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  1. Today
  2. Time Shattered

    I am acclimating to the new role, taking it slowly. Three events over the Hallow's End holiday. The first was not oriented around the holiday, simple entertainment, and went as expected. No one so much as noticed my presence, but I was able to gain impressions of the others in attendance. The second I expected to be horrible, seeing as it was by invitation only and my method of obtaining an invitation was less than straightforward. It was extremely sin'dorei, advertised as something I should have found awful, but it turned out surprisingly tasteful and thoroughly impressive. It was an experience I will seek to repeat, as long as it maintains at least a surface level of refinement. The third was traditional. I made an ass of myself, though not overly so, and it seemed appropriate at the time. I was, however, grateful that there wasn't greater attendance. If I'm going to intentionally be an idiot, best to keep it to a smaller audience. Finally met that orc that someone told me was dead, what, a year ago now? Curious which of the dead refuse to stay that way. Thankfully, the vast majority of mine have remained buried. And the bartender seemed so happy back then. No wonder he was clearly annoyed every time she opened her mouth. Offered to make her cry. I don't expect that will ever happen. To be fair, I'd prefer Khorvis came back and repeated the process. Curious to learn she's the sibling to that name I encountered months ago now. Still not sure anything can or will come of that, but it's an interesting thing to hold. I'm certainly disappointed in the bartender's lack of action on his statements, but if anyone understands that achieving what you really want can be more difficult than initially assumed, I certainly can at that. I found a troll. It is difficult to tell how that will end, but we shall see. Revenge is generally a strong motive, especially when those you are avenging are thoroughly gone and the ones who killed them can never truly be known, so the revenge is intended to be applied liberally and eternally. Cessation of hostilities, ha! Must keep the propaganda moving forward. Also disappointing yet somehow unsurprising that the girl has weaseled her way out from under us yet again. Hard to kill a target that's been reserved for torment, so escape is one of many paths she'll no doubt come across. Still, escape means the game continues. The longer she breathes, the more she will have to fear. She may be able to coax friendship out of her, but it would take eons. The only reason I considered the false pleasantry path for my own project was because there was one single person who seemed to want to believe the lie. With that as a base to build on, possibilities exist. Without that much, the problem may be insurmountable. I've been considering amassing tales to tell, but thus far have not collected any that seem sufficient. They have to be just the right style if I'm to ply them on a crowd of tauren, and while I have a lifetime of academia behind me, I am no storyteller. I will continue the search.
  3. Last week
  4. Character theme songs.

  5. Earlier
  6. Xara sketches

    Julilee! Looking amused but skeptical. Pose from a reference.
  7. Hallow's End Party (Horde)

    [[ Wish I could have come! Hope I can make the next event you're organizing! ]]
  8. Hallow's End Party (Horde)

    On the Eve of Hallow's End, a Masquerade auction and costume contest was held in the Brill Cemetary. After a session of spooky storytelling, a costumed auction was held. People were "sold" to spend a day with the highest bidder. Jaina (Qabian) was sold to Scree (Tahz) for 1000 gold. Mr. Pumpkinhead (Borghul) was sold to Jaina (Qabian) for 2000 gold. The Dark Knight (Mystery Elf) was sold to Lady Pumpkin (Syreena) for 600 gold. The Terrible Thief (James Riley) was sold to the Dark Knight (Mystery Elf) for 300 gold. Scree (Tahz) was sold to Mr. Pumpkinhead (Borghul) for 400 gold. The Stars (Araun) was sold to Jaina (Qabian) for 500 gold. The gold from the sales was put toward the prize for the costume contest. The winner for the costume contest was a tie between Qabian "Jaina" Grimfire (also now known as "Coconuts") and Tahzani "The Sha" Tallfisher (also now known as "Scree"). THANK YOU to all who participated!
  9. Hallow's End Party (Horde)

    Looking forward to this tomorrow!
  10. Time Shattered

    It's not about the boy. Not anymore. It was at the beginning. It was supposed to be a harmless -- no, not at all harmless, but a simple, hilarious lesson about why children are a terrible idea. Now, though... Now, it's something else. At first, if he died, I gained something -- a laugh. Now if he dies, well, I’d still get the laugh, but I’d lose more than I’d gain. It’s not worth it. If his mother dies, it’s the same situation. She has more sins, more flaws to answer for than the boy does, but I would not gain much more than a laugh, and I’d lose the investment. It started as a prank, almost. Now, though... Now, it’s a game. Now, it’s politics. I missed politics. Kael’thas ruined them for me, at least when he finally met destruction. Toying with Pathaleon was incredibly entertaining. But those days are long over. Perhaps that’s the reason to keep going, to move through the discomfort, to keep playing, to keep the pieces on the board, to avoid flipping the table. Politics. To give just enough that I’m not entirely turned away. To give just enough that I’m given a little more in return, and a little more in return, and a little more in return, until I can smash all of it at once. There’s the reason. It’s not about pleasure. It’s not about enjoyment. It’s not about romance. It’s not about ownership. It’s not about belonging. It’s sure as the sun not about love. But it is about respect. If you only indulge with people you respect who respect you in turn, how does that possibly leave you open for exploitation? I suppose there’s the possibility for respectable exploitation, but that benefits everyone involved, hm? It takes a certain kind of person to find me respectable. The miniscule size of that population means my standards appear exceedingly high, and even, perhaps, inscrutable, when they are in fact simple, but rare. I admit I... moved more quickly than rational on a few encounters, but Suramar is unique, and now that I have carved my niche there, it is not the sort of experience that will ever be repeated.
  11. Spelling Trouble

