Off to one side of the camp, amidst the confusion and bustle of mobilisation, a tall elf sits on a stack of ammunition crates. It is near the Skybreaker staging and cargo area, soldier and crewfolk milling all about. Amoured in dark, kal'dorei-forged field plate, she runs a whetstone across the blade of a wicked looking axe. A small coterie of variously armed and armoured men and women loiter nearby, looking more akin to mercenaries than soldiers. Her stark white hair is brushed out of her face, showing the ruin which is half of her visage as she regards you.You there? Yes, you. You look like someone who I might have a use for. You see, we're all here for the same reason. The banners have flown, the horns have called, and we've all made our way to this Elune-forsaken frozen wasteland in order to tear the Bloody Prince down from his fortress. But we're not all going to do so the same way as one another, are we?
The elf points out her arm, sweeping across the majority of the camps and preparations.
Some are going to sit on their valiant steeds, charging into the fray with spear and banner and desperate oath. Others will march lock-step behind them, ten by ten apiece, sword and shields locked together as they press in. While others still will overlook their advance, dropping rock or arrow or arcane bolt down from up high. That's not even to say those who will be working to tear down walls, or assault the spires by flight, or any other of the thousand and one ways in which to wage a war.
She turns back to face you, looking at your eyes and grinning ferally.
But that's not what we're going to do. Us here? We're going in ahead, behind the front lines. The proper term is skirmishers. I prefer the Black Reavers. We're going in ahead of everyone else, to make everyone else's jobs easier. We're going to take out vulnerable targets. Valuable targets. Small groups of shadowmancers. Artillery pieces. Defensive measures. We've also got another job, which transcends the first. Remember, not everything in that damn citadel is dead.
The elf turns her head and spits onto the muddy ice.
No, the Bloody Prince has his cultists, his necromancers and the like holed up in there; not all of his armies are undead. And we're going to take advantage of that fact. We're going to go in there and scare the ever-loving C'thunfuck out of them all. How about it? Think you've got what it takes to scare the Damned?
She leans in closer, lopsided grin creeping up the right side of her face, and ferociously wicked look in her coldly glowing silver eyes.
How about it, soldier? Would you rather put the sigil of the Argents or Blades on your chest, strap a shield to your arm, and march into the Bloody Prince's domain like a Light blessed ant? Or would you rather come with us here;
She spreads both arms wide, encompassing all those milling about close by. Many of them smirk.
Us here, and find out what it is like to
feed a Damned necromancer the bones of his own minions until he dies?
The elf leans back, looking half down her nose, smiling indulgently.
And well, if you'd rather stay somewhere a relative degree safer, they still need more souls to crew the Skybreaker proper. I think Viridiant is assisting that effort, you should probably go and find her.
!
Join Illithias and her Black Reavers vanguard skirmishers hitching a ride in the Skybreaker to infiltrate the Citadel behind the front lines, and then begin work harassing and disrupting vulnerable targets to aid the main assault.