Resourceful Ulysses @trevaleyn - Tumblr Blog

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Is House of Crows dead? I'm a victim of Isato's and want to return to the server but don't think I can stomach it if I run into any of those people.

Sorry for the delay! I've been playing classic so the short answer is I'm not sure. However I Do know most if not all of HoC has been gone or moved elsewhere to other servers. Whether that's still the case or not I don't know.

taifher-blog

The Grizzly Hills were becoming familiar. Rolance was beginning to recognize the faces she passed on her trek to the gateway; there was the lumberjack brothers (or at least she assumed they were brothers), four guards posted at a remote Alliance outpost from the war, and of course her new friend Redright.

She didn’t come for him though. She never had — even their first meeting in the frozen north had been a coincidence. She had been traveling and happened to meet him during an interlude. When she passed him now, if she ever did, she assumed they had a silent understanding as to where she was going. She didn’t need to say it to him. She didn’t need to explain it. And she liked Redright for that.

“Hey Uselesses!” She called into the cave. It was easier than saying his name, insulting him. It always had been. He and she never developed the same silent language as she and Redright had. If she had said something like that to Redright, he’d either tolerate it as a joke or swing at her to make a point. Ulysses had been more prone to taking it as an insult in life. “I got some goodies.”

As she made her way deeper into the stone walls that housed the gateway, she began to pull at her clothes. Now that she was out of view of the lumberjacks and the guards there was no reason for her to remain confined to her tunic and pelts. As they dropped to the floor, so too did she. Nude and shining with silvery titan-forged skin.

“You’re lucky you left,” she said to the pond of angry red energy that laid just a few feet in front of her. “As it turns out, once you go metal you can’t do shit the same as before, right? Can’t drink, can’t get high. S’a sorry existence.”

She tossed a pipe and a paper bag of mageroyal into the pond and watched as it bubbled and sparked and faded into nothing. A part of her liked to imagine that it would go to Ulysses in his realm — his favorite herb and something to spoke it with would be a welcome surprise. Another part of her hoped that he could never hear it when she spoke to him like this. After all, that would mean that he’s seen her vulnerable. And that never ended well.

She leaned back against the cave wall and sighed. For hours she sat there, simply existing next to him. Her way of mourning. She sat in silence for most of it, thinking of the changes to her life and the changes she imagined Ulysses was going through himself. She slumped further down and crossed her arms. “I miss you hair,” she said miserably to the eldritch pool. “No matter what anyone else said about it.”

She wanted to say more; she always did. But for now, that would be enough.

@winston-redright @trevaleyn

sabvenia-blog

Latest bosses in their raids(classic wow). I hope, I havent forgotten anyone

skulldeer-deactivated20191015

It’s six in the goddamn morning and I feel like stirring up a shitshow

skulldeer-deactivated20191015

I want to make this big post about how pedophiles and abusers in the wra / mg community use dark rp as a means of grooming and making people overlook their predatory ass roleplay but That’s A Lot Of Emotional Labor And Personal Stories

anyway if you wanna chat about this shit hmu it’s been simmering in me since i shut down this blog as an rp blog lol

acquaintedwithrask

spaceboxingpsycho

Chains That Bind

Most people didn’t see the world the way Ulysses did, or had rather. He supposed none of that mattered anymore--only one thing mattered to him of that old life, his wife Rolance. Sure, their had been other flames, other interests, other infatuations but those all boiled down to distractions, nothing more and nothing less.

“I just came home from being in prison,” The words weren’t his, but rather his wife’s even now, an entire reality away, the eldritch magic that saturated Ulysses being--and now the reality he had created, linked them all together, her words and thoughts able to bleed over much like how a pen or a marker with too much ink was able to bleed over to another page beneath leaving its mark, echoes he supposed, but it felt like more than just echoes. Could space, time, and reality itself have memories?

“Just like when I died to the Crows, nobody came to save me… Well. Me in particular. The group was saved.” There was a pause, “But for me, I think the person who was the most visibly concerned was Kelly, and you know how she is… If she cares the most for you, that’s pretty sad.” He smiled at that, though found no laughter or joy in Rolance’s words. He was merely listening as he worked.

“Suppose I am pretty sad right now.”

