Sorley

Information

Player: Reigen

Character Full Name: Sorley of None [Formally Ambertide]

Character In-Game Name: Sorley

Nickname(s): Soar, Big Fat Furry, Elder, Old Wolf

Association(s): Hyjal Defenders, Night Elves

Race: Worgen [Night Elf]

Class: Druid

Age: 11,142 [Though he isn’t fully sure himself.]

Sex: Male

Hair: Variations of Grey

Eyes: A mix of green and amber

Scale/Height: 1.15 [Enlarged size due to Night Elven origins rather than human]

Appearance

A hulking man, Sorley is a large mixture of grey and darker greys, though much of his fur around his back has been burnt off. His bottom fangs are gone, chipped stubs in their place. His visage is marred by scars from battle. It is clear his right eye struggles with vision, the scar across it liking giving hint as to why this is the case. His muzzle is torn up and his right ear has been torn partly off, giving him a hard time from hearing anything on that side.

He dresses in earthy colors, leaving his torso bare and stomach covered by earth-stained bandages. While his long claws might seem weapon enough, he does carry a visible dagger at his side. The only thing notable about the armor he wears is the feathered skull that adorns his head. Made out of some sort of bird, he is able to use it as a visor, moving the skull up and down, all the while maintaining the ability to see. The feathers, collected from many different birds over his years, drape down his back, nearly reaching his knee.

His chest lacks fur in a deliberate pattern, though the fur can still obscure the image. When it is in clear view, it appears to be some sort of bird imagery as well.

His size, while intimidating, makes him rather clumsy when it comes to running and moving in general. It takes him a fair bit to get up to speed and he can not stop on a copper by any means. This has often resulted into his face becoming personally acquainted with many objects. He is slow in battle, which he makes up for in strength. Quicker opponents can prove hazardous if he cannot pin them down before they start doing damage to his body.

As of recent, he is missing his left arm at his shoulder.

Personality

No matter what his race might be known for, Sorley is far from one who falls into quick fits of rage. He is a curious soul who seeks to learn about the world he had been locked away from for so long. He questions every new thing he learns of and is mindful of the others around them. He keeps his space unless he knows those around are comfortable with his presence and seeks no fights with any, no matter how they might insult him. The old druid also refuses to use blanket statements to address a group, feeling that one person should not be the image of all.

He does not know how to read or write common, but has managed to pick up on the verbal language with a surprising speed. This is not a source of shame to him and he is not afraid to seek out someone on the street to read out loud anything that might be addressed to him.

Sorley is rather gentle as well, knowing his size could be cause for pain. His steps are slow and he always peers about his space before doing anything that could put another in harms way. Perhaps the one thing he has picked up since his sanity returned is being kind to any around him, offering to escort strangers along the road so they do not need to fear bandits, or using his magic to offer shelter from the rains.

Despite the reassurance that the ‘monster’ within him can never take over, Sorley still fears losing control and starting a new slaughter. He is haunted by the flashes of memories of what he did and seeks to never find himself in a situation where the ‘beast’ could come forward again. As such, he spends his time helping others to try to repay the debt he feels he owes the world.

History

Sorley’s childhood was average at best. He never excelled in any sort of subject, topic, weapon or trade. Rather, he was always interested in the plant life that grew about the little cottage on the coast that they lived in. Known as part of the Ambertide family, a family of sailors, the life of the sea was always something that should have drawn him in, just as it did those before him. However, while his siblings looked to the seas, he found himself staring to the skies.

His mother raised him to offer nothing but respect to those around him while his father showed him how to handle those who refused to do the same. Between the two of them, the boy came out with little will for conflict, little want for strife and little care to break any rules. His duties were done early in the morning and his free evenings were spent climbing to feel an unaltered breeze though his hair. Though he had no love for the sea, it was the closest feeling to flying he could ever be.

The boy grew into adulthood with no true trials of faith, love or passion. A shipwreck had taken his father some years ago, and though they all mourned for a while, they moved on with only that minor hiccup in the flow of life. His mother went to join the Sisterhood, his sister the Sentinels and his brothers had taken over the business of sailing. Sorley stayed land bound, tending to the herbs that grew in the area and educating himself in a life of a non-magical healer. It was through this hobby that, even though he did not yet know, would bring him closer and closer to the druidic teachings soon to come.

