The next morning, they entered Quel’Thalas. The city was nothing more than a collection of poorly constructed cottages. The one golden street, tall and mighty as it was, was overshadowed by the ruined lands around it. There were golden bricks and long wooden beams lying about the ground. The houses were made of wood and thatched roofs. Few stone structures existed outside of the one golden street. There was a Golden keep at the center of the city. It was draped with tattered flags and spears bearing Orcish heads. Ceaseless patrols walked its parapets. A small thick wall still under construction circled half of the city. The rest was enclosed by heaps of rubble and dirt in a makeshift earth-works. For all its pitiful display, the knight believed it had lost none of its dignity. The city’s citizens were still proud and strong and they were not ready to go quietly in the night. As they walked through the city, Felanier stopped often to greet other warriors or Rangers as they went about their business. The smells of the morning meal drifted through the dirt paths. As they entered, a city that had risen from its grave was awakening.
They continued through the dusty streets and packed marketplaces. Finally, they passed through the white arch that led to the golden street. In wonder, the knight walked along the street. This one boulevard seemed to be the last remnant of a lost civilization, a beautiful reminder of a time long ago that had passed almost wholly into memory. This street was all that was left. The street was lined with purple and blue banners. Many were tattered, or carried black stains. Many of the buildings had been partially destroyed, and few had been rebuilt. The citizens of the city walked tall through the cold clear morning. Golden sunlight shone on the alabaster stores and houses, adding a brilliant effect.
Finally, they came to the barracks. Here, Felanier turned to one of his officers, and spoke to him in a strange tongue. The officer bowed low, and departed with the Elves into the barracks.
“We are not joining them?” The knight asked.
“No.” Felanier said, “There are more important matters for you to attend to.”
“Oh? What are these matters?” the knight inquired.
“We shall see soon enough.” Legwyn said, turning towards the great keep. They approached, and Felanier called to the guards in the strange tongue of the Elves. The portcullis was raised and they proceeded into the keep. Leading them up a set of wooden stairs, Legwyn took them to the highest tower of the keep. There, a great door stood before them. The Elven guards pushed the door aside as the three stepped into the great chamber. The chamber was lit by two massive windows on the far wall. Many ornate tapestries hung on the walls and many shelves held many charts and scrolls. An Elven maiden stood silhouetted in one of the large windows.
She turned, “Welcome, to Quel’Thalas.” She smiled and walked toward them, “I am the maiden of the Elven lands.”
“Does such a fair maiden have a name?” The knight asked.
“I have many names. Halewyn by the Elven tongue, Mistress Ureathe by the human warriors, and Karú’na by the dwarves of the mountains.” She smiled. She was beautiful beyond compare. Golden locks fell down her pale skin onto a perfect white dress. The knight found himself at a loss of words. He noticed the Elves had fallen to their knees. The knight followed suit. The mistress laughed.
“Rise noble travelers. You have done well to bring him here Felanier. And you, Legwyn, have done well in escorting them to my chamber.” She said calmly. Her face turned suddenly stern and grim as she turned to the knight
“As for you,” she began, “you are an interesting being. If my mind fails me not, you are indeed the Crusader of Kul’Tiras. “
“A…Crusader?” the knight asked.
“Indeed. Have you not heard of this order?” she asked.
“I would not lie to say no.” the knight said quietly. The maiden walked quickly to one of the cavernous shelves. Reading from one of the scrolls she turned to the knight.
“Crusaders are a unique branch of paladins. At birth, each is assigned a sacred charge. Each paladin must investigate his sacred charge to the best of his ability, and determine whether or not this charge is simple legend, or otherwise. These paladins are given a brand that represents their lifelong charge.” She finished and placed the scroll on the already cluttered table. She moved to the knight and placed her hand upon his right shoulder.
“If you would please…” she asked quietly. The knight quickly removed the padding around his shoulder revealing a black mark. The mark was that of a burning sun placed over the burning sun. The maiden withdrew in surprise. She hastened to her shelves again and read aloud from the scrolls.
