World of Warcraft®

( Krinda is part of Razortalons ICly, but she is in Playin Dirty for raiding)


Leaving the Razortalon tower a small training ground can be seen between the town house and mill, this is where Krinda would spend most of her time in Hearthglen, watching the trainees practice. Sitting atop of a old tree stump watching the Commanders yell drills at the trainees to practice. The sound of weapons clashing on wooden limbs of the dummies brought the orc peace in this neutral area. She was uneasy to see both orc and human in the same location with out the sound of battle to accompany it. Only thing that broke the orc's peace of mind was the smell of something burning in the air.

She sat quietly watching the groups of trainees practice, but often she would jump off her stump to interrupt the Commander's drill to push her own training on the group. From showing proper weapon swing and how much force to deliver to a enemies body part, she enjoyed teaching others how to harm their enemies.

Recently in one of her demonstrations on how to hit a limb, she broke the dummies arm off. The Argent Commander with the group of trainees wasn't happy about Argent property being broken, he scolded her about it until she fixed it.

((Haha, Krinda -- I've RPed Cray doing the same sort of thing. Between the two of us, the Argent Trainees are going to be either EXTREMELY good fighters or EXTREMELY confused! :P))

Cray had not even remotely gotten used to the presence of the Razortalons in Hearthglen.

Not that he could fault the Crusade for this -- they were neutral, after all. If the Presidium was based her it was only fair that the permit a Horde organization to set up camp as well. Cray had spent enough time as a member of the Argents to understand their neutrality, even if he was not particularly a fan of it.

He was particularly concerned, however, for the well-being of Gust. The gryphon had taken over one of the larger roosts for flying mounts in the stables. It was not inconceivable that one of the Razortalons might find that roost more fitting for their... drake, or whatever they were riding. Even some of the Presidium had raised that point -- but Cray had informed them that Gust had picked his own roost and they would need to take it up with him. That had settled the matter amongst the Holy Guard. If the Razortalons took issue with this arrangement, it would be much less likely that they would simply let the gryphon go on about his business.

So, Cray was checking in on his gryphon frequently.

It was about the fifth time Cray had poked his head into the stable when he saw it. One of the Horde warriors climbing the ladder to Gust's roost. He wasn't sure if they knew there was a gryphon there or not -- it was entirely possible they were just exploring the large stables. Nonetheless, that roost was off limits.

"Hey!" Cray shouted, "No! Get down!" It wasn't just that he was protective of his gryphon it was also...

The Razortalon kept climbing. Then, as they neared the top, Gust let out a ferocious screech. The sound of his massive ebon wings could be heard, and the breeze they caused even reached Cray across the building. The Razortalon continued to climb.

And then, quite suddenly, the gryphon's talons launched from seemingly nowhere. They grasped for the face of the invader, who leaned backwards and lost his footing on the ladder. Gust screeched again, his face emerging from the dark of his roost -- looking quite pleased with himself.

The Razortalon got himself to his feet and brushed and scampered out of the stables, looking quite shocked.

Yes, yes. It was also that Gust was quite capable of taking care of himself.

(( I absolutely must request that NPCs not be made of the guild lackies. They do exist, certainly, and in some cases may be used for plotfodder. However, we've made a point of saying "No messing with other folks' possessions or with what could be considered neutral buildings" even earlier in this thread. To their own, Razortalons tend to be rather strict over conduct towards outsiders, particularly where image is concerned. Things are brushed off, things may be secretive such as where some of those books are disappearing to, sure, but why in the world would someone go harassing mounts and climbing all over things? After all, they are using all the same facilities - and doing what they can to improve the area. They would not wish their own company bothered, and would make no issue with others except perhaps in bluster and bluff. Despite being Horde, and perhaps of questionable moral over certain circumstance and issue, they are neither there specifically to harass others, nor to be convenient villains. Apologies if this seems a harsh reply, and it is not directed absolutely to one person... but, er, this seems to be cropping up repeatedly both IC and OOC from various people by simple fact of proximity. We're not making assumptions of Alliance who bide their time and are having fun out there, and it is presumptuous to have such done to us.

TL;DR, rude to post for other guilds, would like to avoid things that may incite needless dramatics to either side of the fence.))

