Are brought together at destiny's clutch.
The Land of Eternal Starlight fails,
And with it will fall all ancient tales..."
The Guild's ThemesEdit
A primal, feral culture. A culture hidden in shadows cast by towering violet trees, in lands of eternal twilight.
Like all races, the Kaldorei have lost a great deal of their ancient homeland. Some, in the distant past - elven ruins yet stand upon the ground of Feralas, the white stone stained and cracked like the broken teeth of fallen gods. Some, in more recent years - the venom beating through the lifeblood of Felwood; the distant sound of thunder as another Ashenvale tree falls to the axes of the hated orcs.
Immortality, even recently lost, has given the Kaldorei a perception never shared by the other races.
The losses the night elves have suffered... These scars never heal. These wounds still bleed. The fall of the most ancient aspects of the old empire are not lost to the dim reaches of history or mythology. They are memory to many. And as for the freshest injustices? They occur even now. As one world burns in the grip of the Legion, and another decays in the claws of the Scourge, the Kaldorei are still suffering blasphemies against the Balance even in their homelands.
A culture of fallen immortals, unique in their beliefs. The vicious intelligence of reason and civilisation, coupled with the feral instincts born of lives lived in the deepest wilds. Traditions dating back thousands of years, that still stand because they deserve to be honoured.
Their weapons are many: Shining crescent warblades forged with the artistry of heirlooms; the claws and fangs of their shapeshifter kin; the magic of the world itself, pulled from the very ground to heal and slay in the name of Balancing all that has failed.
Not human. Barely mortal. Feral, cunning and wild, yet tempered by culture and wisdom.
Races & ClassesEdit
Nicknames and vague titles have arisen for each of the races present under the group's aegis, but no prejudice exists based on race, culture or upbringing. As a guild primarily founded on principles of Kaldorei culture and interaction between the Alliance's outposts in Kalimdor, some characters will fit within the guild's ranks better than others. Obvious examples would be night elves, draenei and humans from Theramore - but the guild isn't insular and overly secretive. Ambassadors from Stormwind, Gnomeregan, Ironforge and the other Alliance settlements of the Eastern Kingdoms are welcomed, as long as they have an interest in Kalimdorian culture, or can be of use to the guild.
"We are the Children of the Stars. Do you know what means, orc? It means I am born of a goddess's light, and my claws draw blood each night under her silver gaze. It means this land is mine, granted by right of birth. You are alone with your axe, abandoned by the demons that once enslaved you. Run if you want to live, invader. Fight if you wish to die."
A "pureblood" is a term coined by Cenariath Bloodmoon, one of the guild's founders, to describe his own people: the night elves. Despite its potentially offensive tone, the rank is not one that grants any superiority over any other race within the guild. It merely represents the right of the Kaldorei to claim Kalimdor as their lands, and share the wealth of that realm with their allies in the Alliance.
"The draenei have come to us at the very moment Fate casts its coin, and we would be fools to turn them away when they offer so much. We will defend the Exodar with our lives, in honour of the land our races now share."
-- Cenariath Bloodmoon.
Draenei within the Dead of Winter are often deeply respected and always welcomed. Their arrival on Kalimdor has woven the destiny of the two races together, and the guild harbours great trust and affection for their new allies. The crash of the Exodar was an omen for the western continent, and one to be heeded at all costs. The coming of the starfallen represents an infusion of new life and power into the lands of Kalimdor, and the Dead of Winter are open in believing the kaldorei and draenei have every right to share much of the night elves' ancestral homeland.
"Our allies, across the roiling waters of the Maelstrom, far from our sides yet with us in spirit. I do not hate those races for their mortal mistakes. My own people have made more than enough of their own."
-- Cenariath Bloodmoon.
Humans, Dwarves and Gnomes will find a curious welcome within the Dead of Winter. While individual prejudices may exist, the guild as a whole is not founded on principles of Kaldorei superiority: its focus is merely on the preservation of Kaldorei culture and bringing Kalimdorian RP to the fore, but the eastern races are welcome within the group's ranks. Characters could easily find a place in the guild, as long as they have a connection to join the Dead of Winter.
In broad terms, such characters could be explorers; characters seeking night elven lore; ambassadors from their respective cities; specialists bringing their unique skills to the forests; travellers comfortable with living and fighting in the wilderness; or soldiers and mercenaries who've served with the Silverwing Sentinels for a while.
