Flipside Exercise by Kormok

"What are you looking for?"

Maxwell shook his head a few times to clear out the errant thoughts, then got to his feet. Tarnished plates, barely fending off the ravages of oncoming rust, clattered noisly as he righted himself. The body sprawled out on the muddy earth before him was riddled with arrows and slices, but most of the blood appeared to have simply pooled in the punctures. The unfortunate victim was stabbed multiple times after his heart had ceased to beat. Some parts of his pale, dead flesh were gnawed upon.

"Now? I'm looking for a sick bastard." The warrior raised his fist to signal the riders behind them. "Onward to the border, we strike the Undercity at dawn!"

His companion spurred her gelding alongside Maxwell, her face clouded with concern. "Max? Are you alright?"

Maxwell Kormick turned from the fallen commoner and strode to his powerful stallion, swinging up into the saddle without any apparent effort at all. Fire blazed in his eyes, a spark that was seen all too frequently these days; it was the desire for revenge.

"This was Bill Crowley, the man who owned the farm on the far side of Fallow Hills. He was my uncle, Sergeant. And I will take my vengeance upon the monsters that did this to him, mark my words."

''What would your character have been like if you had rolled on the other side of the fence? What race? How would their personality differ? Their history? The way they grew up, or even the training they underwent?''

Kormok's alter ego would be a similarly rigid, military-minded human, possibly a former knight in the service of the Alliance, and would most definitely be too blinded by his own prejudices and desire for revenge to see any difference between the Scourge and the Forsaken. =Stamp= "Munch!"

The gnome sat bolt upright in front of the Tinker Town mailbox, eyes flying open at the shout of his superior officer. "Munch wide awake! Munch not sleeping. Again. Much. Munch watch good!"

Scowling, the security chief, Flap Biggles, smacked Munch on the shoulder with a pair of purple goggles. "Better NOT be sleeping. We've got word the Horde might be planning a raid on Ironforge tonight. You don't want them sneaking past on YOUR watch, do you?"

"Nope," Munch agreed. "Munch not want that."

"Good," grumbled Biggles. "Because I don't care how funny people think you are in those Gurgling Murloc movies. Around here, you're just another Tinker Town night watchman. Got it?"

"Munch got," the gnome warrior agreed, shifting the two-handed hammer slung against his back. "Horde come to Tinker Town, Munch hit. Chief not gotta worry."

The security chief sighed, but offered no further scorn for Munch. Instead, he took out a ring full of keys that he jingled incessantly with the compulsiveness of an infant toying with a slow-spinning mobile above a crib and wandered off to continue his personal patrol of the area.

Munch got to his feet and turned to stomp grumpily down the tunnel ... just in time to spy a Forsaken rogue skulking along - a scout for an invasion, perhaps. For a moment, Munch felt relief: At least it wasn't a Tauren. He couldn't abide the big smelly creatures with their oafish hooves.

"Munch go," the gnome growled. "Munch HIT!"

((

The flip side of Stamp, of course, would be a gnome warrior with a smattering of celebrity for some sort of frivolity - and he'd have an irrational loathing for all things Tauren.

)) =Alkan= The skies over Mulgore cleared of its clouds, blown away by the breath of the Earthmother. Alkor Sunhoof smiled and laid back in the grass. Peacebloom smoke billowed up from his snout, a grin etching its way onto his face. Crickets were the only sound that invaded his peaceful night.

He felt the elements coursing around his body. He could hear the whispers of his father, and his father's father, of all the ages back to the foundation of his tribe and family. They would call upon his aid again some day, to help others of his kind, and his kind's allies. But for now, here was silence. Here was freedom.

Here was a peace he enjoyed.

''Alkan would definitely end up as a tauren shaman, and a bloody carefree one at that. Still smoke peacebloom and drink alcohol all day long, though...''

=Vandrian=

He threaded the needle and wove it through the fabric. His ancient eyes smiled as he carried out the art he had perfected for millenia. His mind collected once again, devoting his every thought and action to the craft. An hour passed, but for him, it seemed like mere seconds, all devoted to the wondrous shirt he weaved.

Chimes sounded at the entrance to his home. He stood up, robes unfolding from his lap as he placed the shirt on the table. "Yes?"

