Sicorion Baleforn is an Alliance-based Paladin, a carefree figure in the streets of Dalaran or Ironforge, both of which he frequents. He appears to be aloof and socially awkward, cruising the streets with a small giggle and causing mothers to avert their children's eyes, since he reads a rather dirty book, unsuitied for the eyes of the young ones. Nonetheless, beneath this unassuming exterior, he is a deadly fighter, experienced and a myriad of thoughts. Relying on his physical ability more so than the powers of the Light, Sicorion seems more like a Warrior or a Rogue more than a Paladin, even looking more a Death Knight than he does a Defender of the Light. He is, as of Wrath of the Lich King, twenty-two years old.


Sicorion Baleforn
OOC Game Stats
Game Name Sicorion
Faction Alliance
Race Human
Gender Male
Class Paladin
Guild Prophecy Untold
Professions Blacksmith; Enchanter; Cook
IC Info
Nicknames "Orion"; "Pervert"; "Masked Sloth";
Title "Agent" (Defunct); "Judge" (Defunct); "Crusader" (Active)
Age 20 (World of Warcraft); 21 (The Burning Crusade); 22 (Wrath of the Lich King)
Height 5'10"
Hair Silver (Formerly brown)
Eyes Emerald Green
Alignment Lawful Neutral

Background Edit

A War Orphan

"Hush, little one, father's here." - Norman Baleforn

Sicorion Baleforn was found on the doorstep of a wealthy merchant family’s home on a stormy morning. Ilya Baleforn, wife of Norman Baleforn was going to go and tend to the horses outside when she came upon a bundle set in a basket on her doorstep: a child whose umbilical cord was recently cut. Sensing the mothering nature to care for the child, she brought him in and nursed him. Later, Norman Baleforn came downstairs, wondering why his wife had not returned to their bedroom. He found her with a baby in her arms, gently rocking the tired and hungry infant. Incredulous, Norman questioned her just where the boy had come from. She answered rightly, and the two debated whether or not to keep the child or to hand him over to the orphanage, suspecting the young one was a war orphan.

After a few days, they decided to hand the boy over to the proper authorities, unwilling to keep an unknown child in these dangerous times without fearing for their own. The then unnamed babe was taken by Norman on a morning to Stratholme, hoping to leave the child there where the young one would hopefully find someone to adopt him.

However, upon arriving at the gates of Stratholme, Norman had a change of heart, and ended up taking the little one back to his home in the outskirts of Lordaeron, beginning his tale.


"That's what we'll call him... our little dragon, Sicorion." - Ilya Baleforn

The child was nameless for a full two months. Norman and Ilya were very picky with naming the quiet little boy, and didn’t appear to have rushed while they were in the process of thinking his name. By far, the most popular choice was Aberforth, after Ilya’s great grandfather. However, they had decided against it at the end, as Ilya’s cousin had named her own baby boy after him. Norman’s favorite choice of name, though, was Brian. But due to the disapproving look every time he mentioned the name to his wife, he kept his trap shut.

It wasn’t until one night in winter, where their biological (and only) son Dormien, a sprightly 5 year-old then, woke the both of them up to tend to a noisily weeping baby boy. To pacify the weeping child, Norman personally took the little babe in his hands and rocked him to sleep, whispering the story of a Legendary Wyrm the Dwarves revered, ruling over the mountains beyond their eyes: The Guardian Wyrm of Dun Morogh: Sicorion the Whisperer.

As the child's silence reigned through the night, Ilya told her husband her suggestion, and thus, Sicorion was named.

Knights of the Silver Hand

"Are you sure the lad doesn't belong in the Defence Academy instead?" - Duke Lionheart

Sicorion was a brilliant child. Where other children, like his older brother Dormien and the other boys longed to join the ranks of the Lordaeron Armies and slaying the vile orcs invading their precious homeland, little brown-haired Sicorion found solace in the great works of Mathematics Professor Archie Optrix and longed to be a Mage; his father strongly disapproved of both boys' ambitions and instead tried to sway them into the family business of silk processing, to no avail. Sicorion longed to practice the Arcane Arts and achieve admission into their halls of knowledge, eager and willing, while Dormien was as stubborn as a mule, instead sneaking off to the local town hero's “swordplay lessons” whenever he could, sometimes taking his impressionable sibling.

One day, while taking the boys out on one of his business ventures into Stormwind City, Sicorion encountered something that almost killed him. Long fascinated with the arts of travelling Magicians, he curiously followed a Mage troupe and curiously opened a magical sphere: one that contained a particularly vicious Mana Wyrm. The creature attacked him and in a deadly strike, injected its alien Mana into the boy's body. Having no benign exposure to an Arcane attack as most Mages-In-Training would have, the shock would have killed him if the leader of the troupe had not heard his deadly screams.

Rushing to the Healer he could find, he also found the boy's family. Norman, seeing his adopted son bloody and dying, rushed to the Halls of Healing for assistance. Priests tried to offer their techniques to bring the boy from the brink of death, but the damage was very much beyond their area of expertise. They dealt in diseases and wounds: not damage of this magnitude. However, in a stroke of fortune, a Paladin walked in and cleansed the boy of the damage to his mana streams, stabilizing his condition. Magic damage was much out of the league of Priests, but not Paladins, who were trained to deal with such extensive damage on the battlefield rife with death and decay.

The Paladin explained to the boy's father of his condition. The damage to his mana streams was much too extensive; the Spell of Cleansing was only a temporary fix to the boy's status. Mana streams were much like veins, only they channeled the spiritual force of Mana, inherent in all living (and some other) creatures. Essentially, with such severe wounds, he would not survive.

Unless he had the Martial Training that the Paladins only offered: to hone the Light into a physical force, augmenting their armor, weapons and bodies into vicious and righteous tools of strength. With a heavy heart, and seeing no other choice, Norman left his son to the care of The Knights of the Silver Hand and went home with Dormien back to the lands of Lordaeron.

Upon arrival to the Halls of the Holy Light, Sicorion was introduced to his teacher: Duke Lionheart.

