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Found 15 results

  1. [H] Kosh'harg!

    As the winter's blanket receded, melting into the Telaari Basin, dreaming glories poked their heads from beneath Nagrand's plains. Clefthooves in heat, talbuks rutting, spring had arrived, and the green grasses made their annual pilgrimage up towards the Red World's sun. The winds gusting off the Twisting Nether whistled past the holy mountain of Oshu'gun, carrying the promise of change and renewal over the barrier hills into the hovels and sanctums of Shattrath City. A rogue breeze slipped through one of the portals to Orgrimmar and rattled the parchment of a freshly printed flyer hanging from a tentpost within the Cleft of Shadow. It reads: Clans and guilds of the Horde do be called to meet upon the plains of Nagrand! A Kosh'harg will be held about the Ring of Trials at the middle of the coming month and her equinox! With feasting and drink, this sacred gathering do be a time of peace and honor. Games will be held to boast the strength of our comrades. Tales will be retold to remember the valor of those who did come before us. Honor will be heaped upon those who did depart from us too soon. The old ways call on us to unite as one and look to the future. The Horde must know for what it fights! The poster is signed with a sigil stamped in red incarnadine ink, bearing the image of Blackrock Spire, the Grim skull, and the Lash. The wind swirls and dissipates, but leaves behind the heady scent of grasses. [[OOC: This is an event for all Horde! The Kosh'harg is an old tradition from the orcish clans of Draenor, before the intrusion of the Burning Legion. It is meant to be a great large festival, where all Clans come to meet in peace. No weapons are drawn in anger (aside from friendly duels) and all are invited to celebrate their commonality. Traditionally, this was a time for discussing trade and oaths, settling disagreements, and retelling stories. It was always held near Oshu'gun in Nagrand. I would very much like for us as a roleplay community to honor this tradition. The Kosh'harg has been executed successfully on other servers, and I think that it could be a lot of fun! We are not all orcs, but our various guilds form many different 'clans'. This would be a chance to interact freely outside of the usual 'tavern' RP setting. It would also need some structure. I am envisioning a series of events through a night. An opening benediction. Feasting and chatter. A dueling tournament. A storytelling contest. A closing ceremony. Nothing is yet set in stone, because I am coming here to listen to ideas! Here's a basic TL;DR: Who: Everyone's invited! (Hordeside) What: Large Horde festival Where: Ring of Trials, Nagrand, Outland When: Wednesday night in middle of April - 12th or 19th, 8pm server If you or your guild wants to participate, post here or send me a PM. The goal is to get a big turnout, so the more the merrier! ]]
  2. strewn about the streets of Dalaran, of Orgrimmar, of Stormwind and even those of Thunder Bluff to Silvermoon and Darnassus to Ironforge; there comes a wave of fliers that adhere to every wall and alley* *Sponsored by the Borrowed Time company* Come one come all! To further relations between the Horde and Alliance, we are proud to announce a fundraising event that is sure to be worth every copper spent! The Mystery Auction Extravaganza! A one-time event that is sure to have you on the edge of your seats with the sheer suspense of it all! Come buy yourself a date, based not on race nor faction nor even looks! Buy them from self-made cards describing themselves for that pure mystery of an unknown rendezvous! What could he or she be? An orc? A dwarf? A tauren? A kaldorei? Who knows! All are welcome to join us January 7th at 6pm on the goblin clock; with our hosts of Phyruss Arath’dorei who will be announcing and bidding on behalf of our wonderful women and the beautiful Siane who will be representing our hunky men! *Fine Print* Purchasing a date does not constitute offers of sexual favors in exchange for money. All dates are confirmed eligible of age and are of their own minds. All contestants are guaranteed safety on their dates, covered by Borrowed Time, Sanctuary, and Twilight Empire enforcers. Obey the rules or they break your face. ((OOC)) So the rules are as follows! -The Biddees are to write a 255 character maximum description of their characters, without using any proper nouns; i.e. Faction, Race, Names, Guilds, etc. They are asked to instead describe personality, hobbies, ideas for a date, anything to represent themselves before an audience. If you would rather not write one, we can write one for you! Send a description to us, but it's all the more fun if you do it yourselves to best give the full disclosure on your character, right? -On Jan. 7th, there will be a Discord up for cross-faction RP, but the auction itself will be transpiring in Old Dalaran in the Legerdemain Lounge. In-game RP is encouraged, but we also hope to make use of this server to talk between Horde and Alliance! -Its up to you and the person you won to set the dates for your schedules to best go on them! -We hope to be able to use real gold for this, but with enough protest, we might just switch to RP currency with a longer time limit. With real gold however, we will be able to purchase gifts for those who participate! -The rule for actual gold: 2 minute auction time, can only do a max increase of 100g until the bud reaches 2000+, then the bids come with a maximum of 200. RP currency, the time limit will be 3 minutes with 50g increments. -Your description will be sold on that night, not necessarily you! So this way, this allows your character to not have to attend the night themselves if you have a conflicting issue, or wish to come on a different character to place bids! -Dates don’t have to be romantic! Buy someone who sounds like you’d have fun with! -Please whisper Cobrak on Discord, or PM me on wow-tng with your descriptions! And honor code here, but don't tell anyone what you wrote for maximum surprise!
  3. The Fog of War

    The drowned morass beyond the ruins of Tideskorn Harbor clamored with the sound of battle. A warband of mortal warriors had descended from the Valarjar post of Valdisdall to cull the Kvaldir which perpetually amassed throughout the fog ridden marsh. They had waded deeply from the cliffs and toward the mire until the tower from whence they had come was lost to sight within the mist. The Kvaldir were not long to emerge. The fighting was brutal and swift with the tide turning in favor of Helya's foul servants. The formation of the warriors had broken, and retreat was sounded. However, not all could answer or follow suit with how scattered their band had become... One such left behind was a Knight, Rorrek Therrien, bearing Valarjar armaments of bronze and gold. Within his gauntlets were held apart immense cleavers which were wielded with peculiar ease that was belied by their size. The runes and stones upon his weaponry shone fiercely through the chilling fog. His sabatons waded through the water in silence whilst he kept wary watch upon his surroundings through the restricting view of his helm. His course was clearly made toward the cliff face beneath Valdisdall as to regroup, but this was not to be. Looming shadows within the fog soon halted his steps. The Kvaldir were closing in on his position and soon would have him surrounded. He was forced then to retreat further into the marsh in the hopes of evading the marauders, lest he be caught alone. The warrior eventually came to an outcropping of stone jutting from the water and mud. With effort he hefted himself atop this formation, thereafter surveying the fog downward and around the rocks. He could faintly still hear the sound of far off blades clattering from distant skirmishes. He was not the only one that was unable to follow the retreat, and yet such echoes were quite far from where he stood now... He waited and considered his options. The fog was dense and brutally cold. It had a way of seeping into one's skin, through clothes, through armor. Without either, it bit into flesh and hung there with dripping moisture. It would be easy to lose grip of a weapon in the dense fog, but fortunately for Vilmah Bloodborne, her plate mail covered gauntlets were padded enough to keep hold of the enormous Valarjar sword she used to fight off the Kvaldir around her. She'd been sent to help thin Helya's servants, along with many others from the Horde who fought for coin and glory alike. Clad in what most would have considered an indecent amount of armor, the orcess splashed through the foul seawater and fought with the speed and ferocity of the Blademaster she trained with. She wore only plate covered pants, boots, and gauntlets. Her left arm, mechanical from mid-bicep, was held to her body with a series of leather straps across her chest and back. Her torso was, for the most part, completely bare save for the fabric wrapped around her chest. Like most Blademasters, she would forgo upper body armor. Unlike most Blademasters, however, she was female. Quick though she was, the Kvaldir soon outnumbered her. Vilmah sped between them, hacking at their bodies with her weapon and taking down enough to clear a path toward what looked like a decent place to lick her wounds. Sinking her sword into the meat of a Kvaldir's shoulder, she kicked him into the water and ducked through the mist to make her escape. There were a few wounds on her side and shoulder that she could bandage, though she cursed the fog and its tendency to make everything wet. Moist bandages were even more uncomfortable than wet boots. Rorrek crouched low as he heard the distant sounds of combat resume, his sight honing in upon the direction from whence came the splashing and hurried approach. His muscles grew taut beneath his armor whilst he stared piercingly to glimpse any impending silhouettes nearing his position. The outcropping of stone he had found purchase upon afforded him both the high ground and cover should he desire. The footfalls hastened and soon a shadow emerged. The Knight immediately dropped from sight, concealing himself by the angle of the rocks opposite to this impending presence. The footsteps were not as heavy as any Kvaldir he had encountered. He pondered for a fleeting moment if it was another that had been caught within the mists, severed from any possible retreat. He slowly began to rise until he stood atop the stones and in view once more. His stance was bent, cleavers held at the ready, should he need initiate the attack with urgency. However, the sight beneath him led to a wary pause. Through his helm the man watched warily the orcess in silence, observing every facet