Just Plain Bossy

Split personalities and hybrid warcrafting

Before the Towers fall..

Ancient stone fairly glowed as dawn broke through the sheltering branches of Elwynn Forest and struck the mighty wall of Stormwind City. The early morning hush was heavy and still. Guards that normally were casual and greeting familiar shop keepers instead stared and searched every shadow and nook. The energy in the mist stretching up from the harbor along the road carried a malignant energy. A dark foreboding.

The walls themselves almost trembled as they caged a growing spirit of unease, panic, fear. Every now and then a faint rumble could be felt, and dust shook from those mighty stones. It seemed, when that happened, every breath by the unusual crowds filling the City were held.

Waiting.

Arokaryn, the solitary mercenary often hired by those of power and influence, and even those without power or influence but gold to spend, stalked gracefully, if tiredly, along the roadway through the shadows behind the wall, her destination never the totality of her focus. Liquid silver eyes cataloged deeper shadows, and long ears that escaped the covering of her cloak’s hood twitched, catching sounds that came at a furious pace. She grimaced at the crowds, the sheer overwhelming numbers that her senses relayed. This city was not as it was last time she visited. Guards that passed by eyed her dark and dirty armor and boots askance, and made to approach her until the next step she took caused the heavy leather cloak to slip and reveal a tabard of silver thread that nearly glowed through the gloom.

As the guards paused, then moved on, a slight smirk twisted her lips. How she loved avoiding the complications that seemed to sprout every step she took. At a doorway in the Mage Quarter, she lightly leapt up steps and paused at a firmly shut door. Within seconds, it was cracked open to reveal a blinding light, with sound and energy unheard of on the mortal plane echoing up from the depths below the entry room. As she slipped inside, only the faintest movement of her fingertips as she disappeared betrayed a message to the silent watchers without.

Magic swirled so heavily within the city, especially this quarter, much could be overlooked. But the powers that ruled through wars and uncounted sufferings weren’t fools. Or they’d never have remained in power. And those calloused fingers had traced a warning sigil in the air before she disappeared within.

Whiskers twitched slightly as coiled muscles quivered and ached to move, to pounce, to stretch claws and rip through flesh and blood and guts. The cat remained still, though. Far beyond what a beast, regardless of cunning intelligence, could be expected to maintain. Guards continued to walk past, mages deep in discussion carried on their tasks and duties. But she waited, her body lying on the ground but tense and always ready, waiting, for that door to move again. In the shadows, practicing a bit of native magic bred into her very bones that let her disappear from sight and senses, the druid named Lheaf kept guard silently. She was hungry and thirsty, but the outcome of this meeting meant needed intelligence not just for the King of Stormwind City and the Alliance, but could foretell the fate of the world.

Every tremble of earth that sent dust up and brought instant quiet to the mass of humans and others within the walls of the City sent screams of disturbance through the natural world as raging energies from elsewhere forced their will upon Azeroth. The screams echoed deep within the druid’s nerves, ran along every extra sense she possessed. They violated not just her attunement with the world, didn’t only shred her link to the ancient land of Kalimdor and the heart of the Night Elf people, but required a will honed through countless battles against undead monsters and evil born into flesh to leash the chaos of the beast who’s form she used normally so effortlessly. While humans cowered from what they could see, smell, hear and feel, her senses were a thousand times stronger, and she also had the extra senses gained from her link to the life force of the world.

Lheaf carefully drew shallow breaths and focused her will ever more tightly. A hum approached the closed door she hadn’t removed here yes from, and as the magical energies became more apparent, she crouched, ready to spring if necessary.

Insects droned as Wynsmea walked won the ramp from the training tower where primary portals stood and other research took place. Her ice blue eyes were unfocused as she stared at her feet, heedless of the bound water elemental trailing her footsteps behind her. Only the calming sound of water, constantly moving, constantly carrying energy in a never ending cycle within the binding spell and the powers of the elemental forces caged so carefully, centered her awareness in a blinding flash of insight. With a pause, Wynsmea turned only her blonde head to look down and across the park like area at a door opening in a row of similar doors. They led to private studies, private purposes and intents. But something felt wrong.

Where Lheaf waited, her fur stood on end as she drew upon the limited natural energies within reach, attempting to buffer herself against the malign sense of wrongness that filled the air like a heavy draft of ill air from the ocean.

Arokaryn slid out the door facing the park, her hood pulled back to reveal a long white braid hanging over her shoulder. Her eyes were empty, and her movements stiff.

