The Munqui Tribe is a social (mainly PvE) guild based on the Darkspear server. With over 200 members and usually active any time of day or night. We have Munqui-Radio, Munqui-Wear, Munqui-Meetings and anything else that isn't nailed down and we can Munquify and stamp our name on. The guild is International, with members fromall over the UK, Netherlands, Italy, and all those other little countries that you'd heard of, but always wondered where they were. The language of the guild however is "English".
The current motto of the guild is:
The Munqui Tribe guild is the best, We're not 133t but we beat all the rest. Our Lowbies are cool, And our Highers just rule. So we'd stomp on your corpse if you messed.
So come try a spell with the tribe, And check out our great social vibe. Our jokes can be crude, And sometimes get rude. But they're funnier than i can describe.
Ask us to join, and you'll see, Just how fun WoW can be. With Questing and Games, Plus some Raiding Fame. We even do our own PvP.
So whisper us, sit back, and grin, Your life will be better from herein. Coz our policy is Great, and you can bring all your mates. If you you're helpful and social..... you're in.
Guild progress Edit
- Karazahn - Asses Being Kicked
The Munqui Tribe was originally founded a few years ago (by Stronghammer) on the Nordrassil realm. But moved in late 2006 to its new home on Darkspear, where it has expanded to over 200 members (and is now led by Brastfield). Many of the founding members of the Tribe moved with the guild.
Weekly raid schedule Edit
- Monday, 7:00 PM Server
- Thursday, 7:00 PM Server
Guild rules Edit
- Read the rules!
Rules are laid out for everyone, not to command their actions but to make sure we are all on the same page and as a guideline towards the sort of behaviour we want, and don't want, in this guild.
- Register at the guild website.
Yes, we are a social guild, thus we have a forum among other things here. To use the forum and the other features on the guild website, such as download, guildbank etc., you need to be registered. Its free of charge, so there's no reason not to register.
- Guild behaviour.
"Respect the Lewt!" was once said - and do so! Refrain from ninja looting, both in guild trips or in pick up groups. Gives you AND the guild a bad name and will ultimately result in removal from guid. What is Ninjalooting? Is explained at the bottom.
- Guild Bank.
Our guild bank functions on donations only and whilst we have no point system to the bank or the likes, you cant keep making withdrawals without giving something back. An epic item is more valuable than a green level 12 item. Neither is it a garbage bin so use you're common sense when donating. Surplus items will after a period of time in the bank be either sold to vendor or Auction House. How to use the Guild Bank is explained at the bottom.
- Gold loans.
The guild, or the Guild Bank, does not loan out gold to players, so no reason to ask! Two players can agree on a loan between themselves and must be managed by the players involved. The guild does not participate in the deal nor can it be held responsible for failed repayments.
Either begging for gold or items is frowned upon by the guild and 99% of the World of Warcraft population. Even for a level 1 character it only takes 5 seconds to kill a level monster, which drops items worth a penny. So there's plenty of options for you to make a living without begging. So don't beg, not in guild chat nor in public chats - See rule 3.
- Trade in guild.
Trading in guild for gold is not allowed. Theres an Auction House, Trade Channel and Vendor for that. If you offer an item in guild chat, you offer it for free. Should it be a tradeskill item or enchantment, the person willing to accept the item or enchantment can be charged for the materials included, without it being considered an illigal trade.
- Inactivity removal.
Members being inactive for an extensive amount of time will be removed from guild. The member being removed, will receive a mail from the guild about the removal. Levels from 1 to 29 will be removed after 1 month of inactivity, levels from 30 to 70 will be removed after 2 months of inactivity. All inactivity removed members are more than welcome to rejoin the guild upon their return to World of Warcraft. This rule includes alt characters also.
- Guild Events.
All events held by the guild, the guildmembers are not required to participate in. You are urged to do so but it will not be held against you if you choose not to. Some guild activities require a certain amount of participants and will be cancelled if there is a lack of such. The guild holds bi-weekly guild meetings at various locations where you're encouraged to participate.
- Violation of Guildrules.
You will receive a warning if you repeatly violate the rules. 3 minor warnings and you're out!
- Enjoy your gaming!
