08-03-2009, 01:34 PM
First and foremost: Tell us about yourself, as a player:
O lawd, what a question. I'm a long-time roleplayer, recent James Joyce enthusiast who is now obsessed with crafting double meanings into every single phrase I spew from my horrible mouth. Needless to say, I'm far from successful. Still, you'll find me swinging between being delightfully pedantic when it comes to English, history, and science and bombastically experimenting with (read: torturing) our fair language. The idea of a persistent world to roleplay in was one of the reasons I found MMO games so fascinating and partly why I started playing them in the first place.
What country do you come from? What is your primary language?:
I hail from a land characterized by a lack of character, one which indulges in an obsessive fantasy of being the antithesis of the United States, when to other countries we are nigh on indistinguishable. That's right: Canada. English is the tongue I call both my mother, my father, and my sometime whore.
How did you get into Warcraft?:
I first played Warcraft III at a day camp when I was a little 'un. I always liked the idea of an MMO game, as I explained above, and I got suckered in by Blizzard's free trial. Damn good advertising, that.
What made you seek our server over others?:
I found it purely by chance when looking up information for roleplaying use in Warcraft proper. The idea of a roleplay-specific server was an amazing one and I instantly decided that I had to be a part of it. I've always been disappointed by the roleplaying on my regular server and the idea of a roleplay-only server is something I can get behind.
What kinds of roleplay do you enjoy?:
Ah, it varies from day to day. I like my share of convoluted plots, but it's also nice just to play out what everyday life is like on Azeroth. I'm really willing to do anything and everything, aside from the stupidly absurd. I really like it when characters form actual relationships and sort of 'grow together'. It makes the experience all the more real and it's something that's missing in my server on Warcraft proper, I've found.
What is your favorite race/class? Why?:
I love trolls. I love their look (although I'm a bit upset that female trolls look so human – they weren't that way in alpha, though they did have some rather disturbing saggy boobs), I love their culture, I just think they are the coolest, though I have no idea why I love them so. Oh trolls, why must you be so awesome? I'm much less biased when it comes to classes, my favourites shift from day to day. Sometimes I love the idea of a shapeshifting druid, for a while I loved the idea of being able to tame pets and name them (though I've found actually playing a hunter is rather boring. Sorry hunters!). I am dreadfully inconsistent when favouring the classes.
What are your expectations of this server?:
I'm hoping for a stable and close-knit roleplaying community that actually roleplays. I want to be able to log in and easily find people to interact with, as well as interesting characters to talk to. I want complex plots, but not plots that are completely madcap (I AM THRALL'S VAMPIRE EREDAR SON!!!).
Out of all of our rules and regulations listed on our server, which appeals to you the most?:
I just really like the fact that you have high standards and filter out the people who don't meet them. It's this whole process I'm going through now, really. It just means that the experience should be all that much better.
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 moments before an execution always filled themselves with a great strained silence, one that felt almost forcibly imposed. It was this and the stillness, perhaps, that allowed every detail of the locale to imprint themselves indelibly on those whose emotions on death had not yet atrophied: the heady stench of the decaying dead already strung up on display, the press of the tense crowd, and the raw emotion on the condemned's face. That face was always the most painful detail or all, regardless of the relative innocence or guilt of whoever it was on the dais. It was a rare man who did not express emotion at the certain closing of his fates. The moment would transform, becoming something tangible and foreign. Then there would come a brutal crack and both the moment and the poor wretch's neck would break.
At this point the crowd would break into a roar. This time, their joy was mercifully short. No matter how many executions I am forced to attend, I always leave with the same nausea and being surrounded by a mass of people high off of vengeance and self-righteousness only exacerbates it.
Downtown Stormwind was a seething throng of people. Easily the most crowded area in any Alliance city on any normal day, following the assassination of Horde spies it was a madhouse. Despite this, my lingering ill feeling, and my growing fatigue, I did not want to go home. It did seem, however, quite imperative that I got away from the Stockades as quickly as I could. I refused to spend another moment in the presence of the ominous bodies of foreign agents which lined the road. This was my valiant attempt to once again forget what I had just witnessed and to ignore the parade of death the government was putting on.
