Chapter Nine
"I miss the old man," Ahran sighed as he set aside the last dried mug. The tavern was as dry as the mugs and glasses that were neatly prepared in hanging racks for tomorrow. Even the barmaids and bussers were nowhere to be seen; no doubt hiding in the back gossiping until they were dismissed by their bartender boss.
"So do I, friend. So do I…" Daellin muttered as he looked to a nearby window by the bar rail. While the storm had been over for some time, the rays of sunshine that replaced the raindrops were dimming, signaling that it would soon be evening. Seeing the fading rays made Lightheart chuckle out of amusement. Damn, spent the whole day reminiscing about days long gone. Funny how time flies when in another time…
Ahran leaned forward on his rail, his thick elbows supporting the bartender. "To tell you the truth," his voice suddenly boomed, echoing throughout the empty hall, "I miss all of 'em." A few of the hanging glasses danced against one another from the rumble coming from the bar. Even a boisterous bar crowd were mice compared to Ahran's baritone voice.
Daellin snapped away from the window and back to his friend, caught by surprise from both the volume of his friend's voice and his statement. "Aye, I miss them all, too," he concurred, unsure what to add. He could not help but notice that Ahran's face was trembling ever so slightly, just like the glasses above his rail, and his scarred face reddened.
Ahran continued his shaken rambling, "Hard to believe they're gone. Stubborn Turalyon crossing a portal on a fool's errand chasing some damn greenskins. Gavinrad and Uther murdered by a bastard kingslayer. Our paragons of Light, gone for the fucking ages."
"Can't forget Tirion," Daellin added absentmindedly.
Ahran's trembling in his boots stopped, yet his face continued to get more red. "Ta' hell with Fordring that fucking orc lover," he declared. His words reeked of anger and frustration, the like that Daellin had not seen from his friend in years.
What kind words for a brother in arms and Light. Even if his mortal actions were suspect...
"He may have been an orc lover but that doesn't change the fact he was one of our brothers," Daellin urgently pointed out. "Trust me, Ahran, his excommunication was hard on me, as well. In the end, the Light will be the one to judge his actions." The look in his friend's eyes screamed that this statement did not please him. To quickly change the topic, Daellin pivoted. "At least we have Saidan."
Like a tidal wave, the red in Ahran's face washed away by the mention of Saidan Dathrohan. "Aye, that we do! We'd be lost without him, that's for fucking sure," Ahran said as he relaxed away from the barrail. "Bless that man for forming the Crusade when we had nothing left. In this damned land of death and fallen orders, he rose above the rest to lead us on. Oh, and you, of course."
A small ping struck Daellin's heart. The truth in the statement resonated with him to the core. After all was said and done, besides the Holy Light, the Scarlet Crusade was what held them together. In a vast ocean of death and decay, the Crusade stood defiant against the hordes of undead Scourge that damned Lordaeron. "Through all of it, the Light has certainly guided us. Even when the Silver Hand was no more, Dathrohan was there to create the Crusade." Daellin's words indicated his thoughts were elsewhere.
"Can't forget Abbendis!" Ahran bellowed. The hanging mugs glanced off one another again, creating a short symphony of sharp tones.
"Ah yeah, the lovely lady that took much after her crotchety old man?" Daellin asked rhetorically but making sure to keep a friendly tone.
Maybe decades ago the two would have had a laugh at the expense of others. This time, with the last few rays of sunshine penetrating the empty tavern, was not one of those times. Instead, a prolonged silence fell upon the two as their glances went from one inanimate object to the next. Perhaps the bartender was looking for last minute chores to do before he closed for the evening. Perhaps the Scarlet knight was looking for an escape. In either case, it was evident that the time spent together this day had run its course.
"Well, I better get going. I'd hate to keep the kids in the back waiting," Daellin said as he slowly stood up from his stool. His sheathed sword made contact with the stool, moving it a few inches away from its original position. The paladin carefully pushed the stool back into its proper position, patting the seat for its apologies.
