Dalren Lightheart

WIP

Which race is your character?:

Quel'dorei, Child of Noble Birth.

Which class/rank/title is your character?:

Argent Dawn Templar and Lieutenant of the Argent Crusade.

What is your character's description & personality?:

Appearance - Dalren is of average elven height with a very thin frame yet a very imposing appearance. When his helmet is off, his face is relatively handsome for an elven man, donning long, bright silver hair tied into a tight foxtail which match his oddly colored glowing eyes which are a heavy metallic silver. Under his robes is nothing special; he is rather skinny, even for an elf and is covered in natural white skin, lacking any tan what-so-ever.

His armor is specially crafted by the Crusade; it's made of a very soft silken interior with a tight scarf wrapped around his mouth. His face is usually hidden, often covered by a shadowy hood and in mix with his scarf, the only visible thing underneath the shadows are piercing metallic silver eyes. The robes themselves are reinforced with heavy leather, giving it some minor defensive attributes while still remaining stylish and fitted. A heavy and colossal tome is chained to his belt as well, glowing a subtle gold.

Personality - Dalren is a pious man, standing with a straight back and imposing eyes staring straight ahead. When push comes to shove, he will not hesitate to jump into action and defend those who need it, whether it be man, woman or child. He believes that all mortals are children in the eyes of the Light, save the unsavory undead and demons, acting as such. While he is not one to push religion on people, he won't judge them merely for their own beliefs. He is very soft-spoken and quiet, usually only to speak when spoken too, unless the situation requires his input. Altruistic could be used to describe him as well, often giving from his own pockets to those in need. Homeless? Have a few silver for a few day's meal.

What is your character's history?:

Dalren was born into an average household of hardworking parents and minimal restrictions. Since childhood, he had been given free reign to do what he willed, which usually entailed running around the forests late into the night, seduced by the ever glowing moon and stars. His childhood, like many elves of recent times, was peaceful. There was little to no conflict and the mighty kingdom of Quel'thalas was kept secluded from the world outside. He had many friends as a young boy, often playing about without many responsibilities. He was, unfortunately, an only child and his parents were often away and working. His family life was rather lonely.

Due to his lack of family and with friends coming and going, he was always looking for a true family and a place to feel truely at home. He looked in many places; the military, the mage academy, back alleys. He found nothing of interest and decided to remain as he was, unwanting to risk his time in something he would never be accomplished in. His mind set on finding his true calling beyond pickpockets or magi. Unfortunately, his time yearning for a calling encompassed many years of his life. A hidden depression was buried deep beneath his facade which he kept secret until he discovered a very close-knit community. A religious sect based around The Holy Light. A mysterious philosophy which he took to like a bee to honey. It infatuated his curiosity and he spent many sleepless nights studying and learning of the Light's good graces and blessings.

The peaceful times of his youth were suddenly dashed as the Second War ensued, a clash of titans between the Orcish Horde and the loosely tied Alliance. The Amani trolls began to rally their army in the name of the Horde, beginning to siege Quel'thalas. Dalren by now had become a faithful practitioner of the Light and learned many wards, healing and smiting incantations. He utilized these with deadly efficiency - turning many trolls to charred husks from being smited in the Light's holy fire. The battles were short lived, as many times before, the Amani was bathed in blood and slaughtered en mass. Dalren remained in Quel'thalas for the remainder of the Second War, mending the wounded and studying with what free time he had.

Tick tock went the clock. Continuous peace revolved around the High Kingdom now that the Second War was finished. Dalren remained pious and continued preaching his teachings, opening the eyes of many people while respecting those whom believed in other deities or philosophies. Soon word spread through many channels, including the Church of the Light, that Lordaeron was being overrun with a plague, turning innocents into undeath. The elves, being in such close proximity were worried that the undead would soon set their eyes upon them. Thankfully the runestones were in place, protecting their fair kingdom from annihilation. Dalren remained unconvinced and had a few sleepless nights of worry.

