[CHAR] The Fall of Lordaeron [Warcraft RP]

[McHaggis]

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[Vahir]

Taranis of the Bells

"It's Taranis. Just... Taranis."

Age: 42

Race: Human

Physical Description:
A gruff soldier, Taranis bears the marks of decades of fighting. His armor, given to him on the day of his ascent into the ranks of the Silver Hand, is now battered and dented, and spotty with grime its wearer couldn't be bothered to clean. His sword and shield are in better state, thankfully, given their importance to his daily survival. The blade is short and evidently built for practicality rather than aesthetics.

He is a bit short, built stocky rather than tall. Taranis sports a gruff blond beard, though in recent years it has begun to turn white. He smiles often and easily, though it is usually without humor. His wider smiles, revealing the large gap in his front teeth where an orc smashed his face in, are downright intimidating.

Personality:
Taranis is easy-going, apathetic, and occasionally sociopathic; dubious qualities for a Paladin of the Order of the Silver Hand. Once, when he was young, he was the model of a Paladin, virtuous and courageous. But the war against the orcs had cost him in more than just blood, and he left something of his humanity on those desolate battlefields. The young knight was particularly marked by the ravaging of Alterac, and the massacres he participated in there. Faced with such wholesale slaughter and butchery, he coped by caring less and less about the world around him.

In spite of the glory he earned, he remains humble, seeing nothing to be particularly proud of in the act of killing, and always guilty of his secret pleasure in the act. He still strives to the Order's goals, though perhaps straying from their spirit.

Background:
At the tender age of seventeen, the young knight Taranis was admitted into the newly created order, the Knights of the Silver Hand. These paladins wielded the power of the Holy Light to defend the northern kingdoms, as the orcish hordes spilled from the ruins of Azeroth. The Second War had begun.

The model paladin, Taranis made a name for himself on the battlefield, defending the realms of man. His great claim to fame came when a sizable orcish force attempted to sneak into a town and massacre the garrison; discovering them, he fought his way to a nearby guard tower and rang the great bell, alerting the defenders of their peril. It is from this incident that he has derived his epithet, to his great consternation.

He was never the same after the War. So many of his friends had died, or disappeared through the Dark Portal in a doomed expedition to the orcish homeland. Faced with an end to the killing, Taranis found that he could not handle the new peace. His restlessness was looked down on by his holy peers, who saw something vile in his fascination with death. In the decades since the war ended, he has been kept busy on near constant hunts against renegade orcs. Naturally, he has become something of an expert in the killing of greenskins in the time since.

And then everything changed. During one of his rare stays in the capital, the prince, Arthas, returned from an expedition to Northrend and unexpectedly forced the succession. The city became a living hell, where seemingly innocent neighbors turned on their former friends with mad fanaticism, butchering them in the name of their dark god, and the dead rose to prey on the living. Few survived, and Taranis only barely so. He hewed his way out of the massacre, and rode hard in no particular direction, driven by primal fear. He stopped in the first settlement he came across, near Silverpine, to warn them of the danger.

That village was Brittlepond.

[Viciousmarrow]

Norwyn Blackwood

N O R W Y N B L A C K W O O D

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Age:

23

Race:

Human

Physical Description:

Standing at 5'7", Norwyn's height does nothing to impress. Neither does his lanky frame which, while well developed for climbing and sneaking, is hardly anything to admire. Nonetheless, his charming facial features, cerulean eyes, and stylishly groomed hair make up for his lack of height and bulk.

Generally, Norwyn will dawn blackened leather armor, complete with a sleek hood, to vanish in the shadows if the need arises. However, his wardrobe will change depending on the scenario. Notably, the man appears to have a permanent albeit small smile on his face at all times. This smile often grows in the face of danger, as if risking his life brings him absolute joy. When he walks, Norwyn emanates an aura of confidence, but not one that radiates arrogance.

Personality:

Lecherous is the first word that most would use to describe Norwyn. His hungry, azure eyes are always on the feminine form, licking his lips at the first sign of curves. He will woo and lavish the woman of his fancy with gifts until they collapse into his arms. The worst part, however, is that he is incredibly persistent and he does not take no for an answer. Should he be dejected, assaulted, or imprisoned, Norwyn will continue to hound his prey, no matter the circumstances.

Outside of his lust for vixens, Norwyn is something of a thrill seeker. Some might even call him suicidal. Sneaking into and out of heavily guarded structures, challenging brutish ogres to one-on-one duels, and stirring up an irate mob are all examples of what he would consider "fun". Despite the havoc he tends to wreak, he remains a mostly modest man who enjoys a good laugh, at least until a woman appears in the picture.

As one would expect of someone in his roguish profession, Norwyn is a rather crafty person. He is tactful and remains aware of his surroundings, should he need to make a quick escape. Moreover, the man is quite sociable and can strike up a conversation with near about anyone, considering there isn't any type of person he doesn't like.

