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Ana'thal Dawnstorm. [Blood Elf Rogue.]
As always, changes are in pink!

Character Full Name: Ana'thal Dawnstorm.

Character In-Game Name: Anat.

Nickname(s): Anny, Peasant, Girl.

Association(s): The Sin'dorei, Silvermoon, the Horde.

Race: Blood Elf.

Class: OOC - Rogue. IC, Artificer and initiate Swordmistress.

Skills and Abilities:

Arcane Knowledge - While Anat was never one to use magic, she has a very deep understanding of the subject, able to tell Ley Lines and their patterns alongside the various schools of magic.

Craftswoman - Anat is an Arcane Artificer in her trade. She has the knowledge and skill to make arcane constructs of small sorts, such as levitating candles or lamps and if given the resources and time, something bigger.

Intelligent - Neither graceful nor strong, Anat's main trait is her high intellect.


Coward - Anat lacks a spine and a backbone, easily scared and would usually withdraw from any form of conflict.

Weak - Lacking in strength, even after training, Anat will be forced to rely on accurate strokes of the blade rather than strength. She can barely lift half her weight.

None combatant - Still fresh, Anat has yet to take her first life nor experience real battle for her life. She may have learned how to defend herself- But she's a long way from being able to practically use her skills in battle.

Age: 454

Sex: Females.

Hair: A long black horse-tail tied behind her head, reaching to the curve of her back with a few loose strands ahead of her face.

Eyes: Like all of her kind, a radiant Fel green.

Weight: 49 Kilograms.

Height: 1.69 meters.

Usual Garments/Armor: Anat is usually donned in simple clothes, cheaply bought and made in Silvermoon. Alongside that, she usually has her satchel with her, carrying a few tools and bits in it, for when she tinkers idly.

Other: Anat carries a small prototype of an Arcane Guardian, miniature in size, with the ability to record and play a few simple lines of voice.

Alignment: Neutral good.

Personality: Anat is a kindhearted girl, raised well and with manners. She tries to think of the sake of others instead of her own, but usually finds herself thinking of herself instead. A coward in heart, Anat would usually do nothing to hold her grounds or even speak against the decisions of those higher than her. Along that, Anat is one of the many citizens of Silvermoon who had suffered from poverty and mistreatment from the nobles. This has nurtured a great dislike of almost any noble hailing from Silvermoon or her race whole, usually blaming the noble houses for all her troubles and the troubles of the city (never openly ofcourse). Despite all her negative traits, Anat is usually a kind and nice woman, often trying to offer a smile and a polite attitude. She's very loyal to her family and friends.

Anat still struggles with the day to day issues of poverty, and her race's seemingly utter disregard to those not wealthy or talented in the Arcane arts, causing her to feel distant and aloof from her race. She feels out of place and quite uncomfortable around her own kind. Alongside that, she still holds to some racial prejudices about the other races, not out of blatant racism, but actual and true ignorance, having never set foot outside of Silvermoon for most her life. Anat is very hard trusting to Humans, still holding to old grudges about their treatment in the third war, and generally views most of the Alliance as something she'd like to avoid. The one race which holds an exception, are the Draenei, who's technology fascinates the woman.

Anat's personality hardened over time mildly. Whilst still the same woman, her usual lack of back-bone is mended to a slight degree and the peasant girl is no longer so easily deterred by challenges.

History: Born to a humble home within the crimson woods of Eversong, Anat was the youngest sister to a family of two other siblings and her parents. Her father, Alu'theal Dawnstorm was a proud craftsman, a hard worker and a kind man with a heart of gold, or so Anat liked to think. Her mother, Loria Everspire was a noble lady of her house, whom disregarded her stature to be with her father. Her oldest brother, Arithor, was a strong male specimen taking much more interest in the art of the sword rather than his father's crafts. Her older sister, Valerial was a sharp tongued girl, taking much after their mother in her speech and her witty remarks, a free spirited child whom instead much preferred to bake and cook for the family, rather than take up craftsmanship. Although not wealthy, they lived in humble dignity, the family a happy and close one. The three siblings grew close, and Arithor took up the role of over-protective brother to them, though the girls never complained. At the coming age of 16, where Anat had began to grow to a mature young lady, she had began learning from her father, and showed potential in understanding of his craft. And alongside that, she loved it. Creating. It was something every child dreamed of, the ability to make their own toys, or the toys for their children... And so, she began to learn under her father. Arithor learned on his own. Valerial, from their mother. And the family was happy.

Years passed in humble life, the family never being grown apart. Arithor grew to be a strong and healthy male, and Valerial to a talented baker and graceful lady. As for Ana'thal, she grew more and more talented in her father's crafts, alongside her growing interest of arcane, which soon began to integrate into her work, simple crude runes carved unto small wooden squares, which made them float lightly. And all along, her parents watched with pride for each child. And as her time of adulthood came, Ana'thal's father gave her a gift he had been saving for quite a while... Her own workshop, located near their house. Overcome with joy, the girl soon delved deeper and deeper into her arts, passing many hours and days in that small humble workshop, crafting and building away. And so, the years flown on and on, the family as happy as one could be.

