World of Warcraft®

Some of yeh may know that th’ Wildhammer Clan’s population hasn’t changed much o’er th’ years, but our numbers have been wanin’. Th’ Stoneblood Circle is a family that looks te unify wot’s left of Wildhammer folk out there. There isn’t many races out there that have maintained a standard of livin’ since th’ Third War like we have! If these things be describin’ yeh:

Preservin’ Nature
Prefer th’ open air
Proud of yeh past an’ live in th’ moment
Respect gryphons as yer equals
Can’t stand technology
Enjoy huntin’ an’ shootin’ down zeppelins
Upholdin’ ole’ rivalries
Wield a stormhammer imbued with lightnin' from our shaman
Wagin’ war against th’ Horde
Protectin’ th’ untainted lands of Hinterlands
Paintin’ tattoos all th’ while cussin’ an’ drinkin’
Puttin' feathers an' beads in yeh hair fer good luck
Enjoy two-hundred twenty proof Thundermar Lager in particular
Overcomin’ th’ Curse of Flesh
Supportin’ a tribal community
Keep te th’ mountainsides

Then come make Th’ Stoneblood Circle yer home! Learn te become a part of our ring by raisin’ gryphons, drivin’ out foolish Horde from yer territory, gatherin’ an’ makin’ an honest living with yer professions, an’ be a part of storytellin’ on cold nights in th’ Aerie Peak. We don’t consider ourselves a part of th’ Alliance, but we protect our allies steadfast! So if yeh don’t care fer all that Bronzebeard malarkey with th’ Titans an’ wot-not, join up with th’ strong an’ heroic Wildhammer! Every year as a clan we have three days of celebratin’: one fer marriages, one fer our children’s birth, an’ one honorin’ th’ year’s dead. So whether yeh hail from Kalimdor, Outlands, or right here in our homes of Aerie Peak, join arms with th’ feral, wild dwarves! Fierce in battle an’ in loyalty – fer th’ Wildhammer!

((So this has been in the works for a while, and I'd love to see a dwarven guild (Wildhammer in particular) thrive. The guild can come off as a bit uninviting to those not dwarves (we're rather xenophobic), but once we're known we can be utterly humorous and downright friendly. We tend to poke at each other, drink excessively, and engage in world PvP. We're looking to make alliances with guilds as well as enemies with others in hopes of facilitating solid story arcs. Since we're nature-loving, we cannot accept warlocks or death knights. Feel free to contact either Gillock or Orich in-game. Thanks in advance to the community for all your support!))

((Bump for a great guild.))

((Bearded Bump))

Working for a neutral organization, in a neutral city, had it's advantages. For example, he could pick up fliers and news from the other side - this morninr, he had caught some sort of propaganda article written by a Dwarf, about Bilgewater.

Bronzebeard, no doubt.

Wildhammer'd never participate in smear tactics. Which was what pleased him about his next find - an ad for the Stoneblood circle, hanging from the Call Board in Hearthglen. Rubbing a hand over one of the tattoos lining his face, Arothand breathed a quiet sigh as he scanned over the line about 'th' Horde', however, the rest of the article seemed to put the man in a pleasant mood - he even took a copy down for himself, as to remember the group by name. Grinning all the way back to his makeshift desk by the fire, outside the blacksmith, he settled down into a broken mine cart of a chair and began to scrawl a letter in response.

"To the Stonebloods,

My name's Arothand Lightsworn. Name may be vaguely familiar to some of you, heh, though I'd hope not on account of the wanted posters. Nah, I grew up not far from the peak, myself. Just on the fringe territories of Southern Quel'thalas, beside the Northernmost Wildhammer clans.

I grew up with the Wildhammer as much as I did my own people, maybe more. I learned your traditions, your ways, your people, even the way you fight. Over the six hundred years I've been alive, I've felt nothing but respect, admiration, and a kinship with your clan. Some of my most fond childhood memories were of visits to Grim Batol, drinkin' your drink and singing your songs. Your people even taught me how to ride and befriend a Gryphon, after a few years of earnin' their respect.

