This article is a player character biography page for Stama of Scarlet Crusade US created by Locknbar. The contents herein are entirely player made and in no way represent official World of Warcraft history or occurrences which are accurate for all realms. The characters and events listed are of an independent nature and applied for roleplaying, fictional, speculative, or opinions from a limited playerbase only.
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Name Faction Server Race Class Level Guild Rank
Stama Horde 15 Scarlet Crusade US IconSmall Undead Male Ui-charactercreate-classes priest Priest 60 The Murder of Crows Executor
Name Faction Server Race Class Level Guild Rank

Character's Full name: Executor Stama Oaknight.
Character's Nickname(s): Executor Stama, Scout Stama.
Race: Forsaken, formerly Night Elf.
Age: Stama was 430 years of age at the time of his death.
Class: Shadow Priest.
Professions: Journeyman Miner, Artisan Skinner.
Secondary skills: Journeyman Cook, Expert First Aid, Expert Fisherman, Apprentice Rider.
Position in society: An aspiring patriot to The Forsaken Cause.
Face/Heel: Generally cordial with those he interacts with.
Current Home: Orgrimmar.
Role-playing weight class: Usually medium.
Role-playing status: Likes to build off of RP initiated by others.
Goals and Motivations: Short term: Season enough to be an asset at Warsong Gulch & Arathi Basin. Long term: Watch Darnassus burn to the ground because of his own actions.
In Character Strengths: Fierce loyalty & honesty makes him a trustworthy subject to Master Jannik.
In Character Weaknesses: He's frequently distracted by his thoughts; he sometimes has trouble concentrating on the task at hand.
Passionate About The War?: Very much so.
PvP preference (do it a lot?): Loves BGs, is seasoning so he can participate once more.

Physical Description

Stama's eyes are dark with hatred & bitterness. His face has leather straps crossing over his face, holding his skull together due to the rotting taking place. Tattered gray robes hang from his corpse, dripping with the blood of his latest kill, & emitting an oder that makes his presence known to all Breathers.

Personality Description

Stama is admittedly torn, psychologically. He had spent his former life as a Night Elf, sworn to the destruction of The Forsaken, most especially Master Jannik. Although Stama is now a loyal servant to Master Jannik, he finds himself distracted a lot while thinking of his new fate.


