Conquest of the Horde - Resurrection

Sunfire II [RC]

Thu, 02 Oct 2014 19:48:02 -0700

An old assassin forced out of retirement decided to kill a young elf, for information. He hired the Red Glove to capture Amura Sunfire. He was then interrogated and killed after the location of his mother's corpse was found. The young argent had safely avoided his parent's past until a few years prior to his death. It were these years however, that allowed him the most growth. Once his mother found out the reason she was resurrected, and how it was done she killed the Worgen and set out to revive her son. She would be a puppet no more. With many months to decompose, Vivalyn trekked the Alteracean mountains to find the one who brought her back. The one the Worgen used after he killed Amura, Tressian Bluethorn.

She approached the human admist a noble party, donned in a cloak with a wooden mask. Amura's body and head safely sealed within a large case she held on her back. Enchantments blocked the smell as she was summoned by one of the human's guards. "Because of your actions, many innocent have died. I believe it is your duty to right these wrongs." Tressian observed the elf, admitting he hadn't been perfect but has corrected the mistakes he's made in the past, just as he intended to correct this one. Vivalyn smirked behind her mask at her own hypocrisy. It was she who had many mistakes to correct. They departed to private chambers, and the human began his work. He decided since the body was in such horrible shape it would be better to burn the body and raise him from ash. She observed Tressian closely and remained still as well as quiet. This was her attempt to correct her mistakes, Sanguis had tried but apparently he failed. She was prepared to sacrifice herself for the right cause, but before she left she needed to bring her child back who didn't deserve his death. As Lord Bluethorn finished she realized this wasn't the first time she revived a Sunfire. She had hoped this time things would turn out better. After several moments, two priests from Lord Bluethorn's house approached the pile of Amura's remains and began channeling the light. The glow from the energy, illuminated the otherwise dark room, she watched carefully knowing she was not as reformed as she claimed. She decided to raise him privately to sever his connection to the light. She believed its ideals crippled her son into weakness. She would use this opportunity to rebuild him in secret. When the process was complete Amura was returned, bewildered and in pain. Vivalyn waited until he recognized her, before she ushered him away. They were headed to a discrete location where she would have him rest for a few days before their training would begin.

Character's Name: Amura'Quai Ridaken-Sunfire
Times Resurrected: First time

Killer's Name: Alexi Montgomery
Resurrector's Name: Tressian Bluethorn's House priests
Witness(es): Vivalyn Ridaken, Tressian Bluethorn
Method of Resurrection: Light

Drawbacks:

Sore Body (Short-Mid Term) The body being in such a state will take time healing as the resurrection sickness would be stronger in this case.
Coughing fits/Trouble Breathing ( Mid Term ) Result of decapitation, also difficult to speak.
Pale skin ( Permanent ) Due to the long period he was away from his body, his skin is much paler than before.
Nightmares/Insomnia ( Short - Mid Term ) Night terrors frequent the young elf's mind keeping him awake, creating bags under this glowing eyes, and irritability.
Light Trauma ( Mid - Long term ) Excessive casting with the light causes severe migraines and fatigue. This has caused Amura to stop using the light, severing his ties altogether.

Rebirth. [RC]

Mon, 16 Dec 2013 19:27:15 -0800

Spoiler:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=14ZkxaV7fQQ

“It took longer than I thought it would to retrieve your body.” A puff of smoke fills the small room. A man dressed in dark cloth sits by the door, a pip in hand. The table in front of him had a body covered in white silk. “Your lucky I owe ya. If I didn’t, I’d of let you be buried like your family wanted.” Another puff of smoke fills the room. “I guess it can’t be helped.”

A knock on the door sounds off. “And that should be my assistance for this. You can’t expect me to do this by myself.” The cloth covered man stands and opens the door. “Quickly now, move to the other side of him.” A smaller human steps into the room, female. With a quick nod she moves to the head of the body. The man sets his hands on the bodies chest, then mutters a prayer. Light glows in his palms.

---------------

“Even the water runs here huh.. Neat.” An elf sits by the shore of a dark river. With him he carries a fishing pole, casting it out into the dark depths. “Rather peaceful here. Even though I’m dead. Part of me expected there to be a never ending war between light and dark or something.” He sits there beside the water, resting his chin on his hand. “Fish don’t bite here do they.”

“Nope, they don’t Krest. You should go back to where they do.” Krest turns his head to see the woman speaking, but something presses against his back. He gets launched forward into the water, smacking against its surface with a smack. He sinks to the bottom like a rock as if an unseen force was dragging him down.

A light flashes in the depths of the river. It starts as nothing more than a pebble and spreads, soon consuming the darkness of the water surrounding Krest. The elf reaches out, then all goes white.

--------------

“Ah. There you are.” The smell of burning tobacco is first. Then the smell of a wood burning fire. But the room was back, empty. “Don’t try to move just yet. You did just come back to life.” Krest struggles, trying to sit up. A hand presses against his chest instead though. “I said not to move yet. You’ll be up and about soon enough Fairstar. Just be patient.”

Another puff of smoke fills the room. “It took several generations, but our debt is paid off after this.”

Character's Name: Krest Fairstar.
Times Resurrected: This would be the first.

Killer's Name: Kryox.
Resurrector's Name: NPC
Witness(es): Syleai.
Method of Resurrection: The Light.

Drawbacks:

Frailness: Krest will never be able to move the way he had before his death. For the first two months he will not be able to move on his own. Afterwards he’ll have to rest after each physical exertion. Even smithing will take its toll after an hour and Krest will have to sit and rest.
Hacking Cough: Because of the fact that he was killed by getting stabbed in the throat he has fits of uncontrollable coughing. This will not go away.
Blindness: For the first couple of months Krest will only be able to make out different lighting and shapes. Nothing in detail. This will improve over time, but everything will still remain blurry.

Form of Resurrection: Forum
Name of NPC: Sangin Mellowfeild.
Faction of NPC: Alliance.

GM Assistance?: No

Reasoning: Sangin’s grandfather served with Krest many years ago. Krest saved the man’s life and due to the grandfather’s family code of honor he vowed to repay the debt. The debt was handed down two generations. Krest initially had asked the man to be ready to heal Krest, but Krest had died in his fight. Sangin took it upon himself to retrieve Krest’s body and bring the man back to life to appease his family's honor and finally sever ties with the Fairstar family.

If the reasoning above is acceptable I'll be remaking Krest's profile to fit the reason. I was already going to remake him, but I'll wait until this is approved or needs to be edited.

A chance for vengeance.

Sun, 01 Dec 2013 13:52:31 -0800

Varanduil Dawnshard. Once a prosperous Ranger Captain of Quel'Thalas, son to Thalanduil Dawnshard, a Ranger Lord. A noble and reasonable elf, the young elf sought to please his people and fight in their glory. Honorable and just, he fought with pride for both the Rangers and his people, determined to keep his family safe. Though dark times have come in wake of the Cataclysm, the once noble elf has turned down a desolate path.

Exiling himself from the lands he once fought for, Varanduil disappeared, his motives and reasons questioning anyone who knew him. Time passed, and he was found popping up around Azeroth, cryptic and shady in his actions. Eventually his plans were uncovered... A group of fighters from the Horde stood against the crazed elf, and ultimately succeeded...

--------------------

Darkness... That is what remained. The last glimpses of an female Orc impaling Varanduil's chest repeated through his mind like a never ending story. All he could remember was the wind roaring all around him as he fell into an abyss. The plunge of water and the sudden sinking feeling were also present, his fate being sealed for the foolishness he had done.

But the question was, did he regret what he did? Did he think he was a fool for standing up to what he believed in? Despite being in the wrong, Varanduil considered he was doing what needed to be done. His friends, his family. Everyone. They all stood against him. They betrayed him, and forced him down this path.

In their arrogance and denial, Varanduil sought to exile himself and go about his own business. But no... They HAD to find him. They HAD to try and stop what he was doing. But why? All Varanduil wished for was to be known for his deeds, and appreciated. How could he do that if he was left to perish in the madness he had woven?

There was a chance... From below the river in which he lay, minutes after his death, there came a shining light. An elegant, angelic like figure descended from the cliff in which the mad elf had fell from. It was though the elf, despite his past deeds that forced him into this terrible fate, had been given another chance.

