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A Demon Hunter Finds The Forest

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A Demon Hunter Finds The Forest

Post by Pandoras_Box » Wed Mar 20, 2019 2:52 am

Name: Arancathria (Aran, for short, formerly Arancathria Moonwhisper)

Title: She has had many titles, including Slayer, Twilight Vanquisher , Tiller, and more, all pertaining to different parts of her life and the adventures she has experienced. She is, at her roots, one of the Illidari.

Species: Night Elf born Demon Hunter (that specification will become clear later in the profile)

Age: She was considered a youngster by night elf standards- about 20ish- during the War of the Ancients which destroyed so much of what she knew. Currently, she is 10K+, most of which was spent imprisoned by the Wardens. Night Elves are an ancient race, and were originally immortal. Due to the destruction of the Well of Eternity, they have lost their immortality- HOWEVER, Arancathria became a Demon Hunter long before that tragedy. She is still, technically, immortal- thanks to her demon soul. She can be killed- it means her demon soul is cast back into the Twisting Nether, and it takes her some time to return to her body, but return she does. (Interestingly, not all Demon Hunters have immortal souls. She is one of the few that do.)

Gender: Female

Appearance: About 7 feet tall, lean and hard muscled. Not much spare to her body. A once gracefully featured face is now marred by scarring and runic tattoos overlying what were once the traditional facial tattoos of a female night elf. Her ears are long and come to elegant points, she has long silky eyebrow tufts, and a heavy pair of gleaming black horns curl out from her skull, similar to that of a mountain ram, but spikier. Her skin is a kind of dark lavender color, her hair a turquoise green and kept in a long plait that trails down her back, and glowing green tattoos cover her body. Small black spikes and scales adorn parts of her body, creating patterns over her arms and legs. A pair of large, leathery bat-like wings with tattered edges sprout from her back, which she uses more for gliding rather than powered flight. Among the other demonic features, her transformation into a demon hunter also sharpened and elongated her teeth and nails, leaving her with fangs and talons. She, like many of her kind, doesn't wear much in the way of clothing, and in fact often goes nearly naked, especially in battle situations. Sometimes she wears a heavy hooded greatcloak, which can cover everything, even her wings, but she dislikes it, and only uses it when she is forced to enter towns or cities where the citizenry are likely to make a scene. Instead of boots and gloves, she wraps her feet, legs, and hands with simple cloth wraps. (Her talons make gloves and boots impractical.) Her most distinctive- and feared- feature is her eyes... or the lack thereof. Her empty eye sockets burn with green fel energy, and unlike other demon hunters who wear blindfolds or veils to hide their disfigurement, she does not. Her preferred weapons are dual wield war glaives, and are carried on her back.

Personality: She is a lonely person as most demon hunters are, often vengeful and bitter, and at her very worst is dangerously schizophrenic and almost suicidal, a condition caused by the fel energy that surges through her body and aggravated by the demon that shares space in her head, whispering to her in her unguarded moments as it tries to talk her into joining the Burning Legion and becoming a full demon herself. Her life was built on a savagely violent past, her actions fueled by heart breaking losses, terrible sacrifice, and her endless drive for revenge, and yet she still (on the very odd occasion) displays a surprising gentleness and compassion, for a creature that has suffered so much. However, beneath the anger, ferocity and air of aggression, there lies a deep tiredness, not physical, but of the mind and what is left of her night elven soul. She has a strong sense of justice (what else could fuel a body for ten thousand years), even if her sense of right and wrong is a little blurry sometimes- she will very much do whatever it takes to solve a problem, even if that means doing things that are morally questionable in the eyes of others. She does not suffer fools, but will never hurt anyone who doesn't deserve it.

