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Core StatisticsEdit

Name: Astarin Dorchaoighear.
Quote: "To be honest what ailed me yesterday was a past not easily forgotten...I was nun once of all things would you believe? Though I doubt you are interested in that dark tale."
Race: Human.
Class: Warlock
Professions: Tailoring and Herbalism
Age: 24
Eye Colour: Green.
Hair: Silver/white.
Skin-Tone: Pale.
Height: 5'3".
Weight: 116 lbs.
Alignment: Neutral Good.

Physical AppearanceEdit

Astarin wears her waist length hair tied back in a neat french twist and there is rarely a hair out of place. Her eyes are emerald green and she preffers to wear clothing that matches her eye colour. Though she has a very slight build she is by no means a stranger to hard work and is actually quite strong.

PersonalityEdit

Astarin is usually of a very cheerful disposition, though she can be shy around strangers though she herself tends to be very approacable and is always eager to converse. She has found working at the Lazy Inn has helped her to a large part overcome her shyness when approaching new people and always tries to be helpful.

When it comes to the ongoing conflicts with the Horde Astarin does not understand why the old hatreds are still being stoked by the military on both sides. The young Warlock has more friends in the ranks of the Horde than she does in the Alliance. In fact she has never lifted a blade in anger against a member of the Horde. When the calls to war are issued she spends her time at home trying to assist where she can in making sure those that do go have a home to return to.

Astarin is also despite the horrors of her past unbelievably trusting, always believing the best of others. She would never even stop to consider the fact that someone might actually want to hurt her or another.

BackgroundEdit


Child and Young AdulthoodEdit


Astarin had once been one of the most promising acolytes at a convent not to far from Stormwind. She was an orphan abandoned into the keeping of the nuns and Father Dryason when she was three years old. Back then her hair was the colour of deepest night her crowning glory. She knew nothing of the world outside the convent only that surely it was a terrible place for there was a never ending stream of wounded warriors seeking shelter with them.

Like the rest of the inhabitants there she did her fair share of tending to the wounded; though she was usually only allowed to treat the worst of them, those poor souls who were unlikely to be granted the gift of life again, or those who were unconscious. As soon as her patients woke up they went to the care of another. Some times she though the elders feared they would somehow corrupt their innocent little ward with their worldly ways.

At the time she though little of the behaviour, she gave comfort where she could and attended to her studies. She became very close to one of the other orphans at the convent, by the name of Rhiannon; they shared a cell for the first ten years of their lives together, until it was deemed Astarin was ready to take her vows and was given a room of her own.

The two were fast friends getting into all sorts of mischief together. Admittedly Astarin was behind most of the mischief and Rhiannon tagged along to make sure her friend did not get into too much trouble. She lead an idyllic life, while there was plenty of hard work to do, she never wanted for anything. And while she had no family of her own she had a sister in Rhiannon, and the Nuns and Father Drayson were firm but fair to her. Unfortunately the good life was not destined to last forever.

It had all started to unravel the day Astarin and Rhiannon were sent down to clean the cellars in preparation of laying in that seasons harvest. It was there that they found the box with Astarin’s name engraved on the lid; it was in that box that was found the letter from her father, the tomes and the pendant that hung round her neck.

The letter had told the story of her birth and how she came to be there. Her Mother had been a tailor in Stormwind in the mages quarter, her Father a Warlock. Her Mothers family had forbidden her to see him, but he was a powerful man and was used to getting what he wanted so he had one of his dark minions kidnap her. Her Mother whose name she now bears had however loved her father and forgave him his high handed manner, they were wed that spring and she was born the following winter. The letter ended with a promise to come for her. A promise he did not or possibly could not keep.

The girls had taken the book up to Astarin’s room and she spent every moment studying them. Some were fell tomes, others her Fathers diaries. Soon she became obsessed with learning everything that was in the books her Father had left for her. She started being late for vespers, or even missing them all together. She shut everyone out even Rhiannon.