Wynsmea’s eyes narrowed, and without a word spoken, the mighty water elemental that had been so passive shifted its weight and gathered energy.

The glow behind the night elf rogue seemed to increase, and the druid moved before the sound from the depths of the study could rise above a whisper. She flowed across the ground, approaching as silent as death. With the door remaining open, her senses relayed only one human smell, and no others. Whether there were other doors inside that hid reinforcements, she didn’t know. But the summoner had to die before he finished his ritual. Death, purging the taint, the grip of insanity ripping through the world. Lheaf almost betrayed a growl as she paused at the base of the steps, watching Arokaryn’s body for a betraying movement that meant she’d have to die, too.

Arokaryn’s hands moved, sliding to the weapons at her hips under her cloak, but they lacked grace and finesse. But a sudden shift in energies snapped into place with a crack of lightning. A graceful orb of water that embodied life and health plunged into the elf’s chest before pulling out and spinning around her body in a dazzling shower. With the first plunge, Lheaf shifted her focus seamlessly to the real danger. A foreign tongue spoken with a musical rhyme increased the sudden return of power balance to the elemental energies of the park, so sudden the previous imbalance became all the more obvious. Standing silently amidst totems planted firmly in the earth and humming with power, Indulgence was calm and collected, though her hands betrayed the focus on the water element cleansing Arokaryn of the toxin impeding her natural resistances.

Wynsmea’s focus moved past the elf and the elemental launched a bolt of focused frozen power through the gap of the door’s opening. A human yell of surprise was cut off, while the sound of crackling ice echoed from the now silent building where Arokaryn had kept her morning appointment.

“Never good to be careless with the elements.” Wynsmea’s soft accents trilled as she continued her walk, only this time heading for the open door and the frozen figure within.

Lheaf had long since disappeared inside, checking the remains of the building’s basement and the summoning spell, seeking other identities and further information to present to the King’s counsel, and the Priestess’s court. While she eased just as stealthily out of the building and away from the now crowded scene. Around the corner, she paused to take the familiar form of a Night Elf woman in worn armor of feral design and coloring. With a careless stride and charming smile, she headed off to report inconspicuously on the results of the meeting.

Arokaryn held her head and sat on the steps, trying to avoid the probing questions of Mages, guards, a Knight and the intent stare of an interfering priestess.

She’d have to have a word with those that assigned her these missions, she thought.

Filed under: alts, roleplaying, rp, warcraft

Time Warp

Do you play a Night Elf? How about a Draenai? I don’t play any forsaken, but now I’m curious about them as well. When was your character born? Did you survive the crash? Were you born after the crash? How old are they? Even if you don’t have an exact idea in years, what events predate them and what events did they witness, even if you personally didn’t play through them? Really how fast do Draenai age? And now that Night Elves are mortal, how fast do they age? (egads I never considered that before)

I’ve never played the warcraft games before the World of Warcraft MMO, so I have no first hand experience of those others historical battles. Maybe that is why I struggle with dating my characters.

And, even though I rolled my main at the begining of The Burning Crusade, time in the game is quite a difficult topic to grasp. The starting zone quests assume one time period, and then as you progress zone to zone, you can run into some difficulties, though the most obvious is Azeroth > Outlands > Northrend. I have some toons in Northrend right now raiding Icecrown Citadel, but my new tauren shaman’s quests seem to place me years in the past.

Do you have your own frustrations with the timeline? Do you have tips to deal with it? Do you just ignore it blissfully (that’s been my methodology up til now)?

Filed under: roleplaying, rp, , ,

Confessions of a raider on an RP server

I love my role-play server. Love it. I’ve spent my entire World of Warcraft life playing on Sentinels. Sure I’ve branched out recently with my pinky toe, I mean my dwarf paladin, into PVP territory and Ner’zhul, but my love belongs to Sentinels. You see, I used to be a role-player. It was in a totally free-form, chat based environment. Only near the end of my role-playing time there did we switch to more forums based stuff, so what we wrote actually had some sort of permanence. Before that, all you could control was your own sense of character, your own personal plot lines, and some of us were lucky enough to find others who’s personal stories didn’t clash, and somehow create drama and story and LIFE all within a little chat room. Oh, The Green Dragon Inn, how I miss you.

