#Wyrmrest Accord Roleplay

[thetirisfaltheatretroupe]

Coming September 7th: "Hellsqueal, the True Warchief's REMIX"

WHO: The Tirisfal Theatre Troupe...and YOU! WHAT: "Hellsqueal: The True Warchief's Remix", a live performance! WHERE: The Shrine of Fellowship, Jade Forest WHEN: Saturday, September 7th, 6:00 PM PST // 8:00 PM Central

(Original poster by our beloved friend Erialin. Miss you always <3)

Many years have passed since the fall of Garrosh Hellscream, widely referred to as only the second worst Warchief to ever live. In the wake of his legacy of failure, come have a laugh at his expense as we take a brief and historically accurate look at his career as Warchief of the Horde! Come join the illustrious Tirisfal Theatre Troupe as we perform this revision of a classic story, filled with drama, heartache, betrayal, heroics, and jokes about bronze frogs and dubious medical typos!

The show will be held at the Shrine of Fellowship in the Jade Forest (Wyrmrest Accord's shard, non-Warmode), a quick portal away for both factions on SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 7TH at 6:00 PM PST // 8:00 PM CENTRAL! Runtime is approximately an hour and a half, though technical difficulties may cause us to go slightly over!

It's been a number of years since the Tirisfal Theatre Troupe last performed the play that put us on the map! While we said goodbye to the Hellsqueal trilogy of comedies a long time ago, with the advent of the wildly successful Mists of Pandaria Remix, we figured now was as good a time as any to dust off the old script and give people another taste of this timeless classic from the Timeless Isles. This time around, a few things are a little different - our standard of quality in what we've written is a little higher, our production value is a little larger, and we've got a number of new and old talent alike returning to the stage! Come join us for this recollection of a simpler time, and maybe find something both new and old to love about this new spin on the Tirisfal Theatre's very first major production that we premiered way back in 2013. Whether you are an old troupie, or someone who has merely heard of us in passing... you're certain to have a Hellscream of a time. Note: This post will be updated and reblogged as more information becomes available or clarifications are added! Special thanks to @shamanofthewilds for editing the time and date details on the poster on such short notice, you're an amazing asset to the company and crew! <3 And best Thrall.

[dhaiart]

Illaria Shadebranch, recently finished commission~

[the-silver-circle]

Gregor sucked in his breath as he watched from his vantage, huddled behind an old stump. He'd seen kaldorei before but this was different, very different. Before him the graceful figures seemed to float over the ground, long red robes brushing over dry leaves without a rustle. In every hand a lantern, its dim light casting flickering shadows onto the mighty trunks that made the forest's vastness seem close. Most striking of all though was their voices. Raised in song or prayer the human could not tell, but their beauty was such that he blinked back tears and felt a shiver run down his spine. Perhaps they were ghosts, not real elves at all. Only one thing was certain, he'd hold his grandchildren enthralled with his tale of the red robed elves.

{Written by Gilthas 06}

Illuridei or "The Watcher's Flame" is a turning of the seasons ceremony. Leaves turn from green to a fireworks display of red and gold while heavy headed crops sway in the fields.

The autumnal equinox is the ceremony of the Watcher's Flame. It has traditionally been celebrated from the breadbasket of kaldorei society, Ashenvale Forest. Held at night, a procession of kaldorei in red clothes bearing lanterns set out from Raynewood Retreat and pilgrimage through the historic region of Azshara.

banner+divider done by Erikailustra

[embersoftheorder]

DWC - August - Day 5 - Wild

The Green Son wandered the lands of Drustvar with an easy smile upon his face, the air cool go skin and the sun setting into dusk. It honestly was how it always was in the woods, but he loved it and likely would beyond even the end of his service. Beldwin Storm was not a native to these shores but over the last few years he definitely was no longer a stranger.

Beld would slowly come to a halt near a small copse of trees, his gauntleted hand coming to gently caress the bark of one of the old oaks. He could hear a soft hum in his head that could be considered unpleasant but had become a song that he could more feel than understand. It was a gift that Athair had bestowed upon him to hear the natural wild words of the land he had adopted as his own. The land had been ravaged for so long by the terrible powers of the Coven that its soft song had been drowned out in the silent screams of agony as the druid death magic warped it. The Crimson wood always made him shiver at the cacophony of agony that never ended from the wicker beasts that were drawn forth. He leaned his head to rest on the oak letting its own hum drown out the memory. He didn’t need that today.

Today was a good day that needed not the dour notes from the western provinces of the country. Birth was the note, not death, this day.

Releasing the tree, the knight continued on his journey making his way with ease but still with purpose. There was time yet to make it to the pool where his patron waited and there was much to rejoice with the wilds about him.

A new prince would be born this day.