Her Father seemed to be a wise man and she had no knowledge of the outside world outside that which had been carefully fed to her by the church, so she had nothing to balance his views with. She did not know how dangerous his teachings were. He had believed that to beat the darkness encroaching on their lands one had to understand it, learn to think like it and beat it at its own games. This made perfect sense to the young girl she had been. So she studied harder than ever before.

Though she studied the tomes in great detail never once did she attempt any of the summonings or incantations there as they went against everything that she had been taught to believe in; a fact that did not protect her in the end. Eventually the powers that be got sick and tired of her tardiness and come looking for her one day when she had missed morning prayers again. They found her asleep at the desk in her room a dark tome open on the desk.

The next several days were a blur, the accusations, the beatings, the betrayals. Eventually Astarin had found her self in Father Drayson’s office again, she was tired hungry and bruised her floor length black hair a matt of tangles and dried blood, her green eyes bloodshot from tears. Again she tried to plead her case, what was wrong with knowing the enemy she had never tried any of the things written of, she had never hurt anyone, but no one would listen and eventually the good father grew so angry with her that Astarin for the first time truly feared for her life.

What happened next was etched in her mind in painful clarity.

“Please father your hurting me…” her hands and armed raised to cover her face from the blows.

“I’ll do more than that witch! We took you in despite the darkness that ran in your veins from that thing who sired you!” he advanced on her this time with a knife, grabbing a fist full of her hair he sheared it roughly off with the razor sharp blade. All the time telling her how evil her Father had been and how she was no better than him. Eventually he had cast her aside again.

Looking at her huddled on the floor with pure distain it was then that he gifted her with her last name.

“I see now that like your father your heat is a lump of the blackest ice, hidden from easy sight ready to trap the unweary and bring them to their deaths. So I name you Dorchaoighear, dark ice. Wear it with pride for what little time you have left.” He spat at her.

Astarin had sat there shaking her hair on the floor surrounding her as the Priest continued his tirade punctuating his points now by throwing her books into the fire. Those books however were born in fire and blood and no simple hearth fire would burn them. As they sat untouched in the flames seemingly mocking him Drayson’s anger flamed higher than any bon fire. He hurled the pendant from the chest at Astarin.

“Look well at that charm witch child it will be the last thing that you see.”

Drayson lunged at her murder written in his heart as Rhiannon burst into the room wanting to save her friend, the young acolyte landed in Astarins arms Draysons knife embedded deep in her back even as the Imp that her father had tasked to watch over her phased into sight no longer able to ignore the threat to her life and launched a fireball at the attacker.

Fate was not smiling that day however, and Drayson fell to his kneed just as the orb of flame passed over his head and that too hit Rhiannon. Astarin was thrown back across the room with the force of the impact and resulting explosion. Rhiannon’s scream still haunts her. When she closes her eyes she still sees her friends face as the flames consumed her.

It was at that moment that Astarin’s blood covered the pendant she had culched in her fist so tightly it had lacerated her hand. There was a flash of light and a scream of pure terror and agony, from whose lips it was torn Astarin is not sure.

When she came too again she had been alone in the office, no sign of Father Drayson, Rhiannon or the Imp. She was healed of her wounds and her roughly shore hair was now coloured the silver of the stars. None challenged her when she left. For several years she walked a dark path indeed revelling in the power flamed by her pain.

But her heart grew heavy for while people came to look upon her with fear, few respected her and none cared for her. She began to use her powers less and less. Now while she does not fear the dark arts, she does not enjoy them either and has sworn to use them only for defence and never for personal gain. The memory of the blood she has shed pains and shames her.

The Recent PastEdit


Astarin has since learnt the truth of her birth and the reasons she came to be at the convent as well as the depths of her Fathers corruption. They were hard earned lessons which she paid for in blood. With the help of an Orcish Hunter known as Dmitri she was able to escape from her Fathers clutches as well as be rid of his influence over her.

More details to come when I can find the log files...

The FutureEdit


Astarin is trying to learn more about the Orc known as Dmitri who runs the Lazy Inn and hoping to gain an understanding of her feelings for him. Not to mention a way to explain them to him. She continues in her training as a Warlock but also spends time training with a sword lest her powers fail her again she will not be left helpless.

Other InformationEdit

To come!

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