[A-RP-PvP] Lordamere Rangers

Argent Dawn
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Do you accept female characters too? Your current guild roster is looking a bit lacking in that regard.

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That, we do! I would note the lacking aspects of the guild roster as coincidental, being yet a small number of people involved with the guild.

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Pogchamp guild.

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The Battle in the Wetlands
From a long rest were they drawn once more into the clutches of death, to search determinedly those Sundown Marshes, and every tract available to them. They came down to Ironbeard’s Tomb, to find it plundered, as sacred memories of old were purloined. They heard tales of the slaughter in the night, and saw the destruction of the wildlife inflicted by foul hands who loved not the land but coerced the living to meet evil ends. They saw the root of the rumour, for a band of evil set loose upon the long lands of Khaz, a dozen fell servants of the Broken Mask that cried out a name – Sylvanas, Sylvanas, Sylvanas!

The Banshee Queen’s hand stretched out for the people of the Wetlands, seething to lay low these paltry kingdoms of men and dwarves, her warriors on the warpath. An Executor led them, loyal and fervent, and much trickery and dark sorcery would they possess, hiding the sight of their marshland encampment from any ranger’s eyes. Spied were these butchers by the Lordamere Rangers instead, only as they traversed the great swamp, who followed them for as long as the bog permitted, and the kingless men would have been outnumbered and outmatched, waiting to fall at the enemy’s hand, and be risen by black spells, had these been empty lands, where no one dwelt, but so it was, that the Men of Lordaeron were not alone, for word, had they sent, paired with the already spreading rumour of slaughter and evil deeds, that the disturbance of Ironbeard’s Tomb had been the last straw, answered by more than just the Harbor folk, but by the Thane of Buringard himself who brought with him the strength of his kinsmen, aided by Hierrnir of Redhall and a shieldmaiden of his company. In the time of need, there came too, one of the wizardly ilk, in the green-hat sorcerer Jaskar Caprician with many a potion and wily spell of his own. They were intent on engaging the Banshee’s aberrations, and drench the bog in the black rotters’ blood.

Battle was met in the mire, deep in the sludge of the Wetland tracts, between Ironbeard’s Tomb and the road to the south. Dwarves and the heavier clad steel of men made up the center, and the rangers took up a presence either ahead, scouting for the enemy, or behind the steel lines, where their arrows could win the day. Slobbering hounds were brought with them, trained to track all fiendish flesh of necromancy without fear. They clashed with the undead war-party, and the mighty songs of war ruptured bogs’ sleep, from the Bluegill to the Black. Spells of terrifying nature turned the skies as arrows whistled through winds’ wreath, finding aim in the battlescape, where bog beasts leered deep bellow in murky places, and the surface welled with the blood of Undead, Dwarf, and Man.

A big thanks to the Hand of Agony, and Of Hammers and Hollows for a great battle fought over fen and mire. In victory and defeat, the footsoldiers retire, counting their losses and licking their wounds, for evil yet unseen would work its true cunning further in that night.

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I appreciate you guys for the way you tell your stories, seeing English words I never even knew existed. :slight_smile:

Keep up the good work laddies.

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Thank you, master dwarf. :pick:

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With the first battle had, upon bogland and marshes, the Rangers were to be afforded little in the way of respite. An eve of rest was interrupted, with shouts of gutterspeak to the south and the appearance of a motley-crew from the north, having crossed the Span, headed by an Orc. As spry as the Rangers were, they were caught flat-footed and unaware, forced to leave sizzling meat and warmth, for the safety of the treeline. What was left in the wake of the Forsaken leaving the peatland was a heinous sight, decapitated bodies by the roadside and an elf left to suffer maiming beyond healing.

The Rangers path took them past the Span, upon the heels of the Banshee’s spawn, and to track the Risen eastward upon the grassy plains, to their rathole. Hammerfall. For now, they lay in wait. Plans hatched and allies expected, a bloody hour drew near once more.

