It had been nearly twelve years sin

It had been nearly twelve years since the war against the orcish Horde had ended. It was a terrible
conflict that had raged across the northlands, leaving many of the Alliance kingdoms razed and blackened
in its wake. Too many brave men fell before the rampaging Horde was finally stopped. Tirion had lost a
number of good friends and soldiers over the course of the war. Though the Alliance had rallied at the
eleventh hour and pulled victory from the clutches of certain defeat, it had paid a heavy price. Almost an
entire generation of young men had selflessly given their lives to insure that mankind would never be
slaves to savage orc overlords.
Near the war’s end, the battered and leaderless orc clans were rounded up and placed within guarded
reserves near the outskirts of the Alliance lands. Though, as a precautionary measure, it was necessary to
police the reserves with full regiments of knights and footmen, the orcs remained docile and passive.
Indeed, as time passed, the orcs seemed to lose their raging bloodlust completely and lapse into a strange
communal stupor. Some supposed that the foul brutes’ lethargy was brought on by inactivity, but Tirion
remained to be convinced. He had seen, firsthand, the orcs’ brutality and savagery in battle. Memories of
their heinous atrocities had plagued his dreams for years after the war. He, for one, would never believe
that their warlike ways had left them completely.
* * *
Tirion prayed every night, as he always had, that conflict would never endanger his people again.
Perhaps naively, he hoped fervently that his young son would be spared the rigors and horrors of war. As
a Paladin, he had seen far too many children orphaned or left for dead over the course of the tragic
conflict. He wondered how any child could not become cold and disassociated when faced with terror
and violence all around them. He would certainly never allow that to happen to his own boy, that was
certain. Yet, despite his best wishes, he could not ignore the reality of the present situation. His closest
aides and advisors had been telling him of the grim rumors for months now—that the orcs were once
again on the move. Hard as it was to believe, the presence of so many emissaries in his keep confirmed it
to be true.
If the orcs were foolish enough to rise up again, he would do whatever it took in order to stop them.
Duty had always been the one constant in his life. He had spent the majority of his years defending
Lordaeron in one way or another. Though he had not been born a noble, his enthusiasm and honor had
won him the rank of knight at the tender age of eighteen. Tirion served his king with undying loyalty and
won a great deal of respect from his superiors. Years later, when the orcs first invaded Lordaeron, intent
on crushing civilization, he was one of the first knights to be given the honor of standing with Uther the
Lightbringer and being anointed as a holy Paladin.
Uther, Tirion, and a number of devout knights were hand-picked by the Archbishop Alonsus Faol to
become living vessels of the holy Light. Their special, sacred charge was twofold: aided by the holy Light,
the Paladins would not only lead the fight against the vile forces of darkness, but heal the wounds inflicted
upon the innocent citizens of humanity as well. Tirion and his fellows were given the divine power to heal
wounds and cure diseases of every kind. They were imbued with great strength and wisdom that enabled
them to rally their brethren and give glory to the Light. Indeed, the Paladins’ leadership and strength
helped to turn the tide of the war and insure the survival of humanity.
Though his own Light-given powers had waned somewhat over the years, Tirion could still feel strength
and grace flow through his aging limbs. Surely he would have strength enough when he needed it the
most. For his son and for his people, he would have strength enough, he vowed.
* * * Clearing his head of concerns, Tirion stopped to get his bearings. To his surprise, he found that he’d
wandered much farther up the winding path than he’d intended. The path snaked its way up and over the
densely forested mountain. There were no outposts this far up, Tirion remembered. As a matter of fact,
he couldn’t recall the last time he had ventured up this far. He took a moment to drink in the raw beauty
of the place. He could hear babbling streams nearby and smell the clean, crisp air. The sky was blue and
clear as he watched two falcons circle high above. He truly loved this land. He told himself that he’d
return to this spot when a more opportune moment presented itself. Running his hand through his thinning,
graying hair, he chided himself for becoming so lost in thought. He had come out to hunt, after all. Tirion
deftly turned his mount around on the thin path and spurred Mirador to a quicker pace back down the
mountain. He pulled sharply on the reins and steered his faithful mo