Taves

Information

Player: Maulbane

Character Full Name: Taves (tah-ves) Sesillian Marrowmore

Character In-Game Name: Taves

Nickname(s): None outside of any honorifics ("Sir", et cetera, depending on speaker.)

Association(s): The Alliance, Kingdom of Stormwind, House of Nobles (Stormwind), House Marrowmore.

Race: Human

Class: Warrior OOCly, Nobleman ICly

Skills and Abilities: None.

Age: 38

Sex: Male

Hair: Black, balding on the top and parietal ridges of his skull. What remains is about one centimeter long and carefully groomed. Face is shaved cleanly.

Eyes: Blue.

Weight: 78kg (172lbs)

Height: 167cm (5'5")

Appearance

Usual Garments/Armor: He fits the bill when it comes to attire – when at home or among his estate he'll wear something that won't be laughed at, but still allow him comfort and flexibility. When on business outside of his estate, he wears the attire of a true blue-blooded man – usually a finely stitched brocade doublet and matching trousers, both fitting the motif of 'blue for Stormwind' and his family's insignia. Were he ever to get into a situation where he both had to fight and was prepared in advance (rare considering his position in the House of Nobles), he supposes he'd put on a set of chainmail – emblazoned with his family's tabard, of course.

Other: He's hardly at the apex of good health, but he could fight were it needed – especially if he knew he had to ahead of time. He carries scars on his back (inflicted by a belt buckle), but they have long faded to barely be visible next to his pale skin.

Personality

Alignment (if applicable): Lawful Good

Taves is a man who spent most of his childhood with little direction or requirement to do anything at all, and that's something that has scarred him even into adulthood. When the carefree life that he assumed he would have was removed from him, he was forced to adapt rapidly to the thought that he simply wasn't important anymore. He didn't. Rather, he became irate and stubborn, which carried from his late childhood into his early adulthood, morphing from simple childish irritability to sheer obstinance with the setbacks and punishment he faced. While he is well meaning, his mettle has never been tested directly – failing or barred from proper military activities and otherwise living in the safety of Elwynn, within a manor far from the reach of common bandits. He would concede to himself that his ambition is his greatest strength – without it, he would have fallen to mediocrity, not being overly clever by birth. It's his burning desire to not be the cause of his house's demise, and the further burning desire to bring glory to it, that drives him.

He has a good work ethic, however – he hasn't missed a meeting at the House of Nobles except due to illness, and he consistently supervises his estate's production and taxes (though he has to occasionally refer to an adviser to crunch the numbers). His hatred of Orcs more so than the other factions of the Horde is brought on by their indirect effect on him rather than any personal issue, but yet he would organise countless hunting parties to run them down (an anachronistic second-war view) should he have the opportunity. He does care about his subjects, but he was never able to relate to them – after the scare with VanCleef, he has been unable to view them without some level of apprehension. This apprehension materialises in the form of concessions rather than punishment, though, so it may be a good thing.

A man who matured late and has spent much of his life simply getting to the point where he can begin moving forward, he holds little resentment towards Stormwind itself, and is a staunch defender of its principles. He carries resentment towards certain individuals within it, though. Still within his prime, he has sobered up to patience over the years, and the rebellion of his younger years is a matter of indignity for him. Of course, the stubbornness never truly left.

His opinions of the other groups and races of Azeroth are mostly built upon rumor and speculation (by his own part), and for the most part have remained unchallenged. He holds the Dwarves in highest esteem, first due to their versatility as their race, secondly as he finds their politics the most agreeable outside of his own race. That isn't to say he finds a lot of them agreeable in person, though. He has little in common with Gnomes or Elves (of any persuasion) and has little thoughts of the Draenei outside of excited nighttime discussions with colleagues. His hatred of Orcs has the most personal motivation, but he gives no quarter to Trolls, Goblins, Forsaken, Tauren or the Sin'dorei either, splashing them with equal disdain. He still regards Worgen as rightful members of the kingdom of Gilneas, but holds resentment towards the Greymane Wall and what he perceives as its cowardice. He's also not sure about the whole transforming thing.

