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Lore World's End Tavern: Role-play and Fan Fiction
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Bloodstorm

(True name unkown for now)

Age 100,

Born 80 years before the first war, Bloodstorm was an Orc warrior of renown due to his skills, ferocity, tenacity, fortitude (higher than normal stamina points) and his contiued fighting well into old age on the front lines. When Bloodstorm was a young Orc he earned the gratitude of an Ogre mage who gifted him a simple necklace with a crystal attached to it. This item doubled his fortitude and greatly slowed his aging.

Bloodstorm was one of such Orcs who didn’t to drink the blood of Mannoroth.
On the eve of the first war he was betrayed and ambushed (he survived several ambushes during his lifetime) which lead to his death. A fair number of the ambushers were killed by him. Bloodstorm lived and died by the blade. A desirable death because he not only avenged himself by slaying his attackers but killed his betrayer.

Yet at the moment of his death, a face and a name burned into his mind. Gul’dan.

On becoming a Death Knight.

25 years later afer his death his grave remained intact despite the transformation of Draenor into Outland. His grave was dug up and his body (preserved thanks to his crysral necklace) transported to Azeroth.

Working on the rest of his story. I’m sure there are lore holes.

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My preference for belves led me to headcanon they are all sisters or otherwise related to each other. I think up plotlines for the whole troop when I’m laying down getting ready to go to bed. Like the drama of the Windrunner sisters but dealing with the trials of life in a quasi-evil manner. So basically right on brand :laughing:

The middle sister is a warlock because magic addiction, the baby trained as a priest but is now neck-deep in the void. The eldest sister was a paladin, but alas, was a casualty to the Wrath Gate. She got better, though (forcefully ripped back through the veil and raised as a dk) :horse_racing: :person_fencing: :cold_face: :snowflake:

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I don’t really RP, because I can’t take myself seriously and have trouble sticking to one story, but here you go.

Long ago on a tract of Gilneas since sunk beneath the waves, a little known and reclusive estate was. All but the fate of the House is lost somewhere in time, the manor, barracks, stable, and storehouses burned to their foundations and the earth, tainted deep by the family’s devilry, rendered forever barren. Bare of detail, but all true, for Maurdeth had been there.

Scant harvests and sickly soil fed rumors among villagers, and loathing for the already loathed House. Winter leered nigh, and, desperate, the villagers sought the aid of the Lord, Demian, whose House and land it was. The messenger sent did not return, nor the one thereafter. The third did, beaten and frenzied, clothes in tatters, raving of blasphemous rituals, human sacrifice, and a screaming blade. Fear and fury spread, the latter waxing just enough that the courageous among the peasantry formed the rest into a small crusade and marched upon the estate. Held fast to their simple faith, grinding through delirious guardsmen and the other fell things which had there taken residence, they razed the whole and made sure it burned.

Maurdeth had been inside, but in no part that they had trod. Below, in the lightless dungeon, was she, carving through tortured beasts of flesh and other less describable things. There had Demian gone, toward a self-made escape into the wild, and to its barred gate had she pursued him. Demian’s sword howled as he tore it from its scabbard, snarled as it sparked against Maurdeth’s own and lit their smoky arena. Their duel was long and costly; Maurdeth had paid an eye and gash across her face, Demian the fingers of his favored right hand, an ear and corner of his mouth. But age, wit and reach were in Maurdeth’s favor, and at length she had perforated his lungs, left him choking to death on his back.

His black blade clattered to the floor, the eyes of its raven crossguard burning a hungry red, staring at Maurdeth. Bitten by its edge she knew her days were numbered, that in time it would devour her soul and leave her a depleted husk. So taking up what had been her goal from the start, and had become her sole hope, Maurdeth sated it upon her flagging father instead ere she fled into the wilderness.

In the decades since she has served as many things; soldier, bounty hunter, criminal liaison, entertainer. She toiled in deep mines far from any lordly regulation, worked aboard a Gnomish steam vessel where her interest in engineering was born, pursued esoteric arcana in deep and lonely places, ever and always fighting to stay the fate sheathed at her hip and shadow over her days cast.

