“There is the potential for failure, of course. Present in everything we do. Yet that can not blind us. All lies in our ability to adapt to unforeseen factors. In such adaption we find our purpose. In such purpose we can not fail. There is only path, not destination. Where the road ends is where we allow.”
“The shores are calm, now.” The goblin muttered, fingers nervously twitching over the half-chewed cigar clutched in his grip. The elf at his anterior looked up from the letter than had until this moment arrested his attention. He made a fact to nod to the cigar in the goblin’s hand.
“They are.. but if you continue to pick at that cigar you’ll have nothing left to smoke, Clipsaw. Have a drink and -ease- into the evening. You are raising my blood pressure with your worries..”
Clipsaw’s aggravation with the dismissal was evident, though he cooled his objections by allowing his free hand to run along his forehead and back through his hair. With a flick he tossed the ruined cigar to swallow into the dark waters below.
“You think they won’t come here? Honestly, this.. this is absolute madness, you know..” He paused, but upon receiving no reply he spun. “Nareth? Hey, Silverthorn!”
The elf finally looked back to the goblin, exasperated and making very little effort to conceal it.
“Yes, I hear you. And I’m getting tired of reading the same paragraph seven times because you interrupt me.”
Clipsaw’s brow twitched, matched to the scowl on his features. He moved over to the sitting elf, reaching to rip the letter from his hands and toss it aside.
“Listen. To. Me.” He articulated, much to Nareth’s annoyance. “When I signed on to this deal, you didn’t tell me I’d have a fucking criminal syndicate gunning for me! The Collective already hit the Council’s proxies. Why the fuck do you think they’d draw the line at me!? I.. I want out of th-”
The elf rocked forward, fizzling the Goblin’s protests out into a silent stare. He met the gaze of the other, indicating a moment of absolute restraint as the aggression burned behind those glowing eyes. Slowly, the elf settled back into his chair, fingers tracing to the letter that now settled upon the tabletop beside.
“There is no ‘out’, Mr. Ridgeweld. You know this. The Council entrusted you with production, and thus.. the means of. You know too much on their merit. The Twins would sooner bury you in a drowning box at their word. I wouldn’t have to lift a finger, so, instead, allow me to assist you and explain in no uncertain terms that your employment with us is non-negotiable.”
Clipsaw’s shoulders deflated as he was met with the truth of the matter, twisting to settle his gaze once more out to the water.
“What happens if the Collective come after me next?”
Attention friends and loved ones of the Coldwall Collective!
For five and a half years, Coldwall has been proud to serve WrA in our capacity through public events and roleplay encounters. In that time, we have witnessed fantastic things, been involved in brilliant events, and had the pleasure of interacting with some people and writers we will always remember.
However, with the launch of Shadowlands we have noticed that the server is not what it once was from our perspective. While there are still some fantastic guilds/people here, the life in the server has dimmed. This is not directed as a means to insult WrA, but more to acknowledge that it can not provide what we, as a guild, seek in our environment.
After much discussion across the officership and members, the decision has been made for the guild to move to Moon Guard.
We understand this decision is a fairly big one, and it is one we did not make lightly. It comes with all associated concerns and a healthy dose of nervous energy to boot. However, we feel that MG, especially with a large influx of former WrA members, is a server that can provide the environment for our members and subsequently our guild to expand, enrich, and thrive.
To everone on WrA. This isn’t goodbye. With how easy it is to cross servers, you will still be able to attend most of our public events and say hello. We are still going to be the Collective you know, so you can always feel free to poke us, say hello, or seek out ways to RP.
To everyone on MG. We know it’s your stomping grounds. We are not about to go in there and throw our weight around. We are ready and eager to provide the events, quality, and characters that people have come to expect from us. We are looking forward to what we can bring to MG, and what MG can offer us as well!
Thank you, everyone, for five and a half years of amazing RP. Heres to many years more in a new community.
Attention friends and loved ones of the Coldwall Collective!
For five and a half years, Coldwall has been proud to serve WrA in our capacity through public events and roleplay encounters. In that time, we have witnessed fantastic things, been involved in brilliant events, and had the pleasure of interacting with some people and writers we will always remember.
