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  1. Last week
  2. Hi there! I’m the fellow who joined the Discord yesterday, Ihsan997. Like I mentioned, I don’t play on the TNRH cluster, but I’m hoping to join as a contributor to your community. I’ve been playing the Warcraft series since the first game back in 1995, and I was also a fan of the Lost Vikings, so I’m a Blizzard loyalist. I’ve played WoW since vanilla, and in that time, I’ve only joined two guilds - each time for less than a month. I sort of drift in and out of scenes and scenarios, and for 15 years, I’ve honestly had a lot of fun that way. I don’t join guilds in two of the other main MMOs I play, ESO and SWtOR; I did join one in FFXIV and it’s been a weird experience for me (not bad, just very different). I’ve always preferred to RP via forums and, now that Discord is a thing, on that. I’m also big on story writing, both on my own and with groups. I quite enjoy writing stories with multiple writers, collaborating on plot arcs, helping other people’s characters to change and grow through experience, and seeing scenarios develop from beginning to end. I’m not really a take the lead kind of person so much as a supporter, but I do legitimately enjoy helping other people. I hope that I can find a good bunch on here to write stories with (I love the server I currently play on, Moonglade EU, but we don’t have anything like what you’ve all built here for TNRH). Nice to meet you all!
  3. Sometimes he cursed the days that bled into each other one after the other. When he had something to do the time was well spent and the inability to sleep was a blessing. But when the holidays approached it left him with endless amounts of time to check the main road and see if he was coming. For the hundredth time that day alone he found himself too distracted to do anything more than listlessly fiddle with his lab equipment. The holidays were always a hard time for him. What was a feast to a man who barely ate? What was snow to a man who hardly felt the cold? In these times he rarely felt the spirit that everyone else was infused with. The only ones who brought a modicum of that cheer into his empty eyes were his family. His wife had long lost her sympathy for his seasonal gloom. Soon enough she would start baring her teeth when he wasn't looking, then it would turn to growling and finally a demand to just stop fretting. For his own sanity and hers, he had thrown himself into a new task of preparing the small feast for the two, hopefully three, of them. If nothing else the chopping blade demanded your focus. Vegetables were diced, almonds slivered, potatoes chopped, steamed and mashed and mixed with an unhealthy amount of butter. "He's not coming." Selris finally murmured, setting the bowl down with a resolute thunk. His wife would look up and narrow her eyes, silently demanding an explanation. "You remember the last time we saw him, the argument... HE hasn't written a letter in months. I know he's going to blame it on me-" Before he could go into a full rant, he was struck in the back of his head with a wooden spoon. "...Fair enough but you know I am right." He sighed, offering a soft smile under the threat of another bonk. Satisfied, his wife turned back towards the fat bird on the flame. Dusk was falling and the meal in its entirety had just hit the table when three soft knocks sounded at the front door. The two of them sprang from the table to answer it, moving in sync towards the entrance. The door swung open wide to reveal the travel weary orc. His armor was scuffed, his eyes tired, and more than a few patches of his exposed skin were covered in dirty bandages. Before he could even begin to offer an explanation or a muttered, awkward rant, he would find himself embraced by his parents. Appearances did not matter, neither did the latest feats. In that moment, the family had become whole once again. For one evening, the arguments could rest. "Welcome home, Gunny." The Father murmured softly, ushering the young orc inside out of the cold.
  4. Kumai and Qabian sit across from each other at a small table. In front of her is a crude map of the Shadowlands, drawn by herself, as best a representation as she could manage for something that is at its essence metaphysical, some blobs, lines between them, marked with angel wings, a swirly tree, a skull, three other blobs unmarked. To her left are two piles of ash, one dark, one light. Her fingers play idly in the dark pile. To her right is a length of paper with a tiny quill on it. Magic shimmers over the quill now and then, but for the moment, it lies still on the page. Her face looks drawn, as though she hasn't slept in some time. On the floor beside her chair is a helm made of swoops of gold, thoroughly unlike anything she's worn before. Qabian sits with his face in his hands, the heels of his palms pressed over his eyes, his fingers gripping handfuls of his own hair. In front of him is a steaming cup of coffee with a long leaf limp over its edge, stirred but not sipped. Beside their table is a wide picture window looking out onto a bright Dalaran night. Kumai lets herself watch the couple of citizens walk the street below the apartment while Qabian tries to understand all the things she has just told him in all the ways she has of telling. Behind him, a large fire in a large fireplace burns merrily, but it somehow fails to chase the shadows or the chill from the room. The room is several times the size of his tiny Silvermoon lair, and tonight it feels like a wide empty stone hall full of echoes. "The afterlife?" Qabian says incredulously, looking up at her. He's said the same word in the same incredulous tone a dozen times already. She doesn't turn away from the window, while she makes two signs for him, 'stop' and 'area'. "They still die." She doesn't bother nodding. "And they go nowhere. Or the Maw. So to die and yet fear death, it is no afterlife, merely another life, a life taking place beneath and beside us, merely a world that is reached by a spirit instead of a ship." She continues to watch the evening street, her fingers making swirls in the ash on the table as she lets her friend think himself aloud to wherever it is he needs to be. "But so many worlds. And Bolvar has people walking them now, walking between them, taking bodies to walk where spirits walk. Trying to... And Sylvanas... And Tyrande..." He drops his face into his hands again, pulling at his own hair. "I hate this. I hate this so much." Kumai smiles at him then. 'I know,' she signs. He looks up too late to see. "All right. You are going back?" She nods, making a sign with her thumb for 'tomorrow'. "I have no reason to go there, do I?" There's strange emotion skewing Qabian's voice -- concern, desperation. Fear. She raises an eyebrow at him. She opens her palm over the map in front of her, and the piles of ash swirl threads into a vague representation of Azeroth floating over her hand. A breath from Qabian's nose in place of a laugh. "The world can burn. I'd rather build up to doing that myself, but if someone else beats me to it? Fine." Kumai smirks. The globe illusion drops to ash in her palm and reforms into a spinning book floating over her left hand, open flat with its pages smoothly flipping. In her other hand, she holds a bright yellow flame with white arcane sparks at its center. Qabian scowls. "Knowledge and power." Kumai smiles. "You know me well." Qabian sighs and leans back in his chair, staring at the coffee which refuses to stop steaming. Kumai nods. The Argent over Icecrown seems like a lifetime ago, even though it was closer to a matter of days. The Ebon Blade took over the Argent's work, to her dismay, but perhaps it was inevitable, with how interwoven everything was becoming with the very nature of death, that the death knights lead the charge. 'You going?' she signs at him. "Maybe." Qabian frowns down at his drink. "The secrets are tempting, but the price for them may be more than I can afford to pay." He finally takes a sip. Kumai lets the ash and magic in her hands dissolve, and reaches over to put her fingers on his arm. He doesn't flinch, but looks at her hand with confusion on his face, then frowns at her. Her touch is brief, and she turns her wrist to lift the ash once more into a slowly spinning symbol of the Grim, hooded skull and daggers. Qabian sighs. "I don't know. I don't want to know. It will be hard enough to make such a journey without them. They would only make it harder." Kumai frowns in turn. He knows the questions she's asking. "With the Alliance, on this world, the Grim make sense. They don't make sense anywhere else," Qabian insists. "They never have. They never will. There are no steps beyond the first step for them." Kumai holds out a palm, gesturing to the door on the far side of the room. "No," Qabian says, lowering his voice. "They are still my people. For all we still have left to do in this world. If this world is torn apart by these new secrets, then yes, I will leave. Until that day, while any still walk under the lions' banner, the Grim have whatever serves for loyalty where I'm concerned." Kumai shakes her head and stares at Qabian for a moment, then lets the symbol fall back to ash. She stands up and begins to pack away her things. "You're leaving?" Qabian asks, blinking up at her in surprise. She just nods and continues. "Of course you are. You must. What fresh hell Sylvanas has unleashed. She saved us from the Scourge, and now she dooms us to something worse? And there are those among my people who will never believe her wrong. Even I have my doubts, despite everything you've told me," Qabian muses, his gaze drifting around the room as he speaks. Kumai listens as she puts each thing in its place, paper rolled away, ash in its pouches, quill in its case. "What does she think is right in this? Is it simply the ability to harness the Scourge to her will? There are so many secrets behind that shattered sky, and I fear most of them. I am not used to being afraid, not since the dragons lost their interest in me." The way the thoughts and feelings roil through Qabian's mind is audible in his words and his voice, but he stands up and walks her to the door despite how immensely he is distracted. "I don't know quite what to do with everything you've told me," he admits, "but thank you for all of it. With you, at least, I have some freedom to try and wrap my mind around the details." Kumai smiles with a shallow nod of her head, carrying her gold cage of a helm under one arm. Her fingers stained dark with ash, she puts her palm over her heart and smiles at him. 'Safe secrets,' she signs to him. Before she closes the door behind her, she takes a small stone and a wine bottle from her bag and passes them to Qabian with a smile. He looks surprised, but the door closes on him before he can ask questions.
