Chapter 7: Volume 1: Chapter 6
Lost Lion
Disclaimer! I don't own warcraft, it is the property of blizzard.
Volume 1: Chapter 6
***Stormwind Keep – Church of the Light***
I slowly came to with a soft groan, my mind hazy as I opened my eyes. However, I had to quickly shut them; the light was way too bright, stabbing into my vision. There was a startled gasp somewhere nearby that was soon succeeded by the sound of footsteps running away.
I used my hands to rub my dry eyes until I could gradually make out the details of the small room I was in. Surrounded by gray stone walls, the source of light that had burnt my retinas was from the window next to my bed, colored by the stained glass that was usually found in French cathedrals. It was a spartan room, not much in it except for my bed, a small wooden chair, and an empty doorway that had no actual door in it. My mind slowly cleared up enough for me to realize that I wasn't on the battlefield anymore.
Where was I? More importantly, was I alright? I looked down at my body and didn't see any visible wound. That was good news, great even. In WoW lore, those types of shadow magic could sometimes leave lingering afflictions that were more easily solved in the later years rather than the earlier ones.
I quickly sat up and found that I was wearing simple clothes with weird white linen socks. Thankfully, I wasn't in a hospital gown so my butt wasn't going to moon anyone anytime soon.
I stretched and heard the sounds of cracking muscles. Damn, that felt great. I reached out for the light and -
"Whoa nelly!" I said out loud at how fast the light came to me. The light came easily to me before, but this time, it felt like it eagerly rushed over to me. I had to cut off my connection, feeling its disappointment as I severed the connection.
Unfortunately, Blizzard never explained how these primary powers work. Did it have sentience to it? Wouldn't the Light's sentience be the Naaru, just like how the void would be to those tentacles stuff. However, would that mean that Fel, Arcane, Nature, and Necromancy had a personality too, wouldn't it? Or at least an attitude of some sort? However, I was taken out of my thoughts at the sound of approaching footsteps.
I turned to the doorway and saw an old cleric with a bushy beard with some salt and pepper coloring in it looking at me with happiness.
"Ah, young Lothar, you are awake indeed," the old cleric said as he walked toward my bed and raised his hand. A familiar glow surrounded it, before he touched me. "And healthy! Mariam, notified his Majesty and the High Cleric of young Lothar's condition."
"Yes, right away." I finally noticed beside the old man was a pretty redheaded cleric girl about my age who acknowledged his order before she went off.
"You truly seem to be blessed by the light," the old man said conversationally as he felt my muscles. Clerics were like doctors in high fantasy so it wasn't like he was doing anything wrong. "There are no atrophied muscles at all."
"Atrophied muscles?" I felt a bit worried. Being from modern earth I remember that one was a pretty big deal.
"How long was I out?" Then something else occurred to me. "What happened to the people I was with? Are they okay? There was a girl named Alom-"
I was stopped when the old cleric held a hand up.
"You've been bedridden for two months and while there were casualties, most made it out," the old cleric said and gave me an odd look. "I was told it's thanks to you that so many survived for as long as they did before Lord Lothar arrived."
"Lo-er–my father was there?" I asked. That wasn't part of the lore I remembered.
"Yes, he personally brought you here himself with some of the other injured soldiers," the cleric answered with a smile. "The rest of the survivors followed you here, making it quite crowded. They were quite reluctant to leave Callan the 'Blessed'."
"Callan the what now?" There was a bad feeling forming in my gut.
"Callan the Blessed or Sir Callan the Blessed now,I suppose," the cleric said with clear amusement in his tone and on his face.
'Sir?' I thought. That wasn't a title that I had earned…yet.
"The survivors swore to a man that you called upon the light into your hand and healed a thousand men," the cleric sounded skeptical as he recounted the story to me. "Some even said that the foul orcs had to shield their eyes, so intense was the light."
"Orcs?" I asked, how did they know they were called Orcs? Was Garona Gul'dan, the sleeper agent, here already to parlay on behalf of the Horde?
