THE PRAXEUM CHRONICLES
"The Blessed Light : Book One"

A World of Warcraft tale
by Stephen R. Sobotka / © 2008

DISCLAIMER : This story is an original prose based on situations, settings, places and themes from the MMORPG game "World of Warcraft", by Blizzard Entertainment Ltd. All characters that appear within -- with the exception of all original characters created by the author -- are the property of said licenses, and are used here without knowledge or permission of same.

This story is the rightful property of the author; all original characters and the plot depicted within are protected by copyright law. This story was produced to entertain fans of the original game, and is in no way, shape or form intended to be published for monetary gain. Please do not sue.

-==-

Three

.
The sensation of softness beneath her, coupled with the a smell of warmth, yeast and roasting meat was what woke the Sin'dorei woman from her deep, healing slumber.

Oh . . . Blessed Sun. Groaning, Freaja fought her way through the last vestiges of the drowsy fog that enveloped mind. Spreading out her fingers, she felt the soft linen under her cheek and the crackle of rushes beneath her prone form. Strange. I don't recall such comfort from these accursed slave drivers--! Freaja felt her body go stiff with renewed fear, putting her hands out to shove against the plush surface as she twisted about in the linen to get upright.

"Stay put, lass . . . yer in no condition t'be jumpin' out of that bed, just yet."

Frozen in place, Freaja's mind snapped into full-waking focus. The voice was speaking in guttural accented Orcish, but it clearly wasn't an Orc that was addressing her! Blinking sleep-encrusted eyes as she turned her head towards the end of the bed, she gazed upon the red-bearded, dour-expression of a leather-clad dwarf, seated on a wooden chair across from her.

Dwarf? her mind practically pounced on the thought. Where would-? The logical part of her stopped any of her racing mind from going off into wild tangents, while her stiff limbs slowed her as she rose up from the linens. Looking about, she took in the plain-looking room and the simple, home-spun decor. This is clearly not the slaver's camp, but . . . where am I? What became of-? Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden wave of dull, aching pain that raced along her body. Groaning, she leaned forwards to brace her hands against the mattress.

"Back among th' wakin' world, are ye?" the dwarf asked, his lips twisting as he scowled. "Though a might worse fer wear, from th' looks of it."

Not replying, Freaja ducked her head to take stock of her current state. Her body clearly showed a few signs of brusing but no lasting injury from her prior odeal. Though the ache in every limb and part of her body told her she wouldn't be fit for any sort of activity soon. It was then she noticed she was now clothed in a simple linen shift. A small mercy, considering the slavers bore me naked in that cage! That thought made her shoulders ripple with an unchecked shiver.

"So, not a speakin' type, lass?" the dwarf asked.

Freaja lifted her head to study the dwarf. He didn't appear threatening at first, but the blunderbuss he had cradled across his lap was enough of a warning that she was still in danger. She cleared her throat. "Am I your . . . prisoner?" she asked, using the Alliance's Common haltingly.

If the dwarf was surprised to hear she knew their language, he didn't show it. "No," he said, switching to Common. "Still, that's up to yer savior as what happens t'ye now." Shifting his weapon to a more ready position, the dwarf rose to his feet and made a motion with the barrel of his weapon. "Stay put, lass . . . don' give me any excuse." He walked back towards the room's single door and rapped on it with one broad fist.

My savoir? The though fluttered inside Freaja's mind like a trapped bird. So, I was rescued? But, by whom?

A moment later, the door opened, allowing a tall, armor-clad human to step into the room. He paused to glance at the dwarf, before he looked at Freaja with a expression that was equal parts stern and . . . concerned? "Ah, our Lady is awake." Moving closer to the bed, he asked, "You are recovered, I hope?"

Freaja stared back, letting her eyes drift over this human; taking in his long, russet hair and mustaches, as well as the military flavor in his stance as he stood at the side of her bed. There was also something else; a presence that told her that, while he seemed no different that dozens of humans she'd come in contact with before, there was something more to this one.

"Lady?"

Started from her thoughts, Freaja nodded before asking slowly. "You . . . saved me?"

"I did, along with my companions. What is your name and title, if I may ask?"

For a brief moment, his courtesy threw her off her guard. A respectful human? Humans hate the Sin'dorei. she thought. They never have trusted us. That single thought made her cautious again.

"Lady?"

