Duron

Duron Bloodaxe
Title	<Spirit Champion>
Gender	Male
Race	Warsong Orc
Class	Warrior
Age	42
Height	6'10"
Weight	420 lb
Eyes	Red
Hair	Brown
Affilliation(s)	The Horde, Warsong clan, Goresight Vanguard, The Spirits
Occupation	Soldier
Relative(s)	Morka Fireheart (Mother), Koris Stonespine (Father)
Mentor(s)	The Spirits
Student(s)	None
Companion(s)	Lirshar goresight (Mate)
Alignment	None
Status	Alive

Appearance

With a hunched posture, Duron still stands at an intimidating height compared to most which is only multiplied by the mass of scars and muscles that compose his outward appearance. Drawn across his chest is a warsong tabard strapped down by the light leather armor. This armor extends down his arms until reaching his fists, each of which are enveloped in bandages similar to those that cover his feet. His legs are not that much more well guarded, covered simply by cloth pants once more buckled down by light leather armor. Strewn across his waist is a rugged leather belt that holds a number of small pouches, though the most noticeable items on the belt would be the jeweled hilt of a damaged dagger as well as one axe sheathed on each of his flanks.

When closely examined, one would notice that beneath the thin layer of armor is a green hide of skin that had seen years after years of war. His chest closely resembles a maze of scared tissue from cases where his thick layers of plate had failed to defend him. The trail of scars seems to lessen the more and more as you would gaze upward, though there is one prominent patch of scarred tissue on his face. The layer of skin over his right eye seems to have been victim of a horrible burn and was saved only by the grace of a mender's spell.

Personality

In only the recent years has Duron managed to find peace in his state of mind which was otherwise plagued by war and revenge. As an orc of the Warsong clan, he will never truly know the prospect of peace, but he does his best to end some sorts of conflicts diplomatically. Though on the other hand he is one to loose his temper, especially when dealing with creatures such as the Kal'dorei or the humans, both of which played a role and continue to play the role in the slaying of his kin. In his dealings with the rest of the alliance races, he seems to be the kindest and most respectable to the draenei, whom he feels a great shame in what his ancestors had done those years ago. Still then he sees potential in each individual to garner his respect, and treats each the same until he's proven one way or the other. Unlike most orcs, he seems to have a fair tolerance of the Sin'dorei within Horde military and will come to respect and revere them should they prove themselves worthy of it.

Even as Duron attempts to remain neutral in most situations, doing what would be the best outcome for his personal interests, his mind is occasionally plagued by the Spirit of his Greatfather who is far less tolerant of some of his own kind let alone other races.

History

Born a dozen or so years prior to the grand opening of the Dark Portal, Duron Bloodaxe was conceived of a family of strong Warsong orcs. His mother, Morka Fireheart, was a respectable battle-shaman for the clan. Even though her practices centered about war, she was one to often spend her free time learning or in meditation when she wasn't tending to the family at all. His father, Koris Stonespine, was a massive warrior that held honor in close regards. For most of Duron's Childhood he would play the prominent role in his learning experience, shaping the young orcling carefully to have him grow into someone worth respect.

The eleven ten years of his life were rather peaceful. In the mornings he would trek out of the village with his mother in order to see the natural world about. She taught him how to meditate in order to calm one's self. By the time the two returned home with a pitcher of water from the local well, Koris was nearby and waiting so that Duron could begin his true calling. The young orcling would train to be a warrior under the tutelage of his father. The first weapon he ever wielded would of course be the axe. After hours were wasted away with the young warrior whittling away at the training dummy, Duron would eventually go out to play with the rest of the children of the Warsong Clan. Amongst the collection of wild children would be the vicious little girl named Aroshka who commonly took to taunting and jeering at Duron in any way possible. Not a person to take it sitting down, Duron returned the gestures and usually ended up breaking into a fight with her.

Time passed on still, the bitter rivalry between Duron and Aroshka had warmed into a competitive friendship between the two, who always tried to out do the other in some show of skill or strength. Seventeen years after being whisked into this world, Duron's life was about to be shaken down to it's foundation. The Horde,under control of Warchief Orgrim Doomhammer, was ordered to move through the Dark portal into the world of Azeroth. The Warsongs played rather defensively, taking the position to defend the Dark Portal on Azeroth's side from any possible attacks from the humans. The sudden sense of war had completely enveloped Duron. He had hence stopped playing with the other teenagers of the Clan, instead taking up any position he could manage in order to help ensure the success of the Warsong. While no assault really came upon the orcs, they remained vigilant. Until...

