#stormwind guard

[embersoftheorder]

😍- Safrona's FC is Morena Baccarin!

"So this is the one they call 'The Courier?" Dewitt commented as she looked at the photo. "She looks scared here."

"She was," Hershel Winston replied, as he sipped at his own glass of brandy. The bushy bearded guard adjusted his legs as he got more comfortable in his chair. "But I would be too."

Rachel frowned as she laid the photo back down on her desk. "I don't know what you think we do here Winston, but the Order is not exactly a missing persons bureau. You might have better luck with SI or your own group in just chasing down smugglers."

The guard shook his head. "Oh not ta worry, we know where she is and what she's up ta. It's what she got that had me concerned."

"Do tell."

The guard lifted up a box and set it down on the desk with an ominous clunk. "You know what to do?"

That clunk only lead to a stronger dread in her stomach as Dewitt eyed the box, she'd had some bad luck recently with deliveries like this. This was seeming very connected in the worse ways.

"Did you open it?"

"Aye."

"Was it an amulet?"

Winston smiled very grimly as he set a hand on the top of the box, giving an sarcastic affectionate pat to it's top. "Metal shouldn't move."

The captain leaned back in her chair with a very grim face as she steeple her hands in front of her face in thought. Hallowfall.

@safrona-shadowsun

[eluviannaa]

Just art sillies for a 'steamy romance novel' (edgy fluff) @dark-desires-and-daggerwork. Technically written by Elu under an equally silly pen name.

TRP3 item chapters will be available at this month's Stormwind Thieves Market!

[marcy-mouse-brown]

Mouse's newest venture: https://swstreetdogs.carrd.co/

[consequencesofargentdawn]

So long story short, I joined Argent Dawn earlier this year and had my fair share of ups and downs with the server. A good friend of mine in the guild I'm in mentioned the "Stormwind City Guard" in the Discord chat the other day and most veterans got a little ranty over it but didn't give enough context on who or what they were, care to fill in a bit?

This may in fact be an innocent case of misidentification. There has been many, MANY 'Stormwind City Guard' guilds. Some have had almost identical names "Stormwind Guards" vs "Stormwind City Guard" vs "Stormwind City Guards" and variations.

The reason likely is however there have been deep problems with the 'Guard rp' scene for quite some time. We won't delve too deep into things but once it was realised by many less scrupulous players that they could achieve a power fantasy with Guard RP they decided to dip their hands into it for that purpose.

Primarily there are two types from this branch, those aligned with the Royal Court cabal (the DiCU as we call them) and those who are essentially set up to aggrandize the ego of the leader and their buddies (who are always the officers of said guilds). These players have been known to, proven to have and in many cases still do cause great disruption, outright harassment and generally promote an incredibly insular and toxic mindset. RP is a competition for them, how many people can they get to obey their nonsense trite 'law books', how many people can they get to accept their 'martial law' and 'lockdown rp' (the latter, highly insensitive when done during the height of the Covid pandemic no less).

To call them roleplayers is actually insulting to actual roleplayers, those who play a role, a character. These people generally play themselves in a sort of lionized version of their real world persona - evident by their constant drawing from real world law enforcement tropes rather than draw from what is right in front of them.

Guard RP can be good, but the inherent nature of RP (that being two parties operating in mutual consent of one another's boundaries) means playing a character which has implicit executive authority over another character by virtue of what they are doing is rife for misuse.

[eldridgecandell]

🎯 -What do they do best?

Stormwind sewers were known for many things, the most obvious of course being the smell and the rats. Big, hungry, and angry bastards who haunted the city canals like robber bands in the countryside. But as big as the rats were out in the air, they were nothing compared to the ones lying in wait under the cobble stone.

Kobolds.

"Fuckin ratters," muttered the armored man as he slogged through the muck of the undercity. His light mail batted down tight to his lean frame as he rubbed at the lenses of his goggles, the green glass glowing brightly in the dark.

A grunt would match the goggled soldier from the thick set dwarf ahead of him, his beard rolled up tight and tied over his bald head. His own dark eyes glowing slightly in the low light, a soft glowing rod in one hand and a short mace in the other.

One last grunt would answer 'goggles' as the woman yanked her thick, stone axe from the hacked up corpse. A simple weapon for sure that looked far to big for her frame or hands, but the same soft glowing runes that dotted the face of it lit her own eyes as she looked back to the pair. Her face though grim held a certain air of pride in her work. "You complain to much."

"Yeah, and you get way to much into this shit, Duun" muttered the man again as he checked his short sword and swiveled his head about the tunnel.