  5. Earlier
  6. Kumai tosses and turns before giving up on sleep entirely and going to write a letter. - Do not come here. If the Death Knights ask you for help, tell them to leave you alone, then run as far and as fast as you can. What they are going to ask of you will torment you with your memories. I have a fraction of the memories you do and am struggling. This will tear you to shreds. Run. ~K
  7. Kumai flopped herself down in the mountain of pink and lavender pillows she had carefully curated in her room in Razor Hill and stared up at the ceiling carved out of the stone of the cliff. In his haste to get things arranged for the fast approaching disaster in Icecrown, Qabian had thought to send her a note, asking if her new people knew what was going on, describing what he had learned, what the Death Knights were saying happened to the Lich King, and urging her to prepare. In a sense, she knew more than he did, because she had actively offered to help the Argent Crusade and had been there herself, while he was avoiding it like, well, the plague. But Kumai still felt disconnected, like this was not her fight. And it was not her fight. It was a needed fight, a save-the-world fight, but it just was not personal for her. Even when she joined her new friends on a pilgrimage to send the souls that had been blocked from peace on to the next place, whatever that place might be. Much like her mentor, Kumai did not like to delve into the business of souls. The fact that they could clearly be manipulated and yet every people and culture treated the afterlife entirely differently made the spirit world a subject and a place she avoided, a subject and a place she would deal with when forced and not before. She wasn't exactly being forced now, but she still felt a curious sense of obligation given what happened, and she was intentionally avoiding acting on that sense. She grabbed one of her pillows and crushed it to her face, a scream that would have been just as silent unobstructed, then got up and went to her little table. - You are right. The next thing is happening. I have been helping in Icecrown, but it seemed to me like the stories of Northrend were clawing their way out of their shallow graves. New circumstances, new questions to answer, new problems to solve, but mostly the same story in the same place. Now I think that's wrong. This is not the same story. Or it may have started as the same story, but... A new door is open. It is not only about puppeting corpses and the mindless rage of the angry dead, but it is affecting spirits the world over, even those that long abandoned their bodies. The Tauren here are planning to cross to the spirit realm. Or something like it. Without dying first. How... My mind balks. One the one hand, I do genuinely want to offer to help. They seem to desperately need to do this and need the help to see it through. It makes little and less sense to me. Those lives are over and their effect on the living is in their stories not their metaphysical... whatever is in those totems. But they all seemed very certain about what was needed, and very emotional about it, and I have no reason not to help. On the other hand. What. The. Actual. Fuck. I guess stranger things have happened than casually walking into an actual, palpable, interactable version of the afterlife, and if there was ever anything that could make me believe such a thing is possible, it's the state of Icecrown right now, but... I'm afraid. I wasn't before last night, but I am now. The actual walking angry dead are very easy to set on fire. Stepping into another world where I'm not even sure how magic will work? I can only imagine what you're thinking and feeling. This seems like something you would have nightmares about. I guess your project is on hold, isn't it? I can keep you informed if you want. A little fear never stopped me before. Take care of yourself. ~K
  8. Kumai stood on a perch overlooking Mord'rethar: The Death Gate with a deep frown etched into her face. She was used to cultists. She had spent enough time with the Hammer to have a certain familiarity with the nihilism that might convince one to put their efforts into bringing about the end times. The past echoed in her mind as she watched the agents of the Scourge going about their work. Add your Voice to our glorious chorus, for it is the song that will end the world. But this cult was different. It had a fascination with bodies that she was not used to. The Hammer liked to play with dragons, dragons and chaos, and she herself had been sacrificed on an altar, so they certainly had their own attachment to death, inevitable when bent on destruction, but there were fewer, well, corpses. She had never seen the appeal in necromancy, even and possibly especially after meeting the few Forsaken she had the pleasure of interacting with. The Damned were not her cult, nor were they her fight. They were not her story. They were a story told by others - the treason in the Scar that went through Eversong, the ruination of the Sunwell, the war that gave her things in common with people she had no right to have things in common with. And here they were, the Damned insinuating themselves into her story. She wasn't sure how to deal with the mess they were making. She had her magic, and she plied it at the Argent's direction. Perhaps that was all she could do for now. Save the world. It was important. It was. Even if sometimes she felt like she had to convince herself of that. You can only spend so long destroying the world before saving it seems contradictory. She leapt off her perch, blinked out of sight and reappeared on the landing, a few shambling horrors took notice and veered slowly in her direction. Her hands lit up with flames. However this ended, if she lived, she would have stories to tell, and that she looked forward to.
