Penandion was born in the area around Mount Hyjal. Though he did not have the amber eyes that often signified druidic potential, his parents pushed him towards that path, one he showed little to no interest in. Seemingly lost, he would grow up an awkward man, intimidating in presence yet apathetic in nature. He found himself as a disappointment to those trying to teach him the ways of druidism, while secretly he watched the Sentinels, admiring both their beauty as well as their fighting prowess. He had heard stories of male warriors such as Jarod Shadowsong and Kur'talos Ravencrest, and wondered why men who wished to fight as soldiers were so so few. He would learn of the Sentinel's founding, and the class-based system before it that let to such a sweeping change. He came to understand what had happened, but resigned himself to become a great warrior and prove capable of joining the Sentinel ranks in spite of this, sneaking away with an old discarded sword and training in the seclusion of the forest.
During one fateful session, he was ambushed out of nowhere, quickly disarmed and pinned to the ground. He looked up in his defeat, expecting death, when he saw the smiling face of a Sentinel. He was very shy about being caught, especially since the woman could return to the city and tell others about his excursions. Instead, she helped him up, corrected his stance, and vanished into the trees. A few days later, as he was practicing, he was again attacked, but successfully kept his weapons while still getting pinned. He looked up to find the same sentinel, smiling as she did before. She again helped him to his feet, corrected his footing, and vanished. For two thousand years, Penandion took his place in the woods, and the Sentinel would return sporadically, sometimes after days and other times after weeks, besting him and teaching him something new each time. One day, the Sentinel came, and Penandion fought her nearly to a stalemate. Clearly impressed, her guard dropped enough for him to finally learn her name: Chandelande. Centuries flew by as she continued to visit him in seclusion, training him in the use of her moonglaive as their love grew with every passing day. Even if he could be no hero to his people, in time he could be one to her.
The couple's biggest test together came with the War of the Shifting Sands. As Penandion readied to join his beloved, she informed him that she would be going herself, and that he was to stay behind and train. Penandion was enraged by her words. Everything that he worked for seemed to be for nothing, because when the moment came for him to fight, he was told to stay back. The old gender roles seemed to be creeping back, but Chandelande spoke to him sternly about it not being a gender issue, but an experience one. Their one-on-one training sessions were not enough to prepare him for true warfare, and she suspected that the fight in Silithus was to be the most brutal she'd seen. Penandion reluctantly agreed, having her promise to come home to him. She kissed him, saying it would not be their last, and headed off. The time felt as if it were dragging, but true to her word, she came home to him. Her demeanor was less playful than before, but her devotion to Penandion was no less than it had been before. She picked up where she left off with his training, and for the moment, there was peace for the couple.
His peace would end nearly a millenium later with an explosion of violence. The Scourge had assaulted the Night Elf lands, and Penandion rushed home from his seclusion. On the way, he came across a harrowing scene, as a felguard was about to put the final blow to end the life of his battered love. He froze, and before he could react a figure whisked by the felguard, it's body cut it half and dropping to the ground. The mysterious figure put one of his warglaives through the face of the demon to end it's existance. Penandion rushed to his love's side, only getting a glance at the figure before he disappeared into the woods. Chandelande was too far gone, her injuries to great even with the arrival of the mysterious warrior. Penandion asked her for forgiveness for not being there to protect her, but she responded that she died trying to protect her people, and that it was time for him to become a protector of all their kind. With a kiss, she expired, and Penandion picked up her moonglaive, enraged and looking for answers. He rejoined the rest of the Night Elf resistance and assisted in the assault on Mount Hyjal, helping Azeroth claim victory over the Scourge. This did little to quell Penandion's anger, as his rage over the death of his love still burned, and he sought to put the final nail in the the Legion's coffin.
