World of Warcraft®

The Tauren sat in silence by his campfire on one of the mountainous ridges that surrounded the Barrens. Just behind him heavy rainclouds from Mulgore struggled to make it through the mountain, doomed to fail and never give the Barrens the precious water it needed. Well... Maybe it needed less water now. The hunter considered the changes of the land below as he peered into the night, barely listening as the crackling fire and occasional gusts of wind conversed around him.

The clouds had effectively hidden away the moon and pitched the Barrens into darkness and from this height he could easily distinguish the various camps scattered below. Light blazed upward from Vendetta Point, and farther out he could guess the vague location of the Alliance's forward camp. Farther still he could see the large scar that now separated the Barrens, a simple dull light that seemed endless on the horizon. He turned his attention to the the smoldering ruins of Camp Taurajo and sighed, remembering how the town once stood bright.

"What was the purpose..." He spoke to out to no one in particular.

The sounds of footsteps behind him made him slowly turn, and he suddenly smiled when he saw the outline of Nightshade appear. "Back so soon? I hope you behaved." The lion growled softly and came to flop by the fire at his side, dropping off a small leather pouch. "Thank you." Dernes took the pouch and flipped it open, quickly reading over the two notices inside. He read the second slowly, nodding to himself. "So it is as we feared... They retaliated because Camp Forward was attacked" He sighed and shook his head, the lion baring his fangs in agreement. "We will need to find a safer way of keeping track of all the attacks."

They settled into a comfortable silence, until Dernes looked up to the hidden moon. "He should be here soon. I sent him to scout a bit more south as well."

As if on cue, they heard the sound of wings as something large landed near them, staying in the shadows. Dernes reached in his bags and pulled out some thin strips of jerky, "Any news?" he asked conversationally as he held out the jerky at arm's length. A large bird walked up closer and snatched the food away with an angry sound, just barely avoiding snapping at the Tauren's fingers. But there was nothing else. No note attached, and none of the other signs they were trained to recognize.

Dernes settled back a bit more comfortably, his shoulders relaxing visibly. "So another quiet night in the Barrens."

And maybe the last one he feared, for him, and everyone he had out there in the darkness keeping silent vigils over the land. He reached into his bag and pulled out his hearthstone and tapped it twice as he spoke out softly. "Sleep friends. We will need it for tomorrow."

"Hail Deathknight!" the general called to the unmistakable figure, mounted atop a dreadsteed. "Are you here to answer the warchief's call?"

The deathknight's reply sounded bored. "I have some time to kill and thought I'd drop by and gain some ground for you."

"Excellent! You will be given command of a squad. Our primary targets are..."

The deathknight interrupted. "Squad? No, no, no need to go so far as that. Just a banner affixed to a lance. That will be sufficient for my purpose."

It wasn't often that the general looked forward to seeing soldiers die, but in this case he smiled and shouted orders to his lieutenants. The banner was promptly supplied and the deathknight rode out from the camp.

Across the rift at Fort Triumph, another general received a report. "Sir! Enemy champion spotted on a hill to the south of the fort!"

The general looked up "Is it in artillery range?"

"No sir!"

"What's he doing?"

"Unknown sir, so far it seems he's just observing."

The general pondered. "Send a scout out there. Someone stealthy. Kill him and see if he's carrying orders."

"Yes sir!" Replied the lieutenant, running off to make the order happen.

An hour passed as Kiloaeda waited motionless atop the hill for the alliance to take notice of his presence. He saw the scout coming through stealth, giving no outward indication. The scout approached, observed him for a moment, preparing and silently drawing a poisoned blade from its sheath. There was a moment of absolute stillness, then a slight breeze caused the horde banner to flutter in the wind making a gentle rippling noise. The scout's lunge would have been completely masked even by such a slight sound, but the blade never connected with its target. Instead, the deathknight shifted his lance arm ever-so-slightly, causing the pointed tip of the lance to impede the scout's lunge. The subtle attack impaled the ambusher through one leg, and in a fluid motion, the deathknight turned in his saddle, dismounted, and drove the lance deep into the ground.