"I . . . my name is Freaja. I have no title." I must not let them know. After all, humans and dwarves are enemies of the Horde. Even more so, if they only knew--?. Clearing her throat, she asked. "May I have . . .some water?"

Nodding, the armored human moved to a nearby wooden table, where he retrieved a wooden mug and filled it from a pitcher of clear spring water. Approaching the bed, he handed the mug out, saying, "I am Liam mac Roi, Knight of the Order of the Silver Hand." As she took the offered vessel, he made a small bow and added, "I am at your service."

Nodding, Freaja took a cautious sip of the water, before she asked, "Will you tell me, where I am, human?"

"You are at . . . an inn, in the village of Goldshire." Liam said. He motioned to the dwarf. "This is Rhandall Sturmhahn. He and his sister, Hanna were also responsible for salvation."

The dwarf simply grunted.

Freaja nodded slowly towards Rhandall, before she faced Liam again. "What is your intention towards me?"

"My . . . intention?"

"Yes." Her mind shaking off the last vestiges of sleep by every passing moment, as well as awareness of her current state, made Freaja sit up straight in her bed. Her entire being adopted a posture of expectant command. "Am I to be given to your leader, as a prisoner of war?"

Liam seemed to sense the shift in her, as he also straightened and stared back with an unapologetic air. "At the moment, no. Even though you may be recovered, you are in no condition to be given over to anyone."

"Not that either the Constabulary or Sir Fordragon would mind what condition she was in," Rhandall muttered.

Liam scowled over his shoulder. "Rhandall!"

The dwarf stuck his chin out stubbornly. "Well, I only speak th' truth, Lad . . . besides--."

"That isn't something that aids our situation here," Liam countered. "This lady is clearly not a soldier of the Horde.

"Doesn't matter, Liam," Rhandall said. "She's still a bloody Hordie. What with th' Blood Elves bein' allies to Thrall an' his whole lot."

Liam frowned as he turned halfway to glare at Rhandall. "We still cannot simply turn her in, as if she was a war criminal. To do so would be unconsionable of us."

"Liam, ye know bloody well that any o' them what get caught in Alliance lands have t'be taken as prisoners," Rhandall shot back. "'Tis th' law."

"The dwarf is right." Freaja said, cutting off Liam's returning comment. "I am a Sin'dorei. Our people support the Orcish Horde."

"That may be so," Liam said, looking back to Freaja, "but you are in no condition--."

"Your concern is admirable, human," Freaja said, her tone turning flinty and cold. "However, if you ultimately intend to give me to your leaders as a prisoner, then there is no real reason to let me linger here."

"That may be," Liam said, looking at Freaja with an expression that was equal parts stern, concerned and puzzled. "Still, I will decide what will happen to you. To treat you otherwise would not be warranted, since without our help you might have died."

That comment alone made Freaja turn pale. "I . . . died?"

He went on in a more gentle tone, after seeing Freaja blanch at the reminder of her previous state. "Besides, I am certain you might prefer a more-."

"LIAM!"

The shout that pierced through the walls of the room was followed by the sound of boots thundering on wooden steps, interrupting any further talk between the human, his dwarven companion and their charge. Without preamble, the door slammed open, revealing the short form of Hanna Sturmhahn, who's face was wreathed with alarm, her twin axes clutched in her fists.

Rhandall snapped, "Hanna! What th' devil-!"

The dwarf woman said just three words. "Raiders! Attacking Goldshire!"
.

oOoOo

.
The village of Goldshire had only a token force of defenders in this time of war; mostly general conscripts from the nearby farms and orchards, with some of the village's constabulary -- only a few armored and well-armed -- and what men the garrison at Westbrook could spare thrown in as well. At this time, the current number was only forty to fifty men and women.

It was a paltry sight, compared to the force of thirty organized, armed and vicious Sin'dorei Rangers, which were now in open attack against the village proper.

Archers with bows picked off the least armed and armored with ease, while those of the Farstriders who were keen for close combat charged into the hastily summoned humans, letting sword, axe and dagger drink deeply. Made bold by the ease of how the first wave of defenders fell, the leader of the raiders urged them onwards; stirring up their lust for more battle and death.

However, when they got within sight of the village smithy and the Lion's Pride Inn, they were met with Marshal Dughan and twelve Westbrook soldiers . . . and these defenders did not fall so easily.

It was into this fray that Liam, Rhandall and Hanna burst into, coming out of the inn with their weapons out.

