Darren nodded. "I myself haven't paid much attention to the Twilight's Hammer's workings. My studies and research mean much more to me than they. However, in all honesty, Deathwing's fall has led them somewhat astray. They aren't as secluded nor secured as they were before. They seem much more independant than they used to be, and this seems to have led them to leaving themselves open to dangers."
((Guess I'm lucky then. My schedule is still quite loose (lol at 26 school hours per week)))
"They may be more open to dangers, but they aren't exactly idiots still," Levi said as he took a small dip of his drink.
((That being said I probably should start listening instead of RP'ing.. Nah, maybe next year))
((Haha, I work 32+ hours a week, plus I do schoolwork every other day. 95% of my posts are actually snuck in during a session or when I'm supposed to be doing homework. ))
Darren took a sip of his ale. "This is true. Being open to dangers doesn't necessarily mean they are complete fools. They aren't stupid; that much I'll give them. They know full well the dangers they've put themselves in, and are likely prepared for almost anything that the world throws against them. I daresay they are almost another independant faction on their own, besides being a plagued cult bent on destroying everything that opposes them."
Velexis spoke up, "I must say they amuse me with their ideology. I don't see what they hope to accomplish by destroying the world. Atleast the Cult of the Damned had some sort of end goal besides killing everyone. That being said, they still didn't make much sense." Levi took a big drink before talking, "yeah, they did have an end goal. Becomming mindless undead serving a master who wouldn't care for them. They amuse me just as much as the Twilight's Hammer does, and make just as little sense."
Darren cocked an eyebrow. "Well, at least they had a goal of some sort in mind. As far as I know, the Twilight's Hammer doesn't really care what they do anymore now. I haven't heard anything about them for weeks now, and my past five or six jobs have involved dealing with bandits and wanna-be thieves." He rolled his eyes. "The nerve of some people."
Darren chuckled now, sipping his own ale. "Oh, indeed. They are little more than a flies, swarming about you in the summer blaze. Problem is," he grinned, "the ones I did "deal with" ended up being either burned to a cinder, or flash-frozen and left to melt." He smirked.
"Hmmph," Darren smirked. "Perhaps. I don't deal much with your "Light," nor do I care for it much. But I do understand what you mean. For all I know, the blood of a thief or bandit that stains my hand, could very well be the blood of one misguided, one who had not had any help before, and was left to fend for themselves." Shrugging, the wizard took a sip of his half-empty mug of ale, dipping his head solemnly. He thought back to his childhood, when his family had been slain by a rogue bandit of orcs. He realized that they, whether they were part of the original Horde or not, had been influenced by Gul'dan and Ner'zhul's actions, and that they had still been under such influences when they had slain his family. Seven years . . . The pain still knifed deep within his heart, and though he held a deep hatred for the Horde, could not condemn every action made by every member of it, simply because of the cold acts of others.
As he realized this, he realized the same could be held for the bands of thieves and such that roamed Azeroth. Misguided, taught to live in such a manner. They can not all be condemned. Some are barbaric and savage, true, but most are reasonable, living beings that understand civil ways, even if they choose to not utilize them.
((First Rp in 3 years))
Michael stood leaning against a wall in the shadows, watching everyone, he thought to himself "This truly is the most sinful place in the world, it needs to be cleansed...but sadly... the guards would destroy me in a matter of moments" he sighed and threw back his head drinking water from his canteen. "I wonder if anyone would even bother talking to a thug" he chuckled silently...
The door slowly creaked open as an aged Night Elf entered the tavern. Garbed in a ragged cloth robe, the elf's age did not appear to hinder his mobility. The staff he carried was certainly not to assist him in walking; it glowed with the brilliant power of the arcane. Glancing around the room, he took a seat at the bar, laid a few coins down, and began to expand his mind, touching those of the other patrons to see if he had been noticed.
Darren, who had drifted off into a light nap, had awoken to new noises. He blinked a few times to get the sleep out of his eyes and rubbed them with his knuckles. How long was I out for? he wondered, stifling a yawn has he noticed a kaldorei, more aged than some he'd seen and outfitted in cloth robes, which looked like they hadn't seen a good washing in ages. This Darren noted with mild distaste, preferring his own clothes clean when possible. What did pique his interest, however, was the staff the night elf carried in his hand. Darren sat up a little straighter, fully awake now, and eyed the staff with curiosity. Now that is an interesting artifact if I've ever seen one, he thought, squinting slightly as he checked himself, averting his gaze quickly and hoping the night elf did not catch him. The last thing he wanted to do was seem suspicious, staring wide-eyed at a stranger's weapon, which was clearly a powerful piece.
Suddenly Ralof completed the elf's sentence ".. And now you are here, drinking tortoise piss in this light-forsaken thug hole.. Fate is a bitch, ain't it Highborne?" and a laughter followed. He took the stool next to him and Darren "Well at least its the best place to find drinking buddies, strange ones if you catch what i mean.." and another merry laugh followed, this time shorter and less louder. "Ralof Thoradin Cornwall, at your service. Now, weary traveller, why don't you share with us your latest gallantries? I, for one, would love to hear one of those things you 'witnessed', while i'm still sober that is.." he presented himself and giggled.
Darren nodded to the newcomer, a human whose mouth preceeded his fame. "Nice to meet you, Ralof. Darren Frostwhisper." He tilted his head towards the night elf. "Tell me; where did you acquire that staff? It looks like something that could have seen the War of the Ancients." The young wizard, who was very much interested in ancient artifacts, could not contain his curosity and focused his gaze back to the staff.
The mage turned to Ralof. "Your sobriety is somewhat questionable, my friend. As for my adventures, I do not usually share them with strangers, especially ones who are drunkards. But I will share one, as I relates to our other friend's question."
Turning to Darren, he nodded. "You are very wise to know such a thing. It has indeed seen the War of the Ancients, over 10,000 years ago. It was actually gifted to me by the dragonflights for the aid I gave to them. Since then, it has seen the rise of the Horde, the battle at Hyjal, and the spreading of the Plague. It has battled dragons, Old Gods, undead, and still fights against those who would end this world. I realize that I may be old for one of my kind, but the powers of the arcane, enhance by this staff, have prolonged my years."