Gierta Craghew's deep brown eyes surveyed the field of battle with great anticipation. The Humans had finally thrown the Orcish Horde back from the very gates of Lordaeron, and the Horde was retreating to the south as fast as it could. Her own people's lands had been overrun months ago, but a mighty army had been trapped in the fortress-city of Ironforge, awaiting just such an opportunity as this.
"Cha-a-a-arge!" With that un-ladylike bellow, Gierta scampered down the hill, her long black hair flying behind her, and knocked the Orc onto the ground, whacking it with her stick.
"Ow!" The Orc threw up its hands to shield its face. "Not so hard, Gierta!"
"Don't be a sissy."
"Gierta," said the Holy Light (who was supposed to be on her side), "if you don't learn to play nice you're going to be the Orc."
"Noooooo, Marta!" Girt burst into tears.
"Geeert, don't..."
"I don't wanna be the Orc!" Gierta sobbed.
"Don't worry, Girt." Bardin took his distressed friend's hand. "I'll still be the Orc." Gierta sniffled as if in reply.
"Bard!" Marta folded her arms and did her best imitation of her mother's glare.
"What? Didn't hurt that much." A large purplish bruise threatened to swell his left eye shut.
Marta scowled at both of the young children. "If Gierta beats you to death, Bard, it won't be you my mama will blame." And it surely won't be Girt, she didn't say aloud.
Bardin pouted. "I'll be ok. I'm tough!"
Girt kissed him on the cheek, tearful theatrics gone and forgotten. Marta just sighed and went back to gathering and sorting her herbs and flowers, humming a little tune to herself. She really should not let her six-year-old sister get away with such things, no matter how much younger she was.
She could not bring herself to approve of this game little Gierta insisted on playing, even though all the little ones had been playing much the same thing in the six years since the war had been truly over. Internment camps had been built all over Lordaeron for the defeated Orcs to be kept in. Sometimes she heard grumblings about the trouble and expense of the camps, and that the Orcs should all just be killed. The idea horrified Marta, though. No one mentioned such opinions around her without getting the sharp side of her tongue right quick. Just because she was only sixteen was no reason for her to keep silent at such folly and cruelty.
Two Internment camps were quite close to Dun Garok. Papa often made deliveries to both locations, and once Marta had even gone with him to Durnholde Keep (the safer of the two - papa would never have let her go to Lordamere with him). She'd managed to slip off and actually speak with one of the prisoners. It talked to her of curses and Demons and a place called Draenor - things she really didn't understand at all. But she could see the pain in the Orc's eyes clear as day. The creature had actually thanked her for talking to it! And it wept so bitterly when an angry guard snatched her away, her heart clenched every time she thought of it. For weeks afterward she would break down in tears herself when she remembered the hopelessness in the Orc's voice. Her parents would ask what was bothering her, but of course she never explained. They had always shaken their heads and sighed over what a sensitive girl she was anyway.
Dun Garok was still a new town being dug into the foothills roughly halfway between the mighty city of Stromgarde to the east and the quiet fishing village of Southshore to the west. Those were both Human settlements, and Dwarves had been content to leave these lands alone in the past, before the Alliance and the Explorers' League had changed everything.
On the way home Marta spied papa's good friend Bradoff in the distance and stopped, eying the outcropping of rocks that could possibly be used to slip around him unseen. It was not that Marta disliked the Dwarf, not exactly, but he did have a way of making her uncomfortable at times. Especially when her father was not around. Before she could use the escape route, however, Gierta had snatched her hand out of Marta's grasp and was running up to him.
"Uncle Bradoff!"
He turned and gave Gierta a great booming shout. "C'mere, ye brat!" Little Girt screamed and laughed as she turned to try to run away, but Bradoff scooped her up in his arms. "Marta help!" Gierta giggled and squirmed. Marta's Dwarven bosom heaved a sigh as she joined them.
"Well, well, the young Craghew women both!" He tossed Gierta in the air while she squealed with delight, catching her easily. "To what do I owe this honor, now?"
"Hi there, Uncle Bradoff. Just heading home, we were."
"Ah, the little one looks more like yer brother every day, Light preserve his soul." He gave Girt another toss, but Marta bowed her head at the mention of her dead brother.
"And you," Bradoff continued, "growin' into the very picture of yer mum, I'll swear!"
Marta smiled shyly, murmuring the usual denials.
