Emerald Dream

Feb 14, 2016 [RP] A Debate Within Darkness ((Hey folks, I made a thing and it's MU, not AU and I didn't really edit it but I hope you enjoy it anyway)) Reagan Luthen expanded and tightened his ebon fingers, skulking through the dense Duskwood forest. Dead trees towered above him, their branches decayed and withered, their husks cracked and dry. Morosely, he adjusted his noose, grimacing as he delved the eerie haunt. While he’d never been daunted by the darkness - often favoring it over the light, he’d been offered a rendezvous by an old acquaintance, one he prudently elected to accept. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been graced with the specifics of their encounter, instructed merely to enter the forests. While he’d an acute perception of pursuers, he nevertheless felt uneasy, however he’d refuse to acknowledge it. His gloved hands vanishing under his ebon cloak, Reagan’s black bag sizzled as he shrewdly surveyed his surroundings. While he hadn’t gleaned a soul from the frayed, damp grass, he surmised his associate tarried behind the slumping trees. Cowardly, albeit expedient – the Kingpin could respect that. ‘’Ah, young Reagan,’’ A weary voice welcomed, his slouched silhouette emerging from the abundant shadows. Instantly, the Kingpin turned to face his adversary. ((Play https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aUi2-_oam-s )) ‘’Victor Lyndon,’’ Reagan spat the word virulently at his old mentor, his shoulders tense, his tone sharp. ‘’Where’s that fat ‘ol chain-slinging bastard of yours, Boroben?’’ ‘’Preoccupied with the Banshee Queen’s work, as is his charge,’’ The Deathstalker retorted, attempting to discern features from Reagan’s bagged visage. ‘’And yours.’’ Neither party dared access their arsenal – Reagan knew that if his old mentor sought to strike him out, he wouldn’t have announced himself. Which made their meeting doubly vexing. ‘’I see your gift has been confiscated,’’ The elder Deathstalker noted. ‘’A pity – we’d toiled so vehemently to instill purpose in you.’’ ‘’Your purpose, not mine,’’ Reagan retorted, recalling their sinister abduction several months prior. ‘’That’s the problem with you, Vic – you can’t think for your bloody self.’’ ‘’And you have nothing to strive for, save selfish ambitions,’’ the elder Deathstalker parried coolly, arching two silvery brows as he concealed a hand behind his back. ‘’Aye, maybe,’’ Reagan murmured, proffering the man a venomous glare. ‘’But at the end of the day, my ‘selfish ambitions’ landed me in a pretty damned swell spot, while you’re still Sylvanas’s obedient ‘lil pup. You’ve worked for her ever since your rebirth, riskin’ your own hide time ‘n time again, and what’ve you got to show for it?’’ ‘’Respect amongst the great Queen’s ranks,’’ Lyndon replied, his amicability waning. ‘’Control over her units, so that I might achieve indelible victories in her name, and a reliable venue of foes to slaughter – to satiate the bloodlust dormant in every Forsaken.’’ ‘’What’re you talkin’ ‘bout?’’ the Kingpin demanded, although he already knew the answer. ‘’I’ve been monitoring Westhorne’s activities, keeping my ear to the ground, as yourself,’’ the Deathstalker explained, snaking a hand over Reagan’s shoulder. ‘’I’ve heard about your duel with Zaidel Orga – a showdown you could’ve avoided, if you elected to.’’ Shrugging Lyndon’s hand off abrasively, Reagan regarded him reproachfully. ‘’He killed an executive, and I wanted to make an example of ‘em.’’ ‘’He did,’’ Lyndon agreed softly, smirking at the Kingpin’s aggravation. ‘’But I’d surmise murdering him in his sleep would’ve garnered the same result.’’Luthen7 Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 [RP] Full Circle ((I tried?)) When you walked with death, it was less an ominous dread and more an irritating, silent companion. It was a common thread that linked her with several others, a persistent shadow clinging, echoing of footfalls that followed their every move. Every forsaken had a story for this, it was almost conversational to them. You grew accustomed to being asked with as much nonchalance as a stranger inquiring where you'd obtained a trinket or piece of armor. It was casual conversation, it was often without tact or sensitivity. It was simple facts. How did it happen, were you a hero? An adventurer? Were you brave in the face of certain demise, or did you cower as though you had no spine? Did you weep like a terrified child? Did you even know what hit you? Did you give as good as you got? Did you sacrifice yourself? Was it for nothing? When her mind was allowed to drift, in the quiet, seemingly 'still' hours of night, this question often came up. While it was true enough that death was all she knew now, when these particular thoughts sifted into her head it had less to do with her current situation, more to do with her first hand experience. Catching glimpses of herself in a reflective surface always caused her a split second of feeling disoriented. Seeing herself as she was now, was always a jolt to her senses. In her own mind, she wasn't ashen faced with lantern-bright hollows and shortly cropped, pale blonde hair. Her mind played tricks. Her mind always wanted to remind her of what she'd been in life. Fair skinned, but not pale. Clear-water eyes, determined and curious. Long, gold colored locks that would glint in the sunlight. When the brief disphoria lifted, she couldn't help the way her lips contorted to a slight sneer. It was disgust, in both her current state and her foolish, idle longing for what she'd been. She felt her lips doing the same thing, currently. The sneer of distaste was present on the priestess' as she walked. The others were talking amongst themselves, tones low to avoid being too obvious as they traveled. It was infrequent that Selynth herself interjected into the conversations, but she was usually listening. She was good at listening, you never figured out secrets and information if you didn't have a 'good ear' for details. Work for the Undercity, work as a mercenary, all of it was simply to fill time and keep moving forward. When the lead stopped abruptly, the rest of the party did in turn. Silence fell on them, but just as quickly it turned to shouts, there was a flurry of activity. Gunfire cracked in the air, the rushing sound of heavy, armored footfalls on the ground. The fight would come to them. The party was woefully unprepared for an ambush and it showed with the scrambling. Teeth bared, the forsaken rushed forward, bright eyes an eerie glow against the backdrop of the shadows that quickly slipped over her form. Her lips barely moved, the void spell she conjured with gestures of sharp fingers bringing tendrils of shadow from the ground at the feet of their attackers. The moment of confusion was short lived, they began their efforts to free themselves from the snare. Time was limited, as was how long she could actually hold the spell. Her voice was a command through grit teeth. "Get as far as you can from here, now." She didn't turn to look at any of them, she didn't have to. The hurried footsteps were enough. Her attention stayed forward, watching the faces contorted in impotent rage as they struggled and hacked against the shadowy tendrils holding them prone. Selynth felt her arms begin to tremble, the effort it took to keep the void spell active, to keep grown men and women tethered, was great. Her heart no longer beat in her chest, she no longer had breath, but for a moment, a parallel. Back to back with a warrior whom she'd once loved, others huddled near them. The innocent cried, they screamed, they panicked. The horrors that came to them, within the safety of their own home, their Lordaeron, closed in. She felt her arms tremble and tense as they were held high above her head. The shimmering barrier that covered them, the holy light that cut through the darkness that had become their ordeal, still stood. But just like back then, despite her efforts, she could not last forever. Just as the barrier had eventually dropped, so did Selynth's hold on the void tendrils. You couldn't stop everything. There was nothing more inevitable than death. How did it happen, were you a hero? An adventurer? Were you brave in the face of certain demise, or did you cower as though you had no spine? Did you weep like a terrified child? Did you even know what hit you? Did you give as good as you got? Did you sacrifice yourself? Was it for nothing? Maybe. Maybe not.Sélynth8 Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 [RP] Warchief, My Warchief ((First: spoiler warning. Using some potentially leaked Legion information in this write up, if you care about such things. Second: this is AU, obviously, for the RP day theme. Third: I don’t write trolls with accents when they’re speaking Zandali. Cause…it’s their native language. So. Yeah. Fourth: I’m changing up my style a little, since this is such a different kind of story—ripping a page out of Theenie’s book and trying to write in the active voice. We’ll see how well that works for me.)) ________________________________ Broken Isles Eight months post-assault Exhaustion. That's all he feels, now—all he has felt for…how long? He has long lost track of time. His rations had run out ages ago, and the gnawing hunger pangs have subsided enough by now that such feelings are no longer reliable timekeepers. His feet don’t hurt anymore, either, neither do his sides from running, or his legs from walking until unconsciousness stopped them, then immediately standing to move again. Taz’jin doesn’t even know where he is, anymore—a cardinal sin for any self-respecting shadow hunter. But none of that matters. The loa have been silent for days, weeks—and it doesn’t matter. All that matters is the Warchief. All that matters is finding Vol’jin. Because Vol’jin can’t be dead. It isn’t that he refuses to accept such a thing; it is simply that, objectively, Vol’jin could not be dead. Even knowing nothing else, now, Taz’s weary mind knows that much. With utter and complete certainty. ------------------------------------- Two months post-assault ”But he’s dead, Tazzy,” Umcha says, gnawing his lower lip as the shadow hunter grimly fills a large rucksack with everything he would need for an extended time in the field. “We went to his funeral, remember? You remember that, don’t you?” Taz glances over at the boy, forcing a smile for his benefit. “They didn’t have a choice. He’s gone yeah, and they had to have closure—there always has to be a Warchief.” He sighs, and shoulders the rucksack. “But I don’t believe he’s dead. Not until I see a body. He deserves that much, after all he’s done for us.” ----------------------------------------------------------- Strong hands—surprisingly strong, for such a small troll—shove Taz roughly against the hard stone of the Dalaran sewer. “You think you could just sneak off like that?” Juzmik spits, voice raised in anger, eyes betraying the true pain, the betrayal that underscores the accusation. “You think you can just leave us like that? Leave the Warband—and you don’t even have the !@#$ing balls to say goodbye?” Taz’s hands wrap gently around the younger man’s, and he smiles—ghastly. “It was—it would have been easier, that way. For everyone.” “You stupid sonofa%^-*!.” Juzmik snarls, and punches him in the chest—but there’s no force behind the blow this time. “I know he’s important to you—@#$%, Taz, he’s important to all of us. But he’s not more important than the Warband!” Taz doesn’t answer, and Juzmik’s mouth falls open a little. “…Is he?” Taz is still silent, merely removes the young man’s hands from his shoulders, and ruffles the wild blue hair—an old gesture, one that causes both of them to break eye contact suddenly, for fear of what the other might see there. He turns, and begins walking down the large pipe, towards the city’s secret exit. He pauses at the edge, fingering the glider trigger on his belt—he hates this part. “The Horde can’t afford to lose two shadow hunters!” Juzmik practically screams at him, in desperation. And it IS desperation, if Juzmik has been reduced to appealing to Taz’s sense of patriotism. “Not now! Not in the middle of a—” The shadow hunter jumps, without looking back. Tazjin6 Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 [RP] Death of the dread pirate (late!) Iorvan sat among the wreckage of the ship clutching his gut as tight as he could. All around him he could hear the crackle of fires and the screams of the crew as they succumbed to the heat of the flames. The stench of burning flesh and lumber filled his nostrils, but oh how he wished the salty scent of the sea would take over once more. He looked on at the shores of the Broken Isles and couldn't help but smile. "So this is how it ends" he muttered, his words overtaken by a violent and blood filled cough that sent flecks of crimson down his sea stained shirt. This was to be their finest campaign, the war that won back Azeroth for good and sent those bastard demons packing. He'd rallied his men and set sail with the fleet, he had even earned the praise of Lor'themar himself for the prowess and ruthlessness of his crew. "You are an asset to the Sin'dorei efforts Iorvan" the words echoed through his head like a drunken dream as the world swirled around him. The screams and howls of both mortal and demon filled his ears as his fever dream faded and the real world came crashing through to him and once more the stinging pain from his gut rose up. "Cap'n are you ok" a voice cried out from his right in terror. Iorvan managed to turn his head enough to see a young Blood elf crewman come crawling up to him, a look of horror plastered in his young eyes. "No. Methinks I'll not live to see the sunset lad" he replied with a pained laugh as he once more coughed up a glob of blood. "Cap'n you can't die" the young elf cried out as he began to examine the wounded pirate. "Lad if I die do not weep for me. If I die it is because of those bastards" Iorvan muttered as he pointed to the font of fell energy pouring from the tomb of the fallen titan. "If I die, make sure those sons of !@#$%s know that the pirate captain Iorvan died coming to put his foot up their arses" he muttered with a smile as he once more blinked heavily. The darkness was soothing in its own way. He thought of Quel'thalas and how the forest around Silvermoon looked this time of year. The sweet smell of the trees and the cool touch of the summer breeze felt good on his skin. He remembered the parties lord Saltheril threw around this time of year, and how excited he'd been as a young lad to help the Lord gather supplies for the party in return for an invitation. He could see the smile on Captain Kelseth's face when he'd returned her documents lost to the murlocs, and the sun setting on Eversong Woods as he exhaled his last breath and once more returned home.Iorvan1 Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 (RP) Alcohol in Azhara Lazily spitting off the side of the terminus, Kuronad watched his saliva splatter on the stony, umber colored earth beneath him. Truly, Azhara provided as much entertainment as his ma’s pa’s last family dinner. A slight shudder ran through the orc, setting his nerves on end as he raked his gaze across the grassland or whatever the hell the goblin infested place could be called. Testament to his thirst for sport, the orc idly envisioned Alliance soldiers cropping up across the rocky expanse exposed to his view, treating the vista as a personal shooting range. Tiring of his game, Kuronad spat and stood shakily to his knees. He rifled through his jerking and pulled out a promising flask, allowing a grin brief display on his otherwise stolid face. Alas, the flask proved emptier than his ammo pouch after a good day putting holes in dwarven skulls. “Well, !