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Dascombe

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Dascombe last won the day on October 20

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  1. Dascombe

    Hobo - The Hobo

    Hobo Race: Goblin Ag--- Woah woah hold up bud, what are you doing? No no no, stop that stupid 'format' nonsense, you want a biography? Sit down and let Hobo here tell ya the story! Alright... so a long long time ago way back when... 'war of the ancients'? No too far back you moron, lets go back to just when this 'Burning Crusade' thing happened... I already said -NO- to the 'war of the ancients'... oh for pity's sake: When the portal re-opened, got it? Back when if you were a Goblin like me you had a few options: strike it lucky and get rich as a trade baron, create some marvellous feat of engineering, or end up slaving away in the Kajamite mines along with the Trolls. Or you could win it big in the arenas! Guess which one ol' Hobo went with? Oh I was glorious, cutting down droves of my enemies, two versus two, three versus three, or even the lucrative five-versus-five arena matches! Arena fights were brill as you fought not just humans but Orcs too! Completely impartial as long as you cut down -everyone-! Of course this was back in the ways when being a warrior was good money, you waded in with strength galore and armour capable of granting you critical strikes that ended up with some beautiful decapitations across the arena floor. Years of doing meager quests for strangers paid off as I became stronger and stronger over the years! Yes yes, i'm getting to that bit, hold on I'm what you call 'old school', whilst all these chumps were off and about killing whatever big bad evil guy there was to be killed I was off slaughtering their buddies across the land, I was doing these 'arena' things before they were known as 'arenas'! Little hot spots from the Crossroads in Kalimdor to Tarren Mill in the Eastern Kingdoms, i'd be there in the middle killing anything that so much as had a heartbeat (or not in the case of the Forsaken, who am I to judge?) All that began to chance when this 'cataclysm' thing occurred. You see I was one of the ones on Kezan when some big black scaley thing flew overhead and blew up Mount Kajaro... I was in the middle of an arena fight as well for one of the big bosses on the isle! Well as pyroclastic flows blew past, me and my combatant continued fighting even as the magma surged down... it was at this point I sorta realized that if I didn't run now I wouldn't be able to fight anymore on account of being a mushy pile of hollowed out ash, that sort of this -really- puts a crimp on your PVP career. So I ran, got on the boat where I had to hand over all my arena prize money, problem is though that the boat got caught up in between some crossfire between Alliance and Horde ships, I got blown away from the blast and thought i'd drowned like many other of the refugees. Well that's where you're wrong buddy! But by the time I woke up and found out what was really going on I kinda wish I had died in that cannon blast: I ended up washed on the shore with -all- of my arena armour stripped off me... fortunately whoever robbed me had been courteous to leave me with two rather crude bandages and a pair of shorts to my name... but something about this island was strange, where once I could have ran up and down this entire beach on this jungle-island slaughtering everything for miles without so much as a scratch to my physical health, it now took me almost fifteen minutes to kill a crab which had managed to put me in a medically critical state. Somehow I had magically lost -all- knowledge of my fighting technique which had made me world-famous and worst of all: No-one knew who the hell I was! 'Hobo' is what the other refugees called me, on account of my constantly begging for cash to feed myself. I hadn't grown up with the knowledge on how to hunt: all I did was kill people and I got paid to do it in an entertaining way in a small arena, -that- is what kept me fed and clothed! Some of the more talkative locals who don't just stand there and stare into space simply answered my questions with 'Doldrums'... I mean what kind of response is that? I magically find i'm suffering from some sort of severe muscular atrophy where I can -just- muster the strength to fight off a seagull when before I was annihilating heroes who had fought the Lich King himself and all they can say is 'Its the Doldrums'? I may not be a wizard but there is no way that an entire chain of islands can project some sort of weird magical mumbo jumbo to suddenly make me, an all-time arena champion into a measly whelp who would likely die to a fresh adventurer out from Northshire Abbey... if that were the case why weren't mages using this magic on me in the arenas? Whatever, fact of the matter is i'm down on my luck, down on cash, down on any manner of strength or fighting capacity and more or less nearly naked. But ol' Hobo here has a plan... and as soon as I find who nicked my vengeful gladiator armour i'm going to rest their legs over a pier whilst lying face down and proceed to drop the largest boulder I can find on their calves. Appearan--- Woah woah, stop right there. 'Drop dead gorgeous', 'charming', 'chin chiseled from granite', that's all you need to put in here. ... Not foolin' you am I? Oh who am I kidding. Since landing on this crappy island i've become some sort of measly pen-pusher losing any muscle definition I had previously... not only that but there was some strange bout of disease not too long ago in Egtown which meant I look thinner than an Elven women looking to get on the cover of 'Rogue' magazine. The tattoos? Something back from my days fist-fighting in gangs on the mean streets of Kezan, kept ahold of them because well... tattos are hard to get rid of right? It's not like they just fit in an equipment slot like armour... Fair bit of face fuzz, cuts and bruises here and there... what do you expect from a refugee? Oh and my arm has recently been cut off by an Orc claiming to he the physical manifestation of war itself... small things like that get overlooked.
  2. Dascombe

