In the beginning there was Nath, and Nath said ‘Let there be a
Watch!’ and there was a Watch, and it was good. From his hands did
roleplay spread, and so were birthed Bootse, Bronkar and Carinia and
they did walk the streets of Stormwind. Soon came Zonk, arisen from the
corpse of Dwoozle who is gone- and the streets were a playground for
the children of Nath. And yet the streets of Stormwind became marred-
its children spread far afield, to the Spire of Blackrock and to the
Outland. And yet the Watch endured, for their were alone in their
roleplay, the Knights of Stormwind scorned by the children- for Talvas
was a moron, and the Stormguard did battle ‘gainst the ravening Horde.
Yet grace is fleeting, and in these latter days there are a great
myriad agencies. There is Amarae, who glanced upon the former grandeur
of the Stormguard and took up her hammer to a great many dull and
tiresome emote fights with those who art barely literate, driving
reputation won from hard work into the docks. There are Kings and
Queens abound- wayward children, naer staying up beyond the hour of
bed, which is nine, for their parents said it must be so. And it hath
becometh cluttered- and the children forgot the roleplay, and became
embroiled in a great battle of egos, for they were fat and greasy nerds
in reallife.
Hither came Alabast, and with him he bought the Argent Archives. A
great many happy roleplayers there were, for he bought communication to
the masses. And yet, the harbingers of change came- and lo, a great
multitude of enforcers of the Law of Kings came upon its wings, yet the
criminals had followed the path of Dwoozle, and thus they brawl with
each other and riot when it maketh no sense. Thus returned Arthurion,
riding upon the wing of his own ego and dented reputation to @*#%* and
moaneth about how things are better elsewhere. And thus they speak of
revolution, a wave of seditionist fervour given flight by hurt egos and
common lack of intellect.
Let us stop our tirade, and speak of the Stormguard. Ah, they who
are untouchable upon their plinth! Aye, it is so that they have bought
this wave of vengeance upon themselves. They hath forgotten their
audience, and grown proud in their isolation. ‘Retards’, sayeth they,
‘Curse the City of Storms and Winds, for we are too good.’ And thus
they fight with great emotes, and forget that that which is good is
plot- and they forget that they too could once not spell, and that the
road to roleplay is paved with understanding. And so they fall
embroiled in great battles of emotes, until the children whose bed is
nine can take indignities no more.
I hear you ask “pray thee, speaker: what do we do?” I hear you, and
answer. Grant power to the Watch, and seek not to claim it for thine
own. Roleplay within the lore, and give thyself not grand titles which
make thee look like a tit. Focus upon thine own tales, and weave
intrigue in place of egos. Stand not in defiance of Metzen, instead
walk in the path he has trodden. A thousand tales await, yet we must
remember them if they are to be told. Remember Nath, Kerengar and all
the others who made our fair server a fine place to play- and embrace
the path they once walked.
V
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