Azziri

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Information

Player: Psycho.

Character Full Name: 'Gildencrow... They called her Lola Gildencrow... The people once did. Now, she calls herself Azziri...'

Character In-Game Name: Azziri

Nickname(s): 'Witch, they spat! Burn! Burn!'

Association(s): The Horde, Forsaken.

Race: The Forsaken.

Class: Rogue.

Age: 26 [19 in death]

Sex: Female.

Hair: Azziri's hair grew back in a rather bright yellow, slid back her head.

Eyes: Blue eyes in life. Now in death, her eyes are like every other Forsaken's, or at least most, a glowing yellow ghostlight.

Weight: 95 lbs [43 kg].

Height: 5'11" [1.80 m].

Appearance

'She wore the robes of those who took her like family... The robes of green and purple, of the skulls to hide her... The hooks she found were those of dead men and women...'

Other: 'She carries the dice of her true father... The one who could see faith...'

Personality

'Azziri is sad... So sad... She misses the simple things. The breeze going through her hair... The feel of a hand against her cheek... But even in life, those hurt her. She feels alone, alone in this ocean of gray... But yet, she is loyal to the Dark Lady... She took her... Like her real family did. She loves the Dark Lady. The Dark Lady takes care of her. Yet, she is free, and her rotting burnt feet take her far and wide... They call her beliefs mad. They call her mad. They are wrong... There is so much to see... So much...'

History

'Come... Sit... Let me tell you a tale, that took place back... Back in time...

Long ago, in a village, surrounded by plains so green, lived a family... No, not yet a family... A mother and a father... Happy in life, and happy in marriage... And to them, was born a healthy girl. They had named this girl, Lola... She was a fair child, and healthy... The parents were happy. The small village was happy. Lola was happy. But yet, this village... Was one so far from cities or advancement... Farmers, they were. Ignorance was a thing most common within them all. The fear of thought. The fear of freedom. But not Lola... Not Lola. From a young age, Lola was free. Free of ignorance and fear itself. She was an active child, and many times has caused trouble and mischief... But Lola was not a bad girl. No, Lola was simply free. And soon, Lola began growing.

But the joy was slowly fading. Lola was not but a young child when news of war began reaching the village. Strange red skinned creatures emerging through a gateway to another world. Dark magic. Evil witchcraft. Slowly, the townsfolk grew more and more paranoid and enclosed. People less and less left their home for the sunny filled land, that now seemed plagued with shadow and concerns of ignorant men and women. Lola's parents told her to remain inside the house, and for a while she did. Aiding her mother with the house chores, while her father was out to work. But that would not last long. Lola was too free to be held down by a fear of a far away war. She was curious. Too curious.

Lola began exploring out of the village... And as time, so did Lola. She became from a young child to a bristling young woman. Her body became fuller. Her hair longer, and its bright yellow only brighter. She was beautiful. And yet, she was free. No man could keep her down. And this, was frowned upon by the townsfolk. Rumors began spreading. And quickly, did those rumors spread... They frowned... Their frown slowly turned to fear... And their fear turned to hate. In a starless night, where the clouds covered the very white of the moon, they came. Men and women armed with the very tools they needed to farm the land, and torches bearing flames... The took her from her slumber. And from her dreams, the had plunged her into a nightmare.

She was tied to a wooden stake, above a pile of firewood and hay, covered in tar. Her parents watched without hope as the priest red his words. Oh how she remembered them. Those ghostly words echoing from the sound of ignorant men and women. Witch! They called to her... Spat... Loathed... All out of fear of freedom. And then, the fire began burning... But yet, even in their fear filled hearts, was some human compassion. They turned from the begging Lola, as slowly the flame began creeping... And soon, it began scorching her flesh.

Lola was once beautiful. But no more. The fire burnt. Her body washed with agony. Her eyes teared as she screamed. And it seems that the heavens has heard to Lola's screams, for it was before the fire consumed her, that a downpour began. The water had cleansed the flames off of her body before her face was burnt. Forever it would stay. As an idol, to the ignorance of men and women. As an idol, to those enslaved by fear. And at last, the smoke had blurred Lola's mind. Everything turned black. And the sound of bells ringing through the air rung.

But this slumber was not her last.

Lola's eyes sprang open as she felt her skin smolder and sting. She was lying. She was shaking. But most of all, she was alive. She felt like she was inside a moving thing, and indeed Lola was. Above her she saw the figures of men and women, conversing. Above her sat a man in simple clothes and a kindly smile, looking down to her in pity. She tried sitting up, but only pain jolted through her flesh, and she remained still. The man above her talked to her and kept her company... His name was Robberto. He was also outcast by his people. They were all outcasts, travelers now living free. He welcomed her to them with open arms, each did every one of them. They were her friends. They were her family.

They had given her a new name. Azziri. And with them, she began slowly gaining her body back in their travels. She learnt of their ways, and of their cultures. Of their beliefs and ideas. With their help, she slowly began functioning again. From crawling to walking. From walking to running. From running to jumping. Her body slowly returned to its functions. But the fire has taken its toll. Her beautiful body now turned to a disgusting one, she hid herself in shame in robes and cloth. With them, she danced. With them, she learnt. And with these travelers, she had found home. One where she could truly be herself.

They traveled, and lived off the land. They were happy. Azziri was happy. Roberto was like a father to her. He taught her to read in cards, and to see in dice. And for a few years, they were happy, and peaceful, traveling through the land to see and experience new sights and sounds.

During their travels, Azziri and the travelers have come upon a camp of strange green men and women, called... Orcs, the Humans called them. Dangerous, they said. But Azziri was curious. She saw these green people, and they did not seem dangerous. They seemed sad. Afraid... She sympathized with them. But yet, the wanderers moved on. During their travels they had heard of the Green ones escaping, and leaving by sea. In her heart, Azziri felt joy for their freedom. She was happy.

As time went by and the wanderers traveled, they came across rumors of a plague of undeath, turning normal people into terrible flesh craving monstrosities. The wanderers were not afraid. But Azziri was. She began having nightmares of these creatures, thoughts about their putrid teeth and their wails. Her new father tried to calm her from her freights, and at times he succeeded, at times he did not.

It was not long before the traveling group came across, and Azziri's nightmares came true. While stopping at a city of grand size to buy some supplies they were lacking, the travelers had found themselves amid the chaos of an undead onslaught. Azziri heard the wails of the dead, and the screams of the people. Once, it was her family who had turned their backs to her. She would not do the same to them. With much struggle and argue, she persuaded Roberto that she would stay behind to buy them a distraction. And so, she did.

Running and singing her chants, the ghoul's attention turned to her. Her feet were quicker than theirs, and she outran the chasing group, allowing her beloved family time to escape. But yet, in the end, she was cornered. Closing her eyes for the last time, she shed her tears and her freights. Darkness consumed her.

When she awoke, she was not awake. Nor was she sleeping. She saw all, but could do nothing. She was a tool to a will so much stronger than her own. And with it, she traveled. She slaughtered. She felt nothing. But sometimes, perhaps if she was lucky, a bit of free thought crept to her head. She wondered about the fate of her beloved new family. She worried for them.

But then she came from the shadows... The woman, she who was defiled by the Lich King most. Sylvannas Windrunner, she called herself. She had freed so much of the enslaved ghouls, and Azziri was upon their ranks. The Forsaken, they were called. And Azzitri was upon them. But yet, despite of this, she felt as she had so long ago. Alone. Frightened. Unloved.

And so, they Forsaken existed. They toiled. They survived. And so did Azziri. Even as the Forsaken joined this, Horde, started by the same Green ones Azziri remembered, she was mistrusting of them. And they of her. Until at the edge of night, Azziri crept away from the relative safety of her people's stronghold. Her curiousity had to be sated. And so she traveled, her feet carrying her. Her sense of home. And finally, she reached it. Her home. Her village... But it was not as she left it.

The town was lightless, and ruined. Outside of it were dozens of burnt stakes, a marring scar to the land. The people of the village were no where. It was ruined. In silence, she walked in the ruins. In everlasting ponder, she examined each house and house. And finally, she reached to her own. The furniture mother worked so hard to upkeep were messy, and ruined. The fireplace father loved so much was broken and unused for what seemed to be years. This house, was no longer her own. And so, she left.

Even as the conflicts of Northrend arrived to her ears, Azziri would not take part in them. Alone, she traveled where she could, in hopes of finding her true family. To hear the sound of Roberto's laughter. To be once more at home.

To this day, she still seeks them. It is said, that if you go to the spot that her beauty was taken from her, and stood very very still... You could still hear her weep'.

Skills and Abilities

  • 'Her dance was grace in life, and death has not taken that from her... Her blades taste blood...'
  • 'Serpent, they called her... She saw the dripping venom, and the puffing smoke... She practiced... And she learned.'
  • 'In life graceful, so was in death...'
  • 'And so I ran... Until I could run no more... And now, I can run more...'