Romeo

guess im dumb as fuck lol

AMAZING

MY LORD EXECUTOR.

I think (not speaking for anyone) he means that they are very few in number to a point where allowing a player, who isn't going to be Teron Gorefiend anyhow, wouldn't make any sense given their rarity, but I think your point still stands Destruin, there - are - more than the number extinct, but I think Arvick just wanted to point out that it's a bad idea to RP one

Granted, everyone you thought were your best friends stop talking to you when they no longer could get that alive phuzz, leaving you severely depressed and eventually end up taking a knife and carving red peanutbutter on ur sandwich. haha fooled ur ass. I wish there wasn't flies in my room.

Granted, but they turn it into a terrible erotic roleplay session everytime you try to have fun and you end up hating the person to a point where they drive you out from roleplay in general. You start working at walmart and forget about every friend you've ever had online and soon you won't even remember what a warlock is. I wish I could figure out a way to roleplay warlocks without using the word fel in every sentence.

This is an amazing read, and honestly I wasn't even expecting you to be this detailed and this precise to what I've considered be the right way to roleplay death knights. You hit everything spot on, from the annoying generation commentary to the death knights fucking eachother to the most important part - where the death knight should be situated and when. Really good guide and I'll be reading this myself if I ever pick up a fierce abomination like a death knight. Seriously impressed, not even sugarcoating. Finally someone who fucking understands this god damned race and class.

nice wish, granted ur banned a few days later i wish i was baller and ten feet taller

thanks everyone for the warm words <3 and yes mithaniel. a sandwich of darkness.

Granted. Half of all roleplay private servers population dissapears and no server can fund themselves without their support. Traius dooms warcraft roleplay forever. I wish I was a 9 meter tall woodland elf that doesnt understand human ways

Welcome. You're an awesome creature I know it.

Nice post! I provide a picture of how my TRP3 profile looks, maybe it can inspire other people (or turn them away from my hideous language):

