01-12-2014, 04:14 PM
First and foremost: Tell us about yourself, as a player:
I am Averrana's friend who introduced her to the concept of private servers, I've been roleplaying sporadically over the course of about six years now. I never really take it too seriously and my motivation is fickle but when I can muster up the willpower to type something, I've found myself in for some of the most fun, immersive experiences that I've ever had in any kind of game. It makes going back to normal video games quite dull by comparison. They are so limited while when you rp, the limit is only what you can imagine.
What country do you come from? What is your primary language?:
I live in North America. My primary languages are English and Sarcasm.
How did you get into Warcraft?:
I never really did, I've always been more interested in other things but I did play vanilla WoW when I was younger and remember finding it amusing for a handful of years but I found my money was better spend on other things. So I quit. Ended up coming back through the Molten private server which was kind of an atrocious experience, then Emerald Dream which wasn't all that active for my liking and didn't have much in the way of rp. It was just something to do to kill time. But Ave says that Warcraft is supposed to be pretty interesting stuff so I'm taking her word for it and giving it another go.
How did you find us? Did anything in particular draw you to the server?:
I'm Averrana's friend and she wanted to find a WoW server with a greater emphasis on roleplaying; I introduced her to the concept of private servers and began searching around the internet for any private servers that had stressed roleplaying more than tedious raids and pvp. This was the first option that appeared and upon further inspection it aligned with just about all of the criteria I tend to look for when searching for things like this: Small, close-knit playerbase who are friendly and enjoy doing what they do just as much as I do myself. Staff that seems to genuinely care about their playerbase. Seeming Horde-centric doesn't hurt either. That's at a glance. I'm sure I'll have plenty of time to gather a more informed opinion on things as I learn the nuances of the server.
What kinds of roleplay do you enjoy?:
All sorts. I don't discriminate. But I prefer the darker, depressing, and bleak settings more than those rife with wide-eyed, idealistic fantasy. Think The Black Company and A Song of Ice and Fire over Lord of the Rings and The Wheel of Time. I do enjoy seeing the villains prevail over the forces of good and for morality to be as gray as gray can get. If aren't multiple chances for moral dilemmas or the character's aren't dealing with traumas on a regular basis that have the potential to utterly shatter their psyche, terminating the tenuous alliance they have with sanity... I get bored. I like things that can get disturbing to the point of cringe-worthy if not downright weird but I do appreciate a good amount of humor in my rps as well. If I'm not playing the role of a cerebral, depraved mass murderer then I'm just another down on his luck slacker trying to get by while keeping his head intact. I don't really have any apprehensions about the sorts of roleplaying I do though.
It's all the same to me.
What is your favorite race/class? Why?:
From what I've read the hunter class and the rogue class would appeal to my sensibilities; no hokey magic just your own blade and wits to scrape on by anything they encounter. Also, I imagine the hunter would be the one carrying the utensils for vivisecting a person or flaying them alive and that is pretty much all of the reason I need to hop on board. As for races I enjoy the Forsaken, Orcs, Trolls, and Night Elves in that order. No specific reason other than the Horde mentality sits better with me for the kinds of rp I do.
What are your expectations of this server?:
I expect to roleplay... With people.
Out of all of our rules and regulations listed on our server, which appeals to you the most?:
Knowing when to quit is important. I appreciate people who know how to segregate their characters from their own personal opinions.
Did you know that we have a Mentor Program? It's entirely voluntary and you as a new player can sign up for it right now in your introduction! Are you interested in signing up to be assigned a Mentor? If so, say so here (Please enter at least "Yes" or "No"):
Sure if it's beneficial or productive.
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!:
"Your wishes may matter on your lands, Baron. This night you stand on mine, and here my word is law. "
It was the final decree of Barca Mortaugh the outlaw prince before shooting the pudgy, arrogant baron and his personal guard of of bannermen a venomous gaze that served as a powerful outward manifestation of his defiance. Telling the baron that he'd made a grievous error of judgement and he would soon pay dearly for it despite being woefully outnumbered and out armed, he should've accepted Barca's clemency.