The Second War brushed by the family almost without trace, having no soldiers to donate for the war-effort, they were left to their peace... But then, the third war broke. Arithor went to aid the humans in their war. Ana'thal never thought she'd see her mother cry the way she did the way he left off to fight with the Humans. With Arithor gone, things have been hard for the family, with money being scarce during wartime. Ana'thal's family eventually left their humble home to move to the grand city, in order to find work... It was there where things have gone to their worse. Loria had fell terribly ill, and had grown bound to her bed due to her sickness. Ana'thal was out working with her father, trying to earn enough money for a doctor, all while Valerial stayed behind to tend for their sick mother. Despite their rigorous efforts, Ana'thal's mother passed in her sleep. Her body, far too weak to fight, so eventually, the light of her life was all but extinguished. That was the first time Anat'thal saw her father cry. But they weren't only tears of sorrow. They were tears of bitterness, of anger. Of the fact his wife died because a medical professional refused to help them due to a lack of money. They gave her mother a humble burial, the women trying to hold their tears as they lowered the coffin unto the soil. It was only Ana'thal's father which shed tears without restraint, sorrowful for the loss of his wife.

It wasn't too many days that passed before Arithor returned home to find the terrible news for himself. Dismissed from service due to a near crippling injury in his left knee. Arithor blamed himself, and responded to the loss with anger. He would go out for hours at a day to do something at his own. The family had lost one... And things were about to get worse. Soon, the news of the Lich King arrived to the city, but far too late. The Scourge were already at the very doorstep of their city. Arithor insisted to stay and fight, but despite all his saying, their father ordered them to leave, as he stayed behind. They packed their things, took whatever money and books they could take, and left the city in a hurry, the sounds of fires and screams rising behind them... They never saw their father again. The siblings all fled to the western ridges of the area, near the shoreline, where they survived most of their days. Arithor had grown cold and distant, a harsh stoic mask of duty on his face at all time. He would grit his teeth in his sleep. Valerial, stayed as she was, trying to cheer them up with jokes and stories, and the rare sweets she could make. As for Ana'thal, none of them took the loss of their father quite as hard as she did. The youngest, and the weakest, Ana'thal grew aloof and distant, a sorrowful gaze to her eyes at most times.

It was during a plain sun-bathed afternoon where the withdrawal kicked in. Subjects to terrible misery and agony, the siblings found themselves growing tense and miserable due to their growing addiction. When a wandering Elf found them by their wreck of a shelter, he quickly told them of the happenings at Outland, and their newfound ability. Valerial and Ana'thal quickly succumbed to their need, Arithor with them but only for their protection. He would go out alone, capturing minor demons and returning with them so the girls and himself could siphon off their beings before killing them. And so, life went on. Their eyes mutated, but they kept at their siphoning, their need for survival far too great. And it was only a few years later, where finally, the Sunwell was restored. Finding themselves in the midst of ruin, the Family soon drifted back to the reconquered city of Silvermoon, where they settled down. Ana'thal spent most of her days working, suffering from the poverty, barely scrapping through the day due to her pride and refusal to accept aid from her brother or sister.

Returning to a mildly peaceful and bland day-to-day life, Anat found herself working an exhausting work at restoring the city of Silvermoon and aiding as best she could. Upon a chance encounter with a noble, Anat soon fell to the bad side of the man of high class. And he, in malice, began extorting her, forcing the young miserable artificer to sell her family's workshop and her form of earning her bread. Teetering on the edge of ending her life in a deep bout of depression, Anat was found by Camillia Firescribe which offered her a place to the depressed girl as her student. Accepting reluctantly, Anat began learning the ways of the sword under Camillia's teaching. A hard road lay before her, with the peasant having never even thought of wielding a sword. Talentless and lacking in most conventional skills for battle, Anat was encouraged on by Camillia which took a motherly role in her life.

And so slowly time went by, the depression of the Artificer disappearing in favor of a new-found joy in her swordfighting. Alongside this, the young Dawnstorm fell in love with Danothil Seregon, a noble recently widowed due to a failed assassination on his life due to political strife. The two grew closer and Anat found her place in his heart and he in hers. And for a while, things were far too good to last. And indeed, they didn't.

At a seemingly mundane visit to Danothil, Anat found herself soon blamed for the death of the noble's fiance by the same noble. Hurt and heartbroken, Anat fled Silvermoon, her reality caving in around her. Realizing she no longer has a place in Eversong, she set her sights to the furthest place she could think of at the time, Northrend. Parting with Camillia and leaving notes for her siblings, the young initiate made her way down to the Ghostlands. On the way of her journey she met Krest Fairstar, another fighter whom escorted her down to Stranglethorn Valley. It was there that the Cataclysm struck Azeroth, and in the great turmoil of the earth, Anat lost Krest and parted from him.

After a while of desperate searching, she met a Draenei man by the name of Kapre, alongside his two young daughters. The Draenei explained to Anat (after first assuring her he would not eat her.) that he was parted ways with his own mate, a woman by the name of Xanthe. Helping the man search, Anat bore witness to their heartfelt reunion and couldn't quite bear much reminder of her own still aching heart. With renewed strength, she prayed for Krest's well-being, and set her way onwards to Northrend...

But who knows what she will find there?

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