Last Days of the Alliance-Reboot (Applications Closed)
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(With all regards to Thiccroy)
The lands of Lordaeron are in shock. Months ago, in Stratholme, Prince Arthas Menethil butchered and slaughtered the people of the city and fled with a large contingent of Lordaeron's most veteran soldiers, supposedly leaving these shores for the cursed continent of Northrend.
The Prince returned, and the news of his return drove an even deeper dagger into the faltering heart of Lordaeron. King Teranas is dead- slain by his own son. This betrayal has caused the lands and people to falter. Gilneas has completely locked itself away, and Thoradin's Wall restricts the pathways of refugees southward. Southshore's ports are beginning to be over encumbered by the hungry and fearful as Marshal Garithos tightens his grip over Hillsbrad, and wild Orcs and Alteraci separatists continue to stagger the countryside.
Above all, the traitor prince has once more disappeared away with his small contingent of dark loyalists. In his regicidal wake, the Undead ravage the land wherever they can. Lordaeron is boxed in. Its destiny now rests in the hands of petty barons, warlords, captains and men of the faith or arcane to lead that which is now becoming the remnants of a once great Kingdom either to salvation, survival- or a fate even worse than death.
The lands of Lordaeron are in shock. Months ago, in Stratholme, Prince Arthas Menethil butchered and slaughtered the people of the city and fled with a large contingent of Lordaeron's most veteran soldiers, supposedly leaving these shores for the cursed continent of Northrend.
The Prince returned, and the news of his return drove an even deeper dagger into the faltering heart of Lordaeron. King Teranas is dead- slain by his own son. This betrayal has caused the lands and people to falter. Gilneas has completely locked itself away after a failed intervention, and Thoradin's Wall restricts the pathways of refugees southward as the Stromics feud over the best response. Southshore's ports are beginning to be over encumbered by the hungry and fearful as Marshal Garithos tightens his grip over Hillsbrad, and wild Orcs and Alteraci separatists continue to pillage the countryside.
Above all, the traitor prince has once more disappeared away with his small contingent of dark loyalists, leaving the best of the kingdom dead behind them. In his regicidal wake, the Undead ravage the land wherever they can. Lordaeron is boxed in. Its destiny now rests in the hands of petty barons, warlords, captains and men of the faith or arcane to lead that which is now becoming the remnants of a once great Kingdom either to salvation, survival- or a fate even worse than death.
In THE LAST DAYS OF THE ALLIANCE, players take control of their self-made characters to become either bloodthirsty warlords using the chaos of the Scourging for their own benefit, or self-righteous heroes, seeking to find a way to create a safe haven, or perhaps lead their people out of the chaos that grips the land. Either way, the LAST DAYS OF THE ALLIANCE is a semi-system GSRP, meaning that there is a very soft system in works to control the balance of the game, while allowing players to roleplay to their heart's content, considering I prefer the narrative to the 'win or lose' mindset.
Players can range from Humans barons and captains of the army, to Paladins of the Silver Hand, up to even lowly Dwarven thanes or mercenaries, perhaps even Quel'dorei rangers stuck in the lands of Lordaeron. Considering this, not everyone will be allowed to be a noble of a land, and not everyone a powerful paladin or sorcerer- each of these archetypes having slots within the story. They are as goes:
NOBLE - 3/3 Slots ~ The lords and ladies of the land. While held under suspicion due to the rumors of Baron Rivendare's involvement in the events around Andorhal and Stratholme, nobility, even in such a chaotic state, holds ultimate power in regional matters. For now.
SOLDIER - 4/5 Slots ~ Captains, lieutenants and generals of the forces of Lordaeron. Once leaders and commanders of an army that fought and won against the Orcs, now a shadow of itself- stymied by peace and gutted by the Traitor Prince and the Scourge's actions.
OUTSIDER - 3/3 Slots ~ Dwarves from the south and Elves from the north, or perhaps simply knights and mercenaries from the other kingdoms. Nonetheless, now, they are stuck within the lands of Lordaeron- either for better or worse.
PALADIN - 2/3 Slots ~ The Order of the Silver Hand is falling. Scattered, the greatest of their knights protect the now sacred ashes of the dead King. The mission of the others, both initiate and knight? To hold back the Scourge, and save the people- at whatever the cost.
SORCERER - 1/2 Slots ~ An agent of the Kirin Tor far away from Dalaran, or perhaps someone investigating the powers of the Plague and how to stop it- or perhaps control it. Nonetheless, you and your small posse of either adventurers, mercenaries or other mages must now survive, or prosper.
COMMONER/PRIEST - 1/6 Slots ~ The nobles have abandoned you. The grain is tainted. The soldiers are useless, and the Light does not answer your prayers. You must now step up and lead your fellow man, either as an idealistic peasant or man of the cloth speaking the word of the Light to bring your people to salvation and sanctuary.
Character creation is simple. Below you will find a character sheet. As a Noble archetype, you can choose a certain part of the land of Lordaeron to rule, while as a Soldier you can choose a place for you and your contingent of soldiers to be stationed at in the following days of Terenas' murder, and so on and so on. Take note, your characters and their stories will begin as secondary to the main ones of the story, but due to the butterfly effect that will take place from your various actions, even the 'Canon' of these forthcoming days of strife might change.
Portrait: (Optional) Name: Race and Age: Archetype: Location: Biography:
Map of the world at game start: (Many thanks to JuliusNepos for this)
Lordaeron as she might be in the future:
Feel free to make joint applications with other players if you wish. If you have any questions or me to review a draft, feel free to ask.
Further on, you will find the soft-stats that will be applied to your characters after being accepted into the game. While the game is mostly narrative based, one cannot expect to win a battle with only 10 soldiers against a horde of undead, so some management of supplies, people and other resources will be important in this game.
