Truth

i miss coming home to a vent chat full of people, complaining about tanking, whining about gear, being concerned over sloppy pulls and wiping in raids, my 'tankadin training', counting emblems, and freaking out over killing the tiger boss in ZG...

it keeps my mind from falling apart as it is in its current state.

i hope to hear/see you all soon.

RP Table: Whimsi

Whimsi smiled as she scanned the horizon from Krasus' Landing. "Beautiful isn't it, Tumnus?" she said dreamily, speaking to the broad-striped tabby at her feet. The feline rubbed himself against her calves, his loose fur sticking to the woolen material of her robe. Dalaran had easily impressed her beyond her expectations. The fountains were beautiful, the nightly fee at the inns were affordable, the vendors were pleasant, and there was always something happening wherever one went - just the other day, Tumnus scampered off after a poor engineer's pet mechanical squirrel, and as Whimsi managed to get a hold of the playful feline, the engineer simply smiled and accepted her panicked apology without a problem...

She propped her head up with a hand as the rhythm of approaching dragons reached her ears, eventually ruffling her hair and sleeve hems as they soared over her to land. A loud hiss erupted from Tumnus' chest and Whimsi bent down to pick him up, relaxing his feeble frame from its arched position. "Oh shush, Mr. Grumpy," she cooed. "It's just a pro-to-drake. No need to get all huffy." She planted a kiss between his ears, above his brilliant golden eyes, "So silly, Tumnus." He let out a low, irritated meow and she set him down.

It was a good thing she didn't return her gaze to the skyline or she would have missed Tumnus' spontaneous dart for the stairways that lead into the city. "Tumnus!" she gasped. "Get back here!" Sprinting after her pet, she watched as he stopped in front of a perky pug, his fur bristling along his arched back. Whimsi quickly snatched him into her arms, but before she could scamper off like nothing had happened, the pug growled and yipped, catching its owner's attention. The undead priest slowly looked from the finely crafted boots up to the fur-adorned leg patches, the gaudy buckled belt, the dented chest piece, the large pauldrons... With her head fully tilted upward, her eyes finally came to rest upon the sight of a large, fearsome horned helmet that contained two frosty blue eyes, both of which were glaring down at her. Her eyes widened and she swallowed nervously as a breath of hot air shot from a vertical mouth opening in the helm, vaporizing and drifting upward in the frost-bitten air, "S-Sorry, sir... er... heh, we'll... we'll be going now." She squeaked the last few words of her sentence, but nevertheless managed to run off with Tumnus in one piece. Again, Dalaran had proven to be one of the most interesting places to call "home."

RP Table: Tabijin

The White Lady and Blue Child hung listlessly in the night sky. With his usual pile of mail and packages tucked away in his tattered messenger bag, the old troll sat atop one of the large boulders before the grand gate of Orgrimmar. He let out a ragged sigh, his shoulders sagging forward as he hunched over, setting his elbows on his knees.

Months... No, years... of waiting for a word of his only daughter's whereabouts had finally run its course and, without the flame his soul once harbored, he realized there was nothing left. He blinked several times, fighting the tears that he had never allowed himself to weep. The monocle that framed his right eye fell from his face, dangling from its chain. His right hand reached out and tucked the fragile object into his vest pocket.

"Well," he began, addressing his departed wife with a few sniffles, "what now, Zabeni?" The gentle Durotar breeze whisked past him as if responding to his question. A tear fell down his wrinkled blue cheek and he buried his face in his hands. Wiping his cheeks on the back of his right hand, his gaze lifted to the stars, unsure of what to think. He opened his mouth again but before he could even utter a word, a white feather brushed the tip of his long, crooked nose before landing in his lap. His scarlet red eyes struggled to focus for a moment as he brought the soft object to his face. "Wha-what do you mean?" he tilted his head. The wind blew past him once more, snatching the feather from his fingertips.

The breeze whistled in his ears before dying again. Let go.

