#wc3s

[mcrtalstrike]

We could have learned more about Vol'jin in the heritage questline. Like the entire part about the rush'kah mask.

You know, like one Vol'jin wears thats on the banner and tabard to represent the Darkspear. Maybe Rokhan reminiscing when Vol'jin made his own to emphasize the meaning behind them.

[vxidd]

[sheyshen]

Colored in a sketch i had done of Colden and Rommath last year to try and get back into the swing of drawing again. I've had them on my mind with the MoP remix going on so I figured it was perfect timing!

[bonkposting]

she mal on my furion til i stormrage

[wowhead]

i believe the only reason ogres aren't playable at this point is because they never bothered to design a female ogre model. if they had done that from the beginning we would have had playable ogres 15 years ago

[sylvanas-girlkisser]

Not to toot my own horn but I'm writing butch service top Jaina x femme power bottom Sylvanas, and i'm basically a genius, and we should have been doing this for years.

[tanadrin]

feeling the urge to bust out the level editor for ut2k4, but trying to find online documentation for a 20 year old version of UnrealEd sounds like a huge pain in the ass

[reliquiaechronicles]

In the first video of our Frostmourne Wit series, Arthas Menethil has allot to say to Uther the Lightbringer during their legendary battle in Warcraft 3!

[frogliftcertified]

ENOUGH

WARCRAFT 3 FROG UPON YOU

[savabatcannon]

gyn, you like Warcraft, Patho, and LB!! good taste...

myes, thank u <3 have a fucked up cat

[swampgallows]

im kinda bummed they're doing cata classic. like i know a guy is there but i really thought they'd stop at wrath. i just got back into classic too and now the old world is going away.... AGAIN :/

[wavebiders]

This is the most invested I've been in Dragonflight's story since I started it

[grigoreen]

[boghermit]

The belf heritage armor quest is Lor'themar (my beloved) recounting the Scourge invasion of Quel'thelas

[gayskogul]

Wip snippet

Thank you for the tag, @renaultphile I have to admit that I'm not working on any writing for TC right now, sorry girlies, but I am working on something just as homosexual! It's the story of a young Paladin-in-training, and the fledgling Cleric who has been made to tutor him in the ways of the magic. So, stay tuned if you like fantasy and knights and magic and homoerotic devotion! I've a bunch of chapters written already but I'm not keen to start uploading bits until I have a whole act ready to go, but I plan to start posting these stinkers up on Ao3 very soon! Anyway, this is a snippet from an early scene that I quite liked.

[5-ish mins reading time]

“It’s really quite a simple trick,” said Arthur, spreading his cloak out underneath him on the tree stump. “We learn to do it early on in our training. You just have to open yourself up, and really…” Arthur noticed a wave of confusion sweep across the other man’s face. “You can feel the Light, can’t you?”

Oliver bit at his lower lip. He nodded, after a moment. “I think so, yes. Sergeant Wheatley—the practice instructor, that is—said that I wield it in combat. But off the training field…”

“Nothing?”

Oliver pushed a brown lock of hair back from his face, a twinge of frustration in the gesture. “Not even a glimmer.”

Arthur took the leaf that had fallen from the poplar branches above them, then held it in his hand, palm up. He focused for a moment, reaching out for the Light, then let it wash over the leaf. With a barely audible puff, it floated a couple of inches above his outstretched hand.

“Do you see it?” asked Arthur. “The Light.”

Oliver craned his neck, eyeing the leaf warily, as if it was some monstrous enemy upon the battlefield. After a long silence, he murmured, “No.”

Arthur felt his heart sink into his stomach. Had the Order made a mistake? The leaf did a sudden nose-dive, plummeting as the spell fed off of his momentary doubt. But he bolstered the enchantment, steadying it before it could drop to the floor and become lost amongst the foliage. “Look closer. Try again.”

Oliver shifted closer, leathers creaking as he bent down at the waist. “Hold on…” he breathed. He squinted at it for a moment, then nodded. “It’s hard to see, but yes, I think that’s it! Little threads of… is that the Light? You can really see it?”

“Good,” said Arthur, relief making the word come out sounding choked. For most people, those would not be visible. Not that they were visible per se, but those with some attunement to the Light were able to sense it. It was a sixth sense of sorts. Oliver’s ability to perceive them meant that he was indeed familiar with the magic, and had most likely been told the truth that he’d used it in his sparring, and most importantly, this wasn’t a waste of time for everybody involved, the poor lad included. 

Arthur released the spell. The leaf flopped back onto his hand. “Now that you saw how it’s done, have a go."

Oliver stared at the leaf. His brows knit together in concentration, and he pressed his lips together so forcefully that they went white. A minute passed. Then another. A crow called in the distance, and was answered by a flight of unimpressed-sounding wood pigeons.

Long-held breath exploded out of him. He turned away rigidly. “I can’t.”

Oliver looked like he’d just been in a fight, all tense and coiled up like a spring. The sight made Arthur frown. That just wouldn’t do, he thought, idly running a finger across the edge of the leaf.

“It’s alright. Not everyone gets it right away.” Arthur put his chin into his hand. He rolled the stalk between the ends of his fingers. “Let’s try something else. What do you know about spells?”