"Varanduil. My brother." the angelic voice called out, a hint of sorrow in her voice. Water could be heard trickling into the river as his lifeless corpse was pulled from the riverbed. "You will rise once again. To fight." the voice demanded defiantly and passionately.

Darkness remained, until there was a gradually rising flash of light...

--------------------

With a gasp, he rose. His vision blurred for a moment, a purple haze becoming the dominant color of his eyes. Rubbing them, he groaned as he took in a fresh breath of air, wheezing and clutching his chest to the wound he previously received. Something was peculiar... He placed his hand to his eye, rubbing it as it felt sore. His vision in this eye was blurred the slightest, much more blurred than the other.

As his vision cleared, he found himself sitting on the cold, hard stone floor of an unknown room. Around him, a small Arcane dome emerged around him, much like a small prison. From the furthest doorway of the room stood three figures shrouded in darkness. He rubbed his head, curious as to where he was. "What foul place is this?" he yelled out commandingly.

The figure, petite and elegant, stepped forward into the light. Varanduil's eyes widened as he noticed the figure. "Welcome back to the world, brother..."

--------------------

Character's Name: Varanduil Dawnshard
Times Resurrected: None. First time.

Killer's Name: Mokra
[b]Resurrector's Name: Tyra Dawnshard
Witness(es): Morka, Chama and Tyra
Method of Resurrection: Tyra using the Holy Light to resurrect her brother.

Drawbacks:

A severe distrust of people. Doesn't even trust family to a degree. Hates Orcs especially due to being killed by one. ; Permanent
Breathing problems (Light failed to fully repair his breastplate which was broken by Mokra during battle) ; Permanent (Unless he can find a way to fix it)
An infection from the water that is growing around his left eye. ; 2 months before he looses his eye.
Hard time digesting food and struggling to eat; 3 months.
A fear of the weapon that took his life; The Polearm. ; Permanent.

New Life

Thu, 21 Nov 2013 07:51:51 -0800

Markuss had been on the Appleflow plantation for as long as he could remember. When he was born, he was there. He married on a chapel on the property. When it boiled down to it, he had even died in his home. Impaled on a piece of wood during the cataclysm that wrought so much destruction upon the world of Azeroth. There was no grand finish, no last words; just a stumble, a sigh, and then darkness. Markuss expected be in the Light's embrace by this time, but he was not. Instead, he was surrounded by members of his family. Those long dead, those recently dead, and even some friends of the family, long dead and buried.

---------

Markuss had long been feeling depressed, tired, and worried about his family as a whole. A mix of emotions good and bad had been plaguing his mind for a long while. Rarely would he talk to anyone about the problems he had. Instead, his last few days were spent alienating those close to him in an attempt to 'sort things out.' In the end, it would hardly matter. As people rushed to the cellars, debris hit the house, and Markuss himself was impaled on a sharpened plank of wood. His last few minutes were spent contemplating his life; what he'd done wrong, how it could be righted, how the Light would receive him. All of these questions he asked.

As he slipped away from his body however, Markuss didn't find the embodiment of Holy energy he had expected. No. Nothing of the sort greeted the man. Instead, he was greeted by a multitude of faces long past, all staring at him. Walking past the throngs of restless spirits, Markuss' father came to him, as transparent as Markuss himself. "Am I dead?" He asked. He didn't feel much emotion; except sadness. Even in this state, he felt awful. "Papa, I've missed you so much." Markuss felt as if he was a little boy again. This was something he just couldn't explain to himself. His father set his hands on his suspenders as he watched his son. "I got some things to show you."

Suddenly, the area around him changed. He saw himself as a little boy, kicking his feet in the river that separated Westfall and Elwynn, as his father pointed to the catfish on his hook. "See that, Markuss? You just gotta chew a bit of tobacco, put a worm on the hook, and add that tobacky." Markuss slowly watched on as the past played out. The area changed yet again; this time, Markuss was shown as an adolescent, doing dangerous and stupid things to 'prove his masculinity'. He witnessed Eliza yelling at him after church all over again. The odd attraction he started to gain for the young woman. Every little detail was there.

His cousin and playmate Willy. All the times they would sneak onto other's properties, throw a raccoon into the window and run away. It all played out. The positives and the negatives in his life. He watched again the miracle of life as each of his children had been born, as he fought against the Horde in the wars. The marriage of some of his children, as they grew older. The time he looked in the mirror one day, and saw the first gray hair on his head. That day, he never felt older in his life. He witnessed his mother; younger, more energetic, and constantly teasing him about his stubborn attitude.

Finally he witnessed his own death, before he now saw a different image; one of relatives and friends huddled in the cellar of the house. He watched along with the restless spirits as the storm finally went further west, as the family made their way out of the cellar, and some even coming home to find it partially destroyed. He witnessed as some began setting up tents for the night. "Go talk to your boy." Markuss' father said. Although he wasn't too happy to leave his father's side, he reluctantly obeyed.

Jebediah was restless, and left the tent he was in; only to be greeted by his father. He considered screaming, but Jebediah had been seeing lots of dead people lately; family members his family never talked about, who would play with him when nobody else would. "Papa?" Markuss struggled to speak, to convey what he felt in this new form. "I Love you, Jebbie." Jebediah reached over to touch his father's hand; only to be greeted with cold air. Markuss looked over to the corner of the damaged house, where his father was urging him on. Markuss didn't know what else to say; so, he asked Jebediah, "You wanna play hide n' seek?" Jebediah nodded, and for an hour, he played with his son on the remains of his home, before his father told him it was time. That was when he was back with the departed.

"You see son, your time isn't over. Your wife's heavy with child, and the Defias you defeated still lurk in Moonbrook. We aren't sure if they'll ever be licked. But you have to get back to livin', boy. Your family needs you a lot more then us sorry souls." Markuss was now shown his own body; sitting in the cellar. "We aren't sure if there'll be a burial, Markuss; or if they plan on putting you back in your body. But one thing's for sure, is that your work's not done. Not in the slightest bit. Soon enough you'll be able to talk to those you love even more; Jebediah's sensitive to us, Markuss. Most young'uns often are. Use him to try and tell the rest a message."

Markuss looked down at the plantation, before turning back to his father. "Papa? Can you tell me a story?" Markuss' father chuckled at this, and said with a smile. "Well, once upon a time there was a little coyote by the name O' Hank..." Markuss listened to his father's ghostly voice, clinging to every word. He knew it was fiction; but he didn't care. He was with his father again. Though he knew it wouldn't last. It couldn't.

---------

Markuss was called back by prayer; after trying to get his family's attention for what seemed endless, timeless; or was it really a matter of a second? He wasn't sure. He remembered very little of his experience in the realm of the dead. There was much to remember, and very little to grasp in his healed, though frail body. For days, he sat in his bed, unaware of what was going about. He would wake up, drink a hot liquid, fall back asleep, and repeat the process. He woke up more and more often, trying to look about his surroundings.

He knew he was back home, but things had changed. Tents behind the house, shacks, ramshackle homes and barricades, and even what he could only describe as a tower. The house had been repaired, and was filled with people sleeping, cooking, or doing a number of activities. The property was bustling, further aided by unfamiliar faces he assumed were transients. As he became more aware, he started to walk around his room, pacing and using his father's cane.

Soon enough, his son In-Law came to visit him; Drakeran. In his arms was a baby. He told him that there were two others; Markuss finally had grandchildren.

---------

Character's Name: Markuss Appleflow

Times Resurrected: This is the First time

Killer's Name: The Cataclysm
Resurrector's Name: Cristovao, Calista
Witness(es): Matharius, Cristovao, Calista, Valda, Bob, Luna, Bellatrix, multiple NPCS
Method of Resurrection: Potent Holy Light, using the remains of Markuss to bring him back to life, and causing exhaustion on the part of the healers.

Drawbacks:
[*]Complete paralysis in his left arm; 2 months
[*]Hard time digesting food, and getting rid of solid waste product; 4 months
[*]Loss of hearing in his right ear, impaired hearing in his left; 3 months
[*]Much trouble walking, running, or even breathing for some time; 1 month

(Apart from those four drawbacks, he'll need to undergo intensive therapy for awhile to get everything functioning at least at half the efficiency it was before death. I expect this to take some time.)

