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The fate of our characters
They all die. Except Melina. She wanders the world alone, once again.

Drena probably realised she could never take back to sailing and, crippled by dept and a losing streak at gambling, she left with a regiment for the Twilight Highlands. Her whereabouts are unknown, but she probably died somewhere in the Highlands. So much for a dwarf in a tavern who one day decided to sail on the winds of luck, and years later lost.

Emma's business flourished until Kreeva the Draenei entered her shop, asking her for help in finding her loved one. Emma decided to go with the Draenei, against all odds, mostly because the Draenei promised good pay and interesting relics straight from Draenor. They eventually found the trail of Kreeva's lover, and followed it to Outland, back to Draenor, where it all started for the young Draenei. Sadly, it turns out they were set up by Melina, who became increasingly delusional following her loss of purpose. They both died in fierce combat.

As for Liliaena, she gets in Silverfang trouble yet again and gets assassinated on her way to a grand meeting. She was about to become super rich, too.

Melina felt satiated, once again. She decided to return to the old ways, and is now said to stalk caravans across Outland, and there is a growing bounty on her head..

[Image: awesome-mario-gif.gif]

Have you hugged a dwarf today?
I do hope with all my heart that this is not the end. But if it is, then I would like to wrap up the characters that I created
Folion - he died in battle alongside his comrades from the Ebon Blade (not other characters). His age was 25015 years, he survived countless invasions, only to be killed in an ambush.
Seledran - his list for power eventually led him to his death. He took on a contract that he could not fulfill, for he would have had to kill one of the members of the Legion. This led to him being exposed as a member of said Legion, and he willingly gave his own life, so that no information could be extracted out of him.
Solarion - to this day he wanders the world, catching new beasts and selying them for a living. He has built a small house on a hill somewhere secluded and lives there in company of his most faithful pets.
Gunash - his studies of magic at various schools throughout the world have led him to becoming a master of the arcane. He can be sometimes found wandering the towns, or out on a field, summoning cupcakes and taking notes.

As for me, I have tears in my eyes and I feel like a huge part of my daily activities was simply torn out. I regret not being active in the last weeks and I really had a great time on the server. I hope we will all come to RP again at some point. Thank you.
Murzmak Murzmak joins the Kor'kron, and rises to veterancy as Garrosh's aggressive ways start to coin through. Following his vision of a mighty and powerful True Horde, she acts under orders without question. Able to rationalize that it's for the greater good for her people, she serves in the regime until it's downfall. Having served in Pandaria at Domination Point, she would have returned to answer the call to Orgrimmar's defense. One of the initial soldiers to meet the attackers, she was also one of the first to fall. As Alliance and Rebel Trolls march beyond the gates, Murzmak quietly sobbed from her wounds and in failure. She dies alone, wondering what will happen to her comrades and the people inside.

Gutla Eventually moves to Orgrimmar, before being ousted by the True Horde for being a warlock. She's travel to Bilgewater Harbor, where she used her experience in magical artifacts and enchanting for mercantile purpose. She lives to a healthy old age, before passing away.

Rannaz The Twilight Cultist known as Rannaz would not serve the Hammer to the bitter end, and instead absconds the Highlands shortly after hearing of Deathwing's defeat. She does not travel far, and is quickly captured by Alliance forces. Should she not be put to death immediately, she'd likely serve the rest of her days as a mining slave.
(01-23-2015, 01:06 AM)Mathias Wrote: David Hunter: The Defias would not last, not even all of David's money could save them. When the Alliance armies broke through the Defias ranks and reclaimed the town, he would sit and wait in one of the houses for them, not even a little surprised to see them, and calmly surrender. When the day of the rope came, and he felt the noose tighten around his neck, he knew one thing: So long as Stormwind lived, so would the Defias.

Elizka will finally do something right for once and save David.
I do not wish to end my characters story yet. I have a new one ready to post, I've finished it yesterday, but now, with this problem, perhaps I will not have motives to post it.
Jared Richter, Executor no more, emerges from hiding to see his vision for a strong Forsaken Lordaeron realised in the worst of all ways. After abandoning his brothers and sisters, he had rejoined Her Majesty's Deathguard incognito to resume his place as a cog in the machine. Far from founding a shadowy successor to the Silver Hand to guard his nation's future, he fled into obscurity to escape the burdens of command, the guilt of failing those who looked to him for guidance and direction. But his conscience remained forever uneasy as the war dragged on, and having tasted for himself the Virtue of Power, he could no longer stand idle and be ordered down a path his heart could not abide. Greatness had touched his skinless lips. He was no mere soldier. He had spent so long learning to be a symbol, a leader, an inspiration that he could not bare to be anything else.

Deserting his post like a thief in the night, he sought out each and every member of his Harvest he could find, but they were few and far between. So many of his beloved brothers and sisters had been lost to war or mindrot, and he did what he could do lay them to rest and see them honoured. Many more still had simply been carried forever more from his reach by the turnings of fate. They had moved on. Some heard his pleas, but few forgave him for abandoning their brotherhood at their hour of greatest need. They could never trust his leadership again, and he had not the heart to convince them otherwise. Some had even abandoned the Forsaken cause altogether in his absence. His attempts to recruit followers from among the newly-risen bore an equally bitter harvest. The name of Lordaeron meant little to the new generation.

His dreams to rally his brethren for one last dread march unto glory lay dashed in the dirt. Friendless, despondent and a fugitive from Her Majesty's justice after his desertion, he spent some time under the roof and care of one of his few remaining sisters. Raging against his circumstances and haunted by his failures, he might have begun slipping back into the mindless hatred and contempt for the world that once drove his deeds, had his senses not begun to cloud and his speech begun to slur. Faith broken and purpose lost, he felt himself slipping into the clutches of the creeping evil that had claimed so many of his friends.

He disappeared one morning as Lordaeron's living farmers began bringing in their crops. His distinctive warhammer was recovered and identified on the outskirts of reconquered Andorhal. It remains under the custodianship of the Cult of the Forgotten Shadow, preserved as a relic in a decrepit chapel in Silverpine, where his brotherhood once swore their oaths. It is emblematic of the parable of his and his Harvest's unlife now taught to some neophytes, a symbol that even the greatest Tenacity cannot persevere without Respect for the realities of one's circumstances and the Power to see it through.

