Zjiin

Information

Player: Mortiphobia

Character Full Name: Zjiin'zin

Character In-Game Name: Zjiin

Nickname(s): none

Association(s): Horde, Darkspear Tribe

Race: Troll

Class: Shaman

Age: 32

Sex: Male

Hair: Thick, black hair. Often put into braids when not covered.

Eyes: Red

Weight: 285 lbs.

Height: 7'3”

Alignment: True Neutral

Appearance

Zjiin likes to adorn himself in typical tribal attire, wearing brilliant hues on his kilt, tunic, and similar coverings. However, he adds a level of protection, wearing a layer of chain mail under his vibrant vestments. He weights his neck with various pendants and necklaces, threading the bones of his kills and wearing them as trophies. Atop his own, Zjiin covers his head with that of a wolf, barely concealing his painted face. Occasionally, he will replace his wolf-head mask for a more lavish one, often during important rituals.

Other: Zjiin favors no particular weapon, his only requirement being that it tears and crushes limbs with ease, while also suitable for channeling his shamanistic magics.

Personality

Zjiin is not an easily-categorized troll. He is warm to his friends, and stand-offish to those he considers his enemies. However, the slightest word or behavior, seemingly random to outsiders, can reverse those roles. He is very careful about his word choice, and even more careful when reading others.

Ill-tempered would not be a way to describe Zjiin, though when pushed in the wrong way, he can prove to be unrelenting in his assault, verbal or otherwise. He does what he can to be pleasant to others, though, ultimately he looks out for his interests and those of the elements. He is deeply religious and proud of his connection to the spirits.

Zjiin's disposition toward the other races varies. He respects most of his fellow members of the Horde, though, tending to be tad more wary of Blood Elves due to their addiction and misuse of arcane magic - in addition to the general animosity the two races have always had for each other. His feelings toward the Forsaken, however, differ by more than a little. Discounting the usual distrust of the undead race for being just that, Zjiin sees the Forsaken as a walking sacrilege to the remains and spirits of his ancestors. To add insult to injury, the events at the Wrathgate widened the rift between trust and outright contempt. Still, however, Zjiin will never openly discount a member of the Forsaken, as he trusts in his leaders' decision to ally with them.

Toward the Alliance, Zjiin feels the expected level of hatred, as the opposing faction constantly makes it an uphill battle for the struggling Horde to make a place for itself in the world. He especially hates the Kaldorei, his ancestral enemy a constant threat on Kalimdor. Likewise, the shaman has contempt for Humanity, Proudmoore's navy playing a huge role in the Darkspear's exodus. Despite the ancient race having recently embraced Shamanism, Zjiin feels little brotherliness for the Draenei, as he feels its population consists entirely of pious "saints", who aren't nearly as holy as they might think.

History

It was a bright, scorching-hot afternoon, deeply in contrast to his previous weeks' voyage across the Great Sea. Zjiin'zin and his people, the Darkspear tribe, along with the tenacious orcs, finally arrived on the shores of Durotar. The troll had been wary of the orcs at first -- a common reaction to the strange, alien brutes. Thrall, leader of the greenskins, quickly gained the troll's respect when the Warchief avenged the death of their beloved leader, Sen'jin. Zjiin took the Witchdoctor's words to heart and escaped the isles with the Horde, though he begged the spirits to return one day, angry they had lost their home to the Sea Witch and Proudmoore.

He was twenty six years old, still relatively young for a troll, and a very capable hunter. His role in the first uncertain weeks, that of hunting and tracking, was crucial to the survival of his tribe, as well as their new orcish allies. Time went by, the Third War came and gone, and the newcomers finally had made a place for themselves on the new continent. So much so that Thrall, Warchief of the New Horde, gave the Echo Isles, just south of Durotar, to the trolls. Zjinn, respecting his orcish companions more than ever, followed his people to the isles.

By day, Zjiin was an accomplished hunter, as skilled as his fellow tribesmen. Not a day went by where his tribe went hungry, or the encroaching centaur foiled. Keeping their bellies full was a minor duty for he and his compatriots, as every day brought a new threat, ranging from vile quillboar to marauding centaur. It was through their efforts that they were able to keep their lands safe, as well as expanding into new territory.

At the blackest of night, long after the hunters returned home, his tribe swapped stories around the fire, and many fast asleep, Zjiin set aside his spear and took up relics of supernatural power. Like most of his kind, he was a practitioner of Voodoo, the dark religion of his ancestors. Every night without fail, he prayed to the great Primal Gods, sacrificing animals, offering his own blood, anything to appease the Loa spirits enough to grant him tremendous power for the next day's hunt. Unfortunately, it was abuse of Voodoo and other dark magics by Zalazane that led to the eventual exodus of his people from the Echo Isles, and the nigh-banishment of the religion altogether.

Now closer to his orcish allies than ever, Zjiin found it difficult to practice his religion without uncertain and hostile looks. At a loss and unwilling to give up the skills he had used for so long to hunt, the stubborn troll investigated what the orcs called Shamanism. Not dissimilar to Voodoo, Zjiin found it surprisingly easy to hear the faint whispers of the elements. Within no time, he was practicing the ways of the shaman with the same diligence and dedication he did with Voodoo. Still, however, a part of him would never forget the power he felt through the Loa spirits.

Many years later, Zjiin watched as the world change -- demons spilling from the Nether, the chilling threat of the Lich King. Now just over three decades old, he found himself feeling confined, a wanderlust burning in his soul. For as long as he could remember, he put aside his own life for the good of the tribe, ever-persisting on the homefront. Now, however, he felt his role in the community had changed, the winds whispering of seasons outside the tribe. Zjiin had learned to defer to the elements, their advice often sound and without bias.

On a dark, yet starry night, Zjiin once again called to the great Loa spirits. They, along with the elements, sang of what was to come for the middle-aged troll. Trusting in their guidance, Zjiin took all he could carry, setting out into the world without so much as a goodbye to his people.