Posts Tagged ‘ Role Play ’

In The Mind Of Genius

While my love for the charr is widely known (dare I say legendary?), the knowledge of my fondness for the asura may be more obscure.  In this spirit I approached ArenaNet with a request for an interview about Tyria’s most diminutive of geniuses.  Mister Jeff Grubb was gracious enough to enlighten this poor bookah.  He also answered my questions.  I tried to cover a wide variety of topics from lore to mechanics to design, and Mister Grubb did not disappoint.  Enjoy!


Secret Agent Cat Interview with Guild Wars 2 Continuity & Lore Designer Jeff Grubb

 Q: We know that the asura have a good deal of interaction with the skritt and the quaggan (and logically by proxy, the krait) but what are some of the other ‘lesser’ races that the asura interact with?

 Jeff: The asura are interested in all the races, whether as potential allies, enemies or resources, and they recognize the strong points of the others. The hylek are excellent alchemists, for example, with a strong knowledge of biology and potions. The dredge have powerful sound-based technology and are the heirs to the dwarven kingdoms. Even such brutish races as the ogres and jotun have their own uses, for heavy lifting if nothing else.


Q: Rata Sum and the Pale Tree seem pretty close to one another geographically. Are there any conflicts between the asura and the sylvari? How is their relationship portrayed in-game?

Jeff: The sylvari met the asura soon after their awakening. Needless to say, the meeting did not go well as the asura were crafty and manipulative and the early sylvari were open and friendly. It was an important lesson for the sylvari – not all the other races are particularly nice. Since that time, the two races have gotten along better, but both races treat each other based on early assumptions – asura think of the sylvari as being frivolous and unsophisticated, while sylvari think of the asura as being poor, limited beings – grasping and calculating.


Q: What is the asuran family structure like? What kind of education can an asuran child expect to receive?

Jeff: Asura tend to practice serial monogamy, in that they have a serious romantic relationship with only one other asura at a time. Most of these relationships are equal partnerships which often (but not always) have a firm, pre-determined end date. Most often, such relationships come out of two asura who fall in love with the same beautiful concept. These marriages of the mind produce rapid development of ideas and increased conceptual paradigms. Oh yeah, and children. Relationships that break up tend to feature more fights about who gets the inventions than who gets the kids.

Asura do love their children, and try to provide the best environment for their budding geniuses. Of course, being asura, the method by which this environment is provided varies from family to family. Some asura children remain with their parents, learning the family legacy of invention and magic. Others are aimed to placing well within their schools, attracting the devotion of other, lesser geniuses. And many are apprenticed to well-established, notable asura who can provide instruction (and are looking for enthusiastic lab assistants).

It goes without saying that all asura children are above average.


Q: If they have such sharp teeth, does that mean they are primarily meat eaters?

Jeff: Asura are omnivores. Their teeth are adapted particularly for catching wild game in the Depths of Tyria and ripping apart the stone-like fungus that infests those caverns.


Q: You can’t say ‘asura’ without saying ‘golem’. Can you give us some more information about how they work?

Jeff: A “golem” is any limited-will, responsive construct that uses powerstones, mystic energies, crystalline matrices, or elemental forces as power sources. They are most commonly encountered as metallic bipeds with mystic ligatures, but there is a wide variety of customized and unique golem types. The great Snaff made a golem entirely of sand, and the golemancer Blimm had a tomb guardian that assembled itself out of bones.


Q: Can you give us an example of some asura racial skills? Utilities? Elites?

Jeff: There is an asura elite skill that allows you to create a battlesuit, which any player can jump into and utilize.


Q: What were some of the biggest challenges when designing the asura?

Jeff: Walking the line between cute and evil. The asura are a diminutive race of geniuses (with long ears), and it is all too easy to make them just a bit incompetent. They are not. They are a driven, intellectually fierce race whose inventions work (eventually). Similarly, it is very easy to turn them into bad guys – they tend to value knowledge above all other things, and that can lead to abuses. There are asura who think nothing of tormenting sentient creatures and seek to learn things that no asura should know, but they are in minority, and tend to be viewed with shock and disgust by the others of the race.


Q: From reading Ghosts of Ascalon and Edge of Destiny, I noticed that asuran speech is highly technical. Does this create any unique challenges for writing lines and voice acting?

