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Chief Medical Officer under Lord-Commander Corran Ravencrest
At first glance, Gospel's demure demeanor doesn't attract much attention. Her shoulder-length silver hair is always carefully kept, and she is always dressed in a presentable manner. There isn't much about her that truly stands out, save for two scars that mar her otherwise flawless skin. One scar can only be seen when she wears a blouse or dress with a low neckline: a small 3-inch line just to the left of her collarbone, directly over her heart. The second is often hidden by her hair, but can be seen from time to time: three parallel lines along the right side of her neck.
Upon first meeting her, most people typically assume that Gospel is of noble birth, though she personally makes no claims to such. She tends to be very well spoken, and ardent on those subjects which move her. For her friends, she is steadfast and loyal, and for her enemies, she is oddly forgiving. She is gentle and soft-spoken, rarely raising her voice in anger.
Gospel, under most circumstances, is an embodiment of self-sacrifice more often than not serving others regardless of the consequence to herself. She gives to others unstintingly, never asking nor needing reward unless it is forced upon her.
Denounced as a heretic years ago by the Ordo Hereticus, Gospel ascribes to an unconventional faith, in lieu of the Cathedral-taught adherence to the Light. Gospel's belief is that the Light is merely the earthly embodiment of the Power of Self. She does not view the Light as a power to be used, or a power to be gained. It is a power that already exists within oneself, the Light is merely how it is manifested.
Her thoughts center around the power of Faith, in oneself and one's allies. The stronger that Faith, then the stronger the power of the Light.
There isn't much unusual about her. What you see is pretty much what you get.
Gospel is fairly transparent, she's not altogether great at keeping secrets.
Gospel's history is fairly extensive. You can read it in-depth on the Earthen Ring Wiki.
Current Goings-On (if any):
Gospel recently came out of retirement at the behest of Grand Marshal Elthor for potential campaigns against the Forsaken incursions in Hillsbrad. Corran only marginally approves as long as she is assigned to his unit and stays where he can keep an eye on her.
Name: Mahan Vandrian Aderael Sin'drakkim (Commonly: "Vandrian Bloodddrake")
Age: 1758 years (Translated to human physical standards, early-to-mid 50s)
Physical Description: Muscular and lean, the centuries have not degraded this elf in any capacity, save for the weathering of his face and the pronunciation of the nasolabial lines. His hair, naturally chestnut, has been dyed raven black and gathered into a large ponytail with a band of turquoise, the rest of the hair left as bangs to hang freely. He is particularly devoid of any physical scarring, pains taken to avoid such incidents or repair the damage left by such.
The only physical note of mention is that he is missing his left arm from the elbow down, which is now replaced by a mechanical limb made of fel iron and lined with obsidian and gold, with three large claw-like digits made of arcanite and a fourth similar digit for a thumb.
Personality Description: Callous, cynical, and jaded beyond belief, Vandrian, if left without stressors, is usually stoic yet casual, sharing his knowledge of the occult casually while remaining stone cold in the face of threats. However, after stress sets in, Vandrian can often become sarcastic, biting, and hateful, tapping in to raw, brutal honesty in his words regarding others. This change is almost physical as well - his eyes burn with a more noticeable green flame as he becomes more stressed. Few are those who are saved from his words - those same individuals are more often than not to encounter the more relaxed, casual side. Vandrian is also capable of being romantic, but only one person of late has seen that.
General Notes: Vandrian is addicted to the fel, like many blood elves and warlocks. Although he taps into meditation and small amounts of the energy to prevent radical change, it is impossible to separate him from the power. As much as he desires to see a healed world, he realizes that he must remain a relic and obstacle from the old, cursed Azeroth.
As an occultist, Vandrian's behavior and actions are often riddled with ritual and codes of behavior in order to appease the aerial, terestrial, and infernal spirits involved in his magick. Vandrian keeps watch on ritual ablution, is bound to certain standards to whom he may allow into his house, has restrictions on what he can eat or drink, etc. He also keeps numerous talismans, reagents, and lamens, and knows numerous magical circles for rituals.
Unusual Notes: A particular item of Vandrian's possession is the demonic orb named Nar'Shaitan. The orb is made of dark amethyst and is often wrapped in gold chains covered with sigils. The orb's interior seems to swirl with a vortex, and with the proper command the images will coalesce to reveal spirits or visions. Nar'Shaitan is a powerful conduit of dark energy from the Twisting Nether, allowing Vandrian to tap into large fonts of fel magic without needing a blood pact with a Legion Lord. Nar'Shaitan also works in reverse - it is capable of draining fel energy from a location over time, but such a process is dangerous at best and has only been used once, when it was forged. As a masterfully crafted sword or axe is to a warrior, Nar'Shaitan is Vandrian's most prized possession and his primary armament.
The other important possession that Vandrian holds is the Star of Bhathamaal, a demonic summoning talisman worn over his breast. Within the Star are held the spirits of Vandrian's five demons - Laznam, Darva, Zhar'Kresh, Traagrym, and Haaghun - gifted to him by the dreadlord Bhathamaal. As Vandrian is now a traitor to the Legion, he is incapable of binding new demons to his permanent service, so he must make due with the Star - even though two of the demons, the succubus Darva and the felguard Haaghun, plot and scheme against the warlock in order to gain their freedom.
