11-29-2009, 01:40 PM
First and foremost: Tell us about yourself, as a player.:
Ahoy, I'm Aerlyn and I adore stories – both short and long – and this passion has fed my love for role-playing through MMORPG's or MUD's over the last decade. I crave to learn and flourish with healthy-criticism. I'm only human and we human tend to make mistakes as common as air does fill our lungs. I'm a wordsmith at heart, still studying the final prints of my craft, though I have worked, chatted to and role-played with some awe-inspiring folk throughout the years. I'd like to say I role-play to enhance my wordsmith skills but that would be a shameful lie because I love role-play and have for many years.
What country do you come from? What is your primary language?
I hail from the United Kingdom and my primary language is of course English. In the next three months my light-hearted studies of Swedish will be taken more seriously with night classes . . . but currently I only speak and write in British-English.
How did you get into Warcraft?:
There was a time when I played NWN and FFXI. With the crumbling community of a once close-knit player-made persistent world – inclined only for great depth of role-play immersion and imagination in a Dungeons and Dragons setting – and the great Asian grind-fest that was FFXI, I realised quite quickly neither was for me. I soared for a new experience, but having limited knowledge and know-how of MMO's at large, I often went along with what I had. It was a FFXI friend that first showed me the vast community of World of Warcraft.
Having been dealt the typical expectations of my previous MMORPG experience, World of Warcraft was a dream. What was this strange Gnome and Night Elf infested hole I had suddenly been blown into? I was used to playing alongside a vast number of people that couldn't even communicate in English or playing into the wee hours of weekend mornings in hopes to rub against the very American-inclined NWN server in the right ways; all to get DM-given influence tokens to advance.
What made you seek our server over others?:
Well at first I hadn't really given Conquest of the Horde a detailed look. I assumed – due to the name – it was Horde inclined. It wasn't until recently did I discover the details of this server and realised how mistaken I truly was.
I love this. Yes, this; the application process. This is marvellous. Not only does it show quality is what the server is after but it also shows GM interest in each and every single person taking the time to apply. Fishing out the good and bad in a popular server is a tedious and time consuming task and all other role-play private servers simply don't bother with such wearisome work, which can lead to people slipping through the net that may bring problems later.
I will admit I was doing so only casually late yesterday evening, but whilst I was scanning CotH's wiki I came across many profiles of character's that left me impressed and intrigued. So here I am.
I had forever separated my two games – NWN for role-play and FFXI for other means. That habit stayed true, and I originally only joined World of Warcraft for the rich PvE and PvP content. It wasn't until several months in did I discover role-play in World of Warcraft. Having been starved of the stuff, I plunged head first in and I have been a dedicated role-player ever since having left the casual raiding scene with the launch of the Burning Crusade.
I will admit I was reluctant at first. I was so used to DM contact on a personal and interactive level; scores of immersion dipped stories for a small player base to enjoy and explore as we saw fit. It took time to adjust, but there is something addictive about World of Warcraft that just keeps me settled. I suppose it has a little bit of everything and I like o be flexible.
What kinds of roleplay do you enjoy?:
To be short; in-depth immersion and detailed description with character and environment development in a friendly but healthy and criticising environment where I can have bucket loads of fun and learn to improve my wordsmith skills at the same time.
I often delve around with one character and one character alone. Often accepting all situations and dealing with them the way the character's personality would react to. With that being said, I have awe-inspiring experiences with realistic friendship and relationship building with political twists and gut churning plots that have left previous character's in shattered remnants to their former selves.
What is your favorite race/class? Why?:
In a PvE sense, I love healing. It's all I am good at really, but due to the touché topic of the in-character healing process, I tend to go for more realistic things. Such as an archer donned in boiled leather. No pet in sight of course. And my archer would be human, so you can see my problem? Humans would definitely be my favourite race, simply due to their flexibility and lore of Lordaeron. It's the best in my opinion and it's all I tend to make, with the odd Night Elf finding its way into the trims. I really never know how they manage up in my character selection screen.
What are your expectations of this server?:
My expectations are quite high, but perhaps that is because this is my final hope. After reading through what I am obliged to read through; having a toot at the wiki and rules, I couldn't ask for more really. My only concern is my grammar and spelling. When I work under pressure, I fail miserably like a crate load of bricks!
