Tall, thin, graying at the temples. Looks lazy. Wears a black scarf completely concealing his throat. The top half of his right ear is missing. Wears a chain earring halfway up his left ear. Has a very hoarse, rasping, grating voice. Smells very faintly of leather, sweat, and sweet, herbal smoke.
I grew and lived with honor, but I was twisted somewhere along the way. Tempered, made into a tool that is neither sword nor spell. False light hiding a shadow in the dark, with a troubled mind and a troubled soul. I left my people behind at the same time as my people abandoned me, and were swallowed by the nether. Once wed with death and once with murder. I take pride in my service, but not joy in the darkness I wield. I fight for my life against the enemies on all sides, defending those who would call me ally. A spirit of strife to stalk the battlefield, taking a life to leap to the next, and again, and again, before finally vanishing like smoke. My name is Zwingley Vey’ryan Asamyl, and I am called Conqueror.
“Lok'tar ogar! Victory or death - it is these words that bind me to the Horde. For they are the most sacred and fundamental of truths to any warrior of the Horde. I give my flesh and blood freely to the Warchief. I am the instrument of my Warchief's desire. I am a weapon of my Warchief's command. From this moment until the end of days I live and die – for the Horde!”
Those words I have spoken with my voice, my thoughts, and my soul many times. They are my truth. I bind myself to the Warchief, and do not cling to the weakness of my peoples’ addictions, only indulging when I must to survive. Yet there is much to do without the Warchief’s attention. The lands of the Horde must be defended, and there does my soul linger, in Durotar with red dust swirling around me, but battle cannot be stayed. With blades in hand, I fight, I bleed, and I kill. Even instrumental to my Warchief’s desire, I will not stand for the Alliance to invade our lands, and so once again; I fight, I bleed, and I kill. My Warchief desires peace, but I am a spirit of strife.
And when the battlefields are calm I take my ease, with an insincere grin on my face, with a pipe or a drink in hand, drowning myself in sensations to forget my past and my problems, a picture of ease, until the next battle begins. And so the spirit of strife rises, and says to you: “Follow your path far and beyond. Believe, and do not falter. Move on until you break. After that… I will take over,” and with the snap of a cloak and the swish of a scarf, I am gone.
((If you want a better bio, you can damn well RP with me.))
Edited by Zwingley on 11/19/2010 2:07 PM PST