Dascombe

^------- Scorpio's hit the nail on the head here. There's been quite a few times i've been wanting to do other events however because there's been a 'world ending' sort of apocalypse around the corner, everything else has naturally had to go on hold because it makes no sense ICly to go do minor tasks when there's something so big about to occur. It would be nice to see more common stuff happen. I believe there was mention a while ago of more self-determination amongst NPCs whereby they start springing up their own settlements and stuff? I mean take for example Tent Town and Egtown? How do the two communicate / exchange goods at all? I wouldn't mind betting now with the Sand Reaver threat gone there would be trials of refugees taking the beach (safest rout) to go between these two towns either to trade goods or simply to communicate with friends & family. As a natural and organic result of this perhaps have a small refugee 'outpost' appear half-way between the two that starts to ask players for help dealing with local issues? (IE: they are next to the sea but have little drinking water, bring them X10 fresh water and X other goods to make a water filtration system?)

I'm currently in the progress of sorta kick-starting some more player initiative stuff but I think at the moment there is (as APBD put it) too much going on: 1.) Kolai 2.) Twilight's Hammer 3.) Eredar demoness 4.) Volcano going overload And thats not to mention the defunct / dead / dying storylines that could really do with a wrap up: 1.) Blood of Opej Gems (I know quite a lot of players still have these in their inventories, the Black Golem is supposely powered by one) 2.) The Nightmare (Still got a fragment of it on Gruk) 3.) Sotoras (What have they been doing in the meantime?) 4.) Kolai (Not much happening bar that recent thing posted by Ingired) I think what folks need to realize is that there is -still- only a small number of players on US with a great many having not returned / not interested. A brief chat with a decent few has led me to realize that the talk of 'Ice Island' is fairly common knowledge now and quite a lot of folks are simply waiting for this change in scenery. In addition when you have the player base more or less split between Opej and Menhirs you basically have two 'sets' of storylines going on. Further to this, I think the eternal tie in with the 'Old Gods' still needs to tone down a bit. I get that in retail they are ultimately the 'BBEG' and 99% of bad shit happening can be led back to them but it doesn't have to be that way. I'm sincirely hoping that this 'four horseman' stuff happening now is something unrelated and completely it's own separate entity in terms of 'evildoer'. That having been said whilst I do like the look of the four horsemen as a 'standalone' threat, APBD has got a good point in highlighting the lack of 'mundane' villains. The one reason I liked the Opej Crystals storyline is because it put the threat of them in the hands of players: they were only really problematic when players started using them recklessly (which they usually do, a lot of us play careless characters!) and that is where the threat came from: players.