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45

This one is very much a work in progress currently because I really haven’t played Alliance at all and know little nelf lore outside of WC3/TFT.

Since its a classic character I have decided to keep it bound to lore of the era (no retcons, “explanations”, developments, etc, that came to light after Wrath are incorporated). No Sargeras sword in Silithus. No “tYr-aAhhn-dUh!”. No Night Warrior, etc.

Right now the only thing I really have set in stone, so to speak, is that she’s trying to cope with the loss of immortality. More specifically, that she’s trying to wrap her head around the concept of being mortal and believes the best way to do that is through exploration and interaction with other, non-elven, people (which itself is a struggle due to the sheer amount of time her people have been insular).

In hindsight I suppose that all of my characters can be seen as means of exploring/dealing with various topics/subjects. My paladin explores the role of faith and how it can be used as a force multiplier to either amplify or nullify other ideals. My horde priest explores the duality of people (the classic ‘vs self’ conflict, as opposed to ‘vs others’ or ‘vs nature’) and the grief that follows after losing a loved one. My warlock explores ambition & morality, how they influence one another. This character, I think, will likely end up exploring the concept of personal image, how it changes as we age, and the concept/importance of legacy-- that how we see ourselves now is different from 10 years ago, will be different than 10 years from now, and what it means to leave a mark on the world when you know your time left is limited.

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That was… surprisingly well written!

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I haven’t RP’d in a long time. Probably not since WOD.

The main backstory I’ve been working on is for a character that I can’t make yet, but hopefully can in the future - a Nightborne Shaman.

The idea is that, despite being a Nightborne, he struggled to understand the intricacies of the Arcane. He tried his best at his studies, but he just never quite could match up to the others. The whole time, however, he was plagued by whispers. Just barely audible to him and speaking a language he didn’t understand. Centuries pass with these strange whispers calling to him until finally the dome falls and the events of Legion take place. When the dust settles and the Nightborne are part of the Horde, the whispers are stronger now. Still only a whisper, but more clearly. Beckoning him somewhere.

He’s drawn to Orgrimmar where he meets an old Troll spiritualist (my Troll Priest) that informs him the whispers are the spirits calling to him. The spirits had whispered to the Troll, as well, telling him that a new student would be coming and to guide them. During the events of BFA and Shadowlands, the Nightborne stays in Orgrimmar and trains under the old Troll to wield the power of the elements. By the time the events of Dragonflight begin, both the Troll and Nightborne are called to Zandalar by the Loa to give the Nightborne his final trials.

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As always, everyone’s characters are awesome and I love them. Wish I could RP with every one of y’all. I’ve got a new one to add, now that Tauren can be warlocks:

Andersol Brighthand has no idea what his original name was, nor the precise location he was born. As an infant calf in the Barrens, he was captured by unethical goblin merchants and sold halfway around the world, given to a mage in Dalaran who was secretly practicing dark rituals and needed the blood of a species like a Tauren for his experiments. The baby bull was rescued by Kirin Tor lawkeepers shortly after he arrived, and with no idea what to do with him, one of the mages simply simply took him in and raised him as his own.

His father was Galdorian Brighthand, a powerful Quel’dorei mage who believed it was the duty of all mages to defend Azeroth, as the Guardian did in Tirisfal. He raised the young bull as his son and taught him magic both light and dark, that he might be able to fight any enemy in the name of preserving his world. This philosophy proved to be prescient when Dalaran went to Northrend to face the Scourge. Using their dark powers, the old High Elf and his young ward were able to face the undead with greater strength than many of their colleagues.

Andersol has been on the front lines ever since, defending Azeroth from the shadows, using any and all power available to preserve his world. He’s become a hardened fighter, grimly devoted to protecting Azeroth by any means necessary, using the most powerful weapons he can find, both martial and magical. His ability to engage with life outside the battlefield is a bit stunted, but he considers awkward shyness in non-combat situations a small price to pay for being able to save the world.

