Jetniss

Information

Player: Jetniss

Character Full Name: Izanagi, Jetnissan [He who invites black redemption]

Character In-Game Name: Jetniss

Nickname(s): Jet, Jetniss, Jett, and Iza

Association(s): None permanent

Race: Night Elf (Kal'dorei)

Class: Rogue

Age: 300 Years

Sex: Male

Hair: His hair is long and blue, falling down his back and to the sides of his face naturally.

Eyes: A brilliant amber color.

Weight: 227lbs

Height: 7'ft

Alignment: Lawful Neutral, Neutral, or Chaotic Neutral [Undecided.]

Appearance

He's usually wearing leather armor, the ideal Rogue outfitting, a keen liking to pauldrons with razor designs, anything that gives him flexibility, and makes his stealth easier. Though razor designs and spined armor may counteract this, he prefers it for the protection it gives as an opponent will take damage if they get to close.

Personality

Jet's personality tends to fall into the category of oxymoron in most cases. He's serious when it comes to matters affecting his morals, or when it comes to something that might endanger, or even joke of endangering someone close to him. Strangely enough he places little importance on himself, coming off as selfless. Not easy to anger, nor is he particularly unique in personality he'll force himself against this at times as he struggles with not knowing who he is, although he does. For the mere fact that he doesn't remember a good deal of time in his past, he feels as if he doesn't know himself, and questions everything about himself in fear of not knowing. He's not particularly friendly, but he is indeed sympathetic, even to strangers as long as they aren't a target, or arguably friendly. With that aside he's as detached as a rogue should be, aggressive to most of the horde and even to a few of the alliance, namely the gnomes. He however takes a friendlier outlook on the Blood Elves, as if he had swapped them in the confines of his mind. He gives a blank expression most of the time as well, so when speaking he may seem unconcerned or as if he doesn't care.

History

Raised in Ashenvale with a number of other Night Elves, he grew up around conflict. He was also raised by his mother, who was a sentinel like most of the people he came in contact with, being raised mostly by women. His father was a Rogue, called an assassin by two Night Elves who have been said to have lost their minds. That's the reason the story they told never took flight, and they were considered that much madder. Their story would however give an alternative to his father's disappearance as it's said that his father died on the battlefield. A body was never recovered however and people figured it was recovered by demons, or some other unholy being passing by. His mother seldom spoke about it, or him for that matter. On rare occasions she would go off, lost in thought with the cliché “You know your father was…” as a comparison to him.

As Jet was raised, he turned out more and more respectful; more and more kind. However, his love for sneaking around, hiding himself, even playing around with two objects he would pretend to be weapons. This was his primary source of fun as he was raised without many friends. He didn't socialize with the other children much and he gave short answers when the adults talked with him separating him from the rest. This raised him to be more on track, more detached, and a bit more open in his views than other Night Elves. However he was just looked at as naïve as he was still very young.

Early in his life he picked up the rogue profession. It was a personal choice, a better fit for his personality and life at the time. It was also good because of how detached he was from the world, and his father took the same path at one point in time. Following in his father's foot steps, he progressed quickly as a rogue, making good advances and practicing the art whenever he could. He was hired for a few missions who aided in advancing his own skill and status and eventually he made something of himself. He however respected his mother's wishes and avoided the front lines of battle. He stuck to defending his home and indirectly aiding the alliance.

He'd made quite the descent in reputation however, reading up on history and taking in the tales of a few veterans from old battles who barely survived at worst. Taking in Illidan's story and researching him; thinking of him as a misunderstood man. He understood Illidan's sacrifice and greatly respected it, even thought about following in his example. This made the community around him less and less fond of him, forcing him away, shunning him, cold shoulders, you name it. He had become discriminated against as if he was one of those Demon Hunters or Warlocks. He felt more and more distant from those around him, and that's when he said goodbye to his mother, deciding to part with her and venture out overseas to the Eastern Kingdoms where he spent most of his time.

He kept a journal with him, although he didn't like writing. He wanted to keep in touch with his mother and had to log everything down from the point he left, even including his views on Azeroth and what inspired those views. He sent mail regularly, and she replied respectively. No matter how he felt, and how people might've shunned him she loved him, and that was all he needed to keep moving. Although he was detached, if he had lost the love his mother had for him, the world around him would corrupt him. Turn him into a vile and dark shadow of what he is, allowing them to break that barrier of kindness he had. That's when he met Vophoros in Goldshire, at the inn. They shared a few words and the situation turned bad when Jet slipped a comment going against Illidari hate.