The scout cried out in pain, and shielded his head with his arms, waiting for the deathblow. When none came, he uncovered his head and looked around. The deathknight was already gone. He pulled at the lance, but it wouldn't budge. Rapidly losing blood, he began shouting for help.

Back at the horde camp with the sun setting over the barrens, the deathknight rode at an idle pace to the general's tent.

"You return alive!" The general laughed. "Tell me deathknight, what new ground does the horde hold?"

"The hill to the south. The one with the banner on it."

"Hill to the south?" The general peered out to the distance, unable to make anything out at first, but finally noticing the shape of the fluttering banner. "Fool elf! That hill doesn't put the fort in range for our catapaults! It's completely outsdie of the.."

The orc flew through the air toward the deathknight losing his great axe and a boot. He was caught in a vicelike plate-clad grip. "Do not take for granted my aid or good graces, general. I have taken ground as promised. Whether or not you are able to use it to your tactical advantage is on you." With that, the deathknight tossed the orc aside and rode off.

"General, an alliance force has left the fort. They head for our banner on the elf's hill!"

The general limped over to his axe and boot, growling. "We will not let them dishonor our flag, nor will we give up an inch of ground! Dispatch a rider to the warlord! Inform him of this elf's insolence and stupidity! Then gather my command... I march for the south hill at once!"

Alliance patrols had heard the scout's cries for help, and a rescue party was dispatched. From the rise and fall of the scout's chest, they could see he still lived. From the spreading pool of blood around him, they could see he would not live much longer without aid. A paladin dismounted and immediately began channeling the power of the light to a healing spell. From out of the gloom a thrown axe caught him, sending him tumbling backward. A human shouted "Ambush!" And an orcish voice replied "For the warchief!" The battle was joined.

Farther north in the barrens on the dirt highroad to the Crossroads, the orcish messenger was ripped from his mount and carried off into the sky in the talons of a black drake. Kiloaeda touched his mount down, relieving the messenger of his satchel then waving a hand to the dragon. "Devour it." Taking an ink set from his own bag, he made some modifications to the general's memo, then whistled for his dreadsteed and rode on toward the Crossroads.

At the crossroads, the deathknight dismounted and gave the message to a grunt before riding off south again. The grunt entered the warlord's tent. "A message from the southern forces Warlord!"

The Warlord scanned the note.
For the glory of the horde, have captured Mankirk's hill, engaging Alliance Forces. Request additional forces.

The warlord looked around at his aides, puzzled. "Where is Mankirk's Hill?"

The battle raged through the night until the dawn broke. The horde's reinforcements had not arrived and wave after wave of alliance troops had been spent attempting its capture, until the Alliance would spare no more forces for an objective with no strategic value. A figure floated down from the sky, glanced around and crouched over one of the fallen.

"So the rumors are true."

The figure sprang up in surprise, looking round and spreading its wings. The Val'kyr's expression changed momentarily to one of surprise, but as it tried to speak it found its voice strangled from it.

Kiloaeda unsheathed his sword and held it extended toward the Val'kyr. "The king would not be pleased to know of his servants working for his enemies. Death is too good for you, and I suppose I owe you for before. This will suffice." The runes on the blade glowed momentarily, and the form of the Val'kyr shimmered and vanished. The air rushed in around where the creature had been a moment before, stirring the wind and letting out a thunder-like peal.

"What... treason is this?" Rasped the general as he pushed himself to his feet with the help of his axe. Covered in wounds with several arrows protruding from his arms and chest, he still managed to take a fighting stance.

The deathknight was genuinely surprised, but quickly changed his expression to one of boredom. "Oh, you're still alive? I needed to confirm something. A rumor I'd heard. For my purpose, I needed a great deal of bodies that had died valorously. They are drawn to it, you see?"

"My soldiers... their deaths..."

The deathknight laughed. "Oh please. Dying is what orcs are for." With a roar of rage, the general hurled the greataxe with all his remaining strength. The deathknight caught the blade from the air, looked around momentarily, then tossed it into the still form of the alliance commander. "See here? I've made your death look heroic. Had you lived a thousand years you would not be remembered so well. Your kind relish death. They embrace it. Without killing and dying, you barbarians would be so utterly lost, you'd have to take up... I don't know, being useful to the world? And that will never happen. So be a sport and get on with it."

