User:Mirson

					Mirson (no last name) Gender Male Race Blood elf Class Pirate (rogue) Affiliation(s) The Horde Occupation Merchant, Hitman, Engineer, Sailor Status Alive Relative(s) Wife Lianne (deceased), Daughter Millie (deceased)

Mirson is a player-controlled character found on the "Sisters of Elune" server. He is known as an active roleplayer.

Mirson

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 via both personal encounters and warrant-of-arrest posters, much to his own knowledge, and is frequently seen free-roaming about the city. Though usually very quiet and simple when left ub solitude, he has been known to outburst at the slightest provocative, releasing a flurry of insults and taunts at whomever appears to catch his attention, even if the victim did nothing 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.

Appearance

Mirson's peculiar personality is not the only quality that most remember from an encounter with him. For unknown reasons, Mirson's choice of attire is extremely flamboyant, even by blood elf standards; his typical choice of clothing is often stylish and eye-pleasing, but for some reason, it always consists of tight crimson silk pantaloons that he takes no care to make less obvious. Build-wise, Mirson is also out of the ordinary; while his upper torso is large and built similar to that of a sailor's, his lower body is slim and lean, like that of a blood elf's, to the point of where he even (seemingly chooses) to stand at a slant. 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. However, on that note, 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. Embedded suitably into this gem of skulls are two glowing fel-green eyes, each imposingly studious and weathered. The simple feeling of the miniature storms observing one's self can be intimidating enough, had the scolding of a harsh tongue and a dry wit not been enough of an offense. 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 white, cut with some sort of harsh blade to keep it from becoming too long, although his jagged sideburns seem to grow freely on the sides of his chin and head. Without any kind of force to keep his hairline downward, his hair seems to naturally stand due to a genetic attribute rare for blood elves, 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.

History

Note: without in-character revelation, none of the following should be known in roleplay.

Born off the far coast of Westfall on a small smuggling boat, Mirson was the accidental offspring of captain Jez'Rhila Bloodheel and her forced lover, captured sargent and tauntingly-dubbed 'first mate' Ba'Barra "Fleetfingers" Honourlight, both of whom were high elves. From the time he could walk, Mirson was used more as a cheap source of labour for his parents, working with the crewmates and learning the ways of the sea in the most harsh manner possible. Not dissimilar to 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. By the age of eight, he could not (or more accurately, chose not to) speak a single word, but could perform complicated tasks and pickpocket even the most paranoid of nobles with ease. Effective in his work as he was, he did not bond or even particularly communicate with his biological parents, instead treating the cruel and vengeful labourers on their boat as beloved relatives much to their distaste. Despite this, he still held an unconditional love for them, not realizing the poor living conditions he was given, and gave what little respect he knew to them. Sturdy and efficacious by the young age of twelve years old, Mirson was an ideal young sailor.

However, the tension on the ship and the greediness of his parents came to be their downfall. 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. As it would turn out, the culprits were a crude, bandana-clad group of humans calling themselves "Defias", once a high-paying client of his parents' smuggling business. Half-awake and unrested, the crew did not last very long against the well-trained bandits; Mirson, still just a boy, was not used to such violent brawls and hid amongst the fighting, possibly avoided on purpose by the attackers. Many of his fellow shipmates were brutally murdered, and his parents were beheaded as to rob them of their wares. 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 and emotionally-upset 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 an exiled member of Ravenholdt by the name of Hoctre, 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, Hoctre took it upon himself to teach Mirson all that a boy should know, effectively making him his apprentice. It did not take long for him to become an active member of the small town, and at a proper age, defended it against the growing criminal scourge with his freshly-learned rogue abilities. He finally had a home, and a reason to feel proud of himself.

By the time Mirson was a man of the age of ninteen, 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 Hoctre, Mirson "borrowed" a small ship 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 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. 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. By the time he had finished building his own rickety, awkward ship, he had a small crew up and running. His shipmates, which consisted of a greedy goblin, a brain-dead ogre, an exiled Stormwind navy member and untrusting exotic dancer, were an extremely unlikely crew, 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. Sailing as far as their inaccurate and crude maps would take them, the lot had an unsteady relationship with one another, and became well-known faces in both friendly and enemy ports. The life of a pirate was good.

...Or, at least for a while.

