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Found 12 results

  1. Revamping
  2. (( We're back! Even though we did hold a contest last year, we did not advertise here! We hope you can join us! )) The Rooks of Twisting Nether cordially invite you to help us celebrate the Midsummer Fire Festival with our annual Mount Parade around Old Town of Stormwind City! Prizes will be awarded to the best Mount-Gear* matching participants! Bonus points for matching/themed gear, mount, and pet(s)! (( *Transmogrified or actual gear only - those who use magic or temporary illusions will be disqualified from receiving a prize! )) Third Place: 25k Gold Second Place: 50k Gold Grand Prize: Other-worldly Mount** (( ** FREE, PAID MOUNT FROM THE BLIZZARD STORE OF THE WINNER'S CHOOSING! )) (( In the past, we've had nearly 30 participants! This is a fun way to bring both the RP and non-RP communities of TN-RH together! We hope you can join us! )) To participate, simply meet at the Fountain in Old Town at 7PM Realm Time (( CDT - 8PM EDT )). At that time, Rooks' Officers will check-in/register participants and begin the Parade line-up. Once ready, we'll begin our march around the Old Town Circle. (( A pre-parade "pre-game" Tavern-RP event at the Pig and Whistle in Old Town will commence at 6PM Realm Time. )) Be sure to bring fireworks and other celebratory items to commemorate the occasion! WHAT: Rooks' Annual Midsummer Mount Parade WHEN: Sunday, June 28, 2020 at 7:00PM Realm Time WHERE: Fountain at Old Town in Stormwind City WHY: To celebrate and bring together the communities of TN-RH! FABULOUS PRIZES! (( Be sure to whisper or send a message to Atilakai, GM of Rooks, if you have any questions! ))
  3. strewn about the streets of Dalaran, of Orgrimmar, of Stormwind and even those of Thunder Bluff to Silvermoon and Darnassus to Ironforge; there comes a wave of fliers that adhere to every wall and alley* *Sponsored by the Borrowed Time company* Come one come all! To further relations between the Horde and Alliance, we are proud to announce a fundraising event that is sure to be worth every copper spent! The Mystery Auction Extravaganza! A one-time event that is sure to have you on the edge of your seats with the sheer suspense of it all! Come buy yourself a date, based not on race nor faction nor even looks! Buy them from self-made cards describing themselves for that pure mystery of an unknown rendezvous! What could he or she be? An orc? A dwarf? A tauren? A kaldorei? Who knows! All are welcome to join us January 7th at 6pm on the goblin clock; with our hosts of Phyruss Arath’dorei who will be announcing and bidding on behalf of our wonderful women and the beautiful Siane who will be representing our hunky men! *Fine Print* Purchasing a date does not constitute offers of sexual favors in exchange for money. All dates are confirmed eligible of age and are of their own minds. All contestants are guaranteed safety on their dates, covered by Borrowed Time, Sanctuary, and Twilight Empire enforcers. Obey the rules or they break your face. ((OOC)) So the rules are as follows! -The Biddees are to write a 255 character maximum description of their characters, without using any proper nouns; i.e. Faction, Race, Names, Guilds, etc. They are asked to instead describe personality, hobbies, ideas for a date, anything to represent themselves before an audience. If you would rather not write one, we can write one for you! Send a description to us, but it's all the more fun if you do it yourselves to best give the full disclosure on your character, right? -On Jan. 7th, there will be a Discord up for cross-faction RP, but the auction itself will be transpiring in Old Dalaran in the Legerdemain Lounge. In-game RP is encouraged, but we also hope to make use of this server to talk between Horde and Alliance! -Its up to you and the person you won to set the dates for your schedules to best go on them! -We hope to be able to use real gold for this, but with enough protest, we might just switch to RP currency with a longer time limit. With real gold however, we will be able to purchase gifts for those who participate! -The rule for actual gold: 2 minute auction time, can only do a max increase of 100g until the bud reaches 2000+, then the bids come with a maximum of 200. RP currency, the time limit will be 3 minutes with 50g increments. -Your description will be sold on that night, not necessarily you! So this way, this allows your character to not have to attend the night themselves if you have a conflicting issue, or wish to come on a different character to place bids! -Dates don’t have to be romantic! Buy someone who sounds like you’d have fun with! -Please whisper Cobrak on Discord, or PM me on wow-tng with your descriptions! And honor code here, but don't tell anyone what you wrote for maximum surprise!