"I'm not good at many things," the woman replied as she kicked the beast over to the side of the tunnel, pushing it back into a pile of it's former companions. Away from the water. "You got the marker?"

The dwarf stumped over to the wall, lifting his glowing rod to rub against the stone in quick movement the number '8'. "Eight, righ?"

Setting the axe head to the ground, Cheryl Duun would nod as she did a quick count of the bodies. "Yep, eight of em."

The inquisitor turned rat catcher would stretch out with a soft groan as her back let out a series of pops and cracks, the axe easily swung about to rest on her shoulder. An angular face, lined with deep frown lines and scars to match the dark circles under her azure tinged eyes. Sleep after this work should be necessary, but only the drink seemed to add to the grim look her face always kept now.

Sleep. Work. Kill. Drink. Sleep.

It was a simple life and not one she expected, but followed none the less in the underbelly of Stormwind City.

Scrawled into the stone the green glowing '8' burned softly and steadily above the pile of kobolds. The three hunters hefted their gear and adjusted soaked cloth masks as they began to stalk their beat again.

@nixalegos

[electricelunite]

Conversations with myself.

[tristayranambrosio]

Things Forgotten and Reforged Part 3

It was sunset into proper dusk and twilight when the bard walked the cobblestones of the Lion’s Rest. Trist could walk them in his sleep even after years of absence. Somewhere in the distance he heard a harper playing having staked his claim to one of the white marble walls, echoing in the natural acoustic shell that the half moon memorial fountain created. The memories rushed back, the joy… but so much of it soured now… he’d once been determined to play through the pain, sing, perform, smile, dance… Be the one that was above emotions, that would never let the barbs and attempts to bully him show the damage they inflicted. And in the end it hadn’t been those… but rather someone who he’d loved with all himself who’d lied, who’d made him a monster… the same Bard that now hooded himself lest someone see that “Trist’Ayran, the Fountain Bard” had returned at long last to his post. No couples orbited each other tonight, his old spot mercifully unoccupied apart from a Light-forged mage reading with a sneer on her face at what she was paging through, a human con-man in a top hat sewing tricks into the inner lining of a vest, and a druid in feline form slumbering on one of the benches.

He was Alone.

“Hello Fountain.” He murmured in that decibel that was so soft no one that was any further than his shoulder could hear, “I’m sorry I’ve not come to sing you your Lullaby all these years.”

Trist scrubbed at his face feeling a rush of tears threaten now. Every night… for almost a year he had sung those soft words of goodnight to the trickle of pure water that spilled from bowl to bowl… and the weight of every missed evening crashed onto his thoughts with a guilt that he did not expect. What had happened to all the friends he’d made here? The students he had taught? The laughs… the dancing… the moments that made the Fountain so much more than a fountain, the night he thought he could fly when every voice around him sang the same words.

They’d taken that from him… now the fountain was just… stones… and water… and bushes he’d tackled lovers into… shadows he’d memorized in the hedges and branches… lines on the marble.

He looked up and spoke softly, as if the burbling fountain could understand, “I cherish every moment beside you you know? Even the hurts… even the moments where people hated me… punished me… broke me… Because you’re the place I met and loved so many. Thank you for staying when they’re all gone…”

There was a moment he thought maybe he was going mad speaking to an inanimate water-feature… but he kept on, “I don’t know if I ever told you how much I owe you for those moments I would never take back… especially the one where I met him…”

The fountain burbled as the last of daylight faded behind the horizon leaving Trist alone to speak to the dark, whispering secrets to the silvery catchlights that ran seamlessly like glass down the tiers of the white marble bowls, meeting them as he would the eyes of a dearly missed friend.

“I’m marrying him… Well… again, We’ve been wed since the night I shared his soul with mine… when I felt him reach a part of my broken heart and place each piece back together… He made me whole… but he found me singing behind our mask… stars what a show I could put on…” He managed a rueful laugh but reached out to touch the lip of the fountain’s base and asked gently, “May I please?”

As if in response to Trist’s soft request the old Grey-white fountain burbled and caught his attention just over a shattered bauble of broken glass in the darkest hue of violet and blue that was amid the coppers and silvers of those wishing for something. Trist hadn’t wanted to take anyone’s wishes… but he retrieved the old glass with a sweep of his hand into the fountain’s deepest base and looked up at it again. “Thank you…” Trist would normally have hurried off… but this place… He felt rooted to the marble like he had been a part of the stone and the water and the melancholy breeze that perpetually swept through… the harper that had been playing was gone and it was only the Bard and the stars… the place painfully silent, the emptiness of it hallowing him out before he sang softly. “Weep you no more sad fountains

What need you flow so fast?