Reluctantly, he shook his head, his large pointed ears swaying. "I... I can't." He grimaced and sighed, deciding to get up and head to the vault to sort the mail that awaited his undivided attention. Though, as he bent down to pick up his messenger bag, another white feather rested on the torn flap. He reached down to pick it up, but again the wind carried it away from his grasp. Watching it lift high above him and over the city walls, he slung his bag strap onto a bony shoulder. He closed his eyes as the breeze caressed his face, rustling his long sleeves and tousled white hair.

"I love you, too," he breathed, opening his eyes again. "Thank you."

RP Table: Greyer

The rocky seaside was possibly one of the worst places a kingdom could settle on. Cold, frostbitten winters announced their arrivals with seemingly endless days of rain, and continued on in that fashion until the weather allowed a beam of sunshine or a plain cloudy day. Greyer ran his cold fingers through his mousy brown hair, slicking it back. Taking his pipe from his inner vest pocket, he placed it in his mouth, but didn't bother with lighting it - the sheets of rain cascading from the sky would have made it impossible, and even attempts of shielding a flame from the downpour would not save it from the wind.

He shrugged, continuing to lean against the side of city hall. Being around society again was refreshing, he hated to admit. Their fear was almost exhilarating, just watching them scurry to and fro in the rain made him grin. "Good evening, Mister Thewlis." He gave a nod in salutation as the gentleman walked past, keeping his hold on his top hat as he greeted Greyer with a slight smile and a cautionary statement about getting indoors and out of the rain. Greyer smiled in return and shook his head as the man continued on his way down the cobblestone path.

The wind began to pick up, causing the candlelit lanterns to swing from their hooks. He took this as a sign to get up and head back to the family tannery, his current place of residence. After casting a backward glance at the city hall, he weaved his way around the lamp posts, a little skip in his step. When he arrived to the small shoppe, Spritzer - the young bartender who had recently become his constant evening companion - was already at the door, apparently eager for his return. "Locked out again?" he chuckled, pulling an iron key from his trouser pocket. The youth nodded, shivering. "Get in," he smiled, placing a hand on Spritzer's shoulder and nudging him over the threshold. "Guess I'll have Fenrir make a duplicate key for you tomorrow morning." Spritzer prodded at the logs in the fireplace with a thick twig before successfully getting them to catch flame. As Greyer removed his thick coat and hung it by the door, the evening ritual of settling down for the night began; and, as the bartender climbed into Faolan's old bed, Greyer slipped into his bedroom.

Closing the door behind him, he watched as several pieces of paper hanging from the walls fluttered. He lit the oil lamps around the room with caution before sitting down at his desk, continuing his research about the Curse that had fallen over the kingdom he had once loved.

[I know this piece doesn't have much to tell, but well, I wanted to share the design of it, and, perhaps confirm that Greyer and Spritzer aren't camping by the gates like they were in previous story drafts, but staying in the Lyall Tannery - the family shoppe. I guess it kinda shows Greyer's "gentler" side as well, if anything.]

a photo.

...wrote to someone regarding the state of the Lyall family tannery, claiming that I wanted to buy it. These came back in response.



[Vintage Photo credit]

Mr. Lyall

Click to Enlarge.

You tell me
to be sensible
to be considerate
to be... human.
Well, I'm sorry
but I can't.

These were the first words that were penned for Greyer's personality.

Whimsi likes colors.

Taceo: Y'know, Greyer, you look like your name would be Hershel.

Greyer: It sounds so... English.

Taceo: It means "deer" in Yiddish, actually, and I think it's cute.

Greyer: Well, I think it's already taken on Thorium Brotherhood and Fenris and Boulderfist. So... Yeah, tough luck.

Taceo: "Hershel Lyall" has a nice ring to it.

Greyer: My name is Greyer.

Whimsi: Purple-er?

Greyer: GTFO, Whimsi.



