TROLLING IN THE DIP

3

We’re happily announcing the return of the Stranglethorn Bonfire Bash for Summer 2017! Last year was such a blast that we HAD to do it again! Join Poeful the half-elf and Obasi the troll for an evening of beach-related fun:

  • Show off your best beach wear and take a selfie with the hosts!
  • Dip your toes in he'ethraze, the ancient troll sport of surfing!
  • Gather your teams for the debut of Bassball, the new competitive beach-front sensation – with prizes!
  • Or just grab a drink and party the night away!

When: Saturday, August 26th, 5pm server time on Wyrmrest Accord. (cross-server players welcome)
Where: Yojamba Isle, Northern Stranglethorn Vale. (map below)
Who’s Welcome: Everyone! Bring a friend, bring a date, anything goes. (We do not discriminate against lore-bending. All are welcome! Just have fun and be respectful!)
Join us for a night of drink, dance, and delighting in each other’s company. Let’s celebrate the summer!

Want to share your stories and artwork? Use the #stvbb tag!

Solving a Problem

Two fingers dipped into a bowl of red paint before reaching above his eyes, leaving its mark upon his flesh. He continued, after each pass dipping his fingers into the thick crimson before reaching back to his face. Paint dripped into his beard leaving scores of red upon brown and adding the appearance of gore. It suited him. It completed his look.

Beside him on a small dresser rested his white wolf skin with the head still attached. He fitted the skin around his shoulder, allowing the fur to fall down his back like a cloak while the head rested over his like a skull, the snout extending out and over his eyes.

Peering into the mirror he hardly recognized himself; the blood red paint that marred his face and filled his beard. He was a barbarian. Exiting his room, he wound his way through the marbled halls, the deep greens and black streaked with white, his colors, before finding himself stepping through the threshold of the main gate. Outside were the hundred Berserkers chosen to accompany him in battle and as soon as they saw him all manners of weapons and shields were raised in the air as they chanted and called for war. This was the moment they were waiting for.

The reception was brief as Eirik strode forward, the crowd parting for him as he went. He never stopped and kept his chin held high, a show of his station as their chief, their lord. He knew they would follow him as long as he proved his strength and resilience. Should he show fear his home would soon go to the next as his head rotted upon a spike.

Strength is what they admired and strength is what he had to offer.

Leading the procession of Berserkers down from his mountain home, they followed the path until the trees grew around them and they entered the deep valley. The air was crisp and held the certain freshness that often accompanied the night. The soft orange glow of the morning sun began to peak over the distant mountains, bathing the valley in it’s vibrant glow. It would be a great day for battle.

The morning sun danced across the sky before beginning its descent towards the distant horizon. The unmistakable murmur of thousands of people filled the air as metal clanged and horses nickered. It was an army preparing for battle, yet how much a fool the Claymont Berserkers must have looked as they entered the field. Painted in all manners of colors, dressed in a motley of armor – some forgoing armor altogether in favor of cloth pants and a bare chest. They looked nothing like a professional soldier yet they were; one and all.

It wasn’t long after each of the armies were gathered that they were drawn to the front. Lines upon lines of soldiers in shining steel, shields and pikes rising high into the sky. Horses pawed at the earth and grunted under the weight of their riders. It was an impressive sight and one Eirik enjoyed even as the bog myrtle began to flow through his warrior’s veins, clouding their minds as well as dulling their senses. They were loud, yelling wordless battle cries as they slammed shields with axes and stamped the butt of their spears into the ground.

With the battle upon the horizon, Eirik readied himself, hefting both of his axes in his hands as he tested their weight. His eyes scanned the distant village. Walls encircled it yet there had been openings where a gate should have been. A momentary feeling of pity washed over him before the sudden call of Odessa brought his senses back to the now. At first he couldn’t hear her words, they were lost within the clamor of those around him; and so he stepped closer.

As he drew closer he saw the paladins march out onto the field, herding together a slew of undead trolls. The sight was repulsive and raising objections within his mind that went against everything he stood for. The dead ought to remain dead and there was no other way to put it. It was an affront to humanity and a smile flickered across his features as he saw them struck to the ground.

That smile was short lived.

Hearing Odessii speak stirred within him a flurry of emotions. At first he felt as if he could understand her reasoning; the wanton killing of everyone and everything often left a black stain on the soul. Yet she continued and as she did a rage began to build.

As the call of ‘Iron and Fire’ went up he joined in as well with his behind taking up the chant. Their words soon turned into a garbled mess before becoming little more than wordless battle cries. It had been a noble effort and with a brief gesture, two plated fingers held lazily off to the side, the hundred Berserkers turned around and dropped their trousers, baring white asses to both Odessii and the Trolls she sought to protect.

“Warriors of Claymont. We are not cowards! We fight!” He bellowed shortly after, the cue to pull up their britches. Raising the gilded and curved horn to his mouth and let loose a lone eerie wail. All around him his Berserkers began moving forward, their gait slow, painfully reserved as they waited to be let loose. It was his attempt to bring the North together. For the other nobles to forget those who sought to stop them and begin the attack anyways. Yet his actions and words seemed to fail as the fighting only grew in intensity.

Originally posted by historyvikings

The sudden threat by Tweaks caused his steps to falter as he came to a stop. He wasn’t sure he had heard the little man correctly and stared intently at the others, watching for a reaction that proved to be immediate. The sudden outburst of Jossetta proved the words he heard had been correct and a shadow crossed over his face.

Beginning at a slow job he set his eyes upon the Gnome in his mech and yet before he could make it ten paces he was stopped again. The order to attack was given, not only by Warlund but by Jossetta herself and as such he turned away from the Gnome and back to the battle.

The charge was short lived before the Berserkers slammed into the front lines of the trolls. Shields battered the beasts out of the way as spears impaled and axes severed limbs. The initial assault had brutal consequences for the Trolls as they barely had time to establish their defenses. The fires raged within their village, consuming everything it touched and with the noncombatants pouring from the village it impeded the defenders. Yet all who the Berserkers came across were killed.

Eirik had been at their lead, his twin wolf-blade axes moving like clockwork as they cut through the troll ranks with ease. He dipped under attacks and dodged their shoddy weapons. He didn’t need the drugs to go berserk, his mind was already there, replaying the threats made by Tweaks. He left none alive. Any that dared enter his path was cut down just as his Berserkers were doing behind him and soon they entered the village proper.

It wasn’t long after they stormed the village that they were soon walking clear from it. Berserkers helped their own as they wrapped arms around the wounded or carried them upon makeshift litters. Many had died, yet most lived. Tonight would be a night of revelry.

Mentions: @jossetta @northern-high-council @tshadowspanner @odessii-dragonblade @warlundblackfyre

anonymous asked:

For the Theo thing: a mop dipped in black paint. Tall and skinny, with dark hair. You can give it eyes if you want.

honestly this is the most accurate-to-canon description I’ve gotten all day so yes