[OOC] Ornasse Reference Sheet

Some screenshots and reference images for Ornasse, I thought I made one of these before but I can’t find it so here’s a new one. I’m going to be participating in the Azeroth Art Exchange again and this reference is for whoever will be drawing him!

Screenshots:

Head close-up
ornyface

“Red Bird” Transmog

redfrontredback

 

“Nightmare Lord” transmog
nightmarefrontnightmareback

 

“Fungal” transmog

orny_moonglade

orny_twilightgrove

Art by others:

204174_900kayley_ornasseornasse__sketch_pencilbear1ornasse_moonjelly

Facts!

IC:

* He basically hates everyone. He’s an unabashed kaldorei supremacist — because they are, after all, the most important and valuable race. He has little use for the rest of the Alliance, unless they are serving the same end, such as the battle for Hyjal. He has some grudging respect for Tauren druids, though he believes they should cut ties with the rest of the Horde.

* He’s a staunch traditionalist and upholds the principles and roles that kaldorei have followed for millenia — no female druids, no male priests. He’ll rant often and loudly about how the youth are abandoning their heritage, and how humans are a bad influence on them.

* At the same time, he’s also a hypocrite, because his own daughter is a druid. Faced with the reality of his own mortality for the first time, he’s eager to hold onto what family he has left. For the sake of their relationship, he allows it. He’s not especially happy that her mate is a death knight, either.

* He has two children: Tathariel, born shortly after the War of the Shifting Sands, and Farahlor, his young son. They have different mothers — he’s lost touch with Tathariel’s mother, Naeva. He lives with Kelanori and Farahlor in the new Feathermoon stronghold.

* Almost all of his left has been spent in the Dream. He was awakened (near the beginning of WoW) along with most of his fellow druids.

* Fleeing the corruption of Teldrassil and his political disagreements with Staghelm, he ventured to the Eastern Kingdoms. This was partly out of curiosity, as well.

* He found another druid in Stormwind, Varul, with whom he became close friends. Varul later returned to the Dream.

* He also had a short and ill-advised relationship with a female draenei. She was later sent to fight in the Plaguelands, and was killed and risen as a death knight.

* He has ties to two dragons: Renzdormu the Bronze and Sorona the Green. He met Renzdormu initially during the War of the Shifting Sands, then later when the dragon needed his help. Sorona is a young Green whelp whom he saved from spider venom in Duskwood. She had come through one of the Dream portals by mistake. Later, he was able to meet her mother within the Dream, and she entrusted her to his care.

* He threw himself into the battle for Hyjal enthusiastically, earning the regard of the commanders there. It was also there that he met Stormpelt, a feral worgen death knight. Against his wishes, she declared him her alpha and now guards Ornasse and his family with great vigilance.

OOC:

* He was born in Vanilla. I’m not sure of the exact time, initially I was Horde but switched over to Alliance several months later. Then of course, there was no faction change so I rolled a new druid to replace my Tauren one. I do know he wasn’t quite high enough for the Dark Portal event though.

* He was initially a female (with a different name). I ended up deleting and re-rolling male because I didn’t like the female’s animations — mostly the infamous bounce and the one-footed casting stance. I also really liked the male’s floppy ears when he ran.

* He has been my “main” or Alliance main since Wrath. He was bear spec in Burning Crusade, and actually tanked a few dungeons. I really enjoy tree healing though, and thankfully it’s not changing much in Warlords so I’ll stick with that.

* He has never changed names, races, hair color, or factions. He has changed his beard once or twice, though.

* Initially I’d thought to make him very feral, his name came from “Orn” which made me think of bears (Bjorn, Orso, etc.). The “asse” was kind of a joke, I was remarking how many kaldorei names had “ass” in them (Nordrassil, Teldrassil, it’s actually not that many but haha). It is pronounced like “orn-ass”.

* His surname is Evershade, there are two NPCs who share it: The Elder in Mount Hyjal, and one in Darkshore.