"It is what the great Guardian Medivh called the greenskin beastmen," the old cleric explained to me patiently. "But, yes, the five hundred soldier credit you with their survival."
"Only five hundred?" I felt sick to my stomach. We rode out with fifteen hundred and lost over a thousand. It was really different when the people were no longer pixelated NPCs that you didn't have to worry about. Everyone had a family and loved ones. They were real people.
"It's better than none, young Lothar." The old cleric, to my surprise, gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Mourn the dead but celebrate the living, do not burden yourself with such thoughts."
"Thanks, old man." I sighed and smiled at the cleric. Now that I know what happened to my unit, it was time to get more information. "What happened to the orcs? Did Stormwind suffer a lot of damage?"
"The orcs had been routed and pushed back to the Black Morass by King Llane and your father," the old man answered proudly.
So Lothar and Llane tanned that orcish ass just like I knew they would, but looked like he saved me first before he did. Damn. I guess I owed him one. It was a weird feeling, especially how neglectful he had been. Of course I knew why he resented me on some level, so I accepted it to an extent, but it still wasn't right. Anyone else, like the real Callan, would have had a troubled childhood. I guess I felt a bit resentful of Lothar on Callan's behalf.
"Now that you've awakened." The cleric's voice broke me out of my thoughts. "There are some from Northshire who would like to talk to you about your recent experience with the light."
"Shit…" I said out loud and heard the priest laugh at my gaffe.
"Don't worry, young Lothar, the High Cleric is a very amicable young woman I hear," the old man assured me.
"Easy for you to say," I grumbled before I realized why I was feeling underdressed. "Where's my gear?"
"It's stored safely, I promise you," the old man said as he got up. "If you require anything else, Acolyte Miriam should be of assistance. If you're comfortable with me, I'm always free if you need someone to talk to."
I shook my head to indicate I didn't need anything and saw him walk out of the room. It just occurred to me that I never got his name. Oh well, it's too late now. I leaned my head back on the bed, dreading the Clerics of Northshire Abbey's visit.
Those dudes would probably be surprised at what I could do. Wait. They wouldn't be the only ones. I shot up from my bed and called upon the light to empower my body as I looked around the room in paranoia. I waited a good full minute before I gradually relaxed. I guess whatever I did didn't register on the Bronze timefuck-o-meter. In my opinion, as I understood them, the Bronze dragonflight was like the Time Variance Authority from that Marvel show with Loki. Anything that was not part of their 'sacred timeline' would get purged. There were books written about how the Bronze dealt with people who messed around with time too much, though the name of those books escaped me. All I could remember was that it had the main character, Thrall, fighting another version of Blackmoore.
I guess saving five hundred people was rather insignificant, considering the brutal war ahead. I knew we would be in for a long war, at least six years with Stormwind defeat. There was nothing I could do metawise. At least, nothing that wouldn't attract the Bronze's attention to me. I could try and confront Medivh now, but even if I could somehow pull a win out of my ass, I would still end up dead to rights by the Bronze. One of the reasons why I didn't choose magic was because I was positive that not a single mage hero could confront Medivh head on and win. If he picked up my abilities early on, then he would have eliminated or possessed me.
In reality, I realized that had I been transmigrated after the third war, I would have had more flexibility to play the meta of the world and could set up more things, affecting the world more since the Bronze didn't keep too tight of a leash on breaking timelines at that point. The events of the first three games were untouchable however. It needed to be pushed through exactly as it happened and woe be it to anyone who tried to mess with it. The Cavern of Time: Black Morass and Culling of Stratholme was proof of this. On an even messed up note, they knew the Blue Dragonflight was going to be slaughtered, but they let it happen anyway. For the good of Azeroth, of course.
Bah. All of this game planning was giving me a headache. Now that the war was here earlier than I thought, I would just focus on what I could affect around me. Would need to up my training a bit more with the sword. I was no Varian, but I wasn't movie Callan either.
