[PCU] Forsaken Loyalist RP - The Rotgarde 💀

Argent Dawn
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He span, confronting for a moment a grim faced Forsaken Batrider, chasing the the Gyro on his tail, he looped overhead and span, letting loose flame at a Gyro chasing one of his Sun Hawks, before a hail of bullets spat past him, a Gyro followed by another Batrider pursuing it, he turned and loosed an arrow at the Gyro rider, before spinning right to avoid a mid air collision with another Dragonhawk, themselves pursuing one of the stray bombers, He dived low, with a burst of flame raised up at a Gyro pursuing a Batrider, he couldn’t tell if it did any damage, but it scared them off his? Her? Tail.

The sky was full of bullets, spite, and fire. A twisting aerial melange of Dragonhawks, Bats, Gyro’s, and quite simply, aerial death. For all the meticulous planning, on either side, it had taken on the attributes of a tavern fight, where now it was all about hitting the other fellow harder than you were getting hit, and if that meant smashing metaphorical chairs over heads then so be it!.

As it reached a crescendo, Brigante noticed something, Even as he swiped his Dragonhawk left to avoid an incoming attack...they were fighting over Andorhal now… The Alliance air raid was...retreating.

He blinked. He was unharmed...untouched…How? That never usually happened….

Perhaps he -was- invincible…

Looking at his fliers, and their gallant allies, he realised the same was not true of many..of most..in fact...in fact...this battle had come at bitter cost..

He winced and spoke into his Comms. “Sunwing, Roachwing, Fayewing, Let them flee. We Won. WE WON!”

As the Horde Air Force headed north, to lick its wounds, and prepare for doubtless harder testing in the months to come, Brigante mused.

“Whatever the cause of this war, we will repel any invader to the High Home, so it has always been, so it is, and so it will always be”

Despite his words, it was sagging and bleeding Dragonhawks, Bats, and riders that made their way north.

But then, no one said War would be easy.
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Howdy, friends and allies.

The Rotgarde is looking to attend quite a few social and RP-PVP events over the coming month or so - now's a great time to get involved with the best dead guild on the server.

Feel free to contact me with any questions - otherwise, see you in the world. : )
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25/10/2018 15:58Posted by Dreadbore
best dead guild on the server.


Best Undead guild on the server.

Now this is epic
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Never had any major contact with these guys but you receive a bump. Good to see!
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Are you guys hyped for the meatwagon mount?
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A Eulogy for one Corporal Grimace by Father Edgar Bartholeus Bloodshroud of the Synod of the Shadowed Bell & 3rd Tirisfal Queensguard

Friends of the Shadow, fiercest soldiers of the Queen - it is not unbeknownst to any of us what grim instance has brought us here. Not many are weeks that have had such weight upon our hearts as these last few. It has come time to put to rest this weight by the side of one of our own.
Some of you will look back now and remember a respected Corporal. With and without antics and quirks, this man served a noble cause beyond what any living man could hope to give - the Forsaken cause. I believe he served it to the very end, and for this alone, a man leaves behind a memory to be respected.

Edgar casts his eyes over those gathered. They stop on no one in particular.

Others will hear again the voice of a good friend once here, by our side on the battlefields, and at our table back in our now-destroyed home. A friend that, were he here now, would no doubt tell us:
"Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep."
The last days to pass us have not gone without tension and outbursts amidst our ranks and barracks; even erratic actions that, at first glance, have reminded us of onslaught insanity. This is grief. Grief that creeps upon us at the loss of a loved one, not in the matter of love that marries a man and woman, but in the matter that binds fellow soldiers in a company, perhaps in this more than in any other. As Serjeant Dreadbore once told me: "We are dead men, but still men."

Let us lose the grip of grief and leave only a cherished memory of a committed man that is now surely welcomed by the grasp of the Shadow. No doubt still lingers in my mind that he would tell us:
"Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there, I did not die."

Shadow guide you eternal, Corporal Grimace.
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H-henlo Rotgarde!!

It uh, it me! Kaitylinn! I know, and I'm sorry!

It's been a while; for good reason! I've been gone; fled, to outer Mongolia, to think about what I've done! I'd drink to forget, but I made a vow of teetotalism which I can't bring myself to break; which means that instead I have to keep moving, always moving, so my RP sins can't catch me!

But I hope you guys are doing well! =) It's been lovely to RP with some of you guys in Orgrimmar; the Seven Kingdoms sleep soundly knowing they've got the Queen's finest watching their backs!

