Mabuse

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About Mabuse

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  1. A Tavern in the Rain ((Open))

    Mabuse listened to Zarja's tale solemnly, chewing slowly. Held chained as an oar slave for six years? Mab couldn't blame the troll woman for killing with her bare fangs and taking her captors head. She felt a chill down her spine at the implied fate of the other female. That was no way to go for anyone. She remembered that night herself, despite having been fuzzy with far too much drink at the time. She was almost embarrassed to remember how much younger she had seemed then, inexperienced and so naive. The town had looked like a slaughterhouse as folk fought and died in the raid. She had gotten out alive, but burned and bleeding, and she had developed a healthy respect for the savagery of brigands. As a Tauren, even as an average sized female, she was bigger than most, and the pirates had been wary of her size and strength- she had had a long fighting staff and a penchant for lashing out with her heavy cloven hooves. "They came after me with torches and swords," she murmured, poking at a bite of potato on her plate. "I remember them trying to take me down. Someone had swung a net and tangled my horns in it- I remember fighting to free my head. By the way they looked at me and jeered, it was as if they planned to put me on a spit like a roast. At one point, they had me pinned, and one old bastard pulled a knife to cut my throat, like I was some animal. I thought I was done. I am not ashamed to say that I was terrified- I couldn't even think of any spells to cast to defend myself. Somehow, I managed to escape but... well, I actually have a hard time remembering how I escaped. I remember running with a mob on my tail, but I don't remember how I fought myself out of being pinned, or how I rid myself of my pursuers." It had been a bloody nightmare. A savagely stormy night, rent by shrieking and screams, the clash of weapons, and filled with mist and stinging black smoke as buildings, tinder dry inside, caught and burned despite all the rain, casting a hellish orange glow over the bloodbath. It wasn't something she cared to remember very often, except when it came to her escape- that had always puzzled her. "When I think about it, I figure that maybe I had used my magic after all, over used it even, in my defense- but all I remember is coming to the next day lying in a bleeding heap in some muddy hole somewhere in the Vale, shaking sick and weak as a newborn. It took me a long time to get up and go back to town, but by then the pirates were long gone, along with whatever they had taken, and the place was still burning. It took me days to find and book passage back to Kalimdor, and I had to work the whole way- my belongings had been lost in the fray and I had no coin." She swallowed her brandy down and poured another. "I've since settled on Red Cloud Mesa with a tiny clan, teaching young shaman. When I'm not in Mulgore, I travel to far flung places and gather rare plants and other valuable materials, every couple of years or so. If anything, they are good for trade and for coin while traveling, but many I take back to sell in Thunderbluff. The Vale is usually my last stop before I go home but... if you would like company on your quest to Zul'Gurub, I would be honored to walk by your side."
  2. A Tavern in the Rain ((Open))

