While we’re not about to discuss a lot of Cata–at least, not yet**–we can start looking back at Wrath of the Lich King. What were some of the best RP experience within the Client itself? What were some of the best experiences that you created OR participated in? Why were these experiences so memorable?

**Come back saturday…

Haylie Dannis calmly strolled from the front entrance of the Pig and Whistle, jaw set and cheeks flushed. Bright, metallic armor glinted as the sun reflected from the polished steel, glowing an eerie blue as large, Stormwind officer’s cloak upon her shoulders gave brief rise to the passing, end of winter breeze.

“Wail nae,” the moment of clarity she enjoyed as she stepped from the pub was suddenly interrupted by a voice that grated on her mind possibly as much as that of ‘Shakes’ Everett, the stuttering pickpocket from across Old Town.

“Looks t’be as if ye wair enjoyin’ ‘at lunch a’fore Battertongue reckoned t’be a sore-arse at ye.”

Haylie’s jaw set tighter as she slowly glances aside into the shadows. “Erskine…”

Haylie’s armored back slammed into the wall as she gasped, eyes wide in a mix of excitement and fright – and quickly squinted shut as the mouth of her assailant pushed daringly against hers. Plated hands slapped at the leathered shoulders of the slender, short black-haired man upon her, who eventually released her from the kiss, dark eyes set upon hers as he kept the paladin trapped against her office wall.

“Boss wants t’see ye.”

“Shaw?” she asked, blinking and staring at the man in the shadows.

“Albrecht, an I do kin he means t’see ya righ’ nae.” A smiles, visible even in the shadows, rolled across the lips of the agent, white teeth sucking in what light they could to become visible.

“Fine.” She turned away and began her stroll towards the SI:7 building.

Erskine blinked and slipped from the shadows, following behind her. “Jes fine aye? No ‘allo Erskine – lookin’ sharp t’day Erskine – sorry ’bout yair balls, Erskine?!”

“I rarely find need to be apologetic about comedy. Good day, Agent.”

“Wah? ‘Ow’s abouts I buy ye a drink later?”

Haylie continued to walk, expression unphased. “I don’t date anyone I’m potentially going to arrest one day. Good day, Agent.”

Erskine grinned and tilted his head, watching the armored guard stroll away. “Ye’ll be changin’ ‘at tune soon enough, Dannis.”

“Commander Albrecht, it’s good to see you, sir.”

“Quite a charm to see you too, Knight-Captain Dannis. Do have a seat.”

Haylie obliged the aging man, who’s once coal-black hair and goatee was now lined with traces of grey. Luckily for him, they came in stylishly at the center of the beard and side of the head, making the Commander appear rather striking in his fifties.

“A little bird tells me you just had a run in with the Riders on your lunch break?”

Haylie blinked, eyes going wide as she stammered. “B..but, that was not more than ten minutes ago… How did you..?”

“We’re the government – we know everything, Haylie. May i call you Haylie?”

“I err…” She blinked again, caught off guard. “Well, we’re both on duty…”

“Ah yes, duty. Duty calls, and the brave Knight-Captain Dannis always answers the call! It’s a trait we all enjoy about you, very much.”

Haylie squirmed a bit and just stared, already knowing the coming moments weren’t goingto be too preety for her.

“What a coincidence it is that tempers had to get heated in your presence, Dannis. I am rather sure you’re going to enjoy the ‘duty’ I have set for you tonight.”

Haylie groaned and rubbed at her eyes, murmuring. “Commander Albrecht, can’t you have someone else deliver them? I can’t even go into my favorite bar without arresting six people anymore because of all this.”

“On the contrary, Knight-Captain, that’s why we do send you.”

The Commander opened a folder on his desk before Haylie, who watched on with a flat gaze, obviously a good bit more upset by now. Lifting several sheets of paper, he began flashing them briefly before her, all loaded with a list of names and numbers.

“Your peers, Dannis. Exactly four-thousand six hundred and thirty-eight of your peers. A growling list of employees in the Stormwind who have accepted bribes of some sort or the other.”

Haylie’s gaze grew wider in a mix of shock and anger. “You’re spyin’ on…”

“What do you think Stormwind is,” he interrupted. “A magical kingdom where every citizen is of free will to do as he wishes, live as she wishes, deciding who and what goes?”

Albrecht laughed. “This is a monarchy, Dannis. The only true ‘right’ any citizen of Stormwind has, is the right to pay their taxes and not question the uthority of the government. Speaking of, you truly should quit being so kind to these people running you over.”

“Bu-…”

“Drag Bittertongue out into the street and have his teeth kicked out of his mouth in public one day, you’ll find a lot more respect the next time you go for a drink.”

“No, thank you, Commander.” Her gaze fell to the desktop and the older man smirked.

