08-29-2014, 02:33 PM
(This post was last modified: 08-30-2014, 11:57 AM by BillybearHam.)
First and foremost: Tell us about yourself, as a player:
I'm a 17 year old male that likes the sound of the rain and the way it makes the grass smell. I'm a college student and I can only roleplay males. My favorite race is probably Forsaken, but i'm a sucker for Night Elf Wardens. That class just rubs me all the right ways. I like Johnny Cash and my favorite film is Django Unchained.
What country do you come from? What is your primary language?:
I'm from England, and English is my first language.
How did you get into Warcraft?:
I first got into Warcraft when my brother's friend lent him Warcraft 3. I fell in love with the game almost immediately and bought it for myself as soon as possible. When I found out there was an expansion I almost died. At that time I didn't quite anticipate the width of the Warcraft universe, nor the in depth lore around it. That was years ago, I must have been around 10 or 11 then. I didn't come into World of Warcraft until I was 12 years old and even then I didn't actually PLAY it until I was 13. I stopped retail rather swiftly, not really enjoying the heartless grinding with the slow XP gains. I enjoy it, but just on an experience multiplier. It keeps things fresh.
How did you find us? Did anything in particular draw you to the server?:
My friend, Ieuan (that's his Skype name, I can't remember his forum name, it's listed as my referrer) talked me into joining. I figured I may as well check out the server. Not like I have anything to lose I hope
What kinds of roleplay do you enjoy?:
I don't like planned roleplay outside of events. Railroading and taking all the spontaneity from it kills the fun for me; I like to have my own choices and not be mapped out. I can do casual roleplay in things like taverns, but again that's kind of a drag for me unless i'm with a friend and we can crack a few jokes while we're at it. I try not to take that sort of thing too seriously.
What is your favorite race/class? Why?:
Favorite race as I said is Forsaken. There's something about the unity through hatred that I enjoy with the Forsaken, as well as the commonly accepted head of it all. Sylvanas is the only reason they are so powerful, and nobody can deny that. The unswerving loyalty to their Dark matron makes roleplaying one a curious experience through each individual's role under her reign. Each person has a place in Forsaken society not through the greed and desire for wealth but because of their skills and talents they had in life, and how they can bring them to their lady's service. They have the choice to exist in their role, or to lose all will and die as a mindless zombie.
Class, Warden. The reasoning is similar in aspects to Forsaken. The clear pathway and attitude of the Warden as well as the versatility of the individuals make them a very appealing pick for me. Rather than just being the Maiev vengeance-driven psychopath most Wardens are in fact paragons of justice, and that makes for a Ronan the Accuser style "law above all else" personality, and you can casually throw out a few Judge Dredd quotes while you're at it. Not to mention the awesome tracking abilities they have combined with the amazing justice-based magical abilities.
What are your expectations of this server?:
Honestly i'm not sure what to expect. I know this sounds like a cheap cop-out answer but I really don't. From what I understand there's a lot of good moments on COTH but there's also the odd "lolRP" that I will most likely avoid like the plague.
Out of all of our rules and regulations listed on our server, which appeals to you the most?:
1. Keep things in a roughly PG-13 rating here. The forums count as a "public channel" for all rules regarding what content is and is not allowed. Some examples of things not allowed:
a. Pornographic art or stories, including depictions of detailed nudity and overly "fetishized" characters (such as extremely revealing clothing, extraordinarily large sexual attributes, and so on.)
Yes it's the first one on the thread, but it's also one that means a lot to me. I came from a server that has active "art threads" which are nothing more than links to hentai drawings of Warcraft figures that are actively roleplayed on the server, and it makes me sick. It cheapens the entire experience to me. Sure, people have sex, you can have your mature romantic events or your casual flings, but meaningless pornography and "cybering" just annoys me.
