Facts Procurable by a Nosy PersonEdit
Name: J.F. de Morangias
Race: Blood Elf
Age: Old enough to do everything but give good advice.
Occupation: leatherworker, freelance son-of-a-gun
Family: Caledra Dawnbreeze (mother), Jean-Luc de Morangias (father), Eulalie de Morangias (half-sister), Ulrich de Morangias (half-brother)
Chief Associates: Huilam d'Averc (another blood elf), LeVeau Mea Va'a (a curvaceous physician), Gevaudan (a sweet beastie), Margeride (a more sinister-looking beastie), Halcifer Swiftrune (wandering knight), Zin'jala (a reclusive witch doctor), Zylanas Spireborn (a redheaded paladin), Eregnor Seysses (a juvenile delinquent).
Affiliations: Caffeine (guild)
((Status [as of Dec 2010]: This character is retired, and therefore cannot be found on the armory or in game. However, he is the subject of some completed stories which may be posted at a later date.))
What You May Notice About HimEdit
His clothes, while of good manufacture, have generally seen better days. His hair—long, dark, and wavy—is improbably immaculate, seemingly in any circumstances, and usually restrained by a ribbon at the back of his neck. His limbs are long, with large hands and feet, and he is slightly bowlegged. His musculature—best described as wiry—is less pronounced than that of the average blood elf male. If this is commented on, he will remark that he is built for endurance sport, a stock reply that may or may not be accompanied by a lascivious wink, depending on those present.
Though in a sense his features could be called aristocratic—insofar as they connote haughtiness and inbreeding—ultimately his face is long, and bears an unflattering resemblance to a horse’s. His nose is especially long, thin, and not particularly straight, as if it had suffered mild dislocation. He has healthy gums and bad teeth, including a gold molar on the right side. He has fair skin which burns rather than tans, which he protects with a metallic ointment of goblin manufacture.
When not in the bush he secretes his ears in his hair, a practice he has performed for so long that it has affected the curvature of his ears. With dark glasses on, he might pass for a tall, undernourished human, though his Common is riddled with archaic slang. He speaks Thalassian with an accent which is difficult to place. On the other hand, he speaks the warchief’s Orcish, and has been known to swear in Dwarven. He can generally be found in one of two places: in the wilderness, where the air is pure, and in the metropolis, where his chosen vices are readily available. Among strangers, he is shy to a fault. With those he knows, he may be jocular to the point of boorishness.
In the city, he either smells of tobacco smoke and brains (and worse), or of a powerful, sage-dominated cologne familiar to those in the know as Tanner's Choice. In the field on a good day, he smells like his environs. In the field on a bad day, he smells of blood, sweat, and spirits.