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The new Horde
#1
*pinned with a dagger to a post directly outside Grommash Hold*

To Garrosh Hellscream, son of Grommash Hellscream of the Warsong Clan, from Warlord Sreng'jin Skullclaimer of the Ironsong Tribe:

The Horde is dead, and you have slain it.  In the few short weeks since Warchief Thrall placed the mantle of leadership on your unworthy shoulders, you have done what the combined might of our many foes could not.  You have alienated our allies in the Eastern Kingdoms, driven the Darkspear Tribe from Orgrimmar, and murdered your wisest advisor.

I am withdrawing myself as a member of your Horde.  I impose no such condition on the members of my Tribe; unlike some leaders I understand the dangers of tyranny.  But for myself, I will not set foot in Orgrimmar until the grave injustices of your leadership are corrected.

The spirit of the Horde endures, and those of us who carry it in our hearts will see that it survives your reign.
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#2
*Looks at the note and nods proudly at the words of his Leader.*

((This is exactly Eru'Adan's current position.))
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#3
Donalzon gazes with concern at the post. He knows Sreng is not one to lightly take such action. Gathering his arms he heads into the city to find what he may of Garrosh's actions. He dwells for a moment on his guild tabard and then thinking better of it leaves it behind. It may not be wise to be recognized as a member of the Tribe on this day.
-Donalzon

“He lives not long who battles with the immortals, nor do his children prattle about his knees when he has come back from battle and the dead fray.”

Homer, The Iliad
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#4
Lucinther's usual maniacal smirk spread across his lips as he read the note. Finally, someone had noticed what he had seen happening. With Garrosh's current dealings... it was likely he'd try to have anyone leaving the Horde killed. Lucinther smirked again. Someone had to watch Sreng's back.
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#5
Jabadue stands on the tallest tower in the new Orgrimmar surveying the magnificent new capital of the Horde. He wears all his war decorations from Molten Core and Zul'Gurub to Black Temple and the Frozen Throne. They sparkle as they sway in the bright sun and slight breeze, making his otherwise dirty and dinging mail armor seem more grand.

"Whatevah ya tink o' dat Garrosh, he can build dem good," he mutters under his breath. " I be wonderin' what Thrall would be havin' us do. But ol' Jaba knew dis ting fer sure, any city dat not have Vol'jin and Sreng'jin in it, ain't gonna have Jaba fer long neither."

He rips the medals from his chest and flings them over the parapet into the Goblin slums. "Dem fellas be finding a use fer dem. Dey no use to me now. Da trolls always got's ta do da dirty werk of da horde."

He mounts his great red drake and leaps into the air, heading South.
Have Mana Tide, Will Travel
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#6
Lhuurssa scowled as she read the note; she had just come from a meeting with Anam'dubh. The shaman had bid her come, with no hint of what she wanted. After that meeting, during which the two of them shared a vision with Vul'jin, Lhuur had felt even more disgust at the new "leader" of the Horde.

"Some of us are going to have to watch to make sure there's a Horde for Thrall to come home to. That fool Garrosh sure as hell won't be. Always had my doubts about him since Northrend; this simply seals the deal."

Picking up her gun, she slings across her shoulder. "Time to patrol for the alliance that will be coming this way in droves."
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#7
Wakaraina has been frustrated for so very long by her attempts to quell the wars of Azeroth, between the Horde and the Alliance. She even went so far as to found a group of Ambassadors from the Tribe to those, such as Jaina Proudmoore, who would listen in the Alliance, but few answered her call.

As well, during the Northrend campaign, she had the chance to work with Taunka Shaman, who took a very different approach towards the elementals. In Camp Winterhoof, she spent time learning from her distant cousins, and found that perhaps, the elements needed to be tamed, not worked with. She spent more time in Northrend commanding the elements towards destruction instead of healing.

These frustrations, and these lessons, came together in one moment during the Shattering - Wakaraina opened her eyes, filled with the glint of lightning, and uttered one word:

"Power."

Now, she sees vacuums of it everywhere. Garrosh, by exerting too much, is losing it. Baine is as yet untested. Someone has to step in... someone, perhaps, can force peace on the remains of this shattered world.

She looks at the note pinned up by Sreng'jin, and whispers unobserved, "I am always a member of Ironsong... and perhaps Ironsong should rule."

A cackle is stifled behind her cracked lips.
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#8
Dentik studies the note intently. He isn't sure what to make of the Warlord's words. He decides to meditate upon them.