Form of Resurrection: Same as mentioned above, just with a few added NPCS.
Name of NPC: Appleflow family priests/clergymen; I'm not too sure which exact NPC was used.
Faction of NPC: Alliance

GM Assistance?: Indeed. Krilari helped me out on this one.

Reasoning: The clergy of the Appleflow family would probably want to help a former leader, bring said leader "Back to glory" as it were.

Resurrection Form

Wed, 20 Nov 2013 15:53:43 -0800

When you resurrect your character, you need to detail how your character was resurrected, who killed them, who revived them, how many times you've been killed prior to this one, and also what kinds of drawbacks your current resurrection is going to incur on your character. Additionally, if this isn't your first resurrection, you also need to include which drawbacks you already carry with you from previous resurrections. (This can't be substituted with linking previous threads.)

Drawbacks as a result of the resurrection are a must. Some resurrections and deaths are going to be harsher on your body and mind than others, but in all cases it's going to be a very traumatizing experience. Your character is not going to walk away from it unscathed and the wounds they carry with them are, most of the time, going to be permanent. They should preferrably be relevant to the character's death and the dying experience. Use your own good judgement when deciding what sorts of drawbacks your character will suffer as a result of dying. Just remember that these kinds of wounds usually don't fade with time. Some do, but the deepest won't; there is some permanency to some of the drawbacks, so keep this in mind when you decide on them. (Feel free to ask for help in deciding your drawbacks. The staff or the playerbase could probably pitch some interesting ideas your way.)

Examples of drawbacks could be chronic fatigue (as a result of nightmares, for example, or just a lack of energy in general), permanent limps, loss of limb (as in, they don't grow back when you resurrect), migraines of varying severity, heart problems, asthma or respiratory issues, muteness, blindness, deafness... It depends on how you died and what effects it'd have on your character. Your drawbacks don't necessarily have to be this serious, but it gives you an idea of what sorts of things we'll be looking for. Phobias or social suspicion won't suffice (but could be added for flavor if you really want 'em.)

There is also no required amount of drawbacks. Like mentioned above; use your own good judgement and follow the recommendations of the staff. You can have more than three drawbacks (I just included three as an example for the form).

"" simply means that you should include a short roleplay post to describe the scene of your resurrection. It doesn't have to be long, but you should take the time to make one.

NOTE: Drawbacks have to last longer than a month. If you include minor drawbacks for flavour, they have no minimum duration. The actual drawbacks do, however. One or two months at a minimum with some permanency for some of the effects (you could suffer deafness for a full month and come out of it with permanently reduced hearing, for example, or full-on permanent deafness depending on severity of death-symptoms and your other drawbacks).

Code:

[b]Character's Name:[/b]

[b]Times Resurrected:[/b] (Not counting being risen for the first time as Forsaken/a Death Knight.)

[b]Killer's Name:[/b]

[b]Resurrector's Name:[/b] (Put "NPC" if NPC and include NPC template)

[b]Witness(es):[/b]

[b]Method of Resurrection:[/b]

[u][b]Drawbacks:[/b][/u][list]

[*]Drawback 1 (Duration)

[*]Drawback 2 (Duration)

[*]Drawback 3 (Duration)[/list]

(If Applicable...)

[u][b]Previous Drawbacks:[/b][/u][list]

[*]Drawback 1 (Duration)

[*]Drawback 2 (Duration)

[*]Drawback 3 (Duration)[/list]

If you, by chance, can't get a PC to help you with resurrecting your character, NPCs are always an option. However, there's a form below that you need to fill out if you use an NPC and include this in your resurrection thread along with the information we ask of you in the previous form. Keep in mind that, like the form below suggests, you can ask a GM to help you puppet the NPC if you want to roleplay the resurrection out. Just contact the GM you want the help of or make a thread in the Private Discussion board.

The NPC form follows below:

Code:
[b]Form of Resurrection:[/b] Forum/In-Game

[b]Name of NPC:[/b]

[b]Faction of NPC:[/b]

[b]GM Assistance?:[/b] Yes/No, and name of GM

[b]Reasoning:[/b] Why would this NPC help you, and how do you convince them to?

Reaching out [RC]

Sun, 06 Oct 2013 10:53:25 -0700

Zethon paces his way up the stairs, followed by lighter steps of a second form. Muffled words are shared back and forth until one finally stops. There's a rattle of metal as Zethon struggles with the lock, eventually managaing to handle it with a heavy 'click'. The room is unadorned and simple, rustic for the company of elves. Nevertheless it is all that military town of Hearthglen can afford to spare at the Inn. Zethon makes his way within, though just behind is a slightly taller form- that of an elven man. His blue eyes burn through the darkness just as Zethon's own do with a green tinge."This is her then?" He asks out, voice lowered somewhat.

Zethon nods in return to his companion. Undaunted he walks his way over to the bedside. "Her name is Koiella, a knight of the Ebon Blade and the Blood Knights."

The elven priest slips forward all the more, with every step his white and black robe seems to catch a bit of wind, enough to make it flow and shift with his steps. "Ebon Blade. Undead. Are you certain about this, Zethon? It's more likely that I'm going to turn her into a pile of cinders than anything that resembles... Alive."

Zethon keeps his emerald stare focused on the lifeless woman. "Yes... Yes, I'm sure. I think she would rather to be turned to ashes than be brought back by necromancy."

The priest sets his staff of choice aside. "If you insist... A shame you can't help, you remember how tiresome this spell is, don't you?" Not even pausing for an answer he begins to subtly mutter the necessary incantations. Magical Light begins to gather within the priest's palms, though as it does a portion begins to bleed out as if it were a liquid, forming into a ring around his feet that shimmers with just as much luminescence. Such a similar ring begins to glow around Koiella's form. It's a matter of minutes worth of waiting, the Light growing stronger and stronger around the woman until it forms what looks like a pillar leading up to the roof. With one final surge the Light almost explodes around her, filling her deathly form with almost overflowing light before it all falls away. As it does the priest staggers back, almost falling onto his rear before he runs into a dresser.

Elsewhere, the dull and blurry atmosphere is pierced by the golden holy magics. All around the undead soul is formed a shining aura. Koiella looks down at her radiant hand before being whisked back to the world of the living. The first thing she aware of is her body laid upon a bed. There is a warm, enveloping glow upon her corpse that supersedes her grayscale vision. She hesitates. Turning her head, she notices the priest falling. Koiella steps closer, reaching out but it is impossible to help. She peers under his distraught face at him, but doesn’t know who he is. High Elf. Standing upright again she peers at the other. Zethon. He’s standing resolute, unwavering at the show of magic or the aftermath to the priest. Pale eyes focused solely on her body, as if mentally willing it back to life. She follows his gaze back to her body. Walking between the two, she peers at her body. The shimmering aura makes it look warm, an inviting place. A distrustful expression keeps to her face as she considers.

The mix of elven and death knight runes that line her weapon briefly remain lit with holy magic and fade much slower than the rest of the light. Zethon hesitantly reaches for the woman, though about mid-way his hand jerks back. Koiella spins around and looks down to Zethon’s hand. Did it touch her, or was it her imagination? "Koiella?" he asks, his head tilting as if trying to find a face beneath her mask. There’s a fleeting sensation that overtakes Koiella’s consciousness. She turns to her body and reaches out to reunite with it. "Doesn't seem like ashes to me.."

The red and black mask conceals the majority of her face, but without warning her runic-blue eyes flare open. Zethon goes wide-eyed in reaction. "...Koiella?" He asks out once more.

Koiella 's chest rises, and her hand pushes against the bed. Her head rises as she attempts to sit up. "What is this.." she says dryly with a pronounced echo.

By now the priest from afar has sucesfully slipped down onto the ground, teetering on the border of unconciousness. ”It's Hearthglen, Koiella.”

Koiella makes it to her rear. She peers at Zethon for a long moment, and then to the other elf. She looks around the room slowly. "Hearthglen." she repeats before looking to Zethon.

”We're a far ways away from the arena... Close to home, too.”

Koiella twitches her head with a slight narrow to her eyes."The arena.. I was defeated."

