Coraethus
Information
Contents
Player: rentreality
Character Full Name: Coraethus Dawning
Character In-Game Name: Coraethus
Nickname(s): None
Association(s): Silvermoon City
Race: Blood Elf
Class: Rogue
Age: 157
Sex: Male
Hair: Blonde
Eyes: Luminous Green
Weight: 150 lbs
Height: 6'0"
Other: The research librarian has built up a nearly encyclopedic level of knowledge on a certain variety of subjects, and is often able to quote a short number of works verbatim -- a gift of his efforts to preserve, in memory, some part of the documents that were destroyed in the sacking of Silvermoon.
Alignment: Lawful Evil
Appearance
His clothes are simple, formal, and generally some combination of reds, whites, golds, and blacks. Outside of Silvermoon City, they are tight-fitting, and very thick: if the seams were cut, the pleats would unfold to reveal black leather armor panels sewn to the cloth. A little protection goes a long way.
Personality
Jaded by the violence of the past, and hardened by the rising decadence and frivolity that consumes his people, Coraethus has become twin braids of emotion: a savage haughtiness running smoothly over an undercurrent of morose bitterness, blending together with subtle hints of a rare, almost manic happiness -- an untamed joy that bursts free as he follows the trail of information.
History
It would be difficult to argue that Silvermoon City has not always been a haven for an individual in love with knowledge. There has always seemed to be a wealth, there -- an outpouring of information to those with the right credentials. True, there's a bit of a propaganda problem sometimes, and on occasion certain trifles of information are declared censored, but all in all it's quite the place. It's no surprise, really, that magic thrived there: the Blood Elves, as they're called now, have always been a little bit in love (or in lust) with magic.
You can understand how someone like Coraethus, born and bred from childhood in this environment, would come to love the exchange of ideas, the expansion of understanding and thought. It's only natural, given the situation. He can hardly be blamed for becoming a librarian, really, too: it's a good job for a person who likes information, and there's some prestige to being the gatekeeper to a world of understanding and comprehension. He fought for a time in the second war, true, and was rather good with a knife and garrote, but that was never his job.
That is, until everything fell apart. Death knights and undead hordes tend to make that happen, sometimes.
Coraethus Dawning fought as a man possessed by a demon, fought as he had never fought before, his eyes wild, his teeth bared in a feral challenge. His knives dripped and ran in the light of the burning city -- fat, black droplets spattering his skin, his clothes, and the ground below him. The flames that leapt from the blackened remnants of the city's libraries behind him lit his path to freedom like a beacon.
He rebuilt his mind, repairing his spirit from the agony of his loss, while simultaneously outpouring the memories he retained of the great works. He patched the holes in his clothing while he patched the holes in his memory with endless hours of research, filling the gaps, reconstructing theories lost to the sword and flame. He wrote, filling the books with words, and the shelves with books.
In the wake of the Scourge's decimation of his people, their culture and lands, his body ached with a need he had never had. He was wracked with a hunger -- a hunger that expanded beyond the physical, that grew even as the collections around him grew. Desperate need threatened to consume him and obliterate him, battering at his self control, tearing at his will to live. He stood as a man on the brink of insanity, and then, once again, his world changed. Salvation came in the form of a message from the Prince, a method of absorption, of feeding and filling that need, that hunger. There was a cost, of course, and a danger, but in those first days he and his kind took no heed: they were caught up in the freedom from the addiction, from the withdrawal and constant, burning need.
Self control asserted itself, after a time, aided by the hours he spent alone and his state of near meditation as he worked. He withdrew from society, shocked by the devastation and depth of their debauchery: desperate to revel, to forget the destruction and trauma of their loss, his people had turned to depravity. Drinks and drugs, alongside blatant need for mana in all forms, spread. The librarian walked the halls of knowledge in a silence increasingly bred by decay: the libraries, slowly, were being deserted by a society focused on pleasure and power. His art was dying.