Did you know that we have a Mentor Program? It's entirely voluntary and you as a new player can sign up for it right now in your introduction! Are you interested in signing up to be assigned a Mentor? If so, say so here (Please enter at least "Yes" or "No"):
No thank you, i'm pretty solid in most things.
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 application I made on another server for a Male Warden. Well, the History of it. Feel free not to read the entire thing, it's really quite long.
Born precisely on the dawning of the new millennium -2000, Ilthilior was born to a small nomadic family that lived relatively comfortably in the forests of Ashenvale. His early life was spent as soon as he could walk learning the ways of the wild. Berries, herbs, and weeds were all taught to him by his mother, and he was also taught how to shoot a bow and arrow over these years. By the time he was 13 he was able to go out, stalk, and incapacitate his prey. He was taught never to kill animals for sport or fun, but only to survive or because you have to. This lesson he took to heart, when it comes to showing mercy to the beasts of the wild. He was never particularly interested in the tales of Druids and their great connection to the wild. He was more fascinated by the great warriors who fought in battles past and still exist today, as the Night Elves were blessed with immortality, freedom from frailty, and sickness by the powerful Dragons. He was enthralled by stories of warriors like Maiev and Jarod Shadowsong, of Malfurion Stormrage and his infamous traitor of a brother, Illidan. The demigod Cenarius, and the ancient guardians of nature, and the three strangers who had come to help them in their dire time of need and sacrificed much to fight back the vile forces of the Demonic Burning Legion. The War of the Ancients was one of his favorite tales, and he enjoyed recalling facts about it to himself. Not because he found the concept of Demons interesting, no, quite the opposite. He found them abhorrent and terrifying. But the way in which his kind had stepped against the traitorous Highborne, (who had later been exiled) and fought for raw survival. This disinterest led to his push towards being a druid being abandoned. His mother saw clearly that it would never take hold in him, and despite the strict nature of Night Elf society she did not mind too much. After all, without waking males that aren't druids how could there be new generations of the Kaldorei?
And so it came to be that at the age of 43, when he had been a man for a while, Ilthilior was an accomplished scout who could track and take out most animals in Ashenvale. He would've been a valuable asset to the Sentinels were they to take men, but most men were asleep in the Emerald Dream until a time of crisis was to arrive. If Ilthilior had been born a mortal, he would not have had to suffer the years to come, but for those who do not die of age it is inevitable that they see dark years. Over the years between his birth and the oncoming tide of claw and chitin, Ilthilior found himself practicing with weapons outside of his bow and arrow. The childhood fascination with heroes and battle had evolved into a mature desire to master himself and his weaponry, to be an effective warrior and to be able to protect anyone he loved. The sword was a natural starting point, and boring. He found himself tossing aside axes and wahammers until he came across the Glaive that was mounted on a plaque in his father's chambers. It was made from solid Arcanite, and consisted of a long handle with a sharpened moonblade on the end, and a smaller edge on the base. It had been kept in their family for thousands of years, supposedly ever since The War of the Ancients itself. This, Ilthilior thought, would be the weapon he came to master. But he was forbidden to wield it. To do so, he was told, would do more harm to himself than good. Not yet. He wasn't ready. He had to drag himself back to the swords, the axes, and slash at shadows and tree stumps. His respite from these habits was when he was coursing through the trees, playing with nature itself and enjoying what it was to be alive in a world free from war. A thousand years since his birth. A thousand years old he had been alive when the reports began to come in, and Fandral Staghelm lead his men down to Silithus and the sands.