  4. The drowned morass beyond the ruins of Tideskorn Harbor clamored with the sound of battle. A warband of mortal warriors had descended from the Valarjar post of Valdisdall to cull the Kvaldir which perpetually amassed throughout the fog ridden marsh. They had waded deeply from the cliffs and toward the mire until the tower from whence they had come was lost to sight within the mist. The Kvaldir were not long to emerge. The fighting was brutal and swift with the tide turning in favor of Helya's foul servants. The formation of the warriors had broken, and retreat was sounded. However, not all could answer or follow suit with how scattered their band had become... One such left behind was a Knight, Rorrek Therrien, bearing Valarjar armaments of bronze and gold. Within his gauntlets were held apart immense cleavers which were wielded with peculiar ease that was belied by their size. The runes and stones upon his weaponry shone fiercely through the chilling fog. His sabatons waded through the water in silence whilst he kept wary watch upon his surroundings through the restricting view of his helm. His course was clearly made toward the cliff face beneath Valdisdall as to regroup, but this was not to be. Looming shadows within the fog soon halted his steps. The Kvaldir were closing in on his position and soon would have him surrounded. He was forced then to retreat further into the marsh in the hopes of evading the marauders, lest he be caught alone. The warrior eventually came to an outcropping of stone jutting from the water and mud. With effort he hefted himself atop this formation, thereafter surveying the fog downward and around the rocks. He could faintly still hear the sound of far off blades clattering from distant skirmishes. He was not the only one that was unable to follow the retreat, and yet such echoes were quite far from where he stood now... He waited and considered his options. The fog was dense and brutally cold. It had a way of seeping into one's skin, through clothes, through armor. Without either, it bit into flesh and hung there with dripping moisture. It would be easy to lose grip of a weapon in the dense fog, but fortunately for Vilmah Bloodborne, her plate mail covered gauntlets were padded enough to keep hold of the enormous Valarjar sword she used to fight off the Kvaldir around her. She'd been sent to help thin Helya's servants, along with many others from the Horde who fought for coin and glory alike. Clad in what most would have considered an indecent amount of armor, the orcess splashed through the foul seawater and fought with the speed and ferocity of the Blademaster she trained with. She wore only plate covered pants, boots, and gauntlets. Her left arm, mechanical from mid-bicep, was held to her body with a series of leather straps across her chest and back. Her torso was, for the most part, completely bare save for the fabric wrapped around her chest. Like most Blademasters, she would forgo upper body armor. Unlike most Blademasters, however, she was female. Quick though she was, the Kvaldir soon outnumbered her. Vilmah sped between them, hacking at their bodies with her weapon and taking down enough to clear a path toward what looked like a decent place to lick her wounds. Sinking her sword into the meat of a Kvaldir's shoulder, she kicked him into the water and ducked through the mist to make her escape. There were a few wounds on her side and shoulder that she could bandage, though she cursed the fog and its tendency to make everything wet. Moist bandages were even more uncomfortable than wet boots. Rorrek crouched low as he heard the distant sounds of combat resume, his sight honing in upon the direction from whence came the splashing and hurried approach. His muscles grew taut beneath his armor whilst he stared piercingly to glimpse any impending silhouettes nearing his position. The outcropping of stone he had found purchase upon afforded him both the high ground and cover should he desire. The footfalls hastened and soon a shadow emerged. The Knight immediately dropped from sight, concealing himself by the angle of the rocks opposite to this impending presence. The footsteps were not as heavy as any Kvaldir he had encountered. He pondered for a fleeting moment if it was another that had been caught within the mists, severed from any possible retreat. He slowly began to rise until he stood atop the stones and in view once more. His stance was bent, cleavers held at the ready, should he need initiate the attack with urgency. However, the sight beneath him led to a wary pause. Through his helm the man watched warily the orcess in silence, observing every facet of their person as to glean all that he could. She was not among the warband of mortal Valarjar that he had accompanied. Her garbs seemed to be vaguely familiar to him, but Rorrek could not place exactly that she resembled. He stood wordlessly while poised for battle should they prove foe and waited for them to take notice of his person above them. Vilmah caught sight of a rock formation in the water. Somewhere dry to dump the water from her boots and bandage her wounds seemed