Wyckeston Larkscall

Personality
Intelligent, yet eccentric. Introverted, yet outgoing. Wyckeston’s personality is a myriad of contradictions and abnormalities. To some he is strange and erratic and hard to converse with for long. To others, he is a genius; a virtual encyclopedia of herbalism and nature (and the occasional poem or two). Wyckeston is friendly and appreciative of guests, but he prefers to spend most of his time in solitude avoiding distractions and allowing his creative process to flow freely and without interruption. Wyckeston is easily distracted and rarely bored. This is because his mind often shifts to the next thought long before he’s able to bemoan the absence of anything exciting happening around him. He comes off as rude to strangers, who often find him trailing off mid-sentence before standing up from the table and charging from the room yelling about larch trees or particularly potent raspberries. Still, Wyckeston cares about others above all else and is driven primarily by a motivation to do good for others. Due to his erratic and eccentric behavior (and occasionally poor hygiene) he has very few friends among the humanoid races, but quite a few among the more animalistic races (perhaps BECAUSE of the poor hygiene).

History
Wyckeston spent the majority of his life never leaving the city and immediate surroundings of Gilneas. Often locked away in his study or greenhouses, from the moment he could read Wyckeston preferred the company of his books and plants over children his own age. Wyckeston’s father was a farmer and had always hoped for him to do the same. The interest in soils and growth and first seemed hopeful, but ultimately only lead to disappointment when the sun was up and Wyckeston refused to leave the library. In his early 20s, Wyckeston made a name for himself after finding a cure for a mysterious ailment that had nearly claimed the life of a local lord’s young daughter. When all the other apothecaries and alchemists had failed, Wyckeston had located a relatively unknown plant known as Bilewort just outside the city that had cleared the girl’s symptoms nearly overnight. When asked how he discovered this cure, Wyckeston only said “Well, you see, I met this squirrel who told me he once had a terrible tummyache. When I asked him how he cured it, he told me that Khadgar’s Whisker had been the cure. It was at that moment, I was able to rule out Khadgar’s Whisker, and spent all night researching every other plant I could find.” This answer won him very few fans.

After the fall of Gilneas to the Forsaken and the the feral worgen, Wyckeston was “cursed” (much to his delight!) and after fleeing the city remained in Teldrassil for much of the past few years. Narrowly escaping when the tree was burned, Wyckeston now must start over in Stormwind. His books, belongings, and friendly plants destroyed by fire, he is determined to find a new place for himself in the world and build a new life.

"The Dream"
From the campaign in Drustvar.

Wyckeston awoke as he normally does: sitting in a chair, folded over his desk, and using an open book for a pillow. A candle melted all the way down spilled wax on the surface of the desk.

He lifted his head and wiped the drool away and unbunched his beard. Using his sleeve, he wiped the drool off the book as well and closed it. Wyckeston rubbed the sleep from his eyes and rose groggily.

"I don't even remember what day it is..." He thought. "Or even what time it might be." He looked across the room at the window on the far side and saw the sunlight shining through. "So it's midday at least then. Must have been some night!" He glanced down at the desk again and saw only a list he had started. It read:

"- Squirrels

- Raspberries

- Secrets?"

"Well that doesn't give me much then, does it?" He frowned. "I better head on out then. Maybe someone else will know how long I've been at it this time... Or what those damned secrets could be..." He pondered a moment but nothing came to him. He proceeded towards the door.

He pulled open the door and what he saw had him taken aback for a brief moment. It was akin to the sensation when one expects a simple juice or nectar, but instead tastes a bitter wine. Outside the door it was not midday as he had thought from looking out the window. It was... Night? And a further curiosity still, he was not in Tyr's Hand as he had expected to be, but rather, a pumpkin field. His father's pumpkin field. In Gilneas. But how?

He stepped outside and into the field. He was suddenly a child again. The muddy soil squished beneath his feet with every step and a chill fell upon him as a thick fog set in. He turned around, but the door he had come out of was gone. He panicked for a moment but was immediately distracted by an odd shaking pumpkin on the ground beside him.

