~ Author's Notes ~
As with all locations in WoW the area of Light's Hope in quite small compared to what it would have been 'in real life' due to the need of conserving graphics. There is a Scourge banner not a stones throw away from the chapel when in 'real life' it would more than likely have been several miles away. With that in mind I added in all the 'things' I think were left out of the game world because they served no real purpose.
I've noted there are subtle differences between writing a Dwarf accent and a Troll one. Most of the difference is in the mind of the beholder who would have to know the difference between Irish and Jamaican to begin with.
"Nothing is lost forever to those who do not give up the searching."
~ * ~ Chapter 6 ~ * ~
~ Light's Hope Chapel~
They had felt him coming miles off, each of them readied with sword or spear and shield of metal or magic. Some of them bore finely wrought armor; some of them fought in scavenged, dented pieces. Yet each piece shone with pride, was worn with honor. There was a palliside baridade between the half-decayed haven of Light's Hope Chapel and the horrors of the territory that had come to be called the Plaguelands in the years since the wars began. Quickly the barricade was reinforced, reserves being called from their bunks and barracks. Searchlights lit every corner, the trees being cleared away from the barricade for a full time. Nothing could sneak up on Light's Hope... and with good reason.
Thousands upon thousands of graves surrounded the little church, each and every one a Knight of the silver hand. Should such a catch of the most powerful champions of the Alliance fall into the hands of the Lich King it would all be over. They had seen first hand what happened when a Silver Knight fell and a Death Knight rises. The Light from the hundreds of priests and paladins wielding the power of their calling lit up a corner of the Easter Plaguelands. This tiny little camp of rebels was a beacon of hope in an endless dark.
In preparation of battle civilians were evacuated from surrounding buildings, few as their were, and garrisoned inside the chapel structure itself. Sandwiched between an emissary of the Forsaken and an emissary of the Scarlet Crusade the blacksmiths and woodcutters had no reason to fear either would turn on them in this most hallowed of places. Whai... since when did the the Argent Dawn allow the Forsaken membership?
With civilians secured the chain of command got to work sending orders flowing in every direction. The Dawn was a well oiled machine sending the oil of righteousness to lubricate every link in the chain. Beginner level fighters up to the highest level cleric took their positions, with the long ranged fighters perched atop the palisade wall. Foot soldiers formed ranks inside the enormous barred door and readied for combat.
There they waited for the foe to come into view.
Through the black of night the presence drew closer. The numerous stars weren't even enough to indicate from which way it came, though the lights of the chapel lit up the cleared fields. Finally it reached the precipice of Light and stopped for a moment. Out of the Pitch black walked a lone human girl. Scanning the faces of the defenders in wonder she marked the page of her book with a finger. Never had she received such a … welcome? When she got close enough to the wall they attempted communication.
"'Elo, lass," a gruff Dwarf called down to her where she stood outside the barricaded doors of the wooden wall. "Wha's a pretty thin' like yah doin' wandr'in these cursed woods a' night aloon?" (Translation: "Hello, lass. What's a pretty thing like you doing wandering these cursed woods at night alone?" (1)
"Pretty, young, novice, child," she spat the words in disgust, glaring at the dwarf. She was in no mood to be reminded of her age and status, "What is it with you Plaguelanders and the need to degrade anyone who isn't withered old man?"
The Dwarf spat at being called a "Plaguelanders", as if this were where his mother had squeezed him out and where he had learned to shoot a blunderbuss, "Yah be askin' quest'ons instead o' ans'rin, lass!"
Short hands smoothed the layers of blue and white robes while her spine straitened as befitting a proper female of her race. "I come to seek your help in a matter concerning a friend of mine taken from Ashenvale by the Horde." Years amongst the Keldorie had given her Commonn a slight Night Elf accent, though not nearly as obvious as the Dwarf's slight Thelassian.
"Yah be a loon whey from Ashe'vale, girlie, though judgin' by yer elfie accent yah not be a stranger to em what lives there. Why dunna yeh ask the Night Elfs fer help findin' yer friend?"
The exasperated priestess kicked the gate and then jumped back holding her foot, "Because I can't get past the stupid Bullworks without swarms of Deathguards chasing me down! My friend is in Tirisfal; I need an escort who can deal with the Banshee Queen." Though she pasused but a second she quickly added, "Don't judge my accent when your Common holds hints of Thelassian. Which pretty High Elf roped you into her war and made you to learn the language second hand?" Dwafs of both genders were notorious for chasing anything they deemed pretty – and some that weren't – though they were the epitomize of noble behavior the whole time. Once you made them blush the game was over.
