Landron
Contents
Information
Player: Brutalskars
Character Full Name: Landron Plaguebloom
Character In-Game Name: Landron
Nickname(s): The Pale Sun
Association(s): The Alliance, The Ebon Blade, The Argent Crusade and Dawn, The White Sun
Race: Human, Deathknight
Class: Deathknight, Unholy-Combatant
Age: He was of 42 years of age when he fell to the might of the Scourge.
Sex: Male
Hair: No hair, he used to have medium length blond hair in life.
Eyes: A silvery white-blue, the unholy shimmer of undeath bound into his pupils. He used to have sky blue eyes in life.
Weight: 296 lbs without his armor.
Height: 6'4â€Â
Appearance
He is always within his mastercraft suit of armor from his days in Northrend combating the Scourge, his silver, turquoise and violet judgment armor.
Other: He has trained himself to remove his breathing reflex that many undead have kept, and most of all, since his undeath, he has lacked all of his skin.
Personality
Landron Rosenthal, now Landron Plaguebloom has made a massive shift from his previous self. As a paladin he fought with the emotions that he says, -held him back- as an Argent; but in his undeath, his vile, power worshipping nature showed.
In this persona Landron has shown time and time over, respect for power as a spirit, an ever present deity that is the one determining factor in war, love, politics and survival. It is this suppressed zealotry he speaks of in charismatic tones to inspire cohorts into frenzy and cold calculated slaughter against the enemies of all that Landron wishes to achieve. -Absolute Power-
History:
It was in the forests of Elwynn Landron and his friends were just young boys, with no path ahead of them, until they became squires to a knight. It was shortly after when nearly in their twenties or so, the orcs came to challenge the Kingdom of Azeroth…
Landron was a strong young man, he lay beside another young man, their ruined chainmail was hewed in spots, tabards of Azeroth in ribbons. The other spoke up as he looked about the burning remains of Sunnydale. “Sir Galahoth has called the retreat. Our Lord Helmige has covered Sir Michaelus in his pull out. We have to move, its our turn.â€Â
Landron toke a pike off the ground and nodded, they moved behind a ruined house. Orcs and footmen skirmished in streets as they passed through the fires. Landron looked to his left has he moved carefully to avoid attracting attention of the blackbloods. But it was there on the ground a young woman was bleeding to death, she was looking to him. His friend had already moved away, the choice was a dire one; slow down and help the wounded, or pull back as ordered.
He then quickly made his choice, blood rippled from her mouth; as his pike sank into her neck. He twisted it and removed it.
“I am so sorry…â€Â
Then he moved with the rest of the retreat.
It was the battle of Stormwind and the very heart of Azeroth its self that played a great toll on them all. The orcs brought their ogres, war machines and vile demons upon the fortress of the Brotherhood of the Horse, the defenders of Elwynn and the clergy of Northshire's remnants.
“The orcs are about to break through the southern wall! Sir we must pull back!â€Â
Landron's friend from earlier screamed this from atop the ramparts, a siege tower was boarding the wall. The handful of squires hardly turned knights stood beside footmen attempting to keep the machine at bay just for a few vital moments. Landron at the base of the wall looked to Lord Helmige, his face consumed with the battle at hand.
“Sir! If Lothar has ordered the retreat and the king is dead, we must pull back before the overrun. The refugees are already heading out the northern gates!â€Â
Lord Helmige was atop his steed, flail in hand and lance at his side, his winged helm shown with the eagle of Stormwind. He looked to Landron and nodded once.
“Squires! You are relieved of duty! Pull back! And you lot! Footmen! Get off that wall, we must attempt to barricade the Royal Gardens and Cathedral district to give the refugees time to pull back!â€Â
Then there was a massive blast. Orcs by this time where pouring through the main gates, and the squires were making their retreat; the fact they survived that fateful day was something that defined their efforts as knights, then later as some of the paladin order that would face down the mobs of greenskins, brutes, demons and the insidious first generation of deathknights.
It was in the Second war that many occurrences shaped them further into the men they would be in their final moments. The battles of Hillsbrad, Stromgard, the Liberation of the Thandol Span. Then later building up to the siege of Blackrock Spire, the defeat of the Blacktooth Grin at the Dark Portal and the push into Outland; the first battles of Hellfire would bring these men in their chase after the Warsong bands that went back to Azeroth to hunt artifacts for Ner'zhul's plans. Then as their hunts failed, Outland shattered and their comrades lost forever; most of all their hero, Turalyon would never be heard from again.
As time passed these men oversaw the rebuilding of kingdoms, the purging of leftover Alterac nobles that still sought blood. The days were tedious and long, but these paladins were the Silver Hand, they had to stand up for humanity and protect it against even its self. Renegade orc warbands still wandered the countryside worshipping their long gone demon masters, it was their raid on an orcish camp one day that first would begin the tainting of Landron's righteous heart.
Landron and his long time friends Bathrim Corswallow and Hendrik Tenner all were upon their steeds, mauls on their backs, and their glorious armor donned. They awaited orders from Commander Hulric Strannenburg, the squadrons were preparing to make this raid quick and suffer little casualties.
