From the Onyx Sun?

[Qabian]

Qabian tosses a paper that shows evidence of having been ripped from some wall somewhere on top of the stack of other letters as he moves through the hall, grinning as he mutters something along the lines of "It's so good to be loved."

To The Grim:

No words can describe the hatred the Onyx Sun has for any who carry your banner. Nearly as worse as the Forsaken who wrought death upon the gate in the north, slaying humans and orcs alike. Your colors only back up the actions.

There is no trust.

There is no redemption.

Only death awaits you.

You and yours will eventually turn amongst yourselves, once your so called threats lie dead upon the grounds.

We watch your moves, we watch your actions. We wait.

The opportunity will arise when you are alone. You will fall.

Every.
Last.
One.

And the blood that splays the ground...will be glorious to walk upon.

~~A simple black circle sits upon the bottom of the folded parchment~~

[Syreenna]

Syreena peers at the letter for a moment, confused.

"Who the heck is the Onyx Sun, and why should I care that they hate me?"

[Greebo]

The only thing that Angaroth could think as he read the scrap was "Mmm! Toys?"

[Thrysta]

Thrysta watched the rogue puzzle
over the pronouncement, then
turned back to the fireplace.

Her dimunitive frame was nearly
lost amidst the large high backed
chair in which she sat.  The fabric
of her seat had already grown
dark with stains of ichor and
viscera.

Thrysta's vestments were torn
and tattered, her dessicated flesh
displaying ghastly wounds to
which she was completely
oblivious.

The air around her smelled of
copper and death.

Hugging herself tightly, a wan
smile crossed the face of the
priestess, dark blood leaking from
the corner of her mouth.

"Perhaps they will," Thrysta
murmured softy, "Perhaps they
will kill me."

Closing her eyes, Thrysta
pressed one taloned hand
against her frail chest.  She
sighed, the soft sound building
into a shuddering cough.

One of her thin ribs broke with
sound of snapping kindling.

Thrysta giggled wetly.

Leaning back into the large chair,
her body creaking, the priestess
stared into the crackling flames.

"That would be acceptable," she
whispered to herself.

Closing her eyes once more,
Thrysta smiled, her sharpened
teeth wet with blood.

"They will come with me, for we
will pull one another open until the screaming stops," she
murmured.

"It will be so very fine to rest."

[Nymare]

She did not smirk. She did not yawn. She did not rip anything from a wall or feel the need to destroy it. Instead, she leaned in closer to peer at the smeared writing.

"They've obviously never tried 'walking' on blood splayed across anything."

She turned back around, taking a bite out of an apple.

"It's quite slippery."

[Hetarn]

Hetarn held the note in his hand, looking over it.

A smile came across his face, and an enormous tauren laugh shook his body as he tried to hold in the laughter, but failed.

"They just don't get it," he muttered, wiping a tear from his face.

"One death, even my own, means nothing.  The mandate continues.  That is all that matters."  He thought as he walked out the door.

[Amaurn]

((Same as my TNG response)

Amaurn reads the poster.

"How droll"

Amaurn leaves.