The Final Patrol ((Closed RP))

World’s End Tavern: Role-play and Fan Fiction
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Ein inwardly rolled his eyes at the heavens while Vimmi continued her monologue. Yes, yes, abomination of nature whose very existence is a crime against the Light, etcetera, etcetera. he thought. I've heard it all before, and no doubt I'll hear it often enough again. And they're probably right. Of course, if monsters walk the world, it's better to be the monster than to be the rest.

Infinitely so
. replied Abaddon inside his head. And it would appear that the Patrol stopping us from killing Rukurgan probably worked out for the best in the end after all. What's more, we now have an evaluation of the relative capabilities of Kreska and Lia, and probably that new druid besides. Sammuroth, or whatever his name is. Heads up, elf inbound. And she looks a tad bit miffed. Ein turned to face Lia just as she started laying into him.

"Didn't attempt to kill any members of the Patrol my damn BACKSIDE, human!" she started, and the rest went downhill from there. Ein impassively stood and looked down at the warrior with a cross between disdain and pity as she continued ranting. Of course, no one could read emotions on his face, since all they could see was a stylized black faceplate and a glowing blue mist coming out of the eye-holes, but still. It was the thought that counted.

“...but I will not sit here and risk another member of the Patrol be killed because someone has the mental capabilities to control his own bloodlust!” she finally finished after what seemed like an eternity. Ein growled deep in his throat at the impudent little warrior. Of course, she hardly rated that title, in his opinion, but the Death Knight supposed that the Commander had to make do with what she was given rather than what she had. It was the curse of commanders throughout history, really: having to settle for less than ideal followers. The irony of that thought line was completely lost on Ein and Abaddon.

“If I had wanted to kill you, elf, you would be dead. It was only because I had to incapacitate two other Patrol members without killing them that Rukurgan managed to survive, anyway. You should know that it is far easier to kill someone outright than to disable them. And my reasoning was faultless: you just refused to acknowledge the validity of my points. And furthermore...” he was cut off as a Forsaken rogue -and where did he come from?- started a rather clumsy and transparent attempt at blackmailing the Commander. Ein stopped talking and just watched with growing amusement as the rogue found himself facing three separate and undoubtedly lethal people immediately siding with Commander Spannershield.

Extortion schemes are usually supposed to blow up in your face a little further down the line than four seconds in, hey? he mentally remarked to Abaddon. The rogue seemed to be stuck between furiously backpedaling and just being plain old furious. It was all rather funny, actually.

. the being replied. Think we should get involved?

Nah. It's about time we got to see what happens when someone else ticks the rest of the Patrol off enough to... Hang on, is this Gaream guy bargaining or threatening further blackmail right now? Anyway, I can't really decide if it's more fun to watch or be part of.

If we were a part of this, there would be a lot more parts flying.
Abaddon chuckled at his own little pun. And I think he might have a couple of split personalities. It looks like he can't decide whether he's hedging, bargaining, or blackmailing at any given moment. This has to be the sloppiest shakedown I have ever had the misfortune of seeing someone attempt.

Just how many extortion attempts have you actually seen take place?
Ein asked curiously.

Ah, none, actually. Which, if they're all like this one, is probably for the best.

Quite so. Want to talk to that Rukurgan fellow?

Can't hurt.

A translucent, red man with flames flickering up and down his body appeared just behind Rukurgan a second later. The human wore an easy, friendly smile, had a completely shaven head, and his eyes were a bright, intelligent burnt-orange. The being interlocked his hands behind his back and started talking softly to the orc, making sure not to attract too much attention.

“So. Rukurgan, rider of the Warsong Clan. My apologies for the slight bout of aggressive paranoia a few minutes ago. Consider me the unofficial welcoming committee for the new Borean Patrol, and once again; so sorry for the Einherjar's behavior. He can be a bit... hasty... at times, but I assure you that once you get to know him you'll be able to avoid pressing the wrong buttons like nothing.”
More time passed as Rukurgan rested by Silverfang away from the ensueing debate. A light mist of rain continued to shower down from the night sky. The aftermath of the shaman's spell gone astray was mostly dissapated by now. He couldn't hear exactly what was being discussed save for a few raised voices. Needless to say, his first impressions of this "new" Borean Patrol wasn't what he had expected.

He began to wonder to himself why has Dren'gork not yet revealed himself? The orcish Commander would have surely handled this without much issue. And where was the druidess, Waraila? Where was the discipline he remembered and came to respect from his previous experiances with the Patrol? These new thoughts racing through his mind caused Rukurgan some concern. This was not what he expected.

Finally, after returning order among her comrades, the gnomish Commander began to walk towards the hunter. A slight look of disbelief on her face before the orc presumably came into focus from beneath the night's veil.

“Rukurgan?” she asked, as if she already knew the answer. “This is Rukurgan, former member of the Borean Patrol. He fought with us in Northrend, against the Lich King," she turned her head reassuring the others. Although, her statement seemed more diercted at herself than the Patrol.

He stood up to meet the Commander. Again, he was curious as to the whereabouts of Dren'gork. Typically, the orcish Commander would have greeted him in this type of instance, not the gnome. In the Borean Patrol, he recalled the Horde members mainly dealt with her Horde counterpart. He could not help but feel suspicious at this point. Most especially, due to what his mission entailed.

