Your RP Story Pt. 2

General Discussion
Because it was nice having somewhere to be safe away from all the crazy complaints and talk about character developement!
Many years ago, Nipo Northpaw was the daimyo (read: mayor) of a small village in the steppes of Kun-Lai Summit. He was a respectable and friendly person, and was always there to take care of the growing number of orphans, spurred by the hands of the vicious yaungol to the east that the pandaren relentlessly skirmished against. But over time, his village grew poor and destitute.

While Nipo was out on a bartering mission with Onekeg to plead for rice and drink, the yaungol struck his home with unmatched fury. Whatever few survivors were left scattered to the four winds, and sent the daimyo into uncontrollable rage, followed by crippling sadness and guilt.

But, the mayor recognized that any attempt take vengeance would only mean one of two things: his death at the hands of the mighty Yaungol, or his loss of essence to the twisted Sha. So, he undertook a pilgrimage to the Chun Tian Monestary to temper himself against his loss and anger, and became a monk, and still battles his darker emotions to this day.

Currently, he has fallen in with the Alliance after finishing his extensive training, viewing them as the lesser of two evils. He seeks to expel the Horde from his home, whose violent aggression could unmake all of Pandaria itself.
Landusk Story

He pick the way of the Warrior to Honor the Name of Grom Hellscream as his parents told him and soon aspire to become A Grunt and maybe a Hero like Thrall He never like demons and could not be in tune with the elements and but reckless when try to Hide, but Good at Attacking and defending like form bully's when he was growing up.

He Nominally motivates by same old: "Loots,pets,gold" ordeal but He want to make sure every one is safe and happy And wish to Keep the peace He may try to talk his way out of things,But when it come Push to shove he bit Happy Fighting for a good fight and want to be famous like the Heroes of the Horde and be Hero not just to Horde but to every one.

He Pick up engineer from 2 Darkspear trolls and a Goblin show him wonders of bombs and soon he want to build one, other orcs mock him and say he should forge armor, but You never know When a right bomb in the right place counts.

Back around burning crusade He was a fighter Fighting the alliance and Face other horde in arena unable to join the fight agent the demons only fight to stay alive, when the zombie break out of ghouls I Hide only stay on org old rooftops until the plage went away as hear news Undeath was getting worst and start try to fight it off Not just the Name of the Horde but stay alive and right for what right under the argent dawn Banner, Join Garrosh Hellscream on northrend for Blood and glory when the Event Of Warthgate happen He rare trust the Forsaken form what happen,Soon in time he take the fight to the Lich King then Go back home To relax to Enjoy freedom he fight for, Until he Learn about the Cult of Twilight and soon try to stop them, Dus He could not stop it in time and Deathwing was free...

He Hunt down every twilight member and kill them off, Then he pick up drinking form few brewfest and try to Drink and fight The fight of Deathwing was a glory one but He could not wash the way the pain he saw and Try to remember the good.

Soon he was there when thereamore was bombed, he was only thought it was a rescue from harm but turn out, It was more then that and soon He was lost and his drinking taken up worst, until he heard news and try to make amends for what he done and soon Set sail with the group to pandaria, to see he can build homes on this land peaceful sadly it did not come to that, and soon he learn So much from pandaria the mogu,pandaren, etc, That he take arms to help them to ensure the Horde not Hellscream think it should be but what Thrall want it be, family.

He may Look like Garrosh Hellscream Kor'kron but he Friendly when you talk to him but bit Touch in the head when He fight old god Yogg-saron and Sha, He bit Crazy at times but Happy and Willing to help Any one when no one willing to help

Also he not that very smart he bit Dumb but When he fight the longer and fierce the smarter he get and more angry and Deadly he become He get adrenaline restore his mind and soon able to plan out and work few fight out with ease if He know how things works, Some say he bit brain danged due to Getting hit in the head many times.

He become a Pet tamer for the Love of pets, and think it may help to have a army of pets to Take on the Alliance pets,soon he hear tales of rare pets he never seen or heard of and soon Seek them out and become Best tamer and prove not only he is strong, also his pets.

When Beating the Sha of fear, he found a sword Kilrak, Jaws of Terror, it call to him and pick it up then he felt a sting in his hand and soon the sword Bind to his soul, unable to be away from the sword, fear take his mind and soon have a need to be with it, He use it to slay enemy of the horde Feeding on there fear He does not Know if he beaten his fear, or his fear of Death control him and force him to fight and feed on other fear of Death,the sword whisper in his ear. "Kill,Kill,Kill,Kill."