((I know you said this wasn't directed at anyone in particular, but please allow me to plead the case for my above post.

I'd like to draw your attention to this line in my post: "He wasn't sure if they knew there was a gryphon there or not -- it was entirely possible they were just exploring the large stables." I'm not indicating that the Razortalons are messing with Pia's stuff -- furthermore due to his time-jumping/migraine situation, he hasn't been in Hearthglen for about a week until yesterday so Gust wouldn't have been in the stable for anyone to know about his roost or his attitude anyways. I can't see that this post would create any more drama than the Razortalons having someone come to speak to Cray about his gryphon's poor attitude, which I'm totally game for. Anyone who was RPing with me a year or so ago (whenever I first got my gryphon...) will remember that Gust started out not particularly fond of Cray too, and there's certainly people in the Alliance that Gust doesn't or didn't care for.

Now, just in general, consider this: because you all just moved to Hearthglen, you guys have a relatively easy job as far as RPing this out without much more than vague references to the people you share the property with -- Pia and the Crusade. Your RP is more "settling into a new home", which is much easier to do since it involves adjusting to new surroundings and forming new habits -- much less dependent upon other people. Pia on the other hand has been settled in for quite some time, so our RP in this situation is necessarily "getting used to new neighbors" -- which is a lot harder to RP without directly referencing the new neighbors, which is y'all. That gives you a lot more freedom as far as what to RP in this thread if we can't imagine some situations of our own, y'know what I mean? I absolutely understand not wanting to be painted as villains, but so long as our portrayals of the Razortalons are neutral I'm not sure I see the problem.

I can understand your concern at Razortalons being made into NPCs and I'm perfectly willing to delete my post if you still find it disagreeable, but I just thought it should be pointed out how restricting that is to Pia's RPing here.))

It would seem that Zharikov and myself have both claimed the same desk at the top of the tower.

As such, he'd only managed to visit Hearthglen once or twice since their recent acquisition,

The young Tauren dumped the new cart of books onto the floor to the left of Tagorth's desk, then proceeded over to the second pile, loading them into the cart. As the Tauren worked, Tagorth got up and made his way to the new pile of books. He picked up one "The Secret History of Karazahn: A Photographic Journey Through the Ages!" It looked boring. Tagorth thumbed through a few pages before tossing it over his shoulder, and into the pile that the Tauren was still trying to clean up.

"Pictures bad. Tagorth better drawer."

He reached down and picked up a second book "The Dark Portal and the Fall of Stormwind" This one he didn't even bother to read; he just tossed it in the pile.

"Hummie books never good."

By this time the young Tauren had finished filling the cart with yesterday's books, and was about to wheel them outside. Tagorth grabbed one more book, "The Founding of Quel'Thalas", leafing through it as he followed the Tauren out of his office. A small, common looking wooden crate wobbled back and forth behind him. After a brief walk through the Razortalons Headquarters: Hearthglen building, he and the Tauren stepped outside.

"Elfie book no good either. Why many bad book? Tagorth write better book for elfie read."

The two followed a well worn path toward the backside of the Razortalon's compound-- behind the main tower towards the outer defensive wall. They stopped in front of a large pit full of charred remains.

"No messing with other folks' possessions or with what could be considered neutral buildings"

Destroying books seems to be messing with other possessions. Since our people have been using the library there for research ic it's only logical to assume they also have their own books there. Aside from which, just because the library isn't horde, that doesn't mean it's useless. It was there when you arrived. It was not your property. Even if it belongs entirely to the Argent, it still doesn't deserve to be destroyed.

Pia occupied Hearthglen as guests. We own the invisible tower, but aside from Taelanas taking up residence in the house, we considered ourselves guests. As such we didn't go around making improvements, getting rid of things that didn't interest us, or saying we had "acquired" Hearthglen.

You all have no way of knowing this unless Raoul discussed it with you. I discussed it with him to some extent to try and lay some kind of foundation and avoid problems.

Pia built a tower in the corner of the compound that is invisible to non-members and highly warded. This tower is our living quarters. We use the infirmary in the keep or sometimes Taelanas' house, the house near the stable and blacksmith shop, for our wounded.

