The Journal of Verzan Skywise

[Verzan]

The Journal of Verzan Skywise
This object takes the shape of a small booklet that has existed with the young wind rider for many years, the leather of the cover may even be Gryphonhide. The pages may change but the booklet has always been with her. An Account of her adventures in Azeroth, the best parts and the worst spanning back to the days just after the Battle of Bladefist bay.

A new chapter has begun now with the orcs of the Red Blade, new pages have been added, blank and waiting for new stories to be crafted.

--I will keep adding new entires as replys to this post, for the sake of keeping them all together.
---Please unless otherwise stated because you are holding Verzan's IC journal take these as OC stories for now.

[Verzan]

Campaign in Silithus
January 28th 2018 - A Tavern before the War

The Pandaran full of wisdom and whatever tea he could find most likely sat among the orcs of the Red Blade in the middle of the tavern. Hadn’t spoken with one of their kind in a very long time. I don’t remember the face of the last one even but it was unwelcome among those I previously rode alongside.
This one was different.

When I approached and asked what had been missed in the meeting of the clan some hours previous, the answer was simple. The Chieftain had said they were to travel to war.

Alright then. Finally something I know how to do, I thought to myself.
Then I wanted to know why? The Legion by all accounts had been defeated, perhaps there were holdouts and a force was gathering to see them off- No. Not quite.
The great sword that the monster from the sky plunged into our world, had birthed a new landscape in the place that was once Silithus. Opportunities spawned with it and a new ore.

The Pandaran’s answers were cryptic beyond the usual wisdom speak their kind are famous for and I remember snarling at him about secrets costing warriors more than just a few scrapes. As he alluded to the fact this new ore was sought after by the Alliance and that it was somehow dangerous.
I think my frustrated curiosity got the better of me. He left moodily.

But I had still so many more questions.
The only answer I could gather and make any sense of was, that this was not a war mission in the truest sense but it was a job. Defend the Horde miners as they gather this new ore from anyone who might try and take it from them.

---

I waited for my sister, the night lengthened and I had not drank.
Rykana did not show and instead I remained in the company of the Red Blade.

Though we spoke of many things I became more and more aware of a number of orcs who had not yet seen a real battlefield, yes they had fought but not a battle. Klarous Whitewolf being the greenest of them all was full of questions. He asked about bows and armour, questions usually asked well in advance of any major conflict and it struck me, these were not questions asked often in clan between warriors.
Had he found something of a quiet shame among the Red Blade?
We leave tomorrow, it was too late for most of the things he could do but we tried to help him regardless. Pitching advice against Direfangs armour about places his hunting bow could find its mark on plate clad warriors.
While Rageheart joked with Goretooth about his talent for being bad at dying.

I remember fondly the mention of luck and how all of us would need it and how none of us wanted Goretooth’s share of it.
Direfang reached out to me, with his ‘shamanhand’ he gifted me an invisible measure of luck and I greedily took it.
If this’ll be a real war, with real enemy fighters. I’ll take all the luck I can get.

[Verzan]

Campaign in Silithus
January 29th 2018 - Under the Glow of the Great Sword

Zeppelin travel is a the one hate I tolerate in my life. I tolerate it because I know that if I were to fly my wyvern the distance then I would not be flying on the other side, my beast would be exhausted. I found kindred souls among the Red Blade, they too held a distaste for this sort of travel.

Like a great purple slug the Zeppelin crept through the day and into the night time skies over Kalimdor. Great expanses of territory stretched out below us and then in the distance we saw the first sighting of the sword. So vast we had barely left the Barrens when its features began to become distinct and with each passing mile it grew larger and larger. An eerie red glow at its heart.

As we drifted over Un’goro crater it was clear this would be the largest weapon any of us had ever seen and might ever see again.

---

Arrival was brisk, the Goblins whose Zeppelin the clan had charted were not keen to stick around so close to a contested territory and none of the orcs had any desires of lingering on the air craft. There was barely a farewell before out boots touched down on the fine grey wasteland of Silithus- or at least what remained of it.

You needed no knowledge of rocks and maps to know this place had been forever changed by the terrible events of the Legions demise. The grey waste was aglow with magical energies and ruined blackened ground. I did not envy those who rode on wolves, the landscape would be difficult for all.

I felt like a child nagging to hunt for the first time. Chieftain, Chieftain, Chieftain. I said over and over once we had arrived asking for flight orders. It was the first time that I had felt like I was in a theater of battle where I knew my strengths and knew my duty.
The Red Blade they just hadn’t seen it yet and were hesitant to get us up in the sky apart from their wolf riders. I suppose deep down I understand, after the battle of Bladefist bay wind riders have always seemed so few in numbers.

We made close circles over the heads of the orcs and scouted no further than line of sight on their main group when the shimmer and glow of Sin’Dorei riders caught our attentions.
At first there were a number of Hawkriders scampering below on their haughty swan like bird mounts and then the full procession of golden and red charges. Marching in ranks of three there were so many of them the line drifted back into the distance, it felt like all of Silvermoon was on the move.

I was looking at the glittering elves when the first shot whistled past my wyverns ear, followed by another and then another. The armoured warriors below me were not Horde suddenly.
Alliance soldiers wearing the blue and silver of the Stormwind infantry. I made quick evasive maneuvers and retreated back to the air space over the lines of elves. On turning my wyvern I could do little more than watch as the group of maybe twelve alliance soldiers charged up the hill and right into the bulk of the Red Blades.
I wonder what it was like for them. Ah ha! Orcs they thought to themselves when executing the perfect ambush, I can’t have been the only one caught off guard by their sudden appearance.
And when it changed to oh-no orcs backed up by close to all the elves in the world. As they were cut down rapidly regardless of their heroic (see: foolish) charge.