of their person as to glean all that he could. She was not among the warband of mortal Valarjar that he had accompanied. Her garbs seemed to be vaguely familiar to him, but Rorrek could not place exactly that she resembled. He stood wordlessly while poised for battle should they prove foe and waited for them to take notice of his person above them. Vilmah caught sight of a rock formation in the water. Somewhere dry to dump the water from her boots and bandage her wounds seemed almost too good to be true. She glanced back to make sure that the Kvaldir behind her were gone, and ran for the tallest of the rocks to climb. She was a small orc, smaller than many humans, though her green skin and tusks were a dead giveaway for her race. Using her good arm for most of the work, she grabbed hold of the cold rocks and scrambled her way from the water. Once finally done splashing, she took stock of her situation; momentarily safe and hidden behind the fog, but for the most part, surrounded by Kvaldir. Muttering to herself, she slid off her boots and emptied them of the water she'd collected while running. A fish fell out of one and splashed gratefully back toward its home. Vilmah wasted no time and went about bandaging herself, though the wet air dampened the thin strips of fabric almost immediately. They weren't deep cuts, but they would eventually scar. Additions to her growing collection, which covered most of her bare torso and cris-crossed her throat. "Well this isn't the afternoon I expected," she said to herself in Orcish. The Knight, seeing as he had emerged upon the higher stones whilst Vilmah began tending herself, remained unnoticed. He continued to patiently observe downward as his brow furrowed in thought as to translate the brief muttering of Orcish. Rorrek did not relinquish his prepared stance or guard in spite of the orcess' vulnerable state. Eventually, after piecing through the foreign words, he responded aloud in a measured tone in common. "Yes... unexpected." Vilmah jumped at the sound of another voice, slipping precariously close to the edge of her rock. She managed to catch herself before splashing after the fish, and hanging on with her mechanical arm just long enough to regain her balance. Carefully, she approached the origins of the sound. Your typical orcess may not have understood Common, but Vilmah had enough experience in her short lifetime to understand and communicate a few words. Looking at the Knight, she raised her eyebrows in surprise and gave a careful wave. "Sorry," she said carefully in Common, the rest of her words somewhat muddled and broken. "Not know there. Kvaldir run. Wet. Bad." He made certain that there remained a respectable distance between them as he judged Vilmah's person. The sudden amount of surprise the orcess displayed was certainly not expected. Rorrek straightened himself as combat did not seem imminent, lowering slowly his great cleaving blades. He turned the handles within his gauntlets so to hold the weapons downward and rest their curved ends against the stone. Yet, his plated hands did not rest against the pommels and instead remained gripped as to indicate the ability to immediately return to action if need be. After a short time of contemplating an answer again came from his otherwise statuesque form. "Surrounded," he spoke simply. His hidden eyes then glanced toward their large sword for a moment. "Foe?" he inquired toward them now that they stood face to face. His knuckles shifted atop where he gripped his blades should the answer be unsavory. Vilmah blinked, searching through her vocabulary as he spoke in simple terms. The Knight's body language certainly helped. Shaking her head quickly, she lowered her own sword in a show of good faith. Time would tell how foolish a move it would be, but she was used to being wrong. "No. No foe," she replied, using her mechanical hand to hold the sword as her good hand pointed toward her own face. "Vilmah. Sanc-ury. No foe, All-ance. Honor." Rorrek's helm tilted slightly to the side as his thoughts caught upon one word within their broken speech. "Sanctuary?" he spoke clearly and with gradual enunciation. There was a shift in the atmosphere about him as if the orcess was then regarded much differently. However, this subtle change did not dispel the apparent wariness which girded him. "Twilight Empire," he stated. He did not return his name. Vilmah blinked and digested the words. They were familiar, but unknown to her. She gave a helpless shrug and shook her head, smiling in spite of the situation. Despite her scarred and somewhat dischevelled appearance, the orcess seemed even more young as her tusks helping to deepen the dimples in her cheeks. "Okay, Twi-li. You okay fight?" She asked, nodding toward the mists, where the Kvaldir could still be heard a short distance away. "Find here, very bad," she attempted to explain, using her good hand to illustrate the situation by sliding her thumb across her scarred throat. The Knight understood. He shifted the cleavers within his hand from their resting and unto a more readied position at his sides. His person indicated no injury as of yet, though the grand armaments were riddled with shallow cuts and indentations. Yet, he did not seem to agree with her explanation. He lifted one cleaver in the direction he assumed Valdisdall to be. "The way is shut," he affirmed. The cleaver was moved to gesture as well toward the mist around them. "Surrounded," Rorrek repeated. He then tapped the end of the cleaver against the stone beneath them. "High ground. Wait." Vilmah cocked her head as she attempted to decipher the meaning of his words. He didn't seem to be in any rush to move, which she understood as his signal that they shouldn't attempt to fight their way to freedom just yet. Nodding, she tapped her sword against the rock and pointed down. "Wait," she repeated, rolling her eyes and smiling as if to suggest that she did not enjoy waiting. "Wait cold. Wet. No good," she explained, indicating toward her bare torso, shoulders, chest and arm. "Blademaster bad clothes pick." The warrior could not relate, fully armored as he was, nor had he any articles to offer the orcess. The softly smoldering runes which were engraved throughout his armor and cleavers seemed to further attest to his person being far more suited to venture unto the unforgiving cold. He shrugged his pauldrons with brief sympathies as naught could be done. Rorrek made to speak again, but he then abruptly ceased his words and listened. A slow tide of shuffling could be heard approaching from all sides of the outcropping of rock. Intermingled therein could also be heard the clattering of chains and the dragging of nets. "Kvaldir," he spat under his breath. He crouched slighty once more and stared out into the mists. "Blademaster, hrm?" He pondered aloud. "...Good." Vilmah's ear twitched at the sound of nearby water being disturbed. It was followed by deep voices, which she quickly recognized. With her back to the rock formation, she crouched down low and held her sword in an angle above her head. The lack of armor allowed her to move in such a way that she could position herself close to the stones, making her small body even smaller within the rock's crevices. Turning her hazel eyes to the human, she flashed him a grin with almost impossibly white teeth and tusks. "Good," she repeated. Rorrek glanced back toward the jutting stone where he had concealed himself briefly before, though the musing was dismissed as soon as it had come. His gaze craned upward to the farthest end of the outcropping. The stones were steep and tall, enough to perhaps halt the Kvaldir entirely from approaching from behind. The Knight's armaments did not afford him likewise usage of the rocks as Vilmah displayed and so he stepped forward and prepared himself for that to come. The shapes slowly emerged in a semi-circle before where the two had made their stand. Yet more silhouettes shifted in the fog toward the farther sides and back of the stones. The Kvaldir grinned as their brackish line formed with cruel instruments kept in hand. However, they halted in the distance and did not immediately approach. Their prey held the high ground and with two present it would be difficult to overwhelm either at once. None of the cowardly drowned men were eager to be cut down as the vanguard assuredly would be. Vilmah looked toward Rorrek and pointed toward the human before she slammed her fist against her chest, a gesture she hoped that he could translate. Larger and more covered than she was, he would be able to take the brunt of their attacks while she picked off the Kvaldir individually. "You go," she mouthed silently, then pointed at the approaching enemy, then dragged a thumb across her throat. "I kill." Rorrek watched Vilmah's gesturing and understood at once. Yet, the Knight again found himself at odds with her reasoning and instead but stared with eyes that shone of disagreement through the opening of his helm. It was in that moment that he began to regret his former words as he remembered exactly why so few Blademasters remained. Admittedly that she proposed called to his heated blood as to cleave unto foe despised, striding boldly forth with wrath in hand; however, his experience combating the Kvaldir reined him back to his senses. He remained firmly where he stood, refusing to surrender the high ground and wade unto the marsh just to be overwhelmed at the hand of giants. It was this hesitation that provoked the Kvaldir as they saw their opportunity. A frail sounding horn was blown and the coral encrusted vrykul surged forward. Though, some purposefully fell behind in the pace of the charge as to allow others advance before them. Rorrek cursed beneath his breath as the splashing figures forced his attention forward again. He lifted one cleaver forward and pointed it toward the incoming enemies. The other immense blade was held near the hilt of the former with ease in spite of the length, attesting to the enchantments therein. He waited for the foremost Kvaldir to begin his ascent upon the stone outcropping and leveled his swords at the vrykul's eyes. It was then that the warrior struck along the edge of the former sword with the latter as one would strike flint. An eruption of flame ensued as the oils which coated the cleavers ignited. A cascade of embers were thrown forward, blinding the Kvaldir which formed the front of their advance and forcing it to stumble back into the water below. The others gave way and stepped back before the display and shower of flames. The air became suffused with the pungent scent of blazegrease that emanated from his weapons, an odor perhaps familiar to Vilmah as the tactic originated from the Blademasters themselves.