    “Mi remember joo, now. Da much be changed since da last we be in dis place. Lookin’ like joo lost un ear, and limpin’ too. Da humans get joo? Or somethin’ else? Me have many new scars, but no wounds,” Zarja said after listening to her account. Mab grinned ruefully. "A few humans, but mostly those demons spawned by the dragon when the earth shattered. I found myself caught up in skirmish and battle, and an unfriendly sword decided it would have half my ear for trophy. -The limp though... aye, well, that was my own folly. Never tangle with the Stranglethorn boars... they're so much bigger and meaner here." She peered more closely at the troll woman. Mab couldn't see the scars of which she spoke, but she had a beaten down posture, and looked painfully thin beneath her clothing. "What has happened to you?" she asked without thinking, and then admonished herself for being so thoughtlessly nosy. "Forgive me, I shouldn't pry." The healing totem started guttering, and finally went out. Mab lifted her hoof to see how it had healed. The split had closed, and the pain was gone, but it still felt a bit tender, the tough horny material a little softer and thinner than the rest. She could use the totem again, but it was unnecessary at the moment. She reckoned if she rested long enough, her body would finish the healing in a few days. In her years as a shaman training other shaman, she learned that sometimes the results were better if you let the body do its job, and didn't rely too heavily on healing magics. They were good in battle, when a body needed rapid healing and strength, but the magic took it's toll on the user, and it often made recovery after the battle longer and more difficult. In the middle of her musing, a night elf entered the inn. He looked about as wet and bedraggled as she felt as he forced the door closed against the storm, and found a place to sit. "The weather is unbelievably wicked tonight," she commented, trying to cover up her social faux pas. The innkeepers assistant delivered a bowl of soup and bread and cup of plain water to Zarja. It looked a poor and meager meal for such a thin and worn creature. Mab set her hoof down and got up. No pain, and no more limp. Good. Moving her stool to the table where Zarja sat, she caught the innkeepers attention the next time he looked her way. When the fat goblin arrived at her elbow, she ordered a platter of the roast boar she could smell, a loaf of bread with butter, a wedge of cheese, a plate of boiled potatoes, and a flask of blackberry brandy with two cups. She wasn't in the habit of buying such extravagant meals for herself, usually, but she had no intention of eating it all on her own. The innkeeper was suspicious at the order until she took out her money bag and pretended to count the gold coins it contained, and his beady little eyes glittered greedily when she deposited each gold coin into his spindly fingers. With a simpering bow, he scuttled off to assemble the feast with assurances that it would arrive post-haste. She weighed her money bag thoughtfully. There was plenty coin enough to buy passage back home if she lived on travelers rations and hunted or fished as she went... which she usually did anyway. She extracted a few more gold and silver coins and placed them in a neat stack by the trolls hand, to make up for the exorbitant price of the broth, with some spare for traveling expenses. "It seems that the more strife our world falls into, the more expensive food gets, and the more disadvantaged a poor traveler becomes," and with that she tucked the bag back inside her tunic. Her journey was nearly over anyway. She would travel back to Kalimdor, to Mulgore, and make the rounds of the villages there. She usually made a small living by offering her services as a shaman, a healer, a hunter even. She had many skills she could utilize. The meal arrived as quickly as the goblin had promised, mouth watering and delicious as the fragrant smells of hot bread and juicy meat wafted around them. The cheese arrived, with potatoes, and the innkeeper placed the flask of brandy and cups down last. Mab thanked him just enough to stroke his ego, before she took up the plate and served a generous portion of the foods onto it. She placed that beside the bowl of thin soup that Zarja had drowned her bread in. "You look far too thin, my friend," she said. "Eat well tonight." She poured a cup of brandy for each of them, to take the chill off, and got stuck into her own meal.
  3. A Tavern in the Rain ((Open))

    The troll appeared quite shocked when Mab had spoken, turning suddenly to stare at her searchingly. The trolls eyes noted her half-ear, and Mab had a hunch it was making her identity difficult to place. “Da, dat mi. Mi know joo?” Zarja asked. Now Mab was in the position of reminding a virtual stranger from six years ago of who she was. She turned slightly on her stool, to better light her face in the dim room. "My name is Mabuse. Mab. We met about six years ago on a night not far dissimilar from this one." She paused wryly as thunder rumbled again. The rain kept coming, pelting down even more loudly against the roof, a fierce spate of it. "I recall a game of Captain Jack." She waved a hand semi-vaguely. "Cards and dice. Shot glasses. I remember not being impressed much with neat rum." She huffed a little with amusement. "Tavern was much more crowded then." It had been heaving with bodies, wall to wall Hoard and Alliance, all crammed in to get out of the weather. She lifted her leg slightly and twitched her injured foot to flick away some stray sawdust pieces, before whispering an incantation under her breath. There was a whoosh and a small thunk as she conjured the healing totem out of thin air, and it sat on the fire warmed stones pulsing with a soft green energy, a soothing humming undertone as it worked its healing magic. This one had a small radius, but any who sat within it, even those unhurt, would begin to feel less tired, a little rejuvenated, their aches and pains subsiding. The passing innkeeper cast a wary and suspicious eye on her spell, but seeing no damages or mayhem, hustled back behind the counter to serve another patron. "I remember we had strange company too. A gnome I think, and a goblin. A couple humans. That Paladin smelled like he'd drunk the entire bar dry. Amazingly, no one got into a fight, even with the drinking." It had been a strange gathering of Horde and Alliance, but everyone had been polite. Nervous, but polite. "I know much water has flowed since then, but I thought I would say hello nonetheless." Her brown eyes smiled warmly in the golden firelight.
  4. A Tavern in the Rain ((Open))