I hadn’t had chance to fire a weapon yet but there was a healthy atmosphere in camp. So much so the moment the word of an Alliance encampment had spread, a party was assembled a short time later to test the defenders.
It was flag waving at its finest. Horde approach the Alliance camp, plant flags at the closest range they can muster without coming under fire from their marksmen and then casually idling back across wasteland back to base.

If that was the best the Alliance had to muster, then we were in for a very easy Campaign.

[Okiba]

Awesome! I do always love to read a good diary, gives me something to read on watch at sea

keep them coming!

[Verzan]

Campaign in Silithus
January 31st 2018 - I’ve got a Cunning Plan

I’d flown two or three patrols that afternoon, watched battles and been rejected a handful of times in air lifting out wounded Horde warriors. It was not uncommon for a wind rider’s support to be refused, everyone had their favored mender. It was not that part that fostered my discontent but rather a moment where I reported Alliance creeping along the back paths and outcrops along the rear of the Horde encampment to the command and it fell on deaf ears. I could not confront them alone - nobody did.
I stood brushing grey Silithus dirt from the sandy coloured fur of my wyvern when an idea came to me. If we couldn’t make ourselves known by helping others. We’d stake a claim to doing something of our own.

The plan was simple enough, head down into Un’goro crater to collect blue and yellow crystals from there. The gems are abundant and inert. Put them into boxes and label those boxes ‘Azerite’
Many of the warriors currently contesting Silithus hadn’t so much as looked at the stuff yet, so it had a value to it as a distraction. After all our duty here was not to collect the stuff but to hinder the Alliance collecting it.

I ran the idea past Direfang, after all he was a better miner and smith than I’ll ever be and that silly pig he rides could carry four times as many boxes of rocks as my wyvern.
When I asked would the Red Blade come? Direfang answered - yes.

---

I waited at Valor’s Rest.
Ryk said they would come but the wait for the rest of the Red Blade seemed endless, what if they didn’t come? I am just a follower, I'm not their clan. I don’t have worth to them - in those sorts of moment time seems to last forever.
And just as I doubted and myself and my sister thought maybe this was a bust, they came.
Realyn, Klarous Whitewolf, Drakada Direfang, Vragdesh Goretooth, Regnan and Vraxxar Wildmark.

We had to do this at night, we had to do this alone just the clan. It had to be given as much subtlety as we could muster. The small group was perfect and down into the Un’Goro crater we went.

---

It’s odd how cool the night air is and you can hear distant battle and mining as a never ending hum in the broken landscape that was once Silithus. But in the jungle it disappears. Even the great sword that has pierced through the world isn’t visible for the trees canopy hides it. Nothing changes here in Un’goro crater.

We were quick to start filling boxes of yellow crystals, Vraxxar pushed a small cluster into his pockets but it was Klarous who spotted a winning seam of crystals first. As expected Un’Goro in its primal state was not safe, just as we began to mine the crystal we stirred up some sort of plant creature.
A pink petaled lasher snapper. It had needle like teeth as thick as my fingers and pushed vines through the undergrowth to grab us. The Red Blade are seemingly more nimble than the plant and it didn’t snare anyone instead we discovered Regnan’s abilities in destroying plants. She is a beast.
She wasn’t the only one to hit the plant beast but she certainly knew where and when to strike at it, sending the thing retreating into the darkness of the jungle chased by threats of ultimate doom that echoed far and wide around us.   

I did not fight the plant, instead I perched on my wyvern supervising the mining. I thought the vein of crystals would never end, Whitewolf and Direfang hauled out nine crates of the yellow crystal while the plant attacked us. But we still needed more, for this to work we would need a hint of blue crystal too. Azerite is both yellow and blue you see.

---

Of course we found it by swimming across a shallow lake of fetid jungle water.
Realyn’s fault. She found them. They were not the easiest to dig out of the ground either, for every scrape of earth more of the jungle water swelled up and filled the hole for Direfang.

By now almost everyone was covered in the primal filth of this awful jungle. Mud and swampy water was not part of my plan. It clung to my armour like I had been hosed down with Kodo dung. We were almost done at least but it was not as though on return to camp there was even a pool or pond in all of Silithus we could clean in.

While I pondered stink removal. The wolves grew restless.
Something was not right on the air and they knew it better than we did. The sudden quiet that fell across the jungle. Subtle changes, ripples across the water if only we knew to look. Wildmark spotted them first before the rest of us but it was almost too late. The first I knew was his voice cursing and insisting we had to flee.
The next I knew was the thunderous sound of the Devilsaur that ripped through the night air.
Mounts bolted - Goretooth’s mount exited like its tail was on fire and left the warrior dragged behind, his foot stuck in the saddle. I just remember seeing him disappear into the jungle and dark. My sister too, her wyvern bolted and sky’d it, retreating back to the safety of the nearest camp, Rykana in toe hanging from her safety tether. Others found their wolves retreating back to Silithus.
Leaving the rest of us with limited transport and the thunderous foot stomps of the beast as it approached, quick provisions were made. We had to evacuate our dig site rapidly. Regnan the plant slayer leapt onto the back of my wyvern arms wrapped around me, eyes tightly closed.
Just as we began to pull out, Trolls. No really suddenly there were two trolls.
I did not learn their names but they were right in the path of the Devilsaur we had found. They too wound up on the backs of our mounts as we all fled back to the grey wastes of Silithus. Neither could understand why a ‘warband’ such as ours did not hang around to slay the Devilsaur.
Of course they could not know we weren’t there for hunting and we were very guarded about our purpose, trying to keep the boxes marked ‘Azerite’ concealed from them. The less people knew about the plan, the less chance it had to fall into Alliance hands. For hours Direfang kept one of the trolls engaged in conversation, while the rest of us recovered from the stinking ordeal.
Goretooth especially in his quest to evade death through every possible means of pain and injury had dislocated his shoulder.
I sent Whitewolf as a runner back to camp. We would spend the rest of that evening holding out at Valor’s Rest untill Goretooth was fit to travel once again.

