dopee
07-01-05, 12:06 AM
This is something I "scribbled" on my comp a few years ago. I'd be greatly interesting to see what you all think of it. The story with the paladin picks up after Thrall freed Grom from the Alliance and set sail to Kalimdor.
Enjoy,
dopee.
Prologue
There came the soft creak of a wagon through the darkness of a late summer night. Robed and cloaked, two figures were hauling a covered shipment of grain into the village, but it seemed that they were taking great care not to spill any on the ground. The tallest robed of the two seemed nervous.
“Hurry up, fool, get this to the grainary!” he said hoarsely.
They had just passed into the streets of Andorhal, a cozy little village of North-east Lordaeron. The hamlet was made up of mostly farmers and craftsmen, who slept in tall, narrow houses jammed together. All but the town guards were soundly asleep, for it was late and the night was cold. Oddly enough, this did not seem to have much affect on the two men, who only coughed quietly. After many more curses and taking the wrong cobbled road, they finally found the Town Center where several tall, thatched granaries stood.
“Is this the right one?” said the shorter man.
“I think so, from the size of it,” came the answer. “We must make sure though—he said the biggest, and biggest only.”
They went to park their wagon behind the granary, but found slumbering guardsmen. Silently backing away, the two left the wagon close to the front of the granary, hoping it would not be noticed. Then they commenced in comparing granaries, whispering as to which was bigger, or had more grain. Eventually they settled on the original.
“Alright, bring the cart here,” the tallest whispered hoarsely, pointing to a small door.
His companion obeyed, but they found the door locked shut. “I was afraid of this,” the tallest mumbled. “Open it,” he said.
The shorter man knelt by the door, producing a key out of his pocket. It shone dull green in the night, lighted by the waning crescent moon. It was much smaller the door’s lock. Neither said anything about it though, for once the key was fitted into the lock, it silently expanded to fit. With a turn, a click, and a spill of grain, the door opened.
“Now hurry!” the short man whispered. “Help me put this in here!”
They carefully took the cover off the wagon, which had the result of spreading a smell that reeked of decaying flesh. It soon dissipated into the night air, but the men did not seem to mind. Grain was in the cart, but only a very small amount, and in a minute it had all been thrown into the granary.
“Be sure that’s all,” the tallest said.
“It is,” the shorter responded. “Let’s go.”
They left quietly. In the village the next morning, the grain was sold to local villagers.. By noon the granaries were completely empty. Most of the grain was now in the homes of Andorhal, and the rest was making its way to the surrounding villages.
Part I:
Somewhere in the Arathi Mountains near the shore of the sea stood a man, crouched over, feeling the soft, moist earth with his hands. He was looking along a path soiled with many large prints, moving his hand in motions, feeling the tracks. He was a clearly a paladin, for he wore strong armor and carried a terrible war hammer with him. His name was Aliath.
“They took the ships, you said?” he asked a soldier next to him.
“That’s right, milord. Do you think they’ll attack a port?”
“Their foot-prints lead towards the boats,” Aliath said, ignoring the footmen next to him, “many orcs’ prints: a great troop passed this way.” He looked up and sniffed. “But why they would take ships? Orcs wouldn’t attack our ports, they’re too well guarded.” He stood up with his hand to his chin: “They must be leaving Lordaeron.”
He looked at the large, orcish prints again and smiled, then turned and walked up a cliff overlooking a port where several ships had been anchored. He looked deep into the black ocean before him, black with the rage of an coming storm. Lightning flickered far, far away. The whole sky was wreathed in dark clouds. Behind him the dark, green pines of Loraeron rustled in the wind.
“If they’re strong, the orcs shall survive in this storm,” he said to himself. The footmen had joined others on the shore. “But only if they’re strong---only if they’re strong,” he muttered, and he began to narrow his eyes on the black horizon, and stared , trance-like for some time, before coming out of it.
He left the cliff as the light rain began to downpour heavily, and disappeared into the chilly mist blowing in from the sea, heading for the murky yellow lights of his camp. Once there he made his way to a doctor's tent. Lifting the flap he entered. At the far end of the tent was the leech, Irec. As Aliath came up to him, he saw leech bending over a cleaved body.
“Damn orcs,” he muttered. “They took down our towers, slaughtered our soldiers, and stole their warchief away. And they now have our boats, damit!” He slung his hands down, flinging blood onto the wooden floor. On a bed next to him was the body of a footmen: the shiny armor painted in dark red blood in spots, mingled with the man’s own. He passed a blanket over the man's head. “I swear, we have to do something again about the orcs here, Aliath.”
“Well they aren't here anymore, Irec, and they didn’t take our ships to attack us, they took them to leave Lordaeron—for good. I saw the vessels from a cliff; they were far away on the horizon. They were leaving this land.”
