World Of Warcraft War Crimes Christie Golden - [Free] World Of Golden [PDF] [ EPUB] Christie Golden (born November 21, ) is an. War Crimes World Of Warcraft 13 Christie Golden - [Free] War Crimes Christie Golden [PDF] [EPUB] Christie Golden (born November PDF - War Crimes. THE BRUTAL SIEGE OF ORGRIMMAR IS OVER. Alliance and Horde forces have stripped Garrosh Hellscream, one of the most reviled.

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PDF World of Warcraft: War Crimes 2. He had been ashamed to carry Hellscream blood until Thrall, warchief of the Horde, had come to show Garrosh that although the elder Hellscream might have been the first to accept the curse, Grom had given his life to end it. Garrosh had not returned since he left, full of the heated fire of pride and a fierce love for the Azeroth Horde, to defend his new home against the horrors of the Lich King.

But this world was not as he remembered it last, pulsing with fel energies, the wild creatures fewer and sickly. No, this was the world of his childhood, and it was beautiful. It was impossible—but it was so.

And in this place that was impossible, another unthinkable thing happened. Grom Hellscream was smiling—and his skin was brown. Garrosh gasped—for a moment no warchief, no hero of the Horde, no valiant warrior, but a youth beholding a long-dead parent he had never thought to see again. I have come home. To this, our birthplace. Forgive me for ever doubting your true nature! A hand dropped onto his shoulder. I have done so much, in your name, and my own name has become beloved of the Horde and feared by the Alliance.

Can you tell me, Father—are you proud of me? Grom Hellscream opened his mouth to speak. A metallic, clanging noise came from somewhere, and Grom vanished. Good morning, Garrosh, came the pleasant voice. Your breakfast is prepared for you.

Please—step back. If his jailers had waited but a moment longer, Garrosh would have known the answer to the question that had haunted and driven him all his life. If only he could throttle the infuriatingly composed pandaren for such an intrusion. Garrosh, clad in a robe and hood, contented himself with presenting an imperturbable expression as he rose from the sleeping furs, stepped back as far as possible from the metal frame and glowing violet octagonal windows of the cell, and waited.

The mage, wearing a long robe decorated with floral designs, stepped forward and began an incantation. The glow faded from the windows. She moved back and the other two pandaren—identical twins—approached. One brother watched Garrosh closely while the second slid a meal of tea and assorted buns through an opening level with the floor.

As the guard rose, he motioned that Garrosh was free to take the tray. He did neither, moving with calmness and control to the furs and sitting down. The mage reactivated the imprisoning violet field, and the three pandaren then left, ascending the ramp. The door clanged shut behind them. It looks too peaceful and beautiful to be the prison of someone so horrible, Lady Jaina Proudmoore mused as she approached the Temple of the White Tiger. She, the blue dragon Kalecgos, Ranger-General Vereesa Windrunner, and King Varian Wrynn rode in a cart drawn by a steady-footed yak, whose fluffy fur indicated the beast had been freshly bathed.

In acknowledgment of the honored status of the passengers, the cart had been upholstered with silk cushions in vibrant shades, though the travelers did bounce a bit when a wheel hit a rut.

Better than he deserves, said Vereesa. She fixed her gaze on Varian. There is no other justice for that monster than death, and even that is more merciful than what he has done. The deaths of hundreds, all occurring in the space of a heartbeat, could be laid at his feet. Instead, Garrosh had dropped a mana bomb, its power magnified by an artifact stolen from the blue dragonflight, into the heart of the city.

World of Warcraft: War Crimes

Jaina shook her head to clear the awful memory of precisely how some of them, people she loved, had been killed. Jaina Proudmoore would never again be the lady of Theramore. A gentle touch on her arm brought her back to the present. Jaina looked up at the blue dragon Kalecgos, who had been the one good thing to come out of the disaster. He and Jaina might never have found one another if he had not come to Theramore asking for her aid in recovering the Focusing Iris.

