaran. We are not your enemies. We are but humble spellcasters from Quel'Thalas. Our entrance was complicated by affairs which slipped beyond our control."
A woman arrives, dressed in rich blue. Her eyes are a startling red.
"Lay down your arms. Immediately!" she commands. The soldiers instantly back off and rush away, clearly terrified of her.

Skirvar cannot help but wonder who this imposing woman is, that she may command such awe. She steps forward and shares a look with secret meaning with Kariel Winthalus. Kariel Winthalus bows to her respectfully.
"Lady Zinizar, Archareveim. It is an honour." Kariel says smoothly.
"Master Winthalus, we meet again. It is good to see that the Benefactors are alive and well." she replies.
"We are indeed. King Anasterian is not yet bold enough to touch us pagans. His Lightist dogs hunger to tear us to shreds, but we are stalwart."
Zinizar nods at him, but narrows her eyes.
"Why have you come, my darling? I hope you realise that Dalaran belongs to the Hareveim of Zinine now, not your dear Mnesthes. I hope you don't intend to interfere with what I am achieving here."
Kariel Winthalus shakes his head.
"Pfah! Dalaran. What would we want with Dalaran? No. We come here because the time soon approaches when we pagans must forge our alliances. The Lightists are moving. We need to be prepared before they are. Take me to your leader."

Skirvar, Urel and Jaril are left uncertain. Urel turns to Skirvar hastily.
"Tha' was impressive, Skirvar! Ye truly are a sorcerer of calibre!"
"Thank you, Urel."
Jaril coughs.
"Sorry te' interrupt ye lads, but we should get ourselves outta' this mess, real soon. Looks like we be dead centre in tha' middle o' the pagan capital o' Lordaeron! That bodes badly fer me, lads."
"Well, we do got a messenger in Dalaran somewhere." Skirvar announces.

Magus Rimtori looks down at them.
"You are free to go, for now, my precious littlebeards. Just don't even dream about leaving the city. We will meet again soon. I will accompany Kariel Winthalus."
"Aye, lassie." Urel says with a wink. "We aint going nowhere."

It does not take long for word to spread of the newcomers. The dwarven messenger in Dalaran rushes to find them in the inn. Once in the inn, they all raise a drink together. The messenger is Grog Flintbuckle. He motions to let the other three dwarves let him speak.
"I came 'ere a week or so ago, aye. The dictator in charge din' let me present my plans for a technological alliance. I dun' know how far he be interested, lads. But Skirvar, with you in 'person, maybe you can tell him yourself. You're the Thane, lad. He'll listen to ye."

Jaril slaps Grog on the back.
"Ye done well enough, lad. Stick with us from here on out. Now leme tell you 'bout our adventure in Zul'Aman!"

Urel and Skirvar manage a laugh and bang mugs of ale into one another. The very mention of Zul'Aman and the hardships they have just been through send them into a fit of laughter and celebration at being free of it.

---

Ravenholdt

Warester Van Dam sets out, using the safest and most secret of roads known to him. He avoids contact with anyone, for his priority is speed and a discreet passage. Whether the conference expects his attendance or not is not relevant. He is Grand Master. He goes where he chooses and when he pleases.

Eventually, as all mortals must, Warester lies down to rest. He makes his camp by the main river which runs through Hesperia, cutting it in half. There is no campfire. Indeed, there is little to comfort him in the darkness and cold at all, but he does not need such luxuries.

Suddenly, he is awoken in the dead of night. If not for his training and senses, he would never have heard the movement in the bleakness, through the growth. Truly, the disturbance could have been mistaken for wind, perhaps even for running water from the nearby river. Yet, Warester is not fooled. His hands close about the hilt of one of his daggers. The fate of Grand Master Krol springs to mind.

The sound draws nearer, and becomes distinguishable. It is whispering. Warester strains to hear.
"Ye sure?"
"Shut up, you'll wake him."
Under the light of the stars, Warester can see two figures. They are rugged men wearing loose and tattered orange outfits, buckled and buttoned in the fashion of the river pirates of Alterac. These were no doubt corsairs; licensed by Alterac to pillage and plunder all ships and raid all farms they wished, all as long as they were not properties of Alterac. In return, the corsairs would have to pay a share of their spoils to Lord Xie.
"I won' shut up. It's prolly just a pisspoor farmer sleeping in the dirt." one of the voices says, rising in anger.

Warester sighs; these blatant idiots where the kind of trash Ravenholdt made sure to avoid employing.

"Who cares? Tie 'im up and bring 'im to the ship. We'll sell 'im to Gabranth in Alterac for the workforce he's buildin up. Admiral Faldren Darafel will pay us, an' we all go home happy."
"Yeah? Ye think they'll let us sail around 'as free men when the war starts? They'll force us ta' fight. We need to get the ships into Darrowmere before that hell breaks loose."

---

Lordaeron

OOC: Rolled a 1 out of 6, best outcome for Sherman's conflict.

Sherman.

Sherman.

That is the name of the one who stares into the face of death and chants his own name, to remind himself that he is no lesser man.

Sherman has lived a hard life, adopted and being forced to fight for every inch of progress in his career. He proved himself by putting down various lesser pagan rebellions, in one instance earning him the title of Butcher.

Now he is in Strattania, after five years of peace. He has witnessed his king, Alford Menethil, dismantle the People's Front with nothing but words and wisdom. Krowl was brought to justice.

It is time for Sherman to prove himself once more. Upon the walls of Stratholme, he leads the defenses against the swarm of heretics that come to take the realm for themselves. But hours ago, his fleet docked in the north and travelled south into Stratholme. The Lordaeron army was here, under his command, prepared to protect the city from the Maroon Cult and its rampaging gnoll allies.

"I wish Thomassy was with me now." Sherman mumbles to himself. Thomassy had a knack for oiling the army out of unpleasant situations, but Alford had kept him for some special assignments. Lieutenant Borett Pureblood runs his fingers through his slick hair. He is a Witch Hunter, the leader of the chapter sent to accompany Sherman's army.
"Don't worry, Marshal. Not only do we have walls, but we have numbers. The mayor's spies report that the rabble coming our way probably can't even hack its way into the city."
"Aye, you're probably right." Sherman says with a grunt. "But for the love of the Light, the most nerve wracking part is always waiting."
Pureblood grins at his marshal.
"Tis' always good when you admit you're only human, General. Only human, but you get on with the job anyway."
"Shut up and keep a look out, Pureblood." Sherman says with a faint smile.

Suddenly, a massive war cry echoes through the hills before them. It is followed by another bellow, and another, until it turns into a chorus. The earth shakes, and a massive rank of enemy soldiers appears over the ridges. They are followed by more ranks, and more, until it is a sea of steel, fur and blades flooding towards Stratholme. Gnolls and frenzied humans march side by side, two creatures from different worlds unified by one thing that they have in common; a love of violence. The Maroon God, Brux, a god of war and conflict, has unified his vastly different children into one army.

"Light help us." Pureblood mutters.

