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#12324020 Apr 25, 2016 at 11:01 PM
GM
592 Posts
How we see ourselves is not always how others view us.

Looking in a mirror (physically at themselves, or introspectively) how does your character see themselves? Are they happy with what they see, or do they feel there is room for improvement?

How different is their personal view of themselves from how others perceive them? Does your character think on this duality at all, and if so, what do they make of it?
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#12324099 Apr 25, 2016 at 11:48 PM
"Good Enough"
25 Posts
Sitting in his study, Azrexil sighs heavily and leans back in his chair. The heavy tome open in front of him, the page turned to a diagram of intricate summoning portals. Oddly the language seems to be... Darnassian, but much, much older. He rubs his fingers along his scar and looks over at a full length mirror across his study.

He stands, and closes the distance to the mirror. He looks himself over. His boots with their metal soles. His robes dark brown and black, well worn. The chains holding a summoning tome and other reagents hanging loosely around his waist. The metal gauntlets around his wrists, the fabric underneath singed and scorched. His finger tips, exposed to the air, also singed and tinged a very subtle shade of green. The heavy metal plates strapped to each shoulder, the horns of demons sticking up from the back supporting the skulls of his slain enemies.

As he looked himself in the eyes, his shadow picked its self up off the floor and draped its arm around his shoulders. "You know," His shadow said to him. "You are one handsome man. I mean the multi-coloured eye thing really gets those girls." Azrexil's eyes used to be a deep captivating shade of purple, and the left one still was. But a wicked and jagged scar ran down over his right. The scar tissue and the iris of that eye burned a bright green. "The scar might scare off a few....and the ones that like it..." His shadow shuddered.

"And talk about a snappy dresser. I mean, travel worn and heavy metal chains are total in this spring. Not to mention the whole demon horns and skulls thing...very chic." His shadow leaned back and made a square with this two thumbs and for-fingers. "Now, give us a turn there sexy, lets see that back side!"

Azrexil sighs heavily and turns to walk away. "Woah, woah there big guy, I was just kidding. Come here." The shadow turns him back to the mirror. "You know you don't have to wear this crap right? Only weak warlocks dress themselves up to try and intimidate people. I mean, you burned down your entire village on a whim. Must have killed at least a dozen guards instantly. Why bother with all these pointless trappings?"

"You know why." His voice was cold and calm, a contrast to the shadows over-exaggerated emotions. "Keeps people away, keeps them safe."

"Keeps you alone too buddy." His shadow seemed almost sad. "You don't have to let people in, but you don't have to keep them out either. She knew that." The shadow motions to the tattered stack of love letters on his desk. "I know you can't remember, but she saw through all your bluster and all that hard work you did to hide your power. She knew you were an absolute monster on the outside....and a scared and lonely little boy on the inside. One who missed his mother."

Azrexil's cold and stern visage cracked for a split second. His mother... What would she think of him now? He shook his head. "It doesn't matter what she thought of me. It doesn't matter what my mother thinks of me. I did what I needed to do. I keep doing what needs to be done. I will not fall like the others."

"Slow down there champ, who said anything about what your mother thinks of you? She died a long time ago. you barely even knew her. She had no idea you even showed promise to be a mage. Come on, let it go. I was just joking with you there sour-puss. Get back to work."

As Azrexil turns and walks away from the mirror he struggles to remember his mother. What would she have said about the path he took? Would she understand? Would she still love him?

"Poor guy, " His shadow whispers to itself, "If only the rest of the world could see you the way I do. Maybe you wouldn't have to pretend you hate everyone else. Maybe you could stop hating yourself."

