#Wyrmrest Accord Roleplay

[thetirisfaltheatretroupe]

Coming September 7th: "Hellsqueal, the True Warchief's REMIX"

WHO: The Tirisfal Theatre Troupe...and YOU! WHAT: "Hellsqueal: The True Warchief's Remix", a live performance! WHERE: The Shrine of Fellowship, Jade Forest WHEN: Saturday, September 7th, 6:00 PM PST // 8:00 PM Central

(Original poster by our beloved friend Erialin. Miss you always <3)

Many years have passed since the fall of Garrosh Hellscream, widely referred to as only the second worst Warchief to ever live. In the wake of his legacy of failure, come have a laugh at his expense as we take a brief and historically accurate look at his career as Warchief of the Horde! Come join the illustrious Tirisfal Theatre Troupe as we perform this revision of a classic story, filled with drama, heartache, betrayal, heroics, and jokes about bronze frogs and dubious medical typos!

The show will be held at the Shrine of Fellowship in the Jade Forest (Wyrmrest Accord's shard, non-Warmode), a quick portal away for both factions on SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 7TH at 6:00 PM PST // 8:00 PM CENTRAL! Runtime is approximately an hour and a half, though technical difficulties may cause us to go slightly over!

It's been a number of years since the Tirisfal Theatre Troupe last performed the play that put us on the map! While we said goodbye to the Hellsqueal trilogy of comedies a long time ago, with the advent of the wildly successful Mists of Pandaria Remix, we figured now was as good a time as any to dust off the old script and give people another taste of this timeless classic from the Timeless Isles. This time around, a few things are a little different - our standard of quality in what we've written is a little higher, our production value is a little larger, and we've got a number of new and old talent alike returning to the stage! Come join us for this recollection of a simpler time, and maybe find something both new and old to love about this new spin on the Tirisfal Theatre's very first major production that we premiered way back in 2013. Whether you are an old troupie, or someone who has merely heard of us in passing... you're certain to have a Hellscream of a time. Note: This post will be updated and reblogged as more information becomes available or clarifications are added! Special thanks to @shamanofthewilds for editing the time and date details on the poster on such short notice, you're an amazing asset to the company and crew! <3 And best Thrall.

[thevelvetcartel]

The Velvet Cartel invites you to Go to Fel this Hallow's End! Join us for a night of frights as we ring in the holiday!

There will be a chance to win art from our talented artists! A mount raffle, pet battles, a costume contest, and more!

When: Saturday, October 26th at 5:30pm server time.

Where: Irontree Clearing, Felwood (WrA).

We hope to see you all there!

[bronzeandsage]

DWC 2024 - Day 4 - Surrender/Tranquil

"What?" Sevlaz whispered as he looked up at the elf from the burned floorboards of the Wayfarer's hold.

The elf blinked slowly and shook it's head smiling at the dying orc. "My apologies, sometimes I get languages mixed up. What I meant to say is, hello Sevlaz. And to add to that, how are you?"

Confusion was threatening to swallow the pain of dying as Sevlaz stared up at the crouching elf, well who was now leaning back to sit down with the ease of child coming to hear a tale. Knees drawn up and face peering down at him with a curious and calm demeanor that was maddening considering the deadly situation they found themselves in. Well what he thought was deadly as the whole room felt it had just stopped. The smoke no longer felt like it was choking at the coldness he had been drowning in was now just as much outside as it was inside. A hard swallow as he whispered his rough reply.

"Dying."

The elf nodded softly as he regarded the fallen thief with that unsettling calm. "I know. I know it is very unpleasant as well, but some things we cannot change. We have to let them work out."

Sev blinked again very slowly, feeling more tired by the second as they talked. He felt there were a lot of words he wanted to use, but his tongue kept swelling as he stared. Or maybe his breath was just having a hard time coming. Either way sleep sounded all the better.

"I won't make this long or drawn out, but I have come to you to present an opportunity if you're willing and wanting," he continued to feel the quiet around the pair, his head still tilted as he asked. "But I would very much understand as well if you refuse. Being is not easy."

"But can be fulfilling."

@daily-writing-challenge

The clay trough landed with a soft clatter of juice, meat, and sticks wafting with the scents of a complex mixture of herbs and spices. Steam mixed with tendrils of burning smoke clouded Sevlaz's face as he pulled his pipe aside to lean forward to inspect his mystery.

"Bon appleteeth as the main man would say," Erik proudly grinned with his teeth, his arms crossing over his small chest with oversized hands hanging loosely.

"The main man?"

"It's just a saying, tell me what you think!" Erik snapped back with a mixture of impatience and exuberance.

The orc would sigh and tap out his pipe in the dirt beneath them, his foot absently reaching down to rub out the embers with is toe before reaching to the stick that held a kaleidoscope of charred meat and vegetables. A short sniff and look over of the food gave him pause as he debated on where to begin. The vulpera on the other hand got a different impression.

"Quit staring and take a bite you coward!" Erik slammed his hands on the bar and leaned forward, golden eyes eager for vindication.

