Join us in a narrative feast, a collection of short stories put together by some of Warcraft Conquest: Thornwake's DMs, coords and narrative organizers! Enjoy!
(This post was made with approval from Sonceri!)
Within Razorfen Kraul, Senek Brambleweaver Quilboar argues with Death Speaker Duk Gravetusk Quilboar leader's plan to convert most of the Quilboar into undead. Later, Senek Brambleweaver Quilboar leads the Brambleweavers out of Razorfen Kraul.
(Story written by Sonceri)
Click to read about the Brambleweaver Quillboar!
Claws of rock curled close, wound in thorns of the Kraulshaper, the protective clasp of earth for her favored. With each scrape of hoof and heavy drag of laden leather, Senek felt the warmth caught in their home, smelled the blazing fires of herb and meat, heard the rattle of bones and twisting thorns. Nothing held still or silent among the Quilboar, as if signaling to the world beyond they would act without hesitation.
Heads bowed, grunts of welcome or respect marked the shamanâs passing. Her eyes sought those fine warriors and earthshapers, the waterbearers and wolfcallers. Each she knew by tusk and thornmark, respect in kind paid with squeal of prayer and curled claw pounding on chest. Every eye burned with a rage teetering on frenzy. Ready. Waiting.
One among them moved to walk at her side.
âBlood and rage will not wait long in these hills. No longer do we know the faces of our brothers. Give the call, and we war, Senek.â A heavy thorn spiked femur thudded on the ground with every step, punctuating Warlord Bloodtuskâs words.
A clatter of claws and bones marked the shifting of her head, gaze lightning pricked in the darkness of her hood. âNot until the speaking of stones. Duk takes a dangerous path, one that claimed Charlga. If we battle, it will not be in this placeâŚthe Kraul would pierce your bodies with death magics, binding you to the Gravetusk.â
With a snarl and grinding steelshod hoof, the Warlord took her wisdom in mind for actions to take. âWe leave. Warriors and shapers! Gather totems, weapons, and kin. We strike north to join the Razormanes.â
Senek continued deeper into the darkening Kraul. âI will find you, Warlord.â Her fight laid ahead.
Shadows lengthened to snuff even the faintness of stars betwixt the curl of bramble. What few night sounds ceased until she heard only the pounding of her lifeblood in her ears. Spines quivered over her skull, down her back, as she traveled through the ever-night of the Kraulâs maze. She felt the chill of winter under this canopy, smelled the rank of blighted flesh, heard the shifting of buzzards in the thorns above. All held still and silent among the deathbound Quilboar, telling her nothing but ruin would fall here without hesitation.
Ignited corpseblue light flickered from runed stone and crystal, eyes of the risen dead aglow with a mote of the necromantic blaze. Heavy herbs and sickly sweet blossoms filled the air with slow falling pollens and spores as Senek arrived before the pyre of the Death Speaker.
Fur and flesh slacked, leaving hollows about his eyes burning with eldritch incantation. Claws tightly bound in runed bandages worked a feverish ritual on bone and sinew of a newly risen member of the Gravetusk. The horror of this rebirth to one once of the Razorfen a mark of the old ways returning. Of her motherâs path.
âYou bring not a new path but ruin upon our people. Did you not learn as I, Charlgaââ
âIs a visionary. Her methods, prayers for the dead, awakening to new life continue with these hands.â Claws continued to embroider spellthread and blighted magics into the recent dead. âI am Death Speaker, not you. No you turned from your motherâs path. Who is the fool.â
A snarl broke into a high pitched squeal as Senek felt the ire burn from rage vision. âYOU ARE, DUK! Death is sacred, ancestors praised, this isâŚtwisted, dark. And you shall burn!â
Yet as the heat of flames caught about the totems hanging from belts at her waist, the chill reached forth to pull upon the magic and snuff it. Duk reached with a claw, mist moving as a spectral hand to siphon what life she invoked, drawing until her heart skipped a beat and arm shook limp.
Old fears from a childhood spent watching in terror as Charlga raised her father after slaughtering him, their family cut down and raised in undeath, choked her into silence. The elements did not fail, only turned in that monstrous magic of the Gravetusk.
âYou shall know your place, meat. I will reap you, and yours, from brambles unto the grave.â His arms opened wide as numerous eyes shone in the tangled thorns above, beaks snapping from deathly buzzards, weapons cracking from risen tribes now marked as Gravetusk.
Standing her ground, raising unto her full height, the mother of the Brambleweavers reached to the vines below until wrapped fully in their protection. âNot this night, creature. War comes another day.â The earth shuddered as the shaped quilvines roiled deep into stone, carrying the shaman to her warlord and the gathered spears of his banner.
The Brambleweavers would go to war.
Within a Venture Company warehouse in the Northern Barrens, Boss Virrax Venture Company leader laments losses in Stranglethorn with another employee, concerned about sending a report to the Mogul. Then Warlord Bloodtusk Brambleweaver Quilboar rebel leader arrives, and makes a deal for weapons - passing over gold the quilboar secured from the Alliance and Horde caravans they hit.
(Story written by Sonceri)
Click to read about the Venture company and their nefarious plotting here!