@#$.” Several pitter-pattering steps shocked the gun-toting hunter out of his murderous daydreams. A pair of pint sized goblins animatedly chattering to one another about two different topics waddled up the track and caught sight of the glowering orc. Kuronad grunted and stomped past the greedy gold grabbers, furiously questioning his decision to trek to Azhara. He alighted upon the dusty ground outside the rocketway terminus and glanced around, begging the spirits for either a flask--perhaps three--or a buxom orcish maid to appear. Finding himself still in want of both, the orc whistled sharply and meandered into a forest sparsely populated with trees as tall as the goblins were short. Thirty-two steps in, a frenzied burst of sound reached Kuronad’s ears. Slinging his gun off his shoulder and settling into a practiced crouch, the orc warily cast his keen gray eyes from tree to tree. After a short scan, his jaw dropped; not thirty-one paces away a dwarf giggled and reloaded his rifle, preparing to give the gift of an early grave to the next goblin lucky enough to receive a bullet. “Huh. Ain’t that some %^-*.” Kuronad grunted and swung his extremely long and well polished (it honestly resembled a cannon moreso than a firearm) gun up and pointed it at the small bearded fellow. Pew pew. Two shots rang out in quick success, further rending the otherwise silent forest’s attempt at a calm evening. Dropping dramatically, the dwarf spun in a death spiral reminiscent of a ballerina. A wad of spit left Kuronad’s jaws and he again grunted; however, this grunt left with a disappointed tone. Slowly ambling over to his not-so-big game, the orc knelt down and inspected his prey. “Kinda like shootin’ ma’s pa’s ducks in that pond or pen or whatever it was.” Rifling through the dwarf’s plethora of pockets with the barrel of his gun, Kuronad’s eyes lit up when he heard a faint clink. A cursory search with his hand revealed like seven flasks, each seemingly unemptied. “Well, I’ll be damned. Maybe these dwarfies aren’t such a bad thing to hunt.” (( I found a dwarf sporting the colors of Clan Battlehammer causing a ruckus out in Azhara. As any honorable member of the Horde would do, I kilt it and stole his alcohol. Thanks for the hilltop fun, my diminutive and bearded friend! http://i.imgur.com/2c52P5I.jpg ))Kuronad9 Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 Miss Stormwinds Pageants **Feb. 27th's** She dilly-dallys around Stormwind catching people as they return from the dance. Each and every Alliance female, of adult age, is offered a flyer. Additional flyers are posted around town, but the main sign up sheet is posted on the Heroes Call Board as follows... ...Kittys67 Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 ED - Can I get some profession advice? First of all, I hope it's cool to be posting such a topic on our realm forums. Since the community is active, I wanted to get some opinions about professions. I intend to fully play a Demon Hunter and watch the few other characters I have collect dust when Legion is released. Unlike many players, I do not have every profession maxed. I also do not overly enjoy professions, but because they are there, I feel I must max out two professions for a feeling of in-game completion. I play the game a lot, but I am casual in the sense that I do not do major raiding nor do I pursue high PvP arena ratings; I dabble in a lot of what the game has to offer. I am trying to figure out if anyone else has similar preferences and experiences as it relates to their WoW history and professions. Does anyone have opinions on what professions to pick with similar preferences? Does anyone have strong opinions on professions for a DH? Is gathering the way to go for profession haters?Slyke11 Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 [RP] Enough (( bye au!lera, die well. i napped thru the showing of deadpool i was gonna go see, so i suddenly have time to write one lolllll. sorry, it's not very good. )) It's been months since she's been on any sort of front. Keeping her shop, a small potions and poultices store in the Royal Exchange of Silvermoon City, has kept her away from fighting, kept her busy and away from mending anything more than the bouts of sickness that sometimes spread from the children of Murder Row to those of the Exchange. Not that she doesn't help-- she offers her mending services so reduced they may as well be free, healing children from all parts of the city. As the months roll by, fingers cracked with glowing scars almost itch for the rush of healing soldiers once more. The Highguard rolls in and out of the city, with a schedule she can no longer keep track of, and she watches unfamiliar faces in a tabard she carries a copy of back in her apartment stride by. Hers is nicer than most of those she sees, gilded with the golden thread of a retired officer, but the makings are the same, and she almost aches to put it back on. But Liniadel does not lead, so Leran'thiel does not follow. The first news of a demonic invasion comes from Dalaran, whispered from the Kirin Tor to the Sunreavers, from the Sunreavers to the Spire. It leaks out in dribbles to the general populace, a strange rumour few seem to believe. A joke, insensitive and cruel, spread by those who think elves involvement with the Legion is entertaining. When the infernals come crashing into the Spire itself, no one finds it funny anymore. The Legion only sends two, more than enough for the remnants of a people they nearly eliminated more than a decade ago, but the people of Silvermoon have never been weak. Neither has Leran'thiel. Her skills with the Light are rusty, her faith in herself shaken enough that the first spell she tries to cast is useless. A ward, to keep a wall from crushing a group of fleeing magisters, falters and fails. She closes her eyes, unwilling to see the product of her failure. The screams reach her anyway, and her resolve flickers once again. As she opens her eyes, the blinding glare of the sun mixes with the fire of the demon, the same glow reflected in her own eyes. The Light builds within her, crashing in waves, rising until she can feel it stretch beyond her body, stretching her with it. An awareness beyond what she's meant for, even if only a little, and the cracked scars on her arms glow brighter. They spread like felfire up her arms, down her check, across her face, mimicking the destruction of her home, her city, the only place she's truly felt herself. But as they grow, so too does the Light. She can see more magisters making their way to the Spire, now. They only need a small distraction, just enough time to weave a tangent spell and bring rock and felfire to ruin. The beacon of Light, standing beside the fountain, tilts her head, cracks and Light growing like moss. She can't do it alone, but she can do enough. Enough to buy them time, enough to weaken it just a little. It has to be enough. Light spreads outwards in waves, ebbing back and forth until the edges of the shimmering sea crash against the newfound cliff of an infernal. The thing shrieks, rocking the crumbling city as rubble from the Spire comes crashing to the ground. The Light holds it in place, even as felfire races towards the source. Ah, well. She's done enough.Leranthiel8 Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 [RP] Mayday, Mayday (( whaaat, I actually wrote something. I got an idea from Taelyren's prompt, so obviously this is AU. For those of you who aren't familiar with Sachiel, he's a technomage. If you're unfamiliar with them, I suggest reading this first or you might be scratching your head a little: http://wowwiki.wikia.com/wiki/Techno_mage )) “Mayday, mayday!” The small device on Sachiel’s shoulder buzzed with activity constantly; still, the technomage could barely hear it over the constant cannonfire and roaring engines of the squad of gunships as they approached the towering monolith before them, erupting with a pillar of blazing green light that extended far higher into the overcast sky than could be seen. Smoke and dust rose into the sky as the gunship immediately to his left - that had just moments ago been flying as his peer - sank into the air. Bellowing with flame and the undignified screams of its doomed crew, it irreversibly fell towards the sea below. Some of the crew aboard his own ship watched in awe, jaws slack as they watched a fate that they enabled themselves to meet, some even ignoring the winged demons above, below, and latched to the ship. At this rate, it wouldn’t be long before they joined their fleet-mate. Four gunships remained in the air. Giant, swarming, relentless demons surrounded each one, engaging their crew and the soldiers aboard that had been intended to assault the Broken Isles. Each one was armed to the teeth, brimming with the Alliance military, mercenaries, their crew, and accompanied by dozens of armed gyrocopters and gryphon-riders, and not for a single man or woman among them was the moment dull. The cannons aboard his own host sounded off once more, leaving Sachiel’s ears ringing as he reached the main deck just in time; small, sickly-green portals opened in the skies ahead, launching enormous, flaming, red-or-green boulders towards the gunships out of the Twisting Nether. As he began to race towards one of the smoothbore cannons positioned towards the front of the gunship, a terrorguard slammed into the deck from above, sending wooden and metal debris across the surface of the ship. Its wings spread in attempt to make itself look larger, the maw on its torso glowing fiercely as the demon let out a guttural howl. The mage didn’t flinch, beginning to reach for the rifle slung around his back when a dwarf, clad in full plate armor and armed with a battleaxe almost his size, sprinted forward with a blood-curdling battlecry, knocking the enormous demon’s first swing to the side. “Go, lad!” He shouted, turning back to face the mage. With half a nod, Sachiel focused for a split second, vanishing and reappearing within the same instant past the demon and the dwarf that was now keeping it occupied. Reaching the turret, the mage pressed one hand to it and the metal began to glow a bright purple. Reacting to the technomage’s call, it spun and aimed its cannons almost directly up for the infernals and abyssals that were raining down towards, firing two shots that were almost deafening at such close range. Watching the effect as best he could, the mage let out a pleased ‘humph’ as the flak exploded in the air, ripping the constructs that threatened the gunships below to pieces and sending their remains down as pebbles. A distinctly dwarven cry broke the illusion of victory as Sachiel spun to see the soldier that had engaged the terrorguard being raised up on its blade, skewered through the chest. The demon threw the corpse off of the long, curved sword, turning back to the mage that had evaded it and letting loose a furious roar as it began to charge. Reaching for his rifle again, a number of shots rang out immediately after his sights landed on the demon’s chest. As if it were in slow motion, the mage could hear the grinding metal as each new bullet slid into the weapon’s chamber just a split-second before the firing pin struck the primer. Every metallic bang was accompanied by a bright yellow muzzle flash. Each shot struck, hardly a feat at such close range, causing the demon’s blue flesh to ripple and sending sickly-green blood across the deck of the ship. Nevertheless, it continued to stomp relentlessly towards its target. Click.Sachiel9 Feb 14, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 [A] <Coast to Coast> 13/13M US265 Recruiting <Coast to Coast> is a tightly knit group of players that met at the beginning of WoD. We are a social, highly active guild focused on pushing PvE content with multiple raid teams. Throughout the expansion we went from a casual guild to a top 300 US raiding guild. We take pride in providing a fun raiding environment, while helping newer members learn and grow into cutting edge PvE content. Progression: http://www.wowprogress.com/guild/us/emerald-dream/Coast+to+Coast Currently we have 3 raiding teams, a primary Mythic HFC team (13/13 Mythic), another Mythic team (3/13 Mythic), and a heroic team (8/13 Heroic). Our progression raid times (all PST): Tuesday: 6:00pm – 10:00pm Thursday: 6:00pm – 10:00pm Sunday: 6:00pm – 10:00pm Recruitment: We are currently recruiting all classes and specs for all of our raiding groups in preparation for Legion. We also enjoy running mythic dungeons, challenge modes, PVP, alt raids, achievement runs, and more. If you have any questions or would like to chat about joining the guild, feel free to apply on the website, reply to this post or message any of our officers in game. http://coasttocoastguild.us/ Marshmellowz - Anderdj#1280 Treefee - Treefee#1923 Mistix - Mistix#1402Treefee6 Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 The Ranger From The North Here is my RP back story for Phatori, if you see me running around and want to group up for PVP feel free to ask! Phatori#1304 I'd love to join in on some WPvP with some of the guilds running around! Catch me around fighting Horde all over the Eastern Kingdom! Phatori spends most of his time protecting his late home at Lakeshire, traveling over the Grizzly Hills and Howling Fjord, and visiting with the Elves of Quel'Danil Lodge! Born at the start of the First War in Lakeshire. Phatori traveled north to the Hinterlands after his home was sacked by the Horde and finds the High Elves at Quel'Danil Lodge, who teach him how to master a bow and live off the land. Phatori arrived in Stormwind 5 years prior to the start of the Third War. Enlisted in the King's army as an archer. After years of service Phatori joined the 7th Legion where he aided in the Northrend campaign where he was stationed in Westguard Keep, Phatori found an eagle companion to travel the world next to. Phatori took his leave from the Kings army after the fall of Icecrown. Phatori stayed in Northrend where he fell in love with the Grizzly Hills and Howling Fjord. Phatori lived as a Lone Ranger living off the wild. Phatori quickly earned the title "Ranger From The North" for his prowess of the land and his skill with his bow. He wondered all over The Eastern Kingdom and Northrend with his new companion. He later traveled to Draenor to help aide in the fight against the Iron Horde. Since the defeat of the Iron Horde Phatori now roams the worlds he has come to know and fights the Horde where ever he finds them. Coming and going from one