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((Fitting music: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4LOaEzmaPfU
Here you guys go, now see if you get the joke. I got ever so slightly irked by certain individuals accusing me of *never* roleplaying and not enjoying it, so I made this. Enjoy it. Or don't, whatever floats your boat.))
Viewing the barren landscape of Hellfire Peninsula, it is difficult to remember that the Burning Crusade is over and that Outland is in relative safety. While still slowly crumbling into the nothingness of the twisting nether, Illidan has been defeated, Kael'Thas slain twice over and Kil'Jaeden banished from Azeroth. Despite this, the harsh landscape seems as active as the day the burning legion first reared its ugly head into Azeroth with the intention of total annihilation. While the Azeroth side of the dark portal remains relatively peaceful, this is only so due to the efforts of those locked in eternal conflict in a world that is at once a few steps and a million miles away.
Horde and Alliance blood alike is spilled to halt the ever present tide of demons from reaching the Stair of Destiny and washing over the world in a crushing wave of destruction. One would think that with such a monumental task becore them, the two factions could set aside their differences for the common good of all. But demons and hatred never die, they can only burn low.
Sitting atop his proto-drake mount, Draxonicar could almost have cut a heroic figure had he not been covered in blood. Demons were not the only creatures afoot in the peninsula, Alliance were a common nuisance as well. The unwilling donators of the bodily fluids currently decorating his armor had been a pair of would-be Alliance champions that had seen fit to try and take the objectives located near the infamous Hellfire Citadel. Alliance had often attempted the taking of them, and sometimes had even succeeded, but that would not happen today. Not when he had been preoccupied only brooding over his past failures. Not when the bitter taste of defeat continued to torment him. Not today, he reinforced in his mind. Not again.
The sound that Draenei make when they die is strangely familiar to those who enjoy pork, and despite his best efforts Draxonicar often felt himself trying to salivate when he heard it. The pair had been brave, he conceded. Brave or stupid. The two often boil down to the same behavior in battle despite the best efforts of those involved. Upon seeing him, they had thrown away their only chance of escape with a vengeance by rushing headlong towards the new threat. Their last sight had been that of a shimmering blade being drawn with a hiss of dark magic.
As over as soon as it had begun, Draxonicar would later reflect on the wasted potential of many
of the Alliance's inexperienced "heroes". They had not deserved to have their souls taken by a thirsting runeblade commanded by and even thirstier Death Knight, but did anyone? Was there a mortal anywhere that had committed acts warranting such a fate? Arthas had done a great deal of terrible things with his life, but his soul was forfeit from the beginning. What is already lost cannot be stolen, and Arthas had been lost from the moment he took up Frostmourne.
Woken from his reverie by the sound of beating wings, Draxonicar looked skyward to three more Alliance making a beeline for his position, these ones clearly more experienced than the recuits he had dispatched of earlier. A familiar skeletal face appeared in the shadows behind him, and with the sound of battle ringing in his ears Draxonicar decided that today would be a good day.
((I'm still not entirely happy with it, and may revise it or just scrap the entire thing if I start to hate it. Until then feel free to read and comment, if I get more replies than Lukar I'll be a happy-and-petty man.))
Edited by Draxonicar on 7/25/2012 10:45 AM PDT
Its not JUST that, its the fact that I'm often accused of "Not liking RP" and only ganking lowbies and PVPing. So I figured I'd write an RP story about ganking lowbies in hellfire until 85s come so I can fight them. Possible new installments include a story about dueling in durotar and graveyard camping in tol barad.
Edited by Draxonicar on 7/25/2012 1:45 PM PDT
The true beauty of wow is the ability to choose ones actions and not be forced to do something based upon game mechanics.
There is no better feeling than landing next to an low level enemy and assisting them than killing them. For most, they expect death to come quickly and are surpised when they are spared from that fate.
Sometimes it is better to offer grace to someone that the edge of a sword and the promise of death.
Threats of violence. We take these seriously and will alert the proper authorities.
Harassing or discriminatory language. This will not be tolerated.