We of course, use the blacksmith shop, stables and grounds. Our magically inclined use the mage tower. That's where the stillroom is and the laboratories. It's also where officer meetings were held since a desk is there and it's an easy area to protect from eaves dropping. Guild meetings we normally do in the town hall and we eat in the keep.

Raoul explained the fascination with the mage tower and said you would be using the areas around it. Fine, I said we could avoid the tower. We would also not enter an area where y'all were rping as we have no interest in interrupting rp.

Now you snapped at me once before about me putting forth "idle paranoia" and then when I explained the situation about how I was attacked not once, but several times by one of your rogues, you backed out of that accusation. I didn't respond to it here because I wanted to let it die.

I highly doubt either guild is going to be occupying the same area at the same time very often, so it seems like it's getting very prickly over nothing.

We're arguing about who can wear the pink dress on our paper doll.

I'm going to ask Pia not to respond to your thread anymore so as to avoid the flame war this is threatening to evolve into.

Y'all have fun with all the remodeling and book burning and all the other improvements going on in your new acquisition. If need be, we'll pretend there is two of everything, but it seriously is not worth getting our panties in a wad and we are not going to.

I told Raoul we would not interfere with your rp and he agreed you would do the same and that's all I care about.

((0.o Whatever happened to dirty laundry being aired privately?

As for being attacked, there's a very simple solution to that.

Flag down.

Honestly. You only have yourself to blame if you're getting ganked on a non-PvP server.))

((

Thank you, Cray, that was the sort of reaction and discussion I was hoping for. It was... how to word it, more merely disconcerting to have assumptions made of the actions and reactions made of those in the guild without it being passed by or volunteered from someone within. We're happy to help with such things, it just takes communication. When representing others in writing, we try to stick with either a fairly direct transcription of things that went on IC, something cleared with the group in question, or a character's own perspective and view of how others act. That last one seems to be misinterpreted at times, but that is a digression. Interactions and such are quite reasonable, though! Especially considering that, in theory, they would run into one another here and there.

Now, as to post #26. Yes. This is largely what we were trying to avoid. An excellent illustration. Please, must request it not be deleted.

Although I am disinclined to address each point individually, as it would lead to bantering of semantics back and forth, I must point out that much of that is simply the nature of the characters, their organization, and their choices of wording. They 'acquire' things, oftentimes as some ongoing joke, though have been pressing that it is still a public, shared space. They are making changes, though not in disrespect, merely seeking to improve the resources available - to whoever might make use of them. Theirs is an organization inclined towards improving everything around them, facilities included. How could they work with anything less? Hardly conducive to a company of crafters.

One individual burned books, and others have indeed been addressing that in game, and in writing. That is an IC issue for IC reactions. The nature of that roleplay seems an odd thing to stick over, out of character.

As to the issue of the rogue, as was stated privately, and apparently must become a public issue: the character in question was not a member of the guild at the time. They left so that they would not be associated, knowing it against the conduct and image we wish to put forth, their actions their own. Such things happen when one is permaflagged, it creates temptation to those inclined towards fighting. We have not been attacking and harassing as a guild, besides normal bouts of World PvP and defense elsewhere. Besides, perhaps, a difference in opinions about the IC/OOC nature of emotes in combat, we have been rather respectful.

))

((I feel the need to defend myself, as my post was specifically pointed out as "wrong."

The sole reason I posted anything at all is because books disappearing is exactly the kind of thing that Tagorth would do. I know that no one Alliance side would know that, and that's okay.

I would like to point out, though, that unless there were some "sekrit" talks that no one else was made aware of, there was at no point any indication that the "tower" Razortalons is using, is the actually standing tower in the in-game Hearthglen. The only time the "mage tower" is mentioned at all is in Gentyl's posts. As such, I took it to mean that there is a separate tower for RT usage. I apologize for anyone upset by my actions due to my ignorance.

Now, in order to not have people upset with this, and to not kill the cross-faction RP, it's entirely possible to fix the situation by claiming that RT is occupying a second tower that's simply not in the game world. Remember, locations in the game are scaled down for technical reasons-- many of the cities simply could not hold what they are claimed to. Stormwind and Orgrimmar, for instance, truly do not have the supplies or room to hold the standing armies and populations they're claimed to have. In addition, it's not hard to imagine there is another, possibly smaller, tower if we're going with the idea that Pia has an invisible one.

