Last Name: She does not remember
Species: Forsaken (Horde)
Size: 6 ft 5
Skin: Void-tainted grey
Eyes: Eerie, blue glow
Bust: Proportionately busty
Figure: Intimidatingly muscular.
Teeth: Like a goat.
Scent: Snow and winter. Occasionally blood and death. Leather. Metal.
Role: Due to her condition, probably a rapist. Happily surprised at consensual.
Detect Alignment: Currently TN.
Legend Lore: Lots of stuff about Arthas you likely never wanted to know.
Scrying: Rudimentary scrying detection. Expect her to peek back. And maybe send something nasty.
Familiars: Velen and Tyrande, a skeleton and a zombie, respectively.
At first glance, Karaatu is but tall, imposing figure in old, battered armour baring the old, jagged sigil of the Lich King upon its chestplate, with the rust red mark of the Horde painted crudely over it. With powerful, digitigrade legs, cloven hooves and a long, whiplike tail adorned with metal spikes at the end, the towering, horned space goat may well even appear positively fiendish. The eerily blue glowing eyes don't help either, of course, nor does her odd stance, which verges from an almost zombie-like muscle relaxation to sudden bursts of strength and speed when necessary that carry on for hours to days.
For the most part, the Forsaken Eredar is a comfortable room temperature, especially when idle, but, paradoxically, the more she moves, or worse, uses her lungs to speak, the more cold she generates. Often enough, prolonged conversations will have icicles dangling from her face, leaving the tireless tentacles she sports the thankless task of cleaning up the mess.
She also sports a darker, grey verging on midnight skin tone than her still living kin, the definite muscles about her amazonian frame accentuated by pitch black, shadow-seeped tattoos which seem to creep over her frame and at times even ooze out to attempt to slither into something still living, or worse, a nearby soon-to-be-animated corpse. In other words, her very presence is inherently corrupting.
One might wonder what the massive bulge in her crotch would do, then. What horrors could someone impaled upon her rigor mortis birth from their womb, if any at all? The flared monster of a cock, while usually sheathed, drips with the essence of the void, the seed an unhealthy blackish purple and prone to dribble from a set of coconut-sized cumtanks in her crotch that clearly don't see half as much action as they should. Not that the dead expect such, especially not the ones sporting a literal third leg of a rape dick that could make a fully-grown mare turn into a drooling, fucked retard aheago mess well before the tireless zombie march on her soon to be broken pussy is even remotely through with her.
Whites: Bimbos, faggots, depth.
Greens: Ramming her massive fuckspire into something warm. Necromancy, Corruption, Mad Science, Horror.
Reds: If you don't have lights, I'm highly unlikely to engage. Please at least list reds. If you approach me with no lights, I will assume you do not have any.