War is not like the stories. It is not glorious battles where heroes push forwards saving the day and beating the foes back against terrible odds that only made it more fun. It's a bloody thing and nothing short of nightmares incarnate. Ilthilior still remembers the sight of watching Fandral's son, Valstann, being cleaved in two... You never forget that. That is merely the tip of the horrors of Ahn'Qiraj. It began in the pass, where he marched alongside his kin and the awakened Druids. They met the insects in this canyon, and pushed them back, slaughtering them relatively easily. It seemed that the war would be easier than they had thought, perhaps they may finish it within a few days. But even as they poured out into the open sands and the winged Qiraji were fiercely battling with the support units it was merely the beginning. That first day they pushed back the Qiraji... but it was merely a setback. The superior positioning and strategy leading to them being sandwiched between two charging waves of Kaldorei giving them the temporary respite of being able to rest in the night after the fighting was done. On the second day they lined up waiting. The winds blowing his short hair around his face and the hot sun beating down on him as Ilthilior gritted his teeth, waiting for the signs of the Qiraji's arrival. Yet what came was information that a village was under attack, and Valstann eagerly went to bring pride to his family name. That was the mistake that cost them victory. The dark twin emperors of Ahn'Qiraj knew Falstag would not function without his son... And so they took him. Three days.
Three entire days passed and at the apex of the third they arrived. With Valstann, held aloft by General Rajaxx. Like some twisted prize. Fandral ordered the charge, but it was pointless. Rajaxx merely... Squeezed. Valstann made a noise, that Ilthilior could only imagine through the running and the panting, but he broke. In two. Blood poured onto the sand like a spilled water bottle and his guts marked the end of Fandral's true sanity. He fell to his knees in the sand, and Ilthilior remembered turning, and fleeing from the Qiraji, his arm being crushed in the anarchy that became their ordered battle plans as the retreat was called for. They fled all the way into Un'Goro Crater, where Ilthilior thought that at least he would die surrounded by nature. Yet they did not come. Instead, they got enough time to get the Bronze Dragonflight's support... However unwilling it was.
Yet even this ally was not enough, and eventually in time involvement from every dragonflight was needed to push back the Qiraji. A desperate plan was formed, and they gathered the needed resources and tactics to drive them back into their cursed city, and seal them there until the world had become ready to face them. This was not merely down to Fandral's desperation, no. He wanted revenge for his son's demise. But in their flying the Dragons had sensed it. The dark presence, the eye in the shadows and the fingers down your spine that commanded over the Qiraji. A long lost enemy of all free life. And so it came to be, that on the morning they fought back. They drove the Qiraji all the way back to the gates of their cursed citadel but there the line was drawn. They could not push the Qiraji out long enough, and even as the Dragons slaughtered the winged insects, the vile construct Ossirian drove his sword, by THROWING IT, through the wing of the great Bronze Wyrm, Grakkarond. All of this drove the three dragons Merithra, Caelestrasz, and Arygos to sacrifice themselves so that the world could go on. They dived into the heart of Ahn'Qiraj, and drove the forces back long enough for the druids and priestesses of Elune to erect a grand barrier, a desperate gesture, that prevented any Qiraji leaving, and any mortal entering the ruins... It was a horrific moment, as the last Qiraji soldier fell, to turn and see corpses littering the sand, that was stained red and black. It is this that drove Ilthilior to never again allow evil to take root in the world if he could help it, to drive a dagger through the heart of the unjust and to kill any creature that would threaten innocent lives for the sake of it's own gain.
