Post by Galahad on Apr 26, 2012 11:25:51 GMT -5
(I'm going to try my hand at expanding the mythos of the Hammer Guild if that's okay. The writing may be a little off, but it's for fun. I'll be adding more characters from the guild as this is an ongoing story as time permits. Hope you enjoy the first installment. - Gal)
It was late in the evening when finally the band had arrived home. Beaten and sore but strangely content the small group walked through the streets with only the city watch gazing upon them. Ogrimmar, the city of the Horde, was the most important place in all the world. Not for the first time the knight with the gray eyes looked upon his adopted home. Inwardly he smiled. “No,” he thought, “It’s not as beautiful as Silvermoon. Not as majestic as Thunder Bluff or as mysterious as the Undercity, but there was a certain… earthiness about it.” It was always good to come home.
It had been a successful night. Once again, creatures of ill intent had indeed been slain in the service of the Horde. His guild mates had proven their worth more than once. As they approached the inn door, street urchins gathered around hoping for a boon. The orc in their party of course never disappointed. For all his gruffness, the fearsome displays of valour, the impressive armour that would crush any normal being and the scars that lined his arms and face, Kerrig had a soft spot for children. He’d never admit it, but as he ruffled the hair of more than a few of the orcish children, the knight could see the odd glint of gold in the old warrior’s gauntlets. That gold the knight knew would be passed into the hands of the orphans and provide food, clothing and other necessities to the local orphanage.
Eventually from the mage, a haughty “harrummph’ and mutterings about urchins being turned into chickens for dinner…” scattered the children. The smile elicited from the mage at the children’s squeals of mock terror did not go unnoticed by the knight. For all the quickly acquired stony countenance and menacing scowl, the mage still couldn’t hide the mirth in his eyes. Merlinn may act the part of the stony, unfeeling mage to those that did not know him, but no matter the act, the knight knew he still delighted in the wondrous joy of the world around him.
First to the bar of course was the other knight in their party. Her crimson armour still covered in dried blood from the enemies she had slain this very evening. It didn’t surprise the knight that the slight form of Prasillianna could slay as efficiently as the hulking mass of Kerrig, heal injuries as well as the very best apothecaries or distract an enemy just long enough for it to be slain by her guildmates. Despite all these impressive skills , the ability of the Lady knight to imbibe was without a doubt in the knight’s mind the most amazing of her abilities. The knight with gray eyes knew first hand not to challenge Lady Pras to a drinking contest in any way. The last time had gone poorly for him. It had taken hours and a large amount of gold to pay the goblins to find his armour and weapons after he had awoken in the slum area of Ogrimmar the following day. Merlinn had not been amused.
It was late in the evening when finally the band had arrived home. Beaten and sore but strangely content the small group walked through the streets with only the city watch gazing upon them. Ogrimmar, the city of the Horde, was the most important place in all the world. Not for the first time the knight with the gray eyes looked upon his adopted home. Inwardly he smiled. “No,” he thought, “It’s not as beautiful as Silvermoon. Not as majestic as Thunder Bluff or as mysterious as the Undercity, but there was a certain… earthiness about it.” It was always good to come home.
It had been a successful night. Once again, creatures of ill intent had indeed been slain in the service of the Horde. His guild mates had proven their worth more than once. As they approached the inn door, street urchins gathered around hoping for a boon. The orc in their party of course never disappointed. For all his gruffness, the fearsome displays of valour, the impressive armour that would crush any normal being and the scars that lined his arms and face, Kerrig had a soft spot for children. He’d never admit it, but as he ruffled the hair of more than a few of the orcish children, the knight could see the odd glint of gold in the old warrior’s gauntlets. That gold the knight knew would be passed into the hands of the orphans and provide food, clothing and other necessities to the local orphanage.
Eventually from the mage, a haughty “harrummph’ and mutterings about urchins being turned into chickens for dinner…” scattered the children. The smile elicited from the mage at the children’s squeals of mock terror did not go unnoticed by the knight. For all the quickly acquired stony countenance and menacing scowl, the mage still couldn’t hide the mirth in his eyes. Merlinn may act the part of the stony, unfeeling mage to those that did not know him, but no matter the act, the knight knew he still delighted in the wondrous joy of the world around him.
First to the bar of course was the other knight in their party. Her crimson armour still covered in dried blood from the enemies she had slain this very evening. It didn’t surprise the knight that the slight form of Prasillianna could slay as efficiently as the hulking mass of Kerrig, heal injuries as well as the very best apothecaries or distract an enemy just long enough for it to be slain by her guildmates. Despite all these impressive skills , the ability of the Lady knight to imbibe was without a doubt in the knight’s mind the most amazing of her abilities. The knight with gray eyes knew first hand not to challenge Lady Pras to a drinking contest in any way. The last time had gone poorly for him. It had taken hours and a large amount of gold to pay the goblins to find his armour and weapons after he had awoken in the slum area of Ogrimmar the following day. Merlinn had not been amused.