I hit the cap on my ranger and I was looking for a new class. I REALLY like the scouts but in all honesty I am finding the whole DPS thing to be a pain and unfullfilling. I rolled the Dirge because there's more to this game than DPS, DPS classes are easily replaceable, lets see some Assasin/Ranger/Warlock/Wizzy try and do what my Dirge can do both in raids and in groups.
My wife played Gemstone III and I played Dragonrealms, I asked her and she said that she recognized your name. She was Lady Sephrenia and Jubbley.
(Shaggy-Dog Story alert: Softball is a dangerous game. Standing in the field, there’s time to think.) Dear Dirges, It occurred to me that I may have inadvertently caused confusion, mentioning my sister Myssth without explanation in my previous posting. Here is the story of our curious birth, and the prophecy that still haunts our lives… A small village, somewhere in the Shattering. Struggling to survive, through meteorfalls, rampaging Things, and wild magics. Until It came. Spawned of the debris when a meteorite vaporized a great magical library, it lived in the wilds, until it happened upon the poor, defenseless village. The Eater of Vowels. More a miasma than a creature, it fastened on the isolated townsfolk. Micheala became Michael, and severe strains were placed on a marriage. Chs and mdnss reigned. In the midst of the horror, twins were born to the Weirdwind family. Using the last ‘y’s left in the village, my parents named us; I, the elder by a few minutes, Whysprr, and my sister, Myssth. Shortly thereafter, Aisie and Ian died, the first, but by no means the last in the village to succumb. An ancient witch uttered a prophecy at our birth: Two sisters, born under the terror; One will serve the dirges of Norrath One will be a royal pain in the fundamentals. We were raised by the struggling village. I soon demonstrated my talents for story and song; Myssth, hers for lying, petty theft, and borrowing small sums of money. And when the gnolls drove us from our home, I settled in Qeynos as a dirge, and Myssth, true to the prophecy, became a highly-skilled brigand in Freeport. I’ve done my best to serve the dirges of Norrath, as you who read these messages know. But with the discovery of the Kingdom of Sky, I have become aware of an ambiguity in the prophecy. I have spent rivers of platinum consulting sages and seers, mystics and mages; I have wandered strange realms seeking knowledge from beings unknown to humanity, but none can tell me which interpretation of the prophecy is correct, though some of my fellow-hunters in Tenebrous Tangle have expressed strong opinions. You will recall that the prophecy was spoken during the reign of the Eater of Vowels. Thus, it was not, precisely “One will serve the dirges of Norrathâ€. It was really “n wll srv th drgs f Nrrth.†It is therefore unknown to me, whether my destiny; my wyrd; is to serve the dirges of Norrath as scholar, example, and mentor, or the droags of Norrath, as a vitamin-filled, tasty snack. Best, Whysprr Wyrdwynd Dirge of Kithicor / Droag Munchie – it could go either way
K runs an old school punk band with a lot of dark lyrics. The smart mouthed, politically opinated front man of his band. The Clash, The Dead Kennedy's, The Sex Pistols....that's the music that plays when K starts into battle. Music is a hammer. You beat folks over the head with it. Heavy in sound with lyrics that are heavy in sentiment. Always rebellious, and always in trouble. Frequently he finds himself at odds with his band too. Screaming, petulant, and always *right*. He holds nobody above the scorn and ridicule. Can't stand his dismissive attitude? What else would he expect from someone like you? That being said, if you aren't the target of his jibes, there's a sort of guilty dark humor in it. He speaks the bad things that nobody else wants to say, and adds a very dark twist of humor to it. You'll admonish him for saying it in public, and suppress the laughter you hear inside. It's the ability to say what others won't that people see and enjoy in his songs. Well, that's the nice portrait of him anyways. :smileywink:
So here's my In-game description on my guild's forums for you all, nto the most politically correct thing in the world, but i had to post on this one instead of just lurk. Every one has such a diverse background, i thought this may fit in. Woodlark Whirlythingy, Maker-Upper of Titles Fidelis- Lucan Dirge (63): Weaponsmith (69): Gnome (99) I know some of you know me already, but I was shocked to find that some people didn't! I thought I was loud enough for most of Norrath. Well lets do this like a bandage, fast & painless.. Hey I'm trying something new here! I have about 4 professions at the moment, tho I'm not too good at one of them, I'll go worst to best & explain myself & how I got into this stuff. Profession the first: Boozing. Being a lush is basically in the bardic handbook, on page 3. The alcohol lowers inhibitions of me and my audience, and soothes an overworked throat.. see professions 3 and 4. Still working on the lush thing, I'm a lightweight. Profession the second: Weaponsmithing. Momma and Daddy were tinkerers in Ak'anon (I guess like you would expect that, they were gnomes too), before it got really bad there & they had to move. The sounds and smells of a forge are some of my earliest memories, though they stopped tinkering and started weapon making.. weapons were sadly more useful than fizzgigglers, though no one really thought so. Next: Dirge...ing. Well, after all the shattering and the travelling, people were changed.. Especially the adventuring types. Even in the 'good' (more on that later) city, there were people who benefited in hearing songs about the sad times, to know that things would be better for fighting. Momma saw this & sang her magic into those old funeral songs.. helped people cope, ya know? Well happy songs always sound the same to me, after hearing her sing.. She's the one who named me after the little bird over in Oakmyst, kinda plain looking but when it opens it's mouth, it's song is poignant.. The only bird who will sing in mourning for its mate, dontcha know. I may not be the best dirge out there, but Daddy said that I always had more spit & vinegar than sense. Lastly, I'ma prostitute.. Maiden of the Night, Madam of Negotiable Desire, *****. However you want to label it, all the same thing. Qeynos is a city of goodness, but who do you think funnels the bad thoughts & urges of the good people? Some of them trust me wouldn't be able to find a signifigant companion, regardless of how good they act. Good people can have bad ideas, thoughts & do bad things.. I just give so of them an outlet so that during the day they can stay good, and at night be naughty. Or, in some cases, punished for the naughtiness they think has no place in their mind. I have bedded Captains of the Guard to tavern wenches; from High Priestesses of Elrossi Marr to apprentice wizards from the tower. The Ironforge Exchange considers this just another trade, taxes me and my ladies, and the Queen herself (quietly) sanctions my work. Even a city of light has shadows, I just work in the (near)legal ones. Well, thats about all i want to tell people in an informal way like this, if you have questions for me, just ask. And if anyone needs my 'services'- Last room on the left, top of the North Qeynos inn. WL Message Edited by Figment_ on 06-17-2006 05:46 PM
I have been reading this forum for a year, but this is my first post. Greetings All, strange, I think I know most of you and you have no idea who I am. I played a shadowknight on Firiona Vie and although I always wanted to roll a bard, the rules set on FV allowed only one char. When I moved to AB, the SK was the main for a while, and then I rolled a bard. There wasn't really any hesitation on the subclass - dirge is the closest in spirit to a shadowknight as I played it, and being a Russian, I could not possibly be a troubadour. If anyone has ever heard Russian folk or drinking songs or whent through Russian lit, you would understand. Here is a short quote from an old drinking song: "Every day makes our path to the grave one step shorter". So, Cagliostra is a moody gnome that often uses her dagger as a bow to play her mandolin. Since we are exchanging stories, here is one from my guild board. ------ An Harlequin It has been one of these moody days when Cagliostra would feel like she was meandering in a sticky swamp of apprehensive anticipation. And for no reason at all. Nothing really happened yet, the day was young, maybe too young, and maybe the previous night was too involving with attending festive events her new home was putting up. She has been with the Shadow Slayers for some time now and was gradually becoming accustomed with the etiquette and curtseys and smiling when not feeling like smiling, with the understanding that her actions and behaviour were representing more than just herself. It was different now. Prior to her joining the Slayers, on a swampy, moody day like that, she would just walk around the city. She would stay around the Harbor, nursing a feeling of being alone in the crowd, the feeling that only a city dweller can understand and appreciate. She would actively seek things that could compound the mood. She would get to the fishing wharf