https://www.ironsongtribe.com/ Tue, 16 Jun 2026 07:41:38 +0000 MyBB https://www.ironsongtribe.com/thread-5755.html Fri, 10 Aug 2018 02:40:56 -0700 jabadue]]> https://www.ironsongtribe.com/thread-5755.html
Just then, Neat springs from his chair, spilling his wine. " She's in danger. The alliiance attack the Undercity." He opens a portal to the Undercity and leaps through.

Jaba, having finished putting on his armor, ambles toward the portal. As he reaches it, he turns to his tribemates, raising his fist, "FOR THE HORDE AND THE IRONSONG TRIBE!" He steps through.

Boot reaches for his shoulder armor and stands, the battle light already in his eyes. Grimly, he says "It's war, then, and I know how to do that. It is awak. May An'she protect you all," and steps through the portal.

Sbin quietly slumbers on the hearth, lost in his dream of green.]]>
Just then, Neat springs from his chair, spilling his wine. " She's in danger. The alliiance attack the Undercity." He opens a portal to the Undercity and leaps through.

Jaba, having finished putting on his armor, ambles toward the portal. As he reaches it, he turns to his tribemates, raising his fist, "FOR THE HORDE AND THE IRONSONG TRIBE!" He steps through.

Boot reaches for his shoulder armor and stands, the battle light already in his eyes. Grimly, he says "It's war, then, and I know how to do that. It is awak. May An'she protect you all," and steps through the portal.

Sbin quietly slumbers on the hearth, lost in his dream of green.]]> https://www.ironsongtribe.com/thread-5754.html Mon, 06 Aug 2018 16:38:04 -0700 jabadue]]> https://www.ironsongtribe.com/thread-5754.html
Sbin, his brother and a druid, lies purring on the hearth, lost in emerald dream. "Typical," Boot murmurs to himself. 

The forsaken mage, Charles "Neat" Harris is seated at the table, drinking a red liquid from a goblet. He offers another goblet to Boot, "Care for some Falanaar fine vintage? No? Very well, more the better for me."

A wizened old troll sits with his back to the door. Smoke from his pipe wreathes his head. Boot recognizes Jabadue, Farseer of the tribe, too old to fight much anymore.

Boot removes his pauldrons and gently places them in the corner. They are stained with a red and purple. "I've had enough killing night elves this day." Everyone looks up at him, as he sits in a chair beside his brother's dozing form, and stares into the cold fireplace.

Jaba shoots him a glance, "Aye, I guess we be da enemy now."

Neat smacks what is left of his lips, wine dribbling down his bony chin, "Our warchief only does what is necessary to protect the Horde, and the Forsaken. They think we are abominations, worthy of destruction. It has always been that way, and always will. I warmed my cold dead hands on the fires of Teldrassil, and was glad." He takes a slice of cheese and delicately places into in his maw.

Boot just says, "I'm a soldier. I obey my orders, and protect my tribe as the sun protects us from winter."

"Now, Now den," Jaba says, "we all be tribemates here. I tell ya da truth, I gots no wisdom for ya. Mebbe, I been fightin' too long, and seen too many go to Bwonsamdi. Too many old friends that we never see again. Mebbe time for me to go to him too. But I do know we gots to decide dis ting as a tribe. When da last time we had a moot, anyways. Oryx and Zlinka be our warchief, and Ol' Jaba be followin' dem wherever dey lead."

Neat lets out a "Pfffft," and goes back to his wine. 

Sbin, mews and claws the hearth in his sleep. "Slumber on brother, slumber on."]]>
Sbin, his brother and a druid, lies purring on the hearth, lost in emerald dream. "Typical," Boot murmurs to himself. 

The forsaken mage, Charles "Neat" Harris is seated at the table, drinking a red liquid from a goblet. He offers another goblet to Boot, "Care for some Falanaar fine vintage? No? Very well, more the better for me."

A wizened old troll sits with his back to the door. Smoke from his pipe wreathes his head. Boot recognizes Jabadue, Farseer of the tribe, too old to fight much anymore.

Boot removes his pauldrons and gently places them in the corner. They are stained with a red and purple. "I've had enough killing night elves this day." Everyone looks up at him, as he sits in a chair beside his brother's dozing form, and stares into the cold fireplace.

Jaba shoots him a glance, "Aye, I guess we be da enemy now."

Neat smacks what is left of his lips, wine dribbling down his bony chin, "Our warchief only does what is necessary to protect the Horde, and the Forsaken. They think we are abominations, worthy of destruction. It has always been that way, and always will. I warmed my cold dead hands on the fires of Teldrassil, and was glad." He takes a slice of cheese and delicately places into in his maw.

Boot just says, "I'm a soldier. I obey my orders, and protect my tribe as the sun protects us from winter."

"Now, Now den," Jaba says, "we all be tribemates here. I tell ya da truth, I gots no wisdom for ya. Mebbe, I been fightin' too long, and seen too many go to Bwonsamdi. Too many old friends that we never see again. Mebbe time for me to go to him too. But I do know we gots to decide dis ting as a tribe. When da last time we had a moot, anyways. Oryx and Zlinka be our warchief, and Ol' Jaba be followin' dem wherever dey lead."

Neat lets out a "Pfffft," and goes back to his wine. 

Sbin, mews and claws the hearth in his sleep. "Slumber on brother, slumber on."]]> https://www.ironsongtribe.com/thread-5622.html Sat, 04 Jun 2016 08:55:40 -0700 Nak]]> https://www.ironsongtribe.com/thread-5622.html
https://www.facebook.com/CrownRoyal/vide...280324735/]]>
https://www.facebook.com/CrownRoyal/vide...280324735/]]> https://www.ironsongtribe.com/thread-5620.html Fri, 22 Apr 2016 08:37:57 -0700 Nak]]> https://www.ironsongtribe.com/thread-5620.html Found this and got a chuckle.]]> Found this and got a chuckle.]]> https://www.ironsongtribe.com/thread-5504.html Thu, 20 Nov 2014 11:12:58 -0800 Verruckter]]> https://www.ironsongtribe.com/thread-5504.html
Inquisitor Kalna,

I have completed my investigation of the site.

The following excerpts were recovered from a journal found in the central building of a nameless village in the hills of Westfall. The author is unknown, but appears to have been an individual of authority- perhaps a magistrate or other village leader.


The winter will be harsh if the crops do not turn around. Jensen lost half his flock to a sudden thunderstorm last week and the mutton will be missed dearly. The miller’s girl is still missing- there are mutterings that the Defias Brotherhood may have taken her, but I find that unlikely. I have asked the hunting parties to watch for signs of her.

…

The trader from Moonbrook is behind schedule. If he does not arrive soon the Winter Veil celebrations will have to be cancelled. It has been three weeks since the girl went missing, the family plans to hold a ceremony with the new moon.

…

Old Man McKray was drunk in the square today. We locked him in the tavern cellar till he sobers up and stops ranting about the end times. One of the hunting parties came in early and empty handed. I’ve asked them to speak to noone until I assess our food stores. They say even the wolves are absent from the woods.

…

The hunters found the girl. They dragged her into town limp and glassy eyed, but apparently unharmed. I don’t have the details yet, but I sent the Brek boy to Moonbrook to fetch a doctor.

…

Two of the hunters who found the girl are dead and the third has gone missing. Tamor hung himself in his barn. I don’t know what happened to Kevin. It looked like he did it to himself, but there was so much blood. And those words on the wall- spirits protect us. I served with both of them in the Second War. They were good soldiers, solid men. What is happening to my town? And where did Bram vanish to?

…

We found the Brek boy on the road south of the village. His throat was slit and the doctor he fetched was nailed to a tree. Bram is still missing. I think he did it. Just like the orcs in the war, the doctor was alive when he was mounted to that tree. I have been having dreams. Of the war. Of- other things.

…

Bram tried to kill the girl. Three are dead, including the girl’s mother and Bram. Bram- his eyes. His eyes were gone. How could he see to fight? I saw my wife last night. My dear Miriam. She looked so healthy. So alive. I think she died. Didn’t she? I haven’t slept in two days. I can’t. The dreams.

…

We burned her. We burned the house. We burned it all. I can still hear her voice. Her voices. Singing. Screaming. A chorus. I can still hear it. Miriam heard it too. But she told me what to do. She told me how to make it stop. I can make it stop. I have to.


