Character Development--Eragon
~~Takes place at Eldest. Protagonist’s name is Atharavv, a Halfling between Thaleor, an Elf and a human maiden who crosses the western sea. He’s only around a hundred years old, however.
He lives as a hermit, but he was trained by his father the ways of the Rider, who got sentenced for it to exile. Atharavv wasn’t harmed, but he is mostly avoided due to how…tentative and controversial his matter is. ~~
He, being a hermit, lives alone. Occasionally, he is visited by his childhood friend, Lathanor. The story starts with Atharavv hunting; a sport looked down upon by the Elves.
The gray skies brightened as Diel, our sun rose into the cloudy heavens. The forests shivered as the cold winds of the south wafted through the air. I gritted my teeth at the life the wind brings; the Fallen Rider still holds the heads and hearts of the unsuspecting men of Alagaësia, but that is not my battle to fight. The Elves have their new Rider. I knew far too much to live in peace with my father’s people.
A mistake I had to pay for. Life was a gift to the Elves, but was a burden to outlast to me, no matter how the term…humored me.
I heard the winds whisper of an Elf coming. He was a young one at that. I could sense how the earth shakes at his lithe, quick steps as he reached my camp.
I did not turn to Lathanor, and instead strung my Blackwood bow, and turned to the forests as he burst through the trees.
He lifted his fingers in the honorific greeting of his people, but I did not respond as he greeted me, but instead muttered, “Your people twist the words of the ancient so even in your greatest of prides, Lathanor. Do not will to speak truth if your heart falters after these moments.”
He instead smiled, and responded, “Agaetí Blödhren arrives in a few days’ passing, Atharavv. Will you not join us?”
I instead lifted the bow and closed my eyes, searching for the heart I sought. A faint, rapid thumping filled my ears, as I slowly moved around my camp, and aimed at the shadowed forest.
I drew my bow to past my pointed ears, and released it. It sung true, and it struck truer.
“And drown myself in your peoples’ proud, perverse words, twisted in the Ancient Tongue, no less?” I turned to Lathanor, speaking the common language of men, “I have no dealings with your people, Lathanor.”
A cloud ran over his face, but kept his calm smile, “Had I not known you for so long, I would hear you as a dwarf.”
I lifted my hand, and whispered, return, in the Ancient Language, and the arrow and the game wafted to my hand. An excellent hunt, I thought, as I observed the rabbit.
My curiosity of my hunt’s results was replaced by pain in Lathanor’s thoughts.
I sat down on the ground, and set a smoldering fire ablaze with a word, and turned to him, and asked, “Is this not a feat? Striking the dark, no magic but my senses to guide my arrow?”
“Do you mock me by your hunt?” He asked slowly.
I looked at him coldly, and felt my insides boil. The hypocrisy of the Elves…their insolence is unbearable!
“Gaze upon this, Lathanor, and tell me if you see anything disturbing,” I spoke in the ancient tongue. I reached for a nearby tree, and picked a pear from its high branches. I then sank my teeth into it, and continued the task of eating it, until there was nothing but its insides.
I could see his words gather on his face. Then again, although he was a pure Elf, I was older and wiser. I would not be directed how to ‘think’ by people who see how I live as savagery!
“Gaze upon this pear, Lathanor! Does it not feel as animals do?!” I hissed, presenting him with the ‘corpse’.
“Trees can sense-“He began, but I interrupted him.
“Or is it because their consciousness is more subtle, you see it fairer to be sacrificed and consumed rather than animals? In that sense, you can enlighten your people into seeing and devouring men because they feel less than whatever other matter you see!” I spat.
"Fruits are different," He began.
"And grain...and seeds..." I smirked.
“You boil with rage, Atharavv,” He begun, seeing me angry, but I relished in his recoils. How I hated the calmness of the Elves! How I despised their disregard for other races! How I hated them clinging to words, and only acting when blood was shed! Blind, arrogant self-absorbed shades of men who elude themselves with tales and bards of their own greatness and glory. May they be praised for leaving Men to suffer under Galbatorix!
“And rightfully so I boil with rage!” I roared, feeling my human side to urge me on verbally beating on the Elf. “I lash at your people, and see the how free my tongue is! Even the Ancient Tongue sees that I speak no lies!”
He did not answer, and in that, I threw the remains of the pear as far as I could, and drifted towards the campfire, and began gutting the rabbit.
