31
The Campfire / Re: Sharguul and the Soul
« on: June 26, 2019, 01:14:31 PM »
Awesome! Interesting to see how the latest clan spirit is impacting on the different Orcs!
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32
The Campfire / Re: Journal of a Monk
« on: June 23, 2019, 08:25:01 AM »Quote
Sunday, 23rd day of Mor’vaul the sixth month,
I am alarmed by how tense the jade forest is becoming. The Huojin and Tuishi skirt around each other like circling sharks or buzzards, while the neutral groups loyal to Pandaria must constantly remind them off the peace. Last night the Shado-pan had to quell a brawl in the tavern at the port of shan-grilla, the Horde and Alliance involved were bayed on by Forsaken, barely held back by the Huojin and Tuishi but ultimately quelled and sent back to their respective outposts with bruises and stunned heads gifted by three skilled Wu-kao. The Shado-pan, now with free hands, is being firm and decisive with foreign powers.
Thankfully I and Jihaan have kept clear of the chaos. Though I sense Uncle is beginning to question his and the Huojins part in the war. While he was content to keep the peace here in Pandaria, he is less inclined to incite conflict or tolerate those who do.
While I am dismayed at the activity here, Inspector Pong took the time to show me some techniques he thought I may benefit from learning. We trained in a forest clearing just south of the temple of the jade serpent. It seems the system he showed me has a focus on combating armed and armored opponents by deflecting or ensnaring strikes, only to use the energy they use against them by twisting would be weak points in Armour. The knee’s, wrists, neck, shoulders, ankles, elbows. All are vulnerable on an armored foe and the follow up counter attacks are brutal, thus these techniques will be extremely handy in future. Surprisingly this system is not part of his own Crane style, but a sub-system of the white tiger, known as “sitting Tiger”, or so he tells me. With a gift of three scrolls and plenty of time to practice I am suddenly dreading but also eager to return to the clan.
The next ship home is in two weeks, and I am eager to get back to work.
Vrull willing, the war has not harmed them.
33
The Campfire / Re: Awakening
« on: June 21, 2019, 11:15:01 AM »
Awesome stuff Ark!
Keep 'em coming!
Keep 'em coming!
34
Game Related / Re: Character Self View and View of Others, Part 2!
« on: June 17, 2019, 07:49:08 PM »Okiba Spearbreaker
Self-view:
Okiba knows two things about himself. Firstly, that the time he spent in the Kor'kron built him, and second that its end broke him. He views himself as lucky, having survived ten years of army life and coming out relatively unscathed. Though this has left him feeling guilty because those around him suffered while he survived. Though morally he feels honourable and just, he often plunges into doing what he thinks is honourable rather than what truelly is, trusting in military docrines and habits instilled in him often at axe point. All of these factors have forced him to recognize that he wasn't truelly born, or having a personality of his own until after his departure from the army. Okiba wants to teach, to help, to assist and build up others to be better than the worst he has seen, or has seen in himself. Ultimately, Okiba wants to be better spiritually, and morally, but see's himself falling short at every turn.
Grarshak:
Spoiler: show
Kargnar Bloodpaw:
Spoiler: show
Kozgurgore Feraleye:
Spoiler: show
Nar'thak Strongarm:
Spoiler: show
Kor'kosh Ironaxe:
Spoiler: show
Rokamo Goreye:
Spoiler: show
Kran Twinaxe:
Spoiler: show
Karnna Blackfeather:
Spoiler: show
Razaron Madeye:
Spoiler: show
Rhonya Steelheart:
Spoiler: show
Kyrazha Throatrender:
Spoiler: show
Nosh'marak Ironclaw:
Spoiler: show
Gashuk Bloodmoon:
Spoiler: show
Vraxxar Wildmark:
Spoiler: show
35
Game Related / [Competition] Clan War Banner!
« on: June 17, 2019, 06:58:46 PM »Competition Time!
Clan War banner, artist and writers competition!
Q1 - What is this?
A1 - This is a competition... for artists and writers to try their hand at a dab of duality in their efforts. The aim is to draw, photo-edit, paint or create by any visual medium you can think of... an artistic representation of the Red Blade Clans iconic war banner. Furthermore, you'll also need to write about it!
Q - Hang on a minute, draw and write?
