05-29-2010, 06:42 PM
First and foremost: Tell us about yourself, as a player.:
I have been playing RPGs for years, before White Wolf, before Lion Rampant and Chosium. I played RPGs when Gygax's ideas were young and Trampier and Sutherland made its art. So quite some time. I spent much of that time in the role of the game master finding ways to offer interesting and intriguing avenues for exploration and development for my players. But I enjoy playing as well. I am creative and something of an “idea†person trying to come up with new ways at a problem. Some of this comes out in my characters.
What country do you come from? What is your primary language?
I live is the desperately southern area of the USA. I would not have anyone speak ill of this far green land of pines and medians but it is a poor state, one of the poorest in the union. So if it produces many writers and no small number of shade tree sages, well that is perhaps a poetic ripple from its tumultuous and disparate past.
How did you get into Warcraft?:
I suppose I got into Warcraft the same as anyone else of my age bracket. I started with the RTS games, Orcs vs Humans I think. It was just a silly game competing with all the others ones out there but as it grew I found them more and more interesting until I would avidly look forward to the the third installment and finding out more about the beautiful elves and the creepy undead.
When I found out there was going to be an MMO then I couldn't wait. I was playing EQ(2) at the time and I was more than amazed at the way WOW handled all the problem other games seem to have with remarkable ease. The state of the game now is what it is and I'll not be getting into that but my approach to the game took me through a cluttered collection of RTSs and finally into the current World of Warcraft.
What made you seek our server over others? (or How did you find us?):
you seem to have a very focused approach to RP and while there are others that, in essence, offer similar approaches their offering have always somewhat hollow with a server full of gods and goddesses playing out their own private dramas in boilerplated cliques inaccessible to anyone who cannot best them in some sort of no-stakes snark off. I can't say that I relish the idea of spending time, which is somewhat precious to me, digging my way into a insular group just so that I can join the choir of hosanna hawkers for Diva number twelve.
So I am looking forward to a fun and inclusive RP experience that allows me to play, to give and to receive.
What kinds of roleplay do you enjoy?:
In terms of RP I enjoy vaguely introspective RP, finding out about others and exploring what makes them interesting. I like to engage other Rpers on tehir strengths or the pronary points of their characters. I confess that I have more fun as a small group roleplayer or a onoe-on-one rper.
My characters all have some element of “good guy†in them. I have determined that this is just the way I am and if I don't like it the that is just too bad. That is not to say that I will never play anyone who is “bad†but I am most at home with characters who are good guys and so I enjoy RP where I get to be good to someone. I don't think that this is a hallmark of alliance or horde though. Both sides have opportunities for this sort of interaction within their cultures.
I cant say that I am a big fan of hard core super competitive stab your buddy in the back political rp. I think that sort of thing produces a high coefficient of really selfish and mean spirited RP in all the other places I have ever seen it. My characters are uniformly non-political.
I like RP that explores a character and the way that character relates to others.
What is your favorite race/class? Why?:
For the Alliance I would have to say Humans followed closely by night elves. Humans are everything, they have every extreme and median, they contain every shade of good and bad and a sort of hopefulness especially when set into the ring of Warcraft having pulled themselves from one war after another, seeing their brothers and sister arisen and hollow or swinging from the ropes of the scarlet crusade.
For Night elves I really like their detachment, the way they worship the goddess of the moon applying their vast ability to feel the world yet aspiring to something so far away and so seemingly cold. Of course they are in the world and respond to it with passion but the whole dichotomy of expressing a tie to nature and the earth while looking to the stars and the moon. It is rather beautiful.
For the Horde I would have to say that I do like the Tauren. I very much enjoy their spiritual nature. They let me really get into the character while not abrogating my “good guy†essence. So I really fit into the Tauren.
While I like blood elves their casual cruelty and callous disregard for life of any sort makes me a little leery to take one on. I think it would be a lot of work to play one well. They are so pretty though and I have to admit me shallow avoidance for the gruesome or hideous when making a character. You will not likely catch me as an Orc or a Troll.