almost too good to be true. She glanced back to make sure that the Kvaldir behind her were gone, and ran for the tallest of the rocks to climb. She was a small orc, smaller than many humans, though her green skin and tusks were a dead giveaway for her race. Using her good arm for most of the work, she grabbed hold of the cold rocks and scrambled her way from the water. Once finally done splashing, she took stock of her situation; momentarily safe and hidden behind the fog, but for the most part, surrounded by Kvaldir. Muttering to herself, she slid off her boots and emptied them of the water she'd collected while running. A fish fell out of one and splashed gratefully back toward its home. Vilmah wasted no time and went about bandaging herself, though the wet air dampened the thin strips of fabric almost immediately. They weren't deep cuts, but they would eventually scar. Additions to her growing collection, which covered most of her bare torso and cris-crossed her throat. "Well this isn't the afternoon I expected," she said to herself in Orcish. The Knight, seeing as he had emerged upon the higher stones whilst Vilmah began tending herself, remained unnoticed. He continued to patiently observe downward as his brow furrowed in thought as to translate the brief muttering of Orcish. Rorrek did not relinquish his prepared stance or guard in spite of the orcess' vulnerable state. Eventually, after piecing through the foreign words, he responded aloud in a measured tone in common. "Yes... unexpected." Vilmah jumped at the sound of another voice, slipping precariously close to the edge of her rock. She managed to catch herself before splashing after the fish, and hanging on with her mechanical arm just long enough to regain her balance. Carefully, she approached the origins of the sound. Your typical orcess may not have understood Common, but Vilmah had enough experience in her short lifetime to understand and communicate a few words. Looking at the Knight, she raised her eyebrows in surprise and gave a careful wave. "Sorry," she said carefully in Common, the rest of her words somewhat muddled and broken. "Not know there. Kvaldir run. Wet. Bad." He made certain that there remained a respectable distance between them as he judged Vilmah's person. The sudden amount of surprise the orcess displayed was certainly not expected. Rorrek straightened himself as combat did not seem imminent, lowering slowly his great cleaving blades. He turned the handles within his gauntlets so to hold the weapons downward and rest their curved ends against the stone. Yet, his plated hands did not rest against the pommels and instead remained gripped as to indicate the ability to immediately return to action if need be. After a short time of contemplating an answer again came from his otherwise statuesque form. "Surrounded," he spoke simply. His hidden eyes then glanced toward their large sword for a moment. "Foe?" he inquired toward them now that they stood face to face. His knuckles shifted atop where he gripped his blades should the answer be unsavory. Vilmah blinked, searching through her vocabulary as he spoke in simple terms. The Knight's body language certainly helped. Shaking her head quickly, she lowered her own sword in a show of good faith. Time would tell how foolish a move it would be, but she was used to being wrong. "No. No foe," she replied, using her mechanical hand to hold the sword as her good hand pointed toward her own face. "Vilmah. Sanc-ury. No foe, All-ance. Honor." Rorrek's helm tilted slightly to the side as his thoughts caught upon one word within their broken speech. "Sanctuary?" he spoke clearly and with gradual enunciation. There was a shift in the atmosphere about him as if the orcess was then regarded much differently. However, this subtle change did not dispel the apparent wariness which girded him. "Twilight Empire," he stated. He did not return his name. Vilmah blinked and digested the words. They were familiar, but unknown to her. She gave a helpless shrug and shook her head, smiling in spite of the situation. Despite her scarred and somewhat dischevelled appearance, the orcess seemed even more young as her tusks helping to deepen the dimples in her cheeks. "Okay, Twi-li. You okay fight?" She asked, nodding toward the mists, where the Kvaldir could still be heard a short distance away. "Find here, very bad," she attempted to explain, using her good hand to illustrate the situation by sliding her thumb across her scarred throat. The Knight understood. He shifted the cleavers within his hand from their resting and unto a more readied position at his sides. His person indicated no injury as of yet, though the grand armaments were riddled with shallow cuts and indentations. Yet, he did not seem to agree with her explanation. He lifted one cleaver in the direction he assumed Valdisdall to be. "The way is shut," he affirmed. The cleaver was moved to gesture as well toward the mist around them. "Surrounded," Rorrek repeated. He then tapped the end of the cleaver against the stone beneath them. "High ground. Wait." Vilmah cocked her head as she attempted to decipher the