Tag Archives: Characters

Titus

Demetrius: Villain, what hast thou done?
Aaron: That which thou canst not undo.
Chiron: Thou hast undone our mother.
Aaron: Villain, I have done thy mother.
Aaron the Moore
in “Titus Andronicus” by William Shakespeare

Yeah, he means exactly what it sounds like… XD Aaron the Moore is the best villain ever — he has all the best lines! (And if he ever heard me talking about him in jest, he’d probably gut me and dance with my corpse O.o)

Hepzibah

Drawings (and possibly in the future, screencaps) of my World of Warcraft character Hepzibah. She’s a Blood Elf Paladin on Earthen Ring. I don’t care what anyone says, the Blood Elves have/had a freaking angel chained in their basement! If any of the Horde races are actually evil, it’s them! :p

Chardra: A Vision

“Have you ever seen anything like it before?” Chardra swung the beam of light at the grass, and it fell away in a sheet that smoked momentarily. An old woman sat next to her atop the hill. Graying blonde eyebrows rose in surprise, but her features remained otherwise impassive as she stared across the strange landscape. Snow drifted across sandy desert plains, and a rainbow-hued herd of horses appeared on the horizon.

She shook her head. “You say you took this from a man made of moonsilver?”

“Yes, and after he was dead, his body melted away into a sort of…sludge. And then it disappeared altogether. It was the strangest thing I think I’ve ever seen, Tressa.”

“And I suppose that is saying something, eh, little Ghost Wind?” The old woman’s blue eyes smiled up at her former apprentice. Chardra released her power from the weapon as she sat down, and the beam of light disappeared. It was impossible for the old wisewoman to say what memories shaded her companion’s strange green eyes as she watched the horses float across the surreal tundra. Tressa was sure they were filled with wonders she’d only half believed in before the younger woman had become one of Luna’s children.

“He said, ‘We’re coming to consume you,’ — these Children of Autochthon. I’ve heard the name before somewhere, but I don’t know much about it. Something to do with the war against the Primordials.”

“That lore is older than even your people. It may be difficult to learn more.”

“I wish I could have gotten him to talk to me more. There was a font of knowledge at our fingertips, and they bashed his skull in!” Frustration rippled off of Chardra, forming the vague shape of a horse that distorted the air like heat. The herd galloped closer, perhaps drawn by the scent of a familiar spirit. Their hooves never seemed to touch the earth, but they kicked up plumes of snow as they circled the two women.

“He did attack you and your fellows unprovoked, child. A bear totem is not likely to suffer such insult gladly. And as strange as this man sounds, even your silvered tongue may not have been enough to make him spill his secrets.”

The stallion leading the colorful mob approached Chardra, pushing his muzzle into her shoulder. She reached a hand up absently and scratched between his ears. “I don’t know, Tressa. He…thanked me. For my compassion.” The stallion snuffed her hand away and shoved his nose into her side. “If I’d only had more time–OW!”

She looked up into large eyes that matched the color of her own. Eyes that looked very self-satisfied at the nip the towering white horse had given her leg. Sweeping Wind lifted his head and nodded enthusiastically back toward the village of Burning Leaf. The hill was just visible through the trees that surrounded them.

“Okay, okay! I’m coming!” She chuckled, and stood, swinging herself astride her friend’s broad back.

Fever Dreams

She had been ill, Tressa remembered, recalling in that distant, fuzzy sort of way you do halfway between dreaming and waking. The winds that blew in from the wylds had brought the Icewalker village ghostly voices and an ague that mysteriously affected only those with the Sight. She’d lain shaking from fever and chills for a week, but now found herself walking alone outside in the moonlight, expectation hanging in the air like the world holding its breath.

Snow floated around her, and the ground crackled under her boots. She watched the horizon as she made her way through the village, and was only half surprised when a silhouette appeared there. A figure made its way across the frigid landscape, and as it approached, she could see snow swirling wildly around it, and felt the piercing chill of blizzard winds. The disk of the moon loomed at its shoulder like a pale sentinel as a woman’s form took shape among the shadows. Her winds enveloped the village as she stopped a few paces from Tressa. Her face remained obscurred, but her eyes blazed like green fire through the blizzard.

“What do you want here?” Tressa demanded. The figure remained still for a moment, then began to sing in a strange undulating voice. The language was unfamiliar, but nothing like the voices from the wyld. A hand reached out toward Tressa, and she felt the cold roll off of the woman in waves.

I think the fever has broken.

The wisewoman opened her eyes to see two healers leaning over her. Without a word, she pulled the blankets up around her shoulders and rose to join the crowd that had gathered outside. A stranger with wheat colored hair was given a wide berth in their midst. Why had she come? What did she want from them, they asked. Her gaze swept around around the circle dreamily, but when those cat-green eyes met Tressa’s blue ones, she stopped and seemed to focus a little.

