Often catagorized as loud-mouthed and unfriendly, Mirson has been known to speak his mind without any care for the consequences it may cause, even at the expense of himself and others. He is well-known amongst the Silvermoon City populus through both personal encounters and warrant-of-arrest posters, much to his own knowledge, and is frequently seen roaming freely about the city. Though usually very quiet and sedate when left in solitude, he has been known to outburst at the slightest provocative, releasing a an absurd amount of hostility at whomever appears to catch his attention, even if the victim did nothing drastic to bring it upon themselves. Homicidal and unpredictable, it is a well-known fact that he is a criminal worthy of the gallows, but unfortunately for most, the Regeancy seems unable to place any direct crimes upon him.
Mirson's peculiar personality is not the only quality that most remember from an encounter with him. As a former pirate, Mirson's choice of attire is quite leisurely and human by blood elf standards; his typical choice of clothing is hardly flamboyant or assuming, disregarding the shades of crimson and gold attire his race is know for. Build-wise, Mirson is also quite out of the ordinary. While his upper torso is tough and weighty similar to a sailor's, his lower body is relatively normal in comparison, giving him a sly and often hunched posture that frequently makes him seem top-heavy and intimidating to anyone shorter in height. Expressive and exaggerated in even the simplest bodily movements, Mirson takes great pains to make sure his opinions are flawlessly and charismatically shouted rather than spoken, and that all in the vicinity are forced to listen. The only times he is known to seem blunt and cold is if he finds the subject in question "unworthy" of emotion or boring, or if the business at hand is important. However, he is not an all-body sort of creature. His sea-tanned face, sculpted as if it were a flawless bust, is stern and rigorous, indicating an independance that only compliments his natural charisma and brash attitude, although several tiny scars and nicks long since healed sparingly decorate his face, most notably a rather subtle gash along his upper right cheek and the tip of his nose, the healed wounds appearing as if they were made by one strike. Embedded suitably into this gem of skulls are two glowing fel-green eyes, each imposingly studious and weathered despite his utter lack of formal education. A recessed forehead and gaunt cheeks give him a face of significant maturity and stern workmanship, although the storms of his eyes reveal a youthful, fiery heart still very much alive. Many other visible details on Mirson's body also tell many truths about his persona; around his lower-neck are many jagged scars, each appearing as if they can link together to make a crude barbed necklace (and obviously attributing to his rasp-groped voice). His hair is a sun-bleached platinum white, cut with some sort of harsh blade to keep it from becoming too long, with jagged sideburns growing freely on the sides of his jaw. Without any kind of force to keep his hairline downward, his hair seems to naturally stand at an angle due to a genetic attribute rare for his kind, giving it a somewhat spiky appearance. On his face are two elongated eyebrows just as white as his hair, hanging like miniature weeds from his face. It's not unusual to find him caressing or otherwise touching these long wisps of hair, due to his short attention span. All of this, in combination with his lecherous and lustful nature, can make him just a little too handsome to turn in to authorities at times.
Note: without in-character revelation, none of the following should be known in roleplay.
Born off the far coast of Westfall on a smuggling vessel, Mirson is the accidental offspring of a small-time weaponry dealer known as Rhila Cursebreeze and an anonymous captive taken into her custody after a raid, both of whom were high elves. By the time he could walk, Mirson was sold into slavery, working aboard a child labour vessel as a crate-lifter. As a child slave, he ate what little food he could keep from being stolen, worked in the merciless sun and storm of the ocean, and learned the rules of untrustworthy trade first-hand at the hands of his captives. By the age of eight, he could not (or more accurately, chose not to) speak a single word, but could perform complicated tasks and was rather strong for such a young boy. Effective in his work as he was, his time in forced labour forced an inherent fear of other people to grow within him, failing to find comfort in anything other than his own work. Sturdy and efficacious by the young age of twelve years old, Mirson was an ideal young sailor.
On a particularly calm night whilst sailing freely out in the Great Sea along the outward northern coast of Westfall, the crew was woken up by the loud explosion of a cannonball hitting the boat. The entire ship was attacked by pirates, attempting to steal the cargo hoarded on the deck and deep within its recesses. Half-awake and unrested, the crew did not last very long against the barbarians; Mirson, still just a boy, was not used to such violent brawls and hid amongst the fighting. Many of his fellow child slaves, as well as their masters, were brutally murdered, and the ship was eventually set ablaze. Accidentally falling off the edge of the ship, Mirson took refuge on a floating plank knocked free from the enemy cannons' attacks and fell unconscious, too weary to continue watching the havoc from below. He slept, floating freely out at sea.
