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Tom Sorrowmoss [Human]
Player: Aphetoros

Character Full Name: Thomas Baldric Brightmoore originally, renamed Tom Sorrowmoss

Character In-Game Name: Tom

Nickname(s): Tom, Doomsayer

Association(s): N’Zoth, Old Gods, Trenton

Race: Human

Class: Priest

Skills and Abilities: (Below)

Mental Manipulation: Tom is able to reach into the minds of enemies and allies alike and make them think, feel, hear, and see. He can instill fear within them, show them images, and twist their perception of reality. Just like a shadow-priest, however, he must first breach their mental defenses or catch them unwitting.

Twilight Energy: Twilight energy is the name given to spells called forth with the energy of the Old Gods due to the Twilight Hammer, the main users of this power. Based on this, it is merely a combination of holy and shadow magic. This energy fuels all of Tom's spells and is luminescent purple in color. His magic gains no further effects nor power from the energy, it is merely called from a differing source.

Prophecy: Tom is gifted with Sight, allowing him to perceive that which others do not. By this, I mean that he often sees omens in events or objects, and that he will occasionally lapse into a day-dreamlike state, emerging with a cryptic quatrain of events to pass. But even prophecy is not one hundred-percent—it only tells of one possible future out of a hundred-thousand.

Age: 32

Sex: Male

Hair: Dark Brown, so much so it’s near black.

Eyes: Cyan.

Weight: 156 lbs

Height: 5’4”

Usual Garments/Armor: He wears a bright blue hooded cloak—one might say a mazarine color. His robes are predominately white and brown, but gold and blue trims them nicely. He also wears sandals. He'd never been the most physically strong, but he is muscled enough and had oft been labeled a 'prettyboy' type: that being not strong physically but somehow puberty was nice to him aesthetically-- not amazing, but nice enough. He'd never really worked much, thus left soft, and he never truly had much physical hardship as a kid-- one of the lucky ones with a nice orphan matron.

Other: Tom is a priest of the Old Gods. Tom's mana pool is also very large, allowing him to cast for long periods of time, but also causing mana burn effects to extremely damage him (at least until he runs out of mana.)

Alignment: Chaotic Evil (Good, in his perspective.)

Personality: Tom has been corrupted by the Old Gods, and to him, he deems every action he does for the greater good of the world. Despite the insanity that has taken root within every fiber of his being, a hollow shell of his personality remains. He tailors his words to the situation and the person and though some might call him insane for worshiping the Old Gods, he isn't insane in the true meaning of the word. He acts calm and functions normally; his faith does not define his persona. He also tends towards hedonistic things, such as pleasures of flesh and wealth.

History: Tom was conceived during a 'chance' meeting between a Stormwind noble and a prostitute in the Old Town. The encounter was quick-- no more than five minutes, but it was enough. The father didn't even know he existed at first, and after he was born, the mother tried to raise him. Her meager funds were unable to support them both, and so she left him on the streets to die at the age of two. The father came back to ‘visit’ the prostitute once more, when he learned of his son. Tom’s father was wealthy, a noble knight by the name of Jeremy Brightmoore.

A young high elf mage-priest found the starving child in rags and took him to a nearby orphanage, though he was very upset about being left again, as it seemed the young orphan was. His father visited a few times, but Tom wouldn’t remember it as he was too young. His full name, though never told to him, was given during one of these visits. The Matron simply gave him the last name of an herb, and the name that the Mother and Father had given was forgotten.

