For the next thirteen years, I essentially lived as an elf- eating their food, drinking their drinks, singing their songs, and playing their games. When I turned 17, Anu'Serr began taking me out on patrols and hunting parties. On the third such trip, I had my first battle encounter with forest trolls (to this point I had only seen them from a distance). I found them to be tall and extremely strong, but my training served me well and we survived the attack. Every time I fought the trolls, I learned more about how they fight, how they think, how they move, and used that to my advantage. Over the years there have been a number of close calls and I have a nice collection of scars, but I've managed to make it so far with my limbs still attached.
As I fought and bled and hurt and felt victory with the elves, I developed a close kinship to them. Anu'Serr, more than my teacher, became my older brother- a mentor to guide me, but never to replace my father. Others became close friends for whom I would willingly give myself (and I knew they would do the same for me). They taught me what they had learned about nature, that it had a voice, and that if one listened closely enough, he might hear its whisper. I learned the diverse uses of each plant, how liferoot can help one heal his wounds and fadeleaf sharpens one's senses. I think some of the elves might have had the beginnings of talent for what I have heard called druidism, a gift embodied by some of their distant kin, the Night Elves. I have not any skill like that, but living and Quel'Danil has awakened in me a feel for nature and life that I think most urban-dwelling humans and peoples lack.
This connection, I think, became the strongest in my relationship with Silvereye, my gryphon. When I was 16, my father took me to Aerie Peak for my birthday. He, Dobrin and Anu'Serr had arranged for me to have my own gryphon hatchling to raise, train and care for. I was ecstatic. My father lectured me about the diligence and maturity I would have to show, but he didn't need to say anything: growing up around the majestic creatures and watching how the Wildhammers cared for them had given me a sense of awe and almost reverance toward teh gryphons. I knew that they were powerful and sometimes deadly, but if properly treated and respected, a gryphon could become a person's closest friend. Dobrin gave Silvereye to me when she was only a few months old. She was named for her eyes that were as clear and sharp as mirrors.
Under the close watch of Anu'Serr and a few of Aerie Peak's gryphon keepers, I learned how to feed her and care for her. We rarely spent time apart. Even when I started going on patrols with the elves, Silvereye would be close by, either perching on a tree asleep or hunting small game for food. When she was big enough (I was about 18 years old), I began training her to fight alongside us. She became a valuable part of our patrols, scouting ahead for trolls and attacking them from the air. I've heard that many hunters have such a connection with their pets that the pair can essentially read each other's thoughts. Over time Silvereye and I developed a similar connection. With a thought or look I could communicate what I needed, and she could do the same. It's nothing so advanced as mind-reading or telepathy, but just an understanding.
Finally, when Silvereye was about 5 years old (I was 21), she was big enough to ride. Having spent so much time together, it was easy for she and I to make the transition to mount and rider. A large part of that bond is trust, and we had learned to trust each other implicitly over the years. Silvereye had become my best friend. She knew I would take care of her, and I knew she would never let me fall. I gained a new feeling of freedom when I started flying on Silvereye's back. To this day I've never experienced anything to rival such exhileration.
So it was that I spent much of my adolescence and the beginning of my adult life among the forests of the Hinterlands, among the elves and with the dwarves. Those were happy times for me, and for my family. I didn't see them a lot, but I was able to spend important occasions with them- I never missed a birthday, and usually made it home for Winter's Veil or Noblegarden. I was proud to see my sister off as she headed north to Loraderon, accepted as a new student at the Monastary tucked away in the Tirisfal Glades. When I was 24, my father recieved a reassignment from the Silver Hand. He was to take a post at Tyr's Hand, far to the northeast near Lordaeron's eastern coast. He and my mother left while I stayed behind, accepting Quel'Danil as my new permanent home.
The Scourge attacked Darrowshire shortly after our arrival. We defeated the first wave of skeletal warriors and ghouls with some ease, and our confidence was bolstered; it seemed that the Light was with us and would protect us from the unholy Scourge. But the Undead captains were strong and clever, and the second wave almost broke us. Only the paladins' command of the Light's power kept the Scourge from ruining our defenses. From there, however, the battle turned ill and quickly so.
