war

I fear no evil.

Nor do I fear death.

There is a fire in my heart I need to reignite.

Step one or is this two?

Pain is real. Go figure.

The grassy hillock provides just enough cover – and for once, my green skin is a boon. The two short, pink hill-dwellers seem to argue with each other, before breaking into guffaws.

One ventures into a dilapidated house, working his way into the cellar.

The other chuckles to himself, wiping his tattooed forehead before pulling a flask from his belt. Too comfortable, for a look-out. He will soon learn why.

A grin stretches around my too-small tusks.

Now.

Since Blizzard had their little party and mentioned certain things that are upcoming in the next expansion, I've noticed a few argument/complaint threads have broken out on the official and related forums here and there.  I'm not going to mention the details here because it can be considered a SPOILER.  But those of you who read them as well will know what I mean and hopefully avoid spoilerising if you choose to add to this thread  ;)

Also:  please don't turn this into a shit-slinging storm of bias and parochialism.  None of us are ACTUALLY Horde or Alliance and we're not ACTUALLY at war, so let's behave like normal people and not go crazy... It might seem weird to add this warning, but it's happened in the past, believe me!

So here's what I'm interested in:  CAN THE ALLIANCE WIN THE WAR?

They told me there's a new Warchief sitting on a throne of bones wearing the desiccated remains of a demon on his shoulders.

What did anyone expect would happen?

Vindicator Haran rode at a brisk pace atop his scarred and sinewy Elekk south down the road from Astranaar. There had been the briefest of pauses in the constant battle in the town following the death of Senior Artificer Uktal, and although no formal word had been passed regarding the matter, he fervently prayed that the Orcs had not been responsible. The acting Warden had given sincere promise that whoever had done such a terrible thing would pay dearly—the Kaldorei held the man in great esteem, and the murder of any non-combatant, especially one already severely crippled as he was an unspeakable act. Still, it was with regret that said promise had been a tally of fifty dead Orcs with his name carved in their chests. The Kaldorei Wardens could be fatalistic and grim it seemed.

If you have to kill someone, if you have to;

is it somehow better to kill them clean with a bullet to a head?

Is it somehow worse to hack into them beyond recognition?

What if it's done for the right cause, or the wrong one?

There is no stray breeze for feverish skin. No teasing hint of water for parched throats. Sweat simply evaporates, steaming before it swiftly dissipates.

“You're not so bad, you know,” I told her. We'd been assigned in Highbank, the Sergeant and I, she to help Lieutenant Fawkes whip the Marksman into shape and myself to... I'm still not entirely sure why she’d asked me to go.

When I said that she just looked up from her bowl and smirked, the campfire reflected in her uncannily blue eyes as a sharp crack of gunfire rang out in the distance. She didn't say anything so I shrugged and idly turned the fish kebab she'd made me between my fingers before I spoke up again, “Lots of the other Dragoons are intimidated by you, I mean, you're taller than some of the guys, you only really say something when you're asking us to do something or ordering us to do something, not to mention you've got that big lion.. What kind of a name is Ben for a lion anyway? You’re kinda tough too, you’ve been through a lot, we all know that. Johnny brought up one of the rumors about--”

Kjerstin had been expecting the envelope that would recall her to active duty for weeks.  At first, she had tried to convince herself she was dreading it.  She had just settled into the little house with Dad and Elsa, and she was far from sure they would be all right without her.  Every time she thought she had found someone to do the housekeeping, it fell through.  It had been a mystery to her until she overheard one of the women talking to her friend on the way out.  Something wrong with that child.  Not a word, not a sound, and the way she stares at you...it just ain't natural!  Kjerstin's hands had balled into fists before she got a grip on herself and remembered that this was the city, not the Front.  Instead of punching that fat face, she had ground her teeth and gone inside to give Elsa a hug.

(( A very neat forum thread just popped up in the World's End Tavern official forum (a rare occurance). I know we've had things like this come up on Haven from time to time, but I've never seen it come up on the WET thread list. This was my blurb for the word given. ))

"Things are a lot looser in peacetime, people get lazy."