“Sense of justice, and humanity. Amazing woman, just like her father. Regardless of whether you wish to be bullied around or not though, Knight-Captain, when Shaw informed me to choose someone we could rely on in this matter, I went straight to you. Why? Because your name is not on that list, nor will it ever be. What’s that name they’re calling you now?”

“Commander…”

“Yes, yes, the one they call you in the alleys. Haylie No-Purse?” He laughed. “Not too creative, but quite true. Listen to me, Dannis. The Riders are infamous for their bribes, as well as they are for their charming attitudes, bullying, and their sly, serpentine, mountan-breasted snake-tongued sorceress who keeps weaseling her way higher on the positional charts.”

He tapped the bribery sheets on the desk, and then pointed to Haylie. “None of those things are problems with you. Duty is your ally, your driving force, and you’d rather die then not perform your duties. We need you for this.”

“With all due respect, you’re using an honest officer to serve an investigation into bogus crimes, Commander. ” Haylie frowned deeply as she spoke.

“Oh, Dannis.” he waved his hand absently. “Don’t go assuming we’ve led a witch hunt against ap Danwyrith. These are simply charges, and if so bogus as you say, he wouldn’t have needed to flee, and he would have stood before the magistrate to be cleared. I’m quite sure there’s a lot more things he’s actually guilty of if we were just out to get him. Aren’t you?”

“Well, I…”

“Exactly,” interrupted again! “So I want you to deliver these summons back to the Pig and Whistle. Afterwards, have a drink on me and the rest of the night off.”

Haylie swallowed, cheeks reddening as she gathered the scrolls from the desktop and slipped to her feet, saluting. “I’ll get right on it, Commander Albrecht.”

“I knew you would, Knight-Captain… Oh, and…. Haylie?”

“Sir?” She blinked, caught off-guard by the casual shift of his voice.

“Just Nathan. Expect a nice little bonus with your pay this weekend.”

The commander’s lips tugged upwards in a smile, as did Haylie’s. She watched him for a brief moment, only for the smile to face before responding.

“No thank you, Commander Nathan, I won’t be bribed, by anyone.”

Albrecht’s smile dropped as the Knight-Captain turned and exited his office.

“She’s a wild wan, Commander.” a chuckling voice of familiarity drifts from the shadows as Erskine slips into view. “I’m wailin’ t’bet she’s a fookin’ tiger in th’ sack too.”

“So we dream, Agent.” The Commander shakes his head and sighs.

“Aye, dream, aheh.” The rogue stopped beside the desk, drumming his fingers on the wood. “Anythin’ goes bad at th’ interrogations, an’ ye know they’re ganan kill ‘er, aye?”

“Without Tarquin in town, and those other idiots running his show – the thought had crossed my mind, Agent Erskine.” Another folder is brandished from the desk, and handed to the rogue.

“That’s why you’re going to send her north again. It’s time she logs her field training and the necessary combat time required for her Marshal studies. That should give things time to blow over.”

“I’ll get righ’ onnit, sir.” Erskine responded, snatching up the folder and slinking back into the shadow. An audible pop and a puff of smoke left the Commander to silence.

Recently, someone at SI:7 made a move against the Wildfire Riders. At the expense of Arrens, they trumped up some charges and sent Tarquin running to Dalaran. That was the first move. Petty bureaucrats and lower-status gangs then started nibbling at the Rider’s flanks. It is not a good time to wear the Black and Red.

Now my computer has nothing against the Riders. It did, however, have a nasty screen flickering issue that needed looking into. So I am out of the game for another week or so. The current Riders situation, combined with my forced break, led to this particular story. Here, Bricu is forced to be apart from his friends and family as they head to war.

Bricu spent seven days, visiting seven different officers, to receive the same bloody answer: “Talk to my superior.”

After a week of visiting military personnel across the Alliance, Bricu was finally summoned to see Lord Grayson Shadowbreaker. The orders he received included notice to “pack your field kit and discuss deployment.” So he arrived at the Cathedral, with Wot in tow, his bags fully packed.

“Hold the reigns boyo, I’ll be back in a wee bit,” he said to his nervous squire. Wot simply nodded.

In Brother Sarno’s place, there was another friar who greeted Bricu with a traditional and almost sincere blessing. Bricu didn’t acknowledge his presence. He marched directly to Shadowbreaker’s private chamber.

“OI! Grayson!” Bricu shouted. “Yeh gonna tell me what this is about then?!”

“Bittertongue, you will be respectful in this house of worship!” Grayson said. He was ministering to another paladin–one who had just won her spurs. She glared at Bricu. He ignored her as well.

“Then let’s go fer a walk outside, yer Lordship.” Bricu said.

“Very well. I will meet you in the courtyard in a quarter of an hour.” Grayson replied. He kept an even tone and an impassive look. If Bricu’s outburst had moved him, he didn’t show it.

