World of Warcraft™

The Battle of the Three Fists

The commanders of the Thunderlords, Dragonmaw, and Blacktooth Grin clans marched out of the eastern tower of Rockard--the fortress which after the second war had come to be known as Dreadmaul Hold, but which had recently been reclaimed and rebuilt by Hellscream's Horde. Joining them were representatives from Suncrown, and a handful of other Dread Horde armies.

Smashblade walked through the camp, surveying the steel-eyed ranks of Grunts marching and forming up under the banners of the three clans. An ugly old orcish sergeant drilled the lines and inspected uniforms. He nodded to Smashblade and got on his worg, then rode away from the Grin column to join the Dragonmaw Vanguard forces. Smashblade faced the gathered armies.

"DREAD HORDE! FORM UP IN FISTS! YOU HAVE YOUR ORDERS!"

The soldiers howled out their various battle cries and marched to meet their squadron commanders, then each of the three clans rode to war. The plan had been formed well in advance of the gathering. Under orders of the Warchief Hellscream, the clans of the Dread Horde were launching a full blown offensive in the South. They would simultaneously strike three different locations with heavily armored columns, forcing the Alliance's War Council and various armies of Stormwind to divide their own forces or see their homes razed.

The Dragonmaw Vanguard would strike Lakeshire, while the Thunderlord Clan simultaneously put the fields of Sentinel Hill to the torch. The Grin would hold the center at Darkshire, and reinforce the other two forces as needed.

As they set Sentinel Hill ablaze, the Thunderlord Clan met a small resistance from Blackwater. While they held their ground, more and more reinforcements began to pour in.

Simultaneously, the Dragonmaw Vanguard fell with savage howls on the citizens of Lakeshire. The Guardians of Light, however, had assembled a holding force there well in advance, and were prepared to defend their homes.

As these two forces converged on their targets in the north and west, the Blacktooth Grin launched a surprise attack on Darkshire, seizing and holding the heart of the town, and ransacking its storehouses.

But the battle in Lakeshire began to escalate quickly. Goblin reconnaissance units alerted the main Grin column in Darkshire that there was fierce resistance in the North, and reinforcements from the Grin and Suncrown were dispatched to help break the Alliance forces at Lakeshire, where the Dragonmaw had fallen back into the town hall. As the reinforcements arrived, at the back of the Guardians' main column, the Dragonmaw forces pushed out from their entrenched positions into the streets, and the Guardians were caught in a vice, and driven from the besieged town.

Then, before the raiding forces could properly sack the town, orders came in for all of the forces in Lakeshire to make haste to Sentinel Hill, where Blackwater was rapidly gaining a defensive foothold. The Grin and Dragonmaw reinforcements converged on Sentinel Hill with battle lust and clashing blades, routing the defenders there.

After regrouping, and tending to the dead and dying, the Three Fists marched to put Darkshire to the torch for all time. But the combined Alliance forces had recovered and rallied in strength there with the Knights of Dusk, and the Horde began to suffer very heavy losses. Smashblade, seeing this, redirected the the remains of the offensive back to Lakeshire, where he hoped to draw off some of the alliance from their entrenched positions and into one of his own.

It worked. The Horde Forces set up a bunker in the center of the ill-fated town, and held their ground until a sizeable Alliance force had gathered to repel them. Then, in one final push, they flooded out into the streets and painted the shores red with Stormwind's blood.

The drum beats of victory filled the air. Smashblade sent out the orders to take what provisions could be taken, and to burn the rest, then ordered the Horde columns to regroup for debriefing. Warcries echoed through the cliffs of Redridge. This night, the Battle of the Three Fists, marked the opening salvo in the renewed war for the lands of the east.

((The Rise of Legends Campaign begins with tonight's battles in Lakeshire, Darkshire, and Sentinel Hill. This marks the beginning of a new RP-PvP storyline on The Venture Co (US) realm. Many thanks to the various Horde and Alliance guilds who showed up for the opening battles this evening!))

[[EDIT: This thread IS open for RP responses. Non-RP responses will be recommended for removal. ]]

"I don't know if I can properly appreciate our taking a Town Hall of a farming community," Lethil murmured as he tended to a wounded Tauren.

