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Everything posted by RiktheRed21

  1. Brinnea Velmon - "The Troubles" by U2 Parigan Blackmane - "Raised by Wolves" by U2
  2. Brinnea Velmon: Taking care of her daughter in Dalaran. Parigan Blackmane: Taking mercenary contracts to earn money for his daughter's care.
  3. The following is written in High Common, in the distinct style of a Gilnean scholar. To be deciphered, the reader must have knowledge of such script. I've never kept a journal before, as I never found any use for keeping a documentation of the events of my undeath before now. Why I've decided to start might have something to do with my little Charlotte. Perhaps someday she will want to know what became of her father, if I never get the chance to tell her myself. Let's see, where to begin... Last night I ventured to the Cantina at the Orgimmar docks. Tahzani and Lilliana were the only diehards left after what was clearly a long, challenging night of drunken brawls. The two of them were evidently discussing some recent radicals of some sort, spouting on about their blind faith. I can relate to the irritation they both displayed at the notion of belief for the sake of it. However, I did not expect Lilliana, a troll of the Grim, to be so against radical behavior. From all I've witnessed, the Grim is full of those similar in mind. Perhaps she is different from the rest: more reasonable at the very least. Our few short conversations together have led me to believe she is more childlike than brutish. In any case, I must continue to observe their members for the sake of learning who I may one day deal with. Tahz and I spoke at length about our lines of work. He expressed a dissatisfaction with his own, which I discovered was bartending. Evidently he owns the Cantina, not that it comes as much of a surprise. He is rather personable, despite being proficient in the arts of a warlock. There aren't many fel casters I have met able to hold a normal conversation while restraining themselves from mentioning the dark arts. It is refreshing to find a new perspective on the matter. Tahz does not seem to like the demons much, and in fact made it clear he preferred to fight them to keep the world safe from their wrath. Behind that very troll-like exterior I believe lies a heroic soul. It'll probably get him killed someday. A pity. Speaking of demons, when I mentioned the recent outbreak of vocal doomsayers in the Barrens, Lilliana seemed upset about all of it. I can sense she was involved with the Legion in the past, and that whatever occurred soured her to the very idea of another attack by the demons. I suppose I can't blame her, but this again surprised me. She is turning out to be a far gentler soul than I expected. My theory is that she hates the Alliance above any others, which is why she joined the Grim. In any situation where the Grim turns against those of the Horde, or other potential ally, I suspect she may be reluctant to fight. It's a work-in-progress theory, and I need to investigate further to come to any conclusion, but it gives me a small sense of that dreaded emotion I've tried living without these days. (Hope) The two of them now know I earn gold for someone else. I must be more careful what information I divulge to these people. If I were to ever let slip a name, the whole plan would fall to pieces. Not to mention it would put Brin and Charlotte in danger. I've been playing with the idea of visiting them, but I haven't quite gotten around to it yet. Hopefully soon.
  4. ((For lack of full gear sets, I'll sign up for the honor tournament. I'm still tentative, as my work schedule has yet to be released.))
  5. Parigan happens upon the advertisement and looks it over with vague interest. "How humane. Guess I'd better get back to training." He looks down at his battered armor. "And maybe get myself some new duds."
  6. 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.
  7. 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" ).
  8. I appreciate that you're using the last one you drew for me as an example
  9. 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
  10. Brinnea and Parigan were just random names I sounded out and decided they seemed unique enough to use.
  11. Druddigon for Brinnea because they have the same color palette Mighteyena for Parigan because he is a wolf on the inside
  12. 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.
  13. <p>The heroine appears.</p>

  14. ((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.
  15. ((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.))
  16. ((Would like to take part, but I don't think I can make it. Sorry.))
  17. 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.
  18. ((TRP did weird things with my emotes. I guess I should stop using it the way I do ))
  19. I will likely not make that time. I could, however, show up 2-3 hours late
  20. 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.
  21. 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 )
  22. 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
  23. ((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."