Alterac & Arathi Deployments

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“Alterac and Arathi are now hotbeds of conflict, to which we can been deployed to. Alterac is among our first primary assignments, in that we are to scout the lands potentially acquire unlikely allies. Pressing into such territory a number of us recalled the Citrine Eagle, and the old score that needed to be settled.”

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The Elder’s Word (RP Short Story)

Little by little, what refugees the elder had brought from disaster had left.

Fourteen had become twelve in the first few days, as those with the strongest of wills left in an attempt to butcher any remaining Alliance that dared remain within their homeland. They did not expect to return.

Twelve became ten, as a pair of old soldiers decided they would travel to the Hinterlands, to evacuate their brethren there. They knew not their fate, but would do their best.

Ten became seven before long, these three making bold in an attempt to find sanctuary among the Argent Crusade, fearful for what was to come.

Seven became three, as a group departed in attempt to move on to Silvermoon.

Three became two, as a loyalist to the Banshee Queen spat on the ground and moved off. She loathed the thought of doing anything but serve the one that freed them.

…and now, those two remained- two sisters within and of the cult, both in grey and tattered robes, one without eyes and the other with a tarnished silver jaw. They were nearly identical, their rot the only thing that differed between them. In the ruins of Caer Darrow they huddled, hidden away in a dilapidated house. It had been three days since the last refugees had left. But they were not alone.

A shadow, hunched and slender, stood in the doorway. Not a single feature could be seen on this creature, save for a pair of two soulfire eyes. The sisters looked upon him not in fear- but expectantly, as he stood in a seemingly solemn silence, despite the coiling of shadows and distant, indistinguishable whispers at his core.

“..elder, what are we to do?” came the whisper of the one without eyes. She sat up, pulling her bag closer to her. Perhaps she knew something was about to change.

The shadow at the door turned his head- though did not answer at first. Something about his gaze was sorrowful. When he did answer, his voice came as one grieving, though stoic. “What would your will tell you to do?” he whispered. “I am merely a voice of guidance. I give no commands, only suggestions. If I were to depart as they had, what would you do?”

He had expected a moment of thought from the pair, but it was the one with a silvered jaw that spoke immediately. “Follow you,” she said, her voice a hiss. She raised her own head, and as her sister had, drew her belongings closer to her. “We have our own will, but our will is to remain together.” The other turned her head toward her sister, and after a pause, nodded in agreement.

“There is no survival in solitude. Not here, not now,” the eyeless woman said.

The elder was quiet, his head canted. He looked between them, before he turned himself, looking outward at the ruins of the Caer Darrow. After a long silence, he drew in a phantom breath, and released a defeated sigh- turning back towards them with a gesture of a long-fingered hand, toward the capital city.

“The blight’s smog will soon roll over the mountains. It will touch the forests of Silverpine, it will batter the plagued lands. Everything in its path will wither, and die,” he murmured. “Such is the will of the banshee queen, I suppose- though it weighs heavily that her own people are meant to suffer by her choices.”

Elder Nadaelius Longpath drew himself up then, and turned his gaze to the pair. To his surprise, they had already donned their bags, and stood now, prepared. “We will do what we can, sisters. I have already decided my path- and if you are to follow me, then we shall leave, soon- there could still yet be survivors not yet devoured by the blight, not yet trampled by the vengeful lions from the south. We should gather them, and ensure their safety.”

“..and should the lions come for us, elder?” asked the one with the silver jaw, stepping forward. She did not sound scared; she seemed, instead, plotting. “What will we do? Will we carve our own path?”

The elder looked at her with a pause, and eventually, beckoned her closer. “Clarissa,” he sighed, and looked to the other, doing the same. “Allison.” He drifted, legless and spectral out and into the ruins of the old town. “You must know that these are troubled times, and I can not tell you that all will be well for us by the end. Some may wish to carve a path, but we must remain patient. Our people, our futures, our world- these are broken things, and I know not what can fix them.”

Soul-lit eyes gazed down to his hands- ghostly, tainted with shadow and void. The distant murmurs within him grew agitated and anxious. His head turned away from the pair for a moment, toward the direction of the fallen capital again.

“The future holds despair, and woe, and there will be troubles greater than lions,” he whispered- and by the time his eyes returned to the sisters, they both stood prepared and willing to go. A sort of smile came to his eyes, despite the lack of a mouth.

With some sadness, he continued, “But together, we are stronger, and no matter darkness may befall us all, no matter what may happen… you will be safe, my dears.”

Tavern Night Returns


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“For the first time since the fall of the Undercity fell we gather in a lighter tone, and sat about and spoke of our potential future and broken ranks.”

OOC: UCN Tavern Nights have resumed, they will continue to be held every Monday at 8pm server time. The location will change each week based on the current lore and guild story.

Field Training

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“A bit of blood sport was called for, and so some of the shovel heads were sent off to test their skills against live hostile targets…”

Member Of The Month – April 2014


Member Of The Month: Sister Serata MacDermott, Cult Of Forgotten Shadow

RP Name: Sister Serata MacDermott

Character / Class: Serata, 90 Shadow Priest/scribe for the Cult of the Forgotten Shadow.

What thinks of the Undercity Nexus: “They are…unique. Not always what the people they speak to consider appealing, but they are comforting to me. A home, I guess, for people of my type. Perhaps…” 

Birth Place: Moonbrook, Westfall.

Description: Normally shrouded beneath a hood attached to strangely impeccable robes of office, Serata’s head is partly caved in on the left side, the shape of it held by two crisscrossing leather straps stretched across her face. A little grey matter dots her hair along with dried blood and the odd fungal bloom, all of which combine to give it a characteristic purple hue and spiked-out structure.

Her visible facial skin is pallid and marred by recent hasty stitching and patching from other sources, and only her right eye socket appears to have any kind of functionality – the left one remains dim and half-collapsed. Her cheeks have begun to decompose starting at the corners of her mouth, and are sewn into a permanent macabre mockery of a grin that stretches up to her ears. The skin on the rest of her body is nearly translucent pale blue and stretched taut over a bony frame. She has nearly no muscle left to speak of and even less body fat.

A string of well-worn onyx prayer beads is wound around her thin right wrist and hand. One of the beads is a little larger than the others and is shaped like an anatomically correct heart. If you look closely enough, you would note ink stains on her fingertips. A little black prayer book hangs on a dainty (though tarnished) chain from her belt, and there is a large scroll case stamped with the seal of the Loremasters on her back. Any weapons she carries swim with Sha energies.

Her voice is hollow, raspy and almost monotone. She seems to have few genuine emotional expressions to her at all. She smells of embalming fluid. She is always followed by one or more ravens, and refers to them all as Bertram.

Aspirations: “I…am not certain. No one has asked before, I guess…my memories would be useful, maybe. And if I can be of service to anyone inside the organization, that is good too. At least, the second one is what Dark Cleric Duesten told me when he sent me to them, so many months ago…”

Tavern Night

“Tavern night had a few new faces, and one looming question over all of our heads. What will we do with the Alliance once Garrosh is dead? Our plans for the Alliance are less than honorable. -B”


Questions, concerns, and new faces.