In the end? You reap what you sow.

Or maybe that's not the end at all. Perhaps you'd prefer a happier one. After all, they only found a hammer, and a man can leave a weapon behind just as well as he can leave a life of violence. The onset of the mindless state is never immediate, and some say it can be staved off through meditation, alchemy or prayer. A towering lump of corpse might have taken up a quiet life of contemplation and service to the community in some obscure corner of the kingdom. He might have concerned himself with peaceful manual labour, and with the mentoring of younger Forsaken towards duty and greatness, where they'd lend him an ear.

He never gave out the name he'd lived with, but some folks say he answers to Father Hollow.
This is all assuming that we don't get a new server up and running of course.

Aroes: Aroes continues his work in Hyjal, acting as an interrogator for captured Twilights and obligatory tea brewer. As the fighting gets more fierce, he takes on more of a support role rather than participating in combat unless his skills are absolutely required. Satisfied that a serious blow has been dealt, Night Elf lands are safe again, and the Twilight Highlands campaign goes well, he returns hope to a modest apartment in Stormwind. He continues to run Blackstone Shipping, adding on a few more ships over the years before finally stepping back from the company after the war is over and Deathwing is dead. Using the profits from his trading company, Aroes retires to a 15 acre estate on the shores of Mirror Lake that serves as a mental rehabilitation facility/counseling center/sanatorium for unwilling Twilights that actually survived the war. This continues for a bit more than a decade before he finally passes away at the age of 55, having finally passed due to the effects of his deaths during the decades prior.

Sivak: Sivak eventually stops being a shy little shit and shapes up, resolving to be a better member of the family. Safe to say he's pretty darn surprised when he finds out that a few other members of the family are Dragonsworn, albeit of mostly different flights. He attempts to undergo training as a Blood Mage but finds the Fel a bit too much for him to handle. As a result, he finds himself casting more spells to stave off the arcane addiction that resurfaced during said training. Sivak continues to dutifully serve the Blue Flight until battle, illness, accident, or old age take him. Mostly though, he just wonders when Riael will come back.

Inquisitor Cain: (Oh boy this 'un will be long, will write later)

Even though I haven't RP'd them in....well, forever, I still had general plans and an idea for a story fleshed out for them. And, I had always wanted to revive them a bit, when I could. Just never got around to it. But, even if they never had a "middle," they certainly had a beginning, which entitles them to an end. So, here goes~

Corlmitz Lostblade

For years he wandered with the mark of exile burned on his neck. The disgraced orc without honor, without his people, without any knowledge of his past. No way of knowing his ancestors, no foresight to care about them. Isolated, on beaten paths and desolate wastes, moving along with the scum of the world. He saw himself as nothing more than a bastard for hire; an orc who was good at doing bad things, for whoever could pay the top coin.

Every moment of his life was a hazy mess of empty whiskey bottles, burnt cigars, gun smoke and war screams. Every hour an attempt to escape. He knew the futility of it all. Behind every righteous cause and justification, behind every call for honor and noble ideal. Behind everything lie insignificance, slaughter, violence. How many bodies he saw, maimed and broken, torn apart by causes could not tolerate, or understand. War was not honorable. It was not glorious. It was nothing more than violence and terror. And for years, he lived with that stoic truth; that there was nothing to fight for, beyond mere survival.

Without warning or reason....everything began to go horribly right. Unable to understand, or even comprehend, happiness entered Corlmitz's life in the form of a loving mate. Orvisha Lorewolf. What in the hell did he do to find such a love? To find such peace, such calm, after a life of brutality. Did he even deserve it? After all the things he did in the name of coin--did he really deserve this new life?

He didn't believe he did, but a new life was blessed upon him anyway. Something that made it all worth it. Something that made the world less bleak. And thus, the mercenary felt a change in himself. He became more selective of his contracts. No longer would he work for shady warlocks or criminal organizations.

He found his place in the last place he expected--The Argent Crusade. Far from being the Crusader type, he somehow met a need. His particular set of skills helped in "fighting the good fight." Corlmitz never knew he could be a part of it. But, little by little, he helped the Crusaders meet their goal; and little by little, he was able to save up money.

Having lived mostly in Steamwheedle territory, the orc proved to be more of a goblin when it came to managing money. And so, as his contract with the Argent Crusade went on, he made enough wise investments to build the foundation for a peaceful future.

From that foundation, he built a home. Not just for him and Orvisha, but for all those who had walked his path. For his experience, as dreadful as it was at times, gave him a comforting truth; he was not alone. There were others like him, from all walks of life, scraping by in a world of blood and terror.

Exiles came in all shapes and colors. And they didn't need to carry the same scar as he did on his neck. Corlmitz knew this, and devoted the twilight years of his life to creating a simple tavern. One without judgement, without prejudice, without any care for painful pasts or dreadful futures. A place that offered a respite, for those who dwelled in solace. A place for the restless to settle, when they could not do so anywhere else.

Quietly, he spent his last days with Orvisha. He kept to his studies in engineering and minded the bar. If the two were to have a child, Corlmitz used his savvy investing to ensure that it would have a stable life, far removed from his own. He eventually published a book of engineering theories, too, though it remains unseen as to what reaction it might have.

After all was said and done, he found a reason to smile.

At long last, the exile found a place to call home.

Rofupi Sprogglegyro

Rage, hate, anger and violence. So much of it, he couldn't control. How many needles, and powder, and puffs of smoke, and hard liquids? He couldn't keep track. He wouldn't keep track. Just keep punching, just keep kicking. Don't let yourself feel any of it. Just keep going, and rage, and fight. Fight everything, and everyone, and don't let it all bother you. Don't let it crash you.

Only, it did crash him, eventually. The world simply didn't make sense. Life did not make sense. Why did his mother and sister have to die so suddenly? Why were the streets so rough? Why didn't he--a gnome--find engineering to find a confusing, bewildering mess? Why was he breathing? Why did he have to feel the way that he felt....?

