Menianoon

Information

Player: CharAznable

Character Full Name: Menianoon Therfelios

Character In-Game Name: Menianoon

Nickname(s): Menia, Menian, Ghost

Association(s): Night Elves, Argent Dawn, Sixpence Troubadours

Race: Night Elf

Class: Warrior

Age: 363 (after recent aging has begun once more)

Sex: Male

Hair: A silver-white, quite long, almost hangs past his waist.

Eyes: Silver

Weight: 375 lbs

Height: 7' 10 (Yes, he's supposed to be incredibly tall, even for a Night Elf)

Appearance

At present, Menia's armor tends to consist of whatever plate or mail he that fits, regardless of it matching or indeed meshing well with the other armor he has on. He wears what will protect him the best, and worries about the look of it later, due mostly to the fact that he cannot afford to have expertly tailored or fashionable armor made for him at the moment. His casual wear varies from more human fashions, to traditional Night Elven garments. Given his size and build, Menia's clothing also follows the trend of doing a job rather than totally looking good at the moment. This is not to say that he is disinterested in better looking things, he just cannot afford them given his current life style.

Other: His body is laden with scars, in some places, more scar tissue than flesh would be present. Many connect, almost like an interweaving maze of sorts.

Personality

Alignment: Neutral Good, leaning towards a complacent True Neutral. To be honest things like this tend to pigeonhole a character to me, so I try to have that as a base. We're all human (or just mortal creatures for the non-human creatures of Azeroth), and we'll all react to situations differently, even if our code and such demands we present ourselves in manner X.

To the casual observer, Menianoon would seem like a very quiet and stand offish person. To people he first meets, or in crowded social situations, Menia is quiet and keeps to himself, speaking only what is needed. He comes off as calm, almost to a fault, seeming to be unflappable even when dealing with situations most others find stressful or agitating, like a battlefield. Even when he is fighting, his destructive motions and violent combat is met with an often stoic or stone faced expression, as though he were focused on the moves of a dance rather than killing whatever what was in front of him. This is due mostly to stunted social experiences, which served to make Menianoon awkward around most people simply because he doesn't know how to treat them. Though he means well, and indeed does try to help when he can, he's more prone to standing by until he's directly pulled in to a conflict than to involve himself in any other manner. Similarly, when he is involved, he does what is expected of him to the letter, often to the chagrin of those around him when they expect orders or requests to be interpreted in some manner. To many, he seems like a fellow that really doesn't care much for anyone around him.

For those that persevere and hang around the man though, there lies a much different person under the hard, indifferent shell. Instead of a cold, and almost calculating man who seems built strictly for the path of war and little else, they would find a man who is stand-offish more out of the inability to communicate himself well. While he is good with instinct, and in some cases cunning, Menianoon is not the most formally educated person, and his use of the common tongue is something to this day that he is getting used to. The few that manage to get past his walls and presented exterior, might find a man that is pushing himself to his limits to help where he can, but never finding his ability with weapons to be enough, leaving him frustrated and confused. They would also find a man who is very rarely able to sit still for long, finding his new mortality to be something that needs to be made use of instead of (what he perceives as) squandered on meaningless things. He'd also show his more awkward side, attempts at gentleness, and an interest for things like music and history, marked by an almost obsessive interest in the Demon Hunters of his people. To him, every scar not only was a story, but a lesson in his failure, and the scars he had numbered in the dozens, possibly hundreds.

History

Where most Night Elves have lived for several thousand, some even tens of thousands of years, Menianoon is considered incredibly young by comparison. Born to a small family in the northern reaches of Kalimdor in Winterspring, Menianoon's life was atypical from the standard, lush forests that most Night Elves find themselves in. Harsh, lasting snows that persisted through most of the year was the climate that Menianoon found himself being raised in.

