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| Name: |
Renault Dawnsinger
Retainer, Captain of the Guard |
| Class: |
Blood Knight |
| Status: |
Player Character |
| Professions: |
Miner and Blacksmith |
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Physical Description
Renault has seen better years, wrinkles starting to form under his eyes. The white of his hair is beginning to be peppered with darker grey, around the temples at first. His skin is dark and ruddy, flushed especially when exerted. His hair is kept away from his eyes, held back to keep his face clear.
Known Personality
This is a man who would give himself for the House, devoted he is to the House itself. While somewhat stern and representing justice, he hasn't lost that part of him that will dote on someone in need. He's convinced that if there is power to be had, use it for betterment - of yourself, your surroundings, and your wards and charges. Even the naaru can't bring Aiyeea back to life; what it can do is keep what happened to her from happening to someone else, and he will use that to protect the House. They are ambassadors to the Horde, to the world... petty squabbles aside, the House will carry on.
Character History
"Boy, what are we going to do with you?"
The sounds of hammers filled the room, wrapping around like the heat pouring from the furnaces. Steam and hisses rose as blades were lowered into the liquid tanks, quenched until cooled. In all the commotion, still the words stood out, the youth's own hammer stopping in mid-swing as he turned to look upon the speaker. "Do?"
"Aye, do. It's almost time. You shouldn't be here in the foundry this late."
"I know, but..." The youth paused as he studied the older man speaking to him, then shook his head. "I've seen near a hundred winters pass amongst Eversong, Father. I should be choosing this path..."
"I only want what is best for you, my Renasu, your mother and I both. I..." The old man shook his head, holding back a sigh as he considered his son. "It is every father's right to want of his son more than what I had, my boy. Believe me, you are not meant to be a simple cobbler. You are meant for something more, and the guard will give you that. Silvermoon's guard will not fail you."
"Father." The boy's words were measured carefully, a pause after he began. "I know this is important for myself... and also for you. I just don't want to leave this behind. These tools, this foundry... this is something I don't want to forget." Against the rack he laid down his hammer, then turned to look at his father. "And... don't use the name Mother uses for me? It sounds... weird."
The man moved as his son spoke, crossing the rough floor to quench the fire in the forge, closing it off. "No one asks you to leave it behind, son. All I want is for your future to be the best, the have the most choices and chances to succeed. Can you blame me for trying to be your father?" He paused for a moment while cleaning up, chuckling as he started walking for the door. "No, I won't say it again. Your mother will be the one using it. Now... let's get you ready."
* = * = *
He was born, he had lived a good life. By all due rights he should have died in defense of House and home. One tasked with the defenses of the House should not have willingly lived, yet he did - to his consternation.
Renault Dawnsinger was born of middling parentage in Silvermoon itself, a grand 182 years before the Last Guardian brought the orcs to scour the land. The son of a blacksmith, much of his early years were divided between learning the forge and the academy. Some hundred years later he was pushed into joining the Silvermoon guard to broaden his horizons, slowly moving up the command to organize a company of guards to defend against the rare troll incursion into the borderlands.
The years passed slowly it seemed, with Renault proving to be a capable commander as well as a competent smith. Time treated him kindly, and eventually lead to attracting the charms of a young woman. After a courtship of several years, he and Aiyeea Brightsfire were wed, their home just outside Silvermoon growing by the day. It was a good match for love, and they thought they would totter on like that into old age. Then came the Second War.
Renault and his command were left to fend the outskirts of Quel'Thalas while the other companies were dispatched to fulfill the oaths to the last of the Arathi bloodline. Not even the Amani were active in their usual positions... something felt wrong. It was almost too late before they realized the attack was upon their defense, the green-skinned terrors torching the borderlands. The Amani, yes, but... others as well, savage beasts who played at being men. The guards did their best to rally the citizens away from the fighting, yet those standing defense were no match for the ferocity set against them. Battered, Renault rallied his guards, helpless to watch as the green-skinned warlocks stole the Runestones for unknown, nefarious purposes.
After the fighting had ended, Renault left the guard in pursuit of something else. Uncomfortable knowing Silvermoon and Quel'Thalas depended on him for its defense after such loss, he sought a smaller venue to continue his profession. Several recommendations and exchanges of letters brought him in contact with House Rellen'thas.
After some wait, Renault accepted Lord Cian Suncrown's offer as captain of the House's guard, moving himself and Aiyeea to the village. In the years after the Second War, he watched over the House and its estates, presiding over the training of the guards in the retinue. By all rights he should have treated it easier than his time in Silvermoon; instead, he held his command to the same demanding standards that he had before. He doted on the villagers and those in the House in need, but was quick to see justice meted as well. In all, he and Aiyeea reflected on the time to have a family to raise, time that was possible within the Suncrown village.
But the Second War taught that Quel'Thalas would not be ignored by the world. What was to come would prove just how right that was.
* = * = *
Two days since the evacuation, since screams pierced the night. Two days organizing runs, guards to defend and hold back the massive waves when possible. Two days. And still the running was not done.
Renault clambered past a grand mound of charcoal, all that remained of one of the great trees in the orchard a league distant from the village proper. Two days. He hadn't slept in three. And even then, it was a few hours in between lulls in the siege, when unholy shrieks did not pierce his mind. Idly he kicked at the dead tree, taking hold of a still-smoldering branch. He adjusted his grip on the branch, his free hand straying to the runed hammer hanging from its sheath over his back. He'd burn himself before he let them take him.