The Kaldorei sunk back into obscurity after this great battle. They did not truly emerge until the year 20, as Ilthilior was a veteran with a rather large scar on his arm where the flesh had been crushed between his own kind, the creatures from his stories made their return. Between the time of their return and the war of the shifting sands, Ilthilior had continued his practice with weapons. By now he had mastered the quaterstaff, one of his more favorite weapons due to the way it could be used to incapacitate and disable without killing, the one handed, two handed swords, axes and maces. He was also a crack shot with a bow and arrow, finding the points to shoot which would quickly take out a foe without slaying them. The vile Demonic hordes, preceded by Orcs who dared to defile their homes and cut down their forests for the sake of building huts not truly worth living in. Ilthilior was not heavily involved in these parts until the demons began to rain from the sky, great infernal constructs and demonic lords that brought about the death of Cenarius himself. The Orcs had become horrific blood-thirsty monstrosities, and Ilthilior spent his time stalking through tree tops, avoiding packs of entities he didn't even know how to describe. As he could, he would kill one of the foul invaders, using surprise to his advantage, but it was no real use. For the second time in his life, he began to succumb to despair in the face of immeasurable odds. But then it all changed. Malfurion Stormrage, legendary Druid, had taken up arms against the Demons. Ilthilior saw it happen. The great world tree, Nordrassil, explode. At that point he was unsure whether he should be praying or rejoicing, as the howl of Archimonde's fiery demise echoed through the ridges of Hyjal and the light of the wisps that surrounded him faded. Ilthilior chose to walk. He walked, all the way to his family house in Ashenvale, which was burned entirely. He didn't know what had happened to his family. Probably dead. He walked in, and carefully through to his parent's room. It was there, hanging on the wall. They were right when they said to use it would bring him pain. The weapon he now uses above all others, is a constant reminder to what he lost through all of those years. And he will die before someone takes that from him.
And so he walked on, discovering the measures to which his kind had gone to survive once again. The traitor Illidan was loose, and the leader of all wardens Maiev Shadowsong, his jailor, had gone after him. Ilthilior chose to help out rebuilding. He found the company of his kind was just what an old war hero needed in times of peace. He was horrified at the ruins some people had for lives in the wake of the Demonic invasion, and amazed at the growth of Teldrassil. It was inside of this new World Tree that the Kaldorei set up their new home, without realizing that Xavius, lord of all Satyr and now Nightmare being had corrupted it from the start. The Dragonflights refused to bless this failed world tree as they had blessed Nordrassil, and as such the Kaldorei succumbed to illness, their kind got frail and began to feel age. Ilthilior started to feel the aches in his old wound when it got too cold, and started to deal with his new mortality. He had no issue with it, but he felt a certain ache within himself that was not caused by a cold arm. It felt something like regret.
Five years had passed. It had been one thousand, and twenty five years since the Qiraji were sealed away. And so it came to be, that Ithilior stood with his kind and signed on to bring the fight back to those bastards. All nations stood as one, as the War Effort unfolded. It was here Ithilior stood not only next to Elves, but next to Orcs. That race that only five years ago had slaughtered his kind and his gods. He did not care. His hatred burning through his veins like adrenaline was all he felt standing, looking once again upon that door. That gate. Shiromar walked, raising the scepter. Saurfang's speech still rang in his ears, "We defend. We stand. We show that as one. United. We destroy. Their god will fall.". He was ready, as he draw up his weapon, and the gong sounded, Rajaxx cutting Fandral's son in half flashed in his eyes and he charged with his allies, and his friends, into the heart of their insectoid empire, roaring with the reverberations of the gong. Ten hours of battle. Ten solid hours before the vanguard entered the cursed kingdom and cut down a god itself.
He remembered walking away from the doors, looking over the Silithid, Orcs, Humans, Dwarves and Elves and knowing rather than that the Qiraji would have to be dealt with one day, that never again would those egg-laying bastards taint the earth. His service earned him respect among his peers, and he settled down, focusing on protecting Kaldorei lands rather than conscripting in the wars against Demons in neighboring planets and against the Scourge in Northrend. Yet as the world shook and was torn asunder, he found himself drawn back into the fray.
It was only when Maiev had betrayed the Wardens, and Jarod Shadowsong stepped forth as the very first male leader of the Watchers, and along with Tyrande's reforms (including accepting back the Highborne into Kaldorei society), that he also stepped into the light, signing as a potential recruit. The deaths of many wardens beforehand left gaps in their ranks, and he proudly took his place as a skilled soldier among them, for the good of the Kaldorei, and the Alliance.
Is there anything else you would like to add, ask, or otherwise clarify?:
I notice in the guides it says only Grunts can get above level 60 and access some gear fitting of their status. Is this a purely cosmetic "epic gear" restriction, or is there aspects of PvP involved in the server?