That was the last entry in the journal and likely the end of the man who wrote it. We were too late arriving- Westfall is too wild and the village was not missed for many months. We found no bodies and no evidence there had ever been any. Just an abandoned village and one structure gutted by fire. Wherever they went, they left all their belongings. With the discovery of the journal, I am declaring this a demonic incident and referring the matter for review.

Faith and Duty,
Inquisitor Varaoth


----------------------------

Kummer didn’t remember her life, her living life, or the death that began her new life. All she remembered was fire, and darkness, and the whispers. She has never known solitude. She awoke, summoned into undeath, and her friends were there. Like they always have been. Speaking for her, keeping her safe, showing her the way. Behind her eyes, she listens to them, smiling with a face that isn’t hers as they tell her such beautiful stories. A brisk knock at the door ruins the moment and the face she wears so well settles into a stern authoritarian line.

“Enter.” The heavy wooden door creaks on brass hinges and her lieutenant enters with a curt nod. With the door open, she can hear murmurs from the war room.

“My apologies for the interruption Ma’am. You wished to be notified when the patrols returned.” He keeps his eyes level as he speaks, very carefully not looking at her. He was an efficient Second, clean and crisp, his elven features at odds with the ugly scar down his face. But even he, after all this time, avoided her gaze.

“Very good. We will be at the debrief shortly. Dismissed.” He snaps a salute that was maybe a bit more hasty than it needed to be and departed. As the door swings shut Kummer stands and approaches the cabinet where her pretties are kept. Perfect, beautiful, shimmering gems- the light disappearing into the swirling shadows inside. Reaching out, she drags her finger down the length of one gem and the chorus swells in appreciation. She can feel it resist, snarling like a caged beast, but it is a weak thing- drawing it forth from the stone is a simple matter. Holding it, grasping it, feeling it twist and squirm, she can see the man. He is old, like he always is, a worn suit of armor flickers on and off of his form. And he is so angry with her, so afraid, but the fear is masked by the fury he feels. She giggles involuntarily.

“Yes our pretty. We know. But if we released you, where would you go? There is nothing beyond death, nothing but the void. No, you would be much happier to stay here. What would your friends say if you left?” He screams silently against her will as she forces the weak thing back into its cage. With a wistful sigh, she strokes her hand along the soulstones and shuts the cabinet on their wailing. The chorus sings merrily and she settles in for the ride as her friends take her out to perform her duties. It’s so nice having friends.

((This is not IC public information, but simply a bit of OOC knowledge to give a point of reference for her.))]]>
Inquisitor Kalna,

I have completed my investigation of the site.

The following excerpts were recovered from a journal found in the central building of a nameless village in the hills of Westfall. The author is unknown, but appears to have been an individual of authority- perhaps a magistrate or other village leader.


The winter will be harsh if the crops do not turn around. Jensen lost half his flock to a sudden thunderstorm last week and the mutton will be missed dearly. The miller’s girl is still missing- there are mutterings that the Defias Brotherhood may have taken her, but I find that unlikely. I have asked the hunting parties to watch for signs of her.

…

The trader from Moonbrook is behind schedule. If he does not arrive soon the Winter Veil celebrations will have to be cancelled. It has been three weeks since the girl went missing, the family plans to hold a ceremony with the new moon.

…

Old Man McKray was drunk in the square today. We locked him in the tavern cellar till he sobers up and stops ranting about the end times. One of the hunting parties came in early and empty handed. I’ve asked them to speak to noone until I assess our food stores. They say even the wolves are absent from the woods.

…

The hunters found the girl. They dragged her into town limp and glassy eyed, but apparently unharmed. I don’t have the details yet, but I sent the Brek boy to Moonbrook to fetch a doctor.

…

Two of the hunters who found the girl are dead and the third has gone missing. Tamor hung himself in his barn. I don’t know what happened to Kevin. It looked like he did it to himself, but there was so much blood. And those words on the wall- spirits protect us. I served with both of them in the Second War. They were good soldiers, solid men. What is happening to my town? And where did Bram vanish to?

…

We found the Brek boy on the road south of the village. His throat was slit and the doctor he fetched was nailed to a tree. Bram is still missing. I think he did it. Just like the orcs in the war, the doctor was alive when he was mounted to that tree. I have been having dreams. Of the war. Of- other things.

…

Bram tried to kill the girl. Three are dead, including the girl’s mother and Bram. Bram- his eyes. His eyes were gone. How could he see to fight? I saw my wife last night. My dear Miriam. She looked so healthy. So alive. I think she died. Didn’t she? I haven’t slept in two days. I can’t. The dreams.

…

We burned her. We burned the house. We burned it all. I can still hear her voice. Her voices. Singing. Screaming. A chorus. I can still hear it. Miriam heard it too. But she told me what to do. She told me how to make it stop. I can make it stop. I have to.


That was the last entry in the journal and likely the end of the man who wrote it. We were too late arriving- Westfall is too wild and the village was not missed for many months. We found no bodies and no evidence there had ever been any. Just an abandoned village and one structure gutted by fire. Wherever they went, they left all their belongings. With the discovery of the journal, I am declaring this a demonic incident and referring the matter for review.

Faith and Duty,
Inquisitor Varaoth


----------------------------

Kummer didn’t remember her life, her living life, or the death that began her new life. All she remembered was fire, and darkness, and the whispers. She has never known solitude. She awoke, summoned into undeath, and her friends were there. Like they always have been. Speaking for her, keeping her safe, showing her the way. Behind her eyes, she listens to them, smiling with a face that isn’t hers as they tell her such beautiful stories. A brisk knock at the door ruins the moment and the face she wears so well settles into a stern authoritarian line.

“Enter.” The heavy wooden door creaks on brass hinges and her lieutenant enters with a curt nod. With the door open, she can hear murmurs from the war room.

“My apologies for the interruption Ma’am. You wished to be notified when the patrols returned.” He keeps his eyes level as he speaks, very carefully not looking at her. He was an efficient Second, clean and crisp, his elven features at odds with the ugly scar down his face. But even he, after all this time, avoided her gaze.

“Very good. We will be at the debrief shortly. Dismissed.” He snaps a salute that was maybe a bit more hasty than it needed to be and departed. As the door swings shut Kummer stands and approaches the cabinet where her pretties are kept. Perfect, beautiful, shimmering gems- the light disappearing into the swirling shadows inside. Reaching out, she drags her finger down the length of one gem and the chorus swells in appreciation. She can feel it resist, snarling like a caged beast, but it is a weak thing- drawing it forth from the stone is a simple matter. Holding it, grasping it, feeling it twist and squirm, she can see the man. He is old, like he always is, a worn suit of armor flickers on and off of his form. And he is so angry with her, so afraid, but the fear is masked by the fury he feels. She giggles involuntarily.

“Yes our pretty. We know. But if we released you, where would you go? There is nothing beyond death, nothing but the void. No, you would be much happier to stay here. What would your friends say if you left?” He screams silently against her will as she forces the weak thing back into its cage. With a wistful sigh, she strokes her hand along the soulstones and shuts the cabinet on their wailing. The chorus sings merrily and she settles in for the ride as her friends take her out to perform her duties. It’s so nice having friends.

((This is not IC public information, but simply a bit of OOC knowledge to give a point of reference for her.))]]> https://www.ironsongtribe.com/thread-5498.html Fri, 14 Nov 2014 08:39:00 -0800 Zlinka]]> https://www.ironsongtribe.com/thread-5498.html
The previous day had been brutal — they were lucky to be alive. Ironsong, with the rest of the Horde, had gone through the portal to attack the savage orcs coming through. What they had found beyond the portal… Zlinka shivered, and her face creased with pain… was far more orcs than anyone had imagined, even with Anca, Vilemoon and Sunlia’s reconnaissance. An army of orcs. A torrent of orcs. An unending savage river of orcs pouring toward the portal, toward Azeroth.

The fighting had been fierce. The invading force from Azeroth was pitifully small. But despite this they’d managed to carve a small moment within the chaos, and in that eye of the storm they had destroyed the dark portal from the Draenor side. They had closed the door, they had stopped the river of orcs from pouring through to destroy their land.

But in so doing, they had trapped themselves on the other side.

Through the night they had fought their way out of the Iron Horde forces, carving their way through the troops, dashing to safety with as many survivors as they could find. They gathered under the protection of a local orc tribe, the Frostwolves, to amass their strength for the next battle.

