09-06-2010, 06:41 PM
First and foremost: Tell us about yourself, as a player.:
I've played WoW since hunters had a Focus bar (the first time), raided and leveled alts for fun since then and played horde and alliance both just to see the stories the writers put into the game. I've laughed (at quests and trade chat), cried (mostly at trade chat...) and put hours of work into WoW (raiding is like herding cats sometimes) and I'm not sure if I like the changes that Cataclysm is going to bring about in game play. Story? Yes. Game play? Enhhhhh...
What country do you come from? What is your primary language?
United States.
English/bad English (yes, there *is* a difference)
How did you get into Warcraft?:
A friend of mine was playing the beta for a long time and told me I had to try it, I had been playing Diablo 2 a lot, read through the instruction manual for WoW and attempted to make an Amazon-like Night Elf. She wasn't exactly what I had expected, but I fell in love with WoW and have played since then.
What made you seek our server over others? (or How did you find us?):
Actually, my wife found your server a few days ago and has been playing on it since then.
What kinds of roleplay do you enjoy?:
I've been playing RPGs since I was 14 (that's 17 years in case you're wondering) and I've seen the gamut ranging from not-quite-prose in character to the kind of tongue-in-cheek, pop-culture referenced goofiness that makes up 75% of WoW. I've done most everything and I'm adaptable enough to play with whoever is nearby.
What is your favorite race/class? Why?:
The one I am playing at that time, honestly. I love druids and pallys because they can take a beating and survive to heal themselves back up for some more, I love shammys (except for the low hit points on totems...) and mages for their massive casting damage - I'd have to say my list of "like"s are larger than my list of "like less". Okay, so the only class on that list is warrior, but they're just boring to play. :\
What are your expectations of this server?:
From a mechanic's stand point, I'd expect the mobs to follow their scripting and drop what they're supposed to drop and react to skills and spells the way they were written. From an Rp stand point, well, you can't script players - they're always doing *something* crazy...
Out of all of our rules and regulations listed on our server, which appeals to you the most?:
Keyboard skills! <3 I'm so tired of seeing people type like a retarded gerbil with water on the brain and then when they're called on it, give the response "dis isn engilch class" or something equally as lack-of-intellegence-exposing.
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!:
Fingers, worn and callused, pinched the bridge of the large man's nose as he furrowed his brow in consturnation and attempted understanding.
"Let me get this straight," he began, "you named your mule after the orc that killed your father during the war..."
Confusion and disbelief bore heavily on his shoulders causing him to stoop much lower than his muscled frame would suggest, but the weight of armor was a simple thing compared to the revelation that was just reealed to him.
"You wouldn't want to share your reasoning behind this with me, would you, Brachs?" he inquired of the man across the rough-hewn table from him.
Brachs didn't respond at first, the drink already slowing his thoughts and slurring his words, as he leaned forward again to reach for the bottle on the table, years of training with a blade keeping his wrist and arm from shaking too much as it retrieved the bottle, he took a long pull.
"Are you sure you even want to hear about my reasoning? I mean, you're supposed to go take your oath and I wouldn't want such a thing weighin' so heavy in your heart when it comes time for you to be a Paladain' n' all..." He gestured with the mostly-empty bottle as he spoke, the liquid inside sloshing about.
It was a sobering, half-accusation not only because it was coming from a man he'd known all his life, but also because it bespoke exactly the kind of talk he had heard when he had come South back to Gilneas from Lordaeron. What had happened in his absence to cause his own people to become so withdrawn and distrusting? There was speak of - no, indulging in gossip and hearsay was beneath him now - as Friar Aloric had advised him, so would he strive. Time to meet this head on like the 'Bull' the lads on the practice field had jokingly called him.
"What sort of motivation could you possible have for naming your mule that would make me condemn you, Brachs? It's an odd name, I'll give you that, but nothing that's worth condemnation for, I'd imagine."
"Oh? What'f I told you I named it after my father's murderer just s'every day I could beat it with a rake and feel better about- about..." At that the accusation and building anger melted from his face, he dropped the bottle, covered his face with his hands and he sobbed like a babe.
The past was dead, they said. The past couldn't ruin your future if you didn't let it, they said. Gareth had never met this "they" person, but he vowed that whoever they were, they had no part in any tragedy. Never buried their wife and their mother in the same day. Never saw their brothers and father slain as they stood with them in defense of their homes. Gareth swore if he ever met "they", he'd punch them in the mouth. Oh, he'd confess to Friar Aloric in the chapel and take his punishment for it, but that wouldn't make it any less satisfying...