Traits: Apart from her distinctive physical features, she is a powerful magic user as well. She uses fel energy (a type of chaos magic), kept partly in check by the arcane runes tattooed into her very flesh, and partly through sheer mental will power, which helps to restrain her from becoming a full demon. She has well honed battle skills that focus on agility, speed and ambush, and she can deal shocking amounts of damage in a fight. Her most noteworthy ability is her spectral sight. This is the ability that replaced her mundane eyesight when she gouged her own eyes out during the throes of her initiation. Spectral sight allows her to see all forms of magic, be it in a creature or object. While it is not hindered by intervening objects or blind folds (allowing her to see a being on the other side of a wall, for example), it does make “seeing” difficult- impossible, even- in other ways. She can no longer see a person for who they are physically (their facial expressions, what they wear, etc) and can only “see” the largest of basic body language movements. All of the usual face to face communication that normally sighted creatures use is lost to her (as a result, this can cause misunderstandings in communication). Mundane objects are a continuous nightmare. She can't even read simple penned messages, unless an enchanted ink is used. While people, animals and specific magical objects are bright in her vision, everything else recedes into a murky gray darkness. Trees and plants are only slightly brighter than rocks and soil, since the oldest and most basic types of nature magic flow through them, and it's the only reason why she isn't constantly running into things in the landscape. She has, however, stumbled over far too many tavern chairs in her time, much to her frustration and chagrine.

Family: She had a mother (Sephala), a father (Malador) and an older brother (Verendis). They all belonged to the small, closely related Moonwhisper clan. All are deceased. Her family, her clan, everyone she knew in her previous life, were murdered by the Burning Legion. They are the reason why she has made the sacrifices she has to end up where she is.

Known History: Before the War of the Ancients, she had been an apprentice mage, studying the magics of the Well of Eternity. At this time, there were two factions of night elves: those who reveled in and were often even addicted to the power of the Well, and those who foresaw it leading them to ruin and who warned against over exposure and over use, some even going so far as to say that they should stop using it entirely. It wasn't until the Well's powers drew the attention of the greedy and savage titan god Sargeras, that they realized just how true the warnings were. Sargeras, hungry for the power source the Well promised and assisted by the evil Queen Azshara, traveled across the void with his legion of demons, and sent them through the Well and into the world of Azeroth to wreak havoc, destruction and death. Arancathria's family, among countless other living beings, were slaughtered like beasts, and Arancathria herself wounded so badly it was a wonder she had even survived. Left for dead, the Burning Legion passed on, and were finally defeated. Arancathria, now alone, was saved by a healer picking over the wreckage of their home.

When she had regained her health and strength, spurred on by grief and anger, Aran sought out the only creature that she thought could help- Illidan Stormrage, the first demon hunter. The ritual was complex, but basically amounted to her killing a demon, ripping out it's heart and eating it, then drinking it's blood, in order to gain the powers of her enemy. The demons essence flooded her body, and its soul filled her mind with images of horrifying graphic death and destruction, of the Burning Legion as it slaughtered its way across the universe. The images were so awful that in her desperation to make them stop she gouged out her own eyes, and then fell into a coma. Only about 1 in 5 demon hunters survives the initiation, and she was one of the ones who did. She woke a changed creature, completely blind at first, but over the following weeks her spectral sight set in and allowed her “see” again, and she trained and fought, and slaughtered demons to take on more power with which she could bolster her own strength. She was in the Battle for the Black Temple, when Illidan sent her and the others away to fight elsewhere. That was when Illidan, considered an abomination and a monster despite all he had done to fight the Legion and protect Azeroth- was defeated and imprisoned by the Wardens. Aran and her other demon hunters were captured upon their return as well, and were caged, immobile and semi-conscious, in the prison pit of the tower, for ten thousand years. When the Legion returned for a fresh assault upon their world, the Wardens freed them, and released them into the world to fight once more.

How did your character find these lands?: A faulty portal shard sent her astray when she made a desperate escape.