Ahran chuckled from behind the rail. "Ya' always were a stickler for precise order," he stated as he tossed his rag to an unseen receptacle.
"Must've been from all those years keeping you in order."
Ahran chuckled before saying, "Ya' know ya' gotta give me a hug before you leave."
Daellin smiled. "Of course!"
The paladin brushed away any dirt that had latched onto his person, noting that his once drenched garb was entirely dry. Hours must have passed for those thick robes to be dry once again. At least they were hours well spent with good beer and even better company. Ahran walked behind his bar rail to an exit at the end, each step making a loud thud. Daellin saw his friend's body dip up and down with each forward motion, like a ship at sea. As Ahran turned the corner from his rail and into the open bar to meet his friend, Daellin's vision instantly went down to Ahran's legs, clothed only by beige linen shorts. While one leg was withered and skinny, the other was nothing but a stump just below the knee with a thick piece of lumber serving as a prosthetic.
"They're still sexy, yeah?" Ahran asked.
Daellin snapped back to his friend. "Sorry, still getting used to it," he said, ashamed.
"Tell me about it," Ahran replied as he lumbered his way right up to Daellin. The paladin gently wrapped his arms around his friend, making sure not to grip tightly. Instead, his close friend was the one that gave a half-hearted bear hug. Daellin could feel each of his friend's bony ribs brush up against his chest, intersecting like lovers' fingers as they hold hands. In this close of an embrace, Daellin would normally hear a strong heartbeat; instead, Ahran's was nothing more than a faint murmur. It pained him. Nothing had been the same for the two since that dreadful day in Andorhal. Ahran was a physical testament to that. What's worse, the scars we see or the ones we don't?
"Light bless you, friend," Daellin whispered as he pulled away from Ahran. He barely felt a difference between him being on his chest and not.
"We aren't in church, Daellin. No need for the words of piety," Ahran muttered as his head fell to his chest momentarily, looking down at the withered state of his legs. Only a few short years ago, those legs were as muscular as a bear's. Now, they were little more than pegs. Just as quick as his vision fell down, Ahran snapped back up. "Come around again sometime. It's good to have ya' here," he urged.
"Of course, friend. Anytime."
With one final head nod from the two, Daellin made for the door. After opening the entrance and taking in the dusk's embrace, he stopped for a moment to check if he had all of his belongings. After gliding his hand up and down Dawncrier's sheath, he closed the door behind him, looking back to Ahran one more time. The bartender was too busy mindlessly wiping down the bar top one last time for the evening to notice his friend.
There he goes, back in his methodical routine. It's been like this ever since that damned day… The day he took over this tavern was the same day he stopped going to service. Is he even the same Ahran I knew all those years ago in the streets of Andorhal as kids? The same man that served the Silver Hand as a faithful paladin?
Am I the same man he knew?
Back on the cobbled streets of Tyr's Hand, Daellin took a moment to take in the scent of the young summer evening. The smell of rain made the corners of Daellin's lips budge northward ever so slightly. Just like rolling in the mud after that thunderstorm with Layla. Heh, I'll have to bring that up to Ahran next time. In any case, it's time to go. With that, his feet glided across the puddles and made his way back to the basilica.
The buildings of Tyr's passed him on both sides as Daellin walked through the city that held so many memories, many of them unfortunate. He sometimes wondered if it was cruel fate that led him to Tyr's after much of Lordaeron fell to the Scourge. Surely, there was a cruel deity that forced him to call the city that made him experience so much anguish decades ago his home.
Despite the rain's best attempt to wash it away, he knew these streets were paved with the blood of his fellow man. Nevertheless, despite the chilling reminder of those events, the proud city served as his bastion of faith. Besides Hearthglen to the west, there were no other grand cities in Lordaeron that humanity called home. The Capital, Stratholme, Andorhal- all gone. Despite the tremendous loss of life, the Light had blessed them a sanctuary to call home to wage holy war and reclaim their ruined kingdom.
