[H-RP] <The Jagged Spear> Horde Adventurers

Argent Dawn
Recruitment Status: CLOSED

1. Summary
2. Structure and Ranks
3. Events and Activity
4. Recruitment
5. Rules


1. Summary:

In Character
<The Jagged Spear> is a Horde taskforce, recently formed by the erstwhile warlord, Shanzi Bloodfang. With tensions beginning to rise within the faction and the war against the Alliance escalating by the day, Bloodfang has taken it upon herself to gather the most skilled and the most versatile adventurers and soldiers of the Horde, in order to create this elite group, for the purpose of undertaking tasks and missions that conventional units cannot. Due to the specific nature of their work, The Jagged Spear is intended to remain largely separate from the trappings of the conventional military, to best utilise their talents.

Each member of The Jagged Spear is considered on the merits of their skills and experience, with an emphasis placed on providing something unique within the taskforce. With missions that can vary, the responders must be just diverse, whilst maintaining strong focus on cohesive cooperation. With such dangerous and trying times, the primary objective of Bloodfang's unit is to protect the Horde and its people, whatever the cost and whoever the foe.

Although the former warlord has provided the group with a small headquarters within Orgrimmar, due to the ephemeral nature of their work, they do not have a set base or lodgings. If the group within itself decides to claim one, it will have to be through their own labours.

Out Of Character
To put it simply, <The Jagged Spear> is a multi-racial, adventure-themed guild made of skilled, individual members of the Horde, who take the fight to powerful foes across Azeroth. Working beneath a DM NPC benefactor - Shanzi Bloodfang - the emphasis is on teamwork and cooperation, as opposed to following drills, formations and working under the thumb of a commanding officer. The guild is intended to be an ensemble, first and foremost, and work toward pursuing each character's personal narrative and arc.

2. Structure & Ranks

Knowing how many guilds have struggled due to the trappings of IC authority and ranks, <The Jagged Spear> will maintain a more simple and straightforward system in its stead meaning that every member will remain on an equal rank and platform.

-Warlord: Although she no longer stands as a Warlord of the Horde military, Shanzi Bloodfang stands at the helm of the taskforce acting as a more hands-off leader.
-Overseer: A single member that ensures the group stay on track and all voices are heard. In the event of the group being unable to reach a decision it falls on the Overseer to make the call.
-Chosen:The rank given to all those within Bloodfang’s unit.

Any issues or disputes will be settled after a task's completion, with more serious issues being taken to the ears of Bloodfang.

To ensure that the unit is satisfied with their field leadership, it is intended to have a monthly meeting between the guild and their benefactor, to discuss any matters up to and including who should take charge whilst on the job. If there is a need for change, it will be made.

3. Events & Activity

Every week, there will be 1-2 events dedicated to the main narrative arc of the guild, depending on availability and convenience. Within this arc, the players may discover secrets pertaining to their often elusive patron, with the intention to escalate this story in an epic finale.

Alongside the main arc, there will also be a number of smaller scale tasks, that arise throughout the group's travels and adventures. These will range from group run-ins with the Alliance, to smaller, more class driven tasks that allow each member to have their chance to shine.

Finally, once per week, there will be an event slot reserved for individuals to take charge of their own events, to focus upon their own character's story in however they see fit. This could be requesting aid in settling a personal feud, searching for a rare and storied weapon they desire or simply taking their comrades to a place that holds meaning to them.

Of course, no one is expected to join each and every event, nor would you be expected to log on every day for RP or involvement. We are aware that real life will always take priority and we all have our own real world responsibilities. However, this does not mean we will be taken for granted - we do not want alts that will only be sparsely played or have limited interaction with the guild.

Unless there has been prior notice, after two weeks of unexplained absence, an inactive player will be removed from the guild and recruitment will be opened to fill their space.

4. Recruitment:

Recruitment Contacts:
  • Thõrn
  • Rukkha
  • Margrosh
  • To enable personal character development and a more unified experience between the players and characters, the initial plan is to enforce a strict number cap of around 15. With this we hope that people are able to follow and play out their own character's journey, whilst not being lost in the mob. Furthermore, with this we plan to have more personalised and focused DMed events, where each character is an individual and not simply a face in a crowd.

