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About Niethan

  • Rank
    Senior Member
  • Birthday 12/14/1985
  1. <img src="<fileStore.core_Emoticons>/emoticons/sad.png" alt=":(" srcset="<fileStore.core_Emoticons>/emoticons/sad@2x.png 2x" width="20" height="20" /> Hay. Come baaak

  2. Whelp, it's official. I'm cancelling my account. I haven't played in the last few months, and I can't dredge up the desire to, so there's no point in paying for a subscription I'm not using. I might pick up a card come next expansion, but other than that? It's been cool, people. Sayonara.
  3. Day 64 of the Season of Water My glamour is holding--a relief, for I have never tried to design complex illusions before this. Thank the loa Sulajin keeps his scrolls tucked into shelves and not under lock!--but the constant bombardment of foreign tongues gives me such headaches. My clumsy command of the languge isn't going to suffice; I shall have to find a teacher. Fortunately, I already know a handful of people who would be willing to cooperate with a troll. Sifar, I hope, has not forgotten me, and Hailos if I can find him has always been helpful to me. Additionally, there is the night elf woman Ryoku-- she showed at the last meeting of the Raven Cross. A brave action, that. I introduced myself to her yesterday and we chatted a bit. It seems she misses her friends among the Horde, and wishes that the Raven Cross still counted her as such. Wishes that they had not of late grown bloody and grotesque. So do I. I also had my first unwanted taste of skirmish, yesterday. I was set upon several times in Stranglethorn, which isn't so surprising. As always, my policy is to remain standing still-- a docile opponent gives no satisfaction to an intelligent hunter. I recognise that this isn't a good strategy-- few two-legged hunters, it seems, care about satisfactory kills these days, and it also takes hardy regeneration to be able to walk away from such encounters. It's a good thing I'm an old hand at playing dead. I did kill one orc, though, and feel no more than a small pang of guilt for the deed. Loa only know why I felt irritable enough to tell the Cross (shortly before they cut me from the hearthstone's frequency), but in my defense the orc had it coming. He was a hunter in training, and attempted to ambush me--in plain sight--at extreme close range and in a closed area. That kind of stupidity shouldn't be allowed to survive and breed.
  4. *A leatherbound diary, cover dyed a charming blue, and written in the Aman'i dialect of trollish* Day 63 of the Season of Water Well, I have officially been kicked from the Raven Cross--at swordpoint, no less--for my anti-Horde sentiments and decision to join the Allaince. I doubt that my membership among the blueside will be permanent, but I suppose to a Horde loyalist that is a trivial detail. I didn't really explain myself or my motivations, either, which is my fault. I find I lack control over my temper, these days. To remind myself of my goals and to provide helpful evidence, damning or otherwise, to whomever may eventually execute me (and that list has certainly grown!), I've decided to use this journal as a memoir of my experiences and thoughts on the new races and their Alliance. Reasons for joining the Allaince Curiosity. All of the Alliance races are vastly different from the Horde in terms of culture and value. For a long time I've found myself wanting to study them rather than fight, and I fully intend to use this opportunity to do so. Dishonorable conduct of the Horde. I'll explain this in detail later on, as one of my goals is to document examples of honor and dishonor among both factions. As a whole, rather than minor incidents. Honorable conduct of the Allaince. Again, I'll detail this, but I remember vividly a conversation over the Raven Cross frequencies. It was said then that the Alliance have no honor, and I found it an absurd generalization. I countered that the Allaince have often shown more honor than the Horde, and was met with angry mutterings. I think that was when I started to consider defection, even a temporary one. Blood elves. Away from thier perfumes and powders, I might remember what air tastes like. Paladins. I still suspect that, deep down, every troll wants to be a paladin. My desire is not so hidden, and as the Light is not necessarily mutually exclusive to the Loa, I'm going to be one. I just wish that plate armor wasn't so abysmally heavy. Horses!. The Horde doesn't breed horses; it kills them and reanimates the dead bodies. This is a travesty in more ways than one. Reasons for leaving the Horde Health. I am shamed to admit that I am running, not from the Horde but from Northrend. The magnitude of my duty to the dead in light of that frozen place is overwhelming, and when placed beside my impotent rage over the conduct of the Raven Cross's commaning officers, I feel faint. This crossing is part of a constitutional, to regain my health and well-being. Diomades and Leoren. Again, I am shamed. Both of these two were once great men, and that I cannot help them regain that quality of themselves cuts me. Narcissistic, I know, but I cannot help it. I find myself wishing thier deaths rather than this slow decay. Broxigan the Grey. Another old friend, one I mourn that I have not seen him. I heard through my own contacts that he has betrayed the Horde, as it is seen. I cannot claim to know his motivations, but I would lie if I did not say the news was not a catalyst for my decision. Blood elves. We would have been better off allying with the Amani. And the Amani would have been better off with us. I mourn my kin. Children of the Horde. It seems a strange reason, but watching the sons and daughters of the Horde fills me with despair. Nearly from birth, orc children are taught that they are worthless if not ready to fight to the death for the Horde, and the sentiment I see is echoing into the other races as well. What selfish folly is this? To instill from birth that war is the only admirable profession is to ensure its perpetuation. The younger generations will despise the very idea of peace, and will self-destruct. If this continues, the Horde will bash itself against the rocks until there is nothing left. My hands tire of writing, and my heart is heavy with worry. I will put this aside for later.
  5. As the crow flies. It's an odd saying. Why not as the sparrow flies? Ah, but a sparrow is domestic; its range a household. Good for watching day-to-day life. An eagle flies much, much farther, but also higher. Small events are inconsequential to it. So too with a raven, because they are always comparing their memory with the present. But when there is nothing but death and war, as far as the eye can see? Yes, then it is time to ask a crow. And they are agreeable birds, when it comes to misery. And the crow agreed to watch the eclipse rain down, and bring back what it knew. Once it had, Niethan sent it on its way. He quickly heard it cackling out its news to its fellows. Good news, he supposed, for a crow. Niethan couldn't bring himself to agree. But whether he was mourning the actions of Broxigan or regretting that the orc didn't succeed in beheading three factions of the Horde, Niethan couldn't say.
  6. I like the start you've got on definining musculature on his fleshy arm, there. But.. what is he doing? He's either sleeping under a windowsill or lifting something above his head, I'd guess.
  7. Niethan


