But it isn't like she and her "group" can't drive me off the server—because I've long left it behind. And it was I who originally introduced them to "Minecraft" which I had made a realm and invited them alongside friends. However, when people were suggesting I made a server—I told them it would take me awhile to make one. Well—Niklos couldn't wait and took everyone off from my realm and invited them to 'their server' without inviting me which I had to third-party to get a invite because I didn't even know about it!
And many don't know the actually reason why I left Moon Guard—it was due to "Niklos Adamant" Guild Leader of the Remnants of Lordaeron and it wasn't due to the "Minecraft" incident. They are manipulative and most of this stems due to lack of communication from them and other people. The only person that really communicated to me about any complaints was the leader from the Residuum. Apparently "Niklos" had a problem with me for months but never communicated about it once despite our close proximity in-game and being friends in discord. They never contacted me to expression their complaints to me directly for "months" and when they did contact me about it—
Literally didn't communicated back with me for "months" via discord and accused me of "siccing" my friends after them. When I wasn't even online in-game for that and don't know the full context of what had happened. Just that I was doing a role-play that involved someone wanting to role-play with people from the Cathedral group and that wanted to be involved with my story. But something happened and it blew way out of proportion and was never given screenshots of what actually occurred from either party. But as you can see Niklos hadn't contacted me since December of 2021 and all the way until May of 2022 and /whisper communication in-game was non-existent.
And the screenshots in regards to the conversation that had with Hillsbradian below were originally shown to me by Niklos herself before I joined their discord back in 2019 when I had originally joined Moon Guard and was desperate for friends. I should have taken screenshots but I never thought anything like this could occur in the future with "drama"
Basically they whispered me this tinyurl link that they were "sad" that these screenshots were going around framing them in a bad way and that they were fake. And basically said something like this: "you know that isn't my discord profile picture and name" and I was dumb enough to believe them—because I didn't know better and was just desperate for a friend. However the conversation always hit me as fishy because—"you can change your profile picture and name" at any time!
I stumbled back on the screenshots here on tumblr and clearly other people seem to be aware of them and that they aren't "fake"
I've made even more people aware of them. For example: "Gnews" "Eveneah Rosewood" and some of the core officers and the leader for the "Residuum of Icecrown" are aware of the screenshots and if there is more evidence apparently this Maxen has them.
Including of Bishop "Tyragonfal" which the Residuum of Icecrown does have a document about them with evidence for why they are "blacklisted"
Tyragonfal also stalked my character from the Residuum of Icecrown various times until I had to join a voice chat for the "Midnight Repose" to tell them to stop parking themselves right nearby me in emote range. They would also metagame using their alt in the Residuum of Icecrown at the time called "Nightravens" and they are a 38+ female player who was sending inappropriate messages to the officers from the Residuum of Icecrown in a very "s*xuel matter" and seem to target young men for their "r*pe" kinks and even wrote an inappropriate fanfiction with them and another character without their consent. Eitherway "Midnight Repose" defends them and Niklos gave them a high role in their Remnant of Lordaeron discord.
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Backstory: Once a Bishop in the church of the Light, devout and happily working with the order. Eventually several events by the Cathedral’s clergy put him on a path to corruption which ended up in his redemption at a later date then eventual resignation only to be beaten near to death, healed and beaten again before he left the Church. With the Light having abandoned him in that time of need to cruelty of the High Priestesses judgement despite Odum being the one resigning himself, he turned to the Void and fell deeply into it’s grasp for many years...
Personality: Charming, thoughtful, intense...One might find his personality similar to a counselor or therapist type with his own relaxed twist. Always happy to listen, discourse and comfort those around him.
RP Hooks:
* Maybe you’ve seen him reading in various libraries about Azeroth? Perhaps a book he was reading caught your eye
* Wandering Elwynn at night can bring you before a strange individual known as ‘The Shepherd’
* At an Inn about the Eastern kingdoms? He’s likely about, charming the various people about him and enjoying banter.
