A peaceful quiet had fallen over the tranquil forest, leaving Tirion Fordring alone with his thoughts. His gray stallion, Mirador, trotted at an easy pace along the winding hunting path. Though game had been strangely scarce for the past few weeks, Tirion came to hunt here whenever the opportunity presented itself. He preferred the grandeur and crisp air of the open country to the musty, confining halls of his keep. He had been hunting in these woods since he was a small boy and knew their numerous, winding trails like the back of his hand.
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A peaceful quiet had fallen over the tranquil forest, leaving Tirion Fordring alone with his thoughts. His gray stallion, Mirador, trotted at an easy pace along the winding hunting path. Though game had been strangely scarce for the past few weeks, Tirion came to hunt here whenever the opportunity presented itself. He preferred the grandeur and crisp air of the open country to the musty, confining halls of his keep.
He had been hunting in these woods since he was a small boy and knew their numerous, winding trails like the back of his hand. This was the one place he could always find refuge from the burdens and bureaucratic pressures of his station. He mused that someday he would bring his young son, Taelan, to hunt with him so that the boy could experience the rugged majesty of his homeland for himself. Lord Paladin Tirion Fordring was a powerful man.
He was strong in both mind and body, and was counted as one of the greatest warriors of his day. Though he was slightly over fifty years of age, he still looked as fit and dynamic as he had when a younger man. His signature bushy mustache and his neatly trimmed brown hair were streaked with gray, but his piercing green eyes still shone with an energy that belied his years. Tirion was the governor of the prosperous Alliance principality of Hearthglen, a large forested region nestled at the crossroads between the towering Alterac Mountains and the mist-shrouded shores of Darrowmere Lake.
He was respected as a just governor and his name and deeds were honored throughout the kingdom of Lordaeron. His great keep, Mardenholde, was the center of commerce and trade for the bustling region. Yet, of late, Tirion was disgruntled to find a different kind of army scurrying worriedly through the halls of his home. In recent weeks the keep had been overrun with traveling dignitaries and representatives from the various nations of the Alliance, who passed through Hearthglen on their secret diplomatic errands.
He had met with many of them in person, offering his hospitality and assistance wherever he could. Though the dignitaries were appropriately appreciative of his efforts, Tirion could sense a growing tension within all of them. He suspected that they were charged with carrying dire news directly to the Alliance High Council. Yet Tirion Fordring was no fool. After thirty years of serving the Alliance as a Paladin, he recognized that only one thing could cause the otherwise stoic emissaries to be so troubled: War was returning to Lordaeron.
It had been nearly twelve years since the war against the orcish Horde had ended. It was a terrible conflict that had raged across the northlands, leaving many of the Alliance kingdoms razed and blackened in its wake.
Too many brave men fell before the rampaging Horde was finally stopped. Tirion had lost a number of good friends and soldiers over the course of the war. Though the Alliance had rallied at the eleventh hour and pulled victory from the clutches of certain defeat, it had paid a heavy price. Almost an entire generation of young men had selflessly given their lives to insure that mankind would never be slaves to savage orc overlords.
Though, as a precautionary measure, it was necessary to police the reserves with full regiments of knights and footmen, the orcs remained docile and passive. Indeed, as time passed, the orcs seemed to lose their raging bloodlust completely and lapse into a strange communal stupor. Memories of their heinous atrocities had plagued his dreams for years after the war. He, for one, would never believe that their warlike ways had left them completely.
Tirion prayed every night, as he always had, that conflict would never endanger his people again. Perhaps naively, he hoped fervently that his young son would be spared the rigors and horrors of war. As a Paladin, he had seen far too many children orphaned or left for dead over the course of the tragic conflict. He wondered how any child could not become cold and disassociated when faced with terror and violence all around them.
He would certainly never allow that to happen to his own boy, that was certain. Yet, despite his best wishes, he could not ignore the reality of the present situation.
His closest aides and advisors had been telling him of the grim rumors for months now -- that the orcs were once again on the move. Hard as it was to believe, the presence of so many emissaries in his keep confirmed it to be true.
