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Player: Rosencrat

Character Full Name: Raena Swiftrunning

Character In-Game Name: Loralay

Nickname(s): Loralay, Deadie, Greeny, Stinky

Association(s): Ebon Blade, The Alliance

Race: Night Elf

Class: Death Knight

Alignment: Neutral

Age: 531 at Death

Sex: Female

Hair: Medium length dingy grey locks flecked with dirt and green bile.

Eyes: Standard Glowing Blue.

Weight: 136 lb

Height: 6'8”


During a skirmish with the Argent Crusade as a Death Knight of the Scourge she suffered a crippling blow to the jaw. Her lips and mouth were repaired and sown shut to keep them in place, the muscles and tendons fused together with Unholy Magic. It was a crude job designed to get her in shape enough to be sent out to fight again.

Her features are hideous and twisted form her time practicing Unholy Magic and her death. Her skin is darkened and sunken, speckled with lesions and festering boils. She keeps them bound as much as possible. The puss the open wounds exude is diseased and poisonous.


As sullen and withdrawn as the dead. Loralay feels little depression or joy; without any memories she has little to cement her to emotions. What she feels is minimal and primal at best. She is quiet and introversive. A sown-shut mouth leaves little time for exposing much thought.

The only thing that can rouse her from her stoic silence is an order. Without a history and purpose she serves any who will give her a reason to live. She will kill and hunt and ensnare and do a million other things that she is ordered to do without hesitation. She is not loyal; she will follow any orders from any one so long as they do not conflict with any previous orders. She is simply a warrior searching for a purpose.

Other: She practices Unholy Magic only.

The name Loralay comes from the name of the first woman she killed. She found the name carved on a locket. She kept it out of curiosity.


Loralay's life before her service under the Lich King comes in fitful pangs of recollection. She remembers little of her past life; the idea of an existence free of the stench of death and the Lich King's taint is alien to her. Yet the memories come and what scraps find her she keeps close.

She remembers a youth spent in Ashenvale. She remembers training to be a Warden. The pang of her constant failures was the earliest memory in her mind. Wanting to become a Sentinel, a druid, a High Priestess…All aspirations begun with hopeful, child-like vigor and ended with biting shame.

She remembers, after a time, becoming a trapper. The pride she felt, the purpose and glory of excelling at something in life. The dirt and the way her heart pounded as she waited and watched…It was the only memory of glory she ever had.

The memories grow more vivid as her death drew closer; coming in short, mismatched snippets her life unfolded. She was on a ship, that much she was sure. Raena had signed on for the Sentinel Spies; a good trapper is always an asset for ambushers. The ship was bound for the Ghostlands. There was a storm. The ship ran aground off the coast of the Eastern Plaguelands. Battered and bloodied she was washed ashore, clutching only her blade and wearing only the armor the Sentinel Spies had provided. She crawled through the dark wilderness, alone. She remembered the loneliness. She remembered the thirst. She came upon a pond. The water was green and smelled of death. She drank from it and collapsed to sleep. The water's poison worked slowly through her system. She died on the shores of the pond in her sleep, alone and battered. She sunk into the soft muck of the pond and was preserved there.

The water receded after a time and her corpse was found by the Scourge. The muddied corpse, found with a fine weapon and a fair set of armor, was construed as a warrior and taken to Archerus with the rest and she, like hundreds of others, was brought back to life to serve as cannon fodder for the Lich King.

The memories are bright and clear from this point onward. Her body, tainted by the muck and her wounds, was hideous. The unholy magic that was infused in her did nothing to soften the blight that was her face. As a hideous servant of the Lich King she killed many. She remembered all of them. It is not regret that keeps their faces burned in her mind; she keeps them because it is something to remember, something to fill the void of an empty past.

When she was freed of the Lich King's control she was left an empty warrior. She would not return to her homeland or the capitol of her people for fear of what they would do to her. She fled to Stormwind, hiding behind sleet grey walls and cold stone. While the rest of her kin, burdened with the shame of what they did as death knights, killed themselves she remained alive. She did not suffer the same darkening shame that memories of ones culture and heritage brings. She knew only that she must live…if only for the sake of living.