Wednesday, December 31, 2008

Wait, Tell Me Again Why I'm Naked?

'Cause yer beatin' on this big fuppernudder Azaloth.

Yes, but-

Ya needs ta git yer kung fu skills up.

I understand, but why-

This bugger is banished, sorta permanent-like. So ya can beats on him and nobody gets hurt.

Of course. Though, I don't-

Kung Fu is important, case ya gets disarmed.

Yes, I know-

Or yer weapon breaks.

Right. But why do I-

Don't wanna be useless in a fight, do ya?

No. Absolutely, I get it. It's just-

Plus, there's an achievement in it. Knucklicious, or sumthin'. I cain't be bothered ta keep track of the details.

Of course not. Speaking of details-

Is gonna take ya a while of beatin' on this bugger ta get to 400, though.

Well, yes, so anybody could walk by and-

And during that time somebody might decide for ta mess with them 'locks keeping him banished.

Yeah! And then they'd see-

And since yer mind mighta wandered off a bit during all that repetative punching, ya might not notice what he's suddenly unbanished and eating yer face off until it be too late. And then yer armor'd get all mussed, which'd be no good. So is best ta do it starkers, just in case.

Uh huh. I'm not sure this isn't all just some elaborate scheme of yours to generate blog fodder. Come see the naked paladin, or something. Hey! Where are you going? Ratters? ... Ratters! ... RATTERS YOU BETTER NOT BE BLOGGING THIS!!!

Tuesday, December 30, 2008

Fishing Woots

Hello gentle readers.

Well, I've gotten my fishing skill to the point where I can fish in Outland, sorta. So I've been talking to Old Man Barlo the past few days, helping him track down and catch some special fish, in return for a little bag of fishing treasures each day. Well, today I hit the jackpot:

And along the way, I picked up this modest achievement:

And then I went and talked to those roly-poly Kalu'aks, and as a reward for my dedicated fishing, they sold me this shiny new pole!
:: grin ::

Saturday, December 27, 2008

Vyprania's Story: The Priest

The Knights of the Ebon Hand were established. We were recognized by the leadership of the Alliance and the Horde, and endorsed by Tirion Fordring. But we were not received with open arms by our new allies. People in Stormwind no longer threw rotting fruit at me, but the vendors were all suddenly out of merchandise when I entered their shops. The auctioneers would not recognize me when I tried to bid on an item, and the children would quickly cross to the other side of the canal when they saw me.

Light's Hope Chapel was worse, despite the fact that these were supposed to be my comrades in the fight against the remaining Scourge. Unseen hands and legs would shove or trip me into the mud, and there would be nothing but innocent faces when I turned around. My belongings were rifled through when I was out, and anything of value taken. Notes denouncing me as "Lich bitch" and "Arthas' whore" and worse were left on my bunk.

And so, like many of my fellow Death Knights, I found myself passing through the Dark Portal and into Outland. With Vashj and Kael'thas and Illidan defeated, this alien world had been largely abandoned by the mercenaries who had made it their home for the past two years. All that were left were rear guard detachments of the Horde and Alliance, and the Scryers and Aldor strutting about Shattrath City, pretending that they still mattered. It was a land of Death Knights, sharpening our skills against a far greater range of opponents than we had encountered in our battles against the Scarlet Crusade - demons and ogres and fel beasts. Some talked of destroying the Portal and cutting ourselves off from our allies who despised us, but I could never support such a move. Arthas was on the other side, waiting, and some day I would go back and face him.

But there were times I wondered if I would ever make it to that day. Killing felboars for some goblin entrepeneur covered my living expenses, and kept my reflexes sharp, but there was no sense of purpose in it. No mission fulfilled. And so I began to spend more and more of my time in the bars of Shattrath's Lower City, seeking escape from the emptiness that gnawed at me, the voices that shouted in my head for vengeance and blood and justice, if only for a few hours. And it was here, surrounded by empty flasks of port and listening to some orc up on the stage scream that he was a fish-man, that I met the priest.

She didn't look like much, a short, stocky dwarf with black hair pulled back in a simple braid. But her gear marked her as a seasoned veteran of the recent campaigns against Serpentshrine Cavern and Tempest Keep and the troll city of Zul'Aman. Her left hand was crooked at an odd angle, as if it the arm had been broken and had not quite healed properly. When she pulled up the chair across from me and sat down, however, it was with the deliberate care not of a worn out campaigner, but rather one deep in her cups. Like me.

"'Allo, lass," she said, her speach slightly slurred. "Mind if I join ya?"

I shrugged non-commitally, and stared at her, baffled. After a minute, with a directness I would never have dreamed of using in my former life, I demanded "What are you doing here?"

"Ach, I'm helpin' mehself to some of yuir port. Mah flask bein' empty, ya see."

"No, I mean, why aren't you in Northrend?"

"Oh, that. Been replaced by a new gel, doncha know. She's younger, taller, prettier, an' can do fear wards and desp'rate prayers as well as Ah can. So ole Cay, she ain't needed no more. But that's all right - gives meh time ta catch up on meh drinkin'."

Not having a purpose - I could relate to that. My purpose was to kill Arthas, but these days that seemed so remote that I might as well not have one at all. I nodded, waited to see what else she would say.

"Now, lass," she said. "I've seen a lot of yuir type pass through these past weeks. And none of them be what I would call ... happy ... but you. You are more troubled than most, I ken. It is like black waves emanating from yeh. And I suspect there's things yeh carry inside yeh, dark things, things what weigh on yuir soul. Now, Ah'm just a simple priest of the Light, and Ah'm probably not the sort a Black Hand elf like yuirself would chose ta unburden on, but Ah am here. And Ah know a thing or two of the darkness we've all had ta embrace ta get through, and as for mah not being an elf, ishnu al-elusia amayne kaldorei, sellia alayn vesh Elune-na nalluria Cenarius-na falibus."