It weighs heavily on me that your people now see eye to eye with the Alliance, but I'm not writin' this outta rage. More, concern. Don't let Wrynn's Alliance treat you as sub-Human.

You're better, more honorable, and tougher'n the lot of them.

That said, you're no enemy of mine. I won't lift a blade against you, and I wish you no harm. Yeah, I fight for the Horde - but that doesn't mean I have to fight the Wildhammer. You lot were more brothers and sisters to me than my own siblings.

Winds be at your back, and may your cup never empty,

Aro."

Oskor wasn't sure where the student had picked up the flyer, but he was glad she had. He grinned to himself and perched his battered spectacles on his nose. He pursed his lips and began to write.

---

My Wildhammer friends,
I read your recent notice, and I can't help but think I'd be an excellent candidate to join your Circle. I've studied your requirements, and I agree with all of the ones that seem important.

03/03/2012 08:25 AMPosted by Gillock

Preservin’ Nature

As a shaman, I would naturally prefer that Nature be left as it is, but I also understand that sometimes changes must be made for the betterment of the peoples of both the Horde and the Alliance.

Prefer th’ open air

The plains of Nagrand are still my favorite places to visit. My focus is stronger and my thoughts calmer there in my land of my Ancestors.

Proud of yeh past an’ live in th’ moment

As an orc, I feel I have much to be proud of. Our people have overcome the demonic forces that once tricked us into enslavement. These same forces destroyed much of the world that we once called home, and now we seek to rebuild what we once had: somewhere that the orcs and our allies can truly take pride in once again.

As for living in the moment, I find it to be the best way to avoid dwelling on the more sordid parts of my past. I find that a stiff drink and a nice brawl can be just as successful in this as a swift flight around the countryside or the love (or at least, the attention) of a beautiful woman.

Respect gryphons as yer equals

I promise to give the gryphons their space, provided they give me mine. Should I be attacked, however, I will strive to make the fight as equal as possible. After the fight, should I win, I also pledge to use the entire bird (beast?) to the best of my ability, as I feel that is the only honorable recourse.

Can’t stand technology

The worst thing about having goblins around the place is that I'm never sure if their "technology" is intended to help or to harm. Provided I do not have to give up my armchair, I am more than content with this provision.

Enjoy huntin’ an’ shootin’ down zeppelins

There is one zeppelin in particular that I would enjoy nothing more than shooting down.

Upholdin’ ole’ rivalries

Please consult my references (Ehlina Vargas, Rose Grenwall, Cyrus Sagewind, and Andelia Windtouched) on this matter.

Wield a stormhammer imbued with lightnin' from our shaman

My mace is my most cherished and oldest weapon. I'll admit that I'm rather attached to it. As I can imbue it myself (with all manner of elements, depending on the situation), I won't even require your shaman's help.

Wagin’ war against th’ Horde

I'm afraid I'll have to play this one by ear. If you can present a compelling enough explanation, I might be inclined to assist. Offhand, I can think of a few Horde I'd gladly fight.

Protectin’ th’ untainted lands of Hinterlands

Fair enough, provided you do not seek to infringe upon the lands of the Revantusk tribe.

Paintin’ tattoos all th’ while cussin’ an’ drinkin’

I'm a huge fan of cussing and drinking, and, while I've never considered getting a tattoo in the past, I can't help but think that it could only improve my good looks.

Puttin' feathers an' beads in yeh hair fer good luck

While I've lost most of my hair over the years, I can grow a mean bird. I'd be willing to try the feathers and beads, provided they do not detract from my roguish masculinity.

Enjoy two-hundred twenty proof Thundermar Lager in particular

Why do you think I was at Aerie Peak a few weeks ago?

Overcomin’ th’ Curse of Flesh

While I'm not terribly familiar with this Curse, I do understand the longing to overcome circumstances that were out of your control and the hope to one day return to the purity of the past.

Supportin’ a tribal community

The sense of family that a tribe or clan brings seems to be a rarity these days. Sadly, the majority of my former clan (all once-brave and -honorable) have long-since perished or turned against the Horde. I would be glad to do everything I can to support your tribe, provided it does not directly oppose my people.

