Fells
Guild Member
rp lolz.
Posts: 529
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Post by Fells on Jan 29, 2007 14:30:18 GMT -5
Full NameCallide Drachmas. Lady Drachmas, if you want to be technical. Don't call her that. RaceHuman HomelandBorn in Southshore, raised in Elwynn. AgeNineteen Height5'5" BuildScrawny, lanky, and generally unremarkable. She doesn't look her nineteen years. HairDark, mousy brown. It falls to mid-back when she lets it out of her ponytail, which she never does. EyesThe dusty mud-brown of a low river in drought. Philosophy"Folk're all the same. Y'can trust 'em, sure, but trust 'em t'be cap'ble 'a the same damn thing everone else is. There ain't no monsters, there ain't no saints. Folk're jest folk. S'jest the way things are." PersonalityOutwardly, Fells is stubborn, simple, and terribly inept. A lazy little thing reluctant to do much to change her standing or situation. JobEx-pickpocket, housewife, rogue-in-supposed-training. HobbiesShe can't stop making pretty shiny things. It gives her fingers something to do, which they've been itching for since she stopped lifting coin. BioFells was born to a well-to-do merchant couple. She was left in the care of relatives when she was three, and never retrieved. Most of her life has been spent waiting for the parents that were supposed to come for her, and the man she'd been betrothed to. She found both recently. She dislikes talking about herself. Currently ResidesWildhammer Keep, with her husband Laurus and recent ward Precosia. They're waiting for their home on a little plot of land in the Hinterlands to be finished. They plan to start a stable, and make a living raising horses. Art
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Post by solmandar on Jan 29, 2007 15:12:07 GMT -5
Solmandar Orpheus Maetri
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- name: Solmandar or "Sol" occupation: Smith by trade Class: Warrior
Current home: Sol makes his home in Ironforge, though he does have a special affinity for the Inns of Stormwind.
Brief physical description: Sol is 6'2" tall and broad shouldered with deep red hair kept in two braids and a permanent scowl etched into his forehead.
Brief personality descrition: Sol is a Cavalier, pure and simple. He appreciates his drink and his clothes, and always enjoys a good time with friends. He attacks life with the same verve he attacks his enemies. He does, however, have a taciturn side which manifests when he feels he has failed in some manner, or when the situation is, in his view, grave.
Goals and motivations: While Sol does enjoy the fun and frolic, he has very serious goals. Sol wants nothing more than peace. He wants Lordaeron restored, and he wants The King found.
Passionate about the war? Absolutely. A warrior hates nothing more than war. It means the loss of loved ones and the destruction of hearth and home. Sol hates war, but he also knows how to fight it... efficiently.
Quotes:
"Time is of the essence? Very well! Fight smart and keep up!"
"Somehow I don't think the light would accept me as it has accepted you."
"I like pie"
History: Born to a smith and her husband in Stormwind, Solmandar spent his youth running about the Canals and getting into whatever trouble he could. That is, until such time as he was into custody as a truant.
Sol was taken to the Cathedral, where he became an altar boy and took up the arts of healing. Try though he might, though, he could not call upon the light to heal or the shadow to harm. He took up with those training to be Paladins, thinking, perhaps, that strength of arms and healing were what he needed to be able to call the light to him... again, he failed.
Solmandar was taken to Lordaeron by his mother and Father. His father was a master smith and was presenting a new sword to the king of Lordaeron in tribute from Stormwind. That was when things went bad. The city was besieged by undead and the plague was spreading, fast. His mother was taken by it, though his father survived to get him to a mage's portal to Ironforge and they went the rest of the way on foot.
While in the hills of Dun Morogh, a strange dwarf came to them in a snow storm and told Sol, "Service to the light is not for you, but the sword you will wield will be a mighty one for the cause."
Once home, Sol's father turned to drink, trying in vain to drown the memory of his lost wife. Having lost his mother, and as good as having lost his father, and thinking the light would never be within his grasp, he turned to the sword alone. He joined the ranks of the Guard. They taught him swordsmanship and how to channel the battle rage. They taught him honor and duty. But most important of all, they taught him how to forget.
It was in the company of the Guard that Sol managed to find himself. Here there was court, and ladies in waiting, and food and drink unrivalled. Sure, there were enemies to fight and battles to be won, but they were simply interruptions to the daily dalliances of the young gentleman guard.