The very idea that any other humans would want to ally themselves with those Orcs, those thugs, was an eerily foreign one. It must have been for money. I couldn't conceive of anyone joining the Horde out of some sort of misplaced loyalty. It was a disgusting idea, and yet it by no means outweighed the nausea that the execution left me with. How could I possibly loathe them so and feel so sick at their deaths? I had killed during the Second War – I was no stranger to death, and yet...
Rota Fortunae spins again, pace none.
“And in the morning, we were alone. The Goblins and the Forest Trolls had gone. Through the morning mist, we could see the ghostly shapes of the Alliance coming of the crest of the hill.â€Â
Mok, a “Lieutenant General†from the second war, found himself the center of attention. The clientele of the Troll and Giant, a tavern in Orgrimmar, watched him spin his tale with rapt attention. His stories of the Second War had earned him the respect and love of the patrons over the past few weeks.
“We were outnumbered five to one, surrounded, and so I did the only thing I could. Being the commanding officer, I had the authority to call back to our base camp. So I called in the air strike.
“I knew that it would wipe us out, but it would also take out a massive chunk of their troops. It was silent as they rounded on us; I could hear the sound of wing beats in the distance. I prepared myself for death.â€Â
The large Orc was hunched over a table, a pint clutched in his green hands. He took a long pause for dramatic effect, but found himself interrupted by one of the younger Orcs there. He was withered and old, someone who would be taken pity on in the street.
“How did you survive?â€Â
“I don't remember. I woke up four days later in a medic's tent.â€Â
They loved him. They drank themselves into a stupor, buying the veteran round after round of drinks. Roars of joy and drunkenness echoed around the pub.
Later, the old man who had never seen a day of combat went home to his lonely bed.
Is there anything else you would like to add, ask, or otherwise clarify?:
Murlocs are annoying.
O lawd, what a question. I'm a long-time roleplayer, recent James Joyce enthusiast who is now obsessed with crafting double meanings into every single phrase I spew from my horrible mouth. Needless to say, I'm far from successful. Still, you'll find me swinging between being delightfully pedantic when it comes to English, history, and science and bombastically experimenting with (read: torturing) our fair language. The idea of a persistent world to roleplay in was one of the reasons I found MMO games so fascinating and partly why I started playing them in the first place.
What country do you come from? What is your primary language?:
I hail from a land characterized by a lack of character, one which indulges in an obsessive fantasy of being the antithesis of the United States, when to other countries we are nigh on indistinguishable. That's right: Canada. English is the tongue I call both my mother, my father, and my sometime whore.
How did you get into Warcraft?:
I first played Warcraft III at a day camp when I was a little 'un. I always liked the idea of an MMO game, as I explained above, and I got suckered in by Blizzard's free trial. Damn good advertising, that.
What made you seek our server over others?:
I found it purely by chance when looking up information for roleplaying use in Warcraft proper. The idea of a roleplay-specific server was an amazing one and I instantly decided that I had to be a part of it. I've always been disappointed by the roleplaying on my regular server and the idea of a roleplay-only server is something I can get behind.
What kinds of roleplay do you enjoy?:
Ah, it varies from day to day. I like my share of convoluted plots, but it's also nice just to play out what everyday life is like on Azeroth. I'm really willing to do anything and everything, aside from the stupidly absurd. I really like it when characters form actual relationships and sort of 'grow together'. It makes the experience all the more real and it's something that's missing in my server on Warcraft proper, I've found.
What is your favorite race/class? Why?:
I love trolls. I love their look (although I'm a bit upset that female trolls look so human – they weren't that way in alpha, though they did have some rather disturbing saggy boobs), I love their culture, I just think they are the coolest, though I have no idea why I love them so. Oh trolls, why must you be so awesome? I'm much less biased when it comes to classes, my favourites shift from day to day. Sometimes I love the idea of a shapeshifting druid, for a while I loved the idea of being able to tame pets and name them (though I've found actually playing a hunter is rather boring. Sorry hunters!). I am dreadfully inconsistent when favouring the classes.