region to the next, making allies to fight the Horde. Just as quickly as he comes he will soon disappear once the battle is over. Always wondering, always the Ranger From The North!Phatori4 Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 [RP] Paranoia ... “Is that a tower?” “I told you, he’s gone mad!” “Where did he even get all that scrap metal?” “At least half of it is stolen, and I’m not about to ask where he got the other half” “How long has he been in there?” “Last I saw him was three weeks ago.” “Three weeks? Did he steal all our food as well?” “This has gone too far. I don’t care what they say about him, I’m going in to get some answers!” The crowd of concerned campers grew deathly silent, as one among them approached the makeshift tower alone. For months Crusader Sickz had neglected to help with the efforts on Draenor. For months he had been stealing scrap material from his allies, and using it to construct his personal shelter in secret. A massive tower, reaching higher than every tree, and beyond the shadow of every mountain. The rest of the camp was baffled when they discovered it peeking mockingly out over the horizon. It must have taken months, and a small army of workers to build, yet there it stood, in stark opposition to all logic and probability. The wind’s touch chilled the tower, creaking and swaying subtly with the wind as the lone soul approached the one and only entrance at the base of the tower. “Be careful, it might be booby trapped.” One concerned voice whispered from the crowd behind him. The door knob turned slowly, and without resistance. “It’s unlocked?” The brave soul peaked inside the door. The tower’s creak ran up the walls like a spine, echoing back down the spiraling stairs. No candles, or windows lit the room. The dim moonlight overhead was only enough to see the empty room with each step of the spiraling stairs growing darker as it climbed the inner walls of the tower. “I need light-“ Is what the brave soul would ask, if not for a squeamish lad prematurely handing off his candle light before sprinting to the back of the crowd to watch from a safe distance. With caution, the brave soul climbed the spiraling stairs, taking great care to check each step for trip wire, and pressure plates. With each step the night grew darker, and the carried light could only shrink into a boundless void. The darker it became, the closer the brave soul held the candle’s light. The brave soul dared not look directly into the darkness - The contrasting light had softened the image of the dark. With each step, the light grew dimmer, wavering with each anxious breath. The brave soul’s heart beat louder, and louder, until it overcame the dying crackle the candle’s fire. The pitter patter of sweat kissing the cold floor only exasperated fear. “How much further?” The brave soul cried out, but no response. The next 100 steps looked the same as the last. With each successive step, the brave soul had to become braver, checking each step for traps more hastily than the last, until the repetitive motion become no more than a comforting gesture. The next 100 steps were done in a sprint, holding the candle to the floor, only to know that there are still more steps ahead. At the top of the spiraling stairs, a simple wooden door stood between the brave soul and the top of the tower. Drenched in sweat, and shaking with exhaustion, the brave soul reached out to open the door. “I’ve come this far…” With a burst of adrenalin, the brave soul pushed open the simple door, fully expecting a fight, but the light in the room was stunning. The brave soul had nearly forgotten what it was like… Still blinded by soft eyes, the brave soul charged into the room, raising a hammer high overhead in an intimidating fashion. Then suddenly, the brave soul stopped, dropping the candle in shock, dumbfounded by the sight of a lone blood elf relaxing in a comfortable looking chair, and gorging himself on stolen food.Sevën12 Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 LF PIRATE GUILD I be lookin' for scoundrels, scumbags and scallywags t' play withOneeyedwìlly22 Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 [RP] Seven Hours ((Yes yes I know, I'm late to RP day, but in my defense I didn't know it was a thing until it was too late and I really liked the idea of Taelyren's prompt. So nonetheless, here's my late addition to RP Day featuring my paladin, James Ironwood.)) Seven hours. It had been seven hours since the Tomb of Sargeras reopened and the Burning Legion's invasion began. In the middle of The Great Sea, dozens of warships raced towards the Broken Isles, their hulls creaking and groaning as waves crashed, subsided, then crashed again against them. The smell of saltwater drifted through the air as the waves crashed over the bow of the ship and rained down upon the deck. James lifted his head, soaked and weary from the long journey, his plate armor beginning to weigh heavily on him, his sword and shield shaking as his hands trembled from the cold. The captain of the ship barked orders at his subordinates, and crewmen dashed across the ship, moving supplies and readying cannons. Two men wrestled with a crate of ammunition that had broken free of it's restraints and was sliding across the deck. He brought his attention back to the men and women knelt down beside him, awaiting orders from their commander. Among them were paladins and soldiers, marksmen and mages, all of them worn and battle-hardened from years of combat. They were some of the best the Alliance had to offer, all hand-picked for this crucial mission. This suicide mission. It was a desperate attempt to storm the Broken Isles and stop the Burning Legion from entering our world, and they all knew what it meant. Waiting for them would be an army of demons hellbent on razing Azeroth, leaving behind nothing but terror and destruction. If they failed here, all of Azeroth would be in danger. "Light, hear our prayer," A priest began. "Guide the path of these brave heroes in their darkest hour, give strength to their swords, and shield them from the darkness that seeks to consume our world. Let them..." The prayer was broken by a sudden yell above from the crow's nest. "Incoming! They're headed our way!" Shouts arose from the crew but were quickly overpowered by the sound of screeching coming from the sky. The soldiers rose from their vigil and drew their weapons, readying themselves for an attack. Cannonfire rained off in the distance as other ships came under attack. "Everyone to your stations, now!" The captain yelled from his post. "Get those cannons ready!" Marksmen began readying their weapons as a swarm of demons emerged from the sky with a deafening screech. They careened toward the ship, latching on to whatever they could reach and tearing it apart, man and ship alike. James raised his shield, trying to deflect swipes as a wave of demons pushed their way through the ship. "Fire! Open Fire!" The captain boomed as he began yelling orders. His commands were cut short when a demon swooped down and dug it's claws into him, pulling him from the deck and into the thrashing waters below. Without a leader and under bombartment from demons, crewmen panicked and the deck fell into disarray. Suddenly, a resounding thud came from the center of the ship, as the Alliance commander drove his sword into the floor. "Crewmen, return to your stations! That's an order!" The commander barked. "Ironwood, give our mage some cover so they can get a barrier up around the ship!" "I'm on it!" James replied. As the wave of demons began to slow, he rushed to where one of the mages had begun channeling their spell, and raised his shield into the air. As a dome of light emanating from the shield enveloped the two, a demon rushed down to attack but was reflected, screeching in pain as it was burned by the Light. "Hurry, I can't keep this up for long!" An arcane dome began to surround the ship, and demons bounced off and crashed down into the frigid waters. The brief respite gave the crew members a chance to recover and relax, but the commander remained firm and focused. His eyes sharp until he was caught by surprise. "Land! Brace for impact!" The deck shook violently as the ship beached on the shoreline, it's rapid pace suddenly coming to a halt. Some of the sailors manning the cannons were thrown clear of the ship, others crashing down hard against the floor. James barely managed to keep his footing, steadying himself against a post. "Disembark!" The commander yelled. "Get ready to storm the-" His order was cut off as artillery slammed into the bow of the ship, shards of wood and fel flame exploding from the impact.Sayir4 Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 ED - can I get some opinions? Ugh, double post my apologies!Slyke1 Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 [RP] One Last Contract (( Made a story to match the theme on AU character death on the bus ride home! Ps, sorry Kag I God modded AU Kag and co for the sake of the story ;_; I hope you don’t mind.)) “Mayday, mayday, I repeat M-AUGHHHH” Emerald streaks of lightning seared deep into the hull of the ship, immolating any traces of life left across the scorched timber. The agony of men, good men, filled the warped room as a large infernal breached through the heart of the Pridewind. Shame really, the honor guard had spent months of preparation, trying to mimic the exact likelyness of the skybreaker, using what limited resources they had. They hired me out again for one final contract, I promised Namu that this would be my last. We could have grown old together, had us a couple of kids… We even picked out a spot on the eastern coasts of Arathi… Quiet and away from the world. It tore through the other mechanics, they were engineers not fighters. Joliver tried to extinguish the flames using a gnomish device, and it would have worked too if that damned infernal had not picked him up. It grabbed his face and his legs, brutally ripping him apart one spinal segment at a time. It tossed him to the side and then it came for me… I needed more time. That was when Lohan dropped down through a crack in the ceiling. He was one of the shield mages up top… And if he was down here too… We had truly lost. The wounded Mage trapped the infernal in a large sphere, and that infuriated it, it began pounding and pounding on the walls of its prison. Lohan was bleeding out and with each colossal blow his strength was waning. I couldn't do anything but watch, I felt like I had to run, I was in shock. And then it hit me. Shock. I rushed to my metallic glaives… They were the first weapon I mechanized, never thought they would last me this long. I knew that if I gotten close I'd be just as dead as olie. Instead I reached for two dwarven clamps and a thick spool of copper wiring designed to connect harpoons with the ship. The glaives crudely attached, but they would hold.The infernal shattered the arcane shell and with it Lohan collapsed upon the oil stained floor, slowly sliding towards the ocean below. I picked up my left glaive and and hurled it hard at the infernal, piercing its core. Enough to piss it off, but far from enough to fel the demon. Sprinting towards the Gigalocket capacitor, right glaive in both arms, time seemed to slow. You could hear the engine pounding, it was smoking out hard and bound to combust. The air of the den reeked of transmission and fuel. The large bomb I had helped to design loomed menacingly as it sat motionless in the dock, untouched by oil, and unscathed by fire… Yet. “Left foot forward..” I muttered to myself, remembering the words of the Orc who trained me to fight. “Stand up straight…” I spoke out loud, remembering the dying breath of the scourged man I called father. “And Soar!” I screamed as the the glaive turned into a javelin striking the capacitor. The infernal reeled in pain as thousands of volts of electricity coursed through its fiery heart electrocuting every aspect of its molten shell until it finally shattered. It's smoldering remains slowly skidding down the floor and off the airship. The room was clogged with smoke, you couldn't see two feet in front of you. The whirling and spinning wouldn't stop, I couldn't breath, I had to get above deck. Fumbling toward the stairs in a haze of confusion I reached for the latch. Thankfully it was there. I kneeled and took one last breath, then opened the hangar door. It was out of the furnace… And into the fire. Above deck lay an empty cabin, soldiers and demons piled upon one another, sailors and mech’s too. On the far starboard side of the deck I could hear the captain's voice. “Abandon ship!” He yelled while boarding the last remaining gyrocopter. He didn't get far, as a swarm of winged beasts ripped him from the sky, thrashing the machine and tossing his body parts between each other amidst the clouds. Others tried to jump off the sides, but it was too late, we were too close to the shore to survive a fall without hitting reef or worse, another ship. It was here at this moment that I accepted my fate. I wasn't getting off this ship alive. I’d be damned if I didn't go out on my own terms though. The remaining demons on the ship hunted the men like wild animals, clawing and snarling there way about the deck. I made a break for the cabin, got inside and locked the hatch. For all I knew, everyone was dead. The gnomerecorder went off then and a familiar voice howled over the intercom. Far below the skies on the broken shore Commander Kagrenac had lead his men to the front of the battle. A military genius to his own accord but he was proud and stubborn. They saw the Pridewind in the sky, they saw the smoke, yet they still had hope that we could control the air.Destrey5 Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 [RP]A Challenge With Pride ((30 mins late on RP day FeelsBadMan! I wasn't going to write anything for RP day but I had some free time while rendering videos and clips for Hurricane 3 so here's a rushed story. I know I suck. Advice is appreciated)) Tiny droplets pierced through the worn linen robe grasped around the human who cherished it. The jade forest was known for its magnificent rainfall; the kind of rainfall one would frolic through without so much as a worry. The kind that highlighted the beauty of anything it touched. The kind that could inspire epiphanies and sweep negative emotions away. A jade forest rainfall was one to be savoured. The robed human wandered across the monastery with a smooth, steady pace met with an equally smooth expression of determination upon his dark-haired face. The pandaren have grown accustomed to allowing other races into their culture. Would this have been years ago when Pandaria was first discovered, the human would certainly have had more eyes and questions directed at him as he passed each pandaren in his path. Upon reaching the center training pit within the monastery, the robed human postured himself and placed both hands on his hips, absorbing the sound of combat only a few feet away from his position. To his left, he witnessed patriarchs instructing training exercises to at least a dozen students of different races. To his right he would see