“Some, not all," said Irec. "They infect everyone like a plague; there will be more to deal with sometime.” He waved his hand and called an attendent to come and remove the dead man.
“Sometime,” said Aliath waving his hand, “not now. Not for a while, at least. Perhaps at last we can turn our attention wholly on our own lands, and have real peace from war. But we have some things to discuss. Come."
Aliath left the tent and came to his own tent. It was a common ritual, almost, for the leech. There would be a battle or skirmish, and the paladin would talk with Irec for a few minutes. Aliath enjoyed having someone to confide in now and again, and Irec was the best educated man in the camp. He followed the paladin to his tent, and sat in a chair opposite Aliath, who had lit a lantern.
“If you want peace, then you’ll not be pleased about the plague: it’s spreading more and more, and the Alliance isn’t as strong as it once was,” Irec said.
“You are not telling anything I don’t know,” Aliath replied, the lamp swinging above him as he sat down. “But at least there’s no war, and at least the plague is a disease and not a horde. Plagues die out, orcs don’t. And that’s enough for me.”
Irec leaned forward from his chair and folded his hands, saying, “I completely agree. Orcs….far worse than plagues or breaking alliances….very much so. But some think the horde is on the move, from their attacks on the internments.”
“Yes,” Aliath murmured, “the horde is certainly moving, but not against us. King Tereans is king and can think as he wants, but I believe they’re gone. I think whatever orcs are still left in Lordaeron will be eventually returned to the internments, and I think that the orcs that attack our camps are the orcs on those ships. Man may have not seen the last of orc, but I pray he has seen the last of the horde.”
“At the expense of thousands of lives. Well worth it, but hard to bear at times,” said Irec.
“But you can only move on, Irec, only move on to the future, to whatever different perils await us there. If a new threat arises, then we will be there to defend ourselves just as we did in the first war against the orcs, for we will never surrender, never cave, never lose hope in our Light. And the orcs learned this the hard way, and have now left, their lesson learned. At last, a chance for peace!”
The two friends fell silent, idly listening to the heavy torrent of rain on the tent, breaking the silence. Aliath began to file through scrolls and maps and lists. “But even in peace, we must prepare for war,” he said suddenly.
“Hm, ah, what?”
“The towers, boats, lost men,” Aliath said. “Tomorrow, early dawn, start peasants on re-building our defense, and look into telling Admiral Proudmoore about our loss of ships. I’ll go through the camp, repair what damage the fleeing orcs did….see to some other things. You,” Aliath said looking up from a brown scroll. He stood up with Irec, “get some sleep. You’ll be up again in four hours. Peasants up in five.”
“Of course, paladin. Goodnight sir. I hope this damned torrent e’ll stop in four hours!” Irec said cheerfully.
Aliath smiled. “See you on those towers tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll be there,” Irec said, and walked off to his tent.
The morning dawned bright after the storm; Irec was exactly where Aliath had ordered him to be and the rebuilding the bridge felled by the orcs and rebuilding towers were hard work; but by late evening, the damage done by the orcs was more or less eradicated, and the slain gaurds, footmen, riflemen and knights replaced. Human scouts had also discovered the location of an abandoned orc camp north-east of where the attacks had been, and they estimated it had been recently occupied. In fact, inside one of the orc buildings was found a smoldering fire. The Paladin, Aliath, soon ordered better scouts to patrol the area, and cover more forest. As for himself, the paladin had decided to travel to the capital of Lordaeron and talk to King Terenas about the orcish threats. Even if those orcs had left, he mused to Irec once, there are indeed other more demon related tribes in the area, especially at Blackrock; and those must be dealt with severly.
Aliath would leave to see about this, perhaps to try and persuade the Terenas to send another paladin down to the Arathi with him to deal with the Blackrock orcs. If his trip went well, he would be at his with troops in the Arathi at the end of two weeks. Indeed his need to see the king was urgent, that night, he took leave of his men and Irec, whom he placed in charge, under a large tent normally used for wounded soldiers. Save for last night, there had not been very many of those for years. He gave his farewell to the soldiers, leaving them quite a few barrels of liquor, and walked to his simple, brown horse. Behind it was Irec.
“Ah! you snuck out,” Aliath said.
“Very observant. Actually I just came to wish you goodluck.”
“Thank you,” Aliath dryly said as he swung a leg over the horse and mounted it. “But stay out of trouble. Do not disturb the orcs at Blackrock, even if they do send some war party this way, or worse. Only defend against them… for now.”
“I’ll see to it,” Irec said. “May the light shine on your path, my friend.”
“Farewell!” said Aliath. He spurred his horse into the gloom of night, leaving Irec watching his horse become swallowed into it, smiling, then walking back into the tent. Meanwhile the paladin sped through the night; he had chosen the darkness to avoid any monsters that would undoubtedly hamper him, for there were many wild creatures and unsavory men in those lands.
