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Anthony's Second Introduction!
First off...oops!

I guess I need to learn to use mine eyes.

Like I said before, my name is Anthony. I'm an active gamer and student. I love everything fantasy and I confess I am a hardcore RP'er, or in other words, I play Dungeons and Dragons, ye olde style, with paper and dice.

First and foremost: I enjoy gaming, and enjoy fantasy, therefore, I enjoy World of Warcraft, I'm a fun-loving individual but I know when to be serious.

What country do you come from? What is your primary language?:
I am from the US of A, and I speak English, and a little of German, Latin, and Spanish :)

How did you get into Warcraft?:
A long time ago my sister started playing it in England. She got me hooked :)

What made you seek our server over others?: I need an RP server! I can't find one that doesn't stink. I think I might have now though!

What kinds of roleplay do you enjoy?:
Anything! I think role-playing is trying to simulate another's *fake* life, and you should participate in all aspects.

What is your favorite race/class? Why?: Before, I usually play a Dwarf Warrior, but I like to mix it up.

What are your expectations of this server?: Fun, and Lots and lots of Role-playing!

Lastly, tell us a story! It can be short, it can be long; but most importantly, we want to see your work in action. Go!: Okay haha :)

The below is Copyright to Anthony DeVito, 2009, and is not allowed to be copied, or transcripted in any way except with permission from the owner.


The air was stifling; the heat seemed to congregate inside the spacious cathedral, its steamy hands reaching out and a hold of the thirteen occupants inside. There was no color, just the monotonous gray of the walls of the ground floor of the place of meeting, save the people who sat, two of which stood, around the large round table. It was made to make everyone feel equal, not against each other.
Though now it was hardly friendly. The thirteen people were engaged in a heated, quite literally, argument. Eleven of the group wore tunics of yellow, emblazoned on the front with a salamander encircled by red; in the red in gold lettering it read; “Death to those who stand against the might of Behemastron!”
At one side, rather, one half of the circular table stood an abnormally large man, if you dare call him that even. He was just an inch over seven feet high, his towering feature casting a long shadow over the length of the table to the other side. His hair was short, his hairline receding as if from old age, though, with his obvious physique, the man was far from ancient (or helpless). He was bald with tribal tattoos spanning across his glistening forehead and his face was as hard as iron. His eyes were a very dark and deep brown, almost black, and scars riddled his face, namely one on the left side of his lip, a large indent about an inch long. He was dressed in armor; obviously worn through countless battles (noting the large amount of cuts, bloodstains and practical trenches dug deep by opponents who just couldn't stab hard enough). It was showcased with various skull designs; and was completely black. Yet, the man did not sweat. He wore a long cape, which was red; on its back was a picture of the symbol of the Salamander, like on the tunics of the men surrounding him; Behemastron was not exactly the picture of peace.
On the other side of the table stood, though not quite so tall, not a man, but an elf. He stood around six feet and a two, and was thin, though not weak. His hair was long, and black, reaching down to his shoulder blades. His face was the picture of precision, its curves and edges like a stonemason's masterpiece. There was not a blemish on it, as smooth as a newborn's; yet it was not kind. It had a particular antagonism, mostly in his dark forest green eyes that seemed to burn with an unbridled fury. He too wore armor, though his was not like the mass of points, skulls and jagged edges of his nemesis across the wooden table. No, his was like a second skin, fitted perfectly to his frame. It was golden, though not of human make, for it shone with brilliance like it was lit by the sun, which was impossible, because they were indoors. It went down to his knees, seemingly one piece, and there it met his forest green boots, also fitted with perfection and intricately designed down to the sole with dark brown thread. His hands were covered in gloves, though it only covered three of his fingers and the back of his palm, for archery, and his other hand was covered completely in a glove of the same make.

