Now, this is not written by me, but it's relatively important for the two story blurbs I have written. This is the backstory of my undead warlock, Azalyth, in the game World of Warcraft, as written by my boyfriend. He has a character (or two) who is Lodok--the orc lover of Azy. Now, this says she was an elf, but I've since realized it doesn't quite fit in with lore, so pretend it says she was human, a priestess, and serving Jaina Proudmoore. The bit afterward, describing what she looks like and such, I wrote, and is currently in her RSP description in-game.
Before the battle on Hyjal,
the one against Lord Archimonde,
The night elves arrived with Tyrande,
A platoon of immortals.
Amazed and ready for amends,
The leader Thrall assigned to each
Of them a servant for their stay, so
It is these series of events
From which love sprang.
A young orc by the name of 'Dok
Was entrusted with the novice
elven druid Azalyth, and
Toge'er, traditions they'd soon mock.
She fell for Lodok's chivalry
And easy humor, while he was
drawn tow'rd her sweet benevolence,
smile, charm, and serenity.
Tragedy then came.
The Scourge arrived and it began,
An epic conflict that would decide
The fate of this world, Azeroth,
As the whole mount'n the battle spanned.
'Dok set himself, a muscled wall,
In front of his newly belov'd,
Whilst Azalyth stayed at his back
And kept him fighting through it all,
With nature's sweet embrace.
Malfurion called,
Nordrassil replied, and it
Tore the Scourge ranks down.
In its final stand,
The Legion burned all it had.
Harmless, well, almost.
Their counterattack
Dropped a final few, among
Them poor Azalyth.
'Dok fell to his knees
As she, dying and through blood,
Breathed her final words:
"I love you, and will
Take what we have with me when
I leave soon for good.
In my affection,
I now grace you with my name
for you - "Baelideth.
I sorrow to leave,
my "Eternal Guardian"
But now I must go..."
Then, she died, and one
Must know that naught is worse
Than an orc crying.
Aza'lyth: Young Life
Physical description(a la IRP): Azalyth is hardly more than skin and bone. Her pale skin is a bit leathery, stretched taught at her joints and similar protrusions, bone peeking out where the flesh has been worn away. Her muscles, where they are largest, seem bulbous in comparison. On the other hand--no pun intended--her fingers and toes have been worn to relative points. Her belt is slung loose and crooked on her hips, a sizeable pouch of purple shards hanging from it.
Her hair is tattered and unkempt, the length having been worn uneven from breaking and lack of new growth. Leather straps secure a monocle to her face, leaving her left eye--an unhealthy, glowing yellow--exposed. The corners of her mouth are stained dark as her lips, telltale signs of sloppy cannibalism.