Post by Val on Nov 12, 2005 12:37:29 GMT -5
It is a quiet afternoon in the stone majesty of the Defender's Hall, A lone figure walks into the lush green courtyard, face solid and worn, but not without leaving a youthful expression. Fully armored, looking as if he just walked in from off of a battlefield. He carrys a large bag with him, slung over his shoulder. He almost at once spotted a stone bench. A great sigh of relief came from his mouth and he plopped his bag down near the bench and sat down. Kicking back and leaning against the wall he unfastened his breastplate and lazily dropped it off his chest and onto the ground.
"Reflections are unworthy of a Warrior" he thought.
He chuckled at the thought of his old drillmaster pounding thoughts of war and servitude into his mind. He never thought that letting that ironclad loudmouth would expell him for thinking. In truth, he didn't, he expelled him because he punched him in the jaw. He was young then, before his time. He wanted to be like his father, not a drone. The thought of his father sent him back a few notches. He remembered his big arms picking him up and wrestling him around when he was a young boy. He loved his father so much. He and his older brother Gareth used to spend hours watching his father train the local militias in Lorderon. Both of them had great dreams of being warriors just as their father had become. It was at the age of 13 that the betrayal of Arthas and the destruction of Lorderon came to pass. He was evacuated while his brother and father stayed and fought. At that point he thought of them as dead. He was rushed off with the rest of the children to a foster home. He remained there until the age of 18 when he set off for a military service under the banner of Stormwind. This is where his warrior skills where honed and tempered under the tutalage of some of the alliances most seasoned warriors. Having taken all he could from them and being expelled under very "dire" circumstances he left Northshire Abbey and began his life.
It was here that his mind drifted off to a myriad of adventures and stories told by his father. It was an amazing thing to hear them as a child and even more fulfilling was the process of forging his own stories. By the blood of his enemies he had.
Finally his thoughts caught back up with him and he realized he still had no idea where he was supposed to go. Grabbing his bag and his breastplate he stood up and stared at his surroundings.
"I wonder where they keep the liquor..."
"Reflections are unworthy of a Warrior" he thought.
He chuckled at the thought of his old drillmaster pounding thoughts of war and servitude into his mind. He never thought that letting that ironclad loudmouth would expell him for thinking. In truth, he didn't, he expelled him because he punched him in the jaw. He was young then, before his time. He wanted to be like his father, not a drone. The thought of his father sent him back a few notches. He remembered his big arms picking him up and wrestling him around when he was a young boy. He loved his father so much. He and his older brother Gareth used to spend hours watching his father train the local militias in Lorderon. Both of them had great dreams of being warriors just as their father had become. It was at the age of 13 that the betrayal of Arthas and the destruction of Lorderon came to pass. He was evacuated while his brother and father stayed and fought. At that point he thought of them as dead. He was rushed off with the rest of the children to a foster home. He remained there until the age of 18 when he set off for a military service under the banner of Stormwind. This is where his warrior skills where honed and tempered under the tutalage of some of the alliances most seasoned warriors. Having taken all he could from them and being expelled under very "dire" circumstances he left Northshire Abbey and began his life.
It was here that his mind drifted off to a myriad of adventures and stories told by his father. It was an amazing thing to hear them as a child and even more fulfilling was the process of forging his own stories. By the blood of his enemies he had.
Finally his thoughts caught back up with him and he realized he still had no idea where he was supposed to go. Grabbing his bag and his breastplate he stood up and stared at his surroundings.
"I wonder where they keep the liquor..."