What are your expectations of this server?:
I'm hoping for a stable and close-knit roleplaying community that actually roleplays. I want to be able to log in and easily find people to interact with, as well as interesting characters to talk to. I want complex plots, but not plots that are completely madcap (I AM THRALL'S VAMPIRE EREDAR SON!!!).
Out of all of our rules and regulations listed on our server, which appeals to you the most?:
I just really like the fact that you have high standards and filter out the people who don't meet them. It's this whole process I'm going through now, really. It just means that the experience should be all that much better.
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 moments before an execution always filled themselves with a great strained silence, one that felt almost forcibly imposed. It was this and the stillness, perhaps, that allowed every detail of the locale to imprint themselves indelibly on those whose emotions on death had not yet atrophied: the heady stench of the decaying dead already strung up on display, the press of the tense crowd, and the raw emotion on the condemned's face. That face was always the most painful detail or all, regardless of the relative innocence or guilt of whoever it was on the dais. It was a rare man who did not express emotion at the certain closing of his fates. The moment would transform, becoming something tangible and foreign. Then there would come a brutal crack and both the moment and the poor wretch's neck would break.
At this point the crowd would break into a roar. This time, their joy was mercifully short. No matter how many executions I am forced to attend, I always leave with the same nausea and being surrounded by a mass of people high off of vengeance and self-righteousness only exacerbates it.
Downtown Stormwind was a seething throng of people. Easily the most crowded area in any Alliance city on any normal day, following the assassination of Horde spies it was a madhouse. Despite this, my lingering ill feeling, and my growing fatigue, I did not want to go home. It did seem, however, quite imperative that I got away from the Stockades as quickly as I could. I refused to spend another moment in the presence of the ominous bodies of foreign agents which lined the road. This was my valiant attempt to once again forget what I had just witnessed and to ignore the parade of death the government was putting on.
The very idea that any other humans would want to ally themselves with those Orcs, those thugs, was an eerily foreign one. It must have been for money. I couldn't conceive of anyone joining the Horde out of some sort of misplaced loyalty. It was a disgusting idea, and yet it by no means outweighed the nausea that the execution left me with. How could I possibly loathe them so and feel so sick at their deaths? I had killed during the Second War – I was no stranger to death, and yet...
Rota Fortunae spins again, pace none.
“And in the morning, we were alone. The Goblins and the Forest Trolls had gone. Through the morning mist, we could see the ghostly shapes of the Alliance coming of the crest of the hill.â€Â
Mok, a “Lieutenant General†from the second war, found himself the center of attention. The clientele of the Troll and Giant, a tavern in Orgrimmar, watched him spin his tale with rapt attention. His stories of the Second War had earned him the respect and love of the patrons over the past few weeks.
“We were outnumbered five to one, surrounded, and so I did the only thing I could. Being the commanding officer, I had the authority to call back to our base camp. So I called in the air strike.
“I knew that it would wipe us out, but it would also take out a massive chunk of their troops. It was silent as they rounded on us; I could hear the sound of wing beats in the distance. I prepared myself for death.â€Â
The large Orc was hunched over a table, a pint clutched in his green hands. He took a long pause for dramatic effect, but found himself interrupted by one of the younger Orcs there. He was withered and old, someone who would be taken pity on in the street.
“How did you survive?â€Â
“I don't remember. I woke up four days later in a medic's tent.â€Â
They loved him. They drank themselves into a stupor, buying the veteran round after round of drinks. Roars of joy and drunkenness echoed around the pub.
Later, the old man who had never seen a day of combat went home to his lonely bed.
Is there anything else you would like to add, ask, or otherwise clarify?:
Murlocs are annoying.
![[Image: wMRLoCF.gif]](http://i.imgur.com/wMRLoCF.gif)