A - Yup! Each effort will be rated out of ten overall. 5 points out of a potential five for the art, and five points out of five for a write-up explaining the piece, its potential history, it's significant points and so forth, possibly even from an IC standpoint!
Q2 - What is the Clan War Banner?
A2 - It's the iconic banner our clan, carried by our champion (winner of the tournament of the blades) into battle, the sum of 15 years of guild warfare, dozens of campaigns, epic moments and battlefield beat-downs. It has yet to receive a proper name... (maybe you could come up with one?). What matters is, when the banner is raised, some Alliance or any other dastardly fiend are getting their butts kicked. The clans war banner can only be unfurled at the command of the Chieftain, and is carried by the clan champion as it's a symbol of their and the clans honor, even becoming a focal point for challenges on the clans honour personally and in war.
Q3 - So what exactly are you after?
A3 - Two things!
1) A drawing, painting or photo-edited image made any visual medium you see fit. The Banner should display the clans emblem, and any suitable trophy's of war you view apt, likely best from the guilds long history (little research project for you!).
2) A write up, it doesn't have to be a novel (or it could?), about why you shaped your image as such, with as much IC information, back-story and even a suitable name, as you can muster.
Q4 - How will this be judged and what are the rules?
A4 - Hopefully a suitable neutral judge will be picked in due course to render marks for the competitors efforts, your art will be marked out of 5, and write up out of 5 also. These marks won't be rendered public because every contribution deserves not to be looked down on, and frankly any effort is a good effort. The rules will be as follows...
1 - All art must be your own, no tracing, borrowing or having anyone else create it on your behalf.
2 - You can work together as a team up to a maximum of three persons per submission.
3 - The final submission must be posted on this forum thread by July 15th.
4 - Submissions can be made or posted immediately, but you can only make one submission per person or team, and these will be "locked in" on July 15th.
5 - Bribing the chieftain with waffles, chocolate and cat cuddles will result in a violent-- *Garrote*.
Q5 - What's in it for us?
A5 - Aside from the fame and glory of making such a contribution to clan lore? 50,000 gold is to be won, for yourself or your team!
So... enjoy and... Best of luck!
36
The Campfire / Re: Journal of a Monk
« on: June 17, 2019, 09:13:30 AM »Quote
Monday, 17th day of Mor'vaul,
With all of the stolen items now returned to their true owners, and the thieves handed to the shado-pan, I've had time to rest and reflect.
We returned to the Redstaff family home in the Jade forest, the family deeply grateful for the return of not only the familys vaunted stave, but also Jihaan returning no more hurt than when this adventure began, and even with his armour.
I've spent the last week practicing quietly in the hills. Using the opportunity to hone, and further my training in both the Tiger and Serpent styles... though oddly, having spent so much time with the clan now, I feel more inclined to reverting back to my own style. This has given many frowns of confusion and intrigue alike when the local instructors and masters observe my techniques, locally sourced or self made.
It should only be another four weeks before I return to Durotar. I can feel the call of the pack beckoning, and the news of the war makes a return all the more urgent. It was hard to think, when hearing all the heralds or reading edicts and papers in Kalimdor, but the public opinion here in Pandaria? It's neutral, without bias and objective.
The world, Beyond the Horde and Alliance...
...Views us, the Horde, to be losing the war.
37
The Campfire / Re: Struggles Of a New World- Skint stories
« on: June 13, 2019, 09:00:38 AM »
Very interesting!
Keep them coming!
Keep them coming!
38
The Campfire / Re: [Story] Soldier
« on: June 12, 2019, 11:07:50 AM »Soldier: Chapter 27 – Return
Quote
”Only when you return to the start, can you truly comprehend just how far you have come.
Two years ago.
Dry dust burnt at his nostrils. The heat didn’t come from above, no; it burned the earth so that the air rose, searching upwards for anything unfortunate to grasp at. That was the heat of Durotar in summer; he’d forgotten how it felt, how it made him sweat. He’d oddly missed it.
By the spirits how you’ve missed it.
The stink of riding Worgs, the scent of half burnt bacon, the sweetly bitter tang of the taverns ales on the wind. Razor hill had been a temporary home when he first joined the army, but by the spirits it was home. Though it felt the same, parts had changed. The mark of the rebellion in particular had scarred the place with a larger graveyard, and filled the barracks with Darkspear Head hunters and Tauren braves. Razor hill, indeed Durotar, was no longer just for the Orcs alone. Vol’Jin had changed the Horde, and now Sylvanas Windrunner changed it too. A throng of Forsaken footman began to march by with a supply cart in tow, all heading toward the barrens as he entered through the western gate.