He lived in the orphanage for many years, and his way of coping with his abandonment was to 'act the fool' and pretend that nothing bothered him. Laughter is, as they say, the best medicine. But alas, laughter wasn't enough to keep him out of trouble. When Tom was six he pulled a prank that indirectly lead to his natural aversion to fruit. He had planned it meticulously; it was to be the best one yet. He had placed thin wires across a street, which when pulled would yank open a stable and cause horses to go flying everywhere, while simultaneously sending dark crimson paint cascading down on those passing by, including the stampede of animals. It would make it look like a race of bloody undead stallions. It was going great-- the fruit vendors cart was speeding down the road, which would help pull the wires harder, at least that's what Tom had thought! The cart had rammed into the trap, but the cart only halted and swerved to the side, snapping the wire back towards Tom (who was hiding in the bushes nearby) it wound itself around his neck like a crude garrote. Just then, as if things couldn't have gotten worse, he gurgled in fear as tons of fruit crashed around him, entombing him and knocking him out. The last thing he heard was the Orphanage Matron's scream as his mind faded to black.

He awoke in a small room in a soft, plushy, cot. He felt rejuvenated, but he couldn't recall where he was or why he was there. In fact, it was the most cliché wake up there ever was. There was a small nightstand to his left with a cup of some liquid-- not water, some sweet smelling nectar-- and a small biscuit. "Go on, eat up. I'll get some more. Be sure to drink the elixir, there. The Light saved you, child" His head snapped suddenly to a man standing in the doorway. He was clearly a priest of the Light. He must have been in the chapel. The memories hit him over the head like a two-ton hammer. The stupid prank, the wire... the -fruit-. The priest had left as he was lost in thought, and in that time returned with a tray of apples. He began to move forwards and Tom's eyes went wide, flailing and knocking the fruit away. "K-keep th-that way from me!" And since then, fruit has forever terrified, though by now he's mastered his fear into a mild discomfort. Exhausted from his wounds combined with the flailing, he slipped back into sleep. And he dreamt of a blank white space, and in the center was a fruit-- a small globe of evil.

From this fruit began to grow a tree, and underneath this tree, slick stone slabs formed. Tom looked around as a city built itself around him. Suddenly it was burning, and he felt himself choking in the smoke. He ran through the streets, where there seemed to be open battle. Soon he reached the edge of the isle, where he saw churning waters beneath him, the Well of Eternity. There was a relapse, and everything broke to pieces, the waters swallowing like an abyssal maw. He sank like a stone, pulled deeper into the depths. Soon a rift opened around him, and it seemed as if Tom had drowned, though he was not dead. Words flooded his mind, but they were so fast and fleeting he could not make them out. As he looked into the darkness he saw two brightly glowing eyes open. And inside them was only madness. The world around him spun, colors mixing together and interweaving to paint a new scene.

Like a crimson flower, a sun would blossom above the world, causing the sky to burn with a beautiful scarlet. Tom looked down; he was standing on a rock before the maelstrom, endless waters swirling like a ravenous demon below. He looked around with fear as suddenly gigantic tentacles rose from the depths, flying into the air, spraying droplets of shimmering liquid everywhere. Tom looked back down into the water, and a hideous creature stared at him, its eyes of that same horrible leviathan. Serpentine, or perhaps squid-like. Tom couldn’t even focus on the beast before its features would change once more to something else more horrid and terrifying, yet he was unable to look away. Slowly the world melted away, and all he could see was those eyes. Deep as the sea, filled with the swirling torrents of lunacy. Tom wanted to understand that puzzle, and so he delved deeper inside of them. Willingly he swam through the insane waters. Images began to flash through his head and despite what their morbidity, he accepted them as beautiful. The waters swirled again before him. He saw both the Eastern Kingdoms and Kalimdor, and… all of Azeroth… at once, in clarity. It was an omniscient feeling, having all-seeing eyes.

“Come to me.”

Tendrils tore through the soil, the elements raged and soon the world was aflame and all was destroyed. Tom wanted this to be reality. He yearned for it, it was the best fate for this world; its only chance at salvation. Just then he saw himself, and he saw the same creature from before at his side. And before him was--

And he awoke suddenly at a loud shout to see a man in dark robes standing over him. He looked up, priests at the door to the room with their hands ablaze in golden flame. The cultist cursed, looking back down to Tom quickly and slipping a cold obsidian ring into his pocket. He kissed his hand, and laid it on Tom's forehead...