"Blessed Light preserve us," Liam hissed, before he gathered his resolve and shouted to his friends. "Rhandall! Take Hanna and try to pick off the archers!" Unlimbering his shield as he drew out his long sword, he added, "I'll see if I can aid those men! We have to keep them from sweeping into the village center!"

"Be careful, lad!" Rhandall said, motioning for his cousin to follow him to a place well clear of the general melee, but close enough for their guns to be effective.

Liam ran towards the fringe of the fight, taking a moment in stride to whisper several quick prayers. As he did, the holy power that was his to command flowed through him, giving him added strength, protection and will. As he got closer, he picked a target -- a tall, blond haired Blood Elf, who was whirling a long, pointed pike around to keep two human guards at bay. Judgment! Liam thought, pointing his shield-arm at the elf, and a glowing hammer of power came crashing down onto the elf's back from above. With a cry of pain, the ranger buckled, and his attackers bore down onto his stricken body.

"Hoi, Paladin!"

Turning, Liam caught sight of the armored form of Marshal Dughan, who had clubbed another elf aside with his own shield. "Marshal," Liam called out, making his way to the side of the older lawman.

"Glad to have your help," Dughan said, slashing at another ranger who came up against his flank. "Aaugh! They came out of no where . . . from somewhere to the East, across the lake, I think," he said as Liam slammed his own blade into the elf's side, causing the foe to crumple to the dirt.

"Why are they attacking?" Liam asked.

"Could be a precursor to a raid on Stormwind?" Dughan snarled, before he shouted out, "Dextry, watch the right! Archers!"

His order was answered by a series of rapid gunshots; the dwarves were now putting their marksmanship skills to good use.

At that, Dughan grinned. "Glad to have your friends helping, Paladin."

"We are at your service, Marshal," Liam replied.

With the addition of Liam's paladin spells and presence, along with his dwarven allies, the defenders slowly began to turn the tide against the raiders. What had been a vicious raid against a seemingly unprepared village, was now turning into an outright rout of the blood elf raiders. Thirty slowly became twenty, then a mere ten.

It was then, that the leader of the raiders shouted something in Thalassian. At that, seven of the remaining raiders formed a phalanx and charged at the heart of the defenders.

"What the Devil-?" Dughan bellowed, "Stand fast! Throw them back!"

Amid the cataphony of clashing bodies and weapons, Liam had pulled back to create a support spell, only to catch a quick glimpse of the raider leader and two of his remaining fighters break off from the battle. Puzzled, he didn't react until it became clear that the trio was heading deeper into the village . . .

Towards the inn!

"Marshal! They're attacking the inn!" Liam said.

At that Dughan whirled around, his face pale. "No! My daughter's in there, helping the innkeeper!"

At that, Liam didn't ask for permission or leave, he shot away from the battle and ran as fast as he could towards the inn. By the time he'd gotten halfway there, the three blood elves had already gained the door and battered their way inside. A moment later, a woman's scream pierced the early-evening air.

Blessed Light, no! Spurred on, Liam surged forwards, and made the doorway in seconds.

Inside, he came to a halt at the front of the inn's common room. There, the innkeeper lay on the floor -- alive or dead, Liam couldn't tell -- and his barmaid stood at the base of the steps that lead to the upper floor. She held a serving tray in front of her, while her body shielded a younger girl, who was crouched on the steps just behind her.

The three blood elves were arrayed before the two women, backs to the common room's entrance as they had weapons pointed at the older woman. The tallest of the three -- a dark-haired male with a wicked, curved sword -- gestured at the maid. "Where is she?" he snarled in accented Common, "Where is the sin'osa, bitch?"

The maid replied, "I dunno what you are-?"

"We know she is here! Stand aside, human, or we will kill you both and take her ourselves!"

Liam didn't hesitate further. With a whispered prayer -- Consecration -- slipping from his lips, he readied both shield and sword and stepped towards the trio. "Hold! Face me, now!"

As the blood elves turned, they winced as the spell's power washed over them. "Take him!" the dark-haired elf ordered. "Quickly! We still have her to deal with!" With a nod, the two flanking Farstriders spread out to bracket Liam. Their grim faces spoke of a world of suffering and death promised to the paladin for his interference.

Liam stood his ground . . . and yet, even as his body and soul were prepared to fight, in one small corner of his mind, one thought seemed to ping at him through his battle-consciousness: Her? What do they mean by Her!?

.
.

-==- To Be Continued... -==-