trans_9 | Tank/DPS LFG, need heals and DPS [Open]

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Tank/DPS LFG, need heals and DPS [Open]

For the first time since he woke up from slumber on this ship, all that arbitrary time ago, Maridian had managed to walk into a Sensorium that was not currently in use.

Not that he'd ever admit it, but looking on the blank grey void that surrounded him, waiting for his command to read from his thoughts and memories and simulate the environment he bade it to, nostalgia and loneliness crept slowly up from the pit of his stomach, into his chest.

Azeroth was gone. He could return to it only in memory.

Maridian stood and watched, arms folded, as in response to his mental commands, the scene shifted, again, and again, and again.

Falconwing Square, where the paladin had first raised hammer and sword to cleanse... Eversong Woods, still fraught with remnants of the Lich King's march on the Sunwell no matter how hard the Sin'dorei struggled to cleanse it. The Ghostlands, where his blade and valor had helped earn the blood elves a place in the Horde. Ashenvale, where he had first encountered demon lords plotting malice, and stood before the monument to Grom Hellscream. ..

The Plaguelands, Silithis, Hellfire Peninsula, Nagrand. Karazhan, Zul'Aman. The Isle of Quel'danas. Howling Fjord, Dragonblight, Icecrown Citadel, the Frozen Throne.

Memory after memory flashed through the sensorium, to fade a moment later. A reminder of what was lost.

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Soren, new to the ship, was unfamiliar with how often people walked in on each other's weird Sensorium fantasies. Oddly, he found the scenery mildly comforting -- the scenes from Maridian's memories more closely resembled Tellius than anything else he'd seen on the ship.

The cycling scenery stopped, like a slot machine with good brakes, on Shattrath, a city filled with gentle music and dangerous drops. From the top of a tall cliff, Mar looked down on the city, arms folded.

"A lot of people plummeted to their deaths from Aldor Rise," he said over his shoulder. "Usually from mistiming the elevator."

"The elevator?" Soren frowned a little, eyeing Maridian and the way the man was dressed. Some sort of warrior, maybe.

"Either this elevator should have been better designed, or they should have been a little less careless."

"Well, on our world, death grips the strong of heart a little less firmly. If your fated time hasn't come, you can be returned to life through various means."

He picked up a small pebble that some mount's hoof had tracked up here, then with a smooth lob pitched it over the side. "Which just goes to show that if death is cheap, so are construction standards."

"Hmm. Where I come from, death is death. ...usually." There was the small matter of the Disciples of Ashera, of course, but those were out of the ordinary. Miracles. Or blasphemy, depending on which of the religious you talk to.

"So, have you stared your own demise in the face often?"

"Favorite thing in the world," he said, turning at last to face the man with a grin. If he'd been feeling wistful or melancholy before, no sign of that showed now. "I'm a paladin, trained first and foremost in standing up to the greatest horrors the cosmos can unleash and taking their hits without flinching! I am the first line!" He punched one gauntleted hand with his fist. "If anyone falls before I do to something that should have been aimed at me, then I've failed."

Soren raised an eyebrow. "A paladin?" Finally, a class he was familiar with. Generally a reliable sort, if somewhat boneheaded and idealistic at times.

"And your weapon?"

"When I'm fighting defensively, this Bonebreaker Scepter, and my shield," he said, indicating the mace that hung from his belt. Then, from over his shoulder, he drew a great sword that practically shimmered with power. A magical enchantment lay on the blade that gave the image of it dripping blood.

"To strike with power and purpose: Quel'delar, Might of the Faithful (#32)."

Number 32? What was this man talking about? It was, however, a rather impressive sword he had there. Not the kind of piece you'd buy at the local blacksmith.

"Well, you certainly seem the versatile sort. I am Soren, of the Greil Mercenaries. As you can probably surmise, I specialize in magic rather than weaponry."

He motioned toward their surroundings. "You seem to be making yourself well at home here."

Long story. Dare ya to ask!

He lightly spun the sword around, then tucked it back away again. "The name's Maridian. Blood Knight, Crusader, and the list of titles just goes on and on for a while. I have a few. Paladin of the Horde. And believe it or not, this is the first time I ever managed to get into an unoccupied Sensorium."

Soren frowned slightly. "So you're a war hero of some sort? And you serve the 'Horde'?"

This man seemed a little... off to be a famous swordsman. Then again, that royal Crimean knight... what was his name? Kevin? Soren had seen him juggling axes.

"I didn't realize they were in such high demand. Am I disturbing you?"

"No, I'm just remembering," he said, turning back to look over the city. "Harder to get lost in nostalgia with someone to talk to, so it's all good!"

In a moment of silence, the sound of soft, ethereal chiming drifted gently on the mild breeze, bringing a sense of peace and tranquility.

"Azeroth is divided into two alliances -- the Alliance itself, and the Horde. The two are forever at war with each other and with the various forces of chaos, despair, horror, or irritation that show up on the planet to cause havoc."

"Sounds rather familiar," Soren said dryly. "The fires of war are never quite quenched, are they? No matter how terrible the last conflict, there's always appetite for more once the old scars have faded and the tales of past glory have been polished fine."

War was a common occurrence on the continent of Tellius.

"And once two warmongers desperate for conflict come to power on each side," he said, rather bitterly. "Not that peace was near any time before that, mind!"

He shook his head. "Sometimes I wonder. People call me a cynic, but I've fought the armies of a man who manufactured a war just to find a more interesting opponents to slaughter. And still people followed him. Idiocy. Well, I suppose he had plenty of time to stoke his subjects' fear and thirst for power, if not their loyalty.

"And? Were you still in the midst of this conflict when you came here?"

"Oh, worse than ever!" He folded his arms. "When the Lich King fell, that just became an excuse for the war to flare up again. No external foes to fight, so we have to fight each other!"

[I have been there. And there, too.] A voice, thick with Draenic accent and somewhat unnatural in its formation of words said behind him. Nehaalista had chosen to watch for a while, and while part of her had filled with fury at the vision of the Horde lands, she'd done her best to put it to the side. It had worked, mostly.

Thinking of Kinase had helped.

He turned to look at the person who had said that (though the accent had given away three-quarters of it already). He offered the draenei woman a bow, not at all bothered by her presence.

"Used to the view from up here, or were you a little lower down?" he asked, tilting his head slightly towards the dropoff that lead to the Scryers' Tier.

Nehaalista shook her head, [I worked with the priests for a very long time when I arrived here. They are good people.] Also, she'd rather break her own neck than work with the Scryers.

[What made you choose to work with them?] she signed as the necklace translated.

"A recommendation from a senior officer, actually," Mar said. "He knew that I planned to be in the thick of it, and -- well, you'll probably think this is mercenary, but the Aldor offered a better inscription."

He glanced down at his pauldrons -- how far removed they were from the ones he'd donned all those ages ago. Then smiled. "Actually, the honest truth is that I didn't care one whit for the politics. Don't get me wrong, I studied them and did my research, but it was purely academic! Come down to it I thought it was stupid, pointlessly divisive, and utterly meaningless in the face of the larger threats."

Down below on the upper tier of the city, a group of Shattered Sun warriors marched smartly out into the brilliant noonday sun, forming into lines for combat practice. "I think the day the Offensive formed, I felt more hope for Azeroth than I have ever before or since. Also it was nice to be proven right about the whole mess!"

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Tank/DPS LFG, need heals and DPS [Open]

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HAI IM DPS CAN I HAS INVITE?

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