Voldrin
A Void touched Raider The Wick in the Dark
The Basics ––– – Name: Voldrin Nickname(s): Vold; The Wick in the Dark Age: 43 (TOD); 37 (TOR) Birthday: Spring Race: Human (revenant) Gender: Male Marital Status: Single
Physical Appearance ––– – Hair: Pale yellow Eyes: Bright blue tinged with violet Height: 6'7 Build: Thick, muscular like a mountain Distinguishing Marks: scars abound to the body with a nasty one across his forehead Tattoos: Various Arathi markings; a fresh scar tattoo of a circle on the back of his neck Piercings: None Common Accessories: assortment of mismatched gear; crude weapons; flint and steel Likeness: Alexander Skarsgård
Personal Information––– – Profession: Slayer Hobbies: None Languages: Common, ancient Arathi, some troll Residence: Nomadic Birthplace: Arathi Highlands Religion: None Patron Deity: None (the Old Ones keep their eye on him) Fears: The Endless Night
Relationships ––– - Spouse: None Children: None Parents: None Siblings: None Other Relatives: None Pets: None
Sex & Romance ––– - Sexual Orientation: Hetero Preferred Emotional Role: submissive | dominant | switch Preferred Sexual Role: submissive | dominant | switch Libido: Strong Turn ons: Softness, song, dancing, freedom Turn offs: Taint, shadow Love Language: Touch Relationship Tendencies: Short, bright, and frequent
Traits ––– -
Extroverted / In Between / Introverted Disorganized / In Between / Organized Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded Calm / In Between / Anxious Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable Cautious / In Between / Reckless Patient / In Between / Impatient Outspoken / In Between / Reserved Leader / In Between / Follower Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic Traditional / In Between / Modern Hard-working / In Between / Lazy Cultured / In Between / Uncultured Loyal / In Between / Disloyal Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful
Additional information ––– – Smoking Habit: Frequent Drugs: Frequent Alcohol: Frequent
RP Hooks ––– – In Ancient Times Long ago when magic was not as old and the fear of the night was all but rampant there was the ancient empire of Arathi. The youth of humans was like that of an infant taking it's first steps into a larger world as they struggled to survive against the as much as the natural world as they did the unnatural. Among those struggling within these tribes came one known as Voldrin. A raider forged by eldritch horror, fueled by tragic rage, and only sated by the blood of those chosen as enemy. Wielding the crude iron and stone of the old tribes, he cut a swath of death through the monsters that haunted among the highlands. He became known as the Wick in the Dark and the wielder of the Black Sword. And then he died.
No Rest for the Dead The Shadowlands welcomes all dead from all walks of life and types of destiny. Despots, tyrants, heroes, and empaths all met the same fate in among the paths of the dead. The only difference was how they spent that eternity. Voldrin found himself among the battlefields of Maldraxxus with due haste and speed, his voracious aptitude toward violence made him a perfect soldier for the armies of the Primus. Long or short did he serve for time is a strange concept in the world of the dead, but so was it to be for the warrior's eternity.
Breaking the Cycle The sky cracked open, unhinging the dam that kept souls in line. Voldrin among those fighting came in contact with the living as much as he had with the dead, even meeting those of his distant line. They were found wanting but could be trained to fight among the wars and pits of this festering world of battle. Candell was his name and much was learned from the one eyed 'hero'. The world had moved on without him and as it should. Grim knowledge for a grim future that was only further shaken by the end of the Crisis and the leaving of the living.
Drawn by Spite Eyes would open again to a sunlit sky, eyes not entirely his own. Hands not his own would touch sand black as the midnight sun, flowing between fingers of dubious means. As his vision would his head would swim and his insides churn before staring into the ghastly maw of his summoner. She or he or it stood silent as it spoke a familiar name, but a sorcerer was still a sorcerer to Voldrin and that meant danger. The witch spoke again in a croaking whisper as it tilted it's head at his eyes and could only say this as Voldrin called out in return. "You are not he." No. He was Voldrin and he was alive again, for what purpose was lost to him. Only the whispers would return now as he stood on these black sands, and he does not think he can ignore them any longer.
HOW TO CONTACT:
OoC - tumblr, Discord ( Mogwai Kraken#7988), Ingame ( Voldrin, KT WAR 18, WRA A)
IC - Smoldering bits of cactus sent the acrid grey clouds into the night sky, drifting high to dissipate on a blanket of stars. It would have been beautiful if not for the scenery it hung above. Miles of red dirt laid barren to giant fauna and dried out flora made the Badlands all the more inhospitable to the unprepared traveler. The stench of ogre was always on the wind though easily masked by the sulfuric belch of dragonfire to the south.
It mattered little to Voldrin
A thick hunk of palo verde was tossed into the weak embers of his campfire, it was dangerous to burn but worse to freeze in the wasteland. The warrior should care but his new life was still foreign to him. What could have been eons on the battlefields of Maldraxxus made one forget the rigors of actual life.
Thick fingers curled into a hard fist and relaxed at stretching the skin with a silent creak only for his ears. It felt good. Odd but good. The ancient Arathi had been lucky to receive this good fortune despite the circumstances. Dying had been easy, being dead was hard.
Now he was breathing again. Alive again. Haunted by the his time in the Shadowlands as a mere shroud to his former life as a warrior of ancient glory and doom. Voldrin had never been one to revel in his life as the Wick, but it never hurt to live comfortably. Now his life was that of a nomad. A vagabond. A revenant.
Was this to be his end or his beginning? He didn’t know and found it hard to care. His concern was for the enemies of his people and his self. Blue eyes tinged with violet rested on the edge of his fire as his hand drifted to test the closeness of his heavy sword.
The desert liked to play tricks but was never afraid to voice its danger.