Players: Loem Kingswarden of Gilneas

Name: Loem

AKA: Loem Kingswarden, Loem of Lordaeron, Loem of Gilneas, Squire Loem

Physical Description: Tall and lithe, Loem is graceful, for a human. Unlike his father and brother, who were built to be warriors, Loem follows his mother’s slender build. Though his hair is naturally brown, he dies it black, and keeps it quite short. He’s often seen in dark-colored, comfortable clothing.

Skills: Loem is a rogue, and a master of disguise and stealth. He is also fairly knowledgeable about poisons and can throw a dagger accurately from many yards away. Though he claims no real profession, he is quite good at tracking and killing small prey, and is a very efficient skinner. He’s dabbled a bit in creating leather armor, as well.

Basic Background: Loem was born in Lordaeron six years before the First War. His father, Laric Kingswarden, was a knight of Lordaeron, and insisted that his oldest son become a squire and follow in his footsteps. Though Loem wasn’t built like a warrior, he obeyed his father’s wishes. As a squire, he served his father in the Second War, though he was technically three years too young to have completed his training.

When his father was slain fighting orcs, he began serving another knight, this one of Gilneas, one of the human kingdoms of the Grand Alliance. He served this new knight master, Uldor, until the end of the war. Unfortunately, due to a mix up in the military records, he was apprehended and wrongfully accused of thievery and stolen identity, thus forced back into Gilneas where he was held long enough for the Greymane wall to be completed and shut, locking him forever in the foreign country. Uldor gave him a home and the training required to become a spy and while he is relatively happy in his new home, he misses his brother and often thinks of him and whether he has survived the wars and other events that have plagued the remainder of the Alliance.

Unfortunately, the wall, while designed to protect the people of Gilneas, could not keep Arugal’s curse out. After watching much of the populace fall victim to the terrible transformation, and fighting against former friends and allies, Loem also contracts the curse, becoming a Worgen himself. Wishing for a cure, he suffers along with the populace of Gilneas, waiting for what the future will bring.

Players: Leodry Kingswarden of Ironforge

Name: Leodry

AKA: Leo, Leodry Kingswarden, Graz’s Human, Leo Stoutstump

Physical Description: Leodry is an average 32 year old human, standing just over 6 feet in height and very muscular. His green eyes are usually scanning for trouble, or the nearest tavern, depending on his mood. Leo keeps his brown hair cropped to no longer than shoulder-length, though it usually looks like he did it himself... with a butcher’s knife rather than shears, but at least it’s clean. He makes no effort to appear handsome, at any rate. He sports a small beard as well, most likely to help hide a long, thin scar that runs from just beneath his eye, down his cheek, to his chin.

Skills: Leo is a warrior, most comfortable with large swords. Though once a member of the Lordaeron army, he hasn’t touched a shield in quite some time, and has little interest in the finer arts of shield-bearing. Instead, he is a worshipper of steel and a fine blade, learning all he can about balanced combat. A blacksmith, most of his armor is self-made and maintained, though his unusual pauldrons are actually his father’s, found in the plaguelands and fully repaired to be put to use once again.

Basic Background: Born shortly before the Second War, Leodry is actually the younger of two sons of the Kingswarden house, a former noble family. After falling out of favor, however, the estates were squandered away, until little was left for current generations. He lived with his father and older brother, after his mother died giving birth to him, on their estate in Northern Lordaeron. Unfortunately, at age six, his father went to fight in the Second War, taking his brother along as a squire. Neither returned, leaving him an orphan, and the only remaining member of the noble Kingswarden family.

Once he had grown up, he joined the army as well, following in his father’s footsteps. Quickly making his way through the ranks, he served under Prince Arthas during the Third War, until the battle of Stratholme, where he deserted, running south into dwarven lands. There, he stayed with a small Wildhammer family for a time, before finally making his way to Ironforge where he rejoined the Alliance war effort. He currently keeps a home in Ironforge, when he isn’t out on the road.

Players: Brother Fandren of the Church of the Light

Name: Fandren

AKA: Brother Fandren

Physical Description: Fandren is rather average in height, at just under 6 feet, though he still has time to grow a bit. Slim rather than muscular, he is rather like a stork, all limbs, occasionally tripping over his own feet. Dark black hair frames a slightly square, handsome face. Eyes nearly as dark as his hair look out with curiosity. Though Fandren has had his share of tragedy, he’s quick to smile and laugh, and rarely carries a frown for too long.

