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The rest of her evening was spent in quiet contemplation, interrupted only by a sudden break of violence on the remains of Camp Taurajo where people had gathered after the AAMS’s farce of peace. When it was over she almost felt more than justified over the loss she had dealt to the Alliance earlier that night.

Earlier that evening she stood triumphant, on the eastern edge of the Battle Scar which tore across the valley of the Southern Barrens. Behind her was Desolation Hold, before her Fort Triumph. And alongside her, her Ishnu brethren and other members of the Horde, surrounding what remained of the Alliance who had attacked the Barrens in full force that day.

A surprise attack on the Horde’s multiple camps and fortifications, Red Earth had gone instead of her sister when the calls of alarm sounded. Kickfeather had been sent to bed, taken ill with Brother Mishkwaki to watch vigil over her to make sure she did not sneak away. He was probably the only one who could do so alone. When she arrived she had offered herself up first as a healer, knowing full well that at times such was needed more than a warrior.

It became obvious the Alliance were there to make a very bold statement. And looking upon their faces and hearing their jeering laughter as they held onto Vendetta Point while the Horde and their aliies scrambled to drive them out, Red Earth’s inner fire, already burning steadily from her recent verbal battles with Andelia of the AAMS, grew hotter and hotter. These Alliance, some familiar of face, some not, were laughing at them. Thinking they had an easy victory, thinking them weak. That was why they were in the Barrens. They saw these lands and the people on it as weak.

When they had moved to Desolation Hold, there was no turning back. Red Earth, infuriated, dropped her visage of protection and ripped fire from the air and lightning from the sky, burning them down any Alliance she could and with the rest pushing them out of the stronghold . Across the scarred land, back to their stone walls. She wanted to drive them back across the ocean if she could.

“Do not let them cross back over!”

They would have nothing, she decided. And angrily threw the fury of the elements upon them. They would not laugh at them anymore tonight. They would not take what was not theirs. And they would pay for their transgressions. The fighting was fierce. Red Earth was determined to show them they did not belong here. Back and forth they fought until finally the Ishnu and the Horde overwhelmed them, leaving the few of them left standing at their mercy.

Before her stood Ehlina. Looking upon her, defeated, the words she had spoken to Red Earth a week before rang in her head. Ehlina had said she sympathized with why they fought against the Alliance in the Barrens, but in the greater war she saw the necessity for the Alliance movements there. In the end, the Barrens were nothing but a square on a chessboard to her. The sympathies of this paladin whom she had held respect and honor for these many years knowing her meant nothing now. Remembering those words, the fire that burned within her was stoked with such rage.

Her hands rose up and she shouted to the sky. There was nothing that could stop the great white fire that Red Earth tore from the sky, took into her hands, and stepping forward pushed it full force upon the paladin. Her eyes watched Ehlina’s as the searing bolt of lightning pierced through her armor and rended bone and flesh. In that painful and fleeting moment, there was terrible understanding. Ehlina fell to the ground, reaching over her body in agony for the arm that was no longer there.

“Get out of our Barrens!” Red Earth roared once more and walked away without another word.

No one followed, both the Alliance and the Horde, too shocked or incapable to know what to do that moment.

Now Red Earth sat quietly, by her sister's sleeping form, holding back tears and wondering what she would think of her when she heard what she had done.

((Thanks all for coming out. The war game to help determine a winner of the battles yesterday evening were alot of fun. ^^ Sorry, about the delayed post. All the after hours RP and PvPing sorta sucked up my time and just coudln't finish this morning. But better late then never!))

The battle was as brutal as it was spectacular. A symphony of steel and elemental fury erupted all around as the forces of the Horde and Alliance collided with one another in open warfare in the land known as the barrens.

Each group giving a good as they got. The Alliance forces looked to protect and defend their outposts. The Horde wanting to help the Tauren protect their sacred lands. The minor skirmishes over the last several weeks has just been a minor lead up to the hell that was currently all around her.

She spread both her arms out wide and let the healing Light spread out before her to mend the injuries of two of the alliance warriors before her. That's when her gaze caught a glimpse of a female tauren doing much the same as she was.

Ehlina whispered "Red Earth"

She took a breath and pulled out her mace from her side and her shield from her back and ran full sprint toward the Ishnu leader. She knew taking out the shaman would be a moral blow to the horde forces and at the moment the Alliance could take every advantage it could get.

As she started getting closer she could see the Alliance line breaking, the horde forcing their way though. She could hear the gut wrenching cries of pain from her allies being cut down. She tried to summon the Light and mend their broken forms and soothe their burnt bodies but it was just to much. The Horde were turning the tide and there was nothing that could be done.

With her energy spent Ehlina fell to her knees. A moment later the tall form of Red Earth stood before Ehlina. The shaman's eyes crackled with rage and lighting.

Ehlina looked up "Just do it you over grown co . . . "

The whole world went brilliantly and painfully white for a few seconds and the paladin found herself writing on the ground with her right arm gone.


Ehlina gasped as she bolted up right in her bed, her left hand instantly reaching out an cupping the stub that had once been her right arm. It was the same dream for the last few days. Reliving that moment over and over. She forced herself to take a few deep breaths.

