fatchicken 22 Posted August 21, 2017 (edited) Joseph Cole Brennon "Appearances, my dear friend, are everything"Name: Joseph Cole Brennon Titles: The Machiavellian (Moniker), Viscount of Stormwind Age: 47 (May need revision) Gender: Male Race: Human Class: Warlock Birthplace: A Hillsbrad farmstead Alignment: Stormwind, The Alliance, otherwise flexible Status: Alive and well Home: Stormwind Introduction "Aren't they enthralling?" Joseph inquired, gesturing to the ballroom floor below with a sweeping arc from his glass of red wine, tilting it so excitedly that he threatened to pour it upon the dancers and diplomats beneath his booth. Beside him sat a man of no import to our character, and so he shall remain nameless. "These… Nobles: Present company included. Look! Look how they summon smiles so well-trained as to fake even the glisten in their eyes." Demonstrating his point, Joseph then wrapped his lips in a simper so inviting that the sun would turn green with envy. Right on cue, so too did his eyes flash with a most magnificent emerald radiance that drew the attention of his companion. "Look how meticulous they are with their greetings. Each fine detail; from the bow to the curtsies, the handshakes to the words so carefully plucked like sweet and potentially poisonous fruit, even the voices in which they speak!" Again Joseph presented his body and soul to the world as the very epitome of the theatrics about which he revelled, lacing each excited word with a fluting melody that rivalled the most elegant songbirds. "See how they wrap themselves in a veil of affability and courtesy. Almost as if they didn't despise one another…" The gentleman's voice took on a most curious, quiet sound with that last sentence. He swirled the sanguine liquid and brought it to a set of ruby lips, then sighed contently. "Oh! The things I could tell you about these people." He went on, his manner a wistful yet endearing liveliness that infected all those nearby. "I could tell you how a man, who has just proffered to his so-called-friend a wonderful gift, is now plotting to undermine his business for purely a purpose of pride, not even greed!" He drank again. "I could tell you how two newly-weds, so perfect and exemplary in their blossoming love, are together for reasons strictly financial. Or…" He paused, leaning forwards and sweeping a set of quick and intelligent eyes over the crowd, making sure they never stopped on one character for too long. "I could tell you who's sleeping with whose wife…" He turned to the other man then, and allowed his demeanour to be engulfed by a grin most devilish. "But enough of that!" Ergo, just like the pendulum's persistent swing, Joseph's expression leapt from one extreme to the next, swinging now to a burst of boundless mirth. He placed his wine down and sung out "Here, finish my drink. I have a sudden urge to dance…" Personality Perhaps you are wondering then why we have just relived a seemingly nondescript page from the shadow-bound grimoire of Joseph's life. I could have told you instead about the reason he moved from home to study magic, or how the needy fledgling mage found his way into the academy of Lordaeron. Maybe I should have bewitched you with the tale of his first love, Lady Emilia de Certando, and how she shaped so much of the man Joseph would become. I might have regaled you, in great detail, the scheme with which Joseph claimed his first human soul, thus marking the beginning of his morally grey descent into deceit and warlockery. Or I could have recited to you the happenings of the following year, which he spent travelling with a group of troubadours, performers and aspiring actors. But to do so would take time: too much time. The truth in the matter is that so much of what Joseph lives and breathes is contained in that brief, one-sided exchange. It was Emilia that bestowed upon him a love of theatre and all things lavishly excessive. From such a seed Joseph branched into a man enshrouded by jovial mystery. Every expression that comes to surface on his animated visage, every smile ventured and every word ushered is one of purpose; a tool with which he might garner favour for his own gain. Before long the warlock had flourished into a self-proclaimed virtuoso in all things Machiavellian. Joseph used his adoration of theatre to feign nobility and from it bloomed, like the first buds of spring, one of his many profits to come. Thereon, with the time and the wherewithal to do so, Joseph spent many an evening attending marvellous masquerades and many more days pouring over tomes of eschewed knowledge. Day after day he watered the roots of his soul with a concoction of wine, gold and fel. Through years of these social performances Joseph weaved a web of lies that would fracture his soul into the likes of a thousand schizophrenic sprites, each one tailored to a specific mood or emotion; sprites that he could summon at will should the need arise. Alas, as often happens when a man wears a mask - or in this case masks - for too long, the character he'd created for himself began to take hold, devouring