Rofupi pondered these questions, futily, for many years. And for many years, he ran as a pissed off little ball of rage. A whirlind of profanity, fists, and kicks, ready to bludgeon the next bish ass mudda fawk dat crossed his paths. And he did, indeed, mess up a lot of bish ass mudda fawks, but it never seemed to calm his soul. It never seemed to bring an order to the universe.

So then he crashed, one night, jumping into an intoxicated whirlwind. He jumped into a darkness he expected never to return from.

But he did. And that confused him more. More so when an old dwarven lady taught him how to engrave runes on his fist, that made his fists fire. Whoa! Cool! But...why?

He always thought the title "Runemaster" was bad. To him, he considered himself more of a "rune-initiate," a "rune-student." "Master" was something foreign to him. And, having no other option, Rofupi embraced his studying. But the more he learned, the more questions he had. This whole quest for "inner peace" and "enlightenment," and other such things. Did they really exist? Where could he find them?

The questions piled on and on. What do hot coals bring to the person? How can water remain so still, then be so violent? How does one gain the fortitude of a rock? What happens in the intensity of a spark? How, and why, does the whole of Azeroth, beam with energy?

Whenever he gained one answer, four more questions would arise. And as he took more and more of the planet's power into himself....more questions unfolded. What is the sky, exactly? How can the grass bend in the wind? When a pond creates a ripple, how far can it extend? And, what exactly, is up there in the stars?

Where is the universal truth? Does truth even exist? And if it does, could really grasp it?

Rofupi wandered. And he pondered. And every now and then, he found himself slipping into madness. He was always an odd gnome--this he knew--but his time in the wild, meditating on nature, made him odder. Perhaps too odd, at times. Rofupi knew others could not understand him. But that was mostly due to him not being able to understand himself. What, after all, was there to understand?

The questions piled on and on....but Rofupi stuck to his training. He practiced his martial arts, deep in the wilds, strengthening his body and resolve. And when turbulent times came--when the helpless cried out for mercy--he came rushing to their aid.

Whenever he had the chance, Rofupi stood to protect those who could not protect themselves. Whenever someone, or something, wanted to prey on those less fortunate, they'd find an oddball, dirty, unwashed gnome standing in their way. A gnome with firery fists and earthen legs. A gnome who could bend like a bramble in the breeze, and be like the water of a fall.

How? He wasn't sure himself, to tell the truth.

He did good, when he could. Wandering around Azeroth, getting lost in its expanses. He didn't have two coppers to rub together. He slept in dirt patches, nestled in wild forests. And yet, as far removed as he was from civilization, he found an odd calm to it all. Forests and mountains were far more accommodating than cities. He liked it.

But he kept questioning, pondering, wondering. He never stopped. The questions only grew with his increasing age....

And then, one day, when his hair had turned white and he had a long, flowing beard....

It all made sense.

His eyes went wide, he slapped his face, looked up into the sky and said;

"Ah! So that's the secret to life!"

Everything fell into place. The once chaotic universe turned to order. Everything made sense, in that one moment. He had, at long last, solved the secrets of life, the universe, and everything.

And he laughed. Sitting up on a rock, in the star-lit sky, he laughed. Kicking his little gnome feet, stroking his long beard. Yes, yes, it was all quite simple--why hadn't he thought of it before?

Satisfied, having known momentary enlightenment and fulfillment, the old gnome continued wandering, content with knowing.

Who knows? Maybe, if he kept wandering, he'd find a youth stuck in the same place he was, many years ago. And he'd be able to show them--like the old dwarven woman did before--how to engrave runes into their flesh. So their fists would spark with fire, and they could learn how to be one with this tiny rock known as 'Azeroth,' brimming with power and endless possibility.....

Beranz Grilnoz

He drank from the gutters of Kezan.

He crawled from the pits of smoke.

With shakey hands and teary eyes, he clawed up the ladder. Up to the surface. Desperate, hungry, without a lick of assistance.

He did things. Things he wish he didn't. Things that filled his heart with regret. Things that haunted his dreams, even up to old age...

The old goblin gangster turned business owner. Very few knew of the sacrifices he had to make. The cost he had to make. How he tore apart his own family, just to have a taste of a better life.

....and what was it all for? Did it ever pay off?

The memory of his brother, bleeding to death on the factory floor. The screams of his sister, trying to champion a better life. The sharpness of the voice of his foreman, warning him to shut his sister up, "or else...."

He had to crush her dream. His own sister's. He had to dishonor his dead brother, and ruin his sister, to protect her from the "or else...." spoken to him in that dark, basement floor. He had to sell out his entire family and become a violent, raging man who broke picket lines and pushed workers back on the assembly line. He had to kill goblins who wanted to make things better. He had to fire off pistol after pistol against those who simply wanted a better life....

All to save her from the "or else..." All to protect her. And she hated him, despised him, cursed him for it.

No matter how many martinis he gulped, or cigarettes he smoked, or women he fucked, Beranz could never shake that from his mind. And while he did live a better life than he could ever dream, he could never shake the ugliness of that betrayal off. He could never shake off the harsh words his sister spoke, the last time he saw her....

It never got resolved. No matter how much money had made, no matter how good of a business he could make, it could never get resolved.


Beranz Grilnoz built a name to be respected. To be feared. To be acknowledged. And while Grilnoz Financial had much to be desired for, he had managed something profitable. Something good.

And, even if it was small and insignificant, Beranz's business allowed a certain orc--Corlmitz Lostblade--to find some path in life. Just one life, guided onto a better life. Just one life made better, from all the things he did. A life, crawling from the gutter, straight to the top....

That was enough.

That was enough to set Beranz's old mind to rest. As he lay on his deathbed, as the cancer ate away at his lungs.

He had more sons than he could care for. All of them were birthed from women he didn't care more for than an evening. Which is why, when it came time to pen his will, Beranz left everything in the command of his second lieutenant, Lonnie Dustbolt.

