World of Warcraft
Chronicles
An Account of the New Heroes of Azeroth
Prologue: In The Beginning (The Reign of Chaos)
Call me Jeriden. Being born of goodly parents in the provinces of the kingdom of Lordaeron, I grew up without knowing much of what was going on during the course of the Second War. I was only four years of age during the war's height so I don't remember much. One image stayed with me however with such crystal clarity that one would think that it might be the memory of an adult. My father stands in the doorway, the sun silhouetting him. He turns to my mother and I and smiles. He hoists the family claymore onto his back and walks out the door. I break from my mother's gentle hand and rush to the door. I watch him as he marches down the road to war, until, as a little dot in the distance, he disappears over the horizon.
I never saw my father alive again. Later, I learned that he died much closer to home than we thought. His battalion engaged the forces of the Orcish Horde just a few miles south of our home village of Darrowshire. He fought bravely, slaying many orcs, trolls, and even a few ogres as well. It was one of the Horde's vile undead Death Knights that finally slew my father.
I also remember when they brought father's sword back. I don't remember what was said, just that the officer handed me the heavy blade and told me that it was now my responsibility to take care of my family.
I'm afraid I haven't told you very much of myself. I am the eldest of four children. Myself, little brother Balder and my little twin sisters Juhani and Lidia. I am one year older than Balder and two years older than my sisters.
I was seventeen going on eighteen when we began to hear the rumors. We had had peace for twelve years when we began to hear tell of some sort of death cult in the northlands and a plague. One day a rider came through town yelling that the great city of Stratholme had been razed…by the Alliance army under the command of Prince Arthas Menethil himself! It was said that the city had been destroyed to stop the spread of a plague of undeath that was transforming all that fell sick with it into mindless ghouls. Some months later, we heard that King Terenas had been assassinated… by none other than Arthas. The Undead Scourge, as it was now known, had wiped out the Capital City and was on the march across all of Lordaeron.
Our mother made immediate preparations to leave Darrowshire. Unfortunately the Scourge reached our village before we were able to leave. As the Alliance guards rushed to do battle with the undead horrors, mother brought our horse to the front of the house and hefted my sisters on to the saddle. Calling me over she told me to take my brother and sisters and ride as hard and as fast as I could, to go as far away from Lordaeron as possible. Fierce little brother Balder came running out of the house, father's sword in his young hands. I grabbed the sword from him as I helped mother seat him with my sisters.
"Mother, how are you to come with us?" asked my littlest sister Juhani, tears threatening to fall down her face.
"I must tend to the wounded men. The Alliance needs as many soldiers as they can get and you'll go faster with just yourselves. You can't afford to wait for me. The Scourge is upon us! Go my children! Go!"
As the sounds of the fighting drew closer to our home other, more sinister and horrifying noises, cut across the sounds of fighting. Horrible shrieks and snarlings and disgusting ripping noises.
"Go!" shouted Mother, "And don't look back!"
We rode away from Darrowshire, with the smell of ash and blood and death in our nostrils with our mother's last words echoing in my ears. My sisters cried openly as we galloped away and even stoic Balder let tears fall. If I was weeping I never noticed as I gripped the reins with white knuckles.
We rode through the day and through the night. We rode through the Hinterlands and down into the Hillsbrad Foothills. We hoped to make for the port town of Southshore but when we finally arrived we found that the town was packed with hundreds of refugees. There was no way four children without parents would be able to get onto a ship and I was old enough to know that there were many unsavory types who would be all too happy to take advantage of us, especially two little girls. We decided to move on.
We rode east through the foothills and entered the Arathi Highlands, home of the city-state of Stromgarde. Balder wanted to stop here as the Stromgardians were regarded as powerful warriors in there own right. But Mother's words and what I had seen at Darrowshire was still burned into my mind. Although Balder argued against it bitterly, we pressed on. The little thief did manage to swipe some food from the merchants before we left though.
We pressed on, turning south and heading into the dwarven lands of Khaz Modan. We kept heading south, even though my sisters had begun complaining about wanting to stop. Balder made the suggestion that we go to the dwarven city of Ironforge. It was a sensible suggestion, as the city was inside a mountain. But I didn't want to stop even there. Something was driving me on, further south to probably the last bastion of human power left, the kingdom of Stormwind in the southern continent of Azeroth. Despite my siblings' protests, we pressed on. The worst part of journey came when we crossed from Khaz Modan into the lands between Khaz Modan and Azeroth, the Burning Steppes. This blasted place was the site of the Orcish Horde's last stand against the Alliance at their fortress of Blackrock Mountain. The air there tasted of ash and brimstone and dried us out horribly. We used up our water very early on and we ran out of food soon after. It was too hard to eat anyway when the food literally turned to ashes in our mouths. We passed into the mountains; our faithful horse was feeling the strain as well as us and plodded forward with hard, deliberate steps and drooping head. We had reached the end of our collective ropes however. The poor animal collapsed dead to the ground as we finally made our way down from the mountains and the rocky ground gave way to grass and trees.
We stumbled forward, Balder and I supporting our tired and hungry sisters. We heard the babbling of a brook ahead and tried to run to it, laying our sisters down gently in the grass, but our malnourished muscles gave out before we had gone three yards. I tried to crawl toward the sound of the water but all my strength had been spent in the desperate days of flight away from Lordaeron. The last thing I heard before unconsciousness claimed me was the sound of a galloping horse, but that wasn't right because our horse had collapsed, right?
When I awoke I found myself in a soft bed with a priestess hovering over me. I had been asleep for three days I was told, as had my brother and sisters. We had been discovered by a hunter and brought to Northshire Abbey, home to the late Archbishop Alonsus Faol, founder and leader of the Clerics of Northshire, the predecessors of the Paladins. The Clerics had been instrumental during the First War between the Orcs and Stormwind but had also been devastated by it. Faol and his apprentice, Uther the Lightbringer reformed them into the Knights of the Silver Hand or paladins.
After explaining our story to the Father Abbot he allowed us sanctuary for as long as we liked. It had nothing to do with the fact that Balder would probably to father's sword and try to impale me if I wanted to press on to Stormwind. Besides, Northshire was close enough.
It would be here, in this tucked away corner of the world that we would be introduced to our futures. The way of the sword, of the Light, of the shadows, all of that and a bit more would be made known to us in our time at the Abbey. The adventure had just begun.
Author's Note: I am NOT going to be writing everything that happens to Jeriden and friends from beginning to really starts when we get to the events of Wrath of the Lich King. There is much matiriel to cover though and I will try to get to all the major events of what happens to the party during old WoW, Burning Crusade, Karazhan and the Caverns of Time.