11-11-2009, 10:39 AM
Hey guys, I've been an avid Warcraft fan ever since the first Warcraft was released many years back.
I love reading up on warcraft lore and the history of all the races. I find it very intriguing and entertaining to past the time.
I'm Currently studying in Singapore, I was first introduced to wacraft as a kid, i got the game as a gift during one of my birthday. I was hooked the moment i installed the game, the rest like they say is history. Having played Wow actively for the pass few years i was looking for a way to further enhance the warcraft experience, i wanted to role play a character from the beginning.
I particularly enjoy Single Rp game, where i have to quest and fight others alone, Kind of like a story unfolding based on my actions. My favorite race would be the night elf, as they have a very dark and mysterious background, being able to shadwomeld also is big mitigating factor. I enjoy playing the rouge class as i like to take my enemies by surprise and deal as much damage as i can and having the ability to escape before being found out.
I wouldn't really say i have big expectations or demands from this server, i would honestly just want a lag free role player server where people like me can enjoy the world of roleplaying.
I believe enforcing The rule of respecting your fellow players is one of the rules that appeal to me the most, during my time playing on the actual servers, many a times i see fellow players getting offended by others, ' keyboard warriors' i'd call them, these rude players spoil the aspect of the games, after all we're here to enjoy wow, not be pissed of at each other.
Here's my story
" What value was the tabard he bore if it had never won him his prize? "
It all started with Jennifer. She had the most beautiful strawberry blonde hair…
The two of them had been friends since early childhood. Their parents knew one another, and each family had helped one another till the fields and attend the crops. Each and every summer she'd grown prettier, her girlish looks blooming…catching and keeping his attention. Only, she never repaid it in kind. As they grew, he simply fell into the role of a close friend – kept close and yet at length. In time the courtship games began and her suitors came about…but still he was only a friend.
Then the war came. The suitors were gone, and the distant smell of death lingered. It was one late evening as the two of them sat on the wooden post fence along the long dusty trail that a battalion rode past. Their armor was polished, their weapons pristine…it was an undeniable grand display that caught HER attention. They called themselves the Scarlet Crusade, and they were riding to war to battle undead scourge that threatened the very existence of anything in its path.
So….he grabbed the cloak of a passing paladin rider and pleaded his case, asking to join the Crusade and to follow them into battle. On that dusty long road, he conscripted himself into the Scarlet's to impress her…to make her notice him. He would be a man now, he'd face the horrors of battle, and return a veteran to claim his unrequited love.
Only…what one envisions in their head as a fantasy is far different from the reality.
The battle was a slaughter; the troops he had followed were tore limb from limb. The horrors he'd witnessed in less than a few moments of battle would stay with him forever….he'd only survived the battle and his own inexperience by fleeing.
~~
Now…he walks the halls of the Tyr's Hand Abby. His love, who he was so desperate to impress, had died. The war rolled over their childhood homes, slaying his love, their kin, and leaving nothing but memories in its wake. Even though the years had passed, and he still longed for her.
Tonight it was his duty to keep a steadfast watch upon a particular retreat within the Abby's library. The library housed a collection of tomes, collected from the heretics known as the Cult of the Damned. He'd never been allowed to review such books, as it was forbidden – the lore and blasphemy within the forbidden collection was reserved for only the most ‘devout' within the Crusades ranks.
Not once had he ever pondered the contents of his wards…it was in these long dark night hours that he longed for her. The memories of her cheery demeanor kept his inner demons at bay. His mind drifted back to the gold fields of grain outside their family homes and laboring alongside her. Mentally he relived the times they shared like a rosary every night, never tiring, never releasing the memory of what was and could have been. Perhaps his longing is what made him the perfect guardian of such forbidden knowledge. What value was the tabard he bore if it had never won him his prize? What was the point of his duties if he'd never ride home to collect her? She was dead…and he walked the cold stone halls of the Abby alone.
