World of Warcraft®

Hi! I just rolled here and I am looking for an RP guild that takes newer Rpers and doesn't mind levelers. I have played on MG, WrA and ED, all of which I wasn't to happy on. So far I've liked what I've seen on CC.

Any tips on a guild are appreciated =D

Waves the welcome wagon banner.

"Hiya new friend. I'm Sizzspring Brightspark. Developer of the now world famous KickStep and PageTurner devices. I just wanted to ask what kind of elf are you before I engage you in activities concerning your questions. Are you the friendly kind that look like they fell in blue paint or the evil kind that look like baguettes?"

((Are you looking for information regarding Horde or Alliance? It'll make it easier to help you.))

WELL.

I'm glad you like what you've seen so far. There are a few recruitment threads floating around that will give you a greater idea of what to expect.

My brood is always recruiting, of course, but the choice is yours when it comes to finding a home that suits your needs.

And try not to hold eye contact with Sizzspring. I've heard -things.-

Welcome to Cenarion Circle! I've heard very good things about the Wayfarers' Coterie, and would have no compunctions about referring you to them.

If you check out Alliance side, hop into the AllianceOOC channel and we can help you out as well.

Just, you know... bring spare pants.

Sorry, I've had a lot going on family wise.

I would love to check out Wayfarers Coterie if you don't mind having me. I will say up front I am a shy person all around, but I do warm up eventually >_>

Much obliged, 'Fang.

And of course we'll have you. We've gotten pretty good at coaxing hatchlings out of their shells!

Usually by the simple economy of smashing them open.

Naw, I think you'll be comfortable with us.

Rolls her oversized eyes at Liore.

"Puh-lease. You're still mad that you got beat up by my best friend Khromie with a bent butterknife. A BENT ONE! I know the best people. I even know the star of the hack Arthur's My You're a Tall One fanfic (Touch of Is Bee); Is Bee. She's super tall and could put a hoof into your backside if you say mean things about me again."

She prances away with a new idea.

"Oh, male elves are so girly. They gossip."

If you see me on just toss me an invite =D. If Blizzard lets me on -cry-

Girl it. Is. On.

Someone hold my weave.

http://cheezburger.com/7683265792

Holding out her hand for the weave, Izby tapped her hoof as she towered over the elf. Each tap had frost radiating out and building up around her. Crawling up her arms like a frozen gauntlet. Her voice came out crackling like moving ice.

"I believe you threatened my friend."

(( As you can tell, we're a violently friendly bunch. I'll echo Rage and say if you get faction curious, /join AllianceOOC and introduce yourself as new. There are a bunch of friendly people in there who could help you out. Or even /join RPNewbies channel. It's a little quieter so it's easier to get the answers you seek since AOOC is pretty much an RPers general chat. ))

Imperious to fault, the elf draws a thin, pale green cigarette from some crushed and forlorn carton, to pinch it between scowling lips and spark it with a baleful black flame from a single fingertip.

"Such chivalry. But consider yourself warned; a physical confrontation would be profoundly unwise."

With a smirk and a puff of breath, a frost forms over the end of the cigarette, extinguishing the embers. Then with a tilt of her head, the frost forming that started as a thin gauntlet continues spreading across her arm to create a full armor piece over her robes, with studs and spikes sticking out and razor sharp. The frost building up around her hooves expands into a ring around her body, vibrating with life. Slowly, she curls her lips back showing fangs and teeth and similarly dressed variations of Izby spring forth to create a half circle before the elf. An elemental in the middle.

"Yes, physical confrontation would be profoundly unwise."

The heat in the area began to increase despite the amount of ice and frost and none it melted. Eyes for everyone aflame. Then all at once, every familiar, every image, every elemental shooed the elf away with a grin begging for a fight.

The Inquisitor looked from image to image, his poisonous stare slithering at last upon the mage herself. She was quite serious. And not without a fair amount of power. The sheer heat of her rolled against him like some hateful tide, righteous in its urgency.

That was fine. He had a few years to get tough himself.

Eyes crossing to inspect his worthless cigarette, he spat the small paper toke out and crushed its frozen head with his heel. With the calm of centuries, he began to unbutton his fine coat.

"Impressive. Very impressive. Very- flamboyant," he praised acidly, pulling off his coat and folding it. "As you wish, Draenei. I will spar you. I could do worse things than work up an appetite; that girl will scalp me if I attend another of her breakfasts idly."

He tossed his coat over a shoulder. It drifted towards the earth, but never landed. A hand burst forth from the very ground, catching the article in a deathly grip. Another hand, and then another tore free from the earth, as half a dozen bodies simply pulled themselves out of the ground. Beautiful in figure, free of any rot or imperfection. Male and female alike, they stalked over to Bloodwing, carrying with them pieces of armor.

They proceeded to dress him in the silver and grey plates, the suit of mail, the greaves, the bladed pauldrons. They crawled around his form, arms spread wide, kissing his flesh, clawing his joints.

