- Race of character/NPC: Furbolg (Dwarf OOCly)
- Class of character/NPC: Shaman
- Name of character/NPC: Scarstripe [of the Timbermaw]
- Exact modelID requested: http://www.wowhead.com/npc=36012 - 897 (I think)
- Duration that character will be used: Persistent
- Purpose for the character/NPC: To serve as an ambassador for the Timbermaw Furbolg, creating event opportunities related to their goal of helping to cleanse forests such as Felwood and corrupted Furbolg tribes; to help provide roleplay with the real deal to the players of characters interested in the race; lastly, to be used on casual roleplay within his usual boundaries.
- Location the character/NPC will reside: Residence would shift between Darnassus and Timbermaw Hold, with the reach of the character being kept within Northern Kalimdor unless a later event to communicate with the Furbolgs of Northrend is planned.
- Level requested: 85 for safety measures.
- Any special equipment needed: http://www.wowhead.com/item=3446
- Character Profile
Spoiler:
Player: ghaskan
Character Full Name: Scarstripe of the Timbermaw
Character In-Game Name: Scarstripe
Nickname(s): Scar
Association(s): Timbermaw Tribe
Race: Furbolg
Class: Shaman
Skills and Abilities: A vicious fighter of the likes of any other Furbolg worth his or hers name, Scarstripe shines the most when being aided by the elements. He is also a very proficient healer, both of flesh and of the land, due to his knowledge of herbs, plants and waters that may be used to heal wounds from both sources.
Age: 42 years
Sex: Male
Hair: His body is fully covered by long brown fur
Eyes: Green
Weight: 174kg
Height: 2,56m
Usual Garments/Armor: A string of sisal hangs loosely from his short neck, decorated by feathers, beads and trophy claws and he wears a piece of worn out blue flax loincloth.
Other: From the staff he usually carries around dangle a few totems of a basic tribal craft.
Alignment: Neutral Good
Personality: Wild and unpredictable by default, Scarstripe acts according to a mixture of his instincts that still linger, his mind and the elements’ advice, if they will give it. He grew, tempered by the spirit of Earth, from a hotheaded naive youth to a jovial and notably more patient adult Furbolg with utmost respect for the Nature, especially the spirits that inhabit within it.
Scarstripe has a simple yet strong mind that reflects upon his sense of justice: as long as a being does not mess with the forests and his people, they are fine. Fel users are an exception; Scarstripe has little tolerance for those who wield the powers that ruined his people.
Because of that, the Furbolg could not care less for trivial matters such as the politics that veil the Horde and Alliance’s judgment –when the world is suffering those disputes have no meaning. Then again, the Furbolg does not quite understand the requirements of those overly civilized factions, for his people own needs’ are fairly humble in comparison. Despite his inner conflicts in regards to such a topic, he does keep an eye out for any potential negative fiddling in the Furbolg’s territories.
History: Once upon a time, a baby Furbolg was born within the Timbermaw tribe to a couple of aloof Furbolg. He did not receive any sort of maternal or paternal support, for all the tribesmen served as family. Although that gave the young Furbolg a lot of caring support, it also meant there was nobody to keep him in check and thus he enjoyed extended freedom, exploring places well beyond the tribe’s hunting grounds. During one of such explorations, the youth came across the most primal form of his people: a bear. While normally he was able to avoid them or run away, this one specimen gave a lot of chase and ended up catching up to him, swiping his chest open. Blood poured freely from the wound and he was ready to be taken to join his ancestors.
However, it was not the time for his life to come to a halt. Amidst his delirious scant thoughts and covered by a blurred vision, the young Furbolg was able to notice that someone had come to his rescue. With a sigh of relief, he blacked out.
When he woke up, he was greeted by a pair of illuminated silver orbs peering from an angular face, enclosed by the smallest remnants of a proud purple fur. There was no mistaking it – he had been saved by a humanoid, but of the likes he had never seen before. Later, as the youth retold the story, he would learn that his savior was part of an ancient race that called itself “Kal’dorei”, the Night Elves.
The Night Elf attempted to speak in his language, but the Furbolg did not understand, shaking his head vigorously while trying to let the furless creature know what he meant by groaning a few words in Ursine. The Night elf smiled and attempted to reply in the same coin with an awkward phrase that meant something along the lines of “Go home. Me take you”. After pondering for a few moments, the young Furbolg got to his feet and patted his chest. Whatever wound he had was now gone and the only bad thing he felt was hunger.
Without giving any sign to the Night Elf, the Furbolg took a move on to his camp.