Jeff: The asura love arcane technobabble, and we have rules for naming things – it should reflect both magical and technological origins. A Demiplanar Transtabilizer. A Retrograde Orrery. A Conjuration Metacircuit. One of my jobs has been to name asuran creations on the fly.

When we audition voice actors, we always include a line of technical speech (“We need to calculate the inverse root of the polymetric arcane wave!”) to find actors that can deliver such lines with confidence and convince people that these are real things.


Q: What is your favorite thing about the asura?

Jeff: Their belief that every problem can be solved, given enough brainpower and test subjects.


The Loneliest Gamer

This week has been a very lonely one for me.  At work I have moved desks and am essentially cut off from the rest of my department.  At home my husband has started raiding again. And online, my usual haunts have been mysteriously absent of people.

There’s a couple people I’m seeing more of through RIFT, but they are either stubbornly clinging to a server on which I’m no longer playing or clapped in irons by a spousal leveling contract.  I’d like to have my own spousal leveling contract, but due to his general aversion to elves, my husband’s distain for RIFT edges ever closer into the ‘hatred equal to the power of a thousand burning suns’ territory every time he takes a peek over my shoulder.  I did manage to beg and whine at him for a contract involving alts in Guild Wars 2, but who the heck knows when that will come out.

All of this running around and being lonely has got me thinking about a couple of things, namely server structure and Guild Wars 2’s dynamic events.

RIFT is a petty good game.  It’s well put together, astonishingly bug-free, pleasant to look at, and enjoyable.  The rifts and invasions are fun, bringing the community together and fostering a sense of camaraderie.  As fun as it is though, I can’t help but feel that something is wrong.

I’m going to use RIFT as a bit of a whipping boy here.  I’m sorry.

Spirit has been chanting a little mantra to herself for the past few days: “Shatterbone, Defiant. Shatterbone, Defiant.”  This is because she’s getting a guest pass into RIFT for the weekend.  She needs to remember which server to roll on, then she needs to remember which faction to choose so that she can play with her friends.

Of all that has come out of the standardization of the MMO industry, these two mechanics are the most ridiculous.  They are unintuitive and anti-community.  For a game whose heart of hearts is playing with your friends, splitting your playerbase by server and then further by faction is idiocy and if it weren’t for the fact that there isn’t (yet) anything better available, it would never have lasted this long.

That and it just pisses me off.

I have always been attracted to the rough and tumble, the tribal, the gritty.  In DnD when the GM asked me to roll an elf (because of course, all girls play elves /eyeroll) I rolled a wild elf, covered her in grime, squatted on his posh couches, and made a point of depositing hunted game on his carpets.  I enjoy playing the uncouth and the wild, the grease-spattered and industrial.

In a game that separates its players by ideology there is no room for me on the side of the ‘good guys’.

Even getting beyond the server hurdle, finding a server to play where all my friends are, the ideological differences are enough to make me froth.  I must either be shoehorned into a society in which I don’t fit (I get enough of that in real life, THANKS!) or abandon some of my friends by the wayside.

These issues can be ignored or put up with, because I know that in Guild Wars 2 it will be different.  I’ll be able to play my rough and tumble charr with grease stains in her fur and join my friend the impeccably groomed asura whose first invention was a servitor golem so he’d never have to sully his hands with manual labor ever again.  We’ll be able to play together even if we initially chose different worlds because we’re not chained down to one.  Gone will be the days of playing the same character to level 20 or so ten times because all of your friends are scattered to the winds.

For now however, with my friends fractured, I have to settle for playing lonely.  That brings me to my second thought, a worry that hasn’t been sufficiently laid to rest yet by the promise of Guild Wars 2.

Dynamic Events

Using RIFT as a foil again (and its spiritual predecessor, Warhammer Online), the promise of dynamic events both excites and worries me.

In a perfect world you will either be in an area with a healthy population or playing with your friends.  We’ve heard repeatedly about how events will scale to accommodate more players.  Hordes of skritt will grow more numerous, broodmothers will become more cunning and use new skills.  What we haven’t heard about (at least as far as I know), is how well scaling works in the other direction.

The dynamic event analogues in RIFT are the rifts, footholds, and invasions.

