#trueshot lodge

[wowscenery]

[dandelionandkrindle]

WORLD OF WARCRAFT • LOCATIONS (116/?) Trueshot Lodge

[auggusst-art]

Ahellia at the Trueshot Lodge back in Legion ✨

[shadez-art]

Fel and Blades: Pages 76 & 77-Now Live!

Shadeith and Tyrandidan go to Trueshot Lodge.

Read the next two pages of my comic on my website: https://shadezart.com/

Want to read more? Join my Patreon to read two weeks ahead: https://www.patreon.com/user?u=91248294

[mcrtalstrike]

Another one of my Vol’jin rants this time on how him living would improve the WoW story tenfold (elaborated from a twt thread I made)

Vol’jin denied Zul his aid, fought Zul’s forces and left alive, bargained with Bwonsamdi to revive his human bf and after all that, AAAALLL THAT, he’s just killed off before an entire expansion centering around the Zandalari? Nah something is fishy here.

He could have lived by the skin of his teeth and Sylvanas could have made plans behind his back, harming but not destroying Teldrassil, sparking the same conflicts in BFA and Vol’jin having a genuine connection with the Zandalari through his past tensions with Zul, especially taking into consideration that Talanji looks up to him and would be better mentally if she had a NOT DEAD father figure but no, we gotta have the pretty murder death elf on the cover of our advertising.

I know for a fact he would be down recruiting more members to the Horde and he would probably have an interesting interaction with the Maghar too, he’d also be the best character to change the Horde into a council, being the first non Orc Warchief and repeatedly being uncomfortable with the position of Warchief, he even said he wasn’t used to being called that out loud.

Recruiting Zandalari is a whole other deal though, Vol’jin has an ENTIRE NOVEL dedicated to how he feels about the Zandalari, he’s defeated Zul’s own general and denied Zul to his face without fear. He is the closest worshipper we know to Bwonsamdi, he’s that guys little pogchamp and all of this plus what I mentioned with Talanji is only part of why his death wasn’t needed at all. There would be so much he needs to stay humble and professional about but the fact that we were ROBBED of admitting he giggled about how ironic is that they joined the Horde when Zul asked him to join the Zandalari years ago is such a damn crime.

In MoP, Varian threatened to destroy the Horde if they didn’t uphold honor, Anduin would feel an obligation to at least remember this especially when Sylvanas commits atrocities and the Horde breaks from it. None of this has any significance if the one Varian threatened IS DEAD.

Oh and remember Tyrathan? Yeah he just got placed in the trueshot lodge and was forgotten. It’s not like he could have been a really interesting additional way for two major factions to end up forming a truce or someone Sylvanas would want to mess with, both being hilarious because two factions would end up fighting over Some Guy who lives in a lodge all because of one novel

The story could have gone on just as well if he was alive, it wouldn’t change much aside from who’s in charge but it would make a whole lot of people happier and hell, he wouldn’t even have an issue saving the Loa from the maw in SL and working with Bwonsamdi because just like the player, he would be ALIIIIIVEEEEEE. He also has a debt to Bwonsamdi and would help him anyway, he doesn’t need to be summoned.

You could even make a subplot where Vol’jin keeps heading a Loa whisper to him while he recovers in Legion until the “whisper” is so loud he has to investigate, hell that could even be N’Zoth in disguise.

So yeah Vol’jin was an integral Horde character and when he was removed it all went to shit complain at the wall about it

[daisymeade]

Writer's Game: First Sentences

Saw @turbulentpumpkin43 do this and decided to tag myself! 😂

Rules: post the first sentence of your last ten fics. If you haven't written ten fics, share as many first-sentences as you have.

TRUESHOT LODGE - Arrows for the Fallen (a not very good WoW fic I wrote back in like...2017? 18?)