Every last one of them would come to see that, their lives were forfeited on this day as a direct result of this Baron's hubris. The men-at-arms slowly advanced towards Barca at the baron's signal with their spears brandished menacingly in the young man's direction, prepared to pierce his gut, bringing Barca's short life to an abrupt, painful end. Or so they thought that was how things would play out, but none were prepared for the shocking new development in the man, while he allowed a warped, twisted cackle to erupt from his very being, its cacophony spreading throughout the entire mountains. Reptilian scales began taking form on his normally pallid flesh spreading its way across his entire body, complemented by the development of a pair of large malicious-looking claws with a sharpness that could put the best crafted blades to shame.
The Baron's jaw dropped along with the fat cigar that had been wrapped around his lips minutes prior, gingerly smoking as if his victory was assured. He now was feeling the full gravity of his foolishness, as was evidenced by the incredulous expression he gave moments prior to the carnage that would ensue. Barca had an ace up his sleeve, nobody counted on him being a dragon, especially not the baron and his men. He'd expected just another average brigand looking to make a name for himself, thinking that overwhelming numbers along with fancy armors and swords of his subordinates would be enough to turn the odds in his favor: He was wrong. Oh so very wrong. If it had been any other outlaw, the Baron could've ordered one of his men to split him at the end of his polearm and went back to his lands where he would brag to his asshole, aristocrat buddies nostalgically re-counting a highly embellished tale of the grueling life and death engagement he'd had with Barca and his ruthless band of outlaws. It would be fine. But Barca was no typical outlaw, he was a man who carried the blood of dragons inside of his veins.
"Kill him! Kill him now, damn you!!!!"
The baron shouts hastily as to immediately correct his own foolishness in those long minutes ago that felt like lifetimes, the men charged forth violently at the behest of their lord only to find that Barca's mutation now manifested a powerful set of wings that were protruding from his back and flapping back and forth violently, buffeting the men with powerful gales of wind enough to send many of them off of their feet, buying him time for the most frightening of things to occur. He looks to the baron in those moments, brandishing a grin that exposes his many rows of serrated teeth that spelled the doom of every last man here. There would be no survivors. Barca grew several feet in height, his arms bending at the elbow more to resemble the legs of an exquisite reptile, his clothes in shreds on the floor where the man was before. What replaced him looked down at the warriors beneath him with the dreamy detachment a child gives an ant before crushing them. One bannerman would show some resolve amongst them and dart forward to stab Barca in the leg; he was noble, he was brave, he was fearless, and now he was dead.
As Barca lifted his claw and slammed it onto the man's body, a grotesque squelching sound could be heard followed by the spurt of blood, showering over the faces of the helpless onlookers vaguely resembling a grape being popped while organs and entrails stained the bottom of this vile creature's foot. Crimson gems that would perceive the world from a new height loomed over his prey with an apocalyptic glow to them; in foolish panic these men would charge towards Barca all at once genuinely believing that their overwhelming numbers could still win the day for them. When battling with a dragon, walking monoliths of carnage all numerical advantages become irrelevant. Barca exhales and lets forth a steady stream of fire erupt from his mouth. Every last one of the soldiers were immolated before him, burnt to a fine crisp while they screamed totally helpless to do anything about their situation until the only discernible trace of them left in the world was charred flesh, bone, slowly being reduced to ash as the seconds elapse.
Barca turns his gaze to the perpetrator of these events:The baron himself staring there legs trembling erratically and a warm, wet trail of urine visible from the side of his ostentatious purple pantaloons. He hungrily lapped at his lips while centuries of evolution were working against his better senses, assuming a position of dominance in his mind. Barca slowly stalks his way towards the man, stretching the minutes to gloat over how things for the men fell apart so quickly, he falls to his knees and looks to Barca for mercy.