There were many of the lineage of Athair but each had a purpose to fulfill. Some were short lived and bright, others long and steady like a bountiful season. Beld prayed for bounty but knew it was not his decision. The Word willed and spoke, the ending was already being written.

Storm would finally break the tree line and find himself before the mighty falls of the white stag.

Athair, Heart of the Forest, stood silent before the waters. White fur shone bright and clean in the waning light as it cascade to bring a silver sheen to the might crown of horns upon his head. Eyes black as midnight would stare at Beldwin, the stag lord’s demeanor calm and face regal as he tipped his head to welcome his wayward gallant.

Beld would stride forward and gently drop to one knee, the ancient bronze mail clinking softly with his motion of reverence and respect to the king. No words had been spoken as Beldwin would never be able to speak the language of his lord but honestly it was never needed. Emotions, thoughts, and dreams were the humans guidance to the will of the forest. It made it hard to question some of the motives of the lord, but the knight had yet to be lead astray by Athair’s will. This was a just lord and he was glad to have been found worthy.

The final streaks of evening light had slipped behind the mountains bringing the evening and darkness of night. Where Drustvar was a land plagued by the nights terrors in most shadows, it was not truly something to fear. It was just a part of the order of things and the will of the Word as it had written long ago. So too was there heralds and protectors of the night, as from the shadows crept the stout boars of the wood, courageous wolves who maintained balance, and even the black eyes ravens who always kept watch. But the night had one lady and she was as much a soul to the forest as she was consort to the heart.

Athainne, secret keeper of the forest.

Made of starlight and moon shine, the doe was beautiful in her own right as the violets of twilight were intertwined in the black coat of night. She was of smoke and shadow as she stepped across the waters to stand with her lord. Tenderness was easily determined to match the love the two beings felt for one another as eyes closed but a moment in honest trust.

As the grand gathering proceed a hush fell upon all the unsettling silence of the wild as it waited with bated breath. Even the waterfalls came to silent half, the rock below their pummeling drive growing dry as the river waited.

Beldwin would bow his head in reverence as did other subjects to the forest monarches, all in silence as they awaited the ceremony of the moon.

Ages passed in seconds as night fully came and the moon shone full far in the heavens above. As the moonlight struck the pool, the heart and keeper of the forest turned to the pool of sparkling water of the still lake.

Stories would speak of thunder crashing or a flash of great light or perhaps the heralds of the night screaming with horns of glory. But that was not how it was done. It was subtle, it was peaceful, it was instant.

He was beautiful.

Upon the lake the faun had come to be. Born of moonlight, strengthened by starlight, guided by sunset, and welcomed with love. His eyes shone with brilliant blue, the gift of the mother, while his white coat brilliant white shone with the majesty of his father. He stood shaky upon the mirror surface of the lake, searching amongst the audience for some reaction. Fight or flight was all the newborn would know at this moment.

The Green Son stood. He would draw away his gauntlet to reveal his bare flesh, brown as the earth and rough as the oak’s skin. His hand raised as he spoke with not a cry or yell, but a smooth even voice. The reason he as chosen and granted this station among the forest. “Hail. Hail unto the Prince of the Forest. Welcome son of the heart and secrets, we welcome you.”

The prince would raise his head. He would stare at Beldwin. The knight would look back.

The prince would step forward onto the land that was called Drustvar.

The waterfalls cheered once more.

@daily-writing-challenge

[anunendinggaze]

DWC - August - Day 2 - Violence

The noose was tight about his neck, not that it was doing much in the way of ending him. That day had long since passed. A lynching was a far easier end compared to the many years of death Alfred Klaudin had experienced.

His body alone was a testament to the years of service that he had given to both King and dark mistress. He didn't regret serving either of them, he honestly didn't know what it felt like or even if it mattered. Few things gave him any sense of feeling or pleasure. Most of it involved the sly smile of his Dark Lady or the wet feeling on his hands as he snuffed out a life.

These ones might give him that today.

"Swing you rotter!" Came the hoarse call of the man holding the rope, he was much like all the others of his kind in the hills of old Lordaeron. Young, angry, and wearing Scarlet. Or perhaps what they thought was Scarlet. It wasn't like the old days when he fought the radical light maniacs of the north. They had been all the things he just thought of, just better organized and far more deadly. Beside the man were three others, cheering with their own old swords and gear looking almost gleeful in their torture of the Forsaken.

It was fine. He could wait.

"Come on, Thomas," called the hoarse voiced kid again, holding tight to the rope with one of his other companions to keep him aloft as he swung. "Give em a good couple wacks! Then we'll burn him good!"

There was a laugh as another young man strode forward, he held a sturdy axe handle in both hands. He proceeded to give as he was told, each strike true and strong from a good farmhand's back. It felt like nothing as it ever did to Alfred. He merely held still and let them have their fun.

