“I am Arthus Crosswind, citizens of the Alliance, a traitor to my homeland, and today, I will die.”
This is how my story ends, and how my book begins. My judgment was delivered yesterday … hanging until death. The good ladies of the court mistook my nonchalance for courage, and the military interpreted it as heresy. But what did they want? For me to kneel? For me to feel intimidated by the arrival of what has been evident to me for over three months?
Nonsense!! My only obsession is finishing my book.
I’ve been straining my eyes for so long, transcribing the incredible story that will eventually lead me to the gallows. The taste of storytelling has haunted my family for so long…
How did it all begin again? Oh yes … I remember.
The trumpets sounded throughout Stormwind, the decision had been made the day before to launch a punitive expedition to Kalimdor. The many reports that had come in the previous months had fueled the paranoia of the good people of the Alliance. Some claimed that Mannoroth the Destructor had managed to corrupt the Horde again, others insinuated that the Orcs had repressed their bloodthirsty instincts for too long and were now demanding the blood of women and children…
My Uncle Minos, however, had a much more personal opinion. The Alliance was crumbling more and more; after all, throughout its history, this alliance had only known the cement of war. Whether it was King Llane or King Terenas, each had maintained the fragile balance of the Alliance by massacring Orcs. It was as if Orc blood helped overshadow humanity’s individualism.
The constant provocations of Theramore mercenaries were enough to inflame the blood of the Horde. As they say in Durotar: “If you tickle an Orc, expect a hatchet in the skull.”
Thrall’s response was as sharp as the leaders of the Alliance had hoped. And little by little, the expedition to Kalimdor seemed necessary and justified.
With rhetoric and carefully distributed gifts, Lord Themo was chosen to lead this reckless undertaking. Beyond gaining the favor of the ladies of the court, who always knew how to honor our brave knights, Lord Themo relied heavily on exploiting Kalimdor’s mines.
I was young and full of promise, my Uncle Minos’s status had earned me the position of page to the expedition’s leader.
With my back straight, my gaze proud, and my chest puffed out, I trotted on my gray steed behind the column. I could hear the cries of the common folk in jubilation; the sight of young people armed with shining armour was enough to ignite the crowd. And I must admit, I was not immune to this flattery.
The gleaming mail I wore had been forged by my Uncle. A renowned blacksmith in Stormwind’s merchant district, he was also a hero of the Battle of Mount Hyjal. His experience in war had allowed him to craft armour and weapons of devastating efficiency on the battlefield. He would have liked to wear them himself, but the loss of his leg had forced him to remain a passive member of the Alliance.
With some regret, he forged my armour for me, but I must admit, his work was near perfection. Large steel plates covered the vital parts, and a medallion had been welded onto the breastplate. According to my Uncle, this medallion was to remind me of the Horde’s courage and instill that same courage in me during battle. A superstition that was non-negotiable according to him.
The medallion’s origin did require me to keep it hidden under the Stormwind tabard. It might have seemed strange to some of my comrades to wear a Horde insignia while heading off to fight Orcs in Kalimdor.
I still remember the pride I felt as I crossed the Heroes’ Bridge, imagining the proud gazes of the giant statues representing the most influential members of the Alliance. I could easily imagine my own statue rising among those legends, in my lifetime.
Today, all these little details feed the melancholy that takes over me every time I realise that death will soon come for me…
To be continued…