The bottom line dripped red. Supplies were thin, ships laid up for repairs, rigs destroyed, sea pipes pinched closed and surrounded by freaking wildlife and vines, and Booty Bay still on high alert. No matter how she crunched the numbers or wrote reports, Stranglethorn operations were a bust!
Boss Virrax cursed a streak of words scalding enough to strip paint. âWe need coin to get supplies to take back our fields in the Vale. I donât want to send a damn report to the Mogul with this list of losses and bills. Weâll be downsized nextâŚpermanently!â
Norris the human office manager held his bandaged head, refusing to rise to the bait of offering suggestions. The last time, she smashed his skull with a steel tankard. Thankfully Skug spoke up, digging through records.
âWe could send small crews to start salvage efforts, hide them in normal transports through Ratchet.â
âNeed funds and some fake ids.â
âCall in favors to the Cartel?â
âDonât want to look weak. Theyâll strike hard and take our remaining fields in the Barrens.â
He tapped his chin, one fluffed brow raising. âThe best way to get out of this and earn coinâŚis war. But weâre stuck in peace time.â Virraxâs hand reached for her heavy tankard, taking careful aim on his head. âPerhaps we manufacture a war.â
Her hand stopped. âPardon?â
He pulled out a message from a courier in the field, offering it across. With a quick read, her lip coiled in a grin too wide for her face. âPerfect. Send a message their way. Get the black file, Skug, letâs go.â
A flight across the plains by hovercraft brought the Boss of the Vale to an appointed location south near the thorned ridges of Quilboar lands. The hulking coils a mark of territory and shamanic power. Nothing compared to a high-grade rocket, but Virrax learned to keep those thoughts only for the office. This was a business meeting.
The craft came to a dusted stop before an encampment of stone and briar. Quilboar brutes with crossbows and wolves stood. In the center of deep shadows waited their warlord and shaman crone. The mark of the thorn spiral, blood prints on shoulders, and terrifying spear with skull driven through the point marked Warlord Bloodtusk of the Brambleweaver.
Virrax put on her best smile, teeth forming a perfect zigzag of points. âWaaarlord, a pleasuââ
With a swift kick, Bloodtuck forced open a chest. A glow of gold shone even in this murk, piles of gold nigh filling the chest to the top. The sight stopped Virrax for a moment, shock and hunger for the answer to all her problems right here!
âWe need weapons. Make it happen.â The harsh words ended in clipped grunts.
Hands dipping through the coins, Boss Virrax noted prints and etchings of Stormwind and Orgrimmar â coin stolen from the nations that destroyed her operations, forcing her to these arid worthless lands.
âAbsolutely. I have excellent Iron Horde parts, bombs, and enginesâŚletâs deal.â
Northwatch, unsatisfied with with the Alliance and their treatment, begins to rebel...
(Story written by Zaria)
Read the story of the rebellion here!
Northwatch Hold stood as the bastion of Alliance strength within the Barrens. Settled far away from the rest of the Alliance, the stronghold was left in dire disarray. Soldiers stood on breadlines before tables bare of any meaningful nutriment other than the maggots that crawled through old grain and loafs. The Alliance soldiers looked weary, dour. Some settled within the gutters around the keep and cloistered away for shady dealings to scrounge up coin and bread through games of dice. And within the keep, two men watched the display from the window.
âAnd to them, you are lesser.â
The words dripped free from the Night Elven manâs mouth coolly. No hints of anger or fury in his tone as he leaned in the high backed wooden chair within Northwatch Keep. Well-kempt and formally dressed, Meldar Jaraâaman stood within the Admiralâs Hall before Admiral Meyers with intent. But, Admiral Meyers was not so welcoming.
âYouâre radical!â Admiral Meyers intoned and pulled his bicorne from his head and whipped it across the desk. Papers and pens flew as he persisted, and his thinning hair was revealed beneath his head.
Meldar stood calmly, âAnd you are losing your hair over Alliance incompetence.â
The Admiral sneered â and raised his bicorne up to whip towards Meldar, but the Night Elf raised a hand palm-forward to stifle the Admiralâs wrath. âDonât swat at an old friend,â he continued.
âJust look at you, frail, thinning. You are not the Admiral these men remember,â He said with a comforting rumble to his tone.
âAll this time youâve struggled to keep this place afloat. You shell out coin you do not have to pompous Tirasian a world away from you as Albert Brass lines his pockets on the laurels of your hard work. They know nothing of your plight. They have taken everything from you and left you here to rot under the promise of âperhaps we may make peace with mongrelsâ.â Meldar wrapped his fingers and leaned forward to intone:
âThey only know greed and idealism.
âThey soil the lands with gluttony, pride and death on the false hope that one day these wretches might broker some âharmonyâ. Together, we could build this land anew.â
His accusations werenât far off. The Admiral had worked tirelessly, and it showed in his expression. His years of service worn on his skin in every wrinkle. His hair thinned to wispy bands atop his head, and his eyes sunk in. The Admiral inclined his head.
âBe that as it may,â the Admiral spoke, and stood a bit taller.
âThe Tirasians in Kalimdor have long endured from the treachery of their kin. Humanity here has suffered from in-fighting, betrayal, and loose leadership.
