|OOC Game Stats|
Mez'oa is a hunter-gatherer, and therefore prone to long bouts out in the wildnerness fighting for his own survival. His body is fairly well-sculpted and bears a few scars around the shoulders, arms, and ears, but none on the torso or face. White-gold hair rolls down his back in an often puffy, always disheveled mess, and there's rarely a square inch of skin on his body that doesn't have a bit of dust or dirt from the rigors of travel.
As one who depends primarily on his speed and agility, Mez'oa wears nothing that can truly be considered armor: he's kept decent by a dark fur loincloth, with two leather straps around his thighs to hold his throwing axes. Anklewraps of similar color extend halfway down his feet, and if the weather calls for it, a hide cloak can be found on his back.
For weaponry other than his axes, Mez'oa possesses an unremarkable hunting bow and a brutal-looking two-handed blade.
Raised in the company of the canny and good-natured trolls of Revantusk for much of his life, Mez'oa is quick to study and slow to harm. However, a harsh existence in the wild has taught him that more often than not, harm is the way things will go.
Used to being shunned, first by trolls and more recently by the refined citizens of Silvermoon, Mez'oa is quite content to be out on his own in the wild. Even in such a rough city as Orgrimmar, he seems distinctly out of place and uncomfortable.
Born to Lord Celosioa Greenfeather and Lady Meyana Greenfeather, Mesioa began his life as an infant in the Hinterlands, delivered by his mother at a Farstrider post. Weakened significantly by the delivery and knowing the forest to be no safe place for a child (or anyone), the sorceress agreed to send the baby to Silvermoon via the caravan of rangers returning home on leave. Unfortunately, fate intervened on a coastal road in the form of a Witherbark raiding party, which left all but the infant dead. Unheeding of the wailing child and planning to let it to die of hunger among its kin, the trolls departed, leaving only the smoking debris of the caravan and sacking anything of value.
Being that the coast is their domain, it was not long before a Revantusk patrol happened upon the scene of the slaughter. In their company was a shaman, who sensed the child's grief and took him up into her arms. An elven infant though he was, the kind-hearted shaman returned with him to the village to give him a home.
Unfortunately, the hatred for elves that the forest trolls possessed was strong, and throughout his life Mez'oa (as he came to be called) was a subject of much scorn and mocking. Unable to tolerate, let alone flourish under their constant belittlement and cruelty, Mez'oa took to the surrounding forests when barely in his twelfth year.
So began a span of intense physical conditioning out of the need to survive the beasts and enemies that lurked in the wood. Many times per year the young elf would return with his kills to trade, and as he showed skill in the art of the hunt, the trolls began to respect him (though not accept him). Veterans would offer him their advice, and slowly he built up a vast reservoir of knowledge; how to move and leap like the panther, how to sap a creature's will with the eyes of the wolf, how to not get his fingers caught in his own traps.
And then one day there appeared a set of mysterious strangers in Revantusk: green-skinned, bulky creatures of unknown origin. It was not long before the coastal trolls had made a pact with the Warchief of the Horde, but it was long before the young elf came to trust them, preferring to observe from afar. Always they invited the denizens of the village to engage in battle at sites around the globe, and though Mez'oa possessed no love of bloodshed, he did desire to escape Revantusk and see the world. And so he did, crossing the seas to the shores of Kalimdor, where he has hunted for many months now.