    We are also very keen to take on players who are willing to DM as well. We want it to be a collaborative guild so people interested in DMing specific storylines are very much encouraged. Ideally each event will be run by someone different to create variety and prevent DM’s from burning out.

    Consequently, the recruitment process will be thorough and there will be a zero tolerance policy for players who cause problems for the guild or for those around them - we are here to play together and have fun together, not to have to deal with the issues of those who can't get along with others. This will apply to both IC and OOC as, although we encourage characters to have conflict when meaningful, IC actions will have IC consequences - especially amongst the elite of the Horde.

    If interested, please do get in contact, even if it means sending an in-game letter by mail and we will get back to you. We are predominantly looking for the races listed below:
  • Goblin
  • Pandaren
  • Highmountain
  • Nightborne
  • 5. Rules

    - Don't cause drama
    - Adhere to World of Warcraft's lore
    - No ERP
    - Keep the focus on fun - remember, it's just a game!
    Rukkha scrunched the letter of summons in her fist with a growl. More Warlords, more commanders, more of the oh-so-questionable upper echelons of Horde leadership. She'd seen enough of the war to no longer trust that any of them had the Horde people's best interests at heart. Some were saying that those of the Earthen Ring had no business even staying with the Horde any longer. How would swearing herself to another banner for bloodthirsty assignments serve Azeroth at all?

    Her sulking was interrupted by the chaos of her family. The children chased each other across the leather shop, crashing into a display dummy and sending armour flying. Her uncle tried to herd them with dignity, keeping up his sales pitch with an alarmed customer without blinking.

    And if the war came here, to Orgrimmar? It had before. They would need somewhere safe to go. A hut outside the city? That would cost. And vagrant shamanism is hardly a lucrative calling.

    Maybe this Bloodfang woman would be different, not another bureaucrat hiding behind red tape, or a monster feeding their foes to maggots.
    Or maybe she'd at least have deep pockets.
    She unfolded the letter again.
    The recording studio was eerily quiet. On any other day, you could hear the roar of the band practicing, Gravehoof singing, Thaddeus thrashing his drums, Sarok strumming his guitar, and Mixxi singing backup from behind her keyboard. Instead the studio was as dead as Gravehoof, though likely more pleasant to the nose, considering the mounting pile of flowers and other things sent by mourning fans.

    The haggard tauren stared glumly at the pile of newspapers stacked on the keyboard.

    "★★☆☆☆

    Copperspine has lost its spine!" read the uppermost cover, from last weeks edition of AudiOrcs.

    The review in Sound Shaman wasn't much better.

    "★★★☆☆

    From metal to 'meh', Gravehoof strangles fan at his first solo concert since tragedy."

    Gravehoof sighed, his armour creaking as he stood. Another letter slid through the letterbox, landing on all the others. The Horde's symbol had been stamped on the envelope, peaking the death knights interest.

    "What ya got there, eh?" said the weaselly Rezdunk Cogjockey, the bands former manager. Gravehoof handed him the letter, who quickly opened it. His beady eyes widened, as did his sharp-toothed smile. "Time to get you back to work, raise that profile, get famous again!"

    Gravehoof narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Famous, again...?"

    "Yep!" the goblin squealed. "You're gonna be a star, Gravehoof!"

    Gravehoof eyed the letter over himself, before walking over to the wall where his tombstone guitar was hung, glistening with runes. Shouldering the instrument, he pushed open the door to the stale desert air of Orgrimmar, a grin on his face.
    I mean what other unit can say they have a rune guitar wielding heavy metal Death Knight, am I right?
    The Nightborne was restless in her sleep once again and it wasn’t a surprise. Her eyelids moved rapidly in her dream but it has not lasted long. She woke up quickly and this time without any unpredictable sounds. She eyed the inn bed she decided to rent within Orgrimmar and it was much different than ornate rooms within Silvermoon City. The smell of wood and sun was something unfamiliar to her but at the same time interesting.

