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As the sun slowly set beyond the horizon, its ruddy golden beams of warming light vanished. A single brilliant moon arose and took its place. Darkened clouds drifted across the sky and soon heavy rain began to fall covering the land in a haze that gave the air an aphotic appearance. At the epicenter of the torrent of darkness, a large base was enduring the worst of the storms wrath. Its occupants scurried around, desperately trying to safely secure the supplies from the storm that grew worse by the minute. The Horde flag that hung on a large pole in the middle of the base whipped around violently as the wind worked its way over and around the buildings, causing a soft whine to echo through the air. A large burly Orc that was tending to strapping down a flat of artillery shells with a couple other Horde soldiers looked up at sky, the rain pelting his scarred face.
A low guttural growl came from his throat before he spoke in a raspy, angered tone, “This weather is an ill omen, brothers. The wind carries the cries of the dead. We must be on our guard tonight.”
The other soldiers looked at him with cold eyes before nodding their heads, water dripping off of their muscular bodies as they finished their work. The large Orc stretched his body before motioning with his head towards the large stone tavern that gave off a soft, warming, welcoming light from its interior. The soldiers pushed forward to the tavern through the wind and rain that fought against them every step of the way. Once they arrived at the taverns entrance they pried the door open and quickly entered the tavern, the wind slamming the door shut behind them. The contents of the tavern ranged from all races of the Horde and it seemed as though most of the base was taking shelter from the storm. Everyone was trying to find some form of comfort, be it the warmth from the fire, the company of friends, a warm meal, a warm bed, or the soft music that echoed through the first floor of the tavern.
The sweet smell of freshly cooked strider meat and a hint of rosemary mostly covered the smell of spilled mead, causing a slight state of pleasurable relaxation. The Orcs quickly took a seat at an empty wooden table near a female bloodelf that was clad in a unique set of rogue armor. It looked as though the blood elf's armor included small sheets of plate metal which were shaped specifically to fit against her body. She sat by the glowing fire on a stone bench, her fingers glided gracefully across the metal strings as a soft tune echoed through the tavern.
One of the Orcs looked at one of his fellow soldiers that had helped him strap down the artillery shells and spoke in a loud enough voice for the Bloodelf to hear, “I did not know that the long ears knew how to play such a crude instrument, let alone dress themselves.”
The Orcs at the table started to laugh, but one of them would stop laughing abruptly as a throwing knife found itself embedded in his collar bone. The Orcs dumbfounded gaze turned into one of rage before yelling incoherently at the Bloodelf, though some kind of death threat involving Murlocs could be made out. The bloodelf seemed completely unphased and kept playing her harp as if nothing was happening. The Orc started to shake with rage before lunging at the Bloodelf with pure bloodlust. The Bloodelf would nimbly step out of the Orcs way and push the bench over with her right foot, leaving the only clear path leading into the fireplace. Most of the Orcs body was soon engulfed in flames. It took only a second for him to realize what had happened before he started to flail violently around on the logs until finally pushing himself out and rolling on the ground to put the flames out. One of his fellow brothers tossed a mug of water at him which extinguished whatever embers were left on his armor.
The burned Orc now lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling of the tavern, “Where is she! I will sever her head from her body!”
The wounded Orc tried to get onto his feet, but one of his brothers knelt at his side and told him to stay where he was. “If you move brother, your wounds will worsen. I shall find a priest to heal you and then we can find this Bloodelf.”
By this time the Bloodelf was nowhere in sight. She had quickly left the tavern with her possessions and made her way to the front gate that had a large stone scouting tower over looking part of the forest that had gone eerily silent in the storm. The rain pelted the Bloodelfs face as she quickly entered the scouting tower and climbed the ladder that lead to the top of it where she could be at peace. Once there, she took at seat on the cold floor and laid down a sheet of embercloth before removing the rifle she had slung on her back and disassembled it. She carefully laid out each piece of the rifle before hand cleaning all the parts as well as tinkering with the scope that she had picked up from a Goblin engineer. Unlike most scopes, this one was rather bulky and had wires running in and out of it, as well as a couple of buttons which enabled unique features such as adjusting the viewing range and thermal sight.
As she finished reconstructing her rifle, she attached the scope to the top of the barrel and pushed herself up onto her feet. She walked over to one of the viewing holes in the tower, stuck the end of the barrel through it, then looked through her new scope. A smirk would spread across her face as she experimented with its special features. She had locked on to the shape of a rather large bird that flew around in circles above a group of trees. Its heat signature was different from any birds that she had seen in the area, and as she tampered with the scope to get a better look at the bird she noticed that a sort of necklace hung from around its neck. Her eyes narrowed slightly. There were also markings on the birds face. The Bloodelf pulled the bolt back on her rifle, loaded a couple rounds, then pushed the bolt forward, locking the ammunition into place.
