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Everything posted by RiktheRed21

  1. Full Name: Parigan Wolfram Blackmane Nicknames: Pari, Wolfblood, Bloody Berserker, Black Swordsman, Iron Undead Date of Birth: September 1 Age: 27 Race: Gilnean, Undead (Forsaken) Gender: Male Hair: Black Skin: Pale white Eyes: Brown (Living), Yellow (Undead) Height: 6'2'' Weight: 184 lbs Place of residence: Dalaran Place of Birth: Gilneas City Known Relatives: Mayes (Father), Ersolon (Elder Brother), Terenas (Younger Brother), Esmerra (Younger Sister), Sarah (Mother), Brinnea (Wife) Religion/Philosophy: No Affiliation Occupation: Mercenary, Demon Slayer Group/Guild affiliation: Knight of Beryl Falconia, Associate of Borrowed Time Enemies: Most of the Alliance, The Grim Likes: Dark, cool places and the sound of a whetstone scraping against a blade's edge Favorite Foods: Gamy Meat Favorite Drinks: Dwarven Stouts Favorite Colors: Black, Purple Weapons of Choice: Greatsword, Greataxe, Shield Dislikes: Bright, hot places and nosy neighbors Hobbies: Sparring, Blacksmithing, and Tinkering Physical Features: Tall and muscular, covered head to toe in wounds. His right eye was gouged out by an axe strike, leaving a long scar down the front of his face. His black hair is long and unkempt, coming down below his shoulders and drapes across his face. His lower jaw has been replaced with a black iron prosthetic. His left arm from the elbow down is also iron, and hides a cannon and a serrated blade that can be quickly drawn and retracted. His right leg from the knee down is iron, and adjusts fluidly based on his movements, which helps in battle. Special Abilities: Insanely strong, able to wield weapons as tall as he is in either hand. He is a master swordsman and capable of doing battle with foes physically stronger and faster than himself. Due to his undeath, he never tires, and is not slowed down much by his wounds, making him a fearsome and relentless adversary. When he goes berserk, he is unstoppable until his body is torn asunder, or everything near him is dead. Positive Personality Traits: Protective and caring. He has a soft spot for children, especially young girls. Despite his talk of not caring for the weak and defenseless, he often risks his own life to save those unable to protect themselves. Negative Personality Traits: Easily annoyed and abrasive. He does everything in his power to shove people away so they don't get involved in his problems. Misc. Quirks: Often scratches his wounds when they get itchy. Bleeds a lot without noticing. History: Born to a noble family in Gilneas, his only passion in life was for his wife and child, both of which were taken from him before he died. Once raised as a Forsaken, he betrayed his family and native land so that he might be reunited with his wife and daughter.
  2. For those of you who haven't heard, there's an online petition asking Blizzard to make official legacy servers for WoW, (severs hosting Vanilla content). For anyone interested, the petition currently has over 161 thousand signatures and the support of Mark Kern, one of the developers for Vanilla WoW, (now not working for Blizzard). I personally would enjoy seeing the game as it was originally produced, so if any of you feel the same way, consider throwing your name in the hat at change.org, (search for "Nostalrius Petition" ).
  3. I appreciate that you're using the last one you drew for me as an example
  4. Just wondering if any artistic folks were interested in doing a commission for me. I'd like a decent drawing of my undead warrior Parigan, so if anyone is good/interested in drawing a super metal undead character, hit me up through PM or on this thread and I'll write up a description for you. Thanks for your time
  5. Brinnea and Parigan were just random names I sounded out and decided they seemed unique enough to use.
  6. Druddigon for Brinnea because they have the same color palette Mighteyena for Parigan because he is a wolf on the inside
  7. The dusty office, if it could be called such, was found empty of all items belonging to its most recent occupant. A lone strip of paper was left on a broken desk in the center of the room. On it was written a single line in neat cursive: Your daughter is alive. Meet me where it all began, and I will show you where the road goes. For several weeks, no one has seen or heard from Brinnea Velmon or Parigan Blackmane. After the appearance of this note at Stonewatch Keep, they seem to have vanished entirely, leaving little to no trace in their wake.
  8. <p>The heroine appears.</p>

  9. ((Inspired by a Dungeons and Dragons campaign I made for my college friends. Felt like writing something non-WoW, so hope you enjoy.)) The sounds of a bustling city floated this way and that, muted slightly as the sun set in the western distance. Towers of stone and gold shone in the dim red light. Banners bearing the regal phoenix whipped in the wind, the elegant flames woven into the fabric brought to life by each gust. Above the phoenix the moon-and-stars sigil of the ruling house gazed eyeless at the city below. To the eyes of a human, those that went about their business in the dying light would seem rather wealthy for all the fancy garb they wore. Indeed, the elves of Valteris were known the world over for their prosperity and ingenuity. But like most peoples, the Eldruin -- more commonly known as “high elves” – were a thoroughly diverse and mysterious race. Where some sought to take lengthy strides on the path to knowledge through science, others branded these ingenious fellows as brazen in the face of thousands of years’ worth of tradition. On the hilltop above the rest of the city Valornaeyis, the great golden tower of the exalted kings sat erect and glittering brighter than any other structure across the skyline, and brighter even than the stars winking into view high above. Three banners now flew from its peak: the phoenix, a symbol representative of the kingdom as a whole, the moon-and-stars of the Moonshadow bloodline, and a banner bearing a grim black creature akin to a serpent with a head of hair like the mane of a lion and a pair of batlike wings. It was odd for the Tower to ever hold more than two sigils at a time, but not unheard of. Valteris had forged friendships and alliances, but as well they found foes in the wide world. In the last hundred years travel across the seas had become the only way for a nation to strike its claim to power. Whoever ruled the waters could rule the earth as well. Far across the sea to the east, a human empire, its capital in a vast desert, sought to conquer the world in such a way. The King of the Tower had sailed off with the supreme elven marine army to face the threat of imminent invasion by these ambitious humans head-on. King Dalonis Moonshadow was known well for his aversion to direct methods and brute force. Some claimed it made him easier to manipulate, while others said he was unpredictable. Whatever the case may be, the king had gone off on his quest to repel the great force rising in the east, and left his brother as regent. Lord Steward Salazar had been born a Moonshadow, but had married into the head of the great northern lordship of House Steelfeather, whose dreaded chimera sigil now flew over the face of the Exalted Tower. Salazar was cunning and inventive. In his youth, he advanced the production of the mountainous factories that dot the northern city of Fengross. The naval forces of Valteris’ foes stood no chance against the onslaught of the iron terrors wrought at Steelfeather hands, and for that, Dalonis made Salazar his Steward. Yet Salazar had designs on the future of his homeland, and his people. He looked around at the cities full of traditionalists, clinging to misguided ideals and outdated notions of philosophy. And so he quietly planned to introduce the future – his future – onto those fools. Deep below the twilit streets of Valornaeyis, caves built by the Ancients remained dark, damp, and useful only for those with the stomach to endure the ratlike Skald. In a chamber sat an elf. He was small, frail, and pale of complexion, and on his head and arms runes were written in script that would drive a priest to horror. His face was gaunt and twisted into a frightening grin of yellow teeth. Two long threads of hair on his upper lip and one on his chin marked the only spots on his body not devoid of hair. His bright gold eyes were shut tight as he meditated, drawing the void over his mind to quiet the dripping of sewer water and the scuffling of rats. In the void, he found the dream that had brought him to the path he now tread. In the dream, he stood upon a hill of corpses. Bloated, pale, bloody, and blackened, these bodies were of those he had slain in his time spent hunting for power. All around the mound was black abyss. Above the nothingness, a storm swirled, dark crimson as if it were the blood of those piled below. At the center of the swell, a dot of black, even darker than the abyss all around, gazed with judgement on the elf and his pile. A voice called out from the eye of the storm. “Lichblood,” it said with a grizzly, powerful voice. “Your lust for power has brought you closer to me. Your pile of dead grows well, but you must rest not, for the road is long and hard.” The Lichblood gazed back into the eye and replied, his voice strong and proud, “I do as you will, Dark One. None serve you as loyally as I.” “Indeed,” the voice barked in reply, “Your actions in my name shall be rewarded. I shall bestow upon you the gift of eternal life, that you may live on to produce more corpses until the end of time.” The Lichblood’s grin grew wider and more sinister. Eternal life had been one of many goals on his quest for power. His master’s acknowledgement of his greatness made his hunger for carnage grow all the more. But the voice spoke further, “You must pay a price for this power, Lichblood. The blood of foes is not enough in return for such longevity. You must show how deep your devotion runs. Sacrifice your own heart at the foot of my altar, and your reward shall come to you.” The dreamscape faded until the elf returned to the dank room in the caverns of the Ancients. His smile had slipped at the last request by his dark master. Cutting one’s own heart out was truly a test of faith. The Lichblood placed faith in power alone, and the marvels his master had already shown him were enough to prove as much. He stood slowly on his bare feet and with a flick of his wrist, the stone doorway ahead of him opened itself to allow his passage. In the hallway outside the meditation room, his guardians, their faces long, pointed, horned, and bright red in color, stood constant in their vigil. As their master walked the path down the hallway, they followed. After many confounding twists and turns, they came before a large chamber lit with flickering red candlelight. In the middle of the room a stone tablet sat, a wolf’s head skewered on a lance before it as a sort of holy icon. The Lichblood called out to his followers, gathered around the altar in the center, “My devout and faithful servants, at long last our master has seen fit to gift me with life eternal. For our great deeds in his name, he is pleased and intends to allow us ample opportunity to continue our work. However, in exchange for this gift, I must give something in return.” The Lichblood walked up the stairs to the altar, then climbed onto the flat, bloodstained surface, casting aside his black cloak to reveal flesh dripping with more red script and deathly pale skin. He drew a dagger inscribed with further writings of their faith from his belt and held it aloft for all to see. “I must give to him my own heart! I shall sacrifice my mortality so that this world may bear witness to true power!” The crowd of followers roared praise. “Glory unto you, our master!” they chanted. “Long live the name, Zakbar Lichblood!” Zakbar’s face grew wide with glee. “Eternally I shall damn this world so that we, the mighty, may live on! Forever I shall claim power until our master is released from his imprisonment!” He lowered the dagger slowly to his chest. The tip of the blood hovered above where he felt his heart beating anxiously. Memory flashed before him. He remembered his home in the woods of Lucia. He remembered his mother and sister, their pale golden eyes lovingly cast on him. They had been proud of him once. Then the storm of fire came and took it all away. Their faces burned away, and only the void filled his mind. The knife sank into his flesh. The sounds of the devotees’ chants fell away in a sudden silence. It felt as though the world held its breath. Then pain roared in his breast. He forced the feeling down into a pit where it could not bother him. He carved deeper, his hands slick with blood. The red runes turned invisible as the ichor of his life dripped over them. He felt his legs waver as blood loss began to take over. He forced himself to stay steady. The blade had cut a wicked circle around his heart. He cast it aside, and fell onto the stone, his vision fading fast. Those who followed him came forward, their hands reaching for his wound. They tore into his flesh, ripping it away until his heart became visible. In his final moment, Zakbar Lichblood saw his own heart, and pondered the fact that most people never got a chance to see such a sight. With his last breath, he laughed triumphantly. High above the chamber of sacrifice, the sun had set, and darkness reined in Valornaeyis.