And Tom's father vanished into black mist as Tom found himself dreaming about receiving a dark obsidian ring as his first birthday present.

As it had turned out, a group of cultists had infiltrated the church as priests a while back, their plans coming to fruition that day as they donned their robes in the shadow of night and went to the beds of the patients, still weakened from their wounds. They used this frailty as an advantage, corrupting Tom and several others with their dark magic, which would set Tom along the path of the Old Gods. The priests healed them more, though they didn't suspect that corruption would be rooted deeply into their minds, and so many of those attacked that night went on to become insane and give their lives for the Old Gods. Tom was smarter, however. Tom wanted to harness that power for himself, and gain favor with his new masters. For years he heard voices, whispers at the edges of his consciousness trying to guide him to far away from his lands.

At first he ignored them, joining the priesthood at age fourteen after a crime; he had committed too many crimes. The voices had told him to do it, and when he tried to explain the voices wouldn’t let him. Details are not needed, but because of him an unwilling girl not much older than he bore a child. The problem with this was Tom was twelve at this time. No one knew but him and the girl, and they decided to keep it a secret. Even though Tom had done such a horrible crime to her, his girlfriend at the time, she forgave him after his apology because ‘she loved him’ even though Tom had a temper and occasionally even beat her. Tom threatened to commit suicide if she left him, but it wasn't him wanting to say this. It was the persuasive voices. They attempted raise the child without anyone finding out, but the Matron of their shared Orphanage discovered the new unaccounted for baby. She took her in as a baby of the orphanage, much to the young parent’s dismay. He was adopted quickly, by a sterile paladin and his wife. As of today, Tom isn’t sure what became of his child, though the loss of his baby girl did hurt him. After that, his ‘voices’ had him committing crimes all over the place. The voices held such sway over him that he bore two more children, twins, from another woman, except one of the twins was stillborn. This time the woman was an adult, and he was thirteen (nearing fourteen). His weapon was a butcher knife. He was caught, convicted of rape and thrown in prison for the remainder of the year.

Soon after he was let out, a month at best, he had stolen from a bank, using a stolen gun as his weapon. He didn’t intend to hurt anyone at first, but a whisper was persistent in his head, “Pull the trigger. Pull it.” As he ran from the guard, he tossed away the weapon, but was tripped by a passerby to stop his escape. After Tom fell, his head had been clonked extremely hard and he didn’t get back up. The guards caught up and dragged him off to jail, there was nothing more needed, the proof was right there. Everyone had seen him do it.

After a few weeks in prison, which he spent in depressed mourning, he was released by a 'priest', on the grounds that Tom had to join the priesthood and be reformed. Tom learned to wield the Light, but strangely to him his was a silvery glow, unlike the others who summoned perfect golden flame. Several of the priests told him that he would be a good priest because of it, for they had seen Archbishop Benedictus do the same. The whispers had revealed themselves after this as the Light, and then vanished from his life until his nineteenth year, when he was released from his studies as an accomplished cleric.

They came in the night, rousing him from sleep and leading him outside of his house and into the darkened chapel. It was empty except for a lone man sitting at the altar with a single candle. Tom approached him, and the man happened to be his father. As the old man turned, it was obvious the two were related. Their traits were similar, facial structure, hair, even eyes. With his free hand he gave Tom a book. No words were exchanged, but mental understanding was forced. It was a story about N’zoth. “Most is fiction. Read the first page. It is not.” Tom flipped back to the first page and read it. As he did the voices began to say it in his head. ‘In the sunken city, he lays dreaming, the drowned god’s heart is black ice, and at the bottom of the ocean even light must die.’ There was a break in the paragraph. ‘In the land of Ny’alotha there is only sleep, and in the sleeping city walk only mad things.’ It clicked. The voices were not the Light; they were a greater Master, a lord who Tom would become devoted to in earnest.