"Are you... trying... to talk me to death?" The general could feel his strength leaving him. He slumped back to the ground. "The warchief will avenge us on your entire... cowardly... race..."

Kiloaeda sneered. "Now you've gone and hurt my feelings." The ground around the general trembled, and bloodworms began to pour out from the earth. The deathknight turned to go commanding them "Leave nothing." as he rode off. The bloodworms, hecklefangs and carrion birds needed no further invitation.

Black Powder and Blood.

It was the greatest combination of smells the goblin would ever know. And it was exactly what his armor smelt like after a satisfying battle across the Barrens torn landscape.
He sat in the end of catapult, watching the volley of canon balls and massive bolts fly between the two opposing forts. It was a thing of beauty, war. So simplistic and yet so complex. Killing in itself was so easy, but there was so many ways to execute the task.
But perhaps his favorite part about it all was examining the body after the fact. It was like the canvas for his art form- the corpse of his foes marked by burns or left with large caliber holes in their torsos.

He was going to have fun in the Southern Kalimdor sun...

Lithune took off her protective helmet and sighed, glancing over the wreckage of the days events. Clenching her holy symbol tightly, she walks through the remains of Camp Turajo.

"For Turajo" She cried a few times that day, before bringing her hammer down on an unsuspecting alliance guards head. "For the Horde" as she helped drive the alliance back toward Fort Triumph.

The walk to Desolation Hold was uneventful, but it didn't stop her from on multiple occasions spinning around and hitting nothing but air. The air was thick with tension, as both sides in this conflict waited for the next move.

The day had started to take it's toll on her however. As she walked through Desolation Hold, tending to the wounded and helping to bless the dead she stared back across the battlescar at Fort Triumph. It had started. The hornets nest had been stirred, and there was no turning back now.

She would then spend the next 18 hours in silent meditation asking An'she for guidance and her blessing once again.

“You did WHAT?!”

The Orc’s exclamation of surprise turned into a stern, glaring look. Kickfeather wasn’t sure what kind of response she expected when the Commander of Desolation Hold called her into the command tower after she and her companions had swooped in to help defend against the small group of Alliance that had come flying over their walls. Though few, these Alliance were strong and charged in with purpose and the Orc grunts were not prepared for it. Luckily, Kickfeather and the others were still nearby and came to help. He was sincerely grateful for that until she explained why such an attack was expected.

These Pinkies had been watching their movements all night, from the time Kickfeather's group were facing each other off in test sparrings by the Great Wall in Mulgore to when they went south so she could show those she was with the road in Dustwallow that the Alliance were building. Aware that they were being watched tonight both excited her and made her wary. In one sense, it was good to know that word had been spreading about what they wanted to do. But at the same time, it made her unusually cautious and at first she wasn’t going to make any noise in the Barrens that evening because of it.

But then she threw caution to the wind hearing Lithune say, “What does it matter?” And she knew she was right. They had made at least some in the Alliance turn their heads. Now it was time to really show them that they meant business. And so, with some fifteen strong, they made their way past the walls of Fort Triumph and faced off any who dared. Like the orcs at Desolation Hold, they were not expecting any such attack. But it was robust enough to get a retaliatory response that night and so it was why they were there by necessity to help the orcs out. It seemed the Commander wasn’t too happy with the explanation.

“Do you know what you’ve done?” the orc asked through clenched teeth.

“Your job?” Kickfeather responded bluntly. Her honesty wasn’t always spoken with the best respect. “We’re here to drive the Alliance out of the Barrens, not hide behind a wall on an anthill dreaming of reinforcements.”

The Commander’s face reddened in anger and his body bristled as he stepped forward, his hand reaching over to grip his axe. “You little PUP. . . .!”

The sounds of battle erupted outside, the guards along the wall yelling out in alarm. The Commander stepped away from Kickfeather and headed to the window to see what was happening. A larger force of Alliance had arrived and they were already past the gate and well into the Hold. The Orc soldiers and Kickfeather’s band standing side by side in battle.

