To mortal eyes, Crown Guard Tower is simply Argent territory guarded by the enemies of the Scourge. To your eyes, it is so much more. Your personal space is a carefully constructed base of arcane magic from a separate time, built so you can safely investigate the time stream of the Eastern Plaguelands without risking the attention of the Lich King’s servants. But just because you’re working from another time doesn’t mean you aren’t simultaneously present in this one. Someone approaches you, a figure both familiar and not, and you turn to face them with a knowing smile.
“There is something timely about your visit. You're not from the future, are you?” you ask them, your head tilting in your curiosity. They shake their head and present you with the sword they’ve come all this way to show you. You have little experience with weaponry; you and yours have always left the armories to the flightless kin. You raise your hands at the same time that they lean over, and take the blade from their grasp.
“What is this? A war sword? A butter knife?” You sigh at your own ignorance. “I'm useless when it comes to blades. Let me see...”
You only need to focus your power and the steel’s history comes to life. You see it forged by the hands of an experienced smith in the nearby town of Darrowshire, then handed off to a local defender. You see him proudly show the blade to his wife, daughter and brother before sheathing it. And you see him fall in battle, slain by a bony corpse thrusting a rusty sword through his gut. Around him Darrowshire’s defenders meet similar fates, murdered by rotten undead bodies and skeletons tortured by dark magic.
The defender’s suffering doesn’t end. Another man, flesh and skin sloughing from his bones, stands over his body. His icy eyes scan the corpse before he summons dark, unholy energy to take hold of the man's soul. You watch as the death knight’s magic defiles his very being, turning him into a ghostly grotesque monster that is then set upon the rest of Darrowshire.
You watch as the once-warrior slaughters innocents alongside the undead he opposed. You see him meet his end against a line of soldiers, humans, dwarves and elves who wield Holy magic as well as they do swords and shields. And you know what you can do.
You turn your attention from the sword to the person waiting patiently for you to say something. “Ah! This sword was once in the hand of a great man, but there is much tragedy in that man's past,” you tell them. Solemnly you also say, “Are you here to help him? It's far too late for him now…”
They look disappointed, their shoulders hunching. But then they pick up on the twinkle in your eye and the confidence in your smile.
Memory 1: Blades
“There is something timely about your visit. You're not from the future, are you?” you ask them, your head tilting in your curiosity. They shake their head and present you with the sword they’ve come all this way to show you. You have little experience with weaponry; you and yours have always left the armories to the flightless kin. You raise your hands at the same time that they lean over, and take the blade from their grasp.
“What is this? A war sword? A butter knife?” You sigh at your own ignorance. “I'm useless when it comes to blades. Let me see...”
You only need to focus your power and the steel’s history comes to life. You see it forged by the hands of an experienced smith in the nearby town of Darrowshire, then handed off to a local defender. You see him proudly show the blade to his wife, daughter and brother before sheathing it. And you see him fall in battle, slain by a bony corpse thrusting a rusty sword through his gut. Around him Darrowshire’s defenders meet similar fates, murdered by rotten undead bodies and skeletons tortured by dark magic.
The defender’s suffering doesn’t end. Another man, flesh and skin sloughing from his bones, stands over his body. His icy eyes scan the corpse before he summons dark, unholy energy to take hold of the man's soul. You watch as the death knight’s magic defiles his very being, turning him into a ghostly grotesque monster that is then set upon the rest of Darrowshire.
You watch as the once-warrior slaughters innocents alongside the undead he opposed. You see him meet his end against a line of soldiers, humans, dwarves and elves who wield Holy magic as well as they do swords and shields. And you know what you can do.
You turn your attention from the sword to the person waiting patiently for you to say something. “Ah! This sword was once in the hand of a great man, but there is much tragedy in that man's past,” you tell them. Solemnly you also say, “Are you here to help him? It's far too late for him now…”
They look disappointed, their shoulders hunching. But then they pick up on the twinkle in your eye and the confidence in your smile.
“But perhaps we can help him in the past!”