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|Guild||Bloodforged, but secretly of the Lolcat brgud|
|Weight||subject to significant fluctuations under flavourful netherly influences|
|Birthplace||the Firestarter family compound|
|Current Residence||Aldor Rise|
- "No upstanding gnomish citizen of the alliance would eat the flesh of a sentient being where someone who would object might catch them at it."
- —Napthara, on Tauren
- "Rule number one. Never let a gnome redesign your pants if you value anything inside them."
Napthara is a mage devoted to the deepest secrets of the flame, who occasionally pretends not to be socially reprehensible.
From a distance, there is little visually to distinguish Napthara from other mages of her race. Beneath her robes, few of which have ever lasted long enough to warrant correcting their poor fit, she is of a healthy build, the plumpness common in young mages having given way to a leaner frame as the adventuring lifestyle has provoked greater quantities of... physical exercise. The shade of her hair is perhaps a trifle ostentatious, but no more so than any number of other hues that have come forth from the irradiated husk that was once the utmost centre of technology on Azeroth, and she wears it in a style which she salaciously refers to as "power steering," a statement frequently accompanied by a leer at her continual companion and comrade, Rhantanahhn.
She rarely keeps items of apparel long enough to grow attached to them, or, in fact to develop any particular style she favours, yesterday's treasured staff today cheerfully sold for a pittance of coin in favour of something with just a shade more of that crackling sparkle that puts a zip in the fingers and a char in other people's organs. What few exceptions to this exist are a set of knives she recieved from the soldiers of Shattrath stationed in the south of the Bone Wastes of Terrokar, and some Ioun Stones from the lord of the Circle of Blood, which she is determined that she can somehow sufficiently sharpen as to be able to headbutt someone to death.
In recent weeks, a drunken fit of inebriation ended with her receipt of dwarven arcanoprint tattoos on each of her wrists, invisible beneath her robes, save that moonlight will halo her forearms with glowing script in Old Gnomish, which few can read and fewer speak. Those of eld in age or wisdom however, are most often pleased to see one so young proudly wearing the most ancient and venerable of gnomish battle cries: "Thys Ehnd Taworhd Ejnamye."
To call a gnome a hedonist is reckoned by many an act much akin to calling a fish wet. Similarly, the suggestion that, as a race, they do not posses the most stable of temperaments would not be one that could be logically disputed. Nevertheless, Napthara warrants the distinction on both counts. While the pleasures of the flesh in food and drink and merriment are ones she enjoys quite thoroughly, she has oftentimes found herself less than welcome among normal company while luridly reminiscing about the beauty of great plumes of superheated blood vapour erupting into the sky from an enemy's wounds. She remains convinced that people would understand if only she could secure the funding to arrange some sort of show, gathering various different species of creatures to produce fountains of varying shapes and colours.
Few druids are inclined towards politeness with her, with her propensity towards viewing the creatures of nature as self-delivering snacks, staunchly maintaining the justification that she is in fact improving the wilds, by providing evolutionary pressure towards the trait of Run Away from the Eldritch Glow, without which Azeroth would be a very different place than it is today.
Despite a moral compass pointed firmly in some direction unchartable by the civilized mind, and a worldview divided with exacting firmness between "her people" and "targets" of varying degrees of viability (and recently, "Yes sir, mister dragon sir, no hostile intentions here. Fireball? What fireball? Oh this fireball. Just a trifle, really, keep it up for warming the hands, bad circulation you know. I'm told it utterly ruins the flavour, too.") those who get to know her to any great extent often find she has a sort of endearing charm, probably due to the fact that in her own pursuit of pleasure she is nigh adamant about sharing them with "her people" with the intent of making them happier, as well.
Her position on the Horde is somewhat lackadaisical, she bears them no particular malice or dislike, and with the exception of the Tauren, she hasn't found any recipes good enough to warrant furthering the war any more than is necessary. As such, she takes a relaxed approach she refers to as 'whack-an-orc', she won't go out of her way to antagonize them, but neither will she hesitate to add humanoid charcoal briquettes to the logpile.
The Firestarters are an old and established family in the Gnomish mining and demolitions business, focusing on the research, development and production of explosives. The family has done quite well over the past few decades of conflict, what with the increased need for metals with which to produce arms and armour. Though they have refrained from direct involvement with the military on ideological grounds, the current matriarch of the family shrewdly determined that when a well dressed young man from Stormwind claims to represent a new mining concern and wants to buy a seismic-grade seaforium charge to open a quarry deep in Horde territory with gold upfront, its entirely his business to take precautions to protect the future site's miners. As such, Napthara was largely sheltered from the Third War growing up, remaining instead within the family compound buried in the mountains some distance east of Gnomegran itself.