Sev in turn backed up quickly with a look of shock at the fox's aggression, grumbling out an 'alright alright' in response before bringing the food to task. Carefully biting on the end piece of meat and giving it a yank and chew, bits of juice splattering across his bare ruined gums and yellowed teeth. Watching an orc without an upper lip chew was as intimidating as it was unpleasant for those of sophisticated table manners.

Erik's little shop care for none of these things as he continued to watch his sole patron chew.

There was a slow chew as the hot meat burst and slathered his tongue in a mixture of herb riddled grease. The slow lasted a bit longer as he continued before the final heavy swallow and hand reaching up to wipe his mouth with a what would be considered a satisfied sigh. "Pretty good, needs some heat though. You got any of that sauce?"

Golden eyes narrowed as he looked to the orc and grabbed a small jar under the table to slam in front of his customer. "Here. Just ruin it!"

"What do you mean ruin it?" Sevlaz grumbled as he opened the jar and spooned the chunky red onion goop on the pepper and tomato on his stick.

"The flavors! You have the palette of a yak!" Erik waved his hands as he began to tidying up for the next time he'd have to make something. "Nom nom me hungy me eat good! Bah!"

The half eaten skewer would point at the vulpera as Sev countered back with a mouthful of spicy sauced vegetable. "Hey! Tha's uncal for and racist! It's good, just need a kick or four."

A clang of pan and tong as Erik continued to sound off. "Work work! Something need doing?!"

"Damn it Erik! I swear you don't quit it with that, I'm gonna ring you up by your tail!"

"By my tail? And that's not racist? You know what I say to that you fu-" Erik spun about brandishing his wok ladle like a sword as he leveled it at the greasy face of Sev. But his words came to a halt as he looked past the thief, his eyes widening into golden saucers.

Sev growled as he eyed the ladle, ready to parry with his own clash of obscene stereotypes and language. But he could definitely take the hint that something was not right in Dalaran behind him. The skewer lowered slowly to his trough as he kept his eyes level at Erik. "Trouble?"

A soft nod of the cook's head, eyes still trained on the growing shadows behind him.

"Like danger trouble or like arrest trouble?"

"Yes."

A deep breath was drawn in and let loose as Sevlaz slowly turned about on his stool to find the ominous shadow looming.

"Damn it."

[embersoftheorder]

DWC - August - Day 1 - Melee

Blue light blazed across the wet stones of the claustrophobic tunnel of Stormwind's sewer system. Light was a valued and rare commodity down in the depths of the city, but it was thanked and enjoyed by those who tread it's foul waters. Tonight's wanderers included the Inquisitor Cheryl Duun.

Her green tinged goggles glowing with soft translucence as they cut through the dark to light her hindered sight, as much as she wished the glowing blue axe in her hands would brighten the darkness more. Her armor was tightly pulled to her muscular body to keep from snagging on anything, a piecemeal of chain and plate to protect as much as offer her speed. Her boots, soles tight and thick to keep from slipping into the slow flowing muck below her, gripped to the stone floor as she swung the stone blade of her weapon into the body of another kobold.

Most would consider the kobolds an easy foe, if even that as above the ground they were considered more of a minor inconvenience to the small folk of Elwynn and beyond. But here, here they were something different. Sinister, strong, and cunning in their movements and plans. Wielding weapons far superior to the crude stone or stolen steel, these were forged with a knowledge that they should not have. It was unnerving to see at first, but now after so many months of this vicious dirty work it was dangerous.

Beside her Cheryl heard Ramses give the order to hit the wall, the soft hum of his charged up weapon roaring to life behind her. The inquisitor gave a nod, not knowing if he saw it but she focused hard into the Tre's energy and caused it to flare bright watching the rats raise their hands at the sudden flash. Her own vision dazed from her bang, but she knew what to do as she flattened against the slimy stone wall.

There was a whine, a burst, and then the cheap smell of ozone as the arcane cannon went off. There was no fire or heat, but there was force and it was enough to hammer into the clump of foe rats ahead of the small band of catchers. They didn't even scream as they were blown back and smashed into the walls, the bodies gently folding and thumping down into the murky depths below them.

"Tides," murmured the woman as she blinked a few times behind the frame of her goggles. Her hand reaching up to pull them down and around her neck as he looked back to Ramses. The draenei smiling as he stood up and shouldered the cannon, even though he needed to duck a bit to keep his horns from scrapping the top.

"I think I got them," Ramses added with a hint of humor as he smiled with his softly glowing blue eyes.

Cheryl let out her own laugh as she tried to blink her vision clearer, not daring to touch her face down here again as she had when she first started. "I think so too. Come on, we got tunnel 17-C to go."

"Always, commander."

"Just Cheryl, Ramses."

"Very good, Just Cheryl," the draenei replied back, a wide smile on his face at his own joke.

Cheryl Duun rolled her eyes with her own smile before fishing her goggles back up before they pressed on into the under dark.

