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lamiahypnosia-blog · 7 years

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The Story of Brizulon

The story of Brizulon, my draenei paladin. Ooowhee, my first full blown RP character bio. This took me months because I wanted to get all the details right. Brizulon was born on Draenor, in Shattrath City. His father Makuus was a traveling merchant and was often away while his wife Yima cared for their son. Yima was extremely overprotective of Brizulon to the point where she taught him herself rather than attend lessons with the other children. Brizulon was born with an abnormally long tail - a trait leftover from the days before the naaru’s influence on the eredar- and Yima reasoned he would be bullied for it. That was only partially the case- the main reason was because Yima had suffered a string of miscarriages and infant deaths. Brizulon had been her healthiest child and she was paranoid at the idea of losing him. Growing up sheltered and even a bit selfish, Brizulon was constantly clamoring for attention- especially during his father’s rare visits home. After much begging and arguing sometimes Brizulon accompanied Makuus to Elodor. Free of his mother’s apron strings he made friends with many of the village children who despite his fears were fascinated by his long tail, even utilizing it in jumping games and his small size to spy on the adults. He became fast friends with a girl named Lu’sha when a pair of boys stole her favorite toy and threw it up a tree to make her cry. Lu’sha also was the first to call him Breezy. Brizulon wished he could move to Elodor, or Lu’sha could move to Shattrath so they could spend more time together. His parents teased him often about his ‘girlfriend’. Lu’sha grew in beauty and grace, and Brizulon became jealous of the attentions she lavished on the other young men. Still, she treated him gently as a brother to his frustration. As always he brought his troubles to his maternal grandfather, Vindicator Haras. The patriarch of the family told him it was merely his teenage hormones- if they had some great love it would be simple as that. They would be together, but they weren’t. Brizulon did not like this harsh truth in his perfect world, but swallowed it all the same, bitter as it was. What they had was special, Haras went on. A close friendship many did not have and he should cherish it always. As he grew to manhood he had no ambitions, content with being a layabout- spending his days flirting with girls and gambling away his father’s money. Yima denied her precious boy nothing, but discouraged him when he thought about taking a trade or leaving home. Vindicator Haras had had enough of his grandson’s laziness and his daughter’s coddling. He had Brizulon enlist with the holy order feeling the strict regimen would aid his grandson in some way- give him purpose it and of itself or at the very least give him time to rethink his life. Brizulon found himself tested in ways he never thought possible, but Haras would not let him give up, even if he was hated. One day when Brizulon visited home on leave Makuus had some startling news- Brizulon was betrothed to a girl named Neera, the daughter of a longtime business partner of his father’s. While less than thrilled, Brizulon consented to the match if only to make his mother happy with promises of grandchildren. Neera was dutiful and kind but there was nary a thought to be found in her pretty head. They married in a lavish ceremony, but Brizulon spent his wedding night far too drunk with his friends to perform his marital duties and soon was back at Karabor, leaving his new bride alone. Neera showered him with love letters which he even answered sometimes. She had dreams of a big house full of children but grew more and more resentful that her husband was gone so much. Though reassured he’d come to love her in time, Brizulon felt no romantic feelings for Neera. He promised to make her happy however he could. Neera however did not return the sentiment and grew increasingly bitter toward him - his constant promises, next time, next year, someday… He assured her he was forming a business plan soon enough, but he still turned to his grandfather for advice. Haras was admittedly ‘old school’- believing a woman’s place was in the home- and his advice to Brizulon was to get Neera with child as soon as he could. In the meantime he tried his best to get expelled from the order, even showing up for drills half an hour late, almost too drunk to stand and clad in one of Neera’s gowns. The perfect formation tried to stifle their giggles but soon the entire unit erupted into laughter. A simple tap of Haras’ lance on the ground silenced them. He casually inquired if he and Neera were trying something new in the bedroom, which brought more snickers. Brizulon was too drunk to form a coherent sentence but Haras ordered him to fall in, cheerfully