Dalren Lightheart

**Birthplace**
 **Alignment**
 **Status**
 **Marital Status**
 **Titles**
 **Affiliations**
 **Family Members**

### Appearance -

Dalren is an average heighted elven man with a very thin, lithe and imposing appearance. When his scarf and hood are removed, he is considered relatively handsome for an elf - donning long, bright silver hair tied into a tight foxtail. His hair oddly matches his relaxed and calming eyes, deriving from his race's natural blue and has turned into a metallic silver color. Beyond his robes is nothing special, he is rather skinny for an elf and is coated in ghostly white skin.His robes are specially crafted by the Templars of the Argent Dawn; it's made of a very soft silken interior with a tight scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face and a shadowed hood covering the rest, making his facial identity hard to decipher. The only noticeable trait beyond the veiling shadows of his hood are his piercing metallic silver eyes, which scan the area around him. The robes themselves are reinforced with heavy leather and subtle metal plating, made from Light forged steel, giving it very prevalent defensive traits while still remaining quite stylish and fitted. His gauntlets are rather off, having slits on the outer rim, near the back of his wrists; it's not really clear what these are for, but they must serve some purpose. Anybody with the ability to sense magical artifacts could easily note the resonating tome affixed by a chain to his belt. To the common and even uncommon eye, it looks to be very, very old and archaic to current times, but it is quite clearly a prayer book of Light worshipers.

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### Personality -

Dalren is a pious man with a sense of humor, standing with a straightened back and calming stare. When push comes to shove, he will not hesitate to jump into the fray and begin dishing out smiting to those deserving. He does not strike out at those who are innocent and only those who have wronged another or are inherently evil such as demons and most undead. To him, all mortals are children in the eyes of the Light. While he is not one to push religion on people, he will not judge them for following different beliefs. He is rather soft-spoken and quiet, often staring at nothing with blank expressions for long periods of time. He speaks when spoken too unless the situation requires his input. Another word to describe him with would be altruistic, often giving to others in need.

## The Start..

Dalren was born into a very average, dull household of hardworking middle-class parents and minimal childhood restrictions. Since his childhood, he was given free reign to do what we willed, which usually entailed running around the lush and peaceful forests of Quel'thalas late into the night; seduced by the moon and stars. Like many others in Quel'thalas, times were 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 child, often playing without many responsibilities. However, he was, unfortunately, an only child and his parents were often away and working; causing him to feel rather lonely and lacking a true family.

His lack of family and with his friends leaving for extended periods of time to pursue their lives, he was always looking for a place to feel accepted and surrounded by those who cared and were cared by him. He looked in many places; The Magisters. Farstriders. Back Alley gangs. He didn't feel accepted in any of these areas and remained as he was from square one, unwilling to risk his time into something he would never feel happy in. His mind was set on finding a true calling and his time of yearning encompassed his younger years for many time. A hidden depression was buried deep beneath his features which he kept secret. However, one fateful day, he discovered a coven of close-knitted people whom followed a religion from outside the walls of Quel'thalas. They called it The Holy Light; a mysterious philosophy passed on by the Human kingdoms which eventually reached the ears of the elves. He took to it swiftly and his curiosity peaked. He spent many sleepless nights studying and learning of the Light's graces and blessings.

### The Second War

The peaceful times of youth were suddenly dashed as the Second War ensued, a clash of titans between the Orcish Horde and the loosely tied Alliance. Ancient enemies began to arise inside the once-quelled kingdom of Zul'Aman as the Amani trolls began to rally underneath the banners of the Horde. Their siege against Quel'thalas began and Dalren by now, had become a faithful practitioner of the Light and learned many of it's spells. He utilized the Light's harsh fire with deadly efficiency and accuracy, rending many trolls into charred husks of flesh. The battles were short lived and as many times by their ancestors, the Amani were bathed in blood and slaughtered en mass. Dalren remained in Quel'thalas for the remainder of the Second War, mending wounded soldiers and studying with what little free time he had.

