05-22-2011, 02:24 PM
First and foremost: Tell us about yourself, as a player.:
S'up. I'm The Underscore. I'm very underscorey. Canadian, 25 years old. I vote NDP, I hate mushrooms and I've been a WoW player for about 4 or 5 years now. All those sleepless nights have kinda mashed together. I like the Cata quests, Wrath dungeons AND THE VANILLA RAIDS DAMMIT. I remember when the game was challenging. I love RP, though I've drifted from one blasé server to another. I'm currently on Prologue-WoW at the behest of a friend of mine who behested a friend of hers to be a friend of mine. Long story. Anyway, that's me. The Underscore!
What country do you come from? What is your primary language?
And this is where my lack of foresight comes in! I'm Canadian, from Canada. I speak English, though I know just enough French to tell the Quebeckers what I think of them!
How did you get into Warcraft?:
My buddy got me hooked on it years ago by showing me his undead Mage. He gave me one of those 10 day trials, and the rest is history. Expensive, time sink history.
What made you seek our server over others? (or How did you find us?):
Got sick of paying 15 bucks a month to get griefed by fgts. Started drifting. Ended up on Prologue, where a new friend from there told me about you guys and how you were "just a fantastic server".
What kinds of roleplay do you enjoy?:
I try to avoid RPs in big groups. Too clusterfucky. But I love action and danger. The greater the risk, the greater the profit! I like guns, explosions, swearing, intensity, grappling, emote fights, but not being necessarily bad ass. Never try to out-badass an explosion!
What is your favorite race/class? Why?:
Tricky question. Guns implies hunters or rogues. Explosions implies mages. I'm stuck between the two, but in a pinch, a Hunter would be my choice. But humans can't be hunters! Errgh. Human Rogue or Human Mage would be my top, then probably a Dwarf Paladin (more for the PvE, to be honest).
What are your expectations of this server?:
Expectations? I expect the people to be vaguely friendly? I honestly don't walk into a free event and expect anything. I look forward to seeing what you have to offer!
Out of all of our rules and regulations listed on our server, which appeals to you the most?:
I like that really short one. To the point, about godmoding. It just screams "WE KNOW YOU KNOW WHAT THESE ARE. DON'T f**k WITH US ON THIS ONE." If you have to ask, "Is this kinda godmoding?" Yes. It is.
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 the first act of a story I started for a character on Prologue-WoW that I deleted because of horrible horrible OOC drama revolving around blood elves. I called it "For The World Is Hollow, And I Have Touched The Sky". Here goes...
"Now Gwenie, you know that those are for your father."
Gwenieleth hastily drew away her small fingers from the brass saucer sitting just within her reach on the red-draped supper table. She used her fingers to clumsily sweep her pale blonde hair behind the shoulders of her blue and white patterned dress. The little girl looked up, star-eyed at her looming mother, who cradled an infant boy on her hip as she tightened the tablecloth and adjusted the centrepiece with a nudge of the knuckel of her index finger. She was a disarmingly gentle appearing woman, her soft autumn yellow hair kept in loose curls around her head, allowed to dangle from the back of her neck in ringlets. Her delicate fingers turned inward to grip the child in her grasp more securely, her fingernails so smooth they reflected the sunlight that crept in the tall-arched windows as they pinched into the boy's pantleg. Her golden blue eyes darted from Gwenieleth's youthful stare to the corner of the tablecloth, lidded to open the underbrow and display the deep green and blue colour shading her eyes. She tightened her colour-brushed cherry lips as she fixeds the corner to her satisfaction.
"I'm hungry, Minn'da," Gwenelieth squeaked, her long, angular ears relaxing to a sorrowful droop, her big, softly glowing silver-blue eyes giving her the appearance of a pleading rabbit. Something the humans called 'puppy dog eyes'. Her mother nearly relented, but was distracted by the patter of footfall down the spiralling stone steps from the second floor.
From the grey shadows of the morning's assault on even the cold stone of the family home walls, a waistcoat clad gentleman with a sweeping stride and a formal air entered the dining room.
"Good morning, beloved," spoke the man to his wife, running his right thumb down his chiseled jaw, his left hand gripping his coat. He strode to the table, seeing upon it, a saucer of two pastry-rolled eggs.
