We cannot wait for this event to start! I have been a big fan running small Conquest stuff over the past few months and absolutely excited to see this big story come together.
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MY BODY IS READY! LET’S MAKE ALTERAC A HORDE HOLDOUT AND DRIVE OUT THEM DWARVES! GRAB THOSE SYNDICATE WANNABES BY THE THROAT AND MAKE THEM REMEMBER WHY THEY COWERED BEFORE DOOMHAMMER!
Can’t wait for this.
We have a lot rolling out and things are getting finalized! The first short story will be getting posted as a prelude tonight!
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Born of a Frozen Heart.
Locked within a frosty prison deep within the caverns of Alterac Valley, Lok’harak seethed in eternal fury. An icy chamber that had kept him locked away too long as world heaved. Even in rest, the Frost Lord’s fury manifested in the cold reaches.
The winds of Alterac kicked up dramatically in the last few weeks, and had buried most of the paths that led in and out of the region had been blocked off with massive inclines of snow and ice. The gusting blizzards held strong, and a powerful storm brewed. The echoing winds howled with his cries and swirled about the mountainside - only heard by those he wished to hear it.
Freedom. Freedom. The eerie voice howled within the winds and carried 'pon the gusts towards the most inhospitable regions. Locked within his icy prison - his rage could only manifest so far. But it was pointed, and his message targeted towards the most disenfranchised of the Alterac Mountains; the Syndicate - long cast away by humanity; and the Winterax - forsaken by the Horde. His message carried in the winds towards their dilapidated hovels.
I am like you. Cast out and exiled.
I am like you. A raging fury.
I am like you. I seek vengeance.
I am like you. A storm long forgotten.
I am like you. Stronger with friends.Find me in the deepest cavern in the heart of the mountains and free me.
To take back what is rightfully ours.Alone we are nothing.
Together, we are an avalanche.And all the Frozen Heart would do is hope someone would answer his call.
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By Mellestra
A call heard across the mountains, into the valleys and caves. A call for freedom, a call for power, a call for vengeance. For the Winterax, the answer was simple…to a point. Many rose to the call of the voice in the mountains, seeking to claim that power for themselves. The path into the heart of Alterac was long and filled with bodies, but one eventually carved his way through the rest
A mountain of a Troll, covered in the blood of his kin and dragging an axe the size of him in the ground approached the icy heart, that had whispered to his people on the wind, with grim determination.
“Yah claim many tings, offa even more. Temptin’ tings, I will admit.” He slung his axe over his shoulder.
“Yah ask fo an army, those who’ll follow ya. I can raise dat army, cover all of Alterac with our fury-” Narrowing his eyes, he’d lean forward.“But I need more den dat. No one Troll can bring my scattered kin to heel, but with yah powa at my side?” A low chuckle echoed throughout the cave “I can bring all of dem unda your command, odawise I’m fine leavin’ yah 'ere to waste away.”
He’d place a hand upon the frozen prison, which felt bitterly cold even to someone acclimated to this climate. His determination did not falter though. “Well? Do we have a deal?”
Moments of silence passed by, and Dro’thuz let out a sigh, which bounced off the cave walls. As he was about to remove his hand, he felt it. His body roared with searing pain as the cold entered it, empowering him, changing him. His skin grew scarred with the arcs and paths this power took through him, his skin turned an even deeper blue, his tusks froze over in a layer of permafrost, and his bone-carved axe grew refined and sharper with layers of ice.
As he removed his hand, Dro’thuz looked upon himself in a reflective patch of ice, and he let out a bellowing laugh. “Ya will be done, my Frozen Loa. Da Winterax shall answer ya call.”
With that, he took his leave from the cave. He now had some work of his own to do…
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By Leidia
Drip. Drip. Drip. A cold and dark room stood still, it felt like time had no place in this room.A dim light appeared over a mangled wooden table. From the shadows three figures appeared, staring at each other in silence. The trio didn’t stand out a whole lot by the way they looked, or even dressed.Their only identifiers being the orange bandanas loosely hung from their persons.
A call had been sent out to those that were outcasts, exiled, abandoned, and even forgotten by those they cared for. Freedom. It was time for this trio to act, and they had to come together to fulfill their own dreams, to fulfill every dream of their brothers and sisters within the Syndicate.
