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Everything posted by RiktheRed21

  1. Druddigon for Brinnea because they have the same color palette Mighteyena for Parigan because he is a wolf on the inside
  2. 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.
  3. <p>The heroine appears.</p>

  4. ((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.
  5. ((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.))
  6. ((Would like to take part, but I don't think I can make it. Sorry.))
  7. 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.
  8. ((TRP did weird things with my emotes. I guess I should stop using it the way I do ))
  9. I will likely not make that time. I could, however, show up 2-3 hours late
  10. 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.
  11. 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 )
  12. 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
  13. ((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."
  14. I'm gonna log in too, now. Time for some building.
  15. “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.
  16. ((Was super stoked for this, but I have to work sadly ))
  17. Hai there, friend. Good to have you!
  18. ((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.
  19. ((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.
  20. ((Log taken in the wee hours of 1/12/16. Setting is the Borrowed Time garrison in Frostfire Ridge.)) 23:41:30 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Enjoying the walk around? 23:41:47 Parigan-Ravenholdt stands looking over the lower part of the garrison with his arms crossed. 23:42:59 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: You seem rather popular. 23:43:50 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: There's a lot of displaced people from the war. Even some that just want a good cause to rally behind. 23:44:54 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: I bet you get a lot of spies. They love a generous cause. 23:45:34 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Some. We have eyes on most of the goings on in the Alliance and Horde. 23:45:58 Naheàl-TwistingNether pulls his hood back. 23:46:37 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: I meant you must have spies in your garrison, reporting -your- goings on to whomever they truly serve. 23:46:59 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: The window works both ways. 23:47:24 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Besides, few see below the surface. We're but simple mercenaries, after all. 23:47:49 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: This setup is a powder keg for tragedy. Someday your open doors will let rabid dogs in this little chicken coop. 23:48:26 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: That happened once. 23:48:42 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: It'll happen again. 23:48:51 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: And again. And again. 23:49:08 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: You ever hear the definition of insanity? 23:49:27 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: You ever hear the difference between insanity and genius? 23:50:51 Parigan-Ravenholdt chuckles lightly. "I've met some vain elves in my time. I bet you would make good friends with them." 23:51:39 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Nobility? 23:51:59 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Naw, just the usual higher-than-mighty elf way. 23:53:18 Naheàl-TwistingNether | A fight starts to break out between some of the civilians - an orc an a human. It's quickly broken up by a massive tauren who tosses them far to either side of the town center. 23:53:53 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: That'll be taken to the arena later. They'll box, then drink. 23:54:41 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Good, I was concerned your kind didn't allow for people to fight their troubles out. 23:55:09 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: We're not stupid enough to think that the war will be solved by getting everyone to hold hands in a circle and sing merry tunes. 23:55:24 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Orcs, culturally, love a good fight. Humans, too. 23:55:24 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: The only thing worse than generosity is penning people up with nothing to take their anger out on. 23:55:47 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: You want riots? 'Cause that's how you get riots. 23:55:47 Naheàl-TwistingNether looks at you. 23:56:48 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: This isn't generosity. It's a tenuous refuge. Most of the adults here are either trained to fight, are being trained to fight, or are supporting those who can fight. 23:57:25 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Giving someone a chance, placing trust in them. That's enough generosity to be taken advantage of. 23:57:43 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: If we don't give people a chance, we'd be no better than the Grim. 23:58:11 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: But if we give them every chance with no consequence, we'd be as blind as Sanctuary. 23:58:54 Parigan-Ravenholdt rubs his empty eye socket. "I say you're all blind." 23:59:22 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: You believe peace isn't possible? 23:59:38 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Nope. 00:00:08 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: I've built a career out of doing the impossible. I'll just add this to the list. 00:00:33 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Only difference now is that I have support. 00:00:38 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: If you've done it, it isn't impossible. 00:01:28 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Do you know why people pursue ideals? 00:01:48 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: In their hearts, they know they're impossible, but they pursue them anyway. 00:02:09 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Might as well be dead, then. 00:02:53 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: I deny that outlook. I chase a dream because I wish to see it come to light. 00:03:11 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: It'll never come, but we may yet see something close given an eternity. 00:03:45 Parigan-Ravenholdt says nothing in response, though he is clearly unimpressed. 00:04:42 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Maybe someday you'll see. But, then, maybe you recognize it as possible, but realize what getting there will mean. 00:05:21 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: I'll believe it when I see it. Evidence doesn't support it so far. 00:05:46 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Children aren't born to hate. Circumstance pushes them into it. 00:06:35 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: You ever see a kid scream because they couldn't get a toy they wanted? Most people never outgrow that. They just scream about things they say are bigger. 