She hadn't ever thought she'd ever be forced to retire from combat. Always assumed that she would die there. Now she was without her sword arm, she had had to re-evaluate her life. Combat now would just be suicide. Perhaps the loss of her arm had been the Light's way of telling her that her time was over.

She looked over at her daughter's sleeping form and allowed herself a smile. Maybe everything does work out for the best she though to herself before laying back down.

Everyone was talking about the battle. Everyone except the guy in the corner who was having an in depth, and most likely, enlightening conversation with his succubus who slapped her near naked rear for the tenth time. Oddly enough, it probably was the most intelligent discussion in the inn.

Gentyl sat at the table drilling her fingers and listening to someone she didn't even know telling her how stupid she was. The man had heard about Pia going to Camp T and was expressing his opinion about where Pia belonged. It apparently had not been at the ruins.

"I tried to set up a peace talk with Red Earth," Gentyl said when he stopped long enough to catch his breath. "That didn't work out. I thought showing an act of good faith and helping the Tauren restore some of the area might speak louder than words anyway."

"Them cows don't want you there. The alliance don't want you there, but you trot your prissy little ass down there and pass out flowers anyway."

She took another sip of coffee. "Actually, I passed out marshmallows after we did what we could to clean up the lodge as one of the horde asked us to do through the translator. I wanted to help bury the dead, but Cray said we should leave that to their people."

"So you sat around roasting marshmallows and singing. Bah! Worthless the whole lot of yeh. Melt that plate down and see if someone can build you a spine."

The waiter brought her food over and set it down. It wasn't smoke caribou, but the roast beef looked pretty darned good. She took a bit and chewed slowly, closing her eyes in enjoyment. "You're not the first to say that. I think Vargas mentioned something about how spineless we were for wanting to try and talk to Plains and see if we could avoid a full-blown war. Next insult please."

He waved his hand in the air and shoved his chair backwards. She waited for someone else to sit down and vent, but instead Vasilia walked in and joined her. "Hey, Vasilia, would you like something to eat?"

She set her messenger pouch on the table. "No, maybe just a glass of milk. I'm too upset to eat."

"More bad news?"

"Yes, apparently the horde are blaming us for the attacks last night."

Gentyl set her fork down. "They're blaming you?"

Vasilia looked miserable. Even her horns drooped. "Yes, they don't think it was a coincidence we planned the rebuilding on the same night as the attack. I guess they think it was a decoy."

"So Vargas plans this massive attack and pulls in every army she can find. She hits horde cities and screams burn them to the ground. She, the one who started this fight, loses an arm, so Lluch goes back to exact revenge and wipes out the horde at Camp T and AAMS gets the credit for this battle campaign."

Vasilia nodded.

Gentyl took another bite. "Ehlina's going to be shooting flames for someone else getting the credit for her raid and I have to admit it was pretty well executed up until Cyrus hit Camp T. Why on earth did they have to hit there?"

Vasilia just shrugged.

"Well, I don't think Pia will return for another rebuilding if AAMS does try. I think Lluch pretty much screwed any chance of that succeeding now and it had a narrow one to begin with."

((For those crossing the ooc and ic lines. Aeldgyth didn't know about Ehlina's raid until the night before if I remember correctly. I was in alliance chat when Aeld announced the event and Ehlina made an apology for the raid that had been in the works and was going to take place at the same time.))

Anya ignored the heat of the forge as she watched her friend and live-in blacksmith repair her armor. "Anya, what did you do to it this time," the other elf asked, glancing up from the work for a moment and staring with brightly glowing blue eyes.

"Joined with the Ishnu and Oskor's folk to boot the Alliance out of the Barrens." the paladin replied, drawing a slight shake of the head from the other.

"You're still hurt."

"I'll live, Petra," was the reply, Anya wincing as she coughed at the smoke.

"That rib is still broken."

Anya glared at Petra for a moment and shrugged lightly. "Jericho and Turncutt are good at their jobs."

Petra let out a sigh and moved Anya's breastplate to a dummy, carefully hanging the armor. The death knight scowled softly as she picked up one of the leg plates, clucking her tongue at the open rent in the metal. "I suppose you're just going to go out and do it again tomorrow."

"Of course." Anya sat down carefully. "The little Eredar wench sent her goonsquad after us at Taurajo again. I'm half tempted to just give Farinna the go-ahead to hunt her down regardless of where she hides."

The ringing sound of a hammer forcing armor plating back into place filled the smithy. "Have you considered it might just be bad timing on everyone's part?"

"Considered and rejected." Anya coughed again. "The wench's little boyfriend was proof enough of that."

Petra shook her head for a moment. "Do what you feel is best, Anya. Just be careful, alright? Neither myself nor Ayndais want to explain to Bri one day why you or Aunty Farinna never came home."

Frowning, Anya pushed herself up. "I'll mind myself, Petra. But you know I can't just stand idly by." The paladin paused for a moment. "I'll be back when the armor's ready. Going to go see about the rib in the meantime."

The Draenei had shadowed eyes. He hadn't been sleeping.