One of them stepped forward. He wore an eye patch over his right eye and glanced at the other two before him. “We haven’t spoken in a long time. A call has been sent out over the chilling winds of Alterac, and it’s time for us to act! It’s time to fulfill our dreams, and have a place of our own within this world! Now is the time to step out from the darkness and take what is owed! Are you both with me?! Will you band together with me?!”
The other two before him seemed hesitant to this call, but they shared the same pain he did. Both were tired of being beaten into the dirt, but this call was their ticket to the good life. A woman with a large scar on the left side of her face stepped forward and nodded to the man with the eye patch. “I am with you, brother.” The third, a man with goggles strapped to his forehead stepped forward, nodding in agreement. “I am with you as well, brother.”
The trio stood in silence once again, one by one they stepped away from the table, and the light flicked off. This room had been consumed by darkness yet again, until it was to be disturbed by those who had need of it.
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By Whelynn
“Tis the gryphon-song, lass, cannae y’hear’t?” At the comment from Dunlin, an aging shaman, the young initiate cocked her head to the side and listened, the pair standing atop the peaks that separated the Hinterlands from Alterac Valley. At first she perceived nothing, but once she closed her eyes to focus she could hear the long, low keening that sent a chill down her spine and made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She looked at the elder, opening her mouth to say something as he held up a hand to quiet her. “Fills y’w’sorrow n’worry, don’i’nae? Y’see, when th’wind’s jus’righ’n the’mountains, blowin’a’jus’th’righ’speed n’angle, sh’whispers n’wails through th’peaks n’aerie like tha’. Tis a warnin’, Siobhan, a real ba’omen o’things t’come tha’ain’good f’no one.” The Wildhammer fell silent as he regarded the younger dwarf and ran a hand over his bald, tattooed head. “Now, par’o’bein’a’shaman is t’b’able t’hear such things n’t’unnerstan’wa’t means. So why don’y- …”
The shaman was cut off by a loud ruckus from down below inside the aerie proper that consisted of some dwarves shouting and some gryphons screeching. The pair exchanged a communicative look before nodding and taking off down the winding stairs that led from the perch atop the aerie to the nests proper. There, a few of the gryphon handlers were struggling to keep the winged animals calm as they thrashed about and beat at the air with their wings, eyes rolling wildly. “We dunnae wha’s come o’er’m, shaman! One minute the’w’fine n’the’nex’the’jus’went wild! Firs’they refused t’go f’their mornin’hunt n’now this!” The Wildhammers did their best to stay out of the way of the sharp beaks and claws that lashed from side to side when all of a sudden they seemed to relax, settling back down upon their straw beds. Still, they were obviously upset and kept jerking their heads to look all around nervously. “Whew. Alrigh’lads, le’s ge’t’givin’them some space. Y’know wha’mighta set m’off, Master Dunlin? Surely y’go’an idea.”
It was the girl’s turn to interrupt her teacher as he was about to speak, tugging lightly on the shaman’s sleeve. Siobhan shyly shuffled her feet before she pointed up toward the opening at the top of the aerie. “I dunnae hear’t no more, Master Dunlin, do ye? I almos’wonder if th’gryphon-song is wha’go’them so riled up. Seems li’they started when w’heard’t, n’they calmed whe’t stopped.” She paused for a moment and wrapped her arms around her as she shivered and exhaled, her breath coming out as a visible mist. “Och, n’why’s it suddenly go’so cold?”
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By Sonceri
Marna Skypiercer rubbed at her goggles, condensation from low hanging clouds splattering the day into prisms of color and light. Her gryphon’s wings unfurled to catch drifts as they kept a keen eye out for any signs of the stolen crystals. High above, swooping into and out of cloudbanks, she worked not to get caught by any attentive eyes. Leadership mentioned trolls or ogres, but she had yet to spy either.
A darkened shape edged in tawny fur and silvered armors brought her keen eyes and scope to her flank, spying out not a threat from the ground but a Frostwolf weaving a pattern on a wyvern. He flicked the edge of axe, giving signs in reflected flashes off the edge. Normally a nice way of threatening to take a head, but this time, she noted the pattern and replied with her own blade.
Nothing in hills. Nothing in valleys. Nothing.
