|Eyes||Green while in her human form, and they somehow remain so as a worgen.|
|Hair||A wild mess of thick orange-red curls and frizz. While she washes it in keeping with proper hygiene, she seems to have given up properly combing it. As a worgen it turns snowy white, and she has tied the even thicker mess back.|
|Affilliation(s)||The Alliance, the Cenarion Enclave|
|Occupation||Home maker, entropy enforcer|
|Mentor(s)||Cenarion Enclave, Malorak|
|Companion(s)||Paulton, Matthew, Gunther, Kitson, Faelan, Ninde, Percival, Malorak, Cristovao, Rensin|
Appearance | Personality | History | Skills and Abilities | Other
Roux is usually donned in a rough, homemade dark red and green dress with an apron, with a white undershirt. Her feet are often bare, but should she require shoes, simple brown cloth covers her feet. A heavy cloak of black wolf fur and midnight-dyed hide keeps her warm and secure--a bit of a spiritual charm. For more "official" Harvest Witch proceedings (if such things exist in the rural faith) she possesses a simple twilight-gray robe, and midnight feathered shoulder pieces. Her "weapons" consist of a small sickle she usually keeps tucked in her apron's waist-tie, and a tall hawthorn staff, bound by gray wrappings. A few spiritual trinkets dangle off it.
Her skin has been rendered pale by Gilnean heritage, and a life in the dark woods of her homeland. Despite, her skin is usually flushed from hard work, and a healthy, abundant diet. This diet, and what she inherited from her mother's build, has also given her a thicker shape. The blossoming bud of what will be a hardy, happy matron of a Harvest Witch when she is in her later decades.
As a worgen, like many, she gains a few feet. Skin turns to gray-tan fur, and red hair pales to white, ears elongate to tufted bat-like instruments. Somehow, her eyes remain green.
Roux is a very hard worker. She loves the feeling of achievement from a clean home, and a kitchen that smells of spices and stews. She is undecided as to what her “true” nature is as yet—worgen, or human at her core. She is developing past her fear of the fanged and clawed form, however and spends equal parts of her days in either. Related, she possesses a fear of learning new druidic forms. The tales of savagekin rang loudly in her ears, and she is hesitant to lose herself anymore than she has already with the curse. Her fear of deep sleep also hinders her development.
Her views on druidism and natural magic are on the darker side, though they do not make her any less jovial in her view of life in its entirety. Roux's talents lie in enforcing the balance of death so that new life might bloom. She has a penchant for calling on flesh-devouring insects, inducing or staving off natural rot via molds or fungus. Should she end a foe with her roots, they would devour the unfortunate victim, reducing their flesh to soil. Her motto is “The tree of life's roots feed on death's soil”.
As for the Horde, she only really despises Forsaken, as it was they who tried to overtake her home. Her lessons in druidism have also instilled a distaste for deathly magics; the undead hold back nature, and are little more than stagnation. Her dislike of orcs is more distant, but present. The isolationism of her nation has rendered her mostly ignorant on any of the other races. As well, her work in the Love Exchange has fostered her general neutrality.
As for the Light and Shadow, she prefers the latter. While the Light is the force of creation, her and her people's experiences with the Church has left a bitter taste on her tongue. As well, she identifies more with the hard-hitting, sharp lessons of the Shadow. To her, both are facets of nature.
Roux was born after the closing of the Second War and after the erection of the wall that had brought the famine to the stormy peninsula of Gilneas. The family that received her were simple farmers that had nestled themselves between Stormglen and the Blackwald for a moderate number of generations on her mother's side; long enough to have adopted the name of the wood as their own. The family was fairly average, matriarchal Harvest Witch traditions aside. While the men-folk of the family weren't entirely kept out, they left the majority of the Harvest Magicks to the women. So Roux grew amidst a climate of a love for nature, and a general distaste for the higher echelons of society. At such a young age, she did not much consider the wall or the dangers beyond it. All were distant mists and legend to her mind.
As the economy grew more and more stagnant in Gilneas' isolation, and farming more difficult on the rough coast, Roux hesitantly took a job as a house maid for a decaying noble house lead by one Lord Willelm. Her knowledge of the pulse of nature was a boon to the estate's graying gardens, and she learned that perhaps not all nobles were complete wastrels. Ignorant, short-sighted, but not bad people. It was here she would gain a hint of her true calling in nature's cycle. As Roux was wandering the grounds during some hour off, she found an errant rose bush in a forgotten corner. The blossoms were a dark sanguine, classic Gilnean petals. The poignant aspect about the scene were that the bush's vines had grown around the stark bones of a dead deer. Life had fed on death, and though she could not put the words to it at the time, the image would remain in her mind and heart.
After some years passed, the famine she was born into would be ended. She aided her mother and the other Old Ways followers as she could. While they actively grew the harvest, she aided in support. Rotting the dead and dry things to add structure to the soil.
Time would pass fairly uneventfully. The income from work as a maid would supplement her family's needs well enough. They never sought to be rich, and the extra coin kept them from the deeper pangs of hunger. There had been rumors and dark news of strange, vicious murders under the starlight. Whoever had committed them did so with the savagery of a beast. Howls echoed in the Blackwald, more chilling than any wolf. As well, the outside world and its strife was beginning to slip its fingers past Gilneas' great wall.
