Conquest of the Horde

First and foremost: Tell us about yourself, as a player.:
Well, I've been roleplaying on-and-off various games for quite a while now. My interest in it was first enkindled on Neverwinter Nights, but unfortunately, I lost interest in it due to some of my favourite servers more or less vanishing. I often develope character concepts and take them from server to server and from game to game -- I feel this gives me much more insight into their development.

What country do you come from? What is your primary language?
I'm from the south of Ireland (woo), and my primary language is English, and I'd like to think I speak it quite well, ehehe.

How did you get into Warcraft?:
I got into Warcraft when a friend of mine would tell me about how brilliant it was every second sentence. I decided to check it out, and, I found the entire atmosphere and the theme of this unique world immersive and highly interesting.

What made you seek our server over others?:
A friend of mine -- not the one mentioned above, mind -- recommended it to me. Unfortunately, a lot of 'normal' Warcraft play on the net that I've seen isn't completely suitable for roleplay, and I figured that this would be a great opportunity to try it out.

What kinds of roleplay do you enjoy?:
My favourite kind of roleplay would most definitely be the adrenaline-fuelled action sort. Because of the rapid motion of events, I find it to be much more exhilerating than plain conversation, and it offers insight into other peoples' characters, as well, in a way that wouldn't be possible through sheer dialogue. However, some good ol' tavern RP is always appreciated from time to time!

What is your favorite race/class? Why?:
My favourite race would definitely have to be human. I believe that the natural diversity that the race offers is very useful for creating your very own character, fully thought out with personality, habitual traits and how they respond to certain situations. Of course, I have to admit that another reason is that many of my Neverwinter Nights characters were human, and I intend to utilize their names and personalities in creating my very own unique character here.

What are your expectations of this server?:
The only thing I expect of the server itself is to provide an environment in which I can have fun and enjoy myself, and I have no doubt that it will meet this requirement. =]

Out of all of our rules and regulations listed on our server, which appeals to you the most?:
I believe the most important rule is the one titled 'Knowing when to quit'. I think this is integrally important to the success of any roleplay environment, because when OOC drama begins and isn't avoided, or handled appropriately if it should get that far, it can really ruin the enjoyment and atmosphere of the setting for everyone involved.

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!:
(I'm not sure if it HAS to be completely related to this setting, but, this is a favourite extract that I'd worked on for a long time from a story I'd written some time ago when I had access to more free time, and I feel it's a good example of my ability to roleplay.)

The golden silence was broken only by the gentle patter of raindrops on the conservatory roof, accompanied as the violinist is accompanied with the cello by the gentle crackling of the fireplace, which radiated generous amounts of heat from the other side of the room. Crossing one smooth, slender leg over the other, the assassin in the rooms' only armchair sampled once again the fine red wine that had been left on the table to his right. The rich, intoxicating drink helped to ease the passage of time as well as a good book or a midnight hunt might, but without physical exertion or the tedium of the written word.

Around him the cosy extension to the manor was populated with fine furniture, priceless antiques and ancient portraits of Lords and Ladies long dead, whose faces seemed to glare down disapprovingly at the lone sell-sword as though he had begun wiping his boots on the fine carpets. Endless rows of dry and dusty books lined the walls of the study like troops stood to parade ground attention, some battered and worn, others in mint condition, as if they had been bought for the sole purpose of shoring up the ranks, as it were; every respectable gentleman must have a full library. It was, well, bad taste to do any less.

All this the silent occupant of the armchair took in within a few moments of casual observation, before at last turning his inquisitive and all-seeing eye back to the most troubling object in this master's humble abode – The package. It sat alone on a stone pedestal in the centre of the glass extension that made up three of the conservatory's four walls. The half column looked to have once borne a bust of some sort, perhaps of a famous and brilliant military leader, or a military leader so terrible his name was also carved into the granite annals of history, probably with his own sword. Either way, he did not feel any better about the looming presence of the ominous gift. Or perhaps it was a curse. The answer lay on the other side of the crimson wrapping paper, a lavish trademark of the Society, but he would not be allowed the privilege of finding out for some time yet.

With an almost imperceptible click, the solid oak that made up the only entrance into the cosy glass room, with the exception of the patio doors, swung gently open, admitting into the homely space the hobbling figure of an ancient butler. The man must have been over a hundred years old, the perfect picture of servitude, from his shining black shoes, all the way up from his pinstripe trousers to the smartly parted white hair and the plain white towel folded perfectly over his right arm, held at almost military precision at a ninety degree angle from his slight form.

