Preparation: Loem of Gilneas

Cataclysm is coming. It looms closer and closer, excitement building crazily. I can hardly wait.

Even my guild is starting to prepare for the ending of the world... of warcraft... as we know it. The progressive raiding group in the guild has begun making plans for the chaos of having to level up again and how to deal with raiding once they get enough level 85 characters. People are talking about alts and who they will be and how this will change their characters. It's very exciting.

What is even more exciting is a new house within my guild, one that is starting entirely in preparation for the coming Worgen race. I would classify the guild as a whole as lawful good, for the most part, though a few of the houses might be a bit more lawful neutral. Wait... is that an option? Lawful neutral? I've never actually been that familiar with these categories, to be honest, as I think they're a DnD thing, which is something I've never played.

Anyway, the houses in my guild usually show unity by having a uniform and a specific mount and such to wear for RP events. What's totally awesome to me, is that the planned RP clothing I had already collected for my future rogue is the house's uniform... the Silver-Thread set. It's a beautiful set, honestly, and just about perfect for the house's theme. The mounts will be Silver War Talbuks, which will be fun to grind out. I've never, on any character, gotten enough reputation to purchase a Talbuk. They're very cool looking, though, so I'm excited.

As for other things for him, I've prepared a wish list that I've already started on. I'm getting Loem the Stained Shadowcraft Shoulders and Tunic, and probably at least one of the heirloom daggers (probably the Balanced Heartseeker). In fact, the tunic is taken care of already, though another alt is borrowing it for just a little while longer, 'till she hits Northrend, at least. It won't take me long to get the other things, as I'm doing the tournament dailies, rather than using Emblems.

Other preparations include getting bags and such for him, as well as certain materials and things. All that's left, really, is to ensure his story checks out. The story on this site is sort of the semi-polished draft, the story as I thought of it, with a bit of rewriting and reworking. It can change, and probably will change, before the cataclysm. Besides, I don't actually know the true Worgen story, yet, and that will need to be integrated as well before he becomes a truly solid RP character.

So much to do, and less and less time!

Players: Loem Kingswarden of Gilneas

Name: Loem

AKA: Loem Kingswarden, Loem of Lordaeron, Loem of Gilneas, Squire Loem

Physical Description: Tall and lithe, Loem is graceful, for a human. Unlike his father and brother, who were built to be warriors, Loem follows his mother’s slender build. Though his hair is naturally brown, he dies it black, and keeps it quite short. He’s often seen in dark-colored, comfortable clothing.

Skills: Loem is a rogue, and a master of disguise and stealth. He is also fairly knowledgeable about poisons and can throw a dagger accurately from many yards away. Though he claims no real profession, he is quite good at tracking and killing small prey, and is a very efficient skinner. He’s dabbled a bit in creating leather armor, as well.

Basic Background: Loem was born in Lordaeron six years before the First War. His father, Laric Kingswarden, was a knight of Lordaeron, and insisted that his oldest son become a squire and follow in his footsteps. Though Loem wasn’t built like a warrior, he obeyed his father’s wishes. As a squire, he served his father in the Second War, though he was technically three years too young to have completed his training.

When his father was slain fighting orcs, he began serving another knight, this one of Gilneas, one of the human kingdoms of the Grand Alliance. He served this new knight master, Uldor, until the end of the war. Unfortunately, due to a mix up in the military records, he was apprehended and wrongfully accused of thievery and stolen identity, thus forced back into Gilneas where he was held long enough for the Greymane wall to be completed and shut, locking him forever in the foreign country. Uldor gave him a home and the training required to become a spy and while he is relatively happy in his new home, he misses his brother and often thinks of him and whether he has survived the wars and other events that have plagued the remainder of the Alliance.

Unfortunately, the wall, while designed to protect the people of Gilneas, could not keep Arugal’s curse out. After watching much of the populace fall victim to the terrible transformation, and fighting against former friends and allies, Loem also contracts the curse, becoming a Worgen himself. Wishing for a cure, he suffers along with the populace of Gilneas, waiting for what the future will bring.

Players: Leodry Kingswarden of Ironforge

Name: Leodry

AKA: Leo, Leodry Kingswarden, Graz’s Human, Leo Stoutstump

Physical Description: Leodry is an average 32 year old human, standing just over 6 feet in height and very muscular. His green eyes are usually scanning for trouble, or the nearest tavern, depending on his mood. Leo keeps his brown hair cropped to no longer than shoulder-length, though it usually looks like he did it himself... with a butcher’s knife rather than shears, but at least it’s clean. He makes no effort to appear handsome, at any rate. He sports a small beard as well, most likely to help hide a long, thin scar that runs from just beneath his eye, down his cheek, to his chin.

Skills: Leo is a warrior, most comfortable with large swords. Though once a member of the Lordaeron army, he hasn’t touched a shield in quite some time, and has little interest in the finer arts of shield-bearing. Instead, he is a worshipper of steel and a fine blade, learning all he can about balanced combat. A blacksmith, most of his armor is self-made and maintained, though his unusual pauldrons are actually his father’s, found in the plaguelands and fully repaired to be put to use once again.

Basic Background: Born shortly before the Second War, Leodry is actually the younger of two sons of the Kingswarden house, a former noble family. After falling out of favor, however, the estates were squandered away, until little was left for current generations. He lived with his father and older brother, after his mother died giving birth to him, on their estate in Northern Lordaeron. Unfortunately, at age six, his father went to fight in the Second War, taking his brother along as a squire. Neither returned, leaving him an orphan, and the only remaining member of the noble Kingswarden family.

Once he had grown up, he joined the army as well, following in his father’s footsteps. Quickly making his way through the ranks, he served under Prince Arthas during the Third War, until the battle of Stratholme, where he deserted, running south into dwarven lands. There, he stayed with a small Wildhammer family for a time, before finally making his way to Ironforge where he rejoined the Alliance war effort. He currently keeps a home in Ironforge, when he isn’t out on the road.

Players: Brother Fandren of the Church of the Light

Name: Fandren

AKA: Brother Fandren

Physical Description: Fandren is rather average in height, at just under 6 feet, though he still has time to grow a bit. Slim rather than muscular, he is rather like a stork, all limbs, occasionally tripping over his own feet. Dark black hair frames a slightly square, handsome face. Eyes nearly as dark as his hair look out with curiosity. Though Fandren has had his share of tragedy, he’s quick to smile and laugh, and rarely carries a frown for too long.

Skills: A priest of Stormwind, Fandren focuses on holy magics, though he used to practice the darker Shadow magics. He is scholarly, choosing to also study a bit of the arcane, at least as it pertains to augmenting armor and weapons with various enchantments. His time as a priest has also taught him how to care for himself, as he can cook, create bandages, and clean a fish efficiently. He also has a real knack for tailoring, as he creates most of his clothing himself.

Basic Background: Fandren is an orphan, as his parents were killed by bandits shortly before the Third War. Luckily for him, the Cathedral of the Light took him in and trained him in the ways of the cloth. There, he made fast friends with another orphan, Seona Lightstone, another priestess who later became a paladin. Headstrong, sometimes to a fault, he often wishes to do things his own way, which has caused friction between his mentors of the Church and himself on a regular basis, particularly when it comes to his studies.