"Good morning, darling," replied his wife. "Do you have everything you need for today?"
"Yes," answered her husband, tapping his breastpocket. "I am expected to meet, at the high sun, with the Gilnean Ambassador to discuss a logging dispute."
"Do be cautious, my love, of those Gilneans."
"Hold your tongue, my love. I wish to hear none of that manner of discussion. We are friends and allies."
"Yes, dear."
The man smiled down at the pouting girl, almost feeling pity that she was near to tears. Such the sad face that he forfeited circumstance and dropped his statuesque frame to one knee, his long pressed sunlight blonde hair falling in front of his shoulders.
"Good morning, Ann'da," whimpered the miniscule little girl to her father, to which his smile warmed as much as it widened.
"Good morning, my cherished," he replied to her in a soft, whisperous tone, his voice deep, like a soft roll of the thunder clouds at the end of a rainstorm. He reached upon the plate, pulling one of the egg pastries from the table, and held it up to young Gwenieleth, who closed her small hands around it, her pout fading away, tears kept at bay to bring sparkles to the child's wide eyes. Her father patted her cheek with his middle three fingers, and said, "Be strong for me, and make your mother proud."
He stood, leaning over her to kiss his wife on the cheek. "Tell me how her assessment goes, my love."
"I will. Have a good day, Darieth."
*** NEARLY TWO CENTURIES LATER ***
Gwenieleth's eyes lazily slid open, the golden shine of dawn's break casting long shadows on the back of her bedroom wall, colouring themselves amber and violet as they passed through her silk bed canopy. She tuffed a sigh, gripping either side of the pillow as she lay staring at the ceiling, her soft waves of strawberry red hair lay in all directions hanging over the sides of the pillow. Her green-tinted eyes cast upward at the intricate patterns set into the ceiling with coloured stone shards. She noted that there were quite a few pieces missing from the design.
She rolled onto her side, grabbing a handful of the bedsheets and throwing them aside, her slender legs bare and crossed over one another. She tugged at the hip of her silk-white underwear, and sat up, legs dangling over the side of the mattress. She adjusted her blood-red camisole over her endowed chest until she was quite comfortable with it, and rose to her feet.
As she paced through the hallway, rubbing the back of her head through the thick forest of strawberry hair, she could hear talking outside the windows. Business was already taking place in the city at this fine hour of the early morning. She could hear two men discussing the price of a bottle of milk, and knew that the price was always going to be haggled to three silver, fifty-two. Same two guys, every morning. She could also hear three people talking about trading bloodthistle. She shook her head, dismissing it for a few moments, until she passed right in front of a window at the moment that one of them turned violent, taking a knife and gutting him right on the street.
Gwenieleth yelps, coming off of her feet to literally jump away from the scene, even though a half foot of stone and glass stood between her and what was going on outside. Guards were there in less than a minute, taking down the attacker. Unsettled, Gwen darted down the hall and around a corner, pressed against the wall. She did not want to get questioned by the Silvermoon Guard. Nor interviewed, nor addressed, nor called upon, nor interrogated.
"If you have business with the Guard, you have conducted yourself in a way which you may not be able to regret. They are rigidly efficient, and steadfast dedicated. But they are as cold in the heart as the north pole, and should never be crossed."
Her father had told her that when she was a late adolescent. She had found out for herself only a few days before that, when she was a witness to a robbery, and was held for interviewing regarding the crime for thirty hours, questionned on whether she was able to have prevented the crime, and why she witnessed the crime and did not act.
A quick rush of breath escaped her lips in relief, and she shuffled on to the kitchen. It wasn't long until she had brewed a cup of coffee for herself and made an egg pastry to eat. She stood by the window of the kitchen, with her cup in her hand; porcelain and chipped. She frowned, tapping the pastry against her bottom lip as she watched people begin to overtake the naked dawn of the city square.
Is there anything else you would like to add, ask, or otherwise clarify?:
I have a question and a comment.
Question: Is this a long application that makes me look awesome?
Comment: Yes.