Secrets: Too many to note. About the only secret he regularly hints to is that his name is not his real name, thus obfuscating any attempt to call or command him by his true name.
Edited by Vandrian on 12/2/2010 12:16 AM PST
History: Vandrian was born as a commoner to Alia of Goldenmist, of whom there is little to no record beyond her profession as a scullery maid. Upon reaching adolescence he departed for Silvermoon City with a meager sum to live on and found work in the King's army as a swordsman. Participating in a border conflict with the Amani of Tor'Watha, Vandrian met the royal battlemage Ignalius Firesea, who took a liking to the warrior and had him appointed to his personal guard for the remainder of the conflict.
After fifty years of service as a bodyguard following the war, Vandrian was admitted to the Falthrien Academy with a personal recommendation from Firesea to study as a war mage. After completing training, he settled in Dalaran and applied for admission to the Kirin Tor, but was promptly rejected. An altercation ensured the following night and Vandrian fled the city.
Settling in Boralus, the capital of Kul Tiras, Vandrian began to take an interest in the apocryphal books of magical study. Using his contacts with the high elven House of Mi'Neris, who were employed by the Kul Tiras navy at the time, he secured an advisor position as a personal mage to the Turasian nobility, which allowed him to hunt down books. After encountering one such book known as the Nameless Codex, he made contact with a Dreadlord of the Burning Legion named Bhathamaal the Smiling, and made a blood pact with the demon. In exchange for his service to the Legion, Vandrian was given access to forbidden knowledge and a talisman known as the Star of Bhathamaal, which bound five demons to his personal service.
Over the next centuries, Vandrian, from his base of operations in a Boralus bookstore, founded numerous warlock cults in the Seven Kingdoms and Khaz Modan, spreading the practice and service to the Burning Legion while aquiring new lore. However, as the orcs invaded and Vandrian was present to the power of the orc warlocks, he began to distrust his Legion masters and their interests for Azeroth. By the time the Third War had fallen across Lordaeron, Vandrian had taken up a ritual in which he slew Bhathamaal's physical form and was branded a Traitor to the Burning Legion.
Vandrian served briefly with Kael'Thas's army as a blood mage, but was separated from the Prince after the battle of Dalaran, returning to Silvermoon harboring a seething hatred for humanity's treachery. He founded a jewelry shoppe to keep himself occupied. When the Dark Portal was reopened, Vandrian went on a pilgrimage to Outland in hopes of rejoining the Prince, but was led off course and encountered the Scryers first. Following this revelation, Vandrian turned his attention towards serving the Horde and encountered the clan known as the Tears of Draenor.
Since that time, Vandrian has worked diligently against the mystical threats and enemies of the clan, losing his left hand in battle with Errik von Lossart. He continues to serve as an advisor in matters of the fel and occult to his clan, and to others within the Horde, while often times taking it upon himself to wade into battle directly. In the last few years, he has met the blood elf maiden named Lellenthyr Windsphere. After she became his servant in his home in Silvermoon, the two began to fall in love, and Vandrian has since married Lellenthyr, giving her the Blooddrake name.
Current Going-On (if any): Always shifting and changing given Vandrian's activity, so probably not the best to list at this time.
Edited by Vandrian on 12/1/2010 4:07 PM PST
65 Troll Druid
Name: Jesrael (a.k.a. Jasrael)
Job/Profession: Former Bridge Troll and Street Urchin.
Physical Description: Jesrael is dressed in an ill-fitting patchwork of dirty, torn, stretched, and otherwise mangled human clothing. Closer examination reveals bits of food stuck to her teeth and shirt. Her gait is slow and awkward. It's difficult to identify her age; while at first glance she appears quite young, a closer looks reveals weathered skin, yellowed teeth and thin hair that suggest something older.
Personality Description: Jesrael is somewhat prickly, but not far under the surface is desperately searching for acceptance, community and safety. Food and safety are seldom far from her mind, and she is capable of enjoying both with great relish when they're available. Suspicious of others' motives, but comes across friendly with a hefty dose of trollish sassiness.
General Notes: As much as she loves being accepted by others who looked like her, Jesrael often feels like a foreigner, adopted by the Horde but not truly a member. In many ways her mind is profoundly colonized, considering the human culture her own, superior to the sticks and hides of the Horde, but forever denied full acceptance within that culture. This comes out in various ways - on the one hand, she seeks to emulate the humans, attempting to walk like they do and dressing in human clothing she's scavanged. On the other hand, the anger and frustration she feels occasionally erupts in horrible acts of violence against humans and other allied races.
Secrets: It's usually best not to know the exact origin of the food she's eating.
History: Jesrael grew up sneaking around the human kingdoms, poaching food and bits of trash from the farmhouses in and around Elwynn forest. As she grew, she gradually moved from raiding henhouses at night to mugging unsuspecting travellers. For years, the rhythym of theivery and flight defined her life. As sleeping in haylofts and the like became more difficult (farmers learned to watch for her), she dug out a small cave under one of the less prominent bridges. This became her first home, a crude imitation of the surrounding farmhouses, complete with pictures on the wall and a welcome mat (both salvaged from the trash.)