Zethon tips his head in a feint nod. "You were."

Koiella turns her deathly gaze to the other. "And he..?"

”An old friend of mine... He was the one who brought you back.”

Koiella looks at her gloved hands. "Back from the dead.. twice now. ...why?"

Zethon blinks at the question. Slowly his eyes turn down to the bed. "It felt like it was right... It felt like it was needed."
Koiella drops her hands to her knees again, and lifts her expressionless gaze to Zethon. In a neutral tone yet with that persistent echo she asks, "This was your doing?"

”Ultimately, yes. It was my decision.”

Drawbacks

Ataxia
- Even being restored, loosing her head has permanently damaged her spinal cord. Causes uncoordinated movements and imbalance.
Soulburn
- Holy magic has weakened her connection to her body. Koiella is more suspectiable to mind-control effects.
Weak Knees
- Due to her knees being crushed, they are weakened and cannot withstand strenuous forces.
Touched by the Light
- In addition to her weapons being rendered useless, Koiella cannot cast spells for a week.

Seems like you need a hand [RC]

Sat, 03 Aug 2013 17:05:50 -0700

..Really? This is how my life ends? at a cave? dead by an undead? eaten by trolls? this isn't what I would ask for.. so much to do.. so much to complete.. Tharnul still owes me that drink..

I guess that's what my father meant when he taught me to grow wheat."We are the workers of the land, son. We work it.. and we die on it. We need to take care of the land we die on. Ash to Ash.. Dust to dust."

Those words echoed in his head as the trolls took a bite off his liver."Ash.. to as--..."

Nothing

Thats what the magister saw. He was more than dust, he was fertilizer now. Troll fertilizer. The life he lived was short for an elf.. long for a human.. nothing for a Draenei...

Light

That is what he faced, as his body slowly got swen together from the pinky, connecting arteries to flesh, to hair. From bone to facial expression. From sockets to eyes. Tyestus could be reborn to a point.

Except that pinky.

Boom. That's not an explotion.. it's a beat. Boom boom. The blood going to his brain, his limbs, his lungs. It felt like shockwaves, like he is being bombarded.. But he suddenly remembers.. He is alive.

Killer: Bedlam.

Death: June 25th; Bedlam crushed his body and shatterd his bones, after that trolls ate his body.

Resurrector: Melody, Leland, Luthur, Arda, Boven, Terazul.

Resurrection:Tyestus was being ressurected from a single finger at the city of hearthglen at the third of augest.

Temporary Results:Cannot walk for three months. Cannot breath properly for a month. No sudden movements or he will struggle in serious pain. Every touch is like a punch three weeks. Amneisa that slowly recovers, blind (Two months) that will slowly decay.

Permanent Results: Weaker to magical effects, mute, weak heart (He will need to take a good breather after a scare), limping, amneisa (will forget random moments and chunks from his life that will add up to 200 years), migranes, random pain spikes around the body.

The Revival of a betrayed companion [RC]

Fri, 19 Jul 2013 12:27:44 -0700

Pain over-encumbers me as I lay propped up next to the cobble-stone comprised wall. My body eventually becomes numb as my vision begins to fog. My breathing slowly becomes languid, almost unhearable to one's ears. As a lay there, gradually becoming weaker, my fogged vision manages to distinguish the outcrop of a wolf-like humanoid figure. I soon realize, this is my friend, my companion, my mate, Sorrowfang. As my frail visioned eyes weakly gaze towards my friend, they catch a glimpse of a blade enshrouded by Light being with-drawled from my friend's side. As this happens, a yell is picked up by my bloodied ears, breaking my numbed state. The yell would read through my bloodied ears, "You ignorant fool! Die! DIE, DIE, DIE!" The light-enshrouded blade would propel towards my left side briskly. As a response, my body would briefly be the bodily material of my Earthen ancestors, stone and soil. My Earthen body would consume the force of the blade before I would return to my plush-skinned self. As I thought that would be the only encounter with that blade, it would once again return, its destination being my heart and neck region. Unable to turn into my Earthen ancestor's bodily material, the blade would reach its destination. An immense feeling of pain would consume my entire bloodied body. The oxygen contained in my very lungs would be forced out, creating a sharp gasp as it was released. With the remaining grasp of life I had, I would say with difficulty, "Y... Y-you... L... L... L-lost.... A... A-A-" My words would abruptly be cut off as I would be introduced to Death's cold embrace. The immense pain I experienced would come to a halt as I would feel as if my entirety was being lifted up. As if being lifted up to the unknown sky above, my vision would only view a single color, not an object, just a mere color. Darkness.

In my blind, darkened state, I was not conscious of time or thought. I remained in the darkness, idle. Though, my idle state would abruptly be put to a halt as the entirety of my lifted body would feel as if being thrown down to the depths below. A falling sensation would consume the center of myself before disappearing. As a result to the disappearance to the falling sensation, the darkness I viewed would vanish as I would view a stout figure hovering above me, peering down at me. A immense feeling of rejuvenation would consume the entirety of my body. A feeling of oxygen running down my throat would be felt as I would experience the feeling of my pupils moving. Being now in a conscious state, I could create thoughts, breath, view, witness, smell, hear and, feel. I knew that I was once again amongst the living and not in my idle, darkened state.

Character: Thagnar

Killer: Sorrowfang

Revivor: Noillin, associate in the Dwarven Regiment and a Wielder of the Light.

Date of Death: July Twelfth, Two-thousand Thirteen.

Symptoms:
-Continuous migraines due to head previously being severed.
-Reoccurring Nightmares during sleep.
-Often thoughts of considering own death.

Permanent Issues:
-Minor difficulty with neck movement due to decapitation of head.
-Small amount of pain experienced during neck movement.
-Minor difficulty breathing.
-Some difficulty with swallowing food/drink.
-Difficulty with eye movement.

Temporary Results: Inability to speak due to vocal cord region previously being impaled by Sorrowfang's sword.

A Third Chance [RC]

Thu, 18 Jul 2013 13:15:04 -0700

I see him. The one that taught me compassion, and how to love. Who held me close when I felt cold, and filled me with warmth. He’s so close, reaching out to stroke his face I fumble. My arm spasm down, grabbing the horn on his helmet. Everything hurts, burning, blunt pain. Welling in my chest, and only grows outward. But he will tell me it’s okay, that he still loves me and I will go to sleep and wake in the morn. Why does it hurt...? Looking down at the shield he has impaled me upon I realize that I’m scared...I don’t want to die again...Eyes are heavy, fatigue creeping it’s way to my head. Death is exactly like I remember it. Fear floods me again, and I grit my teeth. “I'm so sorry...David...I loved you.” The words wisp their way through my teeth, my head lazing to the side.
“I’m sorry...I loved you too...” His words echo endlessly, growing fainter as the my mind grows empty. He drops the shield, and a wave of pain floods through me again. I can only groan. Encroaching black, it creeps along the floors, walls, and ceiling of my mind and wraps itself around me. I can’t see...I can’t...can’t... It’s empty. Only darkness.

Life.

Funneled through again, my spirit resting in my body.

Pain. A million soldering irons pressing down on my skin. I cannot scream, my mouth broken by battle. Broken body, unable to move, trapped. I am confined in a coffin. My mind races, emotions and memories. Love, anger, compassion, hatred, caring, agony, revenge, spite, guilt...blackness again. I slip away.

I wake again, a horrible numbness blanketing itself over my body. I cannot feel. My eyes shut, head laid back. My mind is blank, cannot grasp where I am. Spinning slowly, nausea. Where am I? I force a groan, it sounds alien. Not me, it writhes and gurgles it’s way out of my throat and crawls out of my mouth. Footsteps, echoing...going away. It reverbs and echos off the walls...a hallway?

Another set walk towards me. Fear floods my veins. Will I die again? What to they want? Wood cracks, and soft light floods in. A giant blur looks over me. Necromancers? It reaches down, and a furred hand gently strokes my cheek. D-David?