meaning of his words. He didn't seem to be in any rush to move, which she understood as his signal that they shouldn't attempt to fight their way to freedom just yet. Nodding, she tapped her sword against the rock and pointed down. "Wait," she repeated, rolling her eyes and smiling as if to suggest that she did not enjoy waiting. "Wait cold. Wet. No good," she explained, indicating toward her bare torso, shoulders, chest and arm. "Blademaster bad clothes pick." The warrior could not relate, fully armored as he was, nor had he any articles to offer the orcess. The softly smoldering runes which were engraved throughout his armor and cleavers seemed to further attest to his person being far more suited to venture unto the unforgiving cold. He shrugged his pauldrons with brief sympathies as naught could be done. Rorrek made to speak again, but he then abruptly ceased his words and listened. A slow tide of shuffling could be heard approaching from all sides of the outcropping of rock. Intermingled therein could also be heard the clattering of chains and the dragging of nets. "Kvaldir," he spat under his breath. He crouched slighty once more and stared out into the mists. "Blademaster, hrm?" He pondered aloud. "...Good." Vilmah's ear twitched at the sound of nearby water being disturbed. It was followed by deep voices, which she quickly recognized. With her back to the rock formation, she crouched down low and held her sword in an angle above her head. The lack of armor allowed her to move in such a way that she could position herself close to the stones, making her small body even smaller within the rock's crevices. Turning her hazel eyes to the human, she flashed him a grin with almost impossibly white teeth and tusks. "Good," she repeated. Rorrek glanced back toward the jutting stone where he had concealed himself briefly before, though the musing was dismissed as soon as it had come. His gaze craned upward to the farthest end of the outcropping. The stones were steep and tall, enough to perhaps halt the Kvaldir entirely from approaching from behind. The Knight's armaments did not afford him likewise usage of the rocks as Vilmah displayed and so he stepped forward and prepared himself for that to come. The shapes slowly emerged in a semi-circle before where the two had made their stand. Yet more silhouettes shifted in the fog toward the farther sides and back of the stones. The Kvaldir grinned as their brackish line formed with cruel instruments kept in hand. However, they halted in the distance and did not immediately approach. Their prey held the high ground and with two present it would be difficult to overwhelm either at once. None of the cowardly drowned men were eager to be cut down as the vanguard assuredly would be. Vilmah looked toward Rorrek and pointed toward the human before she slammed her fist against her chest, a gesture she hoped that he could translate. Larger and more covered than she was, he would be able to take the brunt of their attacks while she picked off the Kvaldir individually. "You go," she mouthed silently, then pointed at the approaching enemy, then dragged a thumb across her throat. "I kill." Rorrek watched Vilmah's gesturing and understood at once. Yet, the Knight again found himself at odds with her reasoning and instead but stared with eyes that shone of disagreement through the opening of his helm. It was in that moment that he began to regret his former words as he remembered exactly why so few Blademasters remained. Admittedly that she proposed called to his heated blood as to cleave unto foe despised, striding boldly forth with wrath in hand; however, his experience combating the Kvaldir reined him back to his senses. He remained firmly where he stood, refusing to surrender the high ground and wade unto the marsh just to be overwhelmed at the hand of giants. It was this hesitation that provoked the Kvaldir as they saw their opportunity. A frail sounding horn was blown and the coral encrusted vrykul surged forward. Though, some purposefully fell behind in the pace of the charge as to allow others advance before them. Rorrek cursed beneath his breath as the splashing figures forced his attention forward again. He lifted one cleaver forward and pointed it toward the incoming enemies. The other immense blade was held near the hilt of the former with ease in spite of the length, attesting to the enchantments therein. He waited for the foremost Kvaldir to begin his ascent upon the stone outcropping and leveled his swords at the vrykul's eyes. It was then that the warrior struck along the edge of the former sword with the latter as one would strike flint. An eruption of flame ensued as the oils which coated the cleavers ignited. A cascade of embers were thrown forward, blinding the Kvaldir which formed the front of their advance and forcing it to stumble back into the water below. The others gave way and stepped back before the display and shower of flames. The air became suffused with the pungent scent of blazegrease that emanated from his weapons, an odor perhaps familiar to Vilmah as the tactic originated from the Blademasters themselves.