Out of all of our rules and regulations listed on our server, which appeals to you the most?:
The role-playing rule. The amount of times I have seen a seventeen year old Draenei with the title “Grand Marshal of the Alliance†or similar aged Elves bouncing around and speaking as if they come from some ghetto whilst impregnating themselves with no male present . . . It would be lovely to role-play on a server where everyone has a grasp of the lore. Perhaps not on an encyclopaedic level – we are not all walking Wikipedia's after all, I know I am most certainly not – but having a general gist of the outlined history, lore and timeline. Knowing Arthas is bad, and no you are not Arthas' cousin twice removed! The typical background that makes no sense to the current and established lore of the World of Warcraft universe, regardless of how well presented and thought-out, ends up being an eyesore and tedious. So the role-playing rule is indeed the one that appeals to me the most. Though I have to say, all are acceptable and reasonable.
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!:
The sound of steel meeting steel, loud and quick, rang throughout the courtyard. Megan stood alone, watching, she watched the cheap blades whack against each other. Tiny orbs of perspiration fell to the floor; the heat of the battle made the guards' sweat and it glistened from their brow like glitter caught by the sun. It was midday and cold, but still a man could sweat if he worked hard enough.
The north always held a chill that sunk right down to Megan's bones. She thought for a moment of how much she hated the cold and it never affected others as much as it affected her. It was this small token that made her believe wherever she came from, it was warm and never would a cold sun hang low in the sky and tease you with its pretend light with no warmth.
Megan would love to sweat like these men. Megan would love to know how it felt to be warm again.
‘Hmph,' she said slowly. She was alone, she decided, she accepted that fact many years ago when she woke up and had no memories. But today was different; this loneliness was bitter and cold, like winter's unforgiving hand. She sat along the frozen ground and pulled her knees to her chest, almond-shaped blue eyes, as storm-filled as ever; fell from the guards' spar to her leather bound feet.
You're a wildcat, she told herself. Wildcats are supposed to be alone. She had a sudden urge to go to Karias – he understood his wildcat, he always knew what to say to her to make her keep going. But Karias was never to be found when Megan needed him. It was a long running joke, as if the elusive man knew when Megan wanted him and he fled before her footfalls and worries could step in front of his eyes.
Most people were intimidated by Megan, she knew this as fact, no matter where she went, violence tended to follow. Her leering shadow of blood and much thicker things. She had long since accepted that violence was an awkward ally and the Wildcat worked it to her benefit most times. But there are downsides to living aside violence so carefree. No one would ever trust Megan. Most would see in her a tool – like Karias – a tool to be worked and used then discarded when the tool proves useless or blunt, others would be jealous or scared, or fancied a chance to see if their violence was better than hers. She was alive, so she guessed her violence was strong.
So deep in her own thoughts, Megan didn't hear the blades' halt their dance and she didn't pick up the smell of accidentally spilt blood. Normally she would, but whenever the Wildcat thought of certain things a cloud – dense and thick – would fog her mind and senses. It was a bleak thing, this fog, and Megan wasn't sure what it was but she knew she hated it.
‘It is unlike you to be so deep in thought, Megan.'
It was Dannyl, she realised that during the whisper-quick second it took to touch her bow.
Dannyl's footsteps came nearer and louder. ‘You never suit sitting huddled up against a wall, mulling over some distant sorrow.'
She drew in a breath, ‘I can suit anything if I try.'
Her eyes flicked to Dannyl's mouth and he was smiling.
‘Indeed,' he said with fondness in his eyes. ‘Are you well? I can fetch a mug of hot water if your fingers are cold.'
‘I'm fine,' it came out quicker than intended, like a silken whip.
‘Everyone needs to drink warmth in the cold,' he stepped closer. ‘Megan. Let me in, let me help you.'
‘I said I'm fine,' again with the quick silken whip.
Dannyl sighed but he didn't leave. Why wouldn't he leave? Megan decided he wanted something, but she couldn't read Dannyl like she could read most people – so guarded with his ponderous indifference.
‘Megan,' his voice was slow and steady. ‘You don't have to fight everything. Not everything is against you.'
Dannyl spoke nonsense to her ears. Why was he saying such pointless things?
‘You mean much to me, Megan.'