  10. ((I might be able to show up a little bit after it starts, actually. I was able to finish lab this week pretty close to 8 server, so I'll do what I can to get next week's done ahead of time.))
  11. ((Would like to take part, but I don't think I can make it. Sorry.))
  12. Since I’m an enormous nerd, I often ponder how I would design an RPG if I ever managed to scrape together the adequate skill and/or means to do so. Anyway, I made a class system and thought I’d share it because that’s what I do. Feel free to share thoughts, criticisms opinions and whatnot in this thread. Base Classes Fighter Fighters use no magic, nor rely on low cunning or some higher being to overcome foes. They are masters of weaponry and carry armor daily to shape their bodies into weapons themselves. Knight Knights are chivalrous soldiers, disciplined and practiced in the arts of war. They pledge their blades to the service of a god, country, or noble house and will do everything in their power to see their cause furthered. The gods smile on a righteous soul, and grant miraculous assistance in their just pursuits. Monk Monks are the embodiments of physical strength. Where most fighters rely on steel to cut down foes, the Monk simply needs his fists to deliver a beat-down. Cleric Clerics adhere to a divine philosophy, calling upon their god to deliver prosperity or death to those who deserve it. Clerics come in a wide variety, from the pacifist healer to the devout zealot. Mage Mages have learned the ancient tongue of the dragons, and language directly connected with the fabric of the universe. By speaking the incantations in just the right way, a mage can do just about anything, at the cost of the power contained within the veins of every mortal being: their Mana, or Essence. Rogue Rouges are as crafty as they are discrete. Though they can hold their own in a fight thanks to their agility and quick hands, they prefer to make their living avoiding combat, pursuing their objectives through charm, misdirection, and discretion. Ranger Rangers are loners who spend their lives amongst the wild things in the world, surviving where no one else can. They utilize a wide variety of weapons in combat, even inventing their own out of whatever they can find when the need arises. Sorcerer Some spellcasters come into their power willingly, but Sorcerers achieve their amazing feats of magic thanks to their bloodlines. The life of the ancient dragons faded long millennia past, but their influence was so great, it remains to shape the world around us. Sorcery taps into the magic blood in a similar - but far more volatile - method with the incantations of mages. This power comes with a terrible cost, however. If not properly trained, the whisperings of the mad Dragon Father will drive the host of his blood to insanity. Sorcerers are either the greatest threat or asset to the mortal world. Druid Long thought to have been extinct, the Druids live on as the protectors of the wild places of the world as they have for countless generations. By channeling the life energy of the world itself, the Druids become both spiritually and physically closer to nature. Their bodies become more like the wood of a tree, or the fur or feather of a beast. The constantly-changing ways of nature show themselves in these mythic beings, who can even change the tide of the weather. Specialized Classes Fighter: Warrior & Barbarian Warriors are disciplined masters of weapons. They become one with the blade which serves them. In battle, they are a great challenge to any fool enough to stand before them. Barbarians are beings of rage and destruction. The more their enemies press them, the angrier they become, until their foe has been demolished or their body falls to the ground uselessly. Knight: Paladin & Blackguard Paladins are paragons of virtue and the instruments of their gods. The Hand of the Heavens guides their blades and protects them from the deadliest of foes. Blackguards are acolytes of the Dark Ones, the gods fallen from the Heavens for being too vile and cruel. These devout deliverers of death find meaning in their flaws and imperfections, seeking to separate themselves from the gods which cursed them with the inevitability of death. They defy these makers by clinging to mortality through disturbing means, such as necromancy. Monk: Brawler & Zen Fist Brawlers are sturdy and unwavering in the face of an enemy onslaught. They need only to overpower their foes to claim victory with a swift barrage of pain. Their very souls are bursting with chaotic energy that must be set free. Often known for being violent and erratic, if not effective. Zen Fists temper their spirits as a blacksmith would temper a blade. Every mortal has a unique spirit, each with its own light and dark halves. The truly Zen know that it is not in the nature of a mortal to push either side out completely, but to let them harmonize with one another. It is through this balance the Fist can deliver swift pain in many odd and outlandish ways. Cleric: Light & Shadow Priest The Priests of Holy Light call upon the gods of the Heavens to shield the innocent from evil, and punish the wicked for their crimes. These devout patrons of faith rely not on brawn or crafty magic, but instead on the love and compassion of the gods above. The Priests of the Darkfallen desire to achieve the desires of the Dark Ones by attaining perfection in all things. They cast humility from themselves and seek to strip the unworthy of their cursed lives to weaken the barrier keeping their masters sealed in the depths of the Infernal Hells. The only reward they will settle for is true immortality. Mage: Wizard & Dark Mage Wizards aspire to know all there is to know about the wide cosmos around them, using the knowledge left behind by the ancient dragons to widen their gaze to beyond what the ordinary mortal can see around them. The makings of creation swirl around them in the runes of draconic script, so even the greatest mysteries can be solved with enough time and thought. Long ago, the first Mages sought out the texts of the Dragon Father, the fabled Annals of Madness that were said to have brought about the downfall of all dragons. When the records were unearthed, it is rumored those who read of them lost their minds, their eyes fixed to the runes and their minds racing at the possibilities. Today, those secrets are locked away by the Mages’ Guild, but even a single line of what was written on the Annals is enough to turn any Mage into a shadowy deviant with thoughts of chaos and madness. The Dark Mages use the Dragon Father’s secrets to collapse civilizations and whisper madness from the darkest corners of the earth. Rogue: Bard & Thief Bards use clever words and crafty tricks to avoid conflict and make powerful friends. A smart bard will always get exactly what he wants, sometimes tapping into magic without even realizing it. The invisible threads that connect every living thing can be used by the truly intelligent as strings to turn even the greatest foes into helpless puppets. Or maybe they just have nice voices. Thieves are quiet, deceitful rapscallions with a twisted morality. They live by their own rules, taking what they want and never standing up for a cause that they get nothing out of for themselves. A Thief will not fight fair against any foe. Ranger: Archer & Hunter Archers prefer to fight from a distance, using bows, guns, and other ranged weapons to pick their foes off from far away. They use their great agility and speed to keep away from the foe, or hunt them down when they try to flee. Hunters dedicate themselves to the slaughter of powerful beasts and other beings that will test their skills. To the Hunter, every foe is prey to be brought down. With every foe slain, the Hunter becomes more beastlike, as the blood of the prey seeps into their being. Sorcerer: Dragon Scholar & Chaos Acolyte Dragon Scholars are those Sorcerers taken in by the Dragon School branch of the Mages’ Guild. These Scholars study the writings of the Dragon Mother: magical runes which teach the reader to control the madness of the ultimate power brought with the dragon blood. The Dragon School is distrusted and above all feared by the general populace. A gathering of these powerful beings is an army in the waiting which could cripple the world as we know it. Chaos Acolytes fully embrace the madness of the Dragon Father to obtain the immense elemental power within their blood. These Sorcerers have time and time again brought destruction and anarchy to the world, only to be stopped by the Mages’ Guild and their allies. Druid: Fey Weaver & Changeling Fey Weavers channel nature energy to become more like the plants rooted deep in the planet. They tap into the world’s heartbeat, and shift the course of weather. The danger of tapping into such primal forms of power, however, is in overuse. If a Druid were to weave too much energy into themselves all at once, they would be consumed by it, and become nothing but a statuesque tree. Changelings can take on the forms of the beasts of the world around them, shifting the composition of their bodies to become the animals through which the lifeblood of the planet flows strongest. These Druids become closely entangled with the animals of the wild. Their mannerisms become more like that of the beasts. Eventually the druid loses all trace of her former self, becoming truly one with nature. Exalted Classes Warrior: Juggernaut & Blademaster Juggernauts dress themselves in heavy armor, and take up arms with sturdy shields and a weapon they can easily wield in one hand. They pound their enemies with hindering blows and distracting threats to keep their allies safe and their foes powerless. Blademasters become one with their favored weapon, unstoppable in melee range. They expertly strike their foes with critical accuracy, picking each foe apart methodically with practiced expertise. Only the greatest of Warriors are permitted the title of Blademaster, as the title brings attention from those seeking the wealth only a Blademaster would have. Barbarian: Berserker & Battlerager Berserkers wield a weapon in each hand, unleashing a wave of steel against the enemies they face. They move swiftly and deliver rage-empowered blows endlessly until their foes were piles of severed limbs and slices of meat. Battleragers wield huge weapons that only the strongest can use effectively in battle. They are more patient than other Barbarians, unleashing their rage only when the time is right to deliver a killing blow. Paladin: Avenger & Guardian Avengers seek to purge the unholy from the world in the name of their gods. Some are trained as assassins by the Church of Holy Light to carry out justice to those who threaten the faithful. These knights are professionally trained to never feel their own pain or remorse towards the heathens they slay. The will of the gods grants them great strength and their miracles hinder and harm foes. Guardians are defenders of the faithful, and represent the great comfort the gods seek to spread to their faithful children. Donning heavy armor and a shield of righteousness, the Guardian safeguards the innocent from the harm brought by those with malicious intent. Blackguard: Gore Fiend & Death Knight Gore Fiends extend their lifespans through a series of grisly rituals inspired by the god of physicality. These avatars of gruesome slaughter manipulate the severed body parts and blood of those they slay, even replacing missing limbs and vital organs with those harvested from the battlefield. They can bend foes to their will using the very blood in their veins as a medium