FORCES: - A structured accounting of the manner and count of forces under your leadership. -
Notes: FOOD: - One cannot trust the grain anymore, not after the stories. Food will be the crux of either your fall or persistence. -
Notes: PEOPLE: - Those that are not able to or cannot fight, deemed suitable for labor, artistry and other needed work. -
Notes: HOPE: - Instead of stability, the land now depends on hope. Instead of politics, it looks to power and heroics to decide its fate. -
Notes:
Inspired by Those Who Came Before, I am also going to be keeping track of the overarching overworld story of Lordaeron. While getting food, keeping up hope and recruiting living people will be easy at first, as each phase (as seen below) shifts into another, certain events, either Canon or created due to the butterfly event, will inhibit all of these things.
THE SCOURGING
Phase 1 : DENIAL
The King is dead. The lands of Lordaeorn, now heirless and headless, dip into an uncertain time. Banditry and undeath terrorize the countryside, with most large centers of population, like the Capital City and Stratholme, sacked and burnt. The Kingdom is in disarray and cordoned off by the others in various ways. For now, there is still faltering hope.
Phase 2: ANGER
Phase 3: BARGAINING
Phase 4: DEPRESSION
Phase 5: ACCEPTANCE
RULES
1. Respect SV Forum rules.
2. Respect each other.
3. Respect my time as a GM- send in orders on time. Game turns will run every two weeks form the first due date. Submods may be recruited to help insure prompt returns.
4. Respect the premise of the game- understand the Lore and understand that your characters may die quickly, gruesomely and there isn't supposed to be a true 'winner'. This game will start in August 612 of the King's Calendar, shortly after Arthas's assassination and should wrap up one month after the fall of Dalaran.
5. Private, in-character discussions between players must be held in a way for me to be able to see them, i.e. Discord, SV PMs, etc.
6. Membership in the Discord is not obligatory, but heavily suggested to be notified of the game being updated and also to communicate with your fellow players.
Born the Oldest of 3 Children (2 younger sisters, twins age 20), Victor was raised with the reality that he would take over the family when his father either died or abdicated. Growing up he was taught all the basic things like language and writing from highly skilled tutors, martial skills from the families retainers, his father personally taught him finance and leadership, and his mother taught him etiquette and the Noble arts of politicing and veiled insulting.
When he reached his 20th name day he was given a large portion of the families estate to manage, as a way to earn some money from the family but also as both a test of what he had learned and as experience for the future. The Proud Drakonheart family had many properties and workshops under their thumbs, and this allowed the family to have a wide array of influences and incomes. Over the years he ran his share of the family business well and developed them along with his contacts throughout the city.
When he was 25 his father was killed during a trip back from the Capital, supposedly from bandits though the events that followed in Lorderan lead Victor to believe that it was actually caused by cultists, directly or indirectly, but it was a blow to the family that lead to a few of their more opportunistic rivals to snap up bits and pieces of the Drakonheart financial empire and put pressure on them. For the next near Victor maneuvered and fought to reclaim everything and beat back the snakes and hounds nipping at his heels.
Then came word of Arthas' deeds and soon after the whole Kingdom began going to hell. People began panicking, nobles began to horde supplies and/or flee, and roving bands of bandits, undead, and cultists popped up which complicated things further.
Now, Victor will do whatever is needed to survive... and maybe do more than that.
Portrait: Name: Alranis Thornblade Race and Age: High Elven, 125 years. Archetype: Outsider, High Elven Rangers Location: Quel'Lithien Lodge, Lordaeron Biography: The Thornblades had been rangers as far back they kept records, and despite the circumstances of the second war with the burning of the Eversong and the following years of increasing disinterst from Silvermoon when it came to their border House Thornblade had sent their heir Alranis to follow in his ancestor's footsteps. To some it might have been an insult to be assigned to what some considered the unimportant frontier of Quel'Lithen but the young Ranger-Liutenant knew better as no matter how much the elites of Silvermoon neglected the border it still needed its thorns be it to protect against dangers from the outside.
Name: Halftyr Handlestrike
Race and Age: Wildhammer Dwarf, 125
Archetype: Outsider, Wildhammer Dwarven Shaman
Location: Quel'Lithien Lodge, Lordaeron
Biography: Handlestrike has been out among the races of the Alliance more often than he has been home in Aerie Peak. A courier during the First War carrying messages to far away Karazhan, he was part of a training cadre that went to Stormwind to teach gryphon riding. He saw far more combat during the Second War where his wing regularly raided Orcish supply convoys. His crowning achievement was downing a young red dragon and it rider in an aerial duel.
While the High Elves are the only true allies of the Wildhammer clans, this is especially true of the Farstriders, who's only other major lodge Quel'Danil is in the Wildhammer held Hinterlands.
Halftyr is a competent wing commander, a past master of leading groups of Gryphon Riders in battle. While no longer the duelist he once was, his connections to the spirits is stronger than ever and with his gryphon Quilltalon is a fearsome combatant.
The Halfords never has much in the way of wealth, titles or lands, and what they did have was absorbed by Tailion's brothers long before he left their holdings outside of Andorhal to join the Kings army. He wouldn't return home for 12 years until he took command of his first company of cavalry, having purchased his officer's commission and married a staff officer, Captain Mariana Balck.
He trained with the Wildhammer Boss Gryphoneer Woodenhaft in the inaugural class of Lordaeron's Gryphon Corp "Windheels". Over a long and dangerous career he until very recently he commanded the 3rd Aerial Lancers. Since Stratholme he has rallied the remaining Gryphoneers at Northpass Tower.
Mariana and his family are somewhere in Lordaeron, and he's determined to find or make a place safe enough to shelter them.
Marshal Tailion Halford, the Third Aerial Lancers have held a distant vigil over the skies near Stratholme, unable to help the elements of the Silver Hand still within without reinforcements. Reinforcements that are clearly not coming. You have assumed command over the forces at Northpass Tower but now you must decide your next move. Attempt to fulfill your original orders to reinforce the men in Stratholme or listen to the rumors of Lord Uther calling all forces of the Royal Army to Andorhal?
