#dk stuff

The Family lived a relatively comfortable life in Tranquillen, with the expectations of the children to follow in their father’s footsteps. Unfortunately, the three did not have the discipline to follow the route of a Paladin or Magister, and all three had found their own paths. Ozriel, becoming a Warrior and a skilled swordsman, and later a captain. Sariael a Ranger who prefers the wilds and the company of her Wolfdog Albedo than civilization. Katriael a rogue and accomplished assassin after discovering that she had little patience with learning how to use the Light.  Their family fell apart after their father fell at the hands of Arthas and the Scourge for his stubbornness, and their eldest brother decided to go to Northrend later to avenge their family and help kill Arthas the “butcher” for the destruction of their home. Later, he joined with the Argent Dawn in order to give him more of a purpose than serving his own people. Even without the use of the light, Oz was still formidable against the undead left in the Eastern Kingdoms.

Once it Northrend, he became a captain of a mixed troop of races that composed of both the Alliance and Horde. Even with death lurking about, it became harder to manage a troop that clung to old prejudices. Over time, they became a bit like a family of misfits than just soldiers. They told each other stories, exchanged jokes and pleasantries, and sometimes sang together.  The pain of losing one member to the undead was like losing a family. 

During his journey, he and his company began their efforts destroy as much of the Lich King’s progress as much as possible with the use of guerrilla tactics. Firebombing areas where the undead built their necropolis and other tactics that would gain a strategic foothold. Conventional head-on tactics did not work against the Scourge on their own Homefront, so it was time to think of other strategies. 

Their successes rose slowly, but their decline came quick. Even as they hunted the scourge and put a block in the Scourge war machine, it was only a matter of time before they were hunted themselves.

His scouts were killed, and soldiers were being picked off one by one in the shadows. It was only a matter of time before the remaining realized that now they were prey. Even as they moved on, shade eyes watched their movements, listen to their conversation and relayed it back to their commander.

Retreating back, Oriel lost more of his men as the undead chased them as if they were foxes being chased by a pack of hungry hounds. And each time his men fell, they were risen and joined the ranks of the undead army. Once he and a handful of his men were cornered, they made their stand and fought back. As  Ozriel made his final stand, the leader of the “hounds” that hunted him fought the warrior. Although Oz held his own as much as he could, exhaustion from the cold, as well as his injuries, took their toll. As insult to injury, the Death Knight played with him until deciding the fight was pathetic enough to warrant the warrior a death. With the final strike, the Death knight ran the elf through with his blade.

As the shadow of death overcame him, he was jerked back to the world of the living screaming in anguish and rage. In his enraged state, Ozriel grabbed the nearest person close to him-- an unlucky necromancer who was too close to the newly risen Death Knight. As the necromancers watched as the necromancer’s neck snapped, the Death knight who brought Ozriel’s body to be reanimated only smiled and laughed at the elf’s anguish and bloodlust.

Our DKs are unholy too. It must be a gear thing because their DPS is rly good most of the time, but could it be lots of opportunities for dot spreading? Frost diseases aren’t that good iirc..?

I think there is also that; some bosses favor one spec over the other for sure. Like on Tectus I was easily doing 30k because of all the multi-target damage, and Brackenspore had similar (slightly lower) results due to the large adds that meant some multi-target as well as extra soul reaping. The purely single-target fights have Frost come out way ahead, though (as well as Ko'ragh since he absorbs magic damage and the adds die too fast for ramp-up).

The sims showing me as lower with Unholy overall just make me think it must be a gear issue. I'm only 655 and have a couple lower-ilvl pieces that I just can't replace, so the spec might be really fragile with a steep curve.

dimedog replied to your post: Unholy still underperforming by a soli...

i try not to judge meters too rough on launch patches ‘cause they’re usually all bonkers before blizz puts out x.1 to even it up a bit better

I KEEP TRYING TO TELL MYSELF THIS I just feel like a big disgusting traitor. Poor Timmy, cowering in hammerspace and waiting for me to summon him again.

This has been my spec since 3.3. It's my in-character spec so it's dear to me on a personal level, and I overall prefer its more active playstyle. I stood up for the spec when everyone said it couldn't perform in PvE and blew peoples' doubts out of the water. I will stan Unholy until the day I finally quit this game.

I'm looking at all the high-end DKs and every last one of them seems to prefer Unholy this tier. All high-end sims show Unholy supposedly pulling more. The only thing I can think of is that it scales at a much sharper curve with gear, or that it's incredibly dependent on secondary stats-- I have several pieces with bad secondaries, but they're bad for both specs, and this doesn't seem to impact my damage as Frost too terribly. My only comfort is that it's not me being a shit player, because running my own character through sims puts a solid 1k difference favoring Frost.