Each guild officer in the Dead of Winter's ruling council is given an informal title or nickname to represent their presence in the loose hierarchy. They do not significantly outrank other members, but those with individual titles earned them through being one of the original founders of the group's ideaology, or by consitently helping to further organise and help the guild grow in the right direction.
The current officers are Cenariath Bloodmoon, Taltana Nightsong, Nhaera Darkenbough, Fierse Starblade and the Starfallen warrior, Miarani. Their ranks are First Fallen, Arch Priestess, Bleakheart, First Talon and Exarch respectively. Cenariath is regarded as the more aggressive, impetuous soul in the leading council, and is below the two Kaldorei females in matters of rank. Nhaera and Taltana balance their righteous anger with a wisdom Cenariath seems to lack.
Territory & MembershipEdit
As neither a military unit nor a seperatist movement, the Dead of Winter claims no territory as its own. Rather, its members consider the draenei and night elven lands of Kalimdor under their protection, especially the salvaged wreckage of the Exodar and the Teldrassil capital city of Darnassus.
The Ashenvale settlement of Forest Song functions as the Dead of Winter's occasional meeting place and base of operations. Here, a small night elf and draenei community are raising a settlement in the deep wilds of the woodlands. While the scene is inspiring and worthy of defence, Cenariath Bloodmoon has noted on more than one occaison that it is within perfect striking distance of the Warsong Clan's lumber operations, and the unending battle for Warsong Gulch.
Forest Song also stands on the edge of a rarely-visited glade, with a portal leading into the Emerald Dream. Green Dragonflight manifestations from the Nightmare patrol the woods nearby, and the Dead of Winter are slowly coming to consider this ancient portal to be under their protection as well. As responsibilities go, it's hardly something to just trivially declare guardianship of, so the reluctant attitude of some members is hardly surprising.
Guild members travel far and wide, remaining in touch through telepathic communication. Each member carries a rune carved from the bark of Teldrassil, enchanted in cleansing scrying water and marked with the Dead of Winter's Darnassian symbol on both sides. Contact with one of these wooden gems allows the bearer to speak with any other who carries a similar rune.
Telepathic contact between guild members is done in whispers or over the /g channel, where characters share their thoughts and tell the others of their current hunts, thoughts and journeys. The link is not a flawless bond between rune-carriers, and 'background noise' or strong emotion can occasionally filter through the telepathy. Also of note is the fact that since the runes are carved from the bark of Teldrassil, they have been known to attract the attention of demons. This has, so far, not led to any fatalities - the usefulness still outweighs the risks.
The following section lists mini-profiles of the guild's characters, with links to their individual pages. It's currently under construction, being changed frequently by various members. All pictures were made by Taltana/Alyxandria.
"You are sustained by wrath, guided by fury, and such anger is only righteous when it redresses the Balance. Hatred taints you, Cenariath. Your rage is no longer pure."
"Even were I all that a druid should be, it wouldn't be enough. I think my parents had a twisted sense of humour when they chose to name me in honour of a god."
-- Cenariath Bloodmoon
Cenariath's ice-blue eyes look out upon a world he barely understands. He sees his people beset by enemies but discerns no clear path through the trials ahead. In conversation, he relies on his druidic lore - yet sees more flaws within the Cenarion Circle each night. In battle, he relies on his feral senses and instinctive fury - yet knows such innate talents won't sustain him forever. Doubts surround him. In response to them, he often ventures alongside marching Alliance armies to fight shared enemies, or retreats into the wilds to read scrolls of lore far from the wars that rage across his homelands.
Even in life, his hatred of his enemies was a poison that just wouldn't drain. His superiors in the Cenarion Circle warned him that his increasing struggle to master his druidic magic stemmed from his inability to control his emotions. Cenariath spends too many nights in the shadows of violet trees, watching the battlements of Orgrimmar in the distance, letting his rage infect his thoughts.
While he is erratic and quick to anger, he is not entirely foolish, nor does he believe battle is the answer to everything. He realises compromises must be made in order for Kalimdor to ever enjoy stability again, but on the other side of the coin, he remains to be convinced that the Horde are any less deserving of being purged from these lands than the Burning Legion.
With the feral edge also comes a gentler one. Despite his death and resurrection in the Plaguelands, he still considers himself a druid - albeit one who is cut off from the heartbeat of the world. His young daughter has been taken from him and placed under guarded care in the Temple of the Moon, but he has not abandoned all hope of reclaiming her and somehow reforging their family.