    Starblade was wondering if joining this new group was the good idea. There was something that worried her about it all but she couldn't quite yet put her finger around it. Or perhaps she was just overthinking. The two Orc ladies she has meet were very friendly and encouraging and maybe this time she will actually travel around. She has so much to learn, discover and... find her own place.

    Starblade stood up after moment and looked at her mutilated hands that shivered lightly this time. It always started with her hands, sometimes completely randomly as outcome of the past actions, sometimes as trigger to emotions or stress. The female wrapped her arms around herself and took deep breath. She attempted to smile.

    The smile was warm, gentle and polite.

    Starblade knew, this smile, if she kept it for long enough dismissed any questions. None asked questions to uncertain, happy girl she tried to become.

    The sun began to rise over the horizon illuminating the city when Lummile put on her comfortable clothes and began morning run. After all she said that daily jogging is in order.

    -Due to some recent additions we have decided to open up recruitment to both melee and casters once again, so please do get in contact if you fit any of the roles.-
    The orc slumped against a wall amidst a pile of splintered wood, scattered paper and tattered banners that would have normally denoted a typical Orgrimmar mailbox. She breathed a heavy breath as she flexed the pain out of her knuckles.

    Screwing her eyes tight and dragging a hand over her features, she let out a groan as she tried to put together the series of events that lead to the destruction of this particular mailbox.

    How had I gone from leading skirmishes against the Kul Tirans not three days ago, to be stuck back in this dry dustbowl?

    Her weapons were still stowed, so clearly she did not deem the mailbox a serious threat. But it was the insult it offered that had sent Margrosh into a blind rage. For all the bureaucracy she had to suffer through in even getting the trust to lead a warband as an immigrant orc, not even a single scrap of paper to strip the title away again.

    She had assumed it was a mistake, that she had missed the letter. So as she dug through other people’s mail she gave into her frustration and ripped the box apart in a display of aggressive futility. And display was right. Goggling onlookers staring at her as though she was some street performer. Or some kind of public menace.

    Growling, the orc thew her arms about as she angrily dispersed the crowd, the smaller frailer civilians evacuated faster than others, but at least they left her to wallow in her own pity as she slumped back down again amidst her wreck.

    Someone’s approaching.

    The crunch of gravelly rock gave it away as some goblin approached rummaging through a shoulder satchel. Margrosh glared at him to try and scare him off, but he was too focused on his satchel to take any notice. As he got closer and closer, Margrosh’s instincts were firing off. That, or she was just finding any reason to get angry again.

    “WHAT DO YOU WANT?!” She barked at the Goblin.

    The Goblin, startled, snapped his attention upwards, finally revealing the bundle of letters that he was getting from his satchel.

    “Mail call, damn!”

    The goblin looked for the mailbox, only to see its remains scattered under his feet. Before Margrosh managed to explain the goblin muttered something about this particular aspect not being in his job description. Instead he just rifled through his bundle of letters before stopping at one and peering up at the orc.

    “You, uh… A Miss Margrosh Splinterhowl?”

    Miss? MISS?!

    “MISS?!” She howled at the goblin scaring him into dropping the rest of his mail, save a single picked out letter with her name on. “I was a Sergeant! I was climbing the ranks to make a name for myself! Now I’m stuck with the rest of these retired Mag’har slowly dying from all this dust that I’m breathing!”

    She let out a few ragged breaths as the goblin froze, simply shaking with the letter in his hand. Margrosh snatched it up to put him out of his misery, allowing the goblin to flee and claim some kind of work place risk compensation.

    She tore the top off the envelope and grabbed the letter out. Anger made way for confusion as she read through the letter.

    An offer for a position in a task force? Maybe they sent this before word of my discharge had gotten out. At least I’ll do her the honour of showing up so I can explain it to her face to face… Warlord Bloodfang.. Whatever ‘erstwhile’ means
    This looks great. I like the concept and how it was explained; wishing you best of luck with the developments of the guild!
    I can't wait for our first missions. This indeed seems very interesting, I had chance to meet few of the guild already and they are really cool also OOC. *excited*\

    The idea that group will be build of individual, each with different specialisations is awesome, I can see so much chance for characters to shine in certain situations without being in the spotlight all the time.
    This report is written from IC point of view and thus information may be subjective or missing full insight.