THE FEYLINGS "You can take my life, but my faith in Elune cannot die." Somewhere deep in the crown-jewel forest of the Elves was a glade known as the Iredew Glade. This ancient glade was maintained and watched over by a pack of elves calling themselves The Feyling Clan. Friends of the Fourclouds family and venerating the Moonheart clan, these well established, but primitive hunters and warriors was on a spiral descending to their doom, as an old and rotting barbarian clan worshipping the different Kaldorei gods without much of their faith ever rewarded. This all would change when the witches came. The wildling clan arrived north of Ashenvale as early as the beginning of the Sundering, having long predicted the doom of the highborne in their greed. Some say it was the same elflord that commanded these that shaped these forestbelts one can see today to hide and cool down the pressure of the fallen empire. Like some nice moss on a tombstone. Whatever became of that rumour, today, these kaldorei refer to ancient traditions and religions and as guardians of the forest. They demand that not anyone outside of Ashenvale should come near the Iredew Glade and all of the ruins that lay there. Every crime against the Feylings they see as an act of war. The warriors, carrying nothing but spears and their faith for the most part, were odd creatures. Occasionally one exemplar wanders out from the deep of Ashenvale. People say they appear fully grown without much memory of their youth but practise. They often need help with fitting in, because they lack the routines of the newer races. The reputation of these wildlings vary from raw, mystical to terrible. One thing is for certain that the witches sometimes takes their time to raise primals like these into something far more interesting. KALDOREI WILDLINGS "Upheaved by the night warrior, these tireless braves were carved out of the image of Keiren Moonheart himself." The Kaldorei that lived in the far, far away mountains and beneath sunblackening trees would come late out of their dvala when it came to communing with newer races. They had always kept to themselves these, Wildlings. Barbarians. Warriors and the furbolg friends that came with them. As primary zeals the Feylings are masters of the hunt, and follow it religiously. While some take the shapes of trackers to trace certain mythological fiends to slay, others mount upon the forces of the wild to aid them in battle. And in some cases – called upon even greater woodland spirits. Their second zeal is their faith to Elune and the other deities these religious warriors serve. They work tirelessly in their efforts to pact with the stars and be worthy of Elune's glorious moonlight. As such they are zealous, and their willpower remains unchallenged. It wasn't always like that, however. The two twin-witches, introducing alchemy and powerful magic to the barbarians, came to empower these hungry savagemen, evolving them into cunning, fast and vile predators. If their spears weren't poisonous they were too fast anyway. For while it may have seemed like Elune gave them power, it was always just the witches whipping at their backs. THE WITCHES "Your wishful thinking is inferior to the will of the world. Accept it, or die." There are many sources to mystical power in the world. It can be obtained through studies in libraries, through alliances with the light of the forest, or the fiends in it, or be swept away entirely by the black arts. Some mystics see themselves as learned researchers of this presence, others as pactmakers with close ties to his or hers soul tied to a divine purpose. The wild nature is the home of the witches, to balance their own needs against it is their acquisition. As witches, they are eerily close-connected to the land itself and can use the earth's immense strength to their own disposal. They negotiate with creatures beyond even elven ears and understands the ebb of the world. Their powers hail from the circle of life and death. The elves that once served the Highborne aeons ago quickly learned the ways of their silvertongues and legendary charisma. Absorbing at least that from the now dead empire, the two witches that would join with the Kaldorei and aid Ashenvale had it easy for them as they grew their nest deep in the heart of the forest somewhere, and titled it the Iredew Glade. It was inhabited by furbolgs, elves, dryads, wisps and various other creatures of the forest that sat comfortably with the elves and their ways. Spearheaded by a witch, or in rare cases two, the Feyling clan is lead fiercely and organized under their command. The Iredew Glade was divided in division, the witches, as females, already throned above most other in the vicinity given they were male workers. They chained command and offered their wisdom and alchemical powers to the wildlings which gladly took it and bettered