Name: Wol Pathstride.
Professions: Engineering and Mining
Eye Colour: Green.
Hair: Prematurely grayed.
Weight: 215 lbs.
Alignment: Chaotic Good.
Wol has a rough, stone-hewn exterior brought upon from years of exploration. His hair has unnaturally grayed through his connection to the Light, and his tanned skin is always spotless of dirt and scar alike.
Wol is often a kind and understanding soul, quick to donate coin and manpower to just causes. He is a somewhat shy individual, likely brought upon from his many years of solitary journeys and adventuring. Wol finds less common ground with his Paladin brethren than one would assume.
Wol is a firm believer in the ideal that deeds make the man, and not race nor birthright, and harbors little ill will for the races that have allied into the Horde, much to the disgust of his comrade Antodagny
Wol spent the early years of his life travelling with his Mother and Father about the northern reaches of Lordaeron. Upon coming of age, he set off and was squired into the order of the Silver Hand soon after its creation.
The Silver Hand and the Start of the Second WarEdit
Wol had always shown promise within the order, having been born with the hardy body necessary for wearing heavy armor and weathering long journeys, and the intellect needed to guide his judgement.
Sent into battle along with his peers, he supplied the Alliance with the support and might that gave them the edge in the second war. He moved where the Alliance saw fit, and experienced war firsthand for several years.
During a midnight battle at sea, the transport carrying Wol and his comrades capsized after taking the brunt of ballista misfire. Wol, finding his way ashore, became seperated from his comrades and the war itself. Never faltering, Wol set off alone to bring his wrath to any battle his legs would bring unto him.
Wol spread the judgment of the Holy Light to many a wandering Orcish scout and gibbering Murloc whilst wandering those high, mountainous cliffs of the island he had found himself upon. For many a week he lived off the land, ever wary the taint that hung in the air from nearby desecrated caverns. A being of unimaginable corruption had dwelled here in ages passed, and Wol would venture into branches of the caverns from time to time to seek for its remains.
It would be two months before Wol would once again see another human, and his freedom from the isles. In the blue light of an early morning, Wol was aroused by nearby clashes of steel and splintering bone. Charging forth, Wol arrived upon an abandoned Orcish camp, now a warfront, as several Daemons assaulted a brigade of Alliance sailors who had just landed upon the isle. Coming to the aide of these newfound comrades, his rusted hammer fell forth upon the skull of the nearest devil, spilling forth its acursed blood. The head of the soldiers, a Dwarven Priest named Odil Stonelight, ushered forth once more into combat with renewed fury, his soldiers at his side. The slaughter rejected, and the Daemons slain, Wol joined the sailors as they set off to find Antodagny, who had gone missing just as the battle began. Found and recovered from within one of the nearby caverns, the sailors set home.
The war had ended, and Wol was awarded the highest of merits upon his return to Lordaeron along with his comrades. Immediately after, he set out to live the life of a travelling missionary, spreading the teachings of the Holy Light, as well as hunting down the hidden cults that were arising within the northern lands.
The Wandering AgeEdit
Wol spent a great many years abroad, righting the wrongs of the whole of Azeroth wherever he tread. He fought upon the frontlines at the very beginning of the third war, but set out to his own destiny when the Silver Hand disbanded upon Uther the Lightbringers death. For those several years, this lone Paladin still walked unnoticed within the plagued north behind enemy lines, cleansing the land as he had always done before.
The ruinous cities of the north held the supplies Wol needed to keep fighting, and as such he would steal into the crates and armories whenever the scourge shifted the positions of its troops. Uncertain that any mortal men still walked the continent, Wol fought tirelessly for his abandoned order, and his lifeless country.
Life, or what little his life he had left, continued in the same way as it had for many months, and Wol grew anxious to see what had happened to his home city of Lordaeron. Wol finally set off to explore the west, where his greatest fear had become reality: The many undead of the land were no longer at war, and now simply residing within the countryside. Mankind, and all of the righteous races of the world, had been vanquished, and in their place assembled mockeries of stitched flesh and mindlessness.
Wol snapped, his feet carrying him deep into the heart of the city. Hammer shattered spine, blade, and shield alike as his rage drove him blindly into his last charge of death. The sewers opened up unto the bastardized Undercity, where the Forsaken were just emering and building their civilization. Wol destroyed any that strayed into his path, his belief in the Light now lost as quickly as his calm demeanor and honorable ways.
Wol avoided the grasp and blades of the guardians of the city while he sought out and crushed the unlife out of any lone Forsaken that he could find. This continued for a single hour, until sanity found him just as he had made his way into the makeshift prison that had been created by the Forsaken to hold prisoners until a more defensible corridor could be made to house it. There, in nothing more than a few recovered iron dog kennels, he found several dwarves and gnomes dressed in relatively new garments, unscarred and untouched by war. The Forsaken that had been placed to keep guard lay before him cowering on the floor, her hands guarding her face.
His mind brewed over several thousand hatreds, fears, and truths in but a few moments. These captive men would have to have lived in ease for at least several months. This creature before him, once a young, fair woman, that had become this monstrous being, was cowering at the thought of death. The light returned to Wol in that single spark of realization, his body washed away of the caked blood and recent scars. Glory returned, Wol arced his hands over and delivered the last several blows he would make that day, destroying the cages holding the prisoners captive. In several hours, Wol lost and refound his faith, met repentance, and was lead to Ironforge to meet the new Alliance that formed within the south.
Wol has known loss and toil unimaginable, and has abandoned his personal wars. Given the time to recuperate from the time he spent in the plagued north, Wol has turned his attention to the betterment of the Alliance, and the destruction of the true source of this worlds miseries.