"Cyrus, you look like crap, brother," Narnicka spoke, stepping into the dimly lit Blue Recluse tavern. "Don't tell me you still feel like a traitor."

Cyrus's arms had been folded, his head hanging, but those eyes were showing he hadn't slept in probably days. "Hard not to," He spoke quietly, staring intently at a flagon of mead he knew he wasn't going to get around to. "It's hard to attack the lands you grew up in, Narn, no matter how pathetic the inhabitants have become. I just hope this works. If not, I'm in for an earful from Vasilia. She's gotta be beside herself after I led that attack on Camp Taurajo."

Narnicka took a seat across from Cyrus, shaking his head. "You know this can't work. You can't strong-arm the Horde into peace. They just fight harder. *You* of all people should know that." Glancing over at the barkeep, Narnicka held up three fingers. Seeming to understand, the barkeeper strolled over with a flask of port. A fairly weak alcoholic beverage, but still enough to keep off a bit of his thirst.

Cyrus lifted his head enough to look straight at his human brother through his right eye. His left eye wasn't an option, it having been stitched shut for a few months now due to publicly unknown reasons. "The Horde can't seem to distinguish between attempted peacekeepers and aggressive enemy forces. I'm teaching them the difference. Maybe then they'll learn to appreciate a few peace-keepers," He said plainly, taking up his flagon after a moment's indecision and taking a drink. Setting it down, he stifles a sigh. "Granted, this means the Horde will likely be painting a bullseye on my forehead."

Narnicka scoffed, averting his gaze somewhere to his left wth the shake of his head. "You did that pretty well yourself, Cyrus. Besides..." Narnicka looked back to Cyrus. "They think you're doing this for Vasilia and the AAMS."

Cyrus shook his head tiredly. "Getting some payback on those who disrespected my friend was just a plus. This was to teach the Horde what a real enemy looks like," Cyrus spoke, seeming to be a little awakened by the conversation. His hand grasps the flagon, and he stares at it. "But you're partly right. Strong-arming them may not be the best course of action. That handful of shamans took some effort to fight. Especially that red-fur Tauren. Damn cow nearly took off my head with that last shock."

Narnicka chuckled. "Don't tell me she's been taught the blood lightning attack."

Cyrus shook his head. "No, then I'd really be dead."

Plains coughed up another bloody ball of feathers and hair. This hurt. The big druid hadn't taken a beating that hard since....well, since a very long time. Come to think of it, the last time he'd been this beat down was when he'd been being chased by the Lluchduu Ocheliad over some hijinks of Creator's. Why was it whenever the Ducks got involved, Plains always took to bleeding more than usual?

He could heal himself to some extent, not as well as some other druids, true but some. Despite his best castings however, grievous damage was grievous damage, and even if the outward signs were tended, the pain lingered for quite some time.

It took serious concentration just to reach into the bag of "restorative fungus" and pull out another handful. It probably wasn't the best plan, munching handsful of Zangarmarsh specials, but the bottle of rum was too far away, and he'd run out of fadeleaf the day before, so, mushrooms it was.

His armor lay in a heap, forgotten until the pain subsided. The various scorch marks, tears, and outright missing pieces were in dire need of repair, but they would have to wait. It was hard sometimes, being alone like he was, after all, other folks had friends and family to go after these things, folks who would patch their wounds , tend their gear, even offer a kind word or three. Plains just gritted his teeth and got through, like always.

It'd be nice though, if someone came along sometime. Maybe something would come of Gentyl's little personal ad.

Apparently the mushrooms were doing their job, as these maudlin thoughts were distinctly out of character. Plains grabbed another handful and munched meditatively. So what of the whole Lluchdoodoo issue? It was increasingly obvious that the AAMS was corrupted, and naturally, blame had to lay somewhere. After learning of Vasillia's association with Cyrus, Plains had a pretty solid hunch where that blame lay too.

The big question then had to be...could he rally enough support to destroy, or at least grievously harm, the Ocheliad?

((Oh awesome, I hadn't seen Cyrus's till after I posted mine. That's perfect.))

((You guys are so good at this I've actually picked up forum RP again. Hand-clap for you! And yes, Plain, that was just perfect. :D))

Brenri stared blankly out over the dusty plains as she called for the rain to wash the blood off of her armor. Her normally peaceful and cheerful demeanor had started to give way to anger and sheer vindictiveness.

She made her way back to Stormwind only to be reminded, in the flesh and further wounding the spirit, of what had transpired on the battlefield so recently. Ehlina lay deathly still, her stub of an arm moving slightly at her side. Many were gathered around her broken body but Brenri could see only her friend and commander stripped of being able to wage honorable combat. Brenri was, after all, a daughter of Ironforge, and her shamanistic path meant that she held something of a Wildhammer heart as well. To cripple a warrior so was amongst the lowest of sins that she could think of.

"This is war. Such are the consequences."

Ehlina's words passed into the wind and not anywhere near Brenri's ears. While she was quite impressed by the sight of her opponents on the battlefield, now all she could think of when picturing Redearth was revenge. At that moment, she re-dedicated the purpose of her existence to pursuing vendetta against that crippler of warriors.

