Zirahael visibly raises a pointy eyebrow at Cathríon.
"Uh, wow... I had thought the sunwell being purged would have had a positive effect on the disposition of you Blood Elves, yet it seems to have had the opposite effect!"
Seeing Laurenn come in to try to handle the Blood Elf, Zirahael lets out a sigh of relief and takes a step back; rummaging through her bag before producing a wrapped double-bun green meat sandwich oozing with an orange juice.
"Oh well, what a pity; that means I get to have this treat all for myself!"
"Are you really going to eat that?"
*The paladin holds a handkerchief over his nose, visibly trying not to gag, as he narrows his eyes at the offending sandwich*
"Reminds me of the things our old Crusade chef used to make in Northrend. I swear to the Light we repelled more then one Scourge attack only with the smell of his cooking......"
*The paladin holds a handkerchief over his nose, visibly trying not to gag, as he narrows his eyes at the offending sandwich*
"Reminds me of the things our old Crusade chef used to make in Northrend. I swear to the Light we repelled more then one Scourge attack only with the smell of his cooking......"
"Hey, that's some quality 'stache you got going there, mister! Get away from them crazies and let's talk hair & skincare for a bit, I got the finest assortment to show you! I got what you need!"
She beams a sales pitch smile and starts showcasing her samples of beauty wares.
She beams a sales pitch smile and starts showcasing her samples of beauty wares.
I could use some braids.
"If I were you I'd first think about skincare."
The orc groans.
The orc groans.
"Yes, skincare is quite important for us. We wouldn't want bits and pieces of ourselves to be falling at every corner. Quite disconcerting."
"Ya wan' bettah skin, mon?! Witch Doctah Goldy be 'elpin' ya out, mon!"
Goldy, decked out in a random assortment of Trollish looking items, strides up to the Death Knight. She then holds her hands out, wiggling her fingers as if attempting to cast a spell before speaking in some strange amalgamation of a Golinoid and Trollish accent. "Ooh, gon' hex ya, mon! Hex ya skin inta bein' all nice like a Blood Elfy's skin an' tings, mon! I'mma do da voodoo shuffle ta complete da ritual, mon!"
The Goblin then begins to shimmy around in a vain, attempt at mimicking a Trollish dance, putting far too much hip action into it, before suddenly yelping in pain as she begins to hop around on just one foot, bringing the other one of her feet up as high as she can lift it, holding it in one hand whilst attempting to pluck a thorn from the sole with the other. "Funtin' Trolls, not wearin' funtin' shoes! How they go around like this all day?! Must have funtin' soles made outta leather! I could get used to the whole "not wearin' underoos" thing though … Trolls don't wear underoos, right?"
After eventually catching the thorn and flicking it to the side, she looks up towards Moradred in an awkward fashion from behind her Murloc skull mask. "... okay, so like, I ain't a real Witch Doctor, but it's Hallow's End, I'm allowed ta pretend! You pretend ta still be alive all year round, what's yer excuse?!"
The Goblin then begins to limp off slightly, her foot still sore from the perpetrating thorn, muttering to herself angrily, clearly annoyed her grand entrance and reveal of her Hallow's End theme didn't go according to plan.
Goldy, decked out in a random assortment of Trollish looking items, strides up to the Death Knight. She then holds her hands out, wiggling her fingers as if attempting to cast a spell before speaking in some strange amalgamation of a Golinoid and Trollish accent. "Ooh, gon' hex ya, mon! Hex ya skin inta bein' all nice like a Blood Elfy's skin an' tings, mon! I'mma do da voodoo shuffle ta complete da ritual, mon!"
The Goblin then begins to shimmy around in a vain, attempt at mimicking a Trollish dance, putting far too much hip action into it, before suddenly yelping in pain as she begins to hop around on just one foot, bringing the other one of her feet up as high as she can lift it, holding it in one hand whilst attempting to pluck a thorn from the sole with the other. "Funtin' Trolls, not wearin' funtin' shoes! How they go around like this all day?! Must have funtin' soles made outta leather! I could get used to the whole "not wearin' underoos" thing though … Trolls don't wear underoos, right?"