FORCES:
Sky-Marshal: 1
Gryphon Lancers: 36
Enchanters: 12
Captain: 1
Swordsmen: 20
Archers: 20
Spearmen: 10
Notes: The Gryphon Lancer was born after the Second War showed the need for an aerial force to combat threats like dragons. The Wildhammer dwarves were happy to supply Gryphon eggs but the storm hammers wielded by their riders were too sacred to be given away. The lance is an imitation of the lances used by Dragonhawk Riders, capable of releasing magical bursts at a target in the air or on the ground. Squadrons operate in tandem with teams of enchanters who recharge their lances, compensating for the lack of magical reserves possessed by Dragonhawk Riders.
FOOD:
60/100
Notes: While the Northpass Tower is normally well-supplied, the need to destroy the grain stores and the lack of any new shipments has led to the group's food reserves starting to run low.
PEOPLE:
N/A
Notes: Any refugees that reached Northpass after trying their luck with the elves have already been sent to Northdale or Tyr's Hand. Nothing can be spared for noncombatants right now.
HOPE:
50/100
Notes: The Third and Northpass have clearly been forgotten but discipline holds and the men will obey your orders.
Name: Durrant the Sixth Race and Age: Human, 42 Archetype: Paladin Location: Northdale Biography: Northdale, on the very edge of the Eastwaeld was Durrant's home and birthplace. Born the first of four sons of Durrant the Fifth, he grew up with a mix of chores, exploration, and loving his family. In amidst the peasants which littered the Eastwaeld, he was nothing special. Destined to till his home's farmland grow old admist a horde of children, and pass his farm to Durrant the Seventh.
Yet, as it oft does, fate took a turn. In his teenage years on the cusp of adulthood, Durrant alongside the town militia fought a Troll warband, down from Zul'marsha to raid Northdale and the surrounding lands as the savage trolls were oft to do. During the fighting, Durrant got into a protracted battle with the Troll leader and slew him, sending the trolls into a route. Durrant was hailed as the Hero of Northdale for the act, not truly, but enough the nickname stuck for years after the fact.
But it was during the eve of the Second War, when King Terenas himself put out the call for the Men of Lorderon to enlist and help defend their King and Country. Durrant, who had become quite the fighter against Troll raids, sought to enlist. Yet, at the behest of the local Priest, took with him a letter of recommendation to the Capital to see if he could join the soon to be finalized 'Knights of the Silver Hand'.
Perhaps to the surprise of many, Durrant the Sixth became one of the many Initiate and then a full Knight amidst the Second War. He severed with distinction amidst several battlefields, from Southshore to the Hinterlands, the climatic battle of Blackrock Mountain, and the final battle in the Blasted Lands and the destruction of the Dark Portal. The return march to Lorderon had Durrant think of many things he had seen and experienced within the second war, the comradery, the light, the atrocities of the orcs. During his musings, Durrant realized just how exhausted and homesick he truly was, and thus sought to return to such.
Durrant's request to retire caused a bit of a tiff within the Silver Hand. A Knight retiring without dying had been unexpected, many seeking to stay despite the peacetime. But after more than a few deep conversations about the role of the Silverhand and their oaths, Durrant was allowed to retire in peace. Giving back the armor and great two handed weapon, Durrant walked home with nary a few coins and clothes on his back.
Upon Durrant's return he once more took up the hoe and scythe, married his long time love Maria and settled down. Over those twenty years, had word of his exploits passed through the town, became advisor to the Mayor, assisted at church, fought off the troll raids, raised his children. His oldest, Bella, and four Sons, Durrant the Seventh, Bradney, Clayton, and Thorburn.
Yet now Darktimes are on the Horizon. Living Dead stalk the hills, plague and sickness spread, and fears of Trolls coming down from their mountain with the Kingdom weakened spread like wildfire.
Durrant just tightens his boots, daring these creatures to attempt to attack his home.
This Ex-Knight of the Silver Hand was just as dangerous as he was twenty years ago.
Name: Tildis Railflow
Race and Age: Gnome, 92
Archetype: Outsider
Location: Outskirts of the Capitol City
Biography:
I am more of the adventuring type of Gnome. True, every Gnome is the adventuring type, but I really, reeeeeally liked to travel. And if a Gnome travels, then rarely without a good travelling device. What started as a passion became a profession, and soon I became an engineer with a knack for vehicles like gyrocopters and mechano-tanks. With those two I was able to travel the Eastern Kingdoms, see the wonderful nature, amazing geographics and wonderful people. Well, and all the bad ones. Really. Bad. Ones. That was the moment I realized that a good ride also needed very mean weapon! Weapons I had to use regularly, a sad circumstance that made me getting used to the gruesome side of battle.
Well, long story short, one thing led to another and when the second war arrived, I was a long-standing member of the Second Gnomeregan Mechanized Company, which took part in the defense efforts of Ironforge, to support the dwarven defense and alleviate the pressure from the main gate of Ironforge. I constantly had to switched between my mechano-tank and gyrocopter, bombarding and flanking the Horde's invaders at every opportune occasion. Maybe it was the rush of flight, maybe I tasted the bittersweet victory too often or maybe it was the first time I made the experiences of feeling the full, uncensored intensity of HATRED… after my friends and comrades got killed all year long – but once Lothars armies arrived to push back the invaders, I couldn't just return home. I needed to take the fight to the enemy, as many of the company did as well. Joining the Alliance military, we followed Lothar until the very end, only to see the fall of one and the rise of another hero.
So I just went home, got my veteran medal and lived a happy live as one of the best engineers the city had to offer. Roll the end credits! …..
…. Hum? You don't believe me? Shame on you! A gnome would never lie! .... okay, maybe a tini tiny bit. … okay, maybe big time. It is sooo hard say it and my heart... it's breaking just to think about it.
When…. *sigh* When my company and I returned to Gnomeregan, we were sent away. Not with pitchforks and torches, but a simple order. No medals, no thank you, no meal or anything. I wasn't even allowed to go to my place and fetch my tools and get some fresh clothes! They just gave out the papers and closed the door again. Cogs be damned! what have we done to deserve this?! I… I just want to go home. Eat something, talk to my friends, visit the graves of my fallen comrades. Changing Swifti oil. Swifti is the nickname for my gyrocopter!... But none of us could do any of that. No rest, no respite. Sometimes I ask myself if I earned that. We were angry back then, true, we were eager for vengeance. Maybe the other gnomes became afraid of our wrath and don't like us anymore? We don't know, they never answered since. But I regret and if I could rewind the decision, I would. This exile is torture… but maybe if we prove ourselves as lovely Gnomes again, maybe Gnomeregan will take it back. Take us back. So the boys and I gathered the Gnomes that were left outside of Gnomeregan and did what the order wanted – join the Ironforge forces.