Shaking his head, Gareth thoughts returned back to the present and his friend leaned over the table whose crying had tapered off into small snores as he buried his face in his crossed arms. He'd be sore in the morning, but the problems would still be there far later than that. Gareth considered saddling his horse again and asking the local chapter to put him up when a slight noise like the braying of a mule feathered it's way across the field to him. Gareth gathered his thick grey cloak about his shoulders from where it hung on the peg near the door as he made across to the barn in investigation.
The cold had driven south exceptionally quick this year, chilling the sea. The warmth of the sun still heated the ground regularly, and so fog crept in on silent little feet and blanketed the world as far as could be seen with a torch, and the barn was well outside that reach tonight as most all nights since he'd been just a lad. Just for a second, he once again became that lad and fear of the darkness and the fog crept into his heart on legs of doubt. Gareth shook his head to clear the fear and foolishness. He was respected on the practice field by all and had survived a war against the ravanous blood-thirsting orcs. it was just fog. And darkness. And...something. He frowned and reached bhind him for the lance he had propped against the doorway before entering.
Another shrieking bray coasted from the barn's direction as his hand brushed against a wooden haft. Gripping it in his fist he trotted across the plowed earth through the darkness, anger at his own self-conjured fear lending him strength and a need to take out his frustrations on a physical problem. Had to be an animal in the barn harrassing the mule. Had to be...
Slowing as he approached the barn, Gareth noticed the paint had been marred by scratches in the paint - deep enough to put shallow scores in the wood of the double doors from waist high in a sweeping arc to the dirt, even digging furrows in the packed dirt in two places. A piercing bray accompanied the terrified whinny of his horse, seeming louder then was possible in the mist.
Not stopping, no time for thought, Gareth threw the door open and charged into the semi-darkness of the barn and bellowed a cry of challenge as he brandished his...rake? Gareth's mind flashed back to his arrival, how Brachs had leaned hs rake against the house and how he had leaned his lance next to it in honor of a craftsman's tool too late. The two figures before him whirled with menace as one, moonlight shading their twisted inhuman features in black and silver.
Brachs' mule had reached his limit. The two...things had tormented him longer than they had done so in previous nights, seeming to enjoy his fear much too much tonight. The horse in the stall beside him had stood against him in an attempt to rub some of his bravery off onto him, but the things had just capered and gibbered in delight and continued their actions and *that* was bad enough, but now? The Rake had shown up! The Rakewielder had even bellowed loudly at him and he knew what came next! He brayed in defiance and charged right through his tormentors, bowling them aside as he sped out of the barn.
When Brachs' mule charged through the creatures, they sprawled flat on the packed earth of the barn's floor. Gareth wasted no time by being inactive. Whirling the rake like a glaive, he struck visciously at their prone bodies partially in fear and partially in surprise. In all cases, the rake bit deeply into the earth and raised again wet and dark until what remained was clearly lifeless and shredded in the dust and cast off feed. Gareth had heard many cracks and snaps during the few seconds of fury that he shared with the figures and considering the tool he had been using, expected the rake to be beyond salvaging but brought it trotting back with him to Brachs' house fearing more had come across his boyhood friend as he drunkenly slept across his table.
Gareth smashed into the door in his haste, his weight and impatience loosing his grip on the handle at first until he scrabbled briefly at it eventually gaining purchase and swinging it open. Brachs awoke with a cry at the sudden noise and intrusion.
Seeing his friend had come to no harm, Gareth's fear boiled away to anger. In two steps he had crossed the room and had twisted his fist in Brachs' shirt easily lifting him partially due to the surge of adrenaline powering him. Gareth shook him none-too lightly.
"YOU! WILL! NOT! MISTREAT! THAT! MULE! AGAIN!" Gareth punctuated each word with a shake. Brachs teacup-sized eyes told Gareth that he was listening and would obey. As he ended his tirade, he noticed that Brachs' eyes strayed to the rake in his other fist and he glanced at it for the first time since the sun went down that evening. What was grasped in his hand was no rake, but had somehow shortened and thickened into a mace of silver bearing a thick head topped by an equine form with an Ash haft. Gareth peered closer at the head, looking at the detail of the form to find it was a mule and not a horse...
Gareth awoke with a start. It had seemed so real. Was it a message? A warning? Light only knew. He would have to tell his friend Brachs when he saw him next and gague his reaction to it.
