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StatlineEdit

Name: Douzer Runetotem
Race: Tauren
Class: Druid
Professions: Herbalist, Alchemy
Age: 43
Birthplace: The Barrens
Current Residence: Itinerant
Specialization: Feral combat
Relations: Douzer mostly keeps among his fellows among the Harbringers, otherwise concerned chiefly with the threats to the Horde.
Family: Adult son (Greeld) and daughter (Zarana).
Affiliation: Harbingers of War
Appearance: Though Douzer seems at first glance to be much younger than he is, the weight of years becomes swiftly apparent when he is moving about in his birth-shape. His hide is a mottled black and white, horns sweeping wide to either side, head-hair swept into three braids and set off by a gold nose ring; there is usually a wry, resigned smile in his eyes, and a small smirk playing about the corner of his lips when his face is not masked by his armor. It is a rare sight to see the druid out of his armor-- his leathers are worn much like a comfortable second skin, unique only for bearing three insignia: the tabard of the Harbringers, and tokens of the Cenarion Circle and the Frostwolf Clan.

PersonaEdit

Douzer seems somewhat unconcerned with much of what passes on about him, a likely combination of the effects of his druidic schooling and his relatively-long life compared to many of the Horde's warriors. He possesses a quasi-fatherly interest in the trials and tribulations of his fellow Harbringers, though he is seldom deeply involved in their collective misadventures. For all Douzer's distance, though, he is generally regarded as possessing a keen, incisive wisdom, one that occasionally shows itself behind the general amused disinterest.

Prior BackgroundEdit

Douzer was an unremarkable Tauren for much of his early and middle life. He was a reasonably-skilled hunter as a youth, a capable if unremarkable fighter as a husband and father, and possessed just enough power to catch fleeting glimpses of the spirits-- though never enough to truly become a shaman. He was content with simply contributing his share for many years; his eldest son was nearly grown into his own, his daughter and second son were demonstrating themselves to be great potential contributors, and his life's partner had always given him strength to live beyond measure.

When things changed, though, they changed sharply. Returning to his tribe from a long journey to the Wildmane, Douzer was confronted with two bombshells-- the Bloodhoof had come across a vagrant people known as the Orcs, who had worked to save them from the centaur, and that his visiting wife and child had been among those slain by the centaur just before the rendezvous. Douzer only remembers bits and pieces from the next several months through his grief-- flickers of battles of the Third War, vague images of Mount Hyjal, and of a commendation for excellent (if otherwise unremarkable) service. His memory returns in completion only after the war, after he finally had the chance to mourn the passage of his wife.

Shortly after the war's completion, Douzer received notice that the night elves were accepting students from the Tauren to study amongst the Cenarion Circle. He was among the first volunteers for these teachings, and proved to be an adept pupil. Over time, his true calling came through-- the art of stalking and killing enemies, wearing the hide of a cat or a bear, personally rending them apart with his own two "hands."

Much like his teachers, Douzer's long-term interests are concerned mostly with removing long-term threats to the whole of Azeroth. While he occasionally finds himself drawn into the simmering conflict against the Alliance, and fought with the Frostwolves long enough to earn even their reverence, the memory of fighting alongside the humans and dwarves in the Third War is too near for him to consider their conflict anything besides a crucial matter of honor.

As such, Douzer continues to live a more or less quiet life-- his battles are low-key but constant, his reputation more or less unheard of outside his circles-- but he hardly minds it. Someone has to do the dirty work; it may as well be an old bull that continues to wash his hands in blood.

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