We are the Furious Fishmongers!
After many years of angling together, with a fair amount of idiocy and mishap along the way, we remain open for recruitment.
We welcome chatty, friendly and social people to our close-knit, foolhardy fishing crew. We follow the roleplaying realm guidelines. New recruits are usually interviewed in-game. You can apply through the guild finder tool or come and chat with one of us.
For a flavour of what we are about, please read on:
THE FURTHER TALES OF THE FURIOUS FISHMONGERS
ONE: IN WHICH A LIKELY HAZARD IS UNVEILED.
It was a typically frigid evening along the southern coast of Northrend and the natural aurora that came with the territory illuminated the modest harbour of Kamagua. This spectacular light show was further enhanced by the glowing oil lamps here that belonged to the resident Tuskarr, known as The Kalu’ak.
Natural materials had evidently played a big part in the construction of this compact village, which was nestled within a small natural bay, between jagged rocks and evergreen trees. Ancient whalebone and seal skins had been respectfully arranged to make up half a dozen homes and shelters, artfully decorated with ocean-themed carvings and murals. The dwellings were clustered around a dock which was flanked by a quartet of large fishing hoists, facing the floating ice and high bergs of the Frozen Sea. The settlement was peppered with several hot firepits, loaded with incense sticks, which gave off pleasant musky scents. The songs of the orca could just be heard in the distance, masked by the constant whistle of the chilling local wind, but mainly by a significant amount of activity at the water’s edge
Clan elders, longtooth spearfolk and turtle riders alike were helping to load up and secure a small fleet of fishing boats and kayaks with baskets, nets and general supplies.
One gigantic load of equipment in particular was being hauled with some difficulty towards the harbour by two teams of burly local labourers. A strong tarpaulin that may have been intended to cover everything up wasn’t doing so. Glimpses of iron struts and engine parts on a huge sled were offered between pulling attempts.
A smooth green-skinned goblin clad in jet black leather armour was directing traffic He wore no colours to indicate his affiliations and his gear was strapped together with various buttons and rivets, making for a compact and practical outfit. A pair of subtly-glowing jagged daggers were located within easy reach, hanging from a brown studded belt around his waist. His outfit was topped off with a jaunty bucket hat, secured with a large buckle. His long curly ears flopped out through his headgear and he wore an expensive-looking pair of gold rings at his lobes. A gimlet red stare and permanent smirk hinted at a rather unpleasant character within.
The goblin stood next to a Tuskarr, whose squat walrus-like form was bundled up warmly in tanned furs although his bushy brown facial hair was probably just as effective. His hanging tusks were decorated with tribal markings and he wore a handcrafted fishing pole strapped across his broad back. This angler tapped the goblin’s shoulder to attract his attention.
“Dacomos! Look, Green Island has arrived from Mo’aki!”
The goblin turned to witness the impressive sight of a great sea turtle swimming ponderously into view, dominating the skyline. A crew of Tuskarr were manning the artificial decks that were firmly secured to the turtle’s back, making it as high as the tallest of the buildings in Kamagua. The motion of its gigantic flippers sent waves lapping against the dock as it slowed to a halt. A mismatched pair of travellers could be seen disembarking from their chelonian transport at the water’s edge.
Dacomos and his Tuskarr companion headed over to greet the newcomers, a tall male troll and an even taller Tauren male, who were crossing a sturdy jetty to the mainland, nodding to a dockmaster elder as they passed him.
The rangy troll’s eyes were concealed along with the majority of his grimy alabaster hair beneath the broad brim of a crimson hat, which was decorated with safari stripes along its sides. He wore a colourful set of painted mail armour, pieces of which were fashioned to resemble tribal masks and a simple club hanging from his belt. His bare feet and hands protruded beyond his chunky boots and gauntlets, exposing his downy blue fur to the elements. He wore a surly sneer across his warty face, which was tattooed in white vertical lines. His long pointy ears and even longer bony tusks marked him as a jungle troll, far from home. As he walked in the crouched way of his kind, occasional glimpses of a black lobster emblem, embossed upon a mostly red uniform could be seen upon his chest.
