The time had come for the warlike roots of our clan to reveal itself. Cheatoh and his motley crew of warriors (known for the lack of sophistication they made up for in battle skills) of the Armor Division had declared war on a local guild known as the Dark Blade Cult. I was not there for the declaration, but my clansmen alerted me through my guildstone to watch out and not listen to a word that Jungae, their leader, said. A guildstone is a small, green stone, perhaps slightly less than the size of an eyeball (alright, not very subtle, but it is the only thing I could refer it to), a third or fourth of it clasped in silver, which had a small chain attached. Soon enough, as some had warned me, I was met by an ambassador of the Cult. He had low-quality gear and weapons; clearly he had no true strength as of yet. But then again, who was I to judge? Perhaps it is I that had no true strength. Regardless, I looked him up and down. I could probably take two or three men of his strength on… this thought came to me upon looking at his expression. He seemed in slight despair, and in more evident anger. I walked with him to the Inn in Razor Hill to meet with his leader. Though told to avoid him, how could I? This was a monumental thing Cheatoh had brought upon us. First of all, I thought immediately of speaking with Cheatoh, chastising him for his impulsive decision, and settling things professionally. However, a bad thought struck me as I traveled. How could I interfere with the Armor Division, since it was I that set up the independence of the Houses? The answer brought my spirits down a bit—I could not. It would make me a hypocrite (a despicable thing by any account), sever the trust my clansmen had in the system, and invite chaos to reign freely. Upon reaching the inn, the ambassador left to train. Looking around, I saw that the inn was not a gigantic location, but it was full enough to keep business up for travelers. Looking forward, I saw my objective: Jungae, and his companion Thal'kor. Feeling a bit uncomfortable with the fact that I was outnumbered (I was clearly not outgunned, for I had more strength than theirs combined, but there is something unnerving about being outnumbered), I discreetly pulled my guildstone from my pocket and called on a friend of mine… Tamachi, an Orcish hunter of much physical strength. Delaying the main meeting until Tamachi arrived, Jungae outlined the problem, most of which I had already been told. In less than a minute, however, Tamachi arrived on a brown wolf and dismounted. I could see that Jungae and Thal'kor were impressed; he was indeed a sight to behold, clad in his armor and wielding a great claymore. "Sorry I'm late. Let's get on with it." And thus we did. I had a bad feeling when the meeting began, and it got worse as the meeting went on. It came to a head when they said that they would go to war against the whole clan, not only the Armor Division, and that they personally knew members of the Alliance that could hunt us down. Tamachi grasped my shoulder, holding me back from the bastards. "Traitors to the Horde! Do you have no shame?" They insisted, however, that I was the one that was the traitor, as I was willing to kill a fellow orc. What is truly wrong with this? It was war on orcs in Draenor, and thus what is wrong with war on Azeroth? Did race truly make a difference? No, it was the nations that we went to war with, and the nations' decisions. However, they kept on bending the truth, convincing themselves that they were the righteous ones. I kept on pressing this to the point that they walked out on us. War it was.However, later on someone in the Cult contacted me. He was convinced that the war would destroy the Cult, and ruin his friendship with Jungae. The war must stop, or so he said. I had to inform him that this war could not be halted, and he was distraught. He had a firm friendship with Jungae, but disagreed with the war and the Cult's demonic tendencies. He would consider joining the Clan, but for now he would merely keep us posted on the Cult's movements. The drums of war were beginning to thunder, and the beat was familiar to my Clan. We know the rhythm in a way that others do not… so come, Dark Blade scum. We will settle this as soon as you man up to an arena battle. Come! Let your screams be heard as far as the Twisting Nether! Let even the demons who reside there scream for mercy at the hands of the Lightning Blade Clan!