Time will tell on that change too.
Frankly, after the horrors of the wrath-gate he couldn’t stand or trust the forsaken, but after his time in the Undercity he felt a strange pity for them too. It was a confused feeling, he knew he should tolerate or try to embrace them, but some instinct, a reflex learned from bitter experience forced him to be cautiously suspicious. The Pandaren had taught him much, but the ability to apply true forgiveness still eluded him. Perhaps that was the Orc inside him speaking, or the former Kor’kron.
He adjusted his head-wrap as he walked, the strange hood and mask he’d been gifted by Jihaan had been a superb guard against the cold when scaling the peaks of Kun’lai, and it shielded him well from the dust storms and sun now. He considered how odd he must look, an Orc carrying a Pandaren spear, with sparring gloves, a silk shirt and bandaged foot-wraps. Indeed, many a grunt gave him curious glances as if he was some foreign stranger of a far off land. Jihaan had geared him superbly, even making a Dao-sabre for him, hanging from a woven martial style belt, weaved carefully by the hands of Shin-wei Redstaff using red fabric, complete with a buckle of bronze etched with the Redstaff family crest, a bronzed red leaf.
I may as well be anything but an Orc.
The Huojin tabard though, especialy when adorned with his military insignia all on a green hided Orc, marked him as one of them. He was of the Horde, pardoned for his part in an unjust war, but part of the Horde all the same. That’s all they need see, to take note of. He slowed his pace, adjusting the large backpack over his shoulder as he arrived in the centre of town, looking around and inhaling the sight and scent of home. It would have been so easy to stand here and forget why he had come, lost in nostalgia…
But you won’t forget, you came to Honour Fhu, to Honour Jihaan
The letter of summons that Jihaan had given him spoke of the Red Blade Orcs, a powerful tribe he’d heard mention of before. A pack of wolf riding nomads loyal to the horde… but declined of late, some said near wiped out by the ongoing war against the Legion. The letter had been from their Chieftain, Kozgugore Feraleye, speaking of a danger in the shadows. Orcs of this pack were to gather here, before setting off to Stonetalon… so here he had come to chance a meeting with them, so this threat could be faced, and for his part the memory of Fhu would be honoured. He would help in his stead.
The memory of a friend should always be honoured.
And then he spotted him. An Orc he’d not seen in some ten years. A visage that had cut such an impression in his mind that he viewed him, even now, as the epitome of Orcish soldiering.
Broldok…?
The Sergeant that had recruited him as a Grunt stood tall by the mailbox outside the tavern, still watching over his charge and duty with a fierce eye. Though he was diminished, his left arm was missing from the elbow down, while new scars littered his body and the once jet black beard sported thick, weaving lengths of grey. The eyes remained the same though, watching, judging, vigilant as a hawk. Okiba could not help but smile, wondering if he’d recognize him-…
He’ll remember me surely?
He turned and began heading toward the tavern slowly, removing the head-wrap like cowl that covered his features, immediately drawing the sergeant’s attention and withering stare. Those burning red eyes and that furrowed brow looked him up and down, taking in every little feature as Okiba approached, and when at last he was under the towering taverns shadow and only a few paces away, Broldok curiously brought his left foot next to his right and stood proudly at attention.
”Seagent! It has been a long ti—“
”Sir! Welcome to Razor hill, is this an inspection?” Replied Broldok immediately and firmly, not even allowing Okiba the opportunity to complete his sentence. He raised his brow at the way he was addressed.
Sir?
He hadn’t been called that in a long time, not since before internment by the Shado-pan, and only then by the company Sergeants-…
You’re Insignia…
He glanced down at his tabard, pinned proudly by his shoulder was the symbol of a Legionnaire, polished and gleaming for all to see. With that came understanding, Broldok didn’t recognise him.
”Ah-… hm, no, Sergeant, there is no inspection. At ease.”
”Very good Sir, though if you don’t mind me asking, what’s brass as yourself doing down here? Especially one that looks as travelled as, well, yourself, sir.” Broldok looked the younger Orc up and down again, squinting with curiousity. Though no longer did he look down at him, Okiba had grown to match the older Orc in height, no longer the 17 winters old runt that could have been blown away by a sharp razor wind.
