Looking forward to seeing you boys on the field, and having various jabs and jibes at one another as to who is Anduin’s favourite.
PS: It’s us; we have Footman, footman of < Footman >.
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Ready for action!
Uncle Lothar wants you! To serve in his majesty’s army! Get your sword and fight the horde!
Good luck! To arms!
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A warm welcome back & good luck to one of the server’s finest RP guilds. Hi guys! ![:wave:](https://d1bg94bbsh66ji.cloudfront.net/en/wow/images/emoji/twitter/wave.png?v=6" ":wave:")
Anyone with an interest in authentic military RP, look no further. Footman does incredibly detailed and well-researched military training (without losing sight of the bigger picture), the deployments are full of substance and plot developments, and all throughout you get to IC explore the emotional/mental side of army life.
Which can get quite dark and will get you really invested and wanting for more.
https://www.argentarchives.org/files/gallery_image/borntofote.jpg
OOC the guild gets ran with solid management and high standards, and it really pays off in polished, immersive and fun RP.
Here’s to many more Fote!
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Reminder that we are accepting recruits until Friday 19th, at which point we will temporarily cease recruitment for the purposes of security detail at the upcoming Games of Redridge. After that, there’ll be a short grace period before we embark on the awesome Ports in the Storm campaign. We’re also hard at work on the guild’s new website, complete with swanky new visuals. Lots to come!
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Go, meatshie-- Warriors of Stormwind, go! For the Alliance!
HEAVY INFANTRY!
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Recruitment is temporarily closed until the conclusion of the Games of Redridge, re-opening for a brief period on Monday 29th April. Our guild website in its bare bones stage is now also live at h;ttp://www.footmaneu.weebly.com/ - have a peek at all our service records and screenshots!
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There you go, and good luck 
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Thank you, my man! The new forum system still doesn’t trust me. ![:eyes:](https://d1bg94bbsh66ji.cloudfront.net/en/wow/images/emoji/twitter/eyes.png?v=6" ":eyes:")
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Just place a ` at start and end of links, and it will be done ![:slight_smile:](https://d1bg94bbsh66ji.cloudfront.net/en/wow/images/emoji/twitter/slight_smile.png?v=6" ":slight_smile:")
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After five hours and several blown gaskets, the population inside Lakeshire are safely disarmed, and the majority of the night’s incidents pass without violence. The few and far between footmen of Dragon Company nurse their beers in the inn after a long shift, taking shifts of less than two hours’ sleep while they desperately maintain their strained vigil over the dozens of attendees swarming the town.
In other words, we’re having a great time! Come say hi!
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Word just came in from the top brass; we’re not eligible for overtime pay, boys…
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Having done an astounding job at the Games, being only a few simple rankers in a sea of lords, ladies, champions and more; the men and women of Dragon Company’s second platoon managed to keep a handle on most of the things that would cause the attendees grief!
[don’t believe the media, they always want to shut down the King’s boys and girls in blue]
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We’re recruiting again, briefly! Dragon Company is on city leave for a couple of days for the purpose of allowing the rank and file to sort out their admin and say their goodbyes to whomever they feel deserves them. In just over 24 hours 2nd Platoon will be called to muster once again, ready to make the journey across an entire continent to remove the Horde from the Plaguelands by force.
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All these bruises we’re getting simply adds another shade of blue to the already stunning pallette.
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Personal Combat Log of Sergeant R. Matheson, Dragon Company, 1st Battalion, 2nd (Northshire) Regiment of Foot:
Dressed in Smoke
It is early in the morning of the fourth day since we entered the Plaguelands. Already the oppressive darkness of this forsaken place has crawled deep into my mind; I struggle to remember the smell of truly fresh air or the sensation of clean, wet grass under my boots. The events of the last three days have taken place under a sky sullen with smoke; I feel no sunlight on my back even when there are no clouds to be found. Here in the depth of the night, the sounds of lonely sentries and returning patrols are the only indicators of life and movement aside from my own sparing breaths of clammy air. There is a palpable sense of looming danger about this place.
The brigade has occupied Death’s Breach; a small plateau north of New Avalon. Here we camp amidst the bones of Scourge siege engines; vestiges of a war long lost. It has taken three days of fierce battle to bring us to this shelf, atop which we can see by day the architects of the Horde at work constructing their deepwater port. We drove hard into the heart of the Enclave this evening, though our advance was checked by an enemy far outnumbering us. Under any other circumstances, I would consider us to have come within spitting distance of our victory, but our brigade was hamstrung from the offset and we failed to follow through on our early gains. The command structure thus far has been carelessly irregular and many of the losses of the first two days can be attributed to this fact alone. Others throughout the brigade share this opinion, a fact that spurred me to borderline mutinous action today.
One man, a certain ranger captain, has attempted thus far to lead this brigade alone, and it resulted in the Northshire men’s isolation on the far flank during the Avalon advance. We formed circle to see off the trollish attackers, but such was the pain of exhaustion and the weight of the enemy numbers, we simply could not hold. I have led men for some twelve years in this regiment; part of the efficient handling of the soldiering profession is the acceptance of your own mortality. Today, however, stood as the first engagement in which I have been confident of my own end.
I am not proud of my refusal to follow the Captain’s command towards the end of the operation. I had seen my men nearly killed to a man. My lack of faith in my commander, brewed with the anger and resentment of three days’ losses, drove me against my training for the first time in seventeen years. It was only seeing Private Ebonluck’s attempt to settle a score with the Captain by force that spurred me forth to protect the integrity of the brigade with a formal apology, though it came alongside a plea to spread command of the formation between others experienced in warfare.
