Warcraft OCs

Basic Information

• A collection of Warcraft-based Ocs.
  More will be added here and there.
  
  

  Horde

  
  
  

  Orcs

  
  

  Zalgash

  
  Age: 47
  Sex: Male
  Clan: Warsong
  Class: Arms Warrior
  Appearance: Zalgash is clearly an old orc, evidenced by his iron grey hair and weathered appearance. He stands nearly seven feet high, with his shoulders slumped slightly as if bearing the weight of his years. His armor is standard orcish fare, with a steel-studded leather harness in place of a breastplate, and old Warsong iconography in his belt and gloves. His weapon of choice is a large bearded axe, with very little ornamentation on it except for some grooves along the edge that, while once upon a time would make the signature Warsong shriek, have been so ground down and chipped that they now no longer make any sound.
  
  His grey eyes are sharp and focused, and his movements are efficient and smooth, like someone who was constantly fighting for his life for decades. Which isn't far from the truth, as the effects of fel corruption are evident at his somewhat mottled green skin and old scars that crisscross his arms and torso.
  
  Bio: A relic of the past, Zalgash can still somewhat remember what Draenor was like before it was sundered. He grew up in Nagrand, far enough away from the Dark Portal for Gul'dan's fel magic to not have started sapping its life from the ground, but not away from his corruption. He remembers sparring with other kids his age, and can remember the first time he was told to kill one of them very clearly. Then, there is a huge gap filled with rage and the smell of blood and fire all the way up to him coming to his senses in an orc internment camp. He joined Thrall's horde when his camp was liberated, and gave his all to helping build a home for what was left of the orcs. He stayed in Orgrimmar for a long while as a guard, and refused several promotions so he could stay where he felt he was doing the most good. Until, that is, Garrosh came to Orgrimmar. Shortly after he became Warchief, Zalgash put in a transfer to Grom'gol Base Camp in Stranglethorn, just so he could be away from the madness that was quickly taking hold in his home. He has stayed there since then, fending off the stray troll or ogre assault.
  
  Etc: Sexuality is fixed at homosexual. Willing to do plots including capturing/being captured by opposing faction, rescues, and surprise redeployments.
  

  
  

  
  
  

  Trolls

  
  

  Zulukashai

  
  Age: 34
  Sex: Male
  Tribe: Zandalari
  Class: Arcane Mage
  Appearance: Zulukashai, or Zulu for short, is the shell of what was once clearly a very striking Zandalari. He hovers just above nine feet in height, even though he does not stand as straight as he used to. He spends most of his time hunched over in a large, comfortable chair these days, and his once impressive frame has begun to deteriorate from lack of activity.
  
  The cause of his shift to a sedentary lifestyle is immediately apparent just by looking at him. A triangle of heavy purple cloth covers the left half of his face, held in place by a band of the same material, emblazoned with the Eye of the Kirin Tor. From under the cloth, deep rends in his light blue flesh cut up into the line of his snow-white hair, and down his jaw and neck. The wounds are clean, but they glow with arcane fire. Also apparent is the loss of his tusk and ear on the same side, and undoubtedly the eye as well. His remaining eye glows with the same arcane energy as his wounds.
  
  His left arm is supported either in a sling across his chest, or he rests it within whatever loose, comfortable robe he is wearing. The same open, glowing cuts race down that arm like a single bolt of lightning, as well as across his torso from left shoulder to right hip, where they continue to run down that leg. His wounded arm and leg are almost always wrapped in clean bandages, as well as his chest.
  
  What remains of his face has a perpetually bitter expression, from the combined near-constant pain he lives in, the shattering of his ego, and the loss of his independence.
  
  Bio: Formerly a mage of some prominence in Zandalari society, Zulu ruined all of it by getting a little bit too sure of himself. He had always been something of a prodigy with magic, and all that did was serve to foster a very large ego. So when a small cadre of Kirin Tor mages came to Zandalar, he was not willing to be outdone. He was easily baited by their indifference, and in an attempt to prove himself their equal, he lost control of a spell he was trying to weave.
  
  The arcane energy he was holding detonated, taking half his face with it. The magic coursed down his body like lightning, ripping his skin from his body in huge swaths. He miraculously did not die from the initial explosion, and the mages that were there quickly took him into their care and transported him to Dalaran.
  
  The first several weeks after his arrival were dicey, and he nearly succumbed to his wounds multiple times before he was stabilized. Through delicate experimental spellcasting and complex sigil weaving, a majority of the residual arcane magic was stripped from his wounds, which allowed them to heal. The wounds that remain are the ones most deeply affected by the magic and are the most concentrated, and are proving the most stubborn to purge, and the mages have largely stopped efforts to draw the magic out in fear that it might cause more damage. As long as the magic remains embedded in his wounds, his natural regeneration is stymied and unable to heal him.
  
  As a result, he lives in pain every day. Some days are worse than others, and on his good days he tries to push himself to move in order to not lose all ability to, just in case he is able to one day make a full recovery.
  
  Etc: Sexuality is flexible. Very much stuck in one location due to his wounds. Willing to do plots that include a priest or nurse charged with his care.
  

  
  
  

  Vilzek

  
  Age: 29
  Sex: Male
  Tribe: Darkspear
  Class: Survival Hunter
  Appearance: Vilzek is a bit on the small side for a troll, standing just under seven and a half feet when fully upright. Most of the time, he is in a lazy hunch, which shaves a solid foot and change off of his height. He is thin and wiry in build, looking almost too thin. He wears armor that seems to be made of thick teal carapaces laced together, with shoulders that have a large spike belted on the top of each. Instead of a helmet, he wears a complex set of goggles that he usually wears on his forehead rather than over his green eyes when not working or in combat. A square leather bag is attached to the back of his belt, which functions as an easily-accessible toolbox and storage container for small devices and explosives. Several larger grenades hang at the sides of his belt.
  