and look with disgust at the merchants and their help cleaning fresh catch, almost enjoying the stench, the look of blood puddles, the sight of dirty obnoxious kids playing by the docks and chasing wealthy looking adventurers. Everything that was bad on days like this was good, it was all leading to the wave of inspiration, a necessary tradeoff in Cagliostra's world. Now, a Slayer, Cagliostra was feeling a bit uneasy when moods like this would suddenly coat her with some socially repelling oil. Slayers were all so visibly made of Light, they were almost blinding. And she was trying not to display her inner struggles too often. During functions at the lounge, she would sometimes go alone to the library and mindlessly thumb through books, often not even being aware of what those books were about. She even tried not to disturb Frogloks in Castleview with her music anymore. Dear Bristlebane, this day was bad. So bad, that Cagliostra did not even think of hiding her mood, she was heading directly to the Harbor wearing all her fighting gear still covered with blood stains from the first boat ride to Enchanted Lands earlier that morning. She wasn't sure if she was going to indulge herself with the misery of the Harbor scenes or go someplace into the wild and spill the anger oozing from her onto creatures there. Then she saw Vegalas Brimmstone, her guild master. He was clad in the regal shiny armor he would sometimes wear for his walks around the city, usually followed by an acolyte or two, but this time, he was surrounded by a swarm of dirty little kids Cagliostra hated so much on her inspiration fishing trips to the Harbor. After brief greetings, Vegalas in his mild and firm manner suggested she played something to entertain him and the kids. This could not have come at a worst time, but she was not going to disobey his request. Sure, she could have just forced herself to be a polite performer, pleasantly singing some troubadourish ballad that all kids loved to listen to. Oh, something about heroes and slaying of mighty foes and such, but the anger of the day just started boiling over inside the gnome. She was about the same height as the kids were, so unlike the tall elf guild master, she had a direct and level eye contact with her presumptive audience. She scanned them, as if sizing the crowd and then she turned her face into a mask, a mask of nothingness, a mask of a wide grin and empty eyes. Her mandolin sprang into her hands and rang with a distorted tremolo. Kids stiffened and some backed off, not sure what were they looking at, or what was gazing at them. But then Cagliostra moved. Her steps were wooden as if she were a wooden marionette, but her moves followed a pendulum like rhythmic pattern forcing the stops and sets in the ringing distorted tremolo of gnome's mandolin. The gloomy anger of the day started bursting out of her, as she played the sorrowful figure of an harlequin her grin swapping into a scowl mad at the world, or into the crying grimace mourning a loss of something dear. Kids, in their innocent, mindless cruelty, started to laugh at the pure market square show unfolding in front of them, totally unaware of how real the performance was. And then some kids started following her moves and her face masks. Others joined in. Suddenly wooden sticks and some metal junk pieces appeared from nowhere and kids were banging on them following Cagliostra's insane dissonance and rhythmic patterns eventually forming a circle behind her and in a flash it was a mad theater of noisy harlequins crookedly marching and dancing around the towering shining figure of Vegalas Brimmstone. Desdichada, 58 SK, Shadow Slayers, AB Cagliostra 56 Dirge, Shadow Slayers, AB
I'm not trying to necro this thread, really. But, this is a great thread where people have introduced themselves and thier Dirges. I was thinking we should get it stickied so new people could introduce themselves and they could read about the older folk. Message Edited by Salmastryon on 07-17-2006 05:47 PM
A small woodelf (more or less attaractif:womanvery-happy with a long scar running down her cheek, grey hair and some Butterflies attached to her hairdo, sits beside a mug full with ale. Its the willowood where she occupies a whole bench under the tree watching people come and go. As you come near you can sense she´s humming a tune of sorrow along with time. Her clear grey eyes look at you sharply with some mystic distance within, but on the lips dances a smile of warm welcome and humor. You know her from the tavern, she´s workin there and most times in the end she´s very drunk, you wouldnt be suprised if she would not get a coin out of this work if she gotta pay the ale. and if youre not wrong shes a member of the Firionas....erm ..ohoh ...thats it .you stared to long at her.. *solemonie throws a bottle of ale over to the stranger* struggling with you reflexes to catch the bottle..you realize..well now i gotta have a chat..but otherwise...hm... worse could happen. You place yourself next to her as she makes some space for you removing her guitar with a swift motion, *plop* opening the the ale you say ..* Hey Sole*...and she grins:womanhappy:
I play my dirge because he was pretty close to my main EQ1 character. His story goes thus: My earliest memories of my father were him staggering around the house in a drunken stupor before collapsing into bed. "Flatley" was his name, as is mine. I must've been, oh, 4 or 5, I can't quite remember, but during those days, I was pretty much left to my own devices and, for a 5 old, finding food and drink can sometimes be a bit tricky. There were some days where no food nor drink passed by my lips and if it wasn't for the enlightened troll woman who lived nearby, I might never have seen my sixth birthday. But I digress. I never knew my mother. From the clues and hearsay I'd gathered over the years, she was apparently a dockside ***** from Freeport my father "met" one night. The only reason I was born to her was that she'd missed taking her anti-pregnancy potion due to lack of coin. I’ve since heard varying tales that I’d killed my mother during labour, that she went mad and gave me away, that the Freeport Militia had a penchant for young boys and wanted me in their harem and so my mother ran away. According to my father I was, in truth, dumped upon him one sweltering night when, yet again, he was too drunk to move. I was wrapped in homespun cloth and left by his side in the gutter he'd chosen as a bed that night. But credit where credit's due, he did provide an upbringing and, when the drinking and gambling stopped for a day or so, he was quite a good father. By the time I'd reached 10, I was travelling with him around the brothels and inns of low repute where he'd sing and play for money to feed us. As time went by and I became more aware of the world, I could sense his self-centredness and ego, not to mention the fallacy he had that any woman - and trust me, he didn't care what race - would fall into bed with him once he'd sung with his "god-like" voice. From the "Cart and Horses" in East Freeport to Inn1 in the Commonlands we'd travel, him carousing and womanising, me dragging behind, tired, hungry and fast becoming world weary at a very early age. But... this is where I started to learn the craft of music-making albeit at the most mundane of levels. For 5 long years I plucked lute's, banged drums and blew flutes. And during those 5 long years, I watched him pile on the weight and develop sore's from his constant sexual appetite. Soon, I thought, it was time I flew the nest but the future had something else in store for me. One night, after a particularly heavy downpour, the road through the Commonlands had become boggy and the wheels on our wagon were constantly sinking into the mud. After the fourth or fifth time of digging the wagon out and getting drenched and dirtied, my father screamed a curse at the gods, unhitched the mule and, with a sharp slap on the rump, sent it off to fend for itself. He took a long pull from his jug of dwarven ale and then hurled the empty pitcher away into the night. "Dad!" I cried, "Now what're gonna do?" "Bugger the [expletive haxx0red by Raijinn]! Bugger the wagon! And bugger you! I'm for a drink!" Lady Luck must've been looking down him right then as the lights of Hidden Inn shone through the blackness and rain. At the sight of that, he was off, leaving me with no choice but to follow, cursing him and his dependency on the demon drink. We arrived at the inn looking like a couple of mud goblins but the innkeeper knew us and sent us out the back to clean up. Back in the main room, the air was thick with pipe smoke, the stench of poor alcohol and the gloom from the local farmhands, all of which, to a man, frowned into their ale. My father had just got started on the drinking, and was at the merry stage. He clumped over to the fireplace, unstrapped his lute, and started to play. At first, there was a low grumble from the audience at being disturbed but slowly, the jaunty, lurid tune had them all banging their mugs in time. A few of the local doxie's wandered between the tables, scouring for a parting of man and money. I sat at the back, much as I had so many times before. A prostitute sidled up to me. "Allo" she said with a grin that