After eventually catching the thorn and flicking it to the side, she looks up towards Moradred in an awkward fashion from behind her Murloc skull mask. "... okay, so like, I ain't a real Witch Doctor, but it's Hallow's End, I'm allowed ta pretend! You pretend ta still be alive all year round, what's yer excuse?!"
The Goblin then begins to limp off slightly, her foot still sore from the perpetrating thorn, muttering to herself angrily, clearly annoyed her grand entrance and reveal of her Hallow's End theme didn't go according to plan.
You must have put quite lot of effort into that, it's admireable. I think you should let the Witch Doctors do the hexing, before you start to accidentally turn unsuspecting citizens into frogs. Alyassandra lets out a small amused giggle, seeing as the Goblin limps around annoyed and frustrated.
Let me help you a bit, if you could. You shouldn't sarcrifice a good leg for some yearly tradition like that. She sits down pulling out some bandages from her bag.
Need something cold to it? A small bunch of Ice forms in Alyassandra's hand as she asks that.
Let me help you a bit, if you could. You shouldn't sarcrifice a good leg for some yearly tradition like that. She sits down pulling out some bandages from her bag.
Need something cold to it? A small bunch of Ice forms in Alyassandra's hand as she asks that.
Die weakling ! * Proceed to impale through the silly wizzard*
What a strange person.
"Shares more characteristics with a mindless ghoul than you do, mate. Eh, no offense."
Rorick eyes the undead uncomfortably for a moment.
Rorick eyes the undead uncomfortably for a moment.
"Some are corpses; some are corpse brained. But most just smell. It is known."
''A mountain of corpses in Draenor and a mountain of corpses in Azeroth. You may have escaped one hellish place, only to perish with the rest of us here if Azeroth dies. I fear.''
"You say if. It appears you have little trust in the capability of Azeroth's inhabitants. As a great mage once said, 'worrying means you suffer twice.' Let us make an effort to keep our planet intact, before dreading what may or may not come to happen."
So, have you had any tentacle wars in the Alliance yet? I know the Draenei used to be the only ones with them growing out of their faces, but now you've had your hair turn into them as well.
Surely the Draenei must feel some rivalry now?
Surely the Draenei must feel some rivalry now?
Laurenn snickers at the tentacle war idea, finding the joke rather funny.
"They for sure -do- feel rivalry there, and I don't think it's an one they're winning at, so far. Our tendrils, both the hair ones and those we summon in battle, are far better than the ones they've got! Honestly, and let's keep it between us... I don't really like Draenei. Especially the Lightforged ones. They're worshipping some weird Ligh beings we know so little of that they could've been Light's version of the Old Gods. And the Lightforging... come on, that's an obvious case of corruption and brainwashing the Draenei into obedient soldiers! The fact anyone takes this willingly is crazy, if you ask me."
"They for sure -do- feel rivalry there, and I don't think it's an one they're winning at, so far. Our tendrils, both the hair ones and those we summon in battle, are far better than the ones they've got! Honestly, and let's keep it between us... I don't really like Draenei. Especially the Lightforged ones. They're worshipping some weird Ligh beings we know so little of that they could've been Light's version of the Old Gods. And the Lightforging... come on, that's an obvious case of corruption and brainwashing the Draenei into obedient soldiers! The fact anyone takes this willingly is crazy, if you ask me."
Oh yes, the Light worshipping - taken to a whole new level. I may be loyal to Liadrin to the very end - but from the point of view of a more traditional Blood Knight who only uses it as a tool, I can't help but think her new fanatical views on the Light are a bit over the top. If it gets any worse... expect "Light Elves" in the coming years. Then the draenei will once again lack anything they can be "good" at to stand out from the rest. Urgh...