another group of students practising techniques against hung training bags. After a few moments of reminiscing his training exercises in Scarlet Monastery, the human approached the nearest monk he thought would be a patriarch. "Excuse me, are you one of the patriarchs here?" "Yes, I am one of them. You may join us if you would like to learn." The robed human cleared his throat as if insulted to be looked at as a novice at first glance. Changing his posture and facial expression to a more imposing look, the human responded in a more serious tone. "My name is Louis. I have travelled far from the Eastern Kingdoms to find others to defeat. I figured Tian Monastery would be the best place to visit first in Pandaria." The elven patriarch smirked with a sense of pride, feeling an obligation to hold up the reputation of the very monastery that changed his life. The elf believed in the spirit of competition and self confidence, but he also knew the dangers of pride. The memory of Garrosh Hellscream entered his mind, followed by the horrors of what had occurred within the Vale of Eternal Blossoms and Orgrimmar in recent years. No - the elf would not let pride overcome him. He would accept this human's challenge not out of pride for defending his monastery's reputation, but for the spirit of competition and as a lesson to the human: To be courteous and humble; not overconfident and prideful. "If a challenge is what you seek, then let me guide you." The elf guided the human to a larger and more open training pit. Entering the pits center, they distanced themselves in preparation for their upcoming duel. "I must admit, I did not expect my first opponent to be blind. You don't have to do this you know." The blind elf could see right through his act. His concern for the elf was easily overshadowed by his ego. "But I do. The gods grant me this opportunity to teach you a lesson. I shall not fail them." As he spoke he adjusted his footwork on the slick, wet stone beneath him. His feet were distanced and his arms were extended in front of him with his left leg and arm being extended further and higher than his right counterparts. "Please." the elf stated followed by a bow. It was common practice to show respect to opponents by starting a duel with a bow and word of manner. "And what lesson is that, patriarch?" asked the human, intrigued with what the elf was playing at. The human positioned himself in a very different fashion. His legs were distanced but not extended. His handwork was also of a different nature. Instead of extending his hands in front of him, he held them closer to his chest, waving them in a sphere-like motion as if he were a mage caressing a magical orb. When he was ready, he bowed to the elf and replied, "Please." As the two exchanged their bows, the elf answered the human's question. "That in order to conquer your opponents, you must first conquer yourself." Immediately following his words, the human lunged toward him with a flying kick which he managed to avoid by rolling out of danger. Once the two monks faced each other, the elf returned the same look of determination the human gave him at the beginning of their conversation. Meeting within the center of the pit, the two monks exchanged punches and kicks which each parried and dodged with effort. As the two began to tire from the constant strikes and parries, more hits began to land against each other. When the human monk took a tiger palm to the chest which pushed him back a few feet from his opponent, he took a moment to catch his breath.Nightwind5 Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 [RP] A leaf on the wind. ((WARNING: This story is crazy long! I got REALLY into this and even added some follow up which I'll link later for anyone wanting to read more. ENJOY!)) Crunch, crunch, crunch. The sound of loose stale dirt underneath heavy boots was the only sound made between the two Kaldorei women walking down the uneven path. The sun had barely begun to set, yet as the two pressed on less and less light seeped through the canopies of webbing which seemed endless. Thankfully, the two had not yet encountered any of the giant spinners that created them. Skyriver's keen ears strained to hear anything other than the increasing pounding of her own heart. She glanced over at Euphoria who kept her gaze dead ahead, her expression placid but her cobalt eyes darted back and forth. Skyriver couldn't help but fixate on the puffs of cold air escaping Euphoria's nostrils with every step she took and wondered if she benefitted from breathing or if it was just a reflex from when she was alive. Her mind continued to wander in the silence. She kept returning her gaze to Euphoria, she looked so natural in this surrounding. Weathered plate armor and an enormous axe affixed to her back. At a moments notice, Euphoria could have that blade out and half way through a body. She was made for dangerous places like this. But not Skyriver, she was tailor made for temples and elegant dresses. Only meant to operate from the back lines. To hear the stories of how wounds were inflicted as she was healing them, not seeing them made much less inflicting them herself. Yet she insisted on going on this mission to prove she wasn't weak and that she could handle what this new land threw at her. If Euphoria could do it, so could she. "Calm down, I can hear your heartbeat from here." Euphoria's voice shattered the silence, making Sky jump a little. "And while you're at it, slow your breathing, it's distracting." She hadn't even realized it, but she was pacing her breaths with Euphoria's. Skyriver snapped her attention back to the broadening path. Euphoria hoisted her axe onto her shoulder, the hilt making an audible clang against her heavy shoulderplate. "Why are we going here alone again?" the Deathknight groaned. Sky rolled her eyes, hoping Euphie wouldn't see. "We got a tip that an artifact of great interest to the legion is not far, so it's imperative that we locate it before they do. And we're not alone, Tahatan is scouting ahead so we don't miss it." she pointed a single finger skyward. "We should have sent Rem instead." Euphie replied flatly. "You know I don't like you bringing that...thing around." Sky huffed. "A Val'kyre would do wonders better than a pet bird! There could be demons hiding anywhere that would love to feast on fel-fried owl. With Rem our lookout would be safe. Can't kill what's already dead." Euph exclaimed. "At least she can talk." she mumbled under her breath. "Just bring out the map and make sure we're on the right path. It's easy to get lost here." Sky dismissed Euphie's snarky remark. "You mean the Doom map?" Euphie's lips curled into a sly smile. "It's MarDUM not MarDoom. For someone who's supposed to be the eldest, you certainly are childish." Sky rolled her eyes hoping Euphie saw. Euphie flicked the crinkled paper, "Immature? It literally says 'The DOOM Fortress'! Look!" she continued to tap the parchment. Sky waved her hand, again dismissing her sister's attitude. "It makes no difference, just make sure we're in the right place." Euphie pursed her lips and looked at the map. "Yeah, we're on track. And for someone who is supposed to be the little sister, you sure are a bossy little...." A sharp cry pierced the air, prompting both women to stop and look skyward. Down swooped an almost ethereal silver feathered owl, landing noiselessly on Skyriver's extended arm. His head bobbed up and down, hooting exactly twice. Skyriver smiled and patted Tahatan's head. "Well done. See? You talk in your own way." She cooed at the bird. She reached into a small sack attached to her waist and produced a handful of seed which the bird eagerly feasted on. The two resumed their journey. "Care to share? I don't exactly speak owl." Euphoria seemed annoyed. "He is indicating that what we are looking for is not far." Skyriver stated matter-of-factly, her eyes never straying from the owl still gluttonously consuming the seed from her hand. "That's specific." Euphie rolled her eyes. "It makes sense to me and that's the important part. Why don't you lighten up and trust me for once?" Skyriver furrowed her brow, her eyes still locked on the bird. Her hands clenched. She felt so angry all of a sudden. If she looked at Euphie, she was afraid she might explode. She could feel her eyes welling up in frustration. "You always treat me like I can't do things. I know what I'm doing!"Skyriver8 Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 [RP] The End The rain that day came without warning. As the droplets splashed into the ash that saturated the air and ground below, a lone warrior stood in a field of corpses. The shrieks of the dying and approaching vultures the only thing audible. The clanging of steel against steel and the thuds of weapon into raw flesh had disappeared. Days of fighting and this lone warrior could barely muster the strength to stand on his own. Using his spears as makeshift crutches, he pulled himself across the field. Blood oozes from a neck wound, still he pushes on. Years past rushed through his wracked mind, his psyche so broken he finds it impossible to discern memory from reality. He remembers the triumph and victory of past battles in Ashenvale. He remember the faces of his comrades and clan mates but can not put names to their fading images. He remembers their betrayal. The rope tightening around his neck as he overlooked what was once his camp, his territory, his home. "Is this how it ends for me?" He remembers Kala'jin, Zolkor, and a host of others. His feelings of bitterness and hate interrupted by a jolt of pain that brings him back to the reality that he is dying as he treks across this field of death. This orc reaches down and rips the tabard of a fallen dwarf and presses it as hard as he is able to. The mere motion of bending over has made him dizzy and his lack of strength has made it hard to apply pressure. He looks down at this dead dwarf ... a people his kind long warred with. This day, he was the lesser of two evils. The Iron Legion had sent out a contigent of Bleeding Hollow to ambush an Alliance convoy in the heart of Tanaan when Agrar and his small band of warriors intercepted them. "What a shame to have to fall to dishonorable foe as the Bleeding Hollow, I'm sure you deserved better, dwarf ..." Agrar thought as he continued on, tripping over the dismembered leg of an orc. Agrar has lost so much blood that he begins to see spots. He falls back to memories past once again. He remembers the Order of the Kaldorei, Stone Talon, and the Blacktooth Grin. He remembers the gifted raptors from Gor'Watha, the Kingship, Dragonmaw, and the battles in the Hinterlands where so many of his own were lost to fate. He remembers his defection from the secret society, the many failed attempts on his life, and his unique relationship with a draenei woman. Faces of a monk from the swamp, friends once enemies, and an odd dancing bear race through his mind. Agrar realizes that this is the end but he looks back on past memories with pride instead of fear of what's to come. He fought his hardest, he did his best, and even standing alone - he fought until the end. He lived like an orc was expected to. The orc drops one spear, the other he clutches to his chest as he falls to his back. With one hand, he removes his skull mask and looks to the sky as rain continues to fall on his face and body, taking his last breath he mutters his final words. "It ... was ... worth ... it"Agrar15 Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 The Infernal Rain [RP Day short storyLEGION} This is short and fun...since my characters are by far from heroes just normal people that are background characters for the RP day prompt AU character Death} The sky grey, heavily clouded and flashing with green lighting, when it happened. The stone like creatures fell from the sky, and the members of the horde and alliance ceased their fighting with each other to combat the greater demonic threat that rained all over azeroth. Galeynth couldn't help but chuckle a moment as he watched one of the meteor like construcks hit the ground and bulldoze over a squadron of gnomes lead by Tigglespark Greenwrench, the only alliance he had bothered to learn the name of due to the rampant pain she caused him over the years. "serves her right...!@#$ing rabid rabbit throwing gnome!" Galeynth paused as a rumble behind him was heard and turned around in time to see one of the meteorites pull other stones together, in the form of a demonic infernal raising his arm over Galenth..."Oh %^-*..." as the arm fell hard crushing the forsaken beneath it.Galeynth3 Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 [A]<Winter Raven Melody> Formal Introduction? “No!” Highlord Tirion Fordring slammed his plated gauntlet on the table. Across from the Paladin was seated a nobleman adorned in fine clothing. The posh garb belied the noble’s fit build and wary eyes; he was not as unassuming as he might seem. “For the last time, Gyleston, I will not authorize the Crusade to do such things! I listened to your request for an audience in Hearthglen because of your generosity and support for the Dawn and then the Crusade, but that does not mean I have to acquiesce to your demands!” Gyleston leaned forward, eyes locked with Tirion. “No, you do not… have… to…” he said with a tinge of exasperation, “but it is in our, all of Azeroth’s, best interest if you did. What kind of precedence are you setting with your inaction? You allow Sylvanas to reintroduce the plague, on your own doorstep no less!” Tirion clenched his jaw in frustration. This was not the first time his “generous sponsor” had pushed him towards war with the Horde. When he spoke, it was with no small amount of irritation, “The Argent Crusade is not affiliated with the Alliance. You know that, and you agreed that was not an issue. What would you have me do? Risk the peace between the Alliance and the Horde?” “I wonder, Tirion, if you would have been so inclined to complacency if Arthas had claimed want peace while he was building his army. There’s no difference between the two of them! We may as well start calling her the ‘Lich Queen’ instead of the ‘Banshee Queen’”, Gyleston said with a snarl. “After his sacrifice, what would Bolvar say if-” The Paladin interrupted with a roar, “Do not speak to me of Bolvar! Bolvar…” Tirion paused, then looked at Gyleston inquisitively, with no small amount of curiousity, “How do you know of what Bolvar did?” With a wry smile, “There are members of the Ashen Verdict who agree with me. As I was saying, what would Bolvar say if he knew you were allowing this Lich Queen to do whatever she willed? What if the Legion returns, establishes a foothold then tells the Crusade it wants peace. Would you sit idly by as they, too, coalesce for our annihilation?” “It is precisely because of the threat of the Legion that we must be reticent regarding any hasty actions against our Horde allies! If the Legion returns, the forces of the Alliance might not be enough.” Gyleston rolled his eyes. “If there was no Horde to waste our time and energy on, we could very well repel the Legion on our own. Besides, the eradication of