And, to this day, when I play my toons in World of Warcraft, I still have some sense of story for each of them. Whether it’s the druid with a love of exploring new places and meeting new people, or the priest struggling with the powers of shadow and her own sense of history, personal and national. The mage, who I leveled really just to play with engineering and act out a love of frost magic, she’s my attempt to get back to the basics of personal story, even within the grand marching storyline of Good vs Evil in the World of Warcraft. The rogue, a reincarnation of my very first toon after leveling 4 others which really made sticking to a solid story quite difficult, but even she has one: love of adventure, a dash of greed (rogue ninja ore & flower stealer). Soon she’ll have her spec which I’ll have made purely out of fun, the talents that I truly love in a rogue. And my shaman. She was my main in Wrath of the Lich King. She keeps getting juggled with the priest, as they both support my guild in the same roles (heal/dps). But her adventure leveling as pure enhancement, then becoming a healer “for the good of…” friends, guild, raid. That in itself is a story that stays with me every time I’m playing the shaman. (I’m struggling with my paladin. I really loved blood elf_finding_the_Light. But now she’s a dwarf. How the hell? Sunwell accident? Machinations of a warlock/&/mage?) If you have an idea on how to explain this switch, leave a comment or send me a message somehow!

I even need a sense of story, a reason WHY, when it comes to switching specs in the game. I don’t always share my ideas with even my closest in game friends, but I have these reasons in my head when I do them, stories that add to each character. Why did my priest and druid refuse to heal during their entire lifetime in The Burning Crusade? Why did the druid give up on tanking? Why did the priest finally decide Discipline was respectable, and the shadows weren’t suiting her needs?

I really love story. And I think I know why I don’t really role-play much in World of Warcraft. That big story? It’s nice. It’s pretty. It gives my love of raiding reason. But it’s not why I play these characters and it’s not why I love them. The mage being told she should play with fire spells more, and her stubborn refusal, that’s why I play.

Filed under: alts, roleplaying, , ,

A bit too much cheek. (via Pugnacious Priest’s Warcraft Blog)

Not sure how I missed this until now. But I think it’s something a lot of gamers, players of female toons, regardless of our out-of-game-sex/gender, face. How we respond probably has a lot to say about us. I’m not quite sure what, but I know it says something!

With rose-colored-glasses, I’d like to claim that our toons can appear this way because in game our “allies” are incapable of jumping on us because they don’t like, or perhaps like too much, the gear our toons are wearing and the skin we’re showing. We don’t have that same trust in real life. That “safety” isn’t there.

Things to ponder.

A bit too much cheek. This  probably has to be the most cheek I’ve seen on any gear model.  They are Elemental Rockridge leggings from Mara She is not displaying her cloak now ( obviously) but that is an option.  I can choose to ‘hide’ her indecency untill I get different legs but I haven’t. I think she looks tarty ( a judgement)  - and I find that somewhat amusing.  It’s rather unfeministic  of me.  I know guys play female avatars so they have a “better ass” to look … Read More

via Pugnacious Priest's Warcraft Blog

Filed under: Blogroll, pretty, rant, roleplaying, screenshot, Uncategorized, , ,

Spirits save me..

Wynsmea paused at the edge of the rough camp beside the ancient elven road. This part of Kalimdor was different from some of the other places she’d been. It felt open like the Barrens, but the mountains and the trees spoke of Time, ancient Time, and still seemed to reverberate with a heavy and thick magic.

“What could this empty and ancient place hold to fascinate a mage like him?” she murmured to herself.

With a shake of her head to pull her thoughts away from speculation, Wynsmea took a deep breath and shifted her belt with it’s pouches to rest more comfortably upon her hips. A rough nudge nearly knocked her off feet while I stamp of hooves signaled general impatience to run from the palomino at her shoulder. Gently she lifted her hand to caress the nose of her horse. It’s armor was sparkling thanks to the stable-boy in Stormwind. “Alright already, Mister Impatient.” With a grumble and stiff movements, she mounted and settled her cloak about her to ward off the cold. With a press of her knees and a shift of reins, they turned to follow the road east, into the breeze with a hint of salt.

..Yesterday..

Wynsmea blinked her eyes slowly, trying to stay awake, opening them again through sheer force of will. The melodic voice of Jennea Cannon droned on in the background, fading in and out of recognizable speech.

“…Azhara, has been asking…”

Exhaustion pulled at every muscle in her body. The pulse of magic she could normally feel vibrating around her in the bricks and mortars of the Mage Quarter in Stormwind City was nothing but a dull drone, oddly adding to the nonsense she was attempting to listen to.

