12-01-2013, 01:52 PM
(This post was last modified: 12-19-2013, 02:42 PM by Franksta96.)
Varanduil Dawnshard. Once a prosperous Ranger Captain of Quel'Thalas, son to Thalanduil Dawnshard, a Ranger Lord. A noble and reasonable elf, the young elf sought to please his people and fight in their glory. Honorable and just, he fought with pride for both the Rangers and his people, determined to keep his family safe. Though dark times have come in wake of the Cataclysm, the once noble elf has turned down a desolate path.
Exiling himself from the lands he once fought for, Varanduil disappeared, his motives and reasons questioning anyone who knew him. Time passed, and he was found popping up around Azeroth, cryptic and shady in his actions. Eventually his plans were uncovered... A group of fighters from the Horde stood against the crazed elf, and ultimately succeeded...
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Darkness... That is what remained. The last glimpses of an female Orc impaling Varanduil's chest repeated through his mind like a never ending story. All he could remember was the wind roaring all around him as he fell into an abyss. The plunge of water and the sudden sinking feeling were also present, his fate being sealed for the foolishness he had done.
But the question was, did he regret what he did? Did he think he was a fool for standing up to what he believed in? Despite being in the wrong, Varanduil considered he was doing what needed to be done. His friends, his family. Everyone. They all stood against him. They betrayed him, and forced him down this path.
In their arrogance and denial, Varanduil sought to exile himself and go about his own business. But no... They HAD to find him. They HAD to try and stop what he was doing. But why? All Varanduil wished for was to be known for his deeds, and appreciated. How could he do that if he was left to perish in the madness he had woven?
There was a chance... From below the river in which he lay, minutes after his death, there came a shining light. An elegant, angelic like figure descended from the cliff in which the mad elf had fell from. It was though the elf, despite his past deeds that forced him into this terrible fate, had been given another chance.
"Varanduil. My brother." the angelic voice called out, a hint of sorrow in her voice. Water could be heard trickling into the river as his lifeless corpse was pulled from the riverbed. "You will rise once again. To fight." the voice demanded defiantly and passionately.
Darkness remained, until there was a gradually rising flash of light...
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With a gasp, he rose. His vision blurred for a moment, a purple haze becoming the dominant color of his eyes. Rubbing them, he groaned as he took in a fresh breath of air, wheezing and clutching his chest to the wound he previously received. Something was peculiar... He placed his hand to his eye, rubbing it as it felt sore. His vision in this eye was blurred the slightest, much more blurred than the other.
As his vision cleared, he found himself sitting on the cold, hard stone floor of an unknown room. Around him, a small Arcane dome emerged around him, much like a small prison. From the furthest doorway of the room stood three figures shrouded in darkness. He rubbed his head, curious as to where he was. "What foul place is this?" he yelled out commandingly.
The figure, petite and elegant, stepped forward into the light. Varanduil's eyes widened as he noticed the figure. "Welcome back to the world, brother..."
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Character's Name: Varanduil Dawnshard
Times Resurrected: None. First time.
Killer's Name: Mokra
[b]Resurrector's Name: Tyra Dawnshard
Witness(es): Morka, Chama and Tyra
Method of Resurrection: Tyra using the Holy Light to resurrect her brother.
Drawbacks:
Exiling himself from the lands he once fought for, Varanduil disappeared, his motives and reasons questioning anyone who knew him. Time passed, and he was found popping up around Azeroth, cryptic and shady in his actions. Eventually his plans were uncovered... A group of fighters from the Horde stood against the crazed elf, and ultimately succeeded...
--------------------
Darkness... That is what remained. The last glimpses of an female Orc impaling Varanduil's chest repeated through his mind like a never ending story. All he could remember was the wind roaring all around him as he fell into an abyss. The plunge of water and the sudden sinking feeling were also present, his fate being sealed for the foolishness he had done.
But the question was, did he regret what he did? Did he think he was a fool for standing up to what he believed in? Despite being in the wrong, Varanduil considered he was doing what needed to be done. His friends, his family. Everyone. They all stood against him. They betrayed him, and forced him down this path.
In their arrogance and denial, Varanduil sought to exile himself and go about his own business. But no... They HAD to find him. They HAD to try and stop what he was doing. But why? All Varanduil wished for was to be known for his deeds, and appreciated. How could he do that if he was left to perish in the madness he had woven?
There was a chance... From below the river in which he lay, minutes after his death, there came a shining light. An elegant, angelic like figure descended from the cliff in which the mad elf had fell from. It was though the elf, despite his past deeds that forced him into this terrible fate, had been given another chance.
"Varanduil. My brother." the angelic voice called out, a hint of sorrow in her voice. Water could be heard trickling into the river as his lifeless corpse was pulled from the riverbed. "You will rise once again. To fight." the voice demanded defiantly and passionately.
Darkness remained, until there was a gradually rising flash of light...
--------------------
With a gasp, he rose. His vision blurred for a moment, a purple haze becoming the dominant color of his eyes. Rubbing them, he groaned as he took in a fresh breath of air, wheezing and clutching his chest to the wound he previously received. Something was peculiar... He placed his hand to his eye, rubbing it as it felt sore. His vision in this eye was blurred the slightest, much more blurred than the other.
As his vision cleared, he found himself sitting on the cold, hard stone floor of an unknown room. Around him, a small Arcane dome emerged around him, much like a small prison. From the furthest doorway of the room stood three figures shrouded in darkness. He rubbed his head, curious as to where he was. "What foul place is this?" he yelled out commandingly.
The figure, petite and elegant, stepped forward into the light. Varanduil's eyes widened as he noticed the figure. "Welcome back to the world, brother..."
--------------------
Character's Name: Varanduil Dawnshard
Times Resurrected: None. First time.
Killer's Name: Mokra
[b]Resurrector's Name: Tyra Dawnshard
Witness(es): Morka, Chama and Tyra
Method of Resurrection: Tyra using the Holy Light to resurrect her brother.
Drawbacks:
- A severe distrust of people. Doesn't even trust family to a degree. Hates Orcs especially due to being killed by one. ; Permanent
- Breathing problems (Light failed to fully repair his breastplate which was broken by Mokra during battle) ; Permanent (Unless he can find a way to fix it)
- An infection from the water that is growing around his left eye. ; 2 months before he looses his eye.
- Hard time digesting food and struggling to eat; 3 months.
- A fear of the weapon that took his life; The Polearm. ; Permanent.
Noillin Dawnhammer [Alive] - "We ride ta' battle together, not alone..."
'Gray' [Alive] - "I will not let my sacrifices go in vain... Never..."
Dragor Bloodfury [Alive] - "The cries of our comrades will not go unheard!"
'Gray' [Alive] - "I will not let my sacrifices go in vain... Never..."
Dragor Bloodfury [Alive] - "The cries of our comrades will not go unheard!"
