“You Ebon lot still gain new knights, though. They must be coming from -somewhere-. Not out of thin air.”
“I’ve heard a lot of dark rumors about how they do that. No two alike, though, and no real evidence. I hear even most death knights don’t know the details - just those in the Deathlord’s confidence.”
"I’ve heard those “blood” Death Knights are more like the vampires of the old legends, not rotting corpses, they are like the living just without the heartbeat, breathing, and romantic aura around them, they are dark strangers your mom always warned you about… with vampire fangs. Then again, never had the chance to study any of them. Seen a couple of our kind among their ranks but they are keeping their distance. A shame… "
“You are woefully ignorant to the truth.”
“I’m curious… what is the Truth?”
“Through ancient runic magic, an ebon knight wielding a blade suffused with the power of blood becomes a leech. The more they slaughter, the more they sustain themselves. There is a misconception about the development of fangs; this is due to the Darkfallen San’layn. Elves, who bear prominent canine teeth. A feature unique to your sister-kind.
[skip me!]
It is far from romantic, it is, if anything, repulsive.”
“That everything is permitted, and that nothing is true.”
Serrrathil then vanishes in a poof of smoke!
“Everything’s permitted, nothing’s true! Truth is the most terrible lie of all!”
Rorick makes a dramatic gesture before bursting into laughter.
“If I take a lamp and shine it toward the wall, a bright spot will appear on the wall. The lamp is our search for truth, for understanding. Too often, we assume that the light on the wall is God, but the light is not the goal of the search, it is the result of the search. The more intense the search, the brighter the light on the wall. The brighter the light on the wall, the greater the sense of revelation upon seeing it. Similarly, someone who does not search - who does not bring a lantern - sees nothing. What we perceive as God is the by-product of our search for God. It may simply be an appreciation of the light… pure and unblemished… not understanding that it comes from us. Sometimes we stand in front of the light and assume that we are the center of the universe - God looks astonishingly like we do - or we turn to look at our shadow and assume that all is darkness. If we allow ourselves to get in the way, we defeat the purpose, which is to use the light of our search to illuminate the wall in all its beauty and in all its flaws; and in so doing, better understand the world around us…”
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Goldy raises a brow at the Shal’dorei as she goes on, waiting for her to finish before chiming in. “What’s God? Some kinda god or somethin’? That’s a pretty unoriginal name for a god. S’kinda lame. Must be a lame god.”
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“Watchful eyes with wicked gleam, crowned in youth to sail a starlit stream. Broken throne of will thus falter, cut apart upon their altar. Blood and bone wrung from a dream, seeping stones give shape to scream.”
“Y’know, they should like, hire yerself to name things 'round Azeroth …”
As Marinya turns to hear where the slightly slurred drunken speech has come from, she finds Taven nearby dressed in quite dashing clothing, yet looking somewhat dishevelled at the same time, bottle of beer in hand. The human points towards the Elf with the neck of the bottle while continuing to speak. “You … you, y’see, yoooou … you’ve got … the words …”
After doing air quotation marks, he then turns around, throwing his arms up in the air in a slightly forlorn manner, as if to indicate he’s about to speak about somebody nearby and is looking for them, but cannot locate them. “They? They don’t have them words! I mean, look …”
Taven turns back to Marinya, holding out his free hand, extending a digit each time he mentions something as if counting. “Stormwind … Storm Peaks … Stormheim … Stormsong … Stormshield …”
After running out of digits he looks back up at the Elf. “They probably wanted to call it Stormguard instead a’ Stromgarde but they made a mistake! Like, if they love storms so much, why don’t they marry them instead a’ calling everything Storm somethin’, y’know?!”
He then looks down at his own clothing for a moment before sighing slightly. "Speakin’ a’ love an’ marriage … rough Love is In The Air this year … not just as bad as some of the more recent Brewfests, but still … "
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Shalim quickly dashes from nearby bush, his eyes focused to locate the target. He then spots blood elf warlock. The warlock was speaking in a strange language, Shalim could underestand the words alone, but they made no sense to him. Maybe she was summoning a new demon pest?
"Ah fake alert again. These warlocks are disturbing my senses… How can one find a true enemy demon when the world is flooded with warlock “pets”.
The demon hunter sits next to the rogue to take a break. After a moment he realizes that the human is completely smashed.
“Damn, he knows how to live… He is lucky that those demons are friendly.”
“The Twisting Nether is empty and all the devils are here…”
He frowns
“And Im not speaking about the Demons but the Humans…and other inferior races. But mostly Humans. I would rather share Azeroth with friendly Demons like Matron Mother Malevolence or that cute Sayaad, Syaith than these devolved Vyrkul and their ilk”
He pokes the human with the edge of his glaive
“You should really stay away from these vermins Shalim…”
“You sorts are actually deficient.”
Your kind should be in cages Demon!
“And your kind should burn together with that stupid tree of yours. Doesn’t feel too nice to hear such things, does it? Think twice before speaking to people that way.”
“Her words were words of simple ire. Your words are worthy of beheading before an altar of Elune. Watch your tongue, or it shall be taken.”
Mahli’ficia slowly nods her head at Alystiel.
“You remind me of the last six Keldorei custom officials I’ve had to deal with. I hope you too won’t try to confiscate my stuff as well, will you?”
“I guess you now have six soul shards in your pocket…? Or seven? So what do you think about Elune’s blood soaked altar decorated with severed heads…? Our feral… uh… relatives it seems devolved back to Troll-level. A pity.”