Look haw the snowy mountains

Heaven's sun doth gently waste

But my sun's heavenly eyes

View not your weeping

That now lies sleeping

Softly, softly, now softly

Softly lies sleeping

Sleep is a reconciling

A rest that peace begets

Doth not the sun rise smiling

When fair at ev'n he sets?

Rest you then, rest, sad eyes

Melt not in weeping

While she lies sleeping

Softly, softly, now softlySoftly lies sleeping…”

Every line drew a soft sob or whimper from him, trying to suppress each to no avail. And clutched his finding tight enough to leave an imprint of its shape on his hand.

He composed himself and cleared his throat, and in his most desperate attempt at the lightness he had put on for months as he forced his fingers to pluck strings when the music was like wringing blood from a stone… “Goodnight Fountain…”

Trist then stood, adjusted his cloak, and vanished into the streets of Stormwind once more. To those with the keenest eyes, some would see the shadow of broken wings cast behind the bard, slowly re-knitting themselves into something whole the further he walked from his old stage.

[nonsensesnap]

• through the night we protect •

[electricelunite]

Vibes ♥

COLOR WALK

[thebaronfelidae]

Phos

He/him

Well, here goes nothing.

Phos is a half vulpera, half sethrak hybrid born to a vulperan medicine lady and a sethraki priest. Obviously this did not slide with either race so the family was heavily mistreated and the dad was imprisoned. The mom was tough as nails but giving birth to twins who are both covered in scales was not an easy task, especially since her family left her to give birth alone. When she passed the clan took Pho's brother Aladdin in to be a new magic user while they dumped Pho in the desert. He was found by a hyena named Drust and was brought back to her clan were she was second in command. Phos is able to communicate with beasts via body language and other means but is so good at it that one could easily mistake his cackles for a hyena if it weren't for his appearance. He was discovered a year later by bandits who found his talents amusing and brought him and Drust along with them, by force of course. But then they realized that he was actually good with all the pets at their camp as well and began to reteach him how to read and write as well as speak their language. They also noticed that he had the makings of a good marksman and began training him. After a couple years had past, Phos and Drust managed to sneek their way out of the camp. Phos enjoyed the company of animals over people and began to befriend any beast that was willing to accompany him and Drust in their nomadic life.

[nattvingen]

I hope whoever designed the rogue class hall mount quest (Hiding In Plain Sight) sleeps on a gentle bed of sharpened LEGOs every night.

[eluviannaa]

A lovely evening. Seems the romance novel was a hit, too! Mun blush.

[marcy-mouse-brown]

Stormwind Street Dogs: First Day

First Day on the Job

Mouse stood in the early morning light, hands on her hips, staring at the flat-packed wooden booth in front of her. It wasn’t much—just a few planks, some nails, and a sign that still read “BEAUS’ BEST BITES" in faded, peeling paint. The old vendor had left in a hurry, and Mouse, ever the opportunist, hopped to it.

“Street food’s a good business,” Granny Barlow once said. “People gotta eat, and they ain’t got time to sit in some tavern for it.”

So here she was. Mouse. A hot dog vendor.

She bent down, picked up the first wooden plank, and got to work.

Step One: The Booth

Setting up was harder than she expected. The frame refused to line up, and she spent a good ten minutes wrestling a stubborn hinge before realizing she had it backward. By the time she got the main structure standing, she was sweaty, covered in sawdust, and grumbling under her breath.

A rat scurried by, pausing to sniff the air.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she muttered. “I got this.”

After a few more attempts (and some impromptu repairs with borrowed nails), the booth finally stood upright. It wobbled a little, but it was standing. That counted.

Step Two: The Cart

The food cart was easier—mostly. It had been hauled in on loan from the Sweet Hearth Bakery, the steel still warm from its last batch of baked goods. Mouse checked the firebox, tested the heat levels, and made sure nothing was leaking. She arranged her supplies—fresh rolls, sausages, toppings—then unrolled the freshly painted sign:

Stormwind Street Dogs Hot Dogs – Fresh & Fast!

It wasn’t fancy, but it was hers.

Step Three: The First Customer

By mid-morning, the streets had filled with the usual crowds—workers on break, merchants setting up, the occasional guard on patrol. Mouse had expected to wait a while before anyone stopped by.

She was wrong.

A man in a well-worn tunic, smelling faintly of hay, wandered up. “What’s all this, then?”

“Hot dogs,” Mouse said, adjusting her apron. “Meat in a roll. Quick bite for folks in a rush.”

The man scratched his chin. “That’s new.”

She shrugged. “New’s good.”

He eyed the steaming sausages, then dug into his pocket. “Alright. One, then.”