“What are you doing here, sneaking around my camp Rukurgan?” she scolded the orc. However, it was more of a you-should-know-better tone spoken from and old friend. “If you're here for the Horde, I'm sure with the lightning and the tank, they're fully aware of our position now.”

Despite recognizing her innocent intentions, the proud orc felt almost offended by the inquiry. Taking it as borderline questioning his honor. He, like many of his race, would naturally act on latter emotions.

"I am not here for the Patrol!" he exlaimed. "I have been dispatched to scout the area outside Grim Batol."

Rukurgan paused for a moment, realizing he was overreacting. He grunted as he exhaled. "It just so happens, I have been informed that a Commander Spannershield and her Patrol may be active in the area. Merely instructed to confirm it should the Patrol be spotted. Not to act on it."

He paused once more as he glared briefly in the direction of the deathknight. "Although, I had little choice in that matter..."

The gnome seemed to think on what he had said. Shortly thereafter, she turned and walked back towards the encampment, spouting out orders he did not quite understand until she said, "And you Rukurgan. I want confirmation of identities, purposes, why you are here, what you are doing and -"

He understood what was requested of him before she fell out of earshot after the last few words. Perhaps, she wanted to discuss the situation further in private.

Not soon after, however, did he notice from the corner of his eye Silverfang bolt up on all fours and face behind the orc. Rukurgan turned to see what had startled his companion, revealing some sort of sinister human image. He could tell, from another angle, the image could be almost invisible. It spoke almost immediately as he turned and readied his spear.

It apologized in a soft tone and gestured towards the deathknight. Mentioning something about an Einherjar. Rukurgan frowned thinking it some sort of spellwork designed to confuse the orc with it's poisoned words. He growled as he swung his spear's shaft through it's body, knowing full well it would accomplish nothing. He then knelt down by Silverfang as he did before, in an attempt to calm his companion.

Eager to leave the uncomfortable situation, Rukurgan and Silverfang began to march uphill to seek out Spannershield, as requested. But, not before speaking with the shaman. She was breathing heavily, in anger after the short battle and dispute with the gnome and other members of the Patrol.

After approaching her, he stood beside her in silence, searching for words. Failing to make eye contact. He felt resposible for her injuries and current troubles, if any. He did manage to, however, maintain a stern demeanor so not mistake his concern for weakness. Silverfang, on the other hand, displayed no such hesitance. The wolf sniffed around the orcess seeking attention.

Finally, he spoke, "Forgive me, Shaman. I only meant protect you." Rukurgan could think of nothing else to say.
Lynara sighed as things happened and the death knight somehow weaseled his way out of any form of punishment of discipline. She looked around the camp, although it was still dark she could feel that it would be light within a few hours. She turned and walked around the scene, replaying what had happened in her mind before she decided to return to her tent, only to see that she had wondered too far and now two orcs stood between her and the path back to her little dwelling. She walked at a slightly faster than usual pace as she moved behind Kreska, shooting Ruk another death glare.

She walked back to her tent and crawled inside of it, drawing out her short sword she ran an armored finger down its length before covering herself with blankets again, her short sword concealed underneath the blanket. She closed her eyes and began to remember the old times.

She sat up, her eyes wide with fear, scanning the tent she realized she had probably been asleep for only a few minutes at most. That damned orc had brought back the dark memories that haunted her nightmares. "Sometimes I think death would be a blessing." she said quietly to herself as she took out her sword sword and came back outside of her tent, short sword on her hip and bow in her hand.
Kreska merely grunted in acknowledgement of the gnome, Turle. She was glad to see him up and around once more after receiving such grievous injuries, but never stopped being surprised at how resilient gnomes seemed to be for their size. Still, she was distracted at the moment and her attention was elsewhere than greeting the warrior. If the shamaness was surprised to see the gnome, then shocked best described how she felt when the Commander stated flatly that she knew the other orc.

Kreska wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or annoyed. She thought she had been arguing to save the orc’s life, or at least give him a chance to state his case and save himself. Now she realized he hadn’t been in danger at all, at least not from the Commander who had finally acknowledged what a raving lunatic Einherjar was. She still didn’t think the death knight was worth the trouble of keeping around, but would sleep easier knowing the Commander would run him off at night.

The shamaness listened with interest to the exchanged between Rukurgan and Spannershield; aside from those still with the Patrol when she joined she had yet to meet any of the original members, let alone any orcs. Kreska knew the original second in command, the one whose place Waraila had taken after his death, had been an orc, but she hadn’t been aware there were others of her people in it as well. The fact that he was a Patrol veteran and obviously still in good standing with the Horde perplexed her. She was certain that her actions while a member were more than enough to make her a pariah, if not wanted for treason… something the orcess still struggled to make peace with. The scout’s sudden appearance had relit a small spark of hope she had thought long lost.