00:07:16 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: What would you propose, then? 00:07:26 Naheàl-TwistingNether says evenly as he looks to Parigan. 00:07:34 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Me? What does it matter, you've already made up your mind. 00:07:52 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: I'd be a fool if I didn't take good advice. 00:08:06 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: I'm no advisor. 00:08:30 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: "Advisor" is a nice word for a yes-man. I have no interest in yes-men. 00:08:42 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: You have no investment and are more likely to give me an honest opinion. 00:09:09 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: I think you're all going to die for your cause, and get nowhere close to achieving it. 00:09:22 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: I already have. 00:09:44 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Aye, I'm sure you did. You ever hear the definition of insanity? 00:10:16 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Well, I can't say that I've achieved the requisite for genius yet. 00:10:18 Naheàl-TwistingNether grins wickedly. 00:11:01 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: If you were truly a genius, you wouldn't be having this conversation. 00:11:25 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: If I were truly a genius, my success would be plain for all to see. 00:12:16 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Have you ever heard of society's great lie? 00:12:53 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: No, but I'm sure I'm about to learn all about it. 00:13:06 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: It's, quite simply, justice. 00:13:57 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: It doesn't exist. Grind the universe to it's finest powder and sift through the finest siv and you'll never find a single grain of it. 00:14:21 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: But it's that lie that people continue to pursue. 00:14:43 Parigan-Ravenholdt picks some grime out of his metal jaw's hinges. "Oh please, do go on." 00:15:57 Naheàl-TwistingNether folds his arms and regards Parigan. "Why are you here?" 00:16:26 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Because my wife told me to. 00:17:10 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Then I would ask you - politely this time - to return to her with a message. 00:20:08 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: We will not accept willful blindness within our walls for long. If she wishes send an emissary, she should choose another. 00:20:53 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: In the interest of fairness, I told her sending me was a bad plan. She told me she had no one else to send. 00:22:33 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Were it not for what I heard from her in Everlook, we wouldn't be speaking. In fact, I would still be hunting her, but I can't say that I would've done different, given the larger picture. 00:23:59 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: That's why I said you'd be a genius if you weren't talking to me. I'd already be dead. Because if you ever threaten her, I will kill every last person you've ever cared about. 00:24:26 Parigan-Ravenholdt glares at Naheal with his one good eye, grinning widely. "That's a promise." 00:26:10 Naheàl-TwistingNether holds his spear to Parigan's head. "If you *ever* utter something like that again, your entire company will be crushed. Do I make myself clear?" 00:26:39 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: You do *not* threaten my family. ((At this point the two duel and Naheal disarms Parigan.)) 00:27:05 Parigan's weapon goes flying from his hands. Green, pestilent blood oozes from an old wound under his breastplate. He regards Naheal with the same glare from before. "You done throwing your tantrum?" 00:28:04 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: I don't think you understand what kind of situation you're in. You're here because I believe that this was all sparked from a misunderstanding. 00:28:55 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: This is against my better judgement because I believe that your wife has at least a decent heart. You, on the other hand, have demonstrated that you're a danger. 00:29:08 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: I understand clearly. You put a spear to Brinnea's throat and she smiled at you like a friend would. It makes me sick. 00:30:20 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: She damned the souls of innocents. She deserves the same fate and justice will come for her one day. If she chooses to serve a life devoted to making sure that kind of situation doesn't happen again, then that's fine. 00:30:29 You laugh at Naheàl-TwistingNether. 00:30:48 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: You really are mad! You told me justice did not exist, blind fool! 00:31:08 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Yet it's that lie that society is based upon. 00:31:36 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Society is for the weak. We don't need it. 00:31:55 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: ...then I guess your wife's getting a corpse back. 00:32:08 Parigan-Ravenholdt steps aside, retrieving his weapon casually. 00:32:39 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: You sure you want to muss up that pretty hair of yours? ((They duel a second time, Naheal coming out ahead once more.)) 00:33:39 Naheàl-TwistingNether 's ghoul grabs Parigan's head and starts squeezing. 00:34:35 Parigan-Ravenholdt sticks his metal arm up against Naheal's leg. The hand falls loose and a deafening blast rings out. Gunpowder sears the air around Naheal's leg. 00:35:23 Naheàl-TwistingNether seems unperturbed (engineer!) and grabs Parigan by the spine. "You're done." 00:36:16 Parigan-Ravenholdt || The sound of the blast attracted Parigan's mount, a large wyvern which lunges at Naheal, more to separate the two than fight the death knight. 00:37:19 Naheàl-TwistingNether | The wyvern is intercepted by a bronze drake, which wrestles the creature to the ground. 00:37:46 Parigan-Ravenholdt twists against Naheal 00:38:50 Parigan-Ravenholdt twists against Naheal's grip, unhinging his metal jaw to deliver a vicious bite to the Death Knight's arm. 00:40:48 Naheàl-TwistingNether doesn't flinch as the warrior's teeth sink in. "You're presistant. I'll give you that. But it's warmongers like you that cause problems for this future. And it's because of that that we will never have a chance against the Legion. Submit." 