Oberoth

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Information

Player: JVNemesis

Character Full Name: Oberoth

Character In-Game Name: Oberoth

Nickname(s): None

Association(s): The Exodar, the Aldor, The Shattered Sun Offensive

Race: Draenei

Class: Mage

Skills/Abilities: Oberoth has studied the arcane for tens of thousands of years. His enchanting abilities (and the precise, delicate control required for such tasks), which he developed long before his magic shifted to a more offensive focus, have given Oberoth a unique perspective on the deepest workings of the arcane. Not content to simply brute force the arcane into the required spell, Oberoth places far more finesse on his arcane manipulations. He sees spells as a pattern, woven from threads of arcane. A few minor variations of thread placement can produce a completely different spell, and Oberoth takes great pleasure in inventing variant spells and inscribing them in his (rather extensive) tome of such things.

Instead of a fireball, Oberoth can hurl arrows of fire from his palm, or lash out with a whip of flame. Crackling bolts of arcane lightning can burst from his fingertips, and a myriad other variations besides. His defensive techniques are equally creative and effective; there is a certain malicious satisfaction in polymorphing an incoming arrow into a harmless flower.

Due to his knowledge of magic, Oberoth is extremely adept at blocking enemy arcanists from summoning it against him. As the pattern of an enemy's spell becomes apparent to him, Oberoth can reach out and pluck a single thread from the spell pattern, causing the entire weave to become inert and useless. Counterspells are as natural as breathing for him, which makes him quite a dangerous opponent for other magic users.

Age: 43, 836 years

Sex: Male

Hair: None

Eyes: Blue

Weight: 303 lbs.

Height: 7' 6”

Appearance

Usual Garments/Armor: Oberoth usually wears an ornate ceremonial robe woven shortly after the flight from Argus, magically preserved to stand against the strain of time. The outfit is studded with many beautiful gems and embroidered with intricate designs. The magical enchantments have also served to improve its protective capabilities beyond that of cloth, if only slightly.

A thin gold chain hangs around Oberoth's head, like a circlet. It supports a small purple crystal that hangs in the center of Oberoth's forehead, which serves as a focusing aid and glows when in use.

Golden clasps are latched around sections of his horns as well, and there are elegantly tooled sheaths that are attached to his facial tentacles. These are gold too, with colored crystals hanging from thin, short lengths of chain. These chains are attached to the end of the tentacle sheaths.

When not dressed to impress, he prefers to wear serviceable yet elegant robes, with simple sashes and subdued colors. He rarely, however, eschews all of his many magical focuses, though his other jewelry is more variable.

Oberoth is almost never without his staff, an ornate rod almost as old as he is. There as much for physical support as it is magical, the staff's gems were actually created by Oberoth himself millenia ago. The staff's focusing crystal is threaded with enchantments as well.

Other: Many of the gems in Oberoth's jewelry are actually mana gems, and his staff is enchanted to enhance and better focus his magic.

Personality

Alignment: Neutral

Oberoth is ancient, even by the reckoning of his immortal race. Advanced in years even before the flight from Argus, he is a very old, very tired man. He has been doing things his own way for a very long time, and the chance that will change is exceedingly low.

Oberoth holds a certain condescending pity for the natives of Azeroth, with a (un)healthy dose of indifference thrown into the mix. He finds their fiery determination to resist the Legion paradoxically amusing and saddening; heartening to see such ardor, but tempered by the memories of the uncountable worlds the Draenei visited, all of which were put to the Legion's flame. His opinion has improved, if only slightly, since the events of the Sunwell Plateau. He has grudgingly learned a handful of Common words, though his grasp of the language is weak and his accent quite heavy. Such a gesture is as close to acceptance as Azeroth is ever going to get. His implacable hatred for the orcs since the massacre on Draenor has never dimmed, however.

His opinions on his own race is a complicated matter. While he still cares for and supports his people without question, the amount of younger draenei taking after Azeroth's natives boggles his mind, and quite thoroughly annoys him. He rarely passes up an opportunity to voice his disapproval on the subject.

Oberoth always takes the time to comment on the arcanists of Azeroth whenever the opportunity presents itself; reckless, headstrong children they are, rushing through studies at a dangerously fast pace. Despite his disdain for them (or perhaps in spite of it), he will occasionally pass on hints or advice to these mages. So they do not cause some catastrophe inadvertently, of course; Oberoth would never let it be said that he is doing something charitable. Warlocks and other fel-users, however, receive no such advice. All they get from him is a killing bolt of magic if the draenei receives even the slightest opportunity.

Despite his power, Oberoth will rarely engage in combat anymore. There are few causes that can now stir his ire, and he prefers to let offenses he would once have reacted to slide. Only against the forces of the Burning Legion and sparse few others does he rouse himself.

Oberoth's entire outlook and demeanor can be summed up quite simply: he is losing faith. Faith in the Naaru, faith in Velen, faith in his people. Twenty-five thousand years they have run from the Legion; any attempts to stand and fight have resulted in annihilation, any planet they hide on is burned to ash. Twenty-five thousand years...and what do they have to show for it? The Naaru promise to form the Army of the Light, to destroy the Legion, but Oberoth has begun to question the veracity of these words. If they could, why have they not done so already? Why do they wait while the draenei race continues to dwindle? Where are those others the Naaru promised would stand with them against the Legion? And so Oberoth's ardor has dimmed, wilting under the weight of everything he has seen during the war against the Legion. The deaths of countless draenei, his family among them, have left him bitter and withdrawn. Though he would never admit it to anyone, deep in his heart Oberoth does not truly believe the Legion can be defeated.

