7 Likes
Bros? This guild is really cool.
7 Likes
The marshes were unforgiving, drenched in Dwarven blood, as well as Forsaken bile. Yet, the Dwarves and Gnomes emerged victorious, once more defending their illustrious homeland.
Weāre in the Wetlands, fighting the Rotgarde! Hereās to AMAZING RP and activity, from one of the best Dwarf RP guilds on the realm & beyond! 
6 Likes
What to say about this absolute titan of a guild?
Its the best. Primal NPCed events, based RP-PvP and proper dwarven casual RP makes the entire thing a worthwhile experience.
Join now and youāll find character development in spades, plus weāre off to Northrend next week, so better now than ever to sign up in the name of the great MODIMUS himself!
For Khaz Modan!
6 Likes
The combination of hail and lightning made the ascent a tricky task, but they persevered as they held onto their grappling hooks like spiders tethered to a web.
Only they were dwarves, and the web was one of the many mountains of the Storm Peaks.
āBoarmantle, give me some room will ye? This is a tricky one, weāre almost there!ā
āWit was that? Its hard to hear ye!ā
āI said-ā
The crackling sound of thunder and a rumble emanating from the mountain itself followed, then the shriek of a loosening hook and a primal scream of terror, which slowly became apart of the tearing wind and booming thunder, and eventually ceased to be.
Ten became nine.
Nine became seven.
Seven became four.
The expedition set up camp atop the peak, a looming ridge had thankfully given them enough cover from the elements, yet the cold, the biting cold, that was something they could never escape from in this cursed land.
Setting up his tent, Dulnus quickly entered it with the rest of his supplies in tow. Setting himself up for the night, the dwarf made sure his pillow was positioned properly before trying to get some semblance of sleep.
The next day he woke up. The wind had ceased, the thunder abated. Upon opening the flap of his tent, the dwarf looked at the other tents his kin had set up.
āYe all up yet? Lads?!ā
Silence.
He checked the first tent, and upon opening the flap his eyes widened in shock. Delgir laid stiff on the ground, his skin a frozen pale blue.
Pollus was the exact same, frozen solid within the second tent, shortly followed by Bergen. Dulnus exited the last tent and looked over the edge of the mountain into the misty depths.
The sound of rustling startled the dwarf, yet it was slowly replaced by an internal dread. His gaze remained fixed downwards, afraid. Despite the fear, the strength of the mountain coursed through his veins, and with that came an expectation to face his fears head on.
Slowly, he turned around.
His kin succumbed to the cold, yet their eyes blazed a deathly blue, their shambling corpses trudging out of the tents and towards the Mountain King.
His weapons left in his tent, Dulnus raised his fists up in preparation, yet even his martial prowess paled in comparison to his dead kin.
They trudged towards him, until eventually reaching out to him with dead arms.
Sitting up, Dulnus breathed heavily in shock; the dim lantern on his nightstand being the only immediate source of comfort to him. Wiping away a torrent of sweat from his forehead, the dwarf sat back on the bed, his head resting softly against the pillow.
It was another night of terrors, one of the many scenarios that plagued his mind; the result of decades of warfare. The dwarf slowly turned and stood up from his bedside, grabbing his smoking pipe and tobacco from his nightstand. Topping up his pipe, Dulnus slowly made his way over to the balcony overlooking Thelsamar, puffing out rings of smoke as he settled his nerves under the night sky.
Northrend loomed, and with it the realisation that Dulnus may have to face fears better left unearthed.
3 Likes
TRIPLE BUMP?
Iām making up for lost timeā¦ swear on me pa!
We merry band of dwarves are currently stationed in Wintergarde, so if youāre a dwarf looking for unity and a place to call home, come and drink with us in the off-time and smash cultists and HORDE in primal, world-class NPCed events and RP-PvP!
2 Likes
Yeah, these guys are pretty good, from what rumour mongering you usually hear that itās all Perroyās alts, its actually far from it, theyāre all cool dudes and amazing dorf RPers, and clearly not Perroyās alts.
I should return from my very short absence soon and canāt wait to bring eternal glory to Khaz Modan and its rightful rulerā¦
3 Likes
Our 'prentice Ralle may now refuse
To wipe the scoundrel Udrenās shoes,
For now heās free to drink and play
Over the Hills and far away.
Over the Hills and Oāer the Span,
To Stormwind, Lordaeron and Khaz Modan
The council commands and weāll obey
Over the Hills and far away.
We all shall lead more happy lives
By getting rid of brats and wives
That scold and brawl both night and day ā
Over the Hills and far away.
Over the Hills and Oāer the Span,
To Stormwind, Lordaeron and Khaz Modan
The council commands and weāll obey
Over the Hills and far away.
3 Likes
His fears had come to fruition.
It started with the battle against the Loyalists; a stygian torrent of empowered forsaken. While they may have been worthwhile foes on the field of battle, it quickly became a nightmare; if one forsaken who wielded a blade of shadowflame was not enough, he was promptly assailed by another one of the coffin-dodgers, this time a foe from a previous encounter on the shores of the Wetlands, the mad one: Two-faced Hitchens.