We are here to have fun and enjoy the game. We have all paid for this piece of entertainment, and it should be treated as such. Like watching a movie, going out on a date, playing any other game and so on. Don't get too involved, the World of Warcraft is not THE world.
Brastfield, Piri, Lewton, Bollebetty, Sievert, Vindikator, Smyth, Kreepen, Tinsell, Drichman, Funkert, Veddartha
Any level. This is the lowest rank in the guild and applies to all new members as they join. This rank has no privledges at all. To progress in rank, you need to register at the guild website.
Levels 1 to 19.
Levels 20 to 39.
Levels 40 to 59.
Levels 60 to 70. All Ranks apart from "Unregistered" have access to the guild website, forum, votes etc. And can see and deposit items into the Guild Vault, but require an Officer to make withdrawals.
Any level. Rank given based on loyalty towards the guild. Not given to anyone who haven't been in the guild for less than 3 months, without leaving. Can view guild vault inventory, deposit items in guild vault and request items from guild vault, either directly to an officer online or by using Trade Forum on the guild website. Can invite new members.
- Champion Munqui:
Any level. Given to the winner(s) of the bi-weekly Royal Rumble.
- Alter Ego:
Any level. Alts of officers. Has the same rights as officers.
Any level. The backbone of the guild. They have full rights and can do what they please as long as it fits the spirit and rules of the guild.
Just a title that Blizzard requires for a guild to exist. The officer staff is in charge.
Munqui Lore Edit
Chapter I: The Paladin MenaceEdit
In the realm known as Nordrassil. It was a dark and stormy night* outside the fortified walls of IronForge. But within the relative safety of its walls, the Dwarves and their Alliance compatriots went about their un-ending business. Armourers crafted, Enchanters enchanted, Noobs begged for “1g Plz!”, and the heroes rode out into the night to do battle against the armies of the Horde, and generally slaughter anything they came across. Deep in the heart of the mountain fortress a young dwarf woman screamed out in the agony of childbirth, several hours passed and her labours continued. Her fatigue grew, until with her final mortal breath she passed out of this world but brought into it a son. And with its first breath it let out a piercing cry, that brought the whole of the great forge to a stand still.
The father was unknown, and with the mother now being wrapped in the shrouds of mourning, the child was passed from the midwife to the only known living relative, an uncle, to raise as best he could.
Marin was a Paladin who had lost his faith in the Light following the death of his wife several years before. Being left childless by his widow, he lived alone in the mountains of Aerie Peak, and raised the new young Dwarf as his own. With no mother or father to name him, the child was to be forever known only by the family name of his mother… StrongHammer.
The old Paladin raised StrongHammer in his own likeness, but always tried to steer him away from the calling of the light. But as the young dwarf began to reach the age of maturity, his uncle's health began to fade, and StrongHammers care for the father-figure began to awake his interests in the healing powers of the Holy Light, he felt it was his natural calling to follow in his uncle's footsteps and become a Paladin himself.
With the eventual passing of his uncle. StrongHammer set off to return to IronForge to begin his training. It was here that he first met another young Paladin apprentice… Brastfield. Together they shared many adventures, and met many other noble adventurers, and once their numbers had grown, and using the money his uncle had bequeathed to him on his deathbed, Stronghammer created a guild…… the first Munqui Tribe.
The guild was a success, its ranks steadily grew and the name of the Tribe began to echo around the halls of all of the major Alliance cities, and came to be feared in the war rooms of the Horde generals.
Other Munquis’ joined, more great warriors who proudly wore the tabard of the Tribe, and spread the good work of the guild to all corners of Azeroth. But unknown to its members*, their leader carried with him a dark secret.
As the seasons passed in the World of Warcraft, a change crept across the mind of StrongHammer, he was restless, his original noble purpose had been fulfilled, but it had left him with an emptiness inside. The lands of the Alliance were more peaceful than ever, and while the majority basked in the glory of this, and enjoyed the fruits of their labours*, StrongHammer craved for battle, for glory, for the WAR! One night the great Munqui leader disappeared. He was seen on his mount wearing his battle armour, and riding off into the fog of war.
