Modi

Information

Player: Krilari

Character Full Name: Modi Thaimson

Character In-Game Name: Modi

Nickname(s): ‘The Bronzebeard Bastard’

Association(s): Wildhammer Clan, Bronzebeard Clan (Loosely),

Race: Wildhammer Dwarf

Class: Shaman

Age: 56

Sex: Male

Hair: Light Brown

Eyes: Green

Weight: 193 Lbs

Height: 4’10”

Skills and Abilities

The Wildhammer Windwarrior - Since Modi was a young lad he always yearned for the sky as did every young dwarf. Through the years he tried himself against the harsh lifestyle of the Gryphon Riders and ultimately came out on top as one of the elite Windwarriors.

Stormhammer - Forged from the heart of a Wildhammer aviary, the infamous weapon was passed as a gift to Modi in his younger years as a rider and ever since has been an essential tool.

Totemic Bond - A small wooden gryphon carved from the hardwoods of the Hinterlands sits around Modi’s neck. Made by his own hands and enchanted by the blood of both gryphon and rider, the totem symbolizes the bond between the Windwarrior and his mount and allows for the two to connect in an empathic bond.

Appearance

Filled with the vigor of life, Modi stands only a hint shorter than the average dwarf, however that should not be a testament against his form. Whether it be a day spent soaring in the skies or gathering wood for the nightly fires he always takes to the outdoors and such has caused him to gather a tanned complexion. Such a tanned hide stretches over his fairly-muscled figure. While he may not have a warrior’s prowess, when bolstering his strength he still has an admirable amount from his work alone.

In terms of regalia the man takes to a mix of practical defense and shamanistic flare. A leather coif nestles itself atop the dwarf’s head, its decorative feathers streaming down to cover the entirety of his hair. Just barely touching the lowest row of the ornamental flowers is a set of pauldrons crafted of thin steel plates and just a hearty chain. His torso is covered with a thick mail haubergeon which leaves hints of his arms revealed between it and his bracers. On what bits of skin that are unveiled is a series of tattoos that are common amongst the Wildhammer tradition. Slung over his back is a thick shield crafted from yew wood and reinforced with steel. To match such a hearty barrier is a family token that has passed from one warrior to another: A Stormhammer.

Personality

A Windwarrior is as free as the sky they soar through and no other statement better defines Modi. No matter the situation whether it be grim, bright or a grey in between he will try to find a way to soar through it with a series of dangerous (If not potentially stupid) maneuvers. If anything he’s a thrill-seeker at heart as he always strives to pass the last record set by either himself or his Wildhammer brothers. This brings out another glimpse to his nature: The call to glory. With every attempt to push himself he also strives to do so in the most flamboyant manner as each challenge is, if nothing else, an opportunity to claim some bragging rights.

Of course, not everything is fun and games for the grown windrider. At heart the man is gripped by a grim curiosity of his own origins and if the title ‘Thaimson’ is something to fear or not. This, however, is not the only thing for him to contemplate as his connections with the spirits of the world constantly challenge his boastful nature in favor for one more careful and contemplative.

History

Ever since the War of the Three Hammers the Bronzebeard and Wildhammer clans have kept their distances in both politics and geometry. Yet not even wars of grand scales could separate family, and that is what brought the man Thaim Wodanson to Aerie Peak. On a visit to the far-off lands to entertain the wishes of his aunt and uncle the military man found himself overstaying his welcome by a night. In such a night he and a gryphon rider both had their share of alcohol in a challenge to see which clan better held their brew. Not a soul remembers the outcome of the competition, but the gryphon rider was stuck with the memory of that night for the rest of her years.

Born out marriage came the boy who would eventually garner the surname ‘Thaimson’ as he was no proper heir to his mother’s bloodline. Despite such a rough beginning Modi would be raised as any wildhammer child would be. By the time he could stand upon two feet he would already know the companion of gryphons and by the peak of childhood he was flying along with the other members of his clan. Of course not all of life was so joyous. By the boy’s late years as a teen he began to finally question where his own father was, why he shared a home with his mother alone instead of a full family, and on that day he learned in full force what it was to be a bastard child. Some would believe this is where his lust for thrill and glory began.