History

Oberoth lived in the shining city of Mac'Aree for the entirety of his life on Argus. He practiced magic for many thousands of years, becoming a highly skilled and respected arcanist. In the tradition of his family he specialized, at least initially, in crafting beautiful gems and jewelry, then weaving enchantments into them.

When Sargeras came to Argus and made his offer to the eredar, Oberoth was sorely tempted. As his life continued he had grown more and more interested in the deeper secrets of the arcane; in over ten thousand years of life, the only thing that continued to elude him and the other eredar were the secrets of magic. The titan's offer would have fulfilled such desires and more. The pleading of his wife and children, however, swayed his decision, and when Velen and the newly-christened draenei fled Argus, Oberoth went with them. Though he never truly regretted his choice, during the initial years of the draenei's exile he would often wonder what the alternative would have been like. He resented that the draenei had been forced out of their beloved Argus, resented the usurpation of what had been rightly theirs. The Naaru had counseled flight over fight, though, to bide their time, and the draenei had obeyed.

He began to understand the reasoning, however, when the draenei's first settlement was assaulted by the Burning Legion. Oberoth was confronted by an eredar sorcerer amidst the chaos, an eredar he had known before the flight from Argus. The eredar had been but a child compared to Oberoth, young and inexperienced, his command of the arcane weak at best.

And yet, Oberoth found himself fighting for his life. The eredar, empowered by Sargeras's fell secrets, far outstripped Oberoth in terms of raw magical might. A desperate and destructive duel ensued, and Oberoth triumphed by the skin of his teeth. Only his cunning and deeper understanding of the intricacies of the arcane, not pure power, allowed him to win the battle.

Rather than feeling triumphant, however, Oberoth was dismayed. Over twenty millenia of study and knowledge, and he was nearly beaten by a whelp with but a fraction of his experience? Oberoth had sensed the fel the eredar had woven against him, the perversion of magic, and had felt the vast, raw power within it. How was it possible that so many years of experience could be invalidated by this source of power?

Oberoth had no time to dwell at that moment, as the draenei were rushing to evacuate. By the time they were safely away, Oberoth realized that his wife and first son were not aboard the Oshu'gun. They had been left behind in the confusion.

Oberoth's sorrow and heartbreak turned to fury as the draenei continued their flight, as if nothing had changed. They were biding their time, as the Naaru advised, waiting for the Army of the Light. Waiting as their numbers continued to dwindle, waiting as the enemy grew ever stronger. Oberoth hated it, hated being constantly reactive to their enemies. He hated the 'settle on a planet, grow comfortable, flee when the Legion caught up' mentality that the draenei settled in to. His indignation gradually dwindled to resignation and,finally, to apathetic indifference as the millenia dragged on.

They could not win against the Legion. They may win a skirmish once in a while, but the draenei always fled, their numbers woefully diminished, while the Legion continued implacably, undeterred by their every effort.

Over the course of the draenei's travels, Oberoth's second son and first daughter were slain by the Legion, furthering his mental descent. For 25 millenia he listened to the words of Velen and the Naaru, and his belief waned. He felt the touch of the Naaru, the touch of the Light, but it did little to reassure him. He began to doubt the promises, doubt that the Army of the Light would ever come to pass.

When the draenei arrived on Draenor and went unmolested for a such a (comparatively) long stretch of time, Oberoth finally began to hope again. His only remaining daughter had found her soulmate and had two children. She had settled comfortably, under the watchful eye of her ever-vigilant father. A twinge of faith reignited within him. Perhaps, this time, things would turn out alright.

And then the orcs drank the blood of Mannoroth, and fell upon the draenei in a horrific slaughter. When Oberoth found his daughter and her husband, butchered, their children nowhere to be found, the last spark of hope died with Oberoth. In that moment his hatred for the orcs matched that of his hate for the eredar, surpassed it. For the first time he wielded magic not to defend himself or his people, not in any righteous cause, but simply to attack, to kill, to lay utter waste to any orcs he came across, and that was exactly what he did.

He eventually grouped up with the handful of draenei who had survived the massacre, and he moved with them to Zangarmarsh, where they hid for years. When the time finally came to storm Tempest Keep and steal the Exodar, Oberoth was in the vanguard of the assault. If there was one thing he could still do well, it was combat other arcanists, and the blood elves had so many of those.

Oberoth survived the attack and subsequent crash of the Exodar. After that, he realized that his people's flight was finally at an end. With their vessel destroyed, they couldn't run any longer.

Now they were cornered, he thought, and the end was finally upon them. They had not been able to defeat the Legion for twenty-five thousand years; every time they had stood and fought, they had died. Why would this time be any different? What did it matter how much the natives of Azeroth thought of themselves?

After the events of the Sunwell Plateau (which Oberoth participated in; defeatist he might have been, but he was not willing to just lie down and die either), Oberoth's opinion shifted, if only slightly. He has not yet begun to hope for victory (such a thought could only bring ruin), but perhaps...the situation was not quite so grim as he had painted it.