Hobo Race: Goblin Ag--- Woah woah hold up bud, what are you doing? No no no, stop that stupid 'format' nonsense, you want a biography? Sit down and let Hobo here tell ya the story! Alright... so a long long time ago way back when... 'war of the ancients'? No too far back you moron, lets go back to just when this 'Burning Crusade' thing happened... I already said -NO- to the 'war of the ancients'... oh for pity's sake: When the portal re-opened, got it? Back when if you were a Goblin like me you had a few options: strike it lucky and get rich as a trade baron, create some marvellous feat of engineering, or end up slaving away in the Kajamite mines along with the Trolls. Or you could win it big in the arenas! Guess which one ol' Hobo went with? Oh I was glorious, cutting down droves of my enemies, two versus two, three versus three, or even the lucrative five-versus-five arena matches! Arena fights were brill as you fought not just humans but Orcs too! Completely impartial as long as you cut down -everyone-! Of course this was back in the ways when being a warrior was good money, you waded in with strength galore and armour capable of granting you critical strikes that ended up with some beautiful decapitations across the arena floor. Years of doing meager quests for strangers paid off as I became stronger and stronger over the years! Yes yes, i'm getting to that bit, hold on I'm what you call 'old school', whilst all these chumps were off and about killing whatever big bad evil guy there was to be killed I was off slaughtering their buddies across the land, I was doing these 'arena' things before they were known as 'arenas'! Little hot spots from the Crossroads in Kalimdor to Tarren Mill in the Eastern Kingdoms, i'd be there in the middle killing anything that so much as had a heartbeat (or not in the case of the Forsaken, who am I to judge?) All that began to chance when this 'cataclysm' thing occurred. You see I was one of the ones on Kezan when some big black scaley thing flew overhead and blew up Mount Kajaro... I was in the middle of an arena fight as well for one of the big bosses on the isle! Well as pyroclastic flows blew past, me and my combatant continued fighting even as the magma surged down... it was at this point I sorta realized that if I didn't run now I wouldn't be able to fight anymore on account of being a mushy pile of hollowed out ash, that sort of this -really- puts a crimp on your PVP career. So I ran, got on the boat where I had to hand over all my arena prize money, problem is though that the boat got caught up in between some crossfire between Alliance and Horde ships, I got blown away from the blast and thought i'd drowned like many other of the refugees. Well that's where you're wrong buddy! But by the time I woke up and found out what was really going on I kinda wish I had died in that cannon blast: I ended up washed on the shore with -all- of my arena armour stripped off me... fortunately whoever robbed me had been courteous to leave me with two rather crude bandages and a pair of shorts to my name... but something about this island was strange, where once I could have ran up and down this entire beach on this jungle-island slaughtering everything for miles without so much as a scratch to my physical health, it now took me almost fifteen minutes to kill a crab which had managed to put me in a medically critical state. Somehow I had magically lost -all- knowledge of my fighting technique which had made me world-famous and worst of all: No-one knew who the hell I was! 'Hobo' is what the other refugees called me, on account of my constantly begging for cash to feed myself. I hadn't grown up with the knowledge on how to hunt: all I did was kill people and I got paid to do it in an entertaining way in a small arena, -that- is what kept me fed and clothed! Some of the more talkative locals who don't just stand there and stare into space simply answered my questions with 'Doldrums'... I mean what kind of response is that? I magically find i'm suffering from some sort of severe muscular atrophy where I can -just- muster the strength to fight off a seagull when before I was annihilating heroes who had fought the Lich King himself and all they can say is 'Its the Doldrums'? I may not be a wizard but there is no way that an entire chain of islands can project some sort of weird magical mumbo jumbo to suddenly make me, an all-time arena champion into a measly whelp who would likely die to a fresh adventurer out from Northshire Abbey... if that were the case why weren't mages using this magic on me in the arenas? Whatever, fact of the matter is i'm down on my luck, down on cash, down on any manner of strength or fighting capacity and more or less nearly naked. But ol' Hobo here has a plan... and as soon as I find who nicked my vengeful gladiator armour i'm going to rest their legs over a pier whilst lying face down and proceed to drop the largest boulder I can find on their calves. Appearan--- Woah woah, stop right there. 'Drop dead gorgeous', 'charming', 'chin chiseled from granite', that's all you need to put in here. ... Not foolin' you am I? Oh who am I kidding. Since landing on this crappy island i've become some sort of measly pen-pusher losing any muscle definition I had previously... not only that but there was some strange bout of disease not too long ago in Egtown which meant I look thinner than an Elven women looking to get on the cover of 'Rogue' magazine. The tattoos? Something back from my days fist-fighting in gangs on the mean streets of Kezan, kept ahold of them because well... tattos are hard to get rid of right? It's not like they just fit in an equipment slot like armour... Fair bit of face fuzz, cuts and bruises here and there... what do you expect from a refugee? Oh and my arm has recently been cut off by an Orc claiming to he the physical manifestation of war itself... small things like that get overlooked.

The Daggerfin Recently, the esteemed Baron West has come across a rumour of a particular species of aquatic life which would make a wonderful addition to his mantelpiece of trophies: 'The Daggerfin' Described as a creature capable of swallowing a Gnome whole and luring in it's prey with a lantern-like appendage dangling in front of its mouth to lure prey to their doom. As the name suggests, this creature also has a large fin upon its back sharp enough to cut through steel wire and even rend apart the armour of the strongest of warriors whilst its teeth are certainly no less lethal: considered to be sharper than even sewing needles. There is a reason these denizens of Azeroth's seas are known in certain fishing communities as "caught the wrong 'un" as they constitute about 20% of deaths of fishermen in exotic locals such as Tel'Abim and Tanaris despite their rarity. But before the baron can seek somewhere to buy diving gear and reconfigure his gun to shoot darts underwater, he needs information on where the creature can be found.... "250 silver should be enough to get me that information."