Fun time was solid chunk of time, the minutes passing as they always had in this world he was left too. The Cult of the Damned had been quick to raise their ranks from the dead that littered their path as they stormed throughout the countries pillaging, burning, and reinforcing the Scourge army. It wasn't surprising they'd found his shallow grave a from a few months earlier, nor was it that he took to this life as expected. The living had been good and the times had been grave as he marched with the Prince's army into the elven lands before boarding for the far north. Hunger had been his fuel and the meat had been plentiful.

Slack led to a thump as Alfred crashed into the earth, his bony legs collapsing under the sudden return to his weight as he fell to his battered knees. The rope coiled behind him as the heavy breathing of the gang laughed and cajoled one another at such a good showing. There was nothing from him still as he sat in a pile of bone, dried meat, and rubbish that had been left to him after his capture. They began to circle him.

"Alright, lads, think it's time we get the final cleanse for this fucker," the hoarse one spoke again, his place as their leader well established as he wiped sweat from his brow. He hadn't gotten to use the axe handle as much as his friends, but there was a seedy glow in his eyes at watching the violence done to the Forsaken. "Elios, grab the lantern."

A grunt of acknowledgment was given as he felt one of the warm bodies leave the circle, three left about Klaudin as he sat still as his body should be. The rope was still around his throat but his hands were loose at his sides, they had perhaps hoped he would struggle with the knots to free his breath. Breathing was a forgotten pastime to Alfred.

"Got it, Beren," Elios supplied as he arrived back at his spot before Alfred, the yellow and orange light bask his ruined face for all to see clearly. It also lit up their faces for him to see. Hungry, angry, and vile faces.

Beren took the lantern from Elios and held it aloft, his face the dark mask of sadistic hatred. Perhaps it was bred into him, learned from watching others in this back-country of the north. Maybe it had always been in him since a little boy rounding the wheat fields as he killed vermin or rooted out a nesting pheasant. Or perhaps he was just evil in his core.

It didn't matter to Alfred.

The only thing that did matter is they had left his hands free and it would make this all the more easier as he turned his wrist with a soft crack and pop. Breathers talked to much, laughed too much, and focused too much on their own beating hearts to pay any kind of close attention. It was always his advantage when dealing with them and generally their doom.

Beren had been in monologue, his mates glued to his fervor as they always seemed to be. The man would raise the lantern high as he spoke his final sermon. "And with this fire I do cleanse you, return to hence you came vile creature! We sentence you to the hell you came from and rejoice in the fr-"

"No."

It was the only sound Klaudin had made this whole evening and it rang like a bell in his head as his true power came to be, arm lifting to the side to a strange scraping noise as the foot long piece of rebar slid from within his radius and ulna to his clawed hand. A familiar move and gesture he'd done countless times before in situations with foolhardy creatures, it worked then and worked now. With the iron bar in hand he would swing fast bringing it to strike the lantern with a crash, sending glass and oil splashing about the nearest member of this merry band of torturers.

Elios caught quickly with a scream as he fell back in flames, his makeshift flamed tabard finding it's real mate quickly.

Shocked face had no time to react as the warrior was upon them without another spoken word. In stories, there's banter or words of glory from heroes or villains as they escape terrible situations. Calling out to their captors of how they never stood a chance or they would pay for their crimes in the eyes of whatever god. Alfred Klaudin did not need to stay anything.

His brutality spoke clearly enough for him.

A backhand of the iron bar crashed into the side of Beren's head, an audible crack resounding as he flew a foot and landed in a heap. Crimson aplenty pour from his ear and eye from the blow. The others were starting to react now with two of their comrades down, but Alfred was already shifting his bar again to stab with unyielding strength through the third man's belly. Blunt as the bar may be, it was still a fine piece of metal and wielded by a creature who had no care of how it killed. Only that it did. The iron went easily through soft flesh and out the back as the human screamed in agony to fall on his knees holding the end of the bar.

The final one standing had drawn a knife, it was all he had at quick as he brought it down into the back of Alfred. The blade sunk easily through rotted flesh and into bone, sticking out with what should have been a killing blow. He took a few steps back expecting the Forsaken to fall down, watching with hopeful gulps of air that perhaps he would be the tragic hero in this story. To tell his fellow gang members of how they took down a Forsaken soldier in the name of the Light. As much as he was terrified of his friends' deaths, there was a secret place the looked forward to seeing the praise rain upon him.

All he saw next was the bony clawed fingers flash forward to slash through his eyes and tear his nose off with a sickening slurp of flesh and blood. He could barely scream as the blood flowed down his face, his hands flying up in hopes of staunching the ragged wounds. The wet screams only matched those of Elios and the impaled man, which were growing fainter as the smell of sweet meat would fill the wet night air. There was only a few more moments of screaming before the same knife that was used on Klaudin was rammed through the top of his head ending his pain.