  5. "I’m no longer the man I used to be. Perhaps one day Shaeya will understand this and know why I left and why she needs to know that my fault is not her own. At the moment I am two sides of a coin, unable to identify to either despite my efforts to do otherwise. When I embrace the wolf I lament that I am no longer a man, when I am a man the beast inside yearns to break free again. For someone who has so much control over her curse I do not believe that Shaeya could ever understand these daily struggles. It has come that I can no longer see myself being comfortable in my own skin again, wishing that this curse had never been brought on me. Stormwind has been calling for additional volunteers to combat the orcs still fighting for footholds in the Highlands and where before I might have remained at home I have now made the decision to sign on. Forgive me Shaeya for not choosing to say goodbye, It would only have been more difficult for us both and you deserve far better than me for a mate. The only certainty I know anymore is fighting." -The journal of Mavis Audrapel It had taken less than an hour for Audrapel to decide he hated flying. It was thje lack of ground that bothered him, the overwhelming stench of fuselage and exhaust making it all worse. “You going to be okay Wolf?” Mavis’ hand went subconsciously to the iron collar around his neck. Before the band had been an indication of his curse, establishing him as the first Worgen allowed to serve in the city guard and singling him out as a beast but with the military it was just easier for identification on the battlefield. The military was practical that way and it became a strange comfort to realize over time that he was just another weapon in the toolbox rather than some cursed monstrosity. He liked his Captain too, all business and little sentiment, though this being a double edged sword it also meant he would get no sympathy that his beast was railing against the discomfort of an airship and the overpowering scent of the fuselage. “Just a little green in the gills Captain. I’ll be fine” There was an audible grunt from his Captain. “You better, this ain’t no walk in the park. All right girls listen up!” The change in tone was a direct signal that it was time to get down to business. “Our priority one mission is to drop down and locate The White Pawn, everything else and everyone else is second down on that list. Captain Taylor’s final message puts the ship’s last known location here!” The Captain’s fist hit ocean squarely between the southern ends of Kalimdor and the Eastern Kingdoms. “Now don’t let those head in the ass cartographers blow any smoke up your ass, our initial scouters located landfall and it’s a hell of a lot more than a piddly ass island you’re seein here so I want you alert and on the lookout for local fauna and vegetation. You get eaten by some drunken god’s walking flower it’s on your head! Second, spotters say we got some fine ass structures looking like a local color so be aware of hostile natives and watch your ass for Horde. We’re dropping you down by parachute so don’t piss it up and pancake! Let’s Move!” His brief foray into the Highlands did little to prepare for the gut-wrenching experience of falling several hundred feet onto solid ground and Audrapel barely remembered to pull his chute out in time before becoming a splatter. The horde had arrived in full force, making it to the new continent at roughly the same time the airship had landed if not sooner and the ground was choked with goblin artillery and orc grunt troops. There was so much green Audrapel caught himself wondering why they even bothered to wear colors at all. He shook off the confusion and dropped down to all fours, bracing against the brief pain of transformation before taking off in full force to his first orc, not even bothering with swords as he brought the full force of his weight down and tore through the throat. He used the corpse to throw at a sawblade before goring two goblins with his claws. Someone had tried to land a bland he tore the arm holding it clean off, beating the orc with it before knocking him down with his other claw. The beast reveled in the violence, this was its territory and now that it had every excuse it unleashed it’s savagery in raw primal fury. He briefly remembered an explosion going off in his face before gutting the enterprising goblin who did it and then Mavis dropped back and let the beast go. “ENOUGH!” The words resounded into his ears and through his skull, the human woke up. He caught a brief glance of a two toned bear walking past him before he became aware of the blood soaking into his fur and the sharp metallic taste of more that had found its way into his mouth. Through blurred vision he saw a ghastly skeletal creature that had started clawing at him and drawing forth the remainder of his awareness he drew his sword for the first time and sunk his sword into the strange ethereal creature. There was blood all around him, bodies of orcs and goblins had been savaged all around him. The beast had been sated.
  6. Prologue "The Fall of Faith" penned by Lailinarel / Joringil / Vaelith ----- Lord Commander Vaelith Steelheart. What number is this now? The third? No, that's not right, not three. Whatever. Sylennis Windstar, head of intelligence for the guild Sword of the Morning, rolled her eyes slightly and sighed to herself. Ever since Jori's accident, the Sword couldn't seem to hold on to a Lord Commander for more than a few months. Now, the latest one had gone missing and she had apparently drawn the short straw... not that she ever drew any other. "I really oughtta resign this intel gig. Nothin' but trouble." The rogue muttered the words under her breath to no one in particular as she flew over the plains of the southern barrens on her way to Northwatch. "What was that?" The rumbling of the drake's voice from beneath her was something of a surprise. She had assumed he was daydreaming again, like he always did during long flights. "I wasn't talkin' to you, Arast, go back to sleep." "In flight?" "You know what I meant." The netherdrake's wings beat heavily a couple of times and he surged forward with a bit more speed. His reply. Syl rubbed her left arm, feeling that old phantom pain that seemed to turn up whenever she was troubled. He shouldn't have been away this long. Fel, research isn't even dangerous work. Well... unless you're Giggy. ...or a goblin. She was disturbed from her thoughts by the faint scent of smoke and her head swiveled toward the source. Fire! A big one too, in the hills to the sourthwest. Looked like... The rogue strained her eyes. ...small farm maybe; or a house. She reached out and thumped Arast on the neck. "You see that?" "You mean you're actually concerned?" The dragon's low rumble could have been a chuckle. "Let's say intrigued." "Right." "Just take us down there, numbnuts." Arast banked hard toward the smoke and picked up speed. Syl shook her head, wondering why she was even bothering. This was, at best, a distraction, and at worst, a quagmire. All her instincts screamed at her to ignore the fire and continue on to meet her contact. She did not call to the netherdrake to cease his advance. I must be gettin' soft.
