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Braktug
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« on: July 13, 2010, 12:54:45 AM » |
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Name: Braktug Marlfang
Class: Warrior
Level: 15, but (hopefully) steadily rising!
Tell us something about your playing experience: I've played WoW since April 2005, with a couple of 2-3 month breaks. I spent most of the first few months flitting through servers and characters, being utterly indecisive and unable to settle on a character to play, until I heard about a new RP-PvP server that was going to be opening soon (that server being our lovely Defias.) I rolled a few characters on Defias, and finally settled down and played the game (I'd never had a character above level 21 before). And I've never really left in all those five years.
Tell us something about your roleplaying experience: I started experimenting with roleplay on Argent Dawn in June 2005, and despite being, for all intents and purposes, utterly dire at it, I stuck on at it, through the opening of Defias (where I was still pretty terrible, I've got to say). I've roleplayed a lot of characters since then, though every one was Alliance. Horde RP has always been more enticing to me, but I've never given it a try due to the more "guild-orientated" aspect of it.
And finally, please write a short story and/or IC introduction about your character:
The sun shone high in the spring sky of Lordaeron, the first signs of life beginning to emerge after the cold depths of winter. Birdsong was carried far in the light breeze, and the first flowers were blooming. But this beauty was unremarked upon by the inhabitants of the camp far nestled within the trees of the Silverpine forest. The fetid odour of a legion of unwashed masses permeated the air in the camp, and green bodies lay scattered haphazardly around.
One of these bodies was Braktug Marlfang, resting heavily against a dilapidated and shoddily-built hut, his arms hanging limply by his sides. The only sign that betrayed life within the Orc was the steady, shallow rising and falling of his chest as he drew pitiful amounts of air into his struggling lungs. Apathy and memories had consumed him, and he did not even have the strength to glare at a particularly resentful guard who had singled him out especially to receive a swift daily beating with a steel club. It had been this way for months now, as he moved only to eat. Instead, he stared blankly at the damp ground, and reflected on the past.
Visions of murder, bloodshed and betrayal, of men, women and children murdered in his demonic bloodlust. One vision in particular continued to come back to him, in both his daydreams and nightmares. The memory of the most shameful act of his life. The vision of a raid upon a farmstead in the Hillsbrad foothills...
The farmer wore a proud, defiant look upon his face, as he stood at the entrance to his home, wielding nothing but a simple spade. Braktug looked upon him with a gaze of pure, unbridled hatred, and snarled at the farmer. With a roar of rage, Braktug swung his axe in a vicious vertical motion, breaking the stock of the spade as if it were paper, and almost cleaving the human in front of him from crown to groin. Without even pausing to breath, he stepped over the bloody remains of the man and slammed into the wooden door of the homestead with his shoulder, bellowing in bestial anger. A choir of shrill, petrified screams escaped upon the first slam, and as he continued his act of battery, the screaming only grew louder.
Eventually, the door collapsed - almost disintegrating into a pile of splinters as it smashed into the floor. The sight within filled him with some kind of sick joy; a woman, and four children, none could be older than ten. Braktug stared at the woman, curiously - such a frail looking thing, yet she stood infront of her children, an old scarred shield and well-used sword in each of her arms. She held the shield out defensively, her whole body shaking in unrestrained terror, yet she continued to hold, and did not plead, or beg, or even whimper. In that moment, Braktug held nothing but respect towards this woman - yet it did not hold back his assault. He moved forward, and within three motions, had parried her sword swing, forced her shield away and struck her down ruthlessly. And then there were the children...
Braktug awoke from his dream to see the guards crowded on the walls and behind the gate, as though waiting for something. Just then, the gate was violently rammed by something unseen. Braktug stared at the gate for a moment, before letting his head drop to his chest and blacked out in exhaustion.
I hope this story is sufficient to, if not explain about Braktug's background, then at least give an insight into his (former) personality and a tiny sliver of his past. I look forward to any feedback!
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