Mouse moved fast—bun in hand, sausage nestled in, a dollop of mustard across the top. She handed it over, heart pounding just a little as she took the first coin she’d ever earned from her own booth.

The man took a bite. Chewed. Nodded.

“Not bad,” he said, mouth half-full. “Bit salty.”

Mouse arched an eyebrow. “You want less salt or more?”

“…More.”

She grinned. “Got it.”

Step Four: Keeping Up

Word spread quicker than she expected. By noon, she had a line—dock workers, errand boys, even a noble-looking woman who asked, “Is this sausage locally sourced?” (Mouse explained how she got the meats from a local butcher, and she was pretty sure the meats were from Elwynn farms. She made a note to check in on the supply chain.)

She burned her hand twice, ran out of onions once, and nearly knocked the whole cart over trying to reach a runaway roll. But she kept going, slinging hot dogs, taking coins, and—somewhere along the way—having fun.

By sunset, she was exhausted, grease-stained, and grinning like an idiot.

Step Five: Cleaning Up

As she packed up, a familiar figure leaned against the booth.

Granny Barlow, arms crossed, watching.

“Well?” Mouse asked.

The old woman sniffed the air. “Didn’t burn down, did you?”

“Not yet.”

Granny Barlow smirked. “Good. See you tomorrow.”

Mouse watched her walk off, then looked down at the small pouch of coins she’d earned. Her coins. From her work.

She flipped one in the air, caught it, and tucked it away.

Tomorrow, she’d do it all again.

And maybe—just maybe—she’d start adding her own twist to the recipe.

[pookamhura]

Gnome cruises the canal district while fucked up on Inky Black.

Damn is this ever cozy whiles fucked up on Inky Black.

[eldridgecandell]

▼ - childhood headcanon

Matthias Candell leaned on the fence post with a sigh, his gnarled hands gently rubbing over one another as he looked out over the orchard. His blue eyes were tired but content as he watched the evening sun dapple through the leaves and touch upon each of his apples. For many years the Candells had farmed this land and though they were not rich or exactly prosperous they were content with the world they grew.

A smile crease his smooth wrinkled face as he looked among the trunks of his trees, the laughing and charging children of his children finding the same games his own had so many years ago. As he had been too as he recalled such warm autumn evenings.

"Pa," a strong voice sounded beside him as he felt the same presence in the hand that clapped him on the shoulder.

Matthias would smile as he turned to look to his son, his hand coming up to pat the same hand upon his shoulder. "Erlain my boy."

A snort of laugh came from the younger Candell as he smiled to his father, a rare sight for the guardsman but a welcome one that lifted the spirits of the parental figure. "Just Lain, Pa."

Once more the father would squeeze the hand on his shoulder, a hand not one to hold a trow or shovel but that of a dangerous sort. A sword. "I named ya Erlain after your great-grandfather Alain. Do not trouble his memory with your shortening of good fortune."

Another snort resounded but the smile did not remain as Erlain's stern face returned, the thick mustache he kept adding to the severity of his place and station. "Always the poet, Pa."

"In another life for certain," the older Candell replied as he looked back to the orchard. Matthias loved his son, but he wasn't a big fan of the life he was leading now within the city. He had wanted his boy to come back to the farm, help him and keep this place running. Enrich in the soil and quiet life. Maybe not so much for him, but for the small ones running about among the trees.

"Eld loves it here."

"So did ye."

"I do," Lain replied again as he leaned into the fence beside his father.

This would be the last quiet moment for the Candells. War would come to the kingdom from the eastern swamps. Brightwood would fall and so would pass Candell farm into dusk.

@safrona-shadowsun

[electricelunite]

14 Aug 633

The following note would arrive at the Enlisted Barracks early Monday morning, addressed to one Corporal Moogie Mixwidget. 

Mixwidget, 

You're my only hope. The idiot calls for aid. 

No seriously. I need help completing paperwork to get a project authorized. MSG Langscale won't approve paperwork unless it's ✨ perfect ✨ . And paperwork fucking sucks. Send help i m m e d i a t e l y. 

Throw me the assist and you can come play on the explosives "range". Seriously, it's fun. Come blow shit up with thermite. It's fun and we both know it.

(There unironically happens to be an old Defias bunker about 10 miles south/southwest of our location. "Range".)

I'll be taking the cannon out of the training grounds to the FOB Tuesday AM if the MSG approves it. Firing by Thursday AM barring any unfortunate events.

PVT Moonspider  (Call me Oso!)

PS: Can I call you Spicy to your face or will i die?   PPS: Don't question the request, just do it, I promise you'll have a good time.  PPPS: I hope you like music!