    Okay, ALMOST every 5-man elite. And that worm boss was because I couldn't apply the acid-resist to my pet. /acknowledges Xara
  8. Niethan


    I find Tenacity pets-- the tanking ones-- to honestly be the best for leveling, especially at higher levels (Nie's soloed every 5-man elite he's come across in Northrend). They've usually got an extra taunt to help with aggro situations, and I haven't noticed much of a difference in damage when comparing my tanking worm with my slasher kitty (Tenacity tree has a few +damage talents, take them).
  9. Niethan's regeneration was artificially sped up a few years ago, but has since returned somewhere closer to "normality". As for regeneration in general, I've always assumed limbs can be regrown, with time and proper nutrition. If you've ever spoken to the carnies in the Darkmoon faire, the troll is under an oath that, if the customer doesn't smile, he has to cut off his hand and eat no meat until it regenerates. As for Zul'jin, there's a lot of possible explanations. Sulajin and I have both played that something given in a sacrifice (ie, Sulajin's tusk) doesn't grow back.
  10. Lessee... of my 20+ level characters, I have a troll hunter, troll priest, troll rogue, troll warrior, and troll mage. And one undead DK, rolled for the express purpose of weaseling myself into Infection. I'll play her eventually, I swear!
  11. The number of Death Knights and Belves saddens me.
  12. "I want to stop wanting a knight in shining armor. Let me save myself."
  13. Niethan's claws wiggled petulantly at the short space between the extent of his reach and his prize, an unguarded nest of roc eggs. With an irritated grunt, he shimmied a little bit further out on the tree branch. The wood gave an ominous groan, causing Niethan to stop his forward movement and, after a pause, reach for the eggs again. CRACK! The nest swayed on its own branch as Niethan's perch broke in two, sending the troll to the ground. CRACK! Not another branch. A sap. "You be it now, mon!" Niethan slumped forward, knocked senseless as the decidedly-not-a-troll wearing a troll mask did a victory dance behind him. ~*~ "So.... what is it?" "I'm pretty sure it's a troll. I mean, Budd picked it out, right?" "Like Budd is any indication of sense." "He says he smells trolls. I've never wanted to smell one, have you?" "Like hell. And this one doesn't reek like most of the ones we catch... what -is- that, anyway?" "What, you want me to smell it?" "Yeah. Go for it." The two slave traders began bickering over who should smell the maybe-troll. The small camp in the Grizzly Hills had seen a lot of arguments over unpleasant duties, but this was a first. Sick of the human's whining, the aman'i trolless put down her vials and potions and stalked over to the captive, leaning down and taking a big whiff. The humans fell back in a mixture of awe and disgust. "Well?" "What is it?" *sniff* sniff* "It smells like..." The trolless turned to the slavers, face grave. "Like eleven herbs and spices." Silence reigned for a whole two minutes. Eventually, one of the traders watching to the side shrugged. "Box it up anyway. Lots of people will pay for a cooking slave. If not, we'll ransom it to those Dheta freaks as an endangered species." There was a general agreement throughout the camp, and the traders began to pack up for a move. Half the camp would stay there, to continue catching unwary Drakkar'i, while the other half hired a mage to shorten the trip to Booty Bay's auction house.