    It was a breezy day in the Eversong Woods. Ninorra’s carefully tamed black hair drifted into her face as she sat on the stone bench beside the decorative pond on Bloodstone Manor’s grounds. Roaming the grass beside her, Damian’s mana saber kitten pounced butterflies. He seemed to get used to the grounds fairly quickly, especially after allowing him to hunt rabbits plaguing Ninorra’s garden. A few yards away, Damian knelt on the grass with one of his father’s toolboxes nearby. The boy was tinkering with one of the robots they encountered in Suramar, though what he was doing exactly, Ninorra could not say. “Damian, what do you think of your instructor?” His mother asked casually, watching him work as she lounged on the bench. “I think he’s very patient with me,” Damian answered easily. “Mm hmmm... and why do you think that is?” Damian didn’t answer right away. He used a screwdriver to tighten a nut before sitting up straight. “There are a few possible answers. The two most likely are that he either has grown to enjoy teaching me and actually wants me to learn, or that he wants us to trust him enough that he can eventually kill me.” Ninorra blinked slowly. Neither idea seemed to surprise her. “And why do you think he might want to kill you?” “Because I’m a liability,” he answered, lowering himself again to inspect the interior of the robot’s chest cavity. “Because if he actually is growing attached to me, it proves that he’s not what he says he is and he wouldn’t want anyone to think that. Especially not himself.” “Oh dear,” the warlock sighed. “You are very young to have allowed yourself to get mixed up with this sort of thing. You know I worry.” “I can’t ask you not to worry,” the boy said remorselessly. “You trust me, don’t you mother?” Ninorra’s face settled into a relaxed smile. If there was anyone in the world she trusted, it was her son. Though she feared for their relationship upon returning home a year ago, amount of time they spent separated had thankfully not broken the bond between them. “Of course, but you are still a child. You cannot expect me not to worry about your safety if Qabian decides that he wants to murder you.” “I’m not so arrogant to think it will be easy, mother. I know I’m a child, and I know I’m not even the smartest child to ever walk Azeroth, but,” he actually took the time to sit up and look at her. Bright red eyes that mimicked her own seemed far older than the eight years he lived. “I know more than just what I learned in books, or the council. I have the lessons from Corvallis, and from father too. That’s why I wasn’t upset about Corvallis when you told me he was banished. I know he’s still alive.” Turning her head to one side, Ninorra studied her son’s expression. He seemed less drawn to emotion these days, especially since Corvallis disappeared. The strangely handsome young man who tutored Damian in swordplay always seemed to take special care in Damian’s wellbeing. What had he taught the boy, exactly? “And how do you know that?” Damian smiled, and the same dimples his mother had showed in his cheeks. He immediately went back to working on the robot. “I just do.” Ninorra smiled to herself and seemed to relax. While she often found it difficult to cope with how much risk her son was willing to take, the strange connection he and Corvallis shared seemed to put her at ease. At least for now.
  12. Spelling Trouble