  7. In this time, Azeroth faces many threats. The Horde and Deathwing ravage our land and people, the military standing up to any threats to the Alliance. We fight for all the citizens of the Alliance, and we will not give up until we know they are safe. We are the Hammer of the Alliance, the Seventy Third. We will stand strong against the Horde as we did before, and stand strong against Deathwing as we stood strong against the Lich King with so many others, and as we stood strong against all the dangers our citizens have faced. Though stationed in Theramore, our forces are deployed around Azeroth to defend our brethren fighting in places like Stonetalon and Ashenvale. We will not give up. We will not give in. The Alliance's enemies will fall beneath it's Hammer, and the soldiers with us will deliver the Hammer. (( The Seventy Third is an RP/Raiding guild, based on the premise of a military unit. We have 150 members currently. Here is the link to our forums: If you wish to join, contact Branngas,Altherion,Edrane,Faelyx,Cyllos,Nelgrim,or Fïksal in game.))
  8. Omy


    Basic Info Full Name: Unknown. She always introduces herself as simply 'Omy' (A spare few would know her real name) Nicknames: Again, Omy. In some very small circles she's known as 'The Silver Blade', though she doesn't advertise this. Age: early adulthood Gender: female Hair: silver, choppy. About shoulder length Eyes: silver, with a tinge of blue Height: little bit shorter than a normal Nightelf Weight: athletic Place of residence: The Tiller Compound outside of Stormwind, the wilds of Feralas Place of Birth: Feathermoon, Feralas Known Relatives: Mother, Lariren Moonfell (deceased); father, Rhebven Moonfell (deceased); brother, Fleuren Moonfell (deceased). Race: Nightelf Philosophy: "A thread will tie an honest man better than a chain a rogue." Things have changed a lot for this rogue in the last year. A lot. While she no longer sits on a single philosophy, she seems to have lost the loner mentality rogues are wont to carry. However, Omy believes in the 'power of stuff'..whether for the simple memories or the reminders, or some actual strength she draws from them, she is never seen without her few precious things. The goggles, now repaired from Sun Rock.... the tattered yellow ribbon around her neck.....and the red scrap of tabard she wears around her arm....each carry significant meaning to her. And each she would risk her life to keep. Occupation: Commander of the Dusk Watch. While Omy never, ever, ever thought of herself as the leadership type, due to various reasons and one, tragic death, Omy found herself at the head of the promising militia when no one else would. Her day to day worries are so utterly different from what she's always concentrated on that the woman finds it hard to wrap her head around them some days....but the people around her and the mission she now believes in seems to push her through. On the subject of battle leadership, this rogue has had little to no experience in leading others...but she seems to be learning quickly. Officially, Omy claimed to be a silent member of the Stormwind Assassins. But in reality she is known in shadowy circles as the Silver Blade, the Ravenholdt agent who betrayed and lead the family of Falconhurst to it's demise. A one time member of SI:7, Omy turned in her insignia about the time that Otton disappeared. Interestingly enough, Omy seems very keen on offering others the right and ability to turn over a new leaf and change...despite past acts of barbarism, injury or betrayal. From death knights, to Scarlets; Omy has given quite a questionable few the opportunity to prove their change of heart. She suffers no violence among her ranks though, and promises to remove internal dangers to her Watchmates herself if needed. Group/Guild affiliation: Old: Tyrnea Maldeth. Now: The Dusk Watch Guild Rank: Commander (Guild Leader) Enemies: Horde (but she especially dislikes hunters and orcs), members of the Syndicate, any incarnation of the Defias. Naga. Likes: A perfectly executed sneak attack, the middle seasons. Cats. Goggles. Favorite Foods: any kind of cheese Favorite Drinks: whatever's harsh drink is in her flask now-a-days, Mudder's Milk Favorite Colors: yellow Weapons of Choice: two daggers. Functional...with a bit of tinkering flair. Dislikes: Clams. Hobbies: darts, card games and other games of chance. cooking. Tinkering. Special Abilities: Omy has a very keen memory as long as she takes the time to properly cement such things, usually with a moment of undisturbed focus. Class: Rogue Personality: Not one to talk a lot about herself, Omy is much more interested in everyone else's lives and stories. Outwardly amenable and friendly, most people Omy meets are treated well but very few ever seem to crack through. For those few, Omy strives to be a true friend, a reliable and resilient ally, and for those she truly respects Omy would lay life and limb on the line to help. Not usually what you would expect from a rogue or a night elf, Omy's time living in Stormwind has really changed her speech and her manner in ways the short period of time does little to explain. Her Common is very relaxed, very fast and sounds very natural, while her native tongue by nature retains more of the care and crafted sound one would reserve for art...or tinkering. Her gnomish, on the other hand, could use some work. Daigil, her second in command, has been helping her perfect it. Appearance: Standing a bit shorter than most of her kin, this silver haired night elf wears a tattered yellow ribbon about