ephriza-dawnblade - Tumblr blog

[ephriza-dawnblade]

Damn dude, imagine being the guy who epitomizes the gaslight meme. Reaching so hard through tumblr with cherry picked responses to try and shut down any backlash from this. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. What a scumbag.

There is a story I need to tell you. It’s a story that involves not only me, but many others. Over the past couple weeks I have spent a great deal of time listening, watching, and at times speaking. And now, after witnessing the whole of what I’ve seen, I have come to the conclusion that this post must be written. For it is through the enforcement of silence that the bad actors in this situation control their victims, and I cannot remain silent anymore.

Kale Aideron is a serial sexual harasser, and not only have the moderators of Gold & Glory <G&G> willingly enabled his behavior, but they also have used manipulative abusive tactics to silence and control their membership when they try to speak up or get out.

In this post, you will see a great deal of screenshots and testimony. These have been shared with permission.

To begin, I am going to walk you through Kale’s behavior and break down his pattern. And as this post continues, I will discuss how the G&G moderators enabled him, then break down the behavior of the G&G moderators themselves.

[As a note this post contains descriptions of sexual abuse and harassment]

Keep reading

[ephriza-dawnblade]

There once was a duck.

That isn’t the start of a riddle; it is a simple statement of fact. 

There once was a duck. 

There also still is a duck. This duck, as it happens, is stuck in Trin’s office. It doesn’t want to be there; Trin absolutely does not want it there.

And yet, its existence persists. 

The duck, through no fault of its own, became an unwelcome fixture in her office some years ago, when she was training a young apprentice. Of course, the duck was also there long before that as well. That’s what happens when you deal with temporally adrift beings: they tend to show up at unexpected times. 

“He was terribly clever, you see,” Trin explains of her former apprentice, “but he lacked the ability to visualize cause and effect from a space-time standpoint. When he opened the window, a duck flew in; when he caught it and threw it back out the window— instead of taking it through the door and outside, which would have been fine— the duck became untethered in its own timeline and started to reappear at different points throughout the history of this particular office. It wasn’t until I saw him handle the duck that I realized that must have been the initial sighting and cause.” 

“Have you tried untethering its temporo-spatial threads from your office’s own temporally locked position?” you might ask. Well of course you asked that— it’s the logical thing to ask; the first step in ridding oneself of an angry, time-locked mallard. 

“Of course I have,” Trin replies, indignant to your question. As though she hadn’t thought of that (although, just to be safe, she tries again— to no result). 

Chronomancy is a tricky thing. 

“When a person—or in this case, a duck— becomes temporally untethered and is set adrift in time, it is likely to continue showing up in the same place over and over— never growing old, though possibly growing increasingly frustrated at its futile and anomalous existence. It is nearly impossible to re-attenuate the duck’s chrono-aberratic reflection filament and get it back to its origin point,” she explains. 

Her words, of course, mean nothing to almost everyone (except herself). 

“Have you tried killing it?” you might ask. Well of course you asked that— it’s the logical next thing to ask. In your mind, simply killing the duck would end the madness. 

“Of course I have,” Trin would reply, indignation flaring up again. She has tried everything: killing it; untethering its timestream from that of her office; putting it in a cage so it stops making a mess every time it shows up; adding seven volatile fluctuating binding points to her banishment spell in an attempt to simply erase its existence. 

Nothing has worked. 

“What about the Bronze Dragonflight?” you ask. “Couldn’t they sort this out?” Another excellent, logical next question from you, a person who likely hasn’t dabbled in chronomancy. 

“Who?” Trin replies, as the duck reappears and flaps angrily at nothing, its hollow quack punctuating her query. 

[ephriza-dawnblade]

“Mason. Your group’s heading up tonight, a bank of clouds just rolled in from the east. Details are with Commander Scripps at the airfield. Ten minutes.” Quai looked up from her book to the entrance of the small tent and gave a nod to the dispatch rider, who nodded in return and spun on a heel to report back to command. 

“Thanks,” Quai called after him. She tossed her book aside and stood, limbs stretching towards the sky as she glanced over at the bed on the other side of the tent. 

“Nice night for it,” she remarked. 

Never a better one, came the silent reply. Quai’s gaze lingered for a moment on the empty bed, the lack of personal possessions scattered around the other side of the tent: something tugged in her chest, but before she could dwell on it for too long she scooped up her jacket and goggles from a chair and left the tent. 

The camp was quiet at that late, uncertain hour. Quai’s gaze moved briefly to the overcast sky, then forward once more as she approached the airfield. Six Goblin bombers sat, ready to go, their pilots in the process of doing their final checks. 

“Mason, you good?” one of them asked as he saw her approach. 

“Yeah,” she replied as she shrugged into her jacket. The other pilot approached her and gave her shoulder a squeeze. 

“You’ll feel better when you’re off the ground,” he assured her quietly. The corner of Quai’s mouth twitched ever-so-slightly. 

“Sure, yeah,” she agreed, forcing a smile as she turned away towards her own plane. 

Pre-flight checks went smoothly: it felt almost as though she hadn’t been grounded for a month as she finished up and settled into the worn leather seat. 

