Kantii

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Information

Player: Ozewse

Character Full Name: Kantii

Character In-Game Name: Kantii

Nickname(s): -

Association(s): Exodar, Lower City, The Aldor, Shakur

Race: Draenei

Class: Priest

Age: 7,241

Sex: Male

Hair: Dark Eggplant

Eyes: Silver-blue

Weight: 410 lbs

Height: 6'8

Skills and Abilities: Improved Healing. By sacrificing nearly all his damage-causing capability, practicing only offensive magics when absolutely necessary, and working as only a healer and support for over seven thousand years, he has become a very powerful healer. This affects the volume and speed of the healing he can do at once, as well as the strength.

Appearance

Usual Garments/Armor: Depends heavily on the situation, but most usually a robe, pants and ankle-wraps, nothing more. Always carries his Life-Staff.

Other: If for whatever reason his stomach is exposed, his abdomen has a scar in an pointed horizontal ellipse shape, across his middle abdomen, a shade lighter than his midnight-blue skin.

Personality

Alignment: Neutral Good

Kantii is a kind soul, he will give and give until he cannot any longer. He is quick to trust for the most part, save someone who looks abjectly suspicious. He has been known to hug people he doesn't know in sympathy, and will on occasion cry for a stranger. He will drop everything he is doing to heal a paper-cut if asked, unless it is imperative that he do otherwise. It can be more simply put that he puts the needs of others before himself and without pause.

He has an unrivaled fear of Orcs. The sight of them can literally make quake in his boots, freeze up in terror, or scream. He is also extremely sensitive to Saronite, and it affects him greatly, causing headaches, muscle spasms and pain. His overwhelming need to help people can overtake these fears, but they still register with him deeply.

Undead generally warrant his distaste, but should they, by some miracle, be nice to him, he can tolerate their presence despite the face that he thinks they are an abomination to nature and the Light.

History

This helpful Anchorite was once a very small child with an affinity for being in the wrong place at the right time. Born on Oshu'gun, he was dark-skinned and as healthy as can be expected. He was hardly troublesome as a child, though he was very boisterous and playful. The few times he did manage to break a rule, he would not hesitate to receive and complete penance for the deed.

When he came of age, it was no surprise he took up the path of the Anchorite. He had always loved every aspect of his people's culture and embraced it fully. He would sit for hours weekly and listen to the K'ure's song, even when he was not seeking guidance, simply to revel in the glorious sound of it. The times that they would make landing on a planet, Kantii would usually stay on the ship with K'ure, smiling pleasantly with his eyes closed. He continues to do this to this day, only now he listens for the song of A'dal, or O'ros.

His love of music developed further when they had landed on a planet where his father had purchased a small flute-like instrument made from a gourd-like plant. He would sit in the more quiet parts of the ship and practice melodies that he heard in his head after the song of K'ure, though he could never replicate such a beautiful sound, the melodies that his mind would create after being exposed to such wondrous sounds could certainly melt the hearts of his peers.

He never saw the the Light as something that could cause harm, and never took the time to learn how with any prowess, either. He knew the spells, but only practiced them when it was requested. Healing took precedence over everything. Second to healing, in his eyes, was protection, and second only to that, was music. When he earned the position of Anchorite, he forsook all offensive magic, allowing him to further his prowess in healing and protection further. His faith was unquestionable, those many who knew him knew a priest who truly devoted every moment to doing what was best for his people.

Finally, some thousand-odd years ago, they landed on Draenor, haven of the Exiled. He found his people's neighbors, the Orc, to be a curious people, but loved them nonetheless. He treated them as respected hosts to his wayward people, and respected them despite their strange shamanistic customs.

Then, one day, the slaughter began. His respected neighbors, now green-skinned and horrifyingly violent and powerful, slammed into the the City like a brick wall of terror and death. Every last one of his nearest relatives was cut down in a violent and one-sided war. Every corner was another unthinkable disaster waiting to happen. After much bloodshed and fleeing through the cold, dark forests of Terokkar, he finally found what he thought would be his end. An orcish thug, soaked in the blood of the Exiled piled around him, looked into Kantii's eyes with his own, heartless golden ones. He hefted the great-axe off his shirtless shoulder, and swung.

Kantii had felt pain. Once during a bout of interstellar turbulence, he had fallen from one of the higher floors of the ship, breaking four ribs.

That was nothing compared to the blinding agony that met his stomach. He had seen wounds like it, and mended them, but never had he been faced with the reality of such a grievous wound. He fell to the ground, blood pouring from him, as he blacked out.

The Orc fell to the ground, dead, a hole ripped directly through his chest. A Draenic mage stood behind him, the remnants of her Frostfire bolt still swirling through the air. Kantii lived out the rest of the war until the escape constantly on the run. He left everything he had behind, most painfully, his flute.

Life on Exodar was not too drastically different from life on Oshu'gun. The ship was smaller, and the song of O'ros was different subtly from the song of K'ure, but it had all the basic amenities that Kantii was used to. Things seemed the same but... somehow much darker. The weight of loss weighed heavy on his mind. Nothing seemed as bright or vibrant as it had in the past. All of his perfect life had slipped away, and was replaced by... mediocrity? Some shell of the life he once had?

Life drifted by in a forced monotony. He'd rise, pray, console the grieving, then sit and drum on things with his hands, or gather herbs from the herb shop to make into various salve and medicines, slowly whittling the time away. He became quiet, and reserved, but not standoffish. His outspoken nature shrouded itself in shyness.

He had just hopped into his pod and begun to drift off to sleep for his third nap that cycle, when the ship began to rumble violently. Interstellar turbulence, he assumed. Being locked in his chambers, he decided it best not to try to venture out until it had ceased. He had learned that lesson the hard way.

It didn't cease, it only continued to get more and more violent. The gravity in the ship began to shift violently, the rumbling getting louder and louder. Then everything went black. Unconscious. He had blacked out. The Exodar was plummeting for Azeroth and he was unconscious.

He was one of the first to wake, somehow he managed to sustain only minor injuries and little head trauma. Immediately his drive was reignited. There we people that needed his help. He set about gathering and healing survivors immediately.