The stinging of her arm and ankles where Einherjar’s chains had made contact with her bare skin eventually demanded her attention. Frostbite this severe could cause serious damage if she left it go untreated, but thankfully the magical ice had not kept in contact with her flesh long enough to burn too deeply. Kreska reached back into her leather pouch and retrieved the same smooth stone she had used after the zeppelin crash. After praying over it a moment, she placed it on the ground and settled down next to it and began to gingerly examine and heal the wounds. She listened to the newest walking corpse make his feeble threats against the Commander but remained seated, though she would have been among the first to leap to her feet and charge him if he attempted to make good on them.

She had just finished her work and was inspecting it to make sure the skin had regenerated properly when she felt a presence next to her. Looking up, she saw the scout. Scooping up the stone, Kreska stood quickly and turned to face him. He was silent for a few moments more during which the shamaness took the opportunity to respectfully extend the back of her hand to his companion for inspection.

Finally, he spoke, "Forgive me, Shaman. I only meant protect you."

At his words, Kreska’s dark green lips pulled back from her pointed yellow teeth in what could have easily been interpreted as either a snarl or a wolfish grin, “Do I look like I need protecting?” she demanded, “I’m not a child or some peon.”

Her tone softened somewhat and became more respectful, he was a warrior from one of the most esteemed clans after all, and she continued, “But I appreciate your efforts. That death knight may be a dumb brute but intimidation is something his ilk knows well. It was brave of you to stand against him.”

Noticing his bleeding shoulder, Kreska's eyes narrowed and she leaned forward for a closer look, completely ignoring the scout’s personal space in order to more closely inspect the torn flesh around wound. Always straightforward, she reached out her hand and ordered bluntly, “Let me take a look at that.”

If he allowed her, she would heal his wound for him. If he tried to turn her down, she might just pin him to the ground and do it anyway; whether she had actually been in danger or not, the scout’s intentions had been good and his actions brave and the shamaness was not one to let her blood debts go unpaid. Kreska hadn't missed the red soaking through the wolf’s white fur either, and if Rukurgan gave permission she would attempt to heal him as well. It was strange; she had never cared for or been particularly good at the healing arts when she was younger, but now it seemed as if she was forced to call upon them every few hours to heal herself or someone else. Perhaps she should not have been so difficult with her mentors when they tried to force her to practice.
During all the commotion the druid Sammuroth Stormfury recovered from his bout with the demon, after what seemed like hours, but in actuality was closer to ten minutes, the cat opened his eyes. "Damn, I feel as if I drank myself under the table, I guess I need to be more careful, tha little battle was unexpected." Other than a massive headache, the cat seemed fine, even the color he lost during the battle had returned, he quickly scanned the area, luckily it seemed no one had found him, which saved him the trouble of explaining things. It also sounded like the confrontation was over, he could not feel the demon's prescence in his mind, but he was not foolish enough to think his little trick had rid himself of it for good. Most likely the shock to the druid's mind sent the demon into an unconcious like state, hopefully it wouldn't bother him for awhile. Stretching out the kinks in his muscles the druid walked back around the rock towards Lynara's tent, he didn't plan on entering it without permission, but he could lay down near it.

As he neared the tent he saw Lynara exiting, and she didn't look happy, worried about his new friend the cat walked up to her, "Well it seems the commotion has died down, but you don't seem too happy about it. I doubt you are the type to talk about what troubles you, but if you need a friendly ear, I am quite the good listener." The druid hoped the woman would talk to him, even if he could do nothing to assuage her troubles, he hoped talking about them may ease her mind a bit.
“Do I look like I need protecting?” the shaman grinned as she growled with pride. “I’m not a child or some peon.”

Rukurgan grunted in brief laughter and smiled around his tusks. He now found the courage to look upon her as the response sent a wave of relief over the hunter. He would forget where he was at times. He was no longer at Tol Borad where it was a standing order to protect shamans at all costs. During combat, frontline warriors and even rangers such as himself were nothing without healer support. Those orders extended to that even of the more offensive shamans which he had begun to see more often. Perhaps in this instance, the shaman would be more effective at his side than at his back.

“But I appreciate your efforts," she continued in a lighter tone. "That death knight may be a dumb brute but intimidation is something his ilk knows well. It was brave of you to stand against him.”

Rukurgan smiled again at the shaman's second comment. He thought to himself that he didn't have much choice in any case. He could not forfeit his honor to the fallen knight. But, he understood the shaman's intentions and nodded silently in thanks at her compliment.

He noticed her eyes fall over to his wound on his exposed left shoulder. She leaned in close to investigate the full extent of the injury as she motioned her hand with authority for the hunter to turn and allow her better access.

“Let me take a look at that," she ordered.

Rukurgan growled in orcish with a false pride as he turned, "A scratch."

The veteran scout knew better, however. Left untreated the wound will fester. He planned on treating it at a later time, but, he also sensed it would be pointless to argue the fact with the shaman. He was also wise enough to not disrespect a shaman in such a manner.

He soon felt the familiar sensation of cool water washing over the wound as it began to heal itself. A feeling he knew far too often at his last command. Rarely was the orc without injury during his tour of Tol Borad.

Upon finshing with Rukurgan, the shaman gestured towards Silverfang and his injury. The hunter nodded in relief. He more than welcomed the assistance with his companion as his talented skills in first aid didn't always extend to a wolf.