If the tides of war had brought Jaina a loving companion, they had borne away that of Vereesa Windrunner. In the process, he had forcibly pushed Jaina through a portal to safety. Jaina, Vereesa, the night elf Shandris Feathermoon, and a few of her Sentinels had been the only survivors. The leader of the Silver Covenant had never—likely would never—truly recovered from the loss.

Vereesa had always been strong and outspoken, but now her words were barbed, and a hatred cold and bitter as the ice of Northrend dwelt in her heart.

Thank the Light, the ice thawed when she spoke to her twin sons, Giramar and Galadin. Not so long ago, Varian might have risen to the bait and grown angry with Vereesa for her open condemnation of his choice. Now he merely said, You may yet get your wish, Vereesa. Remember what Taran Zhu promised. Taran Zhu, lord of the Shado-pan, had assured them that Garrosh would be tried, and justice would be meted out to all.

We request your presence at my temple. Every Alliance leader had received the same letter, and Jaina saw some of them at the foot of the hill, getting into similarly refurbished carts for the trek up to the temple.

Queen-Regent Moira Thaurissan, one of the three joint leaders of the dwarves, appeared to be arguing with an unruffled pandaren, pointing with annoyance at the cart. No doubt she did not find it suitable for her royal self. I remember, said Vereesa, and it seems to be important to the celestials. And if it is so cursed important, why were we not allowed to just fly to the temple? Why waste time with this cart? We are here by their invitation, Kalec said.

If they are willing to wait until we arrive by this method, we should be, too. It is not that long a ride. I am what I am, he replied, seemingly unperturbed by her comment. Yes, thought Jaina, he was indeed what he was, who he was, and she was glad of it, though much yet remained for them to sort through in their relationship.

She tried to settle back into the embroidered cushions and enjoy the slow ride up the curving path. Cherry trees exploded with pink blossoms, a few fluttering about as the wind swayed the branches.

Statues of white tigers guarded the first graceful gateway, and the path began to grow steeper. As the cart made its steady way forward and the cold pressed in, Jaina was grateful for the heat of the various braziers they passed, and wrapped a cloak more tightly about her slender frame. The earth bore first a scant dusting of snow, then drifts as the altitude increased. Jaina became aware of a profound sense of lightness, and all at once she understood. She well knew the import of casting a spell with focus and purposefulness, and it was suddenly clear to her that in their own way, the celestials were giving their guests a chance to do precisely that.

By taking a leisurely cart ride up the mountain, skirting the outlying exterior structures, and being exposed to beauty and peacefulness the entire way, Jaina and her companions had the opportunity to set aside the duties of their everyday world and arrive mentally fresh.

She permitted the air, scented with the subtle fragrance of the cherry blossoms, to cleanse her mind. Vereesa snapped, then answered her own question. Well, Garrosh is their former leader. I suppose they would be present when his fate is announced. Jaina turned in her seat, looking up at the courtyard of the temple proper, and her eyes widened slightly. Would he be better than an orc?

Did it matter? Even as she thought about him, her gaze found the orc shaman. Once, Jaina would have been invited to hold this little one, but that time had passed. Seeking distraction, Jaina turned her attention to the tallest of the leaders, Baine Bloodhoof. Unable to get aid from the Horde, Baine had turned to Jaina for help against Magatha, which Jaina had been glad to give. Baine had returned the favor by warning her of the impending attack on Theramore.

Of course, Baine had assumed it would be an ordinary battle. He had not known of the stolen Focusing Iris, or the deadly purpose Garrosh had planned for it. She spotted a few others too: A pandaren clad in the robes of a monk bowed in greeting as they exited the cart. Honored guests, he said. Here there will be only peace, as you attend the first ever gathering of all the leaders of Azeroth. Do you promise to abide by this rule?

I thought we were here to see justice done, Vereesa began, but Jaina laid a hand on her arm. Vereesa bit her lip, and said nothing more. You understand that there is not peace in our hearts, Jaina said to the monk. There is pain, and anger, and a desire for justice, as Vereesa has said.

