Friday, October 2. 2009
The return of some old faces and the addition of new ones has meant that we're now acutely more in need of some things than others. Tanks and healers are particularly encouraged to apply, and, as always, we'll take anyone who's good enough and cool enough. For the latest status and to apply, check out the Finding the Path forum.
Friday, September 18. 2009
Prologue: The Second War
The rain fell in a steady torrent over the battlefield, drenching the grunts as they felled trees and piled them into makeshift barricades. In the distance, the thunder of the Alliance cannons could occasionally be heard, and even in the twilit gloom, a red glow could be seen on the low clouds away south. In the distance, the Orcish fleet was burning; the sound of the artillery was the Alliance bombarding the last of the Horde’s coastal fortifications on the island before they sent in their marines. The soldiers of Kul Tiras would be ruthless; but then, the Humans had never got any quarter from the Orcs in the war, and so they would give none in return. At least they die with honor, Kekrops thought of the warriors that still manned their posts. As will we, he added silently. It was a minor battle in the course of the war; the island was not a strategic position, just a convenient place for the destroyers to dock and the juggernauts to resupply. It would not be remembered later except by those who fought in it, and after the way things had unfolded off the coast, that would only be a few Alliance soldiers and sailors. But they would not surrender. There would be more fighting yet, and they would make sure the Alliance paid for this muddy shoal in blood. The orcs did not speak as they worked, except at need; there were the occasional curses and epithets directed at the Alliance, though.
Suddenly the line fell quiet, and the chopping of axes slowed. Kekrops, who had been shifting a log into place atop one of the piles, looked up. There was a tall, thin figure on a horse, wearing a deep scarlet cloak advancing down the line. His face was hidden in the folds of his robe, but a pair of eyes shone out from underneath it, lit with an unnatural red glow.
“Sergeant Kekrops,” it said. Its—his—voice was raspy and hollow; the voice of one of Gul’dan’s death knights. He was in nominal command of the operation, anyway.
“Sir,” said Kekrops.
“Just what are your men doing?”
“Entrenching, sir,” said Kekrops. “We won’t give up the island without a fight.”
Continue reading "More Guild Lore: Pilgrim's Progress, Part 1"
Friday, September 11. 2009
Part of an occasional series featuring guild lore. The story of a betrayed Path expedition to the North.
When Ekhan Wildmane grew of age in his tribe, his elder brother Takwo had taken him on his first hunt. “Remember, Ekhan,” Takwo had said, “We Tauren are hunters and creatures of the plains. You must learn to understand the world and your place in it, just as you must learn to take your place in the tribe. See here,” and his brother had indicated with a sweep of his hand the great languid expanse of the Barrens before them. Ekhan had breathed in the wind that swept across the endless miles of brown grass, and watched the distant gracile beasts browsing for food. The hot sun beat down and covered the wadis and the dry lake beds and the old roads and the rocks, always the rocks, with not a scrap of shade or the faintest hint of the sound of water. Home, it had all said to him. His tribe were nomads and all the plains were their home. Takwo had taken his spear in hand and bent down to inspect a set of hoofprints trailing off in the dirt, beckoning Ekhan close. “Follow,” he had said, and broke into a run across the plains. Ekhan had taken up his own spear and run after his brother. All that was years ago. More years than Ekhan could count or care to remember; it was before the endless wars with the centaur, and the day his brother had been found killed in a ditch, trapped and hopelessly outnumbered by a Kolkar scout party. It was before he had forsaken his tribe and wandered into the wilderness on his own to learn the ways of druidism, and before Thoradiel Lightrider, a young and idealistic elf of Quel’Thalas had found him in a tent on Thunder Bluff contemplating his sorrows, and convinced him to leave his life of solitude behind and rejoin the world. It was so long ago he wondered how it had any connection to his life now. Still, this was what he remembered as he ran. Only this time as he ran, he was the hunted, running across the snowfields of the Dragonblight, a pack of howling minions of the undead Scourge in close pursuit.
Continue reading "Redemption"
Sunday, August 30. 2009
Raid recruitment is now open for virtually every class and spec (Holy Paladin and Warlock are currently the only exceptions). If you’re ready to raid Ulduar but never had the guild support, now is the time. Check out the recruitment forum using the link above to apply.
Saturday, June 6. 2009
Part of a series of occasional stories about the Luminous Path’s history. In this instalment, Thórva takes over the leadership of the Path from his brother.
AT NIGHT—though you can hardly tell it's night; the light never changes down here—the Cantrips and Crows begins to fill up with the sort of people I normally don't have much to do with: rogues, seedy humans, goblins, criminals. And looking back now, it's hard to imagine I ever spent as much time there as I was in the habit of doing in those days. But the snow, the miles and miles of unending, unrelenting, starving cold, were just too much to take in uninterrupted by warmth of some kind. And the Cantrips offered all the Mulgore Firewater an elf could drink (not much, admittedly).
On this particular night, I was across the table from a forsaken Rogue—a friend, of sorts; a kind of twisted mentor, whose smell I'd grown used to and who was utterly untrustworthy, but fairly friendly and amusing about it. Our drinking had stretched on for long enough that through the wine-goggles, stronger than any an engineer could make, even the Human innkeeper was starting to look... well... not as disgusting as Humans usually look. And of course the bloody rogue was doing nothing to discourage me. Not if it meant keeping me from making a total tit out of myself.
Continue reading "The Ascension of Thórva"
Tuesday, May 12. 2009
Last night the Luminous Path totally erased Sartharion and made a bag out of his body. Congratulations to everyone who participated; a heaping pile of DKP was had by all.
Thursday, May 7. 2009
Over two nights in one lockout period, we fought our way to the Four Horsemen, and are preparing a second attack on Thursday. Grats to everyone for a perfect execution of Gothik the Harvester; see you next lockout period!
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