PvP

Hans plays with Lotte, Lotte plays with Jane
Jane plays with Willi, Willi is happy again
Suki plays with Leo, Sacha plays with Britt
Adolf builds a bonfire, Enrico plays with it
-Whistling tunes we hid in the dunes by the seaside
-Whistling tunes we're kissing baboons in the jungle
It's a knockout
If looks could kill, they probably will
In games without frontiers-war without tears
Games without frontiers-war without tears

-P. Gabriel

The Vindicator scowled from under her helmet, past the grating. Cheers erupted as the clashing of metal and flashes of magic became more intense. Finally a deafening roar echoed in her ears as the sounds of the battle subsided.


A plated palm tapped her shoulder. "We're up next, babe. Get your game face on."

Her scowl deepened as she looked back at the armored human and the Sister-Farseer behind her. "Tell me again how you convinced me to do thi-." Her words were cut off as the gates flew open in front of them, the human's hand pushing the Vindicator out into the arena.

"Go, babe. Don't want to linger!"

Seeking Pvpers! Well seasoned, and beginners alike are welcome!

I had some inspiration for a new event -"Friday" Night Fights; I was thinking maybe a large scale cross-faction event one night a week (not necessarily on Fridays, per se).

It could be presented in different "rings", or if held in an arena, the different matches would take turns competing in the one ring. This would be a *real* PvP event, but with both sides welcome. Matches can be Horde/Horde, A/A, or H/A - no discriminating in the ring.

If anything, it could be the same nights as the RP market, and there could be vendors selling their wares outside the fighting area.

I had some inspiration for a new event -"Friday" Night Fights; I was thinking maybe a large scale cross-faction event one night a week (not necessarily on Fridays, per se).

It could be presented in different "rings", or if held in an arena, the different matches would take turns competing in the one ring. This would be a *real* PvP event, but with both sides welcome. Matches can be Horde/Horde, A/A, or H/A - no discriminating in the ring.

If anything, it could be the same nights as the RP market, and there could be vendors selling their wares outside the fighting area.

Just tossing the idea out before implementing it, I'd like to see everyone's input and feelings on this before cementing it. I see alot of potential for this- and if it caught on I could charge admission, and give the admission money I made to that night's winner(s).

She stood atop a snowy hill...they had almost pushed the Alliance back to their fortress at the other end of the Valley...when she spotted her target amidst the carnage. She marked him, and he knew it instantly. The warlock grinned like a maniac as he caught sight of the hunter who had him lined up...and could be seen spouting some bit of filthy demon magic- clearly aimed at Rashka. She didn't even have to warn Ravage, he had already begun to attack the man...who seemed unfazed, when suddenly searing pain- an agony she had never known coursed through her mind!...her muscles!...her bones! The sounds of wicked laughter...voices tormenting her, laughing at her weakness...like so many voices in her youth...the familiar feeling of wishing for death to come, came back to her...

Clutching her head, her skin seeming to burn her from the inside out...she sank to her knees, letting the darkness envelope her...

~

Larosa frowned as she heard the sirens.  She had just finished giving Laelan her Fitness test when the alarm went off for Horde in the city.

"Any Dragoons in the city, we have sightings of the Horde.  I'm evacuating the Prince now."

The Keep was in a state of ordered Chaos, guards were moving to their battle posts and Larosa caught the eye of the three Dragoons on duty for this very maneuver.  She waved at them and headed towards the small alcove that led to the escape door hidden behind a bookcase.  She opened the door and watched as the guards accompanied the Prince, one of his tutor, and his steward into the secret passage ways of the Keep.

She saluted the last Dragoon as he walked through the doorway and both of them watched the door close shut, the click of the bookcase as it settled into place barely audible on Larosa's end as the sound of clanking armor and shouting became louder.  She reached for the specific book that would lock the door in place and pulled it.  She released it and watched as it slowly slide back into place, locking the door and hiding the true nature of the bookcase from those that didn't know what it meant.

With a nod of her head she turned on her heel and ran for the Hall, sprinting as fast as she could.  She needed her armor if she was going to join in the fight.

The humidity was thick in the air, while low swinging tropical foliage swiped and clawed at her as she leapt through the brush, her torso angled sharply, as she extends her hip, her thigh raised up to grant her additional leverage and she slammed her full weight into the Tauren. The stench of her explosive trap igniting its fur was sharp and putrid, and it surpassed the surrounding floral scent of the jungle. She connected suddenly with one hoof, hooking it, as it went down. The creature had long since changed forms, and it slashed out with a lions grasp, deadly as its claws dug into the flesh at her skin. A last grope at living, Jeseandra supposed.