Esere flipped a ledger open, scanning the page and inwardly cursing her lapse in understanding written Common. "The Warchief is methodical as always. When they attacked Ironforge, they sent in scouts to take out all the sources of food and water." She finished clearing the Lakeshire Mayor's desk and nodded a limping Troll over. They had turned the desk, chairs, tables into a frontline aid station.

"Attacking the extremidities before the heart," Lethil said thoughtfully. "Wouldn't it be better to--"

"I could send you back to Silvermoon to deal with the Reliquary crates," Esere cut him off, offering helpfully as she summoned the Light into her touch and began mending severed muscles. The troll hissed what she took for an expletive in his native language, jerking and spasming as magic began reversing the damage done. He quieted a moment later.

The fighting continued not 20 feet from them. Shields barred the Alliance from pressing into the Town Hall, as bows and spears hit the Alliance line. Magic rained down on both sides, and the injured were pulled from the line and brought into the Hall for aid.

Sweat formed on her brow as she worked methodically. Lethil fell into stride along side her. Their work wasn't fancy or pretty, and the work of the Light wasn't gentle or reassuring. It was used sparingly, using more mundane bandages when they were able. The fighting might last hours, and they would have to fight possible exhaustion.

Eventually, the murmur of a charge swept the line, and those in the aid camp got the wounded ready to transport. She had seen to the injuries of a dozen, two dozen fighters. It was easy to lose track when the only way to mark the passage of time in a building with no windows was the number of the dents in armor and the size of the nicks in blades.

A call tore through the noise of battle, and the door frame splintered as Tauren and Orc shoved the shield wall back into the Lakeshire forces. Esere helped the troll she first mended back to nearly full health onto a windrider, and he pressed a strand of beads into her hand in thanks. She smiled with appreciation.

Renault waited near the door with a windrider for her. Taking the reins, she silently thanked her husband. He favored her with a smile, trying to hide the ache and pains of battle. He could ride and wouldn't allow his own minor injuries to be seen to until much later. That was just his way.

Giving him her best "I know what you're doing" glare, she caught sight of Lethil aiding the last of the wounded onto a rider even as arrows streaked past them. Unshakeable, their monk. She smirked, and Lethil caught the expression. He grumbled, "There's nothing funny about a skirmish."

"You are right."



"I think we lost Kevin and Gerald."

"Who?"

"Nevermind. You were talking to a Warlock at the base camp," Lethil whispered in Thalassian, changing the subject. They had taken an easterly path, hoping to prevent the Alliance counter-attack from following them back to the Blasted Lands. A handful of windriders rested on a rock outcropping near the murloc caves in the Swamp of Sorrows.

"Boktheg."

"Why was he glad Arkonn wasn't at the fight? Why did you lie about him being in the field?"

Esere tightened the reins in her fingers as she gathered her thoughts. "Were you there when the Blacktooth Grin returned to Orgrimmar?"

He ducked his head, bashful. "I only made it for the end. Candrima and I were... indisposed," he finished inelegantly.

"You likely missed it, then." She rolled one of her shoulders, easing some of the tension there. "Arkonn and the Warchief have an old quarrel that dates back to the Outlands campaign. It's not going to settle until one or the other is no more." It glossed over a great deal of detail. It didn't mention the dead, the sacrifices, the wheeling and dealing done throughout the campaign. "There are some wounds even the Light can't mend closed."

Lethil nodded in understanding as she sighed softly. The head of the group of windriders signaled an "all-clear", and they took to they sky again.

As they turned toward the setting sun, Esere shifted the reins to one hand and used the other to rub her arm. There was plate, chain, leather, padding, and silk between the gauntlet on her hand and the flexible protection on her arm, but she could feel the fel-inked lines on the surface of her skin. They burned with the reminder of their great loss.

The formation of worgriders covered the face of the ridge overlooking Lakeshire to the north, years of discipline leading them to wait a few paces below the crest so that their outlines would be less visible at a distance. A lone sentry held watch at the crest, and a pair of Orcs stood sentry outside of a small tent erected beneath a tree. Smoke and the clashing of battle billowed over the water of Lake Everstill; fire and ice alike rained from the sky as war found its way back into the streets of the town. Inside the command tent, the faces of the war leaders showed an unease very different from the grim smiles of the riders outside, confident of their impending victory.

