Leoren

Leoren Evershine

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The Dead Scar Saint... and Lord Commander of the Raven Cross. There was once a time before the ships sailed once more to besiege Northrend when the name of the Raven Cross brought to mind little more than bloodthirsty marauders rampaging through the fiery woodlands of Quel'Danas. Maddened curs they seemed then, too weak to fight alone and easily chased off when confronted with equal numbers. Lesser beasts driven off at the first sight of a lion.

But that was some time ago, and as I hear it there had been different leadership for a time.

Now under the leadership of the Saint the Raven Cross has taken a new direction. Whereas before they had preyed upon the weak and seemed loathe to join an even fight, they now readily seek the full wrath of the Alliance's power. And sometimes, even that is not enough to drive them off.

I remember well when they assaulted Stormwind by way of the dockyards, arriving in overwhelming force. I rallied what few knights of the Order were near at hand, supplemented by other Alliance soldiers in Stormwind. Though fewer in number, I expected the threat would not be difficult to quell--as in the past.

Though I am not one given to bouts of overconfidence, I was nevertheless astonished at the force we encountered. It was like riding out to hunt a wolf that suddenly metamorphasized into a demonic beast of legend. They were more numerous than ever before, and each of them wielded powerful weapons with considerable skill. As I waded into battle, seeking to cut down a Druid which was replenishing their forces with nature's soothing magics, a Shaman blasted me with a bolt of lightning, knocking me from the high ramps leading to the city down to the dock level.

There, cut off from the healing magic of my own Paladins, I faced a Warrior with enough skill that the match between us was far from the inevitable victory that usually results when a true champion of the Light confronts a Warrior with only his own might at his side. But even as I pressed for the killing blow, a Rogue melded smoothly from the shadows and incapacitated me for a few precious moments, allowing the Druid to revitalize my foe.

Overwhelmed by their numbers and the perfect concert with which they fought, we were beaten back into the city. I rallied more of the Alliance forces to the Cathedral, knowing that a motley band of Alliance defenders would not have the coordination to overcome the invaders without the advantage of numbers. After some time, we were strong enough to ride out from the Cathedral, drive them from the Trade District, and pin them in the Mage District's high tower.

There at the pinnacle, they made their last stand. Now with at least half again their number at my side, I knew the day was almost won. We charged through the portal, and the sound of battle that erupted there no doubt rang across the heights of the city. But even as the consecrated floor simmered like the ashes left after a forest fire, I reflected that the victory had come at the cost of too many lives. Had the Alliance truly grown so weak that one faction among the Horde could stand unopposed in Stormwind, that bastion of the Light of humanity?

For all their brutality, the boldness and effectiveness of the Raven Cross's assault that night elevated them in my eyes to the same level of notoriety and power as the Grim. And with that power came a grudging respect, which has continued to grow over the course of the subsequent campaigns fought against them. And so the Fabled Order shall continue to oppose them, for just as the Light is defined by the shadows it pierces, so too are we defined by our stark opposition to any such force of violence.

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"I know Leoren mostly through reputation. I was at his trial when he was almost executed, and did my best to undermine the proceedings, though to be honest that wasn't exactly much help.

There was this one time I fought alongside him in the Hellfire Ramparts, though I can't for the life of me remember why either of us were there.

He's hard not to idolize I guess, one of the few real celebrity blood knights around. ((No offense to Vicailde, Szordrin, or Sepulchure.)) I mean the Dead Scar Saint? You'd have to be badass to earn a name like that. I can only hope to one day earn a reputation like his.

Though I'm somewhat concerned with the direction he's taking the Raven Cross..."

The Goblin stares at his watch. All around, icy winds and snow.

"Right, he's an upstanding paladin, and I wish him continued success as the dignified leader of the Raven Cross."

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