Markus Stonewall

''"Blood is the seed of a Kingdom. My heart beats only to sow the lands of our King." ''- M. Stonewall, 35 L.C.

Markus V. Stonewall (17 July, Year 0 L.C.) is the last surviving member of the Stonewall Family, an old military family of Eastern Elwynn that stretches back to the founding of the Kingdom of Azeroth. He serves as a soldier in the new Stormwind Army, the standing force that defends the Kingdom of Stormwind and serves in the Grand Alliance. Holding the rank of Corporal within the First Regiment of Westridge, Markus has proven himself a strong fighter and mostly reliable friend to many.

Childhood (0 L.C. - 23 L.C.)
Markus was born to Mary and Viktor Stonewall in the year 0 L.C. in the County of Eastvale, three years before the Dark Portal opened. He was born large and healthy, a proud addition to the humble but militaristic Stonewall family. The Stonewalls had served the armies of Azeroth for generations, with every male of the family having made a career out of it. It was clear from the start which direction his life would wander.

Markus' father himself was a serving Footman in the Azeroth Army. His mother was a homemaker, tending the gardens and children on a small farm. The early years were peaceful and idyllic, at least until the First War. Following the outbreak, the mother and children fled to Stormwind Keep from the Orcish Horde.

At the conclusion of the First War, Markus' family followed the survivors to Lordaeron. There they settled and attempted to start a new life there, volunteering for the farms and garrison in Hillsbrad. Shortly before the Second War broke out, Mary died of fever. Viktor was killed in action during the war.

Orphaned and young, Markus found himself a Page of the Silver Hand, doing menial tasks such as bringing food and water, cleaning the halls, and carrying supplies. The Silver Hand kept him busy, mercifully allowing him few idle moments to contemplate his loss. By the time the Third War broke out, he had grown into a strong young man, broad of shoulder and firm of character.

Markus stayed cloistered in the halls of the Silver Hand, attempting to earn the right to Squire for one of the Paladins. His faith in the Light was severely hampered though, and this constantly served to hinder his readiness. Time and time again, he was judged unfit to Squire until he could learn to accept his loss properly. He resolved himself to study more and work harder to earn a chance to Squire.

Lone Survivor (23 L.C. - 30 L.C.)
Time would not be kind enough to allow him another chance, as the chaos that tore Lordaeron apart left him once again without a home. The Silver Hand in shambles and most of his friends and mentors killed in action, the following years brought him into the service of the Argent Dawn. It was here that he was finally given a weapon to fight with, and realized his calling in life.

As the Eastern Kingdoms fell one by one all around him, Markus ran with a small team of Argents, raiding undead enclaves and hideouts. Slaughtering them without mercy, whether they fought back or not, whether they still spoke common or not. He drew no distinction between forsaken and scourge. As the years passed, he grew callous and angry, wandering the wasted North with his friends.

He remained quiet and stoic through these times, offering little laugh or smile. Even around the campfires and rare tavern visits the group made, he was often found secluded away from the excitement in some corner. He found his peace in ale, drinking away his anger. Markus gave no thanks to anything or anybody. Clad in his dirty mail and leathers, he never strayed far from his father's sword.

By the year 29 L.C., word reached the group that the Dark Portal had re-opened. News was grim, as demons were said to pour through the gaping arcane maw. The Argent Dawn mobilized and marched south to the Blasted Lands. Markus followed. The war was brought to Outland. Excited by the prospect of proper bloodshed and fighting, Markus was let down when he was given orders to stay behind and watch the encampments.

Posted with a woman named Victoria, harsh of features and sharp of tongue, he grew a quick friendship with her. Possibly the only one he'd made in many years that had any significance. They shared much in common; and not the least of that was their hatred for the world and their lot in it. They were close, but never intimate. They merely kept company. Long watches in the night, a comforting brawl between them during the day. She was rough, he was rough. They made a good fit.

For a full year, they  watched adventurers come and go through the portal. Leaving with friends, returning with treasures. Slowly, as the action in Outland drew to a close, it seemed peace was never to be the order of the day. Much to Markus' satisfaction, orders came to march North again for something grand.

There was trouble in Northrend.

The Crusade (30 L.C. - 31 L.C.)
Markus and Victoria  soon found themselves at the shores of the frozen continent bearing the new banner of the Argent Crusade. His childhood had returned and merged with the Argent Dawn - The Silver Hand. As he stood at the gates of Icecrown, pike in hand, clad in thick leather, chain and padding, Markus had no idea what he was about to experience.