They would need to dig in for a while, to make a new base from whence to launch operations. They would make a new guild hall in Draenor, a garrison for Ironsong.

Below her, hammers pounded on nails, saws bit through wood, and shovels chewed through the soil. The palisade had gone up first, in the hours before the dawn, and now as the sun’s rays came up, Zlinka could see the frameworks of buildings.

And in the middle of the compound stood a flagpole, and as she watched, a flat went up, slowly, flapping in the chilly breeze.

A red hammer on a black background. Zlinka smiled.

Ironsong is here. We are small, but we are fierce. We will destroy this Iron Horde before it reaches our homeland.

Then she rode down into the garrison, into her Tribe, to help.


((Share stories about your garrisons below!))]]>
The previous day had been brutal — they were lucky to be alive. Ironsong, with the rest of the Horde, had gone through the portal to attack the savage orcs coming through. What they had found beyond the portal… Zlinka shivered, and her face creased with pain… was far more orcs than anyone had imagined, even with Anca, Vilemoon and Sunlia’s reconnaissance. An army of orcs. A torrent of orcs. An unending savage river of orcs pouring toward the portal, toward Azeroth.

The fighting had been fierce. The invading force from Azeroth was pitifully small. But despite this they’d managed to carve a small moment within the chaos, and in that eye of the storm they had destroyed the dark portal from the Draenor side. They had closed the door, they had stopped the river of orcs from pouring through to destroy their land.

But in so doing, they had trapped themselves on the other side.

Through the night they had fought their way out of the Iron Horde forces, carving their way through the troops, dashing to safety with as many survivors as they could find. They gathered under the protection of a local orc tribe, the Frostwolves, to amass their strength for the next battle.

They would need to dig in for a while, to make a new base from whence to launch operations. They would make a new guild hall in Draenor, a garrison for Ironsong.

Below her, hammers pounded on nails, saws bit through wood, and shovels chewed through the soil. The palisade had gone up first, in the hours before the dawn, and now as the sun’s rays came up, Zlinka could see the frameworks of buildings.

And in the middle of the compound stood a flagpole, and as she watched, a flat went up, slowly, flapping in the chilly breeze.

A red hammer on a black background. Zlinka smiled.

Ironsong is here. We are small, but we are fierce. We will destroy this Iron Horde before it reaches our homeland.

Then she rode down into the garrison, into her Tribe, to help.


((Share stories about your garrisons below!))]]> https://www.ironsongtribe.com/thread-5470.html Tue, 01 Jul 2014 22:01:49 -0700 Nganga]]> https://www.ironsongtribe.com/thread-5470.html
“Oi! Watch where you’re blowin’ that snot, Mac!”

“Sorry Bip, I didn’t see you downwind.”

“It’s a wonder you can see anything past that fuzzy schnozzola,” Bip said. “Open ya freakin’ peepers next time you gotta clear the snoot, or follow my lead and use ya fingers. Or maybe you can’t stuff those big ol’ sausages into ya blowholes. Speakin’ of stuffin’ sausages, that reminds me of this time back in Booty Bay—“

“I’ve heard that one. Several times. You should get out more, Bipster. Get some new material. It’s not like you’ve had a job here for the last four years.”

“You. Piehole. Shut. I’m the center of a web here, Bigwig. I got feelers in every shack and dive on four continents. Any day now they’ll pay off. I can taste the gold in the air!”

“I’m pretty sure those nuggets you’re tasting are nasal in origin. But good luck with that.”

Thlayli turned and headed back to the cool shade of the inn, grinning at the goblin’s departing gesture. He looked around at this cramped, dusty room that had been his home for nearly a decade. The knot in his stomach clenched a little tighter when he saw his bags, waiting, half-full. He was at that point in packing where each thing left to stow seemed heavier and harder to reach for; the decision to keep or throw away more and more difficult. His path to the garbage dump took him instead to his sand-polished barstool. He let the heavy sack of trash slump to the floor.

“Usual, Wiggles?” asked Fizzgrimble, with what passed for an understanding smile on his pinched, predatory face.

“Yeah,” said Thlayli. He dropped a pickle into the gin and stirred it slowly, looking at the scratched and cigar-burnt bartop through the swirling liquid. His fingers traced the worn initials he’d carved into the wood one night, monumentally drunk, after his brother had passed through town. Nine years ago? Eight? He shrugged. He didn’t have a lot of contact with his family out here in the sphincter of Kalimdor. Sometimes he took a boat up the peninsula just to look across the water at Dustwallow. If the air was clear, he might see a tree or two; a few hardy specimens growing in the rocks on the shore. But he always came back to Gadgetzan.

He’d been running the southern outpost of his family’s import-export business since he’d earned his second name. A delivery might arrive at any hour, and it was usually the kind of exchange best conducted personally. The work was easy; his life, a punctuated equilibrium of drowsy boredom shot through with flashes of danger. Thlayli bared a tooth in a half-grin. One time he’d brought in a huge shipment just a step ahead of the customs agents. He’d been stuck for an hour under the docks with a portable hole full of owls, humming subvocally to keep the damned fluffy things calm. He sipped his gin.

The grin faded. He ran his hands over his arms, feeling the bumpy contours of the scars. Ng always frowned when he saw them. His brother had been forcibly marked at his second naming, years before their parents were killed. Thlayli had chosen to take the markings. Maybe now, older, he’d be able to explain it was not some misguided attempt to honor their tribal legacy, but a promise to the dead. Their memory. His anger. Murderers, all of them. Their story was cut into his skin. Perhaps this coming journey was his chance to finally let his rage be spent.

With a shudder he brought himself back to the present. Tipping the last of the gin down his throat he flipped a coin to Fizz and picked up his bag of trash.

“Time is money, friend,” he said.

[Inspired by the news of coming cross-faction combined auction houses, where I realized that my little warrior, parked in Gadgetzan for the last ten years (omg) might actually be able to come home now. Thanks for the idea, Z!]]]>
“Oi! Watch where you’re blowin’ that snot, Mac!”

“Sorry Bip, I didn’t see you downwind.”

“It’s a wonder you can see anything past that fuzzy schnozzola,” Bip said. “Open ya freakin’ peepers next time you gotta clear the snoot, or follow my lead and use ya fingers. Or maybe you can’t stuff those big ol’ sausages into ya blowholes. Speakin’ of stuffin’ sausages, that reminds me of this time back in Booty Bay—“

“I’ve heard that one. Several times. You should get out more, Bipster. Get some new material. It’s not like you’ve had a job here for the last four years.”

“You. Piehole. Shut. I’m the center of a web here, Bigwig. I got feelers in every shack and dive on four continents. Any day now they’ll pay off. I can taste the gold in the air!”

“I’m pretty sure those nuggets you’re tasting are nasal in origin. But good luck with that.”

Thlayli turned and headed back to the cool shade of the inn, grinning at the goblin’s departing gesture. He looked around at this cramped, dusty room that had been his home for nearly a decade. The knot in his stomach clenched a little tighter when he saw his bags, waiting, half-full. He was at that point in packing where each thing left to stow seemed heavier and harder to reach for; the decision to keep or throw away more and more difficult. His path to the garbage dump took him instead to his sand-polished barstool. He let the heavy sack of trash slump to the floor.

“Usual, Wiggles?” asked Fizzgrimble, with what passed for an understanding smile on his pinched, predatory face.

“Yeah,” said Thlayli. He dropped a pickle into the gin and stirred it slowly, looking at the scratched and cigar-burnt bartop through the swirling liquid. His fingers traced the worn initials he’d carved into the wood one night, monumentally drunk, after his brother had passed through town. Nine years ago? Eight? He shrugged. He didn’t have a lot of contact with his family out here in the sphincter of Kalimdor. Sometimes he took a boat up the peninsula just to look across the water at Dustwallow. If the air was clear, he might see a tree or two; a few hardy specimens growing in the rocks on the shore. But he always came back to Gadgetzan.

He’d been running the southern outpost of his family’s import-export business since he’d earned his second name. A delivery might arrive at any hour, and it was usually the kind of exchange best conducted personally. The work was easy; his life, a punctuated equilibrium of drowsy boredom shot through with flashes of danger. Thlayli bared a tooth in a half-grin. One time he’d brought in a huge shipment just a step ahead of the customs agents. He’d been stuck for an hour under the docks with a portable hole full of owls, humming subvocally to keep the damned fluffy things calm. He sipped his gin.