On the eve of the forced march to Denerim, Heulwen found herself standing in a dark hall of Redcliffe Castle, eyes fixed on the light flickering through the crack of a door. - On the Nature of Daylight (Rating: E)

Heulwen stood outside the study and took a deep breath. - A Bridge Ablaze

It was nearly a year after the Battle of Denerim, nearly a year since Loghain had struck the killing blow against the Archdemon and mysteriously survived. - Blood and Feathers (A Jowan/Morrigan fic.)

Two months after the death of the archdemon Urthemiel, the nobles of Ferelden were celebrating the union of Queen Anora and the newly crowned King Alistair. - Solace (Rating: E)

Loghain sat at a desk writing out his report for Weisshaupt. - The Hard Choice

I'll tag @milesmentis, @breadedsinner, and @illusivesoul

[perseuus]

the babies and their mamas!! going into dragonflight they’ve grown up a lot!!!

info dumping under the cut about them because i love them all so much (contains some headcannons about azeroth, and the various world states that my ocs have that go against canon)

SO first up we have Aellie and Hal’s daughter: Evie! 

During the cataclysm, Aellie helps defend the Vermillion redoubt with Hal to keep the whelplings safe, and its definitely a moment in their relationship that starts turning the wheels of romance. Alexstrazsa gives Aellie a dormant egg as a thank you, a sign of trust and appreciation - Aellie’s kinda like “what the fuck but okay” and accepts what she assumes is just a piece of decoration. 

The egg features kinda prominently in her life, a constant to come home to. She finds that it is always warm to touch and on the stormy nights at home she finds great comfort in cuddling to it when she’s cold. Hal doesn’t discover the egg until they are a couple, and explains that whilst they are technically dormant, the egg is a product of massive life and red flight magic and his mother would not have parted with it if it had been hers. 

Aellie is always aware that the egg could hatch, but she’s assured that the egg wouldn’t hatch until the time is right. Time goes on. All is well. Then Hal vanishes, unknown location with no explanation. Then Anduin is stolen, and Aellie finds herself once again ruling in place of her brother whilst she relies on the other heroes to delve into the realm of the afterlife to save him. She curls up in her bed on one stormy night, the egg that she has always taken so much comfort in nestled tight and warm and safe and she sleeps. 

When she wakes, there is a baby in her arms. She knows, instantly, what has happened. And all she can question is that this?? was some how the right time??? She calls for help - Mia, or Tess, and absolutely Rosie. They descend on her room with a calmness that helps her over the fact that she is now, suddenly, a mother to a little girl who is so obviously hers but also Hals (Hal who had abandoned her, who left her when she needed him, who has broken her heart-)

She ages quickly, which Aellie is mostly prepared for after having the misfortune of knowing Wrathion, and within a month little Evelyn has gone from a newborn to a toddler. She’s wickedly smart and dangerously charming, her quest for knowledge unending as she learns about the world. Aellie is mostly prepared for everything she can throw at her, except the first time she changes into a whelp. Cue going to the dragonisle to help her daughter grow, face the new fight, and maybe give Hal a piece of her mind. 

THEN (and christ this is long) WE HAVE SYRAAS AND HER KIDS:

Recap: Syraas does not agree with Sylvanas’ plan for Teldrassil when she is finally informed about it. They had kept it from her until the very end, knowing that she might not agree with the plans. She reaches some contacts from her time in Trueshot Lodge (some people’s loyalties to their Huntsmaster goes beyond the hazy faction lines that spring back up) and she manages to get a warning out before the fires begin. 

She takes command of the Sunreavers and then goes against convention and uses her own force to break any teleportation repellent runes around the world tree - something only possible because of her connection with Azeroth herself. This still takes some time, precious time, and when she finally breaks through and arrives in darnassus with her sunreavers, a lot of the tree and it’s people are already lost. 

Her hunters have prepared the space for her, and the sentinels after initial hostilities allow her mages to start casting as big a portal as they could. She begins to help direct civilians through, after assuring them that they would be safe. The portal leads to Silvermoon - the only place she is certain of their safety. The refugees are welcomed by the city, lead by her children Hauldron and Cirilya.