“Boss, I don't like it! We're shown an open road, resistance yeah, but nothing we couldn't handle... We could have demolishers at Stormwind's gates by tomorrow morning. The pinkies had no idea how strong we'd be, opportunity's literally knocking at their gates. Our opportunity, that is. Us knocking, too, I guess... The point is, why're we torching these farming shanties instead of ending this war right now?” The goblin drummed his fingers impatiently on the map of southern Azeroth, small blue pebbles vastly outnumbered by the Dreadhorde banners scattered across the countryside. The goblin Sythegar's eyes flitted nervously between the map, the Chieftain frowning down at the positions, and the Orc Necrolyte sitting on folded legs in the corner, his eyes shut for now as he smiled in an easy trance. Gorfrunch Smashblade was slow to respond, looking over the arrayed forces before he answered.

“History will not repeat itself here, Vinny. When the Orcs first entered this world, Stormwind gave them a similar greeting. Deadeye and Cho'gall took their clans and nearly broke the Horde on Stormwind's fortifications because they neglected to secure their victory. In their belief of their own power, they let their supplies be cut off and their armies sent fleeing back into the Swamp. Our forces will not suffer the same indignity.” Gorfrunch tapped a finger up and down on top of a marker representing Suncrown's forces, stationed in Darkshire. “We will be thorough, and we will cripple their ability to fight back before we move in for the killing blow. There will be no mistakes.” The goblin looked at the positions himself for a moment, then threw his hands up in disgust. “The longer we take, the more time they have after they realize what a threat we are, the more regiments they'll be able to draw in from Northrend, from Kalimdor, from Khaz Modan! Our only hope of avoiding a slugfest like Ashenvale is to finish this now!”

In response, Gorfrunch slid the Suncrown marker north from Darkshire to Lakeshire, and fixed a cold gaze on Vinnixil, his rotten face unmoving, months-decayed lips failing to hide the void in his teeth. “I will begin our policy of ensuring victory by reinforcing the battle below. Our victory there is certain, but the more forces we field, the less casualties we will suffer. Send the order. Yourself.” Vinny considered arguing for a moment, but then saluted with a “Zug zug, Chief!” and darted out the tent flap, glancing at the Necrolyte as he passed. For a few moments, only the muted voices and clangs of metal on metal floated into the quiet of the tent. Then, the dead Orc chief rasped one word: “Virroth.” The Necrolyte instantly opened his eyes, small flames leaping out as he looked up. His eyes were wide open and his mouth smiling, almost cheerful if not for the flames, but he radiated controlled power, danger sitting, waiting, lurking.

“Yes, my Chieftain?”

“The goblin is right. We've thrown away all hope of actual victory in this war with these gluttonous raids. The best we'll soon be able to hope for is to win a war of attrition, our biggest victories small raids or successful ambushes.” He stared across the tent at the Necrolyte, waiting for a response that never materialized. “Do you have an opinion, any thoughts on this minor matter, wise elder?,” the Chieftain spat, gaze turning to anger. “You just sit there. Your counsel has produced wonders for us, fat wagons of grain and loot; fat wagons of Dwarves and Night Elves pouring into Stormwind from every direction. And you sit there, smiling.” The Necrolyte remained silent, and Gorfrunch's fingers wrapped around the haft of his axe. “Answer or die!”

“That would be very unwise, my Chieftain.” As the ancient Necrolyte rose to his feet, the sounds from outside were suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of battlecries, the sounds of victorious Horde. “You've yet to see the true gains we've made. Victory is so close you could touch it had you the knowledge, it needs only more of the slaughter your Dreadhorde has brought me. Bide, Chieftain, and see the fruits of our labors.” Gorfrunch Smashblade gripped his axe more tightly, and strode stiffly out of the tent past the Necrolyte to see the victory below with his own eyes. A quiet rasp of a voice followed him out.

“Bide, Chieftain, and do what Orcs do best. Leave the rest to me.”

Physically the Necrolyte remained within the tent, his shoulders slumped, a single hand resting idly on the hilt of his runeblade. He stood nearly motionless with eyes closed, and occasionally his entire body would twitch slightly as if he'd been subjected to a small electric shock. But he was not there.

Virroth sank into the spirit world and swam with the souls of the anguished dead.