    The report presented below is written in elegant, simple style, in orcish. The paper used for it is of high quality and scroll is tied by purple ribbon with silver lining. The report is send and addressed to Warlord Bloodfang and those that keep command during her absence.


    REPORT - HUNTING OF HARPIES

    Participants:
    Under Bloodfang banner:

    Margrosh Splinterhowl
    Lummile Starblade
    Rukkha Raincaller
    Dave

    Associates:
    Sancen
    Kara Wolfmantle

    The gathered group, after picking up information from the Warchief’s Command board, head in direction of the ravine within Durotar. We have headed towards the harpy territory to judge situation and potentially eliminate enemy that threatened Horde military in the area.

    On the way, a single harpy is shoot down and we get across dried eggs as well as empty nests. We seek ahead however further path into the cave is blocked by boulders and some sort of construction. It is brought down by Splinterhowl explosives as well as shamanistic powers of Raincaller and Wolfmantle. The passage was filled with candy as well as rotting carcasses, some belonging to alliance soldiers. Wolfmantle senses some sort of life on the other side so we continue.

    After moving to the other end of the tunnel we get across sounds of celebration and nest of the harpies is discovered. We are undetected despite Splinterhowl battle shouts as harpy matriarch was focused on chanting curse into headless corpse. There was flock of the harpies assisting her and nest was clearly alive with new eggs around. By Raincaller order, after determining type of chanted magic, Matriarch is shoot with Splinterhowl’s arrow in the chest. Despite such Matriarch managed to finish her spell. The group is surrounded by enemies and quickly take arms.

    When spell is finished harpies retreat and Matriarch managed to transfer her spirit inside headless being that now started to emit lighting, fire and dark magic. Raincaller was able to deal massive damage by trespassing into spirit realm, while rest of the group co-operated together against enemy attacks. The Matriarch attempted to escape into one of the pumpkins brought by harpies but she was interrupted by Raincaller once again. Wolfmantle, Sancen, Splintelhowl, Dave continued with attacks until corrupted being began to absorb energy from its surroundings. I have created protective barrier for some, others moved in the distance however the fire nova that followed still caused minor injuries. Splinterholw and Undead known as Dave were the most exposed to the flames but both seemed relatively well afterwards.

    After returning to Orgrimmar, the proof of our action was showed and reward will be send to Bloodfang office. Wolfmantle as well as Sancen will be referred to Warlord as potential new addition to the group, as they both proved great asset and fought well.

    Signed:
    Lummile Starblade


    Great thanks to Sancen for DMing!
    As she ascended the heavy, metal steps to the top of the tower, Selithrian's mind hovered around a single puzzle. Why had she been summoned by an Orcish Warlord? She had worked for plenty of Thalassian officers in the past, but never an orcish one. On the journey there she read her dossier, and whilst she was mildly impressed by the detail, it begged several questions. Questions for which she would demand answers.
    -UPDATE!!-
    Due to a final few recruits we have decided to close recruitment for now. This is to ensure that numbers are kept to a manageable amount and so that each character fills a unique roll within the unit. We do wish to thank everyone who has messaged and expressed interest, and please do keep an eye out for us as spontaneous RP is always more than welcome.

    We are, however, still on the hunt for a Goblin, Pandaren, Highmountain or Nightborne that are any class but Rogue so if you do have an interesting character concept of these races and you think you would fit the guilds ethos, then please do send us a message and we will take it from there.
    The Dying Flame
    The flames reflected against the brown of of her eyes, that were long lost within the fire’s dance. The warmth from the fire washing over her face, and soothing her into contentment. Bloodfang relaxed back into the furs of the chair, her gaze still fixed within the fire. The room was silent apart from the crackling of the firewood and the light purring coming from the sleeping tiger at Bloodfang’s side.

    The large beast had served her since her time in Pandaria where she adopted the tiger in its youth. She raised him as if he were one of her own battle worgs, yet as she aged and he grew larger, he took on the roll of her guardian. He fought valiantly at her side for many a year and the pair were rarely seen apart.

