Ravenholdt RP Sanctum

Reclaiming the Child of Thunder

Sat, 19 May 2012 19:43:18 GMT

by Thunderchild (Posted Sat, 19 May 2012 19:43:18 GMT)
Qa'chena Thunderchild had been born two decades ago. His birth had not been heralded by the elemental blessing his father, Chief Catahe, required of his first born. And so Qa'chena had been handed off to the sages and ordered them to leave him in the forest, so that his soul and meat might return to the world and find their way back to the tribe under better circumstances. One of the sages, though, had taken that moment to leave the tribe, taking the infant to Thunderchild and raising him among the Bloodhoof tribe. Upon reaching adulthood, Qa'chena had gone to the Thunderchild tribe and demanded that Catahe pass down the title of chief to his firstborn, to Qa'chena Child of Thunder, so that he might lead the tribe back to honor and balance.

But now, that tribe was in ruins, and all its history and ancestry, all its honor; it had all been twisted to darkness in death by a single misguided generation, by a single chief of the birth of the dark child, the Rumored One.

Qa'chena opened his eyes to darkness and the dirty scent of the underground. There was a blue luminescence playing off the walls in front of his eyes. He saw his own shadow, as well as the shadow of another, but the steely echo of the vision he'd been presented by the spirit Kranu kept him still and clam for a time, though the fire of fury still burned silently in his blood. Qa'chena thought that his tribe had spawned two wayward children, both of whom might have carried its destiny in their infantile spirits. Qa'chena, unblessed by the ancestral spirits but raised to value honor and balance and determined to save his tribe and bring them under the protective wing of the Bloodhoof. And also the Rumored One, who had disappeared behind the mystery of her parents' terrible deaths, and wandered to world with some unfathomable darkness growing in her soul. Qa'chena had returned to the tribe first, to try and save them, but the tribe had turned him away. The Rumored One had come in the wake of his failure and offered them depths of evil that fascinated them.

Perhaps if he had tried harder, fought more fiercely, he could have saved his tribe before the Rumored One had returned. Before this entity, so opposite him, had come with her own designs. But it was too late for that. Too late to save his people. Too late to stop their destruction.

The voice of the Rumored One rolled out of her maw, echoing off the cave walls around him, "How is your mind today, Child of Thunder? Do you now see the end, the truth of the Shakh'Oshu?"

His heart thrummed with a cold fury, and at once the spirit Kranu was filling his senses with the remembered taste of Tauren blood, with its fantasies of tasting the blood of the Rumored One. Qa'chena answered slowly, "I believe that I do. It is too late for me to save my tribe. They are dead. Even in the survivors, that name of Thunderchild has died. Yes, I see the end."

His tribe was dead. But perhaps tribes, like generations of Shu'Halo, begot progeny.

"I see," he repeated, and the last word was spoken so calmly that it might have been a soothing whisper, "the end," but in the slick, metallic anger that sat heavy in his body, on that syllable Qa'chena rolled and found his numb limbs oddly powerful. He was smaller that the Rumored One, lighter, but with his hooves beneath him and his hands on her horns before he even released he was reaching for them, he wrenched her head fiercely against her neck and pushed hard off the ground, barely feeling the disorientation of movement.

There was briefly a shrill and high-pitched sound before the blue glow flared beneath him, beneath her in his hands, and there was warmth and wetness and a muffled silence. They fell into a pool in that cave that Qa'chena hadn't even realized was there, but the voice of Kranu screaming for blood in his mind let him know where he was. He felt the Rumored One moving beneath him as the both submerged for a moment, and he pushed her down and himself up. As his head broke free of the blue-glowing pool, the high-pitched sound returned and resolved into the shrill cries of birds, settled into the cracks in the walls, covered in leather ties and feathered fetishes. The sages of the Thunderchild tribe, in the form of birds, hid deep in the stone walls and screeched at the sight of Qa'chena's attack. But they did not interfere.

He began to orient himself. These were the caves his tribe had retreated to under the influence of the Rumored One's darkness. This is to where he had pursued them, where he had gone to confront Catahe one more time, after one of the sages had let him know of the Rumored One's return. This is where she had attacked him, where she'd left him with a knife in his chest in the corner. The same sage that had warned him of the Rumored One's coming had found him and healed him. One among the sages was helping him again, just like one among the Sages had saved him and raised him as an infant. One was enough. One among them was keeping him alive, keeping him fighting, even as precarious as it seemed.

In the blue-glowing pool in the cave of darkness, the Rumored One moved below him, and Kranu in his mind was desperate for him to cut her open.

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Snippets (Closed)

Sat, 19 May 2012 19:06:45 GMT

by Yaasnyaeval (Posted Sat, 19 May 2012 19:06:45 GMT)
((Short plots or stand-alone posts from the two or three years Yaasnyaeval and Tanrinin have spent in hiding in Stormwind.))

The early mornings, especially on the rare occasions that she awoke before Tanri, were marked with an odd kind of chill and the sting of a salty breeze. That was probably because, just outside of the little room they slept in, the whole of the old barracks Deathwing had destroyed were open to the sea, and the cold breeze that was constantly blowing off of it. It suited the pair, but then, it led to mornings like this, when the cold wind found her scars and the forever-unhealed wound at the stub of her broken horn and chilled her to consciousness. It was a slow awakening, like becoming unfrozen, the only parts of her that were warm being those in contact with her companion. She'd cuddle a bit closer to Tanri, pull their thin, tattered blankets a bit closer about her.

But eventually, reluctantly and with a sharp edge of bitterness, she'd curse the wind and untangle herself from her friend's limbs, sitting up in the pile of rags they called their bed -- really more of a nest -- and judging the severity of the aches in her body. And with that judgement she could usually guess how the rest of her day was going to be. Three years ago and Orc had broken her hips. Two years ago, her hips had been broken again by a human cagefighter who didn't mind cheating. And so the question every morning started with was: would Yaas be able to walk today, and if so, how painful was it going to be?

By the time she pushed the covers off her legs, hissing at the wind, and tucked them tight around Tanri's slowly-breathing body, she was ready to try standing. She took her time, waiting for any unexpected pangs and listening for any pops, and after a few attempts was able to stand fully without enduring too much pain. She was tall even for her own people, a full head higher than the average Draenei woman and lanky to boot, and she swayed like a bony pillar in the cool breeze of morning, goosebumps rising all across her exposed skin. The scars on her face, neck, and right shoulder, felt like thick lines of ice on her skin. A chill rushed down the cracks in her shattered right horn, and made her skull feel heavy, like a toothache in her forehead and cheekbones. She flexed her crippled right hand, its fingers cramped and stubborn in the cool air.

Decent day.

Yaas cast a glance back at Tanrinin's sleeping form. The toehr Draenei had bad genes; she was short, her skin ivory white, her horns curving downward. Smart, but a nerd. Easily bullied, and Yaas had done her fair share of that bullying since they'd been together, despite the fact that Tanrinin was easily a thousand years her senior, or so she expected. It was rude to ask about ages, and Yaas had onyl known Tanri for the past hundred years, or thereabouts. It had been another life for both of them, back on Draenor. Unlike Yaas, Tanri at least looked like the same person that had lived a world away, but both of them had changed. A good example of that change was how Yaas, once a Paladin and trustworthy as could be, now had the instinct to partake of mischief when she awoke before Tanrinin on days like this.

Her mind went over a few possibilities, from everything as innocent as drinking rum with her breakfast to things as malicious as going into the sitting and finding some helpless person to beat and rob. Not that either of those activities were things she couldn't do if Tanri were around, but they did seem to make the other Draenei moody. There was something liberating about being able to be herself, her new self, without witnesses. Yaas decided, however, on neither of these things.

She went to Tanrinin's belongs and rummaged quietly though, trying to avoid the clanging of the engineering tools and the jumbling of things. Some of Tanri's clothes were folded and clean; the ones she never wore. Some of them were wrinkled and mussed and spotted with oil; the ones she was more readily given to. It was in the clothes that were neatly folded that Yaas found the dress she'd bought for Tanrinin months prior. It had been in an attempt to teach the smaller Draenei how to pretty herself up for other people, maybe garner a stranger with whom to share some intimacy. Of course, beside the fact that Tanri was still every bit the prude she'd ever been, she also wasn't the type to think she looked any better in a dress than she did in overalls. So, the dress had never been worn after that first night,a dn never to any great effect.

Yaas took the dress in hand, put everything else back in order, and spirited out of the room with the silky garment. Outside their little bedroom, everything was cooler. The large room was useable, but the ceiling had gaping holes and two of its walls were completely missing, which had the drawback of letting the cold in but gave a great view of Stormwind city. It was still reasonably private, if only because it was so far removed from the city and nothing every really happened this far out. Yaas, the tall, blue, scar-faced woman, stood mostly naked with a dress tucked under her arm, letting the cool wind hit her as she looked out over the city for some moments.

