#Plaguelands

[th3-0bjectivist]

“Bent Branch” - Acrylic paint on canvas

#art #art on tumblr #abstract expressionist art #abstract #abstract art #attempt at a landscape #desolation #wasteland #badlands #plaguelands #bent branch #acrylic painting #acrylic #art on canvas #happy halloween #halloween 2022 #will convert this page into full halloween mode in two weeks #dead tree #brushes #did this on a wine and paint night #and with good company #hollow sun

[ooc-miqojak]

DWC November 2022 - Day 6: Home/Unnatural

The Plaguelands might have seemed an... unnatural choice to build her new home, and yet to her? They were as much like home, as the forests of Quel'thalas - and at least here, the land was responding to the healing magicks of both shaman and druids alike. Here, she could be close to both the people of her homeland... and maybe even the humans who had long been her allies. As the land healed, homesteaders returned to these lands, too - it also afforded her a home closer to Light's Hope, her work there... and a home away from the stress, and pressures of Quel'thalas nobility.

Once again, High Elven architecture graced the Plaguelands - though she had long since lost the right to call herself Quel'dorei, it didn't change her tastes and her culture and her history - all of which was reflected in the graceful, sweeping lines that now stood strong against the plagued skyline.

It was home though - not just to her, and her daughter... but to all those who worked this land for her. She wanted this land healed as much as any human might - the memories of her time here, and her brief time in Lordaeron... they were still fresh. Fresher, perhaps, than the memories of most humans - her memory was long after all, and it was hard not to ache for the lush greenery of the land; the life that filled these lands, and the roads to and from Lordaeron proper.

She might be an unnatural creature herself, anymore, but she would use the time and sanity left to her to try and un-do what the monsters who'd come before had done - if for no other reason than that her daughter deserved a brighter future... and maybe even one where Azeroth wasn't under siege every other year.

(@daily-writing-challenge )

#dwc day 6 #plaguelands #WoW RP #healing takes time #healing the land is helping her to realize just how long healing her SELF will take too #all good things in time #being ill made me LATE on the last few prompts ; ;

[burrichgreer]

How To Make A Birch | Part 3

It was the birds that woke him. Something about their lilting, morning song jostled him awake, as if his ears had somehow already grown unaccustomed to the sound. It took a moment for it to register, half caught between the waking world and the one of dreams - nightmares, in his case. Were it not for the blow to his head, it is unlikely he would have slept so soundly. But trailing in the wake of hearing the distant, colliding melodies of the birds welcoming in the new day, was the sudden ache at the back of his head that only unconsciousness had numbed. If he wasn't awake before, that throbbing pain brought him fully into the present. Eyelids flew open as he sat up, alarm still fresh in his mind from the night prior. But even before he could gain his bearings, he felt the touch of a gentle hand on his shoulder, easing him back down. Blurred vision focused to his right, settling on the owner of said hand.

Jet black hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail that pulled at the subtle lines that age had drawn at the edges of her dull-brown eyes. Though her brow was knit tightly, Burrich immediately had the sense that it was out of concern for him - even before she spoke.

"Easy, love.. don't rush yourself now.. " She urged him gently in a soft, almost motherly voice. "You're safe now. Far away from the horrors of yesterday."

The young man's hand rose to touch the back of his head, only to find that his crown had been wrapped with linen bandages. Despite her gentle instruction and her hand on his shoulder, he did not lay back. A sharp breath escaped him as his hand abandoned the back of his head in favor of rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Where am I?" He asked, the question laced with a dull groan, as his gaze turned toward the surrounding area. A small encampment, nestled beneath the boughs of a small grove of trees that had overrun what appeared to be some very old ruins surrounded by a quiet countryside.

The woman smiled softly, "On our way to Hearthglen. Do you have a name?"

Ignoring her question, he replied with one of his own as his hand dragged over his youthful features, "What happened?

Her voice was still gentle, "We had to pull you out. Your head took quite a hit from your fall." Finally, her hand fell from his shoulder to rest in her lap as she looked him over. "Are you alone?"

A subtle crease formed in his brow at her question and as he answered, his tone was a touch defensive. "I don't know yet."

Her gaze fell slightly, sympathy written plainly across her features, "Poor dear.. " A small sigh punctuated the words before she went quiet for a moment. Finally breaking the silence, she added with what he would later know as a very characteristic softness, "I'm Reece."

