Gandin

Information

Player: Vladdy

Character Full Name: Gandin Leadshot

Character In-Game Name: Gandin

Nickname(s): None

Association(s): Ironforge, The Alliance, The Regiment

Race: Dwarf

Class: Hunter

Age: 53

Sex: Male

Hair: Light brown

Eyes: Dark brown

Weight: 215 lbs

Height: 1.02

Appearance

Patched cloth shirt, and leather pants, leather hat, and boots, in addition to a rucksack. Very rarely, he will be caught wearing his old Rifleman uniform.

Personality

Alignment: Neutral Good

Gandin is fond of drink, guns, and animals. To him, there are very few individuals worth his time save for the latter, or those whom have similar interests. When it comes to animals he hunts, he leaves nothing wasted, and uses just about everything he can, and sells the rest. He talks to his own animals, scratches them, and in general looks after them to the best of his capabilities. Gandin often has his animals with him, and he is quick to challenge those who would have them not at his side in any shape or form. He has shot guns since he was a child, and as such, has never left his camp without one. He is fond of Barleybrew, and professes it to be the best ale in Azeroth.

He sometimes beats himself up, going so far as to claim he's a monster, and that he's nothing but evil. It is rarely manifested outwardly though. He holds a deep hatred for the Scourge and the now dead Arthas. If he had a choice between killing an Orc and killing a member of the Scourge, he would for the latter without a doubt. He views the Bronzebeard brothers as his personal heroes. He harbors a mild distrust of the Horde, and a worse distrust for the Dark Iron. Hearing jokes about the Wildhammer as a child did little to make him respect the clan, and he has expressed before that they are a "Bunch of ninnies." When it comes to other races, Gandin tends to be neutral, unless they are Horde races.

History

Gandin was born on a large ranch in Dun Morogh. His early childhood consisted of hearing folk tales, old legends, and flat out tall tales. With the help of his father, he shot his first rifle at the age of six years old. The explosion that propelled the bullet delighted the young child, and soon enough he joined in with his family's shooting practice sessions. They happened once a week. Of course, the family also needed work to be done, and Gandin branded his first ram with the help of his mother at the age of eight. He was a middle child, and as such, attention wasn't lavished on him, and his parents were often distant and busy with work; branding rams, chopping down trees, and hunting. So he did what he was supposed to do.

Work. Work was a part of the daily routine that the family followed, and he was expected to hold his own weight. Slacking was not an option that his family deserved. Of course, it wasn't all work. One of Gandin's earliest memories was being carried on his father's back while driving Rams to Kharanos, in addition to a supply of furs. For the first time in his life, Gandin saw more than five buildings in an area, and most of them were houses. Amazed at the concept of a town, he also felt plenty scared. The place seemed crowded, the people were loud, and elderly women would ask questions as to how old he was. All he knew was that they weren't like his grandmother, so he hid behind his father's back for the rest of the trip.

Kharanos wasn't all bad; his family made a decent sum of coin that trip, so his father asked him the one thing that Gandin wanted for a present. Gandin replied, "I want a tankard that's like yours, papa." He had always wanted to be like his father, down to the very last detail. His father let out a hearty laugh, and indulged Gandin in the gift. Gandin hugged his dad, and held tightly onto the tankard. Of course, he could barely wrap both of his hands around the large thing at the time, and he almost dropped it a number of times. Regardless, he held onto the relic, telling himself that he had to grow up to be a strong man so that the tankard wasn't so heavy. Once he got home, the child immediately went to bed. Travelling, regardless of his role as an inquisitive child, was exhausting.

Years later, at his coming of age party, Gandin consumed alcohol in large quantities for the first time in his life. He became drunk, and instantly blew his dinner all over the floor. His relatives had laughed it off, and the party went on while Gandin was sent to bed. He woke up the next morning with his first hangover. He wondered if it was worth drinking, then. A few years afterwards, one of his cousins told him how and the rest of his family how he would be soon be joining the Knights of The Silver Hand. He would hear of his death on Draenor soon after. The first war wasn't of his concern, but this was the Second, and the Horde was marching towards Dun Morogh.

After hearing news of the arriving Orcish Hordes, the family fled to Ironforge with what Rams, furs, and wealth they had left. In an effort to sustain the family, Gandin's father became a rifleman in the Ironforge army. Gandin helped the family in other ways. By taking a cleaning job for a blacksmith. Gandin not only had to clean up after the blacksmith, but his apprentice as well. It was tiring work, but Gandin didn't complain at the risk of being fired. When the blacksmith lowered his wages however, he lashed out, and told him that he could clean after his own self for the amount he was given. When he returned to his family, his father gave him a disappointed look. One that Gandin would never quite forget.

