Disclaimer:: I do not own World of Warcraft, or any of its properties, therein. This is a fan-based project meant for the enjoyment of its readers. There, I said it! Now, onto the story!
Author's Notes:: These are events that happened In-Game on a roleplaying server. Any characters, other than Duessel Cartel, are not mine, but belong to others around this world. We created this story by chance, and I merely wish to share it with the rest. Duessel Cartel is a priest of considerable rank and standing. His life is torn by a lack of choice and harsh diplomacy for the right of Stormwind. The city is fraught with evils within, and this is his crusade for the cleansing of these injustices. Please, read and enjoy.
….This is not a tale of the Scourge and the dealings of Arthas. What I will tell you will not be of lore and mythology. This is not a story of Kalimdor or the Eastern Kingdoms; it is not a fireside prattle of heroics and battles of a grander scale. No, this is the tale of a priest and his journey through life from that of a simple existence to something much…more. It may not sound appealing to your interest now, friend, but sit a while and let me grace you with more. You may want to pull up a chair, though. I am a man of many words…
My name is Duessel Cartel, and I was a travelling preacher, once upon a very long time ago. In my early years, I had served the Cathedral in Stormwind, offering my services and oratory skill to those who needed them. I am not of high birth, nor have I ever carried myself as such. My path has been one of poverty and one of low esteem. I was never one to question the possibility that there would be those to intervene in my life; altering my course...forever more. There was a time, however, during my younger years, when I was still quite ignorant of many things (perhaps I am, now, even). I was new to my faith and new to the Cathedral. They gave me tasks, but they were brief and simplistic.
During the Third War, while the brothers there tended to mourning families, I stood amongst the masses, a long list that stretched from head to floor was in my hands. I read off names of brothers, sisters, fathers, sons, daughters...Each name delivered a painful shock to those in wait. But, I did my duty. Among the names, while it is fresh to my memory, now, it had once merely faded into the monotony of the rest of the names that I had read, "Lutherfield". This name would later come into my life and retain a dramatic effect. Yet, as time wore on, I began my study. I learned to read and to scribe, and I picked up on whatever literature was around me at the time. I was instructed on how to share and preach the Light, and it was then that I entered my ministry.
I continued to lead a smaller existence. The weight of responsibility had not fallen on my shoulders. My only duty was to relieve others of their burdens through careful words and an easy smile. It was...easy...to find my smile, then... There is a lot that I miss about myself from those old days. However, I still see myself as foolish, and it prevents me from wanting to return. I was a preacher for a long while, and I travelled by caravan to reach my many destinations. I'd travelled by caravan to the Dwarven Loch Modan and my kin in Darkshire; Elvish Astranaar and the entangled web of criminal Westfall, but I had not the strength to defend myself, under my own power. When I was passing through Northshire, the small safe-haven just outside of the Elwynn Forest, I was under the impression that I would be returning a book to one of the brothers there. That seemed, however, to be a false hope.
As I entered the main hall, two of my human ilk caught my eye. One was a woman. She was of average height, her skin dark and her hair a fair white. She wore an ornate dress, which had fit her body so that even I, as a humble priest, would take note. I watched her and the man she was standing in front of for some time. This man, who was tall and broad, his hair a deep red, his jaw strong and lined with well-kept facial hair, was unlike any I'd seen before. He carried himself tall, as though there were not a thing available in the world to have had the power to tear him down. I envied this man. The woman was in service to him. As I watched, he presented her with a folded cloth. It was a tabard displaying their emblem and colors. As she was fitted with this honor, she seemed somehow more complete than before-- as though something were missing just moments prior. I realized that I had not the strength to move and obtain such an honor for myself. It angered me. It made me feel like a lesser man-- small and unfulfilled. I swore to myself that I would become a knight in this man's service.
Once they were through, I approached this man. He introduced himself as Lord Ghodfrey, the Valorsworn. I introduced myself as a humble man in a world that needed hope. I was soon placed with others who sought employment in his ranks. A man named Devid stood next to me. He and I answered his questions with resolution and heart. We spoke of a need to herald hope and mercy to those who had none for themselves. In response, we were given pageship to this man. I accepted it with a glad heart. From that moment on, my service was not to the Cathedral. It was to the common wealth of the people. However, I could not uphold my duty without hardening myself, first.
I needed to treat myself without restraint. I was in constant training, though perhaps unseen. Daily, I ran to Westfall on foot, never ceasing, not allowing myself to be torn by fatigue. I kept myself standing through resolve. Whenever I'd arrive, the captain at guard on Sentinel Hill would recognize my face, and smile. "Brother Duessel, it is good to see you, again. My men have come to count on your reserved abilities." They knew I was not reckless, as the enemy was. I was one to carefully outplace them. I would bring down judgement from the Light and erase their transgressions. In this way, I learned of combat. I learned of the pain it brought, but also the relief, and it made the process that much easier for me when I returned to see the smiles on the faces of citizens. Those who offered their thanks to me...I would never forget them.
