Traius

Hello I'm Poor And I Have Extremely Mediocre Building Skills Ill make You A Shitty Phase For Some Art

good event, always remember sir vendal

remember the tauren who got mad my draenei said "get back in the kitchen"

that felt like someone playing the victim card

the difference is that negative criticism draws on several points seen in a character's biography and calls them into question. you said I used buzzwords and that I am an idiot. if its a retard criticizing you then of course it will be retarded, but throwing away a perfectly valid argument against part of your character because "imagination" "its my rp lol" will only harm your progression as a roleplayer

why

ok

moral of the story: magic is over the top in wow so its better to use something on a low scale or not at all

if you're a new rper and someone comes up to you in the start zone and calls you out on how retarded your character is you'll be inclined to change it, much more so than trying to just constructively criticize them if you take all criticism, even when its given aggressively, as toxic shittalk then you're bound to stay stagnant. I didn't put spaces after punctuation until a guild leader told me I couldn't join because of it. if I had told him "its my rp I do what I want" then I wouldn't have learned and I would have been, again, stagnant

Before I make any commitment, I'd like to test the waters. The Stormwind House of Nobles is the legislative body of the Kingdom of Stormwind. While their clout doesn't reach the Alliance for the most part, the Nobility holds great power over Elwynn, Westfall, Duskwood, and Redridge. Blizzard lacks much attention to detail, but I'd like to address the politics and court intrigue involved in the House of Nobles. Feudal wars between nobleman, less centered around the actual fighting and battles and more around gathering support from minor lords and peasants to take up arms. This would be on a much lower scale than most of WoW is shown. No oversized glowing armor or tier sets, no amazing artifacts to turn the tide of war. Because of my obsession with Crusader Kings 2, we will base the ranking of titles on that. It should be noted beforehand that 'Lord' refers to a nobleman, no rank included. Baron - ruler of a barony which makes up a portion of a county. Count - ruler of a county which makes up a portion of a Duchy, Duke - ruler of a duchy, subservient to the King and liege-lord of counts. As I stated before, instead of focusing on peasants and knights swinging swords at each other (though this will be seen) it will mainly look at the politics behind that. Pleasing nobleman with landed and honorable titles, diplomatic marriages, assassinations, keeping the peasants happy. Duke might be an officer position, if we get too many counts or barons we might force others to play as Knights given only minor estates. Anyone interested?

