Cwn

13/0/38. I LIKE being a tank. One thing though, was reading the MC rules thing, and notice it listed CTraid as a requirement. Call me stupid or stubborn, but I refuse to use third party programs. If the unbendable rule is that you MUST have CTraid to do molten core, then I regretfully will not be doing molten core.

Aw shucks...If I weren't dead I'd be blushing.

/shrug I go where Fomor goes. I'm basically just a priest pet in plate.

*points and laughs at Fomor* Hahaha, you have to do Molten Core!

The horse gently nudged her prone form with his muzzle, but she did not wake. Until the muzzle grazed her shoulder, then her eyes shot open with a strangled gasp of pain. When the flair of agony subsided from mind blinding to merely excruciating, she slowly sat up on the cobbles of the street. Biting her lip, she reached up and snapped off the arrows shaft, knowing she didn't have time to work the missile out of her flesh. She didn't even dare try to touch the one in her abdomen. She had no idea what it had hit, and did not want to risk causing more damage with removing it. Blood stained her clothes around both wounds, but it had long since darkened to a dry rusty brown. Since she was in no danger of bleeding to death, the arrows would have to remain, at least until she found someone who could remove them. Looking around, she knew she would not find one here. The streets around her were littered with corpses. Young and old alike, some battered and bloody from their accidental trampling, others bearing clean efficient slashes from swords. Some lay still under arrow wounds much like her own, she reckoned that they explained the reason she was still breathing now. The Princes men must have assumed she was dead like they, and passed her over. For that, she was grateful. From further in the city she heard screams still, yelling, and the sounds of brief combat. The Princes men were still here, and still killing, why she did not know. Smoke cast a dismal haze over the city, mixed with the sounds of the dieing the roar of buildings in flame. Already ashes began to drift down from the sky, like a gray mournful snow. Using the reins of her horse as support, she pulled herself up onto her feet, and fought the wave of dizziness that hit her. She was so cold, she felt like she had been bathed in ice. She must have lost a great deal of blood while she was out. She then remembered how ill she had felt this morning, and hoped she didn't have a fever as well. That would just top off what had turned out to be a rather bad day. She glanced back further into the city, feeling a sense of duty for those she heard dying, screaming that the Prince had gone mad. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she turned towards the gate of the city, picking her way through the slain, leading her horse behind her. Quietly, she did not want to attract attention, for that would most likely mean a finalization of what the arrows in her had failed to do. She felt a deep regret that she could not ride back to their aid, protect them from the insane troops, but she knew it would be futile. Stratholme was lost. But there was something she could do, to keep it from happening again. The King. I must tell the King. His son has slaughtered us, the King MUST put a stop to that. I must reach the King. "You there! Halt!" Her head twirled to face the man that yelled at her from down the road. One of the Princes men, with a squad of soldiers with him. She did not doubt for a second what they would do if they caught her. Already spotted, stealth was not an issue anymore, and she swung up into her saddle and dug her heels into Blue's flanks. Her eyes bulged with the pain the move cost her, but adrenaline surged into her blood as her horse surged into a gallop. This was life or death, she did not have time for pain. She could hear them running after her, but quickly outpaced them, for they were unmounted. Hooves ringing loudly on the stones of the street, save when they landed with a dull thud of flesh, the woman rode for her life. Away from the city at the fasted pace her mount could muster. For hours she rode. In the dim light of the near set sun she saw buildings in the far distance, and knew it to be the same town she had planned to overnight in before the Arthas had come. She kicked her horse to a trot. The sooner she got to Corin's, the sooner she could get the arrows out, maybe a hot meal, and were the Light favoring her, a bath. Eyes stared at her as she entered town, she did not wonder why. She was covered in dirt and dried blood, she'd have stared at her as well. Watched by all as she passed, she drew up at the inn, the innkeeper wife met her in the yard, and gave her a disapproving glare. "We do no business with bandits" "No ma'am, wouldn't blame you for that." The wounded woman tried to smile, despite her tiredness. "Course, I'm not a bandit. Refugee, maybe, dunno how many made it out of Strat alive 'for they started burning it…" "Please," the inn wife said with a snort, "Prince Arthas rode to Stratholme, none would dare attack it with him there. A Bandit and a liar then. Be gone with you!" "Mistress I beg you, I am no thief, just hurt, and tired, please…" "Go!" Reaching to the ground beside her the townswoman hefted a rock. Her aim was not good, she missed the mounted ex-guard by a good foot. "Leave before I call the guards to drive you off bandit dog!" She bent and grabbed another rock, and let loose, it missing as well. A painful sting hit the woman from Stratholme in the cheek. She turned and saw several smiling children, gleefully gathering their own stones, and tossing them in her direction. "Bandit dog! Bandit dog! Go dog! Dog! Dog!" They chanted with wicked grins. Their thrown projectiles were better aimed than the inn wifes, and two more times was the woman on the horse hit before she turned her mount away from the inn and back toward the road. A stone took her square in the back, its painful bite reminding her of what she had forgotten completely. Oh thank you so much you vile little brat she thought as the taunting cries and stones of children faded behind her, I so needed to be reminded I'd been whipped. Suppose I should be grateful I wasn't again, stripped and whipped out of your wretched little town. I hope Arthas comes for you next. She rode forward into the darkening twilight, deciding that it may be best if she continued on to the King himself. He did, after all, need to know of what transpired as soon as possible. Dawn broke to find her riding still, moving despite the lack of rest, the weakness of blood loss, and the fever that was beginning to burn. By the time she reached the Thondoril river, the burn had become and inferno. Sweat plastered her hair to her head, yet she clutched her cloak as tightly around her body as she could. She was so cold, so very cold. Her horse had long since dropped from trot to walk, it's labored wheezing breaths matching those of its rider. Before she reached Andorhal she was lost in her illness. She heard voices whispering on the winds, tauntingly faint, loud enough to hear but not make out the words. Shadows danced at the edges of her vision, phantoms haunting her slow ponderous travel. Soon she felt ghost touches drifting across her face, like fingers or spider webs. When the voices became loud enough for her to hear the mocking voices of the Corin's children again, she drew up her horse, drawing her sword as she dismounted. She didn't even twitch at the arrows this time, she was much too far gone to even know she was in pain. "I know you're there!" She cried, staring off into the trees defiantly. "Come out and face me cowards! You can't hide!" Swaying on her feet, she waved her sword through the air. "I can hear you! Whispering…whispering I can HEAR you! Come out! I'll fightcha…fightcha all, put m'sword ta each an ev'ry…" And then her threats at the empty road were cut short as her horse crumpled behind her. Breath rattled in its chest, foam covered it hide. To near anyone it would be obvious that the steed was dying. "Hmm? Blue? Oh…" She stumbled over to the horse and laid her hand on its side, then gave it a delusional smile. "Yes…good horse. Right…rest…we'll rest now. Tired…good horse…" She dropped heavily to one knee, barely holding herself up by her sword stabbed into the soil. "We'll rest…just…just a little while. Then…king…need to tell…just a little while…" Her hand slipped from her hilt and with a heavy thud, she collapsed on the ground.