in their hunts to come, effectively rescuing the bloodline and saving them from starvation of flesh and faith. The witches play a fundamental role in this society, like antqueens, the house is built in such a way it cannot function without a leader. Their organization controls their many moves, which animals to religiously sacrifice, which beasts to make trophies out of, and the ones that decide who is friend or foe. One understands that the witches are well respected and have done well for themselves here, deeply woven in faith as they all are. THE MITHRIL PACT "I am born holy. I have lived holy; now I will die holy." These elves of the Feyling Clan was not unlike their fellow starborne. In truth, these Kaldorei elves simply followed a different path and order. This order bestowed originally of elves from the western districts of the world, deep in jungles and untouched forests where men not yet had reached and where entire cultures and tribes of elven kind have nurtured and grown in silence. This order - known in the world of men simply as The Mithril Pact, has as mission to prevent the evil of the world brooding and shivering under the bedrock of moss and stone that has now awakened and is spreading in the world. The majority of these elves are born into the mithril pact, and have never seen the glorious hidden fortresses and kingdoms that lie in the west. Most of them won't either; for them the elvenlands in the west are but a dream that will never come true. Already as children are they told that their duty is to sanctuary the world and that their place is elsewhere. They are not welcome in the west until they have vanquished all darkness and monstrosities that dwell in the other regions of the world. These elves, dedicated to this task, are all befouled by this evil they hunt as they forever trail in their lingering footsteps. As carriers of this foul stench, they have been disallowed to enter many of the holy grounds of their beloved starborne brothers and sisters. The mithril pact even has developed a ceremony, a ritual for young elves where the oldest – led by whoever is in command of this particular tribe, cries to the elves and apologizes that they have to be born, live and die in the shadow of ultimate servitude. For this order in particular is namely threatened, their population has grown thin and their once great leader has long since passed into a wintery dormancy. The lord of this order undoubtedly leaves room for other unnamed leaders to position themselves for this throne of power. The dispute applies how the battle against evil will be executed; if it should be with nothing but arrows and spears, or through building alliances. The youngblood children 'wake' after their first dormancy in the autumn. They then tread into the season of the summer, which to these holy order elves indicate the beginning of ruthless training. The main bulk of the mithril pact order consist of these summer elves. Many of them will come to fall as they battle the blackened fiends and corrupted creatures of the world, and if they don't – they will be backstabbed by other humanoid thieves and cultists of an art most dire. They who won't die during this period however, the adamant and brave warriors and spear-men that have proven themselves through many rigorous years of training and battle, reach the second dormancy of their lives. The season of spring is when the feyling warrior has ascended to a veteran status amongst the mithril order. But their numbers are scarce, and when they are actually present in the forests, these experts of armed combat and stealth can sabotage an entire expedition alone. Maybe it isn't so strange that the elf-riddled places of the world echoes of sad songs; melancholic wails over the fallen and the decayed explain that these holy warriors are thinning further in number. These veterans usually carry out commands directly told by the witches or lead their own campaigns against their enemies. There are rumours of a final stage in the lifelong participation of the mithril pact. After an aeons time spent serving, perfecting each swing of blade and each draw of arrow – the veterans of spring turn to the season of winter, and enter yet again a doze that will ascend them from elves to something greater. It is not known what exactly happens, but ancient scribbles and carved stones speak of winter elves the size of gods – shining with no other light than from the goddess herself. Believed to have become demigods; or at least something of such proportions, these are extremely rare and the only one known to have enter this wintery coma is the mithril pact's leader; whose name and location still, today; remain unknown to the rest of the world. One can't help but to wonder if there are more of these, sleeping somewhere in dungeons deep. TLDR; What do you think about tribalistic elves?

