Phil

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About Phil

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  • Birthday 07/08/1983
  1. (Lead in for my Cataclysm mage. Details to possibly change DRASTICALLY once we find out more about the current state of Tol Barad and Baradin Hold. Crits welcomed.) Drip. Drip. Drip. “How long has it been?” Skitter. Drip. Clang. “Where have they gone? Drip. Fizzle. Clang. “These shackles itch...” Shhhhhhhhh... “...The torches have finally died out.” Silence. “...Hello? Anyone out there?” ”How long has it been, gnome?” “Who’s there?” ”I am you, of course.” “You..who?” ”You.” “Me? But..” ”The you that has been reborn within this prison.” “Oh...right. I did kind of forget just WHERE I was.” ”Nearly twenty years you--no, we have been down here. “Yeah...” ”Pisses you off, huh?” “Well! Yeah! I haven’t seen the sky in forever.” ”And this prison...drains your ties to the ley lines, doesn’t it?” “So very much...” ”You miss those arcane flows running through your veins?” “I do...but what good is that? They probably forgot about me down here. Luckily! I learned the art of face diving onto the rats that scurry by. Prolly woulda died hadn’t for them, you know? Not like I will ever be able to practice those arts again.” ”Now, I wouldn’t say that.” “Oh, and what do you know?” ”More than you do, that’s for sure. “Prove it.” ”Do you remember what happened all those years ago and why you locked up here on this tiny island prison?” “...No.” ”Mind suppression, hm? Well, let’s fix that. Let me tell you what happened. You killed them all. Every last one of them during the invasion. You tapped into something you should not have. You got desperate. The Horde was advancing faster than anticipated and your forward charge was under heavy pressure from those orcs. The humans and dwarves headed the front lines, you and your rank of gnomes took the back, throwing your spells here and there. But it was no use against the dark Horde that advanced. The battle took a turn for the worse. The orcs were slaughtering you and your kind so easily. Blades breaking through bone and sinew like butter. Blood of your friends, comrades caking in the dirt. You were cut off. Cut off from the rest of the forces. And what did you do? Pleaded for help. Begged for it. You cowered like a worthless little whelp. Years of training and fighting the Horde meant nothing. You... You were worthless. And then...oh, and then you finally gave in. You tapped deep down. Not within yourself. You had NOTHING. But instead, you found me. Oh, yes. Neither here nor there, I was. But you managed to find me. Or I found you. Whatever the case, we became one that day. You...You let loose all the rage of those who had fallen. You gave into MY powers. And the resulting explosion wiped out the advancing Horde. But you also... Hoo boy, did you wipe out the rest of your troops. Every. Last. One. You left a smoldering crater of gore behind. The Horde near you were decimated, but you successfully managed to kill your own. You had become a murderer. A criminal. A danger to the Alliance. You lost all ties. All friends. The gnomes had broken their ties with you. The humans and dwarves put you in shackles and took you off in their retreat. The battle for Tol Barad had been lost to the Horde. And you were thrown into prison. Your wife and child left alone. The soldiers told them both you died on the island. She remarried.” “SHUT UP!” ”And you were left to rot. That is, until they took back the island. And what better punishment than to lock you away, deep within that Hold on the same soil you split so much blood on? That same soil where you locked your fate to be nothing more than a war criminal. You. Lost. Everything.” “SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!” ”But that is okay. Because now. Now we will get out of here. The both of us...” “We will?” ”Yes.” “...How?” ”Patience... “Screw that! I want to get out now!” ... “Hello? HEY! You still there? HelloooOoooOOooOooooo?” The morbidly thin gnome wiggling back and forth in the sheer darkness of the small cell, his arms chained behind his back, his skin leathery, his hair graying. What little leathers he was given to wear were molded, damp and rotting. The smell that surrounded him was enough to make anyone vomit on sight. The bones of numerous, hundreds of rats lay scattered around him. The flesh around his mouth stained with the blood of the rodents. “Hey! Come back! Talk to me!” The gnome flailed back and forth, groaning, trying his best to break the rusting shackles. A moment later, he toppled over and lay there, cheek pressed against the cold stone. He stared out blankly towards the locked cellar door, seeing no more than three feet in front him. “...Help. I fell over...” he muttered as he lay there, feeling weak and defeated by gravity.
  2. I was giddy for a moment. Then I noticed it wasn't the Bono. Then I sadded all over myself.
  3. *The usual erratic scribblings and notes littler the back of the schematic, but in one lower corner, the writing seems to smooth out, becoming more linear, neat, clean.* Upon further investigation, I found that I stumbled upon what could possibly be described as a tainted ley line below my previous home. I can only assume that it is directly related to the happenings of the radiation or that it has to do with what is going on in the north. I managed to catch a glimpse of a full blown ley line, dug out directly from the earth by the Blue dragons. The sheer amount of energies that lace the air are enough to intoxicate even the most well trained, strong willed mages. It is no wonder that so many seek the powers that lie far and wide. The visible arcane flows that erupted from the broken earth was beautiful, intimidating and awe inspiring. Numerous times I have wondered and tried to seek out the answers as to why humanoids of the intelligent variety seek out certain lands to call their home, be it in the mountains, lake side or in the deserts. Sometimes, it is for mere survival, other times, it is for the sake of their kind. But what if things influence us? The elves are prime examples, seeking magic rich lands to call their homes. The sickly, fel tainted elves in the north stay near the Sunwell. The land around saturated with the magicks that lay on the surface and extend WHO KNOWS how far from the reaches of the well. I do not doubt that far beneath the earth that even the dwarves have dug, all sorts of magicks, both corrupted and pure, influence the lands and the inhabitants above. I will continue my work upon the various ley lines that litter the world, some visible to the naked eye thanks to tampering, others hidden behind a veil of mystery. It makes me wonder, where do they lead? Is there one spot of pure magical energy that every ley line pours into? One node of power that even the strongest willed person would fall to? Research and theories say yes. I should dive into the books at Dalaran to see if any of the ancient tomes survived the incident. I think that is what I will do in my free time. The inventions can wait for the time being.
  4. <p>Hello alien lady!</p>