Tom met with his father each night in that same location, and was taught detail after detail and spell after spell in shadow magic, Old God magic, and simply about the gods themselves. It was perhaps during this time his mind began to enter a worse, more cultist-like state. He believed himself to be N’zoth’s chosen, the chosen prophet to deliver word of salvation. Salvation in flames, perhaps.

Tom had become well-versed in shadow spells and magic of mental manipulation, but there was a question the man had longed to ask his father. His father’s magic was brighter, less dark and more potent than Tom’s spells. This was frustrating to Tom, as he was unable to duplicate it. His father laughed, only shaking his head. “Your faith, Tom, is the key to this magic. You cannot simply cast spells and expect them to be blessed with the power of the Master.” Tom’s father held out his hand, a spinning energy of brilliant violet growing within his palm. It reminded Tom of a spell he’d seen a mage use—a fireball if his memory served correct. “You are right, yes. But it is not fire.” His father hurled the bolt of twilight at Tom, and the flames seared his flesh with both shadow and holy energies. He yelped, falling backwards in pain. From this night, Tom ceased to study new magic, and delved into the lore of his dark Masters. Eventually he felt their blessing within him, and he too could conjure the twilight energy.

Tom continued to learn from his father until he was thirty-four. Around this time his father, and by extension his mother, were very old. His father met with his mother after “retiring” and much to Tom’s surprise, they were married before Winter’s Veil and his family had a quaint party. He had become extremely proficient in his knowledge over those years, though, and to celebrate his, or what he believed to be, power, he set out for the place he’d seen in his dreams, the Maelstrom.

He stumbled upon the idea of sacrifice in an ancient text, translating the words religiously until he’d deciphered their meaning. Sacrifice was often a way to gain favor with the gods, be it personal sacrifice or, so Tom believed, otherwise.

Tom boarded a ship and after many months they arrived on Kezan, just a bit away from the Maelstrom. Finding a ship that would go close enough was impossible, it seemed, but Tom managed to get close enough to see that rock from his dream (not really the same rock, but he thought it was) and smile. As the ship floated there, Tom’s form began to roll with writhing sheets of shadow, tentacles lashing about angrily as if to create a more frightening appearance. One of them lashed out, detaching and forming a spike of blackness that incapacitated a crewmate. This went on for a while as Tom stealthily made them fall unconscious and dying as the shadows melted through their bodies, but yet they remained slightly alive. He still had much to do in order to gain favor. He tore unneeded planks from the ship’s deck, tying the crewmates to them. He carved black runes into them, consecrating them in the name of the Old Gods. The runes shimmered with that energy as one by one he tossed them into the current, letting them be taken into the ocean as a sacrifice one by one. He raised his staff, voice booming over the thunderous waters, and as he did he felt his body crackle and breathe malevolent energy. His head spun, and a sense of clarity came over him. Voices spun in his head, words of possibility and chances.

“Ywaq maq oou; ywaq maq ssaggh. Ywaq ma shg'fhn.” They do not die; they do not live. They are outside the cycle.

Tom looked to the last crewman on board. He forced the captain to take them back, though it took a bit of pain, Tom didn’t seem to care in the least. While the ship raced back to Kezan, Tom set to work on the captain’s mind, after a struggle entering the mind, he began implanting memories of pirate attacks, and he and Tom being the only survivors by hiding in crates. False memories. Lies. But they would become the truth. After all, history is written by the victor.

The night he’d returned from his sea-side sacrificial spree, nightmares plagued his sleep. Well, what would have been considered nightmares from the opinion of those ‘less fortunate’. He awoke with words of a possible future, cryptic as they were. He didn’t know what the prophecy meant, but he knew that it would eventually come to be.

[Image: Ml7sNnX.gif]

I would like to have another look over this profile, specifically: his past crimes and the respective punishments.

It looks generally fine, though.:)
What appeared relatively fine with me isn't necessarily fine at all. I'm afraid I'll have to take back the initial approval on the grounds of issues that are still in the process of being sorted out. This was my mistake, I apologize. :)


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