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Tirien last won the day on September 14 2017

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About Tirien

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  • Birthday 04/19/1990

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  1. “Snake-suckin’ son of a - “ Tirien whispers in a harsh tone as his lock-pick snaps. A magnificent rug runs the length of the hallway and does little to muffle the plated footfalls approaching the corner. His hands shake from the rising adrenaline as he pulls out another lock-pick. One, two, ignore the third tumbler, half on the fourth and… Click. Tirien sweeps into the room as a duo of Silvermoon guards walk past the hallway, none the wiser to the Human who finds himself in the heart of the Sin'dorei capitol. A soft metallic grind whines from the door handle as Tirien gently eases off the pressure. It quietly locks shut and he takes what feels like his first breath in years. He even has a moment to appreciate the fine quality of the door and the various avian engravings carved into --- “You have five seconds to either leave or explain yourself before I adorn my door with your corpse.” A Sin’dorei Magistrate, short and lithe and in comfortable robes as red as the sunset, announces in a shrill, commanding, and distinctly feminine voice. Tirien turns, only to stare down the length of a sword wreathed in magical fire and then to the Sin'dorei holding it. If the situation were any different, he has a mind to ask this fiery lady what her favorite drink is and what she’d like for breakfast. Slowly, hands raising, Tirien burns the first three seconds of his allotted time in this fantasy and stands. “Answerin’ yer newspaper add,” Tirien drawls, “about needin’ a Sneak.” The lie is obvious and the Magistrate looks at him like he’s an idiot. Why is she here, though? He wonders this as the Magistrate's contempt tightens her face about as much as her hair in that bun. Her schedule says she should be at --- Time-zones. Tirien forgot to calculate the timezone difference between Silvermoon and Dalaran and groans with a roll of his eyes. If he could smack his forehead, he would, though the Magistrate and her blade seem happy to oblige his wish. His meeting with the other Elf, Ardyan, replays in his mind as the flames licking the Magistrate's blade intensify. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “Mister Forewell?” Ardyan guesses as he approaches the back corner of the Legerdemain Lounge. Seeing as no other Human appears to be here, the gentleman sitting near the bookshelf would then be his contact. Human, born in Westfall, resides in Stormwind, dependable, reliable… All are things that summarize the man who now stands from his seat to offer a friendly hand to shake, as is custom for his kind. Ardyan flicks his eyes up from the extended glove to Tirien’s face and notes the wide, friendly smile the dossier on him warns about. Tirien is, as expected, armored in leathers of dark reds and golds with his identity completely hidden. Excellent. The color scheme in Silvermoon allows for nothing else if one wishes to sneak in. The glint of a dagger’s pommel shines from under the cloak and is something Ardyan keeps note of as he shakes the man’s hand. “Yep. I’m assumin’ yer th’ Ardyan that Siane mentioned?” Tirien looks the Elf up and down and appreciates his smooth and clean taste in clothes. Others of his race tend to be more… flamboyant. The Elf has a sturdy shake too, which gets a tiny nod of respect. At this point, most folks would’ve given away a hint at what’s on their mind but with Ardyan, Tirien suspects the Elf knows this game well enough to hide it. Siane, it seems, has friends in high places seeing as how it’s through Ardyan he’ll be able to perform as she asks and retrieve some files from Silvermoon. “Indeed.” Ardyan makes a lovely smile, Tirien thinks, and distracts him as the Elf retrieves an envelope from his robe. “In here you will find Magistrate Flamewind’s schedule and office location. This should suffice, as anything further would have too great a chance to implicate - “ “Yeah, yeah. It’s more’n enough.” Tirien snatches the envelope from Ardyan’s hand, interrupting the Elf. It gives Tirien a glimpse at something that might get past the Elf’s supreme composure with how it made his eye twitch a little. On any other Elf it would come off as snobbish, but Ardyan somehow makes it cute. “Good. Then our business is concluded.” Ardyan makes a customary bow before departing from the Cafe. Tirien takes a moment and appreciates the Elf’s other ‘assets’ as well as he watches him leave. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Magistrate Flamewind’s incantation snaps his attention out of the reverie. Tirien ducks the oncoming firebolt and rolls to take cover behind a lounge chair. Another firebolt soars overhead, leaving scorch marks on the alabaster painted wall. Flamewind makes a frustrated huff as she waits for Tirien to move. The chair is, after all, her favorite furniture piece to nap on. “Hey now, settle down.” Tirien shuffles to the higher end of the lounge chair. Like it, the room boasts the haughty supremity that is Sin’dorei decor. The modest size of the office is hidden in swaths of red fabric, gaudy portraiture, and bookshelves filled with elegant tomes and scrolls. Tirien awkwardly scoots the lounge chair with him, scratching the floor as he does. The Magistrate enrages. “Do NOT!” She side steps his path, thrusting her hand out to trap Tirien’s feet in a spell of ice. He rolls over the chair in time to dodge. Tirien burns through his precious time as fast as she burns her office space. Incanting another spell, her hand conjures a crystal. It thrums with soft magic and lights up as she begins to speak into it. The crystal hits the floor when a desperate knife, thrown on reflex, sinks into her forearm. Tirien’s face pales seeing his aim for the crystal was off. His record of a clean infiltration goes up in smoke. All bets are off. Terse shouting comes in through the open windows along the breeze. The Magistrate regains her composure and conjures fire under his feet. A column of it sends him up high to the ceiling and sets his cloak ablaze. Perfect. When the cloak lands, two more firebolts pierce the hide, though Tirien is nowhere to be seen. She regains her composure, twisting her eyes to find the man. “Sorry darlin’.” Tirien cups her mouth with a chemical-laced cloth. The Magistrate loses consciousness and slumps in his arms. Using that is something he hates, even as a last resort, but at least she’ll wake up on her lounge chair. Making sure she’s comfortable, Tirien looks to the desk. Heavy footfalls pound closer to the door. Scrambling, Tirien jumps up to get a hold onto a book case. With a heave, he topples the thing in front of the door then gets back to the task at hand. While the guards struggle with the lock, Tirien rummages through the top-most drawers. Magistrate Flamewind, it seems, isn’t as orderly with her private affairs. The drawers are an utter mess, as are the filing cabinets nearby. “How th’ shit can she find anythin’? Gotta be a system here…” He paces around the desk, scanning it and this half of the office to get an idea for how she works. Brinnea’s capture and movement is likely secret, so, keeping documents on that wouldn’t be kept in such an obvious...Wait. Next to Magistrate Flamewind snoozing on the lounge chair is a petite end table with a small letter drawer on the underside. Tirien dashes to it and finds that it’s locked. Feeling under the table for the key, his search yields nothing. As his mind races, he spares a glance to the Magistrate and her robes. Aside her waist are pockets and suddenly his morals are placed in jeopardy. He has to find that key. Surely the Magistrate wouldn’t mind his hands carefully slipping into her pockets, he reasons. “Damn, if Mema caught me doin’ this…Light rest ‘er soul,” He mutters. The outer one, like the table, yields nothing and as he reaches around to search the other, a guardsmen clears his throat at the door. With only the upper half of the guard’s face showing over the fallen bookcase, Tirien remembers that the door swings out, not in. The key falls into his hand as the bookcase crashes down. It sends scrolls and journals scattering over the scarlet and gold rug and buys Tirien a few seconds to open the tiny drawer. Within is a letter bearing the wax seal he’s looking for. That letter has Brinnea’s location in it as well as Tirien’s paych - “I’m doin’ this fer free…” Tirien reminds himself as he draws in a breath. All this trouble for a trusted friend. When the guards close in, he pulls out a smoke bomb. It’s amazing, to him, at how such a small thing will save his blundering ass. The guards cough and sputter as they scour the room, though only a breeze and a groggy Magistrate remain after the wind filters out the smoke.
  2. Warm-up sketch of my Paladin, Verin Blackcroft, out of his armor. https://gyazo.com/cf3608cc9bfe08257d7fa52e551fae0d
  3. Tirien again. Gosh. This time I wasn't inebriated. https://gyazo.com/b28b189e380eb88a39729e57343605b9 There is no context to this image. i just wanted to draw a disgruntled Tirien.
  4. Indeed. There is only the slightest chance to roll all 6 buffs and when it happens, I'm hardly aware of exactly how to maximize EVERYTHING that's going on. It's amazing.