### Enlightenment

Time passed and continuous peace revolved around the High Kingdom, now that the Second War had reached it's bloody end. Dalren remained pious and continued to preach it's teachings, trying to open the eyes of many people who seeked a place to be accepted. Soon word spread through many channels, including the human churches, that Lordaeron - a human owned land just south of Quel'thalas - was being overrun with tainted wheat, causing a wide-spread plague and turning innocents into undeath. The elves, being in such close proximity were worried that the undead would soon set their gaze upon their lush kingdom. Thankfully, the elven runestones were in place, protecting their homes from annihilation but Dalren remained unconvinced in their effectiveness and had a few sleepless nights of dread.

### Genocide

Dalren's worry became a reality as the undead Scourge had defiled and overthrew the protective runestones. Their march had begun as the corrupted and twisted the path to their mad King's ultimate goal; the Sunwell. This dreaded scar is known only as the Dead Scar. The Quel'dorei rallied to arms as quickly as possible, Dalren included and prepared to defend their cherished homeland. The rampaging undead waded through the elven population in the thousands. His brothers and sisters in arms fallen and immediately risen into the war machine of blood and malice. Dalren personally saw to smiting the undead, turning them swiftly into pure ash against the Light's holy fires. Ultimately, they failed their stalwart defenses and the Sunwell was destroyed; the pools of Light and warmth turned outwards in a hellfire of burning destruction. As the Scourge retreated and did a final sweep of the land, Dalren kept shelter in an abandoned shack, protecting a small number of innocent woman and children from any looming ghouls or worse. Once the danger had passed and the High Kingdom was left to cinders, Dalren rallied whomever he could and met up with the remaining survivors.

Dalren looked over his defeated brothers and sisters. There must've only been a thousand left. An absolute genocide. He felt at fault, unable to quell the threat of the Scourge even at his current peak, a damning strike was taken 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's goals and aspirations, he could not bring himself to smile toward the willpower of his leader. Kael'thas rallied a mere fifteen percent of the already decimated race and went south - seeking a cure for their sudden crippling addiction to magic. This thirst affected Dalren less than the mages and magisters but he still felt it. He could feel the hunger writhing within him. 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 away in a room and sunk into his depressive state.

Times were quiet, construction was underway and the magical addiction was still rampant and prevalent throughout. 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 of slowly dying elves. Unfortunately, the already limited race was shattered and splintered even further as some refused to siphon such magic and willingly corrupt themselves to the same magics that essentially caused their genocide by proxy. Dalren was one of the stalwart defectors of the true Quel'dorei way and as a result was exiled from his home and kingdom - permanently.

 File:Argent Crusade Crest.jpg
### The Argent Dawn - Reawakening

Dalren roamed aimlessly into the Scourge infested lands of Lordaeron with his life on his back. His parents had died in the genocide and his house burned to the ground. Nothing more than clothes and maybe a weeks worth of food. His depression finally snapped and turned into blistering rage. He blamed the Scourge for this - all of it - and justly so. He took revenge; he utilized his years of training with the Light's holy flame and began to purge what was now known as the Plaguelands of the damned. He became a vigilante and slaughtered ghouls and ghosts alike in waves until he could no longer bear the weight of his own body. He fell to his knees, unable to walk any longer - let alone cast a spell - and slowly became surrounded by the shambling horrors of undeath. He was prepared to accept his fate in bitter rage until the crowd was nearly turned instantly to ash. A small squadron of various races flanked the undead and cleaned house. They were clad in black and white - wearing tabards with a small white sun in the center. The leader of the small squad offered Dalren a hand and escorted him to the Argent Dawn's headquarters. He was viewed as a true defender of the Light and was offered to join their ranks as a brother in arms. He looked around the camp and at the plethora of people - all of different areas of life but all fighting for the same cause. A family of people doing what they believe is right. True defenders of the Light and it's ways. He nodded and shook the man's hand firmly, officially becoming apart of the Argent Dawn.

## The Trial..

The Plaguelands and the Argent Dawn remained in a tense and seemingly permanent stalemate. The Argents did not have the man-power of the Scarlet Crusade and kept to utilizing guerrilla tactics over sheer force. They eventually made a very uneasy pact between the two factions as they both did share 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 - training and conditioning himself against the Scourge's skeleton crews. His unending desire to purge the undead was taken note swiftly along the chain of command as did his astounding prowess with the Light's offensive capabilities. One day he was approached by a very mysterious man covered in runic tattoos. He sat across from Dalren and it was evident he was a Commander of the Argent Dawn, a rank Dalren could only dream to obtain. The man stared across to Dalren and spoke slowly - with a burly, bass heavy voice.

