The Gilded Rose
Stormwind City
"Rayne Templar!"
The draenei immediately slammed the jug of fine ale and poured the burning brown liquid down his beefy throat in a single gulp. His endearing wife followed suit but did not share his speed nor enthusiasm.
"Another round," Ademski grunted through a spicy burp while pushing his tankard forward. "If you please."
Saelena offered a meek smile and did the same with her own mug. The bartender looked at them with a raised eyebrow as this was their tenth refill in the past hour. That didn't stop him from patronizing their request. They had plenty of coin to spare and by the looks of it, many more memories to drown.
The couple had traveled here after the funeral. They were awaiting an escort back to the Outlands. It was the only place they could really call home since there wasn't anything left for them here in Azeroth anymore. Honor Hold was more than willing to welcome them back even after their long absence of adventuring. The threat of the Burning Legion may have been temporarily quelled but they could always use the help of two seasoned warriors.
Time had seemingly come to a crawling stop. The draeneis arrived a couple hours earlier than intended and instead of finding some semblance of entertainment to pass the time, they desired to celebrate the memory of their fallen comrade the only way they knew how. The gratitude they wished to bestow upon him was immeasurable. Even if it were only for the briefest of moments, Ademski was able to listen to the angelic voice of his wife once more. That was a gift they had never expected to receive but were more than grateful to behold.
Ale splashed upon the table as the bartender pushed their full tankards forward. They simultaneously gripped the handles and lifted the jugs off the table while he quickly mopped up the mess beneath.
"Rayne Templar!" He boisterously shouted again.
They pounded their hearty drinks once more removing any trace of the burning nectar from sight. The tankards clunked atop the table in unison as they sighed in satisfaction.
"Hey!"
The two draenei turned around and stared upon the haggard fellow that called out to them. His face was rough and dirty as was the rest of his meager attire. He stood up from his table, sloshing what little remained of his drink as he stumbled towards them.
"I know that guy," the drunk patron slurred. His tongue appeared as if it were being held down with several anchors. "Biggest coward I'd ever seen before in my life."
Ademski's grip on the handle tightened. His brow furrowed as the piercing blue glow of his eyes bared down upon the stumbling man. Saelena's gracious hand fell atop his. She gave it a gentle squeeze and slowly shook her head as the drunkard approached.
"Let me tell you something," the patron slurred nearly tripping over himself as he pulled a stool and sat next to the draenei. His breath as hot, musky, and reeked of booze. "About Raaaaaaaayne Templar."
He plopped his half full tankard atop to table and stared deeply into the brown well of booze within.
"My family ran a farm out there in 'ol Farshire," he began. An untimed hiccup nearly spilt all of the ale he had worked so hard to consume out of his gut entirely. "Green Farm we called it. It was a nice place once, 'til it got overrun with undead."
The drunk took another hearty swig of his mug. Ademski listened to his tale with renewed patience thanks to his wife's gentle message.
"Then the king," he announced through another hiccup. "Built that fortress. And all the heroes showed up."
The tankard trembled in the patron's grip. Memories of times long past flooded through his thoughts.
"What scant little soldiers the Alliance had sent wasn't nearly enough," he burped. "The damned undead were ruining everything. Our town, our farms, our crops. Everything, gone!"
He slammed his mug down. The entire table trembled underneath its fury.
"My father," the drunk hiccupped. "He begged them to send more help."
The patron took another generous swig of ale before continuing.
"No one would take the job," he growled. "Said it was beneath them. Buncha glory-hounds."
A calm mood settled over him. The drunk continued to stare into his drink stifling any burps our hiccups that would dare present themselves.
"Then, he came along."
The drunk's eyes began to quiver. He pieced together the robust hero of memory through garbled speech.
"Ain't never seen adventurer like that before," burped the patron. "Big 'ol blonde fellow. Shining armor like he ain't ever spent a day out in the fields like the others. Handsome too. Probably some rich boy here on daddy's coin tryin' to have fun and tell stories about slayin' monsters and dragons for his friends back home. That idiot should have stayed there. He definitely didn't belong here."
He swirled the tankard along the table for a bit and watched the alcohol turn into a small vortex before continuing.
"My stupid father," the drunk scowled. "We were so desperate. He didn't care who showed up. Anyone would do."
