Server:Moon Guard US/Vardann

Basic Information

 * Name: Vardann Argeinon
 * Title: Former Captain in the Silver Hand
 * Age: 37
 * Race: Human
 * Class: Paladin
 * Marital Status: None
 * Relatives: Nyela Argeinon (wife, deceased), Alexandra Aregeinon (daughter, deceased)
 * Affiliation: Alliance, Silver Hand, Stormwind
 * Location: Ironforge

Appearance

 * Height: 6'2"
 * Weight: 245lbs
 * Hair Color: Black
 * Hair Style: Mid-length
 * Eye Color: Gray
 * Distinguishing Marks: Blade-scarred Torso

First War
The beginning of the First War found Vardannn only a boy. At age 12 he was nearing manhood and had already begun his military training under the careful ministrations of his father, Bartol Argeinon.

Whispers of war and a new, uspeakable enemy crept up from the southern nations. People spoke in hushed tones on the streets of Stratholme and young Vardann took notice of his father's demeanor becoming much more grim.

Time passed, and the invasion of the Orcish forces in the south became common talk amongst the people of the city. Would the southern nations prevail? Too little was known about the goings on to give an accurate assessment, and so their lives continued.

Vardann stood tall on his 17th birthday, flanked by his comrade cadets-in-arms as they received their rank insignias and induction into the military. His rank pinned on, a salute given to his father, and the rest of his life planned.

A day came, many months later, when a silence blanketed his fair city and the remains of Stormwind marched through their streets led by Anduin Lothar. Vardann watched from the steps of his home as the troupe disappeared into the distance, awestricken and confused at the same time.

He recalled his father leaving, his mother crying, and his siblings shivvering in fear. Had he missed the news?

Second War
The Alliance of Lordaeron.

Vardann, age 17, stood at the head of a small group of soldiers. The square was full of many such groups though the youngest soldiers seemed to all be congregated in the same area.

The leaders of the seven human nations met and agreed to unite in what would become known as the Alliance of Lordaeron. For the first time in nearly three thousand years, the disparate nations of Arathor were once again united under a common banner.

Appointed as Supreme Commander of the Alliance forces, Lord Lothar was preparing his armies for the coming of the Horde.

Vardann listened intently as superior officers issues orders, his group and many others would be remaining on the home front to offer support and defense as needed. He could not help but be slightly disappointed by this fact but took his orders as given.

Some hours after the troops were dismissed, Vardann witnessed something that would change his life forever.

Walking past Alonsus Chapel on his way home, he happened across a group gathered within, several of them high ranking officers. He watched as Lord Uther knelt before Archbishop Faol, he watched the swirlings of divine magics, and heard as they announced the founding of a new order of holy warriors, the Knights of the Silver Hand.

Stricken with awe, young Vardann quickly snapped back to attention as they each began to exit, quickly saluting as High Lord Lothar exited with the others. He found himself a bit curious as he was offered a knowing smile by Uther, but did not have the chance to think much more.

Plans had changed and Vardann's group were being sent off with the frontline soldiers.

In his mid-twenties, while battles still raged, Vardann had come home on leave to spend time with his family. While home, he met Nyela, and it was not long after that they were married. Their union was bittersweet however, as he still lived the life of a soldier and was called back to the front lines.

Nearly a year had passed when one evening, a mage found his way into Vardann's command tent where he sat hunched over maps and bottle of scotch.

The mage brought news to him that Nyela was giving birth to their daughter, which caught Vardann by immense surprise. You see, mail to the front lines was seldom if at all, but even more strange was to be sent the news by mage. Nyela had studied the arcane, but was by no means at a level that warranted this.

Vardann however, did not think of this at the time and quickly gathered what he could, leaving his second in command orders to carry on. Not much time later found Vardann magically wisped to the side of his wife as she lay in labor.

The birth went without complication, and they were blessed with a healthy baby girl whom they named Alexandra.

It was some days later that a knock came to the door, and Vardann was greeted with the sight of Lord Turaylon and Archbishop Faol, it was then that Vardann knew why he had been sent the mage. He was inducted into the Silver Hand.

Third War
Forged on the field of battle, Vardann's prowess and turning away his foes had become apparent. Now at the age of 35, Vardann had become a distinguished soldier, and Knight of the Silver Hand.