...this is proves that my mind goes to strange places when I start making art and story speculations for Mr. Lyall. I really, really want to know the release date of Cataclysm so I can actually space out and schedule his posts and character sheet (gahhhhh!!). I've also been collecting stuff that Greyer would say in conversation and been playing with character interactions, so, stay tuned, I might have something literary to post soon.

Understand

Trying to understand Greyer
is like attempting to drown
everything you have ever thought of.

Suffrocation.
A string of endless night
and rain.

December 14th

Hidden away behind the tree near the northern bank of Dalaran, Taceo draped her cloak around her legs. The cool breeze bit at her cheeks and whisked her short hair about her forehead and eyes. She shivered and withdrew a hand out from underneath her cape to pull her worn backpack closer to the large, gnarled root she leaned against. There would be no tanking nor healing duties today. There were much more than dungeons, high quality gear, and other soldiers to worry about. The only thing she knew was that she could not lose anything and anyone she held dear - and that included her beloved guildmates - to a cataclysm.

Whimsi hummed softly as she dumped her backpack and her container of safety deposit box items on the floor of the northern Dalaran bank. She tossed her coin purse back into her backpack and eyed the rest of the knick-knacks that had collected at her feet. Zombie's curious, horned-skull lowered into the pile and she gently shoved him away from his reins and moss-filled feed bag. The skeletal horse nipped at her once and she forced him away with a sallow palm. Tumnus' head peeked out from underneath his owner's backpack flap. Whimsi smiled and scooped him into her lap. He rubbed his head against her ribcage as she snatched up the various of herbs that had tumbled out of a scroll case she had found while exploring earlier. Adeptly, she bundled them up with twine and stored them away properly into their appropriate jars, sorting which containers would be sent to Tabijin and which would be returned to the bank. After gathering the odds and ends and striking a deal with a nearby vendor, she made her way to a mailbox, tripping twice due to Tumnus weaving his way around her ankles. The canister of deadnettle would sell, as would the leftover mageroyal petals and goldclover leaves... A battered mace, a handful of enchanting dust, a sprig of lichbloom, a discolored potion (still tasted 'minty' though), a spiked staff, a necklace of unusually elegant craftmanship... and a hug. Once the items had been arranged neatly into the mailbox, she bent down and placed Tumnus carefully alongside the items and closed the door, positive that the feline would make the old troll smile. She opened the mailbox lid slightly, her luminescent eyes lighting up the dark, empty corners. She furrowed a brow; while she had been expecting mail hawks and owls to swoop down, she realized that her mail had been magically sent. (Damned mages....)

The elderly troll sifted through the piece of mail that had returned to him at Tanka'Le Village. Most of them addressed him with an elegantly written salutation of "Hail Chief Tabi'" or a "Sir Tabijin." Auction money, letter from Lady Taceo, auction money, returned bid, letter from Lady Taceo, package from Whimsi, package from Winterr, Whimsi's request for a cat toy, a bundle of returned auction lots, auction money, Tumnus... Nothing fascinating as usual. The broad-striped tabby cat purred at him and swatted at his hand as he scooped up the rest of the envelopes. He heaved a weary sigh and tucked the items into his backpack before lifting Tumnus out of the mailbox; he'd have to get Taceo to deliver him back to Whimsi yet again.

Veton laid back in her hammock, careful to slowly rest her hooves on the wooden bar closest to the inn entrance. Tanaris held nothing but desert, goblins, and their need for items from places and creatures she could barely face. She wondered what her family would be doing if no one had left the crash site and continued helping with the recovery of their ship. She wondered if she had even the slightest chance to run into Lena, Elodi and Zilaara again. Thoughts of Goruth and Ealenia and the possibility of becoming a battle medic alongside them even crossed her mind. Her tail tip curled as a warm gust of wind blew through the small Gadgetzan inn; she really hated it here.