These long nights had become a blur. Each slipping past as he pined away for something he would never have.
As he paced the halls, he paused to adjust his tabard…noting at the same time that the torch nearest him on the wall flickered as if stirred by a wind. As the torch's flame danced, blades slipped between his ribs on either side of his back – finding solace in his lungs. His cloth attire offer no protection from the bite of the blades….all the same, a part of him consigned himself to this end years ago. The only animation and vocalization he could offer was the sound of him choking upon his own blood as his lungs seized.
In silence, he choked, coughed and spit out blood – his body seizing in an attempt to draw precious air. The blades that had silenced him were not removed – but rather now used as leverage...a handhold to push him face first against the wall. Once he was against the wall, one dagger slid out from between his ribs, releasing a rush of trapped air out from the open wheezing wound as his lung failed and then deflated upon itself.
Against the wall, his attacker pressed its body to his while reaching about to placed the dagger to his throat. As he stood pinned to the wall, his throat was slit with the dagger that had just been in his ribs. Still he coughed, spit, and bleed…but never did he struggle...consigned he lulled into a sort of peace. The promise of an afterlife where he might find his love soothed him into a sort of passive state.
Only after his throat was slit, could he hear it…in his ear his attacker quietly crooned. He did not know or understand the song…or the intention behind lulling to him as he died. In a moment he was freed once more, the dagger still in one of his ribs pulled out leaving him completely mute. He was allowed to collapse upon the floor, left to bleed to death.
Laying there he looked outward, towards the figure that had so graciously spared him from his ‘duty'…observing with interest the tall Forsaken female...and how she so casually stepped over him….and advanced towards the books he was to protect. His vision failed him as she strolled away, twirling her blood soaked daggers deftly in each hand.
All the same, he need not watch the forsaken stroll on…or have his vision to think back to better years and his Jennifer as he lay dying.
~~
The next morning, the Scarlets buried their fallen companion. His peers offering his a proper funeral by bonfire…leaving nothing in the way of remains for the scourge to claim. What remained now, were questions concerning his death, and the stolen tomes.
I love reading up on warcraft lore and the history of all the races. I find it very intriguing and entertaining to past the time.
I'm Currently studying in Singapore, I was first introduced to wacraft as a kid, i got the game as a gift during one of my birthday. I was hooked the moment i installed the game, the rest like they say is history. Having played Wow actively for the pass few years i was looking for a way to further enhance the warcraft experience, i wanted to role play a character from the beginning.
I particularly enjoy Single Rp game, where i have to quest and fight others alone, Kind of like a story unfolding based on my actions. My favorite race would be the night elf, as they have a very dark and mysterious background, being able to shadwomeld also is big mitigating factor. I enjoy playing the rouge class as i like to take my enemies by surprise and deal as much damage as i can and having the ability to escape before being found out.
I wouldn't really say i have big expectations or demands from this server, i would honestly just want a lag free role player server where people like me can enjoy the world of roleplaying.
I believe enforcing The rule of respecting your fellow players is one of the rules that appeal to me the most, during my time playing on the actual servers, many a times i see fellow players getting offended by others, ' keyboard warriors' i'd call them, these rude players spoil the aspect of the games, after all we're here to enjoy wow, not be pissed of at each other.
Here's my story
" What value was the tabard he bore if it had never won him his prize? "
It all started with Jennifer. She had the most beautiful strawberry blonde hair…
The two of them had been friends since early childhood. Their parents knew one another, and each family had helped one another till the fields and attend the crops. Each and every summer she'd grown prettier, her girlish looks blooming…catching and keeping his attention. Only, she never repaid it in kind. As they grew, he simply fell into the role of a close friend – kept close and yet at length. In time the courtship games began and her suitors came about…but still he was only a friend.
Then the war came. The suitors were gone, and the distant smell of death lingered. It was one late evening as the two of them sat on the wooden post fence along the long dusty trail that a battalion rode past. Their armor was polished, their weapons pristine…it was an undeniable grand display that caught HER attention. They called themselves the Scarlet Crusade, and they were riding to war to battle undead scourge that threatened the very existence of anything in its path.