Having said that I would have to put undead as my close second to the Tauren. It doesn't seem to make sense on the face of it but I adore the forsaken.
I love their totally unhinged presence, the way they are totally unaffected by the events of the world but essentially live in themselves, allowing the memories of their lives, the stories of their lives to played out over and over, moving into the future and into the past at the same time like living echoes of a life made broken flesh and speaking its verses in the now even as they were written so long ago. They are the textbooks, the manuals and poetry of their own travels made briefly sentient once more. Infinitely sad and yet remorseless.
My preference in classes comes to my love of the fighter. I know I said that I didn't like the conflict based Rp as much but I do love sword-toters over finger wigglers. Paladins and Warriors are my choices for alliance and I think they are inherently dramatic without having to add water. For the Horde I would aim for shamans or warriors. The shamans reference of course falls into line with my following of the Taurens. Go fig.
What are your expectations of this server?:
I hope to have a good time certainly but also I hope I can manage to provide something for the people with whom I RP. I hope I can bring a new and interesting voice both to the server and the forums. I fully intend to write some and I hope other will find my insights interesting and entertaining. What I want is the opportunity to contribute. I can't promise that I will get it all right on the first try or even the second but if I can find a way to offer something that that is my plan.
Out of all of our rules and regulations listed on our server, which appeals to you the most?:
Knowing when to quit is a great bit of advice. I can't tell you number of times I have seen someone be a total and complete hoof-hole to someone and then say later “Ohh well that was just IC it was what my character would do.†but that person was sitting at the keyboard, the character was not holding a gun to that person's head and forcing them to type all that horrible stuff.
I know it can cramp a style or two to think of others when one is playing one's own character but that's the price for playing an extreme character, that is the wage of maturity required. One must be ready to surrender a little of the character's true nature to the sensibilities of others for the greater good of the RP experience rather than trample others roughshod under the ragged will of one's own selfish desires to achieve a RP goal.
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!:
Murak dragged the centaur corpse through the stiff, wiry grass of the barrens as the sun bore down on him at his gruesome work and he had to admit, even for an Orc warrior, it was pretty damn hot. The stench of the corpse didn't help a bit. Centaurs smelled bad even in good times, usually like a musky mix of dung and sour mud. But when you killed one and dragged it across a few miles of dessert grassland, apparently those scents mixed with such a potency that even the flies wobbled in their endless orbits of the half man half horse.
Flexing his powerful, thick green arms, Murak wondered briefly if those flies knew what they were doing here. He didn't doubt his own mission though. His plans burned in his mind, burned like an insult, like a blazing wound that he had to fill with this victory.
The dirty back hooves of the creature were lashed to his belt to help his drag the creature. Carrying it and all his gear, the wicked axe from gadget, the round shield with its oak insets, a longsword and a few bags full of loot from the centaur village... hefting all that was a fools errand. So he just dragged the fallen opponent like baggage.
Shuffling to a halt he turned to check his gear and secure the lashings again. His path was a furrow of crushed golden grass and dust still floating in the dry, hot air. He huffed out through his large nostrils, pleased at making so straight a line with the body of his foe. That was something worthy of a warrior. Retying the straps around the mud caked hooves he recalled the words of Hrang, that fat, lazy blowhard, he could almost hear the grinding hard voice like stones crumbling against each other.
“you come to me saying you are a warrior but all I see is a youngster, you want to call yourself a warrior, you want to be strong? Go get me that Centaur, the one with all the feathers, bring him back here and I'll teach you about strength.†the words still made Murak clench his huge jaw, fangs pressed past each other pushing his lips into a vicious sneer under deep red eyes.
Pulling the straps tight again he fingered the feathered necklace, some of the parrot green feathers were hard and stiff with blood now but that was fitting, it was right for a foe to offer something of themselves to the fight, to be worthy of fighting. The axiom of his fathers, “Respect is what you gain when you die and what you give when you kill†resonated with him. He planned of being a war leader and understood fully that it would only come with finding greater and more capable opponents. An orc had to give a lot of respect to become a chief. Murak felt he had a lot to give.
