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Dascombe

Baron West - The Huntsman

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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

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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

Aggressive_leader.png 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.

Inspiring_leader.png 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)

Scarred.png 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.

 Hunter.png 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.

Brave.png 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_terrain_leader.png 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.

 

Edited by Dascombe

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Posted (edited)

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.

Edited by Dascombe

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