Hurricane is an Alliance guild on the Grobbulus server. They are currently operating as an Alliance Privateer organization, basing out of a licensed ship of the same name. They are known for their prowess in combat, their highly mobile presence and ability to deploy ground forces, and their persistence in acquiring rare treasure.


Alliance Setting

Our story begins in the 622nd year, by the King’s Calendar. Thirty years have passed since the Dark Portal opened, and the First War began. The traitor Arthas has disappeared, and the remaining undead armies have joined the Horde under Sylvanas Windrunner, now a “free people” known as the “Forsaken”. Joining the Alliance, the Night Elves of Kalimdor stand watch at their borders.

The Alliance has rebuilt their cities just as the Horde has constructed new ones. Varian Wrynn is gone, lost during a mysterious errand, leaving the kingdom of Stormwind under the command of young Anduin. It’s unclear whether he wields true power, or if he’s merely a puppet of Highlord Bolvar Fordragon and the Lady Katrana Prestor.

The peace that existed between the Horde and the Alliance, if you could call it a peace, is now quickly disintegrating. Tensions are high as each power seeks to secure lost territory, and vies for resources to re-establish former might. As the powers that be circle each other, posturing their armies and preparing for renewed war, the troubles of the land have gone unnoticed. With increasing frequency, heroes are arising around the world to safeguard the people, and set the smaller wrongs right.

Kul Tiran Navy

However, as we begin our tale today, there are no heroes to be found aboard the Hurricane. Four years ago she was stationed at Theramore, then a Kul Tiran destroyer named the Windsong. Her crew had served valiantly under Grand Admiral Daelin Proudmoore, and were the best the Kul Tiran Navy had to offer. That is, until the stubborn Proudmoore, his demise inevitable, sent the ship to her doom. A sacrificial maneuver, ordered in desperation as the Horde and their allies closed on Theramore, left the Hurricane alone against seven Horde destroyers.

Sinking three before she was disabled, most of her crew dead, the Hurricane burned in the night. Her captain knew he could continue the fight, but if he did so, the ship would surely be destroyed. And to what end? Their loss would be in vain, for the sake of an arrogant fool. Instead, the captain ordered the guns silent, and the fires extinguished.

Abandoning her post, the Hurricane limped for open ocean and escaped into the night, watching the burning reflection of Theramore against the dark water fade over the horizon. Refusing to let the somber reality of their desertion and the loss of the battle affect the morale of his remaining crew, the captain set sail for Booty Bay, a twinkle in his eye. He had a favor to call in. If they were no longer destined to be soldiers of the Alliance, then soldiers of fortune they would be.


The ship barely made it to port, but once there, the crew set to work alongside the Goblins. Gone was the bright blue warpaint of the Kul Tiran Navy. Down came the colors of the Alliance. In its place, a new flag flew.

Fortunately for the survivors, the Alliance had assumed the ship was lost in the siege at Theramore. With bigger problems on their hands, it wasn’t difficult for the crew of the Hurricane to receive a letter of marque from the Alliance with their newly Goblin-forged papers. Now a legal privateer, the Hurricane, painted black as night, with a newly hired crew, is setting sail once again... but not for glory.

The Horde is going to pay, in either cold hard coin, or with their very blood.

Ship's Logs

Ship’s log, 9/5, 622 by the King’s Calendar

Alliance Privateer, Hurricane

When the Call to Arms was sounded, the crew of the Hurricane answered. By the dozens they streamed into Darkshire, from all across Azeroth. Each one dropped their private enterprises, abandoned their searches for treausures and fame, and heeded the order to take up arms.

After organizing into four separate companies, we marched south. Out of the mists of Darkshire we emerged, crossing the bridge to Strangethorn Vale, over a hundred strong. Spreading out, we combed the countryside, eradicating any Horde we came across in seconds. The resistance was paltry, and before long, we reached the gates of Grom'gol Base Camp. Only a small detachment of Horde “heroes” stood to defend it, and they quickly fell before the gale of the Hurricane.