Wilmar let out another cough, hacking out for the second or third time in past minute. Zsan sighed, draping a warm, damp cloth over his head. Delirium had set in on the elderly man, his only care from the boy. Lying in bed, he babbled gibberish about 'the Southerners'. Hours it had been, days. Remy would surely be visiting soon... Zsan wiped away a tear. Memories were flooding him, awful memories, memories he wished would bury themselves in the deepest, darkest corners of his mind and never be remembered again. The floorboards creaked as he pushed himself up, walking to the door. Looking back at Wilmar, groaning in his sickly state, Zsan pushed the door open. Birds were singing and chirping as Zsan, now sobbing and despaired, made his way to the outskirts of town. He neared the edge of the woods, broken down in tears. A few paces ahead was a small wooden cross, the only one to be seen. He brushed off whatever dust might lay over the engraving. Father. It had been too long since he had visited. He huddled in a fetal position, years of anger and frustration pouring out of him. Even now Zsan was already much taller and stronger than most boys. Not a day went by without the thought racing through his head, "What if Father were here to see me?" He knew it was a fantasy, a dream, born out of the shattered mind of a young boy. Laughter broke his trance. Three lads were pointing his way and mocking him. One of them, blonde in a red tunic, had a reputation as a troublemaker and a ruffian. He had boasted of knocking out a grown man with one strike, or of breaking his little brother's fingers in a game of 'Bloody Knuckles'. Zsan slowly stood. His size silenced the boys at first, before one of them broke out in laughter again. Zsan turned to face them, red and weeping. The laughter got louder and louder, even so as he got closer and closer, until a fist collided with the blonde boy's skull. He was on the ground, motionless and limp. Zsan looked first at his hand, and then at the other boys. Zsan was always quiet, always minding to himself, not one to speak to others. He'd never gotten his anger out in such a way. As if by command, the other two scattered, squealing as they rushed back to their homes. The door clicked as Zsan stepped back into his home. He looked towards the bed, Wilmar sleeping peacefully. A welcome change, he thought. He took his seat by him, putting a hand on his wrist to comfort his elder. There was no pulse. The Statue wiped the blood from his blade. At his feet was a corpse, returned to death after its wicked return. A glance to his left revealed another cadaverous beast charging, vanquished with ease by a swing from the longsword. He had long realized there was no need for a campfire - more trouble than it's worth - in Undeath. The fire made him no warmer than usual. Crying turned his attention to the woods below the hill. Looking down, he spotted a trio of boys fleeing from a ghoul. The Statue was soon at the Ghoul's heels, a plated hand grabbing it by the hair and ripping it back. The ghoul fell backwards, flopping on the ground before his heel came crashing down on the nose. The ghoul was no more, the children staring at him in awe. He gestured for them to follow him, guiding them to a cave he had rid of the Damned. Now was the time for a fire, it seemed. The boys were talking amongst themselves as the Statue set to work, before a tap on the shoulder grabbed his attention. "We found some grain back in town- well, what's left of town. Want some?" It was too late for these boys. Far too late. The Statue did not take pleasure in their deaths.

dangit no!!!!