“Let me fight them or kill me? I’d rather fight them. How about you?”

The Orc growled at Kickfeather’s statement. But he didn’t turn to her and he started barking orders to those within earshot. Kickfeather took that as her cue to leave him and join the fight.

“Drive them off!” Kickfeather ordered after they’d pushed the surviving Alliance forces out of the Hold. They were gathering outside along the hills and she wouldn’t let them have another chance to try again. They stormed out of the gate, battle cries ringing through the air, tearing them down without mercy until the last of them that remained retreated back over the trench scarring the middle of the Southern Barrens.

She stood on the precipice watching them run. The battle was over, they would not give chase or make another attack on their fort again tonight. She turned to look back at Desolation Hold and saw the Commander standing there at the gate watching her. She smiled with grim satisfaction and proudly thanked those who had fought with her that night. They had shown their strength and made their point. To both sides.

Time to plan and hope the next battles would be just as fruitful, she thought to herself as she then turned to help ensure the wounded and the dead were tended too.

The AAMS isn't owning up to the attacks.... Lithune snorted angerly into her hearthstone

Standing in the middle of Desolation Hold, walking the blood and dirt covered paths where just a week ago fighting was the only thing on the agenda "We don't believe that she attacked the horde" staring at the newly marked graves and the sullen look upon the remaining guards faces. "We are commited to non-violence and neutrality and did nothing wrong"

It was all too much, tensions were high as it was. Lithune grabbed at her hammer and marched slowly towards the alliance base of Fort Triumph

"She didn't know she would get involved in the fighting"
"She is not as seasoned as others"
"She was looking for her boss"

Lithune flicked off her hearthstone and yelled towards the Alliance grunts who now saw her coming "I'm just lookin for my boss! Have you seen her? I got a picture here for ya to see"

Lithune then brought her hammer down upon the guards head, knocking him out cold. The alarms sounded, the battle horns blew, and Lithune was beset by wave after wave of guards, with obvious fear in their eyes.

1.....2.....3, She counted off as guard after guard was knocked unconcious. One guard for every guard slain that day with the help of the AAMS courier. A total of 12 guards lay at her feet, still very much alive. She picked up the body of the one with the most markings and rifled through his pockets, finding command post notes and tactical papers.

Lithune then mounted her Wyvern and flew back to Desolation Hold, dropping the prisoner off and shouting back across the battlescar.

"Next time an AAMS member attacks this fort, I won't be using a blunt hammer!"

The orc sat in the battlement of Desolation Hold and watched.

He watched the occasional human spy slip from the shadows only to be struck down by the orc guards.

He watched the carrion birds circling above the freshly-dug Horde graves.

He watched the bonfires that held the bones of the humans who had fallen trying to assault the Hold.

Mostly, he watched the road in the distance. The Alliance would be back, and he'd be there to raise the alarm and to send them away.

He scowled. The fighting in the Southern Barrens had been at a standstill for months. Naturally, there had been countless small skirmishes, but the real fighting hadn't started back up until Red Earth and her Ishnu had started their trouble.

The Horde was already fighting a war with too many fronts. The stalemate in the Barrens had meant the majority of the troops could be stationed elsewhere, leaving just enough soldiers to man the fort.

And now the Ishnu had started this crusade: worrying and striking out at the Alliance forces in the area. They were like children who didn't know better, poking at a hornet nest.

Less than a week ago, their poking had stirred up some angry Alliance, who, in turn, had taken it upon themselves to strike out at Desolation Hold. Oskor had missed the attacks that had started this conflict, but he'd been there to see the consequences of the Ishnu's actions.

He had helped drive the Alliance away, but the Horde had lost nearly a troop of loyal, hard-working men--soldiers and civilians. Only a few of the Horde members who had been involved in the fight even bothered to stay to help him and Llejna tend the wounded and bury the bodies.

Yet more wailing I see. You brought this on yourselves, cattle. You chose to ally with the Forsaken, therefore you shall share their fate. This is but a taste of the vengeance to come.

Make peace with your Earthmother. You shall soon be under the earth.