    The tall, dark figure limped along through the pelting rain. Mabuse Skypyre wrapped her cloak about herself more tightly as the wind whipped the dripping hem against her hocks. He right hoof stabbed with insistent fire every step she took. The horn on the inside cleft was split painfully deep, and she had only herself to blame for it. She'd tangled with a boar just a few hours away, and injured herself in the ensuing incident. As she was still in questionable and dangerous territory, she hadn't wanted to stop to do a healing on herself, which would take time and energy and leave her vulnerable to attack, so she had chosen to continue her journey to the town. Well, as bad luck would have it, yet another storm had rolled over the Vale, and the muck she was walking through wasn't helping the injury. She sniffed, relying more on smell than eyesight to tell her direction. There was a tavern nearby. Should smell the beer and wood smoke and something tasty roasting over flames. Her hooves clopped heavily against the slippery boardwalks, and splashed through the seething mud of the cross streets as she followed her keen nose. It was dark, but she was able to find the door to the Salty Mug. She swung inside on a thunderclap, water streaming off her clothing, and had to shove hard to close the door against the angry gale outside. "Mother, save us," she muttered under her breath, and blew hard to shed water off her muzzle, flicking her ears. She was muddy, soaked to the skin despite her oil skin cloak, cold, hungry and hurting. She aimed her head towards the fire and made a beeline for it, limping badly. She'd have to sit and treat the hoof or risk going lame. Hanging her dripping cloak on a hook, she dropped her pack on the warm hearth stones and grabbed a squat stool, heedless of whoever might be nearest her, Hoard or Alliance. She delved into her pack for a small box, and out of it she removed what was essentially a hoof pick. Using the pick, she was able to clear out the mud and small stones that had packed themselves into the painfully split hoof. The posture that allowed her to tend to her own foot was ungainly, almost comical, but she managed. When she had rinsed the injury with water from her flask, she removed a vial of something dark and dripped it into the split- it created quite a bit of purple smoke, and hissed faintly. It also stung like hell, and she bit back an unseemly vulgarity. Eventually the stinging eased, and she set her foot down gingerly, propping it on the edge of the hearth to avoid packing sawdust into the freshly cleaned wound. She would throw a healing totem to finish the job, but she was tired and wanted to rest first before casting her magic. As she sat, her eyes roamed over the crowd in the tavern. It was a surprisingly subdued gathering of folk; the troublesome times and the horrid weather probably made most travelers think twice about going too far. Her eye was attracted to a flash of red mane. A female troll wasn't too far away- indeed, she was so close, Mab reckoned she had walked right by her and hadn't even noticed, so intent was she on getting a seat and dealing with her foot. Something about this troll was familiar though. She was hard and lean and bore the scars of any battle worn soldier, and had that flaming hair... Mab stroked her half-ear thoughtfully. She had met and fought alongside many trolls, but not this one specifically... Her gaze wandered briefly to a side table where a small group of Alliance soldiers were playing a drinking game, cards, dice and shot glasses, and then she remembered. "Zarja?" she blurted out. "It's Zarja, right?"
  5. Mabuse Streamsong