Tim, the impaled man, leaned back on the wet grass hands tight about the iron bar through his stomach as he struggled to wrap his head around what he was witnessing. Beren had never moved again from the blow, Elios was silent now as the flames continued to flick on his body, and Jonas had been mutilated before him. His mouth tasted like copper coins as he moaned from the pain, not sure what to do or what to say to the creature that was hobbling toward him now. He felt cold, but he knew his hands were warm and slick. The undead stopped in front of him, slowly crouching down to stare at him with his empty black eyes.

"Please, I'm sorry," Tim gasped out as he shook in his spot, praying for some kind of mercy from the undead. But it just continued to stare at him, not moving or saying a word. Just watching. And waiting.

It took a long time for Tim to die.

And when he had finally grown cold the grey clouds of morning had begun to burn away. Alfred Klaudin would reach forward to yank his hidden baton from the belly of the cold dead, the sucking noise sending a shower to feed the earth below the corpse. He barely noticed as he began to slide it back inside of his forearm, easier now with the lubricant.

No word was spoken. No motion to hide the horrific events. Only the crude tabards were pulled, wrapped, folded, and tied away. The Deathstalkers would be pleased.

Alfred was not. He just was. Hefting the axe handle and slipping the knife away in his now makeshift rope belt, he began to limp his way to the road. South back to the Undercity. For the Dark Lady.

@daily-writing-challenge

[mistswoven]

Looking for Contact - Verena Sun'rael

「 general information 」

FULL NAME: Verena Iren Sun’rael

NICKNAME(S): V, Doc

TITLE(S): Agent, Doctor, The Jade Dagger, The Good Doctor

AGE: 177

DATE OF BIRTH: April 16th

RACE: Elf (Thalassian)

GENDER: Female, cisgender.

PRONOUNS: She/Her

ORIENTATION: Bisexual

MARITAL STATUS: Single, never married.

PROFESSION(S): Surgeon, doctor, mistweaver, Blacktalon agent, member of the Order of the Broken Temple.

LANGUAGES: Thalassian, Common, Pandaren, Sign, Draconic.

「 physicality & appearance 」

HAIR: Blonde with muted pink streaks; lightly wavy, shoulder length.

EYES: Misty teal

HEIGHT: 5’7”

BUILD: Mesomorphic; muscular and athletic.

DISTINGUISHING MARKS:

A jagged scar that cuts over and around the outer edge of her right eye; the eye itself is unharmed.

A small cut to the left of cupid’s bow on her upper lip.

A tattoo of a cherry blossom branch wound around both biceps up to her shoulders.

COMMON ACCESSORIES:

Simple silver earrings, often asymmetrical

One large earring made to look like a cherry blossom branch with intact blooms; it stretches up the length of her right ear

A nose piercing, right side, silver.

「 personality & traits 」

A searing pride scorches the very ground she walks, confidence radiating from her like the heat that comes immediately after. She's fiery, vibrant and powerful. Though not quite a social butterfly, Verena is certainly rather outgoing and won't shy away from striking up or engaging in a conversation. Self-assured in her abilities, it can sometimes be hard for her to back down from a challenge - and the stubborn streak certainly doesn't help matters. Though often rather down to earth and with a colorful sense of humor, one would think that a switch was flipped with how quickly she can become serious should a given situation call for it.

There's a certain charm that she's adopted; she wields it like a weapon, one nearly as deadly as her fists. Her hospitality and kindness will last as long as one behaves the same in turn. The moment that changes, it's pure venom from then on.

Want to know more? Interact or RP!

「 personal information 」

HOBBIES: Poetry, painting, meditation, hiking, reading, painting, swimming, studying, exercising.

SKILL(S): Practical and magical medicine, skilled martial artist, practiced tactician, fast learner, extensive anatomical knowledge, [REDACTED].

RESIDENCE: Varies

BIRTHPLACE: Quel’Thalas

AFFILIATIONS: The Blacktalons, The Blackheart Accord, [REDACTED] (former), [REDACTED] (former)

「 relations 」

SPOUSE: 

None.

CHILDREN: 

None.

PARENTS: 

Jenir Sun’rael, father. Unknown.

Sena Sun’rael, mother. Unknown.

SIBLINGS:

Eriesh Sun’rael, brother. Alive.

Lyrina Sun’rael, sister. Deceased.

Amora Sun’rael, sister. Alive.

Saeus Sun’rael, brother. Alive.

Kaethis Sun’rael, brother. Alive.

OTHER RELATIVES:

None

PETS/COMPANIONS/FAMILIARS:

None

「 habits & vices」

SMOKING:  never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

DRUGS: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

ALCOHOL: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

「 hooks」

Surgical Precision: A skilled Doctor and surgeon with a degree, Verena has treated many patients over the years in hospitals and even out on the field of battle. Anyone currently or previously involved with the military, civilians, monks, or Black Talons could have been treated by her at one point or another.