A blank look was all the only response he got.

“I see. Then have you ever managed to purposefully channel the Light?”

Oliver shook his head glumly. “I don’t think so.”

“What about when you’ve done it whilst fighting? When you use it then, how does it feel?”

“I’m not sure. But when I’m paired up with some of the other recruits—the ones who cheat, or fight dirty, or the ones I know that bully the younger boys, everything feels… different.” Oliver sat up straighter. He shook his head, as if clearing it of cobwebs. “Each step is more certain. Each sword form feels like it’s always the correct one to use, like... like it would be impossible for it to miss. Winning the bout would be something pure and correct. I think that might be the Light: searing hot and sharp, and full of purpose!”

The words were stirring. They'd made Arthur inadvertently lean closer to the other man. He subtly clawed himself back into a more relaxed posture before Oliver could notice. Of course, the answer sounded like one a paladin would give, and certainly some of the more zealous priests too. But there was more to it than that. The Light could be burning hot, but it could also be a soothing warmth. He wondered whether Oliver had realised that, surrounded as he was by people who were so devoted to the art of battle. His gaze swept across the newest bloodstain on the squire’s trousers, and an idea came to him.

“Hold out your hand,” said Arthur, “the one you pricked on the briarthorn.”

Oliver gave him a curious look, but obeyed. Slowly, he reached out his hand and uncurled his fingers, one by one. They were long and knobbly, and his thumb jutted out awkwardly. There was still a spot of bright crimson at the tip of the ring finger, and a darker patch where blood had mixed with the dirt on his hand and dried there.

Arthur had proved that Oliver could see the Light. Now it was time for a different experiment. “Alright. Close your eyes,” he said.

“What are you up to?” asked Oliver warily.

“Do you trust me?”

There was a long moment of silence. Grey eyes flicked up to bore into him for what felt like an eternity. Eventually, Oliver cocked his head slightly and said, “I do.” He shut his eyes. Thick lashes caught the sun.

Arthur brought his heels to the tree stump below him, using the motion to counterbalance leaning forwards to reach out to the other man. “In a second,” he said quietly, “I’m going to touch your hand, if that’s alright.”

“Understood.”

In the soft, calm voice that he reserved for the more delicate procedures, Arthur continued. “After that, I’m going to try something. I want you to focus on how it feels.”

Oliver hummed an affirmative.

“Alright. No peeking.”

By now, Arthur had cast healing spells countless times throughout his training, on many hundreds of different people. But this time, for the first time in years, he was nervous. It could have been some reticence at calling upon the Light to heal so superficial a cut—it was indeed wasteful to heal such a small pinprick. Or perhaps some lingering anxiety from being uprooted from his home so suddenly and sent across the continent. It could have been a fear of upsetting the young paladin again and wiping away the softness that had spread across his face when his eyes shut, and looked so at-home there. Regardless of its cause, healing magic required a particular state of mind to be effective, and the way his pulse had decided to quicken was not helping.

He took the outstretched hand. When his fingers brushed against Oliver’s palm, a tremor run through the other man.

“Sorry,” said Oliver, smiling. “I wasn’t quite expecting it yet.”

“Oh. Apologies.”

“It’s alright. Go on. Please.”

If one were to observe the elegant skin of Oliver’s face, his neck, and his arms, one might be convinced into believing that his hands would be just as fine. This was not the case. In fact, it was quite the opposite. There were bumpy calluses on his palm, hardened little hills and valleys worn into his hand by years of hard work, and recently long hours of combat drills. It was undoubtedly a strong hand, but it had an unspoken gentleness about it. The paladin's hands were quite pretty in their own way, he thought.

Despite his trepidation, it only took a moment for Arthur to reach out to the Light. He was very practised at it by now, after all, and it took little effort to open himself up and let the radiance fill him. He focused his efforts down, and pushed them gently onto the little snag on the skin of Oliver’s finger pad, where another crimson teardrop had blossomed. He imagined tiny threads of the Light and willed them to weave the skin closed. It took a couple of seconds to take effect. He knew it had worked, because Oliver’s brows rocketed upwards, becoming lost behind his fringe.

“You felt that?”

“Uh-huh,” replied Oliver. His lips remained parted slightly.

With his thumb, Arthur wiped the drop of blood away from the cut. The skin underneath was perfectly whole. “And?”

“I see what you mean. It went all warm, like a good blanket, or… or like sitting right at the edge of a campfire. I didn’t know it could be like that.” Oliver cracked open his eyes, looking directly at him.

Arthur shifted on his seat under the weight of that gaze. He looked away. “Good as new,” he said, dropping the hand quickly. He rocked back on his tree stump, suddenly eager to put distance between them.

Oliver flexed his hand, wiggling the fingers. “Yeah. Thanks,” he said, touching the spot where the cut used to be.

“You’ve never felt the Light like that before?”

“No. Not like that. It's beautiful. How do you…?”

“It takes some… getting used to."

-------

[legofrans]

It's not just me who things Maiev is supposed to be a parallel to Arthas right? Like that is a pretty obvious reading right?