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Tezsla sat very still as she contemplated her plans for the evening. The mug of eggnog gripped tightly between both hands was mostly untouched. She'd lost her taste for it this season given the state of things. Merry Winter's Veil indeed...
Fortunately, being a Goblin, she found herself often overlooked. A Goblin with a sack of Gold-knows-what under her feet whilst sitting in a bar wasn't particularly unusual. She had a contingency plan for being searched, of course, but she didn't expect to be. And did it really matter if she was caught? Would the Kor'kon see the significance? Or was the message too vague? Her compatriots didn't seem to think so. Only one way to find out.
"Hey, little one! I almost miss ju sittin dere. I be closin, Goblin. You de last one heah an I got my own drinkin ta do. Out." Gravy's usual cheer was absent too. She couldn't blame him. She'd been sitting there long enough to see what he'd been dealing with lately. Not an easy business for a Darkspear to keep up in Garrosh's Orgrimmar.
Nodding, Tezsla slid a few extra gold onto the table as she stood. Fingerless gloves made counting coin without glancing down simple and the method was second nature. She spared what she could. 'I should be able to tip more than this', she thought sourly. The young Shaman had been so full of grand ideas, profitable inventions she was sure she could get up and running harnessing lightning and wind... But life is what happens when you make other plans. She tipped her hat respectfully and hefted the pack over her shoulder with a grunt as she padded out the door.
Making a point of not making eye contact with the drunken grunts standing outside she moved slowly hoping the sweat beading on her brow was hidden by the brim of her hat and that she didn't look as jittery as she felt. She wasn't a rogue. No trained pickpocket or assassin accustomed to skulking through the shadows. It felt like an eternity just walking to the Drag, let alone through the dark gaping valley. It was all she could do not to jump out of her skin as a night insect buzzed past her nose. She swatted at it and swore under her breath. The whole city felt both too well lit and too dark than she’d hoped for.
She ducked behind a building to pull a pair of workman’s overalls up over her regular clothes and shoved her wide-brimmed hat into the sack. Tezsla snapped a loaded tool belt around her waist then, expression grim, pulled one of those big floppy red Winter’s Veil hats that virtually everyone had been wearing lately on over her short teal hair.
Time to do this.
The trick was picking visible places between the usual Kor’kon grunt rounds. Her first target was the lifts. It was a nice big visible space that most everyone saw every day. She walked up like she belonged there and pulled a small contraption out of her bag, turning the crank. It seemed to take forever.
“Hey, Goblin, what you doin?” The sound of an Orc behind her made her hair stand on end and her heart pound in her chest. He’d come out of nowhere. But she’d been a weather girl on a small radio station back home. And in Kezan, that meant sounding calm and cheerful in the basket of a weather balloon that was being tossed around like a ragdoll over bad traffic. She could do this.
“There’s a crack in tha metal, pal. Can’t be too careful wit these lifts! Gonna just patch it up a bit heah. Wanna keep tha fatality rate lowah than tha one in Undahcity, ya know. See, first, what I’m gonna do is take some iron rivits and use oxyacetylene welding to make sure tha-“
His eyes glazed over before she even got started. The Orc grunted and waved a hand dismissively even as he walked away. She watched him out of the corner of her eye then looked around again to make double sure the coast was clear now. It looked good.
It’d be fast and she’d practiced out in the empty canyons. Bucket of paint in one hand, rolled up cutout in the other, and paintbrush in her teeth, she stepped onto the small square of metal and hit the release with the bottom of the bucket. She was launched into the air (silently, thank Gold she’d oiled the springs) and doused the stencil in red paint against the metal.
She didn’t waste time admiring her drippy handy-work. She grabbed up her stuff and beat feet on to the next location. Maybe it would be all for nothing but it was a start. It was something.
If nothing else, she’d have a chance to explain it later. At her own peril.
((This is a bit of a teaser/build up for the Orgrimmar Riots! January 5th starting around 6pm. Here’s the OOC planning thread for those interested in playing martyrs or oppressors! http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/7415461764?page=1 Course we’ll also need lots of innocent bystanders so feel free to take part! ))
Edited by Tezsla on 1/2/2013 12:51 AM PST
Thanks! And honestly I'm not all about Thrall either, IC nor OOC, but the rebels agreed that the weapon was a good symbol and reminder to the Orcs of the paths they've already been down. I had fun turning it into graphiti!