  4. Sanctuary

    Sanctuary was a storied guild, once. Its embrace of justice and peace made it respected by some and despised by others. But after Garrosh came to power, there was no room left in the new Horde for such ideals. Under the hostile regime, Sanctuary's members were hunted until the guild was a hollow, smoking ruin. Some of its former members managed to go underground, carrying on their cause, but by the time Garrosh was deposed, the guild was remembered only in hushed whispers. Then, the banner was bravely raised by a young newcomer. Members old and new took it up in an unprecedented revival. Sanctuary's tabard is once again worn, albeit slightly changed: its hammer has become a phoenix. Upholding the principles of justice and peace in a dangerous world still brings its share of controversy, but Sanctuary stands resolute in the face of doubt. While supporting the Horde's operations, Sanctuary also works to counter any threats that rise to the world, above all safeguarding the innocent – whether from those who would take advantage of them, or from those who believe none are innocent. The Vows Peace: I will not initiate hostilities. Justice: I will react with force only to defend the innocent, or in fair, consensual combat. Mercy: I will respond to hostility with the least amount of force required. Sacrifice: I will forgive mistakes, insults, and injuries to my person for the sake of peace, justice, and mercy.
  5. Derecho: Raptor Red

    *** The Mad must've been let loose on a retarded field trip to the Brokenspear Tavern... *** *** ...so Derecho buys her drink and takes it elsewhere to enjoy. *** Shokkra grunts. [Derecho]: Hi dere [Shokkra]: Hey. Shokkra eyes you up and down. [Derecho]: Did ya be thinkin to get drinks for yaself before leavin da bar? [Shokkra]: Nah. Good for now. Drink after I fight. Aaren tilts her head to the side. [Derecho]: Oh ay [Derecho]: WHo ya be fightin? [Shokkra]: Alliance tonight. [Derecho]: Be picturing that bull's head on a few o dem for me, okie dokie? [Shokkra]: ...what? [Shokkra]: OH. [Shokkra]: Right, yeah. [Derecho]: And be punching him hard. You cackle maniacally at Shokkra. [Shokkra]: Sure thing. [Derecho]: Who ya be? [Shokkra]: Shokkra Deathrage, Guardian of Sanctuary. You? [Derecho]: I be not havin shuch fancy titles. Just Derecho. [Shokkra]: Aka'magosh, Derecho. Aaren smiles a little and nods. "Aaren." You greet Aaren warmly. [Derecho]: Ya be fightin too elfie? [Aaren]: Nah. Not tonight. [Derecho]: Ya can be sittin here by me den. [Derecho]: Ya got ya a drink? [Aaren]: Yeah, I always got a drink. [Aaren]: Drink's better too when it's quiet, like over here. Aaren looks around at the fog covering the ground, but she refrains mentioning it. [Shokkra]: Prefer places where I can fuckin' see my feet at least. Aaren quietly snickers to herself. [Derecho]: It being better than wit sourpusses like dat oder guy. [Derecho]: What, ya be fearing they run off witout ya? Aaren grins wickedly. [Shokkra]: I weigh these fuckers down too much. Wouldn't get very far in the boots. [Derecho]: Best not be falling in any deep water holes [Aaren]: Plate and water don't sound like friends. You cackle maniacally at Aaren. [Shokkra]: Bah, we get trained to swim in fuckin' plate. Shokkra flexes her muscles. Oooooh so strong! [Derecho]: Be f-fallin to da bottom like ya be an anchor. [Aaren]: Well, always a use! Aaren taps her foot on the ground a couple times before sitting down. [Derecho]: Ya be fightin alliance all of de time? [Shokkra]: Eh, gives me shit to do. Good training. [Derecho]: May it be I be doin dat after I get de idea o tings better. [Aaren]: I don't really fight much myself. But I never stood on the front line either. Shokkra grunts. Aaren points to Shokkra. "That one just gets mad when people hit her." She follows her comment with a snicker. [Shokkra]: Like any normal fuckin' person. [Derecho]: Ya be gettin mad too bitty elfie! It be hurtin [Derecho]: Want me be showin ya? You cackle maniacally at the situation. [Aaren]: I'm always mad, though! [Derecho]: Really? [Derecho]: Why dat be? [Aaren]: Probably. That's what I hear, anyway. [Shokkra]: You mean bitchy, Aaren. [Shokkra]: I'm always angry. [Aaren]: Same thing! [Derecho]: No no NO [Shokkra]: Bitchy's more elf-y. [Aaren]: Hey, I know this one troll that's pretty bitchy! [Derecho]: Who be? [Shokkra]: Oh yeah? Who? [Aaren]: I ain't shayin any names. Then they'll find out and come try to cave my face in. Shokkra snorts. [Shokkra]: Coward. [Aaren]: I'm not a coward. I'm shmart. [Derecho]: Hmm Aaren grins wickedly. [Derecho]: Ya be sayin anyting ya want. It not like words be sticks an stones, ya be knowin? [Shokkra]: Yeah, coward. [Aaren]: The words are harmless until the wrong people hear them. Shokkra snorts. [Derecho]: People be offended by every stray word flying in dere ears, may it be dey should stuff dem full of cotton balls. [Aaren]: Oh I don't give a fuck about people being offended. Sometimes they just want to act on it and I don't feel like dealing with it. [Aaren]: I got enough bullshit to deal with, enough people to watch my back around. [Derecho]: Let dem be tryin! You growl menacingly. [Shokkra]: Most of 'em are good at it. You peer at Shokkra searchingly. Aaren shrugs. Who knows? [Derecho]: Ya be tinkin like an orc. [Shokkra]: Well I am a fuckin' orc. Aaren quietly snickers to herself. [Aaren]: A damn good one to pay some gold and throw at your problems, sometimes. [Derecho]: I be knowin! Always so fixed on de enemy ya be seein right afore ya eyes. Ya be missin da rapta dat come at ya from de shadows. [Shokkra]: If a raptor comes from the fuckin' shadows I'll throw it at the fuckers in front of me. You smile at War Raptor. You cackle maniacally at Shokkra. [Derecho]: If ya be livin long enough to be seein it. [Shokkra]: That's what the damn armor's for. You eye Shokkra up and down. [Derecho]: Relax mon. [Derecho]: No raptas be huntin ya here. Shokkra grunts and rolls her shoulders. [Aaren]: Beasts, demons, what else have you been killing lately? A sly smirk spreads across Aaren's face. [Shokkra]: Eh, my liver. [Aaren]: That one'sh easy though. [Aaren]: Maybe the rest of it too. Shokkra shrugs. Who knows? Aaren peers at Shokkra searchingly. Aaren shrugs. Who knows? [Derecho]: Ya be lookin bitty. What ya got to be drinkin hard enough to hurt ya liver for? Ya don't be regeneratin like I be doin. Aaren waves. You wave goodbye to Aaren. Farewell! [Shokkra]: Just a joke. But mostly firewater, slammers, Blackrock Ale, Cherry Grog, Nitro-Fuel. [Derecho]: Sure ting, but why? [Shokkra]: Helps take my mind off shit mostly. [Derecho]: What ya be avoidin wit ya mind? May it be talkin can help just as good as da drink. [Shokkra]: Crushing stress. The threat of mortality. Normal shit. [Derecho]: Ya not be likin de idea of d-dyin someday? [Shokkra]: Not anymore. [Derecho]: Ya be not likin de idea anymore, or ye be meaning not anymore like it be okay now, it don't be botherin ya anymore? [Shokkra]: Don't like the fuckin' idea of dying anymore. Glorious death in combat seems... not worth it. Derecho snorts. [Derecho]: Death be not glorious. [Shokkra]: Sure as hell is sometimes. [Derecho]: May it be the act dat got ya dere was, but dyin itself be lonely and just bad, mon. [Derecho]: I can be seein why dat be a reason for drinkin [Shokkra]: Yeah. [Derecho]: But everybody dies, okie dokie? [Derecho]: Why worry? [Shokkra]: Too many people I care about. I want to live, with them. For them. [Derecho]: Well den, what da spirits ya be doin gettin drunk den? Knock it off, pour it out, and go get to bein wit dem! Dumb orc. [Shokkra]: Well I fuckin' can't be with them every fuckin' second of my life and when I'm not I think about all the crazy shit and start drinking again. Derecho mimes crying. [Derecho]: Oh boohoo! [Derecho]: I be so sad I can't be findin new friends to be fillin me time wit, so I be so sad I drink meself to my death dat I be so scared of! [Shokkra]: Oh fuck off. I get enough of this shit from other fucking people. Last thing I care