Zenithal Nightbane

Art by d4ybre4ker

The Basics –––

Full Name: Doctor Zenithal Nightbane

Nickname: Zenith, Zen

Age: Adult

Birthday: March 21st

Race: Sin'dorei

Gender:  Male

Marital Status: Widower, Single

Physical Appearance –––

Hair:  Dark brunette, straight, past his shoulders

Facial Hair: Varies, occasionally will grow a goatee or full beard, sometimes will be clean shaven, other times will don a 5 o'clock shadow.

Eyes:  Turquoise in color - Has false polycoria in his right eye, two pupils in the right iris but only one reacts to light while the other doesn’t function as a pupil.

Height: 6'5"

Build: Ectomorph, Slender but toned

Distinguishing Marks: Has a star-shaped birthmark on the right side of his neck.

Scars: 'Cheshire Grin' scars on both cheeks: Scars that stretch from the edges of both lips up towards his cheekbones

Tattoos: None showing

Piercings:  None

Common Accessories: Leather-bound journal, silver ring with family crest and various other silver rings, overstuffed black satchel that clinks when he walks, tinted glasses

Likeness: Joseph Mawle

Personal Information –––

Profession:  Clinical and Forensic Pathologist, Death Doula

Hobbies:  Birdwatching, Beekeeping, Reading, Gardening, Alchemy, Studying Languages, Yoga, Meditation

Languages:  Thalassian, Orcish, Common, Zandali, Taur-ahe, Shalassian, Darnassian, Gutterspeak, Eredun, Shath’Yar and more he may not mention

Currently Living:  Modest house in Eversong Wood

Birthplace: Quel'thalas

Religion: Studies many, but follows none

Fears: Heights, Flying, Loss of Control

Personality:   Zenithal Nightbane is calm, introspective, and unnervingly perceptive. He carries himself with quiet gravitas, speaking little but always with purpose. His demeanor is meditative, honed by years of solitude, study, and tending to both the living and the dead. While not withdrawn, he is deeply private, offering connection in fleeting but unforgettable glimpses. Beneath his poised exterior lies a soul both haunted and compassionate, a man shaped by sorrow, but not defined by it. He listens more than he speaks, observes more than he interferes, and exists on the edges. Despite his strange aura, there is warmth in his presence, and those who need him rarely forget the solace he brings.

Relationships –––

Mother:  Beridia (Deceased)

Father: Perithin (Deceased)

Siblings: Reyindora - Younger Sister (Alive), Erilis - Younger Brother (Deceased)

Spouse: Ladoran - First Marriage (Deceased), Selendria - Second Marriage (Divorced then Deceased)

Children:  None

Other Family:  None that he knows of.

Pets: None

Sex & Romance –––

Sexual Orientation: Pansexual

Preferred Role: Dominant| Submissive | Switch

Preferred Position: Bottom | Top | Vers

Turn ons:  Deep conversation, Intelligence, Patience, Kindness, Creativity, Someone that challenges him

Turn offs:  Pretentiousness, Playing dumb, Poor hygiene, Helplessness, Narrow-Mindedness

Love Language:  Words of Affirmation

Relationship Tendencies: He has not dipped his toes back into the dating pool since the divorce and death of his wife.

Traits –––

Bold your character’s answer

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between/ Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between / Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader/ In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic /In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between /Modern

Hard-working/ In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

Additional Information –––

Smoking Habit: Occasionally

Drugs: Occasionally

Alcohol: Occasionally

RP Hooks –––

The Shielded Mind: He works on occasion at The Shielded Mind Health & Wellness Clinic when needed, among various other clinics and hospitals throughout Silvermoon City.

Death Doula: He provides emotional, physical, and educational support for those nearing death. Have a family member or friend that is nearing the end of their life, whether it be due to old age or terminal illness? His information can be passed on by the majority of the clinics and hospices in the area.

Old Book Shops & Antique Stores: In his free time, he can often be found in these places.

Looking For –––

Friends, frenemies, enemies, lovers, ex-lovers, pre-established relationships.

Any type of RP whether it be happy or dark, storyline or slice of life! While he is not my main and I do tend to be busy, I can headcanon and do the occasional Discord RP. However, he may have more of a presence come Midnight!

Contact –––

Feel free to approach me on any platform IC or OoC!

Here on tumblr through asks/submits, or through messages. 

Also feel free to add me on Discord: the_construct

In-game name, Wyrmrest Accord-Horde: Zenithaal

Follows will come from @theconstructsworld

The garden was at its most vibrant in the early hours of the morning, before the world had fully awakened. Zenith moved slowly along the winding stone path, a pair of pruning shears resting loosely in one hand as he inspected each bed with his usual care. The foxgloves were thriving this season. Tall spires of purple and white blossoms swayed gently in the breeze, beautiful enough to draw admiration from anyone who passed by. Most people would stop at the beauty, few would remember that every part of the plant held the potential to stop a heart. 

Not far from them, monkshood bloomed in rich shades of violet-blue, strikingly elegant despite being among the most poisonous plants in the garden. Zenith found himself smiling faintly at the contrast. Some of nature's most lethal creations were also among its most beautiful.