“Why do you hate us thus? Why do you hate yourself, Atharavv?” He asked. I could hear his calm demeanor cracking under his concern. I could hear his heart beat quicker under my conviction; he was doubtful. I could see it in the flicker of his eyes, in the subtle budge of his body as I violently removed the rabbit’s organs.
I did not answer, and pointed at him with a knife to be seated. He did not seat, however, and waited with the patience of dragons, until I baked and finished my meal.
“I am forsaken, Lathanor,” I begun, my voice threatening to crack.
“You act like a human lad, Atharavv,” He responded. “None forsook you.”
“I forsook you all, and if I didn’t, I had to forsake my blood.”
“What does your blood urge you to?” He asked. I turned to him slowly, and then sighed.
I turned to the skies. Skies so beautiful and perfect that no magic can dare imitate it. Skies that swept a calming wind that drifted through the forest and down upon us, singing songs better than the Queen herself could dare dream to chant.
“It urges me to believe.”
Unlike how I spoke a few days before, I left my self-imposed exile to Agaetí Blödhren. The sentinel of the Elven Kingdom Ellesméra smiled as he noticed my presence. The Watcher disappeared once he let me pass, and I heard his voice in the wind, “You are welcome here.”
I did not respond, but my movements became rougher, and my anger and conviction of my own philosophy strode with me, guiding my steps into swift strides.
I wrapped my cloak around myself, knowing well that it would do poor work in hiding myself. My mind was not like an Elven mind or a Human mind; it was closed to all. The negativity of the black hole of loss was almost physical in such a magical realm.
The festival started, and I was only half-aware of my surroundings.
I noticed two -nay, three, and one is attached to the other- beings that attracted my mind. I tried to listen around to find or scry something, but I didn’t want to rouse the Elves. I’m bothersome enough as it is.
But soon enough, although keeping my eyes to the ground and my head hooded, I came across him.
He was one (or both)-but I halted in awe as I saw the dragon.
They did not notice me, but I took the opportunity to probe the third presence. It was a…another dragon? Was that a forth presence as well?
I felt my brow furrow; three riders in this Light-forsaken age?
The evening past, but I felt myself weakening, and cursed; I did not set up wards against the Elves’ cursed sorcery. Their much-praised singing evoked mortals, and roused the hearts of the living.
They call it their Tribute of Blood, and I call it their curse. I saw Lathanor in the distance, singing his own poem to an unusual-looking elf. Could it be a Halfling like me? I neared, and sensed the Rider spirit, and felt my blood boil again.
Lathanor finished, and the Queen noticed me, and beckoned me to the stage. Being half Elf, I had the "natural proficiency to poetry and art". It was the path to learning poetry was worth the praise, not years spent on perfecting a column to be sung and forgotten!
However, something made me smirk, as I rose to the stage. I saw many Elves look at me with curiosity, and the Rider with similar looks, albeit more noticeable.
I stood on the stage, feeling my hot blood urge me on, and I felt the tension in my audience. I always loved to make a show, I smirked.
“Greetings, good people of Ellesméra, and our sacred guest, who hears us with no debate,
“You come from the times of legends, armed with strength and tailed by mist.
“But woe to the times when the free people of Alagaësia who are ruled by ones chosen by fate,
“Hath not Destiny’s purpose a choice, and not a chooser to wait?”
The audience visibly shifted, but the demon of poetry took by my words, rhyming both the Ancient Language and it’s translation to the tongue of men, targeting this ruse the Rider himself…our ‘Salvation’.
“Chosen by seeing dragons, who took the sacrifice of forging magic into their Thihan Mind, Is not the seer the most ignorant of the blind?
“We are shackled by dreams and hopes of salvation, and no hero of man, elf nor dwarf rises in kind,
“Brought down by our own fears and worries, gaze now on the Fair Folk, and see their reluctance in meting out justice in shallow sorrow and woes!
“Heroes are not chosen, but forged under fires of fate, and the blind eyes we turn to those fortunate to be loved by ones oblivious to our hearts is worthy of debate!
“Will no Man, Elf nor Dwarf rise to end this game with conviction and faith? Hath we been forsaken by the gods, or have we steered away into darkness, like a lured rat into rotten bait?”
“Quell your tongue, heretic and exile, one who forsakes his people. You took what you wanted, and haunt us like a lingering shade of our past! I welcomed you back and down you pull our steeple. Your anger is of your blood; leave it or live cursed!” The very air whispered.