    [Group] The Hunters

    The Daggerfin Recently, the esteemed Baron West has come across a rumour of a particular species of aquatic life which would make a wonderful addition to his mantelpiece of trophies: 'The Daggerfin' Described as a creature capable of swallowing a Gnome whole and luring in it's prey with a lantern-like appendage dangling in front of its mouth to lure prey to their doom. As the name suggests, this creature also has a large fin upon its back sharp enough to cut through steel wire and even rend apart the armour of the strongest of warriors whilst its teeth are certainly no less lethal: considered to be sharper than even sewing needles. There is a reason these denizens of Azeroth's seas are known in certain fishing communities as "caught the wrong 'un" as they constitute about 20% of deaths of fishermen in exotic locals such as Tel'Abim and Tanaris despite their rarity. But before the baron can seek somewhere to buy diving gear and reconfigure his gun to shoot darts underwater, he needs information on where the creature can be found.... "250 silver should be enough to get me that information."
  3. Dascombe

    [General Chat]

    Is it at all possible to get an in-game General Chat added? I ask this mostly for GHI related reasons (GHI sounds require Gen chat to be active apparently)
  4. Dascombe

    Faerrah

    Je suis tres desolee, mon francais c'est tres nul. Deux biere brun sil'vous plait.
  5. Dascombe

    [Event] The Battle for Crystal Valley

    ((Event time changed to 21:30 ST))
  6. https://youtu.be/CNVomngq-Qc When: Friday 19th, 21:30ST ((Let us know if you are going to be late and you can be part of a 'reinforcement' wave!)) Who: Primarily Grom'Goshar and Drustgarde. Those who turn up ICly and ask will likely be allowed to participate. Where: Drustgarde / Egtown and then marching to attack positions The time had come Rumours had begun to spread of a horrific presence grasping its tendrils of influence around the section of Opej referred to by many as 'Crystal Valley' in an effort to control the powers that lie dormant beneath the steep-sided floors of the mystical region. Elementals, previously driven mad already by a malignant force, were now openly hostile and aggressively attacking all that moved and any sentient being that dared enter the area... and furthermore there have been numerous reports of a chained beating onyx heart tethered next to a large unnatural structure which had become known as 'The Spire' to many. Recognizing this threat, and in a prophetic manner, the Pyremaster of Grom'Goshar known as Gruk predicted the large rumble that struck the land as the Twilight's Hammer begun their labours within the valley, the Great Quarun mourned for the loss of his brothers and feared they would be fully enslaved if nothing was done. Worse still, some have begun to suspect there is a link between the rumblings in the ground and not only the volcano which erupted on the Last Battleground but also what the sailors of Drustgarde encountered beneath the waves with their Naga allies not too long ago. Seeking to put a stop to it, both Grom'Goshar and Drustgarde have come together to build bridges and begin the healing process to repair their alliance in order to combat the greater threat that could not only see Opej completely annihilated but quite possibly the rest of the Doldrums to follow soon after. Being a shaman and not a tactician, the Pyremaster has sent Stone Guard Ragara Irontooth with a combat plan to Governor Haytham so as to plan an attack that will see the cult of the Twilight's Hammer utterly annihilated and their plans routed so that the denizens of Opej can live to fight another day. Whispers on the wind suggest that the forces for this assault shall be gathering at the gates of Fort Drustgarde at night ((21:30ST)) on the friday in two days time. Given the gravity of the situation it would become apparent that even those not directly a part of either Drustgarde or Grom'Goshar may find themselves able to take a place on the battlefield if they speak with the commanders involved. Who knows what may befall the combined might of the Horde and the Alliance? The strength of the axe and the anchor? Who knows what might happen to Opej'Nor if they fail?
  7. Dascombe

