Camillia

Information

Player: Krilari

Character in-game name: Camillia

Character name: Camillia Firescribe

Nickname(s): Camillia Breakblade, Cammy

Associations(s): The Order of the Curved Blade

Race: Blood Elf

Class: Swordmistress (Rogue)

Age: 145

Sex: Female

Hair: Coarse strands of platinum blond that streams down to shoulder-length. Depending on the situation, the hair will either be left free or propped up into a ponytail.

Eyes: Fel Green

Weight: 125

Height: 5'9”

Appearance

Commonly cloak in a dusty robe, Camillia often keeps her appearance as humble as she can manage. Behind her curtain of long, coarse hair lies the woman's wrought visage, who's features still teem with youth as does the rest of her pale form. On the exterior, the Blademistress bears a sheathed sword on her hip, held by the green sash that hung loosely off of the woman's curves.

Guarded by her dusty robes, Camillia carries a pale figure that only has a few feint kisses of the sun visible upon it. As a result of her constant training, Camillia is not as well endowed as she once was given how her body fat had been broken down in her rigorous training, giving way for lean muscle instead.

Personality

Years ago, the young Swordmistress could be considered nothing more than a social outcast, her personality forsaken by years spent alone in Silvermoon's studies and thus compounded when those years of study all bore no fruition. Yet, she had grown from those times. Through the teachings of her Master, Anski Solarclaw, Camillia herself has managed to transcend the uselessness she once felt deep within.

Where her tenants once called her focus on the principles of self-preservation and self-gratification, they have hence been replaced by the concepts of Honor and Respect that the Order of the Cruved Blade calls all it's members to come to follow.

History

A swift step into the furious winds which freely blew open the simple robes which decorated her person. With a sash bore in one hand and her blade in the other, Camillia fearlessly barreled ahead, her emerald gaze set on the sole target that lay amongst the field. Just as she moved, so did her opponent who held herself in a similar manner. As they drew near, both women reeled their blades back before jutting them forth in a mighty clash. Amongst the strike, a brief spark flickered off before her eyes.

A simple little girl, no older than ten years sat amongst the echoing hall lined with ancient tomes of lore. Propped before her was a rather large text covering the intricacies of the arcane arts, the same scroll that her parents once bore themselves to read. As one could suspect, the young girl's parents were both well-respected magisters within the shining capital of Silvermoon. Just as they grew as mages, so they expected their daughter to follow the same route. Day in and day out the child sat in the tranquility of her parent's study, mulling over every teaching from the basics of conjuring arcane into forming it into a weapon of destruction. Never once was she brought forth for traditional studies in an academy, instead her parents both preferred the choice they had made for her, to keep her studies under their own watch.

Through it all, the young girl was not completely devoid of outside life, as after her daily studies she was free to socialize with the other children. And she did so merrily as she often lusted for the fresh air that encompassed the woods of Eversong so long as it brought her away from the blood-laden prison. To the dying light of day she would roam about, feigning grand adventures with the other children until her mother called her back for curfew.

Ultimately she would come to dread her birthdays. Where her parents expected a grand show of passionate pyrotechnics, the girl instead only managed to produce a fizzling fireball or perhaps a misguided arcane missile. At such a failure, she would once more be whisked into her personal hell filled to the brim with arcane texts. Amongst it all, there would be but one saving grace; a single tome bearing no mark nor seal nor line of text upon its cover. Yet inside it bore encompassing tales of warriors long past, of savage grace that was wrought upon the battlefield, of the flowing strikes , the glory of victory and the humility in defeat. This tome came together, weaving tale after tale within the child's mind. One may come to think that it was through this book and this book alone that the child was able to keep some semblance of sanity for all those years.

At the ripening age of eighteen, after seven more grueling years of studies, it would all come to a tragic close. For years there was a burning feud between two of Silvermoon's largest noble houses, and the House of Friescribe was pulled into it all under the wing of one of the larger houses due to a relation on her mother's side. Alas it would only be through her blood that they would be free from this conflict.

