Conquest of the Horde

MISSION OBJECTIVE (ALL):



MISSION OBJECTIVE (LIONS/LAMBS):



MISSION OBJECTIVE (GLOVES):



Checkpoint markers begin the new day when a posted paragraph starts with golden bold.











Midnight at Stranglethorn Vale. A large ship, dubbed "The Foul Medicine", was docked not far from the coast, but due to its large size, it cannot touch land. Instead, slavers departed on longboats, rowing to the shore as sentries awaited. Long lines of victims were chained up with silencing runes around the clasps. They were all forced down to their seats as they await for their captors to take them.

Guards kept watch. There are a total of 100 victims, with 50 sentries to keep watch. Because of the large numbers, many of them are planned to be stuffed into the lower decks then forced to endure the crossing of the great sea. The slavers didn't care. Humans, orcs, trolls, elves, dwarves, gnomes, draenei, tauren, even Forsaken and goblins. They just want their laborers. And they will do all they can to get them.

Among the sentries walked two large Forsaken--brother and sister pair, the shadow priest "Peacock" and the warlock "Peahen". They circled their catch, grinning rotting grins as they walked their staffs. They were proud of their work, though their decaying brows furrowed upon catching sight on a few individuals.

Mothers with children. None in this group were any older than their teens, but they were all old enough to be sent to school. The Forsaken grinned. They see new pets to groom.

"Separate them," Peacock states to a sentry. "We want to take care of these little ones."

The mothers screamed and pleaded, cries loud enough to echo through the jungle trees. Neither Forsaken cared for their pleas, however. They just want to train their new little soldiers.

"The longboats will not be coming until another half hour. We must keep watch for any intruders," Peahen reminds her subordinates. She waves at them to look at the direction of the roads in case any wayward wanderer decides to peek out of curiosity. "Keep your eyes peeled. We don't want another incident like at the Arathi Base."




((CHECKPOINT 1: By Midnight of March 21, longboats carrying 50 more sentries will arrive. GO!))

Krets ears twitch violently. He was out in the jungle when he heard the scream and ran towards it. It didn't take him long to find the source, but he had to duck behind a bush for a sentry crossed in front of him. He swears wordlessly, glancing about. Unknown numbers, unknown cause. The only thing he had on this was his stealth, and lack of armor. He luckily had his sword, but didn't want to use it. Instead he pulls out a dagger and lies in waiting for an unsuspecting sentry, ready to strike, kill, and steal the poor saps armor.

(Krest has a meditation like need to do at midnight. Ask Aras (His wife played by Rae) It's annoying. And I hope I'm doing this right. *Has never done rp like this*)

Drogan lets out a long puff of smoke from his nostrils. The moonlight reflects off his rifle. He sets down his pipeweed and checks to make sure that there is still a round in his bolt-action rifle for the third time that night. Satisfied with his rifle he checks the sights, ready to fire on any one foolish enough to oppose the Red Glove and his deadly aim.

The bear next to him lets out a roar of boredom. Drogan pats her, "There, there now, Neydra. Iffen ye behave, I'll make sure ta feed ye a noice juicy boar ham-hock, how about that, eh?" Neydra relaxes and continues to watch the wood-line with Drogan.

Krest remains low in the bush. He made no sound, keeping his breath quite and his body tense. He had a strange feeling that he would be doing this alone for a time, and he knew this would be no good. But at the same time, he could not leave. He saw the mother loose her child, and he wanted to reunite them.

"Dammit.. Where is that sentry.." He had been waiting for quite some time, this being the only noise he made through out it all. He had his knife in his hand, and was completely ready to snatch up the poor victim and join the ranks of the slavers in order to figure out what was going on. The only thing he prayed for was that the armor would fit him.

((DERP. I fell asleep at around 11 PM last night. The day was exhausting. I do apologize.

Don't worry about doing forum RP "wrong". Forum RP is no different from other forms of text RP, but you do have to anticipate long responses, so it's good to get all you can in one action in one post.

Because I was delayed in my response, the next checkpoint will be tonight as opposed to last night.))



One sentry did get too close. As Krest would snatch him, he'd see his armor did fit perfectly. Leather breastplate, pauldrons, bracers, leggings, and boots. Red gloves. The fellow wore a mask that would cover his face.

By far, just the other sentries (and assumingly Drogan) see nothing, though movement could be visible at the south end of the shore. The longboats are coming, but they have not arrived yet.

Krest grins under the mask. At least people wouldn't see his face. He buffs up his color, looking about before walking into the group, wanting to find some sort of leader quickly. He looks about the group, seeing some of the save and cringing. He couldn't do much at the moment, but he figured if he could start up a riot, it would work for him. But he didn't want the women in children in the crossfire.

"Gah.. Why does this have to be so difficult.." He continues to walk, and see's Drogan. He figured sense the man was clearly in different armor then the others, he was important. He coughs a bit, speaking in a lower tone voice. "Hey boss.. I just got back from the.. Bathroom and I saw something weird over there. It seemed like someone was watching. I figured you should know."