His hands flourished once, in this realm creation was his right, his mere will was all he needed to play, no, be a god. Ulysses sheer will had manifested before him a forge--not a heavy handed blacksmith’s forge, the tools here were smaller, more precise, more clamps and small furnaces and kilns, molds and sharpened tools meant to work with softer metals, this was the forge of a whitesmith.

“Do you know the shit I did for you? I stormed a Legion ship for you. I became a soldier for you. I learned how to manipulate time and space to bring you back from certain death…” He did know. of course he knew, he was Ulysses Trevaleyn, it was his job to know. That was how he had undid the damage and alterations to Azeroth’s reality and created his own.

“Can’t think of any times you saved me. You said letting me die was something like payment for how I’d wronged you, if I remember right…” The sound of a bellows in the background as he listened in across the barriers of realities, though perhaps listen wasn’t the right description, he more felt the words, like thoughts he might want to say aloud, words that hovered in the forefront of his mind but he knew the source wasn't him. A jeweler’s hammer had manifested in his hand along with a pair of almost wire thin tongs as he began to shape what he was making carefully, meticulously so.

“This was just another time that you weren’t there, I guess. That I would have been if it were you in trouble.” He could feel pain alongside those words, the Eldritch was inside Rolance’s body right now, acting to suture her back together. Despite feeling the ghost of Rolance’s pain, Ulysses still did not react, he had become more stoic in this place and on his own.

“I should hope one day I meet someone who cares for me like I cared for you.”

Their were tears then as he worked, though they weren’t his own. Borrowed from the link they shared, these we're Rolances tears he was wiping from his cheeks, taking a moment to compose himself though he knew Rolance was still bawling like a babe, curled up on their couch.

Despair, it had always gripped Rolance so easily without Ulysses being around, one lesson the tempest of a woman never had learned was that exact exchange was a lie. People took different things from different relationships, Rolance had been with Ulysses because she craved a man who would stand up to her, to tell her what to do, to be a sort of check and balance against her actions and to correct her moral shortcomings.

Ulysses had been with Rolance because he respected her ferocity, her strength and cunning, but also her passion for what was right and wrong. Though those lines blurred often, what did them in was that he had never forgiven the woman--he couldn’t, he couldn’t forget what she had done, but then again the hard part was always letting go.

This was his reality, his dimension where he could sculpt whatever he liked--right now, the product of that desire to create was a chain of eldritch rings. The gloss of silver and gold combined with the glamour and glitter of rubies and garnets, on Azeroth it would have been a weapon unlike any other, something that would have allowed for total and complete destruction of the planet, here it would be a tool of creation.

“You’re not alone,” he said aloud, “You’re never alone Rolance, that’s your problem. You relied on me to make you into something,” he wasn’t sure if the link worked both ways, though he just wished to speak the words out loud, to get the feelings that protested her assumptions out in the air, “You can’t be alone because you don’t know who you are. Your hair, your skin, your scars, always changing, even the powers you drew from were always changing. You have the heart of a dog. No meant yes, attention either good or bad wasn’t discerned, you just cared that you got it. You did not love me. You used me to make yourself feel better and I simply didn't care."

The finality of those words would echo here forever. This reality Ulysses was building was for himself, not for them both. Slipping the chain on over his neck, he grew a smile that seemed sad and genuine, “Without me, you revert to the same old tactics, throwing yourself in harms way to feel something, throwing yourself at the feet of controlling, abusive leash holders. You scorned me for wanting to break that lead. You kept crawling back, over and over when I had no desire to control you. I wanted to show you how to be your own person but you took that as a desire to be like me. To crave power and avarice and hunger for more. You got that from me, I know it. It’s not a gift to you like it is to me. You were always unwieldy with your emotions Rolance.”

A wave of his hand dismissed the forge he had created, tools and molds, foundations and furnaces disintegrating into dust. He no longer had need of it. Ulysses wondered what Rolance would have thought of him now, how both his mind and body had changed. As a god in his own realm, Ulysses looked younger--perhaps in his late twenties or early thirties, though he had always been an ageless looking man, his hair was a brunette mane that hung about his shoulders, his body bore no scars or blemishes, even his tattoos, each and everyone one of them was gone, leaving a bare sun-kissed look to his skin, he wore no armor, only a simple cream colored long-sleeved shirt a belt, loose fitted black pants and some simple leather wrapped shoes over his feet, though his hands and ears were ever adorned with jewelry.