“This is a big one,” a voice said over the comms: their squadron commander, Scripps. “It’s the closest we’ve ever been to the citadel, and your payloads reflect that. You’ll be flying with an extra four hundred pounds, so make sure you account for the extra fuel you’ll be using. You’ll be firing as you drop to altitude, so don’t drop until you’re absolutely ready to fire. Your maps,” he continued, “indicate where you’ll be dropping down. Three to a side, you’ll see the camps plain as day when you clear cloud cover. Mason, you’re with Willoughby and Potts on the eastern side, and I’ll take the west with Evans and Taylor. Understood?” 

“Understood,” came a chorus of five voices through the comms. 

“Five minutes. Over and out.” The comm channel went dead as Scripps switched it off, and Quai continued through the motions of her pre-flight checks, her mind elsewhere.

“Hey.” 

She turned in her seat to see Andrew on the ladder, his unruly hair pulled back into a knot atop his head. The corner of her mouth twitched again. 

“Hey,” she replied. “Alright?” 

“I guess. You?” 

“Gotta be, don’t I?” 

The pair shared a brief, humourless smile. 

“Anyway, winds are in your favour tonight. I double checked your fuel, you should be good to go. Your thirty-fives are all set, too.” 

Quai nodded and took a pencil from her pocket to mark parts of the map near the spot they’d be bombing.

“Thanks, Andrew.” She looked over at him. “See you soon.” 

Andrew looked as though he wanted to say more, but at her words he simply nodded and started to climb back down the ladder. 

“See you soon,” he called as he rolled the ladder away. Quai reached up and pulled her goggles onto her face, then flipped two switches and pressed the ignition button. The bomber’s engine chugged to life and soon the silent night was filled with the sounds of six engines running smoothly. Below, Andrew pulled the chocks from her wheels and she felt the plane roll forwards a couple of feet before she took hold of the yoke and eased the plane into formation with the others. 

They waited on the runway in a neat line behind Scripps’ plane until the red light at the end of the runway turned to yellow, then green. Quai pulled her rebreather mask onto her face and held up a thumb outside her cockpit, and the others all did the same, one after another. There was a beat of silence, and then the pitch of the engine in Scripps’ plane changed as he started to roll down the runway: after the rest of the squadron followed in perfect unison, they all found themselves airborne and racing towards the cover of the clouds. Soon, the Borean Tundra disappeared and they were all above the clouds, heading towards Icecrown. 

“Clear,” came Willoughby’s voice as he brought up the rear of the squadron. 

“Clear,” everyone else echoed. 

“An hour and a half to arrival,” Scripps noted. 

“Roger that,” came a chorus of replies. 

The comms clicked off, and Quai was once again alone with her thoughts as her plane flew smoothly through the night, just above the candy floss clouds. 

An hour passed, and soon after that they could see the blackened tips of the citadel poking through the clouds like sharpened spears. 

“Half an hour,” came Scripps over the comm. “Group one splitting off,” he added as he, Evans, and Taylor eased their planes east, over the edges of Wintergrasp. A few moments later, they were no more than specks on the horizon as Quai and her group continued on their bearing, waiting for the other squadron’s word. 

“Approaching coordinates,” she said over her comms. 

“Hold,” Scripps replied. 

“Roger.” 

More silence. Quai turned her plane left and started to make a wide circle over their drop point as Willoughby and Potts followed after her in a holding pattern. 

“Approaching coordinates,” Scripps said after a few minutes, “dropping in ten seconds.” 

Quai had enough time to circle back around before the silent countdown hit one: the three planes’ engines cut out and they dove in unison, and her stomach jumped in a familiar and almost comforting way as the nose of her bomber dipped into the clouds. She checked her coordinates against the map in the cover of the clouds and made slight adjustments until she was exactly on course, the dull thump of the wing flaps the only sound over the rushing of wind around her. 

“Coming out,” she said into her comm as her plane emerged from cloud cover. “Fire at will.” 

The sky lit up with the flare of automatic fire as all three pilots began to shoot at the Scourge camps and ziggurats below. Quai’s vision was singular as she laid a line of artillery into crowds of undead: she could feel her heart thumping in her chest as she grew closer and closer to the ground, her anger growing at the sight of them, screaming obscenities inside her head until—

“MASON!” came Willoughby’s voice over the comms. 

“WHAT!” she yelled back. She hadn’t realized that she’d run out of artillery and was still heading downward, the nose of her bomber pointed almost perpendicular to the ground. 

“DROP YOUR PAYLOAD AND GET OUT! YOU’RE TOO LOW!” he yelled. She saw an orange glow light up the sky behind her as the other payloads hit. Her altimeter was reading a thousand feet and dropping fast: with a few muttered curse words, she jammed two fingers onto the starters and flipped the ignition switch. The plane spluttered to life, and she pulled back on the yoke and the bomb release simultaneously as she flew back towards the clouds. 

There was barely enough time for her to let out a sigh of relief before her payload hit: her plane, being much closer to the ground than the other two, rocked to one side with the force of the blast and threatened to roll over as she pulled the yoke in a desperate attempt to not spin off course. Up above, she could see the shadows of the other two planes as they disappeared back into cloud cover. 

