A scroll has been placed upon the mantle in the den of Khorvis. Tied neatly with a bow, it smells faintly of fireweed.
I had heard it said that the Grim were nothing but mindless, vicious killers. How quickly these old stories have been forgotten... Upon a cliff overlooking the Throne of Elements, I sat with the troll priestess Lilliana. She was the first of my conversations, speaking quite at length. The Mandate, she said, is a way of achieving peace. Not the only way, but the most effective. Treaties and the like did not serve to gain a victory for the Horde. Only a silent battlefield could do that. She had grown up in the Grim and saw it as a family. A family willing to sacrifice their lives to ensure survival. Her time as an Irredeemable showed her that balance can be brought, a peace forged, through the blood of enemies, namely the Alliance. The way she spoke seemed to suggest a war-torn past, not dissimilar from my own. Though she seemed distracted, as in reliving a distant memory. Before I had much more time to ask questions, we were set upon by Alliance dogs and I was thrown from the cliff into the calm waters below. A quick dunk did the bones good, and shortly after we exacted our revenge.
Later that same night, I was graced by the presence of our Commander, Awatu, in Ashran. For this, I was anxious, for I had heard great things of our Tauren comrade. Even over the sounds of a battle drawing nearer, his deep voice projected. He spoke to me of commitment, and explained how The Grim and was a physical embodiment of The Mandate. To be Grim was to breath and live The Mandate. The battle had reached the gate, however, and Awatu took his leave to recuperate.
My last of the Grim I was to speak with was our High Inquisitor, Syreena. At times, tough to pin down, but we stood at the bar in her tavern to share a quick drink. Her views, while founded in the beliefs of the Mandate, were only to kill, to slay. From the time she was brought into the fold, rushing to the aid of an unnamed Forsaken warrior in the Barrens, until now she had shed blood in the name of Peace. Out of curiosity, I asked about being an Inquisitor. She spoke of an endless cycle, Supplicants washing out of their trials, new names, new faces to be forgotten. However, Syreena spoke highly of those who rose up, and passed their trials and wore their tabards proudly. To be Grim was to be above the rest of the Horde. To follow through with the ideal many shared. Spilled blood will be the ink of an everlasting peace. The flayed skin will be the parchment.
Lupinum's Trial of Resolve.
Re: Lupinum's Trial of Resolve.
Khorvis stomped into his quarters and shook an avalanche of snow from his cloak. The wind over the bladed mountains of Frostfire Ridge howled through the open closet door before the orc slammed it shut. He was not about ponder how the Grim arcanists had managed to twist the timeways and tunnel secret passages to the war front from the safety of the Grim's sanctum, but he would use them when in need.
Resting an elbow against the mantle and taking in the warmth of his crackling hearth, Khorvis noticed Lupinum's report. It was correctly placed next to the tattered Stormpike banner. The blood sausage had long rotted. Untying the bow and unfurling the missive, the orc's eyes slowly traced the wordy contents.
"Hrmm ... zug ... zug ... yes ... good! The priest now knows WHY to swing that hammer!" Stroking his greying beard, Khorvis once more examined the first passage with curiousity. "And Harbinger Lilliana does see our clan as her family. I do think that odd. There is no elf blood in my veins! Ha! Funny troll ..." He stopped grumbling for a time and stared hollowly at a very old and broken Alliance lance. A dark stain coated the wood from the tip, over 3 feet of shaft, to the broken end. Khorvis muttered under his breath, "And maybe not so wrong."
Picking up stationary covered in crass Winter's Veil iconography (goblin marketers had recently cornered the orc and convinced him to buy several crates of holiday cards), Dreadweaver Bloodstar scrawled out the following reply to Lupinum:
Supplicant,
It is clear that your resolve has been hardened by the words of our comrades. I do congratulate you for winning this second trial. Your pen is very convincing and we may make use of it to write our war chants. The Tactician did wish to read poety, I do think.
Your third trial begins now. The Mandate demands sacrifice from its heralds. You will give of yourself to aid fellow Grim in whatever set of tasks you deem worthy. I will sit as judge and jury to decide if they have brought honor to our cause. Do not make me into your executioner.
Bloodstar
The greeting-card is left in the mail slot of Lupinum.
(( The Trial of Sacrifice is less structured than the last two. You may design a roleplay event and lead it, lead off-night dungeons / battlegrounds, or write a convincing story of your character sacrificing something of particular value from their old life for the Grim. Feel free to run your idea past me, or if you need help. ))
Resting an elbow against the mantle and taking in the warmth of his crackling hearth, Khorvis noticed Lupinum's report. It was correctly placed next to the tattered Stormpike banner. The blood sausage had long rotted. Untying the bow and unfurling the missive, the orc's eyes slowly traced the wordy contents.
"Hrmm ... zug ... zug ... yes ... good! The priest now knows WHY to swing that hammer!" Stroking his greying beard, Khorvis once more examined the first passage with curiousity. "And Harbinger Lilliana does see our clan as her family. I do think that odd. There is no elf blood in my veins! Ha! Funny troll ..." He stopped grumbling for a time and stared hollowly at a very old and broken Alliance lance. A dark stain coated the wood from the tip, over 3 feet of shaft, to the broken end. Khorvis muttered under his breath, "And maybe not so wrong."
Picking up stationary covered in crass Winter's Veil iconography (goblin marketers had recently cornered the orc and convinced him to buy several crates of holiday cards), Dreadweaver Bloodstar scrawled out the following reply to Lupinum:
Supplicant,
It is clear that your resolve has been hardened by the words of our comrades. I do congratulate you for winning this second trial. Your pen is very convincing and we may make use of it to write our war chants. The Tactician did wish to read poety, I do think.
Your third trial begins now. The Mandate demands sacrifice from its heralds. You will give of yourself to aid fellow Grim in whatever set of tasks you deem worthy. I will sit as judge and jury to decide if they have brought honor to our cause. Do not make me into your executioner.
Bloodstar
The greeting-card is left in the mail slot of Lupinum.
(( The Trial of Sacrifice is less structured than the last two. You may design a roleplay event and lead it, lead off-night dungeons / battlegrounds, or write a convincing story of your character sacrificing something of particular value from their old life for the Grim. Feel free to run your idea past me, or if you need help. ))
