Oliver Rev2

Information

Player: Khane

Character Full Name: Oliver Damien Drake

Character In-Game Name: Oliver

Nickname(s): Odd

Association(s): Stormwind City Citizenship, The Vassild Syndicate

Race: Human.

Class: Rogue

Age: 19

Sex: Male.

Hair: Black, tied into a ponytail.

Eyes: Pale blue

Weight 220

Height: 6'3"

Alignment: Neutral Evil

Appearance

When resting, loose, dark clothing that allows for freedom of mobility. In combat or when traveling dark well oiled leathers, keeping his movements silent.

Other: His eyes have a constant, sunken look, as if he hasn't slept in weeks, even if just waking up. He also has a number of scars on his chest, back, and arms, which he makes no effort to conceal or show off. Lastly he has a burn mark on his left cheek, near the eye, from an ember that nearly cost it's owner their life.

Personality

Oliver is quiet, preferring to observe a situation, and speak up when he can take advantage of it. He is entirely self-serving in his motives, choosing to operate in public within the loose confines of the law (barely) solely for the convenience of a large safe haven, his private dealings on the other hand are anything but legal.

History

Oliver Damien Drake was born a happy little child in Stratholme. You can tell where this is going. At the ripe age of eleven, the Purging of Stratholme occurred. Oliver's father gathered up his family, and tried to escape the city. His mother was the first to die, grabbed by their neighbor, now a zombie, and disemboweled before him. His brother was dragged down by a pack of the living dead and torn to shreds, and still his father pushed Oliver and his sister on. They made the front gate and thought they were clear. Then they rounded the corner, and spotted the mob of the living dead, crowded around the gate. They were trapped. Oliver's father, a simple blacksmith, grabbed a plank of wood, and rushed the zombies, buying Oliver and his sister time to escape with his life. Oliver bolted, running out of Stratholme as fast as he could, nearly being trampled by a group of knights as they charged into the city. He fell, getting the first of many scars, a shallow cut across his chest from the lead horse's hoof slashing him.

He clutched his chest and called out for his sister's help. No response. He looked around and she was gone. He couldn't remember her scream, he couldn't tell if she had been dragged down by one of the many undead now ravaging his home, or if she had been trampled to death by the paladins charging in to defend the city. She was just gone.

He wept, cast down in the mud on the side of the road, as everything he knew and loved burned behind him. For hours he wept in the mud, slowly bleeding, until he was dehydrated. The screams of the dieing, the moans of the living dead, echoed around him as he passed into a deep sleep that would last for days. A sleep that he wished he could escape. A sleep that changed him.

He woke, days later, in the back of a wagon passing through the wetlands. He was disoriented, and the screams and moans of Stratholme still echoed in his mind. Another couple, fleeing what had become known as the eastern plague lands, had saved him, and was making their way to Stormwind for safety. Nightmares plagued him, both waking and in his sleep. The couple who saved him were confronted by orcs of the Dragonmaw clan, when no one was looking; he slipped away, leaving his saviors to die a horrible death. He traveled, alone, eventually finding his way to Ironforge, and eventually Stormwind.

He was Twelve, begging on the streets, and starving. Life was hard, he had to sleep behind a box in a back alley. He had to sleep with a knife for protection. One night he saw a merchant stumbling home drunk, his change purse nearly bursting with gold. He had seen this merchant; he was rich, really rich. He didn't need all that money. He snuck up behind him, cut the change purse off the man's waist, and left. He had never eaten so well.

A local small time criminal, who had made his living by extorting money off of the local orphans who picked pockets, had seen him and was impressed. He approached Oliver with a job; Oliver sold him to the guards, and found his calling. Bounty hunting and Mercenary work.

He took the gold he had made, and bought some basic training and equipment, picking up bodyguard and bounty hunting jobs. He was good at both, and always profited extremely off of any job, making a habit of accepting bribes from criminals he worked against, before betraying them for his original fare.