=========================================================================================
Character: Ladastilla
Killer: Sorrowfang
Date of Death: July 12th
Symptoms:
-Pelvis, rib cage, both scapula, shoulders, upper arms, upper thighs, lower legs crushed by a moonkin of incredible weight.
-Left wrist, center of palm, base of fingers broken by impact via mace
-Impalement up the upper right chest, and liver by spiked shield
Resurrector: Delivered to Oliver, a Death Knight for resurrection
Resurrection: July 19th
Temporary Results:
1 WEEK:
Immobilization due to broken bones
Debilitating pain due to healing of injured body parts
Low cognitive ability - great difficulty in forming coherent thoughts, language
Will lose consciousness unexpectedly
2 WEEKS:
Use of a cane/walking implement
Physical Weakness
Constant Body Pains/Headaches
3 WEEKS:
Increased difficulty using rune magic/weapons
Difficulty bearing the weight of armor
Permanent Results:
Migraines
Nightmares
Stiffness due to severe scarring
Dimmer glow in her eyes
Fainter voice

Hang In There... [RC]

Sat, 13 Apr 2013 17:20:58 -0700

The two forms danced around the room, their blades slicing through air and flesh as blood rained upon the floor. A human stands in the back of the room, channeling shadow magic as he watches the slimmer of the two moving forms before him. His channeling ends as he flicks his hands forward, the female night elf before him abruptly dropping to the ground and crying out in pain as dark fire covers her. She leans a shoulder against the wall, waiting for her death when the male night elf kneels before her.

He uses the tip of his blooded blades to push her hood back, revealing her face. After a long moment of inspecting her face, he asks, "What is your name?"

The female night elf avoids looking at the male as she speaks in a contemptuous tone. "Adahlis Stormwine." She locks her eyes on the door frame across the room, willing someone to step inside and interrupt what was occurring.

"I am sorry, Sister... You will not be forgotten."

Traitor.

Adahlis blinked as she thought this, the fury boiling over in her mind. When she closed her eyes, his blade entered her chest and pierced her heart. As she opened her eyes, she began to fall forward onto his shoulder.

Her vision fades as her mind seems to slip away from her. Sound disappears entirely and sensations no longer exist.

A feeling of being pulled through what could be space fills her consciousness.

There was a flash of light.

A searing pain fills her body as her soul is returned to her body. A thrumming pain inhabits her mind with the loud chanting of a human's prayers to the Light.

The human stumbles backwards, leaning against the wall as he gasps for breathe and steadies himself. "It.. is.. done..."

Geron steps up to the bed, a frown upon his face. "... Is she supposed to wake up?"

The human priest remains against the wall, breathing heavily. "I honestly have no idea... Probably not, but I could be wrong."

Adahlis's entire mind screams at her, demanding rest, food, air, healing, and warmth. She opens her mouth to scream, but she cannot hear a word until the human ends his chant moments later. Her body feels lost to her as she attempts to look at her surroundings, seeing only a blurred, darkened vision of shapes surrounding her. Noise is distorted and faint. Her breath is laboured as she lays immobilised on the bed.

The human watches for a moment before turning and leaving the room without another word.

Geron watches Adahlis's signs of returned like. "Lady Stormwine... You should try to relax." He waits for a moment, noticing a lack of response before speaking again. "Um... I'll be watching over you." He sighs as he removes his sheathed blades from his belt, placing them on the floor beside the wall. He strides across the room the room and plucks a random book from the bookcase before returning to the wall beside the fireplace. Sitting down beside his blades, he opens the book and begins to read.

Adahlis's body slowly accepts the oxygen she inhales; one less problem for her body to scream at her to fix. She feels her body shudder as she slips into unconsciousness.

Geron glances up from his book as he hears Adahlis audibly shudder from where she laid on the bed. He slams the book close and leaves it on the ground behind him, moving to the bedside and placing a hand on Adahlis's head.

====

Killer: Surma
Death: April 10th; Surma kills Adahlis by use of a dagger to the chest
Resurrector: Sebarion
Resurrection: April 13th; Geron transports Adahlis's body to Hearthglen where an Alliance priest named Sebarion revives her
Temporary Results: Immobilization (three days), difficulties verbally communicating (one week), nausea (one week), hindered motor skills (two weeks), physical weakness (three weeks)
Permanent Results: Spontaneous disabling headaches, aching muscles, motion sickness, spontaneous abdominal cramps, significantly weaker left arm

Gol'Kosh.. [RC]

Sun, 10 Mar 2013 17:43:52 -0700

He gazes questioningly, uncertain how to answer the one person her could always talk to. Her form becomes ethereal, the grassy plains and hut that made up this heaven dissipating before his eyes, his hand tightly gripping the ghostly apparition's as an unknown force begins to pull them apart. Her voice was soothing, calming, as it always was. But the words that echoed from her lips like eternity brought with them a message that he tries desperately to ignore.

"It's not your time, brother...it's not your time..."

She kisses his forehead gently, his eyes betraying his confusion. Her mouth curls into a soft smile as she places the old, brownish helm on his head, speaking again with reverberated tone.

"Go now...be their champion. To those who have love in their hearts, protect them. To the wicked that would harm the innocent..."

She leans in and whispers softly to his ear.

"Feed them to your rage..."

He sits on what must be the ground. The room is a glow of pure white. She has vanished, but her words are still with him. His hate grows. She is lost again to him. A champion? He would crush the ones that wish to remove him from his paradise. But to do so, would go against her words. And those words are all that ever mattered to him.

"Gol'kosh..."

The axe he wielded in life is not with him. It was a gift...a gift from the only one he loved. He had used it to destroy...to maim...to get trophies from those who had held him back. It was how he remembered her. In death, he tried his best not to relinquish it, but he failed. He could not hold on.

"Feed them to your rage..."

He understood her words. The axe was never his weapon. His hate was his weapon. Survivor's guilt had been his trigger. And all he wanted to do was to continue his mission to bring suffering to those who did him wrong. But her words echoed in his mind.

"Go now...be their champion."

He thinks back to the wolf mask. She had been wanting to show Tun'kar something in Shattrath. Something to help cleanse him of the hate. But she would never get the chance. And so another is finishing her work, knowing what he can become if he only learned to harness the thing that made him strong. Strong enough to face the army that broke him. Strong enough to pull himself out of the belly of the beast. Stronger than any other before him, or after other that would come after him.

"To those who have love in their hearts, protect them."

He sees the hunter's mask. The one he died protecting. The one who had the chance to run. The one who came back to fight at his side. He wondered if the hunter made it out. He wondered if the hunter knew what became of his axe. He wondered if his axe would still fulfill his whims if he asked it to.

"To the wicked that would harm the innocent..."

He knows it will.

Mugorim arrived at the lake. He had received a strange sensation that led him to the arena in Nagrand, getting stronger until it came across a large axe sitting in the racks. That same force pulled him away from the Stormshade campsite and into Terrokar Forest. Mugorim would set both his ovn axe as well as the new one down near the side of the lake, remove a few pieces of armor then tread into the murky water. Deep below, a part of a pointed helmet peeks out from the dirt, along with a metal plate with a Horde insignia on it. The corpse below is largely decomposed and partly eaten, divided in two parts at the waist. The abdomen of the corpse appeared to have been impaled multiple times. The Orc had clearly put up a fight before death.

Mugorim squints, the spirits mostly guide his way through the murky water. He swam close to the dirt and use his hands to shovel away at it, revealing more of the decomposed Orc. The armor of the orc has mostly remained intact, though very much rusted from the long time underwater. His flesh was largely consumed, and what is left has shriveled in the murky depths. Mugorim frowns at the sight of the once great Orc, but in the end gave the carcass a few tugs trying to dislodge it from what dirt he was unable to shovel away. The upper body pulls free, but the lower half remains in the soil. A closer look made it apparent that the body was bitten in half. Mugorim shakes his head, he would make his way to the surface with the upper half of the Orc.

Mugorim pulled the body onto the dirt, "What a gruesome death..." He'd comment to himself. After a few moments of inspection Mugorim would continue. "I wonder what makes you so special..." He'd dive back into the water and retrieve the lower portion of the body. Mugorim returns with the legs, he'd drag the whole body over. A sensation grew stronger as the body gets closer to the axe. Mugorim rubs his head, exhaling. "Yeah yeah I know, you can't wait to get back already..."