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#12324478 Apr 26, 2016 at 03:47 AM
Friend
13 Posts
Adromada starred at the ceiling in her room laying in bed. "this is the third night in a row" she thought to herself as she rolled over, sitting up on the edge of her bed. Nightfang stirred from his slumper looking up at her from the foot of the bed. He got up, streched out yawning, and trotted over to her. Sitting between he legs, he placed his head in her lap. Looking up at her with his big beady eyes, he waited for her to acknowledge him. Leaning her head down to his " Sorry buddy" she wen on to apologize "dont know whats going through my mind" She gave him a quick kiss on his nose and stood lifting her right leg over him trying to not knock him back as she got up.
She walked over to the table against the wall where she had placed a bowl of water on leaning over she splashed her faced with the slightly chilled water. grabbed the cloth next to it, wiped her face and looked up to the mirror in front of her. Her reflection was the same as usual. A face smooth and calm, the nose ring that once belonged to her mother looped into her nostril, her lips as red smooth to the touch, and her eyes....... She gazed deep into her blue eyes. Thinking back to her fifth birthday. A special day she shared with her father Agus
*knock knock knock* Adromamda rasped on the door to her fathers shop. She opened the door after several moments for her father had not replied. Upon entering she saw his knives scattered across a table. Several animal hides had been stretched out already. Took a step in and noticed her father hunched over one of the tables while he sat in a chair. She walked up to him cautiously, gently poked his back "papa"she went on. No response "papa" she said as shook his shoulder. Her father woke slightly startled "Papa you called me?" she said relieved that he had woke finally. "Ahhhh there you are Adro. I have something for you" he said wearily. His eyes were still half shut but somehow he managed a smile. He stood abruptly walked over to one of the hides he had stretched out and reached behind it. Making a sharp turn to face her he shouts "LOOK WHAT I GOT FOR YOU" "PRESENTS!!!" Adromada said gleefully. In one hand her father held a gift that was medium in size and in the other he held a small box. With out hesitation she grabbed the bigger one and ripped it open. Inside was a new outfit her father had crafted himself out of arctic fur and leather. the tunic was a light brown color kind like the color of wood. It was smooth no the outside and the inside was soft from the fur. the pants were a slightly dark brown from the tunic. the smell from the clothes was so vibrant and new it made Adromada smile that her father remembered her birthday. Quickly she grabbed her new clothes and went behind on of the stretched hides to change.
After several seconds she came out to show Agus. He beamed with joy, a small tear rolling down his face. "whats wrong father" Adromada asked.
"oh its nothing little one." he lied. Agus couldnt help but notice how much Adromada looked just like her mother right now. " You going to open your second present" he beckoned earnestly. With a smile she accepted the gift from her father. Adromada didnt know what to expect since the box was so small. She opened it, a puzzled look came across her face. Inside was what appeared to be some sort of ring. It looked old, it was silver in color and apperead to have a dragon design on it. It was attached to a thin chain looped . "what is it" she asked her father. "That used to belong to your mother" he went on to tell her."its your mothers gift to you" several tears were now streaming down Adromada face. She burst out crying and ran to her father "Why did she have to be taken from us papa. why!!" Adromada was now unable to control her emotions. Unable to answer he picked her up and hugged her tightly. whispering in her ear "i dont know Adro but it was just her time to go" Agus was now in tears as well. Being without his wife was hard and both of them. The rest of the day they spent playin in the fields around their home. laughing and giggling.
Night fang barked at her noticing that his master was now distraught. Adromada finally came to, tears had begun to roll down her her cheeks. Overwhelmed Adomada sulked to the floor curled up into a ball. Crying uncontrollably she realized just how alone she was. "mom.... dad...." she whimpered "please come back" pleading wishfully. Night fang crawled over to Adro trying to comfort her. snuggled up to her face. Adromada burst into tears once more. Wrapping her arms around night fang. She couldnt help herself. Eventually Adromada passed out on the floor, crying in her sleep. Night fang stayed by her the whole night. whimpering for he knew not what he could do but just lay there.....
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#12325525 Apr 26, 2016 at 10:26 AM
Friend
15 Posts
To look within one's self, and not view without - or vice versa - is to view half of an image, or to speak half of a sentence. It is not common that Drascar comes across any physical reflection of himself; however, nearly every time he does, he finds his mind wandering.

He sees a much, much younger kaldorei staring back. The other elf looks similar only in passing save for the sharp, almost predatory amber gaze that matches his own. Were they always that color, that intensity? Now the face changes, as do the clothes. Vibrant, almost alarmingly so. His body is exposed in places to show off his physique, and he can't help but grin at the supposed "might" of this Highborne. But the elf is older, and that strength has been tempered - by what, Drascar cannot say before the image begins to distort. He sees many elves now, like a mirror that has been shattered, each piece showing stages, or even possibilities. One is him, but with blazing silver eyes, white hair flying wildly around his head. Another is a corpse, eyes still open and face twisted by what appears to be terror. Drascar wants to ignore the fel green that tints many of the other images, but knows better. He acknowledges them and at once the fragments pass, mourners in procession.

The younger ones, they seem him as wise and powerful, sometimes even beyond their understanding; but he feels like an old man, unfamiliar with the younger races and hardly interested in his own. He feels out of place, and remembers a time where he was never more certain of his position in the world. Nostalgia does not twist his memories, however. That, he cannot allow. Perhaps he does possess more wisdom than he realizes: wisdom borne of a very long lifetime of mistakes. Even so, that is for the best. There are few as capable of offering such intimate perspective of some matters, and he does not feel as old when telling stories, or helping others learn lessons.

But still, Drascar feels guilt.

He wanders the world, and he sees ruins that were once proud, graceful spires built by his people. Sometimes, he helped build them. In them he sees a reflection, his own, and he can't help but find himself growing heavy with guilt. The reflection he sees is not of the kaldorei who helped build, but the one who feigned ignorance in the pursuit of greatness. He sees the Highborne who willingly assisted the "Light of Lights" in her mad pursuits until there was no recourse but to run away for fear of his own life and for fear of what he had helped create. Fear is not something Drascar has felt in many, many long years, but the memory of that fear is still strong, and he is still ashamed of it. But they do not see the fear that has marked his features. They do not see the guilt and shame that threatens to bring him low and beg for forgiveness when he comes across the timeworn remains of some statue, or the rage - the true rage - welling up with these memories and for which there is no true release.

Perhaps it is for the best, though.

Those who follow him, or look to him for advice or help, they do not need to see what he sees. They do not need to see the same Drascar Shadebough that he sees when he looks into a mirror: the kaldorei who is deeply flawed, the student obsessively striving to learn from the past and improve. He is content with their view of him, as it is not entirely inaccurate. He is proud of the path he has taken, and of the friends he has made, the battles he has helped to win. He is ever-proud - perhaps a requirement of his blood - and he is happy and thankful for a second chance to do good for this world.

But to look without one's self, and not within as well, is to view half of an image or speak half of a sentence. For Drascar Shadebough, to ignore one or the other is folly, and may yet invite ruin.
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