Hmm..the young pup thinks it can admonish it's betters. Hmm. Ah ah ah ha ah ha.

Yes. DO continue little pup.

We are not of an age of the Mighty Killers of Ishnu Por Ah, but we do our parts...yes. Other people's parts to.

Perhaps we should find you and do YOUR parts.

Dearest Ishnu Por Ah. You are not dead, but we approve of you anyway. Yes. Ah haha ah ha. Kill. Kill often, kill more, kill wantonly. Bleed them all. They deserve it.

((posted in wrong thread, sorry))

“I don’t have plans to attack any specific target right just yet. Though Lithune, Plainswander and a few others have been concentrating on the forts on their own,” Kickfeather informed her sister. “Instead, I plan on take folks patrolling the Barrens roads and hunting trails in a few days. Let any Pinkies know that it ain’t just the forts that are our concern. It’s all the Barrens. We see any of them on the roads, we’ll take care of ‘em.”

“Any?” Red Earth asked, a concerned twist in her brow.

Kickfeather pursed her lips. “Okay. Any ARMED or painted Pinkies. And don’t keep looking at me like that! I can tell the difference between a Pinkie gnome and a kid!”

Red Earth chuckled at the outburst and Kickfeather’s mind eased. If it weren’t for the fact that it was her sister, she’d be mad at the accusation and take far more offense. But she knew it was just one sibling looking out for the other.

“When? And anything else planned while you patrol?”

“Thursday most likely. And, yeah, we’ll probably stop by some of the smaller camps and see how they’re doin’.”

Red Earth nodded. “Find out if they need any supplies. We’ll provide what we can. Also want you to do one other thing. Scout the area for good places for us to establish as our own camps in the Barrens. We shouldn’t be depending on retreats to Horde holds all the time. It’s causing confusion. And if things don’t work out may lead to more resentment from the orcs than I’m willing to deal with.”

Kickfeather huffed. “Can’t help it if the Pinkies can’t tell the difference between a Horde grunt and a dog soldier. I’m surprised they didn’t try tearing Hamuul Runetotem apart when they were told to go do whatever he says. All his time in Thunder Bluff helping train the Horde and now he’s okay? Why’d Por Ah even give ‘em eyes. They don’t’ use ‘em. Who the Fel even knows what they use? ‘Cause if it’s their brains. . .you think MINE’S all over the place and hard as a rock!”

“Are you done?”

“Yeah. . . .ooh, also, if I can get an engineer or two, we might do some recon to start planning on where to place the bombs.”

“Sounds like you have everything well in hand.”

“Yep! No problem my side. Sorry we’re causing you all the trouble.”

“No. No trouble. Expected. Besides, I’d hate to see you try and write these letters.” Red Earth looked down at the small stack of parchment she now had lying before her on the mat she slept on when she stayed at the lodge.

“Liked it better when it was just centaur and quillboar. They didn’t need to read stuff to understand who the Fel was bashing their heads in.”

((The clues are all there, the stage is set. If any wish for further details and an invite they can contact Kickfeather or Redearth IC or OOC))

" Boss! There is a war going on!" Assistant number one said.
" You dope there is a war going on every where. Why do you think my 'boost it' potion has
been making our top ten." Grindell sighed.
"But the barrens and that big Tauren Dame with the color name, and another big Tauren Guy, Im telling you boss this is something we gotta be a part of."
Grindell stopped working on his latest creation. He turned to Assistant number one. Grindell could see the goblin was serious.
" All right all right, goes to the usual places and talk to the usuals peoples and get the complete low down. It might be a good time to introduce my newest potion, the ever sheeper. Bah to those plagues, these stuff got entertainment value as well as usefulness." Grindell said as a loud pop came from behind and Grindell was enveloped in smoke. Assistant number one stared in awe as the smoke cleared and a sheep stood where the boss had just an instant ago.
" What you staring at get to the information getting" the sheep said. Off number one went leaving Grindell. " Sheesh, what a boss has to do to make a cartel work." Grindell semi-bleated.