Is there anything else you would like to add, ask, or otherwise clarify?:
I've played WoW since hunters had a Focus bar (the first time), raided and leveled alts for fun since then and played horde and alliance both just to see the stories the writers put into the game. I've laughed (at quests and trade chat), cried (mostly at trade chat...) and put hours of work into WoW (raiding is like herding cats sometimes) and I'm not sure if I like the changes that Cataclysm is going to bring about in game play. Story? Yes. Game play? Enhhhhh...
What country do you come from? What is your primary language?
United States.
English/bad English (yes, there *is* a difference)
How did you get into Warcraft?:
A friend of mine was playing the beta for a long time and told me I had to try it, I had been playing Diablo 2 a lot, read through the instruction manual for WoW and attempted to make an Amazon-like Night Elf. She wasn't exactly what I had expected, but I fell in love with WoW and have played since then.
What made you seek our server over others? (or How did you find us?):
Actually, my wife found your server a few days ago and has been playing on it since then.
What kinds of roleplay do you enjoy?:
I've been playing RPGs since I was 14 (that's 17 years in case you're wondering) and I've seen the gamut ranging from not-quite-prose in character to the kind of tongue-in-cheek, pop-culture referenced goofiness that makes up 75% of WoW. I've done most everything and I'm adaptable enough to play with whoever is nearby.
What is your favorite race/class? Why?:
The one I am playing at that time, honestly. I love druids and pallys because they can take a beating and survive to heal themselves back up for some more, I love shammys (except for the low hit points on totems...) and mages for their massive casting damage - I'd have to say my list of "like"s are larger than my list of "like less". Okay, so the only class on that list is warrior, but they're just boring to play. :\
What are your expectations of this server?:
From a mechanic's stand point, I'd expect the mobs to follow their scripting and drop what they're supposed to drop and react to skills and spells the way they were written. From an Rp stand point, well, you can't script players - they're always doing *something* crazy...
Out of all of our rules and regulations listed on our server, which appeals to you the most?:
Keyboard skills! <3 I'm so tired of seeing people type like a retarded gerbil with water on the brain and then when they're called on it, give the response "dis isn engilch class" or something equally as lack-of-intellegence-exposing.
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!:
Fingers, worn and callused, pinched the bridge of the large man's nose as he furrowed his brow in consturnation and attempted understanding.
"Let me get this straight," he began, "you named your mule after the orc that killed your father during the war..."
Confusion and disbelief bore heavily on his shoulders causing him to stoop much lower than his muscled frame would suggest, but the weight of armor was a simple thing compared to the revelation that was just reealed to him.
"You wouldn't want to share your reasoning behind this with me, would you, Brachs?" he inquired of the man across the rough-hewn table from him.
Brachs didn't respond at first, the drink already slowing his thoughts and slurring his words, as he leaned forward again to reach for the bottle on the table, years of training with a blade keeping his wrist and arm from shaking too much as it retrieved the bottle, he took a long pull.
"Are you sure you even want to hear about my reasoning? I mean, you're supposed to go take your oath and I wouldn't want such a thing weighin' so heavy in your heart when it comes time for you to be a Paladain' n' all..." He gestured with the mostly-empty bottle as he spoke, the liquid inside sloshing about.
It was a sobering, half-accusation not only because it was coming from a man he'd known all his life, but also because it bespoke exactly the kind of talk he had heard when he had come South back to Gilneas from Lordaeron. What had happened in his absence to cause his own people to become so withdrawn and distrusting? There was speak of - no, indulging in gossip and hearsay was beneath him now - as Friar Aloric had advised him, so would he strive. Time to meet this head on like the 'Bull' the lads on the practice field had jokingly called him.
"What sort of motivation could you possible have for naming your mule that would make me condemn you, Brachs? It's an odd name, I'll give you that, but nothing that's worth condemnation for, I'd imagine."
"Oh? What'f I told you I named it after my father's murderer just s'every day I could beat it with a rake and feel better about- about..." At that the accusation and building anger melted from his face, he dropped the bottle, covered his face with his hands and he sobbed like a babe.
The past was dead, they said. The past couldn't ruin your future if you didn't let it, they said. Gareth had never met this "they" person, but he vowed that whoever they were, they had no part in any tragedy. Never buried their wife and their mother in the same day. Never saw their brothers and father slain as they stood with them in defense of their homes. Gareth swore if he ever met "they", he'd punch them in the mouth. Oh, he'd confess to Friar Aloric in the chapel and take his punishment for it, but that wouldn't make it any less satisfying...