Penandion travelled through Felwood, seeking revenge by fighting the demons still present there. Coming across an infected bear, he foolishly charged into combat, and after a short struggle was down at the mercy of the demon bear. As it raised its paw to kill the downed warrior, its arm suddenly became severed! Pushing himself back from the foul-smelling fluid dripping from the bear's arm stump, he witnessed a familiar curved blade thrust through the center of the bear. As the beast fell in defeat, a lone figure stood atop the fresh kill. He appeared to be a Night Elf like Penandion, but almost glowing green tattoos adorned his upper body and arms, wearing linen peasant clothes with a dark brown blindfold visible under his mane of whitish blue hair. In each hand was a warglaive, a fiery aura dying down on each. He seemed to look at Penandion through the blindfold, or more accurately at his moonglaive. The warrior smirked as he said, "You don't appear to be a woman. So why do you wield a woman's weapon?"
Penandion was angered, cursing at the man, "You were there! When that...thing...stole her from me! Why couldn't you get there sooner?! Why...couldn't...you....why couldn't...I save her..." Penandion started to tear, his fists clenched in anger and his body shaking. The warrior looked at Penandion, scoffing, "You couldn't save her even if you had arrived in time. You may know how to wield a weapon, but you know nothing about war. Nothing about the hunt. And if you are just going to sit there and cry as a newborn, then you should just go home now, before you get yourself killed."
As the warrior turned to leave, Penandion grabbed his moonglaive and called out, "You are just like them! Turn back and face me, you coward!" The warrior turned, laughing riotously. "Boy, I have been killing these creatures since before you were born. If you cannot defeat them, what makes you think you can defeat me?" With a battle cry, Penandion rushed the warrior, only to be avoided and fall on his face. The warrior scoffed, "Lesson one...this enemy is one that knows no fear, no remorse. Do not attack it, or me, as if it has either. Now get up." Penandion rose to his feet, and spent the rest of the day attempting to land a blow on the warrior. In the evening, Penandion camped in the woods, the warrior standing stoically and looking out into the wilderness. Gazing at the warrior's blindfold, he asked, "Did one of those fiends do that to you?" The warrior laughed, responding, "I did this to me." Confused, he remained silent for a long while, before asking, "How do you know where to attack?" The warrior, not turning to face Penandion, answered, "By looking." Penandion rose to his feet, and sneaking to the warrior he passed his hand in front of his face. Without warning, the warrior grabbed Penandion's arm and dropped him to the ground, a warglaive at his throat. Smirking, the warrior released him, and explained, "One of the final tasks to become what I am, is to remove your own eyes. When done right, you will lose your old view of the world, and see the world for what it truly is. But now is too early for you. One day, you will see." Leaving it at that, Penandion curled up and fell asleep, seeing the felguard that slew his love taunting him in his dreams.
Months went by, which turned to years, and Penandion grew strong, learning to use the warrior's warglaives, and watching from the distance as the warrior dispatched many demons. One night, battered and bruised from the day's training, Penandion sat by the campfire, the warrior peering into the darkness as he always did. The warrior asked, "What are you after? Revenge? Do you see the demon from that day in all of these demons?" Penandion started to lie, but stopped himself. After a moment of silence, he said, "I see her final moments. The pain she felt. But yet, she smiled. She seemed so...at peace. Part of me wishes it had been me to die that day. But another part knows that it would have been swift, and without the same dignity. When I am taken from this world, I want it to be so knowing that I left something better. Something to aspire to."
The warrior laughed, Penandion feeling disparaged. "Boy, to walk this path is to know that only you will appreciate the sacrifice you will make. The rest of the world will see you as a necessary evil. They will whisper behind your back. They will offer you quarter, then pray for your departure. They will keep their children away from you, and call you wicked as they would any of these demons. And when the demons are gone, they will hunt us. Imprison us. Kill us. We are nothing without our target, and when the day comes....if the day comes...that all the demons in Azeroth are slain, and they put us all to the stake, will you still have that same smile your lady had when she met her end?" Penandion fell silent. The warrior spoke again, "In one week, I will return. If you are still here, I will take it that you are willing to forsake any desire for fame or glory, and that you are ready for your rite of passage. If you are gone, I will take it that you are a glory-seeking, weak little parchment soldier, and you can go home and tell all the children of your little escapades on Hyjal, and they can sing your praises until they get tired and forget who you are." With that, the warrior vanished, and Penandion was left alone to ponder.