Bricu started to yell, but he stopped himself. “Right. In a quarter o’an hour,” he said quietly. He marched back outside, his head slightly bowed in deference to the house of worship.

–

Fifteen minutes later, Grayson Shadowbreaker met Bricu by the fountain outside of the Cathedral of Light. Bricu stopped his pacing and folded his arms across his chest when he saw his superior officer.

“You’re not being sent to the front,” Grayson said simply.

Bricu narrowed his eyes. “Go on, squire.”

“The Alliance High Command has need for soldiers on other fronts. If the Horde…”

“Ballacks t’the Horde! Yeh know exactly what this ’bout!” Bricu said.

“No. I don’t.” Grayson replied. “I know enough. Your name has been bouncing between various divisions and regiments. Finally, it came back to me. I don’t care how it did, I am just using it as an opportunity to guide you back to the proper path.” Bricu rolled his eyes while Grayson spoke. For his part, Grayson continued preaching. “This has to do with your choice of comrades and behaviors. Think of it as penance. You have a chance here not to just learn, but to guide others…”

“Bugger yer penance. This is from SI:7. Don’t give me shite ’bout spiritual growth when yer workin’ for thugs in King’s Colors!”

“The opportunity is still there, regardless of who originated it,” Grayson said, “and this is still your penance. You chose to align yourself with miscreants and ne’er do wells. You have thumbed your nose at our rules and traditions. You have abused your position as a paladin and the Light to your own ends. The Light is working to show you the error of your ways. What else did you expect here?”

“I didn’t expect a one-eyed ponce t’fuckin’ sell me up the river, an’ say it’s fuckin’ good fer me!”

“I’m not selling you anywhere, you arrogant foul mouthed angry fool! I’m helping you,” Grayson said with strained calm.

“By takin’ me away from Threnny an’ my friends at the beginnin’ o’the siege at The Bloody Prince’s door! How the fuck is this helpin’ me?”

“You,” Grayson leveled a finger at Bricu, “were a sergeant. At Valiance Keep, you did not just play at being a sergeant, you even resumed your post. Did you actually think you would get away with it?”

“Aye. I did. In fact, I’m pretty fuckin’ sure I can get away with most shite I’ve pulled. That’s why I keep doin’ it.”

“Tarquin Ap’Danwyrth is significantly more clever than you, and it caught up to him in a dramatic fashion,” Grayson said. He paused a moment to let the words sink in. “They have no need to hang you. They can have you fight in battle after battle until your luck runs out. But, I am providing you with a different path. While the Wrathgate was doomed–”

Bricu spit at Grayson’s feet as he spoke of Wrathgate. Grayson continued.

“You did significant good for those conscripts and recruits. I think if you reconnect to your roots, you can see the error of your ways. I’ve made sure that you are going to supervise conscripts and recruits on the other fronts. When you’ve learned the lessons…”

“We march on the Bloody Prince an’ yeh want t’teach me a lesson’ ’bout followin’ orders? Don’t justfiy this shite that way. Yer fuckin’ SI:7′s water boy, at least be honest ’bout that yeh fuckin’ tosser.”

“The Light hands us an opportunity…”

“An yeh fuckin’ take it. Mold it any way yeh want, yer just another fuckin’ bullshite artist.”

“It is your opportunity to redeem…”

“Oi.” Bricu said. He took a step closer to Grayson, and met his glare. “I’ll redeem meself when I feel I’ve sinned. Till then, fuck off back on yer high horse, yer lordship. I’ll go fight an see good folk die. Then I’ll ship north an’ work with those who are fightin’ the good fight. Yeh stay home an’ pray for those folk who are goin’ to fight on yer behalf.”

Lord Grayson started to counter, but Bricu had already turned his back on him. He walked towards Wot, who was holding the reins of his pony and Bricu’s charger. Wot stared at the cobblestones at his feet.

Bricu mounted his charger in one fluid motion. Grayson was still there, glaring daggers at Bricu. “Here’s the deal, lordship,” he said from the back of his charger. “Yeh might think this is an opportunity fer me, fer Threnny an’ Naiara, but that’s just a fuckin’ lie t’make yerself feel better. This is yeh gettin’ a chance t’bugger me o’er a barrel. Hide it any way yeh want, yer just playin’ 7′s game. Yeh fuckin’ love it. Its why yeh didn’t need t’shout at me. Strewth, next time yeh chose t’play Shaw’s games, leave it t’Sarno. At least he had the fuckin’ decency not t’lie t’me ’bout his fuckin’ reasons. Now if yeh’ll excuse me, I’m takin’ me high horse an’ me squire t’me missus. I’m sure she’ll be down t’say hello in a hour or so.”

Bricu, with Wot in tow, trotted towards the Gilded Rose. Lord Grayson Shadowbreaker returned to his sanctum and prayed.