The fire is burning hotter and faster than it should, and Syraas knows deeply that something is wrong with it. She is the Phoenix Queen and she knows fire but this is wrong - tainted. It is tearing its way into the city and the heat is intense. Many of the survivors are through - Syraas is not made of magic and cannot fight the fire with arrows and her companions. Hati is lightning made flesh and fur, which would only feed the flame. Beemo cannot reveal himself for what he is, and Toby is simply a bear (with a heart of gold and a mind far kinder than most, but a bear none the less). 

The final group of civilians are surging towards her exhausted mages, focusing so hard on ripping open a gateway to the other side of the world and draining themselves in the process. Syraas is caught off guard when a familiar figure tumbles out of the burning buildings away from them and cries for aid. 

Syraas and her pack leap forward, and she catches the toddler swaddled against the woman’s chest as her back burns. The two young children at her feet have been sheltered and are unharmed but scared. The elf is known to Syraas, a hunter that has served during the legion fall, named Lysola. The mother pushes her children to the blood elf instantly, half collapsing at the pain no doubt that is killing her.

She groans as Syraas attempts to pull her to safety, clutching the toddler close whilst Toby and Hati have a child each on their backs. Lysola digs her heels and clutches at Syraas’ arms, eyes wild with desperation. 

“You will care for them, see them live and grow and loved.” Lysola growls, her throat torn with smoke and grief as she knows she is dying.  “I will see them cared for you have my word-“ the fire is encroaching and Syraas wants nothing more than the children to safety, and Beemo has half emerged ready to fly the toddler to safety himself. Lysola squeezes and snarls. “No. I am entrusting you with my children, Huntsmaster. On this day they lose a mother and gain another.” She coughs dry, and the dry air steals any wetness on her cheeks. “They are yours now. By Elune they are only yours.” 

 The fire burns forth and Syraas recoils instinctively, twisting to keep the babe in her arms safe from its burning greed. Lysola is lost to the inferno, and it is only with Beemo’s careful wings that Syraas does not stumble moving to the portal. Her mages look to her and she scans the fires one last time, until the moment passes and she knows there is no one left to escape. 

She passes through with the portal keepers close behind, and stumbles into the chaos in the square with three new lives tied intrinsically to hers.

[zarathehunter]

Entry 28

-Entries 13 through 27 appear to be mostly day-to-day, slice of life news and logs of hunts, parties, social events, and otherwise. Notably he mentions receiving a Saberguard medal and a ritual at the Silver Circle, as well as Nameless passing on. Also included is the arrival of the dracthyr and the Dragon Isles.-

Feyahni and I at last made landfall on the Dragon Isles with a ship of the Dragonscale Expedition. While she sought out scouting and reconnaissance roles, I put my habits and skills as a hunter to use. The wildlife is enormous, and brings unique challenges. I've assisted in founding leatherworking and skinning operations in the Waking Shores, as well as making quite a bit of coin and notoriety for myself by helping take down the wild proto-drakes.

The native proto-drake population appears to be explosive. They have no natural predators, and they are as numerous as rabbits. And they are fixed on destroying any foreign influence on their islands.

In one of our trips back, I joined her at a meeting of the Kalimdor Collective, where they discussed returning a dragon to her homeland, a young whelp named Lumigosa. I met more members than I ever have; all kaldorei or highborne outside of Feyahni and myself. While my reception wasn't perfect, Commander Maeshkin Darksong extended the hand of friendship and unity, and welcomed me fully into the ranks of his organization.

I confess, I feel somewhat strange 'belonging' to something again. When I worked at Trueshot so many years ago, I was just another hunter; the last time I really belonged was the Fourth War, with Stromgarde. Highvale Lodge doesn't quite count either, though Lethian Starblade is very much intrigued by my new involvement with the Isles and the continent of Kalimdor. The Highvale community has fully cemented me into their ranks- but under the Collective, I will be able to be an equal, *active* member. In Highvale, however, I will never be considered a true Farstrider or even a Ranger of their organization, though I am a heard voice in the small, valuable and tightknit community and have found immense pride bonding with my elven heritage and the bow over the years.