âI will not be a part of that long struggle for security for these soldiers. For our place in Northwatch â and no fruity words are going to stir my passion for anything other than my people.â The Admiral spoke with passion.
âNow be gone. Iâve had enough of you. Elf.â Meyers sneered.
Meldar remained passive, still stood well above his human counterpart as he stared towards the incensed Admiral and relented with â âIf you had any passion for your people, you would stand with me.â He waved a hand and turned tail. âBut, have it your way. Let the Alliance and Kul Tiras weather you down to dust.â He set off with a: âAndeâthoras-ethil,â that snapped from his mouth in a biting tone before he closed the door behind him, and left the Admiral alone, and Meldar just outside his great hall.
But beside him outside the Hall, a man stood with his ear pressed against the wooden wall, and quickly jolted as the door shut behind Meldar. A human man stood before Meldar, bald-headed and beady eyed, he looked up towards the Night Elf and immediately said, âI â I was justâ!â
âYou were interested,â Meldar said to the man candidly.
âBut, who are you?â the Night Elf asked.
Quickly, the man found his wits and stood straight before Meldar and saluted him. âI am Officer Corbin Ashland! Hand of the Admiral.â He nodded. âAnd I enjoyed what you had to say.â He nodded firmly, and offered out his hand as Meldar scrutinized the human before him.
âCorbin,â Meldar said, and slowly reached out his hand to Corbinâs to grasp it firmly.
âPerhaps you could be a great asset to the salvation of your people.â
Sometime Later...
Night fell upon Northwatch Hold. A serene quiet as the men slept was abruptly broken by a massive blast of flame and powder that detonated just outside of the armory beside the keep as chaos quickly arose. Armored soldiers ran through the grounds and held off major entry points, and to the blasts â the Admiral abruptly shot up from his bed in the keep.
Startled, Admiral Meyers stood quickly in little more than his undergarments and stormed from the door. âWhat is the meaning of this?! What is going ââ He pushed the door open hard to his chambers and was quickly silenced.
Two massive vines sprung free from either end of the room and wrapped around his wrists and coiled around his body.
âHello again.â Meldarâs voice dripped from the darkness, and Officer Corbin stepped forward from the darkness and pressed the flat of his blade up against the bare-chested admiral.
âYou could have listened. We could have forged this land anew together.â Meldar continued.
âBut it will be done with, or without you, Admiral.â
The following missive would be sent to the leaders of the Grand Alliance. In addition, the head of Lord Albert Brass, the Tirasian financier of the Northwatch Fleet, would be sent in a box to the Proudmoore Admiralty in a white ribbon wrapped box.
(Document written by Maxen)
Click here to read Northwatch's Declaration of Independence!
FREE CITY OF NORTHWATCH
DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE
To the rulers of Stormwind, Kul Tiras, and the Grand Alliance, we, the Assemblage of the Free City of Northwatch, bid you greetings.
The city-state of Theramore was established during the Third War by the disparate refugees of the Eastern Kingdoms who were failed by their rulers. Lordaeron, Quelâthalas, Kul Tiras, and Dalaran fell to the Burning Legion and Cult of the Damned, leaving their people no choice but to seek refuge across the Great Sea under the guidance of Lady Jaina Proudmoore. Together, with the Horde and the Kaldorei, the stalwart people of Theramore defeated the Burning Legion, while Stormwind, Kul Tiras, Ironforge, Gnomeregan, and all of the other powers which dominate the Alliance of today were too focused on their own failings.
As Theramore grew in influence in the wake of the Third War, the Eastern Kingdoms saw our city as theirs to take and rule over. Lord Admiral Daelin Proudmoore of Kul Tiras, father of Jaina, seized our fair city by force to pursue war with the newly established Horde. Daughter betrayed father, and Jaina Proudmoore retook Theramore - driving the Tirasians back to their islands in the east.
When Lady Proudmoore granted the Alliance the right to use its harbors to send troops into Kalimdor following the Cataclysm, it brought the ire of the Horde - and ultimately, our cityâs destruction. Thousands perished at the hands of Warchief Garrosh Hellscream, who sent his forces to raze our lands and slaughter our people. King Varian of Stormwind sent forces to claim the ruins of Northwatch only after it was destroyed by the Rageroar Clan - allowing it to fall so that it could be claimed for the Alliance.
The people of Theramore and Northwatch persisted. We rebuilt our holdings in Dustwallow Marsh and raised our banners high above Northwatch. We kept faith with Lady Jaina as she led our people to war against the Burning Legion, and again, against the Horde, never forgetting the destruction of Theramore Isle. We pledged ourselves to the Alliance with the promise that the Alliance would protect our people in this age of chaos.
Then, Lady Jaina and the Alliance made peace with Kul Tiras, and Lady Jaina was named their ruler - despite that the Tirasians once sought to conquer our people. Lady Jaina left us - leaving her advisers to rule.