@daily-writing-challenge

[dhaiart]

Illaria Shadebranch, recently finished commission~

[art-of-hex]

Lady Cress, at your service~ -- Working on some PAINting! I'm happy with the way this turned out! :>

[the-silver-circle]

Gregor sucked in his breath as he watched from his vantage, huddled behind an old stump. He'd seen kaldorei before but this was different, very different. Before him the graceful figures seemed to float over the ground, long red robes brushing over dry leaves without a rustle. In every hand a lantern, its dim light casting flickering shadows onto the mighty trunks that made the forest's vastness seem close. Most striking of all though was their voices. Raised in song or prayer the human could not tell, but their beauty was such that he blinked back tears and felt a shiver run down his spine. Perhaps they were ghosts, not real elves at all. Only one thing was certain, he'd hold his grandchildren enthralled with his tale of the red robed elves.

{Written by Gilthas 06}

Illuridei or "The Watcher's Flame" is a turning of the seasons ceremony. Leaves turn from green to a fireworks display of red and gold while heavy headed crops sway in the fields.

The autumnal equinox is the ceremony of the Watcher's Flame. It has traditionally been celebrated from the breadbasket of kaldorei society, Ashenvale Forest. Held at night, a procession of kaldorei in red clothes bearing lanterns set out from Raynewood Retreat and pilgrimage through the historic region of Azshara.

banner+divider done by Erikailustra

[drasheul-crimsoncrow2]

The Streets of Corin's Crossing, home of the Viscount.

[anunendinggaze]

DWC - August - Day 2 - Violence

The noose was tight about his neck, not that it was doing much in the way of ending him. That day had long since passed. A lynching was a far easier end compared to the many years of death Alfred Klaudin had experienced.

His body alone was a testament to the years of service that he had given to both King and dark mistress. He didn't regret serving either of them, he honestly didn't know what it felt like or even if it mattered. Few things gave him any sense of feeling or pleasure. Most of it involved the sly smile of his Dark Lady or the wet feeling on his hands as he snuffed out a life.

These ones might give him that today.

"Swing you rotter!" Came the hoarse call of the man holding the rope, he was much like all the others of his kind in the hills of old Lordaeron. Young, angry, and wearing Scarlet. Or perhaps what they thought was Scarlet. It wasn't like the old days when he fought the radical light maniacs of the north. They had been all the things he just thought of, just better organized and far more deadly. Beside the man were three others, cheering with their own old swords and gear looking almost gleeful in their torture of the Forsaken.

It was fine. He could wait.

"Come on, Thomas," called the hoarse voiced kid again, holding tight to the rope with one of his other companions to keep him aloft as he swung. "Give em a good couple wacks! Then we'll burn him good!"

There was a laugh as another young man strode forward, he held a sturdy axe handle in both hands. He proceeded to give as he was told, each strike true and strong from a good farmhand's back. It felt like nothing as it ever did to Alfred. He merely held still and let them have their fun.

Fun time was solid chunk of time, the minutes passing as they always had in this world he was left too. The Cult of the Damned had been quick to raise their ranks from the dead that littered their path as they stormed throughout the countries pillaging, burning, and reinforcing the Scourge army. It wasn't surprising they'd found his shallow grave a from a few months earlier, nor was it that he took to this life as expected. The living had been good and the times had been grave as he marched with the Prince's army into the elven lands before boarding for the far north. Hunger had been his fuel and the meat had been plentiful.

Slack led to a thump as Alfred crashed into the earth, his bony legs collapsing under the sudden return to his weight as he fell to his battered knees. The rope coiled behind him as the heavy breathing of the gang laughed and cajoled one another at such a good showing. There was nothing from him still as he sat in a pile of bone, dried meat, and rubbish that had been left to him after his capture. They began to circle him.

"Alright, lads, think it's time we get the final cleanse for this fucker," the hoarse one spoke again, his place as their leader well established as he wiped sweat from his brow. He hadn't gotten to use the axe handle as much as his friends, but there was a seedy glow in his eyes at watching the violence done to the Forsaken. "Elios, grab the lantern."

A grunt of acknowledgment was given as he felt one of the warm bodies leave the circle, three left about Klaudin as he sat still as his body should be. The rope was still around his throat but his hands were loose at his sides, they had perhaps hoped he would struggle with the knots to free his breath. Breathing was a forgotten pastime to Alfred.

"Got it, Beren," Elios supplied as he arrived back at his spot before Alfred, the yellow and orange light bask his ruined face for all to see clearly. It also lit up their faces for him to see. Hungry, angry, and vile faces.

Beren took the lantern from Elios and held it aloft, his face the dark mask of sadistic hatred. Perhaps it was bred into him, learned from watching others in this back-country of the north. Maybe it had always been in him since a little boy rounding the wheat fields as he killed vermin or rooted out a nesting pheasant. Or perhaps he was just evil in his core.

It didn't matter to Alfred.