However, now sworn to defend my new allies as well as staking a protective stance over both Kalimdor and my homeland of the Eastern Kingdoms fills me with determination. Four years ago, nearly, I walked into a tavern in Stormind lost and aimless. I had lost my drive, my predatory instincts, was down on my luck, and had few coins to my name. Now I stand under the banner of two organizations I can throw my heart into; interestingly, both led by elves. It seems my time standing mostly in the human world has come pass- with my father's retirement and my return from the Broken Isles, I find greatest company within the fairer half of my blood.

Of course, I'll also be able to stand side-by-side with Feyahni as a peer in some respects, now. While she noticeably outstrips me in a tactical sense, I feel I have plenty to offer as a salt-of-the-earth, responsible sort of professional for the Collective, and going from introductions to inductions with her organization leaves me a feeling of pride and accomplishment. I don't just represent her as I grow into this guild; I represent all of the "strays" as a certain Priestess put it. My actions as a foreign, unknown element could set the tone for their future interactions and alliances with other important individuals.

Speaking of Feyahni, we've drifted deeper into my learning of the Shadow. She has proven a most fruitful teacher, and while I have a long way to go, our most recent session sees me breaking forth into actually holding some of my own Shadow energy, not just borrowing hers. As I grow stronger with every step, it seems the magical force grows more intent on punishing me. For now I emerge victorious, but gripping the Shadow with my own mind and body left me nauseated, puking and blacking out from even the slightest direct contact.

I don't envy the ren'dorei. Few in number though they are, the burden they carry would drive me to end my life in a few short weeks, I fear. Other Shadow-infected creatures, like Kahleem, perhaps, struggle in the same vein. At least I-for now- have the luxury of releasing the magic I undertake when I am finished with it. This expression of Shadow, taking it's very nature and disease into my body and mind, is far different than simply activated the enchanted Black Arrows. Though, I wonder...I only have two of the Arrows left, so I'm saving them. But were I to set them ablaze with that summoned Shadow instead of my usual tap of mana...what greater damage could they cause? I will keep this in mind for future perils.

It seems everyone experiences this unique school of magic differently. For me...it changes the world around me. Veils it in darkness, warps the edges. Like a keen drunkenness. It summons past grievances, and when I break those walls, those boundaries- when I see clearly, or at least past the illusion, and when I dispel those nagging thoughts and evil voices, it resorts to noise. Echoing, disturbing, nauseating noise. At the start, it sounds like discordant violins and cellos, something you'd hear in an orchestra at Suramar or Quel'thalas. But as I push further, the strings are replaced with heavy, erratic drums and a low, haunting scream of a siren or woman in pain. The howling noise and thumping drums intensifies the further I go, till it threatens to drown out all reality.

I seek many things in the future; to grow and learn with the Collective, to explore the Isles in their entirety and destroy their greatest predators, and to quiet this insanity I struggle against, to greater master the Shadow. It offers every predator's greatest wish- to disappear, totally and completely, from view. What else could it give one with the respect and firmness to take it?

P.S. I'm already working on a new proto-dragonscale uniform! My hawkscale garb has served me well, but it's about time for an upgrade...

[sekhisadventures]

Thunderstruck

Orgrimmar, After the Sword of Sargeras was Neutralized.

Titanstrike, one of the legendary weapons of Azeroth, forged by the titan keeper Mimiron himself. A legendary rifle, the very pinnacle of ranged weaponry… or so it was.

When the fallen titan Sargeras plunged his blade into Azeroth, the fel energies coursing through the corrupted metal threatened to destroy the planet from within. Only by gathering several heroes from across the land, with weapons of equal might, were they able to defeat it. Khadgar wove a spell drawing the energies from the blade into their own weapons, turning the blade inert but destroying the legendary weapons in the process.

