Argent Dawn's RP Anecdotes

Argent Dawn
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Well met RPs of Argent Dawn, I am Xueyan, and I have been inspired.

Our forums have a place for OOC general chat, Pet Peeves, and Pet Delights, but I am yet to see a place to share small IC stories, and anecdotes of our experiences on the server. I hope this can grow in a safe place for us all to share titbits.
I am a terrible writer, but I’ll start;

Xueyan sat flicking through a tattered and worn children’s book, his legs haphazardly hanging over the ramparts of Crown Guard Tower. He gazed thoughtfully at the glow of Stratholme lighting up the nights sky, musing with the Orc Mage Takgair if lessons of the past can still hold meaning during the unprecedented events of the present.

*edit. Quick change in title to avoid any confusion. All anecdotes are welcome in this thread. Happy or Sad. Joyful or Tragic. Write 'em up, and share them to the world.

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Once back at Durotar, Zag’kush went back to his ship, spending most of the night making new potions.
Before the sun rises he heads towards the head of the ship and would stand there, seemly meditating as he would wait for someone to arrive.

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The Seer gazed over Orgrimmar, atop a long cliff. Thoughts and wonders did not leave his mind, about what some recent events meant to him. What is awaiting him, what destiny…? How great the burden will be? No one knows…

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Death Knight stood down on chair, lifting her legs over the table. Small sign is on the table. “Blacksmith services” It looked nice, without the glare and such.

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Love the examples so far!
Keep those anecdotes coming. :smiley:

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The grizzled marksman stared incessantly at the ceiling through the holes of the hammock above. The stitches on her chest ached horribly as she drew in a deep, raspy breath. The others must not know. There is no need to worry. Some things are best forgotten, right?

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A Shattered Hand watchman stood on the bluffs overlooking the Valley of Strength. The wind cascading over the canyons lightly pulling at his hood, as he watched his quarry passing through the crowds. “Ah, there’s your friend…” he mutters dimly to himself, as the Loyalist Informant slid behind the tavern with a shady goblin.

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Recently returned from The Grand World Fair, the Reverend sat by the pools in the Valley of Honour, a warm cup of tea clasped in his hands. He didn’t drink the tea, he hadn’t drunk anything since his death, but he enjoyed the warmth it brought to his hands and the memories that came with it.

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Deep in the forest of Elwynn, a lone huntsman laid silently between the bushes. Drawing deep and quiet breaths as he waited, eyes closed whilst focusing on the prattling leaves close to him. For hours he had been there, patiently waiting for his prey to appear, knowing fully well that should he be discovered - he would become the hunted.

Then it finally echoed among the trees…

SNAP

The trap had sprung, followed by a painful howl, there was no better time; The huntsman leapt out of the bushes, charged at the snared beast and impaled it with his spear - the dire wolf had at last been put to an end.

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Time.
Time was of little concern to the former captain of a Lightforged infiltration unit. Months had gone by as quickly as shooting stars had passed the Vindicaar orbiting Azeroth. The old Lightforged stared down on this strange planet and blinked, once. Soon it would be time.
Soon.

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A struck matchstick flares up violently from a leather-clad thigh, hovering it’s feint flame atop the tightly packed tobacco leaves within an old wooden pipe.

Upon the taking of the flame and the soon smouldering leaves, Grahda begins to chuff lightly - the stem held comfortable within his mouth. He’d anchor the pipe with a grubby left hand, perched thoughtfully with an elbow to the cobbled stone wall of Kirthaven’s courtyard.

It’d be around mid-afternoon, observing the daily happenings of the settlement, content in his ways.

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A night had passed in the cottage, and Xav found himself again in front of the window, observing the outside. The morning chill fogged the glass, but a quick wipe with a sleeve revealed the forest’s September splendour. Summer’s legacy left many-a leaf clinging to the trees’ arms, blushed to an orange so vibrant it looked almost like flame. Dew reflected off the grass in the sunlight, making patches glow and sparkle as tiny moonwells. And outside there were birds; finches, and robins, and sparrows, basking their little bodies in the stream for a quick wash, singing pleasantly to the morning. Inside, there was Xav. Just Xav, and the warm tea he held in his hands.

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Rat tat tat tat tap
The crude, metallic sound filled the space of the small makeshift shack, an abrupt interjection to the otherwise harmonious chords of hissing vials, bubbling apparatus and controlled flames.
Rat tat tat tat tat tap
The small figure finished punching keys on the curious device responsible for the din. As they did so, a spindly arm that arose from the device elegently moved across some paper before it, writing words with a grace a calligrapher might be proud to call their own.
With a short nod the figure presses definatley on a larger key, causing the arm to lift and retract back into the device. Gently they lift the paper, a peek of silvered fingers emerging from beneath baggy armsleeves, bringing it aloft for study. A few second pass, another nod. The paper is rolled with machine-like precision, bound with a copper wire and slotted into a pidgeon-hole space upon the wall. Several other similar holes are above, below and alongside it, each with two small bulbs beneath the space, some lit, some not. The figure flicks the left bulb gently beneath the space where the scroll has been placed, causing it to spring to life with a brilliant green glow.
Pottering across the shack, the figure picks up a vial of translucent cyan liquid, corks it, and places it within a pocket on the inside of the recently lit pidgeon-hole.
All the lights within the shack had distracted the individual from the darkness that peeked through the one window, the one pinpoint that kept them from remaining lost within their curio forever. Perhaps the live trials would have to wait until daylight. The birds would be sleeping now.

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Like what I see so far. OP, what about an off topic to the anecdotes which would allow feedback?

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Constructive feedback should always be welcomed as long as it does not derail the thread, and become another platform for forum drama.

Well chuffed to be waking up to more replies this morning. Glad the format of short paragraphs to share snippets of our characters lives, or experiences has inspired some great anecdotes so far!

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If it’s about the short stories on the thread I can’t see why not, but I suggest quote the post you are giving feedback to, so we might avoid confusion.

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The water that dripped from the cloth was uncomfortably hot on Aerilen’s hand, not that he paid it much mind. Others would have simply used an enchanted mop, yet here he knelt scrubbing away at the most stubborn patches of old grime. There was something therapeutic and soothing about it, especially as the intricate colouring and patterns on the floor’s mural steadily regained its colour. Time trickled on and the world ambled past. It wouldn’t be until the sun was bleeding orange as it set that Aerilen finished.

His long neglected and abandoned home gleamed.

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Mackee wandered around the barracks, poking her nose into everything she encountered. She came across a hat, looking around there was no one to claim it, so she did. Then she found a spot to curl up and sleep.

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From atop his balcony high in the Spire, the hermit Magister peered down at the denizens that dotted the Court of the Sun; it had been many months since he dared leave the confines of Silvermoon’s base of power. While the occasional colleague or apprentice believed that Magister Ebonfire saw himself above the rest of the populace, such speculation was anything but the truth.

The truth was that he was afraid, yet he could not pinpoint a foundation or a core. It was a palpable dread, but all he could do was wait it out until it passed, if it ever did.

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As another dawn arises on the desert of Durotar, Zag’kush could be found, not at his ship where he usually is, but far from it, atop one of the cliff edges above the road to Orgrimmar, his expression not of his usually jokerster self but a lot more grim and serious, like something was bothering him.

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