Chapter Two

The journey to Stratholme from Andorhal was long and hot, which forced the pair to stop several times in villages and makeshift caravan stops scattered about Lordaeron. A few days into their journey, they made a stop at Caer Darrow, an ancient town built upon an island in the middle of Darrowmere Lake. There they met several families that were preparing themselves to uproot their very livelihood to find safety from the impending orcish invasion. It was at this stop that the two aspiring paladins assisted with the frail and ill in packing their belongings. The comradority amongst humanity reinforced their fortitude in making their trip.

After a day helping the fleeing masses, Daellin and Ahran continued on their trek and crossed the Thondroil River to the east. As they crossed into the eastern portion of Lordaeron, the two noticed a sense of unease. While the anticipated path the orcs would take was far away from this land, the locals were still preparing for doomsday. No doubt, the rumors from their southern brethren that fell to the green skinned monsters had already reached this far.

Desperate for relief from the overbearing sun, the pair stopped at Darrowshire. The humble hamlet was now a staging ground for refugees flowing in from the west. At this village, Daellin and Ahran ran into a trio of siblings, a clan called the Redpaths, helping the influx of refugees with food and water. The two young men introduced themselves and offered help, feeling that it was just the right thing to do. After a day's worth of helping the refugees, the family they closely helped opened their cramped home for the evening for the travelling pair. The two aspiring knights and the three Redpath siblings broke open a cask of hard whiskey and burned the evening away. The men from Andorhal learned that the Redpaths had spent the better part of a decade carving out their presence in this corner of Lordaeron through commerce. However, the war had quickly turned their attention from trade to helping out their fellow man. Ahran and Daellin agreed that these were good people and that one day they would return the favor for their hospitality.

The following day, with their heads pounding, Ahran and Daellin bid the Redpaths goodbye. They took up their steads for the homestretch in their journey. Between Darrowshire and Stratholme was the expansive forest of northern Lordaeron. While there were many small villages that spotted the map that could provide brief respite, the two figured it would be best to press onward and arrive a day early in order to fully recover from their night's escapades. The ride was uneventful save for an instance when Ahran nearly fell off his horse. He claimed there was a ditch in the ground that startled his horse; Daellin knew he was spacing out due to his hangover. Nevertheless, while the sun was slowly arching down towards the horizon, the two finally made it to the gates of Stratholme.

Stratholme was the pride of eastern Lordaeron and was the bastion of human society in the region since the days following Arathor. The port city had flourished due to a robust economy and easy access to the elven kingdom of Quel'Thalas, as well as the rest of Lordaeron. It was said that the expansive moat and stone walls that guarded the city were erected by stonemasons that refused to sleep until they had a city that rivaled their elvish counterparts in Silvermoon. The two Andorhal men had never been to this famed city before and they could not help but compare this bastion to their humble hometown.

As the two strolled down the various market streets, they marveled at the robust scene of merriment and trade. Tradesmen howled at one another, claiming that they had the best goods while their wives would lure in any potential buyer with their feminine charm. While their youthful tendencies pulled them to certain buildings of pleasure, the two decided on calling it a day by renting out a room in the cheapest tavern. The true deciding factor was that they only had a few silver to their name.

The following day, the two left the tavern and continued deeper into the city, feeling refreshed. The further they went in, the less luxurious it was. The bustling trade streets turned to slums and beaten down residential districts. Based on what the locals told them, the chapel resided past these dreadful corners of the city. This surprised the two as they heard that the chapel was a glorious structure painted within a beautiful scene, not hidden deep in the dredges. As the two walked, they noted the amount of impoverished individuals that were merely standing or talking amongst themselves. In contrast to the bustling market streets, these folk seemed dead.

After what seemed like an eternity of walking through the dreadful masses, the two turned a corner to the chapel district. The church was a humble one, with a single door and no ramparts to speak of. It looked to be two stories tall at the most with a narrow bell tower on top. However, what drew their attention was not the architecture but the individuals who stood before the structure. On the steps leading up to the chapel door were a few men, knees bent towards the entryway. At the top of the flight of steps stood two men that radiated with pride and honor. It dawned on Ahran and Daellin that they were the pious men that sent out the call to join their new found order. Daellin took a moment to observe the two that had called upon brave men and women of Lordaeron to heed the call of the Silver Hand. Alonsus Faol was a frail priest with a receding hairline and slight hunch. Across the priest, the famed knight known as Uther was a complete opposite being. He stood tall with a barrel chest and a stout smug. The pair were clearly giving a sermon of some sort.