  9. Every day began the same for Janis Aristaeus Bearcharger. Wake up as the sun did, wrapped in blankets, beside his wife. Eat breakfast, table framed by the rising sunlight. Allow his wife to braid his long hair as he washed his face. Get dressed in front of the mirror, debate with his wife whether to wear the green tie or the blue. But only for a few minutes, he had a schedule to keep, after all. Rushing out of their home, Janis would run down the road towards the burgeoning city of Silvermoon, intent to keep to the rigorous schedule he always kept. He stops in front of a large building: strong and imposing, with rigid white lines and bright red crystalline features atop tall spires. Typical Sin’dorei architecture. The bank was bustling, as it always was before the working day. Men and women came and went, in and out, with checks in their hands. Janis takes a seat at his desk, finding it already piled with papers. Once he finally settles in, turning his nametag around to show he was here to work, he begins to slowly work through the papers: requests to transfer money, opening new accounts, closing old ones, the usual. It was a normal day in the office. He sighs, tossing his braided hair over his shoulder and adjusting his glasses upon his nose. He takes the sides of his frames, moving them up to make sure he could see properly. Circle vision was such a curse. The papers go by relatively quickly, as they usually do. Read this, sign here. Approve this, stamp that. One stack becomes two, becomes one again. As he finishes working, a woman comes up to his desk and takes a seat in front. Her white blonde hair is drawn back, held back by a bright yellow and green headband. A large purse sits upon her lap and a young man stands beside her, he looks like he might be either her lover or her son. Not that means much to Janis, he’s used to it by now. The woman takes out a checkbook, opening it to one of the blank pages and tapping with her finger. She clears her throat. The woman speaks curtly, matter of factly. She is straight to the point. Aleister, the name of the young man apparently, is here to open a bank account and Janis is to help them. Easy enough. He has opened enough of these in his time with the bank, including for his many children. He runs through the questions as he did every time he opened a bank account: contact information, financial history, consent to terms. Sign. Stamp. Seal. Finish. Next! An older looking gentleman approaches next, holding a clear file folder with several papers housed inside. His hands are shaking. Janis gestures for him to take a seat as he adjusts his glasses again. He really needed to get those refitted, the constant adjusting was getting annoying. The man is clearly nervous as he describes his ideas: an investment in a business, a shop for exotic goods imported from Zandalar right here in their home city. He needed a loan. A small one, he promises. Janis considers the idea, turning a pen in his hands several times. He spins his chair from side to side, never once letting his gaze leave the man for long. The banker seems uncertain of the returns given the nature of their people, explaining to the man that he needs to know that the bank will see its money back, turning him away gently. If he is able to return with documentation to show that his business will succeed, he will offer the money. Next! Nothing. There are no more for the time being. Finally, a moment to relax by himself. Janis begins to take the papers he’d signed and stamped from before and sorts them into separate piles for filing. This is relaxing. He enjoys this greatly and it takes up much of his morning. Eventually, the time for his lunch break rolls around (before he’d gotten the chance to put the files away, damn it!) and Janis pulls out a small, packed lunch from underneath his desk. As he unsealed the lunch, he could feel the heat radiating from inside of the perfectly temperature-controlled container. Magic: an elf’s best friend. It seemed the servants had packed him leftovers from the night before: slices of roasted meat and potatoes, baked vegetables, a slice of toasted bread. Nothing too spectacular for a none too spectacular day. The food disappears as quickly as it appeared from beneath his desk, and the man returns to his work. Not five minutes after his lunch had finished had a young woman come bounding towards his desk, jittery and excitable, trembling like an animal that had downed a few too many espressos. She clasps her hands together, bright eyes shining as she stared at Janis eagerly. He raises an inquisitive eyebrow at her, silently asking her what she was interested in. She spoke quickly, a little too loudly. On the bright side, Janis wasn’t going to fall asleep from his heavy lunch after an encounter with this little pixie sprite of an elf. She’s quick to answer, saying she has a deposit to make. She produces a coin pouch, that jangled loudly with every movement, that she plops down unceremoniously into Janis’ awaiting hand. He counts through the money in rapid fire Thalassian, marking it down upon a notepad. With all the money accounted for, the deposit is easily made. Forms are signed. Money is taken. A job well done. With the woman gone (and a sense of stability returned to Janis’ view), the man takes the files from before and quickly strides down a hallway towards a long corridor full of shelves placed back to back, without any space between them, except for at the ends. With a single wave of his hand, the shelves begin to shuffle, as if on wheels, until Janis is faced with the exact spot he was looking for to begin shelving his files. He pulls up a seat, beginning to place folders into boxes and boxes onto shelves. The day ends as quietly as it started, with Janis packing up his bag and starting towards the door. As he’s about to leave, a courier rushes in and thrusts a letter into his hands. He looks down at the letter, addressed to him from one Soren Qianas Bearcharger. He eases the seal open with a slender finger, reading over the contents and frowning, before returning it to his bag with a sigh. That was trouble for another night. Today was an ordinary day for an ordinary man who had an ordinary family that didn’t crash boats into rocks willy nilly.
  10. 11.11.20 Awatu has fallen. The corruption we encountered when we battled G’huun so many months ago, took hold on him, and slowly took its toll. It finally overcame him. He collapsed at the last guild meeting, but not before he informed us that The Grim should be led by a council, as the Horde is now led, and then appointed me the task of forming such a council. After he collapsed, he was taken to Thunder Bluff for recuperation, as much as that will be possible for him. The officers seemed the logical choice as the base of the council, even though I don’t particularly trust any of them. Two elves, a quiet Tauren, and a crazy troll. And Khorvis, who I haven’t really trusted since he sent me and Tess on that suicide mission in Durator years ago. But he named us the “Dread Coven” as if we’re a bunch of Drustvar witches or something. We are finished in Ny’alotha, at least. The Alliance are hiding. It is too quiet lately. Maybe time to recruit replacements for those we’ve lost, and get them trained before the next challenge presents itself. Hopefully that doesn’t take too long. This quiet is unnerving. I had plans to fill this quiet period, but Awatu's fall put a quick end to that. I can't leave the fate of The Grim to the other five of the council. I was going to leave, search for Sylvanas. After all she's done for the Forsaken, for the Horde, how could she just leave like that? Why? Surely she must have some grand plan to trick the Alliance. She wouldn't really have turned on us all like that. I will have my answers. Someday.
