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May. 18th, 2015

Gyro Sporebat

Character list

Wyrmrest Accord


Eillian Locke, Knight of Stormwind.  A world-weary veteran with a troubled soul.(Eillian, Human Monk) (@NetherTossed)

Ivoria Taylor, Gilnean seamstress and arcanist (Ivoria, Worgen Mage) (@IvyTailor)

Lexifrazz Glimmergear., Explorer's League geologist(Lexifrazz, Gnome Warrior) (@glimmergear)

Thyra Thaumaforge - Dark Iron Scribe and Sorceress (Thyra, Dwarf Warlock)  (@stoneandink)


Aellais, Ebon Blade Gryphon Rider, former Dragonhawk Rider(Aellais, Blood Elf Death Knight)  (@Aellais)

Buzzi Vitriol - Horde conscript, wiseass medic (Buzzi, Goblin Shaman) (@b_vitriol)

Romilly Valeron, Expatriate Blood Knight, Reliquary Examiner (Romìlly, Blood Elf Paladin) (@reliquarist)

(Less Active Characters)

Aarti, "Scryer" agent (Aarti, Draenei Fire Mage)

Aquilara, Highborne exorcist (Aquilara, Night Elf Shadow Priest)

Caladhel Flowersong  -"Retired" Hyjal defender, stationed in Ashenvale (Caladhel, Night Elf Rogue) (@night_lotus)

Danilys Scathfell, Arathi Falconer , Sharpshooter (Danilys, Human  Hunter)

Dr. Safety,  a real doctor. From Gnomeregan (Safeti, Gnome  Priest)

Marisela Leynier, Paladin initiate with anger issues (Marisela, Human Paladin)

Vidhatri - Former Sha'tari and Argent sky medic (Vidhatri, Draenei Restoration Shaman)


Cai Fei Waveseeker,  (Pandaren Frost Mage)

Kate Risard -Lovely dead girl (Risard, Undead Discipline Priest)

Terei Brightvalley -Itinerant Sunwalker (Terei, Tauren Holy Paladin)

Moon Guard

Branwel Tremearne, Worgen Druid (Branwel)
Erzebet Ambrus, Human Warlock (Erzebet)
Ivoria Taylor, Worgen Mage (Spellthread)

Dec. 27th, 2012

Gyro Sporebat

Winter Veil Gift Masterpost

Presents Inside!Collapse )Presents Inside!Collapse )

Sep. 30th, 2012


Eillian: Homecoming

Go home, they told him. You've earned it.

He had few things to pack. His weapons and gear. Civilian clothes, much-mended and over twenty years out of style. A very small box of personal effects he would have died a hundred times before he let and orc or demon lay a claw on.

When you go to war, you travel light.

He stood at the top of the Stair and took a look back at the place that, for any real purpose, had been home for as long as it was important. The Hellfire dust no longer burned his throat. Draenor's nightmare sky no longer made him gasp for breath if he happened to look up.

He stared at the Dark Portal for what must have been a long time before a tug at his sleeve drew his attention. Instinctively, he looked down, as if looking for a young child. He found a smiling gnomish technician in a blue robe, who pointed him around a corner towards a smaller portal instead.

The light of Azeroth's sun was brilliant and warming. He walked into a Stormwind that was like the one Blackhand's orcs had burned, and nothing like it at all. The streets were different, all his old familiar routes destroyed. He couldn't count the number of times he got lost, had to ask for directions like a Westfall farmboy.

Stormwind's humans had returned, along with all of the allies they'd picked up on the way. He wandered through crowds of dwarves and gnomes, draenei and purple elves from that wild continent across the sea. He saw men wearing the black of Gilneas. Things that were...not quite men wearing the same.

He got a room in Old Town, close enough to the command centers, and waited.
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Aug. 18th, 2012


Romilly: (Re)Conciliation

My dear Romilly-

Imagine my surprise to receive a letter from you after all this time. The envelope was battered, but otherwise no worse for wear. The postmarks alone speak of the trouble you must have gone to to get it into Alliance territory: Dalaran, Booty Bay, Menethil Harbor.

Your Common on the address is still flawless, however out of practice I imagine you may be. I remember how, when you were a little girl, your mother was opposed to having you educated in the human tongue as extensively as I insisted upon.

Imagine, also, my surprise at your sudden invitation to come and stay with you. Not quite an invitation to come back to Silvermoon, as you once offered, but to your house in Dalaran. Or, as you phrased it,Talris’ house.You’re right, I’ve always been fond of Talris, and I do miss him - almost as much as I miss you, my daughter. Still, I can’t help but wonder about your choice of wording. Perhaps you only meant to say that it is Talris who lives up in Dalaran, while you do not.