The two Andorhalan men waited patiently in the distance for the ceremony to close. When all those in attendance began to dismiss, Ahran and Daellin went to an isolated priest to discuss the chance of them joining the newly created order as well. She informed them that it was possible as long as they had the strength and courage to embrace both the Holy Light and the rigorous ordeals ahead of them. The two Andorhal boys grinned and nodded to one another, then excitedly proclaimed they were prepared for any hardships ahead of them. Just as the two were about to walk away, Uther walked up to the pair.

"Are you two lads prepared for the road ahead?" He asked in the deepest voice the two friends had ever heard. When the two young men from Andorhal slowly nodded, Uther replied with a devilish grin.

"Don't force it, Daellin. Let your sword be part of your body, an extension of your will," Uther suggested after he effortlessly parried the wooden practice sword with his large warhammer. Before his sparring partner could unleash another attack, Uther sidestepped to his left and launched a sideways arching blow. Daellin barely had enough time to awkwardly lunge backwards to avoid the hit.

"I am trying, Lord Uther!" Daellin exclaimed as he regained his footing. He had given himself just enough distance to give himself a few moments to regain his composure. His breathing was labored and sweat was pouring down his forehead and stained his practice tunic. His wooden practice sword was frayed and splintered from blocking many blows.

Around the paladin and would-be knight, a small gathering of fellow Silver Hand knights watched the match. Most were new recruits, including the second generation of knights that were being personally trained by the likes of Uther and Faol. Their faces showed a mixture of excitement, bewonderment, and terror. Among those in the crowd was Ahran. Unlike the rest of the aspirants, Ahran was doubled over on the cobbled ground. A priest was nonchalantly tending to his side; everytime the priest made an adjustment, Ahran's face would seethe in agony.

Uther, dressed in a similar tunic as Daellin with the tabard of the Silver Hand, remained in his battle stance. The adamantine head of his warhammer glistened from the sun's rays that drenched Stratholme that day. Even though this was his fifth combat practice engagement of the day, he had yet to give any ground or pause. Suddenly, in a flash of an eye, Uther charged at Daellin, warhammer raised high. This time, Daellin was able to properly use his opponent's momentum to parry the attack to the side which created a brief opening. Daellin took the advantage by sweeping his sword at Uther's midsection. The blow landed squarely but without the impact Daellin was hoping for. Nevertheless, the mentor did take half of a step back. The first time that day that Uther had to do so.

With this first successful blow, Daellin loosened his stance and a smirk grew across his face. He could not help but relish in his small victory and looked back at the crowd. Many in attendance roared in approval. Even Uther grew the tiniest of smirks that lasted for only a second before contorting his body in order to spin around in a circle viciously. After three rotations, he launched his warhammer at his opponent.

While Daellin was still embracing the crowd's cheers, out of the corner of his eye he saw Uther's warhammer spiraling towards him. He had no time to repel this attack due to his arrogance. The best he could muster was raising his wooden sword to his face to soften the blow. Despite this half-hearted attempt at protection, the warhammer made direct contact, shattering the sword, and hitting its mark directly at Daellin's chest. A very audible gasp escaped from both the aspirant and the crowd as he was sent flying. Daellin hit the ground with a loud thud before rolling over a few times. His body stopped a few feet away from a few other apprentices who were too stunned by the sudden turn of events to do anything but stand there. The young Andorhal man gasped for air as he held his chest in pain. Meanwhile, the victor of the match rushed to Daellin's side.

"Easy, lad," Uther urged as he fell to Daellin's side. The paladin gently placed his exposed hand on Daellin's aching chest and made sure to take deep, calm breaths. He closed his eyes and began to mouth a prayer that he was taught by Faol. A sense of warmth wrapped around Daellin as his breathing became less and less labored. The pain, while certainly there, was mostly relieved.

After a few moments of healing, Uther pulled his hand away from his student and stood. Daellin looked up to his master's sky blue eyes and remarked, "Go easier on me next time, sir."

Uther chuckled, "And will you say the same to the orcs on the battlefield, Daellin?" Uther held out his hand for Daellin. The aspirant cocked his head to one side and raised an eyebrow, unsure if Uther's combat practice was over or not. After a moment of pause, Daellin reached out and was pulled up to his feet without any effort from Uther.

"It might be worth a shot," Daellin joked before cringing from the pain again.

Uther leaned in close to Daellin so that no one else could hear. "Nice hit, by the way," Uther slyly remarked.