True to his desires of youth, Sorley found himself scouring the known world in a daring venture. He could not, would not be rooted down in a modest little cottage. The lands were too vast, the mountains too mysterious. It was a primal urge he could not deny. Often his travels took him to the lands of the Highborne and he was subject to their mockings. This made him no less curious as to how they lived, so he would pass by one of their smaller settlements at least once a week.

At first he watched from a distance, then moved in closer as time passed. A group of women who’d often lounge about near a lake after their duties at home took notice to him. Though they mocked him at first, he was tolerated after the first few days as someone who wasn't worthy of their attention. Even later still, they began to pester him about his lack of arcane practices, his low birth and other such trivial things as they never truly interacted with the outside world. Eventually an unspoken deal was made. He would bring with him trinkets from his travels, be it a strange flower or odd stone, and in turn they’d offer him a meal or show of arcane.

He began to speak with one more often than the others, making trips just out of his way to meet her away from her friends, in which they would spend time speaking. He would land upon her balcony at night, bringing stories of lands far off for her to listen to until she found herself asleep on the stone. She was content he never seemed to want anything from her and he felt a connection on an emotional level. One day, she was dressed for travel and her friends were attempting to reason with her over something. When he stopped, he inquired as to what was going on, only to find that she was demanding to go with him, as it was only proper for ‘mates’ to be together. Though they had never declared themselves such, he had no intentions of arguing her lead and lead her home with him.

He found himself stranded once more, this time to tend to the woman who had joined him in that little cottage he spent his childhood. In time their relationship grew and the man worked hard to keep the woman as happy as he could. In time, however, she felt the nature that none could deny and had a wish to expand their family to include children. A great number of discussions were had, some which often left his mate in tears. Attempts in seduction failed, the man showing no interest in physical interactions. No amount of explanation would properly convey just why he couldn't.

It hurt to watch his mate suffer from her wants, though the only solution was one he was not fond off. Sorley forced his feelings on the matter to take a hike and offered to his mate a compromise. He would allow her to have as many affairs as she wished, something not all too uncommon in Highborne society, in order to produce the children she wanted. He would raise them and call them his own. The option wasn’t easy on either of them, but her want of children won out.

The affairs drained the man for a good long while, though the feeling waned on the day it was known she was with child. As promised, when their son was born he named and raised it as if it had been his own flesh and blood. Some time after came a daughter. When the two grew of age to start their education in defensive arts, both chose the arcane. Sorley put on a grand show of being grumpy that neither felt the connection to his practice, though he watched on from the sidelines and encouraged them all the same.

Somehow, likely due to their extreme distance away from the well, they survived the shattering of the world. Sorley’s mate fell into a depression at the loss of all her friends and family, thinking most dead or worse. During the time, he did his best to comfort her, but could not stop her leaving in the night do try to drown her sorrows in her vices. His children, old enough to fend for themselves at this point, were told to stay home and make sure she did nothing to hurt herself. He left, curious of the whispers on the wind. There was to be a blessing, as he heard, a gift from very aspects themselves: Nordrassil.

As the branches twisted up into the sky, he felt a strange calm overtake him. Then came the blessings of the dragons, each offering his people a new gift and a new advancement in their lives. Immortality was to come, but better yet, the gift of the dream. Through the blessing of Ysera, the druids were able to enter the dream and strengthen their connection to nature and their powers.

Seeing someone give so freely and wishing little in return, a druid had come to tempt the still-young Kaldorei into the newly-founded art of druidism. Though at first reluctant, he was soon swayed to attempt the arts in order to get out of the sorrow he had been experiencing. Many weeks were devoted, and a growing passion made sure he stuck to the teachings as best he could. Blood, sweat and even a few hidden tears were shed, but in the end, he emerged as one of many to come.

He returned home for a time, energy renewed to speak sternly to his mate. The times from then on were tense, but he did not relent. It was when the twisted beasts known as Satyr started to weed their way into the world did his mate see a margin of sense. Grief was still strong, but she was at the very least remaining at home to make sure their children were schooled. He comforted her when he could, but only time would return her to her senses.

More and more he we called away to fulfill his duty to his people by fighting the remnants of the legion. At first, they were considered fanatic Highborne who escaped the fate of the others. Mad, he called them, and twisted by the very magic they had tried to call in from the nether. They had become known as the Satyr, with legs of beasts and the torso of a man and furry all about. They had horrid claws that could rend flesh with little effort and others had twisted magic that left the very soul aching in pain. Perhaps, for the first time in his life, he could say he hated a race as a whole.