After a few minutes of his slow trek, a faint, rhythmic pounding stretched across Daellin's forehead. With every other step, the pounding got more and more pronounced. "Damn," he muttered, "you have to be kidding me?" The headache persuaded Daellin to pick up his speed to make it back to his bed. The sooner he could get some rest, the better.
However, after a few rushed steps, he lost concentration and had to return to a slow pace. A few more steps with the aches forced him to stop in his tracks. He stumbled slightly, left leg tripping over the right, but regained his composure as best as he could. His body swayed from one side to another like an arrhythmic clock.
"Damn, Ahran, what the hell were in those drinks?"
"Having a night out on the town, Sir Lightheart?"
The unexpected voice startled Daellin. He instinctively grasped his sheathed sword, prepared for any thief to do their worst, and snapped to where he heard the voice. Despite the growing darkness, he could make out a man only a few paces away. The amount of red he wore, too much even for a tomato, made it clear who it was.
"Saidan," Daellin exhaled, "you startled me, brother."
"My apologies," Saidan chuckled as he walked up to Daellin. Even in the dimly lit street, he could make out Saidan's distinct features- the tall stature, a long white mane, pearly whites, and impressive muscle bulk for a man his age. "I just got out of a meeting with Lady Abbendis and Isillien and couldn't help but notice you, err… stumbling down the street alone."
The pain in Daellin's head slightly subsided, perhaps due to the presence of his old ally and commander. Or, perhaps his body was doing everything in its power to conceal the awkward ailment from his commanding officer.
Daellin responded, "In my younger days, maybe I would be taking a lady back home with me." He grinned, thinking back to the many conversations he had with Ahran about the topic of women.
"You dog, you," Saidan roared, sending an echo down the street. Daellin swore that the few lamps that lined the street flickered from the Grand Crusader's bellow, as if a strong gust of wind came down the road. "So, visit anywhere special? It looked like you had a good time," he added.
Slight shame fell over Daellin's face before answering, "Yeah, visited Ahran. Seems like only a few drinks will do a number on me in my old age."
Once again, Saidan roared in laughter. Daellin tensed slightly, fearing that some individuals that had retired for the evening would start shouting from their windows for the Scarlets to quiet down. "You're telling me," Saidan began, "that Sir Lightheart is a lightweight? Should just call you Sir Lightweight!"
This genuinely made Daellin laugh. While he did not double over like his fellow paladin and cause a lot of commotion, his laughter showed signs of life. It was the sort of laughter he shared exclusively with Ahran. However, in recent years, it became more rare for him to enjoy actual laughter in the company of others. Military life surrounded by a realm of death will do that.
The laughter must have snuffed out the last remaining sunrays of dusk, as Tyr's was only illuminated by the street lamps and occasional window candle. Daellin realized that his entire day was spent and that he still longed to collapse into his bed. While today was, for the most part, a pause in his daily life of serving the city, the Crusade, and the Light, the next day would surely bring more than just drinking with his friend.
"This has been a joy, Saidan, but I should really get going," Daellin told his comrade.
Saidan's pleasant smile glowed in the dark street of Tyr's. "Allow me the pleasure to walk my old friend back to the basilica, then," he stated as he wrapped his long arm around Daellin's shoulders. His body resonated so much heat that it almost made Daellin sweat in his simple garb. How did he survive Blackrock wearing full plate? The man is like a fireplace!
"Maybe I am taking a cute lady back home tonight, after all," Daellin teased.
"Given the circumstances, I think I am the one taking the lady back home," Saidan playfully retorted.
And so, the two walked down the damp and dim streets of Tyr's Hand, with Saidan not letting go of Daellin's shoulders. Even with the time to recover due to the conversation, Lightheart's gait was slightly awkward with the occasional trip on a street brick. With each stumble, Saidan Dathrohan was there to hold him up and readjust his fellow paladin. Not another soul passed them in the darkness. The two paladins, veterans of countless battles and strong adherents to the Light, were the only souls in Tyr's Hand.