Jesrael preyed on those crossing the bridge by themselves, or in small groups at night. In time, the bridge gained enough of a bad reputation as to attract the attention of the local magistrate. A squad of the Stormwind guard came to put a stop to the trouble. Catching their scent before they reached the bridge, Jesrael (just barely) able to escape, only to watch helplessly as the guards destroyed her home. A regular patrol was established, preventing her from returning.
Unsure what to do, she made her way south along the river. By chance, she stumbled across a hunting party, a warband of orcs, trolls, and a tauren. Seeing another troll for the first time, she was amazed, but unable to communicate - nearly feral, her language was limited to broken fragments of Common. The band welcomed her in, and Jesrael began to learn the history and culture of her race.
After a time, Jasrael struck out on her own again. For several years Jesrael established residence, of a sort, in Stormwind. The city dwellers being generally more broad-minded than the Elwynn farmers, she was happy to find a modicum of acceptance among the humans there. However, this acceptance lay in uneasy tension with the constant fear of violence from both angry residents and the Stormwind guard. Without means to support herself, and reluctant to draw the attention of the guard by preying on the locals, she turned (or returned) to a life of begging and stealing.
Stormwind eventually became too dangerous ((i.e. WoTLK guards)), and Jasrael made her way to the Amani lands. Under the guidance of a troll Shaman she began to learn about the loa and develop her own, somewhat tortured relationship with the spirit realm.
Current Going-On (if any): Jesrael's struggle with the loa has generally been resolved in the direction of the druids. Although in her case, it's unclear how much she "got religion" and how much her feral nature has reasserted itself. Her animal forms are typically marked by patchy, matted hair and ferocious appetites.
Name: Yudok Younghoof
Physical Description: Slightly more petite than the ingame model. I figure her to be more along these lines: http://www.freakygaming.com/gallery/fan_art/warcraft/female_tauren_shaman.jpg
Except the armor still bulks her up a bit.
Personality Description: She is an anomaly of Tauren culture to a certain degree. She's miltiaristic, educated, and enjoys city-life more than living in log cabins. Despite this, she holds her Sunwalker faith to heart and respects her own kind to the highest possible degree - until they are offensive, of course.
General Notes: Huh?
Unusual Notes: What?
Secrets: Nothing I want publicaly known. (Or something that can be found out in RP)
History: She is an anomaly of Tauren culture to a certain degree. She's miltiaristic, educated, and enjoys city-life more than living in log cabins. Despite this, she holds her Sunwalker faith to heart and respects her own kind to the highest possible degree - until they are offensive, of course.
Current Going-On (if any): Leads the "gathering" called "Sunwalkers of Azeroth". Just unity between any Tauren priests and paladins.
Name: Hina'ea Solarstorm
Age: equivalent to human in early twenties
Job/Profession: Silvermoon Diplomat, Priestess
Physical Description: Hina’ea is a young sin’dorei woman. She has bright blue-green eyes and blond hair with silver streaks that she mostly keeps tied back into a braided ponytail. Her ears are only pierced one a piece signifying she works for or is some kind of official in the city of Silvermoon. On the back of her hands, she bares a brand of the holy cross. She has many small scars across her body. Despite all the scars and blemishes, she does a good job at keeping them hidden or lowly visible giving her the ability to be described as beautiful.
Personality Description: Hina'ea can be seen as good natured and most of the time walks about with a smile. Unlike a lot of her kind, she does not carry an air of superiority and will greet anyone with the best of intentions. She can be stern on those she heals, but she is very pleasant to be around for the most part. Even to those she has to deliver to death, she tries to be merciful making their deaths swift.
General Notes: She likes to sing to herself, though sometimes she doesn't notice.
Unusual Notes: She has freckles.
Secrets: She sneaks chocolates at work.
History: Hina’ea Solarstorm was the second born daughter to Eyvonè Solarstorm and Magistrix Anandor Lightray of Silvermoon City. From birth on, she was groomed to be a magistrix’s daughter which everyone said was an honor. She saw it more as a burden. She absolutely hated that life. Years passed and Hina’ea decided she didn’t like to live in the path of using magic of fire, frost, or arcane. Secretly, she began to seek tutelage from priest and paladins within the city walls. She begged them to hold their tongues, so prying eyes and listening ears would not make news of this to her father.
