Character Highlight: Pixisticks

General Information

Full Name: Pixisticks

Associated Titles and Alias: Pixi, "Lil' Mama", Best Friend for Hire, Manager of the Loa’s Wrath

Character Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Sexual Orientation: Promiscuous girl

Philosophy: When in doubt, freeze it, then blow it up.

Alliance or Horde: Neutral, though more Horde leaning due to circumstances.

Physical Appearance 

Race: Goblin

Age: Mid-Early Adulthood (25-29)

Height: 3'2

Hair color: Blue

Eye color: Violet

Body shape: Pear-shaped, with particularly large buttocks and thighs.

General description: Her outfits are always varying depending on weather and her personal taste that day, but whatever the case, it will be made of silks, linens, furs, leathers, and other materials from both Kalimdor and Zandalar. Pixi has four piercings; two nose piercings, one made of obsidian, the other of amethyst, and two deep purple gauges, one in each ear. Pixi is kind of tall for a goblin, but in public, she carries herself with an arrogant, almost angry air that comes from having either too much money, too much power, or a size-complex and it is hard to tell which one it is, though it’s likely all three. Her nails are well manicured, even if she’s otherwise ear-deep in mechanical parts and oil. She has gorgeous, shoulder-length hair a deep, vibrant blue color that is tied off in a ponytail, her bangs being shoved to the left side of her face, covering the lens of her engineering goggles. If she’s not wearing her goggles, they are tied to her belt

Face Claim: N/A - the royalty fees alone would put even Bezos deep into bankruptcy

Distinguishing Marks

• Her designer [Bronze-Tinted Sunglasses] are always, always, on her person. She’s either wearing them, or they’re hanging off the front of her clothes. Rifle proof, and cleaned every day.

• Pixi has four piercings; two nose piercings, one made of obsidian, the other of amethyst, and two deep purple gauges, one in each ear.

• Blatantly wields her frost magic alongside her tech, creating a dangerous combo in a battle, and nice refreshing drinks on a holiday.

Personality and Demeanor

Pixisticks is a primadonna girl with a heart of gold she's wrapped up in a solid lead case and buried under thirty tons of radioactive contempt and sass. Her demeanor can change on a dime, with one moment being friendly and open, and the next she's cold as ice with murder in her eyes. Pixi saves the worst of her personality for her own kind, surprisingly enough, being most amicable with all other races of Azeroth. Hel, one of her best friends was a human mage, and the other was a blood elf ranger-captain. Pixi is sensitive about her work integrating magical elements into technical components, having received much criticism from her peers in the past for her pursuits, but so long as you ask relevant questions you will be in the clear. She's a massive flirt though, always willing to share her opinion of the male form, though she never indulged herself for fear of actually falling in love and getting hurt. If you were to ask her, her most fatal flaw would be her conscience, something she considers a rare genetic disorder that has followed her through her father's side of the family that will one day "be the death of her". In truth, her real fatal flaw is her superstitiousness, which has on more occasions impeded her goals of market dominance, ultimate wealth, and a real gold-woven parachute. At least she gave up on the idea of pursuing the title of Trade Princess a long time ago; too much work, not enough profit. 

Other Information

Favorite Trade Skill: Engineering

Main Character Hobby: Fashion, Tinkering, Being the best friend Alia Atherton-Chess needs

Favorite Drink: Engine Coolant (See Hearthstone Cookbook)

Favorite Food: Unagi Skewers (She doesn’t know it's actually eel)

Favorite IC Activity: Judging other peoples choices in apparel 

Favorite OOC Activity: Buying greens from the auction house just to check them off the uncollected transmog list.

Background

The following account has been labeled “Half True” by SI:7 on a scale of “True” to “Pants on Fire”. Reader discretion is advised.

As ya probably could have guessed, Pixisticks is not my real name. Of course, it isn’t! Growing up on Kezan, one needs a definable brand of ya own to rise out of the slums and make a name for yourself among the other hot-shots, and for that nameless, blue-haired chick on that glorious island of innovation, that name was Pixisticks. Or just Pixi for short. Ah, who am I kidding? Kezan was a dump.  And there was no bigger dump on Kezan than Drudgetown. Yeah, I grew up in Drudgetown, and there’s nothing wrong with it! My papa was a hard worker, and we never starved, though my ma did her best with her various quick rich schemes and gold-digger operations. Meaning that as long as there was a rich mook out there with moola to blow, she was probably over there blowin' him.

