Ødin stood at the small table pouring over strategic maps of all of Draenor.
With the aid and blessing of the Alliance of Stormwind, Lieutenant Ødin Graybeard was able to lay claim to a small plot of land nearest the Alliance central garrison command in Shadowmoon Valley, Draenor. Currently it was a small operation with a skeleton crew and a few meager wooden buildings, but there was plenty of room for improvement.
It wasn't Ol'One-Eye's dream to be in command. Far from it. Handling such immense responsibilities was well within his capabilities, but he much prefered to leave the headaches and problems for others, washing his hands of "civilized problems" as often as he could. He hated the cities, disliked large gatherings of people and hated even more so that so many of them looked to him for guidance and protection. It was days like today and moments like this he'd much rather be slogging through hip deep snow banks high in the mountains than pouring over endless scrolls of maps upon maps. And don't even the rosters and piles of other paperwork that still required his attention.
However. This Iron Horde posed a real threat. Left unchecked these Iron Orc would and could put an end to their very existence. Knowing this, he couldn't very well continue wandering Dun Morogh as a simple dirty drunkard of a Mountaineer any longer. Now was the time, if there ever was one, to put aside petty selfish wants (or needs) to see to it that the world he so loved and cherished would continue spinning as it should... for as long as he can.
"That shoold de it for noo, Corporal." He closed the leathery book and handed it over to the officer in charge of mission oversight. Stretching a yawn the old dwarf rubbed his one good tired eye. "I'll be in me barracks catchin' much needed shut eye."
"Aye sir." The corporal nodded.
Stepping out of the building he stood for a moment to gaze back at the edifice. A was a simple Town Hall built in the human style, mostly due to the lack of materials and dwarven masons. He had insurances however that his dwarven masons and materials would be arriving as soon as the proper resources were available.
Descending the Town Hall steps two choices stood before him. The barracks, a simple wooden structure with canvas for walls, stood to his left. To his right atop a small null stood a rather simple Inn. Naturally, Ødin turned to his right and made his way up the small null. As he sat alone at his usual table nursing a quart of fine and thick dwarven stout he idly pondered what to name this garrison.
Efter all, he thought, it falls tae me tae put a name tae this place. I thin' I'll call it the Iron Guard. He paused a moment to take a long draw.
Nae. Perhaps the Iron Garrison. He sat a moment to allow the brew to settle along with his thoughts.
The Ironforge Garrison, The Ironforge Guard Garrison. The Guard Garrison... garrison-guard. His thoughts were coming a little more muddled, which was his cue to retire.
He tipped the mug backward and slid what was left down his throat in a single swig, slapped the mug down on the table and pushed it forward to add it to the group. They were now six in total. The old dwarf's vision swam. Later it would be recounted that it was nothing short of a miracle that he'd climbed the stairs and made it to his proper room, which isn't to say that he'd ever not made it before. If anything the commander had proven time and again that he usually retained ample cognition and coordination when inebriated. Usually.
As he flopped down onto his bed he murmured to himself. "Guard. Vanguard. Iron Vanguard-guard... The Iron Guard...hic! Iron Guardiansh. Iron Garrishon it ish then ...hic!" At least for now.
His final thought before passing out was that he needed to assign a recruiter.
With the aid and blessing of the Alliance of Stormwind, Lieutenant Ødin Graybeard was able to lay claim to a small plot of land nearest the Alliance central garrison command in Shadowmoon Valley, Draenor. Currently it was a small operation with a skeleton crew and a few meager wooden buildings, but there was plenty of room for improvement.
It wasn't Ol'One-Eye's dream to be in command. Far from it. Handling such immense responsibilities was well within his capabilities, but he much prefered to leave the headaches and problems for others, washing his hands of "civilized problems" as often as he could. He hated the cities, disliked large gatherings of people and hated even more so that so many of them looked to him for guidance and protection. It was days like today and moments like this he'd much rather be slogging through hip deep snow banks high in the mountains than pouring over endless scrolls of maps upon maps. And don't even the rosters and piles of other paperwork that still required his attention.
However. This Iron Horde posed a real threat. Left unchecked these Iron Orc would and could put an end to their very existence. Knowing this, he couldn't very well continue wandering Dun Morogh as a simple dirty drunkard of a Mountaineer any longer. Now was the time, if there ever was one, to put aside petty selfish wants (or needs) to see to it that the world he so loved and cherished would continue spinning as it should... for as long as he can.
"That shoold de it for noo, Corporal." He closed the leathery book and handed it over to the officer in charge of mission oversight. Stretching a yawn the old dwarf rubbed his one good tired eye. "I'll be in me barracks catchin' much needed shut eye."
"Aye sir." The corporal nodded.
Stepping out of the building he stood for a moment to gaze back at the edifice. A was a simple Town Hall built in the human style, mostly due to the lack of materials and dwarven masons. He had insurances however that his dwarven masons and materials would be arriving as soon as the proper resources were available.
Descending the Town Hall steps two choices stood before him. The barracks, a simple wooden structure with canvas for walls, stood to his left. To his right atop a small null stood a rather simple Inn. Naturally, Ødin turned to his right and made his way up the small null. As he sat alone at his usual table nursing a quart of fine and thick dwarven stout he idly pondered what to name this garrison.
Efter all, he thought, it falls tae me tae put a name tae this place. I thin' I'll call it the Iron Guard. He paused a moment to take a long draw.
Nae. Perhaps the Iron Garrison. He sat a moment to allow the brew to settle along with his thoughts.
The Ironforge Garrison, The Ironforge Guard Garrison. The Guard Garrison... garrison-guard. His thoughts were coming a little more muddled, which was his cue to retire.
He tipped the mug backward and slid what was left down his throat in a single swig, slapped the mug down on the table and pushed it forward to add it to the group. They were now six in total. The old dwarf's vision swam. Later it would be recounted that it was nothing short of a miracle that he'd climbed the stairs and made it to his proper room, which isn't to say that he'd ever not made it before. If anything the commander had proven time and again that he usually retained ample cognition and coordination when inebriated. Usually.
As he flopped down onto his bed he murmured to himself. "Guard. Vanguard. Iron Vanguard-guard... The Iron Guard...hic! Iron Guardiansh. Iron Garrishon it ish then ...hic!" At least for now.
His final thought before passing out was that he needed to assign a recruiter.
Edited by Ødin on 1/7/2015 2:46 PM PST
