Ihsan997

These character sheets were taken from the WoW forums. Amendments have been made. Full Name: Ral’rush of the Darkspear Nicknames: Rush, the Blood Drinker, Ral Class: fury warrior Race: jungle troll Gender: male Date of Birth: Year 0, just around the opening of the Dark Portal Age: 36 Hair: crimson, though he often shaves his face and head when on the march Skin: light blue Eyes: crimson like his stubble and fuzzy scalp Height: 8’4” / 254 cm Weight: 450 lbs / 204 kg Other facial/appearance details: his tusks are relatively short yet very sharp Place of Residence: nameless Darkspear village, Dustwallow Marsh, Kalimdor Place of Birth: cluster of family huts on the coast of Stranglethorn Vale, Eastern Kingdoms Living relatives: both parents, four siblings, several aunts and uncles, numerous nieces and nephews whose names he never remembers Spouse: Fon’kei, an orphaned Darkspear raised by his extended family, now resident in his village Occupation: career soldier, though he helps at his

Sad embers of sadness fell sadly down to the sad sack of sadness wallowing sadly. The sad panda man knelt down in what was once a beautiful village full of other panda people, haunted by memories of goofy laughter long gone. Now a set of ruins, the village had been reduced to rubble, ash, and the few remaining outer walls and foundations of the sturdier straw huts which had once composed the happy little village of Prawnville. Leafless trees and a choking mist cut off whatever laid beyond, as well as the pandaren’s short breaths, though his smoking habit didn’t help. Frowning like a lumpfish, he pulled his conical hat down and clutched it in front of his bulbous belly, whimpering as he looked upon the charred, blackened bodies of two smaller figures. Guilty tears stained the fur on his chubby face, announcing to no one how truly sad the lone villager felt. Dipping his trembling fingers into the cinders of what were once his family, he lifted the little smelly flakes up off the ground

“Please take care, sir.” His protocol droid’s words grated on his nerves even when they were spoken with such concern. Shifting uncomfortably in the hover chair he’d been lucky enough to have stored away, Kendar tried to ignore the sting of his damaged body. Everything hurt, even breathing, and his inability to see drove him mad. He was still in charge of the mission, however, and he had to maintain his composure. “Take me into the hold,” the Abyssin ordered the droid. Gears hummed as if the droid were nodding, and Kendar felt his hover chair being led around the cramped halls of his ship into the area normally used for cargo. The electric hum of a holding cell soon greeted him, along with the snort of his incapacitated target. Even when he knew the Dowutin thug was restrained in an electrified net, durasteel finger-cuffs, and a cell enclosed in a forcefield, Kendar felt uneasy; he was used to watching his targets all the time. Straining to keep a straight face, he ignored the