A lone figure rides forward before the gates of Stratholme. The man is tanned, bearing a splendid green cloak and carrying a sword forged to be carried in two hands in but one hand.
"I am Wiglaf Folles, warlord of the Maroon March! I come on behalf of Amron of the Cult to cleanse your pitiful lands of cowardice! Brux will replenish our souls with battle! I offer no surrender, and there will be no quarter! Sagan's gnolls will feast on your flesh! I will feast on your flesh!"

A roar rises up from the enemy army again, and Folles rides off to join his men. Then the attack begins. Sherman orders the archers to fire at will, and has the gates reinforced further. The assault is violent and utterly bloody. The Maroon cultists do not fear for their lives. They throw them away against the walls of the city, until the waters of the river are bloodied and the bridges are piled with the dead. Ladders are knocked down, but more are brought up. Eventually, the gnolls surge forward with battering rams, hammering the city gates. Sherman cuts and twists as cultists scale the walls, but is soon forced to attend the gates as they begin to give way.
One of the soldiers stops him as he approaches the gates.
"My lord, we cannot hold the gates for much longer! The gnolls have a warlord of their own. He is probably the only thing they fear."
"Sagan." Lieutenant Pureblood murmurs.
"You know of this creature?" Sherman asks.
Pureblood nods.
"Sagan is the lord of the gnolls in the Maroon Cult; at least that is what our witch hunters say."
"Then we will take him down." Sherman replies. "Soldiers, rally behind me! Whatever comes through that gate; you will hold your ground!"

The gnolls smash down the gates, and scream their way into the city. Sherman is the first to meet them. All doubt is gone from his mind. All fear has long since departed him. Sherman raises his shield and sword, and rips through hide, driving the beasts back without stepping back an inch. There is certainly no quarter, just as Warlord Folles had intended.

With their numbers scattered at the gates and their strength buckled at the walls, Sherman's charge drives a wedge straight through enemy lines. Sherman does not stop at the gates, he leads his garrison out of the city and into the enemy horde.

"For Lordaeron! FOR KING AND COUNTRY! ALFORD MENETHIL! RALLY TO ME! DEATH TO THE PAGANS!"

Sagan was noticeably the largest of the gnolls present, bearing two huge axes and blind in one eye. He stands alongside Warlord Folles, overlooking the lost battle, snivelling and cackling; a mad, ferocious creature.
"Take down the hierarchy from the top!" Sherman shouts. "Slay them, for the Light! Death to the Four Gods and all who serve them!"

Sherman and Pureblood dance their way through enemy ranks, and reach the enemy commanders. The duel is short, and Sherman's superior skills quickly bring Folles to the ground in a pool of his own blood.

Sagan is less simple. A whirlwind of axe, claw and tooth, the gnoll lord catches Pureblood at a disatvantage and batters the man to the ground. Sherman is uncertain if his friend is dead, but is nonetheless driven on by vengeance and hatred, until he plunges his sword through Sagan's mouth and skull, back, back, until the blade sinks into the bloodied earth, pinning the gnoll lord to the ground.

The battle is won.

Pureblood survives, though he is badly injured. Casualties are at a minimum. Indeed, the battle is probably the most heroic and glorious Sherman has ever fought in his carrier. Along with his soldiers, he is hailed through the streets of Stratholme as saviour that night.

Yet, one main thing remains.

What to do next. The hammer has fallen, and the Maroon March is defeated. There is a lot left to do, however. The Witch Hunters keep him updated; Tyr's Hand is under siege. Corin's Crossing, the headquarters of the Maroon Cult, is still standing. To the west, Hearthglen resists him under Canbrad and the new People's Front.

Sherman and his soldiers are the last hope in retaking Strattania, as the main army to the west has not been able to breach the People's Front.

The Witch Hunters bear him a letter from the Witch Hunter commander in the west.

To Marshal Sherman,

My lord, we made no dent against Hearthglen. Word has arrived quickly of your triumph, and our network of communication remains healthy. However, we must make a gamble. The People's Front is poised to move on Andorhal and cut off our supplies, and we hear that Tyr's Hand will soon fall. With your victory, we fear that the Maroon High Council at Corin's Crossing will escape before we can catch them. If you move on one city, we may lose another. What are your orders? Our Witch Hunter chapters are at your service.

Yours sincerely,
Witch Hunter Commander Adaen Melrache

In Ambermill, Court Wizard Thomassy arrives on his errand on behalf of Alford Menethil. He identifies himself at the city gate and is led directly to the town hall. There he is met by a platoon of elite guards and escorted inside to the council hall. A tall and imposing figure stands staring out of a window at the city. His head is crowned by gentle black hair, falling around in curls. He turns to reveal a face with sharp features, high cheekbones and deep, green eyes.
"It's been a long time, Grigori."
"Ah, Thomassy. What an honour. Sit, sit." Grigori Dosantos beckons, and walks up to join his old comrade. "How are things in Lordaeron, Thomassy? I haven't visited in years."
"As fine as they could be with pagans causing trouble - but I'm not here about pagans. I'm sure you've had enough problems with pagans." Thomassy says gruffly.

Grigori Dosantos attains a distant expression, and he bites his lip.
"Yes, Thomassy. I've had some problems with pagans as well. In fact, you've arrived at a rather bad time. As we speak, that son of a hound who rules Dalaran is sending my own armies against me. My own armies! Can you believe it? General Marius, once a man who was barely good enough to lick my boots is now trying to usurp me!"

Thomassy sighs and rubs his cheek nervously.
"Tough times, yes. Don't worry, Grigori. I haven't forgotten your plight."
Grigori seems to be becoming upset, and Thomassy fumbles with his sleeve half heartedly.

"You haven't forgotten my plight? Oh, well, I hope not, dear Thomassy! For you see, the army of Dalaran is on my doorstep as we speak! They're at the Port now! They've sunk some of our ships. Archmage Saadhal barely got away. He had to sacrifice William as a decoy to get out of there alive."
"Ah, poor William. He was so good at cards." Thomassy grumbles.
"So why are you here, Thomassy?"

"Let's face it, Grigori. You're fighting a losing battle out on your own here. I'm your friend, but I'm not going to get myself killed for nothing. But I want to help you. Sadly, I can't help you while there are pagan armies in Lordaeron. So come with me. Get out of here, Grigori. You're only going to get yourself killed. Come with me to Lordaeron, and help me fix up these rusty old machines of absolute death and carnage we dug up in the royal gardens."

"Abandon the Kirin Mora? Thomassy, why do you think life is so simple?" Grigori says with a sigh, raising the palm of his hand to his face to hide his despair. "No. I am not going anywhere. What do you want with machines, anyway? I'm not an engineer."

"The golems we uncovered offer us a chance to unleash a mechanism of domination upon our enemies." Thomassy says, as if ignoring Grigori's doubts. "I am not as powerful a mage as you, so I'll need a member of the Council of Six in the very least to get these things working. If you don't want to come, then send Estheren or that other member of the Council who sided with you."

Grigori stands up as if to walk away.
"Estheren is dead. So is Cerelius. I am the last rebel member of the Council. The Kirin Mora lives because I live. But there is hope. I have contacted the Perinany Legion; they are considering pooling their forces to assist me."
Thomassy shrugs.
"Grigori, if you help me, I will help you. Lordaeron can turn its attention to Dalaran if domestic affairs are settled."