    She blinked once, her gaze still very much lost in the flame. The fire in her eye began to flicker and change to a deep green color, a color that matched the battlefields of Argus. The felflame. The destruction. The screams of death and anguish field the room.

    “Warlord!! We need to retreat, we cannot take it on alone.”

    Bloodfang looked towards the young Orc calling out to her, his eyes panicked and looking for any ounce of direction. She scanned the battlefield, her gaze falling on the numerous dead members of her unit, their broken bodies twisted into unnatural positions. The ones that had remained intact were being feasted on by various felhounds and faceless ones, fresh blood flying from their bodies. A mechanical whurr echoed off from behind a rocky cliff.

    “We need to move. Now, Warlord!”

    “I cannot leave my men behind, Vorak.” She spat back at the young Orc.
    By now the tiger at her side had begun to tug at her arm.

    “They are already lost. Staying here will only get us the same fate!” Vorak pleaded with her. She looked back at the Orc. The youngest in the unit and the last one left alive. She knew what she had to do.

    As the gigantic Fel Reaver appeared from behind the cliff and began to push its way towards them she grabbed the Orc by the arm and they set off away from the battlefield, the tiger following suit. The Fel Reaver took chase, chaotically swinging at pillars of jagged rock as it made its way closer to the three, sharp debris narrowly missing their heads. They slid down a cliff into a small ravine as the towering Reaver closed in on them. As they made their way swiftly through the ravine the path got narrower until they could make sight of a small cave in the cliff ahead.

    “Quick, we can make it. Go. Go!” Bloodfang bellowed as she picked up speed.
    As the entrance to the cave drew nearer a Felhound paced at the mouth, it’s eyes fix on the three rushing towards it. Before it had a chance to even attempt an attack however it was set upon by the large tiger and the two wrestled away from the cave entrance, the tiger standing little chance against a Felhound.

    “I’ll get him back. You get inside, Warlord.” The Orc forced Bloodfang forward as he headed towards the wrestling tiger, his axe drawn above his head.

    As Bloodfang reached the cave she turned back to see the Fel Reaver crashing towards them still, it now sending a large boulder of jagged rock in her direction. Before she even had time to react she was knocked backwards towards the ground by the large tiger and the front of the cave collapsed in from the impact of the boulder.

    ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    She quickly pulled herself up and pressed herself against the fallen rocks. She could hear the cries from Vorak on the other side, his fists slamming on the rocks vibrating through.

    “Help! Please, Warlord. Help me. Please. I don’t want to die out here. Warlord. Warlord! War-”

    The Orc’s voice cut out.

    Her knees buckled from under her as she fell to the ground and a numb silence settled around her. She blinked twice,slowly bringing her hands to her head as the words echoed around her head.

    “Warlord! Warlord! Warlord!”

    She blinked and the fire flickered in her brown eyes once more, a single tear falling from them.

    “Warlord? Warlord? Are you alright?” The squeaky voice pierced through the room, and the small goblin peered up at Bloodfang with a raised eyebrow.

    “What have I told you about calling me that. I am not a Warlord anymore.” Bloodfang pulled herself up from the chair and headed towards a desk where she poured herself a glass of water and downed the drink in one gulp. As she drunk the tiger slowly lifted his head to watch her.

    “Well, I mean you technically are, with it being a title and all, but whatever you say...boss.” The goblin sung her words back at Bloodfang in a mocking way before adjusting the glasses that had been perfectly placed on top her head.

    “What is it Zizzabelle?” Bloodfang spoke, her words now seeming slightly more calmer.

    “Well all the interviews have been concluded and the unit will be meeting with you later today.”

    “Good. Thank you Zizzabelle.” Bloodfang placed both her hands on the desp and hung her head.

    “Err, Boss. Are you sure this is a good idea, y’know, considering it hasn’t really been that long since-”

    “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” Bloodfang swung round to look directly at the Goblin who swiftly held her hands up.

    “As you say Wa-boss. You’re the boss.” Zizzabelle spoke as she slowly backed towards the door.

