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Sandiah is pretty sure this isn't the inn in Southshore. For one thing, it wasn't raining when she curled up to get some shut-eye. (It rained on the way there, sure, but sitting in front of a roaring fire cures most ills in due time.) For another, it had been bustling with people passing through on their way north: dwarves, humans, you name it.

She's also fairly sure that the Horde wouldn't be sitting around downstairs. But that's what they're doing, and she's too busy trying to figure out how she got here to start any trouble. She's claimed a chair in a corner and is sitting there. Looking around. Watching.

Someone help the confused paladin.
 
 
11 June 2010 @ 08:49 pm
[A voice of what is apparently a female gnome echoes throughout the inn from her upstairs room. Not happy]

ZEETAAAAAAR! IF YOU PORTED ME TO THERAMORE AGAIN I'M GOING TO KICK YOUR FINELY SHAPED ASS TO OUTLAND AN-

[Ziola pauses her indignant cries, taking notice that she is not in Theramore, Or Stormwind, Shattrath, Dalaran, or any other place a mage can portal to. Icy blue eyes blink once...blink twice...a third time...]

...Where am I? And how in the High Tinkers name did I get here?

[The little gnome looked thoughtful for a second, and decided the best course of action was to explore. She swung open the door to her room,  and proceeded to make her way downstairs of the inn. She took note it was dark outside. She lost interest in 'exploring' the inn, believing it to be a normal place, where normal things happen. She went straight to the bar table, and sat herself down. The little gnome was quite unusual, the armor and icy blue eyes signified that she was a deathknight, yet the skin looked fairly healthy. Her face scrunched up in thought. How did she get here? Was she kidnapped? Was she dreaming? Why am I asking all these questions?
However, it didn't take long for the little thing to shiver and give a worried look. She glanced over her shoulder]


Something...really, really doesn't feel right at all.


(Occ: Am I doing it right? Hope so.)
 
 
Current Mood: confusedconfused
 
 
[Something in chainmail with red hair falls unceremoniously out of the ceiling and just kind of lies there twitching for a bit before it resolves into a tall teenage girl, who springs to her feet.]

Uncool. I was saving orphans without legs. The orphanage was on fire. You interrupted me. Good job.

[She dusted herself off.]

I'm flattered, I really am, but there is seriously enough of me to go around to both whatever the hell your teleporting business is AND for me to at least like make some grilled cheese on that orphanage.
 
 
23 February 2010 @ 01:41 pm
[This is... not Stormwind. That much is obvious to the woman in brown robes standing half-way down the stairs. And from the downright unpleasant look on her face, she is NOT happy with this turn of events. She's not moving from this spot until someone teleports her back or explains what's going on or... hell, anything else. Instead, she'll be standing here, glaring at you all.]

All right. You have five seconds. Starting now.

One.

[Ho shit, son, better assemble the welcoming committee. Mireli's not kidding around.]
 
 
[Last thing she remembers is being in a bunker in Icecrown with Major Lightwalker talking her ear off like he was a giddy little schoolgirl, and wasn't that charming. She'd shovel a lot of Nieodemus' emotional shit if it meant she kept getting to sleep in the officers' quarters, because they were a bit less cold than what most of the Ashen Verdict had to make do with.

This, however, this is downright warm. And the bed is way too soft for even officers' issue, and it's way too quiet and basically she knows that something's wrong before she even opens those pretty fel green eyes.]


Nieo?

[This is not the front. At once she's both relieved and terribly pissed off — hadn't they just opened the way into Frostwyrm Lair? There were far better times to take a vacation.
She looks rather like hell as she bounds down the stairs, rusty red hair pulled into a cursory ponytail, skin sallow with dark under-eye circles. Joceline doesn't look like a paladin in that moment. She doesn't, in point of fact, look much better than the death knights she's been serving beside.]


… Anyone?
 
 
Current Music: "hotel california" // the eagles
 
 
 
09 February 2010 @ 11:27 pm
The young, red-haired human wandered up and down the hallway for the dozenth time, taking everything in, though it was just a tad monotonous up here...he'd just wait for his brain to come up with something. The wait could be a while, as he was not of the keenest of minds. Why was he here? He went to bed at home, so he should be there and not here...and where was 'here' exactly? Perhaps he had been kidnapped...but if so, then why leave him armed? Even he knew that made no sense.

He heard plenty of sounds down the stairs, so perhaps an explanation would be found there? He moved to the top of the stairs, and paused; there was probably a lot of people down there...crowds made him nervous, and what would say, who was he to talk to? He teetered there, stuck in indecision.