The Munquis were in turmoil, with their leader gone*, so after several drunken discussions, the honourable Brastfield was elected to govern the Tribe in StrongHammers absence. Every now and again, a travelling story teller would bring back news of a lone Dwarf Paladin, charging into battle against the Horde and screaming the name of the Munquis’. Until one day, the story changed. The mysterious dwarf had been captured by the Horde, and was being held prisoner somewhere within the Eastern Plaguelands.
With their true leader in apparent trouble, the Tribe donned their battle gear*, and set off for the front lines. Led by Brastfield they marched across the Eastern Kingdoms to free StrongHammer.
The Horde they encountered either fled upon news of their arrival, or stood their ground and died in battle against the heroes of the Munqui Tribe. After several days of particularly brutal fighting, the Munquis’ reached the tower where StrongHammer was being held. But something was wrong… It was too quiet. The tower was abandoned. If this was the base of a great Horde army that had finally been able to defeat the mighty StrongHammer… where were they? And then… out of the distant dust of the horizon. A figure emerged, walking slowly towards them, until the face was recognized by one of the officers. “StrongHammer!” they all cheered. And a small smile cracked across the battle-scarred face as it approached them. But not the right sort of smile. This one was twisted, and full of malice, and carried the inclination of evil.
“My Brothers!” yelled StrongHammer. “You have returned to me on the field of battle. Your enemies lying dead at your feet, your armour stained with the blood of great warriors. This is the moment I have awaited, now we will ride together into the great unknown, and crush all those that stand before us!!!”* At that point, a battle-horn sounded, and on the horizon a great Horde army appeared. StrongHammer gestured towards the advancing army. “Join me and my brethren, and I will give you glory beyond your wildest imaginings!”
The Munquis’ were horrified, the once great StrongHammer had become twisted and evil, and was now the leader of a Horde*. And he intended to conquer the entire world. The Munquis’ loved the thrill of battle, but only for a righteous cause, they did not kill for the sake of killing, or revel in the blood of their fallen enemies. They did only what they had to do to ensure the protection of their families and their friends.*
Brastfield signalled to his officers, and as-one, the Munquis’ drew their weapons, and stood ready for battle against the army that outnumbered them by at least twenty to one. As the horde began their charge, StrongHammer ran berserker-like towards Brastfield. The battle raged around them, as the two Paladins locked weapons and shields for what seemed like an eternity. The forces of light and darkness eminating from each of them. Blow after blow blocked, and parried, and turned. While all around them, blood was spilled, and screams of agony rung in their ears. Eventually the sounds of the battle began to calm, and the bodies of the fallen lay around them in a circle of death. Despite the odds, the valorous Munquis had been victorious, their ranks severely depleted, and many of their comrades had fallen at the onslaught of the Horde, but the survivors were now approaching the duelling Paladins.
StrongHammer pulled away. “You Fools!” He cried. “Think what we could have achieved together!!! Now you will return to your meaningless ways, and the world will never know the glory that could have been the Munqui Tribe!!!!!!”
In a flash of darkness, and with a roll of thunder* StrongHammer vanished. The Tribe, depleted, confused and ashamed, buried their dead, and returned to the Alliance territories to what they thought would be a semblance of normal life. But the story of the battle had preceded them. And the news of StrongHammer's insane plans had reached home. The few remaining Munquis found themselves feeling unwelcome even in their home towns, and so with Brastfield still in charge, they went to the cathedral in Stormind, and called upon the gods known as GM’s and asked for help in their time of need.
“Oh mighty GM’s, we are the once great guild of the Munqui Tribe. We have fought the evil of the Horde in all the corners of Azeroth. We have slain every beast we can find. We have drunk beer in every inn that would serve us. And now our leader has betrayed us, and all that we stand for. Our friends turn against us, our families reject us, and our remaining ranks are dwindling as they can no longer bear the shame of wearing the name of the Munqui Tribe… What can we do? Give us a sign!”
A light shone down through the windows of the cathedral, a sound such as that of angels singing filled the great hall of the cathedral, and then…… silence. Disappointed, the Munquis headed out of the cathedral, but half-way down the steps, an amazing thing happened. A young human noob, standing on the top of the cathedral and shouting about how clever he is, and how it’s “So easy once you’ve spent several hours trying” was thrown from the top of the roof, and landed with a thud and a crack on the stone paving outside. And through his mangled body was a sign. A spear so dark it almost seemed to absorb the light around it, and attached to the end such as on a battle standard was the crest of the Munqui Tribe.