    Qabian stepped into the large, hot bath, its waters imbued with arcane energy and herbal infusions. He rested his arms on the sides of the bath as he sank down into the water up to his chest. He closed his eyes and relaxed for what felt like the first time in weeks. After a few minutes, the small sounds of someone else approaching came distant through the steam, echoes off the tiled walls and floor, quiet splashing as they entered the water across from him. He didn't open his eyes, even when they spoke. A woman's voice asked, "How did you spend your day?" "An excursion on the other side of the tracks," he said, keeping his eyes closed. "Taunting the Duskwatch again?" she asked. "Yes. They need to realize they chose the losing side." "They know," she said. "So you say. And yet." "They keep dying at your hands." "Mmhm. I also told an eight-year-old I'd rather suck cock than eat sausage." She burst out laughing, long, raucous laughter. "You're joking," she said when she could finally breathe again. "No." He remained entirely neutral, calm. "How did that happen?" She giggled. "It's complicated." "No shit. An eight-year-old? Oh, that apprentice?" "Yes." "You took him to fight Duskwatch?" "Yes." "And he held his own?" "He did, but his mother was also there. Speaking of which, Reinna's probably gone." Her tone changed, darkened. "Gone? What did you do to her?" "Nothing. I told her I was going to kill her." "You do that all the time." "I know." "So why is she gone?" "The mother tortured her." There was a long pause before she said, "I see. Did she deserve it?" "Reinna? No. But she attacked the boy, so what did she expect?" "She attacked another child, but you don't think she deserved to be harmed?" the woman's voice asked, her tone critical. "Of course not. She did not hurt him. She never intended to hurt him. She knew she couldn't do any real damage. She was innocent. The mother jumped immediately to murder." "You have a curious amount of faith in Reinna, especially considering how often you threaten to kill her yourself." "She's not stupid," Qabian said. "I beg to differ," the woman countered. "I know you do." "It worked then?" she asked. "Hm?" "Reinna's game." "No. If I see her again, I'll have to kill her," Qabian said. "Don't do that," the woman insisted. "Then don't let me see her again." "Fine," she said. There was a long silence before Qabian finally asked, "Do you know any Nightborne who speak to outsiders with an affectation?" "An affectation?" was her response. "Yes, like archaic sentence structure, deliberately obtuse language," he explained. "No. Anyone who actually bothers to speak to outsiders quickly learns how to do it understandably. Anyone who might bother with an affectation simply doesn't bother to speak to outsiders." "That's what I thought," Qabian said, frowning, his eyes still closed. "You met one such Nightborne." "Mm." "Curious." "Indeed. Either she's too stupid to speak properly, or..." "So rude as to be malicious?" the woman asked. Qabian grinned. "Exactly. I do a similar thing when I have to speak Common. I hate the human language. I mangle it intentionally. Hearing a Nightborne do that after everything, all the times I lost all hope of ever finding you, made me want to burn her to ash." "What stopped you?" "Politics," he said. "What? Oh, the boy and his mother?" she asked. "Mm." "That doesn't sound like you." Qabian sunk lower into the water, up to his neck. He finally opened his eyes to look at the woman across from him. "It isn't." "And you hated every second of it," she said, her white grin shining against her dark slate-colored skin. "I actually enjoyed some of the conversation with his mother, but..." Qabian hesitated. "But what?" she asked. "Trying to be friendly was agony. I don't think I can keep doing this," Qabian said, sinking lower still, the water up to his chin. "You've been saying that since you started. What are you going to do about it?" she asked, still grinning. "I'm going to have to kill the boy," Qabian said, then let himself slip beneath the water entirely. "Sure you are," she said, though he could no longer hear her.
  13. Julilee's Journal

    A week ago It’s been weeks but I still find myself thinking about it. Naheal. How could he just show up at my doorstep with the slate wiped clean, completely ignorant of everything he’d done? I don’t care if it’s unfair to him, whatever version of him that was, it makes me angry. Especially suggesting as he did that he found the things the Naheal that we all knew did objectionable. Like he wouldn’t do the same under the same circumstances. He is him. And as far back as when we were children he always had this in him. It took me a long time to realize, and longer to understand, but he always did. In any case, I made clear that I wasn’t interested in having him in my life again. He left. I haven’t heard anything since. But now I feel on edge about it. I thought he was gone. I mean, I knew he’d been called back to service with the Bronze Dragonflight, and that didn’t mean gone gone. But... more gone than this. Whatever this maddening state of events is. Hopefully nothing will change, though. Kex’ti said he needed to go to Argus. He’d been staying out of action for awhile. I told him of course I wouldn’t stand in his way. I would never ask him to stop fighting, regardless of his health. He wouldn’t ask me either. As I told him before we went to the swamp... It’s not likely we’re going to live to a ripe old age anyway, not with the conflicts Azeroth regularly sees. We both hope for the best after the Legion is defeated, and we hope the Legion will be defeated, but for now, live like there’s no tomorrow, because there may not be. I’ve been busy working with Shokkra to track and outmaneuver Karthok. I’ve made a plan with Gunheya from Coldstar to free the demon hunter who has Accalia’s power from his grasp. Her name is Kalisto, and Gunheya seems sure she’ll be on our side once she’s freed. I just need to identify a time I’m sure she’ll be away from Karthok, as we learned from Twilight Empire’s excursion into Tirisfal that he definitely sends her away at times to accomplish things for him. Careless. Or maybe just arrogant. Or maybe he has a plan. He probably expects us to strike at him, though, not her. I’m betting a lot on this, but it’s vital. Karthok is nearly unstoppable with Accalia’s power on top of his other powers from the fel and the Old Gods, not to mention all his resources... We’ll do it. We have to. Sanctuary has been working a lot with Twilight Empire and Night Vanguard to counter Karthok. There have been others too who have been willing to help, like Rhaen, Kejala, and Yocelyn. Sanctuary isn’t the only place where there are people willing to make sacrifices for the good of others. I’ve never forgotten that, but it’s always heartening to see. I still haven’t told Shokkra about my plans for her. Right now she’s doing great dealing with the Karthok problem. I’m not sure she’ll understand. But if nothing else, after this, she needs a break. This might be the only thing keeping her going, but that’s not healthy. She needs to find the will within herself to be the person she wants to be. I wish more people would see in her what I do. It affects her more than she lets on when people dislike her or write her off. Who wouldn’t it affect, really? Heroes in stories aside, no one is really capable of believing in themselves if no one else does. Everyone has to start somewhere, a parent, a best friend, a lover. Someone to give them that seed of hope that they can then nurture into self-esteem. I’m trying to encourage her, but she has to take heart in it. I can’t do that for her. Lots of thoughts to gather. I think I’m doing okay handling everything. There was awhile where I doubted my ability to handle it all. Losing Taozhu... almost put me back there. I still miss him so much. He had been with me, with Sanctuary, through thick and thin. But now I’m just more determined to end Karthok. There will be no mercy. He has proven unworthy of it. The world has proven we can’t afford to give him any. For Taozhu, for Kanda, for everyone he’s hurt, he will pay.
  14. Xara sketches

