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Month: September 2016

Dwarven Wardrobe: Sawed Off Priest

Dwarven Wardrobe: Sawed Off Priest

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This ensemble, built around the Sawed Off guild tabard, has been my go-to transmog over the years. The white color represents the snow of Khaz Modan while the brown color represents the deep earth that the Ironforge dwarves have fortified themselves in. The silver and gold trims reflect the metals found in fine dwarven craftsmanship. The fur fringes provide warmth against the chill and is a personal nod towards Frostmaw, Ringo’s long-time bear companion. I favor this outfit for its overall simplicity and practicality along with its layers of sentimentality.

Personally I prefer to carry maces like a proper dwarf priest when opportunity allows, however, the Crackling Staff is near and dear to my heart. It is a simple white crystal staff from Alterac Valley — a snow-covered dwarven PvP battleground that I spent many months in. At the time, the only reward for reaching exalted status with an Alliance race was to unlock racial-specific mounts for purchase. There were no incentives for dwarven players to reach exalted with Ironforge since we already had access to our own rams early on, but it was unthinkable to me to reach exalted with another race before my own. I even made sure that handing over armor scraps to a dwarven NPC, Murgot Deepforge, was the final action in reaching exalted. So anytime I’m not wielding a mace and a stick of dynamite, you’ll see me running around with this staff instead!

Transmogrifications
Head: Hidden (or Alaina’s Bonnet)
Shoulders: Outlander’s Pauldrons
Cloak: Mantle of Vivification
Chest: Barbaric Linen Vest
Shirt: Officer’s Shirt
Tabard: Renowned Guild Tabard
Belt: Sash of Arcane Visions
Bracer: Rocket-Fuel Soaked Bracer
Gloves: Evidence Collection Gloves
Pants: Leggings of Charity (or Archaeologist’s Pants)
Boots: Harvester Boots
Weapon: Crackling Staff

The Guns of Ulduar

The Guns of Ulduar

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Ringo acquires Titanstrike

Ringo Flinthammer stomped his feet, trying to return some feeling to his toes. He was born and raised in Dun Morogh, but the winds high in the Storm Peaks were something else entirely.

“Ah’m not sayin’ it weren’t amazin’ ta see him, Keeper Mimiron, but would it have killed him ta have said ‘Ah remember ye — in the mountains?'”

“Herald of the Titans,” Mimiron said, turning his head slightly, “Even here, atop the Temple of Storms, Keeper Thorim has met many, many people over the course of his immortal life. You should not take it as a slight …”

“Nay, nay, jus’ makin’ a joke,” Ringo said. He looked down at the rifle in his hands, which seemed to vibrate with internal energy. The gun’s twitches seemed to coincide with the bolts of electricity crackling around the blue-furred wolf whom Frostmaw was sniffing at dubiously.

“Anyway, ye reckon Ah’m the right one to carry this unique weapon o’ the Titans?”

“Well, you’re the bearer of this weapon of the Titans,” Mimiron said.

“There’s more than one?”

“There are 24.”

“Twenty-four guns?”

“Models of guns,” Mimiron said, turning his head toward Ringo.

Behind him, what Ringo took to be more vrykul participating in the Drakkensryd turned out to be elves, humans, tauren, orcs and others dismounting from proto-drake mounts and approaching the keeper.

“I’m not stupid, herald. I’m not going to entrust the fate of the entire world to just one Earthen.”