"It has been some time. I do not believe I remember how to restrain myself," he stated, matter-of-factly, like playful pre-game banter on some raquetball court.

A cherubic woman tightened his armored belt with her teeth. A long-haired Adonis, sculpted and nude, set the layered, leering helmet upon his head. Liore stroked the male's cheek, tucking a loose tress behind a perfect ear. Their task complete, the forsaken simply melted back into the earth. A timeless coffin emerged in their wake, the lid opened partially.

From it, Liore drew a massive, horrible spear. He proceeded to inspect it, as one would a goblet of young wine.

"Hmn. I pried this from the hands of an Alliance General, Draenei. Big and blue as the day was long... I had struck down the priestess attending him, you see, and he was simply -luminous- with rage."

The terrible weapon danced around the old warrior's fingertips, describing a masterful figure-eight. He pointed its barbed tip at Izby. The real Izby.

"Come then, Magistrix. And I will show you how I slaughtered your kin."

Magistrix? Oh, the naivete, she thought.

But she nodded an approval. It wasn't hard to figure it out. Each of Izby's images were different, but that was on purpose. Most mages used their reflections to obfuscate and deceive. Izby used them as an army with a variety of offensive weapons. Simply because she was an enchantress and her images came armed.

"So your little story was meant to what intimidate? Telling me of your cowardice to strike the helpless and the unaware. It only sets the fire within to burn brighter. More erratic. More chaotic. More irrational."

The cluster of images, familiars, and elementals began walking in a circle around the elf. Then Izby flicked her finger and one of the images stopped with an elemental and a familiar. This image with windswept hair called up the arctic winds. The sleet blowing in from the cardinal north where she stood, buffeting the elf no matter which direction he look.

"And you dressed so provocatively in a weapon for my use. A metal to conduct. Perhaps I will torture you with hypothermia and frostbite. Watching your body fall to pieces like your people did to my kin."

As they reached the west, she flicked another hand and another image stopped to start casting behind her familiar. Her robes were fire red and looked like a hawk. A small ember glowed between her fingers as she snarled.

"Or I could boil you in your armor. Melt you where you stand. Have you ever smelled burning flesh and melting bone. It is acrid and sulphuric. Most men scream when it happens. I know your kind does. I can still hear them when I close my eyes and remember that fight in the Keep. So many lives fell at my hands. Men who thought like you, that they had a chance."

Then at the south she flicked again and her last image stopped and began to drawn from the elf herself. Pulling the enchantments towards her and unraveling them. A few familiars stood before her and her purple robes, crackling with pink energy and dark skin.

"But perhaps you aren't worried about those because your armor is enchanted to protect you. For how long though, I ask? Will it last longer than any of these three could destroy it, or perhaps over power it?"

She took up her position at the east, pulling up ice to cover her body. At once protective and offensive. A ring of frost circled the two fighters like a pit fighter's ring.

"So the question is left, what strategy do you use? Take me down quick or the one you deem the most threatening. Whenever you would like to begin."

And with that, they all disappeared. The blizzard still pelting the elf in the face and Izby standing before him, grinning.

[i]She carries her age well. But so easily provoked. I imagine she is not often presented the opportunity to relieve herself of bitterness, of regret. This demonstration will do her good.

We will accept your test.[i/]

The warrior had no use for further words, the woman's taunts ticking harmlessly off his black resolve like the sleet rattling off his armored frame. The threat of ice and fire did not frighten him. It did not even unnerve him. Such forces would fall a lesser being, perhaps, but not a Bloodwing.

The blizzard hardly slowed his stride. And he was fast- so terribly fast. One moment he had taken a pose, twenty paces away, the next he was simply upon her, thrashing with a sweeping, peerless cut. Rings hanging from the hooked end of his wicked spear clattered and shuddered against one another, the long haft of the weapon tucked beneath the crook of his arm. He twisted with his hips and extended the strike, the sheer violence of the stroke leaving a trail of distorted reality in its wake.

But a headlong, tunneling rush was not the ancient warrior's answer to Izby's crowing.

In his free hand spun an axe, the razor-thin blade grinning like the reaper himself, ready to be hurled with a roar in whichever direction the Draenei should deign to shift herself, either through spellwork or in avoidance.

The untutored eye would behold a killing stroke about to land. A master would recognize the opening steps of a deadly and precise waltz.

The display of strokes and prowess from the child caused her lips to tug upward. Like all the young, he foolishly chose the strongest link to break in the chain while the other links bound themselves to greater density. Greater power. Greater force.

The opening strikes and strokes were masterful, finely tuned, but fragile to the learned and more experienced. The elf thought this was a dance perhaps, playing on linear lines and graceful steps to her ludus game maneuvering and curved master strokes.

Pink mist that had collected around his armor became more substantive and tendril like, twisting and pulling away, feeding her images more power through their enchantment and the gales of wind grew stronger, breaching tornado levels of force. This would be fun. Because her links were almost forged.

