Return to the Citadel (open RP)

[Eyesore]

There was an uncharacteristic lack of certainty in the old orc's eyes as he considered his friend's question. What had happened to him, and why just to him? He could think about dragonkin now, but what had been clouded remained so.

"My friend, you amaze me. You seem to have distilled the essence of the situation, while I am still trying to order my thoughts. The curse, if that is indeed what it was, seems to have lost it power, but not it effect." He paused as he thought how to word it, "My thoughts are now free to roam as they will, but what was clouded at the time, remains so. I remember what I experienced, but when the experience was mist, was fog, that is the memory. Not gaps in memory, Warburn, not gaps at all."

Looking at his guild's leaders, he could not imagine what they thought. For that matter, he was not sure what he thought, either. Why just himself? What if...

"Aitana, Warburn...what if I wasn't the only one?"

They looked at each other, then back at him. "Had you both not acted as you did, when you did, would you have known what happened to me? Would I still be mindlessly focused on my craft, or worse yet, mindless, with none the wiser?" He shook his head. "No, my friends, we may not assume that this old orc was the only one affected, or even that my symptoms were the only ones possible."

"What if there were others?"

.

[Theotaz]

Theotaz hurt.. the "ambassadore" of the black dragon flight ssneer turned into a smile of maliciaous intent. "sssooooo. You handled it, you touched it, and then you helped slay my dear old insane aunt Onyxia. Well, I suppose I should thank you. She would have eventually brought the wrath of the rest of the dragon flights down apon us. Shame none of your people died but aunti just wasn't what she used to be.". Theotaz slowly sank to his knees on the stone flagged floor using his runed axe as a prop. He would not fall over for this ancient welp of a dragon. "Oh your a tough one aren't you. Well it turns out there is some recompense you can offer the black dragonflight for the damage you have caused. We'll even throw you a few trinkets and some gold for your efforts. North west of here lies the ancient home of the Earthwarder.. Go There now. Complete the missions assigned you or do not come back death knight for I assure you I WILL kill you if I see you before then. Now GO!"

Theotaz stumbled from the hall. As he left the dragons presence his strrngth and vigor returned. Quickly mounting his Gyrocopter he soared to the top of the tower. the life bringer would want to know about this! Alexstrasza greeted him warmly as he approched. He tried to explain his presence but the words would not come. He focused his will but simply could not speak. Alexstrasza gazed apon him compassionatly. "It is a geas Theotaz, one I cannot break. What ever lays before you you must follow through apon. Perhapes when what is done is done you will be free of it." Distress clouded her features. "Malygos could have broken it in a moment. These are terrible times Death Knight we must make do with the tools we have. They will be sufficiant or not. Go Troll do what you must." She handed him a vial. "This will heal terrible wounds. keep it handy, you may need it."

[Warburn]

Warburn pondered Eyesore's point. Could there be others? He never suspected so, since himself and Aitana seemed un-affected. Perhaps the attunement they both have with nature and the elements immunized them, perhaps Lady Nyx protected them somehow. And perhaps, there WERE others.

"Jah know, I tink Azim came in contact wit it. Lemme go axe 'im how he feels."

Warburn left Eyesore's leatherworking workshop, and set out for Thunder Bluff. Azim dah mighty, as he likes to be called made TB his home long ago. The clean air did him good, the troll thought.

He found the veteran warrior busy at the forge smelting ore for his trade.

"Jah mon, Azim! Me brodduh, yah's got a few mins tah rap?"

"AYE? WHAT is it?!

"Jah remembah dat artifact ours friends found? De one dat brought deh dragons upon dah Twilight Citadel? ... I was wondering if yah evah came in contact wit it, and what it felt like."

"Me? Azim dah MIGHTY?! I not know what yooz talkin about!"

"Yah mon, I showed it to you. I remembah yooz eyes gleemed when yah sawed it"

"No sir. I nevah seen anyting. Definitly no ting which spek to me head. And I know dat ting isn't telling me to go to de Wyrmbog! Why would Azim go dere? No one goes dere. Dere noting special about dat ting ju spek of! De dd... DDRRR.... Dey no spek to me head."

Warburn wondered if all orc warriors were as daft as Azim. Obviously the curse got hold of his feeble mind, and in Azim's case it seemed like he was being spoken to. He immediately knew that Azim needs to be followed, and the others warned.

After smoking some leaf with his old warrior friend, and changing the topic to smashing and crushing enemies - Azim's favorite topic, Warburn said his good bye.

(( mini RP event will be scheduled to follow Azim, in SECRET. Who can find out what he's up to? Who can stop him from helping Deathwing!?! Date and time TBD ))

[Gorehorn]

Exhaustion.

