The Fatted Calf (introduction)

World’s End Tavern: Role-play and Fan Fiction
"The Fatted Calf" chronicles the surviving patrons of a infamous guns for hire safe heaven off the beaten track, just on the outskirts of Theramore. Many heroes have frequented the mythical pub, looking for fortune or fame, always achieving destiny. After the fall of Theramore, Alliance scavengers in an act of rage set fire to the building, killing many. Eleven mysterious travelers were all that remained. From all over, this rugged group of outlanders banned together to deliver retribution to the ones who ordered the attack, and set out to be true bringers of death...


Who they were before, and who they will become, is but destiny's mystery waiting to be revealed.
Shinroo grabbed a hand full of warm dirt and ash, sniffing it, then looking off the the horizon. He had tracked a group of Alliance dogs to this location, and what he feared for the worst, was in fact the truth. He stood over what remained from of "The Fatted Calf"; a few beams and cross boards, glowing orange in the early morning darkness. He sorted through the rubble looking for anything to restock his wears. He was very tired and had hoped to stop in the bar to rest before setting off across this newly discovered land. He had learned and discovered much already, yet how and why the pub had been destroyed had eluded him.

His pet sniffed the air. Something else was here. He looked around what remained of the once iconic establishment, when a pile of debris shifting itself, caught his eye. Someone was trapped underneath, but who.

Shinroo walked over towards the noise, hearing grunts and groan from whatever poor soul was trapped. But where they friend or foe? Whoever they were, they would have answers. He stood over the mound, bow at the ready. He spoke in a loud and sure voice.

"If you want to live, tell me who you are."
"My name is Hamoo, druid of the Circle. Help me with this beam"

A Tauren druid would prove useful to Shinroo plans, being able to mend him and his pet on the journey across Kalimdor. He bent down to pick the long burning crossbeam that sat on tope of Hamoo, and together they pushed it off of him.

Hamoo stood, tall, putting out the fire on the tip of his braids. One of his horns had broke, and his garments were torn and tattered. He ripped them off and threw them to the ground. He picked up a handful of dirt and began to mutter strange words into it. He released it into the wind. His spirits and energy had returned to him.

"Thank you friend. I had lost my strength and was beginning to make peace with it. Who are you?
"I am Shinroo. Here, cover yourself". He took a light leather robe from his bag and threw it too him.

"It will at least keep you warm. I was tracking a group of alliance across Theramore. They moved quickly. But I dont seem to see any tracks leaving this place"

Hamoo put on the garments, and thanked him.

"What happened here?
"You wouldn't. They are all dead."

Shinroo looked around again now seeing the reality. Amongst the smoke and ash were the charred remains of many alliance.

"There were many brave warriors here who fought for the Fatted Calf. However, it was one who turned the tides. A strange pandaren. I had heard whispers of your arrival to these lands. These days are both strange and new."

Hamoo sifted through the ruble of the Fatted Calf.

"I know it is here somewhere... Aha."

He lifted a long staff out from under more debris and wreckage. It needed repair, but was not completely destroyed. He threw it over his back.

"I must go. There will be more attacks like this on other villages of the Horde. The alliance have returned to their ways of the sword. The war of worlds has returned to us. Please, Follow me to Orgrimmar. We must tell Garrosh of this. He will know what to do."

The two rode off together, bound by mystery and vengeance, as the sun slowly rose off the eastern coast.
Other fatted calf adventures

The Fatted Calf: Into the Mist (a semi prequeal to this introduction)

The Electromagnetic Gigaflux Reactivator (a mysterious item takes its toll on its owner)

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