The mission at least was a success.

-Though it turns out, we had been at several points that night cut off entirely by Alliance movements over the wasteland and had they wheeled around to Valor’s Rest we’d have found ourselves in quite a spot of trouble.
It was Chieftain Feraleye who scolded me about this, because I sent a lone runner back and something bad could have happened to him.

[Okiba]

Awesome, loving these.

May I also recommend you post them on the realm forum recruitment thread? The extra thread bumps are great publicity for the guild, especially from what is proving to be such a great diary <3

[Verzan]

Campaign in Silithus
February 1st 2018 - An Actual Battle?

It was just another patrol. The Chieftain had moved the clan up to where the Goblins had been mining, Alliance attacks had left a half dozen shredders in ruins and maybe as many workers but that had not calmed their keen to grabby hands more of the Azerite. We were not looking for the Alliance that had caused the explosion, they were long gone. We weren’t especially expecting anyone to be out there.
I had flown maybe three or four times since my wyvern’s last rest and beyond a few elves with death wishes, there had been little to be found out in the wasteland under the sword.

And then I caught sight of them. Must have been maybe seven or eight Alliance soldiers bearing the blue and silver of the Stormwind infantry, same colours as those we had seen charge the Horde lines on our first night in Silithus.
They picked their way on foot over the broken landscape. Crouching and using the broken landscape for cover despite their armour being the worst attempt at subtlety by any creature. I circled high over head and no sooner had we sighted them did me and Ryk start to relay messages back to the clan. But they were so far away…

For a moment it seemed they were getting away and I flew close to fire a flare, to show their position to the clan. As I did a shot was fired from below. Dwarven marksman had put a bullet in the flank of my wyvern. Shiney thing bolted upwards but the damage was done.

There was no time to bring him down to seek out a mender, I could see where they were going. They were sneaking along the ridges to an untouched group of goblin miners. Pulling down to the digsite, I had to warn them.

Landing. Shouting and goblins and then suddenly shouts in common.
I barely got out of there before the stomp of plate armour stormed in. Didn’t get any of the goblins clear nor even the one unfortunate demon hunter who had also been in the camp. As I scarpered, my wyvern injured, I saw a last fleeting glimpse of the elf held at gunpoint by a Worgen.

----

Chieftain Feraleye and the clan ran north, the uneven ground left them with no choice, there was no direct line to charge the Infantry soldiers from where they had originally been positioned. It was one hell of a hike to get the advantage over those Alliance and I did not envy those boots on the ground as they ran full sprint across quite some distance for a battle.
The Infantry had slain every goblin they could catch hold of and captured one demon hunter when the Red Blade charged them. I watched from the air, circled and joined the rear of the charge and it was the last thing the Alliance were expecting. 
Chieftain Feraleye, Drakada Direfang, Vraxxar Wildmark, Klarous Whitewolf, Kardrak Rageheart, Kaigron, myself and my sister Rykana.

We were of equal number almost, except the element of surprize had them scatter like ants. Several were cut down in the initial ambush and for a brief moment we thought we had rescued the demon hunter in the chaos - it was only later discovered we had not.

Much blood was had as the Infantry tore their dogged Alliance boots from the fighting, scrambling up ditches in disarray, crying out and bleeding wounded as we gave chase. This was the sort of fighting that made you glad to have been born an orc, glad to be among a number of like minded fighters and glad you were not those Alliance soldiers.

---

Victory however was short lived and we might have gotten away with the ambush had that one Worgen not fallen back to his camp carrying the prisoner and raised the alarm. The Red Blade were alone and harried the Alliance over broken wasteland to a bottleneck upon a bridge. This was the place it seemed the Infantry had chosen to make their stand and die. We were all too happy to oblige them.
Turns out they were holding. Waiting for support and oh hell did it come.

I’m no coward but when those soldiers got their back up and their ranks swelled to almost three to one against each of the Red Blade, I felt the spring in my heels get stolen. I can remember pointing out their number to the Chieftain as though maybe he could only see one or two of them under the wolf mask when he had clearly seen them all. I stepped back, instinct carrying me to range while my heart said there was no leaving this place without the others. Least of all Rykana.
My sister did the same. Sometimes I swear she’s in my head.

Fight came to us and there was no more talking about it. Just hard fighting, no battle wit, nothing but a cold sort of quiet filled with a will to live beyond the next few moments. We held on and on but were pushed back. I saw Wildmark fall under the blade of one heavy fighter only to crawl his way out of their line and under the guard of Direfang.
For all the ground we’d made chasing these soldiers, they were buying it back from us with their sheer weight of numbers now. Every step backwards was forced.
I fight with a bow, though my armours heavy enough to stand front line, where plates of steel might be they are missing so we are lighter when riding and fighting in the saddle. I wanted that armour now. I wanted it so much. We were near constantly scampering across the grey waste. Fire a shot. Move. Fire a shot. I didn’t like it.
I didn’t like looking up and searching for the other Red Blade orcs as much as enemy targets and while seeking out my allies and embroiled thickly in the fighting I had missed something important-
Chieftain Feraleye had shot a flare. The sort our own camp might notice and respond to.
Suddenly we were not alone!

---
They came from nowhere and in numbers. Just as we were starting to run out of options wolf riders appeared and hurled themselves at the Alliance. A Tauren woman darted up to the clan introduced herself and began mending as though she knew us all and had always been there.
The Horde had come. Warlord Bearmaul with just about half the camp it seemed.
And once again the Alliance fell back away from us. Taking up position at the height of a ridge and across yet another bridge. Below which glittered the yellow blue hue of Azerite from a steep sided ditch.