    Forgot to put this here: the latest Siané sketch Pose referenced off another pic & background was open source
  15. WYSIWYG vs. code editor

    If you do ever find the option to change to a code view instead of a WYSIWYG editor though, that'd still be great. I like to see the code to fine-tune it, sometimes the WYSIWYG editor is frustrating!
  16. Old links not working

    By the way, at some point I not only realized I was wrong (sometimes the numbers don't match up at all), but vaguely remembered that Mortica might have already established this. Disregard! Will continue searching for old threads and updating links as I can.
  17. Signatures (I must be dumb)

    Is there any solution to this? I can't update old sigs on my alt accounts even though many are out of date now.
  18. Siané Dawnlight

    [[ Bio is up-to-date, illustrations added, and music list added. ]]
  19. The Huntress and the Knight

    Once upon a time there lived a huntress. Born to a rich elven family, she grew up longing for adventure. She was as difficult to break as a wild stallion, and as beautiful as one too. Lustrous ebony hair reflected the sharp glow of her fel green eyes, and it was difficult for anyone to look away from her perfect mischievous smile. When war came, the huntress went. Trained in the shadows of the forest, she learned how to kill and how to hide. She fought valiantly for her people, and though she saw many suffer and perish, her heart remained intact by carefully locking it away. Even through war she had many lovers, and easy as it was for her to find comfort in someone’s arms, she was content to keep them from drawing any closer. That is, until she met the knight. He was much younger than the huntress, and not very bright. The knight was still in training, with the hope of proving himself to his people and fighting in the wars himself. Like the huntress, he too had black hair and fel green eyes, but that was where the similarities ended. He was scrawny, still attempting to fill out the armor provided to him, and there was no confidence in his expression. One night, the huntress spotted the knight in a tavern. The knight was having a good time with his friends when the huntress spotted him, and for a single perfect moment their eyes met. The knight didn’t know exactly what love felt like, but he thought it seemed as if a jolt of electricity ran through his veins, and an invisible hand reached through his chest to clutch his heart in an icy grip. It felt like death and it was wonderful. “By the Light,” he said as she approached him. “You’re beautiful.” The huntress smirked playfully at him. “The Light has nothing to do with it, sweetheart.” The knight seemed very confused by this. “Oh, but you’re wrong. The Light has everything to do with it.” The huntress and the knight spoke a little, and after a few drinks they went for a walk. The knight felt as if his hands and feet were numb, but still he walked beside the most beautiful person, he imagined, in the entire world. When the huntress took him in her arms, the wars disappeared. So long as the moon cast its light on them both, nothing else mattered. Morning came and the knight awoke in his bunk, never having slept. He trained with his brothers in arms, part of his mind always on the huntress and her beautiful eyes. But the huntress worried for her heart. The knight was kind, but even his innocence could not convince her to unlock the chains that bound her inside. Before the sun rose, she left the city without a word. The knight knew nothing of the huntress’ departure. He continued to train until calamity struck. The city was under attack by the enemy, and the knights were dispatched. The young knight went with his brothers and fought valiantly, but there was no hope for him among the throngs of enemies who swarmed them. “By the Light we will triumph!” He shouted into the air, giving heart to his friends. As he bravely cut through their forces, the thought of the beautiful huntress was always in his mind. Hopeful that he might see her again, the knight guarded himself with a shield, fending off blows that might end him once and for all. So distracted was he by this task that he did not notice when an enormous black knight rose behind him, and drove his sword into the young knight’s back. The pain was minimal. The knight felt a numbness in his hands and feet, electricity through his veins, and an invisible hand clutching his heart. This was love and this was death, and soon the Light in him was gone. Many miles away, the huntress found peace among the trees. She befriended the druids and the naturalists who tended their grounds, and when war came to them, she fought by their side. In this beautiful place, the huntress finally found that the chains around her heart could be loosened. Eventually, someone managed to find the key that would unlock the bindings within. He was strong and confident in his love, forcing the huntress to understand that life was worth living if only she allowed it. For a while, she was free. Until calamity struck once more. War would not forget the forest, and ever druid defended their home. The huntress fought like a demon, tearing through the enemy in an effort to keep the peace she had found. Chaos consumed the forest, and the huntress fired arrows so quickly that they could not be seen with the naked eye. She swore to defend these people, especially the one who opened her heart to the world. But when the body of her love lay before her, she felt a pain like no other. Her heart, which she kept safe for so long, cracked right down the middle. In an effort to keep it safe and whole, the huntress sealed it away once more and left the forest. Years passed. The huntress wandered the world, finding work and busying herself. One night, lost in the monotony of drinking in a tavern, she heard the cry for battle. Grabbing her bow and arrows, she ran outside to find that the enemy army was attacking. Except this was no ordinary enemy, this was the army of the dead. Mindless undead swarmed the village, and the huntress joined the villagers to defend their home. Arrows flew into