“Arathram’s Bane, otherwise known as the Plague of Nations, was said to be lost from this world many generations before the Elves of Quel’Thalas settled in their lands. The artifact is believed to grant unimaginable powers to it wielder. There is none that would not fear it when held by one of purity and truth. If used by one of unsavory conviction, the world would be his to command. While none have found the artifact, many signs point to Quel’Maron, the most northern mountains.” The maiden finished. There was a complete silence in the room. The sounds of the markets below floated through the open window.
Legwyn let out a low whistle. The Maiden returned the scrolls to its shelf.
“These scrolls tell me little that I do not already know. Indeed, I know more than they could tell me.” She walked to the window. The air she had carried about her disappeared. She was no longer a glorious Elven maiden, but rather a lowly servant girl. Now, she was vulnerable.
“Arathram was a mighty warrior among the night Elves of old. He killed the largest and most deadly dragon that roamed the northern lands. No one has ever seen him since that battle. He disappeared into the mountains. All that was found was a magnificent blade. It was Arathram’s sword, yet it had been changed. Through some act of arcane magic, a small vial of the dragon’s blood had been placed in the hilt of the sword. This is the plague of nations. They say that the poison of the blade could kill all that opposed it. There was another quality to the blade that many cherished. The blade seemed to give ultimate power to the one that bore it. For many years it was used as a symbol of strength among the Elves. Those Elves that used the ancient magic, and were to become the Elves of Quel’Thalas, protested the use of the sword. One night, a group of Elves attacked the Night Elf camp and stole the sword. They fled many leagues in one night, taking the sword to Quel’Maron. There, they hoped to return it to Arathram, or his grave. They believed he was the only one worthy enough of using the magic blade. Before they found Arathram, they were ambushed in a deep mountain pass by the Night Elves. The sword was never found.” The knight stood.
“It seems I know what I must do.” The knight said. He started toward the door when Felanier stood.
“I shall go with you. My remaining Rangers and I shall help you along the way. There are many foul beasts in this area these days, you will need help.” The knight turned. He stood tall and mighty now. He was a crusader now, no longer a wounded knight. His armor glinted and shone with a new radiance. The runes that had been placed on the breast plate sparkled and burned with a white light.
“I am more than you expected me to be.” He said in a strong steady voice. He turned and sank back into the knight Felanier knew, “However, I will not decline your help.”
“I have too many men to take on a seemingly wanton quest to the north.” Legwyn said,
“They are needed in the city. However, I am not. I shall take this quest.” The maiden walked to them. She had restored her radiant and beautiful air. She had donned a ring of beautiful silver. It’s stone was a bright white, as if it was a star that had fallen out of the heavens and landed on a beautiful ring.
“My ring shall bind this alliance.” She said. The three warriors placed their hands on the ring in turn, and spoke oaths of brotherhood and loyalty to themselves and their quest. Thus, the journey was begun. Felanier took his leave and departed for the barracks. There was much to be discussed with his remaining men. Legwyn departed to meditate and prepare himself for the quest. The knight was shown to his quarters down a long golden hallway where he stayed the rest of the day in deep thought and prayer.
As the first snows fell on Quel’Thalas, the three warriors slept. The night was dark and cold. Felanier and Legwyn rested easily. It was not so for the knight. He tossed and turned in his bed as foul visions came to him.
Once again, he was soaring above the lands. Flying along with the wind, he found himself in the northern lands. As the mountains stretched before him, he found a massive stronghold of black stone. He entered through its gates and raced through dimly lit halls and Spartan quarters. An uncountable number of Orcs roamed the dark halls and deep passages. Finally, the knight came to rest in a large chamber. A great malignant force greeted him. Its voice spoke to the very depths of his soul.
“You have finally discovered your sacred charge. It is useless. You have hope, and yet no chance of victory. There is no glory in defeat. Take your foolish quest. You shall only aid my victory.” Once again, the voice turned to a laugh. The knight woke in a cold sweat. The sun was just brimming on the horizon. A new day was dawning over Quel’Thalas.
