Casual Huntering

Well, I’ve not been playing Aoirselvar lately, unless I’m raiding with Can of Aggro. Instead I’ve been playing with my alts. I’ve rolled a baby night elf alt on Feathermoon named Fiyerro. I got my first taste of RP with him last night at the Stromwind University Openhouse. Wow, RP is such a different way to play than I’m use to, but I want something more to the game than killing mobs and getting gear. Its a complete different mindset, more story telling and character building. Lots of potential to have a great time, in a different way. I’ll have to post more about that in the future.

Anyway, I’ve gotten a new project underway. I wanted to see if I could role play a brand new character I created in Feathermoon on Twitter. Its been a blast so far. But its been a challenge working around the 140 character limit of twitter (of course here I’ve put them in paragraphs, but still a challenge).

His name is Praxton Seamsmith, apprentice tailor still living with his parents helping out with the family business in Stormwind. You can find Praxton on twitter at: http:www.twitter.com/praxtonrp, you can follow the whole story right (with Loreli) right here. Here’s a little bit, I’ll post more, but I’m running out of time here at work – that and I’m starting to have some computer issues, sad I know. But here’s a taste of Praxton’s story

Praxton woke up as usual and went down stairs to the kitchen to help with breakfast. What will this day have in store? News of the war in Northrend was trickling into Stormwind, but Praxton’s parents attempted to pretend that nothing was wrong in the world. Praxton had been working in the family business as long as he could remember; He was destined to become a tailor. “That’s all I’m good for”. Praxton was beginning to approach his 20th birthday; many of his friends had joined in the armies of the alliance, but not Praxton. Praxton’s mother had other ideas about his future, and he often let her dictate what he did, otherwise he’d have to see her cry… again. How many times did he have to hear about his old brother whom he barely knew and his bravery and foolishness in the battle against the horde? Since his brother’s death 15 years before Praxton’s parents vowed to keep Praxton out of harm’s way, by having his son live a quite life. So, his parents kept Praxton focused on the family business, their tailors shop. Praxton was supposed to take over the family business someday. Such a mundane life he lived, with nothing horribly exciting in the future, well, unless there’s another scourge plague or something.

Lor’eli stepped off the boat onto the docks of Stormwind Harbor. She was bruised and weary from the battles she’d seen in Northrend. Too many friends she’d lost, too much death she’d seen. The night elf rogue sighed. She was no stranger to death… Yet, somehow, a carefully planned assassination still seemed more humane that what was going on in the north. She started walking down the dock to the city entrance. As she did a Death Knight passed her, headed toward the boat. Reflex took over and her hands were almost on the hilts if the daggers slung low on her hips before she caught herself. The Death knight ignored her. She moved to put her hands in her pockets and caught one on a tear in the linen shirt hanging haphazard from under her leather armor. She’d have to find a tailor to repair that…

Finding himself in the work room measuring rune cloth, getting patterns ready for his father, Praxton started to day dream… Was this all that his life would be, cutting cloth, poking himself with needles, dealing with fussy mage customers, he felt like so, useless.

She figured shed better do it now, or she’d forget. Stepping off the street into a corner she deftly shifted and tugged. The shirt came free and she eyed it in distate. There were far more rips and slashes than she’d thought, might be cheaper to replace it. By this point, she’d reached the tailor’s shop. Pushing the door open she heard the little bell jingle. There was no one at the counter…

*ouch* Praxton poke himself with a needle for the nthteen time. He swore quietly under his breath, sick of being a pin cushion. He heard someone at the coming through the front door. He was right in the middle of putting in the last pin, “Just a Minute!” Praxton poke his head in to see the customer, tripped on a bolt of cloth and stubble into the front room in an awkward like dance. *gasping for air* “hm, can I … help you?”

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