To be blunt, I’m horribly torn about the buff. On one hand I don’t wish the Naxxramas 40 disease on anyone. That dungeon was a piece of art back in vanilla WoW, but it was so tough that only a teeny tiny portion of the player base got to experience all of it. They brought it back for Northrend and scaled the difficulty way down, of course, but there was something to be said for the glory of Naxx 40’s initial difficulty. You needed precise execution in there – it wasn’t the “40 man zerg fest” of any of the previous vanilla content. In short, that dungeon is where people L2P’d.

I guess my problem is . . . I didn’t think ICC was/is THAT hard. Certain encounters were aggravating, to be sure – Rotface was a healer check and the debuff was ridiculous, Festergut was a DPS check – but otherwise there’s a lot of the same old mechanics. ICC’s rule of thumb is Don’t Stand In Shit, and if the standard WoW player hasn’t figured that out yet, they probably haven’t been paying attention for five years (or they’re dim).

I know, I know, in the long run five percent dps increase isn’t such a huge thing, but I was the type of kid that wasn’t keen on scaling papers either, so I think this feels a little bit like cheating. Honestly, it’s the knowledge that ICC will be given a ten percent buff at some point that’s sticking in my craw, with the possibility of it scaling even MORE later on if Bliz feels like it. Too much! Way too much! Oh, and please don’t bother pointing out that you can shut the dps bonus off to keep the content hard. I realize that, and if I had my way I’d probably not take the buff, but I’m odd and I know others will want to saunter in and cakewalk to their epics.

I’m just not one of ‘em.

I’m going to approach this topic from the other side of the coin – from the person that has no issue putting groups together and has done it for nigh five years. Leading can be the most rewarding thing you do when something goes smoothly; you walk out of your instance or raid feeling like a million bucks because your decisions helped facilitate an enjoyable experience for other people. The problem is, of course, when that doesn’t happen. Whether or not it’s the leader’s fault that something goes awry, the leader always takes and/or feels a sense of responsibility for an under achieving group.

From the person who’s spent half a decade now (scary to think about, that) stepping up the plate, a few things your leaders would like you to remember.

1) We lead because we enjoy it, not because we have to. Stop expecting and ask.

The one thing that gets frustrating as a leader is the group mentality of “well, (s)he’s lead before, obviously (s)he will do it again no problem.” Don’t take this for granted, or one day, when you form a group and just dump that crown on someone without their knowledge, they may surprise you by dumping it back and saying “not today.” Not every day is necessarily going to be the kind of day you want your usual leader doing their usual leading thing. For example, if your leader goes to the grocery store and an old lady runs them over with a cart full of Metamucil. That may not be the best day for you to expect them to herd cats in Occulus.

2) We make mistakes, too. If we’ve made one, cut us some slack and treat us with respect when you address it.

If a leader steps up and is willing to own the success or failure of a group, you have to understand that they’re just as much of a Cheetos eating nerd as you are, and that means they might make a bad call. If you don’t agree with a call, if you think that something is a bad idea, you ought to address it, but be courteous. Words like “Noob” and “Dumbass” will not a happy leader make. A tangential thought to this: if your raid is on Ventrilo and your leader is speaking, if you don’t agree with a call they’re making, talking over them is incredibly annoying and frankly rude. Use your whisper box. A good leader will read it and take all feedback into consideration as long as it’s worded in such a way they don’t want to kill themselves.

3) Leaders owe you nothing. We are not your personal social secretary.

This looks like number one, but isn’t. An example of how a conversation actually went for me about two weeks ago, with three separate people.

“Hey, hey Yva. Yeah, uhh, the Tuesday raid’s Ignis this week. When are we gonna go do it?”

” . . . “

Don’t do this. Ever.

4) Leading can be rewarding, but remember it can also be thankless. If you have concerns with your leader’s performance, talk to them. They can’t fix their leadership if they don’t know there’s a problem with it.

Leading is a skill just like anything else. Some people are great at it, others are good, others lead and shouldn’t because they don’t have the right bedside manner/disposition. Being a solid leader means you need to adapt and change and improve over time. Nothing will adapt or change without feedback and communication from the people doing as you instruct. Bitching about leadership to other raidmates instead of proper channels is a great way to destroy morale AND not see your leader get better.

5) A leader is busy. We have chats, whispers, and people talking on ventrilo to us. Wait your turn.

We’re like octopi at times, doing eight things with eight arms. If we don’t get to your whisper right away, it’s okay to nudge us with a “Hey, did you get my whisper.” Things slip between the cracks. Don’t lose heart because we didn’t answer you or get back to you right away. Really, it might have been a misstep. Of course, sometimes . . .

6) We don’t agree with your suggestion and overrule you. Sorry, move on.

