"You're sure you can afford this?" the Mage asked Gondorin over drinks in a dim corner of the Slaughtered Lamb.
"For this, yes. Your price is steep, but it's acceptable. I can always make more money."
"The temporal magic is difficult. I don't know if the bronze dragonflight is interfering, or if there are other issues at hand. The images you took with that gnomish device are helpful, however."
"That's why I'm assuming you lowered the price," Gondorin replied, his face grim. His blue eyes, still filled with the necromantic power of the Lich King's Scourge, blazed brightly.
The Mage took the device, muttering softly as magic infused it, gathering its stored information. The device seemed to pull in on itself, crumpling, then finally scattering to dust. "I'm ready, Death Knight."
"Then be about your business," Gondorin replied evenly. "Don't mess this up. The time for my patience is past."
In each Horde city, an image appears. In Orgrimmar, it floats in their central square as guards pull their weapons in sudden response. Slowly, Warchief Hellscream leaves Grommash Hold to witness the event. In Undercity, the spirits attending Sylvanas shriek their displeasure as she dispassionately observes. In Thunder Bluff, Chieftain Bloodhoof's dreams are interrupted as a loud noise booms out over the mesas, and he hurriedly throws on a robe and gathers guards to witness the occurrence. Vol'jin frowns as visions dance in front of his hut on the Echo Isles, and in the glimmering halls of Silvermoon City, Lor'themar Theron bounces between disgust at the actions and admiration for the magic bringing them to him.
Orcs are seen on the beach, charging into battle as an Alliance strikeforce thunders into Zoram'gar Outpost. Vendors scatter, leaving their wares behind to take refuge as blades and other weapons are drawn, and the killing begins. At the front of the charge is a large worgen, black fur and icy glittering blue eyes lancing through the night. The unprepared guards begin to die as signal flares are sent up, to call in outrider reinforcements from Ashenvale.
"We will reclaim the beach! FOR THE ALLIANCE, TO RECLAIM THE WORLD!" the worgen roars, the red crimson tabard on his chest proudly displaying the Sword-On-Shield of the Reclamation. The slaughter is over quickly, and the Alliance forces take up strategic positions at key entry points to Zoram'gar Outpost, ready for the outrider reinforcements. As they trickle in, they are cut down while others from the strike force gather their bodies, piling them in the center of the outpost. As the last dying screams of the Horde soldiers fall away, the worgen can be seen cleaning his blades on the body of the outpost commander's cloak.
The image fades, and is then replaced with a picture of the worgen, standing proudly in front of a banner showing the symbol of the Reclamation. "Horde, the first volley has been launched. Cowards that you were, you showed no resistance. Your soldiers assaulting Maestra's Post were dispatched. Your operations in Zoram Strand have been shattered and left demolished. Return to your wrecked keep. Bury the dead left for scavengers to feed on, as though they would sully their stomachs with your putrid flesh. Your heroes did not respond. Your heroes cowered in the halls of your tribal cities like the savages you are.
The Sanctions have begun. This dog of war is serving notice: it is not our last assault. Gather what tattered shreds of childlike, blind, foolish faith in your cause that you can. Our assaults will continue until you denounce your Warchief, and deliver Garrosh Hellscream's head to Stormwind's King as the only acceptable price for his war crimes. Our assaults will continue until you lay the shattered, torn, dismembered body of the Banshee Queen who rots in the sewers of Lordaeron City before King Greymane, the only acceptable price for her atrocities.
The Reclamation has begun."
"For this, yes. Your price is steep, but it's acceptable. I can always make more money."
"The temporal magic is difficult. I don't know if the bronze dragonflight is interfering, or if there are other issues at hand. The images you took with that gnomish device are helpful, however."
"That's why I'm assuming you lowered the price," Gondorin replied, his face grim. His blue eyes, still filled with the necromantic power of the Lich King's Scourge, blazed brightly.
The Mage took the device, muttering softly as magic infused it, gathering its stored information. The device seemed to pull in on itself, crumpling, then finally scattering to dust. "I'm ready, Death Knight."
"Then be about your business," Gondorin replied evenly. "Don't mess this up. The time for my patience is past."
In each Horde city, an image appears. In Orgrimmar, it floats in their central square as guards pull their weapons in sudden response. Slowly, Warchief Hellscream leaves Grommash Hold to witness the event. In Undercity, the spirits attending Sylvanas shriek their displeasure as she dispassionately observes. In Thunder Bluff, Chieftain Bloodhoof's dreams are interrupted as a loud noise booms out over the mesas, and he hurriedly throws on a robe and gathers guards to witness the occurrence. Vol'jin frowns as visions dance in front of his hut on the Echo Isles, and in the glimmering halls of Silvermoon City, Lor'themar Theron bounces between disgust at the actions and admiration for the magic bringing them to him.
Orcs are seen on the beach, charging into battle as an Alliance strikeforce thunders into Zoram'gar Outpost. Vendors scatter, leaving their wares behind to take refuge as blades and other weapons are drawn, and the killing begins. At the front of the charge is a large worgen, black fur and icy glittering blue eyes lancing through the night. The unprepared guards begin to die as signal flares are sent up, to call in outrider reinforcements from Ashenvale.
"We will reclaim the beach! FOR THE ALLIANCE, TO RECLAIM THE WORLD!" the worgen roars, the red crimson tabard on his chest proudly displaying the Sword-On-Shield of the Reclamation. The slaughter is over quickly, and the Alliance forces take up strategic positions at key entry points to Zoram'gar Outpost, ready for the outrider reinforcements. As they trickle in, they are cut down while others from the strike force gather their bodies, piling them in the center of the outpost. As the last dying screams of the Horde soldiers fall away, the worgen can be seen cleaning his blades on the body of the outpost commander's cloak.
The image fades, and is then replaced with a picture of the worgen, standing proudly in front of a banner showing the symbol of the Reclamation. "Horde, the first volley has been launched. Cowards that you were, you showed no resistance. Your soldiers assaulting Maestra's Post were dispatched. Your operations in Zoram Strand have been shattered and left demolished. Return to your wrecked keep. Bury the dead left for scavengers to feed on, as though they would sully their stomachs with your putrid flesh. Your heroes did not respond. Your heroes cowered in the halls of your tribal cities like the savages you are.
The Sanctions have begun. This dog of war is serving notice: it is not our last assault. Gather what tattered shreds of childlike, blind, foolish faith in your cause that you can. Our assaults will continue until you denounce your Warchief, and deliver Garrosh Hellscream's head to Stormwind's King as the only acceptable price for his war crimes. Our assaults will continue until you lay the shattered, torn, dismembered body of the Banshee Queen who rots in the sewers of Lordaeron City before King Greymane, the only acceptable price for her atrocities.
The Reclamation has begun."
Edited by Ragefang on 12/9/2011 7:26 PM PST