S'up. I'm The Underscore. I'm very underscorey. Canadian, 25 years old. I vote NDP, I hate mushrooms and I've been a WoW player for about 4 or 5 years now. All those sleepless nights have kinda mashed together. I like the Cata quests, Wrath dungeons AND THE VANILLA RAIDS DAMMIT. I remember when the game was challenging. I love RP, though I've drifted from one blasé server to another. I'm currently on Prologue-WoW at the behest of a friend of mine who behested a friend of hers to be a friend of mine. Long story. Anyway, that's me. The Underscore!
What country do you come from? What is your primary language?
And this is where my lack of foresight comes in! I'm Canadian, from Canada. I speak English, though I know just enough French to tell the Quebeckers what I think of them!
How did you get into Warcraft?:
My buddy got me hooked on it years ago by showing me his undead Mage. He gave me one of those 10 day trials, and the rest is history. Expensive, time sink history.
What made you seek our server over others? (or How did you find us?):
Got sick of paying 15 bucks a month to get griefed by fgts. Started drifting. Ended up on Prologue, where a new friend from there told me about you guys and how you were "just a fantastic server".
What kinds of roleplay do you enjoy?:
I try to avoid RPs in big groups. Too clusterfucky. But I love action and danger. The greater the risk, the greater the profit! I like guns, explosions, swearing, intensity, grappling, emote fights, but not being necessarily bad ass. Never try to out-badass an explosion!
What is your favorite race/class? Why?:
Tricky question. Guns implies hunters or rogues. Explosions implies mages. I'm stuck between the two, but in a pinch, a Hunter would be my choice. But humans can't be hunters! Errgh. Human Rogue or Human Mage would be my top, then probably a Dwarf Paladin (more for the PvE, to be honest).
What are your expectations of this server?:
Expectations? I expect the people to be vaguely friendly? I honestly don't walk into a free event and expect anything. I look forward to seeing what you have to offer!
Out of all of our rules and regulations listed on our server, which appeals to you the most?:
I like that really short one. To the point, about godmoding. It just screams "WE KNOW YOU KNOW WHAT THESE ARE. DON'T f**k WITH US ON THIS ONE." If you have to ask, "Is this kinda godmoding?" Yes. It is.
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 the first act of a story I started for a character on Prologue-WoW that I deleted because of horrible horrible OOC drama revolving around blood elves. I called it "For The World Is Hollow, And I Have Touched The Sky". Here goes...
"Now Gwenie, you know that those are for your father."
Gwenieleth hastily drew away her small fingers from the brass saucer sitting just within her reach on the red-draped supper table. She used her fingers to clumsily sweep her pale blonde hair behind the shoulders of her blue and white patterned dress. The little girl looked up, star-eyed at her looming mother, who cradled an infant boy on her hip as she tightened the tablecloth and adjusted the centrepiece with a nudge of the knuckel of her index finger. She was a disarmingly gentle appearing woman, her soft autumn yellow hair kept in loose curls around her head, allowed to dangle from the back of her neck in ringlets. Her delicate fingers turned inward to grip the child in her grasp more securely, her fingernails so smooth they reflected the sunlight that crept in the tall-arched windows as they pinched into the boy's pantleg. Her golden blue eyes darted from Gwenieleth's youthful stare to the corner of the tablecloth, lidded to open the underbrow and display the deep green and blue colour shading her eyes. She tightened her colour-brushed cherry lips as she fixeds the corner to her satisfaction.
"I'm hungry, Minn'da," Gwenelieth squeaked, her long, angular ears relaxing to a sorrowful droop, her big, softly glowing silver-blue eyes giving her the appearance of a pleading rabbit. Something the humans called 'puppy dog eyes'. Her mother nearly relented, but was distracted by the patter of footfall down the spiralling stone steps from the second floor.
From the grey shadows of the morning's assault on even the cold stone of the family home walls, a waistcoat clad gentleman with a sweeping stride and a formal air entered the dining room.
"Good morning, beloved," spoke the man to his wife, running his right thumb down his chiseled jaw, his left hand gripping his coat. He strode to the table, seeing upon it, a saucer of two pastry-rolled eggs.
"Good morning, darling," replied his wife. "Do you have everything you need for today?"