faces gray with death, and indiscriminate as she was against the enemy, the huntress couldn’t tell one undead from another… until a familiar face appeared. He was young. Far younger and less experienced than most of the other dead seemed to have been when they perished. His green eyes blue, his skin gray, he had a strangely calm expression as he attacked the villagers. The huntress felt a pang of regret where her heart was hidden. It was a simple choice to put him down, this undead monster who once shared a night in her arms. Why then was it so difficult to loose her arrow into his skull? Should she not simply let him rest in peace? But a strange tug at the chains around her broken heart forced the huntress into a different action. She ran to the knight and kicked his sword away, leaving him temporarily stunned and defenseless. The knight stared at her, confused. “Stop it, don’t you recognize me?” She shouted past the cries of battle booming around them. The knight reached for his sword but found nothing. He looked down toward his hand, then back up at the huntress. A strange realization came over his face. “…who?” “It’s me!” She shouted again, though there was little else to do besides fight back when the knight found an extra knife in his boot. “Who are you?” He asked, swinging the knife, skillful in spite of his undeath. The huntress dodged his attacks, ducking and weaving through them easily. “I am the huntress you met in the tavern! Don’t you remember?” The knight continued to attack. “I don’t remember,” he said easily, swinging faster. The knife came close to her belly, prompting the huntress to kick it out of his hand. “You have to remember! We were friends!” Again, he seemed confused. The knight shook his head and looked around for another weapon. Finding none, he simply swung his fists toward the huntress. “I don’t remember a friend.” Much more skilled with his fists than the knife, the huntress took a surprise hit to the jaw and went down to the ground. “I’m sorry,” she said past the pain in her mouth. “What are you sorry for?” The knight asked curiously, looming over the huntress. “Why are you sorry?” “Because...” she muttered, feeling very stupid. Why was she allowing this to happen? Guilt? She was stronger than this. Her heart, broken as it was, could survive many more years in the chains she created for it. Why did this one stupid young knight even matter in the grand scheme of things? He was nothing. “Because you left?” He asked, as if answering for her. The huntress stared at him, dumbfounded. The knight seemed at odds with himself. Grabbing his head, he stumbled back in a daze. “..I… I don’t remember a friend… I remember… I remember you, and… pain. The pain of death.” She knew that feeling all too well. Struggling back to her feet, she attempted to approach the knight. The battle around them was dying, and her people were winning. Soon he would have to die, or… “I’m sorry,” she said again, grabbing the knight’s empty hand. “I’m sorry I left. I’m sorry you died.” Again, he looked confused. A strange realization came to the knight’s face, and even as he stared at the huntress’ familiar eyes, his own seemed lost. “I died?” The innocence of the question broke one of her chains. The huntress grit her teeth, feeling both stupid and vulnerable at the same time. “Yes,” she managed to say at last. “Yes, you died.” The knight’s face calmed a little, as if this truth changed everything. “But,” he said finally, taking a step closer to the huntress, his blue dead eyes focused on her own. “ make me feel so alive.” Another chain fell away. Even as the fight ebbed away, there seemed to be no other sound then that of his voice. How was it possible that this stupid boy could make her feel so much in the midst of such violence? He seemed oblivious to his undead allies falling around them, and as the last one fell, one of the living knights approached him and the huntress. “Don’t worry, I’ve got him,” the living knight said with a sword aimed for his back. “No!” the huntress shouted, pulling her knight’s body toward her own. Both arms wrapped around his waist, protecting him, even as the living stared them down. “No, you will not hurt him!” Soon a crowd of the living began to surround them. The undead knight pulled reluctantly from the huntress and looked, confused, as the living pointed their swords at him. “He is dead,” they said. “An enemy to the living. It will be a mercy to put him down.” “No!” The huntress said again. “He is not like them, he will not harm you!” “Only one way to find out,” one of the knights grumbled, stumbling forward to slash with his sword at the unarmed knight. The huntress leaped into action and deflected his sword with her bow. She kicked the living knight down, which displeased his friends. Another living knight ran toward her and thrust his sword at the huntress’ back, but it never touched her. The undead knight had grabbed the sword itself, cutting into his own fingers rather than let her be harmed. The crowd gasped. What undead creature would sacrifice himself for the living? The fighting stopped. As his fingers bled black coagulated blood on to the ground, the living stepped away from the dead. The huntress stood, unhindered, and looked sadly at this young knight who continued to sacrifice himself for others. “You didn’t have to do that,” she said quietly. “I know,” he said easily, attempting to smile. “By the Light, I couldn’t see you hurt.” “The Light has nothing to do with it,” the huntress said bitterly, grabbing the undead knight’s good hand and pulling his body toward her. To the disgust of all those around them, she kissed him. A living huntress and an undead knight, beauty and death incarnate. Though he was frigid, her heart felt warm and at last the final chain fell away. Raw, bleeding and still cracked, he seemed to take it in his grasp and hold it together with his cold grip. Pulling away from her lips, the knight finally managed to smile. “The Light has everything to do with it,” he said, and as she returned his smile with one of her own, never did the knight feel more blessed.
  20. Time Shattered