    Builder's Workshop Teaser Thread

    Something wicked this way comes...
  8. Dascombe

    Grom'Goshar [Guild Draft]

    There are currently two candidates for Warleader so far. Those who wish to put their name forward have until wednesday and then the times for the challenges shall be announced.
  9. Dascombe

    Baron West - The Huntsman

    For those interested i'm holding a sort of OOC / IC competition In the same fashion as his idol, Timothy West is publishing a book on his adventures hunting across Opej (Cue 'Green Hills of Stranglethorn Vale) I want -YOU- to come up with the book title. The one I find the best gets a 50 silver prize and something else quite special (MYSTERY PRIZE) Competition ends on the 13th of October (Saturday) at 18:00 server-time.
  10. Dascombe

    Grom'Goshar [Guild Draft]

    Few, if any, can truly say where he went. Some rumors say he grew mournful over the betrayal of those in Grom'Goshar who chose to side with the Twilight's Hammer. Others say thoughts of his family drove him to a suicidal grief. Others say he simply wandered off into the jungles of Opej with no provisions, allowing nature to claim him. A token funerary urn can be found upon the altar of the dead in Grom'Thar bearing Orcish runes on it in animal blood detailing Bloodfury's legacy in the Doldrums, though many would note it is empty. Regardless of how he died or where he went, Grom'Goshar was leaderless. The pyremaster and Bloodfury's close advisor Gruk Charrbone stood before the refugees and those gathered in Grom'Goshar "Many of you may be wondering where Bloodfury is or when he will come back... you have grown too reliant on one leader to take you by the hand. You are not sheep: you are wolves! Bloodfury may come back, or he may be scattered to the four winds... but he is not Grom'Goshar, -YOU- are Grom'Goshar: Trolls, Orcs, Shu'Halo, Forsaken, Blood Elves and Goblins. He may have gone but his legacy shall live on in you! In the coming weeks there shall be three trials for those who would stand to lead Grom'Goshar and to unite the Horde under one banner and family, in honor of his name these shall be named 'The Trials of Bloodfury', though be aware that these trials are not for the weak and faint ... and do not simply mistake weakness for physical frailty as there are tests in these trials that will test your will as a leader as well as your ability to swing an axe." He pauses for a moment, the gathered crowd of Grunts, Rogues, Mystics, Hunters and refugees give him their full attention, he unveils a large wooden board bearing a blood red painting of a hand holding an axe The Trial of Strength: The trial of strength will be a test of physical endurance and combat prowess. Any fool who mistakes this for a Mak'Gora and tries to treat it as such will be shamed eternally for their stupidity. Humans would call this a 'tournament', it is a bout of honor to see a warleader lead by example in the battlefield as such those engaging in this trial are able to use any weapon or armour they have at their disposal, though it is -NOT- a fight to the death and honorable sincerity will be noted in these fights. When all the candidates for warleader have been chosen, a time will be announced and I shall decide who shall fight who. Do however take into consideration that even the most valiant fighter who 'wins' the Trial of Strength may not nessecarrily become Warleader." He moves over to another wooden board in front