    This is Mab's profile updated to take into account that six years have passed, and to correct some errors so that the profile is more up-to-date with some fiction I'd written her into a couple of years ago. If the history seems a little vague, it's because I'm catching up after a long, long break in game play, and I'm well behind in the world story line. Name: Mabuse (Mah BU say) Streamsong was her birth name, which she kept well into her adult years. After the first big battle after the Cataclysm, and a spell that turned the tide of battle and nearly killed her in its execution of power, she earned the new name Mabuse Skypyre. Nicknames: Mab. Those who know her really well can sometimes get away with “Half-Ear”. Some call her Pyre, but she dislikes that one, as it carries unpleasant memories with its significance. Date of Birth: October 31st Title: Healer, Village Elder Gender: Female Race: Tauren Age: 44 Class: Shaman Mane: Black Hide: Deep gray, with paler mottling over her haunches, shoulders and neck Eyes: Liquid brown Height: 7' 0" Weight: 400 lbs Place of residence: She continues to be a mostly nomadic creature, but ever since the Cataclysm, she made somewhat of a home for herself amongst a small tribe of Tauren in the remotest reaches of central Kalimdor, in the Red Bluffs. She still gets the itch to travel, so every couple of years she makes a circuit of the world that she lives in. Place of Birth: While previously unknown to her, much investigating into her past allowed her to discover her origins as written in the History section. Her foster mother, the priestess Zaranya, rescued her and her cousin Hamuul from the wreckage of their family camp, and settled in a tiny remote village in the Stone Talon Mountains. Known Relatives: Her foster mother was Zaranya Cloudcreek, an ancient Tauren priestess (now deceased). Mab was able to speak with her before she died, and learned of her parentage. Her mother (deceased) was a shaman by the name of Fel Streamsong, and her father (also deceased) was a warrior that went by the name of Mukota Windroar. Her cousin is Hamuul Stormwhisper, an accomplished druid. Group/Guild affiliation: None Guild Rank: None Enemies: None who are still alive, at this point- not even the one who took off half her ear. Likes: Singing, cooking, and enjoying nature continue to be enjoyed pass-times. Dislikes: She has come to hate anything that involves hiking through midge infested swamps. Favorite Foods: She developed a taste for fresh fish eggs when she lived near the sea for a time, and fresh fruit is never wasted on her. Favorite Drinks: Cider and sweet mead. Although her vague pipe dream to start a cellar never really came to be, she still enjoys sampling a fine range of beverages on her travels. Favorite Colors: The blue of the ocean on a summer day, and the greens of an evergreen forest. She also likes the purity of freshly fallen snow, and yellow, because daffodils are her favorite flower. Weapons of Choice: She usually handles weapons with great weariness these days. She is six years older and wiser, scarred by war and experience. She still carries a solid staff and large knife sheathed on her shoulder, but other small weapons for mayhem and mischief are secreted about her person as well. Hobbies: When not busy healing or traveling, she weaves baskets and carves small figures and simple toys from wood, and sells or trades them to procure rare herbs and other things for healing. She believes that the earth has all the ingredients to heal injuries and disease, and she uses her extensive knowledge of herbs and plants in combination with her magic to treat her patients. She also has some skill at trapping and curing hides and furs, and some claim that she produces furs of the finest quality. She is skilled at harvesting and preserving. When she is not traveling, she spends her time teaching young Tauren to be prepare them for their shaman training. She is a traveling Healer. (Main Professions: Skinning and Herbalism Secondary Professions: Fishing, Cooking and First Aid) Positive Personality Traits: There was a time when she was friendly and open minded, quite easy going, willing to help passersby, and generally easy going. She's much more reticent these days, but these traits have not completely left her personality. She is quiet and observant, a good listener, does her best to be kind, and is usually willing to give a helping hand. Negative Personality Traits: She'd grown out of her original gullibility in the last few years. She is far more cautious and suspicious of others now, always questioning the intentions of strangers. War had changed the world, and her with it. She was more prone to periods of dark brooding, and bloody war-born nightmares stalked her mind when she slept. Physical Features: Tall, strong, her battle trained body lithe and tough. She's missing half her right ear (lost to an enemy sword), and her dark gray hide bore the pale, puckered scars of old battle wounds. A scar slashed across her muzzle, making her look much more fearsome than she usually felt. She remains well groomed and straight of bearing, but she's picked up a few ear piercings and a few more pieces of jewelry to decorate her mane. She wears tough leather armor over a chain-mail shirt, over a long quilted tunic of dark red cloth with wide sleeves. A heavy leather belt secures everything at her waist, and is hung with a belt knife, and a few storage pouches. Her traveling coat is a dusty black, an old water proof oil skin cloak with a deep hood and a worn steel clasp at the neck, voluminous enough to cover the typical large travelers pack on her back. History: She was born into a small family group of nomadic Tauren in the foothills of the Stone Talon Mountains. She was only an infant when centaurs, the Tauren's mortal enemies, attacked the group in the depth of the night and violently butchered the surprised adults. None but two children survived. Mabuse and her cousin, Hamuul, who was a few years older, were overlooked, where an old grandmother had shoved them both, bundled in a hide, into a hollowed log, before charging the centaurs to distract them. The two babies had huddled in the log, too terrified even to squeak, where they were found by old Zaranya, a (then rare) Tauren priestess. She buried the bodies of the slain, marked them, then scooped the babies up and took them with her to a remote village in the mountains, about four days and three nights out of Sunrock Retreat, a village so small it didn't even have a name other than "Home" for the inhabitants. The two youngsters grew up there, and grew very close. Mabuse has little recollection of the tragic event that killed her family, but sometimes has nightmares about the attack, as did her cousin Hamuul. They grew up strong and relatively happy learning the ways of the land and the Tauren people. The old Priestess taught them everything she knew about healing, and then Mabuse moved on to train with a Shaman in Sunrock Retreat, and from there began her travels as a healer. She was one of the many warriors fighting back the demons spawned by the Cataclysm, during the breaking of the earth, and has seen much bloodshed and death she wishes she hadn't. It has changed her greatly, but her experience has built her her up, rather than torn her down.
  6. It's been a long time since I visited. I'll need to remind myself of a lot of things now to being me back up to speed. :)

