06-23-2010, 11:11 AM
First and foremost: Tell us about yourself, as a player.:
Hello, my name is Aaron. I'm currently attending the Art Institute of Pittsburgh, and hope to have a degree in Media Arts soon. I live in West Virginia, and enjoy hiking and jogging. I've been playing MMOs since I was quite young and have recently come to terms with the fact that an official, unpoliced, RP server on an MMO can never be perfect, and... Well, that's why I'm here.
What country do you come from? What is your primary language?
I come from USA, and speak English.
How did you get into Warcraft?:
I got into Warcraft when I was 15, I'm 20 now. A friend of mine told me about a new MMO based off of the RTS that we played on week nights and I was hooked. When we became mature and patient enough to set still on an RP server, we quickly transferred every character on our accounts over to the Sisters of Elune server and founded the largest and most active Roleplaying Guild seen on that server for a very long time. No kings can rule for ever though, and Arc (my guild) disbanded less than 4 months ago, due to the pressure of balancing raiding with RP. Though the friendships and experience gained through leading that guild will stick with me forever.
What made you seek our server over others? (or How did you find us?):
All the official WoW severs are mucked up with grievers and Vampirecatwolfdragons... Just kind of done with it. I tried out a Garry's mod RP server recently and saw how well a policed and moderated RP server could work, so I decided to try to jump back into the universe that I know the most about, Warcraft. Also, I found you through Google.
What kinds of roleplay do you enjoy?:
I enjoy personal roleplay, rather than crowds. I like to feel a sense of urgency while roleplaying, like any decisions my character make matter in some way or another. I also like Roleplay where I get to see my character evolve in some way.
What is your favorite race/class? Why?:
Undead as far as races go. I like the prospect of a deadened war machine, looking for something to focus it otherworldly hate towards. Now, I can't comment on Class really, from a mechanical standpoint as they all work pretty similarly anymore. Though, I do quite enjoy the mindset I was always in playing my undead Warrior. I loved that I got into the class enough that I played out the classic bloodthirsty beast subconsciously by rushing to the next mob in order to turn them to a pile of mush, all the while freaking out if my Rage-o-meter started to dwindle.
What are your expectations of this server?:
I just hope to experience some good RP without the threat of grievers or loreburneres.
Out of all of our rules and regulations listed on our server, which appeals to you the most?:
I like respect and maturity. I like the fact that we all understand that we are here with one another to have fun, and not to flex our keyboard on over who is better at this or that.
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!:
This is a story I wrote a while ago, before founding Arc with my character Neptuen Wolstenholme, a Forsaken warrior. This story is a recount of his ascension into Undeath.
This will not end well.
I had escaped, sure... With Marigold's help I had fled my cruel execution. Knowing what I now know, I would happily have taken that dulled axe to my willing and outstretched neck, than to have to relive my macabre fate that ensued me that evening. I hadn't even crossed the bridge south out of Stratholme when I began to hear the cries of hundreds of people in their moments of horror, screaming for their and their loved one's lives. Often I wonder to myself if I would have acted differently in that wretched man's shoes, the man who destroyed my life and home, Arthas. Every time that I've pondered this situation, I've never been able to honestly answer myself. Flames and guilt chased me from the city, I was too selfish for my own life that I refused to venture back into the inferno for my beloved Marigold. I did not give energy for thought, I remained upon my horse, Dillinger, and set course for my vacant manor.
I began to feel dizzy, but dismissed it for the shame that welled in my gut. I let Dillinger do the navigating, he knew the way home. The up-down motion that the horse made as he ran made the oat in my, otherwise empty, stomach bounce around, and smack into the sides of my weak innards. I pulled back on the horse's worn reigns, and he halted immediately under a dilapidated, dying tree. I slowly melted off the horse, half leaning on him as my feet touched down on the thick, springy grass below me. Dillinger's skin felt spongy in my hand, I lowered my reach and felt around for his saddlebags. But before I reached it, my balance was thrown off and I fell to the ground. My head pounded, I was in a cold sweat, and the air was heavier than sand. I tried to control my breathing, in and out through my teeth, but it didn't help. A spike of pain shot from my gut, I contorted my body to try to please the ailment, but as I did another pain arrested my movement and twisted my body. Sweat dripped from my brow, and snot oozed from my nose, as I tried to slow my breathing.
Dillinger, my graceful horse had began to buck on his hind legs, as if where frightened by a ghoul. He balanced on those legs for only a second before they gave out from under him, he neighed and wined, kicking his legs to try to stand back up, as my vision blurred and my ears began to ring. Dillinger's head thrashed around in a fit, and bounced off the ground a few times as he struggled. I tried to gain stability from my arms, but my back muscles tightened and caused me to meet the ground completely. Tears poured from my eyes and I felt blood run from my nose. My chest and neck tightened and breathing was impossible, I struggled to inhale but it felt as though a snake tightened its grip around my neck. My hands frantically clawed at my neck, searching for the foul entity that strangled me, but found nothing. The veins in my arms popped out, and my heart raced. I felt something coming from inside, it welled in my throat until, finally I vomited all over myself, and the ground. I could breath again, though barely and still it was through my teeth, I slobbered all over myself.