[Screenshots] SWTOR 5th Anniversary Collage

The SWTOR devs are making a collage with people’s screenshots they send in of their characters to celebrate the game’s 5th birthday. Here’s mine of Kazta, I decided to take her back to her roots on Ord Mantell:)

I hope she gets included, I’ll have to look for her in the collage when it comes out!

kazta_ebonhawk

[Story] Story a Week 30

[[ Prompt: A story about a magical object

This story is partly based on fact, I had an adopted ‘Grandma Fairy’ and she owned all of the things described here. Well, not the locket:) ]]

“I think that’s the last box,” said Abby, wiping the dust and cobwebs off on her jeans. She and her mother were surrounded by a small mountain of them, having finished bringing them down from the attic. That was the hot, sweaty part — now was the bittersweet part, going through their contents and deciding how to divide them up. Grandma Fairy was not actually Abby’s grandmother by blood, rather a close friend of her mother’s, but she’d stepped into the role with enthusiasm since Abby’s actual grandparents had died when she was very small. She and her husband, Jack, had never had children of their own and delighted in having a grandchild around to spoil. Abby had always loved going to visit Grandma Fairy’s house, not only because there were guaranteed to be warm cookies, but because she had Fancy Things. Their own house, while comfortable, had all the associated chaos and clutter of any house with small children; Abby’s parents couldn’t have Fancy Things around when she was little.

Grandma Fairy’s house, though, was packed with them. Abby could remember some of the objects distinctly, as clearly as she remembered the sweet, warm smell of Grandpa Jack’s pipe tobacco. There was a cuckoo clock on the wall, and Abby would sit enraptured, waiting for the little bird to pop out when the clock’s hands marked another hour. She had a bronze statue of a naked lady, and Abby remembered being both scandalized by her nakedness — and her little bronze nipples — and struck by her elegance. There was a hanging plant holder with a little statue of a cherub nestled in among the leaves, and it was surrounded by little beads that lit up that looked like falling water. The best part was that Grandma Fairy never shouted or told Abby not to touch them, so long as she was careful with them, which she was. She remembered walking in the garden of the backyard, hand in hand, peeking between the green rows to try to find pixies in the mornings.

It was sad to think that all of those things might lie in these boxes, carefully packed away now that Grandma Fairy had passed on. Some of them might be valuable, Abby thought, perhaps to an antique shop. She might like to keep one or two things for herself, though her dorm room didn’t really have room, nor would it fit in with her decor. Still, it would be nice to have something tangible to remember her by. Abby felt guilty for not visiting more, especially in these last few years when Grandma Fairy’s health had begun to falter. But Abby had been in high school, busy with her schoolwork and studying for exams, going to theater practice and talking with her friends. It was the way of things, she tried to tell herself, but she didn’t feel any less guilty about it.

Abby’s mother sat on the couch and began to pick through the nearest box, and Abby did likewise, sitting cross-legged on the floor. A lot of the boxes contained old clothing, purses and the like, and Abby thought she might like to save some of those. They were old enough that they would be considered vintage, and quirky enough that Abby could wear them to class. She thought Grandma Fairy would be tickled by the idea that her old clothes were going to classes at college. Abby made a pile of those she liked, to try them on later. There was something solid and heavy in the box, wrapped inside of a scarf.  Carefully, she took it out. It was one of those miniature cedar chests, and Abby vaguely remembered seeing it on Grandma Fairy’s dresser all those years ago. There was no lock, so she opened the lid. She was surprised to see an envelope laying on top of the contents, and even more surprised when she saw her name — Abby — written across its face. Had it been a card that Grandma Fairy had never got to send? Abby took it out and opened it. It was an ordinary notecard, the kind that all grandmas seem to have, with a delicate painting of flowers and birds on the front. Inside was written only a few words: “Never stop believing. – Grandma Fairy”