Black Talons: A current Blacktalon assassin and agent, V has traveled all over Azeroth and beyond to gather, seek and locate various bits of information ranging from a simple overheard conversation to a relic or two. Those of a similar occupation, drakes or Dracthyr of the Black Dragonflight could easily recognize her for this.

Isn't it odd, though, that she's just a Blacktalon agent? One does not simply become an agent; Wrathion hires talent. Maybe there's more to this.

White Tiger, Jade Serpent: At every given opportunity, Verena will speak of her time in Pandaria - working, training, fighting, the whole package. Monks, or those who lived, worked, trained or fought on the Isle could certainly recognize her from there; she spent a number of years training under a pair of Pandaren monk masters.

Woven in the Mists: Perhaps it's just a rumor, or maybe there's more to it. Though a skilled combatant and combat medic in her own right, whispers constantly swirl around a more unique style that she employs; one that can be used to harm instead of heal. Maybe due to the ramifications of using this method of mistweaving, or something else entirely, there will occasionally be lightning-like teal patterns up and down her arms. This results from an excess of chi use.

Sting like a Killer Bee: Despite her calm disposition and training as a mistweaver, Verena is known for a rather aggressive and punishing fighting style. It would be best described as orthodox Muay Thai combined with Wing Chun and Taekwondo.

Neutral Party: Verena does not identify with the Alliance or the Horde, and simply chooses to remain neutral. Though once a firm and unwavering member of the Alliance, her time and training as a monk seems to have changed her perspective on the faction war.

「 other/ooc 」

FACE REFERENCE(S): Elizabeth Lail

VOICE REFERENCE(S): Morena Baccarin as Black Canary (JLU)

ALIGNMENT: Neutral

SERVER(S): Moon Guard (A), Wyrmrest Accord (H)

OTHER:

This character is completely neutral, and thus has a Horde and an Alliance counterpart.

I will not interact/roleplay with minors or anyone under the age of 18. 21+ preferred.

I will not write with godmodders (ex. never misses a hit and never gets hit, their character is so overpowered that they’re basically a god and can’t ever lose, etc).

Art Album Here

[fio-renze]

More details to come soon!

[talah-dorei]

Talah’dorei

Translation: (Varies with Speaker Preference) Survival Borne, Borne of Survival, Enduring Children, Surviving Children, Children of Endurance, Children of Survival

Anu’eran voras.

Translation: We rise from the ruins.

We are a night elf themed, lore-friendly, heavy roleplay collective. Our goal is to create a welcoming community for kaldorei roleplayers and their allies. We will strive to promote, generate, and encourage roleplay opportunities outside of the city hubs and inspire world roleplay. Talah’dorei is not a new organization or sect to the night elf culture. It is simply a chosen community name that captures the essence of the night elven story thus far. They have survived so much tragedy. They have endured.

We have a diverse group of people and accept EVERYONE for who they are. So keep sexuality, race, religion, politics, and other similar "High Impact" subjects out of public channels.

Out of Character drama needs to be kept to a bare minimum. Also, remember to keep IC and OOC separate. If you have a problem with a member, please contact the leader/moderator of your choosing, and hopefully, we can find a solution before it makes everyone uncomfortable.

Keep your roleplay etiquette in check. No God Modding. No Meta Gaming. No Trolling. We are a lore-friendly community. We understand there is grey area where headcanon can flourish and expand but please do not force your personal canon on others or expect them to accept it as their own.

We are a 21+ community. Due to the discussions here, members must be able to handle mature language and content. That said, there is no reason to push the mature rating to its limits. Use the spoilers feature for questionable art, this server is a no ERP zone, and keep excessively explicit conversations out of the public channels.

This is, first and foremost, a game. Don't go out of your way to make someone's game time miserable. We all pay to play. Let's have fun and enjoy it! In light of this, since this community is an extension of the game, we are not going to breed misery here. Therefore, any disparaging remarks about the game content, lore, questlines, storylines, or Blizzard choices needs to be kept out of public channels.

Grandstanding will not be tolerated. Broadcasting that you will quit, in the public channels of this discord, because Blizzard made a choice you disagree with will result in a ban. This also pertains broadcasted pity parties that hint or imply that you might as well quit because something is or isn't happening, etc. You will not be shown attention or sympathy. You will be shown the door. No one here pays extra for guilt trips.

Any image created by an AI generator must be explicitly labeled at an "AI Generated Image". Additionally, these images should not be posted in the art channels as it does not qualify as such. If you wish to use such images as a representation of your character, you may do so only in your Character Profile, with the label given above.

[azeroth-times-newspaper]

Azeroth Times Team Meeting!