"No! Stop! I have money?! You want money? I'll give you lands, tiles, make you ric-urrrk!!!"
Barca's tongue coiled around the pudgy man's throat as a makeshift noose used to asphyxiate him in midair as barca draws him into his mouth. Barca's jaws slowly started to close. The baron watched as the many rows of serrated teeth above descended onto his torso slamming down with crushing force. His body was violently and painfully impaled mid torso causing blood to gush out from his mouth. He coughed, a stream of blood now trailing from the edge of his mouth. His lungs burned as blood spilled into them, and he struggled against the feeling as he gasped for air, trying in vain to ward off the specter of death as she loomed near. Ever closer. The sound of his bones cracking echoing around him. Barca greedily lapped up some of the blood spurting from the side of his mouth an excellent flavoring agent to his victory meal. Hot, wet flesh pressed in from all around as the baron slid down Barca's gullet. It pulsed to a massive heartbeat, and massaged him from feet head to foot, pushing him down to oblivion.
He felt the air get more acrid and dense as he down his digestive tract continuing onward. Breathing got harder as the air itself became so acidic that just breathing was hurting his lungs. He knew what was coming and dreaded every last moment of it, breathing in deep. His body broke through into the stomach, landing with a splash. He had but moments to lift himself up in the tight confines before the stomach around him seemed to contract and the walls started spewing corrosive juices onto his skin. He felt his skin started to tingle, then burn. His skin was being melted away, just as he'd wanted. He was going to experience being digested alive. He was food now. Nobody would hear his cries. The acid started eating into his body through the small cuts in his skin. He felt his flesh, muscle, and bone dissolving on the inside with the acid around him making his skin sizzle and bubble.
His legs were broken down to bare bone before his eyes and he watched as even that melted away, dropping his body into the pool forming around him. He cried in pain as his stumps hit the liquid and his body was eaten away further. Finally as the corrosive enzymes worked their way into his vital organs, he blacked out and drifted into eternity. 'Needs more salt.' Barca thinks to himself.
I am Averrana's friend who introduced her to the concept of private servers, I've been roleplaying sporadically over the course of about six years now. I never really take it too seriously and my motivation is fickle but when I can muster up the willpower to type something, I've found myself in for some of the most fun, immersive experiences that I've ever had in any kind of game. It makes going back to normal video games quite dull by comparison. They are so limited while when you rp, the limit is only what you can imagine.
What country do you come from? What is your primary language?:
I live in North America. My primary languages are English and Sarcasm.
How did you get into Warcraft?:
I never really did, I've always been more interested in other things but I did play vanilla WoW when I was younger and remember finding it amusing for a handful of years but I found my money was better spend on other things. So I quit. Ended up coming back through the Molten private server which was kind of an atrocious experience, then Emerald Dream which wasn't all that active for my liking and didn't have much in the way of rp. It was just something to do to kill time. But Ave says that Warcraft is supposed to be pretty interesting stuff so I'm taking her word for it and giving it another go.
How did you find us? Did anything in particular draw you to the server?:
I'm Averrana's friend and she wanted to find a WoW server with a greater emphasis on roleplaying; I introduced her to the concept of private servers and began searching around the internet for any private servers that had stressed roleplaying more than tedious raids and pvp. This was the first option that appeared and upon further inspection it aligned with just about all of the criteria I tend to look for when searching for things like this: Small, close-knit playerbase who are friendly and enjoy doing what they do just as much as I do myself. Staff that seems to genuinely care about their playerbase. Seeming Horde-centric doesn't hurt either. That's at a glance. I'm sure I'll have plenty of time to gather a more informed opinion on things as I learn the nuances of the server.