Having had enough of staying in bed with my thoughts, I decided to stretch my leg with a nice walk. It was a pretty confusing layout for a hospital. The long hallway was more washed out gray color stone walls making up the interior of the building. There was more rooms with no doors and in them, I could see some patients resting. Some were women while others were childrens, it wasn't a military hospital like I thought.
I finally found another door at the end of the long hallway and entered into the nave of a church.
"Ah, up and about, young Lothar?" The cleric from before greeted me as he went from pew to pew with a dust feather.
"You can just call me Callan, Cleric…" I wanted to know his name. I walked further in, taking in the sight of the interior of the church.
"Maxwell," the Cleric answered me as his eye searched me. "Are you...feeling better?"
"Hmm? Oh yeah, much better." Now that I confirmed that I was certain the Bronze was not coming for my ass for that little display of light magic, I gave the cleric a thumbs up.
"I'm very, very okay."
Feeling relieved, I took a seat at one of the pews as I looked around the room. It was very much like a christian inspired one, but there were no crosses or pictures of saints, just french-like stained glass windows, three high quality chairs, and a simple altar. It looked bigger than the one in Grand Hamlet and Lakeshire.
"Say, Cleric Maxwell, which church am I in?" I looked at the man who seemed amused as he stood up and made a grand sweeping gesture.
"This is the Church of the Light in Stormwind. You'll not find a place more devoted to the Light save the Northshire Abbey."
"Don't you mean the Cathedral of the Light?" I asked to get confirmation to which the old man only seemed more pleased. I knew this place, knew it almost like the back of my hand, so I was curious why it did not seem as big as what I saw in the game and the movie.
"A cathedral? Perhaps in time, sir Callan. Perhaps in time."
Anything more I wanted to say was drowned out as a loud commotion could be heard along with the familiar cry of a gryphon. No, I could hear several gryphons. I stood up and turned to the entrance of the church just in time to see the doors open. Lothar himself walked in, stopping at the sight of me.
The man now looked exactly like the movie version of himself in the Warcraft movie. However, I could see the beginning of crowfeet at the edge of his eyes.
"Father," I addressed him respectfully as I had always done whenever we interacted. The man must have used warrior's charge or something because one moment, he was by the entry way and the next, I found myself in a crushing embrace against plate armor. I actually felt touched by the gesture until I began to feel pain instead.
"C-can't breathe.."
I was immediately let go, but was steadied by a strong arm. Being hugged by a person in full plate was a lot more uncomfortable than I thought. I looked up to see genuine concern in his face. No longer there was that uncomfortable expression in his eyes whenever he looked at me like in the past. It seemed that my pseudo death might have scared him straight and reminded him that I was the last living connection to my mother. We stood like that, not knowing how to start the conversation, but to my surprise, he was the one to break the ice.
"You–You are well." Lothar squeezed my shoulder as his eyes searched me. "I heard things from your group, impossible things. I don't care if it is true or not, I am just glad you are safe and healthy."
Damn, that concern was a really good punch in the feels. I had always been a sucker for genuine emotional moments. So, I decided to just go with the flow.
"I'm okay…dad," I said warmly and noted that his eyes momentarily tightened and his body tensed up before a soft smile broke out. Before, he was always 'father' but after saving me, I decided to give him a break.
"Good!"
Lothar patted both of my shoulders and squeezed.
"Good… That's all that is important."
"Always a welcome sight to see a father and son reunited," another voice cut in. I looked up to the new entrant and there he was, King Llane, played by the actor who was Howard Stark in the Captain America movie, in the entryway. Unfortunately, I couldn't quite remember the actor's name. He was accompanied by twenty soldiers in very fancy armor. They didn't pay attention to me but searched the room and looked ready to attack at a moment's notice.
'Kingsguard like Game of Thrones?' I wondered.
I heard a rustle and saw the cleric had gotten to his knees, and it was then I realized that I was supposed to kneel. I was hesitant as this was the first time I had to kneel in front of a a modern day 21st century man born in the god old U.S. of A, we kneeled to no one except our would-be significant others. Then again, this is Azeroth, and I'm a medieval man now...when in Rome, I guess...
