Tag: Roleplay

[ATS] Fueled by Diesel and Sarcasm

[[ I decided why not start a new roleplay involving American Truck Simulator, since I enjoy these so much with EVE Online. These will be the adventures I’ve done in-game, but in a different format. ATS just announced their next DLC is British Columbia, and I’m VERY excited. So. Enjoy!]]

Stargrace rolled out of Truckee just after dawn, the trailer full of waste paper rattling behind her like it had opinions about the whole situation. Snow still clung to the pines up there, stubborn as an unpaid parking ticket, and she gave it a respectful nod in the mirror. She was Canadian, after all. Cold and stubborn felt like extended family.

She’d been based out of Reno for years now—long enough that the desert dust had worked its way into her boots, her coffee mug, and probably her soul—but the mountains still spoke her language. Elko was the goal today. Long road, easy miles, plenty of time to think bad thoughts and tell worse jokes to herself.

Stargrace wasn’t new to this. The lines on her face were carved by sun glare, sleepless nights, and a lifetime of conversations with inanimate objects. The truck got the worst of it.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she muttered as the engine growled. “You chose this life too.”

Somewhere along the stretch of highway where the scenery turns into a lesson in humility, she pulled in for fuel. One stop. In and out. The pump clicked and whined its way up to 129 gallons, the total flashing $488 like it was proud of itself. Stargrace snorted.
“That’s not gas,” she said. “That’s a small mortgage.”

She didn’t mind, though—the delivery company was covering it. One of the rare mercies in this line of work, right up there with clean restrooms and radio stations that didn’t fade out mid-chorus.

Back on the road, the miles unwound the way they always did. Nevada stretched wide and quiet, the kind of quiet that lets your thoughts roam but never quite escape. She hummed along with a station that played something old and twangy, drummed the wheel with scarred knuckles, and watched the sun crawl across the sky.

By the time Elko came into view, the waste paper had behaved itself, the truck hadn’t thrown a tantrum, and Stargrace felt that familiar, tired satisfaction settle into her bones. Another run done. Another road behind her.

She cracked a grin, slow and crooked.
“Not bad for an old Canadian in the desert,” she said to no one in particular—and the truck, wisely, didn’t argue.

Brownies and Broken Timeways

Auchindoun always felt… heavy. The air shimmered with lingering spirits, whispers of draenei prayers long since faded. But even in a place like this, I found small joys.

Like the smell of roasting meat.

I followed it past a collapsed archway and nearly bumped into the source: a broad-shouldered human shaman, hair tied back with what looked suspiciously like a piece of cooking twine. He crouched near a campfire, turning a skewer of clefthoof meat over the flames, seasoning it with pinches of salt and flickers of crackling elemental energy.

“Smells amazing,” I said, peeking up at him.

“Should. I don’t burn food,” he grunted, glancing at me briefly before flipping the skewer. His voice was rough, like gravel rolled in ale, but his hands moved with the care of someone who respected every bite they made. “Name’s Hugeo. You eat?”

“Sometimes,” I replied, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. “Though usually not in the middle of a draenei tomb.”

He snorted at that, and for a moment the grimness of Auchindoun faded, replaced by the warm, smoky scent of cooking meat.

We parted ways shortly after—he back to his skewer, me to my errands with the Timewalking group—but I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Not just the food, but the way his expression softened, just slightly, when he cooked.

So, later that evening, I found a quiet corner, pulled out a small parcel, and packed it carefully: three soft, rich Dalaran brownies, the kind my mom used to bake when I had bad days. Sweet, fudgy, and best eaten warm. I tied the parcel with a simple red ribbon, slipping a little note inside:

“For the road. Sometimes cooking for others is easy. Eating something made for you is harder. –Auremai”

I asked a helpful ethereal to deliver it and went back to sorting my wares.

Somewhere out in the shattered wilds of Outland, a rough and tumble chef was hopefully taking a bite of something sweet. And maybe, just maybe, smiling.

Auremai – Introduction

Most folks don’t expect much when they first meet me. I suppose I’m easy to overlook – just a gnome with a satchel too big for her shoulders, boots too dusty for a lady, and a cart full of trinkets I swear have stories of their own.

My name’s Auremai. Merchant by trade, monk by discipline, and – though I’m a little bashful about it – an avid writer of romantic tales with happy endings and at least two comedic misunderstandings per chapter. There’s just something about a good love story that warms the heart, don’t you think?

I’ve spent the better part of the last decade trundling my way across Azeroth—from the rolling green hills of Elwynn to the misty coasts of Zandalar—with a cart full of curious wares and a heart full of stories. If you’ve ever bought a self-heating teapot in Stormwind or a ring that hums when you’re near your soulmate (questionable results), there’s a good chance it came from me.