"Could you imagine," Saidan began in an out of character serious tone, "that two of the last remaining vestiges of the old days would be stumbling after sunset? Could you imagine the face on Uther's face if he saw us?"
Something in Saidan's words cut deep in Daellin. While the idea of two famed paladins stumbling through a city like a pair of drunkards kicked out of their own home would indeed be a remarkable scene, the mention of the old days caught him off guard. "I feel like Uther would do the same. He'd carry anyone for miles on end if it meant their safety," he absent mindedly said.
"Aye," Saidan agreed, then added, "Could say the same about Lord Abbendis and Mograine, may their souls rest with the Light."
Once again, another ping pierced Daellin's heart. Most of the old guard of the Silver Hand were all but gone, leaving only a few that could accurately claim they were knights of the order during the days of peace. Even some that helped guide humanity following Lordaeron's collapse were dead. Highlord Alexandros Mograine, the famed Ashbringer that wreaked havoc on the undead, no longer blessed the ground he walked. High General Abbendis, a veteran paladin that fought against both orcs and undead alike, too, was dead. These losses left Saidan as the head of the Scarlet Crusade and the distinct pleasure to carry his longtime friend through Tyr's.
"At least those two gave us holy progeny that will lead us to victory over the damned," Saidan happily declared.
"Brigitte and Renault will do good. I know they will."
"The young will carry us to a brighter future. A brighter Lordaeron…"
The two continued without speaking another word. The cool evening, the dimly lit streets, and the silence created a tranquil scene. After passing a few more streets, Saidan let go of his firm grasp on Daellin, letting the paladin walk on his own terms. Thankfully, the stumbling and headaches were gone, replaced by exhaustion and a strong desire to get some rest. Only a few more blocks away from the basilica and the sanctuary of sleep.
Suddenly, Daellin was on the ground. The blow to his chest against the hard cobble forced all of the air out of his lungs. His head spun once more, not from the effects of alcohol, but rather from the direct contact against hard cobble. He could tell that something ran into him, but from what and where he was unsure.
"Move Daellin! Move!" Saidan shouted. Like he had done so many times in his youth, Daellin rolled away as fast as he could. He heard a sharp ting behind him. It was a sound all too familiar to the paladin- cold steel with a tremendous amount of force behind it. Lightheart stumbled to his feet, making sure that Dawncrier was still at his side. In a fluid motion that rivaled his elegance as a youth, he pulled out his trusted sword and scanned his surroundings.
In front of him, Saidan was entangled with a dark figure. From the faint outlines of the person, Daellin could spot a shimmering dagger in the assailant's hand being held back by Saidan's strength. Before Daellin could get any momentum going, the attacker violently kicked Saidan in the chest and sent the paladin to the ground. An awful thud accompanied Saidan's head hitting the ground.
"Saidan! Are you okay!?"
No response.
Pleased with the victory over Dathrohan, the attacker turned its attention back to Daellin. The still standing paladin gripped his sword tightly as he pointed it to the attacker. The assailant did not care and continued towards Lightheart.
"Drop the dagger and down on your knees!" Daellin ordered.
A feminine laugh answered. "Your days have run out, paladin," the attacker spat. In a blur, the assailant ran towards Daellin. She stepped in and out of vision like a ghost, with the glistening dagger being the only source of light or color in the dark street. Daellin did his best to track the dagger like a hunting dog on a duck. A moment hardly went by before the dagger was already lunging towards his throat.
Daellin blocked the attack with Dawncrier but was surprised by the amount of force behind the attack. Despite the slender figure he could faintly make out, the attacker had enough strength to make him stagger like a novice trainee against the imposing orcs of the Second War. Before he could retaliate, the floating dagger struck again- this time at his side. Daellin could only awkwardly jump away, all the while anticipating another attack from this quick onslaught. Yet another did not come. The attacker had disappeared.