They grew closer during the campaign, breaking the limits of friendship and proceeding further. She found passion again. He found love again. They became one, though still ever distant in their rejection of true intimacy. They shared few secrets with each other, leaving the past a dark pit where none were allowed. Nonetheless and together, Markus and Victoria would march together for whatever end. Under the drums of war, the banners of the Argent Crusade, they stepped into the frozen wastes.

At Mord'rethar, he could hear the fighting from the rear lines. He saw the melee at afar, the harried mixing of Scourge and Crusaders. By the time they reached the gate itself, blood already soaked the ice. They marched past it, moving deeper into Icecrown.

At Aldur'thar, the fighting was closer. Undead breaking through the front ranks was a constant threat, but dispatched easily. For the first time, he saw pitched battle up close. He saw the bodies of his allies fall in front of him. He heard the screaming. He saw the bleeding. The war finally began to affect him.

At Corp'Rethar, Markus stood at the front lines. With his tower shield painted with the crusader's mark, pike in hand, and frozen coif of chain sitting heavy on his head - he stared towards his turn. The order came. They charged, they fought, they died. Somewhere in the ensuing pell-mell Victoria was cut down. When the fallen began to rise again, by some horrid happenstance, he found himself facing her. Having no choice, he cut his lover down. Sapped of his strength by that action, Markus was left undefended for a blade that tore itself through his chain and flesh. While he bled out onto the ice, staring at her body, he waited for the end.

As his final moments began to close in, the man smiled at the peace that beckoned. The warmth that started to take his mind. He would be denied this peace. Shouts of men and chants of clerics surrounded him. The Crusaders had won the battle and now begun to tend to the wounded that littered the field. Markus never saw Icecrown Citadel itself, sent back to shores for his wounds.

Healing was slow and excruciating. Months passed. Even when the wound sealed, the pain still festered. Saronite steel had left something unnatural inside him, a dull ache that throbbed under the scars. Like the knife was still there. He would carry this wound his entire life, along with the wounds in his heart.

Solitude (31 L.C. - 35 L.C.)
Consumed with grief and hatred, Markus wandered the Eastern Kingdoms again, eventually settling in the deep south - the jungles of Stranglethorn. There he carved out a life of solitude and suffering alone with his thoughts and memories. Markus hid from the world; having forsaken humanity, civilization, and the very Light itself.

Near to four long years passed. Subsiding off the land itself, hunting for food and drinking the putrid water, his mind became clouded and disassociated from reality. Fevers gripped him. Poisons ravaged him. Nightmares plagued him. He grew savage and brutal, his hair wild and long. Rumor spread of a half-giant lurking where he made his camp, a man covered in filth and grime, killing anything and anybody that wandered through his territory. Marked with the heads of trolls and worse upon pikes, Markus left no question that his land was his alone.

Somewhere in the year 35 L.C. a Knight of Stormwind wandered through his land. Clad in shining armor and bearing the banners of blue astride a destrier of noble breeding no less than the man who rode it, the Knight was watched by eyes in the ferns. Ambushed and thrown from his horse by the enraged Markus, they fought for a full day and well into the night. Markus chased the knight through the bushes and the vines, pursued him through the rivers and the canyons, stalked him from the mud and the trees. Where the knight fled or retreated, Markus followed. Driven not simply by territorial urge, but by pure unbridled rage, he followed. There was no quarter shown, no mercy offered, and no respite no matter what wounds the noble cavalier delivered.

Late into the eve, Markus was finally beaten. Caught by a trap he was lured into, he found himself disabled, hanging from the trees in a noose of his very own design. The knight could not escape him, but he could outsmart him. Markus hung upside down, and for the first time in nearly five years, he spoke. He begged for mercy. For respite. Not for his life, but for his death. Markus sobbed, and under the wild visage of the exhausted savage that hung before him, the knight saw something human left in him. Removing his helmet, the young and lean face of a Westridge Lord was revealed and introduced.

The wandering knight was none other than the Lord of Mirwood - Jonathan De Vries, decorated veteran and officer of the King's Army. He made Markus an offer. Enlist in the Army, or waste away in the jungles alone. He would find no easy death or end here. Leaving Markus for life or death where he hung, the knight simply walked away.

