Xapphire
Liberty, Simply said; a lie.
- Reaction score
- 45
I've wanted to just create small dialogs of Roleplay in which the Azeroth World would be, as a real creation of my mind.
*Note* I am just playing, so do not expect such a story, or any specific theme.
Part I: "The Mad Warlock".
Part II: "Trinkets and Survival"
Part III: "Inner-Phobia"
Part IV: "Saturation of Time"
Part V: "Sorrow of a Crusader"
Part VI: "Gnomish Mechanics"
Part VII: "Jealousy".
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I'll constantly update this, so do not worry, I am just testing, go ahead and quote, do not fear.
*Note* I am just playing, so do not expect such a story, or any specific theme.
Part I: "The Mad Warlock".
The liquid lay inside the potion, in a dusk room, filled with weary light and a sorrow glow. The old veteran sat there, staring into the open hollows of the room. Thinking of what to do with his infinite opportunities of creation. For, no hope in his corrupt mind will bring him to success. This old veteran, once a proud warlock, has seen no presence of hope at all.
The chair creaked as the warlock stood up, creating a wide echo within the chamber.
He walked to a sturdy table, filled with alchemic supplies, vast potions, immense cloths and tools. Starring at the single potion, the one dark within his mind. Not knowing why, the mad thoughts of death and decadence flow through the warlocks inner self, he then crouch down on the wooden ground holding in the agony. Clenching his fists to the point were they began to bleed, yet controlling the pain of himself, letting out not a single sound. The blood dripping created a foul sound, creating small cracks withing the warlocks mind.
The warlock then stood up, and with a single twirl, grabbed his dark potion within his soaking claws. Holding it with a pitiful force, the old warlock closed his gleaming eyes, and drank the potion. The chamber then darkened all of the candles, and then slowly, they were melted. The warlock stood there, on his wooden floor, once again letting out no sound, and with his dark eyes closed, fell to the floor.
The chair creaked as the warlock stood up, creating a wide echo within the chamber.
He walked to a sturdy table, filled with alchemic supplies, vast potions, immense cloths and tools. Starring at the single potion, the one dark within his mind. Not knowing why, the mad thoughts of death and decadence flow through the warlocks inner self, he then crouch down on the wooden ground holding in the agony. Clenching his fists to the point were they began to bleed, yet controlling the pain of himself, letting out not a single sound. The blood dripping created a foul sound, creating small cracks withing the warlocks mind.
The warlock then stood up, and with a single twirl, grabbed his dark potion within his soaking claws. Holding it with a pitiful force, the old warlock closed his gleaming eyes, and drank the potion. The chamber then darkened all of the candles, and then slowly, they were melted. The warlock stood there, on his wooden floor, once again letting out no sound, and with his dark eyes closed, fell to the floor.
Part II: "Trinkets and Survival"
The stone gray winds howled through the mighty forest, releasing the only sound within. Having conquered almost half of the forest with his wolf, the dwarf walked though the vines and constant snow with little effort. He walked proud and tall, as he felt, and with his many bags and weapons he had brought with him to survive.
The wolf suddenly howled, and with a horror like roar was on its way to a small opening within the forest boundaries. It ran faster then the screaming wind holding it back, stronger then the icy snow grasping it, and prouder then the dark thoughts that would come. The wolf stopped, and with a flawless roar, which had shaken the last of the stable leaves, left on the dwarven pines, fell to the ground.
The dwarf ran, he could only follow the last of the tracks his ally had left, as he approached a blood red plain of snow. Turning to his side he saw a giant orc barbarian, he looked genetically enhanced or somewhat larger then the usual, and with his large axe, the dwarf charged.
The barbarian turned, he screamed his last battle cry before he too, let a red blood plain in the snow. The dwarven warrior carried his allies corpse with him onto the nearest rivers, and let it go, taken within him all the sorrow.
The wolf suddenly howled, and with a horror like roar was on its way to a small opening within the forest boundaries. It ran faster then the screaming wind holding it back, stronger then the icy snow grasping it, and prouder then the dark thoughts that would come. The wolf stopped, and with a flawless roar, which had shaken the last of the stable leaves, left on the dwarven pines, fell to the ground.
The dwarf ran, he could only follow the last of the tracks his ally had left, as he approached a blood red plain of snow. Turning to his side he saw a giant orc barbarian, he looked genetically enhanced or somewhat larger then the usual, and with his large axe, the dwarf charged.
The barbarian turned, he screamed his last battle cry before he too, let a red blood plain in the snow. The dwarven warrior carried his allies corpse with him onto the nearest rivers, and let it go, taken within him all the sorrow.