The only thing that did matter is they had left his hands free and it would make this all the more easier as he turned his wrist with a soft crack and pop. Breathers talked to much, laughed too much, and focused too much on their own beating hearts to pay any kind of close attention. It was always his advantage when dealing with them and generally their doom.

Beren had been in monologue, his mates glued to his fervor as they always seemed to be. The man would raise the lantern high as he spoke his final sermon. "And with this fire I do cleanse you, return to hence you came vile creature! We sentence you to the hell you came from and rejoice in the fr-"

"No."

It was the only sound Klaudin had made this whole evening and it rang like a bell in his head as his true power came to be, arm lifting to the side to a strange scraping noise as the foot long piece of rebar slid from within his radius and ulna to his clawed hand. A familiar move and gesture he'd done countless times before in situations with foolhardy creatures, it worked then and worked now. With the iron bar in hand he would swing fast bringing it to strike the lantern with a crash, sending glass and oil splashing about the nearest member of this merry band of torturers.

Elios caught quickly with a scream as he fell back in flames, his makeshift flamed tabard finding it's real mate quickly.

Shocked face had no time to react as the warrior was upon them without another spoken word. In stories, there's banter or words of glory from heroes or villains as they escape terrible situations. Calling out to their captors of how they never stood a chance or they would pay for their crimes in the eyes of whatever god. Alfred Klaudin did not need to stay anything.

His brutality spoke clearly enough for him.

A backhand of the iron bar crashed into the side of Beren's head, an audible crack resounding as he flew a foot and landed in a heap. Crimson aplenty pour from his ear and eye from the blow. The others were starting to react now with two of their comrades down, but Alfred was already shifting his bar again to stab with unyielding strength through the third man's belly. Blunt as the bar may be, it was still a fine piece of metal and wielded by a creature who had no care of how it killed. Only that it did. The iron went easily through soft flesh and out the back as the human screamed in agony to fall on his knees holding the end of the bar.

The final one standing had drawn a knife, it was all he had at quick as he brought it down into the back of Alfred. The blade sunk easily through rotted flesh and into bone, sticking out with what should have been a killing blow. He took a few steps back expecting the Forsaken to fall down, watching with hopeful gulps of air that perhaps he would be the tragic hero in this story. To tell his fellow gang members of how they took down a Forsaken soldier in the name of the Light. As much as he was terrified of his friends' deaths, there was a secret place the looked forward to seeing the praise rain upon him.

All he saw next was the bony clawed fingers flash forward to slash through his eyes and tear his nose off with a sickening slurp of flesh and blood. He could barely scream as the blood flowed down his face, his hands flying up in hopes of staunching the ragged wounds. The wet screams only matched those of Elios and the impaled man, which were growing fainter as the smell of sweet meat would fill the wet night air. There was only a few more moments of screaming before the same knife that was used on Klaudin was rammed through the top of his head ending his pain.

Tim, the impaled man, leaned back on the wet grass hands tight about the iron bar through his stomach as he struggled to wrap his head around what he was witnessing. Beren had never moved again from the blow, Elios was silent now as the flames continued to flick on his body, and Jonas had been mutilated before him. His mouth tasted like copper coins as he moaned from the pain, not sure what to do or what to say to the creature that was hobbling toward him now. He felt cold, but he knew his hands were warm and slick. The undead stopped in front of him, slowly crouching down to stare at him with his empty black eyes.

"Please, I'm sorry," Tim gasped out as he shook in his spot, praying for some kind of mercy from the undead. But it just continued to stare at him, not moving or saying a word. Just watching. And waiting.

It took a long time for Tim to die.

And when he had finally grown cold the grey clouds of morning had begun to burn away. Alfred Klaudin would reach forward to yank his hidden baton from the belly of the cold dead, the sucking noise sending a shower to feed the earth below the corpse. He barely noticed as he began to slide it back inside of his forearm, easier now with the lubricant.

No word was spoken. No motion to hide the horrific events. Only the crude tabards were pulled, wrapped, folded, and tied away. The Deathstalkers would be pleased.

Alfred was not. He just was. Hefting the axe handle and slipping the knife away in his now makeshift rope belt, he began to limp his way to the road. South back to the Undercity. For the Dark Lady.

@daily-writing-challenge

[mistswoven]

Looking for Contact - Verena Sun'rael

「 general information 」

FULL NAME: Verena Iren Sun’rael

NICKNAME(S): V, Doc

TITLE(S): Agent, Doctor, The Jade Dagger, The Good Doctor

AGE: 177

DATE OF BIRTH: April 16th

RACE: Elf (Thalassian)

GENDER: Female, cisgender.

PRONOUNS: She/Her

ORIENTATION: Bisexual

MARITAL STATUS: Single, never married.

PROFESSION(S): Surgeon, doctor, mistweaver, Blacktalon agent, member of the Order of the Broken Temple.

LANGUAGES: Thalassian, Common, Pandaren, Sign, Draconic.

「 physicality & appearance 」

HAIR: Blonde with muted pink streaks; lightly wavy, shoulder length.