“Uther’s Balls, Bert. I thowt ye… an’ Stratholme. An’ ye foun’ me here? … bloody hell.” She stood up, looking him clean in the face, eye to eye, before looking away.

“Aye, bloody hell’s about the size of it. Been through it once, looks like tomorrow we get to do it all again. How the nether are you here? Someone said there was a redhead just arrived at the medic camp, with an accent that’d put a Dwarf to shame. I thought it might be you. I hear you still talk like you’ve a mouth full of marbles.” He laughed, and the sound hit the fog and disappeared.

“Oi, an ye still think y’ve go’ better than th’ lots wha’ do. Y’great ponce.”

More laughter, and he reached out gingerly to touch her hair. “You look just like I remember…”

She peered at him, glancing over his face, looking for some shred of the young man she’d grown up with. “There’s nae much th’ seventeen y’r ol’ left in ye, thow. Ligh’, bu’ ye hardly e’en look like y’rself.”

“I’m… not. Well, I am, but – it’s a long story. You haven’t answered my question though – how did you end up here? This place doesn’t seem to fit the likes of an up and coming Paladin.” His eyes found the jewel on her left hand. “… let alone a woman about to be married.”

“Tha’s.. well, tha’s a long story ‘swell, bu’ then ‘s been near 10 years. F’r now, I’m here ’cause m’ Boss sent me, after th’ fecking Cultists took out half a camp a’ Medics an’ Fordragon put a call f’r th’ independen’ camps t’ send a healer each. I’ve skill wi’ combat healin’ – ‘s wha’ I did f’r th’ armies fightin’ th’ Bloody Prince th’ last time. After allat, an’ a fair bit t’ myself, I’m up wi’ th’ Wildfire Riders, ap Danwyrith’s crew.”

He stepped back, eyes wide in mock surprise. “Oh you’ve taken up with /that/ band of ruffians and ne’er do wells, aye? I should’ve known. Even as a Paladin, you end up in trouble.”

“An’ th’ bes’ fecking trouble I’ve found in awhile, too. Better lot than th’ ones ye seem t’ have taken up wi, thow I cannae say I’d prefer th’ other option, given th’ circumstances.”

His face fell slightly, as somewhere in the distance a low bell rang, the sound hanging in the fog.

“And that’s for me, and my troubles. I’ll be on the line tomorrow. If you have any of the faith they say you do, pray you don’t see me until after this is over…” He trailed off, eyes flicking to the bandages and the medic’s flag on the tent before resting back at her face. “I can’t say I’ve much left in the way of Light, Aely, but knowing you’re here, that you made it… well, it’s something.”

Silence crept between them.

“I… aye… An’ Ligh’ go wi’ ye. E’en if ye dinnae recognize it.” She placed her hands gently against his forehead, murmuring a blessing. “Go wi’ peace, Bert.”

Closing his eyes, he turned away, and she watched until he disappeared into the fog.

–

Haemon

Haemon had never minded the cold. It was a fortunate quality since, unlike the man he’d come to protect, he was almost entirely unburdened by supplies. No tent, no sleeping bag, not even a thick winter coat beyond that afforded him by his spirits. His leathers kept him plenty warm, and once he grew bark the temperature didn’t matter at all. He’d spent the night in silent vigil five paces behind Laurus’s tent, periodically watering himself. It was better camouflage than black fur on the white landscape.

The druid stood apart as ap Danwyrith delivered his brash, hopeful message to his troops, his heroes and anti-heroes. It was a real, physical effort not to laugh. Teach the Lich King fear? Pep talks required hyperbole, certainly, but that kind of impossible goal was dangerous. Hope for the wrong thing is more dangerous than no hope at all. It was a lesson he’d recently learned through experience. Hope was the only true neutral, a tool that could be as painful as it was helpful. Point it at the wrong thing, and it could backfire horribly.

Were they there to inspire fear? And in whom? In the mindless minions? The brainwashed commanders? The Lich King himself? Even Tirion Fordring acknowledged there was nothing left of the man who had been Arthas. What remained was a mutated creation of a demon, nothing more than an embodiment of the forces of darkness. Mortals feared for their own destruction. But what cause had Arthas to fear, when he had become the element he represented?

Darkness could never be destroyed.

One would think that the Riders would know that better than anyone.

Smaller, simpler, more logical goals, those were the order of the day. Hold the pass. Guard the flank. Live. There was no need for frightening visages or roaring battle cries, for fear was not their tool to use. Craft, strength, light and life. He glanced to Laurus. And love. The noble’s fingers fidgeted on a rune. The plan, no doubt, circled through his head.

Do the job. Make our mark. And then get the fuck out.

Silent through all the Riders’ multi-lingual cries, Haemon watched the column of saronite soldiers advance on the gate. His golden eyes narrowed at the brazen banner that deflected all protests with its icy stare.

“Balah ishnu,” he hissed.