Burrich's youthful, green eyes - no longer bloodshot - glanced up at her again to search her features for any reason at all to distrust her. Finding none, he offered, "It's Burrich," which brought an immediate, though faint, smile to the middle-aged woman's face.

"Burrich." She repeated quietly as her head tilted and she offered a grateful smile, kind eyes settling on his young face. She opened her mouth to say something more, but was interrupted by a harsh voice, that of a man, that made the woman flinch just slightly.

"Reece! Enough chit-chat. If the little shit's awake, get him up on his feet. We've been put out enough as is. And Light help me, I'm not wastin' another minute on his account."

She replied with a quiet, chastising, "Collin.. "

Burrich turned to look for the source of the voice, eyes widening with surprise when he found that the voice, and the name, belonged to none other than the bitter, horse-faced man who had stopped him at the dock gate. Their eyes met only briefly before Collin scowled, rolled his eyes, and stalked away to continue securing a pack to the back of a rather large pinto, its brown fur splotched with large patches of white, "Your damned Light is going to be the death of us, woman."

Young, wary eyes followed the man as he stalked off, his brow knit tightly until he felt the woman's gentle touch on his hand, pulling his attention back to her. She whispered to him, "It's best that we get moving, love. I'm sorry to rush you, but do you think you can walk?" Reece offered a sincerely apologetic smile, her small hand giving his an almost pleading squeeze.

"I think so," he replied with a nod, his eyes searching hers for a moment before he mustered the energy to push himself to his feet with her help. She offered him his cloak, which still reeked of smoke and ash - the smell drawing his mind immediately back to the city and the nightmare he found there. Throwing the cloak around his shoulders, he secured the clasp over his chest and looked to her, signaling his readiness with a single, shallow nod.

Smiling appreciatively, she said, "Come along then," and turned to follow Collin who had already begun down the road out of the grove, leading the horse by hand. The young blonde watched her leave and turned to look around the quiet grove, birds still singing their peaceful song as if nothing was wrong in the world at all. Their ignorance did not escape him. Hesitation seemed to grip him for a moment, his hand lifting to rub at his forehead. But one quiet huff of air later, Burrich was jogging down the road to catch up to the pair, leaving the calm of the grove for the unknown of the road ahead. At least, he was not alone.

#the shipwright's son #lordaeron #plaguelands #short-story

[forecastingruin]

Plaguelands Mai Thai with Eye Fly

Gouache and watercolor on 12 x 12 hot pressed arches

Practicing doing values with the gouache so lots of textures and shapes required. My weird-ass imagination provided the rest. A picture is worth a thousand incomprehensible words muttered into one’s beard though, right?

#art art art art art #original work #artists on tumblr #gouache #traditional art #surrealistic #eye #mushroom #bonkers #Plaguelands #original art

[brontios-helm]

Destiny: Plagued

#destiny 1 #destiny gif #plaguelands #lords' watch #destiny 1 lords' watch #destiny 1 plaguelands #cosmodrome #destiny 1 cosmodrome #earth #destiny 1 earth #old russia #destiny 1 old russia #ps4 screenshot #destiny ps4 #bungie

[oldeazeroth]

Uther’s Tomb, Western Plaguelands (51,82)

#World of Warcraft #WoW #Azeroth #eastern kingdoms #Western Plaguelands

[dandelionandkrindle]

WORLD OF WARCRAFT • LOCATIONS (106/?) Eastern Plaguelands 

#world of warcraft #warcraft #wowedit #gamingedit #wowlocations #this zone was genuinely unsettling to quest in back in the day. i loved it. #fun fact: the plaguelands were originally called eastweald before the third war #run of the mill generic western fantasy. honestly i think the scourge and then the forsaken spiced things up a bit #it's more interesting like this

[wowscenery]

#world of warcraft #wow scenery #eastern plaguelands

[apexulansis]

lil photoset of the animals I associate with kariians the most

#ZEHEN KHASIIK; THE BEASTS THAT DWELL WITHIN THE PLAGUELANDS. #OOC. #mashes them all together into 1 creature

[azerothtravel]

Devastation, Eastern Plaguelands, September 7, 2008.

#wow #world of warcraft #eastern plaguelands #the burning crusade #tinovan

[maxiecabphotography]

Do you know how many ranger lords exist in this world? How many human ranger lords have ever existed?

Nathanos’ accomplishments were unprecedented. He was a tactical genius, responsible for Alliance victories spanning a decade of conflict.

And now... the champion of the Forsaken.