exposed her rotten teeth. "Fancy a tumble? Make a man o' ya?" I was used to this and wasn't embarrassed. In fact, now I was 15, I was beginning to think a "tumble" might be fun. But then I saw the sense of it, seeing how my father had fallen into such ways. I shook my head with a smile. She shrugged, uncaring and sauntered away seeking another trick. A serving man came by and, by the size of him, he doubled as a bouncer. He thumped a tankard down my table. "From the Inny. On the house. Watered ale". I thanked him, took a long drink and sighed: it was looking like a long night. Eventually, outside, the rain stopped and, as night greyed to dawn, my father finished with the woman he was with and we both sought a bed for a few hours. "Well me lad" he slurred "Anuvver night dun, and summor coin". Fishing in a pocket, he brought out some copper and thrust it into my hand. "Payer barman boy, lemme get some kip" I gave the innkeeper the copper and, with one of my fathers arms flung across my shoulders, we staggered into the dormitory. It was mid-morning when we awoke. I rubbed at tired and smoke-addled eye's and thumped my father on the arm to wake him. He groaned, turned over and started to snore. I thumped him again, this time successfully cajoling him in to some kind of wakefulness. "It's morning" I said unnecessarily. "Ya. Go bring the cart round. I'll be up in a moment". "We don't have a cart by now. Remember? The bloody gnolls prolly took it..." "Bugger! Look, just go and get what you can from it - we'll bargain with the Inny here for a new mule". I walked from the inn and headed towards where I thought the cart would be. Off in the distance, thunder rolled (and I thought of the joke "it rolled a six" and I smiled wryly). As I trudged on, the rain started up again and huge crash exploded above me. "Tunare!" I swore but carried on walking. Another crash. This time I looked up as that was no ordinary thunder, no matter how concussive. What I saw made my bowels ache. Across the sky was fire and a huge, molten ball of rock flew from east to west, rending the firmament with a rip that screamed in the ears. I dropped to my knees in disbelief. What was happening? Had the gods tired of us and were destroying Norrath in their anger? A hand clutched my shoulder. Dad. "Come on! The inn! Has a basement!" We ran blindly, scared beyond reason, back to the inn. As we arrived, the Inny was pulling tight the basement cover but my dad heaved back and we made it down the steps as a huge crash from above spelled the destruction of much the inn. We collapsed in a heap, my dad, the innkeeper and I. I stood. So did the innkeeper. My dad stayed where he was. I noticed in the gloom an even darker stain on his chest, spreading as I looked. I pulled his coat away. His dirk had slipped from it's sheath and was buried in his flesh. His eye's fluttered. "Now I diddit boy", he rumbled. "Yer on yers own now... sorry I wasn't a better dad". And with that, he was gone. Right then, right there, dead. I can't remember what I felt then. I'm sure it was numbness. I didn’t know. I still don’t. The innkeeper pulled at me. "Come on, son! We can't stay here!" And then, amazingly, he started chanting. A bloody magic-user! Here, in this basement, with all hell breaking loose above and my dad dead below, a bloody innkeeper was casting a spell! The spell finished. Wild disorientation. Glimmering colours. Strange sounds. The basement disappeared. It was replaced by a snow-covered field. I was too shocked to speak. Too many things were happening at once; I couldn't absorb it all. “Come on! Come on!†The innkeeper again. He half dragged me through the snow and I looked up again. From here, the rent in the sky didn’t look as bad but I noticed the cataclysm above was spreading our way. We ran on. Quickly, we entered a copse of pine and the frigid air warmed marginally. “What’s you name boy?†The innkeeper demanded. “Flatley†I managed through a dry throat. I was starting to despair. My dad was dead… dead! “Right. Like ya dad. Right.†He harrumphed. “Alright listen. You’re hurting, you’re confused. But you need to put that aside. Compartmentalise. You can grieve later.†Compartmentalise? Who was this bloke? “Now. Look at me. Look! Right. Now listen to me and listen well. What’s happening up there “ he pointed up “is what we’ve predicted†We? “It’s the cataclysm. Luclin has fractured and great chunks are falling on Norrath. And it’s going to get worse, much worse. Listen to me I said! Look at me! Look! I don’t know why you’re here with me now. We predicted some would be saved but we thought that would be down to luck rather than judgement. Now it seems Fate is playing her role, bringing me to you like she did… yes, yes… I can see in your eye’s. Oh it’s deep, buried, but it’s there.