Here, he had friends and companions and somehting to focus on, the protection of the king and his son... until the time of his dissapearance. The guard was thrown into turmoil and Sol along with it. The search began, with every one of them knowing that the task was daunting and the wars were drawing nearer every day, but try they must - duty was the most important and they would not lose their honor by turning from it! Sol was steadfast in the aims of the guard, and still remains dedicated to finding and restoring the King to this day.
But now he has a more important goal before him. He watched Lordaeron fall. He saw the plague that ravaged the land and killed his mother, and he knows that Lordaeron must be restored.
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ulthanon
Guild Member
A ruffian, rabble-rouser and roustabout
Posts: 302
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Post by ulthanon on Jan 29, 2007 16:03:02 GMT -5
Full Name: Ulthanon Kaidos Race: Kaldorei Homeland: Old Azshara, now submerged Age: Somewhere around 10,200. Height: 7'3" Build: Muscular, in a lithe and wiry kind of way. Looks more athletic than built. Hair: Silvery-gray Eyes: Gold Philosophy: Personality: Ulth is so casual about most matters that he's had a hard time convincing people he's as old as he is, so he's stopped trying. He's been described as a horrible example of Kaldorei-ism; he drinks to excess, dabbles in herbal cigarettes, and generally makes most any situation into some kind of joke. Despite his carefree demeanor, though, he takes the safety of his fellows quite seriously- he just might not let on as much. Job: Ulthanon is a master tanner and skinner, and always has been. Being able to track nearly anything gave him an advantage over other would-be poachers, and he can often be seen returning from a hunt with many stacks of pelts, where others may only bring in one or two. He dabbles in a very basic form of herbalism, but is too much of an ameteur to even be called an apprentice. Hobbies: Ulth is an enthusiast of anything that puts you in an alternate mindstate. He also enjoys (though he won't admit it) butting heads with Tsoshen Nightfury, even if Tso usually gets the better of him twice for every time Ulth gets him in return. Bio: www.wowwiki.com/UlthanonCurrently Resides: Various places in the Outlands Art:
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Post by uthas on Feb 23, 2007 13:29:06 GMT -5
Full Name: Bobert Joseph Uthas (YOU-TAS, no relation) Race: Human Homeland: Westfall Age: 19 Height: 6'1' Build: Well built, slight beer gut Hair: Red Eyes: Blue
Philosophy: Filo-wut?
Personality: A friendly, happy go lucky hill billy from Westfall. Bobert follows the Light not out of any depth of understanding or philosophy, but because he was naturally born to zen with the universe. In other words, he's a dumb as a bag of hammers. He's extremely lucky, as fate tends to take care of madmen and idiots.
Job: Bobert has stumbled into a well paid missionary role to the Outlands.
Hobbies: He makes moonshine.
Bio: Bobert was born in Westfall, grew up there, and will probably go back and die there. The only trouble his family ever gets into is occasional shooting matches with the Thunderbrew's as they try to sabotage each other's stills. After one of these disputes, Bobert was wounded and sent to Northshire Abbey, where he saw some priest's healing the wounded. He exclaimed "So that's how y'all go 'bout doin' that!" and promptly healed himself, becoming a paladin by default. He has since brought the Light (and very reasonably priced home-brewed liquor) to the land with a smile and a friendly wave.
Currently Resides: Bobert has found that the Mag'har have a real love of the moonshine, and has since set up a still near their village in Hellfire Penninsula while he trains some of them to run it. He's looking to use the proceeds to open a small chapel in Shattrath.