WoW OCs featured: Ithilios Autumnrayne, Lady GiGi, Brynzi Trix, Kalimeris Embersong, Fiske, and Aleron Grimm

Art by ingridandersen (YCH.commish)

[eldridgecandell]

"He liked you. In his way..." She said with a nervous smile. "My brother just shows his emotions differently."

@renardsnoir

The witch hunter would be grim as ever as he sat in the garden even with the sun shining on the summer afternoon in such a beautiful manor, it was all grey in his eyes. A soft clink of his spoon as he set aside from his cup before lifting the hot drink for a short sip before speaking. "I"d like to say the feeling was mutual, but I wouldn't lie to Iseult."

"I'm not brokenhearted to hear that he is gone."

@renardsnoir

[nahisummerhold]

Lessons

“So you are not performing at all?”

Nahi tried to focus on the glasses in front of her. “I am, you are helping me with it.”

The bartender from one of the rooms she played at set out more bottles and garnishes. “You know what I meant, singing, dancing, something like that.”

“I am not sure the masquerade will have singers, they have go-go dancers, but my side job with them when not performing is bartending. Now I want to be a cool bartender. Show me, Pathyn.”

Shaking his head, the Kaldorei picked up a martini glass then spun it around weaving it in a pattern between his fingers. With his other hand he picked up a lime and let the rim of the glass pickup the lime juice before he dipped the glass into sugar, letting it roll lopsided like a hoop before it would crash to the ground. The rim filled with the sweet crystals, a spin of the stem to remove the extra, an image that made her think of the Tart’s signature glitter, continuing the revolution he settled the glass in front of her. The amazing thing was his eyes never left hers, a seduction of its own kind, confidence bordering on the edge of arrogance but backed up by an amazing talent for what he was doing.

Taking a shaker and filling it with ice he chilled the metal, sitting it on the counter open to wait for the drink recipe to come. “One part vanilla vodka, one part chocolate liqueur, one part marshmallow vodka.” As he spoke he picked up the bottles and juggled them, catching one he would pour with one hand, then lower it to the bar to throw another bottle behind his back over his shoulder, adding both the other ingredients at once to the shaker. Rolling them across the back of his hands to rest perfectly on the mahogany bar top once complete.

“Last shake and then add a sprinkle of ginger sugar,” he went through the steps with a smile as he watched her face, amused by the look of astonishment there, his showmanship was always a draw. Putting the shaker through its paces, the ice rattled against the metal, then he turned it and the slide of the frozen cubes within. The musician in her could compose to the sound and she wanted to close her eyes to watch the tune compose itself in her mind. 

Taking hold of the mixer with both hands he tapped the edge on the bar then flipped it around with a flourish, a tap near the join let them separate easily, he opened it like an egg. The tall green skinned elf placed a cocktail strainer over the top and  he poured the drink starting low over the prepared glass then gradually higher until each drip was captured. Picking up a shaker he tapped it across the back of his hand, somehow in the process he hadn’t made any kind of mess on the bar top. “S’more martini.”

Nahilvi took a sip and rolled her eyes in delight, “Divine… show me another!”

And that was how they spent their time after the bar closed, then she made him breakfast in lieu of payment. After the Masquerave, if things went well, they could celebrate.

[thetirisfaltheatretroupe]

It was an incredible performance! A great turnout as well, thank you all so much for joining us last night for Hellsqueal! The Tirisfal Theatre is just hitting the ground running again, so keep an eye on our page for more exciting events to come!

[dhaiart]

Ellaria Applebloom~

[clanoftheearthmother]

Clan of The Earthmother

How did we get here?

With the advent of Pandaria Remix and the speed with which it allowed you to level characters from creation to max, I decided to take the plunge and ‘move’ all of my characters to an RP realm, specifically Wyrmrest Accord. Some of them I paid to move, such as the Tauren Shaman who was my very first character, and some I simply deleted and remade on WrA. Over the course of Remix, I levelled roughly 30 characters to 70, first to have one of each class on both factions, and then because I was having fun and decided to level one for each spec.

To provide myself with ample roleplay options I made sure to include one of each race in my characters. I started the expansion with a few different characters; predominantly my Tauren Paladin and Tauren Priest. As a fan of Tauren lore and mythology I set about writing my Paladin’s lore as a Sunwalker under Aponi Brightmane’s command. Over the course of writing this back story I got to thinking of how a Tauren priest, who draws from An’she in a similar way to Sunwalkers, would use the void. As my priest was played as a discipline priest this was something I wanted to try and ‘explain’ in her back story.

I imagined that instead of drawing on the void, they would likely draw up Mu’sha as the druids did. This felt like a better compliment to a solar An’she priest than the void. As such I styled my priest as the daughter of Aponi Brightmane and a powerful druid. She would wield An’she’s light to heal and Mu’sha’s to harm. This feels pretty close to the in-game representation of druids, but as a more naturalistic race it makes sense.