Miraculously, the young child ended up on the sandy beach of Moonbrook alive. Found by a fisherman known as "Mr. Ackland", the human man took the sickly and battered Mirson into the small fishing town and nursed him back to proper health, inquiring about his origins with no success. Surprised to find a high elven child floating freely at sea and unable to speak in proper sentences, Ackland took it upon himself to teach Mirson all that a boy should know, effectively making him his foster son.
By the time Mirson was a man of the age of nineteen, he began to feel an incessant need to return to the ocean to start his own life, much to the dismay of his foster-father. Disregarding the wishes of Ackland, Mirson "borrowed" a small boat from the local militia and began to row outward, nothing with him but a small sack of supplies and a map leading to Booty Bay. Although the trip was rigorous and dangerous, Mirson finally managed to half sail and half run his way to the goblin-controlled town, seeking to build his own boat and create some form of business. Before he decided to create his own ship, he was immediately recruited into a separate pirating crew as a low-ranking, fairly disposable swashbuckler. Not surprisingly, the young man was no stranger to the untrustworthy and ruthless methods of seafarers; stealing, robbing, and taking refuge were not foreign tactics, as it was the norm of the bay, and began to make friends with the local flavour as well as the many members of his crew. A year later, he left his fellow pirates behind, and by the time he had finished building his own vessel, he had a small crew prepared and running. His extremely inefficient crew, which consisted mostly of wandering rabble incapable of finding employment upon any other ship docked with the Bay, were primarily unsuccessful in nearly ever endeavor they attempted, but as the months passed, they began to evolve into an effective smuggling group, stealing what they could plunder and selling what they could pass off as valuable, recruiting many new faces along the way. Sailing as far as their inaccurate and crude maps would take them, the lot had an unsteady relationship with one another, and made a fair living. The life of a pirate was good.
For a while.
As time passed and funds grew, the crew began to distrust each other, and seperate into tiny allegiances. Mirson and a former bar dancer, named Vera, became very close after years of pirating, and forged a partnership that was a little more intimate than a simple alliance for money. Tensions rose, and it wasn't long before the entire crew disbanded, taking whatever money the could before departing. Mirson and Vera traveled back to the town of Moonbrook.
The town of Moonbrook was at first distrusting of Mirson. Since his absence, a group known as the "Defias" had grown in power and were mauling the small village with their guerilla war tactics. However, with the persuasion of a well-aged Ackland, the two were accepted once more and quietly settled in a house near the shore, making a living selling the curious treasures they had collected over their journey and working to protect the town with the aid of the local militia. Years passed; by now, Mirson and Vera had a half-elf child together, and were raising her peacefully amongst the tranquil and simple people of Moonbrook. But all was not well. As the Defias menace began to grow and outnumber the militia, Vera's chemical imbalance showed that her distrusting attitude of those around her was more than psychiatric. Although not letting on, she was slowly becoming paranoid at the incessant violence, constantly fearing for her own life. This turmoil boiled and brewed patiently, festering and cultivating unknown to the innocent village in a closed and abandoned mine shaft in the very town itself.
On a quiet night, hell broke loose in the small fishing town. Without warning, the sounds of shouting and fighting began to fill the area, the militia and the Defias fighting for control of the territory. Fighting loyally for his home and family, Mirson joined forces with the People's Militia to combat the threat, but sadly, were not effective. The battle managed to destroy much of the town and set it ablaze, but many of the residents either died fighting or cowering. The Defias flooded in from the mineshaft nearby and from various camps around the area, killing and pillaging whatever they could without direct objective. Mirson realized this fact. Even worse, his foster father Ackland was fatally stabbed during the brawl; fighting on was not an option if Mirson wanted to stay alive. Seeking to flee with his family, he ran through the various mobs and enemies to return to his home, but was too late. His wife had been lynched, and his daughter was slaughtered upon the ground violently. All of his belongings were pillaged, and inside the house were expert Defias assassins waiting to ambush him. Although just barely managing to eliminate his would-be killers, he was enraged and upset at the death of his family. With no other option left, he fled from the town in a rowboat, the sounds of his flaming home and the cheers of Defias ringing in his ears. Once again, Mirson's life was over.