00:42:27 Parigan-Ravenholdt instead emits an ear-splitting shout, one rivalling the roar of a dragon. All his unholy strength is let forth in a berserker rage, all fixated on removing him from Naheal's grasp, even if he must sever the man's arm. 00:43:51 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Stop. This isn't what either your wife or I want. 00:44:37 Parigan-Ravenholdt is too blind with rage to respond. If the death knight doesn't let go, his arm's coming with Parigan wherever he decides to go. 00:54:44 Naheàl-TwistingNether marks a quick rune on Parigan's prosthetic arm, then one on his leg. He then lets go of the warrior the mechanisms for both start to freeze up. 00:55:44 Parigan-Ravenholdt flies backwards as he is suddenly released. The warrior's joints freeze, and his leg collapses under the pressure. He falls to the ground, barely able to move. 00:55:53 You kneel down. 00:56:48 Naheàl-TwistingNether places a hand to his ear as Parigan calms down. "Kallavan. Yeah, it's me. First meeting didn't go all that well. Turns out their emissary isn't really all that interested in the whole situation." 00:57:18 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: You attacked me, bastard...! 00:57:28 Parigan-Ravenholdt seethes with rage. 00:57:29 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: You threatened my family. 00:58:03 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: When you calm down, I'll show you what happened to the last person who did that. 00:58:33 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: I'll tell you what you can do with that spear of yo--- 00:58:47 Parigan-Ravenholdt abruptly collapses. 00:58:50 You lie down. 00:59:10 Naheàl-TwistingNether eyes you up and down. 00:59:45 Parigan-Ravenholdt 's wound seems even worse than previously let on. It has traces of the Light lingering within. 00:59:58 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Idiot 01:00:11 Naheàl-TwistingNether lets out a long, drawn-out sigh. 01:00:22 Naheàl-TwistingNether kneels down. 01:00:42 Naheàl-TwistingNether channels necrotic energy into Parigan to drive the Light out. 01:01:23 Parigan-Ravenholdt roars awake, sitting up suddenly as the Light's crippling power is lessened. 01:01:40 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Whomever tried healing you had no clue what they were doing. 01:01:56 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Gah! What the... 01:02:03 You look at Naheàl-TwistingNether. 01:02:10 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: You had the Light buried in you. 01:02:15 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Why would you even bother... 01:02:41 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: I'm an insane man chasing an impossible dream. That's why. 01:03:55 Parigan-Ravenholdt scoffs. "So what does 'the man' plan on doing with me, then?" 01:04:25 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Your wife's interested in peace, right? A potential ally? 01:04:38 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Oh yeah, you two would get along nicely... 01:05:13 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Let's just say this isn't the first time I've been pounded in the dirt by a death knight. 01:05:49 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: What *is* your purpose here? Truly? 01:06:06 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: I told you, she asked, and I came. 01:06:23 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Did she also pound you into the dirt when you disagreed? 01:06:33 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Not this time, no. 01:06:43 Naheàl-TwistingNether smirks slyly at you. 01:06:58 Naheàl-TwistingNether offers Parigan his hand. "Those runes should be wearing off soon." 01:07:02 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: I do as she asks. If I don't she tends to get herself hurt. 01:07:24 Naheàl-TwistingNether 's wound on his arm and leg are already in the middle of healing themselves. 01:08:03 Parigan-Ravenholdt glares at Naheal again. "I'm here because I only care about one thing, Brinnea. That's why I go to such lengths when I feel someone threatens her." 01:08:47 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: That's a point of view I understand. I would go just as far to protect my family. 01:10:27 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Don't put yourself against her. You'll only end up losing what you hold dear before you end it. 01:10:54 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Know that I've only ever said one other thing more sincerely than that. 01:12:11 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: I don't want to pursue war between us. We're after the same thing and there's no reason why we shouldn't work toward it together. 01:13:02 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: I'm not interested in your cause. But Brinnea needs me. 01:13:29 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: So I'll play along. If, of course, you plan on leaving me alive. 01:14:06 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: You get one more chance. Just as anyone else here. If you threaten anyone here, you'll die and we'll be at war. 01:14:25 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: But it's a war that, if either of us survive, neither of us would win. 01:14:59 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Tch, if there's anything I truly despise in this world, it's being forced to do things against my will. 01:15:16 Naheàl-TwistingNether chuckles. "You'd best complain to your wife about that one." 01:15:51 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Pah, I'd rather not. That cost me last time. One eye and a hand at the least. 01:16:19 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Who are your wife's targets? 01:16:41 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Targets? You talk like she's some assassin. 01:17:08 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: She's preparing for war. Anyone who starts a company like that means to fight someone. 01:18:15 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Last I heard, she just wanted to help the pathetic citizens of Redridge with problems Stormwind is too busy to clean up. 01:18:51 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Basically do the work that the nobility claims to do, but doesn't actually do? 01:18:56 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Sure, she's prepared to fight. Her hope is she'll turn the common folks into monster hunters or something of the sort. 01:19:33 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: I don't claim to understand her plans. I just do what she asks so far. 01:20:01 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: You believe that we're out to kill her, then? 01:20:25 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: You tried once, didn't you? And you would have succeeded if I hadn't stepped in. 01:21:45 Naheàl-TwistingNether gets a somber look. "I bear no ill will toward your wife. My only interest is in preventing the next wrong, which, at the time, I believed she would commit." 01:22:58 Parigan-Ravenholdt toys around with his frozen metal arm. "Are you aware that the orc who captured her in the first place was a puppet for a human witch that tried to steal Brin's body once?" 01:24:14 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: I'm not. We were initially hired by the Grim to assist in dealing with the people responsible for that village getting slaughtered. It wasn't until we found out what *they* did that we backed out of that contract. 