The grin faded. He ran his hands over his arms, feeling the bumpy contours of the scars. Ng always frowned when he saw them. His brother had been forcibly marked at his second naming, years before their parents were killed. Thlayli had chosen to take the markings. Maybe now, older, he’d be able to explain it was not some misguided attempt to honor their tribal legacy, but a promise to the dead. Their memory. His anger. Murderers, all of them. Their story was cut into his skin. Perhaps this coming journey was his chance to finally let his rage be spent.

With a shudder he brought himself back to the present. Tipping the last of the gin down his throat he flipped a coin to Fizz and picked up his bag of trash.

“Time is money, friend,” he said.

[Inspired by the news of coming cross-faction combined auction houses, where I realized that my little warrior, parked in Gadgetzan for the last ten years (omg) might actually be able to come home now. Thanks for the idea, Z!]]]> https://www.ironsongtribe.com/thread-5352.html Mon, 18 Feb 2013 16:05:11 -0800 Melikar]]> https://www.ironsongtribe.com/thread-5352.html
Dijang walked along one of the main roads in the Valley of Strength where vendors peddled their wares and many passersby sped past Dijang in an attempt to rush to their next destination. Dijang simply didn’t understand the desire to rush anywhere. Sure, he understood the Horde were at war, but he was also confident many people were running small tasks in comparison to the bigger picture. The nature of this society was still quite new to him and he wondered if he’d ever get used to it.
He could feel his throat dry and the dust that mixed with the hot air of this city didn’t help. He could’ve gone for a drink! Stopping in his tracks, he looked about for a nearby Inn or bar. Something smacked into his large, Pandaren frame as he halted.

“Hey, man!” Called a Goblin’s voice.

Dijang looked behind him and down to find a male Goblin on his knees, picking up what appeared to be various nuts and bolts.

“Watch where you’re goin’, bear-man!” The Goblin yelled before rushing off with his findings.

Dijang sighed and merely shrugged, not bothering to tell the Goblin it wasn’t himself who should have been watching where he was going. He had spotted what appeared to be a bar a short distance up the road and made his way there.

Stepping inside, Dijang saw the bar appeared dingy and dark. There were a few tables and the main bar. A female Orc worked behind the bar and one of the guardians of this city sat hunched over a drink in a corner. What were the guards called again? Kron? Kriken? Dijang couldn’t remember. He approached the bar and sat on one of the worn leather stools.

“I’ll have one of your finest ales!” He said to the Orc woman, probably
much louder than he should. A good beer made a Pandaren happy, no matter where they came from.

The Orc woman looked not at all pleased by his tone. She reached under the bar and pulled out a bottle, handing it to the Pandaren. She immediately turned and walked away.

Dijang grabbed the bottle in his paw and popped off the lid. He tipped it back, anxious to feel the cool and fizzy drink slide down his throat. What he got instead was a semi-flat and warm liquid protruding into his senses. He quickly set the bottle down, making a face as he did so. This was nasty! What kind of a bar served this mix of sludge to its patrons? Back in Pandaria, Dijang knew he would not have been treated this way! He could have a refreshing mug of beer and at a good cost. This concoction he drank now wasn’t worth one copper as far as he was concerned.

“Excuse me, miss.” He said, getting the bar keeps attention. “This beer is the nastiest drink I’ve ever had. And I’ve had some bad beer in my day.”

The Orc still said no words. She merely rolled her eyes and reached under the counter again. She produced another bottle, but only after Dijang heard some rummaging around. She placed it on the counter before the Pandaren and once more walked away.

Dijang put his free paw on this bottle and was relieved to feel the coolness of the glass. At least this one wasn’t room temperature. Sliding the gross drink away from him, Dijang popped the lid off the new bottle and tilted it back. Compared to the first drink, this one was a million times better. Dijang set down the bottle letting out an “Aaahhhh” as he did so.

“Much better, bartender!” He called, “Now if only you’d smile, I would leave a generous tip!”

The bartender didn’t smile, nor did she say anything. She merely glared at him.

Looking around the bar, Dijang noticed the guardian Orc in the corner was also glaring at him. Geeze, was everyone around here hostile? Did no one understand the virtue of patience? Deciding it was best to remain quiet from now on, Dijang slumped his shoulders over his beer and drank slowly. He stared down into the scratched and worn wood of the bar noticing the various etches made by daggers knives over the years. This place had probably seen a lot of bar fights, that was for sure.

Dijang didn’t look up from his drink again until the noise of someone sitting down a few seats over got his attention. A troll had taken up residence on one of the stools as well. His large, wiry frame and almost didn’t look strong enough to carry all the plate armor on his body. Dijang couldn’t help but notice the bright red hair in contrast to the dark armor.

The troll smacked his hand on the bar and the bartender wordlessly handed him a beer. The same kind Dijang was drinking.

“T’anks, Mina!” The troll commented, “Ya know how Ah like ‘em.”

Dijang had heard the trolls talk, but it was still harder for him to understand their words sometimes.

“Her name is Mina?” Dijang suddenly spoke up, referring to the bartender.

The troll looked over at him.

“Yeah,” He replied, “But she don’ exactly tell anyone.”

Dijang nodded, “I can see that.”

There was a moment of silence as the troll tipped his drink back and nearly drank it all in one gulp.

“So,” The troll began, “Who do ya hang wit’?”

“Excuse me?” Dijang asked.

“Ya know.” The troll said, “Like…who ya fight wit’? No offence, but ya lookin’ like a lon’ah.”

“Oh!” Dijang chuckled slightly, “Still haven’t found a place to really call my own. I’ve been fighting all around Azeroth. Wherever they need me, mostly. How about you?”

The troll grinned.

“Been fightin’ in Pandaria fo’ah de last few mont’s. My Tribe always
recruitin’ strong folks such as you.”

Dijang raised an eyebrow.

“Well, that is a nice invitation. But I don’t know if I’ll fit in. The Horde is still a new concept to me.”

The troll shook his head, “We got people from all walks a’ life. Ya wouldn’ be any weird’ah o’ah different dan de othas.”

“So…you just go ask whoever to join up with your Tribe?” Dijang asked.

“Iffin’ dey look da part.” The troll stated, “Name’s Melik’ah by de way. Darkspe’ah turned Zandalari at ya service.”

Dijang’s eyes widened slightly.

“The Zandalari.” He said, “Aren’t they the ones overrunning Pandaria?”

“Ah said Ah was Darkspe’ah turned.” Melikar stated, “Meanin’ Ah was born to a Zandalari tribe. Me fatha was Zandalri too. But when dey turned dere back on da world, we didn’t go wit’ ‘em. May as well be Darkspe’ah, he an’ Ah.”

Dijang nodded, “Well,” he said, “My name is Dijang Pawswift. But you can call me DJ or Di for short. I don’t mind either way.”

He stuck his paw out and Melikar’s three-fingered hand met his.

“So tell me more about this tribe.” Dijang said, “Why should I join you and not someone else?”

“We like family.” Melikar said, “We always lookin’ out fo’ah each otha. An’ we put da tribe befo’ah ou’ahselves. Ah been lookin’ aroun’ da cities fo’ah anyone else who wantin’ ta join da fight. Somet’in’ abou’ ya stuck out an’ Ah decided ta try my luck.”

Dijang grinned, “Well, thanks for considering me. I hope your tribe is not one that takes pride on acts of foul or makes fight battles I don’t want to.”

“Ya never gotta do what ya don’ wanna do.” Melikar said, “Ya can come back to da guild hall, check it out, an’ see iffin’ it works for ya.”

Dijang took another long swig of beer. It would be nice to have a group to fit in with. Many of his kind had already found new allies and friends here. Perhaps they weren’t all cold and distant like many he’d met already.

“Alright.” Dijang said, “Take me to this hall. I would like to meet the others. If they’re anything like you, I just might enjoy myself.” He ended the sentence with a grin and Melikar smiled as well.

The troll dropped some gold on the counter and nodded to the door.

“Come wit’ me.” He said, “We headin’ to da Barrens. Den, ya can meet everyone.”

Dijang followed the troll out of the bar and back onto the bustling streets of Orgrimmar. He was not sure what this journey would entail, but he knew he needed allies to back him up when times got rough. He’d had a few friends who had left the great island before he did. It wasn’t until recently that he started his own journey. He hadn’t even had a chance to go to his native homeland of Pandaria yet.