The patron flooded his throat with another good drink of booze.
"So here comes this hero with his burly bald friend beside him," he spat through another deep hiccup. "They looked skilled enough. We thought it would only take them an hour or two. That bastard spent half a day roaming through our town before he even got to the mine."
His body began to quivering and breathing erratic. The drunk was actually starting to laugh as he shared the memories.
"They ran out of there just as soon as they went in," he chuckled. "Like a dog with his tail between his legs. Being chased by all the undead in Farshire."
The laughing soon stop as drunkard's eyes sharpened. Despite consuming a good amount of booze, he still could express such powerful thoughts.
"I remember him hurrying passed my father screaming 'I'm sorry' over and over again," the patron grimaced. "He tried to stop him and get him to finish what he promised. Some hero he turned out to be. What a joke."
Ademski turned his head slightly and glanced at his wife. She continued to hold onto his arm and reassured him that everything would be alright.
"The undead continued to plague our farm," continued the drunkard. "No one else came to help despite my father offering every last coin we had. Whether someone took the job or didn't, we were ruined either way."
The patron took a deep breath and sighed. His expression started to soften. Every breath that escaped his lungs was slow and controlled.
"After a few days, the strangest thing happened," the drunkard spoke with renewed spirit. "All of the undead that lurked about our town started to thin out. Within a week, they were all gone. We all thought it was a miracle. Maybe someone in the night came in to save us or they just got bored and went to go bother someone else."
He grabbed his mug and peered at the small pool of booze splashing along the bottom.
"My father grabbed his pitchfork and with a few volunteers, searched every inch of Farshire," added the patron. "The undead hadn't left a trace of their sickening presence anywhere. The only thing they found was a buncha holy symbols drawn about every building, home, and all over the mine.
The drunk picked the tankard up. Its bounced back and forth in his unsteady grip and hovered near his awaiting lips.
"That cheeky bastard. He spent all day avoiding those monsters and consecrated the entire town," he smiled. "Father said it was a good thing too. If any 'ol hero came in and killed the undead they would have plagued all of our crops and farmland with their disgusting bodies. We may have been safe but our town would have been ruined."
The patron brought the mug to his face and smiled.
"We asked around for a while looking for him," he continued. "Father wanted to thank him and pay him his reward as promised. Never did find him though."
Ale flowed into his gut as he thrust the mug upwards.
"That's why I'm here," coughed the drunk as he finished the last drop of ale from the tankard. "Someone told us he lives here in the 'ol Eastern Kingdoms. Dad's big on paying his debts. Sent me all the way out here to find him and give him the reward as promised."
The patron tugged on a hefty sack of coins. It seemed much more than any peasant would normally carry. They must have really wanted to show their gratitude. A small tear formed in the corner of his eye.
"I started asking around as soon as I get off the boat," he whimpered. Tears flooded from his eye and spilled atop the table. "They told me he was dead. Died protecting a dragon I hear."
The sobs stopped abruptly. His mood swung entirely as laughter filled his throat.
"Can you believe that?" He chuckled. "I thought he came here to fight dragons, not save them."
A still air brew between them. The stench of remorse was thick, almost palatable.
"Now," winced the drunk. His painful crying resumed forcing his once bright expression to turn dark. "I can't even thank him. Thank him for all he's done. And tell him I'm sorry."
He pushed the mug aside.
"I thought he was a coward," he sobbed. "I cursed his name for so long. But he still saved us."
Saelena tugged on her husband's arm. It took everything he had in him not to grin like an idiot upon hearing the conclusion to this poor man's tale.
"And now," the patron blubbered. "He's gone. Farshire is thriving and he'll never know how much we love him for saving it."
The draenei motioned towards the bartender to fill all three tankards.
"My friend," Ademski boldly smiled. He wrapped his arm over the drunk's shoulder and pulled him in closer with a big hug and motioned for him to take hold of the full mug of ale. "I promise you, he can here you now."
The draenei grabbed his tankard. Saelena smiled and reciprocated in kind.
"Show him your gratitude," grinned Ademski. "Say it loudly now. Let us honor him together!"
All three raised their mugs into the air as the two shouted proudly in unison.
"Rayne Templar!"
The Violet Citadel
Dalaran
"DAMN IT!"