* Need magical assistance? Little fliers have likely been seen about the land for a offer to assist from Lisa Jarris. He’ll help, for a price.
Stormwind City Watch is looking for vendors, salespersons, and anyone else with something to offer for its new Kingdom Market! This will be a monthly market hosted at various locations within the Kingdom of Stormwind for Alliance citizens, neutral parties, and region locals. Those attending will be able to show support for the Alliance. Our first Market will be hosted in Stormwind City's Dwarven District on February 12th, starting 6pm WRA server time, and going till 8pm WRA server time. Funds will be raised for the rebuilding of Lakeshire, after the damage it suffered in the Scourge Invasion.
February 12th: Stormwind City, Dwarven District, 6pm-8pm WRA server time [8-10 MG]. This event will be Alliance only, and hosted on WRA.
Contact me at TheHatMan#4547 if your interested in vendoring!
Join our discord to get updates and information on vendors! https://discord.gg/C5PrdwKurb
CW: Blood, gore, body horror, implied murder, guns, implied people death, briefly implied animal death.
Watching.
It is what she did. It is all she could do.
At first, every day was a new experience. She would watch from her small place, wedged into the corner of this grey stone wall. And she would watch the room around her change and grow, not in size but in complexity.
Simple, bare furniture and dusty walls were soon covered in all manner of instruments and objects she didn't understand.
Just as the room changed, she did as well. Her life was enriched with many different things. Taste. Smell. Hearing. Touch. Sometimes these senses were taken from her. Sometimes they were given in such abundance the stimulus lost all meaning.
She soaked in everything she could about the room around her. She counted the stones in the walls. She tasted the ground, felt the air, listened to the creaking of the wood above. It took her a long time to realize the sounds were other people moving through another room above this one. People she would never see. Except for one.
A small human, with red hair. The singular force of chaos in her quiet life. The reason everything changed, including her.
The human was always busy, always talking to herself, always focused on something new. But the human always had time to visit her. She would give her new things. New faces and eyes. New noses and mouths. Hearts and livers and lungs.
Seeing the human work brought to mind an artist at first and the many projects strewn around the room were her pieces of art. Rather than paint, she rendered forms in flesh and bone.
She did not have the pleasure of being art though. She was simply the palette. She was where the colors were held and combined, where they would remain until the human needed them.
It took a great deal of watching and listening to truly understand though, the human was not a painter. The human did her work for understanding. Understanding how flesh fit with other flesh. How bone could be made stronger and sharper. How a heart could be made to pump gallons of blood, rather than a few pints. The human did not value the artistic merit of her works. The human never even spoke of the concept of art in her long-winded muttering and speaking with the numerous shadows in the corners of the room.
That left her with only one question… In all of her life here in her corner, how had she ever learned what art is? How did she know what a human was? How did she know she was a she? Why did her eyes feel so wet when she pondered these things?
Click.
The final pin slid into place and the lock turned. Mordekai let out a sigh. It hadn't been a particularly difficult lock, but chasing after this sort of witch often meant dealing with sinister traps, but there was no magical retort to his finessing the lock open.
The door slowly opened and he peered through the crack that lead beyond the threshold. Taking a moment to survey the room beyond and steady his breath. A bare room, almost as if no one lived here at all. He would have never assumed anything about the building, set outside of Eastvale.
He had tailed a cart in from Stranglethorn Vale, all the way from Booty Bay. Uncovering a goblin cartel who made their profits buying and selling cadavers along the way. Their business was unforgivable, but they were at the center of a larger web of vile individuals who were likely doing more harm than a bunch of bodysnatching goblins.
He left the rest of the Argent Crusade to investigate the cartel while he sought out the ones who were buying the dead.
This one was different though. To bring bodies in closer to the city. To work on them in Elwynn Forest itself. Necromancers never set up so close to a city as big as Stormwind. The utter boldness of this one shook him.