Anyhow I - heard the bad news about dear Grimace, and I'm a mess. A fat blubbering mess. Goodnight, sweet prince; he was a precious bun too pure for this cruel world ;-;

Here, have some bad fanfiction as a testament to one of my favourite angsty zombies: (might be more than one post because I write a lot when I'm a mess)



She never had the chance to say goodbye.

That was the worst thing.

Of all the things she had managed to say to Grimace; of all the things she'd wanted to say - of all the things she'd never dared have said to him...

That she'd never even had the chance to say goodbye -?

She cursed; a raucous bellow of utter frustration, ramming her fist into her thighs; a pointless act of self flagellation, the sort she always made, when she was angry.

Stupid, stupid woman; rotten !@#$ for brains country girl! That wasn't the worst thing about this, not by a sodding country mile!

The worst thing about all this was that Grimace was dead; and she hadn't done a Light damned thing to help him!

She was the Pastor, right?! The wandering preacher who helped people?! Who saved people?! And this was Grimace, wasn't it? The man she'd taken it upon herself to save?!

And yet here she was: floundering her life away in the middle of some sandy backwater; barely filling a space in the corner of some miserable drunktank, of neither use nor pissing ornament to man nor bloody beast, while the people she cared about; the person she'd cared about, the one she'd loved as she'd have loved her only cherished son - !

Another scream; another dull, heavy thud.

Kaitylinn slumped back against the wall; an awful, wretched mess; blubbering, for all the world, if only her dry, cursed form had allowed her the tears.

That was it. That was the worst thing.

She didn't know what she could have done. She didn't know what she was going to do.

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Grimace was dead; she hadn't said goodbye; she hadn't helped him - he hadn't asked for help?

The question went over, around and around in her head; why hadn't he asked for help? Why hadn't just said something to her? Anything?! Surely he'd have known she wouldn't have minded?!

He was always a shy lad, was Grimace, aye, always stuttering and - and never wanting to cause a fuss, but surely he knew, of all people, that if he'd have just asked her?! Light above; didn't he know how much she owed him?!

After all the trouble she'd caused him, all the pain she'd brought to his door; after all the tears, all the screams, all the hopes, all the fears all the misery and the joy and the upsets and the -!

All. All of it. Grimace had been all of it. She'd feared for him, laughed with him, hurt with him, hoped for him; all as a mother might fear, laugh, hurt and hope for her son. Her blessed, beloved son.

And it'd all been in vain. He was dead. She wasn't there to hold him. She hadn't been there to bury him.

True, Grimace was not Kaitylinn's son. Nor was Kaitylinn Grimace's mother. And no parent should have to bury their child.

But she had failed him utterly, all the same.

He shouldn't have died. She should have been there.

He shouldn't have needed to ask for help. She should have known.

He shouldn't have taken the lash for her. It wasn't his to take.

She sighed, leaning her head backwards against the wall. Shouldn't, shouldn't, shouldn't. The word echoed around her mind; a constant barrage of self perpetuating accusations of all the things she shouldn't have done. A damnable kangaroo court of her own making; her own miserable self as judge, jury, and executioner - her own guilty conscience as judged, trialled, and executed.

Shouldn't have done this; shouldn't have done that. Grimace would've been this, Grimave would've been that -

Shouldn't.

There it was again. That word. That accusation. Of what she shouldn't do.

For one; she shouldn't be here.

Not in this wretched place.

Not in this wretched mood.

Not now Grimace was dead.

She should go to him.

She peered at the tattered, beaten paper still scrunched in her skeletal hands. Silverpine. That was where he was buried.

And she would go to him. And she would tell him everything. And she would ask him to forgive her.

She would hope it had been quick; she would hope it had been clean. She would do her own little rite for him.

And he would know.

Just how much she'd wanted to say.
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Hey, what's up?

We're currently in Dazar'alor.

If you want to join this epic guild, now's the time.
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The Rotgarde forum thread, now in stunning HD

We’re currently battling over in Zuldazar if anyone wants to hit us up for some sweet roleplay

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Love it! WHAT AN AMAZING GUILD!

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The Banshee’s Song, by Eaves Droppe:

Do you hear the Banshee sing?
Deep in the stillness, far from sight,
It is the herald of a people,
Who will take back their birthright!

For the forsaken by the Light,
There is a hope that men despise;
That the shadow will contend,
And cut away their lies.

We will walk again, from Lordaeron,
We’ll march with new accord,
We will dredge up the meat-wagons,
We’ll fight beside the Horde!

The Lady has spoken,
And Lordaeron will take up her call!

Will you join in her crusade?
Who will be brave and dare to see?
Somewhere beyond the veiled glades,
Is there a Kingdom owed to me?