Enjoy,
dopee.
Prologue
There came the soft creak of a wagon through the darkness of a late summer night. Robed and cloaked, two figures were hauling a covered shipment of grain into the village, but it seemed that they were taking great care not to spill any on the ground. The tallest robed of the two seemed nervous.
“Hurry up, fool, get this to the grainary!” he said hoarsely.
They had just passed into the streets of Andorhal, a cozy little village of North-east Lordaeron. The hamlet was made up of mostly farmers and craftsmen, who slept in tall, narrow houses jammed together. All but the town guards were soundly asleep, for it was late and the night was cold. Oddly enough, this did not seem to have much affect on the two men, who only coughed quietly. After many more curses and taking the wrong cobbled road, they finally found the Town Center where several tall, thatched granaries stood.
“Is this the right one?” said the shorter man.
“I think so, from the size of it,” came the answer. “We must make sure though—he said the biggest, and biggest only.”
They went to park their wagon behind the granary, but found slumbering guardsmen. Silently backing away, the two left the wagon close to the front of the granary, hoping it would not be noticed. Then they commenced in comparing granaries, whispering as to which was bigger, or had more grain. Eventually they settled on the original.
“Alright, bring the cart here,” the tallest whispered hoarsely, pointing to a small door.
His companion obeyed, but they found the door locked shut. “I was afraid of this,” the tallest mumbled. “Open it,” he said.
The shorter man knelt by the door, producing a key out of his pocket. It shone dull green in the night, lighted by the waning crescent moon. It was much smaller the door’s lock. Neither said anything about it though, for once the key was fitted into the lock, it silently expanded to fit. With a turn, a click, and a spill of grain, the door opened.
“Now hurry!” the short man whispered. “Help me put this in here!”
They carefully took the cover off the wagon, which had the result of spreading a smell that reeked of decaying flesh. It soon dissipated into the night air, but the men did not seem to mind. Grain was in the cart, but only a very small amount, and in a minute it had all been thrown into the granary.
“Be sure that’s all,” the tallest said.
“It is,” the shorter responded. “Let’s go.”
They left quietly. In the village the next morning, the grain was sold to local villagers.. By noon the granaries were completely empty. Most of the grain was now in the homes of Andorhal, and the rest was making its way to the surrounding villages.
Part I:
Somewhere in the Arathi Mountains near the shore of the sea stood a man, crouched over, feeling the soft, moist earth with his hands. He was looking along a path soiled with many large prints, moving his hand in motions, feeling the tracks. He was a clearly a paladin, for he wore strong armor and carried a terrible war hammer with him. His name was Aliath.
“They took the ships, you said?” he asked a soldier next to him.
“That’s right, milord. Do you think they’ll attack a port?”
“Their foot-prints lead towards the boats,” Aliath said, ignoring the footmen next to him, “many orcs’ prints: a great troop passed this way.” He looked up and sniffed. “But why they would take ships? Orcs wouldn’t attack our ports, they’re too well guarded.” He stood up with his hand to his chin: “They must be leaving Lordaeron.”
He looked at the large, orcish prints again and smiled, then turned and walked up a cliff overlooking a port where several ships had been anchored. He looked deep into the black ocean before him, black with the rage of an coming storm. Lightning flickered far, far away. The whole sky was wreathed in dark clouds. Behind him the dark, green pines of Loraeron rustled in the wind.
“If they’re strong, the orcs shall survive in this storm,” he said to himself. The footmen had joined others on the shore. “But only if they’re strong---only if they’re strong,” he muttered, and he began to narrow his eyes on the black horizon, and stared , trance-like for some time, before coming out of it.
He left the cliff as the light rain began to downpour heavily, and disappeared into the chilly mist blowing in from the sea, heading for the murky yellow lights of his camp. Once there he made his way to a doctor's tent. Lifting the flap he entered. At the far end of the tent was the leech, Irec. As Aliath came up to him, he saw leech bending over a cleaved body.
“Damn orcs,” he muttered. “They took down our towers, slaughtered our soldiers, and stole their warchief away. And they now have our boats, damit!” He slung his hands down, flinging blood onto the wooden floor. On a bed next to him was the body of a footmen: the shiny armor painted in dark red blood in spots, mingled with the man’s own. He passed a blanket over the man's head. “I swear, we have to do something again about the orcs here, Aliath.”
“Well they aren't here anymore, Irec, and they didn’t take our ships to attack us, they took them to leave Lordaeron—for good. I saw the vessels from a cliff; they were far away on the horizon. They were leaving this land.”
“Some, not all," said Irec. "They infect everyone like a plague; there will be more to deal with sometime.” He waved his hand and called an attendent to come and remove the dead man.