One day the Dark Portal suddenly closed down, severing the connection between the two realms of existence. The Warsong were trapped in a strange, new land and no one was quite sure what to do. Never the less under the leadership of Grom Hellscream, the clan traveled on, making their home hiding in the forests of the Northern Lordearon. This state of hiding drove many of the Warsong into furious debate. They became well aware of the presence of the Interment camp as they had noticed their best hunters leaving from the main camp only to be never heard of again. Some of the Clan's warriors pressed for a full-on assault of the human's camps while others urged to remain hiding given how slim their numbers were. Duron dismissed such debates, finally turning back to his friendships forged with the other young adults such as Aroshka.

One night, the two were in another bout of competition; seeing who could kill the better boar. With their bows packed the two snuck out from their huts and went out against the elder's warnings of the human threat. A mile or so out of the camp was where the two young adults ran into a good spot for hunting boar. They settled into the bushes and began to wait. The hours went by and they had thought to give up hope until nearby they heard the rustling of some bushes behind them. Duron rose in a gloating gesture and readied his bow. All he was met in return was a tranquilizer dart to his bare chest. Within seconds he blacked out.

Hours later he awoke to the drops of water upon his face. He snapped up to attention and peered about, only to see stone walls all about him and a mass of other orcs that had been caged into this camp. To his side Aroshka was still resting... yet he looked to his other and saw another young orc, just about his age as well. She was well asleep but bore a small frostwolf favor on her belt. A moment was spent looking about, draining in all he could about his surroundings before he pouted, back resting against the wall. Finally he grumbled out.

“Damn it... I am so dead...”

The two fledgling Warsong orcs had managed to go off and get themselves captured by the Lordearon humans. The woman beside them had turned out to be a young woman, just about the age of Duron, and went by the name of ‘Lirshar'.

The years spent in the isolation of the camps had Duron finally open himself fully to the few friends he had with him. In this midst of their musings, Lirshar began to take a silent interest in Duron, and he had as well though neither would be smart enough to admit it for another few months. Even still, slowly but surely the interests and kindred feelings mounted up between the two young adults. Finally upon a particularly rainy afternoon, the three sat huddled in their corner of the cabin. There was no privacy to be had in the matter as they spoke amongst the roar of the crowd of their brothers and sisters that had herded inside to avoid the rain. Through hours and hours of idly conversation, Duron was the first of the two to state his feelings for Lirshar, who was more than joyful to oblige and express that she felt the same.

Aroshka on the other hand...

Being a good two years or so older than Duron, thought it upon herself to play the part of his guardian. With a sly grin she announced. “Not just any little girl is going to lay her grimy hands on Duron... you're going to have to prove your worth!” Lirshar watched the woman with a bewildered expression before slowly nodding in silent agreement to Aroshka's challenge. The two women trudged out into the muddy courtyard of the camp in order to complete this trial like any true orc would; with their fists. Duron had ventured out with them, watching expectantly from the sidelines as Lirshar began to trounce Aroshka in the midst of the soaking rain. Slowly men, women and children would all creep from the buildings, circling about the vicious combat. There would be no relent in Lirshar's fury, which was fueled deeply by emotion. At the end of it all, Aroshka was the one to call it quits, marching over to Duron with her green skin bloodied and bruised. Even through the pain her sly grin persisted. As she passed she patted Duron on the shoulder and announced proudly. “She's a keeper.”

For the next few days Aroshka would lay in bed, recovering from the rather brutal beating as she was tended to by the camp's nurses. The newly-mated couple remained on her bedside, all three chatting and bellowing in laughter as if there was not a care in the world. Yet even still the shadow of the Lethargy loomed over them.

A year later, Lirshar would give birth to two young orclings, a boy and a girl. For a short time the family rekindled a hope long lost in the years spent in the camp. The miracle of life had given them the idea that one day would be free. One day the lethargy would rise and their people would be free. Sadly that day would not come for another eleven years.

Years and years they were trapped, treated as if animals, beasts to be sent to the slaughter. After such harsh treatment, revenge was at hand. The trio sat outside late at night, their backs pressed to the stone wall as their gazes traced along the clear night skies. Though, each noticed something odd. From the west would come a red haze on the horizon, glowing stronger and stronger until he could hear one of the nightwatch bark out. “Orcs! Orcs!” Within seconds the camp was alit with life, not only from the human defenders but from the orcish captives. Duron's two children came scrambling out of the house along with a large amount of others. With his son clinging to Lirshar's leg and his daughter hugging against his own arm, they all watched as the events unfolded. With a sudden expolosion, a mass of molten lave decimated the front gates f the camp, which were immediately replaced by a batallion of not just footmen, but berserkers, shaman, warriors, archers. Every fighter from every walk of life took up arms in order to free their kin. Within an hour's time the entire camp was taken by a new Horde; Thrall's Horde.