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Post by Tarq on Dec 4, 2007 19:21:07 GMT -5
I never did post here! Weird. Full Name: Tarquin ap Danwyrith (meaning "son of Danwyrith" in the archaic, but it's just been a surname for generations upon generations now.) Race: Northman! Homeland: Stratholme Age: 30 as of this post. Height: 6'3 Build: The word is lanky - if Tarquin's arms and legs were in perfect proportion to his musculature, he'd probably be around 5'10. Not qute gaunt, but noticeably thin. Facially, he's handsome in a hard-faced, sharp-edged sort of way, softened somewhat by a semipermanent layer of stubble that he's more or less given up on controlling (or ever turning into a real beard.) Hair: Hay-blond. Eyes: Green. Philosophy: "Yeh look out after yer own. No' a soul else'll do it fer yeh." Personality: Amiable, clever, cynical, and loyal to a fault, Tarquin has spent thirteen years creating the image of the consummate rogue, stamped firmly into the brains of most who've met him. He wraps the ruthless, mercenary nature of his trade and training in a shell of smiles and one-liners, and has thus far managed to dance the knife's edge between necessity and depravity. His career has doubtless left marks on his mind and heart, but he either hides them well, or bears them so openly that they seem part of the guise. Job: In other times and places, Tarquin has been a pickpocket, burglar, SI:7 agent (finishing his career in the ranks of the First Finger), Captain of Irregulars, and Gilnean Consul under dubious sanctions. Now he simply defines himself as a "professional," and lets his reputation and results do the talking. Hobbies: Locksmithing/lockpicking, rabble-rousing, cheating government institutions, amateur drama, Northern folk music, Ceil. Bio: Could take hours. He's made some bad choices, done some things he regrets - but he's done at least one thing he never will, and refuses to live his life in the shadow of the past. If you don't know the rest already, he probably isn't about to tell you. Currently Resides: While Tarquin rents an apartment in the Stormspire from officials of the Consortium, he spends less and less time there these days, choosing to repair to his beloved, hated, Stormwind City whenever possible. He can most often be found in his offices in the Pig & Whistle, or strolling around Old Town harassing honest, hard-working citizens. Art: Tarq's the one with the coin. Merely a sketch, but Lans captured him damn near perfectly.
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Tirith
Guild Member
Posts: 102
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Post by Tirith on Dec 4, 2007 20:30:34 GMT -5
Full Name: Tirith Elohn Race: Human Homeland: Darkshire, then Stormwind Age: 19 Height: 5'8" Build: On the emaciated side of thin. Hair: Black Eyes: Green
Philosophy: "Oh, I love to discuss philosophy. I tend to subscribe to a utilitarian ideology, informed by the works of several of the great thinkers of our age and those bygone. My worldview is somewhat distinct from most in that I don't ascribe a particular sacred value to the life of sentient beings." or "I'll kill a man in a fair fight, or if I think he's gonna start a fair fight... If he bothers me, or if there's a woman... Or if I'm gettin' paid. Mostly only when I'm gettin' paid." Depending on the company.
Personality: His accent and mode of speech change so regularly that it's less a deception than an affectation. However, lying really is so habitual that he often does it entirely by accident. If he makes any moral judgment at all, it is entirely at the intellectual level; he has no gut reaction to anything, no matter how vile. Of course, he is perfectly aware of this, and is crippled by an overwhelming sense of self-hatred.
Job: Hired Goon (BS, MS, PhD).
Hobbies: Chronic insomnia allows for a lot of time to read philosophy, history, and language. He also has a passing interest in tinkering and the manufacture of explosives.
Bio: At around age ten he was recruited as an assassin's apprentice. His first target was his father. Really, it's all been downhill from there.
At around seventeen he left the profession (in which he was primarily a poisoner, and had learned the sword almost solely for recreation). Tirith wandered for a while, assuming the persona of a swashbuckling adventurer until it became more natural than anything else. Eventually bored with his utter lack of direction, he enlisted with the Order of the White Tower, with the full intent of becoming a gallant knight.
After fulfilling a contract issued by one member of the Tower on another, he decided that perhaps gallantry wasn't precisely his style, and slid back into the role of the charismatic swashbuckler. Having worked with a band of adventurers in the Molten Core led by Tarquin ap Danwyrith, Tirith began frequenting the Pig & Whistle.
Tirith heard the Story at least three times, but lacked sufficient confidence in his own loyalty. It took about half a year before he worked up the courage to take the drink and bear the tabard.
Currently Resides: Shares an apartment in the Stormwind park district with Shizukani.