He just hoped he was making the right decision.]]>
Dijang walked along one of the main roads in the Valley of Strength where vendors peddled their wares and many passersby sped past Dijang in an attempt to rush to their next destination. Dijang simply didn’t understand the desire to rush anywhere. Sure, he understood the Horde were at war, but he was also confident many people were running small tasks in comparison to the bigger picture. The nature of this society was still quite new to him and he wondered if he’d ever get used to it.
He could feel his throat dry and the dust that mixed with the hot air of this city didn’t help. He could’ve gone for a drink! Stopping in his tracks, he looked about for a nearby Inn or bar. Something smacked into his large, Pandaren frame as he halted.

“Hey, man!” Called a Goblin’s voice.

Dijang looked behind him and down to find a male Goblin on his knees, picking up what appeared to be various nuts and bolts.

“Watch where you’re goin’, bear-man!” The Goblin yelled before rushing off with his findings.

Dijang sighed and merely shrugged, not bothering to tell the Goblin it wasn’t himself who should have been watching where he was going. He had spotted what appeared to be a bar a short distance up the road and made his way there.

Stepping inside, Dijang saw the bar appeared dingy and dark. There were a few tables and the main bar. A female Orc worked behind the bar and one of the guardians of this city sat hunched over a drink in a corner. What were the guards called again? Kron? Kriken? Dijang couldn’t remember. He approached the bar and sat on one of the worn leather stools.

“I’ll have one of your finest ales!” He said to the Orc woman, probably
much louder than he should. A good beer made a Pandaren happy, no matter where they came from.

The Orc woman looked not at all pleased by his tone. She reached under the bar and pulled out a bottle, handing it to the Pandaren. She immediately turned and walked away.

Dijang grabbed the bottle in his paw and popped off the lid. He tipped it back, anxious to feel the cool and fizzy drink slide down his throat. What he got instead was a semi-flat and warm liquid protruding into his senses. He quickly set the bottle down, making a face as he did so. This was nasty! What kind of a bar served this mix of sludge to its patrons? Back in Pandaria, Dijang knew he would not have been treated this way! He could have a refreshing mug of beer and at a good cost. This concoction he drank now wasn’t worth one copper as far as he was concerned.

“Excuse me, miss.” He said, getting the bar keeps attention. “This beer is the nastiest drink I’ve ever had. And I’ve had some bad beer in my day.”

The Orc still said no words. She merely rolled her eyes and reached under the counter again. She produced another bottle, but only after Dijang heard some rummaging around. She placed it on the counter before the Pandaren and once more walked away.

Dijang put his free paw on this bottle and was relieved to feel the coolness of the glass. At least this one wasn’t room temperature. Sliding the gross drink away from him, Dijang popped the lid off the new bottle and tilted it back. Compared to the first drink, this one was a million times better. Dijang set down the bottle letting out an “Aaahhhh” as he did so.

“Much better, bartender!” He called, “Now if only you’d smile, I would leave a generous tip!”

The bartender didn’t smile, nor did she say anything. She merely glared at him.

Looking around the bar, Dijang noticed the guardian Orc in the corner was also glaring at him. Geeze, was everyone around here hostile? Did no one understand the virtue of patience? Deciding it was best to remain quiet from now on, Dijang slumped his shoulders over his beer and drank slowly. He stared down into the scratched and worn wood of the bar noticing the various etches made by daggers knives over the years. This place had probably seen a lot of bar fights, that was for sure.

Dijang didn’t look up from his drink again until the noise of someone sitting down a few seats over got his attention. A troll had taken up residence on one of the stools as well. His large, wiry frame and almost didn’t look strong enough to carry all the plate armor on his body. Dijang couldn’t help but notice the bright red hair in contrast to the dark armor.

The troll smacked his hand on the bar and the bartender wordlessly handed him a beer. The same kind Dijang was drinking.

“T’anks, Mina!” The troll commented, “Ya know how Ah like ‘em.”

Dijang had heard the trolls talk, but it was still harder for him to understand their words sometimes.

“Her name is Mina?” Dijang suddenly spoke up, referring to the bartender.

The troll looked over at him.

“Yeah,” He replied, “But she don’ exactly tell anyone.”

Dijang nodded, “I can see that.”

There was a moment of silence as the troll tipped his drink back and nearly drank it all in one gulp.

“So,” The troll began, “Who do ya hang wit’?”

“Excuse me?” Dijang asked.

“Ya know.” The troll said, “Like…who ya fight wit’? No offence, but ya lookin’ like a lon’ah.”

“Oh!” Dijang chuckled slightly, “Still haven’t found a place to really call my own. I’ve been fighting all around Azeroth. Wherever they need me, mostly. How about you?”

The troll grinned.

“Been fightin’ in Pandaria fo’ah de last few mont’s. My Tribe always
recruitin’ strong folks such as you.”

Dijang raised an eyebrow.

“Well, that is a nice invitation. But I don’t know if I’ll fit in. The Horde is still a new concept to me.”

The troll shook his head, “We got people from all walks a’ life. Ya wouldn’ be any weird’ah o’ah different dan de othas.”

“So…you just go ask whoever to join up with your Tribe?” Dijang asked.

“Iffin’ dey look da part.” The troll stated, “Name’s Melik’ah by de way. Darkspe’ah turned Zandalari at ya service.”

Dijang’s eyes widened slightly.

“The Zandalari.” He said, “Aren’t they the ones overrunning Pandaria?”

“Ah said Ah was Darkspe’ah turned.” Melikar stated, “Meanin’ Ah was born to a Zandalari tribe. Me fatha was Zandalri too. But when dey turned dere back on da world, we didn’t go wit’ ‘em. May as well be Darkspe’ah, he an’ Ah.”

Dijang nodded, “Well,” he said, “My name is Dijang Pawswift. But you can call me DJ or Di for short. I don’t mind either way.”

He stuck his paw out and Melikar’s three-fingered hand met his.

“So tell me more about this tribe.” Dijang said, “Why should I join you and not someone else?”

“We like family.” Melikar said, “We always lookin’ out fo’ah each otha. An’ we put da tribe befo’ah ou’ahselves. Ah been lookin’ aroun’ da cities fo’ah anyone else who wantin’ ta join da fight. Somet’in’ abou’ ya stuck out an’ Ah decided ta try my luck.”

Dijang grinned, “Well, thanks for considering me. I hope your tribe is not one that takes pride on acts of foul or makes fight battles I don’t want to.”

“Ya never gotta do what ya don’ wanna do.” Melikar said, “Ya can come back to da guild hall, check it out, an’ see iffin’ it works for ya.”

Dijang took another long swig of beer. It would be nice to have a group to fit in with. Many of his kind had already found new allies and friends here. Perhaps they weren’t all cold and distant like many he’d met already.

“Alright.” Dijang said, “Take me to this hall. I would like to meet the others. If they’re anything like you, I just might enjoy myself.” He ended the sentence with a grin and Melikar smiled as well.

The troll dropped some gold on the counter and nodded to the door.

“Come wit’ me.” He said, “We headin’ to da Barrens. Den, ya can meet everyone.”

Dijang followed the troll out of the bar and back onto the bustling streets of Orgrimmar. He was not sure what this journey would entail, but he knew he needed allies to back him up when times got rough. He’d had a few friends who had left the great island before he did. It wasn’t until recently that he started his own journey. He hadn’t even had a chance to go to his native homeland of Pandaria yet.

He just hoped he was making the right decision.]]> https://www.ironsongtribe.com/thread-5314.html Tue, 25 Sep 2012 09:35:20 -0700 Zlinka]]> https://www.ironsongtribe.com/thread-5314.html
Introduce your new Pandaren to us! Tell us his or her name, and as much history as you wish!

My Pandaren is a green-eyed monk lady named Snowblossom. Keep your eyes open for her!

-Zlinka]]>
Introduce your new Pandaren to us! Tell us his or her name, and as much history as you wish!

My Pandaren is a green-eyed monk lady named Snowblossom. Keep your eyes open for her!