  7. Deviantart Accounts? :D

    http://thexnekoxchan.deviantart.com A delightful combination of writing and drawing and photography. Slow updates though. You're welcome to check it out.
  8. A Tavern in the Rain ((Open))

    Mab shook Nika's hand, being careful not to grip too hard, seeing as her large hand engulfed the humans'. Pleased, she turned her attention back to the goblin, who had called himself The Gambler. "So, Mab right? You wanna take your turn now?" he asked. "All right," she said, turning her attention to the game. Picking up the first dice, she rolled a four. She wrinkled her nose, and drew four cards, placing them in front of her in a neat row. She rolled the second set of dice. Not doubles. "Hrm. Four shots I guess." She swept up four shot glasses, lined them up, and then delicately poured the shots. "That's an interesting title, Gambler," she said casually, finishing pouring without a spilt drop. "But do you actually have a name?" She downed her shots in quick succession, glad she had eaten before the game. She'd never tried getting drunk before, so had no idea what her limit would be. Though she'd certainly seen others drunk on their tails. She felt the warmth of the liquor well up in her stomach as she flipped her cards face up, and waved her hand. "Who's next?"
  9. A Tavern in the Rain ((Open))

    Mabuse polished off her plate of stew with a minimum of slurping, before wiping up the last of the broth with the chunk of bread provided, and washed it all down with the mulled wine. It was okay fare... the wine was a bit thick for her tastes... but you didn't waltz into a tavern you didn't know and complain about the food either. It was hot, and it was filling, and that's what mattered. The gnome was taking her turn, speaking to the goblin gambler in a badly mangled version of his native tongue. Mabuse mentally noted that maybe learning a bit of Common or other Alliance tongue might make a difference in similar situations. Afterall, the little gnome made an effort to learn some Goblin and even a bit of Orc. No sense not knowing what the other side is saying, for good or ill. Speaking of Common... One of the humans, the female, was speaking. Well, both the humans were speaking, but she suspected that anyone trying to understand the paladin would have an interesting challenge to face, even if they did speak the language. She knew a drunken slur, in any tongue. The female indicated herself and said "Nika." At least, it sounded like Nika, and it dawned on Mabuse that, with the gesture made, the woman was probably introducing herself by name. This was a very good start. Mabuse was always happy to meet new people, and she beamed at Nika and tapped her chest lightly, saying "Mab." She figured the much shortened nickname would help pronunciation issues. The paladin was still slurring his way through some speech, so she wasn't sure if he was indulging in his drunken stupor or also trying to introduce himself. She kindly held her hand out to the woman, smiling in a nonthreatening way, but pleased with the situation.
  10. A Tavern in the Rain ((Open))

    ((Thank you Smoldergear, sorry for the delay)) Mabuse had been fairly quiet throughout the arrival and exchanges of various creatures, nodded and smiling politely as she took everything in. They were joined not only by the gnome female, but a goblin offering to teach them a drinking game, a very- hrm- drunken paladin, and a human with a quiet voice. It was becoming very crowded around the table. Mabuse listened as the rules were explained to her. "Sounds like it might be fun," she said. The goblin called the bartender, who brought over several shot glasses and a bottle of rum. Around that time, Mabuse's mulled wine and stew showed up at her elbow with a clank and a slosh. The server disappeared as she called "Thank you!" at his back. She wasn't sure that he'd heard though. She started eating as the goblin took his turn, tossed down a few shots, and then passed the dice to the tiny gnome. This might get interesting, she thought, wrinkling her nose over the booze soaked paldin's stench.
  11. A Tavern in the Rain ((Open))