The veteran druid booked passage upon the Zephyr, the goblin flying machine that travels between Orgrimmar and Thunder Bluff. Over the broken and altered landscape he flies, and it reminds him of Outland.

Outland. That is where the much missed Thrall is now. He travels the path of wisdom and looks for answers before Azeroth burns to cinder and ash.

Dentik thinks of how much Sreng, like Thrall, loves the Horde. But he also thinks how Thrall must know that balance must be maintained.

Sacrifices must be made. The Horde has given us so much. Strength and Honor. Dentik has fought many battles, some that all thought were hopeless, and he has shown that he and his allies exemplify these ideals.

But perhaps the time of sacrifice is upon him. The sacrifice of his pride.

He learned from his father that the politics and wars of nations do not matter much to the one who walks with the Earthmother. "The fortune of nations and leaders is like the changing of the tides. Where one falls another will rise. What matters is that we endure these changes for as long as we can until we are swept away by them and return to that from which we were created."

Finally the zeppelin flies over the mountains separating the Barrens from the plains of Mulgore. His homeland looks much the same as it did before the Shattering. The druid smiles and gazes at the grasslands below, and loses himself in their beauty.
-Dentik
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#9
The meeting chamber within Sunfury Spire rang as Althaniel slammed his gauntleted fist down against the table, leaping to his feet.

"How can you even support this!?" He growled, burning eyes glaring across the table where his superiors sat, Liadrin seated alongside the Regent Lord, Lor'themar Theron, Lord Bloodvalor seated to the regent's other side. "Garrosh is a headstrong fool! His sort of leadership is hardly what we agreed to when we first joined with the Horde."

"Be that as it may," Lor'themar spoke calmly, leaning forward slightly and steepling his fingers. "We are part of the Horde now, whether led by Thrall, or this Garrosh. His people see him as a hero, if you recall, and his leadership in Northrend was...surprisingly effective."

"It was reckless," Althaniel protested, clenching his fists. "And his people seem to think he slew Arthas with his own hands! I doubt he even set foot in Icecrown, let alone crossed blades with the Lich King. He takes credit for the work of the Ashen Verdict. He's even gone as far as to eject all he views as too 'weak' to defend Orgrimmar. The trolls, even my own men, save for a handful."

"Knight-Lord. That is enough." Liadrin's voice cracked like a whip, causing Althaniel to turn his attention toward the woman, the leader of his Order. "We may not agree with Garrosh's methods, but we made a pledge when we joined the Horde. With your presence no longer required within Orgrimmar, it is our wish that you resume your duties as a liason with the Argent Crusade in the south. From what I've heard, they've made remarkable progress in recovering the Plaguelands."

He knew a dismissal when he heard one. Frowning, Althaniel nodded curtly, standing straight and offering the trio a quick salute. "As you wish, My Lady." He said, his words clipped. As he turned to leave, the worry that had been gnawing at his gut for weeks only intensified. War was coming...and none of them were truly prepared for it.
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#10
Lailya stood quietly, leaning on her cane as she watched the hustle and bustle of the newly rebuilt Orgrimmar around her.

The attack on the guild hall had left its toll, with the muscles in her legs twisted and weakened. On good days, with enough fortifying potions in her system, she could walk unaided. With enough adrenaline pumping, she could even run. But the ebony cane, carved with subtle leaves and vines and capped by a hammered silver handle in the shape of a wolf's head, would be her constant companion in the coming decades.

She was still the most proficient warlock of her generation, though, if all the cowering done at the Sanctum at the mere mention of her name was any indication. The blood elf smirked at the memory.

And her apparent weakness would serve her well. Garrosh valued strength, physical strength - and he never looked past surface appearances. She might be a known member of a tribe he'd likely declare outlaw and anathema if he was stupid or merely in disfavor if he was smarted (she was betting on the former), but the son of Hellscream wouldn't see a supposedly crippled warlock as much of a threat. And many of the city's grunts recognized her, or at least knew her, from when she'd help thin the ranks of the Twilight's Hammer before the Shattering.

The boss would need someone to keep an ear to the ground on what was happening in Orgrimmar.

Lailya grinned viciously, slipped her cane into one of the packs on Char's saddle and swung up onto the black war raptor's back. With a touch of her knees, Char was off into the crowd, weaving easily among the pedestrians and other riders.

She's be damned before she'd let some upstart pup drag the Horde down into the dirt on her watch.
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#11
Mula walked up to the wall where the letter had been posted, and surprisingly still remained. She shook her head sadly. She'd not even been back for a week, and already there was this. She looked at the 'Wanted' poster next to the letter.