They milled all about him, radiating fear, hatred, anger, confusion, disbelief. Their agony was palpable and Virroth basked in it. Took measure of it. Prepared for it. These were his moments, and they could not be wasted. When he judged himself to be ready, he stepped out amongst them as easily as if he were simply stepping out of the tent. His spirit revealed itself and instantly they clustered all about him.

Help me.
Avenge me.
Forgive me.
Release me.

And as so many Necrolytes had before him, Virroth drifted through and among them. His essence reached out - caring, benevolent, understanding.

Come to me, heroes fallen.
Come, and find succor.

Hesitantly at first, but then with increasing urgency, their souls flock to him. Their anguish falls away as the Necrolyte shepherds them towards their proper place within the world of spirits. And then...

You are mine now.

"Sythegar."

Virroth lazily opens his eyes, blue flame dancing across his pupils. The faintest of noises slips through the tent, just barely audible above the wind...the sounds of hundreds of voices, screaming in unison.

A troll stands in the doorway and awaits instruction.

"Assemble the Mok'gun, Rhazjah. Our work here is just beginning."

The wind whipped through the open window of the high tower in Rockard, blowing papers off the table and flipping the stiff pages of the open book. The warlock frantically tried to maintain some order of the precious documents but it was useless. Cursing he stomped over to the window and picking up a large piece of plywood, he propped it up over the curtainless hole in the wall.

“Yet another reason to vacate all important items from this miserable place.” he thought to himself.

The wind died down and Bok’theg returned to the table to rearrange what the breeze had scattered across the room. Carefully he stacked the records back on the table next to the book. It was taking too long to copy these parchments detailing the Dragonmaw Vanguard’s activities against the Twilight Cultists and he was running out of time. The archives had to be copied exactly and delivered before the end of the day.

Absently he flipped the pages of the open book but his mind was deciphering the riddle of the Grin’s war against Stormwind. He knew what the death knight Virroth was doing. It was clear as the nose on the face of any who would open their eyes to see. The pointless raids on the cities surrounding Stormwind were not providing anything to Blacktooth Grin. They were not breaking the back of the Alliance nor were they producing any other tangible results…nothing but blood and corpses, something important to the dead and to those who worked in their realm. It was clear enough to a warlock whose currency was death…and so it must also be clear to one such as Virroth. Why then did the Cheiftain seem so blind then? Snapping the book shut, Bok’theg shrugged. It mattered little. It would be up to him and the Lak’gora to save the Chieftain’s misbegotten war from ruin and he knew just how to do it; in fact he had already begun.

Pushing the book aside he centered a map of the Eastern Kingdoms in front of him on the table. Glyphs and sigils were painted across various portions of the Arathi Highlands, the Hinterlands and the Wetlands. As the nethermancer studied the map, the raid of a few days past was still fresh in his mind and he wondered how devastating it had really been. Of course they had destroyed a few tons of supplies in the attack on Aerie Peak but most of the troops and wagons had already departed by the time the Dragonmaw’s raid force had arrived. While Felandis may have been content that the attack had weakened the Wildhammer dwarves who pressed the gates of Bloodgulch, Bok’theg had greater concerns. There was territory that needed to be secured in order for his plans to come to fruition. His eyes scanned the parchment and came to rest on Stromgarde just as a dark robed figure shuffled into the room from the stairwell.

“Lord…I am here as requested at the appointed hour.”

The messenger’s voice quavered slightly in fear and he kept his eyes on the floor. Bok’theg took a half of the parchments and rolled them up. Carefully he tied them with ribbon and placed them in a leather satchel. Handing the satchel to the orc, Bok’theg admonished him.

“These documents are precious to us. Be sure they are delivered and safely archived. I have yet to finish the others but these you may take now.”

The figure took the offered satchel and clutched it close as if it held his very life.

“Your will be obeyed. For the greater glory of the Soulbinder.”

Bowing the figure retreated from the room and hurried down the stairs.

The wind whipped around Felandis, as he flew high above the Twilight Highlands on his red drake. They glided effortlessly on the warm air currents coming in from the Wetlands. Felandis stared in silence... contemplating the Dragonmaw's situation. A sudden explosion drew his attention below... Another Wildhammer Dwarf building blown up. A small victory for the Dragonmaw.