Abby looked at the words, puzzled. She wasn’t sure what they meant, exactly. Below the envelope was some jewelry, mostly costume, along with some chains. Something large caught  Abby’s eye, and she drew it out carefully. She remembered this locket now, in fact she’d been quite obsessed with it and asked to have it for about six months, though Abby barely remembered that now. It was gold in color, though surely not pure gold, perhaps plated though. The outer surface of the locket depicted a celestial compass, overlapped by an old-fashioned sun and moon complete with faces. Inside, the left half held a very old black and white photograph of a woman that Abby presumed to be a younger Grandma Fairy. The right half was a miniature painting, exquisite in its tiny detail. If Abby held it up close she could see the miniscule brush strokes that made up the scene. It showed a small girl with curly brown hair, sitting at a table in a sun-lit kitchen. A grandma with oven mitts was bringing a tray of cookies to the table. Abby smiled, knowing it had to be a painting of her and Grandma Fairy. But something nagged at her mind. Though she wasn’t certain, she remembered the scene inside being something else. A rainy scene at night, the lights reflected in smudged patches on the wet pavement. Maybe she’d switched it out, Abby reasoned. Or maybe the other painting was behind this one. But she couldn’t see any seam or place to change the painting, it appeared to have been done directly onto the metal surface of the locket. She clapped it closed with a soft click and set it atop the pile of clothing. She’d definitely want to keep that.

Later that night, Abby hung her new clothes in her closet. She’d selected a few that were really nice, and she couldn’t wait to wear them to class next week. Aside from how they looked, it would be nice to have a little bit of Grandma Fairy with her. She could wear the locket, too. She picked it up and walked it to her dresser, where she kept her jewelry box. Something made her want to look inside again, and when she did, she very nearly dropped it in surprise.

The painting had changed again, Abby was certain of it.

It now showed a lakeside at sunset, the dock stark black against the brightly colored sky. Two figures, one small and one large, sat on it. Abby remembered that too, fishing on the dock with Grandpa Jack. Her hands shaking slightly, she turned the locket over, inspecting it again. Was there some kind of battery or something in it? But even still, she could see the individual strokes of paint, made with a tiny brush. It wasn’t an image or a projection. It was a real painting. If she put her finger on it, she could feel the tiny ridges of the paint.

Grandma Fairy had always believed in things like pixies and unicorns and brownies, and Abby had loved to hear all of her stories when she was little. As she grew, her belief eventually faded, as it does with the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny and, eventually, even Santa Claus. But what if there really was something happening here? The locket had changed, Abby was sure of it. She stepped nearer and peeked inside it again. Now, a Christmas scene, the tree twinkling with tiny specks of color, snow piling on the windowsill outside. Never stop believing, Grandma Fairy had written. Was this what she had meant? Abby knew she couldn’t show it to anyone, they’d think she was crazy. Or maybe they wouldn’t see it at all. Whatever it was, it was something special between herself and Grandma Fairy. She was sure of that much, at least.

[OOC] Scares that Care Weekend

I just wanted to post a couple of pictures from the horror convention I attended this weekend. I’d actually been looking for one for a while, and a dealer at the local anime con told me about this one. It was such a great time, really good size with tons of dealers and lots of activities including author readings, film festival, and even things for kids like trick or treating and a zombie hunt. They had so many great author guests, I was sure to plan to bring lots of cash to buy a lot of books! To me, the best thing about the convention is that all the money raised goes to help people with medical bills, every year they choose 3 recipients. There was a burn victim, a lady with breast cancer, and a sick little girl. I read on their Facebook that they were able to give $10,000 to each. That’s awesome!! I will definitely go again if I’m in the area.

Listening to the author talks, and chatting with the folks at the Horror Writers Association table got me all excited about trying to write horror again. I’ve never really tried it, so I don’t know how it would go, but I can only get better if I practice.

Unfortunately my phone battery drained really fast so I couldn’t take as many photos as I wanted, there were lots of great costumes. Also, if you’re sensitive to (fake) blood and gore you might want to skip them! The last image is of my “loot”! I bought tons of books, some really nice wax melts, and a creepy skull baby doll.

