|Realm||[[Server:Moon Guard|Moon Guard]]|
|Guild||[[Guild:Shards of Fate_(Moon Guard)|Shards of Fate]]|
Rembrandt Sunsorrow Edit
Blood Elf Mage. Lvl 70 - Fire / Arcane Usually seen with his pet mana wyrm, Spot.
Dashingly handsome and usually dressed in the finest robes he can find, Rembrandt always makes sure to present a striking figure. Known to use his good looks to his advantage, they have in turn been somewhat of a disadvantage as many percieve him as a spoiled noble's son with little positive attributes.
Those who have met him realize that to some degree, Rembrandt encourages this perception on purpose.
Born in Silvermoon City to the noble family of Sunsorrow. Several Sunsorrows, such as Ambassador Sunsorrow, were stationed to Undercity to act as ambassadors and promote relations between the Sin'dorei and the Forsaken.
Currently a member of the Shards of Fate, Rembrandt is an active member and strives to establish the Shards as a well known organization and well received throughout the Moon Guard realm.
An Introduction Edit
“Not sure I’m quite used to this city, Spot!” said a rather dry voice.
A small gem hummed softly on the table as the energies surrounding it pulsed vibrantly. Arcs and plumes of blue arcane energy swirled around the figurine, producing a rather impressive light show to view. That is only those who could in fact see those energies.
Rembrandt sat at his desk focusing intensely on those energies, watching the swirling mass of arcane and binding certain patterns of arcane into the small jade jewel. His pet mana wyrm, Spot, hovered nearby, but somehow knew not to interrupt this tense moment of concentration. Rembrandt had been trying to harness the arcane energy gathered from empowered earth into the small, finely cut jade gem. He had failed already on several attempts, but that just urged the determined blood elf further. With a new environment, certainly one much colder than his homeland, Rembrandt found it much more difficult to craft and weave his empowered gems and trinkets. The chill in the air was palpable as the elf’s breath rise in the air in thick cloudy gusts.
“Guess the dead don’t need to worry much about hearths and heat eh pet?” the blood elf remarked softly as his eyes scoured over the fast moving arcane currents.
Rembrandt, a rather striking blood elf with a charismatic air, had just relocated himself and his pet mana wyrm to the vast forsaken city, Undercity. Seeking the renowned undead mages, Rembrandt had come in search of new knowledge and power that his homeland of Eversong Woods. Although Silvermoon City contained some of the most powerful mages in Azeroth, Rembrandt seeked some new magics and fresh ideas. Well, as fresh as a city full of undead can be!
The rented room at the Undercity inn had been lavishly furnished, both with items and books brought over from Silvermoon City as well as new items found in undead capital. Although the temperature was cold, Rembrandt made sure he had all other amenities covered. Finely sewn tapestries hung over the cold rock walls and masterly crafted bookcases were overflowing with tomes and books on all manner of subjects. In addition, Rembrandt’s quarters were filled with gems and precious metal ingots as his passing hobby was crafting intricate and yet powerful trinkets and jewellery.
The arcane energies surged suddenly and the blood elf’s eyes flashed in excitement. A correct weave had been found! His pulse quickened as he grasped mentally the intricate arcane pattern appearing before Rembrandt’s trained eye. Beads of sweat formed on his finely boned face as he slowly forced the arcane weave into the thick, static structure of the jade. “Just a few more seconds…..” he thought to himself.
“Oi! Fancy elf!!”
A burst of light erupted around the gem as the connection to the arcane weave was severed with the rude interruption. The gem cracked and sizzled as Rembrandt’s efforts were lost and wasted. Crying in anguish, Rembrandt flopped his head in his hands and gave out a long frustrated sigh.
“You there, fancy elf!!” a rough voice called out again, this time much closer.
“Remind me to kill the guards I had hired to prevent this from happening!” Rembrandt said more to himself than to Spot.
“Oh yer guards didn’t give me much trouble!” said the rough voice belonging to a large orc with an ugly toothy grin and a heavy bow strapped to his back. A rather large and scraggly wolf stood menacingly to his side. Several scars across his snout showed Rembrandt that this wolf had seen, and won, many fights.
“And to whom do owe the pleasure of such fine, distinguished company?” said Rembrandt with an annoyed dry tone.