A week later, the warrior returned, the fired in the camp seeming as if it had been extinnguished for some time. He shook his head, muttering, "I hoped he would prove me wrong. So be it." As he turned, Penandion was standing right in front of him, a smirk curling his lips, "You're late." The warrior grinned, removing the glaives from his back and handing them to Penandion. "There is a doomguard named G'rgiev the Slayer about two miles north of here. Slay him, return here with his blood fresh upon the blades before nightfall, and you will be ready to begin." Penandion took the glaives, examining them for a moment before returning them. The warrior chuckled, "Overconfident, aren't we?" Penandion shook his head, pulling out his moonglaive. "I already have blades of my own. And they want blood." He smirked, adding, "Besides, you may need those for yourself."
With that, he headed into the woods, travelling until he found a clearing littered with the bodies of dead Night Elves. Sitting on a pile of bodies was G'rgiev, looking proud of itself as it surveyed its kill, when suddenly it felt a cut across its back. As it growled and turned, it saw Penandion, black blood dripping from his moonglaive. The doomguard charged at Penandion, trying over and over to cleave him, and the nimble elf kept avoiding the sword, using his weapon to cut and infuriate his opponent. But Penandion was not invincible, and the doomguard would cut him across the abdomen, deep enough to draw blood but not enough to spill his guts. It landed a second deep cut to Penandion's shoulder, which caused the elf to go on the defensive, stalking G'rgiev from behind the trees, and using stealth to throw the demon off. With a quick throw, his moonglaive flew through the air and cut off its right arm, its sword dropping to the ground. Before it could snatch it up, Penandion sprinted from his hiding place and retrieved it first. He thrusted the sword through the demon's chest, then picked up his moonglaive before whispering something to the doomguard. The glaive sawed through G'rgiev's neck and decapitated the demon.
He took the G'rgiev's head and sword and returned to the camp, the warrior sitting and waiting for him. Penandion showed him the head and the bloody weapons, and the warrior nodded in approval. "I told you a long time ago that some day you will have true vision, the vision needed to carry this burden. It is time for you to bear the marks of the Demon Hunter." The warrior took a dagger, dipping it in the bloody skull of the doomguard and used it to create a painful series of black sigils on the upper body of Penandion. "With these, you will be able to harness the energies of your foe, using the fury of the demon to battle them, turning their weapon on themselves." The warrior then handed Penandion the moonglaive. "You have the power to fight the enemy. Now you only need the power to see it. Take this, and remove your eyes. The eyes can only be deceived, tricked by those who hide in many forms. When they are gone, the enemy will no longer be able to conceal himself from you, and there will be nothing between it and your blade." Penandion stared at the moonglaive, then took one last moment to look around at the world he knew, before plunging the blade into his eyes. As he cried out, blood and tissue fell from his sockets, and he felt the burning of the fel blood invading his vision. As he looked around, the pitch blackness soon turned to grays and shadows, with bright colorful spots off in the distance. He turned to the warrior, he saw him as a much more bright and colorful aura.
The final years of Penandion's training was spent learning to use the demonic fel magic as a tool in the hunt. He was taught how to siphon the mana of his opponents to limit their ability to cast. He also learned how to engulf his body in flame defensively, though the aura had the drawback of burning himself as well in the process. His chosen weapons, Chandelande's moonglaive and the doomguard's sword, were both enchanted by the warrior to both disorient and further damage his demonic opponents.