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Post by Sunshine on Dec 11, 2007 18:23:07 GMT -5
Full Name: Ilalra Stormrunner. Aliases: Ambry Nightbreeze; Ilanna. Race: Kaldorei. Homeland: "Everywhere." Age: 10019. Yes, she's one of those, but I sure as hell didn't tell you. Height: 6'11. Build: Slender, leggy, and permanently just a bit too thin. Hair: Long and midnight blue; currently dyed electric pink. Eyes: Silver, wicked and amused. Distinguishing Characteristics: Hey, where'd that left ear go? Good question, and she'll even say, "Some bastard tore off two thirds of it," but never, ever how. The talon tattoos on her face seem strange-- they're the right shapes and colors, the same as worn by any other night elf, but somehow they look more violent. Should she have occasion to leave her left leg bared, another tattoo, black and deep blue flowing waves, might be seen circling the top of her left thigh. The leather choker with sapphires never leaves her neck; that blue- and red-gemmed silver anklet, on the same leg as the waves tattoo, isn't going anywhere either. Philosophy: Live. No, that's all-- just live, as vibrantly, as fully, and as long as you can, and help others do the same. It's funny, how often people tend to forget to do either. Personality: Poetic, passionate, and cursed with an unfortunate martyrdom habit, Ilanna's a classic hero and all too aware of that fact-- but she certainly doesn't want anyone else catching on. Between her grins, her flirts, and her fakeass accent of indeterminable origin, she's got most of the rest of the world-- and maybe herself, on some level-- convinced that she's nothing but another damn rogue. ...That's when she's sane, mind, and actually fully sane is a seldom thing, for her. When she's not sane, she's River Tam terrifying. It's been known to happen. Job: Wildfire Rider. ...What's that mean? Good question. She knows how to fight, that's obvious, and shadows don't behave quite like they ought to around her-- If you hear a ~BAMF~ noise? Run-- but as for how she makes a living, no one seems too clear about the answer. She's what could be best described as a goon, but, oddly, only very seldom actually goons anything. Hobbies: Philosophy, history, literature, art-- everything, really, within a limited and highly cultured range. They say she even plays an instrument. Then there's the other things, the more practical things. She's got the kind of mechanical skill, picking locks and engineering odd devices with effortless ease, that comes from nimble fingers and a nimbler mind. She's also got a whole case of poisons under her bed, born from the type of chemistry that leaves people bloated and greenish colored, and she's been known to work an enchantment or two. Just imagine how dangerous it would be-- and how many explosions it would cause-- if she ever started trying to combine her talents. Biography: "Long" is the word for that past, long and convoluted, and she doesn't talk about it, not in detail and certainly never in full-- but it's possible to pick some things up just from listening to stories she tells. She was a pirate once, and a dancer, and a Sentinel, and an agent of SI:7; she was even, if she trusts you, once a priestess. She always wanted to be a druid, but never was. Listening to her, you could get the impression she's done, or almost done, practically everything. Maybe she has. What's known for certain: A bit less than two years ago, Ilanna Stormrunner ventured into Molten Core under the questionable leadership of one Tarquin ap Danwyrith. Some months later, in late fall, a good portion of her left ear went missing, along with a good portion of her confidence. She didn't talk about it. By spring, she had made many friends wearing black and red tabards, including a woman she quickly came to consider her sister; by summer, she wore black and red herself. In mid-summer, she committed murder and became a wanted criminal. Shortly afterwards, she fell in love. The authorities are still looking for her. Currently Resides: Nowhere. It's hard to pin down stable housing, when your face is on wanted posters in every major city. However-- pathetically, mushily, hopelessly in love-- it's a fairly safe bet she'll be found most days (and nights) in Nagrand, at Chryste Kaleigh's house. Important Relationships: Ilarra Stormrunner (sister), Talaana Stormrunner (great great granddaughter), Chryste Kaleigh (fiancé). Art:
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Post by Sunshine on Jul 11, 2008 7:32:53 GMT -5