Part III: "Inner-Phobia"
Waking up, still as stone and the kid stood up. Slowly phasing his way through the times of the new day, in this home. The home with no exit, the home with no opening, just a simple home, with no truths nor lies. A kid unable to find his own freedom, unable to dream of reality, unable to dream of the truth of which there was none. A simple room, with none of anything, were if knowledge isn't known, then it shall never be known, never be heard, never be felt. Not an echo, for the kid does not speak, he does not look, he does not breath. Not a single noise of anything, of nothing.
No imagination for the soul, no hearty pain for the mind, no ballistic nerve for the heart, no thoughts for the room. Yet the kid woke up, he had gone out, to explore the room, looking, not looking, for he does not see. The kid does not look, he does not, he does not hear, he does not, he does not feel, he does not. This kid has no conscience.
Turning from side to side, backwards to front, north to side, west to right, left to east, south to up, down to the end of the room, of which is none, just an endless reality of the none. No, the boy does not turn, he does not, he does not move, he does not, he just stands there, not feeling, not breathing, not hearing, not looking, just as still as stone.
For him its an end of reality, death just comes and goes, but the inside of us, it may be as still as the kid we used to be, the kid, the pain, the anger inside us all, the fear of ourselves.
Inner-Phobia.
No imagination for the soul, no hearty pain for the mind, no ballistic nerve for the heart, no thoughts for the room. Yet the kid woke up, he had gone out, to explore the room, looking, not looking, for he does not see. The kid does not look, he does not, he does not hear, he does not, he does not feel, he does not. This kid has no conscience.
Turning from side to side, backwards to front, north to side, west to right, left to east, south to up, down to the end of the room, of which is none, just an endless reality of the none. No, the boy does not turn, he does not, he does not move, he does not, he just stands there, not feeling, not breathing, not hearing, not looking, just as still as stone.
For him its an end of reality, death just comes and goes, but the inside of us, it may be as still as the kid we used to be, the kid, the pain, the anger inside us all, the fear of ourselves.
Inner-Phobia.
Part IV: "Saturation of Time"
The assassin looked up at the ticking clock, against the elegant massive walls of the vicinity. Now he was on the floor, creeping his way through the shadowy corners and edges of the massive hall. At a tricking speed, responding to every call. But finding his way was null, he had a objective in him self, destined within, does it really matter what he does..? He creeps there like a spider, destined to be a rival, he isn't in charge of his life, its destiny, its the will of everything, it all comes down to belief, you don't think, you listen you take orders from everything, from nothing. How does that make you feel.
The king sitting on his pumped up chair with a fancy stool underneath his legs, his rich air within him now, his spoiled colors everywhere, but does it really matter what he does..? He got there from being himself, from acting like he really is, a thief, a liar, a stealer, yet wise and tricky, sneaky, gaining only from the cheapest and advancing by back stabbing that is your king. Yet does it really matter, the ones he stole from, the oaths he broke, the lies he whispered and the truths he told, all under the will of none, yet commanded by the none, it is all done.
The assassin still creeps behind the withering yet massive stool of the king, were lies the turmoil of which will happen. He sneaks, only stepping as the clock ticks, moving as a flow, making no sound, getting ready for the final blow.
As the king sits there, sleeping in his massive chair, what does he hear, nothing nothing but the breathing air, what does he see, nothing but the sleepless kid inside his room, preparing to wake up, as the clock keeps ticking the assassin leaps, moving through the sonic air, ending the king, at the tick of the clock.
The clock ticks, the kid opens his eyes. The King is dead. The will of none, now is done.
The king sitting on his pumped up chair with a fancy stool underneath his legs, his rich air within him now, his spoiled colors everywhere, but does it really matter what he does..? He got there from being himself, from acting like he really is, a thief, a liar, a stealer, yet wise and tricky, sneaky, gaining only from the cheapest and advancing by back stabbing that is your king. Yet does it really matter, the ones he stole from, the oaths he broke, the lies he whispered and the truths he told, all under the will of none, yet commanded by the none, it is all done.
The assassin still creeps behind the withering yet massive stool of the king, were lies the turmoil of which will happen. He sneaks, only stepping as the clock ticks, moving as a flow, making no sound, getting ready for the final blow.
As the king sits there, sleeping in his massive chair, what does he hear, nothing nothing but the breathing air, what does he see, nothing but the sleepless kid inside his room, preparing to wake up, as the clock keeps ticking the assassin leaps, moving through the sonic air, ending the king, at the tick of the clock.
The clock ticks, the kid opens his eyes. The King is dead. The will of none, now is done.
Part V: "Sorrow of a Crusader"
The enhanced man walked throughout the rocky path, making every step seem, royal, mystic, mysterious. The single action of movement made him seem superior unlike anything anyone has ever seen before, a true unique essence in this plain. Like no other dimension can contain such a mystical man, a crusader, one that has slaughtered countless and yet saved only himself.