"Wanted: Sreng Skullclaimer of The Ironsong Tribe for treason." Mula read the poster quietly, noting the absence of the term of respect. Her eyes passed over the picture. "500 gold reward. 25 gold for information leading to his whereabouts." There were also other wanted posters. She recognized some of the names. She turned away.

She was feeling headstrong, and knew she should reconsider her actions, but considering she had just come from Thunder Bluff to pay her respects, she could not stop herself. She walked through the entrance to the warchief's hall, fists bared, and shaking with rage.

The guards stepped into her path. "What is your business here?"

"My business is with the warchief."

A gruff voice resonated through out the chamber, "Let her pass. What is your business, brash one." Garrosh was seated on the throne, and Mula couldn't but help find her eyes drawn to the axe resting in his hand. She recognized it immediately: Gorehowl.

"Did you kill Cairne Bloodhoof?" It was a question, but it came out more like an accusation.

"The late Cairne Bloodhoof, died by my blade, because he could not accept me as the rightful leader." Garrosh said. "He lost. And you know what that means, little Shu'halo."

Etrigg stepped forward, "The blade was poisoned, Mula Stronghoof, of the Ironsong Tribe. Magatha of the Grimtotems was to blame. She seized Thunder Bluff, but was overpowered by Baine."

"And now the reason you really came, Mula of the Ironsong tribe," Garrosh said. "You came to renounce your allegiance to your treacherous tribe master and swear fealty to the Horde."

"I swore fealty to the horde many years ago. I will swear again, if you want to hear it. But I will not renounce my allegiance to my tribe or Sreng'jin Skullclaimer."

"You cows are all alike, thick-headed and stubborn. Normally I would hang traitors and those who associated with them on the spikes of the wall out front to warn other of what happens when people commit acts of sedition. I, however will show you mercy. I will let you go, but you must prove your allegiance to me," Garrosh said. "If you fail, you can watch your tribe fall."

"You do not have to threaten me, warchief, I will do as you ask willingly, but I will not do any act that forces me to go against my tribe."

"Good. Then here are my terms: Give your weapons and armor to the guards and go hug the whipping post. You can retrieve your weapons once you've received 50 lashes. One word, cry, or outburst and I will not consider you worthy to serve the Horde and your tribe will fall. If you keep your promise, I will let you go to come back and serve the Horde in the future. Do you agree."

Mula looked back at the warchief, and knew he would keep his word. She looked around at the others in the room, and knew from their expressions that there would be no protest to the proclamation. She lifted her eyes and prayed to the Earth Mother to give her strength so that she could keep her word, "Yes warchief."

...

It wasn't until late in the evening when she found her way back to the guild. She was certain that no one had followed her. And despite his abrasiveness, she knew Garrosh would keep his word. Quietly she opened the guild door and passed through it. She hadn't put her armor back on, and was hoping that no one would notice her late night entrance. She didn't know how many in the tribe had witnessed the exhibition, and was hoping it hadn't been anyone. She turned and pushed the heavy door shut. Her Thunder Bluff shirt that she had obtained from the tournament ground was torn to shreds criss crossed with blood and fur. She put her forehead against the door, closing her eyes, and taking a deep breath. She said a quiet prayer, "Earth mother, watch over your children, and give me the courage to face my shame."
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#12
Disgust filled Raxxar as he entered the Hall and went to his Coffintable and the portal to his retreat within. For He felt only the need to get away from the trappings of the New Horde for a time. For much troubled him, The actions of the Banshee Queen made him feel betrayed as a Forsaken because she was creating more Forsaken from the war dead.

Thru the portal and soon standing outside the Cabin nestled in the Grizzly Hills he walked outside to a small tended graveyard and sat on the ground beside it.

"Hello Dad. I just feel like talking, and your a great listener. Always were."

"I feel like the Horde is no longer home. Under Thrall it was a good thing a living thing Under Garrosh its becoming Darker, not evil but more edged."

"And now the Banshee Queen is acting like the Lich King in bringing back the dead to undeath. I mean in my own case I was stupid and asked for this to happen to me if I died in the lich kings service. But that was many years and mistakes ago. But to do too others that was done to her unwillingly."

Raxxar falls silent and watches the sun slowly settle in the west as he broods and thinks. After a time he goes back into his cabin and looks in the kitchen for something to eat. He finds a few of Mula's stray hairs on a counter from her last visit here and smiles at that memory. He leans his head back and just replays the good memories in his head for a time, but then his head snaps forward as old long forgotten memory comes out.