Then, checking to make sure Tanrinin was still asleep, she walked -- hobbled, more, out of concern for her hips -- across the cluttered rubble of their home to the far wall. There was a cracked mirror there, which Yaas briefly polished with a nearby canvas rag, before she attempted to put on the dress. It took a few minutes longer than it should have and the entire attempt was mostly a failure, which was greatly disappointing to Yaasnyaeval. It made sense; Tanrinin was so much smaller than she was and Yaas had bought the dress to be a size small on the other woman anyway, so that it would be tighter on her. On Yaas, the dress was just... completely unworkable. She got her arms in the sleeves, but the chest of the dress was up near her collarbones and the hip of it was at her ribs. Where, on Tanrinin, it hung past the knees, on Yaas it barely reached past her hips, and the Draenei's tail held the rear of the dress up so that it did nothing to cover her.

Yaasnyaeval let her shoulders droope and sighed, making a face at herself in the mirror. Besides, the fact that the dress didn't fit her, she was still more marked by her scars and broken horn, hand and legs than anything else. She concluded that, even if the luxurious silk did fit her, she would still be ugly. Maybe if she turned the left? She tried that, glancing sideways at herself. Since most of her scars were on the left side, and her left hand was intact, she found she looked a bit better. There was still the shadow of the hideous horn and a line of scar across her crooked nose, but she tried to ignore that. She pulled the front of the dress down and pushed her breasts up so that she fit a bit better in the dress, and decided that it wasn't so bad. But then, only if she ignored half her body and pretended the dress fit, so she sighed again. She turned away from the mirror and looked over her shoulder at where the low back of the dress showed off her muscles and the short rear, along with the lift of her tail, she off her ass and legs. At least she had a nice body, on days when her hips could support her weight. If she did so say herself.

It was around this time that she noticed Tanrinin awake and peeking out their bedroom door at her. Yaas quickly dropped her posture and crossed her arms in front of her, blushing in embarrassment for about half a second before flushing with anger and sending a glare towards the smaller woman. Tanri, eyes flashing recognition for just a second, vanished.

Yaas bellowed thoughtlessly, "Hey!"

"I didn't see anything!"

"Wh-!" Yaas balled her hands into fists, chest tight with mortification. For just a moment twitched about in indecision and mortification, glancing back at the mirror to reaffirm the comical image she present; lanky, hideous thing in a too-small dress that didn't fit right. What the hell was she doing? She tore her arms free of the sleeves and pushed the dress off her hips so quickly that she heard a few of the seams pop and felt some pain in her hips. Balling the dress up in her crippled right hand, she shouted again, "Don't hide from me, girl!"

"I said I didn't see anything!"

Storming towards their room, "That won't save you!"

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A purple sheet of paper. (Open to all relevent RPers)

Sat, 19 May 2012 18:53:28 GMT

by Darrethy (Posted Sat, 19 May 2012 18:53:28 GMT)
A purple sheet of paper with a wax seal depicting the outline of a flame has been spread around the seedier parts of Azeroth and hidden on the side of pillars or under other sheets on notice boards.

A notice to all warlock members of the New Horde, Neutral's, and Pacifist Alliance organizations.

A warlock council is being formed in the twilight highlands as a sub-sect of the various horde warlock guilds, with the destruction of deathwing and vanquishing of Ragnaros a new font of energy has started to appear all across the world along with strange new wildlife, it is the firm belief of certain master warlocks that this could be harnessed as a viable source of energy and power.

The goal of this organization is to ensure this energy is safely utilized and molded without falling to corruption and mindlessness, while primarily a horde organization Alliance members who do not care much for global politics or are non-violent can attend for input and to be briefed on the current state of affairs.

Meetings will begin next week, friday at 8:00 PM in the Twilight Highlands, if alliance members are present it will be moved to Dalaran, interested members will find where to send their responses on the back of this letter.

(Alliance members interested should also see about adding me to real ID.)

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Where Evil Lies: The Barrens (OPEN)

Sat, 19 May 2012 18:31:47 GMT

by Antimony (Posted Sat, 19 May 2012 18:31:47 GMT)
"Yes," Antimony responded shortly, taking the money with one grey hand and surveying the various traders who had set up shop in this dreary place. "Though first, I would like to compare the readings I picked up in.. the keep with those we took earlier." She frowned then, rubbing her chin in thought. "And collect Aztal's observations," she added, moving towards a tauren who sat amidst a spread of woven blankets and rugs. She didn't bother to explain further, switching to Orcish as she approached the merchant.

"Good day, miss," she greeted the tauren, who had been toying with her long braids, clearly bored, and began glancing through her stock. "I'm afraid my friends and I got into a spot of trouble while traveling and lost our bedding. Do you have anything suitable for a replacement? Nothing too fancy, please."

The tauren woman glanced at Rasver with brief curiosity before humming lightly to herself and palming through a pile of blankets. After a moment she straightened, holding out a length of fabric in earthen tones. "Isn't the most comfortable, but it's tough and will keep you dry on the ground."

"Comfort is an unnecessary luxury." Antimony took the blanket from the tauren, inspecting it as she spoke. She felt briefly guilty for dragging Dhein along into this mess but imagined he wouldn't complain... too much. She fingered through a few coins. "Do you have three?" When the merchant nodded and produced two more soon after, Antimony continued, "Alright, how much?"

"Ten silver a--"

"Help! Someone please, help my boy!" The desperate, guttural cry cut off the merchant woman who looked about, eyes wide as if expecting some sort of attack - likely not an uncommon occurrence in such dangerous land.

Antimony frowned and firmly placed the money atop a pile of rugs, the silver coins shining in the midday sun. Slinging the blankets over one arm, she turned, brow furrowed, in search of the voice.

"The centaurs - we were ambushed!" An orc had entered the town from the southern end, his steps swerving and green skin smeared with blood; he looked oddly familiar, but Antimony couldn't immediately place why.

No time for distractions, she reminded herself firmly and forced herself to ignore the orc, though she couldn't shake the nagging feeling she had seen him before. The guards will help him quickly enough. She spared a glance to the orc again and then across the town, squinting in the harsh Barrens light as she made out Dhein in front of a smoked meat stall rambling about who-knew-what.

"Water skins next," she said aloud, more to herself than for Rasver's benefit (not that the human woman would have understood the words). As she made her way to the inn at the center of the town, her thoughts suddenly landed upon a memory, several weeks old but one that still left a poor taste in her mouth, and she paused midstep, turning slowly to peer towards the orc again who still called for aid. "Oh," she muttered. "It's you."

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Loyalties ((Ongoing Story - PG))

Sat, 19 May 2012 18:28:23 GMT

by Diggsby (Posted Sat, 19 May 2012 18:28:23 GMT)

Astraea wrote:
((Due to some shenanigans with my bank, I won't be able to get back in-game for a bit. This had the fortunate affect of forcing me to pick up the pace on this story between frequent sessions of exterminating the minions of hell with plagues of locusts and exploding toads.))

(( Ahh, this would explain why you've not been around to go RP in the Plaguelands. Yaay for more stories. Boo for no game time. =\

Also, story is excellent!))

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Letters - Alfirin & Darrethy (Closed)

Sat, 19 May 2012 17:01:57 GMT

by Darrethy (Posted Sat, 19 May 2012 17:01:57 GMT)
Dear Alfirin

As of late i'v noticed some interesting activity in the twilight highlands, despite deathwings demise the ground remains consumed by twilight energy and continually pulsates with a life of its own. To that end i'v assembled a local coven of warlocks, a pair of rogues, and a few shadow priests to try and decipher the mystery's of the place and i must admit...despite the fact i'm sure you'd disagree...that the Twilight Citadel looks beautiful to me.

Something that may be useful to your companions: the source of the twilight corruption seems to stem from the elementium spikes in the area, while i have yet to find a way to reverse the damage caused i do know that removing the spikes at least slows the progression of the corruption. Be careful not to hit the spikes with holy energy, as it will actually bounce off and hit you back which by all indications is more then a little painful.

Hope to see you again soon.
Love, Darrethy.

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"Leppender! That Bitch!" (Open RP)

Sat, 19 May 2012 13:36:15 GMT

by Ripgut (Posted Sat, 19 May 2012 13:36:15 GMT)
((This section of the Leppender storyline is in its own thread titled
"A Gruesome Message..."))

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A Gruesome Message. (Closed RP)

Sat, 19 May 2012 13:19:11 GMT

by Ripgut (Posted Sat, 19 May 2012 13:19:11 GMT)
((This is an Ongoing RP from the: Leppender! That Bitch! Storyline. However this is such a stand alone side story, it needed its own thread.))