Daellin, with the slightest of smiles, dragged himself one slow step at a time to the ring of other apprentices to find a priest to help with the pain. A few others clapped and applauded Daellin's valiant effort in combat against their master. One, a rotund gentleman, gave Daellin a big slap of approval on his back that almost sent Daellin flying from his feet once more. Instead, he gritted his teeth and gave a half smile of acknowledgement.

Uther sauntered over to his warhammer that was a few feet from where Daellin was lying. With his trusty weapon in his grasp, he made his way to the center of the makeshift battle arena. "It is critical to remember, my dear friends, that even if the odds are stacked against you, you are to never give in," Uther announced as he turned around to ensure each pupil saw his face for a few moments. "Through the Holy Light, we find the strength to persevere. It is for you to find that inner power to channel the Light."

Over the course of several months, the two young troublemakers from Andorhal morphed into upright men. The training was physically grueling and mentally tiring. In truth, both believed that the physical training could not compare to the rigorous studying of the Holy Light. Both came to the city with a distant respect for the Light but not to the level expected from the Silver Hand. Endless nights were spent rehearsing and memorizing prayers from librams old and new. Gradually, through rigorous study and prayer, the Light began to heed their call. They were able to bask themselves in the Light's warmth to heal themselves, cast the Light for an offensive barrage, and ward themselves from oncoming attacks. The tangible evidence of the Light's work reinforced their growing faith.

"Those men have beaten my body in every way imaginable, yet this is what I am terrified of?" Ahran asked as he paced back and forth in his chamber. The young man kept shaking his hands as if to ring out water, starting and stopping in his tracks, and guiding a hand down his petrified face.

"You're going to be fine!" Daellin assured as he watched his fellow soon-to-be Knight of the Silver Hand virtually break himself apart. The calmer of the two was sitting beside of Ahran's bed. Their bedchamber was a modest one with two beds, two chests for personal belongings, a dirty window that let in only a few sunrays, a desk, and two chairs for study. On the desk, notes and books were haphazardly placed. "All you have to do is recite a few lines of prayer, follow their instructions, then, boom, you are knighted."

Ahran rushed over to Daellin without warning and placed his hands on the sitting man's knees. Ahran's eyes sent daggers into Daellin's with only an inch separating the two "That is the thing. I can't recite stuff in front of scores of people. The words-the words just don't come to me," Ahran whispered.

A few tense seconds passed before Daellin leaned away and replied, "You have stage fright!" He laughed as he forced himself up and away from Ahran. He nearly doubled over in laughter by Ahran's window from this revelation. Ahran, still hunched over by his bed, was not at all pleased.

"I do not! You've seen me give sermons at the mess hall with all the others! There's just - there's just one section of the acceptance I can't remember right now," Ahran dragged himself over to his desk where all of his notes were. While it looked like a typhoon had come through the room at some point, it was clear that this student of the Light was the cause for the loose pieces of paper thrown about. He fingered through the pages, frantically looking for one in particular.

By now, Daellin had cooled off from his laughing fit. A wave of sincerity fell across his face as he leaned against the wall. He told his friend, "Ahran, I have faith in you. You are right; you have given similar speeches before to crowds. I guarantee you that the other apprentices have similar feelings as you do." Ahran did not respond to Daellin's words of encouragement but instead continued his quest searching for a specific piece of paper. Daellin watched with uncomfortable amusement from a safe distance.

Suddenly, a knock at the door. A booming, commanding knock at that. Ahran instantly snapped to Daellin, his eyes screaming to not move or say a word. Daellin raised an eyebrow but then realized what his friend was trying to say- don't answer or else Ahran's fear and shame will be exposed to the world.

"Excuse me gentlemen, it is Uther."

Once they knew who was at the door, a mute shouting match between the two friends began. A barrage of over the top facial expressions and arm flailing was the language of the conversation. Taking the mature initiative, Daellin took half a step to the door, making Ahran leap forward to show his disagreement.

Daellin mouthed, "What if this is our final test?"

"I don't care. To the farms we go, then," Ahran mouthed in response.

Without adding more to the silent conversation, Daellin walked over to the door and grasped the latch. Ahran, mouth agape, fled to the other side of the desk, as far away from the door as possible, hoping to be out of Uther's sight. A tornado of papers whipped into the air and cascaded down as the terrified man clung to the wall.

Daellin opened the door and welcomed, "Sir Uther, what a pleasant surprise!"