EYES: Misty teal

HEIGHT: 5’7”

BUILD: Mesomorphic; muscular and athletic.

DISTINGUISHING MARKS:

A jagged scar that cuts over and around the outer edge of her right eye; the eye itself is unharmed.

A small cut to the left of cupid’s bow on her upper lip.

A tattoo of a cherry blossom branch wound around both biceps up to her shoulders.

COMMON ACCESSORIES:

Simple silver earrings, often asymmetrical

One large earring made to look like a cherry blossom branch with intact blooms; it stretches up the length of her right ear

A nose piercing, right side, silver.

「 personality & traits 」

A searing pride scorches the very ground she walks, confidence radiating from her like the heat that comes immediately after. She's fiery, vibrant and powerful. Though not quite a social butterfly, Verena is certainly rather outgoing and won't shy away from striking up or engaging in a conversation. Self-assured in her abilities, it can sometimes be hard for her to back down from a challenge - and the stubborn streak certainly doesn't help matters. Though often rather down to earth and with a colorful sense of humor, one would think that a switch was flipped with how quickly she can become serious should a given situation call for it.

There's a certain charm that she's adopted; she wields it like a weapon, one nearly as deadly as her fists. Her hospitality and kindness will last as long as one behaves the same in turn. The moment that changes, it's pure venom from then on.

Want to know more? Interact or RP!

「 personal information 」

HOBBIES: Poetry, painting, meditation, hiking, reading, painting, swimming, studying, exercising.

SKILL(S): Practical and magical medicine, skilled martial artist, practiced tactician, fast learner, extensive anatomical knowledge, [REDACTED].

RESIDENCE: Varies

BIRTHPLACE: Quel’Thalas

AFFILIATIONS: The Blacktalons, The Blackheart Accord, [REDACTED] (former), [REDACTED] (former)

「 relations 」

SPOUSE: 

None.

CHILDREN: 

None.

PARENTS: 

Jenir Sun’rael, father. Unknown.

Sena Sun’rael, mother. Unknown.

SIBLINGS:

Eriesh Sun’rael, brother. Alive.

Lyrina Sun’rael, sister. Deceased.

Amora Sun’rael, sister. Alive.

Saeus Sun’rael, brother. Alive.

Kaethis Sun’rael, brother. Alive.

OTHER RELATIVES:

None

PETS/COMPANIONS/FAMILIARS:

None

「 habits & vices」

SMOKING:  never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

DRUGS: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

ALCOHOL: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

「 hooks」

Surgical Precision: A skilled Doctor and surgeon with a degree, Verena has treated many patients over the years in hospitals and even out on the field of battle. Anyone currently or previously involved with the military, civilians, monks, or Black Talons could have been treated by her at one point or another.

Black Talons: A current Blacktalon assassin and agent, V has traveled all over Azeroth and beyond to gather, seek and locate various bits of information ranging from a simple overheard conversation to a relic or two. Those of a similar occupation, drakes or Dracthyr of the Black Dragonflight could easily recognize her for this.

Isn't it odd, though, that she's just a Blacktalon agent? One does not simply become an agent; Wrathion hires talent. Maybe there's more to this.

White Tiger, Jade Serpent: At every given opportunity, Verena will speak of her time in Pandaria - working, training, fighting, the whole package. Monks, or those who lived, worked, trained or fought on the Isle could certainly recognize her from there; she spent a number of years training under a pair of Pandaren monk masters.

Woven in the Mists: Perhaps it's just a rumor, or maybe there's more to it. Though a skilled combatant and combat medic in her own right, whispers constantly swirl around a more unique style that she employs; one that can be used to harm instead of heal. Maybe due to the ramifications of using this method of mistweaving, or something else entirely, there will occasionally be lightning-like teal patterns up and down her arms. This results from an excess of chi use.

Sting like a Killer Bee: Despite her calm disposition and training as a mistweaver, Verena is known for a rather aggressive and punishing fighting style. It would be best described as orthodox Muay Thai combined with Wing Chun and Taekwondo.

Neutral Party: Verena does not identify with the Alliance or the Horde, and simply chooses to remain neutral. Though once a firm and unwavering member of the Alliance, her time and training as a monk seems to have changed her perspective on the faction war.

「 other/ooc 」

FACE REFERENCE(S): Elizabeth Lail

VOICE REFERENCE(S): Morena Baccarin as Black Canary (JLU)

ALIGNMENT: Neutral

SERVER(S): Moon Guard (A), Wyrmrest Accord (H)

OTHER:

This character is completely neutral, and thus has a Horde and an Alliance counterpart.

I will not interact/roleplay with minors or anyone under the age of 18. 21+ preferred.

I will not write with godmodders (ex. never misses a hit and never gets hit, their character is so overpowered that they’re basically a god and can’t ever lose, etc).

Art Album Here

[fio-renze]

More details to come soon!

[thetirisfaltheatretroupe]

Coming October 18th: The TTT's DOUBLE FEATURE at the Dance of the Dead!