However, with the launch of Shadowlands we have noticed that the server is not what it once was from our perspective. While there are still some fantastic guilds/people here, the life in the server has dimmed. This is not directed as a means to insult WrA, but more to acknowledge that it can not provide what we, as a guild, seek in our environment.
After much discussion across the officership and members, the decision has been made for the guild to move to Moon Guard.
We understand this decision is a fairly big one, and it is one we did not make lightly. It comes with all associated concerns and a healthy dose of nervous energy to boot. However, we feel that MG, especially with a large influx of former WrA members, is a server that can provide the environment for our members and subsequently our guild to expand, enrich, and thrive.
To everone on WrA. This isn’t goodbye. With how easy it is to cross servers, you will still be able to attend most of our public events and say hello. We are still going to be the Collective you know, so you can always feel free to poke us, say hello, or seek out ways to RP.
To everyone on MG. We know it’s your stomping grounds. We are not about to go in there and throw our weight around. We are ready and eager to provide the events, quality, and characters that people have come to expect from us. We are looking forward to what we can bring to MG, and what MG can offer us as well!
Thank you, everyone, for five and a half years of amazing RP. Heres to many years more in a new community.
Sharpened edges, blunted tips, forceps and picks, scoops and peelers. Each tool, every tool, had purpose. Aligned neatly in row with inanimate anticipation of her selection. Was it glee that such implement felt as cold fingers wrapped it? Was it excitement that it felt as it tasted warm skin?
The Ebon was ripped from her moment of pondering by the sound of coughing. The wet gasps as the prisoner’s arms wrenched back and drew her face from the trough. The woman sputtered out the sullen water from her lungs as air asserted itself once more to her life.
“We’ve talked about this. Cooperation is what delivers us from adversity.” The Ebon’s words were low, soft, almost deceptively gentle. She lifted a plated hand to dust a few loose hairs stuck against the shivering features of her captive. “We’ve talked about your friends.. but you don’t seem to know much about the ‘Council’ you mentioned. Why?”
The woman maintained her eyes closed, blood leaking fresh from recent cuts against her lips. When she did speak, her voice was cracked and carried upon it the twisted affect of an abused soul.
“..no one knows about them. We don’t. We-” She was violently cut off as her head was pressed down below the waters. Primal panic took over, driving her into a frenzy of kicking and grasping against the hand firmly tied up in her hair. As her head was pulled back from the moment of demise, she expelled the darkened waters from her lungs and stomach with violent wretch.
“One reason.. one.. that’s all I need. If I can give a reason why you deserve to live, you will likely walk away from this. So.. the Council..”
“I don’t know..” She muttered, but as she felt the grip tighten in her hair she blurted out a desperate “Wait!”
It was enough, enough to draw pause to the inevitable. The Ebon turned her captive’s features so they could meet eye to glowing eye.
“Yes?” Magda noted with the slightest hint of interest. The woman leaked only a few more droplets of stirred blood from her mouth before she repealed her last bastions of secrecy.
“Old Town.. a tavern called the Wounded Hound. The people there.. know more than me. It’s the only lead..”
Magda released the woman’s hair, rising up to full height. Her finger lifted to her ear where she depressed the small metal earpiece placed within.
As the xpac just dropped, most of our members are spending our time enjoying the new content in the Shadowlands! As such, we are not going to be hosting our Bloodsport this month. We apologize, but we wager many of you are probably doing the same thing as we are! Have fun, and we will see y’all next time!
The voice rang out in the hollows of the deep wood. The lantern squeaked as it was swung aside, illuminations cast from the eye of the metallic chamber to cast glow on the sturdy copse of wood ahead. The man holding the lantern narrowed his gaze, free hand lifting to draw thin strands of chestnut hair from his brow.
“It will do. Mark it.” His reply was simple and straightforward, coupled with a slight shiver as the chilly air bit through his jacket. There was a calm to the process. Something that made him feel at ease despite their presence in an otherwise hostile place.