The Paths Laid Before One's Eyes

"I don't know; I don't like to fight. It's just... a sword in my hands just feels right." - Sicorion Baleforn

After five years of training, and now at thirteen years of age, Sicorion had to choose a discipline of the Paladin's Paths to Master. Unlike the Academy, which schooled its students in all possible masteries, Paladins were to be divided among their teachings. Their were three paths to take; each one a definition of a would-be Warrior of the Light's strength, personality and talents. The Path of the Pure, a Healer among soldiers, pacifists, calm, serene and wise who offered their powers to mend, not end. Then there was the Path of the Protector: the most common choice of Paladin loyalists; most of those that chose this path were devoted, steadfast fighters, trained to hone mace and shield into technique, increasing their defence capabilities ten to a hundred-fold, trained to handle mass upon mass of incoming foe, to have them meet an immovable wall of power.

Then there was the Path of Retribution.

Interestingly enough, and rightly so, few of the disciples chose this path. Those who followed the Path of Retribution were closely watched, looked at with guarded eyes and veiled visages. This is because it followed a road that channeled emotion into the Light, wielding it as a weapon. Paladins who chose this path were unusually emotional, and prone to breaking discipline and focus due to the insane pressure the Path set upon those who followed it. It was a path that channeled feelings, positive and negative, into a hammer, and struck its foe with deadly force. Some say that the creation of the Path of Retribution was a perversion of the Light's ways. A misuse. An accident.

Sicorion chose the Path of the Protector, but deep in his heart he knew: wielding a bastard sword as long as he was tall felt more right than a shield and a mace. The sheer rush he felt was more real than he thought it would be, but fearing power... fearing strength he backed away, and did not give in.

It wasn't until years later, when he was sixteen, that he saw Arthas Menethil rip his father's kingdom apart; his family brutally butchered in the Prince's deadly culling, did he finally give in to emotion and picking a sword, he left the Academy... beginning his descent into the identity of the Veil.

The World of Warcraft Edit

The Veil

“Lad's got a screw loose. I like it!” - Johnny Thunderstout

In the event of Lordaeron's destruction, Sicorion ran to a bar filled with mercenaries. Incidentally, it housed a certain pair of Dwarven outlaws wanted for the robbery of Ironforge Bank; Johnny and Olmac Thunderstout. The two poked and prodded at the boy, who, in a fit of rage, drew his longsword and turned his fury upon the two criminals, and ultimately bringing in a two-headed ogre by the name of Dunk 'n Chunk and an old flame of Johnny's by the name of Diagara Murnon. The brawl was the first instance of many offensive uses of Sicorion's fueling of emotion into the Light.

However, outnumbered two-to-one and having no previous battle experience outside of sparring with the occasional Paladin (who almost always held back) plus having to dodge two other lunatics (which were aimiong to pummel all three of them), the only thing Sicorion succeeded in successfully defeating was the bar, crumbling down like a mess of concrete and wood. Impressed by the young man's gung-ho attitude, Johnny decided to take him under his wing, and gave him an identity he had used before: The Veil.

Sicorion's transition into The Veil wasn't smooth. Trained as a defensive-oriented fighter using the Light as his weapon, he wasn't used to the light pieces of armor as opposed to the heavy-set Paladin battlewear.; clunky and heavy movements against smooth and swift strokes of his limbs. It took him months before he became used to the mail, leather and plate amalgamation (Johnny had used purely leather, but had found that it didn't cover as much as it would for Sicorion's fighting style). At the end of weeks of practice, Johnny decided that taking the new identity, the lad was much too robust; much too slow in his movements.

It was time for some training, Thunderstout style. Sicorion was put through rigorous exercise: his agility, his speed and his dexterity were much below the level the two Thunderstouts would have liked. Even as alcoholic beer-chugging criminals, they had pride in The Veil; it was a famous identity in the mercenary world: a mysterious figure only spoken of in whispers, a silent blade piercing through the lung, a dagger through the cloak. He had a reputation to keep up, after all.

One year after the rigorous training schedule and many a side job, The Veil was spoken of again in the whispers of the criminal underworld, through bars and inns. Although it wasn't as much as Johnny would have liked: he had made the name through silence and daggers. His protege, however, was making the name known with a large sword and leaving a mess wherever he went for a bounty. It was a continuous argument between the two of them, Master and Apprentice (As Dunk 'n Chunk had pointed out, staying with their little group); it was also a factor that on several of those occasions, the use of Sicorion's Paladin techniques (In particular, the famous Seal of Command) had made the identity suspicious.

Baron Rivendare

  “This isn't over.” - Baron Rivendare

Three years after joining the troop, the Alliance and the Horde made a push towards the floating fortress of Naxxramas, where Kel'Thuzad commenced the invasion of the Eastern Kingdoms. However, in the attempt to launch a counter-offensive against the Scourge, the then-allied forces had a hit a snag: a Mor'Kai Shield was keeping the forces of both the Horde and Alliance at bay, making the base virtually impenetrable to outside forces. The only way to truly begin the strike was to disable the heavily-guarded Scourge stronghold of Stratholme, locked in a conflict with the Scarlet Crusade.

Sicorion, now already infamous under his mercenary identity of The Veil, was hired by Stormwind City's black ops sector, SI:7 to infiltrate and disable the crystals within the Zigurrats and enable the soldiers of the Alliance and the Horde to successfully infiltrate and push back the Lich King's forces. The Thunderstout brothers and Diagara followed him on the task, each one of them finding an ill tide approaching with the mission at hand. The reward was considerable, but the risks were much too high to calculate. Even so, Sicorion had agreed to do the task, and do it he would.

