I work very hard to learn my craft and be the best that I can at it. I spend most of my time exploring shadow, flame, and dark spaces of the nether in order to find ways that I can extract more power from the forces I control. I recently started training myself to focus more on my fire spells and less on my powers of demonology. When I do this, I can no longer channel the forces needed to call forth a felguard, however my flame spells are more powerful, and I am able to focus my power into intense bursts that no shield may resist.
However, in order to spend my time training in the dark arts and adventuring in dungeons with my guild, I need to make money. I have noticed that this world seems to be broadly segregated into two groups; those with gold and those without it. Many people seem to spend endless days traveling the world, performing jobs for needy villagers, and then spend what they make having their gear fixed, buying potions, and on pets and mounts. They are always broke. There is nothing as sad as having to lend a powerful priest 14 gold so that he can have a blacksmith repair his armor before beginning an adventure. All that power, and they ask me for a drink.
As for me, while I am not rich, I have never had trouble making money. I prefer to make my money through my craft instead of helping villagers. Not that I don't like to help, but I can stay in the city, work quickly, and focus on my studies. I buy materials at auction, craft them into items that people need, and then sell them for a profit. Sometimes I find things people are selling for much less than other people, and so I buy those items and resell them for many times what I paid. As a result, when I get ready to enter a dungeon with my guild, I am repaired, have potions, feasts, and even flasks stuffed into my bags.
What is not clear to me is why some people don't seem to be able to get or keep gold. Every profession has a means to make money. Some more than others. A friend who is a paladin is an inscriber and I am afraid to think about how much money she has. Suffice to say that she usually has hundreds of glyphs for sale at any time. Me, I will usually have some bags for sale, maybe some enchanting materials, and a few items for resale. It isn't hard, and to the extent that it takes time, it takes less time than running around the world hoping someone will pay me 13.5 gold for killing some trolls. Although, I would do that for free.
Speaking of wasting time, I hate fishing. If not for making feasts for my friends, and the cost of the ingredients, I don't think I'd ever do it.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Magic and Mysteries
I use magic in all aspects of my life. I use shadow and flame, demons and curses to destroy my enemies and turn the world to my will. In my crafts, I extract magical elements from things that I find, and in turn use those elements to imbue my equipment with magical powers. I make special clothing and craft virtues into it such that it gives its wearer special abilities. I have achieved a high level of mastery at these crafts.
Yet for all my studies, for all my understanding of magic, this world is still a mystery to me. As I travel, I am often asked by those whose towns I frequent to assist them with things that they cannot do themselves. In return, they will often reward me with gold and some special piece of equipment. Even stranger, when I am with my guild in a dank, distant fortress, we sometimes come across very powerful pieces of armor or jewelry, presumably left behind by some forgotten adventurer who overestimated his or her own abilities. It is the nature of these things that confuses me most.
My guild and I recently banded together with some other hardy adventurers into the pit of Naxxramas, a truly Light-forsaken place inhabited by all manner of fiends under the control of Arthas' minion, Kel'Thuzad. We forayed into the area known as the Arachnid Quarter, so called because it is infested with all manner of foul spiders. We successfully slayed the Web Lord, and then the Grand Widow, both tales of their own, before taking on the giant spider-beast known as Maexxna.
This foul creature's lair was strewn with corpses, old, forgotten gear, and many disgusting yet unidentifiable piles. We set at her time and again, each time to be beaten back. Fortunately, we have shaman and priests among us who can control the very essence of life. (I control only death, and so I wonder at the conflict they feel when a lifegiver must, of needs, restore a life-taker.) We would regroup, prepare ourselves, and have at her again. Finally, the beast fell.
As we searched about the room, I came across a small charm on a thin chain. It was crafted of a dark metal I could not identify, and the chain, while thin, was exceedingly strong. The look of the thing told me it was very old, with an ornate, forbidding skull engraved on one side and some symbols that I could not decipher on the other. As soon as I picked it up I could sense the magic emanating from it.
I showed it to the others, and we priests, mages, and warlocks analyzed its function. It seemed to be somehow linked to me, though I do not know how or why. When the others held it, or tried to sense it, they got nothing. They agreed that I should keep it for now.