It's a lot better for everyone, I believe, if we just go this route. There's no reason to cut off all RP due to simple misunderstandings; especially considering that we've had nothing but good interactions thus far. There is always going to be a little friction both IC and OOC; but we as role players have the responsibility to deal with it, move on, and continue to do our thing. Anything less and the role play is just going to die. The interaction by the two factions is something we really can't do (well) in game, and so we should continue to try and keep this and other threads going. Sometimes one side is going to do things the other doesn't like... that's the entire point of the interactions. If we all played out scripted parts that everyone agrees with... then well, the hell's the point of it all?

So let's just take this in stride, keep what is IC well... IC... and keep up this excellent RP.))

Olarius Spellsong claimed one small recess between two bookshelves for his own small workspace within the tower. He refused a desk. He kept enough desks to keep track of already. One in both major holding warehouses, technically one in the so-called command facility, and others of lesser note. Most of them were shared with ranking officers, and picking up the messes which people left behind drove him to distraction. Instead of another desk proper, he opted for a thin cushion and a nicely sanded board of scrap wood from the mill.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, the blood elf then dropped his hand to turn a page in his notebook. The book was merely an organizer, full of things to do and reminders to himself. His left arm served much the same purpose, these last few days, wash-faded notes scrawled across it in different colors of ink. Most of the pages were covered in checks or had their lists otherwise scratched out.

Silvermoon quality lab equipment in both titansteel and elementium, check. Kirin Tor runed vial kits, check. Both Reliquary and Royal Apothecary standard containment and testing kits, en route. Glass and copper-lined alembics and stills, en route, along with replacements for when the metal versions suffered corrosion, though that would take years.

Runed and enchanted tools to make working with the "sub-par" forge and anvil survivable, check. That was his own picky nature showing. After so much time spent with the arcane forge in Dalaran, using some piece of re-purposed slag to build upon proved unappealing at best. A smithy assistant to help Mister Vant, arranged with a superior officer. Soon. Maybe. They were trying to find a suitable person from the Argent Vanguard in Northrend.

Replacing or mending, enchanting, and warding bookshelves to permanent library standards, done. Top level book sorting, check. Proper card cataloging had been nearly completed the day before, even impressive by his own standards. Anything remotely useful as resources were already re-shelved, the sorting finalities being taken care of. It was as though his assistants never slept.

Between the elves involved in sorting and cataloging the library of the tower, they hardly did sleep, in fact. Erosielle dragged as if she had been on her feet for weeks, now, though steadily sorted and re-sorted the books by the whims of everything being moved around. She seemed to quite enjoy it, and he was glad of someone with more time to put to work than he possessed.

Olarius, over time, found himself growing fairly certain that one other secret librarian-who-would-remain-unnamed just simply had no need of rest, and she was one of the most impressively reliable people he ever had the pleasure of working with. Even if she hardly spoke more than a smattering of words, she was quicker than he would have thought and, it seemed, something of a mind-reader for details. Going through a mage's research tower of such size, which had housed such scattered and varied studies by those who drifted through doing work with the Crusade, would have taken weeks alone.

With those two and the periodic other helping hands who pitched in, everything was handled in a matter of just a few short days.

However, the missing books bothered him. Olarius tilted his quill back, drumming his fingers slowly across his notebook, looking down at it. There had been a stack of questionable history and culture tomes that he had yet to look through, though most of those were going back to the Town Hall to be re-shelved. Historical volumes were of incredible value, considering what had been lost to the recent wars. Just gone. Three crates of books were not so many, all things considered. Most of the volumes were doubles of martial training manuals from the bottom floor, or student work considering the nature of the unliving and effects of plague residue on flora and fauna. Repetitive things, better represented in other works or of encyclopaedic collections organized by head researchers.

Some of the individual volumes gone awry he already knew exactly who took them, to what purpose, and when they were to be returned. He had made off with a select few items, himself. Small books of interest that hardly would be noticed missing from the collection, carried away to better and more practical use than languishing in some forgotten shelf. Nothing of express use, nothing that could hold the most remote idea to a crafter, or caster, or to the practical day to day going-ons of Hearthglen. That did not account for those works to be crated and carted across the hold, however.