Mugorim placed the legs where they should be in proportion to his upper body, then lay the axe next to the body. Around the corpse were four totems, none active at the moment. Mugorim took a seat, he'd rub his hands together, then hold them both out over the body. Mugorim took a few deep breaths, his eyes slowly closing. With this, the totems would ignite with power, each representing an element: Fire, Water, Earth, and Air. Rays of power would channel from each totem into Mugorim's hands.

"Spirits, and elements alike. I offer now my body to be the conduit for the soul of..." After a pause, Mugorim speaks the name, "Tun'kar."

The body slowly began to mend, his flesh rebuilding around bone. At the place his body was separated, a thick banded scar appeared, as well as the places his body had been impaled.

"He is to be brought back, for his journey is far from over!"

A peaceful calm would overcome the scene, spiritual energies would dance through the air as Tun'kar's body was slowly healed. The strain placed on Mugorim's body was immense, his muscles contracting, his veins showing through his skin. The flesh began to finish healing as far as it would. As Tun'kar's spirit came to the place, Mugorim was overtaken with images of an orc camp in Lordaeron, of a female Orc's head on a pike, of the taunts of soldiers, and of Tun'kar raising a human skull in triumph. He sees a female Sindorei, placing a raptor tooth around his neck, and finally, the image of a large demon, a giant mouth in its abdomen, and as the demon gets closer, the image fades to black. Mugorim's head snapped from side to side violently as these images forcefully invade his mind. The totems began to dim with energy. Beads of sweat fell from Mugorim's arms, and upper body. As the images ceased, the eyes of the Orc open, and he gasped for breath, hands clenching his chest.

"TUN'KALAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!"

Mugorim lets out a sharp breath, lurching forward as Tun'kar's eyes open. Mugorim clenched his teeth in pain, grabbing at his abdomen. It'd be short-lived as he'd look up at Tun'kar. "Actually, it's Mugorim." He'd laugh and wince at the same time.

Tun'kar continued to gasp for air, his eyes falling on the shaman. He lunged at Mug with hands aiming for his throat "WHAT YOU DO TO TUN'KAR SISTER? WHAT YOU DO TO TUN'KAR? WHA--" His hands recoiled back to his chest as pain overcomes him, a grimace on his face. Mugorim would hold up a hand, "Relax. I've just brought you back to the dead, brave one." Tun'kar tried to stand, but his legs failed him. Still clutching his chest, he started to crawl towards his axe. Mugorim reached out to set a hand on Tun'kar's back. "Stop Tun'kar, you are gonna hurt yourself." Tun'kar growled "Stupid demons gonna hurt worse than Tun'kar. Stupid Orc gonna hurt worse than Tun'kar if try and sto--" The pain hit him again, stopping him in his tracks and making him curl into a ball. Mugorim shook his head. "You can barely carry yourself, how will you carry an axe into battle?" Mugorim would push himself up, his legs shaking, but he managed.

Tun'kar tried to answer, but the pain is too great. After a fit of pain, he seems quieter, more subdued. He asks "Why...why stupid orc take Tun'kar sister away?" He almost seemed to whimper as he says this.

Mugorim's face went from one of confusion to one of sympathy as he realized what Tun'kar was speaking of. "Your sister wanted to see you," Mugorim sighed, "But you could not stay with her forever."

Tun'kar remained silent. The next thing he said seems even more difficult than the last. "Tun'kar...need...Tun'kar....need help...from here."

Mugorim smirked if only a little, "Relax a little bit longer, we're not in danger."

========================================================
Resurrected: Tunkar Skullkeeper
Killer: Large demon (puppeted by Zmon/LostStranger)
Date and Cause of Death: late December, 2011; Punted by an infernal, impaled by a small group of Felguards, and half-eaten by the stomach mouth of a large demon while trying to defend Kagrune and Kuavi.
Resurrector: Mugorim
Starting Date of Activity: March 10, 2013

Resurrection Drawbacks for Tun'kar

Short Term:

Heavy fatigue as his body gets adjusted to the world of the living again. As he was very active, it will take some time for him to adjust to his old level of activity.
Fear of demons. Tun'kar is normally very good at handling his fears, overcoming them with rage. But with the horrendous way he died, he will have a much harder time putting his fears aside, lending himself to the retreating that he formerly would formerly refuse (a lack of retreat is how he died in the first place).

Long Term:

His legs will occasionally give out on him completely, an after effect of his body being bitten in half.
Hate of demons. Tun'kar's fear will slowly be overshadowed by an extreme hate. This creates a complication with his mission, as his hate is why his spirit cannot rest, and he will have to deal with both the figurative demons of his past as well as his present ones.

Permanent:

Severe, debilitating chest pains and asthma-like symptoms that can pop up at any time due to the impaling that led to his death.
He may very well no longer be the strongest Orc there is, as no amount of push-ups will bring back his previous levels of strength. While still very strong, he is more likely to be outmatched by other warriors, and will have to learn to adapt in other ways if he wishes to fight the good fight.

Long Overdue

Sun, 10 Feb 2013 09:41:49 -0800

Spoiler:

Too many patients, not enough caregivers. Those were the words an old Orc veteran repeated to himself as he changed the bandages on a crying warrior who would have to learn to use his other arm if he wanted to use his axe. He quickly moved to the next patient, who needed nothing more than to be rolled to avoid bed sores. He was rushing to get out of the small room he and his mate used to house patients; the crying, the moans, the smell of men halfway between death and life mixing with that natural Drag stench made the old warrior want to gag. He covered his mouth with both hands, took two deep breaths, and moved on to the last patient. Change the bandages, clean the blood, roll, march out.

The smell of the common room, while still that awful Drag odor, was a welcome relief to an Orc that spent a good hour or more (he was never good at guessing what time it was, especially in the Drag) with a group of almost-corpses. It was better than spending time with the Forsaken, but not by much. His mate was sitting cross-legged on a wolfskin rug, reading a letter once, then again with the letter brought closer, then once more, but this time using her finger to follow the words. The veteran joined her, thinking over what words to say that would tell her he took care of the wounded, while showing his displeasure at having to do it alone. As he thought, he found himself leaning in to see why the letter was so interesting.

Quote:To the Rockshatter family,

Wake up Jof'waz or give him to someone competent enough to do their job.

-Norell Rocketpunch
P.S. Show this letter to any Rocketpunch store on Kezan and receive 2% off any purchase of five or more explosives

The warrior gave the letter another read over, turning to his mate after to see her open a small coin purse. He held out his hand as she shook five coins out of the bag; a single gold coin and four copper coins were all that was within. Norell was usually more generous with his funds, which was as surprising to the couple as his friendship to the troll.

“Cheap little bastard, ain't he?” The veteran laughed once and smiled for his mate, bouncing the coins in his hand. He wanted to toss the letter in the fire and force Norell to come down to Orgrimmar, but he could use that discount to buy fireworks for whatever holiday was coming up next. Too many holidays. He looked back as his mate as she took the coins from his hand. The first time the Rockshatter family met Jof'waz was when he was nothing but a still-breathing corpse and Norell was paying the couple to care for him. The goblin made a lot of boasts for the troll, claiming that Jof'waz was revived by the Red Dragonflight after fighting a Scourge army. By himself. The couple “believed” the story once they heard how much Norell would give them, but they believed the troll to simply be in a coma.

“We'll give him a day or two, see if he awakens. After that, we need to toss him out.” His mate said as she tossed the light coin purse to a nearby table, going in the back room to check on the patients. Alone with his thoughts, the veteran had one thing on his mind.

Why the hell isn't Jof'waz waking up?

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Where's the priestess? What about the elf? Why isn't anyone hearing him scream for help. Mouth opens, no words. He tries again. When did all that blood get there? Priestess? He tries to cry out again. Gurgle. Armor feels like it's getting torn up like scrap. Another dagger? Claw? Right in the throat. Stupid knights. Summon ghouls with a Lich nearby. Lich! Where is he? He has to kill the Lich, reclaim stolen glory! Damn Voragh. Damn lizard.

Priestess?
Kapre?
Mahen?
Anybody?