†He stared at me, pinned me to the spot. “Now then. Take thisâ€. He took a glass globe from his apron. “A Greater Lightstone. This one’s special. Has a charge. Now… take it, look into it and say this: “Imbrigado scorlein definimiâ€. I held this globe in my hands, this globe that could sell for enough money to buy me 10 inns of my own. “Imbrigado scorlein definimiâ€. Again, the world changed around me. All that happened 10 years ago. Or 510 depending on your viewpoint. 10 years by the time as it’s reckoned normally but another 500 after what the Greater Lightstone did to me. According to the innkeeper who, I’m sure you’ll have realised by now, was no mere innkeeper much a mage of great strength, I was transported outside of time and space and suspended there for 500 years. The moon had, indeed, exploded, raining vast boulders across Norrath, burying greats tracts into the sea and thrusting up new land. All this was set and described in very neat handwriting on a crumpled piece of paper. Which I still have, covered in glass and hanging up in my bedroom. That was how I came here. And these past ten years? Well, as they say, that’s another story. Oh, I have a million questions, of course I do. But I should think I’ll find some answers soon… And, for thos who prefer pictures, here's the moshing bad-boy himself: Message Edited by Tallisman on 07-19-2006 09:28 AM EDIT: Since posting this, I've been informed of the jarring clash of timelines involved. Flatley apologises for the oversight and blames his state of mind when writing his story - he promises to read his lore in more detail next time. I have awarded him a C+ because of this. Must try harder. Message Edited by Tallisman on 08-06-2006 06:23 PM
When I first started EQ2 I had no interest in playing a scout class. My first main was a Guardian. Following the great Nerf of 05, I decided to try something else. I had two others who were created to be crafters. A Jeweler and a Carpenter. The Jeweler was a mage and eventually grew into a Warlock. She was (and still is) fun to play and I stayed with her until she achieved 70th ranking in her arts. Once this occured I looked around again and all I saw was my level 52 guardian and my level 11 scout. Still having no real interests in playing a scout class I decided to try my Guardian again. I found myself enjoying him once more, and managed to get him to level 60. At this point it was noted that the other members of his regular group were still in their mid 50's so I decided to put him back on the shelf in order to give the others time to catch up. This left me with a dilemma. I had a few other low levels I could try (a necro, a warden, a mystic and a fury) but I wanted something new, so I decided wth lets give the scout a try. Thus Sugota Songweaver the Kerran Dirge was born. Sugota was raised to be a troubador. Trained from an early age to sing the songs of the wind and recount the history of his peoples to all who would listen so that none would forget the ancient ways. He spent his early years studying the histories of the Kerra and learning a multitude of instruments. It was fully expected that once he reached his 20th year he would join the Hall of Loreweavers (as had his parents and their parents before them), yet this was not to be. In his 11th year, the world shattered and the songs of the wind that he loved so much changed. They became harsher and more discordant. They no longer sang of love and harmony, but about loss and despair. As the world shattered so did the Kerra, tribes that has existed as one for centuries were seperated and others simply ceased to be. As the world grew darker so did the songs that Sugota sung. He no longer sung of love, harmony and the beauty of the spirit, but of death and destruction and the horrors of the world. As his songs grew darker, so too did Sugota's soul. He looked at the world around him and despaired. Then came the day when he had an epiphany and realized what he must do., what he was destined to do. Thus with his mind made up he gathered his few belongings, bid farewell to his parents and set forth into the world. Set forth to follow the wind and recount its harsh despairing song to any who would listen. He shed the veil of the troubadour and wrapped himself in the dark cloak of the dirge and never looked back. Destined to follow the winds, where ever they may lead him. Sugota is presently in his 39th tier and growing quicky. He is without a doubt one of the most enjoyable classes I have played to date.
