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!
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¦
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.
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
Amazing fight yesterday, visceral and brutal as dwarves can get. Good lads.
The Forge Captain will be avenged.
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.
Remember Husseth.
By elune, I will hit you with my sandal.
Tie me to a missile and fire it at Suramar. I am ready.
The Dwarven Fighting Championship sends their regards. 
Small titles are befitting of small men, i heard. 
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?!
FORGECOG FELLOWSHIP REMAINS STRONG BROTHERS
FOR KHAZāMODAN
FOR IRONFORGE
YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
my guildless edgelord phase is at an end
These are some good lads and lasses, by Rag- er, I mean, by Modimus!
This evening, at the tavern in Wintergarde Keep, the League got into a little brawl. The nimble Ralle Stouthandle, and the headstrong Dulnus Stonemantle came into conflict, regarding Dulnusā hairline. It resulted in Dulnus being knocked unconscious three times, and the Ralle getting too drunk for his own good. Alas, that is the dwarven way. Afterwards, they were thoroughly disciplined by Dromundi-Olodren Darkstone, who expects his Leaguesmen to save the infighting for the sparring matches.
I knew this would happen while I wasnāt there.
If I was there, weād have forced the rest of them out!
The dwarf settled into the bunk, curling his right arm over her body as they basked in each others body heat. They represented something different, a more literal relationship between the dwarves and gnomes. It was new, blossoming, but the burly warrior could not help but crack a grin as he laid there, looking down on his charge with adoration and desire.
His mind went from her to the battle. It was chaotic, a mess of steel, iron and wood, coupled with an avalanche that ended the battle suddenly. He fought hard against many foes, but his vengeance would have to wait for another time.
For now, he would rest in the comfort of his partnerās warmth, content to pursue rest over battle. A new day would dawn, and home was on the horizon.
Wir wollen unseren alten Kaiser Modimus wieder habenā¦