The Warlord and his Death Knight friend Merana, were seated high above the Northern Barrens on the back of Ripgut's Black Dragon. A muffled voice came forth from a Demonic Rune inside the Warlord's saddlebags. "Warlord!! Come In! .....Warlord are you there!?" Reaching back and grabbing the Rune from his pouch he replied. "Go ahead Bolocks."

"I returned to Brill like you commanded, and ran into a rather unusual ally. As I met the undead soldier and gave him the word that you we're dispatching to the Frozen Sea in search of Leppender, another undead approached me. For a minimal fee of one thousand gold, a mute undead Death Knight sat with me in the tavern and wrote a letter. He wrote of being an outcast of The Order of the Forsaken, and personally over hearing the one who sent us the lies of Leppender's drowning. He informs us that he does not serve the Banshee Queen Sylvanas, and does not follow the Forsaken. He longs to re-join the Dark Horde and claims he was once a part of the mountain, before the Forsaken followed Thrall and were cast out of the Dark Horde. Time is short Warlord! He says tonight that this Jenasis will be investigating the Far Watch Post on the border of the Northern Barrens and Durotar, and that she too seeks to destroy OUR Bloodfury Orc!"

Ripgut tightened his grip on the drake to the point of blood withdrawing his clenched fists. Once green scarred knuckles turned ashy, "Send for the troops now! We must prepare for an ambush in case she does not travel alone! I will return to Orgrimmar quickly to dawn my father's Armor and family Doomhammer for this special event. I will send a gruesome message to the Order of the Forsaken tonight!"

The high sun passed over the Northern Barrens and traveled to Durotar, slowly setting down in the ocean behind the Sen'jin Isles. The Warlord landed his Black Dragon in Durotar near the flooded Southfury River and dismounted. "Merana from here we walk quietly and quickly, now is not the time to be a bumbling lout." On his belly the Warlord army crawled to the peak of the bridge to see if Jenasis had arrived yet. It was clear, but he knew ambushes too well; so patiently he sat and without a single un-natural movement he deemed it safe. Hopping to his feet the Warlord brushed the dust off his proud Black with gold trim plate armor. Everyday he thanks the demonlords for the archeology that landed him his hidden treasure from Nagrand, and thanks the Bastard he hates soo much Thrall for hiding Orgrim's armor and hammer in favor of his shamanistic robes. He and Merana aproach the post and Ripgut lifts the demonic rune to his mouth, "Zariok my son, leave your training at once and come to me at Far Watch Post, Bolocks you come at once!"

As his son and attorney arrive the Warlord points to a tower high above. "I want you to hide in that tower and summon the clan. Everyone we can reach right now, my bastard daughter Telkarra, Baelork, and the two newest trolls, Cheyanni and Gloraparn. Summon them high above and await my command. I will stand alone and await for this undead named Jenasis to approach. When I shout, you were a fool to think I travel alone, you all drop out of the tower and surround her, do not harm her though I simply want to cut off her escape path, if anyone touches her I will collect two heads this eve!"

The Acolyte of Gul'dann's and attorney of Ripgut's leads Zariok up the tower and hides out of sight summoning the rest of the Black Army. From below Ripgut stood one hand grasped firmly on the Doomhammer, his other hand firmly grasping his Blackrock Ale. Thought's of his old friend and close companion Leppender racing through his mind, his heartbeat was rapid and blood swelled in his lap thinking about her head on a pike out front of Stonewatch Keep. Chugging his Ale down and wiping his mouth with his forearm he head the approach of bony hooves on the dusty barrens roads.

Jenasis approached on the back of her undead steed, she rode right past the Warlord not knowing who was by sight, only knowing of him by name. As she dismounted and looked around the Warlord shouted, "YOU!"

"You talkin to me you ugly ass orc?" She snapped out with a dagger sharp tongue.

Ripgut was not a vain orc but he did take pride in being a bit of a ladies man of an orc, for one reason or another he did not get turned down and this infuriated him. "You must not recognize my good looks."

"The only good lookin' orc is a dead one." She snapped back coldly still clueless.

"I have been waiting for you Jenasis." Ripgut spoke out of the corner of a toothy smirk.

She gasped in disbeleif, "How do you speak my name!?"

"You have been betrayed sister, by your own order. Your Forsaken fail you, and tonight it will cost you your life!"

"You underestimate me Warlord. You think you alone can fend my lightning quick moves?"

'YOU WERE A FOOL TO THINK I TRAVEL ALONE!!!"

In a fraction of a second, the six soldiers dropped down out of the tower and surrounded Jenasis cutting off all paths of escape. "So it takes you an army to kill me?"

"No. it takes my army to keep you in front of me to fight like a warrior! No magically spells and fancy dissapearin'"

Before a stadegy could form in her mind, the Warlord charged in and knocked her to the ground he swung his mighty hammer around at her, she avoided a few blows and dealt a few of her own. She sent magical spells down though the close combat put her at a great disadvantage. Pinned in a corner she lashed with everything she had fearing for one of the first times in her unlife. Then it happened a crushing blow to one of her brittle legs sent her crashing down to her back, she felt defeat.

"Nuk lul." He did not deserve her orcish speech, but spoke in her forsaken tongue cursing the black hearted bastard. How did she become so foolish to hunt down this Leppender and not pay attention to be hunted herself.

Ripgut circled around to her head and kneeled down. He smiled at the fallen Jenasis who laid motionless before him. Looking up at him he swore he saw a tear roll down her eye. Without emotion he slowly drew a dagger from his boot and stabbed her in the throat. He tugged the dagger back and forth cutting through the rotten flesh of the cadaver. The skin was tough as leather and cords like steel inside her, finally after sawing for minutes he reached her spine. Between two vertebrae he surgically cut to sever her head clean from her body. Ripgut lifted Jenasis' head high above him and roared with victory, "FOR THE DARK HORDE!!!"

"KAK NUK RULL!" The head of Jenasis was still not dead she cursed him and blinked looking down into his eyes.

This utterly frightened the Warlord. Placing her head at his feet he swiftly rose the Doomhammer over his head and sent a final blow giving Jenasis of the Order of the Forsaken the true death. His mighty hammer smashed down into the top of her skull squashing it like a pumpkin. Brain squirted out of her eyes, ears, nostrils, and mouth and covered the feet of his nearby soldiers. One by one Ripgut pulled her teeth out to make himself a necklace since her head was no longer a trophy.

"Bolocks. Return with her headless body to Brill. Make sure her tabard is visible and let all know that Ripgut Doomhammer is responsible. From this day forth the Dark Horde will take on the undead who are not loyal to the forsaken. Let everyone know that Rigut the Bastard is a monster!"

As he wiped the brain chunks from his plate boots he addressed his soldiers, "Tonight you have all earned one hundred gold a piece. Let us travel to Booty Bay to drink!" Looking at the two trolls Cheyanni and Gloraparn, he swatted Cheyanni on the butt, and smiled, "I may have more bastards by the morning."

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Fading Light

Sat, 19 May 2012 12:26:28 GMT

by Astraea (Posted Sat, 19 May 2012 12:26:28 GMT)
((I know I'm a little late to this party, but I just want to say I'm a huge fan of pretty much most things Gnome and Gnome-related. I enjoyed your story and really hope we get to see more of Bru in the future!))

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The Stupid Girl and the Old Man [Xelai's Story]

Sat, 19 May 2012 12:19:54 GMT

by Astraea (Posted Sat, 19 May 2012 12:19:54 GMT)
((I've read quite a few of the stories in this thread. Have I ever mentioned that I really enjoy them? Because I do. Thanks for writing them and revealing as much as you do about your character. I love that you trust us to keep OOC and IC knowledge separate -- and that most people seem to do so!))

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Naunet's Stash of Stuff

Thu, 17 May 2012 17:22:03 GMT

by Lukar Darksun (Posted Thu, 17 May 2012 17:22:03 GMT)
Check your messagessssss

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The Tides of Darkness (RpPvP)

Thu, 17 May 2012 12:14:48 GMT

by Ripgut (Posted Thu, 17 May 2012 12:14:48 GMT)
The more your butt gets kicked the stronger your butt gets!
Keep up the good fight girl!

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Steelspine's final homecoming

Wed, 16 May 2012 13:44:07 GMT

by Leppender (Posted Wed, 16 May 2012 13:44:07 GMT)
The Draenei hunting party traveled silently through Shadowmoon Valley, stalking and killing any stray demons they could find. They had been city guards on Argus, and even after they fled to Draenor they remained together as a hunting and gathering party. They had been a unit during the war with the Orcs, and had even refused to board the Exodar just so they could continue hunting demons together. For years beyond reckoning they had dedicated their lives to protecting their people, and now that the war against the Burning Legion was over they remained in Outland to finish off the last remnants of their ancient enemy.