The large brown Tauren who walked alongside him bore an even larger caber strapped across his back, which he carried without apparent effort. He was marked with white tribal warpaint along his thick hide and armed with a pair of hefty looking axes which gave off the tell-tale azure glow of enchantments. A mass of long dark hair ran behind his broad horned brow, ending in a trio of warrior’s braids which swang as he moved, his hot breath making steam in the cold air. He wore a simple gold ring through his nose and carried himself with the stern demeanour of a veteran warrior. His crimson guild tabard was a match for his troll associate’s but was well-hidden amongst the feathers and furs of his deceptively simple tribal armour.
“So this is your boss?” asked the angler.
“Yeah, for now….,” muttered Dacomos to himself quietly, before raising his voice to make the proper introductions.
“Yeah, so Noatak, this is Mudija, Fishmaster of my guild…” said Dacomos, extending an arm in the direction of the troll, whose good left eye blazed red at this comment, “…and the big guy is Mister Tunril, one of our Overseers.”
“Mudi, Tun, this is Noatak, the fishmonger around these parts.”
“What we be doin’ here, Daco? Where’s everyone goin’?” barked Mudija, acknowledging Noatak’s presence with a brisk nod, whilst ignoring the goblin’s insult.
“The locals are making ready for some grand new venture, Mudi,” replied Dacomos, “They’re sayin’ the Dragon Isles have awakened! You know, that place where all the dragons have been flying to. These Tuskarr got old relatives there, opening up a whole new trading lane. New waters means new business. We gotta get in on this. We’ll make a killing!”
Mudija and Tunril exchanged a look.
“Whut’s under there?” asked Mudi gruffly, gesturing at the poorly concealed payload which was being hauled with limited success before them. “Mistah Tun, if you please.”
Tunril seemed untroubled by the low temperature and his solid hooves crunched over the tundra as he strode with purpose towards where the locals were evidently still struggling to haul the immense load to the water’s edge. He added his formidable natural strength to the fray and all of a sudden the equipment found its way to its destination at the water’s edge.
“Surprise!” yelled Dacomos as Tunril lifted the tarpaulin away to reveal what appeared to be the contents of a large blacksmith’s shop, covered in earth, grass and oil. Underneath the debris, a row of long milled logs had been lashed together to form an oversized raft. Assorted bottles, floats, lanterns and netting had been stacked within the would-be craft, along with a token attempt at providing benched seating for passengers. The large engine from a goblin zeppelin had been crazily jammed in at the rear, with little regard for safety or style.
“De Iron Lobster” noted Mudija, grimacing slightly as he inspected the junkpile before him.
“Mark two!” announced Dacomos, proudly.
“Mark ten, more like.” quipped Tunril drily, between gulps from a carton of pungent seal whey, which a grateful work gang member had given him as a reward for his recent feat of strength.
“We even know how far we gotta sail to get to these islands?” asked Mudija.
Noatak looked aghast. “Sail? It’s a little way by turtle, but… surely you don’t think you will actually get there onboard this……thing?! I had thought these were all merely parts to be sent on, not an actual vessel. There’s no way this eyesore can float!”
Tunril easily lifted a huge iron panel from one of the craft’s gunwales, then demonstrated a large hole within by placing one of his hands through it to the other side. “Needs more stuff,” he agreed, before turning to talk to the local crafters, who seemed eager to help with this new project.
“We’re gonna need more anglers, bait cutters…” mused Mudija, “…de’ guild is all over de’ place. Dalaran, Kalimdor, mebbe even Pandaria!”
Dacomos and Mudija began bickering loudly about gold and crew numbers.
Meanwhile, Noatak had made his way over to the dockmaster, who was waving off Green Island as it swam off to its next port of call, his handheld oil lamp casting slanted shadows across the jetty.
“What kind of idiots would dare attempt to sail anywhere onboard… that metallic monstrosity?!” asked Noatak in horror.
As he spoke, Tunril and a couple of local labourers had successfully raised a mast of sorts in the centre of the deck of the unusual vehicle. A large sackcloth banner was unfurled in the chill breeze. It had been dyed in the colours of The Horde. A black lobster symbol had been emblazoned on its rich crimson backdrop.
Mudija turned towards the two Tuskarr at the dock, his keen troll ears having apparently heard Noatak’s challenge.
“Who would dare? We would! De’ Furious Fishmongers!” bellowed Mudija loudly, his deep island-accented voice carrying across the bay.