    “One more thing.” Bloodfang’s words echoed around the room. The tiger lowered his head back down. “I will be taking some time away once they set off and will need you to keep things running here. Paperwork, contact with the unit and so on. See it as a challenge...Are you up for it?”

    “Will I get paid extra?” Zizzabelle spoke with no hesitation. Bloodfang narrowed her eyes at the goblin, a moment of silence between them before she let out a small smile.

    “If I get good reports from the recruits you will get double pay.”

    Zizzabelle audably gasped and made a small jump on the spot. “Yes mam! Absolutley mam! It will be done better than you could ever imagine.” And with that she made a firm salute and rushed out the room. Bloodfang smiled and shook her head.

    ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    As the evening pressed on and the sky grew darker Bloodfang made her way out the front gates of Orgrimmar and towards a small patch of land just outside. She layed a single yellow flower on a mound of dirt and placed her hand on top of it. A small piece of wood stuck out the dirt and words were engraved on its surface.

    “Vorak Bloodfang. Brother, Son, and Child of the Horde. Aka'Magosh”

    Zizzabelle Sprocketjock took the stairs up to the Warlord’s office two at a time, the pistons and levers in her leg-plates whirring and clanking frantically. She hurled open Bloodfang’s door and collapsed against the front of the orc’s desk, a crumpled sentry’s report clutched in her fist.

    “Ma’am, they’re all lost, they’re dead, they’re gone!” She wailed, her emerald shades dropping unheeded to the floor.

    The elder Warlord raised a grizzled brow, speaking in a gentle tone as she looked up from her filing.

    “Slow down my dear. What has happened, who’s gone?”

    The goblin sniffled, intricate make-up smudging down her cheek as she batted aside a tear.

    “Your beautiful new unit Ma’am. All our bright, shiny heroes. The zeppelin’s lost! The sentry over Thunderbluff saw it pass over, didn’t pull into the landing bay like it was supposed to, and it was flying all crooked, and it’s spiralled off west and no-one’s seen it since, and he writes that it looked like it was sinking fast, and it must have crashed, and that wonderful tall elf man with hair like sunbeams, he’s gone…”

    Warlord Bloodfang got to her feet, sidestepping her desk to lay a heavy calloused hand on her frazzled assistant’s shoulder.

    "We haven’t hired incompetents, Miss Sprocketjock. I told you that we were looking for the best. Their assignment is to find out what happened to the lost zeppelins, and now that they are aboard one, I trust them to get to the bottom of it. They are the Horde’s finest, and we need to trust them to handle the situation. They have the mission, and they have each other.”

    Bloodfang carefully tugged the sentry report from the goblin’s hand and read it silently. Zizzabelle squinted through her tears at the orc towering over her, the Warlord’s calm presence soothing her rapid pulse. She watched her employer’s lined face carefully. If the reports were true -and Zizzabelle was good enough to only filch the most accurate reports- then this would not be the first time Bloodfang had lost a unit. There might even be more that she hadn’t read of yet, sneaking through her boss’s military record at nights with her trusty flash-watch. That many deaths under your command had to weigh heavily on a person.

    The orc’s brown eyes were deep, and warm, and utterly unreadable.

    Zizzabelle nodded, sniffed, and retrieved her glittery shades.


    (Story by Rukkha)
    The Deal

    Nazmir was terrifying to the young Darkspear warrior Teku. The threat of the blood trolls and their dark god G’huun sent shivers down his spine whenever they came across a ritual site that was infested by the Blood God’s presence. It was not so much the dead that frightened him, for he was one of Bwonsamdi’s disciples and relished at the sight of it. He knew that these sacrifices did not go to his favoured Loa and the uncertainty that it brought scared him. He thought that if a new ‘God’ could spread such chaos and disorder so close to the Necropolis where his Loa dwelled that the once so mighty Bwonsamdi was no longer so strong.

    Doubt was Teku’s greatest fear.

    Doubt was Teku’s greatest weakness.

    Doubt was a blade that pierced deeper than the spear lunged toward him as his party was ambushed in the Dreadmire.