I'm a 17 year old male that likes the sound of the rain and the way it makes the grass smell. I'm a college student and I can only roleplay males. My favorite race is probably Forsaken, but i'm a sucker for Night Elf Wardens. That class just rubs me all the right ways. I like Johnny Cash and my favorite film is Django Unchained.
What country do you come from? What is your primary language?:
I'm from England, and English is my first language.
How did you get into Warcraft?:
I first got into Warcraft when my brother's friend lent him Warcraft 3. I fell in love with the game almost immediately and bought it for myself as soon as possible. When I found out there was an expansion I almost died. At that time I didn't quite anticipate the width of the Warcraft universe, nor the in depth lore around it. That was years ago, I must have been around 10 or 11 then. I didn't come into World of Warcraft until I was 12 years old and even then I didn't actually PLAY it until I was 13. I stopped retail rather swiftly, not really enjoying the heartless grinding with the slow XP gains. I enjoy it, but just on an experience multiplier. It keeps things fresh.
How did you find us? Did anything in particular draw you to the server?:
My friend, Ieuan (that's his Skype name, I can't remember his forum name, it's listed as my referrer) talked me into joining. I figured I may as well check out the server. Not like I have anything to lose I hope
What kinds of roleplay do you enjoy?:
I don't like planned roleplay outside of events. Railroading and taking all the spontaneity from it kills the fun for me; I like to have my own choices and not be mapped out. I can do casual roleplay in things like taverns, but again that's kind of a drag for me unless i'm with a friend and we can crack a few jokes while we're at it. I try not to take that sort of thing too seriously.
What is your favorite race/class? Why?:
Favorite race as I said is Forsaken. There's something about the unity through hatred that I enjoy with the Forsaken, as well as the commonly accepted head of it all. Sylvanas is the only reason they are so powerful, and nobody can deny that. The unswerving loyalty to their Dark matron makes roleplaying one a curious experience through each individual's role under her reign. Each person has a place in Forsaken society not through the greed and desire for wealth but because of their skills and talents they had in life, and how they can bring them to their lady's service. They have the choice to exist in their role, or to lose all will and die as a mindless zombie.
Class, Warden. The reasoning is similar in aspects to Forsaken. The clear pathway and attitude of the Warden as well as the versatility of the individuals make them a very appealing pick for me. Rather than just being the Maiev vengeance-driven psychopath most Wardens are in fact paragons of justice, and that makes for a Ronan the Accuser style "law above all else" personality, and you can casually throw out a few Judge Dredd quotes while you're at it. Not to mention the awesome tracking abilities they have combined with the amazing justice-based magical abilities.
What are your expectations of this server?:
Honestly i'm not sure what to expect. I know this sounds like a cheap cop-out answer but I really don't. From what I understand there's a lot of good moments on COTH but there's also the odd "lolRP" that I will most likely avoid like the plague.
Out of all of our rules and regulations listed on our server, which appeals to you the most?:
1. Keep things in a roughly PG-13 rating here. The forums count as a "public channel" for all rules regarding what content is and is not allowed. Some examples of things not allowed:
a. Pornographic art or stories, including depictions of detailed nudity and overly "fetishized" characters (such as extremely revealing clothing, extraordinarily large sexual attributes, and so on.)
Yes it's the first one on the thread, but it's also one that means a lot to me. I came from a server that has active "art threads" which are nothing more than links to hentai drawings of Warcraft figures that are actively roleplayed on the server, and it makes me sick. It cheapens the entire experience to me. Sure, people have sex, you can have your mature romantic events or your casual flings, but meaningless pornography and "cybering" just annoys me.
Did you know that we have a Mentor Program? It's entirely voluntary and you as a new player can sign up for it right now in your introduction! Are you interested in signing up to be assigned a Mentor? If so, say so here (Please enter at least "Yes" or "No"):
No thank you, i'm pretty solid in most things.