Tressa pushed her way through the murmuring crowd. Here and there, she saw hands flash signs of protection. The stranger was barely a woman, but with the Fair Folk, appearances could be decieving.

“Please join me by my fire, Traveler.” Tressa waved the others back as she led the girl to her tent. As they approached the fire, she seemed to become uncomfortable, and suddenly shied away from the flames. A piercing wail escaped her lips as she dropped in a faint. Tressa patted the girl’s cheek, jerking away in surprise when her fingers met ice-cold skin. She watched her apprehensively for a few moments, then pressed her hand against the young woman’s chest. A heart beat faintly against her palm.

“Bring me some blankets!” she called to the whispering villagers that watched anxiously at the tent’s entrance. The wisewoman left the girl who brought the furs to watch over the unconscious young woman, then made her way to the Chieftan’s tent. They suddenly had much to discuss.

Character History: Hepzibah

You are a foolish child, Hepzibah of Gleamingdown.

The Naaru loomed overhead, flexing angrily against its magical bonds. The Magisters at the other end of those tethers were oblivious to the scene before them, entrenched deep in their concentration.

A dark-haired woman, still young by Blood Elf standards, knelt before M’uru of the Naaru, held captive beneath the city of Silvermoon. She had fled her home in anger to find him, under the naive assumption that he would be the one to help her. The final straw had broken between her and her father that night.

Da is right. I will never be as powerful as he is. The thought raced through Hepzibah’s mind as her mount sped her toward the city. I will be better than him. For all his vaunted magical prowess, he had never managed to harness the power of the captive Naaru the way the Blood Knights could, had never been able to join their ranks. To say he’d always been bitter about it might be the single greatest understatement one could make about her father. She, however, would achieve his dream. If she could not make him proud, she would make him feel the shame she’d known since childhood.

Or so she’d thought. Of the handful of times she’d been allowed to see the Blood Elves’ greatest treasure, never once had she heard him speak. Somehow, though, her plea had stirred him into response, if not the one she’d been hoping for.

Intro: Bowman Vance

I’ve never been accused of being a great man, so I might as well recount the adventures of one who was. Good thing, I suppose; he’d never do it himself. He was never that kind of person. He called himself Bowman Vance, and he was probably the only real friend I’ve ever had. My name is Noah. I was just a boy when I knew him, barely fourteen, but the night he ran, I followed him. When he discovered me hours later, he tried to send me home, even tried to scare me away. It nearly worked too. But I had seen what they’d done to him. I knew their secret. I couldn’t go back any more than he could.

The night we left Master Kota’s estate was a hectic one. Less than an hour prior to our leaving, the entire familial guard had made a failed attempt to overthrow the Kota line. Melias Quartain, the Sergeant of the Guard, had claimed proof that Master Kota was a corrupt noble, and that he was stealing from the town. Of the fifteen guardsmen, only three had been unsure: Bowman, one of his fellow archers, and a young swordsman. They had all grown up in the town of Jujira. Bowman’s own family had served the Kota line for generations.

Character Description: Callas

By no means a stunning beauty, Callas was yet pretty in a that quaint way one might expect to find in the countryside. Her skin was smooth and tanned from a youth spent working and playing under the sun, and her hair, long and wavy, was sun-bleached to the color of harvest-ready wheat. Eyes that had been a muddy brown in her childhood had deepened with the years to a chocolate hue, and were rimmed by thick, dark lashes. Her father would have said she had inherited her mother’s soulful gaze. And if she had also got her father’s aquiline nose and strong square jaw, and his tendancy to purse her slighly-thin lips, who would notice? When she had occasion to smile, it lit up her battle-wearied face, and she glowed with it.

But Callas was certainly a product of her surroundings. Her years spent at war showed in the line of her body, taut and wiry, with a fluid grace and strong arm, and her hands were callused by the sword and plow alike. Under her Chosen’s sash, she walked proud and erect, having finally accepted what she was, and her dark gaze took in all around her with neither reserve nor apology for such sapience in such a young face.

Callas vs. Darkness

She surged forward from the mob of her fellow soldiers, their hands shrinking back at the cry of feral rage tearing from her throat. And she ran alone toward the moving wall of abysmal black.

The formation behind her stood transfixed in awe at the sight of it, and as she neared the boundaries of the darkness, she raised her sword, and it blazed to life like a comet in her hand. At the first sweeping arch of it, the darkness shrank back, quivering from the flame’s touch like some wretched fog-beast. As Callas advanced into the opening her blade had made, the army behind her caught a glimpse of the armored force concealed within.