    “Dey be comin’ from da trees!” Shouted the elder Shadow Hunter Sal’jin who led the group to protect the swamps around the Necropolis. Twelve of them there were against a horde of bloodcrazed fanatics. The odds weren’t in their favour, but each member of the group had fought a hundred battles and lived; today wouldn’t be any different.

    Teku groaned as he pulled the spear from his abdomen, his blood gushing from the gaping hole. A grave injury that would’ve killed most, but not a troll. He sought to retaliate against the Nazmani troll who struck him and leapt towards the rampaging horde along with the rest of his comrades. Magic exploded from both sides. The power of the elements were with them against the dark blood magic from the blood trolls.

    The stage was set for a long and bloody battle that would turn the swampy waters red with blood. Unfortunately for the brave Darkspear warrior he would not witness most of it. Seven fell to his sharp axe until the eight ran him through with a crude spear. His eyes locked with that of his killer’s hungry gaze. She grinned widely and then everything went dark and quiet.





    “Bwonsamdi. It not be my time yet.”

    There was no answer.

    “O mighty Bwonsamdi, your servant calls out to you.”

    There was nothing once again.

    “Dey said ya not be powerful enough anymore, o mighty Loa.”

    A low growl came from the darkness.

    “Who be talkin’ like dat ‘bout ol’ Bwonsamdi, huh? You?”

    Powerful dark magic reshaped the endless void around him and soon enough he found himself in a strange room. The dark ruins reminded him of the Necropolis.There was a stream of souls moving past him and into a bottomless chasm. The way he saw it, he was at the very edge of joining them to the Other Side. But not yet.

    A dark silhouette moved from corner to corner with only its glowing, pale blue eyes being noticable. It stopped and knelt as it observed Teku, as if waiting for an answer.

    “It be--”

    “You, I know. Dere be doubt in ya, my little warrior. De fire in ya be extinguished, just as your life. So, why is it dat ya call upon Bwonsamdi?”

    For a moment that same doubt resurfaced. If his Loa knew about the lack of conviction, why would he even acknowledge his request?

    “I want to live.”

    The silhouette vanished and dark, guttural laughter came from all around him. Teku felt the presence behind him and turned around to face the chasm and the host of it. He looked much like a troll, yet his body was interwoven with rotten flesh and bones. The Loa of Death certainly looked the part as his cold eyes measured the lowly troll before him.

    “Ya want to live? But I do so like my souls, especially in times like dese.”

    “Yes. Dat is why I want to bargain with ya.”

    “Is dat so? Ya want to make a little deal with ol’ Bwonsamdi? Ya better come with a good offer.”

    There was little hesitation now that he was at the precipice of death. “Souls,” was the only word coming from his lips. The Loa turned his head to the side, more confused than satisfied about the answer.

    “Souls? Come now, ya need to be convincing me!”

    “In exchange for life, I give you de souls of my enemies. I will send you a hundred dead.”

    “Hmmm… a hundred souls for dat life of yours?” Bwonsamdi hummed and touched the chest with the hole from the spear that ended his life. The skeletal fingers glowed an eerie blue, much like his eyes and the wound closed.

    “Ya tempt me, Teku. But I be not satisfied yet.” The life that entered the Darkspear left him as soon as it was given. Warmth made room for the cold of death and Teku was left… puzzled. He nodded once as if understanding.

    “I give ya life and sustain ya. What I want ya to do is to keep sendin’ souls to me. See it as a way to prolong your life, yes? Ya take souls and I let ya live a little bit longer. De moment de dead stop comin’ to me, is de moment I take ya soul myself. So, little Teku… do we have a deal?”

    The Loa extended the same hand towards him, the magic from before danced around playfully between his bony digits as if to tempt the Darkspear into accepting his offer. A moment that felt like an eternity passed by, but then Teku accepted the hand and found himself back in the Dreadmire.

    He laid in a pool of his own blood, surrounded by the corpses of his comrades. The blood trolls won. Most of them had left, except for the one that struck the killing blow on him. He recognised her face and the grin that never ceased to be.