"Aye!" The dwarf would have raised a glass in solute to a memory if he had one. Unlike the people's of other nations, the dwarfs were not quick to anger over what someone else thinks should be an insult, "Oh, but t'at one was warth e'ry minute of tha time she ga' me!" He was not at all unhappy at being drug into a foreign war in the process... A second latter he shook his frothy beard and got back to business, "Did'ja make it tah the Bullworks and the' come all'a'way back 'ere?"
"Yes."
The Dwarf leaned back, banged up armor glittering with dents and cracks in the torchlight. "She's right crazy, that'un is!" He spoke under his breath to avoid chasing off the little human child with his disdain.
The commander of his regime nodded agreement, "Feral children. They can act sane and civilized for about as long as it takes to get inside a town or settlement and then they go wild in search of whatever need brought them there." The face under the helm was grim and sad, the lines of all the years spent in the Plaguelands showing strongly, "Saw a Quel'dorie child once took down four mages one after the other, drained their magic right out of 'em."
"What'cha suppose we be doin' with this'a'one then?"
"Let her in. Better she be civilized in our hands than his."
Briskly nodding agreement the dwarf leaned over the gate to relay the order... but she was gone. A series of gasps went up behind him but he turned to slowly to avoid getting her tome to his face. Well, it would it would have been his face if the pot-helm were not in the way.
She floated in the air above him and glowed like the noon-day sun. "Have you lost all your manors since leaving Dun Baldir?" Before the stout man could straiten his helm the child's accusing finger was leveled at his higher up, "And you! Feral child? I'm a novice of Elune out of Ashenvale and I'll have an apology from you for your false accusations right now!"
The two men stared. Floating... she was floating! The commander finally got the sense to defend his honor, "You're wandering the Plaguelands at night! What would you have us believe?"
Half a dozen arrows and one spear struck the shield that surrounded the floating human before bouncing away undamaged and undamaging. Her eyes narrowed, "Your etiquette is deplorable. I think I'll go ask Arthas to help me find my friend; I've been told he's looking for new recruits." She started to float away, still surrounded by the impenetrable shield.
There was movement under the illuminated figure; she looked down to find a Kaldorei woman in a multi-colored dress running after her, "Wait, wait! Girl-child-human! Wait!"
Perplexed she floated down to the ground. The tall woman stopped just a few feet away, large eyes glowing silver and purple hair pulled back in a short ponytail. The dwarf man called after her, wondering how she'd gotten outside the gate without any of them noticing. "Rayne! What'in the nether are yah doin'!" The Dwarf man could barely see over the edge of the wall but was adept at hooking himself into the supports and peering over.
"Forgive me associates, novice, we are a wary lot." The Kaldorie knelt in front of her. "I must ask how you managed to make it through the Plaguelands unscathed and to inform you that we are awaiting a minion of the Lich King who is headed towards us. You may wish to come inside quickly."
The novice smiled down at her. This was more like the treatment she was expecting and it made her long for her room in the temple back in Ashenvale. "Not to toot my own horn," she said in Darnassian, "but so far I haven't come across anything that was too much for me to handle alone."
The tall woman stood, hope shining in her eyes, "My Elune, it is good to hear the mother tongue again!" Her own words in Darnassian were met with a smile from the small priestess in front of her. "Come, come! The clerics and commanders will certainly want to hear how you came to us in such a fashion."
On top of the wall the Dwarf grumbled, "Yeah, yeah. Make a beeeg show o' it, Rayne. Like I couldn't 'ave made'er stey wit'out yer help!" Behind him the commander shook his head, letting the older dwarf know to let it go, and ordered the gate open.
Said gate was made of entire logs of trees lashed together and held with four kinds of magic. The emblazoned sun of the Argent Dawn split in two as the thick ropes snapped taunt and the cattle were driven forward to swing one door open a few feet.
Upon entering the novice was immediately received by the dwarf, ushered into the chapel and then left to wait for the commander. Rayne trailed behind them, apparently allowed to go wherever the heck she pleased. Pleased wasn't enough to describe her elation at finally being around another 'Kaldorei'. Apparently it had been a while. As for the rest they took up their posts once more and stayed on the ready for the approaching threat.
