|OOC Game Stats|
|Hair||Blonde, Straight, Mid-Length|
|Eyes||Dark Fel Green|
Standing 5’5 Aronae’s small frame has the effect of making her look sickly with her face gaunt and her complexion pale. Her lips are thin and only darker then the rest of her face because of the stain of smoke against them. Almond shaped eyes are the biggest facial feature she has, and their color is a dark fel green, almost black. Behind the dark glow of her eyes her pupils are usually extremely dilated. Her hair is the light blonde most common among sin’dorei, and falls around her shoulders, straight and thin, curling around the ends slightly.
Her everyday robes are those of the general population of warlocks in Silvermoon, red with gold and purple adornments down the center. She favors her work robes for when she prepares for rituals and when she goes to Ghostlands and Eversong to collect ingredients and get further training in the demonic arts.
Aronae’s hands are normally streaked with a combination of fel energies and bloodthistle and she has a habit of rubbing designs into her palms with bloodthistle ash when under the influence of the drug.
(My talent for describing emotions and personalities is failing me at the moment, so I’m going to throw out some describing words to get a general point across, I’ll edit this as soon as stress isn’t clogging my creative flow.)
Behind the Smoke
Born Aronae Suntrace, to her mother Driana, a warlock and magistrix of Silvermoon, and Rathor, a mage and magister of Silvermoon, she was raised around the politics of Silvermoon, her young eyes, never quite innocent as they witnessed the web of lies and veiled threats that served the society’s elite. She was envied as living in the Court of the Sun by young quel’dorei her own age and so developed cold shoulder towards the remarks and barbs that she thought she was better than those around her.
She was better then those around her.
The Suntrace household was ruled by the cloth-encased iron will of her father, who Aronae held little but fear and anger towards. Instead, her young eyes turned with a bright idolizing fervor towards her mother. Powerful rituals to summon demons, the pain and torment it was possible to inflict on those who hurt you. Her mother had enemies as a magistrix, but Aronae, sworn to secrecy and happy to keep quiet, had been privy to her mother’s revenge on those who went against her and her politics. Torture, threats, spells made of shadow and fire… all in the dead of night, insuring that the next time they who spoke out against her mother would stay respectfully silent the next time her mother spoke up in the Court of the Sun.
Only one thing about her mother confused her. If these people who spoke against her verbally were made to suffer, how come she could not, by the same power take retribution against her husband, Aronae’s father when he returned to their apartments in a terrible manner and threw her into their private rooms. The marks from those times that Aronae saw whenever her mother was with her in her workroom angered her, but she dared not to ask her mother.
On this went. She grew up quickly, her talents and energy going into the powers of a warlock, enslaving demons in order to increase her own magical potential. The longer her training went and the stronger she got, the more she became aware of how her mother seemed to be wilting and dying under the tyrannical will of her father.
Fel and Breaking
The Suntrace name carried influence with the warlocks of the Sanctum, and Aronae found herself learning unhindered by the troubles most others warlocks have to face when trying to start down the path. There were no attempts to sabotage first summoning of her imp or voidwalker minions, She was not looked down upon, needing to wheedle and practically beg for each new spell she learned. Although she worked hard, the basic training and spells were no trouble to her and she wasted no time demonstrating this to those who were vocal in their disdain of her station and abilities.
When she reached her teenage years, and she stepped into the political arena, things changed. Feeling full of power she surveyed the Court and saw how far her mother had fallen since she was a small child. Whispers of her mother being weak, ridiculous and nothing more then a slave reached her pointed ears quiet easily as she walked among these people… you would think they had forgotten how sensitive a quel’dorei’s hearing was! Talking as loudly as human savages... Her eyes burned and she walked over to her mother, standing straight and tall, not offering physical support to her, but Driana stood straighter and they talked of theory and spellwork for the remainder of Aronae’s first court appearance.
