[H/RP] Hand of Conquest

01/02/2018 10:03Posted by Zeepkist
we will gladly form a safety circle of brawn and spikes around you.

Can confirm, multiple female blood elves kept harassing me until these friendly grunts saved me.
TO:
Sergeant Pyreblade, Sergeant Cinderflame

My friends of the Hand of Conquest,

As you may be aware the Warchief, Queen Sylvanas Windrunner, will be staying in Orgrimmar in the coming weeks in order to ensure the diplomatic process of our new allies from Suramar and the Highmountain continues as planned.

This will present a security risk to the great warrior city of Orgrimmar - the Alliance and many others may take the opportunity to infiltrate the city in order to cause unrest or threaten the lives of our Warchief and Her advisers.

I know you to be stalwart patriots of the Horde and thus I write to you now to pass on an advisory -- that you take extra care during the Warchief's diplomatic visit to keep the city clear of absolutely ANYTHING suspicious. Infiltrators from without and enemies of the Horde claiming to have been given lawful entry are to be ejected from the city at once or otherwise dealt with. Any fighting outside the traditional area by the Wyvern's Tail tree should also be monitored and broken up should it be deemed a security risk.

The Warchief's safety is our number one concern - and it is a great honour that you and other grunt-cohorts will be given this great undertaking in Her name.

Thank you.

Glory to the Horde,

Conqueror Phillip Perroy
Commanding Officer
The Rotgarde
3rd Tirisfal Queensguard
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Word is spread about Orgrimmar that Sergeant Pyreblade is paying for any information concerning the location of Thrim Saltwater, said to be the ringleader of the anti-Warchief insurgents that have been carrying out explosive attacks about Orgrimmar.

The amount of Grunts patrolling about the Embassy seems to have doubled over the past week.


And now for some slight gossip about the Hall of the Brave.
A conversation between two Orgrimmar Grunts concerning fashion.
Grunt A: See Sergeant Pyreblade's got his old headguard back?
Grunt B: Thank the spirits. The new one he had made him look like a gimp.
Grunt A: And what about that other Sergeant? Cinderflame? I never see him without his hood.
Grunt B: He scares me. Looked at me once, I thought he was going to drain my soul.


Also a quick reminder we're all big guys.
good guild + good members + good rp
Murder case report: Wolf Hour
Moments after midnight, a Goblin by the name of Retcoz stumbled into the Wyvern's Tail and collapsed, succumbing to his wounds. During autopsy, a bullet engraved with "Copper Co" was found. Grunt Hench Stoutfall also found another lead from witnesses , the apparent involvement of a Troll named Malaki. The latter did not lead us anywhere. So that single bullet is the only thing we have.

Retcoz was a known criminal and a fraudulous individual. Perhaps his demise was an act of revenge. The nature of his injuries made it appear as if the murder was personal.

Signed, Grunt Apawi Summersnout.
We would like to thank our spiky men and women in red for keeping our streets clean, while we keep an eye on the shadows.
I tried Alliance military roleplay not so long ago. All I can say is...

Lok'tar.
Chief Piggum grows stronger every day.
Now this looks like a job for me
I would like to ask these handsome people if they are open to persuasion through monetary donations should the situation arise. Stay handsome!
Hey this is a really cool guild to roleplay with. I love roleplay.
05/03/2018 10:13Posted by Jalikas
Now this looks like a job for me


We do need more trolls...
Lok'tar!
Vrag knelt in his humble hut amidst the Valley of Spirits, where most of the local Darkspears had made their dwellings. Even though his home village of Revantusk was a world away from the Darkspear Isles, who had carried their style of architecture even further away to the southern reaches of Durotar, it felt similar, and as at-home as he could feel in the capital city. It sufficed, only just. The smell was the worst part, as it was far too close for his liking to the goblin slums that reeked as ever. But in that moment he didn't care, his attention was focused solely on the items he had put out on the floor, infront of a modest wooden shrine of the head of a large cat. Several Bloodthistle leaves were bundled on either side of the dead plainstrider, neck slit to fill the bowl. He slid it across, once it was full of crimson liquid, along with the Bloodthistle leaves. His voice pierced the air that he thought was silent, but in reality, it was full of goblin chatter:

"Oh Swift One, give me de stamina to chase down the prey that has landed on our shores. Give me de speed to bring you a bountiful hunt."