the Horde is not what I’m proposing. Well, not all the Horde, at least. It is not a task I take lightly, my friend.” Gyleston stood with a sigh. “I know now what I must do.” He put his hand on Tirion’s shoulder. “I must do what you can…. no… what you will not. Azeroth must be saved, from any and all threats... “ with that, Gyleston turned to leave. Tirion sat back in his chair with a sigh. “What is it, exactly, that you are planning?” “A reckoning, my friend. The reckoning of darkness.”Wheaton10 Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 Need some weekend giggles? (( For those of you who venture to my side of the woods but don't use Twitter, you probably missed the announcement. Over at my forum, we are playing some Valentines Weekend Games that are a Q&A format for the members. Some of the answers are hilarious and you'd be surprised (so far) who people remember being tied to Kittylicious in some way. The correct answers wont be shown until Sunday evening but in the mean time, feel free to take a gander in the General Forum, or if you're a member, jump on in and take a guess. Brightpaw is up for grabs! ))Stablemare16 Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 Alliance Heroic Archimonde Price. Looking to see how much Heroic Archimonde kills are on Alliance side.Kilroen3 Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 [RP] Maybe Next Time ((I didn't proof it, also I don't know what the prompt for this RP day is but everyone seems to be dying in a Legion-time so that's what I went with.)) It’s nothing like Pandaria, the untamed mists unfolding like paper swans and delicate blossoms before their war machine; no, this time it’s loud and chaotic, war and fel, the sky alight with sickly greens and nuclear waste. Even Draenor hadn’t been this way, the jungle humidity clinging to their skin as tools of war as familiar as the back of his hand mowed down the massive, horrible gate. He still remembered Sarjen curling around him, shrapnel embedded in the knight’s armor like so many bloody crystals. The push was as haphazard as the name of the land suggested. He had thrown up only twice on the way over, head between his knees, braid pooled on the warped, vibrating floor of the zeppelin. His men knew of his weak stomach, he played it up as the usual – but he had seen the skies and felt the tingle tickle the fuzz on his skin. Demons, fel-drenched and sadistic – more than they could count, more than they could possibly hope to face. He wretched bile into a bucket he stole from a cabin boy, tucked into a corner as secluded as he could find in such a packed ship. He smeared paint across his eyes, dark enough to hide the bags. The beach was bloody when their lines dropped. Several dozen soldiers blasted across the way as the fel flames caught the twine of their ropes, flinging them like ants on a vine. The mud squelched between his toes, the onslaught starting as soon as he touched the ground. Boisterous lies abandoned several yards above with the menders and the mages – the makeshift ground troops stood no chance, they simply bought time for the real armies of the Horde and Alliance to muster. He slipped on a girl with an eyepatch just like his sister's, driving her corpse deeper into the muck as a several-armed monstrosity bore down upon him. The deadly curves of his elven blades raised in defense, the sound of everything disappeared from the world. Losing ground, backsliding, drifting deeper off-shore, toward the thick of it. No Warband to back him up, no Sarjen to save him. Only the knife plunged into his back, assailant unseen; the demon turned, abated as blood bubbled from his lips, smeared across his hands as he fell to his knees. The color matched the scales of the sunfish that swam beneath their dock, he thought as he crashed onto his side. He couldn’t feel his legs, though the slime against his face was mildly irritating. A rough hand rolled him over, though he couldn’t quite say how long it had been, heavy-lidded eyes and incommunicable words on his useless lips. It looked like an orc he had known once, an ancient terror of shadows that licked underneath his doorframe, but he couldn’t quite remember; some warning flared in his failing stomach, misfired pistons of flight. The axe that removed the old orc’s head looked familiar too, attached to his misleading paladin. The gleaming tower flung its helmet across the field, rusted red hair askew. He could smile, maybe, but maybe not. He always smiled when he saw that hair, but he couldn’t quite remember how. Maybe it would come back to him. An eyepatch broke into his field of vision, separating him from the safety of something just on the tip of his tongue. Hand on his shoulders, rolling him back onto his side. Another hand on his back, numb sensation of vines, maybe; couldn’t they stop shoving his face into the mud? The eyepatch was saying something, something loud and wild and wrong, something wrong, but he didn’t quite care anymore. The silver-armored man ripped the eyepatch out of the way, maybe, the scales of the sunfish all over his face. Was it the sunfish this time, or had he gotten carried away with some pretty young men on the outskirts of a town he couldn’t quite remember? At least he was out of the mud now, but everything was drifting. The—Taz. Taz, Taz, Taz was pulling Um away from something, away from danger like distress flares behind his eyes. That much he saw before Sarjen, his Sarjen, smothered him against unbending plate. He’d mind his tusk snapping from the force of it if he could just make himself feel it. More broken words than he had heard in years, incomprehensible against his hair and his neck, hand against dead lips. That face was out of sight, that hair disappeared now. Dead weight folded over him; sliding back into the mud, just enough. He couldn’t see much now, the shadowed edges of dented breastplate swallowed him whole, but he saw the great road stretching before him, felt the stones and dirt beneath his feet. It blurred and phased, swirling with the red and silver that covered him from east to west, and he knew that Sarjen had the audacity to have gotten here moments before him.Juzmik8 Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 The Tribe-change: Part 1. -During the siege of Zul'aman during the Cataclysm..- Amani'shi Guardian:Mo' intrdahs! SOUND DE ALARM!'' Malacrass:''Da spirits gnna feast today! Bwahahahah -Jatkalaz snarled.- ''Get out o' da city broddahs! Join de Darkspear!' -A Zandalari snarled.- ''Ya be a traita ta de tribe!'' -Jatkalaz snarled.-''I am no Amani..nor a Zandalari. Ga'tr:''Bah! Rastakhan will now o' dis..'' Amani'shi:''Jatkalaz be right...Joi' da Darkspear! Da Tribe WILL live on wit us! Jatkalaz:''I'll lead da taibe!'' -The Refugees fled through the ranks of fighting heroes. Darkspear. Zandalari and Amani.- Darkspear Shadow Hunter:''Val'jin! A group o' Amani is arriving!'' Vol'jin:''Hm..Gah! Wat ya wn't Amani...'' Jatkalaz:''We wish ta join da Darkspear...We follow da winnin' side.... on dat matter:Ya are honorable...Zandalari and Amani are NOT.'' Vol'jin:''Hmph...very well. Wlcame ta da Darkspear...I'd send ya ta da initiation. but we have no time!''Jatkalaz3 Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 [RP] Everybody Dies Except Like Three Dudes ((EVERYBODY DIES EXCEPT LIKE 3 DUDES.)) He knew he had to be there. He knew he needed to be at the front, tall and strong, an unliving shield for the rest of them. Umcha, wild-eyed and tripping over bodies strewn along the beach, pouring too much of himself into each of them. They couldn’t all be dead, could they? They couldn’t. He had to make sure. He saw Zinki fall, hit in the chest by a ball of green fire, and her boy run to her side. He saw her lifted through the mist, safe for a moment, fire tearing at Raiyda’s back, peeling the skin away. He didn’t stop moving until she was safe. Kerrie, Athena, Ishamel Icario, their spellbooks open, voices lost amid the battle, lobbing spells over the vanguard with wild enthusiasm. They didn’t even seem to notice Mr. Kerrie cut in two, his last strangled breath a curse upon the Banshee Queen. Even their chief was at the front, blooded and bent, the warband’s cry on his lips. He was untrained now and out of shape, brandishing a single dagger and the will of the Loa. He and the general wore skulls today, and every soul they marked for the black road was a victory for the king of the graves. He saw Cavistius, perched on a rock far behind, call to his little blonde woman at the front, lost in a frenzy. Her plate torn away, one axe lost in the fray. She kept going, one arm gone, half her side missing, When the demons tore her blade from her hand she used her teeth, and down she went, her guardian sniper gone from his post, leaving safety and shelter to reach her in time. He too was lost. None of them mattered. Not Tiombi, covered in thorns, not Zul’Janzo, clumsier with a bow than he was with a sword, not Crazy, desperately trying to patch the hole in his side. Not Issue, taller than any of them, wild on the field. There was only Juzmik, small and lithe and capable with his blades, trying to keep them all together. There was terror in his voice. An unwillingless to look back, to see what remained of Gor’Watha. He saw Zinki go down too, his sweet little sister he always seemed to let down. He would keep going, if not for her then for the rest of them, until there was nothing left but blood in the sand and a braid clumped with seaweed, tangled on the shore. Sarjen steadied his axe, focused on the boy in front of him. He didn’t have to be a shield for the warband. He didn’t owe them anything, did he? Years of service, years of ridicule, years of watching them come and go. All that mattered was Juzmik, and he’d be damned if that ended there. He hadn’t even needed help, Juzmik would recall, regret thick on his tongue. He was locked up against a shivarra, her swords against his. The gun at his hip was momentarily useless, but if he could just get ahold of it, get a clear shot, she’d be dead before she knew it. But the more he tried to secure his footing, the more he slipped, and the taller the demon seemed. Her hot breath curled the ends of his hair, made him squint, but he knew, he knew. One shot and it was fine. Sarjen slammed into her with the full force of his body, knocking her back into the sand. She slumped over, unmoving, one of her blades embedded in her thigh. The old knight turned to his general, normally stark white armor covered in dirt and gore. It fit Sarjen well enough, and though he stank of rot and blood he seemed sharper than ever, more at home there on the battlefield than he ever was in Revantusk. “Are you alright?” Sarjen lifted his helmet enough to get a good look. Juzmik gave him an easy smile, trying to keep the trembling in his hands out of sight. He was fine, of course, but seeing Sarjen close always made him feel safer. Gave him hope that in the end, even if they lost some, the rest would come out okay. “I got dis, Sarj. Don’t gotta worry about me—“ The blade that caught his neck came from behind. It looked elven and old, warped from years in the Twisting Nether. Sarjen opened his mouth to speak, congealed blood and ichor seeping out between his lips. He whirled on his opponent, a deep red satyr, and swung his axe. Too slow, too lazy. He stumbled and lost his footing, crumbling into a heap before bloodied hooves. Juzmik reached for his gun, too late. The satyr died with a bullet to the head and Sarjen’s name in his ears, not that the old knight ever heard. He was gone, another casualty of the war, another loss for the warband. And Juzmik, like the isles they came to filled with hope and hunger, was broken.Sarjen4 Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 something's weird. https://gyazo.com/e88de995f1e5f3233d17200f5d8fcdf4 Apparently Dave Grohl is my health bar. I don't know how this is bugged, i haven't listened to that song in about 4 months but, that's what i see now and i don't know how to fix it.Bossk3 Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 [RP] The butcher's heart (repost) (( I haven't felt had the ability to post anything in a long time, but here is a little something I wrote a few years back. )) It had been a while since the former butcher's daughter had returned to the place where her life had been taken from her on that cold and unforgiving night. What was once rolling green fields and farmlands full of life was now nothing more than a dead and rotting scar with barely a hint of what it once was. Hazel nudged her wind rider with her heels, urging him to fly further north and to where her family farm once stood proudly overlooking lush green fields full of life and hope. This was where she grew up, the place that she once called her home and it had been reduced to nothing but memories. Her attention was drawn north-west, past the Northpass Tower and towards the ruins that were once the proud city of Stratholme. As she made her approach she steadied her wind rider before dismounting and dismissing him with a quick pat on the hindquarters. She could see the flickering and dancing shadows of glowing fires in the distance, a human camp, scarlet crusade? She crept forward, entering the Plaguewoods cautiously, she remained stealthy, using the shadows for cover and furiously hunting for any confirmation of scarlet crusade presence. Sure enough there it was, the red and white banner stood proudly before her, looking down on her almost mockingly. Hazel moved swiftly, covering as much ground as she could as quickly as possible, accelerating towards the glow from the fire. As she drew closer the voices became clearer and much more apparent. She climbed one of the overgrown fungi and craned her neck to get a good look at the camp-site. Three men all with looks of fatigue swept across their faces as they appeared to be settling in for the evening, she examined each of the males carefully, taking in all the details of their faces, none of them familiar. From her perch up high Hazel looked around, there were other camps nearby within walking distance. The agitated undead young woman descended the overgrown fungi and proceeded to the next few camp-sites, again pausing to examine the features of the various scarlet crusade carefully. Finally, after several camp-sites her eyes settled on one. Her fingernails dug into her palms as her hands balled into fists, her tongue darted into the rotting hole that was forming in her face, her brow furrowed and her top lip curled up into a vicious snarl. She had found him. An overpowering rage filled her, completely blinding her to any sense of reason or rational thinking and before she could regain her composure she was sprinting into the camp with her knives drawn. In one swift movement Hazel's blades met two of the scarlet crusade officers, and before they could react they fell to the ground clutching at their wounds as deep, crimson blood gushed from their throats. There she stood, face to face with the man she was searching for. His eyes glanced over between the sword laying by one of the corpses on the ground and Hazel. Another smirk swept across Hazel's face, challenging him