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For my part, however, I will offer no violence. The other three answered in kind, although Vereesa uttered the words with difficulty, and the pandaren invited them to follow him up the swaying rope bridge and the massive central staircase, and into the coliseum.

Aysa Cloudsinger, among the first of the pandaren who had joined the Alliance, stood at the entrance to the temple, and the newcomers bowed to her. Her eyes sparkled with pleasure at seeing them. All I know is that those who lead the factions of Alliance and Horde were requested to come here peacefully, and that the August Celestials have made some sort of decision, she said.

Please—enter the temple in silence, and stand with your fellows in the center area, on the left. The celestials will arrive soon. Her normally modulated voice was higher than usual, betraying the strain and concern she felt.

That was not a good sign, but they all nodded agreement. Quietly, Jaina asked, Is Ji here? Ji Firepaw was the first pandaren to ally with the Horde, as Aysa had chosen the Alliance.

It had divided them until Garrosh had turned on Ji, who had come perilously close to execution. That the two cared deeply for one another was obvious, but what would happen between them now was not so clear. He is here, Aysa said. For now, we are together, and this time is precious to us both. She offered no more, and Jaina did not press her. The archmage hoped that perhaps this trial would make Ji realize that the Horde was the wrong side for him to have chosen.

The Temple of the White Tiger was vast. Despite the size, somehow the temple did not feel oppressive. Perhaps it was because despite the copious amount of seats, no one gathered here to witness death—only skill. The entrance was in the south, directly opposite a huge, brazier-flanked throne in the seating area. Banners were on display in the west, north, and east.

On the floor was a ring of six large, self-contained decorative bronze circles, with a substantial, slightly recessed seventh in the center. The illumination came from blazing lanterns that hung from the ceiling, and the daylight streaming through the open doors of the entryway.

Others were there before them. Jaina was happy to see the ease and affection with which the two interacted, as opposed to the strain of their relationship not so long ago.

Anduin, who had been in this land longer than any of them, put a finger to his lips, and they nodded their understanding.

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In silence, as requested, they moved to join High Priestess Tyrande Whisperwind, representing the night elves, and the general of the Sentinels, Shandris Feathermoon. Velen, the ancient leader of the alien draenei, inclined his head in greeting, and Anduin went to stand with his teacher and friend as others filed in.

They were followed by Moira, Muradin Bronze beard, and Falstad Wildhammer, the triumvirate that spoke for the dwarven kingdoms. Greymane had opted for his worgen form. The choice spoke volumes. It both acknowledged to the Horde present that at least some of the Alliance understood what it was like to taste the more primal side of nature, and told his fellow Alliance members that he was not ashamed of it.

Varok Saurfang. His son Dranosh had fallen at the Wrath Gate. Dranosh had been reanimated by the Lich King, only to finally fall again—a true death this time.

Varok looked to be a hard-bitten warrior, but he was also a father who mourned a worthy son. A slender, graceful figure had entered the Temple of the White Tiger. She looked at first glance like an elven archer, but there was a sickly blue-gray tint to her skin, and her eyes blazed red, as if they were the only outlets for an unquenchable fire.

Baine Bloodhoof normally found Pandaria to be second only to Mulgore in its ability to soothe his heart and mind. And yet, he was filled with an inner anxiety. But Garrosh had known that Magatha, the shaman who had blessed the blade, was against her own people, and he should never have trusted a tauren who did not remember and honor her roots.The earth bore first a scant dusting of snow, then drifts as the altitude increased.

If his jailers had waited but a moment longer, Garrosh would have known the answer to the question that had haunted and driven him all his life.

Forgive me for ever doubting your true nature! All Rights Reserved.

PDF World of Warcraft: Start on. The vale had been created by the titans, an almost impossibly lush, beautiful place of growth and harmony. Greymane had opted for his worgen form.