The following years were … uneventful. The dwarves were far too kind, I think they pittied us. We just flew a few air raids here and there, bombarding bandit -, troll – or murloc nests, but aside from that we were left alone. We tried our best to make us useful, but it did not helped our cause to return home.
That was, until news of Andorhall reached the Ironhalls. Worried, the Ironforge Senate squabbled about what to do. And I? I did the only right thing: Bursting into the occasion and offering our help! Okay, maybe that was a bit rude, aaaaaaand I was almost arrested, but they listened! Firing up the engines, packing a Phlogiston collector for fuel, and thanking the dwarves for their hospitality, the Second Gnomeregan Mechanized Company moved out to save the day in Lordaeron! At least that was what I thought. Arriving, we were always one step behind the oil smeared Prince of a traitor's army! The undead were roamed after all! And no proper gnome would leave a person in need behind! So, when we arrived at Stratholme eventually, we could only see the flames that dissolved the dead bodies in the streets.
There was nothing noble in it. Only pain. Suffering. And I could again feel the rage inside of me. But I kept calm, forced myself to be as Gnomish as possible. We tried to help Stratholme, but it was hard to help a completely ruined place. So when everything was done, all we could do was to return to Lordaeron Capital and help wherever they needed us. It was a hard battle, but we were able to win the fight and end the scourge for once and for all! Well, so we thought. Nobody had anticipated that this traitor Prince would turn coats AND kill his father, as if one wasn't bad enough! The company and I were in the Capitol when it happened and we barely made it out alive, trying to evacuate our equipment and every civilian that didn't made it out. But did it work out? Well, mostly. Lost most of our mechano-tanks because the gyrocopters had an easier time to leave the sieged city.
Now, after all those losses, we stand where we started – loosing the last place we could have called our sanctuary. Without a compass to guide us, I had to turn to the only pleasant news we got – that the princess made it out alive. We will help her to gather the people and if Lordaeron is saved, maybe, maybe – we can finally go back home.
(OOC: Just for input, she, like everyone in Azeroth, does not know about the secret war in Gnomeregan against the Troggs and the isolation to protect that secret and she also doesn't know that the princess is actually a fake.
Also, the Bio is partially subject to change, as well as the location, as this is meant as a joint app with Gaiachild and Magnive)
Location: Near the Capital (potentially subject to change)
Biography:
Connor was a twenty-something, freshly knighted knight. As the third son of a noble family, he committed himself to being a defender of the kingdom, harbouring no hopes of inheriting. His greatest aspiration was to one day be a paladin.
When the Scourge first fell upon the land he answered the call of his liege and was part of the army led by Uther Lightbringer that saved Arthas when the prince was besieged in Andorhal. After that battle, he joined up with the prince's army.
At that point, he was passionate and filled with dreams of glory, aiding a noble prince in his fight against the foul darkness like all those songs and stories he liked so much as a child, and his first big battle was a glorious victory.
Then Straholme happened. His blade now stained with the blood of innocents of all ages and genders, he came down with a severe case of PTSD. Instead of following Arthas to Northend, he meandered around Stratholme for a bit, then joined other soldiers in hunting undead that were still lurking in the wilderness. Mainly so he could put off going home and facing his family.
He finally brought himself to head home, but made a detour to the capital after hearing that the prince had returned. He went to watch his triumphant return, hoping to find some kind of validation. Proof that his crimes had been worth it in the end.
Then the king died and suddenly undead were everywhere again.
He found himself at the head of a group of soldiers desperately trying to do something.
Stumbling through the chaos, his group happened upon someone he initially believed to be a noble lady in distress.
Until one soldier called out in joy that they had found the princess.
Finally! A righteous cause worth fighting for and a chance to find redemption!
That's what Connor thought. Blissfully unaware that he didn't actually find the real princess Calia. So far the impostor has yet to clear up the misunderstanding.
(Below is a character that I initially planned to apply with, but decided against since there are so many Outsiders already. Still, posting her here just in case something changes)
Portrait: Name: Teleena Clockhead
Race and Age: High Elf, 184
Archetype: Outsider
Location: To be filled
Biography:
Though she has been alive for almost two hundred years now, Teleena has never figured out how to be a good elf.
At least that's what most other elves tell her. Due to two flaws that have caused her kin to look at her with confusion and even contempt since her early childhood.
First of all, she never cared much for magic. She accepted its necessity, but had no desire to learn how to wield it. Probably because she is incredibly bad at it.
Now, magophobic elves were not entirely unheard of, just rarely spoken about. So on its own, a distaste for magic was a flaw politely ignored.
Her passions however were another matter.
Since she could walk, Teleena had always loved to tinker, especially with metal. As soon as possible, she began an apprenticeship with a smith. Which should have been an honourable calling, only her creations lacked the usual grace and beauty elven craftsmanship is known for. She much preferred straight lines rather than curves, her ornamentations were blocky instead of soft, and overall she pursued practicality above all else.
That got her thrown out of several forges, causing her to travel Quel'thalas, hoping to find a master smith who would accept her way of doing things.
She did not find that. But what she did find was a market where merchants from far away peddled exotic goods. Including gnome-made machinery.
Enchanted by a clockwork toy bird that could move without any magic, she decided to seek her fortune outside the borders of the land of her birth. Selling all her belongings to book passage on the next ship travelling south.
Her money just barely got her to Ironforge. A place she fell in love with immediately.
Though most dwarves were initially confused by the elf badgering everyone with questions about engineering, forges, black powder and more, she managed to endear herself to many people due to her earnest passion for the craft of engineering. Getting someone to take her as an apprentice, she threw herself into learning, impressing with her dedication.