“That’s not a regular bird, it’s a nightelf scout….a druid.” She thought to herself before aiming the cross hair slightly above and in front of the druid scout while it flew on the straight part of its path.
She quickly squeezed on the hairpin trigger and the bullet flew through the air, it arched downward slightly from the distance and from the chorological effect from the rotation of the planet. The bullet hit its target almost dead on, slightly below the druids heart, and it would fall from the sky to land in the thick brush and grass that covered the bottom of the forest. The Bloodelf kept her scope centered on the dead druid but panned back slightly to see part of the area around its corpse. As soon as she did this, she saw a very faint outline of a fire move quickly through the forest and to the dead druids position. It bent down and inspected the wound before glancing directly at the Bloodelf, or so it would seem.
The bloodelf adjusted her scope once more right when the figure came out of its improved stealth, “A female Nightelf…sentinel of forts from the look of it….wait…”
She adjusted the scope and focused on a badge the female Nightelf wore. Around the outside of the badge were black and gold lines and in the inside of it were the words (Ninth Legion). The Bloodelfs eyes grew wide right before someone placed a hand on her shoulder. She jumped and twitched slightly before quickly turning around to regard who had touched her.
Gangramar, a large burly Orc who was close friends with the Bloodelf, was smiling at her behind crooked teeth. “Target practice or just avoiding the scene you caused in the tavern, Andromedai?” he asked with a light-hearted laugh.
Andromedai quickly pulled her rifle in from the window and motioned for the Orc to lower his voice and move away from the viewing window in the tower. Gangramar quickly did what Andromedai told him to do before whispering to her, “What is it sister? What did you see out there?”
Andromedai rubbed the bridge of her nose lightly before speaking, “I saw a Nightelf wearing a badge that said Ninth Legion on it. If they are here…we need to pull out of here immediately. We do not have the man power to fight them.”
Gangramars eyes grew wide before he responded, “The Ninth Legion, are you sure?”
Andromedai nodded her head quickly. “I am very sure. I know what I saw.”
Gangramar nodded his head lightly then spoke once more. “We need to inform the others of the Ninth Legions presence here, then prepare for the worst. There is no time to evacuate the troops... they would most likely be picked off before they could reach the ships.”
Andromedai nodded again, “We are severely out matched and outnumbered here, Gangramar. I do not think many of us will make it past the next day.”
She stood up and the two of them quickly left the tower to go inform the soldiers in the tavern and barracks that they had seen the Ninth Legions presence and to prepare for the oncoming onslaught.
Edited by Andromedai on 3/6/2012 8:41 PM PST
Greetings comrades! Thank you for your interest in ‘Wrath of the Ninth Legion’. This RP takes place in Feralas after the shattering. Camp Mojache has been turned into a large military base for the Horde in response to the growing Alliance forces that gather and train at Feathermoon Stonghold. They have been keeping a close eye on the stronghold though in the last couple of days, scouts have been unable to report any new information back to the base due to the fact that a large storm has blown in and the nights are abnormally dark.
Some of the soldiers have reported seeing Nightelf scouts in the trees and brush around the base. Only two Horde soldiers know of the threat that is on its way. All other soldiers are at unease, not sure what to expect from the Alliance, but holding that position and taking the Stronghold is essential to winning the war against the Alliance and crippling their forces in Kalimdor. The Stronghold must be taken no matter the cost.
You have two choices, you can RP as a Horde Soldier at the Horde base in Feralas, or you can RP as a Alliance solider that is part of the Ninth Legion. Though before you sign up for this RP, please take these rules into account.
1. No Godmodding, Meta gaming, or making your character an overpowered killing machine.
2. Be respectful to all who are part of this RP.
3. OOC stays in the OOC / Sign up section for this RP, please keep it out of the main thread.
4. Posts have to be at least a paragraph long.
5. Real life always comes before a video game, though if you have something to do in real life and won’t be able to post for more than a day or two, let me know in the OOC section of the RP.
Age: (Not required but you have the option of filling this out if you want to.)
Alignment: (Horde Solider or Alliance Solider that is part of the Ninth Legion)
1. Ashokk / Tai Stronghammer
4. Rüneblade / Sel'Thrak
Main thread can be found here: http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/4175550489#1
Edited by Andromedai on 3/15/2012 8:38 PM PDT
Character Name: Nen'Jurash Bloodedge
Armor: Solid, black plate armor that covers his body from head to toe. It is smooth all around except for his helmet which actually as horns on it. And over the chest piece of his armor he wears a tabard of the Horde.