What kinds of roleplay do you enjoy?:
All sorts. I don't discriminate. But I prefer the darker, depressing, and bleak settings more than those rife with wide-eyed, idealistic fantasy. Think The Black Company and A Song of Ice and Fire over Lord of the Rings and The Wheel of Time. I do enjoy seeing the villains prevail over the forces of good and for morality to be as gray as gray can get. If aren't multiple chances for moral dilemmas or the character's aren't dealing with traumas on a regular basis that have the potential to utterly shatter their psyche, terminating the tenuous alliance they have with sanity... I get bored. I like things that can get disturbing to the point of cringe-worthy if not downright weird but I do appreciate a good amount of humor in my rps as well. If I'm not playing the role of a cerebral, depraved mass murderer then I'm just another down on his luck slacker trying to get by while keeping his head intact. I don't really have any apprehensions about the sorts of roleplaying I do though.
It's all the same to me.
What is your favorite race/class? Why?:
From what I've read the hunter class and the rogue class would appeal to my sensibilities; no hokey magic just your own blade and wits to scrape on by anything they encounter. Also, I imagine the hunter would be the one carrying the utensils for vivisecting a person or flaying them alive and that is pretty much all of the reason I need to hop on board. As for races I enjoy the Forsaken, Orcs, Trolls, and Night Elves in that order. No specific reason other than the Horde mentality sits better with me for the kinds of rp I do.
What are your expectations of this server?:
I expect to roleplay... With people.
Out of all of our rules and regulations listed on our server, which appeals to you the most?:
Knowing when to quit is important. I appreciate people who know how to segregate their characters from their own personal opinions.
Did you know that we have a Mentor Program? It's entirely voluntary and you as a new player can sign up for it right now in your introduction! Are you interested in signing up to be assigned a Mentor? If so, say so here (Please enter at least "Yes" or "No"):
Sure if it's beneficial or productive.
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!:
"Your wishes may matter on your lands, Baron. This night you stand on mine, and here my word is law. "
It was the final decree of Barca Mortaugh the outlaw prince before shooting the pudgy, arrogant baron and his personal guard of of bannermen a venomous gaze that served as a powerful outward manifestation of his defiance. Telling the baron that he'd made a grievous error of judgement and he would soon pay dearly for it despite being woefully outnumbered and out armed, he should've accepted Barca's clemency.
Every last one of them would come to see that, their lives were forfeited on this day as a direct result of this Baron's hubris. The men-at-arms slowly advanced towards Barca at the baron's signal with their spears brandished menacingly in the young man's direction, prepared to pierce his gut, bringing Barca's short life to an abrupt, painful end. Or so they thought that was how things would play out, but none were prepared for the shocking new development in the man, while he allowed a warped, twisted cackle to erupt from his very being, its cacophony spreading throughout the entire mountains. Reptilian scales began taking form on his normally pallid flesh spreading its way across his entire body, complemented by the development of a pair of large malicious-looking claws with a sharpness that could put the best crafted blades to shame.
The Baron's jaw dropped along with the fat cigar that had been wrapped around his lips minutes prior, gingerly smoking as if his victory was assured. He now was feeling the full gravity of his foolishness, as was evidenced by the incredulous expression he gave moments prior to the carnage that would ensue. Barca had an ace up his sleeve, nobody counted on him being a dragon, especially not the baron and his men. He'd expected just another average brigand looking to make a name for himself, thinking that overwhelming numbers along with fancy armors and swords of his subordinates would be enough to turn the odds in his favor: He was wrong. Oh so very wrong. If it had been any other outlaw, the Baron could've ordered one of his men to split him at the end of his polearm and went back to his lands where he would brag to his asshole, aristocrat buddies nostalgically re-counting a highly embellished tale of the grueling life and death engagement he'd had with Barca and his ruthless band of outlaws. It would be fine. But Barca was no typical outlaw, he was a man who carried the blood of dragons inside of his veins.
"Kill him! Kill him now, damn you!!!!"