Bathrim was the man that was with him that day in Sunnydale, he recanted old second war verse from the war recruitment jokingly. “Grab your sword and fight the Horde, It is time to slay the Blackbloods. The Alliance needs you to rise to the challenge, Lothar wants you to rise to the challenge. Face down the demon spawn and save humanity, elves, dwarves and all other good hearted races from the damnation in slavery to the unholy grip of the brutes from the demon portal.â€Â
He gave a half hearted chuckle. “Were it so simple, right lads?â€Â
Hendrik simply smirked, while Landron spoke up. “A bit bloodthirsty. Nothing like us though, passion is not a fury unquenched… But we must be careful yes? Thinking like they said too would get us killed.â€Â
Bathrim shrugged. “They are just greenskins. Not like the light will not help any many, even a bandit strike them down. That despicable lot they be.â€Â
It was some time into their conversing, the order was given, time for battle; the paladins were to head up the middle against the orc defenses before it came to arms. Then they would push in and slaughter the warlocks before they could bring a sizable counterattack. Hendrik took his lance on the side of his warhorse and looked ahead down the forest paths they were about to charge down; Landron took a flail from his side, speaking. “Upon dismount, mauls at the ready, riding weapons prepared for the push then?â€Â
Bathrim cast an aura of devotion upon the lot of them and the ten other mounted soldiers with them. Then Hendrik began the charge, silently lifting his lance as everyone followed suit. Then after they pressed through the defenses, the three paladins dismounted and entered a large hut, the center of the orcish encampment; dead humans from sacrifice lay outside its doors.
When they entered their were two warlocks in the hut, a young woman was chained to their center altar; and worst of all, standing beyond the altar was a fel orc, with a large axe, and a burning blade banner upon his back. He stood slowly and looked to them.
“Paladins… Here… Let me show you the power of the gifts of my masters. Warlocks continue the process, I will handle the pinkskins.â€Â
The beast moved around the altar quickly, Hendrik met it head on with a charge and a swing of his maul, crackling holy light from him of the retributive strike of a judgement. Bathrim motioned Landron to the warlocks and he moved in to assist Hendrik against the red orc.
Landron moved up and swung at the warlocks, the maul bounced off a bubble of shadow that was keeping the warlocks to their vile work. He took up his maul as the battle nearby raged on, and at the sound of the axe of the vile orc cutting into Bathrim's gut and letting him fall over close to death, Landron's maul was powered by a renewed righteous fury. It glowed with silver-white light as he brought it down, the shield shattered. Behind him he looked back to Henkdrik mauling the fel orc down into Bathrim as Bathrim took his dagger out, driving it into the orc's neck as it fell on him.
Landron with a full arc swung about at the two warlocks and knocking them flat, one was bleeding horribly; the other's neck was snapped. Bathrim chuckled a last bit, before falling asleep. His wounds were grave, Landron looked to the chained woman, she was crying so much. He released her from her bonds and turned to the other two paladins. Hendrik nodded to Landron.
“You handle Bathrim's wounds? I escort the woman to the other soldiers?â€Â
Landron nodded, and as Hendrik left, he kneeled down beside his bleeding comrade. He began to heal him and then as Bathrim came about, he started speaking a bit.
“Landron… Come on man… I am nearly dead. And I have no family, let me die here. Proud that I helped that girl keep her life. Just while there is time, end it… I am tired of the service. I must rest finally.â€Â
Landron thought to himself, for surely this was Bathrim's attempt to leave the Silver Hand, to leave the nearly celibate life he had lived. Landron sighed and then took Bathrim's knife and made a quick stab up through his gut and into his heart, gauntlet removed already of course. His bloody hand removed the knife, he then wetted it with orc blood and put it in Bathrim's hand again. He placed his gauntlet back on to cover his vile act; he just lowered his gaze and left, carrying the body with him.
“Sir Corswallow fell in battle this day… We honor him with our victory. Let us leave this vile place…â€Â
As the months passed, the scourge sparked up seeking to dominate Lordearon. It was the Silver Hand and the other armies that stood to hold back the legions of rotting beasts. As time passed, they fought and died day after day. But as the battles kept up, it was a battle in the Plaguelands as Argent Dawn, that would bind Landron and Hendrik to a new path, not in life, but in death.
Hendrik and Landron were struggling against zombies that were hording about them and their other fellow paladins. Hendrik fell just moments before, and as Landron hit the ground, blood streaming from his mouth, skin being flayed by biting and clawing by ghouls, he heard a dark voice. The voice of his long lost Prince Arthas…
“Awaken champion… You like many others will serve a greater cause than the path of lies these paladins have kept you on. I will give you purpose, true, unwavering purpose…â€Â
It was in a mere moment, he laid beside Hendrik and another man, and a ghoul was all over them, they struggled against it, and as Landron wrestled it to the ground and then was bitten he smashed its head against a piece of glass laying on the ground
As he looked into the glass, he let out an echoing unholy roar. His flayed body rippled, all his skin was gone. He hissed and struggled for a moment as he was spoken too, then as he calmed. Acolytes approached him with a set of armor. Then the instructor showed him to a rune forge.
From there… It is uncertain what made Landron into the beast he is, and what keeps him in his pit of misery, but the High Templar of the White Sun, one of the head cohorts of Tavren Black… Is a vile weapon indeed.