Is it at all possible to get an in-game General Chat added? I ask this mostly for GHI related reasons (GHI sounds require Gen chat to be active apparently)

Je suis tres desolee, mon francais c'est tres nul. Deux biere brun sil'vous plait.

https://youtu.be/CNVomngq-Qc When: Friday 19th, 21:30ST ((Let us know if you are going to be late and you can be part of a 'reinforcement' wave!)) Who: Primarily Grom'Goshar and Drustgarde. Those who turn up ICly and ask will likely be allowed to participate. Where: Drustgarde / Egtown and then marching to attack positions The time had come Rumours had begun to spread of a horrific presence grasping its tendrils of influence around the section of Opej referred to by many as 'Crystal Valley' in an effort to control the powers that lie dormant beneath the steep-sided floors of the mystical region. Elementals, previously driven mad already by a malignant force, were now openly hostile and aggressively attacking all that moved and any sentient being that dared enter the area... and furthermore there have been numerous reports of a chained beating onyx heart tethered next to a large unnatural structure which had become known as 'The Spire' to many. Recognizing this threat, and in a prophetic manner, the Pyremaster of Grom'Goshar known as Gruk predicted the large rumble that struck the land as the Twilight's Hammer begun their labours within the valley, the Great Quarun mourned for the loss of his brothers and feared they would be fully enslaved if nothing was done. Worse still, some have begun to suspect there is a link between the rumblings in the ground and not only the volcano which erupted on the Last Battleground but also what the sailors of Drustgarde encountered beneath the waves with their Naga allies not too long ago. Seeking to put a stop to it, both Grom'Goshar and Drustgarde have come together to build bridges and begin the healing process to repair their alliance in order to combat the greater threat that could not only see Opej completely annihilated but quite possibly the rest of the Doldrums to follow soon after. Being a shaman and not a tactician, the Pyremaster has sent Stone Guard Ragara Irontooth with a combat plan to Governor Haytham so as to plan an attack that will see the cult of the Twilight's Hammer utterly annihilated and their plans routed so that the denizens of Opej can live to fight another day. Whispers on the wind suggest that the forces for this assault shall be gathering at the gates of Fort Drustgarde at night ((21:30ST)) on the friday in two days time. Given the gravity of the situation it would become apparent that even those not directly a part of either Drustgarde or Grom'Goshar may find themselves able to take a place on the battlefield if they speak with the commanders involved. Who knows what may befall the combined might of the Horde and the Alliance? The strength of the axe and the anchor? Who knows what might happen to Opej'Nor if they fail?

((Event time changed to 21:30 ST))

Something wicked this way comes...

For those interested i'm holding a sort of OOC / IC competition In the same fashion as his idol, Timothy West is publishing a book on his adventures hunting across Opej (Cue 'Green Hills of Stranglethorn Vale) I want -YOU- to come up with the book title. The one I find the best gets a 50 silver prize and something else quite special (MYSTERY PRIZE) Competition ends on the 13th of October (Saturday) at 18:00 server-time.

A sneak peek into Bonkle's magical* workshop: *Allegations of Bonkle beating magical world-editing fairies are completely unfounded and anyone found promoting such accusations will be sued for libel

Protecting the Weak Although protecting the innocent and safeguarding the weak is not a particuarly high priority amongst the members of 'The Hunters', it does however cross their minds especially when doing so involves the hunting of two particularly nasty creatures no weaker than the Sand Reaver 'Naraxis' that Timothy West and a few budding volunteers slew the other week. The problem is, this time there are two of them, and these creatures operate almost like a hive mind if the Baron's memory of Ahn'Quiraj is correct, making them highly effective killing machines that work closely together. Word would begin to spread amongst the refugees of the newly formed 'Tent Town' and possibly even amongst those in Egtown itself that Baron West and his compatriots seek to slay the two sand reavers who have been attacking and killing refugees on the western coast that stray too far from their camp. "Tomorrow, at the zeppelin wreckage on the southern rise of Opej. Be there in the evening half way between when the bells strike 6 and the bells strike 7. You shall have your take of the beast's vile corpses afterwards, but consider that you are doing this to help the folks of Opej who are not as skilled at arms as you" ((Event at 6:30pm server time to wipe out two of the sand reavers posing a threat to 'Tent Town', meet at the zeppeling wreckage on southern Opej))

Going to take the @sander stance here, Discord is awful. It's fun for off topic banter that doesn't require an in-game party channel but honestly? Any information in it which isn't pinned or in announcements just gets washed away... forums are time tested and eternally useful.

https://i.gyazo.com/1b237e2c3a749be35846c6299d30285c.mp4 One from @sander's recent works