Lonnie was a good kid. Another goblin who drank from the gutters of Kezan. Another youth, skilled with two pistols, knowing what it was like to do bad things for good causes.

Corlmitz was also a good kid, in his own weird way. Beranz laughed, wondering how he ended up connecting on a deeper level with some random Exiled orc, than he did with his own real-sons....

Penning the will, Beranz had one last, hard drink. A rocketini on the rocks, with a twist of lime. He sucked down one last cigarette, and had his three wives stand by him, 'til the end.

Life could've been better. He knew this.

He wish his sister could forgive him. Could understand.

But, all things considered, Beranz lived a long life. A good life. A life better than those who came before him.

He kissed the hands of each of his wives. He left command of the company to Lonnie.

And, staring off into the horizon, he smiled.

He tried. For better or worse, he tried. What more could the world ask of him?

And with that thought, he quietly slipped away. Smiling, but still wishing...

"What a mess we made, when it all went wrong..."
Astus (not all of them are this long, and as for this one it can be discounted from CotH canon, I suppose, but here's what I've had in my head for a while, in summary.)

Several weeks had passed from when he carried out his ritual. Something had gone wrong in the midst of the spell when Astus was overwhelmed by the dark energies he'd conjured. His soul was torn from his body and a hissing storm of necrotic energies filled the chapel, the moan of the sacrificed souls involved in the ritual reverberating through the witching-time air. He felt himself struggling as he saw his body fall limp, quickly turned victim to the aura of death and decay that had escaped the confines of his ritualistic circle. The already dilapidated building grew weaker as the evil magic corrupted and twisted it with symptoms of age.

A scream was ripped from some part of him, filling the room even though he was a bodiless spectre. He felt his soul stretching and twisting, his very spirit beginning to crack as the unabating void energy tried to devour it. He saw bits of him fading, torn away, and then he looked towards the skull, hovering above the altar. It emanated a sallow light, crackling with bits of magic here and there. The ravenous cloud of his uncontrolled ritual continued to devour him, and with the last vestiges of his strength and consciousness, Astus screeched and rushed forwards, towards the rune-carved bone. His soul slammed into the wicked teeth of the dead man, and all at once, the energy in the room collapsed in on it before, with a sickening snap, it erupted outwards and high into the sky.

Silence. For weeks, there was silence.

Astus felt a vague sensation of hovering, of anticipation-- but there was no resolution. He could not make conscious thoughts, he couldn't understand this half-existing state. He merely hovered in blackness, in a void. With no thoughts, and hardly any feelings. After a few weeks, he saw a tiny emerald light before him. Which grew slowly over the course of several days, as if he was drifting closer and closer to it, until finally he drifted entirely into the glimmering green, which vanished in a flash as soon as it had fully enveloped his vision.

He looked down, a rotting elven corpse laying in the earth in front of him. It was disgusting. He felt a deep hatred and anger rising from within his core, and he hissed as he thrust a long, skeletal arm at the cadaver before him, a ray of unholy energy rotting the thing until nothing remained-- not even bones. He let his arm fall gently to his side.

Waiting. Listening.

He watched a frozen, green-blue mist gently rolling away from him across the cracked tiles of the room. He couldn't stop the grin from spreading across his face, and nor could he stop the laughter from escaping his lips as he felt an overwhelming joy like that he'd never before felt.

He turned, lifting the skull with one hand and slipping it into the robe he found himself wearing. He turned to the door, hovering out into the bitter night-time air, pleasantly surprised to find he could not feel the cold.


He would go on to find a secluded area, using skeletons to construct a sprawling labyrinth, setting it up with protective spells and traps, sending his minions to collect tomes for him to create a massive library. Watching the world with orbs of scrying, he rarely would leave his crypt, and if he did he took great care to disguise himself. As he studied, read, and wrote, he would begin to feel a part of himself yearning for another goal, and biding his time until he could find a new dream for motivation.

Crescenthorn would continue to serve the Bronze Dragonflight, eventually being raised to immortality. He became further obsessed with the handmirror that allowed him to see his family, and continued to exist as a living artifact and historian of the Spirithoof Tribe, and as a Spirit Champion, a conduit for the Spirits to preserve their place in the world. Upon Deathwing's demise, he is given permission to create a family, and his tribe is slowly recreated.

Gul'dhar continues his self-hate, finding no solace in the Horde's weakness. He finds himself depressed as the state of the Horde and of existence, with no motivation. He travels to the tomb of Sargeras and meditates there until he dies of starvation so that he may die closer to his clan.

Aphetoros continues to wander the worlds, finding those in need and those whom the highborne had wronged and doing all in his power to right those slights.

I had plans to revive Tom, but I never ended up doing so. Let's just say that after his lover and him were torn apart, he decided to give himself fully to the Old Gods and most likely died in service.

Afaratan enters the Firelands and becomes obsessed with the creatures within, probably dying to a Phoenix, ironically.
[Image: Ml7sNnX.gif]
Looks like it's time for me to die a little inside. Here it comes:

Katelyn Toussaint:

Kate's been through trauma in the twenty-five years of her life. She's been broken and fixed and broken again more times than a normal person could endure. But that's just what she does, endure. And so she continues to do so for many years, helping the Argent Crusade retake Lordaeron and becoming a well-known Crusader-Captain. She served for many years before leaving her comrades to spend her twilight years wandering the world once again. Throughout all her years, her faithful Winterspring Frostsaber, Corvus, whom she had raised from a cub stayed with her and acted as both her protector and friend. After enduring the havoc wrought on the world over and over, she retired to a small cottage alone on the coast of the retaken Silverpine Forest where the Grey Maiden lived until she passed away in her sleep.

Kate was buried with her bow by her oldest friend, Drayke, in a grave marked with a simple wooden stake.