The jungle canopy rose overhead like a heavy blanket of moisture and pressure as Stama was helping his father collect plants. It was not rare to find them hunting through the beautiful Shadowglen forests, finding the most unique and beautiful of plants for dye, as a dress, a shirt or trousers. It was often that Stama was seen deftly climbing the trees, even when he was so young. He was quick and flexible whilst his father could not climb the vines as safely to obtain the rarer upper canopy plants. Stama would feel the sun pouring over him as he broke through the canopy, retrieving passionflower and other vine-flowers, avoiding the plants that would sting his knees and arms if he brushed against them. They sometimes spent days camping in the underbrush, until all of the best plants were collected.
This is what made Stama's father one of the most highly appreciated tailors in Teldrassil. Despite this, however, they lived quite modestly. Perhaps it was Stama's mother and father's intention to have him understand humility. He also understood the beauty and diversity of the jungle and how life fed life. He would often be left alone to wander and explore, when his father had decided to go into an area that he decided was too dangerous for Stama. But, Stama was fascinated with the intricacy of the binds that animals made to each other. He could sit for hours and watch the relationship between leaf-cutting ants and their tree. They defended the tree, whilst the tree gave them shelter. Nevertheless, when at last they were all at home (his mother was often out in the forests collecting food and herbs) they all would sit together and speak of their adventures, and the blessed Elune, whom would guide and show them the light of life.
Even back then, he was taught to value Her and all that she stood for. The priests and priestesses of Elune knew his family well, for the Oaknight family made visits quite often. It was on a particularly beautiful evening, when the moon peeked through the canopy and shone blessed light upon them through their windows, that they were eating a particularly well-known Teldrassil dish. There came a knock upon the door. To this day, Stama still remembers every detail. The look of surprise upon his father's face, as his mother cleared the table. "It's quite late for visitors…" He commented. He rarely spoke, but when he did, his quiet tone seemed to hold a kind of authority. He then rose from his chair, striding to the door as it was knocked most urgently.
As he opened the door, a man pushed through it. "I require your skills," He claimed, slurring as he swayed on his feet. He looked slightly drunk, but for some reason, Stama had not trusted that this man would not be a dangerous foe, even in such a state. His eyes darted about, black and cold. He wore robes, stark white against black, his long black hair pulled back into a greasy ponytail. As he grinned, yellowed teeth of black and brown shone in the dimly lit home. "I'm sorry, milord. Come back tomorrow that we might make you what you desire, it is too late now." Stama's father reasoned. "No," The man replied thickly. "I need it now," And he grinned coldly, suddenly straightening. He seemed to loom over his father, and his father stood in silence, his gray eyes, always wise, knew no fear.
However, he did know when he was being threatened. "I would advise you to step outside. The undead roam in the evening. When the moon hides its face, they will come," Stama's father assessed, trying to gently push the man back out the door. He stood unmoving. Suddenly he was as sober as Stama's father. And then he laughed. It was a cold, cruel laugh that cut through the air like a knife. He began to whisper softly, words that were hidden by the crickets and birds of the evening. His eyes began to glow; his hands seemed to find their place, holding an invisible ball in them. Suddenly, he pushed the force into Stama's father, and like a dagger to the stomach, his face freezing, eyes going wide. All that Stama saw was his leather tunic back suddenly slouching over, a dead whisper escaping his lips, "Warlock…" Stama's mother, the most beautiful woman in his life, thought quickly.
She ran at the warlock, throwing herself into him, to protect her son with a kitchen knife. She was so quick and agile that she managed to stab the knife into his shoulder, blood spurting and oozing from the wound, before something crept in through the window, leaping upon her. It was an undead. And many more swarmed over her and her husband from the shadows. Where had they come from? Why? Stama was terrified. He had crept under the table and was watching as his mother and father were devoured before his eyes. What was the reason for this horrible cruelty? He sobbed softly, shaking as the Warlock laughed that cutting edge laugh, once black eyes glowing a hideous green hue. They began to destroy the house, throwing furniture every which way, without thought, without apparent reason.
The scene before him immobilized Stama. His mother looked back at him, the beauty in her blood-streaked face was strangely stronger than ever as her soundless lips cried, "Go," But, he couldn't move, he couldn't find the strength. The Warlock and his minions were stalking towards him, looming over him like a shadow. And then, as if a sign from the Lady herself, the moonlight streamed into the room from the window. Something in him burst, he met eyes with the Warlock. Suddenly the man stopped before him, staring at Stama blankly, and his minions followed suite. Stama burst up from under the table and ran, climbing through the open window that the undead had streamed through only moments before, moments that seemed like hours.