Then when he heard news Garrosh Hellscream Landed in pandaria he fear the worst and fight for dominion point keep the alliance bay and Ensure Garrosh Hellscream favor Now he battle the Thunder King to use the Power of the Mogu empire to use to fight Hellscream.... he know he gonna be branded a trader, But to insure the Orc race and Let the Orc not Under Garrosh Hellscream and Win there respect with the troll as allies not enemy. He fight with Darkspears.
My mage's RP story for joining his guild. Shameless plug for Emerald Dream RP.
There was a female from a rural area of Lordaeron, but her name has long since been forgotten. every day, she watched vigilantly for the undeads that covered the lands, both the horde's forsaken and arthas' scourge. her training as a warrior, and some small ability with magic, gave her and her family a chance against them

one day, her farm was overrun and she, along with her entire family, were killed. by chance, her body was spared whilst her family was all burnt to ashes in their home.

soon, she was raised in Acherus as a deathknight of the scourge. all the voices of hre past were muffled. there, yelling, but barely heard under the influence of the lich king. After the battle at light's hope, betrayed by her master, she joined the Alliance. for some time, she traveled the lands killing those who would hurt others, in an attempt to attone for her atrocities as an agent of the scourge, but she never remembered her name.

but one small town in the wetlands, was under attack by horde bandits, as she passed by. her dark powers reduced the hordes there to merely bones and flesh. the citizens of the town, greenwarden's grove, told tales for a long time of the deathknight who had saved their lives, and told stories of her armour, shining black like obsidian. a hero of the thin line of life and death became known as Obsidious, stylised with the strikethrough "Ø", she took that name truly as her own, the name of her and her family long since forgotten. now with an identity, and having attoned for her misdeeds, she felt more at peace than she ever had since her resurrection.

after hearing that Arthas had fallen in his citadel, Obsidious returned to stormwind, and mere days later, the world was shattered by Deathwing....
I'm a lich. Hi.
Because it was nice having somewhere to be safe away from all the crazy complaints and talk about character developement!
Oh i read you story >w< I wonder what Happen if we encounter?
Ugh Now I have this need to Rp now >w<

I'm tired. I think I might sleep some more. Then I'll go hunting some beasts for dinner. I get hungry when I'm tired.

What? You want to know what pets I've tamed? None. I hunt them. Why on earth would I make one my friend? That seems to go against what I am. A hunter.

And besides. Furry things make me sneeze.
This is Mac's story:

The squadrons slowly wound their way through the stifling hot and twisting city streets to the military headquarters in Old Town. Then it was wait in line to turn in the mount and then wait in yet another line to turn in weapons and armor. But that was military life, Colin thought. Hurry up and wait and then wait some more. There was nothing useful earned by fretting about that fact.

There had been a time when his life had been better. As the oldest son of a master blacksmith, whose shop had once been the pride of Stormwind, life had been sweet and easy. His father had had his pick of commissions - and even dared refuse some! - until the Dwarves came. Their way with metals of all kinds was pure magic and everyone wanted their goods. Human made weapons and armor were suddenly found unworthy and the MacCoinnick shop had lost customers day by day. Then the old man's heart had gone bad, leaving him a twisted soul in a crippled body.

Now he stood with royal issued gear in his arms, his nose full of his own stink, and unable to find work in the city outside of the king's coin. Around him stood men not much different – some were certainly the dregs of the city's gutters - but some were good men, Westfall farmers who had lost their land to the drought. They all shared a common misery now, providing for their families as best they could, whether it was by slinging a blade or falling to the worst luck of becoming the home of an enemy's arrow.

Of course His Serene Lordship, the Honorable Corporal Samuelson, was standing at the quartermaster's side to oversee everything and make sure all was done properly. Colin refused to meet the other man's eye but he could feel Samuelson's gloating smile. The very sword that even now hung at the corporal's side had been bought years ago from the MacCoinnick shop. Da had demanded a fair price but the bastard had tried to haggle the old man down. Tempers had flared on both sides of an argument that had turned nasty. Now the son was paying for the father's winning blow, so to speak, Colin thought while keeping his face as still as he could. Today though he wasn't in the mood to play along and Samuelson would have to get his jollies some place else.

Finally the quartermaster was satisfied Colin had returned all of the king's property and he headed down to the small pond behind the building that housed The Benevolent Brotherhood of the Dark Pony. He stripped down to his braies and after nodding to the man sitting watch on the building's steps, he hung his clothes from a nearby tree. He waded out until the water was deep enough for him to swim out to where the stream fell from the heights above.

