#nalthys

[rammrune]

Nalthys + 22

People who have influenced them greatly:

It’s no secret that the legendary Illidan Stormrage is something of an icon to Nalthys. He believes that sometimes the best road is not the high one, that sometimes a personal and even physical sacrifice must be made in order to quell a greater threat. If Nalthys ever met Lord Stormrage, he would likely give up his current life and request membership of the Illidari, something he has thought long and hard about since his time in Outland.

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Oh, and 15. What it takes to make them cry

Nalthys: “Me? Cry?” The Kaldorei glances around with brows shifting from side to side, seriously considering the accusation at hand. Yet as soon as he peers back, he leans his head back and lets forth a mocking laugh with his arms squeezing around his chest to hold back the chuckle. “You must be joking.”

Maltharesh: The rugged, weathered warrior blinked at the question before clearing his throat in an off-guard response. “I…” he began, his head shifting around as he searched for words where none were. A grunt puffed from his lips only for him to purse them in pensive thought. “A lot, I imagine,” he said simply, satisfying his statement with a firm nod.

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12. Grudges and vendettas: for all the mens

Nalthys: He has a special sort of hatred for his own people, the Kaldorei nothing more than an ancient relic clinging to contemporary relevance. In his eyes, they care more for their precious trees than their own populace and prosperity. He’s witnessed this firsthand and the event resulted in his ultimate exodus and banishment from Kaldorei lands.

Maltharesh: Nothing is worse than Orcs. Easily manipulated, quick to stupidity and recklessness, brash, bloodthirsty, and crude. Maltharesh only tolerates the greenskins because he must, because they stand at the upper echelons of the Horde. His reasoning comes from his own past, a nightmarish year spent imprisoned and enslaved by Fel Orcs in Outland. He watched them at their worst; insane and entirely destructive. Beyond Orcs, his absolute spite for demons, dark magic, and magic in general transcends his racial disposition. Despite the dogmatic reverence of magic in Quel’thalas, Maltharesh sees it as a power that needs to be controlled and restricted. Every single catastrophic event in Azeroth can be traced back to magic and this fact drives him to view mages, warlocks, and other arcane-users with a heavy degree of wariness.

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What If Wednesday! Pushing a man in front of a train will save five lives. The man, however, will die. Do you push him?

Nalthys: “That still leaves five. FIve-hundred percent more life. That man should be honored,” he muses with a perk of his silver brow, reclining back into the chair as his feet lift and the heel of one boot settles on the table. The other crosses over the ankle, resting as his arms fold over his chest. His eyes betrayed frustration, yet it was clear there was no other logical decision.

Maltharesh: The battlemage flared his nostrils, brows furrowing in contemplation as he crept forth where he sat and propped his elbows atop his knees. Both of his heels clicked against the ground, those boots of his somehow going to provide him answers with how hard he stared to them. Soon enough, he let out a sigh and folded one arm around his waist, the other hand reaching to curl around his furry chin. “That’s -murder-, you know. Can I not save them all? Just this once?”

Tal’vhenan: “There must be another way,” he practically growls out, slashing a hand through the air with his powerful jaws clenched in discontent. “I would see to it - yes, I would stop the train. I know I am able, that I could save the man and the other five.” His words shot forth as fact, no doubt within his unyielding tone of iron. He knew he had the strength, thinking would come later.

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What do they want out of life that they are certain they’ll never have? for Nalthys

Concept: A healthy family, a place of belonging, genuine smiles, security, safety, love to fall into, deserving warmth and appreciation, steadfast comrades, quiet, peace.

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"Bad luck relies on absolutely perfect timing."

“Never really pondered on that.” Nalthys reached up and rubbed at his chin, standing up from where he squatted to prowl around Bennich in a typically dangerous set of strides. Black leather and that billowing cloak of his shifted in the displaced air, one of the Kaldorei’s long arms moving to find rest over the man’s shoulders as he leaned down to the side. A long brow lifted, deadly silver orbs searching for something as they sat atop those black markings. “Just think, all of the shit you can avoid,” he remarked, waving a clawed hand through the air to emphasize his rugged tone. “An hour or two, early or late. Who would care?” A mild grin stretched his lips, that wolfish smirk flashing as well.

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💺

Nalthys:

“Damn, you make a nice chair for a human,” the enormous Kaldorei mused, his towering form nestling into Bennich’s lap in a careful manner like meticulous hand testing a mattress. “All the soft of those sofas you have, yet sturdy like an oak trunk back home...” The elf proceeded to recline back into the other man, grinning as his eyes shut while fingers collected behind his head into locks of silver hair. He then promptly fell asleep, his breathing slow and steady while he trapped the poor human beneath his slumbering form.

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Favorite game?

“You.” Nalthys grins, leaning back with a distant yet intense stare. He kicks a leg up over the other knee and reaches his arms back to fold his digits back into the weaving locks of his hair.

“You’re fun to play with.”