“Do yourself a favor: make something of yourself. I gave you every gift I had but I guess I could never give you the foresight on how to use it. You have the power of a god in your blood now, and yet you’re weeping on our old couch because no one is there to tell you how to use it. I love you Rolance, that’s why I dedicated myself to giving you that power. Death, injury, even how you feel right now? Irrelevant, you only need to see that to move to the next step. I let you die because that's the price. You learned that you are immortal."

Goddess. He had been trying the entire time to forge Rolance into a goddess, but he was a mere mortal then. He supposed in a way he still was here, though he didn’t need to be. Were someone to somehow enter his realm and destroy his physical form it wouldn’t matter, this dimension was sculpted with the very eldritch essence of Ulysses body, along with arcane and light magics, he would just manifest in another physical form if he needed it, though the reality of it was, he didn’t. He merely existed in this form because it felt comfortable.

“I have work to do. The Titans chain Sargeras. Someone must impose the order of creation without them.”

Someone indeed. His left hand reached up to the chain around his neck as that sad smile he bore turned a bit more pleased, Rolance was linked to him. Perhaps one day she would learn to dip into the powers he held now, perhaps not. He had work to do, he always did, emotions that were literally a reality away couldn’t and wouldn’t impede him now.

He lofted a palm and aimed it into the mostly black void of this still new, unborn reality, eyes lidding as he focused his powers. One by one, stars began to form, twisting, churning, candle flames igniting in the dark, distant or entirely to small. In a matter of minutes a galaxy would be birthed, and he held it between his palms. One day she would join him, then her pain and suffering would melt away, they could even become one singular being if they chose to make it so. For now, Ulysses had an eternity to craft. How utterly divine, he thought to himself.

Mentions: @high-inquisitor

#ulysses #godboi #wow rp #oc #short stories #paladin #paladidnt #rolance #power rings #eldritch

Art for my new OC. I'll make some updates to this blog soon, but before that a few loose ends will be tied up here.

#not ulysses #neat art #oc art #digital art #paladin #marshal #lawman #wow

fuckyeahrings

manicpixiedreamsuccubus

Stephen Webster’s Seven Deadly Sins collection. This is so amazing. The above ring is Wrath.

Envy:

Gluttony:

Greed:

Lust:

Pride:

Sloth:

affectionatetitlepending-deacti

I want Lust so bad.

wretchedsilence-blog

Wrath is where it’s at

serifinaxxx

Love them all.

systlin

Yes hello I need all of these immediately.

feynites

@circadian-rhythm

retro-sci-fi-songbird

Holy shit

skulldeer-deactivated20191015

@hodge-podgenerd

I remember you telling me once Uly got his ring fetish from you

So have some ring fetish

sombermuses

To An Empty House

This wasn’t the first time Rolance came home to an empty house. The most recent time had been a year ago, when she walked into her apartment in Stormwind and expected to see Ulysses waiting there for her. But he wasn’t. The first of many signs that he had left her without saying goodbye, and forever torn their relationship in two. But she didn’t want that. As Rolance stumbled into the dusty chambers of their her Dalaran apartment, she caught herself hoping that he would be there. She hoped that he’d be sitting at his desk chipping away at his work, or sleeping only to wake with a fond smile saved only for her… But it was empty. He was gone. Only this time it had been her who left him.

Rolance collapsed down onto the living room couch and began removing her plate armor and setting down her weapons. She could feel pieces of her charred flesh peeling from her when she removed her chest plate and the padding below it, though now without an anti-magic collar, that would heal soon enough.

For now, as she sit naked, she looked at her body. Her skin had twisted into angry red knots from the pyromancer’s flames. Skin that had once been without injury now was about to be covered in scars again, scars of the very same nature as before. She could also see the indentation on her skin, the scar of where the bullet had pieced her. She felt the lingering pain of it too, and knew that her nightmares would be plagued with the rooftop battle scene for years to come. Those were night terrors she knew she’d have to fight alone now. Nothing new. But there wasn’t much she could do about that right now.

