Valdrin Ashefel
Journal Page 3: Thursday
The memories came back all at once. Crippling pain, my mind racing. I remember this town all too well.
I had made my way to the ruins of Southshore, in Hillsbrad Foothills. They stand testament to my failure.
I lead my men against the Forsaken onslaught, and for days it seemed we were slowly beating back the Forsaken offensive. Even their foul plague was no match for the determination and courage of my soldiers and I. At the time I thought of returning home, beating, bruised, and victorious. The crowds would cheer as we made our way to the keep in Stormwind, my loyal lieutenant Krtyan by my side, and my love Tesslara linking her arm with mine. We would be heroes.
But the best laid plans often go awry.
We made a tactical retreat from the frontlines to regroup with our dwarven allies, and push back out to crush the Forsaken. It was my warhorn that sounded the call to charge, and I rode forward towards the mass of undead. I would pierce their ranks, my men and Tesslara following behind me. But the Forsaken made minimal effort to push against us. Most ran past me, towards Southshore.
As I felled my fifth undead, I heard those faithful words.
"Fall back, all of you! Fall back! Valdrin can handle them!"
Every since arriving here, Krytan's words have echoed over and over again in my head. A torturous melody.
I had no time to react, though. Another group of soldiers came at me, and I slew them as well. The bodies were piling up around me, as some kind of grotesque monument to my strength.
It was not the sword or the plague of the Forsaken that brought me down. It was an arrow in my stomach that threw me to the ground. It came from hundreds of yards away, impossible for any of the marksman present at the battle. Another arrow pierced my hip, and I fell to one knee as I tried to stand. I cut the legs out from under an undead and looked up, to the Forsaken camp. I saw nothing, yet another arrow struck me in the throat.
I fell to the ground, my sword falling from my palm. I couldn't move my legs. I couldn't breath. I turned my head to my men, expecting to see them charging forward for their Marshall, ignoring Krytan's cowardly orders.
I saw nothing. They had retreated to the dwarf stronghold in the east. Even Teslarra had gone with them.
"Fall back, all of you! Fall back! Valdrin can handle them!"
Those words were all I could hear. How could Krytan order my men away? How could they listen? I was their Marshall, Krytan was merely my lieutenant! But they abandoned me to my doom.
I could only look to the sky in despair as darkness took me. But my mind is clear now. I know what happened that day, 3 months ago at the Battle of Southshore.
I did not fall behind, I was left behind.
Krytan was always jealous of me, of Tesslara and I. Of my rank. Of my upbringing. He wanted everything-
<The remainder of the page is crumpled and torn apart>
Journal Page 3: Thursday
The memories came back all at once. Crippling pain, my mind racing. I remember this town all too well.
I had made my way to the ruins of Southshore, in Hillsbrad Foothills. They stand testament to my failure.
I lead my men against the Forsaken onslaught, and for days it seemed we were slowly beating back the Forsaken offensive. Even their foul plague was no match for the determination and courage of my soldiers and I. At the time I thought of returning home, beating, bruised, and victorious. The crowds would cheer as we made our way to the keep in Stormwind, my loyal lieutenant Krtyan by my side, and my love Tesslara linking her arm with mine. We would be heroes.
But the best laid plans often go awry.
We made a tactical retreat from the frontlines to regroup with our dwarven allies, and push back out to crush the Forsaken. It was my warhorn that sounded the call to charge, and I rode forward towards the mass of undead. I would pierce their ranks, my men and Tesslara following behind me. But the Forsaken made minimal effort to push against us. Most ran past me, towards Southshore.
As I felled my fifth undead, I heard those faithful words.
"Fall back, all of you! Fall back! Valdrin can handle them!"
Every since arriving here, Krytan's words have echoed over and over again in my head. A torturous melody.
I had no time to react, though. Another group of soldiers came at me, and I slew them as well. The bodies were piling up around me, as some kind of grotesque monument to my strength.
It was not the sword or the plague of the Forsaken that brought me down. It was an arrow in my stomach that threw me to the ground. It came from hundreds of yards away, impossible for any of the marksman present at the battle. Another arrow pierced my hip, and I fell to one knee as I tried to stand. I cut the legs out from under an undead and looked up, to the Forsaken camp. I saw nothing, yet another arrow struck me in the throat.
I fell to the ground, my sword falling from my palm. I couldn't move my legs. I couldn't breath. I turned my head to my men, expecting to see them charging forward for their Marshall, ignoring Krytan's cowardly orders.
I saw nothing. They had retreated to the dwarf stronghold in the east. Even Teslarra had gone with them.
"Fall back, all of you! Fall back! Valdrin can handle them!"
Those words were all I could hear. How could Krytan order my men away? How could they listen? I was their Marshall, Krytan was merely my lieutenant! But they abandoned me to my doom.
I could only look to the sky in despair as darkness took me. But my mind is clear now. I know what happened that day, 3 months ago at the Battle of Southshore.
I did not fall behind, I was left behind.
Krytan was always jealous of me, of Tesslara and I. Of my rank. Of my upbringing. He wanted everything-
<The remainder of the page is crumpled and torn apart>
Edited by Valdrín on 5/10/2013 12:44 AM PDT