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Aren

@areniaagn

Draenei death knight and Necromancer. All art by @worgin!

reblog if your name isn't Amanda.

2,121,566 people are not Amanda and counting!

We’ll find you Amanda.

this has almost 11 million notes what is this

I’ve never seen this post once in 10 years on this site

I’ve never even heard of this before tho??? Wtf??????????

oh my god, I didn’t think there were any surviving versions of this post left

For those who weren’t around in the Deep Lore times, this is one of the relics of the editable post era. This post has THE SINGLE HIGHEST NOTES of ANY post on this site, bar none, but with more than a dozen variations. Every single post you’ve ever seen with more than 3 million notes has been a different version of this one.

This is the “Dean’s Gym Shorts” post. This is the Flubber post. This is the original “Reblog if you support gay people” post. it was ALL of them. before half the site got nuked, it had even more notes than it has now - at one point, well over 15 million, and that was years ago.

This, with no exaggeration, is the ONE TRUE heritage post

This website truly is bizarre

Welcome new Tumblr users.

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<< i’m fine, I can continue fighting for a little longer >>

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Somewhere in the Ohn'ahran Plains. The sound of open warfare, centaur screams, the hissing crackle of shadowflame and elemental fire and protodragons screaming in hateful glee somehow managed to let that single sentence reach his ears. 'That was meant for me.' He thought to himself, watching as the boulder sized glob of semisolid slag and shadowflame continued to burn. His cowled visage turned then to the barely propped up death knight, a last minute tackle charge into the conflagration that had held the warlock attention not a moment ago had popped their abjurational anti magic shield like glittering glass. Shadowflame sparks flickered and popped at what was left of the fallen draenei shoulder. The desperate maneuver had cost them an entire arm. But this was not a moment to wax poetic on the virtues of undeath. How Arthas's chosen shock troopers had no nerves to fall into shock. How coagulated blood prevented bleeding out. How amputation was mostly a matter of suitable replacement. What mattered was the damn fool still tried to get up as if it was the third war, up, and inexorably forward. Seeing them try to reach for a weapon that wasn't there snapped him out of his stupor. "Hey hey! Knock it off." He barked as he moved to their side, a healthstone could do alot of things, but limb restoration, well, that needed a little more then stolen life essence. He brushed the embers of shadowflame off them, the darkened motes of fire held little threat to him, but it did manage to get his palm covered in excess ichor. "You might not feel anything but a want to get back in there, but I can't even see your weapon, and you had shadowflame hit exposed nerves, it'll muck up your inhibitions if we don't patch you up and you'll do something even stupider then running into a fireball." He growled. Patching them up was going to be the interesting part. Using a corpse to repair another corpse was technically easier then patching up himself. Carbon was carbon. But problem was the lack of corpses. What centaurs fell to firey blows were carbonized to little less then ash and soot. The ones who fell to shadowflame were in even worse shape. Some of their corpses were still screaming. But there was one suitable candidate nearby for...donation. It'd taken three volleys of ballista to bring it down, and its wide still splayed wings practically screamed 'cut here'. One of Fyyraks little empowered experiments. 'Oh yes. That'll do nicely.' He reached around and under the heavier man, his gauntlet servos whined at the effort to start dragging them towards the dead dragon. "Gonna...reconstruct your arm, good as new. Well. Good as old." He said as he continued to pull them across the open battleground. A djaradin rose over the crest of a hill, bellowing a challenge at the clearly busy warlock as still recovering death knight. He didn't even look at the near giants direction, still dragging the technically dead man towards the shelter of another corpses wings. Bellows turned to screams as four swords swung from invisibility behind their would be attacker, and cut hardened ligaments to ribbons. "You ever used another creatures flesh transmuted into your own?" He asked them as if the conversation was enough to distract them from the gnawing sensation at the back of their mind, from the phantom sensation of where the limb had been, or perhaps from the very battle itself. A tall order for mere chit chat. "Cause you're about to have protodragon essence for an arm, how-how's that sound?" He said as he managed to bring them up to rest against the chest of the dead dragon. "Helluva lot heavier then you look." He said as he composed himself and looked to the massive joint the dragon had for its wings. It would take alot of cutting. The snap swish clank of the circular sawblades ejecting out the knuckleplates of his gauntlets was his rebuttal. "...You could have let that hit me you know." He said without looking at them.

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To say Aren looked pretty rough was the understanding of the century.

As the enormous sphere of shadowflame hit the death knight, Nixalegos could see the anti-magic barrier flicker and shatter before the personal wards on Aren’s armor failed shortly after. Not even the saronite alloy could hold back the flame from exploding his limb entirely.

If it weren’t for all of the layers of protection, Aren might have gone blown off his arm rather than the other way around.

However, even as he stood back up, he stumbled, swayed. As he was a death knight, physical concussive force didn’t faze him. Magical, psychic forces on the other hand still had a chance of leaving the undead juggernaut wondering which way was up and which was down.

And soon, he had fallen back onto his rear mere moments before Nixalegos had begun the arduous process of dragging an eight hundred and fifty pound death knight towards the dead proto drake.

“…proto drake…essence?” He muttered, before shaking his head to clear it. They were still in a battlefield, after all.