"Saidan!? Saidan!?" Daellin called out. No response. He could make out Saidan's still collapsed body on the ground. He started to run to his fellow Scarlet's side when the sound of a splashed puddle stopped him. He swung his sword in the direction of the splash, hoping for a direct blow against their attacker. The tip of his blade made contact with not flesh but only fabric as strands of the attacker's clothes danced off the tip of Dawncrier. He heard the attacker grunt angrily under her breath before disappearing once more.
Enough of this. Daellin called upon the Light with his empty hand and thrusted it at the ground. Suddenly, the entire street was as brightly illuminated as a summer's midday. If any resting residents were not already upset by the paladin's ruckus earlier, then they would be now given it seemed like the very sun was outside their windows. But that was the least of Daellin's concerns.
He snapped his head around looking for the attacker. Despite his ingenuity to unveil his ghostly assailant with lighting the street, his attacker was swift enough to make the first move. Without warning, she kicked out his legs from behind. If he had his plate armor on, the blow would have done nothing; however, without the protection, he was sent sprawling down to his knees. To make matters worse, he lost his grasp of Dawncrier. The blade skidded across the street, well out of the paladin's reach.
Before he could react, the assailant directly kicked his gut. Air escaped his lungs once more and pain sent shockwaves up and down his spine. Despite the blow, Daellin rolled away, trying his best to make as much distance from the masked woman. Each turn of his body brought more pain but the alternative was far worse. From an onlooker, he must have looked like a tumbleweed dancing across the Westfall desert desperately trying to evade a woman. Even with these defensive rolls and dodges, he knew the woman was bearing down on him. It would only be a matter of time before her dagger found its mark.
"Daellin! Use the Light! Now!"
Daellin stopped his evasive maneuver, his stomach now exposed to the world and a possible dagger strike, and instantly shot out a short volley of Light bolts. The street lit up with the bolts like a series of fireworks. Based off a very disgruntled shout of pain, he could tell he hit his mark. With the street still illuminated, Daellin saw the assailant back off, holding her arms tightly and seething in pain. The injured yet still alive paladin took this opportunity to get back up to his feet.
"By order of the Scarlet Crusade and of the Holy Light, drop your weapon and stand down!" Daellin's order was not received. When she realized Daellin was back up but weaponless, the masked assailant went in for another attack. The paladin could tell from her uncovered eyes that she was aiming her dagger directly at his chest. He had plenty of time to cast a protective barrier around his body and saw the dagger bounce off the shield.
"Damn you, paladin!" she roared as she stabbed at the protective shield several times to no avail. As she attacked in vain, Daellin observed his would-be assassin properly for the first time. She wore all black linens and her face was covered by a black leather mask, save for her blue eyes and a few brunette hairs that peaked out of the mask.
"End this madness and the Light will yet spare you," Daellin barked from the protection of his shield.
"To hell with your Light!"
Daellin had enough. If she was not going to cooperate and end this, then he would force the conclusion to this nonsense. Focusing his energy into the protective shield, he suddenly snapped it away from his body and around the attacker's. She had no time to react before being wrapped in strands of Light energy that tightly enveloped her body like a venus flytrap. The Light was so tight and powerful that she lost her grip of her dagger. The would-be tool of murder danced on the street a few times away from the two before stopping innocently a few feet away. She struggled immensely against the Light, trying to squeeze out of the binding. No matter how much she tried, however, Daellin easily kept her in wraps.
"Nice job," a voice said as it walked up to Daellin from behind. "She's a feisty one, isn't she?"
Daellin turned and saw Saidan rubbing the back of his head. Behind his gigantic snow white mustache and beard, he could tell that the Grand Crusader was dealing with pain. "Are you okay?" Daellin asked.