"A surprise only in timing, Daellin. After all, you have a knighting ceremony in a few hours conducted by yours truly," Uther replied with a smile. The young mens' mentor was wearing his formal white robe, reserved for only special occasions. His curls were for once combed back and, in a rare sight for the paladin, he was freshly clean shaved with one obvious knick that had only recently stopped bleeding. He held out his hand to which Daellin responded with a firm handshake.

"Oh, where are my manners? Please, come in," Daellin urged his mentor. He sent a quick glance over to his friend cowering in the corner. Ahran was trying his best to meld into the wall itself.

Uther bent down slightly to avoid hitting his head on the top of the entryway and stepped into the bedchamber. His eyes scanned around the beds and window, looking for something in particular. Finally, the tall paladin's eyes found what they were looking for- Ahran. In order to save face, Ahran had somewhat regained his composure but sweat bullets were pooling around his temples and at his feet were his scattered notes, just now settling from another tornado.

"There you are, Ahran!" Uther exclaimed as he walked over to his pupil. He held out his hand to which Ahran answered with a meekish shake and headbow.

"Sir, it is a-a pleasure," Ahran sheepishly said.

"I found something that I thought you would be interested in," Uther replied before he went to one of his poaches attached to his hip. From the poach he pulled a single sheet of paper that he held out towards Ahran. "I believe this is yours."

Ahran looked at the sheet and slowly grabbed it from Uther. He looked down and read the paper for a few seconds, his lips reciting the words. His face turned from concealed terror to joy. He turned back to Uther, "Thank you sir, I-I have been looking for this!"

"I can imagine!" Uther declared then added, "How about you take that, go find Trevor, and do some last minute studying?" He suggested with a wink.

Ahran gulped, "Excellent idea, sir. I will be taking my shit-seat, I mean leave..." Before a mortal could recognize it, Ahran disappeared from his bedchamber and made his way down the main hallway with the sheet of paper Uther had returned to him.

Uther then turned to Daellin who was doing his best to hold in laughter. The master nodded with a raised eyebrow in acknowledgement to what just transpired before taking a seat in the lone chair in the room. He motioned his hand to Daellin to take a seat of his own. He complied by sitting on the edge of his neatly kept bed, a stark contrast to Ahran's mess of a bed. "He will be alright," Uther told Daellin.

"Light, I hope so," Daellin responded without knowing what else to add. While he was not a mess like Ahran was with having Uther in their room, he certainly did not know what to discuss with his mentor mere hours before he would place his warhammer on his shoulders to knight him into the order.

"Lad, how are you feeling?"

"I am fine, sir. I would be lying if I said I was not nervous or anxious."

Uther nodded, "Perfectly normal reactions to have." Uther leaned toward Daellin in his chair, "Care to know a little secret?" Daellin nodded in anticipation. Uther continued, "When Sir Faol bestowed paladinhood upon me, I was a wreck much like our friend Ahran. I may have even pissed myself." Uther chuckled.

Daellin was unsure if it was appropriate to laugh like his mentor so he gave an awkward half-hearted laugh. "Well I hope that does not happen to me," he muttered.

Uther ceased his laughter and stiffened his body. "What I really came here for is this," Uther began as he reached for another side satchel. This one was larger than the previous and acted as the paladin's bookbag for his ceremonial appearance. He fingered between a few hardcover books inside the satchel until he pulled the biggest book out. It was bound in red and gold leather with golden lettering on the front cover. He casually tossed the book to Daellin who was startled by the sudden toss but caught it in his lap. The weight was tremendous on his legs. "Don't open it quite yet," Uther added.

Daellin followed his mentor's instructions, despite his curiosity, and watched as Uther went back into his book satchel. He pulled out another large book but this time it was bound in blue and gold leather. However, this one radiated with Holy energy that danced up Uther's hands. "As I am sure you know, this is the libram that Sir Faol gave me following my training," Uther said as he held up his libram nonchalantly. Daellin nodded, eager to hear what more Uther was going to say. "The libram is a physical representation of one's devolution to the Light. A symbolic relic that contains scripture of justice and strength; the embodiment of all the values we hold dear."

"And it is vital that the founding members of the Order keep their librams close and to refer to them consistently," Daellin added, remembering what the paladins taught them during their studies in Stratholme.

Uther nodded, "Aye. To cut to the chase, Daellin, is that book in your hands will serve as your own trusty libram. Normally these sorts of things would be given to those that have spent much time in the order but I decided to give you an early gift." Another trademark wink and grin.

Daellin's eyes lit up like a child on the morning of Winter Veil. He turned over the book in every way possible, marveling in it without even knowing what knowledge it contained. He looked back up to Uther, excitement in his eyes, and asked, "May I?"