But I'm still sad.

His hand shakes as he writes. It has been an age since he held a pen, and this one is not made for tauren hands. The writing is slow. His frustration and sorrow destroys more than one attempt, and twice he decides to annul the promise he made his truest friend swear. He will help her anyway. He will open himself to the whirlwind of urges and indulge that sing-song desire to hurt, but leave no burden on his anchor.

Nevertheless, he cannot stop writing. Even as the quill wears dull and the scribe’s paper piles at his feet, new attempts arise. Echoes of things he has bitten back, torn down and cast aside rise in his stomach like worms through soil. The only way to sate them is write.

The final draft pains him. It brings that terrible hurt to the surface and does not give the satisfaction his restless spirit craves. This is a terrible half-truth. A lie with an honest core. It is an affront to his integrity, and does little to quell the tide of his unease.

He tells himself it isn’t for him. This is not meant to calm his many maladies of soul. This is for the peace of another. In truth, he had hoped it would settle some of his own concerns. That is so far removed from the purpose of the letter that the disappointment is only alive for moments. Another scar he will forget.

Selfishly, he hopes Astoreth cannot read Taurahe. He hopes she is merely confused by his request, and never understands that she is now a part of his conspiracy. It’s a terrible thing he will ask his friend to do, but there is no one else in the long history of the world that might do it. Least of all himself.

His hand is still shaking as he rolls the dry parchment and binds it with black string. He does not seal it. Astoreth has a right to know what it is she possesses, even if his cowardice will not permit him to tell her. He slides the letter into its sheath of hardened leather and screws the cap closed. He will wear it on his hip until his friend’s troubles are solved. He will put it in her hands when relief has pushed aside the worry for her family. When she is weak with exhaustion and trauma. He will take advantage of his truest friend, and pray she finds a means to forgive his quiet transgression.

Will he be able to say Kota’s name when he asks Astoreth to deliver this letter to the Bluff?

Brave Sootmane,

This is a hard letter to write. I knew Sequoia in life, and the memories of his fall are some of the deepest shadows in my mind. This is why his spirit pleaded with me to write those many years ago. It has taken me some time to muster the courage to put this ink to parchment, and time means different things for you and I.

Your father did his best to be a good man. Even during the war, he was a soul too gentle to turn his hunting bow on men. He made a name for himself as a messenger, running the distance from Mulgore to Durotar to keep generals aware of the happenings on the Barren’s Front. A letter in his hand was as good as delivered. In a hundred notes to a hundred important men, his hooves never failed to get him to his quarry. Ever the huntsman, he could not bring himself to miss his mark.

In the lull between sorties, he was at home. Whether home was in your mother’s arms at Camp Taurajo, or hunting on the Mulgore plain, depended on the moon. The day you were born, the plain lost much of its claim on the huntsman. He told many stories of your growing. Enough that I feel well-qualified to identify the zeal far and above even the token pride of a father. His love for you and mother knew no bounds, and many of his compatriots grew weary at the frequency of his familial tales.

As to your name, Kota Sootmane, there are two sources. Sequoia wished to name you after his wolf Uyachee, but Aketa would have none of it. Kota is her father’s name, the name of the willful Highmountain who wooed the proudest warrior of Grimtotem. It is his songs in your blood that make you a romantic. Much better than an aging dog. Why you were a Sootmane and not a Redmesa is simple: when you were born, your pelt was dark like your mother’s. Your grandmother’s Grimtotem blood is what gives you your temper, and makes you a strong brave of Thunder Bluff. This is why you wear her tribename.

Sequoia called you Uyachee until your third year, when a furious Aketa caught him doing it and tanned his hide. You were ever your mother’s son, but he loved you no less for it. They would both be be proud that you keep the old ways, even if you do not hunt or heal. They would be so proud of you, Kota.

If you have read this far, it is time I addressed the heart of the matter.

When your mother died, your father did not go to his death knowing he would abandon you. His fury was stoked by the knowledge that you had died with his Aketa. He did not know, could not know, you had gone to Bloodhoof in his absence. When he stood against the dwarves that slew your mother, when he died with the blood of vengeance on his bow, he did so believing he had nothing left in this life. He died believing Aketa and Kota Stoomane were long in the arms of the Earthmother. Only in Her bright clearing, at the end of the Winding Trail, did he see his son was not waiting for him.

And so his wandering ghost came to me, who has long had one hoof in that very clearing.

He watches you even now. He will not pass unto the ancestors without your understanding. Hold on to your hatred if you must, but do so with the truth of things.

Winds be at your back,