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1dvzA9w__5PKEBcrfPdEOPZkqOswtSDz-0pyq1e_UKWk/edit?usp=sharing Hi folks As many of you know and are aware, Unknown Shores is currently going through a drastic lull, I personally won't sugarcoat it, the first step to fixing a problem is acknowledging one (or possibly several) exist. This has caused problems on past servers where the problems were ignored, brushed under the carpet or outright denied. This is a means to prevent that from happening. The above document currently lists the issues facing the server. I will stress that this document is by default completely and totally anonymous, simply send me a message on discord or via a forum PM and I will ensure that your concerns are put down to paper. This is to ensure that the players get the chance to voice their concerns if they are shy, timid or perhaps feel like a shroud of anonymity will give people that boost needed to make themselves heard. If you wish to have your name tagged onto the end of one of the concerns, please do so and I can make your name public on them. Please if there is a concern of yours already written down then please still inform me and I can keep a tally of those sharing the same concern. Don't just think "I'll say nothing as it's already been mentioned"... PLEASE repeat it! If you have suggestions as to how to fix these concerns please also let me know and these can be included. If you have something regarding transparency (something I am personally working very hard to address, hence this thread) please comment on this thread: For feedback, Critique and Suggestions, please comment on this thread: For general brainstorming, please comment on this thread: Alternatively if you are feeling a bit down about the server, although it is not my position to act as an 'agony aunt' by any means, please drop me a message on discord as I would genuinely love to hear your concerns and issues. The best way to solve things like this is to have a dialogue and to get talking and discussing... not to shunt off between the 'them and us' of staff and players. Thank you.

Tremors Local rumor around Egtown speaks of a new creature, one that causes hesitation even amongst the other beasts of Opej. A creature that haunts not the tall cliffs of Mount Opej nor the jungle canopy itself... but the once safe sands of the island's beaches. "'Sand Reavers' they're called." Baron West says with disgust, casually waving around a cigar from his silver case He points out towards the desolate beaches of Opej, specifically he highlights the stoney outcrops "Large chintinous killing machines, there've been travellers and passer bys who've strayed to close to their little nests and see, they can feel you coming. They can sense what's going on through the ground. Probably why they stay clear of Egtown seeing as they know there's so many in here... but a lone wanderer? That's a nice little snack" Lighting the cigar, he peers over at one rock in particular, short yet elongated. He takes a long drag on the cigar. "See something like that one over there near the graveyard, good spot for one of them. Thing is going it alone i'll end up slaughtered myself. I enjoy a challange but I'm no fool" He slings his rifle over his shoulder "Tell them all, tell everyone. I care not at this point if it's an Orc or an Elf that brings a bow or a gun This wednesday, at nine tolls of the bell in the centre of Egtown, have them bring their weapons... ideally at least one fully armoured up to take the brunt of the beating... and maybe a healer or two..." He takes a long drag just as the interested party starts to walk and makes one last utterance "Oh, and folks best claim 'bagsies' on trophies before hand... the creature's barb is mine" [EVENT TIME. 9PM SERVER TIME IN THE MIDDLE OF EGTOWN. These things are CR43 so ideally we want at a guess 8-10 players minimum to take it down. Preferably with a healer and a tank in tow. If players have a specific trophy off the beast they would like to acquire (Heart, claw, eye etc) they are to inform the Baron beforehand]