One day, she came home to her mother and sister beaming with joy. Her brother’s exile was over, and he was being allowed to reenter Silvermoon City. Time passed and the family seemed different, but in a good way. Zadon became a city guard, he helped Hina’ea break the news to her father that she was becoming a priest and helped her stand her ground through his disapproval but reluctant acceptance. Her older sister was married off to the high ranking noble, Dhel'Renth Blacksun and seemed quite happy. Everything was looking as it should until that day the city fell. As one of the city guards, Zadon was on the front lines guarding the city against the oncoming scourge. Hina’ea was supposed to be back in the field healing the wounded, but her father sent her and her sister away. Her mother stayed to fend off the city along with Zadon and her father. During the escape from the city, the caravan was attacked by a phalanx of scourge troops. Her sister and she battled them as best they could while trying to protect the rest of the caravan, but in the end, her sister fell. Using the last bit of magic she could muster, her older sister ported the rest of the remaining members of the caravan far south into Dalaran. The last sight she saw of her sister was endless undead ripping into her body. For years, she was traumatized, scared fairly witless. In the course of a day, she had lost everything. Until the day came she had had enough of being scared. She was training to be a priest to heal people and combat such things. Now was not the time to back down. So she left Dalaran and headed south to the city of Stormwind to ask their priest to teach her what skills she lacked. Twenty years after the fall of Silvermoon, high ranking magistrix that managed to survive the slaughter came to visit her in Stormwind. He offered her a position in Silvermoon as diplomat seeing that the now blood elves had joined the Horde. She was a bit reluctant at first, but when she heard news that there was another from her family that was still alive, she pulled herself together and went to Silvermoon to greet them. However, upon arriving there, she found that the person she thought she was to meet was not actually there. Her brother was the one she was to meet had been seen after the liberation of some scourge from the Lich King’s grasp, and among them was an elf that matched Zadon’s description, but his whereabouts were unknown. But the magistrix assured her that her work as a diplomat would help find her and also aid her people in rebuilding their city. She joined her widowed brother in law, much to her dissatisfaction and lives within Silvermoon. After the Lich King's fall, Zadon found his way back to her, but only for a time before departing again. So thus she works, endlessly for her city, and to hold together what remains of her family, wherever they may be.
Current Going-On (if any): She's been going around Kalimdor trying to assist with adaptations after Deathwing. Her travels have put a whole new world into perspective for her.
(Trying to do this again, since the last one wouldn't work.)
Name: Jorundr Dawnwalker
Age: By human standards, roughly 25
Gender: Male ((cut out that snickering))
Job/Profession: Defender of Azeroth, Champion of Silvermoon and its Allies, Paladin, Shock And Awe, Healer
Physical Description: Jorundr stands 5'10", has well-maintained brown hair and a goatee. Fairly bulky build (but by no means fat) for a blood elf, but still considered slim when compared to the more...girthful races of the Horde. Light skin (not quite pale, but not exactly tan either), slightly darker in areas not covered by his armor (mostly his face and occasionally his neck).
Personality Description: Jorundr is not the outwardly open type. Oh he's talkative (at times it borders on nigh-impossible to make him shut up), but normally only to people he knows. He's a nice enough guy, just don't aggrivate him. He has his moments where he'll simply rush into things without thinking, but these are rare at best. He much prefers a quiet night alone, fishing or reading.
General Notes: He doesn't really wear clothes so much as he just wears his armor all the time. There are limits to this, however (he doesn't sleep in his armor), but it's just really uncommon for him to wear actual clothing. He does, however, wear a Red Martial Shirt under his breastplate, claiming, "the armor chafes." He is also very unreligious unlike most paladins. Jorundr still believes his powers over the Light are derived from the power he drained from the Naaru being M'uru.
Unusual Notes: He harbors a very deep hatred for the Undercity and any who claim to be its champions, especially those of the Banshee Queen Sylvanas Windrunner. He is HEAVILY against Sylvanas' means of creating new Forsaken, seeing her as a second Lich King. The only reason he doesn't just kill her is because he is under orders from the Horde higher-ups not to. He's not too thrilled with Garrosh Hellscream leading the Horde, but is willing to see where the new Warchief leads them, leerily though it may be. He generally disapproves of Lor'themar Theron as the interim leader of Silvermoon City as well, seeing him not as a leader, but a temporary solution now that the Sunstrider Dynasty has ended.
Strangely enough, he has taken diplomatic efforts with the Night Elves of all races, claiming "with the changes that have come recently, perhaps it is time that all elves are able to unite under a single banner again."
History: ((In lieu of posting some long, elaborate backstory for reasons of pulling as little out of my !@# as possible, please enjoy the abridged version.))
Trained originally as a mage, found it "unfulfilling".
Became a healer around the outbreak of the First War, found it to his liking.
During the Second War, he was part of a unit that traveled behind the main battalions, healing the injured and picking off the stragglers. Saw combat everywhere from Quel'thalas and Lordaeron to Blackrock Spire and Stormwind.
Eluded the undead during the Third War, was assigned (along with many, many others) to reclaim Silvermoon afterwards.
Agreed to join the Blood Knights, Silvermoon's paladin order, and drained the energy of the Naaru M'uru.
Current Going-On (if any): Surveying the damage caused by the re-emergence of Deathwing, re-adjusting himself to warmer climates after the two-year campaign in Northrend.