Uther nodded. Daellin opened the front cover of the libram to the first page. On the page was nothing, no writing, symbols, or images to indicate that it was a book full of knowledge. Daellin flipped to the next page. Then the next. And the next. All of the pages were devoid of anything. Confused, Daellin looked back to Uther and stated, "Uh, sir, it is empty?"

Uther, once more, nodded and replied, "That it is." Uther stood up from his chair, placed his libram back into his book satchel, and walked to Daellin, still sitting bedside going through the pages trying to find anything within the book. "Of all of those to be inducted, your dedication to the study of the Holy Light is next to none. Your desire for knowledge on how to better yourself and those around you exemplify who you are as a person. That is why this libram is to hold all the wisdom you gain," Uther proclaimed as he placed one hand on Daellin's shoulder. After a few reassuring taps, Uther made his way to the door.

"Of course, Daellin, it is for you to create this libram of wisdom," Uther stated before adding, "I will see you at the induction. Please do not piss yourself at the altar."

Daellin quickly stood up, libram still in hand, and bowed. "Of course, sir. Thank you, sir." Uther gave one last smile of support before leaving the bedchamber with the door slightly ajar.

Daellin stood there, alone, almost quacking in shock from such a gift. He grew a ridiculous smile of excitement. Outside his door, a cry of joy called out, "I knew that's how that line went!"

"Bloody orcs decided to ruin our fun," Ahran muttered as he finally finished his mug of beer. He did not immediately turn to refill it. Instead, he sat the mug down on the bar top and looked over his establishment. Thankfully, his two barmaids were keeping the rest of the tavern entertained with song and dance while he spent time with his friend.

Daellin chuckled, "Yeah, so we had to stop those green bastards." He, too, finished his drink but did not motion for another.

"Wasn't easy though, nearly lost the whole damn war," Ahran quietly grumbled. He scanned over his tavern and noticed that a few individuals had retired for the evening. The rest continued drinking, admiring the barmaids, and waiting out the raging storm outside.

"Certainly lost a whole lot back then..." Daellin lingered. The two, without saying a word, seemed to drift off to another time as the dull roar of drunken celebration and torrential downpour echoed around them.

Years ago during the Second War…

Journal Entry: Tuesday

Normally I write encouraging words of wisdom and prayer in this libram. I have kept true to the mission Uther gave to me; to recount my life's journey and all the experience gained. Since the day I was anointed as a paladin of the Silver Hand, I have made sure to note all the good I have seen in this world. From aiding the good people of Stratholme to raising Loraderon's defenses to combat the encroaching orcish Horde. In each of these situations, I have seen the power of the Holy Light work in many ways.

However, today may be the most troubling in my paladin life yet. On orders from the Alliance and the Silver Hand, I have been sent to the port city of Tyr's Hand. The trek to the far east from Tirisfal has been long and draining but the Light provided us strength to press on. As for Tyr's, it has been critical for our Alliance in shipping out resources and men for the war effort. Recently, however, output has drastically diminished. Word has made it to the high command that there is a peasant rebellion at Tyr's. In order to ensure that the vital shipping route is still intact with the green skinned devils at our doorstep, the Silver Hand is sending a regiment to restore the peace with me at the helm.

I, along with a few other knights, are a few days out from the city, with the rest of the Silver Hand regiment a day behind us. I pray to the Light that when we arrive, the situation will be resolved and that violence is avoidable. Through all of this, the Light will guide us.

Journal Entry: Thursday

The Light may yet save us from the worst. A courier from Tyr's Hand met us yesterday to update us on the situation. The courier informed us that the peasants, while on a fierce labor strike, are amicable to a peaceful resolution. As one could imagine, the high demand for resources has pushed the common folk to the limit. I can understand their frustrations but, alas, sacrifices must be made. Even if one person falters in our battle against the orcs, we all run the risk of losing everything.

It appears that this may need a political resolution. Unfortunately, I am not much of a politician. Thankfully, the Light will guide us all in these troubling times and provide us answers. We sent the courier back to Tyr's with a message saying that we are willing to listen to their demands but can not promise anything at the time being until the Alliance high command sends their delegation. We also told the courier to alert the local guard of our arrival and that a larger regiment would soon follow. Throughout this ordeal, may the Light give us wisdom.

Journal Entry: Friday

We've arrived at Tyr's Hand. The situation is more dire than what we believed. The city is in chaos; those in open rebellion have ignored all attempts for discourse and things are turning violent between the strikers and the knights. Light help us in our dark hour...