Weapon: He carries a two handed sword on his back. It looks like a regular sword, minus the three claw marks it has on its blade for when he had his first encounter with the Alliance's new friends, the Worgen.
Age: Young Adult
Alignment: Horde Solider
History/Personality: Nen'Jurash is a hotheaded, hotblooded warrior who's loyalty to the Horde can be almost called...fanatical. Though, when necessary in combat, he can think of ways needed to gain the upper hand, but is far from afraid to charge into the front lines and swing his mighty sword at his enemies.
Not much is known about Nen'Jurash. He had just came to Orgrimmar surprising many a people. He was taller and broader than most Orcs and had the looks of a true warrior about him. But, that was what he had told people, the Orcs within his family were natural born warriors, for he had come from a family of mercenaries that could be traced back to Draenor as being the ones to fight for any clan that would give them trading rites, but now, on Azeroth, for gold.
It was clear he had a...hold of contempt, for his family, with how he spat out the words. But, who can blame him? People that fought and possibly die for just gold? Not honor, fame, or protecting their home? That was disgraceful.
But, when he joined and served the Horde with such prowess and commitment, the young Orc was adopted into the Warsong Clan, the Warsong holding quite the admiration for the ambitious warrior.
As he rose in the Warsong Clan, so did his rank among the other soldiers, became the rank of Sergeant and hoping on gaining the right to have his own unit to command in battle.
To date, he had went to Feralas in hopes of fighting whatever mysterious force the Alliance has that was rumored to be based there, hoping to aid in the mightier, but too passive, Tauren that lived there.
Character name: Tai Stronghammer
Class: Death Knight
Armor: Black saronite of interlocking plates decorated with chains and skulls. It has no additions to it other than the decorative chains and skulls. Tai’s helmet when worn makes the Death Knight look like his face is that of a laughing skull and enhances his glowing blue eyes even further.
Weapons: Tai’s weapons are either his massive scythe, covered in blue glowing runes that mean “Death,” “Suffering” and “Blood.” The weapon also drips blue ice-like material. Tai’s second set of weapons are his one-handed axes named “Pain” and “Frost,” They are also covered in the same blue glowing runes that his scythe is covered in.
Age: 24 When he died.
Alignment: Alliance soldier, fighting alongside the 9th because he has nothing better to do.
History/Personality: Tai Stronghammer was a simple Lordaeron footmen before the Plague came and when it did he was serving in the units that Prince Arthas commanded. Tai agreed with his Prince and followed him to Northrend where he was turned into a Death Knight with many others of those that had followed Arthas north in his search for vengeance. Tai then served the Scourge diligently, murdering and pillaging like he was born to do it and enjoying it a lot. When he and the others of the Ebon Blade were freed from the Lich King’s grasp a part of him was upset by this but the majority of him simply didn’t care. After a while Tai had lost all that remained of his humanity and he simply didn’t care about anything other than the thrill of battle and when he would get to slake his thirst again. Tai now journey’s one warzone to another just asking where he can kill things and then doing that.
85 Human Rogue
Characters name: Kazer
Armor: Toughest of the toughest leather around. Used in gladiatorial fights. Fits on Kazer's body perfectly, allowing her to utilize her rogue abilities to full potential and still be able to sprint extremely quick.
Weapons: Weapons include Daggers given to her by Prince Wrathion upon completing a stealth and infiltrate mission. As of now, they are only at 1/3 their actual usage. She favors a shuriken style throwing weapon, and usually has 10 on her at any given time.
Alignment: Alliance Soldier, fighting with the 9th Legion due to a contract provided by them promising gold.
History/Personality: Kazer is a veteran rogue who grew up knowing only how to kill in the most quickest and deadliest of ways. Having lost her mother at birth, she was raised as a only child by her father, who taught her everything she knows. She has seen it all, from the opening of the Dark Portal to The Shattering. Her father died of old age back when she was deployed to Northrend to help fight the scourge there. Being a rogue, she rolls solo every time tasked with a challenge, rarely ever grouping up with someone unless her contract says so. For her, her current contract is her current law, even working with some Horde contacts from time to time for a handsome amount of gold. Doesn't care for SI:7 or even working with them for that matter. She favors gladiatorial battles, and scoffs at the idea that only warriors dominate these battles, for she can kill any warrior who dares stand in her way.
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