Towards the end of Burning Crusade, I was in full RP mode, mixing up my elf-filled adventures with a good ol’ human guard shift in the Eastern Kingdoms. Laine was still out there, patrolling the streets of Stormwind, arresting the same batch of goons (because apparently, crime in Stormwind is a revolving door). Our headquarters was as lively as ever, complete with imaginary coffee machines and the cells downstairs for our ‘prisoners’—who were usually more likely to escape through a poorly timed /afk than through any clever heist.
And then came Ventanus.
Ventanus, or “Vent” as we called him, was the latest addition to our growing team of Stormwind City Guards. With him came a personality as big as his oversized paladin sword and a cocky attitude to match. Out of character, he was just as cheeky, and our Skype chats with Marcus, Boltar, and myself soon became a quartet of banter, jokes, and absurd plans to keep Stormwind safe (or at least keep ourselves entertained).
Every Wednesday at 7pm sharp, like clockwork, we’d gather outside the guard HQ for our weekly “training.” Now, training in this case meant more rolling dice in emotes than actual combat, but hey, the citizens of Stormwind didn’t need to know that. From outside appearances, we were a well-oiled machine of guard duty excellence. Inside the HQ? Chaos.
One fateful Wednesday, Vent and I decided to spar. We both knew it was all for show, but you could practically hear the Rocky theme playing in the background as we squared off. Vent, with his golden locks flowing and a smirk plastered on his face, squared up against Laine, who was all dark hair, grit, and determination. It was like the universe’s version of yin and yang—a cocky paladin versus a fierce guard who wasn’t taking any nonsense.
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
We started circling each other, both throwing out emotes about dodges, sword clashes, and the occasional witty retort. Vent, of course, played it up, boasting about how there was no way he’d let a “mere guard” take him down. I, naturally, was having none of it.
After a few good exchanges, Vent landed a solid blow, sending Laine tumbling to the ground. In classic gentlemanly fashion, he leaned down to help her up. Now, this is where things got… interesting. Laine, ever the opportunist, gave Vent one of those big, doe-eyed looks, and, of course, he took the bait like a champ. Thinking his charm had won her over, Vent leaned in for what he thought was about to be his victory kiss.
Big mistake.
Just as he got within range, Laine’s knee shot up with the precision of a well-aimed fireball, hitting Vent square in the bollocks. He crumpled like a sack of potatoes, his cocky smirk wiped clean off his face.
The chat exploded in laughter. Marcus was wheezing, Boltar was trying to type something coherent, and me? Well, I had just taken a sip of my energy drink, the one that promises you wings. Spoiler alert: it did not provide wings—just a giant spray across my monitor and keyboard. It was like a fizzy, caffeinated firework display, all while Vent was rolling on the ground in agony, clutching at his paladin pride.
“Laine wins!” someone finally managed to type between bouts of laughter.
Vent, of course, didn’t let me forget that one for a long time. But hey, I was declared the winner, and if you ask me, it was totally worth it. I mean, what better way to train for guard duty than a well-placed knee to the paladin?
And so, Wednesday training sessions continued, but Vent? He never leaned in for a kiss again. Or did he? More Vent tales later.