Skills: A priest of Stormwind, Fandren focuses on holy magics, though he used to practice the darker Shadow magics. He is scholarly, choosing to also study a bit of the arcane, at least as it pertains to augmenting armor and weapons with various enchantments. His time as a priest has also taught him how to care for himself, as he can cook, create bandages, and clean a fish efficiently. He also has a real knack for tailoring, as he creates most of his clothing himself.

Basic Background: Fandren is an orphan, as his parents were killed by bandits shortly before the Third War. Luckily for him, the Cathedral of the Light took him in and trained him in the ways of the cloth. There, he made fast friends with another orphan, Seona Lightstone, another priestess who later became a paladin. Headstrong, sometimes to a fault, he often wishes to do things his own way, which has caused friction between his mentors of the Church and himself on a regular basis, particularly when it comes to his studies.

In fact, after some very poor choices and a harrowing trip to Kalimdor to right some wrongs, he turned completely away from Shadow magic and focused entirely on the Light again. While this has eased his relationship with the Church and his teachers there, he can’t help thinking that he has failed himself somehow. He continues his scholarly pursuits when he can, between aiding various militias in the Human kingdom of Stormwind, where he currently resides.

Brothers: Seventeen

Loem, age 11

Gilneas, after the Second War

Hektor looked in on Loem over the course of the next few days, but he said nothing as there was nothing to say. All hope of seeing his brother again, the only family of his blood he had left, was gone. He spent the days in the stable seeing to Praetor or in a small clearing outside of the town, silently practicing with his sword and his daggers. The nights he spent curled up in his bed, quietly crying himself to sleep.

It was on a very bright morning that Uldor grabbed him, turned him over, and splashed water on his face. “I know it hurts, Loem, but you’re killing yourself. I’ve sent a message through the gate and I can only hope it gets to your brother, wherever he may be, but this is ridiculous. You can’t live the rest of your life moping about forever. Besides, I need you. Until I say otherwise, you’re still in my employ.”

Loem, wanting to give back a biting retort, thought better of it, and slowly sat up, rubbing his face with his hands, trying to dry it. “Was the water really necessary, m’lord?” he finally had the courage to say, but Uldor only shrugged and left, pointing to some clean clothes that had been set out as he exited, next to a warm bath that had been prepared.

Loem stripped from his filthy clothes and eased into the steaming water. He sat there for some time, simply soaking, before finally scrubbing away the dirt and grime from the road and the past days of moping about. Feeling cleaner and much better, he got out of the bath, dried off, and put on the clean clothes, tossing his old ones into a pile near some of the other washing that still needed to be done. Taking a deep breath, he finally opened the door and went down the stairs to the main room of the inn.

Hektor was there, talking to a young woman, most likely the barmaid, a smile on his face. The Innkeeper was conducting business with another tenant of the inn, and Lord Uldor was drinking and eating breakfast, reading a scroll. Feeling a bit sheepish, knowing how insulting it was that he had acted so foolishly after everything that Uldor had done, he made his way over to the young lord, bowing his head.

“I wish to apologize, my lord, for my behavior. I... understand what you did for me, and I’ve been repaying you in a very poor way. For that, I’m terribly sorry.” Uldor looked up from his work and stared at Loem for some time before nodding and gesturing to the seat next to him.

“It takes a great deal to come to me and apologize, Loem. I respect you for that.” He turned to the barmaid, indicating that she should bring a plate of food for Loem as well, and continued, “I know that you’re dealing with something very difficult and that the transition to living here is not going to be an easy one. I promise to do everything I can to make it as comfortable as possible, truely. I know that Hektor wants to spend more time with you, training you, as you have some real talent.”

The barmaid came by, then, carrying a plate laden with warm food and a mug of simple melon juice. It was a hearty meal, of ham and eggs, and some vegetables. Loem dug in right away, the smell of the food reminding him that he had hardly eaten for several days, and the food before that had been simple, and rather awful, prison food. Once he had eaten his fill, the table was cleared and he sat and listened to Uldor, Hektor, and one of Uldor’s men from his estates go over the plans for his return.

