N O R W Y N B L A C K W O O D

---

---

Age:

Race:

Physical Description:

Personality:

Background:

Name: Nathoric Magnalorn

Age: 22

Race: Human

Physical Description: Average in height and lean of build, Nathoric cuts a classic image of a handsome youth. He has dark hair tied in the back, with a youthful face and a fine chin. His eyes are midnight blue and sharp. He wears the robes of his order, violet and dark blue cloth interwoven together. He's donned leather pauldrons and bracers during this time of upheaval.

Personality: Nathoric's an intelligent, thoughtful, and headstrong young mage. Initially shy when brought before the Kirin Tor, he quickly showed his intellect and aptitude for magic, fueling his confidence and giving credence to his abilities. He's very observant and scientific in his way of thinking, preferring to watch first than leap in, but he won't hesitate to be outspoken when the situation calls for it. He's known for his calm demeanor, but has found himself lacking in that aspect ever since the Scourge has ravaged Lordaeron around him. He has a dry wit and matter of fact way of explaining phenomena.

Background: Born to a small azeroth noble family living close to Khaz Modan, his father's father's father had always had ties to the Stoutarm Dwarven family when they once fought off a clan of trolls together, hence Nathaoric's surname, meaning "Protector of the Land." He was discovered to have the magical gift at age 13 and sent to Dalaran, quickly becoming a promising pupil within the Kirin Tor. His master was Krasus for a short time, and then the hero Rhonin, who encouraged Nathoric's independent state of mind. By age 19, he was allowed to have his own area of study, and age 21 he was sent to Lordaeron to help investigate the new plague spreading across the continent. He'd fought a few straggling Orcs, getting him used to combat before all hell broke loose. He found himself in the wilderness just as the capital city collapsed in chaos. He fought his way through one demon ravaged town, and suddenly found himself within Brittlepool, where he feels the fates have guided him.

Name: Sir Tilson Stonehelm of Strahnbrad

Age: 36

Race: Human

Physical Description:
A stout man, standing roughy 5'9", but heavily built, with large, muscular arms, legs, and shoulders. When clad in armour, he gives off the appearance of being almost as wide as he is tall. He keeps his rusty beard well trimmed, and is often seen clad in a simple brown tunic, with the sleeves removed ("bait for tavern maidens", he claims). When in battle, he is clad head-to-toe in traditional Lordaeron plate-armour. His personal set of armour stands out, however, due to the numerous chips, scratches, and discolourations in it.

Personality:
A grumbling, weathered individual, who carries himself as though he were a much older man. He drinks heavily at every opportunity, and is slow to accept a task of any description. He also walks with a mild limp, although not enough of one to seriously impede him. Nonetheless, his skill on the battlefield is notable, and during battle he handles himself like a proper knight of the realm. When responsibility is cast upon him, he upholds himself to a high standard of professionalism. When his duties are fulfilled, he descends into a slump of depression. Simply put, Tilson is a man who's lost the will to live, and only finds fulfillment when the goal is immediately before him.

Background:
Tilson was once one of the youngest, and most promising knights of the order, a personal favourite of King Terenas himself. Having proven himself as an exceptional soldier for the kingdom, the king granted him the opportunity to choose his own station. To look after his family, Sir Stonehelm asked to be put in charge of the town-guard of Strahnbrad, his home town. Merely two years into this position, the town was invaded by the Blackrock Clan of orcs, who overwhelmed Stonehelm's forces through numbers alone. As the village burned, Stonehelm sent out two of his men out, to request aid from the crown. In response, the Silver Hand was sent. By the time they arrived, the town was in ruins, and villagers, including Stonehelm's own family, were being sacrificed in demonic rituals. Still, they set about purging the city of the monstrous orcs that had laid waste to it. When the battle was over, Stonehelm was found gravely wounded, slumped against what remained of his own house. The Knights of the Silver Hand were able to heal his injuries, and Tilson pledged himself to their service. There was nothing left for him in Strahnbrad anyway.
A slight silver lining, Tilson found that he was able to bury his sadness with wonder, as he now served under the legendary Uther the Lightbringer, and even the crown prince himself. Sadly, even this was too good to be true. After a bloody, draining campaign against a new incursion of undead monstrosities, Tilson's will to live finally broke in the town of Andorhal, where he saw innocent people be twisted into horrific undead creatures, just as they stood. Sinking further and further into sadness, Stonehelm marched with the order to the city of Stratholme. When the crown prince gave the order to massacre the entire city, and even Lord Uther turned away, a great many soldiers defected. Among them, was young Tilson, who slowly wandered his way southwestward, spending a night at every tavern along the way. As he wandered, be pawned off his horse, his shield, and his tabard. Eventually, when he had walked far enough, that the stench of death left his nostrils, and the horrors of war began to fade from his mind, he found himself in the small, untouched village of Brittlepond. For the first time, in quite a long time, he was at peace again. Using what money he had remaining, he purchased a room at the Brittlepond tavern, and filled the missing role of being the town-drunk.
Then came the news, that the crown prince had returned only to kill his own father, and the capital city had fallen into chaos. As the madness in the young prince's eyes flashed through Tilson's memory, he simply slumped over, and drunkenly mumbled "Ie knew itt", into his mug of beer.

Name: Tavain
Race: Human
Age: 21

Description: Tavian is an attractive blonde haired, blue eyed, farm girl. When she joined the 33rd Regiment as a Footman she brought a good natured laugh, friendly smile, and the muscles of a woman who had worked everyday outside. Since that time she has learned sword combat, and shows much promise, though she has never seen battle. She bears two scars, one on her right hip where a horse kicked her, and a second on her left bicep from a bear that she fought, some say with her bare hands.

Personality: Friendly, chatty, outgoing, and throughly delighted to be doing something other that farming. Tavian is a pleasant young woman with no real ambition at the moment other than to get as far away from the farm as possible. She has a quick laugh and wants nothing more than to test her mettle in battle, her uncle was a Footman in the Legion after all, and he had fought the Horde many years before and Tavian has always looked up to him in awe. Her mother wanted her to go for a Priest but she wanted to badly to fight.

The local Priest, on her mothers wishes, did speak with her and noted that Tavian showed some ability towards magic but clearly had little desire to do good with it. Her mother dropped the subject. She still finds time for a beer with the lads, cards, and avoiding their drunken advances, but only if they unwanted. She is what one might call a "good person".

Background: Born in the great Human City of Kul'Tiras, her family has farmed the lands around it for a generation. Her father, a simple man, her mother determined to do well by her children, had hoped to have her train as a priest. She has thirteen female siblings, all of whom live in Kul'Tiras still, she is the second eldest. When she was sixteen she told her mother she wanted to go for a soldier and despite her protests, and a visit to a local Priest, she insisted on joining the army. Out of desperation her mother pleaded with the Garrison Commander, who relented to the old womans wishes, and told Tavian she would not be accepted. Undaunted, and enraged with her mother, she sailed for Lordaeron. Once in the great city she enlisted in the 33rd Regiment of Foot and was assigned Brittlepond immediately following the completion of her training.