Dalren's worry became a reality as the Scourge had defiled the protective runestones and marched down what is now known as the Dead Scar. The elves rallied to arms as quickly as they could, Dalren included, and prepared to defend their beloved homeland. The rampaging undead waded through the elven population in rows, thousands of his sisters and brothers fallen and resurrected into monsters. Dalren personally saw to smiting undeads, turning them to ash in the face of the Light. Ultimately, they failed their stalwart defense, and the Sunwell was destroyed. As the Scourge retreated and did a final sweep of the land, Dalren kept shelter in an abandoned home, protecting a small number of women and children from any looming dangers. Once the dangers had passed and the High Kingdom was left in cinders, Dalren rallied his survivors and met up with the remaining Quel'dorei.

Dalren looked over his defeated brothers and sisters. There must've been only a thousand left, an absolute genocide.. He felt at fault aswell. He couldn't quell the threat of the Scourge even at his peak, a damning strike was taken to his self-esteem and he slowly fell into a pit of depression. Kael'thas renamed them in honor of the fallen; Sin'dorei. Children of Blood. While Dalren respected his Prince to the letter, he could not bring himself to smile of the sheer willpower of his leader. Kael'thas rallied a mere fifteen percent of the destroyed race and went south - seeking a cure for their sudden crippling addiction to magic. This thirst affected Dalren less than the magi but he still felt it. He could feel the hunger writhing and he meditated for countless hours to keep his control. Dalren himself stayed back to help with the reconstruction of their city but was mostly kept to himself - locked in a room and sunk into his depressive state.

Times were quiet, construction was underway and the magical addiction was prevelant. There was no sign of their Prince or a cure until one of Kael'thas' most respected Magisters returned with news of a cure. Fel. Arcane at it's most pure and corruptive form. Lor'themar agreed to such a cure and released it to the masses. Unfortunately the already limited race was splintered even further as some Sin'dorei refused to siphon such abusive magics, unwilling to corrupt themselves by the same magic that created the Scourge. Dalren was one of these stalwart defenders of the true Quel'dorei way and as a result was exiled from Quel'thalas - permanently.

Dalren roamed aimlessly into the Scourge infested Lordaeron with his life on his back - nothing more than clothes and a weeks worth of food. Depression turned into blistering rage. He blamed the Scourge for everything and took revenge, utilizing his years of Light training to purging the Plaguelands of the damned. He became a rogue priest - slaughtering ghouls and ghosts alike in waves until he was exhausted, falling to his knees and unable to walk any longer - let alone cast a spell. He slowly became surrounded by shambling horrors, unable to run. He was prepared to accept his fate in bitter rage until the crowd was nearly turned to ash one zombie at a time. A small squadron of many races flanked the undead and cleaned house. They were all clad in black and wearing tabards with a small white sun on the chest. The leader offered Dalren a hand up and escorted him to the Argent Dawn's headquarters. He was viewed as a true defender of the Light and offered to join their ranks. Dalren looked around the camp and at the plethora of people - all fighting for the same cause. A family of people doing what they believe is right - true respecters of the Light. He nodded and shook the man's hand, officially becoming a Private of the Argent Dawn.

The Plaguelands and the Argent Dawn remained in a tense stalemate. The Argents did not have the man-power of the Scarlet Crusade and kept to utilizing tactics over sheer force and thus made an uneasy alliance between them as they both shared a common goal - eradication of the Scourge. Something Dalren was absolutely willing to do anything for, even to become a martyr. Day after day, week after week, Dalren was out on the field. His unending desire to purge the Scourge menace was taken note along with his astounding prowess with the Light by his superiors along with a mysterious man covered in runic tattoos. Dalren was approached in camp by the man and sat across from him. It was evident he was a Commander, a rank Dalren could only dream to obtain. The man stared across to Dalren and spoke slowly and with a burly voice.

Dalren walked the plagued path alone. A worried expression overwhelming his facade as he got closer and closer into deadly territory. Plaguewood was known for it's extreme Scourge population and overwhelming toxins that flowed through the air. Thankfully the catacomb was only on the edge of the woods, and he was not required to go neck deep into the place. He was met with little resistance, seeing pockets of mindless ghouls roam around in the distance. Almost avoiding him. As if they were granting him passage. He didn't think much on it and continued.