  5. Phil

    <p><3 First Legion</p>

    <p>How far are you guys in Ulduar?</p>

  6. *Various short notes were written upon the back of the same schematics, the writing dancing slightly from the arcane filled inks.* I received a letter today from the Import people by the name of Fordragon! It would appear as though my application has been accepted by...an iron toe. Odd. I did not KNOW this place was run by an appendage! Much less one made of iron. Huh. I think this will be a very very interesting meeting with this toe. *** I tried once again redirecting the ley lines that run beneath the beloved, wonderful, TROGGS ridden city of Gnomeregan. Er, it sort of backfired. I think I spent a good three to four hours running around Ironforge as a sheep. And then this one burly dwarf... Oh god... *** I FORGOT MILK WHEN I WENT SHOPPING IN STORMWIND!
  7. [updated with more character filling goodness! History to HOPEFULLY come sometime today.]
  8. *The more than wrinkled piece of parchment contained precise, detailed drawings of what could only be described as a pair of stilts powered by steam. Needless complicated scratchings of wiring configurations, pump design and what style of shoe should be upon the foot of the stilt littered the page. Along the edges of the parchment, written in Gnomish, were random notes, each one shining ever so slightly with the arcane filled ink that was used. Some thoughts were, obviously, incomplete.* Shopping List Bucket of Bolts Box of Screws Dinglehopper Hyrdophlange Toast Butter Cologne to attract the Draenei ladies A comb Handcuffs Leather chaps A top hat *** I saw the most beautiful lady Draenei earlier today! Sometimes, I just want to grab onto one of those tails and *** Redirecting the ley-lines of the deeply hidden pathways beneath Gnomeregan has been difficult. The matrices of the spells and their complexity seem to be ever changing, never stable, shifting just as I find a suitable point within them. Continuing tests from the Old Home daily, hoping to recall some of the lost arts or possibly even finding a way to get the stink of the TROGGS out of my clothes! *** I remember it like it was yesterday. There I was, standing outside the shop, the wonderful artificle lights shining down upon the most beautiful gnome I had ever seen. You should have seen her legs. They were so.. But then the TROGGS errupted from somewhere below! The TROGGS ruined my chance with her! I never caught her name. But That's okay. The TROGGS got her. Only 50 Silver lost on the booze. *** Explosions! Screaming! Death! Hairy things. TROGGS *** I wonder what I should make for dinner tonight. *** Investigate this Import company that goes by the name of Fordragon. I hear they fight TROGGS alot. Especially the big green ones and the ones with the demon eyes and the outrageously long ears. Kinda like the purple ones. But mean. *** Oh no! I am late for-- Why am I writing this?!
  9. Full Name: Phillip McSpragglebottomstein the Fifth Nicknames: Phil Date of Birth: Some time ago. Age: Some doubled digit number. Race: Gnome! Gender: Male. Hair: Black Skin: Pale Eyes: Green Height: 3'6" Weight: Something between a boar and a small human. Place of residence: Reluctantly, Ironforge. Place of Birth: Gnomeregan! Known Relatives: None Religion/Philosophy: If it ain't broken, fix it until it is! And if it is broken, throw it at a goblin! Occupation: Mage Extraordinaire Group/Guild affiliation: The what now? Guild Rank: The who what? Enemies: Those guys, right over there. See them? Yeah, them. Also: TROGGS Likes: Metal! And...uh, gears. Ooo, bread too. Favorite Foods: Bread! And fruit. Favorite Drinks: There is this bluish stuff they sell over at that place. Sold by that guy...er, you know who I mean, right? Favorite Colors: Clear! Wait... Weapons of Choice: My fists of fury! No..wait, fire and stuff. Dislikes: Short jokes. Tall jokes. Hordies. TROGGS Hobbies: Tinkering. Physical Features: He was average height, for a gnome, with jaw length, messy black hair, coupled with an overly elaborate mustache and goatee. Those green beady eyes are filled with life, excitement and possibly a bit of delusion. Usually dressed in robes, this gnome was known for being...well, annoying! Special Abilities: Bada Boom! Arcane/Fire/Ice magicks. Positive Personality Traits: Happy-go-lucky. Friendly. Negative Personality Traits: Way too happy-go-lucky. Way too friendly. Womanizer? Misc Quirks: Slightly off his knocker. SKIRT CHASER! Often has Vietnam type Flashbacks of Gnomeregan and Troggs. Often mistakes any Horde for Troggs. History: [Eventually.]