How does your character explain their name in-game?
"It's a bit pretentious." Crenshaw observed as he slid another glass of Autumn Punch across the bar to the elf-maid. "'Course, all you Elves are a pretentious lot, no matter which faction you fight for."
The elf-maid scoffed. "And all of you Undead are equally as caustic and morose, so we're even."
Crenshaw harrumphed, picking up a glass mug from beneath the bar and polishing it with the rag at his belt. His claw-like hand scrubbed the cloth across the glass with exaggerated vigor, glowing ochre eyes glowering at the impudent girl beyond the bar. "You're an Elf, what do you know?"
She closed her left eye, assessing him a moment. "You do realize who you're talking to, don't you, Cren?"
The tiny Forsaken pulled the glass mug to his waist, giving her a low, mocking bow over it. "Why, the great Dame Sin'Solaria Lightfaith, First and Only Cleric of M'uru..."
She chuckled. "You know, the sarcasm in your voice makes it sound so much less sincere."
"What kind of name is Sin'Solaria, anyway?"
"It's Thalassian for 'blood daughter of the sun'; my parents thought they were being clever, alluding to our dual heritage."
Crenshaw waved a dismissive hand. "Yeah, yeah... whatever. You Elves and your great holy bru-ha-ha over lineage and nobility and status. Why not just kill each other and be done with it?"
Sin'Solaria chuckled again. "My family is faithful to the Light, as the rest of my name suggests. It is not in us to kill out of spite, only to protect what we love."
Crenshaw made a gagging sound. "You Elves are disgusting."
He shifted, a small grunt escaping as he levered himself and her forward before collapsing back onto the saber saddle. He squirmed.
Plinth stirred and murmured into his chest, "Something wrong"?
Vashna squirmed a bit more. "I think..", more shifting, "It's a strap..", another heave, "that I thought I'd tucked under."
Plinth worked her hand up from the tunnel formed between the saddle and his lower back until she found the offending strap. "Lift" she requested and twitched it down and tucked it between her arm and the saddle's edge. She was too comfortable here with him to be bothered to do it right. "There.", she said contentedly, shifting back to her position.
Vashna sighed and wrapped his arms back around her. He looked fondly down before gazing back into the fire. It was some time before he spoke again. "Do you ever wish it were different?"
"Mmm. What? That we'd never met? That I were not Kaldorei? That the wars were not? Everything has it's place in the stars. I am satisfied to be here in your arms at this moment."
Vashna looked down at the blue crowned head on his chest and blinked. "Ah.. no. I just meant, do you ever wish we weren't directly caught up in it? The war, I mean." He shifted his gaze back to the fire.
"We pray to Elune for peace, but I do not see it coming. How would we have met if not for this war?" She did not shift or raise her head, she was well used to his moments of melancholy that stemmed from the brevity of human life. He could not see it, but her eyes squeezed tight for a moment as she pushed that thought far away.
"Perhaps you'd have met me in the city, bringing crops or pigs or sommat to market. You told me you'd wander down to the market when you first came to Stormwind. If your Elune, bathed in my Light, meant us to be, you'd have fallen for me." He grinned, quite satisfied with his logic.
"Farmer Vashna.", and then she snickered, muffling it on his chest.
His jaw dropped. "And what's so wrong with that!" He cried; indignant. "My family comes from a long line of farmers. Good ones. Each one better than the.. well, until me." He shifted and hugged her to him. "You're right. No Vashnas farmed in my valley."
She sensed the tension that lay underneath his embrace and drew herself more firmly around him. "As it should be. I've never met a human farmer with a name such as "Vashna". It's a warrior's name and you wear it well and bring it honor and glory." She used her front teeth and gripped the edge of his vest and tugged at it before dropping it. "And I did not fall.. you pursued; like the warrior you are, always rushing in."
He grinned and relaxed. "I was a Beltane child; so I got the odd name." He sighed and settled further back.
Plinth smiled. He was working around to something and didn't even know it. She envied his spontaneity often, but would be unsettled not to know her own mind. It was his way, not hers; and she cherished the difference.
