[A-RP-PvP] Lordamere Rangers

[Mordenhof-argent-dawn]

Dangers dark were past and ahead the grey companions of lice and hound. Thus, they had fought over the shrouded ruins of Skulk Rock against despicable undead enemies. They had come upon tourneys and games of prosperous realms, and at last, facing lines uncounted in the deep of the Plaguewoods; where mighty hosts of war marshalled.

Recent times have been packed since the last update. Attending some of these latest server-scale events, from the Games of Redridge to the Theatres of War: Ports in the Storm campaign. I’d like to thank the people behind this latest rp-pvp campaign for a splendid effort. We enjoyed ourselves tons during the battles, and they made the server feel very alive.

The Lordamere Rangers continue to watch over the Eastern Kingdoms’ most forlorn and forgotten tracts - brooding ruins and rotted woods! Seek out the wilds, and you may well stumble into contact with the greyhood companions

[Rover-argent-dawn]

The Rangers are currently stationed out of Dun Morogh for the War Games hosted by Ortellus. We’ve been having a good time getting our heads around the system in place and have been enjoying the cross-collaboration between guilds that it has offered.

Come the Games end, the Rangers are bound for northern trails and tracks past the Span. To vagrants, drifters and any would-be rangers interested in the grey cloth, a road to be shared is offered and the warmth of campfires to heat stories — troubling and jovial.

As always, beware the hounds.

[Journeyer-argent-dawn]

34-05-27 - Outlaws and Fanatics

Outlaws – Bane of the sharecropper, and earnest commoner, and foe of the Lordamere Rangers were the greed-consumed poachers and murderers in mask, and a battle between them would be fought with long eyes and sharp arrows in the shadows of the Wetlands. Amongst the hoodlums, a name was heralded long before its coming; of their cruelest bandit lord, whose iron grip reduced the lower thieves, and deserter-soldiers to cower and obey. Bastien Northwell was his name.

Entering deep marshland, to lay greater stretches of tract behind them, the rangers sought this drifter of disrepute, and found a portion of his ragged men in waiting. Their friend, Hallwell, whose grudge of sadness epitome, first bore them Northwell’s name to their lips, was captive, and so his life, would be at stake in the ambush and unsheathed steel. Threats and jeers, jabs and jests were thrown out of the way, and hindrance was uncertainty; between the Bandit Lord’s lieutenant - Arthur Danell with his outlawed men, and the Lordamere Rangers, with their hounds. Skirmishers in the shadows hid to prey upon the other; for they were adversaries as rangers and bandits both, making chaos as soon as the fighting began. Steel and strength reaped distinction for who lived and who died. But the gods of old, and the light of the valves smiled upon the honour-seeking vagrants that day, and after the death of Arthur Danell in battle, those dishonest men still alive, threw down their swords before the Lordamere Rangers, and surrendered.

The decision proved unwise. Unaccounted for by rangers and brigands both was one; a stranger of magic arts, whose grudge and tale with these outlaws undid him his conscience to execute a surrendering enemy, his inferno of blaze, sprung like a trap before anyone could stop him - or indeed, see him, and like kindling, he burned black, all who had been Danell’s men, and introduced himself to the rangers as Valerian Reynes. He named the unconscious Hallwell his friend, and called him “Gallows”, divulging the cruelty that spawned him cruelty of his own that fateful night - of Bastien the Butcher’s bloody carousal upon him and his. Some wanted to ally with the mage, others wanted to hang him for his dishonourable act, or bring him to the Stockades of Stormwind. But with injured amongst them, and neither threat nor depth of the mage’s tale evident; the archers and their hounds withdrew for another day.

Before the next sunrise, passing through Ironbeard’s Tomb on their way, unto the Greenwarden’s Grove; the grey wanderers encountered remnant killers of the disparate Scarlet Crusade who had managed to pass under the Thandol Span, but incurred the wrath of a deathly pursuer; and rangers both. As one of the two red-flame fanatics fell, at the cost of the ranger-lieutenant’s hound, that was slain, so did he drop his accursed weapon - uncanny to find, even in the keeping of a madman; for when that blade, with its engravings of evil, touched the grass, it wilted and blackened with rot all at once, losing its colour and its life - ere another terrible tool of dark thaumaturgy, had found its way to the frightened keeping of rangers; deciding their next course.