Edited by Jorundr on 7/2/2014 5:09 PM PDT
Name: Broxis "Buffbeard" Stormsfist
Physical Description: Incredibly strong even among dwarves, Wildhammer around 4' 6"(tall for a dwarf) bright red hair, a topknot with a shaved head and a respectable beard
Personality Description: Stubborn, can be witty, loves a good drink and his good friend Bootybeard, can be slightly prejudiced against other races. Doesnt like what he refers to as the lesser races i.e kobolds gnolls murlocs, saying "they smell like a trolls buttom"
General Notes: Prefers Hammers and Maces, holds a deep hatred for trolls and the undead(again they smell and he had friends in hillsbrad) respects orcs for their strength and are probably his preferred enemy to fight, especially becuase he was in the second war
Unusual Notes: Killed a dragon with his fists after it took his gryphon from the air, he misses his homeland of the Hinterlands sorely and visits their as often as possible, has a younger brother who became a shaman
Buffbeard dissaproves of aracane magic of any kind and also doesnt much like technology either(fine with steam tanks, they make a good boom) saying they are an abomination and that he could do the same without the need for them
Secrets: Doesnt like swimming or spiders
History: A gryphon rider from the second war, his gryphon Bladebeak, was brought down by a group of trolls on his way back from the front lines, while nursing his gryphon back to health he was ambushed by a large group of kobolds who slew his gryphon and were promptly beaten to death with a rock from the ground
Current Going-On (if any): Fighting for the alliance on the front lines to regain his honor
Edited by Buffbeard on 12/2/2010 1:30 PM PST
I'm too excited for my goblin idea to remain dormant. Thanks for the outlet! (I'm aware I'm taking a bit of license with how I get to the Lost Isles on a plank. I may rework the story a bit after playing the Goblin opening.)
Name: Jhezseff Princepusher
Job/Profession: weapon designer
Physical Description: Three-and-a-half feet tall. Hairless with a great deal of scar tissue visible on his entire body, apparently burns. Skinnier than most goblins, likely the result of long-term malnourishment. His slight stature is not immediately evident, as he wears poorly-stitched leather clothing (of his own creation) covered in misshapen pockets, filled with seemingly neverending amounts of geegaws, ephemera, tools and gadgets, some of them actually useful.
History: Jhezseff has led a sheltered life as the middle child of 33 in a family whose line was long ago condemned to the maintenance of Kezan's sewer system. ("You have ONE ANCESTOR shove the most powerful trade prince of Kezan into the gears of a SuperMegaBoulderGrinder 3000 after an argument over two tenths of a percentage point in profit sharing, and you get used to the laughter and the insults. Like it's MY fault the prince couldn't have proper burial!") His father perished when Jhezseff was very young; his mother sold him to a mining company at age 16. Following an accident/murder attempt/massive explosion in a kaja'mite mine, Jhezseff's body and brain has been inundated with particles of the strange rock. He does not remember the accident or how he got out of the mine; only that he was found and restored to health by a hermit troll living on a beach. The accident has triggered incredible creative and intellectual abilities that Jhezseff doesn't understand, but is eager to harness. He was able to trade for passage off his island home with a design for a thrust engine, which he insisted on implimenting halfway across the sea. Jhezseff does feel somewhat bad that the engine exploded, killing almost everyone onboard, but is pretty sure it wasn't his fault.
General Notes: Jhezseff is determined to make a new name for himself (and escape from the hated Princepusher moniker) by creating, testing and selling devices which mimic the abilities of shamans. Although he doesn't (or won't) understand the traditional shamanic spiritual connection to nature, the wonders of shamanic magic fascinate him.
Personality Description: Although his intellect has increased dramatically, some side effects and personality quirks will begin to manifest; for instance, he has developed a taste for seaweed. Initially he seems to find reason to distrust everyone he meets, but can warm quickly upon discovering something or someone he has yet to analyze. He has not had much opportunity for conversation in his life, but seems to be making up for lost time now. Frequently it is difficult to tell where his attention is devoted, as he seems to be distracted by both shiny objects and his own too-quick mind. His expanding mental abilities have brought with them confidence as well as an eager desire to explore Azeroth. At times his confidence seems psychotic or suicidal, but Jhezseff refuses to believe optimism is crazy.
Secrets: Occasionally during his talkative jags Jhezseff will accidentally hint that his mother ordered he and his brothers drown his father; upon catching himself he refuses to discuss the matter further. This is one of the few subjects capable of angering him.
Current Goings-On: Currently Jhezseff hunts for the use of a small workshop where he can build his first design, the Electro Enzappinator, with which he'll be able to hire himself out as a mercenary. Eventually he hopes to have a meeting with the Warchief to discuss the sale and mass production of his amazing creations.
Sin'Solaria Tel'Endra Lightfaith
~30 Human Years
Cleric of M'uru
To the casual observer, Sin'Solaria has no particularly distinguishing marks or scars. She is lean and athletic; her walking gait reminiscent of a great cat stalking its prey.
One notable physical attribute, however, is that she is occassionally assailed by a terrible, wracking cough that will incapacitate her for a good minute before she is able to recover. The cause (unless revealed by Sin'Solaria herself) is largely unknown.
Upon first impression, Sin'Solaria seems coldly reserved to most, as she usually greets new people with a rather indifferent gaze.
However, should one acclimate themselves to her demeanor, upon getting to know her more, they find that Sin'Solaria is very much led by her passion to undo the evils that Kael'thas has wrought against the entire Blood Elf nation.
Sin'Solaria is a steadfast faithful to M'uru, the Naaru that was prophesied by Velen to have sacrificed itself for the Blood Elf Nation. She frequently prays to M'uru for strength and guidance, no matter what anyone else thinks of the practice.
Sin'Solaria is of no relation to Gospel Lightfaith; the same surnames are purely coincidental.