Since meeting with Boktheg and the Lak'gora weeks ago, much had been on Felandis' mind. They had mentioned to not notify Gorfrunch Smashblade of their coordination... why? He had always considered Gorfrunch Smashblade an excellent leader of the Grin and Dreadhorde... and yet rumors circled him... especially the dark figure who he now confided in.

Felandis frowned... and things had gotten even more convoluted in the past week. The Lak'gora had held to their word, they had assisted the Dragonmaw in a direct attack on the Wildhammer's town of Aerie Peak. Of course, things took an unexpected twist upon the discovery of a letter detailing an attack on Horde interests in Kalimdor. Fortunately, they had arrived at Thunderbluff to rally with Horde forces in time to repel the Alliance attack. This attack by the Alliance was quickly avenged, with a Horde assault on Lakeshire, Goldshire, and even the very gates of Stormwind.

It had been a glorious night, and yet the conclusion left many questions...

In return for the Lak'gora's assistance in hitting Aerie Peak, the Dragonmaw had agreed to two things... the first part was easy... a direct attack on Menethil in an attempt to disrupt Alliance supply routes. This served the Dragonmaw's interests in the area, and made sense. The second part was to update the Lak'gora on the Dragonmaw's knowledge of the Twilight Cultists. The information was shared after the battle had concluded.

Felandis had explained it all in detail to the Lak'gora... from the uprising of the Twilight Cultists, to the discovery of their connection with the Old Gods. The Dragonmaw had assumed by sharing this knowledge, they would have increased support in dealing with this issue... although Felandis doubted even the Dragonmaw and Lak'gora together could stand up against the might of the Old Gods. This assumption of coordinated effort against the Old Gods was soon brought into question...

During the heat of the discussion, the Lak'gora had voiced a simple question "Can this power be harnessed?" Felandis grimaced. The pain of the Dragonmaw's past was still an open wound for many of them... and such words brought memories of darker times... times where the Dragonmaw attempted to manipulate power that was not their's to control. He had quickly attempted to purge the notion from the discussion... commenting that it was not possible, and to learn from past mistakes and not follow in the same footsteps. He was unsure if his words were in fact heeded. The Dragonmaw present declared similar concerns after the Lak'gora had departed.

Felandis' lip curled in distaste. What was happening here? There seemed to be division between the Lak'gora and Gorfrunch, and both seemed to present a possible darker side to their intentions. The Dragonmaw would not be manipulated as they had in the past... He cursed, "Hell, even the magi of Dalaran attempted to use the Dragonmaw this very month!!!!" He took in a deep breath... satisfied that at least the Dragonmaw had uncovered it in time, although the magi still attempted to portray the Dragonmaw cursed maniacs.

He realized one thing, the Dragonmaw's role in the conclusion of whatever was going on here, would impact how the Horde perceived them. He glanced at the war torn land of the Twilight Highlands... At this time, the Dragonmaw needed all the aid they could gather to hold the combined forces of the Cultists, Wildhammers and Alliance at bay. The Dragonmaw must uncover whatever hidden truth they could, while not declaring clear allegiance to either side.

First... To Menethil, to satisfy the first part of the agreement. The Dragonmaw forces rested and prepared for tonight's attack.

((Boo, wish I was't working and all that jazz. Good fun today though.))

The stars blazed in the clear night sky. The echoes of weapons clashing and dying screams faded into the rolling hills of the Arathi Highlands. Felandis stood on the hill top with the Horde survivors. An epic battle had been won, and yet, what did this mean? Felandis thought back to the events of the night...

The Dragonmaw had rallied in Bloodgulch in preparation for their attack on Menethil. Words were exchanged, including concerns of the Old Gods and the Lak'gora's involvement. The decision was made that despite having doubts about the Lak'gora's intentions, they were proving to be solid allies, and the pressure on the Twilight Highlands was being lifted due to their coordination with the Dragonmaw. The Wildhammer Dwarves had fallen back after the sacking of Aerie Peak. They still held a presence in the Twilight Highlands, but were not pressuring Blood Gulch as badly.