—
Dravir

It was cold. That was all he could think of, as the crew set up camp along the rocky walls, Angrathar looming over them. A bitter, malevolent chill, seeping past armor and furs, something that sought to leech the life and hope from your body and soul. No rest would come for those who fell here, in this land of ice and vile magic. The night was long, and the dawn would herald a terrible reckoning with a foe that had cost everyone, all those who surrounded him for miles, something precious.

Of course, it could be the lack of sleep talking. No one had slept through the rush through the Dragonblight. Odurd kept them at a vicious pace, his little goblin eyes alight with a strange hunger as the miles shrank between them, and the staging grounds at Angrathar. Gotta be there, kid. Big things at stake. Business opportunities of the century. And besides, it’s big cred to the bosses back home if we kill something that’s valuable as a corpse in a famous battlefield.

Of course, they arrived rather late. Stern Alliance infantry directed them to the masses of irregulars, far from the front lines. South and west, they found a nice little hill that barelyy smelled of the nearby open latrines if the wind was right, and began to dig into the frozen ground as the sun set. The trolls started a cookfire, building a semblance of a meal from their hastily gathered supplies, while the Boss went walkabout to find his fellow gobbos and sniff some information. Dravir savoured the quiet time. No shrieking goblin, and the orc was happily stacking small stones on top of the other. The dwarf was getting drunk in another camp, and the elf…

The elf was preparing for war.

A small trench dug, arrows were sunk into the frozen earth, the heads carefully wrapped so the ice that would grow in the night would not lock them into the dirt. Already his long, enviously amazing hair was bound into braids tight against his skull, war paint adorning his brow, to block sweat that would drip in his eyes and spoil his aim. For a moment, their eyes met, and he could almost respect this elf, a traitor to his people and the greatest ass Dravir had ever met, one professional to another. They shared a nod, before a familiar toned shriek erupted across the small camp. “Everybody get to the center! I have things to talk about now!”

Those who were able clustered around their diminuitive leader, watching him pace. And pace he did. He muttered with arms crossed, glaring a the ground. There was no acknowledgement of anyone, just goblin rage vented at the poor permafrost. Minutes passed, before he stopped, and looked up at them, his face a more usual businessman calm. “Alright. So. We’re not getting paid for this gig.”

Amid the moans and frowns, he waved his hands for quiet, then adopted a thoughtful pose. “Now, I’m a good gobbo, and like a profit as much as the next. Probably more,” he admitted with a smirk. “But there’s no pay here. Wrynn and Thrall are cheap bastards and have all these thoughts about “glory!” this and “honour!” that. The first gobbo to ask what the going rate was had himself and his crew escorted in chains to Venture Bay.”

Odurd paused, scratching his green head. “Now, normally, I’d not stick around. No gobbo would, but we have a bunch here. And there’s a good reason why. All the humans, the orcs, trolls, tauren, all of them, they’re in it for the same thing. And right now, we are too. Because when it comes down to it, this Lich King made one big mistake, far as us gobbo’s are concerned. He tried to screw with us. Make us look bad. And sabotage our business.

No one, no one, screws with another goblins business ‘less it’s another goblin. So get some sleep, ’cause tomorrow, we are going to send this man a message.”

–

Fifteen minutes in Ironforge was all that kept Bricu from being an out right liar to Threnn. It took him five minutes to navigate to the sooty center of Ironforge, two minutes to get a smith’s attention, three to negotiate with her and five more to wait for the right gryphon to Hillsbarad. The three minute negotiation was as simple as waiting for the gryphon.

“Oi” Bricu said to the dwarven woman in front of him, “Yer Kavandra Stoneborn, right?”

The woman didn’t look up for the forge to answer. She get her head turned towards the fire. Bricu could see the light of the forge playing off her shaved head. It was as smooth as the pommel on his service dagger.

“That I am. Now what yeh need lad? Lessons?”

“Nah. I need a forge. Word is yeh good at buildin’ ‘em.”

Kavandra set her tools on the anvil to her side. She regarded Bricu for a few moments, running figures and costs through her head. Her eyes betrayed her as she looked to his coin purse.

“What’s yer name lad?”

“Bricu Bittertongue.” He answered.

Kavandra clucked, the sound of the gears on an adding machine doing complicated sums.

“It’ll cost.” Kavandra said.

“I can pay.”

“Where at?”

“Grizzly Hills.” Bricu answered.

“That’ll cost more. When?”

“Within a month.”

“That’ll be a small fortune. Yeh can pay that?”

Bricu slung his pack to the floor and handed Kavandra a sack of gems.

“Spoils from the north. Each one o’those was hard fought. Each one worth even more t’the right folk. We got a deal?”

Kavandra peered at the contents of the sack. The rubies, amertines and emeralds glittered from the light of the forge. “How many o’these are mine?” She asked.

“All o’them.”