Grimo was not happy about that. He’d considered it a horrible waste. The gun was a marvel of engineering, even if a giant robot gnome had made it!

But he was a goblin, and goblins weren’t shy about throwing money around to fix problems.

He sat in his workshop midway along the Drag, leaning back in his chair and smoking a cigar, and listening.

At precisely the second bell of morning he grinned, hearing a faint rhythmic knocking sound. He hopped out of the chair and ambled quickly to the door, opening it up and waving the waiting figure inside. “C’mon c’mon, nobody saw ya right buddy?” he asked.

“What do you take me for? I’m a professional.” grunted the taller figure, pulling back the hood of his cloak to reveal hair so blond it was almost white and long pointed ears. An elf… and one could tell by his leather armor, blackened to hide in dark places, and the twin daggers at his hips that he was not one to shy from the less than legal pursuits. “Its right here Grimo.” he added, pulling out a long thin package from under his cloak.

The goblin’s eyes flashed and he reached out, but the elf took a quick step back and waved a finger, “Ah ah… I believe it was… two thousand gold coins?” he said with a smirk.

Grimo frowned, then stomped his way over to a safe and after making sure to block the elf’s view he entered the combination, taking out a large leather bag that made a rich clanking sound. “Here, ya wanna fuckin’ count it too?” he snorted, tossing it to him.

“Not at all, that’s bad form. Trust is essential in our business…” he smiled back, picking up the bag and placing the package on the table. “If anyone from Trueshot Lodge comes by you never met me.” he nodded, going to the door and slipping out into the late night gloom.

Sam Montebank slipped the coin purse onto his belt. Another job well done… time to deposit his earnings at the Broken Tusk.

Back in the workshop Grimo unwrapped the package and took a breath. “Jackpot baby…” he grinned.

There on the table lay Titanstrike, though the blue metal had lost its magical sheen and the ammo cartridge lay dark. The fel eneriges of the sword had robbed it of its power.

Grimo hefted it and aimed at a target on the wall, pulling the trigger once, then twice, then on the fourth try a small spark sputtered from the barrel. “Yep, totally fucked. Well, I’m a damn goblin AND an engineer! If I can’t fix this baby nobody can!” he smirked, getting out his toolbox from under the table, then getting a six pack of kaja cola from out of the fridge. “Gonna be an all nighter!” he cackled, pulling out a spanner and getting to work.

The next day, around noon.

Nitika walked along the path through the Valley of Honor with Mola’raum, looking around at the crowds. “Everyone seems tense today Mola…” she muttered to the death knight, the taureness wearing robes of sky blue stitched with gold designs, her eagle-headed staff clasped in her right hand.

“Yah sistah. Word be de boss lady be plannin’ somethin’. Be hearin’ some rumors bout da sword down in Sithilus kickin’ some shit up…” he grunted, the undead troll wearing his usual deathly black robes with metal patches, a spear slung over his shoulder with runes that glowed a venomous green.

“You would think after defeating the Burning Legion we’d be all about celebration… but all it would take is one push to send everyone in Orgrimmar over the edge…” she frowned.

Mola’raum nodded, “… hum… speakin’ of dat… wonder where Grimo be…” he mused.

Grimo’s Workshop

Grimo pulled back his goggles and rubbed his bleary bloodshot eyes. All six cans had been totally drained of every drop of kaja cola to keep him going, his hands caked with grease and soot, but he’d done it…

Titanstrike’s original power was gone, he couldn’t fix THAT, but he could make it better! He cackled and held it aloft over his head, grinning toothily. The ammo cartridge on the back was gone, replaced with a tesla ball packed so full of motes of lightning that it glowed like a miniature sun, the barrel widened and extended as well, and the whole thing remade.

“Boom baby!” he grinned, “This’ll turn some damn heads! Waste a beauty like this on some big fuckin’ pig sticker eh? Fuck that idiot dwarf for wreckin’ it on that stupid sword, I’ll put this thing to proper use!” he cackled.