  •   A rift is an event that randomly spawns on a single point in the map.  Mobs spawn from the rift and players must battle them.  When entering the influence of a rift you see on your right how many of what mob must be killed to advance the rift to the next stage.  Mobs range from multiple low level mobs to more difficult higher level mobs and even occasionally large bosses spawn.  Once the rift is closed each player receives awards based on their participation regardless of party affiliation.
  •  Occasionally a rift will spawn raiding parties.  These parties of ~5 mobs will travel along roads (which are normally safe) towards populated areas (quest hubs).  Invasion parties, if left unchecked, will gain a foothold.  This appears as an item in the road around which the raiding party congregates.  To destroy it you must kill all the mobs and then destroy the foothold item.
  •  Invasions are zone-wide spawning of rifts and raiding parties.  In an invasion the above two scenarios are happening everywhere on the map.  Roads become impassable and quest hubs come under siege.

In a perfect world the events are extremely fun.  Join a public group and defend your world.  The fun breaks down when you find yourself as a lonely gamer.

It’s possible to vanquish a minor rift by yourself if you’re very good and you play smart.  Raiding parties and footholds are a little more problematic, and major rifts should not be attempted by a player off on their lonesome.

During invasions (which only occur if the population can support it) players tend to congregate near quest hubs, fighting off the raiding parties and nearby rifts, as well as looking for the invasion boss who rewards some pretty sweet prizes.

If you are a lonely gamer off on your own in an awkward part of the map and an invasion spawns you are in some serious trouble.  The rift events scale downward very poorly, and that is my concern about the dynamic events of Guild Wars 2.

During and shortly after launch the events will be massive affairs of pitched battles with potentially dozens of players taking part.  What happens months, years down the road when the newest expansion content is the hot thing?  What happens when we’re all battling Palawa Joko in Elona (I’m calling that now) if someone wants to roll a human in Tyria?  Alone in the world, will that character be capable of completing dynamic events on its own?

I’m fully aware that a charr taking down the Shatner single-handedly sounds a bit ridiculous.  I don’t expect massive events like that to be soluble, but I also don’t expect them to be the bread and butter of the dynamic event content.  It’s not unreasonable to expect the pirate invasion outside of Lions Arch to be soluble.  If one person is attempting that mission if they pull carefully I think they should be able to complete it.  Perhaps they are not able to put out the fires and kill pirates, so maybe I could drive off the pirates but the buildings will have burned down and then the villagers must rebuild.

We already know events will be multifaceted.  What I want to know is if I’m going to be punished with impossible odds on top of loneliness should I find myself forced to play alone.

In Another Man’s Moccasins

Some people put great store in the face they choose to represent themselves. Others view a digital avatar as a thing to be had, an object, a possession.

I am one of the former. For a long time I thought that perhaps there was something wrong with me. I’m fully aware that I am not actually covered in tattoos and flinging protection spells at my friends. Why then do I feel so uncomfortable playing with a male avatar? It’s not like I wouldn’t enjoy watching the backside of a beautifully sculpted male body (quite the contrary *snicker*), but whenever I try to keep up with a male avatar I’m left with a crawly, itchy feeling, like I’m wearing someone else’s skin.

At first I ignored it and just chalked it up to me being the kind of person who only plays as her own gender.

How then do I describe my forum role-play and writing? I can role-play a man with the best of them. I even enjoy it, and I’m assured that the male characters in my stories are believable. So what’s the deal? Am I actually fatally flawed and in some way psychotic? As much fun as it would be to entertain that possibility, I really don’t think so.

What then is my motivation? Where am I being hung up?

It’s not in the armor category. Many times I prefer the male armors to their female  counterparts (I’ve got a thing for ram horns). And it hasn’t got to do with the animations. I feel the animation quality for the males and the females of all professions are of the same (very high) quality.

What then? What is it driving this feeling that I’m an intruder in someone else’s body?

I think it has to do with action versus record.

When playing a game I am active. I actively press down the W key and my avatar walks forward. When I circle around a guild-mate and act like an idiot it’s my own fingers performing that dance. My own muscles move and, in response, my avatar moves as well. For that moment I feel like I am my character. Though I’m fully aware that is not the case, the feeling is still there.

When roleplaying I operate entirely differently. For starters I write in the third person. He did this, She said that. My character turns then into He, She, and they. It is no longer I.

I believe the disconnect happens when I think or say something like “I’ll be right there” and when I look at the screen that I that I see is a man. I look into the mirror every day and see a woman. I am very much a woman. Pretending to be otherwise leaves me feeling distinctly uncomfortable. I don’t want to get into gender identity and comfort with one’s own sexuality. I’m just saying that’s how I personally feel.