For a long while, Mirson shuffled north in despair in his tiny rowboat, staying in various small civilizations and towns, reflecting upon his own sorrows and moping. Discouraged by the death of his family, he took up a heavy drinking habit and looked upon all life with a cynical approach, viewing himself to be hopeless and unworthy of happiness. This phase of self-pity lasted for a long while until word began to spread of a society of elves similar to him, robbed of their lives and seeking to rebuild. For the first time, Mirson's hopes rose and he felt the will to continue on. Gathering as much information as he could of this so-called "Silvermoon City", he began to head for it relentlessly, the rumours of it's heavenly glow and proud people filling his heart with an insurmountable joy. It was a long and arduous journey, but finally the time had come. With nothing but a backpack of supplies and hopes of a new start, he headed to the gates of the city, his glowing blue eyes staring at it in hope.
Unfortunately, blood elves and high elves were on poor terms by this time. Violently tackled and beaten by the guards upon approaching the city, Mirson was bound and taken into custody for interrogation by the newly-created Blood Knights. For days he was held in captivity, magically-tortured as the guardians of the blood elven city attempted to break into his mind in search of secret plans of attack or an intention to cause harm in the name of the Alliance. During this time, Mirson's hopes were effectively shot; the feeling of hopelessness returned to him, and he felt no will to continue his life, the pain of the interrogation and the Blood Knights' refusal to listen to his pleas of innocence only reminding him of the cruel cards fate had handed him previously. This self-pity was replaced with a maniacal rage, once the fel magics began to set in to his system. Once the Blood Knights had believed him to be no threat and let him free into the city, Mirson was no longer a man seeking a new start. Driven by a rage that only continues to build up to this day, he is now an unstable man palpitating with nothing but pure contempt for the people who had falsely treated him as an enemy and a mad lust for power, just as the rest of his species.
As time trudges forward, so too does Mirson's own physical aging, the life of a military man an unforgiving one. Far too old to be a mercenary and equally as uneducated to partake in anything else, it's a miracle that he can drag himself back to the battlefield every day and brave the harsh trials that each infiltrator similar to himself must face on a constant basis. His experience is something to be commended, at the very least; never one to fail to get the job done, Mirson's fervor for combat and thirst for bloody victory has won him many friends and enemies over the years, his dirty tactics and maddened disregard for the well-being of even his allies mistaken by fellow veterans as the qualities of a true war hero, rather than a sadistic lunatic. Yet even when celebrating in his home city after a day of gory fighting, he is still the first one to start senseless brawls with anyone brave or stupid enough to provoke him, his schizophrenic bouts of alpha-male leadership extremely popular with both on-lookers and young hopefuls seeking to throw the ever vigilant self-proclaimed "king of the city" off of his self-made narcissistic throne. Mirson never stops peering over his shoulder, nor does he ever cease looking for an angle in which he can bring his own selfish (and often times, utterly spontaneous) motives into play, often times at the cost of someone else's well-being. Battle-hardened and thoroughly insane, Mirson is a brutal monster seeking only his share of gold, vices, and dirty women in a world full of individuals just as unsavoury as himself. Yet despite this, one cannot help but acknowledge his ability to climb above the competition in even the worst situations imaginable, and at the end of the day still find a reason to both laugh and cry. Mirson is proof that debauchery works, and for as long as you can stay on his good side, he's an invaluable friend like no other.
- Known to be highly revered with the Frostwolf Clan and forces of Thrallmar, he seems to have a high respect for the entire orcish race in general, if not wrongfully believing them to be a barbaric and unintelligent people (often at his own expense). He frequently lends aid to the forces of Orgrimmar whenever the opportunity arises, and is a minor associate of the Shattered Hand.
- Although highly disliked in Silvermoon City, this is where he is most frequently found spending his free time, irritating the citizens and starting brawls, particularly in the Wayfarer's Rest. Generally disrespecting most blood elves he comes across, he curiously shows an unbridled anger whenever the city comes under siege from various forces, even going to far as to risk his own life to defend it from attackers. He has an intense hatred for the Blood Knights, often refusing to lend a helping hand if so much as one paladin is present (even if they are not affiliated with the Blood Knights).
