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Nightfall [Open RP]
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Silver was the color of her people. It was the color of their eyes, the color of their spears and arrows, the color of the stars, and the color of their goddess. Silver was sacred, it marked the presence of Elune and her champions. Beautiful, radiant, and powerful, the daughters of Elune, the Kaldorei had maintained an empire for thousands of years. For thousands of years, they walked one with nature, dragons, and the elder things of the world.
But, slowly, but surely, those things passed. And she was not one of those champions. Never would she adorn herself with silver, and never would she claim to be blessed by the goddess. She was no champion… but she was a guardian. For eons she had watched her people, righteous and blameless, suffering for the faults of others. Aliens, degenerates, demons, even heretics stood between them and the rewards that her people had suffered for, for so many thousands of years. And one day she decided it was enough.
One day she decided that if the righteous could not receive what they deserved, then the guilty would give it to them. That was the day she joined the Ravenguard. The order, older even than she, demanded she trade her innocence for service. Gladly she swore, and dove into the waters of the black diamond. When she rose, however, she realized what she had done. Spurned by the goddess, she marched forward. There was no other way.
But that was long ago, and she was not so young now. No leader could be that young. She scanned the chambers, where her guardians worked. They were silent in their tasks. Each one she had hand selected, peerless in skill, and absolute in their devotion. This was the martyr’s path. If she could help it, she would keep her daughters from dying. But the road ahead would be long, and the trials harsh. They would fall, eventually. But with their deaths there was hope for a final peace.
Their deaths, and the deaths of all those who opposed the goddess.
Salutations, hellos, and other forms of greetings. Set just after SoO, Nightfall will be an intensely DM’ed RP with three acts. The Ravenguard, an elite, covert group of Night Elven shadow priestess who channel the shadow of the moon are reaching out to cripple and destroy the nations of the other peoples of Azeroth. Unsanctioned, they are not more than a rumor in Night Elven society and draw from the greatest warriors, craftsman. Their influence has infiltrated all major governments to a given degree, and are beginning to enact their plan to restore the Kaldorei to power.
The Ravenguard are not explicitly like other shadow priests. Namely, they are not telekinetic, nor telepathic, and do not directly interact with the minds or matter of other individuals. However, the Ravenguard have other tools, such as noise or presence dampening presence, the ability to disperse light, and rapid, instantaneous short range teleportation(blinking). Their abilities are not limited to such tools, but all Ravenguard, even the most physically minded are capable of such things. They are incredibly well armed, drawing only the best armaments, such as bows and spears. They have also developed a distinct set of silent, light-plate which is oft dispersed among their number. While their numbers are exceptionally few, few organizations, if any, could contest their lethality on an individual basis. They tend to work in small groups of five or more.
Players are quite welcome to join the Ravenguard, but must check by me first. If wanting to contact me, either use the Q&A thread, my email at firstname.lastname@example.org, or my Steam account, Tyrannus0.
ACT ONE: Light of the midday sun.
A. Incite the house of nobles into infighting.
B. Harass outlying towns and expansion zones to prevent colonization.
A. Instigate raids from lesser races, centaur in particular.
B. Sabotage expansion zones.
A. Gain documentation of Forsaken War Crimes
B. Gain documentation of Forsaken treachery.
C. Discourage relations with other horde members.
D. Locate Koltira Deathweaver.
A. Restart the war of three hammers.
B. Incite major trogg invasion.
C. Sabotage gnomeregan repair efforts.
A. Repair the exodar, and excise the Draenei from the planet.
A. Entreat dragonflights to return the guardianship of nature to the Kaldorei.
B. Sabotage the arguments of the other races.
A. Gather the ancients and great animal spirits and gain their aid.
B. Restore the blessing upon the world tree.
A. Search or create powerful artifacts for the night elven army to use.
B. Search the Wailing Caverns for a way to use the growth magic safely.
C. Research the fall of Voldrassil.
Silently, she strode among the dead and gnarled trees of Duskwood. The land had long since been gnarled and rotted by some unknown plague yet there was still life. The night elf paid it little heed and trotted forth, following the great webs of some equally great being. One that she knew was watching her.