The sun baked down and the heat rose from the grass plucking beads of sweat from his deep green skin, veins rolling over slabs of muscle. He turned to resume his path only to meet other eyes. The hyena stood as tall as the orc's waist but the dog's massive shoulders were hunched and it walked towards him slowly, a murderous stalking. The axe was in his strong caused hand instantly. The hyena growled deep in its body sounding like bottled thunder, ferocity rumbling through its thick bones.
Murak readied his weapon and growled back. He spoke its language, he knew its words. He rumbled in the key of violence and promised death squinting his eyes down to vicious red slits, gripping the wooden haft of his axe so tightly that his knuckles popped like snapping limbs. For a moment both he and the dog creature were connected with a fire, a whirling heat. Only orcs and things that ate the blood of their prey understood that deep flame and how it forged a soul into just this moment, just right now. It was pure and beautiful.
The dog leaped and Murak lunged. Even with the heavy corpse tied to him he didn't have to go far. Minutes later it was all done and the fire had become just the heat of the sun, the connection was gone and Murak looked down at the broken body of the predator. He raised his face to the high sun blazing endlessly down at him with its uncaring burning light. Bright blood dripped from the axe and his chain mail chest piece. “These moments never last long enoughâ€Â, he mused to himself giving the dead centaur a tug, dragging it through the crushed grass and blood stains of the fight already lost into the busy history of the long grasslands. One more death in a land always living, always dying.
Murak continued his trail and the drunken flies followed.
******
The crossroads rose in the distance and he picked up his pace. Murak found it was easier to drag the corpse with his axe out and swinging on the oppose side as a counterweight. His trudging shuffle was now a long, leaning lope and the scavenging dogs that wandered close to the great orc camp lifted their point eared heads to watch him but none of them wanted, the corpse and he couldn't blame them. It had gone from bad to worse giving new limits to the possibilities of reek.
Crossroads was as busy as usual and despite the fence of upraised logs massing their axe chopped teeth end skyward, he could see a pair of robed trolls busy bartering while a goblin banged a pot over his head for attention. The goblins cart was packed with fish and something with tentackles that was still moving and seemed to be eating one of the fish. A huge white Tauren clomped through with a huge pack and a gangly gray wolf by his side. His bronze gun lay slung over his back and the remnant of an arrow still jutted from one tall horn.
The watch tower loomed up in a corner of the fort walls allowing ingress and exit if one happen to be alright with facing the sort of orcs theat didn't minf peerching themselves fourty feet in the air on that rickety structure. Any orc that could plummet to the earth with a laugh and a roar could face a foe with joy in his heart. Sometimes the show is half the fight.
In the shadow of that tower lounged a figure, an orc with a beetled brows and rheumy yellow eyes. On all sides of his were boxes and barrels and bags, collections and masses of items packed into containers. As Murak drew closer the lighter green orc heaved a weary sigh and pulled himself to his bare feet with a groan. He offered a greeting motioning the darker orc into the shade.
“For the horde, I see you're back youngster.†Hrang growled in his crushed stone voice. Murak responded with gusto.
“For the Horde! I have what you sent for Old one.†he already had the lashings loose and they were almost worn to tatters anyway, a grunt and a heave sent the centaur through the air to flop with a dull wet thump at Hrang's feet. The flies happily followed it. The older orc wrinkled his monkey nose as the scent assaulted him full on.
“Ahh well done. I knew you could do it.†he ground out not even bothering to mention Murak's appropriation of the proudly worn necklace. Murak felt his feature gathering up in anger.
“That's right I did it. Now you have to acknowledge me. You can't call me a youngster any more. You have to call me a warrior.†he grunted pointing at Hrang fiercely. He felt his muscles bunch and his tension rise. Murak's voice was shaded with the deep growl that orcs had when they spoke passionately.