“Aye, we got a deal.” She took off the heavy leather glove on her right hand. Bricu grasped Kavandra’s forearm, in the Dwarven fashion, as she said an oath. Her grip on his arm was strong, as he expected. But her hands were not as rough as he thought they would be.

“Yeh can take me crew out there in a week. Sound like a plan?”

“Aye. I’ll be here, bright an’ early. I’ll meet yeh an’ yers in Menethil. I got lodgin’ all set up fer yer lot too. That’s a perk fer yeh.”

Kavandra simply grunted. “Don’t matter t’me. All I taste is ash from the forge.” She turned back to her work, pulling her gloves back on.

“Know the feelin’.” He said as he walked back to the gryphons. “Too much grief t’taste more than ash.”

–

Bricu rode his charger North, from South Shore, to where Jolstraer’s farm was supposed to be. He saw the smoke on the horizon when he was still leagues away. Jolly’s farm house, a small, but traditional Lordaeron style homestead, was still smoldering. His barn was intact. One lone scarecrow stood watch over the ripe fields. Jolly had dressed the Orc in scavenged mail. Bricu could hear the jingle of the mail as the wind whiped around the Scare-Orc; he couldn’t see it over because Jolly had placed a tattered Horde banner over the mail. It held on to a wicked cresent of a battle axe, still fearsome despite the terrible state of repair. This piecemeal terror loomed over Jolly’s what was left of jolly’s fields.

Bricu tied off his charger to a fence post and wandered through what was left to be tilled over. He saw the stunted and wilted crops that did not survive the season. When he reached the sandy patch of ground where Jolly had planted leeks–Bricu’s favorite of the local greens–he knelt in the fields.

“Yeh fuckin’ tosser.” He whispered, “Yeh planted leeks. Yeh really planted the fuckin’ leeks.” He pulled out a stunted stalk–one that was no where near ready for market–and examined it from tips to roots. At first, Bricu thought that this particular leek probably took too late in the season to grow to a proper size. Then he noticed the blackened root tips. Peeling back a layer of the leek, he saw a sickly pale green, not the healthy whites and deep greens it should have been. It was sick to the core. Still on his knees, Bricu turned the diseased leek over in his hands.

“Sick t’the core.” Bricu said, staring at the leek. “Yeh could’ve gotten Sky or Shad t’look at yer fields. Yer fuckin’ Northman pride, isn’t it? Yeh could’ve told us the fuckin’ ritual wasn’ workin’ or yeh wanted somethin’ else. Couldn’t yeh?”

Bricu stood up slowly, still holding on to the leek.

“So many bloody things yeh should have fuckin’ done,” Bricu shouted, “But yeh decided t’save us what? Pain? Time? Worry? Fuck all that. We still got the brunt o’this. An’ no proper way t’really mourn yeh.”

Bricu threw the leek at the orc. It smacked like a wet rag against the back of the tabard. A few links of mail clinked, but the leek slide off the Scare-Orc and landed on the ground.

“Yer a selfish fuckin’ bastard! Fuckin’ thick skulled arsehole!” He screamed at the Scare Orc. “We would’ve been here too! We would’ve helped yeh through it! Yeh fuckin’ coward. All that’ talk ’bout the north, ’bout carryin’ on. It was all shite! Yeh giant fuckin’ GOBSHITE!”

Walked towards the scare Orc, his boots leaving deep impressions in the sandy soil. He shook the pole while the mail sang and the axe fell to his feet. He picked up the rusty axe with both hands, spinning the haft once for good measure, and hacked away at the pole.

“Let’s do it right then!” Bricu yelled as he hacked a deep gouge into the pole.

“Yer gonna pass on inta the Light.” Another chunk of wood flew off from pole.

“Yer gonna leave the rest o’us here!” The mail, straw and tabard fell to the ground as the pole snapped.

“Yeh want t’pass off so we can’t say goodbye! Then let’s do it fuckin’ right!”

Bricu brought the axe down on the scare orc, scattering bits of mail, cloth and straw across the field.

“Fuck yerself Taborwynn. I can’t share a drink with yeh, can’t say good bye properly an’ I can’t even tear your house down. FUCK YEH!”

Bricu slammed the axe into the ground, with one last shower of sparks and mail to mark the utter destruction of the Scare Orc. He slumped down, again onto his knees, and looked at the remains of Jolly’s orc.

“All I wanted was t’say goodbye yeh. Uther wept mate….so did I.” Bricu rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I wept in front o’the entire fuckin’ pig cause I couldnt’ have one last drink with the only bastard left from Stratholme. Was that too much t’ask fer, yeh crusty o’git? Our kind ain’t gonna come back again. Ain’t like our holy ghosts are gonna show up like Uther’s.”

Bricu shifted his legs and leaned against the remains of the pole.

