Troth

Information

Player: TadanoHitoshi

Character Full Name: Troth Earthwaif (formerly Moonhoof)

Character In-Game Name: Troth

Nicknames: Earthwaif, Halfhorn

Associations: Orgrimmar, Ratchet, Gadgetzan

Race: Tauren

Class: Shaman

Age: 55

Sex: Male

Fur: Ashen grey with a mop of black hair and a rough beard

Eyes: Steely grey

Weight: 226kg

Height: 8ft

Alignment: Chaotic Evil

Appearance

Troth wears mismatched clothing, often leather though occasionally mail. Basically whatever he can get his hands on, be it scrounged or stolen. When necessary to hide his face he wears a cloth mask across the lower half, of which he carries a few, and for situations when a mask would be too conspicuous he raises the voluminous hood of his cloak and does his best to blend with the crowd (rarely to any degree of success due to his stature). He carries a satchel and a couple of large pouches at his belt, often straining at their seams with ore and gadgets. Another leather bag is kept especially for explosives, and is handled with extreme care (both from too much jostling and from water).

Other: He occasionally carries a shield, though long ago gave up his mace in favour of something more easily concealed: a set of angular brass knuckles made from a pair of large nuts, for when the fighting gets up close and personal. His left horn was broken off half way along its length some years ago. He is usually accompanied by 'Pipecleaner': his mechanical squirrel pet, whom he created after leaving Mulgore, somewhat to show that the Great Earthmother does not have the monopoly on the creation of life. As his name suggests, the robot's brush-like tail comes in handy too.

Personality

Troth is a pragmatist. He has lost the innocence of his youth yet retained his inquisitiveness. Some might say that his naivety has been replaced with bitterness, though perhaps `survival instinct` might be a more fitting term: his years since having fled Camp Narache and his father's wrath having forged him into a tougher, independent and adaptable tauren. Never having really taken to his shamanistic studies, his beliefs are somewhat mixed. He knows there is power in the totems and the elements, for which he holds a grudging respect, though his grasp is primitive and frustrating at best. Technology is his obsession and his weakness, as well as the reason he cannot return home. He makes use of whatever he can, and has no qualms about looting, scavenging and if pushed could resort to outright theft. The temper that flared and caused his expulsion still burns in his chest and he can be quick to anger.

History

Born to Mers and Asteurox Moonhoof, Troth was from a young age surrounded by shamanism. Not simply the beliefs of his race but the profession of his father, who was a stern patriarch and assumed his son would naturally follow in his hoofprints. But while the verdant plains of Mulgore did absorb the excitable and inquisitive calf, as did the nomadic life and exploring the towering mountain ranges, there were other activities that caught his attention...and drew the displeasure of his kin.

Having never left the plains and only rarely seeing other races (predominantly the centaur raiders who forced the tauren to maintain their nomadic lifestyles) the young Troth was fascinated by the dwarves and goblins that sometimes invaded (as his family put it) the tribal lands. Yet Troth could not see what threat the diminutive folk were. They did not attack the tauren as the centaurs, gnolls and bristlebacks did, and he admitted his fascination with their machinery only to elicit scoldings from Asteurox, lectures on the sanctity of the Earthmother and how the dwarves and goblins were raping the land.

As soon as he was old enough he was initiated into the shamanistic ways, but showed a lackluster interest in his studies, rushing off (ostensibly to play on the plains or explore the gorges and gullies) whenever he could to spy on the foreigners and wonder at their technology. The most complicated thing he ever saw in his family's temporary camp was his older brother's rather primitive hunting rifle, which he had twice received boxed ears for touching. Another berating ensued when he was found playing with a copper modulator he had managed to steal from a Venture Company camp. But these admonishments merely drove Troth to hide his interests deeper.

He eventually made open contact with the goblins, a particularly tense situation for all involved, until the little green folk realized that the tauren youth was not there to squish them, rather he was almost entranced by their machinery. The greedy entrepreneurs immediately took advantage of this, handing him a pick and telling him they would reward hard work with trinkets. His father's words echoed in his mind, but the attraction of the intricate, almost magical (more magical to him than his sire's teachings) contraptions won out and he hewed rock for hour upon hour, forgetting the pass of time. Mu'sha was high in the sky when he eventually returned to his family's tent and scorn at his dirty, dusty appearance. The next day, they reminded him, he was to undertake the Call of Earth: his first real step as a shaman.

Sat cross legged before Kodo Rock he held the Earth Sapta in unsteady hands, his muscles fatigued from the hours of mining the night before and he almost spilled the concoction. From a distance Asteurox, Mers, his brother Denars and others of the village watched with baited breath turning to confusion as the young shaman drank the sapta, minutes passed and he sat without moving. The shamans began to whisper, recalling their own visions of the Earth Manifestation that had come to them. Eventually Troth rose and, head hung low, he trudged back to the waiting crowd. He avoided his father's gaze and questions, only answering “I saw nothing!” when pushed.

This was the final straw. It was clear to Asteurox that his son had displeased the Great Earthmother, and thus she had not sent a Manifestation to him. Troth's disheveled appearance the night before...the occasional gadgets and gizmos he had caught him with. The shaman could not contain his rage at the disgrace his son had brought upon his kin, and the damage his son must have done to the Earthmother to be shunned so.

Grabbing his downcast son Asteurox gripped the tauren youth's horns, wrenching at them, attempting to break Troth's neck and wipe his shame from the family annals. Neck muscles bunched tight, fighting for his life against his father's superior strength it was only the breaking of his left horn that suddenly freed Troth. Panicking he lashed out with whatever he found to hand.

As chance, or perhaps fate, would have it his fingers closed around a pair of large brass nuts he had in his pocket and, as a makeshift knuckleduster he struck his father across the face, ruining the elder's eye.

He later forged the nuts together, both as a weapon (the first he had ever made) and a reminder of that day.

Troth has since avoided contact with tauren whenever possible, swearing never to return to Mulgore or their capital of Thunder Bluff (fearing for his life). The few times he has met other tauren he has learned that Asteurox has disowned him, naming him Earthwaif (the Common translation losing something of the shame the Taur-ahe term carries).

For some years he completely abandoned his shamanistic studies, surrounding himself with oil-stained blueprints and smokey forges, bending his tall body to hear the instructions of goblin and gnome engineers.

It was whilst on his way from Ratchet to the capital of Orgrimmar that he, crossing unfamiliar country, stumbled upon a coven of Burning Blade orcs. Eager to remain undiscovered they chased him through the winding gorges. Weighed down with a sack of dynamite but finding himself with no means to light it he dropped it and ran...only for one of his last lessons his father had taught him to come to mind. But could he manage it after so many years without using it?

He turned, stretching out his hands and concentrating as best he could, eventually sending out a pittifully small bolt -a mere spark- of electricity not toward the charging orcs but the discarded sack. The dynamite detonated, bringing down huge rocks upon his pursuers, ensuring his safe escape...and revealing to him that while the Great Earthmother had abandoned him, perhaps the other elements had not yet.

His attempts to continue his shamanic studies at his own pace have lead him to the orc capital of Orgrimmar (the seat of power of Thrall himself!) and beyond, picking up the occasional bit of tutelage from whoever is willing to instruct him without asking too many questions. He has found some success with fire and lightning-based powers, though still finds water and particularly earth-based powers beyond his reach. His obsession with engineering, and thus mining, means that he is likely to remain beyond the Earthmother's favour...