One of the Scourge captains, known to all as Horgus the Ravager, fought his way to Davil and engaged him in battle. Davil won the fight, but suffered a mortal wound and died shortly thereafter. Father and the other paladins managed to stay organized despite the fall of their leader, but what happened to the Darrowshire militia was far more devastating. The other Scourge leader, a death knight by the name of Marduk Blackpool, sent in his most elite forces. As they cleaved their way through our defenses, Blackpool approached Captain Redpath and, by some dark and powerful magic, ripped the man's soul from his body. Far away though I was, on the other side of the battle, I could hear the cry of agony from the Darrowshire captain. It is a sound and feeling that haunts me to this day. What followed was worse, for Redpath and for us. Through some necromantic means, Blackpool twisted Redpath's spirit into an evil shadow of itself. As we watched, Redpath's corrupted spirit began spreading the taint of dark magic to the defenders of Darrowshire, turning them against their brothers. Worse than that, the now-evil soldiers began murdering those women, children, and infirmed who had not the time to evacuate Darrowshire before the Scourge attack.
Our defense utterly shattered, the paladins called for a mass retreat: anyone who could get out was ordered to do so by any means possible. Father, myself and the other paladins covered the retreat of as many civilians and soldiers as could get away. We managed to hold off the Scourge long enough for them to make their way across the Thondroril River (I learned later they made it safely to Hearthglen). We decided to head east to Tyr's Hand. As we traveled, we knew there would be danger of running into more Scourge forces. Father told me he had sent a letter to Mother in Tyr's Hand, asking her to leave for the southern kingdoms, away from the Scourge threat. He said he wasn't sure the letter had reached her, so he asked me to get her out of Lordaeron should he fall. Of course I agreed, though I vowed to myself not to let anything happen to my father nor anyone in my family.
After only a few days of travel, we happened across a small Scourge force. We fought them and drove them back for some hours, before they were reinforced by another small contingent of Undead. It was at this point that my heart was shattered- as Father held off a pair of ghouls, a massive Abomination (a twisted creation of body parts and corpses crudely sewn together) came up behind him. I saw it and was too far away to intercept, so I vainly tried to fell it with arrows. I might as well have been poking an elk with a needle. The Abomination knocked him to the ground with one swipe of its massive cleaver. Father's armor was split, his side torn open. Three other paladins rushed to his side and brought the Abomination down. I rushed to his side, where the life in him was slowly slipping away. As I kneeled in the pool of blood flowing from his torn body, he used his final breaths to tell me how proud he was of me, and how he wanted me to make sure our family was safe.
Father died in my arms, but I barely had time to weep or grieve: the Scourge were mounting a counterattack. The knights had to tear me away from Father's body forced me to leave it behind. Our numbers were too few and our strength drained; we had to flee. We managed to get away, and continued our trek to Tyr's Hand. All I could think about as we walked was my father. I'd replay moments from my life when we had spent time together, laughed together. It took all my effort to keep the image of his broken body and his Scourge attackers away, and more often than not my attempts were in vain. Hot rage boiled together with bitter sorrow, and I wondered how I would tell my mother and sister.
As it turns out, I didn't have to say anything. As soon as we made it to Tyr's Hand (gratefully finding it unscathed by the Scourge), I found my mother, and my face said it all. She looked at me and saw my grief, knowing immediately what had happened. She fainted and was out for several hours. When she came to, I told her everything that had happened since Stratholme. When I told her that Father wanted her and Katia to go south, away from the Scourge, she was hesitant at first; she felt safe in Tyr's Hand, and feelings of taking vengeance started to creep into her mind. But when I emphasized that her safety was Father's last wish, she relented and agreed to leave with me.
As the Scourge had occupied much of the region by that point, we decided to make our way through the mountains into the Hinterlands. I sent word ahead to Quel'Danil that we would be coming and by which route they could expect us. It took us two weeks of traveling through snows and high passes, but we finally started to descend into the warmer valleys below the mountains. Scouts from Quel'Danil found us and gave us food and drink before taking us to the lodge. We rested there for several days. In that time, I sent word to Dobrin of Father's death. I was glad to learn the Scourge had yet to come to the Hinterlands; indeed, scout reports showed they had stopped their southward expansion on the northern side of the pass between the Hinterlands and Lordaeron.