The spear had shown the Munquis the way to salvation, and so the few remaining officers gathered up what ever belongings they could carry, made large offerings to the IceLords of the Universe know as Blizzard, and awoke several days later in the realm known as DarkSpear. The Munqui Tribe was unknown, its members were few, and its morale was broken, but they were again free to build up the great and noble traditions of the Tribe*.
Chapter II – Attack of the ScourgeEdit
The air is damp, the sky is dark and overcast, despite the best efforts of the midday sun to penetrate the gloom that surrounds the land. Somewhere in the distance a wolf call can be heard, it’s howling transformed into a wail, as it’s life is brought swiftly to an end by the mandibles of an oversized spider. In this land, the few humans who choose to remain here, huddle together in a small town, while outside the relative safety of their homes, evil lurks in every corner.*
In the small village of Darkshire lies an Inn, and what can be found in Inns?.... well ‘Yes’ drunks obviously… and ‘Yes’ ladies of ‘negotiable’ affection… but also ‘Munquis’. And these were no ordinary Munquis, these were battle hardened veterans of many wars against the Horde. Betrayed by their once noble leader StrongHammer, and now in exile from their original home-realm of Nordrassil, they arrived here, led by the Paladin Brastfield, to rebuild their ranks, and to redeem the glory of the name Munqui Tribe. (But first, they felt like a pint*).
Rumours had begun to creep across Azeroth of an impending invasion by an army of undead. But rumours were ten-a-penny in Azeroth, and although some eventually turned out to be true, the ones with the tales of armies of naked amazonian women appearing from nowhere with tales of hidden cow-levels, and questions about some mysterious being know as Baal, had never been confirmed.*
In a house on the other side of Duskwood lived a young man known as Barry. Whose house overlooked the RavenHill Cemetery. Barry had lived in Duskwood all his life, and that can have an effect on an impressionable young mind…. Barry was a Necromancer. He’d been practising on the small creatures that managed to survive in the fields near his home, but Barry had bigger plans, he’d heard the rumours of the advancing Scourge armies, and waned to prove himself worthy to join them.
Barry had a problem though, necromancy required reciting complex arcane rituals, and uttering words of immense power, but Barry had a Lisp. His first attempt at serious necromancy went wrong, instead of reviving just the corpse of a deceased Watchman he had removed from the conveniently nearby tomb. The magic ran wild, and got into the very ground itself. One by one, the bodies in the graveyard began to rise up, until the whole cemetery was flooded with the undead.
Barry was impressed, and (as only the truly insane can) he decided that ‘Barry’ was no name for a mighty necromancer such as himself, from that day forward, he would be know only as ‘Morbent Fel’*. The warrior he had intended to resurrect kneeled before him. “Arishe Mor’Ladim. From thish day forward you will be my guard, Patrol the chemetery, and kill any noobsh who shtray to closhe, I need time to prepare my plansh. HaHaHaHaaaaa!!!”
A dark cloud passed over the Inn where the Munquis sat.* A young watchman burst in through the doors, screaming about the horrors he just witnessed at the cemetery. The townsfolk began to panic, they could deal with wolves, and giant spiders, and even the ogres who had taken over the mine, the werewolves had been a problem admittedly*. But Undead! This was serious!
Brastfield stepped forward… “We are the noble Munqui Tribe.” He proclaimed. “We have come to your lands in search of fame and glory. We will set off immediately to crush the undead that are plaguing your lands”. The mayor appeared at the door. “And what is this going to cost us?” He asked. “We’ve seen your type before.. one minute it’s all noble and righteous, and the next its ‘The bill is in the mail’”. “No.” Said Brastfield. “You don’t understand. We don’t want… anything.” The other Munquis looked at each other in bewilderment. And after several moments of hushed arguing, Piri was pushed forward to have a word with Brastfield. After whispering in his ear for several seconds, Brastfield announced. “While there will be no charge for our services, it would be greatly welcomed if you were to... perhaps… pay for our drinks?” More whispering from Piri. “… All week… And a decent meal wouldn’t be un-appreciated either.” The Mayor nodded. “Right then.” Said Brastfield… “We’ll get going.”