Izby smiled as she pivoted back with the steps the elf took, keep her eyes on his hips, because hip movement cannot be faked or feigned. The axe carefully in her periphery. When he lunged forward, she smiled and moved faster than the elf had ever seen, as if she were sprinting while his time slowed. With a single backward pivot, she brought her arm up in haste, a wall of ice two feet thick, at least twenty feet high, and stretching from one end of the ring to the other shot through the ground. If it didn't knock the elf into the air, it should at least jerk the spear in his hand. He had been that close.

The wall of ice was razor smooth and would flay the skin with a touch. A hint of morning birds sang in her heart at the pure joy of playing with magic in this manner again. Always hiding herself behind puppetry and simplicities. She knew why the Elders sent her an apprentice. She just never wanted to admit that they knew her strength. And perhaps they didn't. Perhaps they only knew that it was strong.

Izby blew a kiss at the wall that the elf couldn't see while it was growing. A searing pair of lips, so cold that it could tear away flesh and it slowly crept through the wall towards the other side. All things defensive should be offensive. And with a wink she disappeared just as all her familiars reappeared in the air overhead tossing their first volley of ice shards and bolts in staggered waves.

Oh yes, her heart sang and the embers inside her burned.

This was so exciting. She was just telling the big girly looking elf man that he was a gossip and if he wasn't careful her Tall One friend Is Bee would come to kick him in the butt and she was here. As if the thought alone would summon her. What's more. She had a first row seat to the spectacle that was a tame Is Bee fighting. This was going to be magnificent. She should sell tickets.

Instead Sizy settled for making a bench out of the snow with a plank over the top so her tooshie didn't get cold and wet and built a snow cone machine to help form the perfect little spheres for maximum frosty treat enjoyment while she watched the fight.

The elf had charged Is Bee at this point and Sizy opened a can of RocketFuelExtreme to pour over her snow cone. A delicious mixture of citrus flavors swirled as she crunched and she quickly gobbled up the cone forgetting to pace herself.

She howled in pain as she rolled around on her bench rubbing her forehead screaming about Brain Freeze.

Nyuula wanders into the thread. Sees the new person and bows "Greetings to our fine home. I'm sure you will find help, as long as it is asked for." Looks over and Izby and Liore doing there thing. "*sigh* like cats and dogs those two." Nyuula gaze then shifts down where she spots her friend "Oh hello Sizy, any clue what caused all this?"

Hubris.

A more accomplished murderer than age itself.

Where there had been a woman, now burst a berg of razor and cold. The speed of her reactions was uncanny, a testament to her prowess. Millennia, he had been told, gathered on her shoulders with the weight of experience. She fancied herself at the peak of her craft. It was there, the sliver of mockery in her passionless eyes. She commanded forces that would bend galaxies, shatter planets, rewrite histories.

Liore Bloodwing would tear her to pieces.

The first stroke became a piroette, the horrible spear whirling overhead and lashing down in an overhead smash. Ice and glacier shot forth from beneath his feet, to be pressed against the force of his hatred and strength like meat against the grinder. Shards and shattered quills splintered off in every direction, pinging harmlessly off his armored form.

A miniature, flaming shape, like a kiss, shot at him through the frigid debris. The axe, mythical with dark enchantment, flipped end over end as he hurled it with a marksman's precision. The two connected, struggling for a heartbeat, before cancelling one another out in a black, electrical kink of reality.

The old warrior stood his ground, grasping his spear with both hands as the iceberg ceased and the familiars began their taunting display. Without missing a step, or a breath, he thrust out and twisted the bladed end in an abrupt series of circles, some mad painter assailing a massive canvas with a two-handed grip. The speed and fury of the motion collected the speeding bolts and shards, until they were a whirling nimbus about his blade.

The first wave paused for but a second. He reversed his stance, and spun the long spear through a series of strokes. Yards away from the floating familiars, he slung their magics back at them with twice the velocity they had been shot.

He wielded his weapon with a dancer's grace and the deadliness of a demi-god, expressionless save for the harrowing leer of his gladitator's helm.

The chains of power tightened and fed the Draenei's creations. He would let them. He would let her muster her most terrible might. It would satisfy him to crush it.

The snow felt cold against her skin and the gnome jumped up when she heard her Blue behind her. She stopped rolling and complaining about Brain Freeze and perked up immediately. As if the presence was enough to make all the ails of the world disappear. But she had asked something, what was it. What caused this?

"Oh Mr. Pointy Ears Girly Gossip said mean things about me so I told him he was a girly gossip and was just made that Khromie beat him up with a bent butter knife and he flew into his I am an all powerful elf blabbity blah speech. And Is Bee told him to back off and he refused so now she's playing with him."

She popped the button on her snow cone machine twice and handed one to Nyuula.

"Do Draenei's play with their food before eating them? Will Is Bee eat the Girly Gossip elf?"