In fact, after some very poor choices and a harrowing trip to Kalimdor to right some wrongs, he turned completely away from Shadow magic and focused entirely on the Light again. While this has eased his relationship with the Church and his teachers there, he can’t help thinking that he has failed himself somehow. He continues his scholarly pursuits when he can, between aiding various militias in the Human kingdom of Stormwind, where he currently resides.

Brothers: Seventeen

Loem, age 11

Gilneas, after the Second War

Hektor looked in on Loem over the course of the next few days, but he said nothing as there was nothing to say. All hope of seeing his brother again, the only family of his blood he had left, was gone. He spent the days in the stable seeing to Praetor or in a small clearing outside of the town, silently practicing with his sword and his daggers. The nights he spent curled up in his bed, quietly crying himself to sleep.

It was on a very bright morning that Uldor grabbed him, turned him over, and splashed water on his face. “I know it hurts, Loem, but you’re killing yourself. I’ve sent a message through the gate and I can only hope it gets to your brother, wherever he may be, but this is ridiculous. You can’t live the rest of your life moping about forever. Besides, I need you. Until I say otherwise, you’re still in my employ.”

Loem, wanting to give back a biting retort, thought better of it, and slowly sat up, rubbing his face with his hands, trying to dry it. “Was the water really necessary, m’lord?” he finally had the courage to say, but Uldor only shrugged and left, pointing to some clean clothes that had been set out as he exited, next to a warm bath that had been prepared.

Loem stripped from his filthy clothes and eased into the steaming water. He sat there for some time, simply soaking, before finally scrubbing away the dirt and grime from the road and the past days of moping about. Feeling cleaner and much better, he got out of the bath, dried off, and put on the clean clothes, tossing his old ones into a pile near some of the other washing that still needed to be done. Taking a deep breath, he finally opened the door and went down the stairs to the main room of the inn.

Hektor was there, talking to a young woman, most likely the barmaid, a smile on his face. The Innkeeper was conducting business with another tenant of the inn, and Lord Uldor was drinking and eating breakfast, reading a scroll. Feeling a bit sheepish, knowing how insulting it was that he had acted so foolishly after everything that Uldor had done, he made his way over to the young lord, bowing his head.

“I wish to apologize, my lord, for my behavior. I... understand what you did for me, and I’ve been repaying you in a very poor way. For that, I’m terribly sorry.” Uldor looked up from his work and stared at Loem for some time before nodding and gesturing to the seat next to him.

“It takes a great deal to come to me and apologize, Loem. I respect you for that.” He turned to the barmaid, indicating that she should bring a plate of food for Loem as well, and continued, “I know that you’re dealing with something very difficult and that the transition to living here is not going to be an easy one. I promise to do everything I can to make it as comfortable as possible, truely. I know that Hektor wants to spend more time with you, training you, as you have some real talent.”

The barmaid came by, then, carrying a plate laden with warm food and a mug of simple melon juice. It was a hearty meal, of ham and eggs, and some vegetables. Loem dug in right away, the smell of the food reminding him that he had hardly eaten for several days, and the food before that had been simple, and rather awful, prison food. Once he had eaten his fill, the table was cleared and he sat and listened to Uldor, Hektor, and one of Uldor’s men from his estates go over the plans for his return.

Loem was fascinated by all the planning that went into running a large household smoothly, and how much had to be dealt with even when the lord wasn’t at home. He listened intently, learning about various things like the proper way to store grain (as some of Uldor’s hadn’t been was was now ruined), how to split up work between farmers so that all of them would have plenty to do (as idle hands are the worst kind, as Uldor laughingly put it), as well as how much and what kinds of food to keep to plant next season.

Hektor motioned for Loem to follow him out once the talk between Uldor and his servant changed to politics. As they stepped outside, the sun shone down, warming the stones, and their faces. “That was terribly dull to me, yet you seemed to enjoy it, Loem,” Hektor said, walking towards the stables, the young squire in tow.

“Yes. My father... I mean, I...” He paused a moment, realizing that, now that he couldn’t return, the estates of his family would pass to his younger brother. He shrugged, suddenly realizing that it didn’t really matter to him, anyway, and continued, “My family’s estates aren’t very large, Hektor. I never had to really learn any of those things because the size of our wealth never warranted it. Still, it’s good information to know.” He spotted something shining in the dirt and bent closer to look, but it was just a bit of tack or scrap metal.

Hektor smirked. “I keep forgetting just how young you are, Loem. You speak so maturely, but then go and dig about in the dirt, thinking you’ve found a silver piece.” He chuckled, patting the squire on the back. “I want to teach you so much, Loem. Many things, if you wish to learn, and I’ll do it gladly. I’m a hard taskmaster, though. I expect the best from my students.”

Loem frowned. “Students? As in, more than just me?” Hektor chuckled again as they finally entered the stables and walked to his gelding’s stall. “Yes, more than just you, although right now it’s just one more. My niece, actually. I think you’ll like her, she’s just a touch younger than you.” Loem grabbed a brush and went over to Praetor’s stall, opening the gate to join him inside.

He got to work, getting all the tangles out of his mane and did all he could with the tools he had to get rid of most of the dirt from the road. Though he had been seeing to Praetor over the last few days, his heart hadn’t really been in it, and now that he was more himself, he intended to really fix up his father’s stallion. “Hektor, I do want to learn from you. You and m’lord Uldor, both. In fact,” he finished up, closing the stall door behind him, “I’m ready when you are. Any time you wish, provided I’m not busy doing something for our lord, I’ll be glad to learn from you.”

Hektor smiled wide, a glint in his eyes. “Oh, you’ll regret that, trust me. Still, I’m glad to hear you say it, and I’ll definitely take you up on the offer. And since Uldor doesn’t really need you right this second, lets get started. Grab your daggers and meet me in that clearing you’ve been in. Your form’s a bit off and I want to correct it now, before it gets worse.”

Loem smiled and nodded, going back into the Inn and running to his room where he grabbed his twin daggers. Belting them on, he thought, As much as I wish I could go home and find Leodry, this is my life now. I miss him... I probably always will, but he’ll get that message from Uldor and he’ll know I’m safe and sound. Besides, I have a new life here, one that suits me pretty well, and now I have time, time to learn and time to become something more than the brute soldier my father wanted me to be. With that thought, he bounded back down the stairs and out the door, past a bewildered looking innkeeper and a pleased Uldor.

Once he met up with Hektor, he smiled, saying, “Okay, Hektor, teach me what you know. I’m ready for anything.”

Brothers: Sixteen

Loem, age 11

Gilneas, after the Second War

Loem was at his wit’s end, as they hadn’t stopped and he could find no other way to get himself free from his current mess. The cart had continued down the bumpy road, past forest and fields, to a small village not too far from the gate. Here, it stopped, and the driver got out, spoke to the village guards, and went his merry way. The other soldiers stayed put, waiting, obviously bored. A few buildings were close, and all of them were relatively familiar, though the style was a touch different from what Loem was used to seeing.

Suddenly, a door opened, and bright firelight spilled out, pushing the night back. A tall figure strode purposefully towards the cart, the driver right behind him, and the men all sat up straighter, trying their best to look more like soldiers and less like tired, lazy, layabouts. Loem quickly recognized the newcomer as their commander, from before, in the brig.