Sin'Solaria's brother, Telisrane, was a willing convert to the cause of the Lich King. He became a Death Knight and worked actively to recruit her into their ranks. No one knows of him except Vandrian and Lellenthyr Blooddrake and she prefers to keep it that way to maintain the honor of the House of Lightfaith.
Current Goings-On (if any):
Sin'Solaria has been in seclusion since her brother's death and is only just now discovering the havoc that Deathwing has wrought on Azeroth.
Name: Chompgnash Skullcrush
Age: Mid 30s
Job/Profession: Jewel crafting / mining.
Physical Description: Like the rest of his species, Chompgnash is muscular and strong. However, UNLIKE most Orcs, Chompgnash gained his physique through hours spent standing in front of mirrors, using weights and admiring himself rather than through any real physical training or heavy work.
Personality Description: Chompy is repulsed by the very idea of actually having to DO anything for himself, beyond crafting jewels and putting on fine clothes. While most Orcs will fly into a rage if you so much as moderately question their ability in battle, Chomp would smile politely and say "How droll, now run along and go play in a fire, there's a good little thing." However, if you should suggest any of his clothing is out of fashion or someone else wore that hat better when you saw it on them first, odds are at some point soon you'll burst into flames or find his minion's axe embedded in your skull.
Completely oblivious to the needs and feelings of others, Chompgnash is narcissism personified. His attitude is very much "How can I help you help me?"
General Notes: In his mind, Silvermoon is the height of beauty and fashion, and snorts with derision at the very idea Night Elves are in any way superior to his adopted species, the Blood Elves. He finds the other races of the Horde and Alliance to be vulgar and crass, totally beneath his attention at all.
Secrets: Chompgnash had at least a modicum of respect for Thrall, but hates Garrosh Hellscream with a burning passion. His desire to remain able to enter the city of Silvermoon is all that keeps him from all out abandoning the Horde and actively working toward Hellscream's overthrow.
History: (from what I wrote on Earthen Ring Wiki)Born to the Skullcrush family, with a long and proud history of Shaman and Warrior members, Chompgnash was the eldest son and thus expected to take up the axe or sword. But, at the age of 4 when he was to begin his training, the young Orc was disgusted by the "filth and grime" associated with combat, constantly washing his hands and armor, and spending more time preening in front of a mirror than in training. At a complete loss (and more than a little disgusted), Sharpfang Skullcrush took him to meet with a seer in the hopes of finding some way to salvage the son he now considered feeding to crocolisks.
To his abject horror, the seer suggested Sharpfang bring his son to a Warlock, since he sensed in Chompgnash an affinity to Shadow magics. Unfortunately, Orgrim Dooomhammer had just branded the Warlock caste as traitors, and if he were seen even speaking with one, Sharpfang could find himself on the business end of an executioner's axe and his entire family put to death as well. He decided that if his son's fate was to become one of the Demon summoners, then the young Orc would have to do it himself. Sharpfang brought Chompgnash to within 10 miles of an encampment where many Warlocks had gathered, gave him a dagger and shield, then pointing his son in the direction he was to travel, abandoned him to the world at only 6 years old.
Regardless of his distaste for combat and getting dirty, Chompgnash was an Orc, and managed the journey on his own, several times having to not only run for his life, but to fight. After several sleepless nights, he finally stumbled into the Warlock encampment, filthy and suffering from exposure, but was readily accepted into the camp of refugees. One of the assembled Warlocks, Grek'Lor, took the young Orc on as his apprentice.
Current Going-On (if any): Spending hours in front of the mirror stating "I say, you are one dashing fellow."
The smell of stale Dwarven stout fills the air as a grizzled old Priest stumbles into the pub, cuts off a loud, sour fart before lurching to a table. Upon seeing the notice posted near the bar, Mortimer "Uncle Mort" Dagget chortles, pulls out a stylus and some ink from his bags, and sets to a piece of parchment.
Name: None yer bloody business yew insufferable git, now push off. Ye can call me Mort. ("BARKEEP! Me pint be empty!! Move yer backside a'fore I turn yer mind ter pudding, ye git. I don't 'old wif this yer glass be arf empty or arf full twaddle. I wants me pints to never be empty and have done. Aye, I have the gold ter pay, now don't bother me less'n yer here t'fill me pint. Now bugger off.")
Age: Wull, now tha wud be a good question. I figger about an hundred and 20 yers by my counting and I'll DO YOU IN A MINUTE, SEE IF I DON'T! *actually shakes his walking stick at the piece of paper as if the reader will see it*
Gender: Wut? That wud be none o yer mind as well, ya prat. (empties a pint and threatens the barkeep with death if he doesn't keep on top of making sure his mug is filled quickly)
Job/Profession: Tailer n' a fine one at that if'n I do say. Some inchanteratin tho I don put much time inter it as it be a waste of me time.
Physical Description: Old, but don yew think fer a minit I cud no thump yew proper if ye open yer gob.