(( Just decided to add something. If you don't like it, I can remove it))
Grimag downed another shot from his mug as he looked around him. Was it just a word to the orcs of today? He saw that elf-orc in so many faces, 'debating' by spitting in the face of the old ways. All dressed in elf-robes, all flashing their fancy magic as if it was anything to be proud of. They didn't call for aid from the elements, but spewed long fancy words and vitriol. Arrogant, foolish, and scornful of their own people..
But when he arrived in Orgrimmar, seeking to know more about the city he had watched built from rock, he realized that was not the worst of it.
The trolls no longer shared the city, but were thrown into shambles. The guards watched like hawks when any of the Horde, not an orc, walked in. He didn't trust the elves himself, but the tauren? The trolls? The city had become a prison for them, yet he could not count the times he owed his life to one. No, he could not count the times that this city itself owed its existence to them; that even the Horde would not be without their sacrifices, their weapons, their blood.
He stopped drinking after the third round, worried he would stumble into a drunken rage and his pigs would be left without feed in the morning. Yet now he wished to know more of the Horde, while afraid of what he would find. And -
What was this?
Red paint on the wall? 'Remember the Doomhammer'? What was this? He continued to stare at the pictures, at the words. ' Remember the Doomhammer'. Thrall's weapon. Ogrim's weapon.
No, it was more than a weapon. It was a symbol. A symbol of..
" Honor." He mumbled to himself, then slowly backed up from the picture. Eventually, he turned away, thumping his chest quietly. Perhaps, between the Ironfang Clan and this.. there was something left of the Horde he once knew.
Goldi stopped her usual round about jogging session to stare at the graffiti up on the wall. The Sentinel of Bling mumbled mostly to herself and partially to her little tag-along Darkmoon Monkey; Goobie. "Buuuu'... remember da doomhammer? Wussa doomhammer? S'it for doom? Wuts doom? Honey runnin out of da world? No more cash? Fffffffff#$% everyone becomes a vegetarian? Magnets finally take over?"
While Goldi pondered the meaning of this, Goobie simply screeched and waved his hands side to side before mimicking the universal gesture of banana peeling. His owner looked down to him for a moment before finally catching on. "OH S'RIGHT- s'prolly some kinda secret handshake'r somethin. come on Goobs." and off the Goblin went. Nearby, an Orgrimmar Grunt has a permanent imprint caused by a facepalm apon his forehead.
Kroola looks at the graffitti on the wall the symbol she had agreed to.
"It has started." She thinks to herself.
Kroola had been getting her affairs in order but still the time seemed to be moving faster then she had thought possable. She had been there, with the group who used this symbol and knew what was coming. If she had been alive she may have felt fear or even exitement at the possablity of what was to come. As it was she felt nothing.
No not nothing she felt tired. Tired of the Horde fighting among itself. Tired of the fight with the Alliance. Tired of the Hatered directed towards the members of the Horde in eastern Kingdom. Tired of Garrosh most of all. When she was first raised everything made sense. Kill the Lich King, that was her goal, her peoples goal.
As she looked at the Hammer she though of how it was during the Scourge war. She had been there when things begain to change. Forsaken were never accepted but they had the respect or fear of the Horde. Now even that was gone. Thanks to Humans, the Kor'kron, and Garrosh her people were not feared, they were not respected they were were considered useless at best and cannon fodder at worst.
They... no She was considered expendable , useless. She felt herself being crushed under Garrosh's Horde.
"No." Kroola thinks to herself and finally says out loud. She looks around to see if anyone had heard her. She see no one looking at her, no hate, no caring ,no nothing. Kroola knew what the opposte of love was. It was not what the Orc's thought. It is not, nor ever has been hate. The opposte of love is apathy. Having no feeling what so ever for someone.
She knew that she would die again one way or another she would be done in. Either by Garrosh's foolish quests or by some other Orc leader trying to prove something, or even the Dark Lady. She had finally decided that her death would mean something stand for something.
She knew long ago she was on her way to oblivion but that didn't matter. She knew now that by some she would be hated and considered a traitor but that didn't matter. What mattered was unlike last time she would meet death with a purpose.