about is some random fuckin' troll's opinion on my damn life. [Derecho]: Well ya either be wantin ta fix it, or ya not be. Not like one random troll bitty gonna start spouting wisdom ya be listenin to if ya don't be wantin to hear it. [Derecho]: I be hearin way worse tings to be drivin moods low, any how. [Shokkra]: I get all the fuckin' wisdom I need from every other self proclaimed philosopher. You cackle maniacally at the situation. [Derecho]: I not bein any philo what ever. [Derecho]: I just be talkin. [Derecho]: Just be words, mon. [Shokkra]: And giving out advice like everyone else. [Derecho]: Ya want be confirmin a rumor for me? [Derecho]: Oh ay. I can be shuttin up. [Derecho]: Me momma be sayin I talk too much. You shrug. Who knows? [Shokkra]: Might be. Derecho stays quiet for a long while, sipping her cocktails, but it's quite obvious she's itching to open her pie hole. [Shokkra]: That doesn't mean you have to completely shut up. [Derecho]: Okie dokie. [Derecho]: Well be tellin me true- dere really be like a legion of demons comin for us all? [Shokkra]: Yeah. [Derecho]: And den [Derecho]: Hmm [Derecho]: Ya be Sanctuary, ya said. Ya really be gettin fought on by dat odder guild? I be forgettin which [Shokkra]: The Grim? Yeah, almost a year ago. [Derecho]: A whole year ya two been goin at it?! Shokkra laughs. [Shokkra]: No no, almost a year since we made a treaty. [Derecho]: Oh [Derecho]: So dey be playin nice like now? [Shokkra]: No. Just not open warfare. [Derecho]: I be hearin bad tings, mon, and I not be knowin what all to be believin [Derecho]: Hmm Lupinum points at Shokkra. [Shokkra]: My turn? Lupinum nods at Shokkra. [Shokkra]: Attune me bitch. [Lupinum]: Make me proud, you worthless, dried gronnsack. [Derecho]: Oh ay! [Derecho]: It be de voodoo peeper. You grin wickedly at Lupinum. Lupinum blinks at you. [Shokkra]: I always fuckin' do you fucking piece of shit. Lupinum snorts derisively at Shokkra. [Derecho]: I sorry I be makin her grumpy I tink. [Lupinum]: Her? [Shokkra]: I'm always fuckin' grumpy. [Lupinum]: Took the words out of my mouth. [Derecho]: She be fighin better dough, most like. You shrug at Shokkra. Who knows? [Derecho]: Ya be havin any advice for a bitty troll den, afore ya be l-leavin? Lupinum blinks at you. [Shokkra]: Kill shit quick. [Lupinum]: Keep your tusks sharp? You salute Shokkra with respect. [Lupinum]: That's a thing you people do, right? You cackle maniacally at Lupinum. Shokkra salutes you with respect. [Shokkra]: Mok'rah, Derecho. [Derecho]: I be strikin like a rapta soon, don't ya be worrin none. [Lupinum]: Like a raptor? Lupinum giggles at you. [Derecho]: Tell ya friend. She be knowin Lupinum raises an eyebrow. [Lupinum]: Alright. Stay safe. Lupinum smiles at you. Lupinum turns on his heel.
  6. Derecho: Lights Out

    It's been a bad day. One of the worst I've had in a while. I fumbled everything. I literally fell off the ground. That I'd happened to land amidst a small group of people, one of which I knew, well that turned out not to be all that great either. I ate... of course I ate. Over the last few days, I have not been satisfied until I was near to bursting and then, the pain of it finally drowned out the craving. The all-encompassing need to consume, to chew, to swallow, to fill. Some of the time I had to access to real edible food. Sometimes I was not so lucky. I've eaten pinecones. Tree bark. Dirt. Things no rational animal would. But they fed me, Lilliana and her friends, with real meat, and I managed to catch a few fish. Then the bitch gave me some brew that sets you on fire when you drink it. I was clever enough to figure out the way of it. Drink like a dwarf, they suggested. So I did, and stubbornly drank two more. I was thirsty. If you chase the sulfuron slammer with another drink, it puts out the flames almost instantly. Still, SHE SET ME ON FIRE. I don't think its funny. I hate the flames. It's one of those days. So I decide that maybe its a good day for a drink. The Cantina is tonight, I'm pretty sure, and I'm hungry. Lilliana reminded me, and I want to go and watch. She is much stronger than I expected, and I need to plan carefully. Maybe she will be there. A good predator observes their prey for weakness. I go to the boat. Instead of the nice troll bartender, there is a goblin that greets me instead. But there are other trolls. A new male I have yet to charm. Maybe he will ply me with drinks in exchange for the vague hope of sex. Maybe he will feed me. The goblin asks me what I want. I tell her anything but a slammer. No more fire for me! She hands me a drink that warms my very soul, in a fuzzy round coconut half. It is extremely sweet and clings to the lips, allowing me to savor the taste of it instead of merely gulping it down to feel my throat work. Tahzani shuffles by, busy in his rounds, but tells me to make myself at home, so I do. There is an absurdly large driftwood chair set up like some kind of beach throne, sheltered beneath a canopy umbrella. I claim it, and survey the kingdom of the deck from this position of leisure. Why had no one claimed this spot? It is fantastic. The other troll watched me travel to the chair, which also happens to be right next to him. It is perfect. "Well, hello dere." He puts his mug down to greet me. I smile at him, and he returns a strange, coy sort of smirk. This is the start of the mating ritual that he doesn't know is doomed to fail. "Hi back at ya. Who you be?" I question him. On the other side of the boat, a forsaken in an absurd hat begins loud introductions. He is tailed by a young orc child, and seeing them irritates me immediately for some reason. Still, I have the troll's attention fully. He continues to smile, "Ah be Harkinic." He rises to his feet, and bows down quite low in an exaggerated display to me, "And who joo be....?" His eyes roam up and down my form. I play the game. "Who ya want me to being?" Harkinic settles back down on his haunches, lifting his mug into a big hand, "Joo be who joo want, ah would be hoping." He responds gruffly, still eying me. The undead pirate is apparently one of the purple ones. He goes greeting his 'commodore' at the opposite railing, which is fine by me, as it adds distance between us. "I be called Derecho, most often," I tell my potential sugar daddy, and I add a smirk for good measure. "Da who joo really want da be?" He returns the expression, his face easily sliding into it. He's mine. I don't really have to play anymore. I tell him honestly "It be not mattren none too much what I be wantin now-days." I shrug, not quite sure why I told him that. Voices from across the deck snatch my attention. Two pandaren sit in the corner behind the wind gauge, and the male said something about food for certain. "Joo be needing a drink?" Harkinic asks me. He finishes his in a big gulp for the excuse to summon the bartender for more. "Sure ting," I agree. The pandas are still discussing a feast. My mouth waters. My companion summons the goblin, who comes over as she's hollaring that the bears won't be fed unless they pay up-front. It seems the two have just met and are in a courtship dance much like I am. He wants to double an order already placed for himself. I hope they've paid. Tahzani receives the request as he's halfway up the ramp with food. His arms are laden on both sides with layered and heavy dishes piled high, and his brow runs with sweat from having been preparing them below in the hot galley. He receives the updated order silently, though I see his eye twitch. Ever the gracious one, he says he'll have it done right away, and he carefully hands over what he has so far. I don't think they even noticed the tone used or the slight hesitation. Tahzani works very hard. I don't like these pandas. I am distracted when the goblin, whose name I've heard is Bayonnii, breaks my line of sight, finally summoned by Harkinic. "Ya need a drink, or..?" "Hells yes!" I cry, as he presses coins into her hand and tells her not one with fire. The new drink is no where near as satisfying as my first