Brokenhorn
 Malar Brokenhorn
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|---|---|
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| Player | Kira13 |
| Gender | Male |
| Race | Tauren |
| Class | Bonecrusher |
| Age | 76 |
| Height | 240 cms |
| Weight | 370 kgs |
| Eyes | Sky blue |
| Hair | Graying black mane. |
| Affilliation(s) | Brokenhorn Tribe, The Horde, the tauren |
| Occupation | Father, traveler |
| Mentor(s) | Tauren NPC |
| Status | Alive |
Information
Player: Kira13
Character Full Name: Malar Brokenhorn
Character In-Game Name: Brokenhorn
Nickname(s): Chief, Chieftain, Last Great Bull of the Brokenhorns
Association(s): Brokenhorn Tribe
Race: Tauren
Class: Bonecrusher
Age: 76
Sex: Male
Hair: Graying black mane.
Eyes: Sky blue.
Weight: 370kg
Height: 2.46 meters
Appearance
Normally wears ceremonial Tauren armor, decorated with tribal beads and various hides. A single shoulder rests upon his immense figure, and a helmet that covers most of his face, save the snout. The three braids under his chin clearly show his age -they represent achievements. Has two kodo horns tattooed onto his chest.
Personality
Malar, despite most first impressions, is peaceful and would rather be left alone or close to others sharing his beliefs. Having seen the kodo in his vision to adulthood, Malar has understood to be open-minded to possibilities, but strong to your beliefs. The path of the kodo is not easy; one must think and meditate upon a matter, a belief, so he could fully embrace it, and later fight for it, shall it be questioned. But meantime, listen to what others have to say, and do not go on a crusade to change other's wills. Therefore, Malar's also learned to be patient over all others, but strong to his beliefs and powerful if need be.
History
Malar was born in the Brokenhorn tribe, immense wonderers, mostly of the Barrens and the Thousand Needles. Living off the land and friends with the Dirthooves, the Brokenhorns have had a relatively happy life, free of dangers, save the regular centaur raids, in which the Dirthooves were helping, in exchange for help in case they were attacked. For generations, the pact between the two tribes resisted, and they thrived.
Malar found a great friend in Cani Dirthoof, a young female only two years younger than him. Every time the two tribes met, the adults would see the two calves together, playing and sharing stories, laughing or crying together. Their life was perfect, under the protection of the two brother tribes.
Yet the Dirthooves had problems of their own -intern problems, with their chieftain, who was set on waging war with the murderous centaurs. The Brokenhorn chieftain begged him to stop staying on such thoughts. Both tribes agreed on this matter, endlessly trying to convince the Dirthoof chieftain that the shu'halo way is not of war. Yet he was bold, and it was alike an obsession for him, to get rid of his enemies.
One night, in southern Barrens, when all the Brokenhorns were sleeping, save for those set to their duties to watch the night, a great and merciless rain has started. Thunder raged in the air, and lighting lit the sky again and again. The rain drops hitting the ground were loud, and it was incredibly hard to hear anything else, and see through the torrents of water.
The raid was impossible to predict. Only too late, the tauren of the Brokenhorn tribe, who were half-asleep, were able to hear the shouts and yells of centaurs, their hooves as they boomed onto the wet dirt. The killing has started; tauren women were running everywhere, their calves into their arms, while males were fighting the warriors one to four. Malar raised from his sleep, his eyes wide, only to witness his tribesmen being impaled and axes flying through the air. He ran through the immense amount of legs on the bloody battlefield, but tripped and fell at the hooves of a centaur. He looked down at the calf Malar was, his eyes glinting with a bloody red surge, berserker. He raised his front legs and both of his arms, and attempted to puncture the young one with the spear in his hand. Yet then, a tauren charged right into the unprepared marauder, and threw him on his back. Yet the tauren did not stop the attack; he charged relentlessly and butchered his enemy without remorse. A loud roar came out of Malar's savior open snout as he stood onto his victim, making the centaurs nearby stop fighting for a moment, and look with fear into the bull's eyes. Yet they wagered not. But then again, that one moment was enough. The other tauren attacked the centaurs while they were looking away, but in the end, were unable to kill them. The tauren that saved Malar's life took him in his arms and charged through the mass of fighters towards a giant kodo skull, in which he's thrown the calfling, only to later be attacked by three other marauders. He raised one in his two hands, and threw him at another one, then charged at the third. His prowess in battle was legendary, and the centaur arrows seemed not to puncture his skin at all. Turning the tide of the fight elsewhere, away from the hidden young one, the mysterious tauren has yet again saved Malar's life.
The worse morning Malar ever had. The air was wet and cold, the sunrise bloody red. Bodies and bits of corpses everywhere, scattered. Tauren women, men and calves punctured on bloody spears, set in the ground, entire heads cut down and left for the crows. A most gruesome sight, especially for a so young Malar, not even eighteen. The calf did not dare leave the safe place that was the kodo skull. His cries were as silent as possible, tears mixing with the short fur on his face. What was he going to do now?
And then, the skull was raised. Malar looked up with fright, thinking that there was a centaur that has heard him. Fortunately, though, it was not. It would be for the third time now, that young Malar was saved by this one tauren. He was holding a great, wooden totem; the Brokenhorn's. Yet he was not a tribesman. But that did not matter. The mysterious bull offered the young calf a giant hand, and Malar accepted it. What else could he do?
In the following decades, Malar would travel with his savior, and train directly under him. The lessons were tough and brutal, but Malar was growing and becoming stronger by each passing day. Not soon after the raid, he has gotten the totem for himself, and was told he was the new chieftain. Yet he turned the responsibility down, saying as he was not prepared for such things; not yet. Yet the years passed, and Malar's savior and teacher died. A sad day and period for Malar, but he was strong; at mind, at heart, at body. He had to go over it, and he did, yet none of his memories has ever left.
Traveling alone, in company of other tribes, or escorting goblins -later aiding orcs- Malar has gotten quite a reputation. But his life was still incomplete, without a tribe to belong to. That is, until one day, that he has found female of his liking, and vice versa. It was Cani Dusthoof, his friend from his childhood! They began a relationship and, soon, had a calf by the name of Elenne. Malar, Cani and Elenne settled and began what they hoped to be a happy life. Unfortunately, it was not made to be so, for after three years, Cani fell to bed with a sudden and unknown disease that stole her life in a matter of months. Malar, in depression, took to being a nomad again -- this time with Elenne on his shoulder.
After years, he found another that was to be his mate.. and still is. Eta was her name and they fell in love with one another. Not long after, they had another calf, which is now four summers old. Fate seems to keep giving Malar chances at remaking his tribe.
Skills and Abilities
Malar is an exceptional fighter, his entire body being prepared for any kind of situation. Due to years of training, his punches are able to bend armor, his head is tough enough to break rocks the size of himself with a charge, his skin is strong enough to absorb minor damage with little repercussion, his legs are stubborn enough to allow him to walk an incredible amount of miles.