Some time later, from the jungles of Stranglethorn, emerged a fragment of a man. Asking for one thing alone, Markus sought directions. When asked where he was headed, he had a simple answer. A memory of words spoken to him in the jungle months before:

Westbrook Garrison. Home of the First Regiment.

For the King
Now enlisted in the First Regiment of the Stormwind Royal Army, Markus was designated a Recruit Footman and given the garb of his station. Simple chainmail, a heater shield, and the blue tabard of the First. These were to be his colors for the foreseeable future.

Markus almost immediately realized he was not ready for the highly disciplined life in the Stormwind Army. He clashed often with fellow soldiers and his superior officers. The hot temper and brutal methods he cultivated in the years before only served to irritate his superiors and appall his comrades on the field. To make make matters worse, Markus was uneducated and socially awkward. The combination of poor discipline and near non-existent social skills left the aging warrior with few friends and grim career prospects, suddenly regretting his decision to enlist.

His first deployment to Kalimdor set him side by side with a young man who would later become his most steadfast friend. A young merchant and fellow Recruit by the name of Edrington Grunwald. Amused by how he perceived the fresh-faced soldier, he noticed that Edrington was as ill prepared for war as Markus was for peace. Together, they formed a symbiotic friendship, trading each others skills back and forth in an effort to both escape from the bottom rungs of the military ladder. Markus taught Edrington basic combat skills, and Edrington taught Markus basic social skills. The end of the campaign and return home proved the arrangement was well considered. Both Edrington and Markus earned their chevrons on the same day, meeting the rank of Private. From there, they aimed higher. Reading and writing lessons were soon to follow, as were advanced combat lessons for Edrington. Unfortunately, the two soldiers began to drift apart. Edrington pursued a future in the Bridgeport Fusiliers, while Markus sought recognition among the Ducal Vanguard. They kept in contact, but their futures were about to diverge with horrific results.

Following the deployment to Surwich and promotion to Corporal, Markus returned to Elwynn to submit to the application trials of the Westridge Ducal Guard under Lord Ismond Laldere. He proved a promising candidate at first, completing the first two trials with significant ease. One of his combat matches, part of the greater Trial of Combat, set Markus against a highly trained Pandaren Monk. Unfamiliar with their extremely effective unarmed combat tactics and blinded by both arrogance and determination to win, Markus failed. As he began to realize he was losing, the man lost control and attempted to strangle the Monk to death after pinning her to the ground. What happened next resulted in the death of a fellow soldier, his demotion to Attendant, and a court martial.

Following several weeks of psychiatric care under the Priory of Westridge, directed personally by Prioress Muriah Anne Laldere, Markus was brought before the court martial of his peers. The trial commenced, and witnesses were brought before the court to testify toward Markus' loss of control and attempted murder of a fellow soldier. The actual death of another soldier was deemed incidental, and not a direct result of Markus' actions. Furthermore, the Prioress herself testified that Markus had suffered acute concussive trauma during the engagement with the Monk and could not have known or understood what was happening at the time. Several hours of deliberation and testimony took up much of the day until finally the Duke of Westridge, Lord Maxen Montclair, decided in his benevolence to grant a full pardon. Markus was spared the stockades.

Reinstated as a Private, Markus stayed quiet and withdrawn from much of the Regiment. Through various campaigns and deployments, Markus worked hard to earn the trust of his peers once again. He realized that what happened had been a result of his selfish desire to win at any cost and a lack of willingness to work as part of a team. He dove into books, and soon enough Markus began studying the Knight's Chivalric Code. While he had no intention to actually become a Knight, he know the Code itself was a veritable goldmine of ethical and moral guidelines he could set his life by.

The unpleasant barbarian that was Markus Stonewall ever so slowly began to change into not just a proper soldier, but a good man. Once again, albeit slowly, his hard work paid off. He still struggled sometimes, attempting to grasp at the finer points of balancing morality and orders. He found that living for others was much more complicated than living for himself. The Code helped, but it didn't answer all his questions. His promotion to Kingsman shortly before a deployment to the Burning Steppes signaled a welcome end to the stigma that had been so thoroughly haunting him of late. However, the real test of his abilities was soon to come. Draenor.