It was what always followed the completion of a long battle. Especially one that was so long in the preparation and so charged with fate and emotion. Facing Onyxia and slaying her as pennance for the lives lost and the destruction of the Twilight Citadel certainly qualified on both counts.

But this time was different.

Lifting his plated bulk Gorehorn found himself still caked in the muck of Dustwallow Marsh and the dried blood of Onyxias brood. This was to be the final affirmation for him. At long last this was to satisfy the ancestors anger for his failure to protect his family and his clan so long ago. The exhaustion should have allowed him to finally slip into the warmth of the eternal sleep he so longed for. To finally seek peace in the afterlife with his long lost clan.

But yet he was still awake. More than this he was still agitated. More than the jittery after combat wind-down that always follows strenuous work.

Deep in his soul he knew it could only mean one thing. His work is still not done. Onyxia, the long sought target of his vengeance, was not the end he had sought.

Rage surged through his every fiber and his thunderous bellow could be heard echoing across the swamp even after his breath had left him.

"Enough is enough." He rumbled to himself.

"It is time to confront the dark lady now. And there is only one person that will know how to get me close to her."

Banging his sword acrossed his shield to beat the dried gore from it, the massive tauren warrior slogged through the mud, sheathing his still thirsty blade.

Somewhere in the wastes of Northrend, the relative peace of gathering new herbs in a wild new land was distrubed as the mystical hearth-stone of Aitana Tallbear menaced out its message.

"Aitana, I must see you. It must be soon."

[Eyesore]

The young hunter was silent as she continued to examine the leather doublet she had commissioned. She cocked her head to the side and glanced up at the old leatherworker, then returned her gaze to his work. She gently rubbed her hand over the mithril worked into the dragon’s scales, and interweaved with its flaming breath. She shook her head in apparent sadness, and awe. She extended the garment to the orc, not meeting his eyes this time.

“I can’t accept this. It is more than worthy, but I cannot afford it. And honestly, it is too fine to equip in the field,” she said. Then she steeled herself, and met his gaze.

For his part, Eyesore kept his hands clasped behind his back, and did not accept her offering. Instead, he turned and picked up a parchment wrapped package, which he tossed at her and she caught with the same hands holding the exquisite doublet, a startled look on her elven face. “Of course it’s too fine for the hunt, and too reflective for battle, for that matter. You think me a fool?” he thundered.

Then he grinned, his wrinkles spreading the smile across his face. “Go ahead, unwrap it. There’s the piece you commissioned. An adequate job, it should serve you well. The other? Let’s just say it’s the armor you dreamed of. Or more accurately, the armor I dreamed of.” The old orc’s eyes lost their sparkle. “Keep it, Sunrise. Save it for a special event, or an epic challenge, or, well, for whatever you choose. But whatever you choose, it is yours now.”

The young blood elf saw the resolution in his steel-grey eyes, in his very intent gaze, and merely nodded her assent. She looked at both works in silent awe, then again at the orc craftsman, and found her usual eloquence had failed her. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Why, young hunter, that’s easy. You hold your armor up proudly and shout, ‘For The Horde!’”

The lithe elf jumped back at his roar, then began laughing. Her blonde hair caught a glint of sunlight as she roared right back, though less mightily, “For the Horde!”

Her smile lit up her entire face, and the old orc could see why she was called Sunrise. “Go now. Skedaddle. I have work to do.”
Smiling, the young elf graciously bowed low. “As you will, master orc, as you will.” She turned in a flurry of her long hair, and was gone.

Eyesore thought about the encounter. He thought about her long, golden hair, and his own bristly crest of grey. He had a gentle smile, and then shook his head. Then smiled even more. If you couldn’t think of a comely lass’s hair at his age, he thought, then why bother with thoughts of any kind? Besides, his thoughts were his own.

His smile faded, and the gleam left his eyes. For some time, his thoughts had not been his own. He felt the bile rise in his throat as he remembered his lack of control, his mind in a mist. The more he thought about it, the more angry he became. He spit through the doorway to clear the bile. He threw back his head, the muscles in his neck corded, the tension spreading throughout his body. His canines gleamed in the light as he bellowed, “For the Horde!! For the Horde!!”

Turning quickly, he shed his leather apron and opened the trunk behind his worktable. He donned his mail, without wasted effort, then moved through the cloth blanket separating the workshop from the small sleeping room behind. He looked at his weapons, mounted on the walls, and selected a sturdy bow and two quivers of deadly arrows. He hesitated briefly as he considered the blades, then selected two swords, one long and one shorter, double edged.

Satisfied, he grabbed his pack and dumped in what he thought he might need, then went back through to his workroom. An almost evil grin crossed his face as he selected his skinning knife, a fine blade, and ideal for carving scales. Eyesore was going hunting, and dragonkin were his prey.
.