(Original background from Quince Media via Pixabay, free-for-use license terms apply) An all too familiar chill is in the air, and the dead rise again to march in solidarity with their brethren. The Dance of the Dead, an event hosted for many, many years by the Undercity Nexus crew over in Caer Darrow, has returned once more this year! Last year, the Tirisfal Theatre was proud to perform on stage for them, and we return once more this year with gusto! Join us on October 18th over on the blood-soaked isle of Caer Darrow, and come to the burned down house across from the fountain at the town's center as we take you on a haunted house tour you won't soon forget with two tales of horrific homes gone wrong! That's right, it'll be like HGTV - but with affordable property! Our first offering of the evening is our delightful horror comedy show based on a chilling song by Jonathan Coulton, where an aspiring real-estate investor attempts to flip his first property. As he is fixing the place up to be sold for a pretty copper, he soon realizes it came with a resident already inside - and it's happy to see him! A little too happy... Will our everyman find a way to make his fortune on this old home? Or will he decide to throw it all away and destroy everything he worked for?

My guess is the latter... Find out, as we explore the horror of the creepy doll in...

THE HOUSE ON RAVEN HILL!

Then, stick around for a story that will chill you to the bone, as we go back in time to an era long ago. A wealthy Lord, known for his benevolence and generosity, gives everything he has to the people of town and is adored in return. But when he takes in a stranger cloaked in mystery and lies, he may find that he has given far too much in exchange for nothing. As the days go by, he may find that his world will change considerably, and not for the better.

Join us as we delve into the mind of a man who has much to give, and everything to lose, and discover this cautionary tale in one of our few non-comedic scripts, the tragic and suspenseful tale of...

THE ALTRUIST!

As we progress through the night, the troupe may stop for brief Q&A segments, put on a few surprise short skits for everyone, and have much ado at the theatre! For those taking part in the Dance of the Dead's D20 competition, pop in and enjoy our show while you wait for your matches! Or if you got your proverbial rear-end handed to you, heal your wounds with laughter and sorrow! The Tirisfal Theatre is pulling out all the stops to make this evening one to remember for all at the Dance of the Dead! So seek out a Moon Guard anchor, come on over to this frightful locale, and join us for a night like no other - only at the Dance of the Dead!

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION

The Dance of the Dead is a large Forsaken-themed event hosted every year on Moon Guard server! Despite it being a Moon Guard event, anchors are available to pull you in from other servers to enjoy!

Our performances utilize player characters from both factions. As such, it is HIGHLY RECOMMENDED you have Elixir of Tongues and TRP to follow and enjoy the show! Typically people will sell these or give them away before and during the show, but try to have some on hand!

As with any of these night-time events, Inky Black Potions are also recommended for maximum immersion!

There will be a brief intermission of 10-15 minutes between shows to allow our crew to take breaks! The total runtime of both plays should be about an hour and a half at maximum, but it may run over depending on technical difficulties.

We cannot host parties or anchor once the show begins! Remember that this will be taking place on the Moon Guard shard of the game. As we find out more information about how anchors are being handled, we'll be certain to edit this information!

Remember, the show starts at 7 Central / 5 Wyrmrest Accord time on October 18th

Below is a map of the performing area! The blue marked area is where the audience should sit as to not interfere with the cast and crew, as well as to be able to see and hear the entire show! If you sit in the white area, or the 'nosebleed section' as we call it, you may be unable to hear a lot of what happens on stage!

We hope to see you all in the audience, and please be sure to check out all the information on the Dance of the Dead, happening October 18th and 19th on Moon Guard server! TL:DR SUMMARY WHO: The Tirsfal Theatre Troupe (Along with the Undercity Nexus and Dance of the Dead staff and crew!) WHAT: Double Feature at the Dance of the Dead! Two spooky plays written and performed by the Tirisfal Theatre Troupe WHERE: Caer Darrow, Western Plaguelands (Moon Guard shard, non-War Mode) WHEN: October 18th WHY: BECAUSE WE LOVE YOU!

A HUGE and grateful thank-you to Banshih and the crew of the Dance of the Dead! We're honored to return this year and perform for you all! This post will be updated as more information becomes available to us! Keep an eye out for any potential changes or new info!

[tydahl-seashadow]

I just can't wait to get home. I took last night off to have a long weekend and enjoy some Endless Ocean Luminous and World of Warcraft.

I may run some PUGs in the morning. I miss having a community on WoW. Running dungeons IC is pretty fun.

And then it's time for more Event Dives on EOL!

[bronzeandsage]

DWC 2024 - Day 6 - Crack/Positive

Pain struck sharp and clear as Sevlaz's eyes opened again, the sleepy groan coming more as a whisper than what it should have. It didn't sound like his voice at all as he blinked a few times looking into the face of the horned elf.

"Seven for Sevlaz is quite poetic and honestly, my last chance for you," the white bearded creature spoke, though there was more of an edge to his tone than he remembered. Everything felt so off.