It happens, your leader will do something differently than you’ve suggested. They may have their reasons. If the raid’s not suffering for their decision, but you still can’t get over the fact that your advice has been ignored, it may be time for you to step back from the group, or better yet, consider leading your own.

7) Remember not all people are good at leading, but might want to lead anyway. Choose your groups wisely.

Hey, it happens, there’s people who want to be heard and want to lead and simply shouldn’t. You’ve tried addressing them in a respectful way, you’ve tried constructive criticism, nothing changes and the group’s failing because of it. At this point? Either step up and lead yourself, or leave the group and look for a more suitable leader. Subjecting yourself to a bad experience because you don’t think you’ll get a better one? Not okay.

*****

I think that’s it from the peanut gallery today. Any responses and/or thoughts, feel free to leave ‘em. Ta!

Nothing happens. No one cares. They sorta shrug and go back to playing checkers all the while humming the Warcraft equivalent of a Tom Waits tune. Heart wrenching isn’t it, when you have this great huge thing that you want to start and it gets no play? Instead of sawing at your arms with a butter knife and tuning iTunes to the most emo music ever, it’s time to step back and ask Why did this happen?

Possibility One: The Timing Wasn’t Great

Timing really is everything, and if a group of characters has just recovered from an amazingly difficult story, maybe they need that time with the checkers and the Waits to recoup before they can muster up the energy to have another go. Maybe they have stories of their own that they’re working through and just can’t add more to their plate at this time. Figuring out WHEN to unveil your story is pivotal. One thing I learned from doing a huge arc back in the day called Blood And Sunset is the benefit of an OOC announcement and outline of certain plans beforehand, along the lines of “I’d like to start a story, I’d love guild interaction with it, here’s what I have and what I’d like.” If you request feedback, people will usually give it.

Possibility Two: You Picked The Wrong Audience

Some stories will appeal to certain folks more than others. An example would be the Wildfire Riders collecting northerners like trading cards and the Icecrown thing in game. It’s the perfect storm for them because Arthas decimated Lordaeron early on, and this fight is considered “personal” by many. The characters and the story are symbiotic.

If you have a night elf druid and you want your story to be Elune based, a light loving paladin may not necessarily be the best target for your rants on the merits of worshiping at the Temple of the Moon. If the paladin is one to debate religion, well, bingo, you have a winner. Know thy audience and you will prosper.

Possibility Three: You Wrote A Play, Not Roleplay

This is very, very hard to see sometimes, but when you sit down with a arc, if you sketch out a beginning, an end, and a specific middle and no on has the ability to change any of the details of said arc at any point, you’ve essentially cast a play, NOT invited folks to roleplay. This isn’t to say characters won’t REACT to your drama, of course they will, you scripted it that way. You planned on the rogue’s witty banter and snarky comments, and that priest’s shoulder to cry on. Keep this in mind: if people are going to invest energy in your plans, you need to leave some things open, you need to make them feel like they can contribute and possibly change the course of the events. If you NEED a certain ending to happen for personal roleplay advancement, that’s fine, but at least allow the ‘how you got there’ to be flexible.

Possibility Four: They Just Don’t Find It Interesting

We want to write Hemingway. Sometimes we write manure. It happens. A sign that your story is missing the mark is none of the other factors seem to be a thing, you may have gotten an initial burst of interest, and everything wanes quickly. There’s no shame in asking a player “Hey, you seemed like my story might work for you and then it didn’t. Do you have any suggestions on how this could have gone better?” Feedback, feedback, feedback. Communication is key. And hey, if you look at your notes a little later and go “Yeah, wow, what was I thinking?” Rest assured, everyone who writes does this a lot more than you might realize. We make mistakes, we learn from them, we move on.

Possibility Five: You’re A Drama Llama

If your character has been kidnapped, tortured by Saurfang, maimed by a bear, lit on fire by gnomes AND had a trollish voodoo rite within six months, it might just be that folks are tired of the constant upheaval. Give someone else a chance to shine, for Christ’s sake! One thing I’ve had discussions with others about before is the need to spread the love for RP. It’s one thing to present a story because NOTHING is going on and people need a kick in the pants to get going again. It’s quite another to stack drama upon drama upon drama and expect saving and all of the glory. If you’re looking for realism in your RP, characters need wins from time to time, it can’t always be a big pile of shit, or what’s the point in continuing on? You might as well feed yourself to this guy. There is such a thing as too much of a good (or bad) thing.

*****

Flops in stories are very hard to stomach, but don’t think that because one story goes awry every story will. That’s not the nature of the beast. Even if everything looks dim because you had a lot riding on the outcome of your proposed RP and it went south, keep a few things in mind:

- Try, try, again. The next story will likely be a lot better because you’re going into it armed with the WHY of your previous failure and you can avoid pitfalls.
- It happens to everyone.
- Your friends will help you through it.