I blinked, startled to hear this dwarf speaking in nearly accentless Darnassian. Where had she learned that? And I found myself beginning to tell my story - the ill-fated mission to Lordaeron, the betrayal at the hands of the Scarlet Crusade, my bargain wih Arthas. She listened mostly in silence, non-judgemental and accepting, nodding occassionally. I told her more - things I had never told anyone. The young mother I struck down in New Avalon, how I murdered Sergeant Nalise, our defeat at Light's Hope Chapel, the bitter shame I felt on my mission to Stormwind. The more I talked, the easier it became. The screaming in my head became muted, and I felt a degree of peace I had not experienced in years. I do not understand how this short, drunken priest of  faith different than what I had grown up with, and so antithetical to what I had become, could make me feel this way, with such little gestures and so few words, yet somehow she did.

When I finshed, we were both silent for a minute. Then she spoke. "Aye, that's a heavy burden to be carrying in yuir heart, lass. And you will be carrying it - not'ing Ah can do to end that. But there are things what can help you carry that burden. First, I can give you this: Vish al'narith, mallune del nash'ant Vyprania tel annath." When she uttered those words, I could feel something enter me, something strong but gentle. It was as if Elune herself had touched my soul. Perhaps she had - spiritualism had never been something I understood well.

"And second," Cay the priest said, "there is a man I think yeh should talk to. He has an assortment of adventures he has gathered together to look out for each ot'er. People what dinnae quite fit in anywhere else. I t'ink it might be a good place for yeh. A home for when you need one. This man, he's an odd duck, and," (her voice briefly rose to a startlingly piercing squeak) "oi! is he a randy lad!"

"But," she continued in her normal voice after a fit of giggling. "He is a good man, and Ah t'ink he'd take you in. Just one thing Ah should warn yeh of, lov."

She paused.

"He's an oorc."

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Hard Like Heroic

More than I can handle?

I felt horrible fighting Keri. She'd been my friend, when I first came to the Borean Tundra. I'd saved her once from that frickin bastard Malygos, and we'd fought side-by-side to defeat Saragosa. I thought ... maybe ... somehow I could ... save her again. Without ...

Well, Malygos can't hurt her anymore. Poor Keri.

Monday, December 22, 2008

Is Where Danger Mouse Has Something For Kohl Drake

A few days ago, after seeing Ratterss in a dress, Khol Drake said "...i don't want my eyes anymore..."

Huzzah! Khol wishess to embrace the Shadow!

Come over here, pretty boy, I'll get you fixed up in a jiffy! <3!

Sunday, December 21, 2008

Guest Blogger: Maurice

Hello. I am Maurice, the Death Knight of Looove.

In days gone by, I was known as Maurice, the Paladin of Looove, and the beauteous ladies of Lordaeron would swoon as I walked past in my wondrously bright armor. 

Now, after my slight, ahem, mishap, I am living in Stormwind City and I look forward to many great conquests here. I am still every bit as dashing as when I was alive, plus now I have that special, back-from-the-grave je ne sais quoi.
But first, that foul orc Ratshag, whose employ I was forced to accept, told me I should join the guild he is associated with. Since a guild provides many opportunities for the ladies to meet me, I could see this was one of his few clever ideas (he is a rather simple orc, you see). So I approached one of the officers and introduced myself.

I explained how I fulfill a critical duty, standing by the mailbox and disenchanting incoming items. She was, of course, thrilled beyond belief at the opportunity to have a dashing hero such as myself in her guild.

Once I had been officially initiated into the organization, I quickly made myself known. After all, ha ha, there will be much demand for my time once the ladies get to know me. We should get this process started then as soon as possible, I thinks.

Of course, some of the men in the guild felt threatened by my presence. This is understandable, of course, for I am the Death Knight of Love. They will not be able to compete. I would, of course, feel sorry for them, except it is not worthy of my time. 

And so, that is my tale. I shall be keeping regular hours at the mailbox outside of the Stormwind Bank, to make it easy for the ladies to find me, and swoon.

If Kitty Says Word One About This Helmet....

... I swear ima gonna break his frickin' jaw.

Friday, December 19, 2008

Friday Night Drunken Singings

In the day we sweat it out on the streets of a runaway Azerothian dream
At night we ride through the mansions of Kara in suicide machines
Shprung from cages out on Warmaul Hill,
Thorium wheeled, health pot injected, and steppin' out over the glubberniggin' line
Baby this town rips the bones from your back
It's a death trap, it's a shuicide rap
We gotta get out while we're fuhgin' young ...hic!
`Cause buggers like ush, baby we was born to run!

Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene
I'm begging of you pleasse don't take my man.
Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jooooleeeeeeeene!
Please don't take him jusst because you can

Your beauty is beyond compare
With flaming locksssh of auburn hair
With ivory sskin and eyes of emerald green
Your ssmile is like a breath of spring
Your voice is shoft like ssummer rain
And I cannot compete with you, Jolene
You warm-blooded bitch

No, you shee, I'm not really drink sho I'm not gonna shing you shee ...hic!
'Caushe, you shee, we paladinsh can jusht casht frickin' Cleanshe on ourshlevesh
Like thish! Poof!
Hee hee hee that ticklesh.
And jusht like that the alcoboozhe is aaaallllll goooonnnnne. Bye bye! ...hic!
Shober as a frickin' rock. That'sh me.

Maurice, the Death Knight of Love:
I'm so vain, I probably think this song is about me
I'm so vain, I'll bet I think this song is about me
Dont I? Dont I?

Ring around the rosies
A pocket full of posies
Ashes, ashes
We all fall DOWN!!!

Tee hee I love songs about plagues.
... um, Ratters? I've fallen and I can't reach my beer.