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What a fun thread! :smiley_cat: :smile_cat: Here’s Scalesa… a half-elven mage!

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When asked about her past, SCALESA tells you that she was born “around Hearthglen” to an elven and human parent, but raised by a woman who went by the name of “Cat”. The circumstances surrounding this change of hands were bleak, but Cat’s heroism and compassion matter more to this mage than her parent’s scorn towards a newborn child. Around the time she came into maturity, she relocated to Dalaran when a friend of offered to take her under his wing as an apprentice.

She took to a life of adventure and bounty hunting after the Second War, and aided in the defense of Dalaran when the Scourge invaded several years later. She then speaks of a struggle with dark thoughts after her flight from that magical place, and of finding herself at a crossroads. The path that she took saw her travelling to Kalimdor with an exploratory expedition. It was there that she found a sense of purpose, one that has since carried her to Northrend, back to Hearthglen, to the Broken Isles, to the ruins of Capital City, and most recently to the Dragon Isles.

“My crossroads was a complicated one. One path saw me going to Kalimdor to uncertainty and opportunity, another to fight in what I deemed a hopeless battle in Lordaeron, another to Stormwind… and the last one would see me remaining at the bottom of a tankard in Southshore. I’m glad I took the path I did. What could have come of these others? I’ll never know, and even if you were to present me with full knowledge of what could have been and a chance to go back and live those lives, I’d reject your offer. I’m happy with the hand I’ve got.”

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I created her back in 2007, as a sort of “take that” to the role-playing community. To keep things short, I was insufferable. I decided I’d make a character who was of a “controversial” race, role-play her in-line with the then-canonical RPG lore, and add the grit and pulp of older science fiction and fantasy protagonists. I felt like that would allow me to role-play, and to justify any nastiness on my part by saying, “Well, I’m just role-playing my character…”. It wasn’t long before I realized that maybe I was being unpleasant and difficult!
Scalesa is still cynical and mostly practical-minded, and she still has some very jarring approaches to her problem-solving and tends to be a loner… but she also has a sense of duty and isn’t averse to interacting with others. If you were to ask her about the former, she would likely say, “Maybe I shouldn’t help these people. A lot of them were cruel to me when I was a child, and after decades of living among them I still face the occasional jeer or taunt. But, there are also people who are kind to me, and when I put myself out there I do it for them.”.

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50

So this dingbat here is Hespir, a young pyromancer born and raised in Quel’thalas.

He’s been around in one form or another since Wrath, and his story is tied to a lot of the Sin’dorei/Quel’dorei story not shown in game. He was drafted to serve in the defense of Quel’thalas during the Scourge’s invasion, and that snowballed into him serving under Kael’thas in the Outlands.

As a child he was big into racing dragonhawks with his older brother, so naturally he combined his proclivity for pyromancy with flying and became a mounted spellcaster for the Sunfury forces, and later the Dawnblade on Quel’danas as well. He wasn’t ever particularly big on global politics, but definitely bought into the propoganda spread during Kael’thas’ reign.

He’s known for wearing a red mask which got developed through a few short stories:

Background on the mask: during the final hours of the Battle of the Sunwell Plateau, it’s my headcanon (and Hespir’s story) that the Legion/Dawnblade warlocks there were desperate to further widen the portal to bring Kil’jaeden in, and as a result they began to sacrifice/soul drain younger/less powerful elves as a source of fuel. Hespir was one of the people rounded up and he watched his compatriots wither and die as they were drained of their life energy.

During this process the skin turns to ash and dust, tinged with fel energy, and Hespir, being in such close proximity, began to breathe it in and it traumatized him to an unreal extent. He was just barely saved from being sacrificed by the breakthrough of more Shattered Sun forces, and was taken as a prisoner of war. He was thought to be out of his mind given his response to what he had endured, and so they tossed him into a cell to be examined and treated.