    I've never had to spend much time with Awatu. Not that I had to spend much time with previous leaders, either, but it was occasionally forced on me. What few impressions of him I have are gentle and soft-spoken, stereotypical Tauren qualities. I've also seen him stubborn enough to be immobile once he has a notion in his head, so I've never had a reason to question his fitness for the role. Now I know he's completely insane and fits here perfectly. In the past, they've preferred deference, demanded it even. If you won't lick my boots, I'll crush you into the dirt and force you. Metaphorically, usually, but certainly by demanding your pride, rather than by simply pummeling your face. But they were always human corpses, not Tauren. Yichimet once tried to teach me something. He ended up... giving up. To this day I have no idea what he was trying to convey. Perhaps I'm simply ill-equipped to understand them. Somehow bowing angers the Commander. I... What? Why? I wasn't kneeling. I wasn't prostrating. I wasn't grovelling. I wasn't going overboard. I wasn't doing anything untoward. It was a gesture of respect. And for that, I should be punished? All right then. Perhaps he actually took offense to me telling him he was wrong. Because he was. I have never had this position. I began interviewing potentials shortly after I completed my own interview, yes, but I was never in charge. I was never in charge of anything beyond mages. They tried to force me to take charge of other people, other things, yes, but this position is not one I had. Poor dear, he was incorrect. Better beat the person informing him of the truth, yes? He accused me of mocking him. That... I was not doing, but I was -- still am, to a degree -- extremely amused, not by his words or even the situation, but by the sheer lunacy of trust, so I can admit my tone may have sounded much like mockery indeed. How am I not supposed to find this funny? I acknowledge it might be difficult to separate the fact that I find anyone asking for my help hilarious from the possibility that I believe he's inferior. On the contrary, while everyone is inferior, he is certainly less inferior than most. However, I acknowledge true subservience to no one and nothing, shu'halo nor sin'dorei, and yet I'm very good at making the pretence whenever necessary. What's the difference between pretence and actual subservience? I suppose that's for them to decide. My very reliability is itself a falsehood, but if I exercise it long enough, does it matter? Perhaps all of my time will be spent biding, but that doesn't make me hate them any less. Syreena said I was being "elfy." Exactly how am I supposed to prevent that? Does that mean he prefers corpse-like stiffness in his communications? Perhaps he prefers acknowledgment in the form of salutes? I'm sure whatever he prefers, he prefers it without the smug, barely stifled laughter that I certainly had, and that I can certainly avoid in the future. Further elfiness, however, that's an inevitable part of the package. I'd rather not continue to be pummeled for it, but maybe that's just going to be part of the job. I'll certainly endeavor to avoid it as much as possible, but I'm not going to die to be rid of who I am, or sacrifice my remaining ear to play human, sew my eyes shut and go back to Stormwind. I'll take the bruises if I must. Syreena said she wasn't simply repaying my favor, but some part of me resists that. We'll see, I suppose. And I had my revenge by making her my second, which perhaps means I now owe her, not that I've ever cared about repaying debts. I owed Acherontia rather a lot. I don't believe I ever repaid her anything. I am rather glad to see the game with Syreena's girl is over, at least my part of it. Unfortunately, other games remain. I'm not sure that hers was a good payment, at any rate. Yes, I have a taste for power, and if this were nothing more than decisions on worthiness, it would be power, but to me this is less power and more control. I dislike controlling others. If that were the kind of thing that appealed to me, I would have been a warlock when we were still allied with the humans. However, there are significant positive aspects to this opportunity, especially in terms of position and influence, despite Awatu's insistence I not treat this as a game of lords and ladies, as though nobility are any different than anyone else. And the truth remains that my intentions toward the Grim are absolutely to further its strength. In that respect, perhaps I am what is needed. I am capable enough of coping with those who have already made it this far, that much is true, but I wonder if I am at all capable of making new connections. I went to one of the dozens of Hallow's End celebrations around this time of year and it took all my willpower not to roll my eyes and shout them all down as morons, nevermind actually striking up conversation of any sort. It will be a challenge, at any rate, and that can only make me better. I hope.
  21. Mardalius' Logbook