Vophoros and his crew was disturbed and verbally assaulted him the rest of that night, Jet left before morning going on a long journey into the forests. He was heading toward the jungle, followed in secret by Vophoros and his crew. Vophoros was accompanied by some Tauren Shaman, and a Dwarfish hunter. They planned to ambush him and kill him over the petty disagreement he had been walking away from. They waited until he was near the edge of a cliff, away from the thickets of the jungle where he had a harder time hiding before the dwarf attacked, firing a few bullets at Jet from his musket-like gun. Jet would take two shots to his right arm before he spun around, alert as a raptor ran his way. Jet would dispatch the raptor quickly, using a back-flip to aid in a kick to the raptor throwing it off balance before grabbing it by the tail with his right hand, giving it a powerful tug as he pivoted on his heels to spin rapidly enough to sling the raptor a few meters away forcing it to slide off the edge of the cliff where it quickly clung to the edge for survival.

Jet turned around, ready to face his attackers as he noticed three familiar faces from the inn. With widened eyes he ducked down, dodging the horizontal swing of a charging warrior who aimed to take off his head, or so it seemed as he quickly shifted his balance to his right foot, standing on that alone as he extended his left backward to the warrior who had just passed him with a miss. Striking the warrior in the back and forcing him to stumble back before the Shaman was seen not to far off charging a spell. Jet in reaction quickly turned around, sent his left hand forward to grab the warrior and pull him backward to use him as a shield before reaching into his pouch hanging off of his right side. Using his free hand, Jetniss searched the contents for a smoke pellet, pulling it out and throwing it against the floor creating a cloud of smoke sending him into advanced stealth, using the cover of the smoke to move about. As the shaman unleashed his spell, Jetniss closed in from behind, performing a type of backstab attack and stabbing him in the back before following up with another pivot around it's body to stab it in the center of it's chest. He would continue the brutality by swinging his left hand over to his side to grab hold of his sword before swinging upward to give a clean slice through the Tauren's nose and its horn.

The Tauren was stumbling, trying to stay up as the Dwarf picked up it's gun, firing at Jet again. Jet would quickly roll around the Tauren's body before rolling back and diving into the bushes surrounding the open patch of by the cliffside, sneaking up on the now panicking Dwarf who was firing in every which way. The Dwarf had his back to the bushes Jet was making his wAfter getting close enough, Jet would sheath his sword and then pick his left hand back up, sending a fine thrust to it's neck in an attempt to grab him by the neck and then push him forward, attempting to force him off the cliff and into the seas below. A rather ruthless take on the situation on his part, but he wasn't seeing a way to reason with these guys. That's when the Tauren finally started to spin before taking its mighty drop. The dwarf stumbled at the edge, regaining his composure and quickly taking off into the jungle, attempting to escape whilst he still could.

The tanned dirt excreted a faint source of white smoke. The pebbles on the ground rumbled as deep red liquid slowly slithered over like a viper making its way across a desert. The wind blows as the body of a Tauren shaman rolls over, it's large right arm rolling out and slapping the dirt as it's body laid lifeless. Its hairs dyed red from it's own blood and it's left arm severed from it's body. Its horns were missing, as well as a deep gash in the right side of it's nose, eyes wide open and lifeless as a Human kneels down to it's body. The robes of the Tauren were torn, its one green and yellow pattern stained red as tears dropped from the eyes of the male human who stood over him. The Human, Vophoros, adorned silver armor, wielding a long sword in his left hand with a powerful single-barrel gun in his right hand, resembling a musket. The gun belonged to his partner, a hunter whose body was at the bottom of the cliff just a few meters east of him, taken by the sea.

The human was writhed, enduring the pain of his two allies who have fallen before him. Their blood was the only thing altering the color of his silver armor as he stood up, his expression of sorrow slowly being replaced by a darker expression of pure anger. His throat swells as he screams "I am Vophoros! And you'll pay dearly for that!" His voice traveled twenty five meters reaching the target of his hatred, a night elf with pale blue skin; golden eyes; blue hair and a viscous scar running from just over the right side of his brow line to his cheekbone just below his left eye, and running over his nose bridge. It was a fresh wound from Vophoros, blood still running from it as he raised up his dagger.

The Night Elf stood tall, eyes narrowed with a frown, breathing heavily from fatigue as his posture depicted. His right hand was wrapped tightly around the hilt of a dagger which he held in reverse so that the blade was pointing away from his body. His left hand held onto a sword with a viscous curved edge resembling a scimitar. He was clad in black and red armor, his vision dark feeling the effects of the blood loss as his body sported numerous wounds from fighting the three before mentioned. He took a moment as he processed Vorphoros' statement, and then replied "Y-you three set out to kill me... Because I don't see myself an enemy to him? Illidan deser-" he was cut off by the Human.

