|Guild||Alea Iacta Est|
Brief Backstory on Vigo
Coming through the door of the inn named the Hammer and Tongs you quickly scan the great room and size up the occupants as no real threat to your safety. You notice an ancient looking orc wave in your direction. “Come sit,” wheezes the old traveler in the well worn heavy traveling cloak from his seat close to the roaring fire. Drawing the cloak tighter around his sagging old shoulders he beckons you to the comfortable chair next to him. “Sit and I will tell you of the young hero known as Vigoratusrex,” he says in a voice that has seen too many years living the wild life of a traveling warrior…
High in the rocky hills surrounding Silvermoon City a lone figure sits astride a handsomely barded steed. His well worn saddle is festooned with the tools of his deadly trade. On one side sits a highly polished shield of steel inset with glowing gems rippling with magical power. On the other a one-handed sword of impeccable make glints with deadly purpose. A massive two-handed sword covered in runes of holy power is strapped menacingly across his broad athletic shoulders. Sharpening stones, holy water, well used saddle bags and a stunningly beautiful bedroll complete the accoutrements of his lethal way of life.
Vigoratusrex regards the valley below from his saddle with a narrowing of his achingly beautiful steely gray eyes. A party of Alliance Dwarven warriors was snaking their way up the steep, narrow trail to the ridge where he sat. “Let them come, boy,” he whispers to el’Kboom, his trusty warhorse as the horse impatiently pawed at the rich earth. “They will know the error of threatening my homeland,” he thought. Slipping lightly to the ground he ties el’Kboom to a nearby tree. With a flick of his thumb Vigo frees his shield from his saddle. A quiet snick is the only sound his sword makes as he draws it from the elegant sheath where it rested just a second before. He tests the weight and balance of the finely crafted tool of death and quickly flashes a dazzling smile. “It is a good day to die…if you’re dwarven scum,” he says to el’Kboom as he turns to face the first of the surprised dwarves rounding the boulder at the crest of the trail.
Named At’thilian at birth, Vigo adopted his new name with his acceptance of the rites of initiation into the Blood Knights as is the custom amongst new Paladins. Leaving their former name and past behind allows the fledgling paladin to focus their mind on learning the arts of healing and warfare. Not an easy road in Blood Elf society, the path of the Paladin calls for more than an appreciation of the proper hair gel and color coordinating your armor! Having a strong arm (without being too bulky), wielding an attractive but stout shield and the ability to heal while still maintaining an air of superiority pushes many young Paladins past their breaking point.
Born into a family of modest means with no ties to the aristocracy, Vigo’s parents were able to raise their children with an eye for style and a flair for fashion. Eschewing the family business of fashion design for the masses (his family was a clothing supplier to Thrallmart) he instead showed an early aptitude for the arts martial. Although, like all young handsome, well-built, perfectly dressed, faultlessly coifed Blood Elves he was more concerned with bad hair days than sword training, he still proved himself capable when the venerable old Paladins came through his village looking for perspective recruits to the order. Dressed in his finest silk and fur daily wear he bested the first 10 opponents they put before him. Vigo’s sword was a perfect blur of steel whirling through the air as he danced and leapt around his opponents. He smiled with the pure joy of living totally in the moment as he blocked and parried each attack then countered with uncanny precision through his opponents defenses. Vigo was finally bested but only at the point of the sword belonging to one of the most experienced, battle hardened senior Paladins present. “This one will do,” droned an ancient Blood Elf name Farthalidan from his seat at the side of the hastily constructed arena ring.
“Although there is much more to the story of Vigoratusrex, it will have to wait for another day for the fire burns low and my tankard is near empty yet again. Come back and visit with me in the future for more on the escapades of the fearless Vigoratusrex!” said the old orc. Rising slowly to his feet he made his way carefully through the few remaining patrons of the Hammer and Tongs and with a wave of his scarred green hand disappeared out the door and into the night.
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