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.”

Snuffing Out The Light – Rp Event / Story

“One of our Lightslayers has acquired the…..presence of the ArchBishop Mellar. The Alliance are in an uproar, and we have a hear to remove from it’s shoulders. -U”


The Alliance are aware of his captivity and are eager to shed blood. The ArchBishop’s folly has stoked the Crusader’s fires.

During the darker winter months an icy rain frequently fell upon the Tirisfal Glades. Biting frigid waters from the north were drawn down along the coast of the Eastern Kingdoms, bringing with them howling frigid rains. In the wake of such rain, layers of ice easily formed upon everything it touched – adding a sort of mythical beauty to the now twisted landscape. Most Forsaken who endured patrols and or were station in the Glades had to take extra special care to avoid undesirable conditions such as fungal infection brought on by the moist conditions, frozen limbs, and various other necrosis. 

The weather only compounded the bitter attitudes of the Deathguards stationed in the Glades. As it were, brutality was easy to provoke, and what hopes for mercy any living might have was cast aside during such unsavory conditions. Under the burden of the freezing rain, much of the fighting force ached for an excuse to unleash their ire upon any target that so warranted their malice.

So when a single human male, of great age made his way along the roads toward the Bulwark – it was only too soon for the otherwise mild if not curious matter to turn into blood sport…

Diminished in stature, and clearly made frail with age what sport was there in beating an old man? None. More so, it took the guards but a moment to note the presence of a great many of holy symbols on his robes to decide it was wises not to meddle with one who wielded the Light. It would be far more amusing to allow for the old man to pass, and then summon a Lightslayer…

The Shovel Head Rises

“She died in the field, answering the call of duty at my hands. A sworn foe allied with the Worgen, the human died without knowing my face or why she was cut low. With her death, the chance at information too died…only it did not. Tonight, she crawled free from her grave and we met with a reception. Rasomil and Abaddon will handle her interrogation. If she does not welcome undeath, death is always an option. -U”


On the battlefield, one does not ask questions so much as seize the moment. She died with a dagger in the back, poison in her veins, and a garrot wire about her throat.


Covered and dirt, and still confused she faced a rather grim reception. Most of us were sympathetic to her plight, and confused state.

Ultimately she is just a victim of fate. Perhaps in time she might join our ranks. For now, she is a person of interest in our keep.

Battle In The Vale (RP-PVP)

“Garrosh’s destructive path is far reaching, and it’s start in the Vale is not pretty. Forces of the Horde and Alliance are in the Vale battling the Sha: from the mines, to the well the area must be purged. -U”


Various forces assembled from the Horde to help combat the Sha. Elsewhere, the Alliance were cutting their way through Sha.


A variety of our old dogs of war came out to help. A total around ten of us were present through the battles for the evening, others were busy elsewhere with matters back on the home front.


A variety of our old dogs of war came out to help. A total around ten of us were present through the battles for the evening, others were busy elsewhere with matters back on the home front.


The battles were intense and ugly, through largely the sha were crushed and our forces were able to move through the area doing their part to try and help repair the damage done.

The fighting in the mines was intense, as the area was crawling with Sha. Tight quarters fighting, coupled with the potential threat of a cave in made everyone ill at ease.