Gortael

Information

Player Name: Kirabo

Character Full Name: Gortael Longtip

Character In-Game Name: Gortael

Nickname(s): Bones

Association(s): The Heretic Circus

Race: Human

Class: Warlock

Age: 40

Sex: Male

Hair: Bald

Eyes: Brown

Weight: 69kg

Height: 1.70m

Appearance

Mostly wears comfortable robes while roaming around towns, or the Catacombs. When he is fighting, or doing dangerous things, he is wearing his summoned fel and nether embedded robes and shoulder pads, along with a knee-long cloak on his back.

Other: A monocle covers his right eye, and he carries a metal staff, with a purple gem on its tip. While using his summoned armor, he has a jagged dagger in his right hand. Because of the usage of Fel, his body seems much older than it really is.

Personality

Alignment: Neutral Evil

Gortael is a very clever and intelligent human, but not cunning. His head is filled with different knowledge facts. He does think, he does learn, and he is knowledgable, but he is straightforward, not deceitful. He accepts his limits, and pushes his strengths. Though he's fully aware that his main weakness is his physical one, he doesn't bother to fix it. Instead, he evades it, pursuing every other attribute of his, aiming to perfection. Though he is sinister, and dark, perhaps one of his main traits is his sense of humour. He has the ability to make a joke out of everything he sees, be it a decapitated body, or a freshly captured slave girl. Even when there's nobody to laugh at his jokes, he is always there himself, laughing proudly. The thing that makes him go forward, which pushes him back up when he falls is his urge, his obsession with undeath. As all warlocks, he has a goal he intends to achieve, and that is to claim undeath as his weapon. He knows what's at stake and what he has to sacrifice, but he also knows the benefits of the 'gift' - as he calls it.

History

Ironforge. A huge city, filled with people and voices coming from everywhere. Adventurers arrive every minute to visit the huge underground wonder and often find refuge in the many Inns Ironforge has to offer. But Stonefire Inn is special. It has Grelin the Storyteller, who keeps the guests entertained for a few coins from the keeper:

"Welcome back, weary travelers. I hope you remember my previous story! No? Nevermind then, considering that today, a new one is coming. This one has nothing to do with Gnomes. Nothing to do with pink hair either. This adventurer is bald! His name is Gortael Longtip, and there ain't anything happy or fun about this one. He's a demonologist, some say! Me, I couldn't care less, I just retell the tales I've been told." He then takes a sip of his ale, thinking.

"He was born in Stratholme, that now cursed town in the north of our continent. His mother being a mage, and his father a warrior, he was forced to pick from the two, build his own future. Walk in his own shoes. He was a physically strong boy, but he was attracted to casting spells, as he has seen many mages earn coin on the streets of his birthtown, casting fireballs into the air, or producing horrifying illusions for the crowd. He tried his part in sorcery, but he just wasn't talented. He never read books, rarely studied, so he was forced to follow his father's tradition. His dad, George Longtip taught him how to wield a sword, and how to use his shield. Every now and then, the two would spar, just to see how much young Gortael has improved. Although many of their spars were tense and dangerous, his final duel, before being 'crowned' a full pledge fighter was his best."

Grelin took another sip of his ale, and wiped his mouth with his sleeve, as a visitor speaks up: "Wait a minute, are you senile? You are supposed to tell us about a demonologist, not some orc-basher." She says, rolling her eyes. Grelin laughs, smashing his hand onto his thigh. "Don't worry. I am not senile. Aye, he has changed a lot. You will find out if you keep listening."

"The two swords clashed, a spark diving out of the meeting point. Before it touched the ground, Gortael was standing proud, as his father George was laying on the floor with a broken shoulderpad.

George: "I am proud of you, son!" Gortael: "Thanks dad. That means a lot."

He was 19 at the time, and has decided that he should get off his parents' back. Stop being a burden to them, so he started doing errands for the people of Stratholme. Were it a simple delivery of letters, or a fight with cutpurses, he would always get the job done, and get paid handsomely. And so, days have passed. He has done much good to the town, but wanted to get out of city life. Well, at least that city. Before he turned 20, he waved goodbye to his parents and went off on a long trek to the city of Stormwind, seeking further training. On his road, he met a group of travelers, who were heading in the same direction, so he joined them. He learned some tricks of the trade from them also. Somewhere between Loch Modan and Dun Morogh, he saw a Demon. A Felguard, it was! He and his companions fought it off, and killed it, though its body disappeared as soon as the final blow landed. They were curious about that event, especially Gortael.