All Hail The King Ripples emanated from the edges of Opej as it strode, trees creaked and groaned without it even touching them, and the sand upon the beaches left craters where its feet and hands had once trodden. Machompa' was his name, and 'King' was the title he had falsely claimed. The brave Baron West had woken, managing somehow to sleep through the creature's stomps as it approached Egtown. As the beast communed in a basic and simple tongue with Governor Haysham who was attempting to placate it, the Baron made his threats known to the beast and let fire a warning shot to try to scare the beast. The creature, as tall as a stone keep, simply lobbed insults at the Baron... though the Baron would wish it were only insults it lobbed, as the vile being reached down and plucked one of the palisades making up the town wall as though it were but a splinter and flicked it over to the Baron who, much to his fortune, got away with the chunk of fortification smashing into his left arm and shoulder leaving it shattered in several places. As the Baron left through the side door of Egtown, clutching his arm, the Kul'Tirans of Drustgarde attempted to salvage the situation the Baron had left behind, though this huge beast was not fooled and with his peripheral vision spotted West leaving Egtown towards the jungle. The beast bounded with unnatural speed towards the hunter who, upon turning around, simply fell backwards as 'Machompa' brought his mighty fist into the sky. The beast demanded that the hunter recognize him as King of the Jungle which west promptly refused, almost bringing ire and instant death upon him, until he (unwittingly) pointed out that Golveldbarad was the true king (or rather 'queen') of the Jungle. This caused the great ape to pause in hesitation, he queried the hunter in broken and basic common as to who this 'Golveldbarad' was, to which Timothy told him it was a great Devilsaur which roamed the western reaches of the isle. Still refusing to admit to the ape's claim to kingship, Timothy thought he had simply annoyed the creature into storming off... until about half an hour later the beast returned to Egtown only to drop a monumental carcass in front of the town for all to witness: There she lay, Golveldbarad, stripped of her majesty and glory whilst bruised, cut and gored by the beast's horns and fists.... seemingly to make a point the great ape tore off Golveldbarad's head with his bare fists and proceeded to devour the head in it's entirity, a feat which made Timothy sick to his stomach. Much though the image was worrying for many: the creature having slain a Devilsaur single-handedly, he did not do so without injury. Many would notice that one of the beast's large horns was snapped off and large bite marks covered his body, the Queen of Opej had clearly put up a savage fight... much so that the usurper 'King' was severely-wounded rather than healthy as he was earlier Realizing earlier from Miss Thistleton that the townsfolk had been placating the creature and playing along with the ruse of being it's 'subjects' so they could better formulate a plan to defeat it, the Baron simply stared at the bloody corpse of the devilsaur as 'Machompa' repeated his earlier query if he was king. The Baron gritted his teeth and clenched his jaw so hard that one of his rear molar shattered and bled profusely... admitting reluctantly to the creature's claim of Kingship over Opej'Nor. The great ape made a final demand of the people of Egtown before he left: for his 'subjects' to build him a shrine from the remaining carcass of Golveldbarad within the township. Grasping his gun with his left hand which remained uninjured, he began to spread words amongst the people of Opej'Nor and beyond: "The [Ancient Seed] I acquired a few days ago will go to whomever forms a hunting party that helps me -KILL- that monster... I care not if they are man or woman, Orc or Human, that 'King' needs to die"