She would spend most of her current lifetime travelling back and forth between Ironforge and Gnomeregan, eager to learn all there was to learn about the amazing technology practised within these subterranean realms. Her proudest achievements were the creation of her very own mechanostrider and rifle.
When the second war broke out, she made use of what she learnt to aid the defenders of her adopted home, and later joined Lothar's army.
After the war, she remained in the mountains, but though she was happy with her tinkering, she could not help but think about the land of her birth. Feeling guilty about not having headed there during the war in order to protect it, thinking about how many of her kin may yet live if she had remained loyal. Just as she could not help but notice more and more that, though accepted, her elven nature would always mark her an obvious outsider.
She endeavoured to return to Quel'thalas in order to try and make peace with her past.
One major remark would be that one particular sentence would read, "Durrant's request to retire caused a bit of a tiff within the Silver Hand. A Knight retiring without dying had been unexpected, many seeking to stay despite the peacetime." Might want to proofread the application a bit. Otherwise, it's unusual but I will work with it.
Obviously, acceptance would be contingent on Magnive making his character. And such a position is the definition of high-risk, high-reward where an encounter with anyone that has met the actual Princess can end with everyone arrested, dead, or worse, considering that one of the people who can detect the impersonation would be her city-massacring undead brother. But in the unlikely event, she survives, you fundamentally change the course of history.
One major remark would be that one particular sentence would read, "Durrant's request to retire caused a bit of a tiff within the Silver Hand. A Knight retiring without dying had been unexpected, many seeking to stay despite the peacetime." Might want to proofread the application a bit. Otherwise, it's unusual but I will work with it.
Race and Age: Kul Tiran, 35
Archetype: Outsider
Location: Stratholme Harbor
Biography: Isabella's story started the same as many Kul Tirans, born to a family of fishermen she crew up with the rocking of the deck beneath her feet and the smell of salt in her nose. When she was a child her dad would teach her the basics of seacraft and hunting, often spending many hours helping her father secure the largest catch growing up.
If the world had remained peaceful that would likely have been Isabella's life, a simple but fulfilling life as a fisherwoman plying the waters of Kul Tiras. But that was not meant to be.
When the Second War broke out and Kul Tiras lent her might fleets to the Alliance the young Isabella was amongst the countless young sailors who chose to sign up in order to fight against the savage horde. In the navy she served with distinction, favoring a harpoon as her weapon against the enemy boarding actions as they battled against the Orcish navy. But it was when the Dragons came that things changed for young Isabella and a fire was set in her heart.
The Dragons would tear a bloody swath through the Kul Tiran Navy, countless sailors meeting their end by dragon fire. But there were times when the stubborn sailors would be able to take revenge upon such powerful foes and one of those chances was upon the ship that Isabella was stationed.
She remembers that day clearly as ships wheeled about to bring their cannons to bear upon the beast, a barrage wounding the creature but not slaying it. How it washed the decks with flame, reducing the Captain and much of the crew to ash. Their spirits wavered and soon despair would overtake them, leaving the survivors easy prey for the beast.
Then her voice cried out, bellowing orders to the frightened sailors. She wasn't the Captain nor did she truly hold any authority amongst the crew, but the conviction in her voice made them listen. In that moment her iron will became their own and they moved with a certainty that they did not know they possessed.
Many would die in that battle, kicking, screaming and spitting their spite at the dragon but in the end the beast fell. It's body broken and a harpoon through it's heart.
The vessel would limp it's way back to port and Isabella would earn a commendation and promotion for her actions, asking only that she be given a ship and the men to hunt the beasts the Horde used to ravage their fleet. It was a duty that she would carry out throughout the remainder of the war, her vessel a prowling hunter amongst the fleet that was always searching for a chance to strike at the Dragons that she came to view as the very symbols of evil within the world.
However as the war ended and dragon sightings became rarer and rarer the Captain would find herself listless. Seeking new prey she retired from the navy, taking much of her old crew with her as she began work as a whaler and big game hunter. With her ship she'd lead expeditions to the waters of the far north to hunt massive beasts which she'd use to trade with the strange people of that land or bring her catch back to the Eastern Kingdoms where it was processed and sold.
Through these expeditions she'd gather around herself a small whaling fleet crewed by experienced sailors and hunters. However it was their latest expedition where ill omens began to arise as rumors of the walking dead were shared with them by the northern tribes and when they tried to dock at one of Lordaeron's northern colonies to sell their latest catch they found themselves ambushed by rotting corpses.
They fought their way free, the Captain's orders driving away any fear the sailors might have had. Leaving the northern lands behind they made haste south, both to preserve the profit from their expedition and to bring news to Lordaeron of what had happened to their northern colony...however by the time they arrived to Stratholme it was already too late.
Very well!! All hands ready your weapons!! First mate prep an expedition!!! Quartermaster, supplies will be low so butcher that beast!! Set course for the docks, we will see what evil has been unleashed here!!
Not bad, though perhaps a different profile picture might be in order.
Also, I would note we now have four applications for outsiders and I am not budging on the limit for three. So I will have to decline one of them should this remain the case.
Not bad, though perhaps a different profile picture might be in order.
Also, I would note we now have four applications for outsiders and I am not budging on the limit for three. So I will have to decline one of them should this remain the case.
Obviously, acceptance would be contingent on Magnive making his character. And such a position is the definition of high-risk, high-reward where an encounter with anyone that has met the actual Princess can end with everyone arrested, dead, or worse, considering that one of the people who can detect the impersonation would be her city-massacring undead brother. But in the unlikely event, she survives, you fundamentally change the course of history.
Biography: It is the greatest hope of all commoners living under the aegis of the Magocracy to one day be blessed with an arcane child. Bridgette was one such blessed child. Born to a pair of farmers on the outskirts of Dalaran, the arcane ability she accidentally continued to display over the course of her childhood eventually caught the attention of the Archmages of the Kirin Tor. Despite her baseborn nature, she was brought into the Violet Citadel regardless to study and train her abilities. The day she was taken away was the last time she saw her parents in person, though over the years they have continued to exchange the occasional letter and seasonal gift.