for their macabre puppetry magic. Death Knights are those Blackguards who, in an effort to extend their lives indefinitely, sacrificed their souls to the Dark Ones in exchange for eternal life, devoid of all emotions and pain itself. They excel at powering through weakening blows and are difficult to pin down. They are relentless and unstoppable killing machines, and can tap into the Void in which the Dark Ones are sealed for great power, and to summon minions for assistance. Zen Fist: Tigereye & Viperfang Tigereye Monks harness the will of their spirits to deliver a fierce flurry of blows, relentlessly pounding their enemies with unpredictable and powerful strikes until they collapse from the pain. These masters of harnessing energy can unleash tremendous blasts of power in the form of energy blasts, pulsating orbs of power which home in on the intended target’s spirit. The Celestials of Ferocity empower these Monks with their great strength once the Monk has achieved the balance required to know when power should be used as well as the ability to harness it. Viperfang Monks are patient and have mastered a defensive technique which allows them to overcome their opponents with quick, powerful strikes that cripple their foes. Unlike the fierce Tigereyes, the Viperfang only need one punch to a weak point to end a foe entirely. Brawler: Pugilist & Brewmaster Pugilists excel at a technique of boxing that involves reading the foe before unleashing a torrent of blows to put them in the ground. These tricky Brawlers also do an outstanding job at grappling and delivering devastating finishing moves on the enemy. Brewmasters cope with the ferocity of their fighters’ spirit by drinking their emotions away. They have become so tolerant of alcohol that they are move often drunk than sober, and as a result, can shrug off pain and deliver inhumanly powerful blows. Light Priest: Zealot & Sage Zealots are so filled with the intense light of the gods that they are sent into blind rage when in combat, guided to defeat their foes by their faith alone. Their weapons flash with the luminescence of the Heavens, and bolts of pure divine power fly at the faithless dogs they contend with. Sages are peaceful and serene, but the passion that the gods bestow can be found in their desire to mend the wounded and protect the meek. They are disciplined healers and pray to the gods for safety from harm and against corruption of the soul. Shadow Priest: Soul Reaper & Shadow Weaver Soul Reapers strip the souls from their foes to enhance their own abilities. These dreadful Clerics put fear into those they fight, and by the time they have finished with their torturous magic, the subjects beg for death to come, only to have their souls spend eternity in the Void. Shadow Weavers can take power from the Dark Ones directly, using this blessing to weave anything they desire from the shadows. They can mend wounds with these shadows, summon minions, and even reanimate the dead. The Dark Ones give great blessings to those subservient to their will. But these blessings are a curse in disguise. The more the shadows are woven, the closer the Priests grow to becoming aberrant beasts, hell-bent on violence and destruction. Wizard: Archmage & Rune Mage Archmages are Wizards that will never be satisfied with knowledge of only a single branch of magical knowledge. Only Mages who have mastered all forms of magical arts are named Archmage. They are among the most powerful and influential members of the Mages’ Guild, and only a handful of Wizards outside the Guild’s guidance have achieved such excellence. They were considered the greatest threats the world could ever know. The words of an Archmage can change reality as we know it. Time distorted, space altered, whatever is thought to be impossible by simple minds is basic science to one such as the Archmage. Rune Mages are practiced at wielding magic through runes, which direct their power faster and in stronger does than simple incantations. These artifacts are remnants from the Mythic Age, when dragons ruled the world using the magical runes crafted on their scales. A true Rune Mage is nothing without a Dragon Scale of their own. These items are so rare that only a handful of Wizards truly achieve the highest form of Runic Power. These Mages are as efficient in close range combat as they are at a distance, making them a flexible and difficult to predict foe. Dark Mage: Warlock & Necromancer Warlocks utilize the Dark Annals’ teachings to strip the souls from mortal flesh and cause tremendous pain to those they curse. Their voices can be a siren call, or a death knoll at will. They summon demons and make demonic pacts to gain as much power as possible. Every spell they cast is twisted by the madness of the Dragon Father. They excel at picking apart their foes slowly and as painfully as possible. Necromancers cast subtlety to the wayside in place of spreading death, disease, decay, death, and undead wherever possible. Those cursed by their touch of death are inevitably raised as Thralls to their will. These Thralls are fully aware of the atrocities they commit for their evil masters, but are incapable of breaking free unless their master dies. The Necromancer has no desire to do so, however, and can even sustain their Thralls after death by sealing their souls in a Phylactery, transforming their existence into that of a Lich. The Necromancer’s spells are fully of the Black Flame of the Depths, which burn souls rather than flesh, and so burn until the foe’s will to resist is turned to naught but cinders. Bard: Honeytongue & Warlord Honeytongues have the inherent ability to manipulate those they speak to, so long as they have a stronger will than their target. These Bards are often seen as charming and irresistible in all matters, but in fact have a pull on the world around them achieved solely through a magical anomaly. They can make friends faster than anyone, and turn enemies against each other with a whisper. Warlord Bards are those that used their wits and craftiness to achieve Lordship. They are tactical geniuses and inspire their allies with their every graceful movement. They are highly proficient at using light and quick blades, such as rapiers. Thief: Assassin & Outlaw Assassins are shady killers for hire, relying on stealth and subterfuge to take their opponents by surprise. Though they lack in physical strength, they make up for it by moving fast, taking foes off guard with blinding, stunning, or other sorts of distractions, and then hitting with precise critical strikes, aiming to kill fast. Their bizarre ability to vanish into thin air is often chalked up to the use of shadow magic, which may or may not be true. Outlaws are vicious thugs and thieves that constantly overwhelm unsuspecting enemies with painful attacks, using a variety of weapons in rapid succession to keep their opponents off-guard. Deadly and unpredictable, and relying on stealth only up to the point this voracious Rogue runs out of patience. Archer: Engineer & Marksman Engineers are masters at creating weaponry using modern machines. The simplest of these marvels include guns, repeater crossbows, and explosives. The engineer prefers to keep enemies at a distance, but has no problem utilizing one of their gadgets at melee range to knock the foe off-guard. Marksman use more traditional ranged weaponry such as bows and crossbows, moving quickly to hit accurately and quickly, while avoiding enemy attacks. They have tremendous focus and train constantly to keep up their great acrobatic prowess. Hunter: Demon Hunter & Beast Master Demon Hunters seek out prey among the supernatural foes, such as demons, aberrants, and the undead. With each kill, the blood of these unnatural beings bring them closer to the form of the prey. Demon hunters tend to have an aura of uncleanness to them, and without proper focus, they can succumb to the fel blood in their veins and transform into a greater form, completely unrecognizable from their former self. Beast Masters hunt beasts, both natural and unnatural. The blood of the beast can corrupt the mortal blood in ways similar to fel blood. A Beast Master does not become a demonic creature, however, but develop bonds with the predators of the wild, and an animal companion accompanies them in battle. The further they delve into hunt, the more beastlike the Hunter becomes. Their eyes become yellow as the wolf, and their nails turn razor sharp like claws, as do their fangs. Battling with a raging Beast Master will end in many vicious cuts, and a feral Hunter will never stop fighting until they are put down completely. Dragon Scholar: Avatar & Elementalist Avatars of the Dragon Mother can shroud themselves in a coat of fiery scales, which both protects the Sorcerer, and increases the destructive power of their spells. These spellcasters can feel the Mother’s presence all around them in this form, and her warmth and power inspire the Avatar to fight with greater ferocity. The Avatar prefers to take combat to melee range, but are fully capable of sending a barrage of powerful spells to chase after a fleeing foe. The Avatar chooses one element as their chosen power, and become the embodiment of that element. Their coat of scales changes to reflect the change in element. Elementalists are masters at utilizing all the elements at once. They paint the world with the powers of fire, water, earth, air, lighting, light, dark, and much more as an artist paints a canvas with colors. These spellcasters prefer to fight from a distance, and use the elements to keep distance between them and their foe. Chaos Acolyte: Dreadnaught & Destroyer Dreadnaughts possess a crazed ferocity inspired by the Dragon Father, flinging elemental power around with their weapons as mediums. They shroud themselves with earthen coats to shield their bodies from harm, and are unstoppable until this coat is undone. They have a wide variety of spells that utilize this fact by causing tremendous area damage, which harms himself as well as his foes. Destroyers are insane spellcasters that harness great destructive forces to destroy everything in their path. These beings of raw power are a force to be reckoned with, and feared by any with the wits to realize the danger behind them. Fey Weaver: Wood Mender & Wind Caller Wood Menders channel the restorative powers of plants to grant health and stamina to their allies, even stripping it from their foes when needed. Their ability to call on the plants of the earth grants them a variety of abilities, most notably barkskin, entangling roots, and wood hammer. They can also summon primal spirits of earth in their physical forms. Wind Callers beseech the elements of the air to aid them in battle, ripping flesh from bone and striking foes with crackling electricity. They can summon spirits in the air in a partially physical form, and can become incorporeal wind for a short time. Changeling: Prowler & Wildheart Prowlers shapeshift into stealthy predators such as large cats and snakes, striking foes, knocking them down, then going for their throats for a killing blow. Their many animal forms grant them many useful abilities in combat. Wildhearts take on the forms of great beasts such as boars, oxen, and bears. These large beasts are further bolstered by nature energy to become hard to wound, and even harder to stop once they have a foe in their sights.
  13. ((TRP did weird things with my emotes. I guess I should stop using it the way I do ))
  14. I will likely not make that time. I could, however, show up 2-3 hours late
