"This world is not a good world, and now we suffer the consequences of being part of it. We cling to leaders like saviors, their crowns a beacon of hope in dark times. A true savior already knows our fate. The journey to salvation is long, and our shepherds lead us to slaughter. The promised land is not so hard to find, it's right there, at the edge of my blade."
-Pheight commenting on how Alliance leaders tolerate the Horde.
Born to a family of Stormwind Nobles, Pheight had a gentle childhood. Pampered by his family and their servants, he was destined for greatness, but not in a way his household expected. Once reaching an age where he was able to wield a sword, he entered into a school for military training and tactics, instead of science or literature. Pheight knew how to decipher battle plans before he was able to read a book, even those written by a foreign army.
It was part of his daily routine to spar with his peers, sharpen his sword, and learn mounted combat. Even during times of rest and relaxation, he and his friends would doodle armies and terrain on a piece of fabric, and see which side would win in a war.
Upon reaching adulthood at the age of eighteen, he had been accepted into the Brotherhood of the Horse and transferred to a barracks. Adjacent to it's officer's quarters was a stable that had a small milkmaid who tended to the cattle. Within the first hours of meeting her, after he had allegedly fell off his steed right in front of her, they quickly hit it off. Instead of spending his nights speaking of combat and glory to his brethren, he would sneak out and watch the stars with her.
A year later, he proposed to her, the day after he was accepted into a small, but respectable leadership role. His family's ties helped him achieve such a feat while still being a teenager. The two were inseparable, with instead of him sneaking out to see her, she would sneak away from her duties and watch him train. Life seemed to be going his way, coming into possession of everything a man could ever want, respect, power, love. On his wedding day, there was whispers of "Regent Lord" heard among the crowd, but elsewhere in the world, on that same day, the Dark Portal sparked to life.
Pheight did not see combat for a while during the First War. Due to being a Knight and destined to be a Lord over some land, it did not appear the Horde would require his attention. Only when Elwynn was threatened did he take up sword and shield. With a kiss to his wife, who was now expecting, he rode into combat. Although he and his brethren were skilled in combat, they were incredibly outnumbered, and this didn't become apparent until an ambush occured. Most of the other riders fell, but through will power, and the drive to return to his wife who needs him, he pushed through the lines and returned to the safety of Stormwind, which was now under siege. For the first time in his life Pheight felt something he never knew existed, fear.
Although the city was standing strong against the green tide, history shows that didn't last too long. With the death of their king, the city began to crumble, while he was away from his home, away from his wife. Believing that she was already on one of the transports out of the city, he rode to the docks, only to find out she had not arrived yet. He came to the realization that his wife was slower, due to being eight months pregnant, with twins. While the city's population was fleeing towards the ships, a lone human ran the other direction, to the burning houses and sound of battle.
He had left his horse behind, as the panicked masses would either prevent him from utilizing it's speed, or risk trampling over innocent civilians. Finally, he reached a street corner that was in the halfway point between his home and the docks. There, he saw her, with tears in his eyes he ran to his wife before the unthinkable happened.
A spear from an Orc spearman shot out from her chest, and with the silent mouthing of "I'm sorry" she fell to the ground.
In that moment, he had lost everything. The land he was born for was now on fire, his friends were gone, his wife lay dead at the feet of this green monster, as it cackled at such a sight. The Orc had made the greatest mistake of it's life, no, it's entire species. With an entire army at it's back, the Spearman pulled out the spear and stepped over his motionless wife. This one was large, and seemed to be in control of at least a portion of those accompanying him. It spoke "Do not fret, pink skin, you will join her soon, in de-" Pheight's sword was now in it's throat, breaking it's voicebox and silencing the fool. In those eleven and a half words, with rage in his eyes, Pheight had charged the creature and stabbed it in the neck. It was still alive, though not for long, as he bore witness to this knight's promise:
"I will ensure this world is cleansed of you and your misbegotten race before I draw my last breath."
Pulling the blade from it's throat, the large Orc grabbed it's neck, trying to stop blood loss, as Pheight brought his weapon back, and decapitated the savage. A second later, he dropped his weapon, approaching the lifeless body of his spouse. Dropping to his knees, just as several guardsmen arrived to witness what had happened, he screamed. Yelling so loud, and in such a bloodcurdling way, that every Orc baring witness to what happened, gave pause. Just enough of a pause for the soldiers that were sent to find him to drag him from the scene, making comments about how the enemy forces weren't moving, with the squad leader mentioning he can see why.
Shaking with pure, unadulterated rage, Pheight was brought on board the last boat leaving Stormwind and taken to South Shore. There he went into isolation, a flood of memories, guilt, and anger filled his being. His family, friends, home, and lover were gone. Only until word spread of the Orcs approaching Lordaeron did he leave his self imposed exile.
Upon hearing of the Orcs threatening the last known human bastion on Azeroth, Pheight returned to the public eye. Owning a now cold and distant attitude, a stark contrast from what he was before the razing of Stormwind, most citizens of Lordaeron gave him a wide berth. The only individuals he'd seek were recruiters for the various branches of the military. The Knights of the Silver Hand was the first of these groups, quickly but politely turned him away, as they were unable to see any faith in the light within him. One of the commanders going on record stating how he felt more uncomfortable near Pheight than he would beside one of their captured Necromancers.