He put the stock against his shoulder, aiming it at the target on his wall… “Right, time for the moment of truth… three… twooooo… one!”

ZAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPOOW!

Every window on Grimo’s workshop lit up with a light so bright that it seared the windowsills, the goblin letting out a sudden scream from inside before, with a tremendous crash, he was blasted upwards through the ceiling by a massive blast of electricity!

“SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT! FUCK FUCK SHIT FUCK SHIT FUUUUUUUCK!!” he screamed, the trigger stuck fast as the tesla ball disgorged the charge into the ground below, blasting the diminuitive goblin a good quarter mile in the air, anchored to the ground by what was basically a constant bolt of lightning!

As the goblin rose above the buildings the blast of lightning broke free from his workshop floor and began to arc its way along the Drag, and as it did bedlam erupted. Members of the Horde ran for cover in all directions as carts, crates, buildings, anything below the frantic goblin was blown to pieces!

“LOOK OUT! RUN GODSDAMMIT! I’M NOT PAYING FOR THAT! GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!” he screamed, though between his height and the constant roar of the gun it was likely nobody heard him.

The Valley of Honor

Nitika looked up, her mouth agape as she watched the blast of energy tearing across the city. “… Mola’raum?” she asked.

The death knight stared up with her, his glowing blue eyes wide, “Yah sistah?” he asked.

“WHAT, IN AN’SHE’S NAME, AM I LOOKING AT?!” she shouted.

Mola’raum squinted, shading his eyes as he peered up at the top of the bolt, “Uh… can’t really make it out from ‘ere, but looks like da blast be comin’ outta some sorta… stick… held by some tiny… green…”

Nitika’s eye twitched, flashing from yellow to purple, “… don’t tell me…”

Mola’raum’s ears perked up however. His trollish hearing was better than some of the other races of the Horde. He let out a long sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Yah. It be fookin’ Grimo up dere.”

Nitika’s eyes glowed purple as she gripped her staff so hard the wood creaked, “Of COURSE it is… all of Orgrimmar is ready to lose it with all these rumors about new weapons and HE makes a damn lightning cannon!” she snarled, her head snapping up as her eyes turned solidly violet… “I’m going to tear his ears off.”

At the Broken Tusk Sam was sitting at one of the outside tables, watching the show with a mug of orcish ale. “… should’ve charged him more.” he muttered under his breath… then his eyes widened and he dove inside as the bolt changed direction and began to tear across the Valley of Strength!

All of this couldn’t go unnoticed however.

The doors to Grommash Hold were thrown open and a pair of red eyes flashed in the gloom as another elf strode out, one with deathly pale skin and bone-white hair. “What is causing all this noise out here?!” demanded Sylvannas.

Her two Deathguards looked back at her, then one of their heads snapped up and in a echo-y voice the forsaken shouted “LOOK OUT!” and they both immediately tackled the warchief and dove back into the Hold just as the bolt of lightning ripped apart the ground where they’d been standing.

Mola’raum winced as the pair arrived in out of the tunnel through the drag, having run past the wreckage the gun had already caused just in time to see Grimo's weapon streak past the front gates of the hold, “… aaaaand Grimo almost got de boss lady.” he grumbled to Nitika.

The taureness’s teeth were grinding together. “Rip his ears off, shove that spanner up his nose, break that damn rifle over his head…” she growled under her breath, the shadows seeming to get darker around her.

“Yah, but… how ya gonna be doin’ dat? We can’t fight in de air, ‘n he be pretty far up dere.” observed the death knight.

At this Nitika’s grimace turned into a nasty grin. “Grimo built it. Which means knowing him it should break any minute…”

And sure enough, as it began to head towards the Valley of Spirits the lighting bolt narrowed, then sputtered, then died, and Grimo realized he was way up in the air above what was left of Orgrimmar supported only by the fact that gravity hadn’t seemed to have noticed yet. “… uh oh.” he winced, then slowly he began to fall.

