Blaize

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Information

Player: Blaize

Character Full Name: Blaize Brightflame

Character In-Game Name: Blaize

Nickname(s): Nickname? You mean those annoying titles that people give their “friends” when they want to seem funny or give themselves when they want to seem threatening? No, none.

Association(s): The Horde, apparently.

Race: Sin'dorei.

Class: Hunter, explorer...whatever you want to call it.

Age: 120 years.

Sex: Male.

Hair: Black long hair usually tied into a loose ponytail for comfort.

Eyes: Well...green!

Weight: 140 lb. In the more visual sense: A small body with toughened and well developed muscles that remain modest in size.

Height: 5'5

Alignment: Mostly good, rarely lawful.

Appearance

Oh...leather... plain cloth shirts and trousers. Whatever a traveller can afford and wear before it breaks. Is it important?

Other: You must mean masks, necklaces, symbols, trinkets kept in memory of a deceased friend or a cherished past...No. Those things break and have an annoying tendency to get caught on branches.

Personality

Rude and abrasive, most would say. Though looking on the very bright side, one could take it as open sincerity (the very VERY bright side). Smiles and laughter are for people who pretend a lot or people who are genuinely in a good mood, so don´t expect many of those. Amongst the more positive aspects are a strong sense of loyalty (however rare it may be for something or someone to actually earn it), hard logical thinking and common sense (admittedly expressed in the rudest manner possible, especially with those who seem to lack it). Can a lighter, friendlier side be seen? Ocasionally; if the weather is good, the addiction is not too strong and no one is being especially nosy or stupid.

History

“I am the third son of Abselon and Diarna Brightflame, born around a hundred and twenty years ago in Silvermoon. My family was never truly high in the social scale nor particularly wealthy, and for that I thank the Gods.

It was always our father´s wish that his offspring should reach the high circles of our society. To reach that goal, he taught us discipline, obedience and politics. He also taught us to say fine words and behave like good little puppets, but that is something only I came to see whilst my siblings happily succumbed. Oh but it served them well, after all; Each one of them became something my father could be proud of: A rapidly ascending knight in shining armour, a councilor´s secretary, a beautifully robed mage...and finally, me. A sin'dorei that ran through the forests with a dirty animal at his side and dragged bloodied hides with him could only be acceptable if he were a Farstrider.

Have you any idea how difficult it is to be a Farstrider? They are no mere explorers! All my weak attempts, despite the effort I put into pretending I was actually interested, failed miserably. I had no ambition and no discipline, and they had no patience and no time. My father began to hate my stubborness and I began to hate his vanity. In fact I began to hate vanity all together, and Silvermoon...practically stank of it. Am I without vanity? Not exactly; I have pride.

I tried teaching myself the ways of the hunter, but to little avail. Fortunately for me, there WAS someone willing to take me as an apprentice. He was a veteran hunter named Galen with a very modest past and an even more modest way of life. It was in no way glamorous to be his apprentice, but he taught me almost everything I know and for that I shall always feel grateful. I only wish he had survived...”

The young elf sighed softly and fell into a deep silence as he slowly leaned against the cold bars of his cage. Of all things to think about, why did it have to be that? He looked around the crude dungeon, meeting the sad gaze of every other prisoner in it. The Amani had little qualms about who they captured and held. There was a mixture of trolls and other hapless elves, and even a little murloc that nervously babled in his cage (probably that night´s meal). Conversation was usually dull and melancholic, but it was, after all, the only way of keeping themselves from complete desperation and distracting the horrible addiction that had ravaged their kind barely months from then.

A year or two passed (The notion of time was soon lost), and Blaize somehow survived the regular visits of the troll witch. One by one the rest of the prisoners were selected and dragged out...and never seen again. More prisoners were ocasionally brought in and shoved into recently emptied cages. Blaize´s particular cage was at the back of the prison, where captives generally lived the longest since those closest to the door were chosen first (The Witch had little interest in what she was sacrificing, so long as she had something to tie to the altar. Troll, elf, murloc...It did not matter).

They were all destined to die at some point or another. The question was: Would it be the troll´s sacrificial daggers that ended their lives or would it be the addiction? Already two other young elves had been driven mad and had committed suicide (In whatever crude manner they could). They had been mages; the ones that most harshly felt the loss of the Sunwell. Escape rarely crossed their minds as something plausible. Even if they were to find a way out of the Amani village, what would await them? The last Blaize had seen of Silvermoon was a chaotic mass of falling walls and towering flames. Whilst he and other survivors fled to the forests to escape their deaths, hordes upon hordes of rotting undead poured into their beloved home. He had seen Silvermoon in its fall and he had witnessed and suffered the attacks and raids of the Amani upon the small groups of survivors. Hope was not the first nor the second thing in his mind. Yet, ironically, he somehow felt more identified with his own kind than he had ever felt before.

As time went by, Blaize gradually began to loose the weak grip he had on his own sanity. Too many had gone before him...and the pain was just too much. One night, as he rocked himself gently, huddled on the floor of his cage, he started to consider doing something truly drastic to draw the itch´s attention to himself. Perhaps that way, as painful and cruel as the Amani may be during his last moments, he could finally be free of it all. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of something or someone walking slowly into the room.

The steps were soft and stealthy. A spy perhaps? Or just a guard seeking to take some fun out on one of the prisoners. A soft click answered his questions. The stranger was opening the cages!? All the hope they had long forgotten returned in a matter of seconds, as they watched and waited whilst all the cages were gently opened by a darkly dressed sin'dorei; All the cages except those containing trolls.The troll prisoners, upon realising they would not be released, raised their voices in complaint. But it did not matter. The sound of battle had already commenced in the rest of the Amani village as the trolls and sin'dorei soldiers met in battle.

The attack of the Sin'dorei proved to be successful: The Amani village was burned to the ground and all the quel'dorei prisoners were released. Why Quel'dorei rather than Sin'dorei? They had not yet learned of the present and future of their race. It took several weeks for Blaize to not only recuperate from his ordeal, but to also learn the new techniques he would use fom then on to “quench” his thirst, as well as the new name he and his kind would go by: Sin'dorei. Children of the Blood. He managed well, however, and better than most of those that had been released with him.

The hardest thing that he perhaps has yet to accept, was their political affiliation with the “New” Horde. Years back, the orcs had attacked Silvermoon, and though Blaize had been young and scarcely participated, he had felt a few losses too many from that war to be able to openly and easily forgive the orcs now. Ironically, Durotar was the first land he travelled to upon abandoning Silvermoon. There was little choice for him but to learn the orc language well, and, after all, it served as a good excuse to leave behind a City that offered so many bad memories and that he had never truly felt much love for in the first place.