<3 beautiful story
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Where is the guild normally stationed. I returned a few days and regret I havenât seen you lot about.
Weâre normally situated in Orgrimmar, more specifically around the barracks in the Valley of Honor. We will now be heading into day three of a campaign that we are currently attending, one that is based in the Hinterlands. Hope this helps
t. xX_The_Prefect_Xx
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Semi intrested in this guild but before i decide on anything iâd like to ask a few minor questions maybe has been asked before (havent bothered to read the whole thread to see if its been asked before :D) Iâm no major fan of RP-PvP, if one join is it possible to sit such out? And idk if this is used anymore as some use it and some not, are the guild more âcasualâ or âheavyâ rp oriented. And are there any class restrictions like dks etc? Edit: This character is old and on a realm i no longer play, noticed that after my post.
Semi intrested in this guild but before i decide on anything iâd like to ask a few minor questions maybe has been asked before (havent bothered to read the whole thread to see if its been asked before :D) Iâm no major fan of RP-PvP, if one join is it possible to sit such out? And idk if this is used anymore as some use it and some not, are the guild more âcasualâ or âheavyâ rp oriented. And are there any class restrictions like dks etc? Edit: This character is old and on a realm i no longer play, noticed that after my post.
We do RP-PVP every few months, and thereâs always plenty of opportunity for casual roleplay afterwards which I highly encourage you join in as itâs always quite fun.
In terms of whether we are heavy or casual - Iâm not entirely sure where to place the guild. I would say we take the lore into consideration a decent amount and prefer that members that join have basis within it. There is rp every night, and sometimes it can be serious to the rather simple and light.
We do not have any class restrictions, demon hunters and death knights are free to join with the expectation they will fit into the general concept of the Highblood.
Cool cool ^^ this was the character i had most likely been intrested with to join. Iâll think a little and possibly seek you out ingame. 
Maybe today or tomorrow atleast.
Following a successful campaign against the trolls of the Hinterlands with their respective Stygian allies, the Highblood have now returned to Orgrimmar.
Were any able-bodied elves seeking to join their grand ranks, now would be a most OPPORTUNE timeâŠ
[coughs VERY loudly]
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i am sorry for eating wild bird eggs IC i just wanted to get that crowtein
Hereâs a little tale about Elyriusâ mega cursed daggers, hope you gamers enjoy thisâŠ
The hour was late. Most of those that found their accommodation within the barracks already slumbered silently atop rows of hammocks whilst the few exceptions lingered at their nightly posts. Elyrius hadnât been tasked to roam the moonlit streets, though it was not duty that kept him awake - it was curiosity. The elf held one of his two daggers within both hands, studying the bladeâs detailing closely as he sat atop a sealed wooden crate likely filled with some manner of supplies. He still heard it; the singing. It never left. He had thought it would grow bothersome after a short time, but it never did - the morbid sense of curiosity it evoked never quite faded. It was haunting, ethereal, almost otherworldly.
âIt seeks you too.â A faint whisper claimed from below. The source was his dagger - the elf had no doubt.
Elyrius proved hesitant at first. Initially he believed himself to be imagining the presumed voice amidst what felt like eternal song, but a strange sensation within him urged him to speak out. It felt⊠dark - unnatural.
âWhat?â He asked hesitantly.
âIt seeks you too.â The blade repeated in a hushed tone. âYou hear the song; the clarion call. The great dark dances and sings from the deepest depths. It tugs and pulls and urges and wrenches. You too shall sing⊠another for the choir of darkened souls. You too shall sing⊠you too shall sing⊠you too shall singâŠâ
The elf shook his head as if in some manner of declination, sheathing the dagger soon afterwards. His eyes wandered the halls of the hushed barracks with an audible sigh. He stared into nothing for a moment. Was he to truly pursue this? He knew the risks, and he knew the dangers of them too. This shadow was a volatile power, but a power nonetheless - one he sought to use.
Elyrius slowly rose to his feet, several of his bones audibly cracking in light of his close call in Desolace earlier. It was a miracle that he could even stand; if it werenât for Eirdarias, he likely wouldnât be. As he sluggishly approached an unused hammock, the air suddenly changed - it felt sickly, as if a terrible power or presence had arisen nearby. The undying song that he heard even now slowly began to twist and distorted, the once entrancing yet eerie ballad now a symphony of horrific and disturbing noises. The voice was the same, but no longer did it sing; it cried and wailed, far deeper and more disturbed than it once was. It didnât take long for Elyrius to run outdoors, yet to his confusion he did not find Orgrimmar outside - he found a great barren expanse devoid of all life, littered by titanic writhing tentacles that pierced the heavens and beyond, bursting from the depths of the earth. Colossal faceless beasts wandered the withered expanse aimlessly, their footsteps rumbling across the broken husk of what his world once was. Winds swept past him that carried the wails and screams of those consumed and devoured by the great eldritch terrors that he gazed upon.