adding that his antics were helpful to morale, but he should probably wear his fatigues and not his wife’s gown next time or she will be cross with him. Truthfully Haras was hounded by the high vindicator and the exarchs to dismiss Brizulon for his disrespect. Finally Haras sat down and informed his grandson he could feel free to quit but he would not be returning home to mooch off mommy and daddy. Life on Draenor was difficult and everyone was needed to make it a proper home for the draenei. Their work as soldiers, as upholders of the Light was more important than ever before. As part of the new generation it fell to him to play his part in the future of their people. He’d been given plenty of opportunities- a place among the vindicators who were held in high esteem, a pretty wife to give him many children –and get on that soon, our numbers were dwindling since the Genedar crashed- but Brizulon cut him off. What about what he wanted? Haras looked at him sternly, his face lined and scarred. He didn’t fit in, and he didn’t like Neera, never mind love her. They had nothing in common. The elder draenei continued to stare at him expecting a more satisfactory answer, but Brizulon was at a loss. He had no clue what he wanted. He envied his friend Xenthion- a born vindicator, good looking, who had a way with women. They practically threw themselves at his hooves. He was more than a little resentful when Xenthion joined the long queue of men seeking the favor of Lu’sha. Xenthion was more clever and witty, he discussed literature with her, wrote her poetry…and she liked his pretty hair and pretty face. Brizulon and Lu'sha remained good friends regardless, and they often sought one another for advice. One day though he came across Lu’sha crying and asked her what was wrong. She insisted it was nothing but the fear in her eyes told him otherwise. After swearing him to secrecy Lu’Sha confessed Xenthion had pushed her during an argument. Angry, he confronted Xenthion who told him Lu’Sha was none of his concern, and furthermore belonged to him. Brizulon countered that Lu’sha was a person, not an object and Xenthion was an entitled elekk’s backside. Xenthion rushed at him with his practice sword and swatted him easily to the dirt, declaring his skills made him special and Brizulon was little more than a spoiled rich boy only here because his grandfather pitied him. Vindicator Haras happened upon the scene and berated the two, helping Brizulon stand- then put a practice sword in his hand. If the were to fight alongside one another they must set aside their petty quarrels now. In his rage, Xenthion wore himself too quickly and the much smaller Brizulon evaded him easily except for a sharp kick that broke three of his ribs, which was not quite fair. He did get his revenge by pulling out Xenthion’s earrings –though he didn’t mean to do so- and the match was declared a draw. He learned later that Xenthion and Lu’Sha had quarreled about his hatred and mistrust of the orcs. What was to fear, Brizulon thought to himself. The orcs went about their own business , and the draenei were little more than a myth to them. A single whisper, a tiny seed of doubt took root and Xenthion’s mistrust was not unfounded. Kil’jaden the Deceiver turned the orcs against them, fueling their hatred with the blood of the pit lord Mannoroth. Brizulon resolved to become a true warrior of the Light and his wife, father and mother looked on with pride as his grandfather personally anointed him Vindicator Brizulon. Then the refugees poured into the city. Shattrath had the best defenses, and as the orc clans united and closed in around them it was only a matter of time before Shattrath would be attacked. While no fighter, Brizulon’s faith lent him wisdom and comfort to pass onto the refugees. By day he made sure they were fed and comforted but by night he could not sleep, haunted by the cries of the bereaved and injured. Then there were less and less coming. The draenei were fighting a hopeless battle- the orcs were unstoppable. Karabor had fallen, every settlement between Nagrand and Shadowmoon Valley had been reduced to ashes, every man ,woman and child butchered. Haras had fallen ill as well from a festering wound- though he insisted on having a hammer close to hand even while he lay in his sick bed- and was not long for this world. He refused treatment- the young soldiers needed aid, not an old man but he was too weak to move and die a warrior’s death. A select few of the draenei had fled to the wilds but most were to remain in Shattrath to make one final stand and let the orcs believe they exterminated them. A grand sacrifice for the good of all, to hear them tell it. Brizulon would have none of it. There must be some other way. He was to escort the last of the refugees to the outskirts of the city and return, to take down as many orcs as he could before he fell himself. Part of him wanted to go with them. If