"Oh nonsense, me dearie. Ye already have every boy within ten miles askin' about ye day and night. 'Now where's that Marta Craghew, have ye seen her?' 'Brad, do ye think Marta will like these flowers here?'"
"Oh, stop..." Marta muttered, playing with her long blonde braid.
"Why, ye look just like yer mum did on her weddin' day, with those big blue eyes an' rosy cheeks...aye, there was a day ol' Dirrik can honestly say every Dwarf in Dun Garok was a wee bit jealous of him, and no few in Ironforge itself, for that matter..."
"Eeeew," Gierta said, scrunching up her face. "I'm never gonna get married."
"Now, Uncle Brad, much more talk o' that sort and papa's likely t'be chasin' ye around town with his hammer!" Marta grinned to take the edge off her words, but she did not like the gleam that came into "Uncle" Brad's eye sometimes when he looked at her. "Besides, it's time I was off. These herbs need to go in Mama's cupboard, and..."
"Ah, yer famous herb basket! That reminds me, sweetie. Me wife's feelin' a bit under the weather. Any chance you'll be stoppin' by a bit later?"
It was not an unusual request. In fact, Marta had been improving her skill with herbs so much lately that many in Dun Garok were starting to say that perhaps they had no need of the replacement medic from Ironforge, who had been "on the way" for nearly a year now. The original one had died before even taking on an apprentice. But Marta still felt a bit uneasy. "I'll try, but I'm afraid I may be a bit behind on chores. Perhaps mum can."
It was almost dark when they returned home, Marta's basket nearly bursting with all the plants she'd collected. Papa actually let her keep about half of the money she'd make from visiting people and selling the herbs off to traveling merchants. She always had them meticulously bundled and tagged. "Mama, we're home!"
Marta frowned as she realized how quiet it was. Usually the hiss of forge-fires and the pounding of hammers from papa and his apprentices were enough to give her a bit of a headache.
She opened the back door of their home and hesitated, automatically holding out an arm to block her little sister from rushing in. "Shush, Girt," she said as the child began to whine. Little Gierta paid no attention whatsoever, and squirmed past Marta's arm, dashing into the house with a squeal of triumph. Marta rubbed her eyes. The little brat was getting too strong for her own good.
As if to punctuate her thought, a shouted "No!" came from inside the house, and Marta could hear her sister begin to cry. "Gierta!" The elder sister dashed inside, raising her basket of herbs over her shoulder like a weapon.
The first thing she noticed once inside, oddly, was a Human in the kitchen. He was sitting at their table, though he probably would have been more comfortable standing since his knees were almost in his chest. She gave a startled scream as her eyes fell on him, before she realized that he did not look even the least bit threatening.
Mama rose from her usual seat, unharmed though a bit worried. "What is wrong, dear? Are ye all right?" Only after her mother spoke did Marta look around the other direction and see Gierta, squirming unhappily but safe in Papa's huge arms. "Not this time, kiddo," Papa said to her. "Off to yer room with ye." With that he carried her down the stairs despite considerable protest.
"So," the Human at the table suddenly grinned at her. "This is the sweet, gentle Marta I've been hearing about all over Dun Garok?"
Marta felt the room grow quite warm as she glanced over at her right hand, still raised with her herb basket ready to wallop someone. Below her, and trailing behind her toward the door, dribbled those herbs and flowers she had so painstakingly gathered and categorically wrapped. Blessed Light, her first encounter with a Human, and now they all think of her as a clumsy oaf! "Begapardun," she hastily mumbled, and flopped to her knees to scoop up the herbs from the floor, her face growing warmer by the moment.
"Now, now, Marta dear, we'll worry about that later, aye? Come have a seat now."
Marta dutifully obeyed her mother, too embarrassed to even look at their guest. As they waited for Papa, though, she couldn't help asking her mother about what was on her mind in a small, soft voice. "Is there trouble, mother? Orcs...?"
"What's this about Orcs?" Her father's voice boomed behind her, making everyone at the table jump, even the Human.
"Oh nothing, love. Young Marta's just worried, poor thing. Sit ye down, Dirrik. Now, Marta, this man is Jarl. His business here is serious, no doubt, but not in a bad way..."
"Fer the love o' sweet iron, Annie, let the man speak for himself."
The Human smiled and nodded graciously at Mama's murmured apology. "Good evening, Marta Craghew," he began. "As your mother kindly mentioned, my name is Jarl."