Assigned under the tutelage of Archmage Fordred Aran, Bridgette proved a quick learner and intelligent apprentice, eager to please her master and deepen her arcane knowledge. These early formative years are still fondly remembered by her, even as her master's strict nature grinded away at her childish glee and excitement, leaving behind only that which would make her an excellent mage, and a valued asset to the Kirin Tor.
As she rearched adulthood and finally attained the coveted rank of Mage, Bridgette initially sought a teaching position of her own within the Violet Citadel, but her repeated requests were each in turn declined and rejected. Dismayed, though understanding, the young woman spent the next weeks and months awaiting the High Council's decision delving deeper into her favorite subjects: Illusions, wardmaking, physical enchantments, spellweaving meant to obfuscate and protect, rather than seek out and destroy. It was perhaps this mindset that eventually made the Council dispatch her to Lordaeron, to act as assistant to the representative of Dalaran in the Capital City.
It was there she found herself, as Prince Arthas returned, seemingly in triumph, from the frozen wastes of Northrend. Away from the Palace at the time conducting various errands for her new master, Bridgette only caught glimpses of the victorious army marching through the streets. While at the time she could not have known, a feeling of unease settled deep within her core, as she went about with her assignment. As chaos erupted across the Capital, and the Scourge was unleashed within the walls, Bridgette, to her immense shame, lost her nerve and fled rather than attempt to search for other survivors or her master.
With the city burning behind her, Bridgette found shelter at a nearby camp, housing lucky survivors and scattered contingents of soldiers. It was here that despite the odds, Calia Menethil had been shepherded to. Her elated heart rose in her chest, and as she moved to embrace the royal whom she had interacted with intermittently amidst her duties at the Palace, a lack of recognition permeated Calia's eyes. It could have been stress or shock, but Bridgette paid it no mind.
And yet, as the days in the camp dragged on, Bridgette began to doubt the woman's identity. Her attempts to stumble through the rare conversation they had belayed an awkwardness she had never known Calia to suffer from, the slight tinge of nervousness behind her words with the soldiers and civilians, it all began to add up. This young woman....was not Calia Menethil. She was sorely tempted to reveal this deception then and there, but knew in her heart she could not go through with it. She had seen the looks of renewed optimism spreading throughout the camp. Were she to shatter this illusion now, despair would swallow them all, and leave them helpless before the Undead. While it stung like a blade through her chest, Bridgette kept her mouth shut, though vowed to speak with the imposter about the future. A Princess, even a false one, could provide the hope desperately needed to see Lordaeron through this disaster.
Name: Franziska Schanztal Race and Age: Human, 25 Archetype: Noble Location: Near the capital. Biography:
The Schanztal were nobles going back hundreds of years after a soldier distinguished himself by saving a member of the Menethil family and was rewarded handsomely for the act, in the form of a noble title and significant swathes of land. However, the centuries have chipped away at the family fortune and holdings. A bit of land parcelled out to a second or even third son here, significant wealth as a dowry to secure a prestigious marriage there... It all adds up, and by the time Franziska was born, the family was reduced to a few, impoverished holdings and had all but exhausted the once-vast family fortune.
Oh, they tried to keep up appearances, and every time they visited another noble or were visited, a bit more of the family fortune disappeared to afford fine food, and expensive dresses were taken out of storage. Franziska treasured those days, for they were the only time she felt like a noble lady, twirling around in dresses that might be out of fashion, but were vastly better than the veritable rags she was made to wear when nobody was watching.
It was hoped that Fransizka's older brother, Orson, would be capable of reversing the family's fortunes. Skilled with a sword and blessed with a silver tongue, their parents had high hopes that he could rise high in the Lordaeron military and bring wealth and glory to the Schanztal name. Unfortunately for the family, these hopes were in vain, for Orson met an inglorious end, not slain by Orcs or even bandits, but dying after falling off his horse and being trampled during training.
With Fransizka's younger brother barely more than a babe, her parents pinned their hopes and dreams on her, coming up with a last, desperate scheme to restore the family name. They called in what favours they could and made promises of future favours themselves, with one goal: to secure Fransizka a spot at the court of Lordaeron, hoping that she would be able to befriend the Princess, and with her help secure a favourable match.
After months of letters flowing back and forth across Lordaeron, her parents succeeded, and Fransizka was offered a position as lady-in-waiting for Princess Calia, which was eagerly accepted.
Fransizka was thrilled to hear this, and even more thrilled when she was given free reign of the family dressers. Finally, she'd feel like a real noble lady, being able to dress prettily every day! And she would even get to be around a princess! She was full of hopes as she travelled to the capital, daydreaming about her and Calia becoming the best of friends, with said fantasies ending with her marrying Prince Arthas and becoming a princess herself.
When she arrived at the court, she found that her hopes remained as such. Though Franziska and Princess Calia were shockingly similar in appearance - Franziska being mistaken for the Princess was a weekly occurrence - they had little else in common. Calia was unfailingly polite to Franziska, but there was no warmth between the two.
In other words, the family plan was dead in the water, so when she wrote home she... left out some things. Franziska did not set out to deceive her parents at first, but whenever she tried to pen down the truth, to tell them that she had failed to befriend the princess, she just... couldn't. It was easier to reassure them, to tell them small white lies to preserve their hope. At first, it was just omissions, such as telling of a nice dinner with the Princess... but neglecting that she was one of a dozen ladies invited and that she had exchanged a scant few sentences with Calia.
With time, the omissions and exaggerations became outright fabrications, and Franziska's guilt and anxiety were steadily climbing with every letter filled with false tales and hopes she sent back to the Schanztal estate. When it was announced that Prince Arthas had defeated the mastermind behind the Plague that had been... well, plaguing Lordaeron, Franziska resolved that she would tell her parents the truth.
She was almost relieved when something went wrong, to hear the triumphant bell tolls quiet and turn into screams. Almost, because as she looked down on the city from her room in the palace... she saw death. She saw the dead moving and fighting to add the living to their number, and in that moment, looking down from a window, Franziska knew that she would die.