Does he really not recognise me? Does he at least suspect?
”Just a Soldier returned from his time away, it is good however to see you’re still here, Broldok. It seems time has chipped away at us both. He smiled, tapping his broken tusk and scarred face before shooting a hinting glance at the spot where the sergeants arm used to be.
Broldok half bristled, half laughed, the gleam of comprehension shining in his eyes. He strode up proudly with heavy footstep. He sniffed, looking Okiba up and down, nearly snout to snout with the younger Orc, taking in all the changed features. A grizzled red beard, scars from foot to scalp, foreign weapons and exotic clothing…
”Thralls balls! Little Okiba, returned from the wars! Hra! And an officer too…”
”Officer no more, Kor’kron remember, discharged and disbanded. So no need to call me sir.”
”Bah, none of that, half of war is surviving. And if you survived this long, you deserve that badge, Hra…”
Broldok looked him up and down once more, mesmerized znd fascinated by the perceived change he saw, his elbow long stump waving about with emphasis.
”Well, its goo to see you. A lot has changed around here since the old days… hm. What brings you back?”
”Ah, errand. Honouring a request from a fallen friend, ghrm.”
”Ghm, Spirits guide them. Good Orc, doing stuff like that, glad to see your time under old Broldok taught you good values! What is the errand?
The change in tone from Broldok was bewildering. Gone was the scrutiny, the withering stares and barking tone. He was welcoming, friendly, and respectful.
Is this approval?
”Seeking out the Red Blade Orcs, they need a hand with something by all accounts.”
”Those Wolf riding lot? Ghrm, they’ve been very quiet of late, took a hard hit when the Legion showed up. But they frequent the tavern most nights, or huddle around a fire up by the big tree… I’ll point them out later.”
Well that’s them found… but first…
”That would be greatly appreciated, however, there’s something I need to do that I wish I could of done sooner.” Added Okiba, nodding his head as Broldok quirked a brow of intrigue.
”And what would that be…?”
”I need to buy you a drink.”
”No.”
What-?
He was taken back, even after al this time, all the battles, struggles, scars and death. He still wasn’t worthy of buying Seargeant Broldok a simple ale? The senior Orc stepped forward again, looking Okiba up and down sternly before clapping him on the shoulder firmly with his only hand and guiding him toward the tavern door.
”No, the drinks are on me.”
The End, and, the Beginning.
39
The Campfire / Re: No Rest for the Wicked - Mal'garr Firefist's Restless Death
« on: June 08, 2019, 06:43:24 AM »
Das is good writing!
...Interested to see where this goes
...Interested to see where this goes
40
The Campfire / Re: [Story] Soldier
« on: June 07, 2019, 03:31:31 PM »Soldier: Chapter 26 – Farewell
Quote
”Change is inevitable, and nothing to be feared.”
Two years ago.
The sweet smell of incense on the wind did little to mask the bitter scent of ash and fire. The others gave no heed to it, their focus was elsewhere, on the emotion and pain of the moment. Okiba however perceived the un-important, the trivial, and the finer details of what didn’t matter.
Whatever it takes so I don’t have to think about it.
Unscrewing his eyes, he looked upon the small family shrine without willing it. The neatly built wall of stones shaped in a half circle that came to knee height was crowned in the centre by a small edifice of cut stone, marked with dozens of names of generations long passed. In-front of it sat offerings of food, incense, family keepsakes and urns. At its side was propped the Redstaff, resting by a new urn, its ashes fresh from a pyre some hours earlier.
The sobbing of Shin-wei Redstaff broke the tranquillity of the place. Fhu’s mother had insisted he be honoured the same way as his ancestors, all his ancestors, at the family shrine. Fhen-li, her Husband, held her tight as he tried to console her as she grieved his son. Fhen-li was calm, but his expression was filled with remorse for words not said and time cut short.
With the funeral rites done, the urn set and offerings given, Father and Mother began to slowly lead the procession down the cobbled path between outcrops of bamboo to return to the family home. Okiba made no attempt to follow; he didn’t have the heart or courage to face them in a home that was not his, an Orcish outsider, a stranger. Durotar had been home once, long ago. Now he felt as if he belonged to no place or people.
What now?