And despite the pristine nature of the empty home, Mordekai knew something was off. Even with his age and fading sense of smell, the metallic twang of blood was still clear to him. The floor was much too clean for the building to be truly abandoned, not even the slightest layer of dust remained on the floor.
This was definitely the right place.
The hammer on Mordekai's revolver drew back as he peered around the corner at the bottom of the steps. He took in a sharp breath… This was far worse than he had thought.
The doorway opened up to a well-lit stone basement. Tables surrounded the outside wall of the room, covered in strange instruments bridging the gap between the tools of a butchery and a place of medicine. So many jars coated the tables, each containing clear water, and a single piece of flesh, some he could identify and some so inhuman and twisted he had to assume they were from a beast. Magical runes glimmered across the cap of each bottle, he didn't recognize them but he assumed they were keeping the contents from fouling.
The center of the room was dominated by a wide table set over a drain at the center of the floor. The table had been scrubbed clean, but the slightly slanted floor was still red with blood that pooled at the drain. A hunched, emaciated figure was already huddled underneath the grim workplace. A woman with red hair, wearing an incredibly heavy smock.
The woman wasn’t hiding. She was elbow-deep in the drain, muttering to herself as she dredged clotted mounds of human hair and discarded flesh out of it, dumping them by hand into a bucket next to her. The drain gurgled and all of the pooled blood began to drain away.
The woman had only just begun to back up out of underneath the table when she heard a single footstep accompanied by a worn voice. “Don’t move.” Her head jerked towards the doorway, staring up the barrel of Mordekai’s gun.
Her expression shifted and tears began to pour down her eyes. “Thank the Light you’ve come! They...the goblins… They’ve been forcing me to work down here.” Her voice cracked as she let out a sob. She crawled in his direction, out from under the table.
Mordekai’s gun sagged towards the ground briefly. “Light help us all. What are they making you…” He went silent and his gun flung back up. As she passed into the sterile light of the electrical lamp over the table, she cast no shadow. To someone with his experience, he recognized it immediately for what it was. He pulled the trigger before she could even react.
So much happened in an instant. The red-haired witch tumbled backwards across the table, caught in the chest by the round. In this enclosed space the sheer noise of the firearm discharging was deafening, but an unholy roar of pain erupted from deeper in the room, around a corner beyond his sight. Dozens of mouths screaming in unison.
He spun around, his free-hand pulling a thin bottle from beneath his cloak only to whip it downwards at his own shadow. His unusually dark silhouette across the ground burst into flames on contact with the holy water and erupted in its own chorus of screams. He reeled away from it back towards the bloodstained center of the room but it remained, his true shadow peeling from the living darkness as it struggled to claw its way up from the floor like someone crawling out of a deep, dark hole. Its shapeless ink-like form refusing to manifest into anything more than a smouldering, screaming black husk as the blessed water tried to force it from this world.
Mordekai moved with practice and precision, holstering his revolver to draw a different handgun, a single-shot flintlock weapon. He loaded a single, glimmering round and fired through the creature. Its form bloated on impact from the magical ammunition, the bonds that held it to this reality fraying as it finally popped like a zit, tangible shadows spattered against the doorway he'd came through.
Without a single moment of hesitation, he spun back towards the witch, reloading the gun with a second blessed round, but she was already gone. A trail of blood left behind her leading around the corner deeper into the horrible flesh laboratory.
He followed hastily, but with caution. His breath caught in his throat when he rounded the corner and found no witch, but rather the source of the horrible chorus of screams. “May the Light preserve me…” A wall of living flesh stood before him, dozens of crying eyes peering down upon him. He saw beating hearts, breathing lungs, drooling maws. A large gap was cut down its center and it bled like a punctured wineskin. Beyond the bloody gash was a rough path. The witch’s escape route.
Mordekai could not bring himself to push past the horrible, sorry creature. This was not necromancy. This thing, whatever it was, whoever it used to be...was alive, woven into the stone of the wall, sagging forward off of it with dozens of twitching, immobile limbs. The monstrosity didn't react to him, only keeping its numerous misplaced eyes upon Argent Witchhunter.