“Mason!” Potts barked into the comm. Quai urged the plane upward, the engine whining in protest as she hurried towards the clouds. Green beams of magic shot into the air around her, some narrowly missing her wings and tail: she pushed the plane harder and raced for cover. 

A moment later, her plane shot into the clouds and she kept pushing upward until she emerged into the still night and levelled out. By that point the magic fired from below was shooting wide, far away from where she was flying. Quai breathed a sigh of relief. 

“What the fuck, Mason?” came Willoughby’s voice over the comms. She looked to her left and saw his plane drop to level with hers, the pilot glaring angrily at her from behind his rebreather mask. 

“Controls locked up,” she lied, looking forward again over the rolling clouds. 

“Bullshit.” 

“Bullshit,” echoed Potts. 

“Believe what you want, but you know these old things. They lock up if you dive too steep,” she insisted, her gaze remaining forward as they flew back towards the airstrip. After a minute, Willoughby peeled away and dropped back into formation. 

“I’m gonna have to report this, Mason,” he said as his plane disappeared from sight and reappeared a few minutes later in her mirror, behind Potts. 

“I know,” she replied, scared they could hear her heart thumping in her chest. 

“They’re going to investigate,” Potts added. 

“I know,” she replied again, her tone more insistent. There was silence on the line for a few moments, then Willoughby spoke again: 

“It’s a shame these things aren’t always reliable in a dive. The gears grind together, exact same as when you leave the throttle open at cruising speed. Makes it so you can land, but you can’t pull up… pulling out of a dive with a ground-down gear is damn near impossible. Not impossible… but close to,” he said in a very deliberate tone. 

“You’re damn lucky, Mason,” Potts chimed in. “Hell of a pilot.” 

Quai’s plane had levelled out by that point and, with only a split second’s pause, she placed a hand to the throttle and opened it up. The engine complained loudly, and after a few moments she heard the telltale grinding of gears from within the engine compartment. 

“Thanks, boys,” she said as she pulled back on the throttle, settling the engine back to a comfortable cruising speed. “Just out of curiosity, Willoughby, what are you going to report?” 

“Engine malfunction in a dive,” he replied. The corner of Quai’s mouth twitched slightly, but the smile didn’t quite come. 

“Understood. Ten minutes ‘til we’re in comm range of the other group, and an hour-ten after that ‘til we hit the airstrip,” she replied as she glanced down at the instrument panel and the pocket watch she kept taped to the dash. 

“Roger that,” the other two. The comms went silent again and Quai was left alone with her thoughts once more as the trio of Goblin bombers cruised above the thick cloud cover, back towards their rendezvous point. 

((Mentioned: @andrew-mason​))

[ephriza-dawnblade]

The sun had barely started its slow crawl over the horizon as the large bird made its way over the hills surrounding the little bay town. Quai stood on the weather deck of Corban’s boat with a cup of coffee in each hand, waiting patiently as she tracked the bird’s progress. She held one of the cups out as Gwen landed and transitioned smoothly from her avian form. 

“Good mornin’!” the redhead said cheerfully as she accepted the coffee from Quai and held the mug cupped in her hands. “This the boat, then? It’s nice! Lotsa room for… I dunno, crime an’ stuff.” 

Quai let out a small laugh at the remark. 

“Indeed. To crime and stuff,” she said, holding her coffee aloft to Gwen for a moment before taking a quick sip. “Speaking of crime and stuff, did you bring it?”

“Aye, love—” Gwen took a sip and set the coffee down, then started to rummage through her pockets until she found what she was looking for: a tiny stuffed dog with mismatched button eyes. It looked ratty and old, and the childlike hand-stitching was coming apart at the uneven seams. “Y’know, if yeh wanted a toy, I could make yeh somethin’,” she suggested. 

Quai set her own coffee down and took the little stuffed dog in her hands, her tired expression melting into a soft smile as she ran a thumb over one of the dog’s velvet ears: the ear had been worn almost completely down. “No, this is perfect. Was it where I said it would be?” 

“Aye, in the false back o’ the cupboard under the bay window, fourth floor, room at the end o’ the hall on the northwest corner,” Gwen recited, looking upward as she remembered the directions. “There weren’t nobody livin’ there, by the way. Empty as a cobbler’s curse, everythin’ all boarded up, with sheets on the furniture an’ stuff. That were your family’s place?” she asked curiously. 

“Yeah. Didn’t really want to go back,” Quai replied as she slipped the little stuffed dog into her pocket. Gwen nodded sympathetically. 

“Goin’ home’s hard. Been there meself, recently… ain’t no fun.” She squeezed Quai’s arm gently, then picked up her coffee again. “So! This is the boat, eh?” 

“It is,” Quai replied, visibly relieved at the change of subject. “Just got it into the water yesterday, did you want a look around?” 

“I’d love that. Could use a bit of a sit, first, if yeh don’t mind— flight from Dalaran’s a bit long,” Gwen replied with a sheepish smile. “Gettin’ old, see.” Quai rolled her eyes. 