If the orcs were foolish enough to rise up again, he would do whatever it took in order to stop them. Duty had always been the one constant in his life. He had spent the majority of his years defending Lordaeron in one way or another. Though he had not been born a noble, his enthusiasm and honor had won him the rank of knight at the tender age of eighteen. Tirion served his king with undying loyalty and won a great deal of respect from his superiors.
Years later, when the orcs first invaded Lordaeron, intent on crushing civilization, he was one of the first knights to be given the honor of standing with Uther the Lightbringer and being anointed as a holy Paladin.
Uther, Tirion, and a number of devout knights were handpicked by the Archbishop Alonsus Faol to become living vessels of the holy Light.
Their special, sacred charge was twofold: aided by the holy Light, the Paladins would not only lead the fight against the vile forces of darkness, but heal the wounds inflicted upon the innocent citizens of humanity as well. Tirion and his fellows were given the divine power to heal wounds and cure diseases of every kind.
They were imbued with great strength and wisdom that enabled them to rally their brethren and give glory to the Light. Though his own Light-given powers had waned somewhat over the years, Tirion could still feel strength and grace flow through his aging limbs.
Surely he would have strength enough when he needed it the most. For his son and for his people, he would have strength enough, he vowed. Clearing his head of concerns, Tirion stopped to get his bearings. The path snaked its way up and over the densely forested mountain.
There were no outposts this far up, Tirion remembered. He took a moment to drink in the raw beauty of the place. He could hear babbling streams nearby and smell the clean, crisp air. The sky was blue and clear as he watched two falcons circle high above.
He truly loved this land. Running his hand through his thinning, graying hair, he chided himself for becoming so lost in thought. He had come out to hunt, after all. Tirion deftly turned his mount around on the thin path and spurred Mirador to a quicker pace back down the mountain.
He pulled sharply on the reins and steered his faithful mount into the dense woods. After a few minutes he slowed his pace and galloped into a wide clearing that surrounded the ruins of an abandoned guard tower. Like many other ruins that dotted the land, it was a painful reminder of a darker time. Obviously the work of orcish catapults, he thought.
He remembered how the destructive machines had hurled their fiery projectiles from great distances and devastated entire villages during the war. He wondered how the ruined structure could still be standing after having been left to the unforgiving elements for so long.
He dismounted to inspect them. His blood nearly froze in his veins as he realized that the oversized tracks had not been made by any man -- and that they were fresh. Tirion quickly looked around and found more tracks scattered throughout the clearing.
He surmised that orcs had been here within the past few days at least. Could the vile brutes be mobilizing so soon, he wondered? There had to be some other explanation. There was no way that a group of orcs could go undetected in his land for any length of time. Subtlety, of all things, was definitely not a part of their nature. His scouts and guardsmen would have been alerted to any orcish incursion into Hearthglen immediately upon their arrival.
Yet the fresh tracks were there, just the same. Tirion walked Mirador around to the back of the tower and drew his heavy bastard sword from the scabbard attached to his saddle. He wished fervently that he had brought his mighty warhammer instead. Though he was well-practiced with a blade, he would have preferred to wield his traditional hammer, as all Paladins did in the face of danger.
CHRIS METZEN OF BLOOD AND HONOR PDF
Samuro Warcraft: Of Blood and Honour by Chris Metzen If notability cannot be established, the article is likely to be mergedredirectedor deleted. First name Country where you live Book Your rating out of 10 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 Your review. Aug 19, Cole rated it liked it. Nothing more than that, but it was fun and fast read. A well written story about Tirion. Chrid closest aides and advisors had been telling him of the grim rumors for months now — that the orcs were once again on the move.
JoJom As quick and fast paced as the previous novels, Metzen mwtzen a certain inadequacy to the writing that is noticeable. There was a glimpse of hope during a turmoil time of war. The six books I read the first two warcraft trilogies were still good, but not quite as awesome as I remembered. The main character in this story is Tirion Fordring, a paladin in the human and dwarf meeting called Knights of the Silver Hands. However, in an unexpected act of Of Blood ov Honor takes place in the Warcraft universe, where the events of World of Warcraft takes place.
Of Blood and Honor