She came across paths with Cyrus the next day, who was intent on discussing battleplans and seeking out the blessing of Ehlina's successor, Vanressa, for the renewal and intensification of the Barrens march. She returned him only a determined and cold look and the simple words:

"To the very ground, every last one of them."

An elaborate get-well card, covered in lace and ribbons, arrives at the beside of the wounded Ehlina Vargas:

E!

Sorry to hear about the arm. Don't know how you feel about prosthetics? Can talk to a fellow I knew from Gnomer U's biochronometrics department if you like.

Looks like AAMS is getting credit for planning your raid. Sorry about that. Am contemplating embracing new public image and changing name: "Anytime Assassinations Management Service, Alliance Branch." Charge 'em an arm and a leg.

Too soon? Sorry.

Any road, feel better soon and let us know if you need a hand. (Still too soon? Sorry again.) Happy to help.

Appreciate your leaving Taurajo alone; Great Cogmaker knows we can't any of us control Imperon's boys. Don't blame you for their visit.

Love and Kisses,

Aeldgyth Whistlespark
Branch Manager, AAMS Alliance Branch

Kickfeather pushed aside the druid’s hand gruffly and rose from her bed. She didn’t need him poking her and laying his hand on her head anymore to see if she was better. She knew she was. Her stomach no longer felt like it hand been jabbed by a staff and twisted like a piece of wet cloth being wrung and her head was no longer so ablaze with a dizzying heat that it felt like she was being held upside down over a campfire. She was all hot in the head for another reason now and no one was going to keep her in bed any longer because of it.

She successfully remained standing as a small wave of dizziness hit her and her hooves tried to remember how to hold her up.

A throaty cough came from Red Earth who sat nearby and she silently shifted her gaze back and forth between Kickfeather and the Elder Runetotem who had come to help cleanse her of the poison which had made her ill. Kickfeather twisted her lip guiltily, then turned to the venerable druid with a smile. She gave him a reverent bow and then taking his hand, touched it to her forehead.

“Thank you, Brother Runetotem, for coming to my aid. I owe you a debt of gratitude for cleansing my blood of this vile poison and possibly saving my life. My arm is yours if ever you need it.”

The druid took his hand and laid it over Kickfeather’s head, patting it lightly in thanks. Then with a warning as to which sources of water were currently safe while all the others were still being cleansed, he bid them a farewell and left.

Without another word, Kickfeather reached for her armor and started to don the pieces. Sitting up, her sister came to her and helped her secure the bindings. After a while, Red Earth spoke up.

“Are you sure-“

“Yeah, I am. I’m fine. Right as rain.”

“There are-“

“No. Me.”

Her sister didn’t say another word, she could tell Kickfeather had made up her mind and nothing was going to stop her from moving forward. Kickfeather wondered why she sometimes still tried. If she felt so strongly about keeping her in bed then she wouldn’t have been helping her with the armor in the first place. Por Ah, maybe he sister would just go ahead and poison her again to keep her from moving if she was really THAT scared of letting her out of the lodge.

She briefly wondered if her sister would really ever consider doing that.

She shook her head as if to clear the ridiculous thought from her mind. Red Earth would do a lot of things to fight for what she believed in, but harm her own sister, Por Ah forgive her for even thinking such a thing. She would blame the errant thought on the poison. Grabbing her axe and her hammer and making sure they were hooked and strapped securely to her back, she turned to her sister and gave her a broad smile, standing tall, chin up.

“See, like it never happened,” Kickfeather declared, but then she waggled her finger in the air. “But it did. So, now it’s time to take care of that. Then all the other stuff. Which, Por Ah, stop looking like that! You didn’t do anything wrong. You KNOW that.”

Red Earth nodded in assent. “I know,” she replied, but there was the sound of a sigh in her voice. She still needed convincing.

Kickfeather’s lips curled and her brow furrowed. When she was well enough, Red Earth had informed her of all that had happened. About the AAMS’s rebuilding attempt and failure. She told her about how the Alliance, led by Ehlina, attacked that same night and were successfully driven off, but not without both sides taking quite a bit of damage. And word had spread even to Thunder Bluff by this time on how her sister had maimed the paladin. But her sister remained unhappy and hurt about something. And Kickfeather didn’t like it when something hurt her big sister. It made her want to smash someone’s face in. She just wasn’t sure who’s yet and it was only because her sister would disapprove if she hit the wrong face that she didn’t just go out and cause a ruckus. Had to go out and find the right and proper face. Until then, she would take care of the stuff she did know about.

“You write those letters everyone's been needing. I’m gonna go to Bloodhoof and see about this body.”

The death knight that had poisoned the waterways of Mulgore had received no ceremony. Well, at least not any good ones. Kickfeather wouldn’t be surprised if a few curses had been laid upon the body in hopes his lost soul would suffer. Beyond that, it didn’t deserve any respect at all. This dead Deadie was an example of the worst kind of enemy. A dishonorable coward who didn’t face his opponents, but rather, snuck about using hidden and underhanded means to take down his enemy.