Suddenly a horn is sounded. Soon, a soldier runs into the room.
"Milord, the Dalaran legions are moving into the farmlands and it will not be long before they attack. What are your orders?"

Grigori returns to Thomassy's side.
"Help me, Thomassy. You've always been a damn brilliant genius. I know because we studied magic together and I remember how sharp you were. I'm fighting a losing battle here. My forces are depleted and my best magi are dead. Fight this last one with me, and I'll help you. And don't just tell me 'yes', tell me how you're going to save the day, hero."

[xie323]

OOC: So what do I do now?

[Timolas]

OOC: So what do I do now?

OOC: XIE! Homigosh!
I missed playing with you.

If you want, I can give you an update to work with.

Forgot Zula's update.

Amani

Jin'thek's words seem to have had their effect on the Prophet. The gnarled troll straightens himself and stares into Jin'thek's eyes, his luminous yellow orbs widening.
"You make a predictable decision, Warlord. But you yourself have admitted, that either way, the board is arranged in my favour. I do not need you to agree to accomplish my goals. You will accomplish them anyway... one way... or another."

Gruc'jen steps forward as if to strike the Prophet down, but the Prophet reacts with serpentine speed. He plants his staff into the ground and uses it as a standard to launch a kick at Gruc'jen, sending the old troll wheeling into the wall. He then seems to conjure a green flame around his free hand.
"Don't even think about it, my friends. Even if you were to kill me, it would only be a minor obstacle. Our father Mnesthes is the god of life and death. What would my death mean to him? It would be part of a cycle. There is always... rebirth."

Jin'thek hoists Gruc'jen to his feet.
"You gotta lotta audacity doing that to my witch doctor, Prophet."
"And your witch doctor has a lot of nerve to try to touch me." the Prophet replies with a shrug. "Now get out of this house. It is mine for the duration of my stay and you are no longer welcome, warlord. Go, play with your armies and your sticks and stones. Live in ignorance and hatred. Choose to follow the cycle of death without life!"

Jin'thek remains unaffected.
"No, you are the one who lives in ignorance, dear prophet. I am sure you are old enough to know who started the eternal grudge we have with the elves.
Keep in mind that if you stay here, it's not because I fear you, it's because you are not my enemy, and despite what I see, I want to believe that there is something of a troll left inside of you. But remember, if you do something wrong, we will show you that there are worse fates than death."

The Prophet seems equally unphased.
"Pah. Don't think to threaten me, Jin'thek. Now, out of my sight, but do not fear; we will meet again very soon."

"You makin' a big mistake, mon." Gruc'jen says, spitting in the Prophet's direction.

Jin'thek and Gruc'jen return to the Shrine.
"You thinkin' he be serious bout all this fancy planning?" Gruc'jen asks. Jin'thek runs a finger along his tusks, pondering.
"Aye, he's serious. But that doesn't mean he's more than a crazy old troll in a hole, Gruc'jen. Now go, help Nuvazgal organize the army. I got things to do."
"Wait, mon." Gruc'jen says. "I know what we must do 'bout Shadra and Jintha'alor."

Jin'thek holds Gruc'jen firmly and asks him to explain.
"Well, Jin'thek; we must go into tha' Shrine of Ula-Tek. Deep inside they say there be tha shrines to tha' Loa. If ye can contact Shadra as the lord of Zul'Aman and ask for tha truth, perhaps we will know. But be weary mon, that place have baaad mojo. If the Loa no likey you, you never comin' out of there."

Nuvazgal approaches them, interrupting them. The burly troll is dressed for war.
"I gots your war plans, 'mon. The bat riders are being sent out. Our lines are strong. Soon we be ready for tha' excursion... to take them siege weapons. We will send tha' messengers to tha other tribes when you ready mon. It all down to this. You command us, we go. What're your orders, Jin'thek?"

[xie323]

Meanwhile...

Xie: Finally we arrived in Fernis isle!

Caxagord: (starts to feel uneasy)

Xie: HAHAHAHAHA!!

Caxagord: What is this!!!

(A mage teleports in he looks like this):

Image of Bergan (http://www.scrollsoflore.com/forums/showthread.php?p=124076#post124076)
(He removes his helmet and we see a sick looking man sick as in insane)

???: I am Judge-wizard Bergan the new archmage of Alterac AND I AM TO MY FOES THE COMPLETE MONSTER OF THE LANDS!!!

Xie: HAHAHAHA!! I DISTRUSTED YOU CAXAGORD AND HAD YOU REPLACED!!

Caxagord: You traitor!

Xie: Im just doing what is needed to prevent armegeddon. I felt that this is WHERE the world is heading if we put trust in the light. And I never had a wife in the first place, I knew what Drace was all along and I had a slave disguise as a wife. Now kill him Bergan!

Bergan fires many fireballs at Caxagord

Caxagord is killed by Bergan.

Xie: HAHAHAHA!!

[Gurtogg_Bloodboil]

Ravenholdt

The two corsairs begrudgingly advanced upon what they assumed was the slumbering, completely unaware form of an impoverished peasant and soon to be shanghaied slave. They couldn’t have been more wrong.

As the forward pirate began uncoiling the rope he would use to bind the farmer, suddenly his legs were swept out from beneath him. He crashed hard on the ground with a heavy thud, and the Grand Master of Ravenholdt leapt to his feet in one fluid motion. The other corsair was shocked, and drew his cutlass only to instantly be riposted and disarmed. A straight side kick to the face put him down while his scurvy partner was getting to his feet. Rising up would be his last effort, as a throwing knife careened silently into his jugular. He collapsed, grasping at the gushing wound and making a horrifying gurgling sound before falling permanently silent. From the corsair who wasn’t terminated, Van Dam wanted answers.

Warester Van Dam: Start talking, Scumbag!

Corsair #1: We’re with the Freebooters! We thought you was just some bum we could grab fo’ a quick buck! Sell you to our new boss!

Warester Van Dam: I know that already, asshole. You and your dead buddy were so loud I could’ve heard you from Fenris. I know you’re working for Alterac now. *spit* Are Xie and Gabranth so desperate now that they hire bilge rats like yourself to harass the surrounding territories?

Corsair #1: They know Hesperia is unifying, and they been targeting Tarren Mill most of all, but they ain’t had no luck with nothing they tried. That’s when they came to us! We was heading there in the morn to harass ‘em! We gots poison on the boat, we’re gonna dump it in their wells!

Damn. Ravenholdt was partly responsible for bringing this trash to the region. After Van Dam found out about Travot’s solicitation of Alterac with the proposal to poison Tarren Mill’s wells, he cut off all relations. Alterac must have fallen in love with Travot’s idea though. And being the cowards they are, they must also have developed a taste for outside assistance, because now they’d gone and hired the Freebooters to do the job that Ravenholdt was too good for. Van Dam had no love for Tarren Mill, and especially not for their new allies, but in this situation he saw a chance to avenge a wrong that still troubled him. Van Dam eyed the shore where the corsairs came from.

Warester Van Dam: Let’s talk logistics…

Warester squeezed every bit of information out of the corsair he could before he knocked him unconscious and bound him with his own rope. Armed with the knowledge of the corsair ship, aptly called The Filthy Wench, and its crew, Van Dam resolved to relieve them of their poison and their lives. They were whole-sale, indiscriminate murderers and slavers, after all. They deserved it. But first, he had to check in.