Loem was fascinated by all the planning that went into running a large household smoothly, and how much had to be dealt with even when the lord wasn’t at home. He listened intently, learning about various things like the proper way to store grain (as some of Uldor’s hadn’t been was was now ruined), how to split up work between farmers so that all of them would have plenty to do (as idle hands are the worst kind, as Uldor laughingly put it), as well as how much and what kinds of food to keep to plant next season.

Hektor motioned for Loem to follow him out once the talk between Uldor and his servant changed to politics. As they stepped outside, the sun shone down, warming the stones, and their faces. “That was terribly dull to me, yet you seemed to enjoy it, Loem,” Hektor said, walking towards the stables, the young squire in tow.

“Yes. My father... I mean, I...” He paused a moment, realizing that, now that he couldn’t return, the estates of his family would pass to his younger brother. He shrugged, suddenly realizing that it didn’t really matter to him, anyway, and continued, “My family’s estates aren’t very large, Hektor. I never had to really learn any of those things because the size of our wealth never warranted it. Still, it’s good information to know.” He spotted something shining in the dirt and bent closer to look, but it was just a bit of tack or scrap metal.

Hektor smirked. “I keep forgetting just how young you are, Loem. You speak so maturely, but then go and dig about in the dirt, thinking you’ve found a silver piece.” He chuckled, patting the squire on the back. “I want to teach you so much, Loem. Many things, if you wish to learn, and I’ll do it gladly. I’m a hard taskmaster, though. I expect the best from my students.”

Loem frowned. “Students? As in, more than just me?” Hektor chuckled again as they finally entered the stables and walked to his gelding’s stall. “Yes, more than just you, although right now it’s just one more. My niece, actually. I think you’ll like her, she’s just a touch younger than you.” Loem grabbed a brush and went over to Praetor’s stall, opening the gate to join him inside.

He got to work, getting all the tangles out of his mane and did all he could with the tools he had to get rid of most of the dirt from the road. Though he had been seeing to Praetor over the last few days, his heart hadn’t really been in it, and now that he was more himself, he intended to really fix up his father’s stallion. “Hektor, I do want to learn from you. You and m’lord Uldor, both. In fact,” he finished up, closing the stall door behind him, “I’m ready when you are. Any time you wish, provided I’m not busy doing something for our lord, I’ll be glad to learn from you.”

Hektor smiled wide, a glint in his eyes. “Oh, you’ll regret that, trust me. Still, I’m glad to hear you say it, and I’ll definitely take you up on the offer. And since Uldor doesn’t really need you right this second, lets get started. Grab your daggers and meet me in that clearing you’ve been in. Your form’s a bit off and I want to correct it now, before it gets worse.”

Loem smiled and nodded, going back into the Inn and running to his room where he grabbed his twin daggers. Belting them on, he thought, As much as I wish I could go home and find Leodry, this is my life now. I miss him... I probably always will, but he’ll get that message from Uldor and he’ll know I’m safe and sound. Besides, I have a new life here, one that suits me pretty well, and now I have time, time to learn and time to become something more than the brute soldier my father wanted me to be. With that thought, he bounded back down the stairs and out the door, past a bewildered looking innkeeper and a pleased Uldor.

Once he met up with Hektor, he smiled, saying, “Okay, Hektor, teach me what you know. I’m ready for anything.”

Bloodsword: 13 - Massacres

With the added prestige of a deathcharger, especially one as beautiful and deadly as the one he had earned, Purah continued moving up the ranks quickly. He raised ghouls for the Harvester, and dealt with the Scarlet Crusade as it prepared supplies for ships sailing for Northrend. Not wanting to allow those ships to make it out of the harbor, he found himself hiding in a mine cart to get past the multitude of soldiers at Light's Point.

That day was a glorious one for the Scourge, as he turned the cannons on the ships against the very soldiers who built them. At least a hundred Scarlet soldiers died by his hand alone that day, in glorious fire and destruction. The chaos and confusion he caused only made the cold indifference within him grow, that small part of him that still clung to the light nearly blotted out entirely.

Silea. What have I become? Does it even matter anymore? Does what I do in my death have any bearing on who I once was?

He was lost in these thoughts when Prince Valanar sent him back to the Ebon hold with the reports of the slaughter at the coast. He was going before the Highlord Morgraine himself. He couldn't afford to show weakness. Besides, he thought. It probably doesn't matter anymore. I've become a monster. Silea... he closed his eyes for a moment, that lone, warm place in his heart fluttering feebly. Silea would run screaming from me as those Scarlet fools do. My life is done. My death, on the other hand, could be so much more.

