Character Full Name: Tok’zi the Maskmaker
Character In-Game Name: Tok’zi
Association(s): The Drakkari Tribe
Race: Drakkari Troll
Hair: White Mohawk
Scale/Height: 0.6 / 8’10”
Weight: 413 Lbs
Now in the prime of his life Tok’zi stands as a magnificent specimen of a troll. Skin of deep blue hue stretches taut over a massive, muscled form which is neither starved nor portly. Just as all his kin, he bears a coat of thick fur-like hair over the whole of his form, though he stands out rather literally amongst the others. Even curled into a common hunch he stands nearly a head taller than his kin at the cost of his form, some would say. By the caster’s nature alone his physique can not compare to the bulk and brawn of true Drakkari warriors.
In his choice of raiments Tok’zi is rather simply dressed in, as one could imagine, masks. His visage is perpetually hidden away behind a wooden slab which had been painted over to resemble a troll’s skull with an extended brow. On each shoulder lays another mask, simpler in it’s design and adorned with a few snowy feathers gathered from the raptors of his frozen homeland. To match the dark wood and the pale adornments his choice of robe is spotted with hues of brown, blue, and white all patched together to fit his (seemingly) ever-growing form.
Very few look upon spellcasters and see them as beings of fanaticism. To think of Tok’zi the same would be a graze mistake. Zealous to his practice and loyal to his tribe, Tok’zi is often seen as energetic if not furious in his pursuits even for the simplest tasks as painting a new ritual mask. What few practices he keeps he treats with utmost reverence. Days if not weeks could be spent whittling away the mask into it’s perfect shape and even more could be spent ensuring the patterns are painted on just perfectly. For what he fails to find interest, however, he quickly meets with swift impatience and possibly even rage.
Beneath the visage of his personality there lies the ambition of a young spirit. Where he may wait patiently for weeks without end the darker recesses of his mind would much rather act, move, lash out and grab what he wants rather than wait for it. However it is only the conscious thought that patience wins war is what keeps his eager tendencies in check. Much like a child his loyalties shift about as necessity dictates, whether it be to find a new sacrifice for his rituals or to simply find safe passage through certain territories. Firm, true loyalties are not lost on him still but remain difficult to form especially with his aloof approach to most outside of his tribe, let alone outside of his race.
It was said that the Drakkari were once a tribe who valued wisdom, history and research much like their Zandalari forefathers. Through the ages wisdom gave way to savagery, intelligence fell in favor of blind violence, and the study of the world around them turned to a mad grab for power across Northrend. But, not all was lost. Few amongst the Drakkari still kept their texts of ancient times, their history of ancient magics and proper rituals. These few formed the higher echelons of the Drakkari tribe, the elite and the elders from which all would learn and all would listen. From one such elder and the womb of his zulfi make Tok’zi was born into the world.
Being for the time the only child- and a son at that- Tok’zi was showered with the praise of his father. As soon as he could speak he was taught well the intricacies of the Zandali tongue. As soon as he could read there were tablets provided to him, telling of the ancient traditions of the Drakkari and Zandalari. As soon as he could utter a curse the whole course of his life would take a turn. It was from his father that he learned the love of tradition and the rituals that bind it together, but it was from his mother- the Zulfi- that he learned the magic behind them. Dark ceremonies welled forth valuable information. With sacrifices of blood and flesh his mother taught him to summon demons, to bind their will and spirit to his own, to speak their ancient language of hexes and curses. Not long after his adaptation to dark magics Tok’zi would earn the simple nickname ‘Ma’ka’ amongst his comrades, granted for his obsession to try and bring his ‘pet’ masks to life. With due practice, however, he was met with success. The mocking little nickname came to be admired both on his behalf and the others. It would be a named reserved for those he truly considered worthy of family.
