Post by abcus on Jul 31, 2005 21:59:29 GMT -5
Greetin's new friends! My name is Abcus Armstrong and I ask that you who have gathered to listen to my story find
yerselves a comfortable seat as the tale may grow long in the telling.
I fear that ain't a tale of high adventure but the story of a simple man with a hurtful past.
My early memories are of the hills around loch modan, and of a dwarven hunter by the name of Trenchard
Longbeard. This solitary dwarf raised me as his own son and from him I learned much about the wild woods and
it's creatures. Thanks to him, to this day I am more comfortable when surrounded by trees than buildins.
Now my childhood was a happy one, tramping though the woods and learning the ways of beasts and birds, Trenchard
being of a mind to train me as a hunter but before I had completely embraced this life, my foster-father revealed
to me the sad story of my origins which I will now share with you.
(Takes a breath and drinks from the waterskin at his side)
Nearly a score of years ago, Trenchard was staying at the home of Andorhal's local Blacksmith, one Flynn Armstrong.
He was a welcome guest as Flynn and he shared a passion for ores and mining that few in Andorhal could match and
none surpass.
He was a regular enough guest, stopping often in his travels to bring ore to Flynn's smithy. These were the great
days following the second war when the orcs had been humbled and travelers were welcome in all the lands of the
alliance. However, in Lorderon at that time, rumors flew about a vile plague of undeath that came swiftly and
killed recklesly. Trenchard however, had little use for these rumours save to pass the time over a mug (or more!)
of ale.
However, on this fateful day, Trenchard learned that not all fireside tales end when sleep calls. Indeed, some
stay until mornings light and beyond. Such was the fate of the tale of undeath told the night before. On the day
in question, Trenchard was rudely awoken sometime in the midmorning (having lingered over more than a few mugs of
ale the night before) by Flynn's wife. (I, to my sorrow, have never learned her name as my foster father could
never remember it, having only spoken to her husband before this).
She was distraught, her eyes wild and her voice had begun to crack: "Awake dwarf!! You are the only hope for my son!
Awake I say!"
Trenchard's reactions I imagine, were none too swift, but he caught her tone and sprang up more or less quickly:
"What would ye have of me lass? And take yer time fer this morn' I ain't at my best." But the mistress of the house
was not to be forestalled:
"Dress and come quickly! My son's life is already in your hands! Quickly!" and she left the small room. At these
strange words, the dwarf set to dressing and gathering his arms as fast as his hangover would let him, though his
head quickly cleared when remembering her urgency.
As he hefted his rifle and passed through the door, the woman returned nearly dragging a very small boy by the
hand and with tears in her eyes she said:
"I am sorry, good Trenchard, to give you this burden, but I fear that our home is already unsafe, and I myself am
even now falling prey to this vile curse." She sobbed as she forced the dwarf to take the toddler's hand. "You are
one who knows of the wilds and how to survive in the woods. My husband has told me this. I pray you, take my son
as far from this madness as you are able and keep him safe from the ravages of this cursed palgue!"
"Plague?" cried Trenchard, remembering well the stories told over ale yerstereve, "Lass, be ye sure? How did this
happen?"
"The grain!!" she cried out, then hunched her shoulders forward as one who is in great pain, "I gathered it from
the new stock this very morn. I ate of it and fed my dear Flynn before he left for the smithy." She gasped and then
looked at the dwarf as one who is hunted, and from her hunched over position, he could clearly see that her usually
bright blue eyes had turned to a sicly green color and were begining to emit an uneartly glow.
"Run dwarf" came a cold voice from the woman's mouth. A voice that was loosing all characteristics that made it
hers. "run before it claims me utterly."
At this point my foster-father's story becomes unclear, I don't know quite what final words pass between him and
my mother, but I do know that a horrified dwarf appears at the back door of the house a short time later with a
toddler in tow. He then dissapears into the woods, giving thanks that the Armstrongs live at the very edge of town.