    With a groan Teku pushed himself back up on his feet. It was time to honour the bargain he struck.
    As the night gets darker Selithrian sits away from the others, leaning against a tree in the druids grove. She watches the rest of the Warband for a while, the handle of her blade resting against her shoulder until sleep claimed her.

    The Blood Elf dreamt of her former battlefield companions, remembering how they would share jokes, stories and secrets. She even dreamt of how empty her laughter felt, how half-hearted her stories were and how insincere her secrets would become. In truth, Selithrian had only ever pretended to feel like she belonged, hoping that one day it would force her to fit in.

    As darkness consumed her former comrades, from the earliest allies to the most recent sisters-at-arms, Selithrian's dreaming eyes turned to her new warband. Before anything could happen, she suddenly bolted awake as a squirrel ran over her leg and up the tree. Wiping at her eyes, the warrior wondered whether her new allies would join the litany of the vanished, or whether they would become something more. The errant thought crept away as the Blood Elf closed her eyes once again, content to steal another couple of hours before dawn broke over the dark glade.
    "I said Shimmerscale, not Simmerscale!" Dave yelled at the burly Troll merchant, thrusting the bag of reagents to his chest.
    Dave had set up shop in one of the tents in the camp. A couple of Trolls and Tauren seemed to be assisting him.
    The merchant took the bag back, glaring at the angry little undead. "What be the difference?"
    Dave turned away, rubbing his temples, limping to his makeshift desk. "The difference is that Simmerscale is what gives dragonids their resistance to flame, and Shimmerscale is what gives reptiles and amphibians their ability to camouflage. So get out there and find me some invisible lizards!" Dave continued to berate.
    "Ye awfully bossy for such a small dead boy." The merchant responded.
    Dave leant back in his chair with a glare. "Do you want me to die, Mr Venn'da. Because that's what's going to happen if you send me out against centaurs with fire resistance instead of invisibility. And if I die..." Dave jabbed a finger at a paper on his desk, "Then this permit for border travel isn't going to be approved. The Goblins tax pretty high for moving goods into their territory without one of these. You and your mate do want to move your business out of Desolace, no?"
    The merchant growled, tightening his fist around the bag, "You'll get ya invisible lizards." He spat, storming out the door.*
    An elderly Tauren hurried in as the merchant left, excitedly approaching the desk with a pouch. "Sorry it took so long, mister Dave!" The old bull passed over the pouch, "but I'm pretty sure I got every piece of Fadeleaf this side of the glade!"
    "Exemplary work, Thunderhoof! The reliability of the Tauren shall never be questioned," Dave responds with disarming friendliness.
    "So you'll get me out of the draft?"
    Dave handed the Tauren a form. "Just fill in the medical section. I'll see to it the Queen herself signs off on it."
    The Tauren takes the form, enthusiastically and painfully shaking Dave's hand. "Oh, thank you thank you thank you!" he beamed before rushing out the tent.
    "Er, Mistah Dave?"
    "Yes, Ti'sha, what is it?"
    A frail looking Troll adolescent stood behind Dave, clutching a few glowing gems. "I filled anotha mana crystal like you said. But it's getting real hard now. Do I realle' have ta do them all now?"
    Dave sighed. Shakily, he pushed himself out from his chair, struggling to turn around so he could look the troll in the eyes. "I'm sorry, Ti'sha, but I'm only here for a couple more days. If it's not done now, I can't promise I'll ever be back." Dave placed a hand on her shoulder, "If you're the Mage you say you are, the university will recognise that. Get those mana crystals filled, and you'll be in Silvermoon before you know it."
    The troll smiled weakly, nodding. "Ok, Mistah Dave. I'll get back to work."

    Dave sat at his desk, resting his damaged bones. He might be broken at the moment, but work still had to be done. What a sorry state of affairs it was though, the amount of lying you had to do to get decent workers around here.


    Resident Deathstalker and charismatic powerhouse tasked with getting invisibility potion for yesterdays event.
    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cj1Tex6NfWQ
    Everything is better when it's jagged. A neat guild concept with a Jagged good guild name.
    Upon joining this guild I was a bit sceptic but OOC atmosphere an icredible events and good quality rp quickly made me love this place. I'm so glad I found those guys :)

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