  11. JULIETTA BLOODCLAW; HEIR TO HOUSE BLOODCLAW Full Name: Julietta Bloodclaw Nicknames: Jules Date of Birth: Winter Year 10 New Current Time-Line Age: 24 Race: Frost Worgen Gender: Female Hair: Snow White but full bodied, it goes just past her shoulder blades. Skin: Mahogany Brown Eyes: Ice Blue Height: Short human, average Worgen Build: Athletic Place of residence: Maintains a Home in Ironforge as she enjoys the cold Place of Birth: Bloodclaw Estate; Borean Tundra; Northrend Known Relatives: Reginald Alexander Bloodclaw (Father, living); Lillian Mary Alexander (Mother, living) Occupation: Bounty Hunter for hire; prefers dead bring in. House/Family: House Bloodclaw Likes: Rifles, The Thrill of the Hunt, anything that flares her beastial instincts. Favorite Foods: Bear Steak Favorite Colors: Powder Blue Weapons of Choice: Rifle Dislikes: Gnomes Hobbies: Leatherworking Quick Glance: In her Human form Julietta is quite physically appealing with a body more suited for love and leisure than combat or survival. This is deceptive however for in what she considers her true form, her Worgen form she is quite capable and often partakes in hunts both of beasts and of man to test her skills. Positive Personality Traits: Eh...depends what you are into. Negative Personality Traits: Is an aristocrat from maybe everything? Misc. Quirks: Sniffs people and retains their scents for later tracking. Played by what famous person?: Idk Meg Thee Stallion? Theme Songs: (Seaside Rebels - Thrill of the Hunt) History: It is unclear how the aristocratic Lord Reginald Alexander Bloodclaw of Northrend received his Worgen curse but was is clear is that it was not like the curse faced by the Gilneans and the Night Elves. It seemed to freeze his blood in his veins and chill his soul as it took all the warmth that had once made him human away. For months he was lost in the snows of the Borean Tundra until he came upon a woman whom he shared his curse with by force. This woman, Lillian Mary Alexander, would become pregnant with Julietta bearing both her own curse and now a cursed child. Through means unknown to Julietta they found some way to finally calm the beast within them and regain their human forms for short periods of time when Julietta was still a pup having been born already shifted into a beast of snow white fur, silver claw and sharp fang. Finally able to think, her father retreated with them back to the shambled estate that had once been his families glorious property in the frozen tundra and went into hiding for many years. When Julietta finally emerged out to the world it was to an overwhelming learning process of social ques and who and who you could not attack and consume. Eventually these constraints became a burden and so she too retreated by to her family estate and has begun working as a sort of Hunter For Hire for those who need someone killed but don't need all the secrecy. (Will likely change and add more as I come up with it for history)
  12. Elianis


    ELIANIS STONEFLOWER; CAPTAIN OF SLEDGE HAMMER; 19TH SHIELD-WALL LEGION; ALLIANCE Full Name: Elianis Stoneflower Nicknames: Eli Date of Birth: Spring Year 15 Current Timeline Age: 18-20 (depends current year played in. 34 is current year I believe in BFA) Race: Pandaren Gender: Female Hair: Black wavey and thick coming to her lower back if straightened. Purple highlights in bangs Skin: Maybe Eyes: Pinkish-Purple Height: 4'11 Build: Thicc with stronger lower body Place of residence: None Currently Place of Birth: Stoneflower Plot; Townlong Steppes; Northern Province; Pandaria Known Relatives: Jadianis Stoneflower (Older Sibling, unknown), Po Stoneflower Jr. (younger sibling, killed in burning of Teldrassil), June Stoneflower (mother,deceased), Po Stoneflower (Father, Deceased) Religion/Philosophy: Trusts in nothing but her shield and the weapon in her hand. Occupation: Alliance Shield-Sister [Siege Specialization] attached to the 19th Shield-Wall Legion consisting of mostly Night Elves. Group/Guild affiliation: The Honorborn Guild Rank: Recruit Enemies: Sylvannas Windrunner is her most deeply hated being for the burning of Teldrassil; she turns this anger on Horde in the field Likes: Blacksmithing, Cooking, Romantic Stories Favorite Foods: Green Curry Fish Favorite Drinks: Pandaren Plum Wine Favorite Colors: Purple Weapons of Choice: Shield and Spear or an axe of any kind. Dislikes: The Undead, Most Worgen, Yak Cheese Curds Hobbies: Cooking Physical Features: Elianis stands shorter than the average Pandaren but makes up for it in being pretty sturdy with a strong lower body which she can use for a better base to take impacts upon her shield and armor. She has a brand on her right shoulder of the 19th Shield-Wall Legion Crest. Brand: It is a tower shield crossed by a spear and a axe. In the center of the shield is the number "19". The lion seal of the alliance looks down upon it from above as though in constant judgement. The entire brand is approximately six inches in length and three inches across being in two separate parts for the shield and the lion. Positive Personality Traits: Warm and friendly if you are not Worgen, if so she will be a bit on edge but still communicate. Negative Personality Traits: Keep to anger if threatened or someone she cares about is threatened even if they do not know she cares about them. Misc. Quirks: Is fluent in Pandaren and Darnassian but cannot speak Common well. Theme Songs: One Second (feat. H.E.R.) · Stormzy · H.E.R History: Elianis knew the homeland of her people for only fifteen years prior to the war that took place on the island of Pandaria between the Horde and the Alliance. Her mother had been pregnant at the time of the Horde invasion and her father had died ensuring that she was able to escape with a group of Alliance though along with Eli, though Eli's older sister Jadianis was lost amongst the chaos and thought to be dead. Her mother found refuge in Darnassus where she quietly raised Eli and her younger brother doing her best to keep to herself and out of the cautious eye of the Night Elves who ran the city - or their Worgen guests. Elianis herself grew up watching the Wardens, fascinated by their abilities yet what fascinated her more were the ancient Blacksmiths who made and maintained the Night Elves ancient weapons and equipment. Eli eventually made friends with one of the smiths who allowed her to observe him at work. Quickly she learned his ways from watching him work the forge and after proving herself she became his apprentice choosing to dedicate herself to smithing. She learned beneath his watchful gaze until the day her mother died from an illness she had come down with shortly after leaving Pandaria and had suffered through for many years. Unable to find peace in the city of Darnassus and knowing that she must take care of Po Jr, Eli joined the Alliance Military and was assigned to the 19th Shield-Wall Legion due to her surprising strength and resoluteness. She quickly excelled and received additional training in Siege Warfare soon becoming head of a Air-Ship Drop Team Detachment known as Sledge Hammer. A month before the burning of Teldrassil, Elianis was forced to leave Po Jr under the care of her old smithing Master as she would be gone for quite some time in the battles to come. She was granted leave the day of the burning but arrived only to watch what had become her new homeland burning like a star in the void just as her first homeland had the hands of the Horde. She has known nothing but fury on the frontlines since that day vowing to fight until Sylvannas is brought to heel or the Horde spills her life-blood upon the battered hills of the battlefield and ends her suffering with honor. Recently: Sledge Hammer has been ordered to withdraw from their current assignment where they have been deeply entrenched for several weeks. Unable to accept that order Elianis went AWOL joined a mercenary crew in the area known as The Honorborn. She currently is struggling to find her place amongst them as most are Worgen.
