Historyman14

As Garrosh lay defeated on the cold floor of the Underhold, it seemed to be over. Garrosh’s ‘True Horde’ had been crushed both above and below, the powers he had looted from the lands of Pandaria had failed him, not even the heart of an Old God could not turn the tide. As Varian, Thrall, and Taran Zhu argue over the fate of the fallen Warchief, Garrosh...he laughed. He laughed to the confusion of all in the room, to the heroes of the Alliance and Horde, and it's leaders. “Fools...you have done nothing, but ensure my martyrdom. Lok'tar ogar...victory...or death. But now, I will have both, and you...only death.” With that, he pushed a hidden button on his person and across the city roaring explosions filled the air as goblin bombs went off and subsumed the city in a firestorm. On the surface, it was as if an earthquake had shrunk, but the truth was realized as a mighty explosion rose from the Ragefire Chasm and the Underhold. Horror came to the faces of Alliance and their rebel

They are simple truths to the universe. Bare facts that outweigh anything else. And this truth is known all too well. Azeorth is dying. And there is not a thing to save it. Not this time. It started when the Dark Portal reopen, and from it, a wave of demons and attacking everyone in they way. The Alliance and Horde drove them back, and in time, travel to the ruined world of the Orcs to combat them. Here, Outland itself was out to get them and everyone poor soul that called it home. The Illidan had ransack the broken world for it own goals, never mind the various dangers and threats that lurk. New alliances were made, what was thought lost was recovered: Mag'har and the Sons of Lothar. But this prove an undoing. The Orcs took on what they had fought against, the origins of the Old Horde, a brutal, slaving people, while the Alliance took dark ancient secrets, learned from the locals, the arakkoa, and the ruins of the old ogres and Sons of Lothar to combat the Demons. Finally, the

Following the victory over the Burning Legion in the Third War, an uneasy peace came over the lands of the Eastern Kingdoms and Kamlidor. The Horde was reforged in the West while the Alliance rebuilt following the downfall of Lordaeron. Many predicted it would only be a matter of time for the two powers to come to blows once again, and a great ‘Fourth War’ would take place. Surprisingly, history had other ideas. As it stands, the Alliance and Horde found themselves too busy fighting everything else that they never come to blows as many feared. The Black Dragons of Stormwind, the Dark Horde, the Blood God, and more kept the Alliance preoccupied while the Horde dealt with it own issues at hand, claiming the Barrens as their own and combating the ferocious Silithid. Occasionally the Alliance and Horde would come together in common cause such as the Ahn'Qiraj War, but more often than not found themselves to consumed by domestic threats to be concerned with one another. Theramore, now

Limassol. Protectorate of Cyprus. The sun was giving way, the twilight coming over the land. The waves gently lapped the shorelines of Cyprus. The Mediterranean rolled soothingly in the transition of light and night. The lights started to turn on one by one by each building. Some turn in early, others went about their night jobs. Some drank coffee, or went to evening services according to their faith. Muslims worship towards Jerusalem, Jews to Shabbat Services, the Christians to their denominations, the followers of the Sea God to the temples that line the coasts. Fishing ships return to port, patrol boats sail to guard the island from Pirates, or some monsters from the depths. But there was to be no monster, or threat of attack. Not this night. Poseidon watch from the waters of his dominion at Limassol. The oceans was a reflection of Poseidon. His mood, his temper, all of the waters of Gaia was his to command, an embodiment of his will. And the God of the Sea was in a fine