He’s forever paranoid of being further influenced by fel energies, especially when it comes to breathing, and so he wears a mask to prevent that (even if it is mostly just in his head).

When the Dawnblade were defeated at the Sunwell he was captured and imprisoned, but later released on certain conditions and after serious deprogramming.

He spent much of his time after that avoiding fighting. He went back to race in Quel’thalas, studied more magic, and eventually joined up with the expedition to go to Draenor (given his history there he felt he could be of use, and he hated Hellscream so that was a factor).

He’d always been distant from the faction politics, but what he’d seen of the Horde beyond Quel’thalas heavily weighed on him, and he eventually crossed paths with his mentor, a Quel’dorei sorcerer, and was convinced to defect just after Teldrassil. He hasn’t looked back since, though he does struggle with the language barrier; he speaks Thalassian, and only a tiny, tiny little bit of common.

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51

This here is a new character i created on a whim and suddenly can’t enjoy playing any other character. Oliver Barthcellos is a gilnean worgen who lived as a civillian in Darnassus since the fall of Gilneas. He’s more comfortable in human form and only turns in stressful situations.
After the War of Thorns, he was displaced and needed to earn some coin, so he slapped a backpack over his shoulder, packed a gun and enlisted in the Explorers League, later joining the Dragonscale Expedition. He finds trasure, seeks knowledge about Azeroth and overall is an adrenaline junkie. Particularly he enjoys learning more about the first human tribes and their Vrykul predecessors, as well as titan stuff.

As a human he can’t see very well, so he wears glasses that he keeps in worgen form, even if his eyesight improves and he needs to either take the glasses off or look over them to aim and shoot. He misses Gilneas dearly, and wishes the Greymanes take the lands back. And that they shelter the Kaldorei if this ever happens and they still are in need of a home.

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So, doesn’t look like I’ve participated in this thread with any of my characters. Though I have dragged poor Echey’Neahok’s story through several threads in the past.

Echey’Neahok is an albino Tauren born in the Barrens prior to the founding of Thunder Bluff. Born with pure white fur and pale pink eyes. According to Tauren legend his birth signaled an ill omen that something terrible was on the horizon. As a result, Echey’Neahok did not have the kindest upbringing. Shunned or harassed by both calf and adult alike for the greater majority of his childhood. Echey’Neahok found solace in the animals of the field however.

While many Tauren “gifted” with white fur become Spiritwalkers, Seers, and alike; Echey’Neahok took a more nature driven path. Training to be a Hunter for the tribe, he spent more time away from camp tracking one beast (Kodos) or another to provide for the very people who have been less than pleased with his birth. Something he became quite skilled at and keeping him away from judgmental gazes of the others was a bonus in his book.

Things started looking up for the Albino Tauren of the Bloodhoof tribe as he grew older and prepared for the Tauren Rites all members of the tribe have to preform to be considered adults. While most of his peers wanted little to nothing to do with him, there was one such heifer who’d taken a liking to him, and him her. The two suddenly became inseparable. When Echey’neahok wasn’t out hunting for the tribe, the two were talking about their future. When the time came and Echey’Neahok passed his rites he asked her to become his lifemate.

After the ceremony the two settled down in a small hut just shy of Bloodhoof village. Things were looking up. Echey’Neahok continued to go on Tribal hunts, and his lifemate became a brave for Thunder Bluff. She would often times be called away to protect the land and Echey’Neahok waited excitedly for her to come home. That was when a special summons came down. Something called the Undead Scourge was invading. Echey’Neahok begged her not to go, but she had a duty to the tribe just as he did.