  His tusks tusks are rather large for his frame, making him look a little bit top heavy. His violet hair is trained back out of his eyes and into several braids running over his shoulders. The only thing really that is striking about his appearance is that his left arm is missing from the middle of his upper arm. In its place is a prosthetic made of various kinds of metal, strapped to his arm with a harness that his armor sits on top of. The mechanisms are all fine gears and wire, which he services frequently. The delicate pieces are protected by shells that fit together and are held in place with sturdy leather belts. He wields a polearm with a simple design, its use evident in its chipped edge and fraying wrapping.
  
  His constant companion is a blood-red wind serpent named Asharak, who either drapes himself across the troll's shoulders or floats around him. Either effect is marred somewhat by the fact that the snake is considerably longer than his master is tall, at over ten feet in length, with a very impressive wingspan.
  
  Bio: Vilzek has always been curious, and would frequently get into trouble as a child for poking his nose where it didn't belong, or accidentally breaking things he was trying to get a closer look on. This curiosity naturally drew him towards engineering. As soon as he discovered that making things with gears and springs was a thing that could be done, he immersed himself to the despair of his elders. Where his escapades usually wound up with just some red faces and a broken urn, they now left craters in their wake. As a last ditch effort, his parents apprenticed him to an old hunter. Unfortunately, the old troll encouraged Vilzek's shenanigans, as well as teaching him the finer points of tracking and trap making. So, what were just basic fireworks turned into complex traps of varying degrees of lethality. Still, Vilzek did mellow out a little bit and learn some patience from his time learning from the hunter, and eventually joined the Horde military force when he became old enough to do so.
  
  He traveled across Azeroth, helping set up and defend camps and towns here and there, but he didn't really come into his own until he stumbled across what would become his permanent companion while trudging through the Swamp of Sorrows. He pulled a blood red wind serpent hatchling from a nest ravaged by spiders, and despite the protests of his fellow soldiers, he nurtured the snake and formed a fast bond with it. The bond has remained unbroken through the years, and Asharak has been Vilzek's most stalwart ally.
  
  Vilzek participated in many major campaigns all the way up through the assault on Icecrown Citadel. He continued into the fight against the Twilight's Hammer, but his time on that front was cut short by a cultist getting the drop on him. His assailant was able to sever his arm with a flaming sword before Asharak came to his defense, but the damage had already been done. The troll retreated to the recently retaken Echo Isles, and struggled with the loss of his arm. He eventually became obsessed with replacing it, and spent the next year and a half in intense study and prototype crafting. He eventually crafted a working arm, and continues to refine it.
  
  He has just recently broken back into his former adventure-filled life, but in a much less exciting capacity. He usually sticks rather close to home, and tries to avoid major fights so as to not stress his arm too much.
  
  Etc: Sexuality is flexible. Based on my own hunter, original main up through Cataclysm. Willing to do plots involving adventure with unlikely allies, cross-faction interactions, or even crossover plots as engineering can go horribly wrong.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  Alliance

  
  In progress! Check back later. :U
  

  
  
  

  Other

  
  

  Illidari

  
  

  Celverin

  
  Name: Celverin Felseeker
  Age: 13,472
  Sex: Male
  Race: Night Elf
  Class: Havoc Demon Hunter
  Appearance: Celverin stands easily almost eight feet tall, not including the height of the horns that arch upward from his brow. He looks much like a demon hunter is expected to look, hoary and rough, with skin that has begun to develop scales, with glowing scars that look like tattoos arcing across his torso and arms. He has large wings sprouting out of his back, which he usually keeps tucked tightly closed, and walks barefoot on the balls of his feet from place to place. The armor on his legs and hands is ragged leather, patched in many places but still surprisingly sturdy. His hair and short beard, which may have once had one of the darker night elf hues of purple or blue once upon an eon ago, has dulled to a faded black, and is worn loose and long, although looking rather broken and damaged. He has plain warglaives he carries, and has no ornamentation on any of his clothing. He wears a usually sorrowful expression under the cloth he wraps around his missing eyes, to keep any he might meet from being unnerved at the fel magic that seethes in the sockets.
  
  History: Celverin was once a happy young elf, living and idyllic life with his family and friends many millennia ago. Unfortunately, all of that was taken from him after the invasion of Azeroth by the Burning Legion. Before they were pushed back in the War of the Ancients, he was one of the few elves who had fallen prey to Illidan's offering of power. Like most of his other brothers and sisters, his reasoning for taking the Betrayer up on his offer was selfless: he wished not to avenge his family, since they would not want more death in their names, but to help keep anyone else from experiencing the same loss that he had. He went with Illidan willingly, sacrificing his eyes in a ritual to be able to be freed from blinding lies, and earned the power demon blood gave to him. However, he realized that not everything had been told to him. The demon blood coursing through him fed on rage and dark emotions, and he saw his fellows fall victim to its corrupting and inflaming influence, turning sometimes into demons themselves, or leaving a smoldering pile of ash after succumbing to a conflagration of felfire from their very blood. He looked inward even as they trained and fought, as they fought and suffered, were exiled, reviled, and imprisoned. He realized that what he had done in the throes of grief was not what he should have done, and sought only to try to atone for his actions. Unfortunately, even driving back the forces of the Legion once and for all was not quite enough for people to trust him and his kind, so he took instead to being a hermit in Ashenvale, attempting to find some semblance of peace with himself.
  
  Etc: Bisexual. Interested in any storylines involving elves that knew him before the War (either friends who had turned their backs on him or family he thought he had lost), something with Horde members, or other plotlines involving Alliance.
  

  
  

  
  

  Scourge

  
  In progress! Check back later. :U