I crawled toward Dillinger, and searched for absolution in his eyes, but only found pain. The ground was bear where he had thrashed, and the rocks and debris lacerated and destroyed his beautiful coat. I reached for the saddlebags again, and removed a hammer from the aft-most pack. I stroked his head, and his fur fell off into my sweat-soaked hand. I whispered to him, and he started to calm. But the pain arrested my muscles again and I shrieked in pain, scaring Dillinger back into thrashing. I leaned against his body, his skin like soggy toilet-parchment. I looked to him with tears in my eyes, and asked for forgiveness. Our eyes locked for a moment and I understood that Dillinger would follow me into the sun itself. I then did what any loving owner would do for his faithful horse. I set him free. One strike across the right side of his head, and he stopped thrashing, and his bloodshot eye rolled back into his head. He moved just a bit more, one more strike and he was free of the torment.
I wept, not for the pain, but for Dillinger. My hands clenched, as the muscles in my arms tightened. I dropped the hammer and laid back into my ally's corpse. His flesh began to slide off his bones, exposing muscle. I sank back into him, and my breathing quickened yet. My skin was turning purple, with pale splotches plaguing it. My muscles spasmed again, and then the dry heaves started. With each heave blood would shoot from my nose, and my eyes and mouth would water more. Slobber streamed my face, and a stew of blood, sweat, and vomit soaked my shirt. My neck tightened again, and I could feel bits of my insides coming unattached with each heave, until finally I coughed up bits of my own body. The acids from my stomach burned my throat, and once again, I could not breath.
My arms were locked to the side of my body, I fought to free them, but it was futile. I rolled back and forth on my back, and fought to breathe. It took me 2 hours to die, but finally, I suffocated to death. My body, though my face showed horror, was at peace for that time. Claw marks covered the tree and ground, and the grass below our bodies was kicked up, and disheveled. In that place, where bluebirds fly, Dillinger and I were at a peace that cannot be appreciated without first living in agony.
Is there anything else you would like to add, ask, or otherwise clarify?:
I really hope to get to know you all and look forward to your response.
Hello, my name is Aaron. I'm currently attending the Art Institute of Pittsburgh, and hope to have a degree in Media Arts soon. I live in West Virginia, and enjoy hiking and jogging. I've been playing MMOs since I was quite young and have recently come to terms with the fact that an official, unpoliced, RP server on an MMO can never be perfect, and... Well, that's why I'm here.
What country do you come from? What is your primary language?
I come from USA, and speak English.
How did you get into Warcraft?:
I got into Warcraft when I was 15, I'm 20 now. A friend of mine told me about a new MMO based off of the RTS that we played on week nights and I was hooked. When we became mature and patient enough to set still on an RP server, we quickly transferred every character on our accounts over to the Sisters of Elune server and founded the largest and most active Roleplaying Guild seen on that server for a very long time. No kings can rule for ever though, and Arc (my guild) disbanded less than 4 months ago, due to the pressure of balancing raiding with RP. Though the friendships and experience gained through leading that guild will stick with me forever.
What made you seek our server over others? (or How did you find us?):
All the official WoW severs are mucked up with grievers and Vampirecatwolfdragons... Just kind of done with it. I tried out a Garry's mod RP server recently and saw how well a policed and moderated RP server could work, so I decided to try to jump back into the universe that I know the most about, Warcraft. Also, I found you through Google.
What kinds of roleplay do you enjoy?:
I enjoy personal roleplay, rather than crowds. I like to feel a sense of urgency while roleplaying, like any decisions my character make matter in some way or another. I also like Roleplay where I get to see my character evolve in some way.
What is your favorite race/class? Why?:
Undead as far as races go. I like the prospect of a deadened war machine, looking for something to focus it otherworldly hate towards. Now, I can't comment on Class really, from a mechanical standpoint as they all work pretty similarly anymore. Though, I do quite enjoy the mindset I was always in playing my undead Warrior. I loved that I got into the class enough that I played out the classic bloodthirsty beast subconsciously by rushing to the next mob in order to turn them to a pile of mush, all the while freaking out if my Rage-o-meter started to dwindle.
What are your expectations of this server?:
I just hope to experience some good RP without the threat of grievers or loreburneres.
Out of all of our rules and regulations listed on our server, which appeals to you the most?:
I like respect and maturity. I like the fact that we all understand that we are here with one another to have fun, and not to flex our keyboard on over who is better at this or that.