“Just one thing.” Said the Mayor. “Could you bring back Barry alive if possible please, he’s a nice lad really, just a bit mixed up. Oh and what are your names?... Only it helps, when we have to carve the gravestones later, if we knew what they were. You wouldn’t believe how many ‘John Doe’s’ Are up in that place.” “I am Brastfield, leader of the Munqui Tribe, and these are my officers, Piri, Cyrick, Kc and Forty.” He said, gesturing to each in turn. And then they set off into the gloom of the sun.
As they approached the gates of the cemetery, they waded through the undead, cutting them down like a hot-knife-through-butter. Bodies falling at their feet, and then rising up again moments later. Cyrick was given the job of using his daggers to pin them to the floor so they didn’t get up again. And on they advanced towards the house of Morbent Fel. A lowbie ran screaming past them. “Help HELP! He’s got a big sword, and he wont leave me alone… I didn’t even go anywhere near him, he just started running towards me!” and disappeared, with a wet thud, into a deep hole in the ground where presumably some of the undead had emerged.
In front of the Munquis stood an undead warrior, with a menacing* looking sword. “I’ll teach you to pick on Lowbies!” Screamed Piri. And proceeded to beat seven bells of sh*t out of the wandering lowbie ganker. Brastfield turned his head away from the carnage, and Kc, Forty and Cyrick felt physically sick by the end of it. Mor’Ladim had his own arms and legs coming out of orifices which were not intended to be used in that way. “Well…” Said Piri, “He shouldn’t have been picking on little kids”. Disturbed by the sudden outburst of extreme violence, the rest of the Munquis kept more than their usual distance from her as they progressed towards the house.
“Morbent Fel!” Shouted Brastfield. “Your time has come, put down your… whatever it is that Necromancers use, and come out with your hands up!” “You’ll never take me alive Coppersh!” came the reply, so in went the Tribe to deal out some justice. Morbent Fel turned out to be a spotty teenage kid with a big hat, who’d struggle to fight his way out of a wet paper bag. After dealing with the couple of undead that he had as bodyguards, Brastfield just gave him a good clip round the ear and carried him back to Darkshire*. The townsfolk celebrated, the drinks were on the house… literally. All over the floor, and the ceiling, and the barmaids. No one knows how to celebrate like a Munqui. After a good talking to, from the Mayor, Morbent Fel – AKA Barry was taken put in the care of the nice old man Abercrombie, who lived in a hut just at the other side of the cemetery. The townsfolk hoped that the old man would help show Barry the error of his ways, and maybe give the old man someone to talk to since the death of his wife.
But during all the merrymaking though, terrible news arrived, the rumours were true*. The scourge were coming, and the Alliance was summoning all the heroes of the land to launch a massive counter-attack. The Munquis grabbed their weapons, grabbed their beer* and mounted up for the battle. That was the last that the people of Duskwood saw of the Tribe for quite some time, and the cemetery, while still full of undead, just became another part of the scenery, and maybe even added to the atmosphere of the place. And it was said that, on a quiet night, you could hear the conversations between Barry and Abercombie, but exactly who was teaching who…?
Chapter III – Revenge of the SmythEdit
The Munquis approached their final battle on the realm of Nordrassil, riding towards what would finally be their fall from grace, and the betrayal of StrongHammer. There ranks were filled with all levels of warriors, from the young adventurer, still on the adrenalin rush of wiping the floor with BellyGrub in the lands of Redridge, to the battle-hardened veterans to whom this was just another day at the office.*
But amongst them all rode a young officer named Smyth. Only recently promoted, he was eager to prove himself. But Smyth had a bad feeling about the whole day. It wasn’t fear… Smyth wasn’t as experienced as some of the others, but wasn’t a sissy either. Something about the day just felt wrong. The sort of feeling where the hairs on the back of your neck stood up, and every now and again you’d find yourself shiver despite the heat of the sun. And as that ill-fated moment approached, where the Munquis faced off against the rebel army of StrongHammer the feeling grew.
