Collis and Kirre Fisher are a typical civilian couple living in Old Town. They have lived there for many years, and doubtless will live there until the end of their days. Collis shunned his father's profession many years ago (as he couldn't stand the smell of fish) and works now as a kitchen hand in the Stormwind Stockade. Currently on leave due to the prison riots. Kirre remains, as is the old way, at home keeping house, although she works a single day each week for the dyers that supply the two tailors in the Mage Quarter. A meagre wage, granted, but good pin money.
Their son Gar, however, was never destined for anything so menial.
Early on in life he was a viscious child, bullying other children by stealing their toys and generally making trouble. As he grew, he found that keeping active was one of the few ways that he could maintain a grip on his temper, and found work outside of school at the Eastvale logging camp, where felling trees exerted a great deal of energy - so he was too tired to get angry once he got home.
Hitting things with axes can become habit-forming however. When a small group of Murlocs raided the camp, he was not afraid as much as he was overtaken with bloodlust. A good few of the creatures fell before his axe before he was wounded and had to leave the battle. Fortuitously, however, a group of adventurers happened by to save the camp, and healed him with the powers of the clergy.
Still... combat had proven itself to him as a worthy venture in and of itself.
He made his way to the Northshire Abbey, where Llane Beshere trained him in the rudimentary arts of combat. He progressed quickly and was soon off on his own, making a name for himself.
By the time he'd "adventured" for himself all the way to Ironforge, it was apparent that he was getting detached from what he once was. He'd not spoken or written to his parents in some time, and began to realise that he just didn't care. He wondered why.
One frosty morning, he awoke in a cave near Kharanos. He looked down to see blood all over his hands from a fight with a small raiding party of troggs the night before. He'd not washed it off. He moved to a small pool to do so, and realised that he was almost totally covered in the sticky red gore. He looked like a monster and with horror realised that, in fact, that was what he was in danger of becoming.
Gar made his way back to Stormwind immediately. He wanted no more of this life - he'd cook like his father, or fish like his grandfather, but no more fighting. He threw his sword from the nearest cliff and started to walk.
On the road back to Ironforge and the tram home, his vow was broken. It cost him his pride but seeing a travelling baker being set about by a group of Trogg Ambushers, he had to do something. After a momentary hesitation, he laid into the group, hand and foot. Strangely, a calm sense was about him, rather than what had become a customary battle cry. He was resolved to save this man, and similarly certain that he would die in the process. He called for the man to run (which he did, wisely), and took the raiders on alone.
It would be nice to tell you how he beat them all single handed and unarmed. It would be a tall tale however. He brained one with a rock, pushed one into the river, plunging through the ice, and managed a firm punch to a third, but that was the extent of it. More than that he could not do, and the creatures flanked him, one piercing his side with a blade.
Gar fell to the snow covered ground, his blood pooling around him and melting the pure white layer into pink slush. The giggling troggs stripped him of all he carried and rushed off into the sparse woodland from which they'd come.
All sound stopped after a time. Even the birds seemed hushed. All he could percieve was his slowing breaths and the tick-tock crunch of his heart beating.
Only hearts (even broken ones) don't crunch. When a pair of boots appeared in his vision, he realised that someone had slowly walked through the snow and stopped by his head. He tried to look up, but couldn't turn his head to see past the man's thighs.
"I've nothing more to take. Leave me be."
"That is inaccurate. The path of your soul is still in question young one, and could be taken at any time."
Gar coughed. A trickle of blood escaped his lips. "And you're going to take it?"
"No. A man's soul is his own, a lake of conscience. Sometimes the dams need to be shored up however."
The newcomer knelt and rolled the young warrior onto his back. Visible now, the man had a kindly face, haloed by the rim of a chainmail coif. He removed a gauntlet and placed a hand over Gar's wound. "I can fix the outside, but the inside is yours to defend. I can show you the way if you desire it. I saw your act of bravery from the hill yonder, and it was the act of a virtuous man. You've started already."
"I... I don't want to fight anymore. I can't. It makes me evil."
"But some battles need to be fought. Those that fall to their inner demons, as you would have, must be kept in check."
Gar considdered this for a time, gazing up at the darkening sky. Stars popped into existance above him and he noticed for the first time in many months how beautiful they were. He was struck by their light. Light amidst total darkness. He turned to the haloed man.
"Very well, young man. I will take you back to Stormwind and to the people who taught me. You will learn the ways of the Palladin and fight for the light with the Azeroth Templars, as I do."
The Templar pulled a fully healed Gar to his feet. "You are born again, young one. Time for you to live as you should. They call me Doorknocker."
The question "Why do they call you that?" came to mind instantly, but he held back. Instead he renamed himself.
"I was Gar. But if I am reborn then I shall now be known as Reviresco. I live again!"