Personality Description: Aye, better'n yers I do say (drinks more ale) an I dont 'old wif all this fer the Horde bollix. Thrall were a good lad, aye, an' kept them flea bitten Tauren buggers frum causin' a ruckus, but now that fewl Garrosh gone an' stirred 'em up like a bee's nest. Should 'av shut his gob and let the old walkin' carpet be, but no 'e 'ad to fight 'em after that old cow Mag... Marg... That Grimtotem hag went an been poison'in 'em an all. *hic* AN another thing... Why der yer Trolls get all upset? Aye, Thrall were Volwhatisgobber's friend an all an tha' Garrosh be as sharp as a g*!*@, eye, but... *hic* but... Errrr... I don member wut I planned t'right about anymore so that's that.
General Notes: B flat *GUFFAW!*chortle* oh aye, height o' jockurlarity I am.
Unusual Notes: Oi, know wut ye get ifn yew drop a piano down a mine shaft?! A FLAT MINER! *falls out of his chair laughing, spilling his pint and not even noticing*
Secrets: I weren't no where near that sheep!!! Now that'll be enuff 'o yer spreaderating rumors ye hear!? Or I'll give ye such a hiding SEE IF I DON'T!!
History: Wull I were raised just a wee outside Stratholm, well a'fore that pillock Arthas went an' killt' his Da an all. It were back in the days of Auld King Sturdwather the Flatulent. It were 'em wut got Stormwind it's name, don'tchaknow. Anyway me mum were a dirty old cow what get me gob up an' I decided the trollop should die so I poisoned 'er an the rest of me family and that were that. 'Cor yew should have 'eard the way they gurgles when they tasted me first ever batch of Fer Speshul brew! *laughs out loud as he writes, hand getting a bit less precise as he writes and head sort of wobbling from ale* Aye, were a doin' of me own an they flopped aroun' dontchaknow fer start why do them walls move so? An' who put socks on me teef witout me noticin? ("Oh, sorry Barkeep, I wud seem to 'ave gobbed on yer floor. 'Ere is a few extra bob fer the cleanup *hic!*")
Current Going-On (if any): *passed out cold at a table in the inn found in Booty Bay*
36 Tauren Paladin
Name: Canarith Stonehoof
Job/Profession: Sunwalker | Journeyman Blacksmith
Physical Description: Canarith is an average built Tauren. He stands about eight and a half feet tall, which may seem large to most Azerothians, but is average for the Tauren. His golden eyes watch over the land which is the Earthmother, doing all in his power to guard her. His one missing horn was lost during the Shattering. Doing what he could to help in the Barrens, Canarith was caught unaware when the Northern and Southern Barrens were rent in two. He was lucky to survive and not be swallowed by the gorge that now lay as a border.
Personality Description: Canarith is a calm and collected individual. He rarely ever gets angry or annoyed, and is patient with everyone. As a Sunwalker, he is more proactive in the fight against those who would destroy the Earthmother. He also has a great interest in the history and lore of his people, hoping one day to become one of the many oral historians.
General Notes: As a Sunwalker of An’she, Canarith is devout in his following of the Earthmother. As such, he holds all life to be sacred and wishes for a day when the Alliance and Horde can learn to see past their differences and be united as Azerothians and Children of the Earthmother.
Unusual Notes: Canarith has a habit of jumping, absentmindedly, while he walks.
History: Canarith was born in the plains of the Barrens to the Stonehoof tribe. He remembers being a calf on the great day that Cairne Bloodhoof united many of the nomadic tribes of Tauren under one banner and founded the capital city of Thunderbluff. It was a joyous journey, the trek to Mulgore. Once again the Tauren race had hope for survival. Still keeping some nomadic traditions, some Stonehoof tribal families, including Canarith’s, explored Mulgore; they searched for a suitable spot to settle and found their own camp. Upon the Red Cloud Mesa, his immediate family found that spot. It was luscious and farmable, whilst showing off the beauty that is the Earthmother. Splitting off from the main tribe, Canarith and his parents helped the Hawkwind tribe establish Camp Narache. Over the years, the Quilboars began showing aggression, and in one of the many raids, Canarith’s parents were killed, leaving him the last Stonehoof in the camp. When Canarith reached adulthood, he was sent on his Rite of Vision to attain his spirit animal companion. After nearly a week, Canarith received a vivid vision. In the vision, and eagle soared down to him, one eye open, casting a soft, blue glow over him. Then, as the eagle came closer, it closed that eye and opened the other. This eye was bright, beyond that of the noon day sun. The eagle past through Canarith, and the light filled him with warmth and assurance. On return to Camp Narache, Canarith told his vision to the camp Elder. The Elder said it was a blessing from An’she, the Earthmother’s left eye. The closing of the right eye told Canarith he was not to be a Druid, but the opening of the left was uncommon, and the Elder did not have a proper answer for him. The Elder suggested he journey to Thunderbluff and ask one of the Elders there. While there, he met one Aponi Brightmane, a founder of the Sunwalkers. He told Canarith of the discovery that Taurens could draw power from An’she, just as the Druids did from Mu’sha. The young tauren instantly knew that he was called by the Earthmother to be one of the new Sunwalkers. After being taught some by Brightmane, Canarith was approached by Yudok Younghoof, founder of the organization “Sunwalkers of Azeroth.” He was extended an invitation to join the organization which would give all Sunwalkers a place to organize themselves and help build themselves up in the light on An’she. Canarith excitedly accepted the invitation, becoming one of the newest Braves of the Sunwalkers.