to make the move towards the weapon. For a moment their gaze met, he drew a sharp breath, lunged towards the sword and before his hand could reach the hilt Hazel leapt forward bringing her arm straight up into the air, cleaver in hand, then down on his wrist slicing his hand clean from his body. The human dropped to the ground clutching the bloodied stump in pain, his shrill screams echoed around Plaguewood like welcomed music to Hazel's rotting ears. Hazel crouched down over his quivering body and placed a finger gently against his lips. "My darling," she whispered quietly to him, her voice hoarse and dry as she caressed his cheek. "My darling, didn't you miss me?" His eyes widened in terror as the realization of what was happening was all coming to him at once. The man struggled beneath the undead but she was sitting firmly on top of him, preventing any successful resistance with his disadvantaged position. He opened his mouth to respond, his lower jaw shaking in fear. "H-az.... no, no you're dead..." his voice barely above a whisper, shaking his head in disbelief. Hazel's eyes widened gleefully as he spoke those words, those words felt so sweet to her that she let out a soft laugh and moved her lips within an inch of his. She could feel his short breaths on her freshly decomposing skin, her lips edging closer and closer to just barely graze his while he sat motionless, stunned in disbelief. "I want to keep you with me Victor," she whispered as she ran her bony fingers down his chest, keeping his eyes locked firmly on his. "After all my love," she continued as her spare hand reached down to her belt and pulled one of her small blades from where it was sheathed, "you had my heart, now it's my time to have yours."Zebra4 Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 Returning Player LF Friends Hi, are there any friends/guilds willing to help me gear via easy skirmish or BG wins? I was a ~2200 Resto and Ele Shaman in Cata/MoP. Feel free to ask me any questions. Courser#1193Courser9 Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 [RP] Betrayal (Repost) Disclaimer: This is an old piece that's was originally posted to the forums a little over two years ago. I haven't felt motivated to write WoW fiction for months now though, and I still wanted to support RP day so here ya go. Original thread: http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/11159946085 My Part: ... Vedma's far superior part: ...Vairal1 Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 [RP] The Yaeger's Journal - Demon Hunted ((This is my responce to the [RP] Day propt: Your character's death in legion. Feel free to skip when needed. While waiting for a Warlock, his current prey, to show at a local tavern in Dalaran, he decides to take a raincheck and hunt a Demonhunter instead. How well does that turn out? TL;DR at the bottom.)) -------------------The Yaeger's Journal - Demon Hunted----------------- Chapter 1/4 I leaned back in my seat, a human just as any other, and allowed my hair to block some of my vision. Not the best camouflage in this kind of fancy-smancy tavern, but it would do the trick for now. The deep hood of my green cloak had already been pulled down over my eyes, but in the back corner of a bar in friggin' sorcerer-opolis floating in the sky in demon-land, one can never be too careful. My longbow was propped against the table before me, strung as always. I too was tense and ready for action if the moment required it, yet I struggled to retain an appearance of relaxation. A bottle of Dalaran Noir sat on the table, unopened. I was hunting, and I would need all the concentration I could get if my trail proved successful. It was not uncommon back home to find a disguised Succubus or a rogue sorcerer that had begun to grow to big for his britches (or dresses), but this was a whole 'nother level. The tavern and city itself crawled with warlocks and mages alike seeking to learn more about the demons dwelling on the ground below, and how to use them. I was after one such Warlock. He was supposed to have been here, to meet with his buddies speaking in hushed tones on the other side of the room, but it seemed he was a no-show. A Worgen Deathknight across the way drew my attention, his laughter at some old joke reverberating harshly. He noticed me and raised his glass, and I nodded in respect. I learned to accept those Deathknights I had come to know since Gilneas's fall. They had been unwillingly cursed to become monsters, shunned by many, and he found them not much different than the Worgen. These “Demon-hunters”, however, sound as if they had elected to join some sort of a cult where they gouged out their own eyes to become part demon, gaining power by sucking the souls of their slain foes so they can shape-shift into demons. Or...something like that. At least Warlocks played with fire, rather than becoming the fire. I sighed as my patience wore thin, and began to open the bottle of Dalaran Noir when a tall figure strode in. A Kaldorei, and not an ordinary one either. Dark elaborate tattoos decorated her torso and large demonic horns jutted from her skull. Warglaives hung from her back, confirming my suspicions. A "Demonhunter". The figures I had been watching eyed her carefully until she left the tavern with a drink, leaving the barkeeper a shade paler as well. I waited a couple minutes, biting my lip in thought. When I came to a conclusion I left a tip, grabbed my bow, and proceeded out the door. ((TL;DR: Rae, a "Human" Ranger, doesn't like Demons, Warlocks, Mages, or Demon hunters, but is strangely ok with Deathknights. While waiting for a Warlock, his current prey, to show at a local tavern in Dalaran, he decides to take a raincheck and hunt a Demonhunter instead.))Raedolf3 Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 Its abouts that times of years... "Goods afternoons. In few days, Loves is in Airs Festivals will begins. This is verys importants celebrations because....chocolates. Kittys woulds likes to reminds everyones that hers accepts no onlys chocolates, but flowers and jewels and wines and candies and letters of loves as tokens of appreciations. All rats will be returns to senders. If theys no is returns address, rats will be gives propers burials. Please no overwhelms Kittys staffs with tokens of loves. Howevers, I's will has peoples on overtimes to accepts yous stuffs. Sadlys, Kittys no will be available for dates as hers will be VERYS busys this years in efforts to finds keys to Bigs Loves Rockets. It has eludes me for years. If I's finds it, yous will be allows to admires it. Thanks yous and has a nice days."Kittys6 Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 Looking for RP guild for dungeons/quests I'm only level 24 at the moment and I'd like to join an RP guild that is into PVE. I moved to this server due to it being "RP" but I haven't seen much RP in game. It's mostly children using obscenities and spouting out nonsense and tasteless comments. If you don't accept low levels, can you recommend a different guild which might suit my needs? The guild I'm in now is quite dead and isn't RP centric. Thanks in advance!Edlin5 Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 [RP] A (not so) done deal {s/o to my homies for spottin me on this} Bang Drae slammed her fist on the table. “I told him to meet us here over an hour ago.” The undead grumbled. Malik shook his head, giving his shoulders a small shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe the guy is caught up in something.” He took a seat at the dimly-lit table. A low chuckle emitted from the boney woman. “I don’t care if he’s caught up in slaying Kel’thuzad. When I say a time, it means to come at that time.” She stated angrily and leaned against the wall near the table. A silence took over the room. Don’t people realize I have other things to do? Other business to attend to? The words repeated within Drae’s head a few times, her paled eyes occasionally glancing towards her golden wrist-watch that loosely hung there. Just then, a clattering of footsteps was heard. Blinking wearily, the blond-haired forsaken took a few silent steps forwards and peered out the door of the small building. A gasp was held back at what she saw, snapping her head back towards Malik with a wild glint in her eyes. “We gotta go!” She whisper-yelled. One of the Sin’dorei’s brows cocked, gaze trailing to Drae with concern. “What’s wrong?” The man stood up from the chair. In response, the small statured humanoid pressed her finger to her lips in signal to remain silent. Gesturing with her other hand towards the door, the other rogue took the initiative and looked out. Some of Silvermoon’s ‘finest’ were out there, skulking around for something or someone. “That orc said they were in one of the buildings around here.” One guard said quietly, the others nodding. The blood elf’s brows furrowed, a grimace painting on his face. “Dammit, the buyer must’ve tipped them off.” He hissed. An angered expression also set upon the undead. Tapping her business partner’s shoulder to grab his attention, she pointed at the back door that so conveniently would lead them out of the structure about to be under siege. Both of them immediately took off. Clenching her butcher knives in hand in case the pair was surprised, they tried to lay low while searching for the quickest way out of the large city. Just when she thought they had shaken their pursuers, a thundering voice rang out. “Freeze, rats!” A Sin’dorei shouted. The man’s sword was drawn, his shield with the crest of Silvermoon City adorning the front of it. Murmuring a few curse words in another tongue, Drae turned around cautiously and saw Malik do the same. “I can assure you, we weren’t doing anything that would go against-” The forsaken was quickly interrupted. “Stop. I know exactly what you two are up to.” The guard shook his head and took a step towards the rogues. “Drop your weapons, and discard anything dangerous on your person.” He stated sternly. Reluctantly taking the humanoid’s words into account, the stout woman knelt down to place her cleavers on the paved ground and stood straight back up with a glare overtaking her facial features. “That applies to you too, scum.” The officer nodded to the opposing blood elf. Malik stayed silent, just looking at him. “I said, drop your weapons!” Lurching forwards in a blur, the guard attempted to grab one of the brown-haired Sin’dorei’s hunting knives from it’s sheathe. His hand was almost instantly grabbed in a deadlock between the rogue’s fingers. “Bad move.” With that, the mercenary flicked his hand upwards, hearing the satisfying crunch of the guard’s wrist breaking in two. A blood curtling screech erupted from the now injured being, falling to his knees. “Let’s bounce.” Drae snickered and snatched up her blades. Putting them on her belt once more, she started towards the direction her comrade ran in, but stopped when she noticed their pursuer trying to stand. “No no no, not today.” The assassin gleamed, aiming to deck him in the jaw. She aimed correctly. Groaning in pain again, the man slunk down and held his face as Drae skulked out. Legs quickly moving to catch up with the man, she looked at her surroundings and soon realized that the two had successfully gotten out of the city. Panting out of breath, Malik’s tired expression mingled with a disappointed one. “We didn’t get to make the deal.” He slouched down onto the grass. Drae soon followed suit of his action, then parted her lips to speak, determination in her tone. “There’s always tomorrow to make a profit.”Savaged2 Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 RP story:-The job of being a Horde commander. (Ey all! This is a story of my troll in Draenor. so sit back and I hope you enjoy! :) ) -Jatkalaz growled. as Durotan in Frostfire has told him to go to Thunder Pass.....Jatkalaz agreed to go until..-''WHOOOOOOA!''-A Goblin ran into Jatkalaz. knocking him off his warbear.-''Ey mon! Wat be dat for eh?'' Goblin:''Uh ooh sorry boss!'' Jatkalaz:''Ya beta be Weezal.''-The Gobiln Weezal ran off to do business in the Tavern. most likely to maintain security or to provide drinks.- '' Gah...I know of several hreats ta d' Garrison..I'mma just deal wit it before me begoin ta de Thun'da Pass. . Now about d'a Grimfros' Towah...-Jatkalaz arrived ot the tower. slaughtering the ogres and putting to rest the spirits of the outriders and avenging the fallen Outriders by killing Guttra. The Orc who sent him to kill the ogre was informed and his honor restored. Jatkalaz...remembering atleast one more objective to safeguard the garrison was a cave far from the Pass. Jatkalaz rode for the cavern. finding the cowardly PALE! Growling.-''I dun have time fa dis mon...''KILL DEM ALL! FA DA AORDE!'' Bananas:''OOO OO A A A!''-Bananas proceeded to smash a Pale into the ground as a force behind Jatkalaz. consisting of 2 Marksman and 3 Grunts helped the Commander!-''Now about da Ravaga--'He was cut off suddenly attacked by the Ravager! With the aid of animals. and the Horde the Ravager was killed as the Pale-infested Cave was cleared out! '' Hm...Dey remind me o HOZEN! Ahahahahahahaha....-He hearthstoned back to his Garrison. and slept in the Tavern.