Felandis' thoughts flashed forward to his forces descending on the flooded town of Menethil. The town had put up a valiant defense, but in the end, it burned... it all burned. The Lak'gora must have had scouts in the area, for several of their members soon joined the Dragonmaw, and assisted in the sacking of Menethil. Growing tired of wading through knee deep water, the group had retired to sit on the roof of a building to survey the scene of destruction. One thing was for sure... it did not appear Menethil was in any shape to support a major Alliance offensive. The town was all but ruined, even before the Dragonmaw and Lak'gora's attack. Boktheg of the Lak'gora, soon confirmed this...

While listening to Felandis voice his concerns over Menethil playing any role in the Alliance offensive, Boktheg brought to light that there had been rumors circling the Arathi Highlands... including the Alliance encampment of Refuge Pointe. As Menethil burned around them, it was decided that the force should investigate these rumors right away. The group took to the air, and headed north.

What they found in Arathi, was more than they could have imagined. The Alliance forces were so strongly fortified that the Dragonmaw and Lak'gora were forced to send messengers out for assistance from nearby Dreadhorde forces. The call was answered...

Felandis shook his head to refocus on the present... he stood on the hilltop, staring out across the now silent landscape. A hard fought battle... in fact it had been ages since he had seen a group of Alliance fight with so much inspiration. But why? What was here? Below the hill, Refuge Pointe still teemed with Alliance activity. "Boktheg was right..." Felandis muttered. "It shows the Lak'gora truly are our allies in these matters." The Dragonmaw close by nodded in agreement.

Refuge Pointe seemed to be the Alliance staging point they had been seeking, and it was far closer to the Twilight Highlands than Felandis had imagined. Times were dire.

Felandis called over his trusted Wyrmcaller Klaes. "Wyrmcaller... bring news to Warlord Zaela. The Dragonmaw shall use Hammerfall as a staging point to stay this Alliance threat." Klaes nodded and vanished through a portal.

Felandis glanced at the remaining Horde army, "Soldiers... be proud of your work tonight. Let us tend to our wounded and bring this news to our friends and allies. The Horde must be warned." Felandis whistled and his red drake descended from the night sky.


(( Epic, epic, EPIC battle last night in Arathi. A huge thanks to KoS, who not only fought vastly outnumbered at the start (I will never cease to admire your courage and tenacity with which you defend your holdings), but also organized the Alliance raid, which included many guilds. You guys certainly pulled reinforcements quickly!!! And the tide was quickly turned against us. Thank you for the honor with which you fought, and your unrelenting defense of Refuge Pointe. Dreadhorde, you will never cease to amaze me. You responded to our call for reinforcements, and showed up in time to make for a truly epic VeCo battle. I could barely see straight after the battle was over... and I think that single battle next to Refuge Pointe on the hill, must have lasted at least 20 minutes (non-stop fighting, zero breaks), with well over 50 people involved. Truly a night for VeCo to be proud of. Thank you!! ))

((EPIC))

Panting, Aedric turned and looked about the death strewn field, surveying the wrecked bodies and smelling the acrid odor of charred flesh. Wiping the gore from his tabard, he sighed, thinking again of how much gold he had to spend getting new tabards lately. A low and angry sounding groan tore him from his musings. Glancing around, Aedric spotted movement coming from beneath the smoking corpses of two Grin deathknights. Unfastening the greatsword at his back, Aedric stalked towards the corpses, expecting to have to put another of the fallen beasts out of it's misery.

"Oi, buggers are 'eavy." Came a deep, labored voice. Aedric could now make out the form of a dwarf underneath the corpses, and begin to laugh at Thudde's misfortune. "Lend me a 'and, would ya? That damnable mage just 'ad to blow these two right on ta me."

"Typical mage, eh?" Aedric said, leaning on his sword casually. "Those two look aweful heavy. Not sure I can help you all by myself."

Thudde's struggle now had him panting.

"Oh look! Shiroka and Esseme! I am sure these fine ladies would love to help you." Aedric said, winking.

"What?! I am a dwarf! I don't need the help of some women!" With a final heave, Thudde managed to shrug off one of the corpses and crawl out.

"I hope your nap was good, while the rest of us fought." Aedric said, clearly amused.

"I 'ad 'em both dead before the mage decided ta screw things up!" Thudde said, still on his knees trying to recover.

"Oh, yes master Thudde, I am sure you did." Aedric responded merrily, with a sly wink as he turned to survey the field again.