"I've seen your work on the field. Consider me impressed. Your prowess with your art is second to none in your rank. So, I have an order for you from the top. I think you'll do best for the job.."

Dalren stared at the man in solemn silence, trying to make heads or tails of what was just asked of him. He, however, kept listenig wit a small hint of eagerness in his eyes.

"You're a good listener. Excellent, because I will only say this once and no more. The Argent Dawn has gotten word of an artifact buried within a tome in Plaguewood. The tome of a First War priest rests there and it's power is pure and untouched by the Scourge. We don't want this to become a weapon against us. Go and retrieve it - Alone. We don't want to draw unwanted attention."

Dalren looked at the man as he walked off in a whirlwind of emotions. Confusion, glee, worry and more. To be chosen for such a daunting task would cause any Recruit to be shaken in his boots but Dalren saw otherwise. Anything to overthrow the Scourge and regardless, he was not one to question his orders. He packed up and set out as soon as possible.

Dalren walked the plagued path alone. A worried expression overwhelming his features as he got closer and closer to his objective - and thus further and further into enemy territory. To be caught alone out here would mean his end in a matter of moments. Plaguewood was known for it's extreme and dense populace of undead along with overwhelming toxins that rested in the air. Thankfully, the catacomb was just on the edge of the toxic wasteland and he was not required to go any further than this. He was met with little resistance, seeing pockets of mindless ghouls roam and dig around the soil in the distance. Almost avoiding him. As if they were granting his passage. He didn't worry much in regards to it and kept moving.

As he approached the entrance to the crypt, he was met with an eerie silence. Only the sounds of his footsteps echoed through the hollow halls of a dead man's grave. It was pitch black and he couldn't see far into the dark. He spoke a cantrip and grabbed onto a ball of light to provide illumination. He laid eyes upon the mold infested walls and web covered ceiling. He turned corner after corner and was met with nothing but dust and echoes. His mind began to wane. He felt like he was here for days, even weeks. Hallway after hallway, passage after passage. Until a small shimmering caught his eye at the end of a long hall. He approached a divine-casted barrier of incredible power. Dalren could only describe it as being made of a white, wind-like power, casted by an incredible priest or paladin. A large blackened symbol rested in the center of the barrier - one Dalren recognized. It was an old Common symbol for "Sacrifice". His eyes traced the rest of the room he was standing in, only to find a small end table. On the table rested two things; a runestick and a small vial of silver ink. They were covered in dust and cobwebs as Dalren hesitantly grabbed them both and examined them thoroughly. The runestick itself had a defaulted carving on the side of the shaft - the same symbol as the barrier held. Dalren huffed to himself as he put two and two together, beginning to decided where he should tattoo himself. He slowly removed his upper armor, revealing his oddly skinny form to the elements. He began to tattoo himself with the silver ink, carving the symbol against his flesh. After spending quite a while slowly and carefully carving, he had finished and cleaned up what he could, tossing the runestick back onto the table.

He slowly approached the barrier, giving a hesitant look of worry as it remained unwavering for a few moments. Dalren looked almost defeated and embarrassed at his seemingly foolish action. Until the barrier began to react to the selfless ritual and with an extraordinary gust of wind and divine magic, the barrier dissipated. The backlash of the wind swept through the crypt overwhelmed and cleared a majority of the cobwebs and dust that lingered as well, but Dalren merely pulled himself back onto his feet and put his armor back on - starting to make the final trek into the end of this adventure. As he entered the final room, he was met with a colossal, empty room with only a small pedestal rested in the center and a large tome atop it. It resonated a warming ray of light and Dalren felt intimidated at the sheer power it emanated. Why was a rookie being sent to handle such a powerful artifact? It was far too late for a question such as that and he slowly caressed the spine of the tome before trying to remove it - only to find it locked in place by the pedestal itself. A groan escaped him but he didn't give up just yet. He began to examine the room further.