In a noble's duel, Amera Firescribe skill with a traditional rapier was put well to the test against the eldest son of he opposing house. While Amera carried a noble upbringing, and thus was trained in such an art, it had been years since she ever brandished steel, and it would be this malpractice that would bring the woman to her unfortunate end. Piercing the woman's breast, skewering her aged heart in order to spill her noble's blood and bring her crashing down to the street below. From amongst the crowd, the maddening cry of Valin Firescribe rang as the poor husband could not bear the sight to see the woman he loved for so many years now whisked away from him. It was something he simply could not bear, nor control as he rose a single hand high in the air, bringing it down only to send a ball of flame hurdling for the eldest son, who was left to nothing more than a pile of ashes. Yet in the midst of it all, Valin had come to seal his own fate. The patron of the Firescribe House was taken away from the public eye, sentenced to decades in prison to pay for the crime he had committed.

All alone at the age of eighteen, not a single aunt or uncle came to the girl's aid as her parents crumbled into dust before her. In their wake was a small fortune, mainly amassed thanks to the noble blood that was granted upon her mother. In a haste, the woman went about, selling off whatever she could and simply throwing the rest away by the end of the week before she disappeared with seemingly no trace. Out of fear for some rival returning to seek revenge upon her for her father's actions, she fled the city entirely and forsake her birthright name, donning the title ‘Breakblade' in it's wake.

Silvermoon, Eversong, Tranquillen, Sunstrider... For one hundred and six years the woman lived in secrecy and self-exile. Where one might expect her to go and avenge her parents, the woman instead gave no names and ask for none in return as she made her living through a combination of funds from odd jobs as well as the small fortune that she had been preserving. When her tim wasn't occupied traveling about or working, she would instead hone her skill with a blade.

When leaving the grand city, there were few possessions she took with her on her travels. Yet amongst the small bag of supplies, the orphan also bore another item about her waist, a steel blade. Out in the midst of the tranquil woods she would train with the cold steel, swiping and slashing with growing accuracy and grace. Yet, no matter how much she trained, nothing would prepare her for the horrors to come.

The Scourge, ravenous undead that swarmed the Northern Kingdoms like a plague, descended upon the tranquil lands of Quel'thas. Their march was unchallenged, barreling through the most southern lands until they delivered themselves right before the grand gates of Silvermoon. At the time she was but another face amongst the crowds of people that inhabited the bazaar, yet as word reached the common folk the calm afternoon shifted to a chaotic huddle as women and children fled for their lives, ushered on by worried husbands or guards. In the midst of the worries, she fled to the estate she once called home, finding refuge in it's dimly lit, dusty halls. At a moment's notice, the sounds of crashing stone and splintering wood rang throughout the streets as the grand gates of Silvermoon City came toppling down under the might of the invading Scourge. With haste she cowered off into the study that defined her youth. A hundred years after, the aged orphan was that ten year old little girl once more, buried amongst the piles of books. What was once her personal hell became her one and only sanctuary.

She dared not to count the hours, the days she spent hiding amongst the wreckage of her family's abode, daring not to make a move should she find an abomination or ghoul lying in wait to pounce upon her. Only once sleep had come to the wrecked woman did she find peace. Once the sleep had faded away, she dared to crawl out from her hiding, steel blade still clutched tightly within her grasp as she stalked along the ruined halls until she eventually found herself standing at the threshold to her estate, peering out to find the wreckage left in Arthas' wake. Before her laid nothing but ruins. A few spare ghouls hobbled about, feeding on a variety of corpses strewn out upon the once glorious streets. Yet amongst it all, she noticed one thing over all, a severed connection. She no longer could draw arcane freely from the air as she once did. Its lacking presence felt almost as if the fresh air had no oxygen to take in as she shuddered in pain. Still, she was to fight it off, she had to fight it off or die under the wrath of the few remaining scourge.

