Heroes, Antiheroes, villains and bad-asses: What do you play in WoW and why?

Step Three of dealing with issues in WoW is implementing and assessing what you problem solved in step two. This is the part of the plan that has a tendency to fall through. It’s really easy to come up with a few plans that seem positively brilliant… But they fall short when we try to accomplish too much.

Breaking down a plan into small, confidence building steps is key to reigniting the spark. It’s tempting, once you have a plan you love, to do as much as possible as quickly as you can.

This may be how you burned out in the first place.

Go slowly. Enjoy the RP. Let it build. Enjoy it for what it is: Sharing stories with people you want to be with.

The next common stumbling block is the lack of a critical eye on the plan and its implementation. Simply following a plan isn’t enough to rekindle RP. Sometimes, a plan needs to be scrapped as the story just doesn’t go anywhere. Take time to review and revise the plan. Remember that the plan is supposed to help get you to your goal of more RP and shaking the blues. If something better comes along, by all means, go for it.

Be critical, be flexible, but by all means, enjoy it. If the RP isn’t happening or it isn’t fun, then what’s the point?

Fact is folks, hurdles can be jumped. But action alone will only burn you out again. Careful planning and evaluations can not just beat the burnout, but bring you back to the story.

Anyone else got tips, tricks or hurdles they’d like to share? Fill us in!

The Legend of Zelda was not an RPG like the Final Fantasy series, but it was the first video game I remember thinking “This is a story I dig.” Granted, I was around nine when the game came out, and the story is pretty simple: Build the McGuffin, save the girl. But the original Zelda was the first game I remember playing where the story seemed to matter: Unlike Super Mario Brothers, you could WIN the Legend of Zelda. So I played this game, shared strategies with my friends and scoured the map for as many of the secret passages as I could.

And I loved every minute of it.

Zelda was the gateway to pen and paper RPGs, console RPGs, comics, and computer games. I still remember my friends telling me that D&D was like, “playing Zelda with your friends, without a TV.” For this reason alone, this game will always hold a place in my heart.

What about you? What was your introduction into this wonderful world of nerddom?!

The first rule of Romantic RP: Talk it over with the other player.

Let me perfectly honest here: You might think this RP idea is the best thing since D&D, but if the player of the character isn’t interested, you don’t force it. If they are interested, you need to do the following things:

In short, treat this RP like you would any other RPing partner. The major difference between this kind of RP and “traditional” RP is that you have to allow your character to grow and change based on what occurs in the in game relationship.

Not following Rule Number one isn’t cute or ground breaking RP. It is a serious breach of boundaries. Just because it happens in a romantic comedy does not mean its a good idea in game.

What are some other good rules for romantic RP? Do you have a story about Romance Gone Wrong? Fill us in!

Listen to theme.

Write 140 word story.

Post it.

Azeroth has a variety of alcohols, tobacco products, and it has coffee, but what about other, more illicit narcotics? In Dalaran we can see the washed up mage, a victim of Kungaloosh:

Shattrath had it’s own down-on-their-luck NPCs, and let’s not forget the Blood Elves. I’d be remiss if I didn’t include herbalism and alchemy as well. Addiction is a real thing in Azeroth, my question is what are people using?

I know there are people who will be up in arms about drugs (either for or against legalization) but that is neither here nor there. What we want to talk about is the seedier side of RP. Have you run a story where people were using narcotics? Do specific races–like the Belfs–have specific narcotics? What if the Tauren have a hallucinogen that is extremely addictive (and damaging) to gnomes? What are the policies of the factions regarding drug use?

Can Forsaken really get wasted?

Stories involving illicit substances can be personal–one character’s struggle to over come addiction–to a large scale story pitting guilds against guilds–I’m thinking of Traffic. The Riders have examples of both of these stories: Bricu’s work to overcome alcoholism and dealing with a lotus peddler. Fallout out from both stories will be examined in our regular RP event.

This kind of story is worth looking into. But there are also pitfalls. Addiction is exceedingly common, and a number of people have their own attitudes towards the personal, legal and societal implications of drug use. Be understanding when plotting these kinds of stories, otherwise, your story may never get off the ground.

Does anyone have examples of drugs in Azeroth? Anyone care to share their stories involving the illicit substance of WoW? Let us know!

In the next xpac, we’re headed towards not just towards Pandas, but an elevated level of conflict between the Alliance and the Horde. On a more depressing level, we also need to realize we are going to loose people as WoW hits 7 and other games launch. During these next few months, before we run out of Cata Steam,long for Mop or say goodbye, we should lay the ground work for the next chapter of our game.

Right now, we can begin to think of how our toons can fit into the Horde-Alliance conflict. Granted, some of us will avoid all the spoilers we can while MoP is building; however, it is not a huge stretch of the imagination to begin to think of how our toons will react as the war heats up. Now is the time to approach players about building rivalries and future Rp events. For instance, I may have talked to someone else about setting up future issues.

IF you are saying good bye, think about how you are leaving the game. Are you killing off your toon? Is your toon riding off into the sunset? Is your toon just going to retire? Keep in mind that as circumstances in real life change, your decisions to leave WoW may change. In short, keep the door open if there is the slightest possibility that you may want to return.