Systematically, Grom’Gol was burned to the ground. Guards slain, wyverns dead on the ground, buildings alight, all that remained were the broken corpses of so-called heroes strewn before the once proud base camp, a warning to the Horde:

We are coming.

Lieutenant Everline "Ever" Penderlin

Mistress at Arms, Sword Hand of the Hurricane

Ship’s log, 9/19, 622 by the King’s Calendar

Alliance Privateer, Hurricane

The afternoon was thick with humidity today. We gathered in the Salty Sailor for our weekly briefing. It's hard to tell if the goblins enjoy the massive demand for their drinks we bring. The property damage might not make up for it. We stood at attention as our captain laid out our plans for the night. It was time to try our strength against the might of the Horde proper. We learned there were attempts to rebuild their outpost at Grom'gol. We needed to burn it to the ground once more. It's foolish to let wasps nest. Best clean them out.

We made swift work of the orcs at the outpost, and shortly after, we set sail across the ocean for Kalimdor. Grom'gol was a military outpost, and the Horde are not known for paying their soldiers well. If there was loot to be had, it wasn't to be found on this continent. After all, we are privateers. We fight for profit.

Black sails were sighted in Ratchet, and we disembarked three companies there. We swiftly cleared our way to the Crossroads in the Northern Barrens. There were only scattered patrols to be found, and they were dispatched quickly. The town fell under our control in a matter of minutes, and what little the paupers there possessed became ours. Spirits were high, despite the lack of coin.

Moving north once more, we marched for Orgrimmar itself. Forming a battle line in front of the city, we fanned out to ensure there would be no escape for the Horde as they saw us coming. Our force was so large, our lines stretched beyond view. Slowly we approached Orgrimmar, and as the order was given, we charged.

The Horde was not prepared. We breached the gates almost immediately, and marched into the city proper, slaying all we saw. At first only a few dared oppose us, but as we began to pillage the city, the Horde began to organize. For the first time, the crew of the Hurricane fought a proper battle, tangling with various groups of Horde in the city. After winning several major engagements, we began to lose some of our less experienced crewmen due to the sheer amount of firepower being exchanged. The order was given to retreat, and we moved deeper into the city, into the Drag. Several portals sprung open as our mages quickly conjured our escape from the very air itself, and before long, the crew of the Hurricane had vanished from within the city.

Orgrimmar, though shaken, still stands. Only one thing is for certain. We are getting stronger.

Lieutenant Everline "Ever" Penderlin

Mistress at Arms, Sword Hand of the Hurricane

Ship’s log, 9/26, 622 by the King’s Calendar

Alliance Privateer, Hurricane

We received a contract earlier this week to clear out some troublesome elementals from a cave deep inside Blackrock Mountain. In hindsight, the contract might have been slightly... understated. We made preparations and headed in earlier today, only to find that the supposed elemental infestation included not only a large number of Flamewalkers, but also Ragnaros, the Firelord himself.

Despite our contractor's lack of foresight, we dove in anyway, Captain Cybaster leading the charge. We dealt with the infestation handily, experiencing only minor casualties on our way through the cave. Not only did we complete our contract, but we also discovered some rare weapons and armor on the mangled corpses of the Flamewalkers.

Our strength against the Horde has grown stronger still.

Lieutenant Everline "Ever" Penderlin

Mistress at Arms, Sword Hand of the *Hurricane*

Addendum: Could that truly have been the legendary, mythological firelord, Ragnaros, felled by a single exploratory feint and one decisive strike? The burned and weary are many; the dead within acceptable parameters.

That can't be right. Those dark irons I interrogated howled for this figure to save them⁠—and to punish me, in between thwacks to their dirt-encrusted knuckles by that hammer they adore so much. Mine now, among other things.

But they made this figure out to be some kind of primordial god; and it was felled largely by the same mortal magics my mages use to shove our ships around when the wind is being obstinate. You can't kill the water, or the wind. Fire still burns, last I checked. This whole thing was either a charade, or something is left undone.

That worries me. But perhaps I've earned a favor from the troublesome water lords?

The Captain

Community content is available under CC-BY-SA unless otherwise noted.