“I’m sorry… So sorry I wasn’t here earlier to save you from this.” He holstered his gun and took two small satchels out from under his cloak. One he placed directly up against the horrific creature’s gurgling mass. “I don’t know if you understand me. Part of me hopes you don’t, but if you do you deserve to know what I’m doing. I’m going to kill you. It will be as fast as I can make it, and you won’t hurt anymore when it's done. You can be mad at me, you’ve every right to. I pray by the Light’s mercy you find peace and safety in the afterlife, far from anyone or anything that can do this to you. And I pray the Light will forgive me for ending your life.”
Turning to walk away, he set the second charge at the bottom of the stairs as he quickly made his way out. With trembling hands, he set off the explosives. The deep thump shook the ground briefly and the whole building buckled inward, collapsing into nothing but a pile of rubble.
“And I want you to know, I won’t let this happen to anyone else.”
All intelligence having been coordinated with the Ebon Blade, the time of their attempted infiltration of Torghast in order to rescue AEF VIP’s was coordinated with the Council of Harvester’s assault on Castle Nathria.
Elements of the AEF joined the Council’s assault with the specific job of either securing or destroying the enemy’s anima stores in their entirety. Given the disruption to their supply chain caused by both the AEF raid on the Halls of Atonement and the AEF occupation of Darkhaven, the loss of their stored anima was judged to be an optimal target.
It should be noted that planning for this operation was made possible by PVT Davenport, who managed to secure the anima-storage details regarding our AOP during our initial seizure of OP Darkhaven.
The AEF entered Castle Nathria and, after eliminating a small guard force, proceeded to the anima storage area.
Outside the entrance to the anima storage area, SGM Brightmaul halted the column and searched the doorway. This proved to be fruitful, as he discovered that the doorway had been rigged with a quick-release mechanism to deploy the portcullis. He also discovered that the enemy had copied KNT Farnal’s warding design, presumably as a method of blocking Azerothian-style portals in addition to anima-based ones. MSG Goldmane disabled the booby trap on the door, and I altered the wards in order to seize control of them, effectively operating the enemy’s efforts against them. The AEF then proceeded into the anima storage area, at which point they were confronted by enemy forces in the form of three venthyr who appear to have used local anima reserves as a force-multiplier.
Those venthyr attempted to mirror-teleport an unknown force in to assist their assault. However, due to SGM Brightmaul’s planning, they were unable to do so, and their failure to do so combined with Goldmane’s securing of our exit left the enemy venthyr without reinforcement, effectively counter-ambushing their ambush.
During the combat, it was discovered that Puckmuck, our liaison from the Council, was in fact a spy as he’d claimed. However, more specifically, he was a spy for Denathrian forces, which explains many of the recent occurrences and security lapses, as well as the ambush into which we would almost surely have walked but for SGM Brightmaul’s keen eyes.
CDR Felmourne ensured that Puckmuck would cease to represent a security threat using direct methods that hardly need be belabored.[1:47 PM]AEF Forces prevailed easily in their counter-ambush, securing the anima storage area. Explosives were affixed to all anima storage devices by CDR Felmourne, taking advantage of his ability to do so aerially. At this point, a decision had to be made.
All available intel at the moment indicated that Denathrian forces had, in fact, been prepared to ambush our assault. Given Puckmuck’s status, I assumed that Denathrian forces had been alerted not simply to our goals, but also to the Council’s assault as a whole. Given the attempt to portal, I also assumed that a significant Denathrian force was on its way via more conventional means to challenge us, leaving us with a minimal-time window.
The Council of Harvesters had previously expressed to the AEF its desire to seize the anima storage containers intact. It may be that this was possible—I am unsure. However, it is also possible, given the information available to me, that a massive counterassault was imminent and that Council reinforcements would not be forthcoming, having been ambushed similarly to the one planned for us.