The body was still where the people of Bloodhoof said they put it, hanging by a rope off a tree south of the village. It had remained relatively unharmed, though certainly treated with no dignity. Uncleaned, the wounds on the body still gaping open, the armor twisted around the limp form swinging listlessly with a gust of wind and flies and other insects buzzed around it in search of a good meal or a place to lay their eggs. The fact that there was a small pile of dead insects slowly collecting on the ground under the swinging body made Kickfeather cringe. The body was still poisonous.

It had only been a couple days since this death knight had been killed. His spirit had not returned to the body and Kickfeather wondered if it would. Surely, the Earthmother wouldn’t have let this coward be on his way to happier hunting grounds with his ancestors. Maybe the curses that the villagers might have put upon him might have tied his wretched little soul in something less than appealing. Like one of these flies that would probably be dead soon from the poison it got from touching this dead piece of meat. Her imagination made her smile a little.

Maybe he was just lost. Maybe he was scared to come back. Folks had done a pretty good job ‘scaring’ him to death with their axes in his back and their claws in his thigh. Kickfeather wished he would come back now so she could put a little scare in him. And she was half tempted to convince Red Earth to come and attempt to force his return. She knew it could be done with the right kind of magic. But she quickly shrugged off the idea. As angry as she was, attempting to make her sister cross that line might get her in more trouble than it was worth.

And she was angry. Angry she had been made sick by the devious plot of this worthless piece of rot. She never got sick! And because of it she, had been bedridden and missed one of the better battles to defend the Barrens from an all out assault by Alliance. But it went beyond personal. The poison he had been spreading had made many sick and had killed in the villages and plains of Mulgore and Thunder Bluff. It had killed many small and young creatures who drank of the water. Not just rabbits and gazelles and the like, but also the young of the kodo herds which were newly born this spring and possibly also a few of the Tauren youths and babies. The druids and healers of the area, now knowing where this great sickness had stemmed from, were now working on cleansing the land and water of the poison. But it would take time and the damage was done. The effects would last over the next few seasons. The hunting and fishing in Mulgore would be thin this year at least and mothers cried for the loss of their most precious.

The perpetrator’s body now swung there at the crossroads outside the village as a warning to others not to attempt similar to the people of Bloodhoof. Kickfeather decided it wasn’t the proper place. Climbing the tree, Kickfeather cut down the body and it fell with a thud onto a large skin blanket she had laid down beneath it. Wrapping it and tying it securely, careful not to touch it for fear of the sickness it would spread, she then grabbed the rope it had hung by and tied it to her kodo’s saddle straps. Kickfeather then road off east, dragging the corpse filled bundle behind her, to the Great Wall that helped close Mulgore off from the rest of the world.

Once there, Kickfeather dragged it up the stairs of one of the wall’s twin towers and tied the end of the rope to the wall’s par.apet, cut the ties to her bundle, lifted it up and threw it over the side. The blanket unfurled and flapped loudly as it danced to the ground on the Barren’s side of the wall. Bouncing against the wooden beams of the wall the body swung ungraciously until it settled at the end of its rope, perfectly facing towards the Alliance forces watching below. There the body would stay until the Earthmother decided its fate as a reminder to those laying siege that all of Mulgore was not for them. And if his spirit did decide to come back, then at least he would get a surprise.

((There we go! Sorry Raellus for the delay. A scatterbrained week for me. Play on! Also, the fact that the word par.apet gets censored in the middle is just all kinds of dumb.))

"This is hardly the time for an attack, Cyrus," Narnicka spoke, following his older brother through the camp in Northern Stranglethorn. Even if he was an officer among the Alliance's ranks, Narnicka had never been the one for tactical genius. He was built to be the one getting his hands dirty, not ordering others to do so.

"It's not an attack, Narn. I'm just bringing a few capable fighters out to Ft. Triumph to resupply them while the Horde seems to have relaxed on them. Now's just a good a time as any to help the Alliance dig in," Cyrus said in a flat tone. Sitting against a nearby tree, he pulled his sword off his back, running a cloth across the back of the blade to clean it. One thing Cyrus had always prided himself in was the shine of his weapon in front of his enemies. It worked as a decent intimidating factor, especially if there was already blood on it.

With a frustrated sigh, Narnicka took a seat beside him. "You're at least going to keep this quiet, right? If the horde found out, they'd likely try to prevent any sort of... 'digging in.' Call it a hunch."

"No, the Horde are usually very aware of any troop movement in the Barrens. Hell, we were when I was on the other side of this little feud. No reason that'll have changed in the past few years. Besides, they did pick Sunday night to do it. Most of the Horde will likely be in Orgrimmar for whatever social events they hold on the weeks' ends," Cyrus said in that maintained neutral tone. It was as if he had said this a thousand times.

"And if Red shows?"

Cyrus stopped cleaning his weapon. A pause followed, and the cleaning rag was replaced in the satchel it had been produced from. "It's obvious she is no believer in mercy, attacking a defeated opponent the way she did. Then again, I have been noticing the Tauren acting more and more like the Orcs I used to know. Guess it was just a matter of time."

Narnicka watched his brother carefully. "You didn't answer the question."

"I never liked Vargas. She tried to have me killed when I left the Horde."