The edge of twilight had fallen over the ruins as he approached an hour later. Silently he cursed himself for not bringing an escort, rushing blindly into what was still likely a war zone. But speed and silence were needed to avoid the creatures. In that way five men were better than a hundred, and one was better than five. He simply hoped he would survive the night.
Combing the village with the rude torch in hand, his thoughts went back to the evacuation. The guards had delayed enough for most to escape. He had done his part in aiding the House to safely, then had his own guards escape as well. But she had not been there.
The ruins of the village made each house almost indistinguishable - but he knew the one he sought. It was set back somewhat from the village proper, the cottage he hoped would be overlooked by the invaders. But no, rubble and half-standing walls occupied the space where it had once stood proudly. He cursed himself again, for not arriving sooner, for not finding her at first, for a thousand reasons that he would not have been there that evening, sifting through ash for her. Yet he pressed on.
The floor was mostly intact, the upper story collapsed down and leaving the roof standing precariously. Quickly he moved with purpose, to a board in the floor leading to the larder. Opening the door, cool air laced with a scent of pungent decay assaulted him as he moved down. Brandishing the torch as he stepped, he stifled a gasp as the light revealed the sight before him, on the larder floor. "Light preserve me," he cursed, closing his eyes. "My moon-and-stars."
A cough greeted him in reply, a woman's voice just above a bare rasp. "...took the village, attacked. Was... 'itten, crawled... cold. Safe."
"Forgive me, please. I needed to bring the others away from the fighting. Oh, Aiyeea... please, I beg of you, forgive me." A pained groan escaped him, only then permitting himself to open his eyes again.
Aiyeea lay spread on the floor, her head supported by a small cloth damp with blood and mucous. Her hair was torn, leaving parts of her scalp exposed with wounds to match. The healthy pale skin had degraded to the color of ash, thick veins dark enough to be black throbbing rapidly in time with her heart. Below the knee of her right leg, a mass of blood and gore congealed, the crimson long faded to an ashen-grey. Every breath was a wheeze, followed with a wracking cough.
"Forgive to... nothing. Did what needed... do. Save all... yes, save." A grimace crossed her ragged face, almost the hint of a smile.
"Please, my moon-and-stars. I beg you," Renault replied, dropping to his knees next to his wife's body. "I need you to forgive me." He let the torch clatter down to the stonework floor, his hand cupping the woman's cheek. "Please."
Aiyeea shook her head, pale eyes looking up at the man above her. "To me... favor. No end... let me this. Little sun..." Her hand snaked up his arm, fingers reaching over his shoulder to grasp the head of the warhammer. "Not much long. No end..."
Renault's mouth parted to reply, his eyes widening. "You want me, as... to..." Shaking his head furiously, he cupped his hands over her own, guiding it away from the hammer. "No. I... I can't. I won't. You have to know..."
The woman's chest heaved with a violent wracking, the coughing echoing in the larder. She shook her head, worming her hand from Renault's and placing it against the hammer. A deep breath shuddered within her, escaping as she spoke.
"Kill me, before..."
Some minutes later Renault finished retching into a corner of the larder, wiping spittle on his sleeve. The gore on the warhammer would have to wait for later; it might be necessary to add more on it tonight. Half-blindly he looked to the remains on the other side of the larder, shuddering at what happened. Shaking his head, he grunted as he hefted the warhammer in one hand, snatching the torch up with his free.
Renault stumbled free of the cottage's remains, clutching both torch and hammer as if his life depended on them. Perhaps it did. After what happened, it would not surprise him.
"Kill me..."
What bothered him was the tone Aiyeea had said it in. Making his way from the village, he set on the lonely path to the other refugees, safe where they may be. It was that same tone she had said her marriage vows with.
"...before..."
"...to honor and support each other..."
"...I..."
"...through disease and health..."
He tried not to think of it along the trot, he tried to keep his mind on watching for the invaders that may be lurking. Try as he might, his thoughts kept coming back to the link, and to Aiyeea. To his moon-and-stars.
"Kill me, before..."
"...to love each other unconditionally..."
"...before... I..."
"...all through your dying days?"
He had seen just over two hundred years. Two hundred years, and he had seen the death of his wife. His House. His nation. Two hundred years. A life brought low within a matter of days. He had wanted a family with her, children to spoil and nurture. Now, cut low. All he had were the memories of her. Laughing, singing, a tenderness in bed after fiery nights. His memories of her. Her final words.
"I do."
Her final words. He prayed to the Light for forgiveness. They were all but the only words on his lips when he made it back to the camp set up.
"Kill me before I kill you."
* = * = *
Five years since the invasion. Five long years spent recovering. Renault did his best to recruit and retrain the new guards, to commiserate with the old who had survived. A vow he made to not repeat what happened. To lose wife, House, kingdom in a series of evenings was unthinkable. He vowed it would not happen again.
The creature held inside Silvermoon beheld to him promise of something. Of what specific, he did not know, but he was amongst those who accepted its "gift". He could not save his moon-and-stars with it; he would make it his effort to use it to save anyone else. It came from a creature that meant no harm, that it was siphoned for his - and others' - use. It was for the betterment of all. If the "creature" came to harm from it, yet it aided the majority for the better - so be it.
The House and Quel'Thalas would stand. Of that, he would make sure.
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