Name: Taenaraen Silvershield
Race: Blood Elf
Class: Blood Knight (Paladin)
Apparent Age Group: Adult (25-30)
Hair: Black, worn long and brushed backwards.
Facial Hair: N/A
Notable Markings: The national symbol of Silvermoon tattooed in red on his left shoulder, various small scars on his face and chest gained from various sources. None so outstanding that they immediately jump to the eye.
Weapon of Choice: Blood-Tempered Ranseur.
Armor: A set of blessed plate mail gained from the order for service to Silvermoon.
Profession: Adventurer, formerly a member of Quel'Thalas's standing military.
Taen was born to a Farstrider, and a noblewoman who fell to that typical love story. His father was reasonably distinguished among the rangers for his age, and came from a reasonably well-off family, so there were few objections to the couple. When Taenaraen was old enough to begin training, he displayed far more proficiency with a sword and spear than he did with a bow, and was thus trained as a swordsman.
His life was, in short, uneventful until the Second War, when the orcs began attacking Quel'Thalas. Rather than be sent to the front lines to fight the Horde alongside the elves' newfound human, gnome, and dwarf allies, a young Taenaraen was tasked with keeping the peace (a convenient way, his mentors decided, to keep him out of harm's way while avoiding making him feel coddled) and helping the city guard should any orcs break through and enter the city proper. For days, the siege continued, and every day the high elves would pull further back into the city as a precaution. Finally, though, it seemed the orcs decided to turn their eyes elsewhere, and Taen joined in on the rebuilding efforts, mainly helping erect new buildings, or act as a courier.
Again, life became largely uneventful in Quel'Thalas aside from the odd Amani attack, which the Farstriders typically dealt with before the military was needed. Then the nightmare of the Third War hit Quel'Thalas. By now, Taen was old enough to enter battle, and did so proudly in the name of Silvermoon. What he wasn't prepared for, though, was watching his homeland fall, inch by inch, to the undead army, nor for seeing people he'd known and loved rise as puppets for the enemy. Once Sylvanas fell, the majority of the survivors turned and fled to Silvermoon, where Taenaraen hurriedly gathered essentials from his home, and set out for the Isle of Quel'danas alongside what remained of Quel'thalas's standing army.
As the Scourge arrived on the Isle's shores, Taen's superior officer, a grizzled veteran who had earned his position through blood, sweat, and tears rather than coasting on his family's reputation, ordered those within earshot to commandeer the nearest ship and set sail for southern waters to find their prince. That officer instated a young woman, who had an impressive track record for keeping a cool head in worst-case scenarios, in charge and stayed behind to fend off any pursuers. Taenaraen was the first to pledge himself to her, followed by the others on the boat. All of them were terrified, reeling in shock from the week's events, and many were grieving for lost friends and family.
Taenaraen had lost track of how long they'd been sailing and living off of what they could find on the sea, sometimes raiding derelict ships for what fresh food may remain onboard. Each time, they found themselves respectfully interring corpses to a burial at sea. Finally, they made landfall and found their prince alongside two women who looked similar to an elf, but were tall, purple, and well-muscled. The elf in charge gave her report, and Kael'thas's face went sickly pale. Kael ordered those present to break camp for the night--to much protesting from one of the strange women--and had the elf give a full briefing. One of the strange elves' subordinates, an archer, spent much of the night questioning Taenaraen, when he was awake, about how they'd gotten there and what the situation was like in Lordaeron and above. Her face, too, went pale as the weary, heartsick warrior told his tale.
They soon enough reached the ruins of Dalaran, the night elves had since bid them farewell after Kael had given them the aid of the rechristened blood elves. Many of them were on edge, their chests tightening painfully from time to time at what they believed at the time was the loss of their homeland. Kael and the human commander exchanged words, and the mission was underway.
The next few weeks were little better than a nightmare for Taenaraen. When the blood elves weren't trying to fulfill impossible orders, only succeeding with the help of the same naga they'd been attacking what seemed like a lifetime ago, they were dealing with Garithos's racism and having all support withdrawn at the worst moment. The blood elves had learned their pains were from being so suddenly cut off from the now-corrupted Sunwell, that they had been addicted to the Sunwell's energies and they were suffering from withdrawal. Garithos, somehow, learned that Kael had accepted aid from the naga in order to survive and ordered them all imprisoned, to be executed.
Taen wasn't sure how his prince managed it, but when he, the leader of the naga, several swordsmen, spellbreakers, and one haggard-looking priest broke down his cell door, he was all too happy to be out of that prison cell. However, he could barely lift his shield, and this left that and his helm behind, gripping his longsword in both hands and praying silently to the Light. During his time in that cell, he had come to the conclusion that this was a test of his peoples' faith, and had put his trust fully in the Light's judgement. Were he to die, then he would die with pride and faith intact.
What he wasn't expecting, however, was for Kael'thas to pull his advisor Rommath and several others, Taen included, aside, and tell them to return to Silvermoon, aid what blood elves were left in rebuilding. One of those present was the cool-headed elf who led the survivors of the slaughter at the Sunwell to Kael'thas, who he'd learned was one Lady Liadrin. Her, Kael'thas tasked with finding a means to employ the paladins he'd seen the humans use, having noted the devastating effectiveness with which they dealt with the Horde before.
Again, Taen pledged himself to Liadrin, and began training as what she began calling the blood knights. Always, he kept his faith, even though the mana he and the rest of his people had been taking in began to change them: their eyes turned green, their skin took on a pinkish tint, and many of them fell fully to their addictions, becoming what they called Wretched. Taenaraen saw the blood knights, what had begun with good intentions, slowly fall to corruption as they captured a glorious being, a Naaru he later learned it was called. He spoke at length of his objections, and was asked to keep his views to himself until Silvermoon had gotten back on its feet.
What none in Silvermoon were prepared for, though, was for the prince they'd put their trust in to betray them, taking the Naaru and leaving many dead in the streets. The Regent-Lord and Liadrin both began dedicating themselves to keeping the peace and keeping morale up, something Taenaraen threw himself into fully. When Liadrin went to Outland, to pledge herself in the efforts to retake the Sunwell, many blood knights joined the coalition that had been formed, the Shattered Sun Offensive. For the next month, perhaps more, Taen trained, and inch by inch he and the rest of the Offensive took the fight to the doorsteps of the Magister's Terrace, and the Sunwell. Taen could bear to participate in neither assault, for he had no desire to see what had caused his prince to fall so far, so fast. Instead, he accompanied Lady Liadrin and when she began sermoning in Silvermoon City, Taenaraen once again wore the tabard of the Blood Knights with pride. When Liadrin began sermoning in the retaken Sunwell, Taenaraen took up sermons in Silvermoon City, his heart singing for the first time in years.
Taenaraen did not participate in the Horde's offensive in Northrend, instead joining the Argent Crusade and helping train other Blood Knights for the attack on Icecrown Citadel. Much of his spare time was spent in the hurriedly-erected tent that served as a chapel at the tournament grounds, where he would confess his doubts and fears to the Confessor, or spend time praying for the strength to continue fighting his addiction pains. Finally, word arrived that the Lich King had fallen. One blood elf came in on her training appointment, tears shining in her eyes, and said four words that Taen had longed to hear: "We can go home."