The Marris Stead, Eastern Plaguelands

#world of warcraft #warcraft #vanilla wow #classic wow #nathanos blightcaller #forsaken #horde #eastern plaguelands #landscape #screenshot #turtle wow

[findmeinshattrath]

Would love to see SOMETHING done with the Scarlet Enclave.

The Argents claimed Tyr's Hand, no way they aren't trying to push on the rest of the way

#wow #world of warcraft #Eastern Plaguelands #Argent Crusade #Brotherhood of the Light #Scarlet Crusade #Scarlet Onslaught

[aberration-abbey]

Slotting some guys into lore finally.

The top row, Keiz, Queue, and Vikenti, are caravanners through Plague territory, hauling goods from the Starfall Isles to the Sea of a Thousand Currents to be shipped to all corners of Sornieth.

Inkcap, on the bottom, runs the old library in the town of Crystalport. His cold demeanor and haunted eyes tend to unsettle most dragons, but he does get along well with the folks who run the local Inn. Maybe it's a solidarity thing--when you've taken care of haunted places long enough, it changes you.

#flight rising #my lore #rubellite delta #crystalbone clan #plagueland vanners #don't think any of these guys have individual character tags #inkcap probs has a dark past i think that he came to the delta to hide from #but then he got a job at the library n fell in love with it

[burrichgreer]

How To Make A Birch | Part 1

The city of Stratholme was the jewel of eastern Lordaeron. Strong, stone walls skirted its borders with sturdy towers perched atop the ramparts. During the day, banners and flags of the richest of blues danced in the wind, proudly bearing the sigil of their fine kingdom - the embellished, golden 'L' of Lordaeron. At night, torches lined the parapets, illuminating the outer walls with enough light to be seen from miles away. All who came to the fair city could find whatever they were looking for in abundance, be it entertainment, commerce, or refuge. At nearly every entrance to the city, bards could be found entrancing those passing through the gates with tales of heroic deeds and romance set to song. The Market Row bustled with the sound of enterprise from sunrise to sunset as merchants, shopkeepers and street vendors alike peddled their goods and services to any and all. And on the far side of the city, the port was almost constantly alive with activity, with ships of all varieties coming and going all through the day. There was always an energy about the city, a resilience and steadiness. After all, there was no better place to be than Stratholme City.

But that was before.

--

The ores splashed through the water, urging the small, fishing boat deeper into the dreary port with each stroke. A lone, cloaked figure sat in the vessel, looking very much on edge. His head turned up to the sky for a moment, even as he rowed along the dark waters. Any other day, there would be gulls calling in the distance and gliding on the breeze off the sea - but not today. The darkening sky was illuminated by the nefarious glow of the fire that still consumed the city. Instead of birds, there was only smoke and ash - so much ash that it looked like it was snowing.

As he neared the city, his gaze turned over his shoulder toward the approaching docks. Any other day, he would have seen dozens of ships, both human and elven, docked with crews scurrying about their business - but not today. There were only a few, lifeless boats still docked there. And while he had expected to find the docks abandoned entirely, to his surprise, he could make out the silhouettes of a dozen or so people still moving about! A desperate hope swelled inside him as he was hit with the thought that his mother and father may very well have survived what was now being called the mad-prince's Culling.

He pressed on, passing by the larger docks and making his way to a smaller, private landing that he hoped was still gated from the harbor - a more cautious approach, just in case those were remnants of the prince's forces left to hold the docks for some reason. There were only a few small boats making use of the dock. From the look of things, they belonged to a handful of survivors who were either brave enough or desperate enough to take to looting. He eased his way between two of the boats until the wooden edge of his vessel met the stone wall of the dock with a light thud and a quiet splash. After climbing up onto the landing, he made quick work of securing his vessel before rising to his feet and taking a look around. A group of rather gloomy-looking men loitered around the gate, each one with a grimace slightly more menacing than the one before. The boy tugged his hood down around his face as he stepped toward the gate, not caring one bit to linger in present company. Hoping to slip by the man at the gate without making a scene, he lowered his gaze and attempted to step by without a word.

A hand caught him by the collar before he could pass, "Boy." A gruff voice muttered, before the man tugged the younger man over to stand in front of him. "Where the hell do you think you're goin'?" The man demanded in an almost mocking tone.

"I'm looking for someone." The younger replied, his face still hidden in the shadows of the hood.