From his youth, he was always tall, almost awkwardly so as a child, more suited to brute work than studying. From a young age, he kept quiet and to himself, not engaging with other children, and preferring to keep himself engaged with a task he found worth his time. He was given to a blacksmith to take up the art of the weapon-smith when he was old enough to, forging the arms and equipment that would be given to the Sentinels due to the established gender rolls of the Night Elven people. His apprenticeship, and the work put in to it made the young man strong as he grew, exceeding the height, and musculature of the average man, mostly aided along by the often toiling work that comes with forging weapons.

However, the art of making weapons was not the sole interest that the young man had. Often, the smith he worked for would find Menianoon behind the smithy, attempting to learn the art of sword play, utilizing two single blades, or one two handed one. The older, more matured man advised, often sternly, that Menia focus his tasks, and keep to making arms, instead of playing at war. This didn't deter him though. As years went by, Menianoon would spend extra time in the forge, creating a set of steel training weapons for him to utilize on his own in spite of his place in the world as a weapon smith. This was the routine for much of his life, forging weapons in the day, utilizing his own to train at night. His body honed in to a destructive force, if an incredibly undisciplined one.

This routine wouldn't last forever though. Green skin warriors land on the shores of Kalimdor, and march in to Ashenvale. Cenarius is killed and the Night Elves are faced with the attack of the Burning Legion once more. Armies and forces move to engage the foes. Menianoon, not wanting to just sit back, takes the weapons and some make shift armor to meet these foes in combat in Ashenvale. However, traveling on foot to Ashenvale, takes time, and by the time he had returned to the damaged forest, the combat had relocated to the foot of Mount Hyjal, and by the time he had gotten there, the fighting had finished, the World Tree severely wounded, and the Night Elves now having lost their precious immortality.

The damage was further compounded when he returned to Winterspring, finding his home damaged, and the smithy he worked at ransacked and burnt to the ground. His family was either dead or missing, which to him meant that he was alone, and possibly the last of his kin. He had little to keep him tied to the lands he had known. So, with what supplies that he had at his disposal, he took up his arms and equipment, and did what he can to aid in rebuilding.

At first he found himself working with other blacksmiths within the Night Elves new home of Teldrassil, attempting to find a peace and normalcy that had been taken from his people. However, his past failings to help at Hyjal were a constant thought in the back of his mind, and the weapons that he had further reminder of an opportunity to do more than be just a smith. So, one day, without warning, Menianoon took his weapons and left Teldrassil, sailing for Darkshore, and joining the effort that so many others of his kind had taken up. The lands that he had come to expect though were twisted and invaded. Agents of the Burning Legion seemed to lie in wait everywhere, corrupting the land and turning the very forest against itself. But Menianoon fought, finding his size and brute strength very good for his chosen path, though his skills were poorly honed, and often times the man found himself binding wounds and receiving blows. He also found a kind of source for his combative abilities, a type of rage that seemed to fuel his every blow, and kept him moving even when most others would succumb to the pain and the exhaustion.

However, it was when he went to Ashenvale that something more happened to him. While traveling through the forest, he came across a clearing, with a small caravan of carts of a curious make. And in that caravan, were humans. Menia had had some dealings with them upon reaching the aftermath of the battle at Mt. Hyjal, but over all he knew very little of the race as a whole other than their short size, and their pink skin. They noticed him, as nearly eight feet of muscle, white hair, and blue skin is hard to hide. Much to his surprise though, they invited them to their camp. They were a traveling troupe of mercenaries and entertainers known as the Sixpence Troubadours. With no real home to speak of, and a need for a steady kind of work, he reasoned to join with them in their travels, and see where the experience would take him. After all, he was shown nothing but kindness and friendship by these people

Menianoon knew little common, a few words here and there to communicate with people that might come in to his place of work to do business. Luckily, there was a Kaldorei among them, a druid. With his help, Menianoon began to pick up the language, albeit slowly. His years as a smith and time as an adventurer were done in a sacrifice to higher learning. While by no means stupid, Menia was slower to pick up intellectual things. Most of the time he just kept quiet, and most of the other humans, finding the name Menianoon too challenging to pronounce just called him Menia, or Ghost, a nickname he was not at all fond of, though it stuck.