“The master will see you now, Master Seven,” he breathed, his voice as dry as old parchment. For a split second the silent assassin considered offering him a drink from his plentiful supply of red wine, but thought better of it – The prehistoric manservant had the air of a proud gentleman about him, the sort that took offence to mothering of any sort, and had probably done so since they were children. Instead, he merely gave a curt nod, and offered him a polite smile in return for his services. The butler retreated, leaving the assassin once again alone with his thoughts and the package.

Minutes later, the hinges creaked yet again as another person entered the glass and lead extension, their footsteps carrying them over to pedestal in the centre of the rug, and the small but dangerous parcel nestled upon it. This man was taller, much taller, than the last, and nowhere near as aged. “Arrogant,” he thought to himself, for the fortieth time since their first meeting, “By human standards, anyway,”

The gentleman before her ran a leather clad hand over his chiselled features, fixing a pair of brilliant, bright blue eyes directly upon his crimson pair. The master of the house, known to her simply as One, was an imposing figure, at approximately six feet three inches, as opposed to his five feet and ten inches of crossbred stature. The master laid a careful hand on the package, letting the other fiddle nervously with the golden pocket watch clipped onto his jacket. Apart from his hand, he showed no sign of unease at all.

“Good evening, Seven,” he said, eventually, a carefully clipped smile gracing his lips, “How are you tonight?”

Not taken aback in the slightest by the personal enquiry, the assassin gave a simple shrug before responding in what could best be described as tones of relative boredom, “Hello, One,” he replied, his voice as smooth as the finest silk, “The night has been uneventful, thus far,”

The master gave a soft smirk, nodding in sympathy, “Indeed it has, Seven, but that is about to change, perhaps for the worst,”
“I'm listening, One,” came the disinterested reply.

With a small flourish, the master plucked the crimson parcel from the pedestal and held it up to the light. “Do you have any idea about this assignment, Seven?”
The contract killer gave a soft sigh of exasperation, “No, One, I couldn't even begin to imagine,”

“You are going to be pleased,” he said, eagerness seeping from his words like cream from cake, “I have been saving this one for an entire month, awaiting your return from your last.. expedition,”
“I'm honoured,” quipped the assassin from the armchair, still cradling his red wine in one idle hand, “But why me, One? There are dozens of others desperate for work,”

The master nodded in understanding. Assassins were not in short supply. A killer could be sent out time and time again, but clients tended to only pay for someone to be terminated once, apart from that unfortunate business with our most beloved rivals. What was in short supply, however, was ingenuity. There were smart assassins, and there were dead ones. The master knew this better than anyone.

“Very well, Seven,” he admitted, sullenly, “I need a service which cannot be provided by ninety percent of your colleagues, and the ones that are suitable are all on high priority cases,”
“Would these assassins, by any chance, happen to be male?” he asked, as sweetly as any man could, winking at the master in an entirely ingenuine expression of playfullness, who for all his credit appeared entirely nonplussed by the gesture.
“Possibly, Seven, you know that the society does not reveal such things, not even to its members,” he replied casually, “Not even one as valued as yourself,”
“I knew it,” snarled the assassin, sitting up and placing the glass back down on the coffee table to his right, “You don't need a killer, you need a gigolo!”
“Yes,” smirked the master, “And at the same time, no. Read your dossier, Seven, it explains everything,”
“And the fee?” he looked up at this, paying close attention to the answer.
“A.. veritable amount, of which the Society will take ninety percent, naturally,”

The assassin nodded. The rates were reasonable; he was able to live comfortably on one or two jobs a month. After a brief moment, he nodded again, extending a hand for the package, “I accept the contract, One, give me the dossier,”

The crimson parcel changed hands without further discussion. Once a job has been accepted, it cannot be taken back.

The killer glanced up one more time, his attention torn between the parcel and the lord of assassins stood before him, “One, I have a question,”

The master simply nodded in return, to indicate that he put his thoughts forward.
“Is this political?” he asked, already grimacing at the thought, “Or is it another grudge?”

The master, for the first time that night, let out a hearty laugh, patting his chest jovially with a slender hand, slipping the golden pocket watch back into his waistcoat.

“Political, Seven,” came the gleeful reply, “As political as it gets,”
“Ah...”
“Don't let me detain you... Oh, and one other thing, Seven,”
“Yes, One?”

The Master paused, just long enough to cause a rift in the cold politeness between them, before offering his reply.

“Good luck,”

Is there anything else you would like to add, ask, or otherwise clarify?:
Nope, but I certainly appreciate the fact that you'd asked.

Welcome to Conquest of the Horde!

If you haven't already, please take a gander at the Wiki, Stickies, and FAQs as the hold valuable information about being successful on the server!

Hope you enjoy your stay!

<333

Cressy