“Sir! We’ve brought the boy per your orders. We also picked up a deserter along the way. Shall we put them both in holding?” one asked, saluting messily as he did so. The commander sneered at him, glancing into the cage, and nodded, returning the salute. The soldier dismounted, untied Praetor from the back of the cart and handed him off to the waiting driver. “Put him in the stables. Commander Bosch will decide what he wants to do with him later.”

He then carefully unlocked the door of the cage. Eyeing the dirty deserter, he reached forward to take the chains keeping Tor secure. Suddenly, Tor sprung up, attacking the guard, yelling like a madman. “I won’t go back! I won’t! I won’t!” He bit and slapped, scratching at the guard’s face and arms. The other guards quickly dismounted, pulling swords from their sheaths, the moonlight glinting on their sharp blades.

Loem considered using the distraction to escape, but there was only one opening, which was filled with Tor and the guard. Besides, he thought, every person in the village is sure to hear this and come running to look. Sure enough, a small crowd was already gathering nearby, looking on. A few of the men were even rolling up their sleeves, ready to join in to help subdue the prisoner. Bosch had even turned back, though he made no effort to help his men.

In the end, Loem just sighed, scooting to the back of the cart again, doing his best to stay out of the way of Tor and his idiocy. Within a few moments, he was silenced as a blow to the back of his head knocked him out. The guards drug him out to the ground and Loem could hear a few dull thuds as some of the men kicked the unconscious deserter in retribution for his well-placed blows. Once he was well under control, the head guard looked into the wagon, a glint in his eye.

Loem just shrugged and moved slowly and calmly towards the cage door. The guard grabbed his chains roughly and pulled him out, but Loem gave him no reason to get any more violent, as he followed meekly. The bystanders whispered a bit between themselves when he passed by, and he wondered just what they were saying, but could catch none of their hushed conversations.

The guards led him and the unconscious Tor to the largest building in the village, to the side, where a small addition had been recently built on. Loem guessed it was the town hall. The small addition was a prison, with four small, but sturdy, cells. Tor was dragged and then thrown into the one furthest from the door and Loem was pushed into the one across. The guards locked them in, talking amongst themselves about what they’d eat at the inn, the drinks they’d have, if there were any pretty barmaids here, and finally left, leaving just one to guard the small prison, right outside the door.

Loem went to the corner of his cell and slid down the wall in a heap. He was bruised, tired, confused, and hungry, not to mention a little cold. The chains chafed his wrists, too. He sighed again, and closed his eyes, though he couldn’t sleep. Questions kept bubbling up in his mind, and he was trying to figure out what he’d say at his trial to prove his innocence.

----- * -----

Unbelievably, he had dozed off, as he was suddenly awoken by loud shouting outside. The door was too thick to make heads or tales of what was being said, though it seemed as though there were two men arguing. One seemed oddly familiar to Loem, too, though he didn’t dare call out.

The door of the prison burst open, and Loem nearly shouted with joy. Uldor was framed there, with Bosch and another, older man, behind him. He saw the young squire immediately and rushed to the door of his cell.

“I demand that you open this at once,” he ordered, pointing to the door. “This boy is one of my servants! Any order or punishment is at my discretion and mine alone.”

The older man coughed a bit, getting Uldor’s attention. “Lord Uldor, the boy is accused of thievery and falsifying his identity. He claims he’s from Lordaeron, that he’s a squire, and that the stallion in the stable, along with the pack of belongings he was found with are his rightful property.”

Uldor rolled his eyes, and Loem had to quickly stifle a giggle. “Master Merrit, while you may be judging the few prisoners from the end of the war that come through here, I give my word as a nobleman that this boy is of my house. As such, no matter what he’s been accused of, I have full discretion when it comes to his trial. As it stands, I’ll be taking matters into my own hands.” With that, he turned towards the commander. “Bosch, the keys, now. Unlock this door, unshackle him, and turn his possessions over to me, immediately. As of right now, I’m taking custody of this prisoner, as my right, by law.”

Though the older man, Merrit, seemed a bit upset about Uldor’s demands, Bosch did as ordered. The gate swung open and he unlocked the shackles around Loem’s wrists and ankles. Unsure of what to do, he stood there, looking to Uldor for guidance. The lord obliged, narrowing his eyes, perhaps a bit dramatically, and gestured for Loem to step in behind him. It’s as if he’s the best playactor in all the world, he thought to himself, careful not to smile. I’ll play along, not that it will take much, as I really am tired and hungry and feeling terribly pitiful.

Meek as a beaten dog, he shuffled behind Uldor, for all the world like a servant caught doing something terrible. Uldor led him through the village to the Inn’s stable, where Hekter was waiting alongside Praetor. He nodded to Uldor, his eyes cold, which troubled Loem a bit, and told the lord, “I just got him settled. They delivered him just as you were coming up the path to the inn.” He turned to Loem, then, all traces of the coldness gone, and smiled. “Seems like you got into a bit of trouble, young man.”

Loem smiled, relieved. “You don’t know the half of it, Hektor. Bosch, that commander, is a mean one, and his men are useless.” Uldor put his hand out to silence him as a stablehand walked by. “Sorry... I forgot I’m supposed to be in a lot of trouble.” Uldor smiled a bit, nodding silently, but the smile soon vanished.

“Unfortunately, my young squire, ‘pretending’ might not be the most accurate way to describe yourself. I’m afraid you actually are in a bit of a pickle. Now, I was able to use my political pull to get you out of this mess, citing a very old and unused law that just so happens to still be in the books, but there’s an even bigger mess to deal with now. The law states that I have the right to deal with servants myself, to hold them to a trial of my choosing, but that I must do so on my own lands and that the punishment meted out must be approved by a member of the courts. Do you understand?”

Loem didn’t, not really, so he shook his head. “No, m’lord, I don’t. What does it mean?”

“It means, young Loem, that I have to take you back to my estates... and they aren’t close. After that, we’ll have to hold a trial, even though it’s only for ceremonial purposes, and that any punishment that is decided must be deemed honorable and exceptable by a member of the courts of Gilneas.” He knelt down, placing a hand on Loem’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Loem, I truly am. You have no idea... It means that you can’t go back home. This was the only way I could think of to keep you out of harm’s way, as the trials that go on here are biased and unfair and they’d have found you guilty.”

Loem gulped, holding back tears. “I- I don’t understand? Why can’t I go home? Once the trial on your estate is done, why can’t I take Praetor and return to Lordaeron?”

Uldor glanced up at Hektor, who looked away, silent. “Because, young Loem... the gate the king is building will never be opened again. Gilneas is closed and no one, not you, not me, not even Hektor for all his sneakery, can go through it, ever again. I promise that I will do my best to get a message out addressed to your brother to send word that you’re alright, that you’re alive, but once that wall is finished it will be completely impassible by anyone.”

Brothers: Fifteen

Hekter

Gilneas, after the Second War

Hekter was furious, not because the boy had been caught by Bosch and his band of idiots, and not because he hadn't used common sense and stayed off the roads, but because he couldn't do anything about it. Once Loem had been taken into custody, he made his way back to his lord, cursing under his breath the whole way.

He found his way back to the wall, and over it, the night easily concealing him from the guards below. Once on the other side, he climbed down, carful in the dark. Thank the gods this thing is still under construction. Once it's done, it may not be such an easy climb. Careful not to alert any guards on this side either, he circled wide, cutting across the countryside to the nearby village where Uldor had taken up a room in the inn.