The battle began, and Smyth charged into battle with a sword in each hand, limbs flying from his enemies landed in the dusty earth. Just as the blade of an Orc axe was beginning to swing towards the side of his head, on what could only have resulted in a major saving on hair-cuts from now on, a shadow passed behind the attacker and Cyrick appeared, thrust his dagger into the throat of the Orc, nodded to Smyth and disappeared back into the shadows. As Smyth turned to return the nod, a silence descended on the battle field, the noise of war ceased. No more sounds of shields blocking blows, or the gurgling screams as warriors struggled for their last breaths. Peace. The Troll in front of him fell to the ground, now missing both arms, Smyth took the chance to see what was going on behind him. The battle had stopped. All of the warriors were either frozen in place, weapons inches from the throats of their enemies, shields raised to block attacks that were hovering in the air above them, or, some, were running on the spot. In the distance Smyth could see a space appearing in the centre of the field, as the space grew the warriors on the edge disappeared, they didn’t die, they didn’t move, they were just no longer there. All the Munquis had heard tales of a mythical beast that could control time and space, it stalked the lands of Azeroth, striking at random, wiping out even the greatest of warriors in the blink of an eye, invisible, immune to all weapons and spells, mightier than any dragon or demon. Smyth recognized the signs… this was the dreaded.. LAGG!
As the growing circle of emptiness approached Smyth tried to run, but found himself frozen to the spot. The air began to crackle as the invisible beast approached, Smyth closed his eyes and waited calmly for the end to arrive. It Came. The battle raged on, no-one noticed Smyth vanish from the centre of the battle, and after the victory, and with all the body parts strewn across the fields everyone just assumed he had died an honourable death. The surviving Munquis mourned his passing.*
Smyth opened his eyes, he was amazed.* He was lying on the ground in a village, surrounded by hills and a stream. A sign swung in the wind… “Welcome to Tristram”. A young boy walked over to him, hobbling with difficulty, one of his legs had been replaced by a wooden peg. “Hello there” Said the boy looking down at Smyths bloodied swords “My Name’s Wert, and I think we’ve been looking for someone like you”.
Back in Azeroth, the Munquis made their voyage to DarkSpear, defeated the semi-Evil Barry the necromancer, fought the war of the Scourge, and re-established the Guild. The world continued and the memory of the warrior named Smyth began to fade, many of the new Munquis didn’t even recall the name, and most didn’t even know about the Munquis history of betrayal by their leader. But peace never lasts, and as the rumours of the return of Arthas began, a Portal appeared above Darnassus, and through it fell the body of a warrior, slightly older, battle scarred and beaten, Smyth was back.
Little is known about the whereabouts of Smyth in the year he was away, and he was reluctant to talk about it for fear that he would be thought insane, but from the little that the other Munquis could gather* involved tales of Demon Lords, armies of undead, visiting Hell itself, a land full of Killer-Cows. And naked Amazonian women.* At that point they stopped buying him beer, bought him a kebab instead and sent him off home to have a lie down.
When he awoke, Smyth felt refreshed, he was back in Azeroth, he was bigger, stronger and fitter than before. In his adventures he had picked up many new skills, fighting the undead had taught him the value of holy-magic. He was now a Paladin. He had made and lost many friends in the past year, their deaths had been avenged by the demise of the Demon Lords at his hands. But someone had sent him to that land in the first place, taking him away from his friends and family, and his beloved Munquis. And that someone was going to pay. In his eyes, a flicker of golden light appeared.
Far to the north, in a fortress of ice, Arthas drummed his fingers on the hilt of Frostmourne, and looked up from the maps of Azeroth and Outland to the Dwarf standing to his right. “So StrongHammer, the prophecy is fulfilled Smyth has returned. He has survived his ordeal. Impressive... but this causes me a problem… Remove this problem for me, and you will ride into battle at my side, as my General, and my first Death-Knight. Fail and… well lets just say, that death does not have to be the ‘end’ of a mans suffering.”
Chapter IV – A New HypeEdit
Smyth walked out of the Scryer bank and into the upper circle street of Shattrath city. The sun glinted of his tinted glasses, as a small group of Aldor recruits practised one of their many training regimes in the middle of the road.* A flying machine landed nearby, and out jumped a Dwarf. Wielding what can only be described as a gun, because it had a trigger at one end and a menacing looking hole at the other.* “1gPlz!” yelled the Dwarf. Followed by verbal assault from at least 30 other people yelling for him to “STFU! NOOB”
The air was warm, the wind blew a gentle breeze, and all was quiet, apart from the brief (and very final) screams of newbies too impatient to wait for the Aldor Rise elevator.