01:24:45 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: And from there, the whole situation's just kept getting weirder and weirder. That being said, we've been... understandably distracted, I think. 01:25:21 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: I believe my wife is just as tired being a pawn in other people's schemes as I am. 01:25:48 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: That's why we backed out of our contract with the Grim. 01:26:21 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: She's lost too much and been powerless too often to face the caniving bastards that think we're toys for their amusement... 01:27:12 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: The fact that I caused even a little of her suffering fills me with guilt. I feel shame about nothing anymore, save for that. 01:27:39 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: I wish I could sa y that I lost most of what I did in recent years because of something similar. *he shakes his head* No, I willingly cast aside everything I could for the hope of a better future. 01:28:28 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: People take for granted what they have until it's gone. Everyone does. 01:29:23 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: That's why I take on everyone else's burdens and defend this so fiercely. I can't go back. Best I can hope for is that no one else has to sacrifice that much to make peace a reality. 01:30:08 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Something your wife will share, I'd bet. Even if we do forge a world of peace, we can't take part in it. 01:30:33 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: You said justice was the great lie of society, but I have a different idea in mind. 01:30:45 Naheàl-TwistingNether looks at you. 01:30:48 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Hope. 01:31:27 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: It's all that keeps us going in our pointless cycle of life. Hope is truly the definition of insanity. And we 01:31:33 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: are all infected with it. 01:32:21 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: ...during the siege on Silvermoon, during the Plague. 01:32:56 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: I was in the market square. Fighting off ghouls and the like. One of the walls came down on top of me. Ended up buried for... I couldn't even tell how long at the time. 01:33:32 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: People kept digging, looking for survivers. I could hear them above me, you know? 01:33:41 Naheàl-TwistingNether doesn't even look to Parigan as he speaks. 01:34:00 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: They'd find someone, then keep looking like there would be someone else there 01:34:28 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Eventually... it stopped. I couldn't call for help. Couldn't get anyone's attention. 01:34:55 Parigan-Ravenholdt continues tinkering with his arm. 01:35:27 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: One night... was quiet. I heard someone up in the rubble near where I was and I called out. Barely louder than I'm speaking to you now. 01:35:32 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Just enough to get her attention. 01:35:58 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: She got me out. And started teaching me fel magic . 01:36:03 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: My hope was my damnation. 01:38:09 Parigan-Ravenholdt says nothing, continuing to fiddle with his arm. 01:39:17 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: ...maybe you're right. Maybe hope is a lie. Maybe we'll never forge that kind of world. But, if we don't, it'd a bit like acknowledging that loss doesn't mean anything, doesn't it? 01:41:37 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: I was told by a man I once though to be wise that life is a struggle. That the only ones who can say they truly lived are those who never ceased to struggle, even to their last breath. 01:42:17 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Even those who died long ego? 01:42:22 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: ago*)) 01:43:21 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: When you're gone, you don't care about what you did or did not do anymore. This is our one life, our only chance. 01:43:46 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: I lost my chance once, and when I was gone, it felt...peaceful. 01:44:01 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: ...you're lucky. 01:44:06 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: For most, that would be reassuring. 01:44:29 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: But I live again, and nothing puts fear in me more than the thought of being at peace. 01:45:09 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Have you considered working for a dragonflight? 01:45:26 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: I don't work for people. 01:46:07 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Good thing dragons aren't people 01:46:23 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: You working your way to a point? 01:46:26 Naheàl-TwistingNether | A female voice from the Bronze Drake yells "HEY!" 01:47:47 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Well, I'm absolutely incapable of finding a truly peaceful world. If we ever *do* manage to create it, then I'd have to either go off myself to prevent insanity or find some other world to go fight in. 01:48:39 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Hence why peace isn't possible. No one settles for a peaceful life. 01:49:00 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: It isn't by choice in my case. It's a reality of being a death knight 01:49:43 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Has she never told you? Part of being a death knight involves brutally killing someone on a regular basis to keep our sanity? 01:49:58 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: I am well aware. 01:50:15 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: It's why I signed on to the Bronze. Protect reality from the old gods, have an infinite number of enemies to kill so I'm not driven insane, and I can still pursue this peace. 01:52:28 Parigan-Ravenholdt grunts in frustration, letting his still frozen arm go limp. "I thought you said these would wear off quickly." 01:52:54 Naheàl-TwistingNether examines the arm. "Huh. Odd. Are those dwarven make?" 01:53:12 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: No. 01:53:53 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Now, I know that I didn't hit those that hard... 01:54:15 Naheàl-TwistingNether takes Parigan's arm and starts examining it. 01:55:20 Parigan-Ravenholdt appears less than pleased with having his arm man-handled, but keeps quiet. 