As with any society there came a time for Modi to pick a path for his life to follow, a calling that he and he alone will walk upon. When such a decision was pressed upon it took only a moment of consideration before he was set on his way; the boy was to be a gryphon rider. Gryphons played an essential role in Wildhammer society and almost every dwarf of the clan had a feathered companion of their own. However Gryphon riders took the dedication to the magnificent beast a step further. In his practices Modi took a gryphon from its fledgling years all the way to full adulthood, bonding close with it in every possible fashion on the way.

By the time his companion took to adulthood the world they knew was not as peaceful as it once was. Orcs surged forth from the south, recruiting the vicious trolls and ogres to fight a battle with them. While the politics of the matter were lost to Modi there was only one thing that was needed to be said to bring him forward: glory. Eagerly the gryphon rider and his faithful steed enlisted along with many others to venture with the revered Falstad Wildhammer towards land unknown.

Draenor, as Modi would eventually find it called, was a burden upon the eyes even at the slightest glance. Everywhere he turned was a burning red sand that seared with nether powers. The sky itself churned with agony as the broken state of the world was too easily noticed from high above. Despite the hellish landscape and the life-threatening conditions, the Alliance expedition pressed onwards into the unknown. Despite how horrid everything appeared to be at first, live would only grow worse. Day in and day out were spent battling for what little holds they had managed to establish. All around he watched humans, dwarves and elves all alike fell at the hands of the vicious Horde, however in the darkness of it all a message shot out loud and clear.

The Portal closed.

It was a depressing sight to see at first, as the men of Azeroth suddenly found themselves stranded upon an alien world with nothing but hostile creatures to greet them. At least, so they thought. With the portal closed the orcish forces backed off of their assault as their forces were just as separated from their home world. Falstad saw the opportunity to advance and grasped at it. Modi along with the rest of his gryphon-riding kin ventured into the depths of what the orcs and draenei alike referred to as the ‘Shadowmoon Valley’. There amongst the blackened soil and rivers seeping with fel the Wildhammer Dwarves founded a home for themselves. Months after settling in a mass of whispers began to assault the young warrior’s mind.

These whispers came from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Constantly they wailed in tongues unknown to the Dwarf, driving him to the point of desperation. In fear that the demons were working their magics to torment him Modi immediately sought the advice of his elders and, much to his surprise the whispers were not of demonic origin. As the elder explained all became clear to the young dwarf, the whispers were not tormenting jeers or haunting insanities but instead a plea for help. The world itself was broken and shattered, corrupted by the workings of demons. Life was bleeding out of the very ground they stood upon and in its hoarse breaths it whispered out to not only Modi but many of the Wildhammer Clan, and in mass they responded.

Eighteen years were spent behind the infernal gates of the Dark Portal, trapped in a world unknown to them with hostiles on all fronts, yet not once did they waver. For eighteen years the Alliance expedition held their grounds against all odds. During these years Modi expanded upon not one, but two paths of his life. First and foremost he tended to the relationship between he and his gryphon, Kori. Under the guiding wings of his elder kin Modi advanced to a level a skill that whose potential was unknown even to the dwarf himself. All the while he entertained the concepts of shamanism and put his mind to the test in aiding the broken world of Draenor. However despite the efforts of every man, not just Modi alone, there was no fruition to be held. The earth they stood upon was dead, murdered by the demonic forces.

The Dark Portal’s reopening was a miracle never expected to take place. After eighteen years many assumed their fate was to die away from their homelands (and for some, it was a reality). Despite such fears salvation came and many flocked to its calling. It would be only a few days past the portal’s opening before Modi was on his way home once more. Once nestled in the same stone hut that held him as a wee child the Windrider began work on the totem that bound himself and his gryphon together as a true team.

Ever since his return from the Dark Portal, Modi prefered to keep to Wildhammer lands. In all his years he still does not yet know what a Tauren is, or what land may lay across the great sea. For the time all he needed was the bright blue sky and gleaming sun high above. At least, this was true until the terrifying cataclysm. With a world already unfamiliar now torn asunder the man once more faced the death of many, his own mother included. With her memory still fresh in mind the man now makes his way to Ironforge in search for answers, including what it might mean to be a ‘Thaimson’.