So….he grabbed the cloak of a passing paladin rider and pleaded his case, asking to join the Crusade and to follow them into battle. On that dusty long road, he conscripted himself into the Scarlet's to impress her…to make her notice him. He would be a man now, he'd face the horrors of battle, and return a veteran to claim his unrequited love.
Only…what one envisions in their head as a fantasy is far different from the reality.
The battle was a slaughter; the troops he had followed were tore limb from limb. The horrors he'd witnessed in less than a few moments of battle would stay with him forever….he'd only survived the battle and his own inexperience by fleeing.
~~
Now…he walks the halls of the Tyr's Hand Abby. His love, who he was so desperate to impress, had died. The war rolled over their childhood homes, slaying his love, their kin, and leaving nothing but memories in its wake. Even though the years had passed, and he still longed for her.
Tonight it was his duty to keep a steadfast watch upon a particular retreat within the Abby's library. The library housed a collection of tomes, collected from the heretics known as the Cult of the Damned. He'd never been allowed to review such books, as it was forbidden – the lore and blasphemy within the forbidden collection was reserved for only the most ‘devout' within the Crusades ranks.
Not once had he ever pondered the contents of his wards…it was in these long dark night hours that he longed for her. The memories of her cheery demeanor kept his inner demons at bay. His mind drifted back to the gold fields of grain outside their family homes and laboring alongside her. Mentally he relived the times they shared like a rosary every night, never tiring, never releasing the memory of what was and could have been. Perhaps his longing is what made him the perfect guardian of such forbidden knowledge. What value was the tabard he bore if it had never won him his prize? What was the point of his duties if he'd never ride home to collect her? She was dead…and he walked the cold stone halls of the Abby alone.
These long nights had become a blur. Each slipping past as he pined away for something he would never have.
As he paced the halls, he paused to adjust his tabard…noting at the same time that the torch nearest him on the wall flickered as if stirred by a wind. As the torch's flame danced, blades slipped between his ribs on either side of his back – finding solace in his lungs. His cloth attire offer no protection from the bite of the blades….all the same, a part of him consigned himself to this end years ago. The only animation and vocalization he could offer was the sound of him choking upon his own blood as his lungs seized.
In silence, he choked, coughed and spit out blood – his body seizing in an attempt to draw precious air. The blades that had silenced him were not removed – but rather now used as leverage...a handhold to push him face first against the wall. Once he was against the wall, one dagger slid out from between his ribs, releasing a rush of trapped air out from the open wheezing wound as his lung failed and then deflated upon itself.
Against the wall, his attacker pressed its body to his while reaching about to placed the dagger to his throat. As he stood pinned to the wall, his throat was slit with the dagger that had just been in his ribs. Still he coughed, spit, and bleed…but never did he struggle...consigned he lulled into a sort of peace. The promise of an afterlife where he might find his love soothed him into a sort of passive state.
Only after his throat was slit, could he hear it…in his ear his attacker quietly crooned. He did not know or understand the song…or the intention behind lulling to him as he died. In a moment he was freed once more, the dagger still in one of his ribs pulled out leaving him completely mute. He was allowed to collapse upon the floor, left to bleed to death.
Laying there he looked outward, towards the figure that had so graciously spared him from his ‘duty'…observing with interest the tall Forsaken female...and how she so casually stepped over him….and advanced towards the books he was to protect. His vision failed him as she strolled away, twirling her blood soaked daggers deftly in each hand.
All the same, he need not watch the forsaken stroll on…or have his vision to think back to better years and his Jennifer as he lay dying.
~~
The next morning, the Scarlets buried their fallen companion. His peers offering his a proper funeral by bonfire…leaving nothing in the way of remains for the scourge to claim. What remained now, were questions concerning his death, and the stolen tomes.