Full Name: Ilarra Stormrunner Race: Kaldorei Homeland: Winterspring; Kel'Theril Age: "Very very old" Height: 6'11 Build: Slender, leggy, and much curvier than she ought to be. She works at it. Hair: Midnight blue, long to her thighs. Eyes: Silver, and amused at something that's not going to turn out well for you. Distinguishing Characteristics: You can't look at Ilarra without thinking of Ilanna— and looking at both at once, you don't pick out the similarities, but the differences. There are far fewer of them. Ilarra wears earrings– lots of earrings– and glasses; Ilanna wears a choker. Ilarra still has (more or less) both of her ears. Ilanna's skin is colorless and pale, unmarked save by tattoos; Ilarra's is pale too, but silvery blue, untattooed, and scarred— scarred /everywhere/, in every way, most noticeably on her ears. What, you thought those piercings were done willingly? Ragged holes like that don't happen pleasantly. Oh, and her tongue is pierced too— that probably was done willingly. Otherwise, the two are completely identical. No, identical. Spookily identical. Nightmares identical. They even sound identical, like a pair of clarinets playing silk together. Damn that's creepy. Watch her shadow. Now watch her. And watch both... Shouldn't they be moving in synchronization? You wish. Philosophy: Patience. The key to life isn't in searching for answers, it's in waiting for them— and that goes for everything in life. It's funny how very many problems fix themselves, if you give them enough of a nudge and just wait for them following the proper direction. ...Not buying it? She doesn't either. Hell with patience; let's have fun. If you want a real philosophy, try decadence. They say life's too short not to enjoy it, but the truth is it's actually too long. Deny yourself pleasures like sex, drugs, and food, and you know what you're left with? Boredom. Go places, meet people, learn ideas— and have fun. Fuck patience. Personality: "Moodswings." Serene and berserk, merciful and ruthless, benevolent and malicious— lucid and insane. Angel and devil both depending on what time of day it is (but not really, because that would be predictable), she may as well sometimes be two separate people. She might be. Someone going for tactful might call her "enigmatic," but accuracy demands the word "batshit." They say madness occurs not when you talk to yourself, but when you argue. Job: Priestess; tailor; doctor; seeress. Doctor of what? Of people, she'd say, unspecifically. Tailor? Of course, and talented, but don't go to her in search of anything modest— she has partial ownership of Genise's Secret Shoppe. As for the priestess gig, that seems to involve everything from giving her friends relationship advice to blowing gaping holes in people's brains. No kidding. Don't ask about the seeress thing. Don't ask about the nightmares. You don't want to know about them. Hobbies: Politics, strategy, philosophy, lesbian sex. No, really: lesbian sex. As if she bought that double bed to sleep in. She likes sex, and the girl panting naked on the other half of the bed is seldom the same from night to night. Good thing she's a priestess, or she'd probably have more diseases than a Goldshire floozy. Biography: Not talked about. Like her sister, she seems to have had a past in practically everything... many of the same things, in fact, but not with any detail. She'll freely admit that she's very, very old, but only seldom quite how much or what she used to do when she was younger. She keeps those parts intentionally vague. Her more recent history is easier to track: Four days short of a year ago, a selection of Wildfire Riders and their allies raided a ruined draenei temple on a rock floating south of Shadowmoon Valley. Once inside, they fought demons, undead, and a fire elemental the size of a very big fire elemental indeed. They also fought (and killed, eventually) an ancient, extremely insane warlock by the name of Erenar Stormrunner. They say Erenar's corpse has since gone missing. This is probably because his sister Ilanna dropped it off the side of Outland. Deeper inside the ruined temple, certain members of the raid discovered a dark, tiny room with a bloodstained floor. Inside it, they discovered Ilanna's recently murdered sister, Ilarra. Resurrection attempts proved successful, and, scarred both mentally and physically after months of captivity, Priestess Stormrunner rejoined the world and began a painfully slow healing process. Not long afterward, she joined her sister as a Wildfire Rider. Physically, she's much better now. Physically. Currently Residing In: Telredor, with Carystin Dawnsprinter. Important Relationships: Ilanna Stormrunner (sister), Talaana Stormrunner (great great grand-niece), Genise Crownsilver (most frequent girlfriend), Carystin Dawnsprinter (student), Ilarra Stormrunner (self), Ilarra Stormrunner (self). Art:Quote: "They say that good people do bad things sometimes. How come bad people can't do good things?"
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Post by Sunshine on Sept 27, 2008 7:29:14 GMT -5
This space reserved.