It was subtle. Hard to catch at times, but it was most definitely moving... He reached down to touch it.

And it popped! Not violently or with force. It simply popped like a bubble, splattering bits of pumpkin and seeds all about the ground beneath it. How ODD.

"What do you think you're doing?!" A voice boomed from behind him. Wyckeston spun around.

"Father? I..."

"Look what you've gone and done then. It's ruined! You're shite in the field and you always have been!" His father glared intensely.

"No, I-i-i didn't! I simply meant to touch it and it just... Popped!" Wyckeston stammered and pointed to the puddle of pumpkin bits.

"I bet it's just so damned easy for you to split open a pumpkin when you didn't help grow it now, isn't it?"

"No, I..."

"Why don't you just go write in that damned worthless book of yours if you're just going to be so useless. I don't want you around out here and no one else wants you here either. I tried to raise you as best I could, but you just wasted it all away. You're damned lucky you're mother isn't here or she'd be disappointed in you too!"

"Father, I swear..."

Wyckeston father's grew louder and louder as he spoke. "It wasn't enough for you to ruin our lives, but now you're ruining our crop as well?" His voice grew deeper and more vicious. His body grew in size and dwarfed Wyckeston's child-sized form. His teeth turned to fangs. "You don't deserve the life she gave you, you miserable little shit." Fur began covering his father's body and his hands turned to claws. Wyckeston cowered at the monstrosity. "You've been nothing but a waste of what little we have. Just hiding away writing in that damned wretched book of yours and never once stopping to help with the fields. You worthless fucking brat. Should've been you instead!"

Wyckeston screamed "No! I'm able to help! I've been--"

"YOU RUINED MY LIFE!" His father roared and swung his huge claw at Wyckeston. The blow landed with a mighty force, knocking him straight off of his feet. He felt the claws catch his cheek and tear his flesh open. He fell to the ground with a wet thud. He laid there, one cheek to the ground, sobbing in pain and fear. He could feel the blood running down his face and neck and onto the mud. He awaited the next blow.

But it never came.

The cold lifted. He began to feel...warmer. Much warmer, in fact. He began to feel... hot. He opened his eyes. He was no longer a child. Nor was he in his father's pumpkin field. He was on the floor of his study in Teldrassil.

The heat continued rising. As he came to his senses he could hear screaming. Horrible, fearful screaming. It grew louder and louder until it was deafening. He held his ears and stood up, looking around the room as his heart raced. Everything was lit by an orange glow. The door behind him flew open and he spun around. His friend Elereithe stood in the doorway screaming. Her body lit aflame. Her hair burned away and her once soft elven face covered in boils and blisters.

She stumbled into the room and headed straight towards him. Before he could react, she fell onto him knocking them both to the ground. She continued screaming as her face melted away from the flames.

Wyckeston could only watch in horror and attempt to get out from underneath her, but his strength was gone and he could not. The room around him began to burn and he cried out. The flames began moving closer and licking his flesh. He struggled under the burnt remains of his friend until he was engulfed entirely by fire.

Wyckeston sat up with a jolt, scratching his cheek on a branch of the bush he had been lying under. His breaths were shallow and rapid as he looked around. A nearby creek babbled softly a few feet away from him. He could hear the rustle of trees in the wind and the calling of crows in the distance. He wiped the sweat from his brow and looked at the ground around him. He saw only his book, a broken quill, and an empty bottle from the night before. He remembered where he was. This was Fallhaven. What little light made it through the trees told him it was mid-morning at least.

"Best get back to the infirmary then..." He thought to himself. He sighed heavily and wiped his brow again before gathering his things. "Must be nearly time to change out the bandages. Oh and I must remember to give more Spineleaf to that older gentleman. Oh yes and-- wait is that Anchorweed? Here?! Marvelous. Well I must have THAT!"

Wyckeston stood up and began his long, zig-zagging journey back to the village.