Warester Van Dam: Hellen! Hear me!

Van Dam was finally making use of the magical communication device Qu gave him back in the armory. He was hesitant to leave the community at such a tumultuous time, and certainly wouldn’t have assumed his current mission without the means to stay abreast of the situation at home. This device allowed him to stay in control while still operating in the field as only he could. He didn’t know how it worked, just that it did.

Hellen von Xie: I hear you, Warester!

Hellen was as unfamiliar with the device as Warester was, but Van Dam trusted her with it and with being his stand-in while he was away. Her voice was oddly comforting for him to hear.

Warester Van Dam: What’s the status of Ravenholdt?

Hellen von Xie: Not good. The Eastern Legion has basically occupied Tarren Mill. They’ve all but remedied the poisoned well situation. Apparently, they’ve deployed Hareveim to extract information about who was responsible for the act.

Damn! Would Travot’s indiscretion never stop haunting Ravenholdt? For the life of him, Van Dam could not understand why Travot would propose and execute such a distasteful act. He witnessed the aftermath himself. He saw the bodies of children being buried in Tarren Mill’s graveyard. As always, the elderly, infirmed, or very young are the most susceptible to death as a result of contamination. More innocent lives were lost in the incident than those of actual, viable targets. If any other man had perpetrated this, he would have killed him on the spot. But Travot was Lord of Ravenholft, and he had no heirs. Warester revered the bloodline that once produced honorable men, men that established his home. Nevertheless, he did not hesitate to give Travot a vicious beating. He suspected he wounded Travot’s pride most of all, and fully expected to encounter more trouble from the disquieting noble. It was a situation that demanded his attention, but not now.

Warester Van Dam: Listen to me. It is absolutely imperative that the Hareveim do not find out that Ravenholdt was involved! Do we have records of those in the employ of Alterac who may know about the bargain and are still in the Tarren Mill area?

Hellen von Xie: Yes, we do. The one good thing that came out of the deal was that now we know Alterac’s secret agents within the town, and trust me they go all the way to the top.

Warester Van Dam: Then we have to eliminate them. I want you to handle this personally. Assemble the Nightslayers, and lead them into Tarren Mill as soon as feasible. Silence anyone who knows of Travot’s bargain with Alterac, and plant whatever evidence you need to make it seem like Alterac were the sole perpetrators. I’ve discovered Alterac has hired pirates to harass Tarren Mill, maybe that can help you somehow. Get creative. But do NOT engage the Eastern Legion or the Hareveim unless absolutely necessary, and do NOT be seen! This is a pure stealth mission. Got it?

Hellen von Xie: Got it, I won’t fail you.

The Nightslayers were the elite of Ravenholdt, hand-picked by the Grand Master. If the normal Ravenholdt Assassin was said to be invisible, these guys were totally unperceivable. Amongst the Ravenholdt crowd, they were affectionately know as the “Boob-shoulders” because of the round shoulder-pads they traditionally wore as part of their armor. But despite their joking nickname, they were decidedly no joke. If anyone could get the job done, it was them, especially with Hellen directing their moves. With luck and skill, any trace of Travot’s folly would be erased. Speaking of which…

Warester Van Dam: And what is Travot doing? Taking advantage of my absence, no doubt.

Hellen von Xie: I don’t know. I haven’t seen him. He’s been oddly inconspicuous, he completed your departing orders and hasn’t made any noise since.

Warester Van Dam: Hum… I wonder what he’s up to. He better not be going after that Scipio girl…

Hellen von Xie: And you? Remember your mission. You have to get to Fenris and, if necessary, cut the head off the pagan machine. Forge alliances. Secure Ravenholdt’s future. Don’t get side-tracked by pirates or personal vendettas.

Warester Van Dam: Right. Just a minor delay, nothing I can’t handle. I’ll contact you again shortly, good luck.

Hellen von Xie: You too, Be careful, Warester.

Van Dam peered out at the water and The Filthy Wench. A ship full of poison and about 15 unsuspecting pirates. This shouldn’t be too hard. He resolved to make it quick and then get back on course to Fenris. He could use a little warm-up anyway…

__________________

High in the mountains of Alterac, the Lord of Ravenholdt stood peering down a mountainside towards a cave. A cold wind blew in the background, making his richly ornamented cape flutter.

Travot Ravenholdt: Bring them.

At the command, the stout Vord Wallis pulled a chain. At the end of the chain were three Gnolls, Yelper, Snickerer, and Tooth, that approached obediently. The beasts were native to the region. While not completely bestial, Gnolls generally lacked the reasoning abilities of most sentient races. Their violent proclivities were also well known, and made them easy recruits for savage, bloodthirsty entities like the Cult of the War god, Brux. However, if captured young and trained, they could be controlled. Ravenholdt had been experimenting in this process for years. The nose of a Gnoll is extremely sensitive, and is capable of tracking trails that would have been rendered completely dead to an ordinary human. Futhermore, if an assassination target happened to be torn apart by a Gnoll, nobody would have reason to suspect anything other than a reasonless, savage attack. Of course, Travot had other ideas in mind for these three beasts…

Travot Ravenholdt: Now, we’ll see if these animals can perform as you claim, Wallis. Go now my children, into the cave! Integrate, and tell them of their new master!

Tooth: We go! Master! We go!

Tooth took off, eager to please his lord. The other two quickly followed him, and they disappeared into the cave.

Travot Ravenholdt: And there they go. If all proceeds as planned, our creatures will be able to convince the entire Wildpaw tribe that the easiest path to food and treasure is to listen to them. And they, in turn, will listen to me… all I have to do is blow this whistle. Isn’t that correct?

Vord Wallis: Aye. And only they can hear it. Reaches truly enormous distances, too.

Travot Ravenholdt: Fantastic. Congratulations are in order then, Wallis. Very shortly, we should be the generals of a very small, very stupid army. That bastard Van Dam will have no idea what I’m capable of unleashing, it will be a total surprise. And ohhhh, it should really burn an intelligence whore like him to be surprised.

Vord Wallis: And when are you planning on unleashing this army?

Travot Ravenholdt: I haven’t decided yet. For the time being its enough to have the ace up my sleeve. Let’s give the animals some time to work their persuasion. Right now, there is a certain lady I would very much like to see. The young Lady Scipio…

[Xarthat]

Kul Tiras

Xanthus raises his hands into the air as the couatl stream overhead, wheeling through the skies with vicious screeches. Their target is Admiral Janus. This is Xanthus Alverold's chance to earn distinction. If the couatl manage to capture the rogue Admiral, then there is hope for an easy victory over the enemy fleet in Zul'Dare.
Captain Caldwell and Cyrus are at his side. The trio remain at the docks of Boralus, issuing orders to prepare the ships for their voyage.

"And what if the couatl are not successful?" Caldwell asks, as Xanthus looks over the rigging of one of the vessels.
"Then, my dear captain, we will just have to kill him ourselves." Xanthus replies smugly.
"And can we achieve that? Look at the ships we have here; damaged by storms or outfitted by imbeciles. The grand fleet has been inactive for too long. Janus took the best of our ships with him into rebellion."
This seems to upset Xanthus, who avoids eye contact with Caldwell.
"That's not my fault, is it?"
"No sir! I didn't mean to imply-"
"Then be silent, captain. Ready my vessel and be quick about it."