So, they kept on walking, and finally reached Stormwind city. That's when the group departed, leaving Longtip and another human in the enormous town. Gortael kept on doing errands, and learned quite a lot of money. He also found a talented weapons trainer, who further taught him the skills of the sword. He had then learned to wield it as if it was an extension of his arm. He was 31 at the time, and decided he should return to his home, Stratholme and bring them the goods he has earned working hard, and show his father what he's learned over the years.

As he passed through the freezing Hinterlands, he entered an area which is now known as the Western Plaguelands. He was horrified by the sight of carnage and destruction everywhere around him. He was forced to fight off a few walking dead, which wasn't really a problem for him, until he saw a Paladin, named Mark. He noticed him in the middle of a battle, as he was conjuring a light wave, knocking out several Undead around him. Sharp-witted Gortael knew that he could use this to his advantage and approached the Human. They exchanged some words and the Paladin revealed a secret pass through the mountains towards Stratholme, warning him that his parents may not be alive. Gortael was fully aware of this, but still had hope."

Grelin shook his mug and took another sip. "You ready to hear the rest?" Visitor: "I'm ready. That's what I've been waiting for all the time." Grelin nods and keeps on telling his tale.

""They've arrived at the gates of Stratholme, which was once a beautiful city, full of life and noise. Now...Nothing. Just the stench of death and rotting. The Paladin opened his book and placed some seals on himself and Gortael, though he was afraid that the young human might not survive. They entered the town, to meet a few patrols of roaming warlocks and Undead. Nothing they couldn't handle, right? Though Gortael did have some trouble fighting them, the Paladin aided him if he got hurt, or overwhelmed. They fought their way through undead, avoiding stepping into the rotting bodies, who laid cold on the floor, until they finally reached Gortael's home. He asked the Paladin to guard the entrance as he searches his manor. As he stepped into the house, he could smell death, see debris, hear the screams. Everything he touched caused flashbacks of his once peaceful life. He then remembered his mother saying something about an emergency chest in the cellar. He went to the, now cold, fireplace and lifted the trapdoor. A couple of spiders and rats hopped out of the hole, and as he peered into it, he could see nothing but darkness. He looked around, finding a piece of wood and grabbing it. He then took his shield and bloody sword off, and smashed them on each other, causing a spark which lit the piece of wood, making himself a nice torch improvisation. He entered the cellar, which seemed in perfect state. "Stupid undead..." He thought, "can't even open a trap door." At the end of the tunnelly corridor, he could notice a fluorescent purple glow. As he slowly and carefully approached the chest, the glow kept on growing. He smashed the blunt end of his sword onto the lock, which was now rusted, and it fell off. He opened the chest, to find a purple book, encrusted with different purple crystals and a skull model in the middle of it. He looked back, to see if Mark was following him, and seeing he's safe, he took his backpack off and put the book in there, shutting it tight, so no glow can be seen from it. He emerged out of the house, but the Paladin was gone. He then headed home, not noticing that the book started glowing stronger, as if it was draining energy from the fallen Undead warriors.

As he reached Stormwind, he sat at his working desk and pulled the book out of his pack, staring at it searchingly, before he started reading it up. It contained different Demonic summoning techniques. He shrugged and put the book into a shelf of his desk, clearly uninterested, and went for a walk around town, thinking. He was recapturing the moments he's spent with his parents, and wondered why he didn't find their bodies back in Stratholme. He was curious about the fact that his mother expected him to rely on Demonology as a last resort. Lurking around Stormwind City, he thought about how good or bad it would be to be undead. He's fought them and he knows that they can be brought back to life with simple spells, which he found in the Grimoire. He spent all night sitting at the Stormwind gates, thinking and thinking about the powers of undeath, and his mother's last will.

As morning came, he returned to his house and opened his shelf to take his Demonic Book to try and summon an Imp. This time, he concentrated on the power he wanted, and his mom's final request. He had failed countless times, until finally succeeding at summoning a tiny imp. He grabbed it and peered at it, as if it was his son, considering it a great success. Afterwards, he dropped it back onto the pictogram, as both disappeared. Gortael was very happy with his achievement, though he knew that was only the start.

Years have passed. Nine years. And he has developed his skills to a decent level, though the Fel took its tribute. His physical abilities, strength, stamina were all confiscated in exchange for Fel power. He would be known as Bones now, due to his adoration of bones and undeath. He had joined the Circus of Heretics, to develop his skills, and get closer to becoming one with the undead, which he expects to succeed at sooner or later.

And that my friends, is the story of the bald Demonologist Gortael Longtip. If you have any more tales, tell them to me and I will make more people informed about such. Thank you, and have a nice stay at our lovely capital of Ironforge!"