- [u][/u]Jatkalaz2 Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 (RP) The Prince and the Petal. (( AU Universe RP Day)) Her slumber came to an end as her latent body was pelted by soft rain drops. Travelling for months had taken its toll on her. She was weary and thin. There was no apparent reason for her journey other than to just get away from it all. Never having been the same since his leaving, little mattered to her anymore. She had not spoken to her family in months and now she found herself staring towards the gloomy sky above; her eyes blinking as if trying to dodge the rain. She sighed and then grabbed a stone from the dirt to her side, throwing it into the yonder. What had her existence become? The confusion between was she was and what she wanted to be grew thicker with each passing day. Her vile deeds preceeded her and there was no escape from the torment she had caused others. Though, she had never lamented her actions. Except for one. The one she marked that mattered. The one that got away. Her deep thoughts were halted by the sound of hooves. Not the hooves of her people. No. There were too many. The clopping sound of an equine was near. But who could be here? She was in one of the most desolate places in Azeroth. There was no need for anyone to be here. instinctively she hissed as she turned her body over and steadied herself on all fours. Like a dog ready to charge, she surveyed the area and noticed she was hidden by brush. As the sound dispersed into the distance, she relaxed. Perhaps it was just another lone traveler looking for solace. Her guard lowered and she reached over and plucked a flower by its roots. "He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. He loves me......" She stopped. The truth was in the final petal which she squeezed and mashed between her fingers. She wasn't mad at him. She was mad at herself. Never had she let someone into her world before. Never had she allowed someone to change her and make her normal. But he did. And she secretly longed for the normalcy. Erecting to her feet she picked up her bag and looked for a path in which to carry her to her next unknown destination. As she rounded the brush she was startled to see the back of a warrior tending his horse. Her eyes squinted and blinked. The armor was....familiar. It was him - Brehaven Malvictus. She stared at him for a moment; watching him as he opened and closed bags on his saddle. Should she approach? What would he think of running into her all the way out here? Would he accuse her of following him? The Mare was a stately creature. Strong and confident in her self. She would not let this opportunity pass her by. Dropping what was left of the crushed petal, she straightened her vest and stepped forward; her hoof squarely landing on the rock which had just cradled the petal against its surface. The small bit of moisture she had garnered from mashing the petal was enough to cause her hoof to slip. Reaching out, she grabbed for a limb to brace the fall but instead she stumbled onto her bag. Her arm stretched outward towards him but he had no idea she was near. Blood seeped from her mouth as she lay watching him one last time. Her dagger, the very dagger she used to maim him, had been forced through her stomach from within the confines of her bag. Alone. In the middle of no where with no family or friends near by, she took her last breath as she stared at her Prince. The wicked Mare had finally met the face of death.....an orchestrated chain of events which began with the words he loves me not.Stablemare2 Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 [RP] Day is TODAAAAY AAAH *shakes camera* Hey ED! Who's ready for a new [RP] day? I know I am! Been thinking of some good prompts for some time, and I think I got one I not only want to use, but potentially set as a non-forced theme! What's [RP] day? [RP] day is a day where members of the ED community (And sometimes ~BEYYYOND~) post [RP] stories. These can range from short stories, sagas, poems, journal entries, and whatever else you want to write about your [RP]! When's this happening exactly? Unless something comes up, we're looking at February 12th! It's recommended you don't dilly dally or hold off on writing, you'll feel like a total nerdy loser kid for being late! Why? What's the point? Well, punk. [RP] is truly what fuels this server. It builds the WPvP we love, and creates the tight community we all ~enjoy~. It doesn't matter how you [RP], no matter what some jerks might tell you in game, as long as you do it, you're welcome to join in. We do this event because we love to read each other's [RP]. [RP]ers by default enjoy attention, which is fine! Read each other's stuff! Comment! Spread as much love as you want, and then some! -- I have a writing prompt for everyone! This will be a theme that IS NOT FORCED, BUT ENCOURAGED! Something that can give you a great idea to write about! Something to inspire those that aren't feeling the creative juices, something that'll spark that creative flame and BURN IT GOOD. Prompt: Write an alternate universe in which your character DIES in Legion! That's right! Write your character's death in the coming expansion! DO IT! BROKEN ISLES, ON A BOAT, TOO MUCH BACON, IDK MAN JUST DO IT! Remember! February 12th, and spread the word! Keep this post bumped and tweet often about it! The more [RP] we get on these forums on the 12th, the more we as a community have succeeded!"Taelyren45 Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 [RP] - The Losers Endgame The Blue Recluse was quiet as the hours grew later in the night. Drunk patrons had already begun stumbling out into the dark searching for a new source of entertainment. Only few remained in the tavern, the late night owls of the recluse. Whether they were thieves, or just plain businessmen, none of them were all that concerned with each other’s trade. One man in particular sat at the bar table, a drink laid out before him half full. A few papers lay scattered in front of him, some were designs, others documents depicting titan machines with crude notes scribbled here and there. His head was bent over a newer document, his mind completely fixated on the diagram and the words before him with pen in hand to make any alterations. A light tap on his golden titan-forged pauldrons slightly distracted him from his work, but he did not look away. A firm voice echoed from behind him, seeming harsh, but understanding. “Vivite, look up from the page you fool.” His ears perked as the voice resounded in his mind, fishing up old memories. “By the damned Pantheon. Is that Relerr Ravencrest?” He turned around and dropped the silver pen that he had been making notes with. He sat with his left arm draped over the edge of the table, staring at his friend of many years. “It has been how long since we last spoke?” Vivite chuckled lightly as he stood and shook hands with him in an official manner. Relerr responded in kind and took his seat beside Vivite. Relerr sat there quietly contemplating past events and the last time he had seen his 'brother'. Staring at the documents laying on the table, he fiddled with the glistening firestone pendant that sat around his broad neckline. “It’s been years I suppose. Even longer since I last spoke with Brom.” He mentions sadly. “Last I heard from him he had moved into Stormwind and starting working for Westhorne Imports.” He almost spat out the company's name in displeasure. Vivite raised a brow as he adjusted himself, gathering his papers and organizing them into a single pile, allowing himself to position better for talking to someone beside him rather than facing his work. “Aye, I have heard from him, and about his recent escapades.” He grasped at his drink and held it up to his lips; taking a small sip and placing it back down gently. “I regret that I have some news that you may, or may not like dear friend.” Vivite sighed sorrowfully, as if a great burden were set upon himself. “Brom Windhowl was killed by Reagen Luthen in Feralas.” He spoke solemnly, but with great dissatisfaction. “He was WHAT?” Relerr sputtered as he stared at Vivite in disbelief. Brom Windhowl had been the youngest of the three in their trio of ‘Brothers’. Relerr shook his head, crestfallen. “I did not think he was that stupid to be caught by Luthen.”He sighed, disappointed. Vivite nodded in agreement. “It was not just Reagan that Brom angered. Luna Luthen, and the other heads of the company as well.” Vivite raised an eyebrow. “He was quite the ‘employee’ or so I’ve heard from my employers.” Relerr looked at Vivite, recovering from the shock of the news about Brom. “Employers?” he paused briefly, eyeing Vivite suspitiously. “You are working for the Luthens now? Are you daft?” he spoke through his teeth. The anger and discomfort of talking with someone who is associated with the Luthens in Relerrs form and speech as clear as day. He had NOT had pleasant encounters with the Luthens.Windhowl4 Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 WoW's WPvP It's the only reason I still play WoW. I've been searching all over for an active MMORPGs with smooth engaging combat coupled with WPvP engaging enough as WoW's and I can't find it. Blade and soul and final fantasy and gw2 all lack it yet have the amazing combat and animations that I was looking for. Where can I find amazing wpvp?Nayrvik16 Feb 13, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 (RP) The day of a Blacksmith ((This is a story for my poorly neglected orc in Rp. I'll spew something out pertaining to this Rp days theme killing off alternate Sephy over the weekend. Any constructive criticism is welcome.))Sephile2 Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 (RP) To Cyclone an Emperor I would like to have a Death Knight Guild master please volunteer to be cyclone and CC'd in front of his Guild/Raid.....PsT Elëcktra@World PVP Finest for details. *****Corrected :-)Deazdotz16 Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 A certain gnome I finally found out what it looked like when I'd wander up and sit with Gizzee while she fished. http://imgur.com/gallery/rTD43NjBebbit1 Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 Gurubashi Where's the action, boys? Or should I say 'girls'.Bergsten16 Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 RP-Guild- Zubash Empire - Trolls only! Callin all troll bruddas, if you be a troll den we be needin ya! Any and all troll characters are welcome to join Zubash Empire, a troll only tribe (guild). We have a few players right now but would love to expand and become a decent sized RP guild that adventures and roleplays together. Create a new character and play with us or with your main it doesn't matter! I rerolled:D Pst me in game if your interested: KittyhulkKittyhulk3 Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 What's your favorite WoW holiday? Hi. Let's talk about holidays. I love holidays. Everyone who has their purple dragon love/hates holidays. Even if you have all the stuff, they're fun just to be around. Hooray. What's your favorite wow holiday, and why? What's your least favorite? Mine is Love is in the Air. I really like going to Darnassus and riding the boats and smooching people, and the holiday bosses and their drops are just so precious. The first year I played I tried so hard to get Rasek his title, and there was a weird hiccup the first day where people couldn't do the boss or something. Stressed me out so much, because I wanted to be Rasek the Love Fool so bad. My least favorite is Noblegarden. If you think you deserve any eggs in the Bloodhoof area you are mistaken. No good and kind creature plants its egg poop around in the same spots for people to chase down over and over again. Remember being up at 3am EST screaming into vent because oh, some guy with flight form thinks he's better than you and deserves the hideous barf bird more than you do? I remember than. Noblegarden is a sin upon this land.Rasek27 Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 [RP][Silver Sickness Contest] No Magic. “No magic. No exceptions.” Alysta’s jaw hung open for a moment. She folded a stray strand of white behind her ear. “Excuse me—come again…? Lieutenant Kash?” A pinkie shoved the pair of thin-framed glasses further up her nose. “I em sorry, but that is nuut something I can do. Cease all magic? Are yuu daft in yuur head?” The dark-haired paladin looked up to her sternly. “With all due respect, Warrant Officer, but you’ve already contracted the Sickness. Cutting back on magic could possibly mean cutting back on the spread. I need you to stay healthy. Please understand.” A hoof stomped fitfully over Valiance Keep's uneven cobblestone. For a draenic woman of her age, it was not uncommon for her to throw these sorts of fits. In fact, she was known for it. Lieutenant Kash had yet to experience the extent of her fury. “How—how DARE yuu! Do yuu know who I am!?” Alysta brought a hand to her chest. “I em very important woman! All the research and progress that would be goink to a halt!” Kash released a breath. Despite her raised tone, he hadn’t wavered. “Miss Alysta, now isn’t the time for that. The sickness has been springing up everywhere. Reports flooding in by the minute. What is more important; your work or your life?” Alysta jabbed Kash’s chest plate with a finger. “And who are -yuu- to tell me what to be doink?” “I don’t like to pull rank,” Kash began, “…but I am your superior. I’m only looking after your safety.” “Superior… all fuur what? Four days…?” “That’s not the point. I’m not your enemy, Miss. No magic, not until I find a cure.” The draenei scoffs aloud. “And what do yuu know of magic, Lieutenant?” Alysta’s hand lifted into the air, gesturing wildly as she spoke. “I em centuries upon centuries older than yuu, Clark Kash. Centuries of knowledge of the arcane and things that yuu could nuut possibly comprehend! Yet yuu come to Alysta, havink the AUDACITY to—“ She stopped short, her voice catching in her throat for a moment. “Tell yuu what.” Alysta lowered herself to his level, her gaze meeting his evenly. The venom was thick in her voice. “Yuu come to Alysta when yuu are –stumped-.” Kash’s cheeks lifted into a smile. “Thank you.” His voice carried a sort of cheer that made the draenei’s face twitch. “I appreciate your cooperation on this matter. I’m sure that working together, we can come that much closer to a cure. That being said, the orders still stand. No magic.” The mage sputtered to a halt. Anger and pride swelled in her stomach. Her mind worked to formulate a proper response, but nothing came to her. For once, she was actually at a loss for words. “Understood,” she spoke ruefully through gritted teeth. “I would like to be excusink myself now.” Kash nodded his head. The knight couldn’t judge the poor mage. It was never his right to do so. If anything, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. The news of the spreading mage sickness was grim. He wanted to throw everything he had into curing this disease before any lives were lost. He knew that was unlikely, but he would put his faith in the Light. “You’re dismissed. Take the gryphons to Dalaran, miss. Check into Med Bay when you get there.” Alysta pivoted, her hooves clopping hard at each step. The very prospect of going without magic set off a pang of rage in the back of her head. She needed it too much. Curiously, she eyed the marks on her hand. The purple blotches had began at the tips of her fingers. In only a few hours, it had already began to travel further down towards the joints of her fingers, and started on her ring and pinkie. She’d insisted that it was only an accident… she had jammed those fingers beneath a heavy stack of books earlier. That was what she told herself, at least. It was that lie that kept her going. “Sickness be damned,” she thought to herself. Alysta turned the corner, casting one last, defiant glance across Valiance, towards the new Lieutenant. Safe from prying eyes, the arcane hum resonated from her hands. In a brilliant flash of hot white and purple, she was gone.Alystá3 Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 [RP] Darkness Falls (Theme) 5 years... 5 years of solitude with only the voice in her head for company... 5 years of mindless killings, burning houses and villages to the ground to appease her master... 