Jihaan was suddenly beside him, silent and ominous for a half the beat of a heart. But he wasn’t angry, the Pandaren warrior had been solemn and patient these last days. Dressed in dark robes, his green eyes remain fixed on the family shrine where, according to the rites given, the spirit of his nephew had now departed this world from. Stepping forward two places, Okiba watched him mutely as he knelt and placed a small toy, a cloud serpent carved of wood and painted green by hand, next to the urn. The significance was unknown to the Orc, but he fathomed it represented some childhood bond between uncle and nephew.
”I…--” Began the Orc, wanting to say something that burned on the edge of his mind, an admissions of guilt, but Jihaan raised a hand as he stepped back, motioning in placation.
”You have’a nothing to apologize for, friend, be at’a ease. Nobody in’a my family, least of all ‘ame, blames you.” Jihaan spoke gently, the edge of his voice crackling with emotion barely kept in check. His eyes remained on the shrine, torn with quiet sadness.
Okiba could not muster words in response, despite the appeasing words his heart simply sank further. He lowered his head further yet still, gazing at his cloth wrapped feet.
”My Nephew fought’a with courage, and’a honour, defending his’a people. And you--?”
Okiba looked up, staring at the Pandaren as a lone tear ran down his furry cheek.
”you stood’a by him, you risked’ayour life for his cause and’a our people. For that, we are’a thankful and’a glad for your friendship…”
”jihaan—“
”But as we mourn, we must’a ask for’a favour. A request me and’a my Nephew cannot meet, but must’a be honoured all’a the same.”
Okiba furrowed his brow; this had taken a turn he had not expected. Leaping from the absolving of guilt to requests founded on honour. The change in topic was suddenly mirrored by the bears face, it became hard, firm. Suppressing emotion, acting matter of fact.
”Speak it, and I shall help you any way I can, Jiha—“
”We havea received a letter, a request for’a Fhu to aid some Orcish friends of’a his back in Durotar. I would’a ask that you go in his, and’a my, place.”
”Back to Durotar, and the Horde? I’m not sure I’d be welcome now.” Okiba frowned further, imagining a mob of Horde peoples, chasing down the dastardly returning Kor’kron.
”You’a will be fine, especially under the protection of’a these friends. They are strong, but in’a dire need of aid. You will’a have to sail soon.”
”Who are these friends?” questioned the Orc, curious as to whom the Redstaff family held in such regard as to honour so far flung of a request.
”They, my’a friend, are the Red Blade.”
41
Notice Board / Re: Trouble at the Temple
« on: June 07, 2019, 09:55:09 AM »
Awesomely told as ever Narth!
(MOAR)
(MOAR)
42
The Campfire / Re: [Story] Soldier
« on: June 05, 2019, 01:18:17 PM »Soldier: Chapter 25 – Friend
Quote
”Friends are the family you get to choose.”
Two years ago.
His right arm dragged alongside him, sharp juts of pain shooting upward through the broken limb to his neck from as low as his forearm. It was shattered, probably at numerous points, but what mattered was that his left arm worked. He extended it once more, desperately hooking his fingers between the crags and gaps in the thick stone cobbles of the road, even now the hum and vibration of the battle for the temple could be felt through the earth. Finding purchase he gripped as well as he could before pulling himself slowly forward by another half an arms length.
Move. Faster.
But he couldn’t, the snails pace was all he could keep up when hampered by the dizzying spin in his head and the debilitating pain in his body. The Demons hammer had dealt a crushing, disabling blow. But he was close now, close enough to hear the ragged, desperate breaths of his mortally wounded friend.
hauling his body over one last set of blood and ash slick cobbles he finally managed to reach Fhu. With eyes that struggled to focus on the world around him, he sat half up on his elbow next to his friend.
By the ancestors…
His wound was brutal. The demons spear had passed clean through from back to front, a clean puncture that produced little blood but held all the hallmarks of fel taint that spelled certain death. The split flesh was marked by a protruding rib, riddled with swirls of ash black stains and green among the crimson of blood. The body shuddered, dragging in a pained breath.
”Haauu--… Oki-“
”No, no, don’t speak, Shh, please stay still--… Help is on the way.”
It wasn’t though. Everyone was too busy fighting for the temple, to survive, or running for hills. Okiba forced himself into a sitting position, placing the head of the dying Pandaren on his thigh for support. There was little he could do, or knew how to do. But he could slow the bleeding, keeping him alive long enough for the healers perhaps—
Shirt.