of the crowd, removing the leather hide covering it to reveal a red painted open hand with a ball of flame hovering above the palm. The Trial of Will: The trial of will is a test of your mental will and your devotion to Grom'Goshar and the elements. Do not simply think you can fool the elements when it comes to this trial for they will look deep into your soul for any sign of deception. This trial involves making a public sacrifice to the elements of something personal to you, it can be anything you can think of but consider that someone who sings a song and performs a ritual for the elements may recieve more favour than one who simply dumps a sack of silver at their feet. The candidate for warleader must receive a blessing from the elements of water, earth and wind in order to prove that they are worthy." He moves to the final wooden board in the centre, dramatically unveiling the red painting of the profile of an Orc's head announcing something in profile The Trial of Wit: "Devotion to the elements and a strong sword-arm are not the only traits of leadership... charisma and the ability to invoke pride in your followers is equally important. The candidate with a powerful swing with an axe and the blessing of the elementals may fall short at performing a rousing speech to inspire the others in Grom'Goshar. The Trial of Wit is a simple one, the one who truely gets the crowd at Grom'Goshar shouting and yelling in support of the candidate is the one who succeeds. But keep in mind, not only will the crowd consist of refugees and others but it will also have your peers and subordinates in Grom'Goshar adding to the noise!" The crowd murmers, some seem interested at the notion of having an influence and say in who becomes the next warleader "Know that whomsoever becomes warleader, they shall have me as their advisor to guide them and offer council on important matters, you shall not be alone and you will have your followers to aid you in the times to come, call upon the strengths of all those who reside in Grom'Thar. As soon as three candidates for 'Warleader' have given me their names, I shall announce the time when no more candidates may put their names forward. Then the trials shall commence" A current list of the candidates for 'Warleader' go up on the noticeboard: Stone Guard Ragara Irontooth Lohn'Oshu Zorku ((OOC: These three trials are as follows: Trial of Strength - An elimination styled tournament using the RPG combat system to be ran over a number of days (depending on time availability of combatants) Trial of Will - A trial whereby the elements (puppeted by GM's) may offer quests or other such tasks for candidates to recieve their boon, a sacrifice may be accepted depending on the elemental's mood. There are three to appease: The Great Quarun (Earth), The unnamed water elemental of Grom'Thar (water) and the air elementals of Mount Opej (Air). Trial of Wit - Candidates will gather before a partial GM puppeted crowd and basically come up with their most rousing speech. Members of Grom'Goshar and those on friendly / accepted terms to enter Grom'Goshar may join the crowd and boo / cheer appropriately. Any questions don't hesitate to PM me!))
  11. Dascombe

    Builder's Workshop Teaser Thread

    A sneak peek into Bonkle's magical* workshop: *Allegations of Bonkle beating magical world-editing fairies are completely unfounded and anyone found promoting such accusations will be sued for libel
  12. Dascombe

