(All commentary, constructive criticism, etc, is welcome!)

Name: Jengra Iceshatter

Age: 25

Race: Orc

Gender: Female

Class: Elemental shaman
Companions: Drifter (Frostwolf mount), Ember (Blackrock worg pup), Khaz'ren (fire elemental), Dorrok (earth elemental)

Personality: On the surface, she is as hard as nails - all business, all about calling down the storm, getting the mission done, and getting the hell out, slow to trust, slow to give more respect than basic civility. In reality, she is deeply loyal to her family, the Horde, her mate, and those who have earned her respect. She does, however, tend to lose herself in the concerns of the spirits and the elements, and can be easily sidetracked when her spiritual assistance is required.

Likes: Snow, storms, good beer, rock and ice climbing, bare-knuckle brawling
Dislikes: Liars, dwarves (Did I say dislike? I meant violent, homicidal hatred.), cowards, most Forsaken and elves, hot dry places

Appearance: Of average height for an orc, lean but solidly built. Violet hair in a thick waist-length braid bound with three iron bands, each etched with elemental runes and the Frostwolf mark. Primitive bright-blue tattoos cover both forearms from wrists to elbows in a pattern of ice shards and lightning bolts. Old gunshot wound scar on the left shoulder, though she tends to dress so that the scar is covered. Rarely seen in anything but heavy armor with Frostwolf tabard and insignia, though she does wear mail kilts and not pants. When in Ghostwolf form, she appears as a snow-white wolf with amber eyes.

Strengths: Flexibility, quick thinking, deep bond with the elements
Weaknesses: Moderate racism, easily distracted from matters by spiritual/elemental concerns, not particularly adept at healing

Family: Nyett Thunderfist - Younger brother (my husband's character, probably won't show up here unless NPC'ed by me for short stories), Narfang - Mate, warlock (a friend's character, probably also won't show up here)

History:
My baby brother Nyett and I were born in the Valley. the Frostwolf were exiles then, hunted and hated because of Durotan's choice to deny the demon blood - may he rest at peace with the ancestors. Father taught me to hunt and shoot, Mother taught me to make warm clothes and good armor from the skins of my kills. Nyett was the one who talked to ghosts back then - everybody figured he was crazy - I was just a scout and a hunter, nothing more.

Then the damn filthy dwarves came. They killed our folks. Would have wiped us all out, if we hadn't fought back. What else was I supposed to do? I looked after Nyett, did the best I could to bring him up right though I was still really just a kid myself. Every day was a fight. Fought the weather, the animals we brought down for food and leather, fought some stragglers from the other clans who stumbled into the Valley, and of course... we fought the dwarves.

Sure, I noticed when Thrall came and went somewhere in the middle of all that. The son of Durotan, who wouldn't notice that? And a shaman, a real shaman... the first one other than Drek'thar that we'd seen, but what did that mean to me? I was a good shot, a good tracker, but talking to the elements? Not me. I knew what he was fighting for, and I wanted to fight too, but somebody had to guard the village. And the next thing I knew, we weren't outcasts anymore, we were part of the Horde, but it wasn't the Horde that my folks told me about. It wasn't just killing and conquering, it was standing together to make a home and defend it.

Wasn't long after that that everything changed. The hunting party I was running with got cornered by a dwarf patrol. To make a long story short, I climbed a wall of ice and rock with a bullet in my shoulder and a sack of gunpowder in my teeth. I was gonna blow the whole damn thing up and drop it on them, but by the time I climbed to the top, my arm was so weak from the wound that I couldn't even strike a spark to set it off. I cursed and I swore... and I begged the ancestors for help, so my friends could get home alive, so my baby brother wouldn't be left alone, so I could manage, just this once when it was important, to not screw it up. The lightning came down, the powder blew... I'm not real sure how I survived it, but I woke up a couple days later back in the village, with Drifter laying beside me and Nyett watching over me. They called me Iceshatter, and when my wounds had healed, I got these tattoos on both arms to remind me of the day my life turned around.

From there on out, I never picked up a gun again. Once you talk to the spirits and they answer you, you're honor-bound to do their work, and in return, they fight with me and for me and through me. I guess twenty was a little old to be just learning how to be a shaman, but there was just no other way for me to go. And when the voice of the wind said it was time to leave the Valley, that there were important things for me to see and do beyond that one little swatch of the world I called home, I packed up my knapsack and Drifter and I rode out.

It's been a long road since then. I've been to Draenor, the world my folks came from, and I've fought for the elemental spirits of that doomed mess of rocks. I've been to Northrend, fought the Scourge, fought dragons, fought vrykul and Titans and Nerubians and all kinds of things that'd make most sane women run home to hide. Good thing I'm not most sane women, I guess.

And somewhere along the way I met this crazy son of a bitch. I wanted to hate him. I really wanted to loathe him for what he is and what he does. And yet, I've never met any man, let alone any warlock, who spoke to me with unfailing respect, who always had my back in a fight, who stayed out in the frozen hell of Icecrown to help me burn the bodies of the fallen so they didn't rise again and fight against us. Narfang earned my respect, and in time, he earned my heart. There's quite a few that look at me a little sideways when they figure out that my mate is a warlock, and you know what? I don't give a damn. We've got a quiet little place in Nagrand that we call home, and we'll stand together wherever the Warchief says we need to go.

So that's it up to now, more or less. I am orc, I am Horde, I am of the spirits and the elements, I am a family woman and a hell of a fighter. I am Jengra Iceshatter, of the Frostwolf.