Once my dwarven father gained a hill some distance from the town, he stopped and looked back at the town he had
just left. He was close enough to see a tall paladin with golden hair ride into town and be attacked by an undead
mass of villagers.
This, I think more than anything, made my father hurry to leave those lands. He skirted all villages, even those of
his own people, and finally found a place in the hills of loch modan where he set to the task of raising the boy he
had been given.
As you may have surmised the boy is the story is me and once I had learned the truth of my origins (which were not
surprising as I had been taller than my "father" for many years now) I resolved to find out more about this plague
that had claimed my parents, and remembering well the paladin from the tale, I resolved to set out to see if I
could find him and question him about the events of that day.
So began my travels, first through the dwarven lands where I learned there had been a third great war and of the
rebirth of the Horde. Though when I asked of a tall golden haired paladin all any dwarf could tell me was that
I had best look to Stormwind for news of that sort.
And so I traveled to Stormwind city, and my heart grew faint within me at the mass of buildings all around. Still, I
longed to learn of this Paladin and of the fates of Andorhal's Smith and his wife so I gathered my courage and
entred the vast city.
Eventually, I found my way to the great cathedral of light and there from a patient and kindly paladin named
Katherine I finally learned that the tall paladin from my father's tale could only be Arthas, the former prince
of Lorderon, who had also been claimed by the plague and who had commited great atrocites in its name.
Upon hearing this, I wept for the people and asked the Paladin before me if nothing could be done to heal those so
aflicted by undeath. From her gentle guidance, and in memory of her kindness I joined the ranks of the Palidins of
Stormwind and have for four seasons trained under their teachings. I rejoice to say that their ideals march
in step with my own.
This brings me to how I came to you. One night as I lay in a dream in the inn near sentinel hill, I was met by
Brother Mundano and he told me of the Guard and your honorable charge.
Therefore, I humbly submit my skills as a meagre palidin and journeyman smith to the service of the Honor Guard in
hope that I may help you in your good works and perhaps learn more of my past along the way.
Thank you again for hearing my tale.
(bows and sits down)
yerselves a comfortable seat as the tale may grow long in the telling.
I fear that ain't a tale of high adventure but the story of a simple man with a hurtful past.
My early memories are of the hills around loch modan, and of a dwarven hunter by the name of Trenchard
Longbeard. This solitary dwarf raised me as his own son and from him I learned much about the wild woods and
it's creatures. Thanks to him, to this day I am more comfortable when surrounded by trees than buildins.
Now my childhood was a happy one, tramping though the woods and learning the ways of beasts and birds, Trenchard
being of a mind to train me as a hunter but before I had completely embraced this life, my foster-father revealed
to me the sad story of my origins which I will now share with you.
(Takes a breath and drinks from the waterskin at his side)
Nearly a score of years ago, Trenchard was staying at the home of Andorhal's local Blacksmith, one Flynn Armstrong.
He was a welcome guest as Flynn and he shared a passion for ores and mining that few in Andorhal could match and
none surpass.
He was a regular enough guest, stopping often in his travels to bring ore to Flynn's smithy. These were the great
days following the second war when the orcs had been humbled and travelers were welcome in all the lands of the
alliance. However, in Lorderon at that time, rumors flew about a vile plague of undeath that came swiftly and
killed recklesly. Trenchard however, had little use for these rumours save to pass the time over a mug (or more!)
of ale.
However, on this fateful day, Trenchard learned that not all fireside tales end when sleep calls. Indeed, some
stay until mornings light and beyond. Such was the fate of the tale of undeath told the night before. On the day
in question, Trenchard was rudely awoken sometime in the midmorning (having lingered over more than a few mugs of
ale the night before) by Flynn's wife. (I, to my sorrow, have never learned her name as my foster father could
never remember it, having only spoken to her husband before this).
She was distraught, her eyes wild and her voice had begun to crack: "Awake dwarf!! You are the only hope for my son!
Awake I say!"