"I am in your debt, shaman," he thanked as she finshed. "As is my companion, Silverfang. If you'll excuse me. I believe Spannershield is expecting me."

Rukurgan brought his fist to his chest in salute with a half-bow in respect. His companion sniffed once more around the shaman before trotting over to his side. The pair began to make their way towards where he last saw the gnomish commander near what he assumed to be her tent.

Just after he stepped away from the shaman he noticed from the corner of his eye a night elf glaring at the orc as she walked by from behind the shaman. He raised one eyebrow in confusion at first before he glanced at her a second time after she continued to walk away. She was equipped much like the Sentinels of Ashenvale he faught against in the past. He smirked at the irony.

He soon found himself standing outside Spannershield's tent with Silverfang awaiting further instruction.
The ruckus having calmed down considerably, Marasalle looked around to see who was still at her campfire. The coals were down to a mere warmth and she decided it was too cold to stay out here any longer. "Well, the entertainment is done for the night, I hope. I am going to try and get some sleep. I imagine the Commander will want to move out with dawn or shortly after. I will place a small enchantment on the fire to give off some warmth for a few more hours if anyone wishes to bed down here next to it. Good night." and with that she got up and did as she had promised.

The firepit now glowed with a faint red tone, giving off warmth and comfort in a wide radius around it. Her tent was within the radius and she knew that she might have a few hours to sleep if she was lucky. Waiting for a few moments to make sure the spell was stable, she glanced over to where Adrian was huddled with his rifle. She hoped he had heard her remark. Then she wondered if the elder mage was around. She had not seen him during all the ruckus. Perhaps he had sought refuge in his own tent.

Sydric knew he should go and speak with Vimmi soon, but she seemed so busy. She had called for the newer people to give some accounting of themselves. She had not mentioned him by name, but he felt obligated as a member of the Horde to at least reasure her he was willing to aid them and was not going to run back to the Horde encampment.

He stood up and bowed to Marasalle and the others. "I would speak with the Commander if she has time for me. Thank you Marasalle for the tea and cookies, sleep well." he then walked to the Command tent.

As he came up beside the orc Rukurgan, he noted the large wolf and the newly healed injuries of both of them. He cleared his throat, "I am Sydric Silverhawk, I am a priest. If you or your companion need any further healing, I am available, though I am sure that the shaman was more than adequate. I am about to relate to the gnome my circumstances. I was with a Horde patrol that went after some Cultists. In all the confusion, they were all lost to me. I ran to avoid confrontation." he blushed a bit in embarrassment.

"Those who survived ran off without me, leaving me stranded in the wilderness. They ran beyond my range to heal and did not even look back. I find such behavior idiotic, considering I was the one keeping them alive while they battled. I had no choice but to set out in search of them, or find shelter. I became lost within hours of the battle. I stumbled across the mage Marasalle and she offered me safe passage to this group if I was interested. I have yet to speak with the Commander." his speech done he waited patiently for Spannersheild to notice them.
In another time Vimmi would have commanded her men and women differently, there would be a different discipline, there would be a different heroism and valiance, there would be a different feel. She had forgotten what it felt like to hold her head high, rays of glorious light bouncing between her shoulders and the shining silver in her hand gleaming forward to slay some of the evil, no-good Horde. She had even forgotten what it was like to be sure of each step, to have objective after objective laid out in front of her, to be so sure of her every action that she could scream it to the sky. She now felt only doubt.

"At that point, I really have no choice- but to return to my superiors and inform them about what information I HAVE received. Do we understand one another yet?”

Vimmi sighed as she felt anger and frustration burning like acid through her veins, in another time she would have responded to the situation differently, she would have calmly negotiated the sensitive situation with Gaream, she would have called off her hounds (Coron and Perfection). Yet, as her patience wore down to a thin vein, and the liquid energy running through her body had turned her into a powderkeg, the Spy's blackmail was enough to spark an explosion.

“I don't think you understand the position you are in,” she spoke through gritted teeth, as she stepped forward towards Gaream, malice in her eyes. At the last moment she lunged with her left arm, the non-mechanical one, and attempted to grip the man by the chest or by the neck. If it worked, she would yank him down to her level and stare him dead in the eyes. “Go then,” she snarled, her mechanical prosthesis undergoing a transformation, in and out of itself, until what was left was a large, superheated cannon of flame, a flamethrower. She held it inches from the scouts head, the pilot light flickering tauntingly against his flesh.

“Don't leave a single, bloody, detail,” she growled, the rage in her veins tempting her to roast the fool's head in an instant. “Tell them where we are, tell them our plans, tell them everything. Tell them that Virella, the Desecrator walks with us. What can you threaten us with that we have not already made known? Tell them that if they have any sense, they will leave us to our battle, that Azeroth's fate rests in our hands and not to get in our way.”

Vimmi, if she still held the scout in her hands, would throw him forward, “Go! Go now, I want them to know before morning.” She scowled and turned away, her arm collapsing back into its standard form. “I want all offensive casters to report to Virella, I want everyone else to gear up and get ready, you're either going on the tank or you're going with us, we're going to push the front. I would advise your heaviest armour, bring out the big guns, we're outnumbered one to a thousand and you will die if you slip up or lag behind.”