I looked at my new charm, and noticed that when I cast a spell, it seemed to glow a bit. The more powerful the spell, the more strongly it would glow, and the more I could sense its magic. In our next battle, as I was casting a spell that engulfs my enemy in flames, the charm began to glow quite brightly and surrounded me in a strange purple light. I could feel my magical powers grow, and suddenly, as I completed casting my spell, my enemy burst into flames with incredible intensity and died. After a few seconds, the charm stopped glowing and th light faded from me. This would repeat itself every so often. I came to understand that this charm was somehow charging itself, storing up my magical powers, and then releasing them in a burst of magic that made my spells much more powerful.
When I got back to Dalaran, I consulted one of the mage historians, who told me that such a charm is very rare and is called a 'Dying Curse' because its activation spell doom for the enemy of its user. The historian also told me that though the magic isn't well understood, such items are bound magically to a single person, whether it be the one who picks it up, or the one that it selects, and that none other may use it while that person lives.
That is all well and good, but where did this charm come from, and how did it come to be where I found it, and why did it choose me to carry it? These questions give me pause, and remind me that there is much that I still do not understand.
Yet for all my studies, for all my understanding of magic, this world is still a mystery to me. As I travel, I am often asked by those whose towns I frequent to assist them with things that they cannot do themselves. In return, they will often reward me with gold and some special piece of equipment. Even stranger, when I am with my guild in a dank, distant fortress, we sometimes come across very powerful pieces of armor or jewelry, presumably left behind by some forgotten adventurer who overestimated his or her own abilities. It is the nature of these things that confuses me most.
My guild and I recently banded together with some other hardy adventurers into the pit of Naxxramas, a truly Light-forsaken place inhabited by all manner of fiends under the control of Arthas' minion, Kel'Thuzad. We forayed into the area known as the Arachnid Quarter, so called because it is infested with all manner of foul spiders. We successfully slayed the Web Lord, and then the Grand Widow, both tales of their own, before taking on the giant spider-beast known as Maexxna.
This foul creature's lair was strewn with corpses, old, forgotten gear, and many disgusting yet unidentifiable piles. We set at her time and again, each time to be beaten back. Fortunately, we have shaman and priests among us who can control the very essence of life. (I control only death, and so I wonder at the conflict they feel when a lifegiver must, of needs, restore a life-taker.) We would regroup, prepare ourselves, and have at her again. Finally, the beast fell.
As we searched about the room, I came across a small charm on a thin chain. It was crafted of a dark metal I could not identify, and the chain, while thin, was exceedingly strong. The look of the thing told me it was very old, with an ornate, forbidding skull engraved on one side and some symbols that I could not decipher on the other. As soon as I picked it up I could sense the magic emanating from it.
I showed it to the others, and we priests, mages, and warlocks analyzed its function. It seemed to be somehow linked to me, though I do not know how or why. When the others held it, or tried to sense it, they got nothing. They agreed that I should keep it for now.
I looked at my new charm, and noticed that when I cast a spell, it seemed to glow a bit. The more powerful the spell, the more strongly it would glow, and the more I could sense its magic. In our next battle, as I was casting a spell that engulfs my enemy in flames, the charm began to glow quite brightly and surrounded me in a strange purple light. I could feel my magical powers grow, and suddenly, as I completed casting my spell, my enemy burst into flames with incredible intensity and died. After a few seconds, the charm stopped glowing and th light faded from me. This would repeat itself every so often. I came to understand that this charm was somehow charging itself, storing up my magical powers, and then releasing them in a burst of magic that made my spells much more powerful.
When I got back to Dalaran, I consulted one of the mage historians, who told me that such a charm is very rare and is called a 'Dying Curse' because its activation spell doom for the enemy of its user. The historian also told me that though the magic isn't well understood, such items are bound magically to a single person, whether it be the one who picks it up, or the one that it selects, and that none other may use it while that person lives.
That is all well and good, but where did this charm come from, and how did it come to be where I found it, and why did it choose me to carry it? These questions give me pause, and remind me that there is much that I still do not understand.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
What are we fighting for?
I thought, perhaps, that I might start at the beginning. But there are more pressing needs. And that is a tale that can be told later.
For so long that time seems meaningless, or unmeasurable, I have sought to master the skills of my art. Through shadow magic and demonic mastery I sought to control the world around me and destroy the many creatures of evil that inhabit this world. Upon mastery of my skills, I swore to use my powers to destroy the Scourge and the minions of Arthas. And on some occasions, I have been able to band together with like-minded, worthy, and skilled adventurers into the hellish pit of Naxxramas, the Vault, and the Obsidian Sanctum.
But these adventures, while grand, are not the sole purpose of my being. They cannot be. Collecting trinkets here and there while slaying fierce armies of darkness seems almost meaningless when I look at the world around me. The Alliance encroaches upon us at every turn. And we, called the Horde by those who deny our right to exist, can barely see beyond our own petty interests.