  13. MONTHLY ROUNDUP - Nov. 2020 MONTHLY WRITING RAFFLE Once a month we host a small writing raffle, just to keep the creative juices flowing! One lucky person each month who submitted a story will be randomly selected to win 5000 gold ingame and be featured here on the front page! To participate, read the prompt below, head over to the Nether Legends part of the forum and start a new topic with ((WR-Month)) before your title and get writing! Please make sure to include at the bottom of your entry the full name (including server!) of the character you would like to have the gold sent to, as well as which faction they belong to. Entries must follow the prompt in some way, be longer than five sentences and follow all the usual rules of the forums. PROMPT FOR OCTOBER 2020: Due to the prepatch events coming out halfway through the month, we are offering TWO possible prompts to respond to. Even if you submit two stories however, you will only be eligible once. First prompt: Write a story showing your character's reaction to the news or directly to the events that happen in the pre-patch! (In the interest of people avoiding spoilers, I will not be listing what those events are) Second Prompt: Often this time of year means family events. Write a story from the perspective of one of your character's relatives! Head over here to get started: WINNER! Oct. 2020: When The Lights Go Out by Draquesha! Draq won this month's writing raffle with a piece that really made me feel like I was in a nightmare, with it's uncanny anxiety--mixing the familiar and the strange. It really sucks you in on what should be a simple, ordinary day and fills you with dread and sadness. A few excerpts I enjoyed: " The shadows grow longer, the city lights slowly (dimly) coming to life. Soleil feels her breath grow shorter as she waited… and waited… and waited a little bit more. Eventually, none are left but Soleil, the moon, and the many stars watching over her in the darkened courtyard (as they always had since she was young). Soleil’s glowing green eyes nervously scan the empty courtyard, her armor providing most of the little light visible. She holds her hands together, trying to pretend she was still confident as she steeples her fingers, but it’s clear that her hands are shaking. Whatever confidence she hoped to show was easily seen as the ruse it was." "After what felt like an eternity of shuffling along the road, Soleil finds a branching in the road. Left to Mrs. Starstrider’s, right to her father’s home. She doesn’t hesitate and quickly turns to the right with a sudden burst of energy. Relief. Home, warmth, light. Safety." "As she rounds the corner, she feels her stomach drop like she was falling out of the air, like it was about to spill out onto the ground in front of her. Cold and imposing, she walked towards her family’s darkened home. She takes a few shaky breaths. She taps her fingers her fingers against her temples. She taps against her cheeks. She taps against her shoulders. Calm. She was calm." "Plated fingers turn over the dirt, uprooting flowers and herbs, until finally she finds the key in question. Good, not everything had changed. It was merely an oversight! They’d forgotten to tell her that they were getting new keys. The key fits into the lock, of course, granting her access. Everything seems normal. Everything seems fine. Everything is… no, everything is not fine. Everything is not normal." Check out When The Lights Go Out here: CHARACTER OF THE MONTH Once a month, a character is randomly selected from the Character Bios section of the forums, and featured here. Characters that have not been updated in a very long time will not be included, so be sure to edit and update your characters every once in awhile! Oct. 2020: SOREL CRESCENTSONG Some fun bits about Sorel: "Race: Night Elf Gender: Male Hair: Dark Blue Skin color: Light blue" "Positive Personality Traits: Determined, always honest. Negative Personality Traits: Reckless, racist, emotionally stunted Hobbies: Studying new fighting styles, practicing rune calligraphy Weapon of Choice: Pandaren-forged pair of two-handed katanas he dual wields." "When the final Legion invasion began, Sorel joined an order of Lordaeronian survivors with his long-time human friend, Margoz Anterius. Their eviction galvanized him to reject all forms of extremist thinking, and form a new order that would protect the Alliance, take in all its races, and weed out the extremist elements: The Night Vanguard." Check out more about Sorel here:
  14. I got this info from Wow Wiki The programmer who wrote parts of the combat systems for the original 60-levels version of World of Warcraft liked the history of Macedon and Alexander the Great, and also the 1975 movie The Man Who Would Be King. In that movie, Alexander's name was pronounced by the actors as Sekandar, and at first the programmer was going to use that name for his new cat. A Persian co-worker in the computer department of CSUF told the cat's owner that Eskhandar was the name Alex in his native Farsi, so the cat's name ultimately became Eskhandar, Alex for short, in 1989. The cat, born even before Blizzard, died during WoW development. An item designers, upon request, created the Spirit of Eskhandar set since that cat had "seen" the release of every Blizzard title going back to Rock n' Roll Racing and Lost Vikings.
  15. Kumai kneels at the edge and trails her fingers in the lava, her arm flickering with fire magic as she does. She avoids coming back here in the waking world, but in her dreams, she finds herself here more often than not. The lava hisses and bubbles as it slowly moves, and for those who know how to listen, a voice can be heard. "Come. Come home," the lava whispers. "Pass," Kumai says in a voice she only hears in her sleep, a voice that hurts to hear between her ears. Usually in these dreams, she speaks with fire as she used to, before she realized she was speaking to herself. The dreams have a satisfying feeling to them, like she works out problems in direct conversation with her own consciousness. But this dream feels off, feels different. "That tabard is going to get you killed," the lava whispers, echoing words she heard a few weeks ago, words of warning she heard many times before first deciding to wear it. Kumai frowns. Fire knows nothing of politics, of petty grievances, and her own voice has dealt with this problem already. "Why?" she asks in her painful voice, not expecting any answer. "Look," the lava whispers. Kumai looks up and sees a silhouette approaching, red eyes, big hair. Kumai sighs. "She is a friend. She does not get me killed." "No?" The lava hisses. Ninorra's silhouette steps into the soft glow of the lava, though her eyes still shine from a face hidden in shadow. The silhouette offers a hand to Kumai. Kumai smiles at the gesture and takes the hand. "See. Friends." The shadow Ninorra's grip is iron and cold. "Friends," it echoes with a crackle of fire. A spark of pain jolts through Kumai's hand and she looks down at it. The shadow's grip glows with green flame, melting away Kumai's skin, but rather than the flesh revealing bone beneath, it falls away to show silver metal filigree, at the center of which glows white purple magic. "What friends do for friends," the shadow says. Kumai tries to pull away, panicking, but the grip on her hand is impossible to escape. Elegant, elaborate curves of metal creep up her arm, replacing her skin as it burns away, slowly, past her elbow, past her shoulder, as she struggles. "No!" Kumai cries out, then the flesh of her throat burns away in the fel fire's wake as it spreads to her body, her voice reduced to a flash of white-violet in a filigree cage. The fel fire moves down her chest, burning away her clothes, her tabard, until her frantically beating heart stops, dissolves, and is replaced by a slow pulse of white magic within the metal curls and curves of her new ribs revealed by the fel fire. There's nothing inside her, nothing left but the cold calculus of the arcane. "This is what you wanted," the lava whispers at her side. "Isn't it? Now you are heartless, too." -- Kumai starts awake with a gasp, her blankets damp with cold sweat. She flinches when her arm touches the wall and finds stone instead of wood before she remembers where she is. When she does, she calms herself, forcefully, but her attempts to convince herself to go back to sleep result in tears, until she decides to wake up and get some air.