"Yes," answered her husband, tapping his breastpocket. "I am expected to meet, at the high sun, with the Gilnean Ambassador to discuss a logging dispute."
"Do be cautious, my love, of those Gilneans."
"Hold your tongue, my love. I wish to hear none of that manner of discussion. We are friends and allies."
"Yes, dear."
The man smiled down at the pouting girl, almost feeling pity that she was near to tears. Such the sad face that he forfeited circumstance and dropped his statuesque frame to one knee, his long pressed sunlight blonde hair falling in front of his shoulders.
"Good morning, Ann'da," whimpered the miniscule little girl to her father, to which his smile warmed as much as it widened.
"Good morning, my cherished," he replied to her in a soft, whisperous tone, his voice deep, like a soft roll of the thunder clouds at the end of a rainstorm. He reached upon the plate, pulling one of the egg pastries from the table, and held it up to young Gwenieleth, who closed her small hands around it, her pout fading away, tears kept at bay to bring sparkles to the child's wide eyes. Her father patted her cheek with his middle three fingers, and said, "Be strong for me, and make your mother proud."
He stood, leaning over her to kiss his wife on the cheek. "Tell me how her assessment goes, my love."
"I will. Have a good day, Darieth."
*** NEARLY TWO CENTURIES LATER ***
Gwenieleth's eyes lazily slid open, the golden shine of dawn's break casting long shadows on the back of her bedroom wall, colouring themselves amber and violet as they passed through her silk bed canopy. She tuffed a sigh, gripping either side of the pillow as she lay staring at the ceiling, her soft waves of strawberry red hair lay in all directions hanging over the sides of the pillow. Her green-tinted eyes cast upward at the intricate patterns set into the ceiling with coloured stone shards. She noted that there were quite a few pieces missing from the design.
She rolled onto her side, grabbing a handful of the bedsheets and throwing them aside, her slender legs bare and crossed over one another. She tugged at the hip of her silk-white underwear, and sat up, legs dangling over the side of the mattress. She adjusted her blood-red camisole over her endowed chest until she was quite comfortable with it, and rose to her feet.
As she paced through the hallway, rubbing the back of her head through the thick forest of strawberry hair, she could hear talking outside the windows. Business was already taking place in the city at this fine hour of the early morning. She could hear two men discussing the price of a bottle of milk, and knew that the price was always going to be haggled to three silver, fifty-two. Same two guys, every morning. She could also hear three people talking about trading bloodthistle. She shook her head, dismissing it for a few moments, until she passed right in front of a window at the moment that one of them turned violent, taking a knife and gutting him right on the street.
Gwenieleth yelps, coming off of her feet to literally jump away from the scene, even though a half foot of stone and glass stood between her and what was going on outside. Guards were there in less than a minute, taking down the attacker. Unsettled, Gwen darted down the hall and around a corner, pressed against the wall. She did not want to get questioned by the Silvermoon Guard. Nor interviewed, nor addressed, nor called upon, nor interrogated.
"If you have business with the Guard, you have conducted yourself in a way which you may not be able to regret. They are rigidly efficient, and steadfast dedicated. But they are as cold in the heart as the north pole, and should never be crossed."
Her father had told her that when she was a late adolescent. She had found out for herself only a few days before that, when she was a witness to a robbery, and was held for interviewing regarding the crime for thirty hours, questionned on whether she was able to have prevented the crime, and why she witnessed the crime and did not act.
A quick rush of breath escaped her lips in relief, and she shuffled on to the kitchen. It wasn't long until she had brewed a cup of coffee for herself and made an egg pastry to eat. She stood by the window of the kitchen, with her cup in her hand; porcelain and chipped. She frowned, tapping the pastry against her bottom lip as she watched people begin to overtake the naked dawn of the city square.
Is there anything else you would like to add, ask, or otherwise clarify?:
I have a question and a comment.
Question: Is this a long application that makes me look awesome?
Comment: Yes.
![[Image: Da8y3O0.gif]](http://i.imgur.com/Da8y3O0.gif)
![[Image: WwDxJt9.gif]](http://i.imgur.com/WwDxJt9.gif)