Upon successful entry into Stratholme, Sicorion and his companions split into three groups. Diagara would take on one crystal, Sicorion would take another, Johnny one more and Olmac would provide patrolling duty and serve as a scout. Tragedy struck swiftly: Diagara, after a bloody battle with the Undead Banshee Anastari, the Guardian of the First Ziggurat and its Crystal, was slain by an Magistrate Barthilas in a sneak attack. Olmac and Johnny did not know what had happened, and neither did Sicorion. Johnny, ever the skilful, Rogue, however, had killed Nerub'Enkan by toppling the structure upon him, burying the crypt lord beneath the rubble with his minions. He went to rejoin Olmac, however... his brother was not found. Sensing dread, he pressed to find Sicorion, to witness The Veil locked in combat with Maleki the Pallid, a skilful Necromancer, and his hordes of minions.

The battle was a tricky one for Sicorion, who found out that the caster's skill was not in his spells, but his unique ability to phase himself, rendering all attacks immune, as they were not able to touch him. The Paladin, pressed for time, attacked relentlessly, only to find himself being injured more than the Necromancer. However, every man has a weakness. Sicorion, witnessing his foe's ethereal quality, and his Seal of Command's sync rate, struck. One blow was dealt, just before he phased... to which he cast Exorcism, forcing him into material form, and finally slaying Maleki with a thrust through the chest, ending their mission... until he saw Barthilas and a monstrous abomination known as Ramstein appear, charging into the Zigurrat and letting the building crumble.

Teaming up, the two proved more than a match for the Master and Apprentice. Ramstein's strength complimented Barthilas' agility, and soon enough, Sicorion and Johnny were bleeding profusely, disabled by the poison seeping through Barthilas' claws. Johnny's right arm had been rendered useless by a strike from Ramstein. Pressed for time, and worried for Olmac, the two swapped opponents: Sicorion went toe-to-toe with the abomination, while Johnny separated the Magistrate from his ally. Without the other, they wouldn't be as effective. Sicorion took advantage of his superior speed to burn Ramstein with a well-timed Judgement, winning his battle, while Johnny sacrificed his left eye to get a good shot at Barthilas, ripping out the Undead Lieutenant's head from the rest of his body.

As soon as the battle ended, Johnny and Sicorion regrouped, intent to find Diagara and Olmac. They were met with the ominous voice of Baron Rivendare, Lord of Stratholme, who had announced Diagara's death, and Olmac's capture along with Ysida Harmon's kidnapping. Johnny, intent on revenge for Diagara's falling, went ahead of Sicorion to fight Rivendare and free his brother. Sicorion followed after quickly and they both bore witness to Diagara's resurrection by Rivendare... as a member of the Scourge. The tearful battle that ensued resulted in one of the most painful memories for Sicorion: the death of his friend and mentor, Johnny Thunderstout, his heart ripped out of its place by the zombified Diagara, before her soul was banished. Rivendare reveals that he had resurrected her just to see the tortured looks on the eyes of her comrades, to which his blade met Sicorion's, and another battle began.

Sicorion and Rivendare stood toe-to-toe, one attack cancelling out the other in an even contest. However, Sicorion knew that the only thing keeping him alive was his superior speed. In terms of pure swordplay, Baron Rivendare was superior than him in form and technique. Johnny's teachings were the only thing that kept him alive: evasion, diversion, counter-attacks, he employed every use of what he learned, not to win, at first, but to survive. A Dark Thrust met a Crusader Strike, two of the most poweful attacks either could manage collided.

Sicorion was disabled; his blade had shattered under the pure power Rivendare had, and pinned The Veil to the wall, effectively relieving him of combat. Rivendare took out another weapon: a dagger, and thrusted it into the palm of his hand tip-first: it was the beginning of his favoured torture session. Out of strength, Sicorion began casting silently as the blade was twisted and turned... and cast a point-blank Exorcism to Rivendare's visage, shattering his foe's mask and scarring the Undead Commander permanently.

With his sheer will, Sicorion ripped Rivendare's sword from his shoulder, enstilled it with the Holy Light, and brought down Judgement upon the Death Knight, severing his arm from the shoulder down, and scorching a rib. The sword shattered in his hands, burning the palms. Boring into the eyes of one another, Rivendare left with an angry roar, opening a portal and escaping, proclaiming that their battle was not over. Sicorion later freed Ysida Harmon and entrusted Olmac under the care of the Argent Dawn, telling Ysida to tell Olmac of their deaths, including his own. Indebted to the dark-clad Paladin, she agreed, and he buried Diagara and Johnny on a hill in the Plaguelands that had been left untouched. A small patch of grass to mark the passing of his friend and mentor.

It was then that Sicorion Baleforn's hair turned from brown, to silver. A reminder of his past life, his loss and the misdeeds he had done with the blessed power of the Light. It was time to atone. It was time to grow up.

The Burning Crusade Edit

Through the Dark Portal

“We need your help. You're the only Paladin who doesn't behave like one.” - Mathias Shaw

Sicorion had put his past behind him, and during the year that commenced, the young man had opened an honest blacksmithing business in Ironforge, trying to forget the past of bloodshed. However, peace of mind did not come easily: SI:7 had tracked him down, enlisting his help again as the honorary Guard for a Diplomatic Mission to Shattrath City within the Outlands, which had coincided with the Draenei's arrival upon Azeroth. The Alliance was trying to gain the favour of Shattrath's forces before the Horde could; Shaw wanted the best on the job, and seeing his tarnished past life as a mercenary, easily coerced the young man into his orders, although he had promised once the mission was over, he would be free to return to his life as a blacksmith, all charges dropped. He cursed Shaw, but went on the mission anyway.

Upon entering the Dark Portal, their caravan was attacked by the Burning Legion's forces. Sicorion witnessed half the escort be slain by the demons. Having learned how these creatures were averse to the Light, he effectively became the only defender left, and the caravan charged through to Honor Hold, already under siege by a Fel Reaver. Teaming up with a nearby Horde establishment two days after the assault, the titan of metal was successfully repelled and destroyed. They set up lodgings in Honor Hold. Sicorion was wary of the continuation of their journey. It would be a high risk to take the remainder of the road when attack was inevitable, so they voted to set up base in Honor Hold until the attacks would cease.