It’s amazing going over all of the roleplay advice threads and discussions we’ve had on this blog how MUCH goes back to communication. Discussing your wants, needs, and yes FAILURES with others can open your eyes and teach you a lot. People are more than happy to help when asked. There’s this saying called pay it forward, and that means when people help you, you will likely be willing to help them when their flop time comes up. Talk it out, ask for pointers and ask for advice if you’re unsure. It will get you far.

Ta!

The easiest answer is, of course, to continue roleplaying with other people and see what happens. That isn’t without its complications, though, especially if there is a lack of insight on what the other character/rp’er is planning. If they aren’t forthcoming with details or ideas, how do you move ahead? Having been in this situation a couple times with my six trillion alts, I’ve been able to try a few approaches, and here’s what has worked for me.

A) Keep things vague. If the character is in a relationship and the relationship is just over thanks to non-IC fuckery, it’s all right to just say “It’s done” and leave it at that. If people pry for details, don’t give any. “I don’t think that’s any of your business” is a perfectly legitimate answer. Being vague also ensures that you’re not godmodding someone else’s character. I don’t think anything could be/would be more awkward than if your RP partner went away and you said they died in a fiery inferno only for them to re-up their subscription months later and go “HAY U GUYZ, I’M HEER LOLS!”

B) Get into your character’s head and try to figure out what makes them tick. So someone left them, do they man up and suck it up and pretend nothing happened? Do they get depressed? Do they get caustic? Play with this. It’s not ideal that story arcs are left flailing, but that doesn’t mean your character doesn’t /feel/ things about it, and revisiting their headspace may give you a platform to relaunch him or her.

C) Rely on your other friends to help you gain focus. If you really are feeling like you have no direction with your character, it’s okay to say “Hey Buddy, Hey Pal, Hey Friend, is there anything Shecky The Warrior King can do with you? I’m having a hard time with him lately and could really use a story.” Most folks are reasonable, and real friends will be happy to help you.

D) It’s okay to take a break and refocus. If you are too worked up over a bad split, if you aren’t feeling the character, if you aren’t sure what to do because an rp partner is gone, it’s all right to take some time to think about it. Come up with an IC reason for your character to be by him or herself and when you’re feeling better about things, forge ahead.

E) Retconning. It’s the least ideal suggestion, but if things just went too far and you don’t think any of it’s workable, retcon aspects of the character or relationship. If it makes you happiest to pretend a lot of it was a big bad dream, or that your character believes it was, talk to other players around you, explain, and retcon away.

I’m sure there are other suggestions out there on how to work through the unexpected loss of an rp relationship, and I’d be happy for folks to chime in with comments! One thing I will add before I go: before you resort to any of this, sometimes an email to your absentia rp partner will do you wonders. If you still have a working relationship with the other player, they’re just incommunicado thanks to school or work or real life things, reaching out to them and asking can solve everything. They may tell you that their character is away or dead, missing or lost. If you’re comfortable with their explanation, it may save you a lot of trouble and uncertainty.

Ta!

This was a fiction I did for a character I never rolled. I think it’s sad, now, because she’s still a very vibrant, distinct personality in my head, but I’m so busy with alliance side nonsense I doubt she’ll ever come to exist.

Enjoy!

*****

Written in an imprecise hand with a dull brown ink. The pages are bound together by twine looped through jagged holes. Everything is in trollish.

The dark priestesses of Samedi worshiped their loa with blood and sacrifice, and my mother was no different. I remember watching her swirl a brush over her skin, the paint crusting on the curve of her breast in a brilliant smear of red. Copper beads adorned her pale hair, and loops of bells encased her ankle. The wooden bracelets lining her arm from wrist to elbow would click together with her steps.

Most trolls wear cloth and hides dyed bright yellows and blues, vibrant colors to match the paint on our tusks and the tattoos on our skin, but my mother always wore black, clearly marking her as an Oracle of the Dead. She looked different than everyone else, but she never seemed to mind. Her faith was strong, and she knew her sacrifices honored our loa. Everything she did – from dressing to eating to killing upon our alters – was done in accordance with ritual and propriety.

Every breath she took was in the great Samedi’s name.

Once a month – when the moon was fullest in the sky – she would dance on the shores of the Stranglethorn beaches to honor the fallen heroes of the Darkspear. The villagers would ask for her blessings so their loved ones would rest well at death. The faithful would gather at dusk to sing the spirits to peace. It was said that the priestesses of Samedi were the best dancers in all of the world, and from my memories of them, it could be true. There was no preparation for their rituals, no practice or choreography, there was only the dull beat of a drum and a reedy pipe instrument. The women would gather in a circle and move with the rhythm, taken by whatever inspiration they could find in the moonlight and the music. They were hypnotic, like blue and green flames swaying in the sand.