He battled one after the other, eventually resorting to his own empowerment: the stone avatar, the power of the Shaper himself, or so he believed. Yet it wasnāt enough; he could only ignore the wounds for so long: the cuts, haunted scarring and damaged muscle resulted in a grand collapse into the sands of the Bronze Dragonshrine.
The mountain king was mended: his left shoulder, torso and right thigh were seemingly disinfected and bandaged, courtesy of a medic long gone; he did know who did it, only that he could make out the faintest hint of green amidst his bouts of consciousness. Slowly but surely, his eyes adjusted to the familiarity of the makeshift medical ward of Wintergarde, he slowly stood up, but was sat back down at the behest of his own body. Physically he was impaired, but like many an injury, it would heal over time.
The mental damage however, remaind.
The dward limped over to his self-appointed charge lying asleep on a nearby bunk. The gnome had taken a beating, being assailed and taken hostage by the forsaken loyalists. He sat by her bed, content to simply watch her breathing. While part of him was glad she was alive, another was aching with turmoil and anger.
Faced with her near-death, the dwarf realised that his friendship with her had become more than just pleasant company, he wanted to confess, he wanted to let go of his bottled feelings. Now he was faced with an opportunity to say it out loud; it was not as if she would be able to hear him, or would she? One of his many fears arose, yet it was quickly punched into the depths of his throat as he spoke quietly.
āI love ye lass.ā
He sat in the snow outside Venomspite, his armour scorched, his pride dented, and his mind shattered.
āKill them all, avenge the Forge-Captain, for KHAZ MODAN!ā
āHrah, Frakkas, I leave this can tae ye, finish her off!ā
Always move on to another target, always battle the bigger foe, and when youāre done with that, find a bigger foe to slay. Onwards and upwards, no matter the cost. This mantra was buried deep, its roots finding a home in the Bronzebeard from childhood.
The azerite-infused weapon crashed against the earthen barrier, breaking through with ease, burying the dwarf in his own landslide and facing a cascade of snow on the ground below.
Humiliation.
The battle was inevitable. The Forge-Captain turned his back on his fallen foe, content with a job well done. Dulnus watched on, proud of the duel, yet a twisting knot coiled in his stomach.
Deceit.
The Forge-Captain fell, his fallen foe had risen above him, towering as the primal manifestation of the Horde war machine. A bloody, craven savage.
Spite.
He fought against the towering savage with his brother-in-arms, striking blow after blow, yet the warlord returned with the fury of the bleeding land itself. He was outmatched.
Surprise.
One of many mistakes: he switched to a smaller target: a nightborne engaged with Frakkas. He leaped into the fray, aiding his Wildhammer comrade with taunts and strikes, which dented the denizen of Suramar enough for Dulnus to return to the bigger foe; surely the result would be different?
Selfishness.
He saw his body, and then his head, both of which were wrapped up, alongside the remains of the Forge-Captain. They would be given proper burials, befitting that of their respective clans.
Haunted.
The mountain king could not protest the advance of the Hordeās diplomacy outside Wintergarde. By Khazāgoroth he wanted to, but his dulled eyes and wracked mind prevented him, as did his injuries.
The medic took Dulnus into the keep; he was resigned to die outside of Venomspite, yet his body was moving onto the bunk bed. She offered a source of comfort long-forgotten to the dwarf: the tale of a heroic knight of the Brotherhood of the Horse, who held the docks against a mass of orcs to ensure his people, his comrades and his family would survive.
The selflessness of a soldier.
The daughter of legacy.
The haunting abyss soon abated.
There was hope yet for change, however hard it would be. The losses would leave their mark on the dwarf forever, but they would not define him, that he promised: to his kin, his clan and his charge.
āI will press on, to bigger and mightier challenges, for that is the call of the Mountain King, but it is not a task for one alone, for such endeavours are to be shared.ā
āWith those dear to you.ā
5 Likes
Amazing fight yesterday, visceral and brutal as dwarves can get. Good lads.
5 Likes
The Forge Captain will be avenged.
5 Likes
I swear I will mole-machine my way through the foundations of Suramar and sink that entire city into the sea, so help me Titans.
4 Likes
Remember Husseth.
1 Like
By elune, I will hit you with my sandal.
3 Likes
Tie me to a missile and fire it at Suramar. I am ready.
3 Likes
The Dwarven Fighting Championship sends their regards. 
2 Likes
Small titles are befitting of small men, i heard. 
3 Likes
Embrace unity, reject separatism.
The League is ALWAYS looking for more able-bodied dwarves. Want to get your wildhammer on? Get your new tattoos when shadowlands hits and come and join us with your gryphon and stormhammer, we can wait! We also take bronzebeards and dark irons aplenty, but them dark ironsā¦ when is enough, enough?!
2 Likes
FORGECOG FELLOWSHIP REMAINS STRONG BROTHERS
FOR KHAZāMODAN
FOR IRONFORGE
YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
2 Likes
my guildless edgelord phase is at an end
These are some good lads and lasses, by Rag- er, I mean, by Modimus!
5 Likes