Vimmi had wandered into her tent and scooped up her plans, donned her armour fully and was preparing to collapse her tent when she ran into both Rukurgan and Sydric. “Rukurgan,” she addressed first, as the Orc was larger and more imposing. “We need to talk, and I need information you might have. But first,” she turned to the priest, “What do you need, I noticed you have not left since we encountered you, if you're willing to risk your life for this patrol and the fate of Azeroth, I will not turn you down.”
Adrian had composed himself after a few moments. He stood up, shaking slightly still and walked slowly back to the fire he had been sitting at. He gathered his things he had left there and nodded to those who left. He walked to the area that the squabble had been happening in and picked up the grenade he had thrown over. Tossing it in the air and catching it, he put it back on his belt and walked to where his supplies were.

They'd be moving out soon. He wanted to check his equipment again. He tightened his plate vest, checked his weapons and his other equipment. He packed his assaulting backpack so that his tools he'd need were at the top. Breaching charges, grenades, flares, ammunition and grenades. His revolver was loaded, his swords sharp and rifle clean and ready. His breaching charges on the back of his shoulders were easily reached, and his pouches were filled with the needed equipment. His gloves hung off a hook on his vest, and he rolled his sleeves halfway up his forearms and tightened the laces on his boots.

He picked up his equipment and moved to the main campfire in the center of their camp. Setting his bags down, he sat on it and looked over the group. It was a varying level of skill in each person. Sure, they had a fight coming for them, but he didn't doubt it was something they couldn't handle. He had only been with this group for a few months and he felt comfortable working with them in an operation of this size. All he wanted to do was start the shooting and exploding. Like, now. But he had to wait, or he'd surely die.

"So, who's ready for tomorrow?" he asked loudly and raised his hand.
“Orcs.” She growled, there was nothing but sheer malice as she spat the word from her mouth. The look on her face would make it seem like the word itself left a rancid taste on her tongue. “That one in particular. He is Warsong clan. The vile bastard clan that should be purged from OUR world. Their whole race should be removed from Azeroth.” She said, there was no hinting of a jest in her tone, she was serious.

“The only reason I can tolerate that she-wolf Kreska is because she seems to have some kind of real honor, despite her vile tongue. The Warsong have no honor. They show no respect for our lands. Thinking they can just take whatever they want! And that no one will stop them!” She was getting angrier. “The reason he makes me so angry, boasting his emblems, is because his wretched people… killed my daughter!” She said as she collapsed to a crouch, one hand covering half her face. “My youngest daughter, she died when the green skinned barbarians killed Cenarius.” She looked back up into the sky, at the moon. “Rest well young one.” She muttered a light prayer before standing again.

“After we finish off the Twilight’s Hammer, I will have to report back to General Feathermoon and pray she is kind. I am a captain of the Sentinels, and I deserted my post to join the patrol. I will have to face the consequences of my choice, but as long as we save Azeroth, and my two children have a future I will have no regrets.” She said as she looked back at Sammuroth to see if he was still listening.
Thw woman's story hurt the druid's heart, all the druid's felt the loss of Cenarius, but by some miracle he had somehow been brought back to them on Hyjal. Many good Kal'dorei lost their lives on that day that Grom Hellscream imbibed the demonic blood turning the Warsong Clan into mindless killing machines. Sammuroth felt no hatred towards them however, even before his curse manifested itself, he had understood the Warsong's way of thinking. They were trying to survive, and in his mind Grom Hellscream had redeemed himself on the day he slew the Pitlord Mannoroth, but he was not so ffolish to think everyone felt the same way. Especially those who lost loved ones when the Warsong killed Cenarius, "I cannot understand the pain of losing a child, and I pray I never do, I know there is nothing I can say that would lessen your pain, or your anger. Though I wish I could take your pain away, the burden of such pain is something no one should have to endure, especially alone. When you do suffer alone you end up like me, a hermit who hides from the outside world, I do not know the pain of losing a child, but I do know the suffering of losing your family."

The cat was trying to choose his words carefully, "I do not mean to make your suffering seem lesser than my own, so I hope you do not take it as such, for no one's suffering is less than anyone elses. There has been far too much death, and destruction, too many families torn apart by these wars, from the War of the Ancients to the present, there has been far to much sorrow. Every loss of life pains my heart, and it hurts even worse because I know I cannot do anything to help those who are grieving, I cannot take their pain away, and it makes me feel powerless. As I said earlier I wish I could take your pain away, but all I can do is offer listening ear, and kind words of comfort, which I am sure you would rather not hear. As for abandoning your post, I would hope Lady Feathermoon would understand, you have done what you have for the betterment of all of Azeroth, and I hope that General Feathermoon realizes that. "

The cat smiled sadly, "I envy you for having something so tangible, as your children's future to fight for, me I simply fight to rid this world of the evils that plague it. I do not have a reason like you do to fight, but if your children are anything like their mother I believe they will have very bright futures indeed, and I would help you ensure that future, if you don't mind having a feline fighting by your side that is." The druid did not know why he wanted to help this woman so desperately, maybe it was because he saw himself in her just a little, or perhaps it was some other reason he could not place. All he knew at this moment was that if he could help her ensure her childrens future, then this mission would be worth the dangers, and he would also do everything in his power to make sure Lynara returned to those children she loved so much.
The gnome had a great deal of pent up emotions, Sydric picked up on that right away. As she reacted to the Forsaken, he could almost feel the supercharged effects of her mechanical arm, even though he was not that close.