ones, but they are wet. I'm disappointed, but I lie and thank him anyway. Tahzani returns, again looking like an overburdened pack animal. I stare at the bears and their hugely excessive feast. I hate them, but I want what they have. My stomach clenches without sound, demanding. I wait until Tahzani has unloaded everything extra at the panda's table before waving to summon him. He shuffles over, assuming I have an order. "Everybody good heah?" comes his question, automatic. "Tahzani," says I, "How ya doin?" Instead of answering, he asks "Jah two okay ovah heah?" I think we are, so I say so to put his mind at ease. He takes it as his cue to leave. "Aight. Lemme know if jah need anytin' den" I'm irritated. "Ya lady mate be trouble!" I call. "Capital-like Tee." He stops two-thirds of the way through the automatonic query to other patrons. "Pardon me?" "Ya girl. Shhe been actin up. ...hic!" The hiccup surprises me completely, and I find it both funny and strange, this uncontrolled flux of my diaphragm. For a brief moment I'm intrigued by the shift of my insides, and then I feel bad for antagonizing Tahzani. My pettiness subsided, I want to apologize. "I be not knowin if ya want be knowin, so I done told ya." I don't quite manage it, see. Tahzani just stares at me dully, " Tanks fah de news." My ire rekindles, but not at him. For the woman that caused such a lacklust of passion in this troll. Lilliana. I have another motive, as if I needed it. Maybe he's working too hard? Maybe he just needs to sit and relax and not be a bartender or mate to a three-faced bitch. Maybe he needs a break. I peer at him, realizing this. "Ey!" I beckon and wave him over again. He comes to call like a slave. "Ya got de otha one to sherve, be talkin wit me a bit? Ya sheem down." "...Aight." But then Bayonnii leaves. In the corner, the pandas have gorged and fallen out into sleep. I know well how their energies have radically been diverted to the task of digestion. I want to stab them and steal what's left before they wake and finish it. The elf commander is even surprised. "I've heard the phrase "food coma", but..." The drastic change from feasting to hibernation has an odd effect on the pirate. His voice has been grating the whole time, but now he's frantic and even louder. He starts yelling about poison, which is of course a direct insult to Tahzani's cooking and hard work. Tahzani grunts and shrugs a shoulder at me, moving to the other side of the boat as he hears the commotion. I knudge Harkinic. "See? Dis be why I got no job. Lookit him." Tahzani has to explain to the idiot pirate that what has happened to the pandas is completely normal for their species. I listen, looking to see if perhaps I can swipe some of their feast for myself in the distraction. I decide to try. I get up and go over as the undead yells again. "IT BE POISON!" "Oh shut de fuck up!" I scream at him. It makes no sense to me. "Ya be dead already, what ya be carin fo? ...hic!" as I head across the deck. Harkinic's eyes track me. I squeeze between the elf commander and the wind gauge carefully inserting myself near to the table. "They's down fer tha count! See?" I don't see. The male has reawoken already from all the noise, and he tries to tell the lunatic pirate to hush in deference to the female's continued slumber. He might notice if I just grab a handful of his food and try to run with it. Instead, I nudge at the girl panda within reach. "Ey. Ya be dead?" This produces a sleepy lick of the lips and a stretch, proving she is obviously still among the realm of the living. I feel that if I don't add something to my stomach, I might soon enough not be. My patience is wearing precious thin. "Dere. Ya be seein? Breathin fine. Not dead. Shut. Up." I glare at the stupid pirate. This comment is apparently the first he notices of my presence, distracted as he was with his own blustering. He looks at the speaker, me. "...Egad! Robby take cover! IT BE A SEA WITCH! She'll curse us an' drag us down ya Jonesy Dave's locker!" The little orc child promptly panics as instructed. I find this hilarious. What a fantastic distraction! I encourage it, raising my hands curled into claw-fingers. I hiss in my best sea-witch impersonation at the man, then cackle at the ridiculousness. This play-acting has quite an interesting and unintended effect on the panda bears. Evidently, they are not smart enough to recognize the joke, or perhaps too disoriented from sleep. They believe it! The girl jolts fully awake and shrinks back some. She grabs her hat and wraps it around her like a child's security blanket. The male completely freezes with a full roll of sausages dangly in his hands. I want them so. I turn my gaze on him. He swallows. "I can be havin one?" I ask him, quite enjoying this little over-lording. Still, I did ask, rather than demand. He stammers, agreeing, but rather than give up the prize in-hand, I get piping hot fresh sausages pulled from his bag. I cheer, extremely happy at my good luck, and I remember to thank the bear too. I retreat with my prize. I don't even care about the dwindling commotion, or the insulting title of sea witch. The Sanctuary mistress departs. The pandas stare at me in fear. I don't care. I have food. I return to my chair with it, gnawing already. The sausage has a grainy texture that is a pleasure to chew and break apart with the tongue, and is hot enough to make avoiding scalds while doing this a challenge. Harkinic grins to me, "De Derecho returns." He points out at the same time that a new troll is over there, across to the stern, waggling his eyebrows at him. I continue eating, watching for a moment. It becomes clear that the new male is trying to steal Harkinic. My territorial instinct runs wild. To say I am possessive would be an understatement. This new guy directly challenges my primal rights! I can't leave it be. The panda girl flinches when I get up, then relaxes at my trajectory. Harkinic chuckles, knowing what's about to happen, likely. I walk over. "Hi dere." The challenger looks up at me and smiles, "Ayh beautiful! Ayh dun tink we met afore, ayh?" I am in no mood for pleasantries. "Ya be talkin a good talk, but ya see, I been findin him first.Ya hear?" I glare at him, sizing him up and the warning in my tone is more than clear. "Ayh like both da laydayh an mons, ya know? If ya dun wan m' after 'im, ayh wun do nuthin more. Wha 'bout m' luck w'tcha lovely, though?" He winks at me, thinking himself rather sly. "Go be handy wit yaself, ya done pissed me off already." I'd like to hook my finger into that winking recess and feel the pop of loosening his eyeball. "Aww, dun be like dat, we be chill 'ere. Nah tryin nuthin harm." It takes a great deal of my willpower to not leap at him. I spin on my heel toe and stomp off, though. harkinic wears a rather superior smirk, unable to hide the arrogance at observing me return to him. I slam into my chair then turn a sweet smile onto him when he supplies me with another full mug of drink. Nice guy. Mollified, I had neglected to notice a huge tauren arrive. Gigantic, he is! I blurt such "Ya be a behemoth." Harkinic snickers, "Ah dunno tink dat one can help dat....." One of the druid's ears moves toward me betraying that he heard. At the comment his head lowers some, attempting to make himself seem smaller. Harkinic cackles, "Joo done hurt his feelings." He eyes the oversized tauren with a high level of deliberate assessment, "Joo were rathah right tho...." He says regarding the tauren's exceptional size. "Didn't be meaning to." I notice the hunch too. "Awwwww, don't be like dat. It be a good ting! Ya be big an strong!" I try to reassure. I'm sure it would have the opposite effect if I told him he could feed a village for a week, but the thought crosses my mind. The tauren rubs the side of his neck at my attempts to soothe. Still, he steps back to not be in the way of a new arrival. As his huge frame moves, the ramp becomes fully visible. I recognize the elf standing there. I can't help glaring. I fucking hate him! He's going to die.
