Memoir of Veron Rockhoof:
Recently, the Horde recalled its forces from Northrend. The pathbreakers of the Tauren returned with jubilance, I myself attended a few feasts to welcome home the warriors. While I do not support their warmongering ways, at very least their renewed safety is a cause of jubilance. At one such event, one of the blighted Tauren, the ones called Death Knights, even completed a twenty-four hour beating of the drum alone. Nobody took over from him. I was right to think they were not the monsters portrayed by some of my brothers.
However, the time spent among the Orcs has changed some of the Pathbreakers. Some scoffed at the blighted one’s attempt to show the rest of the Tauren that not all Death Knights were the faithless scum they were shown to be, for example. They had fights and consumed vast amounts of narcotics, and alcohol. While it was a festival, I have not seen a brother act like that in all my time. It shames me.
But I am not writing this as propaganda, so I will move on. I will point out here that I am not writing this either, as I cannot, I am having one of our Sin’Dorei brothers write it. I apologise if his beautifully eloquent words canno- I apologise if his flowery words do not make sense.
This document is in reference to the Orcs, and the backlash of their people returning home, too. The Orcs and their Warsong Offensive made up a large chunk of the Horde’s presence in the Nothern Wastes, and their coming home while there was already limited food and water supplies was not good. Seeking aid to prevent starving and dehydration, the Orcs sought help from the Kal’Dorei.
This plea was denied.
Upon hearing of this, I set off to Ashenvale to talk to my Kal’Dorei friends, and see if they could do anything to help matters. I travelled with my brother, the little-known Druid named Splithorn who spends most of his time in Feralas amongst the bears, to a grove close to a Moonwell on the west side of the Falfarren River. I met with my friends, and negotiations began, them never having enjoyed the Orcs presence on Azeroth for obvious reasons and agreeing with the actions of their people. My argument centred on treatment of living things fairly. To die of starvation is a long, painful, and debilitating way to go. I also made comments on the likelihood of a civil war, were the Orcs to starve; the rich against the poor over food, as we’d seen amongst almost every race at some point in history.
However as we talked, my brother growled and morphed into his feline form; he sniffed the air, and motioned to the edge of the grove, baring his fangs. My friends said they were sorry, that people had begun to notice, but I remained ignorant, confused. Splithorn was neither of these things, and as the first of the Sentinels pushed through the shrubbery. He roared, transforming once more into his bear form then gruffly nodding for me to leave, before turning back to the Sentinels. Vastly outnumbered, I simply stood there, still not sure of the Sentinels intentions even with their glaives drawn; their priority was defence of the land, and we were not a threat.
The half dozen of Sentinels were not the entire problem, either, as I quickly found out. Splithorn being seen as hostile, I suppose, an arrow soared from the underbrush and pierced his side. My ‘friends’ ran for their lives as the bear coughed, then lumbered forwards into a full charge. He took one of the Sentinels in the chest, crushing the Elf. More arrows found marks on him as he did so. I was fully at my senses this time, and realised that I was outmanned, and outclassed, by the Sentinels. I turned on my hoof, and found a half dozen more approaching from behind, their attempt at stealth broken. I hefted up my hammer, and charged for their line.
This is not a tale of battle, so I will spare you the details of what happens when the infamous Rockhoof hammer meets a Kal’Dorei, but will suffice to say that the other object never tells the tale of it. My concern was still my brother, Splithorn. He was grievously wounded, and had been from the outset of this skirmish. I turned back, and saw his form waver. He lost focus, and turned back into his true form, blood coating his fur, matting it down. I turned and began to charge, but took an arrow to my thigh, then another to my abdomen. I’d have to come back for his corpse. My brother was looking at me, and a brief look of acknowledgement for my actions seemed to cross his eyes when one of the Night Elves slit his throat.
Plagued with anguish, I dragged the arrow from my abdomen, and placed it within the careful protection of a troubling Sentinel, and ran. I made it all of three steps before my calf muscle was slit open. I collapsed, grunted in disbelief, then drew the bone sword - now more like a dagger from years of sharpening - that I had used to complete the Hunt so long ago, and grimaced at the irony of using it when being hunted. I spilt the intestines of the closest Kal’Dorei, and then rammed the spiky end into a temporary home in another’s coccyx, bringing two to the floor. I rose, balancing on the hammer, and took arrows to my back, roaring in agony. I hobbled forward, hoping the damage done to the ground troops would hold them off temporarily, but there’s always one. Or two, in this case.
The Elves ran and sliced chunks out of me. I thank the Earthmother that they did not cut into my heart, as one of them cut very close, causing me to yell, dropping my hammer, and reaching for the Kal’Dorei. Grabbing him by the head, I swung him around and released him, wiping out his comrade in flight. One of the arrows aiming for me also struck one of the two, I noticed as I returned to my hobble for freedom towards the Falfarren. My vision began to blur, darkness overcoming my peripheral vision. My strength began to wane as my reserves dissipated rapidly. I made it to the river, and remember seeing another Tauren on the other side, before falling into the shallows, unconscious.
Turns out that was quite the tale of battle, but moving on.
The Tauren was Cani, formally of the Dirthoof Tribe, now Kodo Keeper of my own, the Rockhoof Tribe. She defended the flank, mounted me onto a steed, and returned me to the Mor’Shan rampart, where my immediate wounds were dealt with. I now reside in Thunder Bluff, recuperating. As one of my Elders, you will listen to Cani’s word with the authority of my own, until I am well enough to return.
I ask that you move to Ashenvale, and aid the Orcs in holding their position against the Kal’Dorei. We are not at war, but I will not stand for treachery either. Do what you deem must be done. Retrieve my brother’s corpse if the opportunity arises.
May the Earthmother guide and protect you, Rockhooves.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
OOC: Horde events incoming.