A more amusing note to himself finished that particular page: making certain his husband's half of the work desk at the top of the tower remained organized while the man was out tending to other duties. There was a something of an escalating contest going on between the Magister and the Archmagus, setting wards to either keep the desk in intuitive chaos or arranged order. Vanyris, concerned with security innovations as he was, likely would keep the bantering challenge up as long as possible until Raoul lost interest or turned to a new means of inciting irritation.

It was funny to listen in on their reactions to each spellcaster's desk meddling, too. No one was even certain how one book ended up stuck to the ceiling... or how they got it down. Not to even mention the chair affixed sideways against the wall when he went up to check in the morning. Mages. Somehow, Raoul and Vanyris' complicated wardings hardly phased others who went to use that same seating and space. Olarius had used the desk himself for writing numerous times already without so much as a static charge from the spells setting off his aversions to magic. Perhaps they were more delighting in pestering the other, an extension of their organizational rivalries.

Right. Things to do. The list of unfinished business largely consisted personal projects, most not nearly so monotonous nor 'boring' as the need to put the library into a good state. He turned a page.

A scuff and clatter of metal pieces against stone rang out from below, the noise echoing in from just outside the tower's entrance. Pausing in his rewriting of the remaining listed items, Olarius glanced over at the ramps and railings leading downwards. Odd, that. There had been noises earlier, but he just assumed it an armored recruit shuffling through the manuals at the ground floor of the tower. Everything else was muffled by a steady rainfall, just heavy enough to discourage the normal background noises of training, mill, stables, and smith outside.

An investigation and idle chat later proved it to be Krinda, plunked down just outside of the doorway to rest. They spoke at short length, the orcish warrioress terribly amused by his attempts of resisting going on about his current librarian's obsession. Then. Then, she mentioned Tagorth, the grilling pit he had made his pet project, and books. Smoke and chemical smells and the scent of scorched leather drifting past the training dummies had been irritating her and a few of the recruits.

Olarius laughed it off after a few questions traded back and forth. That was absurd. Who would burn books?

Krinda gave him a look.

Tagorth.

... He quickly excused himself from the situation, as politely as possible for as little time as he had been able to spend amiably with his peer. The Sin'dorei even had to look back over his shoulder, to make certain neither his jaw nor stomach were laying back on the stone flooring once he convinced himself to move.

Tagorth was a writer. He would not, would he? Of course, he was a writer of hubris, finding other works unnecessary and...

Anar'alah Belore.

Setting out into the chill afternoon rain, he stalked behind the tower and to where the fire pit neatly stood. At first glance, it seemed innocuous enough, darkened from char and water. At close proximity, once the elf knelt to remove the metal wiring of the grill surface and set it aside, it smelled pleasantly of poultry, ground vegetables, and Nagrand spices. Someone had been using it before the constant drizzle started.

One gauntlet-covered hand stroked down through the wet ash, turning up little more than stones, the charred edges of sticks, and one cracked bone. The bone, a femur from which the marrow had been removed, caught his attention for a brief few seconds. He abruptly dropped it back among the detritus of the pit, an aversion caused by the realization of what - or rather who - it must have belonged to. That was certainly on the banned list for this area, but at the moment, not his concern.

Moving around the pit to inspect a charcoal pile on the other side, his search turned up what he feared. The blackened back of a leather-bound volume, one which he recognised. After all, his husband possessed a similar, albeit first edition version of the tome, proudly set with other works concerning Quel'Thalas and her history. This had been a cheaper, poorly inked copy, one pulled from the middle shelves of the tower perhaps two days before. It was supposed to go back to the Town Hall. A few moments of digging turned up the bedraggled remains of other book covers, and he scowled.

The orc burned innocents. They were harmless.

Not the gnome. The books.

Briefly, the elven fighter considered the merits of assault on a superior officer.

Fel.