He approached the entrance to the crypt and was met with an eerie silence. Only the sounds of his footsteps echoed throughout the grave as he slowly proceeded down. It was pitch black, he couldn't see a damn thing until he spoke a cantrip, grabbing onto a ball of light to provide vision. He laid eyes upon the mold infested walls, turning corner after corner and met only with the resistance of the cobwebs and corpses that littered the ground. He felt like he was in there for days, weeks, months. Corner after corner, hallway after hallway - until he saw a small shimmer of light near the end of it all. He approached a divine-casted barrier of incredible power, Dalren could only describe it as being made of a white wind-like spell, constantly rushing up to the ceiling. A large black symbol rested in the center of the barrier, one Dalren recognized, as it was the Common symbol for "Healing". His eyes traced the rest of the room he was standing in, only finding dust and echoes before he laid eyes upon a small end table. On the table rested two things; a runestick and a small vial of silver ink. They looked freshly placed but Dalren hesistantly grabbed them both and examined them. The runestick itself had carved on the side of the shaft the same symbol as the barrier held. Dalren huffed after putting two and two together, beginning to decided where he should tattoo himself. Dalren slowly removed his shirt, revealing his oddly skinny form before he began to carve the symbol into the center of his chest with the silver ink, forever branding himself with the rune. After spending quite a while slowly and carefully carving, he finished nearly an hour or two later and cleaned up what he could and tossed the runestick back onto the table.

Once he had finished, Dalren slowly approached the barrier, giving a hesistant look of worry as it remained unwavering for a few moments. Dalren looked almost defeated until the barrier began to react to the selfless ritual, and with a extreme gust of wind and magic, the barrier dissipated. The backlash of the wind sweeping through the crypt was overwhelming and cleared out a majority of the cobwebs that lingered as well, but Dalren merely pulled himself back to his feet and put his shirt back on and began meandering down the final staircase. As he entered the final room, he was met with a colossally empty room with only a pedestal rested in the center and a large tome ontop of it, resonating a warming ray of light. He slowly caressed the spine of the tome before trying to remove it - only to find it was locked into place by the pedestal itself. He huffed, slightly aggrevated by the unbudging book but he would not quit. Not after such a time just to get here. He began to examine the room further.

He saw nothing of great importance, cobwebs, spiders, empty torches-- wait.. He began to examine the torches closer. They were set in a pattern across the walls, four for the sides of the room and two on either ends, matching the staircase and the back wall. And above all else - they looked freshly planted. The room itself was, infact, pitch black save the tome itself which only resonated enough to make the center visible. Dalren reached up, grabbing each torch one at a time and lighting them with a flint and steel he had prepared. Once he finished and set the final lit torch back onto it's rest, he heard a faint clicking sound from the center of the room. He approached the book and took it by the spine, once again trying to release it. As he pulled it off the pedestal he felt an overwhelming rush of divine power course through his hand, shocking him and causing him to nearly fall over in exhaustion. He became weak, physically and mentally but he was focused on the job. He took the book again and endured, trying to meander his way to the staircase.

As he approached the staircase with weak steps, he looked up to see a shadow-clad figure in full armor and a demonic looking blade, covered in runes of damnation. The figure slowly removed his hood, revealing piercing ice blue eyes which struck absolute fear into Dalren. He was paralyzed with fear and his body would not allow himself to move. The figure began to speak in a low but intiminating tone.

Dalren stared with obvious fear on his facade for a few moments in ear-piercing silence. He was staring ultimate demise straight in the face but he remained unmoving. He felt a certain sense of defiance rise up inside of him as he looked to the tome. His expression turned from fear to anger, looking up to the death knight once more. "You can have this tome when I am dead, you rotter." He had just spat death itself in the face and straightened his back, preparing a spell under his breath. He was still tired. The book had drained him of a majority of his strength, rendering himself handicapped for the fight.

The Death Knight unsheathed his blade, grasping the handle with two hands and began to move forward toward Dalren, acknowledging the fact he was weakened and was ready to take advantage of it.