The Tirasians greedily dug their claws into our lands, selling ships to Jainaâs advisors that we could not afford. Our gold mines, overtaken by the wild, could not provide for the Tirasiansâ demands - leading to Jainaâs appointed rulers to squeeze our people for every last coin and crumb. Our people, besieged by wildlife, mongrels, and the undead, pleaded to the Alliance for aid - only to be reminded that the Eastern Kingdoms only focus on their own in times of crisis. We starve so that Jaina may rule from the halls of her father.
The Alliance has only ever brought devastation to Theramore and Northwatch. It has used our position to their advantage while allowing our cities to be razed for its choices. By repeatedly pledging her people to the Alliance, Lady Jaina has condemned them to a cycle of death and destruction.
No longer shall the people of Northwatch be pawns to powers who would leave us to die. We, the Assemblage of the Free City of Northwatch, reject Lady Jainaâs rule from her fatherâs throne. We have taken back our city and now hold court on our own terms.
As the rightful rulers of our own free peoples, we, the Assemblage of Northwatch, under purview of the Holy Light, do here dissolve any allegiance or ties of authority between Northwatch and the nations of the Grand Alliance. We declare ourselves an independent and free nation that may conduct trade, levy war, establish alliances, enact peace, and any manner of such things afforded to a free and independent state.
Furthermore, we, within our rights, shall hold accountable those that led our people into ruin. The advisors of Lady Jaina Proudmoore will answer for their negligence by our hand. We deem the debts incurred unto Kul Tiras absolved so that our people may once again enjoy the bounties of their own labors. The Alliance will no longer be afforded use of our ports, roads, and passages for their armies and fleets. The ports, territories, chattel, and properties of Northwatch shall remain our own, and any attempt to seize these will be considered an act of war.
The people of Northwatch now stand ready to defend ourselves from any threat to our sovereignty - be it from the Grand Alliance or the New Horde.
The Assemblage of Northwatch
Corbin Ashhand
Ballinda Freetide
Meldar Jaraâaman
The centaur clans begin to organize...
(Story written by Algrubel)
Click hear to read about the centaur clans mobilizing!
A dry wind blew over the valleys and crags of Desolace, the graveyard of Kalimdor. Two Centaur struggled as they traversed the gray desert. Looking to the parched sky, Kartek Sunbreaker, Khan of the Taslagch Clan, knew that it would not be the last time that he would need to help his younger brother cross unstable terrain. Altan Sunbreaker had lost one of his four legs long ago in wars with the Tauren - leaving the Centaur crippled in a land that does not forgive. Most Centaur clans would leave kin with any weaknesses out to survive on their own, guaranteeing death either by predators, rivals, or simply starvation. However, so few remained of Clan Taslagch that Altan was given a makeshift cane. After hours of trekking through the sands, the two Centaur crossed into their camp. Altanâs cane snapped soon after they reached their campfire. Fortunate as this was in timing, Kartek offered his younger brother a bittersweet smile. The three-legged centaur hobbled over to lie upon a pile of ragged hyena hides.
Khan Kartek sighed as he watched Altan rest. He cursed the Tauren who maimed his brother. So few remained of the Taslagch Clan - and the times of plenty had long passed. They were but vagabonds with rags. Even Kartekâs armor had seen better days; signs of rust crept along its edges. The Khanâs steel hammer was the only thing free of rust, having a faint shimmer of magic. His stomach growled as he eyed the cookpot that hung over the fire. The only thing their outrunners could catch were three buzzards, and these were made into a meager stew - their feathers stripped for arrow fletching, their bones for tools. The Khan took up two bowls and took meager portions from the pot. He walked past an elder who coughed raggedly while the only seer of the camp tried to administer a healing concoction. Kartek offered Alatan one of the bowls of stew before drinking from his own.
âWe need to find better hunting grounds, brother. We canât live like this forever.â
âYou know as well as I do that it would bring us into conflict with the larger clans around us. We would not be fit to fight them, even if we didnât have sickness among our ranks.â
Kartek sighed. The warm stew, as small a portion as it was, gave comfort after their long day of scouting. Alatan scowled, but not at his older brother. He knew better than that. Anger boiled within him as he took another gulp of the stew. As the brothers sipped their stew, one of the clanâs few outriders approached, looking a bit on edge.
âMy Khan, a messenger from the Arischin Clan! They are reaching out to all the lesser clans in Desolace for a meeting of sorts. They did not clarify what it would be about.â
The outrider finished his report nervously as the brothers looked to each other. Concern formed on Alatanâs face as Kartek grimaced at the mention of that clan. Khan Kartek would rise up reluctantly, hefting his hammer once more. Alatan tugged his brotherâs arm.
âBe careful.â
The Khan of the Taslagch Clan nodded as he went with the outrider. They left the borders of his clanâs camp and into the harsh landscape of Desolace.
+ + +
After days of travel, the two Centaur of the Taslagch Clan approached the massive encampment of the Arischin Clan. Known for its banners made of Tauren hides and skulls, the Arischin Clan regularly showed might and cruelty that other Centaur clans respected and feared. The outrider flicked his tail out of nervous habit while Kartek strode into the camp. Khan Kartek showed no fear despite the grim atmosphere of Arischin territory, doing his best to avoid ridicule or challenges to Clan Taslagch. He approached a bonfire that roared before a grand podium of bone and driftwood. Several other Centaur that Kartek assumed to be other lesser Khans and their retinues gathered before the podium. Khan Kartek gave a respectful nod to those that acknowledged his presence. As some of the Khans began to mutter between themselves, a loud bellowing horn blasted across the encampment. Several of the Arischin Clan chanted out the name of their Khan.
