Welcome to the Roleplayer's Haven, a website dedicated to the roleplayers of Shadow Council, World of Warcraft!
This website serves as a community portal and roleplaying archive for all roleplayers of Shadow Council, regardless of faction, guild, or roleplaying experience. Once you have created an account with your character's name, you can begin writing a character blog, participate on our OOC discussion and IC roleplaying forums, advertise your events (and keep track of others), share your creativity, and enjoy the creative talents of others on our server. All are welcome!
Teya clenches her trembling hands one last time as she approaches the front door to the house, hoping that Kayllivise isn't home. She knew of the wards the woman had placed upon this ‘dwelling’ Teya had come to fear; the place she was held captive for a week. Though in fear, she knew there was a job to completed and she wouldn’t let anyone down. She slowly opens her hands and cautiously twists at the new leather bracelet on her wrist, her eyes glancing at the black stone in the center. Teya notices something new about the protection on the house. On either side of the doorway stand two undead guards. “Well, that’s new.” Teya mutters to herself. She watches them as she approaches the door. They make no move to stop her as she reaches a hand to open the door.
Orgrimmar is on lock down; this makes it very difficult to travel.
So. That recent sale on character changes (names, recustomization, race, faction, etc) got me thinking.
I have a hunter. I love this hunter. Her name is Tylien and she has a bear she went all the way to Dun Morogh at level 10 to tame back at the beginning of BC (I ran out of arrows! Oops!). Sadly, Tylien's story is, for all intents and purposes, finished. The major characters in her circle have mostly moved on from WoW or those who are are no longer involved in her life. Since I have long ago changed my main focuses for various reasons, Tylien has taken a back seat and has her (mostly) happy ending.
Join Xillia as she takes over for Darlain for this week's Tales of Azeroth lecture series! This week's topic if the Exodar and its history.
Tales of Azeroth starts at 7:00 server (mountain) time at the Hall of Explorers in Ironforge, hope to see you there!
Darlain yawned as she stepped across the cold stone floor of the tramway, checking her timepiece. She'd ended an enjoyable night at the Inkwell, an experience which helped her work through the anxieties that were now moving back to her thoughts. They needed to have a break concerning the man in black, and soon, she could only imagine what horrors Henii was being subjected to.
She could hear the sound of the incoming tram car, thankful that it was coming, the tramway was such an eerie place this late at night, especially when there weren't any others around. She'd be happy to put the mechanical churns and shadows behind her. At last the tram car appared through the light, stopping in front of her, carrying a single passenger. The passenger looked unnatural, a black liquid formed its body as it turned to stare at Darlain, the fear in the room was palpable as Darlain fished a small remote from her belt pocket and clicked it furiously.
"What has happened?" a voice asked, hollow and metallic. Its owner pushed his way through the trees, always moving in the same direction though not understanding what was calling to it. It only knew that it had to go, it was called to a specific place. Finally, the trees thinned and the voice's owner stepped out into an open space beneath the trees of Duskwood.
It was dark and shadowed, as it usually was in that area. The speaker stepped beneath the trees' shadows, his metal armor ringing quietly and echoing back at him from the forest around him. Its armored head turned this way and that, expecting something, though it wasn't sure what.
The pair ran quickly through the center of Darkshire, swords slapping against their thighs as the moved up the hill towards the flight master and his gryphons. The village watcher, visibly pale as he led Commander Althea Ebonlocke along the road.
"When did you find the body?" Ebonlocke huffed out as they jogged up the hill.
"Just now," the watcher answered between gulps of air. "As soon as we saw it, I came to get you."
"And you're sure you were the first to find it?" asked the commander as they slowed towards the landing area.
"Yes, ma'am. The flight master notified us and we investigated right away."
The two turned off the path to find the flight master attempting to calm down his gryphons. Obviously agitated about something, the beasts rocked back and forth and ignored any attempts to settle them.
Braghaman had entered Stormwind quietly, uneventfully. He still was cautious when coming to the capital, previous experiences still fresh in his mind. But this time was by invitation. And so the paladin chose to arrive quietly. Wearing his leather vest and pants, a plain linen shirt beneath, he briefly wished he'd chosen to wear his armor instead. He put the thought behind him and rode across the bridge leading into the city. He had even chosen to ride in on a frostsaber rather than his traditional charger, assuming it would draw less attention.
Sometimes she felt like she was drowning.
Most of the time it was just drifting. She hid it well, at least she thought she did. It was easier to pretend like everything was fine when she was working, so she threw herself into it one hundred percent. That wasn’t hard. Being Doctor Vines assistant was almost a full time job, between people blowing off their fingers or needing reconstructive surgery or even just collecting rare alchemical reagents, there was always something that needed doing to keep her busy.
“Light. Must remember the Light.”
That’s what the Broken say, shuffling through their torn-apart lives.
Maybe there’s something to it. I try to remember.