The Orcs were much better prepared to handle the enraged mage that was burning through the lumber workers. Orc warriors and Goblin shredders converged on Akiri as she wildly threw magic around. She actually had to attempt to shield herself as axes and saws attempted to cut her down. She was covered in blood, bruises, mud and cuts.

She could feel the last of her magic leaving her as the potency of her attacks was weakening and the blows from the Orcs were feeling more severe. She was beginning to feel weak from the pain, but she would not relent until the intruders paid for their destruction.

Akiri pulled as hard as she could on the magic around her and she exploded in a torrent of arcane energy as it flowed up and around her. The vortex returned her energy to keep fighting them off as it threw them back and gave her a moment to regain her footing.

Elivel looked down at the table, then back up to the great wall infront of her. The task itself was rather simple in nature... take Gilneas for the horde. Gorrash Hellscream wanted a port, and the Dark Lady wanted to secure the future of her people. Things were going fine, until the 7th Legion showed up ... with Alliance navy in toe.

Now, the battle seemed more a stalemate then anything else.

The Paladin turned around as the sound of a hawkstrider approached. The rider dismounted, walked over to Elivel and handed her a scroll.

Elivel opened it, gave it a quick read as the messager mounted back up and headed back the way he came.

The paladin couldn't help but chuckle at the note's contents.

The Apothocary looked over at Elivel. "What's so funny?"

Elivel looked over at the female forsaken, "Seems the Bishop is second-guessing a field decision from an arm chair, and here I thought that responsiblity belonged to the fledgining politicians."

(( Title from Don't Drink the Water. ))

Had been kinda strange, listenin' ta da Taurens, hearin' claims ta da land, no matter who be on i'.

He stood silently atop the frozen peak. The large mountain barely leaving much room to stand. The large bronze dragon perched, claws dug into the rock just below him. His eyes were forlorn as always...that blue glow distant and somewhat dim. The wind whistled and whipped about his platinum colored hair. His heavy plate armor anchoring him in the snow...the chill of the wind crept up his spine. He closed his eyes and began to go back...to a time when things were more simple.

He'd nearly passed out, lost his vision, but someone, or something had kept agging him on. The Soldiers around him pushing on his heavy plate covered form. The loss of blood had made him weak...he wasn't even sure he could make it...and then the world went black. 

“What th -”  Echo whirled around as Kast jerked the flare from her belt, but he was already off, jogging toward the center of the fray.  Her eyes moved swiftly from him to the clash between Malifor and Krauss, then suddenly she was bowled over.  Sharp pain slid over her side, bruising her ribs.  What was that? Longsword? Lance? Totem?

He could feel the heavy breathing of the Charger underneath him. The larger than average horse dug into the mud harshly, almost clawing as if it's very life depended on it. The alliance soldier's spread, as he moved through their ranks. He snorted through his plate helm...time seemed to stop. His bright eyes saw Elrin Kast....saw Marshal Krauss...No. He couldn't let it go like this...Kast had taken too much of the burden. Compassion...It was that weakness Krauss had spoke of...he'd soon find out how much he has. 

41. The ground shook under her, and she braced herself in the doorway of her home. The while walls, not yet painted beyond a few decorations around the windows, cracked and chipped as the structure trembled. There was a crash from the storage room as a heavy pot fell from its shelf, and her hammock swung wildly, thumping against the wall. Below, in the raptor pen, the matriarch let out a piercing shriek and the others joined in, their calls nearly drowning out the rumbling. She'd found some stability, but it seemed at that moment as if everything was coming apart around her: her friends, the village, her mastery over the raptors. The world merely mirrored her inner confusion. The tremors ceased and her confidence returned, but she was left with the lingering, bitter-tasting memory of how easily she had been shaken.

In the frozen reaches of the Azerothian ceiling, lay a citadel of former terror and intimidation. Nestled within edges of the barbaric arctic glacier, Frostmana Citadel had another guest tonight. Finishing up on business delayed a few nights behind, Duke Starscythe and Matriarch Avaraelia met upon the chilled veranda, discussing the benefits of allies within the Silver City. Next to them was some five-hundred year old ale, carefully crafted for the frigid air.