“Behemastron, the eastern way belongs to the Elven kingdoms. We have told you, time and time again, none of your people are allowed there. You have completely ignored our request! And as if that was not enough, you have marched your troops into our lands! Do you wish for a war?”
The elf, whose name was actually Gabriel, moved his arms as he spoke, though it was practically a yell; at the other end of the table Behemastron sneered, his hands on the table edge. The other men seemed too frightened to engage in the verbal battle of the two leaders.
“If you wish to slaughter your allies men, then so be it! We have done nothing you impudent fool but secure our borders against our foes, who the elves are beginning to be feared as among our people!” Spit flew from the lord's mouth as he roared in retort. Before Gabriel could answer, Behemastron spoke again.
“Yet I am not the only voice of this glorious nation” He sneered, “Please! Members of the High Council! Side with me! You do indeed see that the elves only wish to keep us off their land so they can gain power against us! You must have noticed their assaults on our lands! They killed Pastron, the…loved and famed king of our na-”
Gabriel cut in, his voice as sharp as a razor. “What are you-“
“Silence traitor! The Elven nations killed our king! Do not let his lies deceive you!”
“WAR!” Roared Gabriel, his hands slamming on the table, and all the council members jumping; one even whimpered at the rage in the elf's words. “IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT THIS IS TO SPIRAL TO? DO YOU WISH FOR MILLIONS TO DIE UPON OUR FATHERLAND?”
“SO BE IT TRAITOR! THIS IS NO LONGER YOUR HOME BUT THE EMPIRE OF BEHEMASTRON!” Behemastron roared, all fury, back across the table. All around, the council members clapped, shouting “hear, hear!”
Behemastron continued. “And you, traitor, defiler of sacred ground, hypocrite and assassin, shall be the first blood!” His hand reached under the table and pulled out an enormous blade, black like his armor with a red ruby tip, and lavishly decorated on the handle, and raised it above his head. “Death to the false nations!”
All around the council members drew their blades; small compared to the monstrosity of steel that Behemastron wielded above his head, and slowly crowded behind their self –proclaimed Emperor. Gabriel looked at the men and laughed. “My death shall only prove my point! Your nation has fallen into darkness, and you, Behemastron, shall burn in the fiery pits of the Underworld!”
The elf put both hands forward and summoned, seemingly from the air, a long thin blade, curved at the point like a scimitar, and one sided, though not with such a curve. It had no cross guard, and at its head was a razor sharp diamond tip which glowed even in the dull light. Its handle was curved the opposite way of the tip of the blade and had a perfectly round diamond at its hilt.
And at once, the two men jumped upon the table. Gabriel perched low, completely ready, his eyes taking in everything. Behemastron on the other hand stood with a slack, as if he was eyeing a mere child with a wooden toy. He openly laughed; deep and grainy.
“You expect to hurt me with a twig of a blade and magic? I think not fool.”
Then the two came together in a rage that could only be witnessed. The two swords met so fast and so hard that a sonic boom rang out in the hallway, throwing Gabriel over the table edge, knocking all the council members' unconscious, and the table into splinters.
Gabriel rose to his feet. He felt hot blood in his mouth and by his ear, and he spat, his saliva a deep red. “You have turned this into a wizard's duel Behemastron!” Gabriel roared. His eyes glowed suddenly blue and he shouted; “Anara'hai!” And it resonated throughout the hall, along with the clang of Behemastron's armor hitting the stone floor as he was knocked to the ground. He quickly jumped back onto his feet with a dexterity that no human could have achieved.
“Casa'itas anorai halaitar!” He shouted back.
Gabriel understood the words, yet it was too late to defend with magic. The resounding boom for the sonic blast that erupted from the emperor's hand could have been heard miles in all directions. Flames engulfed the banners and the wood from the table, and spread like ravenous ants to the rafters. The flames shattered the stain glass windows of the cathedral and burned their way through the crown of the building. As the ceiling fell in, Behemastron slowly walked out, the wood and stone only falling but a few feet away; his anger and malice shown toward the elf shown with every stride of his heavy shod feet. His eyes were now a deep red as he threw his sword down upon the ground and fell to his knees, hands clutched toward the air and roared so loud it would have made a lion quiver in fear.
The elf was gone into thin air, and the war had begun.

Hope you enjoyed that, its some of my original writings :)

Is there anything else you would like to add, ask, or otherwise clarify?:
Hope I get accepted! :)

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