  5. Well, my birthday is April 19th, so th at 4/16-18 bracket speaks to me. I'll keep an eye on this. I have a big expense in the fall, so I'll need to sign up at "Tentative". For my paltry suggestion: Earplugs. Also bring sunglasses to properly gaze upon Keraph's glorious incandescence.
  6. “Now wait just’a damn minute. I ain’t gonna be yer master! I ain’t gonna be anyone’s master!” Tirien stomps his foot like child not getting its way. Who does this demon think it is, sticking him in this kind of relationship? Ziggy crosses his arms and arcs a meaty brow as Tirien rants on about his feelings on demons and fel magic. If anything, Tirien’s visit relieves a boredom Ziggy wasn’t aware of. Had it really gone without slaughter for so long? Ziggy leans on the rocky ledge and wonders as it watches Tirien stomp around in a small circle. The man continues shouting, cursing, and stating his stance on its servitude. The human holds no real power where magic is concerned, that much Ziggy is aware of, so his pledged allegiance is more out of convenience than anything deeper. Still, it finds this human amusing, especially now. Is he really the son of his former master? The resemblance is uncanny, though Ziggy remains a little skeptical. “And another damned thing - !” Ziggy grabs Tirien’s waist, cutting off his tirade. Tirien struggles against the impossible grip. “Quiet, Tirien. It is not my wish to crush you right now.” Ziggy walks over to the edge of its island in an isolated part of the Twisting Nether. He sets Tirien upon its shoulder, as if he were some furry pet. Gripping one of the smaller spikes, Tirien glances around, unsure of what Ziggy wants. “What do you see, human?” Tirien squints and attempts to peer through the nebulous fog of this dimension. More islands begin to take shadowed shape among the fel-green fog. Figures large and numerous dot the islands, though a few stand out to be as large as or larger than Ziggy. To see the infinite space of the Nether and the demons within it is the reason Tirien never bothered to look past whatever section he occupies, until now. “Demons.” Tirien squeaks out as unease roils in his gut. “Indeed.” Ziggy peers with greater clarity through the expanse. “Those are the demons my former master had tamed.” Tirien balks and nearly loses his grip on the Felguard’s helmet. “What? WHAT?!” He singles out a nearby island teeming with what appears to be imps, directing Ziggy’s attention with his arm. “I thought Warlocks only kept a handful, not a fuckin’ army!” Ziggy laughs and Tirien fights for his balance again. “You are pathetic, claiming to know so much about your progenitor. You know nothing.” Tirien grumbles an insult too quiet for Ziggy to hear while it moves toward the portal he came through. “I wish to crush them and prove that I alone am the strongest,” Ziggy states. He plucks Tirien from his shoulder and turns him with a thumb. It narrows its face, revealing an anger that has smoldered for centuries. “That is why I chose to talk and not hit you with another rock.” “You will hear from me soon.” Ziggy drops Tirien into the swirling purple portal, gently
  7. I'm keeping my eye on Combat as my main spec come Legion with Assassination as my off-spec. I feel Rogues will continue as they always have. They'll be mediocre/weak at launch but will scale well with gear. That said, Haste. Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste.Haste. From what you've posted though, I do wonder what stacking crit would do for Assassination. This assumes the Bleed DoTs can crit each tick. With how rapid they drain, I would imagine crit being up their on priority.
  8. https://gyazo.com/ed2e696efca0fb535362462a1bcd9c9d Paladin! I sketched this for a friend's birthday during my lunch break and finished it up in the evening.