The older orc just looked at Murak for a long heart beat. His watery eyes stayed on him and Murak felt as if he were showing something he didn't want show, like Hrang saw something at which he could not even guess and the feeling made him even more angry. But just as he started to think that he would have to reach for his axe, Hrang looked down and heaved another sigh.
“Alright youngster...†then he pointed a heavy finger to a bag filled to the top with hooves hanging on a pole of the tower.
“Who got me all of these Zevra hooves?†he asked raising hie yellow eyes.
“I did that.†said Murak with some pride rising in his chest. Then Hrang pointed to a box of raptor claws.
“What about all those, who did that?â€Â
“It was me.†Murak replied with a small nod. Hrang mirrored the little motion but it did not seem that he was agreeing.
“The shiny stones from the lake, the mushrooms, the pirate bandanas, the goblin ears...†he ticked them off jabbing a cucumber finger at each collection in turn before turning back to Murak who interrupted him feeling a sense of foreboding in the conversation.
“I did all that, I got all those! Am I not a warrior?†he said gruffly with a touch of petulance.
“You got all those because I told you to do it.†Said Hrang simply and a moment of silence fell between them, tumbled into the abyss of the moment before he spoke again. Murak felt the falling sensation of realization, understanding at last.
“Now do you see that you have a lot to learn about strength.†Hrang said sinking back down to the ground to lean back against a sturdy post.
The sun rolled slowly overhead and the grass waved long into the distance of the grasslands. The business of the Crossroads went onward and the barrens went on, always living, always dying everything in it learning.
Is there anything else you would like to add, ask, or otherwise clarify?:
I don't have any at the moment but if I do, what is the best way to get answers. Certainly I will be well advised to seek knowledge in the various guides and lore available to me from the site but if I need an answer that I cannot seem to find. Is there a good place to post a question or is there a good person to ask, perhaps a protocol for that?
I have been playing RPGs for years, before White Wolf, before Lion Rampant and Chosium. I played RPGs when Gygax's ideas were young and Trampier and Sutherland made its art. So quite some time. I spent much of that time in the role of the game master finding ways to offer interesting and intriguing avenues for exploration and development for my players. But I enjoy playing as well. I am creative and something of an “idea†person trying to come up with new ways at a problem. Some of this comes out in my characters.
What country do you come from? What is your primary language?
I live is the desperately southern area of the USA. I would not have anyone speak ill of this far green land of pines and medians but it is a poor state, one of the poorest in the union. So if it produces many writers and no small number of shade tree sages, well that is perhaps a poetic ripple from its tumultuous and disparate past.
How did you get into Warcraft?:
I suppose I got into Warcraft the same as anyone else of my age bracket. I started with the RTS games, Orcs vs Humans I think. It was just a silly game competing with all the others ones out there but as it grew I found them more and more interesting until I would avidly look forward to the the third installment and finding out more about the beautiful elves and the creepy undead.
When I found out there was going to be an MMO then I couldn't wait. I was playing EQ(2) at the time and I was more than amazed at the way WOW handled all the problem other games seem to have with remarkable ease. The state of the game now is what it is and I'll not be getting into that but my approach to the game took me through a cluttered collection of RTSs and finally into the current World of Warcraft.
What made you seek our server over others? (or How did you find us?):
you seem to have a very focused approach to RP and while there are others that, in essence, offer similar approaches their offering have always somewhat hollow with a server full of gods and goddesses playing out their own private dramas in boilerplated cliques inaccessible to anyone who cannot best them in some sort of no-stakes snark off. I can't say that I relish the idea of spending time, which is somewhat precious to me, digging my way into a insular group just so that I can join the choir of hosanna hawkers for Diva number twelve.
So I am looking forward to a fun and inclusive RP experience that allows me to play, to give and to receive.
What kinds of roleplay do you enjoy?:
In terms of RP I enjoy vaguely introspective RP, finding out about others and exploring what makes them interesting. I like to engage other Rpers on tehir strengths or the pronary points of their characters. I confess that I have more fun as a small group roleplayer or a onoe-on-one rper.