When he stood next to Rukurgan, he thought he noticed the gnome had a great deal of respect and even trust for the orc. It encouraged him to stand respectfully and give her a deep bow. "I am Syric Silverhawk. I am a disciplined priest, a healer and also capable of doing some damage. I was separated from my Horde unit when they went after some cultists. Despite my efforts to help them, they left me behind. I do not hold that against all Horde members of course, but I have become somewhat disillusioned with tiers of command. They often send out green recruits in charge of patrols." he shifted uncomfortably with Rukurgan standing there.

"However it happened, I became lost and stumbled into this camp. I am impressed with what I hear and see. Inspite of volatile and multiple personalities, you appear to have a group of fighters who are intensely loyal and willing to look after each other and you. I humbly offer my services as a healer and I am willing to join in whatever mayhem ensues." his tone of pride in his abilities was tempered by his humble bow.

"As for my life...I am alone with no known relatives. The House of Silverhawk has been long known in Sindorei circles as valient and steadfast. Unfortunately, the battle of Quel'Thalas left it decimated." he stood for a moment and refused to let his emotions over come his sense of pride in his family.

"I shall gather my meager belongings and join you as you march, that is if you accept me." he bowed again, proper to the core.
Gaream was shocked by the commander’s sudden outburst, and more shocked at the flamethrower. By all rights, he should have been enraged at this. But, instead he could only shake his head, impressed at the commander's guts, if nothing else, holding a flamethrower to the head of the horde representative. She clearly had to be somewhat insane. Then again, there was nothing wrong with a bit of insanity now and again. Insanity may be just what is needed to destroy these cultists once and for all. But, it was clear that he was no longer welcome in the camp for the moment, so he quickly made his way out, completely forgetting about the warlock who had followed him as he left.
As Valdemir walked away from the small confused. He had thought the female magi had been an acquaintance from the past, but it wouldn’t be the first time he had been wrong about a woman in his life. Whether she was or wasn’t, the elder magi had to recharge himself before the coming battle. Aimlessly he meandered through the small tent city looking for a quiet place to relax and enjoy some of the trail rations he had left. He knew the gravity of the situation; he knew that tomorrow might be the end of his tail, far away from home, amidst strangers.

He wished things were as simple as they used to be. When he was growing up, there was always a clearly defined enemy, and you knew who your friends were. The scourge of lordearon, the forsaken, the demons of the legion, and finally the horde, These enemies carried standards, fought in formations, you knew where they were, they had capitals, they had fortress, the twilight they held very few of these things. Nothing could make a cultist conspicuous in a crowd, there were no telltale signs, and you had no clue that you could trust.

As he reminisced on time past, Valdemir found himself leaving the immediate area of the camp. A short walk outside of the perimeter brought the elder gilnean to a small hill will a solitary gnarled tree. Harsh wind had left the tree bent awkwardly to the side, leaving one side barren of leaves the other sparsely decorated with hardy green vegetation. Gathering a few twigs and small branches, Valdemir made himself a comfortable seat against the tree. With a minor word of power, Valdemir se the small stack of wood into a warm cackling fire. For a moment he just sat there letting the gentle heat from his fire to warm him. The fire comforted him, driving away some of the pain and stiffness from a lifetime a fighting.

Closing his eyes, he shut himself off from the physical world, smell, and sounds became muted as Valdemir stretched fourth with his mind. With his mind’s eye, he saw the world anew. One who did not have the gift could never see the world as he did, and he pitied them. Blue tinged everything he saw, arcane residue, both natural and unnatural alike. He let his consciousness drift as he meditated. Visions of the past, hopes from the future, swirled like a riptide in the ocean and he allowed his mind to fall in. Whether it was 10 minutes or 10 hours, Valdemir couldn’t say, but he began to her things, faint though they were, the fact was he shouldn’t hear them at all.

Forcibly Valdemir brought himself to consciousness. It took moments for the grogginess to leave him before he was sharp and alert scanning his surroundings. Quickly he stamped out the fire, and made his way back towards camp, the place where the commotion was originating. Swiftly he moved, covering the ground between his resting spot and the camp in under a minute. As he entered, he saw a corpse leaving. His hackles rose slightly as he watched the fetid abomination hastily leave and disappear into the night. His face contorted in disgust spat on the partched earth, a futile attempt to remove the bile that had rose to the back of his throat.

A handful of strides later, Valdemir rounded the corner and heard Vimmis command’s for caster to report to the bone witch. As the crowd dispersed, the elder magi made his way to Virella. Stopping a few steps from the undead, Valdemir spoke in an even tone,
“I am here, what is our plan of action.”
Mara was close enough to hear the Commander's orders and sighed. "So much for sleeping before battle..." she gave a glare towards the Ein and the orcs. Why they were so keyed up even after the Commander had told them they would be moving out soon was beyond her.