Profile fixed. I now owe myself sexual favours

Ensign James Dascombe during training on Boralus circa 4 months prior to the second war James Dascombe Race: Human (Undead) Age: 32 (at time of death) current age uncertain. Class: Sailor (Rogue) Allegiance: Kul'Tiras Languages: Common, Orcish (Minimal) The Boy Sailor Growing up as a boy in Boralus was tough, doubly so for living out in the slums beyond the market place. Although not officially referred to as slums (for fear of upsetting the guard) it none the less was on the basis of cess floating through the streets on the gutters practically overflowing, flies became commonplace and deaths were meager and commonplace in a time of relative peace which saw Kul'Tiras as a mighty trading port across all of the human kingdoms. Anyone who wished to make coin -ALWAYS- found themselves here selling goods and exotic spices from afar. Admittedly at the age of ten, the young boy James Dascombe had no intention of growing up to be a sailor in the vast navy of Kul'Tiras, what was there to go to war with? The occassional floatilla of pirates or bandits who had managed to scavange a tiny trading cog outfitted with cannons presented nothing more than a gnat to be swatted by the might of the Kul'Tiran navy. At this point in time he could have ended up like many of the street urchins cutting purses on the docks of Boralus but fate would have something else in store for him. At the age of 11, everything changed when rumors spread like wildfire of a threat that had entered the land near the kingdom of Stormwind. Several years would pass with back-and-forth battles across the continent of Azeroth as well as the kingdom of Stormwind being burned to the ground in one such conflict, the city of Boralus became awash with refugees that disembarked at Kul'Tiras rather than make the full journey to Lordaeron. It was at this time that the lad James had grown into a slim yet fit figure of a man and had successfully passed his exams to enter the navy of Kul'Tiras as an ensign taking up the usage of a rifle and his trusty cutlass to the vast Orcish Hordes. The Second War The second war proved to be a strong life-lesson to the young sailor who began to experience the harsh life of a man in the Kul'Tiran navy. Backbreaking laborious work on the deck for sometimes months on end whilst his vessel, the HMS Boralus, simply stayed afloat in friendly waters waiting for orders to assist overrun fleets, during this time he heard rumors of the Horde winning the fight on the waves with the assistance of large dragons they had come to enslave. His first major conflict off the coast of Khaz'Modan consisted of chasing a single dragon believed to have been in a firefight with the Third Fleet. It wasn't until the beast was chased away by cannonfire and archers on deck that he saw them: The Wave Mistress and the Intrepid, both burning in that hellish flame of dragonfire that burned even upon the surface of the water, offering no respite to the many men who had sought to dive into the water to try and survive. Even the elven destroyer the 'Flying Ospray' was run aground, the Elven sailors with thousands of years experience were no match for the fire-breathing monsters of the sky. Months would pass with sporadic skirmishes upon the ocean chasing down Orcish juggernaughts and Troll Waveriders that the HMS Boralus came across, the crew became weary and tired... although no word of mutiny escaped their lips, the crew began to question their seemingly everlasting presence upon the sea having not left shore for what felt like eternity. Rumors from passing merchant ships spoke of Daelin Proudmoore himself annihilating a Horde armada outside Zul'Dare following the Battle of Hillsbrad only to find himself cornered by the winged beasts of the Red Dragonflight once more which blew apart several of the Alliance vessels, forced to retreat the admiral then plotted retribution. The HMS Boralus at this point found itself with a depleated crew having died of scurvy, wounds in battle or simply the pressures of the voyage drove many to irredeemable madness, the victim of one such bout of insanity was the ship's navigator whom, the captain saw fit to replace with the now-seasoned James Dascombe. Upon rendezvousing with the admiral's fleet, the newly appointed navigator begged and pleaded with the captain for them to accompany the admiral's fleet to wreak havoc upon the Horde's remaining vessels and to wipe out their drakes in retaliation for what he witnessed happen to the Third Fleet. Crestfall The battle of Crestfall would become ingrained within the psyche of the entire Kul'Tiran nation as the moment where it's fleet truely shined. With the help of the gryphons of the Wildhammer clan of Dwarves, the two sides of the Alliance and Horde clashed in rough sea waters where dragonrider met gryphonrider and juggernaught met frigates and battleships. Rumor has it on that day that the sea was as red as the Horde's flag, indeed a great many banners floated on the foam of the tides as did large chunks of flotsam and debris in addition to corpses galore. Sticking alongside Admiral Proudmoore's flagship, the HMS Boralus had its entire crew recieve awards for recognition as one of the few Kul'Tiran frigates in history to successfully, by sheer chance and will alone, to take out an Orcish dragonrider. Thanks to the first mate and navigator Dascombe's efforts, the Boralus made use of the large tides to get the correct elevation on a dragonrider strafing the waves for a ship to incinerate whereupon the creature was blasted out of the air and sunk beneath the waves. Although the Alliance came out victorious, it was considered a phyrric victory by the Admiral who lost his son to dragonfire, the final remnants of the third flee sank to the bottom of the Great Sea to meet the same fate as it's companions off the coast of Khaz'Modan. A tenuous peace? Now a decorated veteran of the famous Battle of Crestfall, James Dascombe returned to Kul'Tiras to train to properly become a naval navigator. It was during this time that he saw the aftermath of the war: scarred and maimed veterans across the streets of Boralus, horrific burns from dragonfire, limbs cut off from infectious confines of ships, malnutrition from some of the swabbies. A sense of national pride swept over him after Crestfall, though in that tide lingered the poisonous malice of his hatred towards his enemy. He had friends upon the Third Fleet and though he could not identify their corpses in the waters off Khaz'Modan due to the mutilation he knew at least some of them would have been there, he could only imagine the pain they went through in their final moments. Although peace of sorts came to Kul'Tiras and the other kingdoms whilst the Orcs rotted in their camps, he would awake each night in cold sweats with fevered panic. Some times it would be gasping for air from the cold depths of the ocean desperate for the warmth of a fire. Sometimes it would be a horrific burning sensation of what he imagined to be dragonfire, yearning for the release offered by the cold waters that hoped would put out the flames. Now at thirty one years of age, he would start to create maps and navigational routes of the most popular trade routes throughout the land to assist in peacetime efforts. Though eventually, as all things do, peace came to an abrupt end. The Third War The peace lasted long enough though the rumors of Orcish rebellions rose higher and higher until entire warbands were launching full scale attacks on the other internment camps throughout the Eastern Kingdoms. Fortunately though they would not come to seek vengence upon those who had imprisoned them, instead they