He had been given one command by his master. "Corrupt the Incorruptible". Now, several years later, he gave thanks at the end of every day that it had been the only command, since it had proven difficult to accomplish. But now, there was a seed of hope. War had a way of blurring the edges of even the most strictly defined morals. Once a seed of corruption had planted itself in a heart, the smallest thing could make it's roots spring forth and make it impossible to totally remove. Planting the seed, however, is the hardest part.

So when the various goblin newspapers began reporting on the rising skirmishes with Tauren in the Barrens, he had finally seen an opportunity. That chance had grown stronger when that AAMS agent became entangled. Nothing started an individual down the path to corruption like the opportunity to make war in the name of righteousness. Simple skirmishes wouldn't be enough, however; only open and unconditional war would work.

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

The meeting with the local supervisor for the Venture Trading Co. had gone well. They did owe Temperius, after all, for the loss of value of his investments into their organization, and hiding a human and some specially marked barrels among their workers was easy enough. Given the Tauren's distaste for their work, the various bosses in charge of the Venture Co.'s mine had long established a secret way to bring in fresh workers and supplies for their mines, even after the palisade had gone up across the main road in.

The contents of the barrels had been easy to manufacture as well. King Varian's assault on the Apothecary Putress had given Temperius a unique opportunity to borrow some of the R.A.S.'s notes and a sample of one of their earlier attempts at the Blight. Recently unemployed chemists from the Kaja'Cola Co. had been more than happy to work on the formula, turning it from an aerosol to a liquid poison. They were somewhat less than happy to be the first subjects it was tested on, but one couldn't expect everything in life. It wouldn't be nearly as lethal when diluted by a large volume of water, and would be cleansed shortly after discovery by the Tauren's magics, but it would kill fish and small animals, while making larger ones such as Tauren violently sick.

His agent was now nestled in the mountains of Mulgore, in place for when the right opportunity presented itself. The act, while likely to be unsuccessful in killing anyone besides the local wildlife, would be blamed on the Alliance forces the Tauren were fighting with, and would cause some of the more hotblooded Tauren to retaliate, and it would spiral from there. Even if his agent was stopped, it wouldn't matter, as the agent's body had been had been implanted with a sealed sac inside of him that would would unleash the undiluted version of the poison gas when pierced, killing the individuals responsible for his agent's death.

(a notice, nailed to the barricade between Mulgore and the Barrens)

To: The Tauren, whining about the injustice done to them

From: Their victims.

Still you cry endless tears over the state of the Barrens. This was a war of your own making. You attacked a neutral nation that had no care for the Alliance or the Horde, who would happily remain out of your affairs. You attacked with plague, in the aim of wiping the Gilnean people from the face of the world. You then attacked the Kaldorei in Ashenvale, leaving piles of bodies next to the sundered trees, the land blackened with the fires of your lumber mills. Despite your claims to the contrary, you seek to exterminate the Alliance.

You have failed.

You will continue to Fail. You couldn't even manage to exterminate the Gilneans after they retook their city and you set to plague it-you have an empty victory, with no bodies for your Lich Queen to raise for her army.

But when the war comes to your own door, you cry out to your Earthmother, 'why us, what did we do to deserve this?"

You started this war.

You may say 'but that wasn't us, that was the Forsaken who attacked you, it was the Orcs in Ashenvale'

You are the Horde.

You are responsible for the thousands of lives lost. you , yes you Shu'halo are responsible for the oozes slithering around Southshore, that used to be people. You are responsible for the plague clouds over the moors of Gilneas. Visit Hillsbrad, or the gates of Gilneas. Those large carts with oozing gas manned by the Forsaken are not perfume. You , yes you in Thunder Bluff are responsible. Because you are of the Horde. The Horde did this. therefore you did this.

You can thank the Earthmother that we are not like you. We will not send plague into your cities, to poison your young. We will not strike down your elders who have no hope of defending themselves. But should you pick up arms against us, you will die.

Consider yourselves warned.


Reginald Smythe,
Gilnean Liberty Brigade


((who Ironically, if he knew of the poison gas plot, would do everything he could to stop it. alas! :D ))

Patience. An opportunity will present itself.

Raellus had been muttering that to himself the last three days straight. The workers hearing him all thought he was crazy. Maybe he was. He was dead, after all, it seemed to be normal among those undead who called themselves The Forsaken to be crazy.

