Ivador's blog

They told me there's a new Warchief sitting on a throne of bones wearing the desiccated remains of a demon on his shoulders.

What did anyone expect would happen?

Vindicator Haran rode at a brisk pace atop his scarred and sinewy Elekk south down the road from Astranaar. There had been the briefest of pauses in the constant battle in the town following the death of Senior Artificer Uktal, and although no formal word had been passed regarding the matter, he fervently prayed that the Orcs had not been responsible. The acting Warden had given sincere promise that whoever had done such a terrible thing would pay dearly—the Kaldorei held the man in great esteem, and the murder of any non-combatant, especially one already severely crippled as he was an unspeakable act. Still, it was with regret that said promise had been a tally of fifty dead Orcs with his name carved in their chests. The Kaldorei Wardens could be fatalistic and grim it seemed.

“This would be considerably less difficult if Nemos would allow us to make use of these trees.”

Artificer Jorut wiped the sweat from her brow, laying down the glowing spanner wrench now blistering from use.

“This would be considerably less difficult if Nemos would allow us to make use of these trees.”

Artificer Jorut wiped the sweat from her brow, laying down the glowing spanner wrench now blistering from use.

If you have to kill someone, if you have to;

is it somehow better to kill them clean with a bullet to a head?

Is it somehow worse to hack into them beyond recognition?

What if it's done for the right cause, or the wrong one?