As time passed and funds grew, the five began to distrust each other, and seperate into tiny allegiances. The goblin easily manipulated the ogre to support his wild claims of "fair" wealth distribution, while Mirson and the dancer, Lianne, joined together in a partnership that was a little more intimate than a simple alliance for money. Naturally, the navyman "Lt." Kalser simply sat back and watched, and before long became the only one willing to cooperate and get any work done on the ship (though the bickering amused him). Tensions rose, and it wasnt long before the five split apart, taking whatever money the could before departing. The goblin and ogre ran off in search of Tanaris, while Mirson and Lianne moved back to the town of Moonbrook. Kalser was last seen sailing out in the night alone in the boat, laughing up a storm at the mass amount of riches he had acquired by simply sitting and waiting.

The town of Moonbrook was at first untrusting of Mirson. Since his absence, the "Defias" had grown in power and were mauling the small village with their intensely-trained warriors and brutal battle tactics. However, with the persuasion of a well-aged Hoctre, 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 Lianne 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, Lianne's chemical imbalance showed that her untrusting attitude of those around her was more than psychiatric. Although not letting on, she was slowly becoming paranoid and insane, wrongly accusing her neighbours as a cause for her trauma and unhappiness, her husband suffering the worst of it. This turmoil boiled and brewed patiently, festering and cultivating unknownst to the innocent village in a closed and abandoned mine shaft in the very town itself.

On a quiet night, hell itself 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 control. Mirson realized this fact. Although he and his foster father were well-trained, they could not turn the tide of the fight. Even worse, Hoctre 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 missing. 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. 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 joy to the point of tears. 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.

How unfortunate for him.

Violently tackled and beaten by the guards upon approaching the city, Mirson was bound and taken into custody for interrogation by the Blood Knights. For days he was tied to a crude chair, magically-tortured as the guardians of the blood elf city attempted to break into his mind in search of secret plans of attack or an intention to cause harm. 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 interrogationa and the Blood Knights' refusal to listen to his pleas of innocence only reminding him of the cruel cards fate had handed him. 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 a man coarsing with nothing but pure contempt for the people who had treated him as an enemy.

Affiliations

• Known to be friendly with the Warsong Outriders 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 known agent 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, 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 Varimathras with much more zeal than any other political figure in the entire city, whether it be due to fear or respect. While not much more than a petty annoyance to the dreadlord, he shows great loyalty and determination, willing to do whatever he commands to appease him.

• 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.

• Tauren tend to dislike Mirson for his disrespectful usage of the terms "fatty", "fuzzball", and "hamburger meat", leading to an unsteady relationship with Thunder Bluff. Most have simply gotten used to his disrespect and kindly return the feeling.

• 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. This has since been revoked for some reason.

"Interesting" Facts

• Mirson appears to age unusually fast for a blood elf, although this is simply due to a lack of delay in his body. While most blood elves stop their physical aging process around twenty years, Mirson has ceased his aging process at thirty-three years of age.

• Mirson embraced fel magics only within a six year period (OOC date: 2008; count accordingly), thus making him relatively "new" to being a blood elf.

• Mirson regularly kills his enemies to feed off of their magic, such as demons, warlocks, and even fellow blood elves. While normally this would turn any portrayer into a member of the Wretched, Mirson claims a dragon granted him the ability to prevent such a mutation. Naturally, all are aware such simply must be a blatant lie.

• 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 poorman's alcohol and sea water, and occasionally engineering oils. However, he almost always 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. When questioned about his terror, he merely replies "eight hours is too much for any man".

• 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, curiously, no naval academy is willing to pay for his services.

• Mirson is not "picky" by any means. Tauren, gnome, 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 pick-up lines and oggling; the only thing more distressing is that they usually work.

• Mirson is illiterate (i.e.: cannot read). He is, however, extremely talented at arithmatic.

• Mirson is usually very selfish and greedy. However, holidays such as Winter Veil seem to spark up a generous streak within him, often times prompting him to hand out gifts to total strangers and share whatever is at his disposal.

• 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.

• Mirson has an odd habit of sympathizing with typically "evil" figures. For example, he believes that Arthas is a man worth idolizing even after his many misdeeds, and that the naga are a "noble" race simply trying to thrive. He has also been known to use his smooth-talking to distract a group of vigilantes long enough for the victim of their wrath to escape, even if said victim truly is guilty. As a result, he has fueled many hateful feelings toward him, the most notable being Larxene.