"Home is people who care about you." he mutters. "The Tribe will endure and live. Too many of us care for the others to let the tribe fall."

Raxxar's Mood brightens a bit.

"We are the Horde as well. Garrosh may be warchief but even he can't order us in our own hearts. We Choose our path."
Undead Tailor/Skinner of Flesh/and Tamer of Demons
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#13
Skrap smirked with a slight grunt as the last goblin fell to the ground. "And that was a butt-whuppin'." she grinned, giving him one last courtesy kick, drawing cheers from the crowd in the Wyvern's Tail tavern. "A Steamwheedle butt-whuppin', ya Bilgewater piker." She reached down, rifling through the goblin's ambusher's pockets then stopped, blinking as she found the wanted poster. "Wanted... treason... Sreng? Ironsong?!" She stood up, looking around to the mostly drunken crowd. "For the love'a money... I'm gone a few months and they get outlawed? What is this?"

"Filthy traitorsh..." slurred one drunken orc at the bar, drawing a sharp glare from the half-goblin that seemed out of place on her adolescent-seeming face.

The bartender gave the drunk a thump on the head with the mug she was cleaning, before going back to it nonchalantly. "The Troll stood up to Garrosh." She answered. "And he did it pretty publicly."

"About time someone did to!" the shout came from a large Tauren. Many around him cheered or grunted their agreement. "The brat isn't fit to carry Thrall's boots."

There was a loud shuffling sound from the opposite end, as a burly orc stood up, wiping his mouth. "Sounds like some trash-lovin' scum got in here. Maybe we need to clean the place?"

Skrap ducked down as the bar fight broke out around her, slipping through the brawl and up the rafters to sit down. "Great, I get out of an exploding island to find things are crazier back home." she chuckled while counting through the money pouches she snatched during the fight. "Time to go find everyone I guess."

She darted out the window, looking down over Orgrimarr, a smile coming to her face. "Well, at least I won't be bored anymore."
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#14
The goblin Death Knight was practically shaking with rage as she watched the tauren being lashed over and over. After a few dozen blows she had to turn and leave lest her rage consume her and cause her to do something brash. She did however careful memorize the Orc responsible for the blows her friend was receiving.

Later that night, the same Orc was walking alone in the dark from one of the many new bars back to his barracks. A blue black bolt of energy shot out from an alley and yanked the Orc into the darkness. He was knocked off his feet, and a gauntleted hand slammed over his mouth pinning him to the ground. A wet thud followed, and the astonished Orc looked down to see a dagger buried deep in his chest before his eyes rolled back and he died.

“I’m not usually one for this cloak and dagger stuff, that’s more Luci’s thing.” Said the goblin holding him to the ground; “But I need to make an example here and I can’t have your yelling ruin the surprise.”

Shortly after a city patrol found a grisly scene in front of the alley. A pike had been driven into the ground, the head of the Orc punisher impaled on the top of it. A sign was bolted to the shaft of pike, written in thick black grease pencil it read;


Here is a real traitor to the Horde. You will learn to fear what you have started here today Hellscream.



It was very late when the goblin finally returned to the Guild Hall. She entered and made her way to her workshop in the basement. Removing her armour she then went over to several cases of saronite bombs that were stacked in a corner near her bed.

“Now what can we do with these I wonder?” was all she said before turning off the lights.
.
Etsuko - Monk
Razzlixx Blingwell - Warlock
Cloudjumper Wildmane - Druid (Inactive)
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#15
Mula walked into Grommash Hold and knelt before Garrosh, "I am here warchief, what is your bidding?"

The orc stood up and walked over to Mula. "Stand up, I want to speak to you face to face." She did. "Come walk with me, Mula Stronghoof. I have heard countless tales of your actions. You do the Horde proud."

They walked out of the hold and towards the wall with all the wanted posters. Several guards followed, keeping their distance. They stopped directly in front of the wanted poster with the drawing of a very familiar troll. "I have also heard some interesting tales about this one." He reached out and pulled the wanted posted off the wall. "I have heard of his successes in Hyjal and Vashj'ir. I am revoking this." He tore the wanted poster into quarters and handed it to Mula. "Tell him this. If he still is displeased with the way that I am running things, then I will accept his challenge, by means of Mak'gora."

Mula shuddered at the word; the Mak'gora was how Caire Bloodhoof had died. Albeit, it had been an unfair fight due to Magatha Grimtotem's meddling, but it still tore at Mula's heart. She nodded at Garrosh, "I will deliver your message, warchief."
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