“This is what I’m gonna do yeh ol’bastard. I’m gonna sit here, in what’s left o’yer fuckin’ farm, an’ smoke two cigarettes. One fer me, one fer yer blessed corpse. Then I’m gonna clean up me mess here an’ say a prayer fer yeh. One with flowery words an’ vivid imagery from back home. Then I’m gonna head home t’me wife an’ wee one. If yer inclined t’haunt me fer speakin’ ill, I’d welcome it. I’ll miss yeh mate. I will really miss yeh.”

Bricu sat and smoked the last of his Northern leaf. He stayed with the ruin till the sun set over the ruins of Jolstaer Taborwynn’s little house.

There is no doubt the the lore of WoW is rich, diverse and, at times, convoluted. Lore is documented in comics, RPG products, quests and web. And as rich as the Lore is, there is still room to develop one’s own lore–previously defined as Loretastic!. Sometimes, Loretastic! needs a push from an outside source…

Regular readers are probably aware that on Feathermoon, the Wildfire Riders have differentated the various human kingdoms into “North” and “South.” North typically means Lordaeron, while “the South” is anything “South o’Stromgarde.”* There are cultural differences between the various human kingdoms/principalities/duchies/baronies/townships, however they have one unifying theme: The Light. Individuals with a more thorough understanding of the Lore may have more information about the spiritual and religious practices existed before the Light, but for all intents and purposes, this line WoWWiki gives RPers a lot of wiggle room:

These early humans may have had access to divine spells through worship of the Old Gods or early cults that would become the Church of the Holy Light.

While additional Lore may narrow the wiggle room, what we know is there were a variety of religious and spiritual practices, some which were formed around Old Gods and others that became the Church of the Light. In between these two spiritual extremes is a spiritual grey area, a place where RP and Backstory can thrive.

Bricu’s backstory include a very liberal interpretation of Church’s teachings. With his history of shady deals, “missionary work” during the events of The Frozen Throne, his penchant for hanging around Old Town and inspiration drawn from Hellblazer, a more fitting word to describe Bricu’s connection to the Church would be “complicated.” Sorting this mess of beliefs has been, and continues to be, one of the joys of RPing Bricu.

Bricu has had a connection to Foxes–those clever, tricky predators–since he designed his new family crest, shortly after marrying Threnn. During a storyline where the Riders were encouraged by Aleros to find their spiritual totem animal, in order to deal with a Yva-level villain, it was a vixen that answered his offering. And at Wrathgate, when Bricu was scared stiff by Arthas as he exited Angrathar, it was seeing a Fox that helped him break free of his fear enough to run to Threnn.

When I wrote that scene–which will be posted in the future–I thought it would be a clever tie-in to Bricu’s fox connection. Right now, I have no idea what it means. Is this the example of some bleed-through to a Northern Pre-Light Tradition? Is it just a coincidence? Is this fox a manifestation of his own spirituality or something far more sinister? (/engage mustache twirl here) Bricu and Threnn spent a good chunk of RP time sussing out what it means. What they research is, of course, entirely up to the players. So what should they research? Where should they go? Who should they talk to? What does Bricu’s fox visitation mean?

So lend me your ideas. Start out by talking about your character’s spiritual beliefs–Anna’s Friday Five is a good place to start–and do not be shy about asking pointed questions about how our RP circle came to our conclusions! Give me, and Bricu, a push in an interesting direction!

*This is Bricu’s definition. Reality may differ.

I’ll be honest, we skip this issue. We let the people of our RP group decide when one of their characters are “finally dead” or just “mostly dead.” This extends to foils too. The person in control of the story determines what happened to the NPC. This is not a perfect solution by any means; however, it works for us.

How do other RP communities handle the question of death in WoW?

Third Place goes to: Hammaryn Dawnsorrow of Feathermoon, and her entry Inner Turmoil
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Server: Feathermoon
Character: Hammaryn Dawnsorrow
“Cleanse my inner turmoil?”  Hammaryn Dawnsorrow crossed her arms over her chest, and narrowed her eyes at the Taunka in front of her.  “This is ridiculous.”

He chuckled in response.  “Elf, you may think it’s ridiculous, but it has to be done in order to help the worg Ulfang.”  Sage Mistwalker smiled at her.  “I’m sure it won’t be a problem for you.”

Hammaryn stared at him for a moment, a large frown on her face.  Was he joking with her?

“There’s gold involved in this, right?”

The Taunka grinned slyly and nodded at her.

“Alright, I’ll do it.”  Hammaryn backed away slowly.  She untied the reins of her mount from a nearby tree, occasionally glancing at Sage Mistwalker over her left shoulder.  Why in the hells was he watching her and grinning like that?