The Crusader walked in his battle broken armor, with his plated armors and chained arms swinging periodically. Walking in an elegant manner, one seeming as he himself considered himself greater then the rest, a true hero, filled with divinity. With his eyes, glazed with deep thoughts, though looking as the same as everyone elses, yet better, deeper, looking at his eyes you can see a dream, you can see the past, his past, his suffering, yet you can see confidence and honor.
With his great blade bouncing with every step, moving, ringing every single chain, against the every soul of the mail, the plate and leather tightened against the flesh of the Crusader, real armor, unlike the rest, it looks perfect, in every way, form and defense.
The rain starts, clicking on the armor, yet the path of the Crusader does not change, he still walks confidently, same pace, not budging, not in fear of anything, walking straight, with his divine eyes opened, looking straight ahead, into the endless path.
He walks, every animal, every form of life, silent at his presence, every life closed in a locket of silence. Every sound enclosed in the divine presence of the Crusader, a true man of the holy, walking, keeping it true. The Crusader stops, like an eternal force in the forest, the rain ringing even louder, yet his eyes don't move. His arms don't budge, his legs at perfect proportion, looking strong, confident, unique, as everyones hero, he is consumed by the life of which is locked.
Suddenly, an epic sword phases from the forest, a bloody sword twisting and teleporting toward the crusader, in which at the blink of a second everything of the future happens, everything happens, every movement, not letting the rain touch the armor.
The Crusader is kneed next to a puddle of muddy water, holding a bloody cross in his hands, tightened with his grip, and his leathery gloves still giving in to the piercing pain. A runic sword lies on the ground, consumed by the mud, and the earth. And the Crusaders sword fiercely and horrifically and brutally sticking out of a shadows body. A shadow in the woods, and the forest, a huge blade just sticking out in the shadow, a huge divine light making the rest seem normal, boring.
The Crusader stays there, as the rain stops, then continues after taking his blade back, and putting his cross back on his neck, and then, as the sounds of life temporarily arise, the Crusader starts to walk again, and yet it seems again, that the sound has been locked away.
The Crusader walked in his battle broken armor, with his plated armors and chained arms swinging periodically. Walking in an elegant manner, one seeming as he himself considered himself greater then the rest, a true hero, filled with divinity. With his eyes, glazed with deep thoughts, though looking as the same as everyone elses, yet better, deeper, looking at his eyes you can see a dream, you can see the past, his past, his suffering, yet you can see confidence and honor.
With his great blade bouncing with every step, moving, ringing every single chain, against the every soul of the mail, the plate and leather tightened against the flesh of the Crusader, real armor, unlike the rest, it looks perfect, in every way, form and defense.
The rain starts, clicking on the armor, yet the path of the Crusader does not change, he still walks confidently, same pace, not budging, not in fear of anything, walking straight, with his divine eyes opened, looking straight ahead, into the endless path.
He walks, every animal, every form of life, silent at his presence, every life closed in a locket of silence. Every sound enclosed in the divine presence of the Crusader, a true man of the holy, walking, keeping it true. The Crusader stops, like an eternal force in the forest, the rain ringing even louder, yet his eyes don't move. His arms don't budge, his legs at perfect proportion, looking strong, confident, unique, as everyones hero, he is consumed by the life of which is locked.
Suddenly, an epic sword phases from the forest, a bloody sword twisting and teleporting toward the crusader, in which at the blink of a second everything of the future happens, everything happens, every movement, not letting the rain touch the armor.
The Crusader is kneed next to a puddle of muddy water, holding a bloody cross in his hands, tightened with his grip, and his leathery gloves still giving in to the piercing pain. A runic sword lies on the ground, consumed by the mud, and the earth. And the Crusaders sword fiercely and horrifically and brutally sticking out of a shadows body. A shadow in the woods, and the forest, a huge blade just sticking out in the shadow, a huge divine light making the rest seem normal, boring.
The Crusader stays there, as the rain stops, then continues after taking his blade back, and putting his cross back on his neck, and then, as the sounds of life temporarily arise, the Crusader starts to walk again, and yet it seems again, that the sound has been locked away.
Part VI: "Gnomish Mechanics"
Every single sound in the chamber was a piercing yet faint wave. The clicking and thumping of the objects surrounding the core were all blocked out by the waves. It was like a musical melody of custom and technic sounds, creating a diverse yet interesting tone, unlike any other.
In the Core and heart of the mechanical chamber, was a drumming pipe line of mechanical devices, a huge table sort miniature factory of many wires and overly used items. It seemed so simple yet was the most complex device ever seen by the vast races of Warcraft and the beyond. An object with parts moving without cause, yet the cause was all deep inside, caused by something else, yet repetitive, and yet everlasting.