A few days later (After the Horde's successful capture of Hellfire Citadel), they successfully made it to Shattrath, only to discover that the Horde had already made efforts to bring the Sha'tari forces to their side, to no avail. They would not take the sides of one side or the other: their mission was to take down the Burning Legion. A'dal, a Na'aru and ruler of Shattrath, voiced his disappointment at the petty conflict, trying to have them unite against the threat of Kil'Jaeden and Illidan's offensive against them.

The Ambassadors agreed in the Offensive, but would not unite with the Horde, years of hate and war had broiled them to the point they were beyond reasoning. Sicorion was relieved of his duties in a letter from Shaw later on, wishing him luck and thanking him for his “help”. One day, while under the lodgings of Shattrath's World's End Inn, Sicorion spied two Draenei, one male, the other female, verbally abusing a Blood Elf as he set having his drinks. Against his better judgement, he stepped in and prevented the situation from escalating... by grabbing the Draenei male by the collar and throwing him out of the tavern, prompting the others to draw their swords on him. Mentioning he meant no harm, but neither would he tolerate such an attitude, he left peacefully, only to have the Blood Elf he had “rescued” insist on him to come to the Scryers' Tier for a feast. Though skeptical, a loud rumble from his stomach answered the question posed, and he was dragged up to the Tier.

The next day, he wore their Tabard, and began a new chapter of his life.

Jin'Rohk, The Great Apocalypse

“Ya take good care of her, mon. One day Zul'Jin come back ta get her from you. You can bet on dat.” - Zul'Jin

As an agent of the Scryers and friend to the Sha'tar, Sicorion was assigned by his superiors to inspect a series of deaths in Zul'Aman, a troll stronghold, thought to be long abandoned by its architects; just two months after his joining. Alongside a team of Sha'tari agents, he was to scout what was going on in the area. So far, the death count was a Silvermoon City scout team comprised of eight Elves and a Sha'tari team that had been previously sent. What they found was incredible, almost beyond belief. A Troll Warlord, Zul'Jin, had returned from obscurity, declaring war of the Horde for their betrayal, having taken in the Elves of Silvermoon as allies.

They were ambushed upon venture into the citadel of Trolls, Akil'zon's avatar slew the Scryer crew save for him and three others, and Sicorion was captured. He awoke in a dungeon within Zul'Aman, guarded heavily by the Troll Warlord's guards. As he was helf captive, he overheard the Guards chatting: they were mounting a great offensive on Silvermoon City: retribution for the destruction of their once proud people. The others were in separate cells, and his Hearthstone had been shattered, so there would be no communication or teleporting out of harm's way. So had to devise a plan of escape. However, upon weighing his options, chaos had taken place: Alliance and Horde forces had broken through, intent on breaking this threat down before it could take them all down. Sicorion used his manacles to kill a guard, and broke out of his cell.

Someone else had broken out as well, another Scryer; a female human by the name of Almia. Upon request, he had her release the others and make a break for the exit, careful not to get caught in the cross fire. Being the only person capable of fighting in martial technique other than her, he took point, intent on making for the breach before any of them were caught. The escape went smoothly at first: there wasn't an Amani Troll in sight. That is... until they reached the statue of Nalorakk, where Zul'Jin stood, his honor guard by his side.

The guards disabled them quickly, Zul'Jin not moving an inch as he watched his soldiers pin the seven prisoners to the ground with their spires, intent on ending their lives. Sicorion's eyes wandered: he saw that the Alliance forces were pushing quickly against the Amani, but seeing their condition, he doubted they would live to see a rescue happen. In an irrational moment and a desperate attempt, he said the only thing he thought would give him a chance of survival: he challenged Zul'Jin to a battle; if he was victorious, he would spare their lives.

As the battle raged around them, Zul'Jin's good eye met Sicorion's emerald gaze, and he laughed, agreeing to the wager. However, seeing his foe's condition, Zul'Jin changed the conditions: if the human forced him to call upon the power of the Loas, he would set them free. Handing command of the Amani Tribe to Malacrass, Sicorion and Zul'Jin entered the dueling pit, littered with the skeletons of the dead. The Troll Warlord then called upon his Guard to hand them both weapons. Sicorion, seeing only between a glaive and a club, chose the glaive: it better suited his fighting style in these conditions. Zul'Jin drew an incredible blade from its cloth, a silver sword that screamed that it belonged in battle, elegant and deadly, as tall as its foe was: Jin'Rohk, The Great Apocalypse.

Zul'Jin moved quickly, intent to end the duel as fast as he could. Bringing the sword down, he was mildly surprised to see the butt end of the glaive thrust into his throat, pushing him back with a hacking cough. Sicorion wasn't naïve: he knew he was going up against someone who would've taken him out with blink of his eye at full power. But right now, Zul'Jin had decided to keep that deadly part of him sealed. He would have to go all out to stand a chance. Sicorion's edge met Zul'Jin's blade time after time. Sicorion did not want to press himself to a defensive tactic; if he did, Zul'Jin would overwhelm him in an instant. He had taken a strategy of continuous attacks to force the warrior into a corner. And hoped he held up his end of the bargain.

He brought the glaive into a thrust, seeing the Warlord's uneven stance. It was an opening; however, he was in for a deep shock: it was meant to be uneven. The powerful Warlord broke his glaive in half into two even pieces to the cheers of his soldiers, also deeply wounding him in the process. From then onwards, Zul'Jin was in control of the battle. But he would not make it an easy death for Sicorion. Shallow wound after wound was inflicted, kick after kick breaking his ribs until he was spitting out blood. The prisoners watched with agony as the young man fell to his knees before the Troll Warlord, who pointed the tip of Jin'Rohk towards Sicorion's head, ready to end it and rejoin the battle against the Alliance and the Horde. Another pest pushed aside.

Sicorion responded by leaping to his right, grabbing a stray piece of his broken weapon, and striking it to the ground... breaking the arena. Sicorion had employed the principle of the Consecration spell and a Judgement, simultaneously using the two attacks in a singular point, before following up with a Crusader Strike, causing the structure to crumble, bringing both fighters down into a wreckage of wood and stone.