Glarghala gagghl gah
Arhlagha aggl gharhalagh.
Glahllha ghar allhagha gha
Gahragla gahagga arhlga glahg.

// drum solo //

Galagh gahhll garhh ahhghr glahh
Gallagh aghala aggrh lahllaglharl gha.
Aghlahhl glarrh ghalrlhh alhhrga
Gallhr glah garrahhalglar!

Is thanks ta Bruce Springsteen, Dolly Parton, Carly Simon, Anonymousified schoolkids, and ... um ... Tupac Shakur? Gene Autry? buggered if I know...

Is Santa Shag

Mystic Nibbles were wanting ta know if an orc in the red Santa suit would look as shmexy as a tasty piece of spacegoat flesh like Tatia. So I borrowed Ellspeth's and kinda stretched it a bit. Well, I let Nib make the call. Come sit on me lap, little girl, and I brings ya a pony.

But fer the all-out sexifizings, nuthin beats the Little Black Dress, which Ellspeth were also kind enough fer ta lends me. I'll be under the mistletoe, ladies.

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Guess What?

** Huge grin **

She Weren't Me First...

...but she were the first for ta leave me a comment what still be blogging. And she's also been one helluva damn fine friend. Who is?

Is Almost Evil Hydrargyrum - she's cute, in a show-no-mercy drain-your-soul liquid-at-room-temperature kinda way. Go checks her out. Left me a comment waaaay back here, on me old blog.

And since ~One Among A Huge Freakin' Bunch~ started this memememe, I supposes I needs ta tag some other buggers. So here goes:
Bananarama Shoulders
Kalloplaiee the Crafter
Mysticalish Chicanery
Way Too Many Annas

Post on yer own blog, leave a comment here, or pretends ya never saw this. Whichever creams yer twinky.

Thursday, December 11, 2008

The Purge Goes To Utgarde Keep

Felt good ta lead me old guild inta a dungeon again, after a hiato- haitus- haiaiai- bugger it. a long break. We only had four of us available - me, Throttle the Tinker, Mr Hoof on Healz, and shiny new Death Kinght Ix - so this ended up being more of a recon mission than a full-out killing spree. I just gots one question on our tactilizations, though: How comes when we ran into the instance, everybody but me nakedified?
Seriously. How comes?

Well, Thanks Kitty

So I's gettin ready last night fer me date with the Tuskarr Wimmens Cliff-Diving Champion when Kinnavieve comes running into the Team Ratshag HQ with her face in her hands. Right past me, into the bedroom, and slams the door. The bedroom. The only bedroom. And I got a big date coming up. This is not good.

I look at Danger Mouse, who's sitting in the corner not-reading a book with her no eyes. She gives me a non-look that says "you're the boss. You deal with it." Hunnh.

"Uh, Kinn?" I says to the door. "You all right?"

"No! I hate him!" comes a muffled reply.

"Hate who?"

"Stupid stinky dwarf."

"Um, yeah, they is. Which one in particular?"

"Stupid stinky spirit beast."

"Oh, that one. What he do?"

"He said I should be on And he told everybody! He said I went out of my way to get the ugliest armor and the ugliest helmets and the ugliest everything. It's not my fault I never got a chance to get Lightbringer Armor!"

"That's right! And I think you should get up off of that bed and go tell him so. Like in the next (/check watch) 10 minutes."

"Stupid stinky 30-year-old-virgin horndog armor designers."

"Yes! And you should get up right now and go give them fluggernubbers a piece of your mind! Or a piece of your mace! Piece of anything."

"Stupid stinky Murkblood Avengers."

And so it went. I hadda cancel my date with the Tuskarr Wimmens Cliff-Diving Champion; well, postpone it, technically, but now that bugger Maerrakech gonna get a chance ta make his movifications on her first. Ah, well, plenty of other large marine mammals in the sea. Anywho, I eventually coaxed her out with the combined temptation of undead trolls to smash up in ZD and some cookies Danger Mouse had just baked. Heard her mutter something about "gonna bubble-hearth on his ass" as she went tromping off in her very becoming armor.

And Kitty, since me evening plans got shot down by all that, next time we's bar-hopping and ya needs a wingman fer ta help make yer move on some tasty piece of nelf-flesh? Just summon up yer rhino.

Tuesday, December 9, 2008

Galertruby's Guide To Preparing For 10-Man Naxx

Garhhl. Gahhl galha Garrrahhalagh.

Gllah gahr allahhgrl ghallagl gah. Agh glahhgl glahhgl garrh gahhlahr glahhr, ga gallhahl! Aglhha gahllragl gllah aghhrla gahhllrah gah glaghhlh glahh. Aghahll garhhr glahhlglhaarhga ghallah allha, garrharlh agghal ga arhhh galahhargh. Glallh garrh, gahhlahglahhr agglh ahghlagl glagglha ga arhhh.

Gaghaha aglah agghr laghalagh grahagl, gaghaha glhahg agrgha laghahrag. Glhaggla agg larhg galhagga ghaha alahg, glah, gahaghga gahlgal allahg glha:
Glaglha gha, aggrahgl lahg gahhaglarh. Garrh glahaggl glha agghalarg agglahar ghaggl aglha. Agglh ahghlagla agh grrhal, gallha gra gahhllha gallraghl ahl lagglarh. Gahhaga:

Glahhgrl glah arrlh aggrhala gahhl glha. Glahg grahhglh glhhlhalha gahhr garrha, aglh glhha gharhl. Glhagl gllha ahhr glahhlglhaarhga ghallah allhag. Gllha garrharlh aglhha gahllragl. Gllah aghhrla gahhllrah gah glaghhlh glahh, gahhl aghhr garahhghlahhrgh aghraahl glhahhl gahhlah. Glah aghr Ghrallhahl gha gahrrlagahr agh gahlagh. Agghlagh garrh arhhlagh gahl grah glahhghl. Glahgl arhlg glah:
Glhargal glah agglha arglhaglh, gahalg aggla gahrlagghl. Laggharlag agglha gah. Aglh aglha gallh gahll gahrrallah. Agrhh glagglha gha ghrallhalha ghagglha gaharrgh glha agglahg, agh argalagh gahhll garhh ahhghr glahh.

