"I never think of the future. It comes soon enough."
Vitals[]
Name: Malta. Previously of the Thunderhorns. Now a member of the Ashenhorn Clan - Lonetree's clan.
Race: Tauren
Sex: Female
Age: 30
Height: Around 7ft
Weight: None of your damn business!
Mane: Black
Pelt: Russet Brown
Horns: Bone white with black tips
Eyes: Brown
Class: Hunter
Professions: Herbalism/Skinning
Guild: Blood Fist
Appearance[]
Despite my own personal delusions that I am a creature of unique stature and appearance, the simple truth is I am much like any other female of my race. I am curvy and comfy, with more to love, and quite frankly, I can't understand for the life of me why anyone would prefer those slinky, sleek, willowy "berry skins" as I like to call them. Damn bouncing, giggling idiots... I swear I just want to grab them by their perfect pink pointy ears and tie a knot in the... *coughs* But I digress.
I look great in black, but mageweave makes my neck look fat. I prefer leather over lace, and less is more, if you catch my meaning. *winks*
I hate dealing with my mane. I swear, if Lonetree would let me shear it off, I would. But, alas, he won't, so I'm stuck with this black rat's nest. I try braiding it, but I still get forelock in my eyes constantly. Not to mention the fact that the damn braids are always getting caught on my horns, my helm, my shoulders, Lonetree's twigs and berries... *grumbles*
I also have to thank my sire and dam for these lovely white scars across my muzzle. "A mark of courage and prowess," they said. "A right pain in the ass!" I say. People tend to stare at them, not my eyes. Unless of course their gaze wanders to a more... "ample"... view. *rolls eyes*
Personality[]
I hate a crowd, but I love company. Give me a handful of close friends and guildmates, and I'm happy. I won't hesitate to jump on an opportunity to point out when you've made an ass of yourself, but I guarantee you'll laugh. If you don't... well to the ass end of Silithus with you then! I love greatly and hurt deeply. I am pretty good at faking a thick hide, but the truth of the matter is I'm as sensitive as a sunburn. I take great pride in my position in my guild, and I guard both it, and my mates with fierce loyalty. I have an uncanny knack for talking myself into trouble. Getting out of it however...
I have been told, and grudgingly accept, that I have little, if any, tact. I lack that little inner voice that tells us "NOOOOO!" I rarely keep my opinions and moods to myself. "Brazen" is a term people have used to describe me. Fair 'nuff. People can either enjoy my company, or be completely offended by my presence. My personal feelings - try to keep the people you want around happy... let the rest piss off as they will.
History[]
My personal past is not particularly worth remembering, nor will it find itself in any tribal retellings. I was a spoiled brat.
I was born to the "mighty" Thunderhorn tribe. Legendary trackers. Masters of the Wild. Lords of the Hunt... And the most uptight, ceremonial, stubborn, and humorless clan of Tauren I've ever known! If they aren't out bleeding their hearts and bodies chasing after a mighty squirrel, they're sitting around campfires boasting about the time a gopher nearly chewed their ear off in the Great Hunt of Spring Rites.
My mother and baby brother died during childbirth when I was four. My father, having lost (in his mind) all reason for living, threw himself into every skirmish and spat we had with the centaurs. Ultimately this found him skinned alive, his pelt swathing little flea bitten freaks who used his one good horn as a plaything. I quickly learned that abandoning those who need you and love you for the sake of personal pain and anguish is not only selfish and arrogant... but it's downright moronic.
My grand dam was left to raise me. I use the term "raise" loosely, since she let me run around the camp without any restraint. I was a right pain in the tail to my tribe. Even moreso after we landed ourselves in Mulgore. I loved the land and surrounding hills. I hated being stuck in a tiny village with nothing to do, and no real reason to go exploring. What fun is running off for hours on end where no one can find you, if no one cares and no one is looking for you?
My keenness for hunting was discovered at an early age. I didn't enjoy the kill (at that time), but the thrill of stalking and catching my prey was a euphoria that I quickly became addicted to. I didn't have the discipline for proper tutelage, and quite frankly, no one wanted to be bothered. So, Grand Dam thrust a busted old gun in my mitts and turned me loose. I took to it like a fish in water. I also quickly became bored with Mulgore. So, as soon as I was of an age where I could hold my own, I left, and made my way to the Barrens. Bigger game! Vast open plains of nothingness. Golden grass as faaaarrr as the eye could see. I hated it!
I needed trees. Bushes. Rivers. I needed something, and someplace that wrapped me up. Enveloped me in green life. But alas, I was stuck in the middle of nowhere with a busted up old gun, and a pink raptor with a nasty habit of doing the exact opposite of whatever I told it.
It was in this blessed place of boredom that I met my old guildmates. The "Titans". Basically we were a ragged group of misfits, outcasts, and stupidly courageous Hordelings. But I loved them. Particularly, Amael... he was the quiet shy type with that animalistic wild side. That orc knew what to do with a dagger... *blushes*
Skipping a few uselessly boring chapters in my life... and we find me wandering Feralas. My favorite woods and wilds. Killing those little fairy dragons, ripping their fiery little sacs out, elbow deep in blood and innards, trying to ignore the stinging bite of the mosquitoes, Blackavar offering little help and refusing to come near his bedraggled Huntress, as the stink around me begins to reach a new level of foul... all for the sake of love. I think it was at that point, covered in blood and offal, that I realized the extent of my fondness for the big lonely white bull. Since then, I've never left Lonetree's side.
Current state of things[]
I can't be bothered with this "war." I hate the nelfs, pink skins, and I barely tolerate the wee ones. The gnomes amuse me and provide me with an interesting insight into a world I have no understanding of. I can find more of a kinship with the dwarves than I do the arrogant, self-centered, and flighty night elves. The dwarves were just stupid. The Night Elves knew better. I cannot forgive them for that.
My "Horde" *sneers at the word* brethren seem to see the world for what it is, not what they can force it to be. For that, I find a home with them. I do what is best for me and mine. The rest be damned.
Comrades[]
Blackavar: The laziest sack of fur and bones I've ever had the sheer joy of knowing. He is my companion and protector. I've known him for ages. Longer than I've known my Mate. I found him sleeping in the shade beneath a massive tree... and he has made sure he returns to that state as often as possible.
Fezzik: Not the brightest of creatures, but loyal to a fault. He'll do anything for a belly rub and a truffle. He's young still, but a delightful swine nonetheless.
Satyrn: A mangey, nappy, snaggle-toothed mutt, with an ill temper to match. I made the mistake of feeding him one day, and the damn thing's been following me around ever since.
Lonetree: My Mate. My Life. Misunderstood at times, He is a kind soul, a soft touch...and a wicked bite. *grins* I never have, and never will leave his side. He is my life and my reason for being. With Him, I am complete. The little lonely hunter who made good.