He could feel a cold forming deep within his soul as he approached the Highlord Darion Mograine. He wasn't sure what it meant, but had decided it wasn't any of his concern. His body and his mind were not his own, not anymore. He knelt in respect, holding out the report of the victory at Death's Breach for the Highlord's acceptance. He stood as Mograine took it, immediately breaking the seal and reading through Prince Valanar's words.

"The entire fleet?" the Highlord said, more to himself than to the death knight waiting patiently. Purah took little else in as the Highlord praised him, though Mograine's mind appeared to wander elsewhere, to his father. Nevertheless, he gave Purah new armor and a commendation, moving the dead elf further up the ranks of the Scourge army.

It was days later that he found himself in the middle of what was left of Havenshire, surrounded by ghouls and tossing human skulls into the newest plague cauldron of the Scourge. Noth the Plaguebringer stood nearby, talking mostly to himself, no doubt bored as his work was more or less complete. Purah had been in New Avalon, the town south of Havenshire, also full of the Scarlet Crusade. The skulls that now rested at the bottom of the bubbling cauldron had come from the town's inhabitants, both citizens and soldiers alike.

He was a shell of his former self, he knew. He rarely showed any emotion anymore, and when he did it was usually through a cold smile of triumph or frown of frustration. As he stepped back from the cauldron, his dreadsteed waiting patiently nearby, he looked back over the dead fields of Havenshire. The inhabitants were long gone, fled or dead. He rode slowly through the town, dead plague-hounds occasionally looking up from their pacing, but otherwise ignoring his passing. The lumber mill was still now. The paddock where he had once stolen his black stallion was now filled with other Death Knight's steeds.

Purah tied his stallion to a nearby post and walked up to a nearby tree. Its trunk was covered in deep gouges from swords and ghoul's claws. He touched it, running his gauntleted hand over the rough bark. The tree was trying to survive, but the plague and blight that covered the land was already starting to take over. He sat under it's branches, and closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he was naked, standing hip-deep in the snow. Well, this is something I never expected to see again, he thought to himself. Instead of being surrounded by impenetrable darkness, though, he could see for miles and miles. Snow and ice as far as he could see. He wasn't shivering, as the cold didn't seem to bother him. He turned around and nearly jumped back, reaching for a runeblade that wasn't there. A cloaked figure had appeared, just on the horizon. He said nothing, wary of this new development. I'm dreaming, of course. This is all just in my head.

The figure gestured, beckoning him to follow. He hesitated. He noticed how gracefully the figure moved and he wondered if it was a woman, or another elf. Perhaps it's... her. He moved, then, slowly towards the unknown person. Every step he took, the figure took, too. After what seemed like hours of walking through the snow, he grew frustrated and threw up his hands.

"End this foolishness! I'm done. Let me wake, so I can continue my work!" The dark and mysterious figure gestured again for him to follow, but then pointed towards the horizon. There, small and nearly indistinguishable from the rest of the snow, was a small crystal dome. At least, that's what it looked like. It seemed to shine and sparkle without any light, a small star on the ground.

With a goal in sight, Purah continued, patient and constant in his trek through the snow. He rarely looked to the figure anymore, instead his eyes fixed on that dome. It was important. He didn't know why, but it was, and he had to get there. It came ever closer, but he was tiring. It was as if the snow was freezing him in place, or trying to. His legs were dragging, catching in the frozen landscape. The figure was gone now, nowhere to be seen. Only the dome on the horizon, beckoning to him, kept him going.

Finally, after fighting for every little movement, he made it. The dome rose up out of the snow before him, glowing from within. He staggered closer and touched the shining surface. It was ice, distorted enough to keep him from seeing what was inside, from seeing whatever it was causing the glow. He walked all around it, searching for a way inside. It was solid and impenetrable.

Purah, come inside.

He wanted to laugh, as he had been trying to do exactly that, but there was no energy left anymore. He reached out to the ice again, touching it, his bare hand slipping against its shining surface. He felt nothing. He closed his eyes in frustration.

And awoke, his back against the blighted tree, his deathcharger standing patiently nearby, standing watch over him. Whatever dream had gripped him, it was gone, and he rose, slowly. I can almost see the snow, even now. It is no normal dream, that is certain, he thought as he mounted again, turning his mount once again towards the crypt.