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The Scrimmage in the Arathi
Up the hill and down the slope they went, and not a single Man of the Lordamere was there standing still for all took to their feet as if hellfire spat behind them, several of the greyhoods stalking from bush to bush in those vastly open plains of the wartorn Arathi Highlands. The fires of war – of Stromgarde and Ar’Gorok flared ever in the distance, and would well up most bright while yet the night was young. But lo! The chieftains of the orc fortress were not the bowmens’ aim that night, for Jorrick whom led the Banshee’s creatures had come abroad, leaving his relative safety of Hammerfall, either to engage his enemies or to join his strength with greater Ar’Gorok. With the dwarves still mustering at the old bridge, those faded woodsmen of the Lordamere stood on their own, and through means of low trickery, and the use of lithe creatures, some cruel experiment perhaps on the children of a bygone world, the undead spies soon caught on to the boldening rangers, drawing them the dark ones’ attention. The Ranger-Captain led them then from hill to hill, hastening as far as mortal feet may carry a runner, for the pursuers had become the pursued, a game to be kept until the arrival of dwarves and wizards.

Alas, for the red sundown had but predated a redder night, that vainly had the spirits of the allies worn thin, and the insipid specters of the enemy, finding new strength in the warfront, had become emboldened, and they drove the living back to the Thandol Span, then dared advance no more, cries of a dark victory echoing as the skies turned black. Weariness was become of those alive, and a restive watch from that long bridge, licking their wounds until the morrow – to fight another day.

A big thanks to The Hand of Agony, Of Hammers and Hollows, and the Reclaimers for this skirmish that followed up The Battle in the Wetlands. The Lordamere Rangers continue to brave the long-lost ruins and wiry forests, drawing ever closer to their namesake, and welcoming the company of new folk amongst them.

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Thank you for doing the event with us! you guys are amazing! and I hope we will RP again some day!!! <3 <3 <3

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Once more presiding over the lofts of the Baradin Bay, watching dark water and wartorn shores into forest and hill, the Lordamere Rangers may be found around the Hillsbrad Foothills, preparing themselves for new dangers and magicked journeys in the Eastern Kingdoms, where more terrible things await them! :skull:

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Very cool bunch! Bumped into this lot and others in Strahnbrad!

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New allies came there to the Lordamere Rangers from all yonder Realms of Men. There were vagabond knights of kings new and old, from Stormwind to Lordaeron. There were Alteraci footmen and rangers – Simple men following one Kanista Thorpe, the Ranger Captain of their Eagle’s Talon. Thus made the men of the Lordamere for the mountains of Alterac, where friendly arms brought them conditional solace ere provisions could be moved onto the hiding locations of the Tirisfal Glades – the sad heartlands of home. The vagrants’ host, then greeted by the lice and weary feet, was alike a patchwork of tatters due. A cripple was there, and a wretch, and a Duke most illicit, prone a hoodlum before all in frigid company. Thieves, knights, and rangers were there, and wizards now acquainted from the battles with Jorrick and his fiends - Gremyre and Jaskar, the Red and the Green. Their foe was a devil most suscept, not unlike the wretched dead of their past encounter, and the Lordamere Rangers came to know this one as Morsteth – the Baron Blightreek, leading his Grim Gest where rallied orcs and tauren, sin’dorei and undead. Many times, they clashed over the windy hovels of the hoodlums’ kingdom and the village of Strahnbrad – a hollow hamlet frozen cold and unfit for war.

As the wintry temperatures loomed shivery, the severity of the defenders’ conditions bred them dissent and distrust of one and the other, for all men in a spoiled land held grudges, jealousy and bitterness out of an older world. As provisions were spoiled by the enemy’s hand, or looted by those of men, there worsened the state of their tatters’ army, and it led to bitter exodus, and dispersal. Out in the cold white snow, they would beat back the hosts of Tarren Mill, only to find their foes come again, so soon from bitter defeats, bringing fell servants untouched by the frost; ghouls and stitched bodies, behemoths made. Men found their hunger from such fighting, that even the rats of the town would be appetizing to them.

The Rangers looked West.

A big thanks to the Eagles Talon and friends for some very atmospheric battles at Strahnbrad. Great people with a solid concept. The Lordamere Rangers now drift to range between the territories, their ire turned to the rubble of Tirisfal, and its black, charred earth.