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 application I made on another server for a Male Warden. Well, the History of it. Feel free not to read the entire thing, it's really quite long.
Born precisely on the dawning of the new millennium -2000, Ilthilior was born to a small nomadic family that lived relatively comfortably in the forests of Ashenvale. His early life was spent as soon as he could walk learning the ways of the wild. Berries, herbs, and weeds were all taught to him by his mother, and he was also taught how to shoot a bow and arrow over these years. By the time he was 13 he was able to go out, stalk, and incapacitate his prey. He was taught never to kill animals for sport or fun, but only to survive or because you have to. This lesson he took to heart, when it comes to showing mercy to the beasts of the wild. He was never particularly interested in the tales of Druids and their great connection to the wild. He was more fascinated by the great warriors who fought in battles past and still exist today, as the Night Elves were blessed with immortality, freedom from frailty, and sickness by the powerful Dragons. He was enthralled by stories of warriors like Maiev and Jarod Shadowsong, of Malfurion Stormrage and his infamous traitor of a brother, Illidan. The demigod Cenarius, and the ancient guardians of nature, and the three strangers who had come to help them in their dire time of need and sacrificed much to fight back the vile forces of the Demonic Burning Legion. The War of the Ancients was one of his favorite tales, and he enjoyed recalling facts about it to himself. Not because he found the concept of Demons interesting, no, quite the opposite. He found them abhorrent and terrifying. But the way in which his kind had stepped against the traitorous Highborne, (who had later been exiled) and fought for raw survival. This disinterest led to his push towards being a druid being abandoned. His mother saw clearly that it would never take hold in him, and despite the strict nature of Night Elf society she did not mind too much. After all, without waking males that aren't druids how could there be new generations of the Kaldorei?
And so it came to be that at the age of 43, when he had been a man for a while, Ilthilior was an accomplished scout who could track and take out most animals in Ashenvale. He would've been a valuable asset to the Sentinels were they to take men, but most men were asleep in the Emerald Dream until a time of crisis was to arrive. If Ilthilior had been born a mortal, he would not have had to suffer the years to come, but for those who do not die of age it is inevitable that they see dark years. Over the years between his birth and the oncoming tide of claw and chitin, Ilthilior found himself practicing with weapons outside of his bow and arrow. The childhood fascination with heroes and battle had evolved into a mature desire to master himself and his weaponry, to be an effective warrior and to be able to protect anyone he loved. The sword was a natural starting point, and boring. He found himself tossing aside axes and wahammers until he came across the Glaive that was mounted on a plaque in his father's chambers. It was made from solid Arcanite, and consisted of a long handle with a sharpened moonblade on the end, and a smaller edge on the base. It had been kept in their family for thousands of years, supposedly ever since The War of the Ancients itself. This, Ilthilior thought, would be the weapon he came to master. But he was forbidden to wield it. To do so, he was told, would do more harm to himself than good. Not yet. He wasn't ready. He had to drag himself back to the swords, the axes, and slash at shadows and tree stumps. His respite from these habits was when he was coursing through the trees, playing with nature itself and enjoying what it was to be alive in a world free from war. A thousand years since his birth. A thousand years old he had been alive when the reports began to come in, and Fandral Staghelm lead his men down to Silithus and the sands.
War is not like the stories. It is not glorious battles where heroes push forwards saving the day and beating the foes back against terrible odds that only made it more fun. It's a bloody thing and nothing short of nightmares incarnate. Ilthilior still remembers the sight of watching Fandral's son, Valstann, being cleaved in two... You never forget that. That is merely the tip of the horrors of Ahn'Qiraj. It began in the pass, where he marched alongside his kin and the awakened Druids. They met the insects in this canyon, and pushed them back, slaughtering them relatively easily. It seemed that the war would be easier than they had thought, perhaps they may finish it within a few days. But even as they poured out into the open sands and the winged Qiraji were fiercely battling with the support units it was merely the beginning. That first day they pushed back the Qiraji... but it was merely a setback. The superior positioning and strategy leading to them being sandwiched between two charging waves of Kaldorei giving them the temporary respite of being able to rest in the night after the fighting was done. On the second day they lined up waiting. The winds blowing his short hair around his face and the hot sun beating down on him as Ilthilior gritted his teeth, waiting for the signs of the Qiraji's arrival. Yet what came was information that a village was under attack, and Valstann eagerly went to bring pride to his family name. That was the mistake that cost them victory. The dark twin emperors of Ahn'Qiraj knew Falstag would not function without his son... And so they took him. Three days.