A paladin, two priests, three shamans, two warriors, a druid, a rogue, and two hunters accompanied by their sabres marched in single file, observing their surroundings carefully. The hunter scouting ahead suddenly stopped and crouched to examine something on the ground. The others paused, watching her carefully as she bent low and sniffed the dirt. “Fel hound spoor,” she muttered.

The paladin moved next to her and bent to examine the scat, then shook his head, “There’s a footprint here as well. It looks like a warlock out with their demon.”

The hunter hawked and spat, “Not just any warlock, do you see the impression of the heel, the shape of the foot? It’s an Orc, I’d say a female by the size and depth of the imprint.”

The others began to mutter and shift their weapons to a tighter grip. “An Orc warlock? That can mean nothing but trouble,” one of the shamans said.

“You’re right brother,” the other hunter said as he bent to examine the trail for himself. “She’s heading toward the Hand of Gul’dan. What twisted task do you think she plans to accomplish there?”

“Whatever it is, I guarantee you it’s something evil,” one of the priests growled.

The paladin rose slowly, sweeping his massive hammer from side to side aggressively. “The Hand of Gul’dan isn’t far. If we hurry we can kill her before she accomplishes her goal.”

“FOR THE LIGHT!” they cried in unison, lifting their weapons to the sky.
*****
Leppender uttered a spell under her breath, and the flask in her hand began to glow. Carefully she dipped it into the pool of green lava at her feet, and sealed it. “That should hold for a few days, and keep it in its current state. I just hope Chander can do something with it,” she said to herself.

“Chander, Chander. Go back and play now? Huh? Play, play, play?” Haajhom growled in his demonic language.

Leppender couldn’t resist smiling at the fel hound’s enthusiasm. Most warlocks prided themselves on overpowering the fiercest of demons, but she actually liked the retarded canine. He was easier to control and seemed to prefer playing with her children over causing mayhem and destruction. He was still a dangerous and powerful ally, but unlike her voidwalker Thantast or any other demon, he didn’t desire to kill her. “Not yet Haajhom. I still need a few soil samples, and it wouldn’t hurt to gather one or two more of these.”

The demon’s tentacles drooped in disappointment, but soon he began sniffing around the area happily, his natural curiosity overcoming his desire to return home and play. Shaking her head with amusement she pulled out another vial, and began enchanting it so it wouldn’t crack under the extreme temperatures of the fel lava. She had grown used to the feeling of fel energy flowing through her veins when she was just a child, but the volcano always tested her reserve. It was a true font of powerful energy, and she wondered as she often had why Gul’dan had raised it? Was it just to display his power to her people, or had he intended for it to be a source of fel energy to strengthen his warlocks?

Haajhom suddenly lifted his head to the wind and began to snarl. “Trespassers! Danger! Rip, tear, devour, destroy!”

The warlock leaped to her feet and pulled her staff off her back, assuming a defensive posture. She looked about quickly, and spotted a large boulder on a shelf just a few meters above them, as well as a second one a bit higher up. “Haajhom, to me!” she called softly as she ran for cover.

The demon followed his mistress as she climbed to the highest perch, and began casting a circle of power behind the rock. Once it was in place she leaped down to the lower shelf and crouched behind the boulder. Breathing quickly, she summoned a ball of fel energy to be her eyes, and then sent it out from behind the rock to scout out the trouble. Her heart sank as she spotted a procession of twelve Draenei and two sabres approaching the volcano. It only took her a few seconds to realize that they had been following her tracks. She was being hunted!

With a quiet snarl she recalled the ball of energy before they spotted it, and poked her head out from behind the boulder. She waited tensely as they moved closer, closer, almost in range for her spells. She wished she had completed her studies on arcane magic; that would be far more effective against such a large group than her curses. Suddenly she remembered where she was, and a small smile crept across her features. They may think they had her at a disadvantage, but she had been given a unique upbringing. As a child she had been nothing more than a lab rat for human warlocks, something they could test new and deadly curses against. The same fel energy that had weakened her muscles had become her most powerful ally, and now she stood on a volcano that bled the same force which coursed through her veins.

She opened herself to the energy surrounding her, and welcomed the familiar pain that came with the magic. With a bloodthirsty smile she began whispering the words of power in quick succession, keeping a part of her mind linked to the force of the mountain. The paladin dropped his hammer and began cowering in terror, and the first warrior fell to the ground crying. She adjusted the words slightly, and the second one let out a blood curdling scream before running into a pool of lava.

The rest of the group watched their comrade as he regained his senses and tried to get back on solid ground before he was burned alive, but by the time he got out of the pool his legs and much of his stomach had been eaten away. Leppender could smell the terror of the others as his cries faded. The hunters signalled their felines, and they began running up the side of the volcano toward her position. “Haajhom, kill them!” The demon snarled and pounced from the ledge, landing on the back of the first sabre and instantly attached his deadly tentacles to its neck. The cat roared and spat violently, trying to fling the demon from its back even as its skin began to pucker and shrivel up like an old husk. The hunters fired their arrows at Leppender’s position, but the boulder was large and they weren’t sure exactly where she was behind it. Even so, she hissed as one lodged itself in the calf of her right leg as she knelt behind her shelter.

She began whispering a string of curses, the strength of them increased by her proximity to the mountain. The closest priest fell to her knees, screaming in agony as her blood began pouring from every opening. The other priests and shamans tried to help her, but she was dead within seconds. Leppender began picking them off one by one, grinning with satisfaction. A sudden yelp caught her attention just after the last one died, and she saw Haajhom fall from the back of the second sabre, his body bristling with arrows.

“You’ll pay for that!” she roared furiously in the common tongue she had learned from her tormentors as a child. Switching to the demonic language she began to chant, “From the Nether dark as night, Thantast come forth! Aid in this fight!” As the voidwalker appeared next to her, Leppender’s features became twisted with rage.

The demon looked at her anxiously; never had he seen his mistress so angry or sensed so much power in her. “What do you wish of me?”

She simply pointed at the Draenei hunters and growled, “Kill!”

The demon hastened to obey her command, meeting the last remaining warrior as he descended the volcano. Leppender strengthened her link to Thantast, allowing him to draw from the same font of power as her. The first swipe of his ethereal hand sent the closest warrior flying back down the incline, his helmet caved in and crushing his skull like a tin can. Thantast continued toward the hunters, and Leppedner paused to count the remaining Draenei. Both of the warriors, the priests, and the shamans were dead. The paladin was attempting to heal the hunters as Thantast pummelled them unmercifully, but she had lost sight of both the druid and the rogue.

A sudden sharp pain lanced her lower back, and she fell to the ground. She tried to rise, but her legs refused to move. The rogue and his druid companion in cat form slipped out of the shadows in front of her, and prepared to strike the final blow. She let out a shriek that chilled the blood, but it was actually a spell meant to induce terror. Indeed, both of them took off running in fear, and Leppender used the opportunity to suck what life she could out of the assassin that crippled her. She felt the dagger sliding out from between the vertebrae in her spine, but as he died she felt a moment of despair: the volcano did increase the power of her magic, but it could do nothing to repair a severed spinal column.

She looked down the mountain, and watched helplessly as Thantast ripped the still beating heart from the final hunter’s chest, just before the paladin brought down his hammer on the voidwalker. The demon threw up his arms in defeat as he vanished back into the nether, and Leppender felt her defeat at hand. The druid regained his senses, and started running toward her. She only had one last hope, and uttering the spell hastily she transported to the second ledge higher up. Her body felt like it was on fire, except for her legs which were oddly numb. Her continued use of the powerful fel energy here was taking its toll, and she knew that death would find her soon.

She closed her eyes as the two Draenei’s voices floated up to her, wondering where she had gone. She began picturing the people she had known and loved in her life: her brother, her son, her daughters, her mother, the Warmistress and her mate Selris… Her eyes snapped open as a faint memory returned to her. Long ago they had sat in the squalid pub situated in the sewers of Dalaran, discussing the principals of magic. He had explained how similar the energy frequencies between arcane and fel magic was. That had been one of the reasons she decided to begin studying the arcane arts. They had also touched briefly on the blending of spells, how to string words together to create new ones.

She fought back the knot of fear in her stomach as she formulated a plan. Every spellcaster knew the dangers involved in attempting to build a spell, but if she was going to die anyways what was the harm? Finally the druid pointed to her hiding place, and she watched as they climbed to her position. Her mind raced through all the combinations of spells she had ever learned, trying to piece together something that would at least kill them at the same time as her. Their cautious approach turned to a leisurely one as they saw her lying on the ground, and she understood that they knew she could not fight back.