Rain poured heavily from the sky, seeping its way onto and into anything it landed on. Greyer shook the water from his thick pelt, starting at his tattered ears and neck and working his way down to calves, restoring the fur at his ankles to its previous damp, feathery appearance. He wished he had stashed his armor away for the night; though it provided some protection from the storm, distressed patches and seams sewn together with only waxed cotton cord could not keep him dry. He swallowed and let out a yawn, baring his teeth and curling tongue; after howling for nearly an hour, boredom had finally caught up with him. His eyes focused on his newly-found companion, a tawny-pelted, middle-aged individual by the name of Spritzer. If they hadn't been chased off by their fellow denizens, they would've been in the inn enjoying a pint of ale and enjoying themselves instead of prowling about by the King's Gate, waiting for the rain to stop. Spritzer's sightless eyes shifted from Greyer to the sky above. Greyer snorted and stood up briefly before planting his hands on the muddied path, continuing to head back to his makeshift camp on all fours. The blind bartender's khaki-furred ears swiveled forward and upon hearing Greyer's footfalls above the whispering rain, he set his nose to the ground and followed suit, the claws of each of his paws digging into the soaked terrain.

If anything, everyone, despite the distance between them, eagerly awaited the return of Greatfather Winter to restore their spirits of hope and happiness....

Versus: Our Blog's Two Males

Tabijin:

• more like a father (understanding, worrisome)
  
• had a family and lost them (two dead, one lost)
  
• disowned a friend
  
• was shaped by family tradition (father was a Shaman)
  
• "Fallen patriarch"
  
• was an elitist to some degree; was a chief adviser to tribe

Greyer:

• more like a son (rebellious against authority, unruly)
  
• had a family and lost them (all deceased)
  
• betrayed by a friend
  
• dislikes family tradition (older brothers overshadowed him)
  
• "Rising rebel"
  
• was a humble being, befriended the tavern bartender

Hmmm... trying so hard to make Greyer unique compared to Tabi and the girls; perhaps, even, an "anti-Tabijin." Already ran his personality through the D&D character alignment test and came out surprisingly as Chaotic Neutral (no one has had that result before, so it was like "whoa"). So, yeah...

Also, if you're also creating a Worgen, check these out:

• WoW.com | Worgen
  
• WoW.com | Know Your Lore: Gilneas
  
• WoW.com | Know Your Lore: Worgen

[Note: these links do not directly contain quest spoilers.]

...heh, for all I know, Greyer's father/family could've made armor/supply packs for the war(s), the Lyall family could've assisted in building the Greymane Wall... Could Greyer become afflicted with the Curse because of an encounter with his father or brothers (whether a bite or simple contact)? Something to consider, I suppose. I really want some more specifics about the Curse's dynamics beside the fact of it "spreading through Gilneas unchecked for several years."

On a different note and on the other side of the Greymane Wall, Greyer can't seem to shake off the annoyance of an individual by the name of "Spritzer." Not sure who he is just yet, but Greyer's howling and snarling by the King's Gate has been heard almost nightly now.

Run Awayyy!

You're freeeeeeeee!

...secretly, Taceo is trying to snatch up all the pet turkeys and release them back into the wild. /facepalm.

Thankful

This year, the girls [and Tabi'] and I are thankful for:

• Lunarius & Nikolaos
  
• Rested experience bars
  
• The Shadow of Paragon [my 3d pixel family!]
  
• Chief, B, Moo, Olo', Derek & Sam
  
• Ventrilo chats
  
• Hearthstones
  
• The Light's blessings
  
• Tigule & Foror's Ice Cream
  
• Events that bring my guildies together
  
• Epic and Flying Mounts
  
• Shirts that cover the female torso/abdomen
  
• The screencap .jpg format
  
• Professions & the craftsmen who've mastered them
  
• Successful raids
  
• Daily quests
  
• Fun quest chains
  
• Maintenance Tuesdays
  
• The upcoming release of Cataclysm
  
• Blizzard Entertainment [even though things have changed for better AND for worse, they've still gifted me with everything above...]
  
• ...and, of course, my family and friends who tolerate my obsessive love for this game, haha. ♥