When we were well rested, Mother and I traveled by gryphon to Southshore. There we learned that Lordaeron's capital city had fallen into ruin after Arthas murdered his father on the throne. No one knew exactly why the prince had descended into the madness that now consumed him, they only knew that he was but a shadow of his former self. We also learned that much of the Scourge force seemed to have left Lordaeron and sailed west for the far continent of Kalimdor, a land mysterious and largely unknown to humans. Why exactly they had left we didn't learn until later. What mattered at that point is that Mother was sailing south to safety. I parted with her, vowing to fulfill the other part of Father's wish in making sure Katia was safe.
This connection, I think, became the strongest in my relationship with Silvereye, my gryphon. When I was 16, my father took me to Aerie Peak for my birthday. He, Dobrin and Anu'Serr had arranged for me to have my own gryphon hatchling to raise, train and care for. I was ecstatic. My father lectured me about the diligence and maturity I would have to show, but he didn't need to say anything: growing up around the majestic creatures and watching how the Wildhammers cared for them had given me a sense of awe and almost reverance toward teh gryphons. I knew that they were powerful and sometimes deadly, but if properly treated and respected, a gryphon could become a person's closest friend. Dobrin gave Silvereye to me when she was only a few months old. She was named for her eyes that were as clear and sharp as mirrors.
Under the close watch of Anu'Serr and a few of Aerie Peak's gryphon keepers, I learned how to feed her and care for her. We rarely spent time apart. Even when I started going on patrols with the elves, Silvereye would be close by, either perching on a tree asleep or hunting small game for food. When she was big enough (I was about 18 years old), I began training her to fight alongside us. She became a valuable part of our patrols, scouting ahead for trolls and attacking them from the air. I've heard that many hunters have such a connection with their pets that the pair can essentially read each other's thoughts. Over time Silvereye and I developed a similar connection. With a thought or look I could communicate what I needed, and she could do the same. It's nothing so advanced as mind-reading or telepathy, but just an understanding.
Finally, when Silvereye was about 5 years old (I was 21), she was big enough to ride. Having spent so much time together, it was easy for she and I to make the transition to mount and rider. A large part of that bond is trust, and we had learned to trust each other implicitly over the years. Silvereye had become my best friend. She knew I would take care of her, and I knew she would never let me fall. I gained a new feeling of freedom when I started flying on Silvereye's back. To this day I've never experienced anything to rival such exhileration.
So it was that I spent much of my adolescence and the beginning of my adult life among the forests of the Hinterlands, among the elves and with the dwarves. Those were happy times for me, and for my family. I didn't see them a lot, but I was able to spend important occasions with them- I never missed a birthday, and usually made it home for Winter's Veil or Noblegarden. I was proud to see my sister off as she headed north to Loraderon, accepted as a new student at the Monastary tucked away in the Tirisfal Glades. When I was 24, my father recieved a reassignment from the Silver Hand. He was to take a post at Tyr's Hand, far to the northeast near Lordaeron's eastern coast. He and my mother left while I stayed behind, accepting Quel'Danil as my new permanent home.
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Part IV- The Scourge Invasion
The world at large turned upside down in the year 25. I was 27 at the time, as unaware as everyone else of the danger and destruction that would soon be visited on the world. I learned later that the pieces necessary for the downfall of Lordaeron had been in motion for some years, but the orchestrators somehow managed to keep their work away from the eyes of the world. Perhaps we had become complacent since our victory over the Horde, confident that we were all but invincible. If so, may our children forgive us our naievety.
To summarize, the troubles first started when citizens became sick in several of Lordaeron's towns and villages. At first people thought it was just a sickness that would come and go, like any other. But when the dead started to rise again, people started to see how wrong they were. In a matter of a few months, thousands were in danger of being infected by this mysterious plague. The King's own son, Arthas Menethil, helped determine that the plague had been spread through infected grain, and the entire operation was centered around Andorhal, the chief grain distribution hub for the kingdom. The whole thing had been engineered by demons intent on conquering our world- they had manufactured the plague to raise an army of Undead to infest and overthrow the land. The prince and his companions managed to destroy the infected grain, but they were largely too late. The Undead armies, more commonly known as the Scourge, grew with each person they killed; they quickly claimed much of Lordaeron for its own. The armies of Lordaeron and what reinforcements they could muster from their allies fought valiantly and fiercely. But in time only a few bastions of life and humanity remained in the once mighty kingdom, like Hearthglen, Tyr's Hand and the Monastery in northern Tirisfal. My parents were at Tyr's Hand and my sister at the Monastery, so at the beginning we were spared the tragedy that befell so many other families. But the fight against the Scourge would touch everyone in some way, and more often than not, all that was left behind was death, sorrow and pain.