Recently, the Horde recalled its forces from Northrend. The pathbreakers of the Tauren returned with jubilance, I myself attended a few feasts to welcome home the warriors. While I do not support their warmongering ways, at very least their renewed safety is a cause of jubilance. At one such event, one of the blighted Tauren, the ones called Death Knights, even completed a twenty-four hour beating of the drum alone. Nobody took over from him. I was right to think they were not the monsters portrayed by some of my brothers.
However, the time spent among the Orcs has changed some of the Pathbreakers. Some scoffed at the blighted one’s attempt to show the rest of the Tauren that not all Death Knights were the faithless scum they were shown to be, for example. They had fights and consumed vast amounts of narcotics, and alcohol. While it was a festival, I have not seen a brother act like that in all my time. It shames me.
But I am not writing this as propaganda, so I will move on. I will point out here that I am not writing this either, as I cannot, I am having one of our Sin’Dorei brothers write it. I apologise if his beautifully eloquent words canno- I apologise if his flowery words do not make sense.
This document is in reference to the Orcs, and the backlash of their people returning home, too. The Orcs and their Warsong Offensive made up a large chunk of the Horde’s presence in the Nothern Wastes, and their coming home while there was already limited food and water supplies was not good. Seeking aid to prevent starving and dehydration, the Orcs sought help from the Kal’Dorei.
This plea was denied.
Upon hearing of this, I set off to Ashenvale to talk to my Kal’Dorei friends, and see if they could do anything to help matters. I travelled with my brother, the little-known Druid named Splithorn who spends most of his time in Feralas amongst the bears, to a grove close to a Moonwell on the west side of the Falfarren River. I met with my friends, and negotiations began, them never having enjoyed the Orcs presence on Azeroth for obvious reasons and agreeing with the actions of their people. My argument centred on treatment of living things fairly. To die of starvation is a long, painful, and debilitating way to go. I also made comments on the likelihood of a civil war, were the Orcs to starve; the rich against the poor over food, as we’d seen amongst almost every race at some point in history.
However as we talked, my brother growled and morphed into his feline form; he sniffed the air, and motioned to the edge of the grove, baring his fangs. My friends said they were sorry, that people had begun to notice, but I remained ignorant, confused. Splithorn was neither of these things, and as the first of the Sentinels pushed through the shrubbery. He roared, transforming once more into his bear form then gruffly nodding for me to leave, before turning back to the Sentinels. Vastly outnumbered, I simply stood there, still not sure of the Sentinels intentions even with their glaives drawn; their priority was defence of the land, and we were not a threat.
The half dozen of Sentinels were not the entire problem, either, as I quickly found out. Splithorn being seen as hostile, I suppose, an arrow soared from the underbrush and pierced his side. My ‘friends’ ran for their lives as the bear coughed, then lumbered forwards into a full charge. He took one of the Sentinels in the chest, crushing the Elf. More arrows found marks on him as he did so. I was fully at my senses this time, and realised that I was outmanned, and outclassed, by the Sentinels. I turned on my hoof, and found a half dozen more approaching from behind, their attempt at stealth broken. I hefted up my hammer, and charged for their line.
This is not a tale of battle, so I will spare you the details of what happens when the infamous Rockhoof hammer meets a Kal’Dorei, but will suffice to say that the other object never tells the tale of it. My concern was still my brother, Splithorn. He was grievously wounded, and had been from the outset of this skirmish. I turned back, and saw his form waver. He lost focus, and turned back into his true form, blood coating his fur, matting it down. I turned and began to charge, but took an arrow to my thigh, then another to my abdomen. I’d have to come back for his corpse. My brother was looking at me, and a brief look of acknowledgement for my actions seemed to cross his eyes when one of the Night Elves slit his throat.
Plagued with anguish, I dragged the arrow from my abdomen, and placed it within the careful protection of a troubling Sentinel, and ran. I made it all of three steps before my calf muscle was slit open. I collapsed, grunted in disbelief, then drew the bone sword - now more like a dagger from years of sharpening - that I had used to complete the Hunt so long ago, and grimaced at the irony of using it when being hunted. I spilt the intestines of the closest Kal’Dorei, and then rammed the spiky end into a temporary home in another’s coccyx, bringing two to the floor. I rose, balancing on the hammer, and took arrows to my back, roaring in agony. I hobbled forward, hoping the damage done to the ground troops would hold them off temporarily, but there’s always one. Or two, in this case.
The Elves ran and sliced chunks out of me. I thank the Earthmother that they did not cut into my heart, as one of them cut very close, causing me to yell, dropping my hammer, and reaching for the Kal’Dorei. Grabbing him by the head, I swung him around and released him, wiping out his comrade in flight. One of the arrows aiming for me also struck one of the two, I noticed as I returned to my hobble for freedom towards the Falfarren. My vision began to blur, darkness overcoming my peripheral vision. My strength began to wane as my reserves dissipated rapidly. I made it to the river, and remember seeing another Tauren on the other side, before falling into the shallows, unconscious.
Turns out that was quite the tale of battle, but moving on.
The Tauren was Cani, formally of the Dirthoof Tribe, now Kodo Keeper of my own, the Rockhoof Tribe. She defended the flank, mounted me onto a steed, and returned me to the Mor’Shan rampart, where my immediate wounds were dealt with. I now reside in Thunder Bluff, recuperating. As one of my Elders, you will listen to Cani’s word with the authority of my own, until I am well enough to return.
I ask that you move to Ashenvale, and aid the Orcs in holding their position against the Kal’Dorei. We are not at war, but I will not stand for treachery either. Do what you deem must be done. Retrieve my brother’s corpse if the opportunity arises.
May the Earthmother guide and protect you, Rockhooves.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
OOC: Horde events incoming.