her neck. She looks to be in her late twenties in human years and is still very young by elven standards. A pair of goggles sits perched on top of her head when not over her eyes, and around her waist hangs a belt of many pockets and bags of various sizes and materials. There's a strip of red cloth tied around her left arm, just above the crook of her elbow... What can only be described as chip is missing out of the tip of her right ear, and her hands -when not covered by gloves- are covered with the thick remains of old fire scars. Her left arm sports a deep, frost blue scar, right below the crook of her elbow. It slashes across and up, a wound caused by a large, very keen two handed blade, if one knew what to look for. The mark of a blade wielded by a seasoned Death Knight. Lately, dark circles have taken up residence under her eyes... History: Born Talindel Moonfell, little Talin began her life in the shadow of her older brother. A talented druid, Fleuren was kind to his little sister, deflecting most of their parent's pointed expectations. Still, when Talin was old enough she showed talent in the druidic arts, probably from her brother's unintentional tutelage, and followed after him anyway. While Fleuren excelled in balance and the more magical aspects of druidism, Talin found her niche in the feral arts. Shape changing and battle suited her nature better, she discovered. When the ancient druids were awoken to fight during the Third War, Talin and her brother joined them, though the young Talin had to convince and placate her way into the ranks. During her first encounter with the humans, Talin attempted to sneak up behind one of their soldiers, only to find a rogue's blade at her throat. Startled by the humbling and embarrassing situation, Talin kept a healthy respect for the human rogues all throughout the War. The specific rogue, an older man by the name of Ian Mathews, found her interest endearing and enthralled the young elf with many elaborate stories and tales of a mysterious group he claimed to belonged to, as well as practical dissertations on the 'Art of Roguery'. Sadly, Ian and Fleuren fell when Archimonde attacked the summit, her brother protecting his little sister from the brunt of the demonic army. Having little time for despair, Talin was forced to hold herself upright and continue on fighting. It was only after everything, after the destruction of the World Tree, that Talin was able to realize what she had lost. She retrieved her brother's body and followed him home to pay her final respects, but with Cenarius dead, her immortality gone, and the world suddenly a much bigger place, she no longer had the balance required to continue her druidic training. So strong was her hate and her desire for revenge that she abandoned her path and took it upon herself to advance her skills in the shadows of the world. However, while her fellow Nightelves didn't outwardly look down upon those with roguish skill, she found that her fellow rogues were not quite as numerable or even knowledgeable as she would hope...disheartened Talin remembered Ian's words and left for human territories with high hopes... It was here that Omy fell in with a human family in Stormwind by the name of Falconhurst, a rogue family who's own tale is missing from human history. Removed, by the other family they opposed; Ravenholdt. All that is known is found out from word of mouth and heavily bribed shadows, and even then you can't be certain about it's reliability. But what remains clear across every retelling is that Alec and his Falcons were betrayed by one of their own and hunted down by Ravenholdt after a long and mostly hidden feud. If you asked a high ranking agent of Ravenholdt, they would tell you that Falconhurst was the real mastermind behind the King's kidnapping, and that it was as a favor to the crown and SI:7 that their agents brought the family down. Omy herself speaks little of this family and her time among them...or about her rumored role in their downfall...but the goggles upon her head have never left her sight since this day. She vanished for a time, until spotted on the streets of Stormwind with a tattered yellow ribbon around her neck and a shadow in her face that hadn't been there before. Seeking work, she was recruited into Tyrnea Maldeth and spent many months honing her skills among the family she found there until their ranks thinned and Omy sought a different home. This time, she made one. Recent 'History': Along with Otton Tiller, Daigil Spysprocket, and Kasparov Taar'un, Omy founded a citizen's militia to defend the streets and homes that were constantly under attack by Horde. Disgusted by the blind eye many, better seasoned, heroes turned to their fellow Alliance Omy didn't know a thing about militias, but she knew something had to be done. The Dusk Watch wasn't sure what it was for the first few months, but it knew what it wasn't. Holding the rank of Spymaster, Omy gathered information and solidified new friendships..but the numbers of the Watch remained small. Not even a month into it's creation, Otton vanished into the frozen wastes of Northrend, and their leader, Kasparov, was killed. Forced into either leading or giving up Omy took on Kasparov's uncomfortable role as Commander and began to build the Watch into what it is today. Omy doesn't brag about what successes the Watch has had, knowing that they still have very far to go. However, she is confident (though oft surprised) of their swelling numbers and talented recruits and very steadfast in the necessity of their job.