  15. Parigan's body was weak and trembling by the time the sun set after a long day of fighting in the pits. His typically limitless strength had been somehow used up after weeks of nonstop training. He took his things from the fighting pits, and wandered out of the garrison to a nearby lava pit where he could collapse and let the snow and warm air soak into his bones. He lay there for an hour, his one eye staring into the drifting clouds of the endless blue aether above. The flame buried deep in his soul flickered faintly. Short a heartbeat, his undead body had seemingly replaced the constant beat of blood in his chest with a flickering flame. It often made him feel more restless than he had been in life. His actions were in line with a less rigid tune. It was especially potent when the rage took over. He could unleash greater feats of brutality than any living soul he had met in combat, but every second of it seemed to burn away what remained. You are better off... A voice rumbled in the back of his mind. There is no rest, no peace. There is only the struggle... A wolf's snarl reverberated in his ears, as if he were surrounded by a pack of them. The undead stood so suddenly that piled snow on his body flew in all directions. He wrenched his blade from the ground beside him and aimed it at the nearest growl. Just outside the range of his blade, a worgen stood, wearing the colors of Gilneas. His furry hands shot into the air, a roll of paper clutched tightly in one. "Oi! Put that bloody thing away, why don'tch?!" The worgen growled, his gruff voice betraying his fear of the undead. Parigan blew air out his nose and lowered the sword. "You shouldn't sneak up on someone like that. Least of all a man half-made with metal," Parigan grumbled, his metal arm creaking as he withdrew his weapon. "What do you want, dog?" The worgen handed the roll of paper to Parigan, who accepted it wordlessly. "My lady claims this message to be of vital importance. Truth be told, I weren't too eager to charge off into this frozen hellhole." Parigan removed the black wolf-head stamp sealing the letter and read what was written there. We need all our strength. It's time to come home. -B.V. Parigan read the three lines several times before saying, "You can go." The worgen snorted and gave the undead a mock bow before racing off into the white distance. Parigan quickly returned to the barracks to claim the rest of his gear. Brin was summoning him. It was time to get back to work.
  16. I could possibly do Thursday, but that's my lab day which means I could be busy up to 10 server, which I know is late for a lot of folks, (problem with being west coast around here )
  17. Fridays are often work days for me, as are Saturdays. I could potentially make arrangements to do a Sunday event, but otherwise my weekend is pretty booked. That said, if weekends work best for most people, don't change any dates on my account
  18. ((Log taken 1/21/16, setting is a patch of farmland and the ruins of a village in Duskwood. The time is night.)) [DM]: Despite your investigations, you have encountered yet more disturbing details. [DM]: There have been yet more disappearances, and attacks by slavering beasts. [DM]: Survivors of these attacks are often recovered in the same state that the boy was in. [DM]: Where do you investigate from there? [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brinnea spots the ruins of some farm-related settlement in the near distance and motions for her companion, Walther, to follow her there. [DM]: You approach the settlement. Even in Duskwood, it is dark, and something feels...like it's calling you. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: The two of them are mounted, the knight on a steed of undeath and shadow, the man of cloth on a living mountain horse. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brinnea stops to survey the area before entering any of the buildings. [DM]: It's quiet, with a crackle in the air. It begins to shower, and lightning crackles overhead. The wind in the trees carries a faint note of howling wolves, tinged with the scent of unwashed bodies. [DM]: You have heard of continued disappearances from near here. But this is the first settlement to have completely fallen off the map, and out of communication. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Walther huddles under his cloak, shivering from the cold. Brinnea dismounts, assisting her friend in doing so as well. [DM]: You see something move, a cross between a dog and a simian, between one of the nearby buildings. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: "Best stick together around here," Brin says softly. Walther nods in agreement, and the two move towards the origin of the sudden movement. [DM]: A woman, stripped of her clothing, snarls, and paws at the earth as she slinks out of the dark. Her eyes are wild, the pupils drowning out the iris in an idiocy of black. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Walther cringes at the sight of the woman, mouthing some prayer. Brinnea remains stoic, saying, "Another one, eh? Guess we should add her to the tally." [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Walther sighs deeply, drawing the staff from his back. He points it at the wretched woman, attempting a spell which will put her to sleep temporarily. [DM]: You see a few more of the tormented slither and lope from among the buildings, hissing at you. They all look similarly...agitated. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Walther pauses. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: His eyes widen. "There's more than usual out tonight..." [DM]: They begin to rush for Brinnea and Walther. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brin steps forward, drawing her blades. "Stay behind me!" she shouts to Walther, rushing in front of him. [DM]: You're caught a little off guard as a red-headed boy of about fifteen lunges into your blades. He gets bloodied, but his body prevents you from bringing the weapons to parry the woman and a dark-haired, hirsute man. [DM]: They claw at your armor, and get a few sharp nips in. They fight like animals, or the possessed. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brinnea grunts under the pressure of the attack. Walther winces, his human form quickly traded for his hulking worgen body. Light and shadow dance around him as his staff calls forth a shield around Brinnea's body. [DM]: The creatures are relentless, but naked and crazed, mount little defense for your ensuing counter attack! [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brinnea pushes back against the relentless attackers, her blades consuming all warmth around them. The air freezes, and her slashing attacks break flesh and bone alike. [DM]: The creatures are startled, and back up. Like coyotes, they form a ring, readying their pack for the next onslaught. [DM]: They are fixated on Brinnea, giving Walther space to work his magic. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: The worgen weaves a shadowy web between each foe, attempting to inflict internal wounds to slow them down. [DM]: The creatures scream, a horrible, overlapping sound that nonetheless fails to hind the breaking of branches and the movement beyond the pitter patter of rain. [DM]: They lunge forward, throwing all of their weight against Brinnea at different angles, their speed absurd for their forms. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brinnea attempts to freeze the air, forcing it to swirl around as a tempest of frost to tear flesh from bones, and force the attacks to slow. [DM]: A crushing wave of ice rips them backwards, causing them to howl again in pain. You can see reinforcements arriving. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brinnea death grips one of the off-guard ferals towards her, attempting to slay them, sapping their life force to heal her wounds, as well as use the body for a meat shield. [DM]: They fall upon the body, guaranteeing its death as surely as you may have. [DM]: They rip the poor woman to pieces, leaving them exposed for your next attack. They spend their action devouring and mauling the corpse. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Walther weaves shadows into Brinnea's blades, offering them greater cutting force and reach so she can strike at more of these beasts at once. [DM]: The confidence inspired by teamwork may not have been enough to save you from the pair of tormented who leap from the eaves of the nearby shack. [DM]: They bring Brinnea to the ground, clawing at her weapons, instinctively aware of the danger they pose. [DM]: The ones eating their compatriot stand, and press the attack on Walther. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Walther mutters a prayer of salvation, and from his staff, a nova of great Light flashes forth, forcing the foes to step back. [DM]: The creatures are blinded, and recoil. The two on Brinnea continue to claw at her weapons... [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brin's defense [DM]: The horrifying strength of the creatures bears down on you. [DM]: You feel your armor begin to shriek as they claw and bite the metal. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Walther moves to force the wretched beasts off Brinnea, sending a star of light and shadow through their bodies, both burning and eating away at their bodies from the inside. [DM]: They are thoroughly wounded, and turn to flee into the dark woods. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brinnea stands, her weapons still prepared for any further attacks. [DM]: The duo attacking her continue to do so! [DM]: They continue to press her down. [DM]: You successfully drive them back. One of them is knocked unconscious by your backswing. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Walther quickly weaves shadows to repair Brinnea's wounds, though it is a rush job meant to keep her standing more than anything. [DM]: Combat has subsided, and you have an unconscious feral in front of you. The others lurk elsewhere in the village. [DM]: This problem seems to be growing with time. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Walther puts a large furry hand on Brinnea's shoulder. His level and tempered voice is now a scratchy, powerful growl, "We should withdraw. At this rate, we'll be overwhelmed." Brinnea reluctantly agrees, sheathing one of her blades. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Using her free hand, she drags the unconscious feral onto her nearby mount and prepares to fall back. [DM]: You do so. [DM]: What do you do now? [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Once safely away from the ruined village, Brinnea speaks to Walther, "This problem is growing out of hand. At this rate, they could pose a serious threat to Darkshire, or worse." [DM]: That does seem to be the case. Walther nods. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Walther's beastly form subsides as he replies, "And I doubt slaying more of those creatures will cause the problem to subside any further. More will take their places until the head of it all is cut off." [DM]: What could be causing this, you can't help but wonder? [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brinnea finds a spot on the side of the road to halt their gallop. She dismounts, placing the feral on the ground, face-down as she binds its hands and feet with sturdy rope. She props it against a lamppost. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: "May as well try and see if we can learn anything from this one," she says to Walther as he joins her. [DM]: You snagged the hairy man. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: The older man removes a glove and kneels on weak knees to press his hand against the unconscious man's forehead. He peers into the man's mind, searching for anything useful from his memories before any counter-measures stop him. [DM]: You see that phrase again. "The Beast in Repose," and the image of a small town. "Balcress" comes to mind. [DM]: You see an image of men and women in robes gathering up outsiders (or so you feel,) and trussing them up, before placing them in cages. [DM]: Then the psychic feedback shuts you out with an immense burst of pain. [DM]: You can't help but feel like...something saw you in there. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Walther shakes off the displeasure, drawing back his hand. Despite having done nothing physically to exert himself, he is panting and greatly fatigued. He relays all he saw to his companion. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brinnea ponders all Walther gleaned from the man's mind in silence. After a moment, she finally says, "I am not familiar with Duskwood's older settlements. Is Balcress one of the ruins?" She asks this of Walther, who is knowledgeable in such matters. [DM]: It's an older villa and vineyard. [DM]: Renowned for its reds. But it was razed during the first war. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Walther says as much, and would likely be able to point it out on a map, or at least the rough area. [DM]: That seems to be the case. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brinnea looks over the map, nodding. "If this is where they are originating, we likely cannot besiege it alone." [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Walther exhales deeply. "Perhaps it is time we considered asking them to help." Brinnea shoots him a strangely angry look. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: "They owe us nothing, why would they help?" she asks. Walther says nothing. She continues, "If anything, they'll try to take me again, or worse. They think I'm the dangerous one!" [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Walther replies quietly, "Have we a choice?" Brinnea goes quiet. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: "Very well. I'll make the arrangements. We're paying the Empire a visit."
  19. I'm gonna log in too, now. Time for some building.
  20. “HAAAH!” With a final, powerful swing, the orc’s axe was flung from his hands, narrowly avoiding cutting several watchful bystanders in the seats around the fighting pits. Parigan’s black blade pressed close to his neck, warning the warrior to submit. Roaring with laughter, the orc put his hands up in a sign of surrender. “Excellent strike, Berserker!” The undead lifted his blade from the orc’s shoulder to his own, exhaling a puff of wispy air into the cold atmosphere. The title of Berserker had been passed around the garrison after his display of great rage when fighting with Naheal the day of his arrival. Since then, he had only shown a propensity to harness that rage in focused bursts: still enough to shock the heartiest of warriors to their bones. “You almost had me, old timer,” the younger fighter replied. “A second later and I would have missed my chance. You sure don’t let up.” The orc, a seasoned war veteran by the name of Morag, grinned widely, displaying his uneven tusks. “Gotta keep sharp. You young ones are all gonna surpass me if I don’t.” Someone in the audience tossed Morag his axe, which he scooped out of the air with all the grace of a jungle cat. Parigan scoffed. “You’ll outlive half the lowlifes in this place, Skullcrusher.” Morag nodded in appreciation of his opponent’s display of honor, and ceded the arena floor for the next challenger. On his way out, however, he seemed to notice something in the crowd. “Oi, peacock feathers! You gonna spend all day watching or are you planning on giving the Berserker a real fight?!” Parigan followed the old man’s gaze to a blood elf in the stands above. His metal jaw nearly dropped at the sight. It was odd enough for Morag to call anyone a challenge, but the one he spoke to was a frail-looking adolescent elf covered in a bright green feather-cloak, a bit of frostweed stuck in his teeth. A skinny blade was draped over his shoulder, curved with a long hilt. A mat of long silver hair draped over half his face, and an expression of detached care adorned his long, lithe face. The boy shrugged back at the orc. “It’s a cold day for it, don’tcha think?” The orc sighed disappointingly at the elf. “Every day’s cold here, and besides, I’ve seen you move like a demon in even colder weather than this!” He looked back at Parigan. “This one’s tougher than he looks. Faster than a rogue wind spirit, too.” Parigan’s eyebrow rose. He looked up at the elf and called out, “You been watching me all day, kid?” The elf scratched his head, apparently uncomfortable with all the attention. “It’s my day off, so…” Parigan snorted, flashing a snarling grin at him. “Come on down and see how my blade looks close-up. I assure you it’s no prettier.” The elf shrugged up out of his seat. The stands were deathly quiet for once, whispers flying about like flies on a maggot pile. Apparently they were interested in seeing the outcome of this match. Morag laughed under his breath, hastily rejoining the other onlookers, eager to get a good seat for himself. As he entered the stands, the elf’s cloak billowed, flapping in the wind like geese feathers. Underneath, he wore silver and green cloth over chainmail, both expertly crafted by skilled elven hands. By Parigan’s estimate, the thread alone must have taken at least a decade to sew to completion. He could not fathom having that sort of time to waste on trivial matters. The elf stepped into the ring, barely opening his eyes to look at his opponent. His hands stuck to his belt casually, as if taking a stroll in the woods. Parigan kept the boy in his sights, turning as he neared the center of the ring. “So,” the undead said, “What do I call you, kid?” “Kyre Starfall, knight of Eversong and guardian of Azeroth, at your service, oh tall and dark one.” The elf gave his opponent a mockingly low bow, sweeping his cloak to the side in a gentlemanly fashion. Parigan flinched at the name. Starfall, Alleda’s surname. He’d heard about her younger brother, but nothing too telling of what to expect from the kid. “So what’s your deal? You seem quick on your feet, but that sword isn’t exactly a rogue’s poking stick,” Parigan asked, pointing at Kyre’s blade. “Guess you’ll just have to wait and see, eh? I’ll admit, direct confrontation isn’t exactly my style.” He drew his blade slowly. Parigan shifted into a combat stance. The crowd’s whispers had grown into roars, egging the two fighters on. Parigan didn’t want to keep them waiting too long. Plenty of time to ask questions later, anyway. “Your move,” he told Kyre. The elf smirked. Then the air around him shifted. His face grew intense, his fel green eyes widening and sharpening their focus on Parigan. He lunged, a green and white blur with snow flowing all around. Parigan swung to ward off the elf’s attack, but Kyre merely leapt over the blade. He swiped at Parigan’s face, the tip of his own sword leaving a cut on the larger warrior’s cheek. The two regained their footing, then came at each other again. The silver-haired youth ducked under an early swing and he clipped Parigan’s leg before moving two paces behind the undead. Cursing silently, Parigan whirled, this time holding his blade back a second longer than before. The kid anticipated it, and stuck his sword in Parigan’s exposed shoulder, between his breastplate and pauldron. Parigan roared, ducking low before rushing his foe, only to find nothing but air in his wake. A piercing blow to the back told him he’d been outmaneuvered again. The warrior fell to his knees, his wounded leg somehow unable to carry his weight as his back went rigid from the last thrust. It did not seem possible that from only a few blows, his body was going numb. Then it hit him; the kid was a paladin! Parigan forced his body to turn. He tried to lift his blade, but his right arm was unresponsive. The Light constricted his muscles, forcing him rigid and useless. Kyre set his blade on his shoulder, taking a cocky stance while staring at the undead with eyes half-shut. “Ah, guess you found me out, bummer,” he said nonchalantly. “Suppose a warning would have been nicer. Ah well, live and learn, right?” “YAAAAH!” Parigan forced his arm to bend, despite the tremendous weight he seemed to be under. The youthful paladin’s face twisted in surprise as the undead’s blade closed in on him with blazing speed. Parigan was sure he’d gotten the better of him now. But Kyre’s own sword moved faster. With a quick parry and a twist, the great sword flew off to the side. Parigan roared with great effort, bringing his blade back for another strike the paladin could not parry in time. Instead, he ducked again, grabbed the warrior’s leg, and pulled sharply, producing a length of chain made of holy light. Parigan was willed to move, and fell flat on his face in the snow. Kyre took the greatsword out of his grasp as the Light paralyzed him. Parigan seethed as the arrogant elf tossed his blade aside; the elf was barely able to even lift the thing. Huffing from the effort, Kyre looked down at Parigan and said, “I think I’ve had my fill of fighting for one day.” He sheathed his blade and walked away, leaving the defeated Parigan to be slowly covered in snow.
  21. ((Was super stoked for this, but I have to work sadly ))
  22. Hai there, friend. Good to have you!
  23. ((Takes place after Sanctuary moved out completely, I think.)) Shortly after his bout with Naheal, Parigan stalked into the Borrowed Time barracks, ignoring the sharp looks tossed his way. Most of the bunks seemed to be filled already, and the last thing he wanted was to be near anyone that was liable to attack him again. Parigan tossed his meager belongings into a dark corner that no one seemed to care much for, considering the cobwebs. After removing the satchels of gunpowder, grapeshot, and various other engineering items from his belt, Parigan untied the straps of his greatsword with his good hand, laying it carefully against the wall. Slumping down on the floor beside the mighty weapon, the warrior drew medical supplies from his kit and spent the next hour repairing the stitches that had popped during his fight with the death knight. All the while, he was keenly aware of the whispers and glares directed at him. After he had finished his work, Parigan decided he would rather not spend any time sitting still, so he removed what he had left on of his armor, scooped up his greatsword, and marched out into the frigid air to search for the fighting pits. He spent the rest of the night and the day following practicing his arm or sparring with eager combatants. Talk spread around the garrison of the undead’s skill. Some whispers went around that he was bound and determined to defeat Naheal in combat. This talk brought more challengers to face Parigan’s blade. Few were truly ready to face his deadly ferocity, fewer still managed to get the better of him. The undead made a note of the ones who gave him trouble. Those challengers he was always happy to fight again.