Dalren huffed and sweated as he unleashed the spell he had been channeling, sending a holy lance into the chest of the undead. The spell looked weak, it was small and slow. The death knight merely took it, believing it to be nothing until the lance lodged itself into the knight's chest and began to sear itself into his flesh. The knight growled in pain and looked to Dalren with a sense of shock.

He gripped his blade again and began to charge fully, meeting Dalren in a matter of moments.

Dalren pivoted on his heel and weaved behind the knight as the runeblade whizzed past his ear, nipping it slightly. Dalren placed both hands onto the back of the Knight, unleashing a heavy exorcism spell. The impact seemed weak but the magic itself rended through the knight's flesh, leaving the smell of searing flesh in the air. He huffed, starting to wane from the spell use combined with the exhaustion, but survival instinct had kicked in and he was not going to fly, he was going to fight.

The Knight turned, swinging the blade for Dalren's side and connected, blood splattering and a searing feeling filled Dalren's shoulder, rendering his left arm disabled for the time being. He gritted his teeth and yelled out, raising his right hand and sending another exorcism into the knight's face. The searing light burned at the undead's face, melting his skin. The knight roared out and ripped at his own face, literally ripped it off. He stared at Dalren with his skeletal features and piercing blue eyes as flesh dangled and fell off his ivory white skull. Dalren was struck with ungodly fear, reeling back from the knight and falling backwards.

The Knight loomed over Dalren with pure hatred in his gaze, gripping his blade with both hands and slamming it down, piercing the elf's gut. Dalren would've screamed out in agony, his body unable to properly react as his legs felt limp. He raised his right arm up and sent a heaving ball of condensed light into the knight's chest. The lance he had lodged into his chest still resonated and increased in power as the light-ball made impact. The lance found itself propelled forward, slamming out the back of the knight's armor and chest, giving way for the ball to follow suite. The knight fell backwards with a searing hole in his chest. His eyes slowly faded away.

Dalren laid there, impaled on the ground for a few moments and coughing up blood. He wasn't done yet and gripped the hilt, pulling the blade out and tossing it to the side. Blood caked his robes and the floor as Dalren got to his elbows and knees. He tried to speak an incantation to seal the wound but as the magic came forward, nothing happened. He repeated it twice more, nothing happening either time. He sighed and panted, grabbing the book and crawling his way up the crypt, trailing blood as he went along. Dalren maybe made it half way up the final staircase up before he fell silent and his breathing was minimal. He blacked out.

Dalren found himself awakened near the outside of the crypt with a bandaged mid-section and shoulder. He looked up to the polluted skies and questioned where he was silently to himself. He turned his head and looked to his side, seeing the Commander who sent him on this mission.

Dalren was enlightened to the Templari Order, learning of them in great detail and how they are initiated. The commander had caught eye of Dalren and saw potential in him, wishing to test his mettle. The tome he was tasked to get was an old tome of the Light, back from the First War's teachings by an Archbishop. To this day, Dalren keeps it safe, tasked to keep it out of the clutches of evil by keeping it close to himself. The necrolord he had killed was one of the main commanders of the Scourge forces in the Plaguewood and beyond the Templars, he was promoted for his bravery and courage in the face of death, being promoted to Sergeant of the Argent Dawn.

Dalren read from the tome he had uncovered, studying it in almost obsessive detail as he learned things beyond even the most veteran paladins of the Argent Dawn did not know. He was obsessed with it, and rightly so as he continued to learn more and more about more than just the Light but also the Templars in general. His time on the field was lessened greatly, focused solely on becoming stronger so that the final siege would be a success. The Commander in question was a man called "Davian" and he would become Dalren's teacher of the Templars. He would provide Dalren would the knowledge and power that only the templars are aware of, being tested in many ways beyond mere healing and warding. He would practice his offensive magics to a great extent and becoming molded into a war machine of the Argents.

The day had come and Naxxramas was to be sieged. Dalren was given a small squad and moved into the northern part of the Plaguewood, beginning to purge the land of undead and slaughtering necromancer and abomination alike. Dalren's goal was to assist in creating a safe zone so that the strike force could enter the dread citadel unhindered. With a group of crusaders at his back and his new found Templari prowess unfolding, he quelled a majority of the undead in his area, securing it and keeping it safe guarded for days. The siege continued, troops swarming the damned place.