He saw nothing of great importance. Cobwebs, spiders, small wall-mounted torch holders-- wait.. He began to examine the torch holders closer. They were not ordinary - they were special. They were set in a pattern across the walls; four for the sides of the room and two on either end, matching the staircase. They had strange tinder inside of them, ones that could not be lit with a traditional flint and steel. Dalren was at a loss but he let his mind wander. He realized something very important; he was in the tome of a Priest. He rose his hand up to one of the braziers and attempted to ignite it with the fires of holy light, to which the tinder accepted. After successfully lighting each brazier, he approached the book once more and took it by the spine. An overwhelming rush of divine power coursed through his very veins as he removed it, shocking him and causing him to fall over in exhaustion. He became weak, physically but mentally, he was focused. The hard part was over - he just needed to get home. He grabbed the book, got up and began to head to the staircase.

As he approached with weak, weary steps, he looked up to see a shadow-clad figure in full plated armor and a demonic looking blade, covered in runes of damnation. The figure removed it's hood slowly and revealed piercing icy blue eyes which struck absolute fear into Dalren. He was paralyzed with fear and his body refused to move. The figure began to speak in a low, intimidating tone.

"It's about time somebody broke the seal on that damn barrier.. While you are so bold as to roam into -my- territory by your lonesome; that book is my prize. Not your own. If you would be so kind as to hand it over - I'll make your death as painless as I can. Or would you prefer eternal torment for your soul?"

Dalren stared with obvious fear in ear-piercing silence. He stared demise straight in the face but he remained unmoving. He felt a certain sense of defiance rise up from his gut as his gaze layed upon the tome. His expression turned from fear to malice, looking up to the death knight once more.

"You can have this tome when I'm dead, rotter."

He had spat death 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 and rendered himself presumably handicapped for the fight.

The Death Knight unsheathed his runeblade, grasping the hilt with two hands and began to advance slowly toward the priest, acknowledged in the face he was supposedly weakened.

"Consider yourself damned, Argent."

Dalren huffed as a bead of sweat dripped from his brow, unleashing the spell he had been channeling, sending a holy lance into the chest of the unwavering undead. The spell looked weak as it was small. The death knight merely took it, believing it to be nothing until the lance lodged itself into the knight's chest plate and began to sear itself into his flesh. The undead growled in obvious pain and looked at Dalren with an expression of shock and confusion. He gripped his blade again and actually charged this time, meeting Dalren in a matter of a second.

Dalren pivoted on his heel and weaved behind the knight as the runeblade whizzed past his elven ear, nipping the tip slightly. He placed both hands onto the knight's back, unleashing a heavy exorcism spell. The impact seemed weak but the magic itself rended and charred the knight's flesh and bone, leaving the fresh smell of burning rot in the air. He breathed heavily, starting to wane with what little mana and strength he had, but survival instinct had set in and he was not going to fly, but he was going to fight.

The Death Knight turned and swung the blade for Dalren's side, connecting with a loud splatter of blood and bone. A piercing feeling filled Dalren's shoulder, rendering his left arm disabled for the rest of the battle. He gritted his teeth and roared out in Thalassian, raising his right hand in defiance and gripped onto the death knight's face. He released an overwhelmingly powerful exorcism at point-blank; the raw power searing the undead's face clean off and melting the skin around it. He stared down at Dalren with his now skeletal features and piercing blue eyes as flesh dangled and fell off his ivory white skull. The knight ripped off what little flesh remained and let out an ear-piercing roar of sheer hatred. Dalren was struck with ungodly fear, reeling back and falling onto his ass.

The Knight loomed over Dalren with pure malice in his gaze, gripping his blade with both hands and slammed 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 heavy ball of condensed light into the Knight's chest. The lance that had been lodged there since the start still resonated and increased in power as the ball impacted against it. The spike of Light was propelled deeper in and expanded, ripping through the creature's torso like a railroad spike through a piece of paper. He fell backwards with a searing hole in his chest as his eyes slowly faded into hollowed holes.

Dalren laid there, impaled on the ground for a few moments and coughing up blood. He was not finished and gripped the blade's hilt. He pulled and heaving until it was released from his lower torso and tossed it to the side. Blood caked his robes and the stone floor as he got to his hand and knees. He tried to speak an incantation to seal the wounds but as the magic came forward, nothing happened. His wound was still gushing blood even as he repeated it twice more, nothing happened either time. He grunted and sighed, grabbing the book and crawling his way up the crypt staircase. A huge trail of blood was left as he went along. Dalren made it maybe half way up the final staircase before he fell silent and his breathing turned minimal. He blacked out.