Alicia Cevin

Alicia's never one to be held back or stopped, being a wild and free spirit similar to the fire magic she's so fond of. However, one woman was able to tame the fiery blonde and Morhana Carter was the person Alicia settled down with once she had finally overcome her adventurous nature. After spending a few years as a domestic couple and living off Alicia's treasure she had accumulated through her life, the pair adopted an Orcish orphan and named her Kida. They raised their new family member with the same values of honor and self-respect that they held. Alicia continued to mellow as the years went on, becoming more of a stay-at-home-dad and found out she had a love of cooking. Her family were happy and pottered along in their own way, Kida eventually taking out into the world to find her fortune the same way Alicia had when she was younger.

At the age of seventy-three, Alicia passed away after hitting her head on the counter when she slipped over. She was cremated and her ashes were thrown into a bonfire held in celebration of her life.

Syrena Amberdawn-Fairstar

Syrena's had a case of family issues her whole life and worked desperately to fix them. At first, her problems with her brother Aneril forced to her to live away from her home, raising her daughter Siren with her loving wife Elwen for several years until the siblings finally overcame their differences at the behest of their children and Syrena's small family moved back to House Amberdawn's ancestral manor. After raising Siren alongside Elwen and her best friend and consort, Nibeniel, Syrena felt the pull of adventure tugging at her heart once her daughter was grown and out of the home. Still being two-hundred and thirty-two years young, her and Elwen took to the world in search of fun and danger. The pair enjoyed their adventures and visited home often for several centuries until an ill-fated day when Syrena bit off more than she could chew fighting in the wilderness of Northrend. It may have been fate that Syrena perished in her favorite glade, falling to the blow of an Arcane Wraith. Elwen held her wife as Syrena stared up through the frost-tipped trees into the pale blue sky, feeling a sense of peace as she slowly faded away.

At the age of four-hundred and seventy-one, Syrena bled out in her love's arms. She was buried in the same glade she died in, upon her request years before. Her grave was visited often by her family and friends, never being left untended for more than a few months at a time.

Narina Moonwhisper

Narina's path has been a winding one, for sure. A young arcanist-turned-druid with a lover forbidden by society isn't the most simple story but she embraced her path. Over the years, becoming more confident with her druidism, and with the help of her mentor Buhayos as well as her sister and lover Laineth, Narina all but forgot about her crippling insecurities and became a powerful voice of self-respect and took time to teach anyone needing help with coming to terms with themselves, always a friendly ear to talk to. She did her duty as a Guardian, defending Azeroth from all threats to the natural world wherever they appeared. Fighting alongside her sisters, she never feared going into battle or defending the helpless from harm. She lived a long life, teaching many young druids who struggled with finding peace or practicing their druidic magic. Her life was eventually claimed by a fatal sickness she contracted in a swamp. Her sisters and friends took care of the middle-aged druidess until she passed.

She was laid to rest in a sheltered forest grove, a garden of wildflowers being sowed over her grave to grow into a colorful field, tended by the elf's spirit.

Elara Fairstar

After marrying Lady Lyriel Fairstar, the young Paladin continued to live and love her Death Knight spouse. Over time she began to mature, going from her young-minded ball of uncertainty to a strong-willed woman who protected those close to her and kept up a mandate to be a warrior first and a noblewoman second. She never strayed from Lyriel emotionally, though her polyamorous nature led her to have several lovers on the side, all of whom she cared for in some way. After several centuries, Elara and Lyriel adopted a child, raising their son, Kalin, to be open-minded and firm in his beliefs.

Elara eventually passed away when her body became too weak to continue on, passing away peacefully surrounded by her family and taking the Dawnstalker bloodline with her.

Anera Solarius

In her Undeath, Anera was uncertain of so much. She didn't know who she was or who she was meant to be. The belief that she was just a husk leftover from the 'real' Anera was a source of great pain for the Death Knight and it took her many years to fully accept that she wasn't a mimicry of some other girl, but she was her own person. Anera made more friends and stopped being distant to the ones she already had, becoming a much happier person and much more sure of herself. She visited her sister often and tried to be the best aunty she could for her niece. Eventually, she met another Death Knight girl similar to herself and the pair found comfort in each other's affections.

Anera perished many, many years later in combat attempting to defend a young girl from a giant bear. No matter her regenerative abilities, Anera couldn't regenerate being bitten in half. Finally allowing herself to let go, her second life came to an end. Her remains were burnt and cast into the sea by her friends and family.

Arienne Dura'thil

Arienne, the loyal, faithful bodyguard and friend. These are things she continued to be to her Matriarch for many years, serving House Senn'raethi in every capacity she could as a Fin'alah as well as keeping her strong bond with Ashilynn alive. She had many lovers, on and off, for decades. Just when it seemed her True Love's Curse would never be broken, an old flame came back into her life. A woman named Circe she had attempted to court once and had become a dear friend reappeared and it was almost as if Arienne couldn't stop herself from falling head over heels for the woman, who had matured since their last meeting. The pair eventually settled down and Arienne finally felt happy and that everything was right in her life. Even after her best friend passed away, Arienne continued to serve the new Matriarch of House Senn'raethi with unwavering passion until the day she retired to live with her lover on the coast of Sunstrider Isle.

The Fin'alah eventually died quietly in her armchair on a warm summer's eve. With a final look over her life and content she could let it end, the woman passed away beside her lover and was lain in the Fin'alah Hall of Honor for her millennium and a half of service.

And so, I conclude most of my existing stories. They'll most likely stay this way unless I have some form of brain shock and decide to revive them in other WoW RP.
“Fairy tales do not tell children that dragons exist. Children already know that dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children that dragons can be killed.”
— G.K. Chesterton

[Image: tumblr_n9hl98KKPd1r4fnslo1_500.gif]

Have a puppy Ruby and a nice day.
I guess the fate of my characters would be fairly simple to describe.

Drakeran raises his three kids with Bella with his well-paid job in Dalaran. Yay. Something about the Kirin Tor quitting relations with the Horde in MoP? No idea. He probably does just the same thing he would do if that didn't happen.

Morgan would probably turn his back on the Steamwheedle soon and find peace in sailing through the vast expanses of the Great Sea again. That is, if a cannonball doesn't find him first.

