Horde

Hello Haven Folks!

Once upon a time, for the first anniversary of our website here, the call went out for banner designs. However, our site wasn't yet properly worn in (or other things got in the way!) and the new colors and themes went to that place where Blizzard keeps the updated player models.  But now, LO! There shall be a new contest, and new banners, and new themes, and new colors to enjoy!

READ ON TO FIND OUT MORE.

(( Title from King of New Orleans ))

"They say you eat 'em," da orc boy says, calm as anytin', but da goblin flick Wen a look.

Deep blue veils divide the room, smoke drifting lazily through the air. Women of all races dance and move across the stage as the patrons look upon them with lust in their eyes and in their hearts. Women walking around with drink trays take orders to quench their patrons' thirst. The owner of the Club Synnaquin, a beautiful older elf, lounges on a pillow with her husband Jericho as they watch their girls work and make them money.

Content looks around, taking everything in. Her eyes wide with wonder at all the things going on in one building. Where did that couple go? What are they doing? Why are there moans and groans coming from behind the veil? Questions, she's sure, will be answered soon. Everyone here is so nice to me! I'm sure they'll tell me soon... she thinks as she is being led behind a veil herself.

*faint static tunes in to a clear, calm voice*

Welcome to the University of Kalimdor’s AudioNether Repository.  All events were recorded on-site at the time of presentation and archived for posterity.

Please enjoy the following lecture, given by Professor Avner of Kezan, on the topic of relations between the Orcs and Kaldorei. The lecture was presented at the Mo’grosh Base Camp in the Northern Barrens seven weeks after the Cataclysm.  Dean Artisania Stillwater-Ell’Karan created the recording amid a group of eight attendees.

*voice fades to silence, replaced by gentle breezes, the chirping of insects, and distant cries of predatory birds.  The rustling of a group of people is heard in the background throughout*

The white worg surged forward, intercepting the chain meant for its mistress. I watched as the woman fired her gun into the abomination's face, the worg now tearing at its guts, until the monster fell.

She never saw the desiccated spearman coming behind her, but it wasn't much of a problem. My shield blocked its strike before my sword sliced the mindless creature's head off, keeping it from her. She turned, gun swinging past me to fire at a necromage casting from the roof of a ruined building.

“Watch yourself, Deathguard,” she growled, forcing her curly, gray-frosted brown hair under her cap again. I kept my back to her, uncertain that my helm or the decomposed state of my face would be enough to hide myself if I looked her in the eye. I heard her worg snarl at me as they moved off to fight the next wave of Scourge, Thassarian's people temporarily working alongside of Koltira's to push the Scourge out of Andorhal.

This was the closest I could ever come.

(This entire post is OOC.)

An update on the guild's situation, 3/29/2011:

The Captain was captured and imprisoned by Alliance forces for several months recently. During that time, a "trusted" high-ranking member of the Brigands was supposed to take charge, but he failed. Without leadership, the crew scattered to the wind. Upon returning to freedom, Lulika was disappointed to find she could not locate any of her old crew, most of whom she considered friends. She has begun building a new crew, but holds hope that her old comrades will return soon.

She couldn't move. She could barely breathe. The sensation was oddly comforting, like being wrapped in a warm blanket. It muffled the sounds of the outside world, and all she could hear was the sound of her own heart and the steady rush of blood through her veins. She was thirsty--her mouth felt dry, and she wasn't sure how long she'd been here. She found, though, that she did not mind. It was safe here. She didn't want to leave.

From the journal of Amara Niall:

When one walks through a door, the transition from one place to another is obvious and sudden. When walking into a forest from a plain, the transition might be more subtle, with light trees and brush giving way to thicker growth more slowly. A transition abrupt but not obvious is rare, in nature. It is akin to coming upon a sea after crossing much sand, with the sun at such an angle that the sea and sand look alike - and either the sea is still, or the sand stirs like the waves, so they cannot be told apart until the water laps on one’s toes. Or suddenly swallows one whole. Or is the transition the other way, and one suddenly feels heavy upon a grainy shore, and finds that he has washed up on sand?

The tide of wounded eventually slowed, then stopped almost completely. This gave acolyte Helewyn Southcliffe time to really think about and try to adapt to the fact her family was almost entirely gone.

When it became too much to bear, she would pick up one of the story-books the Abbey had, ones full of parables and myths and heroic events where the Light had prevailed, and would go and read to the wounded.

