@Nakitaa
Wrap her in bandages, as a freebie costume, for the upcoming Hallow's End celebration. Elyssa forgets to add a mouth slit, up until the last moment. ''Whoops! I forget others need to breathe sometimes.''
EDIT:
@Zirahael
''Oh Zirahael! Did you try the ointment I suggested?'' *Pondering* ''A pocket healer and nourishment cream....might be enough to.....but at least, for love of the Goddess, try to stop picking at those scabs.''
After seeing Elyssa wrap Nakitaa in bandages, Eodain would inquire about Elyssa's own outfit and ask whether she is also preparing for Hallow's End: after all, her get-up reminds him of one of the Loa the Trolls worship... The question would be accompanied by worried glances directed at her jaw-adorned shoulderpad.
Eodain would also reassure Elyssa that he doesn't need a Hallow's End costume - and keep a respectable distance from her.
Eodain would also reassure Elyssa that he doesn't need a Hallow's End costume - and keep a respectable distance from her.
Greet him respectfully and ask him if he celebrates Hallow's End at all.
Step in and say she, for one, absolutely does. Engage in enthusiastic conversation about the spooky costumes, decorations and other fun things the holiday brings.
Cheerily wave at her and offer to trade illusion wands come Hallow's End!
Also ask if she can help untangle Nakitaa from the earlier wrapping attempt.
Also ask if she can help untangle Nakitaa from the earlier wrapping attempt.
Ask the ladies if they think he's going to need any Hallow's End costume at all, or his natural look is intimidating enough (at this point he pulls off the blindfold with a dramatic gesture and strikes a pose, eyes glowing and wings unfurled)
Chuckle and suggest that 'Demon Hunter' is overdone lately and he's going to need something a bit more original to really impress or intimidate people this year. Then show off his own costume, based on some horrible fungus monsters discovered underneath Nazmir.
Sprinkle some manner of dust on his costume, causing faintly luminescent fungi to sprout on it for extra effect.
Drop a bag before her while smiling proudly, then digs into it and pulls out various skulls and trophies, explaining each one with glee before fishing out a zandalari looking chest from the bag and offers it to her.
"Dink dis look good in ya shop! 'n dere be some dinks inside from Zuldazar! Anyway, I 'ave ta be on me way, Ma'da expectin' me 'ome."
With a bow he turns to his raptor and rides off, but forgets the trophy bag.
"Dink dis look good in ya shop! 'n dere be some dinks inside from Zuldazar! Anyway, I 'ave ta be on me way, Ma'da expectin' me 'ome."
With a bow he turns to his raptor and rides off, but forgets the trophy bag.
From a mist coated lake, the druid's eyes peek over the surface and watches the troll for a moment before near-silently slipping back under with barely any evidence she was there at all.
As TerĂntha is about to submerge, a fish hook would fly through the mist and latch onto her moon crown as an Extra-Large fishing bobber hits the druid in the head!
"I GOT A BIG ONE!"
Zirahael would quickly reel in her fishing rod, only for her eager fanged smile to turn into a big frown and her pointy ears to drop as a druid emerges from the mist; hanging from her fishing pole.
"By Elune's Felfire farts.... you druids are the worst plague on the fishing hobby!"
"I GOT A BIG ONE!"
Zirahael would quickly reel in her fishing rod, only for her eager fanged smile to turn into a big frown and her pointy ears to drop as a druid emerges from the mist; hanging from her fishing pole.
"By Elune's Felfire farts.... you druids are the worst plague on the fishing hobby!"
The figure that was once the druid is now a weighted tangle of dead reeds and lake moss. Terintha jumps down from a nearest branch in. With a look of indifference, she expresses the irony at the being in front of her calling druids a plague.
She ushers the thing that was once kaldorei to go back to doing what is now made to do as it's clear she truly has sacrificed everything, including any decent sense.
She ushers the thing that was once kaldorei to go back to doing what is now made to do as it's clear she truly has sacrificed everything, including any decent sense.
The smell of something burnt fills the air, the seared leathers and residual smoke following the wake of the Warlord's staggered step. He regards the Kal'dorei, realizing that she's probably going to do something horrible to him given his luck this evening, and he remarks as he somehow finds the strength to do so despite his wounds.
''...Hey, look.. Where's the nearest.. spring? I need like a pool, or a moonwell, or something, I need to.. go for a dip...''
Roifa clutches his side. It's one thing he's not a pile of ash after having eaten a series of pyromatic blast point-blank.
''!@#$..''
''...Hey, look.. Where's the nearest.. spring? I need like a pool, or a moonwell, or something, I need to.. go for a dip...''
Roifa clutches his side. It's one thing he's not a pile of ash after having eaten a series of pyromatic blast point-blank.
''!@#$..''
"You!"
TerĂntha suddenly finds herself on the receiving end of Zirahael's dramatic (re)entrance as the Demon Huntress lands ontop of her; using her as a (totally unnecessary) fall cushion and raises her arm to stab an accusing finger towards Roifa!
"You; and a zombie of all people; are the one who's been spreading those false rumors about my skin being supposedly bad!" Zirahael proclaims in a loud, echoing voice.
"Well I will have you know that although my heart may burn with the hateful fires of corrupted fel I still have feelings, and I will not have them toyed with this way! FIDO! DESTROY!"
Zirahael lets out a sharp whistle as a Fel Pup lunges out of the bushes; bites onto Roifa's right leg and sprints off with it - leaving the undead to stand with one remaining leg and a stump.
" ... now what have we learned today, Mister Skellington?!"
TerĂntha suddenly finds herself on the receiving end of Zirahael's dramatic (re)entrance as the Demon Huntress lands ontop of her; using her as a (totally unnecessary) fall cushion and raises her arm to stab an accusing finger towards Roifa!