“You’re three years older than me, grandma. But yeah, we’ve got the lounge all set up, c’mon,” she beckoned the redhead to follow her belowdecks. Coffee in hand, the pair disappeared through an arched door and into the belly of the ship. 

((Mentioned/relevant: @gwen-oconnell​ @fragments-of-fortune​))

[ephriza-dawnblade]

Quai leaned against the door to her office after she’d closed and locked it. Her breath was coming out in huge, heavy gasps as she pressed the heel of her hand to her chest, and the room spun as she cast her gaze wildly around the cramped space: mounted blades, ceremonial masks, framed maps— everything loomed ominously over her, the walls pressing inward and the ceiling disappearing upward to dizzying heights as she sank to the floor. 

What the fuck? she thought wildly as she struggled with her own ragged breath. 

She clawed desperately at the fabric of her tank top as she wrestled it over her head and flung it across the room, and her head hit the door heavily as she slammed her upper body back against the wood. Bright lights winked in her vision as it slowly tunneled to a pinpoint before her, all blurry edges and out-of-focus shadows that crept and slithered towards her. Closing her eyes did no good; all she saw in her mind were stone walls and catapults, and familiar faces choking to death on sickly, green gas. 

She lurched forward from her spot on the floor and leaned over the wastepaper basket as her shoulders heaved again, but nothing else came out; instead, she coughed and slumped against the side of her desk as tears started to stream down her face. She drew her legs up to her chest and let her forehead fall against her knees as she sat there in the dimly lit office, crying. 

Eventually, the tears slowed to a point where she could breathe somewhat normally again. She rose unsteadily to her feet, a hand gripping the edge of the desk, and rummaged in her pocket with her other hand until she found what she was looking for: a tiny, silver key. As she crossed the room to a cabinet, she leaned over and scooped up the tank top from the floor and shrugged back into it, then slid the key into the lock. 

The inside of the cabinet was filled with miscellaneous items: extra daggers, a backup set of leathers, extra boots, a box of cookies, a few accordion folders of documents, and— at the bottom, buried under a pile of books— a slim, wrapped box that had the name ‘Andrew’ written on the plain brown kraft paper. Without a second thought, she ripped the paper from the box and opened the lid. 

The bottle lay innocently in the box, nestled among little pieces of crinkled brown packing paper. Fingers curled around the neck of the bottle and pulled it out; the box fell to the ground, littering the stone with bits of paper. With her other hand, she took one of the shorter blades from the cabinet and jammed it into the cork: after a twist and a tug, she pulled the cork from the neck of the bottle with a throaty ‘thunk!’ and tossed both the blade and the cork aside. 

There was no pause in her movements: the blade had barely hit the floor as the bottle touched her lips. The expensive booze— bourbon, maybe, she hadn’t read the label— stung her throat and warmed her stomach as she gulped it down. Her head swam, but the yelling, the sounds of people choking to death, the images of catapults and anguished faces— all of that dulled as she fell back into her leather chair. She pulled the bottle back and coughed as she looked at it. 

Her vision blurred slightly, but it didn’t matter. There was nowhere to go; no current responsibilities. It was fine. Her breathing slowed, finally, as a comfortable numbness set in. 

She’d be fine. 

[ephriza-dawnblade]

That got to me. I love Quai so much.

The library was quiet. 

Dusty tomes sat abandoned on their shelves, pages untouched for decades by human hands. A musty smell lingered in the cavernous room: mouldering paper, disintegrating cardboard spines, damp leather, dead leaves. A breeze blew through a broken window and across the black-and-white tiles, pushing a swirl of brittle leaves into the corner by the card catalog. 

It was a place Quai had often found herself in her young years— though when she’d been a child roaming among the stacks, the enormous room had a sterile, almost clinical feel to it. It looked its years in its current state: bent, dirty, almost sad in its fall from stately grace. Several of the iron lanterns that had hung from long chains attached to the ceiling had fallen, and bits of sharp, dirty glass were scattered across the checkered tiles. 

Quai picked her way carefully through the room, past the cold fireplaces and the deflated couches and armchairs, whose stuffing had been pilfered, likely by the local squirrel population. Her boot crunched a leaf as she crossed the floor, and overhead she heard startled wings beating wildly as some bird flew to a higher vantage point. Her gaze drifted to the top of the double-height stacks, only to see the shadows of morning doves shifting in place as they perched atop the intricately carved wood. Trails of excrement had dripped down the sides of the highest shelves, stark white against the dark mahogany. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” a voice said from behind her. Quai turned, only to find no one. 

“This is my house, I’ve every right to be here,” she responded. Her voice echoed, bouncing around the room and back to her own ears in almost a mocking tone. 

“Every right to be here,” her voice said back to her. With a frown, Quai turned away once more and came face to face with a woman. She sucked in a sharp breath. 

The woman before her was only a few inches taller than she, with icy blue eyes and flowing locks of curly, deep black hair. She had the same lithe figure as Quai, though she carried herself with an air of confidence and self-satisfaction. Her immaculately plucked eyebrows knitted together as she regarded Quai, and her expression took on a look of unconstrained disgust. 