  9. [ATTACH]380[/ATTACH] Azeroth sees many threats in this time. The treaty broken, the Shattering of our world, the onslaught of demons at the Dark Portal. The Seventy Third Company of the Seventh Legion of the Grand Alliance Military stands amidst these threats, and fights for our citizens. Throughout all the attacks against the Alliance, we will be there, fighting to keep our towns and cities safe.We are stationed in Theramore Isle, though our forces are deployed all over Azeroth, and beyond, into the broken remnants of Draenor. Now, more than ever, recruits are needed to help our Worgen allies in their homeland, our Kaldorei friends in Ashenvale and the Stonetalon Mountains, and many other places. We have lost many in the Shattering, and in battles. But the Hammer of the Alliance shall stand strong. We will not fall. And we will defend against invading forces until we or the enemy are wiped out. (( The Seventy Third is an RP/Raiding guild, based on the premise of a military company. We have near 150 members currently. If you wish to join, contact Branngas,Altherion,Edrane,Faelyx,Cyllos,or Fïksal in game.))
  10. *The more than wrinkled piece of parchment contained precise, detailed drawings of what could only be described as a pair of stilts powered by steam. Needless complicated scratchings of wiring configurations, pump design and what style of shoe should be upon the foot of the stilt littered the page. Along the edges of the parchment, written in Gnomish, were random notes, each one shining ever so slightly with the arcane filled ink that was used. Some thoughts were, obviously, incomplete.* Shopping List Bucket of Bolts Box of Screws Dinglehopper Hyrdophlange Toast Butter Cologne to attract the Draenei ladies A comb Handcuffs Leather chaps A top hat *** I saw the most beautiful lady Draenei earlier today! Sometimes, I just want to grab onto one of those tails and *** Redirecting the ley-lines of the deeply hidden pathways beneath Gnomeregan has been difficult. The matrices of the spells and their complexity seem to be ever changing, never stable, shifting just as I find a suitable point within them. Continuing tests from the Old Home daily, hoping to recall some of the lost arts or possibly even finding a way to get the stink of the TROGGS out of my clothes! *** I remember it like it was yesterday. There I was, standing outside the shop, the wonderful artificle lights shining down upon the most beautiful gnome I had ever seen. You should have seen her legs. They were so.. But then the TROGGS errupted from somewhere below! The TROGGS ruined my chance with her! I never caught her name. But That's okay. The TROGGS got her. Only 50 Silver lost on the booze. *** Explosions! Screaming! Death! Hairy things. TROGGS *** I wonder what I should make for dinner tonight. *** Investigate this Import company that goes by the name of Fordragon. I hear they fight TROGGS alot. Especially the big green ones and the ones with the demon eyes and the outrageously long ears. Kinda like the purple ones. But mean. *** Oh no! I am late for-- Why am I writing this?!
  11. I thought I would nay be able to start writing again. There is still a heap of sorrow and anger filling me, but I missed the chance to pour out my thoughts for myself. My old journal is nearly in tatters, partly from months of use and partly from the angry writings on its final pages. I didn't mean to pick up this new book, but it called to me. Just wandering the Exodar's shopkeepers this dazzlingly blue cover caught my eye. The silver tracery along the edge gives it a magical look and the pages are pristine white. I'm glad I found it, like a new, old friend. Now, I sit here trying to pull my scattered thoughts together but my pen refuses to write. Sifar, what have ye gotten yourself into? *a few wet drops are evident in the ink* I still cannot believe what has transpired...refuse to believe that I was so thoroughly duped. Yet, I also refuse to believe that my feelings were un-true. I may have loved something that was false, but I loved. Will I ever see him again? Will I be able to without bashing his skull in? Will Light ever forgive me? Someone asked me for help this evening. I simply de-activated my stone. I don't want to face anyone yet.
  12. Rather than derail the horde RP channel thread, I thought I'd move discussion of this here. A couple of years back, we had a global RP channel alliance side. Rather than it being set in a location as is the common practice, we had it set up as what was commonly referred to as "gnomish talk-boxes" Basically a micronized version of the technology you see in some of the early darkshore quests. It worked better for the people who don't like the idea of channel RP, since they don't have to reconcile being in two places at once. We have a lot of RP guilds alliance side, but most of them rarely talk to each other, and it gives our side of the RP community a feeling of being small or dying because there's not a lot of large-scale RP aside from the regularl tavern events. I'd like to think this might promote more cross-guild RP and revitalize our cohesiveness a bit. Would starting this up again be of interest to anyone?