VITALS

Alias: Ryssa, Moonfang's Ghost, The Moonbound Huntress, The Ghost WardenRace: NightborneClass: Hunter (Beastmaster)Affiliation: Horde-aligned (loosely)Role: Predator. Tracker. Reluctant Protector.

Landing Portals

To Eorzea...

AT A GLANCE

She does not belong to the Horde. She walks with them. Fights beside them. Bleeds in the same battles, but she does not wear their loyalty like a banner. Ryssa answers to instinct before command. Where others see enemies, she sees patterns. Where others see beasts, she sees truth. In Azeroth, she is quieter. Colder. Less forgiving. The girl who once reached for understanding now measures distance instead and if something crosses that line… it does not cross back.

PRESENCE

- Moves without wasted motion
- Watches more than she speaks
- Carries herself like someone who expects violence—and is never surprised by it
- There is always the sense that something unseen walks with her
- When she enters a space, animals react first. People notice second.

PERSONALITY

- Selectively compassionate
- Trust is earned slowly, lost instantly
- Destroys what threatens her world without hesitation

The Mist Conceals

The hunger doesn't call

Beastmaster Philosophy

Rissa does not tame.
She bonds.
- She will not break a creature’s will
- She will walk away before forcing obedience
- The beasts that stay choose herWhen they fight for her, it is not control. It is loyalty.

Combat Style

- Prefers controlled, close-range bow engagements
- Uses environment and terrain instinctively
- Fights alongside beasts, not behind them
- Axe strikes are deliberate—never wildHer combat feels less like a battle… and more like a hunt that already ended.

RP Hooks

- Tracking a dangerous or “untamable” creature
- Conflict with Horde forces over treatment of beasts
- Silent assistance in hostile zones
- Campfire encounters where she speaks more than usual
- Someone attempting to control what she refuses to

The Borrowed Huntress

The body she wears belonged to Leryssara Veylora, a Nightborne huntress once known along Suramar’s outer wilds. She was no court noble, no politician, and no ornament of the city. Leryssara belonged to the shrine paths, the ley-shadowed woods, and the dangerous places where frightened people sent hunters when beasts or demons drew too close.During the Legion’s invasion, she vanished while tracking a group of demons that had been harvesting magical creatures beyond Suramar’s safer roads. When others followed her trail, they found the demons dead, their quarry gone, and the earth torn with signs of struggle.Leryssara herself was nowhere to be found. Only footprints led deeper into the woods.For years, she was remembered as another name lost to the Legion’s cruelty—until Rissa woke in her body, wounded and half-dead within the ruins where the huntress had vanished. To Suramar, it looked as if Leryssara had finally returned.To Thalyssra, it was clear something else had come back wearing her face.

The portal changes her...

A moment of respite

Moonfang's Choice

She was not found by patrols, nor by any of Suramar’s scouts. The wilds claimed her first. Drawn by blood and the faint echo of arcane disturbance, an ancient Arcane Nightsaber approached the ruined shrine where she lay. Known among hunters as Moonfang, the beast had long been feared along the ley paths—an Alpha that did not flee, did not yield, and did not suffer trespassers lightly.It should have killed her. Instead, it watched. Rissa, barely conscious and wearing a body that was not her own, reached for it anyway. Not with command. Not with fear. Something quieter. Something honest. Moonfang did not strike. It lingered. Then, as she forced herself to stand and stumble from the shrine, the beast moved with her—not behind, not ahead, but at her side.Those who later saw her return did not speak first of the woman.
They spoke of what walked with her, because Moonfang had never followed anyone before.

The First Arcanist

First Arcanist Thalyssra knew the moment she saw her. The face was Leryssara Veylora—unchanged, unmistakable, but the woman standing before her was not.Leryssara had carried herself like a blade: sharp, distant, efficient. This one stood wounded but unguarded, her gaze softer, her presence… wrong in ways that could not be explained by injury alone. Thalyssra said nothing of it. Not to her guards. Not to her advisors.Instead, she brought Rissa into her care personally. Wounds that should have taken her life were treated in private—old damage, fresh trauma, and something stranger beneath it all. Magic did not behave as it should within her, and yet she endured. Questions came later. Care came first.When the truth was finally spoken—of another world, of a body not her own, of a life that did not belong to Leryssara—Thalyssra did not call for her arrest. She chose silence. Not out of mercy, but because whatever stood before her was not a mistake.It was something new. Magic does not behave around her the way it should. Not broken. Not absent. Just… different.Spells settle strangely against her, as if they cannot fully take hold. Ley energy brushes past her more than it binds, leaving even the most practiced arcanists with the same quiet conclusion: She is not from here. Most cannot explain it. A few have noticed and fewer still have chosen not to ask.

I can... touch the arcane...?

I see you following me...

Moonfang's Ghost

When she returned to Suramar, no one celebrated. There were no reunions. No relief. Only silence.Leryssara Veylora had been gone for years—lost to the Legion, mourned, and buried in memory. The woman who walked back through the gates wore her face, but little else matched. Her armor was broken. Her body carried wounds that should have ended her life long before she reached the city and at her side walked Moonfang.The beast did not snarl. Did not posture. Did not leave. It simply stayed. That alone was enough.People did not ask questions. They did not approach. They watched—from a distance, from behind doors, from the safety of whispered conversation, because something about her return felt wrong. Not monstrous. Not hostile. Just… wrong in a way no one could explain.And so the name spread quietly, passed from voice to voice in lowered tones: Moonfang’s Ghost. Not as a title of honor, but as a warning.

The Hunt Begins

She did not return to the courts. She did not linger in the safety of Suramar. The wilds called her back before the city ever could.Where Leryssara once hunted with discipline, Rissa moved with instinct—tracking, observing, and learning the rhythms of a world that was not her own. Beasts that others feared or misunderstood did not fall to her blade. They listened. Some fled. Some fought. A rare few stayed.Moonfang was only the first.

A Different Kind of Hunter

Rissa did not take to the traditions of Suramar’s hunters cleanly. She did not hunt for sport. She did not kill to prove strength, and she did not see beasts as problems to be solved.Where others saw targets, she saw patterns. Pain. Disruption. Survival.Her hunts became something else entirely—less about domination, and more about understanding. Some creatures were driven off. Some were calmed. Some, when there was no other choice, were put down with a quiet respect that did not go unnoticed. It was… unfamiliar, but it worked.

The First Assignment

It was First Arcanist Thalyssra who gave her the first true test. Not a political task. Not a request. A problem.Something in the outer wilds was tearing through ley markers and driving hunters back—something large, unstable, and dangerous enough that others had already failed to deal with it.Rissa did not return with a trophy. She returned with silence behind her, a new friend and the destruction had stopped.

The Wilds Answer

Moonfang was not the exception. It was the beginning.Across the wilds of Suramar, creatures that answer to no hunter have turned their gaze toward her—and chosen, in their own way, not to resist. Some test her, circling at the edge of instinct and caution. Some linger longer than they should, watching, learning. A rare few step closer… and stay.She does not hunt for dominance. Does not raise her hand to force obedience. Does not claim what was never hers to begin with and yet, the wild does not turn from her.Predators do not always strike. Prey does not always flee. There is a pause where there should be violence. A stillness where there should be fear. As if something in her is recognized. Not as master. Not as threat... as something the wild understands.