At this point I decided I would try and include my other Tauren characters and after a little thought came up with the idea of a naturalistic clan of Tauren comprised of individuals devoted to The Earthmother and her various aspects, rather than being a clan brought together by blood. I backed out to character creation and looked at all the classes available to Tauren/Highmountain and tried to think of how each would fit into this group. The following is the diagram I came up with:

Class designations and names

For many classes I decided to imagine what a Tauren culture might refer to them as. I decided to name druids Moonwardens in opposition to the canonical Sunwalkers, and Celestial Seer/Oracle for the priests who bridged the two eyes of The Earthmother. Fire mages felt like a natural extension of An’she worship and so were named Suncallers. At first, I wasn’t sure how to ‘justify’ warlocks but eventually landed on the idea that they could dwell in the shadows cast by An’she’s light and worship that aspect of the mythology. Because of this shadow focus I decided on Umbral Witches for their ‘class name’ Rogue’s joining them felt like a natural fit but I wanted something that felt more grounded in a description of their abilities than their beliefs and so they were named Shadehooves.

For Warriors and Hunters, I didn’t want to force the idea of them using naturalistic powers when there was no in-game support for them. I figured a guard corps for the clan would make the most sense for them. I named the warriors Guardians and Hunters were dubbed Striders in homage to the Plainstriders that wander Mulgore.

With the Tauren’s reverence for their ancestors and heritage, Shamans and Monks felt like a perfect fit for a spiritual group within the clan and while Farseer is an established Shaman title that made sense I struggled with Monk for a while but eventually I landed on Spirit Horns as a similar naming style as the Rogues Shadehooves.

I didn’t find a way to have death knights make sense as they felt like such an antithesis of the core of a clan dedicated to The Earthmother. I also didn’t really care to force them into it for the same reason.

I created one of each and while I don’t tend to RP actively, I do like writing stories for my characters and imagining how they would react to the changing world.

Character List

Garahirn Grimtotem – Sunwalker (Protection Paladin)

Hunadi Brightmane – Celestial Seer (Discipline Priest)

Rhanoth – Guardian (Arms Warrior)

Mohkri – Farseer (Restoration Shaman)

Meshagor – Moonwarden (Guardian Druid)

Quara – Suncaller (Fire Mage)

Paohu – Strider (Marksman Hunter)

Rhugon – Umbral Witch (Warlock)

Tuhalin Palehide – Shadehoof (Assassination Rogue)

Orwam – Spirit Horn (Mistweaver Monk)

I’ll be posting either their back stories here or my thoughts on their place in the expansion and the campaign.

[embersoftheorder]

DWC - August - Day 3 - Journey/Fatality

Light dappled through the spread hand, the noonday sun shining bright and warm despite the forever autumn chill of Drustvar. Rachel's skin would prickle from the cold breeze off the mountains, but the warm body beside her made her feel all the better as she snuggled deeper into the broad chest. There was a rumble of a chuckle as the hand would lower back down to wrap about her.

"Easy there, love, yer cold as ice," the voice deep and baritone, the perfect pitch of a man of good salt and iron. She smiled into the hair chest, her eyes closing as she breathed in his scent. Rum, iron, cigars, and fry. She loved it all.

"Why else ya think I can't keep my hands off ya? Sides, yer the one who tossed my clothes far off Mister Dewitt," she cooed into his skin as he planted a few kiss among the dark strands that mixed with her own blonde. She could feel another rumbling laugh from him as he held her closer to him.

"Only cause ya loosed my own trousers, Mrs Dewitt" Christoph Dewitt replied back to her as he rubbed his rough calosed hands across the map of her life that dappled her back and arms. His fingers would gently trace the intricate tattoo between her shoulders depicting the Tidemother, patron of all people of the island. "Tides woman, ya got such a lovely canvas."

Rachel would look up from the nook she'd be hiding in to study his broad face, the walrus mustache doing nothing to hide his warm smile. The bald head also kept it clear to see Christoph's warmth of his eyes just the same light as his smile. She loved this man. More than words could say, her hand gently reaching up to tug softly on the right wing of his fine stache.

"Ouch," he whispered in fake pain as he feigned it further with a fake frown. "What was that for?"

"Making sure you were still real," Rachel whispered, leaning her head back to look up at him again. She could see the heart tattoo over on the top of her right hand bearing the large designed 'CD' in the middle of it. His own large left could come to cup hers, showing his matching heart with an 'RD'. He would draw her hand up and kiss the heart on her hand as he spoke softly.

"Don't go losing my heart now, love."

"Never."

He would smile still and nod. "Time to wake up."

The loud banging jolted her awake, eyes blinking back in the dark as she laid in the bed. She was alone. She hated waking up alone.