Alhhagh gha,

Sunday, December 7, 2008

A Dark Day

I shouldn't be alive.
If it hadn't been for that sortee on our left flank ...
If I hadn't ...
::sharp inhale::
You have probably already heard of what happened, there at Wrathgate. If not, well, you will. Oh, you will. I- I don't want to talk about it. It's too much. Too soon. Too...
But now I'm holding-
She says I must-
But I'm only-
But I'm-
::covers eyes::
::ragged breaths::
::ragged breaths::
::deep breath::
I'm sorry. It's just so overwhelming. And I'm still trying to understand. To make some sense of it...

The day began in the town of Wintergarde, in the the Dragon Blight, where for the past few days I have been helping to beat back Scourge attacks. This morning we had a breakthrough when I was able to obtain the phylactery of the Lich Thel'zan, commanding the attacks. With it, I drew him out of his lair in the catacombs beneath the city to where Commander Yorik of the 7th Legion and best troops were waiting. The foul monster put up a tremendous fight, and summoned a swarm of ghouls to aid him, but in the end we were victorious.
After, High Commander Wyrmbane himself credited me with having turned the tide of the battle. Which was rather an exageration - after all, many had contributed and sacrificed.
::secretly bursting with pride::
And then, he dispatched me to the base at Angrathar, to report to Lord Bolvar Fordragon, commanding the Alliance half of the seige of Arthas' citidel. Wow. Me. Holy frickin' cow.
There she was. Alexstraza the Life-Binder, queen of the dragons. Lord Fordragon had asked me to ask for her help in clearing the skies over Wrathgate. She was so strong and powerful and frickin' important, I just couldn't believe she would have any time for me.
Yet when they brought me before her, and she smiled at me, and said, "It is good to meet you in person, Kinnavieve. I have known you since before you were born."
I, well, gosh, what do you say to that? When she looked at me, with her glowing eyes, I felt like she was looking into me, into my soul, searching for something. With anyone else I would have felt threatened and naked, but with her it felt safe, loving, maternal. I realize that doesn't make much sense - I just don't know how else to explain it.
Not only did she agree to help us, she sent me to lead her dragons to kill Grand Necrolord Antiok and end the Scourge's control of the frost wyrms.
And the attack on Wrathgate began.

The betrayal-
The screams-
And he was falling-
:: wipes tears ::
I still can't talk about it. I'm sorry.
You've probably heard what happened already, anyway. I- I really can't add anything to that story. I shouldn't even be alive.
:: sharp breath ::
But afterward, Alexstrasza was there, on the battlefield. And she called to me. And she asked me to take his- to take it to the king. And to tell the king that he musn't lose faith.

And then she said-
She said that the Alliance needed a hero. That they needed me.

That can't be right. I'm no hero. I'm just Kinnavieve, woodcutter's daughter from Nowhereshire. Heroes are larger than life, like Tirion Fordring, or Ratshag, or Bol-
Darn it, a hero wouldn't be standing here clutching his shield and bawling some scared little girl! There must be someone else!
But she just looked at me with those huge, deep, glowing eyes. She didn't say anymore. But I could sense that she believed what she was saying. And I just- I just couldn't bear the thought of letting her down. Even though I knew she was so wrong about me.
:: sniff ::
I'm not a hero. I'm just frickin' not. But I'l be damned if I'm going to let the Queen of the Dragons down.
:: grits teeth ::
My people do need a hero now. And, if I'm the best they've got, then I owe it to them to give them the best I've got. I owe it to him, and everyone else who died today. And I will do the absolute best I can.

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

Jessika Was Right

It's a frickin' ugly-ass log!

mutter mutter old one looked mean mutter goofy mutter mutter squishies better not frickin laugh mutter mutter mutter

Tuesday, December 2, 2008

Aggro. Kinn Has It.

Hello gentle readers.

I reached my 75th season yesterday and, after talking it over with Ratters and my trainer, decided to re-train as a protection paladin. A tank. So I put down my one gold coin to reset my talents, and then got it wrong picking my new ones.
So I put down my five gold coins to reset my talents, and a few minutes later I was a tank. Blessing of Kings. Avenger's Shield. Hammer of the Righteous. I has them. Skillz?
::nervous grin::
I get back to you on that.
Well, less than half an hour later, my GMs Fio and Ban were looking for a tank for a den of Nerubians called Azjol-Neruboob (at least, that's whan Ban called it...) and hey! Guess who was available! Couple other people and in we went. In the tunnels. With the bugs. Have I mentioned that I hate bugs?
Okay, well, at first I was pretty newbish. I had some trouble remembering what I was supposed to do to manage the mobs (and it didn't help that I'd forgotten to lock my spells down and I sorta "lost" consecrate for a bit there) and, well, there were a few deaths. But a couple resurrection spells and we were back in business. And we got that place cleared out, yes we did.
So. What's up next? (Hopefully with not so much bugs.)

Saturday, November 29, 2008

Is Where Kinnavieve Does Penance

Err ... uh ... pirates? Pirates killed Big Roy, you say?
:: nervous grin ::
That's ... uh ... terrible. Really, really terrible. 
:: shuffles feet ::
Just to make soap? And ... uh ... now the sea lions won't ... ahem ... mate? That's ... well ... just awful. I'm outraged.
:: glances around ::
You said pirates did this, right? Well, I'd be glad to help .. uh ... out. With the fish and the ... er ... repopulating. Terrible, terrible pirates.
:: nervous grin ::
Okay, I'll go get right on that. Bye!
:: scurries off ::

Monday, November 24, 2008

Is Where Kinnavieve Is Puzzled

Hello gentle readers.