He shook his head. It didn't matter. His master had given him a task to carry out. Focus on his duty. Everything else was meaningless and a waste. His master wanted the waters of Mulgore poisoned. Raellus had been given the tools to do the task, had even been given a final method to guarantee the job was completed.

Then he heard it. War horns. He could faintly hear it in the distance. Now, do it now, this is what you were waiting for! He leapt down the mountain, half-sliding down the rocky slope, summoning his steed at the bottom. He couldn't fly for this, unfortunately, the barrels were too heavy for his gryphon. Riding across the plain, he stopped at each of the wells, pouring a barrel's contents into each.

One more barrel, one more target. The natives called in Stonebull Lake, it was the largest water source in this area. It was even easier to poison than the wells were, just a matter of dumping the barrel in the middle of the lake.

Raellus looked around. Not a soul had spotted him in his mission. Wait, what's that? Raellus squinted his eyes at the village. Two more wells in the village? But, I'm out of barrels? Have I failed? For the first time during this unseen assault, Raellus felt a tinge of anger, anger at the thought of failure in his duty. I'll have to do it myself.

Raellus swam to shore, and ran to the first well, summoning his powers of disease, and blighting the well. It wouldn't be as effective as the poison, but it would have to do. The Tauren had spotted him though, and raised the alarm. He dashed to the next well, just as a bullet ripped through his chest. The trap inside his body began to leak out. He used it to augment his spell, and blighted the last well. Raellus fought free of the guards, and began to flee, striking down Tauren who got in his way.

Suddenly he felt an axe slam into his chest, and a set of claws rake down his back. The poison began spraying out in a mist around him, but Raellus had been weakened from the fight with the guards, and the Orc's final strike brought him down. At least, I finished my mission.

((photo evidence that I was actually there >_>))
http://img846.imageshack.us/img846/4258/wowscrnshot040411220832.jpg
http://img860.imageshack.us/img860/5746/wowscrnshot040411220950.jpg
http://img857.imageshack.us/img857/3032/wowscrnshot040411221240.jpg
http://img811.imageshack.us/img811/7586/wowscrnshot040411221414.jpg
http://img857.imageshack.us/img857/885/wowscrnshot040411221512.jpg
http://img807.imageshack.us/img807/4940/wowscrnshot040411221552.jpg

((Ignore me!))

A note, posted to the wall just below the one issued by the Gilnean Liberty Brigade. It seems as if it was an edited copy of the Worgen's letter.

To: The Worgen, whining about the injustice done to them

From: Those they turned their backs to.

Still you cry endless tears over the state of Gilneas. This was a war of your own making. You hid behind your wall, abandoning your own race and allied nations, who would have happily aided you had you asked. You left them to suffer the Plague, the injustices of the Scourge while you prospered. You then turned against your own people, fighting a civil war ended only by a curse. Despite your claims to the contrary, you care nothing for any alliances.

You have failed.

You will continue to Fail. You couldn't even manage to protect Gilneas after you cut it off from the rest of the world. Half your population is dead or now serving those you betrayed, the other half cursed. You may have survived, but without a city to return to.

But when karma comes to your door, you cry out to the Forsaken, 'why us, what did we do to deserve this?"

You started this war.

You may say 'but that wasn't us, that was the Scourge who attacked you, it was Arthas in Lordaeron."

You were human.

You are responsible for the thousands of lives lost. You , yes you Worgen are responsible for the ghouls roaming around Tirisfal, that used to be people. You are responsible for the corrupted life spreading across the Plaguelands. Visit Plaguewood, or Corrin's Crossing. Those were people you abandoned. You , yes you hiding in Darnasssus, scurrying in the alleys of Stormwind are responsible. Because you did nothing. You abandoned us to the Scourge, and therefore you share their blame.

You can thank your King that we are not like you. We will send plague into your cities, to poison your young. We will strike down your elders who have no hope of defending themselves. Even if you lay down your arms, you will die. We will do to you what they did to us.

Consider yourselves warned.


Your former brothers and sisters in the Forsaken.