The Tide’s Virtue has set off from distant Feralas, heading home once more. I wonder where the Marine’s will go next…
Looks at date
Ah yes…
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A few days in Stormwind before sailing for <redacted>
Recruiting from the MEP in the harbour NOW!
Tides guide.
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We’re in Stormwind for a few more days before heading back for the Festival of the Tides. If you see us, come say hi!
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I was not paid for those recruitment posters! 
(good luck, still!)
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This looks really cool - good luck guys!
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We’ll be at the Festival of the Tides tonight, enjoying much-needed respite after combat on Kalimdor. But who knows what lurks around the corner?
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I love you guys!! Great guild if you’re looking for the marine experience!
@Seabridge, perhaps we can conjure up some mission together. Even though you are inbred islanders <3
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♫From the Halls of Stormwind’s Mighty Keep
To the shores of Durotar;
We will fight our Island’s battles
In the air, on land, and sea;
First to fight for right and nation
And to keep our honour clean;
We are proud to claim the title
That is Kul Tiras Marine♫
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♫The anchor’s unfurled to every breeze
From dawn to setting sun;
We have fought in every clime and place
Where we could walk and run;
In the snow of far-off Northern lands
And in sunny tropic scenes,
You will find us always on the job
♫We’re Kul Tiras Marines♫
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♫Here’s health to you and to our Corps
Which we are proud to serve;
In many a strife we’ve fought for life
And never lost our nerve.
If the Army and the Navy
Ever saw our Nation’s scenes
They will find the place is guarded
By Kul Tiras Marines♫
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We’ve finally linked up with our ship after a heated evacuation along with the rest of the Third Brigade after roleplaying out our part in the Battle of Dazar’alor. We’re currently still in Stormwind, if anyone would like to enlist!
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The Marine’s are holding an Initial Strength and Stamina Test in 40 minutes. All candidates to join the Marine Corps, present themselves at the Kul Tiran Marine Enlistment Post on Stormwind Harbour by 2000 hours!
Finally a guild I can get behind! BOOTS ON THE GROUND, FACTION WAR NOW!
Sped up footage of the Kul Tiran marines wrecking havoc in black and white begins to play
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Thank you for the kind words! We look forward to wreaking havoc!
We’re finally home!
After weeks on the fetid mainland, we’re back on our beautiful islands.
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“What’s better than being a Kul Tiran? Being a Kul Tiran Marine” - Rellan Desmonds when drunk in Boralus
(Sergeant Seabridge said the beatings continue until the bumping begins.)
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A rough piece of parchment is delivered to Sergeant Seabridge in the Proudmoore Barracks.
Sergeant Seabridge,
I’ve had the privilage of taking the Marine’s up into the Sound’s glacial regions for some cold weather training for going on fifteen years. Your commander has told me that now it’s your turn. I’ll expect you and yours at Kennings Lodge on Monday for a couple of days surviving in the freezing wilds. Pack warm.
Denby Hartcrest
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The Sergeant sat in his bunk, leaning his aching back against the slightly curved wall of the bulkhead. His cot was lit solely by the slender, half-melted candle to his left, propped precariously on a few books atop a small wooden chest, where he kept every worldly, personal item he had left.
In his hands, he read the letter from Denby Hartcrest. Again. It had been three times he’d read it now, as though in a trance. He remembered back to his days as a marine aspirant, bright-eyed and eager, naive to the horrors of the world. Back then, the Horde had been nothing but a scar seen on the face of an old warrior, or a bedtime story told to little children to keep them from wandering too late at night. So much had changed since then. Now the Horde weren’t so much an old wife’s tale as a daily reality.
He dreamt back to those days. He was a young marine on a cold night. The thaw wasn’t expected for another month or so. The ice was hard, a thick layer of snow atop it, added to by each individual flake that fell as the section of marines trekked higher into the mountain. To their right, a curious flock of penglings were following them, milling around and occasionally sliding down the slope on their slick, white stomachs.
Their trek had begun hours earlier. Despite the cold chill that settled into their very bones, the veteran sergeant of the regiment laughed, every few minutes as they ascended, an over-eager lance corporal would ask; “Is it as cold as Northrend yet?”. And all he did was laugh, the veteran sergeant that led Seabridge’s fledgling section shrugging the question of; “It’s getting there!” he’d proclaim as they neared the peak, a small flag barely visible through the blizzard ahead, fluttering in the wind, the mark of the Kul Tiran Marines, showing that this mountain had been conquered when they reached it. It was a two-way trek, up and down, and they were finally half-way-through.
Seabridge was thankful for that; afterall, almost a third of their section was suffering the early-signs of frostbite. It had begun with Jenkins complaining of numbness in his fingers, and culminated, so far, with McDonough complaining that he could not feel his hands, and that when he looked at them, they were pale, waxy, and hard. It was then that the section medic wrapped them in bandages to keep them warm, a rudimentary solution that served to keep McDonough’s digits attached until they were able to make camp on a plateau near the tip until morning.
Where the journey to ascend the mountain was ardous and difficult, the journey descending was beautiful. Overnight, the blizzard had moved on, leading to a clear blue sky, fresh snow, and a wondrous view in the distance of Boralus, and the Proudmoore Keep jutting into the sky, as though a lighthouse beckoning the marines and sailors alike home safely. It was their guiding beacon, leading them down the mountain in the name of their Lord Admiral, to return the warm embrace of Boralus after their training, where many pints of cheap ale would be raised in memory, and anticipation of what the future may hold.
To Seabridge, that was an image that would always stick with him, on the coldest of nights, reminding him the hope he felt as they made their way down the mountain; at least, in the case of Proudmoore Keep. When it came to that old Inn that had a habit of not asking patrons their age, he was reminded of warmth, of camaraderie, and faces he would never see again.
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Greytide smiled as he and the other marines watched with pride the Lord Admiral make a gift of a new Kul Tiran vessel to the High King, cementing Kul Tiras’ commitment to the Alliance once more. The Tide’s Virtue had sailed from Boralus as part of the escort assigned to the new ship, packed to bursting with eager Kul Tiran’s who, after so many years, had decided once more to undertake those most famous Islander exploits, exploration and adventure. Now berthed at what was rapidly becoming its regular dock in the harbour, the crew of the Virtue and its Marine contingent shone in the afternoon sun, resplendent in their ceremonial uniforms while the flag of Kul Tiras whipped through the air atop the masts.
Greytide cheered loudly as the cannons fired a salute, before heading below deck, grabbing his ALICE pack, and headed topside once more, to help find those of the Alliance worthy of being called Kul Tiran Marine.
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Where’s you chunky bouys and gulls at?