The cold spring fed water felt more than a little fine after standing about in the hot weather. He swam to the bottom of the pond, glad to feel the hours of frustration and sweat that had settled deep into his bones stripped off him. Once among the turbulent currents of the waterfall, he surfaced just at the point where some of the cascade would land on his shoulders. When he could no longer stand the pounding he slowly eased through the other bathers back to shore.

Duncan had already finished with his swim and had secured a place for both of them on top of the building's foundation that was shaded by the tree. His younger brother chewed the end of a long stalk of grass as he studied something above and beyond Colin's shoulder. Colin sat down and closed his eyes as he leaned against the warm wooden planks.

"There's windows in the king's castle that overlook the higher pond," Duncan said thoughtfully. "I wonder if they can smell us and the horses and all."

Colin peered upward with one eye opened. All he could see past the top of the cliff were the blue pennants flying from poles at the tops of the castle's towers. "Ain't a noble one that knows what the sweat of honest men smells like," he said, closing his eyes again. "Might as well be smelling a pigpen, for all they care. As for the regent-lord, he's too busy keeping that gold throne warm for the king's return."

"I heard he's as honest and loyal as they come," Duncan said. "A warrior still, despite living in the palace."

Colin snorted. "High livin' ruins even the most saintly. All he's ever done is order us out to do his killing for him." He sat up and looked down at the tree's shadow stretching towards the pond. "It's getting late and I'd best be getting along, Duncan."

"You've got time enough," Duncan said. "Sunset's not for a while yet. What's your hurry?"

Colin got to his feet and tossed a silver to the watchman then pulled his clothes off the branch. "I want to look for something to get Danea first," he said as he shrugged into his worn leather pants and linen shirt.

Duncan sat upright and spat out the wad of chewed grass. "What's the occasion?" he said, frowning.

Colin stared at his brother, suddenly at a loss for words. "Why shouldn't I get her a gift now and then?" he finally said, a flare of anger roughening his voice.

Duncan threw up both of his hands. "Fine, dammit, go on with you! I meant no offense, Colin."
"None taken," Colin said and set out towards the Trade District without a backward glance. The Denman's sometimes had items made by their students for sale in their jewelry shop and just maybe they had something he could afford.
I will mention this once, & only once...

What is "known" & what is speculated to be under KC's mask.

Because she was experimented on, she believes her face to be scarred up, however it is not confirmed.

She does skin victims & makes masks of their faces, which may be what is seen behind the lenses.

It is confirmed that all of her teeth have been ground to sharp points & reinforced to give her a stronger bite, how strong though is yet to be tested.

Her eyes are considered normal, but may have been replaced with those of the "seeing eyes."

Again, I do wish to fully write down her backstory but it's a tad too much for the forums & I might not even get away with the face masks bit here, but people always ask, so I'll let them know.

Posted this before, may as well do it again =P

Story I - Awakening to the Reckoning

I was born in Brill some 44 years ago and given the name of Conclavis Ludovici Rotzinger. In my early youth my father, Corilonsis Leonardo Rotzinger, had always wanted me to follow in his footsteps as a battle-mage and at the age of 13 I was sent away - reluctantly, mind you - to Quel'Thalas for the purpose of studying the Elvish arcane arts... I never much appreciated my father's methods.

During my stay at Lordaeron consulate, the age old animosities between the Elves and Amani trolls erupted into sporadic conflicts along the border regions, at which time that I elected to abandon my arcane studies altogether and instead tended to the wounded. Before long I'd returned to Lordaeron as a distinguished Bishop of the Holy Light, with the pontifical name, 'Sanctinius' bestowed upon me - to my father's dismay and disappointment… He never much appreciated his son's accomplishments.

With time, I'd long since left the unwelcoming house of my father and reestablished myself in the far eastern lands of Lordaeron - majestic, holy Lordaeron. The green forests of which stretched forever, gird by crystal clear rivers and blessed by the warmth of the sun. This land was preserved by nature, not magic, unlike the woodlands of Quel'Thalas; artificial, fake, unnatural, you could smell the arcane energies in such a place which the laws of holy nature abhor. Quel'thalas; untouched by the light of holy Lordaeron I'd often thought. Yet, even as I traveled eastward I knew not, even in the darkest depths of my worst nightmares, that a grim fate, unimaginable, stalked my beloved homeland - in the shadows.

I remember being in meditation in Tyr's Hand when I received word of a strange and horrifying plague that had broken out in Andorhal. Myself and a group of others prepared to make our way westward to confront and contain this new sickness. Yet, not even half a day's ride from Tyr's Hand were we informed the plague had been found in Stratholme, just to the north and that the Prince himself had already been dispatched to the region.