Stopping for just a moment to wipe off the black makeup he used, cleaning his hands in the horse trough and drying them quickly on his clothes and walked inside, nodding a silent greeting to the Innkeeper and a quick smile for his lovely daughter. Pretty little thing, she is... I wonder if she'd like to take a walk in the moonlight with me, he thought, but pushed it from his mind as he climbed the stairs to the second floor to the guest rooms.

The last door on the left opened to reveal the largest room in the inn, lavishly decorated and comfortable, with a warm fire in the hearth, and Uldor, quietly sitting, writing at the large desk. He didn't look up when the door opened, but nodded and quietly greeted him, "Hekter, come in."

Still angry, he shut the door and stalked across the room to come to his side. "Sit, Hekter, and stop glaring at me, just report." Hekter didn't sit, but moved to the other side of the desk.

"Loem has been arrested for thievery and possible murder as well. By Bosch and his merry group, just inside the border between the forest and the glades."

Uldor looked up the moment Hekter had said Loem had been caught. "Where is he now?"

"In their custody, soon to be loaded into a prison wagon and dragged all the way back here and through the gate, no doubt."

"Splendid." With that, Uldor returned to his writing. Hekter stood, still furious, still wondering why the hell Uldor was doing this. He glared down at his lord, silent, his arms crossed, fingering the hilt of the concealed dagger in his sleeve.

"Stop that, Hekter. It's unbecoming of you. Sit. Have some brandy or something. You can't make me nervous and you can't change my mind. This plan-"

"Is idiotic at best. What if Bosch gets out of control, or decides that you didn't bribe him enough? What if he decides to dump the boy on someone else to take to court, what if-"

"Hekter." Uldor looked up again, staring him straight in the eyes, stern. "'What if's' don't come into play here. We paid him more than enough, both in gold and in fear tactics. Controlling Bosch is child's play. Truthfully, you're the problem." He sat back, taking a sip of wine, and watched Hekter. "You're far too emotionally vested in this. Maybe I should send a messenger to get someone else to serve me, someone who isn't going to talk back to me."

Hekter grimaced, knowing full well that Uldor would carry out that threat. "No. But I think you've made a mistake on this one, Uldor. The boy is scared, feeling helpless, and-"

"Is he handling it? Is he looking around, working through the situation, trying to find solutions? I want him thinking, Hekter, and, if not that, then I want him helpless! Fel! I'm supposed to act the hero, remember, swooping in to save him from his fate! I had you steal his damn tabard weeks ago so that we could ensure his name was on the known dead list so that this could happen in the first place!"

Uldor pushed back from the desk, getting up to pace. "I've been thinking about this the moment the boy spotted me under that dead beast when he was looking for his father. He has keen eyes, intelligence, maturity, especially for a boy his age..." He trailed off, finally turning back to Hekter. "And you yourself said he has real potential, that you'd gladly train him. So, I want him. And, remember, Hekter, what I want-"

"You get."

Brothers: Fourteen

Loem, age 11

End of the Second War, the Greymane Wall

They had shoved him into a rolling cage, a prison wagon, and tied Praetor's reins to the back of it. It wasn't long after that when they started rolling back the way Loem had traveled from, taking him further and further from home and his brother. Rather than give into despair, however, he continued trying to find a way out of his predicament. Unfortunately, few ideas presented themselves. In the end, he resolved to simply await trial, try to provide proof of who he was, and hope that this mix up would finally resolve itself.

What else am I to do? I can't fight my way out, not against four grown soldiers, and I can't pick my way out of the wagon... not now, being watched every hour of the day. Surely whatever court they take me to will listen to reason, and I'll finally be let go.

Hours passed as they rode south through Silverpine. While the first trip through this forest had been serene and peaceful for Loem, now it seemed dark, oppressive, and far too long. Surely we'll pass Uldor when we get closer to the border. He or Hektor will see me, they'll help me out of this situation. As they were passing a contingent of soldiers walking on the road, the driver of the wagon slowed and halted. Loem peeked out through the bars and noticed that the soldiers were leading another man in chains. Doesn't he look charming, Loem thought, taking a long look at the man.

Dirty, matted hair of an undetermined color hung around a sallow face. The man was in a disheveled state, his armor dull and damaged. Any identifying marks or crests had been torn from his clothes. There were bandages around his forearm as well. The driver of the wagon spoke with the other Gilneans at length, then nodded and gestured to the back of the cart. Loem scurried to the back of the cage when the door opened and they shoved the prisoner inside with him.

He collapsed onto the baseboard and lay there, almost pleased to not have to walk anymore. They had kept him chained, just as Loem was, but the man looked terrible. The young squire frowned, thinking, What if he's a murderer? He could turn on me, and the inside of this wagon isn't great for a fight... 'Course, he doesn't look like he could hurt a kitten much less me right now, in his state.

He man groaned and shifted a bit as the wagon started moving down the road again. He sat up slowly and tried to get comfortable. Loem remained as far from him as he could, due to the stench if nothing else. The other prisoner coughed, sputtering, "Right lot we've gotten ourselves into, isn't it?"

Loem didn't answer. "Fair enough, young man. I just thought this last ride would have been a might bit better with some talk. I know exactly what will happen to me when we get to our destination. I've excepted it. You, though... you don't look like a deserter."

Loem looked up and stared straight into his eyes, angry that the thought had even crossed the man's mind. "No. I'm most definitely not a deserter. I'm a victim of mistaken identity, I suppose, and I'm sure whatever court I end up in will listen to what I have to say." The man snorted and laughed, his whole body shaking from the exertion. He nearly fell over again and started laughing all the harder because of it. Loem smelled alcohol on his breath and, mixed with the smell of his general uncleanliness, nearly gagged.

"Whatever you say, lad, whatever you say," he said, slowly getting under control again. "The name's Tor, by the way. I was a farmer from Gilneas, but I'm I walking dead man, now. They kill deserters if they find them. It's an irony that I ran and managed to evade them 'till the war was done, but then got caught the day after. They'd been walking me for days when these fine soldiers threw me back here with you, boyo."

Loem only felt a small bit of sorrow for the man's fate. I'm eleven years old, but I didn't shirk from my duties or oaths. He must be a bit of a coward to have run away, leaving his fellow soldiers to stand against the Horde without him. But then, how good of a soldier would a farmer make, anyway, when all they know is crops and a pitchfork? He sighed, and noticed the man's injuries.

"Tor, what happened to your arm?" The man looked down at the fresh bandages and shrugged, slowly pulling them away to reveal large gashes in his flesh. "Got mauled by a big cat or some such in the dark some days back, still don't know exactly what it was. It looks pretty nasty, don't it? Damn thing ran off good and quick though, when it figured out I was puttin' up a fight."

Loem looked at it and nodded, but something wasn't right. It's unnatural looking. The tears are clean, not ragged, which means it was done by a blade, not an animal. Plus... He looked harder, leaning forward to take a closer look. There's... black marks on his skin. Disease or... A tattoo! He did this to himself to remove a tattoo! Which means he's not a farmer at all. He's probably a career soldier or mercenary who ran from battle. And I nearly believed his sob story...