The room, shaped as a square had figurines which seemed childish, a box that looked like a simple box, yet it was bouncing, not on feet, but of harmony, bouncing like a beat, thumping and shaking the hard steel floor. Yet another aspect of this room, metal, steel, iron, everything made of metals, no wood nor rocks. The room was filled with strange bolts and screws which were both tightly and loosely screwed in sockets.
The music continued and the faint whispers of the mystic mechanics did as well. The tables of which weren't many, were stuffed and filled with maps, keys, and many strange objects. Tinkering tools and mechanicals supplies were also found around the tables. Smoke coming out pipes, there were small lights flickering, big bangs in several areas, yet the whispering continued, the thumping continued, the clicking followed.
And in between this cluster, on a cluster of overly-sized books, a gnome lay, with his eyes shut, and his mouth snoring.
A dream can be as deep as mechanics.
In the Core and heart of the mechanical chamber, was a drumming pipe line of mechanical devices, a huge table sort miniature factory of many wires and overly used items. It seemed so simple yet was the most complex device ever seen by the vast races of Warcraft and the beyond. An object with parts moving without cause, yet the cause was all deep inside, caused by something else, yet repetitive, and yet everlasting.
The room, shaped as a square had figurines which seemed childish, a box that looked like a simple box, yet it was bouncing, not on feet, but of harmony, bouncing like a beat, thumping and shaking the hard steel floor. Yet another aspect of this room, metal, steel, iron, everything made of metals, no wood nor rocks. The room was filled with strange bolts and screws which were both tightly and loosely screwed in sockets.
The music continued and the faint whispers of the mystic mechanics did as well. The tables of which weren't many, were stuffed and filled with maps, keys, and many strange objects. Tinkering tools and mechanicals supplies were also found around the tables. Smoke coming out pipes, there were small lights flickering, big bangs in several areas, yet the whispering continued, the thumping continued, the clicking followed.
And in between this cluster, on a cluster of overly-sized books, a gnome lay, with his eyes shut, and his mouth snoring.
A dream can be as deep as mechanics.
Some say, people who are spoiled, rich, spoiled in love, spoiled in actions and mere diversions and illusions of understanding, fail, those who are weak minded, suffer from unknown laws, and you think, obviously your conscience is greater and mightier then theirs. But when you really think about it, people are blessed with certain things, you might say people have some great will power, though it won't be put to great use, you might say, they've been given countless grand rewards, and are still not pleased with their spot in the world. Well the truth is, we are all hypocritical, and at the same time, opinionated to our own selfish beliefs, you cannot say that the ones that do not lie, the ones pure of heart go to heaven, or are perfect. When you look at it in a way, everyone is the same, a person is a person, a being is made to live, succeed or not is not the question, but whether you can change the laws of mortality and physical boundaries, and perfect the flawless system of hypnosis, and physics.
Even then, who really are people, do you ever feel like you are in a stage, that maybe you are in the future, everyone, and everything is specially designed to make your way of life what it is, we all have fear inside of us, we all either choose to let it out or not, in some ways we must, in others we just can't. Or maybe this whole world is just a fake, you are a biologically created instrument of the anonymous, of what is beyond understand to our feeble human minds. After all, we adapted, as people say, we adapted from a race, who really knows what our government attempts to tell us, perhaps they try to control our greedy desires with foolish entertainment and irresistible pleasure of the mind.
And to think that we, puny humans, can figure things out of this sort, think of the beyond, what types of other things we can accomplish, if we put this mind-set to use. People think just because they know more, masons, or they have more, America, that we can simply ignore the ones less fortunate of such gratitude from the laws of beyond..? You might think i'm just jealous. In fact, I'm just a hypocrite, someone who thinks they know, and truly believes, yet judge myself as a person who doesn't understand.
Even then, who really are people, do you ever feel like you are in a stage, that maybe you are in the future, everyone, and everything is specially designed to make your way of life what it is, we all have fear inside of us, we all either choose to let it out or not, in some ways we must, in others we just can't. Or maybe this whole world is just a fake, you are a biologically created instrument of the anonymous, of what is beyond understand to our feeble human minds. After all, we adapted, as people say, we adapted from a race, who really knows what our government attempts to tell us, perhaps they try to control our greedy desires with foolish entertainment and irresistible pleasure of the mind.
And to think that we, puny humans, can figure things out of this sort, think of the beyond, what types of other things we can accomplish, if we put this mind-set to use. People think just because they know more, masons, or they have more, America, that we can simply ignore the ones less fortunate of such gratitude from the laws of beyond..? You might think i'm just jealous. In fact, I'm just a hypocrite, someone who thinks they know, and truly believes, yet judge myself as a person who doesn't understand.
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I'll constantly update this, so do not worry, I am just testing, go ahead and quote, do not fear.