Xanthus is soon approached by Vizier Kalabrond. Thaumas did not trust the man, because it was said that Phorcys envisioned him being traitorous. The truth of the matter had not yet come to light. Thaumas had ordered Kalabrond to arrange Janus' assassination to prove his loyalty, but such an event had not yet come to pass.
"Grand Vizier, what is it you want?"
"My lord." Kalabrond intones nervously. "I have information that may be of interest."
Xanthus is immediately suspicious. Whatever the Vizier could be suggesting was possibly a trap, if he was indeed disloyal.
"Speak, Vizier."
"The information about the Zul'Dare rebel fleet came from a Lightist. Don't you think that is suspicious?"
"Perhaps, but Admiral Thaumas made a deal with Cyrus and his people. They have reason to be loyal."
"My lord, please." the Vizier pleads. "I have agents in Seashire. They claim that Mayor Zartus is secretly harbouring Janus. Zul'Dare may be a trap. Janus' fleet may be anchored, but his army is on land there. They are probably expecting us."


"Actually" said Xanthus to Kalabrond "I trust them more than you. If my father-in-law trusted them, and sent you for certain death, they must have been trustable. Now, for that treachery, you have five minutes to get out of my sight. If you do, you'll be fired. If you don't, you'll be dead. Chose your option."
"Sir" interrupted one of the officers "You don't have such an authority."
"You shall see, Thaumas will be grateful to me for dealing with him finally."
(Here I input some time gap for Tim to put a short scene of Kalabrond's choice and its result)

After dealing with Vizier Kalabrond, Xanthus came back to the throne room, with Cyrus by his side.
"Look, I'm not very much of your supporter, but I understand your help might prove useful in coming years. I'm going to give some money to build a great cathedral in Boralus, but... that's not completely free, as you might guess."
"So, what I have to do, Lord Alverold?"
"I need your assistance. Ask the Archbishop - that's the man standing on the top of your hierarchy, if I'm not wrong - to excommunicate Janus and his supporters for dealing with pagans. If Muharists are hiding him, he's dealing with an enemy of the Light. Ask for him to be excommunicated. This way this two-faced hog would lost all of support, of any sides."
"Yes, my Lord... I'll try to do what I can."

(Now before I post third scene, I need to ask you where I can find more info about this sect that held Scroll of Lore, and if Javali no longer wants to summon Zinine's lieutenant)

[Gurtogg_Bloodboil]

Ravenholdt Update at Timolas’ suggestion.

The Freebooter’s ground camp was loud and boisterous. They were filled with alcohol and song, and cavorting with what appeared to be very unwilling wenches. They were probably abducted in the same manner they indented to abduct Warester when they thought he was a simple farmer. There were five of them in total, and three wenches. He could outright storm the camp and simply overwhelm the drunken corsairs with superior speed and skill, but that might alert the pirates on the ship. Instead, he waited. With all they were kicking back, it wouldn’t be long.

Drunken Corsair #1: Oi! I gotta piss! Watch my wench for a second, make sure she don’t go nowhere.

The pirate bullied the woman into the arms of one of his cohorts before retreating from the fire. He was undoing his pants before he even turned around. Stay classy, Freebooters. He’d be spilling more than urine in the darkness away from his camp, however. He’d be spilling blood, as the garrote wire wrapped around his neck and silenced him for good.

Down to four pirates, Warester threw a distraction in the nearby bush.

Drunken Corsair #1: What was that? They got bears and mountain lions aplenty in this area, mates. Scotty, go check it out! Bring me back some Bear Flank too ya scoundrel!

Scotty obeyed, but he too wouldn’t be coming back. Now there were only three pirates. A simple matter to dispatch with them, but the bigger problem was preventing the three women from screaming and giving away his presence.

Warester had to get closer and get their attention. The idiot pirates were still singing, despite the disappearance of their two associates. I guess they didn’t care if they were bear food. Neither did Warester. He stealthily made his way closer, to only a few feet away. Collecting a few small pebbles, he flicked them towards the women. One by one they struck their marks, and drew the attention of the enslaved wenches. Each time, he held his finger over his limps - the universal signal for silence. Each of the women nodded in understanding, while the pirates remained oblivious.

In a flash of motion, Van Dam hurled powder into the eyes of one of the corsairs. Completely blinded for the time, the sensory-deprived pirate was incapacitated. Simultaneously, a vicious shot to the kidney paralyzed his first accomplice. Van Damn attacked the remaining opponent with a combination of sinister strikes before finishing with a slash that completely eviscerated the corsair. With lightening reflexes, he followed up quickly with a similar combination on the stunned pirate. He then stabbed the blinded pirate right in the back. The women stared, mouths agape at the whirlwind of violence they just witnessed.

Warester Van Dam: Get out of here, you’re free now. There’s a horse tied to a tree just over in that direction. *He points* He’ll be absolutely silent, so you might have a hard time finding him, but I assure you he’s there. Take him, and ride back to your homes.

Enslaved Wench #3: Thank you! Thank you so much! Who shall I say was the hero that rescued us?

Warester Van Dam: The Grand Master of Ravenholdt. Now go!

It didn’t hurt to get a public relations boost now and again, but the problem was Warester just gave up his means of transportation. He’d need another way to get to Fenris Isle, but he’d have to worry about that later. He was resourceful, after all. He had more immediate concerns, like destroying The Filthy Wench.

He swam out silently, barely disturbing the water. If his interrogation yielded fruit, which he believed it did, there would be ten other pirates on board. Most were humans, but there were also several dwarves and even a gnoll. The thing about pirates was that they were always equal opportunity employers. He silently boarded the ship by climbing its anchor, and commenced dispatching with the four crewmen on the deck. He knew the Captain’s quarters would be below, and that is where he wanted to visit. He dispensed with two more Freebooters, leaving only what he assumed would be the captain and first mate.

As he approached the door, and the Gnoll came barreling out.

First Mate Snaggleface: Thought I smelt me an intruder!

The beastman had an enormous flail, which he swung at Warester. While expertly evading the attack, Van Dam saw the Captain behind his first mate, readying his cutlass. He also saw several large barrels of poison destined for Tarren Mill’s wells. He wasn’t going to let that happen. The flail shattered the floorboards it struck with such impact, but it could not find its mark. Van Dam ruptured the side of the Gnoll with his magical dagger, then kicked him to the ground where he would bleed to death over the next few moments. The Captain’s own attack was riposted, and he was disarmed.

Warester Van Dam: Your days of slave trading, raping, and indiscriminate poisoning are over you piece of trash!

Poised to deliver the final blow, a loud horn caught Warester’s attention in the distance. It wasn’t far away, and must be coming from another ship.

Captain Placeholder: Haw haw haw! You mighta got me, you rogue, but you’re in serious trouble now! That’s my boss, we was supposed to be rendezvousing so he could pick up our catches! When we didn’t signal ’em, they musta known something was wrong! They’re probably already boarding, ya scallywag!