The villagers were devoted to the rites then. Sometimes the families of the fallen would come to find solace in the dance ceremony or the ensuing sacrifice. The priestesses did not mind their audience; death was just another part of life, and everyone should celebrate Samedi’s mysteries as much as they would a birth.

As a girl I would watch my mother prepare for the ceremonial dance, and I would dream of one day being like her, of serving our spirit as dutifully as my mother’s mother and her mother before her. My family had been blessed by death, they said, and with the proper ritual we could see the misty worlds beyond our own. Few were willing to dedicate their lives to the upkeep of our cemeteries and the care of our dead. I do not mean to imply that trolls fear death – quite the contrary – but we are a race who worships the elements and the battle and the blood in our veins. Honoring life calls to more of our young than the somber summons of the grave, and that is how it ought to be.

This was long ago, when the trolls were less spread than they are now, and the crowds they could muster were so much greater. This was before we had to rely upon orcs and taurens in times of dire need. This was before we were forced to embrace the abominations of the undead to our bosom in an outright act of betrayal to our great death loa.

Though Aziella – my mother – has been gone for many years, taken and then felled during a struggle with the Skullsplitter tribe, I sometimes hear the telltale jingle of her steps. I can hear the ringing of her bells, and the clacking of her bracelets. It only happens on misty mornings, when I peer at the beautiful waters outside of Zoram’gar where I make my home, but I know she’s there. I know her steps are echoing in the thrum of the tide lapping the shore, and it is this that keeps my faith strong.

I understand the importance of my call, of the black garb I wear and the copper bells I put around my waist, and I do honor to her by doing honor to Samedi. It is how she – and her mother, and her mother’s mother – would want it. I am their progeny, and even though there are few trolls around to witness my dances in the sand, I know that honoring our great dead matters, if not to our young who are ever changed by the influences of the rest of the horde, then to the spirits of our ancestors whispering on the tides.

Page Two.

There’s an ‘academic estimation’ that any race that eats the flesh of a dead person is savage and primitive. Everything I’ve read about trollish practices likens our rites to the feasting of mindless animals. They suggest our people rip flesh from bone simply for the joy of eating meat. They compare us to the forsaken, and I cannot tell you how much the comparison wounds. There is ceremony involved in trollish cannibalism, a sense of ritual, that goes beyond ‘I eat this flesh for power’. No, it’s not that at all, though many unfamiliar with Darkspear ways claim it is. Cannibalism for the sake of proving superiority over another is a forsaken trait, and one I liken to an animal pissing on something to prove its ownership. There is no glory in that, no meaning.

The trolls, we are not so petty or so doglike.

The spirits of the dead can be malicious creatures, angry at the living for drawing breath when they cannot. They are fickle, and vengeful, and even if they are given proper ceremony and homage at the funeral rites, it does not always appease. The process of eating the meat of the dead was to keep the angry spirits at bay, to hold power over them so their ghosts would not plague the living. It was – and arguably is – the best way to prevent an angry spirit from wreaking havoc on the living.

When our tribe joined the horde, Thrall told us that we had to stop eating our dead in ritual, that our traditions wouldn’t be tolerated. We relented, instead adopting other means of keeping the spirits leashed. These methods are less effective and lack the ritual of the old ways, and I loathe them for it. Samedi must rage over the bastardization of her sacred rites. She was, after all, the loa most affected by this ignorant decree.

(The fact that Sylvanas’s abominations still eat the flesh of the living does not make this slight any better, truth be told. I do not hear Thrall chiding the forsaken or demanding that they change their ways. I digress, though; my frustrations with our allegiances are a discussion for another day. I write today about cannibalism, not the double standards of our political allies.)

The first time I ate the meat of another being was at the Winter Rites. Our tribe had lost three great hunters to a group of humans in the Southern Peninsula, and there was much mourning in the village. The eldest of the fallen was to be our next chieftain, and his death was yet another harbinger of the ill times to come. My mother wore her paints that day, her white and red markings to appease the loa, and she told me that I would be allowed to dance for the first time as her apprentice and heir.

I was barely nine, and still had no breast or curve to speak of. I remember my frock as a shapeless black tube, as simple and as awkward as the gangly girl beneath it. Though I was not painted as my mother – that honor was for fully trained priestesses – I got to wear wooden jewelry and copper bells in my hair. The more skilled I became, the more accessories I would be allowed to wear, but until then, I was a smaller, less impressive version of my mother. I did not mind, though. The excitement of partaking in the dance was enough for me.

