About: Brunhylde Shoe   Sponge Permalink

An Entity of Type : dbkwik:resource/HEyBhWKIjGo_DbLx5rRvKg==, within Data Space : 134.155.108.49:8890 associated with source dataset(s)

An overburdened steed churns the soil of what has come to be called the Eastern Plaguelands, its hooves churning the long-abandoned soil as it carries its rider onward. When it stops, a steel-wrapped foot crunches to the flagstones, crushing a thing sprouting from between them too full of plague to be called vegetation. The being, for it draws breath enough to be called such, if only barely, brings forth a tremendous blade, carved with ancient sigils that throb with power. It thrusts it point downwards into the ground before it, leaning on the sword with both hands as it beholds what has become of the once-mighty city of Stratholme.

AttributesValues
rdf:type
rdfs:label
  • Brunhylde Shoe
rdfs:comment
  • An overburdened steed churns the soil of what has come to be called the Eastern Plaguelands, its hooves churning the long-abandoned soil as it carries its rider onward. When it stops, a steel-wrapped foot crunches to the flagstones, crushing a thing sprouting from between them too full of plague to be called vegetation. The being, for it draws breath enough to be called such, if only barely, brings forth a tremendous blade, carved with ancient sigils that throb with power. It thrusts it point downwards into the ground before it, leaning on the sword with both hands as it beholds what has become of the once-mighty city of Stratholme.
dcterms:subject
Guild
  • Bloodforged, but secretly of the Lordaeron Socialist Front
dbkwik:warcraftfan...iPageUsesTemplate
Birthplace
  • Nameless Lordaeranean Hamlet #37
Eyes
  • Greyish Blue
Residence
  • Anywhere she can escape the mocking voices of the crab pots.
Age
  • 28(xsd:integer)
Hair
  • White
Name
  • Brunhylde Shoe
dbkwik:warcraft-fa...iPageUsesTemplate
Weight
  • slightly above 200 kg. The plate doesn’t come off anymore, after all.
Height
  • 1.93m
Class
  • Death Knight
Profession
  • Enchanter, Inscriber
Build
  • armoured
Race
  • Ex-Human
abstract
  • An overburdened steed churns the soil of what has come to be called the Eastern Plaguelands, its hooves churning the long-abandoned soil as it carries its rider onward. When it stops, a steel-wrapped foot crunches to the flagstones, crushing a thing sprouting from between them too full of plague to be called vegetation. The being, for it draws breath enough to be called such, if only barely, brings forth a tremendous blade, carved with ancient sigils that throb with power. It thrusts it point downwards into the ground before it, leaning on the sword with both hands as it beholds what has become of the once-mighty city of Stratholme. It helped to bring this about, it knows. But what to do of that now? How to express the rage and humiliation at such a failure, at having been so blind? It has a sword, it could fall upon it, but that would be but one more symbol devoid of meaning in a world already glut of such. Besides, all that would do to it would be engaging in the waste of a perfectly good surcoat. It smiled. Perhaps a symbol that would have some small sliver of meaning, instead. It gripped the hilt of its sword tightly, tearing it from between the stones to aim it’s edge, and with that it’s raging malice at the uncaring heavens, and cried in a voice like thunder, “By the power foolishly vested in me by Arthas Menethil, son of High King Terenas and by right true heir to the throne of Lordaeron, I hereby call this second meeting of the Lordaeron Socialist Front to order!”
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