I couldn’t help it; I burst into an insane laugh. “Who speaks to me now, Fair Folk? Is it your consciousness, or is it your magics you weave like webs around your minds?”
I felt two Elves hold on my shoulders, and gently prod me to walk. I knew better then to resist, thus I walked with them, and turned to Eragon, the Rider, and laughed again, shouting at all who could listen, “Woe to you, people of Alagaësia! And woe to you, Rider! Men and women with the blood of heroes, nay, angels trod this land to this day, and they hide their strengths in faith in you! Such faith is sorely misplaced! That you know now that your entire purpose was a reaction to the Fallen Rider, do you Varden, Elves and Dwarves mock yourselves thus?! Does no warrior armed with faith and steeled with virtues rise to free us, forging themselves into the near-perfections they promise!”
I shouted with the height of my voice as I was dragged away. I could sense the Elves whispering thoughts between themselves, some mocking, their thoughts digging deep into my pride, and some contemplating. No matter! They would not heed my words, for their ‘critical thinking’ goes into nothing but art and poetry! None know the Art of War!
Although I feared the Queen’s wrath, which was swift and final, I shouted with the height of my voice, “Know that the woes on the kingdom were of your Light-forsaken order, Rider! All your pains came from the illusions and foolish promises and dreams the livers of Alagaësia filled their minds with!
They lost their faith in themselves, and placed them into an inherently corrupt, self-righteous order that spoke with the Elves, and governed man, dwarf and even Dragon! Dragons themselves fall under the Oaths of Blood! Such mockery of freedom and righteousness is beyond even my elusive tongue to mock!
How can you serve all people who see through different eyes?! Elves are ruled by Queens, Dwarves by their clans, and Men by their blood! No half-race who dances on the line of difference between races can hope to understand~~ It's all blood!!"
I was whisked away, but no sooner then what I deemed enough to rest after my outburst, I left my dwelling, just to feel the earth rumbling as steeds rushed to my ‘estate’. I turned away my face, knowing who it would be.
"You shame me, Atharavv."
"My queen," I turned to her, before a searing pain stuck my cheek. I recoiled, touching the heated area.
"You insult our guest, you mock all the people in Alagasia, and you disgrace me. Your father wouldn't have gone near that!" She shouted at me.
I looked behind her, where Lathanor stood, contemplating.
"I spoke my heart. Is that not what you all do?" I told her.
"You rediculate us again before our hope..." She whispered.
"He is no hope...if you have no faith," I retorted.
"Faith?! In what?" She growled. "Has your self-righteous human spirit fueled you with this foolhardy claim?"
"Nay...steering away from the lies of your people has."
She slapped me once again, and her conviction in the act stunned me. I couldn't even speek as she whispered icily, "Atharavv...can you put up arms against Galbatorix?"
I didn't respond, and she smirked at me, "Words...Your tongue is your sword. You are no different from us, Atharavv...why do you do this?"
"I am nothing like you."
"Then why do you exile yourself, and live in the the forests?"
"None see the truth through my eyes," I muttered. "You and your people retreated, hiding in bushes and ferns from Galbatorix. Dwarves scurry in their mountains, as Galbatorix kills our lands with his black magics...defiles the sanctity of death, and makes Alagasia hell to those who live there."
She looked at me through slated eyes, before I then added, "But you are right, my queen...I have been hiding here in cowardice like you. I am not different...save from today. I will leave your accused forests, and I will seek out a weapon that will grant me the power to redeem the Damned Galbatorix curses. I have no interest in saving this land of fools and misguided heroes. My only quest is to give rest to the fallen."
"Then leave this land, Exile, son of none, and never return," The muttered. "You speak against your queen, you insult the memory of your father, and you mock the hope for light in the land."
I didn't respond, but retreated to my cabin, stringing my hanging bow, and equipping my chain mail under a dark green tunic, slung my bow over my shoulder, and hung my sword at my waist.
I saw a black rose at my pillow. I knew who sent it to me...I picked it up, and left, passing by the Queen, as I left the forests forever.
This, for instance is called Character Development. Some people think it's just characters changing, while it's that and making them move the plot, and not the other way around. Don't make your characters go some place because they "have to", but make them go because they "want to."
WoW Bosses: "It's 5 AM! Who can be up and raiding this hour?"
Raiders: "Alright, mate! Epics!!"
WoW Bosses: *Gasp* "The Australians!!"
xD That was priceless.