A night of malediction and treacherous surprise, is behind us! - The Lordamere Rangers continue on a course back to the lands of Lordaeron, where they will range in its wartorn tract once more. The wanderers will be conducting their own affairs for a time, waiting for the upcoming war-campaign on the 19th:

Theatres of War: Wetlands - The Red Flood

Looking forward to it, friends!

[Riston-argent-dawn]

With their breath found, respite had, and wounds licked, the Rangers departed from boggy marshes and instead to war-torn trails. Skulking, keeping to the fringes and shadows of the Highlands the Rangers made their way, with companions of orange found on the way, those of Alterac, to arrive in the Lowlands.

The peace upon the ranging tracks was to be short-lived as a familiar foe reared its ugly head: Shrak the Slayer. A wrathful beast, an ogre who’s hunger knew no bounds, stumbled across the grey-clad archers and set upon them with steel and roars. Injuries were plenty, those broken bones of men and their four-legged companions, and a feathered ogre who sprouted a dozen arrows from his thick hide. With the arrival of the Eagles Talon, the ogre was beaten back and sent running but the rangers doubted that would be the last they saw of Shrak.

From the snowy mountains, they ranged north and then west with ill-fortunes carried on the wind which quipped at their ears. The cursed steel, a heavy burden, was shared with each Ranger called upon to do his, or her, part. Until sanctuary was found amongst whispering woods from fables old. With a deal struck through binding words, the Rangers were not to slip from the scarred plain of Trisfal easily. For the forsaken Warband, and a legion of the horde who made themselves known with shouts of “The Thirteenth”, were to be faced with friends and strangers at their side.

A big thanks to both Horde and Alliance guilds for the first night of RP-PVP ahead of the upcoming campaign.

[Baerhugues-argent-dawn]

So I heard you managed to get your hands on Brigaldo and behead him ?
I hope you didn’t make him suffer -that much-, he was a good lad !
Good job on bringing the Scarlet threat one step closer to its end >:)

[Theodal-argent-dawn]

Crimson Solitude

• A quest for Scarlet effects

As decay ever remained in the forsaken region, so did those remaining of the scarlet banner, most having scattered across the northern parts of the continent and others stuck behind bars in the grand city of white. With war waging on in the lands of demise; an outnumbering host from the Horde against the hopeful Alliance forces, these men of faith would most likely see themselves pushed to the most obscure corners of the lands in order to seek exile from both the might of the Horde, but more so the Alliance host, who with scrutinizing optics and raised blades would always seek to bring a man of the scarlet banner to justice.

In the midst of these burdened lands, a man presumed a scarlet, yet clad like a hermit, would see himself killed following an interrupted interrogation and a futile attempt at absconding from the scene. An execution ordered forth on behalf of what would’ve seemed like stress and strain, seeing as others present had argued for the confinement of the hermit in pursuit of valuable knowledge. With the belfry detached from its crimson frame, rich leads of further investigation would seem lost with the rest of the drained kingdom, much to the distaste of a ranger of the Lordamere, who through the following night and day ranged the lands of Tirisfal on lone terms.

Adhere to the shadows and withered thickets, the seasoned ranger of the Darrowmere brushed across hills and meadow slipping past various structures and settlements, now wholly lost to the tarrying flames of the preceding siege of Lordaeron. Upon reaching the far north and setting soft feet upon the estate of the erstwhile prosperous family of Agamand, the huntsman ransacked mill after mill. In spite of absent fortune, the ranger ultimately encountered a pile of decomposing cadavers, counting various members of both the Alliance and Horde, and traveller alike. The discovery eventually prompted the suggestion of the nearby crypt, that of the Agamands. With a torch in his mitt and a vigilant mindset, he descended.

Amidst the bones and empty caskets, the satisfying sight of a makeshift camp found the ranger’s weary eyes. Various trinkets and keepsakes. Pages of the Holy Libram, several maps of various old Crusade camps, now wiped out, and more maps of the current lied scattered across an aged table. Besides the stacks of paper, a named diary of a ’Sir Tereno Brigaldo’ rested, containing some ramblings and how someone, assuredly the late hermit, had been trying to find other remnants of the ‘Hilt of Dathrohan’ and ‘Crimson Legion’ following their collapse. The diary additionally contained many mentions of his dead family and various Crusaders by name… Traiech, Hugues, Irwin, Lorgar, Nygell, but there would be no real notion of where they might remain now.