In his teetering, he eventually swayed forward just a bit too much, and was permitted about 2 seconds to realize his fate, before he fell forward. Down the stairs he went, the loud clanging of his armor resounding as he tumbled head over heels into the busy room below. When he finally reached the bottom, he was on his back, very sore and fighting the urge to wretch as he'd not had the sense to close his eyes during his descent. He whined pitifully and looked at the ceiling blankly, not caring at the moment that he probably had many people staring at him now.

What a great first impression.



((I'm totally new...and I hope that I'm doing this right. Never rp'd on LJ before. I'm sorry if I'm a bit over-the-top. >.o ))
 
 
Current Mood: anxiousanxious
 
 
[It is a dark and stormy day.

Heavy plate boots clink down the stairs, but there is no sign of the powerful presence that the Lich King would have. Perhaps he is mistaken for another Death Knight as he enters, but not for long - the face of Arthas is unmistakable, though older and more gaunt then he was as the young Prince. These eyes have seen horrors - but they do not glow.

He pauses at the bottom of the stairs, taps the broken remains of Frostmourne into his opposite hand, and grates in a single voice - a human voice.]


I don't suppose this is hell, but if it is it is sorely lacking.
 
 
Vrishabha Mistrunner, healer of ailments, servant to the people, tamer of the wild and druidic arts...


Presently has absolutely no idea where he was.

I told you that you should have taken a left at that last clearing. But will you ever listen to me? No, I only raised you with my own two hands.

"I DID take a left," he  unhappily notes under his breath, "And we still ended up back here."

Here, in this particular case, happened to be an inn with which he was entirely unfamiliar. He peers up at it, squinting as he moves from the heavy haze of fog from the forests surrounding it. Normally his sense of direction was quite astute, yet here he was, back exactly where he started no matter how hard he tried to leave. He lets out a sigh, shaking his head. "I suppose there's no choice but to go in." He catches no scent of danger on the air, thus chooses to bite the proverbial bullet and step inside.

As he walks into the dimly lit main hall, he cuts a rather formidable figure: even for a Tauren, his size is unmatched, standing at over 9 and a half feet from head to hoof. His supple leather armor seethes with magic, the thick helm shielding his face from view to allow only the glow of green to peer from the dark depths. He is an intimidating creature indeed - up until he walks full-force into a low-hanging doorframe with a resounding whok. He clutches at his head with a series of muffled grunts and gibbers, before fumbling with his helm and tugging it from his head - no small feat given some of the struggling done with his capped horns - and quickly replaces it with a pair of Engineer's goggles that can only be described as "downright goofy-looking."

"Oh dear," the Druid mumbles finally, stowing his helm into the large knapsack hung over one shoulder. "This does not look one bit like Orgrimmar." At the sight of servers and unfamiliar faces, he feels his typical social awkwardness begin to creep into his chest; he hurries to move to a less obvious location (a bit like an elephant trying to hide plain sight) before promptly tripping over a stool and landing with a thud heavy enough to give the room a fine tremor.

So much for being subtle.
 
 
10 December 2009 @ 02:02 pm
Nothing too major here, but if you were in chat a few days ago, I told you I was coding.

The layout of the DR is going to change sporadically in the next few days as I fine tune it. I've been really unhappy with it for a while. Don't be alarmed! If you want to comment on it, feel free to post your thoughts here. If the vast majority turns out to not like it, I'll revert it back to what it was.

When that's all done, you can expect the Bronze to return home with a little surprise.

[I gave a hint somewhere in this post...maybe you can figure it out. ;)]

EDIT: This is essentially what its going to look like from now on. There's a header image, but for some reason, Livejournal is being extremely pissy with me and won't let me finish out the coding, so this may be as good as its going to get.
Tags:
 
 
05 December 2009 @ 08:26 pm
[The storm means very little to the Aspect of Magic. The torrents of wind and rain are abated by a large shield of arcane energy, which is waved away when he walks into the inn. If there are any eyes on him at all, he ignores them. The realm was easy enough to recognize, even if he had never been in his brother's lair before.

Brother. Ha. What was the point of family, anyhow? Alexstrasza and Neltharion (Deathwing, he reminded himself) had already betrayed him, who's to say Nozdormu wouldn't do the same?

And so, Malygos picked a corner to sit in to brood, in the form of an elf, hands steepled in front of half-lidded eyes.]