The tent and the sleeping bag with the air mattress were quickly disassembled and she tossed it in her magic bag. Her armor and staff were always within reach. Using a quick water spell she doused the fire and covered the pit with dirt. She was still very tired, but she knew there would be no more time to rest now. The fate if the world hung on their success today. It was time to see what they were all made of.

The elder Gilnaen mage walked into camp and Salle was glad to see he was all right. Strolling over to where he was speaking with Virella, Salle looked at the undead and nodded. "I am here, what is the plan. It had better be something spectacular, because as far as I can see we are badly outnumbered. I rather doubt we will get any help from Alliance or Horde."

Salle rubbed her eyes and looked around the camp, noting all who were coming towards the command tent and ready to go. It always amazed her how quickly they were all ready to give it their all, and to follow the gnome where ever she went. The odds were against them, but they showed no sign of hesitation. Marasalle was proud to be a part of it.
Things were finally beginning to settle in the camp. The night grew quieter as most of the Borean Patrol turned in for the night or went about their own duties in preparations for the next morning. Rukurgan found himself waiting in front of Commander Spannershield's tent as she was tending to some business elsewhere. Silverfang calmly sat at his companion's feet.

Not much time had past before another posted outside the gnome's tent. A blood elf. He only glanced at the elf for a brief moment in a mild interest. Some sort caster he assumed based on the elf's staff and attire. Completely unarmored. Either the elven spellcaster was not accustomed in heavy combat or he had not been recently.

Rukurgan wondered who he may be. If he was a Horde representative or a permanent member of the Patrol. It was hard to tell sometimes. Some blood elves, much like the Forsaken, didn't take their oaths to the Horde as seriously as the other races. Or not at all. It was not uncommon. Regardless, there was no cause for mistrust or suspicion so long as he was not a Burning Legion or Twilight supporter.

Shortly after the elf's arrival, Commander Spannershield arrived looking quite upset. She had several rolled up parchments in hand as she nearly rushed past the trio. It seemed in her hurried state she was caught off gaurd.

“Rukurgan,” she said almost surprised as she looked up at the orc. "We need to talk, and I need information you might have. But first,” she turned and began to interrogate the blood elf.

Sydric Silverhawk, as the elf declared himself, claimed to be a healer. Rukurgan turned his attention elsewhere during their exchange as a mutual gesture and only rettained it's critical points. It sounded like he was assigned as some sort of scouting party support role, which explained his light equipment. In the end, he offered his services to the gnome.

The blood elf's offer and snipe against his chain of command unwilling angered Rukurgan. He knew as a veteran scout himself, no matter the cause, one who is seperated from his scouting party should immediately report back to his command. That is, if the elf was indeed loyal to the Horde. Not to mention, it was difficult for the orc to understand why anyone would question their superiors as he had been raised primarily in a military setting. However, he knew this was not the time or place so he remained silent and waited for Commander Spannershield to address him.
"Think what you like, my children have no need of me to protect them. Reyara, if she still lives, was last seen in Feralas, and my other daughter Ithalya... I have not seen her in months, but she did still manage to send me a letter every now and again." Lynara turned her back on the Warsong orc, unable to stomach the sight of him without at least a dozen arrows in his body for any longer.

She began to walk back towards the edge of the forest and simply sat down against a tree. "Nothing could ever make me forgive the orcs for anything they have done to our people and our land." she said before opening her eye to see if Sammuroth had followed her. If he did she would continue. "Garrosh... He must die, him and the rest of his kind who dare encroach upon us." She said before taking out her short sword and a sharpening stone and began to sharpen the blade.
((Really crappy rushed post to accompany my really crappy rushed map. I'm out for the rest of the day and I'm not wanting us to lose too much momentum. We are moving out now. So, everyone get together and stuff. I'm sorry it's a rushed post, I'm quite busy which is strange considering school is over -_- ))

The chill of night nestled between Vimmi Spannershield's bones, it clung to her like frost and she had to walk around to keep her body warm. It was not physical cold, not really, but an unsettling sense of danger, of horror, it was the feeling she had felt every day in Northrend up until the tragedy of the Wrathgate. It was not a good feeling, it was not the feeling one wanted to have on the eve of an important battle.

“You've stumbled upon the last gasp,” she told Sydric, “You are welcome, but be prepared to give your life for Azeroth, we are all prepared to die.”

With that super comforting comment Vimmi turned to Rukurgan, “Come with me Rukurgan,” she spoke, moving past him towards a large open piece of ground. “Alright everyone,” she called out, “Move in, get a good view!” With that, the Gnome began to lay out a large map on the ground, passing a lantern to somebody next to her for some light. “This is the battlefield, according to the Twilight's Hammer.”

Vimmi explained the route the main force would take, she explained the position Virella and her experiment would be located at, and she explained their every move up until the fortress of Grim Batol. “As a small group of elites, once we are inside the fortress we will decimate the Twilight's Hammer. The hard part is making it past the fortifications on the hill here, and the sheer number of Cultist forces between the entrance and here.”