Though I could settle down—I’ve the gold for it, Light knows—I’d rather use my coin to help those who need it. A warm meal in Westfall, bandages in Redridge, a school roof in Dun Morogh. I don’t make a show of it. Just a little envelope left behind, or a coin purse slipped into a pocket. Gold’s only as good as the good it can do.

When the world settles down and the campfire crackles low, I like to write. Rom-coms, mostly—set in places like Dalaran or Booty Bay, full of flustered apprentices, mysterious rogues, and misunderstandings that always resolve with a kiss and a laugh. I write under a pen name, of course. Can’t have heroes recognizing me from Love in the Shadow of the Spire while I’m bartering silk in Boralus.

Truth be told, I’m still looking for my own story. Maybe it’s waiting down the next road, over the next hill. Or maybe it’s already started, and I just haven’t reached the twist yet.

Either way, I’ll get there. One step, one sale, one story at a time.

Rare Books (Rp Story – How I gained my 300th player-written book)

(( These events actually happened in game, which was pretty unusual and awesome to me. It was yet another reminder of why I love to play on the Antonia Bayle server, and why this game is so unique to me. Enjoy! ))

It is 12:33pm of Darkday, Deadening 8, of the year 3838

I sit alone in my home, on the floor of my library. The musty scent of books may be offensive to some but to me it represents life. Life of those past by, life of Norrath. The words wash over me and I lose myself in them and forget the troubles that I have been faced with as of late. I have had a few incredible things happen to which I feel almost as though Tunare has reached down and blessed me personally. This may be silly, but it makes me smile. To start it off I have been given an amazing collection of history, donated by one Shivarkah. The collection spans 21 books total, including the introduction. The selected works are the History of the Viswords, and are still in progress, but are amazing none the less. It took me several hours to make my way through the books and I dare say I devoured them much like one would a particularly delicious meal.

My good fortune did not end there. I have had numerous other donations, some from people far away. I am still waiting on a delivery of four books from Sigrdrifa, and I had another donation from a gentleman named Miache. My collection  is one of the best in Norrath, and I do not say that to boast but rather out of awe.

Were those the only good fortunes to befall upon me it would still make for an exciting day – and yet there is more. I received a letter from one Turan, who I had never heard of before this day. His letter claimed that I was in possession of a particularly rare book, written in a language that few speak. The title translates loosely to “The Codex of Forgotten Virtue” and comes in a series. I own book four, and he owns a few others. He asked if I would be willing to sell this book, or perhaps make him a copy of it.

Those who know me realize that parting with any of the selections of my library is not an idea I will even entertain, and thus I spent the evening carefully penning down the exact words from the copy that I possessed, and mailed him the copy of what I own. He in turn sent me back copies of his four, which I carefully added to my library.

An odd story perhaps but one worth telling. It is not only great battles that others deserve to hear of, but the simpler things about my life in Norrath that some times bring me the greatest joy.

That was my adventure from yesterday. I was closing in on 270 player-written books and posted on the EQ2players.com forums that I was searching for donations to my player-written library. While I did not have a HUGE amount of response, I did get a few and it was incredible and made my day. The in game mail from Turan (who I do not know) was especially awesome. Just one more reason why I love playing this game.

** EDIT ** received a note from Turan who mentions that the book I own is written in a language called Gargish, and he has been using an online dictionary to copy it out and translate it. How absolutely awesome is that? http://www.uo.com/archive/gargoyle/

Who doesn’t want MORE alts?!

Of course in game, I need more alts. Why? Because I had character slots free. I made three of them yesterday. Will I stick with any of them? Who knows. While I played on Antonia Bayle I listened to the chatter taking place in the craft channel. It’s amazing to see the difference in community on all of the servers I play on. I have level 80 characters on four different servers, and I’ve played extensively on two others that I moved from. I enjoy playing with friends which is my main reason for changing so often.

The atmosphere on the roleplay servers is completely different then that on ‘regular’ servers. I’m fairly confident that this can be said for almost all games, and roleplay servers also tend to be quite popular. Even the difference between Antonia Bayle and Lucan D’Lere is noticeable in EQ2, mainly because of the size difference. You always have those bad apples who talk louder then the 100 nice people you may have missed coming in contact with.

The casual atmosphere and the openness are two things that I notice the most on roleplay servers. People talk, almost constantly. They talk to people walking by, to strangers in channels and numerous other instances. I love it. Every time I walk through Freeport I can hear people roleplaying and on the roleplay channels there’s always a story going on. I adventured through Zek one day and came across a group of people randomly roleplaying around the druid rings, and walked into their story. It was an incredible experience and one that reminded me why I love these games, why I play.

I hope everyone has an amazing weekend, I’ll see you in Norrath (and maybe Free Realms, and Vanguard, and EverQuest, and.. )