When I first began my journey in Norrath, many and I mean MANY years ago, I walked the path of the light. Although a Vicar, for some odd reason, Qinwena attracted a more....how shall we say, 'darker' crowd...even so far as falling in love with a Necromancer. Then, Qinwena Naosu was laid to rest, and a shift in the winds I found myself in another world, Azeroth it was called. Although a strong huntress, the call to help others was overwhelming, so thus, Nashne the druidess was born. But then in this world, something happend, I found strength. My friends would call me a 'jack-of-all-trades' and it hit me, I missed Norrath. I returned to Norrath to find it shattered, broken, torn by war.....just.....different. In this new Norrath, I attempted the path of the illusionist; however, I eventually realized I only walked this path in hopes of being desired by others. It eventually became a very empty path to walk...so I looked again and this time, I chose a path that called to me....and being one attuned to the darker things in our lives, and being one to be able to handle such horrors, Layarilie Jonguleress was brought into being. Although it can be a dark and troubled path, Laya walks holding her head high, her eyes sure....with a blade in one hand and her lamenting lute in the other. ((I love the dirge class, although I have since tried to make alts, none can even begin to compare for me. It was by pure chance my character was born lol, I guess somethings are truly, better left up to chance ))
I remember when eq1 came out I was looking at the box in a store. The clerk told me there was a monthly fee, and even though I had a job I was too young to own a credit card and I thought to myself "who in their right mind would pay monthly to play a game?" Then I proceeded to engage in less than productive activities with my friends. Fast forward to the release of eq2. I figured I would give it a shot, I had a job and a way to pay for the game, what could go wrong? Long story short I played for a month and stopped only to pick it up much later and had a great time, joined a guild, made friends, said good bye to my social life. Decided to play the most offensive fighter available, so I rolled a monk. Hit 70 eventually and got bored, tried mages and healers but they didn't tickle my fancy. Tried pvp but I loved eq2 for the community, coming from first person shooters this was really a culture shock, so I went back to the blue servers and tried a plate tank. Enjoyed it, but I was looking for something new. I was reading the scout forums and came across the dirge faq and for some reason that compelled me to roll one, and I can say it's been a blast for these 17 levels. I tried to make my kerran, the supreme race, look sad like he's lost something and he seeks it in the vast lands of Norath . I picture him playing the blues and jazz hanging out in smoky bars, drinking his troubles away, playing a great show, and then looking for a good fight. If I ever started rping, in other words if I ever found a group of people who rp, he would be jaded in a mater of fact sort of way. Just floating along waiting for the next event in his life to start and end. Life, death, a terrible show, a great date, whatever it was it's just another event that's passing and will eventually be a foggy memory. Music, death, and fighting are the only things he can truly count on. People come and go, memory fades, pains are drowned, life rolls along till he's playing that great gig in the sky.
I became a dirge because the in game persona of the evil musician most represented my real life persona. I enjoy nothing more than music in the whole world, usually the darker the better. Im not saying like Hardcore Thrash, or any of that other goofy, screaming, heavily distorted crap, but rather a hauntingly beautifully evil music.....thats what Im into. I also like making videos and editing them, especially music videos and game videos. Therefore the dark artist / tragic musician seemed like a perfect fit for me in the game. Plus I like creeping up on shiz in stealth, and backstabbing it into oblivion. Call me sick, but I like the stealth gank. When you find me in game, im sitting here, mixing songs, playing guitar, listening to tracks and generally being a geek on many lvls: http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y101/joneric1014/000_0028.jpg Peace! Message Edited by Azmodiaz on 08-15-2006 06:46 AM
Because many dirges enjoy the role-playing as well as the tactical aspect of the game. This thread also introduces many persons who post frequently here, and many of us enjoy knowing who we're discussing with. If you're planning to be a frequent flyer here, you might consider letting us know more about yourself. Aside from the obvious, I mean. Whysprr
Ah, the loneliness of the notes........ Being an Ogre, it is tough to be accepted and when I try to befriend, I am often turned away, shunned! I do not have an evil heart, but the race I was born into sadly carries it's own stigma and many other creatures judge my entire race as one entity. I am Crackitch. I am ME! NOT my entire race! I first turned to music through my loneliness as an ogreling and would weep at the sombre nature of the sounds I heard. I became known as a rebel; my race were historically aggressive, brutal thugs, known for their hatred of other races in Norrath. Grobb became their motherland........stole it they did! STOLE it! I wished to become my own person and not attuned to the "normality" of Orge life. I fell in love and for this I became an outcast. It was music of course and not the chief's only daughter that stole my heart. *** She is ugly creature and my music is beautiful *** So, here I am, still young, still learning my craft, but I wish now to only be left alone, to play, to write, to sing and most of all, to forget! I hope I shall make a friend someday. It is a desolate world at times and my music lifts the grey fog of this world and draws in the sunshine that floats above it all. Yes, I am Ogre, but I feel and think just as you all do and we all share the common ground of song and dance and notes. Perhaps you will all accept me? And for once in my life I can feel proud at not living a moment of my life with regret at my own choices
LOL..pwed..bravo Whysprr :smileyvery-happy: (sorry didnt mean to go OT, but I loved the turn of phrase )
Have you ever heard of the Russian Masters? The ones that wrote for the Czars and later used thier music against the Communists? The darkness and passion and power of thier music? ~THAT~ is why I am a Dirge...
