10-08-2009, 01:50 PM
First and foremost: Tell us about yourself, as a player: I am malleable. I could play any game with anyone without reservations, and find myself blending in seamlessly into other players' storylines in many RPG's. I love to become a part of something greater than myself, so don't expect me to craft some grand adventure for others; expect me to play the arch-villain's minion or the hero's sidekick. Or the eager law-enforcement officer who dies ten minutes into a story. I relish any role.
What country do you come from? What is your primary language?: I come from the United States of America, English is my primary language, and I therefore accept that I have no excuse for laziness in writing. Please note, however, that I am very forgiving when it comes to other people's writing, and that I myself am a slow-to-moderate speed typer. I have, additionally, the occasional mistake or the occasional day of mistakes.
How did you get into Warcraft?: Warcraft III. I fell in love with the lore, and was the only one of my friends who would rather play the single-player, story-driven campaigns than the clickfests of multi-player.
What made you seek our server over others?: Honestly? Yours was the first result of a picky google search, and yours was the first website that didn't ask me to vote for it in some silly "Top 100" list of unofficial servers.
What kinds of roleplay do you enjoy?: I enjoy whatever I think the people around me would enjoy. However, I do grow weary of improvised roleplaying encounters that focus heavily on violence between two people who clearly do not want to lose to the other. I also am mildly disgusted when players get excessively sadistic. Sure, maybe in the novelized fiction Thrall was beaten and brutalized and defecated upon; but how many people have fun going through that? I think the world of Warcraft finds most of its appeal in its light-heartedness. There are a lot of roleplaying encounters I love to immerse myself in, but if someone's character begins to, as I once witnessed, stab and cut and injure a helpless, bound player with a knife until she would "talk," I admit I may well burst into song, pull out a mug of ale, walk away, and announce I'm off "to seek more honorable battles."
What is your favorite race/class? Why?:
Dwarf hunters are a love of mine. They're like the common footman of a cohesive Dwarven army: Even for Dwarves, It takes a professional to wear heavy plate armor in the field, but any Dwarf could take up a good rifle or crossbow in arms should he or she need to defend the nation. That strikes me as romantic.
What are your expectations of this server?:
First, that this introduction is adequate enough to get me in. Second, that no roleplaying ever devolves into anything personal. I'm not easily personally offended, but if I were, I'd somehow be hurt so badly I'd have to leave.
Out of all of our rules and regulations listed on our server, which appeals to you the most?:
"Knowing when to quit." Because fun is fun no matter what the rules are, and that is the only rule that, when violated, is guaranteed to ruin all the fun to be had.
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!:
Captain Boarhunter examined her men. They had been roaming the depths of Gnomeregan for nearly a week--or so Elementalist MacGuirk had assured her, anyway, as neither sun nor moon had influence here--and had engaged in more than a few pitched battles. Reconnaissance was far more difficult than anyone could have expected, least of all her benfactors sitting on their comfy stone chairs back in Ironforge. Though the party stuck with the most ruinous streets of the former Gnomish capital, those that were despite the months since its destruction still thick with smog and ash and even fire in some places, they still met resistance.
Sometimes, it was only the occasional starving and bewildered unfortunate, the most dangerous of them was one which managed to bite off part of her senior fighter's scalp by leaping upon him from a third-story window. Worse were the robotic patrols that seemed able to spot her party through the thickest of fallout-smog as if it were a sunny day on the shores of Loch Modan. Sometimes they were accompanied by Mekkatorquian cavalry, gun-toting leper gnomes on Mechanostriders who were likewise searching the ruined city blocks for scavenge to bring back to their technocratic emperor. The city never slept.
For all this, Captain Boarhunter proudly stroked her chestnut-gold hair back as she judged her squad's condition. At the center of the room sat Elementalist MacGuirk, a draenei draped in enough mail to armor three dwarves, and the Bombtossers, Screwy and Skoto. The lot of them were playing a card game with her remaining soldier, Sergeant Ward, who appeared to be distracted with gingerly nursing his two-day old scalp wound. Not one of the recon team had fallen to enemy fire, nor suffered a serious injury: the most grievous was Ward's bite wound, but, she noted, even that was probably second to the his damaged pride, as the most grievous wound, she noted, was likely Ward's pride, as the veteran soldier seemed more upset with the loss of much of the right side of his hair to bandaging than the pain from the wound itself.
"I'm going to have to go back to Stormwind with my helmet on," Ward moaned as he looked away from the cards in his hand to study a reflection pool behind him. Water covered nearly half the dark stone room, and the group had made camp on a raised, dry level on the other half. The three other players watched patiently at Ward as he toyed with his hair, trying to cover the bandages with what long black strands remained.