My vulgarity regarding my mother aside, it was about as normal a childhood as one gob could expect, save for one thing. Most of my family on my pa’s side has died one way or another from a genetic disease that is most fatal among goblins; A Conscience. You see, it all started when Great-Great-Great-Grand-pappy died in a mining accident trying to save one of his fellow miners. Then, my twin cousins died trying to stop a perfectly reasonable attempt to commit insurance fraud via arson. Uncle Jabek drowned in oil to save a baby bird. Aunt Nesi died savin' a kid from a rogue Foot-bomb, and we don't talk about what happened to Grand-mama and the reindeer. Even poor Daddy eventually died trying to fight off debt collectors harassing a widow; Needless to say, having a conscience in my family is like carrying a death warrant waiting for a signature in your back pocket. It may also come as a surprise to you that I had no magical inclination growing up. I know it hard to believe, given the reputation I have now, but it's true!

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Living in Drudgetown wasn't the worst thing, but you'd still be loony if you didn't try to break out of there at least once in your life, and my chance had come when I found a piece of gum abandoned on the side of the road, still wrapped, and looking as pretty and pink as a newborn human babe. That piece of gum was like finding a unicorn (before I knew they existed), and I knew from the moment I popped it into my mouth that it was the most incredible thing in the world, and that if I could replicate it, it would be a fortune waiting for me on the other side of that rainbow. It took me three months bent over backward a vat of rubber, wax, and pink sugar dye, but at the beginning of the fourth month I had created Pixi's Everlasting Chewing Gum ™ and had it out on the market within the week. Sure, it probably took a year off your life for every strip you chewed, but so long as you didn't swallow you'd be fine. If it really bugs you that much, I've since moved onto a plant-based solution that holds onto its flavor longer than the old recipe. 

People went crazy for my gum sticks, and with the money I earned selling it on the street, I quickly was able to get a nice little one-room place on Swindle Street with a functioning coffee pot and everything. We could watch the foot-bomb game and the Midsummer fireworks from the roof of our building, (Go Bilgewater Buccaneers!), and I never had to hear my mother’s shrill nitpicks again. Life was good, even after Daddy went to the great vault above the clouds.

I'm sure I don't need to go into too much detail about what happened when that big stinking dragon Deathwing blew the volcano wide open, there are scholars and drunks for that. Let's just say that the Cataclysm left me homeless on the shores of Durotar with all the other members of the Bilgewater Cartel and leave it at that. I'll only add that I don't know if my momma lived, but if I did I hope that we can both live peaceful, prosperous lives away from each other... far, far away from each other.

The years after that fiasco blur together after that, but the one vivid memory I have is meeting the lovely Ranger-Captian Ravenwing within those spiked iron walls of Orgimmar. I had just perfected a wormhole machine and was in need of some testing. She was on the trail of a criminal who thought skipping continents would be their ticket to freedom. It was a match made in heaven- for about 5 seconds until the blasted thing dumps us on our asses over that muck pit they call Dustwallow Marsh. Still, her gold -yes I said gold - was good, and I guess my flurry of insults at the machine and slew of apologies won her over or something because after I offered her a refund she offered me something;  a job as the manager of her fiances. Crazy, I know, but true!

At first, I thought she was joking, until I started getting correspondences from the Silvermoon Bank, asking me about investment opportunities. See, Ravenwing used to belong to some noble family or another, and with Scourge layin' low half of the Sin'dorei population, she was an orphan with no interest in continuing the line. But with her heiress status came land, money, titles, and paperwork that she didn't have time to spend going through. Not when her work in the Farstriders gave her enough paperwork to make a full-sized passenger blimp with. I guess she thought that the best way to go through it all was to hire someone known for their work with money, and if some of it were to vanish unexpectedly, then the less she had to deal with when she eventually fired me. 

They're nice shades though, right?

I'll confess dear reader, I took some of her money for... personal uses. A few thousand here for a nice little Lab-in-a-box I could set up in Winterspring, and a few hundred there for a pair of nice custom made sunglasses. Sure enough, though, the first stages of my disability started to eek through, and I started using her money for more reputable means. With permission, I used the money to make my way to Dalaran, and from there into their vaunted halls of education in the Arcane.

Imagine the most slapstick filled bard song or sea shanty you can, and that would be an adequate description of how that venture panned out. I did meet my girl Alia there though, and her little lizard rat Rorik. And yeah, while there were some major disagreements between us that got out of hand but that was because that lady never had someone in her life tell her it was okay to party once in a while. Her knowledge of applying magic to paper (inscription, I think they call it) was exactly what I needed to upgrade my blueprints, and along the way, I picked up how to throw some icicles at mooks heads. She and I became genuine partners in prank history. At least, we would have, if she had agreed to half of the plots I thought up. It's not like we didn't have a plethora of targets - as it turns out, even with the presence of the Sunreavers, green-skins weren't always met with a well welcome. Like that was news to me, but apparently, no one associated with the quiet library girl.  Maybe they should have, given what happened next. I guess there's no avoiding this next part...