-Zlinka]]> https://www.ironsongtribe.com/thread-5284.html Sun, 19 Aug 2012 11:51:00 -0700 Eonia]]> https://www.ironsongtribe.com/thread-5284.html She thought about her step sister and how she'd recently discovered she had a blood sister. Arrysta didn't hold any ill will towards Eonia, but the fact remained that she'd been the reason Ama had, shall we say, cooled towards her. They'd grown up together. Shared a spiritual bond that goes beyond blood ties and familial bonds. When the two were casting together, it was as if they could share thoughts. Power. Souls. Yeah, Arrysta knew that she and Ama shared the bond of sisterhood that Ama and Eonia would never share.
So why was it that HER sister wouldn't have anything to do with her? She'd joined this tribe fo theirs thinking that it would bring the two sisters back together again but it seemed to be driving the wedge farther into their already cracking bond. Bright side? The tribe was great. She was already starting to make friends within their ranks and the Ironsongs, she could see right off the bat, were a loyal family. Even when they disagreed with each other they stood together when the going got tough.
Ok, so maybe she just couldn't count on the sisterly bond anymore. But man, how could the priestess walk away from all that power? When they were together, casting in what they'd nick named 'tandem mind', they were virtually unstoppable. Now the magus was getting in the way. Trouble was, she couldn't even get angry with Eonia. Much. Truth was, Eonia was thick headed, stubborn and brutal, but she was cool. She was loyal and powerful in her own right. Na'ah. Damn it, she liked the other sister. The one she was not bonded to.
Irony. The sister she'd known since infancy, she was losing, and the one she'd never known she was growing closer to. Why couldn't she and Ama come to terms with each other and continue on the road they'd once began to travel together? She'd love to blame Eonia for the separation, but in her mind...in her heart, she knew the truth. The chasm had been created many years ago. When she'd left the priesthood and begun to study demonic runes. Ama could live within the shadows. She'd been raised within their arms after all. She couldn't live with demons though. The fact that her own bond with demonic power was what had torn her and her sister apart was more than she could bear, so she'd blamed Eo for it. Now it was time to face the facts.
Reality was, she'd pushed her sister away herself. Now it was up to her to prove to Amatula that demonic power could be used for the greater good. Prove to the priestess that she wasn't evil. Was it irony that Melikar, the troll she'd met just today could believe her when she said she wasn't evil, but her own sister could not?
"Well," she thought. "None of that matters right now. I'm a part of the tribe too now and I'll bust my rump to make sure she understands my demons can be used to help." She just couldn't see any other way. Using the tribe to reconnect with her step sister wasn't evil, but it still felt bad. They were good people and she just hoped they wouldn't see it as a betrayal. She wanted to help them too. Not just herself. Reality set in though. "Good chance they'll think they're being used eventually."
Arrysta sighed heavily and opened her tome. "Time to get your head in the game, girl."]]> She thought about her step sister and how she'd recently discovered she had a blood sister. Arrysta didn't hold any ill will towards Eonia, but the fact remained that she'd been the reason Ama had, shall we say, cooled towards her. They'd grown up together. Shared a spiritual bond that goes beyond blood ties and familial bonds. When the two were casting together, it was as if they could share thoughts. Power. Souls. Yeah, Arrysta knew that she and Ama shared the bond of sisterhood that Ama and Eonia would never share.
So why was it that HER sister wouldn't have anything to do with her? She'd joined this tribe fo theirs thinking that it would bring the two sisters back together again but it seemed to be driving the wedge farther into their already cracking bond. Bright side? The tribe was great. She was already starting to make friends within their ranks and the Ironsongs, she could see right off the bat, were a loyal family. Even when they disagreed with each other they stood together when the going got tough.
Ok, so maybe she just couldn't count on the sisterly bond anymore. But man, how could the priestess walk away from all that power? When they were together, casting in what they'd nick named 'tandem mind', they were virtually unstoppable. Now the magus was getting in the way. Trouble was, she couldn't even get angry with Eonia. Much. Truth was, Eonia was thick headed, stubborn and brutal, but she was cool. She was loyal and powerful in her own right. Na'ah. Damn it, she liked the other sister. The one she was not bonded to.
Irony. The sister she'd known since infancy, she was losing, and the one she'd never known she was growing closer to. Why couldn't she and Ama come to terms with each other and continue on the road they'd once began to travel together? She'd love to blame Eonia for the separation, but in her mind...in her heart, she knew the truth. The chasm had been created many years ago. When she'd left the priesthood and begun to study demonic runes. Ama could live within the shadows. She'd been raised within their arms after all. She couldn't live with demons though. The fact that her own bond with demonic power was what had torn her and her sister apart was more than she could bear, so she'd blamed Eo for it. Now it was time to face the facts.
Reality was, she'd pushed her sister away herself. Now it was up to her to prove to Amatula that demonic power could be used for the greater good. Prove to the priestess that she wasn't evil. Was it irony that Melikar, the troll she'd met just today could believe her when she said she wasn't evil, but her own sister could not?
"Well," she thought. "None of that matters right now. I'm a part of the tribe too now and I'll bust my rump to make sure she understands my demons can be used to help." She just couldn't see any other way. Using the tribe to reconnect with her step sister wasn't evil, but it still felt bad. They were good people and she just hoped they wouldn't see it as a betrayal. She wanted to help them too. Not just herself. Reality set in though. "Good chance they'll think they're being used eventually."
Arrysta sighed heavily and opened her tome. "Time to get your head in the game, girl."]]> https://www.ironsongtribe.com/thread-5279.html Mon, 13 Aug 2012 11:41:12 -0700 Eonia]]> https://www.ironsongtribe.com/thread-5279.html All those things were true, and yet... And yet, there she sat listening to the wind against the panes and watching the rare rain fall over the desert sands. The land almost seemed to call to her. Preposterous!
"I'm a Goblin! I do not plant trees or commune with the wind. I do not listen to the earth or ....harness lightning. Well, maybe I harness lightning!" that was, if she could get her mind back in the game and finish the work she'd begun on the nanodiscombobulator 3000.
The trouble was, all she could think about was the sound she just kept hearing. It was like a voice telling her things. Things that disturbed her greatly. Things that made her laugh. It seemed to speak of changing lands (as if the lands hadn't changed plenty with the great Cataclysm.) and talking bears. Talking bears?! Well, anything is possible really. After all, we have Taurens and Naga and Murlocs among other sentient creatures, why not talking bears too. But this wind... She was losing it.
"Yer losing it old girl! Totally bananas. Ya tell the other goblins and they'll commit you to the rubber rooms," she raved aloud. "Great! Now I'm hearing talking wind AND I'm talking to myself. That's the trouble these days. Everything. EVERYTHING, seems to wanna talk."
She looked out the window and nodded to herself. That's the ticket. "SHUT UP ALREADY! I'm coming," She shouted out the window into the wind and rain. Only a few goblins and gnomes stared at her as though she'd lost her mind. That was a good omen. "I...think."
Iat paced back and forth. She did it for hours mumbling to herself, stopping occasionally to make notes about this thought or that one, to check a chart here or a chart there. "Thrall!" she shouted. "I need to find the shaman. He'd know what all this whispering wind stuff was all about wouldn't he now?"
The trouble was, she just didn't know where to find Thrall these days. With a final look around, she packed a light satchel and snatched up the keys to her trike and hit the door running. She just had to find some folks who knew where to look, that's all.
((Feel free to chime in. I love a good interactive thread. Some information for you: Iat is my young shaman. Her age is roughly early 20's so she's still young enough to be head strong and stubborn -which she is, but she's a goblin so she's a bit skeptical of anything that doesn't turn a profit. She has blue eyes and a green mohock and various piercings. She's a total technophile and her life's ambition is to be the greatest goblin engineer the world has ever known. Hey, she's a goblin...lofty ideas and profit margins and all! She's about to find out she is destined to be a shaman and isn't going to be too happy about it either I suspect.))]]> All those things were true, and yet... And yet, there she sat listening to the wind against the panes and watching the rare rain fall over the desert sands. The land almost seemed to call to her. Preposterous!
"I'm a Goblin! I do not plant trees or commune with the wind. I do not listen to the earth or ....harness lightning. Well, maybe I harness lightning!" that was, if she could get her mind back in the game and finish the work she'd begun on the nanodiscombobulator 3000.
The trouble was, all she could think about was the sound she just kept hearing. It was like a voice telling her things. Things that disturbed her greatly. Things that made her laugh. It seemed to speak of changing lands (as if the lands hadn't changed plenty with the great Cataclysm.) and talking bears. Talking bears?! Well, anything is possible really. After all, we have Taurens and Naga and Murlocs among other sentient creatures, why not talking bears too. But this wind... She was losing it.
"Yer losing it old girl! Totally bananas. Ya tell the other goblins and they'll commit you to the rubber rooms," she raved aloud. "Great! Now I'm hearing talking wind AND I'm talking to myself. That's the trouble these days. Everything. EVERYTHING, seems to wanna talk."
She looked out the window and nodded to herself. That's the ticket. "SHUT UP ALREADY! I'm coming," She shouted out the window into the wind and rain. Only a few goblins and gnomes stared at her as though she'd lost her mind. That was a good omen. "I...think."
Iat paced back and forth. She did it for hours mumbling to herself, stopping occasionally to make notes about this thought or that one, to check a chart here or a chart there. "Thrall!" she shouted. "I need to find the shaman. He'd know what all this whispering wind stuff was all about wouldn't he now?"
The trouble was, she just didn't know where to find Thrall these days. With a final look around, she packed a light satchel and snatched up the keys to her trike and hit the door running. She just had to find some folks who knew where to look, that's all.
((Feel free to chime in. I love a good interactive thread. Some information for you: Iat is my young shaman. Her age is roughly early 20's so she's still young enough to be head strong and stubborn -which she is, but she's a goblin so she's a bit skeptical of anything that doesn't turn a profit. She has blue eyes and a green mohock and various piercings. She's a total technophile and her life's ambition is to be the greatest goblin engineer the world has ever known. Hey, she's a goblin...lofty ideas and profit margins and all! She's about to find out she is destined to be a shaman and isn't going to be too happy about it either I suspect.))]]> https://www.ironsongtribe.com/thread-5274.html Fri, 27 Jul 2012 15:17:48 -0700 Eonia]]> https://www.ironsongtribe.com/thread-5274.html
The the truth was, she'd known some would follow if they'd had any idea what she was doing. She just couldn't risk them. The trip she'd made had been so dangerous and while she knew the tribe could handle themselves, she'd known that she'd never forgive herself if her journey had killed one of them. They'd become her family. The only one she had really. Her real family had been slaughtered while they slept when she was but a child really. The hall had become her home even when she was away for as long as she had been this time. She knew they'd probably be angry with her but they'd forgive her. They just had to. She'd prayed to the light, the Earthmother, the gods of the Darkspear...any and every higher power she could think of as she traveled the long miles home. ((something Eonia never does because she sees it as a weakness to rely on the higher powers for what she was too cowardly to do herself. After all, the gods have far more important things to deal with than one lone Darkspear magus.))