We approached the shores at sunset, and I remember the large crowds gathered around the bonfires. The three slain warriors were laid on slabs, surrounded by flowers and candles and rich incense sticks that sweetened the air. The musicians sat on small benches by the ocean.

When Samedi’s other priestesses arrived – there were three in total – we all took position around the fire, our hands above our heads, our eyes closed. As I stated before, there was no choreography to our dance, and my mother’s only instructions were ‘to dance what I feel’. It made no sense at first, and I remember some apprehension about it, but when the drum started tapping and the flutes began to play, my nonexistent hips moved of their own accord. Soon, I too was a small green flame dancing on the beaches to celebrate our woeful dead.

After a time, when sweat slicked our bodies and the crowds hummed along with the music, my mother raised her arms above her head and said it was time to lay our brothers to rest. She approached the stone slabs and pulled a great knife from her belt. Her words were as unrehearsed as her dance, but everyone there would swear she spoke Samedi’s own tongue as she cut into the chieftain’s thigh. The slices were small, smaller than the pad of her thumb, and she handed one to each of the priestesses with a hand motion that I later learned was our tribe’s own special blessing.

I was gifted with one of those first pieces as well.

I watched the elder women raise the flesh to their mouths, and I mimicked them, unsure of what to do. Aziella tilted her head back and bellowed a great cry that echoed through the jungle, and the tribe pounded their spears on the ground and screamed in response. When the ruckus reached its pinnacle, my mother put the meat into her mouth, signaling the start of the death rites, and everyone held their collective breaths as the other priestesses followed her lead. I, too, put the meat of our warrior into my mouth, chewing as they chewed. I’d expected it to have a strong taste. I expected it to be disgusting and rank, but truly, it tasted like an undercooked piece of raptor meat. It was rubbery and coppery, though not all together bad. I swallowed it down and waited, staring at my mother, hoping she saw how well I’d done copying her.

I could tell she was pleased by her wink. My cheeks flushed red and I had to suppress a girlish giggle against my shoulder.

After the priestesses ate the flesh, they moved aside, offering the bodies to first the families of the dead hunters, and then the rest of the tribe. I heard our people murmur prayers and blessing as they encircled the remains. It took a long while for everyone to get a turn, but finally, when the sky was full dark and I could see the stars on the wavecrests, we were done. The spirits would be appeased, all that ate of the bodies would not fear the wrath of the angry dead.

My mother hummed as she pulled a sheet over the mangled carcasses, sprinkling each of them with blessed herbs. Again she raised her hands to the skies, and again she yelled as the first flame was brought down upon the altars, setting the bodies afire. This time, when the priestesses danced, there was no music, only the crackling and hissing of our dead as they were sent to their afterlife, their ghosts no longer threatening us or our loved ones.

For those who have never seen this ritual, it is a beautiful thing, and a proper way to honor the loss of a great brother. I say to those who would call the Darkspear savages to experience the mysteries of our funerals before passing judgment, because there IS a magic to the rites that cannot be expressed on paper. There is a feeling on the air of completion and peace, of doing well by someone who would not want to haunt their loved ones if given the choice. What we did for them – it was a good thing.

Now, the rites have changed to accommodate our ties with the orcs and the tauren. The fleshless funerals are similar to the one I’ve described, but . . . some of the majesty of it is gone. The process is longer, as cannibalism is forbidden, and we have to add so many more things to keep the angry ghosts from harming us. I don’t mean to imply that I resent the extra work of a proper troll funeral; that’s not it at all. No, it’s more I remember the strong magics of my mothers own ceremonies and I grow nostalgic for the old ways, the good ways.

Perhaps one day, when we’ve reestablished ourselves, we can break away from our naysayers and return to our roots and the things we hold beloved. I doubt it will happen in my lifetime, but maybe by writing about my own past, a future generation will learn what they need to recapture our lost rites. Perhaps one day, a trolless oracle may do her Samedi proper by embracing rituals lost to time.

People who are stuck listening to me blather on about RP have heard me fling the term “RP’ing yourself into a corner” around quite a bit. I think I shall expound upon it in today’s post.

Most of the roleplayers I know are very good at their craft – they don’t do lorebreakingly stupid things, they don’t pursue stories that will end in frustration for those around them. They tend to stay in character. Hardcore. And this is where “RP’ing yourself into a corner” can become a danger. The statement (to me) means that you have essentially chosen a specific path for your character, followed it by being what you consider true to the character’s head space, and because of it, everyone around you treats you in such a way you don’t like, your story is static, or you feel like without a major retcon things just aren’t workable anymore. It’s a frustrating place to be (I have been there, oh yes), mostly because it’s usually your own choices that got you into the predicament in the first place, you THOUGHT you were doing the right thing, but now you aren’t having fun. As RP is supposedly about having fun, something is wrong.