He paused beside a patch of deadly nightshade, fingers brushing lightly against a leaf as he adjusted a stake supporting one of the stems. Years spent studying death had taught him that appearances were rarely reliable. People liked things to be simple: safe or dangerous, good or bad, harmless or deadly. Yet the world had never worked that way, and beauty offered no guarantees. The brilliant berries hanging from the nightshade could kill a person just as surely as any blade. The foxglove that could stop a heart had also led to medicines that saved lives. Nature seemed wholly uninterested in mankind's desire to divide everything into neat categories.

As he continued through the garden, his thoughts drifted beyond the plants themselves. He had seen similar contradictions in people throughout his life. Some of the kindest souls he had ever known carried a darkness that few would suspect. Others wrapped cruelty in charm so effectively that most never saw it until it was too late. Grief could make gentle people frightening, and love could soften those who had once seemed beyond redemption. 

Even he was not immune to such complexities. There had been years when loss had driven him toward places he would not willingly return to, years when his fascination with death had become something darker and far less healthy. Yet those same experiences had eventually shaped the person he had become. Life was rarely defined by a single truth.

If anyone understood contradiction, it was him. He spent his days helping families understand the deaths of those they loved, and offering answers where there had once been uncertainty. He sat with the dying when others could not, guiding people through fears that many spent their entire lives avoiding. Yet there were parts of his own history that would make some of those same people uneasy if they knew them fully. Knowledge gained from places they would rather not look, subjects they would consider better left untouched. He understood their discomfort, even if he did not share it. 

People often seemed surprised when they learned enough about him. They struggled to reconcile the patient, soft-spoken man they knew with someone who had spent so much of his life studying subjects most avoided. As though kindness and darkness could not occupy the same person. As though compassion somehow erased the mistakes that came before it. 

Zenith had long since stopped trying to fit himself into categories that made other people comfortable. He knew exactly what he was: a man who spent his days among the dead yet deeply appreciated the living. Someone capable of gentleness who had also survived periods of profound anger and grief. None of those truths invalidated the others. They simply existed together, much like the plants surrounding him. Beautiful things could be dangerous, dangerous things could serve a purpose. Complexity did not require resolution. 

Zenith stopped near the center of the garden and looked out across the vibrant sea of color surrounding him. Everywhere he looked, beauty existed alongside danger, life alongside the possibility of death. There was no contradiction in it, the garden did not struggle with what it was. The monkshood did not apologize for its poison, nor did the foxglove deny its beauty. They simply existed as complete versions of themselves. 

Perhaps that was why he found such comfort among them. The garden understood something many people spent their entire lives fighting against: that things could be beautiful and dangerous, healing and harmful, gentle and deadly all at once. Complexity was not a flaw in nature, it was its most honest expression.

“Yes, but I'm not careless about it. I’ve enjoyed them for what they are at times, just mutual enjoyment and sometimes simply not wanting to be alone for an evening.”

“However, I’ve never been particularly interested in treating people as disposable. I prefer some degree of connection, even if brief. Good conversation, amazing chemistry, and trust enough that everyone leaves feeling respected.”

“Though I will admit, I tend to enjoy familiarity more as I’ve gotten older.”

“Accepting that surviving something and healing from it are not the same thing. For a long time, I was very good at enduring, but that is not the same as being well.”

“Grief and loss changed me more than I care to admit. There were periods of my life where I became someone I’m not particularly proud of. I think my biggest struggle has been learning that understanding why I became that person does not excuse it, but neither does it mean I have to stay there forever. I had to learn when to stop surviving and to start actually living again.”

“I think helping people suffer less. Whether that’s treating the living, giving someone answers after death, or helping someone leave this world with dignity.”

“I’ve spent much of my life trying to make frightening things feel less frightening for other people. Things like pain, illness, grief, and especially death. Most people spend their lives avoiding them, but someone has to be willing to sit with those things.”

“If I’ve done anything worthwhile, I would like to think it’s that some people felt less alone because I was there.”

He can't help but smirk at the question, “Occasionally. I read a great many things, and some of them happen to be erotic.”

“I don’t find it particularly scandalous. Desire is an aspect of the elven experience, it doesn't exist separately from the rest of it. Though I will say, if I am going to read something erotic, I prefer it to be well written. Poor dialogue and unrealistic anatomy tend to ruin the mood rather quickly.”

A faint hint of amusement touches his lips. “I have standards.”

Where might Zenith rank himself on the sensual scale? What kind of sensual individual is he? (Or perhaps he may not consider himself sensual at all!)

“Higher than most people would probably assume, but selectively so. I’m not performative about it, nor am I interested in intensity for its own sake. I think sensuality is in attentiveness to the other person. Like knowing someone well enough to notice details, and understanding what brings them comfort."

“I’m very tactile with the right person, I prefer slowness over rushing. Someone feeling genuinely seen matters more to me than grand gestures, but trust is a requirement. I’m not particularly interested in surface-level intimacy.”

“A lack of self-awareness. Someone who refuses to examine their own patterns, or expects a relationship to fix things they need to address themselves.”

“If someone consistently avoids honesty, struggles to take accountability, or repeats the same harmful choices, I am going to notice. If I feel like I’m becoming someone’s caretaker more than their partner, that's going to concern me as well.”

“I think relationships work best when two people are responsible for themselves first, and then choose to support one another, not rescue one another.”

Zen raises a brow, “Liked for everything I am, of course. Being valued for who you actually are seems the more sensible option. Being loved for things you are not only works for as long as the illusion holds, and I'm not in the business of being anyone but me."