(I don't give a shit since no one else is posting I will) Granted. Now everyone wears the darion mograine helmet and incorrectly displays what it means to roleplay a death knight. The scariness and fun in roleplaying death knights dissapears. I wish I could drink endless amounts of coffee and summon it at will by snapping my fingers.

You go to space; without a helmet. Your last ten seconds of your life before ice fills your lungs and you die are moments of pain. I wish my eyes didn't blind.

haha hay there

"There was a melancholy to Nefeli, a sense... of doom." Name: Nefeli Cloudwalker Moniker: Wraith, The Pale Crone, Guide, High-Queen, Witch, Paleclaw Age: 10,985 Gender: Female Race: Highborne Birthplace: Zin-Azshari (Elun'dris) Alignment: Chaotic Evil/Chaotic Neutral Affiliation: The Shadowrealm, The Highborne, The Wild, Mithaniel Asen'eth, The Scourge Status: Alive (Decaying) Home: None Voice: Nefeli "Was my soul not divine?" She said, eyes fixed upon her spindly and phantom form. "Was my soul not divine?" She echoed again; amidst shadow and ash, this once queenly symbol metamorphosed into memory - memory to be forgotten. Within a ghastly confinement, the soul of a powerful elf lingered in a cold flesh dungeon, isolated from the growing and young new world. But this prison would not contain her for much longer. A band of outsiders calling themselves The Scourge had gained knowledge of this strange and veiled prison, seeking enlightenment and consciousness of this undead wisdom. A pact was sealed between the elf and this band, and through promised freedom from these damned chains, the elf aided The Scourge in their hunger for power and dominance, ultimately freeing her from this evil prison. However, despite the dark alliance that was vouched for that day, the elf schemed in cunning secrecy. As the campaign of The Scourge continued through the supernatural and fiendish realm, the elf was used furthermore as a guide, informing this power-hungry band of all the secret resources this dominion held. Because of this, The Scourge grew a quick advantage over the forces that originally held authority. The land soon fell to a colossal war between the lingering souls left of the realm and the new-found power. As the foundations of the black earth was desecrated by destruction and menace, the realms most ancient and terrible powers began to wake from the pitch-dark depths, seeking a might to finally match their own. These greater souls, these monstrous beings of nothing but the will to battle, began to assemble the lesser souls of the realm, creating a plethora of different factions and masses that would soon come to bring opposition to The Scourge. As the warmongering Scourge finally met conflict and challenge, the scheming elf took her chance to use this chaos to a means to a second escape. Luring the leaders of Scourge invaders into the lions den of greater souls, the elf beheld the end of the war. Leaderless, scattered across a world that was not theirs, The Scourge quickly fell, and in their crawling efforts to return back to their homeland through magical gates, the elf finalized her ongoing process of true freedom. She cleaved through the remains and seized the gate for herself, returning her into the world she was originally banished from. A descendant from the skies themselves, the elf took up her forlorn and forgotten name as Nefeli Cloudwalker - Highborne. However, the new world was very different from before. Newfangled creatures had rooted deep in the world and laid their bedrock upon the ruins of old; the legacy of her now fallen race. Flushed with anger, the dimmed image of unhindered power and beauty fixed her eyes upon the newer civilizations, and just like before; sunk into a deep purpose. A purpose to resurrect the pillars of the world and bring her old people to glory once more. Sadly, to her realization, she was not alike her kin any longer. The aeons time spent in the chilling imprisonment of the dreaded Shadowrealm left her scarred and impaired. Bereft of most life and emotion, Nefeli hid in the shadows of the world, finding her pale wraith-like character too repulsive and vile for the new races to witness. Hallow of the radiance that she once possessed, Nefeli forsake her nature as an elf and undertook a familiar campaign for hunger and power. Feeding primarily of dark magic to sustain her maleficent addiction to witchcraft and trickery, Nefeli drowned in a stage of loathing and hatred. Soon, the world she was once fixed upon reviving faded before her eyes and Nefeli descended into benightedness, careless of anything around her.When life no-longer gave meaning to Nefeli, she was ready to fall. To die and be mangled to dust and be forgotten just like she was to be in the cold flesh citadel where the story began. This would be her end, she thought. But it wasn't. In her last breath Nefeli was confronted by a powerful half-elf who, through means of compassion and great cherish, managed to bring the pale and broken character back to life. Introducing the world renewed to Nefeli and teaching her the ways of man, Nefeli was given a second chance, despite her foul addiction to alien and dark interests. Fascinating and absorbing are the tales of the Highborne. Many say that their excellence was unmatched; their kingdom vast and ringed by powers the new world barely could imagine. They were the kings and queens of magic, their noble bloodline as great and precious as it could be. But the bards and their songs would too chant of darkness, darkness and melancholy. The tales came to grow darker and darker as the legend of these majestic elves changed, their high rule turned into a reign of terror, their pure and elegant magic turned into a source of addiction and evil. When their world was crushed by the malevolence of demon and the lure of old gods, the Highborne race diminished, leaving nothing behind but the horrific and vexed creatures the new world call naga. But what if not all during the sundering fell to darkness? What if there was a survivor; one who endured and was the evidence that not all Highborne were doomed from the very beginning. Nefeli is best described as a monument of her fallen bloodline, sharing physical traits that remind the world today of what the elves of old had suffered. A tragic tale, a bard's song - Nefeli depicts the Highborne as they were and as they came to be. A ghost of the old world, she portrays dark, evasive and mystic beauty at best and raw monstrous power at worst. The hole left in her heart when her world collapsed was filled with magic. All magic - she feasted to gorge her hate. Because of this, her reckless use of magic left her broken and decaying; a skin once silver now ghastly. Eyes that before glimmered like a midsummer sky soon gloomed away, making way for a pale and spectral persuasion. Over the course of a thousand and more years, Nefeli endured an ongoing