“His tower…” the voice flowed on, Mage Trainer Cannon apparantly oblivious to Wyn’s struggle. Endurance was a necessary part of the magecraft, and the ability to focus, to continue on in other ways while magic restored itself within and without. It wouldn’t do to be seen as weak, not now, not when the needs of the Kingdom seemed to be growing with the dangers risked and evils prevented.

Another shake of her head, this time slower despite the vigorous attempt to rally muscles and stay awake.

“Mage? Mage Wynsmea?” She couldn’t even straighten her shoulders, her robe, her belt. The table had at some point become where her hand was braced, but she could feel her elbow sagging, tendons and muscles trembling.

“For the love of.. Master Dumas! Sir?!” Suddenly Wyn’s eyes were really not open anymore, but she was sure she hadn’t fallen yet. Mage Cannon’s voice rose, answered by a deeper male voice, but it took all of Wyn’s concentration to keep her feet beneath her and not collapse upon the table and whatever magical device Jennea had been crafting and using.

Firm hands gripped her shoulders, an authoritative voice snapped out, answered by both gruff and soothing tones, before softness pressed against her body.

Then darkness took hold.

..hours later..

Wynsmea Falcoren’s eyes blinked suddenly and she sat up slowly, groaning at stiff muscles. The smell of a thick stew and fresh bread filled the room, which, as she looked around, seemed to belong to an Inn. She could hear quiet voices from what she assumed was the common area, but the building was sound and she couldn’t make out the language. Try as she might, she couldn’t remember where she was.

“Did I make it to Stormwind?” She shifted slowly so her legs hung down the side of the bed while she stretched her arms, and rotated neck and shoulder muscles.

The door thrust itself open, and Wyn was still too befuddled from sleep to react. Mage Trainer Cannon stopped moving and stopped talking to whoever was in the hallway at sight of Wyn sitting up, folded her arms, an stared sternly at her.

Wynsmea hadn’t felt like a child for years, but she felt her back stiffen and her head dropped guiltily at that look automatically.

“Yes you ARE in Stormwind, mage. And if it were up to me you’d stay here a week resting, recuperating, and serving in the library stacks as punishment for letting yourself get to such a state that you collapsed in the Tower!” The clear and musical voice was still clear, still musical, but quite strident. Her body didn’t relax. But Jennea took a deep breath and stepped aside so an aging female face could peek in, before nodding and shuffling off. Jennea responded merely with an arch of her brow, then closed the door, pulled the chair out from the table where the food sat, and pointedly stared at Wyn.

With a swallow and a glance between Mage Cannon and the food, she stood slowly and shuffled to the chair, collapsing into it before reaching for the silverware.

“But your next missions are not up to me, you’ve been deemed fit enough, and you DO have things to do.” With a sigh, Mage Cannon began straightening the linen on the bed while Wyn watched from the corner of her eye, swallowing stew and bread by big mouthfuls.

“Master Dumas was not pleased to interrupt his work to bring you to the Blue Feather, girl, so I hope you think up a suitable apology and repayment of his time and energy. I can only imagine it is because you are a mage and not another warrior traveling via the portals we keep in the tower that he did so at all. Otherwise the medics in the Chapel would have been sent for instead!”

Wyn’s brain was starting to work a bit better as the food energized her more. Mage Cannon’s scandalized tone was curious, and she set aside the puzzle to figure out which goaded her more, the need for a medic for a mage, or Master Dumas interrupting his work. Struggling to hide her grin, Wyn busily finished her food while listening.

“Your next assignment is that you return to investigate the plaguelands and contact the Mage assigned to man Light’s Hope Chapel, but undoubtedly you remember me telling you of Archmage Xylem’s request. Before you passed out you seemed interested enough, and I’m not sure when you’ll have another chance to see…” Jennea seemed to reconsider her words and cleared her throat behind her hand, before smiling stiffly and setting down a pile of gear onto the cleared table.

Wyn blinked and wondered how she had removed the dishes so quickly and summoned familiar looking gear without her noticing.

“Archmage Xylem?” Wyn rubbed her temple and jogged her memory. The tricks her uncle had taught her for memorization kicked in and she replayed the last conversation she had had with Mage Trainer Cannon. “Yes. I did want to see what the Archmage needed done.” Currying favor with an Archmage is a sound plan.. “But traveling through the Night Elf lands…” grim dread seemed to echo in Wyn’s voice.