So it was, the Albino Tauren was left alone once again. He tended to his own duties like a good little Tauren with him taking extensive trips to Thunder Bluff in hopes of hearing word about the War. Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned to months as he was given the runaround constantly. Never giving him any news about his lifemate or her unit. That was until one fateful day when the silence was broken…

Echey’Neahok received a letter from Thunder Bluff requesting his presents. This felt strange to him, but with great haste he packed his travel gear and caught a caravan to the Tauren Capital for what would be one of the last times before his life changed forever. Days of anticipation turned to sorrow once he arrived…

Echey’Neahok rode the lift to the first bluff and saw many Braves and others who’d finally returned from Northrend. Many were wounded and those who weren’t were tending to those that were. He asked around but nobody seemed to know anything about his lifemate. That was until one of the Bluffwatchers approached him. He was carrying a familiar looking weapon wrapped in a Tauren tabard.

“It was the only thing recovered.” He was told. The last anyone saw of her she’d charged into a pack of undead ghouls. Managed to save several members of her squad before being overtaken. Echey’Neahok stood there in silence for several moments before angrily taking the weapon, thanking him and leaving Thunder Bluff.

The trip back to Bloodhoof Village was a long one as the Albino Tauren stewed in his anger and grief. He told her something felt off and she shouldn’t go, but duty demanded it. Weeks followed into months had gone by since that day atop Thunder Bluff and Echey’Neahok’s mood hadn’t improved in the slightest. Every time he looked atop the mantle where his bow and her axe now rested his anger pooled to the surface. Finally, a decision had to be made…

Echey’Neahok had heard rumors of the savagery of their Orc allies. They fought with a fury he’d need for what he had to do. Though he’d never witnessed it himself, the Tauren hoped he could find such an orc and train under them. Grabbing his bow and his beloved’s axe from the mantle the choice was made. Echey’Neahok renounced his Tauren heritage and cursed the Earth Mother as he broke camp for the Horde Capital.

Echey’Neahok didn’t know how he would accomplish it but somehow he would learn this savage fighting style and find his way to Northrend even if it meant he’d have to swim the distance from the very tip of Kalimdor. Years had past as the Tauren settled in Orgrimmar learning everything he can from the Orcs there and reluctantly accepting the Forsaken who’d joined the Horde.

Soon enough, though not soon enough for Echey’Neahok an answer presented itself. It seems something was developing in Northrend and an expedition back to the frozen North was being put together. Apparently they intended to put an end to this Litch King once and for all. Echey’Neahok took the opportunity to sign up and soon he set hoof on Northrend.

Now that he was finally here, Echey’Neahok pledged to find his lost Lifemate; no matter what condition she was in. If she was alive, he would take her home. If she wasn’t he would give her last rites so her soul could find piece. All the while he was sharpening her axe as he had one final goal. If he could not find her on his own, Echey’Neahok was going to raid Ice Crown and make Arthas tell him. Then he would bury her axe in his chest as the undead light faded from his eyes.

The Northrend Campagne went as well as could be expected. Echey’Neahok had searched every inch of the continent but found no sign of her. By the time Echey’Neahok had made it to the Citadel he was too late. Some human with a fabled sword had slain Arthas. The Litch King had fallen and so did the Tauren’s chance of ever finding his lifemate…

Echey’Neahok’s story had ended there as he wondered aimlessly within the shores of Northrend. Haunted by Nightmares of the Litch King laughing at him, taunting him about his failure to get his revenge. That was, until the Legion…

At first Echey’Neahok didn’t care what became of Azeroth. If they wanted it they could have it. He wasn’t going to raise his axe to protect the world that took his from him seemingly a lifetime ago. That was until he heard a rumor… The Legion had been taking hostages for experiments. Apparently they had been doing this for years to learn their weaknesses and how to conquer them. With a renewed vigor Echey’Neahok sharpened his axe and strung his bow. quivered his arrows and set his vengeful eyes on the Legion.

Echey’Neahok traveled to The Broken Isles where a good bulk of the fighting seemed to be taking place. He even joined up with other hunters at a lodge high in the mountains. His time however bore little fruit as once more he’d come up empty handed. Even traveling to the homeworld of the Legion was an apparent dead end.

With the apparent defeat of the Legion, Echey’Neahok returned to Orgrimmar where he was surprised that their Warchief left little time before she aimed to strike against the Alliance. Both sides were weakened from the Legion invasion and had suffered countless losses as a result. This was apparent suicide to start another war.