As she turned to begin another run along the higher climes of the Alterac, the swath of Winterfel trees gliding past, her gryphon cried sharply and spun in the air careening into a force of wind. Clouds billowed in shades of ash and sickened viridian, a depth of color and storm unseen mere moments before. Her ears caught something that sounded of elvish but rang with elemental fury.
“Unnatural! It be magics!” Sawing at the reigns, gryphon and rider took turns to seek some path in the unseen walls of frigid air.
A spidering of light began miles ahead, leaping between storms that bound one to the next. This she perceived yet could not react, all sense of urgency lost in terror as it silhouetted the Frostwolf for a blinding moment. HIs life shattered in the space of a breath, thunder enveloping her in the next instant. Blood fell from ruptured ears, eyes fought to see through goggles as the dewdrops and rain caught through her gryphon’s feather froze. Claws of iced teal and pale electric azures reached through until the condensation froze on the lenses. Her eyes chilled to pale orbs. The heaving flank of her mount gave out mere moments as her own body gave over to the chill.
Below it creeped, reaching forth, selective in those it caught as allies moved with ease within it.
None would find Marna or the Frostwolf as they tumbled and broke upon the sharpened points of the Alteracs.
By Rowyne
The Tidesage adjusted her habit and knelt in the surf, sucking in a breath through her nose as the cold water soaked through up to her waist. This was a strange shore to her, but the waters were still the same as what washed over the rocks at home. Sea, tide, and storm all fell under the Tidemother’s power no matter where they were.
She placed her hands on her knees and folded forward until her face almost brushed the water. “Tidemother, aid us…” she breathed, and then began the ritual chant. Tirassi echoed across the water as the initiates on either side of her joined in, voices rising almost like song. One verse, another verse, the words memorized years ago, and still felt so deeply in this moment.
Preserve us, oh mother of the waves. Anchor us in the darkness below. Wield us, oh maker of the storms, and -
Her breath was pulled from her chest in a single moment, icy pain searing through her lungs. Her vision went black and thunder filled her ears for a long moment, only to be replaced by a blur of white. Clouds, snow, ice raced passed her sight as she was pulled upwards and inwards, rushing up mountainsides.
There was a flash of lightning from the storm around her and then her vision started to clear. She was floating above a long valley, ringed by steep mountains. Snow fell heavily around her, and the trees below were already covered. The storm above seemed to spin outwards from a central eye, almost like a slow, ice filled hurricane.
She caught a glimpse of a trio of yeti far below, trudging through thigh deep snowbanks. The leader tipped their head back and roared at the clouds above, and the sound echoed down the valley. Underneath the rushing of the wind, she started to hear another sound: drums, booming from somewhere further north, echoes rumbling across the mountainsides. The beat rose in a faster rhythm, matched by the flashes of lightning above. The air grew thin as the drums reached a crescendo and with a thunderous boom, everything froze. The temperature in the air dropped, the yetis below were encased in ice, and the storm above halted its spinning.
.In the stillness, a deep and resonant voice whispered into her ear. "Beware, beware, oh daughter of the waves."
A bolt of lightning flashed out of the storm above and struck her in the chest. She screamed in pain, and broke off into hacking coughs. Hands grabbed her by the upper arms and pulled, and she blinked frantically to clear the white from her vision to see the sandy bank of Hillsbrad beneath her. She was panting like she had just finished a race, and her chest burned almost as if the lightning strike had been real. As she knelt there, digging her fingers into the sand to try and find any sense of orientation, the voice returned.
"Beware, beware, he wakes."
By Grimgora
"MOK’GORAKA MO’RAHKA!" The thundering rumble of boots against soil, hammers against steel. The Peons were set to work in the Orgrimmar docks once again. Ships being prepared, cannons cleaned, ammunition stocked. The crusted dirt cracked beneath the weight of creaking caravans in motion. Clouds of dust puffing into the air with each scrape against its surface. The Horde War machine ran in full steam.
"MO’RAKHA MOR’TAH!"
The songs of battle fluttered sharply through the air. Whistles for meals, horns for caution, the drums of war-- all individual in intent but congregated in manifest anticipation. Glory, honor, valor-- everything to be gained, only blood to be lost. Enough to drive even the most tame of the Horde into a patriotic frenzy.
