Eraifiel
Sharp, quiet, skeptical. Slow to trust. Her soft-spoken kindness does not come unguarded.
Other characters:
FFXIV Ylfa Turas Kyrja Royal
SoDM/VtM Rethan
Basic StatsRace: Blood Elf (Sin’dorei)
Age: ~140 years (appears mid-20s, young adult by elven standards)
Height: 5' 7"
Build: Lean, wiry, and athletic
Birthday: Unknown
Profession: Rogue (former Farstrider apprentice; now an independent contract scout/assassin)
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Residence: Silvermoon CityPersonalityEraifiel carries herself with the poise of one raised within Silvermoon’s institutions but the independence of someone who learned early not to trust appearances. She is slow to speak, quick to observe, and rarely offers more of herself than is necessary. Though shaped by tragedy, she is not hardened into bitterness. Her skepticism is a survival tool. To friends and allies she shows moments of dry humor and playfulness, residue of the mischievous child who once snuck away under her mother’s approving eye. Beneath her cool exterior lies a heavily guarded and quiet empathy. Pragmatic above all, she trusts in her wit and skill more than banners or crowns.StrengthsDiscerning Strategist: Her training as a Farstrider combined with her mother’s lessons honed her ability to read patterns in people, terrain, and situations. She rarely acts before calculating the consequences.Resilient: Losing her family, surviving looming addiction, and enduring the Scourge invasion left scars, but also strengthened her will to adapt and persevere. She recovers quickly from setbacks.Perceptive: Raised to notice details others missed, she excels at spotting advantages. A slight of hand, a weak point in armor, or a gap in patrol routes rarely go unnoticed. Her mother’s insistence on “watching the body, not the words” is now second nature.WeaknessesDistrustful: Her experiences with Silvermoon’s propaganda and Kael’thas’ betrayal left her wary of authority, to say the least. She struggles to rely on leaders or organizations, even when cooperation would benefit her.Detached: Though not unkind, she often keeps emotional distance from others, fearing attachments will end in loss or betrayal. This can make her seem cold or unapproachable.Vindictive: When wronged, she finds it difficult to let go. While she is not reckless, she may linger on grudges. She doesn’t spend time plotting revenge, but won’t pass an opportunity if she sees subtle ways to balance the scales.
BackgroundWhen Arthas led the Scourge through Quel’Thalas, the Sunwell was corrupted and the kingdom shattered. The green and gold spires of Silvermoon lay broken in their wake, the proud songs of the high elves silenced.Eraifiel remembered the days after as a haze of ash and fire. The air was thick with the stench of burning flesh, smoke so dense it scoured her throat raw and clung to her hair for days. Ash drifted across the Ghostlands like gray snow, blanketing the ruins of her home. She searched for her parents’ among the fallen, but the pyres were too crowded, the flames too greedy. Just a heap of bodies swallowed by fire, and another heap waiting its turn.Those tending the dead did not pause for names. They carried bodies like firewood, stacking soldier and farmer, magistrix and street urchin alike until all distinction was lost to the flames. No songs of remembrance rose over the crackle of fire. No runes carved in stone marked their passing. Only sparks spitting into dusk, vanishing with every oath her father had sworn, every lesson from her mother. She pressed her nails into her palms until they bled, biting back the scream when a weary magistrix murmured, “There are too many to count. It is better this way.”Her parents had given everything for Quel’Thalas, yet their loyalty earned them nothing more than a place on a nameless pyre. In that moment, something broke. Faith withered, trust hollowed. Loyalty and sacrifice turned to ash.In the years after the Scourge invasion, the survivors of Quel’Thalas named themselves Sin’dorei. The children of the blood. Silvermoon rose again under Regent Lord Lor’themar, its spires rebuilt and gleaming, but beneath the marble surface ran veins of sickness. Magic addiction spread like rot, and the Wretched haunted the shadows of the city.Kaelren had once been brighter than she was. Quick with jokes, quicker on his feet, mischief always in his eyes. They had raced barefoot through the forests as children, his laughter carrying through the trees. But after the invasion, his light dimmed and laughter quieted. She thought it was grief. Only later did she notice the bruised hollows beneath his eyes, the tremor in his hands.She found him one night in a ruin near Tranquillien. Moonlight spilled through the shattered arches of what had once been a noble’s home. Kaelren lay slumped against the