Sicorion rose unprotected, having cast a Shield on himself to minimize damage. He was badly beaten up, incredibly bloody and bruised. He would be lucky to run a few miles after this. His eyes surveyed the debris... where the Troll Lord stood, undamaged save for a few bruises. His gambit had failed: he had lost.

It was a surprise when Zul'Jin approached him, tossing Jin'Rohk into his hands... the sword was cracked right through the mid-point. Silently, the Troll Lord spoke of the deal that had been made: he had used Akil'Zon's powers to remain uninjured from the fall, and that last Crusader Strike's force had cracked his blade in the aftershock. Sicorion was left speechless as the Troll Warlord turned his back on him and cackled as he charged into battle, silently claiming he would one day come back for the sword, meeting the Alliance's and the Horde's champions at full power, ready to meet his fate.

Sicorion only passed out with the sword in hand quietly clutching it as his broken body lay still, indistinguishable from the dead. Almia later found him, along with her husband, and he was taken back to Shattrath, hopefully to face a nice long rest.

The Fury of the Sunwell

“I'd recommend him to you, really. He needs time to heal, but he's restless enough I can't keep him to his bed for long. He will do just as well as any of your other recruits.” - Leader of the Scryers

Sicorion, due to his severe injuries, was relegated from active duty for the Scryers on the Shattered Sun Offensive to being a mere gofer for them. He made sure the Constructs worked properly, that the Broken didn't cause too much trouble, and occasionally defended a few attacks by the Sunfury Blood Elf Navy, assisting them in reclaiming the Southern Coast. He was present at the completion of the Sunwell's reclamation as well, but overall, did nothing significant, save for slaying a few of Kael'Thas Sunstrider's elite Royal Guard. It was at the end of this campaign, however, that he received a letter from the Argent Dawn: The Scourge had returned and begun assault on every Capital around the world.

It was time to be a true Paladin.

The Wrath of the Lich King Edit


The Battle for Valiance Keep Edit

“Look, we can all just easily walk away. We're right behind the rocks, no one can see us. I can back off and you can just go back to your comrades, I don't – Guess we have to do this the hard way.” - Sicorion Baleforn

As soon as the Lich King had delivered his message of destruction to the world, Sicorion, rarely one to take incentive, signed with the Alliance's elite task force being sent North. He learned that there were already several established Alliance bases and rally points in the region: King Varian Wrynn had started his moves quickly enough, hoping for the Alliance to gain a foothold within the dreaded region before the Horde could establish their own advantages. On the 17th of November, Sicorion Baleforn left the shores of the Eastern Kingdoms and began his journey to the primordial continent. After two weeks at sea, Sicorion and a hundred-odd other warriors of the Alliance hit the shores of the Borean Tundra.

They were in for a rude awakening: The Horde had begun an assault on Valiance Keep, the Alliance's stronghold at the tip of the Tundra. Garrosh Hellscream had ordered for the Alliance to be wiped off the continent's surface before they could pick themselves up. Upon crashing into the rocks on shore, the ship was destroyed, and Sicorion was thrust into his first true experience of the conflict between Horde and Alliance. Crash-landing onto the shores where Horde and Alliance battled for supremacy, Sicorion found himself on his knees, void of armor and Jin'Rohk not by his side... and an Orc Warrior with a young-looking Shaman by his side; a Tauren.

As he had crashed away from the others, Sicorion tried to make the best of a bad situation: he began to negotiate his survival; however, his words seemed to have the opposite effect on the rc. Despite having been in the merc's lifestyle for a good three or so years, he had failed to grasp the golden rule concerning the orc race: they despised cowardice. Misunderstood for grovelling, the warrior brought his mighty hammer down, only to have Sicorion move out of the way just in the nick of time, and seeing no other choice, activated his Seals, moving to do battle. The orc moved fast and furiously, but not as fast as Sicorion's own considerable reaction speed. However, things took a turn for the worse, as before Sicorion could land his first hit, the Tauren had intervened. It was going to be a fight to the finish.

Heavily at a disadvantage, Sicorion began to use the terrain to his favour. It was rocky and jagged, perfect to block incoming Shock spells by the Shaman. However, it proved to be good for the two as well. Having double-teamed him, and with a Shaman and her totems, he had to move faster and faster. Using the Light to keep himself healthy, he wondered when the army of several hundred would take notice he was unarmed and currently on the run from two rather good fighters. As a Frost Shock hit him, and the warrior moved in for the kill, Sicorion took a broken-off stalagmite... fused it with the light, using it as a club to knock the Warrior down on the head. One down, one to go.

The Shaman proved to be more dangerous than the Warrior. Calling upon her totems, she threw every possible defense and offense spell at him, making his use up all his Blessings and Defensive Spells just to stay alive. Sicorion came particularly close on one attempt to bring her down: hiding his fist with what was a ragged remnant of his cloak, he broke through one totem, only to be shocked to reality with a well-timed lightning bolt. Battered, he was pushed against a cliff wall, but as the Shaman began to chant the finishing spell, a war horn sounded. In a flash, Sicorion saw the Shaman pick the warrior up on her shoulders and the petite Tauren gave him one calculating look, before leaving the battleground.

He was found later by Justin Bartlett's men. The Horde had retreated back to their fortress suddenly, to which the Alliance was thankful for. They didn't know why, but a little bit longer and apparently the Horde would have had their heads. It was a sweet mercy for them. Sicorion did not think much about it, recuperating his burnt form nicely before leaving for his official first day on duty.

The Clean Up Crew

“Look at it this way, Mr Mysterious. We're here; the Lich King is way over there! We'll be the last ones to die!” - An Alliance Soldier

Jin'Rohk was found a week later, and duly handed over to him. Sicorion tinkered over the item, having been damaged while not under his watch. As he was fixing his blade, Sicorion was handed his duties by the Commander: Clean Up Duty. He was to assist the Kalu'Ak with their chores, having forced the ancient Vrykul back from their community in the Tundra, Sicorion was assigned by various others to rebuild their village to what it once was. Sicorion's various (and according to him, tiring) tasks included fishing, babysitting, carpentry and repairing the damaged vessels the Vrykul had left behind for future use.