Right now it was just a matter of numbing the pain. She laid down on the couch.

“I just came home from being in prison,” she said to a spouse who wasn’t there. Who never had been, and never would be again. “Just like when I died to the Crows, nobody came to save me… Well. Me in particular. The group was saved.” She smiled a bit ruefully. “But for me, I think the person who was the most visibly concerned was Kelly, and you know how she is… If she cares the most for you, that’s pretty sad.”

The light in her eyes dimmed.

“Suppose I am pretty sad right now.” She reached out blindly for the bottle of rum she had left near the couch — she had been too stricken by mourning to sleep in their her bed, and it’s not like there was anyone to put it away. Just as she expected, the dusty bottle was still there. She raised it to her lips and took a sip from it.

“I keep thinking of you,” she said to the empty house. “Do you know the shit I did for you? I stormed a Legion ship for you. I became a soldier for you. I learned how to manipulate time and space to bring you back from certain death…” She took another sip from the bottle. “Can’t think of any times you saved me. You said letting me die was something like payment for how I’d wronged you, if I remember right…” Another sip from her bottle. “This was just another time that you weren’t there, I guess. That I would have been if it were you in trouble.”

She could feel the eldritch working around her skin, mending her flesh and stitching it back together in strangely colored patterns. Once they had resembled and octopus, but the fireball had done well to distort the image beyond recognition.

“I should hope one day I meet someone who cares for me like I cared for you.”

Her eyes fluttered closed. She breathed in deeply through her nose, held it, then exhaled it through her mouth. She forced herself to relax. She reminded herself that it was alright, that there was nobody around. It was always a process, getting her walls down. She had them built up so high and so thick that letting herself be vulnerable, even in the comfort of her own home, it required intention. The logical part of her knew that it was best to get it all out lest someone see and perceive her as weak. The emotional part longed for a companion to keep her safe during this vulnerability.

But time had told her that wasn’t a realistic wish.

And so, alone and in the dark and with only a bottle of rum to keep her company, Rolance forced herself to cry. Crying turned to sobbing as she curled her body up on the couch. She cried out of fear. She cried out of guilt. She cried out of self-pity. She cried out of anger for her fear, guilt, and self-pity. And she cried because nobody was there to cry with her, and nobody ever would be.

Now and forever, all she had to bother returning home to was an empty house. And they wondered why she didn’t bother saving herself.

@blacklight-wra @trevaleyn

zack-leingod-deactivated2020030

Warcraft

My father passed away in 1989. This was right before I was born, so I don’t know much about him aside from what my mother would tell me. In 1993 my mom met a good fellow by the name of Rob who would later become my stepfather. Rob would introduce us to gaming culture, something that would ultimately change my life forever. Rob not only taught me that gaming was fun and acceptable in an era where it was most ridiculed, but he also taught me you could be healthy physically and mentally while enjoying what you love.

Rob was a professional weight lifter believe it or not, and ran a martial arts dojo. He had this larger than life personality that really inspired me, and I regarded him as a role model. It was the year 1994 now, November 23rd. I was four years old at the time, a 90s kid who grew up with a dad who had an overwhelming passion for the RTS genre (Real-time strategy.) This was the date that Warcraft: Orcs & Humans would release, and Rob was very excited to say the least. I remember him picking me up from daycare that day and telling me about what the game involved. I remember being so intrigued, and his excitement became my excitement as well. I was with him the night we went to purchase our own copy of Warcraft: Orcs & Humans. It was late on a Wednesday as we rushed home with anticipation after waiting so long to get our hands on a copy of that bright red box displaying the iconic stare down of Alliance verses Horde. We ended up pulling into the driveway of our family business. I remember being confused at first, I wondered why we hadn’t gone home to show mom the game. Rob told me mom would be upset if we were playing this at such a late hour. Though I didn’t quite understand, I nodded, I just wanted to play the game.

I remember becoming very impatient while Rob installed the game on his work office MS-DOS ( Microsoft Disk Operating System. ) Eventually I ended up falling asleep. I recall him trying to wake me up excitably as the game had finished installing. I woke up immediately as he pulled up a chair so I could watch him play. At the time I remember being spooked by the music, it was eerie and war inspired, fitting of the game’s title. Rob went to start a new game, and I recall being puzzled at the thought of choosing a team or side to fight for. The game was asking us who to choose, the orcs, or the humans.