  7. The Gathering of the Tribes [H]

    The call has been sent out for Tauren of all tribes to gather under the Golden Bull once more, and the message is simple: The Horns of the Shu'halo answer the calls of Thunder Bluff. We safeguard our culture, our way of life, and our lands from any that would threaten them. This includes our place in the Horde and her cities across all of the lands. Breygrah Ragetotem has again taken up the mantle of Chieftain and brothers and sisters young and old are welcome to join us in service to our people. Meet on the Elder Rise in Thunder Bluff in the Great Tent before the bonfire on the 8th bell Monday evening. OOC: Monday 7/18 at 8pm server time, come join us at our gathering in Thunder Bluff. <Horns of the Shuhalo> is a heavy RP guild for tauren and by tauren. Only partially a recruitment drive, Breygrah has sent the call to gauge interest in the Horns, who had been a staple of Ravenholdt Roleplay and PvP since nearly the server's commencement. Tauren that want to join are welcome. Tauren that don't know, or know that they won't want to join are welcome. Any other (Horde) race that just wants to see what's going on are welcome. Join us for RP before the patch hits! Anyone with questions (IC or OOC) can contact Breygrah-Ravenholdt in game through whisper or mail, PM here on TNG or in Discord, or through battle.net at Burger#1497
  8. Gathering in Thunder Bluff

    until
    Get together and discuss what we are doing. Need some help with something? Have an idea? Bring it to the bonfire before Baine on the High Rise. This is an informal meeting and all of the Horde's peaceful citizens are welcome to attend.
  9. Those appointed Horns of the Shu’halo by Cairne, and now his son Baine, have come and gone over the years, but they have never quite gone away. They have always aimed to preserve the Shu’halo way of life for their own continued prosperity, and for a high quality of life of future generations. If they were not to take on the mantle of preserving their world and way of life, who would pick it up? Breygrah Ragetotem has again lifted the old banner of the Horns, and seeks anyone that hears the call. Whether it be by word of mouth, postings in various major settlements, the draw of nature or the whispers of the spirits, any and all tauren are welcome to claim the colors and shout to the winds that they will persevere. For the Shu’halo, and for the Horde. The Horns have been a staple of Ravenholdt roleplay since May 2007. Their presence has of course waxed and waned over that time, but they have always remained. We are a heavy roleplay guild and we accept tauren characters of any level, since our main and true focus is and will always be roleplay though raiding and PvP are always options for the future. Any in-game or composed tauren tribe is welcome, as we are representative of tauren people and not a single tribe as a whole. We are still small when it comes to active members, but our numbers have already grown quickly! We welcome any sort of personalities, so long as their IC goals are aligned with ours and they show no aggression towards other members of their fellow Horde. Keep in mind that does not mean your characters must like everyone, or even be nice! We only expect the players behind the characters to be considerate, mature individuals that respect the others they interact with. We have no initiation process, aside from being required to attend a roleplay meeting with at least three other full members. This goes for alts of people that are already members, because our goal is to inspire roleplay and character interaction and development. Anyone that has questions or is interested in joining us, even merely participating in our meetings and events can whisper Breygrah-Ravenholdt in game, send an in-game IC letter of interest, or show up to any of our IC events. Don't forget to /join RP to see when we announce our activity! http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/20747755852
  10. Gathering of the Tribes

    until
    All that hear the call are to gather in Thunder Bluff on the Elder Rise at the eight bell.
  11. Borrowed Time

    Who does the Horde call upon in times of need? What army is primed and ready on a moment’s notice, ready to fight demons, eldritch horrors, murlocs, or the Alliance pigs? The answer to that is the Borrowed Time mercenary company, of course. If they can afford us. Stationed in the newly-retaken base of Dragonmaw Port, we await the call to battle for the glorious Horde. United through the promise of freedom, coin, and family; that is what brings us together in Borrowed Time. We are a family of soldiers, thugs, assassins, scientists, tinkerers, crazies and vagabonds; and may the Spirits help whoever fucks with us or our own. Three simple words exemplify our beliefs, but they are no battle cry, no sermon to preach to the heavens, they are but words to live by. Family, Honor, Pride
  12. Return of the Crusader

    "You want me to do what, exactly?" Amadeus Kain tilted his head, looking at Keraph Xalascent for a moment with curiosity. The two were located in the trade district of undercity at a local tavern. It was a crowded location not too far from Infection's former headquarters, and the location Keraph had called for them to meet. Keraph didn't even bother looking at the warlock before responding. "You are to track down the remains of Swerto Ænimus and recall him to duty by any means. With the return of the Legion and the Dark Lady's appointment to warchief we need all the Forsaken warriors we can muster. Infection will once again be the vanguard of the Forsaken, and I need warriors who are loyal to her above all else." "But he's been dead for years, whatever remains is most likely bones by now, and that is even assuming I can recall his soul from the nether. I am not a necromancer - my abilities are limited. Wouldn't our time be better suited raising new warriors, or turning those from the Alliance to our cause?" Amadeus protested, this was a waste of his time. "I need warriors I can trust to not turn their blades on the Forsaken. I can't trust freshly risen corpses with that, they have no loyalty to the Forsaken cause, they're no different than the knights of the ebon blade. Their loyalties are fickle things. You have your orders, warlock. Follow them or I will find someone who will." Keraph stood from the table and disappeared into the crowded sewers leaving Amadeus alone to compose himself. The warlock dusted himself off looking at the information Keraph had provided. Swerto's gravesight, his history, known associates, among other useful information. He let out a groan of frustration as he planted his face on the table. What a chore. He stood up disappearing after Keraph a moment later. If this was his job, he was going to do it right, and to do that he'd need the help of an apothecary and necromancer, and lucky for him he knew someone who was both.
