This is a teaser for the first in a series of RP-PVP videos telling a story in chapters - these videos will include a mix of actual World PVP and Machinima (complete with terrible voice acting from local RPers) to tell the tale. Our guild, The Mercenary Outfit, is a bounty hunting guild from Emerald Dream that takes on in-character bounties, and this one leads off with us taking a bounty for an entire guild. The full video for Chapter One is scheduled to be released 7/25/15. Thanks and enjoy - below you'll find the RP story that accompanied this video on the official forums:

http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/18300413717#1

The aged man's boot caught on the last step as he entered the tavern. The Pandaren at the counter looked up in surprise as the ancient armored form clanged to his hands and knees, cursing in a voice weathered by time. It was not often he received adventurers at his out of the way tavern, especially not since the war had ended. He studied the man quizzically as he slowly rose, noticing his ornate crimson and black armor. It appeared to have fallen into a state of disrepair over the years, and he found himself pondering if the form inside shared its fate.

"Drink?" he offered, as the codger found his feet. The figure nodded, and moved quietly to a table in the corner of the hut. Happy to have a customer, but already lost in thought again, he lazily filled a mug and sauntered over to the table with it. He watched as the pair of quaking hands placed an yellowed, leather-bound book on the table, and was immediately lost in his thoughts again as he recalled a similar storybook from which his father used to read.

His focus returned to the present as his sensitive nose recoiled at the smell of blood, rust, and piss emanating from the old suit of chain. He collected the coin that was slid across the table at arms reach, and retreated to the relative olfactory safety of his incense burner at the bar.

This was the first time in years Return had worn the armor. He used to do this every year, on the anniversary of that day, to remember them all, but time and apathy had worn his resolve. The chill winds bit at his old wounds at this time of winter, and his daily struggle was motivating himself to do anything at all, other than draining another cask. But today he had found strength. He had donned his armor this day - for them.

One last time.

He closed his eyes, awash in the scents of the past that the old suit of mail wore. As he took in the feeling of the cold steel links upon his flesh, he wondered if today would be the day he would finally find the clarity to record the tale - to do them justice. To let someone - anyone - remember them after he was gone.

The old hunter drained his mug, and took a breath as he opened the book past the first few pages of unsuccessful scrawlings - and began to write.

"They say that Legends are the only true survivors of time. No matter how we struggle against fate, when our time comes, we will die, and naught is left but the tales we leave behind.

I am no bard, and even less a scholar, yet of tales, I have plenty.

I have been called many names.

Hero.
Heretic.
Champion.
Coward.
The Rose.
He who will always Return.

Each of these names with a tale - but these are not worthy of tongue nor ears - they are too gruesome and base for quill and page. I am but killer for hire.

It is for this reason, that I shall not tell you the story of me, but the story of us. A tale of mercenaries who found purpose in brotherhood, and how they changed the world.

This is the story of the Outfit.