As the youngest granddaughter of the matriarch, Napthara had few responsibilities as a child, simply to learn the family trade, and prepare to take up some role or another in the business. This did not suit her well, most notably because while she was indeed uniquely gifted at inciting normally inert chemicals toward exceedingly rapid expansion and release of heat, she was patently incapable of preparing them so that they would only do so under controlled circumstances.
A Chance MeetingEdit
Years of study proved fruitless at improving her chemical acumen, so instead her parents attempted to groom her for moving into the more business oriented aspects of the family. Hoping to teach her how to smoothly negotiate deals with all manner of clients, they began to bring her along on trips to the various cities and townships of the Alliance. Her presence caused the sharpest decline in the Firestarter family's profitability ever attributable to a single gnome.
However, their efforts were not entirely wasted. On one such trip, the market square of Stormwind thronged with people, gathered for a party in which a participant was one Verien "Doombunny", who was celebrating in her preferred spectacular method. As Napthara's parents recoiled from the sight of flaming chunks of stone cascading down upon Stormwind from the sky, her own eyes widened in shock and awe. And her lips spread into a wide, excited grin.
She made eager use of the natural roguishness of the immature to slip away from her parents, following this Verien away from the party, ambushing her with an indecipherable excited babble. After persuading her to slow down, Verien gave serious thought to Napthara's emphatic request to, "Teach me how you did that! That was so awesomely awesome of awesomeness! And cool!" In the end, she suggested instead that Napthara seek training as a mage, though to this day she remains unwilling to disclose why she felt the demons should be spared Napthara becoming a warlock.
A Family MatterEdit
Napthara commenced her studies in secret, dreading the reaction of her relatives if she told them that she planned not to take up her appointed role. She pilfered what books she could from the libraries of Ironforge, Gnomegran, and Stormwind, poring over them in what out of the way corners she could find where she would not be found or missed, often unable to actually read the books she had taken, she studied them anyway, in the hopes that she might gain their knowledge through some arcane osmosis. In the case of Stormwind, she was at one point caught, and sentenced to what, at the time, seemed a far more heinous punishment than exile or imprisonment in the Stockade. Mandatory participation in the “Children of the Alliance Mailing Group.”
It was through this punishment that she met Rhantanahhn Muravine, also a participant, but a willing one. Initially their letters consisted primarily of various reworkings on the themes of "pointy-headed git," or "half-size half-wit," but the tone gradually grew warmer, and then became a surprisingly deep and affectionate friendship based on a kindred enjoyment of simply enjoying things.
Moving, Shaking, and BakingEdit
The fall of Gnomegran is something Napthara is loathe to think about too much. She herself was in Ironforge, behaving herself in order to keep her secret during yet another "learn to negotiate" trip. Few of those she knew at all well were in the city, and she didn't like the place much anyway. if queried on the matter, she is likely to remain silent, or mumble something nigh-inaudible about "super hydro-dynamic bio-waste thrombobulation units." The family compound was far enough out to evacuate, seal the old tunnels, and then sink a new shaft to rebuild somewhat further east.
However, while a firmly established bomb factory is likely to rise high on the list of all-time worst places to be a burgeoning pyromaniac, a bomb factory trying to operate while under construction is infinitely worse. Something had to give. It was the support strut for tunnel three, and the fireball that powdered a falling rock before it could hit delicate machinery.
Luckily for Napthara, her grandmother was accepting of her decision to become a mage, and supported sending her off to receive proper training in "cutting out the middle crucible between her and the Azeroth-shattering kaboom." Sadly, though, her idea of "proper training" was education towards becoming a research mage. Despite Napthara's protestations that she wanted to go adventuring, she couldn't really argue against the statement that a mage by themselves in the wilderness was only a nigh-unstoppable force right up until the moment that something, anything snuck up behind them, nor that her family hadn't gone to the trouble of raising her so she could get eaten by a trogg. And so she studied, albeit with proper tuition this time, and watched and waited for an opportunity to make her escape in some fashion that would not result in the family's associates being offered a sizeable bounty to stuff her in a box to be shipped home.
Free at Last, Free at Last, Praise to Elune, We are Free at LastEdit
A letter from her friend Rhane nearly drove her into insensibility. Rhane was going to start travelling, and she couldn't! This nearly brought and end to their friendship, until a solution was suddenly found. Rhane had a friend in Aishen Thornewood, a huntress of significant renown. If Aishen were to contact Napthara's family, requesting their permission for her to be assigned to do "field research, under guard," well, with any luck they would be more focused on the details of the guarding than the details of the research. Napthara suspects that her grandmother saw through the scheme immediately, as even now every letter from home makes a point of asking how Rhane is doing, but they accept that at least there's someone inclined to pull Napthara's neurotic rear end out of the messes she inevitably gets into.