[Story] Story a Week 29

[[ Prompt: A story opening with the words “F*** you!”

This was kind of tough, none of my characters curse very much! As this is part of the Brambles storyline, it also has that tag! ]]

“Fuck you then,” The Harrier muttered under his breath as the old landlady shut the door abruptly. He’d expected that Nash’s belongings might be gone — accepted it, even — but he hadn’t expected her to lie about it. During the time they’d been in the Ghostlands tracking down that mage’s book, Nash hadn’t kept the rent on his room paid up, and she’d every right to toss his things out. Nash had told him there wasn’t anything too valuable, except for a necklace, a last reminder of his mother. It gave Harrier a little stab of jealousy that Nash had even that, a physical thing he could hold — and lose. He had nothing, not even a memory of a scent or a snippet of a song. He’d promised Nash that he’d do his best to get it back. The misadventure with the book had been his decision, after all, and they’d had to stay longer because the headmaster of the magic school had hired him on to make some clocks. A lot of clocks, actually. It was good money, so Harrier hadn’t minded, but he hadn’t given much thought to what might be happening back in Stormwind. The old landlady was nearly blind, which was one reason Nash had chosen that house to rent in. If she’d ever noticed his green eyes, she’d never said anything about it. She claimed she’d left Nash’s things out in the alley behind the house, but she couldn’t remember how long ago. As he’d expected, there wasn’t a thread of anything out there when Harrier looked; anything left out there had vanished within minutes, picked over by the street scavengers. That part he could believe, but he knew she must have gone through and found the necklace. She could have sold it — to who, The Harrier hadn’t the first clue — or kept it. He had a mind to simply come later that night to look for it among her belongings, but if it was missing she’d know for certain who had taken it. She’d seen him — well, sort of.

But he had a back-up plan. Coins jingling in his pocket, he made his way to the market district to one of the jewelry shops. There he picked out a pendant that sounded similar to Nash’s description; it was a silver filigree design, suggesting something perhaps floral but abstract enough that it wasn’t really. Nash said his had gems set into it, but this one didn’t. Still, maybe later on he could add some, if he wanted. Harrier knew it wasn’t the same as having the old one back, but he hoped that Nash would be pleased with the gift anyway. It looked sort of similar, it could remind him of the old one.

Nash’s refusal surprised him. Usually so quiet and compliant, Harrier could see that the sin’dorei was troubled by the loss of his necklace — and perhaps moreso by the attempt to replace it. He didn’t want it, he told Harrier. He wanted the old one back. Nash insisted that he could find it. The Harrier didn’t know if he intended to check every neck and jewelry box in the city. Perhaps he did. But it was far too dangerous, especially given that Nash was here in hiding. All it would take was one person seeing him when they shouldn’t, then the guard would arrest him and the whole thing would unravel. Him, Rose, Josie, Pup, the shop — it would all be gone once they tracked down where he’d been staying. They’d ask questions, and figure things out. The guard weren’t always quick at figuring things out, but they got there eventually. He wanted to tell Nash to forget it, to give up the idea, but his mind was already set. They’d all have to deny knowing him if something happened, Nash had to know that, but he didn’t say it aloud.

Nash’s refusal stung, though he told himself he should be used to it by now. No one wants you around, or your stupid gifts. He dropped it back into his pocket, the delicate chain falling like water over it. Nash had said he could give it to Rose instead. He didn’t want to do that, because he was afraid she wouldn’t want it either. And what would he say? I got this for Nash, but he didn’t want it, so it’s yours now. No, that wouldn’t do. She’d see right through him, she always did. Finally Nash said he did want it, but only if it wasn’t a replacement. Why did he have to be so confusing? Things weren’t supposed to get confusing with him. Harrier said he’d leave it on the table beside his bed. Nash wouldn’t be there either. But he wanted Harrier to wait up in case he felt like returning later.