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!:
This is a story I wrote a while ago, before founding Arc with my character Neptuen Wolstenholme, a Forsaken warrior. This story is a recount of his ascension into Undeath.
This will not end well.
I had escaped, sure... With Marigold's help I had fled my cruel execution. Knowing what I now know, I would happily have taken that dulled axe to my willing and outstretched neck, than to have to relive my macabre fate that ensued me that evening. I hadn't even crossed the bridge south out of Stratholme when I began to hear the cries of hundreds of people in their moments of horror, screaming for their and their loved one's lives. Often I wonder to myself if I would have acted differently in that wretched man's shoes, the man who destroyed my life and home, Arthas. Every time that I've pondered this situation, I've never been able to honestly answer myself. Flames and guilt chased me from the city, I was too selfish for my own life that I refused to venture back into the inferno for my beloved Marigold. I did not give energy for thought, I remained upon my horse, Dillinger, and set course for my vacant manor.
I began to feel dizzy, but dismissed it for the shame that welled in my gut. I let Dillinger do the navigating, he knew the way home. The up-down motion that the horse made as he ran made the oat in my, otherwise empty, stomach bounce around, and smack into the sides of my weak innards. I pulled back on the horse's worn reigns, and he halted immediately under a dilapidated, dying tree. I slowly melted off the horse, half leaning on him as my feet touched down on the thick, springy grass below me. Dillinger's skin felt spongy in my hand, I lowered my reach and felt around for his saddlebags. But before I reached it, my balance was thrown off and I fell to the ground. My head pounded, I was in a cold sweat, and the air was heavier than sand. I tried to control my breathing, in and out through my teeth, but it didn't help. A spike of pain shot from my gut, I contorted my body to try to please the ailment, but as I did another pain arrested my movement and twisted my body. Sweat dripped from my brow, and snot oozed from my nose, as I tried to slow my breathing.
Dillinger, my graceful horse had began to buck on his hind legs, as if where frightened by a ghoul. He balanced on those legs for only a second before they gave out from under him, he neighed and wined, kicking his legs to try to stand back up, as my vision blurred and my ears began to ring. Dillinger's head thrashed around in a fit, and bounced off the ground a few times as he struggled. I tried to gain stability from my arms, but my back muscles tightened and caused me to meet the ground completely. Tears poured from my eyes and I felt blood run from my nose. My chest and neck tightened and breathing was impossible, I struggled to inhale but it felt as though a snake tightened its grip around my neck. My hands frantically clawed at my neck, searching for the foul entity that strangled me, but found nothing. The veins in my arms popped out, and my heart raced. I felt something coming from inside, it welled in my throat until, finally I vomited all over myself, and the ground. I could breath again, though barely and still it was through my teeth, I slobbered all over myself.
I crawled toward Dillinger, and searched for absolution in his eyes, but only found pain. The ground was bear where he had thrashed, and the rocks and debris lacerated and destroyed his beautiful coat. I reached for the saddlebags again, and removed a hammer from the aft-most pack. I stroked his head, and his fur fell off into my sweat-soaked hand. I whispered to him, and he started to calm. But the pain arrested my muscles again and I shrieked in pain, scaring Dillinger back into thrashing. I leaned against his body, his skin like soggy toilet-parchment. I looked to him with tears in my eyes, and asked for forgiveness. Our eyes locked for a moment and I understood that Dillinger would follow me into the sun itself. I then did what any loving owner would do for his faithful horse. I set him free. One strike across the right side of his head, and he stopped thrashing, and his bloodshot eye rolled back into his head. He moved just a bit more, one more strike and he was free of the torment.
I wept, not for the pain, but for Dillinger. My hands clenched, as the muscles in my arms tightened. I dropped the hammer and laid back into my ally's corpse. His flesh began to slide off his bones, exposing muscle. I sank back into him, and my breathing quickened yet. My skin was turning purple, with pale splotches plaguing it. My muscles spasmed again, and then the dry heaves started. With each heave blood would shoot from my nose, and my eyes and mouth would water more. Slobber streamed my face, and a stew of blood, sweat, and vomit soaked my shirt. My neck tightened again, and I could feel bits of my insides coming unattached with each heave, until finally I coughed up bits of my own body. The acids from my stomach burned my throat, and once again, I could not breath.
My arms were locked to the side of my body, I fought to free them, but it was futile. I rolled back and forth on my back, and fought to breathe. It took me 2 hours to die, but finally, I suffocated to death. My body, though my face showed horror, was at peace for that time. Claw marks covered the tree and ground, and the grass below our bodies was kicked up, and disheveled. In that place, where bluebirds fly, Dillinger and I were at a peace that cannot be appreciated without first living in agony.
Is there anything else you would like to add, ask, or otherwise clarify?:
I really hope to get to know you all and look forward to your response.
![[Image: lorn_signature.png]](http://www.powerwordstudio.com/avatars/lorn_signature.png)