[Aitana]

“Aargh!”

Aitana cursed her own forgetfulness as she rode on the back of a wyvern. In going over the events in Eyesore’s shop, she had just remembered why she had gone there in the first place. She really needed to show him the letter. And even more so now that it was clear that Eyesore had been under a curse that lifted after the death of Onyxia. She had missed the perfect opportunity to discuss her theories with both Eyesore and Warburn.

Now it was too late. Gorehorn had summoned her and it sounded urgent. But she would be glad to see him. It had been a long time since they had ventured together, and she looked forward to seeing him again. He had been there when the citadel had been destroyed so they shared common interest in the trinket and the dangers it posed. While he was a warrior and more interested in action that philosophical discussions, at least he would probably hear her out.

[Gorehorn]

It is said that the priests of Sergeras had found written in HIS tomes that evil and corruption had taken hold of our world. That in HIS sight and within the breadth of HIS power he could detect no part of it that had not been tainted. Even the Good that remained, was sullied and soiled by the taint of the Corruptors power. There could be only one answer. To remove the taint that bred evil into all things and the smallness into their spirits, the pettiness that hid within them, there could only be one remedy.

Annihilation.

The Collective, as well as it may be understood, had seen the truth of this teaching.
Purification through incineration. The world is lost and all within it doomed to corruptions taint. To be rid of it, all must be remade.

The model for this work is imitated from the works of Sergeras himself. Use the forces that would maintain order as the tool of disorder. On the surface, these tools appear to be everywhere. However, upon examination, it is clear; the corruption of which Sergeras had warned has permeated them nearly beyond the point of usefulness. Another way must be found.

Smiling wickedly, the dark acolytes of Nefarian found such a way. A way so clever, cunning and insidious that it would use both the powers of friend and foe alike to achieve the right ends. Certainly some sacrifices must be made. Onyxia and her dearest Nyx both would have to be given to the cause if the world were to be made over in fire and Nefarian were to become leader of the Black Dragonflight and ascend to the ranks of the world dragons, with dominion over all the Emerald Dream….Segue:

Buried behind stacks of parchment and massive piles of books, High Chancellor Gohjira ponders the latest response from the emissary of the Dark Lady.

“Your request for information with regard to the Underguard and lichborne jewel crafting are hereby denied. Maintain your station and vigilance. “

Again he pondered the worth of his works within the fortress of the Lady Nyx. “How’s cannae we keeps up ow-ah struggles in da effort dat ev’n da Dahk Lady has seemins ta forgots? Ha she no in’rest in finding da secrets behind dat foul trinket dat brung abouts da fall of da Twilight Citadel?”
Indeed the return of her original people, the elves, seems to have distracted her to the point of ignoring all other issues. “We cannae let da Twilight Hammah run da courses un-baited. I will take’s to da council of da Night wardahs an Umbral Champions da new proposal. We mus keep’s da fight fo right. Iffen da Lady not willin, den we usurp da ordah an impose it ow-ah selves. We save da wirld in spites of it’seff”

Gohjira was shaken from his reverie by the sudden opening of his study door and the looming shadow of a heavily plated tauren and his terrifying visage.
“Come with me,” Gorehorn growled, “I need the trinket from its hold. Aitana is coming and I am taking it and my questions to Lady Nyx. I will be no retreating guard any longer!”
The tremor in the taurens voice was unusual but the intent was clear. Gorehorn was on the cusp of unhinged violence and he meant to take this attitude before the Dark Lady herself.
“Mastah Gor-“ even before he could finish the words Gohjira was ducking to the floor as the tauren flew into a storm of expletives normally saved for the battlefield and rampaged throughout the small quarters provided the troll priest. Ducking dodging and quickly whispering a prayer that shielded himself with holy power Gohjira resisted the temptation to shroud himself in shadow power. Gorehorn had become far more powerful in recent weeks and far more brooding than ever before. Looking like he was ready to fight the warrior might well prove fatal.
“AY-YAAAH! I go! I come an git da ting whitch yas! Juz stops a’ready!”
Breathing heavily Gorehorn loomed over the troll, his eyes bathed in an eerie reddish glow that shook the priest. A brief pause left the troll wondering if he would be meeting his maker sooner than expected, but the old warrior merely gestured his massive head towards the door. Gohjira found himself hoping that Aitana would be arriving sooner rather than later.

[Caim]

(Sent report from Caim after arriving in Orgrimmar after the UBRS raid today)

After the travels at Blackrock spire I have decided to backtrack our steps. With lady Aitana's approval I've set flight back to Kalmidor. My first stop will be Orgrimmar and from there I will travel back Azshara. I've taking up night at the inn here. The orcs have always been kind in there rates and have giving me free stay.