Trenchard's reactions I imagine, were none too swift, but he caught her tone and sprang up more or less quickly:
"What would ye have of me lass? And take yer time fer this morn' I ain't at my best." But the mistress of the house
was not to be forestalled:
"Dress and come quickly! My son's life is already in your hands! Quickly!" and she left the small room. At these
strange words, the dwarf set to dressing and gathering his arms as fast as his hangover would let him, though his
head quickly cleared when remembering her urgency.
As he hefted his rifle and passed through the door, the woman returned nearly dragging a very small boy by the
hand and with tears in her eyes she said:
"I am sorry, good Trenchard, to give you this burden, but I fear that our home is already unsafe, and I myself am
even now falling prey to this vile curse." She sobbed as she forced the dwarf to take the toddler's hand. "You are
one who knows of the wilds and how to survive in the woods. My husband has told me this. I pray you, take my son
as far from this madness as you are able and keep him safe from the ravages of this cursed palgue!"
"Plague?" cried Trenchard, remembering well the stories told over ale yerstereve, "Lass, be ye sure? How did this
happen?"
"The grain!!" she cried out, then hunched her shoulders forward as one who is in great pain, "I gathered it from
the new stock this very morn. I ate of it and fed my dear Flynn before he left for the smithy." She gasped and then
looked at the dwarf as one who is hunted, and from her hunched over position, he could clearly see that her usually
bright blue eyes had turned to a sicly green color and were begining to emit an uneartly glow.
"Run dwarf" came a cold voice from the woman's mouth. A voice that was loosing all characteristics that made it
hers. "run before it claims me utterly."
At this point my foster-father's story becomes unclear, I don't know quite what final words pass between him and
my mother, but I do know that a horrified dwarf appears at the back door of the house a short time later with a
toddler in tow. He then dissapears into the woods, giving thanks that the Armstrongs live at the very edge of town.
Once my dwarven father gained a hill some distance from the town, he stopped and looked back at the town he had
just left. He was close enough to see a tall paladin with golden hair ride into town and be attacked by an undead
mass of villagers.
This, I think more than anything, made my father hurry to leave those lands. He skirted all villages, even those of
his own people, and finally found a place in the hills of loch modan where he set to the task of raising the boy he
had been given.
As you may have surmised the boy is the story is me and once I had learned the truth of my origins (which were not
surprising as I had been taller than my "father" for many years now) I resolved to find out more about this plague
that had claimed my parents, and remembering well the paladin from the tale, I resolved to set out to see if I
could find him and question him about the events of that day.
So began my travels, first through the dwarven lands where I learned there had been a third great war and of the
rebirth of the Horde. Though when I asked of a tall golden haired paladin all any dwarf could tell me was that
I had best look to Stormwind for news of that sort.
And so I traveled to Stormwind city, and my heart grew faint within me at the mass of buildings all around. Still, I
longed to learn of this Paladin and of the fates of Andorhal's Smith and his wife so I gathered my courage and
entred the vast city.
Eventually, I found my way to the great cathedral of light and there from a patient and kindly paladin named
Katherine I finally learned that the tall paladin from my father's tale could only be Arthas, the former prince
of Lorderon, who had also been claimed by the plague and who had commited great atrocites in its name.
Upon hearing this, I wept for the people and asked the Paladin before me if nothing could be done to heal those so
aflicted by undeath. From her gentle guidance, and in memory of her kindness I joined the ranks of the Palidins of
Stormwind and have for four seasons trained under their teachings. I rejoice to say that their ideals march
in step with my own.
This brings me to how I came to you. One night as I lay in a dream in the inn near sentinel hill, I was met by
Brother Mundano and he told me of the Guard and your honorable charge.
Therefore, I humbly submit my skills as a meagre palidin and journeyman smith to the service of the Honor Guard in
hope that I may help you in your good works and perhaps learn more of my past along the way.
Thank you again for hearing my tale.
(bows and sits down)