Eventually the missives were given - Naxxramas had been culled and the dread citadel no longer posed a threat. Cheers echoed far and wide across the Plaguelands as celebration ensued. Dalren, however, merely smiled and continued on his studies. He knew this would not be the end. Not until every undead, demon and cultist was purged from his beloved world. A few months passed until rumors of the Dark Portal had reopened and a large troop of Argent Dawn were sent out to defend it from the invading demons. Including Dalren.

As Dalren moved forward toward the portal, he saw absolute chaos. Demons roamed everywhere, slaughtering by the dozens. He lead his troop of Crusaders against the demonic force, raising up a storm of holy fire, releasing a Holy Nova. Several minor demons exploded into ash as they made contact with the sheer force of the attack. He contiuned to turn demons to charred marks on the red ground, fighting towards the group's commander. A large Doomguard creature loomed behind the enemy lines and shouting orders. Dalren locked eyes with the foul demon and began to charge a heavy blast of light. The Doomguard began to cast as well, calling down an infernal strike onto his squad. Dalren quickly acted, redirecting his magic into a massive barrier to defend his troops. The impact of the infernal sent Dalren falling out cold, having taken a majority of the strike as the barrier shattered, having taken a large amount of the initial impact.

Dalren woke up a few hours later, having passed out and wounded from the self-sacrifice. His quick thinking saved his troops from imminent death and was given a promotion due to his selfless act for the greater good. He was officially a "Knight" within' the Argent Dawn along with his Templari responsibilities. With the Alliance and Horde forces beginning to take notice of the Dark Portal, the Argent Dawn had retreated and returned to the Plaguelands, beginning to try and heal the scarred land in relative peace. Dalren personally continued his studies once more.

The time between the Dark Portal's opening and the Lich King's awakening was filled with nothing but rigorous training for Dalren, often sent out in solo missions to hunt down and eliminate rogue necromancers trying to revitalize the Scourge once again in the Plaguelands. By now, he was officially a Templar of minor power. Times were rather quiet for the Scourge until Acherus loomed overhead of Light's Hope. Panic ensued as the Scourge forces clashed with the Scarlet Crusade, but the Argents would hold their blades and await an outcome. Two of their greatest enemies were battling it out and only one would remain standing. A tactically sound situation to hold down the fort and wait for an outcome with one less force to deal with.

Dalren cringed as the screams of the damned and innocents echoed throughout, unable to do anything as he would be damning the orders by his superiors. Every fiber of his being wanted to help but he remained, quietly mourning their losses. It was a matter of a day until the Scourge had slaughtered New Avalon and claimed the land for themselves. Soon, they focused their eyes upon Light's Hope, with a new found bulk of minions from the corpses of the Scarlets. The Argent Dawn braced themselves, preparing for an onslaught as the sky began to rain blood and the skeletal armies of the damned charged onto holy ground.

A ruthless blood bath ensued as flesh giants, ghouls, death knights and the like charged down the Argents. The Scourge, however, were severely weakened for treading on holy ground and Dalren took notice of this. He raised a hand and shouted out in Thalassian, releasing a silvery nova of light, shredding a large bulk of ghouls that were surrounding him. He felt empowered in the face of death and gave the battle his all, launching bolt after bolt of pure silver light into the crowds. A colossal flesh giant began to charge down Dalren's location, reeling back to send a shock wave at the group. Dalren quickly called down the thunder, releasing a streak of silver lightning straight into the giant's leg, charring it and setting it ablaze. The impact of the lightning was matched with the shock wave, knocking everybody in the area off their feet and sending the giant tumbling backwards. Many of the priests took advantage of this and began to purge the creature from the inside out, turning it into ash with combined effort.

