Kul Tiras

The Vizier Kalabrond bows low and leaves. Thaumas retires to the throne room, eager to seat himself and rest. He enjoys grandeur, as he has demonstrated with his grand speech, a signature of power, but yet it is a tiring thing nonetheless. Kalabrond returns several hours later with a fair haired young man at his side. "Admiral, this is Cyrus, a representative of the community in Boralus who advocate the Holy Light."

Thaumas looks upon the man, who is clearly nervous. "Er, sire, sir. The man who attacked you had nothing to do with the more level headed Lightists in Boralus, I assure you." he begins, slowly gaining his bearings and confidence. "However, I must warn you that it is a sign of things to come. The rebel admiral Janus is coming, and because he has contacts in the Church, you may find that your own people may rise up against you and support him. I can, however, do my best to stop such a thing happening if you... show your support for the Holy Light. Not change your religion of course, but, eh, accept it. Build a church in Boralus. Let us both live in peace and harmony!"

Vizier Kalabrond visibly sighs. "And at what cost, damnit? Dare you speak to the Admiral like that? Have you any idea of the ramifications. Would you like to anger Phorcys, our collective father? Father of your Admiral by royal blood?"


The Amani

That very same night, Warlord Jin'thek gathers his very finest and leaves the safety of the Shrine of Ula-tek. Alongside Baj'al, the lieutenant who gave him the report, Jin'thek and his warriors steal into the night atop their bears. Jin'thek, however, rides not a bear but instead he rides a staple of leadership; a bird of prey. Yet it is something more than that; it is a beast of talons and colour, a proud mark of favour that was said to be a gift from the Loa of the dragonhawks. Some trolls murmur that it is a strider of the plains, other say it is an abomination crossbreed between a dragonhawk and one of the fabled gryphons of the Hinterlands. None know for certain, other than Jin'thek, perhaps.

They ride throughout the night, thundering through the forest unopposed, until by dawn, they arrived at a clearing at the foot of the Maisara Hills. The Maisara Hills rise above the canopy of the forest, leaving a bitter taste in the mouths of the Amani who have come here.

"Whoosa goes there?" a deep voice bellows, just as a dozen heavily armed forest trolls drop from the trees, surrounding the party of Jin'thek. Yet Jin'thek explains his business, and the company escorts him and lieutenant Baj'al to the Mosstusk village atop the chief hill in the Maisara. There, a bulky troll warlord greets them, watched by his people. It is Overlord Nuvazgal Mosstusk himself. "Ah, what you be doing in these lands, mon? What has the mighty Jin'thek to tell me? You are bold, mongrel. You been my enemy for many winters. Do you think I offer you hospitality this fresh morning in the forest?"

Clearly the situation requires tact. Overlord Nuvazgal Mosstusk is clearly itching for a fight; perhaps a personal challenge. If he does challenge Jin'thek to single combat it could be fatal for either of them, and decide the outcome of events. Or perhaps diplomacy is a preferable route. Either way, Jin'thek knows that the situation is delicate. All rests upon the edge of a knife as the Summertide festival approaches...


Ironforge - Skirvar

The trio of dwarves had been worn out by the teleportation process. Such magics were incredibly costly, but none contested the necessity of the mission. The Highthane's health, was after all, a priority for the entire dwarven nation. Urel Wildhammer and Jaril Bronzebeard had been chosen for a reason. Jaril, as a powerful priest, would hopefully learn the weave necessary to heal the Highthane, while Urel was a skilled tracker. They spoke little at first, though it was Jaril who broke the silence first. "You're proving many lads back in Ironforge wrong about ye', Skarivar. If you can heal the Highthane, then ye will no doubt be a hero amongst us." "Aye, but do ye seriously think that these here trolls are going to help us?" Urel chimed in. Both had clearly been worrying about this matter. "Truly Skirvar, you be brave an all, none of us contest that. But do tell us why in the bloody hell are ye takin us to Zul'Aman?" Skirvar ignores them both at first, intent on his task. Yet they look to him for an answer.



The King's will had to be done. He had spoken. Alford Menethil was not a paltry, lesser man. His will was law. That is why Archbishop and Marshal left with a heartfelt bow. They obeyed.

By the following morning, ever efficient Sherman walks up to the king and makes a report in the throne room. Birds whistle outside, and light trickles in through stained glass windows, illuminating them all as if the palace itself were a church of the Holy Light. Sherman bows deeply, unwilling to anger his liege. "Sir, some of your magi are insisting on your presence in the royal gardens." Curious, Alford complies, though he walks at his own pace.

The royal garden is packed with high ranking officials, many of them from the magical quarter of the city. Court Wizard Thomassy, young for his position but nonetheless talented, presents himself to the king. "We have made quite a discovery, my lord." he says with pride. "We detected magical residue in the gardens, as well as patterns we had never before felt. Something has set these things in motion; we are not sure what. The superstitious folk say that it is the work of the Four Gods. That something is sleeping beneath the earth. What we want is your permission to dig, liege. It may upset many of your people and destroy an object of beauty in the city, but believe me; we may be stumbling across something big. Some kind of ancient machinery of magic may be beneath our city! Let us claim it!"

Before Alford can speak, a messenger interrupts them. He seems to have been running for quite a bit to reach his king. "Liege, I come bringing you two letters. One is from the Archbishop, the other, from an informant in Andorhal."

The Letter from the Archbishop reads "Good king, I apologize for upsetting you the previous day. In accordance with your wishes for an efficient Inquisition, I have made several inquiries and have unearthed some records in my Church of the Holy Light. I believe that if we form this Inquisition, we will need strong men and women, free of sin, to lead it. I theorize that if we use the old rituals of binding, we can infuse select warriors with the Holy Light, turning them into its avatars. It may have been used in the past by pagans to create champions of heathen gods, but in the hands of the Holy Light, it could be a miracle. I also took initiative on suggesting several candidates to lead this new order. One is a priest under my wing, Cerzimon, who will succeed me when I die. The other is your captain of the guard, Friedrik de Mon, a man of virtue. These are just suggestions, liege."

The other letter is from the informant in Andorhal. "I pray that this letter reaches the royal court as soon as is humanly possible. Maximus Krowl has captured me. That is all I can reveal about my own situation. He allowed me to send this letter, however, containing his offer. He will refrain from attacking Andorhal under the condition that the king meets with him in his own territory of Hearthglen. He promises unconditional protection to his king, whom he says that he loves and respects. Krowl says that it is not the king whom he fights, and that he only wishes to speak with him. He says that if his message is ignored, he will strike at Andorhal immediately."

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