Details of your Orc character: Name: Xaor
Class: Shaman
Level: 80
Tell us something about your playing experience:Hello! I've been stuck with this game since the release of original World of Warcraft. Both PvE and PvP endgame contents of 60 level cap and 70 cap can be found in my experience rucksack.
It was about the time when WotlK came I decided it’s time for me to have a long break.
And now I decide it’s about time this break ends.
Tell us something about your roleplaying experience:I have been role playing for about two, two and a half years in WoW. It’s mostly been Defias. I was hanging around here and there. “Dusty” might ring a bell for some of you.
There were times when I attended a couple of real life RP-events. I study to become a theatre-director/actor, so I’ve got real life role playing almost every day.
And finally, please write a short story and/or IC introduction about your character:
The flaming disk sank behind the horizon, giving away the last glance to rooftops of sun kissed Booty Bay. It was Friday and the local tavern was filled with soon-to-get-smashed crowd whose heart and life belonged to southern seas.
Sailors, fishermen, troops from the ship of Menethil Fleet, beggars, a few guards having a day-off, merchants and other folks who dwelled in town now and then. It was a boiling anthill.
In the corner by the bar a grey-haired orc resided. It wasn’t his ragged clothes, nor it was his scarred skin, neither his wrinkled face that could describe him as a seasoned veteran. It was the eyes. Little red and yellow fires were dancing in the depth of his eyes, which could probably tell a lot to one who could listen.
One on one with a big mug of something. He couldn’t remember what he ordered. And he hadn’t drunk yet. He didn’t want to. He despised it all now, even though he enjoyed a good drink at times.
Memories flashed in his mind. Memories of the beautiful country he used to live in, of his first encounter with The Elements, of the times when his worst enemies were ogres. He wanted this memory to last longer, he went into smallest details. The look of his house, the cool breeze born by distanced and unapproachable white topped mountains… The day when They came. Then all was in blur. They turned him into a tool which turned against puppeteers in the end.
A shadow ran across his face as the name of Gul’Dan floated in his mind.
Life. It was too long altogether.
He was an outstanding soldier of the Horde once. They called him Xaor Felclaw because humans believed the deamonic blood ran in his veins still. Great many the little and big skulls he mauled.
Old orc smiled.
And they dispatched him to rest. The Warchief did. The Horde did. Many weeks have passed since and he couldn’t live with it. Drowning all sorrows in a glass, they say.
And such was the story of Xaor, until today.
Troops were getting drunk. Deep inside their gloating voices were driving him mad. He shook it off, but gave them a sharp quick look.
Five of them. Three armed.
Well, old chap, there’s been worse. He tried to shake it off again, but the hatred earned along with scars in all those years overtook him. It was time to prove retirement too early.
Xaor reached for his mug, drinking it all at once. What happened then, developed within seconds. In an instant the distance between wardrobe of an orc and humans was removed.
“FOR THE WARCHIEF!!!” – and a half-emptied bottle landed on troop’s head, crushing to pieces and knocking the man out. The second man received a mug in his face and rolled over the counter…
The trigger was pushed. The usual Friday Brawl has began. Some time passed untill guards arrived.
Xaor slipped out of the building, fixed his partly ripped shirt, put hands in pockets, and slowly walked towards the docks. Ah, what a joy.
Age is just a number, after all.
cant wait!