It was perhaps fortunate that he would be given such a monumental challenge, considering he actively sought challenge to prove himself. The First Regiment had been deployed to a world not just far from Azeroth, but in a completely different timeline. While this was his first time there, it was the second time the Regiment had been deployed to this front. Their task was to retrieve the personal effects of a missing vanguard of Alliance Soldiers within Tanaan Jungle. The campaign would prove to be one of the toughest and longest Markus had yet experienced. A grueling campaign across five regions of Draenor saw Markus learn a lot about command and morale. He found himself in command of the survivors leftover from the Battle of Lunarfall, and he found himself marching 'his' troops through the jungles of Gorgrond battling sickness and dehydration. He found himself a prisoner of war in Frostfire Ridge, and he found himself facing the Burning Legion at Shattrath. The climactic Taking of Tanaan along with the rest of the First Regiment constituted his finest hour in the First Regiment thus far, culminating with the Siege of Hellfire Citadel.

By the time Markus Stonewall returned to his home in Elwynn, now a Corporal, he had a new outlook on the Army and his future with it. What he realized was that he thoroughly enjoyed training Recruits. Their wide eyed personalities, of so many different types, fascinated him. He could not help but take pride in them. Not because he trained them, but because the different ways they all met their challenges and personal demons taught him a lot about himself. In a small way, he was living vicariously through them. Lord Ismond Laldere had granted him the honor of refurbishing a guard tower, allowing him not only something to do in peacetime, but a place to call home. Most of his life savings went into this effort, purchasing labor and materials for the work. Despite the immense cost, he was pleased with the opportunity.

He had quite happily, and finally, found a place to call home.

Appearance & Personality

 * Height: 6'8" (203 cm)
 * Weight: 363 lb (164 kg)
 * Hair: Light Blonde
 * Eyes: Blue-Grey

Built thick and broad, Markus' weight is a healthy mix between solid muscle and body fat with slightly more of the former. He carries a heft gut, and stands nearly seven feet tall. His beard is often thick and full, with his hair a full mane tied up in a ponytail or shaved at the sides. He is not particularly attractive in the face anymore, age and wear having taken its toll on his form. He has small piercing blue eyes, a beaten up nose and mouth, broken teeth, and cauliflower ear. Two large scars cross down the right side of his face. A multitude of scars cover his body including several on his face from various sources, a countless blend of scars on his arms, and one particularly deep scar crossing his stomach. Despite his imposing appearance, the expressions he offers are often rather friendly and inviting. He can often be seen chewing or eating something, having something of a nervous oral fixation.

Markus is a quiet man, prone to observing rather than contributing. He is slow to anger, but the threshold between anger and violence is dangerously thin. Most that know him well enough would understand he is a deeply pensive and thoughtful man that simply lacks the willpower or desire to express most of his thoughts. He has a strong affinity for jokes, much to the chagrin of his fellows, and regularly takes pleasure in subjecting them to his constant barrage of puns.

Markus values loyalty above all else, and when treated correctly, can become a steadfast companion. He remains composed and stoic privately, but offers a jovial and friendly personality in more social settings. When confronted with genuine affection, he is often entirely unsure of how to respond or outright rejecting of it. His love life has a troubled history, yet he shows a resilient interest in trying again largely thanks to the encouragement of his close friend Edrington Grunwald.

Markus is an exceptionally violent individual once combat begins, and this has proven to be both a boon on the battlefield and a curse in the sparring ring. He has suffered multiple disciplinary incidents due to his inability to control himself once a fight starts, but stands as one of the finest and bloodiest melee fighters in the Regiment. He prefers to avoid sparring or duels when possible, as most of his fighting skill is predicated on the assumption that slaughtering the opponent is a viable option. When it isn't, he tends to be a lot less effective as a fighter.

Markus' morals tend to be considered True Neutral, as he no longer believes wholeheartedly in the 'good' or 'evil' of the world, instead preferring to see the world as a collection of choices and realities that don't really recognize good and evil. He has a rudimentary understanding of the Light and Burning Legion, so these two facts do not easily sway his viewpoints. Markus tends to prefer operating by written codes that determine in a given social situation good from bad choices. His personal code of ethics are too crude and basic to serve him in specific social contexts.

Armor and Equipment
His armor is a set of full Stormwind plate fastened atop a chain mail hauberk. The plate consists of over sixty-five interlocking pieces of custom forged steel. The plates are exceptionally heavy and remarkably strong, forged and fitted to his bulk to precise measurements. Around his vital organs, he also wears a chain mail hauberk to further protect him from blows that manage to pierce through the outer plate. Finally, he is dressed in a leather and cloth padding to protect against pinches.