âCUR. CUR. CUR. CUR. CUR!â
Khan Cur Taurenflayer was a beast among beasts. The large Centaur bore a helmet with large horns adorning it. A grand braided beard hung on his face, and his shoulder was adorned with the head of a Tauren chieftain long slain in battle. An elven bow was slung over a shoulder, radiating a darker power that the Night Elves would not dare use. As the massive Khan ascended the podium, hands raised up in adoration throughout the crowd. Khan Cur welcomed the cries of his name before finally silencing them.
âMy brothers and sisters!â
The Arischin Khan yelled to those below, giving a wide grin, showing crooked teeth. He laughed loudly.
âI have been approached with a great opportunity for all Centaur, a chance to retake what is rightfully ours!â
The Khans below murmured a bit more. Khan Kartek was not impressed; he had heard these words before from his father and many other dead would-be conquerors. Kartekâs mulling over of past failures was interrupted with the revelation from Khan Curâs snarling mouth.
âA new Great Khan has risen and he has chosen ME to lead the vanguard to begin the conquest of all of Kalimdor!â
Confusion and excitement broke out among the Khans, surprised to hear this was not entirely Curâs idea. All were eager to learn of this mysterious new Great Khan that would proclaim such a title.
âThrough efforts I do not yet understand, this Great Khan has brokered a deal with new allies to our cause; a formation of a unified army!â
Another figure ascended the podium to stand next to Khan Cur. It was not a Centaur, but a Quilboar, carrying a staff decorated in thorny vines and dried flowers. Khan Cur continued.
âWe will fight side by side with the Quilboar, the children of Agamaggan, and the Harpies of Stonetalon! Our kin in the Barrens shall stand with us in the formation of a new alliance!â
Khan Curâs face twisted into an angry snarl.
âThe usurpers and conquerors would call us monsters, savages, MONGRELS! We shall put them in their place, and right the many wrongs against us. Together, we shall form the Bramblespear Horde, and wash away the filth that has clung to Kalimdor for too long!â
Most of the gathered Centaur Khans cheered in the wake of this proclamation, rallied to the promise of conquest. Remaining silent, Khan Kartek peered at the Quillboar with stern suspicion. Khan Cur spotted this lack of enthusiasm, and singled out the Khan of Clan Taslagch.
âYou who stand in silence, SPEAK! Your brothers are eager to hear your thoughts!â
Khan Kartek glared at Khan Cur for a moment as he stepped forward.
âYour promise much, but I have heard no plan for this conquest that would lead us to victory. Are we to trust the word of the Quillboar? The harpies, who bicker among themselves? What will WE get in return for serving this Bramblespear Horde?â
Khan Cur scowled at Khan Kartek, and looked to the Quillboar. The tusked figure nodded once, motioning to the crowd. Khan Cur laughed loudly, which seemed to only annoy Kartek further.
âHaving lost so much of your clan, I am sure you can appreciate finding allies. The Horde and Alliance have long forced us to dwell here in Desolace, keeping the good lands to themselves. We have waged war against them for glory but little in gain. That changes now! The Great Khan has offered us the means to true power!â
The Quilboar banged his staff on the podium. Two Quilboar warriors armored in black metal carried a large ironbound chest to his side, and pried it open. Khan Cur reached into the chest, and drew from it a large, multi-barreled rifle cast in the same black material. It was a weapon forged by the Iron Horde. The roars of goblin engines erupted throughout the camp. Shredders, choppers, and variously equipped siege engines rumbled into view - presenting a formidable armored column. Khan Cur continued his speech.
âOur army will be equipped with these weapons, paid for by our Great Khan. We will march on the Barrens, and onward; ALL will tremble before us! We shall conquer it all!â
The other Khans cheered loudly. Khan Kartek rubbed his chin, deep in thought. After several moments, the Taslagch Khan stepped forward.
âWeapons alone will not ensure our victory. We need to organize our clans and prepare ourselves before rushing blindly into war. The Horde and Alliance have bested us time and again by these means. If we are to rely on their weapons, we will have to fight like them.â
Khan Cur glared angrily at Khan Kartek. Before Cur could shout a rebuttal, the Quillboar tapped his shoulder and whispered words that only the Khan could hear. Khan Cur regained his composure, and shot a sinister smile towards Khan Kartek.
âI hoped one of you would say that. I am glad that it was you, Kartek Sunbreaker!â
The other Khans murmured a bit. Kartekâs fatherâs prowess in battle was legendary among the Centaur from the south, and he had once bested Khan Cur in battle. Khan Cur continued, his anger channeled into a maddened smile.