Keep te th’ mountainsides

I'm afraid that my duties at the Doctas' Campus may keep me away for long stretches of time, but I will return to the Peak, as often as I can.

I hope to hear from you soon. We may be on opposite sides of the wars between our people, but there is no reason why we should be enemies. Should we meet on the battlefield, however, I urge you to show me no mercy, for I swear to honor you by doing the same.

May the Spirits bless you, and may your Ancestors watch over you.

Oskor, once called "The Mace,"
Now Dean of Da Doctas School of Medicine

It was another dry, crisp day at the Peaks. No rain to speak of lately, which Gillock didn’t seem to mind. Clear skies were always a preference for Gill, as they were for the gryphons inhabiting The Hinterlands. It was easier to spot impending danger, and less worries of water buildup seeping into Wildhammer Keep’s basements. A flooded basement was always a worry for the dwarves, as the water buildup was always a threat to the dry wood kegs filled with Wildhammer’s finest – Gryphon Tears and the likes.

Towards the end of the day Gill went up to the gryphon roost to check on the young ones, as was part of his daily routine. Upon ascending up the stairs Gill noticed a gryphon swoop down towards the perch carrying a messenger upon its back. The frizzy bearded, wind-blown dwarf hopped off from majestic bird and handed Gillock two letters. This came as a surprise to him, as most business was conducted in Stormwind and Ironforge. Delivering letters straight to Aerie Peak puzzled the dwarf enough to actually push back dinner to read the letters addressed to The Stoneblood Circle.

Gill retired himself to his quarters in the Keep, lighting up a finely crafted wooden pipe, packed with the finest weed in all of The Hinterlands. He reads diligently through each; huffing, puffing, smacking of lips on his pipe. Horde replies to meh recruitment letters! He mused. After thinking a few moments, Gill pulls out his gryphon quill and ink and begins writing. The letter is written in fairly well Common, and as you read it/them, you can almost hear his voice within the letters:

Arothand,

Yeh words are kind ‘nough te warm a dwarf’s heart a wee bit, lad. It doesn’t matter te us if yer on a wanted poster – that is, as long as it doesn’t involve th’ Stoneblood or our allies.

Yer name sounds like that of an elf’s, an’ with Lightsworn I can only assume yeh follow th’ light or Elune te some extent. Me clan has live in harmony with th’ Highborne fer quite some years now. An’ growin’ up livin’ in Quel’thalas is only a stone’s throw te manneh areas in ole’ Northern Lordaeron. I miss me Northeron meself, but these lands out here in Aerie Peak remain sacred te us all. Me only question is, wot are yeh doin’ with th’ Horde?

An’ yeh don’t have te worry about that ninny King Wrynn treatin’ us like dirt. In fact, yeh rarely see a Wildhammer in any of th’ major Alliance cities anway, ‘cept fer business purposes. We’d rather not be involved with ‘im if we can help it. Our alliance came from King Lothar an’ Terenas anyhow – back in th’ days of th’ Second War. Even though Th’ Wildhammer aligned with th’ Alliance, Th’ Stoneblood Circle tends te live in our tradition – remainin’ neutral with th’ Alliance an’ providin’ help if th’ cause be just.

Glad te see yeh have knowledge of our clan, lad. We’re pretty spread thin lately. But when it comes te a Wildhammer, it’s not about th’ numbers but instead about th’ fight inside us! I’m shure ye’ll see more Stoneblood in th’ future.

Warm Nights an’ Good Spirits,

Gillock Ironshot
Thane of th’ Stoneblood

Gillock set down his quill a moment to redirect his attention onto Oskor’s letter. It can be said that a dwarf takes grudges to his grave, and it was still clear old Gill was sputtering from the brawl that had ensued when three of the Horde came to Aerie Peak, Oskor being one of them. The tempo of huffing and puffing his pipe increased as he picked up his quill once more.