With the second war over, the Leadshot clan was able to return to their Ranch. Times seemed to be getting better, and Gandin even considered buying some of his own land and starting his own ranch. But war intervened. The Third war started, and taking a lesson from the second war, decided that if he didn't join up, this new threat could mean another occupation of Khaz Modan, this one possibly being even worse than the first. He signed up, and found himself in Arthas' army. Gandin followed the orders his superiors gave him without question.

While on patrol, Gandin and his squadmates came into contact with a number of ghouls, and a meat wagon. Gandin had dealt with ghouls before, but a meat wagon was a completely different thing entirely. Seeing diseased corpses hitting his squadmates, the sounds of ghouls feasting on his friends, and the meat wagon's wheels on the ground proved too much for Gandin, and he ran from the situation along with another. He took a look back; the ghouls were chasing them, and the meat wagon was firing away. His friend was hit with a rotted corpse, and the ghouls soon came after his friend. Gandin only managed to survive the situation by running into another patrol, whom quickly led him back to base. Gandin had dealt with the living dead before, but this case was different. His entire squad was decimated save for him. Gandin called himself a coward, and mentally beat himself up for ages.

Then came the culling of Stratholme. At Stratholme, Gandin followed his orders, though under intense pressure from his commanding officer. This traumatized Gandin, and he would feel as if he were a monster for what he did. Regardless if he followed orders or not, innocent blood was on his hands, and he had pulled the trigger. Played a part in a slaughter that seemed so meaningless to him. Though soon enough, the war ended, and Gandin could return home. He bought his Rifleman uniform as proof of his involvement in the war. So that regardless of how much he drank in the future, he would always remember what he did. What a monster he was.

A monster who pulled the trigger. A monster who ran while his friends were slaughtered. A monster who could never forget, no matter how hard he tried. Gandin came home to a celebration his family had given him. To make matters worse, it was a surprise party. Gandin immediately pulled out his rifle, and went to shoot anyone he could see. He failed only due to his father pushing aside the rifle, and talking calmly to him. Gandin burst into tears, and his rifle clattered to the floor. He was asked to get therapy for this 'problem' he had, but what was the point? He was a monster. One who didn't deserve the air he breathed.

The memories still fresh in his mind after all this time, Gandin tried to forget. His entire life revolved around a knapsack. One that held a tent, a canteen, and memories. The tankard his father had given him as a child. The rifle he had shot with when he was six years old; and food for him and his Ram, whom he named "Sugar." He talked to Sugar daily, and the Ram kept him from pulling the trigger a number of times. While hunting bear one day, Gandin unknowingly shot a mother bear. Realizing what he had done, Gandin was reminded of how terrible he was. What he had done before, and how this only proved his point. To doom bear cubs to starvation.

Though another thought came to Gandin's mind. What if he raised the cubs until they were able to fend for themselves? Gandin tried to find atonement in this, and fed the cubs, taught them the best he could how to be a bear. Eventually, all of the bear cubs went their separate ways, save for one. This bear would grow on Gandin, and stay by his side for years to come. He named her, "Honey," and would talk to both her and Sugar now. Animals didn't judge him, Animals lent their ears, and didn't act as if Gandin was a monster. So for years afterwards, Gandin would go about hunting animals, but making sure if they were mothers or not first. He would waste little to nothing on the animal. Selling the bones for use in stock, the eyes for 'medicinal' purposes, and other body parts. Nothing could be wasted.

Although it was a lie, Gandin wrote to his parents about how he had become an adventurer, now. How he had made a foray into hunting exotic creatures, and discovering artifacts. The latter was only partly true. Gandin had went after artifacts, but they were minor; pottery shards, rusty blades, books, tomes, and scrolls. He sold them to the highest bidder, and went on his way. At one point, he broke an old drinking glass. Knowing it would fetch at least a copper if someone wanted to use it, he cursed himself, and went to a library in Ironforge to read about archaeology. He became an amateur archeologist, and began to dig up some artifacts of the past with actual skill, however meager it was.

With the Lich King's death, Gandin could rest a little easier, but not much. The Scourge was still about, after all. Gandin gained a partner in the sacking of long forgotten lands and buildings. A Gnome by the name of Phil. He became one of Gandin's only true friends. The two would hunt, search for relics of the past, and sing drinking songs. Until Phil died while helping to retake Gnomeregan. Soon after, the Cataclysm happened, and Gandin, as he had before adapted to the situation. He went off into the world to do what he did best; hunting, archaeology, and drinking.

Skills and abilities

Novice archaeology, the ability to repair his rifle, and otherwise look after his items and animals.