"Still didn't answ-"

"I know."

((Kickfeather makes my forum posts look little. *sniffle*))

((This takes place immediately after the poison attack.))

He stood over his own body, watching it gasp it's last breath. He watched several Bloodhoof villagers cautiously approach the body. The first one to approach crumpled in pain immediately, losing the contents of his stomach across the grass. No one else approached for hours, until it was evident that the poison in the air had dissipated. A villager managed to toss a noose around the body, and the ghost watched the villagers haul the body to hang from a tree, to keep the poison from further ruining the land. He watched as the villagers began to get sick, observed dispassionately as the panic set in among the Tauren, as they learned the full scope of his actions. He drifted for a time, watching as the Tauren druids and shaman did what they could to ease the suffering and cleanse the wells.

Then, for the first time since his death, Raellus felt something, a tugging of sorts. The sensation grew stronger, and began pulling him away from the village, until it was a speck in the distance. Faster and faster, he was pulled, until his surroundings blurred. He was about to cry out, when he stopped as suddenly as he had traveled. He was inside a round container of some sort, a sphere. The room he was in looked enormous, as if it belonged to a giant. Where was he? Raellus pressed against the sphere holding him, but the walls remained solid to him. Suddenly a giant hand appeared and picked up the container, lifting Raellus until he could see a face. Temperius, Raellus though to himself.

Raellus cried out, hoping his words would penetrate the orb that held him. "Master, I did what you asked of me! The waters of Mulgore have all been poisoned! Bring me back to life, I beg you!"

Temperius chuckled at the tiny Death Knight's ghost. He turned the orb, watching it reflect the light, appearing to consider Raellus's pleas.

"No."

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

It was important to hold the Death Knight's ghost for now, Temperius mused. Can't afford to have a Horde necromancer meddle with things, after all. Raellus's body would soon be corroded and decayed by the poison that had been released, but the armor would by carrying a set of orders, forged of course, from the commanders of the army invading the Barrens. It was delightful that the Shaman leading the Tauren had crippled Ehlina; this tragedy would create bitterness among the alliance forces towards the Tauren. Add in the recent misunderstandings and difficulties between the Tauren and the AAMS, one of the few groups able to provide reliable communication lines between factions, and you had an environment that all sorts of atrocities and moral smudging could occur in.

What to do next?

Gentyl pulled the gryphon up sharply as she landed. Commander Turncutt had three horde on him, but none of them were recognized nor wore tabards familiars to her. She was dressed for fighting, not healing, but the Commander was fading quickly.

The three fighters fled after they had been dropped twice. It was then the hunter rode up between them with no war paint. He made a few gestures.

"Something's not right here," Gentyl said.

Turncutt smiled at the hunter and waved. "Not right at all," he replied, not dropping the smile. "Prepare to fly if he moves."

She adjusted the hammer beside her. She might fly, but it would be after he was stunned.

The hunter laughed, made a gesture and raised his weapon. Gentyl stunned him and almost immediately the hunter's friends attacked from behind. The rogue knocked her silly while the mage burned her down.

Score one for them.

The three flew away after dropping several times.

Turncutt spat in the dirt. "Cowardly dogs. I should have made you take wing."

"If I had, we wouldn't have lured them back out. At least it wasn't Ishnu attacking from the trees."

He shook his head. "More's the pity. I rather like engaging them. They've got a Tauren I'm told is named Kickfeather or something like that who's a real scrapper."

He pulled out a jug of bourbon and passed it to her. She took a healthy swallow and passed it back to him. "My priestess is bound and determined to come here to check on her parents. I think it's a poor idea with all the war parties, but she won't listen to reason."

Turncutt chuckled. "Is she related to her guild mistress?"

Gentyl reached out for the offered bottle. "Oddly enough, others have asked the same thing. Normally, she's docile as a lamb, but when she gets her mind set on something, there's no changing it and she's fearful her parents might be in harm's way."

"Doubt the horde would harm their own, but who knows if they find out the old orcs are harboring a human. You're sending an escort with her, aren't you?"

"Much to her dismay. One of the Manus men will go and I've hired Cyrus. Faithe is howling to the moon about slipping in and out before anyone knows she's here, but I don't believe the horde will miss much movement. If we keep the numbers low there's a possibility, I suppose."

((Faithe and her escort will be in the area before long.))

((Kickfeather, Redearth, Oskor and whoever else that would like to be involved can tag me Alliance side. If I'm not on Cy, I'm likely on an alt. LO members know where to find me. Lemme or Gentyl know! :D))

They had been quiet too long. Red Earth had thought it wise after the Alliance attack which had ended with her confrontation with Ehlina. And though she was sure there were still some who wished her dead because of that, among other things, it was her hope that the time that had passed had eased some minds to let words be as effective as action once again.

Things had not been completely silent. Words had been written and spoken. And Red Earth was satisfied knowing that there were some among the Alliance who could look past anger and understand why the Ishnu Por Ah advocated their fight and now chose to no longer enter the Barrens and engage them as enemies. It was her hope that their decision would serve as an example to others and they too would come to understand and one day they would not be raising arms against each other anymore. She also had hopes to continue peaceful, active relations with those who chose not to fight against them.