My characters all have some element of “good guy†in them. I have determined that this is just the way I am and if I don't like it the that is just too bad. That is not to say that I will never play anyone who is “bad†but I am most at home with characters who are good guys and so I enjoy RP where I get to be good to someone. I don't think that this is a hallmark of alliance or horde though. Both sides have opportunities for this sort of interaction within their cultures.
I cant say that I am a big fan of hard core super competitive stab your buddy in the back political rp. I think that sort of thing produces a high coefficient of really selfish and mean spirited RP in all the other places I have ever seen it. My characters are uniformly non-political.
I like RP that explores a character and the way that character relates to others.
What is your favorite race/class? Why?:
For the Alliance I would have to say Humans followed closely by night elves. Humans are everything, they have every extreme and median, they contain every shade of good and bad and a sort of hopefulness especially when set into the ring of Warcraft having pulled themselves from one war after another, seeing their brothers and sister arisen and hollow or swinging from the ropes of the scarlet crusade.
For Night elves I really like their detachment, the way they worship the goddess of the moon applying their vast ability to feel the world yet aspiring to something so far away and so seemingly cold. Of course they are in the world and respond to it with passion but the whole dichotomy of expressing a tie to nature and the earth while looking to the stars and the moon. It is rather beautiful.
For the Horde I would have to say that I do like the Tauren. I very much enjoy their spiritual nature. They let me really get into the character while not abrogating my “good guy†essence. So I really fit into the Tauren.
While I like blood elves their casual cruelty and callous disregard for life of any sort makes me a little leery to take one on. I think it would be a lot of work to play one well. They are so pretty though and I have to admit me shallow avoidance for the gruesome or hideous when making a character. You will not likely catch me as an Orc or a Troll.
Having said that I would have to put undead as my close second to the Tauren. It doesn't seem to make sense on the face of it but I adore the forsaken.
I love their totally unhinged presence, the way they are totally unaffected by the events of the world but essentially live in themselves, allowing the memories of their lives, the stories of their lives to played out over and over, moving into the future and into the past at the same time like living echoes of a life made broken flesh and speaking its verses in the now even as they were written so long ago. They are the textbooks, the manuals and poetry of their own travels made briefly sentient once more. Infinitely sad and yet remorseless.
My preference in classes comes to my love of the fighter. I know I said that I didn't like the conflict based Rp as much but I do love sword-toters over finger wigglers. Paladins and Warriors are my choices for alliance and I think they are inherently dramatic without having to add water. For the Horde I would aim for shamans or warriors. The shamans reference of course falls into line with my following of the Taurens. Go fig.
What are your expectations of this server?:
I hope to have a good time certainly but also I hope I can manage to provide something for the people with whom I RP. I hope I can bring a new and interesting voice both to the server and the forums. I fully intend to write some and I hope other will find my insights interesting and entertaining. What I want is the opportunity to contribute. I can't promise that I will get it all right on the first try or even the second but if I can find a way to offer something that that is my plan.
Out of all of our rules and regulations listed on our server, which appeals to you the most?:
Knowing when to quit is a great bit of advice. I can't tell you number of times I have seen someone be a total and complete hoof-hole to someone and then say later “Ohh well that was just IC it was what my character would do.†but that person was sitting at the keyboard, the character was not holding a gun to that person's head and forcing them to type all that horrible stuff.
I know it can cramp a style or two to think of others when one is playing one's own character but that's the price for playing an extreme character, that is the wage of maturity required. One must be ready to surrender a little of the character's true nature to the sensibilities of others for the greater good of the RP experience rather than trample others roughshod under the ragged will of one's own selfish desires to achieve a RP goal.