Do you hear the Banshee Sing?
Say, do you see our foe succumb?
This is the future that she brings,
Now a new day comes!

Will you join in her crusade?
Who will be brave and dare to see?
Somewhere beyond the veiled glades,
Is there a Kingdom owed to me?

Do you hear the Banshee sing?
Say, do you see our foe succumb?
This is the future that she brings,
Now a new day comes!

A new day comes!

Felt like reposting some old work.

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With a Dark Ranger toy being added in 8.1 (wowhead.com/item=166544/dark-rangers-spare-cowl) I want to let people know that we’re recruiting Dark Ranger characters as long as they use the Undead base race (for the language). Though the toy has a typically massive cooldown, someone prisms to extend it would be more than welcome to join up

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That’s just until they add the dark ranger allied race, r-right?

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(Since this was somehow lost in the forum update.)

“Oh, I need reagents”, the spellcaster said before they both stepped into the shop. He had never visited one before, and walking through the opening of the hut was, to him, like entering a new little universe filled with strange and exotic things.

All around them were flasks and bottles of various shapes and colours, pouches and bags of powders, bowls filled with organs from creatures he couldn’t guess the names of. It was new and different from anything he had known, but although the sight brought him clarity in the contrast between the world of the scholars and the world of the infantry, he found no greater fascination in the items stocked up on display. His service, even during what others would call leisure time, remained to the Queen and Warchief, and the attention he directed to the supplies around him was mild at best. Heavy boots marked each step as he slowly and carefully moved around the small space, all under scrutinizing looks from the retailer.

His eyes strayed over a leather bag to a delicate bundle of dried flowers. A type of herb no doubt, common or not he did not know. Such things were for others to learn. For people like Rackfeld.

He saw how one had fallen from the rest, and his gaze settled upon on it. Resting ever so lightly on the shelf below the bouquet was one, just like the others, shaped as nature had intended. Its colour cascaded, just like the others, from a light, pale shade of blue into a deep purple. Its stalk, just like the others, crooked and thorny and coated with the residue of a fine dust. Yet, it was not the same.
Propped up on its petals it spread before him, open and welcoming, drawing him into itself. The sharp, crisp edges of the crown, frozen in time as it were the day it had been harvested, left him with an odd impression.
It may as well be forged of steel.

He stepped closer, captured by an increasing sense of familiarity. There was a calling within those colours, within the angle of the bud and the sprouting blades and the dusty brown stem. A dream long forgotten, but lingering nonetheless, a hazy black cat blending and twisting its body with the darkness of night as his mind both knew, and remained left guessing. Grasping.
Something undefined stirred within the image of the plant and warped into flowing shapes of green and golden yellow, pale fabric in a gentle breeze of wind, a stained spoon upon a ridged surface, the distant tones of a child’s laughter.
An echo of an echo of an echo.

“Rochev! Find anything interesting?”
It was all torn from him. His thoughts shattered as he was yanked back to the present, his name and the voice of the cryomancer the lash which cracked and whipped, cutting his efforts into oblivion. The feline in the night flickered and leapt from the sudden attention, merging with the dark to leave nothing behind. As he turned his head to look at his friend he could no longer remember what had seemed so important to comprehend.

He shook his head in response. No. Nothing of interest. At least, he didn’t think so. His eyes found their way to the dry petals of the flower once more. It was, just like it had been a moment earlier, untouched. A pale blue and purple herb, just like the others.

Nothing of interest.

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:crossed_swords: :skull: me when I see Rotgarde.

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you’re dead, pal.

watch ur back . . .

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Had some great fun roleplay with the Rotgarde over the passed month, especially in RP PVP. Overall if you’re looking for a good Undead Roleplaying community, these guys are your best shot.

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Exemplar’s Log I – Orgrimmar

We have been in Orgrimmar for far too long. Not only has staying here made our men lazy but our enemies mounted an assault on us from multiple fronts. How could we be so lax as to let this happen? Every day we laze around here is a day they grow in strength. Perhaps it’s time for some form of bootcamp? We’ll see.

There’s a man in the Bloody Verdict, I am unsure of his rank but it means very little. Every time I step onto the battlefield, his sword points my way. I hear the vitriol in his voice and see the hatred in cold eyes when I meet him in combat. Doesn’t matter, I have proven to be the better swordsman on numerous occasions. Perhaps, over time, he’ll even make a fine addition to the Queen’s Finest. I have already taken down Toraas, what’s one more?

– Matthew Lawson

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All Hail the Queen !

Happy Birthday Lawson!

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