He ripped the tattered right sleeve of his shirt away at the shoulder, his wounded arm protesting at the rash and hasty motion. The fine silk embroidery didn’t matter now, even if it was a gift from Jihaan. But despite his desperate attempts to block or stem the bleeding, or cover the wound, the sleeve was soon slick with blood and green corruption to the point it was useless.
”M-my friend… the G-gate’a...” Fhu pleaded, his voice cracked with barely contained pain. A sliver of blood began pouring from his snout and the corner of his mouth.
”We held, Fhu, we held, Jihaan brought help. He replied as calmly as he could, trying to keep Fhu and himself calm. His good hand, the left, shook and twitched with increasing fury. He thought he’d grown past it, but now he feared he never could. Lifting his gaze he tried to focus, to see what was coming of the battle. The people fought, bravely, as one. Demons fell, brought down by a common cause, led by the Shado-pan and brave adventurers alike. All the while the temple burned, great swirling fires of red and jade rose here and there, sending black plumes high enough to mask the now night sky. All of this, to the slowing, ragged breaths of one who fell at the gate.
”Okiba—Fr-friend. Hau—hm…tel-tell me…” pressed the wounded Pandaren, weakly raising his right hand to settle it on the Orcs left, trying to reassure him even in his own perilous state.
”Ask, though don’t over exert yourself.”
”What—hm…” Fhu started then paused, wincing in terrible pain, his gleaming jade eyes rolling in agony as he struggled to draw a breath, though this did not long slow him.
”What-… makes you’a so af-raid?”
Even now, he thinks of others…
He didn’t know how to answer. He’d long suspected his time in the army and Kor’kron had left some deeper, unseen scar that had brought about his shaking hand. But it was not a fear of battle, he never shirked that. No, his hand trembled, and dreams turned to terrors because…
”…Failing my brothers in arms. Failing the cause, living only to see it fail too.” The Orc answered, bowing his head in shame. He could feel his heart begin to race, sinking downward, knowing the cycle of loss and failure would claim another life. Fhu coughed weakly in response, a look of pained thought on his features, fur dripping with blood and sweat.
”Failure-… is’a the greatest teacher. Find’a cause… Hauh—aghh!” The Pandaren writhed, struggling with the pain, his clawed hand squeezing Okiba’s tight. ”…find a cause, worth living t-to learn for.”
Learn for?
”Fhu- I don’t understand, just rest, Help will come…--“ Began Okiba, believing the pain had finally pushed the bears words away from wisdom to addled confusion.
”Live… my friend. You m-ust want to li…“
43
The Campfire / Re: Journal of a Monk
« on: June 04, 2019, 12:58:12 PM »Quote
Tuesday, Fourth day of the Sixth Month.
He did something to our memories.
I don't know what, or how, but HE did something. We found the thieves, did great battle with them, lost and won, retreated and advanced. All in a long, dark cave network within the jungles of Krasarang.
Having chased them back to the trove, we confronted their leader. A dark robed Pandaren who I suspect is the famed and feared 'Black Crane'. He used his shadow magic, wiped our memories of his face, and freed the fools he had mind controlled into serving and stealing for him.
We return to Half-hill now, we have a dozen confused former thieves, carting all of the equipment. Well, not all, Jihaan is wearing his armor, and I have the honor of carrying the Redstaff back to its rightful home.
This has been a strange encounter.
44
Odds & Ends / Re: Clan Heirlooms and Relics
« on: May 30, 2019, 12:49:16 PM »
I hate double posting...
BUT! The list is now filled in and up to date!
However, I eagerly await any further input from all of you! Keep the historical artifacts coming!
BUT! The list is now filled in and up to date!
However, I eagerly await any further input from all of you! Keep the historical artifacts coming!
45
Odds & Ends / Re: Clan Heirlooms and Relics
« on: May 28, 2019, 04:28:48 PM »Well after Razaron was cleanse of the curse and his stolen life essence was restored, it was left with the clan to do with it as they wished. The unknown elements about the weapon makes it a bit of a predicament, do they risk trying to destroy? Is it worth wielding for it just to become active again? It's now under lock and key, awaiting a final resolution.
Perhaps it can be added again in another story in the future as a plot device.
Then it shall remain!
now, the rest of you, give me more! MOOOARRRR.