Sadly that would be the last memory one could consider kind. Northrend was a land of a great many dangers in itself between rampaging beasts, dark rune dwarves, and the titanic watchers, but the addition of the Scourge was the tipping point for the great Drakkari empire- and it certainly wasn’t for the better. As every mighty warrior, huntsman, shaman or tribesman fell they were promptly raised to serve in the Lich King’s legion of corpses. If the Drakkari were known for anything, though, it was their ferocity. Organized and united, the empire swelled with a force formidable enough to bar both the Lich King and the weaker races of Azeroth from creeping further into their empire. With their time bought they proceeded to go on a massacre. Not to slaughter their own kind, no, but instead to slaughter their own gods. Tok’zi stood in opposition. He knew not to tamper with powers beyond his own, but his father and mother both alike already gave into the hysteria of it all and begrudgingly he followed their lead. God after god fell, however their retribution was likewise swift. In the dead of a frigid night a sole figure marched into the Temple of Quetz’lun where the serpentine god has been sacrificed and, by day break every worshiper present was brutally murdered, their bodies maimed and their spirits dominated by the deceased god in the afterlife. In the rampage both his mother and father were lost, yet Tok’zi was of healthy mind enough to escape on two feet, fleeing not only the temple, but his fallen empire as a whole. Zul’drak was lost and possibly the entire Drakkari tribe with it, but he would not yet lose his life, not for the sake of a few maddened thrashes. There was speak of a surviving party from Drak’Tharon. It was a long shot across dangerous territory, but with his home ravaged so wholly Tok’zi had little other choice. With a staff in one hand and a tablet in the other he scoured across the Grizzly Hills for months without end. With every stone unturned and trail beaten he found only more corpses of his people strewn about. Some were spared from the curse of undeath, yet others were clearly not as privileged.
Eventually Tok’zi would become resigned to the thought that his people were truly dead, and with it his own pride. There was no more wish to lead survivors to glory, no, replaced instead with the simple hope for his own survival. Every day alive was a victory and every night survived was a blessing. Desperate he escaped from the hills which crawled with his undead kin, instead scrambling through the snows of Dragonblight up and right unto the front door of the one bastion left in the forsaken north. The one place that had survived even when the great Zul’drak had fallen. It took every scrap of common the man had learned, but with a begrudging welcome he was allowed brief sanctum. As with every outcast Tok’zi found himself in the sewers and slums of the great city, hidden away from the proud daylight, but likewise hidden from prying eyes. In dark corridors he practiced the rituals of old, spending his days and nights assuring every little factor before calling upon his ever-faithful succubus. While neither would leave the sewers they were company enough to entertain one another while also being in good enough strength to chase off any hustlers or pickpockets. All the while they were very much pickpockets themselves. Ever so rarely those loose with their coin would venture into the sewers, looking to place their bets on illegal underground brawls. Between the succubus’ shape shifting trickery and the distraction of Tok’zi’s mask there were plenty dumbfounded enough for the man- large as he was- to slip behind and steal a few coins from a few purses. Some days there would be barely enough coin for a meal, yet others there would be such great profits that he hid back away into his corner of the sewer, stashing them until one day he was able to afford a portal. Not to Orgrimmar, no, nor to Stormwind. A Drakkari has no use of weak trolls who would let themselves be ruled, and certainly no use for the pink skins and their soft flesh. Instead he stalked off to a place where anyone could make a living doing anything- especially killing- Booty Bay.
Skills and Abilities
- Made of Mahogany and Magic - Through the span of his life Tok’zi has taken the practice of his father, carving out ritualistic masks for Drakkari rights spanning anywhere from burial to spiritual contact to even speaking with the Gods. In the later years of his adolescence he would come to take up dark arts for the sake of his tribe, yet instead of splitting his attention down two paths he merged both to one. Often Tok’zi enchants his masks, powering them as if machines with soulshards gathered from his fallen enemies. They oft do little other than act as distractions, as the power of the soul shards he gathers remains too weak for any higher function. Their most common function is to wander about at their master’s side as a display of power and status.
- Spiritbound Mask (Replaces Soulstone) - One of the few tinkerings of his magic to succeed, the Spiritbound Mask is a tool only for the most dire of situations. Should his body perish his spirit would come to be trapped within his own mask, preserving it (as he believes) from being desecrated by bodily mutilation. However the mask is a limitation as well. With it keeping his spirit trapped there is no way to contact his spirit without being in possession of the mask. As well one would have to have both the mask and at least part of his remains in order to perform a proper resurrection.