 | VoicePost  179K 0:53 | (no transcription available) |
Begin recording thirteen.
I suppose it should be noted that Mr. Axe was liberated in a flurry of questionnaires distributed out of stupidity, and the brilliant minds in Orgrimmar. He spoke not a word to me, which is preferred.
Hallow's End passed without ceremony, and on its heels came the most disgraceful holiday which had Saraquael up in arms about us being TWINS of all things. A "special day to honor the dead." Fie. One can honor the fel damned dead every day of the week by paying homage to the Dark Lady and her subjects. Who honors the dead with BREAD of all things? It is disrespectful and rude. However, the stupid Forsaken requested it - I suppose his life beyond the pale is without the sour taste of plagued grain.
Goldshire, as it were, remains as disgusting as ever.
End recording.
[END RECORDING]
Dear finger wigglers,
Please to be standing there in pretty robes waving your hands at me in a rhythmic manner. It makes it so much more fun when I come up and BREAK YOUR FUCKING NOSE.
Now you can't cast your stupid frippy spells because you sound like you have a cold. Boo hoo.
-Audre
| VoicePost 267K 1:18 | (no transcription available) |
Begin recording twelve.
My sacrifice to the Horde continues on so as not to have my so-called colleagues go and muck up whatever reputation I have left in the Undercity, just by association. A woman could not ask for a more inept group of idiots to call allies. There are only two who have proven themselves to have any sort of brain for subtlety or espionage, and one of them happens to be a part time Nether Cadet, and the other has most likely been eaten by the Grimtotem.
That being said, I have been urged to inquire about the Undercity for Mr. Axe, the very person whose scrutiny I was happy to have escaped these past few weeks after my return. The fellow swooped in like some sort of rabid animal, judged me unjustly for my debt to the Horde, and left me appearing as quite the traitor for my allegiances and associations outside of the Zephyr Crew. I have given every year of my unlife to this pathetic organization, forgoing my duty to serve the Dark Lady, due to a debt I owe ... and now due to the fact that these inept fools would be useless without me.
My search will be brief; it is not as if the Crew will be conducting a survey of my efficacy.
End recording.
[END RECORDING]
| VoicePost 111K 0:34 | (no transcription available) |
[BEGIN RECORDING]
Begin recording eleven.
I must do well to remind myself that the weakness within the Horde of simple emotion and fear cannot be allowed to cloud my own mind.
The ridiculous feelings and hearts of my allies are so easily injured. I cannot allow myself to become so vulnerable.
I must remain indestructible in the face of my own ruin.
End recording.
[END RECORDING]
Dear Diary,
My life in a nutshell:
1) Get preyed upon by horny bears in thongs.
2) Get stuck under rock.
3) FOR THREE MONTHS.
4) Get picked up by Tauren Theatre Troupe.
5) Get abandoned for making too many burger jokes.
6) Get to Dalaran by sleeping with kinky mages.
7) That last part is a lie. I had to pay a lot of money.
8) OR MAYBE THAT ONE IS A LIE?! HUH?! HUH?
9) Find out that my Tome is Dark.
10) Write to Lord Assweaver.
11) Go to party.
12) Get high five from the Assweaver.
13) Nearly get knocked unconscious by flailing Death Knight.
14) GET TO JUDGE PEOPLE'S FASHION SENSE!
15) See Assweaver shove his tongue down Meri's throat. GROSS.
16) Run into insane elf.
I think the three months under a rock, thinking about how awesome my life has been, was better than the past four hours.
Although I met a really nice
-Aud
| VoicePost 225K 1:07 | (no transcription available) |
Begin recording ten.
While I understand the living races' misguided desire to have closeness - some sort of bond beyond the horrors of what this world presents - we Forsaken operate under a different paradigm.
The emotion of "love" has been replaced by "desire." Desire for power, vengeance, control. For those of us who feel whatever misguided compulsion to "love," they are directed to the killing fields. Love is a battlefield, as it were; we are a people who make war, not love. After all, the rules of the battlefield are the same as the rules of engagement: the importance of strategy; the thrill of victory; and the loss of defeat.
Much like "love," the ultimate sacrifice remains the same. The passion for another should be put, instead, into the passion for the Forsaken people as a whole - to wage war and vengeance for them will bring much greater reward than one's inevitable heartbreak.
For who can truly love a monster?
End recording.
[END RECORDING]
| VoicePost 223K 1:07 | (no transcription available) |
Begin recording nine.
It has been a horrendous week.
Imagine, if you will, that you experienced a small moment of confusion which was - for you - a small moment, but - for others - was actually a much longer moment of confusion which, when you returned from your confusing excursion has left you completely out of sorts.