“Sometime,” said Aliath waving his hand, “not now. Not for a while, at least. Perhaps at last we can turn our attention wholly on our own lands, and have real peace from war. But we have some things to discuss. Come."
Aliath left the tent and came to his own tent. It was a common ritual, almost, for the leech. There would be a battle or skirmish, and the paladin would talk with Irec for a few minutes. Aliath enjoyed having someone to confide in now and again, and Irec was the best educated man in the camp. He followed the paladin to his tent, and sat in a chair opposite Aliath, who had lit a lantern.
“If you want peace, then you’ll not be pleased about the plague: it’s spreading more and more, and the Alliance isn’t as strong as it once was,” Irec said.
“You are not telling anything I don’t know,” Aliath replied, the lamp swinging above him as he sat down. “But at least there’s no war, and at least the plague is a disease and not a horde. Plagues die out, orcs don’t. And that’s enough for me.”
Irec leaned forward from his chair and folded his hands, saying, “I completely agree. Orcs….far worse than plagues or breaking alliances….very much so. But some think the horde is on the move, from their attacks on the internments.”
“Yes,” Aliath murmured, “the horde is certainly moving, but not against us. King Tereans is king and can think as he wants, but I believe they’re gone. I think whatever orcs are still left in Lordaeron will be eventually returned to the internments, and I think that the orcs that attack our camps are the orcs on those ships. Man may have not seen the last of orc, but I pray he has seen the last of the horde.”
“At the expense of thousands of lives. Well worth it, but hard to bear at times,” said Irec.
“But you can only move on, Irec, only move on to the future, to whatever different perils await us there. If a new threat arises, then we will be there to defend ourselves just as we did in the first war against the orcs, for we will never surrender, never cave, never lose hope in our Light. And the orcs learned this the hard way, and have now left, their lesson learned. At last, a chance for peace!”
The two friends fell silent, idly listening to the heavy torrent of rain on the tent, breaking the silence. Aliath began to file through scrolls and maps and lists. “But even in peace, we must prepare for war,” he said suddenly.
“Hm, ah, what?”
“The towers, boats, lost men,” Aliath said. “Tomorrow, early dawn, start peasants on re-building our defense, and look into telling Admiral Proudmoore about our loss of ships. I’ll go through the camp, repair what damage the fleeing orcs did….see to some other things. You,” Aliath said looking up from a brown scroll. He stood up with Irec, “get some sleep. You’ll be up again in four hours. Peasants up in five.”
“Of course, paladin. Goodnight sir. I hope this damned torrent e’ll stop in four hours!” Irec said cheerfully.
Aliath smiled. “See you on those towers tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll be there,” Irec said, and walked off to his tent.
The morning dawned bright after the storm; Irec was exactly where Aliath had ordered him to be and the rebuilding the bridge felled by the orcs and rebuilding towers were hard work; but by late evening, the damage done by the orcs was more or less eradicated, and the slain gaurds, footmen, riflemen and knights replaced. Human scouts had also discovered the location of an abandoned orc camp north-east of where the attacks had been, and they estimated it had been recently occupied. In fact, inside one of the orc buildings was found a smoldering fire. The Paladin, Aliath, soon ordered better scouts to patrol the area, and cover more forest. As for himself, the paladin had decided to travel to the capital of Lordaeron and talk to King Terenas about the orcish threats. Even if those orcs had left, he mused to Irec once, there are indeed other more demon related tribes in the area, especially at Blackrock; and those must be dealt with severly.
Aliath would leave to see about this, perhaps to try and persuade the Terenas to send another paladin down to the Arathi with him to deal with the Blackrock orcs. If his trip went well, he would be at his with troops in the Arathi at the end of two weeks. Indeed his need to see the king was urgent, that night, he took leave of his men and Irec, whom he placed in charge, under a large tent normally used for wounded soldiers. Save for last night, there had not been very many of those for years. He gave his farewell to the soldiers, leaving them quite a few barrels of liquor, and walked to his simple, brown horse. Behind it was Irec.
“Ah! you snuck out,” Aliath said.
“Very observant. Actually I just came to wish you goodluck.”
“Thank you,” Aliath dryly said as he swung a leg over the horse and mounted it. “But stay out of trouble. Do not disturb the orcs at Blackrock, even if they do send some war party this way, or worse. Only defend against them… for now.”
“I’ll see to it,” Irec said. “May the light shine on your path, my friend.”
“Farewell!” said Aliath. He spurred his horse into the gloom of night, leaving Irec watching his horse become swallowed into it, smiling, then walking back into the tent. Meanwhile the paladin sped through the night; he had chosen the darkness to avoid any monsters that would undoubtedly hamper him, for there were many wild creatures and unsavory men in those lands.