Then came what I can only describe as a stand off.
We stood peering at each other for what could have been forever. I think there are actually places in the world where they have no actual fight but the Alliance and Horde are so close, Grunts throw cups of piss at the enemy. I’ve heard the older orcs talk about the old Hillsbrad stand-offs, though less about the cups of piss.

Chieftain spoke to the Warlord, the Warlord spoke to the Chieftain.
That Tauren lady she stayed with us and it seemed that Feraleye had a plan, beyond the ridge there was a second bridge, the Horde…. No. The Red Blade would take the second bridge and everyone else the main bridge. We’d split the Alliance forces.

And we did!
Except me and my sister were sent to aid the main bridge our shots still found their mark when it looked like Kardrak Rageheart was wearing too many Alliance soldiers like a scarf.
Much battle was had and it was good fighting. I didn’t count arrows, I just shot enemies as the Horde pushed together to take the bridge.

Nothing lasts forever they say - The thundering of hooves from the north. A second wave of Alliance reinforcements, bearing the Covenant of Lorderon’s standard. The Horde fell back from the bridge a second time and re grouped together upon the ridge we had previously left.

----

There was not a moment to catch your breath before we charge them once again.
The Red Blade on the flank as the Cavalry, quick and with fresh fighters swept around. They had not seen us together regrouping slightly apart from the Horde. Their mistake. Hell did they know we were there on that charge as the Red Blade hit those riders.
I remember catching one Alliance soldier with an arrow that clattered off his helm but unseated him, he fell into the grey wasteland dirt and rolled before trying to pick himself back up, Horse having long left him for dead.

Once again we found ourselves in the thick of the fighting as if this moment was what everything had been building towards and it was make or break. It was us who broke first though - I say us. It wasn’t the clan, the Red Blade fought hard and violently against those fresh soldiers as if the Red Blade too were fresh and had not been there from the birth of this battle.
Something changed that I had failed to notice. So embroiled in all this violence in a quiet little place where bows and arrows are death to all who stand in front of me and my sister. The Horde were once again on the back foot and none of us knew why. Drakada Direfang shouted and snapped me back from whatever place I had been, he was pulling back and towering taller than most of us he was a good sign of where the frontline was, or in this case where it wasn’t.
Most of the Horde had left us, scrambling back to their ridge for safety.
By the time the Red Blade were withdrawing, orders to fall back could no longer be heard. Orc bodies brushed shoulders with Alliance surging forward past us. I was running full tilt close behind my sister. I remember leaping over the body of one fallen Night elf before another still very alive one turned around to notice me with her knives.
My bow parried past her and that wasn’t the hard part. It was keeping up, not getting tied into a fight, part of me wanted to stay and fight her. Another part of me could see the ditch the Horde had scrambled over, lots of us there meant there were few where I was.
Direfang was just a few paces to my left like a great metal giant, he was in less trouble than we were and he was covered in Alliance fighters. I felt this awful sinking sensation of being caught in a tightening snare. I wanted to be elsewhere. Anywhere else then where I was - surrounded by swords.
Didn’t take long for one of them to properly find me.

--

I came to my senses under the arm of Direfang. I don’t know how he’d done it but the plate clad giant had hauled both myself and my sister out of that place. I had a deep slash gouged into my upper thigh and I could barely stand. Rykana was already bandaging herself up, I wanted to cry. It hurt so bad.
We were not out of the fighting yet. I needed to patch it up and forced my hands to put the bandage around the wound even as it turned my stomach and made me feel sick.

I don’t much remember the rest of the fighting. My leg hurt and I had lost my taste for the fighting, whatever near miss had just happened was too close.

We couldn’t have left for our home base too soon.
Fortunately we did, all Red Blades being accounted for and alive.

[Verzan]

Campaign in Silithus
February 2nd 2018 - Conflicted Orders

I wonder if there are some members of the Horde whose sole purpose it is to get themselves captured and whether or not we should just let natural selection take its place. When one or two lone elves exit the camp in the middle of the night, expecting for a jolly tour of the wilderness and suddenly find themselves imperiled.

Tonight all I could think of was this notion. Certainly there are unfortunates who are dragged from our lines or fall on the withdraw who maybe got unlucky but several times during the excursion tonight when a prisoner exchange was meant to be happening and the murky task was taking moments of my life I would not get back. I thought to myself, some of these elves left camp to die. It was the only logic I could come to as to why there were out there.

I confess to knowing nothing of why they are out and what misfortune saw them in alliance clutches but as I peered down from my saddle, dangerously circling above the Alliance camp in their air space. I saw those captives warming themselves by a fire in the company of their guards. They were not lashed to a post being poked with prongs or pecked by Gryphons. They appeared -comfey- and I honestly wanted nothing more than the giant sword to fall on them. Just them. The Alliance we could handle later.

The sword has not fallen on them, nor will it. I suppose they got lucky this time.

Instead I flew back and forth from the main Horde prisoner exchange convoy three times, risking life and wyvern over a fortified Alliance camp. The only reassurance I had was that it was so ramshackle, they did not have anything ‘serious’ with regards to anti-air.

Tagar Bearmaul was the Warlord of this campaign. I say was because it rapidly became clear on this occasion that he was no longer in control. In one hand, he turns to me and requests I stay on the ground and then in another, an elf who had been dispatching scouts and rogues and just about everyone sent me back into the sky to scout.

Conflicted orders. Left me in no doubt about how much control was being exerted here.
I was having a pretty awful night and Rykana had somehow managed to dodge it by patrolling a different area of sky.