“Stupid girl,” she whispered. Automatically, Quai took a step back. “You know full well you are not to go to the library unaccompanied.” Her voice rang out high and clear, echoing in the cavernous space. She raised a hand: Quai flinched away, but the blow never came. She cracked open an eye, but the woman was gone. 

“Bitch,” she muttered to herself. 

“Is that any way to speak of your mother?” another voice asked. It was her aunt, that time, who was standing by one of the shelves with a thick tome balanced on one hand. She barely spared Quai so much as a glance as she flipped through the pages and turned to walk down one of the narrow aisles. 

“Wait!” Quai called out as she took off at a run towards where her aunt had been. “I’m looking for—” 

But when she rounded the corner, her aunt was gone. 

“Looking for what, my lady?” a male voice asked from the far side of the room. Quai looked over to see Mister Greene, the ageing librarian, who was standing by the card catalog with a pushcart full of books. Quai strode towards him. 

“I’m—”

“Looking for what?” another voice asked to her left. She broke her sight on Mister Greene as she turned to see a distant uncle walking towards her. 

“Looking for what?” another voice said to her right: a second cousin. 

“Looking for what?” asked the cook. 

“Looking for what?” asked her cousin Violet. 

“Stupid girl,” hissed her mother’s voice. 

“Looking for what?” asked a housemaid. 

“Useless girl,” whispered her grandmother.

Family members long since passed were materializing around the room to crowd her, pressing in until she felt as though she could barely breathe, each of them dully repeating the same query over and over, peppered with words of icy hatred from her mother and grandmother.  

“Please—!” she gasped as their hands gripped her clothes, her skin: she felt cold fingers claw into her shoulder and her neck, as the mouths sagged open and their skin decayed before her very eyes. 

“Please, I just—!” 

Someone grabbed her hand: the grip wasn’t cold and skeletal, but something distinctly warm. Without a second thought, Quai gripped the hand and was pulled from the crowd as the voices reached an ear-splitting volume. She squeezed her eyes shut against their rotting faces and suddenly everything went silent. 

Keep reading

[ephriza-dawnblade]

Hello friends of Coldwall!

As the xpac just dropped, most of our members are spending our time enjoying the new content in the Shadowlands! As such, we are not going to be hosting our Bloodsport this month. We apologize, but we wager many of you are probably doing the same thing as we are! Have fun, and we will see y’all next time!

- Mas

[ephriza-dawnblade]

[ephriza-dawnblade]

The Rat Bastard Tavern

Friday, August 7th, 6 Bells

The Legerdemain Lounge, located in Old (Northrend) Dalaran!

Hey there you degenerates. Don’t worry, with us that is a term of endearment. We are back at it again for another month serving up some absolutely terrible health choices that taste fantastic! And if that isn’t your flavor of regret, then try some regret in the form of our slew of expertly crafted drinks at the ready to wash away what bothers you!

It’s a crazy world out there, isn’t it about time your diet matches? At least for an evening. So grab a friend, or grab a friend in a totally different way, and head on down to the Rat Bastard this Friday! We look forward to tempting you into drinking far too much.

The Rat Bastard is cross-faction!

The Rat Bastard tavern is a cross faction event! If you wish to help us out a bit, please bring your own Elixirs of Tongues. We will have plenty to offer on hand, in case you come without. We will provide both Horde and Alliance based staff along with the Elixirs. Easily accessible via portal from both Orgrimmar and Stormwind, or via flight path for lower levels.

[[ @wowrpevents​​​​ @wraconnect​​​​ @the-royal-courier​​​​ @wracentral​​​​ @wraallianceevents​​​​  @wrahordeevents​​​​​ ]]

[ephriza-dawnblade]

▼ What is their greatest fear? △ Name one thing from their past that they regret. ϟ Have they ever gotten pleasure from causing others pain? ♚ Do they consider themselves to be evil?

What is their greatest fear?

I think Ephriza worries most about losing herself. Identity is something that everyone struggles with at some point in their life and it is perhaps brought to the forefront because of her circumstances. Between the work she does, the lack of tangible association with either faction because of the rapid side swapping, and the void bringing everything into question; I think she fears losing her morality and her sense of self.

Name one thing from their past that they regret.

The thing that eats at her the most is leaving behind her superior during a retreat at Caer Darrow. She was tasked with getting civilians to safety and those who stayed were lost when the Orcish Horde. She has survivor guilt.

Have they ever gotten pleasure from causing others harm?

Yes... and no. There was a point where she was heavily influenced by an artifact that caused her to struggle with this. It was not a true feeling and she fought against it.

Do they consider themselves evil?

No, but she is afraid that she has the potential to be if she doesn't control the void.

[ephriza-dawnblade]

Horrific Headcanons

Send a symbol for a headcanon about my muse. All horror/angst/scifi related.