“You’re pathetic,” she growled as they drew near, surprised at how weak her voice was. “Outnumbered and outmatched, I still beat you.”

The druid scowled at her, his face filled with the pain of grief. “Perhaps, but by the grace of the Light we will restore some of our comrades.”

The paladin positioned her hammer over her head, looking down at her with disgust. “You fought well, even if you’re just a filthy warlock, so I will give you the mercy of a swift death. Do you have any last words?”

Leppender nodded and opened her mouth. Calling on all the power she could pull from the volcano, she yelled a single word. A bubble of green energy expanded around them swelling rapidly, and before the Draenei could think to bring down his hammer the bubble imploded with a blinding light.

Perhaps it was only a few seconds later, or it could have been many hours, but Leppender opened her eyes. She didn’t dare move, for the waves of pain that washed over her body threatened to pull her back into that deep darkness. It took her a few minutes to understand that she was still alive, but when she did the realization brought no relief. Now that the battle was over she could allow her mind to fully grasp her condition; wounded, weakened and paralyzed, she knew there was no hope for survival.

“Ancestors,” she gasped, filled with a sudden fear for her immortal soul. “I’ve taken lives and manipulated souls for my own profit, but I still tried to live for honour. I still tried to do what was right, and use my power to help those I love.” Tears began streaming down her cheeks as she thought of her brother the shaman, her son the demon hunting warrior. How could she have revelled in such dark magic, when even her own family worked against it? “If I’ve done anything you see as good in life, anything to make me worthy of joining you in death, than please let me see my family one more time. Let me say goodbye…”

((To be continued))

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Ohai. >.>

Tue, 15 May 2012 22:29:43 GMT

by Dashaun (Posted Tue, 15 May 2012 22:29:43 GMT)
Hello there. I live. I have no idea what game you are talking about.

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Oblivion [R, Closed]

Tue, 15 May 2012 16:27:15 GMT

by Taldarg (Posted Tue, 15 May 2012 16:27:15 GMT)
Other people.

Taldarg had always thought he despised the prospect of fraternization, meaningful interaction, friendship or, gods-forbid, romantic relations. All hallmarks of lesser, weak-minded beings.

But now, with nothing to do and not even a ghoul to berate, he longed for some form of socialization. Craved it. A craving that he hated.

They made expressly sure that any visits were few and far between, and either involved unresponsive energy-channelers or people he knew and hated. Granted, just about everyone he that he knew he hated as well, and the feeling was always mutual.

But conversation wouldn't hurt. An insult or two. Tense banter. Information on his impending doom. The same thing that he had done for years and years with most of those that he considered acquaintances.

Even in his final months, when he had (with great hesitation) taken up a "friend with benefits", there was very little said between them that could have been considered "sweet", "meaningful" or "heartfelt". The closest thing they came to it was when she curled up in his lap and he droned on, half to himself, on such things as immortality or his past life; or she talked of her own past, and of his 'friends'. Such conversations happened sparingly.

What he wouldn't give to have her around, even just to talk too. She was remarkably good at listening; he was sure that she'd sit patiently as he droned on for hours and hours.

Once more, that little alien voice rang through his head.

I should have been better to her. More caring.

He clutched his head, succumbing to the penitent thoughts that so often plagued him these last few weeks.

Should have told Mith'shi I cared.

Not just Mith'shi, but both of them.

Both the women.

Especially her, who made me.

I should have joined her. I shouldn't have hurt her. Or her friends.

I wouldn't be here if I didn't act as I did.

I'd be free.

And happy.

And immortal.

And not slowly losing my sanity.

He growled, eyes flaring, speaking out in his mind.

And if I did things differently, I would be a mindslave.

A coward. A battering ram and a meatshield.

Little more than a glorified ghoul. That's all I was, to her. A ghoul with the looks of a Death Knight. A piece of art.

And the voice gently murmured back.

No. I was her most prized creation.

Her magnum opus.

Her greatest accomplishment.

Her child.

A child that sought to destroy everything she stood for.

I deserve this.

He growled viciously at the air.

I do NOT!

Disappointed thoughts.

I even have the argumentative skills of a child. How sad.

Taldarg quite seriously considered telling the voice, in no kind words, to scarce. Then he realized the absurdity of insulting himself.

So, he settled for sitting and growling, waiting for the thoughts of clarity, reason and common sense to abate.

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First, do no harm. [NC-17 - Gore]

Tue, 15 May 2012 16:03:41 GMT

by Mharren (Posted Tue, 15 May 2012 16:03:41 GMT)
The breath in Mharren's chest escape with an out rush that emitted a soft but strangled gasp as it skittered over her larynx and exited her lips. Her legs became weak and she stumbled forward, gripping the blackened metal banister.

Oh God...

She felt Sidus' palm on her shoulder and she forced herself to straighten, she turned her face further from him, not wanting him to see the extent to which she had lost her composition. "I'm alright." She uttered, lengthening her back but still gripping the rail.

"Howard-Phillip Glinn wanted you to see this - without him - once you were settled. I thought maybe I should be the one to show you." Sidus said, and his hand fell away from her shoulder.

Below them was a vast chamber, lines of body slabs ran the length and width of it. Enormous green lanterns were fastened to the grated ceiling. On the slabs were bodies, some whole and some not and various Prosectors gowned in gore-spattered aprons and slaughter-smeared face-shields we're either at work on the bodies laid out before them, or plucked dismembered parts from trollies that were being carted up and down the aisles by grease and gut smeared Orcs and Tauren's.

"This is where cadavers are repaired...and/or assembled should they be missing this or that." Sidus said. He took a step towards the wet stone stairway that led down from the overseer's platform they were on and stopped when she did not follow. She found herself very aware of her breathing while at the same time she felt far from her own body, transfixed by the workers below.

Blue tabards...shreds of blue tabards are in those trollies...

There were numerous individualized factions in Azeroth, but none so large as the overall-reigning factions of the Alliance and the Horde. As a Red she had killed Blues. She didn't think the fallen Alliance soldier's would be worth repairing, even in death, but perhaps their parts had come in handy with the operations below.

"Take all the time you need." Sidus said. He had stepped back and she could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek and neck and the rise and fall of his chest against her back. His left hand was on hers and he gripped it as tightly as she gripped the rail when he whispered in her ear. "As a chief of staff and recently relieved officer from Garrosh's forces you must appear unaffected by what you will now preside over. Should a single prosector of Herbert East's look up and see you appear anything but indifferent, your own life could be at stake."

She turned her neck slowly until she was looking up at him, into his fel-green eyes that before she had left had been bright and aloof but were now flanked by premature lines. She gave a faint nod and he returned a curt one. She let his hand slide up her arm as she moved passed him and headed for the stairs herself.

"This is just the assembly chamber, preservation, pre-treatment, and indoctrination will take us further under Lordearon. You will see mostly Prosector's at work, but you will see others of our expert caliber as well." Sidus said as they descended the stairs.

The large double doors at the base of the stairs were thrown open as they reached the bottom and she just barely managed not to jump back, but to slide back out of the way of a snorting Tauren pulling a tarnished metal bin big enough to be a boat behind him. As Sidus led her passed the bin and through the belted wooden doors she say the fingers of one pallid hand amongst the tangle of bodies within curl and stretch.

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Felodese

Tue, 15 May 2012 11:52:54 GMT

by Shivering (Posted Tue, 15 May 2012 11:52:54 GMT)
fe·lo-de-se [fel-oh-di-see, -sey]
noun
1. a person who commits suicide or commits an unlawful malicious act resulting in his or her own death.
2. the act of suicide.

"A story, will I share." the man says, clearing his throat somewhat self consciously. Firelight plays on his hard features casting dark shadows under his eyes as he turns his head to meet each anticipating gaze. This was certainly out of character; him being so shy and reticent. After a moments silence he clears his throat again, hands clasped before him. If they held a towel it would have long since been dry. "A story this, perhaps, is not a happy one. Telling, it needs, though." the dark figure says, dropping his eyes. He studies the camp fire, his thoughts turning over in his head as one might examine a feberge egg.

With an intake of air and a soft sigh, he begins, "A girl, there was once, a broken heart with. Broken with a knife."

"Felicity. Felicity!" A bent woman hurried across the room and with a loud crack that echoed through the tiny school room, she brought the flat of a ruler down on a desk. Felicity looked up, starting at the interruption to her thoughts, and stared at the old woman. It was rumored that her teacher was fashioned from whipcord and rawhide. She rather thought this was more than a rumor."

