Tharr was your average poor seventeen year old - tall, pale, with light brown hair disheveled and in an unkempt mess. He was somewhat shy, and hadn't really made any friends, as he stayed home with his mother helping her around the house; all the while dreaming of becoming a priest of the Light. He'd clung to this dream with every fiber of his being ever since his father had died in the war battling the Scourge. He wanted to help those in need, and detested those foul undead creatures that tore his family apart.
Today was the day he came of age - three weeks past his seventeenth birthday, and he'd spent many nervous hours trying to figure out how to approach Brother Roge, the only priest at Northshire Chapel, to attempt to convince him to train him in priesthood. He wore old, ragged boots, a fairly decent pair of brown trousers, and a new crisp, clean green shirt - a gift from his mother as a coming-of-age present.
He stood in front of the Chapel, looking up at the towering building. It was made of solid gray-white stones, and had many blue-tinted windows. Just as Tharr was going to brave a step inside, Brother Roge himself came strolling out, humming idly to himself. He wore a nondescript brown robe, and was shorter than Tharr, with bare feet and his head shaved bald, rather like a monk's. He had a chubby face that matched his growing belly, and had the look of a man who often smiled. His eyes twinkled mischievously.
"Well, who do we have here, eh sonie?" Brother Roge asked, not unkindly, with a faint accent that hinted towards past adventures in far-off mysterious lands.
"I'm, uh . . . well, you're, um . . . " Tharr stammered. "My name is Tharr, Brother Roge." He finally said.
"I see you know of my name! Don't be ashamed - most people do." Brother Roge grinned theatrically, as if telling a secret. They both laughed at that and, still grinning, Brother Roge said "See? I'll knock some o' that shy outta ya yet, my boy! But now, to the heart o' the problem. There be something that needs said? I sure do hope nobody's ill."
"No, actually." Tharr replied. "I was wondering if, uh, you would. . . " he swallowed with apprehension, "train me to be a priest of the Light?"
"Why, of course! No need to be worried - the Light is always in need of followers. In fact, we've actually got a spare room all set up for another guest. Shall we?" he gestured towards the entrance to the Chapel.
As they walked in and up the stairs, they were greeted by the three other trainees, who all seemed to know Tharr was coming and had each brought a gift. The first to come forward was a fellow human, about Tharr's height. Shaking his hand, he said, "Hiya newbie - I'm Marc." in a friendly country twang. "The first thing you'll learn here? Always wear your robe - it keeps the heat out." He handed Tharr a robe identical to what Marc and the other trainees were wearing, with its off-white color matching the walls, and blue markings the same shade as the windows.
The second was a strong looking Draenei, bulging with muscles and taller than Tharr. "I'm Torjoutan. It'd be wise of you to focus on your weapons training - you'll soon increase your endurance and strength, and if this world's tales are to be believed, you'll need it." He said in a thick, otherworldly accent before giving Tharr a plain but stout wooden quarter staff.
The last was a tall and mysterious Night Elf, even taller than Torjoutan, with her long purple hair tucked neatly into a braid. "Discipline and an iron will will help you most in life, Brother." she said in a musical voice, giving Tharr a hand-made ring, which she explained would help him focus.
Brother Roge then spoke up. "Now, you three - as senior trainees, y'all will be helpin' me train up this youngin' Tharr, all right?" Everybody nodded, then headed down the stairs to go about their business.
Continuing on, Tharr and Brother Roge made their way to Tharr's new room, the last on the left. Opening the door, they saw that it was indeed ready for him. A cot sat in the left hand corner, covered in a light blue quilt and three large, plush looking goose-feather pillows. An empty wardrobe made of beautifully polished cherry wood stood in front of the bed. In the opposite corner of the room sat an oaken desk, complete with extra rolls of parchment and a quill in a pot of ink, ready to write. Dominating the room was a circular room depicting runes of the Light in white and blue, with the sun shining on it from a window. A water barrel sat beside the door, smelling faintly of roses, and a cheery fire crackled merrily within the fireplace in front of the rug.
"Ah, well. Here we are, my boy! All nice and situated for ya. I'll let you add your own homey touches to the place, but remember - meet me downstairs early tomorrow morning for your training." He smiled, and before walking away said "Oh wait! Almost forgot my welcome gift." and handed Tharr a small pouch clinking with coins before walking away, whistling a jolly tune.
Tharr walked into the room, heart nearly bursting from his chest. After a glance inside the money pouch Brother Roge handed him, his eyes bulged. It was full of silver coins! And for him!? He'd never even touched anything of real monetary value before, and yet now here he was, standing in a room that practically reeked of wealth, holding more money in his hands than his family made in a year! Leaning his new staff against the wall, he closed the door and admired the ring that the Night Elf Norronya had given him. It was solid gold, and beautifully engraved to to look like it was made of intertwining leaves. Smiling contentedly, he changed into his new robe, placing his other clothes in the back of the wardrobe. After setting his new money pouch on the desk, he laid down on the cot, sinking into the soft quilt and pillows. He just couldn't believe the fact that Brother Roge had agreed to train him. Brimming with excitement, he eagerly awaited his first day of training. His new life had just begun.