*Have you read the Guild Laws?: I have
*Do you agree to abide by the Guild Laws?: I do
*Character Name : Stephan Iranov
*Character Class : Death Knight
Character Level : 90
Player Age (18+) : 20
Most Recent Guild: New to Server, so just this one!
*Requested Role : Diplomat
*Character Notes :
Character Backstory "
The Shadowcouncil stood all but defeated at the heft of Orgrim's Doomhammer; the orcish warlord had laid waste to all but the very last of us -- Gul'dan. The Warlock, both wily and wizened, offered Orgrim a deal: if the warlord preserved his life, he would grant him unstoppable soldiers born of the Alliance's dead knights. There would be time for regret later, Doomhammer decided, and the deal was struck.
And so Gul'dan set the Horde to its next task of gathering corpses, firstly the once-duty bound knights of the Grand Alliance and secondly... the warlocks Doomhammer had slain. Bringing them to the Altar of Storms, Gul'dan carved intricate designs with the blood of demons into the flesh of the fallen, sewing the souls of the Shadowcouncil into their new bodies, culminating in one of the most horrific rites ever performed on Azeroth, before or since - the unbirth of the first Death Knights.
This, friends, is where my story begins. In life I was Grelok Felstorm. The demon's blood that ran thick through my veins granted me untold power, from summoning demons to burning my foes to ash with the most hellish felfire imaginable. This change, however, was different. My body was not my own -- where tusks once protruded from my once strong jaw, now I felt only what could be described as glass bone. Despite the change in my musculature, my powers had grown immensely. I felt a surge of incredible strength, as if the grave had given me the might to move mountains. The felpower I once wielded with a feverish flame now felt like the cold burn of frostbite. I turned my attention to what was once my body and it animated dully to unlife.
Gul'dan had been, for the most part, truthful. We took Blackrock mountain, pushed the Dwarves back to Khaz Modan. We attacked Southshore, Tarren Mill, and Hillsbrad where we discovered and freed Zul'jin's troll armies. We sacked the Dwarves and Gnomes, locking them away in their Ironforge, separating them from their Alliance whence we took Dun Algaz, Dun Modr, and Grim Batol as our own -- from which we enslaved the Red Dragon Flight. We made half good on our agreement with the Trolls, much due to Lothar's incompetence. With much of Quel'Thalas's military maimed and burned, we made it as far as Eversong Woods before the Alliance could reinforce them.
We battled with the Alliance back and forth from Eversong to the Hinterlands, from Hillsbrad and Southshore to the Arathi Highlands and the great expanse of the Thandol Span to retake Dun Modr. We lost Tol Barad, which the Alliance used to launch against and then reclaim Dun Algaz. We were even expelled from Grim Batol, which caused us to lose our hold on Khaz Modan. The Alliance was not finished. It was then that we first discovered their answer to my most prestigious order - the Knights of the Silver Hand. These... Light revering wretches, led by Uther Lightbringer, set their sights on our forces in northern Lordaeron.
The Alliance was not without its traitors, though. The northern kingdom of Alterac agreed to allow us safe-conduct to Lordaeron in exchange for their continued existence. We sieged the capital city with martial arms of muscle and sinew, to the might of siege engines, and the felpacted Death Knights and our Warlock bretheren. The troops of the Brotherhood of Strom cut us off in Alterac, as they sought the head of their betrayer. Taking advantage of what they thought was a sure victory, the Alliance converged on us in Lordaeron with the full might of their army. They felt the weight of defeat... at first.
The Alliance wasn't the only one with its betrayers, you see. Gul'dan took the Stormreaver and Twilight's Hammer clans to seek out the tomb of Sargeras, cutting our forces near in half. We lost everything due to his duplicity: the Red Dragonflight was freed. Blackrock was sundered. And while Doomhammer slew Lothar, he was also captured by Turalyon.
I made a tactical retreat. The Horde might have risen or fallen a hundred times, but already I had felt the sting of death. Its poisons lingered in my soul like venom in my veins. Spirits screeched and cried, defying my existence. Simple cretins; the Firestorm never stops burning. I laid in wait as the Orcs were enslaved and gained freedom. As the demonic masters returned to Azeroth with an undead legion. As it betrayed them, showing a surprising might to the power that I now held. The Prince of Lordaeron led these shambling forces with a runeblade called Frostmourne. He seemed obsessed with raising other paladins to fall as he did. It was there I saw my chance -- Grelok Felstorm was dead, but here in this Scourge there was room for a new Marquis... Stephan Iranov.