Dozens of scrolls and parchments scattered across the table. The mage furiously thrust them off his work area and with a snap of his fingers, burned the remnants of their useless forms until they were nothing more than small tufts of ash like the hundred others that had failed him prior.
Cayden tumbled backwards. His body collided with the towering bookshelf lining all of the walls inside this small and circular study room. Tomes spilled from their resting places around the mage. He stared angrily at the trinket that had become the bane of his existence for nearly a week.
Light's Redemption laid upon the table. The majestic weapon continued to refute the mage's best efforts. It was one botched incantation after another. All of his labors thus far have been futile. Nothing he's done has brought Cayden a single step closer to uncovering the weapon's secrets. Even the Archmage Ronin's suggestions have proven to be useless. The warhammer once wielded by his beloved guild master remained still and continued to taunt him.
The door to the study room immediately burst open. Standing in the hall was an orange-haired young mage wearing blue and gold robes with small lines of white along her waist and skirt. Her worried eyes pierced through the thick clouds of smoke. She frantically searched the area for the cause of this disturbance.
"What's all this racket?!" The female mage cried out. "What's going on?!"
The mage peeked up and saw one of his former teachers, Sorceress Kaylana looking upon him with worried eyes. He sulked, throwing his hood over his head and slid down the bookshelf. Cayden fell on his backside and clutched his face. She immediately gasped and rushed towards him.
"Cayden!"
Kaylana collapsed to her knees beside him. She peered into the shadowy hood and continued calling out to the mage.
"I can't do it," he shuddered. Cayden's breathing was erratic and forced. Every word trembled from his lips as he continued. "I've tried everything. Nothing's worked."
"What do you mean?" Inquired the sorceress. She grabbed him by the shoulders and demanded answers. "What have you been – "
Kaylana turned her head sharply and looked upon the lone ornamented warhammer sitting on the table. The golden trim along its head and proud lion's symbol in the center screamed this was a weapon belonging to a paladin. As soon as that was realized, the sorceress fretted alongside her magus companion.
"I'm sorry Cayden," she remorsefully spoke. "I know how much he meant to you."
"It's not just that," the mage countered. His voice grew more vile with every exhumed breath. "He counted on me. And I failed him."
Cayden's fingers dug into his face. Even the biting pain of his fingernails clawing into the soft tissues of flesh couldn't begin to quell the torment brewing through his heart.
"I should have known that weapon was no good!" Cayden snapped. "I could have stopped him. I should have stopped him. If only I knew then what was going to happen. I – "
Tears streaked down his cheeks. The mage cringed has he continued to dump his sorrow into the room without restraint.
"I should have stopped him."
Cayden's sob's tore through the sorcerer's heart. She leaned in closer. Her hands slid around the mage's shoulders and across his back.
"Why?!"
The explosive outburst threw Kaylana back. She immediately rose to her feet and slipped backwards. Her body smacked the study table with a profuse thud. The warhammer rattled a bit from the excessive force as Cayden continued to rant.
"Why would he?!" The blubbering mage stammered. "And why would it?!"
Cayden's rationale was lost in a sea of tears. Words continued to spill through his open weeping. The sorceress trembled alongside him. Blood quivered through her veins as Kaylana attempted to impart any wisdom she could muster to help reprieve her companion's sorrow.
"What good would come from continuing on like this Cayden?" She pleaded with the mage while taking a single step forward. "Even if you learned everything, there is nothing we can do change the past."
"I'm not trying to change the past!" He fired back. The red hot temper Cayden was known for was billowing into the tiny room without restraint. He stood up and approached the sorceress with a blazing inferno burning beneath his eyes. "I just want to understand it!"
The mage clenched his fists and stared into Kaylana's shuddering expression. Fear slowly enveloped her. She was no longer standing before a beloved companion but instead, of a terrifying magus on the very brink of collapse. Cayden sensed her worry and slowly stifled the brewing fury bubbling inside of him. He took a step back and hung his head in shame.
"If I could just figure it out," the mage whimpered. His mind rifled through the possibilities. They all led him down the same conclusion he so desperately south. "Maybe I could prevent this from happening again."
The sorceress reached out to him. Her hand gentle fell atop his shoulder. Kaylana leaned in and hoped to rationalize his feelings with a bit of logic. They were mages after all. Logic was one of the principles of their discipline.