Echey’Neahok had sworn an oath and reluctantly join in the pointless war. Traveling to Zandalar to establish a foothold with the Trolls there. It was strange, once enemies were now to become allies in this war. Echey’Neahok did what was required of him, though his heart was not in it… Once an opportunity presented itself, Echey’Neahok took it and betrayed the War Chief. Standing with both Alliance and Horde outside the capital as he watched General Saurfang and Sylvanas duel and the later flee after killing the Orc.

Things returned to relative peace for but a fraction of time before once more Northrend became the center of everyone’s gossip. Apparently several Leaders in the Horde had gone missing and something had happened in the sky over Ice Crown…

I don’t have anything written just yet for Dragonflight and hadn’t played much of Shadowlands, so until I do this is where the story of Echey’Neahok ends… Thank you for reading…

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53

Shanhai Cloudstrider was originally a Monk trainee, but he kinda, well, sucked at it… Naturally, this led to no small amount of teasing and taunting from his colleagues. Whenever this got to be too much, he’d sneak out to the Shrine of Inner Light to hang out with Huo, the Fire Spirit. On one such excursion, however, Master Shang Xi caught him! But rather than repremand the young Pandaren, he recognized his strong connection to the elements. Thus, he was trained as a Shaman instead. A precision, near-miss Lightning Bolt was enough to silence any detractors after that.

There’s also my Worgen Death Knight, Yorick Roughside, or “Yoruff” as he’s also known. He was a jovial(if somewhat macabre) gravedigger in life, but signed up for the Argent Dawn’s militia when he first got the chance. He did well in his first battle, but it would also, sadly, be his last… Or at least it would be, had the Lich King not noticed his strong affinity with the dead. Despite his rather short track record, he became a powerful Unholy Death Knight, while still maintaining his sense of humor and relative soft-heartedness(at least as far as Death Knights go, anyway). He mostly makes jokes as a coping mechanism, but even he’s scared of what he can do, sometimes… Still, if you need someone who can put the “fun” in “funeral”, he’s your guy.

(Also, yes, he’s basically a double-decker Hamlet reference- to the Gravedigger AND Yorick the Jester)

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Shameless story plug:
The Life before Deathlord Bloodrott (backstory for my beloved Blood DK) - Lore / World’s End Tavern: Role-play and Fan Fiction - World of Warcraft Forums (blizzard.com)

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Feldonte was born on Argus shortly before the temptation of Sargeras reached the ears of Kil’jaeden and Archimonde. After a few years of hiding from Demons, her and her big sister were discovered and forced to convert or die. Her big sister chose death and begged her to join; but she was too scared because of her youth to make such a choice. So she was taken to be corrupted and trained to be part of the Burning Legion.

For countless millennia, she had slaughtered innocence while secretly finding her actions contemptible but unable to do anything about it, because like all Man’ari, she was being constantly observed to make sure she didn’t even think about rebelling.

But once news of Kil’jaeden’s death and Sargeras’ imprisonment reached her ears, she immediately abandoned her post on and secretly began praying to the Light in search for guidance. Unsurprisingly, her prayers were ignored and she felt so lost.

After a few years of ignored prayers, she heard that Velen was open to reconciliation with the Eredar that once sided with The Burning Legion. So she approached Velen, completely unarmed and after explaining herself, she asked what she must do to rejoin the Light.

She was told that her goal was not an easy one, but if she was serious about her choice, she should seek redemption instead of just asking the light for forgiveness with doing nothing to warrant such absolution. She was sent on a path through a pocket of time through dark days of Azeroth, Outland and an alternate Draenor to fight against forces which would resemble others of her clan who didn’t or wouldn’t share her ideals of reconciliation with the light.