[Verzan]

Campaign in Silithus
February 5th 2018 - Campaign End

‘It’s not just about Azerite, we have members of the Horde to protect’ Snorted the Tauren as she looked to Drakada Direfang with scorn.
‘This was never about the Azerite’ Verzan growled back.

For all I’ve fought and the places I have brought war to I don’t know how to write about a battle. I could talk of shots fired in the final breaths of this campaign that has consumed our waking moments as darkly as our dreams. I could write a moment by moment recap, soulless by the nature of what it is. There are some visions of things that will not fade so easily in the coming passage of time.

My expectation for there to be actual conflict was not high. Reports in camp had suggested that great numbers of warriors had already left from both sides, I saw none of Division Twenty three nor the vast numbers of golden Blood elf chargers that had greeted us when we first arrived. A Tauren brave sat by a fire with me, speaking of his concerns for our low numbers and curious to know if I would fight with them.
I couldn’t answer. I know I am a follower but only a night ago I was writing about battlefield tourists and lone travelers out there in the wastes under the blade. I came here with the Red Blade and it would be with them I would fight and none other. That is, if they chose to fight.

As if on cue familiar faces from the clan began to show around the warmth of a fire, the Tauren had left. There was the suggestion we offer up our ‘cunning plan’ to the Warlord to use for the coming fight. I pitched the idea toward Ironclaw and you know he liked it. He liked it enough to approach the Warlord of the campaign with me to convince him to use our plan and commit the Red Blade into aiding their attack force.
Though the numbers were appreciated, the cunning plan was not adopted. Instead some shouty Tauren woman’s fall back plan was adopted instead. I might not have been dismayed at having my suggestion snubbed but for her sharp remarks to the Red Blade and then submissive behavior as though there was a shame in her victory. As Ironclaw corrected her, both plans had their merits and both had the same very likely chance of success.

---

The patrol route we took was lazy. Though the Red Blade listened to our reports, I was no longer certain of the commanders abilities nor whether he actually wanted the information we gifted him. On this occasion our sluggish stroll through the skies over the Alliance camp gave no actionable information.
And maybe truth told it was the first time all Campaign our information reporting was shabby, we’d missed something and it was not until it was too late did that become terribly obvious.

Instead we joined the battle, no more scouting to be had, the Horde force as predicted vastly outnumbered the Alliance just as we had been told and at first we held them. Our eyes had failed to notice a second force of the Stormwind Infantry blue concealed among the grey rocks.
Suddenly they outnumbered us and with a weight of numbers quite unlike any we had faced before now. They caused a withdraw to be bellowed. None hesitated. The Horde group scrambled over the ditches, hounded by the blue tabards and clean metal armour of the Alliance warriors. Through it all I felt something not felt for many moons. I felt part of a pack, like something beyond me was looking out for me and my sister. Arrows fell short and swords were kept at bay by Red Blade shields or the deft sword work of warriors far more skilled than myself.
We’ve been alone so long I felt drawn to this feeling, like a moth to fire.

---

Counting arrows on the hill with Realyn and Klarous Whitewolf. Knowing as each advance of the Alliance pressed our lines back every shot had to count and that a tipped quiver in the event of having to evade an attacker would be disaster.

I remember catching sight of that dwarf, the sharp shooter who had put a bullet into my wyverns hind a few nights ago. He was in the front line and shouldering my bow I screeched out a battle call of my own in honour of Shiney Thing my wyvern, darted under the back swing of Kardrak Ragehearts blades and punched my boot knife into his shoulder. A retaliating bash in the nose from a shield left me bloody nosed but it was worth it. It’s not a battle unless you’ve bled a little bit of your own blood and I got the bastard!

I try to sleep and can see the swords.

They hold me awake and will likely do so for the rest of the night, if I am lucky it will be the only night I feel this, but I am not lucky. I still see as our lines crumple and the Alliance taking advantage of the weak flanks, only able to watch the coming charge, we shot arrow after arrow into them as they came but there were just too many. Supported by the void elves and their magical spell casters. Hurts when magic hits you. That weird burst across the mail links of your armour, no matter how you parried or dodged back always strikes true leaving the metal ringing oddly and warm to the touch.
Some sent monsters after the Pariah.
My sister jabbed verbally at him even as she defended him, the old warlock having enough cunning about him to fend off the demons conjured by the traitor void elves and their allies but no, we wouldn’t leave him to die, not by their hands. How else would we let him know how disapproving we were of his poor life choices, if we let them kill him?
I dislike everything he has done but I felt thankful in a way he was the target of the cruel magics they flung around and not us. He looked like he could handle it.
He was not alone in catch our battle wit, healthy amounts were exchanged regarding one gnomes intent on taking Vraxxar Wildhearts kidneys and the strange facial furniture of the void elves certainly caught my eye. But we were losing with every moment and step backwards.

It is odd. I like those moments, yes, they will keep me awake and just when I seem to drift to sleep a reflexive twitch in my bandaged leg with snap me back to my senses expecting to be in the moment again, but I won’t be.

That shout for us to withdraw back to the mage portals.
The charge of Stormwind infantry from the right flank that followed, a flow of blue that steamed into us archers and if I thought I had been punched by a shield the first time, I certainly clocked a winner as I fell back, dragged in part by Rykana from the dirt before a sword found my dazed face.
I was torn. Survival is important but what is survival without the rest of the pack? A very frostwolf moment of pragmatism vs ‘get in the bloody portal Verzan’ shouted by my sister as I desperately gazed back through the scrum of withdrawing Horde trying to pick out members of the Red Blade. To be sure they had pulled themselves free of the melee before it was too late, those mage portals don’t last forever.