  24. ((Setting: Stonewatch Keep in the Redridge Mountains, a couple days before the events of the previous post. Kallavan speaks in an obnoxious Cockney accent.)) [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Ya' Brinnea? Brinnea-Ravenholdt regards Kallavan with eyes of frost. "Indeed I am, traveller. Have you business with Beryl Falconia?" Kallavan-TwistingNether eyes you up and down. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Could say that. Thin' ya' met an associate of mine. Brinnea-Ravenholdt rests an elbow on the hilt of her blade. "I meet many people, friend. Care to offer a name?" [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: He's wanting it cloak and dagger for now. He does send his regards and wonders why ya' decided to move from Winterspring to Redridge. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Unless yer gab with him wus less than informative for ya'. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: A good question. Tell me, though, how do the Reborn Black fare? [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Weak, though growing stronger. Brinnea-Ravenholdt smiles, folding back her hood. "Then you may let your associate know that this location more nicely fit our purpose." [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Ask that ya call me Roberts in this form. I'm no' exactly on Grandfather Winter's nice list when it comes to either nation. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Very well, "Roberts," you may call me Brinnea. I fear not anyone who knows of me. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Ya' kicked a hornets nest no' too long ago. Grim's gonna be hunting ya' and most of that merc group has ya' on their shit list. Kinda why he wants it quiet. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Lucky ya' both groups are regrouping now. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Lucky, maybe. But the change in location was also meant as a way to shake unwanted attention. Kallavan-TwistingNether shifts uncomfortably. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Could we get away from prying lamps? This suit's rather stuffy. Brinnea-Ravenholdt nods. "Of course, right this way." [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Thanks. Hate that suit. Brinnea-Ravenholdt takes another long look at Kallavan. "Your garb, you wouldn't happen to have history with SI:7, would you?" [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: ...could say that. It's a long storry if ya' want to hearr it. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Only if you have the time and patience to tell it. From what I hear, you came to learn something rather than teach. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Both, actually. If you'rre gonna worrk with us, you'rre betterr off alive, so ya' need to know what's up. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Fine by me. Then let's draw up some terms. If this is to be a mutual arrangement, then we can share information equally. I tell you something, you tell me something. Deal? Kallavan-TwistingNether gives Brinnea a long look. "Deal." [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Good, I'll start. Falconia's undergoing reconstruction efforts on the keep. We'll have it in ship-shape soon enough. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Our numbers have just recently increased b y a drastic amount after a recent battle. They swell with former enemies. In fact, I'm one of those former enemies. Kallavan-TwistingNether looks at you. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: I clever tactic, and one I am familiar with. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Malastar lives by a personal mantra: Win without destroying. Subjugate without humiliating. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Some friends of mine are collecting workers for the construction project. Plenty of drifters and jobless folks in the area. Wasted talent without proper guidence. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Defias? [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: There's not much left to call Defias. If any of them used to be, all the better. We could use such experience. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: I see... [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: And what about this "Malastar?" Who is he? [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Ya' want a historry orr wot? [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: I want to know why he matters. How he might affect things. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: He's Bronze Dragonsworn, a Knight of the Ebon Blade and a former Blood Knight from Silvermoon. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: He's got quite the storry to him. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Ya' want the whole thing? Brinnea-Ravenholdt soaks the information in wordlessly. "Orc raids are becoming more frequent in this area. Prevailing theory is there's a new merc band possibly forming a clan. Tell me how Borrowed Time is connected to the Bronze Dragons." [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Ain't just one Flight. There's a member of each Flight within Borrowed Time, and each with their own desires. No' sure why they're gathering there, but sum folks are starting to think it's fate. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Must have quite a bit of pull if they've got dragons joining up. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: That's the funniest thing. They'rre just showing up on theirr own. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: No black dragons, though? That might be less than appreciative. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: I did say "every" flight. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: After all, ya' asked about one when ya' realized who I wus. Brinnea-Ravenholdt grins mirthfully. "I suppose the trade was more even than I suspected. And here I thought I was the only one sending a wolf into a henhouse..." Kallavan-TwistingNether grins at you wickedly. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Most of our company's already gotten a feel for the... "bigger" threats. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Parigan was rather reluctant to travel back to Draenor for this deal. Last time he was there, he lost an eye. I doubt Borrowed Time will be happy to see him, for the most part. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Considerring the only one that wus available forr yerr little execution wus crrushed by a drrake... [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: I wonder if you're as on edge as we are, though. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: That's the big secret, Roberts. I'm always on edge. I just know how not to show it. Brinnea-Ravenholdt remains unwaveringly calm and blank of expression. Indeed, it is impossible to get a read on her thoughts. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Considering the fact that you've had rifles trained on me from the moment I came in, only to lead me into a dank corridor should I decide to attack ya'? [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: To be fair, you asked to come inside. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: And ya' obliged. Brinnea-Ravenholdt shrugs. "There's little of value here as of yet. The place is liable to come down on its own at this point. We'll have it fixed up regardless." [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: So, I got a question for ya'. Were ya' planning on expanding? [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: When the time is right. Redridge, Duskwood, Westfall, even Elwynn are in dire need of attention. The armies of Stormwind are all off fighting foreign wars, which leaves a small standing army and militias for protection. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: I'm sure you heard what happened to Eastvale. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Aye. We've an orphan from the area in our garrison. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: There are more threats than Stormwind can deal with. But the people can, with the right push. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: So ya' plan to rally the common folk? [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Only those with the heart to fight for what belongs to them. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: So. Information for information. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: We'rre expanding in Drraenorr. In the prrocess of finding the rremnants of the Irron Horrde and rrallying them to ourr bannerr. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: The idea is to create a sort of sanctum for folk who want to just be left alone after the wars are done, but we're prepping for a Legion invasion. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: You think the demons are coming soon? [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Chief seems to think so [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: It is always wise to be prepared, in any case. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: And I agree with him. With the slap we gave them on Draenor, they're gonna come here. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: It is my hope that someday Beryl Falconia is ready to combat such threats. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: There's a lot of folk in Borrowed Time who would do the same, but lack trust in the Alliance. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Internment camps and multiple attempts at genocide tend to do that. Brinnea-Ravenholdt smirks. "And they seem to forget all the fun times we had. Like the Second War, where they almost destroyed every human kingdom on Azeroth." [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Considering one of the folks we tried to massacre wus an ally in the Second War... [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Besides, it ain't like the Alliance is gonna let Lorderon just sit there. No' after they invaded Gilneas. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Did you take part in the battle for Andorhal? I did. It was my home once, after all. But I don't hold on to hard feelings. My allegiance is to Azeroth, and what is best for her survival. Kallavan-TwistingNether chuckles at you. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Should gab to the Chief about Lorderon, then. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: But anyway. Sum of us are looking to just ignore the whole Alliance and Horde war if we can. Let the nobility kill each other. We'll get the common folk together to do the real work [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Like we always do. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: The war is taking a toll on both sides. More often than not, I see mercenaries take to the field more than soldiers of either army. Fighting men and women are paid well. Falconia is a mercenary band, officially speaking. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: As is Borrowed Time [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Technically speaking, we're on a long term contract with the Horde [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: We're looking to get a similar contract from the Alliance. I have a contact that will make that possibility into reality. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Means that you'll be crossing blades with Borrowed Time folks [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Possibly. Or maybe we'll be put on border patrol. Depends on where we're needed. Or where my associate says we're needed. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: If you're looking to fund yer band, you'll want to be on the front. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: And some of us will be. Others will be learning from the sidelines, as it were. Kallavan-TwistingNether nods at you. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Then that matches up wot Malastarr's suggested. Kallavan-TwistingNether extends a hand. "He's said ta work with ya for now." Brinnea-Ravenholdt takes the offered hand. "It is good to have our numbers bolstered further." [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: It's temp until we're sure ya' can be trusted. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: And we'll be wantin' sum inforrmation on who we can and can't trrust amoungst the Alliance, just as yerr guy's gonna learrn. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Still, we are a young cause, and assitance is always appreciated.' Kallavan-TwistingNether nods at you. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: I'll tell ya' more ab out Malastar if ya' want to know [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Specific orrderrs: "My life's a matterr of public rrecorrd." [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: I'll have someone find you a room that isn't full of cobwebs. It was a pleasure meeting you, Roberts. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: It's Kallavan without the suit. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Kallavan, then. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Roberts is just the cover. Kallavan-TwistingNether grins wickedly. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Never know who might be listening. Brinnea-Ravenholdt pulls up her hood and calls for a guard to do as she promised before heading upstairs. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Trrue. But if someone's listening to the converrsation, then it'd be known ya' werre worrking with the Horrde, too. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Then I guess it is a good thing my guards are so attentive. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: On the bright side, we're no' contracted with the Grim anymore. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Always a plus. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Well, watch yer back, Knight. Brinnea-Ravenholdt grips a blade. "You as well." ((Several days later, after Parigan entered the Borrowed Time Garrison)) ((Still at Stonewatch Keep)) Narÿa-TwistingNether stands with her arms folded as she waits for the guards to fetch Brinnea, humming an erratic tune. Brinnea-Ravenholdt exits the ruined keep, stepping softly despite her well-armed appearance. She regards the draenei with cold eyes. Narÿa-TwistingNether lets her arms drop as she tilts her head back to look at the smaller woman. The perpetual grin on her face, her lips never seeming to touch even when she speaks, widens. "Hiiiiiiiii." [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Welcome, traveller. What brings you to the doorstep of Beryl Falconia? [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: Oh, things. And other things. Are you the one everyone wants dead? Because you look already dead to me. Like me! [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: I am wanted by many. Peacekeeping is a dangerous line of work, and not always appreciated. Narÿa-TwistingNether 's grin grows slightly lopsised, as a smirk would appear on her features. Black ichor slows oozes from the corners of her mouth. "Are you in it for the appreciation? Because you might be in the wrong line of work, then. And maybe I came to the wrong [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: place." Brinnea-Ravenholdt rests an elbow on the hilt of a sword. "I am in this to safeguard the innocent and protect those I love. Now, have you business with me?" [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: Sure, sure. Can I join? Narÿa-TwistingNether looks at Brinnea expectantly. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Of course, Falconia is open to any with the desire to help others. I have but a few questions to ask you first. [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: Ask away! Narÿa-TwistingNether throws up her hands and grins wider again. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: First, why do you wish to join us? [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: So no one dies who shouldn't. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Second, have you ever killed anyone outside the theater of war? Narÿa-TwistingNether cocks her hips to the side and puts a gauntleted hand there, looking at Brinnea. [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: Not yet. [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: Want me to? I can if you want. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: In that case, third, would you be willing to do so for the sake of peace? [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: Sure, no problem, long as they're supposed to die. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Very well. Do you know what our purpose is? [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: If I had to guess, it's -- Narÿa-TwistingNether says the next aprt with the exact same intonation Brinnea did earlier, and a passable impression of her voice as well, down to losing her draenei accent. [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: 'To safeguard the innocent and protect those you love'. Right? [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Indeed. And the methods by which we do so are limited only by what is best for their safety. [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: Sure, sure. So who decides what's best? You? [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Circumstance and one's own conscience. However, if you wish to work for me, you must put your trust in me until I know I can put mine in you. Kallavan-TwistingNether leans against the wall. He folds his arms. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: I may not have all the answers, but I take care of my own. Join us and I'll see to it your talents are put to use in the best way I see fit. [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: Sounds good. WHat do you want me to do first? I can get rid of those couple of ruffians over there if you want. Narÿa-TwistingNether eloquently indicates with a shoulder the two to her left. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: They will be your comrades if you join us. Narÿa-TwistingNether finally looks that direction, sizing both men up. "I can still beat them up if you want." [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Tell me, what is your name? [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: Oh right. Narya Elenn. Narÿa-TwistingNether grins. Narÿa-TwistingNether looks down at the smaller woman as she reaches the bottom of the stairs. Brinnea-Ravenholdt folds back her hood. "I am Brinnea Velmon, a pleasure to meet you." [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: That's the name I heard. They say you wiped out a whole tauren village. But I asked around and you didn't kill that many civilians. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: And I suppose that news does not trouble you since you still stand before me. [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: Well, I originally came here to kill you, but I think you're all right, so I joined you instead. [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: So, what's my first job? [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: If you're to work with us, you have to sign a contract. It's part of our more official stance as a mercenary guild. After that, since you're so eager for work, we have plenty of jobs that need looking into. [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: Sure, sure. Where do I sign? Brinnea-Ravenholdt draws a roll of paper from her belt, unrolling it and offering a pen to Narya. She points to the line with an 'X' beside it. "Sign here. You can read the fine print if you like, it's mostly about pay grade and whatnot." Narÿa-TwistingNether takes the paper and pen, and presses the paper to Brinnea's chest to sign it. Her signature is pretty much just a squiggle. "Nah, I don't need pay. What am I gonna spend it on? Food?" She offers the items back. Brinnea-Ravenholdt puts them away. "The most valuable pay we can offer is a chance at experience. We take contracts for bounties, raids, and protection. They vary in difficulty, and our best fighters have the chance to go after the toughest of prey." [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Traditionally, Beryl Falconia was a monster-hunting band as well as a mercenary company. It builds character. [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: I like killing monsters. Especially the senitne tkind. And the kind with two legs. And testicles. Kallavan-TwistingNether smirks slyly at Dazlinder. Kallavan-TwistingNether raises his eyebrow inquisitively at Dazlinder. Brinnea-Ravenholdt gestures for the draenei to take a look at the public notice board to the left side of the keep stairs. "That board holds job opportunities that are open to any member to take on." [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: Sure, sure, I'll check it out. Anything else I should know? Do you ever smile? Narÿa-TwistingNether grins. Brinnea-Ravenholdt smiles back. "I smile when I have to." Kallavan-TwistingNether checks the board casually, then takes a sheet off of it. [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: Light, don't do that, it's fucking creepy when dead people smile. Dazlinder-Ravenholdt mutters under his breath. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: As for other information, you have free reign over the grounds. We have a mining operation being built in the ravine to the east, and rebuilding efforts in all parts of the keep. Kallavan-TwistingNether rolls up the sheet and puts it in a scroll case on his belt. [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: Got it. There a password or anything? How will I know who's a member and who's a trespasser or spy? [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Those who are familiar with all our faces are put on guard duty from time to time. At the moment, we have friends to do that for us. [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: Heh, friends. I remember having friends. That was a long time ago. The only thing you can have now is family. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: In any case, our most prominent contract at the moment is with the citizen population of Lakeshire. Orc raids are pushing the militia to their breaking point, so we are here to watch the border for them. [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: Sure, sure. I can handle that. Narÿa-TwistingNether speals as though she can do so herself, similar to her confidence in offering to take care of the other two present shortly ago. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Word is the orcs might even be forming a new clan with a warlord to lead them. If I need any assistance in investigation, I'll let you know. Kallavan-TwistingNether blinks at Dazlinder. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Bored, are we? [Dazlinder-Ravenholdt]: quite. [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: Sure, sure. All right then, Boss, Head Honcho, whatever I'm supposed to call you., [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brinnea is fine, but if you're feeling formal, you can call me Ma'am. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Maybe we can get sum folks together for a contract. Get sum gold flowing for the company. Dazlinder-Ravenholdt shrugs. [Dazlinder-Ravenholdt]: Food and drink tends to make the long periods move quickly [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: So, we need a tavern [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: Do they always talk? Do they have to talk? [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: It was better when they weren't talking. [Dazlinder-Ravenholdt]: Well at least a decent one is down the way from here. Brinnea-Ravenholdt || An odd whispering sound can be heard, originating from Brin's belt. She draws forth a stone that seems to be the cause. She looks at Narya, saying, "Excuse me a moment, I need to handle something." Narÿa-TwistingNether salutes you with respect. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: And there we go. ((After receiving a stone-call from Parigan, Brinnea speaks to Kallavan.)) You look at Kallavan-TwistingNether. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Roberts. Kallavan-TwistingNether pulls out a scroll and offers it to Brinnea. "Had a bit of a scuffle. Figured you might want in on the info." [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: I heard already. Brinnea-Ravenholdt takes the roll of parchment anyway. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: I get the feeling ya' figured they'd end up slapping each other around. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: You want to discuss that in private, or are you satisfied with only one side of the story? [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: I'd prefer to have the full picture. I'll be relaying it back, too [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Then you ought to come with me. Kallavan-TwistingNether nods at you. ((They enter the Keep proper.)) Kallavan-TwistingNether looks around. Brinnea-Ravenholdt crosses her arms and looks Kallavan up and down. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: In truth, I only received word from Parigan a moment ago. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: I've been trying to figure out how to present it without causing problems. Our chief's a bit of a hothead if the wrong subjects are hit. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: So it would seem. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: In all honesty, I did not expect him to be the one throwing the first punch. Pari's usually the one with the short fuse. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: The Chief's preemptive if he senses a threat to his family or his company. Good chance he sensed that with Parigan. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Acts first, but will take in the whole picture if he gets the chance. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: I'm sure he wonders why I sent Parigan in the first place. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: His exact words were "she figured this would happen. Either she's trying to teach him sumthing or trying to see if we'll kill him if he antagonizes us." [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: I'm guessing it's a third option. Ya' don't know who ya' can trust just yet, so ya' sent him. Kallavan-TwistingNether puts a hand to his ear. "Lakeshire's gettin' hit." [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Consider the matter tabled for the moment, then. Kallavan-TwistingNether nods. ((The mercenaries fly quickly to Lakeshire to investigate the disturbance before returning to the matter.)) [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Looks like they hit the gryphon master, then bolted. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Saw the remains of one. Adult. Large, so probably either a human or a worgen. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: This sort of act is why this area needs more protection. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: These people are sitting on the edge of a warzone with Blackrock so nearby. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: In any case, we were discussing my reasons behind sending Parigan as our representative. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Yeah [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: In truth, I didn't send him because he was the only choice, I sent him because I wanted to show your associate how serious I am about this potential alliance. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Parigan is many things, a violent man and a killer only a part of his many vices. But he is my husband, and the man I love. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Ya' sent someone with that short of a fuse and that willing to pick a read and write to show how serious ya' are about this potential alliance? [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Ah! That's it. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: We are bound together eternally, and nothing can break us apart again. That is what I wanted to show your friend. Parigan is a difficult man to get to know, but with enough patience, pressure, and time, he will open up. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Ya' may have thrown him into a hornets nest. No' all of Borrowed Time is happy about this little work-together we're starting. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Parigan is no stranger to danger. I was aware of the risks, which made it all the more difficult to ask him there for me. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: However, I believe this situation is salvageable. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: So do we. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Let me be blunt. I'm no' here because I'm a trusted advisor. I wus only recently turned to the company [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: From what I heard, Parigan was not beaten soundly. If anything will inspire him to stick around, it will be the desire to overcome Naheal in fair combat. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: That'll work to our advantage, then. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Malastar is saying with almost certainty that the Legion *is* coming. Like he's seen it or sumthing. He wants us in top shape before they get here. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Parigan will provide quite the challenge for anyone looking for a sparring partner. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: From what he told me, he's been in the fighting pits all day. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: He doesn't want war between our companies, regardless of their little scuffle. It'd cost us both too much, since I'd think that this company would read and write just as hard - and dirty - as we would. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Pari won't want to bring more trouble to me, that's for certain. He'll play nicely for as long as I ask him to. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: From the sounds of it, this wasn't the first time he's been on the recieving end of a runeblade. Brinnea-Ravenholdt sighs. "No, fate has turned us against one another before. It has taken much for him to realize just how much I mean to him, and him to me." [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: I did say he takes rivalries seriously. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: I think they'll get along. Malastar has a talent for turning enemies into allies [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: I would respectfully ask him not to expect too much of Parigan. His attitude will likely not change for anyone. Especially not me. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: I'll relay it. Can't do much more than that. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: But we have an arrangement. Information for information. Time I pay up. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: One last thing. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Tell Malastar that Parigan does have a weakness. He'll never hurt a child. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: They have a way of bringing out his heart, or whatever's left of it. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Plenty of teapot lids around there, then. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Really, the place is like an orphanage nowadays. Brinnea-Ravenholdt looks as though she is remembering something with a somber air around her. She gazes off at a dusty wall. "Right, your turn, then." [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Pretty sure I told ya' that I'm one of Malastar's former enemies, right? [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Something like that, yes. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Well, I did sum digging on the guy when I wus trying to kill him and it turns out that he's got quite the rap sheet. Even has a bit of an odd background for an elf. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: For one, he wus a major part of the resistance against their prince, but he niver got his name cleared of treason. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: For two, he spent most of his life after the Second War with his father in Andorhal and Stratholme. Brinnea-Ravenholdt raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Did the standard family checkup. Had a twin with sum magic talent and his pop wus a jeweler. But they're all worm scran. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Engineer. Did sum sapper work in the Northrend campaign, but he seems to prefer machines that mimic life. Brinnea-Ravenholdt rubs her chin with a gloved hand. "Interesting." [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: He's also partially bally. Tried to make runeblades that channeled holy magic. Severely weakened him and nearly crippled him after prolonged use, but he's since returned to the classic Acherus runes. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: He sounds like a man looking to test the limits of possibility. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: He's a cove that doesn't value his own life. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Have you anything else to share? [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Plenty, but I think that's payment enough for now. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Good. I have work to do, and I'm sure you can find something to keep yourself occupied. Kallavan-TwistingNether nods at you. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Try no' to die too often. I hear it still hurts for yer kind. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Take care of yourself as well. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Oh. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: I forgot one thing [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Malastar plans to welcome him within Borrowed Time as a mercenary for now and wants me to see if we can do the same here. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Of course. As I said before, the assistance is appreciated. And I assure you Parigan has plenty to offer as a hired sword. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Good, then. You nod at Kallavan-TwistingNether. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: I'll be tossing sum of my pay in yer coffers. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Good hunting, then.