Loem didn't let the man know he had figured out he was lying. He just leaned back again and looked out the bars, hoping they'd get to town soon and Uldor or Hekter would spot him, or he would see them and call out. Night was beginning to fall, though, and it was getting harder and harder to see. By now, several days had passed since he had left here and a great deal had changed.

The king of Gilneas must have employed every single mason, carpenter and blacksmith in his kingdom to build his wall and gate, because it was already getting closer to completion. The wall stood strong and tall, looming over the gathered people. Tents had been erected and a makeshift town was taking shape as soldiers passed through on their way home. Uldor was nowhere to be seen.

Surely he hasn't left yet... he was going to wait, to rest and resupply. He was going to wait... Loem sighed, ready to give up, to give in to despair. This had been his last hope before he was sent to a court but it was too dark to see far and there was little chance that Hekter or Uldor would see him in this cage.

A guard strode purposefully up to the driver of the wagon and halted them, asking questions. When the driver mentioned he was carrying a deserter and a thief for trial, Loem listened in.

"Thief? Why bring him here? We don't need anymore thieves in Gilneas. The deserter will be dealt with here as well, just on the other side of the gate, if he's a Gilnean; this side, if he's not."

The driver spoke up, "Problem is, sir, we've reason to believe the thief is a Gilnean, and he's a boy. Can't be older than 15 or so."

A long pause, then, and Loem was startled as the guard came around and banged on the cage.

"Fine then, get them over the border. No doubt some lord is looking for his wayward servant. Realize, though, that the minute you cross the wall, you-" his voice faded as he walked back towards the front of the wagon and Loem couldn't catch the last bit. He wasn't sure what was going on, but his chance of getting out was dwindling fast.

The driver seemed pleased by whatever Loem had missed, but shouted after the guard, "Hey, sir, has the 5th infantry come through here? I've some friends in that group! If they're in town, I want to see them first."

"If they were here, soldier, they'd have gone through the gate. All Gilnean soldiers are only getting one day here then being forced through. Th' King wants no dalliance from his men."

That's why I haven't seen Uldor or Hektor or anyone else I might recognize, Loem realized. They're ordered through the gate right away. Fel, Uldor probably fought tooth and nail, but was still made to go through. Maybe he's right on the other side, then.

The wagon was already making its way South again, approaching the huge gate that would soon be finished, with a large, sturdy portcullis ready to come down to secure the entire country of Gilneas. It loomed above them, ominous, and Loem shivered, not quite knowing why. The light of the tents outside the gate flickered through the trees and then were gone, and night descended on him and the wagon, enveloping them all in darkness.

Brothers: Thirteen

Leodry, age 32

Ironforge, present day

Leodry's eyes snapped open, and although he still lay quietly, his senses were alert for danger. It took him a moment to realize that he was in the inn in Astranaar. A soft chuckle came from behind him and he slowly turned over, wincing from injuries both old and new, to see the inkeeper, Kimlya. She was kneeling nearby, calm and serene. And beautiful, he thought, but quickly quelled any ideas. She's old enough to be my ancestor.

"You took quite a beating, Mister Leodry. You passed out on the ground just outside the inn, much to my dismay. I managed to get you inside and bandaged up. Are you feeling alright? Do I need to fetch a healer?"

Leodry managed a weak smile, shaking his head. "No, Miss Kimlya. I'll be fine. A bump or bruise is nothing new to me, I'm afraid. How long have I been out?"

She smiled wryly. "Only a few hours. Some of those injuries looked bad, but if you feel no healer is needed, I'll accept your wishes. Let me know if you require anything." With that, she left him in peace to rest. He was grateful for her help, and for knowing when to leave well enough alone. Gingerly, he pressed fingers against his ribs, hissing between his teeth when he pressed a bit to hard against one that was most likely broken. Still in one piece... more or less. Could be worse. I could be dead.

Once he knew he wasn't in any terrible danger of dying, no matter how much he ached, he sat up. After the pain subsided again, he stood, slowly, making sure he wasn't about to fall over. Well, then, I guess I ought to get back to work. He made his way down the sloped ramp, passing Kimlya, who looked at him with concern. He waved to her, and passed down to the ground floor of the open building.

A soft breeze blew through, cooling his skin and carrying the scent of rain and green forest. It calmed him, though it was much different than the scents of Ironforge that he knew so well. It's a wonder I ended up here at all, even for this short while. If it hadn't been for Bruuk, I'd no doubt still be a drunkard layabout in the city. He smiled a bit, thinking of the gruff, no-nonsense bartender who kept his tavern in the Military Ward of Ironforge. Bruuk's Corner, a well-attended bar, catered to the warriors and guardsmen of the dwarven capitol. Most of Bruuk's patrons were in full armor, and every one of them knew that in Bruuk's tavern, the furniture was sturdy, the mugs were clean, and you didn't fight. Not unless you wanted a knock to the head from Bruuk's mace that would rival any hangover you'd get from his booze.

The warrior chuckled, whistling for his stallion who had been grazing quietly nearby. He checked his packs, resettling a few things to even the load, and double checked his marching orders from Ironforge. They had arrived the day before, telling him to finish up whatever he was doing in the lush elven lands and then get back to the city for a debriefing and reassignment. Unfortunately, that meant he had to get beaten up by a few more furbolgs before he could return, resulting in his new, painful souvenirs.

It wouldn't take long to get back to the dock at Auberdine where he could take a ship to Stormwind (Gods, how I hate that damn city...) and then the gnomish tram back to Ironforge. He mounted up and turned to the western exit of the little village, saluting the lady Sentinals on each side of the gate as he rode out.

----------

Ironforge was a dark and busy as ever. Remembering his duties, he led his horse though the city towards the Military Ward. After a very quick debriefing and new orders, he made his way over to the tavern he had been thinking about all afternoon. Bruuk was there, as always, along with his barmaid, Edris. There was a time when Leodry would have sat in the chair closest to the bar, drinking himself into a stupor within a few hours, only to be roughly awoken when Bruuk was closing up for the night.

Bruuk had finally asked him why he bothered coming in at all.

"Ye've a warrior's build, laddy. Ye've even got th' armor an' such, so why're ye in here ev'ry night, drinkin' 'till ye can't see straigh'?"

Leodry had laughed, at first, until he realized that the old bartender was serious. It was the first time since he had left the Hinterlands than anyone had asked anything of him, demanded any kind of responsible answer. That was the first night in a long series of nights that he hadn't drunk himself stupid.

Bruuk noticed him immediately as he came in, gesturing to an empty table near the stairs. Leo sat, wincing again as he did so, and Bruuk brought over a small mug of light ale. Sitting across from him, he placed the mug down.

"Well, lad? What've ye been up te?" He asked, leaning back in the sturdy, oaken chair.

Leodry smiled, gratefully taking a long drink from the mug. It was simple stuff, not strong at all, just enough to relax the mind a bit. "This and that, Bruuk. I've actually just come off a short stint in the elvish lands in Kalimdor. Beautiful sights there, let me tell you," he explained, making a slight curved motion with is free hand to let the bartender know he wasn't exactly talking about the landscape.

The old dwarf chuckled heartily. "Aye, laddy, I imagine tha's th' case," he said, winking. "Good te see yer doin' well. Or," he paused, noticing the bandages Leodry was sporting, along with the slight wince that he couldn't hide in time, finally continuing, "at least, better than ye were. Didn' think elves hit tha' hard, lad."