The battle was heading in their favor, the Scourge was being annihilated at a violent rate and the battle seemed won. Until Dalren felt himself paralyzed. He felt like he was being squeezed to death slowly. He looked around as much as he could and saw his peers were the same. They were all unable to move. He looked forward near the edge of the chapel grounds and witnessed what could only be described as the most terrifying moment of his life. The Lich King himself erupted from the portal and began to speak. Dalren felt immediate dread overcome him, unable to react properly. He felt as if he was going to die and was unable to do anything of it. Until a glimmer of Light erupted from his peripheral - Tirion wielding the legendary Ashbringer charged the Lich King and struck him. The King staggered and retreated from the colossal blow. Dalren's dread turned to pride for his colors as he witnessed the daunting courage of Fordring. The Argent Crusade, a merge between the Argent Dawn and the Silver Hand was formed and Dalren gladly joined, preparing to take the fight North. He was also given a promotion due to his daunting skill on the battlefield, being given the rank of Knight-Captain of the Argent Crusade and a small squad of crusaders under his command.

The Crusade was one of the first to lead the assault against Northrend alongside the Alliance and the Horde. The initial landing was a gruesome one as Arthas had already prepared his army, solidifying his position in the frozen wasteland. The Crusade charged the beaches and began to cleave their way through the undead, beginning to set up fortifications deep within Northrend, far ahead of the Horde and Alliance. Dalren was positioned in his own encampment near the staircase between Grizzly Hills and Zul'drak. He was apart of the strike force into the trollish lands and lead his own squadron to destroy the Scourge forces with fervor. His first assignment was to lead a hit and run against a major Scourge camp which was one of the main suppliers for Abominations.

Dalren rallied his crusaders and began to plan out his assault on the encampment;

A small strike force will prepare to charge the encampment from the south while the main force flank from the north and prepare ballistas to prevent retreat to what remained of the destroyed necropolis. Dalren would be apart of the main force that would attack from the north, leading his troops directly.

The southern troops were in position, Dalren's second-in-command was ready to charge and removed his flare gun, pointing up and firing it off. This grabbed not only the attention of the camp but also the main strike force. The southern forces began to charge as soon as the flare went off and the blood began to fly. Dalren muttered under his breath; counting down from ten seconds. The ballista were in place and aimed to take down any retreating forces, his eyes set upon the battlefield. As soon as he finished counting down to assure the Scourge's attention would be fully on the south - he charged along with his small army of Crusaders and Priests, flanking the undead entirely. The Scourge were thrown into a panic as their ranks were sundered by the surprise assault, the combined efforts of Dalren and his priests shattering the skeletal structure of a lesser Lich whom overseered the camp. As the lich's form was turned to ash by his force's focused strike, he screeched out for them to retreat. The necromancers began to flee towards Kolramas, but not before the ballista bolts were let loose, clothes lining several clumped groups of necromancers and ghouls and a few abominations. Unfortunately a small handful of them managed to escape but this was still a victory in the eyes of Dalren as well as his superiors, who commended him for his tactical prowess.

Dalren and his forces rejoined the rest of the Crusade at the Argent Stand, continuing to clear out the undead troll population and facilities. It remained a war zone for months, constant flow of Scourge roaming through the land even after the death of the Scourge Overlord, Drakuru. Soon the Scourge began to fear their own territory, beginning to retreat back towards Icecrown and bulking their force through sheer numbers. Tirion, fortunately, had begun to amass an army at the doorstep of Icecrown, and unleashed hell. The army charged through the frozen landscape, pushing and securing base after base and assisting the Ebon Blade in securing the Shadow Vaults. The time for the final siege was growing closer and closer with every day, but Tirion had a plan. A tournament to determine the strongest warriors in the Crusade so that he may create the perfect strike force to assault the inner citadel. Dalren did not take part in the tournament directly, remaining on the sidelines and healing the wounded along with providing for the tired soldiers.