His words sounded more like a plea than anything. A plea for his patron Loa's attention, just as he did in his home. His real home, in a dense and fresh smelling forest, without the din of goblins nor the inevitable smell that came with them. Where the air was thin and fresh, and his fellow tribesmen went about their lives. When he shut his eyes and thought about it, it was if he could see it...



"'Ere you go."

Nebra said, handing Vrag the fish pulled from the Hinterlands coastal waters so shortly ago. The young warrior seized it and devoured it hungrily. Not that he was being underfed, but simply because of how much he enjoyed to eat fish. Nebra's fish, more than anyone else's. Once he was done he wiped his maw on his forearm, grinning at his dear friend who grinned back, until they both broke out into laughter. It was cut short by a kaw!that pierced the air, louder than any eagle could make. Not even the crowned eagle, he thought to himself. The banging of drums ensued, first it was quiet and in the distance, but it rapidly grew closer. By the time that the Wildhammer infantrydwarfs came into eye sight the drums above the second largest hut, the inn, were being beaten rapidly to compete with their opponents, and Vrag felt invigorated.

The Revantusk warriors were spurred into battle by the music of battle, the drums drowned out the kissing of steel and even most of the bestial roars that either side gave off. Vrag and Nebra looked out for one another then, it was the first battle for both, and they formed a bond over it that they thought could never be broken.



He returned to reality, pushing the bowl just slightly closer to the shrine like a mother might to encourage her children to eat. Vrag stepped out of his hut before long, after all, who was he to force Halazzi to take his offerings? The forest troll bore with him three primitive spears, freshly sharpened and stowed away in the hefty quiver on his back, for they were more like javelins. A pair of spaulders that weighed down on his shoulders like an ounce of iron on a set of scales made to hold no more than a scruple. The fault was not at their maker's side, but at Vrag's preference of being light weight. A small pot of purple paint dangled at his side, and he carried with him a brush. His face was already painted, white up his nose, around his eyes, in a straight line down to the tip of his chin from his nostrils.

The first he painted was Gormesh, a city Grunt that had signed up with the Hand just moments before. With a purple splattered face the green skin and the troll exchanged pleasantries. Then, it was the sergeant, a Grunt and a friend Lorkus, and so on, until most of the Grunts had faces painted for war with the symbol of the horde traced out. A debriefing followed, and then a short speech by the wyvern sergeant. Vrag's mind was elsewhere during this, however, for it had drifted back to thoughts of home, as it so often did.

"Victory, or death!" cried Gormesh, throwing his arms up to cheer and encouraging the others in the crowd on to do it also, dragging Vrag away from his thoughts though he didn't really mind, willingly joining in.
They departed for their mounts, and he stuck out like a sore thumb on the green raptor among frost wolves, garns and kodos. That was, until they linked with the Zulian Legacy, a pleasant surprise for the troll dressed like an orc. Without further ado the forces set off, through the tall hall way that connected the Valley of Honour with The Drag, and never seemed to be quite fully lit. Up near the Valley of Wisdom that seemed to eminate clarity, where the sturdy tauren made their homes. Into the more familiar Valley of Spirits where Darkspear Watchers that remained after Vol'jin's reign met an untimely demise still patrolled, until at last they were out of Orgrimmar and on the bridge to the barrens. Vrag couldn't help but think about the vast amount of vallies the orcs liked to name, until his thoughts were interupted by the single beat of a drum. It was Horkim, atop his kodo Bumber, banging the other drum, and then back again slowly. Off they went, into the Barrens, up a winding path along a western mountain that only revealed itself to the head hunter once mounts were walking over it.

The drumming intensified until it was wild, aggressive and fast, spurring the kodo Bumber on to ride faster, and to inspire morale into the legions of warriors at his hind. Vrag felt that admittedly, after so many years, it worked.
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For now, the Hand resides in the Southern Barrens to fight Alliance agression, and will not rest until red banners fly over the wartorn plains.
After an awesome campaign in the Barrens the Hand is now back in Orgrimmar!
These guys are pretty cool.
Sounds like an awesome guild. Shame I can't live without my Dark Shaman transmog
Deep inside, you feel where you belong. [Essay from Wink's story]

"Wink...Wink!!! Wake up, duty calls!"-screamed the Sergeant of the thirteenth grunt regiment. Wink rubs his eyes very sleepy still. The sun has not rised yet, but he knows that the day of department has come. Once again. Once again, carrying the banner of the Horde. Once again marching in formation with an almost empty tummy. Northrend was the goal this time. The alliance seems to have established a camp and tries to get all the resources for themselves. But not with us!