Araleth slowed to a stop and scanned the dead kingdom. As she waited for her group to gather, as they had infiltrated Lordaeron separately, it was time for them to meet once more, and plan. She wore the muted, purplish armor of the Ravenguard, most of her features hidden behind a cloak of black feathers.
Massive pointed legs pressed silently against the webs, lifting them slightly off the ground, like walking over pillows. For a moment, the eight legs remained still, sensing vibrations throughout the webbing, feeling movement.
Then they moved again, their huge segmented body floating through the air quietly.
The Ravenguard stood tall and waited for the entity to present itself.
From the shadows, a figure emerged. The woman was quite tall; her legs not visible in the darkness. She was wearing a skin-tight black covering that rose to her chest, cutting off and only added to by equally skin-tight black gloves that covered just past her elbows.
Two red eyes gazed downwards through the darkness, four red jewels adorning her hair. "What business heave you here?" She asked in a raspy voice; her syllables seeming to echo and hiss with a clicking of her tongue.
"Arana, daughter of the great spider spirit," the Ravenguard called, "you are called to aid the kaldorei."
: Deeprun Tram, Bizmo's Brawlpub
It was the unceremonious sound of someone’s face being liberally applied to a metal wall. An uproar took hold of the onlooking crowd, who were either perched on the banisters closest to the arena or safely huddled by the bar and booths watching live feed of the action. In the center of Bizmo’s Brawlpub, a wild haired, grungy night elf with bloodied knuckles pounded a tauren’s head against the side of the arena for the third time. Carried on the swells of frenzied cheers and adrenaline, her fists rained blow after blow, leaving crimson smears and splatters. A final, decisive punch sent the burly humanoid to the ground with a dislocated face.
The kaldorei planted her foot on her opponent’s head, an added insult to already near fatal injury, and raised her red stained fist to the oppressive air. Much like the ambient lights, the spectators went wild, smashing bottles and screaming zealously. A gold plated, gem encrusted gyrocopter did a lap around the arena before coming to a halt above the concluded brawl.
“Tenderized beef on the house!” the squeaky voice of the pub’s diminutive owner crackled over the loudspeakers. “Give it up for the winner, the name you love and keeping throwing money at—Akaine Owlrei!”
Though it seemed impossible, the onlookers became even more hysterical. A human tore his shirt straight from his body and threw himself into the pit, planting on his face a good yard away from the brawling champion. She lowered her arm, and then promptly kicked the tauren in the gut before she absconded the arena through an exit way revealed by a sliding doorway. The shirtless man crawled feebly towards the tunnel’s entrance, but was denied once the metal door slammed closed. In an instant, the cacophony of the crowd was silenced.
Sauntering down the hallway, Akaine ran her pale hand through her unkempt mass of navy hair, leaving streaks of blood from her poorly bandaged hands. Her outfit, a ragged, stained shirt and loosely fitted, torn trousers, was ill suited for a fight and it plainly showed. She was covered in oozing wounds and blotched bruises that she didn’t seem to notice or care about. The tunnel opened up into a small fighter’s lounge and locker room beneath the main pub—a decent area for fighters to prepare for their often lethal matches.
The barkeep, a pandaren as silent as a grave, tossed her a vial filled with red liquid. She lazily uncorked it with her thumb and raised her voice, “Sign me up for another round, will ya? And a quick bite!”
After he nodded, Akaine tipped her head back to take a swig of the potion and closed her eyes to enjoy the moment. Seconds later a shadow fell over her and Akaine cracked an eye open in irritation.
Standing over her was the imposing figure of another night elf.
Akaine jerked upright and stared at the looming woman dressed in sharp, protective dark leathers. Her viridian hair was braided back into two loops, the dim lighting of the room casting an eerie glow across her cerulean skin, and the ugly cybernetics in her left eye clicked sharply as the woman watched Akaine’s sudden alertness. The brawler raised a finger, “…you!”