It, indeed, was a difficult path; having to prove to “ghosts of the past” that she was worthy of being an ally. That she was worthy of wielding the light when she once abandoned it in the past. And through sheer determination, she became a champion of the Light; but deep down she knew that she couldn’t be completely forgiven for her past deeds, but she could at least fight so none would have to bear similar sins as she has.

This feeble attempt at role play is the best I could come up with without Blizzard implementing Fel Green Paladin effects for a “Feladin” character. Sorry if it makes your cringe.

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“I be a healer. Ya know what that means? I go face to face with death, same as any warrior. Only I don’t get to be feeling the enemy’s bones break. And I don’t get the peace of knowing the enemy be gone forever when the light goes outta the eyes. Healing be a job with no end. Time and fate and… and pure stupidity always gonna fight against me.

“I not gonna waste time on sending more to the edge o’ death when my calling be pulling them back. But I not gonna waste time saving the ones who never gonna save themselves.”

Lu’teyja is the daughter of a witch doctor who perished in Daelin Proudmoore’s attacks on Durotar. She was raised on tales of heroics, and to adore the Horde that had saved the rest of her family’s life.

While still too young to enlist, Lu’teyja snuck off on a boat to Northrend seeking glory – and was quickly faced with the reality of that brutal land. Starved, freezing, terrified, she wandered the wastes of Zul’drak and was very nearly slain. It was only through the aid of a Tauren plagueshifter that she survived, which inspired her to learn the arts of druidism. When this mentor perished to the Scourge, she guided Lu’teyja to a circle that would help her in her journey.

Lu’teyja took to her calling like a ship to the sea. When Deathwing shattered the world, she helped the devastated land regrow. When the mists parted over Pandaria, she wandered and learned (and drank far too much). When rebellion rose against Garrosh Hellscream, she healed Alliance and Horde alike in the siege. Then the Legion came, the Warchief fell, and she strived to avenge him by battling the fel forces alongside her fellow druids. The greatest threat to Azeroth came and went.

And yet, the drums of war continued to beat.

Ashenvale.

Darkshore.

Teldrassil.

On the other side were people Lu’teyja had fought beside – allies, if not friends. She could not stand by and watch them burn. And yet, burn they did.

And with them burned the love she had for the Horde. For any leader, really. They had all failed.

She had failed.

…

So yeah, that’s how Zen’fon came to be. What happened after that? Well, I quit the game for five years. When I came back, I thought it would be fun to work that absence into my toon’s story. I had her disappear, defect from the Horde, and slowly radicalize herself in the wilderness.

As of Dragonflight, she is trying to start an anarchist movement that will bring down the leadership of both factions and usher in a new era of glorious chaos which will hopefully settle into natural peace. Since she was missing for years, however, and since the factions are at an armistice, it’s been hard to find recruits. Right now, her movement is… more of a book club.

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Nemoxia here is my mystic, not specializing in any particular dragonflight’s powers, but rather the connections between them. She dedicates herself to understanding the mysteries of the world.

Daiyu is my Pandaren monk. A laid-back traveller who tries to help others wherever she goes.

Lokhgra is my Orc warlock. She’s a pyromaniac. She’s generally quiet, clever and scheming most of the time, but when things heat up she revels loudly in the intensity.

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Tau Titanwolf here doesn’t really have an IC story. He was my very first Tauren I created back in year 3. I dusted him off recently after talking about him to someone, somewhere. Don’t remember all the details but gave him an updated look. So here he is…

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Although I’ve never RP’d my characters, in my personal head cannon, all my characters are members of a special unit known as the Horde of Brothers / Sisters of Battle.

Basically a representative of each race (and class) was given to join this group to strengthen race/faction relations with one another.

Any character I had that was deleted “died.”

The 1st and longest character I’ve ever had is my Orc Hunter, Tourok, who at this point from Classic to current DF, is a veteran who has retired from active service and adventures for the thrill of it.

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At its most basic that’s all role playing is. You don’t need others they just make it potentially better… and sometimes they make it worse.

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As someone who’s played D&D as both player and DM, boy that is more true than it should be.

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