While thinking about this I realized that I also write in the third person. I can count on one hand the times I have written in the first person and none of them involved a male main character. The only sample I have of writing in the first person (other than my blogged stories about myself, which don’t count) is a small piece of flash (which I’m currently trying to get published).

I’m interested to hear how others feel about their characters. Are you able to disconnect your kinetic actions of pressing keys from your sense of self? Do you just prefer to wear the skin of another gender? Or are you like me, stuck in a rut?

I Think I Might Cry

I was catching up on my interviews today. In one of those ZAM interviews floating around I saw this:

we’re not changing or altering things at random and pretending that they didn’t exist. We’re going to make it make sense.


That’s an answer in response to mucking about with lore (aka fluff, backstory, or history).

I’m having trouble putting into words how satisfied and happy ArenaNet’s attitude towards lore makes me.

I am willing to believe that a giant race of man-eating cat-people badly in need of orthodontics can call down fiery meteors from the sky and construct massive steam engines of destruction. I love fantasy and science fiction. I’m willing to believe a lot of crazy stuff under one condition.

Don’t Lie to Me.

THE most important rule in storymaking is Truth. Not Truth in the sense that every made-up world must have a blue sky. If the sky in this world is green well, I’m willing to roll with that so long as said sky isn’t suddenly red tomorrow without a very good explanation.

Do not, under any circumstances, go back to previously published story and either invalidate it or pretend it never happened. If that happens then the player is being lied to. LIED TO. If you lie to a player, or a reader, or a watcher (depending on what medium you are using) you have lost all manner of credibility. You are henceforth not to be trusted with anything you say.

So they sky is yellow today? What happened to those memories I had of slaughtering my foes and admiring the red sky as it reflected off the pools of blood on the ground? Oh, but the sky should have been yellow on that day? I’m left feeling like my memories, my experiences didn’t matter. I feel like I’m no longer connected to the world, my vested interest is gone.

I leave. Likely never to return.

I may be blowing this out of all reasonable proportion. It’s probably not something most people think about. But fantasy and science fiction try to create an alternate reality. Changing the history in order for the present to make sense is not ok. We are not living in Oceania, and I will not tolerate presented history being altered.

I’d like to leave you with an ancient story, see if you can guess what it’s about.

There once lived three sisters on a hill. The oldest sister wore bright green and had yellow hair. She stood straight and tall and lived at the top of the hill. The second sister wore yellow. She made her home under the hill but when the sun shone and the wind blew she liked to run all over the hill and the surrounding fields. The youngest sister wore dark green. She lived on the side of the hill but wasn’t as strong as her oldest sister, nor was she as adventurous as her middle sister.

One day the sun was shining bright, but the youngest sister was crying.

“What’s wrong?” asked the oldest sister.

“I can’t see the sun, our middle sister has covered the whole hill in shade.” wailed the youngest sister.

“I do it because you like your feet to be shaded, and I can keep out intruders!” protested the middle sister.

The older sister nodded. This was true. So she took her youngest sister up in her arms and held her up to the light. “Isn’t that better?” she said. “You can see the sky and the sun, hear the birds and feel the wind.”

The youngest sister was very happy, but she was also a little sad. The oldest sister watched over all of them, and the middle sister kept out intruders and kept the hill comfortable, but what could she, the youngest sister do?

The youngest sister dozed in her oldest sister’s arms until a great crack of thunder woke her. “It’s starting to rain” she said.

“It’s going to be a terrible storm.” The oldest sister said, fear in her voice.

The middle sister was safe in her house under the hill, and the youngest sister could hide in her house on the side of the hill, but the oldest sister had to stay on top of the hill to watch over them. There was no one to protect her.

“I’ll stay with you.” The youngest sister said.

As the rain lashed and the wind howled the youngest sister clung tight to her oldest sister. Because of the arms wrapped around her the oldest sister did not fall and instead was able to stand strong and watchful through the storm until the sun came out again.

The youngest sister was happy to be able to do something to help her other sisters. The three stayed like that: The oldest stood straight and tall, watching over the younger two, the middle sister kept out invaders and shaded the hill-home of the three, and the youngest rested in the oldest sister’s arms until storms came, when she helped her sister withstand the wind.

The End

Here are my three sisters. Be very quiet, they’re still sleeping:

Hill-homes lined up, waiting for rain.

