Sintav Xathratis

"If that is your will, then it shall be done." - Sintav Xathratis

Character Description
Dead. That would be an inital thought to many that gaze upon Sintav's face. The most dominant feature that caused such a thought was a patch of withered and rotted flesh that took up the upper right portion of his face. It started somewhere past his hairline and stopped just above his lip, seeming to almost curve past and back down until it reached his jaw. It revealed some of the cheek and jawbone, though neither were prominently jutted out.

The left side of his face had no such imposing marring, almost pristine and flawless in it's upkeep. It revealed the age he died at, his pale flesh creased with wrinkles. Late fifties, early sixties perhaps. Faded scars could be seen, with the most visible one cutting from his nose down across his cheek. His nose was crooked, most likely broken and never properly set several times both before and after death.

Long, whispy gray hair trailed down just past his shoulders. It looked like it hadn't been washed or cut since he met his end, with much of the hair being matted and clumped together. There was no real sense of style to it other than it being pushed back, out of his face. His facial hair looked.. somewhat groomed, oddly enough. It was at least maintained to a minimal degree.

Early Life
It was clear to many that Sintav Xathratis was not a child of destiny. Born to a pair of travelling merchants, his life was set in stone to be all but normal. Boring. For many years it was. After he was born, his parents bought a lot of land within the Stratholme city limits, commissioning the building of a conjoined blacksmithing forge and a weaponshop. The forge and shop both ended up being more of a home than the family's house was to the boy.

Early on, Sintav took a liking to the weapons his father made. Mostly swords meant to arm the garrison of Stratholme, but some were also bought by travelers and adventurers. Even before reaching his tenth birthday, he began to learn blacksmithing under his father. He toiled in the forge with his father for many years, eventually starting to add his own weapons to his parent's shop for others to admire and purchase.

At the age of sixteen, he began to drill weekly with Stratholme's garrison force, learning the art of combat, discipline, and perhaps the most important lesson of his life: how to follow and carry out orders as a soldier. Life continued on like that for some time. With the coin he got from helping his parents in both the shop and the forge, as well as commissions for blades he had received from some of the higher-ups of the Stratholme garrison, he had managed to get his own place to call home within the city at a relatively young age, perhaps just barely in his twenties. For many more years after that, the life of Sintav Xathratis was a comfortable one.

The Orcish Horde
"Damn the Orcs." - Sintav

Following the First War, refugees flooded into Lordaeron from the decimated human kingdoms to the south. Sintav heard tale of the Orcs and their ferocity, both from veterans who witnessed and fought them firsthand, and the civilians that had seen friend and family butchered by the relentless green-skins. Hearing of the Orcish atrocities from so many refugees caused him to feel rage like he had never felt before, and it planted a deep-seated seed of racism in him against the Orcs that lasted for a long time. Without hesitation, he joined the Lordaeronian Army. As he wasn't completely green when it came to being a soldier, he was promoted to Sergeant rank rather quickly, giving him lead over a small squad of footmen.

Sintav partook in countless skirmishes as well as several major battles during the Second War. In the heat of battle was where he truly felt alive, feeling adrenaline pumping through his veins as he fought tooth-and-nail against the Orcs. Though he was double the age of many of the new recruits, he still gave them all a run for their money with the ferocity he displayed in battle. His body was hard and strong, forged like the steel he had worked with for thirty-some years before the Second War, and it showed as he cut down the savage Orcs with devastating attacks. It was said by several men under his command that he could take any Orc down one-on-one, and while that may or may not have been true, it was hard to deny it given the fact that Sintav Xathratis was still standing by the end of the Second War with very few scars on his body. Complete and utterly spent by the time the War came to an end, he returned to Stratholme to hopefully live out the remainder of his days in peace.

Lordaeron's Plague
"Burning. Stratholme was burning. I could smell the stench of undeath in the air. Feel the flames lashing out towards me. I couldn't see out of my left eye anymore. All I saw was red. A final 'fuck you' from a man who would later become one of my closest allies in death. And as I stood over his dying body, watching his house reduce to rubble before me, I believe I died inside. I say that because once we left for Northrend, I couldn't feel anything anymore. Just.. emptiness." - Sintav

Throughout the Second War, Xathratis had received many promotions and medals for his bravery, heroism, and valor. By the time he was able to return home, he had been given the rank of Lieutenant. Many thought he would continue his military career then and there, but truthfully he sought to retire. He had begun to busy himself with filling out such paperwork until he heard rumors circulating within Stratholme. The Orcs were rebelling. It was troubling news, considering how long they had been lethargic.He decided to hold off, to seek one more adventure. He doubted another War would break out from the few, shattered clans of Orcs that remained, so he thought it would take a matter of days, perhaps weeks, to finish up what should have been done to begin with.

He was placed within Arthas Menethil's unit, and it was perhaps the first time he had ever seen the crown prince in person. He had heard plenty and for the soldier, it was an honor to be serving within Prince Arthas's unit personally. Their first mission was to defend the village of Strahnbrad, and once again Sintav's blade tasted Orc blood. By the end of the day, Strahnbrad had been saved, and what remained of the Blackrock Orcs had been killed. It was a shame that they had not been able to save the captured villagers, but there was more work yet to be done.

Rumours of the Plague had reached Sintav's ear, but he did not truly believe it until he saw it. He witnessed the horrors of the Cult of the Damned's undead firsthand. It was against them that he felt the most.. useless. Attacks that felled foes before did nothing against the unrelenting undead. The first time fighting the undead was, perhaps, the most he was ever frightened. Despite that though, he and the other soldiers did find out how to kill them. And with the Paladin Prince Arthas at their helm, they seemed unstoppable.

Eventually though, the Prince had brought his armies before the entrance to Stratholme with the intention to purge it. The city had already been plagued. Later that night, Sintav killed his first human with several more following. He ran through former neighbors, former friends, former associates, former men under his command. Men, women, and children all fell under his greatsword. He made their deaths as quick and painless as he could, though some didn't want to go down easily. One such man was a young sergeant formerly under his command, Daltone Gren. The two clashed for some time. Though Daltone was much younger than Sintav, he was also wounded from a previous battle. He fought hard, dealing a blow that cost Sintav his left eye. Sintav had managed to land the decisive strike in the end, nearly rending the man in half with his greatsword.

Sintav didn't participate in the rest of the Culling. He seemed to vanish for some time until Arthas had set sail for Northrend, following the Prince to whatever hell awaited them there. After Arthas defeated Mal'ganis and seemed to vanish, Sintav thought it best to go out on his own terms. The old, haunted soldier wandered into a blizzard that was surrounding the base the Lordaeron soldiers had built, seeking to meet his death in the freezing cold. At his first taste of war, it had consumed him. Even though he had left the wars, the wars never truly left him. Scenes of violence played in his mind again, and again, and again, until he finally succumbed to the freezing cold, the blizzard covering his body in ice, sleet, and snow.