"No need, Callan, stop," King Llane said just as I was ready to bend the knee.
"My king," Lothar greeted but Howard Stark had a put upon expression as he looked pointedly at my father. "My friend. You need not make the trip here. I would have brought Callan to you."
Lothar, for whatever reason did not kneel either, but instead chose to stand by my side.
"It's fine, and if rumors are true, then he would soon rise very high in rank and be of importance to the court," the king said before turning to me. "Speaking of rumor, the survivors of Stonewatch swore that the light blessed you that day in Eastvale. Was it a trick, an illusion? Hallucination? Or did they really see what they thought they saw?"
"My king, we have clerics coming here to verify those very claims," Cleric Maxwell interjected. He must have thought the king did not take the clerics of Northshire seriously.
If I remember correctly, light magic was still in its infancy and arcane was much more respected. In fact, Khadgar scoffed at light magic and looked down at the thought of warrior knights wielding holy light. He didn't change his tune until later on during the second war when Uther and his friends showed them how they dealt with the death knights.
"Well, Callan?" The king's prompt took me from my thoughts.
Was he asking me to do the same thing I did before as proof? Wasn't that just a waste of mana? I needed to do something small but visible. Any priest could heal so that was out of the question. Besides, none of the people present were injured. I was pretty sure he wouldn't appreciate me attacking one of his kingsguard with Penance so that was out as needed to be something flashy but small. Then it hit me.
"As you wish, my king." I reached for the light again and felt it rush into my the light in hand, I mentally said the correct chant and tossed the ball of light out .The light slowly grew large and took on the shape of a little fountain with a curtain of holy light shining down upon it.
"By the light..." Cleric Maxwell said in awe at the Lightwell I created. My father looked over to me, surprised, while King Llane slowly approached the Lightwell itself and cautiously touched it.
The king must have been fatigued in some manner as the light flashed over him, quickly making him draw his hand back and blink.
"Sire?" one of the guards asked, looking between me and the king.
"I–I feel much better," King Llane said in genuine surprise. "It really does feel like the light, only… more?"
"It can't stay forever, of course, but I'm certain it could heal a fair number of people before it finally disappears." I told the king. Once more, the knowledge of it came easily to me once I called for it.
"Can you teach it to other clerics?" the king asked, looking at me. I winced internally as I really have no idea how to impart it through anything other than feeling. Anduin's skillset did not make him a class trainer.
"I honestly don't know," I finally replied after a few moments of thinking. "I can't explain it very well. I just call on enough of the light energy to condense into my hand and then ask it to heal anyone that touched it after it leaves my hand."
I turned to Maxwell who had his brows furrowed.
"Did my instruction for the lightwell make sense?"
"A lightwell?" the old cleric looked at me. "Is that what you call it? A fitting name."
"Well, can you, Cleric Maxwell?" King Llane asked as he waited for the cleric to think on it before he shook his head.
"I cannot, my king," Cleric Maxwell said. "It does not mean others can't. Perhaps with more study."
"Callan..." It was Lothar who chimed in, looking at me softly. "How...when did you learn this?"
"Not long, just a few years ago," I told Lothar honestly. My powers began to get stronger after I enlisted.
"Why didn't you say anything?" the King asked seriously. "The Clerics of Northshire would have been thrilled to welcome you into their ranks. Why didn't you speak up, boy?"
I saw Maxwell nodded in agreement.
I knew it too that I would have been shipped off to Northshire Abbey back then. However, I knew for a fact that when the Alliance met the Draenei in Outland and by extension the Naaru, their understanding of the Light and how to wield it would increase exponentially.
I suppose that given enough time, I could probably figure out how to teach them somehow, but then that would just paint a big red target on my back. I am pretty sure the Bronze wouldn't take to kindly to me spreading these advance techniques thirty years before they were suppose to learn them
It was, of course, a guess back then as the realism of the world made me think this was the movie version. In the movie, the building blocks of the Alliance were already there, ready to be formed. The other nations just refused to help. I figured that, had it been the movie, I would have had enough time to spread my light knowledge once I got confirmation. Movie Medivh was weak, such WoW Anduin could have easily murdered him and, more importantly, counter the Fel.