Got Your Back: A Love Letter to Mhenlo

Yesterday’s Zaishen Mission (daily heroic for you WoW folks) was the Dragon’s Lair. For the uninitiated (un-attuned hurr hurr) the Dragon’s Lair is a mission just after a grueling campaign in the desert that culminates with a mano-a-mano fight against your doppleganger (this sucks for healers, btw).

Each Guild Wars mission has an optional bonus. Complete the bonus and you’ll get more experience plus credit that counts towards something-or-other. (I haven’t really been paying attention).

This is the chronicle of yesterday’s mission:

To: Mhenlo (Healer Henchman)
Postmarked: Droknar’s Forge • Routed Through: Rata Sum

My Dearest Mhenlo,

I hope you are doing well. I am writing to you from the scenic slopes of the Southern Shiverpeaks. The climate leaves me wishing for something a little more substantial than tattoos, but after the punishing sun of the Crystal Desert, I find it a relief.

Having defeated my doppleganger, I headed to the Dragon’s Lair to seek Glint’s blessing so that I may take the fight to the vile Mursaat.

I found fighting companions quickly (I’m sure you’re aware that those such as us are always welcome). The warrior in the party nearly brought me to tears, however, when he demanded that all members make use of their innate self-healing abilities. He said this was to give myself and the other monk an easier time of things. Though I would love to say our success was due to my unparalelled ability as a protection monk, I suspect this thoughtfulness was the real deciding factor.

So, equipped and ready, we set off through the Dragon’s Lair. Each facet was more difficult than the last, yet we persevered. Halfway through, I believe after the Mesmer facet, our other monk was struck with a terrible malady. As we passed into the new area his body was stiff and unresponsive. We were forced to continue without him.

I would be lying if I said that I was not afraid. I have not followed in your healing footsteps, dearest Mhenlo. Dwayna calls me to be a shelter for those needing protection. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure but, no matter. My skills were sufficient until the very end.

You see, someone (the assassin I suspect, hot-headed fools that they are) decided to collect a souvenir. One of Glint’s precious eggs.

Her fury was such that I have never seen before. Even with my best sheltering spells I could not keep my comrades alive, and the healing spells I did have weren’t enough to staunch the damage.

Instead, I did my best to stay out of the way and resurrect my fallen party members. Unyeilding Aura is really a fantastic ability, quickly able to turn the tide of a battle such as this. Honestly Mhenlo I don’t know why you haven’t adopted more modern ways.

Well, it appears some young Elonian refugees have gotten their hands on some rockets and need my services. Please give my regards to Cynn.

Affectionately yours,
Morgan Ascot

The Filthy Animal : Part 3

…  Continued from Part 2.

“Hey old gel! Get all the muck washed off did we?” The deep booming voice seemed to be coming from the large dark, newly shilouetted shape at the entrance to The Filthy Animal.

After a step or two more the shape resolved itself to be another Tauren, and a druid to judge by the gear. His eyes twinkled as he clopped over the floor tiles to lay a hand on Tigerfeet’s shoulder.

“Ol’ Miss Pessimistpaws ain’t jawin’ yer face off with doom ‘n gloom now is she lil’ lass?”

“Stow it Pils. Calf doesn’t have the respec-”

“A-hahahaha!” Pilsner’s deep voice drowned out any objection Tigerfeet might have had, “Oh don’t mind her ye wee Shaman. She’s jes’ surly on account of needin’ t’ be peeled off the floor of Ulduar earlier. Crazy plan that was too, eh Tiger?”

The elder druid sniffed primly, “Worked just fine if you ask me. Was faster to skip the repairs before taking on the Leviathan of Flame and it worked just great too.”

“Ha! Excepting o’ course the fact ye got a mouthful o’ dirt! Although,” And now the younger Tauren looked thoughtful, “I’ve got it on good authority that we’re the first group to ever attempt that little stunt.”

And then, with another guffaw Pilsner clapped Tigerfeet on the back, startling a bearish growl as she tried to maintin her composure.

“It’s not like we need the dwarven aid. Makes my skin crawl to work with Dwarves and Gnomes. Unnatural engineering no self-respecting Druid would-”

“Awww come now, ye know I’m a great engin-”

“Wait!” The slack-jawed Rainseeker stood in a rush, “You were assaulting Ulduar?!? That’s… that’s…”

“There is greater evil down there than you would ever know calf.” Tigerfeet whispered.