“We're pinning our hopes on our spellcasters,” she commented, “They will break the fortifications, distract them, scatter them. And then we will roll up on the tank. Remember, we're fast and violent, if we give them time to get organized we're dead.” Vimmi knew it wasn't much of a battle plan, she was beyond tired and trying to formulate strategy was redundant in such a losing battle. It was just all in, everything they had was for today.

“Virella, you and your spellcasters, I need you moving out now. You'll need to be in position before the sun comes up. This hill here is perfect, you'll have a total view of all the fortifications here, and with their attention on us you shouldn't have to worry about serious counter-attack. Sydric, I want you with our group, we need your healing for the main group.” With those words, Virella found those she was going with, and set off.

Vimmi looked around her group, “I know you probably haven't had much sleep,” she frowned, “But we don't have any choice. You need to give it your all today, pull every trick you have up your sleeves.” She paused, she was tired, she knew the others would be tired too. “I want my engineers on or in the tank, I want it to be supercharged before we get to the front. I want everyone in their heaviest armour, we're going to get swarmed as soon as we break out into the open. We'll take it easy through the mountains here, but there's cultists everywhere according to the intel I received, suggesting we're going to be in the thick of it until the end.”

“I'm going to have the heaviest of us beside the tank, those who are lighter hang back and use us and the tank as cover. Once we get the tank dug in and blasting the hell out of the fortifications, we can crawl forward at a good pace. We want to get up and behind their fortifications as soon as possible, so we can secure the area and get inside Grim Batol, we're running on borrowed time, from what I can tell from this intel, Grim Batol is more than just a base of operations, they're doing twisted magic in there, magic we need to stop.”

“Anyone got any questions? Ask them while packing up and moving out. Baelgrom!” Vimmi shouted towards the tank, “Get the tank moving! Get your shoes and socks on, Vimmi ran through her arms different modes to check they were functioning, and then looked to the West, or North, or wherever the hell Grim Batol was. It wasn't long before the rumble of a moving siege tank filled her ears, and the hefty vehicle was rolling out of the camp to wait for the others to be ready.

“We'll be in combat by the top of the hour, and we'll be breaking out into the fortress by the sunrise. Be ready.”
Adrian sauntered over to Vimmi at her command. A large map was laid out, and the plan was being addressed. He listened intently. He was running everything said through his mind, using his years of military tactics to make sure everything will go as safely as possible. He knelt down and pressed his hand on the map to get a closer look. He was deep in thought while Vimmi spoke. It was a solid plan. He had some suggestions to make things more lethal for the Cultists. He would wait for Vimmi to finish speaking.

She wanted engineers on the tank. He could do that, as sad as it made him that he wouldn't be able to focus on shooting, but at least he'd get to save ammo. His eyes darted back and forth, taking in every detail on the map. His movements during battle were already getting visualized in his mind, and his contingency movements should he get compromised. He placed a toothpick in his mouth and twirled it around with his tongue. The intel he had gotten from that scouting party was proving very beneficial. He sat up straight as Vimmi concluded her orders.

"Commander, I've a suggestion for after we dig in our tank." he began. He stood up and walked to where Vimmi was so he could use the map as best he could to demonstrate his idea. "Does anyone here know what 'bounding' is?" he asked, "well, basically, what I was thinking for when we dig in the tank and we begin to push forward, we do this: Split into two teams on either side of the tank. One team will lay suppressive ranged attacks on all cultists in the front while the other team moves. They move maybe a hundred meters, stop, and begin suppressing, then the first time moves up.

"Basically what this accomplishes is we can have some people constantly moving, forcing the cultists to stay low, preventing counter-attack, and the teams can save spell and physical energy when they halt, or move respectively." he ended. He was pointing out the movements on the map while he spoke, and stood up as he finished. "But this is merely my suggestion, and it is entirely up to you, Commander." he stepped back, awaiting any further details.
Ein loomed over the map spread out on the ground and silently watched as the commander discussed the routes that would be taken and the tactics to be used. He mentally wrote himself off of the list of people that needed to use the tank as cover: his Titan-forged armor should be sufficient to provide all of the protection he would need. The marksman -Adrian, that was his name- made a suggestion that the Death Knight thought was not without merit: a form of bounding assault. That coupled with the spellcasters might be sufficient to get the Patrol through to the gates of Grim Batol, but Ein and Abaddon were not eager to gamble the future of Azeroth on a might.

So what do you think? The Einherjar mentally asked Abaddon.

I think that we should offer our particular services as a way of making sure that this assault succeeds. And for what it's worth, what's the point of having cannon fodder if you don't use it as such? The Einherjar moved over to where Commander Spannershield was and started speaking in his hollow, deep voice.

“Commander, I have another suggestion. As you know, all Death Knights have a certain level of necromantic ability. If you can get me to a group of corpses, I should be able to reanimate them... for a time. I can ensure that the energy lingers longer than it might in other circumstances, but getting a group of undead moving -say, fifteen- would deplete a not inconsiderable portion of my strength, and I would only be able to keep them active for a few minutes at best. However, if you ordered me to do that, I could take any fortification you pointed me at as long as my spell still worked.”

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