Like that was going to happen. The Harrier laid his ears back and frowned. He had somewhere else to be tonight, too.

 

[Story] Story a Week 28

[[ Prompt: A story that ends at sunrise ]]

Tamazi was frozen in place by fear, held fast to the muddy ground by the skeletal hands that clawed up from it. For a moment, even if she was free, she could not have run, stunned by the sight of the strange creature before her. His eyes, like pools of bright fresh blood, seemed to hold her there. But he turned his long head to look upon Harvian, and then the spell was broken. She could hear him chattering something beneath his breath, some spell perhaps? But his hands were held tight by the bones, he couldn’t reach his pack full of herbs and vials. But maybe Tamazi could. As much as she pulled, she could not free herself from their bony grasp; it had to be some kind of magic that held them to her.

In her mind, like an echo, she heard the strange creature’s words and could understand them. It startled her at first. How could he do that? Or had it been Harvian’s doing? For now, it didn’t matter. She had an idea.  If she could only find a branch upon the ground — her eyes searched the dark ground for one within reach.

“You must be lost,” said the strange black grass-deer, in Tamazi’s head. When he spoke, his ears swiveled around, as if he had heard the echo too. Tamazi paused, waiting, to see what he would do, but he continued on. She spotted a branch just behind her, on the left side. If she could get to it…

“I don’t know what you are doing here,” the strange creature said. “But I don’t like it. And you are poking your pointed nose around my home.”

Tamazi could almost reach it. If she could just stretch a little further, maybe. She glanced at Harvian. He was not struggling anymore, he was still and silent on the ground. Was he resigned to his fate, or simply planning? Tamazi wasn’t going to give up. Not yet. Her teeth brushed the bark of the branch. Almost there.

The black creature moved then, between herself and Harvian. That was bad, because she couldn’t see him anymore, but it also meant the creature couldn’t see her. Just a little further. Tamazi could see the creature’s feet when he moved; he had large, strong hooves that could kick. If she got free — when she got free — she would have to be careful to avoid them. The horn on his head was sharp, too. Like a grass-deer, the safest place would be to leap onto his back. If she could leap that high. He was much bigger than any grass-deer she’d ever seen.

“Who sent you, asenji? If you mean to stop my work, you’re too late.” He had moved around now to Harvian’s other side. “And why,” he said, looking directly at Tamazi. “Have you dragged this unfortunate savage along with you?” Tamazi froze under the creature’s bloody gaze. But his attention turned back to Harvian, watching him intently. Waiting for a reply.

“I don’t know,” Harvian panted, his tongue protruding from his muzzle. He looked exhausted from trying to free himself. Or had he been casting a spell? Tamazi remembered that Harvian had to rest after that, too. She stretched again, this time her jaws closing around the branch. It was stuck fast in the mud, so she had to tug it free. “This isn’t about you, Naxitarius. It’s much bigger.”

The black creature snorted suddenly, startling Tamazi, and she dropped the branch. Was that the creature’s name? How did Harvian know it? She would ask him later, if they got free. When they got free. She moved the branch between her front paws, and nudged it toward the skeletal hands. One tapped it with a bony finger, exploring. Yes, Tamazi thought. Grasp onto it!

“So short-sighted,” sighed the creature called Naxitarius. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand. But you can help, after all. I do so hate to waste valuable materials.”

The fingers of one bony hand curled around the branch, then another followed. Her leg was free! Only one, but that was more than had been a few moments ago. If she could find another —

Her thoughts were broken by a sharp, loud cry of pain. Harvian! Naxitarius stepped away from where the asenji lay crumpled in the mud, his long bony horn tipped in blood. There was no more time, she had to act now. Tamazi gathered her strength and strained forward, her claws digging into the earth for leverage. She heard a dry pop as some of the bones in the hands gave way. Almost there! But Naxitarius had heard her struggling, and now turned his attention to her. He reared back upon his hind legs, bringing his sharp hooves down where Tamazi had been just a half a moment ago. Fortunately, Kamara had taught her well how to avoid being trampled by prey. That’s how she had to think of him. Very large and dangerous prey, but prey all the same. She was the huntress, not him.