5 years was a long time to so thoroughly be consumed by hatred that now, in the hour of judgment, the warlock stood on the hill, overlooking one of the more vulnerable beaches on the Broken Isles, contemplating the path she had chosen to walk. It had been 3 years since her name and face had become recognizable where ever she went, and 1 year since she last stepped foot on either Alliance or Horde territory. Her home was here now amongst the demons of the Legion. Rune covered arms crossed over her midsection while her glowing eyes scanned the vast watery horizon. "They're coming," she stated carelessly, the wind picking up causing her cloak to billow out behind her. Her gaze shifted towards the beach; a small army of demons anxiously paced the rocks and sand, waiting. "Go help them," the warlock grudgingly gave the command as she extended her arms and summoned several of her own lesser demons. The imps cackled manically and the fel hounds snarled with anticipated delight as they bound their way down the hill to join the other demons on the beach. This will be a great victory for us, my dear, you should be excited to be a part of this! The Demon Lord's voice filled her head as it often did, but all she did in response was cross her arms again and tilt her chin upwards slightly. Her visage concentrated on the water that stretched out before her. Ships in the air and in the water, both Horde and Alliance, were quickly approaching. A fleeting thought crossed her mind... What does it matter if they are with them? They'll all be dead eventually anyway. The warlock clenched her teeth; she didn't need to verbally respond to the demon for him to know how she felt. He invaded every part of her mind, and even though she had grown tired of this life, he still managed to persuade her to keep doing his bidding. If she didn't, she'd suffer the agonizing consequences. Becoming riddled with guilt was nothing compared to what the demon could do to her. He permitted her thoughts to continue provided that she continued to obey without question. Get down there and help them, my pet. The demon gave the command with a loving tone as the ships reached the shoreline. Hundreds of soldiers, mercenaries,...Heroes, from both the Alliance and the Horde, began to storm the beach. The scene before her erupted into chaos, but as she walked down to the beach, she maintained a calm composure. She unhooked her cloak from her neck and let the wind carry it away; it was only a distraction when she was trying to work. Upon reaching the fray she began to unleash spell after spell on her enemies while the demons formed a protective line around her. When one demon fell and left an opening, the warlock dipped her hand into the pouch at her hip and pulled out a shard containing the soul of one of her victims. She crushed the shard in her palm, absorbing its' power, and let forth a massive bolt of fel energy. The warriors that had begun to rush her were incinerated, and the demons came together to close the gap once more. Blindly, the warlock carried on, slaying her enemies to ensure the safety of her master. It wasn't until the battle had began to tapper off that she rested. The fighting had moved away from her and she was left to stand among the corpses. At first they were just corpses to her, lumps of worthless flesh, but as she inspected them more closely she saw their faces. It was one body, then another, and another, of faces she recognized. People she had known and called friend years ago. She stepped over them, wildly looking around as more and more memories flooded her mind of the people who now laid dead at her feet. “No, no, no,” she whispered to herself, running her fingers up into her hair, holding her head and trying to will the images before her away, hoping it was just a cruel joke. I told you they would die… The demon’s voice, confirming the reality, was more than the young warlock could handle. She let out a sorrow filled wail as she continued to survey all the destruction and death she had caused. Unbeknownst to the suffering warlock, a figure watched from the shadows; his face hidden beneath a black bag, with a noose around his neck. While the warlock was distracted by her grief, he slipped closer to her. “No more… Light, please, no more,” she whispered the prayer, lifting her gaze to the blackened sky. It was in that instant that the figure stepped out of the shadows, appearing behind the warlock. One hand clamped over her mouth to silence any countering spell she might think to conjure. The other hand firmly held a knife to her throat.Akianastone6 Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 [RP] What Goes Around, Comes Around. “This is truly the end of days.” he wondered. Halmor Nelfury crawled across the battlefield, over the corpses of his own men. The frozen look of terror on their faces haunted the man trying to escape the carnage around him. How could this have gone wrong? They were supposed to fight, win, and bed the local kaldorei once everything had died down. The leader of the Windshades looked up at one of his men; his torso pierced through with one of the wrathguard’s swords. Between the snaps of bone around him, the blood-chilling screams, and the growing number of corpses, Halmor tried to crawl away. With his one leg crippled, and the other broken from the battle, the once-arrogant and prideful leader was still trying to cheat his way out of death. Glancing over, the bandit saw a cave and knew he could hide there until the battle had died down. It took Halmor several minutes before reaching the cave’s entrance, and the rogue made a sigh of relief. He did not see any signs of life within, and truly believed he was safe from the ongoing slaughter outside. Propping himself against a rock, the man began to regret his decision to come to the Broken Isles with the other members of his gang. “Wh-why? It was here, or death! Th-they could have handled it!” he spat out loud, his voice ringing against the walls of his haven. Halmor placed his head in his hands and sobbed. For once in his life, the man had no protection and no one to save him from his stupidity. Forty years of bandit life finally took its toll, and he alone got himself into this mess. Because of his leadership, nearly all of his men were dead. Hours passed. Halmor sobbed like a small child as the sounds of war drummed into his small cave. But over time, the sounds stopped. No cries of victory, or torture. Just plain silence swept over the area, and Halmor’s stomach turned. He vomited his stomach’s contents onto the cave floor, the faces of his dead men still fresh within his mind. Choking back even more sobs, Halmor moved to start crawling to the cave’s entrance so that he might just have a small chance to be able to return home in Arathi. “Do you think you have been alone this entire time, coward?” Halmor jerked his head around frantically, trying to find the location of the voice. It was sinister, and dripping with venom. The bandit’s eyes would settle on the same wrathguard that had impaled his men earlier, and the demon gave the rogue a bone-chilling grin. “P-please! Spare me!” Halmor groveled to the wrathguard like a beggar, sobbing harder at his impending demise. A shadow would appear within the cave, however, and the rogue snapped his head around to meet his savior. Halmor’s blood ran cold, his eyes settling on a rather large woman, with an even larger gun. His daughter. “C-Cernunnos!”Halmör10 Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 [RP] The Black Arrow P4 (( Face scars are cool, yo. BIG thank you to Selynth for proofreading, I could not have done this without you. RP Day entry. Part 1: http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/17767359376#1 Part 2: http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/18300813211#1 Part 3: http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/19072168038#1 )) The sun had since receded and the newly fallen darkness followed Shotaris Evaelathil as he made his way into Dawn's Blossom. Glowing lanterns lined the Pandaren houses, shining brightly into the night. The local stream that cut through the village was silent, the water still. Even the town's inn seemed to be slumbering, the usually boisterous and drunken Pandaren nowhere to be seen. The hunter hurriedly walked through the brightly-lit roadways, focused on getting across the town without incident or notice. For someone who was so used to seeing death, the absence of life unsettled him. Shotaris' goal was a small house on a hill, just on the other side of town. Sardonis had made arrangements before his arrival, the house would be empty and free of disruption for his time in Pandaria. His master felt the location served perfectly as a base of operations while searching for the "Black Cross Mercenary". To his relief, he was undisturbed by the town's inhabitants as he climbed the hill to the safe house. The hunter made his way through the door, disappearing from sight. He settled in, as much as one constantly on alert could, and lit a candle to illuminate the small residence. The home contained the most basic of furnishings, a small bed against the wall and other pieces of wooden furniture of Pandaren make. After becoming briefly acquainted with his surroundings, a habit of making sure he was truly safe and undetected, the hunter sat down on a nearby chair and began removing his dark armor. Taking off his helm, he let his brown hair fall to his shoulders. What are you doing. He jumped, startled by the sudden noise, hitting his forehead with the black helm he still held. He stammered a response, holding back the discomfort from the sting of pain in his head, "I-I-I did what you asked Sardonis...I made it to Pandaria...I-I'm at the location you had planned for me to go." The grave voice seemed to come from within his own head. Good. Tomorrow you begin your hunt for the mercenary. I do hope you find the house useful. The voice paused, as if considering something. It took great pains and considerable resources to secure a legitimate title for the house. Do as you must, but disappointing me is not an option. Remember the last time you failed me, Black Arrow. I will take more than the side of your face this time if you come back empty. As quickly as the voice of his master had slipped into his mind, it left his thoughts. After he was sure the voice within was silenced, the hunter reached up to touch his right cheek. Upon feeling rough scar tissue, Shotaris felt a brief shudder up his spine. The dark blemish cut down from the tip of his hairline to just above his jaw, passing over his fel-green eye. The scar was a 'gift' from Sardonis, given to him as a result of a previous mission that didn't quite go as planned. It was a permanent reminder of the unfaltering servitude that was imposed on Shotaris. He snapped out of his short trance and began removing the rest of his armor. After stripping down to nothing but a simple tunic and trousers, he blew out the nearby candle and climbed into bed. Only a moment given to regarding the darkness of the room, before he simply shut his eyes. Sleep didn't come easy for the Sin'dorei. He tossed and turned throughout the night, silently begging to be relieved of his misery, at the very least have a blissfully dreamless sleep bestowed upon him. The silence was broken by abrupt knocking. Shotaris scowled at the sound of the sudden door knock, and kept his eyes shut as though ignoring the disturbance would make it go away. "I promise to bring a swift death to whoever -" He froze mid-sentence. Pandaren homes did not have doors that led to the interior of the house, their entryways were all walk through. Shotaris opened his eyes and would have shot up immediately, if not for the straps of leather that now held his wrists and ankles securely to the bed. After scanning his surroundings frantically, Shotaris realized he wasn't in Pandaria anymore.Shotaris9 Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 [RP] Regret and Renouncement Numb. Dkaya couldn't feel the frigid winds of Frostfire Ridge, her nerves were already deadened by the pit of unease in her stomach. Was this really happening? How were they even considering this? The Frostwolves had been peaceable, if not friendly, with her clan for years, and now they were pressing the attack to the heart of their clan; while they were out on a raid! Where was the honor in this?! But she followed along, her feet crunching in the snow as they approached Wor’gol. She could see Zhakta speaking with the Iron Wolf; the gates around the village were visible now. On either side, her clanmates were restless, yearning for the battle to begin. Dkaya was restless as well, but she only yearned to be away from here. She reached out tentatively to the spirits, seeking comfort, but she couldn't find any. “We attack now! The blood of the Frostwolves will stain the snow this day! The Iron Tide is washing over them!” Cheers erupted all around her, and then her clan surged forward. Dkaya’s reluctant feet were carried into motion as she was pushed by the orcs behind her. She had never fought before, she had barely begun her training! All around her the battle raged and she could do nothing but stand still. She turned in place, taking in the surreal scene; who would have thought that she would have turned out to be a coward? And yet she could not bring herself to attack. Shouting from near the rylak handler; the tide of the battle seemed to be shifting. The invaders had sided with the Frostwolves, apparently. A corpse, it's eyes an unnatural glowing blue stalked towards her, raising a sword. She could not move. She was too cowardly to fight, but she would not be so honorless as to turn away from her death. He slashed her stomach, and oddly Dkaya didn't feel it. She looked down, her hands clutching her stomach, barely keeping her innards within her body. Ancestors… Black. Numb. Is that… a fire? She cracked her eyes open, regretting the choice almost immediately as pain split through her head. “So you are still alive after all? You should have stayed dead, child,” a woman said. Dkaya forced her eyes open again, this time prepared for the pain that throbbed through her skull. She tried to sit up, but quickly abandoned that idea; her stomach felt as if it would rip open. “Please, water,” she croaked out. The woman obliged, passing her a skin of water, all the while watching her warily. After she had drunk deeply, Dkaya looked at the woman again, “Why?” The woman looked at her, her face somehow familiar, “Why what?” “Why should I have stayed dead?” She busied herself with a pile of skins nearby, “Because they will execute you,” her tone seemed regretful. Dkaya felt her blood run cold, but then forced herself to sit up, stomach threatening at any second to rip open. “No, you must stop them! Please, I never hurt any of your clan. I did not fight. Please, you have to believe me.” “Ah child,” the woman shook her head, “It isn't my choice to make. Your clan attacked us, you were here with them! What am I to do?” She hesitated, memories of the last time she had visited Wor’gol flooding her mind, “Eonya,” the woman looked at her, “I remember you now, you taught me how to direct the spirits of the water the last time I was here.” Dkaya reached towards her, “Please, you know me. Tell them. I did not attack. I couldn't! Your clan had never done harm to us. I didn't attack! How could I?” The words spilled rapidly from her mouth, “Because of this Iron Horde? No, no I refuse to be part of that. It is honorless.” Eonya frowned at her, then glanced away, or of the door of the hut, “What am I to tell them, child? They would never believe that.” Dkaya gasped as she tried to move nearer Eonya, “Tell them..” She swallowed, her mouth dry, “Tell them I renounce my clan. I renounce the Iron Horde.” The woman gazed at her, obviously thinking. “I cannot make you any promises, child.” She watched Dkaya for a few more moments, then rose and left the hut.Dkaya1 Feb 12, 2016