I just don't get it. Yes, Muradin Bronzebeard was a hero. Yes, he was a founder of the Explorer's League. Yes, he died in Northrend (mainly because he was too dense to realize Arthas was, you know, completely evil). 

BUT! At a time when the Alliance is so short-handed that they need to send me, a soldier of the light, out into the field to collect the frickin' cannonballs, and nobody has time to go talk to the Ancients to find out why the proto-drakes are all stirred up, how is it that we've got the manpower to waste on building a frickin' statue? Huh?


Friday, November 21, 2008

Screaming For Justice

Vyprania's Story, Part 3

Part 1: Screaming for Vengeance
Part 2: Screaming for Blood

I was deeply unsettled by the conflict within myself. I was a weapon of vengeance, serving my Master and striking down those who had betrayed me. Why was executing one who had joined the Argent Dawn, our sworn enemies, so hard? Why could I not sleep at night? What was wrong with me?

But the war continued, and there was no time for self-doubts. We had broken the defenses of New Avalon, pushing the Crusaders down to the coast. I was personally chosen to infiltrate their base at King's Harbor, disguised as a courier we had intercepted. There High General Abbendis, completely duped, revealed her plans to me. She was abandoning Lordaeron, and embarking for Northrend. She instructed me to instruct the Scarlet forces marching from the western outposts to turn back and rendezvous in the North instead. Instead of passing these instructions to them, of course, we instead prepared a trap for the newcomers.

Arthas himself came to supervise the apocalypse we were preparing to unleash on these unsuspecting fools as the marched into Havenshire. Highlord Darion Mograine came to me before the battle. “Vyprania, our Lord has asked me to send him my best knight for a special assignment. I can think of no one better suited than you.”

My heart filled with pride, I traveled to Death's Breach, where this campaign had begun so long ago. There was my Master, tall and indomitable, inspiring our forces while filling the hearts of the Crusaders with doubts. Just being in His presence again, I felt cleansed. No more doubts, no confusion. I knew what I was, and what role I was to play. It was comforting to know that my will was not my own, but His. Arthas gave me a horn to summon a Frostbrood Vanquisher, and sent me to unleash hell. From its back, I blasted the Crusader's ballistae with deathbolts, ripping apart the core of their army and allowing our ground forces to chew up their troops. Those betraying bastards never knew what hit them. It was glorious, seeing their twisted and bleeding bodies scattered on the ground. And when they began to run, throwing down their weapons and shields in a desperate attempt to save their own pathetic skins, I could not help myself. I laughed and laughed and laughed, swooping in again and again to add to the slaughter. The Scarlet Crusade was finished – their evil reign of terror over the Plaguelands was finished!

But within a year we had new enemies to vanquish. We received word that Tirion Fordring, failed leader of the Silver Hand, had allied himself with Argent Dawn. They were marshaling their forces – we had to act quickly to crush them before the became too entrenched. Highlord Mograine led the assault on Light's Hope Chapel, and we had them! We drove them back to the grounds of the chapel itself, and the Highlord was about to strike down Tirion Fordring himelf when-

when …

when …

… something …

… happened …

There was a bright light, and our weapons … grew heavy in our hands. It just was … too hard … and I didn't understand what was happening. The voices in my head, they were yelling at me, screaming, all at once, and I Could. Not. Understand. Them. Then Mograine was calling on us to surrender, even though we had won, and nothing made any sense, it was all wrong, spiraling down, down...

Arthas! He was there! He would make it better, make the voices go away. But, he was all wrong too. He was foul, and stank of death, and he hated us. Despised us. All of us. And Mograine was down, and Fordring was holding Ashbringer, and Arthas was fleeing, and the screaming in my head was getting louder and Louder and LOUDER!

Then, it was over. Quiet. The realization that we Death Knights had been Arthas' tools, his pawns, his dupes, was slowly seeping into our minds. And we had done evil. But Tirion Fordring – he did not hate us. He could have destroyed us, but instead I could sense his sadness for what we had become, and his hope that we would ally ourselves with him against the Scourge.

It did not happen immediately. Mograine and Fordring and the Argent Dawn leaders spent several days negotiating an amnesty, while we Death Knights sat in the field, disarmed, watched by suspicious guards. Several of us went mad as the realizations and memories of our deeds came to us. One orc lay on the ground screaming until they took her away. I saw a gnome tear out his own eyes and hurl them in the direction Arthas had fled in. Myself, I sat quietly, trying to remember the cheerful, happy young woman I had once been. It all seemed so very long ago.

And then, they were done talking. We had a mission – to take the citadel of Acherus back from the Scourge and establish it as a base for ourselves – the Knights of the Ebon Blade. We fell upon the abominations in a frenzy – none of us caring if we lived or died. When the monstrosity Patchwerk came upon us, we swarmed him from all directions, forcing him off balance, unable to choose a target with that simple mind of his, until we got him down. The I climbed upon his chest, and thrust my sword into his heart with both hands.

After, Highlord Mograine came to me. “If we are to survive, we must gain the acceptance of Stormwind and Orgrimmar. They will never love us, but I hope they will at least tolerate our presence. Please, Vyprania, will you go to King Varian for me? I need an ambassador, to present these papers from Fordring on our behalf. You were once a hero of the Alliance, selected by Whisperwind herself – surely he will listen to you. Will you go?”

I looked at my commander. Like me, he had suffered betrayal upon betrayal, good intentions and honest desires dashed upon the harsh rocks of reality. And I could see the strain he was under, trying to lead and protect us, to find a way in a world where we were hated by all, and always would be. The thought of returning to Alliance territory filled me with dread, but I nodded, and accepted the package of documents. I would not let him down, as I had let down so many others.