would over the coming years steal enough vessels to make their way west seemingly off into distant foreign lands yet unheard of. Time would seemingly pass quickly as human and Elven kingdoms in their entirety fell. Lordaeron blighted with plague, Dalaran wiped out overnight, Silvermoon annihilated, all the while Gilneas stayed behind its wall and Kul'Tiras had the fortune of having the sea as its shield. Though with the fall of Dalaran came the exodus of a great many human settlers to the west by the hand of Lady Jaina Proudmoore. During this time the now-seasoned navigator James Dascombe embarked upon his old vessel the HMS Boralus to set forth on an expedition launched by Admiral Proudmoore himself to go rescue his daughter from the lands of the savages. Months would pass until they made landfall in this new land, word had reached them of this sickening 'alliance' between both Lady Proudmoore and this gladiator-turned-warchief known as 'Thrall', the only action that was to be taken was to rescue the admiral's daughter from the savages who had manipulated the daughter of the admiral. Blood, gore, and sand. That is what he remembered. Sometimes days would be spent on raiding parties attacking Orcish outposts in the deserts with sweat dripping off his brow and onto the barrel of his rifle. As a man accustomed to naval warfare he was out of his element here, fighting on -their- turf. He saw many of his kin slaughtered, their green tabards and red blood spilling out onto the dusty yellow roads of this strange and foreign land. Eventually the enemy would gain the upper hand, no thanks to the admiral's daughter providing them with assistance, the armies of the Admiral would find themselves pulling further and further back to Theramore which they had claimed from Jaina's forces only to find themselves backed into a corner. The Son of the Sea The last thing the navigator saw with his mortal eyes was the sight of cannonfire blasting apart the blockade around Theramore, the ships were blown apart by juggernaughts constructed by a goblin shipwright across the bay. He murmered to himself, knowing full well that the Horde would have not found that shipwright without the aid of Lady Proudmoore herself, but why betray her own people who had come to save her? He glared, his brow furrowed and he screamed in absolute rage as the HMS Boralus was consumed by cannonfire and blasted to the bottom of Dustwallow bay. There the navigator's tale should have ended, consumed by rage and hatred as he fell... but he didn't... not quite... The cannonfire had managed to blow him clear of the ship, the force alone sent him overboard with several large chunks of the hull penetrating his arms and legs, the salty sea water stung the wounds with sharp intensity as he fell weighed down by a large chunk of the mast and tangled amongst the webbing of the deck. Time passed, he was uncertain how long, but eventually his eyes opened with a dull yellowy glow. Reaching down to his boots he unsheathed his boot knife and cut himself free of his rope-bound prison and swam up to the surface. He gathered himself up by the outskirts of Theramore and found a small cemetery, the freshly dug graves he knew clearly contained those of his comrades who died on that day whilst those in the distance, even under cover of night, could be seen atop the battlements in their white tabards bearing the gold anchor. "White for cowardice" he croaked. His throat had grown swollen and contorted as he removed a large splinter of oak. Very little in the way of blood game out but what did was already blackened and oxygen-starved. He glanced upon one grave which held a number of items on it in rememberance, one of which was a single silver goblet which he used in conjunction with the glow of a cemetary lantern to glance upon his own visage. He recoiled, but not in disgust... that emotion seemed to had vanished. He simply stared in some sense of morbid curiosity... his full ginger beard had grown black and matted, he cut off most of it with his boot knife there and then as he continued to observe his skin now bloated and a faint blue colour. He had come to one conclusion and one conclusion only... he had become cursed, cursed to roam the realm as a phantom, a spectre to avenge the deaths of his admiral and his fallen comrades. Over the next year he would assemble a band, for he was not the only one 'gifted' with this curse to avenge Daelin Proudmoore, many other brave Kul'Tirans died that day in Theramore and didn't quite pass on to the other side. Gathering whoever he could of this crew of the damned they eventually overtook a Theramorian frigate stationed just off the shores of Tanaris... and that is where the rumors started. A hellish vessel bearing the colours of Kul'Tiras upon its sails, opening fire upon both Horde and Theramore vessels alike with little to no regard if they were armed or simply traders and merchants, the sea ran red on a particuarly vicious few months as despite their efforts both the Horde and Theramore never managed to catch the phantom vessel and it's undead crew. Strange New Lands Washing up on the shores of Opej he drew his twin blades hanging off his belt and made his way into the jungle. Blending in with his green Kul'Tiran navigator's attire he observed and watched from the distance. This new land was strange and as foreign to him as Kalimdor first was, all he had upon his person was a bag carrying a pair of bandages and two blood stained tabards: one of an Orcish grunt and another of a Theramore soldier. He looked into the distace of the shores of Opej and came across a large encampment built upon a sand dune... and there he spotted it. The golden anchor upon green. But knowing his gruesome visage he sat... waiting... Biding his time. Traits Navigator - Able to read the sea like an open book, capable of sailing a vessel with expertise when given the full compliment of crew Undead - Not amongst the land of the living, yet in a fairly -good- state of preservation compared to others. Vengeful - Has a seething hatred towards both the Horde and humans of Theramore True Proudmoore - Regardless of any other differences, gets on -VERY- well with those known to be Daelin Proudmoore loyalists Sneaky - Raiding ships under cover of night following the third war and no longer requiring to breathe has given him experience in stealth attacks, especially on vessels Appearance Although technically undead, James Dascombe is in a surprisingly good state of preservation. His injuries consist of a major gash at his throat which has seen some crude attempt at being sewn up, this is the reason for his croaked and sometimes slurred speech. Other injuries consist of multiple smaller gashes along the arms and legs from what look like large splinters of wood, all of which have been removed and have varying states of medical attention having been applied to them (some of a poor quality, some of a better almost masterwork quality) All over his body (or rather that which is not covered by clothing) shows minor signs of bloating and frequent exposure to anerobic conditions which causes the flesh to bloat and swell slightly, his hair has long since lost it's once-ginger hue and turned a muddy brown colour bordering on slightly black... there are telltale signs that he once had a beard from the odd hair upon his chin. His build is short and quite squat for a human, years of leaning over a table drawing on navigational charts has given him a rather hunched posture. In terms of clothing he wears what would once have been the very clear uniform of a navigator in the Kul'Tiran navy however this has long since deteriorated away into nothing more than rags.