"LOK’NARASH MO’GORA!"
In the distance, a battalion of wolves encroached onto the dusted docks. A clan of the forgotten, broken, or abandoned. Fluttering banners of blood red, armor of soot black, skulls of cackling cruelty and blades of blazing flame. Different but similar. At its head, an orc walked without mount, red bandana and a steel iron grin. Those behind her, continued the cacophonous chant, aimed for the ears of the workers beyond the way.
"MO’RAHKA MO’RA LOK’TAR OK’GRA!"
They were close enough now, that the workers turned their heads. The drums of war the only remaining beat to pierce the paused gazes. Peering into the sweltering heat to the Warband of Mag’har. Only the black-blooded among the workers could truly revel in the sight behold. A foreman among them, blackened skinned and molten eyed, recognized the chant and responded…
"MOK’GORA!"
The wolves rode once more, the peons worked back to task. Only the Irongrin remained still. Watching as her brothers and sisters rode past her towards the docks to lend their aid and prepare for battle. Fiercely amber eyes fell towards the docks, arms crossing beneath her bust. The time was drawing near. Despite the constant sues for peace, despite the monstrous ends her people had come close to living. This was their environment. War. The Irongrin knew this. She always did. Her jaw creeped open to roar the next lyric to the chant.
"LOK’TAR OGAR!"
It was time for the wolves to feast…
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By Wilfer
Late in the night when most of the living were asleep there was movement heading towards Tarren mill. Massive Lordaeronain made wagons were being moved into the town center by undead horse design for these massive loads. Undead in full blight resistance gear can be seen unloading themselves from the wagons.
On a modified horse’s back rides a figure wearing a fumigator mask and in all black armor sitting straight up looking over the work that was about to get underway to move the Blight factor that is housed in the second largest building. “We must be done with this and have it gone by tonight. High commands orders, Do not disappoint them” The Voice while muffled was that of Lord Venomdepth. He had not wanted to be here but orders are orders.
He turns to his companions asking “This work is tedious, why did they have to send all of us?”
A masked figure, bearing the emblem of an Executor, maintains pace with Lord Venomdepth as the wagons reach Tarren Mill “We need the practice, Lord Venomdepth, and in my experience the Apothecarium doesn’t take to outsiders touching their toys.” The Executor loosens the rubber straps on his mask letting it hang loosely to one side. The pale rider barks orders as he patrols the steps between the Deathguards loading wagons, and the Apothecaries evacuating the Apothecarium.
A multitude of Apothecaries scramble throughout the Apothecarium, arms overflowing with various documents and tools. Escorts and soldiers of the Deathguard Garrison work expeditiously, crating anything within the Apothecarium that isn’t nailed down, while Blight Reclaiming Specialists carefully evacuate the specialized compound into metallic canisters for shipment. “Forsaken High Command requires expediency; anything that remains within the Apothecarium will be purged before the arrival of the living. Negligence resulting in loss of research will be met with the proper punishment!”
The Executor rides the length of the convoy several more times, sounding the same orders to each line until returning to his companions. “Bah! At this rate it won’t be long. A little reinforcement goes a long way. Better to have a few broken backs than another compromised Apothecarium.”
As the time wore into early morning the Apothecaries and others carried on with their work of the temporary dismantling of any blight production in this area until the last of the canisters and crates were loaded to the wagons. At that point the remaining soldiers and Apothecaries that were going with the Executor had either mounted on an undead horse they had rode on or they got onto the wagons in any open spots.
“Good luck with your deployment, Executor. I will send word once the issue in Alterac has been dealt with” Lord Venomdepth had said with a muffled dark tone as the fumes of the blight was still in the air for the time. The Executor gives a nod as he and the Lord ride to the front of the convoy of wagons. “Very well. I will wish you luck not that our forces will need it. Now, Move out” The Executor ordered.