This is where Sicorion met, fought, and ultimately had his behind kicked by a powerful young gnome by the name of Barbos in a test of martial prowess: no weapons, just your hands, feet and a ring floor caked with blood. Barbos was an adventurer, one of the adventurers that had ventured into the Molten Core, he was two years older than Sicorion, and extremely good at what he did. After meeting Barbos, he ran into yet another of his future comrades: a Death Knight that went by the name of Hellmourne; an ominous name from a darkly shrouded Night Elf. Sicorion fought Hellmourne as well, where the two engaged one another in a spar: it ended in a draw. Sicorion disabled Hellmourne, but he was rendered weaponless by the end of the fight. Both earned the respect the other.

Three weeks into his duty, Sicorion was given a letter, as was Barbos. They were to assist with the push against the newly-restored fortress of Naxxramas.

The Defeat of Rivendare

“Hello, boy.” - Baron Rivendare

Sicorion was reassigned by the coalition of Alliance and Horde (Working together for once) as Second-In-Command with a Strategem Squadron to push back the Scourge in the fields below Naxxramas so they could establish a transfer to the fortress above. Kel'Thuzad had apparently engineered a decentralized defense system to protect the Necropolis from outside harm. An abandoned keep on a hill overlooking the Alliance fortress nearby held one of the shield generators; the others were scattered with the Death Knight Captains and the Liches situated all around the fields.

Sicorion, activating his Seals, entered the keep, intent to destroy the generator. They entered in a ruckus, facing down wave upon wave of zombies and ghouls; sentries that had been left. Although, weak, the devastation of their presence came in the form of their ability: they infected Sicorion's Squadron with the Plague. Facing down turned allies, Sicorion had little choice but to take them down, lest he be infected as well. Having no formal training to cycle the Plague from his system (As most Paladins could), one bite would mean either an amputated limb or servitude to the monster that was Arthas. Barging into the room, Sicorion battled the Engineer of the Scourge, teaming up with his Squadron Leader and the two others that had survived the ghoul and zombie onslaught.

The Engineer was no mere fool: he was a powerful agent, firing bolts of lightning from decayed hands and electrifying to touch, Sicorion was lucky he was not burnt to a crisp thanks to his Divine Shield. However, with correct concentration, the silver-haired Paladin managed to find the Engineer's weak spot: his iron heart. A short-circuit and a burnt body later, the charges were set, and Sicorion, along with his companions, leapt out of the keep window to the snow below, witnessing one of the Necropolis' major defense structures crumble before his very eyes, hoping to return to the fortress with a smile.

Ominous footsteps approached as soon as the group of four began to embark on a return journey unbeknownst to them. Sicorion sensed something wrong: the other squadron, the one that had been stationed outside the keep, was missing. His questioning of their disappearance was answered later, when fresh ghouls, clad in Horde and Alliance armor, emerged from the ground, intent on feasting upon their flesh. The footsteps stopped and Sicorion shockingly met eyes with the one person to have broken him, the one person to have totally caused him misery: Baron Rivendare, with a titanic blade on his shoulders, a dark smile hidden behind a high collar.

Sicorion, immediately sensing danger, and just how deadly his foe was, took the initiative, casting a Holy Wrath spell, burning all the weaker ghouls away in an instant, causing the rest to howl in agony. Rivendare had covered himself with a dark aura to shield himself from Sicorion's spell. Taxed by the effort, but nonetheless aware of the level of fatality should they have stayed, Sicorion and the three made a break for it. They ran past the square, only to have several more ghouls ambush them, killing the Captain and the other soldier. They would have had a third meal, but Sicorion, in a flash, barely managed to cover the young man from being a lunch plate. However, holding him off while the soldier ran through the fields to the fortress, Sicorion steeled himself and steadied his stance, eyes watching as his enemy came closer, unfazed by the distraction. It was time for another face-off.

Rivendare taunted Sicorion at first, recalling how the boy had been so pathetic in their last encounter; how the battle had been an obsession for Rivendare, acknowledging how humiliating it had been to be forced into such a situation against a mere whelp such as Sicorion. Sicorion retorted of how Rivendare's hubris would be his downfall, to which the Death Knight revealed one of the most fear-inspiring weapons he had seen in his twenty-odd years of life: a blade Rivendare had christened Armageddon. Sicorion pulled out Jin'Rohk in retaliation, and the icy winds blew, ready to witness a battle of epic proportions.

Rivendare took the offensive, summoning his ghouls to his aid, more than twenty in total. Sicorion once again unleashed Holy Wrath, easily blowing them back in a show of force. Rivendare then swiftly moved in: he had used the Ghouls as meat shield. Jin'Rohk met Armageddon in a loud clang that blew the dust back. Sicorion's stance was strong enough to handle Rivendare's force: his foe had none, apparently. As one pushed against the other for dominance, Sicorion calculated that the Death Knight had uneven footing, and with a quick swipe, charged a fist with the light as the Death Knight staggered back. Sicorion was going to take advantage of the situation: he was going to smash his gauntlet into Rivendare's face. However, things did not go as planned. Rivendare had not unevened his footing; he was preparing to move back for a secondary strike. Sicorion's pushing him away had allowed the distance to open as much as Rivendare wanted.

Armageddon cut through Sicorion's armor like a hot knife through butter. The heavy blade sundered the silver-haired Paladin's chest armor, leaving a deep gash diagonal to Sicorion. Taking his own advantage of the situation, Rivendare rose his plated greaves to Sicorion's jaw, shattering the lower half of his armor after such force, and causing him to slam into a rock like a tossed ragdoll, apparently defeating him. Sicorion wasn't out of tricks, though, apparently: as Rivendare began to cast a spell, he chanted quickly, and let loose an Exorcism to the Death Knight's neck, causing his own damage. Raising to his feet with a slight grin, Sicorion assured that the battle was not over yet, even commenting on how the Death Knight failed to hold his guard up as effectively with the huge sword.