One woman, a human warrior named Josslan was able to pronounce that name, and was able through some manner of expert coercion to get him to talk about himself. Even if it was only for snippets at a time. The two formed a bond, and while Menia shared bits of his culture with her, she helped him hone his combative skills so that his smashing through things would become more precise. Powerful cuts instead of just blind bludgeoning. During this training though, Menianoon found himself drawn to this woman, the first person he cared to say actually knew him.

He reasoned with himself to get her attention via the tales of romance he had heard from stories told by other humans. Taking up the lute, he learned from another member of the troupe to play a few songs. He practiced day and night when he wasn't practicing his sword play, or earning his pay with a job of some sort, learning the instrument before playing a song one afternoon for Josslan. This affection was not meant to be, as she had been drawn to the Druid that was with them, seeing Menianoon as a good friend, but little else. This wounded the warrior, as his assured feeling in his own abilities had damned him. Menia grew frustrated, which showed mostly in his combat, his attacks becoming more reckless, and even going so far as to brutalize his opponents beyond recognition when engaged in combat outside of a duel. His years alone, coupled with that boiling raged that seemed to accompany his every attack made him much less controlled and precise than most of his kin, even if he was quite stoic to most.

Knowing this, he left the Sixpence Troubadours, who, through their travels had wound up back at the Eastern Kingdoms. When he left, he cut off all communication, knowing that his presence would only sow awkwardness and frustration. To this day he doesn't know if any of them are alive or dead.

Menianoon took jobs where he could, using the coin to travel from town to town across the continent, taking most jobs that focused on dealing with demons or the undead, who he thought were still agents of the Burning Legion. Over time, he grew exceedingly efficient at killing these opponents, and among a small few, whispers were spoken of his skill and preference for these creatures as his ‘prey.' This caught the attention of a member of what was then the Argent Dawn, who approached the warrior with a proposition: Steady pay, and all the undead he could kill. Menianoon took the job, at this point having even less attachment anymore to things than he had on Kalimdor. While not the greatest warrior, his tenacity, and knack for living through battles earned him respect when he would force his way through enemy lines with what seemed to be brute strength alone. He fought for the Dawn in the Eastern Plaguelands for some time, even joining in the attacks to try to purge Stratholme of the Scourge influence. Menianoon never felt it was enough though. He never felt satisfied with his work, always a nagging thought to do more, and that his current strength wasn't enough.

In time he left the Dawn without a word, packing up his things one evening and setting out towards Menethil Harbor to charter a boat back to Kalimdor. It was during this travel that the Burning Legion once more came back to try and claim Azeroth. Menianoon's fury and hatred for the demons overcame his initial desire to return to Kalimdor, and he joined the vanguard to assault the Demons on their own turf. Menianoon saw little outside of Honor Hold in the Hellfire Peninsula. But he felt at home there with his blades slicing through demons.

Even then though, it wasn't enough, No matter how many wounds he sustained, how many scars his body had, or how many demons he cut down and killed, they seemed to keep pushing. He began to look to other means. Hearing Illidan and his Demon Hunters were at the Black Temple in Shadowmoon Valley, Menianoon had an epiphany of sorts. Suddenly it seemed simple. He knew the legends of these warriors, and the power that they possessed. He wished to go there, find some way to learn the teachings, and take that burden on himself. However, once he arrived to Shadowmoon Valley, the assault on the temple had begun, and Demons outside the fortress assaulted the Alliance at every turn. He fought, and by the time the siege would be broken, the supposed Betrayer was vanquished, his temple emptied, and his students are dead or having fled. Menianoon felt robbed of this opportunity to serve his kind, and the Alliance. But he was not deterred. He explored the twice ruined walls of Karabor, even while most went to Northrend to deal with the return of the Lich King. There was nothing. Broken weapons, shredded clothing, broken armor, but nothing useful to the warrior.

Returning to Azeroth, the warrior sought a new goal, attempting to find one of his damned kin to teach him their ways, hoping that with this, he can finally reach what he saw as an acceptable level of power to deal a crippling blow to his enemies.