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Post by Phileas on Oct 28, 2008 7:13:11 GMT -5
Full Name: Phileas Alaisdair Lynch...though you're not likely to get him to admit to his middle name. “Philly” to friends and family, of course. Race: Northman Homeland: Darrowshire Age: 22, or thereabouts Height: 5'10” Build: Whip-slender and wiry, like a greyhound. Hair: Red. Very red. Eyes: Gray Philosophy: At the moment, Phileas is having to re-evaluate his philosophy on life. He's been rather focused on simple survival for so long, that the concept of having friends – or perhaps more - to take into consideration is something of a novel concept. Personality: Phileas has admitted that he's definitely a rogue and a rascal, and even an assassin from time to time...but he is hardly ever a scoundrel. In other words, a capable rogue with a dry sense of humor – though perhaps a wee bit too honest to be truly profitable at what he does on his own. Phileas has a temper to match his hair, which can lead to him not always thinking through the consequences of his choices. He knows that habit is going to get him in trouble, but when his Northron is up, it's not easy to be rational about what he should do...though he's trying. Because Phileas got tired of hearing commentary when he came south about how bloody young he is, he grew the mustache and goatee to make himself seem older. It actually works about half the time. Job: Unemployed at the moment, though he has started looking out for the welfare of the Pig and Whistle of his own accord since he wound up falling in with the Riders and Company during the Scourge resurgence. Hobbies: Music – mainly odd songs he's picked up from odder places, including old songs from back home, pub ditties, sailor songs from the docks, and really raunchy ditties he won't admit to having picked up. There's a Stormwind alley cat he started feeding that follows him around from time to time. Phileas also rather likes reading...providing he can find books that hold his interest. Bio: wildfireriders.proboards54.com/index.cgi?board=roleplay&action=display&thread=1216Currently Resides: At the moment, Philly is crashing on the floor of Aelflaed's room at the Pig. Prior to that, he slept on the streets wherever he could find a patch, preferring to use the little money he brought in to keep his mounts housed and fed. Art: None yet.
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Yva
Guild Member
Zombie Yvas
Posts: 684
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Post by Yva on Oct 28, 2008 14:19:33 GMT -5
Full Name: Yva Darrows Race: Human Homeland: Brill Age: 22 at the time of death Height: 4'11" Build: Short and curvy Hair: Long black waves. Eyes: Blue Philosophy: Power is everything, hesitation will kill you. The price is worth paying if you come out the wiser. Personality: Sharp tongued, sharp witted, and cold . . . she's far too smart for her own good. Job: Whatever suits her. For a long time she spent her days cleaning up the streets of Stormwind, trying - in her own way - to make amends for her past. She worked for free; every victim was another opportunity to test her ever increasing skills. Hobbies: Magic, the study of magic, the bastardization of magic. Winning. Bio: Death left her mad. Love left her madder. The archmage Yva Darrows - someone who always said she was "too human to be forsaken, too forsaken to be human" - found herself broken after her failed marriage. Countless deaths and an inopportune kidnapping later, her oldest friends were trying to figure a way to kill that which cannot die. Realizing she'd tested every boundary and had crossed a few too many lines, Yva poured her passions into magic, which kept the naysayers at bay. The arch-magi found the shadow. It was a quick descent from there. Her ice still loves her, but it's debatable whether or not her shadows love her more. She went to Northrend to continue her studies but, as fate would have it, Jakob Balthasar managed to worm his way into her affections and she became distracted. She knows her weakness has always been men, and so she's trying very hard to keep her composure this time around. Failure to do so will end her. Davien did promise, after all. Currently Resides: Stormwind. Her apartment is rented under an alias. Important Relationships: Jakob Balthasar (lover?), Davien Stonemantle (Best Friend), Wueten (Friend), Bricu Bittertongue (Friend and Enemy) Art:
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Post by Aelflaed on Oct 28, 2008 15:05:36 GMT -5
Full Name: Aelflaed Larsdottir – Aely to some and self. Race: Northwoman Homeland: Tiny hamlet west of Stratholme Age: 26ish Height: 6’ Build: Tall, slender, and strong – she’s comfortable for her height, and graceful when she wants to be. Hair: Fiery red, wavy, and waist length – usually worn in a thick braid tucked into the back of her shirt. Said braid is usually reminiscent of an on-fire fuzzy caterpillar. Eyes: Hazel/Green
Philosophy: Aelflaed’s general outlook is to take things as they come, one foot in front of the other, and laughing if possible. She doesn't go looking for trouble, but she's not one to run from it either.
Personality: Aely is a tall, strong, fiery woman with a big heart and a low temper that will, if provoked enough, detonate. She doesn’t get angry easily, but she’s not really fun to be around when she does. She’s also as stubborn as a stuck mule. Quick to wit and laughter, she’s got a very expressive face that usually shows exactly what’s running through her head – the “poker face” is something she occasionally attempts but rarely successfully manages.