We made haste to the northern city to assist his highness, only to find it had been put to the torch. The shrieks and cries of its citizens could be heard above the crackle of flame and crashing of fallen structures. Beholding the sight of civilians running helter-skelter from the city gates, driven mad with terror, they screamed with hysteria at the sight of our group and begged for mercy.

My party and I were puzzled by this strange display of fear, and we tried our best to reassure the frightened few that we'd come to their aid. It was then that a civilian stepped forward, her tear-filled eyes glistened as she struggled to maintain her composure, and so she’d told us what had happened. She told us why the city was ablaze; that the soldiers, the Prince himself, had also come in the name of assistance but no sooner turned their swords on the city in the name of "purging" it.

“Purging it?“ I exclaimed curiously? Admittedly, having had the honor of meeting his Highness, Prince Arthas, when he was but a mere child, I found the woman’s story difficult to believe - surely the poor soul was hysterical over the loss of her home and the sight of such carnage. One of my colleagues however, a priestess named Eris Havenfire, of Northdale, was not so skeptical. Eris appeared restless at the continued cries bellowing from the within the city walls and hastily took her leave of our company running full force into the burning city, its gates a furnace.

After instructing the others in my company to tend to the frightened civilians and the wounded I proceeded towards the oven that was the city of Stratholme. I had to retrieve Eris and find a way to locate his Highness, the Prince. I wandered for several minutes, calling for Eris but she did not answer. The streets were full of smoke and fire, the air was thick as a Dwarf's beard. Yet, over the sound of inferno I also heard what sounded to be the groans of agony. Someone was alive and injured, they needed my help. I followed the sound as best I could for my sight did me no good in the heavy smoke. The closer I got to the source of the moaning the more numerous the sounds become - this was not merely one individual. I readied myself mentally to manage a host of suffering people and to bring them to mend.

I turned the corner onto old king's square to witness a sight which I was not prepared to behold. Horrifying was this image that I'd been cursed to see, the groans of agony came not from the living but from the walking dead. Hundreds of them, consuming the flesh of the fallen, of each other, and of those who were unable to escape. Terrified, I ran, only to find myself trapped by the wretched risen. They surrounded me and soon were upon me. They gnawed at my arms and legs, their mangled jaws latched onto my flesh and tore at me with no regard for the agonizing and hopeless sounds that vomited from my throat as screams. As I succumbed to the frenzied feast that was my demise, I recall a looming darkness which extinguished my sense of sight. "Light help me" were to be my final words in life.

But it was not the end.

My sight returned to me - though significantly diminished. By some miracle the light had spared my existence I had thought. I couldn’t say how much time had elapsed or what had happened, but Stratholme was by now a smoldering ruin, only the glowing embers of charred houses served as light with which I could find my way out of the twisted labyrinth of fallen stone and burning wood. Near blind and disoriented, I managed to exit the ruins making my way into the dark wilderness. Though I felt no sensation of thirst, I knew that if I did not take water soon I'd surely die. Heh…

I stumbled upon a stream and perched myself at the water's edge to take in its nourishment. I was startled by the image reflecting in the water and quickly stumbled back from the river upon before regaining my composure and creeping my way back to the water’s edge - fearful to chance a second look. Yet, as my eyes met my reflection again, an overwhelming sense of horror consumed me. Staring back from the putrid waters was not the reflection I‘d come to recognize as my own. No, a monster glared back at me. What had happened? How could this be?

Overcome with grief, I began to sob uncontrollably into the jagged and abhorrent cradle of bones which were my hands. The wails and sobs which echoed from my lungs were no longer even human in sound, they shrieked and howled as nothing I'd ever heard. By now it was clear that no miracle had offered me redemption and with mournful dread, I turned once more to my reflection in the water, but as my tears fell, ripples further distorted the sickening image that smiled back and I turned away. Leaving the river, I wandered aimlessly into the forest... I never did get that drink either.

As I roamed the countryside for days thereafter I noticed the land itself had changed. The sun - barely piercing the looming clouds of darkness which bellowed in the angry sky - offered no warmth, no blessed light. The fields had grown sickly and barren. The once lush woodlands and glades had become swampy bogs of disgusting filth. The trees, once green and tall, stood as twisted tangles of bark, and an odd, vile fungi had taken growth as far as the eye could see. A smell, unlike anything I'd known tainted the hazy air, not like the arcane stench of Quel'Thalas, mind you. It was instead a smell of rot, of death, nauseating to such a degree that I, on more than one occasion, admittedly convulsed into a fit of illness. Yet all these things taken together sufficed to bring me to a final conclusion: My home, my beautiful Lordaeron -majestic, holy Lordaeron- was in ruins! My life was over and my undeath had begun... Everything of my past would have to be forgotten, but not before I paid a little visit to my father in Brill.
Wow, I ain't gonna be able to keep up with all that...