"Eyyy. How'd you get your name? I've never met another Plinth. Doesn't sound very.. I mean I like it; wouldn't dream of calling you else, but.. not much of a Kaldorei name now, is it?" He stilled and felt her against him, looking out for any tension his words might cause.
Now a smile split her features. So long he had taken! Two years. An age in a human relationship. She stifled a laugh. "You are right. It is not my name." She felt his head tilt fully downwards and imagined the look on his face. ""Plinth" is my journey name."
"Wait. You're family didn't name you "Plinth"? Journey name? Whazzat?" He shifted her up to his shoulders so she would rise and look at him. Luminescent eyes, with just the trace of green behind the glow gazed steadily at him.
"Vashna. When I left my Clan, I was given a name for all to call me by on my journeys. A journey name. In this way the Clan is always hidden, close to the heart. It is Clan Mossclaw's way. It has always been such." She smiled and kissed him softly on lips still parted in surprise.
Vashna frowned and did not allow her to sink back onto his chest, although the cool air now there was not welcome. "Plinth, as you are called. She who is called Plinth. I am called Plinth." He ran over all the ways she had said her name before him and others and he'd never seen it. "Am I to die without ever knowing your name?" He looked upon her intently.
Plinth's lips parted with a sharply indrawn breath. "No! No. Vashna, forgive me!" She moved to embrace him and he pulled her tightly in with a harsh breath.
They lay like that, entwined together until their breath rose and fell in steady unison. Then, as the fire fell to embers, she tilted her head upward and whispered in his ear.
-------There you go, a slice of Mossclaw before she took up her Clan name. From Blackwater Raiders to you. /tips hat/ /winks/
"Foxgloves? What kind of a name is that for a gnome? Shouldn't there be a 'sprocket' or a 'gear' in there somewhere?"
"Pssh, what do you know? It's a perfectly good name! I picked it out myself."
"Oh? So what's your real name?"
"Not tellin'."
"Why not?"
"'Cause it sounds dumb! I don't like folks callin' me that. You'd call me that just to annoy me, I know you-- don't give me that look, it's true!"
"Yeah, yeah...still, why Foxgloves? Are those gloves of yours made out of fox leather or something?"
"No. It's a flower, dimwit. Foxglove? Kinda purple-ish, blue-ish. Poisonous, too."
"A poisonous flower."
"M-hm."
"Why couldn't you pick a nice flower? Like rose. Or peacebloom."
"Come ON. No one's gonna take you seriously with a name like Peacebloom. You've gotta sound tough."
"...Foxgloves doesn't sound tough. It's kind of cute, actually."
"Cute?! You take that back, you--"
"My name?" Arianna looked up at the one who asked and bit down on her lip.
"It's not important. I mean, that chapter of my life is over so I only thought it fitting to take up a new one. I like this one much better." She nodded firmly, to signal that this was the end of the discussion.
"Well, according to my parents my name originally translated to silver weaver, loosely." She looked away and frowned gloomily. "But please don't ever call me by that name. It's gone, end of story, and I really want nothing to do with it. I'm Arianna now, and that's all you need to know."
19:27, The Salty Sailor. Spike and a tauren are sitting at the bar, drinking rum and having a chat.
"So... Spike, huh?"
"Eeyup."
"Why?"
"Everyone in my family's got names like it. My Uncle Boomer, for example. Vet sapper from the war."
"Heh. How much of him is left?"
"-All- of him is left, ya two-legged sea cow. He didn't strap a bomb to his crotch and run into battle like a dope. He stuck bombs in places nobody would find 'em, and laughed when people found them too late. He was a pro, and if he were here, he'd have planted a mine under your ass without you knowing it, then taken your wallet for kicks. Show some respect for people who fought to keep this world in one piece, moron."
"Fair enough. But Spike? That the name of your knife or something?"
"Nope."
"You have spiky hair, sort of. That why?"
"You're real shallow, you know that? I mean, most tauren I know are shallow, but you? You're hardly a dent in the road."
"Watch your tongue, midget. I could squish you with one finger."
"And you'd already be dead."
"Whuh?"