✘ Have they ever committed a murder? ▼ What is their greatest fear? ✿ Would they ever trust dark or wicked magic? △ Name one thing from their past that they regret. ✂ If they had to choose one weapon to carry forever, what would it be? ☣ Would they kill someone close to them if they had to? ☢ Would they survive an apocalyptic situation? ❣ If someone had the power to bring them back after death, would they want them to? ☠ Do they fear death? ♱ What do they think awaits them after death? ¿ Are they easily frightened? ╳ How would they react to seeing a loved one become possessed? ☹ Name one person they would kill for. ☼ If they had the choice to be immortal with one other person, who would they choose? ☎ How would they react to receiving a phone call from a deceased love one? ★ Do they have a favorite scary movie? Book? Show? ♣ Do they believe the world is made up of good and evil? ♥ Have they ever acting out of heartlessness? ☾ What is their favorite and least favorite thing about the night? ψ Do they think they deserve punishment for their wrongdoings? ϟ Have they ever gotten pleasure from causing others pain? ♚ Do they consider themselves to be evil? ♒ If they could choose how to die, how would they want to go? ™ Are they possessive? ✔ Are they holding a grudge against anyone? ◯ Do they believe in ghosts? ✦ Who is their favorite villain? ☄ While watching a scary movie, are they the one clinging to a friend or being clung to? 웃 Do they believe in aliens?

[ephriza-dawnblade]

The 36th Monthly Bloodsport Brawl!

Celebrating THREE YEARS of Bloodsport!

- Saturday June 27th -

- 6pm Sign Ups, 7pm Launch -

For three years, Bloodsport has hosted to a number of battle-hardened champions and no shortage of hopefuls slumped over in the pits. Let’s face it, the grit and grime are just another reason to love the sport. Beyond of course the chaotic violence, but that goes without saying!

So to show our appreciation for the people who continue to show face to get said face pummeled, we are offering one of our largest prize pools to date! Don’t worry about the coin, we were just going to blow it on strippers and dust if we didn’t make it a prize pool. Now, you can blow it on strippers and dust in our stead!

Think you have a chance to be the next Bloodsport Champion?

If so, join us down at the Stormwind Docks on Saturday the 27th. Sign ups open at 6 bells and close just after 7 bells. No late sign ups can be admitted, so show up on time to assure your place!

**UNIQUE PRIZE POOL**

To celebrate three years of Bloodsport we have upped the typical prizes for one time only. The semifinalists will all take home 10k for making it that far. The runner up takes home 25k. And the Champion will walk away with a hefty 50k, plus a little bonus on the side that we want to remain a -secret- for the mystery and suspense.

Combat is single elimination ladder, and fights are handled with base d20 rolls. Each fight will be moderated, assuring fairness and keeping things smooth, as well as answering any questions for new fighters. Several fights take place at the same time throughout the event, and spectators are more than welcome to attend.

To sign up, speak to or whisper Nayleen on the night of the event. She will be on location at the docks. Brief party invites available to assist with directions if necessary.

All scores will be updated in real time, and a full ladder will be available to all on the day of the fight to follow the winners as they move up the rankings.

We hope to see you there!

[[ @wowrpevents​​​​​​​​​​ @wraconnect​​​​​​​​​​ @the-royal-courier​​​​​​​​​​ @wracentral​​​​​​​​​​ @wraallianceevents​​​​​​​​​​ ]]

[ephriza-dawnblade]

It was just a dream.

No, a nightmare.

That is what Ephriza had convinced herself of. There was no other evidence supporting otherwise. It would not be the first time that her mind played tricks on her in the dark. Seeing figures that weren’t there or being caught in a half-dreaming state.

But it all seemed so real.

Not since she had been with Monette had she felt such dark thoughts creeping up on her. The Void was never really a blessing, as some of her kin might claim, but rather an unfortunate side effect to her circumstances. She had thought herself free of its disturbing, provoking influence. Was it all toying with her once again? Sick of her apathy towards the powers in which she’d been given?

Perhaps it was just a dream.

She did her best to settle down, calming her breathing and eventually her heartbeat followed. The elf settled into the grasp of her companion and eventually sleep found her once more. But that unsettling feeling in the back of her mind never truly left her.

@monettemason​

[ephriza-dawnblade]

It has been such a pleasure to be in this guild. Even after taking a hiatus, you brought me back into the fold without any hesitation. I've never felt more welcome and I can't wait for whatever the future holds.

You're truly one of a kind, Mas. ♥️

To a Masquerade. To five years.

And so, the Masquerade comes to a close!

Five years ago, I made this guild on the encouragement of a good friend of mine who convinced me not to quit this game and instead give a shot to this silly idea that I had rattling around in my brain. Against what I thought was my better judgement, I took their advice and went for it.

Had I known back then that I was creating an adventure five years in the making. Had I known I’d be spawning a community I am so proud every day to be a part of. Had I known I would be meeting some people who have become my closest friends, greatest allies, and biggest cheerleaders. Had I known that I was forming a guild that would keep me sane and propel me to accomplishments I had once only dreamed of.

Had I known..

But I know now. I know because I get to be a part of this guild every day.

Thank you to this server, for giving us the room to grow and the chance to prove ourselves every day. Thank you to the other guilds for allowing us to enter your spheres and become a part of this community. Thank you to the other RPers of this server who never fail to stun us with your talent, your generosity, and your energetic adoration of the craft.

And finally, and with all my respect and gratitude, thank you to the members of my guild. Who make me a better writer, a better guild leader, and a better person every day. Thank you for your patience with me. Thank you for growing with me. And thank you for the last five years which have been a dream. Heres to five more.