We have said it many times before. RPing is collaborative story telling. OVer the next few months, either a chapter–or a story–are going to end. Give this ending the same care as you did your “golden age” of RP.

Darin House's Poker Photo

Photo courtesy of Darin House’s Flickr Stream

So you have a room full of shady, reasonably wealthy characters, each of whom who have a tendency to bluff and exaggerate, smoking in a bar stocked with expensive booze. How long before they start gambling?

I’m sure its possible to come up with a narrative method for card games. Rules would have to be ironed out and someone would probably figure out how to utilize the RNG to address ties…but why bother when you can just download an addon?

Back in Vanilla, people played a few hands of Anzac between pulls (or wipes) just to pass the time. But a poker game can be an RP event in and of itself. A small, illicit game can be part of a regular RP night. Imagine a regular, floating game that people try to find in a major city.

But a full on poker tournament can be a large scale event. It could be a charity event or just a damn big game. Right now on Feathermoon, the regular poker game is phase one of a big story… But that’s a post for a differnt story.

A mini game like this can add another dimension to RP. Are there other mini games available now, or are we going to wait for Pokewow?

This week, we get the real deal on Shad, the official midwife of Feathermoon.

Celesse was his first. He never counted Eurydice, because no matter how she plead, promised, or punished, he always refused her that final step. No, it was the woman he chose to be his wife with whom he finally joined under the shade of a great oak on the shores of Lake Elune’ara. She was beautiful, graceful, so much the ideal woman that he’d been sure that it was love. That it was forever. He didn’t regret those six months, two of whirlwind courtship and four of everything men bemoaned when they shunned marriage. Was it any surprise that he also didn’t regret the kiss that had ruined it all?

In an occupation where these things should have been months preplanned, his first was a surprise. He’d offered some help at the start, but to be there for the terrifying, bloody end of it hadn’t been on the menu. To this day, he’d still never had one that bled as much as that first one. It had taken all his training not to run, but in the end, it was worth it. Most Riders made their way in the world by killing. He considered it a blessing that he’d found another path to take. Nerida O’Connaugh was a most satisfying first child to have to his midwifing credit.

Like most boys, he could count his father as his first. And like so many boys he was so certain that No Really, His Father Hated Him. Why else had he been such a draconian instructor? He’d once made his son sit for three days and nights in the freezing cold of Winterspring, refusing him shelter until he’d felt the pulse of a pine. Even then, he’d never been satisfied. Never once praised him. But he’d show the Dreaming bastard. He’d be twice the druid his father ever was.

There was no question that Fells was his finest. Though his mother had taught him about love, it had been Fells who taught him how, and in the flickering shadows of the waterfall that blurred the bliss of fireworks into a shimmering glow, he’d thanked her for her patience in spades. She wasn’t everything he’d ever dreamed of, but it turned out everything he’d ever dreamed of was pretty stupid, and he never could have fathomed what it was like to actually be happy with someone. She didn’t try to make him into someone he wasn’t; she transformed him effortlessly into who he was supposed to be. Even if she’d only live sixty years more, he knew they’d be the best he’d ever see.

If he had to pick just one, it would have to be Felicia that was his finest, as she demanded that she be born all of fifteen minutes before her twin. Regardless of who’d come forth first, they’d both been his greatest triumph: twins gotten on a once-barren woman thanks to his magics, and a difficult delivery for which he didn’t have to call in more competent help. She–they–were proof that he wasn’t a failure, and the best gift he could offer to the woman he loved. And during the long nights full of screaming infants, that was the thought that kept him sane.

Era was definitely his finest. After the months they’d struggled for control of the plague-ravaged body they shared, the panther would surely have felt fully justified simply slaying his captor and/or taking over entirely. Instead, he’d taught the lonely child what it meant to be a cat, and gradually helped shape him into a man. That they’d grown into equal brothers only made Shad all the more grateful that Era had endured his years of obnoxious condescension. How had he failed to see then that he’d never really been in charge at all?

His last was something of an awkward topic, at least outside of their little family. Sure, he’d been the one to propose the arrangement and insisted that all things had to be equal, but that didn’t make it any less strange to be pulling Zeve down to the mattress with him. But oh, he’d moved as slowly and gently as he would have while treating a wounded tiger, forestalling both flight and fight from both sides of the dance. Of course it wasn’t perfect; he’d have been concerned if it was. But in the end, Zeve’s words always put it best: it was Right.

Technically, his last wasn’t finished yet, but it was his most recent. Baby Boy Windwhisper (as he was presently known) would not come into the world for months yet, but he’d already made his mark. Shad didn’t get many kaldorei clients for obvious biological reasons, and those he did had always been, if not ready, then grateful for the blessing. But in so many ways, his last was also his first. Corrienda was the first to complain of being too young. She was the first for whom he’d researched the remedies taught by whores who’d disposed of unwanted baggage. And even though he hadn’t had to put them into practice for her, she was the first he had to struggle not to despise.