  13. [H] Stickball

    Anejodi, or stickball, is a traditional full contact Shu'halo sport. Anejodi is a shu'halo word meaning "little brother of war" and is a game invented during a dark time in tauren history when tribes still warred on one another. The game taught younglings to work together, to not fear injury in close combat, and improved hand-eye coordination before they were old enough to ride in true battle. Today, the games are still held at least once during the year to solve minor tribal disputes, to bring the community together in friendly competition, and to remember an important part of racial history. Typically the first games of the year are held the evening of the first full moon on or after summer solstice. These games are often the most important, and most highly attended, for disputes are often solved through this full-contact and often bloody pastime. Some tribes only host games on this night, while others continue the tradition of summer-long competitions. Regardless of which method a tribe chooses, the rules are simple and widely agreed upon without deviation. The game field can be any size with two goal posts, one at either end (One traditional location can be seen outside Thunder Bluff, where the grass is still reluctant to encroach upon the bone-shaped field though the original goal totems have long since decayed away. The Darkmoon Faire sets up their portal here once a month.). A small rock that is padded in linen and then stitched in hide serves as the game ball, and is no bigger than a closed fist. Anejodi sticks are specially crafted in the old traditions. As long as a player's arm, with one end worked and bent back into a loop which is then stitched across to form a netted cup, these are jealously guarded weapons that may not be used for any other purpose. Players may use any natural means necessary to stop the opposing carrier and take the ball themselves (punching, biting, stomping, tackling). Magical abilites are strictly forbidden! Male players may not strike women with their sticks. Female players have no such restrictions, and may also carry the ball with their hands. Players move the ball across the field and score when they either strike the goalpost with their stick while the ball is cradled, or if they manage to fling the ball from a distance and strike the post. This either ends the game, or resets the field to center if a certain number of matches has been agreed upon. It is considered a trick to pass the ball to another player, and cowardly to dodge an opponent. Each player participating must buy their way in with a wagered item. In current times these can be simple momentos or tokens, but in historical matches between entire tribes, the items wagered were often of incredible value. A player's bet can be anything- that they will be the one to score, that they may cause the most injuries in a game, or sustain the least, that they will be the best defender...etc. Any item wagered may be selected by a player winning their bet, otherwise the items are returned to their owners at the end of the game. Occassionally if a larger game is hosted by a tribe, items wagered may be considered gifts to the host and kept for their benefit. OOC: Players must use a specially-crafted Anejodi stick to play. Priests, Warlocks, Mages, Monks, Druids, Hunters, Shaman and Warriors may use a Quarter Staff purchased from the weapons vendor in Thunder Bluff. This is a white item that does not bind, so your host can and should pass these out to you. ROGUES, PALADINS, and DEATH KNIGHTS cannot use staves. These players should purchase their own Apple-Bent Bough offhand weapon for 168 gold from Legacy Justice Quartermaster Rugok in Orgrimmar (requires level 85). Alternatively you can quest in Azshara for the Chopped-Off Ancient Limb mace (level 9), or search the auction house for a dropped Giant Club mace or the dropped Runic Stave and Runic Cane offhand weapons. ROLLING RULES: Everyone begins at 100 life, and rolls a regular (1-100). Rolling within 5 of max life is a natural critical (special). 1-5 is critical fail- you injure yourself. If your roll is lower than half of the highest roll, you become injured (if the highest roll could be 100 then injury occurs by rolling 50 less than the highest actual roll in that round). Injury- occurs in steps of 10. Example- If you are injured once, your life drops to 90 and you roll (1-90). You cannot be healed, and your rolls are reduced the rest of the game. The game flows as follows: 1= POSSESSION- everyone goes for the ball! Everyone rolls, the highest roll wins the ball and carries for their team. 2a= TACKLE- everyone rolls. Higher than the ball carrier is a successful attack against them. Don't forget if you don't win versus the carrier you can emote on opposing teammates not carrying to block them if they also rolled a failure. A team moves across the field for each tackle phase. They must move 4x from the center to be within their goal range. If the opposing team manages to gain the ball, they must reverse across the gained ground and then do their own 4x to their goalpost. 2b= Drop? The carrier rolls for each successful attack in a tackle phase to see if it causes them to drop the ball [less than half their life total is a drop]. If the ball is dropped, there is a new fight for possession. 3= GOAL?- 5th Tackle from center. Just like a tackle phase, everyone rolls. The carrier must score highest to not be considered blocked. If blocked, they roll as normal to see if they keep possession or drop. If the carrier rolls highest on a goal phase, they score if their roll is higher than 50% of their life total and the game is ended. If a certain number of matches has been agreed on, the ball is instead reset to center to start the next match. If lower than 50%, they miss somehow, and play is continued. (In some smaller games or games among very young children, a missed goal attempt also results in the ball being reset to center, rather than requiring the opposing team to gain possession and fight across the whole field to reach their own goalpost. This decision is up to the players or supervising adults.) See an example game from 2015 HERE
  14. Lomani stands beneath the larger of two pine trees at the game grounds, grateful for their cooling shadows. She looks around. The stack of sticks she has made is on the ground, ready to be passed out. Lomani herself would be using the one made by a shy elf she'd met in the Brokenspear tavern. She wonders idly if she had managed to help the socially terrified man at all. She hopes so. Out in the sunshine following his nose, her kodo ambles without care. His saddle is loosened, and he has not a thing to worry about. Unlike her. As usual, Lomani feels a fluttering within the pit of her stomach, like butterflies swirling, trying to escape. It has been several months since last she has stood before a group of people to lead them in anything. It will pass, she knows. A cheerful little chirping noise draws her attention down. His expression ever attentive somehow, Kanunu the yellow-bellied bullfrog regards her. She smiles at him. "I know, it will fine. It always is. You weren't here yet, but you should have seen last year's Green Corn run. And Great New Moon. Those were all wonderful events, this will be too." Lomani looks over the grounds. The grasses have still not managed to encroach much on the anejodi fields. Shaped rather like a bone, there are two small round fields, with a dirt track well-worn between them from epic larger games generations passed. The Darkmoon Faire had asked for and received permission from the Shu'halo to use this place for their carnival in years passed, and they still erected their banner here once a month to send folks through a portal to their island. Lomani wonders how many Shu'halo her age even know of the original purpose of the large patch of grassless dirt. Butterflies flutter in her tummy.. Kanunu chirps again. "You're right. Just listen to it one more time, please? I do not wish to falter before them. Some of the elders will surely remember, and they will know an error." Lomani begins pacing and, as she had done three times before, practices her pre-game speech. "Welcome! So nice to see you here... Chieftain, you're looking well... Ahem. When you are a person who belongs to a community, you have to know who you are. You have to know who your relatives are, and as a tribe we have to know where we came from..." "With all things and in all things, we are relatives. It is with happiness and pride that I look on the faces gathered here. Of my Brothers and Sisters..." Lomani stops her slow pacing and pretends to look in the eyes of various Shu'halo that had come to play. "...of the Horde who are with us today...." The seer smiles and nods to the imaginary non-tauren. "We are all allies." "Tonight is the first full opening of Mu'she, the moon, since the passing of summer solstice. The Earth Mother's eye looks widely upon us, and so today is the traditional first day of Anejodi, the stickball games. Anejodi or anistusti are Shu'halo words, they mean 'little brother of war' or 'little war', which is what a stickball game is. There was a time in our long history when our varied tribes did not get along, and we warred amongst each other." Lomani pauses and looks at Kanunu. "It is easy to be brave from a distance. Anejodi games were held throughout the summer months to hone skills needed in combat, to teach our youths not to flinch from danger, and fight bravely with an enemy before them. While we are ashamed of those times, it is important to remember where we came from. Anejodi is played today as a game not to prepare for war, but to bring the community together, to inspire friendly competition and provide a controlled outlet for built-up frustrations. It-" Behind the trees, Lomani's kodo raises his head. The seer turns to find a familiar old friend walking up. Practice is over. "Mersee!" Lomani cries happily. The priestess waves, but she rushes