At first, the attacks were only light, the monsters easily driven back into whatever hole they managed to crawl out from. Most of the time Sorley found himself home again the same day he left. As time progressed however, it seemed as though for every one they took down, two would rise up to take its place later. What started as skirmishes was starting to turn into a full out war. One one such occasion, Sorley was injured and forced back home, where he discovered his mate had been worrying herself sick with stress. He remained home longer than needed, hoping it would calm her, but the sickness was found to be caused by their third and final child.

Sorley wasn’t angry that she had another affair, his rage was in the fact that the demons would be a threat to the coming child, and so he fought further. Days turned to weeks, weeks to months and finally the skirmishes turned to the start of a full-out war. Try as they might, the druids struggled. The closer and closer to home it got, the angrier they became. He managed to watch his newest child, a daughter, grow but was often absent as the fighting continued.

It was though the then thought wisdom of Ralaar Fangfire that a group of them began to explore the form of the pack. They were able to harvest their rage into a new form, that of a wolf, to overpower their enemies. For every time they shifted, it became harder and harder to find the will to return to their natural form. Others warned them about it, even the great druid Malfurion attempted to ban the form once he witnessed the true rage it unleashed. They would not be swayed.

For a final time, he doted on his family as he knew them. For a final time he came out to stand against the beasts. Their leader brought to them an object, a scythe made from the staff of Elune and fang of Goldrinn so that they could master the form. They submitted to it and became twisted themselves, perhaps no better than the ones they fought.

He could no longer tell friend and foe apart, his claws ripped though everyone that dared to come in his path. There was no formation, there was no planning after that. There was only bloodlust, death and cries of the innocent that were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Quick as they came, Malfurion began to banish them all into the dream. The last thing he heard before he was trapped as the cry of three young elves and a familiar voice pleading for mercy.

The hate subsided for a time, as they slept peacefully, locked away forever from the world to protect it until meddling forces from the outside woke them again. The Archmage that attempted to use them against the undead had no idea what sort of power he was attempting to contain and swiftly the worgen, Sorley included, turned against him and slaughtered more before fleeing into the wilderness.

Between the unbearable rage and consuming nightmares, Sorley fought and hunted until he could no longer move and stopped only when his legs gave out under him. During this period of rest, he would dream of a woman, two younger mages and a child. Faces were blurred and names could not be recalled, but the screams tormented him. They drove him further into insanity. Everything and anything was hunted and whatever human that was unfortunate enough to live became just as cursed as he was.

For how long this went on, he was never able to tell. What he did know was the sudden pain in his leg as he was captured. He recalled being forced to drink some sort of potion, a test or some such thing. There was a calm, a moment of fearful clarity before the beast overtook him again, busting free and fleeing in a state of panic. A soft song reached his ears, swift figures. The rage in him was subsiding once more. He fought against it, trying to regain control only to be snatched by hands and subdued to darkness.

Once more his life fell into a blur, this time a drugged one. There was a flash of lights, each happening after he was forced to drink from some stone object. The humans there attempted to speak to him when he came too after, though all they found were blank stares. Try as they might to communicate with him, nothing seemed to break through. It wasn’t until one of the elven allies made a comment in their home language did he speak. It became apparent then that he had never been human but was one of the original druids that had been cursed.

Panic was overwhelming him with all the strange happenings and pink-skinned creatures pestering him. He shied away from them, living his vivid nightmares over and over in the realm of sanity. With a good deal of patience between the humans and elves, they began to teach him the basics of communication. He stood away from their fighting, boarding the ship and hiding away until the journey to Darnassas was made.

There he stayed, learning the language known as common and hiding away in shame. No words could comfort him and, in the dead of night, he left without word to the open world. He introduced himself as Sorley of None, feeling he had no right to be part of any people nor family. When asked what happened to his loved ones, he claimed not knowing, saying his memory was far too blurry to recall if they managed to escape.

Though reunited with one daughter, he knows the truth of his actions and knows that their blood stains his hands for the rest of his life. Now he travels, seeking to aid all he can as a way to make up for his past mistakes. Inside, however, he wishes above all else that he would have been slain instead of reliving the presumed murder of his own heart night after night again.