Background:

As long as sailors have existed, Norwyn's family have been a particularly nautical bunch. His father was a sailor, his father's father was a sailor, and so on and so forth. Every generation had their sea dog, and a few managed to have relatively high positions within Kul Tiras' navy. His father happened to be one of them: Admiral Burgess Blackwood. Another one of his famous descendants was Captain Agustin Blackwood, one of the original Stalwart members that rose up against the Amani.

Born an only child with great expectations to become a great sailor like his descendants, Norwyn showed great promise at an early age, but he had a penchant for making trouble. He was always sneaking around and going places he shouldn't go, much to his parents' dismay. By the time he was 11, the City Guard knew he quite well.

And the older he got, the worse his behavior became. Norwyn became involved with a small gang of wannabe pirates in his teenage years, who put a long sword in his hand and taught him the basics of subterfuge. While he had no need for booty, it was something he did simply for fun. He quickly learned he was a natural at being a criminal, the complete opposite of what his family wanted. Within a few short years, his petty band of pirates had dispersed after a raid went wrong and most of the crew was incarcerated for a year.

While Norywn was one of the few that managed to escape imprisonment, his love of women would be his undoing. Admiral Blackwood was rumored to be in a favorable position to become Lord Admiral Daelin's right hand man. Unfortunately, Norwyn caused a bit of a commotion when he was discovered bedding a close cousin to the Proudmoores, which devastated his family's reputation. Suddenly they were all known as promiscuous miscreants, a family that thrived off eroticism and perversion. It didn't take long for the Lord Admiral to turn his favor to someone else after the rumors began to fly. Having had enough of his son's mischief, Burgess disowned Norwyn and shipped him off to live in the tiny town of Brittlepond with his uncle.

Uncle Norwell welcomed his nephew into his home with open arms, slightly distraught about Norwyn's debauchery, but nevertheless forgiving. Unlike his younger brother, Norwell was not motivated by prestige or standing. Rather he was a simple man who wanted nothing more than the happiness of all, although Norwyn always thought that he seemed a bit secretive. Being something of a scoundrel, Norwell saw his nephew's potential and taught him everything he knew about the roguish arts.

In the present day, Norwyn has lost his uncle in the Capital City's collapse. On the discovery of his uncle's will, he has learned of the Stalwart and that Norwell's place among them has now passed to him.

[POOHEAD189]

Nathoric of the Kirin Tor

Name: Nathoric Magnalorn

Age: 22

Race: Human

Physical Description: Average in height and lean of build, Nathoric cuts a classic image of a handsome youth. He has dark hair tied in the back, with a youthful face and a fine chin. His eyes are midnight blue and sharp. He wears the robes of his order, violet and dark blue cloth interwoven together. He's donned leather pauldrons and bracers during this time of upheaval.

Personality: Nathoric's an intelligent, thoughtful, and headstrong young mage. Initially shy when brought before the Kirin Tor, he quickly showed his intellect and aptitude for magic, fueling his confidence and giving credence to his abilities. He's very observant and scientific in his way of thinking, preferring to watch first than leap in, but he won't hesitate to be outspoken when the situation calls for it. He's known for his calm demeanor, but has found himself lacking in that aspect ever since the Scourge has ravaged Lordaeron around him. He has a dry wit and matter of fact way of explaining phenomena.

Background: Born to a small azeroth noble family living close to Khaz Modan, his father's father's father had always had ties to the Stoutarm Dwarven family when they once fought off a clan of trolls together, hence Nathaoric's surname, meaning "Protector of the Land." He was discovered to have the magical gift at age 13 and sent to Dalaran, quickly becoming a promising pupil within the Kirin Tor. His master was Krasus for a short time, and then the hero Rhonin, who encouraged Nathoric's independent state of mind. By age 19, he was allowed to have his own area of study, and age 21 he was sent to Lordaeron to help investigate the new plague spreading across the continent. He'd fought a few straggling Orcs, getting him used to combat before all hell broke loose. He found himself in the wilderness just as the capital city collapsed in chaos. He fought his way through one demon ravaged town, and suddenly found himself within Brittlepool, where he feels the fates have guided him.

[Jotunn Draugr]

Stonehelm

Name: Sir Tilson Stonehelm of Strahnbrad

Age: 36

Race: Human

Physical Description:
A stout man, standing roughy 5'9", but heavily built, with large, muscular arms, legs, and shoulders. When clad in armour, he gives off the appearance of being almost as wide as he is tall. He keeps his rusty beard well trimmed, and is often seen clad in a simple brown tunic, with the sleeves removed ("bait for tavern maidens", he claims). When in battle, he is clad head-to-toe in traditional Lordaeron plate-armour. His personal set of armour stands out, however, due to the numerous chips, scratches, and discolourations in it.