To the side of the table and leaning against the chilled masonry remained a great weapon. Crimson coloured leather straps were wrapped around its towering shaft, with red paint peeling itself from the curved ashen head of the axe. With a crammed sack slung across his shoulder and the war-axe in a tight grip, Theodal reascended to meet the seemingly everlasting touch of cold of the north.

[Journeyer-argent-dawn]

34-06-17 - Westbrook Keep
In audience and summons of public and private, the vagrants in grey were come out of their Kingless Realms, to partake in a council of war with the liege-peoples of Stormwind. The free roamers, with friends of home, of the neighbour, and the Khaz Kingdoms, would let pry a world in difference to such lost ornaments as Men of the Old Lordaeron. The summons of one Albrecht Von Asch were not come unheard, and betwixt bouts of outrage, corrective differences, and lofty nerve, it was evident that this kingdom of Men expected dark encroachment upon its northern neighbour in the dwarven lands. With two captains; a man of the quill, and a sailor, to lead the warhost mustered, our heroes turn to what was known as the Wetlands – the foul fen pocket of Bluegill, Black Channel, and Sundown Marshes, whose opening into the Baradin Bay was like a toothless mouth.

Battle is nigh, and the Lordamere Rangers are still out there, to smack some Horde, in the Theatres of War

[Rover-argent-dawn]

Battling with Knights and Vagrants the brotherhood of grey chase the shadow of a Baron; intent on curing his sickness of the mind. Be it through forces greater than them, or through the blades and bodkins that they carry. A long and weary road the rangers of lice have begun, one that will be wrought with deceit, danger and darkness.

Antagonists and demons chase them, revealing cracks and gaps in their bond as brothers. Trying times are upon them and there is no turning back. Redemption or death awaits these cursed drifters. Will their enemies break their resolve and shatter the brotherhood, or will they prevail and beat back the dark, together.

For any travellers, drifters and fellow rangers who seek those of the lice and weary feet. Share your stories, your hopes and your fears, witnessed in-front of fire and friends. Look for them hugging the flames that beat back the dark and hope that their fire never fades.

[Journeyer-argent-dawn]

Days of the adventure turned to weeks, and as a sun, like any other, set in the lofty skies, to perch above the summer fields, a fellowship turned to avenues old and new. With armies of the Eastern Kingdoms, they had fought enemies in their multitude; doing battle with the Horde over the Lordamere Lake and the Alterac Mountains, and thwarting the ambitions of a destitute baron, in a land undignified. Together with helpful mages, the rangers had chosen the side of resurgent holy warriors, and braved the terrors of dread Frosthold with nothing but courage, a sordid quest that saw both great good and unimaginable evil brought out under the open sun.

Another month of ranging nears its end, with the wandering hunters and wildmen seeking new adventures in the Eastern Kingdoms. With tales, to tell and songs to sing; travellers are welcomed to the nightly campsite fires of the Lordamere Rangers.

[Rover-argent-dawn]

After many exciting adventures on Argent Dawn-EU, the Lordamere Rangers will now look forward to exploring new avenues from the 27th and onwards, with the launch of Classic WoW. While the guild’s story may well continue at some point on retail, we are excited to play a part in a new community forming on Hydraxian Waterlords-EU: The Survivors of Lordaeron.

[A-RP][Hydraxian-Waterlords] <Survivors of Lordaeron> "Southshore rises"

–Survivors of Lordaeron– Here lies King Terenas Menethil II – Last True King of Lordaeron Great were his deeds – Long was his reign – Unthinkable was his death “May the Father lie blameless for the deeds of the son. May the bloodied crown stay lost and forgotten.” – Introduction: A Time for Fear – – The Year 25 (617 by the King’s Calendar) – The days of the Year 25, 617 by the King’s Calendar, were begun, and three years were passed since the dark queen of the Forsaken stretched out he…

See you in classic, friends!

[Kump-argent-dawn]

Wanted to give a bump, even you guys are mostly on Classic rn.