âIt is why, if you accept, I would make you my second. You would command a great army. Mighty Centaur, cunning Harpies, and resilient Quilboar would follow your orders⌠so long as you follow mine!â
Khan Kartek stared back at Khan Cur, deep in thought. The lands to the east would be rich with food, herbs, and all things that his clan needed desperately. Kartek knew, however, that the Tauren would put up a formidable resistance, especially when backed by the Horde. If the Horde could be distracted by a larger threat, they could be dismantled by this army of mongrels. The Alliance, while now at an armistice with the Horde, could be pushed into that role with proper motivation.
Kartek now had a plan. He raised his hammer high into the air.
âThen you will have me! I will aid the Bramblespear Horde!â
The cheers of the Centaur and even the small gathering of quilboar practically deafened the camp. Songs of war and conquest broke out as Centaur gathered Iron Horde armaments and goblin-engineered weapons of carnage. For now, they would prepare, and train, but soon, this army would march on the Barrens.
Knowing the Horde will surely respond to the worrisome Northwatch rebellion at their doorstep, Commander C'thonia Moonveil readiers the Kaldorei of Ashenvale for defense...and war.
(Story written by C'thonia Moonveil)
Click to read more about the Kaldorei response!
Darkshore, Bashalâaran
Slender hands thumbed through a series of reports, as a look of grim consternation formed upon the features of the Kaldorei Sister of the Moon. The battle-priestess turned through the pages once more as her eyes flickered across the words upon each, before the documents were stowed with care into her satchel.
Long limbs settled into measured contemplation from her perch amongst the trees and the night breezes stole against dark blue tresses to tease them just slightly into her gaze as she weighed the information presented before her.
The Alliance Coalition was coming to the Barrens to handle rising threats and rebellions, and she had no doubt that in their wake or perhaps even in response to such a large movement of Alliance troops in Kalimdor, the so called âNew Hordeâ would stir to action. And that would bring the Horde too close to the home the Kaldorei now fought to reclaim once more in full.
For a moment, irritation flickered briefly across pale violet hued features, and a finger touched the scar across her cheek. "The Barrens share a border with Ashenvale. I do nay need armies at our doorstep and if the Alliance moves in, the Horde will move too and in this they may get bold. There are passages between the Barrens and Our Forests that are not at all hard to traverse. And if they are already feeling inclined to go for each otherâs throats, what is to stop them from having the audacity to press towards my people while we are still rebuilding and lack our full merit?â
There was no answer of course, her lone companion was a snowy owl that bore feathers tinged with a dapple of blue and grey,
âAnd if the Horde takes advantage of this and in their audacity press into our home? Such can not be permitted or allowed. After all, tensions have been building for a while even with this so-called armistice; Northrendâs excursion, the clash in Stranglethorn, and this recent situation in Lordaeron. It would not surprise me at all if some foolâs took it into their minds to test us because they believe we are weak."
âNo, I can not idle and hold their hands in medical, but rather I must be afield and engaged to whatever comes. I can not count on others to do right by my kin, because they have failed too much of late. Lauding those who helped murder civilians as heroes, signing the armistice without justice, failing us time and again as my people continue to pay the price. I will not let the blood of my kin pay for more worthless half hearted measures. This time, I must ensure it. For the sake of my own, I must retake my Command."
For a moment her gaze resettled on the owl, before she began to draw back tresses of blue hair from her face and secure them into a series of ornate war-braids. For this she would need to once more don her armor, once more take up her bow and for the first time in a very long time, those who had thought her complacent would see those fangs.
âLet all those who would enter these woods without invitation or recourse be reminded once more of the Kaldorei. Not as the world thinks us to be, but as our true nature should be; that all shall fear to tread within our domain.â
Once again, Commander Câthonia Moonveil would don the mantle of war.
As the Horde begins to mobilize, General Krok'thar Warbringer looks to Ashenvale for the resources the Horde warmachine will need...
(Story written by Krok'thar)
Read more about the Horde pursuing resources here!
Durotar
The cold wind of the late night caused the rusted metal to creak like a living machine but the Warsong General did not budge, choosing to ignore the constant howling outside. The room was lit only by a singular candle but that was all that was needed for the Orc. He picked up an unopened report and broke the seal to take out the paper within.
He adjusted himself to sit up right as he began reading the report before him. Yellow eyes would glow in the darkness behind him, watching the Orcs every move. The animalistic gaze would study how the General managed to gently flip through the message gracefully despite his large size.
Many of the Horde plan to gather and head to the Barrens to fight off threats and prevent any of our territories from being lost. He gave a hefty sigh before setting the report down and grabbing a large paper that he would unfold to reveal a map of the North half of Kalimdor.
âThe Barrens? Again? Hmph⌠The Warband could always use extra target practice.â Only the response of a heavy huff would come from behind him. âAnd of course they want my assistance on the matter. They think we have stores of supplies just lying around waiting to be used⌠Why do they never take into account the little things?â
The creature behind him only shifted its weight, the sound of heavy claws scraping against the floor.
The General studied the map to recognize himself with every inch of the Barrens, down to the most irrelevant of details. Though his gaze made its way North upon the Map, like a Siren calling to him as his eyes now stared at Ashenvale. A sly smirk crept upon his green skin as he placed the map down on to the table, with that he stood up, lurking over the paper with his hands firmly placed on it.