    [Group] The Hunters

    Protecting the Weak Although protecting the innocent and safeguarding the weak is not a particuarly high priority amongst the members of 'The Hunters', it does however cross their minds especially when doing so involves the hunting of two particularly nasty creatures no weaker than the Sand Reaver 'Naraxis' that Timothy West and a few budding volunteers slew the other week. The problem is, this time there are two of them, and these creatures operate almost like a hive mind if the Baron's memory of Ahn'Quiraj is correct, making them highly effective killing machines that work closely together. Word would begin to spread amongst the refugees of the newly formed 'Tent Town' and possibly even amongst those in Egtown itself that Baron West and his compatriots seek to slay the two sand reavers who have been attacking and killing refugees on the western coast that stray too far from their camp. "Tomorrow, at the zeppelin wreckage on the southern rise of Opej. Be there in the evening half way between when the bells strike 6 and the bells strike 7. You shall have your take of the beast's vile corpses afterwards, but consider that you are doing this to help the folks of Opej who are not as skilled at arms as you" ((Event at 6:30pm server time to wipe out two of the sand reavers posing a threat to 'Tent Town', meet at the zeppeling wreckage on southern Opej))
  13. Baron West Race: Human Age: 48 Class: Hunter, Nobleman Alleigance: Stormwind, The Alliance, The People of Egtown, Drustgarde (loosely), Good Hunters Languages: Common, High Common, Dwarvern (minimal, basic phrases) The Farmhand Born to Emilia and Matton West, the young Timothy (or 'Timmy' to neighbours and friends) was a bright-eyed, enthusiastic and laborious young lad who enjoyed nothing more than the open countryside of Westfall be it tending to flocks of sheep, cutting down timber, or doing occassional work down in the kingdom's gold mines. Day in day out he'd labour growing taller, stronger and leaner in physique, although poorly educated the young heartthrob of many a maidens across the county none the less was well-liked by townsfolk and had naught an evil bone in his body, always taking his time to help out those less fortunate than his family who made their living off breeding local boars. It is at this point that the young West lost his interest in becoming a farmhand, one day he came across his father's gun cabinet in the farmhouse which he was now tall enough to reach... pulling back on the flintlock he ran a hand down the barrel, a life long fascination with firearms formed that day even though the weapon was just a crude blunderbuss. Though without realizing what he was doing, he left the loaded weapon on his lap to fiddle around with the firing mechanism only to set it off. Chunks of lead shot flew out of the window, many of which penetrated the crude plaster which made up the farmhouse walls. Outside lay one of the family boars, breathing heavily from it's fatal wounds which had sprayed the entire left side of it's body.. it's yellow hide now a bloody matted red. The young west had at this point already slaughtered many boars in the line of the family business but something was wrong about this... it was unwanted, unessecary... he reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife to end the boar's suffering... the image of the boar lying in it's own blood would stay with him for many years. Years would pass, the boy growing into a young man with a fair amount of silver in his pocket from his family's business which had been intended to send him to collage further north in Lordaeron to study economics and business amongst the most brilliant minds in Azeroth... though that would eventually not come to pass. The Huntsman At War Word of the 'Orcs' spread like wildfire... much in the same way as their destruction did as well. Private West at this point had enlisted within the Stormwind Army as a rifleman and joined a small company of Dwarvern riflemen sent from the neighbouring kingdom of Ironforge. He had only seen few of them in Westfall, often as sole blacksmiths and merchants bringing goods from the north. Here he learned a true appreciation for Dwarvern ales, learned a small amount of Dwarvern language but most importantly he gained knowledge on the maintenance and care of his firearm, it was as though it were a friend and companion to him. Further to his skill with repairing his gun also came his reputation as a sharpshooter, he would actively encourage amongst his compatriots Orcish 'hunting trips' throughout the lands of Grand Hamlet and even Elwynn Forest when their approach grew closer and closer to Stormwind. Eventually the 'huntsman', as his Dwarvern comrades referred to him as, started devising extremely vicious traps for the Orcs from sharpened pitfalls to improvised bear traps. Despite this though, the capital was sacked and the retreating forces fled north with the refugees. In Exile The loss of the capital was seen as a minor inconvenience to Private West, seeing the Orcs as nothing more than unruly house guests who have overstayed their