Rudolph had a lot of things he could have done. So many that I don't know where to fit him. He keeps fighting wherever the people of Azeroth need him until he can't be called a noob anymore. Or he takes an arrow in the knee and has to retire. Or maybe in the head. *sigh*

Gul'rag is probably the one whose future I've thought most about. His thirst for power is unending. He seeks as many sources of magic he can to consume. Eventually he becomes too much of a nuisance to someone and gets a blade in his guts. Or his reckless use of fel magic breaks his own body and he perishes.

So many characters and I can't figure something out for at least half of them. Pfft. So much disappointment. But yeah, many of them were ideas I didn't even develop properly.
...Gad, I still wanna RP with them.
Get a pot of coffee on. I have a seriously large database of characters that need closure. As such, I've tied a few futures together for simplicity's sake. All my characters are in bold.

Jonoth Shyemlye spends a long time alternating between aiding the Argents and sailing the seas with the Bloodpaw. By chance, he meets his grandfather, Sir Rhodyngar the Death Knight, during a team-up between the Crusade and the Ebon Blade. Fighting beside his hero made him feel the most alive he had been since his final days in Kul Tiras. At his ancestor's urging, he seeks out his still-living beloved, only to find that she had long left in search of him. He would spend the rest of his days hoping to find her. Drakonivon "Blades" Mc'dowel is given the leadership of the Bloodpaw in his absence. Dyma Facebuster joins the Bloodpaw during this time, hoping for adventure.

Sir Rhodyngar, after sending Jonoth off on the quest for his beloved, recruits Alekzandra Staarnjor, Sister Gabrielle Lincoln, & Penandion Weepwillow to join him in hunting agents of the Scourge and Burning Legion all across Azeroth. They gain notoriety, and eventually a new member in Lady Bruhara D'Argent. However, it turns out that Bruhara harbors a hatred for Rhodyngar, as she was raised by his unfavored son Marcus. Over time, she corrupts Alekzandra and Penandion, who become her lieutenants in her grand plan to cull the living and have her final vengeance. Sir Rhodyngar and Sister Gabrielle fight their former comrades, along with several summoned demons. During the struggle, Sir Rhodyngar is mortally wounded, but guiding the Nun of War, they emerge victorious. Before he breathes his last breath, Rhodyngar knights the nun, dubbing her Dame Gabrielle of the Abbey and telling her to continue to do the Light's work. Dame Gabrielle returns full-time to the Argent Crusade to see the battle against the Scourge to it's end.

Remyl Steeley continues his adventures in brewing and womanizing. He dies with several whores in his bed and ale in his belly. He is buried with his tankards, a full keg of his honey mead, and still wearing the stone wedding band from his first marriage.

Arjua Grizzlyclaw briefly seems to get comfortable in her own skin, harboring feelings for Tikar. She still spends much time in her bear form, and on one such occassion, she ends up in the wrong place at the wrong time. Janx'il, encroaching in Ashenvale, hunts her for sport, but she is rescued by Dunkhaan and Vesaella the Dryad. He takes her in for a time, and being around Dunkhaan's wife Allira and son Aaral, she realizes that she wants a family of her own. She returns to the wild, stalking Tikar and hoping he notices her.

Kela'rin is murdered by a rival witch doctor while exploring the Troll ruins in the Eastern Kingdoms. Dibykali retrieves the body to bury it, but is driven at the last moment to consume her own mother's flesh. In this act, the spirit of Kela'rin inhabits her daughter's body, and shares her knowledge and power. With a constant connection to the spirit world, she becomes a powerful farseer and necromancer. The spirits of her mother as well as Yvakara Lightbringer help her keep her sanity and work to prevent her from abusing her gifts. Wandering the world, she encounters an empty fort in Desolace. The sole resident is Tun'kar Skullkeeper, who is patching up the old buildings. At the urging of her spiritual guides, she aids in the building of Tun'kalar and becomes Tun'kar's right hand, and later his wife. The city becomes a safe haven for those who no longer belong in their own society, even Humans in time (and with a lot of coersion). Ogarlok'tra Dreamshatter offers her decades of fighting experience and trains Tun'kar as well as his military, while the similarly named Arya Dreamshatter tries to spread dissent and pro-Horde propoganda. Ruthiva Tarohwin becomes the town's most well-known bard, though not always the most well-liked.

Brother Thalvin Menshill moves permanently into Darkshire, hoping to be a light in the darkness for those living there and aiding them in restoring their home. It is there he meets his cousin, Worthington Menshill, and helps the demonologist come to terms with his past. Worthington vanishes one day, leaving a note thanking Brother Thalvin and telling him he has gone to fulfill his bargain with the demon he sold his soul to.

Thane Haiko Modanson continues to be a defender of Khaz Modan, where he catches the eye of the much younger Thane Thidlynn Ironbraid. The courtship is awkward at first, but in the end, the pair are wed. At their wedding, a cloaked figure stabs Thidlynn with a poisoned dagger. Haiko catches the assassin and begins thoroughly and violently beating and interrogating the would-be killer. Sasslyn Bronzeton, bruised and battered and tired, gives up the name of her employer, knowing it means her death. She doesn't do it for remorse or pity, but for self-loathing. The employer was the family's man-at-arms, who flees into exile. Thidlynn survives, and the Clans are joined. Kerana Axestorm, along with her father Lhigar, are invited to live on the land and help rebuild. Rosmari Razorfeather and Muskadean are hired as a scout, to help stall the family's curse of betrayal.

Doriah Ironhide, escaping persecution for her time as a Defias agent, hides in the plane of Yancy Boltwing and his wife Anissia. He offers to keep her safe if she works for him, and she makes many improvements to his plane. He continues to fly aid missions to Gnomeregan, often secretly dropping supplies to Tinkathy Rustwrench, who's campaign against the Leper Gnomes will not cease until she is the last.

Yannikz "Coffee" Cawfe dies after bumming a cigarette of a Goblin engineer. Said engineer dropped rocket fuel on the cigarette, and when Yannikz lit up, BOOM!