Loud shouts rang through the Town Square as the pair walked through. Merchants, eager for more customers, advertised enticing deals. "Browse our wares!" They'd say, "Free sample for the little one!" But, with determination, they fared ahead. In this sea of trade, only one stand interested them. Remy beamed as he spotted them, smiling that toothy grin he was known for. In the front of his mouth he was missing one of his front teeth, on the left. "Wilmar! You brought the kid!" Remy ruffled his hair. Remy had always been a nice fellow, always offering the child an extra spoonful of beans or a slice of bread. "Remy, you fiend!" Wilmar laughed heartily, giving the merchant a warm hug. "You got a chisel?" Pulling back from the embrace, Remy tapped his chin, looking about the stand. It was lined, end to end, with whatever rusty tool or sword or gauntlet he managed to find. Most of it wasn't much more than scrap, but it was cheap, and that was all that mattered. "Ehh, I-" He rummaged through some nails absentmindedly before sighing. "I think I'm all out, Wil." Cursing under his breath, Wilmar looked back towards the other merchants. Most were grimy and scummy, rubbing their hands together at the thought of another copper coin. Wilmar never trusted any of them. "Well, good day then, Remy." A wave and a half-hearted smile was their away, tugging the child along through the street. Frustrated, Wilmar took the lad out of the Square and over Colland's Street, past the old crone's home, over Dyllon's Avenue and to the park. It was an exhausting walk for the youngling, his feet sore from the journey across town. They came upon a lone wooden bench, overlooking a grand statue. Scratching his head, the elderly Wilmar looked at his Ward. "It's been a long day. Come, sit." They took their place on the bench, relaxing after their voyage. "So what do you think of the statue, Zsan?" The child looked up at the effigy, a knight clad in chainmail, a tabard coming down from his chest, which held the crest of Lordaeron on the heart. He looked down, solemnly, a blade clutched in his hands, the tip on the ground and the handle at his waist. It was of exquisite craftsmanship. "Don't be bad, now, Zsan - at night, when everyone is asleep, the statues come to life and scare the naughty children!" "I don't believe you," Zsan said. "Stone doesn't move." Wilmar chuckled. "Well, the bad ones believe it." He paused, before starting up again. "You know, this is what I am learning to sculpt. And someday, you will, as well." "I wanna be like the statue," Zsan interrupted. "I want to be a knight." Wilmar sighed weerily. "Zsan, you know you can't - you're the son of a woodsman, be lucky you wound up in my hands. Not many can become a mason's apprentice." Zsan turned his head away from him. "Can we go home now?" "Zsan, we have to talk about it sometime. You lost-" A few tears had started streaming down the child's face. "Can we go home now!?" He bursted. With a sigh, Wilmar gave in, taking the lad back home. The Hooded Man whispered to his comrade hurriedly. "Is it open yet? C'mon, c'mon." The party of five had been tomb raiding for a good few months now, they'd gotten good - this was an easy job, especially since the whole village had up-and-gone. This backwater town didn't have many good bodies - most were too old, or from folks that were far too frail. This one, however, was a recent burial - maybe three weeks old, they'd gathered, though it was hard to tell. The strength of the five men could barely, just barely, exhume the coffin from the mausoleum. It was big, stone coffin, the worst kind. Hard on the back. The Wizard smiled, content. "Thank you for the hard work." He tossed a small bag, filled with silver coins, to the Hooded Man. "Now - leave me be." The grave robbers quickly scattered, running off to whatever hideout they made their nest in. The Wizard heaved, pushing off the large stone lid. The body was now exposed - bloated, skin turning a sickly green, but otherwise a ripe candidate. He grinned with satisfaction at the sight. After a few hours of preparation - candles, ritual drawings, spellbook study - the time had come. He lit each candle, taking his place directly before the coffin and the corpse within. He chanted a black sacrament, a wicked spell from wicked creatures. The markings glowed and the candles blazed brightly. And finally, when he finished, a silence overtook the graveyard. After many minutes of this, the eyes opened, reborn in Undeath. "Arise, my champion!" The Wizard said. "Arise to vanquish my foes!" It was clear this had been a massive man in life, nearly a head taller than the Wizard, or anyone the Wizard knew, for that matter. As it stood, he stepped back in sheer awe. This was a proper knight, covered head to toe in armor - rusted from a lack of care, but sturdy enough. He laughed, cackled, triumphant in his quest. The creature stepped from the coffin, out onto the grass. His feet, even on the dirt, made a thud. The Wizard went to cleaning up his work, wiping away the markings. He was nearly finished when he noticed he had made a mistake in one of them. That was strange, he thought, how is this knight still animated? Reality struck the Wizard far too late. Rattling from the rusted mail was the only warning the Wizard received before being taken by the back of the neck, heaved from his feet and into the air, and turned to face the creature. The knight's hands squeezed on him, suffocating and strangulating him. No words could leave him, no thoughts but regret in his mind. He was slammed into the mausoleum's side, still being choked by this beast. The Wizard fell to the ground, lifeless. The creature looked at its hands, then its feet, then its chest - and then it turned its head to the town. It had been abandoned for a week or two, evidence of life still clear to him. As he walked through, nostalgic memories flooded him. He turned one of the corners - ah, this was Dyllon's Avenue. He strolled over it, to the park. He looked up. There, there was the statue. Now, here he was. He was no longer Sir Zsan. He was no longer a knight. He was the Statue.

i'd vote for a shaman thing but I just know its gonna turn into some stupid neutral fuckfest like the earthen ring did "xddd arkanan poros mister ork!!!! just bcuz ur people genocided my race doesn't mean we cant be best fucking friends!!!!"

good vibes but on epsilon ? ? ? ?

you got any lovecraftian shit goin on?

make ur signature into a spoiler u dumb

Good

Please don't implement RP Announce. That system is so, just, bad for promoting good RP. I very much prefer our current event system.

somebody already took the laketown guild name so ur goofed there

i look at you and I laugh

If you plan on following the advice of others and restricting the races much more, I would also advise acknowledging racial conflicts and tension. Blood Elves and Humans, Tauren and Blood Elves + Humans, all that.