History

The Marrowmore family's blood tracks, like all other humans, back to the kingdom of Arathor and the Troll Wars, but their lineage only became blue-blooded during the reign of Landen Wrynn. When it occurred can be placed between the years 498 and 510 using the King's Calendar (roughly -120 using the current accounting of years), with how being long washed by the omnipotent arm of oblivion, as well as the arms of Orcs immolating Stormwind's many archives that may have held the answer. Thus, over the past two decades the debate has shifted from 'what happened?' to 'how did we forget?', with the two veins of argument being either' lethargy' or 'embarrassment' (behind closed doors, of course).

Taves' birth was perhaps an indicator to how his life was going to be, and it was a first impression that he didn't find remotely distasteful – directly from his mother into a blanket supported by the strong arms of a midwife who was, for the first time in her life, being paid in currency. He would have been nursed with a silver spoon, had his parents not been gifted with sense that a baby was not to be trusted with a metal as ductile as silver. Regardless, he went from the ages naught to four alarmingly blithely. An only child (his parents also realised that fratricide wasn't a common end for cautionary tales for no reason), he strived to be nothing but happy, and he was facilitated in almost every possible way as he grew up. It helped that his family were landed gentry, and with the contributions of aunts, uncles and cousins their holdings reached some five hundred hectares of delicious, arable land in eastern Elywnn.

From that age on, young Taves' education was mostly related to the job he'd have later in life – running most if not all of this land himself. As far as he was concerned, that was a load of guff – there would always be people he could pay to watch grapes and flax grow, or to discipline unruly peasants. He was only truly attentive, spoiled as he was, when his tutor would go on about the House of Nobles. With the appropriate level of censorship for a child, he'd go on about the intrigue that went on behind those walls. Around this time, word of the first Orcs reached the heart of the kingdom. To a young child, the sudden new activity – formations marching out of Goldshire, his father bringing home information about how the meetings in the city were progressing – was intoxicating, and he was overcome with visions of armies and vanquished monsters. Taves was certain that that'd be where he'd be – billowing cloak, righting wrongs, supporting his king.

'Course, things have a way of getting jinxed. After their first victories, the Orcs had finally gained the upper hand, with the few levies the Marrowmore family had sent apparently having been obliterated. Two weeks warning was ample compared to what other, outskirting houses had got (let alone the unfortunate poor), but he had no frame of reference. His parents were belated in leaving after a failed attempt to disassemble and move some of their larger holdings, and they began northwards just a week before the Horde sacked the entirety of their property. They had the bonus of a carriage, but, not being designed for the harshness of anything but gentle roads, it was left by the roadside humiliatingly quickly. The walk to Lordaeron was nothing like he'd experienced before, though he wouldn't say that to the other thousands of refugees.

When they arrived, any semblance of nobility was stripped from them – their titles were only a matter of passing interest to both the guards and various attendants at Andhorhal, where they'd finally found a place to stay. Their coin (one of the few things they were able to bring with them) spoke far louder than their titles, even after wandering hands had lightened it during the long trip. The next years were hard, but only subjectively. Taves was educated to the best of his parents abilities, but they fell into a slump of mediocrity after the first half year. The next two passed in a similar manner. Despite the misfortune inflicted upon them, Taves' parents couldn't help but find Taves' growing indignation amusing at such a young age.

The truly powerful nobility would pave the way back to their homeland, after all – the ones who'd retained armies and land outside of Stormwind, with the help of the new Alliance, pushed the Orcs far enough for anybody's peace of mind. As a matter of confidence in their kingdom, the Marrowmore family had packed their bags and marched behind the armies themselves, making them among the earlier migrants to reach their homeland once more. They had prepared a contingency plan for what they expected, but they were still taken aback by the sheer loss the green-skins had wrought on them. Far worse than Orcs, while the war had successfully brought together the peoples of the greater continent, greed reared its head in the form of the major nobility.