- Due to his poor social standpoint in his racial city, he has recently built up a heavy allegiance with the Forsaken in the Undercity, doing numerous errands for the forces at work there and overall attempting to flatter the undead. While he has aided the Forsaken in their fight against the scourge and Scarlet Crusade, Mirson seems to view Sylvanas Windrunner with much more zeal than any other political figure in the entire city, more out of animalistic attraction than respect. While not much more than a petty annoyance to the Banshee Queen, he shows great loyalty and determination, willing to do whatever she commands to appease her.
- Although not heavily-affiliated or particularly loyal to the faction, Mirson has admired the Scryers in Shattrath City for their decision to break away from Kael'thas upon discovering his true agenda. He believes their cause to be a huge step in the "evolution" of blood elven dignity, and a beacon of hope for the entire race.
- Despite a long history with many former inhabitants of Booty Bay, the neutral city (and as a result, all goblin cities) now revile him for his wish to perform friendly trade with the Bloodsail Buccaneers and smuggling of Horde items (such as pet dragonhawks) to Alliance collectors. Merely stepping foot into any of the city's grounds warrants a furious beating, and as a result, prevents him from using the neutral auction house. Despite this, he appears to have a jolly, somewhat irrational feeling of kinship with the goblin race as a whole, even if they happen to be members of the Steamwheedle Cartel.
- Officially, Mirson is recognized as a notorious veteran of the Outland-Quel'Danas conflict. As of recent years, he makes his fortune fighting in the harsh wilderness of Northrend, unofficially aiding Horde platoons in conflicts for a fee. Although field commanders notice Mirson's extensive work for the Horde, they make a point of not reporting any of it. After all, he is supposed to be retired.
"Interesting" Facts Edit
- Mirson appears to age unusually fast for a blood elf. This is likely a birth defect, although living in the magically-devoid land of Westfall as a child may have played a role. It is unlikely he will live half as long as other elves.
- Mirson embraced fel magics only within a shorter time frame, thus making him relatively "new" to being a blood elf.
- Mirson, like all blood elves, has a heightened sense of smell. He can easily catch a whiff of magic on just about anything, alive or inanimate, and can easily utilize his ability to tap mana in order to "feed" his biological addiction. As a result, his preferred prey usually consists of fel orcs, blood elves, or demons. Recently, he has learned how to garner energy from food.
- Mirson's hair is not spiky by foreign means. Rather, his hairline is of the recessive quality within elves, which forces it to stand upright, even when under the influence of soaking moisture. Typically, those who spike their hair up in such a manner do not contain this gene.
- Mirson portrays a nearly-unbearable stench of alcohol and tobacco, and occasionally engineering oils. However, he regularly bathes with Soap on a Rope, making him much more cleanly than most of his brethren who consider him filthy.
- Mirson has a great fear of succubi. No one seems to understand why, although much is left to the imagination.
- Mirson is an extremely talented sailor. He has been known to maintain ten-man ships by himself, and possesses a great deal of knowledge regarding navigation. He is also able to write blueprints for incredible naval ships and build them with his own two hands. Despite this, no naval academy is willing to pay for his services for obvious reasons.
- Mirson is not "picky" by any means. Tauren, gnomes, and goblins are just a few of the abstract races he finds at least moderately attractive. This also warrants any female adversaries, Alliance or otherwise, are prone to flirtatious oggling; to him, there is no point in attacking a beautiful woman unless she attacks first.
- Mirson is illiterate (i.e.: cannot read). He is, however, extremely talented at arithmetic.
- Mirson, when first born, was originally average-skinned with blonde hair. However, years at sea have bleached his hair a snow white and tanned his skin to a darker colour, even after retirement from pirating. Age doesn't particularly help either.
- Mirson, unsurprisingly, has quite a number of offspring from three separate women. They include Jack, a young blood elf; Luke'rosh, a half-orc; Yani, a ten-year-old blood elven girl; and Freyja, a daughter whom he adopted during his time with a warlock known as Azahira. He lives the remainder of his life out with them deep in the cliffs of the Hillsbrad Foothills with the exception of Yani, who seeks adventure.