he was to garb himself in normal clothes he could blend in among them. But he had to at least tell his grandfather goodbye and not shame him. With days until the Horde marched to Shattrath, Brizulon sat at Haras’ bedside. Haras had fought long and hard to protect his people- lost his wife when the Genedar crashed, seen his daughter wed and give him his grandson. Haras apologized for his harshness throughout the entire ordeal- he’d rested far too much on Brizulon’s shoulders. Now for all their running they were to fall here. For the first time in his life, Brizulon saw the old draenei break down and weep. Haras wiped his face and ordered him out. Brizulon assured his grandfather that this was not the end of the draenei. They would find a new home, perhaps find allies and beat the Burning Legion wherever they went. He’d grown concerned when he had not received a letter from Neera in some time. She was to leave with the rest of her family, though she did not wish to be parted from him. Her parents were still at their home- his father in law met him with a scowl, his mother in law in tears. He demanded to know where Brizulon had been. Brizulon stammered he’d been at his grandfather’s bedside here in the city. Then her heard a small metallic clank and an object clattered to the floor. Confused, Brizulon leaned over to pick it up- a ring identical to his own, yet stained with blood. From what they’d learned, Neera was attacked by a young orc on her way to Elodor. Brizulon hadn’t been there in weeks but lied and told her he was there –and quite busy- so she would not hound him. Before, some of the orcs had a rite of passage into adulthood –om’riggor- where once an orc reached the age of twenty he or she would bring a single weapon with them, hunt and kill a talbuk and smear its blood upon his or her face. The shaman would taste the blood to be sure it was from a fresh kill, then they would be considered a full member of the clan. Nowadays, they hunted draenei. Brizulon reeled. The word ‘why’ was out of his mouth before he could stop it. Why did she come to find me. To tell you she was with child, his father in law spat. Brizulon did not hear his father in law’s bitter hatred- he simply took the ring, bowed and left. Soon after he learned Haras had passed on. He barely heard the condolences, either. Haras was a great draenei, a paragon of the Light, a soul so great his body could not contain it. The hasty funeral was a blur, though many vindicators showed up to honor his grandfather. The orcish host would be large. The beasts would sweep over the beautiful city of Shattrath and leave nothing but blood and ashes. Brizulon no longer cared. He approached the city gates where an officer moved to stop him. Where did he think he was going. Brizulon had seen enough. He’d had enough of fighting a losing battle. The Light was supposed to be with them, was it not? Then why lay down and die here? He would sooner bide his time. What time did he think they had? Coward, they called him. Traitor, fool, unworthy. They were the cowards, begging at their superiors hooves. Self righteous fools, all. Then begone, they said. Oh he was leaving. What else did he have to lose? Besides, his mother was with the refugees and she needed him. Stripping off all his holy vestments, his fine armor, even leaving his hammer in the dust Brizulon left, clan only in a simple tunic and breeches. He saw the fire from his shelter. He was not sure but he thought he heard the screaming too. The wind carried the scent of blood. At last he found them, the refugee camps. He’d found a pickaxe to defend himself with on the road, and had fashioned himself a large cloak out of coarse cloth to conceal his identity. His tail would have been a dead giveaway and he left it coiled around his waist. No one spoke much anyway, and he helped when he could and ate as little as possible. Though his charitable side came out once he was certain his identity was unknown, no one suspected he was a vindicator. But then he discovered his in laws were in the same camp and left one night- he could fend for himself and should not have been taking food out of anyone’s mouths, besides. Brizulon spent most of his time in solitude, trying to gather what food he could. He’d always been fond of fishing back in those long ago carefree days but the waters were more often than not full of bloated corpses…if there was any water at all. In time his body languished, losing the honed musculature of a warrior and his beard and hair grew long and wild. Still he huddled under his cloak and hid in the marshes only sometimes bringing much needed food and fresh water to the others. He passed on messages from families who’d been separated in the chaos. They were hungry for news most of all. Then he came across a camp and heard a voice hoarsely call his name. It was Yima. Instantly he was at her side. In her delirium she didn’t recognize him. Brizulon