The creature leaned forward, close enough to be mere inches from the orc's face as he spoke softly but with the force of a hurricane.

"Hell is repetition, Sevlaz. And I am sorry for making you have to live it over and over again. But I will not put this on you unless you truly want it," the creature spoke oddly and cryptically. "I have offered this to many before you and I will undoubtedly offer it again to many after. But you all will always have a choice. I want you to be a part of this. I feel you will be a great asset to our cause. You trained one of my greatest and I cannot imagine you would fail where they succeeded."

Golden eyes of sand and glass stared into dull red as he continued to speak quickly. "Join me. Help my cause. Help my lord. Hear the Word."

The Word. They made it sound like it was something important or something more than just, well a word. He was so tired. To sleep would be for the best. How much more could he do? And if this thing knew anything about him, why in the world would it think he would do the right thing? Sevlaz was a thief. A pirate. A traitor. A murderer.

A survivor.

"Sevlaz."

The red eyes peered up at him again.

"I don't want to influence you, but I don't want to lie to you either," the creature spoke softly again, this time bearing an edge of sincerity that belied the former edge. "You need to know."

"They live."

@daily-writing-challenge

Noell Gallina flicked a chunk of mango from the orc's shoulder with a mixture of disgust and amusement at the other's misfortune this morning. The blood elf was dressed as always in her patrol uniform bearing the tabard of her station within Orgrimmar but hints of her former past within Silvermoon City with the shield and sword of her homeland. The Horde were not one to forget one's heritage but asked to dwell on the future more so than one's past.

Easier said than done.

But try she must and so she was given this task by Quel'thalas command. When originally given the task it had felt more like exile in to the heart of those who had ruined her own and many other lives. She could still smell the burning vines from those years ago and could still see the soulless blue eyes of the fallen as her world was taken in fire. Orcs, trolls, and the dead. The world was strange.

"So you say you tripped into this stall Master....?" Noell spoke calmly, folding her arms across her chest as she took inventory of the orc.

He wasn't like most orcs. Of course he was green with red eyes as was standard to the dominate race of the Horde, but his manners and dress were more akin to her own people than the usual barbarian garb of his own. His size didn't say much either as he seemed a bit thinner and smaller than the grunts she butted heads with on patrol, but who knows what age really did to an orc judging by the grey hair on his face. And a face it was.

Burn scars crossed a majority of it with matching scars of undoubtedly violent means created an obvious tapestry of violence. The most obvious and gruesome of the bunch though was the missing flap of skin where his upper lip should be leaving behind a crude and unsettling grin of sorts. No one should smile all the time like that. The elf had to stifle the pang of sympathy for him as she waited for his answers.

"Sevlaz," the orc answered eyeing his shoulder where she'd flicked the broken mango from. "And yeah, tripped and rolled hard right into it. Lucky didn't break my leg or arm suppose. Wrist might be another matter."

Noell did her best not to match the roll of his hand to her eyes as she stared at him listening, her eyes moving from him to the damage and back. Never a dull moment in the capital as she looked back over her shoulder to her partner.

Nianani, a Zandalari soldier fresh off the boat, listened much like she was to the fruit vendor. Noell had figured she'd have better luck with the troll than she would. Bad blood had a habit of souring any story. The large woman was patiently listening and asking questions of the hunched Darkspear, red hair flaring and hands flying about to emphasis his losses. Gallina sighed and looked back to Sevlaz who was still muttering about old wounds and sprained bones or something. Clearly not a healer.

Or truthful.

"Alright, alright," Noell broke her arms free to raise them to Sevlaz. "I think you'll be alright but this mess is not going to be alright. I trust you can afford to pay for the damages?"

"Pay?" The orc stopped immediately at the mention of money. Figures.

"Yes, you are responsible for this and the damages will need to be covered."

"How much?"

"That would be between you two," Noell motioned to the vendor and then returned her violet eyes to Sevlaz. "As I said I trust you will cover the damages and remain civil in this dispute."

Steel entered the red eyes of the orc for a few moments, his ugly mouth set in what should have been a grimace only emphasised the lack of lips to the creature. Noell frowned back enough for them both.

Finally, he seemed to have broke and waved it off. "Yeah I got it."

"Good," the elf nodding as she leveled off her authoritative demeanor, which for some reason she had not noticed her hand leaving the pommel of her sword. Bad habits.

Dangerous habits.

"I'll leave you to it then," Noell turned away from Sevlaz, her eyes meeting that of her partners who nodded and spoke a bit more with the Darkspear. Hands were clasped, shoulders touched, and the Loa invoked. Light she wished should connect better here, but that was the life of an elf in the Horde. The enemy of my enemy is not always my friend.

Nianani stalked back up to Noell, her heavy sword resting on her shoulder as she looked over the shorter elf toward Sevlaz and back.

"Al'rite?" Her thick Zandalari accent sometimes hard to understand but Noell was learning.

Noell turned to look back as Sevlaz approached the Darkspear vendor, judging by the body language it would be a long conversation. She shook her head.