A grimace touched her smooth face and in her own bubbling temper, she flipped a hand toward the scarf that hid her hair and she pulled on it. Megan's hair was red like fire, like blood, like a ripe apple fresh from a sentinel tree; thick and untamed, just like she. The silken tresses tumbled down her back and shorter strands framed her oval face. The scarf she threw at Dannyl but the wind picked up to touch her hair and blew it to the side and the wind, in its lust for her blood-red tresses, blew the scarf across the courtyard.
‘Temper my precious little Wildcat.'
‘I hate you! You and your soft voice and your eyes, and your smiles! Stop it, Dannyl! I don't want you being a guardian. I can take care – I can take care of myself!' She exhaled, trying to calm herself because her fists were balls and her heart was racing, her eyes stung.
‘Megan . . .'
Even when she threw sharp words and she felt them cut at something deeper than skin, Dannyl stepped even more closely with his rigid tightness unmoving, softness in his grey-green eyes akin to understanding, akin to something that terrified Megan to even think about.
‘We are the same, you and I. We share the same blood.' The man advanced, his footfalls and then his breath drew closer.
Was he trying to say they were the same? Because, she thought, they were most certainly not.
He reached out to touch her blood-red hair. ‘You are a fragile thing, Megan. So fragile I want to protect you. You are the only thing I want to see bloom – the only thing I want to see blossom into more than a cold and heartless thug. This place is cold, Megan, the winds will nip your skin and turn your fingers blue. Be warm, never stop moving.' He smiled at her, moving his arms to hold her wrists.
Cats hate dogs, especially this dog and his word politics she didn't understand. Always cornering her . . . Megan pushed him away before he could soften even more words and try to melt her heart with it all. She ran from the courtyard, her leathered boots nearly slipped but she kept her balance, Megan caught herself and lowered her head against the winds' pull. She didn't want Dannyl to catch sight of even a single tear caught by the winds' fingers.
Is there anything else you would like to add, ask, or otherwise clarify?:
I would like to thank the brave soul that read all that and I am sorry for how long it ended up. I know I tend to waffle until the cows come home. I would also like to apologise now to any spelling or grammar mistakes – for I am a shameless perfectionist – and those damned boxes are scarcely a good place to check for errors efficiently. With all that said, thank you!
Ahoy, I'm Aerlyn and I adore stories – both short and long – and this passion has fed my love for role-playing through MMORPG's or MUD's over the last decade. I crave to learn and flourish with healthy-criticism. I'm only human and we human tend to make mistakes as common as air does fill our lungs. I'm a wordsmith at heart, still studying the final prints of my craft, though I have worked, chatted to and role-played with some awe-inspiring folk throughout the years. I'd like to say I role-play to enhance my wordsmith skills but that would be a shameful lie because I love role-play and have for many years.
What country do you come from? What is your primary language?
I hail from the United Kingdom and my primary language is of course English. In the next three months my light-hearted studies of Swedish will be taken more seriously with night classes . . . but currently I only speak and write in British-English.
How did you get into Warcraft?:
There was a time when I played NWN and FFXI. With the crumbling community of a once close-knit player-made persistent world – inclined only for great depth of role-play immersion and imagination in a Dungeons and Dragons setting – and the great Asian grind-fest that was FFXI, I realised quite quickly neither was for me. I soared for a new experience, but having limited knowledge and know-how of MMO's at large, I often went along with what I had. It was a FFXI friend that first showed me the vast community of World of Warcraft.
Having been dealt the typical expectations of my previous MMORPG experience, World of Warcraft was a dream. What was this strange Gnome and Night Elf infested hole I had suddenly been blown into? I was used to playing alongside a vast number of people that couldn't even communicate in English or playing into the wee hours of weekend mornings in hopes to rub against the very American-inclined NWN server in the right ways; all to get DM-given influence tokens to advance.
What made you seek our server over others?:
Well at first I hadn't really given Conquest of the Horde a detailed look. I assumed – due to the name – it was Horde inclined. It wasn't until recently did I discover the details of this server and realised how mistaken I truly was.
I love this. Yes, this; the application process. This is marvellous. Not only does it show quality is what the server is after but it also shows GM interest in each and every single person taking the time to apply. Fishing out the good and bad in a popular server is a tedious and time consuming task and all other role-play private servers simply don't bother with such wearisome work, which can lead to people slipping through the net that may bring problems later.