I won't say that what happened in Theramore was... unexpected. If you were to walk around Orgrimmar after Hellscream became Warcheif, you could feel something was different. More... eager, to return to the "old way" of the Horde - seemingly forgetting that the old ways meant consumption of Fel and a warpath that would make even the most limp-dick yes-man accountant raise an objection - but let's not split hairs! But... something like that... that mana-bomb... Look, this is very awkward for me to talk about, but I'll go on record and say that Hellscream was wrong and... that kicking the Sunreavers out of Dalaran was an understandable, if a highly over-reactionary, move. "The Purge" as they like to call it, was not as bad as the volcano blowin' on Kezan, but it was a close second. By all accounts, I should have spent the next ten years or so in the Violet Hold, but again Alia... She understood that not all of the Sunreavers were involved. She took a lot of heat for getting me out of Dalaran, and she didn't need to. The cosmic scale of karma made her pay for it for years. I owe her my life, and that's no exaggeration. No one had ever cared about me enough to stick their neck out like that before her. Alia Atherton is an angel, and if anyone wants a shoot at her, their gonna have to go through me and my BOOMstick ™.

So sue me, I joined the boss-man Vol'jin when he came back around with his big revolution. Yup, that disease of the mind finally caught up with me, and I snuck out of a few of that crook Blastfuse's blueprints to the G.O.B squad.. and feed supply chain movements to some SI:7 mooks... and planted a bomb in one of the Kor'kron tunnels...OKAY OKAY, I did a lot of things to help. Get off my dick! Those voodoo-hoodoo shamans needed the help though; I mean ah-ah the thing was at least 30-foot tall mecha-scorpion with a laser-mounted tail, flamethrower mouth, a drill and a saw blade for arms, and way, way, way too many cannons - AND THAT'S IN MY, A GOBLIN, PROFESSIONAL OPINION. Iron Juggernaut indeed.

And while we're on the subject, yes, I do not condone what happened at Teldrassil. If Theramore was a militarily complicated but ultimately totally undeserving tragedy, then Teldrassil was... well, I'm glad Sylvanas will get what's coming to her and all her undead freak-sycophants. That's all I can say. I was surprised when I was appointed one of the envoys of the Horde to Zandalar. Jazabu and I both fought in Vol'jin's shin-dig, (something we wouldn't realize until after Saurfang kicked the bucket, may he rest in peace), but I guess if the point was to keep potential influential opponents of her plan out of Orgrimmar, then she succeeded up to the last possible second. Whatever her plan was exactly I don't know, but I didn't hear about Saurfang's uprising until he had a sizeable force in Dustwallow, and it's hard to keep this gossip gob out of the loop for even a surprise birthday, much less another revolution that requires funds, food, and fuel on mass. I don't think I gave the orc enough credit for all the credit he gave us...

Diamonds and Dynamite alright, this is getting depressing. Let's wrap this up; I didn't mess with that Iron Horde nonsense, I still don't understand all of that timey-wimey junk. I managed to grease enough palms and set myself back enough to get Alia back in the Kirin Tor, though under probation, which came in handy when the Legion tried to pull a fast one on us. They thought they were being so clever with the Broken Shore, but clearly, they don't have proper engineers in the Twisting Nether, else they would've heard about the old saying my pops always told me; "Never assume your fuse is too long." They got cocky, and they got their asses dragged all the way back to their momma's house where we burned it down and collected the insurance money. 

I still get a kick looking at that little red star in the sky at night. Filed it under "Repossession". 

I don't remember when I became a softy, but I blame all these wars and revolutions. They're expensive, after all, and I'd like to enjoy a cup of Engine Coolant with my girl without having to sneak around all the time. I miss the days when the Bilgewater Cartel's biggest worry dwindling Kaja'mite veins in the mines. Somehow, with the greater threats that show up, the smaller the world feels. I have hopes with this new fancy Horde Council. I'm tired of the ambitions of one making us foot the bill with our blood and hard-earned moola. Here's to hoping that cooler heads prevail going forward.

Whisper Pixisticks in-game and your first portal is free! - Taxes and service fees not included. Void where prohibited by law. Not available in all realms of reality. Restrictions may apply. Please see Cartel guidelines or speak to your nearest representative for more detail.

"It's not everyday ya get a selfie with the staggeringly handsome Gazlowe of Ratchet! Hey, I hear he's Trade Prince now!"