As soon as he arrived, he expected his tribesmen to attack his savior, but when he looked back he was no longer there. Thank you and good riddance. After being scolded for his behaviour by one of the tribe’s Shaman, he was praised for his courage to venture beyond the borders and received the name of “Scarstripe”, in tribute to the long streak of a scar that now crossed from the rightmost part of his upper chest to his left hip.
Years ran by. Scarstripe reached an age in which he should contemplate what path to follow in life. The Furbolg was quick to refuse fighting or hunting as his only way to live, for he did not feed any special love for battle. Instead, his great liking of the nature he had delved so deep in the past aided him in choosing the way of the Shaman.
Taught by the same Shaman who had given him his name, Scarstripe learned how to communicate with the spirits that kept the balance in life: Earth, Fire, Water and Wind. It was with the former that he got along better, for its slowness, calm and patience soothed the Furbolg’s spirit. While he managed to commune with the spirit of the Wilds once, the only thing Scarstripe discovered was that it was best to let the great mystery of life be and simply get to know the mortal creatures instead.
Scarstripe led a peaceful life of meditation until a big tragedy struck: twisted creatures known as “undead” and “demons” invaded the forest, tainting it into a decrepit shadow of its former self and corrupting many of its habitants, including entire tribes of Furbolgs. Timbermaw’s leader was quick to act and, before they could be caught by the plague, they fled to take refuge in the complex that they presently call Timbermaw Hold.
From the safety of the Hold’s walls, Scarstripe watched as the nature was harmed greatly by the cruel menace, feeling utterly impotent. He, like the rest of his tribe, wanted to help those in a pinch more than anything, and yet they knew that doing so would be a petty effort and a complete suicide.
They waited. After the battle of Mount Hyjial, word came that the Legion had been defeated at the expense of the Night Elves' immortality. At that moment, all that was left to do was to rebuild, something that the Timbermaw could not do alone, not when their lands had been cursed and countless tribes of Furbolgs had lost their mind. Impressed by the Night Elves’ selfless and, due to holding them in high regard for the help he was given in the past, Scarstripe made a decision: he would leave his tribe to live with the Night Elves, in hopes of gaining their favour and learning more about how to get rid of the plague that haunted his people.
And so he did. The druids taught him about the cleansing of plagues, especially via the use of pure water. Other elves, mostly from the military, advised him to aid in the slaughter of demons, who made it harder to lift the curse and who had been reported to provoke madness in some tribes of Furbolgs. Scarstripe took those teachings with growing respect and never forsake their importance.
Feeling ready to put up a fight to the corruption, in the present Scarstripe seeks to get aid from all the races of the Alliance and the Horde, in what he hopes will help heal the land and gain new friends for the Timbermaw and himself. In the meantime, he still serves as an ambassador of sorts between the Timbermaw and Darnassus, just in case everything goes terribly wrong.
Character Full Name: Scarstripe of the Timbermaw
Character In-Game Name: Scarstripe
Nickname(s): Scar
Association(s): Timbermaw Tribe
Race: Furbolg
Class: Shaman
Skills and Abilities: A vicious fighter of the likes of any other Furbolg worth his or hers name, Scarstripe shines the most when being aided by the elements. He is also a very proficient healer, both of flesh and of the land, due to his knowledge of herbs, plants and waters that may be used to heal wounds from both sources.
Age: 42 years
Sex: Male
Hair: His body is fully covered by long brown fur
Eyes: Green
Weight: 174kg
Height: 2,56m
Usual Garments/Armor: A string of sisal hangs loosely from his short neck, decorated by feathers, beads and trophy claws and he wears a piece of worn out blue flax loincloth.
Other: From the staff he usually carries around dangle a few totems of a basic tribal craft.
Alignment: Neutral Good
Personality: Wild and unpredictable by default, Scarstripe acts according to a mixture of his instincts that still linger, his mind and the elements’ advice, if they will give it. He grew, tempered by the spirit of Earth, from a hotheaded naive youth to a jovial and notably more patient adult Furbolg with utmost respect for the Nature, especially the spirits that inhabit within it.
Scarstripe has a simple yet strong mind that reflects upon his sense of justice: as long as a being does not mess with the forests and his people, they are fine. Fel users are an exception; Scarstripe has little tolerance for those who wield the powers that ruined his people.
Because of that, the Furbolg could not care less for trivial matters such as the politics that veil the Horde and Alliance’s judgment –when the world is suffering those disputes have no meaning. Then again, the Furbolg does not quite understand the requirements of those overly civilized factions, for his people own needs’ are fairly humble in comparison. Despite his inner conflicts in regards to such a topic, he does keep an eye out for any potential negative fiddling in the Furbolg’s territories.