Dalren soon found himself awakened near the outside of the crypt's entrance with a heavily bandaged mid-section and shoulder. He looked up to the polluted skies and questioned where he was silently to himself. He turned his gaze side-long and locked eyes with the Commander who sent him on this suicidal mission.

"Good, you're awake. I was worried you might've been lost to the Light's graces. And you retrieved the book! Splendid.. Congratulations." He paused for a few moments as Dalren collected his thoughts and sighed out, relieved he wasn't dead. "Tell me.. Have you ever heard of Templars?"

He looked at the Commander, slowly shaking his head.

He smirked and nodded to himself lightly. "I will explain as we move.. it is a dangerous place to rest and the scent of your blood with surely attract the undead. Come.. I will carry you back to Light's Hope."

## The Initiation..

Dalren was enlightened to the order of Templars that secretly resided within the Argent Dawn's very ranks. He learned of them in great detail and how they were initiated and found. The Commander had caught eye of Dalren and saw potential - wishing to test his mettle. The Tome he was tasked to get was the test. It was an old tome owned by a powerful Archbishop which contained old First War teachings about the Light. Archaic and outdated but worth much to those whom seeked knowledge. To this day, he still keeps it safe and chained to his belt. The Death Knight he had killed was also one of the main commanders of the Scourge forces in the Plaguewood and thus made an outstanding victory for all the Argent Dawn.

Dalren began to study the tome he had retrieved, studying it in an almost obsessive manner as he learned things beyond even the most veteran paladins would have known. He was entwined in it's pages for days and rightly so as he continued to learn more and more about the secrets of the Light. His time on the field was lessened greatly as he focused solely on becoming stronger and proving his might as a Templar so the final siege would become a success. His talent was hidden in the offensive side of Light based magics so he honed it to a dangerous level, becoming a living beacon of unadulterated force. He became a war machine for the Argent Dawn.

The day of Naxxramas' downfall had come and Dalren was given a small squad of Argents and moved into the northern section of Plaguewood. The purge had begun as the undead were slaughtered. Necromancer, ghoul and abomination alike were seared to ash. 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 prowess as a Templar, he quelled a majority of the area and secured it; keeping it safe guarded for days.

Eventually the missives were given and Naxxramas had been culled. The dread citadel no longer posed a threat and eventually retreated back to the frozen North. Cheers echoed far and wide across the Plaguelands as celebration ensued. Dalren, however, merely smiled and kept his studies up. He knew this was not the end and merely a stepping stone to the final frontier. Not until every undead, demon and cultist was purged from the world would be he truly at peace. 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. Dalren was included in that troop.

As Dalren moved forward toward the portal, he saw absolute chaos. Demons roamed the hills and slaughtering soldiers by the dozens. He lead his squad of Crusaders against the demonic force, raising up a literal storm of holy fire above their heads. Several minor demons exploded instantly and some stronger ones resisted before being turned to ash. He continued to turn demons into charred marks on the red earth, fighting towards the group's main bulk of fighting force. A large Doomguard creature loomed behind enemy lines and shouted orders repeatedly in their vile tongue. Dalren locked eyes with the foul creature and began to charge a heavy, electrical ball of Light. The Doomguard took notice and began to cast aswell, calling down an infernal strike onto him and the squad that surrounded. Dalren acted swiftly, redirecting his magic into a massive barrier to defend his troops. The impact of the infernal sent Dalren onto his back, having taken a majority of the impact against his own barrier.

The combat continued for several hours until both the Horde and Alliance made an uneasy pact to clear out the portal and make an encampment outside of it. With the Argent Dawn's duties completed on Azeroth's side, they retreated back to the Plaguelands to try and begin healing the scarred lands in relative peace. Dalren continued to study once more.

The time between the Dark Portal's reopening and the Lich King's awakening was full of nothing but rigorous training for Dalren, often sent out on solitary missions to hunt down and elimnate rogue necromancers attempting to stirr trouble and revitalize their Plagueland presence. Times were rather quiet for the Scourge and Argents until the necropolis Acherus loomed overhead. 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 be sure to remain standing. A tactically sound decision but a morally wrong one.