At eighteen, Helewyn was blissfully unaware of the real, wider, world. She had lived in the Abbey since she was a child and while she had sat in and done well in her lessons, lessons taught her almost nothing of real life.

"Wyvern off the port side.  Coming in fast!"

The Deckhand's shout brought about a commotion of armored bodies turning and twisting to confirm the bogey.

"Looks like she's coming in for the deck.  Marines, I want her down before she boards!"

The RP-GG hit the wall, knocking the bricks over in a large explosion. Kloreen, of course, clapped so excitedly that she was wiggling about on Lathaire's shoulder. "Such great quality! Only the best from my stock, of course." The Orc set the stick that once held the rocket down and examined the hole in the wall before nodding. "We'll take them, enough for our offensive on Wintergrasp."

"Sooo." The Goblin tapped her fingers against the Tauren's horn as she did some quick math. "I'll sell you two hundred for two gold each, how does that sound?" The Orc turned, he wore the armor of a Horde officer and from the amount of money he had at his disposal, a higher ranking one too. "Yes, that will aid our attack."

"When is your offensive?"

"In a day's time."

"I can get you some nice catapults by then, about ten. It'll give you a huge advantage!"

"...Fine, how much?"

The silence of a siege.  Behind the barricades of Dun Modr the Horde sat, stubbornly digging in.  Before the barricades, Alliance soldiers picked through the mud to pull out bodies.  They put their own on carts to take back to the encampment.  They lined the Horde fallen before Dun Modr, as a wrathful reminder.  A chill Wetlands rain spattered both the living and dead, and the mud was tinged red and black and stank worse than ever.  Now and then an arrow with rugged plainstrider fletching would zip through the Alliance soldiers from some hidden sniper in the Dun Modr buildings; a mortar would be fired in return, sending up a cloud of smoke to be beaten down again by the fog.  

Friends and Allies of the Horde, we face enemies from all borders.  Whether from Alliance attacks, the cruel demons of the Burning Legion, or from the ravages of the undead Scourge, our peoples face constant threats to our lives, our homes, and our culture.  Our enemies want more than just control and dominance: our enemies will stop at nothing until we are broken and destroyed.  And not just the destruction of our lands and lives:  they seek the utter destruction of our ideals, our traditions, and everything we value.  Our enemies wish to wipe out everything that makes us who we are, everything that makes us Horde, by subsuming and consuming us utterly.

We cannot allow this.

A light rain spattered down from low steel-gray clouds, masking the twilight with a further layer of obscurity.  Shadows celebrated by cloaking everything with enthusiasm, and the mist welled up between them.  In the high grass, a hundred chirping things cried out their last pleas for end-of-summer romances, each sound overlapping the next.  Echo moved along the roadside undetectable beyond her flitting silhouette.

Perfect.  The perfect night to reconnoiter, and the last night she was staying in the damp chill of the highlands.  Heather and broom twisted about her ankles as she walked quickly through the grasses, their sharp scent tingling her nose.  She kept trying not to think of the warm bedroom back in Wyntersmere.  She’d been trying not to think about it for days now, as all her searches lead to dead ends.

The whistle keened high and long, crying into the Arathi hills.  Echo lowered her hand from beside her pursed lips, letting the whistle peter off.  She watched the tall pickets surrounding Hammerfall, then turned her eyes to the two guards outside the camp’s gate.  The two heavily-armed trolls continued to stare her down, adjusting their grips on their weapons.  They were just waiting for her to step another yard closer.

“Toby, Toby, Toby...”  

Echo let the name drift from her lips, replacing it with her cigarette, taking a slow drag as the Arathi landscape rolled away.  She had been riding south for a while, first making time to Southshore to check on any suspicious activity there, and when no clues to the barber’s flight came up she stocked up her horse and kept riding.  Now and then she referred to notes taken from papers found in the Cultist’s encampment and the Barber shop, though they were vague and unreliable.  She had never been very good at puzzles.  By the time she passed under Thoradin’s Wall her search had turned from determined to thoughtful, and her hurried pace had likewise slowed.  It suited Arathi, after all; the wide open hills, the mists that clung to them, and the faint cool sunlight hid little from her eyes. She was content to ponder and plan.

“So,” I said, clasping my hands over my desk in my best professional manner, “What is it that brings one of the Lady Sylvanas’s dark rangers…hehn…to seek the aid of this ‘relic of Lordaeron law’?”