    Mabuse smiled easily as the troll addressed her. "Oh sure, mon. 'ave a seat. Good ta be seein' anot'er member o' da horde," she said. Looking at the gnome by her side, the troll then motioned with her hands, the classic "go on, shoo" gesture. "Mi know joo no understand mi, but joo can be goin'." It was puzzling, Horde and Alliance usually didn't intermingle, but Mabuse didn't mind; the gnome looked to be quite friendly, smiling as she was. That, or she'd had too much of the good drink. Mabuse took her heavy pack off and dropped it to the floor, sliding it under the table with a deft push of one hoof, not worried about missing the gnome, as she had scuttled off. The troll reached out a hand as Mabuse carefully lowered herself to the stool, slowly testing it's strength. "Most be callin' mi Zarja. Never seen joo 'round 'ere. W'at ja be called, mon?" She shook the trolls hand firmly, smiling. "My name is Mabuse Streamsong, but you can just call me Mabuse. Or Mab." She pushed her damp forelock out of her face, and flicked an ear as she scratched behind it. "I'm new to these parts, so I don't really know what the norm is here. I spend most of my time traveling, haven't stopped for long in any one place since I left Sunrock Retreat." She would have continued, but she was interrupted by the return of the gnome, dragging a stool taller than she was and still clutching her mug of cider. There was relative silence at the table as the gnome sat the stool in their midst and climbed aboard, smiling happily. Mabuse felt her eyebrows travel upwards, and she glanced at the troll. "She's rather mm...insistent, isn't she?" She propped her chin in her hand. "Think she's had too much maybe?"
  12. A Tavern in the Rain ((Open))

    Mabuse yawned cavernously, then paused to let the pelting rain falling into her mouth, idly wriggling her tongue, simply for amusement value, before dropping her head and heading onwards again. It had been raining for quite a while in this area. Well, ever since she entered it. Talk with other travelers on the road had told her that Booty Bay was the community she approached and that this was the most rain they'd ever seen. She didn't mind the rain. It was a steady, soothing sound for her travels, and since she couldn't do anything about being wet with muddy hooves, she just accepted that, until she found dry shelter, she would continue to be wet with muddy hooves. A little bit of nature never killed anyone! Her mouth quirked with amusement at the thought. It was just like something her old foster mother would say when she or her cousin Hamuul complained about being wet or muddy. She paused at the top of the road she traveled, gazing down into the town spread out below her, smoke curling from chimneys, and the ever present rain pounding the roofs so hard that they looked cloaked in fuzzy haze. She picked up her pace a bit more when she noted the lightning and thunder, and trotted heavily down the road, skidding slightly in the muddy ruts, but quite skillfully keeping her hooves under her. No sense falling flat on her tail now. She'd entered town, and jogged up under the front awning of the nearest building. She shook herself, splattering water over the walkway, and then felt a little bit guilty because she was making a mess. Spotting a bucket and a horse trough, she swilled water over her feet until the mud was gone, wrung her traveling cloak out, and scrubbed herself until she felt much less drippy. Sniffing, she smelled food, beer, and people, and assumed a tavern was the next building over. She strolled to the next doorway and peered around the door frame. The place was packed, and the inn keeper, a fat goblin, looked a bit frayed around the edges as he served the patrons. She hardly wanted to add to the chaos, but food and warmth sounded very nice at the moment, so she carefully eased her way into the room, inching around tables and people to get to the counter. She waited patiently, looming over the bar without trying to loom, and gazing around at the patrons, practically yelling at each other over the noise of the rain on the roof. A tap on her hand brought her attention to the inn keeper, having returned, and he shouted something she didn't catch the first time. Embarrassed she asked again, and he impatiently repeated the question when she leaned in, and she was finally able to make out "What do you want?" "Mulled wine and a plate of stew if you've got it," she replied, speaking next to his face. He nodded abruptly and went off to do whatever it was fat innkeepers do. She really wanted to sit down now. There were humans near the fire place. She didn't care one way or another about the different races, in the end they all lived, bled, and died the same way, but she had a wet cloak she wanted to dry on the hooks over there. It took a while to get over there but, with a polite nod to the humans, who were staring at her, she hung her cloak up to dry, and turned looking for somewhere to sit. There was a troll sitting at an otherwise empty table near the front of the place, and she decided it was as good as any place and made her way back over there. "May I?" she asked the female troll, indicating the available stool, and noted the tiny gnome on the other side of the table.
  13. Mabuse Streamsong