Dalren cringed as he tried to block out the screams of damned souls and innocents while they were slaughtered just over the hills. 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 and quietly mourned the loss en mass. 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 undead from the bloody corpses of thousands of Scarlets. The Argent Dawn braced themselves, backed against a corner, and prepared for an onslaught as the sky began to rain the blood of the fallen. The skeletal armies of the damned charged.

A ruthless blood bath ensued as flesh giants, ghouls, death knights and the like charged against the bulk of the Argent's holy forces. The Scourge, however, were severely weakened for treading on holy ground and Dalren took notice of that. He raised a hand and shouted out a cantation in Thalassian, releasing a silver nova of Holy divine and shredding a bulk of ghouls into charred husks.  He felt empowered in the face of death once more and gave the battle his all, launching bolt after bolt of pure silver lightning into the masses of bloodied flesh. A colossal flesh giant began to charge down Dalren's position, reeling back to send a shockwave at the group he was apart of. Dalren quickly shot out a heaving bolt of lighting as a thunderous applause rippled through the battlefield, momentarily stunning those around him. The lighting's impact against the flesh giant's leg caused it to explode and the giant's body to tumble down into the dirt. Many of the supporting priests took advantage and began to exorcise it from the inside out.

The battle was heading in their favor, the Scourge was being annihilated at a violent rate and the fight seemed to be a victory. Until Dalren felt himself paralyzed along with all his brothers and sisters in arms. He felt like he was being slowly squeezed to death. He looked around as much as he could and saw his peers writhing in agony. 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.

The Argent Crusade was one of the first to lead the assault against Northrend, beyond the Alliance and the Horde. The initial landing was a gruesome one as Arthas had already prepared his army years in advance, solidifying his position as the mad King of the frozen north. The Crusade chraged the beaches and began to cleave a path through the undead, beginning to set up fortifications deep within Northrend and even far beyond what the Alliance or Horde could hope to achieve until much later. Dalren was positioned in an encampment near the staircase between Grizzly Hills and Zul'drak. He was apart of the strike force into the trollish lands and tried to eliminate the Scourge forces surrounding his encampment. His first assignment was to lead a hit and run against a major Scourge camp, which was one of the main suppliers for Abominations and Flesh giants.

Dalren rallied his Crusaders and began to plot out his assault.

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 a crashed 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 secondary leader was ready to go. Dalren removed his flare gun, pointing it upwards and fired; a trail of yellow smoke clogged in sky in a heavy pillar. This grabbed not only the attention of the Scourge but also the Crusade's 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. The ballista were in place and aimed to take down any retreating Scourge. His eyes set upon the battlefield. As soon as he hit zero, the Scourge's attention would be fully on the south and he began the charge from the north, flanking them entirely. The Scourge were thrown into chaos and confusion as their ranks were sundered by the surprise assault, the combined efforts of Dalren and many priests shattering even a lesser Lich's skeletal structure. The Lich roared out as his form was turned to ash for the remaining Scourge to retreat. The necromancers began to flee towards Kolramas, but not before the ballista bolts were let loose, clothes lining several clumped groups and turning them into blood, gore and dirt. Unfortunately, a small number managed to evade the ballistas but this was still a resounding victory in the eyes of Dalren and his superiors.

Dalren and his forces rejoined the rest of the Crusade at Argent Stand, continuing to clear out the undead troll poplace and facilities. It remained a war zone for months as constant Scourge roamed through the land even after the defeat of the Scourge overlord, Drakuru. However the Scourge began to fear and become wary of their own territory, starting to turtle back into the frozen mountains of Icecrown and bulking their sheer numbers. Tirion, fortunately had begun to mass an army at the doorstep of Icecrown, and unleashed holy 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. By now, he had been promoted to Lieutenant Commander of the Argent Crusade for his constant victories, tactical prowess and sheer faith in the Light.

## The Lover..

One night, an urgent missive from a Silver Covenant scout was recieved that a squad of Silver Convenant spellbows were under assault by a large group of undead and requested assistance. Knowing full well that he wouldn't be able to rally a group of people quick enough, Dalren rushed out by himself to help his fellow elves. But upon arrival of the scene, the Silver Covenant had been wiped out. A few scattered survivors had already fled the scene, except for one. A young high elven maiden in blood covered snow. She let a small groan escape as Dalren had failed his duties and could not rescue them all in time.. but he felt some strong obligation to at least save one.

