World of Warcraft®

OOC:

TL:DR
Karazhan rules over the darkness of Deadwind, Duskwood, and Swamp of Sorrows [and now Blasted Lands]. Take, use, interpret that how you'd like, I just hope it can bolster your own RP in a way and perhaps scare up some stories that use or in part dovetail into these areas, thus enrichening the community RP lore we players create for ourselves. *I also presented an idea for my characters and a guild based on this premise, merely for an example (a showcase if you will) and not as a recruitment bid. I hope to hear from you all.

Quote: TL:DR of post #4 of the linked thread below.
http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/12427712695

*This is my official announcement and invitation thread. :)

<Karazhan>
The guild is simply named in honor of the tower and its rich lore, but also because the scope of the guild RP encompasses more than just the Horsemen, the Dark Riders, the Worgen, the Necromancers, Shades, and so on and forth... yet it is still centered around that great and mysterious Tower.

The RP scope
...is very very broad in terms of types of characters and tales told, but narrow in that its theme is very dark by nature.

I would personally like to see a multitude of Death Knights, Worgen, Warlocks, Shadow Priests, Dubious Mercs and Murderous Assassins fill the guild ranks, but that being said....

All classes and races are welcome to join, and bring your alts.

OOC on IC and RP ((:D))
As a guild we are not good nor are we evil. We just are.
Individually you may be anything. Your motivations, naturally, are your own.
All are welcome to join in service to the Tower. We will each have our own backstories and motivations however they must ultimately tie into "why" you were called to serve the mysterious entity that is Karazhan; who is the ruler over a fairly large "ethereal kingdom". From Deadwind to Duskwood, Swamp of Sorrows and Blasted Lands, all of these lands and its beings fall under the influence of the tower in some fashion.

RP is not a requirement, but it is the guilds' sole focus so I am classifying us as Light RP for now. Alts are welcome. Full time attendance is not required, since this is solely for RP purposes. I understand that like me many of you have multiple characters within other guilds and different stories roll with, and sometimes all at once!

We're all apart of the same great CC community :D, so lets have some fun!

IC portion:

<Karazhan>
We exist only to serve, to make manifest the Will of the Ivory Spire, and to safeguard its secrets. We are its Gatekeepers, its Keymasters, its Watchmen, its Shield and its Hammer. In the end, we are but ghosts...

Upon these darkened roads made all the darker by the passing of days' light, I am called to wander. I often muse on these mortal lives.

Do they know just how fragile their existence can be?

Perhaps they do, and is the reason they cling to it so strongly.

The darkness that cloaks these lands was not our doing. I am but a servant, one among a great many, who serve its greater influence. The Tower. Its will is so often felt among these people and the creatures of Duskwood. It practically permeates the very mundane of their relative existence.

I wish no ill upon them and yet hold them in no regard. My duty is to the Tower first. The preservation or destruction of all else is as the Tower directs. People come and go. The people of Darkshire are no exception. I hold no opinion on the matter.

I do however marvel from time to time at their resilience. Their fortitude. That the town still exists and even seems to thrive amid such darkness, threatened on all sides by the taint of such evil, is a testament to the resilience of humanity. One could say they were proud of these people, if one could feel such pride at all.

I cross the streets at night upon my mount, not a soul to be seen aside from the dutiful Nightwatchman. Some may catch a glimpse of me from time to time. The Tower allows it, only a glimpse, to remind the populace of our mysterious presence. Inevitably one will come running, torch in hand, ready to approach the mysterious traveler only to find nothing. I watch bemused from the shadows as they stand perplexed. Some scratch their heads in the cliched manner, others get angry and call out a challenge that I am at times tempted to accept. Still most simply shake their heads and dismiss what they thought they saw as just another ghost.

That is all I am to them, and to most all I will ever be. This is the Tower's land, claimed by its subtle ethereal influence, and I am its phantom.

Roland's Doom.
I sit upon my steed perched upon a darkened overlook. An unseen sentinel. Below, the Nightbane Worgen claim more souls to their cult. They engage ceaselessly in mock combat to sharpen their skills and hone their newly found senses. From this they also establish a fragile pecking order among their kind. Packs, as it were. I move from my perch unseen, unheard.