The tall man, whose face looked much like a horse's except somehow uglier, let out a noisy snort as his free hand shot up to toss the hood off of the boy's head, revealing the dirty but stern face of a teenage boy framed in a mess of blond hair. His green eyes were bloodshot and his brow was creased tightly as he stared straight ahead, refusing to dignify the would-be gatekeeper with a glance. The man studied the boy for a moment before remarking, "Stubborn little shit, eh?" A dry chuckle followed as he released the young Burrich Greer with a light shove in the direction of the gate. "Fine then. Light keep ya, if ya still believe in that horse shit." he said, punctuating his empty well-wishing with a grunt. If the other men on the landing had any concern for the boy, they didn't show it.

Burrich adjusted his cloak, pointedly pulling his hood back up before pressing an ear to the gate in an attempt to hear what was happening on the other side. Hearing nothing, he lifted the gate's bar and pulled it open, slipping through the passage to the larger harbor beyond without giving the men behind him a second glance.

Once he stepped clear of the gate, he was startled by a loud thud behind him. He turned and pressed on the gate - it had been barred once more. His jaw tightened as he squelched the desire to introduce the gatekeeper's horse-like face to his fist. And that train of thought might have continued were it not for the sudden realization that there was no going back now. He turned back to the harbor, brow knit as he willed himself to ignore that his heart felt like it was about to pound its way right out of his chest. He drew a deep breath and crouched down, finding a bit of security behind a stack of crates.

Any other day, he would have strode through the harbor like he owned the place. His father was Edmond Greer, after all. And Edmond Greer was one of a few unspoken leaders in this part of the city - a man people knew they could rely on - a steady, sharp, thinking man. Burrich had always enjoyed a small amount of unearned respect on the docks, just for being who he was - but not today. A haunting silence loomed over the harbor and there wasn't a single face to offer a smile or greet him as he peeked around the crates. And yet..

In the distance, through the haze of smoke and fog, he could see the silhouettes again - the same ones he had seen from the water. He hustled a bit closer, slipping behind a stack of grain sacks to get a better look. Now closer, he could see that they weren't wearing armor, nor did they carry weapons. That hope rose in him again. These were not soldiers. His heart continued to pound as he fed that seed of hope. Maybe the prince didn't make it this far into the city. Maybe some survived! What if his parents survived? What if they were out there looking for him right now?!

In a moment of reckless hope, the boy rose to his feet, lifted his hands in the air and called out to the strangers in the haze. "Hey! Its me! Burrich Greer! Are you alright?!" He moved out from behind the sacks to grab a nearby lantern that was still burning on its post, holding it up for a bit of light. "Have you seen my parents?! Edmond and Cadence Greer?!"

They didn't respond so he called a bit more loudly, his youthful voice echoing through the ghostly fog, "Hello?! I.. I didn't think anyone survived! Please! Have you seen my parents?!" Finally, he saw one of the figures turn in his direction as if he had heard the call. Then another. And another. Slowly, all of them turned in his direction and began to move toward him. Burrich smiled, an almost joyous laughter slipping from him as he began to make his way into the haze to meet them.

Any other day, he would have been met by men and women he had grown up around. The families who lived around and worked the docks were a tight knit community - with a flavor and culture all its own. There were very few people he didn't know and most people he could recognize by just the sound of their voices as he passed by.

But not today.

The hope that had driven him to make the journey here, that led him to open that gate, that had led him to call out to these strangers and hasten to meet them... it vanished the moment he heard them. Not the sound of familiar voices calling back to him with news of his parents. Not the sound of fellow survivors cheering at his safe return. No, all he heard was a chorus of groans. Dull, lifeless, droning groans that only grew in intensity with every step the figures took toward him. And in a moment, a single, terrifying thought took root in his mind that sent a chill up his spine and made his stomach sink like a brick. A thought he could not shake any more than the way his body suddenly froze in horror: whoever they were, whatever they were... they were hungry.

#the shipwright's son #plaguelands #short story

[warcraft-real-estate]

#world of warcraft #gifs #scenery #eastern plaguelands

[meeeeeeese]

So here me out here, but I reckon the necromancer's lich form is basically just a magical girl transformation

but like the boy version of it I guess?

Also it's a shame there isn't racial models for the lich form, kinda wierd for all necros to have a secret humansona

#gw2 #guild wars 2 #falx ghostclaw #I'm curious how many people actually make use of this elite skill #cuz I've always just used golem or plaguelands if i'm condi #fun fact the lich form is masculine regardless of players gender #dunno what that says about necros but I think it says something