Ack! She's back! Quick, hide the gnome porn!

Even better? I lost connection and then got to sit in queue for half an hour! Yay!

Thanks. Need to finish up the rest, I mean, she's not even DEAD yet, much less UN-dead. Stay tuned!

I think the weapons should get more powerful than this. I have fought alliance warriors with legendaries and of course, while the outcome is not pretty on a 1vs1 battle, I try and make sure there are friends behind me. Numbers, and coordination of those numbers, is what decides the outcome of a battle. I played WorldWar2 online for 2 years, and it was always numbers that made the difference. If the germans approached with Tiger Tanks (they kill anything with one shot, including the British heavily armored Matilda), we used player strategy to take em out. We had nothing that could assault a Tiger head-on, so we would painstakingly roll a 6lber ATG into a destroyed house or building, then blast it as when it turned to show it's weak sides. Or we used low flying bombers or Thunderbolts to take them out. With 2 or 3 players hitting it, it went down rather quickly. Same as this game, until we catch up. The difference is, this game is red team vs blue team. In WW2 Online, there was no such thing, they had equipment you didn't have. Rel The 2 or 3 players on one is a good stratgety. Only problem is, we don't have 2 or 3 players for every one of them. They have 2 or 3 for every one of us. What do we do when not only outgunned, but outmanned as well?