The road leading up to the chapel was lined with sharpened logs wedged into the ground and trip mines. How efficiency of mines which looked older than the Aspects themselves was passingly called into question. At least it was dry; the lack of any grass or foliage must have turned the whole area into an enormous mud puddle come a rainy day. To the left were the stables and sturdy tents that promised to be stone and lumber buildings some day. To the right and down the hill was a series of buildings, blacksmith and lumber mill amongst them. Civilian houses were located near the wall, though it was obvious they had been there before the wall and not build in such a horrible spot to begin with. Behind the chapel was the single entrance to what promised to be an underground tomb. Not digging up and burning all these bodies made the little novice question all these people's sanity.
"Right this way, ma'am." The commander was polite at least as he lead her up the path to the church. The rough gravel paving was stomped down so far into the soil it was barely visible. The priestess picked her way along carefully and entered the church with some caution as the double doors were opened for her.
Inside the civilian residents of the holdfast were waiting to see what became of the threat. Huddled along one wall the non-fighters stood apart from the fighters. A warlock thing stood half in front of a woman wearing a gorgeous set of red, gold and black plate armor under a tabard bearing the symbol of old Lordaeron in red. Mistress and body guard for certain. Other strangers in the room came into view as the new arrival entered. They gave her a wide berth. She was lead into a private room off the side. This room is where the clergy normally dressed for service. All the holy artifacts were stored there, along with the closet of robes.
When she and the commander and Rayne were seated formal introductions were made. "I am Lord Raymond George, commander of the Argent Dawn and this is Rayne, emissary of the Cenarion Circle."
"Mellmarie of Ashenvale," she handed him her hand for a polite peck, "novice of Elune here on a personal mission."
"I must ask," Lord Raymond's curiosity got the better of him, "what on earth brings you here? Alone. At night." The brown hair he wore in no discernible style was tussled from sleep. The cream tabard bearing the black sun of his order didn't hide the missing armor. Legplates and breastplate were all he had time to don before she'd made it to the gate. The lot was fastened down with the same enchanted utility belt most folks wore when their jobs needed utility.
"A friend of mine was taken from Ashenvale by two Horde, a priest and a warlock-"
"Corrosa and Jetadiah." Rayne blinked long and hard, shaking her head, long ears wiggling. "Or was it Jetadiah and Corrosa when you saw them?" It was Kaldorie custom to refer to a pair leading with the name of the dominate individual. With this pair it was right for Rayne to question her etiquette.
Mellmarie was surprised, mouth snapping shut once she realized it hung open, "Exactly. You know them? Do tell!"
"I know Jetadiah. He makes searchlights to find the feral children. The success rate is astonishing, all things considering." Lord Raymond did not elaborate on what 'all things' were. "We welcome him to Light's Hope each time they passes through, even if it means allowing that trained creature of his to accompany him into this hallowed place."
Rayne sternly corrected the Argent commander, "Allow him here? You make it sound as if searchlights are all he does. He has not turned his back on the Light, even after what happened-."
Mellmarie was curious. She folded her hands and fell silent, letting the adults discuss the character of absent third parties as they like.
"Yes, yes, Strahtholm and all that," Lord Raymond waved a dismissive hand. "I much prefer Blaze to this current companion of his, however. She at least tried not to set her own on fire."
The elfin woman snorted, "Blaze earned her name that day-"
"That fire cannot be linked to anyone who is affiliated with us!"
Yes, Mellmarie though, blame it on someone else. So Blaze was a mage? Who had been at the culling of Strahthom? And set the place on fire? So far, knowing the history of the doomed city, the novice priestess saw little problem with it.
"Don't mistake Jetadiah or the High Elves: they volunteered." Rayne smoothed her dress and crossed her legs in the seat. Keldorie did not like human chairs, with their legs that sat them so far above the earth. "He dreams about it, you know? I made him a potion so he could sleep through the night and not have nightmares."
Lord Raymond nodded, "All the good priests have nightmares. It keeps them pure to be reminded why they do what they do." He paused before adding, "Blaze never had nightmares. Not once. She was not meant to be a priestess-"
"That is not for you to decide. The Light speaks who whoever needs to hear It."
The older human man smiled at the tall, purple lady, "You know a lot about the Light, Rayne. Do they teach you about it in the Nigh Elf homelands?"
"Yes. We just call Her Elune is all."