  9. Tentative interest as well. My weekends are sporadic, though I am generally free after 7:30pm EST.
  10. Tirien lies on his back against a rocky, uneven ground marred with shallow pits and cracks, much like his battered body. Scattered throughout the field are pieces of his armor. A shin guard here, a leather pauldron there, all rendered useless against a foe so large. The void-sun-thing of the Twisting Nether looms overhead as tendrils of energy slither about the floating island upon which he, the Felguard, and several rocky spikes and ledges occupy. Its light gives a sickening green tint to everything it touches. “Speak, human. Restate your pathetic question.” The Felguard attempts to cross its mountainous arms and nearly does until it sees its left arm hanging over a boulder a few yards away. Tirien hears the wisp of a sigh coming from the demon and can almost feel its embarrassment, causing him to grin. The Felguard levels a resentful gaze towards Tirien and slowly drops its arm to hang at its side. “Gimmie just a second, bud.” Tirien doesn’t move and instead groans. The adrenaline fades and his injuries come to life. “Human. I grow impatient.” After three thunderous steps and a quake, the Felguard sits atop the boulder with its severed arm. It knows there’s nothing it can really do once Tirien set the terms and it despises the thought of returning to its former masters. With effort, Tirien manages a hand down to a pack strapped to the leather armor covering his thigh. From it comes a vial to which he uncorks and sips rather loudly. The demon scowls and slaps its arm back in its socket with a meaty thud and lets the fel energies reknit it into place. It then crosses its arms, an indignant smirk to follow as the annoying sipping quickly grates against its nerves. “HUMAN! I – “ The demon bellows, but after a blink, Tirien vanishes and ceases the demon’s protest. “So far yer th’ most sociable of Hunter’s underlings.” Tirien speaks from atop his own rocky outcrop at eye level with the seated giant of a demon. “Which means I got questions. Lots’a questions.” While the life threatening damage is healed, substantial bruising and drumming pain remains. “When’s th’ last time ya saw Hunter?” Tirien asks, voice still shaking from injury. “Four hundred of your years ago.” The demon points to a large rock with tally marks totaling four hundred. Tirien nervously pulls his examination of the marks away and begins to question this demon’s sanity and reconsiders his position. If the demon hasn’t had company in that much time, Tirien fears for his chance to leave. “Right…” “And th’ last thing he had ya do?” Tirien asks quickly to hide his tension. “Slaughter his enemies.” A blunt answer, as expected from this type of demon. Tirien lets out an exasperated sigh. “We’ll never get anywhere if ya don’t extrapolate, uh, what do I call ya?” The Felguard twitches an eye from Tirien’s complaint, growing more annoyed. The Felguard sighs, “Ferroxiz’Zalig,” a pause stretches before the demon clarifies, “It was my - .” “Okay, Ziggy,” Tirien interjects, suppressing his laughter but not his smile. “Where and when and why did Hunter – “ A boulder crashes to Tirien’s left, spraying him with debris and knocking him prone near the ledge. “No, Human, it is my time to question YOU.” Ziggy stomps toward the ledge and pinches Tirien’s ankle. He hoists him overhead and scowls as he holds the man against the void-sun. “Why did you not kill me?” The level of offense in Ziggy’s voice comes as a surprise. “I uh.” Ziggy shakes Tirien when he hesitates, “Stoppit!” Tirien protests. “The ease at which you took my arm could have easily been my head. Answer me!” “I actually can’t!” Tirien admits and is set down. He finds his balance with his hand against Ziggy’s massive shoulder plate. “If I kill ya here ya go back t’ the Legion.” Ziggy is at a loss for words and marks the first time Tirien has ever seen a demon so confused. “But you threatened to…” The demon glances to a nearby slab of stone and wonders if he should resume their fight. “Hey! Eyes over here bud.” Tirien demands. Ziggy reluctantly follows suit, peeling its attention from the rock, and abandons the idea of further combat. “Why then should I not crush you?” “An honest question. I think we both have answers we each want, so I figure this is better’n killin’ each other.” Tirien makes a stubborn nod. Ziggy groans and relents. “Answer my questions first, Human.” “Tirien.” “Fine. Answer my questions first, Tirien, and I will do the same for you.” “Deal.” Tirien sticks out his hand and Ziggy eyes it with skepticism. The demon glares at him and he lowers it. “What has happened to my former master?” Ziggy chose to lead with the easy questions, much to Tirien’s relief. “He died and then died again.” Tirien summarizes. It seems to be enough of an answer for the demon. “Only the Legion has held my service longer than him. How did he accomplish this?” Ziggy sets its hands on either side of the ledge. It leans close to Tirien’s face for his answer. This appears to be a question the demon has held for longer than Tirien can grasp. Tirien frowns at the resurgence of several unpleasant memories. “He raised an apprentice and stole their body in their prime. Rinse and repeat and you’re left with a Warlock as old as a Night Elf.” “Clever, especially to not be caught for so long.” The reverence within Ziggy’s tone turns Tirien’s stomach. Hatred of demons and his father rekindles in his chest. How can it approve of Hunter’s methods, especially when said methods included him as the next host for that vile man’s soul? Tirien spits; a tooth comes out with it much to Tirien’s discontent. “And you, why pursue his servants?” Ziggy crosses his arms again. This question is the difficult one Tirien anticipated, but didn’t expect to come up so quickly. Revealing his plans to something he considers the enemy would be a sure foot into a grave. Unfortunately forethought is not a Light-given gift Tirien possesses as well. Hindsight and he are instead the best of friends. “I’m cleanin’ up his mess.” Tirien states with clear determination. “And you’re gonna help me do it.” Ziggy considers Tirien’s answers with a gruff exhale. It scowls; the thought of aiding this new human does not sit well with him. His former master, however, held many demons under his control and proving itself to be the strongest among them is enough to pique its curiosity. “Then you are to be my new master.” “Yes you’ll – “ Tirien gawks, “Wait, what?”