I remain your GM, your servant, and your friend.

~ Mas

[ephriza-dawnblade]

Important Note

Through our time as a guild, Coldwall has always endeavored to remain politically neutral. People have many points of view on matters of home and country, and we respect that difference across all of our members.

But this isn’t an opinion. This isn’t a matter of debate or discussion. There are no ‘buts’ here, no contingency to assess, no factors to acknowledge. This is something so obvious as to seem opaque and yet it still, for some glaringly absurd reason, is a matter of contest among some circles.

Well this will not be one of those circles. Coldwall may keep politics out of our guild, but this isn’t politics. Black lives will -always- matter, and our guild stands beside and behind that fact. We always shall. We stand with those seeking reform. We stand with this truth.

~ Mas

[ephriza-dawnblade]

“Our lives, but a series of masks. Masks we take great effort to maintain. Masks that we decorate with notions to our conscience in hopes that their gleam shall cover the emotions and the persona that lay beneath. As all of our days are a masquerade, our interactions a dance, and who we are simply a series of covers to guard us from this world.”

You are hereby invited to attend..

THE DESCENT MASQUERADE

A celebration of the aspects of our society that few would openly entertain. Though our methods may be noble or vile, we all still decorate our masks in our own way to present the face we wish others to see.

Thus, we invite you to join us in Pandaria, upon the Eastern Edge of the Jade Forest on the afternoon and evening of June 20th, beginning at 4 bells. Please take the time and effort to decorate a mask to your liking, adopting a persona or animal guise you feel most attributes to that hidden part of you, the things others so seldom see. All those without a mask will unfortunately be turned away.

The Masquerade is beyond the bounds of Alliance law and Horde pact, thus expect that a measure of chemical and sensual indulgences will be provided to all whom attend. Challenges and games of the physical and mental kind will be on offer as well, along with several overlapping offerings to those of particularly keen affect.

We hope to see many of you walking among us on that evening. Let us wear our masks with pride, if only for a single night.

- C.

OOC INFORMATION:

The Coldwall Collective is fast approaching our five year anniversary with all of you here on WrA. Over the years, this community has welcomed us and our members, our stories, our events, and our writing into their world and we can’t ever express how much that means to us. We owe so much of our continued success to all of you, and we would love to have you with us for a night in celebration of that fact.

The setting, OOCly, for this event is the Temple of the Jade Serpent in the Jade Forest of Pandaria. We will begin admitting people into the grounds officially at 4pm ST, and the event is slated to last for 3-4 hours but may run longer dependent on the feel of the event. There are some potential phasing issues at the location, which may bar lower levels from attending. We will keep everyone posted on the day of the event.

This event is cross faction! We’d ask you bring your own Elixair of Tongues, but our staff will also have some available if necessary. We will endeavor to have both Horde and Alliance staff on hand for rolls and whispers.

The masquerade will offer a number of entertainment options, from dancing, drinks, and drugs to fights and mental/party games. It is a freeform event, and though there will be a number of entertainment options, attendees are encouraged to mingle and enjoy the space to their leisure. There shall also be a number of more indulgent options, and while nothing will be overt, we want to make it clear that THIS IS AN 18+ EVENT DUE TO THE THEMES ON DISPLAY! We ask that any engagements against Blizzard TOS be kept to party chats, should they arise.

Please, feel free to design a mask for the event and post it onto tumblr! If you tag us here at @coldwall-collective​ we will happily reblog your mask/outfit to show it off! Masks -are- required for attendees, but you need not go out of your way to draw one up. A simple TRP blurb will be fine!

We heavily encourage all attendees to create a totally new TRP/MRP for the evening. Invent a name, make up a new profile, all in keeping of the nature of the masquerade and its feel.

The theme of this night is intended to allow everyone on this server to ‘step into our world’ for the evening. See in romantic and entertainment senses what it is to be Coldwall. There will be a number of hidden aspects throughout the Masquerade, open to those with a keen eye and a talent for putting together pieces and seeing the truth behind the mask. Perhaps you might find something you never expected to see.

The evening shall be what you make of it. So come and enjoy a night with us. A night of letting go.

Shadows Keep

@risrielthron @theodorebennas @tanzrielle @thebattlesheep @possum @wiedaashcroft @the-petalpaw-family @kat-hawke @darthscharactervault @gwenya @the-real-arcanist-val @harvee-sarah-zena @kinzorscarstorm @mediocre-bladeleaf @draenei-tales @leora-strauss @serelia-evensong @susan-gampre @storykeeper-wra @rhysgoodwin @priestess-nightfury @stonestridernerd @theshadowborn @durotan-ofthe-frostwolf @ranekvilmas @penvenomstarkstar @ravenpriest @longveil @kyuusei-shadowleaf @k-sunrael @monster-of-master @summysparklesprocket @quai-mason @unabashedrebel @safrona-shadowsun @helryder666 @thewardancer @brandstonethings @covexalexanderkingsley @eilitheduskbringer @thepalewolfhowls @the-royal-courier @stormwinduniv @the-silver-circle @atc-wra @deadsunharbor @oathswornvanguard @wowrpevents @wraconnect @wracentral @wraallianceevents  @wrahordeevents @elaianna @izzarra @thestringking @zariasilverleaf @safrona-shadowsun @dardillien-ward @thalsianiii

I sort of just threw tags all over the place, some of you may have been tagged twice too. It’s an open event to anyone interested, so even if you can’t attend, reblogging and helping us spread the word would be SUPER helpful!