He scooped the young girl in his arms and began to trek back toward the Vanguard, slowly mending her wounds as she had fallen unconcious. Once he eventually reached the encampment, he utilized his own cot and bed to house the coma afflicted woman. He spent days caring for her - feeding and keeping her hydrated as she rested. Eventually she stirred from her slumber and began to speak. She was a small, timid and very shy elven maiden with light blue hair and soft azure eyes. She spoke with a sense of utmost gratitude to Dalren and swore herself to his service for saving her life. Dalren accepted warily, never actually having anybody serve him in such a way - so he began to apprentice her and teach her the ways of the Crusade and the Light. She found solice in it's warmth and began to train in it's ways. The two were inseperable, and eventually their relationship would escalate..

## The Apex..

The Argent 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.

## The Calm..

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.

Time had passed and Dalren's attention to Kisara never once faltered, giving her his full attention whenever she needed it. Their unspoken love blossomed as the two constantly danced around the questions regarding their relationship, until one fateful night while Dalren was resting at Kisara's home and she felt guilty for having let him sleep on the couch on a cold winter night..

Dalren's influence in Pandaria was little to none, as the Argents once again did not focus on their forces on anything involving the Sha nor the Mogu threats. Dalren began to become irritated at the lack of defense for the place we call home and so while still retaining ties to the Crusade, he had gathered his own force of willing participants from the Argent Crusade and struck out to help where needed. The Argent Crusade did not condemn his actions, thus he retained his rank and was not deemed a defector due to his resounding service record. However the Pandaria dispute had all but finished and Dalren was left with nothing to do but clean up small pockets of resistance in various locations around the world.

## The Call..

A few months had passed and the balance of Azeroth was once more lifted to the call of heroes. He gathered his men and treked to the Dark Portal as he did so many years ago. But this time he would be going in instead of staying out. Khadgar had called upon the heroes of Azeroth to quell this so called "Iron Horde" and Dalren was not going to sit idle while something this massive threatened the world. With Kisara at his side and a handful of loyal troops, he charged into the portal and had been designated "MIA" by the Crusade.

Draenor had taken it's toll on Dalren's forces as they attempted to build an encampment. He built a small outpost in the lush forests of Shadowmoon Valley, just enough to house two dozen men and women. Unwilling to risk their lives, Dalren and Kisara singlehandedly struck out to help where they could - starting from Shadowmoon and going all the way to Nagrand. They had their own adventures while assisting the native Draenei against this Iron Horde. However, something magical had also occured during their endeveours that Dalren had turned a blind eye in regards too, until Kisara had brought it up..

## The News..

Kisara lured Dalren into a small, flower enriched opening within Shadowmoon Valley as she sat them both down. Kisara began to explain her plans to advance her training in the Light and with the Argent Crusade and when Dalren inquired her sudden choice of fully abandoning the arcane arts, she took his hand and laid it upon her stomach and let him feel the heartbeat of his daughter. He had erupted in surprise and joy, tackling his lover to the ground and embracing her. The two looked forward to the future with much eagerness in their faces.

Eventual connection with present day Azeroth matched with their Draenor and the Crusade sent a Courier to Dalren's encampment, having spent weeks trying to find them. He gave them a message, requesting they return to Azeroth and assist a off-shoot branch of the Argent Crusade; "House Ravenshield". Unwilling to disobey orders, he gathered his things and returned - however, he left his encampment and the forces there and requested they gain reinforcement to continue holding the presence of the Crusade on Draenor.

Dalren and Kisara had successfully entered the House Ravenshield after a short discussion with the House's head, Dilan Ravenshield. They swore an oath similar to the Crusade and began to serve.

## The Miracle..

On February 14th in Hearthglen Keep, Kisara had given birth to their first child with the assistance of several friends within the House Ravenshield due to forced labor from an eventful evening against enemy cultists. Dalren and Kisa named her Anya. Their daughter has fair skin and soft, silver hair much like her father as well as pure, metallic silver eyes. Curiously, she expresses a extraordinarily potent holy aura and a powerful connection to the Light, even as a newborn infant. The couple suspects Anya may be more than a normal elven child and will hopefully be a powerful priestess of the Light one day.