Anything Else We Need to Know?: Arancathria is a character I play on World of Warcraft, so her photos aren't perfectly how I'd want her to look for a role play, but they are close. There is so much I could say, as the Lore behind her race, her class, and the world she comes from is heavy and in-depth stuff, but I'll just leave that to come out in bits as I go. I will leave you with this video to watch to get an idea of what a demon hunter is though:

Character Images:
Without wings:





With wings:

First RP in these lands:

The battleground was lost.

What was supposed to be a small encampment of demons turned out to be a lethal trap. The moment she and her champions had leaped into action to begin eradicating the enemy, the stationed eredar opened portals surrounding the area, which proceeded to disgorge untold masses of Legion scum, all bent on their destruction.

Korvas, the smallest and youngest of them, went down first, overwhelmed by a writhing mass of screeching demons. The last Arancathria saw of her was the flash of her blood slicked war glaives as they sliced through enemy flesh and bone. Even as Korvas disappeared in the fray, demons were dying.

Aran and Belath had their backs together, slashing and whirling, leaping and thrusting, around and around in a savage orbit of violence and death. Their tight little circle spun its way through the Legion's ranks, but they just kept coming.

Kayn leaped into the air, wings spread, and unleashed the fury of his power, a great green gout of fel energy that surged from his eye sockets, searing and burning everything in its path. As he landed amongst the devastation he created, he hefted his blades and rushed into the bank of foes, cleaving in twain all who opposed him.

Thelandrys was next to fall. The demons seized her and consumed her, even as she continued to fight. Aran knew that for her, the fight was over. She hoped that Thelandrys's soul found its way back to the Twisting Nether, and that maybe, one day, they might meet again.

One by one she was losing champions. Gadren and Teladris, Mythis'ta and Aidri, each fighting to their very last breath, dying as they had lived- with great sacrifice and violence.

Belath cried out as a demon wounded him, and Aran flipped over his head and buried her blade into its torso. Mistake. The blade caught on the fel guards bones for one dangerous moment too long. A second demon swept in at her unprotected back and agony lashed across her spine. One of her wings shuddered and started to droop, and as she spun around she unleashed her own fury, a belching of fel green flames, even as Belath cast his immolation aura, dealing widespread damage to the heaving mass of demons. Aran cut loose with a second fel blast, stunning the closest enemies, giving them some time to escape to higher ground, such as it was. A small rise that backed up against the mountain, it gave them just enough height to know that they were losing badly.

The battle was split into several knots of frenzied activity, and at the center of each mass a demon hunter fighting for their very lives. Even as she gazed across the field another fell, and yet another, signified by the change in action and the enemy roar of triumph. Her chest heaved as she gulped for air, and the wound on her back burned like fire, swamping the pain of other wounds less severe. Blood slicked absolutely everything, demon blood, Belath's blood, her own blood. Her blades glistened with it, it was spattered across her face, it soaked into the ground where it was churned into seething, sticky black mud.

Belath, sweet natured Belath, swore like a human sailor as he watched their fellows die. Kayn was nowhere to be seen, but judging by the demons behavior and the odd flash of green flames here and there, he was still fighting.

“This was a trap,” Aran gasped.

“I have failed you,” was Belath's reply through labored breaths, and she felt his statement like a slap of his clawed hand. “My intel was wrong. It was so wrong.”

“This was not your doing,” she said. “You are right, it was a trap. They set this up. They wanted us to be tempted, and more fool me, I didn't see it.”

She had been the one who had said it would be easy. Go in, kill the camp, get out. It was too easy, was what it had been, and now her fellows were paying for her over-confidence.

“It is I who have failed you,” she said grimly, and then as the stunned demons came back to themselves, the tide turned towards them once more.

“You have to get out of here!” Belath shouted over the fray, hacking and slashing through limbs and bodies. “Get back the ship, tell them what has happened!”

“Not without you!” She yelled, blocking and parrying the sword of a particularly keen doom guard. His weapon slammed against hers with numbing force, the fel treated blade of her glaive sending off sparks and singing a song of death.

