Lientos
Information
Contents
Player: Absolutionist
Character Full Name: Lientos Shadevale
Character In-Game Name: Lientos
Association(s): Alliance(former), Horde, Blood Knights
Race: Blood Elf
Class: Paladin
Sex: Male
Hair: Black
Eyes: Green.
Weight: 249 Ibs, out of armour.
Height: 6'0
Appearance
Usual Garments/Armor: Crimson-gold plated robes, which are black and white beneath the plating. A cowl and armoured mask cover his features a majority of the time.
Personality
Alignment: Lawful Good
Melancholic as a rule and a bit empathic when confronted by another's loss, he maintains a strong sense of what he believes is just. In spite of this, his own emotions and hatred of his failures, and by extension, himself, serve as a detriment in most social situations. He shares a common distrust towards Orcs and Trolls, due to their part in the Second War and the death of his kin. He also respects them for their better parts, and the fact that they seem to have mastered their baser urges since that time.
History
What do you do when everything you had, everything you believed, is lost?
That thought haunts me every hour, every second that I breathe and live. That uncertainty and fear buried within burrows ever deeper into my soul, no matter how much I wish I could forget it. How I came to be this way... that, itself, is a long and bloody tale.
My family has served the King of Silvermoon since its founding: as soldiers, magisters, priests, or hunters. Our blood is old, like all elven blood, but untouched by betrayal and disloyalty. Or so I wish it were.
There is betrayal in our past, now. Betrayal not by us, but by the ones we served under and for. Betrayal that cost me my family, my kin, until only I have been left....
In the Second War, when I had grown of an age to fight, I fought. Orcs, trolls, ogres... all the Horde's beasts and all their most cruel. That war cost me my sisters and my youngest brother, innocents who were desecrated at the end of their lives and after their deaths. The first taste of true loss, for one so young as I. Their bodies became fodder for demons while I despaired and fought with no thought, without consideration for mine own survival. My body survived that war... but my mind, my soul, were forever lost to me.
When all was over, I thought I could be left to my own devices deep within the lands my people held. I didn't wish to aid in rebuilding, nor repelling the remnants of troll and orc. I only wished to sleep, to sleep.... and so I did, year upon year, waking only to hunt and nourish myself before I slept again. I never talked to my people in those years, my mind full of grief and a festering hatred for what had befallen my kin. And yet, my rest wasn't long enough to make it pass.
More conflict came, soon enough. For an elf, the years are mere weeks in comparison to what they are to humans. Long-lived but not immortal, not like we once were in tales of old lore.
The land itself fought when they came: the endless dead, ever dying, ever fighting, never stopping. They slaughtered my people and I watched, at first helpless and bereft. Was this to be the end of my people, for true and sure? Was this punishment for me, to watch as my people suffered one last time? And the worst fear, the worst outcome, would I be the last of mine own kin?
Something broke within me then, echoing louder than ever.. that rage, that hate, came forward in all its fury.
I descended into a group of undead - small, maybe seven or so in all - and I fought. The hatred I had harbored in my seclusion was a torrent, driving me forward further and further. I nearly died, wounded and bleeding in the end. I was broken but I had broken the invaders forever. I succumbed to the pain and slept again, amidst the slain: my brethren and the risen dead alike.
When I came to, it was far from Silvermoon and far from the fighting. The pain I felt from my body was nothing in comparison to my mind's own pain. Yet, I lived and I knew I was far from dead... Not yet, not yet, my death would be worthwhile, I told myself. Hollow words, yet comforting.
I slept once more in the dark of that night, my mind in turmoil. My despair had become melancholy, my rage a fine-edge blade. Control, I wish it were, but my mind knows that it's a fragile state. It always has been, since.
When I woke to the light of day, there were others there, watching: an older elf, an elder of our race, I was sure, who dressed in the garb of a priest. The others wore a medley of heavy armour, leather, and loose cloth. Warriors, hunters, and those who had fled from the undead in our homeland. Most fell victim to the remnant plague, when the Scourge's main force left our homeland. I learned, bit by bit, of what had transpired while I slept in seclusion. The knowledge was painful to accept, even worse to see with one's own eyes.
When finally our far-flung brethren came home to retake the homeland, we rallied to them. Many were lost to that effort: many more were saved. If not in body, then in mind at least. We rebuilt, a slow but necessary process. When the Blood Knights came together to strengthen us, I took a chance and begged, I begged, for initiation. I wanted to be strong again, to have purpose... for when we'd retaken Silvermoon, I had found only ruin where my family once dwelled.
They accepted me, the new order, and so I was tested and raised into their ranks. As a Knight, I defended Silvermoon as I should have done before. Failure... I didn't wish to fail again, not again.
It didn't take long before I started to wander the streets, lost in a fog that enveloped my mind. In the end, I left Silvermoon behind and began to search: for what, I still don't know. But I wander, even now, even now. I call myself an Inquisitor, because I know I will never be a true defender, nor a healer, not even a proper Knight. Instead, I've chosen to wander the lands in search of a goal that remains shrouded in shadow, hidden from mine own eyes.
Every loss I learn of, every ruin and every death, I feel like I should weep for. I have no tears, though... no longer, not yet.
With the Light-infused blade of Absolution at my side, I shall walk until I find what I seek... or die trying.
For each bit of blood that is spilt, I will make the wicked pay... with their lives.
Where once I was quel'dorei, I am now sin'dorei.
No redemption.
Only blood for blood.
