Lost WoW Character: Charlotta Ivorysole by The-Lone-Wulf, literature
Literature
Lost WoW Character: Charlotta Ivorysole
Charlotta Ivorysole
Age: 37 (As of the end of WoD)
Height: Human: 5'4"/Worgen: 6'5"
Eyes: Chartreuse
Hair: Human: Auburn/Worgen: Brown
From a distance, Charlotta in her human form seems reasonably well put together. Although she typically maintains an air of confidence, the gear she'd acquired, though still rather mismatched and clearly salvaged as she ran, seems to have recently seen time at the blacksmith. While she still appears to be a bit uncomfortable with it, the armor holds properly to her human form while bring pliable enough to remain affixed properly to her Worgen-form's wolf-like body. Her rather slender frame, one befitting t
Writer's Challenge: Speaker for the Pets: Bry by The-Lone-Wulf, literature
Literature
Writer's Challenge: Speaker for the Pets: Bry
We walk arm in arm, my human friend and I, laughing and prattling on about this and that. Many of the shop keepers barely bat an eye at my reddish-purplish skin or long curving horns anymore. Many even know me by name!
Well, the name I let them know, a succubus never lets anyone beyond her truest love know that.
“Bry!,” calls out a diminutive toy vendor. We both stop, chatting with the cheerful gnomish man pushing his cart around Stormwind. His soul burns brightly as he talks about his days with us. Debrah Lee seems happy, giggling at the jokes and toy demonstrations, and that makes us all happier in our lives, my fellow demons
Writer's Challenge: Speaker for the Pets: Bossy by The-Lone-Wulf, literature
Literature
Writer's Challenge: Speaker for the Pets: Bossy
It'd been a good day's hunting so far. Enough skins to fill the orders, or so my hunter had said. It didn't matter to me, though. I was getting bored sitting while he salted and stretched other pelts for sale or construction. Running around and chasing down dumb animals too slow to get out of the way of a purple-striped ball of claws and fangs was much more fun than sitting in that stuffy, smoke-filled tavern's atrium.
But that was over and now we were making our way back to that fel-forsaken lobby, where drunken fools would step on my tail and hormone-addled idiots would spill drinks onto my fur. At least he usually took the corner tables,
I'm an alt. There, I said it, regardless of how much I loathe the title. I'm not the one you cherish or lavish with your time and devotion. I wasn't your first alt, not even your first hunter or Horde, and I certainly wasn't the last one you've made. It breaks my heart every time I see another one come along to leave me sitting, alone and unloved.
I remember back when you were creating me, laughing with your Alliance friends about trying a Tauren. You said you wanted to try the most noble race in the Horde. I remember hearing her evil laughter when she told you to name me afte