Akira Moonrest, Spy Mistress General of the Night Raven Corps, sat down across from the brawler champion and snorted, “Yes. Me. At least your blunt intelligence hasn’t affected your ability to recognize faces from less than a decade past.”
“Whatdya want?” Akaine grumbled, finishing off her vulnerary and dropping the vial to the table. She slumped back into her seat and crossed her arms against her chest, not unlike a pouting child. “Trying to kill me or somethin’?”
The pandaren barkeep dropped a plate of meat cuts 'cooked' extra rare. Distracted from the Spy Mistress, Akaine devoted her attention to shoveling the food into her mouth with wanton abandon. Akira sighed, resisting the urge to raise her palm to eyelevel, “If I were trying to kill one of my failject dropouts, I wouldn’t bother waiting until after my bumbling recruits had failed. No, I’m tired of you outrunning those blasted idiots or braining them against walls.”
Akaine yawned tiredly, bits of food falling from her mouth before she pressed her face into a fist. She mumbled something, unintelligible due to the meat she was trying to chew at the same time.
“I need your help finding someone,” Akira answered dully.
“Huh?” the brawler blanked, after swallowing a bloody mouthful.
The Spy Mistress's cybernetic eye whirred menacingly. She leaned in, grabbing Akaine by the collar of her shirt and pulling the brawler into Akira's face and hissing, "Ravenguard."
: Romuel Starfrost, Altari Wrenwell
: Azshara, Ashenvale Border
The Southfury River raged in the trench behind the elven encampment. It had taken years for the Kaldorei to regain a foothold in Azshara after having been driven out by the goblins after the initial Cataclysm--and the elves were fighting tooth and nail to avoid having that embarrassment repeated. A lanky, young elven man paced in front of a command post, frustratedly running his hands through his messy cyan hair.
The airy, lazy voice came from an equally youthful young elven woman, with pale skin and bright red hair that was messily piling on the ground as she stood upside down on her hands.
"Waiting for news from Ashenvale," Romuel explained desperately, halting to cast a look sideways at Altari. He didn't even blink at her position. "We should have received correspondence three days ago, but it still hasn't arrived!"
"Doesn't sound that important," Altari yawned, eventually growing bored of the handstand and flopping onto her stomach. She set her chin on her palms and looked up at the boy. Both of them were wearing matching black leathers, the standard uniform for Night Raven Corpsmen. However, while Romuel's was undecorated and made him about as normal as the average bumpkin running an elven noodle cart, her's was littered with straps of vials containing all matter of dusts and liquids that clattered together ominously.
"With the Spy Mistress missing..." he muttered quietly, trailing off. It hadn't been a week past since the Corps leader disappeared with Teldrassil, only leaving behind an unsurprisingly vulgar letter with assignments and task duties, "... we just need to make sure we're not running her operations into the ground."
"Mhmmm, nothing to do with the love letters you're waiting for?" she pressed. Romuel opened his mouth, sputtered, and flushed red as he returned to pacing in silence.
The trees stood like graves. They were dead, mere husks raising their gnarled fingers into the sky for one more feeble chance at life. Between the barbed branches were strung tapestries of silken threads, weaved together into elaborate webs. Yet even these were thin, flimsy, and small compared to what lay beyond. A spider, the size of a hand, skittered across one of these tiny webs.
A silver bladed knife skewered it to the trunk of a dessicated tree.
The dagger was ripped from the bark by a man with a black cloak, which hung as lifeless as the forest surrounding him. He slipped the weapon back into his sleeve and turned towards the dense thicket of trees, bound together by a canvas of webbing. With his gaunt features, pallid skin, and short, bleached blonde hair he looked as ominous as his surroundings, and his narrowed golden eyes did nothing to soften his image. His dark collar barely obscured the thin knife scar on his neck, where a sigil of the Light also hung at the end of a chain.
Behind him there was the crackle of flame. He looked over his shoulder, to the approach of a willowy woman in a dark dress and a white shawl and hood. Wisps of pale brown hair framed a weary face and stone grey eyes. Her gloved hands held aloft a torch, illuminating the area in a cast of burning light.