Just stating what my opinion of the situation is. I'm not really passionate about it. I guess I jsut took your initial post the wrong way, it really did come off like you were saying that classes that have the ability to heal should only be healing, and that's what I argue against. Since you've said that's not what you meant, then we have no argument. Other than the druids. Druids are a hybrid class, not a support class. But that's a different discussion. As a gesture of peace, I offer this tasty snack :

Actually Sleyvas, he's not 'one of those shadowpriests you've heard about.' He's a holy/dis. In instances, he heals. But the both of us find it offensive that people are insulted, mocked, or even shunned for playing a game the way they want to. For being called a 'support class.' Despite the fact that I'm a tank, I don't make the assumption that other players are only there to support me. They're not. They are there to enjoy themselves. If they enjoy melting faces or using mobs as a scratching post, or frost shocking, then they have every right to. It's simply attitude like yours, 'play how it benefits me or I don't want you with me', that we find selfish and unfriendly. We dislike seeing it, and when we do, we say so.

She sat alone at the bar of the tavern, staring down at the warm bowl of porridge in her hands and carefully spooning it into her mouth. Her cloak was wrapped tightly around her, a vain effort to fight the chill, the coldness she felt even as fever ran through her blood. She had hoped the fresh hot breakfast would have warmed her, but somehow it made her feel even colder. Wonder if the tavern owner lied 'bout it being from the newest shipment in, and instead used some reserve that had gone bad. Wouldn't put it past him. Occasionally a wracking cough would shake her body, but none of the other patrons paid any attention. With a bitter twist of her lips, the woman sneered to herself. I could drop dead here and I doubt any would give it a second thought, save perhaps the thought of rifling through my pockets, or stealing my sword. She shifted, trying to keep the cloak close but at the same time keep it from resting to heavy on her back. They never care. She thought. I fight for them, protect them from themselves, and they never care. They pretend they don't hear when the poor whore gets murdered in the ally, and say they know nothing when we come to question. They spit on us when I come to arrest their son, never mind that next he could have stolen from them. They watch their neighbors building burn and never think to grab a bucket. They watch the children starve in the streets and never offer even a coin. Even my comrades in arms, the proud guards of Stratholme, turn blind eyes when their commander decides one uppity young guardswoman needs a lesson… Never expected that when she picked up her badge the first time she'd be whipped for her ideals. She'd been reprimanded for doing her job, arresting belligerent drunk that had nearly raped a serving girl. He'd even attacked her when she forced him away from the girl, so of course she'd subdued him. She was just doing her job, didn't even hit him that hard.. But when the light of morning filtered through the windows of the jailhouse and it was discovered to be one of the cities noble sons she had brought in, it was if she was the criminal herself. Cowering hypocritical curs. Pledge to stand for law and justice, but break the pledge soon as someone who might offer you a bit of gold walks into view. Then demand I APOLOGIZE to the whelp? Dammit I was in the right, rich brat deserved more than the clock to the temple I gave him on the way in. Almost wish he'd drawn a sword so that I could have really laid into him. Apologize? Bah, the lashes were well worth the look on his face when the spit hit him. Chuckling lightly to herself, and wincing at the fresh stripes on her back, she finished her drink and headed for the door, though the chuckle turned itself into another deep chest cough. Inwardly she cursed this damned illness again, but then smiled as she was smacked in the shoulder by a large furry nose. "Hey there Blue. How's my buddy eh? How's my big stupid boy?" Grinning she reached up and stroked the muzzle of her horse. "You're a real friend ain'tcha? Ain'tcha? Yes you are ya big lug. Better person than most I know. Hungry?" Reaching into her pack she pulled out a small bag, shaking some of the grain within into her palm. "Look what I got for you, yummy fresh grain, just for my boy." Smiling she let the horse take the food from her hand, then went to fasten the last of her packs behind her saddle. "No worries boy, promise I'll getcha a nice stall at the inn when we reach Corins, letcha rest your hooves while I look for work. Maybe some traders or something looking for guards on the way to Lordaeron. Sound like a plan boy? Yeah, I thought so." Taking the reigns of her mount in hand, the dismissed guardswoman lead the way out onto the streets. She was surprised at how packed they were, crowds gathering and heading, like