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Realm maintenance for Tuesday March 31st
The winds swept across the frozen plains making swirling geometric patterns in the snow laden prairie grass. This was a cold day in the northern land, both in weather and in heart. For it wasn't only the snow, but the chilled waters which were causing the kingdom concern; up and up they went, rising over the rivers banks. The land's people thought they could hold them at bay but none could be sure.The engineers flew over the homesteads of their countrymen, working diligently in their flying machines to hold back the mighty waters. And while things were quiet now, it was predicted by those with foresight to not be quiet for much longer. More movement in the waters was coming, and it was something that no man wanted to see. The kingdom was under the protection of the councilmen and councilwomen, yet they were impeded in their efforts at every turn by the maniacal Lich King, laughing and taunting them with his powers over the frozen wastes. "Petty mortals, do you really think you can withstand the power of the mighty Scourge?" he chided the citizens who dared brave the cold north. Sitting atop his ice crowned citadel there was nothing he couldn't see, nothing he couldn't do. For the domain of the north was his and his alone. Except upon this day the voice of the gods and the wizards of Dalaran opened up their mouths and spoke in unison.
Realm maintenance for Tuesday February 24th
"I'm not looking forward to this," Fargor grumbles as he rests his heavy two-handed Paladin mace on the side of his legs. "I know that when I awake tomorrow things will not have improved." He shuffles his chest plate around, getting more comfortable for the forced sleep ahead of him."And damned if I do even wake up!"Fargor slams his hairy Dwarven fist down on the wooden table, angry at the ruling Wizards of Dalaran for their impositions on him and everyone else.All Osull and Marcella can do is look back and nod in acknowledgement, as they too feel more and more angst at the Wizards for their mysterious ways. "At least it will only be part of a day," Osull offers up in comfort of the Dwarf. Marcella lays a supportive hand on the Osull's shoulder and nods her head in agreement, "Indeed kind Dwarf, it's only for eight hours."The platitudes seem to do nothing for Fargor, as he shakes his head and says "Eight hours or eight years, it doesn't matter lass. No one should have a right to tell a Dwarf what to do!"And as he says that the Wizards can suddenly be heard throughout the city, "The realms will be down from three to eleven in the morning, as the mighty pacific clock tells time. Sleep well now citizens of Azeroth, for when tomorrow you awake things will be fresh and new..."The voice trails off into nothingness and across the realms everyone stops what they're doing and falls asleep as they are.The Wizard's maintenance has begun.One week ago...
Some realms are up [Updated]
The wispy voice from the previous evening greets Osull as he begins to regain consciousness. "The realms... are up... the realms... are up..." it says over and over again.The mantra becomes stuck in his head like a mind worm as he wipes the sleep from his eyes. He looks around in a daze and realize that he's back near his home in the neighborhood's bar, A Hero's Welcome, sitting at table being served a drink by Marcella. "What time is it?" Osull ask the waitress. His voice is rough and it's evident he needs a drink to wash away the night's forced sleep."It just rang 11 not a short time ago, mighty Warrior," she replies. Placing a large flagon of mead in front of Osull, the smell of the hops fills his nose with a promise of further adventure tonight. But something doesn't feel right; it's almost as if the wizards of Dalaran have not released everyone from their sleeping spell."Marcella!" Osull yells franticly. "Where is everyone else?"
Maintenance for Tuesday February 17th
A cool breeze moves across Osull's skin as he looks out upon the Azerothian skyline. The picturesque towering citadels of Dalaran float a mile high in the air before him. The breeze causes him to shiver briefly in his heavy plate armor, something is wrong.The shiver has an almost mystical quality to it."Greetings," comes a wispy voice from everywhere but nowhere."We are performing our weekly scheduled maintenance this morning." Osull gets the feeling that something terrible is about to be said. Bracing himself and looking stoically out towards the bustling city in front of him, he is steadfast in the knowledge that no matter what the challenge before him, Humanity's spirit will always prevail. "No realms will be... available," the voice says with a nearly sadistic tone to it. He gulps as he realizes that his very existence will be naught during these times, "between the hours of 5:00 a.m. and 11:00 a.m. PST."
