Player Name: (Forum Name, what you go by.) Live4treasure
Character Name: Tykal (For now, I want to get a rename.) His actual name is pronounced as Tim'eon. So it's like Tim and Eon in one word.
Race: Human
Class: Errrh... Wizard. There really is no proper class coresponding to this one in the class/race guide. (http://www.wowwiki.com/Wizard)
Age: 630
Occupation: (What is he/she doing for a living?) Timeon visits ruins and while he has no particular love for gold and treasures, he takes it if he finds it. Not that he has alot, one can only carry so much in a pocket.
What he does for a living is totally different. He tends to sell off his more unremarkable magical objects that he encounters in his travels and has already finished studying. Sometimes he can manage quite a high price for them, sometimes not.
Alignment: (If any.) He can be anywhere from Chaotic Neutral, to Lawful Neutral. As for the affiliations, he does not associate himself with any faction at all. All those petty squabbles are so... petty.
Character's Appearance: Timeon would be an elderly man, his forhead inscribed with a number of wrinkles as is the rest of his face. He is generally extremely fragile looking, and his looks speak the truth, and weak physicly. He looked no younger than 80.
Timeon beard would spill all the way down to his waist, making for a more than just fine intellectual stimulant. Fondling it helps him think, you see. It is perhaps more symbolic than practical.
Timeon was never one for the flashy and fashionable. At least in the matter of clothes. He prefers to wear a simple brown garment, although his queer brown hat (That will have to be imagined. There is no such equip in WoW) contradicts and shatters that whole image. What is now considered eccentricity and flambouyancy was just a normal form of clothes several hundred years ago. This explains his... perhaps... treasuring attitude towards his beloved wizard hat. You may even chance upon a most ridiculous book that explains a theory that the form of such hats helps the manipulation of the arcane. Any mage worth his salt will instantly recognize such nonsense for what it is, however. Old superstitions.
Character's History:
OOC: I've been bugging myself to write a half-way decent character history for once. So I decided to go ahead and give it a real honest shot. Judge me harshly.
I am Timeon Larrath. Now that might have looked like quite a fancy start. Perhaps I should go for something simpler? Something like... No, I am several centuries too old to be simple! I'll start with this. Now then.
I am Timeon Larrath. Before we go any further into my story, which is quite unremarkable unless you absolutely adore dusty old tomes with more fabulous ways to blow things up, I'd like to discuss my name. I've come from a simple family, you see. So why do I have such a fancy last name? Could it be that I come from a long line of crazily overpowered nobles that wouldn't matter to you now that they're all gone? Or perhaps it's one of those situations when an elf, whatever deity you pray to must know that elves fancy the fancy, see what I did there? No? Well you'll get it if you live a few more centuries. Back to theme. Perhaps it's just one of those flambouyant-sounding elvish last names that occur among the humans when an elven wench decides to sexually interact with a human male and gets carried away and after a few more generations of humans you get something like me?
Well you're wrong! Ha! Neither! My real name sounds to utterly ridiculous that I wanted to erase it from history with this flashy, entirely misleading and quite wizardly, if I do say so myself, last name. Larrath. Has a ring to it, does it not?
Where were we? I don't think we were on the weaving of pseudo Leylar nets... were we? Oh, no we weren't. We were discussing me.
Shall I begin with my boring birth, or the time where I struggled to fart out even the smallest of spells? Or perhaps we should start with now? A time where I feel like a fish in water with magic. By the way, did you know that fish never quite truly understand how vast the ocean is? How clever I am for making such an analogy! Oh-ho-ho!
Well, let's start with the most boring possible thing so you, I hope, get so bored that you skim very very quickly through the rest of my story so that you don't notice my horrible unintentional spelling mistakes and dull, unvivid adjectives.
So about 630 years ago, my memory doesn't actually stretch that far but I'm pretending it does to make myself seem more amazing, I opened my eyes to see an unattractive crude wooden house! The old woman with immensly massive bump on her nose would be holding me, and I, for no other reason, I assure you, am crying at the horrendous sight of her. Not because I was in pain or distress or anything. Of course not. Crying is not within my manly nature, although it has dwindled and aged a bit as of late. This woman would cruelly cut the fleshy line connecting me with my mother, which wasn't that beautiful now that I remember. Perhaps this is why my father was such an arsehole. Well, unremarkable parents. Unremarkable house. Unremarkable field that I was forced to work on every day. Unremarkable assumption that my father's stupid, I can not even call them dreams, thoughts are automaticly applied to his son as well. Honestly, he thought farming was the easy life and wished to teach this to me as well. Who needs the easy life? It's the excitement! The wonder! This is what should drive a man! It drove and is driving me still, you see. What drives me, you ask? You've clearly not been to my tower yet. Magic, you fool! Magic! Although strictly speaking magic does not exist in the sense that the ignorant peasants and farmers attach to it, it is what I craved for! And still do. Indeed.