"Perhaps next time I shall let you sow your own head back together yourself?" MacGuirk's teeth visibly waxed despite the poor lighting.
"Perhaps next time I'll let something with hands not twice the size of my own head do the stitching," Ward retorted with unappreciative irritation as he finally played a card from his hand."
Skoto's turn was next, and, as if to stall for time, he began to tease Ward. "Your precious hair should be the least of your worries. It's been how many days since you were bitten? I'm surprised you haven't turned yet."
Ward, who had turned away to gussy himself up again, whipped around. "What do you mean?"
Shermt grinned as she saw through the dark the other Bombtosser bristling, apparently picking up on Skoto's stalling strategy. "Quiet, Skoto. It'll never do to upset a bite victim. You'll just enrage him more when the time comes."
Ward's jaw opened to speak as Skoto nodded. "Indeed, you're right. Let us try and comfort him, and not speed up the process."
"You mean," the sergeant's mouth was agape before he stuttered, "I'm going to turn into one of them?"
Skoto and Screwy nodded solemnly before the latter confirmed, "Green skin, wrinkled face, and then," he said, as he rubbed his own shiny bald head.
For the first time, the sergeant seemed to choke up completely. Shermt wasn't sure, but she thought she heard him sob every so quietly. She'd have leaned in closer, but she might have revealed she wasn't sleeping. A morale check is always the most accurate when the troops don't know they're being observed, after all.
MacGuirk then raised a finger soberly. "I think I know a cure for your ailment, Sergeant." He appeared to begin twirling his pointer finger near his head as if to suggest the sergeant had lost his mind. Shermt opened her eye wide to get a better look. The shaman gradually twirled his finger faster and faster as luminous grey steam accumulated around it. In seconds, a tiny, glowing, argent cloud had gathered above the shaman's hand. With a snap of his fingers and a wave, the cloud floated over to Ward and the warrior watched in apprehension as it hovered directly above his head. A tiny thundercrack rang out, no louder than the squeal of a Tram Rat, and almost invisible droplets of rain started to fall gloomily upon Ward's head. The entire group burst out in laughter, with the exception of Ward. The Elementalist's joke and the cool drops of the water falling from the minute storm cloud expelled Ward's misery, and even Shermt could see him smiling.
Captain Boarhunter examined her men. Not disease, nor war, nor ruin dampened their spirits. The dwarf-captain stroked her chestnut-gold hair out of her eye and began to concentrate on sleeping. Tomorrow would be another day of scouting for the effort to reclaim Gnomeregan, but in her dreams she already saw a city once again filled with the cheer and camaraderie that hung over the room like the silver cloud hung above Ward's injured, happy head.
What country do you come from? What is your primary language?: I come from the United States of America, English is my primary language, and I therefore accept that I have no excuse for laziness in writing. Please note, however, that I am very forgiving when it comes to other people's writing, and that I myself am a slow-to-moderate speed typer. I have, additionally, the occasional mistake or the occasional day of mistakes.
How did you get into Warcraft?: Warcraft III. I fell in love with the lore, and was the only one of my friends who would rather play the single-player, story-driven campaigns than the clickfests of multi-player.
What made you seek our server over others?: Honestly? Yours was the first result of a picky google search, and yours was the first website that didn't ask me to vote for it in some silly "Top 100" list of unofficial servers.
What kinds of roleplay do you enjoy?: I enjoy whatever I think the people around me would enjoy. However, I do grow weary of improvised roleplaying encounters that focus heavily on violence between two people who clearly do not want to lose to the other. I also am mildly disgusted when players get excessively sadistic. Sure, maybe in the novelized fiction Thrall was beaten and brutalized and defecated upon; but how many people have fun going through that? I think the world of Warcraft finds most of its appeal in its light-heartedness. There are a lot of roleplaying encounters I love to immerse myself in, but if someone's character begins to, as I once witnessed, stab and cut and injure a helpless, bound player with a knife until she would "talk," I admit I may well burst into song, pull out a mug of ale, walk away, and announce I'm off "to seek more honorable battles."
What is your favorite race/class? Why?:
Dwarf hunters are a love of mine. They're like the common footman of a cohesive Dwarven army: Even for Dwarves, It takes a professional to wear heavy plate armor in the field, but any Dwarf could take up a good rifle or crossbow in arms should he or she need to defend the nation. That strikes me as romantic.
What are your expectations of this server?:
First, that this introduction is adequate enough to get me in. Second, that no roleplaying ever devolves into anything personal. I'm not easily personally offended, but if I were, I'd somehow be hurt so badly I'd have to leave.
Out of all of our rules and regulations listed on our server, which appeals to you the most?:
"Knowing when to quit." Because fun is fun no matter what the rules are, and that is the only rule that, when violated, is guaranteed to ruin all the fun to be had.