So, I cooled down. I still want to take it personally, but it's just...wimpy. I don't want to.
He lives as a hermit, but he was trained by his father the ways of the Rider, who got sentenced for it to exile. Atharavv wasn’t harmed, but he is mostly avoided due to how…tentative and controversial his matter is. ~~
He, being a hermit, lives alone. Occasionally, he is visited by his childhood friend, Lathanor. The story starts with Atharavv hunting; a sport looked down upon by the Elves.
The gray skies brightened as Diel, our sun rose into the cloudy heavens. The forests shivered as the cold winds of the south wafted through the air. I gritted my teeth at the life the wind brings; the Fallen Rider still holds the heads and hearts of the unsuspecting men of Alagaësia, but that is not my battle to fight. The Elves have their new Rider. I knew far too much to live in peace with my father’s people.
A mistake I had to pay for. Life was a gift to the Elves, but was a burden to outlast to me, no matter how the term…humored me.
I heard the winds whisper of an Elf coming. He was a young one at that. I could sense how the earth shakes at his lithe, quick steps as he reached my camp.
I did not turn to Lathanor, and instead strung my Blackwood bow, and turned to the forests as he burst through the trees.
He lifted his fingers in the honorific greeting of his people, but I did not respond as he greeted me, but instead muttered, “Your people twist the words of the ancient so even in your greatest of prides, Lathanor. Do not will to speak truth if your heart falters after these moments.”
He instead smiled, and responded, “Agaetí Blödhren arrives in a few days’ passing, Atharavv. Will you not join us?”
I instead lifted the bow and closed my eyes, searching for the heart I sought. A faint, rapid thumping filled my ears, as I slowly moved around my camp, and aimed at the shadowed forest.
I drew my bow to past my pointed ears, and released it. It sung true, and it struck truer.
“And drown myself in your peoples’ proud, perverse words, twisted in the Ancient Tongue, no less?” I turned to Lathanor, speaking the common language of men, “I have no dealings with your people, Lathanor.”
A cloud ran over his face, but kept his calm smile, “Had I not known you for so long, I would hear you as a dwarf.”
I lifted my hand, and whispered, return, in the Ancient Language, and the arrow and the game wafted to my hand. An excellent hunt, I thought, as I observed the rabbit.
My curiosity of my hunt’s results was replaced by pain in Lathanor’s thoughts.
I sat down on the ground, and set a smoldering fire ablaze with a word, and turned to him, and asked, “Is this not a feat? Striking the dark, no magic but my senses to guide my arrow?”
“Do you mock me by your hunt?” He asked slowly.
I looked at him coldly, and felt my insides boil. The hypocrisy of the Elves…their insolence is unbearable!
“Gaze upon this, Lathanor, and tell me if you see anything disturbing,” I spoke in the ancient tongue. I reached for a nearby tree, and picked a pear from its high branches. I then sank my teeth into it, and continued the task of eating it, until there was nothing but its insides.
I could see his words gather on his face. Then again, although he was a pure Elf, I was older and wiser. I would not be directed how to ‘think’ by people who see how I live as savagery!
“Gaze upon this pear, Lathanor! Does it not feel as animals do?!” I hissed, presenting him with the ‘corpse’.
“Trees can sense-“He began, but I interrupted him.
“Or is it because their consciousness is more subtle, you see it fairer to be sacrificed and consumed rather than animals? In that sense, you can enlighten your people into seeing and devouring men because they feel less than whatever other matter you see!” I spat.
"Fruits are different," He began.
"And grain...and seeds..." I smirked.
“You boil with rage, Atharavv,” He begun, seeing me angry, but I relished in his recoils. How I hated the calmness of the Elves! How I despised their disregard for other races! How I hated them clinging to words, and only acting when blood was shed! Blind, arrogant self-absorbed shades of men who elude themselves with tales and bards of their own greatness and glory. May they be praised for leaving Men to suffer under Galbatorix!
“And rightfully so I boil with rage!” I roared, feeling my human side to urge me on verbally beating on the Elf. “I lash at your people, and see the how free my tongue is! Even the Ancient Tongue sees that I speak no lies!”
He did not answer, and in that, I threw the remains of the pear as far as I could, and drifted towards the campfire, and began gutting the rabbit.