A portal took me to the gates of Stormwind. The guards had been told to expect me, and so they did not strike me down. But they and the citizens let me know I was not welcome. They spat on me. I was pelted with rotten fruit, and horse dung, and a few stones. One hit me just above the left eye, and I had trouble seeing through the blood. But I barely noticed these attacks. It was the cries of “monster!” and “murderer!” and “Arthas' whore!” that hurt me, for they were all true. Shame for my actions, for my selfish desire to pursue vengeance, for murdering my friends, swelled within me. My breath grew ragged, and I could feel tears welling in my eyes. But I did not weep, for I was still a Death Knight, and my brethren were depending on me to represent them before the king with dignity and strength. So I did not cower before the assaults from the crowd, and I did not break and run, but instead walked with a slow, steady determination.

Nor did I listen to the voice in my head calling on me to strike these cowards down with Pestilence and Blood Boils.

When I reached King Varian and presented my papers to him, he read them, then glared at me and drew his swords. I thought perhaps he would strike me down, in spite of my ambassadorial status, but when I made no move to defend myself he took a deep breath lowered his blades. “Were it not for this letter from Tirion, you would be a stain upon my floor. Only an endorsement from one of the greatest paladins to ever live could have ensured your survival. We... We will work together against the Scourge. Against the Lich King! “

Against the Lich King. Yes. Someday, Arthas, I swear to you that we will meet again. And I will strike you down for all that you have done, and bring an end to your evil.

Or you will strike me down.

Either way, Justice will be served.

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Screaming For Blood

Vyprania's Story, Part 2

Part 1: Screaming for Vengeance
Part 3: Screaming for Justice

Once I had been accepted as a Death Knight, I was shown how to reforge an ordinary weapon into a powerful runeblade. It felt good in my hands, just as my Arcanite Champion had in my former life. And then I was instructed to use it.

In a pit were a number of failed Death Knights – men and women who had accepted Arthas' offer just as I had, but who had proven unworthy to receive the Master's blessing. I was to chose one, release it from its chains, provide it with armor and a weapon, and then defeat it in fair combat. In the pit I saw a dwarf woman, and a human man, and even to my surprise an Eredar. All were bound with the same burning chains as I had once been. Most were subdued, quietly awaiting their fate, but one gnome was repeatedly hurling himself forward to the chains' limit, howling with rage and pain. And then I saw him. Dalek, my former companion, who had disappeared under a wave of ghouls.

He too had been brought to this citadel. He too had been offered the opportunity to exact vengeance upon those who had abandoned us to our fate. And he had failed. Contempt and anger flared in my heart. His failure was just one more betrayal. Yes, this one, this failure, would be my choice upon whom I would prove my worthiness. I unlocked his chains with the key I had been given, and tossed armor and weapons at his feet. “Defend yourself, weakling,” I ordered him.

Dalek looked up at me. “Vyprania? So, they got to you. Well, I'm getting out of here. You can help me, stay out of my way, or ...” he eyed my blade, pointed at his heart. “Die!”

He was fast, and a more experienced fighter than me, and managed to cut me badly several times. But the powers my Master had given me allowed me to wrap him in chains of ice, and flay his soul with shadow magic, and then I severed his sword arm at the elbow. He collapsed to his knees, staring up at me. I brought my sword down, and it was over. As I walked back to Instructor Razuvious, I licked the splattered blood from my lips, and thought that nothing had ever tasted so sweet.

Having proved my worth, I was soon sent into the field under the command of Darion Mograine. He used us Death Knights to disrupt the enemy, tearing past the Scarlet Crusade's fortifications on our deathchargers and sowing terror and panic in the lands to the rear. These farmers and peasants were innocents, worthy of protection. Instead, they had allied themselves with the Crusade, and thus willingly made themselves my enemies. Some stood and fought bravely, some tried to flee, but it did not matter. I remember one woman tried to appeal to my sense of pity: “If you kill me, you make orphans of my children.” I laughed, grabbed her by the throat with my mailed hand and pulled her to me. “Do not worry about your precious ones,” I whispered. “Our ghouls will be eating their brains before nightfall.” Then I flung her to the ground and ran my blade through her heart.

The war continued, and we pushed and harried the Crusade back. We disrupted their mining operations, set up plague cauldrons outside their cities, intercepted their couriers. Once, I managed to infiltrate the harbor at Light's Point and turn the big deck guns on the soldiers assembled on the beach below. I fired that gun until the barrel glowed red and the sands were soaked with their blood.

Soon we had penetrated the walls of New Avalon itself, last bastion of the Crusade in eastern Lordaeron. I personally penetrated the town hall and executed the mayor. Then, I unleashed my powers on the townsfolk who had gathered to demand that he save them from the Scourge. What fools! I could hear their blood singing in my ears as I cut through them, raising their bodies as ghouls to do my bidding. It was glorious.

But, as the city burned around me, I was given one more assignment. The Crusaders had a number of prisoners from some new organization, Argent Dawn. Most had died, but a few yet lived. Knight Commander Plaguefist had saved them for me to execute, as a reward for my outstanding service to the Master. One particularly feisty night elf, he said, ought to be especially enjoyable. Pleased that my superiors thought so highly of me, I drew my sword and strode into the prison house, only to stop dead in my tracks.

The night elf prisoner was Sergeant Nalise, who had been captured at the same time as me. What could she possibly be doing in an Argent Dawn uniform?

“Come to finish the job have you? I's like to stand for … Vyprania? Is it you? Fucking Scourge, what have they done to you? I barely managed to escape with my life that night, but if I had known what they would do I never would have left you there. Oh, little one, I am so sorry.”

I stood there, mute, uncomprehending, unable to think or act. My head was filled with voices, arguing with each other, confusing me, blinding me like a fog.