However, now that I was certain I was in the game version of Azeroth… Well, I knew all too well about the Bronze dragonflight.
"I would like an answer, Callan." King Llane's tone was firm now.
"Llane–" My father tried to step in, but the king held up a hand for silence.
There was only one card I could play. I felt bad for using it but…
"It's because I wanted to be a soldier like my father, your majesty." I made eye contact with the King and willed myself to believe my lie. "And I could not do that if I was stuck in Northshire Abbey."
I felt Lothar turn to me, but I did not make any other move as the king and I had our staredown. It was Llane who broke first as he exhaled deeply.
"Sons do want to follow in their father's footsteps to make them proud." Llane closed his eyes as if lost in the memory for a moment before looking at me again this time with a softer look of understanding. I was careful to show my emotions on my face. If it wasn't for his own memories and biases, I was pretty sure he would have immediately seen through my lie.
"Fine. If that's your wish, then I will allow it."
King Llane then turned to the Cleric.
"Notified Northshire's High Cleric that if she wants to talk to the Master Sergeant about the way he wields the Light, she would have to come find him at his new posting."
I blinked. Master Sergeant?
"I skipped two ranks?"
My internal thought must have been said out loud as the King gave a light chuckle.
"All who survived in your unit were promoted. You got a second one due to your valor and your newfound…blessings."
"Oh," I murmured softly. If I remember correctly, movie Callan died with the rank of Master Sergeant. Wait a fucking second, was this a death flag for me? Then something else registered. A new posting?
"I'm not going back to my legion?"
Instead of answering me, King Llane turned over to Lothar and exchanged some meaningful looks with him before he nodded in confirmation of something.
"Thank you, my friend."
Lothar turned from the king and looked back at me as he placed a hand on my shoulder.
"I have to go south to Lushland Pass and fortify the entrance to the Black Morass."
"I'm sorry, Callan, but the Kingdom needs your father now more than ever." King Llane gave me an apologetic look before he turned to Lothar. "Make haste, my friend. I've been told that they've been sending raiding parties all along our borders."
"Any breaks in the lines?"
"Several small warbands made it through." King Llane scowled in displeasure.
"All the main roads are heavily guarded…" Lothar mused before his eyes widened. "The mountain passes?"
King Llane's expression turned grave. "We do not have the manpower to guard the mountains too."
"I know," Lothar agreed with a nod. "It's almost as if they are trying to find a weak spot in our lines."
"Then we need to find those gaps and close it my friend," King Llane emphasized.
Lothar turned back to me and after a moment, he seemed to steel himself.
"I'll- I'll write you when I get the chance, son." The man had said it so awkwardly that I just had to throw him a bone.
"Look forward to it, dad," I said and surprisingly found that I was actually looking forward to it a bit. Lothar smiled and nodded to me before making his way out.
"Sir Harold, you are to give Sir Callan his new orders," King Llane said before he went with Lothar. The two of them left, leaving only one person left who wasn't a kingsguard.
"Uh…Master Sergeant Callan Lothar reporting for duty." I quickly snapped and saw the Knight-Champion nod as he took out a scroll and cleared his throat.
"Master Sergeant Callan-"
Wait a minute, that voice...
"As a test of your abilities, the King has appointed you as Regent over a small parcel of land–"
It can't be! It was...was-!
"-since we must keep our armies in the field well supplied, you are to build the town into a farming center of no less than 6 farms."
It was the epic narrator voice from the human campaign!
"Construction of a barracks for defense is also advised as our scouts have reported Orcish patrols in the area."
Shit, I'm that guy now?!
TBC…
AN: Thank you very much to Icura who worked hard in helping me edit this, much appreciated amigo! Yes, Human Campaign 01 of Warcraft Orcs and Humans. I regret nothing!