At least then she wouldn't have to face her parents, wouldn't have to tell them that she had not only failed them but had fed them lies for years.
So in what she thought were the final minutes of her life, she decided to get as close to her old dreams as she could and rushed to Calia's quarters, where she tore through the Princess' drawers until she found the prettiest, most ridiculously ornate and expensive dress that just screamed royalty, and began leisurely wandering around the castle, imagining herself surrounded by noble ladies hanging off her every word and handsome suitors begging for the chance to win her favour.
However, rather than being found first by the walking dead, Franziska encountered a small group of royal guards. "Princess Calia, we need to get you to safety!" their leader had exclaimed. On the many prior times when she had been mistaken for the Princess, Franziska had immediately corrected the mistake. This time, though? As she found herself looking at the soldiers and their bloodied blades... she realized that she might survive the day.
"Thank the Light!" she simply exclaimed and followed along as the soldiers desperately carved a path to safety, the numbers swelling whenever they came across another group of soldiers - "Help save the Princess!" was an effective rallying cry - and shrinking whenever they came across the living dead.
But after hours that felt like days and staggering casualties... they made it. They escaped Capital City.
Now they just had to survive the rest of the Scourge.
OUTSIDER - 4/3 Slots (Though one of them has indicated he will change to a soldier slot)
PALADIN - 1/3 Slots
SORCERER - 1/2 Slots
COMMONER/PRIEST - 0/6 Slots
8/22 Slots filled. Outsiders are full but there's still plenty more. Also, I should advise everyone that I want the player base relatively spread out so avoid the Capital.
Name: Lucian Hargove II Race and Age: Human, 38 Archetype: Noble (Baron) Location: New Avalon Biography: Born to the minor nobility of the Hargrove family, Lucian the second always felt like he was in the shadow of his namesake, his grandfather who through service to the crown against the Troll hordes as a Knight was gifted land in the east of the kingdom. A land he was set to inherit once his foppish father perished, it was true that he loved his father, but the amount of bastards and other proclivity had made a stain on their house once he came into power, something he had to spend no small amount of gold and influence to insure no issues would come from such action.
His two legacies, one in the shadow of a great knight and the other the son of a foolish indulgent oaf, weighed on Lucian who strived to prove his family was not unfit for the nobility that was gifted to them by the Menethil line. Thus he studied and worked tirelessly to improve his own standing across the various courts of the kingdom, he spent his teenage years not learning the blade, but learning the written word and the battleground that was politics, his father began to rely on his trueborn son more and more to manage the affairs of their state and duties as Baron, a task which some have gossiped to have been insisted upon by Lucian the first himself, seeing his grandchild more fit to rule. Such things are just talk and gossip of the ruling class.
A case of Gout would take his father in the night, leaving Lucian to inherent the Barony and rule it in earnest. The timing of which would be unfortunate as the Kingdom was facing it's own challenges, a plague ravaged the lands, the prince seemingly gone mad with the massacre at Stratholm and vanishing after. The Paladin order of the Silver Hand was scattered and fighting in every corner of the kingdom, focused on the Scourge rather then the rising clans of Bandits or the potential invasion by their longtime foes in the Amani Trolls. He had traveled to the nearby township of New Avalon to speak with other nobility to discuss the necessary steps to take when the news arrived.
The realm was in a state of chaos, the king slain, the prince and heir a traitor, the princess missing and unwilling to take command, it all seemed the perfect storm to destroy Lorderon. And many denied such things, Lucian knew better, knew that the enemies of Lorderon would take this opportunity to devastate their people and lands regardless of the cause,. Here in the East, he would prepare, ensure that at least his family line and their hold on power would survive the coming storm, even if he is unaware of the true dangers at work.
Name: Johanna Dawnbringer Race and Age: Human, 39 Archetype: Paladin Location: Tirisfal Pass Biography: Sister Johanna was a young priestess when the Dark Portal first opened and the waves of the Orcish Horde swept out and threatened to wash away the peoples of Azeroth.
She was too young and inexperienced to fight in the first war, but seeing the wounded who came back lessened from their experiences ignited a spark inside her. Her daily rituals took a more martial bent, as she worked to bolster that spark into a flame capable of forging her into a weapon against those who rode the tides of darkness against the Alliance.
When the second war began, she redoubled her efforts. When the Archbishop founded the Order of the Silver Hand, Johanna finally knew what her purpose would be. Her fellow sisters and brothers called her Dawnbringer, after her routine of waking before the first rays of morning light to begin her daily training.
Despite her best efforts, she didn't earn her libram until well after the war had ended. Whether that was due to a greater need for her priestly talents, or some perceived imperfection, she knew not. Now that she has earned it, however, she is determined to prove herself worthy.
Johanna was traveling east to meet with her new mentor, a senior paladin by the name of Ballador, along the road from Light's Hope Chapel when she heard the news of Arthas' betrayal and patricide. As a senior Paladin and member of the Order, he was called away to travel with the remains of King Terenas.
Though shaken by recent recent events, Johanna has done her mourning and is once again focused on finding her mentor. Her feet have carried her to Tirisfal Pass as she follows word that the paladins are heading towards Andorhal.
Name: Brother Nellis Vindicati Race and Age: Human, 39 Archetype: Priest Location: Darrowshire Biography: He had WARNED them, he had warned them all, once. But no, they hadn't listened, now had they? Nellis had always been a private man, having wanted for nothing in his life but to increase the devotion he had for the Light. After first experiencing it's healing touch as a boy, Nellis knew he wanted to do nothing but spread it's teachings. So he took up the service and began learning all he could from his local monastery, and once a member of the Church, began spreading the good word to as many souls as he could find. It was in his travels that he began to hear strange things however, dark whispers of a foul brotherhood beginning to spread across the land.
He tried to investigate, but Nellis was no inquisitor. He lacked the ability to find any proof and any whom he approached rebuffed him. One night, Nellis was approached in the dark by a strange assailant, a hungry and rotten thing. He escaped with his life, but his fear of that night haunted his waking hours. He tried to alert the main church, but without any physical evidence, the Church had no means of acting, and so rebuked him. Not that Nellis' extra bit of warning would have done any good. Days later, the capital fell to the mad prince.