âIf they want to mobilize so quickly, we will need to harvest resources as fast as possible. That means only Ashenvale could supply us with enough lumber to suffice for a task such as this. Its strategical location makes it the only place able to get the job done.â He gave a âHmmâ in thought. âI find it ironic I must return to my old stomping grounds. Hopefully the creatures of the forest keep their distance from the old Lumber camp and we can return to the Barrens in record time⌠though I doubt that it will be that easy.â
The creature perked up listening to the Warsong. âI am a wanted Orc in those woods but also the best equipped to take a group out there to come out in one piece. The wildlife there has a tendency to fire arrows first and mind their business later.â He gave a laugh that echoed through the dark room.
âFinally a challenge worth my time. Get ready to fly⌠We have work to do.â The beast behind him rose up and another set of eyes appeared as a beastial hum came from it.
For General KrokâThar Warbringer, The Drums of War sounded again.
Meanwhile, an old enemy, escaped from the conflict in Stranglethorn, is tasked with making her move in the Barrens by an unknown entity...and the Argent Crusade sees disturbing patterns.
(Story written by Mirchea)
Read more about those disturbing patterns here!
Plaguelands, late summer.
âAgain you have failed us.â
Had she the flesh on her face to approximate a wince, she would have. As it was, her skeletal form betrayed little about her emotional state - all the better when dealing with the being whose other-wordly voice reverberated around the room, its owner unseen even to her. Showing weakness here with this one would not do.
âInformation lost in Strangelthorn, assets fallen into enemy hands in Pandaria - weâve had to completely scrap immediate plans, cancel numerous experiments, euthanize entire groups of test subjects before we could procure any useful data,â the voice sneered. âAll. Because. Of. You. You and your failure, Thalessa Everbright.â
She remained silent, floating in eerie silence in the middle of the chamber. Frost spread along the stone beneath her ghastly form, branching up the walls - the only hint of her emotional state. âHow could I have known th-â
âENOUGH OF YOUR EXCUSES!â The voice roared, syllables ringing in the small room, a flare of lichfire blue runes flickering over the stones, briefly reacting with luminescence to the power in that voice. Power that drove her into a stoop, not of her own accord - her bare skull rang with the unspoken command to bow, to show her subservience, to beg for forgiveness. She managed to not do the latter, preserving some of her frayed dignity.
âYou are being taken off the plague and experimental projects,â the voice growled; she thought to protest, and quickly found such rebellion squashed before she could even form the words. âWe cannot afford another delay. Instead, you will serve as a distraction, Everbright. Draw them away, across the sea, until it is too late. I do not care how you do it, only that you continue to throw yourself at them again and again until I say to stop. Am I clear?â
The voice barbed at her brains like the claws of a particularly cruel cat. She hissed, struggling to not fight too much against it - it would only make things worse for her, this she knew from experience. âClear as crystal, my liege,â she ground out, and was finally allowed to straighten.
âAh, how the mighty have fallen. Go now, Everbright. Prove yourself still worthy of your station.â There was a pop and then a rushing pressure as the presence left her and the room, and then relief as the oppressive force was gone. Her boney shoulders sagged; once she had indeed been mighty and powerful, running her own operation after the fall of the Lich King deep in the Plaguelands, scheming and plotting. Then the sky had split, and new masters had comeâŚ
She shook her head. There was much work to be done and little time to do it in; she had contacts to reach out to, movements and shipments to organizeâŚand more dead to raise.
ACAS Resolute, Bilgewater Harbor, early November
He looked up as a low-ranking Crusader delivered the morningâs papers to his desk, giving the human man - barely more than a boy, really - a thankful nodbefore he scurried off to continue on his rounds to the Captains and Lieutenants. Grasping the rolled newsprint, he aimed to set it aside to peruse later, but a headline caught his eye.
âM y s t e r i o u s D i s a p p e a r a n c e s P l a g u e P o r t To w nâ
âSailors, merchants, townsfolk - even the pirates report crew going missing in the neutral port town of Ratchet, controlled by the Steamwheedle CartelâŚâ
A frown creased his face. It was odd that such an issue would reach the papers without first being solved - the Steamwheedle were quick to keep business going as usual and stamp out any problems before they could harm that. People going missing in a port down or major crossroads of commerce like Goldshire or, well, the Crossroads, wasnât exactly unheard of or unusual - unfortunate, but not surprising. The occasional snatching was enough of a non-event that it barely made the papers anymore, let alone a headline. His ears tipped back as he continued to read.
Numerous people missing - a minor trade baron, a bunch of sailors and caravaners, some bruisers, parts of pirate crews, even an entire family, child included, had gone missing in just the past two months. His jaw tightened, teeth audibly grinding, and a hand reached for his comms.
âCommander Shin, this is Commander KulâTherin. I need to speak with you as soon as you are free; there may be a situation brewing in RatchetâŚâ
The Saberon are not to be left out of things!
(Story written by Mellestra)
Read more about the Sabereon here!
The morning's sun was just beginning to kiss the fields of the Northern Barrens, and yet there was already plenty of activity. Foreigners to this world, the Saberon, had fled Draenor on the back of the Mag'har Orcs' own bid for escape. Since then, they've been forced to quickly adapt to this strange world, full of new threats. The savanna of the Barrens made for a quick and easy home for most, where many survivors banded together under the mighty Ridgecarver to form the Cliffmaul Tribe.