"Vance," she murmured, her voice quiet but carried in the eerie silence of the haunted woods, "are you sure about this course?"
"Raven's Hill has whispered long enough about the eight-legged terrors," Vance Weston replied, setting his hand against the pommel of the narrow longsword at his waist. "I did not come to this accursed dark forest to sit on my hands and watch the night terrorize the people."
He pulled the blade from its sheath, the mithril edge radiating with a soft, barely distinguishable glow. With tranquil fury he lashed out, cutting down a web and opening the first steps of a pathway into the darkness ahead.
"Let's go, Miriam," he said.
Vance started forward, mithril sword slicing a tunnel through the maze of infinite webs. Miriam shivered, releasing half her grip on the torch to pull her shawl closer against her. The spiders clicked and hummed, skittering across their homes and traps. She took one step forward, then another, and followed with her beacon of flame after the night hunter.
A massive bent leg reached outwards, and then another; the woman revealing what was hidden within the darkness. He waist spread outwards, the large segmented body of a spider holding her over the ground.
"And what might I owe your kind to help them?" Anara questioned, eying the intruder with a much more suspicious gaze.
Taliria Blindhawk, Blades of Elune
Taliria huffed, panting for a moment and leaning against one of the massive trees of Ashenvale. She glanced back, the small group of armored Elves following her through the winding path they had been following.
Chain armor jingled as she stood straight anew, a small shield slung over her back, a short-sword fashioned to her hip. She was a Blade of Elune; a rather new group of Night Elves who were most comparable to Paladins.
When the offer had come to investigate the Night Raven Corps, Taliria had jumped at the chance to lead the scouting party. Only now had it occurred to her that she might not like what she had found.
Three days without word from the camp. And, more importantly to her, three days without word from Rommuel.
Nodding, she kept moving.
"You owe us nothing," Silvais informed her flatly, "However, our fates are intertwined. Yours, and your sister's."
: Alythera Ætherstar
A night elven lady, dressed in ebon and violet two piece armor. Both metal and cloth, and the desing was clearly made for agility. Two scimitars and a chakram in her waist. And a pony tail with the color of cobwebs hanging down her spine.
Alythera, assassin of the Ravenguard walked from the dark shadow of a long dead tree into the moonlight and became visible for the naked eye. The assassin said nothing and walked next to Silvais. Just to make a impact and disadvice hostility.
"Bold claims from one so small." Arana hissed. She stopped suddenly, turning to the side. Webbing beneath her shook the tiniest amount, and then suddenly went limp.
"It seems all the uninvited guests chose tonight to make their way here..." The demi-goddess glared.
"No more than we must," Silvais stated, not backing away from Arana.
Bren'Corryn strode forth to meet the two intruders, "Now, now, dear sister. We needn't be unkind. I'm certain they have a very important reason to be here..." She let the words play off her lips dramatically, "...and not over
She was perhaps more unnatural looking than her sister, and the voluptuous body of a woman ended in taloned and clawed limbs, coated in a slightly glowing green venom. A magnificent crown of green tinged chitin circled her long, almost quill-like hair. Dressed in unnaturally fine silks that wove around her, the cloth blended seamlessly with a band of chitin around her waist, and the four limbs on her back. It was an odd look that was not certain to be intentional, or natural.
: ?, ?, ?
"Things are happening."
The man in the suit spun around. With a roll of his eyes, he re-positioned his glasses (now knocked askew) back onto his nose. "Things are always happening," he replied, striding forward. "Though I imagine this things are somewhat more important than the others, else you wouldn't have called us here."
"Correct," the first speaker, a robed night elf woman replied. "I felt that these events were large enough to necessitate our intervention."
"You did well in bringing this to my attention," a third speaker said. His voice was rough, hollow and seemed to
. It also had the side effect of making both the others stand stiffly upright and turn towards the door. A third person stood there. Tall, baltd and clad in robes of a priest of the Light, he presented a striking figure when compared to the other two. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, then gestured to one of the chairs. "May I?" he inquired.