Bleached skulls hang from a belt of old leather, clacking together softly as Cenariath moves. Several are tusked; clearly the heads of trolls, while others bear the brutish angles of orcish bone structure. Every skull is scratched with Darnassian runes, marked with the story of how each head was taken.
Cenariath moves with an edge of agitation to his elven grace; he's more comfortable in his druidic raiment than his battle armour, and still feels the call of the wild despite being denied the art of shapeshifting. This all shows in his long stares, the grunts and growls that populate his speech, and the frequent baring of his fanged teeth.
On his right hand is a ring of white ash wood, carved in the shape of interlocking leaves: a wedding ring, given to him by his wife, slain by the Warsong orcs four years ago.
Main Page: Cenariath Bloodmoon.
Born under a harvest moon, Nhaera spent her formative years living communally somewhere in the hills close to the Moonglade and Winterspring border. This instilled her with a deep affection for anything vaguely resembling cold weather, and an awe and reverence for the druids that lived almost isolated amongst Moonglade's green pastures. She spent much of her life believing she would be sent to train as a priestess, like her mother and grandmother before her, but fate had other plans for Nhaera, and to her shock she began to exhibit druidic tendancies. She spent decade upon decade resisting the call of the wild, eventually leaving her now claustrophobic settlement for what she believed to be a life of traveling. She was successful for a time, until fate stepped in once more and she found herself penniless aboard a ship destined for what would become her new home, Teldrassil, and the foundling city of Darnassus. With little choice other than to give in to the cards dealt to her by fate, Nhaera found herself at the entrance to the Cenarion Enclave, lost, alone, and with no other road to travel down. It is a decision she has both celebrated and rued ever since.
Nhaera Darkenbough is as unremarkable in appearance as any Kaldorei can be. She towers over human females at well over six feet in height yet has a fluid, almost graceful step to her walk without a hint of the awkwardness such height can often give.
Her skin is a pale, shimmering silver, a contrast to the length of emerald that cascades down her back past her waist, away from her sharp-featured face. Through her hair she has tied many small beads, shells and feathers from the leather cord that holds the ponytail in place, all little reminders of significant people and places.
She is usually seen in plain, unremarkable leathers or cloth robes, kept in varying states of repair.
Main Page: Nhaera Darkenbough
Bio: Fierse Starblade is known to many as "The Enigma", for the strange habit he adopted. He became almost sentient, statue-like, to a certain spot upon the tree of Aldrassil. Here he remained, for most hours of the day, if not all. He sat there, at one with nature, as if watching, or waiting, though no one knew for what. He never went out of his way to collect food or water, but accepted the gifts greatfully when brought to him by the tree's inhabitants, without speaking.
He slept very rarely, but seemed constantly awake and alert. If he spoke, it was in singular words, and small gestures, the occasional sentence if you were lucky. It eventually became apparent to some of those close to him, that this was part of a private pledge made to the kaldorei female he was in love with, Idrill Moonfeather.
He has only recently been freed from the delusional impression that his brother, Myrion, is dead. After the battle of Mount Hyjal, after being shot down while in the form of a powerful hawk, his injured body was recovered, and returned to the barrow deeps.
Fierse fell into a deep slumber, his own druidic aura, slowly healing his wounds as he spent time in the Emerald Dream. Most marvel at how he awoke, unaffected by the Emerald Nightmare, but without the knowledge of others, the Nightmare affected him, mentally, if only in a small way. It led him to believe that all of the family and friends he had before the battle, had passed on, by various means. This he accepted as fact.
Fierse has wild hair, naturally a deep, forest-green colour. It rests comfortably on his shoulders, tangled like vines and leaves (that you can sometimes find within). He infrequently ties his hair back into a tight knot, if necessary, and keeps his small beard neatly trimmed.
His golden eyes are a mark of his druidic potential, and the small antlers he is beginning to develop, and example of his skill at his chosen path, as well as the millenia he has spent slumbering in the Emerald Dream, alongside its inhabitants. He is a tall, imposing figure, with a set of toned muscle, hidden beneath his flowing robes. Intimidating as he looks, he houses a mind of spiritual respect, and wisdom.
Main Page: Fierse Starblade
Night Elf RP LinksEdit