He retreated into the forests, hiding for days, living off of the plants he knew so well, staying out of danger by climbing the trees past the canopy. He tried to fight off the fear, the grief and the feeling of being chased. He tried to suppress it all and become closed, as often his father would when he was angry, sitting by the fire with a stone face. Instead, he wept. And after the tears came, after his sorrows washed the limbs of the trees with his tears, he stood up and he swore an oath. He swore with all of his young heart that he would eradicate every last Undead, and find the Warlock that so brutally murdered his parents. When he returned to Shadowglen, the survivors of the village were rebuilding their houses and working together.
It appeared that they had been searching for something, and in that search, they had decided to tear everything apart, and anyone who got in their way. The village was silent and grieving. Not even the birds sang in the canopy as they gathered supplies, hammering every which way. There was no trace of his mother or father's remains, but when he arrived back to his home, a woman in a white robe stood before him, a gentle smile of reassurance was upon her face. "Stama… You remember me, do you not?" She asked him softly. She was so much taller than he; she stood like an angel, bright face aglow with compassion and faith. He did indeed remember her, she was among the priestesses and priests of Elune that visited them monthly, and they visited her weekly.
Or, at least they used to. He nodded. "Your parents, they have been taken by the scourge… I am sorry," She said softly, frowning. He nodded. He knew. "I would ask if you would like to come with me to Elune's temple?" She wondered. Numbly, and dumbly, he nodded. The shock from the prior days engraved in his memory, but he knew best that Elune had helped him when he felt lost. This meant that he needed to go there. Gather strength, until he was ready for them. The priests and priestesses were always kind to him, he was given warm clothes, food and shelter, and in return he happily dedicated his life to Elune. He remembered the endless malice in the Undead's eyes, the Warlock as he laughed maliciously. Stama was older, the grief of his parents' loss still struck his heart.
As he traveled to the riverbed, watching the water, the scenes of that day that changed everything seemed to be etched before him, his losses happening before his eyes as if he were still there. He lent a prayer to Elune for their souls, and that her Light might be blessed upon them, and that she might give him the strength for the future. He looked up at the moon, that peeked through the trees as it had that day- Suddenly a beast-like scream cut through the foliage of the jungle. Stama's keen hearing detected the cry no more than a few yards away. He quickly darted into the underbrush, swiftly and quietly moving towards the sound of the yelling. It was a rather deep voice that was speaking, and as he broke through the forest plants into a small clearing, he could see why.
The Tauren, normally a race that he had not been well aquainted with, but whose tales far exceeded their presence, was tied to a tree, with irons. Sap oozed over his gigantic paws, he pulled and yanked at what bound him. Suddenly, Stama's keen eyes spotted them. Several undead. They laughed, crowded around the Tauren with those same pit-eyes, full of needless hate and cruelty. Stama clenched his fists, he watched as visions flooded through him, visions of his mother's face, his father's rasping cry. One of them whipped the poor creature, sending a dark red lash against the furry Tauren's large chest. He whimpered, making whining sounds. Stama suddenly realized that he was sobbing and all of a sudden, his mind-view shifted.
This Tauren was the victim; he was at their mercy. He meant no harm to them. They had caught him defenseless… Just as they had to his… His hatred for them grew with every breath he took. They had killed his mother. They had killed his father. He would not allow them to harm anyone else. He whispered a prayer to Elune, gathering strength from Her moon itself, and then, like a bolt of energy that the Warlock had used so long ago, he struck at them. He violently slashed at them with blinding streaks of light; their cries and their begging for mercy did nothing to stave his temper. He sliced and cut and slashed at the air, even when they were all gone, he was still slashing, stabbing, cutting into the earth. Gasping and panting for breath, his energy depleted, he fell to his knees.
His head was in his hands. A mournful admonishment for all he had endured and lost to them echoed through the forest. The Tauren leaned back against the tree, trying to pull away from the Night Elf gone mad. He whimpered again, causing Stama to look up and meet his soft brown eyes. "I am sorry," He spoke to the Tauren, but his words were to someone else. Rather than replying, the creature seemed to listen to his words, tilting his head to the side as if fascinated by something he had never seen before. Stama went to the creature slowly, holding his hands before him to show that he meant no harm. Even had the creature thought Stama meant ill intent, it was far too exhausted and weak to resist. Stama looked around to make sure no one was looking before he unchained the rather large beast, who then stood up, looming far above him and swaying to and fro.