    Name: Mabuse (Mah BU say) Streamsong Nicknames: None Date of Birth: October 31st Title: None Gender: Female Race: Tauren Age: 38 Class: Shaman Hair: Black Skin: Deep gray, with paler mottling over her haunches, shoulders and neck Eyes: Liquid brown Height: 7' 0" Weight: 400 lbs (Soaking wet and with all her gear) Place of residence: Currently none. She is nomadic. Place of Birth: Unknown. Her foster mother, the priestess Zaranya, rescued her and her cousin Hamuul from the wreckage of their family camp, and settled in a tiny remote village in the Stone Talon Mountains. Known Relatives: Her foster mother Zaranya, an ancient Tauren priestess, with whom she hasn't spoken with for several years, not since leaving the tiny highland village they'd been living in as a traveling healer. Group/Guild affiliation: None Guild Rank: None Enemies: None (that she knows of). She's usually a welcome person, with her healing skills. Likes: Singing, cooking, and enjoying nature Dislikes: The herb dill (as a flavor), and mosquitoes Favorite Foods: Almost everything. She's not too picky. Favorite Drinks: Juices and ciders. Her vague pipe dream is to start a cellar, where she'll make all sorts of beverages from fresh fruits, plants and herbs. Favorite Colors: The blue of the ocean on a summer day, and the greens of an evergreen forest. She also likes the purity of freshly fallen snow, and yellow, because daffodils are her favorite flower. Weapons of Choice: She usually handles weapons distastefully, being a gentle sort, but no fool travels as far and wide as she does unarmed. She carries a solid ironwood staff (which doubles as a walking stick) and a large knife on her shoulder (resembling the ever famous bowie knife, only about twice as big). Hobbies: When not busy healing or traveling, she weaves baskets and carves small figures and simple toys from wood, and sells or trades them to procure rare herbs and other things for healing. She believes that the earth has all the ingredients to heal injuries, and she uses her extensive knowledge of herbs and plants in combination with her magic to treat her patients. She also has some skill at trapping and curing hides and furs, and some claim that she produces furs of the finest quality. She is skilled at harvesting and preserving. (Main Professions: Skinning and Herbalism Secondary Professions: Fishing, Cooking and First Aid) Positive Personality Traits: Friendly and open minded, quite easy going, willing to help passersby, a gentle creature (for the most part) Negative Personality Traits: Slightly gullible at times, so when she is betrayed by someone thought to be trusted, she becomes rather, ah...tetchy. Physical Features: Tall and yet surprisingly dainty for such a creature, she keeps herself clean and well groomed, as a healer has to look like a healer, not a vagrant. Horns and hooves are trimmed and polished, fur is curried until it gleams, and she carries her tail quite high to keep it out of the dirt. Her only form of armor is a simple chain mail tunic, belted over a cream colored linen under-tunic, with a dark green thick cotton over tunic secured with a thick leather belt. She has a dark gray traveling cloak, and a large travelers pack on her back. History: She was born into a small family group of nomadic Taurens in the foothills of the Stone Talon Mountains. She was only an infant when centaurs, the Taurens mortal enemies, attacked the group in the depth of the night and violently butchered the surprised adults. None but two children survived. Mabuse and her cousin, Hamuul, who was a few years older, were overlooked, where an old grandmother had shoved them both, bundled in a hide, into a hollowed log, before charging the centaurs. The two babies had huddled in the log, too terrified even to squeak, where they were found by old Zaranya, a (then rare) Tauren priestess. She buried the bodies of the slain, marked them, then scooped the babies up and took them with her to a remote village in the mountains, about four days and three nights out of Sunrock Retreat, a village so small it didn't even have a name other than "Home" for the inhabitants. The two youngsters grew up there, and grew very close. Mabuse has no recollection of the tragic event that killed her family, and Hamuul only has vague nightmares about it, but they grew up strong and relatively happy learning the ways of the land and the Tauren people. The old Priestess taught them everything she knew about healing, and then Mabuse moved on to train with a Shaman in Sunrock Retreat, and from there began her travels as a healer.
  14. <p>Good afternoon/evening, Zarja. Mabuse here, reporting for duty. <img src="<fileStore.core_Emoticons>/emoticons/wink.png" alt=";)" srcset="<fileStore.core_Emoticons>/emoticons/wink@2x.png 2x" width="20" height="20" /></p>