"Father Starwhisper. I was hoping to catch you in. I know you don't often pursue your art these days, but, ah..."

His old eyes twinkled, a long brow arching. "Speak, my son. I may be retired but I never shy away from my duty. Is it your daughter?"

The younger kal'dorei paused and nodded once. "Y-yes. She's come down with Darkshore Fever. I fear I cannot move her from Auberdine. Bed-ridden, and..."

Vandilar Starwhisper, retired High Priest of the Moon Goddess, held up his hand. "Peace child. A life comes well before my life as a tailor. I may no longer work in the temple, but I still am blessed by our Goddess. Returned to your home. I will gather the necessary medicines and call upon the blessings of Elune so your daughter may breathe freely again. I will be with you shortly."

The younger elf, a fisherman Vandilar had known for many moons, hesitated. "I...have heard Darkshore Fever is a curse, father...a curse wrought on by the damned spirits of the ruins. I am not sure how much a priest may help her, but...I have nowhere else to go, I am too poor to afford to pay you, or a doctor, or..."

Vandilar held up his hand, eyes focusing on the fisherman and pausing his rant. "The Moon Goddess is a strong lass, dear Daham. I'm sure she has the strength to lift the Fever from your daughter. Do not worry about payment. I require none at all."

The other elf blinked, eyes glowing brighter as a smile crept to his face. He bowed hastily. "Yes...yes, thank you, sir." He backed out of the home, hurrying towards the portal to Ruth'eran.

Vandilar smiled, taking the shirt and placing it on a rack. He set the needle in its drawer and closed it slowly before reaching for his walking staff. As pleasing a tailor's life was, he dearly missed these house calls. Elune would guide him to Auberdine.

''Vandrian would end up as a kal'dorei - actually not surprising, even on the other side of the fence he'd fall in with an elven mindset. Far from the temptation of the arcane that corrupted Vandrian, a Kal'Dorei version of himself would probably fall in with the holy orders. Of course, like Vandrian he's got to have some other profession to keep himself busy in his older age - although with the lifespans of night elves, he would undoubtedly live far, far older than Vandrian has so far.''

Also, no stories for these two, but for my two other alts lesser played...

''Skar'jin, troll priest, would probably end up as a paladin of the Scarlet Crusade. Gotta love fanaticism.''

Talema, draenei warrior of the Hand of Argus, would become a Forsaken warrior of the Deathguard - vicious, but utterly devoted to her cause. =Aloaki= Susurrus pushed herself off the moss-covered tree she was leaning against, not taking care of brushing off the pieces of tree bark and moss clinging to the seat of her leather pants. The wind carried the faint tang of blood in its breath.

Something's wrong and death is in the air, the Druid thought to herself. Her features darkened and she fell to all fours. Dark blue-black fur sprouted out of her skin as she began to sprint, now in the form of a lithe, dark-furred great wildcat.

She felt alive with every step, with every breath she took. Her whole feline body felt the thrum and pulse of life all around her unlike when she was in her biped form. This form was more natural and less foreign than her actual form.

She began to purr with the thought of the hunt before her as the scent of blood thickened in the air...

''Aloaki couldn't be anything except for a Druid. And why not do a flip of not only his race, but his sex as well?''

=Moskau=

"The ways can't be lost. Despite my curse, I will use the elements to overpower and contain these demons."

"It can't be done,Mal'garroth. The two are too foreign to each other. They aren't opposed like the Light those Dwarves and Humans use that of fel magics. The elements can't directly counter the demons. Anyone who knows about magical theory can explain that."

"You are, excuse me, were a Human once. You are still a mage, are you not? You view is limited by what you know and have experienced. I was told I was destined to be a great shaman for my people until everything happened. I still know of the elements. I can still feel them. I know what they are capable of. Don't lump me in with those who still have the fel curse coursing through their blood. The elements can, with proper mastery, subdue and control the demons. I will show you, Craddoc..."

''Moskau would be an Orc Warlock, but would be controlling the demons through his understanding of the elements - binding them much like elements are shackled. He'd probably be moved by seeing the Mag'har again; knowing that some Orcs are still untainted by the former blood curse would make him proud. He'd also stay true to the old ways...''

And as for Anansi, well...he's a special case...