My own people, the forsaken, are split. There are those who would see the Scourge encompass the world and destroy all life, out of some twisted sense of vengeance or simply pure evil. And there are those like myself, who understand our nature, but fight against the evil that brought us into existence. We are strong, but divided. The troll-kind are dedicated, but they lack both the numbers and the leadership to push back against the enemy we face. The noble Tauren, a humble people, are true and fierce warriors, but their own nature works against them, as they desire only peace in a world gone mad. They lack the cold, calculated willingness to kill that is all too abundant in my own people.
The blood elves, for all their decorum, polish, and knowledge, are almost useless. They would reclaim their place in the world, yet they dwell on ancient losses, maintain only defensive outposts, and even their greatest city is divided in half by its own people, passable in fractions by those who choose sides in a fight not worth waging.
It was, and is, with some alarm, and fair amount of surprise, that I found myself coming to understand that it is the brutish Orcs who best defend us. It is they who have taken an offensive posture against the Alliance, have set armies against the minions of the Scourge, and have stood as the last line of defense against Arthas, even to the point of fighting alongside the Alliance at times. The Orcs, while violent and uncouth, are a noble warrior people who have fought back time and again from the very brink of extinction, and they continue to fight that we all may survive.
So it has come that I have sworn my allegiance to Thrall, that I fight on the battlefields of Wintergrasp, and that I adorn myself in the armor of his warriors. I do not fully understand the nature of the weapons we employ, but I am a fierce defender of our Keep, and one of the best gunners around. When I am in a turret, no seige engines may approach our walls. When I man a seige engine, no tower may stand. I gladly fight, and fall, to defend our Keep from the Alliance, who would give us no peace on any terms.
And so yes, I fight for honor, and for glory, I also fight for Thrall. While Thrall lives, the Horde fights on.
For so long that time seems meaningless, or unmeasurable, I have sought to master the skills of my art. Through shadow magic and demonic mastery I sought to control the world around me and destroy the many creatures of evil that inhabit this world. Upon mastery of my skills, I swore to use my powers to destroy the Scourge and the minions of Arthas. And on some occasions, I have been able to band together with like-minded, worthy, and skilled adventurers into the hellish pit of Naxxramas, the Vault, and the Obsidian Sanctum.
But these adventures, while grand, are not the sole purpose of my being. They cannot be. Collecting trinkets here and there while slaying fierce armies of darkness seems almost meaningless when I look at the world around me. The Alliance encroaches upon us at every turn. And we, called the Horde by those who deny our right to exist, can barely see beyond our own petty interests.
My own people, the forsaken, are split. There are those who would see the Scourge encompass the world and destroy all life, out of some twisted sense of vengeance or simply pure evil. And there are those like myself, who understand our nature, but fight against the evil that brought us into existence. We are strong, but divided. The troll-kind are dedicated, but they lack both the numbers and the leadership to push back against the enemy we face. The noble Tauren, a humble people, are true and fierce warriors, but their own nature works against them, as they desire only peace in a world gone mad. They lack the cold, calculated willingness to kill that is all too abundant in my own people.
The blood elves, for all their decorum, polish, and knowledge, are almost useless. They would reclaim their place in the world, yet they dwell on ancient losses, maintain only defensive outposts, and even their greatest city is divided in half by its own people, passable in fractions by those who choose sides in a fight not worth waging.
It was, and is, with some alarm, and fair amount of surprise, that I found myself coming to understand that it is the brutish Orcs who best defend us. It is they who have taken an offensive posture against the Alliance, have set armies against the minions of the Scourge, and have stood as the last line of defense against Arthas, even to the point of fighting alongside the Alliance at times. The Orcs, while violent and uncouth, are a noble warrior people who have fought back time and again from the very brink of extinction, and they continue to fight that we all may survive.
So it has come that I have sworn my allegiance to Thrall, that I fight on the battlefields of Wintergrasp, and that I adorn myself in the armor of his warriors. I do not fully understand the nature of the weapons we employ, but I am a fierce defender of our Keep, and one of the best gunners around. When I am in a turret, no seige engines may approach our walls. When I man a seige engine, no tower may stand. I gladly fight, and fall, to defend our Keep from the Alliance, who would give us no peace on any terms.
And so yes, I fight for honor, and for glory, I also fight for Thrall. While Thrall lives, the Horde fights on.
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