Personality: Kassandra is a dark soul with a grim, stark humor. She is fanatically loyal to the Dark Lady and is willing to do any job, no matter how menial or important in her mistress' name. Kassandra takes an almost sexual pleasure in hunting down members of the Alliance, Worgen and Humans especially. Having grown up on a farm in the wilderness, she has a very direct and no-nonsense approach to her work, and tends to avoid ornamentation. It should be noted that not only is Kassandra patient, willing to look at a problem from multiple different points of view before enacting a plan of action, but she is also very practical and has a history of fleeing to fight another day if the tables turn against her. She keeps her distance from members of the Horde that aren't Forsaken or Blood Elves, but mostly due to disinterest instead of dislike. Although she keeps her distance from the Western Horde, she is very polite to them, and always remembers her manners. Kassandra rarely talks, except to occasionally offer a sly comment or jest. Kassandra could be described as 'stoic', for she shows little emotion even to those that are close to her, and almost all of her motives are a mystery. One thing is for certain though, she does not serve the Horde. Kassandra serves Sylvanas, and Sylvanas alone.
Likes/Dislikes: Kassandra likes to kill Alliance. Besides that, though, she enjoys a warm meal and a soft bed, and is known to have a collection of books that she pilfers from her enemies. Because she spends so much of her time alone, hunting, Kassandra is never one to refuse friendly (to her!) company. She was taught how to carve wood as a child, and enjoys making small figures (that she will either sell, burn, or keep depending on what it is she's carving). Although having flown multiple times throughout her life and undeath, she is very afraid of heights and refuses to fly unless there isn't any other choice. Kassandra is known to be terrified of large spiders, and angry mobs.
Appearance: Kassandra shows little of the characteristic decay of the average Forsaken, except for the pale skin, glowing yellow eyes, and claw-like hands. Her face is angular, with a sharp jaw and high cheekbones. She keeps her ebony hair pulled in to a ponytail, which falls to her shoulders. Kassandra inherited the plain, black leather armor she wears (a full suit, boots, greaves, bracers, etc. etc. except for helm). She occasionally dons a dark, hooded cloak similar in appearance to the ones the Dark Rangers use.
Strengths/Weaknesses: Kassandra is a very skilled outdoorsman and survivalist. She is an accomplished marksman with the bow and crossbow, can fish and cook, and has some minor skills in engineering and poison making. She was taught to hunt and thrive in the wild from birth, so she is skilled in camouflage and the art of sneaking. Patient, calculating and ruthless, Kassandra makes an excellent scout, and excels at hit-and-run tactics. Although she is somewhat skilled in the use of a blade, she is not called 'Darkarrow' for her melee skills. It should also be noted that she does not have a high tolerance to pain, even small wounds may incapacitate her.
Weapons / Equipment: Darkarrow keeps a heavy crossbow with her that she only has time to use once per fight (mostly due to the chore of reloading it). Her main weapon is a longbow of High Elven craftsmanship, gifted to her by Nathanos Blightcaller himself. She has learned enough engineering to fashion flashbangs and small grenades which she uses as a distraction. Kassandra likes to lace her traps with a paralytic poison (that she also, on rare occasions, uses on her arrows). A standard issue Forsaken short sword is enough to serve as her melee weapon of choice, and she keeps a pistol (with a single shot) on her at all times, in case of emergencies.
History: Cassandra Sorel grew up on a small farm in Duskwood, daughter to a hunter-farmer father, and a retired SI:7 mother. She was cared for and loved, and loved her mother and father back. In her late teens however, a plague erupted in the wood that took her father and mother from her, and left her eyes pure white. Wolves and undead ransacked the farm without her father's protection and she escaped in to the woods, eventually making her way to Stormwind. The next several years of her life were spent begging on the streets. No matter how she tried to make ends meet, people saw her eyes and branded her cursed, plagued, a leper. When Arthas launched his attack on the cities of Azeroth and the undead plague swept through the people, she was out on the streets with no protection or aid. A human mob rescued her from the clutches of a pack of ghouls, but when they saw her, they turned on her with screams of "Monster!" and "Heretic!" and chased her from the human capital.
With no where to go, Cassandra started heading north, to try and make her living off the land as her father had taught her. She made her way to Southshore, where the people spoke in dark corners of Forsaken, free undead with wills and minds of their own. They told her, as they warded her away with superstitious hand gestures, that the Forsaken were plagued themselves. Cassandra instantly saw a glimmer of light in her own darkness with the news, and she stole a horse and rode to Tarren Mill. The Forsaken that she met there greeted her with kindness and sympathy, but more importantly, with empathy. They told her that their leader, Sylvanas Windrunner, had freed and united them. That there were friends to people who were outcasts, with no lot in life - or unlife. Cassandra willingly took of the plague and was resurrected as Forsaken within hours, whereupon she changed the first letter of her name from a "C" to a "K". The now-undead Kassandra joined the Forsaken military as a scout, and setup a permanent home in the Undercity, along with various campsites and hidden outposts in Tirisfal, Silverpine, and the Hinterlands.