The world at large turned upside down in the year 25. I was 27 at the time, as unaware as everyone else of the danger and destruction that would soon be visited on the world. I learned later that the pieces necessary for the downfall of Lordaeron had been in motion for some years, but the orchestrators somehow managed to keep their work away from the eyes of the world. Perhaps we had become complacent since our victory over the Horde, confident that we were all but invincible. If so, may our children forgive us our naievety.
To summarize, the troubles first started when citizens became sick in several of Lordaeron's towns and villages. At first people thought it was just a sickness that would come and go, like any other. But when the dead started to rise again, people started to see how wrong they were. In a matter of a few months, thousands were in danger of being infected by this mysterious plague. The King's own son, Arthas Menethil, helped determine that the plague had been spread through infected grain, and the entire operation was centered around Andorhal, the chief grain distribution hub for the kingdom. The whole thing had been engineered by demons intent on conquering our world- they had manufactured the plague to raise an army of Undead to infest and overthrow the land. The prince and his companions managed to destroy the infected grain, but they were largely too late. The Undead armies, more commonly known as the Scourge, grew with each person they killed; they quickly claimed much of Lordaeron for its own. The armies of Lordaeron and what reinforcements they could muster from their allies fought valiantly and fiercely. But in time only a few bastions of life and humanity remained in the once mighty kingdom, like Hearthglen, Tyr's Hand and the Monastery in northern Tirisfal. My parents were at Tyr's Hand and my sister at the Monastery, so at the beginning we were spared the tragedy that befell so many other families. But the fight against the Scourge would touch everyone in some way, and more often than not, all that was left behind was death, sorrow and pain.
When I first heard that the plague was more than a typical illness, I left Quel'Danil and joined my father in Lordaeron. We were with Uther Lightbringer when he met up with Prince Arthas at Stratholme. When Arthas decided to kill the citizens of Stratholme rather than risk their infection and rebirth as Undead, Uther went against the prince and left, and Father and I left with him. Uther assigned Father to join a small force being sent to defend Darrowshire, a small town in the heart of eastern Lordaeron. Leading the force was a kind but formidable paladin named Davil Crockford; the leader of the town's militia was a man by the name of Joseph Redpath.
One of the Scourge captains, known to all as Horgus the Ravager, fought his way to Davil and engaged him in battle. Davil won the fight, but suffered a mortal wound and died shortly thereafter. Father and the other paladins managed to stay organized despite the fall of their leader, but what happened to the Darrowshire militia was far more devastating. The other Scourge leader, a death knight by the name of Marduk Blackpool, sent in his most elite forces. As they cleaved their way through our defenses, Blackpool approached Captain Redpath and, by some dark and powerful magic, ripped the man's soul from his body. Far away though I was, on the other side of the battle, I could hear the cry of agony from the Darrowshire captain. It is a sound and feeling that haunts me to this day. What followed was worse, for Redpath and for us. Through some necromantic means, Blackpool twisted Redpath's spirit into an evil shadow of itself. As we watched, Redpath's corrupted spirit began spreading the taint of dark magic to the defenders of Darrowshire, turning them against their brothers. Worse than that, the now-evil soldiers began murdering those women, children, and infirmed who had not the time to evacuate Darrowshire before the Scourge attack.
Our defense utterly shattered, the paladins called for a mass retreat: anyone who could get out was ordered to do so by any means possible. Father, myself and the other paladins covered the retreat of as many civilians and soldiers as could get away. We managed to hold off the Scourge long enough for them to make their way across the Thondroril River (I learned later they made it safely to Hearthglen). We decided to head east to Tyr's Hand. As we traveled, we knew there would be danger of running into more Scourge forces. Father told me he had sent a letter to Mother in Tyr's Hand, asking her to leave for the southern kingdoms, away from the Scourge threat. He said he wasn't sure the letter had reached her, so he asked me to get her out of Lordaeron should he fall. Of course I agreed, though I vowed to myself not to let anything happen to my father nor anyone in my family.