01:57:16 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Shoddy work 01:58:01 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: It's tested well on more than just you, elf. 01:59:09 Naheàl-TwistingNether sighs. "It's barely connected and your straps there turn it into a gigantic structural weakness and don't even get me started on the joints." 01:59:32 Naheàl-TwistingNether pulls off his left gauntlet, showing off his own metallic arm. 02:00:45 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: I could improve the design, but it looks like whomever put this together did a rush job 02:01:39 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Are you going to continue critiquing my work, or are you gonna let me walk again? 02:02:24 Naheàl-TwistingNether regards Parigan again, as if pulled from another world. "Huh? Oh, right." 02:02:48 Naheàl-TwistingNether starts erasing the runes, then pulls out his tools and starts to fix the limbs. 02:05:14 Parigan-Ravenholdt || Once his prosthetics are fixed, Parigan stands shakily, readjusting his balance to the metal leg. 02:05:32 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Those things go out quite a bit, don't they? 02:06:02 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: I didn't see any redundant systems there. Makes even a slight bruise potentially crippling to them. 02:07:11 Parigan-Ravenholdt tests the unloaded hand cannon while replying. "Usually when they come off, its because of a tremendous force that would damage even the best of mechanisms." 02:08:12 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: If you really feel the need to make new ones, knock yourself out. 02:08:36 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: "Feel the need"? I'd just up the size of mine and stick it on you 02:08:50 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: But I suspect that you'd not appreciate me messing with your nerves 02:09:33 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Well, it's not like you're offering to buy me dinner first... 02:09:51 Parigan-Ravenholdt clicks his hand back into place. 02:10:08 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: If you're going to stick around 02:10:27 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: We expect you to contribute, but you'll also recieve a cut for any job done 02:10:52 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Hmph, I'm familiar with how mercenary bands work. 02:11:21 Parigan-Ravenholdt jabs his thumb at the bronze drake. "Care to let my wyvern go?" 02:12:00 Naheàl-TwistingNether | The drake is clearly just playing with him at this point, but then lets him go. Just before the wyvern stands, she goes back to playing. 02:12:32 Naheàl-TwistingNether watches this. "...welcome to Borrowed Time's garrison. This is my every day." 02:12:37 Parigan-Ravenholdt 's mount begins to snarl at the drake, but with a sharp call from its master, the beast timidly comes to rest at his heels. 02:13:02 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: This wyvern was a gift from a now dead orc. A stolen gift, but a gift nonetheless. 02:13:14 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: So, spoils 02:13:43 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Yes, well, I felt he owed me after the Horde's hunters killed my last mount. A friend, actually. 02:14:17 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: I see nothing wrong with taking spoils. An army has to feed itself and honor and glory don't fill bellies. 02:14:49 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: If you don't mind, I'd like to find myself a bunk to stitch myself up in. 02:15:02 Naheàl-TwistingNether jerks his thumb toward the garrison. 02:15:10 Naheàl-TwistingNether barracks*)) 02:15:28 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: We'll be keeping an eye on you, but make yourself at home, regardless 02:15:43 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Right. Thanks for not killing me, or whatever. 02:15:52 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: If you need a workshop, you can borrow mine. Just don't mind the insane orc or goblins. 02:16:14 Parigan-Ravenholdt slowly retrieves his fallen sword, returning it to its sheath. ((Parigan goes to stitch himself up in the barracks, end scene.))
  21. ((Log taken 1/9/16)) [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brinnea looks the guard up and down carefully, removing her cowl when she seems satisfied. A human wearing a sharp-looking cloth outfit stands beside her, as well as an elemental corgi of fire. [GM]: The setting is Crow Hill, a small town along the river in Duskwood. How did you get contacted to come observe? [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brinnea's sister-in-law has friends in Duskwood, and they passed word to her, who told Brinnea as she moved to Redridge. [GM]: "The horrors this one has seen...We thought it was the worgen curse at first. But we have to keep him restrained. It is no malady of curse or illness. Except in the mind. We lack a priest to pry inside." [GM]: "You must understand, our town has our...superstitions." [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brinnea nods. "It's a good thing I brought a priest, then." The man at her side offers the guard a polite bow. [GM]: "I see...He is this way. We'll leave you alone." [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brinnea nods and follows him inside. [GM]: The guard, a hirsute man of woodsman stock, reclines at his desk and tosses a key your way. [GM]: This jail is small, with only two cells. Only one door remains locked. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: The death knight unlocks the door and steps in, only closing it once her companions have followed her. [GM]: The man, if you could even call him that, has the stubble and skin of an adolescent. His skin is sickly pale, and his hair is lank with sweat. Several wounds under the jacket ooze red into the pale fiber. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brinnea frowns at the wounds, but proceeds to remove her swords from her belt and approach slowly. [GM]: The man curls into himself, and bares his teeth, like an animal. His eyes are wild and darting. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brin does not react to the odd mannerisms, though the "priest" behind her frowns deeply, observing. Brin speaks to the victim calmly, "Hello, I am Brinnea. What is your name?" [GM]: The boy growls and lunges for Brinnea! [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brin moves to grab the boy by the arms so he cannot grapple her, but does so not to harm him, either. [GM]: There is a surprising amount of feral strength in him as he fights the death knight. Of course, he is outmatched. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brin holds the boy steady while searching the room for ways to restrain him. [GM]: There are straps along the walls. Crude, but effective. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brin holds the boy against the wall, telling her companion to strap the boy in. [GM]: The boy is strapped in, and grows in his throat, but ceases his struggle, having known the straps previously. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Once he is locked in place, Brin gives the boy a sideways frown and says, "If you prove to me you can behave, I'll untie you. Now, let's try again. What is your name?" [GM]: He only snaps his teeth at you. You notice, however, some sort of scar tissue inside his mouth from this angle. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brin checks to see if the boy still has a tongue. [GM]: He does not. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: "Well, that complicates things." [GM]: He growls. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: She turns back to her companion, and says, "Walther, I need you to look into his mind." Walther, as he has been so named, replies, "I shall try, although I admit it has been some time since I've peered into the mind of one so far gone." [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: He steps forward, and places a wrinkled hand on the boy's chest, hovering over his heart. His other hand is placed on the forehead, carefully so as not to be bitten. The hand on the heart glows with the Light, while the other seems to cast a longer shadow [GM]: The insight into the boy's mind is disturbing. Images of horrific subjugation and torture at the hands of a lash, and loving praise rewarded for obedience. Being trained to kill with only the rage, nails, and teeth the boy was born with. [GM]: An overwhelming, childlike adoration for the Master. And a sense of community. Images of trees. But prying into the boy's mind causes a backlash of dark energy. Someone has prepared for this type of inquisition. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Walther mutters a prayer as he witnesses the terrible tragedy the boy has endured. At the sudden backlash, Walther flinches as his left hand, the one on the boy's forehead, suddenly blackens as if burnt. He backs off, looking down at his hand <c> [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: more out of curiosity than in pain. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: While massaging his wounded hand, he turns back to Brinnea, saying, "The boy has seen much pain. It seems as if he were groomed for murder by some demented master, as if he were a dog." [GM]: Walther gets a chill down his spine, and the distinct feeling of being watched. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brin's frown grows deeper. "Someone put a ward in his mind?" she gestures to Walther's hand. The man sighs, saying, "It would seem so. A dark, powerful one, at that." [GM]: The boy collapses, insensate. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brin grunts, "Walther...," but he had already swung around, attempting a healing spell to cleanse any negative effects of his prodding. [GM]: The mind is surprisingly blank, as though a large chunk of function and memory had been scooped loose. In fact, Walther seemed to realize that a great deal of function was missing at the first probe, now, more. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Walther winces at the realization. "It would appear his mind is mostly lost to us. Whoever placed the ward on his mind left a failsafe for removing memory if someone went looking for them..." [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Colin seems unconcerned with the drama going on, content in chewing on a bone that cracks under the heat and pressure of his mouth. [GM]: The boy looks around, his expression relatively blank. [GM]: The priest gets the impression of a word, summoned forth by the boy's remaining willpower, something burned into his mind. [GM]: "The Beast in Repose" [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Walther says the words out loud, more to himself than to anyone else. Brin raises an eyebrow. "Wonder what that could mean." [GM]: This boy clearly bears features similar to the locals. You are not yet aware of the circumstances in which he was captured. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Walther continues to massage his hand. The blackened parts start to mend themselves, giving way to living tissue again. Walther says, "It would be my guess that whoever took this boy intended to craft him into a weapon, one controllable and expendable." [GM]: Perhaps that is the case. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brin replies, "He seems to be from around here. We ought to find out if anyone knows of recent disappearances." She looks at the boy sadly. "I doubt we'll get much else from him in this state." [GM]: The officer knocks at the door. "Ay-uh, you get what you needed? S'posed to send the boy off ta Stormwind, an' the medical wagon's here." [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brin looks around at the guard. "We got all we could." Looking back at Walther, she says, "That's our que." The two head out, returning the keys on their way. [GM]: Orderlies come in and collect the boy. The sheriff looks at you. "Prob'ly for the best." [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: On the way out, Walther whispers to Brin, "Perhaps I ought to shift the guards' memories slightly. Wouldn't want anyone asking around hearing our names right now." [GM]: Do you? [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: The death knight does not visibly react to his remark, but replies in a hushed voice, "Seems a little unnecessary to me." Walther says, "Lord Moors always covered his tracks in such ways. He was widely considered rather good at his job." [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brin reluctantly gives him permission. Walther weaves a spell that very subtly alters the guards' memories so they cannot seem to agree on who exactly came to see the boy. [GM]: The orderlies aren't really focused on you as they load the boy easily and sedately into the back of the wagon. Walking away from the asylum, Brinnea says to Walther, “So you worked with Moors on his missions, then?” Walther remained silent, though he reluctantly nodded. “Then perhaps you know something about a letter he left me in a shack not too far from here. A letter regarding my daughter.” Walther tried to hide his thoughts, but sweat poured down the side of his face despite the bitter cold of the night air. “A letter? I’m sorry, it doesn’t sound familiar to me. What did it say?” Brin looked up at the stars as they were swallowed up by a blob of shadow: a black storm cloud, invisible in the dark night sky. She replied, “He told me never to give up hope, and that someday my faith might be rewarded.” A rain drop fell on her face. Then another, and another. Soon enough it was pouring. Walther drew an umbrella. Brin just let the rain wash over her. “Secrets can be dangerous things, Walther Vayne. We shall endeavor to find what truth is hidden in this land of shadow.” The pair of them vanished into the dark of the night.