Sharp crisp scent of the snow. Crunching underpaw. Wetness and cold, ice crusting on the pads, snow balling between. Feline mind speaks in sounds and smells and scents and feelings.

Kal'dorei mind is distant, like a shadow hovering over me.

My fur is wet, frost warming enough to spike purple fur into shivering thick wet cold.

Snow underfoot crunching. Make it softer. Slow my pace, hunkering through the mounds of gleaming white. The frost on my fur making me white too. The burning inside me like hot coppery blood to be tasted.

Anticipation.

I scent it first. Smell like unkempt hair, unclean. It stands swinging horns. Instincts course like lightning through my nerves. Quicker than the mind can catch up, the body crouches, coiling tight.

Taut. Claws flexing silently, wet and slippery where bodyheat melts the snow just a little. Thrusting into the white cold. Back again as I wriggle, tail flicking, then, unable to restrain myself

A direct copy from my post on the realm forums: http://forums.worldofwarcraft.com/thread.html?topicId=25969523680&sid=1

 Whut? 

"It is well that war is so terrible. We should grow too fond of it."
~Robert E. Lee

I loathe Ashenvale. More than any other place in this world, it is so painful to be here that it borders on a physical ache. To breathe deeply of the rich, earthy scent of the forest… to watch the dappled and muted light of the moon play over my black flesh as it casts silver down through the thick canopy… to feel the spongy press of moss under my feet and the smooth brush of huge leaves across my arms… it cuts me deeper than any blade.

Ahoy!  I'm back again on the topic of the arena.  I'll get right to the point.

The point?

I'm looking to put together a 3v3 and 5v5 casual arena team based upon the concept that you qualify for ~200 arena points for competing in ten matches a week.

IC or OOC?

The two teams I am currently putting together are both OOC, unless there is sudden interest in forming an IC team.  If you're interested in the concept of a IC arena team, see my blog post here.

What do you mean by casual?

Satchiel glanced around the streets with eyes sharp, shield raised and blade readied.  He'd been on his way to see Fae when the guards had raised alarms - it was typical around Tranquillien that a raised alarm usually meant a guard letting out a bloodcurdling scream as he died.  Life on the ragged edge, Satch mused as he looked around for the source.  He had been chasing through the ruined city with a small patrol of four spellbreakers, rushing past scenes of civillians murdered without mercy or pity.  Not Scourge, the cuts were too clean.  Not Trolls either, the wounds weren't from axes.

Littered about the various Alliance capital cities are small, Gnome-sized parchments with equally tiny printed text.  The same flyers can be found in the trash of Dalaran, which were placed there from the walls of the city by some over-zealous, snooty Magi who found their presence to be an eyesore.  Ah-hmmph.  Those who are curious enough to read the note's contents would see...

Cragstone Trio Seeks Two 

Mining tycoon Brutus Cragstone is financing the gladiatorial activities of the "Cragstone Trio", a small, three person arena team.  Any interested parties should write to the team's organizer Shear Buzzwidget who will in turn promptly set up a face-to-face meeting.  Further details should be discussed with said team organizer, Shear Buzzwidget.

The rising mist of the island on which Exodar had crashed blurred the treeline from where Mlakazar, Hand of Argus, Vindicator born of Telaar, sat with her back against a humming lavender crystal. The effect was pleasant. The soft outlines of distant shapes grew blurry, as if layers of soft gauze were being drawn across the beautiful land and verdant foliage. If she squinted her eyes, she could imagine the great forests of Zangar, their ethereal violet glow, with the misty inland sea just beyond.

If she closed her eyes, though, Mlakazar of Telaar saw only blood.

She slide down the gryphon’s back, cringing as pain rippled in her leg.  The Griffin Master reached for her arm, thinking to help steady her, instead another wave of pain bloomed in her arm.  She smiled at him through it all before moving out of the way of the next griffin.  Pittch was by her side the next instant helping her on his back, his steps going towards the Keep.

She had been in the Keep, reports in hand hours earlier, when a guard had run in a letter in his hands about a Pox in Redridge and the Dragoons presence had been requested for assistance.  She stared at the human a bit confused for a moment, before reaching for quiver and herb bags.  She thought that priests would be better for dealing with a Pox, but if a shire needed help, she was going to go.  A quick message over the guildstone about the situation, only aroused some lively cussing from the commander.

