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OOC: Well, Hello. My name is Harrison. I am an Avid-Roleplayer, and I love World of Warcraft. Just to get a sense of my personality, I'm wearing a snuggie, and I'm addicted to Redbull and Monster. I'm also a really creative and artistic guy, I love using my Bamboo to draw on my computer.

What country do you come from? What is your primary language?:
I'm Isreali, I learned Hebrew and English at once. I'm pretty good with English, but I forget most of my Hebrew since I moved to America.

How did you get into Warcraft?:
I started in WC3, and I naturally came into WoW during the Burning Crusade.

What made you seek our server over others?:
A friend recommended it to me.

What kinds of roleplay do you enjoy?:
I typed this part in first, as I am a huge Role Playing Fan. My favorite Role Play's are Soap-Opera deep in-depth long running Role Plays. On Retail, I spent three years in one guild, and the plot was thick and amazing.

What is your favorite race/class? Why?:
I've always had a thing for the Paladin's and Shamans, Horde Side, of course. Paladins mostly, my first character on Retail and my most used was a Paladin, and I never really wanted to swap from it. I also really like Orcs, they just have some Old-School fun thing to them.

What are your expectations of this server?:
Just a place to have a Good time and Role Play.

Out of all of our rules and regulations listed on our server, which appeals to you the most?:
The Literacy Rules. I was diagnosed with OCD, so obviously, it bothers me when people aren't typing at their best ability.

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!:
God, I couldn't find the final draft of this, but I wrote this a long time ago. It's only a rough, so be gentle.
I always remembered my father from the boots. They were high and leather, and the tallest part of the boot would reach my upper leg, almost my knee. The bottom was completely worn out, the traction pattern could barely be seen. A small “12” was imprinted into the bottom, my father's number in his Platoon. The boots were like my father in many ways; worn out, scraped, and always untied on loose ends.

My father served in the War on Terrorism, stationed in Iraq for 3 years. Even after the three years, my entire family knew he remained there, as he suffered from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Every night he dreamt he was still there, among the dry deserts of the Middle East. He would sometimes wake in the middle of the night, disturbed by the ceiling fan in his room, it's swinging reminding him of the rotation of a Helicopter's blades, cycling around time after time, rushing him into the helicopter as if one second would save a life or cause a death. And as he marched through those dry deserts and ran onto rotating helicopters, he wore his boots. His high, leather, platoon boot, with the 12 on the bottom.

During his third year on the force, he was a victim of amputation from shrapnel poisoning, he was shot directly in the leg, and the Trauma Surgeon ordered his right leg to be amputated. That day, he wore the boot for the last time in his entire life.
Three months ago, he died of blood poisoning from a tattoo he got during his time in Iraq. And now I know, as long as I live, I will never get a tattoo or dye my skin with ink, or I know I could end with the same fate as my father. And every day, I remember this, and I wear his right boot, and a matching left one. But it doesn't matter that the left one looks different and has an 11 on the bottom. Because the right one is the one he never got to wear again.

Is there anything else you would like to add, ask, or otherwise clarify?:
Not Really, Hello CoTH!
Hello to you too!

It's unusual that we get a story that isn't set in a fantasy environment or World of Warcraft itself, but that doesn't me or anyone else (I hope) depreciate the effort put into it! If the story is based on true events, I'll say a useless and clichÃÂd "I'm sorry". If not, I like it anyway!

And it's awesome that you like Orcs. We definitely need more Zug Zug around this place.

Without any further ado,
Welcome to Conquest of the Horde!

Move him into the sun—
Gently its touch awoke him once,
At home, whispering of fields half-sown.
Always it woke him, even in France,
Until this morning and this snow.
If anything might rouse him now
The kind old sun will know.

Think how it wakes the seeds,—
Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.
Are limbs, so dear-achieved, are sides,
Full-nerved—still warm—too hard to stir?
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
—O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth’s sleep at all?
[Image: 62675bf4fd.jpg] [Image: 0e7357dcfe.jpg]

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