over to embrace the small elf in a hug instead. Khorvis arrives on his mount, and the two priestesses wave a warm greeting to him. "Greetings Khorvis!" "I brought my two best sticks, bring it." the elf says in a spirit of competition. The Grim orc grunts back. "Throm'ka." Khorvis snorts and dismounts, sending Bes'thra away to graze. "Lomani? I need a bookie of sorts, I need you to physically hold my items for betting. No pockets in these pants." She smiles at Mersee as her friend brings out four enchanted cages. Inside each is a healthy well-cared-for animal. "If you wish. Pets? How lovely!" Lomani sets the cages off to the side, in a safe spot. She looks at Khorvis as he flips a bottle over end and hands it to her by the neck. Peaked Dalaran red wine. "I think, with those muscles, Khorvis might inflict the most damage. Perhaps that will be my bet." Her elf friend eyes Khorvis up and down as the seer asks "Will any other Grim be coming for an evening of silly games, inquisitor?" "May be, Horn. I do not run their personal lives of leisure. Though if I do see a Supplicant in the games, they had best be finished with their task!" Lomani sets Khorvis' bottle of wine in the pile with the pets. Her own bottle of Skyreach Sunrise is already there, and she smiles at the likeness of her mind and the orc's. Mersee licks her lips as wine is added to the spoils. Lomani says nothing to Khorvis calling her a Horn. In her mind, she will always be one, even if the colors are put away. It is a fairly recent change for her to be wearing instead a silvery white tabard graced with the sunburst rays, and for the game she isn't even in a tabard at all. She is wearing long-sleeved athletic clothes of white trimmed in green, her favorite color. A pair of green-tinted goggles she'd found recently will protect her eyes. She likes them very much. "If not, perhaps they would benefit from a fist upside the head?" Lomani says with a smile. Khorvis shakes his staff at the tauren mockingly. Mersee shivers beside him. Lomani holds up a finger. "Ah ah. You must use a special stick. She goes over to another pile, of sticks, and retrieves three. Mersee holds up a Shovel of Mercy. "This is a special stick. It says right here on the handle 'Bashes the head of a human. Do the right thing buddy.'" Lomani holds one out for Mersee. It is roughly arm-length, smooth except for a bent-over tip which has been fashioned into a rather small netted cup. The elf sighs at her. "If you insist." Mersee examines the crude anejodi stick. "I do." She smiles. "Khorvis, would you like one or two?" "Hand one over. I will test its balance." Lomani holds out a stick to Khorvis, who claims his new weapon and gives it a mighty swing, sending a dirt clot flying through the hot air of Mulgore's late afternoon. Mersee ducks behind her friend. "Hrm. Yes, my bet will be as I said- that he inflicts the most damage in a game." The seer nods solemnly. "Not bad. It does be made of aged briarwood from the Kraul?" Not certain, the seer says "The wood was donated from all over, but quilboar do have such handy thorns..." A troll crouching at ease in the shade lets out a soft chuckle at the tauren. "My bet.... that a lithe and intelligent game will allow me to be the one to score." Mersee nods at the seer.. "Aho! A lofty challenger." Lomani grins. Khorvis peels back a lip from his tusk. Lomani looks around, a little disappointed at the turnout. "Perhaps it will be a game versus just the two of you." "Stickball isn't for everyone Priestess." Mersee says comfortingly. Another familiar face descended on her flying mount. "Kiraleen! Welcome." Over in the long grasses, the troll observer slips from the shadows and stretches out comfortably. Lomani looks at him a moment, until his eyes roam back to her, and she beckons him over. Rakaganje offers the priestess a short nod but remains in the grass. He coils a few blades around his fingers. "Sorry I'm late." Kiraleen apologizes, "had to put Iantha in bed." She receives a greeting from Mersee, and Khorvis raises his chin to the newcomer. "Was she being fussy?" "Yes. Too many s'morcs, too much sun." Lomani holds out a stick to Kiraleen. "It is quite hot." Kiraleen nods. "Are you playing with us, friend troll?" the seer tries one last time. "Ahm heeah to watch." he replies, eyeing the women. "No' a bad view." Rakaganje offers her a small smirk. "So what are the rules of this game?" Kiraleen asks, holding her stick after looking at it. "I'm glad you asked." She looks around at the four gathered, hesitates just a moment, then asks "With such a small group, I feel I can be less formal here, unless anyone objects?" There are no Shu'halo present to object. "I certainly do not object to informality." Mersee says. "No, whatever makes you comfortable, Lomani." says Kiraleen. Khorvis adds "Ceremony do be reserved for the dead and my ale." "I like you, orc." she smiles at him. He grunts back. "Kiraleen, have you some object to bet? It can be anything small, but it is a custom for Anejodi that all players make a bet." "Hmm. Let me see." As the Outrider searches in her pockets, Lomani says helpfully, "Bet for your team to win, that you will be able to snatch and carry the ball, that you will cause your opponent to drop the ball... anything you wish, large or small." "... that you will score first." Mersee suggests. Kiraleen finds what she is looking for. "Ah! An amberjewel" Rakaganje watches Khorvis. He is fiddling with an eyepatch, putting it over one eye first, then the other. "The rules are as follows- sticks must be used to carry the ball across the field. You may use any natural means necessary to take the ball from your opponent. Push, hit, tackle, bite- but no magic! Men may not strike women with their sticks. Women may choose to use their hands to carry the ball if they wish." Lomani eyes Khorvis and his stick, realizing he is surrounded by women. Slightly unfair, that. Khorvis grins at her wickedly. "None? Not even a teensy magic?" Mersee asks. "No, no magic." The elf grumbles under her breath and puts away the Enchanted Broom. Lomani laughs at Mersee. "I had not planned to play, but we must be even teams." Kiraleen nods. "Choose a partner!" Lomani orders with a smile. Mersee looks at Lomani and silently sings 'Pick me pick me'. Team-choosing is delayed a moment though, when Lomani realizes Kiraleen and Khorvis still have not actually declared their wagers. "Kira, your bet?" "An amber jewel." Kiraleen holds out the small gem "And what is it you wager it for?" "Um.. What can we wager for?" the elf asks, uncertain. "I bet that I would score the first goal." Mersee shares. Rakaganje has a smirk that widens at the elf's remark. "I bet that Khorvis would deal the most damage. Yes, Mersee thinks she will make the score." Lomani nods at Mersee. She turns to place the pretty yellow jewel with the other items. "Hmm. I bet I'll score the second goal." Kiraleen says then. Mersee smiles at Kiraleen. "Oh goodness." "I do wager that I will break this briarwood stick." Khorvis bets. Rakaganje giggles at Khorvis. "A game this small will likely end with one goal. We can choose to extend it if we are not all bleeding..." Lomani begins. "All right." says Kiraleen. "It is considered a trick to pass the ball, and cowardly to dodge an opponent. You score and end the game when you strike the goalpost with your stick while the ball is cradled, or if your throw succeeds in the ball striking the post." Lomani points out the two poles they will be using for their game. Mersee eyes Khorvis. Her expression is a reflection of her thoughts as she contemplates the orc, thinking she should have bet that Khorvis would bust a goalpost. Oh well. She sighs. All numbers, no magic. Pffft. "So, basically get to a pole with the ball while everyone is trying to stop you." Kiraleen nods at the tauren's summary. Khorvis snorts. "This do be a simple game. Much like the shell game we did play on the shores of Zeth'kur. Though we did use axes instead of sticks." "The goal is to stop the carrier, not kill them, exactly." Lomani points out. Axes sound rather dangerous to her. "So... teams?" Kiraleen prompts. "We could roll for them?" Lomani shrugs. "I have no preference." "I do claim the young boy in the rags." Khorvis points at Mersee. Lomani snickered at her priest friend. "That's a woman." Kiraleen corrects. The Grim orc just grunts. "You and I, then, Lomani!" The seer nods, then looks to Rakaganje lying in the grass. He blinks back at her. "Troll, would you like to throw the ball to us, to make it a fair attempt for us all?" "Ah can." The grey tauren tosses the ball to him, a tiny little golfball-sized thing. He rolls it between his large fingers for a moment. It isn't perfectly round- likely a rock and some sort of padding beneath the stitched hide surrounding it. "Jah reddy?" Lomani readies her stick and nods. Mersee does as well. Kiraleen states "Ready." "Swobu." says Khorvis, apparently also ready. Rakaganje looks over at the Trolless sitting next to him and grunts a greeting. Rakaganje eyes the two teams. Then he grunts and lobs the small orb up into the center of the group. ((Stickball))
  15. ((First, I wasn't sure whether this should be in Nether Legends or the Journals since it's not in point of view for ANY of my actively played characters. However, seeing that how this one will be just a notes by a Scourge head researcher, I will place it in the Journals. As the title suggests, this is Part 1 of Samiel's RP and I've done my best to keep things according to lore while adding on my stories. Inspiration credit goes to the Necrons of Warhammer 40,000 universe.)) In the spoils of war, you see a notebook. While the soldiers seem uninterested in it, you decided to take a look at it, as it maybe an important document. Perhaps a map of supply routes or attack plans? As you open the notebook, it turns out to be a research log over certain material that the Scourge researchers worked on. Finding it intriguing, you decide to read on further.