Tamazi darted forward, underneath the creature’s belly, and out the other side. The remains of the skeletal hands still clung to her legs, but all at once they dropped away. She had time to notice that Harvian’s had too. He was free! But he didn’t get up. He remained there, unmoving.

Naxitarius snorted something, but she could no longer hear the echo of his words in her head. It didn’t matter. She felt more focused now, less distracted. He was only prey. She might not be able to reach his back, but she could reach his belly, and hopefully, his neck. He lowered his head and charged at her with that horn, still wet with blood. Harvian’s blood. Tamazi circled around to his rear. She was quicker and more agile, could anticipate his moves. Though larger and more frightening, he acted the same when threatened. She ducked as one of his rear legs kicked out at her. Even better, he was getting scared. She could tell by his rapid breathing, see the rim of white around his eyes. It emboldened her, made her more determined. Tamazi darted beneath his belly, slashing with her claws before moving again. The key was to stay moving. Naxitarius squealed in pain, though it was not a serious wound, it had startled him. Tamazi doubted that she could bring him down alone, but she guessed that she could scare him off. Sooner or later, even the biggest prey will try to run. That was the difference between her and them.

His nostrils flared, Naxitarius tossed his head and said something else. She didn’t know what. Was he giving up already? Tamazi paced around him, just outside of range of his hooves. She hoped that he was afraid of her. She hoped that she looked fierce and dangerous. “Run away!” she roared back, though she knew he couldn’t understand the words, maybe the sound would be enough. She saw his eyes move to the cover of the woods, and then back to her. Was he judging his chances? Tamazi stood near Harvian, wanting to see if he was all right, but she could not take her eyes off Naxitarius. Her prey, she reminded herself.

Maybe her gaze was enough. The black grass-deer turned on his heels and broke for the nearby forest, not stopping to look back at her. Tamazi was flooded with relief and pride. But it lasted only a moment, remembering Harvian. She could smell the blood, flooding the muddy ground. She would get a closer look once they were somewhere safe. Gingerly, she picked him up in her jaws, carrying him like a new-born. She wanted to run, felt the itch in her heels, but she did not want to jostle him until she had seen the extent of his injury. She ran at a low trot, up the hill out of the muddy hollow. At the top of the hill she paused to get her bearings. They had been going south before, so she continued that way. Tamazi had to put distance between them and Naxitarius. He was not badly wounded, and he likely had a herd of his own kind. More than that, he knew magic, and that frightened her. She wanted to get far away from him before they stopped to rest.

She followed a small river, winding between the hills. She wanted to stop and check on Harvian. She could feel him breathing, very slow and shallow, but he had not spoken since she had picked him up, nor had he moved. He was like a dead thing in her jaws, and the longer they traveled the more worried she became. Even when she paused to drink, he did not stir. She needed help. As the sun began to rise, painting the sky with streaks of pink and orange, she found it: smoke rose lazily from a cluster of buildings along the river’s banks. She didn’t know how she would ask for help, but she had to try.

[Art] Shrinky Dinks

Shrinky Dinks were these plastic sheets with cartoon characters printed on them that you colored and then baked in the oven. The plastic would shrink and thicken making a little charm or whatever. They also sell blank sheets so you can draw whatever you like on them. I totally loved making them as a kid. I recently found some in the craft store and bought a pack, so I’ve been making them in between other projects. They are pretty quick to do and only take about 3 minutes to bake.

Here are the ones I’ve done so far from the past couple of days. I’m going to look for cell phone straps so I can attach them to those, so they can be hung or whatever. I might throw them in my Etsy shop, I don’t know if people would want to buy them or not.

alldinks

 

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 236 other followers