Job: Healer, herbalist, and sometimes alchemist. Aelflaed does most of her work lately in the service of the Argent Dawn. She’s competent with alchemy, but far from brilliant at it, and she’s looking to learn how to make teas, since she figures that might supplement the potion income.
Hobbies: Reading, particularly history – or really most anything she can get her hands on. She’s got a fair mezzo voice as well, likes to sing, and is a bit shy about it.
Bio: (a work in progress)
Aely grew up dirt poor in a mining town in the North. She saw her parents make do for her and her brother on practically nothing as a child, so when given the chance to learn to be a Paladin, she went and didn't look back. She left home less than six weeks before Arthas came through and torched the place, and her parents and younger brother were killed – either outright or in the resulting fire.
She didn't find out about it until after the fact, but it fueled a lot of her drive to continue fighting as a paladin (as she wavers between knowing there was nothing she could do and blaming herself for their deaths). She stayed on Lordaeron to help clean out what was left of the undead instead of going on the boats to Northrend, serving as a healer with the rest of what was left of the Paladins
Fortunately, she was young and resilient enough not to go off the deep end and lucky enough not to end up in the Scarlet Crusade.
Since the end of the war, she’s done various things in the service of the Cathedral (mostly out of necessity), as well as taking the time for exploring and learning – two things she really loves to do. Luck and the recommendation of a friend put her in contact with one Belphegor, under whose leadership she spent most of the last year, fighting in small groups across Azeroth and Outland.
Currently Resides: In a finished basement apartment she's renting from the Cross family that runs The Silver Sheild. You can see her one window from the front of the building. The family lives upstairs.
Art: none
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Post by Bellesta on Oct 28, 2008 15:50:51 GMT -5
Full Name: Bellesta Tyrenea Race: Kaldorei Homeland: Born in Ashenvale, wandered, mostly known around the steeps of Hyjal. Age: Younger than she thinks she is. Older than most peg her as. Height: 7'2" Build: Muscular only begins to describe it. Bellesta is built like a monster, broad-shouldered with thick, long legs. She appears like someone who could barrel through a wall with ease. Hair: A mess. Long and white, braided, knotted, woven, and otherwise bound around precious stones, animal teeth, feathers, leaves, you name it. Bellesta sees her hair as a trophy case, showing off the things she's killed, and this considers herself better then. Eyes: White and glowing, like most women of her race. If one looks closely they can see her pupils are slitted. Distinguishing Characteristics: Aside from her mane of hair, Bellesta is covered in scars. Most are concentrated on her shoulders and back, and they remain when she shifts in and out of form. There are simply so many from varied sources, few would assume a singular injury happened. Her nails are pointed and yellowed at the tips, teeth similar. Right ear is mostly gone, ripped off at the very base, leaving ragged edges mostly hidden by hair. Philosophy: The tenants of Omen: The Packs that cannot survive against the tides do not deserve to live. Survival of the pack is by any means necessary, nature has no laws of honor or duty. Strength is in numbers, the pack is above the individual. The fittest rule by whatever means they see fit. Death and life are nature's only unmoving cycle. Undead are a perversion of this cycle and must be destroyed. Flesh is power. Consume the flesh of worthy enemies to honor their passing and strength, and take it as your own. The heart of an enemy is the greatest trophy one can consume. Personality: Bellesta is fiercely protective mother-bear of a woman. She lives with a pack mentality (as mentioned above) and looks down upon those who she feels are weak. She reserves a special hatred for weak women, specifically ones who rely upon men for their standing or self-worth. As such, she tends to disagree with most human nobility and its philosophies. She also tends to be fairly racist towards humans as a whole, finding most short-lived, annoying, and weak. Bellesta is also infertile, and due to her overactive 'mother bear' instinct, takes great sorrow in this. She tends to make exceptions for children, even if she knows she should not. A young orc who's parents she just killed would likely be spared, even knowing the child would grow up to seek her death later on. Job: Bell tends to hunt her own food, fashion her own armor, and tend to her own needs. Odd jobs every now and then for gold, but she rarely does anything 'specific.' Hobbies: Bell is an avid leather skinner, tanner and worker. She enjoys working new leather into her armor from enemies she's slain, using her skills to preserve pieces of enemy flesh for actual