Outlawed

(( By Archeh ))

The House stood before the war party General Katalmach had summoned. The negociations had failed, Archnazg would not hand over the murderer High Executor Othragon Rotarm. They were cornered in the Undercity.

General Katalmach slammed his colossal axe down onto the Dark Lord and sliced through his left arm, leaving the torn limb on the stone floor.

The soldiers of the Warsong Blades and Ashen Order lunged forward and only in the nick of time did Archnazg and his barons slip through a portal.

The Warsongs destroyed Fenris Keep and all assets of the House of Sylvanas...

Later that night...

Archnazg and Arcturas, along with a guard of House associates approach Venomspite. All canisters of Blight were sent through portals to the House's classified HQ before the word was reached that they had been denounced from the Horde. Though if the Royal Apothecary would follow such rules of the Horde, one might question it.

In the shadows, the House wait.

(( By archeh ))

The word spred quickly, all House associates were to be arrested. A band of orcs burst into Vasarche's quarters in the Undercity.

"There's one! Get her!"

She glared up at them and within seconds the room was drenched in blood as she sliced through the soldiers. The corpses lay on the ground in a pool of blood.

She took a document from a cabinet, glanced over it, and left quickly into the dark corridors of the Undercity.

(( By Nazrug ))

Nazrug stood tall, without the aid of his walking staff in the flickering light, it was dark, but the roaring flames leapt at the shadow of the night consuming everything in sight. Fenris keep was ablaze, elementals of flame were unleashed and set about their destructive work, burning wood and scortching stone. Ghostly screams and ghastly visions rose from the keep. The orcs cheered the Elder shaman on, as his eyes burned with fire, the elements willing obeyed his request for chaos and destruction.

The ground rumbled and stone cracked as the keep was quickly transformed into a broken ruin. Nazrug's focus dropped as his physical form took back over, the energy of his old body spent, he fell to his knees panting. He pushed the soldiers away trying to help him and slowly, using the aid of his walking staff, once again rose.

Without a word Nazrug limped away from the keep, leaving the soldiers to celebrate their reign of desrtuction.

(( by moi ))

Sitting in his office at Zeramas: Windrunner Hold, Nekkr Shadowlust attended to some official Undercity census documents when the Forsaken courier came storming through the room, delivering news of the treacherous attack of the Horde upon the Royal House.

"We're not safe, we must flee this place and parlament with the Queen as soon as possible!!!"

The courier walked frantically around the room but Master Nekkr simply flickered his eyes at him, casting some sort of unidentifiable shadow spell that instantly removed all animation from the courier, making him hit the stone ground as hard as a rock, motionless.

Gliding among the flying Necropolis, Nekkr assured all it's workers that it was only the Royal House that was being assailed, the remaining Forsaken nation had nothing to worry about, while he pondered on the foolishness of the Horde.

" Idiots... who in their right mind would rather have the House as enemies instead of allies?! Not a single one of them will sleep peacefully ever again... i rejoice, for they have tampered with a dark force they cannot begin to comprehend... i can only imagine the gruesome events that draw close..."

Smirking to himself, the pale priest prepared himself for travel to Vengeance Landing, as preparations must be made.

(( By Katalkmach ))

Drums beat slowly in Ashenvale as soldiers trained in the Warsong Lumber Camp. Steel clashed against steel and muscle was pitted against muscle. The sweat and blood of the Warsong Battleguard mingled with sawdust and foliage as the warriors relentlessly continued their exercises. Banners of red and black and white bore silent witness from every tower and rampart. Smoke filled the air as bonfires burned high, fed by excess lumber.

With every beat of the drums, their combined voices rang out in a grim mantra.

"Might! Discipline! Victory!"

"Might! Discipline! Victory!"

Some distance away from the commotion, the battle-scarred wolf, Gorag, watched his master keenly as the heavily tattooed orc moved through the worg pens. The master was blood hungry. The beast had known him to be like this before, and was nervous. The moods of the other wolves fed off his own instinctively, and the collected beasts were tense.

Katalmach Duskclaw removed a severed, freshly-boiled head from a bag.

It had belonged to a forsaken. A murderer. An insurgent. An enemy.

Knowing what was expected, what was being offered, the beasts rose up in frenzy. Each of them wanted to seize the prize; not to feast on the long-dead carrion, but to rend, to tear, to rip and to taste the flesh of the enemy and then discard it as they had been taught to do and taught to enjoy.

The hand of the master opened and the head fell to the earth, a dozen wolves leaping to claim it.

Gorag surged forward. This was his right! His honour as first the pack, the ruling alpha! Growling and snarling he battled amid the melee of fangs to assert his dominance. Order would prevail only through the recognition of primacy... to cow those who forgot their place and acted without proper deference. The duty fell to Gorag to remind them.

In triumph, the mighty wolf scattered the other wolves before him and stood his ground. Seeing that they offered no further challenge to the rightful order, the great wolf grew calm and claimed his prize

As Gorag's jaws swept up the trophy, Katalmach looked at his alpha wolf and smiled grimly.

"Good boy."