The whispers of the courtiers had reached those warlocks in the Sanctum and Aronae began to go through the troubles of being sabotaged by jealous rivals who no longer thought that her mother could teach them anything worth enough to continue staying on her good side. She had to run tasks and slave for the trainers who suddenly clutched at the spells they knew as if she were some dirty street waif who wanted to provide highway entertainment for children, rather then a warlock in her own right.
One week after this had started, Aronae walked calmly into her father’s study, locking the door behind her and her voidwalker. “Hello Father.” Her father waved a dismissive hand at her before his sight was filled his papers bursting into flames. Fire raged around the room, with no windows to clamber out of and no way to get up the chimney, daughter and father looked at each other for long moments. When the fel fire started to lick at the rugs around her, Aronae threw her hands up and her voidwalker crumpled to the floor, now a shield of pure energy wrapped around her.
Frost was sent in all directions as her father tried to put out the flames, but Aronae knew as well as anyone that her father specialized in creating fire, not frost. He started to burn before he turned his attention to her, her shield had weakened and she had summoned forth her voidwalker again. “Die you wretched bitch!” He launched a volley of fire spells that hit her voidwalker and heightened the blazes around them.
She sacrificed her voidwalker again as the shield disappeared and the flames began to smoke off her father’s flesh. Her father ran up to her, as if desperate to take her with him one last time, reaching out his hands hit the shield, still strong, but Aronae reached out with the dagger that had occupied her waist and slit his throat. “Goodbye Father.”
The accident was blamed on her father's experiments with his power, and since he was already cremated, his body was scattered into the North Sea. Aronae’s smiles were true and spiteful when her mother stepped out of the shadow of her father and returned to the powerful woman who had made her want to become a warlock. Now she could even help with the shadowed spells at midnight… The loud whispers which bruised her pride turned to screams that soothed her vengeful needs.
When the assault on Silvermoon was launched, Aronae and her mother mounted the walls and sent their demons to their doom over and over again, killing few demons with the combined force of their minions, they stole souls of the demons dying by the efforts of others and continued to summons and send, there tactics were similar to those used by every warlock. The efforts to hold them at the Gates were futile however and Aronae and her mother ran to the deepest recesses of the Sanctum, where the stench of demonic aura would hide them from the senses of the Legion.
When the battle was lost and the ravaging had stopped, Aronae and Driana emerged… their skin ashen and eyes dim to, feeling empty from the loss of the Sunwell. Both elves summoned their minions, draining them of their fel energies, but it wasn’t enough. Everyone in ruins of the city moaned and fell to trying to suck magic out of their very surroundings in order to be able to move.
Pandemonium broke out as people killed for mana potions and soul shards. Those who couldn’t get them lost all color in their skins, and their hair started to fall out. Their eyes grew dull and all that drove them was their thirst for mana. Just before Kael’thalas Sunstrider brought some semblance of order to the quel’dorei with the ability to tap mana from beasts, Driana hung herself in one of the tainted, once mighty trees in Eversong Woods. Her pride demanded she die before she ever turned into so low a creature as a Wretched.
Weeks later, Prince Kael’thalas brought the chaos to a halt, bringing to the streets of Silvermoon giant fel crystals that seem to be small wells of fel magic, people began rebuilding, dead bodies became a less frequent thing to trip over in the streets, and Arcane Guardians, Blood Knights and Silvermoon Guard patrolled the streets. The sin’dorei spent six years rebuilding and aligning themselves with the races of the Horde, proof of the betrayal by the human’s Prince around them.
Half of the city was rebuilt and the rest was blocked at the gates, left to the Farstriders and Guards to reclaim. Aronae’s part in the rebuilding efforts were minimal. Her training placed on hold, Aronae indulged in potions, the fel crystals and bloodthistle, her addiction for mana never being truly under control, like all the rest.
(Present) This is an out of character note really, Aronae doesn’t have a present and has absolutely no plottage. At the moment she is a low level, but I’m planning on leveling her to at least sixty. If you are interested in playing with her or want to throw a plot idea by me, contact me in-game as Aideyn.