Working the fields was an uneventful process, keeping me well away from laughing, playing ridiculously immature games such as Come-Into-My-Castle with the other children and doing all that childish nonsense. Father was indeed an arsehole for forcing me away from a regular childhood, but it is thanks to him that I have found my amusement in my own imagination. I would imagine myself as many things. A knight in shining armor fighting evil for the good of his people! A stealthy hooded thief sneaking into the richest and most well guarded of estates to feast upon the belongings of others! Why, I have even imagined myself as a bringer of evil and disrupter of the peace, wreaking havoc and destruction with my demonic blade! As I aged, the fictures of my imagination began to lean towards the image of an old wizard with a funny hat and a long beard, knowing all there is to know about reality bending and living within that knowledge, ever expanding. Lucky I am, wouldn't you say? Except for one detail. The more you know, the more there is to know. I don't have enough time to learn it all, I must hurry and hog as much as I can! Save nec(k)romancy. Disgusting art. Why would someone raise the dead anyway? They are not particularly pleasing aestheticly.
So I have dreamed! And hoped! Dreams of forcing fire to my will! Of raining stars upon the heads of those who oppose me! Of forcing the heavens to strike whatever I wish it to! Many wonderful dreams and some of them have even come true. But at the time, I didn't know they would. One day I decided to tell my family. My mother seemed pleased with my imagination, thinking I would become a writer one day. My father on the other hand... He was furious. He did everything he could to crush the dreams in my head. From physical abuse, to mental. Every day he would tell me how worthless and talentless I was. How trash like me belonged at a farm and nowhere better. Why would he do this? Why would he care? I decided that he was simply jealous. One of those fathers that wished not for their sons to rise higher than them. To reach for their dreams. Life has not been kind to my father, you see. Perhaps he felt it unfair that it should be any sweeter for me. Well, my dear father that has long rotter in his grave. I have a sincere and honest message for you to thank you for all your troubles in raising me and bringing me up:
Fuck you, you useless pig that couldn't even inherit a farm properly. Fuck you.
I have lived, buried my father, his liver couldn't hold his alcohol consumption you see, and my mother. I have married. Produced a son. Worked a farm. Made profit. Saved up money. Been bored. Despaired. And I've gotten tired. Away with this little son of mine. He's nothing but an ungifted nuisance. Away with this bride of mine. What exactly did I find in her anyway? Leaving I am. To Dalaran I am going! And I'm using all my life savings to afford an education as well! Goodbye boring old wooden house, the field that I hated so much and my annoying neibghours. Good. Bye.
Dalaran was a grand city. In all ways. Many buildings looked like they should fall at any given moment, and they didn't. Huge crystals were flowing atop towers, although I suspect those were more for decoration than practical use. And most of all, magic was everywhere! Everywhere! It was something taken straight out of my head and planted into reality. I was very happy to be there, the journey was hellishly long as well. I found myself in a dilemma. I wanted to begin my studies, but I did not know exactly how this process was complete. I began to ask around and, apparently, there was an academy. But I could also gain an apprenticeship to a specific mage, if he accepted me. How was I to do that? Me, a farm lad with rugged clothing and some straw still left in his hair. Of course I couldn't. I went for the academy, spending all the money I had on it. Luckily, the academy was generous enough to provide me a dorm to live in under the condition that I would clean it myself, and purchase my own food. Not a bad bargain, I would say. They seemed to have a special programm for people out of the country such as me, I had a year of classes at the end of which they would give me an exam. If I passed the exam perfectly, I would get another year of free living with the same conditions. If I didn't, I would have to find my own funds. It was perfect for me! I was so sure I would pass it! I studied diligently, taking in all the basics and making vigorous use of the academy library. It had nothing special, but it was just enough to get a no-one like me started.
Now the classes were a funny thing. The first day, first thing in the morning the whole class was asked a simple question: "Why do you wish to learn magic?"
The answers differed. Some said that they were forced into it, others that it was a burning desire. But it was all standard and usual. The teachers didn't seem surprised. When I, the bloody fool that I was, came fort, I said: "Reality needs a master." - to which the whole class and the teachers began to laugh hystericly. I felt humiliated, treated like a child. Me a 30 year old man. Bah! The imbecils, although I was at fault for saying something utterly immature. Well, it had a positive effect on the teachers, mostly. Some believed me an idiot, some not.
A year of intensive study has passed. Very intensive. The time of my exam came. I was so sure of myself. So very very sure. And with that confidence I plunged into it, ripping my way through all the problems. Dissolving them with quill, ink and mind! My result was 100 out of a 100... for the theoretical part. And 23 out of 100 for the practical. Bummer. I failed. They didn't kick me out though, they just added a fee to my staying in the academy. At least I managed to stay. I was forced to find a job. Part time, but a job. My work consisted of sorting out gems and their types for a local jeweler. He was a good man, actually. Kind and quite knowledgable in the arcane. I tried to gain a private apprenticeship from him at one point, but that did not work. At all. He told me I wasn't good enough. Well. Matter of opinion, but fair enough.