"Did we lose anyone?" Came a new voice from behind him. Aedric turned to see Lord Commander Jerald sitting on one of the corpses. He looked tired, and Aedric understood why. Even in victory there were dead, and a commander carried those dead with him forever.

"Aye sir. Lost a druid, had another one deeply injured. Our priest, Shiroka, was pretty near death as well but seems to have been fully healed now."

"One casualty is still too many. Damned Grin. Why do you think they hit us? Here of all places?" Jerald asked, a distant look in his eyes.

"No idea sir. I think this marks a turning point. These are no longer skirmishes, this is all out war."

There was a clanging noise as Thudde fell on his back, letting out a stream of curses. Neither human turned.

"I agree. Marshal, gather the forces and dress our wounds. I'll be damned if we sit here any longer. This,"- Jerald paused, gesturing about the farmstead -"was clearly not their target. They're trying to wipe us out, they don't give a damn about some farm."

"Aye. So what now sir?" Aedric said, the exhaustion of the previous battle starting to catch up to him.

"We hit them. And we hit them hard. No more waiting. We're going to draw them out in Hillsbrad, and we're going to end them." Jerald said, making a chopping motion with his hand.

"Very good sir, I can think of many who will be happy to finally get that order. I'll get to work. Honor and Vengeance, Stromgarde Prevails!" Aedric snapped a salute, then turned and began to pick his way across the smoking and body strewn farmstead, towards the stables where his Gryphon waited. Even with this victory, he knew that they had barely dented the Grin's numbers and that this victory at Dabyrie's Farmstead was only the start of a much more brutal fight.

“Lord Boktheg would be proud of the souls gathered today and I have my skins replenished.” Thuugom muttered to himself as he sat in the inn at Hammerfall.

It appeared to Thuugom that the Alliance was using the smaller farms to place their armies for whatever they had planned.

As he sat there he pulled out some of skins, ruffled through them, and found one human skin that would do. He began drawing the boundaries of Hillsbrad, Arathi Highlands, and the Wetlands on it.

‘We must patrol these areas, especially the smaller farms and slow down, if not eliminate the threat that has shown itself in these lands. At least I will be able to kill more Alliance, take their souls for the Lak’gora and their skins for me.’ He chuckled and grinned at the thought.

As he looked upon the hastily drawn map, he figured he might as well start patrolling the eastern edges of Hillsbrad, work westward, then into the Wetlands.

He grab his things together, walked outside were he mounted his Drake, he looked at the stable peon, “YOU kAN…FOD! FEAR THE GRIN!”, and laughed as he headed east.

(A note left for Chieftain Gorfrunch)

Chief,

A half dozen Grin showed up to patrol the Hillsbrad Foothills and Arathi Highlands this morning. We did not run into any Alliance in the areas, other than at Refuge Point and that was the battlemaster stationed there.

Some of our findings from this patrol:

1. Dalaran Crater: Nothing out of the ordinary there. To many cliffs and not many entry ways to store or position anything form that point. Although the Alliance could use it, thinking that we might not check it in the future.

2. Azurelode Mine: A great location for them to position, store, and assemble anything. We will have to recheck this in the future.

3. Southshore: There is plague all over this town, Lord Boktheg mentioned this place a great research area for anyone, especially the Alliance. This might be the place they are getting the research from.

4. Durnholde Keep: This proved to be interesting as it seems they have gathered Elementals there, for what purpose we do not know, but we will keep an eye on it. The buildings were all empty, but it appeared they might have been used for storage.

5. Northhold Manor: It seems that the Alliance have hired the Syndicate for mercenary work. We killed everyone there and left blood in our wake.

6. Dabyrie's Farmstead: This is where we encountered the Keepers the other night. Seems they cleaned up the farm real good and left nothing behind. Ghanima used her powers of mind control on Marcel Dabyrie, it seems the Keepers also keep their secrets to themselves as Marcel Dabyrie had nothing to say about the location of the Alliances work.

We will have to continue our morning and evening patrols of these areas our next planned patrol is Sunday at 0800 and we will do an evening patrol on Tuesday at 1600 to see if anything turns up or they are trying to hide their operations.

For the Grin,
Thuug

((Sounds awesome))