But the Alliance armies still had not abandoned their posts in the Barrens and continued to build. And so the fight had to continue lest they considered themselves victorious usurpers. It was time to continue their efforts. To test the Alliance resolve and see just how determined they were to bring troops to the ‘wastelands’ across the ocean from their homes, when there was always someone there trying to tear them down.

Word was the bombs were prepared and they merely had to choose the day to deliver their message. Red Earth would leave that decision up to her sister. It was Kickfeather who should lead the martial interests. Unlike her sister, standing in front of the battle was not her place. This was the lesson she had learned.

Red Earth had been longing to take care of another interest. It was a related note and one that should not be ignored. There were others besides soldiers of the Horde and the Alliance living in the Barrens. Red Earth knew this all too well herself. Before starting upon this campaign she had gone home to her tribe. Still living a nomadic life, it had taken her longer than normal to find them because they were not following the hunting trails they had followed for generations. In part it was due to the changes of the landscape that Deathwing’s rise had created. But running the plains had also been hampered by the entrance of the Alliance into the Barrens. Unless they made the rugged climb higher up the mountains, they were trapped to the south and forced to make due with what they could along the edges of Thousand Needles and Feralas. Their normal trails cut to less than half of what it had once been by the invasion of the Alliance and the subsequent battles which ensued. They would make due, however. The Swifthorn were good at that, as were many Shu’halo. They knew how to avoid and sacrifice and remain out of sight from those who would threaten them.

But Red Earth knew that it could only last so long. If the snake is nearby, it would not be very long before its forked tongue found the rabbit’s burrows. And the Alliance had already pushed out the people of Camp Taurajo and forced those of Honor’s Stand, among others, to find unsheltered security upon the sides of the western mountains. All were cut off from overland supplies and reinforcements because of the chasm to the north which now separated them from what had once been the center of the Barrens population, the Crossroads and the capital of the Horde, Orgrimmar. While Orgrimmar had grown strong and fortified, the towns and camps of the southern Barrens had suffered. But the people of this land, despite the adversities, were resilient. They refused to leave despite the loss and the odds.

Not too long ago, Kickfeather along with Brother Arapache and Brother Nishk had gone to Camp Una’fe, the refuge of the Camp Taurajo survivors. They had asked them if they would come to Mulgore to find safety, but they had refused. They were determined to stay. The orcs and Shu’halo who now resided upon Hunter’s Hill, making raids upon the Alliance fort below in Honor’s Stand, also refused to leave. Red Earth understood and honored their resolve. But she knew they would probably need aid in order to recuperate, survive and most likely fight off any attacks. She was especially concerned with Camp Una’fe. There, a number of orphans were being cared for.

She wished to bring supplies to them. As well as the aid of other people to help them secure their camp. It would be time to ask others for help in this. It would also be a good time to bear some helpful fruit from Ishnu Por Ah’s own raiding endeavors. Their first attacks upon the Alliance strongholds had garnered them a cache of supplies. Everything from rations to clothes to tools. Possibly even a few weapons and armor had been taken from the Alliance. Red Earth had not yet sifted through the inventory herself. But she was sure they would be helpful to those wanting in the Barrens.

It was to be a routine patrol. The Ishnu Por Ah were going to look over the route between Camp Una’fe and the Great Wall just to make sure things were relatively safe for the caravan they had planned to lead in the next couple days. As they gathered at the Camp discussing what sort of improvements they might make to help the people there, Brother Arapache arrived to join them with news that Alliance were spotted near the Crossroads.

“Again?!” Kickfeather proclaimed. Earlier they had already been to the Crossroads because of an Alliance attack. Cowards who ran as soon as they caught sight of a Tauren and a Troll ready to fight. Since they were nearby, Kickfeather gave the order to head north and see what they could find.

Nephansi was the one to find them. A small group of Alliance, heavily armed. But they were not at the Crossroads, they were west of it. Among the ruins that Rethgar Deathgate still watched over. It didn’t much matter, why they were there. It was Horde land and their presence there could not be tolerated. They surrounded them and warned them off. But slowly, Kickfeather began to recognize some of the faces. The mage woman. The Draenei. Others especially recognized the Draenei. They had been in the southern Barrens. They had been a part of those who fought with the invaders. But Kickfeather did not immediately engage them. They were being different. They weren’t attacking on sight. Something wasn’t right. She threatened them again, trying to tell them to leave. She even turned to Yotingo of the AAMS who was with them.

“Can you talk to them? Can you translate. Sis might get mad at me later for using you, but I’ll deal with that when it comes.”

“They’re protecting her,” someone realized, indicating the young human they surrounded. From the look of her dress, a priest of some sort. Kickfeather directed her attention to this little woman and tried to tell her to be off. The other Alliance stepped in her way. Kickfeather grumbled. Threats arose from them and they were now telling her to go away. Which was ridiculous!

“You don’t belong here. We’re telling YOU to leave!”

The tension grew thicker. The Draenei growled threateningly and lifted his weapon. He was a Death Knight, the land around him began to decay with the rise of his threats. In that moment, Kickfeather could see where this was going to lead.