The Rotting Orchard
A fruitful land tainted by darkness and overrun by the more skilled of the Nightbane ilk. Stalkers prowl the thickened woods, hunting for food, for victims, defending their orchard from intruders. The Shadow Weavers twist the night to their bidding to conjure silent shades. An impressive feat for creatures so juvenile in their creation, proof of their fledgling potential. Still, their creations fade after a time.

The Ogre Mound of Vol'Gor
Granted, much is unnatural to these lands. I am practically a sigil of this, yet ogre are not of this realm. Their existence upon Azeroth is a blight I am more than willing to cleanse. My view might be misconstrued as feeling, but I assure it is only logic. Cold and reasoning. They represent a threat to these lands and to this world. My hand is only stayed by that whom I serve. The Tower has forbid it. Much to my...disapproval.

Raven Hill
Strange to see the names of those who somehow strike familiar carved upon so many headstones and yet can not remember them. Stranger yet to see vaguely familiar faces shuffled amidst the disembodied ghosts, the wretched ghouls and shambling corpses. I would pity them, had I pity to give. The hill is a place outside of Karazhan where I have no need to hide. My presence among the other meandering undead goes unnoticed and ignored, by most anyhow. A few seem to be aware of my presence regardless if I desire it or not.

Morbidius the crypt keeper and guardian the catacombs stands unmoving. Unflinching. He... it... allows me to pass unmolested into the crypt below. Once a shambling army of undead filled these desecrated halls with a symphony of haunting moans and cries. Now they are silent and still, and once again the cold chill of Death fills these chambers.

The lich Morbent Fel. I had communed with this one on several occasions. Polite fellow. Powerful. Full of anger and hate, he had his sights set on loftier goals all of which hinged on obtaining more power. Beings such as he can never truly be content with the feats they have gained. No amount of power, save that of a god, can satiate. These will always desire more. Morbent would have eventually become an issue or an ally. Which still remains to be seen. He grew in power each day deep within the hill until a few discovered his workings. Powerful and careless, his pride eventually brought his fall as it always will to those like him. But only the foolish will believe he is truly gone.

Forlorn Rowe
Morbent Fel's mortal residence. In life heroes came to vanquish him as he had become their mighty villain, but failed to realise they were merely releasing him. Their righteous zeal to cleanse this land only served to further doom it but creating a greater enemy. I often perch myself atop the roofline of the home amidst the palpable darkness. The fel power permeates that plot which to me feels... comfortable. Many an endless day I had stood and witnessed the undead creature Mor'Ladim pace his eternal vigil.

From beneath the eaves of Morbent's once home the skeletal sentry shambled down the hill toward the crypt, there to stand before the gate keeper. They shared an unblinking stare. The sword he brandished in life a tainted shell of the weapon it had once been grasped firmly in his rotting grip. The corpse turned on his heels after a time and made his way back up the forlore hill to the house.

On occasion he would not stop at his posting before the house, but keep walking to the opposite side of the hill. There he would stop at the edge of the thick darkness that blanketed Forlorn Rowe. He would stand for a long moment before a simple grave marker. I know not of whom, never having interest to see for myself; being more than content to stand watch and witness his endless cycle. He eventually returned to the house and began the circuit anew. The undead creature had a singular purpose, which is why I found it interesting that he would pace so far off course just to stand before a grave marker.

Could it be the ghost of a memory? A reflection of its past life still glimmering somewhere in its unconsciousness?

Alas the beasts' wanderings have been put to rest. Its' undying secret revealed to only a privileged few.

The Darkened Bank
I much prefer to meander the roads and hidden paths of Duskwood a foot or mounted, but on occasion I take advantage of the power vested in me by the Tower. I slip through other hidden pathways of time and reality to arrive at any location with a thought, save it be within the bounds of the Tower's Kingdom.

In a seemingly sympathetic gesture shared with Mor'Ladim I often find myself drawn to the banks of the river bordering Duskwoods. I am permitted to touch the waters, to stand upon their surface and make my way out over their rushing depths, but only midway.

That is my limit. These are my unseen chains.

I seldom venture out so far these days, preferring instead to sit astride my only other eternal companion. My deathcharger, Dissident. Our gaze lingers upon the opposing shore of Elwynn. For what reason I can not say, but there we remain until I am called to another part of the realm.