As a result, on my own authority, I determined to destroy the anima reserves rather than attempt to preserve them, and to evacuate the AEF to Oribos rather than face the counterattack. This action fulfilled all AEF mission goals completely—but may have left the Council of Harvesters less than enthusiastic about further cooperation with the AEF. On the other hand, risking AEF lives for the purpose of possibly improving diplomatic relations with the Council on the off-chance that they prevailed against their ambush seemed, in the calculus of death, to be inadvisable. Responsibility for this decision is entirely mine, and I am prepared to answer for it. I will reach out to the Council in the coming week to attempt to repair at least some of the diplomatic damage, though I do not know how successful I will be. Revendreth, like Maldraxxus, should NOT be considered a safe zone for AEF troops off-duty. Off-duty troops seeking leisure shall restrict themselves to Bastion or Ardenweald, which has previously been secured by Horde AEF members.
We await reports from the Ebon Blade as to the success or failure of our primary mission.
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*Somewhere in the forests north of Stormwind, west of the mountainous Steppes*
His fire crackled with that reclusive sort of pop one found only amidst the clearing of a wilderness camp. An accompaniment to the soundtrack of shooting stars across silent skies above, brief, blinding flares traversing distant constellations of uncaring light. Snap. Crackle. The occasional hiss, flaring out like those dying stars overhead. Sounds that echoed in the quiet, yet did little to make the listener feel less alone… little to warm their spirit, even if the fire warmed their flesh.
Or at least, that’s what he -assumed- it sounded like, given his mood of late. As it was, he’d not have heard a kodo crashing their way over the canopy-rattling rumble of Soap’s snores.
LImbs all sorts of anatomically improbable akimbo, balls to Elune as if he were auditioning to replace Malorne, the great, shaggy beast lie on his back, cannonball-sized head pillowed upon Dan’s lap. The logs being sawn rattled -so- loudly, it was a wonder the snaggletooth bared by drooping lips wasn’t loosening in its gums. He hadn’t heard a buzzing half as harsh since that one time an ex’s goblin-crafted contraption went on the fritz, and, well…
Anyway, that was neither here nor there, even if she’d found herself clinging by fingernails to the ceiling for a time. Few and far between were the memories that made him smile these days, so he took a moment to appreciate the ludicrousness of it all, rubbing a bit longer at Soap’s exposed belly.
He’d tried stopping once or twice to drink his tea, but the big, furry baby just wriggled on its back and whined through sleep; too lazy to actually -wake- in search of continued belly skritches, yet entirely too content in -receiving- them that any interruption troubled its deepest doggy dreams.
Ah well. A warm dog was infinitely better than hot tea anyway, and he could always brew another pot later. Provided his foot woke back up after being crushed so long under the weight of Soap’s skull.
But then, amidst the sawing of logs came a sudden silence, something that shook poor Dan further to his core than even those deafening reverberations.
Something silent…
but deadly.
It filled the clearing in the aftermath of those ripsaw snores, as if a buildup of gas in the beast’s belly had been the cause of his titanic snorts. Silent, now, as the fart that had just been unleashed, Soap deflated into a drooling puddle that finally spilled off Dan’s lap.
Well… -Westfall- girls might make do, but -they- wouldn’t be making do with Westfall stew for dinner again, that was for sure.
He was past the dancing circle of firelight that spilled beyond their clearing, and halfway to the stream beyond when his eyes stopped watering. It took a little longer for the dogfart filling his nostrils to fade into the simple, honest stink of singed nose hairs. Shaking his head to clear it from the fumes, and his foot to scatter the pins and needles, he reached the water’s edge and squatted down at last… closing his eyes and breathing deeply, gratefully, of the fresher air.
Perched there for quite some time, he was oblivious to aught but recovering from his ordeal, presenting quite a sight in naught but boots, belt and butt-flap longjohns.
He rubbed his eyes all the way dry before opening them at last... noticing, only then, a faint glow in the woods beyond the stream’s far bank.
And the even fainter reflection of that light off a body bathing upstream...