Personality:
A grumbling, weathered individual, who carries himself as though he were a much older man. He drinks heavily at every opportunity, and is slow to accept a task of any description. He also walks with a mild limp, although not enough of one to seriously impede him. Nonetheless, his skill on the battlefield is notable, and during battle he handles himself like a proper knight of the realm. When responsibility is cast upon him, he upholds himself to a high standard of professionalism. When his duties are fulfilled, he descends into a slump of depression. Simply put, Tilson is a man who's lost the will to live, and only finds fulfillment when the goal is immediately before him.

Background:
Tilson was once one of the youngest, and most promising knights of the order, a personal favourite of King Terenas himself. Having proven himself as an exceptional soldier for the kingdom, the king granted him the opportunity to choose his own station. To look after his family, Sir Stonehelm asked to be put in charge of the town-guard of Strahnbrad, his home town. Merely two years into this position, the town was invaded by the Blackrock Clan of orcs, who overwhelmed Stonehelm's forces through numbers alone. As the village burned, Stonehelm sent out two of his men out, to request aid from the crown. In response, the Silver Hand was sent. By the time they arrived, the town was in ruins, and villagers, including Stonehelm's own family, were being sacrificed in demonic rituals. Still, they set about purging the city of the monstrous orcs that had laid waste to it. When the battle was over, Stonehelm was found gravely wounded, slumped against what remained of his own house. The Knights of the Silver Hand were able to heal his injuries, and Tilson pledged himself to their service. There was nothing left for him in Strahnbrad anyway.
A slight silver lining, Tilson found that he was able to bury his sadness with wonder, as he now served under the legendary Uther the Lightbringer, and even the crown prince himself. Sadly, even this was too good to be true. After a bloody, draining campaign against a new incursion of undead monstrosities, Tilson's will to live finally broke in the town of Andorhal, where he saw innocent people be twisted into horrific undead creatures, just as they stood. Sinking further and further into sadness, Stonehelm marched with the order to the city of Stratholme. When the crown prince gave the order to massacre the entire city, and even Lord Uther turned away, a great many soldiers defected. Among them, was young Tilson, who slowly wandered his way southwestward, spending a night at every tavern along the way. As he wandered, be pawned off his horse, his shield, and his tabard. Eventually, when he had walked far enough, that the stench of death left his nostrils, and the horrors of war began to fade from his mind, he found himself in the small, untouched village of Brittlepond. For the first time, in quite a long time, he was at peace again. Using what money he had remaining, he purchased a room at the Brittlepond tavern, and filled the missing role of being the town-drunk.
Then came the news, that the crown prince had returned only to kill his own father, and the capital city had fallen into chaos. As the madness in the young prince's eyes flashed through Tilson's memory, he simply slumped over, and drunkenly mumbled "Ie knew itt", into his mug of beer.

[RisenDead]

Tavian

Name: Tavain
Race: Human
Age: 21

Description: Tavian is an attractive blonde haired, blue eyed, farm girl. When she joined the 33rd Regiment as a Footman she brought a good natured laugh, friendly smile, and the muscles of a woman who had worked everyday outside. Since that time she has learned sword combat, and shows much promise, though she has never seen battle. She bears two scars, one on her right hip where a horse kicked her, and a second on her left bicep from a bear that she fought, some say with her bare hands.

Personality: Friendly, chatty, outgoing, and throughly delighted to be doing something other that farming. Tavian is a pleasant young woman with no real ambition at the moment other than to get as far away from the farm as possible. She has a quick laugh and wants nothing more than to test her mettle in battle, her uncle was a Footman in the Legion after all, and he had fought the Horde many years before and Tavian has always looked up to him in awe. Her mother wanted her to go for a Priest but she wanted to badly to fight.

The local Priest, on her mothers wishes, did speak with her and noted that Tavian showed some ability towards magic but clearly had little desire to do good with it. Her mother dropped the subject. She still finds time for a beer with the lads, cards, and avoiding their drunken advances, but only if they unwanted. She is what one might call a "good person".

Background: Born in the great Human City of Kul'Tiras, her family has farmed the lands around it for a generation. Her father, a simple man, her mother determined to do well by her children, had hoped to have her train as a priest. She has thirteen female siblings, all of whom live in Kul'Tiras still, she is the second eldest. When she was sixteen she told her mother she wanted to go for a soldier and despite her protests, and a visit to a local Priest, she insisted on joining the army. Out of desperation her mother pleaded with the Garrison Commander, who relented to the old womans wishes, and told Tavian she would not be accepted. Undaunted, and enraged with her mother, she sailed for Lordaeron. Once in the great city she enlisted in the 33rd Regiment of Foot and was assigned Brittlepond immediately following the completion of her training.