Months of suffering laid in wait for the orphan as she traveled about, attempting to absorb whatever she could to ease her pains, though she also watched on with horror as her own brothers and sisters soon caved to their addiction and deteriorated into the Wretched. Desperately she clung to some sense of moderation, refusing to descend into arcane-fueled madness. Soon relief would find itself in the form of fel, which was dispensed in mass to the suffering populace of Silvermoon. Where some refused such energies and decided to rough out their addiction, she had no such will. With thirst she gorged herself upon the tantalizing energies, sedating her addiction at the cost of mutation. Slowly but surely, her eyes pulsed with an aura of putrid green as her pale skin boiled into a new shade of pink. It all advanced to the point where she could not bear to look at herself in a mirror any more. As she once had, the girl fled from her city of birth.

For years she traveled about the lands of the Eastern Kingdoms, slowly weaving her way to the southern most tip; Stranglethorn Vale. In the humid jungles laid a seed of corruption for all the lands, a port of goblin authority where slaving and drug-dealing thrived and violence was an often occurrence. Yet here she would meet another that would fuel her life with a purpose, something she had been lacking for longer than she could remember. Anski Solarclaw as a Sin'dorei much as herself, a blood elf, yet she had bore though much more than the orphan had. Where she had tragedy, Anski had three more. Through it all, however, Solarclaw decided it best to take the young orphan under her wing so that she could teach her the ways of a true warrior, the ways of a Swordmistress.

Their swords met once, twice, three times, each strike bringing about burning white sparks that danced freely to the ground. For a fleeing moment Camillia through that her master was retreating, though was brought with surprise as she felt the razor-sharp edges of Anski's sash wrap and slice about her left leg. In the heart of combat, there were no friends, simply foes and both of these understood this above all. Anski deemed this a final test for the fledgling swordmistress. Should Camillia best her in combat, Anski would see her an equal in training.

The fray lasted for hours as the two constantly lashed and wrapped one another with a style utilizing both blades and sashes atop of fighting styles composed by Solarclaw herself. The both of them fought on and on into the dead of night until Camillia finally caught an opening in the woman's form. Where Solarclaw bore a sash with steel edges, Breakblade had her own made of flexible fibers that was utilized to twist and tangle other's limbs. Thus when the woman drew near, Camillia brought her sash about low, causing her to trip over her own step and come sliding in front of her. With a blade pointed at her neck, Anski admitted defeat with the slyest grin upon her lips.

Ever since, the duo of Swordsmisstresses traveled the lands, looking for any that deem fitting to follow the Order's lifestyle.

Skills and Abilities

To put it simply, a swordmistress is one who's been trained in being adapted with a single, thin blade and being a faster combatant, shedding all armor and defenses in lieu for speed and alternate fighting styles. A swordmistress with any other weapon or in armor is unapt and incompetent with it. In addition to abilities, the Swordmistress carries around a swift sash of her choosing, each with different properties.

[Black Blade Sash] - A sash to be worn around the waist loosely, its purpose is to be slid off quickly, the thin edges being razor sharp and used for quick cuts or a last ditch effort to survive. Excelled warriors can use it adamantly as a weapon.

[Green Holder Sash] - A long, wide sash, used to wrap around the opponent and lock their limbs into place by complexity of folding or wrapping, if even for wrapping their arms together to disable them momentarily.

[Red Steel Sash] - A hanging red sash of woven steel fibers that is highly resistant to breaking and is used to stop incoming weaponry. Will deter slashing blade if caught or blocked by the sash.

The Swordmistress is also an excel at speed in one-on-one combat, but suffers if it is a group contest.

[Speed Combat] - The mistress has put all of her focus into being a faster combatant with her sword, and it shows. They use this capability to be more open for options of attack and defense, as well as possible combat acrobatics.

[Shock Combat] - The mistress is able to rush into combat with diligent silence, sword raised high, and performs excellently due to their quick and threatening nature if they are in an open area with a lot of space between the opponents.

[Hidden Combat] - The mistress is now able to effectively conceal multiple blades on her persons, anywhere from one to ten daggers, and can draw them quickly and sharply off of her for a fast strike or defense.