Hey all, Biography isn't as fleshed out as I'd like and is still a work in progress. I'm also working on a short 'intro' that involves ambushing a Dwarven supply caravan that I'm hoping to post on here once it's finished. Now, tell me what I did wrong and what I could do better on, please! TY and I'm looking forward to hopefully RP'ing with ya'll soon .
EDIT : Fixed up some grammar errors.
Last edited by Skally Wag; 2011-02-07 at 03:35 AM.
Before I even begin, please apply to the RP group by following the information provided within the sticky at the top of the RP discussion forum: that way, I or my partner will be able to accept you all the quicker.
I follow Khorianas on this one. A remarkably well thought up bio, and you recieve my immediate approval.
Hey all. Sorry I haven't posted this yet, I got a little caught up in school (and leveling my rogue...). I decided to break this up in to two parts after reviewing it, this is only the first part. I'm not certain when to say the second part will be posted, but I would expect to have it up in a day or two. As before, all tips and criticisms are welcome.
Part One: The Target
Plaguemist Ravine was always dark, and hushed, but the dwarves didn’t seem to mid or care. The half-dozen or so dwarves cheered, drank and jested. They were all veterans of war, trained and armed combatants to the man – and they knew the other half-dozen of their company were hidden in the trees and gullys around the ravine, keeping an eye on the caravan. Revantusk trolls from deeper in the Hinterlands were known to prepare ambushes along the well-established trade route, and the pair of dwarven wagons were prime targets for any member of the Horde. Chillwind Point, now serving as a home base for the Alliance following the disaster at Andorhal, was depending on the supplies the Dwarves carried with them. Foodstuffs, ammunition, weaponry, potions of healing and rest, and more were all carefully hidden away in the wagons.
The Wildhammer dwarves had received a call for aid from Chillwind just a few days before, and quickly put together a relief package and sent it, along with the small armed escort, to aid the human outpost. Not a single dwarf that volunteered knew they were walking in to a death trap. But no one knows they’re walking in to one of Darkarrow’s ambushes until it’s too late.
The Forsaken hunter, clad all in black and crouched in a bush on top of a nearby knoll, watched the wagons pass through the ravine. She showed no emotion as she watched them, and noted carefully the movements of the dwarven scouts and trackers that weren’t actually causing the ruckus that attracted her. She had been spending most of her time away from the Undercity and its outlying territories recently. After all, the Dark Lady had plenty of servants to help her close at home, she told herself. And these Alliance were the Lady’s enemy, they were working to undo her glorious work at Andorhal. No, Kassandra told herself. She would not let that happen. With a certain elegant ease, she adjusted the heavy crossbow tied to her back set off.
The Forsaken hunter made her way back to her cave, hidden deep within the treacherous mountains that Plaguemist Ravine cut through. As she strode in to her home, she was startled. A short, bulky figure was standing in the middle of one of her homes, staring with wide eyes at the large Forsaken banner that covered a bare patch of wall, and at the shelves covered with books and wooden figures, all of Lady Sylvanas or her Forsaken servants. He looked at the campfire, burning slowly and giving off little heat. The dwarf – it had to be a dwarf – bent over, and picked something half-burned out of the ashes. It was another carved wooden toy, this one of a human, healthy and proud-looking from the waist up, but twisted and burned otherwise. But the Wildhammer mostly stared at the skeletal steed stabled in the back, who glared back at him with unholy, dead eyes. Kassandra, in a practiced motion that came to her as easily as not breathing, unslung the crossbow from her back and lifted the sights to her eye. She had been a hunter all her life and unlife, and used this specific crossbow for most of it. The dwarf, almost seeming to sense the danger he was in, wheeled around and found himself face-to-face with the undead marksman, her cold yellow eyes - once white – burning with hate.
The dwarf scout, who had somehow managed to find her hideout, raised his arms to his mouth, no doubt to yell and warn his allies. Dwarves were silly like that, forgetting themselves in times of need and doing everything they could to keep their loved ones, their friend and families alive. Kassandra squeezed the trigger, and the dwarf’s yell died in his throat, a wet gurgle. The hands that he lifted to his mouth found his neck, and when he felt the gaping, wet hole where solid skin and muscle would be, he seemed almost surprised. Something hit his back, and he realized it was the cold, smooth stone floor of the cave. All there was, was darkness. He couldn’t see, and… he heard a whisper…
“For the Dark Lady…”
EDIT 1 : Fixed up some grammar. I really need to get in to the habit of grammar-checking before posting...
Last edited by Skally Wag; 2011-02-14 at 03:23 PM.