((RP question of the month:)) Reaction to Horde politics post-Domination Offensive ((Preservation from Umbral GuildPorta

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Vivimord
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((RP question of the month:)) Reaction to Horde politics post-Domination Offensive ((Preservation from Umbral GuildPorta

Post by Vivimord » Mon Nov 30, 2015 7:57 am

((Originally posted by Bregdark.))

((Spoilers likely -- if you haven't yet finished the Domination Offensive storyline and completed the achievement and in-game events, I recommend you do that before reading and commenting below.))

...

((So, if you have finished the DO chain, and your character is now aware and/or participated in the liberation of Dalaran and what happens next, and the apparent death of a certain key Alliance figure during the finale with Garrosh, what's your reaction? How do you feel about the Horde status quo, and what do you say/think/do about it? Here's mine.))

...

His claws hurt. Yes. That, indeed, is why he had the gruntling take down the dictation of his letter. His head hurt, also, yes. He would have to mix a potion or two for both ailments, indeed.

Bregdark looked over the letter. It had been transcribed by the nervous gruntling. Bregdark choked in disgust. "Appalling, indeed. Disgraceful! Unacceptable, yes. Sixteen spelling errors, yes," he said. "SIXTEEN! Where were you educated, child?"

The gruntling hastily explained that there had been a makeshift schoolroom tent set up at the tournament grounds, and that he had received his daily lessons principally from Magister Edien Sunhollow. When the snow fell in Icecrown, there were devotionals and lessons. When the clouds cleared, the priority seemed to be more on taking care of the stables.

Bregdark frowned.

"Well, the Magister is incompetent, yes. You have been sorely miseducated, indeed. Just to begin, there is but one 'e' at the beginning of the word 'eagerly,' yes. Also you seem to have transcribed words I have not uttered, such as 'yes' and 'indeed.' Silly boy. I shall remedy, yes. Hold out your hand. No, the left one. No, the OTHER left. Now, yes. Place your hand on the table. Indeed."

Trembling, the squire did as Bregdark requested.

Bregdark took out his dagger -- curved, etched with green symbols, retrieved years before from a fortress floating in the Outlands -- and efficiently chopped off the squire's smallest finger, casting a silence spell on the orc before he could scream.

Bregdark then read through the letter, pausing to scratch out any mistakes. His pen was fashioned from reef octopus ink and a mushan horn.

To my liege and benefactor, most high Queen Sylvanas Windrunner, I beseech you to take a few moments to read these words from your humble servant, Father Doctor Sergeant Bregdark Urclaw, ever at your disposal. I eagerly await your response. I would also implore you to keep this letter between solely the two of us, because it contains -- in a word -- treason.

Witnessing, as I did especially closely this past week, the actions of the Warchief in Pandaria, I can only offer my most humble diagnosis that, in my expert opinion, one formed from several months of observation and participation in various schemes and plots and campaigns, that the Warchief is insane.

We have a special relationship with madness, we Forsaken, and we well know the various flavors of insanity: Schizophrenia. Delusions. Paranoia. Psychosis. Separation from reality. The Warchief exhibits signs of all of these, but in addition and primarily: Megalomania.

The Warchief must be stopped, your highness, before his actions awaken powers greater than he understands, and plunge us into a two-sided conflict from which we cannot possibly prevail. As much as I would like to see human blood letting into rivers across the continent -- you know well my fervor for battle! -- I think you agree from the reports that against the threats we have uncovered in the new continent, we need to side with the accursed Alliance, not wage war with them. Much as we did against the Scourge and the Legion and the Qiraji, there are greater threats at hand, this time in the form of the Mogu and the Sha (and, apparently, the Darkspear). Until we unite and wipe out these imminent and credible threats, your highness, a war against humanity would destroy every one of us. It would mean the end of the Horde. And the end of us.

Your highness, I propose that the Warchief must be removed. Without deepening the treason that I have already committed to writing, let me just say that there are various methods at our disposal, and I volunteer my services. Poison darts, for instance. I can discuss your preferences for timetable and implementation at your convenience and in person. Should you wish an audience, I will arrive instantly to serve.

I am eternally yours. May Shadow save us all.

(signed)

Father Sergeant Doctor Bregdark

Bregdark nodded and stood. He noticed the orc child, rolling on the ground, clutching his hand and screaming without a sound.

Bregdark sighed, and picked up the amputated finger from his desk (pausing to peer at the bone structure). He jammed the finger roughly back on to its stump, and cast a quick spell to reattach it.

"Go now, yes. Study harder. Next time I see an error in spelling -- even one! -- it will be your whole arm, indeed, and I promise you that arms are more painful in the removal and also more painful in the repair, yes."

The gruntling bowed and began to run out of his master's laboratory, whatever apologies he was trying to utter swallowed by the last few seconds of Bregdark's spell of silence.

"Wait! Yes."

The gruntling paused.

Bregdark then cast another spell to wipe the memories of the entire previous hour from the young orc's mind, and sent him back to his cot.

Alone, Bregdark tried to decide if he would actually send the letter or not.

"I am a priest, yes," he thought. "I suppose now it is time to do something that I once used to do quite often, indeed, but have found less call to do so since my rebirth."

Bregdark got down on his knees and began to pray.
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