Something was cooking. No spices, but it felt like ages since Jof'waz last sat down and ate something that wasn't scraps or days old. The poor life of an engineer and matchmaker; being Jof'waz is suffering. The troll took another whif, hoping to capture that heavenly smell, but got a nostril full of black smoke. He blew his nose, rubbing his goggles (then remembering to lift them and rubbing his eyes), and looked for the smell's origin. It raised two very important questions, though one isn't as important as the other: Where was his armor, and why was he on fire? ...Fire!

Jof'waz yelped, slapping his hands over his chest to put out the fire. When that didn't work, he remembered a lesson from his adoptive father about fire. He stopped, he was already laying so he didn't drop, but he could roll. It was then he learned that he was sitting in a rowboat until he tumbled out and continued to roll in the sand. He continued to roll until he felt water on his back, which was the only prompt he needed to dive under. He rose up seconds later, scooping up water and patting down his arms just in case.

Jof'waz chewed on his gums as he tried to process the new development. He was at Northrend, but now it seemed he was on an island. He woke up on fire. For reasons unknown, the fire did nothing permanent. His armor was still gone. His old wounds seem to have vanished as well, there weren't any scars on his hands...

...Armor feels like it's getting torn up like scrap. Another dagger? Claw? Right in the throat. Stupid knights. Summon ghouls with a Lich nearby...

Both hands shot for his throat, rubbing and caressing, tracing for lines that should be there. Nothing, yet again.

He assured himself that this was just a dream, and made up a quick hypothesis on the spot. He returned to his beached rowboat in search of large enough to cause great pain to himself. There were oars, some sort of box that smelled like worms, but nothing else to note. He reached for an oar, but realized that there was something else he could to test his little theory: The damn boat itself.

“Chu got dis. Juss un little 'it, dat all it dakes, mon. Lift 'ead, an' slam. Lift, slam. Lift slam!” The troll gritted his teeth, prayed to whatever Loa was listening, and slammed his forehead on the boat. He winced, but he felt no pain. He did it once more, eyes wide open as all he felt was his head against wood. For the troll, this was a good enough reason to assume that he was just dreaming. He wasn't dead. Nope. Not dead.

Another hypothesis needed to be tested, and the troll had plenty in his head. First, he tried to part the sea with his mind. That didn't work. Next, he jumped and flapped his arms in an attempt to fly. The first attempted failed, but it would not stop Jof'waz from trying another five times. He failed each time. He jumped in the ocean and dunked his head under the water for a third test. It felt like five minutes, and he wasn't drowning. Anything fun he wanted to do was a no-go, but anything that would kill him or otherwise hurt him just wouldn't do their thing either. This is a terrible dream. He wanted to leave.

Jof'waz pushed the rowboat out to sea and, taking a minute to learn how to actually row, shouted goodbyes to the island that he had no idea existed until recently. He didn't get far, as the waves pushed him back to the island as the land was becoming just a dot in his sights. The boat washed ashore, and all Jof'waz could do was cover his face with his hands and curse the heavens in Zandali. It was then a sound from the jungle filled the troll's ears.

A drumbeat.

Jof'waz didn't think anyone was living on this little hellho- Dream! It's a dream! Of course there would be people, I'm just dreaming them up to deal with my loneliness! Jof'waz repeated this to himself as he scrambled out of the rowboat and charge without considering any potential danger that could be lurking in the trees and under the earth. It didn't matter. The moon was hanging above the island, the drumbeat was getting louder, and it was smelling more and more like a party. Once he parted the foilage, he beheld the grandest sight.

Trolls! Hundreds... tens... handfuls of them! Blue and green trolls gathered around a fire, dancing like the party never ends. The smell of pork and chicken whiffed up his nostrils as the female trolls did their proper job of cooking a meal for the whole... tribe? They looked more like a loose collection of trolls united by their love of good food and dancing. There didn't seem to be a leader, but that was because Jof'waz only looked between the food and the dancing. When he finally let his eyes wander elsewhere, he spotted a large troll, too blue to be from the forest and too big to be from the jungle, sitting on a throne of what looked like other trolls. He frequently stood up and moved elsewhere, and his throne would break and follow him. They seemed happy to be nothing but a chair for a large troll, but that didn't matter to Jof'waz.

“If dat mon expectin' me ta serve as 'is chair, I gonna knock 'im in da throat.” Jof'waz said perhaps a little too loudly, as the large troll finally cared enough to look over him. The tribal leader studied poor Jof'waz with simple curiosity, finally breaking into a smirk and keeping an eye on him. It was creepy, but it didn't matter. So long as Jof'waz could just eat and dance and not be a chair, everything would be fine. So Jof'waz left his hiding spot in the jungle, joining the other men and women around the fire, and danced as only Jof'waz could dance. That wouldn't last long.

Jof'waz danced for five minutes, and everything was fine. He danced for ten, and the cooks left their area and joined the fire. He danced for fifteen, and the dancers ceased to party. He danced for twenty, and he realized he was the only one left dancing. Just as he about to ask what the problem was, five of the strongest trolls grabbed him by the arms, legs, and even the tusks and looked up to their glorious leader to learn what to do with him. Jof'waz couldn't see the leader, and it seemed the man had no love for using words. So he was carried from the party, with no idea of any crime he committed, and with no knowledge of what the large troll told the other trolls to do.

He was carried through the jungle and foliage, returned to the beach and rowboat he woke up on, and left there as the other trolls turned to return to the jungle.

“Ah! Wait, wait!” Jof'waz kicked his legs and jumped on his feet, chasing after the trolls. “Wha' be da-” Before he could finish, one of the trolls pushed him back on the sand and returned to the jungle. Jof'waz was denied the right to party, and that's terrible. The drums continued to beat as the moon took forever to set, and the sun just didn't feel like coming up yet. Jof'waz was still there, in the sand, listening as the drum beat until the sun finally took its sweet time to rise up. “Dat nah be fair...”

The troll rolled on his belly and watched the waves of the ocean, the rowboat that wasn't strong enough to best the waves, the ship out in the distance. Wait, ship?

Ship!

Jof'waz wasted no time. If the island didn't want him, he would just best the ocean and get a free ride on that boat. He pushed the rowboat out to sea, and rowed like his life depended on it.

Surprisingly, the waves were calm.

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Day two. The Rockshatter gave the troll two days to get up out of the bed, and for two days he continued to sleep. They had some hope on the first day when they heard him groan, but nothing happened. They got in contact with Norell, who was thankfully on Kalimdor on business in Ratchet, and he would arrive soon to pick him up. He wrote something about a “Love Exchange”, but neither of them could understand it. Sounded like a whorehouse.

The old veteran was tending to the patients as his mate waited for the goblin to arrive. The last one he would care for is Jof'waz, and all the troll needed was bandages. He searched the dimly lit back room with one hand covering his nose and mouth, searching for a new roll. He dropped on his ass the second he heard a creaking cry behind him, and he turned to see the once unwakeable troll slowly rising to sit, crying out in pain with every inch. His first and quick reaction was to push the troll back down, which seemed to only make him cry out more. The veteran was not trained for this. He left the room to grab his mate, and found her and Norell at the door. Perfect timing.

“The troll is awake.”

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Killer – Lich (NPC (Embers of Life) – Krilari)
Resurrecter – Dragon (NPC (Embers of Life) – Krilari)

Short term (1-3 months):
-Nightmares
-Shaking
-Fear of the undead
-Coughing up blood

Long term or permanent (4-6 months, unless permanent):
-Inability to wear anything above leather armor
-Trouble breathing
-Needing a back brace and cane to move around
-Trouble lifting
-Regular ol' coughing fits
-Scars along the neck and chest

An Arathorian Sunrise [RC]

Thu, 10 Jan 2013 22:22:21 -0800

Doyle was never too bright a Paladin, and the last light he has seen in his life.. Was not the one he hoped to see. Fighting an assassin [ThePharoah] sent to kill his friend by the Ridaken family, he was caught in a blast from fireworks the assassin set ablaze in her attempt to escape. Failing to cast a protective shell of light around him, Doyle was indeed consumed by light.

Cast out of the explosion with a hole in his gut, a missing leg, and one big mess where his face was, Doyle's death was something no one dared question.

He was burried in the Lion Hearted's command, as appropriate to his rank, he lied there for a good while, as his ressurection was being planned. After all, can't just drop everything because someone died.

Somewhere about a month after his death, Commander Dalikan Godford [Zenethen] decided to take action, and with help of the fact Doyle was burried on holy ground, he ressurected him. The ressurection took heavy tolls from the weary old paladin, and Doyle may have been given his life back, but at a cost.

Whatever weak grasp of the Light Doyle had so far, the shock of the death caused by the failure to call it to protect him has left him without any ability as a paladin.

Doyle has a long road ahead of him before he can face full physical recovery, remaining weaker than he could ever wish he would've been.

Doyle just grew a leg, a stomach, and a face. Consequently, these three areas are most affected currently. It will take weeks if not months until he could calmly look at an open flame, and exposure to bright lights for long durations of time gives him one heck of a headache. At times he seems completely out of it, unable to focus. He will be often found just staring at something for long durations of time, as if he cannot shake himself from it.

His ability to consume alcohol is severely affected, as his digestion, making him have to be very strict with his lifestyle for the near future. At times you would find him limping, aswell, his left leg proving to be troublesome.

Weak after being dead for a month, Doyle will have to relearn to fight with heavy armour, forcing him to wear lighter armour for the near future, and limit his weapon size.

Over all, Doyle is weaker, psychologically and physically, but is on a slow, long journey to recovery. Will he ever recover fully? Highly unlikely, we have to remember that he -is-, after all, in his 40s.

Once More unto the Breach, dear friends.

Sat, 03 Nov 2012 09:28:06 -0700

The midnight air in Stormwind's forest makes for good traveling this time of year. A simply carriage trots through the winding woods with a simple coffin, bound for the home of a certain priestess beloved by both her friends and enemies. Unceremoniously, the coffin is left on the doorstep of her manor...some while later a shadowbeast appeared, guarding the coffin like a dog that has lost its master.

How the priest in the box had ended up here was through and act of sheer stupidity. Curiosity led him to be kidnapped and arrogance led him to tempt a rune with random effects, having your soul husked from the body being one of them.

While the body was being tended to by the somewhat peeved priestess, the corpse was enjoying a nice chat in the Netherworld.

"So that's what the meaning of life is, eh? Gotta say I never saw that coming."

"Not many do."

"So just about everything is wrong."

"Yep."

Just as their conversation finished, a golden hand appeared out of the darkness beckoning one of the souls to it. Aroes hesitated for just a moment before taking the hand. "There's always eternity to finish our discussions.."

As the golden light faded from one of the many guest rooms, the shattered corpse took a gasping breath.

"Still not yet.."

Killer: Rune
Resurrector: Annabelle Bronco
Short term drawbacks: General fatigue, shortness of sight, labored movements
Long term/permanent drawbacks: Inability to read arcane spellscript, decreased endurance, sudden moments of inability to concentrate.

Rebirth of a Friend [RC]

Fri, 02 Nov 2012 16:15:27 -0700

Krilari makes his way up to the manor door, plated knuckes rapping against the door. Reigen strides to the door, pushing it open and glancing around. Kapre makes his way to the door, his hooves clopping loudly as he did. He stops upon meeting Krilari. "Oh... hello."

Krilari glances over his shoulder, nodding to the draenei before making his way inside. Kapre anxiously peers through the doorway towards Reigen. Krilari lowers his mask. "As promised...Where is she?"

Reigen points to the stairs. "On the second floor, in the bed."

"Then upstairs I march."

Fendrin was upstairs, in the attic, glancing down at Krilari as he entered. Krilari approaches the corpse with heavy, metallic steps. A fair moment would be spent simply observing the robed woman before he drew his blade, soon setting it aside. Kapre looks over to her. "What has happened to her?"

Krilari looks her over. "Crushed by boulders, apparently."

The Death Knight nods. "She was crushed to death by rocks due to an explosion. An elemental fixed her body, but not her life."

I see..." Kapre turns his hand so that the back of it touches Valan's face. He closes his eyes, his body stiffening. He then kneels down. Krilari eyes Kapre for a moment, the man soon nodding to himself. "Will we be waiting on any more, Reigen?"

Fendrin stepped downstairs, observing the resurrection silently. Valan looks rather peaceful on the bed. She lies on her back, her hands over her chest. The smile remains, a testament to her sacrifice. Reigen shakes her head. "I did not get any other replies." She steps back, not wanting to interfere at all and moves closer to the balcony. She watches the three like a hawk, however.

Kapre's spirit lifts partially as the draenei opens his eyes, the lights dimmed as his essence searches through past the material plane. He seeks for the spirits, for wherever Valan's is if it has not departed for the afterlife yet. Fendrin stepped over to Reigen silently, wanting to be the true observer as he moves behind her.

Valan's spirit stands not next to her own body, but next to Reigen, the smile remaining as she watches over her only true friend.

The spirit walker nods. "[Hollow] There you are."

Krilari looks aside to the Spirit Walker once more, eyeing his now dimmer visage. He spares the slightest shrug before moving aside to spare the man some room. "Are we prepared to begin then?"

Kapre 's eyes remain dim as his voice barely leaves his lips. "Are we all ready? I have located the spirit." He smiles.

Reigen folds her hands behind her back, peering between Kapre and Krilari. She nods to Kapre's question, even if she wasn't taking part in the doings. Krilari gives his gauntlets a good twist and a pull, tearing the metalic fists off to leave his fingers open. Without further question he would take a knee, his lips parting in a muttered prayer.

Kapre holds up a hand towards Reigen... or rather, the spirit by her. "[Hollow] Please, come forth."

Valan looks to the Spirit Walker, blinking. She steps forward none the less, opening her mouth to speak, but no words come out. She closes her mouth shortly after, and smiles again, nodding. Kapre steps back, guiding the spirit next to the body.

The spirit steps close to her body, staring down at herself. Kapre raises a ring of fetishes and waves it while softly chanting a prayer. A ring of totems form from the condensed elements around him, the water providing a healing stream, fire warmth, earth the tangibility, and air, the breath of life.

Krilari continues to mutter his prayer, the man's form un-moving as he seems to enter his own world devoid of outside influences. The only sign of movement would be his hand which presses against the wooden floor. Simultaneously with the totems, a ring of light would take shape around him.

"By the Elements and the Ancestors... I implore that soul and body become one, that you give this woman a chance at life among the living." Kapre shakes his ring as he waves his arm to channel the elements forward into Valan's body as a stream for the spirit to ride back to the corpse.

Krilari 's prayers take a moment more to mount their strength, yet once it is the ring would bound upwards in unpredictable jolts. With the ring's movements he would rise, flowing the Holy powers into the body, aiding with the spirit's guidance. Valan spirit slowly climbs onto the bed next to her body. She smiles again, laying on top of herself.

Krilari maintains the stream of Holy magic, the power wrapping and curling about the Night Elf as if it were stitching her body and Spirit together. Valan's body and soul slowly form into one, and her chest slowly rises in the motion of breath, but freezes, still incomplete.

Krilari 's breaths begin to draw heavy and haggard as he takes the reins of the final lap of the resurrection as the spirit walker falls unconscious. Valan chest falls as she exhales the breath. Color slowly rises to her cheeks as she lies still. Krilari remains within a ring of Holy power, lost in his own world of thought. While the holy powers continued to flow from him into the elf his voice would raise in a commanding demeanor. "In the name of the Holy Light of Creation I bestow life into this weary corpse. Let wounds be sown and the spirit called forth from the Dark Beyond. Let those that once drew breath gasp as they once have. In the name of the Holy Light, I call you to rise."

Valan chest rises and falls steadily, color returned to her flesh, and the soft ba-dum of her heart can be heard if one listens closely. But she remains still, sleeping. Krilari courses the last of his power into the woman, sewing the last head between the body and spirit before staggering back. Near-immediately he would fall onto his backside, utterly worn.

Reigen nods, moving over to Valan's now living body. "Thank you, Sir Dawnsend, I owe you for this."

Killer: Generic, cave in.
Resurrector: Krilari, Kapre
Short term drawbacks: Blindness, unable to walk, unable to sit up without help, stiffness of the limbs.
Long term/permanent drawbacks: Stiff joints, lack of mobility in her right arm, blurred vision.