Hunt With Me
"This was your idea. Just for the record." A branch creaked under his foot. He winced. "I don’t know what I’m doing here. I have literally no idea what I’m doing. I’m going to die. We’re both going to die and nobody will ever find the bodies.”
She scoffed. “It’s Elwynn, Alec, not the Plaguelands. Even here in the mountains, there’s not much worse than bears and pumas.”
"I thought pumas were actually just a-" Another twig snapped. Another nervous jitter followed. "-category of big cats, not a species?"
"It also means just mountain lions," she replied smartly, reaching for her copy of the Cenarion Almanac of Beasts that, for full effect, they had decided to leave back at the barn.
“Mountain lions?" he hissed back, as though mentioning their name loud enough would conjure them into existence, "How are we s’posed to handle a bloody-"
But then, there was a flash of brown, a whiff of terrified deer, and they were gone.
Hug Me (i mistyped this as ‘huge me’ like four times)
"These are… pretty good, actually," he muttered through a mouthful of steamed pork bun, "You’d think that- like- a couple thousand years away from the rest of the world would make their food taste rubbish to us."
The other druid, for her part, was already halfway through a crispy, sweetened whole poultry of some sort. “Well, it’s not like the soil’s that different, is it? Aside from the giant plant thing, they can grow all the same ingredients, can’t they?”
Alec motioned to agree, but his response was instead a guttural hurk not unlike the sound a dog makes before barfing up the biscuit it failed to chew properly.
Funnily enough, that was a very accurate description of exactly what had happened.
Cinna, of course knowledgeable in lifesaving techniques both mystical and mundane, sprung into action, wrapping arms around the worgen’s midriff and tugging back with enough force to send the half-digested meat roll sailing across the tavern, past the old, deaf pandaren chef, and out the window into the muddy waters of the Yanzhe.
His esophagus liberated from the doughy menace, Alec slumped backward, coughing up a bit of spittle for good measure. “-ow.” With a blink, however, he realized that might well have been the first time someone saved his life not by accident.
"Thanks," he wheezed, slumping back down on his toppled chair and shakily returning the embrace.
Staring at the barely-furnished, roofed terrace, Alec frowned. This was not a room.
It was a space, definitely, maybe even one he could live in, but he was promised a room. That was the condition for pretending he knew what the elves in the feathers were talking about - for pretending that he knew what a druid was, and that he had intentions of becoming one.
For the record, he all thought they were just secret witches.
But what mattered is they had reneged on the deal. Rooms have four walls and a door. This had three walls, and a big… open side.
At least he wasn’t living in a tree anymore.
Slumping sideways, letting his raggedly-strapped suitcase slide off his shoulder, he hazily noticed the few things his new quarters did come with: a bed, a dresser, one of those folding things you changed behind (which definitely did NOT make up for the absence of an entire wall), and… a mirror.
Alec inhaled sharply; there were no mirrors in Tal’doren - the elves insisted it was because their expedition could only bring bare essentials, but he figured preventing dozens of hysterical wolf-people from seeing themselves might’ve also been a priority.
Speaking as a hysterical wolf-person, he knew vaguely what he looked like - he’d seen others, obviously, along with the occasional glimpse of his reflection in a murky puddle. That was in Gilneas, though, where he couldn’t afford to panic about his appearance; there were more important things to be panicking about.
Steeling himself, he approached the mirror from the side, as if he were sneaking up on some unpredictable animal. Hesitating momentarily before clenching his fists and throwing himself in front of the thing, he figured it couldn’t be that bad if he got it over with.
He was wrong.
He looked like someone had crammed a monster inside human clothes, badly. His hands ended in long, mud-caked claws. Two sets of curved, bestial fangs stuck out of his muzzle - he had a muzzle - complimenting the rest of his razor-sharp teeth. Only when they flattened with worry did he realize the two fur-covered tufts sticking out of his mane were, in fact, his ears.
so i really didn’t see ratatouille until after coming up with alec
Chilham, Kent, UK
16. What does your character do for a living? How do they see their profession? What do they like about it? Dislike?
There are several things that Alec does that could be considered a livelihood; his soup cart in Stormwind and Darnassus, his work (and continuing training) with the Cenarion Circle, and his deployment alongside the Servitors of Lothar, an Alliance military order.
Each of them have their ups and downs - more than anything, Alec likes to cook, but most patrons in Stormwind tend to be rather odd. He apparently has some degree of druidic skill (or so he’s been told), but the idea of using nature magic runs counter to basically everything he’d been taught in Gilneas. The militaryorder is letting him see Pandaria, but at the cost of being among the armies invading it.