"Have you considered asking for some outside assistance?" She implored. "This is a paladin's weapon. The arcane arts may not be sufficient to understand it's complexity. Only wielders of the light can –"
"Don't you think I've tried that?!" Snapped the mage as he swatted her hand away. "I've been calling upon them for days. Dozens of Argent Crusaders have stepped through this door to help me try and understand the power within the weapon."
Cayden's fists slammed upon the table as he continued the bear down upon the sorceress.
"None of them have helped!" He grimaced. "They all sensed nothing! It was as if the damned thing was just a hunk of steel in their hands!"
The staunch inferno blazing through his eyes was immediately quenched upon seeing the distressed look upon Kaylana's face once more. He continued to unjustly take out his frustrations upon her. The mage knew she was only trying to help but this conversation made it seem like he was taking two steps back instead of the one final one he needed to in order to overcome this nagging sense of guilt and frustration once and for all. She was merely trying to offer additional guidance which made Cayden realize that the sorceress was not the problem here.
"I'm just not good enough," he sobbed. "What the hell did he see in me anyways?"
Cayden slipped back. His body fell into Kaylana's clutching grip and she pulled him into a tight hug before he fully collapsed. The mage's frame shivered atop hers. All of the flames of anger surrounding him had been buried underneath a frigid lake of grief. The sorceress desperately sought anything at all to help ease his growing distress. She knew Cayden was a brilliant and meticulous researcher. There would have been nothing he would have missed even in his own state of mourning. However, in all of his infinite intelligence, he may have simply been looking about this the wrong way.
"Perhaps, this has nothing to do with the warhammer Cayden."
The mage convulsed in his arms with that statement. Kaylana knew she was on the right path. The answer was staring them right in the face. They merely had to acknowledge it.
"They say great weapons impart the will of those who wield them," she continued. "I may not have known Rayne as well as you have but…" The sorceress sensed her throat choking upon the words she attempted to speak. "Maybe, this is what he wanted. And the hammer merely assisted in achieving that desire."
The mage's eyes widened. His throat went dry as the agonizing answer Cayden had hunted so frantically had finally come to light.
"He knew…"
Tears flooded his vision. Light's Redemption blurred before him. The mage's hands reached up and clutched Kaylana. His fingers shook erratically as he embraced the sorceress and pulled her tightly.
"He knew the entire time," sniveled Cayden. "And he still…"
The mage buried his head into Kaylana's shoulder. His sobs stained the finely threaded cloth robes. As embarrassing as this would be for anyone to bear witness to, Cayden had finally stopped caring about his own reputation and well-being. This was one of the very first things he learned from his first and only guild master.
"There has never been a man more selfless," he winced as the tormenting memories flooded through his mind. "Azeroth didn't deserve him."
The sorceress squeezed him gently. Her lips trickled near his ears as she tenderly whispered.
"You may be right Cayden," implored Kaylana. "But it does deserve you. Rayne would not want you to continue living your life like this."
They continued to stand together holding one another. The mage's tears flowed without restraint. For the first time in his life, Cayden felt as if he had no direction. Though he was still an apprentice under the Archmage Ronin, fate had seen it fit to send him back right to where he began. His voice broke as he tried to speak clearly while his mind was clouded in doubt.
"How?" Implored the mage. "How would he want me to live then?"
Kaylana clutched him tightly. She continued to whisper softly into his ears hoping her heart would reach Cayden's.
"I cannot answer that for you," the sorceress replied. She tried fighting back her own tears but upon ushering in this last thought, Kaylana could no longer stop it from flowing. "But I do know that everything Rayne sacrificed was to give you the opportunity to find that yourself."
The two mages continued to hold onto one another. Their emotions poured through like a violent waterfall. Cayden was the first to fall to his knees tugging the sorceress along with him. He couldn't help but be reminded of Samuel's final words during the eulogy. Every day after this was a gift bestowed upon him by the honored guild master of the Templar Knights. Each member was given a piece of his life so that they may continue to live. No matter what Cayden Melton did from here on out would be a reflection upon that man. He vowed to himself to do exactly that and become a light upon his world that would forever seek to shine as brightly as demonstrated by the noble paladin he had the pleasure of knowing.