  16. As she did every weekend, Soleil Titania Bloodstorm had visited a bakery within the sprawling city of Silvermoon to snatch a pair of overly chocolatey cookies for her and her beloved. The paper bag that housed them is placed into a light brown satchel slung over her shoulder as she strolled through the city towards where she always found her Starlight’s portal waiting to take her home. She stands tall. Confident and relaxed. The paladin whistles to herself. Nothing extraordinary, a simple tune she’d picked up at the bar one night. She whistled because Light save if she ever started to sing. She sways along to the tune, twirling around, and causing her fluorescent yellow armor to angrily clink and clank. In the quickly emptying courtyard, the sound echoes back off the walls to her as the sun begins to hide away from the approaching night. The shadows grow longer, the city lights slowly (dimly) coming to life. Soleil feels her breath grow shorter as she waited… and waited… and waited a little bit more. Eventually, none are left but Soleil, the moon, and the many stars watching over her in the darkened courtyard (as they always had since she was young). Soleil’s glowing green eyes nervously scan the empty courtyard, her armor providing most of the little light visible. She holds her hands together, trying to pretend she was still confident as she steeples her fingers, but it’s clear that her hands are shaking. Whatever confidence she hoped to show was easily seen as the ruse it was. Okay. Okay. This was fine. This was absolutely not a problem. Starlight got busy and she didn’t have time to make a portal. That’s what this was! Starlight knew that she had family nearby, so she wouldn’t be abandoned. Starlight knew. Starlight wouldn’t forget her. She struggles to move her feet, feeling like she was rooted in place. The paladin takes another deep breath. She taps her forehead. She taps her temples. She taps her cheeks. She taps her shoulders. It centers her and she manages to finally find the strength to move. Slowly, very slowly, she starts to make her way out of the courtyard and away from the guarantee that there would be a portal waiting for her. A small pouch strung up and around her neck, like a necklace of sorts, is pulled out. The hearthstone inside is held in her hands, squeezed tightly, like she might break it with her iron grip, before she finally musters the strength to send a quick “I’m spending the night at home” to her beloved. With every loud step, her heart is beating in her chest as if it were about to leap out and run away. Thump. Thump. Thump. She silently curses to herself, remembering just how far out of the city her father’s home was. The lights of the city begin to fade as she finally leaves the outer limits, the roads illuminated only by the faint glow of a few roadside lamps and the bright glow of the paladin’s armor. The walk home seemed a lot longer when she didn’t have the familiar company of her brother leading the way. No distracting stories, no smell of soap as his hair whipped her in the face, no explanations of the stars above. No matter how much she imagined him being there, the cold emptiness of the night was all the reminder she needed that she were alone on this little walk. The walk wasn’t long, she could manage it within ten minutes. It was a walk she was all too familiar with. Out the city gate, down the road, take a left at that fork. She knew it like the back of her hand. After what felt like an eternity of shuffling along the road, Soleil finds a branching in the road. Left to Mrs. Starstrider’s, right to her father’s home. She doesn’t hesitate and quickly turns to the right with a sudden burst of energy. Relief. Home, warmth, light. Safety. As she rounds the corner, she feels her stomach drop like she was falling out of the air, like it was about to spill out onto the ground in front of her. Cold and imposing, she walked towards her family’s darkened home. She takes a few shaky breaths. She taps her fingers her fingers against her temples. She taps against her cheeks. She taps against her shoulders. Calm. She was calm. She continues forward and twists the doorknob. Locked. Locked? Sure, it was late. They were in bed, of course they’d lock the doors! She fishes a key ring form the same pouch that housed her hearthstone and attempts unlocking the door. The key smashes into the lock, unable to fit inside. Panic begins to build in her chest. Locked outside. In the dark. Unwanted. She continues her tapping upon her temples, her cheeks, her shoulders. Over and over, until the rhythm of it calms her down enough to search for the spare key she always knew was hidden in the planters on the windowsill. Always. Plated fingers turn over the dirt, uprooting flowers and herbs, until finally she finds the key in question. Good, not everything had changed. It was merely an oversight! They’d forgotten to tell her that they were getting new keys. The key fits into the lock, of course, granting her access. Everything seems normal. Everything seems fine. Everything is… no, everything is not fine. Everything is not normal. As she peers further into the home, she notices that the house is in a state of disarray. It was like a tornado had swept through, furniture upturned, and walls laid bare. She flicks on a light switch. It doesn’t turn on. SHE FLICKS ON A LIGHTSWITCH. It continues to not turn on. Her heart starts to pound, threatening to jump out her throat. To flop onto the floor and hide away from everything in the world. She pushes against walls that aren’t there, walls that feel like they’re closing in on her, as she rushes through the home. She slams open doors, looks under blankets, throws pillows across rooms. Nothing. Nobody is here. Nobody is there. She is well and truly alone. Again… The world starts to spin, like she was on a ride at the Darkmoon Faire she never agreed to get on. A ride she desperately wanted to get off of. The paladin settles down onto the floor, choking upon the very air she needed to survive, as her trembling hands pick up a small sphere sitting beside her. As her hands come into contact with it, the orb begins to glow a soft, warm light that washes over her.
  17. I am not an old-timer but I can confirm that there are a smattering of them on the discord, which you can find here:
  18. I'm an oldtimer, though I don't remember your name--so we must be oldtimers from different eras of oldness?? I've been popping back in periodically over the last few years, but what I discovered on my most recent pop-in is that all the action seems to be on the Discord. I recommend checking it out if you haven't already!
  19. I was going through my old email address and stumbled into the TNG. I haven't played WoW in quite a long time now, but I thought I'd drop in to see if anyone still checks in. If so, Yo!