During one of his training outings, he came across a hippogryph crashing its way through the trees. The creature appeared frightened, it's feathers and eyes looking green in color. From its saddle, it was apparent that it had been used for transport through Felwood, and Penandion came to the conclusion that over time, the creature had been exposed to heavy amounts of fel energy. Drawing his blade, Penandion moved in to give the creature a swift death, but the hippogryph did not seem frightful of him. This was the first creature that did not repel from his presence since receiving the marks of the hunter, and in staring it down, Penandion saw a part of himself. They were both tainted in the service of defending the forest and fighting the minions of the Burning Legion. Though he knew that the creature would some day have to be put down, as he would also have to be, he decided that until that day came the hippogryph could aid him in his mission. He named the creature Featherleaf for its green plumage.
After the final day of training, the warrior asked, "What did you say to it? Before you cut off its head?" Penandion chuckled, "Didn't think I would be able to do it?" The warrior replied, "Protecting my investment. I put a lot of time into you that I could have spent sending many more of its brethren to their final rest. I needed to know that you had what it took, and to know that perhaps your will may be stronger than your pride, so that you may avoid the fate of the first of our kind." Penandion nodded, answering, "I whispered what will be the last thing they will all hear before they die." The warrior nodded, turning to walk away, when Penandion asked, "Shan'do, will I see you again?" The warrior stopped and smiled, "I'll see you at the stake, brother. Tor ilisar'thera'nal!" With that, the warrior vanished into the night, Penandion silently watching the wilderness. He had finally understood.
The succubus was battered, burned, and crawling on her belly. Her hand stretched to reach for her whip, when it was stepped on by a leather boot. As she cried out in pain, a blindfolded face moved to within and inch of her ear. A crowd had gathered, looking equal parts afraid of the succubus as they were of the Night Elf hunched over her. A man shouted, "Just kill it and get out of here you...monster!" The elf grinned, putting his moonglaive to the succubus' neck as his lips silently mouthed a single word into her ear.
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Penandion's imposing stature as well as his early rejection of social norms has often led to little social interaction, even before becoming a Demon Hunter. He is quiet and thoughtful, and when engaged in combat becomes quite intense. He shows great patience and little remorse, caring little for what society thinks of him. He is loyal to his people, but tends to stay away from forming long-lasting bonds. He also ignores most faction politics, more concerned with demons and those that summon them than he is with taking sides in the Alliance-Horde conflict. In this regard, he has a hidden respect for the Knights of the Ebon Blade, seeing as they perform a similar role to what he does.
- Scale/Height: 7'2"
- Weight: 250 lbs
- Hair: Green
- Eyes: None, formerly silver
He wears very light and minimal cloth and leather garments. Though he uses a black blindfold to cover where his eyes used to be, there is some evidence of burning around the sockets near the top and bottom of the cloth. He'll often wear a robe and cloak into towns, not to disguise his nature, but to appear slightly less threatening.
Other: Black tattoos infused with demon blood cover his upper torso. His fingernails and toenails have begun to blacken as a result of his fel exposure. A long, horizontal scar crosses his abdomen, and another on his left shoulder. He carries a sentinel's moonglaive, as well as a felguard's sword.
Skills and Abilities
Between training with a Sentinel and a Demon Hunter, he has become skilled using swords, moonglaives, and warglaives in combat. His chosen weapons, a moonglaive and a recovered demon's sword, are both enchanted to disorient and do greater damage to demons. The sigils infused with demon blood that are tattooed on his upper body allow him limited use of fel magic, and his training along with his ritual blinding with a fel-tainted glaive have allowed him to develop the following abilities:
- Spectral Sight: Enables him to see demons and undead with greater clarity at great cost to his natural vision.
- Immolation Aura: For a 10 second period, he becomes engulfed in an aura of flame that burns attackers in close quarters to him, with the drawback of also burning himself to a slightly lesser extent.
- Mana Burn: Sends a bolt of negative energy that burns his opponent's mana. Burned mana combusts, dealing damage equal to the amount of mana burned.