“You-” he dodged. “You must!” Dodge, and cut a demon in two. “You are our leader! You have the-” A demon struck him across the face even as he gutted it, and blood began streaming from his mouth over his chin, and from a gash in his cheek. He broke away from her, putting all of his strength and anger into fighting.

Aran lost track of everything, of time and their circumstance, and she flung herself into her fury so wholeheartedly that she became nothing but a mindless killing machine, leaping and dodging, parrying and cutting, dancing with her blades in and around and through her foes in the graceful dance of death that only a demon hunter could manage. Her spectral sight was filled with brightly colored bodies that pressed in so thickly she could hardly make out individuals, her focus narrowed down so tightly until it was just her, her blades, and the demon flesh they parted.

The Legion troops backed her hard against the mountain side and just kept coming, and even her great strength was beginning to falter. She was alone- she'd lost Belath and Kayn in the crowd and had no idea if they were still alive. Fatigue burned in her muscles, her right wing hung uselessly at her side even as she used her left to buffet and strike at the enemy. Her weapons began to weigh like boulders in her hands; it took more effort to swing them with every thrust she made.

A demon dealt her a mighty blow, which slammed into her shoulder and sent a shock of pain through her body. Her arm fell limp, struck into numbness, the blade leaving her strengthless grasp to clatter upon the stony ground. This was it. This was the end. She would die. Despair welled up within her as she blocked a blow singled armed and struggled to hold it back as it forced her to her knees.

And then the demon within her mind laughed at her.

“You are weak. The Burning Legion always prevails. We will trample your body into the earth as we did those of your parents and your brother.”

And in that moment, she was reminded of exactly why she had become a demon hunter.

Summoning forth the last of her reserves, she surged from the ground with a wordless howl of vengeance and anger. The power of the demon within her exploded like a bomb, transforming her into a demon herself. Huge and terrifying, burning with fel energy like a small sun, and moving at such a speed that she became a blur. She became an unavoidable whirlwind of death. The lesser demons shrieked in terror and tried to flee through the ranks of their larger brethren as her talons ripped to shreds all who fell within reach. As soul fragments split away from her prey, she reabsorbed them, and they provided her with bursts of more power, helping her to sustain her metamorphed form.

Confronted with a creature even bigger and more savage than they, the demon ranks retreated to a safe distance, leaving a clear space of ground littered thickly with the bodies of the dead, and just in time. Her strength expired, and her demon form collapsed upon itself, leaving her back in her own body, lying upon the bloody ground, weak, broken, and utterly spent. She had only one choice left to her.


Or escape, her mind whispered to itself. Pressing hard against her hip was her belt pouch, and within the pouch several portal shards she had gotten from some trader in a far away land. The shards were each attuned to a random location. She thanked her past self for the purchase of the curious little objects so long ago, because they had just become her saving grace. She thrust her working hand into the pouch even as the milling demons began working up their courage to renew their attack, and seized the first crystal that met her fingers. The stone glowed faintly purple in her vision, but when she smashed it into the ground under her hand to activate it, the glow became so bright it blotted out everything.

The last thing she remembered was the echoing sound of the demons as they descended upon her, a searing pain that flared in every nerve in her body, and then... nothing.


The thing about spectral vision was that it worked whether you had your eyes open or not. It was unhindered by blindfolds and veils, and walls posed no problems either. Her vision was working even though her brain was not conscious enough to recognize what it was seeing yet. Small dots of faint color wandered about in front of her face, a tiny little trail that scattered when her breath disturbed the tiny parade.

Ants. She was watching ants.

A muscle in her back twitched, and a tick started up in her left hand. She moaned weakly, but for a while that was all she could manage, lacking even the strength to roll onto her side. Eventually she was able to lift her head and have a brief glance around, scanning her environment.