[Verzan]

Campaign in Silithus - Bonus Extra
February 5th 2018 - A moment of the Chieftains time

I asked him in Silithus for a moment of his time walking back to the Horde encampment.
I just never said which moment - this one, tonight was so right.

‘You know this was the same place, they made us Wolfsworn’ Rykana added when it was over.

I looked to the skies over Razor Hill, the cool night of Durotar, and absently without thought the words ‘It is good to be home’ escaped my lips. Course I was quickly corrected by Rykana ‘This isn’t home Verzan. Not enough snow for real home’
We walked into that tavern, blood from battle upon our armour. Some of it our own, some of it someone else's. Looked around and saw something different to other nights we had been in there. The Campaign was over and orcs of the Red Blade scattered themselves over the beds and bunks. They sat on the hide floor coverings and by tables. Some held mugs of ale others simply stood and absorbed the atmosphere of the tavern. The moment of battle had passed and what could have been was behind us all.
I got the boot in on that dwarf that shot at me but my quiver was far from empty. I felt content and warmed by the place I had found myself.

We approached the table at the middle of the tavern and looked to Chieftain Kozgugore Feraleye, he was removing heavy lumps of mail armour draped in animal furs and the same battle blood most of us were covered in. It struck me how small he was compared to some of the others, Direfang and Beastbane but that it didn’t seem to matter to him.

I got nervous. Like a pup who’d never strung a bow before.
‘Chieftain…?’ I asked and then suddenly got all shuffly footed and shy, couldn’t even look at the orc in the eye. ‘Take your time’ he said. There was no disdain for my lack of words.
Rykana elbowed me. I’d always found speaking to Chieftains difficult, a few too many bad experiences in the past. Usually my gaze was low and I made it as brief as I could.

This was different and I looked at him and I could find words. I will remember them always.
‘Chieftain Feraleye, Wolfking of the Red Blade clan, with respect… would you have us ride with you?’
‘Properly. We mean. Not just tagging along’ added Rykana.
‘As clan’
He stood regarded the pair of us, twitching all nervous and such. Then spoke.
‘Verzan Skywise and Rykana Skyiwse’ he said our full name, not Sky sisters or anything like, we were each a person. ‘You have both proven yourself time and again in our presence and have shown great aid to our cause thus far. I would be honoured if you did’

‘I saw everything we once were under that evil sword, and everything I wanted to be too… they are not the same’ I answered.
‘To fight with trusted kin at your side is a feeling not easily forgotten...your clan showed that strength and kinship. We would be honoured to stable our wings with your people’ Rykana added.

---
I felt a lump in my throat forming, it made words difficult. My heart pounded and I couldn’t make the smile on my face go away. I must have looked like that Alliance shield that bashed me had caused more than a bloody nose. Demented or something.
‘Honoured’ No Chieftain had ever said those words to either of us. Despite all the battles we had ever fought for them before now. As much as I thought I was not prepared to hear those words - what came next will warm me in the darkest hour.

The Chieftain was of a mind to promote us to a title among their clan, to pass over the trials of the newest recruits and set us on the path of our choosing. It was a privilege but it was one both of us knew we had to decline.
To ride with a clan is no quick choice and when you choose, you do it proper.

So many spoke on our behalf in that room. Rageheart spoke of the Quillboar we had slain together. Beastbane, the wise orc who had explained to us that the Red Blade were no cult spoke of the first night we saw many of the faces in the tavern now, when we saved the spirit wolves Akashock and the others from their tormentors.
While others mentioned our deeds in the course of the campaign.

Yeah. They were great achievements but no warrior fights alone. It is a shame my mouth is not so articulate as my quill. I seem to recall boasting about how the Quillboar did not count, it was held down for me and encouraged everyone to speak more of our deeds.
Sometimes Ryk is right, my head needs dipping in the sea to cool off.


‘For the clan, for Victory’ we toasted.
And I had not felt better is many days.

[Verzan]

February 9th 2018 - Campfires with the Shatterskull

‘Curious Question…’ I said to Krout ‘How did your brother get that wyvern pelt hood of his?’
‘It is not what it seems’ his brother answered ‘I did not kill it, the beast it saved my life but was killed’ It was all I needed to know.

Rykana is away again, something is troubling her. I thought it was the town’s and city’s again, she’s always hated those. As I turned to ride away back into the company of the clan once more, I pondered like I am now when I write this. What is wrong with my sister? This is not about the town.

Tonight the Red Blade gathered under the skies of Durotar and like orcs of older times, we sat and talked by a large fires side. There was no pressing battle or looming doom. Just orcs by a fire talking about hunting and fighting. In my case the conversation was leaning toward fighting. I asked the question - If you had to be punched by someone, but you got a say in the matter who would you choose in clan to be punched by? And of course not the Chieftain.

I seem to remember picking Kardrak Rageheart as mine, the orc tore the head from a Raptor and wields those two big swords like precision cleavers, part of me wonders if he can actually throw his fists about? Part of me is asking why this is something I need to know. When did I care so much about fighting?

---

The question echoed around the campfire for some time until strangers approached the fire.
But they were not strangers, they were the Shatterskull… tribe?
To the Red Blade these orcs led by a troll Chieftain Hikka were allies and were welcomed around the fire, though they clearly recognised few faces gathered there. I clutched my bow peering at this strange Darkspear woman who called herself Chieftain and led orcs. She wore a tribal mask, I think it was the mask that put me on edge more than the title and the following. As soon as it was removed, long white tufts of snow white hair puffed out and bounced up to try and reach the sky. I saw her face.
Slowly everyone settled in around the warmth of the campfire. Introductions were made and the chatter lifted up again. I think we were tormenting Goretooth again about his ability to not die. It never grows old.