[ephriza-dawnblade]

RP Tips! (From a medic)

Hello friends! So in my time RPing, I sometimes come across small instances of inaccuracy when it comes to certain injury related things. Of course, we write in a fantasy world here. A world where you can be actually dead and walking around, or have a magic glow protect you from harm, or alchemy to completely block pain, or any other number of fanciful things!

This is not a dig at -anyone’s- RP, I promise! You should write in whatever way is most fun for you. I’m making this more for the one or two people who aim for total accuracy but might miss a few things at times. Let’s get into it!

Punched/Hit on the Nose

Misconception: You have a warrior, seen a lot of battle, done their time. Someone winds up and decks them across the nose bridge. They are wobbled back a bit but rise up, blood dripping from their nose, and they smirk.

Reality: Being hit on the nose sucks. A lot. If you want some of the experience without the danger, lay one finger right across the tip and tap it with your other hand’s fingers over and over. You might not feel agony, but your eyes will likely water and you might feel itching into your cheeks and lips. This is because the nerves of the face are all -very- interconnected. Being whacked across the nose is not only going to hurt a ton, but it’s going to blind you and disorient you no matter how tough you are.

Bonus Fact: A punch to the jaw does not knock you out by stopping nervous signals to the brain. It hyper-stimulates it. As the brain rattles inside the fluid-filled skull it is bombarded by signals firing off all at once. This sends the brain into overload followed by a temporary paralysis as it attempts to ‘reboot’. This is why you go unconscious.

Neck Breaking

Misconception: It’s the dead of night. A soldier stands guard by the main gate, eyes scanning the night with a bored expression. He does not hear the footsteps until it’s far too late. A pair of hands grip his cheeks, and with a swift twist his lifeless body hits the dirt.

Reality: Breaking a neck is actually surprisingly difficult to do in hand to hand, even if you are trained. It’s not enough to twist the neck, or to tilt the head, you need to do both. Moreso, you are fighting against all the musculature in the neck, and depending on how built your foe is that can be a lot. Breaking the neck would take a lot of leverage, you can’t just use your hands. You’d need to use your whole arm, torso, and abdomen to gain enough leverage while also keeping their body still at the same time. It can be done, of course. Just not as easy as the films like you to think.

Bonus Fact: Did you know you can’t break your own neck with your hands? Set aside the fact that we are built with inhibitors that prevent self damage of that magnitude, we actually can not generate the leverage needed without rotating our shoulders and thus offloading the pressure on the spine.

Choked Out

Misconception: The struggle spilled from the chair onto the floor. The thief had their arms wrapped firm around the throat of the book keeper, and though he squirmed the color built up in his face. Eventually, the fight ceased. His body fell limp as he blacked out. The thief slides the body to a nearby dresser to stash where none would find him. The thief had bought themselves some time.

Reality: The thief has bought themselves next to nothing. Choke holds don’t typically put someone out by cutting off their air supply. You in fact put pressure on the vessels and arteries that keep the brain supplied with blood. Without it, a person blacks out. However once the hold is released, blood supply is restored and a person wakes up almost immediately. They might be very dazed for a minute as they try and remember where they are and what happened, but they won’t be out for hours as is often assumed.

Bonus Fact: Want to kill someone by cutting off air supply? You’d better clear your schedule. It can take upwards of 3-5 minutes. The lungs hold a lot of air that never partakes in oxygen exchange, called ‘dead space’. Even if you cut off air supply, the lungs can continue to harvest that dead space even into unconsciousness. Unless the space is replaced with something like water (e.g. Drowning) you are going to need to wait a few minutes for death to come.

Getting Shot

Misconception: Another bullet impacted the warrior’s chest, but he would not fall. He gripped his blades tighter as another bullet ripped into his abdomen, and another to his shoulder. He would not stop, fury in his eyes as he charged.

Reality: He’d stop. Being shot is a nightmare. The human body can take a lot of punishment, and I’ve seen people with 20+ stab wounds walk to my ambulance. However, most modern rounds are dispensed at high velocity which tear the flesh on impact and the rounds themselves are designed to tumble, ricochet, or fragment within a body for maximum internal damage. The body can only take so much before it shuts down, no matter how angry or determined a person is. Usually one or two well placed rounds to the body will drop you.

Bonus Fact: Using older weapons? Might even be worse. Those rounds were solid round balls. They’d take a person off their feet at center of mass and rip chunks out of limbs as they zipped by like mini cannon balls.

- - - - -

I have more but this is already long enough. Remember, this is not me saying you -have- to RP this way. It’s way more dramatic and cool to have the person who is superhuman because that’s what makes fantasy fantasy. Take what you want from this if you take anything at all, and I hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading!