Thunder Bluff

In my time since the spirits spoke to Mistrunner, I have done nothing but aid my village. I must aid them in hunting and gathering – in helping to feed the village, and solve problems. To be a member of the tribe – and one that wields power, nonetheless, I must prove that I can help further the tribe's well-being.

Gart has taught me much. How to use nature to both attack, and defend – I have drunk from the water of spirits, and traveled the plains to visit outposts, and other tribes. My eyes have been opened to the threats to our people. No longer do the centaur plague us where we dwell in the arms of the Earthmother...but now the pig-men have moved in. They capture our scouts, and hunting parties...and we hunt them in turn. Everything has its place in nature, but these pig-men are not content with their lot.

((Down below the break is an image for the blog.))

"Nechi ich towateke ki hale chi, Uthan."

Friends, Uthan and Ayasuletu of the Stillwater tribe. He, Uthan, would be described as middle-aged to his people. She, Ayasuletu, would be described as young to her people. Though they were of the same Tribe, they were not of the same people. The Shu'halo did not know how to judge the age of an elf.

She had greeted him formally, though the smile on her face gave away her wish to jump and hug him; Uthan was the one to have accepted her right from the start, teaching her the language on long fishing trips where he witnessed the darkening and reddening of elven skin. She didn't let into her wish of an embrace. They were to go on another fishing trip now, and this time there was a scent of oil and herbs coming from her skin.

"Pawene ichnee pawene, Ayasuletu."

Kyi'lin was getting used to navigating the Bluffs, the elements were helping prevent her from stumbling over the edge, but after going on her own little explotations without Raeril's small hand tugging her carefully along, the Troll seemed to now know her way around the Spirit Rise and Main Bluff. The Elder Rise was next, but for now Kyi was happy with getting to the inn for a simple meal. Her steps were careful and the Taurens often moved out of the way, giving her shoulder a gentle pat of encouragement. By the time Kyi'lin reached the inn, she was in a good mood, the sun warmed the Bluffs and a gentle breeze ensured that it would not grow too hot. This place was surely favoured by the elements for it's people's respect of them. Raeril had taken the liberty of dividing Kyi'lin's coins into seperate pouches, allowing her to simply hand the pouch to the innkeeper in return for her usual meal of tea and fresh bread.

Slipping through the large abode, Jeantaigne slowly allowed his gaze to drift across the horizon.  Taking his familiar spot at the cliff's edge, he softly began to ring his fingers, amidst each other.  The subtle, onyx glow of his blade's hilt was tightly pressed against his skin, causing the pale veil of soft flesh to shimmer slightly.  The cold was nearly unbearable.  Its sting was drilling itself into his chest, like a blade piercing decayed flesh.  Among the tranquil scene of Thunder Bluff, a man whimpered softly to himself.  His voice was that of a chilling breeze; soft, cold, and unbelievable light.

"Remain strong... You're not alone, anymore..."

(( Notes taken while Assembling a Group. Large image below break. ))

Artisania Stillwater-Ell’Karan breathed a sigh of relief.

The breath, a sudden cold fog in the Winterspring air, dissipated quickly, revealing once again the comforting sight of the little cottage nestled by the hillside.  The goblins had said the place had escaped any cataclysmic harm, but Artisania had insisted on seeing for herself before putting down any gold on the annual holiday rental.  She smiled, visions of warm tea and snowy mornings floating through her mind.  At least some things hadn’t changed.

Found outside the University of Kalimdor Library of Thunder Bluff.

Attached to a recording playback device of a sort that has proven a steadily popular tool among Goblins over the last few years is a white scrap of paper.  Written on it are the words "c/o uok".  If one were to activate the device, they would hear the following, spoken by a husky, feminine voice.

It has been a week since I found time to write in my journal, I don't even know how to start. Lets see.

November, a month not easily to be forgotten. Many won't look back with warm open arms and hearty smiles. No, this month was a time of great sorrow to all members of the Horde. The elemental invasion, followed by the death Cairne Bloodhoof.

To pay our respects to the Tauren, my husband and I travelled to Mulgore by portal to help with the post shattering relief efforts. Orgrimmar seemed to have more then enough support; not that I favor Orgrimmar over others. I look at our allies as equals.

We've been helping in different departments of the relief. Gwrtheyrn has been helping rebuild huts, and portalling in supplies. There is just something about watching him work that *scribbled out words*. He looks good working.

"Blaze!" The voice of Moriurya was choked as a storm elemental moved toward her, whipping her words around in the wind. It was only luck that the mage throwing fireballs at the water elemental had heard Moriurya in-time to break the spell that was suffocating her. She coughed as the elemental dropped her to the ground and her feline companion bore down upon her. "Dimetri! We need to fall back! There are still civilians here!"

Part Six: Northrend - Epilogue

Let no one ever say, “We could have never imagined.” Let no one ever say, “We had no warning.”  Let no one ever say the worst catastrophe could not have been foreseen.

We have our testing ground, our hypotheses proven, in a crescent of land at the top of our world.  Northrend was once a pure land, a staging ground for the Titan’s creation of our world.  It remains a place where wilderness remains untouched, where tall peaks tower capped with snow; where the engines of the makers still grind slowly, echoing the distant past.  It is the aerie of the Aspects and the graveyard of our world, a promise of life and a promise of death.

And Northrend is broken, corrupted, and forever changed, much as our own lands could be.

The rain was like razors as they were shot into the thick hide of the Tauren. The wind blew a Sin'dorei in bright robes into one of the kodo-hide huts, threatening to be ripped from the ground. Shouts and screams were just barely audible over the howl of the winds. Raeril had been near him a moment ago, aiding his proud people in the defense of their home. Two more smaller races blurred as they toppled towards Helfentt. The giant druid dropped his staff, it rolled away into the chaos as he dug his great hooves into the muddy ground, large arms out to the sides as the two figures came closer. A soaking wet, Rae landed against his chest and the Tauren caught the Orc warrior by his thick belt. The orc gained his footing again, patting Helfentt's arm before drawing his ax and running forward yelling. Helfentt carefully set Raeril down in front of himself to help act as a brace for her to lean up against.

THE UNDERCITY

Daraman caught the look on Lyndra's face as he raced around the small stone apartment they had shared for the past two years.  He knew this was going to get ugly. 

"Why are you doing this?"  She asked, her voice dripping with scorn and contempt. 

"Thunder Bluff is my home, my people need me," he replied, still packing for the trip. 

"Your people are here, Dar.  How many times must we go over this?  You're dead.  Why do you still concern yourself with the living?"

"Because they are still my people, whether I am dead or not!" he shouted, throwing the last item into his pack, "These people are the future of Azeroth, not us.  You and I may well live forever, but it means nothing if we can't create life, if we can't...hope...for something better than today!"

Many of these feathers have started appearing all across Azeroth. They may not appear out of place in some, but are certainly worth note in others. They are most often ten inches in length and three in width at their widest point, with some variation. They most often appear in slums, cemeteries, places of magical power, and cathedrals. Some residents of these areas may end up missing, or dead. No masks appear on the corpses of the deceased.

"You have to understand, that it's not one of Them, dig?  But it's there, it waits man, it waits and it listens, because it belongs to...to Her, All For Her, always and ever and you just...you can't get away, you can't EVER get out of it!  No matter how hard you try...

I guess that's why I'm leaving you this.  I've fucked up, Rukkle.  I've fucked up big time.  We all did.  We should never have listened to Bill when he talked about one more job.  Heh...but wasn't that how it always went?

Before we go anywhere. Carnival is NEXT year. 2010. There's lots of planning needed, and there's no way we're going to get it kicking before then. Thank you for being interested. Please read on.

The nights in Mulgore are as clear as ever, the stars shinning brighter than most anywhere else on Azeroth. This night was no different with its bonfires and low chanting over drums. Every night seemed to have some type of ceremony as dinner rests within the body and juices are passed around during a song about the greatness of the Orcs who saved the Shu’Halo.

Rya Brightsinger, Ambassador from the Sin’Dorei to the Shu’Halo, was one of the few elves of the Horde ever allowed to such evenings. No matter if the Blood Elves are a part of the same cause as the Tauren, those of Mulgore, or any Tauren, knows that the thirst of magic that the Sin’dorei and the Quel’dorei feel is dangerous and should not be allowed to integrate into their society of the balance of nature. But Rya had proved months before that she could live among them by going through and surviving the Rites of the Earthmother.

Dear Journal,

I know you never get that feeling that you are being followed, mainly because you are a book, but I wonder if anyone else feels like they are being tracked by hidden enemies and/or allies. I know that I have had spies on me for at least a year now, but I did not think they would stick around so long. Persistent little buggers, I must admit.

Thunderbluff was as beautiful as ever. A soft rain left the plains in glow, making me wish I wasn't told to come back. I know that "come back to Silvermoon now" were not his exact words, but his words on the paper definitely suggested that Convocate Goldleaf did not want me out and did not trust me as a bureaucrat and an ambassador. So I left Thunderbluff about a week earlier than I wished. Oh well ... no time to relax I guess when there is chaos to be had.

I see it in their eyes. 

Fear.

And I find....I feel it not. 

Artisania Stillwater-Ell'Karan fell into the kitchen chair. No tea was necessary.

Nephirin crouched in the shadow of the building, carefully waiting for the tauren to pass.  As the bull moved on, Nephirin grabbed the support beam above him, and pulled himself up, his fingers scraping against the rough grain of the wood.  Once up, Nephirin quickly dashed along the beam and then jumped off the end, his fingers latching on to the platformed edge of the Great Totem.

It was a lot easier than I thought it would be. Big University library and all, you'd think they'd have better security. I'd taken more precautions than I'd needed, perhaps, but in my line over cautious was better than not. I'd gone early on a weekday, while the sun was still struggling over the mountains surrounding Mulgore and the air was wet with dew. Most folks were busy at market or starting their hunts, taking the wee tots off to schooling or ... whatever it is Tauren do with their free time. Polish their horns in a mirror, I suppose?

Given to Artisania and Teledriath by the Elders of Thunder Bluff, in recognition of their recent marriage:

(full image under the cut)

It's a beautiful night up here in the mountains, Cinn. Don't you think? I mean, I loved it on the Barrens.. the smell, the heat... the life.. it was so. Hum. What's the word? Primal? Vital. It was vitality I felt amid the sweating beasts and the rustling dry grass.
Up here... it's very different, but it's the same, you know? It's life. All around us. Untamed, beautiful life.
Like that rock we saw along the path. I know you were using the bush, but I REALLY liked that rock. The paterns on it of lichen.. it was.. it was so different, wasn't it, Cinn?

I had a very pleasant evening with Artisania, Teledriath, and Vohlash last night. I saw Tylien, too, briefly, but she was leaving just as I arrived. She looked well, though.