“Come on horse,” she mumbled to her mount as she hoisted herself up on the saddle.  “Let’s get away from these crazy people.”  The horse twitched his ears in response, and she dug her heels into his side. He snorted and took off at an easy canter.  Hammaryn turned her reins in to head north, towards the snowy mountains of Howling Fjord.  Smaller rocks dotted the ground, leading up to jagged cliffs.  Near the entrance to Grizzly Hills she saw the large boulder the Taunka had mentioned, and a path cutting up through the western base of the mountains.  Hammaryn halted, and slipped off her horse to land hard on the icy ground.  “Stay here, horse,” she grunted, shouldered her pack, and took off up the path into the mountains.  No monsters greeted her on the way up, and she smiled to herself.  The Taunka may have been a bit loony, but this would be easy gold.  Near the top of the mountain, she saw the altar; a large, stone table sitting in a clearing.  Hammaryn dropped her pack on the ground and walked up to it.  She pulled off her left gauntlet and ran her hand over the smooth stone; it was warm, and she yanked her hand back in surprise.

“What am I supposed to do?”  She asked, looking around as if someone would answer her.  The only reply was the wind whistling through the jagged rocks of the mountain.  She took in a deep breath and let it out, the frigid air turning her breath into fog.

“You think you can get rid of me through meditation?”

Hammaryn whirled around in shock, her back bumping up against the table.  The woman in front of her laughed, a low and snide noise.  It was herself, but not herself.  A shade, intangible and not entirely opaque, as if the shadow Hammaryn was only half formed.  Hammaryn’s right hand shook as it instinctively reached for the large mace on her back.

“Pathetic,” the shadow sneered at her.  “Scared even of yourself.”

“This is foul magic, and I’m not scared,” she bluffed.  She raised her voice.  “Whoever is casting this dark magic, show yourself.”

The shade shook her head and laughed.  “There’s no one here, little Hammaryn.  You’re all alone, just like when your daddy died.”

Hammaryn scowled.  “You don’t know anything about my father.”

The shade smiled mockingly.  “Oh, I know everything about your father.  I know everything about you, because I am you.  I know how you cried and ran away when he died, stumbling pathetically through the woods, useless little girl.”

“You’re lying.”  Tears welled up in her eyes and she backed up into the stone table again, bracing herself on it.

The shade came in closer to her.  “There’s nowhere to run, little ‘Ryn.  Do you have any idea how ashamed your mommy and daddy would be now if they saw you?  You never had half your mother’s talent for magic, and you can’t even heal like your father did.  Calling yourself a tool of the Light, and all you do is wave around a big stick.  No one is scared of you, and you can barely take care of yourself.  No family, barely any friends.”  The shade smiled seductively.  “You could just die, you know,” it whispered.  The shade motioned her head to the side of the cliff.

Hammaryn looked over her shoulder at the cliff side behind her.  It was a long drop down to those jagged rocks at the base of the mountain.  She closed her eyes tightly for a moment, leaning in against the stone table.  The cold wind whipped against her face, drying her tears.

“No.”  She opened her eyes.  “No,” Hammaryn said loudly.  “You’re not me, and you never will be.  If I die, so do their memories, and the Lich King wins.  I may not have either of their talent, but you’re damn right that I can wave around a big stick.”  Hammaryn yanked the mace off of her back, and with a loud yell, swung it at the shade.  The mace hit with a sickening thud in the chest.  The shade looked down at its chest, its mouth opening in a silent cry of shock before dissolving into the wind.  Hammaryn let the end of her mace drop onto the ground.   “It’s not me,” she said loudly.  No one answered.

Hammaryn picked up her mace, and swung it into its harness on her back.  She walked a few paces away, picking up her pack she had slung onto the ground, and pulled the handle onto her right shoulder.

“That Taunka had better be paying damn well,” she grumbled as she started walking back down the path.

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Congratulations Hammaryn! You have looted a chest that contains: The Sunwell Trilogy, The Ashbringer TPB and a TGC Loot Card! Please email the loot master at midsummerwriting at gmail dot com to receive your prize!

As beautiful as WoW is, the mechanics of the game limit certain scenes.  The stock emotes may not adequately demonstrate a characters particular quirks, and /em does not make a toon move in a particular fashion.  Sometimes, these limitations encourage players to develop their writing ability–to show how the character reacts instead of telling people how the character reacts–and sometimes they are just a pain in the ass.

Enter the artists.  The talented ones–like Lans–can summarize and explain months ofRP in one beautiful picture.  Lans’ picture was originally intended to just show off how Bricu was taking Threnn’s not-dead-just-sleeping storyline.  It has come to represent far more than that.  This is one of my favorite examples of his art.  He has interpreted my character in way I cannot–through drawing–and he has cared for it in ways that show how much he respects my character.  This is just as amazing as letting another author you trust write about your toon.

I want to see the other artists who have done such an amazing job of interpreting your RP.  Please share as many pics and links as you want!  Whether this is RP Fic featuring your character as portrayed by another RPer or pictures you commissioned, we want to see them!