Wink stands up and prepares himself, putting his tabard and uniform on. In the reflection of the Orgrimmar pond he looks at his mirror image. He sees the appearence and the armor of a grunt, a proud soldier of the Horde. He observes his face, his very well groomed beard, the glowing eyes, full of fighting spirit and pride. For a moment it suddenly pulls him back... back to his past....back to a time, where everything was different. To a time where he was just a young adept, who had no clue, no idea about moral, of fate and his own way he'd go and fight for one side.

"For what do you fight? And why? And why do we all fight? Does that bring us something?`Is it for the words balance? The Ying and Yang? Give and Take? The flow of nature? Or is it the hope....the blossom that only waits for the first sunbeams of the spring to show it's full glory? The blossom.... of freedom!

Wink looks closly at his mirror image, closer than before. The banner of the Horde. The banner, that stands for pride, religious freedom, the right to believe into whatever you want, no matter wheather it's a Loa Spirit, an Ancient that died a long time ago, or just a paranoid brainfart.The banner of the Horde, which gave so many races and kinds the possibility, no matter how big the differences were between them, to fight along with each other together for a safe place to live in this world.
Wink smiles and nods. "Yes that is what I stand for!"

But then Wink thinks of all his old friends. Many of them are his enemys now. All those Pandaren, who he has to stand again now and even.... kill. The blue Banner. The banner of generic force, the banner of repression, the banner of the light. Wink becomes a little furious. "How dare they.... choose this side.....".
An alliance, which seemed pieceful. But it isn't. The light, so bright that it blinds their own citizens so they don't see the illusion of freedom that surrounds them. An alliance who builds trust from making everyone the same. No matter what.
"No!"-That was not Wink's path.

Wink shakes his head, getting back to reality away from his flashback to his past. He smiles again and observes his mirror image one last time. This time the whole thing.
"I have made the right decision!
Lok'tar Ogar!
For the Horde!"

...-he yelled out loud prepares himself for a long cold travel to the icy north.


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Interested in joining the Hand of Conquest? We are still there and active! Also recruiting!

Hello gamers,

The <Hand of Conquest> is recruiting! This guild has a very standard concept - a "Kalimdor Horde" military group with a very loose uniform that I hope will portray team red's traditional grunts et al in a cool way -- disciplined and uniform but definitely rough around the edges compared to their human/forsaken/elf counterparts

We will be running on a mix of DM'd plots, RP-PVP (both restricted and otherwise) and casual RP and will probably be travelling a lot depending on where our story takes us

In terms of recruitment we're aiming for the Orc/Troll/Tauren/Goblin/Pandaren/Highmountain Tauren crowd - the guild's theme is very heavily set on the Orgimmar Grunt aesthetic. Other races will have a very hard time joining up.

The guild has a very light-weight uniform -- you will have to wear the Grunt's shoulderpads (from WoD) and an Orgrimmar tabard.

You can contact Zeepkist/Horkim/Apawi/Battlebrave if you're interested.


In case you haven't read our whole thread, I marked some updates, that aren't in the initial post.

Interested? The contact us :-)
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Zun'tulo slams his mug down on the bar top, some frog venom brew spilling out "They tink I'm stupid Gravy! Da Shattered Hand think I'm a fool!" the inebriated troll wipes some drink from his chin "I know my nose, dat orc was the guilty one!". Zun'tulo lets out a deep sigh, climbing off his stool and out of the Wyvern's Tail doorway, he tumbles down the steps, lifting himself back up with a groan and a face full of dirt. There is a cool desert night's air, a nice change from the usual thick, dry atmosphere of the day, Zun'tulo walks unsteadily towards the Hall of the Brave, barrack of the grunts, moon and brazier lighting the way for his squinting eyes "Oh no, I hope da Stone Guard don't catch me..." he snickers to himself, letting out a crude laugh as he staggers through the entrance. The slumping troll hauls himself in to his hammock, "Tomorrow mon...gonna be a different day." he mumbles to himself "They will praise me, 'Hero of Orgrimmar' when they catch dat orc..." his head drops, drifting off in to dreams of glory.

The next morning, as dawn breaks a guttural scream of horror echoes from the Hall of the Brave, to those that come running they see the head of a bloody kodo in Zun'tulo's hammock, horns stuck in its mouth like mocking tusks...