Another bang to her door received a groan of an answer from her as she laid her hands over eyes a moment, her mind drifting back to the dream as she whispered. "Tides just give me five more minutes."

"Witt, wake up." The voice was familiar and grim, it had to be Candell. It was always Candell at these hours.

A growl rumbled from her as she called back to the door. "Candell, do you not sleep?"

Like a pair of onry dogs, the old witch hunter would growl back. "It's nine o'clock."

Rachel would sigh again as she pulled her arms up to rest against her head, her right hand raising as it had in the dream to stare at it in the warm dark. 'CD' staring right back at her, his heart always with her. It was darker now, a bit faded with time but it was always there. And always would be. 'Time to wake up'.

Dewitt would sigh as she began to rise, her body aching from sleeping too long and probably too much of the green bottle on her nightstand. She would run her hands over her frame, an old habit of checking she was still all in one piece. Rubbing at her face again she would call to the inquisitor at her door. "IS there something pressing this morning?"

There was a long pause as the door did not answer her. Her weary face already souring into a grimace as she waited for him to say something, eventually snapping out at it. "Well out with it, damn it."

"We got another one."

A deep breath was drawn in through her nose as he said the words. She should have known. "Give me a minute to get dressed."

"I'll get the coffee." And she knew he was gone.

@daily-writing-challenge

[anunendinggaze]

DWC - August - Day 4 - Ego

There was gently music to the sound of the charcoal to paper, each stroke and strike of the black rock to the brilliant white paper bringing to life another idea from the ether. Many wondered where they all came from, like a wondrous song that filled the minds of creatives to build upon creation. It was very poetic. Daseyd did not have time for poetics.

Dark Iron life was filled with hard edges, strong blocks, and resiliency in the face of all opposition. This Dark Iron would have laughed at such trivial thoughts, but laughter was a sign of weakness and frivolity. He didn't have time for such things. Time was money. Money lead to projects. Projects lead to exposure. Exposure lead to money. It was a simple circle, and he excelled at it very well.

For years he had struggled within the confines of his race and the animosity that had been bred from his people and their former emperor. Slinking and struggling within depths of the Spire, hammers rising and falling to the heat and to of the will of Ragnaros. A miserable life of slavery. No creativity. No inspiration.

No money.

All work.

It made for a very dull life.

Eventually salvation arrived, granted it came in the shape of the murder of the Emperor it was still a good day. But just because one emperor died didn't mean it was the end of the monarchy as a Queen took the place. She wasn't too bad but she wasn't right either. But Daseyd knew when to keep his mouth shut. To keep his eyes down. To bow when you needed. And eventually do what you were going to do anyways.

It was a glorious day to be free of Blackrock, to leave the fiery heat and enter the cool air of the mountains to the north. To walk halls he'd only been told tales of and to smile in the face of all the ugly stares of his mountain 'kin'. He didn't think it was wise to relish in the grim glares of the 'beardlings' but it had felt good to 'sully' their fetid halls. He had especially enjoyed working at their own forges in the heart of the city.

But all good things come to a close as new jobs and new ideas arrive. His skills were impressive, his ideas possible, and his ability to make the money go far indispensable. It only made sense the Twilight Hammer would come knocking at his door.

He had had his doubts about them at first with their far off stares and reverent talks of Old Ones. He'd seen enough 'gods' and prophesy in his lifetime, they'd likely end up just the same. Refusing the offer made sense. Until they brought the gold.

It was a long journey across the sea to Kalimdor. A long journey by cart to the south and finally into the east, into the black sands Silithus. He hated the heat still. Especially the sand. But then they had given him a true gift to play with.

Elementium.

The charcoal pen broke in his hand as he frowned at it, his fingers black as the smoldering beard braided down his face.

He had been diving too deeply into his memories as he blinked a few times. Days of glory, days of power, days of profit. It was still there. He knew it despite the catastrophe of the sword. The Tower would always stand. He'd made sure of it.

Eyeing his broken drawing he saw what he had been sketching was very similar to the initial design of the trap of his former employer. A very slight smile came to his usually dour face, a thick finger coming to trace the edge of the upside down tower of black and sand. As long as it stood, the prisoner should be in there. Or as much as he assumed. When the money ran out, so did he. Business came first.

There was a soft clack as a new piece of chalk was placed before him, thin darkened hand holding it gently in it's spot. His black brows would rise as his burning sight would follow the thin hand, up wrist, passed the forearm, and eventually up to the drawn withered face. A face with pale purple eyes. Purple eyes filled with nothing.

"Oplisca," Daseyd would whisper as he saw her.

There was a soft tick of a turn to her head as the withered cultist looked at her former contractor. Her cracked and weathered lips would part as she spoke in a her soft croak of a whisper. "Good evening, master architect."

@daily-writing-challenge