Tarquin was his last. The Riders pledged allegiance to the black and red, not directly to him, but all jobs and orders ultimately filtered through the Boss’s nimble fingers and trickled off his wicked tongue. Shad didn’t know him very well, but did anyone, really? He knew enough; he’d put his life in the man’s hands as both ally and adversary over the years, and his heart still beat, and that was all he needed. Really, if anything made Tarquin special, it was that: Shad didn’t need a damned thing from him other than trust.

The Rider’s resident Midwife and all-around stand up cat, Haemon Shadowind, was the second to write up First, Finest and Last. Here is another brilliant sample for your own FFL.

This is Era. There are many cat spirits, but this one is a favorite. Enjoy!

Any one of them could have been his first; they died and were born so often, who could even tell? And who cared? It had been millennia ago, before there were even trolls to pay their Mother worship, that the fire of instinct first seared his loins and forced him to chase down a mate, dig teeth into her scruff, and make her the unwilling bearer of his first cubs. No, it wasn’t good for him, and less so for her. It was merely the means to a necessary end: brutal, quick, repeated several times, and just like every subsequent encounter for thousands of years in thousands of lives. He couldn’t remember a single one.

His intelligent mind couldn’t remember his first, hidden away in the depths of time and feline memory, but it had been a troll only for lack of any other upright creatures to encounter first. There’d been no malice, of course. Only tame cats had the luxury of expending energy on hunting for sport. It was hunger that brought his weight down on the unsuspecting scout and shoved his fangs through bone and into brain. Remarkably merciful, really; a lesser cat would have taken whole minutes to kill by asphyxiation. He’d devoured the man’s heart (among other viscera), and months later when the man’s brother brought him down in a flurry of arrows, the honor was returned.

Mother had been his first, and should have been his only. She whom the trolls knew as Bethekk had given him life after life as well as death in between, and in return had asked nothing but eternal servitude. None of her children had ever had a choice, but neither had they any understanding to resent the lack of it. In recent years, with sentience as his sharpest weapon, he’d often wondered whether his new place was her choice, and if so, why. More seldom, and only in the quiet darkness when sleep and Shad had both abandoned him, did he ever think to wonder if she’d actually relinquished her control.

There was no question that Fells was his finest. His first too, in many ways, though thanks to Shad’s memories he was no stranger to the mechanics nor the sensations that awaited him in her arms. But flesh was one thing and love quite another, and not a damned thing could have prepared him for the rapture that took them both. It’d taken him three years to realize he loved her, another two to admit it, and six months more to get it right. It was all fucking wasted time, and with the first beatific smile she’d granted him in the darkness he vowed not to waste a second more of what little time the loas might leave them.

Laurus was his finest, a beast of a man who deserved nothing more or less than the most gloriously gruesome death he could deliver. As the slights both large and small piled one atop the other, Era spent his days groveling and his nights imagining the unending pain he’d inflict someday. Someday. But his revenge came unintentionally in the form of a thousand days of strained kindness that had only riled the mage further and chipped slowly away at the patience of his wife. For all he’d tried to steal her, it was none of Era’s doing when Laurus’s life finally walked out the door, leaving him with the empty silence of a house that was no home. Restraint proved to be the sharpest weapon the panther had ever wielded, and the only one that could salvage for himself the benefits of a life worth saving.

Shad was definitely his finest. When the priestess finally fell after months of battle against panthers both physical and spiritual, the elf should have used that staff to force him into absolute submission. Instead, the Will of Arlokk had been laid at his paws. Funny, how the offer of freedom had been the one thing that could have tamed him. He’d been appropriated to teach the elf the ways of the cat, but in the end he’d learned far more from the calm, patient kaldorei on whom he patterned his sentience. Even once they’d become equals, he’d learned the hard way that he couldn’t do it alone. For all his bluster, Era needed his elf like smoke needed flame.

Fells was his last. She was! No, he hadn’t come out for that. He was asleep. No part in it at all. Fuck you.

His last had been a hell of a fight, a fire-wreathed druid with more fury than skill, not that the latter was lacking. They’d circled one another, snarling, after Era’s pounce had been skillfully dodged and elven flesh had melted into fiery fur. The spirit he faced was a magnificent, beautiful beast, and he could see a bit of himself in it. Had things been different, he might have been on their side, serving Ragnaros for the lack of Hakkar. As things were not different, he felt absolutely no remorse for the dive nor the rake of claws that had blessed the charred dirt of the Firelands with a rain of blood and a bit of intestine to boot. He’d taken no specific joy in the kill, but eating the heart always did bring a smile to his red-stained maw. It was nice, sometimes, to be reminded where he came from.

His last was a council of three. Shad may have been employed by the Riders, but Era’d never taken one order from the man he called “Boss” purely in jest. He answered only to the three sets of all-too-observant eyes and ears that learned to echo his every sin, and to the three mouths that declared without words when he would eat, sleep, and have even an instant of privacy. They could be excruciatingly cruel masters, driving him like a mule for days on end, but the reward they granted him was beyond compare. He’d wouldn’t trade their smiles, their hugs, or their shrieky cries of “Dada!” for anything in all the universe.