She had no idea what location that portal shard had been attuned to, but this place felt like nowhere she had been before. At first she thought it was Ashenvale, on the great continent of Kalimdor, but it felt far too wrong. Her next guess was The Jade Forest on Pandaria, due to the fine mist she could feel collecting on her skin, but that didn't feel right either, and the ground felt wrong- sandy and gravelly, and stickery, not at all the lush green grasses, mosses and ferns of that exotic place. She let her head rest on the ground a while more before finally attempting to push herself upright.

It took far more effort and pain than she wanted to bear, but she forced her way through it anyway, until she was sitting up. Her wing still didn't work. That was a concern. Without her wings her mobility would be severely limited, and limits meant death. She had an uncountable number of cuts in her flesh, bruises and abrasions, broken bones even. She was coated in blood, her own and that of demons, which was drying and crusting over on her skin. Her mouth and throat were parched, and everything, absolutely everything, hurt.
She dug into her belt pouch again and withdrew a small crystal bottle, stoppered with a cork and a wax seal which she cracked with her clawed thumb. Extracting the cork, she upended the entire contents into her mouth, and then screwed up her face and clamped her jaw to prevent herself from spewing the vile tasting concoction across the gravel in front of her. At first her throat refused to cooperate, but she finally forced herself to swallow the potion. It was the worst tasting medicine ever, but she knew its effectiveness was excellent, a mixture of medicinal herbs, magic and probably a few other ingredients which she didn't want to ponder too closely. She also knew that taking it now, when she was in such a severely weakened state, could be dangerous, as the magical element drew upon the reserves of strength of the wounded to trigger the healing process. It could weaken her further, or even kill her, but she was willing to take that chance.

As the healing draught did its work, she managed to stagger to her feet. It was then that she realized she was weaponless.

“Damn,” she whispered croakily. Her glaives had been left behind on the battleground. She was... well, partially defenseless. She still had her magic, at least.

No weapons and wing broken. This day just kept getting better and better.

She looked around, taking in her surroundings. She seemed to be standing at the edge of a vast wasteland. Or at least, there was nothing in particular in this place to matter to her vision. Only small purple shapes which she thought was a warren of vermin, some distance away, and the odd airborne shape- birds, seemed most likely. Nothing that presented any kind of magical danger, at least. As she turned, she realized why it had felt as if she was in a forest earlier. There were trees- huge trees, some of which rivaled even those in Ashenvale, which was well known worldwide for its gargantuan tree life. She was standing at the edge of a vast forest, the trees so ancient that they themselves glowed with life in her vision, not nearly as bright as animals or people or magical things, but a deep, low background glow that lit the landscape of her vision.

It was as good a place as any to find help. Perhaps... perhaps she might encounter a night elf enclave. Her people preferred to live in places deep in nature- the more trees the better, usually, and very often they lived in the trees as well, up among the branches, or in the case of Druids, in barrow dens among the roots. Their capital city, Darnassus, had been built in the top of Teldrassil, the massive World Tree that had been a land unto itself.

Until Sylvannas and the Horde destroyed it, she thought bitterly. And Darnassus had become yet another casualty of war that should not have happened.

Although many of her race have rejected her for becoming a demon hunter, nevertheless, her heritage told her that trees were good things, so she began, in her best limping shamble, to approach the trees. She had to heft her damaged wing up off the ground so it wouldn't drag. The potion was working, but it wasn't functional yet. She stumbled into the treeline, feeling the shade cool her skin further into what was building up into a chill. She leaned on things- trunks, saplings- as she navigated her way over and around gnarled roots and moss covered rocks. There was very little animal life above ground here. Small things lived under the surface, but nothing large enough to be a person.

She reached a tree with a deep hollow between two upraised roots, filled with damp leaves and loam. It... wasn't ideal, but a wave of desperate weakness was washing over her and she couldn't go any further, so she collapsed into the make shift nest to rest.

Exhausted and out of strength, she passed out.
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