"Yeah, I'll be alright. A child could've done worse," Saidan responded before turning back to the assailant. "What is your name?"
The woman did not respond, instead continuing her struggle to wiggle out of the wrapping.
"Did you act alone or are you working for someone else?" Saidan pressed.
Still no answer.
"In the name of the Holy Light, answer me heathen!"
The assassin stopped her struggling and looked dead straight into Saidan's eyes. "Fuck off."
Saidan growled and muttered a swear or two under his breath. He turned to Daellin and said, "Looks like our friend here needs some...coercion in answering. Do you mind?"
Daellin nodded and doubled his efforts into the Light bindings. The wrappings got tighter around the woman, sending a series of shrill cries all throughout Tyr's Hand. Her eyes clenched almost as tight as the bonds themselves. By now, due to Daellin's concentration on the bindings, the illumination that lighted the street moments ago dimmed to only a faint glow, akin to the dusk they walked under minutes earlier. Despite the tighter grip, the only thing escaping her mouth were cries of anguish and not any sign of revealing her identity or motive.
"I will ask again," Saidan said with a quiver of his lips, "who the hell do you work for?"
Still no answer. Saidan, more disgruntled than Daellin had seen in years, turned to his fellow paladin and asked, "How about a little more encouragement?" Each word shook the ground like Blackrock erupting in a flurry of lava.
Daellin saw how much the woman was struggling and knew his own strength. If he applied more pressure, then he feared that she could pop like a peapod. "Sir, I don't think tha-"
"We don't have time, Daellin! As your superior officer, I order you!"
Stunned, Daellin looked over the woman once more. The physical pain she was experiencing seemed to slip into his own body, despite him being the one channeling the spell. He winced ever so slightly. Reluctantly, he turned it up a notch. The wrappings, now turning into a shade of red, now left visible marks on the woman's clothed body, like a hand choking a neck. While it was not her head that popped, as Daellin feared, her mask loosened and fell off her face, revealing the visage of a young woman. Surely in her twenties, her face was dirtied and riddled with marks. She was a complete stranger to Daellin. I'm not sure if that makes it better or worse. Who is this woman?
"Now, let me ask nicely this time," Saidan softly said, suddenly relenting any frustration he was showcasing a moment ago. "What's your name? Who do you work for?"
Gritting her teeth and letting a single tear roll down her cheek, collecting some dirt along the way, the young woman answered, "For...the...people…"
"As I expected," Saidan sighed. He turned back to Daellin and ordered, "Release her."
Relief fell over Daellin from hearing the command. With pleasure, he ended his spell and released the woman. The woman, who only moments ago was a dagger away from ending the paladins' lives, plopped on the road. On the ground, she labored to catch her breath as she rolled to one side. In between her labored breaths, she went into coughing fits. Daellin started to go to her side when Saidan stopped him with a firm hand to the chest. "I will take care of this, Lightheart."
With Daellin stopped in his tracks, Saidan knelt down to the woman's side. In addition to her labored breaths and coughing fits, she added some choice swear words directed at the paladins.
"Go with the Light, child," Saidan muttered to the woman.
Before anyone could recognize it, Saidan cupped the woman's mouth and thrusted a sword underneath her sternum, making sure the blade stayed under the bone. Her eyes lit up, muted screams cried out from her mouth, and her body squirmed in every direction for a few moments before shrinking back into motionless.
Daellin was too stunned from this sudden turn of events to even react. He did not even recognize that the sword Saidan used to impale the woman was his Dawncrier. All he could do was look into the remorseful dead eyes of the woman that tried to kill him just moments ago. His eyes were as wide as hers.
"From ashes to ashes," Saidan muttered grimly. With a flick of his wrist, Dawncrier glowed a hot red. The edges of the blade, still plunged into the woman's body, erupted into flame, setting the corpse on fire. The flame was small and tame compared to the towering walls of fire that Daellin created in Andorhal a few years ago with the same blade. However, the smell of burnt flesh that permeated throughout the entire street was exactly like Andorhal. In a matter of moments, the body was nothing more than a pile of ash and a few cracked bones.