wall, hands clutched so tightly around a fel crystal that his palms bled. His lips were parted in a desperate gasp, his veins traced with a sickly green glow. She dropped to her knees beside him, hands trembling. No, no, no… I can fix this. I can help him. Her body shook, mind raced, heart pounding, a heavy panic that felt like it could crush her.She choked back her tears as if letting them free would make her fears real. But as the realization settled in her mind, she found only hopelessness. There was no cure. No healing spell. No tincture or first aid could save him. She broke. Kaelren was gone. His once-bright eyes glazed with a hunger that outlived him.Her grief soured into rage. How could he abandon her, after surviving so much? After surviving the Scourge? For months, she blamed him for weakness.When she trained among the Farstriders, she saw the same story play out again and again. Families broken. Addicts lurking at the edges of Silvermoon. The slow hunger, hollow eyes, desperate clinging to shards of power. The world Silvermoon forced them to endure. The rage she carried for him bled into mistrust of Silvermoon itself.By the time Kael’thas fell on Quel’Danas and the Sunwell blazed again as a font of light and arcane, Silvermoon spoke of recovery. The worst of the addiction years had passed, and Regent Lord Lor’themar led with pragmatism. Yet the city’s rhetoric lingered on loyalty even as truth frayed beneath the weight of betrayal.Her boots were still caked with the mud of Eversong when she stood in the Farstriders’ hall. A magistrix’s voice carried over the assembly, ringing with praise for Kael’thas’ noble sacrifices. His vision, his courage, his pursuit of new power for their people. Heads bowed in reverence. Others obediently nodded. Eraifiel only stared. The whispers from Outland were no longer rumor; Kael’thas had betrayed them. And still, none dared speak.When the gathering broke, a captain brushed past her and muttered, “We know the truth. But the people need the illusion.” He sighed with weary resignation. As if lies were a duty, as natural as breathing. The words slid into her chest like a knife. We know the truth. They lied deliberately, soothing the masses with honeyed words. Just as her mother had warned her long ago.That night she sat alone beneath the boughs of a half-burnt tree, sharpening her knives in the moonlight. Each draw against the whetstone was steady, precise, giving rhythm to her thoughts. She remembered her mother’s sly smile when she caught her sneaking out, the quiet pride behind her gaze. She remembered her father’s rigid faith, now reduced to ash.If Silvermoon’s leaders would lie for convenience, then no system was worth her faith. From that night on, she trusted only what she could see, and only what she could hold in her own hands.Appendix A: Reflections on Her Parents
She thinks of them often now, in quiet hours. Her father’s stern jaw, set with devotion and purpose. Her mother’s sly smile, eyes carrying secrets behind their warmth.Her father was the pillar of her childhood, a man bound to duty and faith. She remembers him poring over maps and reports at night, teaching her watchfulness, preparation, and the discipline to endure. He believed in Silvermoon with a conviction that made their home feel safe. Even in his silence, his love was constant. Yet sometimes he hesitated, staring too long at the horizon, jaw clenched, swallowing words, hiding his doubt. She understands now. He chose to be their anchor, and he carried that burden to the pyre.Her mother was different, a river flowing through that rigid foundation. Playful, deliberate, and sharp. Her lessons were subtle rebellions, guiding Eraifiel to see the truth hidden in gestures, to weigh curiosity against caution. “Watch their hands. Watch their eyes. Their actions will tell you the truth,” she would say. Eraifiel remembers slipping out at night. Her mother feigning ignorance while guiding her to move silently, to read expressions, to sense danger. What once felt like a game was preparation, shaping her in ways she only understood years later. Perhaps echoing the path her mother herself had walked.Even in these quiet reflections, she feels the absence of her father’s certainty. His discipline hums in her bones, a reminder that freedom alone is not enough. One must temper it with preparation, measured observation, and endurance. She smiles softly in the dark, imagining them both. One the river, one the stone, and she, their daughter, forged from love, loss, and the wisdom they left behind.Appendix B: The Wrath-Era Rogue
