Finding the Way - The Order of Turalyon

[Daedraug]

Hope

The message had come late, as her light stood high in the heavens. It did not wake Daedraug; he had taken little to sleeping in recent nights. He knelt on the cracked grey shingles of the Inn, completely enveloped in the moonlight shadows cast by the gnarled trees so common in Duskwood as he watched the messenger creep up to the window attached to the room he should have been in and slid a thin envelope through the slit between shutters. Then, as quietly as the courier had come, he was off into the misty night air.

So much had changed in such a short time. Daedraug felt as if he was now caught in the politics and maneuverings of every guild in the Alliance. To be sure, not everything that had come about was a burden. There was Kurohane, after all; her group seemed a blessing as well. The Order had become known almost instantly: common folk asking for aid and sanctuary while new members sought them out to find purpose in their battles. The sort of cooperation he had hoped for when he found himself surrounded by the shattered remains of everything he knew was finally taking place.

Yet no matter how the maelstrom around him spun, Daedraug could not help but remain focused on a wholly separate matter. His closest ally was in exile, if he was even alive, and his whereabouts were the one piece of information that no little bird seemed to know. With practiced reserve he descended to retrieve the message, fighting the hope that it might be some news of Haldren for fear of another disappointment.


__________________________________________________ ___________


The Plaguelands.

Of course it made sense; Haldren had returned to the place where his path began. The poetry in such a destination was all too beautiful, but Daedraug could not shake the fact from his mind that in a wounded state Haldren may not have made it at all, much less survived the horrors within. Daedraug eyed the priest beside him warily.

“Khoris,” he began, “Do you think hope still lives?”

“Why else would you have brought me here if it had died?”, came his wise, softly smiling answer.

With a nod from the rogue they spurred their mounts forward. On the border of the dead land they were to meet one of Daedraug’s scouts; from there he would know where to continue the journey if it was to be carried on at all. The priest was right; the last word had not been written in this story.

Or so he hoped.

[Haldren]

Haldren shook his head to clear his mind and end the daze he had fallen into. He turned from the sad sight that Andorhal now was and wondered what had possibly led him here, the place where his father had lost his life. Two days ago, he had just wanted to be as far from his former guild mates as he possibly could. A poor attempt to clear his conscience and his mind, Haldren now found both weighing even heavier upon him. A clandestine smile found its way to the dwarf’s face as he realized that he couldn’t even run away successfully. Still unsure of where to go, Haldren mounted and rode, not caring where the horse took him. He must’ve passed out from the pain of riding with his wounds, because the next thing he knew, Haldren was being helped off of his horse by a Night Elf in robes.

“I should let you fall off your horse for riding with these wounds. Then you saw it fit to put plate mail on top of all that. You dwarves never cease to amaze me.”

Haldren managed a thin smile and said, “Now, you couldn’t ignore a member of the church now could ya?”

The Elf grinned. “Just because I’m a priest doesn’t mean I honor your church sir dwarf.”

Haldren grunted in pain. “Well, I have an Elven friend who says that the Moon is just the Light at night or some such shite… He puts it more eloquently than I do.”

“You keep wise friends sir dwarf, let us get you inside and see if I can do something with these wounds. You look like you stared hell down and managed to come back.”

“You have no idea how close you may in fact be with that statement my Elven friend. I pray that it’s not true, but I fear it may be.” Before everything went black, Haldren managed to see the grin quickly fade into a frown on the Elf’s face.



Haldren awoke in a bed in a small stone room, with a fire crackling in the fireplace on the opposite wall. As he sat up, a short cry of pain escaped his lips as it felt as though a hot poker just got shoved into his stomach. A few seconds later, that tall Night Elf priest came walking in.

“Do not move, you’ll disturb the bandages. The burns you have are serious and they need time to heal, the salves I put on them will not heal them alone.”

Haldren nodded and lay back down. “I appreciate this…”

The Elf smiled. “There was no time for introductions yesterday. My name is Thel’danis. It is a pleasure Paladin.”

“It may not be such a pleasure now that I am lucid and able to speak Thel’danis. My name is Haldren.”

The elf laughed and replied, “I’ve dealt with my fair share of dwarves Sir Haldren. As long as I keep you from getting drunk, I think I will be able to manage.”

Haldren frowned. “I gave up drinkin’ Thel’danis. You can’t look at the world through the bottom of a stein.”

“You sound as though you’ve tried just that Sir Haldren.”

“Aye, and do me a favor. Stop calling me Sir. I don’t deserve that title.”

The Elf raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps a story for when you’re feeling better.”

It was Haldren’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Who says I want to tell it?”

Thel’danis smiled at the dwarf. “You are here for a reason my friend. A wounded, unconscious Paladin does not find himself in the middle of the Plaguelands at Uther’s Tomb without a bit of divine intervention.”