The pauldrons are of the Lordaeron "Hightower" design, offering exceptional protection against the Orcish habit of decapitating their enemies with an axe. Small spikes on the left pauldron for body-slams offer an additional improvised weapon. His helmet fits snugly to his armor, doubling as a neck protector when used in conjunction with the pauldrons. A long and thick black horsehair tail extends from the top of his helmet, signifying his rank as a veteran Kingsman. The arms and legs are armored in mere half-plate for mobility reasons, providing protection from likely strike angles based on his fighting style. The arms and legs are padded with thick leather and heavy cloth, enough to even further bulk out his size. They do not provide nearly as much physical protection as his more vital areas.

His tabard bears the golden lion of Stormwind on an azure background, and his belt adds to it with the very same. He wears a cloak of either fine azure cloth, or thick black wolf's fur. Both of them are also custom fitted to his armor. From his belt hangs several implements and tools. Some of these include a satchel, coinpurse, a hook, and a few extra leather loops on the belt for hanging more items.

Markus' primary weapon as a Ducal Vanguard is a heavy spear. The spear is roughly nine total feet long, topped with a thick blade nearly as long as a shortsword on one end and a standard spear point at the other. It is wrapped in thick sharkskin leather for the handle, and made almost entirely of truesteel. While designed for formation combat paired with a tower shield, the spear is an effective and agile dueling weapon if handled with both hands.

His broadsword is likely more familiar to those of the First Regiment, as it is what he was almost always seen using. Encased in a scabbard made of leather and bronze, the sword is easily older than he is and remains a family heirloom. The hilt is a strong bronze design with sharkskin wrappings for improved grip using thick leather gloves. It is very uncomfortable to hold bare-handed. The blade is weighted and broad, making it capable of acting like a splitting wedge in downward strokes. It is large and heavy enough that many would struggle to lift it one-handed, let alone wield it that way. Markus prefers this blade to the lighter and more standard broadswords issued by the Stormwind Army, and has been given permission to use it.

Markus' preferred shield is a large truesteel and ironwood tower shield, issued as part of the Ducal Vanguard. The shield stands almost as tall as he does, and weighs nearly a third as much. It is capable of stopping dead the shots of musket and arrow fire, and more than capable of defending ground by simply planting it into the dirt. It is this shield alone that requires his constant physical aptitude, for even he must spend significant effort wielding it.

Aside from those primary implements, he carries a misericorde at his boot and a warhorn. The warhorn in particular is an older two-tone Azerothian style battle horn. It is capable of signaling up to a mile away at full strength. With skillful use, it can indicate many different beacons and signals by alternating between or combining the two tones. It is affixed to his belt by a leather strap and break-away buttons. The misericorde is a long triangular iron spike used as a finisher for enemies that he has grappled or pinned, often stuck downwards from the neck towards the heart, through the visor into the brain, or upwards under the chin and similarly into the brain.

Markus has been known to carry various thrown weapons as well. As an example, two light javelins affixed to the back of his tower shield are often enough used for closing distance and hurling at the enemy before melee. One small throwing hatchets with an effective range of around ten or fifteen feet is used as en emergency close quarters or throwing weapon. Finally, a set of three iron grenades are carried. They are capped with self-lighting five second fuses sealed in wax. Bite off the seal, and the fuse is lit.

In total, Markus' gear weighs him down another 100 lb. at the very least, and his armored weight nears 500 lb. total when carrying every piece along with choosing the tower shield. He must walk carefully and attentively to avoid getting stuck in soft ground or breaking floorboards. He is also largely incapable of riding all but the very largest of horses, due to the weight related safety hazards the animal would be subjected to. Gryphons are similarly unlikely. Swimming is right out.

Year 35 L.C. (2015)
Ghosts of Theramore

The Afflicted Forest

The Burning Steppes

Year 36 L.C. (2016)
Operation Last Rites, Draenor Pt. II

Hunt for Captain Redd

Minor Actions
Pirate King's War

Tournament of Ages 35 L.C.

Ironblood Defense 35 L.C.

Northward Reinforcements 36 L.C.

Miscellaneous

 * Often seen chewing or smoking Peacebloom.
 * Suffers constant chronic pain in his gut.
 * Mild distrust of most lesser nobility.
 * Severe distrust of magic and magic users.
 * Able to recall events and information in vivid detail.
 * Really loves thunderstorms. The louder, the better.
 * Strong stomach for alcohol. Prefers honey mead.
 * Nurtures a hobby of carving small wooden trinkets.