"Yes Ms. Taddel." Felicity said, not daring to drop her eyes from the woman's fiery gaze; more than set of knuckles had been bruised with that ruler. "I'm sorry Ms. Taddel, I was woolgathering." The old lady snorted contempt, withdrawing the ruler from the girls desk with the sound of wood on wood. "Aye, and it would do you good to pull you head from the clouds young miss!" She said waspishly, her eyes narrowing slightly. "But since you have the time for daydreams, perhaps you will lead us next."

Felicity swallowed hard, her eyes widening. She took a quick glance around the room as all eyes pinned on her. It was a small class, them being not of the city, and so there were only eight others besides herself and their teacher. They all looked at her expectedly. Riddles. She hated riddles! She would much rather be figuring or even learning history! There would be no entreaty strong enough to have Ms. Taddel pick another student, though, so she wracked her brain, her cheeks heating quickly.

"Uh," she says intelligently, "When it is blue has 'eyas,' and when it is not silence flies it." The others stared and silence reigned, but only for a short moment. "The sky!" her nearest class mate shouted, "That's not a very good one. My turn, Ms. Taddel." The other girl cleared her throat importantly while Felicity stared, "What always runs but never walks, often murmurs, never talks, has a bed but never sleeps, has a mouth but never eats?" Silence again, this time maybe a bit longer, before a voice in the back piped up, "A river!"

With that, Ms. Taddel nodded, returning to the front of the class. Felicty let out a breath she hadn't remembered holding, starting daggers at the retreating form of her teacher. She hated it here. From the black uniforms with their white, starched collars, to the white washed, simple school building attached to the church as a seeming afterthought. Nothing here was right. She had no friends, though mostly because she was shy, and hadn't the aptitude for learning, either. She did love books, though, and so would read them as much as she could, often at the expense of her school marks. She most enjoyed the fanciful tales of adventure and love. Romance in the city! These were the things a girl should dream about and so she did. Maybe one day, she thought, perhaps her dreams would come true.

"Good." It was Ms. Taddel's voice again and Felicity shot her a guilty look. Woolgathering again. "What lives to destroy but soothes the hearing, it is not a living thing, but if you ask someone it changes meaning?" Silence again. This time it was the correct answer.

(( I intend to do this in parts. Please play! ))

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[4th war] Returning to her roots.

Sun, 13 May 2012 18:41:25 GMT

by Xelas Stormfeather (Posted Sun, 13 May 2012 18:41:25 GMT)
The rain had been falling long enough that it finally trickled through the upper canopies and soaked into the earth below. The wind caused the leaves to slap against one another randomly. Occasionally, it gusted hard enough for the trees to to groan and smaller branches to snap. It provided the elf with perfect cover. Although quiet as any predator must be, the forest would hide any small errors on his part. Even the trees would not betray him as they often did others who hunted as he did. Since he had returned to Kalimdor, he could hear their quiet hum more clearly. No, the forest turned a blind eye to his killing -- perceived simply as part of The Cycle. Moreover, he had anointed himself with a salve that masked him further, making it so that even other woodsmen such as himself would not be able to track the elf until he was right atop them.

These precautions had been largely unnecessary, especially at first. But his prey had been growing more and more wary. They had started traveling in pairs or groups when ranging beyond the safety of their camps. "The Stormreaver" grimaced. So many of them had died, and yet she refused to come out to protect them. She had to know it was him. The tokens of his kills that he left in Darnassus and at her own door, were meant to be unmistakable. Perhaps she thought she could out-wait him -- force him into some foolish action. The older elves often displayed the patience of mountains. He could play that game, although it was hard. Fear for his sons and granddaughter made him anxious. The sooner Shandris was dealt with, the sooner he could make an attempt to return to his life in Stormwind. At least this is what he told himself. Nagging doubts made him wonder if there would ever be a way back.

Twilight had reached the shores of the Forgotten Sea where he had roosted in the cliffs overlooking Feathermoon Stronghold. His golden windrider dug its claws into the bark of the thick bough of the massive tree in which they waited. Leaves, parted by the winds, gave him glimpses into the stronghold below. Here, the Sentinels moved with more assurance, occasionally walking lone patrols between buildings, in and out of the wells of light created by the wisp lanterns that lined well-tended paths.

Xelas opened a special cage secured behind his saddle on the wind rider's back. He helped a large, gray dog into the cage. Toadkiller trembled with excitement. The dog loved to fly, but knew he had to resist barking and shifting back and forth to get a different view as he would normally be allowed to do if they were not hunting. Xelas soothed the excited animal. They had work ahead of them. The hunter eased onto the wind rider's back, into the saddle. Ordinarily, he would secure himself with harnesses, but he was only planning for a short flight, and needed to be ready to jump at a moments notice. With a touch of his heels, he urged the wind rider into flight. The tawny wyvern glided silently from the bough over the edge of the cliff. It landed at the base. Xelas popped the latch on the cage door, allowing Toadkiller to leap out. Xelas slid out of the saddle, pulling his bow and pole-arm, before sending the wyvern off into the skies above. He wanted to avoid alerting the sharp-eyed Sentinels who flew Hippogriffs over the stronghold.

He moved to the small inlet that ran between the stronghold and the mainland of Feralas. It was little more than a creek, but wide and deep enough to warrant a notation on most maps. He moved cautiously into the water up to his waist. Experimentally, he leaned back and was pleasantly surprised to discover that the master craftsman had not lied when he said the golden-linked armor would not weigh him down, even in water. Xelas lowered the leering-skull visor on his helmet and eased into the water, careful to make no splashing and glided towards the shore upon which the stronghold of his sworn enemy stood. It was a deadly game he played with Shandris, delivering the death-locks he took from her Sentinels. Usually, he would leave them on lantern posts that marked the edges of her compound. But other times, he would bring them literally to her door. Tonight he was going to leave them inside her command post. The disguised kal'dorei ordered Toadkiller to lay low and assume guard. Xelas called upon a quiet magic that rendered him invisible if he held still, and betrayed only a shimmering outline if he moved. He crept close to the open pavilion that served as Shandris command. He knew if the General were inside, she would be almost in view from the bottom floor. A tiny tinkle of mail was all the noise he made as he leapt over the low wall. Xelas held still as two of Shandris' guards moved through the center of the great hall. One of the women glanced his way, but spared no further curiosity when the wall appeared empty. Five deathlocks soon appeared on a nearby table once the guards had moved past. Hop, roll, and Xelas was back outside the pavilion with no one the wiser. He was about to renew the camouflaging spell when he heard a low growl. Suddenly, Toadkiller launched himself at a young Sentinel who had just drawn a bead on Xelas. A hundred pounds of snarling mastiff hit the young woman, knocking her to the ground. A sickening crunch told him that Toadkiller had crushed her forearm. Muscle memories of nearly ten thousand years drew his powerful bow and sent a kal'dorei-fashioned arrow to end the Sentinel before she could cry out. Still, he heard a cry. He was about to loose another arrow at her, when he realize that it wasn't her silent corpse that had screamed. It was another elf, farther up the ramp running outside Shandris' command pavilion. She was dark-haired and dressed as a priestess of Elune. Xelas cursed. He had no time for a fight here -- not when the Hippogriff patrols were sure to come at any moment. He whispered a spell upon his already knocked arrow and let it fly at the priestess. Her features went slack as the magical, hypnotic venom worked upon her instantly. It only bought him a few seconds. He gave a shrill whistle and heard the answering cry of his wyvern high above. He ran for the body of the young woman he'd killed, ripping the arrow from her body. He used it to cut a ragged handful of the Sentinel's hair. He cast about, looking for the arrow she had attempted to fire at him but they were scattered too far away. He settled instead for grasping a necklace from her neck, tearing it away as the wyvern landed heavily beside him. Toadkiller leapt unaided into the cage as Xelas swung into the saddle. The priestess awoke, and began to raise the alarm. The wyvern launched into the air, but not before Xelas saw the priestess's form grow shadowy and felt the power of her spells bite into him.

Sickened, and wanting nothing more than to vomit, the blood-elf disguised kal'dorei steered his wyvern towards Silithus. He would survive this, he was sure, but he would seek the aid of the Cenarion who chose not to involve themselves in the wars between Horde and Allies. They would wipe away all traces of the dark magic, and he would go back to Thunder Bluff as he always did, telling his companions little of his own dark work.

Behind him, a drake roared with rage.

Getting away might be trickier than he thought....

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Ravenholdt has a facebook... Just found out.

Thu, 10 May 2012 19:45:27 GMT

by Antimony (Posted Thu, 10 May 2012 19:45:27 GMT)
Crazy!