"That rum you're drinking? I would have poisoned it by now. In fact, I already have, with the same non-lethal poison I used in my very first solo job. I disguised myself as a party-goer at a Trade Prince's birthday bash, and "spiked" the ale with a poison know as a highly effective laxative. While everyone ran to the privies with their hands over their bums, I swiped the jewels off of the TP's pool float."
"And... And you put that in my... Oh, Earth Mother..."
"Be quick--you may have enough time to get into the water before the laxative kicks in. Don't worry, your drink's on me tonight--my form of apology."
The tauren bolts out of the tavern. Spike pulls out a small copper pocketwatch, counting to himself.
"Three... Two... One."
A horrified bellow can be heard outside, followed by a loud splash. Spike pockets the watch, pulling out a few gold coins and laying them on the counter.
"Buy that tauren a round on me when he gets back--I feel kinda sorry for the ignorant dope."
**Seemed like as good a place as any to post a bit of an introductory post. So, hello there! Hope you enjoy this miniaturized backstory for my character name.**
Dropping her clunky bags to the floor, Avarrin Dawnblaze soaked in the small room she had rented for the evening in Booty Bay. Behind her entered a young blood elf girl, her current employer.
"My work will be occupying the end table, if that's alright." The girl smiled and looked to her guide. "Oh, that's quite alright. I plan on spending most of the evening out anyways."
As expected. The thought bitterly stuck in Avarrin's head. She had grown weary of these excuses for employment, escorting would-be courtiers and spoiled children to the ends of the earth, no doubt on some wealthy parent's gold or pilfered accounts.
But this girl had been a favor from a friend of Avarrin's parents, and as such, had quickly become more hassle than she was worth.
"Do you mind if I pry a bit?" The girl asked.
A stern expression immediately took the place of the usually studious look on Avarrin's face. "That all depends on what you plan on prying into."
Pausing for a moment, the waif seemed to weigh her words carefully. Rare, a tactful brat.
"Well, I can't help but wonder. You're the only member of the Dawnblaze family I know who isn't involved in any of the higher class dealings our families tend to maneuver amongst. Why is that?"
You would ask that, thought Avarrin, the bitter memories of her youth flooding back.Sighing, she decided to divulge.
"I've known you for a long time, Sollem. If you share this with anyone back in Silvermoon, you won't begin to fathom how dangerous a place this world can be until I'm too far away to call for help."
Sollem appeared taken aback, shocked that Avarrin would threaten such a thing. And yet, somehow it was the answer she was expecting.
"As you know, the Dawnblazes are incredible evokers. Watching their finesse with magic is almost like watching an artist create a masterpiece. But... well, you know I have no magical aptitude whatsoever... Light, you were probably there when I was all but cast out of my home."
Nodding quietly, Sollem let the melancholy mercenary continue.
"Because of my arcane failings, my parents wanted nothing to do with me. They hid me away, sending me off to live with distant relatives in far-off cities."
"Then why not just adopt a new name for yourself? It's really not that uncommon, especially in your circumstances." The naievity in Sollem's question made Avarrin chuckle a bit before answering.
"I still respect my family. And to be fair, they do provide me with plenty of contracts-" "Like me," interjected the waif. "Heh, yes. Like you."
"But you hate this work. I can see it everytime we stop, when you dump out those ridiculous bags."
Avarrin nodded, "Ah, yes. MY work. The work that had me shunned like some kind of leper." She began picking at the contents of her bag she had begun to unpack. Various cogs, metal bolts, and assorted powders in varying coarseness littered the table.
"This is why it's important that I retain my name. The Dawnblazes create art through magic." While speaking, she lifted a tube with a fuse, aimed it out the window, lit and stood back. All of a sudden, a screeching rocket flew from the tube, out the window, and burst in an eruption of color in the sky. "I want to make my family proud. I want to show them I can create just as beautiful art without their talents. This 'mercenary life' I've cultivated is just a living, but my dream is to fill the night skies of Silvermoon with my art."
Drifting away in her visions of blazing lights, Avarrin turned away from Sollem to continue studying the convoluted old schematics that would ultimately grant her wish.
Sollem smiled at her companion, hoping one day to see Avarrin's own blazing dawn...