"The only verdict is vengeance"
|"The Axe of Alterac"|
|Guild||Alea Iacta Est|
|Affiliations||Knight of the Ebon Blade|
A History of Violence
I'd known battle before the coming of the orcs, but I hadn't yet known war. Though far from the southlands and far from harm, a few warriors of Alterac heard that battle cry, heard the battle horns of Stromgarde calling all strong men to war. We rode swift to Stormwind before the mighty city's fall, fighting back the orc advances at Grand Hamlet and Sunnyglade. What monsters they seemed then, so full of rage and strength and bloodlust; how was I to know their crimes would pale to my own? Their warchief was a ruthless enemy, but we preferred him to Doomhammer, his strength was magnified by a malicious cunning. We lost many a battle, bravely though we fought, yet it wasn't until the destruction of Goldshire that the war really turned, when our Alliance faltered. Within weeks we'd seen the Horde in all its might, seen King Llane brought low by assasin's dagger, watched Stormwind razed to the ground.
It was with a heavy heart I returned the north, defeated. Lord Perenolde's betrayal of the Alliance had made it impossible to return to Alterac, I would have done that coward worse, but no less than he deserved. I found the city of Lordaeron suitable to my tastes but quickly found my life consumed: preparations for the coming war began in earnest then, that terrible strife years in the making. My only joy in those gray days were twin children, Annabelle and Aiden, orphaned by the war. Though the days filled with drills and preparation, we nearly had a working family.
War came again after too short a time, longer and more bloody than the first. I left the two children, not now so young, with my promised return and a future in the highlands of my homeland, peaceful and pastoral. I fought as a captain in those days, leading men to their deaths at Hillsbrad, Southshore and Tol Barad. We took little ground from the Horde, but the might of my reaper came down upon the spine of many a grunt, their own axes split by the arcanite's fury. When at last the Horde was driven from Lordaeron, I was among the first to follow General Lothar in his mighty counter attack. The force of the Alliance bore hard on Blackrock Spire that day, and many a good man, orc, elf and dwarf fell in the bloodshed. I never knew the General myself, but his death at the Spire nearly moved me to tears, so great a man we'd lost.
Broken, the Horde fled Turalyon's fury. We rode the length of Azeroth in victory, hewing axes and skulls alike, ogres and orcs by the score falling to the axe and sword. Further and further we pushed, past the still-warm embers of Stormwind to the Dark Portal itself, beating the beasts back to Draenor. With that door finally undone, I'd fulfilled my duty, and my heart warmed at the thought of what and who awaited me in Lordaeron.