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The Talon has had the pleasure of meeting the Lordamere Rangers a few times now, both in rest and in the thick of battle in their own home mountains. I’ve a very soft spot for rangers and the Lordamere pull off both the look and feel of of such perfectly. Having spoken both IC and OOC at some length with their guild leader I look forward to how they will be developing in the future and hopefully will be around to join in. I’d recommend this guild for any that RP within the fallen kingdoms.

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Faced with sightless seeing, wretched undead, the rangers were dealt only further scars ere they made tread upon Tirisfal soil. Indeed, many a dark seeker and claimant of the lost power sought the Glades to sate their own malice, and mortal men as simple as the lice were unwelcome in such frigid lands. Dug down, were they, with supplies in hidden places, and relieved of a terrible burden now thought lost. Caught between ravenous veiled evil of the long-begot dead, and a sorcerer’s wily greed and jeer, there seemed a hopeless road was made their curse in the empty lands.

In Lordaeron, they are! In wild tracts and empty hills, seeking other stray vagrants that hobble about the lost domains. The road goes ever on and on for the Lordamere Rangers, and we hope to see you all out there in the RP-world.

We too, had some great times in Strahnbrad. Looking forward to the next one, Kanista.

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From the west and to the east, and then fleetly back again, the grey companions would cover plains of green and grey, once more to the Darrowmere seeking red death. The forces of the Grim Gest were brooding like bats in the cavern ceiling; Man, Elf, and Dwarf were quick to pursue them and do battle. From the farmers’ fields to the quaint fire of campsite Chillwind the Rangers went, with tales of valour and bloody deeds to be shared that were fit for bards to sing of. The respite was brief for Red Butchers, lost crusaders and rabid madmen, came to leer at every road and trouble the travellers onto wits’ end. With many companions, the Lordamere Rangers set out to hunt down these killers and broken men, where they slew those of the Crimson cloth who were yet to find hidden refuge in the Eastern Plageulands. Following, was the promise given to the friend stalwart-proven; Hallwell the Worgen, a figure of both rage and mercy, as the Rangers took up the hunt for a ruler amongst bandits—Bastien Northwell. The blackened reputation marred with cruel and cold-hearted deeds was chased into the Uplands of Alterac, for rangers and brigands to meet, one to slay the other without reprieve. As the war rages over Stromgarde, and Ar’Gorok, the grey vagrants continue to light their campfires, inviting friendly faces to the warmth amidst such terrible turmoil.

The Rangers can be found across the grassy plains of Hillsbrad before their difficult path continues.

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Had some good, although brief interactions with this lot. A band of quality roleplayers with an interesting theme and roster of characters that treated us (TMoGF) like the rotten to the core, band of outlaws and brigands that we are. Definately recommend interacting with the rangers should you find yourself roleplaying up in the northern scene.

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65 days into the year 34 – 626 by the King’s Calendar, the grey wanderers, strays of an older time come into a new ruined world, were finally stood upon the cluster isles in the basin of their namesake; the one of freshwater whose body had knitted vast kingdoms, and whose bane was Thule the fell one that tattered the cloth and made it grey in days long past. They were back, in lice and broken bow-arm, steel glimmering of swords with their worn hilts. Back to the Lordamere of old, once stabbed by the long knife. And so sadness sinking, long bereft, there was the echo of greatness printed in the place men called the Fenris Isle, where stood castle and village - one empty, and the other a carcass. Gone were those days of stately providence, when Fenris Keep had been one of the finest fortresses ever raised in Lordaeron. Well into the war had stepped that hope without return, that it was swallowed whole by the coming of the Rot Hide, and now the village was found decomposing, full of bones, its castle empty that night. Words spoken hushed, and pertaining battlefront, told of the many times that Keep had come to switch hands in recent months, since the Blood War began, and at war for it, were the Bloodfang who roamed the Silverpine, facing the Banshee’s Deathstalker Hayward and all the black-hauberk legions of his evil queen. They said this servant of the enemy was soon to come with vile company - in the haunts that once were the proud citizens of Lordaeron, fleeing the Tirisfal for the Hillsbrad strongholds and black towers still standing.