The Spirit of Prey Deep within Opej, the esteemed Baron Von West has come across a rather unlikely ally: An Elf by the name of Lethorian Nightbreeze who was once one of the Elven farstriders of the ill fated expedition into Outland, the two shared a brief exchange over some target practice. Although the two had drastically different hunting styles: Nightbreeze choosing the bow and aspousing the practices of preservation of the wilds whilst West chose the gun and the reckless abandon of the endless hunt, the two none the less got on extraordinarily well. Taking the Baron to the area previously referred to as 'The Sanctuary' and known across Opej as 'The Pond', the baron was amazed to discover the amount of wildlife living in harmony in the area. Most of the creatures present represented herbivores, prey and other creatures far down on the food chain... but it is astounding how so many had survived so long on an isle renowned for it's incredibly hostile and predatory wildlife. Then the answer appeared in a flicker 'Leafety' it called itself... and although West was wary of the creature, Nightbreeze reassured him that the being was likely that of a trickster... a forest sprite. The creature informed them that it was the one responsible for the creation of the haven, going so far as to shock West by imitating a perfect cry of an adolescent devilsaur, when queried as to their presence the two hunters informed the spirit that they meant no harm... after all Tim had bigger fish to fry and the animals around the pond did not present a worthy challenge or even a threat. The sprite then offered a deal to the duo, stating that it would grant power in exchange for a gift. Seeking initially to humor the creature, Baron West was curious and this curiosity led him to do the unthinkable: part with one of his trophies. He offered the creature his treasured [Devilsaur Eye] which he had claimed from the first devilsaur he shot on these isles. Seemingly within a glimmer, the sprite produced in it's hands an [Ancient Seed] which he granted to the hunter, a gift seemingly wasted on the magically deaf and ignorant Baron. Though his new hunting companion Nightbreeze could sense the power within the ancient seed and spoke of the tales of the great World Trees that elven kind lived upon. Realising what he had come across, the Baron safely stowed it away, thinking of what he can do with it next. Though one thing is for certain, the Baron and his compatriots have now pledged to not only avoid hunting the creatures of the area known as the 'Pond' but also to protect it from those who would seek the annihilation of the creatures seeking sanctuary there be they man or beast. ((OOC: Lethorian Nightbreeze has joined 'The Hunters' as one of the bloodied. The hunter's code has been updated to reflect the pledge made to defend the area previously known as 'The Sanctuary'. The acquisition of the rare and powerful [Ancient Seed] has left Timothy wondering what to do with it, perhaps individuals may be able to persuade him to use it in a particular way? Though he is careful not to keep it on his person for obvious reasons.))

Somewhere deep in the jungles of Opej, Timothy West gets 'that' twitch

The Big One: 'Golveldbarad' Following a brief hiatus over in Kolai to wrestle sharks, Baron West has had some R&R in between slaughtering vast quantities of the Opej'Nor ecosystem and decimating the wildlife elsewhere in the Doldrums. However, word has reached him of vast herds of beasts that terrorized ground, sea and air alike and so he has packed his ammo, put back on his pith helmet, and made his way back to Opej. Stalking through the jungle, he came upon the creature he sought to kill. At a distance he could spot the coloration and signs of sexual dimorphism: a female. He came to name her "Golveldbarad" which, in High Common, meant 'Thunderstomp'. An appropriate name given her demenor when thundering around the part of Opej she frequented. Though he has the know-how, skill, and expertise to take her down... what the baron lacks is numbers...