Before Haldren could say anything, the Elf had closed the door. All Hal could do was grumble out how good those darn Elves were at getting the last word as he fell into a fitful, uncomfortable sleep.

[Haldren]

The smell of tea awoke Haldren the next morning. As he was pushing himself upright in the bed, Thel’danis entered the room with a tray.

“You’re up early Sir Haldren. I apologize for the meager fare, but we don’t get much in the way of anything besides bread this far into the Plaguelands.”

Haldren gave the Elf a sour look. “I told you about that Sir crap Thel’danis. As for the food, my stomach is ready for just about anything, I haven’t eaten in three days.”

Thel’danis pulled a small stool over to the side of the bed. “In my opinion, as a Paladin and a Knight of the Silver Hand, you deserve at least a Sir, regardless of what you may think Haldren. How do you feel today?”

“Better, and please don’t let my dour mood fool you. I greatly appreciate all that you’re doing Thel’danis.”

The Elf raised his hand. “It’s nothing. I wouldn’t be much of a Priest if I turned away a wounded holy man now would I? And if you’re done with breakfast, I’d like to take a look at your dressings.”

Haldren nodded and the Priest went to work. He unwrapped all the old bandages, put fresh salves on all the burns and deftly wrapped all the wounds with fresh linen. As he was washing his hands in a basin of water, Thel’danis turned and asked, “Are you feeling well enough to get up this fine morning?”

Haldren groaned a bit as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and pushed himself up. “I think so.”

“Good, let me help you.” Thel’danis grabbed the stool with one hand and supported Hal with the other as they left the room. “I figured we could talk out here in the shrine where there’s fresh air and sunlight.”

Haldren was about to protest when he spied the great statue. He had been here before to pay his respects to the first Paladin, but he didn’t remember it like this. There knelt Uther, carved of stone, hammer high, the sun pouring through the window at the top. That wasn’t just a man carved in that stone, in that stone was a set of beliefs and ideals. Everything that Haldren had once believed in and had held so dear earlier in life was idolized in that stone. He didn’t belong here. He had let those ideals and beliefs go by the wayside and fallen from what it was to be a Paladin. He had let Netherlyn go unchecked for so long and when he had finally decided to do something, it hadn’t been enough. He had let her corrupt him and even worse, all those who he had called his friends. Somebody who couldn’t even protect those he cared about didn’t deserve to be in the presence of the greatness that graced this shrine. Haldren fell to his knees, tears slowly running down his cheeks. “Why am I here? What stands before me stands for everything I’m not. Everything that I have failed to be. I am but a stain on the sanctity of this shrine.”

The stern words of Thel’danis surprised Haldren. “Get up Paladin. You answered your own question just now. That statue stands for everything you are not and everything you’ve failed to be, at least in your eyes. If you had truly failed and fallen, the Light would not have guided you here. But it has guided you here, to remind you of what still lies deep in your heart and in your soul. To remind you of your potential, remind you of what it means to be a Paladin. You have been led here to find yourself again Haldren, for it seems that you have almost forgotten.”

Haldren stayed on his hands and knees for a time, thinking on those words. After a few minutes, he pushed himself off the floor and sat in the stool that Thel’danis had set next to him.

“That’s better,” Thel’danis said. “Now tell me your story, all of it. From the earliest you can remember to now.”

“Am I telling you or am I telling myself?” Haldren asked.

Thel’danis smiled. “For a dwarf, you are very perceptive. You are indeed telling yourself as much as you are telling me.”

So Haldren told his story to Thel’danis. He started with his childhood in Thelsamar. He told Thel’danis of his devout father, the weekly trips to Ironforge for church services and the idolization of Paladins at an early age. He recounted the day when his home began to tear apart, the day that the church asked his father, an alchemist, was asked by the church to lend his expertise on some plague up north. He remembered the day when his life fell apart for the first time, when the Paladins came to the door, saying his father was dead. As he went on, Haldren felt something growing inside of him. He kept going, through his mother disowning him, his training and his mother’s funeral. The single feeling gave way to stronger individual feelings as Hal kept recalling. Conviction when he recalled his pilgrimage. The feeling of justice and duty to protect the weak as he retold his first real battle, helping drive the Horde from Menethil Harbor. Then Hal stopped speaking as all those feelings were replaced with doubt and guilt. That was the night he had met her. The night that everything began going downhill. He had joined with Netherlyn that night. Haldren looked at Thel’danis, but the Elf only motioned for him to continue. Hal took a deep breath and told the story of the past few months. He told how Netherlyn and himself had branched out and took others under their wings. He told of the then unnoticeable corruption and how it began to escalate and spread throughout everybody Haldren had only sought to help. He recanted the nights he could barely even remember and the headaches afterwards. He told Thel’danis of last week when Netherlyn’s actions were revealed to him and how he had ridden out to face her and stop her… and failed. He recalled all the feelings of disappointment and sorrow at his failure to protect his guild mates and set wrongs right.