“Not the worst thing I’ve had to ‘consume’ in order to survive. I’ll take it,” he grunts.

Then, after swiftly deathgripping the fallen pauldron off of what was once his left arm, he retrieves the enormous revolver hidden underneath it. Kicking the red-hot metal away, he clicks the enchanted cylinder until the gun’s lights flowed blue…and a swift headshot was what awaited a charging djaradin, just as the invisible swords made short work of another.

At the warlock’s words, though, he pauses.

“…and let you take it? If you try and tell me that you would’ve been fine after taking a spell that took my barrier, armor, and my arm?…then I’m going to call you a liar.” His head tries to twist to see what Nixalegos was doing, but unfortunately he was in Aren’s blind spot.

Worst part of all of this was that said spell was powerful enough to fry the self-repair protocols on Aren’s armor. As such, he wasn’t going to be in any position to be going back into melee until that fixed itself.

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“I know exactly what I’m doing.”

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“Do you now?” Aren replied, still staring down at the flaming wreckage of what was once a Burning Legion siege engine.

“To be blunt, I find that hard to believe.”

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"Is it difficult going through your day to day so often being wrong? I would find that grating." He said in high spirits as he made his way towards the wreckage. He unslung what looked like an eredar skull from his beltline, scrimshawed with runes and its internal workings of metal spider-like contraptions springing out from under it. The damn thing was trying to scream from the way it vibrated. The demonic soul was trapped inside the contraption. The warlock took the device and its metal legs dug its way into the damaged hull of the siege engine. The way it joined was surprisingly seamless for the ugliness of both device and engine. "Burning Legion isn't gone, just stemmed, you know this, I know this, worlds busy trying to deny it. Something keeps siccing weapons like these on us, but the wreckage doesn't stick around. I suspect its being forcibly summoned back by salvage crews, like the interdiction vessels they had over the Broken Shore. Possible demonic pirate crews for hire, or an attempt for a lesser demon lord to show off its might to would be fellows in the current power vacuum. In any case, it'll be summoned back, and that little gizmo, currently fusing to the hull, is going for the ride when it does, and it'll tell me how and where it's going. If it ends up on Legion held forge world, or a ship, or just floating wild in the Nether as scrap is immaterial. The more eyes I have on the impossible, the easier it'll be to chart out." The warlock turned his cowled head to them with a grin. "Calibrating Unreality. Unmaking inevitability. Caging impossibility."

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“Clever,” Aren admits, as he watches the smaller machine blend in with the much larger one.

“Though, do tell. What happened if they find it? Surely you have a plan for that too.” He hefts his hammer over his shoulder, freeing some of the siege engine’s outer hull from his hammer in the motion.

NO FUCKING WAY

im self reblogging this because i went back and listened to the whole track and somehow this slaps harder than anything ive heard in the last week

“I know exactly what I’m doing.”

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“Do you now?” Aren replied, still staring down at the flaming wreckage of what was once a Burning Legion siege engine.

“To be blunt, I find that hard to believe.”

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hey everyone its april fools. but dont worry i dont have anything planned. just going to sit here and...

I LIED !!!! GET PRANKED

POST BELOW ME GET FUCKING WET

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The premise of Skyrim is just so funny. The shouts are just dragon language, making the fights between dragons basically an argument? But now this puny human has a minimal grasp of the vocab. Imagine you're disagreeing with your bud about something unimportant like pineapple on pizza and then a mouse came running over and called you a bitch

@mcmissileproof 's tags added something for me

some fools be like “i play games to escape my responsibilities” then pick tank or healer

in my greatest fantasies i am able to help people

In my fantasies I can prevent people from being hurt, even if it means I get hurt in their stead.

In my fantasies i dont have to know how to aim

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hold up im reading more about the lionfish thing and this one island in Honduras has had such a huge problem with lionfish that the measures they have taken include

• getting special exemption from the Honduran government to allow divers access to harpoons and spears which are otherwise illegal in fishing

• public campaign to teach people how to prepare and eat lionfish (apparently they are very tasty once the poisonous spines are removed) (but watch out)

• holding lionfish combination hunting competition and cookout (reportedly they killed and cooked 1,700 in a day) (someone killed 60 of them with a rubber band spear gun???)

• most recently and apparently out of desperation, the divers in charge of culling the lionfish in the Roatan Marine Park just started. feeding the lionfish they killed to sharks. bc what else are you gonna do with it

• the sharks don’t seem to notice or be affected by the poison and begin hanging out with the divers

• the sharks then were seen hunting and killing the lionfish on their own

like this is nuts to me sorry. the sharks just had to be shown “hey this is food, did you know?? you can eat these!! here try one!!” we are possibly altering an entire foodchain bc we like feeding the big ocean wolves

I know it's because they're invasive but it's hilarious how many different ways human have come up with to send this one fish in particular to the plinko.

This minecraft short comic called "A strange Coast" made by Ian Flynn I believe, I found in a book from my library I work has to be one of the most beautiful and respectful takes on the game.

It understands minecraft so perfectly and doesn't treat it as childishly as the other stories in it did.

And all that within 10 pages and no word spoken.