    The final entry in Mardalius' logbook is different from the others: it is written in the form of a letter. Week Six: Julilee, Instead of tracking my actions against the Legion for this week, I have decided to write my contemplations on the Oaths. This punishment has given me time to reflect on what they mean to me and how to apply them to my life. I will start with peace. Peace: After fighting against the Legion, alongside the Army of the Light and the assorted groups represented on Argus, I see why we cannot be at odds with those under another banner for petty reasons such as land or racial hatreds. Justice: There are few instances where it is appropriate for one to place judgement on another. Personal insults and slights aren't reason to place judgement on others. To censure individuals for their personal beliefs is dangerously close to mind politics. Mercy: Excessive force is never acceptable, especially in the arena of interpersonal conflict. I recognize that my response to Sorel's words and actions were just that - excessive. Words dissipate into the air and can only do the damage we allow. Killing someone, however, is permanent. Sacrifice: Insults are bearable in the face of peace. Anything, no matter how personal, is worth giving if it means peace for the collected peoples of Azeroth. Actions and consequences are real and palpable. I can never take back stabbing Sorel, nor can I give him back the time I took from him. I have learned my lesson, and I will strive to be worthy to wear the Sanctuary tabard going forward. Signed, Mardalius Anterius, Battlemage The page is stamped with the same insignia as all the others, Mardalius' personal seal, a crossed sword and staff, accompanied by the House Anterius sigil, a stylized "A" emblazoned on a shield.
  22. Nagoda of the Gold Plain

    Full Name: Nagoda, son of Quaran Date of Birth: September 20 Age: 14 Race: Tauren Gender: Male Hair: Brown mane Skin: Brown fur, spotted white Eyes: Brown Height: 8' Weight: 475 lbs Place of residence: Ashtotem Village, Thousand Needles Place of Birth: An Oasis in the Barrens Known Relatives: Quaran Sunwalker, (father, deceased), Fasha Sunseer, (mother), Magooma, (maternal grandmother), Kimba, Rumba, and Fossaway, (paternal uncles) Religion/Philosophy: An'she and the Earth Mother Occupation: Healer's apprentice at Ashtotem's Healer Hut Group/Guild affiliation: New recruit of Sanctuary Enemies: The White Hawk of Silvermoon, Nakama's pirate crew (presumed dead), Brinnea, the Butcher of Kaur'he Likes: Quiet walks in the wilderness, praying to the sun god alone, reading, singing, watching bugs and critters, tending to plants Favorite Foods: Any veggies or fruits (vegetarian) Favorite Drinks: Shamed to admit he loves firewater (it helps him be more social), more commonly admits to liking kodo milk Favorite Colors: Brown and gold Weapons of Choice: A spear or staff Dislikes: Being cooped up indoors, restraints, (claustrophobic) Physical Features: Chubby, white-faced, brown furred. His horns are small and young, his hooves well-trod upon for his age. Keeps his left hand covered to hide a brand in the shape of a red dragon. Special Abilities: Talented at healing with herbs and medical supplies. Knows how to set snares and traps for game. Positive Personality Traits: Idealistic, seeks value and harmony in all things. Respectful of others' cultures and opinions. Open-minded and flexible, willing to try new things even when afraid of the consequences. Highly creative, passionate, and dedicated. Works hard and complains little. Negative Personality Traits: Too selfless for his own good, lets others take advantage of him. Takes any insult to heart, internalizing them until his self-esteem is at a deep low. Poor at practical skills and unfocused so as to leave him unable to master any trade. Very distant and hard to get to know. Misc. Quirks: Rubs his left hand and bows with his horns to most everyone elder to him Theme Songs: "The Farthest Land," Shadow of the Colossus History: Born to the warrior Quaran and his wife Fasha in the Barrens. Watched his father transform from an implacable warrior with bloodthirst and ravenous thirst for revenge turn to a life of piety and devotion to An'she. Fasha was the first to take to An'she as a Seer, and Quaran followed to become among the first Sunwalkers. This transformation began with a miracle: the Light saved Quaran's life from a mortal wound delivered by Grimtotem axe at Thunder Bluff. Since then, Nagoda has been in love with the sun god, and pious to a fault. Nagoda grew only occasionally in his father's eyes. The elder warrior was normally away at war, a dutiful bull. Nagoda became much like his mother and grandmother because of this, and followed the path of a healer for some time. He was poor at fighting, and did not want to eat meat or even harm wildlife, so he was no huntsman. Since his family had turned to An'she, he did not follow the path of a druid or shaman either. He seemed destined to become a Seer, if not for his uncles' constant insults about his femininity. His father, though he hid his disappointment well, accepted his son's inability to take up the mantle of warrior, which made it sting all the worse for Nagoda. He wanted to make his father proud, and so he would wander from home often to reflect, pray, and try to practice. He could never bring himself to swing a spear or staff at anything alive, or even any practice target he pretended was alive. Quaran Sunwalker died hunting after the Butcher of Kaur'he. The death knight had to die to see justice done, Quaran had been convinced when he left home. Nagoda's heart fluttered nervously the day his father left -- the man had faced the death knight once and still carried a scar on the face where she had smashed him with his own maul. The news came not as a surprise, but it was enough to cast a lasting shadow on the family of the Gold Plain. Nagoda ran from home not long after. His uncles wanted to whisk him away and make a true warrior out of him, but at that moment all the boy wanted was to avenge his father and prove himself at long last. He knew he needed help, so he asked a friend of his father's to hunt the death knight down. The troll was an expert at the hunt, using the elements themselves to bolster his weapons and senses. Yet even he did not return to hunt after the death knight. For a time, Nagoda believed the Butcher was impossible to kill, and that An'she intended for him never to be like his father. But then the sun god sent him a new chance -- the Butcher was imprisoned in Silvermoon, and would soon be sent across the sea to Kalimdor. The boy ran again from his people, this time to total strangers. He approached a pirate captain called Nakama, a trolless with her own ship docked at Ratchet. He paid her with money left behind by Quaran, and arranged for the ship carrying the Butcher to be hijacked at sea. The gold was not all his father had left behind, though. A priceless relic from Northred, a gift from the Wyrmrest dragons themselves, accompanied him on his task. He believed it was a gift from An'she as well -- the instrument of justice. His father had called it a brand once, though Nagoda had been too young to understand what it was for. He knew only that it carried the dragon's fire somehow. Fire that might cleanse the world of the death knight he thought unkillable. The White Hawk, a mysterious elven task force, warned Nagoda not to do what he intended, but he stubbornly ignored them. He had to avenge his father. The Hawk were prepared for this, though, since Brinnea the Butcher was not on the ship as the pirates had been informed. It was set up as a trap, and the pirate ship was surrounded by war vessels to be taken in by the Hawks. Nagoda was stunned, and with the brand in hand, his emotions exploded outward at last. It was enough for the dragon fire to erupt and burn the ship around him. As far as the young tauren knew, no one by he survived the explosion. It left a lasting mark on his left hand, a reminder of his failure. After that, he decided he had shamed himself too much to return home again. He tried to find a new path, and An'she sent him a vision of a golden hawk on a purple sky. Sanctuary. He followed his vision, remembering that it was Kex'ti of Sanctuary who stood against the Butcher and lived. Nagoda sought a chance at redemption and escape from his failure, but he never forgot his duty. One day, he knew, he would have to face the Butcher, and only one of them would walk away alive.
  23. Artist doing commissions