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Stories of A Man from Moonbrook (Varies G thru R)

Thu, 10 May 2012 19:00:38 GMT

by Dashaun (Posted Thu, 10 May 2012 19:00:38 GMT)
(( Announcement: My duty shift has been moved to swings from 1500 hrs to 2300 hrs MST. That said; I will not be online for many of the TE meetings and will not be online until very late at night. I should have Tuesday/Wednesday off, so the TEMB meetings may not be missed too much, but my sleep schedule may keep me from being there every time. If this is too constraining for what is expected of a guild officer, I understand. ))

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[OPEN RP] The Road of Noble Intent

Wed, 09 May 2012 21:08:02 GMT

by Jarington (Posted Wed, 09 May 2012 21:08:02 GMT)
"She's alive, Commander!" the Reverend Nathaniel hollered, toweling himself off as the small launch rowed close to the Duskrunner's hull. "Priestess of Shadow as far as I can tell. She re-formed just as I got to her. Good thing, too, or she'd be sleeping soundly in the locker." The woman lay perfectly still in the bottom of the dinghy.

"Hoist the launch! and Reverend - ya be makin sure she's tied up good an well," Commander Clarby called back, watching the woman lying inert in the bottom of the dinghy. "I no be wantin any curses brought upon tha crew, don't cha know."

In a matter of moments, the launch and cargo was safely aboard, with the woman lying in the shade on the deck - surrounded by officers and crew of the Duskrunner.

"What do you want me to do with her, Commander?" Nathaniel said, kneeling in observation beside the woman. "She made an attempt to move in the boat but only managed to spit up seawater before falling back into darkness."

"I be wantin' her bound an gagged, Reverend," Clarby said, arms crossed behind his back. "No curses will be spat at this crew, no after her wee dragon tried turning the 'Runner into kindlin."

"Commander!" Nathaniel said. "This woman's had a near death experience. Show some compassion, sir!" He pointed toward Hastings, who stood slightly behind the Commander, watching closely. "You heard Hastings. He said she was trying to stop the attack, not direct it."

Clarby looked back at Hastings who only nodded.

Clarby rolled his eyes, sighing. "Very well, Reverend. Use "respect" when you be bindin her," he said, then grinned. "And find a wee dainty to stuff in her mouth. I be thinkin silk." The crew burst into laughter.

"Take her below, Reverend. To the infirmary, in fact. Respect's the word and caution's the action, Reverend. I no be likin this but until we know otherwise, we'll treat the Elf as an officer and prisoner of war."

Clarby turned to the crew. "Guards with the Reverend, the rest of ya, back to work!"

"Commander?" the harpoonist called out from the bow. "What do ya be wantin done with the drake? He no be movin since he sank."

"Yes, the wee drake," Clarby said, taking a deep breath before speaking again. He looked out over the water toward the distant shore where the launches should have finished their delivery.

"We no be havin time to cook it up, Mr. Blake. Cut er loose and reload the harpoon."

"Cut er loose, aye, Commander!" Blake said, ripping his sabre out of it's scabbard and slicing the harpoon's rope in one, swift motion. "Line cut, sir!" The harpoonist immediately set to reloading his weapon.

"Very good, Mr, Blake."

"WEATHER EYE, LADS! STAND BY THE 'ARPOONS! BOWMEN TO THE RAILS!"

Clarby smiled, turned and walked toward the bridge where his first officer was waiting, giving the man a wink as he approached. "Just in case the wee drake no be dead."

"Status on the Horde raider, Mr. Hutchens," Clarby said, lifting his glass to look toward the last location of the Horde vessel.

"Fleein for her life, Commander. She no be wantin to tangle with the Duskrunner, that be certain." He pointed toward the distant horizon. "Only a wee speck in the distance."

"I can see that. Very well, then." He snapped the glass shut. "What do ya be makin of that dragon attack, Mr. Hutchens?" He turned toward the crew below, watching them go about their business while hooking the glass on his belt.

" Bloody odd it was. Hastings claims she was trying to keep the beast from attackin she was. Did ya be seein her, Mr. Hutchens?"

"Aye. A High Elf she do be."

"And dressed for sea, as well. A sailor an no swab at that. I be thinkin an officer," Clarby said, turning again to point into the distance. "And from that bloody ship, I be bettin."

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Need to hit the library this week

Wed, 09 May 2012 16:18:11 GMT

by Antimony (Posted Wed, 09 May 2012 16:18:11 GMT)

Where the Wild Things Are really shaped my creativity in my childhood, so I'm pretty crushed to hear of Sendak's death.

Rest in peace, good sir. You may children's books and many a child's lives more exciting.

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Your gaming area!

Fri, 04 May 2012 22:41:38 GMT

by Tyrgarde (Posted Fri, 04 May 2012 22:41:38 GMT)
For the last couple months I've been getting parts for a new computer, little by little. I got the final part last night and I put it all together over night.

BEHOLD

Code name: Thunderthunder

Intel Quad Core i5-2500k CPU, 3.30 GHz
8 GB RAM
Windows 7 Home Premium 64 bit
AMD Radeon HD 6950
1 Terrabyte Hard Drive (decided to not go with any SSD)
Asrock Z68 Extreme3 Gen3 motherboard
Thermaltake Overseer RX-1 case

(Posting links cause the full sized pics break the forums)

http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y14/Zr ... CI0781.jpg
http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y14/Zr ... CI0784.jpg
http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y14/Zr ... CI0785.jpg
http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y14/Zr ... CI0786.jpg
http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y14/Zr ... CI0793.jpg
http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y14/Zr ... CI0796.jpg
http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y14/Zr ... CI0799.jpg
http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y14/Zr ... CI0801.jpg

Some notes: First time building my own pc, I really hated putting the case wiring onto the motherboard. Usually the case wiring will be color coded in some way, like all the white cords are grounds, or something. This cases wire is all black, so there was no real clear way to tell. Thankfully with this case, I only needed to plug in a few things, the power/restart switches, LEDs, and as far as I was able to find, they aren't polarized, so plugging them in the wrong plug will not fry anything, had to play around with em to get it all right, plus the HD audio, which was very simple. And let me tell you, trying to do the wiring and getting everything put in at 3:00 AM probably was pretty damn risky, but I wanted the darn thing done.

One thing I didn't know about, is the case front has 2 USB 3.0 slots, and those slots have this big plug, well the motherboard doesn't have any sort of USB 3.0 plug in, it does have 2 3.0 already built in that I can get to in the back at least.

It has two big 200 mm, on the front and top, and a 120 mm fan in the back and it is all really quiet!

Still patching WoW, even though I started at around 6:00 AM.

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This isnt my first absence. But DAMN!

Thu, 03 May 2012 20:28:47 GMT

by Ripgut (Posted Thu, 03 May 2012 20:28:47 GMT)
OH you will be. Once you finish Rips personal training things will change. You will look a man honorably in his eye as you stab him in his d!ckhole.. You will extract info from an Alliance soldier by forcing him to stare into his youngest child's eyes while u pull its intestines out slowy, then stuff them, boil them, and feed the starving man you haven't fed in five days. He will teach you pain in ways that will be first degree murder on all memories prior to Blackrock...

But you will sell you soul twice to Kil'Jaeden to spare your Warlord's life, and soon will be the "Violent B!tch" I speak of.

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The Dark Horde Presents:

Wed, 02 May 2012 00:03:08 GMT

by Ripgut (Posted Wed, 02 May 2012 00:03:08 GMT)
The funny thing is by the end of the night a drenai and a worgen pair showed and started strippn! More of these will be hosted and yes any RPer wanting to attend only need whisper me in game via ambassador. Also as the Dark Horde goes we are active slave traders as well...

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[A]

Tue, 01 May 2012 10:08:12 GMT

by Matasuntha (Posted Tue, 01 May 2012 10:08:12 GMT)
((Just adding further verification that there is indeed much happening in the Twilight Empire right now. I, too, recommend visiting our website.))

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Sir Ian Mckellen says he isn't a wizard...

Tue, 01 May 2012 01:09:28 GMT

by Xelas Stormfeather (Posted Tue, 01 May 2012 01:09:28 GMT)
Do all of their clothes fall off?

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Ravenholdt Bulletin Board

Mon, 30 Apr 2012 06:16:50 GMT

by Kilgora (Posted Mon, 30 Apr 2012 06:16:50 GMT)
It had become a ritual by then, to sit outside the house in her rocking chair, looking out into the gloom of Silverpine. The sky always carried a tint of darkness there, even during the daylight - nothing that she minded, for it reminded her of a cool, rainy day. Back and forth she would rock, staring out into the small plot that grew stalks of wheat by now. Staring at the boars, fattened through the passage of Winter, snorting as they buried their noses into the moist ground. This had become Kil'Gora Darkhowl's every day.

Everything had changed. There was no fighting, no quarrels, not even answering for the Bloodfury, or the Horde. It was awkward, but after so many months, she had finally learned to accept it. The time will come, she would tell herself, patiently waiting for that day. Though the more she waited, the more anxious she was, and for good reason.