Oskor,

So now I can put a name te yer face. An orc – thinkin’ he’d be good fer a Wildhammer Clan! Yeh got me blood boilin’ after bargin’ into th’ keep an’ takin’ our sacred brews! I’d come te expect that kinda aggression from an orc, but a shaman? Lad, yeh got fire in yeh veins fer doin’ that. We Wildhammer don’t go boltin’ in te other Horde’s territories like that! Now I kno’ most of Horde’s ale tastes like weasel piss an’ th’ effect is like drinkin’ milk, but wot kinda right yeh got just goin’ in without any notice! An’ yeh had me confused te boot. Most Wildhammers initiate brawls after they partake in a stout brew, so next time yeh want a good ale, don’t go rustlin’ th’ whole keep mad like that! Just give a signal – we drink an’ then we fight.

I’m shure yeh kno’ by now that I won’t this one go. But yeh have meh int’rested, lad. Yeh don’t seem that far off th’ mark from some of us, minus th’ bargin’ in and wot-not. We see eye te eye with those damn Goblins an’ they’re zeppelins, th’ open skies (Nagrand is beautiful, aye), carryin’ around a sacred hammer an’ enjoyin’ a dark stout.

I noticed yer curious as te why gather arms ‘gainst th’ Horde. Like old’ rivalries, I’ll ne’er let th’ Second War go. Our once grand Grim Batol bein’ ransacked, corrupted an’ uninhabitable. Now it’s nothin’ more than an ole’ hatchery fer that enslaved red dragonflight. Oye, brings back bitter memories of th’ ole’ Horde, lad. Lucky we have an area that’s untainted. An’ I could care less ‘bout th’ lanky-skins out in Raventusk. It’s th’ Witherbark Trolls that gets me beard rustled!

I do expect te see yeh upon th’ battlefields, an’ I’ll shure as fel give yeh th’ decency of a good fight. I don’t kno’ about Ehlina, Rose, Cyrus, and Andelia, but mebbe ye’ll be addin’ me te yer list soon ‘nough. Oh, an’ beads an’ feathers an’ tattoos are fer spirituality an’ luck – fer th’ most part. They don’t have nothin’ te do with lowerin’ yer masculinity. Actually, they drive a lassie wild after a cold night of drinkin’.

Earth Watch O’er Yeh,

Gillock Ironshot
Thane of th' Stoneblood

Gillock sets back in his chair and takes his pipe out of his mouth, blowing out some steam. A subtle smile creases underneath his wild beard. He finalizes his letters by dripping wax over them with the mark of the Stoneblood – two maces crossed – onto the folded parts. Gill hops out of his chair and walks outside to seek out the messenger – another wild expedition for him no doubt, he thinks.

((Thanks for the write-ups and the bumps!))

Erelyn dashed up the stone steps leading to Gillock's quarters there in the keep. Breathless and more than a little flushed, she set to banging on the thick wooden door. "Mr. Ironshot, sir! Gillock? Gilly?! Are you in there?" She looked back as she heard another crash from below.

"Gilly, get up! There are yearlings in the -- uh -- hangar ... Mmmm, they're playing kickball with your ale!"



((bump!))

The knocking sounded frantic - frantic enough to rustle Gillock from his sleep. This must be highly urgent as it would take a stampede of kodos fresh from mating season to wake him from his sound repose.

"Wot?!" Gilly exclaims as he hears Erelyn mention alcohol abuse. He bursts the door open, displaying a dwarf completely decked in green sleepwear and a stocking nightcap knitted with gryphon and heart patterns upon it. "Wot did I tell 'em...they got it all wrong!" He begins huffing and puffing towards the stairs in a fireworks display of dwarven anger. "I told 'em...no brawlin' before drinkin'! An' te kick me freshly brewed - " His sentence was cut short as he trips on his pajamas, tumbling *bump bump bump bump* down the stairs in an awkward fashion. Thankfully, being a dwarf, gravity is so kind, and he quickly recovers with the sheer grace of a tabby cat. "I'll bop 'em a good one on th' head this time!" He storms into the brewery part of Wildhammer Keep, looking for answers.

((As the sound of falling down stairs make - bump...still seeking Wildhammers out there!))