asked her where was his father, where is your husband Makuus. Yima didn’t answer. Taking his cloak off Brizulon swept it about his mother’s shoulders. Brizulon nursed his mother back to health, unable to sleep at night as she cried almost endlessly or groaned in pain. She’d caught some illness that spread throughout the camp and to the anger of the others he burned all their food and poured out their water stores. Brizulon worked hard -even as he fell ill himself- to restore their supplies. His salvation came when he came across draenei who’d escaped Shattrath. They were twisted and mutated. He stood ready to fight but they threw up their hands in surrender. Just as he raised his pickaxe he collapsed. When he returned to his senses, the mutated draenei asked him why he’d strayed from the camps. He explained about the sickness and they told him he was right to throw out the food and water. They had herbs that could cure it, as well as rations. But the other camps turned them away. A strange red mist had been released in Shattrath. Inhaling it turned them into what they were now- Broken. Severed from the Light. Brizulon spoke on behalf of the Broken but they were turned away. He took his mother and they left with the outcasts. Brizulon never learned what became of his father. As the Horde withdrew, turning their gaze towards a new world to conquer, for decades the draenei lived in hiding. Then word spread that the naaru had returned to Shattrath. People began to return to the once great city and Brizulon and his mother Yima had hands in the restoration effort. However, Brizulon knew he’d be recognized as a deserter and to keep his mother safe he left Shattrath. Years in the marshes taught him how to survive on his own. The blood elves came led by Kael’thas. Then followed all races of this new planet called Azeroth. Brizulon met goblins, humans, elves and somewhat ironically followed in his father’s footsteps as a travelling merchant. Always he kept his eyes open for news of his father. He learned the common tongue and became a drifter, sometimes traveling with a group or alone, wheeling and dealing with everyone he met on the road. He came to love the high stakes of the gladiator matches though the ogres came often to shake him down or break his legs when he couldn't pay his debts. Brizulon did meet up again with his old friend and rival Xenthion, now calling himself Adiantas. He’d been killed by blood elf assassins when the Exodar crashed and when the Lich King stirred in the north the Scourge in their cruelty raised him as a death knight. Once a proud champion of the Light he was now a killing machine,infused with plague and wielding dark magics. Adiantas never returned to Shattrath after all those years but finally he asked Brizulon about Lu’sha. Brizulon simply told him she was gone. How, Adiantas wanted to know. He had to know the fate of his beloved but Brizulon couldn’t bear to tell him. Adiantas insisted-he deserved to know every moment of her suffering. Brizulon quietly told him he had enough of a burden but.. he had not seen Lu’sha but a handful of the now Broken had- she’d suffered the fate of the other women- dragged off to be ravaged before her throat was cut and her body thrown onto a pile of corpses. The death knight’s hand was suddenly around his throat, his unnatural strength fueled by his rage. He’d expected unbridled fury and profound sorrow in his old friend’s face but to his surprise there was nothing there- Adiantas’s face was a blank slate but his eyes- those cold eyes robbed of the soft glow of the Light-blessed draenei – those baleful eyes were ablaze with unholy light, and for a moment Brizulon was afraid that hellish glow would be the last thing he ever saw. Brizulon tried to speak, tried to choke out the words- what words, that he was sorry? You asked and I told you? Just before he passed out Adiantas released him. Brizulon doubled over coughing and gasping for air. Adiantas had always been jealous of how close Lu’sha and Brizulon were. Brizulon told him she was more the sister he never had, that he, Xenthion, was her one true love. Xenthion was dead, he said. From then on Adiantas spoke of Xenthion as if he were a separate man, long dead, thirsting for vengeance. He provided for his mother amply- he still felt a twinge of guilt for leaving her all alone but he suddenly decided his father must have gone to Azeroth. Brizulon arrived to discover many other draenei had settled there aboard the broken naaru vessel the Exodar. Throughout all the conflicts Brizulon has maintained a low profile, preferring his trade to battle. He does not seem to be particularly loyal to the Alliance as he is known to trade with every race and faction. This has made him plenty of enemies…and coin. Old friends, old foes. The draenei endure. Just as Brizulon promised his grandfather all those years ago.

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