Paonen
Name: Paonen Lightgrasp, The Steadfast
Title: Zealot of the Weak
In-Game Class: Paladin
Story Class: Protection Paladin
Gender: Female
Height: Avg.
Weight: Avg.-Heavy
Eyes: Oddly Purple
Age: 25
Home: Stormwind
Birthplace: Darkshire
Motto: "The hand of the weak has to be strong."
Description
Paonen is a heavy-set gal with a no-nonsense attitude and the skill-set to back it up. She radiates of a piercing light aura, unwavering and defiant in nature. She has a steely demure about her, but in a less reserved way. Power and strength seem to leak from the cracks in her battle-hardened armor, and she usually smells of either battle, or iron.
She is dark-skinned, tanned from days in the sun and thickened from hours training her skills or forging her weapons. With light brown hair that is usually well kept and pulled back in a tight and efficient pony tail, she is truly a human wall if there ever was one. Her face is stern and daunting, with a rigid nose and tight cheeks. Her lips are plump, but are rarely seen in a smile. Freckles dot her cheekbones nose as well, which seem to lighten her appearance slightly, to her annoyance.
Her armor is almost always thick and heavy, maybe not always the best crafted, for her lack of resources, but she makes up for it with her prowess in battle. She does have a myriad scars, but none of them are visible due to her constantly being adorned in a suit of heavy plate. She stands tall and proud, a monument to the power of human will. Her emotionless visage and thickly layered armor would form an image of immovable, eternal vigor.
History:
Paonen came from a impoverished family in the north of Westfall, nothing glorious. While her family and those around them struggled to survive, everything became worse when the Cataclysm started. The world she had come to known as already being difficult and full of suffering, became one of bloodshed and rioting. As Westfall erupted into a chaos of irritated vagrants, patriotic Defias bannermen and rowdy Stormwind patrols, she swore to find a solution for her family.
Her efforts proved successful one day, as she earned a sack of coin for her family to share after plowing the fields for a local farmer after his elderly horse disappeared. She brought home her prize triumphantly, and her parents thanked her and immediately rushed into town to buy food, water and supplied for their overworked daughter and malnourished household.
She sat idly in her shanty of a home, waiting for their return, pondering not her famine and painful aching body, but the future of her family and their survival, her mind wandered into the fields of crime and lawlessness, almost sympathizing with the Defias rebels who roamed the countrysides in search of loose Stormwind ties to terminate. Her desperation turned to anger at the capital, and she remained motionless, raging in her own torment, her rancor boiling over as she sat like a gargoyle watching her home, ready to find a real answer for them.
Unfortunately, she never got the chance. Her family entered the town of Sentinel Hill just as another violent uprise was taking place. The Defias were staging an all-out attack on the settlement, and her parents were mercilessly struck down while trying to escape with their food and water.
When her parents never returned, she set out to find them. As she approached the town, she rose over a hill only to be greeted by the gruesome sight of her parent’s sunbaked corpses lying motionless and mutilated, their dried blood caking the ground, leaving it cracked and black and lifeless. Her fury in that moment was so white hot that it might as well have razed the rest of the town down, and she knew that this could only have been incited by the Defias.
She packed up her bags and marched off to Stormwind. She marched directly through the streets, through the alleys and over the canals until she was seated right at the doorstep of the Cathedral of Light. She wanted to be the merciful one, the one who protected those who could not protect themselves, and the one to bring justice to those who would be ignored.
Of course, the Cathedral isn't one to turn down such a motivated aspirant, especially in times of war and need, so they took her into their halls and taught her the ways of the Protectorate. Now, she awaits the call of the frail, the old, the poor and the voiceless. Those who many would deem lowly and worthless would meet her blade before they could finish their bold statement. For Paonen, Zealot of the Weak, now dedicates her life to setting right the wrongs done to people like her family, and with the Light as her shield and her sword, there are few who can stand in her path.