*Do you agree to abide by the Guild Laws?: I do
*Character Name : Stephan Iranov
*Character Class : Death Knight
Character Level : 90
Player Age (18+) : 20
Most Recent Guild: New to Server, so just this one!
*Requested Role : Diplomat
*Character Notes :
Character Backstory "
The Shadowcouncil stood all but defeated at the heft of Orgrim's Doomhammer; the orcish warlord had laid waste to all but the very last of us -- Gul'dan. The Warlock, both wily and wizened, offered Orgrim a deal: if the warlord preserved his life, he would grant him unstoppable soldiers born of the Alliance's dead knights. There would be time for regret later, Doomhammer decided, and the deal was struck.
And so Gul'dan set the Horde to its next task of gathering corpses, firstly the once-duty bound knights of the Grand Alliance and secondly... the warlocks Doomhammer had slain. Bringing them to the Altar of Storms, Gul'dan carved intricate designs with the blood of demons into the flesh of the fallen, sewing the souls of the Shadowcouncil into their new bodies, culminating in one of the most horrific rites ever performed on Azeroth, before or since - the unbirth of the first Death Knights.
This, friends, is where my story begins. In life I was Grelok Felstorm. The demon's blood that ran thick through my veins granted me untold power, from summoning demons to burning my foes to ash with the most hellish felfire imaginable. This change, however, was different. My body was not my own -- where tusks once protruded from my once strong jaw, now I felt only what could be described as glass bone. Despite the change in my musculature, my powers had grown immensely. I felt a surge of incredible strength, as if the grave had given me the might to move mountains. The felpower I once wielded with a feverish flame now felt like the cold burn of frostbite. I turned my attention to what was once my body and it animated dully to unlife.
Gul'dan had been, for the most part, truthful. We took Blackrock mountain, pushed the Dwarves back to Khaz Modan. We attacked Southshore, Tarren Mill, and Hillsbrad where we discovered and freed Zul'jin's troll armies. We sacked the Dwarves and Gnomes, locking them away in their Ironforge, separating them from their Alliance whence we took Dun Algaz, Dun Modr, and Grim Batol as our own -- from which we enslaved the Red Dragon Flight. We made half good on our agreement with the Trolls, much due to Lothar's incompetence. With much of Quel'Thalas's military maimed and burned, we made it as far as Eversong Woods before the Alliance could reinforce them.
We battled with the Alliance back and forth from Eversong to the Hinterlands, from Hillsbrad and Southshore to the Arathi Highlands and the great expanse of the Thandol Span to retake Dun Modr. We lost Tol Barad, which the Alliance used to launch against and then reclaim Dun Algaz. We were even expelled from Grim Batol, which caused us to lose our hold on Khaz Modan. The Alliance was not finished. It was then that we first discovered their answer to my most prestigious order - the Knights of the Silver Hand. These... Light revering wretches, led by Uther Lightbringer, set their sights on our forces in northern Lordaeron.
The Alliance was not without its traitors, though. The northern kingdom of Alterac agreed to allow us safe-conduct to Lordaeron in exchange for their continued existence. We sieged the capital city with martial arms of muscle and sinew, to the might of siege engines, and the felpacted Death Knights and our Warlock bretheren. The troops of the Brotherhood of Strom cut us off in Alterac, as they sought the head of their betrayer. Taking advantage of what they thought was a sure victory, the Alliance converged on us in Lordaeron with the full might of their army. They felt the weight of defeat... at first.
The Alliance wasn't the only one with its betrayers, you see. Gul'dan took the Stormreaver and Twilight's Hammer clans to seek out the tomb of Sargeras, cutting our forces near in half. We lost everything due to his duplicity: the Red Dragonflight was freed. Blackrock was sundered. And while Doomhammer slew Lothar, he was also captured by Turalyon.
I made a tactical retreat. The Horde might have risen or fallen a hundred times, but already I had felt the sting of death. Its poisons lingered in my soul like venom in my veins. Spirits screeched and cried, defying my existence. Simple cretins; the Firestorm never stops burning. I laid in wait as the Orcs were enslaved and gained freedom. As the demonic masters returned to Azeroth with an undead legion. As it betrayed them, showing a surprising might to the power that I now held. The Prince of Lordaeron led these shambling forces with a runeblade called Frostmourne. He seemed obsessed with raising other paladins to fall as he did. It was there I saw my chance -- Grelok Felstorm was dead, but here in this Scourge there was room for a new Marquis... Stephan Iranov.