The next few years were spent watching their formerly expansive holdings diminish rapidly as they were snatched in various nefarious manners by the nobles lucky enough to have retained the power to do so. Some of it was explained as 'making the borders more coherent', other takings were due to the lack of records indicating they truly owned the land. Eventually, they were left with half of their original pastures and farms, the rest taken away piecemeal. They had money, but not enough to replant all the crops, all the assets destroyed – especially to rebuild their manor. They had to settle with focusing on replenishing their land acre by acre, and Taves' parents coinpurse diminished rapidly. They attempted to gain the aid of the Stonemasons, but they were hardly wealthy enough now. Taves, and the Marrowmore family as a whole, learned a lesson quite a few other families of a nobility did – humility.

While his parents were older and more able to cope, Taves learned nothing from the experience, becoming further enraged at the series of outrages committed upon them, even by their own kind. He had been able to hold his tongue in Lordaeron, with the hope of regaining their homeland as a pacifier, but now there was nothing. It didn't help that, at fifteen, he had become pubescent (far beyond what was becoming of a noble boy), and after two attempts to run away from home (one of them to ostensibly join the army and take the fight back to the Orcs, though he never got past Goldshire) he was ruthlessly disciplined by his normally easygoing father. The scars healed after a week or two and he was cowed enough to put his anger into constructive activities – such as constructing their former buildings.

The indignity of having to labor aside laborers was alleviated when, after some three years of this, they finally had enough land to be 'noble' in not only title. Their former manor was now a five-room, one-story home of moderate gentility, as well as enough satellite buildings to finally begin harvesting (and therefore taxing) again. They had gone from five hundred hectares to roughly two hundred, with only half of that still being taxable. Without any strong military victories, strong political position or any significant recognition of their name, the money they made was their only real way of gaining respect among their peers – and it had been thirded. When the House of Nobles finally began sitting again, they found themselves with little pull at all.

This went on for a long time – the slow, agonising road to regaining their territories. Taves' parents would occasionally form schemes to best the other noble houses (at the very least to get their stolen land back), but they would fall flat, either due to fear or lack of resources. Young Taves had grown more independent, going out hunting since age sixteen and taking active part in running the homestead (though his parents held the reins). The passage of time would be bumpy and fraught with new, unexpected problems. The expulsion of the Stonemasons and the essential martyrdom of VanCleef (a decision in which the Marrowmores were present, which only inflamed their anxiety) had come to the ears of their peasantry, and they were forced to lower taxes to ensure tensions didn't rise any further.

That on top of attacks from gnolls, encroaching from the east and south, left Taves with little to inherit on his twenty-first birthday, a family tradition. He'd grown into the role of supervisor, but made sure to keep his distance from the lower class workers on his land. 'Dancing about with people you shouldn't just makes you look like a fool', he'd say to himself on occasion. His parents for the most part were proud of the child they had raised, though he was still far too self-assured.

And, so, a year passed with even little of note. The development of the heir to the family went on just as predicted by his parents – he became more and more confident in his role, to the point of arrogance. Getting tired of his 'pointers' on how to run the farm, they sent him off for an exploratory trip to Stormwind. He had been there as a child before, but this time he was seeing what he was truly interested in – the offices and meeting halls within Stormwind Keep. He marveled at the architecture, not entirely realising (or perhaps just not caring) what had happened to those who built it, and seeing the opulence and justice of the place sealed any doubt in his minds to what he wanted to be.