Quennath Bloodletter continues to retrain himself and his companion Muffin. He re-devotes himself as a ranger, and begins to teach the younger generations about his experiences. He reluctantly accepts women as students, though he is particularly harsh and abrasive with them. The women would consistently go on to be better rangers as a result, but Quennath is murdered by one of his pupils that cannot take his demeanor. Muffin finds himself at the doorstep of the residence of Reigen.
I've done this in a way where I show the rest of my character's lives and their deaths, inspired by the finale of Six Feet Under. (I put it in the spoiler) Main characters are towards the bottom. 


I might as well consider my self more or less done on CotH aside from hopping on if requested, so I guess I'll list the fates of my characters as well, at least in the CotH realm. I have a lot of them (24?) some are going to just deserve a little blurb, considering they weren't really used often or if barely used at all. Either way, I'll start off with the shelf characters:

Arvellos Endal'felo:An artifact researcher, he often went anywhere, and I mean anywhere, to get one. Meaning he would put himself in the dangers of the wilds and within old abandoned buildings. It was the latter that led him to his end: he was skulking through an old Troll ruin when he set a booby trap off. The booby trap sent about fifty wooden spears through his body and trapped him onto a wall. Since he was a blood DK, it didn't really end him. What did, however, was the demon he swore himself to. Disappointed in him, he appeared to the trapped Arvellos and incinerated his body until it was no more.

Vaye Silver: Though she lost one arm in Westfall, trying to help out the Appleflows, she continued to keep a strong relation with the family until they considered her their adopted sister/daughter. As a priest, she continued to train and apply her knowledge to helping the people of the region. She would die at the age of 82, after having a heatstroke while planting seeds in the sun.

Bob Appleflow: Speaking of Appleflows. Bob died of liver failure around ten years after the Cataclysm. Too much drinking.

Moirzil A nathrezim, he had a lot of time on his hands. He would have either followed the mortal races of Azeroth to their end, or his own. Whoever won that fateful battle in the future.

Dailuu: After losing her brother Troovo, and thus the only remaining member of her family, she attempted to reconnect with her own people, only to find that she was unable to in her undeath. She made a few friends among the ebon blade, but she found more companionship with the people she worked for as a mercenary. She would survive until the end of Azeroth's timeline.

Xelti Steamfledge: Her business implementing hidden weapons kept her floating for over twenty years, although it never became the 'boom!ing' success that she wanted to. Despite this, her devices malfunctioned every once in a while, and when it was explosive it sometimes led to people's demise. This isn't what led to her demise. However, it was an angry customer who lost his wife that did: he murdered Xelti in anger.

Nagoyan Bluecrest Lived a simple and natural life until he died of old age - the pack form made life much shorter than his original one, but he accepted this with grace. When he felt that his time had come, he made sure to find a patch of fertile soil in a forest to decompose in, and laid there until he died.

Aigneis Irontapper: Died from snake venom. A similar career to the aforementioned Arvellos, she also met her fate in an ancient ruin, when she fell into a pit of vipers. A hardy Dwarf, it took a while for the venom to take its toll, so it wasn't a pleasant death to say the least.

Vol'fon: He survived for another six years until he leywalked right into the middle of a battlefield when people were actually fighting, and was shot to death by human rangers. His stories were buried with him, so nobody ever got to read them.

Makho Sharktooth: When the pandaren came to the rest of Azeroth, he was inspired to become a monk and apply his own wrestling techniques into the art - he eventually became a teacher while at the same time leading the life he did before: catching fish and giving people tattoos until his sight went bad. He died of old age.

Ionion Nalvirr: Just before he was about to reach his goal of becoming an archmage, having been considered for the promotion amongst other candidates, one of those candidates murdered him in cold blood while he slept. He didn't go without a fight - even though his throat was slit by the man, he was able to permanently disfigure him by setting him on fire. The man escaped with his life but was charged with the murder of Ionion and for burning down his house.

Charles Elgro Blacksteel II: Because of his criminal status, he was never allowed back into Gnomeregan after it was retaken, so he and one of his friends were persuaded by a certain Blood Elf to become regulars in her troupe of disfunctional actors, and so he lived and died with that troupe.

Loyus Lore'alah: He continued to lead a life as a bartender until he became the owner of a tavern in Silvermoon - there he would become a host for his cousin's wildly unpopular acting troupe. This led to the tavern becoming so unpopular that he went out of business and had to shut it down. Having no friends due to his avoidant personality and rude personality, he resigned to becoming one of the troupe regulars.

Azma Oir Il-Quar II: Lived for twenty more years, to the age of 82. He remained a mage of the Kirin Tor at the surface of Dalaran, while continuing to collect gossip over a hookah in the underbelly. During the last years of his life, as an old man, he became a small cultural figure in the city renown for knowing everyone's dirty secrets. Since people were always gathered around him, he didn't have to die alone.

Renzo Sharpwell: Continued to run Shapwell Shipping for another eight years until one of his subordinates murdered him in cold blood to take an early inheritance. In paperwork, he was designated to take Renzo's place as the next owner.  

Ghurm Whitehoof: He lived to the age of 131 and died a natural death, and in those years preceding his death he had to watch the rest of his tribe fall apart and become one with Thunder Bluff, so he settled down to do the same. He wandered for four years after the Cataclysm until finally finding his grandmother's heirloom, and once he did, he was done travelling the world and focused on helping people as a shaman.

Gurvok Wolfbite: Already died. His life ended while he sat beside his partner Balgarn in year 30, after contracting an unknown disease and succumbing to it.

Now for the mains!

Eta Brokenhorn: Once her son Pashu grew to the age when he could take care of himself and eventually become the next chieftain of their tribe, she said her goodbyes to them and was finally free to take on the wandering life a spiritwalker should have, and just like many spiritwalkers, she became more and more estranged until she died at the age of 91 due to a recently housed spirit that overwhelmed her body and soul. The fourty-seven souls she carried with her were then free to find a new conduit. Her pet snake Blind-Dance lived to a ripe old age of ten. The immediate family made a miniature version of a funeral ceremony for the snake, mummifying it and placing it on a little post where the bodies of other Tauren are left.