"You; and a zombie of all people; are the one who's been spreading those false rumors about my skin being supposedly bad!" Zirahael proclaims in a loud, echoing voice.
"Well I will have you know that although my heart may burn with the hateful fires of corrupted fel I still have feelings, and I will not have them toyed with this way! FIDO! DESTROY!"
Zirahael lets out a sharp whistle as a Fel Pup lunges out of the bushes; bites onto Roifa's right leg and sprints off with it - leaving the undead to stand with one remaining leg and a stump.
" ... now what have we learned today, Mister Skellington?!"
''False? What are you talking about? I thought the name Crater-face suited you perfectly. I mean, if you want to upgrade to Crater-brain, wouldn't it be best if you at least give the former a little bit longer to stick? Not that it's going anywhere. I mean, just look at yourself.''
The warlord glances at his unharmed set of legs, before looking back ahead of himself. He sighs, reaching for the only bottle of burn-ointment he has, and despite his state he reluctantly offers it to the Illidari.
''Hey...where are you going? I think you need this more than I do...''
(Skip me. Cute try with the power-emoting though <3)
The warlord glances at his unharmed set of legs, before looking back ahead of himself. He sighs, reaching for the only bottle of burn-ointment he has, and despite his state he reluctantly offers it to the Illidari.
''Hey...where are you going? I think you need this more than I do...''
(Skip me. Cute try with the power-emoting though <3)
(No I won't skip and you can't make me! Besides she behaves like a troll.)
The familiar scent of tobacco flicker past Roifa in the wind. But not his own personal choice of cigarettes though no. This is something cleaner and aromatic, yet heavier. Cigars or a pipe perhaps? The question is soon answered to the metallic cling of a lighter, which Arebell uses to light her cigar with. After a few puffs she eyes the undead up and down, then with an arched brow, she gestures with the still lit cigar towards him.
"Ye look like !@#$ Smokes. The undead thing has never been very flatterin' but now? Ye look like someone tested how well undead works as an accelerant, and it turned out well."
The familiar scent of tobacco flicker past Roifa in the wind. But not his own personal choice of cigarettes though no. This is something cleaner and aromatic, yet heavier. Cigars or a pipe perhaps? The question is soon answered to the metallic cling of a lighter, which Arebell uses to light her cigar with. After a few puffs she eyes the undead up and down, then with an arched brow, she gestures with the still lit cigar towards him.
"Ye look like !@#$ Smokes. The undead thing has never been very flatterin' but now? Ye look like someone tested how well undead works as an accelerant, and it turned out well."
"Now, now! I so hate it when my friends argue", - he proclaims, striding out of the forest undergrowth, making a wide gesture with one arm; the other holds the offending puppy by the scruff. The animal wiggles and yelps; clearly displeased, Darkian brings it as close to his face as not to get scratched, stares it in the eyes and growls.
"Never liked dogs... - strolling up to Zirahael, he drops the frightened, whimpering thing into her arms. - And you know I can't be trusted around small, Fel-infused animals... Next time it misbehaves, I just might happen to be looking for a snack!" - his teeth bared in a predatory grin, he lets out a chuckle that sounds halfway like growling.
"Now to be completely fair, - he turns to Roifa, - your lapse in manners makes you look like you're seeking death. - Darkian shakes his horned head ever so slightly, his uncovered eyes narrowed into slits of Fel fire. - To your information, no two demonic mutations are the same, and what you're mistaking for skin disease is scales. - He looks Zira up and down and adds with a sigh, - At least some of those marks used to be scales before they got pried off. You know, sister... I think I've mastered arcane inscription enough to recreate these for you, - holding up his hand, the back of it to the viewers, he demonstrates an intricate pattern of arcane tattoos, black with a soft grey sheen. - You might have not known me before I've received those, but trust me, they do make a difference".
He then sniffs the air, anticipating the arrival of another smoker before the smell reaches the others.
"I believe the meeting of your little smokers' club is about to start, - he grins at the slightly charred undead, walking past and away into the forest. - Be more careful with your cigars next time, would you?"
"Never liked dogs... - strolling up to Zirahael, he drops the frightened, whimpering thing into her arms. - And you know I can't be trusted around small, Fel-infused animals... Next time it misbehaves, I just might happen to be looking for a snack!" - his teeth bared in a predatory grin, he lets out a chuckle that sounds halfway like growling.
"Now to be completely fair, - he turns to Roifa, - your lapse in manners makes you look like you're seeking death. - Darkian shakes his horned head ever so slightly, his uncovered eyes narrowed into slits of Fel fire. - To your information, no two demonic mutations are the same, and what you're mistaking for skin disease is scales. - He looks Zira up and down and adds with a sigh, - At least some of those marks used to be scales before they got pried off. You know, sister... I think I've mastered arcane inscription enough to recreate these for you, - holding up his hand, the back of it to the viewers, he demonstrates an intricate pattern of arcane tattoos, black with a soft grey sheen. - You might have not known me before I've received those, but trust me, they do make a difference".
He then sniffs the air, anticipating the arrival of another smoker before the smell reaches the others.
"I believe the meeting of your little smokers' club is about to start, - he grins at the slightly charred undead, walking past and away into the forest. - Be more careful with your cigars next time, would you?"
Alystiel stands by, watching the scene; and speaks quietly with a smirk.
"It is known, that he who speaks much, has very little to say."
"It is known, that he who speaks much, has very little to say."
Eyes Alystiel and then looks after Darkain.
"Burned him worse then we did Teldrassil."
"Burned him worse then we did Teldrassil."
Glare at Ronae from behind his helmet at his gloating over Teldrassil.
"Don't. Just don't."
"Don't. Just don't."