Love is weird. Really weird. It is such a paradoxical emotion. I do not even think it is an emotion, really. More like a state of being. Yes, a state of being that is both simple and complex, wonderful and terrible, humbling and empowering. So, yes, paradoxical. Whatever it is, it is weird, and it is a pain in the ass. But it is also a great deal of fun and makes life a lot more brilliant than it is without. Then again, maybe all that is dependant upon what inspires that state of being.
“What are you doing Luca…” he muttered under his breath, walking out from the small cabin in the rocky outcrops of Hillsbrad. His fingers moved through his hair as he scratched the back of his head, lips dry as he placed the cigar between them. “She’s a nut case…” he says again, lighting it and allowing the plumes of smoke to surround his head. One hand reached out idly, waving them away from the door.
My world had filtered down to somethin less than gold and red edged in a depth that promised oblivion.
Pre-morning, the world is a hazy green until the sun pulls over the trees, burning orange.
She sits on a hill that hugs the Harborage, leaning on her gryphon’s pale flank.
Farooq and his soldiers crouched in the ferns and foliage of the oasis. He had a dozen fighters with him in various kinds of red armor, from plate to leather to robes. Each of them had a piece of armor covered in gold. A pauldron, a shield, a belt, each distinct. The most unique pieces were large elaborately curved horns, curling down from Farooq's broken stumps. He looked up through the foliage to a set of palm trees. He could see no one, but knew that Treader was up there, watching. He made a few quick hand motions and waited. Moments later, the little orc's head popped out from behind some leaves. He flashed a few hand signals to Farooq, then vanished again. Farooq lowered himself back out of sight and turned to his crew.
Braedyn crouched easily on the marble roof of what had once been a bank. Twilight’s warm light was coloring the marble steps below her perch a deep purple, away from the original Quel’Thalas blue that they had once been. It seemed fitting to Braedyn, shifting in her leathers to get a better look, that blue and red made violet. She snorted silently as her lips pursed. The city of Blood would yet bleed over here into the ruins of her memories.
This whole section of the city was like one slowly decaying bruise. Years had passed, but there had been no serious time or resources available to devote to the rubbled ruins of western Silvermoon City. What would be the use? The city as it was now was nearly empty, too few to fill even the half of what the city once was.
(Commission by http://sionra.deviantart.com/ below the break there.)
Braghaman sat on the edge of the fountain, looking around at Darkshire. He had taken a stroll from his home, mug of bourbon in his hand, and his wanderings brought him here. People moved around him, some fast and some slowly. Most of the people seemed not to notice him as they crossed the town center. Every now and then, a watcher would catch his eye and nod or salute to the paladin, to which Braghaman would smile and nod and tip his mug in their direction.
Despite Halfhill being a center of commerce, its people were “country folk” and didn’t approve of late nights when there was work on the morrow. A few adventurers and brewery workers continued swapping stories in the tavern, but otherwise, the Tillers’ homes were darkening.
Nore didn’t mind. The air was clear and warm, the trees rustling. The wind, thankfully, blew toward the pig farms this evening. She walked with Reave, the ghost worg acting as her “bodyguard” when Wes was unavailable. He had fought in the Barrens all this week; someone had to keep bringing in the company’s pay, while she, still off official duty, helped with the Henii problem. Tonight though, they were going to meet at the farmhouse, tend his various pets, and spend some time trying to relax.
At first I wasn't sure
Pandaria is indeed a mysterious place. The things we deny at home have faces here: hate, despair, doubt, fear. Here, we are - ready or not - tested. My Compassion leads to me pit my faith and magical skills alongside the Shado-Pan in their quest to contain these malevolent spirits.
It is so very dark here. My companion, a member of the Shado-Pan, and I, have made our way deep into these catacombs at the behest of the Black Ox to investigate the Ghastly Confines – the former prison of the Sha of Fear. Here and there, former Shadow-Pan guardians lie supine, frozen in death in rictus fear. We give them honor as we go, shutting their eyes and rolling them over. I can’t help but whisper prayers for them as well.
"Happy deathday, Maggot."
Her eyes went wide with wonder. She was excited.
Like a child on, well, their birthday.
Those of you who don't read PTR patch notes, or otherwise obsessively follow WoW news may not have noticed the following in the notes for patch 5.4 (Source)
New Feature: Virtual Realms
- Virtual Realms are sets of realms that are fused together, and will behave exactly as if they were one cohesive realm. Players on the same Virtual Realm will be able to join guilds, access a single Auction House, join arena teams and raids, as well run dungeons or group up to complete quests.
- Players belonging to the same Virtual Realm will have a (#) symbol next to their name.
The priestess slept on clean cotton blankets. Her pooled hair a golden ribbon of sunlight through the slanted windows. This place was unfamiliar and cold, preserved like a museum. She couldn't run forever, and eventually her body needed time to rest. It had been two days and the priestess hadn't stirred from her slumber.
It had arrived for me last night, settled carefully on the steps to my front door. How it managed to pass the wards without my knowledge, I hardly knew.
The rain created a soft serenade of sounds upon the rooftop from our cabin in Karasang Woods. It has lured Eleniel to slumber with its soft, unassuming presence. But I lay awake listening to the droplets fall one by one.