History: Once upon a time, a baby Furbolg was born within the Timbermaw tribe to a couple of aloof Furbolg. He did not receive any sort of maternal or paternal support, for all the tribesmen served as family. Although that gave the young Furbolg a lot of caring support, it also meant there was nobody to keep him in check and thus he enjoyed extended freedom, exploring places well beyond the tribe’s hunting grounds. During one of such explorations, the youth came across the most primal form of his people: a bear. While normally he was able to avoid them or run away, this one specimen gave a lot of chase and ended up catching up to him, swiping his chest open. Blood poured freely from the wound and he was ready to be taken to join his ancestors.
However, it was not the time for his life to come to a halt. Amidst his delirious scant thoughts and covered by a blurred vision, the young Furbolg was able to notice that someone had come to his rescue. With a sigh of relief, he blacked out.
When he woke up, he was greeted by a pair of illuminated silver orbs peering from an angular face, enclosed by the smallest remnants of a proud purple fur. There was no mistaking it – he had been saved by a humanoid, but of the likes he had never seen before. Later, as the youth retold the story, he would learn that his savior was part of an ancient race that called itself “Kal’dorei”, the Night Elves.
The Night Elf attempted to speak in his language, but the Furbolg did not understand, shaking his head vigorously while trying to let the furless creature know what he meant by groaning a few words in Ursine. The Night elf smiled and attempted to reply in the same coin with an awkward phrase that meant something along the lines of “Go home. Me take you”. After pondering for a few moments, the young Furbolg got to his feet and patted his chest. Whatever wound he had was now gone and the only bad thing he felt was hunger.
Without giving any sign to the Night Elf, the Furbolg took a move on to his camp.
As soon as he arrived, he expected his tribesmen to attack his savior, but when he looked back he was no longer there. Thank you and good riddance. After being scolded for his behaviour by one of the tribe’s Shaman, he was praised for his courage to venture beyond the borders and received the name of “Scarstripe”, in tribute to the long streak of a scar that now crossed from the rightmost part of his upper chest to his left hip.
Years ran by. Scarstripe reached an age in which he should contemplate what path to follow in life. The Furbolg was quick to refuse fighting or hunting as his only way to live, for he did not feed any special love for battle. Instead, his great liking of the nature he had delved so deep in the past aided him in choosing the way of the Shaman.
Taught by the same Shaman who had given him his name, Scarstripe learned how to communicate with the spirits that kept the balance in life: Earth, Fire, Water and Wind. It was with the former that he got along better, for its slowness, calm and patience soothed the Furbolg’s spirit. While he managed to commune with the spirit of the Wilds once, the only thing Scarstripe discovered was that it was best to let the great mystery of life be and simply get to know the mortal creatures instead.
Scarstripe led a peaceful life of meditation until a big tragedy struck: twisted creatures known as “undead” and “demons” invaded the forest, tainting it into a decrepit shadow of its former self and corrupting many of its habitants, including entire tribes of Furbolgs. Timbermaw’s leader was quick to act and, before they could be caught by the plague, they fled to take refuge in the complex that they presently call Timbermaw Hold.
From the safety of the Hold’s walls, Scarstripe watched as the nature was harmed greatly by the cruel menace, feeling utterly impotent. He, like the rest of his tribe, wanted to help those in a pinch more than anything, and yet they knew that doing so would be a petty effort and a complete suicide.
They waited. After the battle of Mount Hyjial, word came that the Legion had been defeated at the expense of the Night Elves' immortality. At that moment, all that was left to do was to rebuild, something that the Timbermaw could not do alone, not when their lands had been cursed and countless tribes of Furbolgs had lost their mind. Impressed by the Night Elves’ selfless and, due to holding them in high regard for the help he was given in the past, Scarstripe made a decision: he would leave his tribe to live with the Night Elves, in hopes of gaining their favour and learning more about how to get rid of the plague that haunted his people.
And so he did. The druids taught him about the cleansing of plagues, especially via the use of pure water. Other elves, mostly from the military, advised him to aid in the slaughter of demons, who made it harder to lift the curse and who had been reported to provoke madness in some tribes of Furbolgs. Scarstripe took those teachings with growing respect and never forsake their importance.
Feeling ready to put up a fight to the corruption, in the present Scarstripe seeks to get aid from all the races of the Alliance and the Horde, in what he hopes will help heal the land and gain new friends for the Timbermaw and himself. In the meantime, he still serves as an ambassador of sorts between the Timbermaw and Darnassus, just in case everything goes terribly wrong.
Spoiler:
![[Image: RSgnzYq.png]](http://i.imgur.com/RSgnzYq.png)
![[Image: 6RpTZgI.gif]](http://i.imgur.com/6RpTZgI.gif)
![[Image: 4iCYejw.png]](http://i.imgur.com/4iCYejw.png)