"Of course," the man in the suit said. He reached into a cabinet and took out a large bottle of an amber colored liquid, along with three glasses. After they had all taken their seats, the man in the suit leaned forward. "Are the initial reports as bad as they seem?"
The elven woman took a small sip then spoke. "By all accounts, worse. I've barely scratched the surface of what may be going on, and even the surface projects are of a scope never seen before."
"You couldn't go any deeper?" the suited man asked, frustrated.
"Unfortunately, no," she said, shaking her head. "They are of Elune. I am of Ysera. They trusted me- to an extent. A small extent. Everything was on a need-to-know basis, and I didn't need to know 99% of it. The rest I gathered from my contacts."
The man in the suit leaned back, mollified. "Of course, I didn't mean to imply incompetency," he said apologetically. "I've just been somewhat on edge. Things are happening back in Stormwind, and I've been unable to find the cause. If this is the case, it still leaves me powerless to shape them the way I want." His eyes darkened and he took a large quaff of his drink. "You know how much I hate improvising."
"Yet improvise you must," the robed man said, taking a polite sip and setting his glass onto the table next to him. "We must accelerate our plans. If this is what I believe it to be... well, let's just say it's what we've been preparing for."
A long while later, after the others had left, the suited man sat at his writing table. Several pages lay in a neat pile next to him, while another sat in front of him. He scratched busily with a pen, barely pausing for thought.
...which is why I've written in such haste. I beg you to forgive my ramblings and focus upon the intent behind these actions, not the actions themselves. If all goes as I fear, we won't have much time left. I expect a response posthaste.
He checked the letter and, satisfied, put it with the other papers and dropped them into a box marked "out." He swept up a hat and cloak and stepped out into the night.
Behind him, the pages glowed briefly gold, then vanished.
: Akaine Owlrei, Akira Moonrest
: Deeprun Tram, Bizmo's Brawlpub
There wasn't a sound in the room until Akira let go of Akaine and the brawler fell back into her chair.
"I 'unno what you want from me," Akaine replied with a huff. "Ain't got a clue what you're talkin' about."
The Spy Mistress sighed, sitting back down and leaning her chair on its hind legs. She pushed her fingers together and shook her head, "And this is what I was afraid--blasted fel, no, I knew this would happen. You know who I'm looking for but you don't even know who they are," Akira stood from her chair and very nearly didn't resist the urge to throw the uncomfortable metal seat across the room. Her eye clicked angrily.
: Romuel Starfrost, Altari Wrenwell
: Azshara, Ashenvale Border
Romuel seated himself on the ground outside the command post, and next to Altari, who was busying herself crushing ants on her thumb.
"Not to mention, if the correspondence isn't coming through... where is it?" he asked.
"Maybe they just got bored of writing it. Not like anything's going on out here anyway," Altari yawned.
: Vance Weston, Miriam Hastings
"Eggs," Vance spat, as the pair trekked through the spider domain. They were far enough through that webs covered nearly everything aside from the ground, and now the creature's eggs were beginning to crop up. Miriam approached one of the clusters, lowering her torch and setting the nest ablaze, while Vance cut them a route of escape further into the forest.
"They have lead intruders to our domain." Arana commented, glancing at the other woman. "What say you to that?"
Taliria Blindhawk, Blades of Elune
Talia pulled herself over a particularly thick grouping to roots; landing into sunlight as the group crossed into Azshara. She looked back, nodding to the Blades behind her. One Elf raised his hand; a purple glow erupted from it and flashing in the sky as a signal for the night raven camp.
: Romuel Starfrost, Altari Wrenwell
: Azshara, Ashenvale Border
"It's a Blades flare!" a sentry shouted from his post at the encampment's border.
The other Corpsmen stirred from their stations, including Romuel, who was already dashing towards the western edge of the camp. Altari was at his heels.
Taliria Blindhawk, Blades of Elune
Taliria drew her shield and sword a moment, ready for anything.
Until she caught sight of Romuel. With a sigh of relief, she returned her tools. "Rommy!" She shouted.
"Leave them," Bren'Corryn suggested, "They will leave, eventually. They always do."
"Always?" Silvais insisted.
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