Ancantatine

Woo! Panda pride!!

Name Ning Ruoxin Character Class: Mistweaver Race: Pandaren Affiliation: Tushui Pandaren Status: Active A single step hits the floor and a pacifying presence draws close, an ignorant knave on the steps to a great, serene tower, as many apprentices of the Arts are told early on in their career, most of them not growing close to their masters in an exponential magnitude. To a stranger, this greenhorn is a pure soul, of which lacks hate and sin not unlike a saint or angel. A kindness rivaling the kindness of a mother flows through her blood, fueling any acts deemable as just far and wide in her quest for greatness. Glittering within her deep brown eyes resides a spark of creativity, that of a child whose dreams have not yet been crushed into the darkest depths of oblivion by the monotony of adulthood. The quiet rapture of her home, a visitor may inquire, tells a story that labels her an opposite force. Littering the floor is nothing but sheets of paper, writing plans of practice and logs and journals of her stalking of the masters, being comparable to the scribbling of a madman. She is obsessed. Obsessed with learning, obsessed with Monkship, obsessed with her teachers, and obsessed with an unfaltering inferno of passion that swallows any other hint of interest, then leaves it in ash. Because of these traits, she is a great student and excels in her studies on the Wandering Isle, being taught patiently by the one, the only Aysa Cloudsinger, though she blends in with the rest of the crowd and Aysa has yet to even acknowledge her, though Ning is sure she will soon. At a glance from an outside perspective, Ning is calm and thoughtful, as all Tushui may find, but her obsessive tendencies may grip her relationships with all five of its black talons, digging into its flesh until it begins to bleed. She can miss whole grand festivals in her meditation, and she definitely can keep in such a state for multiple days straight, though no Nirvana will reach her, as her inner peace sadly does not exist, despite her perfect Tushui posture. At this rate, one may believe that this picture perfect student is corrupt, unable to usurp the noble grandiose of those such as Shaohao, with his mystical staff Shei-Lun, or Chen, with his niece by his side and a belly full of ale, but a penultimate analysis of her mental chemistry dictates that she has no malicious beast behind her soft, calm gaze. Her lust for greatness is strong, too strong to compromise, and for that becoming written in history alongside the greats will become, punctually, alongside the greats. She is cursed as most pupils of her caliber are, because of her unending studies and competition for mastery, she cannot touch those around her, even with a finger as affable as that of a mother, and this seals her fate. Celebrities influence and embrace the hearts of those unwilling to fight, something that Ning was born unable to do. As for her life outside of her studies, despite how little there is, she is the stereotypical Pandaren. She is jolly at the bar and respectful in battle, and as most Pandaren believe, have no enemies; just friends who happen to be in a bad mood. Even to those who throw her around, bruise her body, and poison her soul, she will reach out her hand of friendship and offer a hug, the tight embrace of redemption that all prisoners desire to feel. Wise is not the apprentice of the Wandering Isle, she is nothing like the wise sages one would read about in a book, with their constant use of similes and fortune cookie babble, and her ideas are kept realistic. She knows when to back down from a fight and she is always willing to. Even the most perilous encounter in her eyes is a sparring match that has little benefit to victory. She may or may not be the rare breed of Pandaren who are born with an innate wanderlust, but the stores of old repeat themselves over in her mind, and she knows that once she graduates from her classes on the Wandering Isle, she wants to go out and see all of Azeroth, maybe even beyond. Despite this, as time as passed and her studies have become increasingly rigorous, her zest for life has dulled from its previous exotic spice. On certain days, she hardly leaves her home and her life has transformed into a mess of reading and practice. She is a religious Pandaren, Ning believes in and frequently thanks the August Celestials for their dominion over Pandaria, the land of her ancestors. Yu’lon is the one Celestial who has influenced her life the most, as shown by her interest in Mistweaving rather than the typical fist-and-kick style of many other Monks. Because of her rich following of the Wild God, a small charm depicting the serpent is apparent around her neck at almost all times. While her life does revolve around the activity of study, her uptightness does not disallow short bursts of relaxation, which she craves in the way a child would a sweet, or a Goblin would their gold. An hour in