  22. At this time of year, the road from Starfall Village to Everlook was more of a series of flat snowdrifts and hidden ice patches than a true road. Still, Brin watched it as if it were the busiest road in Kalimdor. Less than half a dozen travelers had been spotted on the road since she took up her post around midday. She sat on the edge of the handrail in the town’s largest building, an old elven structure made of wood. A few hardy travelers curled up in the building, savoring what little comfort and shelter it had to offer, considering it was missing walls in several places. A series of playful barks broke the eerie quiet of the afternoon, as Brin’s faithful corgi, an elemental made of lava, bounded to his master’s side. He placed a rock he had fetched on the floor, and wagged his tail impatiently for the woman to throw it for him. Grinning lightly, Brinnea obliged, tossing the stone towards the building entrance. Of the few travelers holed up in the building, no one complained about the dog’s playful nature. After all, a dog like that warmed the room like a bonfire, despite the protective rune on his collar preventing the spread of fires. The death knight sat in silence, only breaking her focus from the road long enough to give Colin’s rock a toss whenever he got bored of gnawing at it. Her thoughts drifted back to her meeting in Everlook the day prior. Her fellow death knight of the Ebon Blade, Naheal, had come at her behest to discuss what had happened and what to do about the future. Before riding for Everlook, Brinnea had informed Parigan about her plan. His reaction was less than supportive. “This is a stupid idea,” he had said. “Last time you saw that elf prick, he tried to put a spear in your neck. Now you want to apologize to him?” He could barely move from his operating table at the time. The wound he had received from the Sunwalker took a toll in the long term, and might have eventually killed him if he hadn’t been retrieved fast enough. Esmerra had him strapped down on the table while Walther, the healer, patched him up and removed any harmful residual power from the Light. Parigan had asked his sister if the straps were necessary, or just there because she wanted to see him in chains. Esmerra had replied by giving Walther permission to operate without a sedative. Parigan and Esmerra both had a good laugh afterwards. When Brin came to him, he was in-between surgeries. Walther had only so much stamina to deal with the many wounds Parigan had sustained in his battle. “I’m not making apologies, I’m trying to earn his trust,” Brin said in reply to the warrior’s remarks. “He’s not an evil man, and I believe he truly only attacked me because I turned my blades against the innocent. That’s something I have to fix myself.” Her old runeblades had been lost shortly after the events in the village in Mulgore. Kaur’he; that was its name. Esmerra had handled replacing her old weapons with a new pair of Gilnean-made sabers. They were light and strong, and took to their new owner well, after she had etched her runes into them. Though, they did not feel like her own. She would need a rune forge to make them truly belong to her. “Void” and “Warfang,” they were called. Parigan scoffed. “I say we’re better off on our own. It’s more likely he’ll set a trap for you just outside the town. Or he’ll track you back here to find out who’s hiding you. Either way, it isn’t worth the risk.” Brinnea had stood then, saying, “I hear you, but I still have to do this. If all works out, we might be able to make an ally out of him. We need allies if Es is really putting a team together.” She turned to leave, but Parigan asked her to wait. She looked back at him as he pulled himself up to look at her. His face darkened. “If you suspect a trap, if anything seems off to you, kill him, and don’t hesitate.” Brin gave him a reassuring smile then. “Of course I won’t hesitate,” she said, “How do you think I’m still alive?” But she had no need to fight Naheal. He’d come alone, as she asked. Whether he was confident Everlook was safe, or he truly trusted Brin’s intentions, she could not say. However, his last offer to her had given her cause to ponder how far she could trust the man. He had asked her to take in one of his own, from the mercenary guild Borrowed Time. In return, she would send someone loyal to her to their garrison. Each representative would get a feel for the other group. It could be a chance to earn the trust of a strong ally, but there were risks. Brin’s group was small. It contained herself, Parigan, Esmerra and her loyal followers, as well as Torren, Brinnea’s father. In all, they had thirty among them in Starfall, and Esmerra had the ability to summon up another hundred from Duskwood. Not much in the way of forces, and Borrowed Time likely had far more than that, all well-armed and experienced. Though Esmerra’s followers were hardened by war already, risking even one among them put them all at risk. One man would not bother a strong guild like Naheal’s much. For a trade, it was less than fair for Brin’s side. Still, it was a unique opportunity. Soft footfalls caught Brinnea’s attention. She tore her eyes off the road, and turned to see Esmerra approaching her. The young Gilnean noblewoman was just as beautiful and confident as when Brin had last seen her. She had the strength and presence of her father, Moors, and twice the beauty of her mother. Her black hair fell like silky lace around her shoulders, and her rich chocolate colored eyes regarded everything with a hint of arrogance, while her soft smile warmed the one she looked at such that they would believe she really was better than them. She was small and dainty, with the build of an acrobat. Her well-adorned black and silver leather armor hid beneath a thick wintry cloak of black. She carried a druid’s staff in one hand: a silverwood stick carved finely from the trees of her home. It was pure white, and seemed to radiate moonlight on the space around it. Her other arm was held in a splint. She had wounded it as a bird in Mulgore, but it was mending nicely thanks to the efforts of faithful Walther. Es often joked that he did more work to run the household than she did. “Hello, Brin,” she said pleasantly. The death knight returned the greeting while swinging her legs back inside the open-walled building. Colin excitedly sniffed at Esmerra’s cloak and staff. Esmerra and Brinnea embraced briefly before the druid continued. “We’re just about ready to begin. Walther says Parigan should be fine to move around without hurting himself.” Brinnea nodded understandingly. “Does everyone else know?” Esmerra replied, “Indeed they do. I had Walther bring my brother to the meeting room, and your father is there already. He’s left so many books in that room, it might as well be his own personal study.” Brin chuckled softly. Torren was a forgetful sort, even when he was in his prime. Despite his ability to retain an immense amount of knowledge about magic, history, science, and much more, he was hopeless with mundane things such as keeping his space tidy. Brin gestured towards the building’s entrance. “Shall we?” she asked. Esmerra nodded, and they went on their way towards Ban’Thallow, the Barrow Den at the back of the village. It constituted most of the space in the town, after all, it was better to be underground in such a harsh environment when winter came. The air inside the caves was slightly warmer, and much damper. Moisture from melting icicles dripped form the ceiling constantly. According to the locals, the caves were usually crawling with larger than average bugs. Every summer, exterminators