“You must remember the splendor of life, my sister. You were a champion of the Kaldorei once! This isn't you! Listen to me, Vyp. You must fight against the Lich King's control. He is a monster that wants to see this world - our world - in ruin. Don't let him use you to accomplish his goals. You were once a hero and you can be again. Fight, damn you! Fight his control!”

Outside, I could hear the Commander, wanting to know what was taking so long.

"There... There's no more time for me. I'm done for. Finish me off, Vyp. Do it or they'll kill us both. Vyp... Remember Teldrassil. Remember our mission. Remember hope. There are still those who will help you. Find them!"

The voices on my head grew louder. "Kill! Mercy! Obediance! Loyalty! Vengeance! Justice! Blood!" I felt trapped, confused, uncertain - feelings I had not felt in years.

She raised her chin defiantly, and her voice cut through the fog in my head. "Do it, Vyprania. Put me out of my misery.”

And I did, severing her head with one swift blow and leaving it in the dirt next to her body. As I walked out of the prison house, the Knight -Commander said to me, "You're one cold blooded monster, Vyprania. I salute you, sister." I could taste Nalise's blood on my lips, where it had spattered across my face. And it did not taste good at all.

Part 1: Screaming for Vengeance
Part 3:
Screaming for Justice

Friday, November 14, 2008

Screaming For Vengeance

Vyprania's Story, Part 1

Seven of us set out from Darkshore to lend our aid to the Alliance. We had been selected by Tyrande Whisperwind herself, in defiance of Archdruid Staghelm, who felt that we should look to our own defence. But the Scourge was battering Lordaeron, and Tyrande felt that we owed it to our new allies to provide what aid we could. We were led by Sandia Lightwing, a captain of the Sentinels. Gallen the druid and Tylla the hunter were our eyes and ears. Crusty old Sergeant Nalise and crafty Dalek provided our sharp edge, and Xalliope was our healer and spiritual leader. Finally, there was me, Vyprania Treemender, barely three-hundred years old and full of youthful confidence.

Our ship dropped anchor off the northern coast of Lordaeron and we were rowed ashore. The sailors were tense and nervous, and departed as quickly as possible. We made our way to the village where we were supposed to make contact with the local defenders. But it was clear that things had gone horribly, horribly wrong. The village was deserted, except for two corpses in the doorway which looked not just mauled, but partially eaten. That night we had our first encounter with ghouls - a small pack which we easily drove off. We would soon learn that this was just the beginning.

Not sure what to do, and with no way to return home, we pushed south, hoping to make contact with survivors. We found towns destroyed by plague, by fires, by invasion. We encountered ghouls, and walking skeletons, and beasts driven mad by foul diseases. And we began to die.

Gallen was our first loss. We were attacked by a swarm of undead, and he was separated from us in the confusion. We tried to fight through to him, but there were too many. We could only watch helplessly as an abomination made of flesh from many people stitched together struck him again and again, overwhelming his bearform strength and crushing his skull. After, we recovered his body and burned it, so that it could not rise and serve the Scourge.

Moonclaw, Tylla's panther, caught the plague and went mad, ripping her throat out before we could stop it. Archers hidden in trees ambushed us, and Xalliope fell immediately. We never found out who his killers were. And Dalek fell under yet another wave of the never ending ghouls – we never did recover his body.

We eventually encountered a band of paladins, members of a new organization called the Scarlet Crusade. They were dedicated to fighting the Scourge and restoring Lordaeron, and we formed common cause. For two months we waged a guerilla war, staging hit-and-run raids on Scourge bases, ambushing their patrols, stealing their supplies. It felt good to finally be performing our original mission. But it was hard. There was almost nothing to eat, for the grain supplies in the towns carried the Scourge, and so many of the animals in the woods were becoming tainted. And I was so tired. We were always on the move, and the opportunities to sleep were few and far between. And when I did sleep, I replayed my friends' horrible deaths, over and over.

And then one night, it happened. The leader of these Scarlet warriors accused us of secretly conspiring against them. Captain Lightwing protested, pointing out how we had fought and bled beside them. But he would not listen, growing angrier and calling us nonhuman monsters. As the argument continued, his troops began to encircle us, their weapons out. Men and women we had thought were our friends! I was shocked and confused. Why was this happening? And then Henrick, a huge, fierce man, smashed her between the shoulders with his big mace. She fell instantly, her neck broken like a twig. "Run!" Narise yelled, and we dashed for the cover of some nearby trees.

And it was there that the final betrayal fell upon us. Nets dropped from the branches, and undead warriors wrenched our weapons from our hands. "Two elves, just as those Crusaders promised," said their leader. "Good. The master will be pleased." And we were thrown, stunned and disbelieving, onto the back of a wagon, trussed up like animals for the slaughter. Something hard struck the back of my head, and everything went black.

I awoke in a dark cell, naked and alone. I was bound to the wall in chains which burned my skin. I could stand or crouch, but no more, and every movement made the chains burn more. I do not know how long I remained there. Sometimes a diseased creature, only barely recognizable as having once been human, would come with a pot of some sort of watery gruel, which it would roughly spoon into my mouth. It tasted foul and I wanted to spit it out, but I was so hungry I swallowed it in spite of myself. I tried to be strong, and wait patiently for an opportunity to escape, but the utter hopelessness of it all was too much to deny. It became harder to tell when I was awake and when I was asleep, for the nightmares and hallucinations at any time. And one day I could no longer take it, but collapsed, sobbing and shaking uncontrollably until I was completely drained. And still my chains burned.

The next day He came. A huge man, with power emanating from him in waves. His eyes burned with a cold blue fire. Arthas, he said his name was. And He offered me release. Release from the physical pain. Release from the pain of memory and failure and despair. Release from he nightmares. All I had to do was to serve Him.