For a time it seemed only those who knew the Shatterskull would speak with them. I listened and learnt that they had suffered some terrible internal struggle, something to do with traitor elves among their ranks. It had been sorted, there were no more elves among their banner.
Kroat the Rallier was the orc in heavy armour that stood next to the Chieftain. Insignia of a Centurion pinned to his jerkin proudly, a proud warrior and second in command. His brother, Mokthas stepped in behind him but was clearly of lower importance. He wore a cloak made from wyvern hide and kept a Hyena as company. The third was a soft coat of some kind who I paid little attention to.

Someone asked for a story to be told. They wanted Kroat to speak but he was more than reluctant. I stepped up, feels like my version of fiction is enjoyed. Can’t say it’s real story telling, I mostly go with the suggestions people make and weave it into some incredible tapestry of silliness to keep cold grunts around a campfire warm when there isn’t enough ale for them to consume.
Tonights story was no different and I can’t say it was my best. I think I tried to tell the story of the Shatterskull and the traitor elves and they just didn’t get it. I mean the traitor elves weakness was drowning and being wet. I mentioned the wonders of hair magic and the conclusion was mostly that the traitor elves were kicked into the sea. Ah well… some of the people we meet, they will just never understand art.

---

When everyone of any rank seemed to have retired the subject of fighting rapidly came up. Wasn’t anything serious, just fists and a bit of brawling. Dekuul Boarfarmer and Mokthas, the brother of the Chieftain’s second. Kroat.
There were no kind words for Mokthas’s fighting ability and for a brief moment I felt I were back watching brawls with another clan. ‘He is the weakest of our fighters’ seemed an odd thing to say before another clan, before a brawl. Dekuul certainly seemed confident about fighting and he had at least some of our support.
Direfang was not amused. Not a fan it seems of having to mend orcs for infighting.
It wasn’t my sort of brawl even if the two orcs wrestling made the happy punch sound of fists meeting flesh. Dekuul attempted some sort of leaping kick but had all of the targeting prowess of a blind kodo, he missed and Mokthas capitalized upon the miss. Pounding the side of Dekuuls face like it were a lump of lean meat.

Dekuul lost the brawl.

---

My evening ended with a drawing of a place known as Hellfire Peninsula in my hands. I’d seen it before but this was a drawing by Zouyo the Pandaran who travels with the clan. The detail was immaculate and very well scribed, you could trace your fingers over the cracked ground sketched in the scroll and almost be mistaken for thinking it was the Blasted Lands.

We are not from that world. Me and my sister were born here in Azeroth. It was our father’s world and his before him. A world without wyverns in the skies, I can’t look at it and feel like it is some lost home. It isn’t mine.

But the lure of its skies are real enough. I’ve heard stories from the Flight masters of how the skies of the world boiled away and the tricks of the stars make wyverns fly without wind. A place where up and down do not apply.

I want to fly there one day.

[Verzan]

Kosh’harg
March 12th 2018 - Garadar

Been almost a two weeks since I last saw or sniffed a wolf hat or orc from the red blade. Starting to wonder if they’ve actually said they were coming to this place for the Kosh’harg in order to ride off without us.
Have to remind myself they are not like that.

It’s been two weeks but it has not been uneventful. We’ve never flown Outlands skies before, in the absence of the clan we’ve been exploring. There is a huge forest of mushroom’s north of Nagrand just like in the other place except more vast, it covers all of the distance that was a great lake in the other world. The wyverns seem to shy and buck if we start to head beyond into the jagged cliffs and spines they call Blades Edge Mountains.
It was much the same when we drifted close to the tangles of thorns on the edges of Hellfire. They seem to know instinctively where the bad places to be are. Well almost.

The edge of the world is different, worlds aren’t supposed to have edges like this but there is one. It is unsettling when you aren’t overwhelmed by the first moments experience of it. There is a sadness and then a curiosity at what might lie out there, I don’t see an ending when I look that way. I see stars and things. I wonder what is out there?
Imagine if Frostfire had just drifted away? Like an oasis in the storm.
Its not the end but the elders in the camp seem to have long given up on any such dreams as though they knew orcs who had flown that way and never returned.

---

Then late that night came the mischief.
We were speaking with the Chieftain. It had been so long since we had seen anyone else from the clan it was just nice to exchange words with them, anyone. Even if the shaman were not saying much…
Well almost, Razaron Madeye slinked his way upto us. He spoke of another shaman across the fire who had interrupted the clan’s meeting in some rude fashion and had caused offense. In a rather public way he mentioned how it would be unfortunate if that same shaman suddenly found themselves covered in fruit.

He really only had to mention covering the shaman in fruit once really. We were in. It was mission go from that moment onwards. Operation : Fruiten-their-world began in earnest. As the Chieftain and his posse of shaman headed away from us and we went on an ‘extra special patrol’

Whenever I travel I bring Cactus apples and though its been two weeks in this other world, I still had about half a bucket of them left. They were a bit soft and I had mostly depinned them at that point. Which was unfortunate, from the sounds of things that shaman could use a few prickles in the forehead but I suppose they wouldn’t have killed anyone if they hit them in this state.
The drive by went off without a hitch - mostly. It was circle twice. Acquire target, dump cargo and retreat. I’m sure actual bombing runs are so simple.

That shaman was spitting wasps!!! She was so mad. Couldn’t help but chuckle as she chucked water spells at Madeye and stomped around shouting at any Red Blade she could find. While all the time we hid on one of these floating islands, like hell we were coming down for the rest of that night.
Oh and we might have got that warlock Resh’tul and another robed caster too that just happened to be stood next to her. Not sorry. Would fruiten-their-world again.

[Verzan]

March 13th 2018 - Angry lady is the what…!?