“SHIT SHIT SHIT! GO GO GOBLIN GLIDER!” he shouted, slamming a button on his belt as his backpack sprang open and deployed a pair of large batlike wings made of leather and wood. The wind caught in them and Grimo cackled, “HAHA! Not today ya mooks! I’m headin’ ta Gadgetzan!” he cackled, angling towards the gates. “Yessir! Surf and sun an- ACK!” he yelped, coming to a dead stop… he looked up and saw that the right wing had smacked into one of the spires along the city wall, the sharp metal puncturing through the leather… and pinning him in place. He hung there a good five feet off the ground, unable to disconnect the wings from his backpack or get down at all on his own. “… shit…” he whimpered as he heard footsteps.

Sylvannas Windrunner emerged from the stairs to the inside of the battlements, Nathanos Blightcaller following beside her as she stormed towards the goblin.

“H-hey, Warchief! Little weapons malfunction, nothin’ major. Just got a few bugs to tweak ‘n this baby will be ready for mass production in no time!” he chuckled nervously.

“Goblin…” she growled, “Do you realize that half of Orgrimmar is ON FIRE right now?” she narrowed her eyes.

“Half?” he looked back, “Oh, huh… guess the fires from the Drag spread a bit… uh… um… I can explain…” he muttered.

Sylvannas folded her arms over her chest, looking at him as if her glare alone could bore a hole through his skull. Grimo was more worried by the fact that her scream could make his heart explode inside his chest. “… I cannot WAIT to hear it…” she whispered icily, then both her head and Grimo’s turned to the stairs.

The shadows inside had turned inky black as a loud echoing stomping sound came up the stairs, so loud it almost felt like the whole wall was shaking.

Sylvannas’ eyebrows went up and Nathanos reached for his bow, but a hand from the warchief stopped him. “Wait…” she whispered.

Grimo whimpered, his ears drooping, “Oh no…” he swallowed.

Nitika’s voice came from inside the stairwell, echoing like the voice of some eldritch monster, “GRIIIIIIMOOOOO..." she roared, “WHAT, BY ALL THE GODS, DID. YOU. DO?!”

Grimo’s face paled, and he glanced at Sylvannas. “Sylvy, I will give you all the gold I got if you kill me right now.” he stammered.

Sylvannas looked between him and the furious taureness storming towards them, then smirked, “No… I think I’m going to let this play out.”

“… you bitch.” he whispered.

“That’s Warchief, goblin.” she snapped, then walked past the tauren, “He’s all your’s.” she said, “Just make sure he doesn’t do something like this again.” she sighed, “Nathanos, go rally the shaman, get the fires put out before the whole city burns down!”

Grimo whimpered and fumbled in his pouch for his hearthstone. Fuck Gadgetzan, he’s going to hide out in Shattrath! He’d need a whole other world to keep his skin this time… then the hearthstone went flying as a large hand grabbed his ankle. “WAIT NO! NITIKA! DAMMIT I’M YOUR BOSS! YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO- MUH!” is as far as he got before Nitika’s other hand, balled into a fist, hit his face with the force of a rifle shot.

Nitika pulled the unconscious goblin off the battlements, tossing him to Mola’raum. “Get that lunatic back to Bilgewater Harbor and keep an eye on him!” she snapped, holding up Titanstrike. The barrel was blackened now and the tesla ball was empty. “I’m going to get out a map of Azeroth, point to a random spot on it, go there, and bury this thing before he can blow anything else up!”

Next Story

Previous Story

[azerothlandscapes]

Trueshot Lodge, Highmountain

[wowscenery]

[azerothqueen]

[ms-mary-macky]

the sweetheart of the hunter order hall, Sentry Pierce. always so happy to see the huntmaster!  (give me an origin story of this man pls >:U)

[allysdelta]

YOU CAN PET THEM

[scourgeglaive]

My favorite place!

Malrone is very busy.