Warester Van Dam: Bah!

Van Dam plunged the Fang of Korialstrasz into the captain’s black heart. There’d be no more booty for him, ever. He then started smashing the barrels of deadly poison, spilling it out on the ship’s floor and rendering it useless. He could hear men yelling and boarding the ship, and it sounded like a lot of them. He was now trapped below deck, with limited options. This was going to get interesting…

[Wabbajack]

Skirvar

The Benefactors and the dwarves are soon surrounded by soldiers with pikes. They bear the violet eye of Dalaran upon their tabards, and seem to fear the newcomers who have blasted a portal into the open for them.
Kariel turns to Skirvar and bends low to whisper to him.
"I hope you feel proud of the mess you made, little monkey. The blame is yours."

Magus Rimtori raises her hands to settle the soldiers.
"Be at ease, brave men and women of Dalaran. We are not your enemies. We are but humble spellcasters from Quel'Thalas. Our entrance was complicated by affairs which slipped beyond our control."
A woman arrives, dressed in rich blue. Her eyes are a startling red.
"Lay down your arms. Immediately!" she commands. The soldiers instantly back off and rush away, clearly terrified of her.

Skirvar cannot help but wonder who this imposing woman is, that she may command such awe. She steps forward and shares a look with secret meaning with Kariel Winthalus. Kariel Winthalus bows to her respectfully.
"Lady Zinizar, Archareveim. It is an honour." Kariel says smoothly.
"Master Winthalus, we meet again. It is good to see that the Benefactors are alive and well." she replies.
"We are indeed. King Anasterian is not yet bold enough to touch us pagans. His Lightist dogs hunger to tear us to shreds, but we are stalwart."
Zinizar nods at him, but narrows her eyes.
"Why have you come, my darling? I hope you realise that Dalaran belongs to the Hareveim of Zinine now, not your dear Mnesthes. I hope you don't intend to interfere with what I am achieving here."
Kariel Winthalus shakes his head.
"Pfah! Dalaran. What would we want with Dalaran? No. We come here because the time soon approaches when we pagans must forge our alliances. The Lightists are moving. We need to be prepared before they are. Take me to your leader."

Skirvar, Urel and Jaril are left uncertain. Urel turns to Skirvar hastily.
"Tha' was impressive, Skirvar! Ye truly are a sorcerer of calibre!"
"Thank you, Urel."
Jaril coughs.
"Sorry te' interrupt ye lads, but we should get ourselves outta' this mess, real soon. Looks like we be dead centre in tha' middle o' the pagan capital o' Lordaeron! That bodes badly fer me, lads."
"Well, we do got a messenger in Dalaran somewhere." Skirvar announces.

Magus Rimtori looks down at them.
"You are free to go, for now, my precious littlebeards. Just don't even dream about leaving the city. We will meet again soon. I will accompany Kariel Winthalus."
"Aye, lassie." Urel says with a wink. "We aint going nowhere."

It does not take long for word to spread of the newcomers. The dwarven messenger in Dalaran rushes to find them in the inn. Once in the inn, they all raise a drink together. The messenger is Grog Flintbuckle. He motions to let the other three dwarves let him speak.
"I came 'ere a week or so ago, aye. The dictator in charge din' let me present my plans for a technological alliance. I dun' know how far he be interested, lads. But Skirvar, with you in 'person, maybe you can tell him yourself. You're the Thane, lad. He'll listen to ye."

Jaril slaps Grog on the back.
"Ye done well enough, lad. Stick with us from here on out. Now leme tell you 'bout our adventure in Zul'Aman!"

Urel and Skirvar manage a laugh and bang mugs of ale into one another. The very mention of Zul'Aman and the hardships they have just been through send them into a fit of laughter and celebration at being free of it.


Skirvar thought for a moment. He didn't meet the new leader of Dalaran since the coup, but he hoped that he is honest man.
But he before he sought his ear he wanted to relaxe abit.
"Barmaid?"
The beautiful barmaid approached
"Yes, milord, what do you wish?"
"Could please get me a sunfruit wine my dear?"
"I will see to it."
After some time the barmaid returned with a wine glass and a dusty bottle.
"You are lucky, we had only one bottle left."
"Thank you", Skirvar smiled and took two gold coins out of his long sleeves "here, one for the wine and one for you."
"But milord, that is more than I gain in a whole week!"
"How could I give less to such a charming maiden?"
The maid blushed and hurried away.
Skirvar drank the sweet, golden wine and thought about the situation.
First I need to get informations. Afterwards I could a bit reading and seek an audience the leader.

Afterwards he said to his fellow dwarves that he would have to do something in the city.
"But don't get ya'self in trouble again!" Urel said to him.
"I assure you that I will be perfectly safe."
Skirvar began in the local taverns and learned that an important Kul'tirian diplomat was in Dalaran. The rumors reached from defector general to the king himself. Skirvar would have to see himself who it is.
Next where the great archives Skirvar visited the first time he was in Dalaran. What he learned there filled him with dread: The Archivists, holders of vast knowledge where incriminated, and even worse: The Archives had been disposed by Javali himself. The anger grew within Skirvar.
After this Skirvar went directly to the seat of Dalaran's rouler.
The guards at the entrace eyed suspiciously .
"What is it?"
"Say your master that Thane Skirvar Thaurissan, regent and ambassador of Ironfoge and the lands of Khaz'Modan wants to speak with him, and that denial of his wishes would equal an act of war."

[Xarthat]

(Can't Tim Finish my scene with Kalabrond in a mini-update and answer my question?)

[Kerrah]

Dalaran

Archmage Augusta's eyes are restless as she scans Lordamere Lake for signs of the Kirin Mora fleet. While it would be easy to see incoming ships from a vast distance had the line of sight to be clear, there are many mountains, bays and inlets that the enemy fleet could be harboured in.
As she rides, she can see that General Marius is nervous. Though he is a military genius, the unexpected always presents challenges, and Augusta can see the strain on his face as he thinks and calculates.

Numbers; chances. Odds. A stray arrow here, a soldier slain by an unlucky blow there. Such little triggers in a situation can affect the outcome of history. It was something Javali, her master, had always seemed to understand. Marius was not going to overlook the details.
The Western Legion begins to round the narrow roads leading to Ambermill, marching side by side in a thin line past the lakeshore. All is calm. To the west are highlands, and to the north is Port Ambermill. It is a small town connected to the small city that the Western Legion hopes to take.

By some ill turn of fate, several warships of the Kirin Mora are soon sighted rounding the bend of one of the bays. They are fresh vessels, heading straight for Port Ambermill. From their location, they can easily spot the Western Legion.

"We must get the army to open ground, or we'll be funnelled in these narrow beaches!" General Marius cries to Augusta. "Ride ahead with your magi and buy us time!"
Augusta leads a charge of riders ahead of the columns, and into the open farms and fields of the Ambermill region. Slowly but surely, the Western Legion is assuming formations and entering the locality safely. However, the Kirin Mora ships are fast approaching. Augusta can also see that the local militia of Port Ambermill is more than ready for them. The distant town is flanked by barricades and soldiers. They even have a few siege weapons.