    Got this fun $20 portrait today and seems like the artist's gonna have commissions for 'em open for a little while if there's interest~ Shithowdy on the tumbls.
  24. A Rogue's Diary

    10.19.17 Well, I never heard anything more about stealing any rare spellbooks or Borghul planning anything. Maybe the note was just a practical joke from someone? The guard at Dragonsroost Port is still alive and well. I still take him cookies every now and then to try out a new concoction, or just to get the news there. It seems their base was recently attacked by gnomes who were intent on killing Cobrak. Can’t say I blame them, but it’s still a bit comical to picture little gnomes attacking the Borrowed Time base to try to kill that grumpy orc. The guard has come to look forward to my visits, and cookies, I think. He even invited me on a mission to a haunted house to look for treasure, though his elf partner doesn’t seem too thrilled about having me along. Qabian caught the girl and gave her to me. I gave her to Baal’themar, as a gift since he made me that pretty elf-skin suit a while back. I’m sure he’ll make a pretty project out of her in his basement before he kills her. I’ll go out and see in a few days, just how pretty her human insides are. As payback, I recommended Qabian for the position of High Inquisitor when I was asked for my opinion. Nevermind that I would have recommended him anyway, even if I didn’t owe him a favor. He’s the only Grim who seems to care about doing anything other than fighting demons these days. But if I can use this recommendation as payment for the favor I owed him, then I’m fine with being in the clear. Unfortunately, immediately after, he named me as his assistant. I couldn’t very well refuse after the Commander had just punched Qabian in the face for being flippant about the position and serving the Mandate. So now it’s back to doing paperwork and babysitting Supplicants. It’s not all bad though. I can make applicants being me presents, and make Supplicants to my bidding, and watch their reactions when Awatu tells them never to kneel after I’ve instructed them to always kneel to show respect to Grim officers. I’m not thrilled about answering to an elf, but at least it’s Qabian. He’s not that bad. I went with Karthok’s soldiers and ransacked an Alliance base. I got a strange book from the office there. The cover feels like flesh and looks like it has tattoos on it. It’s called “The Twilight Canticle.” I didn’t give it to the soldiers I was with, or the annoying ogre who went with us. Karthok would probably want it if he knew I had it, but he doesn’t. I wonder if the book is worth anything, and to who.
  25. Hallow's End Party (Horde)

    ((Starts at 7:00 TN/RH server time. All Horde RPers are invited. Please pretend your character doesn't recognize anyone by sight who is in costume. The auction will be first. Characters won't know who they're bidding on. (But players will.) Proceeds will pay for the costume contest prizes, and future event prizes. The "date" doesn't have to be a date; it can be just a social visit, or the buyer can try to make their "date" do a job for them, etc.--be creative! The costume contest may be broken up into categories (scariest, funniest, etc.) depending on the number of participants. A few characters not competing will be asked to judge the contest. Costumes can be transmogs or just costume items equipped, no restrictions.))
  26. Sanjay, The Desert Wind

    ((Updates and edits, most likely final version))
  27. Server merge speculation

    Man, I really doubt any lobbying is required at this point. It's unlikely not to happen given how low activity is. If they say they're looking at servers to merge, we are assuredly on the list.
  28. Server merge speculation

    I've been lobbying for this!
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