Thel’danis held up his hands. “So in your guilt, you ran from them?”

“Aye. I had become a liability. I couldn’t protect them any longer,” Haldren replied.

Thel’danis thought for a second and said, “I’m reminded of something Haldren. Tell me, in your studies, you came across the name Turalyon did you not?”

“The Paladin who helped Khadgar close the Dark Portal…from the wrong side if I remember right,” Haldren said.

“Correct,” Thel’danis replied. “But there is something else about Turalyon, not often told. You remember Lothar as well?” The Priest continued as Haldren nodded, “You see, Turalyon was in the service of Lothar when he died. Their group was ambushed and Turalyon was one of, if not the only survivor. For weeks Turalyon blamed himself and told himself that he should’ve been the one to die instead of Lothar. Eventually, Turalyon realized that even though his grief and guilt would never fully subside, there were still things to be done. Amidst his feelings of guilt, Turalyon rallied the armies and rose to greatness of his own. You see Haldren, one failure does not define a person’s entire life, nor does it hinder them from achieving great things afterwards. I have a feeling that there are people out there awaiting your return, waiting to rally around you, ready to help you achieve what you are meant to achieve.”

Thel’danis stood up and began to walk towards the bedroom. “I believe I have helped you as much as I can. You’ll have to ask him any other questions you have,” said the Elf as he pointed at the statue of Uther.

Haldren strode up the stairs to the foot of the statue and knelt. He asked for but one thing: guidance. As soon as the word crossed his mind, Haldren’s head snapped skyward as the rush of power flowed through him. In his mind he heard someone say, “Honor. Justice. Judgement. Protection. Wrath. These are your duties, they are yours to carry out. You are of the Order of the Silver Hand. You are a Crusader. You cannot fail, you will not fail. I shall see that you don’t.”

Haldren fell to the floor, unable to catch his breath. On his hands and knees he stayed for at least ten minutes. He might’ve stayed there longer had he not heard a familiar voice behind him.



“You’re a hard dwarf to track down Hal.”

[Daedraug]

Daedraug listened from afar to the words of the priest. He had come in alone, not sure what state he would find his old friend in. In truth, despite his hopes, he knew it was as likely that Haldren would attack him as it was that he would be lying lifeless at the foot of the statue. Being welcomed ran a far too distant third.

To witness this was wholly unexpected.

The Night Elf watched from the shadows as Haldren was left alone; he watched as the broken dwarf pulled himself to the foot of the great monument and began to pray, and then he witnessed his friend shocking to life as if struck by a fire from the heavens. For a long while he was not sure if Haldren had been stricken with divine inspiration or smited.
He approached the dwarf, speaking in a low voice.
"Hal...," he began cautiously, "Hal it's me. Dae." The dwarf did not rise nor move at all. He seemed dumbstricken. "Hal there are things I need to tell you. I don't know if you will understand, and I doubt you will agree; still, they must be voiced.
"I have seen things in these past few days, felt things, which have shown me what we must do. Our purpose was well-intended in the past but it had no guidance. We have to give ourselves to a greater cause if our violent ways are to be kept from damning us further. No sin is so great that it isn't worth trying to set things right. No mistake is so unforgivable that we must wither in exile.
"Hal it wasn't your fault. None of it; not any more than anyone else. I waited so long to tell you...all the lives that could have been spared. That blood is mine to bare - you sought to take action as soon as you knew while I hid in my shadows and justified nearly any act. You are a better man than I; you have a good heart - a sense of honor I have never known.
"Without you we will fail. I used everything at my disposal; every source, every scout and spy, every scoundrel I could pay. If you aren't beside us we're doomed to fall again. This time forever. I didn't even know if I'd get a chance to say any of this..."
Daedraug let out a long, drawn-out sigh. His shoulders slumped as the fire faded from his posture. The dwarf knelt, trembling, still looking deaf to the world. Daedraug forced a half-smile to his lips.
"I can't spend all my time looking all over Azeroth for you and shirking my responsibilites. You're a hard dwarf to find."
Haldren's eyes rose from the ground and squinted as if trying to recognize the form before him through a dense fog. He tried to speak, his voice barely above a croak.
"Dae...it's you...
"I heard a voice from...and then another. I couldn't force myself back fast enough to hear your words...it was all too strong. What is it you said?"
The night elf paused for a long while while the dwarf coninued to stumble and attempt to collect his thoughts.
"I...I said it's time to return home, Hal."

[Daedraug]

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