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!:
Murak dragged the centaur corpse through the stiff, wiry grass of the barrens as the sun bore down on him at his gruesome work and he had to admit, even for an Orc warrior, it was pretty damn hot. The stench of the corpse didn't help a bit. Centaurs smelled bad even in good times, usually like a musky mix of dung and sour mud. But when you killed one and dragged it across a few miles of dessert grassland, apparently those scents mixed with such a potency that even the flies wobbled in their endless orbits of the half man half horse.
Flexing his powerful, thick green arms, Murak wondered briefly if those flies knew what they were doing here. He didn't doubt his own mission though. His plans burned in his mind, burned like an insult, like a blazing wound that he had to fill with this victory.
The dirty back hooves of the creature were lashed to his belt to help his drag the creature. Carrying it and all his gear, the wicked axe from gadget, the round shield with its oak insets, a longsword and a few bags full of loot from the centaur village... hefting all that was a fools errand. So he just dragged the fallen opponent like baggage.
Shuffling to a halt he turned to check his gear and secure the lashings again. His path was a furrow of crushed golden grass and dust still floating in the dry, hot air. He huffed out through his large nostrils, pleased at making so straight a line with the body of his foe. That was something worthy of a warrior. Retying the straps around the mud caked hooves he recalled the words of Hrang, that fat, lazy blowhard, he could almost hear the grinding hard voice like stones crumbling against each other.
“you come to me saying you are a warrior but all I see is a youngster, you want to call yourself a warrior, you want to be strong? Go get me that Centaur, the one with all the feathers, bring him back here and I'll teach you about strength.†the words still made Murak clench his huge jaw, fangs pressed past each other pushing his lips into a vicious sneer under deep red eyes.
Pulling the straps tight again he fingered the feathered necklace, some of the parrot green feathers were hard and stiff with blood now but that was fitting, it was right for a foe to offer something of themselves to the fight, to be worthy of fighting. The axiom of his fathers, “Respect is what you gain when you die and what you give when you kill†resonated with him. He planned of being a war leader and understood fully that it would only come with finding greater and more capable opponents. An orc had to give a lot of respect to become a chief. Murak felt he had a lot to give.
The sun baked down and the heat rose from the grass plucking beads of sweat from his deep green skin, veins rolling over slabs of muscle. He turned to resume his path only to meet other eyes. The hyena stood as tall as the orc's waist but the dog's massive shoulders were hunched and it walked towards him slowly, a murderous stalking. The axe was in his strong caused hand instantly. The hyena growled deep in its body sounding like bottled thunder, ferocity rumbling through its thick bones.
Murak readied his weapon and growled back. He spoke its language, he knew its words. He rumbled in the key of violence and promised death squinting his eyes down to vicious red slits, gripping the wooden haft of his axe so tightly that his knuckles popped like snapping limbs. For a moment both he and the dog creature were connected with a fire, a whirling heat. Only orcs and things that ate the blood of their prey understood that deep flame and how it forged a soul into just this moment, just right now. It was pure and beautiful.
The dog leaped and Murak lunged. Even with the heavy corpse tied to him he didn't have to go far. Minutes later it was all done and the fire had become just the heat of the sun, the connection was gone and Murak looked down at the broken body of the predator. He raised his face to the high sun blazing endlessly down at him with its uncaring burning light. Bright blood dripped from the axe and his chain mail chest piece. “These moments never last long enoughâ€Â, he mused to himself giving the dead centaur a tug, dragging it through the crushed grass and blood stains of the fight already lost into the busy history of the long grasslands. One more death in a land always living, always dying.
Murak continued his trail and the drunken flies followed.
******
The crossroads rose in the distance and he picked up his pace. Murak found it was easier to drag the corpse with his axe out and swinging on the oppose side as a counterweight. His trudging shuffle was now a long, leaning lope and the scavenging dogs that wandered close to the great orc camp lifted their point eared heads to watch him but none of them wanted, the corpse and he couldn't blame them. It had gone from bad to worse giving new limits to the possibilities of reek.