Most people I play with make sure that their characters are flawed enough to be interesting. As we all know, there is a delicate balance between exploring flaws and bludgeoning people with them so you alienate everyone. The good news is, people who play up flaws tend to keep the communication lines open so they can discuss “Okay, I want to do X, Y, Z. Will it work for you? If it’s not, what can we do to change it. At the end of the story arc I still want to RP with you.” Arrens has a great bit about relationships in game and how to make them work, and his advice of OOC communication about expectations is especially noteworthy. To avoid the pitfall of finding yourself stuck in a corner, you NEED those conversations with the people you RP with, especially if you find yourself on the slippery slope of “I feel like I might be losing people with my RP, I need to keep them on board, what do we do at this point to make it happen?” A collective brainstorm and a frank discussion of where the characters are at and what needs to happen to keep the story line moving will usually keep the arc alive. Nothing is worse than going with the story only to find out AFTER the fact that the people you play with have given up on it. “You’ve made my character feel __________, and thus she’s done with the situation.”

/insert big Buzzer noise of a person losing a gameshow.

RP is a collective thing, it takes multiple people else it’s just mental masturbation (which, hey, maybe that’s your thing. I won’t judge). “RP’ing yourself into a corner” generally manifests in “I have done certain things RP’ly that have left me all by myself – no one will play with me or RP with me in the way I need for my character’s story to progress in a satisfying manner.” I guess you can go wax philosophical for an hour about how to fix things, but generally, roleplay works better with two or more minds. As such, it means a willingness on your part to bend when you have to bend, and for others to do the same.

Example. I liken RP to those “Choose your own adventure” books you read as a kid: the hero sees a chest in a clearing and it’s unguarded, do you:

* Open the chest and take the goods inside, who cares about consequences!
* Ignore the chest, it is clearly someone else’s and only bad can befall those who take from others!
* Put a note on the chest expressing your interest in opening it, and return in three days to see if anyone has claimed it or replied! If not, it’s free game.

When you’re faced with an RP conflict, say you stumble across this chest, some folks won’t take the time to go over the options in their head before rushing into things. They will select the first option because ‘it’s the most fun!’ or ‘will result in the most interesting rp’ or ‘Helga Rogueface would totally do this’. However. Let’s say you go to this clearing with a noble paladin friend who walks the good path. You snitch the goods in the chest and snicker to yourself about your find. Your paladin friend has seen you do nefarious things like this over and over, and has had enough! He can no longer stomach your wicked deeds, and has decided you and he can no longer be friends. He stalks off, and there you are in a clearing alone with a handful of mana potions and light leather going “Whoa. WAIT!” You try to have the roleplayed conversation of “But it was just THERE, Mate” and the character brushes you off, or says he’s reporting you to the authorities.

To avoid the “RP’ing yourself into a corner” bit so you’re not the sad sack standing around with a useless blacksmithing pattern and a murloc eye, before you open that chest and just assume things will be fine, have the conversation with the other player, especially if there’s been a history of conflict between the two. If he plans on stalking off, okay, good, but get a fix to the situation beforehand so you’re not left alone and holding the bag. If it’s the breaking point for your imaginary paladin friend, if your character has just pushed them to the limits and this will be it, well . . . you might want to go back to those options and hold off on pursuing the first choice, eh? Maybe your character realizes “I’ve really pushed Tommy the Lightflinger too far and my character would kinda realize that, so I’ll go with the note, option three.” Is it one hundred percent ideal? Prolly not (hey, light leather and gray axes are hot commodities, amirite?) but it will ensure that you’re not standing in the corner alone at the end of the day, wondering where things went wrong.

I think that’s all I can say about this one, so . . . comments or questions away! Ta!

*****

Yva Darrows is in a grassy field in Elwynn, watching a blue dragon flit near Jak’s head and wondering if this was her best idea. The blues are said to be hyper intelligent – at least, that’s what the books suggested. More cunning than most people, a drake hunter in Everlook said, and she’d just gone and procured one of the beasties from Winterspring without hesitation. Jak seems pleased enough, like it was a suitable gift, but she’s having second and third thoughts now. What if he turns out to be a problem? What if he’s smarter than they are? What if he ends up eating the dogs? Or her?

Oh pish. Too late now.

She plasters on a huge smile for Balthasar’s benefit.

“So you like him?”

“Of course I like him.”

She nods and Jak opens his new coat, suggesting she should get under it to share the warmth. Elwynn at night suffers a chill, as she knows. She does so, still smiling all bright and cheery, but her thoughts are racing about the new family member. Jak murmurs in her ear, his arms wrap around her, and the worry of the drake starts to fade away.