No longer the idealistic child of Silvermoon, nor a bitter exile, Eraifiel carries her homeland’s weight while walking her own path through the shadows it left behind.Outlook and Morality: Pragmatic rather than cruel, she takes life only when necessary, favoring clean, efficient methods over theatrics. The deaths of her parents and friends left deep scars, but they forged skepticism rather than bitterness. She tests every claim, trusts few, and channels grief into awareness. Empathy is hidden and protected. She feels for the wretched, the desperate, even enemy soldiers, but she buries it, believing mercy a weakness. Occasionally, she lets it slip, sparing a life without explanation, keeping her reasoning as guarded as her movements.Professional Style: Eraifiel moves like a predator. Patient and persistent. Her mother’s lessons in observation, subtlety, and reading gestures make her an exceptional scout and infiltrator. She favors light, concealable blades and has a fascination with poisons. Though loosely tied to Silvermoon, she avoids its politics, taking contracts from Farstriders, the Horde, or neutral factions, always weighing how each opportunity serves her path and survival.Public Persona: Among allies, she is reserved and deliberate, speaking only when her words hold value. To strangers, she is cool, efficient, and hard to read. Within Silvermoon, she walks as both daughter and outsider. Shaped by its tragedies, unwilling to be bound by its illusions. Even in respect for her people, she trusts only her own wits and the lessons her parents left behind.Appendix C: Eraifiel – Name Lore
Her mother loved stories of the wild. Cunning hunters, predators, wolves moving silently through forests, surviving by intelligence, observation, and instinct. To her, the wolf was a symbol of subtlety, independence, and loyalty.When Eraifiel was born, her mother chose her name. Eraif came from the ancient tongue she admired: wolf. The suffix -iel followed Thalassian tradition. Her father hesitated at first, preferring something more tied to duty and custom, but her mother’s conviction won out, and he agreed with fondness, seeing how the name lit her eyes.As she grew, her name became a living reminder of her mother’s lessons. To watch, to listen, to survive. She embraced the wolf’s traits: independence, observation, decisiveness. They became tools to navigate a world fractured by loss and deceit.Eraifiel carries her name like armor. Self-reliant, cunning, and guided by instincts she has learned to trust.
RP HooksRogue for Hire: She steps from the shadows, daggers lightly at her belt, and offers no promises. Need a task done discreetly? Dangerous? Perhaps profitable? She’s open to work. Long-term contracts or one-off jobs for those who might prove themselves worthy of her time.Blood Elf or Farstrider: Her gaze lingers on those who bear the sigils or speech of Quel’thalas. Fellow blood elves, former Farstriders, or wanderers from her homeland? Approach if you share their blood or stories, and let us see if common ground exists.Shadow of the Past: Shaped by loss and betrayal, she moves through the world with purpose. Survivors of the Scourge, addiction, or political deceit may find in her a wary but understanding ally, or a mirror to their own pain. Her travels take her far, yet she comes and goes as quietly as she arrived. Does she seem familiar? Perhaps you shared a battlefield once.
OOCI currently only RP with Eraifiel in WoW and Discord. Please use third- person and paragraph form is preferred. Don't feel the need to match writing. I'd prefer to have fun rather than fret over grammar and style.This is my first WoW OC after having left the game mid-Cataclysm. There is a lot about WoW lore that I don't know. I'm open to listen and learn more about the lore to make her story more accurate.I am US based, Central Time zone, with a very unpredictable schedule. One week I may be active a few hours each night, another week I may only login for a short time. If we find ourselves in a long-term story, I will communicate any changes in schedule. I will communicate if I'm not comfortable, running out of time, or do not feel we're going in the same direction. Please do the same and I will understand it isn't personal.- Metagaming or Godmodding will be ignored.
- Be respectful. Like many of us, I'm introverted and filled with anxiety. I really enjoy meeting new people but it can be exhausting. I choose not to couple the exhaustion with negativity.
- 18+, 21+ preferred for any M/D RP. I'm not opposed to E/RP if it makes sense to character development. Do not expect it in a one-shot. If this is the direction you want
- I'm 21+ with many responsibilities and a job that requires a lot of travel. Please respect my time as much as I respect yours.
- Maintain OOC and IC boundaries please. I have an IRL partner and am not interested in OOC romance.I do not like to use ignore/blacklists liberally, but continued violations of the above, perfectly reasonable, requests will relegate your character to the beautiful scenery of Eraifiel's story.