But I hear that much of his time is occupied in running his asylum in the city.Rehabilitation, I hear. I’m sure you would know better than I, what his poor patients need rehabilitating from.

I almost regret that I have become so cautious, that I must ask myself: why there?And more importantly, why now?You made it so very clear to me what you thought of my leaving Quel’thalas after the Invasion. What has changed your mind now?

It isn’t as though I don’t hold out hope for reconciliation. Not a year passes that I don’t wish for that time when the world was free and the seas were open. It no longer is. The political climate everywhere has become only more uncomfortable. And I am an old man and long tired of politics.

Therefore, I must decline your gracious invitation. What you spoke of so plainly asexile, in fact, I’ve never seen as such. Theramore is not some backwater port in which I’ve chosen to hold up.

Theramore is my home, and the home where I have chosen to spend the rest of my hopefully long years.

I only ask that you respect that.

I remain, fondly:

Your father,

Commodore Kiran Valeron (ret.)
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Jul. 16th, 2012


Ivoria: Delayed Post

The package arrives with a slightly outdated postmark. The brown paper and box are a little banged up, but the contents are otherwise undisturbedCollapse )
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Jun. 27th, 2012


OOC: Character thoughts: Hunterkid?

Yeah okay I got an alt problem.

Last year, when I was new to WrA, I had a little Human Paladin whose general concept was “Refugee from Tyr’s Hand.” She was seventeen or eighteen years old, just a kid when the Plague came through Lordaeron. Her MRP backstory involved her turning up at Northshire seemingly at random one day, just another person displaced by the Cataclysm, and taking training from the Silver Hand (per the quest dialogue in the starting zone)

Naughty Sekrits!

I used to RP her hanging out quite a bit; talking to folks in the Cathedral - I even got to hang out on a big Paladin initiation ceremony (only character not in full Lightbringer!). She even had a Twitter tome for awhile until she realized the conversation at the time was 90% Death Knights and got rid of it (OOC, I changed the username. ICly, the tome wound up in a second hand book market and now belongs to Thyra, my Dwarf warlock).

She wound up being deleted eventually in favor of something else. Maybe a big purple elf, maybe a zombie. Who knows!

Since I got my second account, I’ve thought about maybe rerolling the character or someone similar to her. This time, it’s totally Conleth’s fault, because his IC tumblr is so much win. >:|

I’m not sure if I really want another Paladin (I have two Hordeside). Contemplating hunter to round out my reptoire a little.Of course, the last thing I need is another alt to feed when I have plenty of them  already. :]

Jun. 16th, 2012


Caladhel: Stood In The Fire

I've been in Winterspring for the past several months. I don't know who made the decision to send me here, when I was unable to make it for myself. Probably some Cenarion healer; the move has the air of that kind of belief about it. That kind of balance.

Out of the fire, into the frost. Most of the other patients in the temple are burn victims.

I understand that I'm lucky. To not have been  burned to a cinder; just banged around a little. I also understand that it has nothing to do with luck. For whatever reason, the goddess has decided She's not done with me yet.

Every evening, I try to move around. Try to do a little more than I could do the previous night. I remember enough of the rituals to help the priestess with her devotions. I've learned enough from watching her mix up burn salves and sleeping draughts to be able to take on some of that work.

I got a letter from the Front not too long ago. Staghelm's dead and his followers are being winnowed away by increments. There's a lot of cleanup still; I've been told not to worry about it for the time being.

I can't tell if I should be insulted or not. I'm hardly an invalid, even if I can tell that my reactions aren't back to where they need to be. My limbs are slower, but they're getting better.

I drill out in the courtyard when the weather is good, and no one stops me. Usually, no one does.No one's giving me any orders beyond that one concerned suggestion.

I think I'm going to go with the next supply caravan, when it arrives. If I can make it as far as Moonglade, I can figure it out from there.

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Jun. 14th, 2012


Buzzi: What the Water Said

Sure, they’d been there back on Kezan. They’d been called Environmental Engineers when they worked for the KTC, and weirdos when they didn’t.

Weedy Meg lived under a dock, peddled whatever garbage she dredged out of the water, to whatever sucker willing to shell out for it. J.W in the Slums could take any broken down wreck of a hot-rod and get it purring like an orphan’s white kitten, so they called him Jalopy Whisperer. behind his back. The KTC crowd were as slick as oil lapping over water. A cabal of them rolled into the dockside bar where Buzzi had worked on occasion.For the most part, they kept to themselves.