A heavily armoured Orc rode past, and spat on the floor. Smyths hand instinctively moved down towards his sword before he remembered himself… This wasn’t Azeroth. He couldn’t just disembowel the Orc for committing a crime.* This was a new land, and the wars between the Horde and Alliance were at a tentative truce while the battle to stop the demon invasion raged on. This was taking a little getting used to. The rewards were great but the sacrifices seemed greater. Here in Shattrath (a sanctuary) he wasn’t allowed to draw his weapon against another warrior… Horde or not. But outside it’s walls was a different story. A flash of golden light momentarily seemed to glow behind Smyths smoky glasses. And he smiled.
The Munqui Tribe had continued its expansion, and it’s members now numbered in the many hundreds again. With noble Munquis patrolling all corners of Azeroth and beyond the dark portal to the newly discovered Outland. Brastfield still led the Tribe, but with its growth came more problems and responsibilities, it seemed that more and more officers were required to keep the grunts in order. Luckily inns tend to have lots of seats, so the officer meetings were rarely overcrowded. But, as someones uncle once said, “With great power, comes great responsibility”* and the Munquis were called upon more and more to lead the Alliance into battle against whatever enemy was required. The more experienced Munquis were currently trying to destroy the evil within the halls of Karazhan, where the evil Medivh was rumoured to have fled. The younger members were gaining experience so rapidly, that the older ones could only mumble and complain about how ‘it wasn’t like this in my day’, and ‘things were so much better before 2.3’.
While Brastfield continued to perfect his battle tactics in one of the battlegrounds back in Azeroth, where Horde and Alliance behaved properly.* He had sent Smyth through the dark portal to Outland, to expand the Munqui presence there, and scout ahead for a good place for the up-coming Munqui Tribe Christmas party.
Back in Shattrath, Smyth continued his questing, exploring strange new worlds, seeking out new-life, and new civilizations, and boldly going where thousands had gone before. He had heard tales of an immense demon known as a Pit-Lord, these were supposedly the most brutal and violent of all the known demons and so, obviously, after finishing his pint, giving the waitress a tip and a smile, and slipping her his e-mail address, Smyth set out to find one. His travels led him the Hellfire Peninsula where one of the demons was rumoured to have been captured and was being held prisoner by a tribe of blood-thirsty Fel-Orcs. Well… Smyth was a Paladin, and more than that he was a Prot-Pally, but even more than that… he was a Munqui-Pally. So he put out the word on the Munqui-grapevine that he needed a little help, summoned his epic mount and rode out of the Honor Hold, and towards the Hellfire Citadel. By the time he arrived, there was Lisje and Shirt waiting for him at the meeting stone.
“3 of us against the whole place hardly seems fair” said Smyth “Shall we let them know we’re coming so they can call-in some re-inforcements?” Lisje giggled her girlish laugh and went Moonkin while she blushed, and Shirt just fell about on the floor laughing, leaving little icicles everywhere. And into the Blood Furnace they went.
The Orcs came at them, wave-after-wave, hammering blows against Smyths shield, doing themselves more and more damage, while Lisje healed the few blows that managed to get past his defences, and sent in the occasional army of trees to tear the limbs off a few orcs and speed things up a little. Things were going so well that even Shirt thought he’d turn his hand at a bit of melee for a while, but soon reverted to chucking ice-bolts at them when the axes and swords started to get a bit too close for comfort. The Maker, a mutant orc-hybrid went down with hardly a fight, and the area around him was just a sea of blood, spilling from the bodies of his guards. Broggok didn’t cause much more of a problem, although he, at least, had the sense to send in a few waves of attackers to try and weaken the Munquis defences first. Although to no avail. Finally, the Munquis reached a large cavern, with a suspended iron floor. In the centre stood an army of warlocks all concentrating on the same purpose. Smyth looked down past his feet, and saw what they were doing… hundreds of feet below them was the Pit Lord Magtheridon, shackled by the demoic powers of the Warlocks, his blood being drained from him as if he were a beer-keg with a tap. He was HUGE!....