A year had passed since he had been on the front line of battle, having returned home to command the defense forces of his home, Stratholme. Though he still itched to be with his comrades, it was good to be home with his family.

And it came like a whisper in the night.

A plague in the countryside was taking over, Andorhol, Hearthglen, consumed by some unknown evil. Stratholme strengthened its defenses, but it was too late...

It Has Begun

 * ''"Captain Argeinon?"


 * Vardann looked up from the corpse at his feet to a young man walking toward him. He made note of the young features of the boy turned man, silken blonde hair straggled out from beneath a tattered and beaten helm; was it so long since we were all like him?


 * He brushed the thought away and removed his sword from the grotesque body at his feet, pausing to wipe the thick, sticky ichor from its blade on the remnants of clothing the corpse wore before returning it to its sheath, turning to the approaching man, "Yes Corporal?"


 * "Uther sends word, Arthas is returning to aid us aga--" the younger man broke into a bit of a coughing fit that hindered his speech and caused Vardann to raise a brow in concern, reaching out to clasp the man's shoulder, "Corporal?"


 * "I'm fine, it's nothing sir," the Corporal chuckled in an attempt to make light of the situation, standing straight, Vardann noticed him wiping a bit of blood from the corner of his mouth. Vardann nodded uneasily and removed his hand from his companion and looked back down to the corpse at his feet.


 * "It's about damned time someone gets back here, the people are going insane with this plague business," he said with a bit of a grumbled aftertone. The Corporal looked to the body on the floor and shook his head, "Another sir? Who was he?" Vardann sighed softly, bringing his hand up to rub his eyes as he spoke, "Fras Siabi." The Corporal knelt down with a sad look upon his face, muttering a prayer over the fallen body before standing once more, turning to Vardann and saying in a bit of a frantic tone, "That makes twenty now sir, what are we going to do?"


 * "Twenty-three," Vardann corrected, looking out from where he stood to the city square where his people waded through the atmosphere of despair that had overtaken the once glorious Stratholme. He turned back to the young man, "We will protect our people Corporal, that is our purpose. Help will come and until then we must remain vigilant, else we take hope from our people. Do you understand?"


 * The Corporal seemed to snap out of his brief moment emotional duress, popping to attention and saluting Vardann, "My apologies Captain, I know not what came over me." Vardann clapped him on the shoulder with a chuckle as he began to move down the ramp, "It's alright Corporal, just don't make a habit of it. Get the Priests up here to give Fras a proper burial then I want you to gather a few men and go see about those grain shipments."


 * He didn't look back as the Corporal saluted and quickly made off with his orders, Vardann closed let lids fall over steel gray eyes and a whispered sigh escape his lips. He knew he would never see the boy alive again.

Help did not come in the form that was expected.

Vardann was wakened in the dead of night, a demonic voice resounding in his ears. He heard Arthas' battle cry, and the song of battle.

The Culling

 * Screams pierced the city streets, sounds of pain that sent shivvers across the spine, withdrew Vardann from his bed with a start followed shortly after by Nyela. He spun to face her as he hefted his sword, not taking time to worry about his armor, "Get Alexandra and get to the cellars, now!"


 * Vardann hurtled through his home, springing to the door which he promply threw open to be showered in blood. The scene before him was a picture of crimson attrocities as he watched his beloved city burn, its people scrambling for protection as they fell under the weight of heavy blades. An armored figure fell upon him, in his shock instinct took over and he quickly downed his foe only to see that the beastly scourge he had thought it had been was actually a man.


 * He looked up through his door to see now that it was not the Scourge rampaging through his city but rather, soldiers of his people. He leapt out of his doorway into the mass confusion trying to assess what was going on and found a most peculiar thing, Arthas stood across the square.


 * Vardann waded through soldiers and citizens wildly scattering, "Arthas! What the hell are you doing!?" The prince gave no explanation other than raising his hammer to strike Vardann down. In surprise, Vardann raised his blade to deflect the blow and retreat back into the crowd, frantically attempting to fend off the attackers that slaughtered his people.


 * And then Darkness overcame him.