It is not long before the warships are sailing in range of the Western Legion's exposed side. A distant call is heard. It is a gruff and raspy voice which Augusta cannot mistake. It is the voice of Archmage Saadhal, the blind majordomo of Grigori Dosantos of the Kirin Mora.
"Paint the beaches with their blood!"

A hail of arrows flies from the decks of the warships and cascades into the marching ranks of the Western Legion. Archmage Augusta exchanges glances with her magi, and suddenly knows what must be done.
"We will burn those ships. Ride with me."
Augusta rides with all haste to the shoreline, and begins to lead her spellcasters in channeling. Fire is the element of choice, and it is directed at the nearest warship.

It is as if the wind itself catches fire, and glides towards the enemy vessel in a tempest. Just as the wall of flames is about to reach the warship, it is buffeted by an unseen force and vanishes. Meanwhile, casualties continue to mount as arrows rip the Western Legion apart. Augusta can barely make out General Marius riding through the ranks, spurring his men on to reach safety in the open fields away from the shore.
Augusta sighs and turns to face her magi once more.
"They've got anti-magic fields. We may breach them, but it will cost too much time. Serena."
"Yes, milady?"
"Remain here with ten of our number to continue firing at the ships. The rest of you are with me. The ships are open to one thing. Teleportation."

General Marius is alerted to the sound of an explosion, nearly scaring his horse into a frenzy. He looks to the sea; and is startled. His heart lifts as he sees one of the warships ablaze. The magi must have found a way to break the Kirin Mora's defenses. Soon, the result is repeated. Another ship simply explodes. The noise is overwhelming. His soldiers cheer and rush on to the fields. Marius can see that the Port Ambermill militia are rallying to strike, but they are a preferable enemy to face than ships at sea.

Suddenly, a blaze of light blinds Marius temporarily. He blinks to see Augusta and a handful of her magi standing before him. They must have teleported. Between them, they carry the limp figure of a wizard. His hair is grey and his form is battered and bloodied. The old man is held upright only by the effort of the magi alongside him. He wears a blindfold. This stirs Marius' memory. It must be none other than -
"Archmage Saadhal." Augusta exclaims. "We teleported onto the Kirin Mora vessels and captured him. In doing so, we broke the anti-magic fields on their crafts. The Kirin Mora fleet is in full retreat."

Marius nods.
"We suffered heavy casualties, but nothing out of this world. You impress me, Archmage Augusta."
"My thanks, General Marius." she replies.
"But now, I think we have another problem at hand. Our forces are not yet safely through, and I think that our enemies are making their move on land. Whatever the case, we have a valuable political prisoner."

Saadhal raises his head and smiles.
"I can see you, you know."
He removes the blindfold. His eyes are clear.

Marius grits his teeth.
"This is not Archmage Saadhal. Augusta, how can you have made this mistake?"
Augusta looks over the man again and gasps.
"He must have cast an illusion, I-"

Then the man closes his hands around the necklace at his throat. He takes a deep breath, and mutters something. The necklace flares. A blast of energy ripples from the object, tearing through the decoy's flesh, and striking through several of Augusta's magi. It continues, shredding ranks of soldiers before dying out. Marius is left speechless.
"By the gods. You nearly got us killed, woman!"

Augusta barely avoided being hit. She seems even more stunned than Marius.
"I had no way of knowing in the heat of battle; how could Saadhal have anticipated this?"
"You said there was an anti-magic field? And you can conveniently teleport aboard?"
They both turn to see the remaining warships anchor at a safe distance. Augusta silently swears to herself that she will never make such a mistake again.

General Marius curses the archmage under his breath as he walks to speak to his lieutenants, dragging her after himself. He immediately addresses Marcello De Luca, the commander of his cavalry. "Major, quickly provide steeds for half our magi. Ride south with them and your full force and then turn north and charge the enemy position."

De Luca hesitates before giving a salute. "I will do so general, but will the charge not be too devastative to us? I will gladly give my life for-"

Marius angrily motions for the man to silence himself. When he does, the general continues: "Archmage Augusta and her forces will break the inevitable enemy spear wall for you." He gives her a look which screams you'd better not fail this. Turning back to the major, he smashes a fist onto his palm. "Sow chaos amongst them. I'll take infantry and charge the traitors head-first before they can drive you away. With any luck, we can still end this day without catastrophic losses."

On the other side of Hesperia, General Fabian Leo and the Eastern Legion continue their operations in Tarren Mill. Relief is given to the needy, and with the purification process for the wells underway, the populace seems sedated. There are still several important matters to attend to, however.
It has yet to be deduced who is behind the poisoning of the wells, and if Alterac does plan on invading. Agents are dispatched. Hareveim move in the night, prepared to exact information.

Leo is invited to rest with Mayor Juntridge in his manor, but he refuses, choosing to stay with his own men in their grand encampment on the outskirts of town. By morning light, a messenger arrives, summoning General Leo to the town hall. There, he finds Mayor Juntridge and a strange man, dressed in orange and black attire.

"What do you need, Mayor?" Leo asks, taking a seat before the two figures. Mayor Juntridge is a nervous fellow, twitching and sniffing at random. The man at his side is no more pleasant, with a slight sneer on his face. Juntridge says his part.
"This man here is an emissary from Alterac. He wanted to speak with you."
"Well, I am here." Leo affirms, and looks the newcomer in the eyes. "What can I do for you?"

The man acknowledges Leo and folds his arms.
"It has come to the attention of Regent Lord, recently appointed High General His Other Majesty Highness Master Gabranth of Alterac, servant of Lord Xie, that Dalaran be sending large army north. They send me here, I, yes, to ask w'hai."
"Pardon, emissary?" Leo asks, cocking his head.
"W'hai."
Juntridge clears his throat and intervenes.
"I think the man is trying to ask you why you have mobilized your forces."

Leo composes himself and stands to his full height.
"We have reason to believe that Alterac is initiating hostilities with Tarren Mill. We come here in the name of the Hesperian Alliance to intervene in case of such hostilities. Can you please affirm or deny such political tension?"
The emissary manages his best smile. His expression looks like that of a man dying from poison.
"I, that be me, Messenger Prax under his Lordship Gabranth who just loves to be serving Lord Xie, can clearly say that yes, we - No. I mean no. We are your friends."
"Hmmm."

That same evening, Archmage Franek Snowburn approaches Leo in the grand encampment. The general is seated by a campfire, drinking some rather unpleasant looking porridge.
"Really, General." Franek begins, with a look of distaste on his face. "I know it is typical of a good general to subject himself to the same conditions as his soldiers; but for once, get some rest and some good food. It upsets me to see you drinking mud."
Leo remains impassive.
"Can I help you, Franek?"
The Archmage suddenly looks rather distressed. It is not unusual for him. He has had an aura of uneasiness about him ever since Javali became dictator. Franek had been one of the Council of Six to vote in Javali's favour, and had become one of his highest ranking officials because of it. However, the recent turmoil seems to have upset him a great deal.
"It's not me you need to help. General Leo, the Hareveim we sent out have brought back some interesting information. One of the mayor's clerks ratted him out. I think the mayor is actually in contact with General Gabranth of Alterac. Directly."
"What does this mean, then?" Leo asks, rising and dusting himself off.
"It means that the mayor might be working with Alterac behind our backs. Of course, it could be anything. I don't suggest you confront him about it yet. I could send for the clerk if you wish."

