| Aalven Raincaller |
|
|---|---|
| OOC Game Stats | |
| Game Name | Aalven |
| Faction | Horde |
| Race | Tauren |
| Gender | Male |
| Class | Druid |
| Guild | Cataclysm |
| Professions | Herbalism & Alchemy |
| IC Info | |
| Nicknames | Al |
| Title | Observer |
| Breed | Raincaller |
| Age | 25 |
| Height | 8'9 |
| Build | Muscular |
| Hair | Black |
| Eyes | Dull Gold |
| Skin | Black |
| Occupations | Preserver |
| Affiliations | Cenarion Circle Ysera |
| Alignment | Neutral |
Physical Description[]
Aalven stands massive by Tauren standards, nearly reaching nine feet tall and packed with muscle. His mane and beard have grown unkempt and wild over the months of traversing the frigid northlands, now kept in check only by the trio of thickly woven braids that dot his chin and neck. Puncturing both nostrils is a hearty gold loop much heavier then it appears.Tiny script flows along the inner curve, too minute to read.
Garbed as he is in the trappings of the Arch Druid Runetotem, garments crafted from a menagerie of Northrend animals. Etched with symbols of power and allegiance to Ysera, he is rather easy to pick out in a crowd. What visible fur is black and wrapped in bandages, various ones clean while others are stained with blood.
Normally clutched tightly inh is hand is his choice of walking impliment, a heavy staff carved from the dead wood of the failed world tree Voldrassil, topped by the intact skull of a great shoveltusk stag. A gift from the Highlord of the Argent Crusade himself for participating in the great Crusader's Coliseum.
Personality[]
Aalven is quiet and reclusive beyond what most would consider the north for Tauren. Speech only comes when he deems required, preferring to use a simple nod or other gesture as acknowledgement. His superiors describe him as dependable and fearless in dire situations but not one they would take back to the taverns to drink and brawl away the nights. Instead of relying on others for assistance, he looks inwards to himself.
History[]
Aalven was born into the Raincaller tribe and utterly unremarkable in his weaning years save for his stature. Often remarked as the gentle giant, it was obvious his path would be one of balancing nature and that of the Druid. The trials of the Earth Mother showed this plainly to his elders.
With the threats at home lessening, he was dispatched along with the great Warsong Offensive. Having secured the foothold in the tundra, he was sent further inland.
Every delve into the strongholds of evil brings hope, every victory the promise of a better tomorrow but always the price is high, a little bit of his soul is lost in return.