Name: James Alexander Dunril



Phases: Multi Old Hatreds, and both Betas.

Connections- The Tenth Legion

The Lost Alliance

The Kingdom of Stromgarde

Battle of Falcon Watch

Trial of Sir Ulec

Profession:Soldier, Farm-hand (Previously), Roof Thatcher. (Previously.)

Talent Tree: Commoner- Common Soldier.

Background: James Dunril was the son of a common Roof Thatcher, and Village Harlot. During his youth, Dunril spent many hours thatching roofs, and working for his father, he hardly saw much of his mother at all, his father was a drunk and according to his mother a "Pig of a man" His mother left his father at a young age, and started her career in the local tavern in Brill. Life was boring and uneventful for Dunril, at the tender age of sixteen he left his father's house one day at work (Against his father's wishes), and went to the nearest military outpost for the Lordearon Army, Dunril wished Adventure, Experience, and to have accomplished something meaningful in his life besides thatch roofs with his father. Upon arriving he enlisted as a Common Foot Soldier within the Royal Lordearon Army, at a backwater post, before the Second War. Having joined in such a gruff post, James had to endure rigorous disciplinary training, daily by his Sergeant, Sergeant Fenby. Dunril being a young and naive Footman, after is training would go off post back to the Capital City of Lordaeron and find himself low taverns and brothels.. years past leading him down a path of alcoholism to cope with being posted and doing poor details at his backwater military post. Soon, war broke out and Lordaeron needed it's full armies to fight the Orcs in the Second War, Dunril proved himself in his gruff unit, The 123rd Footman Company, through battle after battle. Dunril showed Leadership Prowess (Although, sometimes he ran, and got away with it.) He was promoted to the rank of Sergeant, where he eventually stayed until the Third War. During the Third War, Dunril was assigned back at Brill, where eventually he led the Defense of the Villiage of Brill, from his military post, where he was now the lead trainer, and post Sergeant. The Footmen Dunril produced were some of the most professional and excellent soldiers, the post flourished due to the Units accomplishments in the Second War, and new leadership, the post eventually became a minor military post for The Royal Army, where Raw Recruits were sent to be centrally processed, in that region. Due to the success of his ability to be a trainer, Dunril was promoted to First Sergeant, where he was assigned to be the lead Sergeant for the 123rd Footman Company.

Soon, war broke out for Dunril and the Undead launched an assault upon Brill where Dunril was assigned, with his company to defend, the village was a pain to defend, and after many days and skirmishes with the Undead, the company was eventually overran, Dunril and his Captain ordered a retreat to the Capital City, where they made there final stand with the remaining forces of the Lordaeron Army under the Command of Grand Marshal Garithos, he himself ordered a withdrawal to the city of Dalaran. Dunril was put in the command of the remaining forces of his company, which numbered around 45, and a pending promotion to Captain, Dunril was leading patrols, and holding out on a ruined city, which was contested between remaining Lordaeron Military Personnel and the Undead Forces of the Scourge. Under the Command of Grand Marshal Garithos, Dunril became enthused and Impressed by the man himself, his style of Leadership was the style used in the Second War. Which was something Dunril thought highly of, he would follow the mans orders, whatever they may be, soon the elves betrayed and Dunril was assigned to be a Dog of War, he and his Company burned, raped, and murdered the remaining Blood Elves in the region, eventually he earned the rank of Captain of the 123rd Footman Company, soon Dalaran was overran, and Dunril was forced to retreat the city and make way to Stormwind, where he spent many of his days drinking, and coping his alcoholism.

Excerpt from Flakes of Steel, During Dunril's time as a Staff Officer under Grand Marshal Garithos:

The Captain sat upon his horses saddle, over looking the small villiage, smoke rising high into the air, as he fixed his mail gauntlet, reaching down for his flask, taking a long gulp of his flask, the crest of Lordaeron upon the grizzled old soldier's chest. He had recently just received his officer-commission to Captain, from Marshal Garithos, and he was assigned as rear-guard, for Dalaran as the main force assaulted the Capital City. Flakes of snow, fell down upon the old soldier's cloak, Dunril looked up upon the dark sky, the sun setting in the western horizon. "We need ta finish tha' job." The Captain said lightly, leaning forward peering down upon the village, looking towards the scene.

A heavily armored man upon horse back shouted "Kill them all, rotten elven scum!" To the equally well-armored foot-soldiers, the Infantry didn't stop in their merciless assault upon the defenseless village. Women, children, and unarmed men were all put to the sword. Dunril watched the scene, a cruel smile forming upon his lips, as he watched the assault. Feckin' elven bastards, thinkin' they can betray tha' Alliance.. peh. Dunril thought to himself, as he turned to the Sergeant, in the gruff mail next to him. "Order our men ta hurry up' with the rapin' an' make feckin' sure ye bring me one of them innocent elven girls fer tonight, Sergean'." The Sergeant nodded. "Aye 'sah, I'll make sure ta have the rest burned." The sergeant galloped off towards the smoking carnage-filled village. as Dunril leaned lazily back in his saddle, taking another gulp of his cheap alcohol. nodding, as he dismounted from his old mare, leading it towards his tent.

The camp of the one-hundred and twenty-third footmen company, was a poor one, seeing as Lordaeron was nearly wiped out, the camp had a series of friendly women, peddlers, and anyone else who could survive, and make a living off of the Footmen. "Fel weed, get yer Fel Weed righ' 'ere! Jus' five silvers fer the good stuff!" One of the peddlers shouted, standing near a poorly pitched tent, this camp was a poor excuse for a military encampment, it looked more like a slum. Tents, small shambles, small fires light all over the area. Gruff mailed soldiers talking, and flirting on the series of heavily painted camp whores.

Finally, the Captain came across his own tent, the largest, and finest looking tent which had two grizzled looking soldiers standing outside of, they issued a salute. "Cap'n, 'sah." Dunril just nodded, the scrawny old soldier looking to one of the soldiers, a younger looking man, with a rough black beard, with a aggressive sheen about him. "Make sure I get me woman from the village tonight, I dun' want a whore tonight, lad." The black-bearded soldier nodded. "Aye sah." Dunril limped into his tent.

Several hours past, and the elven girl was brought into his tent. She looked innocent, blooming, high cheek bones, and light blue eyes. A slender build, she looked young, very young, in human standards she would be just around fifteen, or sixteen winters, judging by the looks. "..You must be the butcher." The girl sniffled, two footmen holding her in Dunril's tent. "It's Captain to you, you wench." Dunril raped that young elf that night until she bled, he had his men slit her throat and throw her into the nearest gully stream.

Soon, he would be recalled to Dalaran, as things did not go to plan at the Capital City.

Merits: Military-Trained (Excellent at training, and a good tactician, sometimes.)


Been in Wars.

Power Hungry/Ambitious(Flaw/Merit)


Flaws: Physically Impaired- Missing eye, Left foot limp.


Addiction- Alcohol



Old (Flaw/Merit)


Sexually Transmitted Disease.

Addiction- Tobbaco







Power-Hungry/Ambitious (Flaw/Merit)

Weak Warrior/Swordsman



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