“We’re gonna need a bigger boat!” laughed Smyth.*
They quickly dispensed with the warlocks, and there master Keli’dan, and headed down into the bowels of the furnace to put the demon out of his misery.
As soon as they stepped into the holding room, Magtheridon lashed out knocking Smyths smoky glasses from his face. Lisje and Shirt both gasped in shock, Smyths eyes were full of golden glowing light. His pupils almost invisible in the centre of the brightness. Smyth just smiled. “I was going to let you live… It didn’t seem fair to fight you right after they’d been doing that to you, but those glasses were expensive… and I don’t see any pockets on that armour, so I guess it’s your unlucky day”
The glow from Smyths eyes grew, until the room was filled with a blinding white light, even the mighty Magtheridon began to back away when he saw what was about to happen. The Holy Wrath filled Smyth as he stared at the demon lord, until in one searing arc the light jumped from Smyths body towards Magtheridon and incinerated him instantly. As the other Munquis regained there focus after the blinding flash, they saw Smyth standing there calmly, his eyes glowing as they were to begin with, and smiling in an assuring way.
“Demons” He said “Wimps”… and shrugged.
High in the glacial mountains of Northrend, Arthas awoke with a scream, he had felt the holy power of the wrath Smyth had unleashed, and knew immediately that if it could not be turned to serve his needs, then it must be crushed. A power like that could end his plans. He summoned his legions and instructed them in his wishes: “Go forth.. crush, kill, destroy.. and rid me of these damned Munquis!”
- Actually, it was dark because it was night-time, and it was raining that sort of fine-rain that soaks you through… but “Dark and Stormy” is more atmospheric.
- Although some of them had always had their suspicions, particularly about his fondness for ladies underwear.
- If you can consider alcohol to be a fruit… The Munquis’ did… they reasoned that Rum tasted fruity, and who could argue about the connection between Cider and apples?
- And their bar tabs almost at breaking point.
- And loans taken out to cover the cost of the horses that had been pawned for beer money.
- Someone who uses more than 1 exclamation mark, is always going to be a few currants short of a fruit-cake. In this case though, he may have been missing the eggs and the flour too.
- Of Horde
- And to collect enough gold to pay for their alcoholism.
- Just for dramatic effect
- And some of the less noble ones too.
- If you need any more clues, you’re a noob…. It’s Duskwood.
- Inter-Realm travel leaves a warrior very thirsty.
- Much to the disappointment of several great adventurers who devoted their entire lives to the cause of finding the naked Amazonians, and demonstrating to them that having a man in their army could be a ‘very good thing’**.
- Particularly for the man.
- Translated = Depressed Downer
- It went pretty-much un-noticed.. What was one more dark cloud to a town that hasn’t seen sunlight in years?
- But, nowadays, they just made sure they got them to pay their bar tabs in advance, and changed the silver tankards for glass ones
- albeit slightly rusty
- ‘Carried’, because a good clip round the ear from someone wearing plate gauntlets, really lets you know you’ve done something wrong, and reminds you of it for at least several days after.
- Not the Amazonian ones, much to everyones disappointment..
- Counter-Attacks leave warriors very thirsty.
- Admittedly, they were used to the sort of office where if your boss asked you to do something your didn’t like, you promoted yourself by right of conquest.
- In the traditional way of sitting in the Pub and saying “Smyth, he was a good man” once or twice.
- He was amazed that he still ‘had’ eyes too, but that came secondary.
- By buying him more and more beer
- Demons, Undead, Hell, and Killer-cows… .Why not. But naked Amazonian Women….? Clearly he was deluded.
- Maybe they have to practice so much down here, because of the time they’d have to waste riding their elevator all the way up to their own area?
- Although in this case the gun was twice the size of its owner, and looked capable of taking down an entire herd of Clefthoof in one shot.
- Smyths definition of “crime” was very broad, and unsurprisingly included “Being an Orc”.
- Old people often babble things like this to themselves, it’s a sign of old age. The uncle in question was actually talking about how ‘Young people today have no respect’, and totally went off-track before he came up with that quote (He also died shortly afterwards after trying to teach a young person some manners, while being threatened with a gun) But you’ve gotta admit… it’s a catchy slogan.
- By Slaughtering each other mercilessly
- Neither Lisje or Shirt laughed, so the reference was lost in translation somewhere.