âThis⊠This is not real. This is a dream.â Elyrius uttered to himself in denial, his golden eyes fixated upon the ruin before him.
âIs it?â The earlier voice replied in a whisper, quieter than before.
The distorted wails of what was once song grew louder and louder until it was nigh unbearable, only for the elfâs vision to fade to black.
The Prefect awoke upon a crude hammock in the barracks. Nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary. He heard the song once more in his renewed consciousness, distant and faint. His daggers lay dormant and undisturbed. Elyrius looked around through an expression of uncertainty.
It was not a dream, but a nightmare; until now, he had been devoid of both. They had returned, but they were not natural - that he knew.
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Morgellons had resigned himself to the long watch, the long wait, he fell against the crooked tree and busied himself with a tatty old book on shamanism amongst jungle trolls. He was exhausted, having expended all the magic within him to unlock the other side of the telemancy beacon. He did not know when the others would return, if they even would, he thought darkly.
âNo, Morgellons, donât fall into a cycle of pessimism,â he whispered to himself, barely audible in the Azsunian breezes that rustled the long grasses of the meadow and the viridian leaves of the trees. He turned the page, trying to swallow himself within its words, but it could not hold his attention as worry for the Highblood gnawed at him. It left a hole in the pit of his stomach.
Crack.
He looked down at the enchanted hourglass, dropping his book as horror threatened to overwhelm. Cracks had formed in its curved shape, the wood making up its frame splintered. The sands that once glowed brightly with ethereal light were dull and lifeless. All arcane within it had seeped away, and it broke apart.
It was useless. Utterly useless.
Morgellons felt that worry threaten to overcome him, his throat constricting, his chest coiled by serpent unseen. The only way he knew when to lead the others back was gone, its twin must have been destroyed. How, he didnât know. He looked to the beacon; its power now lulled to a tenor he could not detect any longer, its runes scrambled and the streams of sand that crisscrossed its smooth surface frozen. It hadnât even been an hour yet, and it was all going wrong.
He was going to have to repair it, and he wasnât even sure if heâd ever reach the same timeline the Myrmidons went into. At least he knew the intricate interaction of time and space and arcane from working on the beacon earlier, as per Daelhadâs instructions.
He fretted over the beacon for hours, a book of chronomancy from his uncle set open beside him, nestled amongst the tall grass and wildflowers. The stars peered down from their high perches in the sable black of the sky, watching his every move. The White Lady and the Blue Child crept across that infinite stretch hanging above the horizon of Aszuna, their journey tracked by the nightborne as time dragged on.
At some point in the night, he heard the gentle clip-clop of cloven hooves and found a pair of sunrunners drinking from the stream when he peered over the hedges. One spotted him and became startled, bounding away in a series of graceful leaps. Its companion soon followed. Their faint tracings of a magical aura soon disappeared into the dark woods, leaving Morgellons all alone once again.
As he worked, he wondered what it was like, to travel so far away into realms undisclosed. Maybe one day heâd find out for himself, but in a way, he was relieved he had been tasked with ensuring the safe return of his fellow Myrmidons â at least, thatâs what he hoped for.
He looked to the beacon, set by face unknown but one nonetheless known to the Duskwatch. He wondered what went through the mind of that chronomancer, if she felt any guilt for the part, that which she played in Elisandeâs schemes. She wouldâve known death would come to her for selling her people, thatâs why she fled. He felt a wave of solace pass over him. Whatever happened, his part to play in this was a necessity, and heâd help justice be found.
That relief was amplified when one scrambled rune began to blink with the same glow as before, responding to his touch of arcane. Progress.
To the east, the light of dawn had begun to bleed across the sky. Soon itâd be time for him to sleep, and heâd wake up when dusk came to claim the sky as its own again and repeat the same as before. He settled down for the long watch, the long wait, and tried to drown out the worry as he watched the blinking rune of the telemancy beacon through bleary eyes.
A short story I wrote based on this characterâs current predicament, waiting for the Highblood whilst they go chasing after an escapee chronomancer from the Grand Magistrixâs reign.
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Always a pleasure to see the Highblood out and about, the coolest elves on Azeroth.