She was going to stand up and fight. A fight in her heart she knew could only end in one way. She was doing what she had done twice before. She was standing up to someone who was trying to destory the Horde, and the Forsaken, and her.
"Who knows I may survive this." Kroola thinks to herself not even taking the thought serously. Kroola begins to walk away from the mark.
"Why are you doing this Kroola?" She asks herself.
"For the Horde." Kroola answers back "And more importantly for me."
Catching sight of the glaring red graffiti, Roxxi felt a sense of both pride and trepidation.
"You did it sistah. It begins."
She remembered the first meeting. All of the faces that were there. So many people of all walks, of all races. All of them oppressed and demoralized. She remembered how Tezsla's words had empowered them, given them a sense of of hope. That maybe, just maybe there was an end in sight to this madness.
Guild business had called her away for the last meeting and as much as she regretted not being there, she was happy to see they had all agreed on a united symbol. Roxxi knew despite the unity of the group and dedication to the cause. Many of those faces she had come to know would not walk out of Orgrimmar at the end of it all. Hell, chances were even she would die in the streets.
That didn't matter now. Change had to start somewhere. It started with Tezsla, and she had come along for the ride knowing the risks. All of the rebels knew the risks and there wasn't one of them who wasn't willing to throw their life down for the cause.
You can only oppress your people for so long and push them so far before they rise up against you. Soon, Hellscream would feel that pressure, And that day couldn't come fast enough.
Realizing she had been staring for more than a few minutes, she scurried off in the direction of the bank, hoping that wherever Tezsla was, that she had gotten away successfully.
Edited by Roxxina on 1/2/2013 1:13 PM PST
90 Orc Monk
Svarga walked alongside her windrider, ruffling his mane and sighing thoughtfully as she lead him about letting him stretch his legs rather than his wings. Concord, she'd named him. In honor of the Horde. After what she believed in.
She was a warrior at heart but more than that, she was a soldier. A soldier who believed in camaraderie and having each others backs. The monasteries in Pandaria filled her Orcish heart with pride, fighting in unison and feasting afterward. Not only was it good for the body and spirit but it was a pleasurable distraction from the ever darkening politics of the Horde. But Orgimmar was her home. It would always be her home... she hoped.
As they padded into the Drag she paused and backed up to tilt her head up at the lift. 'Remember the Doomhammer' A smile tweaked at Svarga's lips. Remember the Doomhammer... Perhaps her people hadn't forgotten their history after all. At least, not all of them. Maybe there was hope. She hoped it stayed up. In fact... maybe a certain alchemist she knew could 'accidentally' make sure it did.
The smile turned into a devious grin as she tapped her chest twice and Concord was urged around to head back to the Goblin Slums.
"Aha! So this is what she was talkin' about."
Immediately after the final meeting, Sarinka had flown back to Orgrimmar to see first-hand what this "graffiti" was that the meeting's organizer had spoke of. It hadn't taken long to find it. She grinned, craning her neck up at what was scrawled along the metal plating of the lift. That goblin continued to amaze her...
But now, it was her turn. Turning on her heels, she headed for the Valley of Honor -- and The Wyvern's Tail. She needed to write a letter.
The Tail was crowded, as usual, but that suited Sarinka just fine. Less chance to be singled out that way. She took a seat at the sole empty table in the bar, the chatter of the other patrons quickly becoming mere background noise to her, and pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill.
Throm'ka, friend, Sarinka wrote. I write to you today because I would like for you to do me a favor.
Go to Thunder Bluff. Spread the word of the Doomhammer to any who will listen. Carve the sign of the Doomhammer into the wood. Let your kin know that they are not forgotten. That Cairne is not forgotten.
You already know why.
Satisfied with what she had written, Sarinka stood up and strolled out of The Wyvern's Tail. She knew that her friend, Ulaani Stonestep, would listen; she had already told the aging tauren much of what she had learned during the last meeting. Ulaani had expressed interest in taking part in the protest, but Sarinka had urged her not to. Dying for a worthy cause was honorable, but if there was no one left to keep the cause's spirit alive, then those who had died would have died in vain. And it seemed, now, that Sarinka would be taking a more... active role than she had initially intended. Though she still didn't plan to die, if she were to die, she wanted Ulaani to take her place.