((Now I’m super excited to jump into RPing. o.o I started this and as I read Wowiki, ideas just kept coming to me. : p As always, changes can and most likely will be made :3 ))
Edited by Canarith on 12/4/2010 9:12 PM PST
Create a new character here on Earthen Ring to test the waters and get a feel for the community.
Take the time to look over this and other RP related information threads so that you can gather information of where to start and a bit about other role-players you will find here on ER.
Earthen Ring RP Resources: Updated 11/23/10
If you find you enjoy your stay please return to this thread and post your characters information.
Name: Osvalt Allensbee
Job/Profession: Thief, gangster, criminal
Physical Description: Thin and wirey for both a human and a Worgen, Osvalt is almost never seen outside of his Worgen form, which he views as his true nature finally revealed. He is also never seen without his top hat. Ever.
Personality Description: Although Osvalt seems charming and funny, in truth beneath the mask of genial civility lurks the mind of a cold, vicious predator. Though kind enough to people he views as useful, former friends and allies have been shocked with how quickly Osvalt can swing to a psychotic glee in causing the most grevious possible damage to a percieved enemy.
General Notes: Osvalt was born and raised in the slums of Gilneas City, passed from orphanage to orphanage as he aged. This life has left him utterly cynical and determined to do whatever it takes to survive, even if it means leaving a trail of bodies behind him.
Unusual Notes: Osvalt is incredibly protective of his top hat, flying into an immediate and frightening rage if anyone attempts to remove or mock it.
Secrets: Osvalt made himself an orphan, after murdering his mother and father at age 10, due to years of neglect and abuse.
Born slightly before the voluntary isolation of Gilneas, Osvalt Allensbee was an unwanted child. His mother and father could barely afford to feed themselves, let alone a growing son...so they didn't. Osvalt survived on the left-overs of his parents, rats and insects. His mother called him a mistake and his father beat him blind if he so much as uttered a word.
But that wouldn't be a problem for long. Snapping one night after his father had nearly shattered his skull, young Osvalt waited till they slept and murdered them in their beds, burning the family hovel down behind him. From there he went into the Gilnean Home for Lost Youths, growing up under the unloving hand of various administrators, fighting off fellow urchins for food and bedding. From there, he drifted to various unsavory organizations, working as a pick-pocket and enforcer for the local gangs.
Caught and imprisoned for murdering three people in a bar, Osvalt was press-ganged into service during the Gilnean Civil War, where he was bitten and transformed into what he is today. Some would say Osvalt was always a wolf wearing a man's skin, this just confirmed it.
However, this isn't the end...just the beginning. Osvalt has plans, you see. There's a whole world out there, ripe for the taking. And Osvalt intends to be the bloody king of Stormwind's criminal world.
Name: Gwynplaine Dumorne
Physical Description: Rather fit, from being a blacksmith. Golden-brown fur, gold eyes.
Personality Description: Generally quite friendly and curious, but he can be rude when provoked. Around certain people he turns into one of those guys who says he'll take everyone out and buy them drinks.
General Notes: Nice guy. Just don't make him angry. You won't like him when he's angry.
Unusual Notes: Can play the mandolin, or the Azerothian equivalent.
Secrets: Has a pet white kitten.
History: Born to a family of fishermen, Gwyn led a fairly normal Gilnean life. And, well, I trust you all know what happens in the starting zone! That's... about it. I really don't like to give my characters long involved backstories.
Current Going-On (if any): Part-time scout for the Templars Of The Rose.
Edited by Gwynplaine on 1/8/2011 8:22 AM PST
89 Goblin Hunter
Job/Profession: Arms dealer, poacher, former slaver
Physical Description: Grazzik, like all goblins, is a small, wiry little creature with features sharp enough to chip ice. However, unlike most goblins, Grazzik is utterly incapable of growing hair on his head....mainly because he set his head on fire testing out a new gun he developed. Who knew that using dragon's blood mixed with azure iron flakes would explode THAT big?!
Calm, patient, polite. These are not terms to use when speaking of Grazzik. Rude and unstable even for a goblin, Grazzik is known to keep at least five pistols on him at all times, randomly firing them in the air or at animals/people/scenery because of how much he loves the sound of a gun going off.
Though a tiny bit touchy about his past as a slaver for the Venture Company (mainly because he lost a lot of coin...morals? Wazzat? Can ya spend'em?!), Grazzik is as friendly as you'd expect for a goblin. Till he pulls a gun on you and starts cackling...then it may be time to run.
Unstable + Arms dealer + Goblin proclivity towards explosives = Grazzik
Grazzik once tried to build a 50 foot tall robotic turtle, because in his own words "Yeah, that mechagnome stuff, cool right? But them gnomes, they think too small! A FIFTY FOOT STEAM POWERED ROBO-TURTLE! We can use it to carry troops and cook fajitas! It'll have guns for eyes! Guns for teeth! Guns for scales and toes and...fel! LET'S BUILD A GIANT TURTLE GUN! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!". Thankfully for us all, this did not pan out.
Grazzik loves turtles. Almost more than gold! Almost.
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