Rob asked me who we should pick, and though I was usually indecisive about things like this, I ultimately told him I wanted to fight for the humans. And there it began, I was introduced to the crazy war torn world of Azeroth. I remember us playing throughout the night, the only light in the building coming from his work office. ( My mom was very angry when she found out. ) I was a little too young at the time to understand the clunky controls and mechanics of the game, but I was happy enough watching Rob play.

Warcraft: Orcs & Humans had become a gaming phenomenon in the RTS genre, eventually selling 300,000 copies. It set the stage for Blizzard Entertainment, solidifying them as a reliable company in the gaming world.

One year went by and my love for Warcraft and Blizzard had become an obsession. The teachers at my school often disciplined me for rounding up the other kids at recess time to play Warcraft where we waged wars against the other with make believe swords and castle sieges. I don’t think the other kids knew a damn thing about the game or what Warcraft really was, but I’d like to remember they all had fun trying to kill each other regardless. The big toy was my castle, and I imagined myself to be a knight of the Alliance, a hero of humanity and protector of Azeroth.

It was now December 9th, 1995, the date at which Warcraft II: Tides of Darkness would release. I was at the end of my kindergarten career, about to start first grade. Warcraft II exceeded mine and Rob’s expectations, outstripping its predecessor by a landslide. Warcraft II went on to sell over 2 million copies, showing the world that Blizzard Entertainment was here to stay. I was now old enough to understand the games mechanics, and of course I chose to fight for the Alliance again. You were able to wage war on air and sea now, which was cool to me.

Rob and I would spend hours at a time defending Azeroth from the Horde. I believe it was Warcraft II that truly instilled my faction loyalty. I saw the Alliance as the saviors of Azeroth, a beacon of hope and light in a world that the orcs sought to destroy. April 30, 1996 came around and Blizzard released an expansion pack for the game. Warcraft II: Beyond the Dark Portal. This is where I fell in love with the character Turalyon. The idea of paladins captivated me. They were heroes of justice, protectors of the weak and innocent. In my childlike mind, they were my heroes, they would protect me against the horrifying orcs that wanted to destroy everything that was good in the world. I played Warcraft ll and other Blizzard games including Starcraft, and Diablo for many years.

Warcraft III: Reign of Chaos came out on July 3, 2002. This is where Blizzard’s storytelling really improved. Suddenly the orcs I was so terrified of had become heroic outcasts, and the humans were given a protagonist who turned villain. The orcs had one of the most engaging campaigns I’d ever experienced in an RTS, and I found myself rooting for them this time around. Thrall was one of my favorite characters, and I wanted the Horde to succeed and find a new home on Azeroth. My perspective on what was good and evil had changed, and I spent countless hours playing Warcraft III and its expansion back The Frozen Throne, especially on the Battle.net feature. Warcraft III was an influential example of the RTS genre, selling over one million units in a month!

OH BOY, AND THEN THE UNTHINKABLE HAPPENED FOLKS. November 23, 2004! The release date of World of Warcraft. My life was over at this point. I anticipated the release of this game like my life depended on it. All I could think about were the possible adventures that awaited me. I remember the line being long, but I eventually got my copy of the game and rushed home to install what would become a much bigger part of my life in the future. Millions of people shared in my experience, making World of Warcraft a cultural phenomenon. Warcraft has been a wild ride, but I’ve been playing the games since the very beginning. If you’ve read this long, it won’t surprise you that my first character was a human paladin, and I still play one today. I was 14 years old then, I turned 28 this year. One day I hope to go to Blizzcon, believe it or not I haven’t attended one of their events yet!

I’ve met some of the greatest people I know on World of Warcraft, and I owe that to not only Blizzard, but my stepfather Rob. You both introduced me to a world that has become my second home, a place I truly believe influenced me in some ways. Rob, thank you for being an irresponsible parent by letting me stay up late to wage bloody conflicts in a World of Warcraft.

You’re the best. <3

kii-nam

Reblog if your Muse has a kill count of 5+

mitsunerokuyari

news-nerd-deactivated20190131

“Mmm. That’s low. Even for me. Minimal regrets over them.”

trevaleyn

"The level of power the eldritch rings granted me was near limitless. I've killed many in my hunts, dark things and those that serve them."

