First off, introduce yourself. Tell us anything about you:
Well my name is Vlad Gabriel, I'm 22 years old and I'm an Aero-Spatial design student. I am not really that social, however I can form relations with close friends.
What country are you from and what language(s) do you speak?:
I'm from Romania and I speak English and Romanian.
How were you first introduced to Warcraft/World of Warcraft?:
I got a free month with my Starcraft battlebox a while ago.
How did you find us?:
A friend named Lilanie invited me over.
How long have you been roleplaying?:
I have been roleplaying for about 4 years.
What types of roleplay do you enjoy?:
I have to admit, I tend to love beeing a necromancer, maybe a demonic beeing, anything that's on the other side to the coin from what we are normaly used to.
Game Expansion:
WotLK
Sample of your work:
The scent of ale was in the air, along with the cheerfull, and drunk, voices of the dwarfs and men, each of them drinking the spoils of the Alliances latest victory. The door was closed, most men sitting around the fireplace, the flames dancing and the timber cracking under heat. Suddenly, the bitter touch of the winter wind rushed in the room, making even the fire cower and bend. A tall figure could be stopped, it's shape seen as it shadowed the snow, now almost inside. It walked in, followed by the tense silence that now filled the room. Everyone starred at him, his footsteps beeing the only sound now present. He walked over to the bar, placing his hand on the counter, and starring down the barkeep. The barkeep, a rather rugged man with a beard as dirty as the floor, starred the man down aswell, as if waiting for something to happen. For a few secconds there, you could stand and think the time stopped, the fire now reduced to a spark due to the cold wind rushing in. Suddenly, the door closed, the fire regaining it's former glory and shinning it's light once again in the now cold chamber. Everyone was horrified, the man was fully wrapped in bandages, wearing plated armor that seeme to be scarred by the many wars that have seen it's toughness. The man reached over to grab his sword from his back, the claymore long and cracked, almost falling apart and made of stone. As soon as he had his weapon out, the sound that makes anyone's hair stand up, the rasping sound of swords slidding out of their scabbards, riddled the room. The fire went out, the only sounds heard beeing the ones of clashing swords and screams of pain. Then there was silence, the fire beeing lit by the stranger, revealing the mess he made, body parts scattered allover the place, the walls now painted in blood. He stepeped out, leaving a black rose behind as he dissaperaed in the blanket of falling snow.
Lastly, have you read our rules and do you agree to them?:
Yes, I have read the rules and I will respect them.
Notes:
No notes, at least for now.