The first of such would be a strange mental sickness that swept across the country. People began to fall asleep and not wake up. If they moved at all, it would be to sleep walk and assault anyone around them as they lived their nightmares. Unbeknownst to the nation, Gilneas was reeling with the rest of Azeroth as the Nightmare waged war in the Emerald Dream. Roux, to her family's sorrow, would end up a victim—her young mind and spirit were little match to the shock waves from the spiritual war.
She would dream unlike she ever had before. One of these dreams touched on the mark on her spirit left by the rose-tangled bones. She stood in a glade, gray and desolate. In the middle stood a favorite tree of hers—the hawthorn. Though it too was gray and gnarled. She saw the tree, every part of it once. All its inner workings, the pathways where life would flow if such touched the glade. Around her, the glade turned to ash, the flakes drifting to the tree on an unfelt wind. As they settled on the great tree's roots, they were absorbed. Missing pieces in the tree were filled in, and the whole was strengthened. A small brook she had not noticed gave the tree drink, and soon (if time meant anything in dreams) it bloomed. Though she would barely remember this scene, she took two lessons from it; sacrifice and pain were necessary for strong, vibrant life.
The majority of her dreams during this time were like those of many others. True nightmares, ones that had her clawing at her family in terror. She would carry a fear of very deep sleep ever since.
This trial would pass as others, and make way for a new one: the infection of the worgen curse.
Roux's small home was assaulted by a group of five of the beast-men. Her father would fall in the defense of his family, despite his skill with the rifle—something he carried from his life in the city. He had never spoken much of it, and it seemed Roux never would learn much. His sacrifice gave Roux and her mother a chance to flee, though it did not last long. One of the five caught up with them and tore into them enough to infect them, leaving them before they were rent enough to die to answer a howl of one of his pack mates. Mother and daughter would turn together, then run together, then be caught together sometime later for the alchemical cure.
This trial passed as well for yet another; the assault of the Forsaken on her home. With it would come aid; the ships of the kal'dorei and their knowledge of the worgen curse.
Hope seemed bright for Roux and her mother, though it would be cut in half as the dagger of a Forsaken rogue would slice the family in two. Her mother, still strong in fury from the new curse was able to end the errant undead, though neither her or Roux's natural healing gifts were enough to save her. Roux buried her mother, and made her way to Tal'doren alone, with little time for tears. She was thankful for two things; her mother was safe from the curse of undeath, and she had faith enough she would see her again when she met her ancestors.
Roux found balance amidst the grief via the ritual at Tal'doren and found her human form again. From here, she would set off for Darnassus with the other refugees with little but the clothing on her back and her mother's staff.
In the pale elven city Roux learned of the curse's deeper druidic nature. Many of her Old Ways kin delved into the deep sleep required to learn further. She did not. The fear of such sleep remained from the nightmares brought on by the war in the Emerald Dream. She also still possessed a fear of her worgen form. She did not want to lose her humanity and mind further.
Soon enough she would find a convenient distraction; Lord Willelm. He had little interest in druidism or the curse, being a typical Gilnean business man. He was ready to set out into the world and get his foot in the door of the open world's riches. He had bought a matchmaking business off a strange creature called a draenei. Roux would accompany and aid him for a time, but her anger over the Forsaken's assault would prove too strong to let her aid a neutral group such as this—it served both Alliance and Horde.
After a time, she left and set off on her own and found Stormwind. New friends, and new trials would soon beset her.
Skills and Abilities
- Faerie Fire - Roux's faerie fire spell takes the form of a bioluminescent fungus that grows on the target. It's effects are the same as any other druid's.
- Sun Scorched Fields - Her sun-focused spells (Wrath, Solar Beam, and so on) take on a harsher bent, though they are no more powerful than any other druid's. Should an enemy be struck they would experience severe solar radiation burns or experience an illness that renders them unable to cast.
- Don't Breathe - She is adept at assaulting with fungus, mushrooms, and spores. They take on various effects such as soothing, putting a foe to sleep, or rendering them unable to attack via hallucinations.
- The Swarm - She is skilled in calling small insect swarms to her. More specifically carrion insects such as flies, beetles, or worms. She usually uses these to recycle a corpse to feed the soil. Or, if in danger, they provide a fair distraction.
- Feed the Earth - Her roots are usually a finishing move of sorts. When called, she bids them to bind, crush, or otherwise rip a foe and drag them beneath the earth when slain.
- Balance - She is not the best healer, and if she restores any plant matter she has to do at the cost of something else. She also is not skilled in changing forms; bear, cat, and sea lion are very foreign in form and function to her. She is currently learning to take on the aspects of a crow, and beyond that, her final form will be a moonkin.
- Nature's Janitor – Roux is not skilled at healing flesh wounds. What she has found she's good at is cleansing corruption, though she isn't on the same level as a specialized and practiced Plagueshifter.
She speaks with a very thick rural Gilnean accent. Her name is a reference to her red hair, and a joke by her mother to reference the cooking ingredient.