“The elves are our allies! They won’t begrudge you. And there is so much to do in the Plaguelands, think of this trip as your recovery time from foolishly taxing your energies to such dangerous levels, Mage Falconar.” Jennea’s voice had become strict again, and Wyn was glad she had no intention of arguing. “Your things are here, the passage for you has been tallied in our books and paid for at the docks already. Simply show them your Stormwind City Mage marker.” With a last glance around, Mage Trainer Jennea Cannon strode to the door and pulled it open, then glanced over her shoulder back at Wynsmea.

Wynsmea popped to her feet, pushed the chair in and bowed formally. “Thank you, Mage Cannon, for your assistance.” Without a response, the mage turned and left the room, leaving the door ajar, signaling obviously that Wyn was to leave as well.

A glance around and subtle hints of a personality imbuing the room made Wyn feel suddenly invasive, as if she were trespassing. Quickly, she checked her gear and counted her stores, then grunted and heaved the whole into her arms. Carefully she wove her way through the hallway of the House, whispering a command that closed the door silently behind her. No one in the common room glanced at another mage, and Wyn was too focused to get outside to feel the attention of those studiously not watching her.

At an empty outdoor table, she set her stuff down and waited. A few coppers and a whispered command, and a young stable boy ran off. Leaning back, she tilted her head to stare up at the heights of the Mage Tower across the City, and considered what lay before her.

Filed under: Mage, roleplaying

Dreams and memories

A hesitant hand carefully holding a fragile ink tipped metal nub slowly crossed a blank page…


I remember nothing of the darkness. Nothing. I was called Sefalira and I danced, and sang, and drank. Everything was dust, and nothing mattered. I was empty and hollow and it’s a miracle I didn’t die. I’m not sure how I did not, other than the rest of those struggling to survive wouldn’t dare to let one more elf perish to the evil that had all but destroyed them. It had destroyed me.

But eventually, the emptiness became less painful. One dawn I blinked my eyes open and realised I could see the clouds above me. The carpet of green beneath me, where I must have fallen the evening before, was better kept than my own appearance. And suddenly I cared.

But I was still lost. Merely going through the motions of cleaning myself, walking through the remains of the city and staring determinedly past the ghosts of family and friends that haunted me. My self exile within a lack of memory was gone, but I couldn’t allow the fear to return.

The small leather bound journal closed, while green eyes closed and a dark head of chin-length hair bowed for a moment. Her shoulders moved with a deep breath. Opening the tome once more, graceful yet callused fingers continued…


Where faith dwells, hope is never lost, young blood elf. Gaze now, mortals – upon the HEART OF M’URU! Unblemished. Bathed by the light of Creation – just as it was at the Dawn. In time, the light and hope held within – will rebirth more than this mere fount of power… Mayhap, they will rebirth the soul of a nation.
Blessed ancestors! I feel it… so much love… so much grace… there are… no words… impossible to describe…

Salvation, young one. It waits for us all.

It was the rebirth of the Sunwell, and that magical voice speaking in my mind with an essence of Light so pure and true that cleared what remained of the numbness. I was still young for an elf, but time had indeed passed. Only hazy memories remained of the dark places where my brothers and sisters had born me to, providing safety and security and ensuring I did not grieve to death. So there in the grass and the sunlight of a new day, finally, I awoke. And the dream of nothing was gone.

The Light restored me as if I had never lost the glow of the Sunwell, the love of family and friends, the care and protection of kin.

Again she closed the book, carefully wrapping it in a waxy leaf covering and binding it with oiled string. Tucking it into a traveling pack with the meanest collection of survival and utility gear, she stood quickly, resettling her sword. Lifting two fingers to her lips, a piercing whistle was answered by a shrill bird sound followed by a heavily pounding pair of feet. An immense bird with a saddle paused at her side, its head twisting and turning as it peered around the edge of the forest where her rider had paused for a short break.

“Sefalir” her soft voice spoke quietly, and while the bird crooned in response, the Blood Elf tossed her head back and laughed shortly. “Let’s go meet those at Tarren Mill waiting for us, ladybird. Time that more were introduced to Zalam-njordil.” A small crooken smile graced her mouth when she dropped into a curtsy made strange in her costume. Blue-scaled armor rested on her thighs and shoulders, while heavier green armor made of turtle shells rested on her forearms and boots. It was such a mundane appearance, except from the glitter of her green glowing eyes, the sheen of infused Light upon her blade and the shield now tucked at her back.

Filed under: paladins, roleplaying, rp

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