Harsh Lessons

Corine Ruttger glared at the mainlander who had foiled her plans for power. She was trying to take a Drustvar burial site and raise the dead held within both to be servants and to steal their knowledge and further her dark powers.

The heartsbane coven had claimed her a few months ago. She had ripped out her own heart and sacrificed it to a greater witch, in turn she gained undeniable power and a thirst for blood abs the hearts of mortals. Before this moment, she had been a cobbler for the village with her husband, she had grown resentful of their marriage, of their struggles, of becoming a mother to two children she never wanted. A life she had never imagined had pushed her away, and into the arms of the Heartsbane Coven. Ulysses might have felt sorry for her if her first victims hadn't been her family. Her husband tacked to the wall like paper on corkboard. A hole in his chest from where his heart had been ripped out.

Harold Ruttger hadn't died without putting up a fight it seemed though, clutched in one hand a knife covered in a blackened, tar-like ichor was still being clutched tightly, in another hand a clump of hair. He had pulled her head back so hard it ripped hair free and slashed the witches throat, so far as the paladin could tell.

Azerite exposure had made the paladin consistently and incrementally more. More intelligent, stronger, faster, but also more wrathful. More zealous, the lights grasp thoroughly clutching the paladin, a blessing in this case as he used such abilities to piece together what happened to the children next. The daughter, a five year old had never awakened. She had beem charmed not to by her mother, though in doing so her older brother had stumbled upon his mother feasting on he4 own daughter and called for his father. The broken pieces of a chair told the story, the son had tried to leap into action and broke said chair over his own mother's back. The whole family never stood a chance but they had died fighting and together.

Ulysses had tracked the witch like a hound, Azerite made it easy to sense evil magic, along with silver and fire provided courtesy of the order of embers. It had been an easy enough task to follow her into the woods, following hexing urns and bone charms and fetishes that lead to a rickety shack. One that the Paladin quickly lit with a jar of alchemical flame.

Corine exploded out one side of the shack, screeching in pain as she swatted at the flames that were catching on her clothing. She ran into the woods with inhuman speed, then again she really wasn't a human anymore. There was no way to come back from being turned into a hag, at least not any way that Ulysses had found. He chased her through the woods. Hot on the witches heels, the light granting him swiftness to match. He would corner her before a large drop into an ancient Drust quarry. She looked around frantically but there was no way out. She turned in time to give a shriek at the paladin as he sent two more glass jars hurtling towards the witch, a flash of light from the paladins eyes shattered the glass mid-flight and ignited the fluid inside.

A holy burning oil splashing on the witch as the fires cleansed her body, she writhed in agony as the flames died down. It wasn't too long ago that Ulysses had gotteh into an argument with his... Friends? Associates? People of his clandestine order.

Then again he knew what they didn't seem to want to admit: that something could he wholly evil. It was a scary thought of course for those who were seeking redemption, embracing the idea of true evil meant embracing they might have been a part of such a thing, had they not gotten so heated he might have brought to light such fears and alleviated them, though not everyone took to hard lessons.

Stepping forward Ulysses drew a silver blade from beneath his cloak, a silver coated punch dagger that he buried in Corine's back. The witch howled and shreked in pain though she didn't have the strength to resist, already made a crone by the magic she embraced, the withered husk of a woman sobbed, "But i... Was promised... A way out..." Before Ulysses twisted the blade he had sunk into the witches back and sliced the woman open, blue and black viscous liquids replaced blood though the ephemeral blue glow of it quickly faded away.

Corine had learned the hardest lesson: One's demise was always ones own making. Ulysses had seen several times among his ranks an unwillingness to admit the dark past or to minimize or downplay transgressions.

He would return Corine's body to the village to have her burned and read her last rites. Though what unsettled Ulysses at times was that some chose the fate of the dark witch and that others out there we're ready to embrace true evil over thr truth that some things are too evil to embrace.

As hr lit the pyre and stacked all the family's remains together, letting them be burned as one the paladin knew that so long as he lived, he would never embrace such darkness, choosing death in the flames over wrathful darkness, though he knew it would be a long night.