“Why do you hate us thus? Why do you hate yourself, Atharavv?” He asked. I could hear his calm demeanor cracking under his concern. I could hear his heart beat quicker under my conviction; he was doubtful. I could see it in the flicker of his eyes, in the subtle budge of his body as I violently removed the rabbit’s organs.
I did not answer, and pointed at him with a knife to be seated. He did not seat, however, and waited with the patience of dragons, until I baked and finished my meal.
“I am forsaken, Lathanor,” I begun, my voice threatening to crack.
“You act like a human lad, Atharavv,” He responded. “None forsook you.”
“I forsook you all, and if I didn’t, I had to forsake my blood.”
“What does your blood urge you to?” He asked. I turned to him slowly, and then sighed.
I turned to the skies. Skies so beautiful and perfect that no magic can dare imitate it. Skies that swept a calming wind that drifted through the forest and down upon us, singing songs better than the Queen herself could dare dream to chant.
“It urges me to believe.”
Unlike how I spoke a few days before, I left my self-imposed exile to Agaetí Blödhren. The sentinel of the Elven Kingdom Ellesméra smiled as he noticed my presence. The Watcher disappeared once he let me pass, and I heard his voice in the wind, “You are welcome here.”
I did not respond, but my movements became rougher, and my anger and conviction of my own philosophy strode with me, guiding my steps into swift strides.
I wrapped my cloak around myself, knowing well that it would do poor work in hiding myself. My mind was not like an Elven mind or a Human mind; it was closed to all. The negativity of the black hole of loss was almost physical in such a magical realm.
The festival started, and I was only half-aware of my surroundings.
I noticed two -nay, three, and one is attached to the other- beings that attracted my mind. I tried to listen around to find or scry something, but I didn’t want to rouse the Elves. I’m bothersome enough as it is.
But soon enough, although keeping my eyes to the ground and my head hooded, I came across him.
He was one (or both)-but I halted in awe as I saw the dragon.
They did not notice me, but I took the opportunity to probe the third presence. It was a…another dragon? Was that a forth presence as well?
I felt my brow furrow; three riders in this Light-forsaken age?
The evening past, but I felt myself weakening, and cursed; I did not set up wards against the Elves’ cursed sorcery. Their much-praised singing evoked mortals, and roused the hearts of the living.
They call it their Tribute of Blood, and I call it their curse. I saw Lathanor in the distance, singing his own poem to an unusual-looking elf. Could it be a Halfling like me? I neared, and sensed the Rider spirit, and felt my blood boil again.
Lathanor finished, and the Queen noticed me, and beckoned me to the stage. Being half Elf, I had the "natural proficiency to poetry and art". It was the path to learning poetry was worth the praise, not years spent on perfecting a column to be sung and forgotten!
However, something made me smirk, as I rose to the stage. I saw many Elves look at me with curiosity, and the Rider with similar looks, albeit more noticeable.
I stood on the stage, feeling my hot blood urge me on, and I felt the tension in my audience. I always loved to make a show, I smirked.
“Greetings, good people of Ellesméra, and our sacred guest, who hears us with no debate,
“You come from the times of legends, armed with strength and tailed by mist.
“But woe to the times when the free people of Alagaësia who are ruled by ones chosen by fate,
“Hath not Destiny’s purpose a choice, and not a chooser to wait?”
The audience visibly shifted, but the demon of poetry took by my words, rhyming both the Ancient Language and it’s translation to the tongue of men, targeting this ruse the Rider himself…our ‘Salvation’.
“Chosen by seeing dragons, who took the sacrifice of forging magic into their Thihan Mind, Is not the seer the most ignorant of the blind?
“We are shackled by dreams and hopes of salvation, and no hero of man, elf nor dwarf rises in kind,
“Brought down by our own fears and worries, gaze now on the Fair Folk, and see their reluctance in meting out justice in shallow sorrow and woes!
“Heroes are not chosen, but forged under fires of fate, and the blind eyes we turn to those fortunate to be loved by ones oblivious to our hearts is worthy of debate!
“Will no Man, Elf nor Dwarf rise to end this game with conviction and faith? Hath we been forsaken by the gods, or have we steered away into darkness, like a lured rat into rotten bait?”
“Quell your tongue, heretic and exile, one who forsakes his people. You took what you wanted, and haunt us like a lingering shade of our past! I welcomed you back and down you pull our steeple. Your anger is of your blood; leave it or live cursed!” The very air whispered.
I couldn’t help it; I burst into an insane laugh. “Who speaks to me now, Fair Folk? Is it your consciousness, or is it your magics you weave like webs around your minds?”