With liberation, the trio set off with the rest of their people, following Thrall to the far off lands of Kalimdor, where it was hence rumored they would find a home. Amongst the boats, Duron would come to a warm reception from his parents. Though it was a slight sad sight given that his mother had hence lost her right arm in a vicious combat with a human. Though still spirits were high as he introduced his new mate, Lirshar to the two elder Warsongs. Duron retold the story of Lirshar and her spar with Aroshka, from that point on they looked upon the young couple with hope. Finally his mother had nearly feinted when they had even managed to bear two healthy children in the midst of the interment camps. All looked bright as the Warsong sailed their way to a new life on an undiscovered land.

Immediately after landing on the shores of what was declared to be ‘Durotar', named after Warchief Thrall's lost father, the Warsongs were sent off to the forests of Ashenvale in order to collect lumber in effort to construct the settlement of Orgrimmar. Instead of following his clan entirely, Duron set his family in Orgrimmar, claiming a hut for them to live in. Day in and day out, Duron would ride atop wolf or Windrider to the newly-founded Warsong lumber camp and it would be there that he garnered the title of ‘Bloodaxe'. In the battles that ensued between the vicious Warsong and the Sly Night Elves Duron became well-known for his utilization of both axes in order to cleave through whomever stood toe-to-toe with him.

All in all the orcs were massively outnumbered and were lacking in the home-field advantage. Thus they had to use what they did have over the elves: Brute Strength. One day Grom Hellscream had his top Witch Doctors guide the entire clan out to the waters of a mystical well. Yet as they approached they were warned not to dabble with the well's magic. Yet even still they were ignored. Every orc, Duron included, drank from the blood-tainted waters. And once the bloodlust had taken over did the Pit Lord Mannoroth introduce himself as the spearhead of the Legion's conquest on Kalimdor.

The orcs succumbed to his will, fighting with demonic vigor as they charged on through the trees of Ashenvale, eyes burning red as their axes struck down every elf with terrorizing efficiency. Slowly the Elves would grow desperate, and finally the demi-god Cenarius was called to fight. Yet instead of quelling the war, the orcs slew Cenarius.

At this point enough was enough. Thrall called together the forces of the orcs and joined Jania Proudmore in the Orc-Human Alliance. They mixed army descended upon the raging Warsong orcs, subduing the clan members that had been driven so wild with bloodlust. Through both Thrall and Jania's powers, the clan was broken from the shackles of bloodlust. Later on Thrall and Grom ventured out into a demonic hell based in Ashenvale, and there they confronted Mannoroth himself Even though the combat ended with the glorious death of Grom Hellscream, it ushered in a new era for the horde.

Later on Duron would return home to Orgrimmar, a man filled to the brim with his own guilt. Depression has since so deep rooted itself into him that he contemplated never returning home. Yet a small drive in him finally steered himself to that same hut, coming upon a family that had been so distraught with worry. The aged warrior felt a need for redemption, to prove that he was worth keeping alive. Not some fool to be constantly be tricked by demons. At the first chance, Duron set off with a Warsong Battalion headed straight for the Battle for mount Hyjal. There he fought along side many of his brave kin, yet all in all when the demons had overrun them. They were forced to retreat. Just as Duron turned that final corner, his beady red eyes watched as the Eredar lord was decimated by the wisps of lost lives.

The Warsong returned home battered and bruised, but victorious still. They were greeted as heroes, and some rewarded so. Yet Duron still held a heavy thought in his mind, that he had only paid back the debt for his clan's momentary betrayal. He spent many nights talking with Lirshar before they both made the decision; They were going to enlist into the paramilitary group of the ‘Bloodsworn Honorguard' that were stationed in the far off lands of Nagrand. Hearing the name gave the experienced warrior a slight feeling of serenity.

There was also another opportunity seen in this. Both of Duron's children had not done much in their lives, and he felt himself to blame for that. He brought the entire family along to Nagrand as they enlisted one by one. Lirshar enlisted as a marksman while Duron and his two children each enlisted as warriors. Most of their shifts included simple grunt work such as patrols or guard duty, yet even still Duron had a sense of pride swelling as he watched his family and people strive in their new home. It had been years since he performed it, yet Duron took his kin out on trips to the grand mountain of Oshu'gun. There he taught his two children the art of meditation as well as the importance in it.

In the midst of their stay in Nagrand, The Honorguard had come and captured a group of traveling draenei under the impression that they were here to pose a threat to the largely uncontested grounds. Duron did not go into combat with much vigor, yet his tension rised as he mwatched not just draenei but humans enter the fray. Eventually his barreled into combat, knocking over a shaman with all his might. By the end of combat, all of the men and women were subdued and brought back to Garadar where they were held in prison for a few weeks. By nature alone Duron stood vigil, taking most of the guard shifts he could manage. It was then that he had begun to question their real intentions, seeing most of the group weren't armed much beyond a cloth robe or a ceremonial weapon.