she, towards the gate. Frowning in slight irritation, she turned to a nearest person beside her and asked what was going on. "We go to see the Prince! Arthas has come to the city, who wouldn't want to go catch a glimpse of so brave and noble a paladin of Light?" The man smiled at her, his enthusiasm matching the people around him. She snorted. "Me for one, just hope the bloody princeling ain't blocking the gate. I got places to be." "But…he's the PRINCE…" "And likely would as soon scrape mud off his boots as look at the likes of us. We ain't worth notice to his ilk, though I reckon he expects the whole city to turn out and greet him anyhow." She coughed again, and spat the resulting phlegm on the street. "Which is fine, long as he ain't blocking my way out the gate." "Well," the now indignant craftsman said, drawing himself up and giving her a haughty disapproving glance, "you are wrong. He's the heir to our fine king, and a holy paladin, and he does not deserve to be badmouthed by some sickly swordwench. Good day!" With that he disappeared into the teeming masses. How lovely, she thought as she walked, ignorance truly must be bliss. Guy must be lucky, seems he's never come anywhere near a highborn, so he still believes the slop they try to lull the unknowing into thinking about them. He's hoping he's never disillusioned. Pushing her way through the people ahead of her, eventually she was in sight of the gate. From the distance she couldn't make out much about the prince and his men, other than their armor glinting as they came up the road to the city. Climbing onto her horses back for a better view, and an easier time moving through the crowd, she watched them approach, and was little impressed. Even when they drew even with the guards on the edge of town and drew their swords for what she expected was going to be some ridiculous pointless salute. What kind of salute is that anyhow? she wondered. They're holding their swords not in respect, but almost like they're about to… Her mind froze in shock mid-thought as the first sword sliced open the throat of the Stratholme guard. The crowd around her stood motionless, watching the bright blood spray out, oblivious for that moment to the fact that princes soldiers still approached. Over the silence of the dumbfounded masses, the voice of Arthas could be heard as he pointed at the citizens and the town. "Destroy it all." With those words panic erupted as the people realize the gravity of their situation. In a surge they pressed away from the gate, fleeing back into the city. Some of the guards broke ranks and sought to flee as well, some blending into the crowd and joining the mob now mindless with fear, while others retained some sense of courage or duty and stood their ground, buying time. But the soldiers were too many and the guards too few. While guards were engaged in combat other soldiers flowed around them and began cutting into the unarmed, fleeing townsfolk. Barely managing to control her mount against the press of bodies, the former guardswoman didn't even stop to make a choice, for there was no choice to be made. Kicking her heels into Blue's flanks, she moved against the crowd, drawing her sword, trying not to trample the people around her as she closed on the attackers. But the going was so slow, she watched a woman disemboweled, a mans skull caved in, even a child speared as she fought forward against the mob. She was still fifty yards from the nearest foe when the arrows took her. She cried out as the pain stabbed into her shoulder and side. Nearly dropping her sword, she gritted her teeth against the pain, leaning forward in the saddle with a feral snarl I will die here today but dammit I will buy these ungrateful sheep time. Light grant me the YEOOWW!! A searing stab of light burned through her skull, more painful than anything she'd ever experienced. She crumpled, toppling from her horse and landing heavily on the cobbles of the street, the arrow below her ribs landing under her and pushing itself further in, the arrowhead erupting out her back. She screamed, but the sound only blended with the rest of the yells. The terrified peasantry trampled around her, and finally over her, as a fear blinded man in his panic unknowingly kicked her in the head. The foot connected solidly with her cheek, and she sank into cold darkness, hearing the screams of city and smelling the first whiff of just kindled fire.

Can do tramsmutes for you as well, just let me know when ya need me.

Noon on Sunday? I can do dat.

Wasn't there a beach barbeque scheduled for then?

Traitor? Me? Yep. *Goes back to price gouging alliance with her nelf druid, buying up all the good gear she can find, and selling it to Fomor at the Booty Bay AH for 1 copper a peice*

Oooh, beach party! I could even wear a bathing suit, show off my lovely undead curves...

It's pleasent to see alliance folk coming over and playing nice. Perhaps in the future we could have some sort of rp interacti...*looks at sig above her* OMG Jedi! Kill it kill it kiiiiiillll iiiiitt!!!