physical change that despite it's destructive behaviour seemed to cup the entirety of the Highborne race just perfectly. She was the avatar of a legend - a living memory remaining. Despite this however she does no longer see herself as part of that old world. The title; Highborne, is thin for Nefeli. Weak, and close to forsaking - she considers herself too separated from her glorious kin to bear such a glorious salutation. Indeed, marred and plucked of much life, Nefeli is abhorred by her own dark reflection. To prevent the rest of the world from acknowledgement of just this fact, Nefeli has chosen to veil herself in armour and clothing that withhold her ghastly spirit. The world couldn't know. It mustn't know that this tale ended just like the others. Nefeli is portrayed as being psychopathic, extremely sadistic, confident, violent, cruel, arrogant, and greedy, possessing an unquenchable desire for power and magic. Her most distinguishing characteristic (aside from her thirst for might) is her hubris, as Nefeli proudly boasts of her superiority and impregnability. However, this proves to be her downfall, as she unwittingly reveals this weakness to anyone who goes against her. Nefeli seems primarily motivated by personal greed rather than a desire to do evil or good, and does not seem to truly serve any allegiance other than her own despite herself saying otherwise. Highly intelligent, Nefeli appears to possess a rather sardonic sense of humor, darkly mocking anyone who she believes is lesser. She seems to dislike most other races other than her own, considering them to be weak and pathetic creatures far beneath her, making unfavorable comments about their existance and showing no remorse over slaughter of their kind. Nefeli has an overwhelming personality, and in combination of mastering language, this Highborne's power of speech is the power of seduction, of guile and of sowing doubt. The preternatural silver tongue possessed by Nefeli is therefor used as a weapon against those she deems too witless to resist. Victim to a demon and his puppeteering, Nefeli was a slave to stygian arts for many years to come, and because of that unholy path she was forced into, Nefeli rotted away into decline and hatred. Whatever good was left in her after the sundering was stripped and turned into malevolence. Whatever grace was once bestowed upon her had been twisted into a sinister shell of its former self. Where once she was sure-footed, deftly maneuvering the land as if it were built by her own two hands, now she hovers wistfully between her destination, a spectral stride not unlike a ghost. Torn between humanoid behaviourisms and impure, monstrous misdeeds, Nefeli has become highly unpredictable in her often-always zealous ways. Dancing from one emotion to another with lightning speed, she is tricky and chaotic at times and melancholic and tranquil at others. Because of her instability, Nefeli rarely works well with other people and is forced to a lone-wolf solitary life where her dark schemes are left unnoticed until they are too late to hinder. Toyed with her entire life by powers beyond her recognition, it is no strange wonder that this once symbol of power and grace sunk to a state of decay and damage. Despite all of this, thought; Nefeli is not entirely consumed by the demon that took her heart aeons ago. Something good aches and pounds life back into this misunderstood queen, rivalling and creating conflict inside her at all times. Perhaps she has chosen desolation to prevent the world around her to bleed from her mistakes. Perhaps she believes herself to be a redeemer; a last survivor of a dying kin, and the newer civilizations and races simply couldn't know that she too had fallen to the darker powers she was foolishly introduced to. Her harsh growth has taught her that diplomacy and peace rarely solves a problem permanently. Due to this, she deals swift, unforgiving blows to those who she could consider even a minuscule threat to her or her allies. She has accepted herself as the renegade outcast she is and understands that no banner, red or blue; could possibly come to welcome such a wicked witch as she was. Regardless of this, however, Nefeli is extremely cunning in manipulation and will come to seduce and befriend both creatures of good and evil to reach her goals, uncaring for the journey so long as the destination is beneficial to her motives in the end. Bent and harrow, Nefeli carries on her unholy crusade in a belief that her intent, backed by a thousand years of knowledge and egoism, is the only way, and will crush anyone seeking to interfere with her own plans, regardless if their purpose to do so is aligned with hers. She carries herself like a queen at all times around other races and grants no one true-sight over her actual feelings or purposes. More-often than not she veils and clouds her every move making her extremely hard to strategically plan against. She may say one thing, but mean something entirely else. With mere prying eyes she digs through the flesh and bone of her rivals and even her friends to know exactly what everyone around her thinks and plans to do at all times. There is no strength in the hunger she possesses… and the will behind her power is a primal thing. And it devours her as she devours others - her mere presence kills all around her, slowly, feeding. She is already dead, it is simply a question of how many she kills before she falls. Nefeli cares nothing for good or evil or the great enemy. And when these are dead, she will feed on the alliance, the horde, and eventually, consume the last of the highborne as well. LICHBORNE Nefeli has mastered death and so life. Her morbid addiction to darker magic invoked soon a necromancer that would come to challenge all who opposed her unholy crusade. Unchallenged no doubt in magic, Nefeli and her experience with forgotten and forbidden techniques is her strongest triumph. BREATH OF SINDRAGOSA Taught by a nathrezim, beyond the evil, occult magic that she learned she too mastered the ability to sow doubt and fear into the hearts of even the strongest men. With a tongue of silver only an elf, or perhaps a dragon could sway, Nefeli is a keen manipulator, and has, and will use this against her enemies, whether it is for frightening tactics or through thread-thin pacts; one thing is certain - she makes sure to always have the advantage with this skill. DIRTY TRICKS Nefeli may be considered an outlaw renegade with no allies; for who would back such a terrible tyrant? But the truth to it is that Nefeli commands a legion of undead. Guarded by a band of spectral wraiths that wistfully hovers in another realm; Nefeli utilizes dirty tricks to her disposal, allowing her servants to do a majority of her work for her. Even if you brave could tear through the dozen of undead that guard this ghastly queen, could you stand victorious after an encounter with her?