All joking was gone as both Druids regarded the young Shaman with grave expressions.

“I-” Rainseeker glanced sheepishly at her hands, clenched in her lap, “I’m sorry…. Elder.”

“Feh, all that posturin’s gonna go to her head. C’mon Tigs, I think I saw Braj gearin’ up with her lance fer joustin’. An’ look!”

Tigerfeet stood and squinted towards the doorway to The Filthy Animal. After a moment she even smiled. “It’s stopped raining.”

The End


Parts of this were even true!


That was my own dumb fault too. Motorbikes cannot solo helicopters, nor can a half-health motorbike withstand Flame Leviathan’s frontal attack.

The Filthy Animal : Part 2

Continued from Part 1

“But I just wan-”


The thunder rolled overhead, every bit as violent as the roiling black clouds would lead one to believe.

Rainseeker just sighed and stared hard at Abohba. The orc innkeeper just stood in front of the door to the bathing rooms, arms cross’d her chest, with a deceptively ignorant expression on her brown face.

“I’mma sorry shaman, but th’ bathin’ rooms be in use. Besides which,” Abohba leveled a knowing and slightly accusatory gaze at the young shaman, “Ya need ta pay to use the tubs. Be three gold pieces lass.”

“Three whole gold pieces for a measley bath?! That’s highway robbery! Why, I could go outside and get a bath for free!”

The innkeeper was quick to loose her teasing tone as she waggled a finger at the other orc, “I’ll have ye know our water be heated, and we have nice soaps and adventureres from all over Azeroth come to rest their weary bones here. And I’m thinkin,” Now the inkeeper grabbed a fistful of Rainseeker’s top-knot and pulled the orc close, “That yer not wantin’ a bath at all. Sergent Tigerfeet be a great elder, worthy of ye respect, and ye’ll not be botherin’ her when she’s takin’ her leisure. Ye want to make a fool of yeself ye can durn well wait until she’s done!”

With a rough shove Abohba released Rainseeker’s top-knot and propelled her back towards the public dining area and the laden trestle tables.

“Huh, I’d have figured another Orc would properly respect a shaman…” Rainseeker grumbled to herself as she made her way back to the abandoned plate, “S’not like I meant the old cow any harm after all. Hmph”

As Rainseeker sat at the table, absent-mindedly chewing a hunk of fat, the fury of the storm outside slowly abated. It wasn’t untill the torrential downpour, visible beyond the sheltering overhang of The Filthy Animal, had slowed to a more steady shower, that the door to the back bathing rooms opened and the Druid rejoined the inn at large.

“You had a problem, calf?” Grated a voice in Rainseeker’s ear.

She jumped and whirled to stare, wide-eyed, at the Druid.

“You never take your eyes off a feral, calf. And even then, there’s no guarantee of your safety.”

As Rainseeker watched, eyes going even wider, the ancient druid slid silently onto the bench. The three-fingered tauren hand reached, not for the salads and steamed vegetables favored by most taurens, but for the roasted meat. Yet the hand that grabbed for the haunch had five fingers, and tawny golden fur, and as Rainseeker watched with growing horror, claws the size of knives slid from the hand-turned paw to sink deep into slab of roasted boar.

“Like I said, calf, it’s best to respect your elders. Not everything is what it seems, and I’ve run these plains for a good deal longer than you.”

Rainseeker swallowed, and set her shoulders, “I’ll have you know that I myself am an accomplished warrior for the horde! Why, just earlier this week I was battling toogh and nail to halt the Alliance enchroachment into the Orcish homewo-”

“Outland?!” Tigerfeet brayed loudly, her deep laughter booming above the general din of the tavern, “Calf, I have conquered outland. I have bested the Naga in ther cavern, I have conquered the Tempest Keep. I have been to the Black Temple and paid Illidan his due. The Outlands are nothing but a training ground now for calves like you.” She turned away from the shaman, intently seeking another cut of meat.

“And so what if it is? Just because you did all those things doesn’t mean you can rest! The scourge have shown us that!” Rainseeker’s bravado had fallen away, replaced with righteous indignation at the Druid’s dismissive attitude. She leveled a hard stare at the Tauren, “I’ll even wager there are worse evils to be met than the scourge.”

Tigerfeet paused and turned one cold, feral, eye on the shaman and whispered, “Yes, calf. There are.”

…. to be continued. Part 3