Falkoen Moonshadow

"That's not how the story is supposed to end..."

Falkoen Estrinal Moonshadow is an elusive and mysterious man. Current heir of the Moonshadow Clan, he makes home in Darnassus, Winterspring, and Ashenvale. His most prominent home, as he has often said, is "where ever port may be," much of his time at sea or in the Kal'dorei homelands. He currently belongs to the Ninth Regiment of Lordaeron as a spyhunter and representative of Darnassus, often roaming around the area of Winterspring or Ashenvale.

Conception (-1,396 ~ -1,395)
Roughly a millenium and a half ago, possibly less, Falkoen was born out at sea aboard a ship known as the Estrinal, a Kal'dorei vessel that had set sail from the shores of Auberdine to Feralas. His father, Argose Moonshadow, had left from Winterspring in hopes of opening trade with the elves of Feralas, their herbs a much needed resource in the frozen lands he called home with the rest of his clan. Easily, him and his hired crew had landed on the shores of Feathermoon Stronghold, and there they stayed for months, trapped from the summer's swelling storms.

While there, his father sustained injuries aboard the vessel that would have normally left him without the use of his right arm; however, that was evaded with the healing aid of one of the isle's druids, one Luniel Silverpetal. At first, due to his clan's traditions, Argose was reluctant to accept any form of help the druidess, magic not a usual custom in his clan, though he was quick to accept her help, knowing he would be able to continue to fight for his clan with her help.

Soon enough, the swordsman found his heart to be with the druidess, and she was more than happy to give him her own. As the storms weekended and the herbs were collected, Argose was to set sail for Auberdine once again before heading back to Winterspring, but not without his new bride to be, seven months pregant with their son.

Tragedy struck along the trip home, a storm catching Luliel with a deathly illness that left her dead after child birth. Grief stricken, Argose took his child and returned to Winterspring, hoping to keep the boy hidden within the family home, and away from the grief and horror of the world outside.

Youth (-1,395 ~ -1,270)
Growing up without a mother, Falkoen was stressed under the watchful eye of his father, trained in the ways of proper ettiquette and of proper schooling. So clinging to the only family he valued, Argose was careful to make sure his son would never lead a dangerous lifestyle, and the unaware Falkoen was quick to agree, reveling in the worlds of proper ettiquette and education. He was quick to excell in his fields of interest, wasting little time with trival subjects such as science (his people valued this little, looking more to nature) and focusing more in history, literature, and mildly in mathematics. He had a particular nack for languages, quick to bury is nose in books and in any travels who happened to speak in such tongues, doing his best to master any that should come his way, his first tongues, save for Darnassian, being Troll, Common, and Thalassian, as they were the easiest to access. He was quick to stay around the druids of his race as well, deciphering their own hidden languages granted by their numerous forms.

Inquisitive and ever curious, it was rare to find the boy without a book in his hands, reading on his people's past, of all elven history, human pasts, orcs, regions, legions, magics, anything he found even the slightest bit interesting. It was here he gained a nack for theatre and the finer arts, soon taking to writing on his own and sketching on bright Winterspring nights. Alas, the world that his father had kept away from him for so long found itself in plays and novels of adventure, soon becoming the forbidden fruits of his reading, knowing all too well his father's distaste for suck things. Hidden from his father's grasps, the elf had a hundred years of knowledge flowing into his mind, and an ever growing need to explore.

Young Adulthood (-1,270 ~ -1,000 )
Reaching his juvenile years, Falkoen's desire to travel grew more and more, often asking his father questions about new places, beyond the borders of Winterspring. He had longed for more, often insisting it was for the growth of his education, to know all he could know. Unable to put off the arguments any longer, his father had finally cracked and opted out for a new method, proposing to send the boy to Silvermoon to advance his learning, the family holding no grief to the Quel'dorei people for their use of the arcane, since the clan had seem so little use for themselves. To this, a young Falkoen agreed, soon setting out with his father for the Quel'dorei city.

Traveling by boat, Falkoen had acquired his first taste of true sailing, something his father had hoped to put off for the boy's entire life... however, with the amount of time they have, he knew it to be impossible, and had allowed the trip. This might have been his first mistake in his plans to keep his boy in what he had called his idea of safe. Falkoen had loved, more so than the destination, the trip itself, delighting in the smell of salt and ocean greeting him, spending a majority of his time on deck. Often, he had been found doing things out of his normal characteristics, his curiosity wild as he wished to climb the robes and decks of the ship. More than once, he had been brought below deck to his father with new injuries and bruises, to which he was scolded greatly. Little mattered though, since, for the first time in his life, he was now the adventurer he had read so much about.

Alas, his trip came to an end in time, arriving in Silvermoon, where he had learned of things his peple had been so quick to over look, speaking more of demonic and arcane magics than the Elune and Malorne driven Kal'dorei, now learning of ley lines and portals beyond the reaches of Moonglade. Still, day went by after day, his memories of the salt and air reaching his nostrils as he spend his evenings studying out by the docks and piers of Eversong forest. There, he had made a friend in a Quel'dorei by the name of Delinous Brightwood, someone who became a good friend, and later trouble maker, to the Kal'dorei. It was through this man that Falkoen learned just how to use his etiquette to a more charistmatic point, slowly developing into what could be called a suave, smooth, and confident individual.

