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Vires is known as a walker. When even time itself ends, he will still be there waiting for something. He has an incredible ability where upon his death, he is resurrected again and again, always at the same age and same physical build. Unfortunately when this occurs, he loses the memories of his previous life, only knowing his name, and so must always start afresh… until now. Recently after visiting the Outlands for the 1st time , he has been experiencing memory flashbacks, all from the many of his different lives. Now upon his death and resurrection, he is no longer forgetting.
Although he spends most of his time in the battlefield, (making the most out of his unique situation), and within the taverns (pondering on his past memories or sometimes trying to forget them) he must seek out why he is the way he is and what is causing this strange phenomenon.
His appearance changes as time moves on, including his choice of weapons. The only thing that can be certain is that he is never subtle. If he intends for you to see him, then you definitely will.
He Is quiet and reserved yet strong spirited and quick to command in the heat of battle or necessity. Is generally cautious to open up to individuals until he has known them for a while and is very suspicious and cynical of people, due to how he has been treated in the past.
Goals and motivationsEdit
Although in past lives he has had many different goals and aspirations, his current goal is to seek out how this is possible for him, why and what the consequences are for him to have such a unique gift for now.
Vires hates the forsaken with the passion, and sees them merely as a plague that has infested and killed good people. It must be stopped!
Although he too hates Orcs, Vires respects them as worthy adversaries on the battlefield
Although he will kill them should the need arise, Vires generally respects and admires the Tauren. Due to his upbringing from Night Elves in his more recent life, he has great respect for those who seek to find inner peace and balance between themselves and the natural world they live in.
However, contrary to this he still sees Trolls as a primitive race and are similar to vermin, if they show up unwelcomed, then they must be exterminated. Possibly a bad experience in a former life?
As far as Blood Elves go, Vires feels great sorrow and sympathy for the majority of their kind (due to theirs and their High Elven background).
Unfortunately he feels Blood Elf paladins should annihilated from existence, for their crimes of handing out a fate worse then death to some of the Naaru.
He can generally be found within the battlegrounds and is regularly hired as an Orc Hunter
Public knowledge and rumorsEdit
People are very wary of Veres, as he is very secretive and stories fly around of him killing countless men in the name of vengeance.
As time goes by Vires remembers more and more memories from his past. This is one of them:
Into the far horizons of the night, burning red flickers could be seen. As the smoke was blown away by the uneasy wind, the blaze of the distant fire was further fuelled. The alight city once so bustling with noise before had been completely silenced, with only the wind and crackling of flames to be heard. Walls and roads tainted by the wreckage of buildings and smears of blood, slowly pooled together in the gutters. Quietly unfolding, a heavy irregular breathing could be heard.
It was an old man clutching onto the straws of his ending life. His tattered body lied upon a pile of bloodied rubble, as mangled corpses burnt and torn apart surrounded him. All around, he saw nothing but destruction and chaos. Engulfed by ruins, he was the last one left alive, or so he thought. A shadow suddenly emerged over the man and he uncontrollably trembled by what his terrified eyes beheld. As he gasped preparing for his last breath, words escaped the old man’s quivering lips.
“This cannot be true”
A tattered cape flapped in the wind, revealing it’s wielder from the shadows. His cold metal armor had a color deeper then darkest depth of the ocean, with only its reflections distinguishing it from the shadows surrounding. Evidence of the carnage that lay before them flickered off from pieces of his leg and chest plates. The man’s black and spiked metal gloves grasped firmly onto a mighty sword dragging across the ground. Stained by many battles, it was like an omen as blood trickled off it. Above his black plated shoulders, there stood a helmet dark as midnight. Shining fear into the gods above and everything around, it caged back the vicious beast inside. All that could be seen through it was a pair of eyes as dark as the ocean’s depths. Their color poured through two holes in the icy steel and seeped out onto the surrounding carnage. Raising the sword above his head, he spoke in a booming voice that curdled the nerves of his soon to be hapless victim.
“This is real old man.”
The black monolith then fiercely plunged his sword into the old mans chest. As the ground shook from the impact, thunder roared from the skies and angels shrieked from the heavens. Lightning cracked furiously through the air and the old man screamed in shaking agony. As the horizons lit up, a grave roar escaped from his murderer.
“Feel their pain!”
The old man violently squirmed beneath the blade as chaos flashed above him. Grasping onto it, blood poured from his sliced hands and down his convulsing arms. Underneath his writhing body a crimson pool emerged onto the rubble surrounding.
The flaring of the skies calmed to that of a slowing heartbeat and there was a moment of deadening silence, where the world had changed forever. With the heartbeat becoming ever slower tears fell upon the world. Dousing the flames within the city, they washed away the crimson pools.
The black plated warrior kneeled down as rain rinsed the blood away from the reaper and his newest victim. Still clenching onto his sword in one hand, he grabbed the old man’s ragged shirt. Forcefully pulling his prey up the blade, the dying man let out an uncomforting whimper.
Almost face to face, the darkened warrior breathed vapors of moisture into the cold air and onto the old man. Peering through the visor, he could see no demon or demigod caged within the helmet but that of a man. Realizing who it was, the old man slightly smiled before wheezing and coughing blood onto his killer’s helmet. A slight chuckle escaped the old man, as he realized just how long this fate had been set for him. With his mouth quivering, he sputtered a few sentences together, barely escaping his lips.
“I knew you would eventually come back… Vires. I… I knew one day… you would come back for me… for what I have done.”
Pressing his helmet firmly into the face of the old man, the black plated warrior replied in a deep husky voice.
“I did not come for you. I’ve come for what you and the Syndicate have taken away from my people…from my kingdom”
Leaning in even closer, he twisted his blade through the old man’s chest. The churning sword cracked bones and ripped flesh like butter, while the old man whined in agony. Only interrupted by the sounds of rain, he whispered further into the old man’s ear.
“The Syndicate has a grave, grave debt to pay old man.”
Pausing to collect his thoughts, the darkened colossus stood still. In a voice that boomed into the heavens he continued on.
“And on this day, I have come… to collect!!!”
The warrior yanked his sword from the old man’s body, as his cries of agony carried over the mountains and the shrill of sirens rippled over the ocean’s waters. The sudden thud of his body was hushed by the deafening sound of rain drops colliding into the earth. For a moment, there was finally silence within all the noise. With that, the warrior turned away into the night, and walked back into the shadows from where he came from. Although only a whisper, he spoke in a voice as deep as the darkest chasms, echoing up for all those above to hear it.
“The voices of Strom shall be heard.”