  11. Consistency is one thing Tirien is terrible at. He would start one thing, go to a second thing, forget the previous thing, and then begin a completely new third thing. It is a trait that makes it difficult to follow his train of thought and eventually leads to a knack for leaving an impossible trail to follow should he disappear. Right now doing that would be in his best interest. Tirien struggles against the demon’s grip; its fel fueled might crushing his waist and hip. Felguards are a monstrosity, even among the tide of other fiends in the Legion’s arsenal. With bodies of pure muscle and bone adorned with armor holding the largest of spikes, some are as tall as a Night Elf while others tower above Tauren. Unfortunately, Tirien chose to face off against one his father had tamed and, as expected from the man, it beat his expectations. Regardless, Tirien needs information from this brute and its size only drives him to see it fall. The demon lacks its other arm and Tirien lacks his weaponry. Lodged in the Felguard’s shoulder stump is Tirien’s axe and imbedded in its collar is his dagger. If the demon’s hand wasn’t in the way, Tirien could grab his clawed knuckles and slash the beast’s forearm to ribbons like some crazed, feral cat but all he has are what the Light gave him. “Fuckin’ prick – let me go!” Tirien hollers. A blazing wit is not one of those Light-given gifts. The Felguard tightens his grip and Tirien’s hip gives a concerning pop and his lungs let out an appropriate yell of pain. “Fool human. Your blood’s power is weak, a trifle to subdue.” The Felguard brimmed with confidence at besting his former master’s whelp and brought Tirien closer to its face. Tirien counted the teeth in its stupid grin to distract from the painful crushing of his bones. “Just tell me the last damn thing he told ya t’ do or I’ll – “ Tirien yells again under the pressure, beating a fist into the demon’s thumb and wrist. “Or you’ll what, gnat?” The Felguard narrows its eyes, still sure of its victory though it remembers who it’s speaking with. Tirien gives a hollow laugh and bends forward. He sets a hand on the demon’s face where a nose should be and points a vicious finger at the Felguard’s unamused eye. “You tell me what I want t’ know or I’ll release ya back t’ yer Legion masters. Also don’t kill me.” Tirien pants, gritting his teeth in a half grin as he stares deep into the demon’s eye. He could almost see the gears turning in its mind as it gives the faintest arc to its meaty brow. There is one thing Tirien knew about his father; the man loved to be in complete control. Even after his death the echoes of his power haunted Tirien for months. In his search for a way to rid himself of his fel-bound inheritance he succeeded, but lost more than what he was prepared for. Given how much of his life his father controlled, there would be no way the man would want to share his demons with the Legion. It’s his hope this particular Felguard got comfortable. The demon, becoming suspicious of Tirien’s word, quickly glances around his personal nook of the Twisting Nether. Its breathing deepens in anger, a snarl forming under the single massive spike of its crimson helm while an earthquake of a growl bellows out. Tirien prepares himself, tensing his body in hopes for a quick death, but instead is dropped to the ground with a quick yelp of surprise. “Ow! Gentle next time, jerk!"
  12. Testing this thing.  Status: Tipsy.

  13. https://gyazo.com/66373d0a53d384028ee09024d8ca9f0a Represent >:D
  14. Once I get to my laptop I'll do the gyazo thing. Just another sketch during dinner.
  15. I RP'd with Cavanaugh a few days ago. It was brief, but I saw him.