Gunheya stirred in her belly, already kicking to make his presence (and his strength) known. It had been a long process, but finally they had achieved it. Whoever questioned their means - or the legitimacy of her child - could take a one-way trip to the Nether, for all she cared. It was her child - their child - and theirs alone. Both Selris and she had worked tirelessly to find a way around the course of nature. And why shouldn't they? A medic and an engineer had little to do with respect towards the natural order. It screamed at Kil'gora's ancestry, but that proved to be a faint voice whistling in the wind. She had no regrets.

She now sat in wait (and waiting was something she had done a plenty in her line of work) for the moment in which she could return to the Horde and her people, with a most personal victory. A child of her own husband's blood, an Orcling that would grow to make them both proud. In her eyes, the world could wait, for not even the second coming of Deathwing could make her hurry or abandon this event.

Another cramp. It wouldn't be long now, though it seemed like an eternity. There was both fear and excitement in her. Anxiousness and eagerness. It was part of the reason she busied herself with arranging the house, with its artifacts, toys and tools normally used to raise a child (Human tools, but no one could deny Thrall's Orcliness). She simply could not wait, though she had to.

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Rise of the Mockers and Co

Sun, 29 Apr 2012 16:50:34 GMT

by Wiltin (Posted Sun, 29 Apr 2012 16:50:34 GMT)
(( The Daring Attempt ))

The rain had set in once again in Westfall, it hit hard along the coast making the already soft ground beneath their feet grip at the soles of their leather boots.

The wagon still stood poised awaiting the right time to be shoved down the steep hillside right into the middle of the camp below, the Wagon was full of Goblin Explosives brought from more than one goblin so as to ensure that at least some of them worked when they were set off.

Night crept along slowly and the rain continued to fall heavily upon the few who remained by the wagon staring down through the mist and rain at the camp no movement was seen below, they had seen no movement all day in the camp and were unsure if they one they wanted was home.

The rain continued to turn the ground to muck which sucked at their boots even more each time they took a step each man had become even more uncomfortable and annoyed then the other.

The passing of time felt like it had slowed and as there was no movement below in the camp the men were entering the last of their patience after a while the man in charge shouted to be heard above the racket made by the rain on the barrels and metal casings of the explosives that weren’t hidden by the tarp.

“I’m not one for waiting any longer in this stinking weather let’s push the damn thing into the camp below and be done with it.”

The other two stood up from sheltering in what little shelter they could find and moved to assist the man who had shouted before his words sinking to the heart of the matter, none of them wanted to be here in this weather let alone attempting to kill the formerCcaptain of the Stormwind City Guard.

The man who had shouted leapt up into the wagon and begun to light the fuses which had remained under the tarp hoping they would work as intended.

As he leapt down from the back of the wagon he waved at the other two who he quickly joined at the back of the wagon “On the count of three we shove it and hope for the best.”

The other two nodded at him “One, two, Three!” the combined effort of the three made the wagon budge a little but it remained stuck in the mud causing the three some worry as the fuses were short.

All three shoved their backs into it and the wagon slowly begun to move forward, as its centre of gravity shifted it began to move itself down the side of the steep hill aiming straight at the Camp the three men barely gave it a second thought as they raced for the Cave nearby.

As the three men reached the cave they heard the explosion below but none were eager to head back out to inspect if the wagon had hit its target or not.

The wagon itself though had not reached the camp but had at the base of the cliff hit a rock which up ended the wagon onto its back it was shortly followed by the explosion that rocked the cliff side and a shockwave of force hit the camp though whatever damage was caused would be found by those who lived their come sun up.

The three men later came up in Moonbrook having followed the tunnel network back, they dispersed amongst the homeless who never even noticed them.

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A Thief, a Guard and a pair of Socks.

Sun, 29 Apr 2012 16:31:37 GMT

by Wiltin (Posted Sun, 29 Apr 2012 16:31:37 GMT)
(( The Six Companions of the Brooks. G-Rated ))

Alaric sat in the Inn of Goldshire gazing across at his five companions from Moonbrook who sat around the only table free by the fire a short distance off; each wore the armour of one of the Westfall Brigade.

For each was a member of the Brigade having joined it shortly after Alaric had changed his name from Grant to Alaric Knightwind, a name that felt somehow familiar to him.

The six of them had journeyed north to Stormwind on a leave of absence; Alaric had gone to confirm with the Council of Nobles on some key issues happening within Westfall as well as to confirm that he was indeed the missing corporal of the Stormwind City Guard.

He had waited patiently to see the council during which he was approached by other officials one of which was a Si:7 operative who had taken Alaric to a room off from the war room and questioned Alaric for quite some time in matters regarding his past self.

After the Agent was sure he could get no more hindsight into things then Alaric himself could about his past the agent told him to return to the waiting area and informed him that he would be seen to shortly.

The council had seen him shortly afterwards and hastily seen through the procedures required to reinstate him should he so wish into the Stormwind Guard as well as approving his new name in favour of his old which he felt no longer represented who he was now.

They also made what sounded like empty promises of help for Westfall though a detachment of guards were allocated to monitor and patrol the Jansen Stead and Furlbrows Farm thus ensuring the protection of the homeless who continued to reside there, ignoring the threat of encroachment by the Murloc’s and Gnoll’s who had started to raid those areas.

Alaric had left shortly afterwards with a quick visit to the Church of Light and City Hall respectively, at the Church he had gained recognition as a Paladin in the service of the King and Light, though his training was far from done he was pushed through with the recommendation of his tutor who had stumbled upon Alaric at Sentinel Hill.

At the City Hall he had filed his new name and rank within the Westfall Brigade and requested a short delay on his return to the Stormwind Guards ranks. As he had left he had bumped into a Cadet of the SCG who recognised Alaric and had asked about his health and well being.

During which time his companions had begun to become an annoyance to him as they kept whinging about parched tongues and empty stomachs but Alaric had no wish to remain in the City so after some good willed bickering from his companions they headed to Goldshire which was a short distance away from the city.

They had made it to the Inn by nightfall to the accompaniment of the joy of his small band of misfits as they had only a short time to wait for something to eat and plenty of mugs of mead and ale.

Rick had joined the lot for a couple rounds of Ale his shout seeing as he had a small untold fortune of coin that he had claimed in payment for services rendered and services to be continued in service of his Royal Majesty King Varian Wyrnn.

Once dinner had come and passed Rick had retired a short distance away from his companions who he had come to think of as brothers in arms, it would be a sad day when he finally left them to return to the Stormwind Guard.

But he was sure they understood his reasons for returning and would support him as they had over the months since he had met them all.

Time rolled by and Rick ended up having to carry Scott upstairs to rest, as Alaric settled in to sleep himself he heard a cheer from below from the other four companions, Rick smiled as he closed his eyes knowing in the morning that they would all be a sore grumbling bunch of hung over misfits.

(( This is just to catch up Bryaid Del le Coin or Alaric Knightwind as hes called now, the rest of his story is kind of out dated and I felt no need to edit and post the old stories I had written. ))

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Alaric woke early and had woken his companions shortly after, grumbling and complaining they had worked themselves up to getting something to eat and keeping it down before heading off back to Westfall.

Alaric had sent Scott on ahead with Jake to scout the road ahead to ensure it was clear, shortly after sending them ahead Scott came riding back hard waving his hand over his head, Alaric gave his mount a kick to which it leapt into a run shortly followed by a gallop.

As he raced by Scott who was in the motion of turning his own mount he noticed dismay in Scotts eyes as he raced on.

He didn't need to run that far for ahead of him was a scattering of bodies on the side of the road, Jake himself had dismounted and held his horse sword in hand as he inspected each of the bodies for life by giving them a poke with his sword.

Each of the dead men wore workers clothes and one man with rotten teeth wore what appeared to be finery that was fashionable back in Stormwind some years ago.

Scott called out to him and Alaric looked towards Scott who pointed at a horse print on the side of the road, "Seems they were attacked by men on horse back, probably not all that long ago."

Alaric knelt by the impression left in the mud by the road as he looked up he noticed a string used for crossbows, this one had snapped and been removed and cast aside without care.

Picking up the elastic string's as he gazed at them they seemed to feel familiar as if he had seen them somewhere before but could not for the life of him remember where.

Alaric sent Scott ahead on horse back to the local Garrison nearby as he continued to inspect the carnage, he noticed the ruts left by wagon wheels leading towards Fargodeep Mine some short distance from the road.

As he moved around the area he marvelled at the skill the men had at hiding their tracks, though it seemed that they had left the Bodies of the slain in a rush when Scott and Jake had happened upon them.

A nagging feeling had him thinking that those responsible were long gone by now so he made his way back to the road were his four companions remained he silently cursed under his breath as he made his way back to the group.

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