practical use. She's a passive and social drinker, but rarely gets drunk. Fiercely religious, much of her free time is spent in quiet meditation, communing with Omen. Biography: Born with her twin sister, Bellesta was told her mother died at birth to let them live. The news never shocked nor saddened her when she was young, she was raised by a very kind and elderly druid in her mother's stead. Enamored with his ability with animals and their forms, Bellesta wanted nothing more than to do what he did. However, age claimed her caretaker before Bellesta had even neared her coming of age. Her sister left with a huntress to begin her own training, Bellesta made her way to Moonglade to seek druids. In Moonglade, Bellesta was rejected for training, having no real ability of her own. Distraught and directionless, she wandered the edges of lake Elune'ara before hearing the whisperings of a spirit. The spirit was named Darmane, and she had once been a druid. She spoke to Bellesta as a mother would, coaxing the girl into hearing her out. Darmane promised to teach Bellesta how to become a true druid, following the teachings of the Claw. Desperate, Bellesta agreed and let the spirit bind to her. Darmane was a cruel mother, her teachings were not for the light hearted. She molded Bellesta as she grew into a feral shapeshifter, having her live in the wild with animals, hunting for her meals, and fighting to survive. Growing up knowing that every day she survived was a victory shaped Bellesta's views of the world and people in it. During her training, Darmane spoke more and more to Bellesta of Omen, her patron, and that she would someday pass her title onto Bellesta, that of Omen's dreamer, his Bloodbeast. Eventually the time came for Darmaine to pass, and give her title on... however she was rattled by the loss of the world tree, and refused to release her chokehold on Bellesta. She insisted Bell simply wasn't ready to lose her guidance. And so, with a violent spirit still attached to her at the core, Bellesta ventured into the world and learned about humans and dwarves and other elves and how to actually be social and that the definition of friend is not 'someone you don't eat.' A great deal happened between then and now, but it's something to be elaborated on later. Currently Residing: Stormwind, Finest Thread, living with Delion and his apprentice. Important Relationships: Pathis, deceased (ex lover), Belathenia (sister), Rederik (brother), Omen (worshiped) Art:Most recent one I've drawn, working on learning how to do extreme muscles: img.photobucket.com/albums/v23/Kaithrixla/Bellmusclescopy.jpg
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rouba
New Member
Posts: 6
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Post by rouba on Nov 12, 2008 18:30:11 GMT -5
Full Name: Rouba Race: Draenei Homeland: Exodar/Telaar Age: 30 Height: 7' Build: Tall and curvy with a big draenei booty Hair: White, braided and rolled into two knots at the base of her neck Eyes: Soft, glowing silver
Philosophy: Money talks.... and can finance happiness.
Personality: Rouba's friendly, helpful, and appears to be profoundly calm in any situation. She's also an obsessive record-keeper, a workaholic, and clings desperately to a dream of finding the perfect man to be the perfect father to her perfect children in their perfect house in a perfect land... you see where this is going. Needless to say, she has not found Perfect Man/Father. She is not likely to find him, either. Still, she's got a dogged persistence about her, and she works very hard to build a nest egg for the day her Prince Shall Come and Sweep Her Off Her Feet for Happily Ever After.
Job: Mercenary/Alchemist. Rouba takes any and all odd jobs she can find. She fills her days with quests and flower-picking and potion-making, busy from the time she rolls out of bed with the sunrise until she crashes there again, late in the evening.
Hobbies: Rouba's hobbies involve searching for Perfect Man/Father, recording all income and expenses in a rather large, disturbingly detailed notebook, and dancing. She's fond of her folk dances and practices quite often, considering it good exercise as well as an honorable, ancient Draenic mating tradition.
Bio: Rouba has trained in Nagrand as well as Kalimdor. Any relatives she had were lost in the Exodar crash (she doesn't talk about them.. I doubt they were close), and her acquaintances have been few since the accident. She's too busy to have real friends, but she's taken on many jobs with the Riders and considers them to be good, hardworking folk. She is currently out of sorts with her former guildmaster.
Currently Resides: In a small clearing in Terokkar forest, to save money on rent.
Art: none yet!
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Post by Tarq on Nov 12, 2008 18:57:24 GMT -5
She's too busy to have real friends, but she's taken on many jobs with the Riders and considers them to be good, hardworking folk. Wow, that's unfortunate.
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