She stepped towards him boldly. She looked between him and the mage. “You want to fight me? Then do it. Here I am!”

It was as if he understood her words, and he reached out his hand, dragging her towards him and the battle ensued. Without remorse, Kickfeather and the others fought them. The Alliance had thrown the first blow and done it upon Horde land. And fate seemed to agree with them. It did not take long for the Ishnu Por Ah to bring them down, the little priest they were protecting, running off in the wake of the battle.

They pursued her and surrounded her. She had not fought like the others, and so now Kickfeather was unsure what to do with her. She was unarmed and it was against everything she knew not to harm an unarmed person, even if it was a Pinkie in the middle of a war zone. Though she was in bad company. And it was a war zone. But still. . . .she didn’t fight. And, Por Ah! Now she was crying!

She tried to tell her to go away, but she wouldn’t. Rulik wanted to kill her, or at least take her prisoner. Maybe even sell her into slavery. But most others, including Kickfeather, couldn’t agree to the latter. And Por Ah knew, she wasn’t just going to leave her in the middle of the Barrens, an unknown Pinkie with unknown intentions. Fel, the whole crying bit could be some rouse just to make ‘em leave her alone so she could do something worse. They would take her ‘prisoner’. Back to Mulgore until she could get her sister to figure out what to do with her. And Kickfeather knew Red Earth would be just as curious as herself to know why they were in the Barrens like they were.

Binding her up, they took her back to Mulgore’s Great Wall where the guards would watch her until she could find big Sis and they could figure out what to do with her.

Cyrus dismounted his deathcharger, closely watching the expression of Faithe, a priestess he had been tasked with protecting. A few others were with him, but they were mainly there to discourage any Horde from attacking Faithe while she sifted through the wreckage of what must have been her home. She looked extremely upset, and the word "bodies" came to Cyrus's ear. It was clear to Cyrus that whatever relatives Faithe had come to reunite with were long gone. There were not bodies, so being dead wasn't the first assumption that came to Cyrus's mind. Perhaps they'd just cleared out when they had the chance to escape a warzone.

One word caught Cyrus's attention.

"Horde," Moadyed spoke. Moad was a Draenei not quite as big as Cyrus, but quite an accomplished shaman. Following his orders from Wolfgaar, Moad seemed to be staying very close to Faithe while Cyrus stood out in front to discourage anyone from even getting close to her.

"This is bad," Cyrus spoke, glancing up. Several Tauren and Trolls seemed to have discovered them. "Moad, keep an eye on Faithe while she looks for any signs of a body. I'm not sure how long it'll be before this gets violent."

Soon enough, a black-fur Tauren stepped out from the gathered Horde, shouting threats and the like at Cyrus, trying to bully them into leaving. Obviously not about to leave the area, Cyrus had no choice but to stay and protect Faithe with the rest of the escort that had come with her while she searched the ruins for signs of her parents. Several of the Horde that had gathered seemed to recognize Cyrus from the raids he had led against Desolation Hold in the weeks prior. Cyrus gripped his sword, but realized something before drawing it out into view.

"Moad, stay close to her. We're majorly outnumbered...." He spoke, looking from the different wyverns that where patiently keeping their riders high overhead. It was hard to get an accurate count on them with his focus on the black-fur Tauren with the big mouth, but it was obvious that Faithe's escort was not going to be enough.

Cyrus had become so used to Common, Orcish phrases seemed to be slipping his mind, but one stuck out from the rest. That Tauren just challenged him. "Wish granted," He spoke, the ground underneath his hooves starting to decay the ground around him. Using death's reach, he seized the Tauren, violently yanking her toward him. In the same motion, he drew his sword and brought it down vertically at her, hoping for a fast and brutal kill. He'd underestimated her, however, and her blade rose to meet his with a loud impact that actually showered sparks. With that, this tense moment of warning and hostiltiy turned into a warzone. It was over before it had begun.

Between the dust kicked up by mobile combatants and the several bolts of lightning that penetrated his armor, Cyrus had lost track of Faithe. Moad had apparently been badly hurt and was unable to continue. The fighting drug on for what felt like forever, but in reality was probably only a few minutes long.

When the dust settled, Cyrus was barely standing. A wound was gushing blood from under his left legplate and his breathing was labored under the stress of several broken ribs. His normally white hair was matted red on one side from a vicious strike to the head. He didn't remember who'd given him that one. Rose, a rather skilled mage, was behind Cyrus and still standing. "Rose, I think they took Faithe hostage. If.." Cyrus winced, realizing that speech was going to be painful for a few days. "They'll likely hurt her if we press the fight... get up a portal..."

With that, the mage pulled a hole into the space between them and the Horde forces gathered. Cyrus looked barely able to stand, but managed to seize Moad's left shoulderguard and pull him through the portal shortly before it vanished.

Safely in Stormwind's Mage Tower, Cyrus collapsed. Six's transportation chip that had been implanted in his tail reacted the moment it sensed that Cyrus's pulse had ceased, and it teleported him away to the Tower's infirmary for resuscitation.