When came Lordamere’s wayward men, they were not alone, for well into the night when resting in beds of straw, there flew a host of the Undead in waiting, with the visages of the fallen Ralf at its head, and even more faces recognized amidst the gangrel army of ghostly entities amongst footsoldiers made of bone. Swords and axes held they, and all speech coarse to utter from the mouths of the dead was terribly distorted - either suffocated entirely, or welling only in the magical tongue of Eredun - the language of demons. Stifled, and strong to weave black spells in evil veils of mist, the ghosts of dead comrades fought against holy water and silver dirges, forced from the walls with only great effort. A long debate ensued pertaining the nature of the risen spirits, and who might have woken them from slumber, for the question remained duly unanswered.

The Lordamere Rangers can finally be found in the Lordamere, where they explore what became of the lost ranging tracts, with the Blood War looming. The adventurous vagrants risk being caught between the hammer and the anvil, so close to the Forsaken apparatus turned desperate since the fall of the Undercity, all the while pursued, by another face of Undeath - that of a Necromancer :skull: from dark waters.

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20th day, 3rd month, Year 34 - 626 by the King’s Calendar,
The grey cloaks settled with the dust of Gilnean ruins, and it was the tarnished sons of the Lordamere’s deep water, that treaded dark soil and uprooted suscept rumour. A ghost, they said, was there in the Headlands of that battle-torn kingdom, amidst all the debris from the crumbled houses of Men, and this animate dead had been known to the Rangers’ guide in the terrible tracts beyond the dark wall; Remus. It became a night of distress with sorcery rife, as closer crept the hour to the midnight bell the rangers incurred wrath from the sky; sets of searching hands, of Rangers’ and Gilnean’s own, set about a tiny abode which had once been called home by a tall, dark mage. A thunderous crack erupted above them, and lightning was to strike the rafters, forcing their search to the habited headlands. There, an ancient spirit lurked and waited, with a bright sword and warlords circlet from days of yore. Skeletons came upon the whim of raised hands, with rattling bones carried upon the wind for the chimes of conflict. The battle ensued, between the Lordamere Rangers and a bundle of helpful strangers set against skeletal warriors in the rolling hills. The clash of steel rang out, arrows took flight, and the last of Alonsus’ holy water was cast; for the cracking and sizzling of risen bones to follow. With the witch-night passed, and the vagrants remaining upon their feet, they departed with haste to lick their wounds and recover. Now, their tracks lead from the ruined kingdom with fewer answers and more questions than when they had arrived.

Currently, The Lordamere Rangers can be found in Silverpine - Destined to leave and continue their journey around the Lordamere!

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The first of future-come journeys now lay in the restive past, and the travellers, long beset in the hostile lands, were come again, with errand found, to be in Anduin Wrynn’s city of white. At its inns and tavern floors, the Lordamere Rangers were come down with tale to share of evils fought; for three adventurous months had they spent to herald spring, bringing sword and arrow against the terrible specters, dark wraiths, tribe of troll and ogre, and the menacing Horde amassing for the Blood War. In their journeys, the rangers had come as far as to the Ghostlands, where echoes of the past and hostile border patrols leered watchful, under the shadow of Deatholme, and they had seen the brooding walls of blight-filled Lordaeron, and the black fields all about it. They had revisited the Lordamere of old, and the Keep that stood above its isles.

Now behind walls of stone, some of the vagrants were prone to perhaps tell of such rangers’ exploits, and the dangers that brooded up there, for but generous offer, drawn to Stormwind Kingdom by rumours of tourney games, and the legends told of a knight clad in gold, wielding magicked weapon.

Thus, the story of the Lordamere Rangers continues…

Now finding themselves in the less hazardous center of civilization, the Lordamere Rangers are visiting Stormwind Kingdom for a time, bringing stories of adventure, and seeking new travel companions, for the next bold journey. Fresh faces, companions of the road, and Ranger stock are welcome to share their path.

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we are many

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