Booth

=Basic Information= Full Name: Bartholomew Andrus Harlooth In-Game: Booth Nickname: Booth

Race: Undead Human Skills: Theft, Tracking, Murder, 'Quiet' Jobs

Age: 41 (died at 35)

Sex: male Hair: blonde Eyes: yellow, glowing Weight: 154 lb. Height: 6"1' Garments/Armor: Usually in his 'hunting gear'--faded brown leather boots, gloves, pants, and vest, topped off with a wide-brimmed brown hat. He keeps a variety of knives on his belt.

Alignment: Neutral Evil =Personality= His laid-back demeanor and backwoods accent hides a sick mind. When lazing around local inns Booth may be found 'innocently' flirting with every passing female, or observing his next victim. He is greedy, self-centered, and typically only feigns care for others (albiet poorly).

He is rather perturbed by the attitude of most living dead, and openly voices his disgust. Hedonistic, caring nothing for thoughts of the past, seeing only what the next few minutes bring, and caring nothing for royal authority, Booth hardly fits into the kingdom of the Forsaken. The ghoul spends most of his time in the wilderness and frontier towns, finding the lack of law and tough nature of the inhabitants to better suit his nature. =History=

Past
There are some who see the Plague as a gift--a second chance to right the wrongs of their living years, or complete unfinished work. From that perspective, Booth should be sealed in an unmarked grave and left for worm food. Unfortunately, this is not the case.

Bartholomew Andrus Harlooth was born to a peasant family in the Redridge Mountains, just off the Lakeridge Highway. His father, a poor and embittered farmer, took great joy instilling the value of hard work into his seven children through rigorous corporal punishment, and rarely had a good word or light touch for his wife. Much of Booth's childhood was spent either watching his family suffer his father's senseless and often drunken anger, or experiencing such treatment, himself.

As Booth became a teenager the First War ravaged the countryside. Farms burned, and while each load of vegetables became more valuable, the difficulty of cultivating a proper crop escalated as equipment, beasts of burden, and seeds were lost. Booth's father demanded that his children find any means of growing more of their valuable harvests to sell on the market. The siblings, their spirits broken from years of torment, slaved for his greed. They worked in the fields like slaves, degraded themselves for a few coins for supplies, or stole harvests from neighboring farms. Booth found himself quite skilled in the art of pilfering, and soon worked his way from mere petty theft to grand larceny, robbing entire homes blind overnight and selling whatever he found to a small black market in Lakeshire.

The chaos that overtook the area around Stormwind was Booth's golden age--plenty of people looking to gain power, lots of things to loot and steal, and hardly any police or army to speak of. The young man split his father's lip and left the farm, taking jobs throughout the broken kingdom and preying upon any suitable victims he could find, living a life of excess and greed. Theft, spying, murder, rape, kidnapping--name the crime, and he likely committed it for money or amusement. When the war spread northward Booth followed, ready to exploit any uncertainty and unrest. The rogue became a minor name in the underworld of Azeroth, known by the simple russet hat he carried from his childhood in the fields.

Years passed, and Booth established himself in the shadier circles of the world. He lived from tavern to tavern, operating as a free agent for whoever provided the most gold for the best work. The arrival of the Plague dethroned the crook from his seat, however, as an undead mob caught him in a local amenities house. After waking from the Lich King's control Booth quickly found himself at odds with the Forsaken, finding himself in a unpleasantly gloomy and well-policed land. After voluntarily removing himself from their towns and cities the scoundrel began doing odd jobs for the Horde, occasionally amusing himself with various crimes on the borders of Horde control.

Present
One morning, as this wretch was lounging in Booty Bay, letting the guards in Grom'gol 'cool down' after a recent romp through the jungle (and late-night visits to the outpost), Booth heard voices over the sound of the casts of the morning fishing reels. A name was dropped, and it certainly sounded like work. After prodding a local goblin hard enough--quite literally, for the pointy ends of daggers do hurt--Booth managed to get an appointment with a group calling themselves the Tong.

Since then, the rogue has worked as a shady hitman for the group, carrying out his superiors' "bis'ness" at the snap of their fingers. Booth makes a reasonable amount of coin from his usual activities, but has grown thankful for the support of the Tong, and has become loyal to the organization for the money and protection they provide.