"Igg." The beast rumbled low, slurring slightly, before falling to the base of the tree trunk. The ground shook in protest, and the Night Elf set his feet apart to stay up. "Igg?" Stama tried. The beast looked at him in confusion, as if he had said something incredibly unintelligible. Stama blushed furiously in his embarrassment. How else was he to communicate with this creature? "Feror em Apakaga." The creature enunciated. "Apakaga," Touching its chest wearily. "Apakaga?" Stama wondered, pointing at it. The beast looked further confused, but nodded anyway. "Mit." He nodded again, affirmatively. Stama played with the word 'Mit' in his mouth as if it were a precious gem of understanding. The creature seemed docile, not dangerous at least, liquid brown eyes appraising Stama with surprisingly sharp intellect.
And this creature, said by all, to be a vice and something to be feared? Stama almost wanted to laugh, if it wasn't for the fact that the creature stood well over seven to eight feet tall above him, when it stood up. It watched Stama closely, until Stama jerked up with realization. He hadn't introduced himself! "I am Stama," He said, imitating the beast's movements by touching his own chest, "Stama," The beast nodded, "Sorma," It said. "No, no. Stama," "Sorr…ma?" Stama watched Apakaga, and decided that their languages were too far apart to really get a clear pronunciation in either language. Which was clearly why the beast-err, Apakaga, allowed him to call him by that name and not by the tongue in which it truly spoke.
A rumbling tongue of melodic quality. Almost peaceful. Perhaps the Tauren were forced to serve the orcs, some horrible misunderstanding. Thoughts tumbled through Stama's head as he helped the beast up again, almost falling over at the enormous weight being allowed to him. Suddenly, Stama paused, looking up at the beast, "How did you get here?" He asked. Apakaga looked at him silently for a moment, assessing his movements, perhaps, and pointed between two mountains, which served as part of the cliff-face that surrounded Teldrassil. It was incredibly far, or seemed so. Stama looked from them, to the beast, wondering how it understood. Perhaps it was because Stama had seemed so surprised at the creature all of a sudden.
It was not long before they made a crude plan in the sand. Luckily they were secluded, so that no Night Elf could see them. They decided that Stama would help Apakaga to the mountains, to meet with his friends and sail away from the island. This day had changed Stama, he had met a victim of the Undead's onslaught; a victim who was formerly thought of as one of the enemies, and was now a strange friend. Stama cloaked Apakaga with holy magic and an extra cloak that he had ran back to retrieve, explaining to his mentors that he was going on a journey to become closer to Elune. He was. When he brought Apakaga to the mountains, the large beast grabbed hold of him and lifted him high in the air, squeezing the air from his lungs whilst Stama patted him half-heartedly on the back while trying to breathe.
Clearly, this was a gesture of thanks in the creature's homeland. He also felt that he was closer than ever to Elune, when he thought he was going to lose his breath and meet her. Luckily, he didn't. They waved, which seemed to be a universal custom among even such creatures, and he was gone. The journey back left Stama alone with his thoughts. Through this solitude, thinking of his new friend and how he was victimized, and all of his experiences with the undead, emphasized and punctuated his resolve. He would destroy the undead for their treacherous ways, for killing all that grows and lives. They should not even exist, he decided. By his hand, they would not. Stama managed to gain a reputation for strong achievement at Warsong Gulch.
He decided to venture out, & try to learn more about that wicked Undead Warlock of his past. His guild, Crusade of Light, had fallen apart. With the Guild Leadership unable to maintain a guild that had been outright targeted by The Murder of Crows, their time was all but long lasting. While trying to find his way through Ashenvale, Stama stumbled upon the Warlock of his past, Master Jannik. Stama fought as best he could, but the mere Breather was no match for the superior animated corpse. Stama was beaten & tortured to submission, even begging for death. Master Jannik cackled in victory, but was too cruel to grant true mercy... death was too easy after all. Stama, thinking to disrupt Master Jannik's plans, managed to pull a small blade from a small pocket in his robes.
Knowing the blade was useless against the too powerful Master Jannik, Stama slit his own throat instead, to avoid further tortures from the cruel Warlock. Master Jannik didn't even seem surprised, as though his victims did this often. He even crouched down low to Stama's face, gladly watching the spark of life die & fade away from Stama's scared face. Master Jannik then did something nearly unheard of. He called upon powers among the darkest in existence, & raised Stama from the dead, but not just as any mindless corpse, like the foolish Scourge... Stama became an animated, free-thinking Undead being. Stama was too weak to rise at that time, but he understood what had happened. He knew that Master Jannik had cursed Stama to an existence as the very being he had hated most... and he would love him for it.

Stama was first seen in WoW by WoW Census([1]) on July 14th, 2006 when he was level 10. He was already a member of the guild The Murder of Crows at that time. Stama was promoted from Neophyte to Butcher by Master Jannik on August 6th, 2006 when he was level 20. Stama was promoted from Butcher to Ravager by Master Jannik on Thursday, February 19th, 2009 when he was level 30. He was promotion from Deathguard to Executor by DreadCrow Jastara Zhaen Vessrad on Friday, February 26th, 2010 when he was level 60.

See Also

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