It wasn't long before Lightsworn had obliterated the sandbag he had been practicing on, thoroughly frightening - and covering in sand - the recruit he had been making hold the thing up. Doubling over, he placed his hands on his knees, brow furrowed as he panted. The action was entirely out of habit, unnecessary, but the mixture of exhaustion and rage set him about his old - living - ways with no second thought.

That was the third one he had been through today.

"Shall I fetch another one, sir?" The meager voice spoke up. The poor half Elf recruit had been helping the once-Knight all day. He had been working more or less with Lightsworn for years now, since he was a young boy, even if they weren't exactly close. The undead Elf had been terrifying when he was a Knight, but now... Even though the other Argent monks were known for their calm tranquility, and Arothand managed to do just the same, there was something completely unnerving about the Knight dropping his runeblade only to turn his body into a weapon. Even without the lit runes, the sheer stature of the - granted, relatively short - Elf was enough to intimidate a man who had fought the Undead since he was fifteen. The unlit runes and other markings scralwed across most of his chest, arms, and even coating a good deal of his face didn't make that visage any less terrifying - it almost seemed like scare tactic, an unfair advantage in the spars where they were not allowed to wear armor.

On top of that, by now he had sand in the most uncomfortable of places, and a good bruise or two from when the Forsaken Elf got a bit too overzealous in his practice.

Glancing up, the man scowled for just a moment, before shaking his head, the fury in his expression quickly fading away into frustrated annoyance. "No. Three's 'nuff for th' day. Git." Straightening himself up, he scorned himself for showing temporary weakness, even among an allied recruit. The Forsaken were not weak, and they do not tire. He paused, tipping his head to the side. "Actually. Send tha' one Crusader back, biggun.. wha's his face. !@#$ if I can pronounce it. Draenei guy. Monk. Th' massive one, stands 'bout three feet over me. Tell 'em I want a spar." Something he could beat the %^-* out of without breaking it, and not feel too bad for doing so. Their Argent allies could always heal him up later.

Without further word, the recruit scampered off, waddling awkwardly no doubt due to the uncomfortable amount of sand in his boots and otherwise.

The once-Knight was in a bad mood today. Hopefully the Draenei would notice, and prepare accordingly. First off, he had found another wanted poster of himself thrown up on an Argent board today.

Of course, he promptly tore it down. Not that anyone had acted on it. He had seen several Pia members around Hearthglen. On ocassion, he'd throw them a daunting grin. They didn't seem to want to take up the challenge, or maybe they just abstained from violence out of respect for the Crusade. Either way, it was both irritating, and boring. He hated waiting.

Second, there was a ton of political bull!@#$ going on lately. He hated politics.

They had been going back and forth with T-I, apparently using the AAMS so much that they even had their own liaisons now. They wanted this, and put it in this manner that could be vaguely threatening, and we responded in a vaguely 'don't threaten us' manner, and blah blah blah.

It made him want to hit something until it stopped moving.

Luckily, from the sound of hooves not far behind him, his living punching bag had just arrived. With a wicked grin, and a mental note to apologize later, he pushed himself to his feet, cracking his knuckles.

Time for a little stress relief.

After Olarius left to go in side to join the group at the top of the tower, Krinda started to walk around Hearthglen to clear her head. Normally she would be watching the Argents train or blacksmith work, she was to upset to care about any of that. Vanyris had really gotten under her skin tonight. Elf she has come to tolerate for Olarius ,Taenia and Rosie, she tries to act on her best behavior when around him, the best a orc can give, but nothing seems to make the elf change his view of her. Yet seeing how he greeted the Alliance the way he did in the tower, set her off more then it should of.

Krinda
" I try to be as nice to him as Olly and Rosie tell me to be. I try to act "elf" like around him, but no! He always has something rude or snarky to say to me, because I'm not some long eared pink elf! Yet he shows the damn humans more respect then he does me! Errra~"

Letting out a snarl she draws her axes, and charges the nearest tree, hacking away at the poor thing as if it was the Orc hunter Gile back from the dead while shouting things she would normally keep in her head. Wood chips fly past her has she carves in to the helpless tree, passing Argents watch. A Orc trainee stops a human trainee from approaching the enraged orcss

Orc Trainee
"When they get like that, best to leave them be"

The human trainee turns his attention back to Krinda hacking the tree apart, only nodding.