Marta looked around the table in disbelief. The Human was addressing her? Why? She was not normally shy, but confusion made her naturally soft voice sound just that. "Pleased t'meet ye, m'lord Jarl."
His chuckle was self-deprecating - not at all what she would have expected from a Human. Humans, she had been taught, were always reckless and overly confident to the point of sheer rudeness. "Oh," Jarl went on, "I am no Lord or even Paladin, young Marta. We of the priesthood consider ourselves as intimately connected to the people we serve as family. Please, the only title I could possibly accept is 'Brother'."
"Ah! Forgive me, Brother Jarl." Her voice was getting stronger now. The distant sound of little Gierta pounding on her door and screaming for attention brought a much-needed sense of normalcy to the conversation. She glanced back and forth again between her Mama and Papa, both being as quiet and meek as mice. That was definitely not normal. What was going on here? "I did not mean to offend," she continued, "but we Dwarves have no Priests, or even Paladins, and are unaccustomed to dealing with such."
Jarl smiled warmly. "No offense was taken, young Craghew. Indeed your people do not have Priests nor Paladins among you. That point, actually, brings us to the very heart of why I am here. But I am afraid we are getting ahead of ourselves."
"I do think you've lost me, sir...ah...Brother."
Brother Jarl nodded. "The beginning, yes." He took a deep breath, steepling his fingers and peering over them into Marta's eyes. "A year or so ago, as the War drew to an end, Uther the Lightbringer began to turn his thoughts to the rebuilding of Stormwind and the healing of all the lands that had participated in the Alliance of Lordaeron." As he spoke, Marta realized she was leaning over the table herself, resting her chin in folded hands. She distantly wondered if she was under some kind of hypnotic spell, but as Jarl continued the thought was lost to her.
"The priesthood of Stormwind had been almost completely annihilated during the struggle in which the city fell, what those from the south call the First War. Upon the creation of the Alliance, most of Lordaeron's priests joined Lord Uther's Order of the Silver Hand.
"This was necessary for the war, of course, but Lord Uther was concerned about the hole that was left in the societies of both Lordaeron and Stormwind. So it was that Lord Uther met with the Archbishop of Stormwind, Alonsus Faol, to rebuild the Priesthood."
"If ye please," Marta piped up, "I am sure that this is very important information for those in yer great cities, but I have to say I do no see what this has to do with us here in Dun Garok."
"Why, nothing." Jarl could not help chuckling at the look on Marta's face when she heard that response. "Nothing, that is, if not for a chance conversation, not long after the plans were laid for the new priesthood. A conversation between Archbishop Faol and a certain Brann Bronzebeard."
Marta gasped. There was a name she knew very well indeed, as did any Dwarf who lived. The youngest brother of King Magni Bronzebeard, it was Brann's boundless curiosity that had led to the discovery of a possible ancient link between the Dwarven people and those mystical Creators from legend and myth, the Titans. Without Brann's Explorer's League rising to prime importance in Dwarven society, Marta knew, there very likely would never have been a Dwarven settlement here in the midst of Human lands.
Jarl nodded at her gasp. "Indeed, young Marta. Upon hearing Brann's theories of Titanic Heritage, Archbishop Faol began to wonder if perhaps a Dwarf might not wield the Holy Light with as much valor and compassion as any Human. Or Elf, for that matter."
Marta's head spun. The Holy Light? In Dun Garok, and Dun Modr, and Thelsamaar, and...and Ironforge itself? She'd certainly heard the tales of miracles performed by the Paladins on the field of battle. They could heal any wound, so it was said, and even bring a dead soldier back to life!
"Brothers of the priesthood have been visiting among your people for months now, and all agree that the signs are promising for those Dwarves who are willing to learn. And so, Marta Craghew, we return at long last to exactly what I am doing here."
Mama clasped her hands, a smile of pure pride beaming through freely flowing tears. Papa harrrumphed and wheezed as he discreetly dabbed at his own eyes. Jarl rose to his feet, ducking his head to avoid the low ceiling, and placed a hand on each of their shoulders. But his eyes never left Marta's. "It is my great honor, Marta Craghew, to invite you to Lordaeron to be one of your people's first students ever in the ways of the Light."
Marta felt overwhelmed by the honor. Before her was a life she would never have dared dream of! Mama and Papa would worry, of course. That was what parents did, after all. But full of Humans or not, what safer place in all of Azeroth could there be than Lordaeron itself?