I sustained myself and kept pushing forward with my studies. Impressing the teachers. Disappointing the teachers. A bit of everything. I found that the theory of magic came to me much easier than it did to others, but the practical part... well, an undisciplined mind of a farmer. It took me five years to finally reach an acceptable level. Five years to make a basic fireball. Five long years. But when I did. I suddenly understood. It was so simple. You just had to reach out... and take it. There was nothing to it. It was like a child not understanding how to hold a spoon properly. But once he did, it would make so much sense. Magic would, step by step, surrender it's concepts and principles to me. I was perhaps a bit late in my fruition and the time on which I had missed out was evident until I was about 50. At that point, many of the mages sat back and enjoyed that which their station has granted them in exchange for being a military force of Dalaran should it need it. All of Dalaran was one big military force, really. I kept going though. And increased my pace jealously. At 60, I realised that I had become a good arcanist. A good one. I could use all the more complicated spells given time. I knew 90% of the theory available. Of course, you needed to advance a rank to be allowed to more secrets. But they wouldn't. The Kirin Tor didn't like farmers in the higher ranks. No sir. Fuck the Kirin Tor. I left it. I left it behind! I prolonged my life as well, much like Aegwynn did 2 centuries earlier.
And so I left. Set out to show the world who owns it! It wasn't me, as I quickly discovered. There were many adventures in the 200 years of my wandering. Very many. Perhaps I'll tell you about them sometime, but not now. Now, I'll focus on another event in my life. The finding of my tower. Oh yes. Believe it or not, but in the mountain range of Westfall I discovered an abandoned tower. Very convenient. Perhaps fate has finally begun to smile at me.
I revitalized the tower. Turned it into my own little delving. Furniture. Everything. Glorious it was. Still is, even. I've gathered many interesting things over the years. Very many. Like the scroll with titanic runes upon it. I am still trying to figure it out, but so far it seems like something fairly interesting. Perhaps a key to something greater, perhaps not. The Titans don't tend to leave important things behind. Well, I've converted these semi-gibberish runes into standard arcane formulae. It seemed to be something for a double layered zero flux equation, and it's working out so far. I have yet to decode all the possible meaning and letters or words in the scroll, but I will do it eventually.
Today, you will find me in the same tower. 400 years I've lived there, occasionally going out on trips. 400 years of arcane study. 600, really. But these last 400 were the most intense. And I still haven't found an apprentice. Well, perhaps it's a good thing to not have a pesky brat hanging on me as I study forth. Perhaps...
Character's Personality:
Eccentric! There are many types of eccentric. And he is one of them. A man that jumps and, perhaps, orgasms at every little new discovery in his chosen art! Of course, you have to maintain the right angle of your hat and length of beard as well. Can't have ourselves losing wizardly swag.
He will seem as if he's crazy and makes no sense at all, but at the end of the day you will suddenly realise the whole picture.
What is your knowledge on the race or class you are applying for?: Humans? There's not much to know about them. I know most of the heroes and persons of importance in the lore. I know how humanity formed, it's more of a rumour isn't it? The one about the Vrykul?
The class? I don't have a very definite class. But my theories about blizzard's half assed attempts at creating magic in a fantasy universe speak for themselves. You just can't know too much about WoWmagic. There isn't much to know. So we'll have to make it.
P.S.: (Mana isn't even mentioned in the lore, sir! Not one bit. Wiki only mentions it as an in-game resource, not an IC one. This is for a certain someone that I've had a very long talk with before.)
Weaknesses:
Fragile! Timeon is extremely fragile! One can simply break his arm without much effort at all!
Magic-dependant! If suddenly some sort of spell-breaker or someone that can nullify magic, even temporarily, would go up against him toe to toe, Tykal would lose instantly. No. I'm sure just a small mistake in applying too much force would mean instant death.
Carefree! Timeon thinks of himself as nearly omnipotent within the constraints of his planet and thus often forgets to renew defensive spells that he keeps on himself usually. Any rogue with a fork can sneak up on him and stab him to death if he picks his moments.
Weak! Timeon is weak! He can not even move as fast as normal people when walking, much less run! Not to mention the bloody back pains!
Eccentricity! Timeon is incredibly focused on his art. So focused, in fact, that he often forgets many of the things life might have in store for people.
Strengths:
Magical Badassery! 600 years of a human studying arcane. Not an elf, a human. Should speak for itself.
Wards! This is a pretty common thing, but Timeon is well aware of his weakness. He keeps arcane wards on himself to protect him from accidents, even if he does forget to refresh them sometimes.
Wizard Hat! You can't argue with it!
Wizard! You don't question a wizard, my friends. You just don't.
Do you agree to follow the rules of the server, and agree to not God-Mode, Meta-Game, etc:
Of course. I don't remember God-Moding before, nor will I ever use this character in an unbalanced way.
