Post by Trischa Stoneheart Brighteyes on Dec 6, 2006 17:00:56 GMT -5
The night was dark and cold. The December chill had come sooner and harder than anyone had expected.
The wind was strong and none of the torches throughout the once proud city of Dalaran could keep lit for more than a few seconds, before the gust would blow it out.
The only light that kept the streets illuminated was the small light from the magical fires in the guard’s lanterns.
The old town watcher Johnson never really liked living in Dalaran and especially not after the demon lieutenant of the burning legion Archimonde destroyed the arcane center.
Before the destruction he had lived a so-called average life, though he had no magical talents as his parents, he was quite strong which made him suitable for hard labor.
He had worked as a carpenter apprentice in his younger years but when he grew older he recruited himself to the cityguard.
It was in his 27th year he met wonderful Grace. The event was a carnival, which celebrated a new arcane theory.
She was dressed as a rich merchant, and Johnson remember every little detail on her outfit as was it yesterday it happened.
She had laughed at him when they talked for the first time. She thought he was dressed as a city guarded, but soon realised that he was actually on duty.
There was no doubt, it was love at first sight and soon their compassion for each other bore fruit.
They got married and soon after a Grace gave life to a little son.
Everything was good for the family, and that was even though no magic floated through the veins.
The little family managed in the city of magic and the son grew up to be a strong and healthy boy.
“How funny everything could change so fast” the old town watcher said to himself while he pulled up his cloak so it covered his ears.
His parents died when they travelled north to examine the rumours of the plague. Abducted by crazed men, ghouls some said. The message came from the last three survivors from the twenty-man expedition. Two of them died later the same day, and the last one never regained sanity.
The loss of his parents was however nothing compared to what came next.
When Archimonde destroyed the city many people died, especially those who lived in the lower social-class areas.
The town watch was ordered to evacuate, but everyone was fleeing in panic and it was total chaos.
Towers build many years crumbled to dust as if they made of sand.
It was a massacre; the stones from the large buildings crushed people and whole families were trapped within their own houses when their roof collapsed.
“The screams. Oh the screams!” Johnson said quietly to himself.
He still remembered how the fear of losing his own family had made him run from his post and try to find his house.
He still remembered the scene that was taking place at his home when he arrived.
Grace was trying to fight off some robbers who were trying to take advantage of the panic.
He could see his son trying to gather some few things in the kitchen.
He rushed forward as fast as he could to aid his wife, yet it was already too late.
The robbers overwhelmed her and stabbed her several times.
When they saw the charging husband they took off as fast as possible.
Johnson kneeled before his wife ad called out for his son to come and help his mother, even though he already knew inside that her soul already had left her body.
Neither arcane master nor holy man would have the abilities to bring her back to life.
The loss of his wife wounded him greatly and he never really recovered from it.
A couple of years after his mature son left him, saying something about a job which involved some kinda major mining operation down south in the territory of Westfall.
“If only Grace was here…” Johnson’s quiet talk to himself was interrupted by a strange sound.
He followed it for some time and soon realised that the sounds was taking him to the place he once called his home.
It had been many years since he had ventured down in this part of the city. Usually he could persuade the captain to give him a patrol avoiding that area, but now he was there and now even more memories filled with joy came to him, yet they all changed after a few a seconds into a sorrowful picture of a broken family.
All of a sudden he heard the strange noise again, which this time sounded like some kind a rabid-dog or dire wolf.
Suddenly the magic light disappeared.
A frightening snarl echoed through the streets and a pair of demonic yellow eyes stared at the old man.
He was petrified by the fear. He had to run, he had to shout for help, and he had to do it now and fast.
He turned around and took his first step, which would be his last too. There was no chance for survival.
The wind was strong and none of the torches throughout the once proud city of Dalaran could keep lit for more than a few seconds, before the gust would blow it out.
The only light that kept the streets illuminated was the small light from the magical fires in the guard’s lanterns.
The old town watcher Johnson never really liked living in Dalaran and especially not after the demon lieutenant of the burning legion Archimonde destroyed the arcane center.
Before the destruction he had lived a so-called average life, though he had no magical talents as his parents, he was quite strong which made him suitable for hard labor.
He had worked as a carpenter apprentice in his younger years but when he grew older he recruited himself to the cityguard.
It was in his 27th year he met wonderful Grace. The event was a carnival, which celebrated a new arcane theory.
She was dressed as a rich merchant, and Johnson remember every little detail on her outfit as was it yesterday it happened.
She had laughed at him when they talked for the first time. She thought he was dressed as a city guarded, but soon realised that he was actually on duty.
There was no doubt, it was love at first sight and soon their compassion for each other bore fruit.
They got married and soon after a Grace gave life to a little son.
Everything was good for the family, and that was even though no magic floated through the veins.
The little family managed in the city of magic and the son grew up to be a strong and healthy boy.
“How funny everything could change so fast” the old town watcher said to himself while he pulled up his cloak so it covered his ears.
His parents died when they travelled north to examine the rumours of the plague. Abducted by crazed men, ghouls some said. The message came from the last three survivors from the twenty-man expedition. Two of them died later the same day, and the last one never regained sanity.
The loss of his parents was however nothing compared to what came next.
When Archimonde destroyed the city many people died, especially those who lived in the lower social-class areas.
The town watch was ordered to evacuate, but everyone was fleeing in panic and it was total chaos.
Towers build many years crumbled to dust as if they made of sand.
It was a massacre; the stones from the large buildings crushed people and whole families were trapped within their own houses when their roof collapsed.
“The screams. Oh the screams!” Johnson said quietly to himself.
He still remembered how the fear of losing his own family had made him run from his post and try to find his house.
He still remembered the scene that was taking place at his home when he arrived.
Grace was trying to fight off some robbers who were trying to take advantage of the panic.
He could see his son trying to gather some few things in the kitchen.
He rushed forward as fast as he could to aid his wife, yet it was already too late.
The robbers overwhelmed her and stabbed her several times.
When they saw the charging husband they took off as fast as possible.
Johnson kneeled before his wife ad called out for his son to come and help his mother, even though he already knew inside that her soul already had left her body.
Neither arcane master nor holy man would have the abilities to bring her back to life.
The loss of his wife wounded him greatly and he never really recovered from it.
A couple of years after his mature son left him, saying something about a job which involved some kinda major mining operation down south in the territory of Westfall.
“If only Grace was here…” Johnson’s quiet talk to himself was interrupted by a strange sound.
He followed it for some time and soon realised that the sounds was taking him to the place he once called his home.
It had been many years since he had ventured down in this part of the city. Usually he could persuade the captain to give him a patrol avoiding that area, but now he was there and now even more memories filled with joy came to him, yet they all changed after a few a seconds into a sorrowful picture of a broken family.
All of a sudden he heard the strange noise again, which this time sounded like some kind a rabid-dog or dire wolf.
Suddenly the magic light disappeared.
A frightening snarl echoed through the streets and a pair of demonic yellow eyes stared at the old man.
He was petrified by the fear. He had to run, he had to shout for help, and he had to do it now and fast.
He turned around and took his first step, which would be his last too. There was no chance for survival.
I hope your planing on writing more on this, looking forward to reading it!