The next few groups were just as unsuccessful, he was shot down by the navy due to very little experience at sea, the city guard were stationed too far away from the front line and he yearned for combat, and being untrained in the arcane prevented Kirin Tor from accepting his help. It was then a mercenary group confronted him, a small brigade of vigilantes and reformed bandits, who planned on taking a page out of the Horde's playbook and go raiding their camps. They agreed on taking him in, if he brought his own weapons and armor.
For the first time since coming to Southshore, he seemed relieved. His next priority was to search for a blacksmith, but not just any blacksmith, the best one money can buy. His wallet was nearly empty, but being from a wealthy family, he managed to acquire the services of an armorcrafter who specializes in thorium. Enchanted thorium to be exact, forged into a shield that had it's metal folded once for every man, woman, and child slain during the First War. This impressive bulwark was dubbed "The Wall of the Innocent" which he carried with him at all times, not wanting to be caught unawares ever again.
The day of their military campaign arrived, and this time, Pheight had nobody to return home to.
The group was oddly social for a band of misfits, cracking jokes and telling stories during the night around the camp fires, a perfect opportunity for a grizzled war veteran to warm up. Something Pheight didn't do, at least at first. Taking point when they had supper, and eating alone when they changed guard. The group was beyond the front lines, hitting camps, and taking no prisoners. It wasn't until they reached the cold climate of Dun Morogh that he had to open up a little more, as the warmth of others was needed to survive.
Around the campfire, during a cold winter night, he had told them stories of his days before the war, his childhood, his family's legacy. To brighten his mood, they playfully started addressing him as "My Lord" as the rest of the group had came from nothing. It was then Pheight had come to the realization these people, his brothers and sisters, are worth protecting by any means necessary.
A few short days later, the rag tag group discovered a Horde encampment, not too far from the borders of Loch Modan, full of Orcs and Dwarven prisoners. This lead Pheight into pressuring the commanding officer into attacking, using battle plans he himself the night before by candlelight. At first the person in charge was hesitant, until Pheight mentioned how his wife didn't get a second chance, unlike the prisoners. The order was soon given, and that night they descended upon the Horde camp like angels of death.
Leading the charge was the "One Man Shield Wall", a title he earned from holding back several Grunts by himself, with help of his upgraded shield. Fighting like a wounded animal, with scars that were mental rather than physical, the battle was brief but bloody. With his expertly laid plans, every Orc was slain, save for two, who were captured.
Now in the same shackles that once held their Dwarven prisoners, they were confronted by Pheight, along with the mercenary group's senior officers. With his blade drawn, he eyes the two with anger. One was a male, the other was a female, holding each other's hands as they were brother and sister. He asks if they spoke common, and they give a nod. Stepping forward, he begins to give them a short story, about the fate of his wife. Mentioning how he can see the same fear in their eyes that he had felt that day.
One of the officers mentioned how they'll see their families again, but only if they pay for their freedom. Pheight raised a hand shushing the man, shouting how they are far too dangerous. How something must be done. How a lesson is to be learned. He approaches the female Orc, grabbing her by the metal collar and lifting her off the ground.
"I'd ask you to say hi to my wife, but you're not going where she is!"
The men and women behind him scream his name, telling him to stop, just as his blade is shoved into the greenskin's heart. Releasing the collar, the now limp body of the Orc falls to the ground. Everyone who bore witness has their eyes widen, as an eerie silence descends onto the crowd. Pheight turns to the male orc, and unlocks a chain keeping him tied to the ground. "You are free to go, and tell everyone what happened here.Tell everyone, that if they remain on my world, they will meet the same fate." and with that the only survivor scampers off into the wilderness.
Only after the Orc disappeared, did everyone catch their breath. The first spoken words were how that was uncalled for, how that was absolutely terrible. The knight of the first war turns around, and shouts back "They would, and have, done the same to us. I am trying to protect humanity, protect you!" while others called him a murderer.
Infuriated, Pheight goes to storm off, but not before giving a short speech. "I'm sorry that I can do what you never could. I am just trying to make sure our families, our children, remain safe. You're making the mistake of treating these savages like . . . people." and with that, he is never seen again for the duration of the Second War.
Once the Horde was defeated in the Second War and many of their forces were routed, word quickly spread of the liberation of Stormwind. Hearing word of this, Pheight returned to the ruined city, this time alone, making the journey on horseback, with a steed he obtained from Menethil. Once reaching the city, before reconstruction could begin, he came across his estate. For many humans, they were hopeful in returning Stormwind to it's former glory, but not Pheight.
As he looked at his home, blacked by the fires a few years prior, he saw an empty doorway where his wife would once stand. He could just about imagine her smiling, eager to see her husband. Closing his eyes, and briefly seeing it in his mind, smiling for the first time in many nights. This all came to an abrupt end when he opened his eyes once again and the harsh reality kicked him in the teeth.