Stratholme was in shambles, Arthas' attack coupled with Mal'Ganis creating his own havoc through the city left nothing but devastation. In the wake of it all, through the following weeks, those that were left banded together in an effort to survive as the scourge moved in.

Arthas and his soldiers had left and the undead began to roam free, several more were lost to the plague, and the all knew that their once fair city would never be the same again. In this time, another evil fell upon them.

Some escaped notice as the powerful Lich, Kel'Thuzad, swept his forced across Stratholme with his dread citadel hovering overhead. Others were not as lucky as they were rounded up like cattle in the city square, Vardann and his family among them.

And Darkness Comes

 * A familiar darkness took Vardann one day whilst he moved through the city in search of food stores, when he awoke he knew something had happened.


 * He found himself bound and shackled tightly, surrounded by undead, kneeling at the feet of an unfamiliar being.


 * "Do you know who I am?" It spoke.


 * Vardann only struggled at his bonds.


 * The being laughed, "You have heart. I will enjoy watching it crumble to dust."


 * Vardann was hefted up by two large creatures and turned to face the smoldering town square, all of the survivors had been gathered here. Vardann raged against his bonds, the cool metal tearing into his flesh whilst he struggled to it free, as he was forced to watch the undead lay waste to the survivors.


 * He lay panting through tears once it was over, "You....you monster! Free me and I shall show you the true power of the Light!"


 * The being laughed once again, "Not yet, I have one more thing to show you."


 * Vardann's eyes widened in horror his his wife and daughter were brought before him, wildly he struggled to get free, "No! You cannot! Please!"


 * Laughter.


 * Their torture was slow, Vardann screamed and howled of a thousand pains; desperately trying to free himself as he watched them be flayed, their agony echoing within his ears. The louder he howled and more the being laughed, the more he cryed out for the Light to help him the more the being smiled.


 * Flesh tore from his wrist as he abled himself to free an arm, he wasted no time in leaping arop one of his captors tearing its throat out with his bare hand, he reached for its blade and spun on the being only to be held in place by some dark magic.


 * He watched as they shred his family to pieces, and thought their screams had long since ceased he could still vividly hear them within his mind.


 * Before darkness took him, he was brought face to face with the being, the last words echoing within his mind, "Remember this day Paladin, remember it well. This is the end of your pitiful people."

When Vardann awoke, his first note was the smell of the salty sea air and the feeling of warm linen sheets beneath him. He realized he was no longer in Stratholme, but just where he was he did not know.

Later he found that he was in in Theramore, Jaina Proudmoore had organized the few survivors of the plagues and brought them here to forge some new hope. Hope, however, was not a feeling Vardann could feel any longer.

Against the will of the priests and Jaina herself, Vardann set out across the sea back to his homeland in search of vengeance leaving behind him the very Light he once fought for.

World of Warcraft
Upon returning Stratholme, Vardann found exactly what he had expected, undead legions now prowled his city streets. Spectral images of the once proud people now wandered aimlessly, seemingly unaware of the carnage around them.

But something else as well, apart from the Scourge that plagues his city there were those bent upon destroying the Scourge, Scarlets they called themselves. He recognized many of them as his former comrades, it would seem that they blamed themselves for Arthas' betrayal and now sought to end the evil that plagues this land.

By killing living and undead alike.

No better than Arthas.

Vardann too, was no better, for he killed these Scarlets without remorse. Killed them to prevent more like Arthas being unleased upon the world, killed them to release them of their insanity, killed them...

...to release them.

He was a wraith in the night, a chilled horror that roamed the streets of the mangled city taking life and unlife from all that crossed his path.

He did not leave, when the dragonflights attacked.

He did not leave, when danger apart from the scourge threatened this world.

It was not his world. This, was his world.

The Burning Crusade
When the Heroes of his world led the charge through the newly re-opened Dark Portal, Vardann paid no mind. Months went by as he continued the unrelenting task of purging the undead from his beloved city.

Then one day, as he knelt over the wash basin, he looked into the dim water and saw a reflection there that he had not expected.

He saw Arthas.

Realizing that he was becoming exactly that which he despised, Vardann reluctantly left Stratholme to learn of what had transpired in the world. What he found, was nothing more than much of the same.