The Tournament had finished and the strike force that would be sent to kill Arthas was formed. As they marched toward the dreaded citadel Dalren felt a sense of overwhelming pride. Pride for what he was doing in life. He became stalwart in his decision and remained unwavered in the face of possible eternal damnation. As he marched closer and closer, he looked to his brothers and sisters in arms and was convinced they would succeed. And succeed they did. The siege upon Icecrown Citadel lasted days, the force lead by Tirion and many powerful faces of the Horde and Alliance charged through the castle, bashing, slashing and purging the undead entities that lurked in the hollowed halls. Until eventually they reached the top and were faced with impossible odds. Nobody truly knows what occurred atop the dreaded fortress but one thing was for certain: The Lich King was dead. Dalren, for once in his life, celebrated. The creature that once destroyed all he held dear and shattered his people's way of life, had been killed. Revenge was served. He thought back to the words of the necrolord he had slain so long ago now - how he claimed so boldly that the Scourge would prevail. And he chuckled at how wrong he truly was.

Dalren personally was promoted to Lieutenant, second to the Commander that had originally taken notice of him, his mentor, Davian, for showing daunting pride and conviction toward the Crusade's goals since the very beginning. The Lich King may have been killed but there was still work to be done. Dalren was shipped back to the Plaguelands to begin the cleansing operations in the Plaguelands and to retake old bases of the Dawn for re-use. Dalren specifically was stationed in Hearthglen beside his mentor and began to purge the remaining Scourge forces whom now wandered aimlessly and unchecked by Arthas' control. While the Cataclysm shook a majority of the world, the Crusade had remained with closed hand to assist in the problems of Azeroth, preferring to leave the breaking world to the shamans of the Earthen Ring and focus their attention towards cleansing their old homes. While Dalren would personally love to have helped, he was given his orders and respectfully followed them to the letter, continuing to practice and train his mind to new heights while providing tactical advice to his mentor.

Now-a-days, Dalren focuses his attention to many places. He has always preferred to be in the neck of the action and helping those in need instead of standing idle by in the back-lines, shouting orders at a safe distance. While he does have his duties for the Crusade, he is always within communication's reach, ready to jump back to the Crusade and provide his skills once again. Currently he is taking up the Templar's command at heart, roaming the lands to purge roaming bands of demons and undead.

What do you see as your character's future?:

Templar-shizz yo. Gon' burn sum biches in holy light, ya dig?

Explain the background and role of your applied race/class?:

Templars are pious defenders of the Holy Light, often delving deep into the secrets of the Light and loosing connection with the old teachings they were taught to learn new and unique ways to utilize the Light against evil. They are so deep into their art that they forsake their income and money for personal use and instead utilize it to further learn about the Light's mysteries. Paladins and Priests alike often leave their old skills behind to capture the amazing power of Templars and join the elite order.

Templars often proceed with strange rituals of the Light in search of more powers. The Church itself condemn their constant and unusual search for new powers to damn evil-doers. But none of them can neglect a service by a Templar, as they cannot deny his effectiveness. Some Templars are distinguishable by odd markings, such as runic tattoos, glowing eyes or loss of hair all over their bodies.

Lieutenants are used as tacticians and second in commands to the military's official "Commanders", often providing a second opinion or their own ideas when it comes to tactics on the battlefield. If a Commander is killed or is otherwise unable to lead, a Lieutenant will take his place until further noticed.

What shortcomings will your Character have?:

Honor - He shall never strike an innocent. Regardless of faction, situation or sexual orientation.

Mercy - He will not kill those who do not deserve such a fate and instead imprison them for questioning before a conclusion is made.

Few creatures are above this rule, including; Demons, Undead, Cultists, Any "Evil" aligned characters or creatures.

Spell Resistance - He relies fully on his magic when it comes to combat, lacking in any physical strength. Thus spell resistance is crippling to him when in combat.

Physically Weak - He has little to no actual muscle on his person. Any physical activities he is tasked with will have sub-par results.

Selfless - As a true Crusader, he will not hesistate to sacrifice himself to save a life of another mortal.

Healing - The runic tattoo on the center of his chest is a Common symbol for "healing". The self-sacrifice he took to overcome the odds and succeed. The tattoo itself prevents self-healing as he may only heal others now. It represents to him that he should never stand alone in the face of danger.

He possesses no troops personally, only serving as a tactition underneath the Argent Crusade's official Commanders. If, in a unique case, he is given his own sect of troops to utilize in combat, he has a decent amount;