the once innocent youth and perverting him into an amalgamation of his own trickery. Which, after so long, begs the question: where does the lie end and the man begin? In spite of his ghoulish studies, Joseph is an unlikely lover of life. He delights in mortal pleasures, from fine wine to finer company. He pities those of his ilk who have fallen prey to the sullen, brooding archetype that in his mind plagues warlock kind everywhere. For, in his vehement opinion, one must appreciate all the fleeting wonders of mortal living in order to best practice his foul craft. After all, how can someone long since dead to the world see the true magnitude of a deed such as stealing a person's soul, or draining vitality from prey to predator? They cannot, he concludes, and so it is with great captivation that Joseph often finds himself gazing into the endless kaleidoscope of his gems, listening to the near silent wailing of the essence within. The end result is a warlock just as potent with his vile arcane as he is with his silvered tongue. Should you spy Joseph out and about, you would see only a well-to-do magus who takes no small pride in his professionalism and warm courtesy. Ever loquacious and always eager to form alliances, Joseph much prefers any subtle solution, be it diplomatic or transactional, over violence and force - But to think this implies meekness would be a mortal error. Appearance In his maturity the warlock has been gifted with a vulpine grace afforded to him by a set of harsh, elegant lines. His bearded maw became slim and sharp with cheekbones that rose definitively before giving way to his deep set sockets. It is as if every contour of the man's countenance sought to direct you towards his eyes: Two shining emeralds, whose splendour served only to distract any onlookers from the true thoughts lurking behind them. All of this is draped in a rich brown mane of shoulder-length hair. It hung wild and loose, but not unsightly so. His physique is best described as wiry and his skin olive, acting as a relic of his humble beginnings. All in all he is handsome, in a way more cunning than the anvil-jawed, warrior-born masculinity some might prefer. Aside from physical features, there are certain quirks of character that help define Joseph as a man after his own. Let us begin with his gait: Tall, proud and disciplined, Joseph is always sure to move with the sublimity one would expect from his rank. Each of his heels strikes the floor first, before the rest of his foot rolls neatly into place, and so the motion repeats with a flawlessness as to bestow him with the illusion of gliding. Then there is his gaze, those two dancing fireflies that are not only illustrious, but obscured by a hazing gloss that makes it near impossible to see through the windows of his soul proper. Instead, one is faced with the undeniable impression of depth: the telltale sign of a mind running a thousand labyrinthine channels at once. Finally there is his voice, that rolls forth from the tongue in swells of honey-lacquered elegance. He so rarely speaks flatly, choosing to thread every word with delicious inflections that help him hold the attention of privy ears. As you might have guessed from his deep passions and pockets, Joseph dresses with display taking precedence over function. He adorns himself in fine cloth and embroidery of regal colours: Blacks, blues, reds, purples and the likes. Each time he expands his wardrobe, which is fairly often, he is sure to buy matching tomes, jewellery and trinkets to boot. As a demonstration of his dedication to presentation, you might even catch him, from time to time, wielding a sword! Mayhap not so unusual in itself, but you should know Joseph's skills with a blade can be likened to a kobold swinging a stalk of wheat. What's more, never would one catch the warlock wearing the same outfit one day after the other, as was his wont. All this said, Joseph is sure to dance a narrow line, looking ever opulent but never garish. But the item that best discerns Joseph is his hat - an heirloom of his past and a constant in all his appearances. An unlikely tifter for a viscount indeed, it allows him to be easily spotted, and casts a shadow over his smaragdine gaze, which only makes it all the more resplendent in contrast. Shitty picture cos no artwork looks like Joseph (Comissioners PM me baby) Edited August 25, 2017 by fatchicken Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Whimsy 13 Posted August 21, 2017 the only valid human with a master's hat love u Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Highlander 56 Posted August 21, 2017 Bha-vi Blacklotus still likes and hunts for you, Joseph~ Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Destruin 18 Posted August 25, 2017 legend says if u delete that hat model from the game you'll also delete joseph Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Romeo 320 Posted August 25, 2017 legend says if a dreadlord stands next to joseph, the dreadlord grows jealous of the devilish smirk of joseph Share this post Link to post Share on other sites