Thrall's escape from Durnholde almost half a decade later would have little consequence to them, save for Taves. This was his opportunity to make something for their name. After tying up loose ends at their estate (leaving it in the hands of his more than capable parents), he used what spare gold he had earned in his inheritance and armed a group of warriors – fifteen men from his own estate and four mercenaries. They trekked north, ready to hunt whatever Orcs they could find. His lack of military training was his downfall in this expedition – were there any Orcs north of the Thandol Span, they were either too large in number for his small group to handle, or too evasive to be caught up to. In a bout of anger, Taves ordered his men to all chase after a group of bandits – which, funnily enough, ended up their only enemy as they traveled. Of course, when they returned to their supplies they had all been sacked, spelling the end of his dreams of Orc-hunting. He returned home with his men (the mercenaries having parted ways with no shortage of mean things to say) mostly by the charity of others as well as his own purse, and he'd know better than to do something like that again – not without more men and swords, at least.

Bearing his parent's disappointment and a new-found sense of humiliation on his back, Taves didn't seem like he could do much right. The peasants on their estate had long caught wind of this, but nothing violent came of it – just a stream of ribbing and mocking. At the least, he hadn't got anybody killed, and that may have been his saving grace. Not confident enough to place himself in the public eye, he began meeting at the House of Nobles – not to weigh in on decisions, as his father was still their family's representative, just to learn.

And learn he did. More years passed, and his parents aged to the point where heading to Stormwind every other month was improper, even in a carriage. At the age of twenty-five, the paperwork was concluded and Taves was finally the head of the household. He immediately began changing the way things were run, if only to give himself some kind of imprint. Not all of them were well received, but in retrospect the changes were mostly beneficial – raised taxes (they had never been brought back from the Stonemasons debacle almost a decade earlier), more current crops to be farmed and the hiring of a military adviser.

Through some well-placed frugality, the next few years would bring their total holdings to roughly (without the ability to properly measure, also considering borders tended to cross over each-other) two hundred and fifty hectares, but up to a third of it sat as empty pastoral ground. He began to sit regularly in the House of Nobles, even beginning to speak up during matters of agrarian importance (wholly ignored, though). He would vow that, at the very least, he would rise in wealth and stature enough to stand on the same level as other noblemen.

That would have to wait, though – despite his attempts to shift around in the political stratus, it would be cut short by the outbreak of the third war. All of his requests to assist in the defense of Lordaeron would fall upon the House of Nobles' back. Despite his tutoring in strategy, even if he took all of his subjects with him they wouldn't make two platoons. "It would compromise our cohesion to have to coddle such a small, unequipped force" were the specific words of one of the barons. His troops were instead placed as reserves, reserves that never saw use. He didn't allow this additional insult to wear him down.

If that wasn't enough, his parents fell ill to influenza, which became a short-lived plague scare in his household. What could have been a quickly-resolved case of sickness turned into his parents being quarantined for almost three days in the family manor – and only when a priest entered was the truth revealed. Taves, shaken by guilt, spent enough gold to buy a new horse on the treatment, but the time wasted was simply too much. They passed away two days later, and the funeral was attended a week later by many in the House of Nobles, if only to keep up appearances. Taves, now without anybody to rely on, was only able to seal away his feelings of self-doubt and resentment by promising to himself that he'd become stronger – if not with a sword, then with his coffers. He wouldn't see their family fall again because of him.

Blocked at every turn to work with the war effort, he instead turned to improving his own lands. As much as it pained him, he spent the next eight years simply rebuilding his lands. It wasn't for nothing, as at the end he had, through scheming and some careful bribery, bought back much of the land that had been taken from him, though it burned him to have to pay for his birthright. By the age of thirty-seven, he was unmarried but in control of four hundred hectares, almost all growing crops in his name.

After the preceding near-two-decades, and at the expense of having to watch men richer and more powerful than him lead armies all across the world – First to Lordaeron, then Kalimdor, across dimensions to Draenor and the wastes of Northrend – he has elevated his house's reputation and coffers enough to take a place in the House of Nobles – one of at least some consequence. With his coffers replenishing and the arrival of Deathwing upon the world, Taves may not have grandiose designs of saving the world, but he's able to do something now, whatever that may be.