Bio: Valerie Plagueheart

[Raesa]

Name: Valerie Plagueheart
Age: 28 upon undeath, now nearly 40.
Race: Forsaken, previously Human
Gender: Female
Class: Warlock
Personality: Witty and deceitful, she will do what she needs to get what she wants. As a human, she lived the spoiled life of an aristocrat, and her personality has changed little from her early years, save for a hatred of the living. The gave herself the surname Plagueheart after her undeath, abandoning her previous family name of Weston.
Likes: Good manners, expensive tastes, nobility, power
Dislikes: Weak-minded "simpletons" as she calls them, the living (out of jealousy)

Appearance: Valerie was killed mere days before the Scourge invasion of Lordaeron by a rather uninvasive poison, so her physical appearance remains largely the same as it did when she was alive, save for her glowing golden eyes that are customary among all undead humans, and a slight pale green discoloring of her skin. Her hair is shoulder length and as black as the day she died, keeping it rather clean and well-kept. She styles it straight, with side-bangs sweeping across her forehead. Her posture is rather uncharacteristic of her people, standing straight and balanced as opposed to haunched over. This is a testament to the weight she puts on good manners, formalities, and traditions.

Strengths/Weaknesses: Determined to get what she wants. Once her mind is made up, it is nearly impossible to change it. At her best, she is very well mannered, proper and ambitious. At her worst, she is elitist and prideful, not above taking what she wants by force. Quick to look down her nose as the impoverished or weak.

History:


With a chilling gasp of cold air, Valerie sat up on the stone dais in a panic to a dark, foreboding voice in her head. It spoke to her in whispers, filling her head with, to her at the time, was unintelligible noise. She glanced around the small stone room that she laid in, and was stricken with horror at what she saw. The risen stone platform was like an island in a sea of horribly disfigured corpses, mangled and wreaking of death. She let out a blood-curdling screech, sending echoes through the halls of wherever she was, but before she could exhale a full breath of noise, she quieted herself upon hearing her own voice. It was not the one she remembered, the youthful sound of a girl who had everything. No. This voice was like the echoing returns of her voice after speaking down a long corridor, or valley. It was ethereal and cold.

Her body began now to shake, consumed in a panic attack that could be noted in history books. She lifted her hand up to her hair and ran her fingers through it, something familiar to her mind in a sea of terror. As she did, her fingertips crossed the paths of several spiders and their webs that had nested in her stagnant locks, causing her to yelp and pull her hand away, only to recoil at the sound of her own voice again. She tilted her head down and wept pitifully, or at least she would have been if there had been any tears. She let out a low, sorrowful moan in the raspy voice that she had somehow acquired.

Soon, the voice filled her mind once more. She calmed herself as she listened, leading her to believe it was coming from outside the room she was in. She slipped down off the dais and followed the voice blindly, stepping over the decaying bodies underneath her, stepping on several rib-cages with a spine-chilling crunch, though she did not notice. The voice had filled her mind, drawing her out of the small room she had laid in, through a long, empty hall. Soon, she saw at the end of the dark passage an arching doorway. Finally reaching it, feeling as if she had walked for hours, she stepped out into a dimly lit expanse. She felt her knees buckle as she fell to the floor, overcome with terror as she came to a grim realization, her memories beginning to trickle back to her slowly.

"This…these are the crypts…" She spoke to herself out loud. "I…I'm dead…"

___________________________________________

The secretive cult of warlocks gathered in a single crypt, clamoring and arguing with each other, having gathered to discuss the situation of the Scourge. Nearly all of them angry, bitter old men who hungered for power. However there was one woman among them, a girl of twenty-eight years named Valerie Weston. She stood at the back of the room, looking down her nose at the bickering mass of foolish old men. "Such ridiculous old things" she spoke bitterly to her father, Lucius, who scowled at her with a reprimanding glare. Soon, he spoke to the crowd.

"Listen to me, you buffoons! The scourge is on our doorstep! We must have a plan of action!" He spoke in an authoritative tone, and for a moment the room quieted to a murmur, before voices sprang from the crowd. "How can we help? Our comrades would never accept assistance from the void!" "We'll be hanged!" "We're all doomed!" They broke out in an uproar once again.

"No." Valerie spoke, getting the attention of the men in the front, which soon spread to the crowd. "What we have to do is summon an ally so powerful, that Lordaeron must accept us. We will show them what we can do, and in the end, they will have no choice but to accept our power." She spoke with a prideful smirk. Lucius looked down at her, looking furious at the very concept of summoning such a powerful demon.

"Valerie! You know full well why we cannot summon one of those! It demands payment that we cannot afford!" He spoke angrily through his teeth, warning her of such powers many times before. She did not respond, but the crowd did.

One spoke. "Yes! We must summon a doomguard!"
Then another. "That will prove our power to the leaders above!"

"NO! It demands a sacrifice, you all know this!"

Their response wiped the arrogant smirk off of Valerie's face in an instant. "The girl! Give it the girl!!" One haggard old man pointed at her, his stained, crooked brown teeth shining as he grinned towards her. It didn't take long before the entire mob was in agreement, sent into a frenzy as they swarmed Valerie, their dirty, wrinkled hands groping her as they forced her down onto a stone dais and began the ritual of summoning.

As she lay tied to the cold stone altar, she kicked and screamed, hissing the foulest curses she could muster against those that would betray her. Even her own father, while torn, allowed the old bastards to hold her down and slip the poison down her throat. She spat venomously as her rage reached its peak. "How could this be happening to me? ME?! DON'T YOU KNOW WHO I…who I…am…?" she spoke, the poison making its way through her body, her frantically beating heart began to slow to a halt as her eyelids became heavy.

___________________________________________

The memories flowed back into her mind, clear as day. She grit her teeth in an angry rage, cursing the loathsome men that had done this to her. Only then did she realize, that the bodies that filled her resting place must have belonged to those same men. It was true. The ritual of summoning was a success, but the tired old conjurers could not have been prepared for the monster that they brought into Azeroth. They were slaughtered, every one of them, including her father. A twisted grin crossed her face as she thought of the filthy geezers suffering to the hands of the demon that her death brought upon them.

Soon though, the itching whispers filled her mind again, enticing her with the promise of power and wealth. It spoke to her endlessly as she wandered the corridors of the crypt, and after two days of searching, she finally found an exit up to the surface. As she climbed hundreds of stairs, the whispering began to quiet itself, until finally it was all but gone. She arrived at the surface to see a great battle going on, humans on one side, and more like her on the other. She didn't know how to act, until she saw a woman that looked not unlike herself in terms of characteristics, but she was elven. She stood with others like them, and it didn't take much thought to understand that she would not be welcome among the side of the humans. Together they fought to push the survivors out of Lordaeron, and soon laid claim to the capital, walking under the Banshee Queen's rule and helping to usher in the Forsaken to a seat of power among Azeroth.

((My latest character, and probably the last one I'll write, atleast for awhile. I like this one a lot though, and would love to know what you guys think of it. Thanks ))

[Telcular]

Yees, cause a doomguard is surley strong enough for Lordaeron to accept their power.
Like the personality, and using the dark arts are always nice

[Raesa]

Yees, cause a doomguard is surley strong enough for Lordaeron to accept their power.
Like the personality, and using the dark arts are always nice

Hehe, well I figured a demon summoning that required a sacrifice would be pretty powerful in an RP setting. :P