Crossroads was as busy as usual and despite the fence of upraised logs massing their axe chopped teeth end skyward, he could see a pair of robed trolls busy bartering while a goblin banged a pot over his head for attention. The goblins cart was packed with fish and something with tentackles that was still moving and seemed to be eating one of the fish. A huge white Tauren clomped through with a huge pack and a gangly gray wolf by his side. His bronze gun lay slung over his back and the remnant of an arrow still jutted from one tall horn.
The watch tower loomed up in a corner of the fort walls allowing ingress and exit if one happen to be alright with facing the sort of orcs theat didn't minf peerching themselves fourty feet in the air on that rickety structure. Any orc that could plummet to the earth with a laugh and a roar could face a foe with joy in his heart. Sometimes the show is half the fight.
In the shadow of that tower lounged a figure, an orc with a beetled brows and rheumy yellow eyes. On all sides of his were boxes and barrels and bags, collections and masses of items packed into containers. As Murak drew closer the lighter green orc heaved a weary sigh and pulled himself to his bare feet with a groan. He offered a greeting motioning the darker orc into the shade.
“For the horde, I see you're back youngster.†Hrang growled in his crushed stone voice. Murak responded with gusto.
“For the Horde! I have what you sent for Old one.†he already had the lashings loose and they were almost worn to tatters anyway, a grunt and a heave sent the centaur through the air to flop with a dull wet thump at Hrang's feet. The flies happily followed it. The older orc wrinkled his monkey nose as the scent assaulted him full on.
“Ahh well done. I knew you could do it.†he ground out not even bothering to mention Murak's appropriation of the proudly worn necklace. Murak felt his feature gathering up in anger.
“That's right I did it. Now you have to acknowledge me. You can't call me a youngster any more. You have to call me a warrior.†he grunted pointing at Hrang fiercely. He felt his muscles bunch and his tension rise. Murak's voice was shaded with the deep growl that orcs had when they spoke passionately.
The older orc just looked at Murak for a long heart beat. His watery eyes stayed on him and Murak felt as if he were showing something he didn't want show, like Hrang saw something at which he could not even guess and the feeling made him even more angry. But just as he started to think that he would have to reach for his axe, Hrang looked down and heaved another sigh.
“Alright youngster...†then he pointed a heavy finger to a bag filled to the top with hooves hanging on a pole of the tower.
“Who got me all of these Zevra hooves?†he asked raising hie yellow eyes.
“I did that.†said Murak with some pride rising in his chest. Then Hrang pointed to a box of raptor claws.
“What about all those, who did that?â€Â
“It was me.†Murak replied with a small nod. Hrang mirrored the little motion but it did not seem that he was agreeing.
“The shiny stones from the lake, the mushrooms, the pirate bandanas, the goblin ears...†he ticked them off jabbing a cucumber finger at each collection in turn before turning back to Murak who interrupted him feeling a sense of foreboding in the conversation.
“I did all that, I got all those! Am I not a warrior?†he said gruffly with a touch of petulance.
“You got all those because I told you to do it.†Said Hrang simply and a moment of silence fell between them, tumbled into the abyss of the moment before he spoke again. Murak felt the falling sensation of realization, understanding at last.
“Now do you see that you have a lot to learn about strength.†Hrang said sinking back down to the ground to lean back against a sturdy post.
The sun rolled slowly overhead and the grass waved long into the distance of the grasslands. The business of the Crossroads went onward and the barrens went on, always living, always dying everything in it learning.
Is there anything else you would like to add, ask, or otherwise clarify?:
I don't have any at the moment but if I do, what is the best way to get answers. Certainly I will be well advised to seek knowledge in the various guides and lore available to me from the site but if I need an answer that I cannot seem to find. Is there a good place to post a question or is there a good person to ask, perhaps a protocol for that?
![[Image: anigif_mobile_9893b2566588ab845c7985f71769a9f2-7.gif]](http://s3-ec.buzzfed.com/static/2014-12/7/20/tmp/webdr09/anigif_mobile_9893b2566588ab845c7985f71769a9f2-7.gif)