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!:
Captain Boarhunter examined her men. They had been roaming the depths of Gnomeregan for nearly a week--or so Elementalist MacGuirk had assured her, anyway, as neither sun nor moon had influence here--and had engaged in more than a few pitched battles. Reconnaissance was far more difficult than anyone could have expected, least of all her benfactors sitting on their comfy stone chairs back in Ironforge. Though the party stuck with the most ruinous streets of the former Gnomish capital, those that were despite the months since its destruction still thick with smog and ash and even fire in some places, they still met resistance.
Sometimes, it was only the occasional starving and bewildered unfortunate, the most dangerous of them was one which managed to bite off part of her senior fighter's scalp by leaping upon him from a third-story window. Worse were the robotic patrols that seemed able to spot her party through the thickest of fallout-smog as if it were a sunny day on the shores of Loch Modan. Sometimes they were accompanied by Mekkatorquian cavalry, gun-toting leper gnomes on Mechanostriders who were likewise searching the ruined city blocks for scavenge to bring back to their technocratic emperor. The city never slept.
For all this, Captain Boarhunter proudly stroked her chestnut-gold hair back as she judged her squad's condition. At the center of the room sat Elementalist MacGuirk, a draenei draped in enough mail to armor three dwarves, and the Bombtossers, Screwy and Skoto. The lot of them were playing a card game with her remaining soldier, Sergeant Ward, who appeared to be distracted with gingerly nursing his two-day old scalp wound. Not one of the recon team had fallen to enemy fire, nor suffered a serious injury: the most grievous was Ward's bite wound, but, she noted, even that was probably second to the his damaged pride, as the most grievous wound, she noted, was likely Ward's pride, as the veteran soldier seemed more upset with the loss of much of the right side of his hair to bandaging than the pain from the wound itself.
"I'm going to have to go back to Stormwind with my helmet on," Ward moaned as he looked away from the cards in his hand to study a reflection pool behind him. Water covered nearly half the dark stone room, and the group had made camp on a raised, dry level on the other half. The three other players watched patiently at Ward as he toyed with his hair, trying to cover the bandages with what long black strands remained.
"Perhaps next time I shall let you sow your own head back together yourself?" MacGuirk's teeth visibly waxed despite the poor lighting.
"Perhaps next time I'll let something with hands not twice the size of my own head do the stitching," Ward retorted with unappreciative irritation as he finally played a card from his hand."
Skoto's turn was next, and, as if to stall for time, he began to tease Ward. "Your precious hair should be the least of your worries. It's been how many days since you were bitten? I'm surprised you haven't turned yet."
Ward, who had turned away to gussy himself up again, whipped around. "What do you mean?"
Shermt grinned as she saw through the dark the other Bombtosser bristling, apparently picking up on Skoto's stalling strategy. "Quiet, Skoto. It'll never do to upset a bite victim. You'll just enrage him more when the time comes."
Ward's jaw opened to speak as Skoto nodded. "Indeed, you're right. Let us try and comfort him, and not speed up the process."
"You mean," the sergeant's mouth was agape before he stuttered, "I'm going to turn into one of them?"
Skoto and Screwy nodded solemnly before the latter confirmed, "Green skin, wrinkled face, and then," he said, as he rubbed his own shiny bald head.
For the first time, the sergeant seemed to choke up completely. Shermt wasn't sure, but she thought she heard him sob every so quietly. She'd have leaned in closer, but she might have revealed she wasn't sleeping. A morale check is always the most accurate when the troops don't know they're being observed, after all.
MacGuirk then raised a finger soberly. "I think I know a cure for your ailment, Sergeant." He appeared to begin twirling his pointer finger near his head as if to suggest the sergeant had lost his mind. Shermt opened her eye wide to get a better look. The shaman gradually twirled his finger faster and faster as luminous grey steam accumulated around it. In seconds, a tiny, glowing, argent cloud had gathered above the shaman's hand. With a snap of his fingers and a wave, the cloud floated over to Ward and the warrior watched in apprehension as it hovered directly above his head. A tiny thundercrack rang out, no louder than the squeal of a Tram Rat, and almost invisible droplets of rain started to fall gloomily upon Ward's head. The entire group burst out in laughter, with the exception of Ward. The Elementalist's joke and the cool drops of the water falling from the minute storm cloud expelled Ward's misery, and even Shermt could see him smiling.
Captain Boarhunter examined her men. Not disease, nor war, nor ruin dampened their spirits. The dwarf-captain stroked her chestnut-gold hair out of her eye and began to concentrate on sleeping. Tomorrow would be another day of scouting for the effort to reclaim Gnomeregan, but in her dreams she already saw a city once again filled with the cheer and camaraderie that hung over the room like the silver cloud hung above Ward's injured, happy head.