One last spark of defiance rose in me, and I spat out a dwarvish curse I had often heard Sergeant Narisse often use. He laughed. “But I have not yet told you the best part of my offer,” His deep voice rumbled. “I will also offer you the opportunity for vengeance. Upon those who betrayed you. Those who ran away instead of supporting you in your war. Those who sent you and your friends off to die.”

With those words, my defiance died. Yes. Vengeance. They must pay, for what had happened to me, and the Captain, and Xalliope, and all the rest. I would make them pay. I looked into those blue eyes, and nodded.

I could feel his mind reach out to me. And then I was falling, falling into blackness....

I awoke, and the pain was gone. I was standing, unchained, clad in armor. Ready to take my vengeance.
I was a Death Knight.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

What Is This Shite?

Forty minute queue times???!?

I dinnae care if ya are goin' ta Northrend. I got trolls what need killin' the teh Hinterlands!


Hello Gentle Readers!

I did it! I made it to my 70th season before FedEx delivered my ticket to Northrend. Go me!

Okay, I know it's not as big a deal as it used to be, and in a few hours I'm going to be back to leveling, but for now I'm just going to bask a bit. I went shopping for a new chestpiece and leggings - nice, solid, no-unnecessarily-exposed skin armor. Plus, I got to put on the shoulders and gloves I earned fighting the Scourge Invasion. Well, actually, that sweet-smelling dwarf and his poo-flinging pet got me halfway there. Thanks guys! Just 'cause you and Ratters are duking it out over who's more "sexified" doesn't mean I don't still love you. The tabard, though? Got that all on my own. 

And best of all? Ratters gave me the mats to get some frickin' epic bracers. (Love you too, Ratters!) I feel like a real Soldier of the Light in all this, I tell you, not some vagabond wearing random Arakkoa and Broken cast-offs.

Well, okay, the polearm is more of a hunter's weapon. But still.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Kinnavieve - Then and Now

Wow. Ten seasons have gone by since I gritted my teeth and walked through the Dark Portal. In a few days it'll be time for a new journey, to Northrend. Before that happens, I thought I'd take a look at how far my gear and stats have come.

Old and Busted
New Hotness
Stronger! Faster! Even smarter! And looky-look! I have real pants again! Woot! Thank you so much, Talon King Ikiss <3!
(Sorry about all that killing you first business)

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Kinnavieve. Dragonslayer.

Hi everyone!

Did you know that Lady Prestor was really the dragon Onyxia in disguise??!? I mean, she was right there in the innermost circles of power of Stormwind, influencing policies and, and, and, well, whatever it is they do in the innermost circles. And nobody knew! Not until King Varian came back, just a few weeks ago, and set things right. At least, in Stormwind.

Well, Sunday night some of my guildies got to talking about that, and decided it was time that someone finish that scaly bitch off once and for all, before she could meddle any more. Which I thought was a splendid idea. Serve her right, and all. Then one of them said, "Hey Kinn, want to come with us?"

Wait, you mean me?
So there we are, deep in a cave in the Dustwallow Marshes, preparing to do battle with one of the fiercest monsters in all Azeroth. Three decorated heroes, veterans who had defeated Nightbane and Magtheridon and Lady Vashj and Prince Kael'thas. Their epic armor and weapons were glorious to behold. And then there is me, who had defeated ... umm ... some Arakkoa? and Hogger?::gulp::

(Oh crap, what am I doing here?)
::deep breath::
::grits teeth::

I did my best to contribute. I hit her with my polearm as hard as I could, and I kept my spellbook handy so I could quickly find the spells that they told me to use. At least, I tried. I mean, some of them I had never cast before and couldn't even frickin' remember having studied. But, I looked them up as quick as I could.
::nervous laugh::

And they had lots of helpful comments and suggestions:
"Oh, did we tell you to stay away from the tail? Otherwise that happens."
"Get between her legs, Kinn! Haha, won't Ratters get a chuckle out of that one!"
"Did you get feared into the whelps, Kinn? That's a 50 DKP Minus!"

Onyxia was tough and fought hard, but we got her down after about 15 minutes or so. And then the rest of the group were so nice, they let me take her head back to Stormwind to present to the king! Wow. I mean, me. Kinnavieve, from Nowhereshire, Elwynn Forest, to go to King Varian. Just, wow.

And it wasn't until I was in the throne room, in front of his majesty and the young prince, that I remembered. Me in my totally frickin'  inappropriate armor of the skank. Oh sweet Elune, what do I do?

Well, his majesty accepted my offering of Onyxia's head, and didn't tell me to get my RUIDP-self to the red-light canal, but oh I could tell he did not approve.
::bites lip::
Oh well.

Speaking of outfits, take a look at what a couple of Scryer agents were able to whip up for me from varios looted odds and ends:
Now, that is what armor should look like. It protects everything, and it all matches. I even got to have pretty hair. Okay, the beard tickled a bit, and having to strap down my boobs was frickin' uncomfortable, but still. Real-looking armor. I wants it!

You hear me, Ratters?

'Cause I's So Fuhggin' Diplomatic

I ain't never fished in Stormwind before, so I figgered I'd try it out. Now them guards, they were none too happy fer ta see a orc strollin' in the gate, even if I was dressed in me freshly laundered tuxedo and armed only with a fishing pole. Shoved me up against the wall, duped everything outta me bags, called me some rude names, but I didn't take it personal. They asked a few questions, like What were I up to during the Second War (learning ta walk), Did I eat manflesh (not fer at least three weeks - you seen them crazy prices on the AH?) and Were it me what peed on the statue of Anduin Lothar and carved me name in the base (I said it musta been some other Ratshag - mebbe a dwarf). Anywho, they eventually let me go down inta that pit at the front of the city. Were a bugger named Jorgen there, but he understood fishing and let me be.

And afters I were done, that International Council of Achievement Awarding Buggers done awarded me ten points, on account of me being such a diplomatic flubbernugger.