The baron shouts hastily as to immediately correct his own foolishness in those long minutes ago that felt like lifetimes, the men charged forth violently at the behest of their lord only to find that Barca's mutation now manifested a powerful set of wings that were protruding from his back and flapping back and forth violently, buffeting the men with powerful gales of wind enough to send many of them off of their feet, buying him time for the most frightening of things to occur. He looks to the baron in those moments, brandishing a grin that exposes his many rows of serrated teeth that spelled the doom of every last man here. There would be no survivors. Barca grew several feet in height, his arms bending at the elbow more to resemble the legs of an exquisite reptile, his clothes in shreds on the floor where the man was before. What replaced him looked down at the warriors beneath him with the dreamy detachment a child gives an ant before crushing them. One bannerman would show some resolve amongst them and dart forward to stab Barca in the leg; he was noble, he was brave, he was fearless, and now he was dead.
As Barca lifted his claw and slammed it onto the man's body, a grotesque squelching sound could be heard followed by the spurt of blood, showering over the faces of the helpless onlookers vaguely resembling a grape being popped while organs and entrails stained the bottom of this vile creature's foot. Crimson gems that would perceive the world from a new height loomed over his prey with an apocalyptic glow to them; in foolish panic these men would charge towards Barca all at once genuinely believing that their overwhelming numbers could still win the day for them. When battling with a dragon, walking monoliths of carnage all numerical advantages become irrelevant. Barca exhales and lets forth a steady stream of fire erupt from his mouth. Every last one of the soldiers were immolated before him, burnt to a fine crisp while they screamed totally helpless to do anything about their situation until the only discernible trace of them left in the world was charred flesh, bone, slowly being reduced to ash as the seconds elapse.
Barca turns his gaze to the perpetrator of these events:The baron himself staring there legs trembling erratically and a warm, wet trail of urine visible from the side of his ostentatious purple pantaloons. He hungrily lapped at his lips while centuries of evolution were working against his better senses, assuming a position of dominance in his mind. Barca slowly stalks his way towards the man, stretching the minutes to gloat over how things for the men fell apart so quickly, he falls to his knees and looks to Barca for mercy.
"No! Stop! I have money?! You want money? I'll give you lands, tiles, make you ric-urrrk!!!"
Barca's tongue coiled around the pudgy man's throat as a makeshift noose used to asphyxiate him in midair as barca draws him into his mouth. Barca's jaws slowly started to close. The baron watched as the many rows of serrated teeth above descended onto his torso slamming down with crushing force. His body was violently and painfully impaled mid torso causing blood to gush out from his mouth. He coughed, a stream of blood now trailing from the edge of his mouth. His lungs burned as blood spilled into them, and he struggled against the feeling as he gasped for air, trying in vain to ward off the specter of death as she loomed near. Ever closer. The sound of his bones cracking echoing around him. Barca greedily lapped up some of the blood spurting from the side of his mouth an excellent flavoring agent to his victory meal. Hot, wet flesh pressed in from all around as the baron slid down Barca's gullet. It pulsed to a massive heartbeat, and massaged him from feet head to foot, pushing him down to oblivion.
He felt the air get more acrid and dense as he down his digestive tract continuing onward. Breathing got harder as the air itself became so acidic that just breathing was hurting his lungs. He knew what was coming and dreaded every last moment of it, breathing in deep. His body broke through into the stomach, landing with a splash. He had but moments to lift himself up in the tight confines before the stomach around him seemed to contract and the walls started spewing corrosive juices onto his skin. He felt his skin started to tingle, then burn. His skin was being melted away, just as he'd wanted. He was going to experience being digested alive. He was food now. Nobody would hear his cries. The acid started eating into his body through the small cuts in his skin. He felt his flesh, muscle, and bone dissolving on the inside with the acid around him making his skin sizzle and bubble.
His legs were broken down to bare bone before his eyes and he watched as even that melted away, dropping his body into the pool forming around him. He cried in pain as his stumps hit the liquid and his body was eaten away further. Finally as the corrosive enzymes worked their way into his vital organs, he blacked out and drifted into eternity. 'Needs more salt.' Barca thinks to himself.
Expect one soon! If it's beneficial and productive is up to you to judge, but I hope it'll be helpful in getting you introduced to the community.