As she got closer to the hall and the door and the windows became actual sights instead of just impressions in the great walls, she thought, "I have to tell them the whole story now. They deserve to know why I disappeared so suddenly."

With a grim expression she'd made her resolve. She'd stick to it and hope she was right about her family. Her tribe. Eonia prayed again to any gods that would listen that the tribe would understand when she told them she'd almost died and yet, she'd still been too proud to use her crystal to contact them. To tell them she was in trouble. Pride? No, it wasn't pride that'd kept her from signaling with the crystal and calling to them on the winds. They were safe from this threat. She'd known if she contacted them, they too could be in danger of death. She'd simply done what she had to do and now she'd deal with the consequences.

Chaka gave a soft roar telling Eonia that it was time to descend and go to her tribe. Patting the smooth golden scales of Chaka's neck, she said in barely a whisper that she'd known the great drake could hear, "Its okay friend. They'll understand why we went alone."

Chaka let out a choking snort of laughter in a deep gravely voice that still surprised Eonia each time she heard it. Chaka might be dragon kin and wise, but she was young and hadn't been speaking for long. "You really think they'll understand us going off half cocked? With no real plan of attack or no real knowledge of what we'd face? Eonia, they'll be furious."

Eonia tensed on Chaka's back and the drake realized she'd worried the troll a great deal. In a softer voice ((Or as soft as a drake voice can sound I suppose)) she said, "Well, they will be furious...But they'll forgive you Eonia. They'll understand why you did it even if they don't agree with you."

"Well, for better or worse, the deed is done. I still can't believe I spared the lives of those Alliance cretins who killed my family.

"Well of course you did Eo. Killing the children of the men and women who killed your family would have made you just as bad as they. What's important is that you saved lives. No. Don't look at me like that. Put aside your rivalries and your prejudices against the humans for a moment girl! The facts are, you knew you couldn't kill innocent men and women for a crime committed by their parents. ...And you and I both know that saving them from Deathwing's followers was the right thing to do." Shaking her head knowing that Eonia was about to protest she continued, "Enough Eo. You nearly died during that attack, but you didn't just save the lives of the Alliance people during those times, but probably a lot of the Horde as well. Deathwing and his followers... They didn't care who they hurt, only power. They crave it. ...The Ironsong Tribe will understand."

With a bit of resolve and some courage, Eonia dismounted and told Chaka to go rest. She'd been an invaluable help and an even better friend for these last months and certainly deserved a good long rest. Now it was time to focus on the absolute truth and hope the others weren't too mad at her. Hiking her ruck sack up on her shoulder she squared herself and headed into the hall to face her family.

---

((I just wanted to take a moment or three to explain where I've been and from where this story comes. I had an unexpected illness and ended up in the hospital for several months. Long story short, I developed an infection that nearly killed me. My husband tells me I flat-lined at one point but those crafty healers managed to pull me through it. I feel better now, actually, than I have in years so I'm back.

Unfortunately, that leaves a big hole in Eonia and Amatula's 'Lives' so I figured I'd best come up with a good story, or at least an explanatory bad story to cover that gap. What you've just read is that story. Please feel free to play this out with me if you like. If not, I'll finish it with some sort of, "And Eonia faced the music and told the tribe the whole story. Here's the story:" type thing.))]]>
The the truth was, she'd known some would follow if they'd had any idea what she was doing. She just couldn't risk them. The trip she'd made had been so dangerous and while she knew the tribe could handle themselves, she'd known that she'd never forgive herself if her journey had killed one of them. They'd become her family. The only one she had really. Her real family had been slaughtered while they slept when she was but a child really. The hall had become her home even when she was away for as long as she had been this time. She knew they'd probably be angry with her but they'd forgive her. They just had to. She'd prayed to the light, the Earthmother, the gods of the Darkspear...any and every higher power she could think of as she traveled the long miles home. ((something Eonia never does because she sees it as a weakness to rely on the higher powers for what she was too cowardly to do herself. After all, the gods have far more important things to deal with than one lone Darkspear magus.))

As she got closer to the hall and the door and the windows became actual sights instead of just impressions in the great walls, she thought, "I have to tell them the whole story now. They deserve to know why I disappeared so suddenly."

With a grim expression she'd made her resolve. She'd stick to it and hope she was right about her family. Her tribe. Eonia prayed again to any gods that would listen that the tribe would understand when she told them she'd almost died and yet, she'd still been too proud to use her crystal to contact them. To tell them she was in trouble. Pride? No, it wasn't pride that'd kept her from signaling with the crystal and calling to them on the winds. They were safe from this threat. She'd known if she contacted them, they too could be in danger of death. She'd simply done what she had to do and now she'd deal with the consequences.

Chaka gave a soft roar telling Eonia that it was time to descend and go to her tribe. Patting the smooth golden scales of Chaka's neck, she said in barely a whisper that she'd known the great drake could hear, "Its okay friend. They'll understand why we went alone."

Chaka let out a choking snort of laughter in a deep gravely voice that still surprised Eonia each time she heard it. Chaka might be dragon kin and wise, but she was young and hadn't been speaking for long. "You really think they'll understand us going off half cocked? With no real plan of attack or no real knowledge of what we'd face? Eonia, they'll be furious."

Eonia tensed on Chaka's back and the drake realized she'd worried the troll a great deal. In a softer voice ((Or as soft as a drake voice can sound I suppose)) she said, "Well, they will be furious...But they'll forgive you Eonia. They'll understand why you did it even if they don't agree with you."

"Well, for better or worse, the deed is done. I still can't believe I spared the lives of those Alliance cretins who killed my family.

"Well of course you did Eo. Killing the children of the men and women who killed your family would have made you just as bad as they. What's important is that you saved lives. No. Don't look at me like that. Put aside your rivalries and your prejudices against the humans for a moment girl! The facts are, you knew you couldn't kill innocent men and women for a crime committed by their parents. ...And you and I both know that saving them from Deathwing's followers was the right thing to do." Shaking her head knowing that Eonia was about to protest she continued, "Enough Eo. You nearly died during that attack, but you didn't just save the lives of the Alliance people during those times, but probably a lot of the Horde as well. Deathwing and his followers... They didn't care who they hurt, only power. They crave it. ...The Ironsong Tribe will understand."

With a bit of resolve and some courage, Eonia dismounted and told Chaka to go rest. She'd been an invaluable help and an even better friend for these last months and certainly deserved a good long rest. Now it was time to focus on the absolute truth and hope the others weren't too mad at her. Hiking her ruck sack up on her shoulder she squared herself and headed into the hall to face her family.

---

((I just wanted to take a moment or three to explain where I've been and from where this story comes. I had an unexpected illness and ended up in the hospital for several months. Long story short, I developed an infection that nearly killed me. My husband tells me I flat-lined at one point but those crafty healers managed to pull me through it. I feel better now, actually, than I have in years so I'm back.

Unfortunately, that leaves a big hole in Eonia and Amatula's 'Lives' so I figured I'd best come up with a good story, or at least an explanatory bad story to cover that gap. What you've just read is that story. Please feel free to play this out with me if you like. If not, I'll finish it with some sort of, "And Eonia faced the music and told the tribe the whole story. Here's the story:" type thing.))]]> https://www.ironsongtribe.com/thread-5268.html Mon, 23 Jul 2012 08:38:54 -0700 Zlinka]]> https://www.ironsongtribe.com/thread-5268.html
The white-haired Trollish innkeeper nodded, "Aye, 'e grab his bow, give a scream, and off 'e go after dat beast. Never seen anyt'ing like it. An dat was three months ago."

Oryx, standing by Zlinka's side, wiped a line of sweat trickling down his white muzzle, "Well, that's it, then. If I know Sreng, he'll follow that thing all the way to Northrend and back without giving up."

"But what do we do about this, then?" Zlinka pulled an envelope from her backpack, from Grizzlespan's Party Supplies and Unstable Explosives. The words "LAST NOTICE" and "URGENT" were scrawled across the front in angry red ink. "It was a guild event, and all. From three months ago now. But without the guild bank keys we have no way of paying such a big sum."

Oryx tightened his grip on his staff.

Looking at the bill in Zlinka's hand, the innkeeper narrowed his eyes. "Aye, and 'e never pay mah bill either for his hammock and beer."

Sighing, Zlinka pressed her lips together, and said the familiar words, "I'm sorry. How much was it? I will pay it if I can."

Zlinka settled the bill. As the coins chinked into his palm the innkeeper brightened visibly. He tucked the gold in a lockbox under the twisting staircase, and called out in a muffled voice, "Here," he said, "you may want dis. 'e left dis behind under his hammock."

The innkeeper brought out a bundle of clothing. Zlinka took it. A leather vest was wrapped around a ripped quiver half-full of arrows, as though in hasty repair. The whole thing was secured with a mail belt with a dented buckle. The quiver was oddly heavy in her hands. Zlinka tipped the quiver. The arrows slid quietly to the floor, like a handful of reeds. Several coppers rattled down the quiver and rolled away. Then a heavy object slid down the quiver and clattered to the floor.

It was a set of keys on a heavy metal ring, the ring now rusted from months in the humid Stranglethorn air. Inlaid in the shaft of of every key was red ruby hammer set into a black iron background.

Zlinka blinked. Those were the guild keys. Ironsong's keys. The keys to the guild hall, the guild vault, the storerooms, the basement, the attic. Beside her, Oryx's eyebrow quirked upwards.

The innkeeper, cheerful now that he'd been paid, peered curiously at the articles on his floor. "Do you want these, den? If not I can trow dem away for you."

Zlinka scooped up the keys, tucking them carefully into one of her secret pockets.

She shook her head, as Oryx gathered the other items into his pack and turned to go.

"That won't be necessary," she said. "We'll put these to good use."]]>
The white-haired Trollish innkeeper nodded, "Aye, 'e grab his bow, give a scream, and off 'e go after dat beast. Never seen anyt'ing like it. An dat was three months ago."

Oryx, standing by Zlinka's side, wiped a line of sweat trickling down his white muzzle, "Well, that's it, then. If I know Sreng, he'll follow that thing all the way to Northrend and back without giving up."

"But what do we do about this, then?" Zlinka pulled an envelope from her backpack, from Grizzlespan's Party Supplies and Unstable Explosives. The words "LAST NOTICE" and "URGENT" were scrawled across the front in angry red ink. "It was a guild event, and all. From three months ago now. But without the guild bank keys we have no way of paying such a big sum."

Oryx tightened his grip on his staff.

Looking at the bill in Zlinka's hand, the innkeeper narrowed his eyes. "Aye, and 'e never pay mah bill either for his hammock and beer."

Sighing, Zlinka pressed her lips together, and said the familiar words, "I'm sorry. How much was it? I will pay it if I can."

Zlinka settled the bill. As the coins chinked into his palm the innkeeper brightened visibly. He tucked the gold in a lockbox under the twisting staircase, and called out in a muffled voice, "Here," he said, "you may want dis. 'e left dis behind under his hammock."

The innkeeper brought out a bundle of clothing. Zlinka took it. A leather vest was wrapped around a ripped quiver half-full of arrows, as though in hasty repair. The whole thing was secured with a mail belt with a dented buckle. The quiver was oddly heavy in her hands. Zlinka tipped the quiver. The arrows slid quietly to the floor, like a handful of reeds. Several coppers rattled down the quiver and rolled away. Then a heavy object slid down the quiver and clattered to the floor.

It was a set of keys on a heavy metal ring, the ring now rusted from months in the humid Stranglethorn air. Inlaid in the shaft of of every key was red ruby hammer set into a black iron background.

Zlinka blinked. Those were the guild keys. Ironsong's keys. The keys to the guild hall, the guild vault, the storerooms, the basement, the attic. Beside her, Oryx's eyebrow quirked upwards.

The innkeeper, cheerful now that he'd been paid, peered curiously at the articles on his floor. "Do you want these, den? If not I can trow dem away for you."

Zlinka scooped up the keys, tucking them carefully into one of her secret pockets.

She shook her head, as Oryx gathered the other items into his pack and turned to go.

"That won't be necessary," she said. "We'll put these to good use."]]> https://www.ironsongtribe.com/thread-5188.html Fri, 21 Oct 2011 14:48:25 -0700 Zlinka]]> https://www.ironsongtribe.com/thread-5188.html
To help folks get conversations started, list three or more notable things about your character that we can use to start IC conversations with you in guild chat (for example: a pet, a noteworthy physical characteristic, a mannerism, an interest, something special you carry, an unusual item of clothing). I'll start:

* Zlinka carries a little leather bag around her neck with a small handful of sand in it, as well as what looks like a tiny purple snail shell.
* Zlinka is currently being followed by a mysterious haunted crate.
* Zlinka has an unusual white lock in her otherwise turquoise hair.
* One of Zlinka's lockpicking tools looks like it was fashioned from the metal hinge of a chest.
* Zlinka carries a small, wooden flute around with her.

Ask Zlinka about these things when you see her online!

What about your character? List three or more interesting things about your character(s) that we can ask about!]]>
To help folks get conversations started, list three or more notable things about your character that we can use to start IC conversations with you in guild chat (for example: a pet, a noteworthy physical characteristic, a mannerism, an interest, something special you carry, an unusual item of clothing). I'll start:

* Zlinka carries a little leather bag around her neck with a small handful of sand in it, as well as what looks like a tiny purple snail shell.
* Zlinka is currently being followed by a mysterious haunted crate.
* Zlinka has an unusual white lock in her otherwise turquoise hair.
* One of Zlinka's lockpicking tools looks like it was fashioned from the metal hinge of a chest.
* Zlinka carries a small, wooden flute around with her.

Ask Zlinka about these things when you see her online!

What about your character? List three or more interesting things about your character(s) that we can ask about!]]> https://www.ironsongtribe.com/thread-5178.html Thu, 22 Sep 2011 15:44:12 -0700 Zlinka]]> https://www.ironsongtribe.com/thread-5178.html
if your character's home was burning down, and all of your character's family members, friends and pets were safe, and your character could choose to rescue one thing, what object would that be? Why?

Have fun!

-Zee]]>
if your character's home was burning down, and all of your character's family members, friends and pets were safe, and your character could choose to rescue one thing, what object would that be? Why?

Have fun!

-Zee]]>