It’s only until much later when she’s squeaking like an under oiled gear that she realizes the drake is watching them.

Oh drat. I think it’s grinning.

*****

Vincenza Whitten has her foot in her brother-in-law’s lap. He’s massaging it, his smile aloof, but every once in a while his fingers stray up the back of her calf. She’s too drunk to think about it overly much. Besides, Bairix is here and Bran wouldn’t pursue anything too improper with his brother just a room away.

“I am so glad the two of you came over,” Lea says. “I was so afraid we’d not spend this holiday together.” Her smile is as sloppy as they come thanks to the two bottles of wine the women had shared, and she’s sprawling in the couch near the fireplace looking as content as a cat.

Bran’s hand snakes up to Vincenza’s knee, and then slide slides up to her thigh. The beautiful little smile remains in place as his fingers graze over her skin. She shudders, and it’s not from pleasure.

Damn it. Maybe he would pursue something improper.

“Stop that,” Vinnie leans in and squashes his nose with her finger, her voice low.

“Stop what?” Bairix’s voice this time, from the dining table where he’s enjoying his whiskey. She can feel his eyes on the back of her head.

Vinnie has a choice now – to tattle on Bran or to protect him – and in her addled state she chooses the one that will result in the brothers fighting the least.

“Bran’s just rubbing my foot, love. It’s nothing,” she lies.

*****

Rosilia Mathers is very drunk, but then, forty shots of blue label whiskey with her sister would do that. This was the first really good Winter’s Veil they’d had since they were kids. They had money, they had a roof over their heads. They were even able to exchange real gifts instead of hand drawn cards and whatever was pinchable off of the local gift carts.

“To us,” she says sloppily, raising her shot glass over her head.

“To us,” Lyr says in that same voice, mirroring the motion. They rap their knuckles on the kitchen table three times and shoot the whiskey back before dribbling into their chairs in boneless heaps.

“Holy shit. It burns so good,” Rosie rasps.

“I think I’m gonna puke.”

“Me too.”

” . . . AWESOME.”

And it was.

I’d like to touch on what I’m afraid of going forward. If you ever did the Illidan fight in BT, you saw Maiev come in and pretend to be helpful. She dropped traps all over that would hurt Illidan. There were a few snippets of dialogue here and there that came across as needless color commentary (OH LOOK LORE, WEEE). To be fair, Chaos pretty much ignored the traps (and her) unless a trap got dropped right near where Caulle tanked him, but . . . point being, there was NPC help and scripting. I’m fearing NPC help on the Arthas fight, BIG TIME, mostly because YOU KNOW WHO will be back to BE OUR GREAT SAVIOR.

No, no thank you. No PLEASE.

I have two major concerns with Jaina popping in during the Arthas fight:

a) They martyr her. She dies and we’re all supposed to cry. We won’t, but we’re supposed to think about crying. Maybe.

b) She saves the day, you don’t actually beat Arthas, she’s a total kill stealer.

Either of those scenarios do not please me. Let’s tackle A first. If Jaina pops in, realizes HEY I KILLED TONS OF FOLKS WHEN I WAS TRYING TO FIGURE OUT IF YOU WERE REALLY THAT EVIL, and throws herself in front of him to take the brunt of his magic so we can nuke him . . . that’s dramatic lame at its finest. It’s overly done and cliche, reeks of the actor who grabs his chest and totters around a stage for five minutes before he finally falls to the ground. The bright side? At least the bint is dead so there won’t be anymore dungeons with her bitching about how she’d rather be studying.

Scenario B would actually bother me MORE, though, because . . . well, no one likes a kill stealer in PvP, and if you already loathe the npc going into the fight thanks to terrible writing, how the heck are you going to feel if she’s like THANKS FOR DOING THE BRUNT OF THE HARD WORK, I’M HERE TO FINISH HIM OFF. SQUEE!

No, no no no no.

I guess it’s safe to say that the 5 mans have made me dubious about the end of Citadel. I will admit that the first four bosses in ICC 10s/25s have made me happy (especially the Saurfang bit, which was VERY WELL DONE), but . . . yeah. Fingers crossed that I’m wrong about those two scenarios. Time will tell I suppose.

(One thing worth noting, thank you itanya, Sylvanas is abrupt and bitchy through the hordeside equivalent dungeons, which makes me want to watch Gharr or Davien one day just to get some exposure to an NPC that doesn’t make me want to rip my eyes out. I don’t mind NPC influence if the NPC is written well.)