Three entire days passed and at the apex of the third they arrived. With Valstann, held aloft by General Rajaxx. Like some twisted prize. Fandral ordered the charge, but it was pointless. Rajaxx merely... Squeezed. Valstann made a noise, that Ilthilior could only imagine through the running and the panting, but he broke. In two. Blood poured onto the sand like a spilled water bottle and his guts marked the end of Fandral's true sanity. He fell to his knees in the sand, and Ilthilior remembered turning, and fleeing from the Qiraji, his arm being crushed in the anarchy that became their ordered battle plans as the retreat was called for. They fled all the way into Un'Goro Crater, where Ilthilior thought that at least he would die surrounded by nature. Yet they did not come. Instead, they got enough time to get the Bronze Dragonflight's support... However unwilling it was.
Yet even this ally was not enough, and eventually in time involvement from every dragonflight was needed to push back the Qiraji. A desperate plan was formed, and they gathered the needed resources and tactics to drive them back into their cursed city, and seal them there until the world had become ready to face them. This was not merely down to Fandral's desperation, no. He wanted revenge for his son's demise. But in their flying the Dragons had sensed it. The dark presence, the eye in the shadows and the fingers down your spine that commanded over the Qiraji. A long lost enemy of all free life. And so it came to be, that on the morning they fought back. They drove the Qiraji all the way back to the gates of their cursed citadel but there the line was drawn. They could not push the Qiraji out long enough, and even as the Dragons slaughtered the winged insects, the vile construct Ossirian drove his sword, by THROWING IT, through the wing of the great Bronze Wyrm, Grakkarond. All of this drove the three dragons Merithra, Caelestrasz, and Arygos to sacrifice themselves so that the world could go on. They dived into the heart of Ahn'Qiraj, and drove the forces back long enough for the druids and priestesses of Elune to erect a grand barrier, a desperate gesture, that prevented any Qiraji leaving, and any mortal entering the ruins... It was a horrific moment, as the last Qiraji soldier fell, to turn and see corpses littering the sand, that was stained red and black. It is this that drove Ilthilior to never again allow evil to take root in the world if he could help it, to drive a dagger through the heart of the unjust and to kill any creature that would threaten innocent lives for the sake of it's own gain.
The Kaldorei sunk back into obscurity after this great battle. They did not truly emerge until the year 20, as Ilthilior was a veteran with a rather large scar on his arm where the flesh had been crushed between his own kind, the creatures from his stories made their return. Between the time of their return and the war of the shifting sands, Ilthilior had continued his practice with weapons. By now he had mastered the quaterstaff, one of his more favorite weapons due to the way it could be used to incapacitate and disable without killing, the one handed, two handed swords, axes and maces. He was also a crack shot with a bow and arrow, finding the points to shoot which would quickly take out a foe without slaying them. The vile Demonic hordes, preceded by Orcs who dared to defile their homes and cut down their forests for the sake of building huts not truly worth living in. Ilthilior was not heavily involved in these parts until the demons began to rain from the sky, great infernal constructs and demonic lords that brought about the death of Cenarius himself. The Orcs had become horrific blood-thirsty monstrosities, and Ilthilior spent his time stalking through tree tops, avoiding packs of entities he didn't even know how to describe. As he could, he would kill one of the foul invaders, using surprise to his advantage, but it was no real use. For the second time in his life, he began to succumb to despair in the face of immeasurable odds. But then it all changed. Malfurion Stormrage, legendary Druid, had taken up arms against the Demons. Ilthilior saw it happen. The great world tree, Nordrassil, explode. At that point he was unsure whether he should be praying or rejoicing, as the howl of Archimonde's fiery demise echoed through the ridges of Hyjal and the light of the wisps that surrounded him faded. Ilthilior chose to walk. He walked, all the way to his family house in Ashenvale, which was burned entirely. He didn't know what had happened to his family. Probably dead. He walked in, and carefully through to his parent's room. It was there, hanging on the wall. They were right when they said to use it would bring him pain. The weapon he now uses above all others, is a constant reminder to what he lost through all of those years. And he will die before someone takes that from him.