Arathi Basin is out there before us; hidden under that thick rain and fog of Midfall. Arathi Basin is out there for us.

I only have fading memories of the months after my half-awakening in Deathknell. Much time wasted thinking I was no member of the Horde. I am human. Dead, but human. Who am I to fight against my former Alliance? Who raised and taught me The Light? Humans themselves.

That is why Arathi Basin will always hold a special place in my dead heart. It is on this field of battle, three years ago, that I was born-again a War-Priest, that first time I ever did my part in taking the Basin for us.

Three years ago I joined the Horde.

So I've done this thing every now and again, sometimes with guild and sometimes with whoever just happens to be in the area.  It's basically a race through Silvermoon City on mounts, no speed buffs.  Going through the gate, the track goes counter clockwise through the walk of elders, up the Royal Exchange, through Farstriders Square, pivoting at the Court of the Sun, down Murder Row, and straight south out the front gate again (see the map below the cut).  The winner gets an INTERNET HIGH FIVE! and the loser(s) usually gets dismounted and killed.  Roleplaying is encouraged in a tongue-in-cheek sort of way, and because the difficulty really comes from the guards and other players, this is an Alliance only sorta thing.

The cool, wintry highlands of arathi, deep within the basin...

An ancient land, one of the greatest bastions of human civilization. With the fall of Stromgarde, and the coming of the forsaken, it had become a war zone, undead and human, horde and alliance fighting for the precious resources from the rich land.

The Horde met it's requirement for troops to assist the Forsaken Defilers regularly, as per it's treaty with the masters of Lordaeron. Many orcs, tauren, and trolls marched alongside their forsaken and blood elven allies to seize the resources to fuel the horde as a whole....

-------------

"So anyway, I said to him, 'look sweetie, you smell like you just crawled out of a hole filled with hawkstrider crap. You're just not my type.' Can you believe that a *troll* asked me out? I mean, honestly, why would I even consider dinner with a *troll*?!"

Dearest Opalissa,

Before telling me how dishonorable my associates are, perhaps you should investigate who threw the first punch.

And as my loving mother and father have always told me ... we can't all be saints.

Best regards,

Himmel Faol

(( EXPLICIT RATING FOR DESCRIPTIVE VIOLENCE. Proceed forewarned. )) 

Well that isn't quite what I was expecting.

The words passed over Zelieo's conciousness, making him cringe.

{{ Repost }}

The 14th day of the tenth month of my 18th year ( the year 26).

I'm lying here, listening to the water as it flows over the rocks outside my room. Everything is quiet and calm; even the clink of the wardens' weapons seems soft and natural. Only the pain when I shift in my bed breaks the serenity. I'd always heard about Moonglade but I never imagined I'd be here myself. It's the land of druids, and I'm an outsider. But, for the time being, I'm a patient.

The mana in the air.

The scent of blood, dried and left.

A scream. The pink bubble around us lowers.

Charge.

Pain stabbed Fanshen into consciousness. She opened her eyes setting off another wave of agony as the sunlight shattered her senses. She blinked, trying to turn her gaze from the unforgivingly bright sky. She could hear buzzards croaking nearby and fear lent her resolve. She lifted her head as carefully as she could to survey the damage. Her right leg was twisted horribly, hyperextended and pointed the wrong way. She could see the jagged lump of bone under the skin in her calf where the broken tibia pushed against the bruised tissue. Fanshen attempted to sit up but her back screamed in protest and she fell back to the rocky turf. Tears rolled down her cheeks and fear clutched at her heart. "I'm going to die!" she sobbed.

Hoarkin’s heart beat furiously. Just about everything in the world had gnome high on its list of Tasty Treats or People to Abuse Indiscriminately.

Dear Mother and Father,

I've been scared. I haven't even written you since last time, months ago. Not since Lady Cheraville died. She was murdered, and Aluella told me someone was killing nobles. That I might be in trouble. Since then I've been in Kalimdor, mostly. Sometimes I'll come back to Stormwind or Darkshire for a little bit. I visited Khaz Modan. But whenever I am in the Eastern Kingdoms I am looking over my shoulder, worrying that the other person walking the same way on an errand is following me, that kind of thing. I don't like it.

Lilly sighed as she stood by door to the stables. It was her second week in the Highlands, and it had been one continuous fight. She'd taken every watch duty in the healer's tent and every chance she could in the front lines. Everyone in division was was friendly, a good mix of ages, so Lilly didn't feel like an old maid, but even then she kept her distance.