Five months, if one can believe that. Five months have passed, in such time as I have lost my lodgings; the majority of my belongings; and have been relegated once again to signing purchase orders and paycheques for the Deathstalkers until I have once again "Paid My Dues" as it were. Such disappearances cannot be forgiven, I have been told; however, I suppose one learns one's lesson quickly.
Heavily modified gifts of demonic origin should not be accepted by anyone, no matter how helpfully given.
I should not play with magic, and instead stick with knife work. The point of which is so much more easily understood.
End recording.
[END RECORDING]
Nearly four months after Caeryn's disappearance, a solitary flying machine appeared in the Nether. Inside of which was awkwardly placed an Forsaken in the process of wiring a Demonic Capacitor into the guidance mechanism of a beaten gyrocopter. The Nether was noiseless, which caught the woman's attention. Carefully, she raised her head from the innards of the contraption and sniffed at her surroundings.
"Unexpected development," she said, and scrambled back into the machine's workings to quickly un-attach the wires from the Demoic Capacitor given to her by Lord Plagos Deathweaver. And - as suddenly as the Flying Machine appeared - it was gone.
The entire process took about thirty seconds.
Thirty seconds, rounded up to about four months.
One expansion late; however, I have wanted this thing for sooooo long, it took a looming "PROCEDURE" with a terrible prep-day to make it so.
In other news, the raiding guild I joined fell ill, and I was invited to join a new one. So I did. As is the way of things in raiding. Shiny and new. New and shiny. Sonia (aka Audre) and Milldred (aka Ardha) have left for Dragonny-er pastures. They sit happily guilded/unguilded - Horde/Alliance and are just waiting to let the good times roll.
That being said, my good friend on Ravenholdt has come back to the server, and we had a spot of fun running amok In Hillsbrad taunting gankers with our level 28 Shaman (me) and Warrior (him). We were ganked many a time, but I don't think that me running around a level 80 rogue, while in wolf form, spamming "lol" ..... Nah, I don't think that was helping. ;)
I think a lowbie spamming "kek" is pretty much begging for a backstabbing.
"What?!" you say? "It's rogue splooge! It's everywhere! It's the new one button roguery trick!"
That's the problem, friends.
Rogue rotations are supposed to be difficult, challenging, and not nails-on-a-chalkboard grinding. When I find out that someone is topping the DPS charts without even hitting Sinister Strike, my brain broke. And YES, they're a combat rogue, so SS is teh standurd.
ROGUES ARE NOT A SPAMMABLE CLASS!
They are not facerollers, nor are they easy to play. They are challenging, with a lot of stuff to pay attention to and keep a mind on. When I hit 6290 DPS on XT-Deconstructor (/egostroke), I want to be able to say, "I /earned/ that!" Not, "lol FoK u 2."
Fan of Knives hurts my theorycrafting little heart, and I am glad to see it get bitchslapped.
A week later, this is a conversation I had with someone I had role played with twice:
----------------------------------------
Caeryn: "Hey, you want to group up?"
Dude: "For what?"
Caeryn: "Get these gankers."
Dude: "You don't want me, I'm not the right spec."
Caeryn: "Yes I do. I know you, we've RP'd together a couple of times, and I have a character in your guild."
Dude: "LOL. You are not a role player. You are a raider."
Caeryn: "..."
Caeryn: "So that's a no on taking out the gankers."
Dude: "I'm not the right spec."
Caeryn: "Have fun getting out of here."
----------------------------------------
NOW: Caeryn is in 3 pieces of T8.5 and is otherwise decked out in Ulduar gear. She has a well known raiding guild tag under her name. Still, it was weird being on the other end. Anyway, I have fallen back in love with theorycrafting and number crunching. RP has taken a back seat for a while, possibly for a long while, while I spend my weeks kicking ass and taking names and climbing the meters. Sad? Is it? I don't really care.
| VoicePost 253K 1:15 | (no transcription available) |
Begin recording one.
It has come to my attention that certain records of "diplomatic" actions want special attention, by which I mean "the ability to be recalled later with relative ease." The activity of the past few days, most notably the activity surrounding the unrest among the Orc people, has me considering my acts of Diplomacy a success. Meaning that the Orcs are still worried over the temper tantrum thrown by their leader, and boo-hoo'ing over the impotency of their Clan.
Other matters what have passed my attention are the Order's recent interest in Alliance activity, which has me in a flurry concerning official word from the Undercity, and preparing "official" statements, should the Order be questioned. However, the Blademaiden is young, and tempermental, discussions of politics and bureaucracy bore her, and she is not overly concerned with "official statements." Nevertheless, should the Order continue to attack relatively unprotected Alliance outposts, we shall need to have some sort of official record of our deeds.
Late nights passed in Venomspite have been a flurry of thought in deed.
End recording.
[END RECORDING]
Stay tuned for posts from Caeryn Ashwood the Politician of the Undercity.
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