The two of them laughed and talked a bit more, before Leodry finally said his farewells, making his way through the city to the inn. Two days of rest, and then back to work. Two days to repair my armor, clean my tack, re-supply, and heal up. Maybe, just maybe, I'll find time to write a letter to Maura... With those thoughts on his mind, he rode through the city, weary but content again, knowing he was where he was meant to be.

New Soldier of the Legion

"Congratulations, Legionnaire Seona!"

A large gathering of local citizens cheered and shouted for the lady dwarf, blushing slightly as she stood on a chair in the local tavern. She smiled and thanked them all, telling them that drinks were on her, which got another, even more enthusiastic cheer from those gathered. Below her, a young human priest looked on, smiling and cheering with all the rest. Once the congratulations died down a bit, she hopped off the chair, her armor clanging a bit as she hit the floor, the priest wincing a bit at the noise, but patting her on the back enthusiastically.

"Fandren, pass me that ale, would you?" she asked, sitting down on her chair next to the young priest. He smiled and complied, pushing his dark hair back from his eyes, watching his friend take a long drink from the tankard.

"Congratulations, sister. I never thought I'd see the day that you become a soldier." He said, laughing a bit. Seona laughed too, the blush on her face compounded by the ale, but her eyes sparkled clear in the lamplight.

"Ah, I never expected this either, Fan. I'm glad you could take a night off from your duties to celebrate with me."

Fandren smiled, lifting his glass to her and downing it in one gulp. "Of course, sister! When a former priestess turned Paladin enlists in some private army, you have to come join in the fun. Plus, when do I get this much free beer?"

They laughed together, enjoying each other's company and the company of the various Stormwind citizens that knew them both from the Cathedral of the Light. Fandren, young as he was, had only one more drink before he was starting to reel a bit and Seona decided to call it quits. After another round of loud congrats and cheers, and Seona squaring the tab away with the bartender who eagerly thanked her, the two slipped out and walked back to Cathedral Square, Seona leading her black riding horse and Fandren attracting neighborhood strays with leftover bread and cheese from the tavern.

The streets were relatively quiet this late, the working men and women of the city at home asleep and the die-hard tavern-goers still drinking at their favorite establishments. The two made a strange pair, but there were few if any to see them: the short, stocky, armored, lady dwarf and the tall, thin, young, dark-haired priest, both walking a little crooked and laughing together.

Fandren stopped when they reached the canals and looked out over the water. "I suppose this means I'll get to see even less of you than I do now, doesn't it? Now that you're well and truly a soldier." The laughter was slowly fading from his voice and Seona turned to look up at him.

"I suppose... I suppose that's true, Fan," she sighed. "My duties to the Kingship will have to take precedence and we're stationed almost exclusively in Northrend or on the various fronts. I'll have less and less time to spend here in the city."

Fandren sighed, too, turning to the short paladin. "I miss you, you know? The other priests don't understand me they way you do." Seona nodded, and he continued, "I'm doing more and more with the Redridge militia when I'm not in the city. I actually spend as little time here as I must, these days." Seona glanced sidelong at him, but remained silent, listening to her young friend. "Brother Ben and I simply don't get along anymore. We butt heads every time we meet, it seems, over differing philosophies. We don't hate each other, of course, but we aren't friends."

Seona shook her head. "Fan, Brother Ben is just... well, he's-" "An idealist," Fandren interrupted, a sour look on his face. "He's an idealist in a world that needs more realists. He wants me to be this pure bastion of the Light and I'm just not. I've been studying Shadow magics, Seona, and I'm right. I know I'm doing the right thing, nothing you or Brother Benjamin will do can change that in me."

Seona looked up to her friend. "Fandren, look at me." He hesitated, but finally turned and looked down into his friend's face. "Fandren, you are my closest friend. You are like a brother and, sometimes, like a son. And I don't mean 'brother' as in the fact that we're both of the cloth, I mean family." He glanced away, but Seona kept his attention. "I'm not ashamed of you or what you study or what you do. I've done..." She paused for a moment, looking, briefly, to the north.

"I've done some pretty terrible things in Northrend. Things that had to be done because no one else was there to do them. Things that would make Brother Benjamin no doubt call for my excommunication from the Church. Things that might even make you look at me sideways." Fandren started to protest, but Seona silenced him. "No, Fandren. I don't blame you for looking for other ways to walk your path. Shadow magics were something I couldn't stomach, not because they're evil, which I don't think is true at all, but because they weren't for me. I decided to completely start over, learn a whole new set of rules. That's not for everyone. Obviously you're doing okay. Obviously the Light hasn't forsaken you. Brother Benjamin would do well to take that into consideration the next time he sees you."

She turned back to the canal, watching the moonlight reflecting on the water, her stallion shifting lazily and sniffing her hair. Fandren was silent beside her. The two stood together, quietly, for some time before Seona sighed again. Fandren glanced down and laughed.

"We're such an odd pair, Seona. Me the Shadow priest in training, and you the priestess who turned in her robes for some armor and a hammer." He sighed as well, and turned toward the bridge. "Come on, then, sister Seona. There's a warm bed waiting for us at the Cathedral and a good night's rest. You need to wake in the morning to prepare to return to the fronts in order to become a great soldier of the Kingship's Legion!"

He cheered then, and ran over the bridge towards the square, Seona hot on his heels, dragging her tired horse and shushing him while they passed sleepy-eyed city guards. "Seona the Paladin! Seona of the Kingship! Seona the Legionnaire!"

Brothers: Twelve

Leodry, age 28

Graz Stoutstump's ranch, three years after the Third War

"Shara, Graz was wondering if you had the extra shears ready?" Leodry asked, stooping to poke his head through the low door. The bleating of sheep could be heard outside, along with the happy banter of several dwarves. The lady dwarf he addressed was sharpening shearing blades, the whetstone quick in her deft hands. She gave him a quick smile and nodded.

"Aye, Leo. There," she indicated the tools sitting on the heavy, wooden table and turned her attention back to the tool in her hand. "This 'un 'll be ready soon enough." Leodry nodded and grabbed the shearing tools, bounding back up the stone steps two at a time of the Stoutstump home to the outside.

Sheep were milling in a makeshift pen, all of them carrying heavy coats. With the spring coming, they'd need to be sheared. Besides, Aerie Peak needs the wool for textiles and padding for the new gryphon tack, Leodry thought to himself, watching over the animals. Graz, father and leader of the small clan, stood at the fence with one of his sons and his daughter, along with several volunteers from nearby homes. After an accident with a gryphon, the younger of his two sons decided breeding gryphons wasn't his calling after all. Now left with just one eye and a nasty scar, Gren found peace on the ranch, helping his father care for the mountain sheep.

"Shearing day, Longshanks," he jested, poking at Leodry's stomach as he came to stand beside his adopted family. "Moira's ready, as is Da. Ye 'ave the shears?" Leodry nodded in response, handing out the sharp tools. Graz nodded, then, and said, "Le's ge' started."

The sheep would squirm and try to escape, but there was no getting away from strong, healthy dwarves and a tall human who had once trained as a soldier. They worked until sunset, the sheep giving up their wool. By the time the sun was low over the mountains, peeking through treetops, the entire herd had been sheared and a very generous stack of wool had been produced. Shara and Moira set about getting it separated out into the different qualities and colors while the men cleaned the shears, and broke down the temporary paddock to let the sheep run over the mountains again.

