Vhaughn

Information

Player: Commissariot

Character Full Name: Vhaughn Tontorque Vaar

Character In-Game Name: Vhaughn

Nickname(s): Heughs, Tonny.

Association(s): Dun Modar, Ironforge

Race: Dwarf

Class: Hunter (Engineer)

Age: 105

Sex: Male

Hair: None to be found on his noggin, but a very long and groomed orange-red beard adorns his chin, and yapper.

Eyes: Blue

Weight: 125

Height: 4' 6”

Alignment: Nuetral-chaotic

Appearance

• A rather short rifle. Lacking a actual buttstock, instead having a pistol-like grip.
• A bandolier, looping over both shoulders and across his pot belly. Lined with all sorts of ammunition.
• A tool belt, with assorted spanners, wrenches, and other stuff that can only be assumed to be engineering supplies.
• A heavy looking pack that towers over his bald head, adorned with trophies
• A blast mask, similar to a welders mask is often either lifted up, or down over his face.
• A small spade on his back, the head seeming old, dented, rusty, and sharpened to a point.
• Cigars! Either resting between his ear and head, or being chewed to a pulp between his teeth

Other: his left side of his head is heavily scarred. The scar starring across the top of his head, eyebrows, and ends at the beginning of the cheek.

Personality

He's often easy going enough, even compared to dwarves he seems lax and accepting. Though just conversing with him is often a difficult thing, not because of his demeanor, but because he's forgetful on a level often associated with senility. His relations with other races are either curious or dismissing; that is unless humans are involved, in which he is slow to associate with or trust. Often doing things just for the sake of doing them, the world “mad” can sometimes be found describing him in his local bars. He can be unpredictable, though everything he does makes sense…at least to him. In a angered state he doesn't enter a rage, or even seeming angry…instead his eyes begin to gleam jovially, sometimes even laughing, that is just before his rifle pops into his fat hands.

History

Before the third war this dwarf was a rather normal dwarven siege tank operator. Often found drinking, or driving his treasured tank, the “Gregarious Bellow”. During the third war he was stationed near the Silverpine area, just in time to watch his clan brothers and his human allies turn into vicious undead zombies. Thanks to the spiked plow equipped to his tank, they didn't last too long, crushed like berries under the two ton war machine.

Quickly with his three siege tank crewmen, he drove them the hell out of there before Arthas' reach encompassed the area. Going to the magic city of Dalaran. Hardly being a welcome sight there, (the loud war machine was seen as a distraction to the mages,) he instead took up rest in the mountains nearby, surviving off of game with his three clansmen. Buri, Muri, and Turi.

By the time Arthas invaded Dalaran, it was much too late for them to do much else but watch from the turret of there steam tank in simple horror as the great demon was summoned, seeming to even tower over the very mountains themselves.

He, along with what survivors he could gather, eventually found Garithos. He instantly didn't like the man, if not because he was soon established as a racist fool, but also because he dared try and put a human in command of his tanks turret, instead of the battle proven Turi.

After threatening to simply return to his homeland, Garithos reconsidered his demand. Seeing the tank crew a valuable expendable asset. Determined to see the dwarves dead, or at least the tank empty for humans to use, Tonny and his crew were sent on a multitude of missions that should have proven there death ground. But, thanks mostly to Hueghs innovations to the tank, thye alwas came back, not necissarly victorious, but always returned ready for more undead freaks to blow to pieces.

Though Garithos didn't have enough time to brew in his disappointment of the tank still in the dwarves hands. He was soon after dominated by Sylvanas. Though the rest of the human soldiers were willing to continue following there leader, Tonny was anything but accepting. He, late in the night, left camp in a drunken stupor and the roaring engine of tank.

It didn't take Garithos and his new undead master to find the dwarves crossing back through Dalaran. In a vicious urban battle amongst the ruins of the once great city, the heavily customized “Gregarious Bellow” main gun was rumored to be glowing red with all the shots they were able to fire…before mortar fire hit the tank.

The mortars tore through the tank like tissue paper, instantly killing his long time crew. The fire from the mortar quickly spread, the canopy of his beloved tank nearly enveloped completely in flame before he was able to escape from the top hatch. The munitions and fuel inside quickly ignited, blowing the tank into pieces, also tossing Tonny like a small, hardheaded missile into a large piece of steel blown out in front of him. The rubble of his tank and the caving building hiding him from his pursuers.

A week later he awoke. Clothes torned, upper body burned, and a piece of iron protruding from the higher, left part of his skull. With pure will and urge to survive he dug himself free of his tomb with more scrap found around his supposed-to-be tomb, and began to walk to the only place he remembered vividly. His races home in the high mountains.

Walking miles upon miles, daring not to stop until he collapsed from a nasty, infected wound on the left side of his head on the outskirts of Khaz Modan. Weeks late he awoke in the church of Ironforge.

He never truly recovered, either from the horrors of war he had seen, or from his wounds the priests couldn't be certain. He now spends his time as a engineer, often busy in his workshop. Sealing his reputation as a recluse when he chased a Stormwind emissary from his workshop, whizzing bullets past his head with one of his new weapons. Now only whispers of his insanity fill those bars and drunks that don't have anything more substantial to talk of.