Oblivious to the sarcasm, the orc smirked a bit at what he thought was a compliment.
“Nottum Stoneshot! Feared hunter of Lordamere!” the orc roared proudly, accompanying the announcement with prompt beat on his chest.
“And this,” the orc said, gesturing roughly to the wolf, “is Mange. Obedient and trained to kill instantly at my command!”
Obviously awaiting the normal response of fear and trembling after such usual introductions, the orc scowled when the blood elf merely rolled his eyes and sighed as he once again scrutinized the gem fragments at his desk. The blood elf reached into a finely crafted box on the desk and produced yet another finely crafted jade, placing it on the desk in front of him.
After a few uncomfortable seconds of silence, the orc mustered enough anger to bark out again.
“You’re new to Undercity and rumour is that you’re tough….” the orc growled menacingly, adding lastly with a smug grin, “for an elf that wears dresses!!”
Knowing full well the orc wished to goad Rembrandt into a fight, the mage just simply sat there looking at the blackened gem on his table. He had heard of this orc hunter. A crude and rough sort who spent half his days challenging others to duels and fights, whilst the other half in taverns loudly boasting about those fights. The orc was part of a larger group terrorizing Undercity and it’s normally recluse undead for no reason other than the opportunity to cause trouble and fight. The Undercity authorities tolerated these rough folk mainly because the rowdy orcs were always eager to fight in wars against the Alliance and they earned enough battle tokens and paid the monthly tariff to make the forsaken city officials to turn their heads whenever an orc went too far with his rough lifestyle. Besides, most of the population was already dead, so it didn’t matter if folk were hurt in the process!
After a few more seconds of more uncomfortable silence the orc got angered enough to draw his crudely honed axe and waved it threateningly near Rembrandt’s strikingly handsome face.
“You will fight me now!” the orc bellowed, “or pay me a sack of gold so that I don’t boast of your cowardice to every tavern in this stinking place!!”
To emphasize his point, the orc slammed his axe down to bit deeply into the wooden table in front of the blood elf mage. Pieces of jade went flying across the room and Spot, Rembrandt’s pet mana wyrm, screeched and fluttered behind a large bookcase in fear.
“That was my last jade, good sir…” Rembrandt said in annoyance at the orc’s crude behaviour, rising from his seat to stand level against the muscular orc, “I’m really not appreciated the rather rude attitude you’ve brought into this room!”
The blood elf didn’t move an inch, but the orc could feel he was about to face some form of retaliation. A slight hum could be heard as the elf wove the arcane energies around him and harnessed them into one sole purpose.
The orc, sensing this, reached for his axe and muttered curses in gutterspeak as he realized it was stuck fast into the heavy oak table.
Rembrandt’s eyes flashed once before the noise of the humming stopped abruptly to be replaced by a new sound.
Thick gurgling sounds emanated from the orc’s stomach as he doubled over in pain. Sharp cracks could be heard as his bones bent and twisted, causing waves of agony over the orc’s entire body. He screamed in pain as his body collapsed and sagged and his face contorted, his intestines being forced into a much more smaller structure.
The cry of utter pain was soon replaced by a frantic bleat as where once an orc stood, a sheep now staggered in panic and confusion.
Rembrandt smiled and promptly bowed before the sheep shivering before him with a flourish.
“Maybe that will teach you some manners!” Rembrandt said, flashing a wicked smile, “or at least it may teach you some manners at the dinner table!”
Mange, the orc’s wolf companion, eyed the sheep before him hungrily. Drool dripped from his maw as he crept closer to the shivering wool-covered creature.
Rembrandt whistled for Spot and blood elf and mana wyrm calmly left the blood elves lavish quarters. Pained bleats from the sheep could be heard behind them as the wolf pounced and tore into the flesh of what was once his former master.
“I think I might like this city after all!” Rembrandt mused to himself as he casually strolled out of the inn.
“Oh Spot,” Rembrandt said warmly to his pet, “remind me to re-hire new guards after we’ve disposed of those fools we hired before.
"Their first task...." he said with a wicked grin, "...will be to clean up the mess in our quarters this evening!”
With that said, the blood elf mage strolled out into the bustling trade ring of the forsaken city of Undercity in search of some more hired help.