Deloric

Information

Player: Stormgald

Character Full Name: Deloric Rivendusk

Character In-Game Name: Deloric

Nickname(s): N/a

Association(s): Darnassus

Race: Kal'dorei

Class: Warrior

Age: 10,304

Gender: Male

Hair: Long white hair, usually tied up in a pony tail.

Eyes: Gleaming Yellow

Weight: 290 lbs

Height: 7'4”

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Appearance

Deloric usually wears a suit of blue/white armor made of various metal plates and chain mail. His weapon of choice is a large polearm.

Personality

Deloric is quiet and keeps to himself. He has not forgiven himself for many things he has done and has had thousands of years to ponder his thoughts. He has spent the majority of his life feeling detached from the rest of his brethren, even during the wars. His burning anger and fiery hatred for the Burning Legion grows stronger in every waking moment.

History

'Zin-Azshari, Circa -10,300 thru -10,000'

Deloric was born an only child in the capital city of Zin-Azshari to a family of moderate wealth. His childhood was filled with both happy and sad times, playing with other children and spending time with his family. As Deloric began to age into a man, it was time to find a place among the Night Elven people. He would begin by searching for a profession. If he could begin by aiding his people by creating simple things, then that was what he was going to do. He would search, and after a short while he found a place among the Leatherworkers of Zin-Azshari. Deloric was relatively happy with his new profession. He was able to converse with the hunters of Zin-Azhari as they would bring their collected pelts to them to make into clothing, satchels and other helpful items. This new vocation kept him plenty busy.

One glorious day as Deloric was on his way to the workshop. He encountered a female that he had seen a few times before. He smiled at her and she smiled back. “Hello.” Deloric spoke out. The woman replied. “Hello.” There was an instant connection. The two conversed for about an hour, but there was no sure way to tell, before Deloric realized he was late. He apologized to the woman for having to leave so abruptly, but promised that they would speak again the following day. As he arrived at the workshop the Master Leatherworker was disappointed in him on account of his tardiness. Deloric was quickly forgiven but was to get straight to work. A group of hunters had just returned from a hunt with plenty of pelt.

The day trudged on as they weaved their way through the stacks of pelt. Stitching pieces here, cutting pieces there. All Deloric could think about was the woman. The woman whom he had forgotten to get the name of. As he realized this fact he slapped his forehead into is palm, but he knew that he would have another chance to ask her...

The next morning Deloric had awoken to loud crashes and screams. He immediately jumped out of bed and approached his window, but as he did a ball of flame projected closer and closer. His instincts told him to duck, so he did. The fireball blasted through the glass sending shards everywhere. He rushed to grab the sheets from his bed to smother the flames, but to no avail. The flames only raged higher and higher. More crashes and loud rumbling could be heard. Deloric quickly ran outside only to see utter chaos. Demonic creatures were patrolling the city, destroying everything within reach. He ran back inside and grabbed a pair of swords, then returned to the chaos ready to fight. The Master Leatherworker, Zailim, one of Deloric's closest friends ran toward him, “Deloric, ru-!” The man was impaled by a Felguard's blade before he could finish his sentence. “No!” Deloric cried. He charged the Felguard but with little prior combat training, he was unable to hold his own. He was struck in the abdomen by a searing blade and was thrown dozens of feet away. The pain was unfathomable. He knew he could not continue so he fled at the first chance he had.

Deloric drifted in and out of consciousness. Minutes turned into hours, hours to days. When Deloric had finally regained consciousness, he found himself on a gurney, surrounded by other refugees. A Priestess approached him. “How are you feeling?” Deloric then responded: “I am alright... What happened?” The Priestess shook her head in sorrow. “I cannot be sure...” Deloric stood and stared at his surroundings. He could smell the burning of natures finest vegetation. Ash fell from the black sky like a calm winter snow. It was quiet. Deloric was lost for words. All he could think about was his parents. He then began patrolling the refugee camp in search for his parents. Tears began to well up in his eyes as he knew they had not made it out in time. His thoughts immediately jumped to the woman. The woman whom he had spoken to the day before the attack. Sorrow filled Deloric's mind once again, he was sick to his stomach. He slumped down against a tree and held his abdomen. As he did he noticed the bandage that the Priestess had dressed him with. He peeled it off slowly only to see a large scar. He sighed and leaned back, losing himself in his thoughts.

Many weeks had past and the camp had received word that Malfurion and Illidan Stormrage had begun seeking out the Demigod Cenarius to form a resistance against the Burning Legion and to reclaim their lands. This news had brought hope to the remaining Kal'dorei. Deloric, angered by the Legion and it's actions, began to train with the Soldiers that were left from the attack. Years would go by before the camp had migrated far enough to meet up with the rest of the resistance. In this time, Deloric had been training and was ready to fight with the Kal'dorei people against the Burning Legion.

A few weeks were spent in preparation for the battle to come. The Demigod Cenarius had summoned colossal Tree-Men and requested the aid of the Dragons to destroy the Legion. Meanwhile, Deloric was in his tent readying himself for battle. He strapped on his armor and equipped his swords. He soon found himself on the frontlines of a titanic battle. He weaved his way through the Demons of the Legion, slaying as many as possible. He would take many hits as well, swearing left and right and screaming in the enemies' faces. Battle horns sounding, flames and shadow magics burning through the sky. Deloric began to realize that the resistance was faltering. He pushed forward with all of his strength as Malfurion Stormrage and Tyrande Whisperwind convinced Cenarius to send his allies to storm Azshara's Temple as the Well of Eternity was the possible source of Sargeras' link to the physcial world. Even though it would bring an end their immortality and destroy their power source. Illidan, though, was not on the same page. He abandoned the group and set out to warn the Highborne of Malfurion's intentions. Deloric, oblivious to the betrayal, kept pushing forward, attempting to fulfill Malfurion's bold plan along with the rest of the resistance. Minutes passed before the resistance reached the walls of Azshara's Temple. The colossal Tree-Men smashed at the walls until they crumbled. Deloric, along with the other soldiers, charged into the Temple only to find that the Highborne summoning ritual was nearly complete. Unfortunately, Queen Azshara was prepared for this. Many of the resistance fell to the wrath of the Legion's power. Deloric pushed with all of his might, piercing his blades into anything and everything. Just then, Tyrande Whisperwind attempted to attack Azshara from behind. Azshara's guards did their job and protected their Queen. Tyrande had received mortal wounds and was unable to continue the fight. Malfurion was thrown into a diabolical rage at the sight of his love's fall and attacked Azshara. As he did, it threw the Highborne ritual into a cesspool of chaos. Deloric knew the battle was lost and began to retreat. He was no good to his people dead. Many others retreated from the Temple as well but as they were just feet from the entrance, the Well of Eternity erupted into a cataclysmic blast. Deloric was instantly knocked unconscious and was thrown hundreds of yards from the temple.

Deloric gained and lost consciousness constantly. Each time he awoke he could hear ocean waves and splashes. In his fatigued state, he could not piece anything together. An indefinite amount of time had passed before he fully awoke. Deloric rose to his feet to find himself on a boat. His weary eyes glanced about spotting only very few Kal'dorei. As he would look outward toward the seas. He could see many other crudely made rafts and boats. As Deloric was looking about, a Kal'dorei cried out. “Land!” The sudden shout startled him. He peeked over his shoulder as he spotted the great mountain of Hyjal. A weak smile would spread across his face.

'Hyjal, Circa -9,999 thru -9,998'

The Elves landed ashore and began to set up camp with the little materials they had left. Deloric was mesmerized to be in the presence of Malfurion Stormrage and Tyrande Whisperwind, especially after the previous events. He was relieved to see them alive. Shortly after their arrival, Malfurion decided to round up the remaining Elves and climb to the summit of Mount Hyjal to claim their new homeland. They weathered the twisting peaks of the mountain all the way to the windy summit. From there they would travel into the heavily wooded crevice between the mountain's enormous peaks. The band of Elves came across a large calm lake. Deloric released a sigh of relief at the sight of the tranquil lake. But soon he would come to realize that there was something wrong. There was a mystical essence to this lake. Malfurion was angered. Somehow someone tainted the waters. Malfurion and Tyrande knew just who.

For many years, Deloric worked diligently with the other Kal'dorei to rebuild their homeland. Other ruins were left and new buildings were constructed.

'Hyjal, Circa -9,000'

After the long years spent rebuilding. The Kal'dorei would receive a blessing like no other. The Dragons, Alexstrazsa, Ysera and Nozdormu had blessed the Kal'dorei people by returning their immortality and immunity to sickness for their grave sacrifice. But there was an addendum, a connection to another world, The Emerald Dream.

'Ashenvale, Circa -7,300 thru -6,800'

Over a thousand years would pass. During these years Deloric had been training as a soldier. He had become a tougher, stronger and wiser version of himself, but peace had appeared to have finally been restored. But that wasn't quite true. The remaining Highborne became restless and began causing insurrections, protesting the ban on Arcane and Fel magics; calling out the Druids and publicly mocking them.

Deloric awoke to loud, odd sounding thunders. The sounds were so different and the source of the storm was offensive to his senses. He knew something was terribly wrong. It would appear that the Highborne had caused an Arcane storm in one last revolt to sway the opinions of the Druids. To no avail. Malfurion banished the Highborne from their homeland. Deloric, along with other warriors and Druids, purged the criminals from their lands. The Highborne were forced to leave by boat.

With the departure of the Highborne. The Druids began their hibernation as they promised to the Emerald Dragon, Ysera. As Deloric was but a simple warrior, he felt he had little place among the Druids in the Emerald Dream and assumed the role of a Blacksmith. With prior knowledge of Leatherworking, he would assume that the craft would come naturally to him. It did, Deloric took to Blacksmithing greatly. Churning out weapons and armor in great numbers.

During this time, with most of the men hibernating, females became the dominant population of the Kal'dorei. Tyrande Whisperwind began construction on an all woman force known as the Sentinels. These women were highly trained, powerful warriors meant to protect the Kal'dorei people during the Long Vigil in the event hostile altercations were to arise.

Many peaceful years passed and Deloric had already made many friends. Though, he never stopped smithing, in fact. Armor and weapons were in high demand since the Sentinels had been constructed. The most intriguing weapon that Deloric was asked to create was the Moonglaive. A new weapon designed for throwing purposes, but that's not all. It could also be used as a melee weapon in close quarter combat. Many Sentinels had trained with them so well that they could ricochet the glaive off of their opponent and have it return to their own hands. Deloric wouldn't know how useful these Moonglaives would deem later on...

'Ashenvale, Circa -6,799 thru -1,004'

“Hello.” A Sentinel spoke out as she approached Deloric.

“Hello.” Deloric replied.

The Sentinel sat down next to him as he skewered a piece of venison with a fork and placed it into his mouth. He then looked to the woman, her smiling face as beautiful as the night sky. “What is it you need?”

The woman replied. “I need some armor repaired.”

Deloric then nodded, “Do you have someone working on it already?”

She shook her head. “No.”

Deloric paused for a moment, smiling at the Sentinel. “Would you like me to get started on it?”

The Sentinel smiled back. “Yes please. When your done with your meal and if you have time.”

Deloric chuckled. “I have all the time in the world...” He joked. They laughed together, a connection was obvious. Deloric remembered the mistake he had made so many years ago and knew that he wouldn't make that same mistake again. “What is your name?” He asked her.

She smiled and replied. “Lorai.”

Deloric returned the smile. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance Lorai, I am Deloric.”

As peace was kept for a short while, Lorai and Deloric began seeing each other whenever possible. Which wasn't often, with Deloric being a busy Blacksmith and Lorai a training Sentinel. Though, the times they spent together were heavenly. The pair quickly began to fall in love and for once since before the beginning of the War of the Ancients, Deloric was happy. But at the same time, he was terrified... Now that he had something to lose.

'Silithus, Circa -1,000'

“Hold the line!” Fandral Staghelm barked at his Soldiers.

The deafening buzzing noises of the airborne insects all but muted the battle-cries of the Kal'dorei warriors. The insects outnumbered them by vastly incomprehensible numbers. They could not hold back the buzzing horde. Deloric, bloodied from battle, grew weary. Countless hours of fighting had fatigued him so greatly, that his vision began to blur. The insects, on the other hand, appeared to have an unlimited supply of dexterity. In one last burst of adrenaline drenched rage, Deloric threw himself into a flurry of might and power as he sliced his way through the insects; severing limbs left and right.

Just as Deloric's rage induced high of adrenaline began to fade; a blinding light caused him to turn his face away and drop his weapons. The buzzing seemed to have faltered. For a moment the battlefield was silent. As the light began to dim, the buzzing returned as the Qiraji sent one last air assault down unto the soldiers that blotted out the sun. Deloric simply watched, like a prisoner in his own body, as an insectoid creature impaled his left shoulder and lifted him into the sky. Deloric reached up with what strength he had left and gouged his thumb into the creatures' left set of eyes. It immediately released him. He fell a good number of feet until he hit the sand with such great force that it knocked him unconscious.

Deloric drifted in and out of consciousness as his blurred vision caught glimpses of sand, bodies and blood.

“Delllloooorrrrriiiiiicccccc... Delllorrrrriiiicccccccc..!” A voice called, it seemed to have been distorted.

Deloric blinked a few times as he slowly regained consciousness. He saw before him, the most beautiful being to have ever lived, Lorai, his love, his mate. He forced a smile upon his face as she poored water onto his face. “... Are, are you... Alright, my love..?”

Lorai smiled at him as a tear dropped from her eye. “Me? What about you?!”

Just then, Deloric attempted to move his left arm to place his hand upon her cheek. He was unable to move it. As he moved his gaze, he saw a mangled version of what was once his arm. His face went pale, and not just because of blood loss, because of horror. He could not speak...

Lorai placed her hands upon his face. “You are going to be alright, no major tendons or arteries were severed. The healers will be here momentarily, my love.”

Deloric sighed and leaned his head back to rest.

When Deloric awoke, he found himself on a crudely made bed. He looked around the small tent. There was a bowl full of bloodied rags. He held his breath as he looked to his left arm, it was slung in a large white bandage. He managed to move a few of his fingers and let out a loud sigh of relief. When he stepped out of the tent, he saw the soldiers, Sentinels, Keepers, Druids and Priestesses readying for yet another defensive.

A Druid by the name of Filon approached him and spoke. “Deloric, you will not be fighting in this battle.”

Deloric shook his head frantically. “No-no, I still have one good arm.”

Filon rolled his eyes. “Why so eager? We can handle it, you can sit this one out. Plus, your going to need both arms if you are to fight.”

Deloric pondered for a moment before reaching down and pulling out his boot-knife. He sliced the sling off of his left arm.

Filon nodded. “... Alright.”

'Modern Era'

Deloric and Lorai had survived the great war and found themselves traveling quite a bit in the last few years. Their travels had taken them all the way to a Human settlement in Duskwood.. They stayed for a few days, taking in the gloomy view of the old town of Darkshire.

“Through Deadwind pass?!” A Human woman exclaimed.

“Yes?” Deloric replied.

“You can go through there!” The woman exclaimed once again.

Lorai tilted her head. “Why not?”

The woman then looked around as if someone was watching, she spoke quietly. “It's full of Demons and Ogres.”

Deloric scoffed. “Ma'am, I've fought many wars in my years, and so has my mate here, Lorai. We can handle ourselves if anything is to arise. Besides, we will keep to the roads, we're less likely to encounter any activities there.” He felt a somber feeling spread over his body. The thoughts of the Demons; slaughtering his family, friends... And the girl. He shook it off and quickly dismissed it.

Lorai nudged Deloric. “We need to leave now if we are to pass through there in good time.”

Deloric excused himself and Lorai from the table. “A pleasure to have met you miss.” And they embarked on their next journey.

Lorai and Deloric were making good time; striding along on their Nightsabers. A sudden blast of flames erupted seemingly beneath their feet. Felhounds emerged from the dark corners of Deadwind Pass. Deloric jumped to his feet grabbed his blades off of the mortally wounded Nightsaber and unsheathed them. He backed up and stood in front of his unconscious love, Lorai. The Felhounds began to encircle them until Deloric was standing over Lorai. Every step, closing the circle even tighter. In the distance, a tall, dark figure could be seen. Deloric roared at the man. “Begone!” The sudden sound startled the Felhounds and they lunged at him. One tackled him to the ground and begun sinking it's teeth into his skin. He roared and swung his blade across the Hound's head, severing it cleanly. He then stood up only to be tackled by another. His blades were knocked from his hands and he begun to wrestle with the creature. Deloric managed to get on top of the creature. He pinned it to the ground and grabbed it's jaw and the back of it's head and twisted as hard as he could. The bones within the Hound snapped loudly. Deloric jumped to his feet and was horrified at the image that lie before him. The other two hounds had devoured his love... His only reason for life. Her mangled body lie limp in the middle of the pass. “Lorai!” He shouted; his voice crackling with rage. “No!” He grabbed his blades, charged the Felhounds and sliced them to oblivion.

Battered and broken, Deloric approached Lorai's lifeless body and dropped to his knees. He scooped her up in his arms and began sobbing uncontrollably. “No! No! NO!” He shouted. Tears flowing from his eyes like a severed artery.

The shadowy figure approached him from behind, arched his blade back—but before he could swing, Deloric pivoted on his knees and sliced the Warlock's abdomen open. His intestines unraveled onto the pass as he dropped to the ground. Deloric roared with such beastial vigor that it echoed through the pass like a fierce storm. He then raised his blades and begun swinging them ragefully at the severed corpse, blood spattering every which way.

Deloric dropped the blades to his side; they clang loudly as they hit the ground. He sat there in silence for minutes the only sounds are that of his heavy breathing. His blood-soaked visage, unrecognizable. He turned to Lorai's mangled body, scooped her up in his arms once more and carried her back to Darnassus. The journey home would bode long and exasperating. When he arrived, he buried Lorai in an unmarked grave somewhere in the forests of Ashenvale.

Without his love the world had lost its worth.

Deloric dwells within Ashenvale and Darnassus. He spends most of his time in thought. Speaking only on rare occasions. His burning anger and fiery hatred for the Burning Legion and it's Demons grows ever stronger with every waking moment. He plans to travel to the Outlands and face these Demons, even if it means his own death.