She smiled, an expression so cold and heartless that even the Lich King’s fabled frozen throne must have been warmer by comparison.  She leaned over my desk – a part of me couldn’t help but wonder how exactly her dress managed to contain her not-inconsiderable physical endowments – and whispered a word that conjured to my mind countless cases from my time among the living, each one a vile memory that haunted me even beyond the grave.

“Murder.”

The Hellfire dust hissed with a hollow, metallic noise as it was borne on the hot wind and pelted against Umbuya’s plate armor. He stood in the regimented unit of other Horde warriors, his height making him more shoulder-to-shoulder with his Tauren compatriots than the orcs or his own race.

General Krakork was shouting something, barking in Orcish while pacing in front of the assembled warparty. All Umbuya could hear was the hiss of the sand against his armor. It hissed on his shoulders, his plate chest, but most of all it sang in his helmet.

As the wind shifted and danced, the sound increased or waned, like the pain that assaulted his head. He had a headache. He always, always had a headache. There were knots in his back, and his muscles all throbbed with a dull complaint.

*Dozens of flyers are posted all over every Horde Capital.*

"Adventuring not your thing? Would you rather have fun and party? More worried about a bitch queen instead of the Lich King? Either way "Tatai's Place" is hiring in advance of it's grand opening! We're a new Nightclub to Silvermoon, offering a variety of exotic beverages from the four corners of Azeroth, and just as exotic dancers and music to go with them! We're accepting everybody with a variety of talents and skills, stop by the Warlock Sanctum in Silvermoon after hours or contact the Club's lovely owner, a Missus Tesstirina Windstalker. Wether it's shaking a cup, shaking your fist, or shaking your hips, we've got a job for you!

Positions Needed:

Two: Bartenders/Drink Servers

Three: Dancers (Two Female One Male)

One: "Goods" Supplier

She will give you what you most desire, and make you wish you never wanted it.

              ‘Here I am, using my schematic book as a Journal.  Go me.  Well this is a first in a list of firsts for me.  Incase someone finds this book and is able to read my scribbles, my name is Zero, I suppose I had another name before but I don’t know it and no one is left as far as I know, no one remembers my real name but I’m getting away from the problem at hand.

http://covenant-shc.wowstead.com

Hey, folks!  Adaelus/Greenswitch/Dresmiir/Xhemisai here.  Some of you may know me, some may not.  I'll be honest, I am absolutely horrid at making posts to Haven, but I do read those of others!  But let me get to the point here: raiding.  Yep, raiding.  I'm not talking progression, 25man hardmode bustyernuts raiding.  I am talking (typing?) about casual, laid back RP raids on a 10man scale, possibly 25man.  Places like Naxxramas (for new toons maybe), Ulduar, Trial of the Crusader, and Icecrown Citadel, all done with roleplay.  Heck, even some old school raids such as MC, AQ, ZG (can be solo'd now D:) and BC raids like BT, SSC, etc.

“... go somewhere...”

They were waiting for her. The pirates had promised a sum of gold that would clear their tabs at the local tavern, and it was the thought of all that gold that had sealed the deal for Ishwana. That alone should have alerted her: Pirates were never known for their fiscal generosity.

She saw nothing wrong with taking a small trinket off of the hands of a wealthy paladin. In fact, she gloated in the ‘service’ she rendered by relieving others of the monetary burdens they carried. It was the fact that the pirates seemed so determined to acquire such a plain medallion that set her mind on high alert. There was something more to this golden bauble.

"...safe and sound..."

“... I’ll be safe...”

The road from Gurubashi Arena had not changed much since Zyjiin had last set foot upon it. Traffic had lessened a bit in the late afternoon sun, but he was still caught off guard by the occasional rush of Kodos and Rams, who seemed to enjoy the sport of warning him only seconds before he would be trampled underfoot. His body reacted by throwing itself into the moist foliage, but his thoughts travelled beyond the Vale.

To the heros of the Horde!

Though the very walls of Icecrown Citadel now echo with the thunder of our own footfall I urge you to take your gaze away from that great black spire and turn it back to our Homelands! Look at what we have done, left our very homes and towns under the guardianship of younglings! Silithid runs rampant with bugs! Blackrock mountain overflows with fresh orcs! The Dragonqueen herself has once again risen from the ashes! The center of Azeroth even bubbles with evil! And who is left to hold back these earth shaking forces? Clumsy orcs! Flimsy Sin'dorei! And the Alliance!

I tell you now, if you value your honor you will not leave our homes barren and helpless for such dark forces to run rampant! Join me now and help us secure our lands from these evils that have been left unattended so we may have a home to return to once the Lich King has been finished for good.