A scowl formed on his face, remembering the green visage of those who had taken this dream away from him. He looked around, peering at others across the street, the group smiling at finding some old family heirloom that survived the fire. He clenched his fists, not out of jealousy of their joy, but upset at their complacency. To him, they didn't know how close they are to losing what they love as he witnessed them laughing. Pheight did not blame them, they didn't know, they couldn't know, and it was up to him to ensure their well-being.
With a renewed sense of purpose, he turned his attention back to his home, and entered the abode. Moving through the looted and ruined rooms, he reached what was once the study. It was there he found his family's safe, still locked and unscathed, hidden behind the rumble of a bookshelf. Opening it with a combination that was passed down from generation to generation, he managed to retrieve his family's fortune.
Now having the funds to make a difference, he set out into the world. First contacting a Dwarven contractor from Ironforge to start work on a underground bunker. Being a veteran of the First and Second War, he remembered how the Dwarves managed to survive while Dun Morogh was occupied by the Horde through use of their underground fortresses. This was to be his headquarters, and while that was underway, he sought out Gnomish engineers for gadgets and engineering wonders as a substitute for magic due to his lack of spellcasting.
Far too occupied with seeing his vision become a reality, he did not partake in the battles against the Scourge or Legion. He understood they were a danger to the world, but being the strategist he was, he decided the best course of action was to fully ready himself for threats rather than rushing in unprepared.
The Battle for Hyjal disgusted him. The pact between the Horde and the Alliance didn't improve his opinion, but rather, he saw it as manipulation. In his mind, the only reason they didn't murder their comrades, was because they faced obliteration. With the enemy of their enemy no longer having much of a presence, he fully expects them to return to their old ways.
Four years have passed since the mortal races banded together and stood united against the might of the Burning Legion. At forty-five, Pheight has become middle aged, but refuses to let the strength of his youth leave him. Between overseeing the construction of his headquarters, he remained in shape, preparing for skirmishes with the Horde. Feeling as strong as he was in his prime, he was confident in his abilities on the battlefield, though he had become worried that he may fight alone.
Upon completion of the underground settlement, he sought out allies and companions to join his cause, others who share his unbridled hatred of the Horde. At first, he was shunned. Insulted and condemned by his own brethren, which he shrugged off as ignorant fools who didn't know the savagery the Orcs were capable of. This continued for some time, as he moved city to city, promoting his cause, but always alone, at least for a while.
During his travels, he heard the sounds of battle in the wilderness, which immediately reminded him of the First War, of what happened, and that immense rage began to surface. He road towards the sounds, and upon reaching a clearing, there he witnessed a dwarf, fighting like a cornered animal, showing no fear while being outnumbered two to one. Not even the warlock's spells of darkness could make him flee in terror as he cut down their friend.
Once the Orc warrior had fallen, the dwarf turned to the warlock, who had almost completed a powerful shadow bolt, which would spell the end for the bearded berserker, had Pheight not intervened. Mid incantation, the Orc warlock had a sword gush from it's throat, silencing the greenskin once and for all. When they fell, Pheight was revealed to had been the one who had came to the dwarf's aid.
With that, the first of many joined Pheight in his pursuit for a safe, and Horde free Azeroth.
After growing in number, they had to decide on a name. Pheight originally considered "I am vigilant" as they must be vigilant to safeguard their world, but after much discussion, they settled on "Vigil" as their name. Lead by Pheight, and without their hands tied by the Stormwind government, they would do what the Alliance never could.
[This part is the first draft, haven't had time to fine-tune it 'cause of being a new dad]
Over the course of a year and a half, the once small guild had grown into a respectable force. They had overcome a Firelord, a large amount of Deathwing's children, and not one but two "gods" in a jungle and in a desert. This had gained them a reputation among Horde and Alliance alike, however, this was not a very positive one, as Pheight would butt heads with other leaders of the Alliance and became hated by the Horde.
It all came to a head, when the Scourge, considering such a rogue group to be a sufficient threat, discovered the home base of Vigil in the cold landscape of Dun Morogh. The headquarters was to be assaulted by the undead, with the Alliance and Horde turning to look the other way, as they've amassed few allies. Only with the help of a Council and a mystical group known only as the 'Stump', much of the personnel was evacuated. This left behind Pheight and a small group of loyal-to-the-end companions, consisting of another warrior, wielding a magic sword, and a shield the size of a car door, a particularly ferocious druid, and a few others.
The assault on Vigil was bloody and long, with the Guild's elite retreating deeper into the mountain. Over several days, the monsters reached the war room, where Pheight had been expected to be waiting at, in a last stand with his closest friends. Just before the door to the secure room was breached, an experimental mana-bomb warhead was detonated, leveling the entire mountain.
Vigil had become no more than a memory, with a few survivors still wearing the colors, in respect to the guild- No, their family.
What become of Pheight himself is unknown, he allegedly died in the explosion, a fitting way for such an explosive individual to go. . .
. . .but rumors of a knight, swinging a swift cudgel, began to spread within the shattered world of Outland.