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Itâs true, my pandaren friend⊠What else can I say? The Highblood Myrmidons are simply the most epic guild in this neck of the woods
As always, weâre still looking for cool elven gamers willing to go sicko mode with us - take it from High Court heavy âElyrius Aminorâ and join
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Join and be at risk getting stranded on a deserted island (about to be overrun by a Naga warhost) or an alternate timeline, all the while upsetting the time-space continuum for a bounty!
All in the company of excellent Role-players, now accompanied by a gentle soul advocating mass genocide instead of sneakily conspiring.
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The highbloods be active, dey alway be in groups and most important of all they be great allies.
Tâanks, mon, ya be great allies to us too.
[walks away and begins retching into a nearby trashbin]
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A bright flash erupted from nowhere as he materialized outside of a large, golden tower and stumbled forward and closer to the elegant torch stands blazing a blue fire. Baelor has already began cleaning he mused, flicking his wrist upward and uttering words of power as the great door opened to the sight of a tall but lean Elf dressed in elegant robes waiting dutifully.
"A letter. For the Magister, that is." Baelor said, extending his lanky arm forward as his hands ran over the letter to undo any crinkles in it, holding it out. Aeras let out an agitated sigh, his eyes focusing upon the letter.
âNo doubt the Tirisgarde pleading with me to return. Or perhaps it is the Kirin Tor making another Apprentice write an apology letter for the one-hundredth time.â
"Does the Magister wish me to dispose of it? The Letter, that is. Or would he rather a reply to it?" Baelor said calmly. âI have prepared the Magister a Bath with the first course of Dinner to arrive shortly after the Magister is out. His son has been informed already, he is in the Library.â Baelor said as Aeras carefully took the Letter, making sure not to undo the polishing his Castellan had given it.Aeras retreated to his room at the very top of Tower, ascending a spiral staircase as torches suddenly blazed with Arcane fire as he strode past them and up to his quarters, sitting himself down on an archaic but comfortable chair as he toyed with the Runestone in his hands. It sizzled and activated, a wave of memories crashing into him. The fall of Anasterian, the downfall of KaelâThas, the Scourge assault on QuelâThalas, Suramar Cities fall to the Legion and now his own memory.
Anarâalah Belore!
He twisted the conjured Glaive overhead, dislocating the heads of multiple skeletons, unleashing a blast of Arcane fire in his other hand toward the relentless tide. Spellbreakers lined up in a a column and effortlessly twirled Glaive and Shield around decimating any oncoming Undead.
Shindu Fallah Na!
An uneasiness broke through the clash of battle as the wards holding the Scourge at bay sizzled out and the gate fell, he drew his staff towards the fallen gate and rallied with the rest of the forces, morale was beginning to falter as many fell under the tide of Undead sweeping across QuelâThalas. They wouldnât stop. They could not be stopped.
Shindu Sinâdorei!
They had failed. The Scourge had won yet they tried to rally, to fight. Then it happened.
âFather!â Aeras cried out as the sky crackled with fury and lightning shot down, turning any Undead it touched to ash. His Father, high upon the rocks holding his ground with the Spellbreakers had fallen to the overwhelming tide of Death and Destruction. He crumbled to his knees as a familiar sight grabbed him and whisked him off.Aeras let out a deep breath, gasping for air as the Runestones energy dimmed, it was as if it had granted him a shred of clarity and acceptance.
Knock
The door opened to find Baelor holding a platter with lavishly laid-out food on it.
Aeras composed himself, straightening his posture as he smiled at Baelor and nodded.
âThank you, Baelor, for everything.â
âIt has always been my pleasure to serve the Magus.â Baelor said in a barely composed manner and with that he was off to tend to the Tower once more.
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The Highblood prepares for warâŠ
The Ghostlands, still baring the scars of the Scourge, still hold great importance to the sinâdorei and were it to fall into the hands of the Alliance, the path to Silvermoon City would lie open and with it, Quelâthalas would be lost. It is imperative we defend it! We will be participating in the Theatres of War: Ports in a Storm RPPVP campaign from 1st May to 8th May.
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Oops wrong Character.
We are in the Ghostlands fighting for the High Home and bullying void elves.
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The Highblood continue the fight to retain control of the Ghostlands, though it hasnât been without trouble. Beset by Alliance wherever they roam, theyâve certainly seen better days, but their pride in the High Home keeps them strong.
The RP-PVP campaign in The Ghostlands continues!
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filthy elves
(ur cool)
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