welcome. In the lands of Lordaeron he took to trapping and hunting to feed and financially support his parents who lost everything in Westfall. Years would pass, and despite the Alliance victory at Blackrock Spire and the start of what would become known as the 'Rebuilding', the West family remained in Southshore for many more years as Orcish prisoners were brought to work in new camps such as Durnholde and what would later become known as 'Hammerfall'. Demoralized and beaten, many thought that the Orcish menace was done for as it deteriorated within the camps, their will and strength sapped... but after a short while resistance groups and warbands would crop out from the wilds, freeing their blackblooded kin who would then proceed to sack parts of the countryside. It was during the raid upon Hammerfall that Emilia and Matton West lost their lives, amongst the shattered and torn corpses Timothy West could scarcely identify his parents until coming across a sack between two such corpses which contained bundled boar hides... it was here that he knew he had found them. His two parents were buried in the graveyard just outside Southshore at a rather small and modest grave after they had been transported from the Arathi Highlands, his loathing of the greenskin menace at this point knew no bounds... but he knew what his parents wished and so with the remainder of his funds he enrolled in one of the colleges of Lordaeron to study business and economics, all the while hunting and trapping creatures across the northern kingdoms of the continent, in doing so he would find himself passively 'hob nobbing' with the rich and wealthy, becoming highly connected and making powerful and influential friends as he educated lords and ladies in the way of the hunt. Lord of the Hunt What became known as the 'Third War' was more of a petty squabble between multiple kingdoms in the north, a few peasants coughing and Orcs getting rowdy somewhere out of sight and out of mind as far as Timothy West was concerned... though during these tumultuous years a number of threats began to appear within the kingdom of Stormwind itself including the rise of what would become known as the 'Defias Brotherhood', the death of Queen Tiffin, the kidnapping of King Varian Wrynn, the resurgence of the Blackrock Clan in Redridge as well as the land of Brightwood being beset by a curse. "All problems that can be solved with good precision sports hunting" the sharpshooter famously proclaimed as he ventured across all the counties of Stormwind to rid them of their problems one bullet at a time. He became renowned for his slaying of Worgen in Duskwood, maintaining strong links with the church in the capital who fed him a steady supply of truesilver bullets as his rifle echoed across the dark forests. In Redridge his reputation as an Orc hunter returned as spikes were formed on Lakeshire's pride to proudly display his latest victorious hunt to deter further Orc attacks Across Westfall he dismantled harvest reapers with precision accuracy, shot dead fleshrippers and is renowned for his one-man defence of the 'Dead Acre' where he reportedly held off an entire swarm of Defias renegades seeking the famed hunter's head using only his rifle, two boxes of ammunition, a gnomish cigarette lighter and a fine set of kitchen knives bought by the previous owner on Queen Tiffin's coronation day. In Elwynn, the hunter made his name helping the locals as he knew the lay of the land across the kingdom be it solving 'missing person' queries with his expertise as a tracker, picking off Murloc tribes encroaching lumber operations, or assisting with taming the local wildlife for aspiring hunters. Through these efforts combined he was granted the title of 'Lord' West by the ruling Council of Nobles in Stormwind, this title offered him a plot of land in the north western reaches of Westfall where his family farm used to be, and with his newfound title came with his heraldry. A rampant red boar, bloody and fierce even in it's death throes, he recalled the image so vividly from his youth as if the creature was still in front of him. The Abandonment of Politics Following his ventures within the county, the newly appointed lord took his skills around the land as a crack shot hunter and a fierce fighter to boot. In Ahn'Quiraj he hunted the skittering minions of the old gods for their claws and carapaces, in Blackwing Lair he left with drake tongues and bags of dragonscales, in the Molten Core he strode off with core hound teeth and in Naxxaramas he scoured the undead legions for whatever trophies he could find. And still it wasn't enough, an endless pursuit caught grip of him. Where others would seek titles, gold or the acquisition of rare artefacts, the huntsman sought only that of trophies and the glory of the hunt. Having brought ruin to a great many of the kingdom's threats (intentionally or otherwise), Lord West was made 'Baron' of all Westfall by the young Prince Anduin himself, a proud day indeed if it were not for the fact that during the entire ceremony the Baron had only the thought of prey in Stranglethorn on his mind