And so he walked on, discovering the measures to which his kind had gone to survive once again. The traitor Illidan was loose, and the leader of all wardens Maiev Shadowsong, his jailor, had gone after him. Ilthilior chose to help out rebuilding. He found the company of his kind was just what an old war hero needed in times of peace. He was horrified at the ruins some people had for lives in the wake of the Demonic invasion, and amazed at the growth of Teldrassil. It was inside of this new World Tree that the Kaldorei set up their new home, without realizing that Xavius, lord of all Satyr and now Nightmare being had corrupted it from the start. The Dragonflights refused to bless this failed world tree as they had blessed Nordrassil, and as such the Kaldorei succumbed to illness, their kind got frail and began to feel age. Ilthilior started to feel the aches in his old wound when it got too cold, and started to deal with his new mortality. He had no issue with it, but he felt a certain ache within himself that was not caused by a cold arm. It felt something like regret.
Five years had passed. It had been one thousand, and twenty five years since the Qiraji were sealed away. And so it came to be, that Ithilior stood with his kind and signed on to bring the fight back to those bastards. All nations stood as one, as the War Effort unfolded. It was here Ithilior stood not only next to Elves, but next to Orcs. That race that only five years ago had slaughtered his kind and his gods. He did not care. His hatred burning through his veins like adrenaline was all he felt standing, looking once again upon that door. That gate. Shiromar walked, raising the scepter. Saurfang's speech still rang in his ears, "We defend. We stand. We show that as one. United. We destroy. Their god will fall.". He was ready, as he draw up his weapon, and the gong sounded, Rajaxx cutting Fandral's son in half flashed in his eyes and he charged with his allies, and his friends, into the heart of their insectoid empire, roaring with the reverberations of the gong. Ten hours of battle. Ten solid hours before the vanguard entered the cursed kingdom and cut down a god itself.
He remembered walking away from the doors, looking over the Silithid, Orcs, Humans, Dwarves and Elves and knowing rather than that the Qiraji would have to be dealt with one day, that never again would those egg-laying bastards taint the earth. His service earned him respect among his peers, and he settled down, focusing on protecting Kaldorei lands rather than conscripting in the wars against Demons in neighboring planets and against the Scourge in Northrend. Yet as the world shook and was torn asunder, he found himself drawn back into the fray.
It was only when Maiev had betrayed the Wardens, and Jarod Shadowsong stepped forth as the very first male leader of the Watchers, and along with Tyrande's reforms (including accepting back the Highborne into Kaldorei society), that he also stepped into the light, signing as a potential recruit. The deaths of many wardens beforehand left gaps in their ranks, and he proudly took his place as a skilled soldier among them, for the good of the Kaldorei, and the Alliance.
Is there anything else you would like to add, ask, or otherwise clarify?:
I notice in the guides it says only Grunts can get above level 60 and access some gear fitting of their status. Is this a purely cosmetic "epic gear" restriction, or is there aspects of PvP involved in the server?
I have to warn you, though, that Wardens are Special Profiles (that is, restricted to Grunts and up) lest they are trainees or retired for whatever reason. They hold significant status in Night Elf society, which means we scrutinize a bit more.