They talked and laughed, joking and telling stories, and though an outsider walking by might think it strange that these Wildhammer dwarves had taken in a human, specially one as old as Leodry now was, they thought nothing of it. To Graz, he was a little like another son, although much taller, and to Moira and Gren he was like a very close friend or even brother. Leodry imagined that Shara, being shy and distrustful of outsiders as she was, probably thought of him as a ranch hand, more than a son, but she cared about him nonetheless.

They were a family. They lived together, ate together, and tended to the home and ranch together. When they finished up and the wool was separated out and sorted, the other dwarves heading back to their homes, they headed inside for dinner. Moira helped her mother prepare the meal and set out ale for the men. The cooking fire was bright and warm and they all celebrated another good day of work before heading off to their rooms to sleep.

----------**----------

Leodry was startled awake. He didn't know why, at first, and groped about in the dark, confused. Then he heard the shouting. He bolted upright, recognizing the voice as Graz's. He tumbled out of the low bed, blankets and furs scattering, and reached for his pants. As soon as he was able to untangle himself from the bed, he ran for the door, only stopping to pull down a dull sword from the wall where it had hung as decoration.

It was dark in the house, but after living there for as long as he had, he knew his way around well enough to do it blind. The door was standing open to the cold night and Graz's voice was now joined by Gren's which only spurred him on, making him take steps three at a time to get outside. The moon was just a sliver in the sky, the shadows under the trees deep and dark. Leo took only a moment to scan the shearing yard to realize they weren't there.

His sword glinted in the faint moonlight as he stood, listening hard for the direction to run. He heard Graz and Gren yelling, along with the sounds of fighting, but the trees spread out the sound, echoing it strangely, but finally he figured out the direction. He took off, fast as his legs could carry him, into the forest, dodging trees and jumping over brush. The sound of a battle soon reached his ears.

He burst into a clearing where several sheep had been slaughtered, Graz and Gren standing amidst the fallen livestock, surrounded by trolls. Tall, muscular, green-skinned, and deadly, they surrounded the clearing and the two dwarves. With a yell, Leodry joined the fray, his sword flashing in the moonlight, temporarily startling the trolls, pushing them back a few steps.

"Glad ye could join us, laddy," Graz roared, holding off a troll with a huge hammer. Gren held two smaller hammers, each crackling with energy, his minimal shamanistic power manifesting. While not immediately fatal, Leodry knew those hammers would pack a punch. Several of the trolls seemed to think that the addition of a human warrior was too much and turned tail despite the obvious protests of their bretheren, scooping up two of the dead sheep on their way. Those that stayed behind rushed the dwarves and man, their stone axes trying to bite deep into their flesh.

Leodry had survived the Scourge and a prince gone made. Simple mountain trolls, even ones as bold as these were, didn't frighten him in the least. Skilled with his short sword, he held the trolls that attacked him at bay long enough for the two dwarves to take them out permanently. Just as it seemed like the trolls were running away, Leodry glanced behind him. A troll had doubled back and was preparing to throw an axe at Graz's head.

"No!" he yelled, diving for the old dwarf. He collided with Graz, knocking him to the ground, but cried out as his shoulder flared in terrible pain. The troll had thrown and Leodry had just gotten Graz out of the way, taking the weapon to his naked shoulder. Gren yelled, throwing one of his hammers, striking the troll squarely in the forehead with enough force to kill it instantly.

"Leo!" Gren called out. "By th' mountain, Leo, yer a damn fool." He jumped up and ran as fast as he could back towards the house, calling for Moira and Shara. Graz rolled over and took a look at the wound, grimacing. The axe was still stuck in the flesh of his shoulder and Leo wanted to die from the pain. His eyes were squeezed shut tight and he groaned trying not to move the torn muscles.

Moira came running after her brother, a roll of bandages in her hand. She gasped and nearly dropped the long strips of woolen cloth in shock. "Oh, Leo, what happened?"

"Not now, Moira. Ge' 'im fixed up. I 'ave te warn the neighbors," Graz said, getting up and running off into the woods. The soldier in Leodry awoke and he wanted to reach out and stop his friends from running through the dark woods unprotected. He could only manage another moan, though, and Moira did her best to calm him.

Finally, Shara arrived, Gren in tow. With her daughter's help, they carefully pulled the primitive, stone throwing axe from Leo's shoulder, blood now flowing freely down his back. Shara rinsed the wound with warm water and slapped a few bits of wool over it quickly, telling him she'd have to do a more thorough job back at the house. Moira and Gren helped him back to his feet, and did their best to support him as he stumbled back through the dark woods. The windows were alight from torches and a fire inside, looking for all the world as though nothing had happened.

The four of them finally made it to the door and nearly fell inside. Shara directed them to help him to the stool near the fire where she had him sit. She then pulled a chair near and stood on it looking over the wound. Shaking her head, Shara handed him a stick to bite down on and got to work. "Moira, bring me hot water an' th' bruiseweed. Gren, bring me sewin' kit an' find some strong alcohol. Quick now, quick." Shara whispered a few prayers over the water and steeped the bruiseweed, crushing it in her fingers. She then pulled back the cloth bandage they had used to stem the bleeding in the clearing. Shara hissed through her teeth when the wound started bleeding again.

Leodry realized then where Gren got his shamanistic gifts as the quiet Shara smeared the quickly-made poultice over the gaping wound. He groaned with pain, but held still. Quickly, the pain subsided to just a minor dull ache and he sighed with relief.

"Sorry, lad," Shara whispered, then opened a bottle Gren had handed her. Moments later, Leodry nearly roared in pain, managing to just groan through his teeth as whatever strong drink Gren has found was poured over the wound. Even with the poultice dulling the pain, the cleaning was painful. Then, Shara motioned for Gren to hand her her sewing kit and she opened it to pull out a needle and thread.

"Gren, hold this o'er th'fire fer a moment, quick," she asked him, handing him the needle she had chosen. Leodry nearly gasped in surprise as Gren's skin turned grey and hard, the needle firmly grasped between his fingers, and held it over the heat of the fire, sterilizing the sewing tool. Once he brought it back to Shara, she got to work.

Though the bruiseweed pultice had helped, he still gasped in pain when the needle pierced his skin. Shara, calm, continued on, her hand steady. Slowly - agonizingly slowly in Leodry's opinion - the wound was stitched up and the bleeding finally slowed to nearly nothing.

"Moira, the bandages," Shara gestured to his back and walked to a nearby basin to wash her hands. It was then that Graz returned and closed the door behind him. Moira took her mother's place on the chair behind Leodry and carefully bandaged his shoulder. Graz held a whispered conversation with his wife and then came over to Leo, concern on his bearded face.

"Well, lad, 'ow 'r' ye doin'?" he asked and Leodry grunted, the bruiseweed beginning to wear off and the ache getting worse. "I've been better." Gren pressed a mug into his hands and he gulped it down, discovering it was more of the alcohol that had been used to clean his wound and was greatful for the dulling sensation it gave him. "What's this? Bourbon?" Gren nodded. Leodry took another large gulp of the alcohol, his head starting to swim a bit, but the ache in his shoulder dulling.