I felt two Elves hold on my shoulders, and gently prod me to walk. I knew better then to resist, thus I walked with them, and turned to Eragon, the Rider, and laughed again, shouting at all who could listen, “Woe to you, people of Alagaësia! And woe to you, Rider! Men and women with the blood of heroes, nay, angels trod this land to this day, and they hide their strengths in faith in you! Such faith is sorely misplaced! That you know now that your entire purpose was a reaction to the Fallen Rider, do you Varden, Elves and Dwarves mock yourselves thus?! Does no warrior armed with faith and steeled with virtues rise to free us, forging themselves into the near-perfections they promise!”
I shouted with the height of my voice as I was dragged away. I could sense the Elves whispering thoughts between themselves, some mocking, their thoughts digging deep into my pride, and some contemplating. No matter! They would not heed my words, for their ‘critical thinking’ goes into nothing but art and poetry! None know the Art of War!
Although I feared the Queen’s wrath, which was swift and final, I shouted with the height of my voice, “Know that the woes on the kingdom were of your Light-forsaken order, Rider! All your pains came from the illusions and foolish promises and dreams the livers of Alagaësia filled their minds with!
They lost their faith in themselves, and placed them into an inherently corrupt, self-righteous order that spoke with the Elves, and governed man, dwarf and even Dragon! Dragons themselves fall under the Oaths of Blood! Such mockery of freedom and righteousness is beyond even my elusive tongue to mock!
How can you serve all people who see through different eyes?! Elves are ruled by Queens, Dwarves by their clans, and Men by their blood! No half-race who dances on the line of difference between races can hope to understand~~ It's all blood!!"
I was whisked away, but no sooner then what I deemed enough to rest after my outburst, I left my dwelling, just to feel the earth rumbling as steeds rushed to my ‘estate’. I turned away my face, knowing who it would be.
"You shame me, Atharavv."
"My queen," I turned to her, before a searing pain stuck my cheek. I recoiled, touching the heated area.
"You insult our guest, you mock all the people in Alagasia, and you disgrace me. Your father wouldn't have gone near that!" She shouted at me.
I looked behind her, where Lathanor stood, contemplating.
"I spoke my heart. Is that not what you all do?" I told her.
"You rediculate us again before our hope..." She whispered.
"He is no hope...if you have no faith," I retorted.
"Faith?! In what?" She growled. "Has your self-righteous human spirit fueled you with this foolhardy claim?"
"Nay...steering away from the lies of your people has."
She slapped me once again, and her conviction in the act stunned me. I couldn't even speek as she whispered icily, "Atharavv...can you put up arms against Galbatorix?"
I didn't respond, and she smirked at me, "Words...Your tongue is your sword. You are no different from us, Atharavv...why do you do this?"
"I am nothing like you."
"Then why do you exile yourself, and live in the the forests?"
"None see the truth through my eyes," I muttered. "You and your people retreated, hiding in bushes and ferns from Galbatorix. Dwarves scurry in their mountains, as Galbatorix kills our lands with his black magics...defiles the sanctity of death, and makes Alagasia hell to those who live there."
She looked at me through slated eyes, before I then added, "But you are right, my queen...I have been hiding here in cowardice like you. I am not different...save from today. I will leave your accused forests, and I will seek out a weapon that will grant me the power to redeem the Damned Galbatorix curses. I have no interest in saving this land of fools and misguided heroes. My only quest is to give rest to the fallen."
"Then leave this land, Exile, son of none, and never return," The muttered. "You speak against your queen, you insult the memory of your father, and you mock the hope for light in the land."
I didn't respond, but retreated to my cabin, stringing my hanging bow, and equipping my chain mail under a dark green tunic, slung my bow over my shoulder, and hung my sword at my waist.
I saw a black rose at my pillow. I knew who sent it to me...I picked it up, and left, passing by the Queen, as I left the forests forever.
This, for instance is called Character Development. Some people think it's just characters changing, while it's that and making them move the plot, and not the other way around. Don't make your characters go some place because they "have to", but make them go because they "want to."
WoW Bosses: "It's 5 AM! Who can be up and raiding this hour?"
Raiders: "Alright, mate! Epics!!"
WoW Bosses: *Gasp* "The Australians!!"
xD That was priceless.
So, I cooled down. I still want to take it personally, but it's just...wimpy. I don't want to.