I grew strong and, in a short time later, I stood where the woman I'd seen in the Abbey had stood. Her name, I came to learn, was Ellesaria Thatcher, and she would come to save my life, in time. I was the only cleric the Knights of Lorderon had seen. My position had become one of value, though I was only to be a squire. I had come to value many of my brothers-and-sisters-in-arms as close family. When I was seasoned in my squireship, I came to find the Cathedral returning into my life.
My strength, it seemed, was channeled directly through my faith. The brothers there had similar strengths, and, thus, I learned from their experiences. On one such occasion as I went for study and prayer, there was a group that had massed at the Cathedral's steps. At first, I thought nothing of it, entered, and did what I had set out to do. When I returned outside, however, a woman called to me. Her name, I came to find, was Ebonay. She was an ambiguous and pale beauty. I was enraptured by her, I will admit. Others of the same enigmatic presence were with her. Ebonay had explained to me that they sought to perform a play, and record it using a gnomish device, of sorts. They needed a priest. In light of my good mood, I accepted without question.
So, a group of us left and headed for the crypts. Many of them seemed to be common associates, and they spoke on level with one another. A few others were mere rogues, and they appeared as such. I paid them no mind and merely went about my role with enthusiasm. I played the role of a holy bishop who held great influence over the church (I was flattered, really.), and had forbidden the love of two dark knights. I had hired a pair of men to arrest them, fearing resistance. We fought in a remarkable performance, ending with my standing over the man in question, and the woman having escaped with another, willing to fight another day. As it ended, a woman I now call friend, Anastre, had ended the recording and bid us all a fantastic performance.
We made to leave. At the top of the stairs, a man waited for us. His appearance was shrouded by a dark hood. His armor was tall and as ebony as the aura he exuded. His name was hidden from me. They only referred to him as, "The Ravager". Before we'd started our production, one of the men assigned to a role had insulted one named Immor, an Elder to their order and family. This man strictly asked for the bearer of this mistake.
Whatever this man had planned for the fool, it was not something that I wanted to entertain with thought. It would've ate at me to know that I'd left, leaving him to a poor fate. So, in my quickness, I gave him my name in the man's stead. What happened then...was beyond my imagination. Cool and collected, he approached me, asking for my name. I gave him much more. I told him of my allegiance. I spoke at level with him, my eyes never leaving his. He ordered me restrained, and a few grabbed me, holding me in place. As I did not struggle, the man took hold of my neck. From within his bracers, a needle pierced my neck, injecting a sort of sweet venom. The effects it took on me...I became delusional in a very jovial sense. It was an ecstasy that begged for more.
When the man spoke, he did so in reference to his ambitions: power and glory, family and belonging. This family, I later came to find, was known as the Sanguine Tribunal. There was a retribution placed somewhere in his future, and he wished that I partake. For some reason, a man of Light was something desirable to him. I do not wish to understand what power he saw within me that day... It was of no consequence. I stood, shaking. My being was split directly in two, drawing out a part of me that would abandon everything I knew. One part of me screamed for release. I wanted heavily just to feel his touch and rid me of my weaker half. The other...screamed for Ellesaria Thatcher...During the brief moments where this side would regain control, I screamed into my communicator.
Those present thought nothing of it. While I languished in my want and terror, the Ravager left, leaving Elder Immor to supervise over me. When Ellesaria arrived...they dispersed. They knew that the want was in my veins, and that was all that I needed to be seeking them out, again. For my luck, I returned to Redridge and Lakeshire, and Lord Ghodfrey found me. No sooner than it had been explained, he relieved me of my pain. He placed his hands over my mind and forced the Light into the darkness within. The plague was drawn from my mind...and I was momentarily freed.
The subsequent days were spent attempting to convince Ellesaria, whom I now consider my blood sister, that she had done no wrong. In her own hurt, she refused to forgive herself from not getting there sooner. I fear that, had she managed to reach me promptly, she would've suffered the same fate. Still, I've never blamed her for my actions. It was in my wish to save the life of a man I didn't know that this befell me. There was no fault to be placed, here. Tears were shed from my sister's eyes...It was...difficult for me to comprehend that I meant that much for her. Still, I was grateful.
I was also grateful for a man named Arty, whom I'd only met once briefly before. He was a stout, gnomish Death Knight with a noble heart, though some find it difficult to imagine. He assisted Ellesaria in my retrieval from the Cathedral that evening. Though it physically pained him to step in this place of Light, the man marched in on my behalf, and stayed by my side as we left, asking only of my state of mind and health. I've come to value the man a great deal, as well.
Still, I think I've gone on quite enough for one night…Were you entertained? Perhaps you'd like to hear more? It may not surprise you, but this is only the beginning of my tale. In the future, I will tell you of my closing days of knighthood, and how the bonds created there would transfer into my next life. While I still serve Stormwind, it was no longer in a reserved manner. No, I became something of a zealot. The Tribunal's involvement in my life is a prominent one; one that will take another night and a round of ale to talk through completely. Come to me then, and I will tell you of my brother. Remember the name, "Lutherfield"? Well…let's just say that he and I are not so far from family, either. Still, it's another story, for another night and another log on the fire. Good night, friend. Light guide thee well.