Dakx Goldhammer: Worked for The Love Exchange until either the moment he died, or the moment it went out of business for good. If it went out of business for good before he died, he would have spent the rest of his life with his daughter, and travelling to constantly see all of his adopted 'grandchildren' he met through his journeys. While living with his daughter, he set up a poorhouse in Ratchet to help feed and house people who couldn't afford it with the donations of people who felt they owed him a favor. His daugther continued to run the poorhouse and every year she would hold an event to honor her father: a waffle cooking contest that became so popular that it led to an increase in profits for surrounding businesses. Those businesses would give the poorhouse extra donations and financial support because of this, and she was able to convince her two brothers to build and run new poorhouses in other Goblin ports.

Nilyssae Lore'alah: She eventually left The Love Exchange on a whim to create a troupe of actors that would act out her plays and other banned scripts around Azeroth. Her venues became smaller and smaller due to the nature of her unpopularity, and yet her troupe grew larger and larger. After a certain point, only the Darkmoon Faire allowed her troupe to perform, and the entire group set up a tent there and became regulars of the fairgrounds. During one of her shows, around 80% of the actors were on the stage during the final act of a play about a man on a murdering spree. The actor playing the man was new, but in bad judgement Nilyssae casted him for the main role nevertheless. He proceeded to actually murder everyone on the stage by stabbing them all to death. Each of the actors just thought that the dying ones were doing a phenomenal job playing dead. And then they died too. Nilyssae was one of the first to go, since like always, she casted herself as the love interest of the main character.

Pleasant Tripp: Continued to serve as a soldier of the Forsaken until his brain rotted to the point where motor coordination was affected and he could no longer move any of his limbs or understand words intelligibly. Instead of using him for anything else, those who were taking care of him during those last years simply decided to bury  him with his 'ThinS to ReMber' jar.

Troovo: Already died.

Ce: After the murder of a man named Albert, Ce was discovered to be the cause and dishonorbly discharged from the Argent Crusade because of it. Due to his position and contributions, he was allowed to have a less severe sentence than others might have gotten for killing another person, so he was sentenced to half a year in prison. While imprisoned, one of the guards bumped into a table that stood in front of his cell and a small dagger fell off and rolled across the floor, just in reach. With this blade, he attempted suicide by making two large vertical slices on his arms, but as he lay on the floor losing blood, his cellmate removed her outfit and wrapped his arms in the cloth to stop the bleeding, saving him enough time for the guards to find out and get a medic into the cell. His life was saved, but his sentence was prolonged because of his behavior and they added another three months on his charge in order for him to be monitored. During those three months, Ce slowly but quietly became insane because he was quarantined from other cellmates and given minimal attention by the guards. One day, out of the blue, Charles Blacksteel II visited him when he heard of the scandal, and managed to break him out of prison and take him back to hiding in Ironforge. Unfortunately for Charles, hiding someone as big as a Draenei led to him being spotted more often, and his hiding place was finally found. For a short amount of time, they fled to neutral locations and became an unlikely mercenary duo that attracted the attention of Nilyssae, who part-persuaded part-blackmailed them into her acting troupe. They remained with the troupe until its end. Charles would die on stage, but Ce was one of the few who didn't die during what was dubbed 'the murder show'. He was, however, the one to behead the murderer in front of everyone. The audience was so enraged that this out of place character just beheaded one of the actors and were about to attack him until they realized that everyone on stage was actually dead. With the death of most of his newfound friends, he returned to the arms of the Draenei and joined the army of light in hopes of one day returning to his birthplace. Who knows whether they succeeded or not.

Geoni: During the tyrannical stage of Garrosh's Horde, Geoni was separated from Mogu'leth because they wouldn't let a Goblin raise an Orc for one second. Geoni naturally joined a resistance and made it his only goal to retrieve his son. During the final battle with Garrosh, Geoni saw it as an opportunity to retrieve Mogu'leth from the Orphanage but after getting Mogu'leth out of the area, an Orc patrolling the area spotted him and threw an axe at him with all his strength. The result was Geoni's legs being cut clean off, both right below the knee. He went to retrieve the child with a couple other resistance members, so they were able to get the father and child out of there before he bled to death, and closed up his wounds. From that point on, Geoni was confined to a wheelchair, but ultimately at peace with the situation because his son was by his side. For a couple of years, the disability confined him to crafting guns at his desk so that he could pay for tutors for Mogu'leth, along with babysitters in the case of the old one likely failing in his health due to old age. Instead of going to tutors with the funds, Mogu'leth worked with an engineer in secret to learn how to make machinery and weapons, all the while building a pair of prosthetic legs to fit Geoni perfectly. On the day of his 20th birthday (and his Om'riggor), Mogu'leth left the prothetics at Geoni's bedside, along with instructions on how to attach them, before leaving for the challenge. Mogu'leth successfully completed Om'riggor and took on an apprenticeship with a blacksmith so that he no longer had to rely on a blacksmith for crafting the pieces for whatever it is he was inventing. Just one year after his son went off to face the challenges of life on his own, Geoni fell into depression because the prosthetics stopped working after a year, forcing him back into the life crafting guns both commissioned and patented for sale. Mogu'leth was aware of Geonis' legs failing, so he made him a promise to craft prothetics that could last a lifetime after he mastered blacksmithing and metalcrafting. It took Mogu'leth 8 years to do so, and another 11 to become a respectable prothetics engineer. By the time Mogu'leth attached his new and improved prosthetics to his adoptive father, Geoni was 51 years of age. His health wasn't great because of being confined to a wheelchair for so long, but now that he was given his new legs, he was able to travel again. Instead of wasting the year just sightseeing, he promised Mogu'leth that he would use what was made for him to help him in his endeavors. Mogu'leth didn't protest, but Geoni didn't have many skills he could use to help with limb manufacturing. However, Geoni became a member of Mogu'leth's group of engineers and signed his gunshop over to them to use as headquarters for their business. For the rest of his life, he traveled around the world as a sales representative for his son's business and died of old age, his bed surrounded by his son and his company.

And that's all of them. That was a lil cathartic. 
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