Tharia

Information

Player: Walluce

Character Full Name: Tharia Dawnseeker.

Character In-Game Name: Tharia

Nickname(s): none

Association(s): The Ebon Blade, the Undercity, Silvermoon City

Race: Undead Blood Elf

Class: Death Knight

Age: 117

Sex: Female

Hair: Tharia's hair is cut short so as to only hang an inch or two past her chin. The pure white color and silky texture of her hair mirrors the qualities of her skin, and allows her appearance to be one much like a statue.

Eyes: A cold blue glow illuminates the sockets of her eyes. The Sapphire orbs gleam with an unearthly lack of emotion.

Weight: 143 lb

Height: 5 feet 10 inches

Appearance

Usual Garments/Armor: Clothes are of little importance to those who feel neither the bite of wind upon their skin or touch of a blade cutting their flesh. Tharia's choice in Wardrobe reflects this, and still she bares the uniform given to her at Archerus.

Other: Surprisingly, Tharia does not smell of rotting flesh, however the ghouls that serve as her butlers do, and more than make up for their masters lack of stench.

Personality

Alignment: Neutral Evil

Long ago Tharia had been a person of passion and dynamic emotion, now, nothing seems to surprise or excite her. She is a silent person and will rarely initiate a conversation, preferring to cling to the shadows and watch others. When she does speak she does so with a voice much like the pure and clean tone of a bell.

Tharia, though appearing to be emotionless, is incredibly driven. Seeking out the accomplishment of her goals with such determination it reminds any who would of previously doubted that she is indeed undead. From this determination, one might ponder if there is not, still, some humanity left within her, some shard of her life past, fueling her.

History

Tharia grew up, safe and happy, within the Elven Lands of Quel'Thalas. Before marrying, Tharia had been a huntress, earning her pay by selling the goods which she could obtain from the beasts she fell.

When Tharia was married, she wed Valyr Dawnseeker, whom was a prominent elven mage at the fall of Quel'Thalas. With Valyr, she escaped the invasion of their beloved home of Silvermoon and the wrath of the Scourge...

Tharia stood upon a balcony overlooking Eversong forest, her hair rustling with the same breeze that carried the sounds of battle to her ears. High Elves crying out as they fell to the merciless undead. Suddenly, after a beat of loud footsteps behind her a voice called out.

“Tharia! What are you doing?” The voice that spun these words was urgent and agitated. Tharia made no response, her vision locked upon the slaughter. A gentle hand took hold of her shoulder and pulled her away and into a warm embrace.

“Tharia... We must leave... The city is doomed...” To her surprise tears were welling up inside Valyr's eyes, for it was indeed Valyr who had come for her.

Tharia nodded and in a soft voice “I know...”

Valyr tightened his hug upon her and smiled a false smile. “It will be okay... I will never let you go...”

Her husbands features seemed soft and compassionate to Tharia, his blood red hair cascading down around his shoulders and his burning blue eyes sad and worried. Together, Valyr and Tharia fled, escaping the city and running into the woods.

In time Tharia and Valyr joined with the refugee band that rallied itself beneath the last of the Sunstrider Dynasty, Prince Kael'thalas. The destruction of the Sunwell and loss of constant arcane energy hit Tharia hard, sapping her strength and humanity like a leech takes blood from it's un-willing host. Eventually the unending thirst drove the elf mad...

“Valyr... Valyr...” Cooed Tharia as she wrapped her arms around the neck of her sleeping husband

“MMmmmfffhhhh” Replied the elf, clearly upset at his dreams interruption.

“Valyr... Dearest...”

“Yes, my sweet?” Valyr finally responded, opening his eyes and kissing his wife's hand.

“Lets go and have... A picnic...” Tharia said.

Ruffling his brow, Valyr chuckled and exclaimed, “A what?”

“ I'll make some tea and we shall take some bread... I just can't stand being around all these refugees... We never get to be alone.” Biting her lower lip she then added. “You could make me a Mana crystal”

“Tharia, It's no good to feed the addic...”

“Just one. Please!” Tharia pleaded, slightly tightening her hug on Valyr.

“I won't let you give in, you are too important to me...” He responded softly

“Just one!”

“Tharia, I said no..”

“Please!”

Suddenly Tharia tightened her arms around Valyr's neck, choking him, anger burning brightly in her mind, preventing her from seeing anything but her lust for magic. Gasping for air, the High elf mage, Valyr, pried at his wife's embrace.

“Just one!” She shrilled again as her husband began to weaken, the lack of air clearly sapping his strength.

Suddenly a pair of High elves burst into the tent. The two rushed towards her, restraining her and shouting profanities as they looked between Tharia and her husband. Tears streamed down the Elven maids face and horrible sobs racked her body. What had she become?

In a short time after this event, Tharia fled, wandering south in a withdrawal fueled daze. Delirious and hopeless, in time she found herself in the Plague Lands, where the will of the Lich King thundered across the landscape, not unlike the Sunwell's magic in her home of Quel'Thalas...

A voice... Ringing loud, yet indistinguishable to Tharia's mind. It roared with such intensity and power, that no doubt was in her mind that this god could sate her thirst and end her suffering.

She was weak, and exposed. But not exposed enough to let the voice, fully inside her. She saw the ghouls and undead in these lands, how happy and content they were to obey the voice... The god... If only... If only...

Tharia opened herself up to the Lich King, willfully, allowing him command over her, and bathing in the wonderful power that was bestowed.

For what reason or purpose Tharia was given this power she did not care, only that she had it, and she felt no pain.

Tharia Served the Lich King, dying and then rising again in his service. But in time, she grew bitter. Thoughts of resentment clouded her mind. She missed her home, her husband, her life.

The Dark Knighthood that Tharia found herself trapped in, was one of constant agony. At first, when she was raised to her new position, the feeling of her freshly obtained magical mastery was the only thing that occupied her head. The fallen elf was eager to demonstrate her new power in service to her lord, the Lich King. Yet with time, her foul deeds eroded away her pleasure. Turning inward to comfort herself with ponderings of the world Tharia realized that nothing was there, except the blessed voice, and that she had become a husk.

Tharia was present when the Death Knights of the Ebon Blade broke free, and when they did, she was elated to finally be her own master.

The shackles of her mind broken, Tharia set about finding a philosophy to fill the void that her former ruler had created. What she came across was the religion of the ‘Shadow' and she absorbed the teachings of changing ones self to change the universe.

Tharia made her home within the Undercity for some time, as she believed that those who shared her lack of a pulsing heart would also share her pain. Such a notion was soon discovered to be a remnant of her Light worshipping days and the cold truth of her isolation set in, pushing her farther into the ways of the Shadow.

Today she stalks the tunnels of the Undercity and the streets of Silvermoon, listening to gossip and serving only her own dark desires, whatever they might be.