Daellin could only stammer, "Sai-Saidan, what in the seven hells?"
The Grand Crusader stood up from the pile of ash. With another flick of his wrist, the ash was sent into the wind as if a strong gust had taken it. The two paladins watched the speks of what was a living person a minute ago dissipate into the night sky, gone forever. "I know you have several questions, friend," Saidan said as he turned back to his ally. "And I truly did not want you to get involved. The meeting Lady Abbendis, Isillien, and I had earlier dealt with what I suspect we just encountered."
Daellin still stood there mute and quaking in his boots. The quick and impromptu execution rattled his being. The same man that slayed countless orcs and undead in his life was rendered to this pathetic state. She was so young, so...misguided?
Saidan continued in a hushed voice, "We have uncovered some leads to suggest that there are apostates in Tyr's that are trying to undermine our just and righteous cause. I fear this night is just the beginning. As you can imagine, we cannot let these faithless sinners continue with their vile plots."
"I can't believe a devious plot like that would happen in Tyr's under our noses," Daellin murmured.
"I'm sorry but you'll have to trust me, friend. I don't like it as much as you do and I wish we could perish the thought. You, of all people, should know that this city isn't a stranger to evil machinations."
After digesting Saidan's words for several moments, Daellin gulped. "Any threat to the Light must be addressed," he meekly said. He found assurance in Saidan's gleaming eyes before looking off into the night sky that carried the ashes of the assassin. There were no ash or signs that a struggle took place. Above him, only the void of space and the faint twinkling stars welcomed the paladin. Captivated, Daellin muttered, "I can see Arathor's Might tonight."
Saidan placed a hand on Daellin's shoulder and followed his trance up to the night sky, basking in the stars. "I will send a courier for you tomorrow morning. I promise to divulge everything I know to you. You deserve to know after everything that has happened. Get some rest, lad," he said as he traced the stars of the Arathor's Might constellation. "Oh, and don't forget this." Saidan said as he offered Dawncrier to Daellin.
After a few more moments of star gazing, Daellin sheepishly took his sword and stared at the blade. It was still warm to the touch with the edges of the blade tinged hot red. In his hands, the sword that had been at his side for years, Dawncrier felt like a stranger.
That night, Daellin Lightheart could not sleep.
Author's Notes and Ramblings: And that is a wrap on Part One: Another Time! Thank you all so much for reading the first installment of the Light's Saga. Special shout out to Starved Of Song for the continuous support and feedback. It is greatly appreciated! And to everyone else that has followed Daellin's story from a simple man to a devout paladin, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
I have always viewed Part One as a prologue of sorts for the entire story that follows. I say prologue as it spends a decent amount of time going back through the important moments of Daellin's life before the setting settles in vanilla World of Warcraft. If anything, Another Time is a love letter for those that followed the lore and stories of the original Warcraft RTS games (gosh I wish they would make Warcraft 4 already) with the Second and Third Wars highlighted in particular. For those that are more knowledgeable of WoW lore than the RTS games, I can promise you that things will take a turn towards the MMO era from this point on.
A little insight into the Light's Saga. I originally wrote the entire story approximately ten years ago on a WoW fansite. Oh boy is it full of errors, inconsistencies, and mistakes! That is why I have spent the last few months rewriting and editing it just so I can share this story out to others. To give you some context, at this point in the story the word count was only around 10k words (mostly misspelled and grammatically incorrect) and included more set pieces/scenes that did not add much to the overarching story. So, it has been a blast rewriting a poor project into something I am proud of.
I am currently in the process of writing Part Two of Light's Saga from the ground up. I hope I will have new chapters posted soon™. Thank you all for your support and I hope you look forward to Part Two: The Scarlet Man.