However, this time, it was different. Rivendare rose to his own two feet, coldly regarding Sicorion's shocked form, looking to him. There was only a slight burn on his chest and neck; nothing as major to what he expected it to be. Rivendare once again charged. Casting a Blessing of Sacrifice upon himself to ease what pain he had, Sicorion's Jin'Rohk met Rivendare's bastard blade. The two swordsmen did battle viciously. Rivendare's strikes were swift and shallow; wounding Sicorion at almost every other swipe. Sicorion's were full of power and speed. He didn't land as many blows as his foe did, but it was always at a cost of a strategic or advatageous situation for the Death Knight. It was a frustrating battle on both parts, each attack meeting their equal.

Then they reached the fount before the keep... and Rivendare had grown tired of a fair battle. He summoned his ghouls and stepped back, commanding them to devour Sicorion: to leave no trace of the heavily-damaged Paladin. Sicorion steadied himself, knocking the ghouls back one by one, dodging whatever strike he could, although the odd claw found its target. In the midst of the chaos, Rivendare appeared as Sicorion cleaved a ghoul in half... and moved to decapitate Sicorion.

The attack was almost successful. Sicorion twisted himself at the last moment for a parry, but the attack slashed across his helm, piercing the armor and drenching his visage with blood: he had been blinded. Falling to his knees, numb from pain and in agony, Rivendare came up to the Paladin, commending on an entertaining “side-show”... only to have Sicorion repeat what he had done with Zul'Jin, and thrust his blade into the ground, cracking it with an infusion of Light, sending him and Rivendare into the catacombs below.

Rivendare rose from he rubble, his body relatively bad in shape, even for an Undead. There were jagged rocks sticking into him everywhere, and some metal ends were impaling his upper body, However, the Death Knight had survived. He would not be the one to die today. Observing a rather large pile of rubble, Rivendare judged that his foe was buried underneath, most likely dead. Hefting Armageddon, he motioned to open a portal; a return to the Fortress above... when the unthinkable happened.

Jin'Rohk, bathed in the Holy Light, broke right through the incomplete Gate, running right through him and impaling him against the catacomb's unholy walls: his foe had survived. Sicorion was bloodied, bruised, he had one broken arm, and from his stance, a twisted ankle from the fall. The two foes locked eyes with one another; Rivendare thrust his metal claw of a gauntlet into Sicorion's side, intent on ripping out his bones one by one. Already numb, unfeeling, Sicorion called upon his most powerful seal: Martyr, infusing it into the both of them. He cried for vengeance and retribution, for Rivendare to finally pay what was due, and bathed the Death Knight of Naxxramas with the Holy Light, sapping him of all his strength and turning him into dust. It was over... it was all over.

Jin'Rohk snapped in half, one end buried halfway through the wall, the hilt and base in hand. Sicorion slowly felt the effects of his Blessing of Sacrifice go away, feeling the loss of blood, the broken bones and the lack of sight. He breathed smoothly, before falling on his back, ready for the end, to see Johnny and Diagara again.

As he stepped into the world between worlds, he saw a tall figure walk towards him... taller than he was, a gentle, strong presence. He felt tranquility and content, and thought no more.

A Mysterious Ally

“Ianar o dorei, Dio no irashiari.” - A mysterious voice

Sicorion awoke, to find himself still blinded. However, by touch, he could feel a strange cloth around his eyes and the warmth of healing. He was sore all over, in no condition to battle or even walk. He couldn't see, but his other sensations were heightened. He felt a soft form come up to him, whispering to him words he couldn't understand, holding him closely... he guessed it was a Druidess or a Shaman. The form felt female, and so did the voice; and the fresh scent of trees and animals in the vicinity suggested one or the other. Upon being able to speak, he asked the question to confirm his suspicions: he was greeted by a yes. His suspicions were further enhanced later when he heard her speak in Kal'Dorei. The accent was a dead giveaway: she was a Night Elf. Or rather, someone who had developed an accent as smooth as one.

However, upon asking her name he was given no reply, only a small goodbye; that she would be gone when he sees once more. He felt warm lips touch his forehead, and removed his bandages to see again. His eyes were healed. So were his wounds, the process was incomplete but it was enough for him to make out the outline of the objects around him. He found that he was underneath a tree, many herbs around him, along with a silver necklace; from his saviour perhaps? By his side was Jin'Rohk, or rather, half the blade. His armor was gone, and he was clad in peasant's clothes. His metal helm, heavily damaged, was next to him. His cape was also there by his side, albeit slightly torn and tattered. Picking up his belongings and with suspicious to who the Elf was, he made his way to the nearest settlement, wherever that was.

It turned out to be Dalaran.

Appearance Edit

“I stopped caring what he looked like some time ago, lass.” - Thane Stoutmantle

Sicorion's most prominent feature, is without a doubt the deadly-looking mask of a helm he has on his head. The very reason he has been mistaken for a Death Knight in the halls of Valiance Keep and Dalaran's streets, the helm is staple to the man's appearance. He rarely takes it off, causing some people to wonder how he eats and bathes. Sicorion wears the helm as a sense of responsibility: it was a legacy his mentor had passed on to him, after all. Physically, Sicorion stands 5'11”, slightly below average in height for a man his age. His visage is unknown to all but a handful who have chanced a peek, although his eyes have on occasion been revealed for the emerald green they are. He has a mix between a slender and a stiff build, a testament to his acrobatic training by Johnny Thunderstout.

Sicorion is usually draped in a white cloak, covering his dark armor. His hair is visibly silver, peeking from underneath his helm with Jin'Rohk (or rather, half of it) strapped tightly to his back. He wears metal studded boots, not bothering to relieve himself of the heavy gear most of the time.