and a 'quick jolly' through Zul'Gurub before tea to snag it's high priest's heads into a sack. As soon as the portal to 'Outland' surged with new life the Baron was one of the first through the portal, kicking and shoving other seasoned hunters bearing Dragonstalker or Cryptstalker armour out of the way in order to be the one to 'bag' all that there was to shoot in this shattered realm. It is quite an easy claim for any other combatant in Outland to have seen Baron West or even conversed with him as he shot, stabbed and bludgeoned with the butt end of his rifle across all the broken and torn regions of the land, amassing a pile of animal carcasses second only to the famed Nesingwary himself. Through this time, his duties became sullied... he was absent a great many times from the Council chambers of Stormwind and only really came back to offer his congratulations to the return of King Varian Wrynn prior to the Northrend campaign... but even loyalty to his crown did not dare get in the way of his bloodlust. As soon as the Scourge made its presence known, the 'Bloody Boar' as he became known (in part due to his reputation -and- his heraldry) made his way to Northrend, shooting and blasting his way across ice caps, avalances, fjords and vast frozen tundra. A Whole New World Few if any know truely how the esteemed Baron ended up in the Doldrums. Rumors say that he grew bored of hunting all there was on azeroth and from the new rare tales of these mystical new isles such as 'Opej' he sought them out deliberately. Others say it was a magical mishap... the hunter famed for his distrust of the arcane sought an easier way to move his trophy collection around and got dumped off in the Doldrums through a portal. Others say mystical forces brought him here, seeking to unleash his lust for the hunt upon the unsuspecting wildlife and locals of the archipelago. Regardless of how he got here, like a great many people he is stuck here, quite possibly forever. Never to return to his lands, never to listen to another five hour long 'session' of the House of Nobles, never to ceremonially cut the ribbon to a new butcher's shop anywhere on the continent, never to attend another tedious book signing. And that sounds -just- the way he likes it. Appearance The Baron is a rather smartly dressed individual. Of particular note is his seemingly 'trademark' pith helmet which he is rarely seen without, even when running around topless for exercise. The rest of his clothing is rather neat and crisp... rather unusual for someone who spends a great amount of time out in the jungle and doubly so considering there are few if any laundering facilities out in the Doldrums. Upon his person are various pockets and pouches, namely as part of his hunting jacket, these contain an assortment of handy little tools and reagents which are essential for surviving in the jungle such as field dressing for both animals and humans, extra ammunition for his gun on extended hunts, small steel tools for disassembling and cleaning his gun, multiple cartridges for different purposes (often referring to these out loud in the field such as a 'Number 3' cartridge), a tin of moustache wax, a skinning knife, a serrated 'combat' knife, and a silver cigar case. The man himself appears dour and in an almost permanently grumpy state unless he either sees a glass of brandy within arm's reach or has recently murdered an animal. Despite getting on in years he remains in a relatively peak physical condition: lean and muscular. Traits Xenephobic - The Baron is extraordinarily xenophobic to a number of races (even those considered part of the Alliance) this varies drastically from rather casual racism / arrogance to all out hatred. Strangely this is sometimes overcome if the other party is a hunter with what he considers to be 'good morals' in hunting. Nobility - And boy does he like to remind you of it. Despite being somewhere nobility has little to no meaning, he insists most if not all those he encounters refer to him by his title even though they are under no obligation to do so. Also causes him to have a superiority complex to those of a 'lesser' vocation (peasants) Expert Marksman - And boy does he know it. The man is a crack shot with his gun and is constantly honing and improving his skill at it. Trapper - Often spots the panthers in the grass before they even catch a sniff of him. If there is an animal he isn't familiar it he quickly attempts to learn its habits and traits so as to be able to overcome it. Stark Raving Mad - Possibly the noble titles going to his head... the man openly threatens / attempts to intimidate those bigger, stronger or simply those that have more friends with knives stood by them, the man truly has absolutely no self-preservation instinct. It is apparent from those familiar with their particular magics that this is old school madness and not some old god affliction. Jungle Goer - One too many treks to Stranglethorn Vale for a 'hunting afternoon' mean he is well suited to jungle environments. Likely the reason he barely leaves Opej.
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