Ridgecarver himself was a former Shadowhunter of the Blackfang Tribe, who as a cub was told tales of how his kin were slaughtered by the Factions, all for small trinkets and rideable boars. This hatred fueled him as he battled his way through his tribe, gaining more veneration with each rival toppled. But soon he and his tribesmen would find the Lightbound at the entrance to Fangârila, and that was the beginning of the end.
His people were routed and hunted like beasts, their homes razed by the Light and their history torn asunder. Soon, the Horde returned from Azeroth to take the Magâhar, and Ridgecarver rallied those he could and followed behind them, alongside some Gronn and Botani. They continued to flee until they reached a land some found similar enough to the ones they left behind, the Barrens.
In the time since, the Cliffmaul have taken advantage of the lack of attention the Barrens received from the Factions, raiding caravans and pillaging settlements. They were still far from the glory days of their people, and while that caused some discontent, a larger schism was playing out within the tall grasses of the Northern Barrens.
Boneseer Sunclaw, a former Bloodmane, had also grown up hearing the tales of slaughter. However, he also heard of the tales of Leorajh and Goldmane, and grew to believe that remaining out of the way of the Factions, or even potentially aiding them, would better increase their racesâ survival.
Inspired particularly by the tales of Leorajh, Boneseer Sunclaw traveled across the Barrens and even partially beyond into neighboring territories, meditating in seclusion. When he returned to the Cliffmaul, the Elements answered his call, and he took on a large number of students to pass down both his newfound skills, and his more peaceful message.
Such differing ideologies would never last within the same tribe, and as such, as the sun continues to rise into the sky, Boneseer Sunclaw has gathered his followers, and prepares to find them a new home within the Northern Barrens. But not before a confrontation with his former Chieftain.
âCoward! Pride-Breaker! You dare think I will let this stand!?â The rage dripped from every word Ridgecarver spoke.
âIt is you who break the Pride, not I. Your ways will lead to our extinction, we will not have a part in that.â Boneseer Sunclaw stood tall and dignified, even as he snarled his response back. A clear message to both his current people and his former.
âYou speak of seclusion, peace with those who hunted our ancestors for sport! You disgrace their name with your ways!â The Chieftain held his spear tight, his posture lowering.
âThen let the ancestors decide our fate, today we are no longer Cliffmaul. Today, we are Sunclaw.â
The Boneseer turns to leave with his people, and as he does so, Ridgecarver lunges towards him at blinding speed. The two tumble to the ground and exchange a flurry of blows, the physical weaker Sunclaw taking the brunt of the exchange. Claws and teeth tore into flesh, leaving both Saberon coated in blood. However, where Ridgecarver dominated in physical strength, Sunclawâs power was drawn from elsewhere. Calling upon the power of the Earth, a massive fist rose and pulled Ridgecarver off of Sunclaw, restraining him.
As the newfound Sunclaw Tribe then vanished deeper into the savanna, Ridgecarverâs rage continued to build, even as he broke free from his bonds. He grabbed one of his Shadowhunters by the scruff of their neck.
âForm a hunting party and track them down! Slay any stragglers! We shall raze their lands, reclaim what supplies they took, and plant their heads on spikes!â
The Shadowhunter quickly gathered a small party and vanished into the tall grasses, leaving the Chieftain to reassert his authority over what remained of his people. This called for bold action, something to leave a mark on the Barrens and have his name whispered in fear by its inhabitantsâŚ
In the days that followed, such an opportunity would come to pass. A messenger from the race of boar-men that called this land home came with a simple offer. Join with them in their own Horde, and they would recognize the Cliffmaulâs territory once the Barrens had been reclaimed from its occupiers. With the opportunity for vengeance standing right before him, how could Ridgecarver refuse?
Eryssa witnesses some explosive action...
(Story written by Potter)
Read the beginning intro to this storyline here!
On the rear ramparts of Northwatch perched a night elven silhouette in the dark. Her gaze swam across the dark, vast sea, then traversed the fortress below.
âHe feels so distant lately,â she spoke softly, pausing her sharp focus.
ââWho does?â
âElgorn.â Her hand hanging from her knee pointed out its forefinger, as if that was any good for her company to pinpoint what she was looking at, and that figure was soon out of sight.
âOh.â Two quiet voices were up there, with one half busy slowly chewing a late dinner. A small piece of dry bread was offered over.
Eryssa shook her head, and her breathing was so quiet. âIâm not hungry.â
A pause, long enough for that second serving to be pushed in the opposite mouth.
âI feel anxious,â Eryssa continued, âSince we returned from scouting the other day. He doesnât look at me. Maybe I understand, though, because I felt somethingâwhen we were out. I felt so⌠angry.â
âAngry?â
âAt this, at everythingâ; she shrugged. âI donât know.â
A quiet silence rolled over, but it wasnât long before a sudden tumult blasted upward with vibrant flames from one of the structures below, the camps scrambling into motionâŚ
To be continuedâŚ
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