A cruel and nefarious fiend remained in the shadows of Azshara for a long time – plotting and tricking in the dark of things where a fiend best belongs. But what made this fiend so peculiar was not that he was a fiend! No – for he was. What made him distinct from the others was not a choice of his own; but that of a child. Ah, the innocence of children. So bare and naked in the world before them. So... Pure. But for a fiend it mattered little. His intentions were not entirely as sweet. For a fiend his days and nights covering in the dimness of ruin was now over; no longer shall he fear Malfurion and his elite. No longer shall he scene his brothers of carnage fall before him as he nimbly dances from one massacre to another hopeless to act. No. The fiend demanded vengeance. Vengeance through delusion. Demon and fiend as he was, his dark zeal was that of deception and trickery. Utilizing these two alone, this particular fiend outsmarted the elves of old and thus outwore the resistance – hiding in the now desolate remains without sinew to act, the fiend; like Sargeras to the well, drew instead to a new power he eagerly sought to thieve. He needed a vessel; someone who could see what he sees, feel what he feels... But not quite look like he looked. Killed on sight as the fiend he was, his only chance to sew his vengeance was through stretching his back and withdrawing from his haven. However, he couldn't without a new face – thus; She grew victim to his atrocity. Who was she then? Ah. As one might expect this is the tale of a child – and she was indeed a princess. Argent, thick hair with full, stunning eyes; all en-rapt in a slight petite body. Lustrous as her view was also the magical talisman hanging from her neck, sporting the same colour as her eyes – an icy, pale blue. But except this crown-jewel of a gem, the child didn't seem like a lamb of the Highborne. Her clothing was... Ripped, torn – useless in every regard. Yet she soaked in it. That elven elegance. That royal suggestion to her very existence. Whatever she wore didn't matter. It wasn't the clothing he was after. Dragging him to the surface of the world again, he was immediately the sufferer of the shining and piercing flares of the sun. As a fiend you may already have guessed his spite for such needless sources of daylight. He needed nothing to excel; this fiend. He was the perfect personage for a harbinger under the dark titan's reign. Wolfish and devilish in most regards, the possession of a child would indeed be child's play. To his astonishment however; the child needed no swindling. As soon as the fiend began to unravel before her, this princess of a child; this sweet little naked thing in the dark, seemed almost eager and wild for the eminence of change. “Who goes there?!” squabbled the little princess. “Shadow and fear..” gloated the fiend. “Black, then!” simpered the little one before she quickly mustered the strength for retaliation. “A-and you?” she quietly replied afterwards. The dead air broke with the fiend speaking again – it was if he was stunned; or as if each pawn advancing took time and this caused the silence. Unlike what was asked for, however, the fiend refused the question and the princess dubbed him lastingly – Black. Instead, the fiend-- or, Black as he was now suitably aliased, echoed her question again with a grin. “And who goes there?” “Stroller and mist!” meeped the elf. “Cloudwalker, then...” sneered fiend Black. And so it went on. What was first assumed to be wolf preying on sheep came to wrap itself into hour upon hour of poetry and rimes sprung to heart by the young Nefeli. She had nothing – no one. Everything and everyone she had ever loved, her father, her mother, her capital and her friends had all been mangled to dust and history one way or another. She was a hole – a hole waiting to be filled with something. Purpose! She didn't care about anything else. When Black realized this untapped potential he instead bound her under him and took her as his neophyte, forcefully or not – Nefeli flourished quickly with her new-found powers and in return she exchanged herself for more. The sweet innocence once found within this princess was no more. As years went by, the elven population slowly started to return to their homeland fearless of any demons still lingering, and with them came the battle-hardened veterans and the Malfurion elite. It became increasingly more difficult for Nefeli to shoulder the burden of being possessed by a demon, and in monumental, far-reaching attempts to be taught even more dark magic simultaneously, Nefeli undertook a path of wrong and malignant ambitions, and her body and soul suffered for it. First came the pale complexity – then the lack of weight and the sundering of emotions. While this was nothing of what it would later become; her ghastly frame was shaping. Spell by spell, day by day, month by month – year by year.

7/10 surprisingly good!

First time I saw bearpants I shat my pants cause of the charisma. Really look up to this person and I'm extremely glad bearpants is on this server and joining us, honestly. Fuck yeah this community is legendary.

Fascinating. It isn't unusual to see this type of character but highborne instead, which is very weird considering the posh, snobby nature of the first of the elves was destroyed a long time ago. With this character however, as a nightborne whose lived in a bubble for a majority of her time, everything makes sense! Gonna stalk this a little, see where you update and read that then. Good luck with your writing. <3

Fear not anxiety my man, we're all good people around here. And those who aint are crushed by those who are, promise! Welcome and let's kick some ass together. <3

Does anyone ever make a bad god damned design anymore? I can't compete if you're all amazing at foruming. Seriously thought this is a wonderful, simple concept that can be fleshed out and maximized awesomely given the right creative tools, which I no doubt think you have. Seems like a really well thought character and hope this becomes your main. If not just go kaldorei. Always go kaldorei.