Hey WrA. I also posted this to Moon Guard, as I am trying to find a guild first before investing in leveling toons on a new server. Refugee from Kirin Tor-US here, veteran player from an unfortunately dead RP guild on a dead RP server group. I am looking for a new guild to call home. Below is a bit of a primer on my character in (very) short story format. I include it with the hopes that someone might read it and judge whether or not I’d be a good fit for their community. My character is a deeply philosophical/spiritual person, will likely be a Mage, Paladin, Evoker, or Priest. They’ll be concerned with researching the nature of reality as the World Soul Saga unfolds (did you know the concept of a ‘world soul’ is as old as Western philosophy itself, and was first espoused by Plato? Search Wikipedia for ‘anima mundi.’) and wrestling especially with the moral corollaries of the interactions and struggles between Void, Light, Life, etc.
IRL, I am a Latin teacher. Married, two kids. I like to garden, do Judo, and read. I have graduate degrees in philosophy and related disciplines, and continue to publish in academic philosophical, historical, and theological journals. My character is really a way for me to ‘embody’ some of the questions that works of art like this video game allow me to wrestle through, and try to give a narrative, compelling, embodied answer in the form of my character’s story. US-ESTZ, usually on after 7pm.
- What follows is IC
Stepping into the Pig and Whistle tavern, the generalized bustle of Stormwind City fades out of Garta’s perception as the intimate frivolity of the patrons swells. This tavern, he knows, has quite a history, and therefore he walks toward the barkeep more interested in gossip than drink. It has been long since he last stepped foot here. Fond memories of years ago, and the Society of adventurers that called it home, flitted though his mind. Maegan Tillman, the sweet middle-aged innkeeper, poured Garta an ale as he pulled up a chair. He asks of news in the realm, and as the conversation begins, is impressed with the sense that Azeroth has changed quite a bit since he had paid it much mind. Terrible and still-sore tales of Teldrassil, the Fourth War, the Black Empire and the successive wars against the Jailer and the Primalists caused Garta to drink a bit faster from his tankard. He was there for…some of it. Hard to remember. If he was truthful with himself, he saw and felt the cynicism from that time. Azeroth was broken beyond repair. What use was it to pick up his weapon to defend the innocent, or pursue righteousness and truth? The shadows will always return…
“Nothing is changing…” he thought to himself. Maegan’s voice faded into the background as he remembered the names and faces of the Pig and Whistle Society’s fallen and forgotten. The company was once as well-renowned as it was peopled with fine adventurers. Friends. He looked up to them. He joined them as barely a teenager, and they left a deep mark on his personality. They probably didn’t even know how much effect they had on a young boy just trying to find his way in Azeroth in the days before the Lich King’s invasion.
“…and the dragons, ah!” Maegan was excited now. Garta tuned in. She told him of the Flights, and the victory and fellowship now established for the first time since the dark betrayals of Neltharion. Even Bronze and Infinite, it seemed, were mending timeless wounds.
A long swig of ale, and something stirred deep inside Garta.
“But now, whispers of Void, and an ancient enemy.” Garta scoffed, and Maegan paused. “Forgive me,” he said to her “I have…lost hope for this world. Nothing changes. The forces of death and evil always return.”
Maegan smiled with disarming pity, and filled his tankard on the house.
“You know, I’ve thought about having a baby with my husband.” This personal detail stunned Garta, and he could not hide his astonishment. But Maegan was looking at him kindly, and kept speaking. “Many of my friends asked me why I would bring a child into this world, when the future looks even worse than the bleak past.” Garta looked down into his mug. He saw the Society, storming Icecrown Citadel. He missed them. He was so young…
“I see what they mean. It scares me too. There’s a lot of evidence that they will suffer, and of course I would spare them whatever suffering I could.” She wrung her hands, and now scanned the Pig & Whistle, looking kindly at the diversity of patrons.
“But if our world faces danger and challenges, there is nothing more important than the minds of the young, whose world this is, and who belong to it, too. They are the ones, with the fresh ideas and fearlessness, who will lend new vitality to Azeroth’s struggles against the dark. New generations are our hope,” she turned to Garta, “as well as those who would be willing to see this world with the eyes of a child.”
He returned an uncertain smile. Yet her hope touched him deep down inside. For better or worse, he was here, in Azeroth. He glanced around the tavern. The many empty seats and tables were suddenly filled with the familiar figures of his former Pig & Whistle Society friends. He saw them talking, laughing, sharing in bread and ale and tales, resting and preparing to face the evil in the world with fortitude and courage and a healthy dose of wonder at the unknown. “Yes! Wonder! The eyes of a child!” he thought, and pulled out a miniscule codex. “A new tale. I know not how it ends, but…” he began to scribble furiously on the first page, and Maegan smiled, her eyes were the last part of her to turn away from Garta and toward another patron. Garta finished writing, and with a frenzied breath, sat up to read the title he wrote on the first page of his codex.
“The Pig & Whistle Adventure: A New Chapter of an Old Tale.”
He closed the codex, and uncertainty crept in with the sound of the pages crinkling. He finished his ale, laid his coppers on the bar, picked up his hammer, and set off toward the exit. As he walked, the summary of major recent events replayed at lightning speed through his head. He reached the first cobblestone of the street, the warmth of the sunset illumined his armor and blushed his face, and with the sudden force of a surprising and furious blow, his eyesight failed, his mind blanked, and he collapsed to the ground.
…and he saw the blazing light, and heard the Radiant Song, and he was afraid.