“Right.. this should make twelve.” His counterpart stated. The slender man stepping forward and drawing a brush from a smooth tube of metal. The white paint on the tip was laced into the wood, marking the tree for their purposes. “Think twelve will be enough?”
“Enough..” The brunette replied, almost with a hint of amusement to his tone. “Never. Last week we doubled this.”
“Fantastic! That’s more work for us, you know that right, Davin?”
The slender male walked back to his partner, lifting the brush to flick the air aside.
“What happened to assassination? Simple, quick, and clean. Now it’s all about sending messages..”
Davin spun to face his counterpart, lifting a hand to slide fingers around the smooth crease of fabric at the crown of his tie. He lifted with a small shimmy to set the tie into proper place against his neckline.
“You are letting your common blood show, you know. This is the mouth that your wife warned would get you into trouble. Remember the gamble with the goblin brothers?”
“A misstep at most..” The slender man replied, turning his head and his body in time. He moved to another tree and lifted his brush to trace against the wood. The sound registered before the pain. A whistle, a crack like a gunshot, and his hand now spilling with bright red blood.
The man howled as the nerves of his hand fired off in full. Each painful spasm of his fingers laced new waves of agony as they twitched around the thick metal bolt that now pierced through his digits.
“You’ve had enough missteps, Terrance.” Davin stated, fingers laying a second bolt into the slot on his hand crossbow. “We appreciate you marking your own tree for us, though. Saves us the time.”
“Davin! Please! ..I called you my damn brother! Lucille.. Alexandra.. they see you as family. Don’t do this!”
Final words silenced as the second bolt entered his maw and pierced his spine against the tree. Silence that now saturated the space. Davin pulled on his bow to fold the arms inward and slide them under his sleeve. A dust of both hands to remove any blemish from his coat.
“You never were family, Terrance.” He stated with a measure of disgust in his tone. “Just a common blooded lie pretending to matter.”
The words broke the man from his brief stupor. What was a glance at the nearby bastion of flame had become a flight into his thoughts. The hesitations that flickered his heart as the flame licked the wood were etched onto his features. The young man shook his head in denial of those thoughts.
The one who had so broken the spell walked over toward him. Her hand was cold, fingers against his palm prompting him to close his own digits to warm them. She took that as a signal of acceptance, drawing him into step toward the destination above.
Each stone step was a bother now, a trudge that ached his calves though he did not protest. Though they had yet arrived, he felt the moment of such protest had long since passed. Now it was the inevitability that made him nervous.
As the summit of the stone steps fell into view, the man felt his apprehension both grow and numb in equal measure. Men and women across a spectrum of races, outfits, and social status situated sparsely within the extensive span of the temple grounds. Cliché, he so thought, but the entirety of the gathering felt opposite to that fact.
He passed by a group of men his own age, who eyed him and his guiding partner with a keen, amused eye. He felt once more as he did on the first day of academy. A man out of his element with a beacon of purity above his brow. His guiding force remained the woman he had come to adore. The woman with the chestnut hair.
She so turned to face him, once again meeting his cautious gaze with her calm countenance. He stopped, allowing her fingers to slide from his grip and draw to her pack. Extending out, a simple thing.
A mask, decorated in the shape of a mallard. The man claimed the mask on instinct alone, confusion barring the potential to effectively analyze the situation. As his gaze swept up with questions upon his tongue, they were silenced. Her eyes beaming with delight behind the face of a mouse. A mask as his own, now sliding over his features to set into place.
“So what now?” Kirrek inquired, trying to mask his concerns and nerves under the deadpan humor that he knew she adored. “Do we make a blood oath or something?” He issued a humorless laugh.
She watched his efforts, her expression hiding behind the mask beyond what could be seen in her sparkling gaze. Her head shook, soft, gentle, yet the sway of her hair and the denial of his humor was akin to an eternity in his perception. Was it too late, he wondered, to turn back.
“No need, Kirrek. You don’t have to live up to your expectations. That’s behind you tonight. We’ll go back to being Amber and Kirrek tomorrow. For tonight..?”
She stepped closer, her hand extending out. The man flinched back, finding his spine pressed to the chest of a tall figure posterior to him. Two hands rested against his shoulders, more men and women coming forward to extend their grip upon the pair.