The Captain’s willingness to do as bidden and seek the experience of others has restored my faith in the man. He may be inexperienced in large-scale warfare, but he has an ear for those equipped with the necessary skills, and his fault ultimately did not lie with bad decisions - he simply did not make any decisions. For my part, I will cut short any further criticisms to preserve the strength and unity of our fragile alliance here. We are relatively secure atop this plateau, with three possible escape routes and a defined sentry rotation and aid station. We have discussed at length as a council our intention for the battles to come, and I have capable allies assigned to my infantry contingent.
Tomorrow is a new day, and we shall take to the field as a streak of blue if only to break the dull palette of this forgotten place.
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He wasn’t sure quite what came next. All his life he’d believed the Light would take him yet, the creeping darkness that now encased him, that sowed doubt into his mind, every agonising second made him second guess himself.
He was so scared… so alone.
The voices were distant, unfocused. O’Malley? A numb, cold sensation was overcoming his body- and… a book? What was his favourite book? Quentin Jones. He mind began to wander, he felt -so- cold. Wait- Fisher? What happened to Fisher?! He’d seen the boy go down, overpowered by one of the same beasts that would soon be upon him- he’d assured the lad he’d get through this, assured him he’d make it out the other side.
“Fisher- I’m so sorry, son- I’m so sorry…” His voice came as but a whisper as he finally exhaled, a whimper escaping his lips.
Arthur Gladston didn’t know what came next…
as he finally left this world and sank into a never-ending, peaceful slumber.
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In the peace of the early morning, when the camp at Death’s Breach fell to silence, a lone soldier sat upright in a tent. The dull, stuttering glow of a single candle cast a crooked shadow against the mouldy canvas; the sounds of charcoal scratching on parchment the only indication that the silhouette clung to life.
The platoon sergeant had not faced this before. His service extended seventeen years, though the lion’s share of that had been as a senior medical technician. He had seen men die often enough, and frequently their deaths had been his responsibility. Since drafting as a section corporal and then platoon sergeant, however, he had struggled to keep up with the changing face of war without the training he so desperately needed. His years of experience made him an able combat leader and his men trusted him, but without the strategic guidance of the leftenant commanding 2nd Platoon he felt awash in the abyss, wracked by the tides.
Twice now his furious temper had been unleashed upon the force commanders, wielding blame like a burning sword. For a senior non-commissioned officer, even one without formal training, his task was simple. Lacking his platoon commander, though, Matheson had found himself in sole command of his men - something he had never before experienced. Throughout the danger and defeats of the Plaguelands, he had relied on the force commanders to give him the strategic guidance he was used to, but they were not soldiers. It was easy to blame them, especially when men died.
Fridelund had checked him, however, and the reality of his inexperience had begun to set in. Unbidden, his eyes flickered to and from the twin silhouettes of damp black soil; the only memories of the two slain footmen that had laid in this tent only hours before. Men had died on his watch a dozen times, but this time he could not shake the guilt. Instead, he buried it for another day, and concentrated on the letters before him.
Dear Cpl. Fisher
It is my responsibility to inform you that your brother was killed in action in New Avalon at 2200 on May 7th, 626KC. On behalf of His Majesty the King, I extend to you and your family my deepest sympathy in your great loss.
Paris Fisher was a victim of unlucky circumstance in his conscription, though he took to his path with quiet resolve at all times. It was my pleasure to watch him grow and develop through service in two companies; his service throughout was astounding given his unfortunate history. Whatever his misdeeds in the past, he will be sorely missed by his peers.
His death, though untimely, contributed to the safety of the thousands of soldiers serving on the Arathi warfront. I commend to you his coat and medals that you might remember him as we will, for his stoic dedication to his country and heroic sacrifice.
Signed: Richard Matheson, Sergeant; 2nd (Northshire) Regiment of Foot
Dear Ms. Brooks
It is my responsibility to inform you that your ex-husband was killed in action in New Avalon at 2200 on May 7th, 626KC. On behalf of His Majesty the King, I extend to you and your family my deepest sympathy in your great loss.
Arthur Gladston was an outstanding representation of the finest of Stormwind’s gentleman soldiers with whom I had the pleasure to serve in two companies. His reputation for unfaltering dedication to his craft and his peers was nothing short of inspiring, both to me as his platoon sergeant and to the other men and women privileged enough to stand with him in combat.
His death, though untimely, contributed to the safety of the thousands of soldiers serving on the Arathi warfront. I commend to you his coat and medals that you might remember him as we will, for his stoic dedication to his country and heroic sacrifice.
Signed: Richard Matheson, Sergeant; 2nd (Northshire) Regiment of Foot
No more footmen would die in the Plaguelands. Not on his watch. Not again.
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We went in with twelve; left with nine…
There’s no rest for the men of Dragon Company, though, we’re back on the job in a few days - but still looking for more individuals for the meat grinder-… I mean, more courageous volunteers to join the King’s Army!
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Recruitment is open until the 20th May!
The tour through the Scarlet Enclave was one of the bloodiest we’ve been a part of as a company, and the budding relationships between our ensemble cast are stretched to breaking point already. I’m astonished by the depth of the characters in the company; it’s by far some of the best military roleplay I’ve had the pleasure to watch develop.
It’s a fantastic community to become a part of, and we’re eager to welcome you. Give it a go!
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Another one bites the dust…
That marks the fourth death since our launch in April.
$%^£, we’re not gonna last at this rate, boys…
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