the springs is paradise, though the breaks must be short and not intrude on the rest of her schedule. The Pandaren one would gaze upon is a Pandaren who obviously cares how she looks, and acts to make a good impression. She strives for beauty, as she believes any self-respecting young woman should. Her fur is elegantly brushed and soft, the feeling of the lightest touch resulting in a most pleasurable sensation, gentle and smooth. It is pristine and clean, among other positive adjectives, and must be the work of some holy being. Such fur is a perfect sunset orange, shining with utmost grace and superiority. While her palette is mainly this orange, white seeps in through the gaps, over the bottom half of her face and her front torso, groin, and hands. Two larvae-shaped patches of white also have made center stage above her eyes, resembling the eyebrows that the bald races seem to all have. Her expression is typically blank, merely unenthusiastic rather than tired, though it observes all around it when the two brown orbs at the top-middle are opened. When they are closed, she is thinking deeply on what to do, and one may notice that with each tiny thought process that Ning goes through, a short movement is provided to regulate the flow of her train of thought. Ning’s voice is that of a swan’s and not a frog’s, a student who croaks an ear-piercing “Brekekekex-koax-koax” may as well not be an active student at all. This swanlike voice is smooth and mid-pitch, with words that dribble out of her mouth like honey out of a suspended beehive, slowly, sweet, and holding off the inevitable chance to fall to the ground. In this sense, she looks to the ground in an attempt to avoid eye contact with anyone who may happen to be taller than her, not as a neglection to formality, but simply of her attempt to not enter an awkward situation which may be caused of the locking of two intimate, passionate eyes. Ning is tall, even for the clunky giants that Pandaren women can tend to be. She stands at an astounding 6’ 8”, towering over the majority of human men and standing face-to-face with some orcs. The massive vertical distance the young woman covers is comparable to the width she takes up in scale. She's heavy, as any healthy Pandaren woman should be, but no layers of muscle under such fat have taken place, the Pandaren probably does not work out very often, as if she did her body would surely be a greater deal less in plushiness. The most defined strength in her body lies on her legs, as recently she has taken up the kick-dependent Crane style of Monkship for self defense, when she isn't healing her allies with mist formed from her concentrated Chi. As for the clothing that lies above her physical attributes, Ning follows through with the Goblin proverb, “Go big or go home.” She loves fancy, fine clothes, even if they're impractical. At most formal events she wears a gigantic, magnificent dress that rivals the magnificence of a queen’s dress, and in not-so formal, moreso violent situations, she wears a family heirloom, a bright teal Gi crafted with a fine enchanted silk from a species of Pandarian Silkworm that are now extinct. The enchantment is one that will restore the Gi to perfect condition if it is washed often, magically reweaving the threads if it is broken, a fitting enchantment for an article of clothing owned by this particular Pandaren. It has no practical use in battle. feel free to give constructive criticism

granted! You take everything you want that can be bought, but happiness is sadly not easy to obtain with material things. You quickly become bored of all your stuff and realize that your stuff was only distracting you from your inner depression. I wish I was a superhero who could turn into a sewing machine that only made thongs and socks.

Granted. Instead, you find a rp phase in Gilneas. Everyone roleplays properly, but they all aren't anything more than mediocre. I wish I didn't have to fast before a colonoscopy.

Granted. You're a sorcerer. While you knoe how to use arcane abilities, all of your casting rolls fail, so nobody believes you when you brag about being a wizred. Also, your Intelligence and wisdom are abysmally low. I wish my muffin top wasn't so obviously visible.

I don't really understand what you're saying but... You do know this is a roleplay server rather than a "troll around at max level" server, right?

Yay! You do sick art, but you never recognize yourself as "good." Also, everyone commissions you gross furry art I wish my neighbor would shut their dog up at 4 am

Seo! My fluffy adorable panda priest, of all things. I'm going to try and stay on track with one character, since it's more fun that way than to have to manage 9999999 other ones.

Granted! Paladin RP is better, but since it's so good, everyone flocks to it, forcing the administrators to put a ban on it altogether or something. Nobody can ever RP a paladin again :C I wish every action I did was sponsored by Google.