Napthara packed what belongings she had acquired during her studies, some few small pouches, a dagger she referred to as 'stewmaker,' and absolutely not the puce-coloured wolly cap her mother had sent her, then went, as the last letter had told her, to the appointed meeting place just outside the great gates of ironforge. She arrived early, but was surprised nevertheless to find no one there. She waited, peering around bush and tree to see if she could see anyone coming. As such, she was completely unprepared for the snow beneath her feet suddenly giving way to a hole in the very fabric of existence.
Outland, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the GlowyEdit
It was a very disoriented gnome who fell to unfamiliar cobblestones under an amythyst sky, peering blearily upward at an unfamiliar night elf and a vaguely familiar human through eyes which refused to focus. And so it was, that the first words Napthara uttered as an adventurer were, "I can taste the colours in my fingers, mommy," followed shortly by fainting. Upon being woken, she was able to recognize the human now crouching near her as her acquaintance, Verien, and was introduced to the night elf, who turned out to be the ever-helpful Aishen. It was soon made clear that, far from the instantaneous arrival which they had expected of her, Napthara had taken several minutes to traverse the portal with which Verien had pulled her to Shattrath City, and perhaps she should get examined, as she might in fact be allergic to teleportation. Napthara dismissed their concerns, stating that, "the colours didn't really taste bad, just colourful." They refrained from attempting to persuade her further, knowing well the old adage that wasted is the effort spent barring a gnome from self-destruction.
Eagerly, Napthara waited as Verien began to cast again, knowing that, barring catastrophe, Rhane would be arriving soon. As soon as Rhane seemed to have her bearings, Napthara flung herself into her dear friend's arms. Well, stomach. A gnome can only do so much if the elf doesn't sit down, first.
Aishen explained to them as best they could understand in their limited experience the nature of Outland, and Shattrath itself. Luckily, they were able to percieve quickly the folly of venturing beyond the Shattrath gates, a glance was enough to tell them that, while they could not precisely identify the strengths of the creatures roaming Outland, similarly, should they face one, no one would be able to precisely identify which bits of the greasy smear that would remain had once been part of a gnome or a night elf. And so in Shattrath Rhantanahhn and Napthara settled somewhat, making for themselves a home they could return to, and eagerly adventuring through the glimmering portals, taking advantage of the rapid transit thus made available to them, even if it required some patience on Rhane's part.
May the Road Rise up to Meet Your Enemy's Feet. May Your Feet Rise up to Meet Your Enemy's Face.Edit
On Verien's advice, the pair began their adventures from the Exodar, the better to get to know and get used to the enigmatic Draenei who had so recently come to Azeroth. They quickly developed an easy cooperation, Rhane would hack and bash at their enemies up close, carving them into such a frenzy that they would utterly fail to notice the little pink gnome steadily boiling off their vital fluids, a plan which serves them well even now, having traveled nearly all of Azeroth by portal, griffon, and boat, quickly establishing themselves as heroes in their own right.
This is not to say things did not go wrong, in the early days of their travels, the most notable such incident occurred near the impact site of the Exodar's shattered Cryo-Core, recorded as, "This is a real fireball, you green-eyed son of a feral tender!"
Thankfully during their travels they always managed to escape such situations with their hides attached, if not necessarily intact.
After some few months, they even followed the trail of some strange occurrences into the Burning Steppes, garrisons left inexplicably weak, plea after impassioned plea for aid ignored by Stormwind's High Command. This led them with the aid of their friend Aishen, and a companion of hers by the name of Zogstra into the nefarious Blackrock Depths, where they uncovered a foul conspiracy to usurp the very control of the Alliance!
Though their return to Stormwind from this venture was triumphant, it brought to Rhantanahhn and Napthara a period of contemplation. They went to aid the Cenarion Circle in Silithius, but found the work unsatisfying. The Silithid hives seemed content with what territory they had taken, and gathering the resources to mount any meaningful assault on them seemed an insurmountable task. Faced with such a stalemate, they concluded that there was nothing more of significance they could do to help Azeroth without leaving her. And so they bid farewell to the world they knew, and made for the Dark Portal.
Besides, Napthara had heard rumours that there was some new kind of orc that would really "benefit" from personal experience with central heating.