Fine with her, really. She wasn’t interested in whatever it was they did. Being a weirdo was pretty low on her priorities list. She had a job that didn’t have her drowning in gold, but kept her afloat. She rented a place that wasn’t a complete dump, a guy with a gambling problem who drifted in and out of her life with the regularity of a tidal pull

Her finest accomplishment had been the night she’d mixed some Kaja-Cola with a healthy splash of Volatile Rum and served it to a whole boat of Southsea Pirates on shore leave. Vitriolic was how the tabloids described the aftermath.

Her boss started it, calling her Buzzi Vitriol instead of Buzzi Greaseweld, and it got around like a mine fire.

All of that changed when the world broke apart. Mount Kajaro blew, and Gallywix’ slaving ship sunk to an Alliance cannon in the middle of the ocean. With her, and the rest of the Bilgewater Cartel aboard.

Somehow, she wound up in the open ocean. Sunk deep and sinking faster, with just enough breath in her lungs that she could thrash around. Trying to find the surface. Trying to figure out just what way was up.

The water closed in all around her as she continued to sink. Then, the water spoke.

I’ve been waiting for you, was what the water said.

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Jun. 12th, 2012


Ivoria: Sewing Circle

&#8220;What are you working on?&#8221;<br />&#8220;Shirt. For someone who needs shirt. What are you making?&#8221;<br />&#8220;Er. I haven&#8217;t quite decided. It&#8217;s a gift.&#8221;<br />&#8220;For?&#8221;<br />&#8220;A gentleman. Well, a soldier as well. I was thinking something practical, perhaps. I&#8230;why are you looking at me like that?&#8221;<br />&#8220;mm-hmm.&#8221;<br />&#8220;No. It&#8217;s not like that at all.&#8221;<br />&#8220;Why not?&#8221;<br />&#8220;Because&#8230;well, for one, we haven&#8217;t even been properly introduced.&#8221;<br />&#8220;Why not?&#8221;<br />&#8220;Actually, we&#8217;ve not ever met at all.&#8221;<br />&#8220;Why not?&#8221;<br />&#8220;Molyn! You can&#8217;t just go talking to people. There are rules.&#8221;<br />&#8220;You realize, yes, that you are no longer in Gilneas? Just as I am no longer on Draenor.&#8221;<br />&#8220;Well,I&#8230;&#8221;<br />&#8220;For smart one, Eye-vee, you are sometimes quite silly.&#8221;<br />&#8220;I&#8217;m going to put on some tea. What would you like in yours?&#8221;<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />(Two Women Sewing, Giovanni Boldini, date unknown)

“What are you working on?”

“Shirt. For someone who needs shirt. What are you making?”

“Er. I haven’t quite decided. It’s a gift.”


“A gentleman. Well, a soldier as well. I was thinking something practical, perhaps. I…why are you looking at me like that?”


No. It’s not like that at all.”

“Why not?”

“Because…well, for one, we haven’t even been properly introduced.”

“Why not?”

“Actually, we’ve not ever met at all.”

“Why not?”

“Molyn! You can’t just go talking to people. There are rules.

“You realize, yes, that you are no longer in Gilneas? Just as I am no longer on Draenor.”


“For smart one, Eye-vee, you are sometimes quite silly.”

“I’m going to put on some tea. What would you like in yours?”

"Three sugar, please. And your rules are silly, too."

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Jun. 11th, 2012


Aellais: Silence

Howling Fjord

It’s the small sounds, their absence, that I notice the most.

This morning, I did not hear Calida tearing up earth in the backyard, and I did not hear the scrape of Chesric’s boots on the upstairs floor. Always as quietly as he could, it seemed.

We’d fixed up the best space - the old Jarl’s quarters - for him. Every blanket and fur and tapestry that was whole enough for company got piled into that room. It’s always cold here. The wind cuts right through living flesh, straight to the bone.

I think we might have overwhelmed the poor kid, a little. Though it’s not fair to call him a ‘kid.’ He can’t be any younger than I am would have been.

They went south.

When the wind blows up from the seacoast, the air tastes like salt. In bad weather, the sky is full of crows. In good weather, I can sometimes see that old proto-drake circling overhead. It never lands, but I think its looking for something. Waiting for the old vrykul that once lived here. The master who will never return.

I know how it feels.

Maybe I’d better start moving on as well.

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