We were still on high alert when we came back into camp from exercise with the wyverns, angry shaman woman would still be in camp right? And spitting wasps. Oh but it was much worse, we get back into camp just in time for the opening ceremony of the Kosh’harg, like we had pretty much planned to.
When a familiar surly female voice announces for everyone to still gather. It was the angry shaman woman. She just happened to be one of the elders leading the ceremonies of the Kosh’harg….. Ahhhhhh!

We covered her in fruit! Ahhhhh!
Of course the Chieftain seemed mildly entertained if anything and had left us a note to report to her if it really mattered but we weren’t going to be going near her any time soon. In fact it was safer to stay in our saddle and keep well out of the way. He was of course right, the moment the festival began, the elder had other things to worry about than scolding two pups who covered her in fruit.
That did not stop us being on edge for the rest of the night.

March 13th 2018 - Later that Night

I haven’t touched a drop of drink and I’ve pocketed cake and dried plain strider for later, being on edge with this shaman is very unfun. Everyone else at the festival was pretty deep into their cups. We passed by the fire and found Direfang and Madeye. Although Madeye was flat on his back passed out from whatever booze he had found from the festival too.

So we stacked baskets on him. It was the only logical thing to do.
When a shaman passes out, to prove he is not dead cover him in baskets.

[Verzan]

March 14th 2018 - Old and New Challenges

‘I fly the skies that matter’ said Sergeant Zeep
‘No, you fly the only skies you can see’ Answered Verzan walking away in retreat.

I ran away. I actually ran away. In other times and other nights, a scuffle might have kicked up or I might have rose to the challenge but not tonight. Tonight I withdrew and fled. I didn’t have my sister with me but I had the clan and still I stood there somewhat alone.
That other wind rider called me on my oath broken and he was right. I’ve been away from the Skyways and the city for so long I forgot what we did back during the Rebellion.
Maybe I wanted to forget.

The term Oathbreaker, I’ve not heard it for so long but it is not unknown to me. Scars on my chin tell a story of one clan, the memory of Alterac another but they aren’t the only ones.
There was the choice. Keep your honour and maybe save the people we saved or stand with the Warchief knowing you followed his word no matter how wrong it was, keeping your oath. I know what I chose but on fresh nights like this one now, by the fire of a new Kosh’harg when another rider of all things brings that horrible memory back, there isn’t a fight just a small misery refreshed once again like an open wound.

I was down in misery land on my own mostly but for my wyvern. He lapped at a bucket of fresh water I had brought for him while I was keeping away from the bustle and crowds of the main fire. It was a safe retreat and that was where my sister found me.
Rykana never had any regrets about what we chose to do back then and when she found me and my mood, she may as well have put my head in the bucket my wyvern was lapping at when I asked her ‘Am I an Oathbreaker’ like I didn’t know the answer already.
It would have made my evening no worse to have my face in a bucket but at least but she understood what I meant. ‘Technically yes, but you still have your honour Verzan’ Rykana would answer me - it wasn’t what I wanted to hear.

---

Then came the spark of an idea. I don’t know where it came from. I was down in the depths of being gloomy when one of us said it. ‘Get back in the saddle Skywise’ My father’s words for when he was low. Spoken as though he were watching the pair of us.
But how? That is when the idea grew.

We’re still not Red Blade yet. We might ride with them but we’ve not oathed yet, just clan followers by another name. Oaths were hanging heavy on my mind. So many broken for honours sake, was doing the right thing worth more than words?
Let the past die. If we were going to do this properly we’d have one last clan and we’d do it right. We still needed a tutor as New Bloods and that is where the idea came from. Mad idea that it was. You only ever get one chance at this, one moment in memory. So best shine bright and be the best you can.
If we’re going to be Red Blade, our last clan, why not get the Chieftain Kozgugore Feraleye to tutor us.

I had no idea if he would accept, I can think of other times where the idea would just have been laughed off as two young orcs having a joke. With each step toward that camp fire we took, it became more and more real. ‘What could possibly go wrong?’ I said to Ryk ‘I mean I can have twice as many awful times around the fire in one night right?’

Then maybe it was fate - When we got to the fire, Feraleye was already answering questions to another new blood ‘Khragna’ about tutors and they were not sure who they could ask, we had to be sure too so joined in the conversation ‘Can we ask anyone?’ we asked the Chieftain
And he answered ‘Yes, anyone who is of higher rank than you and oathed into the clan’

‘Anyone? Chieftain?’ I said.
‘Chieftain? Anyone?’ Said Rykana.

‘Yes. Am I slurring from being too deep in my cups or something’ he answered ‘Anyone’

‘Then Chieftain, as new blood of the clan, I challenge you to be my tutor’ I asked.
‘Chieftain, would you do me the honor of also being my tutor. After all you did say we could ask anyone’ said Rykana

‘Wait, both of you?’
‘Yes Chieftain’ we answered in that strange unity that we often find.

‘Well normally I am the one to challenge you but on this occasion with both of you, you’re right...this is a challenge’

Then came a pause that seemed like forever. As the Chieftain deliberated on our challenge, peering toward us in the fires light from under the brown snout of his wolf mask. ‘By all the dead. I am going to regret this. But it has been a dog’s life since anyone has bothered asking me. So….’

He called for the clans attention and announced that unlike Trakmar Beastbane, he would pledge that we would come back alive from our training and that it would not be easy. And then promptly went about setting us our task.

We had to find three stories from the orcs of the clan. And one...no wait. Two of our own because I couldn’t stop talking by the fires side. Having discovered that Kargnar Bloodpaw was the last orc the Chieftain had tutored and he had to headbutt an Ogron to death.

[Kozgugore]

Great to see these keep on coming! And hey, Koz cameo! Always a nice addition. I look forward to seeing what the Skywise sisters will come up with for a story!