Basically Lucenthien here had lofty dreams of becoming a great warrior. Dreams that ultimately didn't pan out. While he was skilled in swordplay and tactics, he simply didn't have the raw strength to make the cut as a Thalassian Royal Guard. Nevertheless he enrolled in the military and he did okay for himself. He served mainly in a support role as a tactical officer, but was never happy.

He was also pressured by his peers to study magic more seriously, as they believed he had the potential to become a Magister, but he stubbornly refused.

Thus he remained an obscure nobody in a low level military position. The type of pathetic mook we all take quests from and then forget they exist five minutes later. Bitter, bitter Lucen; not strong enough to be a warrior, not skilled with a bow, not interested in joining the ranks of the effete Magisters. Bitter, bitter Lucen...

Everything changed in the wake of the Third War. The elves had lost their way, and many of them had lost their faith as well. In desperation the Blood Elves turned to a new source of power; the enslaved Naaru, M'uru.

His own thirst for power and glory getting the better of him, Lucenthien used his position within the military to forge paperwork and make himself one of the candidates to become a Blood Knight. The energy he siphoned from the Naaru had marvelous effects. His once frail physique was strengthened, and he could feel the power coursing through his being.

That said he was still slightly below average physically, but his slightly above average swordsmanship made up for it. To further make up for his innate shortcomings, he studied hard in the ways of the light, eager to bend it to his will and use it as a weapon. Even after the Prince's betrayal and the change in the Order, Lucenthien's heart remained dark. He cares nothing for the Light, only for the power it gives him. With this in mind it's a wonder he can still wield it.

He feels more at ease in harsh and spartan places like Orgrimmar as opposed to the elegance and grandeur of Silvermoon. Other elves think he's rather odd.

He dislikes the Rangers of Silvermoon, and thinks they're all a bunch of jerks.

He thinks the Magisters are bureaucratic sissies hiding behind sorcery. The hypocrisy of that notion is lost on him.

He's rather flamboyant and brash, and prefers to engage problems head on. Yet another reason he'd never have cut it as a Ranger.

He's typically very condescending and can be a pompous blowhard. He's a bully who can't stand not getting his way and isn't above cheating, lying and stealing to get the upper hand. All of which sounds bad when I put it that way, but it's mainly in the sense that I see him almost as a comic relief villain character with an overblown sense of superiority. Like Starscream from Transformers or Gaston from Beauty and the Beast.

Oh and he loves the strong Orc women and Goblin ale, which is basically motor oil with an alcohol content. Lately, when he isn't on assignment for the Horde or the Sunreavers, he spends most of his time on the Isle of Thunder drinking, telling tall tales and hitting on Uda the Beast.
Serenity was the focus of her soul. Felu had found a master at a young age who could teach her to find the balance within herself, to see things from many perspectives. She had seen what had happened to her sister Dalesong in the aftermath of losing her family. It had taken years for the hollow shell of her sister to refill.

Old wounds remain for a lifetime for some.

The youngest of five sisters, Felu was seperated from her family during Valen's desperate escape from the fel orcs of the Burning Legion. It was not until later she would discover her sisters still alive. Until then, she trained in hand to hand combat under the stern gaze of a silent teacher. She never saw him as he blindfolded her, teaching the young draenei woman to not use her eyes. Every sense was focused, refined. Felu knew her training was complete when her master at last revealed himself to her. He tasked her to find her family and to seek her own path.

With a smile and a childlike skip to her step, she set off on her journey. When she rejoined her sisters, she found Dalesong had indeed changed. The paladin was too stern, too prone to seek loneliness. Felu went after her eldest sister as a kitten might chase after a bare foot.

Dalesong's melancholy has slowly begun to fade away thanks in part to her sister's insistance of telling her she always has been, is now, and forever will be loved.

(okay, I made this up on the spot)
(okay, I made this up on the spot)

Hah, so did I. I've gone back and added stuff like 8 times so far.
"I posted mine in the other thread. Mind if I just hang around in here and read?"
/shy smile
She does skin victims & makes masks of their faces, which may be what is seen behind the lenses.
But... but... cupcakes... *hides*

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