In the morning I shall take flight and seek the dragon spirit for any clues we may have missed and until then I will ask around the locals here in Orgrimmar.
Nothing much to report for now. Will send letter again tomorrow.


~Signed "Caim"

[Caim]

~Second Report~

Travels have come up with nothing new, the dragon spirit only spoke of something amiss. I'm not sure what he meant but perhaps we indeed missed something. I'm heading to Mudsprocket now. I will ask around the towns there and the area.

I'll report again with hopefully some good news of my travels to lady Aitana.


~Signed, Caim~

[Theotaz]

Theotaz rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The dream had come again. surrounded by the glow of molten rock, vapor thick in the air that burned his mouth and nose with the stench of baking sulfer. a great burning cloud of vapir raising up, and out of the cloud the head of a dragon..not just any dragon but the Earth Warder him self..raw open crack in his hide glowing red with an unholy glow. Plates of metal rivited to his scales. Deathwing. It had to be Deathwing. but it was not the past he was seeing but the now. Yet that could not be.... or could it? legend had it the the combined power of the dragon aspects had defeated deathwing, but no mention had been made that Deathwing had died. Thetaz suspected that it was entirely possible that Deathwing's death would weaken the world its self so much that it would shatter much as had Dreanor, the orc home world. The Aspects were part of the very fabric of Azeroth, more so perhapes then even the dragons them selves suspected. This was an entirely new thought. Theo had many of those these days. There were several reason for them, but one stood out above all others. Theotaz no longer aged.

The curse of being a death Knight. The gift that the powers of Arthus the lich king had granted could not so easily be taken away. He was immortal now. Kheliosrham understood why he did not court or even make any certain attempt with the several very lovely troll females in the guild. To love, and live, and to see ones beloved age and eventually die was not something he was willing to subject himself to, and he was uncertain he could father a child as it was. And to be unable to make a child with a woman was not something he was will to subject a woman he loved to. No, his curse would be his alone. His foolishness had brought about his current condition. he would subject no other to it. But his curse did give him a new awareness of the subtleties about him and his companions sworn to the service of the lady Nyx. There was a much deeper game afoot then Deathwings futile battle for dominance of Azeroth and the other dragons. He was certain of that now. Wheels within wheels, within still more wheels, set inside yet more wheels. A very deep program of deception had been set in motion ages and ages ago with the first war against the burning legion. Sagaras's he wondered? It didn't fit. Sagaras was about a subtle as a mountain falling from the sky in comparison. Sagaras was all about power for powers sake. What had brought him to Azeroth in the first place was the well of eternity. The wells boundries had been shattered but the well was still there seathing at the bottom of the great maelstrom in the depths of the great sea. Arthus knew this, but had no interest in the well its self. A curious blind spot. And what of the dragons. They also seemed uninterested in the wells deep ocean remenent. Had the titans constructed the well, or was it allready there when they came to Azeroth. He had spoken with Drenai and high elven death knights. Dreanor had nothing like the well of eternity, nor had any of the worlds the Drenai had visited in thier long long flight across the universe in flight from the burning legion. He no longer belived the Drenai ancestors responsible in the long chain of events that had brought them to his world. They were also victims of Sagaras's insane quest for destruction. Shattered world, destroyed and corrupted peoples lay in Sagaras's wake like toys cast aside by a petulant child. The corruption of the Earth Warder, and now Maygos appeared to be following in Deathwings path. He had spoken some with Svalina who was definatly older then he by many tens of years but he had realized that there were tremendous gaps in her knowledge. Sylvanus had granted him audience on a number of occasions and welcomed him warmly after his return to the world as a Death Knight having recalled his service to her in previous years but even her fantasticly long life had provided no new information. There was something very old, very ancient, and very currupting at work in Azeroth, Something older then Sagaras, perhapes older then the Titans. He could feel it, like a whisper at the back of his mind.

For good or ill he had sworn himself to the lady Nyx. Perhapes it was time to talk to her. He had finally noticed at the last time in the ladys presence that the geas that prevented him from speaking of Deathwing did not seem to operate around the Lady. He found that most curious. Most curious indeed. Could the geas be coming from lady Nyx herself? And if so, why? Theotaz considered himself a troll of thought, but also one of action. Perhapes it was simply time to go ask.



((doncha just love a good mystery? Aitana et al; this one had been cooking on my several back burners for some time. I'm somewhat reading between the lines for Blizzard, and where they may be going in the future with lore of Warcraft. Deathwings corruption was done by the elder gods imprisoned within Azeroth by the Titans. The long madness of Malygos after the destruction of the Blue Dragonflight in the first war would have left his vulnerable to thier influence, which appears to be borne out by the actions of the blues in this latest expansion. Now I know we can have fun with this!))