"For now," she spoke coolly. "I have bad feeling about that one."

"Ya say tha bout a lot of folk."

Noell shook her head, finding she did that a lot for herself as much as others. Bad habits died hard.

Bad feelings lead to dying hard.

[embersoftheorder]

DWC - August - Day 5 - Wild

The Green Son wandered the lands of Drustvar with an easy smile upon his face, the air cool go skin and the sun setting into dusk. It honestly was how it always was in the woods, but he loved it and likely would beyond even the end of his service. Beldwin Storm was not a native to these shores but over the last few years he definitely was no longer a stranger.

Beld would slowly come to a halt near a small copse of trees, his gauntleted hand coming to gently caress the bark of one of the old oaks. He could hear a soft hum in his head that could be considered unpleasant but had become a song that he could more feel than understand. It was a gift that Athair had bestowed upon him to hear the natural wild words of the land he had adopted as his own. The land had been ravaged for so long by the terrible powers of the Coven that its soft song had been drowned out in the silent screams of agony as the druid death magic warped it. The Crimson wood always made him shiver at the cacophony of agony that never ended from the wicker beasts that were drawn forth. He leaned his head to rest on the oak letting its own hum drown out the memory. He didn’t need that today.

Today was a good day that needed not the dour notes from the western provinces of the country. Birth was the note, not death, this day.

Releasing the tree, the knight continued on his journey making his way with ease but still with purpose. There was time yet to make it to the pool where his patron waited and there was much to rejoice with the wilds about him.

A new prince would be born this day.

There were many of the lineage of Athair but each had a purpose to fulfill. Some were short lived and bright, others long and steady like a bountiful season. Beld prayed for bounty but knew it was not his decision. The Word willed and spoke, the ending was already being written.

Storm would finally break the tree line and find himself before the mighty falls of the white stag.

Athair, Heart of the Forest, stood silent before the waters. White fur shone bright and clean in the waning light as it cascade to bring a silver sheen to the might crown of horns upon his head. Eyes black as midnight would stare at Beldwin, the stag lord’s demeanor calm and face regal as he tipped his head to welcome his wayward gallant.

Beld would stride forward and gently drop to one knee, the ancient bronze mail clinking softly with his motion of reverence and respect to the king. No words had been spoken as Beldwin would never be able to speak the language of his lord but honestly it was never needed. Emotions, thoughts, and dreams were the humans guidance to the will of the forest. It made it hard to question some of the motives of the lord, but the knight had yet to be lead astray by Athair’s will. This was a just lord and he was glad to have been found worthy.

The final streaks of evening light had slipped behind the mountains bringing the evening and darkness of night. Where Drustvar was a land plagued by the nights terrors in most shadows, it was not truly something to fear. It was just a part of the order of things and the will of the Word as it had written long ago. So too was there heralds and protectors of the night, as from the shadows crept the stout boars of the wood, courageous wolves who maintained balance, and even the black eyes ravens who always kept watch. But the night had one lady and she was as much a soul to the forest as she was consort to the heart.

Athainne, secret keeper of the forest.

Made of starlight and moon shine, the doe was beautiful in her own right as the violets of twilight were intertwined in the black coat of night. She was of smoke and shadow as she stepped across the waters to stand with her lord. Tenderness was easily determined to match the love the two beings felt for one another as eyes closed but a moment in honest trust.

As the grand gathering proceed a hush fell upon all the unsettling silence of the wild as it waited with bated breath. Even the waterfalls came to silent half, the rock below their pummeling drive growing dry as the river waited.

Beldwin would bow his head in reverence as did other subjects to the forest monarches, all in silence as they awaited the ceremony of the moon.

Ages passed in seconds as night fully came and the moon shone full far in the heavens above. As the moonlight struck the pool, the heart and keeper of the forest turned to the pool of sparkling water of the still lake.

Stories would speak of thunder crashing or a flash of great light or perhaps the heralds of the night screaming with horns of glory. But that was not how it was done. It was subtle, it was peaceful, it was instant.

He was beautiful.

Upon the lake the faun had come to be. Born of moonlight, strengthened by starlight, guided by sunset, and welcomed with love. His eyes shone with brilliant blue, the gift of the mother, while his white coat brilliant white shone with the majesty of his father. He stood shaky upon the mirror surface of the lake, searching amongst the audience for some reaction. Fight or flight was all the newborn would know at this moment.

The Green Son stood. He would draw away his gauntlet to reveal his bare flesh, brown as the earth and rough as the oak’s skin. His hand raised as he spoke with not a cry or yell, but a smooth even voice. The reason he as chosen and granted this station among the forest. “Hail. Hail unto the Prince of the Forest. Welcome son of the heart and secrets, we welcome you.”

The prince would raise his head. He would stare at Beldwin. The knight would look back.

The prince would step forward onto the land that was called Drustvar.

The waterfalls cheered once more.

@daily-writing-challenge

[dhaiart]

Ellaria Applebloom~