I will admit I was doing so only casually late yesterday evening, but whilst I was scanning CotH's wiki I came across many profiles of character's that left me impressed and intrigued. So here I am.
I had forever separated my two games – NWN for role-play and FFXI for other means. That habit stayed true, and I originally only joined World of Warcraft for the rich PvE and PvP content. It wasn't until several months in did I discover role-play in World of Warcraft. Having been starved of the stuff, I plunged head first in and I have been a dedicated role-player ever since having left the casual raiding scene with the launch of the Burning Crusade.
I will admit I was reluctant at first. I was so used to DM contact on a personal and interactive level; scores of immersion dipped stories for a small player base to enjoy and explore as we saw fit. It took time to adjust, but there is something addictive about World of Warcraft that just keeps me settled. I suppose it has a little bit of everything and I like o be flexible.
What kinds of roleplay do you enjoy?:
To be short; in-depth immersion and detailed description with character and environment development in a friendly but healthy and criticising environment where I can have bucket loads of fun and learn to improve my wordsmith skills at the same time.
I often delve around with one character and one character alone. Often accepting all situations and dealing with them the way the character's personality would react to. With that being said, I have awe-inspiring experiences with realistic friendship and relationship building with political twists and gut churning plots that have left previous character's in shattered remnants to their former selves.
What is your favorite race/class? Why?:
In a PvE sense, I love healing. It's all I am good at really, but due to the touché topic of the in-character healing process, I tend to go for more realistic things. Such as an archer donned in boiled leather. No pet in sight of course. And my archer would be human, so you can see my problem? Humans would definitely be my favourite race, simply due to their flexibility and lore of Lordaeron. It's the best in my opinion and it's all I tend to make, with the odd Night Elf finding its way into the trims. I really never know how they manage up in my character selection screen.
What are your expectations of this server?:
My expectations are quite high, but perhaps that is because this is my final hope. After reading through what I am obliged to read through; having a toot at the wiki and rules, I couldn't ask for more really. My only concern is my grammar and spelling. When I work under pressure, I fail miserably like a crate load of bricks!
Out of all of our rules and regulations listed on our server, which appeals to you the most?:
The role-playing rule. The amount of times I have seen a seventeen year old Draenei with the title “Grand Marshal of the Alliance†or similar aged Elves bouncing around and speaking as if they come from some ghetto whilst impregnating themselves with no male present . . . It would be lovely to role-play on a server where everyone has a grasp of the lore. Perhaps not on an encyclopaedic level – we are not all walking Wikipedia's after all, I know I am most certainly not – but having a general gist of the outlined history, lore and timeline. Knowing Arthas is bad, and no you are not Arthas' cousin twice removed! The typical background that makes no sense to the current and established lore of the World of Warcraft universe, regardless of how well presented and thought-out, ends up being an eyesore and tedious. So the role-playing rule is indeed the one that appeals to me the most. Though I have to say, all are acceptable and reasonable.
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!:
The sound of steel meeting steel, loud and quick, rang throughout the courtyard. Megan stood alone, watching, she watched the cheap blades whack against each other. Tiny orbs of perspiration fell to the floor; the heat of the battle made the guards' sweat and it glistened from their brow like glitter caught by the sun. It was midday and cold, but still a man could sweat if he worked hard enough.
The north always held a chill that sunk right down to Megan's bones. She thought for a moment of how much she hated the cold and it never affected others as much as it affected her. It was this small token that made her believe wherever she came from, it was warm and never would a cold sun hang low in the sky and tease you with its pretend light with no warmth.
Megan would love to sweat like these men. Megan would love to know how it felt to be warm again.
‘Hmph,' she said slowly. She was alone, she decided, she accepted that fact many years ago when she woke up and had no memories. But today was different; this loneliness was bitter and cold, like winter's unforgiving hand. She sat along the frozen ground and pulled her knees to her chest, almond-shaped blue eyes, as storm-filled as ever; fell from the guards' spar to her leather bound feet.
You're a wildcat, she told herself. Wildcats are supposed to be alone. She had a sudden urge to go to Karias – he understood his wildcat, he always knew what to say to her to make her keep going. But Karias was never to be found when Megan needed him. It was a long running joke, as if the elusive man knew when Megan wanted him and he fled before her footfalls and worries could step in front of his eyes.
Most people were intimidated by Megan, she knew this as fact, no matter where she went, violence tended to follow. Her leering shadow of blood and much thicker things. She had long since accepted that violence was an awkward ally and the Wildcat worked it to her benefit most times. But there are downsides to living aside violence so carefree. No one would ever trust Megan. Most would see in her a tool – like Karias – a tool to be worked and used then discarded when the tool proves useless or blunt, others would be jealous or scared, or fancied a chance to see if their violence was better than hers. She was alive, so she guessed her violence was strong.
So deep in her own thoughts, Megan didn't hear the blades' halt their dance and she didn't pick up the smell of accidentally spilt blood. Normally she would, but whenever the Wildcat thought of certain things a cloud – dense and thick – would fog her mind and senses. It was a bleak thing, this fog, and Megan wasn't sure what it was but she knew she hated it.
‘It is unlike you to be so deep in thought, Megan.'
It was Dannyl, she realised that during the whisper-quick second it took to touch her bow.
Dannyl's footsteps came nearer and louder. ‘You never suit sitting huddled up against a wall, mulling over some distant sorrow.'
She drew in a breath, ‘I can suit anything if I try.'
Her eyes flicked to Dannyl's mouth and he was smiling.
‘Indeed,' he said with fondness in his eyes. ‘Are you well? I can fetch a mug of hot water if your fingers are cold.'
‘I'm fine,' it came out quicker than intended, like a silken whip.
‘Everyone needs to drink warmth in the cold,' he stepped closer. ‘Megan. Let me in, let me help you.'
‘I said I'm fine,' again with the quick silken whip.
Dannyl sighed but he didn't leave. Why wouldn't he leave? Megan decided he wanted something, but she couldn't read Dannyl like she could read most people – so guarded with his ponderous indifference.
‘Megan,' his voice was slow and steady. ‘You don't have to fight everything. Not everything is against you.'
Dannyl spoke nonsense to her ears. Why was he saying such pointless things?
‘You mean much to me, Megan.'
A grimace touched her smooth face and in her own bubbling temper, she flipped a hand toward the scarf that hid her hair and she pulled on it. Megan's hair was red like fire, like blood, like a ripe apple fresh from a sentinel tree; thick and untamed, just like she. The silken tresses tumbled down her back and shorter strands framed her oval face. The scarf she threw at Dannyl but the wind picked up to touch her hair and blew it to the side and the wind, in its lust for her blood-red tresses, blew the scarf across the courtyard.
‘Temper my precious little Wildcat.'
‘I hate you! You and your soft voice and your eyes, and your smiles! Stop it, Dannyl! I don't want you being a guardian. I can take care – I can take care of myself!' She exhaled, trying to calm herself because her fists were balls and her heart was racing, her eyes stung.
‘Megan . . .'
Even when she threw sharp words and she felt them cut at something deeper than skin, Dannyl stepped even more closely with his rigid tightness unmoving, softness in his grey-green eyes akin to understanding, akin to something that terrified Megan to even think about.
‘We are the same, you and I. We share the same blood.' The man advanced, his footfalls and then his breath drew closer.
Was he trying to say they were the same? Because, she thought, they were most certainly not.
He reached out to touch her blood-red hair. ‘You are a fragile thing, Megan. So fragile I want to protect you. You are the only thing I want to see bloom – the only thing I want to see blossom into more than a cold and heartless thug. This place is cold, Megan, the winds will nip your skin and turn your fingers blue. Be warm, never stop moving.' He smiled at her, moving his arms to hold her wrists.
Cats hate dogs, especially this dog and his word politics she didn't understand. Always cornering her . . . Megan pushed him away before he could soften even more words and try to melt her heart with it all. She ran from the courtyard, her leathered boots nearly slipped but she kept her balance, Megan caught herself and lowered her head against the winds' pull. She didn't want Dannyl to catch sight of even a single tear caught by the winds' fingers.
Is there anything else you would like to add, ask, or otherwise clarify?:
I would like to thank the brave soul that read all that and I am sorry for how long it ended up. I know I tend to waffle until the cows come home. I would also like to apologise now to any spelling or grammar mistakes – for I am a shameless perfectionist – and those damned boxes are scarcely a good place to check for errors efficiently. With all that said, thank you!