After only a few days of travel, we happened across a small Scourge force. We fought them and drove them back for some hours, before they were reinforced by another small contingent of Undead. It was at this point that my heart was shattered- as Father held off a pair of ghouls, a massive Abomination (a twisted creation of body parts and corpses crudely sewn together) came up behind him. I saw it and was too far away to intercept, so I vainly tried to fell it with arrows. I might as well have been poking an elk with a needle. The Abomination knocked him to the ground with one swipe of its massive cleaver. Father's armor was split, his side torn open. Three other paladins rushed to his side and brought the Abomination down. I rushed to his side, where the life in him was slowly slipping away. As I kneeled in the pool of blood flowing from his torn body, he used his final breaths to tell me how proud he was of me, and how he wanted me to make sure our family was safe.
Father died in my arms, but I barely had time to weep or grieve: the Scourge were mounting a counterattack. The knights had to tear me away from Father's body forced me to leave it behind. Our numbers were too few and our strength drained; we had to flee. We managed to get away, and continued our trek to Tyr's Hand. All I could think about as we walked was my father. I'd replay moments from my life when we had spent time together, laughed together. It took all my effort to keep the image of his broken body and his Scourge attackers away, and more often than not my attempts were in vain. Hot rage boiled together with bitter sorrow, and I wondered how I would tell my mother and sister.
As it turns out, I didn't have to say anything. As soon as we made it to Tyr's Hand (gratefully finding it unscathed by the Scourge), I found my mother, and my face said it all. She looked at me and saw my grief, knowing immediately what had happened. She fainted and was out for several hours. When she came to, I told her everything that had happened since Stratholme. When I told her that Father wanted her and Katia to go south, away from the Scourge, she was hesitant at first; she felt safe in Tyr's Hand, and feelings of taking vengeance started to creep into her mind. But when I emphasized that her safety was Father's last wish, she relented and agreed to leave with me.
As the Scourge had occupied much of the region by that point, we decided to make our way through the mountains into the Hinterlands. I sent word ahead to Quel'Danil that we would be coming and by which route they could expect us. It took us two weeks of traveling through snows and high passes, but we finally started to descend into the warmer valleys below the mountains. Scouts from Quel'Danil found us and gave us food and drink before taking us to the lodge. We rested there for several days. In that time, I sent word to Dobrin of Father's death. I was glad to learn the Scourge had yet to come to the Hinterlands; indeed, scout reports showed they had stopped their southward expansion on the northern side of the pass between the Hinterlands and Lordaeron.
When we were well rested, Mother and I traveled by gryphon to Southshore. There we learned that Lordaeron's capital city had fallen into ruin after Arthas murdered his father on the throne. No one knew exactly why the prince had descended into the madness that now consumed him, they only knew that he was but a shadow of his former self. We also learned that much of the Scourge force seemed to have left Lordaeron and sailed west for the far continent of Kalimdor, a land mysterious and largely unknown to humans. Why exactly they had left we didn't learn until later. What mattered at that point is that Mother was sailing south to safety. I parted with her, vowing to fulfill the other part of Father's wish in making sure Katia was safe.
2 comments:
Just out of curiosity, I know you imagine Nikolas to look something like Henry Ian Cusik, but how much? What I'm getting at, based on the picture you have posted here, do you picture Nikolas' hair as being the same length? Longer? Shorter? Does he wear it down? Pulled back at all? Also, does he have a full beard/mustache like the picture? Or is he clean-shaven? Or does he go for the stubbly look?
I'm just trying to get a little more detail so I can picture him like you do (or at least close to how you picture him...)
These histories have been very interesting and useful... I just wish I could access the links from school (sadly, it seems that anything related to WoW is blocked by IPS :-( )
Yeah, me again. Having finished part IV, a question that arose is this: How does one kill/defeat the Undead? I mean, if they have already died, they can't really die again, so how does one vanquish them in battle? Also, do the demons automatically raise any dead people to become the Undead? Or do they have to die in a certain way (e.g. the plague, killed by another demon like Altus, etc.) for the demons to be able to raise them as the Undead?
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