Sadly, tragedy struck over his learning in Silvermoon, months after his arrival coming with news of his father's return trip to Darnassus going sour as a typhon struck, the ship and its crew being lost at sea. Never was anyone confirmed dead, only bits and pieces of the ship itself returning to sour. Death was rare to hear of in his people beyond the battlefield, since lives were long lived and rather enjoyed; however, tragedy or no, Falkoen was old enough now to understand the cycle of life, no matter how cruel. Mourning was a horrid thing to do, in his opinion, when his father's life might be celebrated. As far as Falkoen was concerned, he was left to himself now, a grown man. It was now that he'd be able to finally be the adventurer whom of which he had idolized for so long.

Adulthood (-1,000 ~ Present)
Living a dream, Falkoen now had done as he had wished to for years and years of his adolesecent life. For the rest of his life, he has sailed the seas and expored all of the far corners of the world, often running into trouble along the way, in the form of pirates, hostile islands and ports, storms of epic proportions, and so on. Yet, he has also found himself amongst good friends and welcoming nations, even finding himself mixed amongst those some of his people would call enemies, finding those who didn't fill the stereotypes handed to them, proving to be welcoming and open hearted people. Along his trips, his tongues had multiplied, learning to speak over ten languages in his life.

He has become a master of merchantile affairs, and an expert in story teling and making, his knack for writing often flourishing out while he is at sea, as well as his love for art and music. He often delights in sharing this with others. His writings, in particular, are something he prides beyond most.

Now, hundreds of years later and loving at a healthy, young age of 1, 427, Falkoen Moonshadow now looks over the world with more curiosity and questions then ever, finally having mastered his training in the arts of stealth and disguise, using them completely to his advantage, often sticking his nose where it shouldn't belong... and reveling in every moment of it.

More to come...

Appearance
Standing at a rough seven and a half feet tall and weight around three hundred and eighty-four pounds, Falkoen is a tall, lean man, built for agility and flexibility, often displayed by his almost overly exaggerated greeting gestures and combat style, often giving a visual flare if he can help it, treating most moments as though he were on stage, trying to impress his audience. To most, he simply appears to be a toned Night Elf, somewhat on the tall side of his race.

He's not lost to the usual elven beauty, often looked upon as a dashing, handsome young man, standing straight at most times, his speech articulate and clean, easy to understand by most. His face, save for one unusual scar that runs over his right eye, is left unmarred by the passage of time, clean and well cared for, maintaining his handsome visage, framed with a full, dark colored beard along his jawline. Though some may consider this a usual trait of his race, among his own people, he can even be viewed as more handsome than usual for a male of their race, an obvious trait for his bloodline's obsession with beauty.

Once more true to his bloodline, his skin is a darker blue, his indigo hair reaching down to the bottom of his rear, often taken by him as a symbol of his pride, more care going into the maintenance of his midnight blue locks than his face. Very seldom is he ever heard of cutting the lengths, even reluctant to give minor trims to keep the ends healthy.

As for his body itself, it's littered with various scars that have (inevitably) found their way onto his skin over the years. Several line along his arms and back, more so than his legs and front of his chest, having enough wit and skill to dodge or parry most forward coming attacks. Ironically, despite being a rogue, he himself is rather easily targeted from the back, leaving him with several scars and marks along his form, most of which appear to be clean swipes from bladed weapons.

Lastly, one would be hard to not notice his pearly white, illuminated eyes, glowing brightly on his face, another sure sign of his heritage. Silver eyes, commonly, mean a normal lack of druidic prowess among the Night Elven people. Though this is the normal, exceptions have been known to arise, such as Illidan's golden eyes and his lack of patience for druidism and Malfurion's silver eyes and his amazing excellence in the field.

Personality
Coming soon...

Quotes
"Immortality lost is immortality worth hunting for. What we have lost is only savored upon retrieval of such, and its true value comes to us like a maelstrom to a dingy at open sea. I may not have been around for even 1,500 years, hardly worth mentioning for the tens of thousands we have been on this earth, but even I can understand the value of such. Not even 1,500 years... to me, I have plenty of time to regain what we originally had, one way or another. The question is, how can do I so without losing myself along the way?"

"I don't give promises. There are few I rarely keep. Rather than do that, I make statements."

"That's not how the story is supposed to end..."

"You're under the assumption I was attracted to you for your beauty. I'm more interested in what flaws you're trying to hide with that beauty of yours."

"Admittedly, I am a vain man. I like to look good, and I like other people to look good. It is a flaw I have come to accept, sadly... and I apologize for that."

"An artist is always striving for perfection, for beauty, for something more. My work is never perfect, your work is never perfect, and I am never satisfied with my own work... however, the day an artist is truly satisfied with their work, they need not make anything more. I suppose that means I'll be working for a long time."

Out of Character Notes
This page is being updated constantly, looking for errors and the like in timelines. If you have any criticism, please give it. I can always use something constructive.

Due to his background, though he may prefer the company of the other races of the Alliances, he does find company in some of the Horde races more welcoming that others. He will always find a troll or blood elf more welcome company than he would a brash vindicator of the Exodar. Cross faction RP is a 'yes' with this character, and is quite possible with the aid of AIM and/or MSN. If you'd like to RP, and you're cross faction, just ask for my screen names.

I avoid RPing out combabt, if I can help it, since I find it to usually end in whoever can God mod better. I would be taking levels into account as well. No level 17 is going to beat a level 70+. Impossible in my book. Other than that, all forms of RP are more than welcomed, ranging form the most simple to the mature.

RPing is an art to me, as though writing a story with the aid of others, thrown in with pixelated acting. How much more fun can it get? Treat it with respect to the lore.