Though Kirrek felt panic, Amber exuded peace. She lowered her voice to a sweet, serenading whisper.
“..tonight..”
Her hand met to his mask, their eyes locked, the air thin as to deny his breath.
“..we are only animals.”
His breath drew in as a cloud of cyan dust passed between them. The air tasted sweet. His fingers felt numb. Her eyes burned bright.. brilliant.. beautiful..
She had packed a suitcase, hiding her tools in secret compartments while she placed carefully folded clothing on top. Donning a long coat over her person, Octaevia picked up a wide brimmed hat as the finishing touches. It was enough to cover her eyes and the coat simple enough to give off the impression of any ordinary citizen. She grabbed the suitcase and tipped her hat to her reflection before heading out.
*Three lifelong friends have been contacted *
Two Human males and one red headed Dwarf; each receiving a letter sent with a different name on the front of the envelope. Each regarded the envelope in their own way. Two of them smiling as they eagerly opened what they believed to be a letter from an old friend. Only one out of the three was hesitant to open it, though he soon found himself reaching for a small knife and popping the fold of the envelope open.
*They were invited to meet at a location in Goldshire to share a drink and catch up.*
“I suppose it’s been a while since I’ve seen the boys…” A thoughtful expression spread across the first man’s bearded face, the dark brown hairs hiding his lips and the only proof of the smile he held was shown in the rise of his cheeks.
“Well, it’s ‘bout damn time ‘e reached out! Thought the lad ‘ad forgotten me.” The Dwarf barked out a laugh to himself, happily accepting the invitation as he quickly folded the letter back up and stuffed it away in his coat pocket.
The third stared at the letter he received, green eyes showing nothing but surprise as he scanned the letter again and again. “After all that… He wants to…” He let out a sigh, running a hand through his blonde locks of hair as he smiled fondly. “It would be nice to see them again.”
*Their connection is the bait that shall assure their guard is dropped.*
Each arrived shortly after the other. The Dwarf and brown haired man arriving from Stormwind by gryphon, the Dwarf having taken the tram over from Ironforge. The blonde did not live too far, a decent walk from his home from the eastern part of Elwynn. He stood waiting for his old friends at the entrance of the Lion’s Pride, the inn and tavern at the center of Goldshire. With their warm welcomes and tight embraces, any hesitation the blonde once felt soon melted away and he eagerly followed his friends inside.
As the three entered the establishment, they quickly grabbed a spot near the fireplace and ordered a round of drinks, what would be the first of many. In the far corner sat a Worgen, wearing a long coat and wide brimmed hat, sipping idly at a glass of wine. She kept to herself it would seem but her golden gaze trailed over toward the table of friends with an ear perked in their direction.
The Legerdemain Lounge, located in Old (Northrend) Dalaran!
Hey there you
reprobates. Don’t worry, with us that is a term of endearment. We are back at it again for another month serving up some absolutely terrible health choices that taste fantastic! And if that isn’t your flavor of regret, then try some regret in the form of our slew of expertly crafted drinks at the ready to wash away what bothers you!
It’s a crazy world out there, isn’t it about time your diet matches? At least for an evening. So grab a friend, or grab a friend in a totally different way, and head on down to the Rat Bastard this Friday! We look forward to tempting you into drinking far too much.
The Rat Bastard is cross-faction!
The Rat Bastard tavern is a cross faction event! If you wish to help us out a bit, please bring your own Elixirs of Tongues. We will have plenty to offer on hand, in case you come without. We will provide both Horde and Alliance based staff along with the Elixirs. Easily accessible via portal from both Orgrimmar and Stormwind, or via flight path for lower levels.
The full final ladder with accompanied scores can be viewed ->HERE<-.
We hope to see all of you and many more at the next brawl, hosted on the 4th Saturday of every month at 6pm ST! All of us in the Coldwall Collective thank you for your time and your participation!
As always, we owe the continued success of this event to the fantastic people who come out to share their characters and writing with us. Your participation and support is what makes this event work, and we can’t thank you enough.
