Vic

Vicajin is a troll, a roguish sort, with whom I have many entertaining chats. The Regent calls him "Boots," which I do not entirely understand, because as a troll, he does not actually wear shoes. He and I do not agree on the philosophy of love, but we do interact well enough.

He is frequently occupied with the task of chasing skirts, in a literal sense. Any attractive female in his vicinity that is dressed in this manner will gain at the least, a whistle, or perhaps a few sly words from his mouth. He claims that these advances are only intended to jest, and that complimenting women brings them happiness.

However, he has no respect nor regard for lasting relationships. In the past, he was mated, and he boasts that he provided her with the means to go on a date with her favorite of the Tauren Chieftains. The band, not the political leaders of the Tauren race, I should specify. He mocks any formal ceremony that binds two individuals together, such as marriage or lifemating. 

Yet, I do find him amusing. We have battled together in the field on scattered occasions, and he is a competent fighter. He bemoans that he has never seen me dressed in anything more feminine than the sable plate. I think it unlikely that he ever will.