As she slid her letter into the mailbox outside of The Wyvern's Tail, Sarinka wondered, briefly, if dying during the protest would be enough to atone for all of her sins.
Edited by Sarinka on 1/2/2013 8:50 PM PST
The Apothecarium was quiet that morning, which was just the way Taldin liked it. Sitting back in his chair, he slowly looked around the empty office before allowing a fleeting smile to cross his face. The Kor'Kron were busy with their morning sweep of the area, making sure no hidden threat to the Horde was stashed away beneath the cobblestones, and many of the apprentices were already toiling away with their assigned duties.
One such apprentice entered his office silently, only pausing to knock on the wall lightly to announce her arrival. In her hand was a stack of various reports, letters, and missives that had arrived that morning. Bowing her head slightly, she simply said, "Lord Apothecary." Taldin sat up his chair and dusted off the front of his armor casually, "Apprentice Catherine. Anything important today?" The Apprentice moved forward and laid the papers on his desk as she responded, "An after-action report from the Grey Legion, regarding the Northrend Expedition. A few notices and requests from the Garroshkar..." She paused, then slid forward one of the letters, "And a report from the Deathstalkers."
Raising one eyebrow, Taldin picked up the letter and broke off the ebony death's head seal that was favored by many of the Undercity's scouts. Removing the paper inside, he sat there silently and read the letter as the Apprentice turned to leave. She was almost out the door when a sudden bark of laughter caused her to stop in her tracks, "Hah! Apprentice, come here a moment." Hesitating only for a second, the Apprentice turned around to face her grinning superior.
"This, my dear, is why we stay in the Undercity." Taldin gestured to the report as he returned his eyes to it, "Let us see here... 'civil unrest in the streets'... 'Anti-Garrosh sentiments'... 'public executions', it goes on and on." Letting the report drop back onto the desk, he looked back to the Apprentice with a wry smile on his face, "I will never understand our 'allies'." Taldin pushed his chair back and got up, moving around his desk to a small opening cut through the wall. The faux-window allowed him to look out over the Apothecarium from the privacy of his office, hands folding behind his back as he did so.
"Perhaps it is different for us. The Dark Lady, no matter her faults, is the reason for our existence. We quite literally owe her our lives, and for that, many if not all of us would die for her. Garrosh Hellscream may not have done all that for his people, but..." Shaking his head with a sigh, he continues, "The Warchief has done nothing but good for his Horde. He has improved the capital, which was nothing more than huts before. His war efforts have stimulated the economy, expanded Horde territory for his people, and everything he has done, he has done for his Orcs."
Turning back to the Apprentice, he shakes his head again and repeats, "I will never understand our allies. They complain about a bomb, while I've heard few complaints reach my ears regarding our extensive use of the Blight. We -destroyed- Gilneas and Southshore, and they moan about poor Theramore." Returning to his desk, Taldin sits and shuffles his papers, "Perhaps loyalty is not something many of the Horde value now. Perhaps the Goblins do not care for the home Garrosh has given them. Maybe the Tauren would prefer being overrun by the Centaur once more."
Looking up at the Apprentice, Taldin blinks, "...But I'm rambling again. Attend to your duties, Apprentice. I will request your assistance later." With a short bow, the Apprentice left, and the Apothecarium was silent once more.
Edited by Taldin on 1/5/2013 9:25 AM PST
(( Well, technically, it was Thrall who the goblins and the tauren owe their loyalty to for those two specific incidents, but I can understand his opinion on that. ))
" Dis little piggy go market? Dis little piggy stay home? Dis little piggy - "
" What? No no no! This pig needs more exercise in the morning, so you take him for walks! This pig - "
" Haha! Me got you good! No, me know! Me just messing. Me good farmhand! "
" .. I hope so. I'm leaving for a while, and Kadrak said you were helpful. "
" How long me take farm for you? How long you be gone? "
" Might be very long, might be very short. You keep my farm running, and try to keep everything intact; otherwise.. just pretend you own the farm while I'm gone. "
" ME OWN FARM NOW?? "
" Yes. But if my pigs aren't well taken care of, and I find this farm in shambles, by the ancestors I will rise from my grave and rip your throat out if I have to! Do I make myself CLEAR? "
" Zug zug! "
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