Is this a bad thing? No, not really, not within the confines of Niche RP. “What is Niche RP, though?” Well? I’d identify Niche RP as roleplay that happens when conditions are ideal for a character to shine. “When X, Y, or Z goes awry, we want __________ around.” I suppose this could be a bad thing if the niche doesn’t manifest often, but Yva’s in a great place . . . she’s the go to person whenever shit goes strange. Her specialty? “Heinous fuckery most foul” to use Tarquin’s term. Yva is called into roleplay scenarios when no one can think of a normal response to a common or uncommon difficulty. Because this is where she works best, I try to make each and every one of these situations special. Doing so makes people continue to see my character as a resource when things get weird, and the invitations to partake in amazing stories keep coming in.

How does this affect the playability of my character? It does mean my roleplay is sporadic. There are some months where I’ve been called into three and four story arcs at a time. There are other months where I could hear crickets, and the most RP I’d get on Yva would be a few random smatterings of conversation with people who look at her IC’ly and try not to claw their own faces off when she starts yammering on about something dark and weird.

For anyone looking to build a “specialty character”, I think there needs to be some considerations to those downside. The first and most obvious one is the lulls in roleplay. No one always needs the witch to come out of her tower. Children are not always eating Yva’s gingerbread house. With niche rp, you also have to expect the roleplay to have a common theme. This does not mean you have a one dimensional approach to story, but there’s always going to be some evidence of your niche in your interactions. Also, too, is the probability of other people doing “your role” and you having to be all right with it, even if other folks dancing your jig comes at a time when you’re RP starved. Ilarra Stormrunner is just as insane and talented as Yva, and there are times people approach Ila for things that Yva would otherwise do well. Do I resent her for being as much of a space cadet as Darrows? No way, but I do make sure I don’t elbow in where I’m not wanted, even if it’s tempting.

(Of course, the answer to the Ila and Yva situation can sometimes just be pair them up, and isn’t THAT just a bad idea.)

For all that there are obvious drawbacks, I think the pay off in a niche character is huge. When you do get involved in arcs, they tend to be well thought out. Other characters have set a rich background and I get to walk in at just the right time, reaping the benefits of their labors. I also get to throw monkey wrenches in plans by suggesting things that to Yva, would be completely normal, but to other people, are brain meltingly awful. Watching reactions to that is priceless.

For anyone looking to make a super specialist, I wish you luck and patience with the endeavor. It is a labor of love at times, but one that I think is well worth the pitfalls. If I had one piece of advice it’s find something that grounds the character, makes it more common. In Yva’s case, it is a smarmy yet normal significant other who challenges her reign as a domestic terrorist. It gives her a bit of realism and fills the quiet time in between the lunatic rp. It also makes her somewhat accessible to other characters, who now have something better to say to her than “Hey, nice felhound, why’d he just eat that guy’s eyes out.” You’d be surprised how far that goes with folks.

Ta!

*****

Yva:

“To settle down for a time, I think. I’ve done a lot of traveling in a little time, and perhaps I ought to see about changing my lifestyle now that I’ve a reason to do so. Imagine that, the Ice Witch wearing an apron and attacking dirty dishes instead of people. Odd, isn’t it?

Jak and I have property in Southshore – well, Jak does. The Balthasars were rich in land, apparently. We’ve at least a half dozen sets of plans for houses, and he really needs to decide which he likes best. He keeps tweaking things and then untweaking them. Rather irritating, but at least he’s enthusiastic. Maybe when that’s built and things are settled down we could look at having children while we’ve the energy to keep up with them. I don’t know, though. I fear I’m a little more enamored with the idea than he is.”

Rosilia:

“I don’t get all the talk about ‘When the war’s over’. Like we’ve ever had ten minutes of fucking peace before. C’mon. When this wars over someone will fuck something else up and we’ll be tits deep in a shitstorm again, mark my words. Don’t mean to sound like the bearer of bad news, Sweetheart, but pretending killing Arthas takes care of everything is a bunch of bullshit. You ask me? Anything you want to do in life should be done as quickly as possible, cause fuck only knows what’s going to shit next.”

Seylon:

“Don’t see it changin’ much for me an’ Kitty, to be honest. Don’t get me wrong, Arthas ain’t all roses an’ sunshine, but outside of maybe makin’ the rotters go ass up, we’ll be doin’ what we do. I got my girls to train, he’s got his shop an’ naps. Kitty likes his fuckin’ naps.

Kinda makes me sound like an asshole, don’t it. I know Arthas ain’t just a human problem, an’ if I sounded like that m’sorry, Sugar. S’just . . . we fight him cause it’s our friends who’re out there dyin’ on the lines if we don’t. He’s done a fuckload more to the humans than us, so they’re more passionate ’bout it s’all. An’ in their shoes? I’d be raisin’ the goddess damned roof over it too.”

*****

Share away!