Shaking his head, Gareth thoughts returned back to the present and his friend leaned over the table whose crying had tapered off into small snores as he buried his face in his crossed arms. He'd be sore in the morning, but the problems would still be there far later than that. Gareth considered saddling his horse again and asking the local chapter to put him up when a slight noise like the braying of a mule feathered it's way across the field to him. Gareth gathered his thick grey cloak about his shoulders from where it hung on the peg near the door as he made across to the barn in investigation.
The cold had driven south exceptionally quick this year, chilling the sea. The warmth of the sun still heated the ground regularly, and so fog crept in on silent little feet and blanketed the world as far as could be seen with a torch, and the barn was well outside that reach tonight as most all nights since he'd been just a lad. Just for a second, he once again became that lad and fear of the darkness and the fog crept into his heart on legs of doubt. Gareth shook his head to clear the fear and foolishness. He was respected on the practice field by all and had survived a war against the ravanous blood-thirsting orcs. it was just fog. And darkness. And...something. He frowned and reached bhind him for the lance he had propped against the doorway before entering.
Another shrieking bray coasted from the barn's direction as his hand brushed against a wooden haft. Gripping it in his fist he trotted across the plowed earth through the darkness, anger at his own self-conjured fear lending him strength and a need to take out his frustrations on a physical problem. Had to be an animal in the barn harrassing the mule. Had to be...
Slowing as he approached the barn, Gareth noticed the paint had been marred by scratches in the paint - deep enough to put shallow scores in the wood of the double doors from waist high in a sweeping arc to the dirt, even digging furrows in the packed dirt in two places. A piercing bray accompanied the terrified whinny of his horse, seeming louder then was possible in the mist.
Not stopping, no time for thought, Gareth threw the door open and charged into the semi-darkness of the barn and bellowed a cry of challenge as he brandished his...rake? Gareth's mind flashed back to his arrival, how Brachs had leaned hs rake against the house and how he had leaned his lance next to it in honor of a craftsman's tool too late. The two figures before him whirled with menace as one, moonlight shading their twisted inhuman features in black and silver.
Brachs' mule had reached his limit. The two...things had tormented him longer than they had done so in previous nights, seeming to enjoy his fear much too much tonight. The horse in the stall beside him had stood against him in an attempt to rub some of his bravery off onto him, but the things had just capered and gibbered in delight and continued their actions and *that* was bad enough, but now? The Rake had shown up! The Rakewielder had even bellowed loudly at him and he knew what came next! He brayed in defiance and charged right through his tormentors, bowling them aside as he sped out of the barn.
When Brachs' mule charged through the creatures, they sprawled flat on the packed earth of the barn's floor. Gareth wasted no time by being inactive. Whirling the rake like a glaive, he struck visciously at their prone bodies partially in fear and partially in surprise. In all cases, the rake bit deeply into the earth and raised again wet and dark until what remained was clearly lifeless and shredded in the dust and cast off feed. Gareth had heard many cracks and snaps during the few seconds of fury that he shared with the figures and considering the tool he had been using, expected the rake to be beyond salvaging but brought it trotting back with him to Brachs' house fearing more had come across his boyhood friend as he drunkenly slept across his table.
Gareth smashed into the door in his haste, his weight and impatience loosing his grip on the handle at first until he scrabbled briefly at it eventually gaining purchase and swinging it open. Brachs awoke with a cry at the sudden noise and intrusion.
Seeing his friend had come to no harm, Gareth's fear boiled away to anger. In two steps he had crossed the room and had twisted his fist in Brachs' shirt easily lifting him partially due to the surge of adrenaline powering him. Gareth shook him none-too lightly.
"YOU! WILL! NOT! MISTREAT! THAT! MULE! AGAIN!" Gareth punctuated each word with a shake. Brachs teacup-sized eyes told Gareth that he was listening and would obey. As he ended his tirade, he noticed that Brachs' eyes strayed to the rake in his other fist and he glanced at it for the first time since the sun went down that evening. What was grasped in his hand was no rake, but had somehow shortened and thickened into a mace of silver bearing a thick head topped by an equine form with an Ash haft. Gareth peered closer at the head, looking at the detail of the form to find it was a mule and not a horse...
Gareth awoke with a start. It had seemed so real. Was it a message? A warning? Light only knew. He would have to tell his friend Brachs when he saw him next and gague his reaction to it.
Is there anything else you would like to add, ask, or otherwise clarify?: