Emmerich

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Information

Player: Clovis

Character Full Name: Emmerich Waidmann

Character In-Game Name: Emmerich

Nickname: "Emme" (Exactly how it sounds) "Ladykiller" (...Also exactly how it sounds)

Association: The Forsaken

Race: Forsaken

Class: Rogue

Age: 26 at death.

Sex: Yes Please. (Male)

Hair: Styled.

Eyes: Strapped

Weight: 164 (Varies)

Height: 5'8ish (Varies)

Alignment: Lawful Evil

Appearance

Usually prefers anything that's thick and concealing, a mishmash of Cloth and Leather. Though he favors dark and neutral colors, he does make an attempt to use certain dyes on his clothes for camouflage.

Emmerich had a modest grasp of Leather-working from his youth, helping his father with the family business and all. He was in fairly bad shape at his 'rebirth", but dealt with it for a while, as his immediate recruitment into combat took command over vanity. When the time was granted to him, Emmerich would go to his "Happy place" in his mind and work on skinning more preserved corpses he found in his travels, sometimes down to the muscle. The crude surgery that ensued allowed him to have a more intact appearance. Stitches were bound tight but noticeable, muscle and ligaments carefully cauterized together. Worthless accessory organs were removed or replaced as needed, Intestines, lungs and stomach acting as safe holding places for lightweight or special supplies, with a built in zipper into his chest to boot! Such a resourceful fellow.


Personality

Emmerich was a fairly outgoing and charming fellow in life. A squire in life, he took great pride in many of the things he did, convinced he was on the path to greatness.

This personality hasn't changed much in undeath. Sure, it is merely a parody of his old self, but it serves his own purposes. Surprisingly, Emmerich is motivated by his own twisted sense of "Justice". He has his own moral code and he sticks to it, unwavering.

The Light he had worked to Respect, the Virtues he was working towards, everything related to his faith. It had forsaken him. It was the reason why he was sitting here, turning his gastrointestinal track into a freaking -supply bag-. The Light, The Paladins, HIS Master, The Priests, they had all sat there and watched as he and his family and friends and citizens were beaten, devoured, crushed, and tossed in the gutters of the Shadows.

Justice, Vengeance, Wrath. Whatever you wanted to call it, it was all he had left. Make no mistake. All the sarcastic comments, all the womanizing jokes, all the "Normalcy" he could pretend to have in his emotionless shell did little to hide the fact that Emmerich had a lust for revenge that couldn't be beaten out of him easily. He grew up in the bask of the Light. He died in the shadows, crawling towards it. He was still crawling towards it desperately. He hadn't stopped crawling.

History

Whatever memories of his past he has, are limited to what a note from his mother offered. It was the only thing Emmerich had on him when he came back, the blood and dirt stained text had been through hell and back, and had gone back for dessert. What he could read of it, would of brought a tear to his eye if he had the emotion for it. It gave him all the basics - His name, his squire-hood, his momma and papa and how badly they wished he'd just come home to the outskirts of the City of Lordaeron and be a leather-worker like that.

The damn note was all he had left of himself. When he went to work on turning himself into a human backpack, he kept in the safest place it could possible be, right inside of him, inside his once beating heart.

Emmerich blindly followed Varimathras and his thrall upon his rebirth, but was in the service of the Dark Lady before he knew what hit him - having no real loyalty to either of them, Emmerich continued onward as a piece of cannon fodder in the taking of Undercity. It was only once he had a moment to himself did Emmerich slowly start to piece himself back together.

He crudely rebuilt himself, in some vain attempt to feel whole. He returned to the ruined shell of his home and just waited there for days, hoping for something to hit him. For some feeling to return.

He returned to a chapel and kneels. He didn't know why. He read his note one more time and stood in the ruins of the chapel for days, until it finally hit him. 'Justice' needed to be served, by any means.

His life from that point onwards was bookwork and rehab. He read medical texts and memorized potions and elixirs that would have adverse effects when mixed improperly or over dosed. He reacquainted himself with his body, indulging in the acts of bodily recklessness that undeath brought. From squire to rogue. It wasn't a hard conversion. He had no fear of pain. He had seen more than enough forsaken indulging in the lack of bodily control, striking enemies or taking leaps or moving at speeds that would of left their bodies torn, tired, or paralyzed in humanity. The only thing holding him back was the limitations of his subconscious.

Emmerich continues onward. The state of the world around him was irrelevant. Everything but his own sense of justice was irrelevant. Emmerich no longer believed in the naive dreams of his humanity. All he had left was vengeance. He would judge The Followers of the Light accordingly - Guilty of crimes against their own. This judge favored....cruel and unusual punishment.