During this time, Duron's visits to Oshu'gun had become more frequent as he questioned his morals more and more. Eventually his answer came to him in the tiniest of whispers in the wind

“Follow, young wolf... Come with me... Into the Trance... we'll lay on the grass... let hours pass...”

For the entirety of the day Duron had done as instructed, resting on his back in the grassy plains that surrounded the sacred mountain. It would be there that his life's calling was revealed. Visions would sweep over him in the midst of his meditations, flashing before him would be grand battles that he had never experienced. He say the grand slaughter of the draenei, the corruption of the orcs. He felt the blood rush through his veins, he felt the adrenaline course through his entire person. Every little detail of combat was there for him in mass. By the end of it all, one final phrase whisked through his mind.

“Go and see... warriors past... their shrine standing tall... amongst the barren land.”

That night Duron returned home, troubled slightly by his calling. He counseled with all of the shaman that were available to him, and each had confirmed that it was a Spiritual calling. To do what, they were not sure. This would be things he would have to find out on his own effort alone. Ultimately this night would be the start of his path of the Spirit Champion.

The process was long and arduous, unbelievably stressful on the mind, body and spirit as the ancestors long passed had run the seasoned warrior through their own personal trials. His family, each member strongly respectful of the spirits, fully supported as he traveled along across worlds, from the realm of the living to the realm of meditation, from Nagrand to the barrens. The Spirits asked for the sun and skies, and Duron provided.

All in all, there was one main lesson that stood out to the orc; that he was never to be a complete spirit champion. There is no limit to mortal expansion, there could always be a better tactic, or a stronger strike. The only perfection he would find would be in the day that he himself joins the ancestors in all of their glory.

Until then, Duron served them on the mortal plane. In his training, brown tattoos came to riddle his upper chest, depicting out not battles, but the serenity of the spirits, the peace of the wilds. He had forsaken his armor, viewing it as a offense to the spirits to not trust them with his life. Instead he detailed himself with cloth and thin leathers as well as two masterfully forged axes from Garadar.

Finally the Bloodsworn set off from Nagrand, settling into the bustling city of Orgrimmar for a short time before shipping off to Northrend. It was there that the unbelievable happened. The bloodsworn were left by their leader, stranded out in the midst of the Grizzly Hills. Through raw determination they forged their own way back to Kalimdor. Since the unforesseible betrayal, the Bloodsworn split up indefinitely and was reforged under the banner of his mate, Lirshar Goresight and was properly named the ‘Goresight Vanguard'. For the moment the Vanguard lays at the ready, thirsty to be called into war.

Recently this year, both of Duron's children had finally reached of age and set off to the Valley of Trials in order to prove themselves as functioning members of Horde society. Silently the two eager parents await their results.

Skills and Abilities

• Ancestral Knowledge

The ancestral orcs are composed of wise warlords, gifted shaman, tactical masterminds and cruel men. All of them carry the full knowledge from what they had in life, and should they be willing they can impart a certain shard of information upon the champion. These abilities can not transcend that of their class, so a Spirit Champion that was once a warrior would be restricted to the abilities of a warrior that they just may not know. These shards of information come and go within seconds, usually only available for a few seconds to perform the task before it fades away once more. If the moment is wasyted then the Spirits would be less than willing to spare it another time.

• Spiritual Companion

At the pinnacle of his training, a Spirit Champion begins to transcend the coils of the mortal planes. He is able to reach out into the realm of spirits, finding guidance from one of his relatives that have fallen prior to him. These guiding spirits take a representation within the realm of reality in the form of a Spirit Companion. These companions could possibly take any shape or form, though most prefer to take the form of what they were in life. Even still, the companion is one that is anchored to the Champion, and should they become too far separated the companion will fade back into the realm of Spirits. Should the Companion be wounded by means of magic, they are once more forced to the realm of spirits in order to heal for a day before the Champion could call upon them again.

• Commune with Spirits

The champion can contact the spirits and ask a question of them. The spirits usually answer, but often do so in cryptic riddles meant to at once improve the spirit champion or at teach him something about himself.

• Meditative Strength

A Spirit Champion reveres the spirits in every sense and often takes it upon himself to remain in near constant contact with them. Through meditation, they are able to accomplish such feats. Most prefer to meditate in the early hours of the day amongst peaceful places where they can not be disturbed. They often make secluded locations amongst the mountains and forests, preferring the natural beauty. It is through these meditations and only through these meditations that a Spirit Champion can be blessed with the Spirit's blessings. Meditations must be renewed on a daily basis or else the Champion would face the day's challenges without the Spirit's guidance.