Graz looked down at his feet for a moment, then straight into Leodry's eyes. Placing a hand on his good shoulder, he squeezed gently. "Thank ye, lad. I... Iff'n 't weren't fer ye, I'd be-"

"I know," Leodry said, reaching up to grab the old dwarf's forearm. "Graz, you're like a father to me. I couldn't bear thinking what would happen if you were gone. Trust me, I'd do the same thing all over again, given the same chance."

Graz finally let go, a small nod of understanding, and a smile. Leodry took a deep breath and stood, swaying on his feet a bit, both from loss of blood and from the strong drink. Gren helped steady him and got him to his room where he collapsed on the low bed. As soon as his eyes closed he was asleep, dreaming of dark forests full of trolls and axes flying through the air.

Brothers: Eleven

Leodry, age 25

Graz Stoutstump's ranch, near the end of the Third War

Weeks had passed since Moira and Graz had found Leodry in the snow and winter had come to the mountains in full force. He had recovered, more or less, and been adopted by the dwarven family. They were Wildhammers to the core, though a bit more open than the rest of their kin, and the Stoutstump clan had lived in the wooded mountains of the Hinterlands since they left Grim Batol. They spent far more time in the mountains and outdoors than they did inside, and Graz specialized in breeding mountain sheep that were used for just about everything from wool to meat to gryphon food.

Once he had finally healed up, Leodry was put to work. Graz was as good as his word and respected his privacy for the most part, as did most of the Stoutstump clan, never asking him questions, but Moira was curious about him, often asking him of his life before he came to their small ranch. He rarely answered her questions with more than a half-hearted grunt or shrug, but it did nothing to quell her curiosity or chit-chat. Leodry liked her despite himself. Her good nature reminded him of Hannah, which always brought good thoughts of home.

"I imagine ye've cut enough firewood for th' day, Leo. Come inside, 'ave some ale," Moira called from the doorway of their hillside home. Carved from the rock, it was much larger inside then the outside revealed with most of the rooms underground in the hillside. He had been cutting winter firewood while the unpredictable storms had subsided for a time. Graz had gone out to care for the sheep with his wife, Shara. Moira's two brothers were apprenticing to become gryphon breeders and rarely returned home except for very special occasions, such as a birthday or other holiday. Leodry had yet to meet them, though he knew they were called Gren and Greer.

"Thank you, Moira," he said, dusting off the snow from his boots before coming all the way inside. He followed her downstairs into the kitchen where a large cooking fire was going, warming him to the bones very quickly. A large mug of ale already stood on the table and he sat, taking a long pull from the stein. The one thing he had yet to get used to was the sheer amount of alcohol the dwarves had. If you asked for water you were looked at funny, but a light-weight like him could only drink a mug or two before having a hard time walking.

"Did ye cut a lot of wood in yer old home, Leo? Ye're a natural." Moira was working away at dinner, which appeared to be a wild boar Graz had caught the night before. Leodry quietly sighed, and watched Moira work before finally deciding he couldn't keep quiet. If I can't trust Moira and her family, who can I trust?

"Yes." The single word actually caught Moira offguard and she squeaked in surprise, which made Leodry laugh. "What? You asked, and I answered."

Moira, her mouth agape in surprise stared at him and finally exclaimed, "You never answer, Leo! I had gotten used to it!" They laughed together, then, as Graz and Shara came in, covered in a light dusting of snow.

"Wha's so funny, then, ye two?" Graz asked as he hung up his cloak near the fire to dry and settled himself at the table while Shara went below to prepare the house for the evening. She seems to avoid me... I hope it wasn't something I've done, though I've hardly had the strength to do much. Maybe she wants me out now that I'm well. Shara's always more quiet than the rest of the family. Moira, still fighting back giggles, set a full mug of ale before him and just shook her head, pointing at Leo.

"Oh, just our Leo, Da. 'E surprised me, is all."

Graz raised one bushy eyebrow over the rim of his mug, but didn't say anything. A few more gulps of ale, and Leodry decided to elaborate for him... and finally tell them the truth.

"Miss Moira asked me if I used to chop wood in my old home and I said 'yes'. She was surprised I finally answered, is all. We both found our reactions funny, Graz. You should have seen her face." He grinned from ear to ear, as did Graz.

"Well, lad, I'm sure me girl thought ye mute at this point."

Leodry nodded. "Yes, I imagine she did. I've just been... reluctant to tell you how I managed to end up here."

"Worried ye couldn' trust us, lad?" Graz asked quietly. He didn't seem angry, just curious.

Leodry smiled sadly. "I was running, both from the Lordaeron army, and from myself. It's... hard to stop running. To finally turn around and look back and realize that what I've done may be wrong." He took another drink of ale before continuing, Moira rapt with attention, Graz less obviously so, but listening intently.

"I joined the Lordaeron army as soon as I was able, wanting to follow in my father's footsteps. He was a knight; died in the Second War, along with my brother who was acting as his squire. All we got back was one of my father's vambraces and my brother's tunic. I died a little inside when I heard the news, but I wanted to become like them. I wanted to become a soldier." He sighed, wondering just how much he should tell them. "I rose through the ranks well enough. By my twentieth birthday I was a captain in control of my own soldiers, and life was good. I served my country, and my prince, with pride."

"Arthas," Graz growled, the one word carrying all his malice and anger. It seems even the Wildhammers hate former Prince Arthas. He's become something else. Something sinister.

"Yes, Arthas. I loved and served him, until Stratholme. I had seen what the plague did to people, how it killed them and then reanimated the dead bodies." Moira gasped, and Graz grunted, but Leodry continued. "It was terrible and cruel. I got word that my home had been hit, the plague spreading there, too. My surrogate mother and father had died and probably been raised as ghouls for his damned army. Still, even knowing this, I could not bring myself to kill the people in the city."

Moira and Graz shared a look between them, now realizing just what Leodry had been running from, but it was Shara, just returned from the rooms below, who spoke. "Ye poor bastard. Ye've been runnin' fer no reason, laddy. No decent man would kill innocent people."

Leodry snorted. "Were they so innocent, Miss Shara? They would become the walking dead soon enough, more than ready to tear my head from my shoulders. No, I was a coward."

"'T'ain't cowardly te refuse te kill folk. Yer heart told ye t'were wrong, an I'd think less of ye if ye'd 'ave just tol' us ye'd been part o' that mess." Graz patted Leodry on the back, concern on his face.

Leodry nodded, but he wasn't convinced. "Regardless, Graz, I did commit treason. I, as a captain, ran from my duties and outright refused a direct order from my prince."

"'Cept Arthas ain't yer prince now," Graz nearly spit, but held himself in check. "'Sides, how c'n ye be a traitor te a kingdom that don't exist? Lordaeron lost te the Scourge, the city reduced to rubble." When Leodry moved to protest, Graz shook his head. "No, lad. No guilt fer ye. If'n ye had gone back, ye'd just be a walking corpse now."

Moira shook her head. "Enough, Da. Poor Leodry's had enough. Thank ye fer finally tellin' us, though. I'm glad ye trust us, Leo." She smiled then, and turned to the cooking fire. "Come, let's eat." Leodry nodded, feeling the weight, not lifted, exactly, but lighter. He even managed a weak smile for them, even Shara, who returned it.