Peritous

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About Peritous

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    Junior Member
  • Birthday 11/06/1986
  1. To never tire on the battlefield was any soldiers dream. To be strong enough to easily dispatch any number of foes, effortlessly, quickly and without feeling any pity, sorrow or remorse. To that end, some trained for their entire lives, some turned to the light for strength while some made deals with nature and others still to darker forces. He sat motionless amid the corpses of the bombardment, the stench of death burning his nostrils and his claymore resting across his knees. Peritous reflected upon his life. He had served in the army, training as a paladin in order to temper himself, earning the respect and admiration of his fellow soldiers. Then he died and his mind was taken by the scourge. Perhaps his faith was lacking, or the light simply forgot about it's champion, he didn't really know or care either way, but when the final moment came, no deliverance, no salvation, only death for him and his soldiers. If in life his strength had been great, it was only enhanced by his ruthless efficiency in death. He was monstrous, destroying recklessly, without pity, without sorrow and without remorse. He had become the perfect soldier in a sense... and only death had been able to make him realize it. So of course it would be ironic that he would be cut down by a man he had spent years training beside, invoking the name of the light as he did so. Ironic, that it would be in a place he had called home for the entirety of his life. Ironic, but not without justice. But of course, when the call of the Lich King came... when he was pulled back from death's sweet embrace once again he could not deny the fire which stirred within him. A chance to do battle again? An opportunity for even greater power? His body had reacted without any commands of his own. It knew what it wanted- no, needed to be doing. He was taken by the Lich King and his body repaired- no, restored to nearly it's original form. It was a beautiful thing... to be reunited with his former body, purged of flaw and enhanced magnificently. He killed scarlets for the Lich King, he killed them happily and with pleasure. He killed some fool who thought to have known him. It was amusing listening to them beg as he slowly dismembered them. Nothing fast, nothing clean. Screaming. Bloody. Agony. Then came the battle at Lights Hope. Then came the champions of the Light, and the incredible, overwhelming helplessness he felt on the sanctified ground. His mind screamed for him to swing, to cleave them down by the dozens... but his arms would not move. His legs locked and he toppled to the ground. He witnessed the face off between the Lich King and Tirion Fordring, Frostmourne and the Ashbringer... from his stomach. Weak and defenseless as a child, and when Mograine had told them they were free of the Lich King's service... free to seek vengeance he felt... lost. The Light had crippled him. Paralyzed him and left him for dead... then spared him and set him free. A bizarre thought crept into his mind and he rose to his knees. His eyes raised to the Holy Chapel before him and he... he prayed. He prayed to the light for strength. For understanding, for redemption and vindication. He prayed for a means to atone for his sins, blasphemes and murders. He prayed for a swift and brutal end at the hands of divinity itself, and as he prayed he felt his gaze being drawn to his sword, laying on the ground, sheathed in an almost imperceptible aura of light. He knew then his punishment. His method of atonement. His vindication would come at the edge of a sword. His mind cleared as he rose to his feet... again to fight as the smell of ancient death meshed with the new weapons of the alliance and the horde to create a disturbingly pungent aroma. One slow step forward after another he marched alone towards the citadel of the Lich King, cleaving down anything that would attempt to hinder his passage. Live or dead. As as he marched, a single tear froze on his cheek, mourning for all that he had done, and would yet do.
  2. "What should I say? I've met him once and I can't say that I trust him. He wounded Lady Trystanel, which is not acceptable at all, however she did not ask for his head so he still lives." The death knight leans toward the interviewer with a grin before speaking quietly. "It would be a bloody good fight though if she did."
  3. Sorry, I totally spaced on writing lately, had a helluva lot going on this last month, I was about to sit down and write something up for this then I realized that I missed the deadline already. >.<
  4. I've found it to be very situational. In arena's if I'm in pve gear I don't hit hard enough to burst anyone down (piss poor rage gen) though my pve gear absolutely demolishes meleers when they actually bother to fight me. Here's the thing. I'm prot. I can demolish meleers in any gear. I use pvp gear for the resil and crit, sure I lose about 3k hp but shaving almost 20% crit damage off my damage taken, plus being specced into blood craze in my pvp spec makes up for it. PvP gear really shines against the cloth classes who can kite and snare us. I don't think prot pvp is about stacking burst damage personally, I think it's about control. You have stuns and silences and mobility galore, you've got 12 second charges and 25 second intercept and intervene to break roots and snares along with a trinket and spell reflect you can pretty much never get totally locked down. I find that with mostly pvp gear and a few pieces of pve tanking gear in the spots I don't have good replacements, I can both keep my crit high enough to have good rage gen and have enough BV to hit hard with my money maker attack.
  5. Peritous muttered quietly to himself as he traveled Northrend on the back of his gryphon. "I'm a death knight, not a fucking babysitter... And how am I supposed to find this kid anyway? I mean after she interfered with me fighting that other death knight and lich, I'm supposed to go save her from some kidnapper? Nel needs to give me a raise..." His gaze rested on a band of trolls in the midst of some heathen ritual and his fingers twitched slightly. "Still can't figure out for the life of me why we're fighting these trolls... I mean I hate trolls as much as anyone else, but they're fighting the scourge as much as we are... We should have waited till after Arthas was dead to wipe these scum from the world..." He pulled at the reigns of the gryphon, causing it to bank and turn into a dive to pick up speed as they started to head west. "Come bird chicken beast, lets do Anuari's job of finding this girl, then we can do our job of killing whoever took her. If I were a dwarf I would be in a mountain somewhere... Let's check out the Stormpeaks."