(Edit- I meant Drogan, sorry ^^")

The night was not particularly hot by any means, but the Alteracian felt the sweat pour from his brow. His arms. His back. Everywhere. For the hundredth time in what seemed meer minutes, the dark clothed man brought a dark blue kerchief to his brow. He was built for the snow, for frost; Not the humidity of the jungle. Pulling at the hem of his glove, his fingers stretch, placing the embroidered piece of cloth back into his breast pocket. Embroidered in silver, the letters TR gleam in the moonlight.

Tressian pushes a massive leaf out of the way, a fountain of water pouring off onto the ground. He stops just before the clearing that leads out into the midst of the slavers’ encampment. The necromancer lets out a silent sigh, the only hint of it’s presence being the rise of his chest. The back of a gloved hand hits his forehead once more, wiping away the beads of sweat that form once more. He grabs a pinch of dust from within his pocket, but spots a nearby Forsaken. He returns the granules to their former home, a smirk crossing over his face.

Ducking low behind a nearby bush, his hands alight with dark energies. He does his best to cover the light that begins to form; Dark green. It is nearly as if the black magic causes the moon’s beams to shirk away, casting shadows in place of light. The necromancer would attempt to worm his way into the innermost areas of the Forsaken’s mind and body, pulling him under his command.

[CHECKPOINT 1: 50 sentries arrive. The next checkpoint after midnight of March 23 is a flare being sent that alerts the Mongoose of intruders' arrival.]



Some sentries hear of Krest's warning and run off ahead. Meanwhile, Tressian managed to take control of a Forsaken guard. Five boats, however, arrive at the shore with sentries ready to escort their slaves. Peacock and Peahen stood watch, unaware that they, too, are being watched.

He looks around, his gaze darkening. The warning was suppose to get rid of some guards so he could start a riot safely, but the addition of more made it harder. He was going to need a bigger diversion. He looked to the boats which had come by and grinned under the mask, despite being so close to the Mongoose. Fire was a good distraction. Fire was indeed.

Camillia Firescribe sat high upon one of the towering trees that oversaw the shore. With a woven hat shielding her eyes from onlookers she soon set her gaze to the forces below.

Watching.

Waiting.

Drogan perks up an eyebrow, "Is there now? Perhaps you should go check it out with Neydra?" Drogan nods his head towards the bear at his side, indicating who he is referring to. Drogan calls out to a pair of nearby sentries, "OI! Boys, c'mere! Accompany this lad and see wot he is talking about."

He blinks a bit, before nodding his head. Krest went the way to the noise, growling at the fact that he couldn't get to the ships.

"[Low]Dammit.." His hand goes to the hilt of his blade, making it look as if he was preparing for an ambush he said there might be. He walks into the shrubbery, right where the dead sentry body is. "I found something!" Course he did. He put it there, but he started thinking fast. If the man was wearing a mask, perhaps he could pass it off as a crazy man or a poor sapped who'd been mugged. "You two, take the bear and look deeper over there, I'll go over here and search on this side." His side was closer to the boats, and he hoped it would be enough to let him start the flame.

Drogan keeps his eyes trained on this mysterious newcomer, he doesn't trust him. His mind is calculating the situation. I was only given a few men under my command. I'm but a low-rank myself. They don't respect me, not directly at least. None of them would refer to me as 'boss'..

Drogan checks his rifle, pulling back the bolt and making sure there is still a round in the chamber. We may have some action soon, old friend. Drogan replaces the bolt, kneels down onto one knee, and aims his rifle towards the jungle where his men and bear disappeared into.

Krest did get away from the group, but one of the two guards followed him. Or at least he figured. His pace quickened as he rushed deeper into the jungle, still heading to the boat, removing his mask and tossing it to the side.

"Dam thing.." He takes a deep breath and checks his boots, looking fr the two knives before looking around the ground. He needed flint. Luckily, his blacksmithing background helps him greatly, and he finds the flit after minutes of searching. He stands tall, letting out a long sigh. "I hope this works.."

Barregis Jones sat outside the gateway into the Vale, hoping his network wasn't failing him. He took a drag from his cigarette, and then began assembling his rifle.

Scope...

Suppressor...

Shatter Rounds...

He slung it over his shoulder and moved into the jungle, no longer in a suit, but in his combat gear. The cigarette idly burned at his lips as he walked through the heavy brush, towards his destination.

Eventually, he heard talking. He ducked down under cover of a bush, and loaded in the first shell. Slowly he peered out at the source of the noise... Two sentries of the ship on patrol.

"Best to start with the little ones." He muttered to himself, reaching to his belt and retrieving a mist grenade. He pulled the pin, counted out the seconds, and then rolled it out into the open for the two sentries to see. The next thing they would see was fog, and a jungle-like mist surrounding them, but it seemed... Un-natural to them, perhaps.

Jones slowly advanced from his cover, taking aim at the first sentry. He waits, breathing steadily...