By Max Mouritz Lybeck Noukeu

Taking Matters into own Hands.

The discussions  from the Kings war-room, was loud and grim, the sound of two men, cursing and warring words and rights was spewed from one man to another, the echoes filling the silent halls of the keep, and shaking in the guards armors. Unease falling upon all within the Kings castle, able to hear the feud between Varian and Genn.

“You cannot do this Greymane!” said Varian with a harsh tone “We have a truce, to uphold honor. No more blood should be spilled!”

Genn, looked at Varian with a biting and disappointed gaze, in fit of rage. His face red from the blood rushing through his bulged veins in anger.

“We should liberate Gilneas and Lordaeron from those unholy, corpse-humping, Blight-spewing, spawns of death, Forsaken. While there forces are still recovering from the Siege on Orgrimmar! I owe my Son that, I owe my PEOPLE that!” Genn bashed his fists into the war-table, sending shakes through the table, making the tactical soldier models fall and tumble.

Varian made a dismissive wave with his hand, giving yet another glare to Genn, a lion growling against a Dire Wolf, and none of them were willing to give ground to others demands.

“I will hear no more of this Greymane, I am High King of the Alliance, and by my right I forbid you to break the truce on this foolish Crusade!”

Genn tossed the cloak around his body as he stormed out of the War-room in a fit of anger, the furies mumbling following in his wake.

“High King, he’s still but a boy, afraid to harvest the corn, when the time is right, Gilneas WILL, rise again.” Genn’s heavy footsteps were heard through hallway, no one intending to stop him while he would be in this mood.

The dusk had set upon Stormwind, and the suns last light, was hitting the rooftops in a golden gleam, the sound of the people getting to the bars and off work, as well as adventures talking as they planned their next job. In the distance the sound of a ships-bell would be heard, donging the dockworkers off work. Greymane tucked the thick leather cloak around him as he walked down the streets, heading for the Cathedral, the people, bowing in respect, the patrolling soldiers, saluting. Genn didn’t care; he barely glanced at them, as he passed everyone like a grumpy elderly man, with strong and sure steps. His mind was bubbling with thoughts, plans and tactics. He was tired of waiting, tired of standing as advisor to King Wrynn, where the man would rather listen to his son Anduin, than him. Another mad frown crossed his face, keeping in a tear, Anduin, the son of Varian, he reminded him so much of Liam, and his noble sacrifice for the people of Gilneas, and yet Varian would do nothing to help.

-Enough- thought Genn, he had made a decision.

One of Genns royal officers stood to greet him, as he stepped up to the Cathedral stairs.
“You majesty, how did the meeting with the King Wrynn go?”

Genn frowned and made a dismissive wave to the question with his hand.
“He denies lending me troops and support for a campaign to take back Gilneas”
Genn continued into the Cathedral, the priests smiled and bowed as usual, it was beginning to become a habit to see them like that. Genn and the royal officer continued up to the Altar, kneeling down as they lowered their head in silent, solemn prayer. It was not long before Genn felt a pain building in his knee from kneeling on the hard cathedral floor. He was getting old, and had lost his only son, whiles the beast inside him, didn’t allow him to be content with dying on the bed. He was a Gilnean, He was meant to be stubborn. Genn took a deep breath, as he stood up, the royal officer following his king’s example.

“What now your majesty?” the officer asked curios, yet having a feeling about what answer would be given.

“Call for the Gilneans, let them leave in groups from day to day the coming week, Blacksmiths, and soldiers first. We gather in the Stromgarde Ruins.” Genns voice was determined and strong as he paced towards the exit of the Cathedral.

The royal officer was giving a slight, lopsided smile, the joyous gleam in his eye as he saluted with a clear and strong “Yes Sir!”
The royal officer, lowered his arms to his side and narrowed his eyes slightly “And what of you, your majesty?” he asked curiously as he watched Genn walk out.

Genn smiled planning. He had all the battle-plans in his head, as he waved his hand over his shoulder “I am still the High-kings Advisor. I shouldn’t waver from my post for too long, while we are but visitors in his kingdom.” He lowered the hand to tuck the thick Leather cloak over his shoulder, as he finally stepped out of the Cathedral, and into the Lantern lit streets.

  Days passed by, and little by little the Gilneans would start to clear out of Stormwind. People left in small groups, with carts, wagons and Gilnean escort. All the claimed different reasons, some said they were going to Duskwood, Some Surwich, others claimed traderoutes between Stormwind and Booty Bay.
All went as planned, soon life in Stormwind seemed to have stopped a moment; it suddenly seemed less chaotic and silent, and it was first after the week was over the rumors started to go. That the majority of the late leavings in town were mostly Gilneans and Gilnean Sympathizers, and most of them, had traveled north.

   “Greymane! I need some answers here, why has most of the Gilneans left the City?” Varian, glared judgingly at Genn, as he leaned over the war-table, his hands rested upon, as he leans onto the arms.

“It is my peoples own choice whether they stay or not, High-king… I would not force them to stay in a City where they are only guests, while we wait for the “Alliances” aid to take back our home.” Genn gave Varian a cold glare. Ranking his back, he folded his hands behind him and moved for the door; stopping in the exit he would turn his ear towards Varian. “Remember your promise Varain Wrynn, you promised that Gilneas would be rebuild after the Siege… I will keep you to that Promise Varian, but for now I have other matter to attend to.  So I shall take my leave as an Advisor for the time being.” He moves his hand to take his cloak and top-hat, tucking the thick leather cloak over the shoulders with an elegant motion of the hand, afterwards placing the jet black hat, with a golden band around it, on top of his head. Taking a deep breath he takes his leave, as he says silently “Gilneas –will- rise again.”