  20. The next morning, Sabeinne lay in bed considering who she might go to for assistance. There was Aphraelle, the cautious ally. Or Setrema, with her biting laugh and endless store of gossip. And...Sulras, that grizzled old ranger with his hardened but gentle hands. A sudden warmth bloomed in her at the memory, and she huffed in frustration. How long had it been since she’d had a proper affair? The unfortunate truth was that she hadn’t spoken to any of these people in years. One by one, she had sacrificed her relationships in the name of Lysimachus’ ever-shifting vision for the House, from his forays into dark magic to his insistence on amassing a collection of ancient relics. He was insane, and she gave her whole life to him. Well. Wouldn’t Lysimachus hate to hear that she was working as a shop assistant for next to no pay? Perhaps that was motivation enough to look into the job posting. So that’s what she did. She felt a tingle pass over her skin when she crossed the threshold into Simply Enchanting, indicating that some sort of enchantment had been placed over the shop’s interior. Most likely a Freespeech enchantment, common enough in shopping districts that served diverse clientele. Her suspicions were confirmed when she approached the shopkeeper and he addressed her in Common and she understood him effortlessly--in spite of the many decades of disuse that her Common had accrued. “Good afternoon, madam. Can I help you?” The shopkeeper was a dumpy-looking human man with wispy graying hair and patchy stubble. He was holding a large magnifying glass that he had been using to examine a trinket on his desk. Rather than putting the lens down when Sabeinne approached, he held it absently in front of him as though he might soon use it to begin conducting a chamber orchestra. “Yes, I’m here about the j--” Sabeinne’s voice caught on the word. It set her teeth on edge, but she pushed through the pain. “The job posting.” “Job posting?” The shopkeeper suddenly stared at his magnifying glass as though startled by it, and turned it back and forth, peering at it closely. “Ah, which one is that?” Sabeinne frowned at the man, who had started industriously polishing the magnifying glass with his sleeve. “The job posting. On the board in the Legerdemain. You claim to be seeking an enchanter for employment here.” “Ah..? Ah, yes, that.” He placed the lens down on his desk and gently patted it, leaving finger-smudges on the glass in the process. “Well, we already have Rin for that, don’t we?” He paused and soberly gazed directly into Sabeinne’s eyes. She felt her lip twitch. “But Rin isn’t very good, I suppose. Yes, all right, come on back.” The shopkeeper spun around and vanished swiftly behind a curtain that presumably led to a back room. “I beg your pardon?” Sabeinne huffed, disoriented by the shopkeeper’s twisting line of logic. “Back here!” the shopkeeper called, his voice strangely muffled. “I need to show you what you’ll be doing.” Sabeinne pushed through the curtain into a dark corridor built out of shelves, each of which was stuffed precariously with a mess of enchanting reagents, dangerous-looking artifacts, and assorted foodstuffs. “You haven’t even verified that I’m a helling enchanter,” she called, crossly wending her way through the maze-like passage. “Well if you’re not,” the shopkeeper said, blinking at Sabeinne as she emerged into a cramped, lamplit back room. “I just won’t pay you. This is where you’ll be working.” He gestured at a small round table that was crowded with bottles and vials of various sizes. A strange creature sat at one of the table’s two chairs. No, not a creature--a pandaren, which Sabeinne was led to believe should be considered sentient. The pandaren regarded her pleasantly, offering no evidence one way or another. “You’ll just be taking artifacts from here,” the shopkeeper continued, pointing at a basket full of miscellaneous objects, “determining which enchantment is placed on them, and disenchanting them. You’ll put the reagents in these bottles so we can sell them. 20 copper per disenchantment. Simple enough.” He stared at the basket of artifacts for a moment, then squeezed past Sabeinne and headed toward the front of the shop without another word. Sabeinne frowned after him. She weighed her options. 20 copper per disenchantment was an incomprehensibly small amount of money. She didn’t think she had ever even held a copper. But on the other hand...the Legerdemain was charging her a silver a day to rent her room. Sabeinne let out a short sigh and turned toward the table covered in reagent bottles. The pandaren was still watching her cheerfully, and Sabeinne couldn’t suppress a grimace. She had a feeling it was going to want to talk to her. “Hi! I’m Rin,” said the pandaren in accented Orcish. It smiled, and Sabeinne managed not to visibly recoil. “I’m so excited to finally have a coworker!”
  21. MONTHLY ROUNDUP - Oct. 2020 MONTHLY WRITING RAFFLE Once a month we host a small writing raffle, just to keep the creative juices flowing! One lucky person each month who submitted a story will be randomly selected to win 5000 gold ingame and be featured here on the front page! To participate, read the prompt below, head over to the Nether Legends part of the forum and start a new topic with ((WR-Month)) before your title and get writing! Please make sure to include at the bottom of your entry the full name (including server!) of the character you would like to have the gold sent to, as well as which faction they belong to. Entries must follow the prompt in some way, be longer than five sentences and follow all the usual rules of the forums. PROMPT FOR OCTOBER 2020: This month, things got a little wonky with the pre-patch for Shadowlands coming out. The original prompt was written with the assumption that the pre-patch content would be sooner, so people would have time to play through it and then react. Since it didn't come out when we thought, we're adding a second prompt for this month, and the prompts will continue into next month, but you will only be eligible for the prize this month if you respond this month! Original prompt: Write a story showing your character's reaction to the news or directly to the events that happen in the pre-patch! (In the interest of people avoiding spoilers, I will not be listing what those events are) New Prompt: For this spoooky month, write a nightmare your character has! Is it a reflection of a memory? Forget their pants on the first day of school? A deep seeded fear? Head over here to get started: WINNER! SEPT. 2020: The Guardsman by Chestius! Chestius won this month's raffle with an exciting tale of mystery, intrigue and action as a number of slavers meet an untimely end upon a vessel docked in the Stormwind harbor! A few excerpts I enjoyed: ""Well what was it?! Captain, this dastard's not making any sense! I say we throw um into the stockades and properly interro--" the Lieutenant began before he found himself grappled and thrown into the bulkhead, held tightly by the throat. The Captain's eyes glared into his, silence overtaking the moment before he spoke. "Stand. Down. Lieutenant. One more outburst, and the only one getting softened up in the stockades will be you... Understand?" The Captain growled. A subtle nod was all he received as confirmation, but it was enough to release the foolish guard, who quickly fell back into ranks." ""His fear. It's unnatural. We need someone capable of detecting magic, and I'll bet fifty gold we're dealing with one type in particular.." the Captain answered. The years in service granted him no glorious exploits, or powers to behold, however it did grant knowledge of what magic was often used for. Each element had their signs. The elements were the most obvious, however some were more subtle... And atop the list of magics he disliked dealing with sat Shadow. Fear, doubt, confusion, it all fit. The man had been cursed with panic, but not killed outright..." "Fel magic... That one was second on the list of awful magic to deal with.. the guard Captain's strength was sapped, and he was unable to even raise a hand against the revealed crook before him. All he could do was shoot an aged glare. The remaining guards hesitated, however released their weapons and backed away. The room was cleared for now... Aside from the cowering brewer, hostage guard Captain, and the Tracker, who by this time was also down to a knee." Check out The Guardsmen here: CHARACTER OF THE MONTH Once a month, a character is randomly selected from the Character Bios section of the forums, and featured here. Characters that have not been updated in a very long time will not be included, so be sure to edit and update your characters every once in awhile! SEPT. 2020: RENKA GLITTERSNAP Some fun bits about Renka: "Age: 26 Race: Goblin Gender: Female" "Place of residence: Travels a lot for business, recently acquired a beachfront property in Gadgetzan. Place of Birth: Booty Bay Known Relatives: Sold by bio-parents to her "Auntie" around age 5. Parents identities unknown." "Likes: Travelling, gold, bling, acquiring assets, making new business partners Dislikes: Losing, Manual labour, indecisiveness, fake jewellery/furs/luxuries Favourite Foods: Rare steak (any), never turns down a good barbecue Favourite Drinks: Darkmoon Special Reserve, Steamwheedle Fizzy Spirits, Anything Elven" Check out more about Renka here:
