A March of Ents
Loggers Beware
Every Saturday, Epicism finds itself in something of a quandary. What should we do? As far as burning existential questions go, this one ranks right up there with "what should we have for dinner?" and "why did I queue solo for LFR again?"
Eventually, we do settle on something. Maybe it's a spontaneous party game or an Overwatch session. Could be Meccachameleon. Or a zombie murder spree. Or keys, when our crew isn't completely burned out on those delightful little stress tests. On this particular night, however, we decided to explore the very adult goings‑on inside the Goldshire Inn on Moon Guard. On a Saturday night.
It was not for the eyes of the innocent, the pure of heart, or anyone who still thinks "ERP" stands for "Enterprise Resource Planning." Exactly zero details of what was witnessed will be revealed here. What happens in the Goldshire Inn on Moon Guard should one thousand percent stay in the Goldshire Inn on Moon Guard, preferably behind three locked doors, a privacy screen, and an NDA.
After that sordid experience, we decided that some wholesome spontaneous fun would be just the thing. So we scoured our mounts tabs to find something gloriously appropriate. What better way to spend a Saturday than chilling with awesome people in a march of Wandering Ancients—giant trees with legs, sass, and unresolved feelings about deforestation?
Marching through Stormwind
Mobbing Goldshire quickly lost its allure (there are only so many times you can emote /sigh before your soul actually leaves your body), so we RP‑walked all the way to Stormwind, gathering yet more adventurers along the way. What started as roughly half a dozen players quickly doubled as we meandered through the city in glorious, slightly laggy formation.
We lumbered past confused citizens, suspicious guards, and at least one mage who whispered, "Is this a raid?" No, friend. This is an epic guild. This is spontaneous shenanigans. This is Saturday.
What do we want? Eastvale Logging Camp
Moon Guard is an RP server, and while many of us do not habitually RP, we did our best. What started as a search for the Ent Wives quickly evolved into a motive only a large wandering tree could truly appreciate, so we left the city to seek out sweet, sweet retribution.
The mission became clear: find the people turning our cousins into coffee tables and show them the true meaning of “live edge.”
The "Battle" of Eastvale Logging Camp
The entreerage continued, weaving a slow path through Elwynn Forest until we arrived at our destination: Eastvale Logging Camp. Our kind had sat idly by for far too long, standing imperceptibly still as many of our compatriots were cut down and turned into furniture stuffs, decorative beams, and that one ugly bookshelf nobody admits to owning.
We could take no more.
So we lined up amidst the pitiful fences made from yet more of our brethren, took a collective deep, creaky breath, and led the charge into the camp itself, murdering every NPC in our path. Lumberjacks fell. Vendors fell. Anyone who had ever looked at a sapling with "potential" fell.
It was less a battle and more a very slow, leafy bulldozer of vengeance.
This story wouldn't have a proper ending unless it contained the sweet aroma of decaying fungus, so we threw out a Madcap Redcap table and danced around as shrooms over the corpses of the fallen loggers.
There, in the fading light of Elwynn, surrounded by stumps, splinters, and the ghost of someone's unfinished chair, a group of giant walking trees and delighted weirdos celebrated their victory the only way they knew how: turning into mushrooms and throwing a party on the ruins.
Saturday night in Epicism: come for the questionable life choices in Goldshire on Moon Guard, stay for the lumber‑themed revenge musical in Eastvale.