He stared into her soul, wondering if that -is- the truth. "Call me what you will. I will be here for all time."

Avaraelia matches his gaze calmly, quietly. Black-spiraled violet stared just as deeply into blueish-white, a wry smile playing at the corners of her lips. "There is a difference, my lord, between friends and -friends.- True friends are those whom one can safely entrust their darkest, most dangerous, and most damning of secrets. Such trust however, is difficult to obtain and return, these days.

Being around for a long time, one is accustomed to having things their way. Occasionally, there comes a time where one must in true humility deny themselves and defer to others' desires. Such was the case when the humans finally 'matured'. I remember it faintly, as we were theirs to call upon as allies; and they, to us. Such an arrangement was before I was even made manifest in this world, a rarity to see one of the short-ears in our lands.

"Naturally the common people don't want war; neither in Orgrimmar, nor in Stormwind, nor in Quel'Thalas, nor in Darnassus.

That is understood.

But after all, it is the leaders of the country who determine policy, and it is always a simple matter to drag the people along, whether it is a democracy, or a fascist dictatorship, or a parliament, or a communist dictatorship.

He sat at the warm fire, looking about at the Soldiers. The flames flickered quietly before them..there wasn't much conversation. They each spooned into the warm slop that was prepared for them. He himself wasn't very hungry...he'd lost his appetite as he looked at the wounded men he sat with, most of them expected to go back into battle. One had his arm in a sling, he simply was going to strap his shield on to that...he wouldn't make the night. His glowing blue eyes peered to the next one, his eye more or less gouged, bandaged over. Blind to one side...an easy kill for a novice blademaster. His heart sank. 

(( While not too descriptive to me, I still put the Mature tag on here, just to be safe. ))

He'd arrived to the mess of troops that were evaluating the current situation of their more than gone armor. He was trotting through the men, before he heard the shout of his name from across the way. "Malifor!" Grand Marshal Krauss came stomping his way, and he looked unhappy. 

"The Orcs have enlisted the help of the Goblins to attack our Tanks and Armor. The Dragonmaw Scum! I won't stand for this." The large Draenic Marshal paced back and forth, snorting heavily in the cool air. Malifor only watched from atop the powerful charger he'd rode her on. The Grand Marshal finally stopped. "Malifor. Take however many men you need, leave no Orc standing. I will not be denied my victory! They shall pay for this vile act against the might of the alliance...." He stopped, turning his head back towards Malifor post-rant. "Show them no mercy, Comrade."

He paced on his usual walk down the bustling street of the Trade district. He was returning to where he'd tied his Charger up for the time being, having sold some things at the local auction, his purse felt a bit heavier to carry. A smile upon his face at the success of such. "Who knew those blasted Orbs would sell..." He chuckled softly, pausing as he came upon a small news stand. His face sudddenly melted every bit of relaxation and casual attitude it had upon it. He stared at the headlines, as it outlined the massacre in Arathi. He grabbed up the paper, tossing the coins at the man working the stand. His form moving, bumping carelessly into people as he made his way to the horse. He tossed the paper aside, and undid the horse, slinging himself atop he, he tugged at the reigns. "....And so it begins.." And with a swift jolt to the beasts sides, the hooves galloped off towards the Gryphon master.

He jerked, his hand nearly bringing the large blade around, as a hand equal in size to his own rested on his shoulder. He'd encamped just outside the city gates, warmed by a crackling fire. The large Draenei male behind him smiled. "Ah. Malifor, My Comrade. It has been many years my young friend..." He stopped glancing up, he started to rise, before the Grand Marshal pushed him back down. "Sit, my friend. We must talk." Malifor quietly watched as the older Draenei warrior eased onto a fallen tree nearby, staring across the fire at him. "Don't think I've forgotten your service against the Orcs on Draenor...my friend. The time is nigh once more..."