Leo scratches his chin, thinking about the turn of events. Even though his blood boils at the thought of some corrupt bureaucrat having chosen a foreign monarch (or any monarch whatsoever) over his own people, he needs more evidence before acting.

"Can we be sure?" He asks. "Some men tell outrageous lies instead of the truth under torture."

Franek shakes his head. "The Hareveim can tell when they are being lied to. Dont' ask me how it works, it has something to do with their goddess. The man they got is either telling the truth or is insane enough to think he is."

Leo stands up and begins to pace. "So the true dilemma is this then. I doubt many people will believe a piece of evidence such as the ravings of a tortured clerk. But yet they are wrong in their disbelief. Javali chose the Hareveim as the harbingers of the new era of Hesperia for a reason." He shakes his head. "If punishing the guilty and bringing justice to this part of our homeland will make us unpopular, then let us be hated."

Franek asks the general how they are going to approach the mayor. Leo thinks of it some more before gaining an idea. "We don't want to make a public spectacle of his arrest or give him time to mobilise whatever allies in corruption he might have. Can you magically transport him to Dalaran from within the town?"

The archmage smiles and nods, realising what Leo is thinking. The general finally sits down and explains: "Tomorrow we'll go talk to him. We'll say it's about the wells, some complication. When we have him there, I'll tell him he's under arrest and you'll transport him to Dalaran for interrogation and trial. Then, if necessary, I'll place the town under martial law. We are protecting the good of the people, after all. We don't want whatever little shock of the news to turn into bloodshed. At all.

Do not tell anyone except one or two magi who will come with you to protect us from harm in the event."

After Franek leaves to tend to other affairs, Leo thinks the plan through. He hopes it'll work. In the meanwhile, he orders several hundred soldiers from his army to establish guard stations in the northern border near them. Alterac's reaction to having their mole removed might prove aggressive.

-----------------------------------------------

I'll write the rest tomorrow.

[Zula]

Jin’thek looked at Nuvzagal, the troll was already prepared for war. Thats was what Jin’thek expected of Nuvzagal, the rumors said his parents were tortured by elfs in reprisal for raiding an elvish caravan. Few actually knew if this was true since everytime one asked about his past frequently, in the best of the cases, ended up with some broken bones or a killing glare. But despite his hate for elf-kin he knew the Overlord was loyal and more intelligent than he seemed.

‘There has been some unexpected developments Nuvzagal’

‘Developments mon? What do you mean?’ The troll intrigued ask

‘You don’t know what a development is and you expect to the elfs?’ Replied Jin’thek with a pretty obvious sarscam.

‘You are very funny Jin’thek but if you make one more joke about my intelligence again, you are gonna regret it’ A smile drew on his face like he had made a nice response ‘ I wonder if you will be able to lead us if you keep with those jokes’

‘Heh I will keep it mind’ A smile drew on Jin’thek face, he loved to have friendly fight and Nuvzagal had a pride bigger than the world itself. ‘Well now seriously, an unexpected guest showed up last night I just met with him. He offered to open the gates to Zul’guazu’

Nuvzagal opened his eyes wide, that was something he didn’t expected to hear.

‘And you agreed?’ Replied Nuvzagal, by the sound of Jin’thek’s voice it seemed that wasn’t all.

‘In exchange we had to spare the lifes of a group of elfs that worshiped the same gods he did’ Said with disdain ‘You can imagine which was my answer’

‘Sparing their lifes?’ Nuvzagal said indigned ‘Let me pay him a little visit’

‘No mon, don’t go he is more powerful than it seems. He defeated Gruc’jen without even using magic.’ Jin’thek suspired this bussines with the Prophet was really something unexpected ‘But thats not the problem, probably now some elfs know about us, and we probably lost the element of surprise. So cancel the hunting parties that were going into Zul’guazu. They serve no purpose now’

‘This damm elfs, I cannot wait until we have them erased from this world’

‘Neither do I but listen to me, since we lost the element of surprise we will have to change our strategy, but it wouldn’t be a problem. Also its more than likely that the guest has agents among our files probably, people we don’t even expect’

‘So who do you want me to watch?’

‘No one, I want you to send some of our best trackers and watch over where the so called ‘Prophet’ is staying. I doubt he won’t notice if we sent scouts near his hut, but I don’t want to watch over him, despite the atrocities he said he is not an enemy yet.’ Nuvzagal stayed quiet trying to understand Jin’thek’s plan

‘I want the scouts to watch the surroundings, see if someone goes and contacts him, also send a shadow hunter in case he uses magic to communicate I want to know who he speals to’

‘I see I will send that party away, also I will cancel the ‘hunter parties’ into Zul’guazu, do you want me to send them with the other ones?’

‘Yes if you could, but remember they musn’t stand out. Also I have a little present for you’ Jin’thek putted his hand into a pouch he carried and took away a small bag

‘Whats that mon? Some kind of medicine for your jokes?’

Jin’thek letted out a smile he didn’t expected Nuvzagal to take revenge back so quickly

‘You wish’ Said with a smile on his face. ‘But I think you will like this better.’ Jin’thek handed over the little bag to Nuvzagal, who quickly opened it. He was really intrigued on what Jin’thek was giving him-

He put his hand carefully into the bag, and took out a small stone. Stone though Nuvzagal? Was Jin’thek messing with him?

‘No my friend I am not messing with you’ Said Jin’thek before Nuvzagal could say anything. ‘Years ago a warband raided an elven outpost, among the loot they got they found these stones. They thought they were some kind of amulet, but they didn’t knew what they had in their hands’

‘Are this stones some kind of Weapon Jin’thek?’

‘Indeed my friend the most dangerous one. The main reason the tribes couldn’t retake our lost lands were two, first and most obvious we were divided in tribes and each one worked alone. We solved that problem last night..... except for the bussiness with the Vilebranch’ Nuvzagal noticed the annoyance Jin’thek felt every time he spoke about that.

‘And second we never were able to cordinate our movements. Thats something strategy alone doesn’t solve. But this stones will make our job easier. They allow long distance magic communication, I had my witchdoctors work on them, so they can’t be intercepted by elfs easily.’

‘Wow, this will really help the warbands will be able to cordinate their efforts’

‘Yes keep one for yourself, my witchdoctors are still trying to find a way of creating more of them, but for the time being we should manage with this. And about that thing with the messengers, they should carry a stone so we can contact the other tribes, but don’t send any one ‘there’ yet.’

‘You mean ‘there’?’ Replied Nuvzagal

‘Indeed not yet its no time, also until we find a way to turn the Vilebranch into our fold, I don’t want to draw atenntion towards us so don’t steal the siege weapons yet’

‘I understand Jin’thek, after this new development with the Prophet we should be careful’ ‘But what are you going to do with the Vilebranch?’

‘I think the Prophet may be involved, so don’t worry me an Gruc’jen are going to solve that’ ‘ Aren’t we?’ Said Jin’thek adressing to the Witchdoctor

‘Indeed Warlord we will, so lets go now we can’t waste timee’