"To be frank, the schism within the Blood Knights serves you all right for taking our square. I tend those hedges in there for my free time; you'd not believe how many blood knights think they are for -leaning against-. Still, good luck maintaining your lack of faith!"
"To be frank, huh? You don't look much like a Frank, then again, it is Hallow's End …"
As Salarya turns to hear this comment, she finds Taven dressed in lavish looking Thalassian robes, leaning nonchalantly against a near by hedge. After realising what he's doing, he quickly perks himself up so as not to continue damaging the bushes … although they are not those she mentioned from Quel'Thalas, the human naturally understands it's best not to act like said boorish Blood Knights which have offended the lady before him.
It is only then that she notices the human is cleanshaven for a change! "... and well, you can be Frank, while I be Tavenarion! Magister Tavenarion! You know, like a Blood Elf … those kind of men you like!"
Taven then begins to wiggle his eyebrows an inappropriate amount. After an awkward passage of time has passed, he clears his throat with a little forced cough, modestly holding a fist to his mouth as he does so. "... this, uh … this is probably a bad time to ask this, but I'm pretty sure I'm getting smacked in a moment anyway, so here goes! I've heard a rumour there's a calendar you were tricked by dastardly Goblins into shooting for once, and I'm just looking for some confirmation so I can track down said material, and uh … like … destroy all the copies, so no peasant can view you in such a manner at their leisure. You know, as a tribute to your magnificence! Naturally I don't deserve to even look upon you myself, but I must atone for all those times I accidentally touched your bottom, irrespective of how heavenly such a moment was for me!"
The human then drops on one knee before Salarya. "Please, allow me to undertake this quest for you, my fair lady … all I require is for you to bestow whatever knowledge you possess over possible locations upon me."
The longer the Ranger takes to respond, the more likely one of Taven's eyes can be seen peeking up hopefully from behind his hair, before shutting once more.
As Salarya turns to hear this comment, she finds Taven dressed in lavish looking Thalassian robes, leaning nonchalantly against a near by hedge. After realising what he's doing, he quickly perks himself up so as not to continue damaging the bushes … although they are not those she mentioned from Quel'Thalas, the human naturally understands it's best not to act like said boorish Blood Knights which have offended the lady before him.
It is only then that she notices the human is cleanshaven for a change! "... and well, you can be Frank, while I be Tavenarion! Magister Tavenarion! You know, like a Blood Elf … those kind of men you like!"
Taven then begins to wiggle his eyebrows an inappropriate amount. After an awkward passage of time has passed, he clears his throat with a little forced cough, modestly holding a fist to his mouth as he does so. "... this, uh … this is probably a bad time to ask this, but I'm pretty sure I'm getting smacked in a moment anyway, so here goes! I've heard a rumour there's a calendar you were tricked by dastardly Goblins into shooting for once, and I'm just looking for some confirmation so I can track down said material, and uh … like … destroy all the copies, so no peasant can view you in such a manner at their leisure. You know, as a tribute to your magnificence! Naturally I don't deserve to even look upon you myself, but I must atone for all those times I accidentally touched your bottom, irrespective of how heavenly such a moment was for me!"
The human then drops on one knee before Salarya. "Please, allow me to undertake this quest for you, my fair lady … all I require is for you to bestow whatever knowledge you possess over possible locations upon me."
The longer the Ranger takes to respond, the more likely one of Taven's eyes can be seen peeking up hopefully from behind his hair, before shutting once more.
"And I suppose you'll want a copy of my mother's sordid book to go with it. Mayhaps my undergarments need inspecting to make sure they have not been rigged with miniaturised goblin cameras!
If I was born yesterday; I'd not fall for this. But as a sympathy verdict you can have a few of my Thalassian propaganda posters; if you put them up where High Elves can see them."
[Skip Me!]
If I was born yesterday; I'd not fall for this. But as a sympathy verdict you can have a few of my Thalassian propaganda posters; if you put them up where High Elves can see them."
[Skip Me!]