Everard

Information

Player: ToxicFrozt

Character Full Name: Everard Payens

Character In-Game Name: Everard

Nickname(s): None

Association(s): The Inquisition

Race: Human

Class: Paladin

Skills and Abilities: Tactician/Military Minded: Everard has a brain fuelled for war, though he prefers to be in the background. He is a man of quiet contemplation, always thinking and always contemplating the next move. He cares little for honour as long as the enemy troops lay scattered and defeated.

Age: 45

Sex: Male

Hair: Bald

Eyes: Blue

Weight: 155 Pounds

Height: 5'10”

Appearance

Usual Garments/Armor: In times of war Everard can be found fully clad in plate, the same plate he donned during his time spent with the Silver Hand. When not in the field of battle he is typically spotted wearing commoner garbs of no great significance.

Personality

Alignment: Chaotic Good

A life of steel and blood has left Everard a cold and rough husk of a man. Not a tear shed for another life form since the death of his parents, and a burning hatred for the Green Skins of the Horde. Everard works tirelessly to better himself physically and mentally, giving himself no time for rest and a lonely existence. Once he dreamed of a world without bloodshed, only to be taught that in order to make a thing happen a few heads must roll. Through the Light he found strength, but that strength came with a cost. That cost was fanaticism. To Everard the only way to fix the land is to convert or slaughter the heathens, this extreme outlook comes from the pent up rage at the inaction of Stormwind as territories of the Light are plagued and forgotten by heresy.

History

A cosy life as a noble’s squire was a good start to Everard’s story, and so his parents also thought. His two younger brothers, mother and father watched as he ascended through his squire training with welled up pride and joy for his accomplishments. Warm meals and a comfortable bed was all Everard was accustomed to at the age of seventeen. Nothing could have prepared him for the coming storm, not once could he have ever conceived the trials the first war would bring.

Stormwind, the place Everard had called home his entire life, was overrun before his eyes. Not a table left unturned, door left standing, or man, woman and child left alive. Everard was at the front lines for the first wave, shell-shocked and completely distraught. It seemed like hours had passed as the brave soldiers of Stormwind were pushed back and chopped down man by man, but it was only mere minutes. Everard held his breath as he dipped down into the sewage system to avoid the clash of men and Orcs above him. He gagged as he let in a needed gasp of breath. Knee high in the filth and blood of Stormwind he reached up and replaced the grate with immense difficulty. A pitiful and disgusting escape for a boy once filled with such pride.

Word of Stormwind’s utter destruction spread fast, and the refugee convoys soon followed. Everard stayed South for some time doing odd jobs in Grand Hamlet to pay for a room and food. Each time a convoy came through Everard would get his hopes up, and each time he was sorely disappointed. Months passed and he had given up any idle thought that he may be reunited with his family. They were dead and he had to accept that. The only thing left for him was revenge, revenge on the race responsible for his families death.

For the next three years Everard put his training as a squire to use as a hired blade, increasing his knowledge in bargaining and swordsmanship. The coin he made kept him afloat, but it was never enough to settle down. What was known as Elwynn Forest at the time was generally well kept by militia and road patrols, so business was dwindling and mercenary groups were traveling elsewhere for work. This is how Everard came to find himself in Stratholme, and as fate would have it the newly found Knights of the Silver Hand were hard at work finding healthy recruits to join the path of the Light.

The gruelling process of becoming a warrior of the Light took years, though sceptical of the ideals at first, Everard earned his stripes as a pledged Paladin of the Light and Knight of the Silver Hand. The future looked gloomy, for the second war was on the horizon. Stratholme and all of it’s crusaders could not have been any less prepared for the Horde’s strategically genius and destructive attack on the city. The explosions could be heard for miles. Everard’s hard work and determination had put him in the position of Commanding Officer for a small platoon designed to plot out ambushes and keep Uther informed of the strategic advantages available to the Silver Hand. It just happened to be his luck that when Stratholme fell the only impact it had on him and his men was the smog that clouded their vision for acres all around.

Shortly after the reconstruction of Stratholme Everard joined the upper ranks of the Silver Hand as a Templar, at the age of twenty three he found himself training the new recruits in the field of tactics. His military mind was kept sharp by the hours put in to passing down his knowledge, not only was he teaching but much was learned from his pupils. Every now and then new tactics would be brought up by a creative mind. Everard, though a strict and visibly heartless instructor, never stopped a pupil from speaking their mind. Fourteen years as an instructor passed, the completion of Stormwind came and went, but Everard stayed true to the Silver Hand. Everard was thirty seven when the whispers of a Plague swept through the city, and he ached to fight the Scourge at the side his Lord and Commander Uther.

A call to arms was made by Uther who needed assistance with the assault of Hearthglen, Everard gladly followed the Lightbringer into battle against the Scourge, pushing them back and saving Arthas himself. The Prince was grateful but quite shaken up by the events that occurred at Hearthglen, Looking to redeem himself Arthas quickly set out to Stratholme to engage Mal’Ganis. Uther and his Knights followed closely behind, what they found at the great City was disturbing to say the least. The Plague had set in and the city was in shambles, Arthas decided he had no choice but to purge the remanence of the plagued populace. Uther defied Arthas and his decision, the Silver Hand was disbanded and Uther the Lightbringer sent away to Andorhal.

With no one to call family, and nowhere to call home Everard was lost. He was picked up by a caravan heading to Stormwind and helped with taking care of the wounded on the long trek. Upon arrival at the great city Everard marched directly to the Cathedral of Light and put his skills to use as a Paladin of the church. The third war passed and all seemed well, Everard stayed with the Church for another eight years and saved enough coin to live comfortably. Unfortunately the Church had enough of Everard’s extreme views and had him removed from the Cathedral. Now at the age of forty five, Everard is a bitter and weathered man, his Faith in the Light still strong, and his hate towards blasphemers burns ever so bright. He still calls Stormwind his home, but cares little for it’s populace or the surrounding area.