Personality Edit

“Let the Scourge terrorize. Mr Jonathan's new book is out!” - Sicorion Baleforn

Sicorion would be described by his peers as an “Idiot Who Got Lucky”, or a “Pervert”. He appears aloof and anti-social outside of his circle of friends, preferring to aimlessly walk around Ironforge with the works of Marcus Jonathan's “A Steamy Romance” series, giggling all the while. Ironforge mothers have continuously complained about the books being a bad impression on their children, and have long campaigned to have the raunchy stories banned from the book stores. As a person, he could be described as loyal and trustworthy but despite his allegiance to the Light has been known to break the rules more often than not.

He is also lazy and uncaring at times, appearing almost unrepentant. However, he is fiercely protective of those he has grown attachment to, and would go out of his way to ensure their well-being, having lost so many in the course of his journey. His mask makes him appear emotionless, but people who know him are be assured he does care, even if he doesn't show it. Due to his Paladin and Mercenary upbringing, he has a simple sense of justice: "Protect the Weak, get next issue of Dirty Book".

Skills Edit

“You can't wound my pride with such a dull blade.” - Sicorion Baleforn

Sicorion is a powerful Paladin. His young age belies experience and exposure; the battles he has gone through has made him extremely resourceful, using quite possibly everything around him to turn the tide of battle in his favour. Having been trained by a skilful Rogue for three years, he also has a good understanding of poisons and diseases. However, due to the Mana Wyrm attack it would seem he relies more on martial prowess than his Retribution techniques. He is a thinker, a strategist, but due to his lazy nature fails to employ it as well as he should be.

Martial Prowess: Able to hold his own against powerhouses such as Zul'Jin and Rivendare, Sicorion has proven that he is quite a capable weaponmaster, employing two different weapons on the two separate occasions, able to keep them at bay under less than flattering conditions. However, it would seem that while he is good in terms of skill, his technique is less than stellar; he swings with power, but not the right stance. He is good at improvising, though, making up for this weakness.

Resourceful Mind: Probably the only Paladin who has been able to bring down a great structure with a combination of a Consecration and Judgement principle and a Crusader Strike, Sicorion is incredible at making do with what he has at hand. Having not finished his training to officially be called a fully-fledge Paladin, Sicorion makes do with what he has, combining good spells and skills into devastating combinations to great effect.

Master of Deceit: Sicorion is a good liar, another contradiction to his Paladin identity. Having been a Mercenary, Sicorion knows when to lie, how to lie and what to lie about. He knows how to hide his cards, only revealing them when he needs to or when he wants to.

Proficient Blacksmith: Sicorion is a decent crafter of metal-based items, having taken the profession after giving up the mantle of the Veil.

Spells/Techniques Edit

“Quit trying to hit me and hit me!” - An Orc Soldier

Sicorion employs an amalgam of Paladin techniques, chaining them one after the other to make up for his terrible connection with the Light. The most commonly employed and thus far have been used are as follows:

Crusader Strike: A singular strike manifesting the Light in physical form. It's a powerful strike, but very blockable. Sicorion, due to channeling the Light through his Mana streams to constantly repair the damage to them, uses more physical power with this to make up for its weakness. He finds a clean shot before using the attack, usually employing it as his trump card.

Exorcism: Sicorion channels the Light into an offensive a projectile Spell. While a great ranged technique and build-up, this is not a very powerful attack. However, he uses it often enough, usually to blind his enemy before following up with a Crusader Strike. It is interesting to note he did not formally learn this technique, but watched a Paladin perform it during his days as a Mercenary.

Seals: Like all Paladins, Sicorion uses Seals to augment his attacks. Depending on the situation, he employs Vengeance, Command, Wisdom, Light or Martyr. Each with their own defensive or offensive properties. He cycles through them very often in prolonged battles. Vengeance is used when against extra-long fights. Command is usually made present when he goes up against unpredictable opponents with rhythms he cannot follow. Wisdom and Light are cast whenever he is running close to empty. The final seal, Martyr, aka “The Forbidden Seal” is Sicorion's most dangerous Seal, siphoning his life force into a pure offensive strength; as he uses this ability, Sicorion's stamina rapidly depletes. He only uses the final seal as a desperation move.

Divine Storm: Quite possibly Sicorion's most powerful attack, Sicorion's Divine Storm employs his body as a weapon, spinning like a tornado and releasing the Light channeled into his Mana streams. The attack is powerful enough to disable an Undead Commander with a single strike, but causes incredible strain to his arms, where it is channeled the most.

Consecration: Sicorion blesses the ground him, turning it into an advantage. It scorches the feet of the impure, or those with ill-intent. A running gag is that Sicorion sometimes gets burned when he blesses the ground. He has only used this spell when he faces Demons or Undead.

Judgement: Sicorion channels the light into his weapon, launching a strike of blinding energy to his foes, severely injuring them. More weak than other Paladins due to his lack of training, but a dangerously deceptive move. Sicorion follows this up with a Divine Storm to end quick battles, more often than not.

Divine Shield: Sicorion calls upon an impenetrable barrier to protect him from harm; it only appears for a limited time, to which he uses to put strategies in place or analyze possible routes to victory.

Blessings: Augmentations to his physical self, he employs many blessings based on the situation at hand. Might is used when he is on the offensive, Wisdom when he requires a quick replenishment of his mana pool, or when he feels the pain from the Mana Wyrm's attack. Kings when he feels the need to augment his conditioning, and finally, Sacrifice to act as a pain-killer, enabling him to fight even when under the most severe of injuries.


Trivia Edit

  •  For some reason, hates to drink anything relatively alcoholic.
  • Ambidextrous, proven when he switched hands against Zul'Jin, and once again when he revealed it against the Tauren Shaman and an Orc Warrior
  • A fan of Marcus Jonathan's erotic literature, he can be seen giggling reading it as he walks along the streets of any Alliance settlement, sometimes even Shattrath or Dalaran.
  • Is always mistaken for a Death Knight due to his helm. A running joke is that he gets a noticeable tick when referred to as such.
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