  22. It has been requested that I start saving past writing raffle information/winners, so if you want to reference what prompt people's stories are coming off of, or using any of the old prompts to jumpstart yourself, I'll be posting them in this thread. I don't have as much information from the earlier ones, but the later ones will get their own posts. June, 2018 (winner, Qabian) WINNER: July, 2018 (winner: Brinnea): Everyone has their own 'voice' when writing and a good idea of their character's headspace, but what would it look like if someone else tried to write one of your characters? Do you think you could write someone else's character? For this month, you have two weeks (until the 15th) to submit one of your characters for this exercise, at which point everyone will be randomly assigned a character that is not their own. Everyone will then have to write a short (non-canon) story through the perspective of that character. WINNER: August, 2018 (winner: Tahzani): This month, Battle for Azeroth is being released. For this month's raffle, please tell us a story about your character's journey/first experiences in one of the new zones. WINNER: July 2020: The armistice has been signed, the war between the Horde and the Alliance is over--for now. Show us a scene of one of your characters reacting to the news; whether they have a party to celebrate, double down on their quest for vengeance against their enemies, or just breathe a sigh of relief! Congratulations to Amalyn for winning the July Writing Raffle with their story A Bygone Lullaby! It's a beautiful, moody, introspective piece that really shows you where their Priestess Amalyn's head is at. Head over to the website to read it for yourself! And also congratulations to Anterius for getting character of the month for Mardalius Anterius, Battlemage Extrodinaire! I found out Mardalius's favorite colors are purple and silver! WINNER: August 2020: Often times characters are formed in tragedy, and we focus on those events which bend or break characters in new ways; but this month, I want to do something a little different. Give us a story from your character's backstory/history that was something positive that shaped them. A kindness they were paid, an opportunity they found, a friend they made as a few examples (it can be sad, or bittersweet, or any emotion). Congratulations to Draquesha for winning the August Writing Raffle with her adorable baby troll story A Dino-Mite Birthday! Head on over to the website and check it out! Also congratulations to Myaka who has this month's character of the month for Myaka Winterborne! I found out a lot about Myaka's history, and the fact that she's allergic to coconuts! WINNER: September 2020: We all love getting into the headspace of our beloved characters, but what do they look like from an outside view? Write a story where your character is a side or supporting character. This can be a theoretical story, in the far flung future, where they are a mentor or an opposition to the next generation of hero (a boruto story to your naruto, if you will), or a story of them now told from an npc/side character's perspective! Congratulations to Banjin for winning the September Writing Raffle with his exciting and mysterious The Guardsmen! Be sure to check it out along with our Character of the Month, Renka Glittersnap! Renka is a very cool goblin with a great piece of art on her character bio that's just amazing. WINNER:
  23. (( Amazing. Response incoming when I have time. ))
  24. ((Goodness, I hope I didn't miss anything while reading up on relevant lore. This game isn't exactly forgiving to multi-year breaks.)) ((Naughty language and probably other things to follow.)) Sabeinne remembered what it was like coming to Dalaran as a young woman, full of hope and fire. It was thrilling to make her own way for once, slumming it with the other hopefuls who wanted to study with the best. Her time as a student left nothing but golden memories of staying up all night, discussing magical theory and experimenting with the psychedelic side-effects of certain spellcasting techniques. And she had slept with a human. Two or three, actually. One of them was really quite talented. Of course, she hadn’t really made her own way, at all. Her future was laid out for her step by step in a crisp unwavering path. You couldn’t have told her that then, or that nepotism was as powerful a force at the University as talent or hard work. She laid claim to every achievement that was laid at her feet as she soared through her classes. Coming back to Dalaran all these years later felt the same, like a sanctuary full of promise. She thrilled at the thrum of arcane energies that seemed to imbue every stone with life. She ignored the skeptical glances that flitted toward the fel-green color of her eyes--fading, now, but still marking her as Horde. She would make her own way here again, she thought, and be free of all the baggage left behind in Silvermoon. She didn’t need Lysimachus, or the generational wealth he had squandered, or titles. Not now, not ever. Sabeinne strode confidently into the Violet Citadel and went directly to the steely-eyed human receptionist who guarded its halls. The receptionist was a bespectacled woman with graying hair, small in stature and further dwarfed by her massive desk of dark, polished wood. “Hello, I’m Sabeinne dej Dynastus, here seeking an assignment.” “An assignment.” The receptionist looked her dead in the eyes, doubtless assessing their hue. “Yes, you know--work.” A bit of disgust crept in as Sabeinne uttered the word, vulgar as it made her feel. The receptionist leaned back in her chair and peered through her eyeglasses skeptically. “And why exactly would you expect to be getting an assignment here?” Sabeinne chuckled. Humans tended to miss the little details. “As I said, I’m Sabeinne dej Dynastus. I’m sure you’ll find that our family is in quite excellent standing with the Kirin Tor.” “I see. Well, I’m not familiar with the name, but let me check the registry.” The receptionist thumped open a massive tome that sat at her desk and held her hand above its pages, which began flipping rapidly. “Dej Dynastus, was it? Ah, here’s something.” She leaned forward to peer at the miniscule text. “I don’t suppose you have any relation to...Lysimachus dej Dynastus, do you?” Sabeinne smiled graciously. “Yes, that’s right. Lysimachus is my brother.” The receptionist gazed drolly up at Sabeinne over the rims of her glasses. “It says here that he was summarily dismissed from any relationship with the Kirin Tor, let’s see...seventy-seven years ago.” A small smile quirked at her mouth. “So I’m not sure exactly what assignments you expect us to have ready for you.” Sabeinne laughed lightly. Humans and details, really. “Well, there must be some mistake. Go check with your supervisor, I’ll wait.” “Madam, this is an enchanted ledger. There are no mistakes.” “Hwell,” Sabeinne huffed. This was not going to plan, but surely it could be salvaged. “Does it give a reason why he was dismissed?” The receptionist peered back at the tiny text. “There’s a code 2, 5, 7 and 9 by his name, so that would be sexual harassment, financial mismanagement, and excessive drug use.” She peered closer. “It looks like there was also an attempted homicide, but that was downgraded to ‘disorderly behavior.’" “God hell,” Sabeinne muttered, pinching her forehead in frustration. What had Lysimachus done this time? She thought she would control her reaction, but then her memory flashed to their last, explosive argument and the anger came bubbling up, hot and viscous like bile. “Helling Lysimachus! Fuck!” She shot a fireball straight into the ground, leaving a scorch mark on the polished tile, and clenched her fists to keep from burning that idiotic huge desk straight to the ground. The human woman blinked at Sabeinne in alarm. “Ah...Madam, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” The receptionist glanced quickly behind Sabeinne, who spun around to see two guards approaching. “Oh, I’m well on my way,” Sabeinne snarled over her shoulder. “Your organization is corrupt and your decor is tacky.” She pushed past the guards as she stormed out. “Don’t touch me. God.” So, that was the first blow to Sabeinne’s confidence upon arriving in Dalaran. The next came when she pawned her bracelets in the Underbelly to a suspiciously oily-looking gnome in order to pay for a few nights at the Legerdemain Lounge. And the third came as she sat sipping a glass of wine, alone, in the Legerdemain’s bar, and found herself furtively glancing over the notice board on the wall. Her attention landed on a flyer. ENCHANTER WANTED For part-time work with competitive pay Inquire inside at Simply Enchanting She caught herself considering the flyer, and felt her lip twitch in disgust. Part-time work at an enchanting shop was well beneath her skillset. Surely she would find something more befitting a Marchioness of all helling things. Right now, she just didn’t know what. This uneasy thought kept her awake well past midnight on that first night back in Dalaran, slumming it like a girl in the third-nicest room of the inn.
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