But still, to be disbelieved by his fellow Brothers and Sisters within the Church wounded Nellis. Why had they not given him their faith as he had done in turn, again and again? This crisis left Nellis mentally taxed, and as tales of plague and ruin come from the west, Nellis has taken up his station in the town of Darrowshire, paranoia beginning to gnaw away at his mind. Anyone could be a threat. Anyone could be infected. Anyone could be a cultist. If the Church of Light wouldn't take his concerns seriously, then Nellis will act on his own. He'll raise the truly faithful up and begin purging anyone who may carry traces of that vile cult, whether that be in their mind or their body.
Portrait:
Name: Grimwald Auster Race and Age: Human, 27 Archetype: Sorcerer Location: Agamand Mills Biography:
3 years ago, Grimwald was a bright young mind eagerly studying the working of the arcane. Though born in Lordaeron, his rapacious knowledge for magic took him to study afar in Dalaran. He was well on his way to become an expert Mage, and likely would have been had word of his parents falling victim to a sickness without a cure not suddenly reached him while he was studying. Desperate to save them, Grimwald began to delve deep into the tomes contained within the archives. Eventually coming across a strange book that purported to have answers, but warned the reader that there would be a cost. Learning about the power and dangers of fel magic, Grimwald left the academy to try and save his parents, only to find that it was too late. That both of them had died.
In the modern day, Grimwald has determined that his life's new purpose would be to spread awareness and knowledge of fel energy. While cautious of this power, Grimwald has ultimately determined that it's better for the people to know of this magic than to shun it. If Grimwald had been aware of the risks and benefits of fel energy sooner, his parents might have been saved in time. At least, that's the reasoning his grief-stricken mind is trying to grapple with. As the years have passed and his homeland has come to ruin, Grimawld cynically sees the current crisis as the perfect time to bring about this normalization. The people will be desperate enough to accept any savior against the undead, so let it be him and his teachings.
Grimwald has managed to keep himself afloat by working as a tutor for the Agamand family. He educates their spawn in the finer points of magic and nobility during the day and drawing life from their cattle and farmhands during the night to power his experiments. Grimwald has secretly taken their youngest son Devlin on as an apprentice. The young lad has both the focus for magic and willingness to climb yet higher for power that fel study demands. However, Grimwald has had to temper Devlin's ambitions multiple times, and has begun to wonder if he has underestimated the boy's hunger.
Race and Age: Human, Fourty-five Archetype: Soldier Location: Stationed in Tyr's Hand
Biography:
Luthon came from the humble family of The Farhills, and as the name suggests; He and his kin lived their lives on a hill far from Tyr's Hand. A make-shift farm that got them through the years, though he and his brothers traveled to the city of Tyr's hand to do occasional work here-and-there from time to time. Seeing as Luthon was the youngest of the siblings in the Farhill family, there was simply nothing for him there on that hill as the years went by. Thus, he did what his uncles before him had done and joined the Army of Lordaeron. The life was simple and somewhat exciting for the boy that came from that hill far away.
Until the day the Second War began. Nothing could have prepared the once jovial man for what awaited him. A tide of foul greenskins in the thousands, blood of alien and friend besmirched his person more times than he could count. As the years went by, he proved his worth to his superiors and his comrades. By the end of the war, he had progressed to the rank of Captain. He earned the right to command during the battle of Blackrock Mountain after the captain of his company was slaughtered by a Troll-kin beserker. A sight he still dreams and dreads of. While the troll was made short work of, there was still a fight to be done. So he rallied the men and pushed forth. As the Second War ended, Luthon with his ragged and worn company was one of the 'lucky' ones that got the honors of escorting the foul orcs to their designated "prison" camps.
Five years passed before Luthon and his company was relieved of their assigned station of 'safeguarding' the orcs, as most of their orcs was sent to Durneholde for a permanent basis. From there he enjoyed a year on the Hill of the Farhills, content to work on the farm without trouble in the slightest. But eventually he chose to return to the city of Tyr's Hand, reenlisting with the army. His fondness of the drink, the nightmares of his past and the failure of crops made him a burden upon his kin there on that Hill far away.
As the undead began to rise and terrorise the lands, Luthon wasted no time in riding out of Tyr's Hand. Making his way towards that Hill far away. The journey simply took a day and a half, it wasn't that far away actually. But alas, he arrived at the foot of the hill only to discover what he dreaded. Some of his kin was there to meet him, stumbling mindlessly down that Hill. Luthon drew his sword and dredged his way to the top of that Hill while his kin fell to his sword.
Luthon returned to Tyr's Hand, his person besmirched by the blood of his kin and his sword broken. While he had failed in his duty to his kin, he could still uphold the duty to the People of Lordaeron!
Race and Age: Human, 22 Archetype: Soldier Location: Ambermill
Biography:
The son of refugees fleeing the destruction of Stormwind in the First Great War, Double arrived on the shores of Lordaeron at the age of six. His father was a sergeant in His Majesty's army, joining Anduin Lothar's exodus once the kingdom had fallen. Growing up he witnessed the brutality of the orcs firsthand when the Horde arrived at the Hillsbrad Foothills. Steward lost his mother to hunger and disease after supplies became scarce in the wake of the fall of Southshore. However, the young boy and his father would survive the Second War. In the postwar era, Double's father returned to Stormwind to rebuild, however, his son made the fateful decision to stay. Lordaerson felt like a home away from home and since he was too young to remember the homeland of his birth, the younger Steward did feel a strong connection to his roots.
Enlisting in the army, Double honed his craft elevating himself ironically to the same rank his father was in the previous war. In recent weeks he was transferred from Andorhal to aid in monitoring the Gilean border due to reports of an unknown disturbance. It is here where his fate would begin to unravel.
14/22 Slots filled. Not as many as I would like but it will do. I will be rolling out stats over the course of next week. Applications are still open and will remain so until the end of turn one.