"Don't you dare speak his name you traitor!" the Human would rush him; he was dragging his sword behind him as he jumped over the body of the Tauren shaman and ran off toward the Night Elf. Once Vophoros came within range, he swung his blade upward attempting to cut through the Night Elf vertically, only to be stopped by the off hand of his seemingly dark foe who rose his left arm up allowing his sword to parry and deflect the damage. Vophoros's blade bounced backward and he rose the gun with one arm to aim at the Elf before him, pulling his thumb downward before pulling the trigger. The Night Elf's eyes widened as he would send a fine thrust with his right hand, using his fist to jab Vophporos at his wrist, the strike successful and forcing his aim off allowing the trajectory of the bullet to be altered. However the explosive force used to fire the bullet hit the left side of the Night Elf's face.

The Night Elf would instantly force his left eye shut, giving a contraction of his hip, knee, and ankle to try and knee Vophoros in his stomach. Vophoros takes the strike, but rebounds by swinging his blade around and trying to horizontally cut through the Night Elf's neck. The Night Elf would catch this attack in his peripheral vision, ducking and narrowly avoiding the blade, his hair being cut by the fine swing as he lower his leg from the knee attack and shift his torso to the right, using his left arm to thrust into the Human and push him back with his shoulder. Vophoros would take that strike as well and bounce back, stumbling to a stop before looking upward, looking to his left and his right unable to find any trace of the Night Elf. It was broad day light, he figured the Night Elf ran off and quickly started off forward running to give chase, much to his surprise he would be yanked by his collar, being pulled back by the Night Elf from behind.

Vophoros' collar was being pulled by the Night Elf's left hand; the sword that the hand once claimed was in the ground, hilt up. Stumbling backward Vophoros would find himself near the edge of the cliff, the Night Elf still pulling him as he rotated around his body pivoting to face him face to face whilst pulling him toward the edge, using his right arm to apply a fine thrust with his right hand still holding tightly onto the dagger as he plunged it into the armor of Vophoros, digging through it and into Vophoros' flesh opposite side of his heart. Vophoros' eyes closed as he winced in pain, falling off the edge of the mountain as if in slow motion as he dropped his sword, his left eye opening slightly as he raised his off hand holding the gun mouthing the words "Traitor... Burn in hell!", pulling the trigger as he fell and taking the Night Elf by surprise. The Night Elf's right eye widens, his left still closed and tinted black and blue as and he quickly stumbles forward to try and jump. The bullet's speed is clearly too much to hope against, but he manages to avoid fatal wounds and is struck in the center of his chest.

The bullet runs right through the center of his chest, forcing the elf upward a few inches as he fell forward off the edge of the cliff; the Human long gone as the Night Elf began his descent. Jet's vision slowly fading, it was as if the light was escaping his eyes. His memories of his life rushing in before him, but vanishing before his eyes, unable to view him as the light was running away from him, escaping his eyes in fear of something. He blacks out, the last thing he sees is the water below rushing against the rocks of the cliff's base. The staff of the Shaman is at the top of the hill, laying against the ground. Something weird happening as the staff's edge was glowing a bright pink color, a spell being used as a last ditch effort to have revenge. It was just a glow however, that was still dieing off. The shaman had performed a spell before death, something to take the elf, but the effects of which were unknown. Whether the spell hit it's target or not was a mystery, and the significance. Jet would awaken later, ignorant to the amount of time that had passed, ignorant to what had happened before he had awoken, ignorant to the fight, as if he was a new person. Amnesia had struck him, the only hint of his past, that was lost -as far as the battle goes and his previous training- was the scar he received that ran from above his right brow, across his nose bridge and to his left cheekbone just below the eye. A few other scars remained, one across the chest and a few across the arm, but they healed leaving lighter marks on his skin, nothing out of the ordinary for one whose known battle. However, the scar across the nose was dark, and it seemed explicitly deep.

The scene was a distant memory, and Jet was still trying to recover most of his memories. His rogue training was also lost to him, it's as if his mind was wiped from the moment he started pursuing the rogue profession, as if his life was rolled back. Except now he was on a boat, heading back to Kalimdor, afterward, back to the Eastern Kingdoms for Stormwind. Jet had a decision to make, go back to his mother and restart his life from that point, with the hate for him already seeded for his past views, or to go to Stormwind and continue, trying to recover his memory. He felt like an empty shell of himself without those memories, despite the short time, he thought it had been forever. There was one enigmatic piece of the puzzle however, his journal. It was with him, entries without dates and entries detailing his beliefs and a bit of his training, this would become a major factor in what he decided to do with his life from now on, the only question is how big of a change has it made for him, and how big a change could it possibly make for Azeroth?