delved into the caves to clean out the infestations. Now, in the winter, they were hidden inside the walls, sleeping or hiding from the cold in blankets made of dirt. Since Esmerra had moved to Winterspring with her most trusted House followers, she had built up a small fortune she invested in buying portions of the den for her own use. After a few twists and turns that Brin was hard at work memorizing, they came across the entrance to a separate part of the cave system, blocked off with a heavy wooden door and guarded by a worgen in heavy plate armor. Her fur was an earthy brown and spots of white speckled across her face like freckles. A pair of broadswords sat restfully in leather sheathes on her belt. She wore the sigils of Gilneas and House Blackmane on her tabard proudly, and remained resolute and unmoving until she spotted Esmerra. Brinnea knew her as Balladora, Dame of Gilneas and personal guard of House Blackmane’s ruling lady or lord. “Afternoon, milady,” Balladora said with a formal dip of the head. Brin wondered how she knew it was afternoon since she spent most of the day underground. “Masters Torren and Parigan have joined Mr. Vayne in the meeting room.” Esmerra smiled at her favorite knight, replying, “Thank you, Bella.” The knight opened the door for the two woman and stepped aside. After they entered, the door was closed behind them. On the way to the meeting room, Brin spoke to Esmerra, “Es, I want to thank you again for coming to save me in Thunder Bluff.” Esmerra looked at Brin, an awkward smile on her face. Brin continued, “You put yourself in harm’s way for my sake, and you saved my life. I can never repay you for that.” Esmerra replied, “I know you would do the same for me, Brin. Besides, you never stopped being my sister.” A surge of warmth filled Brin’s chest. It wasn’t often someone could warm her frozen heart this way. She was proud to be part of such a family, no matter how small it was. They rounded another corner, and entered the meeting room. It was a small, round room with a similarly round table resting in the center. Torren, Walther, and Parigan sat around the table in casual conversation. Torren glanced away at a book every now and then, but when Brin entered the room, he immediately stood with a smile on his face. Walther stood as well; he was in his well-groomed human form at the moment. He had tended to the Blackmane family for two generations, and his age was starting to show, (though he had grown considerably more energetic with worgen blood in his veins). He gave the two ladies a polite bow as they entered. Parigan stayed seated, carving a smiley face in the wooden table with a long dagger, apparently bored. “Thank you all for coming,” Esmerra said as she took her seat. Parigan twirled his dagger, the point still dug in the table. Walther sat with a stiff posture, his hands folded on the table. Torren quietly closed his book as the meeting began. Brin sat quietly. Esmerra continued, “We have gathered here to discuss the formation of a new organization. I presented this idea to each of you individually prior to Brinnea’s rescue. Now I wish to put it to a vote.” Torren interjected, “I had an idea for the organization’s name, should we decide on forming it. “Beryl Falconia.” The historical significance of the name could prove a useful insight to our mission in forming this organization.” Parigan spoke up next, “Speaking of voting, how exactly do we decide if the vote is passed? Majority rules? Or must it be a unanimous decision?” Esmerra replied, “Given how few of us there are, I believe a unanimous decision would be the better bet.” She nodded to Torren. “You may continue.” Torren thanked her and carried on, “Many centuries ago in Lordaeron, a band of renegade knights gathered together as a sort of mercenary group. They took gold for their efforts in battle, but they also existed for a deeper reason. They hunted demons, and other monsters that threatened the innocent people of the Eastern Kingdoms. They were first called Beryl Falconia by their founder, Blue Knight Jordan.” An odd sense of pride mixed in with Torren’s tone. “They were famed for championing the safety of the common people, even amidst war. They would stand against those who paid them well on the grounds that too much collateral damage was tolerated on their watch. Indeed, many rulers who courted evil powers fell to their fury. “Falconia also operated outside the laws of any nations, so they would not be restricted by foolish politics, and operated to the most fair and equal capacity.” He paused, looking around at those gathered. “We have the same opportunity today that they had. Our world is torn by war; there are many in every corner of it who have the capacity to fight evil and preserve the innocent. We can turn those with nowhere else to go into fighters for the common good of Azeroth.” Brinnea chimed in, “I remember tales of Falconia’s valor from stories you told me as a child, Father. They were always an inspiration for me as I grew up. Perhaps the world needs such an icon again.” Parigan cleared his throat loudly. “Sounds nice, really. Very idyllic and inspirational. It also sounds like a good way to get us all killed within the year.” Esmerra and Torren both frowned. Brinnea had expected this, but was no less disappointed to hear it. He went on, “I don’t feel we owe anything to anyone. In fact, if we’re going to hunt monsters and slay demons on their behalf, maybe we should be the ones getting paid for it. You can’t make a living out of being generous.” Brinnea replied, “Parigan, we would take mercenary contracts for pay, of course, but the important aspect is we will be keeping the world safe for the people we care about.” Parigan scoffed. “Anyone I give a shit about is already sitting at this table. I say we focus on what’s better for us.” Brin’s eyebrow rose. “And fighting threats to the whole world isn’t good for us?” she asked. Parigan snorted. Esmerra jumped in at the pause, “Parigan, Falconia would be a gathering place for people who have nowhere else to turn. You are not exactly well-liked among the Alliance or Horde, and so you need someone to watch your back, or someday you might not have someone to pull you out of the snow and aftermath of a slaughter.” More than a little bitterness came through Esmerra’s speech. Parigan snorted again. “Fine by me. If I needed to rely on others to survive, I wouldn’t be alive still. I have no intention of becoming weak and reliant on others.” Brin replied, “Parigan, I’m going through with this whether you do or not. You told me you would watch my back as long as you lived, so can you not trust me on this as well?” Parigan sighed and played with his dagger for a long moment, but eventually said, “Fine, I’ll join your little gang of freedom fighters. As long as I get to kill things. You know, for peace or whatever.” Esmerra smirked, clearly pleased. “Very well,” she said, “All in favor of forming the guild Beryl Falconia?” All five rose their hands. And so, in that dank cave in the far-flung realm of Winterspring, the Blue Knight’s band was reborn.
  23. ((Super happy you saved this, Nah! And Shae's gonna be happy to read it.))
  24. Brin would love to go home.