One by one the wagons moved forward towards their destination of which only a few knew about. The Lord watches as the last of the wagons left sight and turns to the remaining forces that will be under his command until the others of the nexus show up. “Get back to work. The work is not finished until we can take these blast masks off” Lord Venomdepth orders as he turns his horse to ride back into the mill…
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By Theldaras
As the sun began it’s descent behind the treetops of Silverpine to the west, a different shadow fell over the still peacefulness of Lordamere, the hulking figure of the DMS Rhonin’s Revenge finally arriving over the Dalaran Crater. Crewmembers and Battlemagi alike made their way to the rails, many of them gawking at the strange beauty of the gargantuan hole in the ground, illuminated by the violet magics that enveloped it. The pace of the Dalaranian airship slowed as they came to hover over the Crater itself, just high enough to avoid the hull being struck by a stray rock formation, one of the many that floated and swirled over the area. Setting up in Hillsbrad, the Kirin Tor’s envoys and their escort would be joining the other forces on foot from here, until it was deemed safe for the Revenge to move further into Alterac. The reports of strange weather had certainly reached the ears of the independent group of Magi, and their leadership was not keen on pursuing unnecessary risk, but such caution had yielded a strangely poetic result. The Kirin Tor were back in the Hillsbrad Foothills.
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That airship edit is amazing.
The following was distributed to Leaders of the Grand Alliance:
Briefing for Operation: Avalanche
Join the Warcraft Conquest Discord for more information!
The Horde and Alliance begin their journeys to Alterac tonight!
Prepare for Alterac | On Saturday, 4/16/2022 at 8:00pm Moonguard ST located at the Orgrimmar docks , the Horde forces will congregate to discuss battle plans, intent of march, leadership identification, and hoorahs! Following this, we’ll also be doing some casual boat-rp. Come join us for character connections as the force makes their way to Revantusk Village in the Hinterlands!
Ironforge March | On Saturday, 4/16/2022 at 8:00pm Moonguard ST the Alliance will muster in the military ward of Ironforge. After brief speeches are made regarding the upcoming deployment, the Alliance’s forces will make the arduous march to Alterac, crossing Dun Morogh, the Wetlands, the Arathi Highlands, and the Hillsbrad Foothills.
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A motley crew of disenfranchised and forgotten band together to bring the mountain down, and bring an eternal winter to the entire subcontinent of Lordaeron. Lets meet them.
Adversity is not without allies to aid in the cause! These brave heroes aid the heroes of Azeroth to help bring an end to an eternal winter; and perhaps more can be uncovered throughout the campaign.
Tomorrow our campaign starts! We welcome everyone in Hillsbrad at 7:30pm Moon Guard server time / CST. Briefings and an overview of what to expect that night, followed by events gathering and running.
Visit the Discord server to see events and more!
And for our vehicle series…
A howling gale whistled throughout the mountains of Alterac as the Horde and Alliance rallied towards their encampments. Their destination? Justice in Alterac Valley. But the storms stirred and the meddling of motley ne’er-do-wells were not to be disrupted by the arrival of the heroes of Azeroth. A blizzard kicked up within the heart of the valley as the skies above the mountains crackled with a thundering storm. A vortex of clouds manifested in the skies as the storms barraged down upon central Alterac.
The Syndicate and the Winterax were about to fulfill their piece of the bargain.
To those outside the valley safe in their encampments the scene looked like a vortex that manifested the silhouette of a massive monster within its center. I massive chiseled, skeletal face with a gaping maw and massive spires that adorned its shoulders. A creature that towered over the mountains that for the moment merely looked like a haunting shadow.
Lightning from the skies above cracked down upon the massive, shadowy silhouette. And a roar resonated within the torrent as snows started to gust down the mountain at high velocity towards the encampments.
A blizzard began abruptly.
The cold grew even more bitter, and sight started grow more difficult, even in daylight.
Within the whipping winds that carried the new gusts of snow and frost into the camps - a voice carried with it that ticked at the ears in a menacing baritone.
Now reborn. Now my kingdom will grow.
Born from a Frozen Heart.
Our campaign begins TONIGHT at 7:30pm central time. Signups for all events are open in the Warcraft Conquest discord! https://discord.gg/gsbdHE9
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Last night the heroes of Azeroth got their first taste of the Frost Lord Lok’harak. Lets meet him together!
Lok’harak has a series of abilities which can be removed or added onto throughout the series based on participant actions! Here’s his current list:
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Another night of great events down the pipeline, and in efforts to defeat Lok’harak the heroes have gained a new ally!
Tomorrow we summon a Frost Lord of our own.
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