29. What is your character’s weaknesses? Hubris? Pride? Controlling?
Alec is quite a meek person, and rather cowardly to boot. The latter, however, has improved since he’s left Gilneas and been gradually exposed to danger on a more regular basis.
[32 and 33 answers COMING SOON because I’m falling asleep at my keyboard.]
19. What were your character’s deepest disillusions? In life? What are they now?
Despite the fact that he was (sort of) on the rebel side, Alec believed most everything he was taught by living in the heart of Gilnean society - not just that Gilneans Are The Best, but that the Defense of the Realm is glorious, feelings are horrible, and the only purpose of love is to be with a woman for the explicit purpose of making more awesome Gilneans.
Only after the wall came down and assorted worgen things happened did start to maybe question some of those; he still clings to most, just because it makes more sense to him than the absolute crazy that actually is the world.
23. What do they want from a partner? What do they think and feel of sex?
Tying into the above, Alec is still trying to get the notion that sex is not the most terrifying thing to exist, and that maybe being into dudes is okay, sometimes. Not quite in the closet, but standing on the threshold, poking his head out and gazing in terror at the baleful visage of gay that lies beyond.
In terms of an ideal partner- he certainly has no idea. Alec is (or was) a tremendously sheltered person in some ways and suffered some unpleasant psychological trauma in others, so anyone willing to put up with that and normal enough themselves would do the man some good.
43. Does your character have any secrets? If so, are they holding them back?
This and that- Alec is certainly not proud of a number of things he did in the service of Crowley’s rebels, among others.
By and large, however, he’s an honest and forthcoming person, and would probably even divulge the above if pressed by someone he knows well enough.
49. What about voice? Pitch? Strength? Tempo and rhythm of speech? Pronunciation? Accent?
Alec has a fairly even-pitched voice under most circumstances - when excited or angry, however, it tends to rise higher. It’s just a tiny bit nasal, too. Most obvious, however, is how fast Alec talks: to someone not familiar with a lower-middle class Gilnean accent (think estuary) it might be almost unintelligible without some effort. His words are well-formed enough (he did have some schooling, after all) but he tends to contract them as he speaks. “Suppose” becomes “s’pose”, “You know” become “y’know”, etc.
In worgen form, his voice obviously grows much deeper and rougher, though his mannerisms barely change, creating an odd sort dissonance for anyone used to perpetually angry, growly worgen.
50. What are the prevailing facial expressions? Sour? Cheerful? Dominating?
Fear, surprise, uncomfortable awkwardness, and generic Gilnean stoicism, in ascending order of prevalence. That’s not to say Alec can’t manage a smile every now and again, but unless he’s actively laughing out loud, he likely defaults to a trained, blank expression, or mentally fussing about whether than thing he just said might have been some sort of faux pas.
also ASK MORE
I accidentally a Holmewood who belongs to drunklibrarian
i went by his wraorg profile idek how up to date that is
la la la hope he sees this
Alec’s Druid Forms
Resting on Alec’s dresser in the Nighthaven dormitories are a few scraps of parchment paper, labeled as Quotations and Excerpts from the lectures of Taahe Amberstride, Shu’halo archdruid in quick, scribbled print.
"Many students whom I have taken on in study assume wrongfully that those forms taken (and those Ancients revered) by the Cenarion Circle are the only ones available to us as druids.
They could not be more wrong; the Ancients are as numerous as the beasts of our world, and only our belief is required to assume their form and embody their traits. Though it remains common - and, I will agree, of benefit - for druids to adopt a favored form for various purposes, by no means must this choice of shape reflect those of the more… orthodox night elves.
Take, for example, the form of a bear. Often, in battle, a druid skilled in shapeshifting must assume the body of a beast suited to receiving blows, in order to protect his or her more vulnerable colleagues - or civilians, as the case may be. The kaldorei sect of the Claw would have you believe only an ursine transformation is acceptable for such a scenario. While a bear’s shape is indeed useful in that case - and for this reason it remains popular - a druid may well draw upon any thick-hided, resilient animal to protect their allies.
So it is for any form of utility: when navigating an aquatic environment, it is accepted that the form of the seal (a species once common to Darnassian coastlines, I might add) is most prudent. A mammalian form, however, is large and must resurface occasionally for air: a druid braving the depths of Vashj’ir, for example (as many brave Cenarion agents did during the time that region was exposed to the energies of the Abyssal Maw) might choose, perhaps, the shape of an octopus, a form more suited to the chaotic geometry and crushing pressure of the deep ocean.”