Silvermoon Guardians

Red... The world was awash with it. The trees, shrugs, rocks, and even the sky, which just a few moments before had been as clear as purest azure. They were all masked now. Clouded by the crimson that flowed freely into his eyes. His hand clutched the shaft of the arrow buried in his side. Another was embedded in his shoulder blade, so deep it rendered his left arm completely immobile. And still, a third bolt hung in his calf. It tore deep into muscle and tendons as he stumbled through the trees.
The air in his chest burned and rasped as each breath grew increasingly labored, increasingly moist. Eyes darting from left to right, scanning, searching for her. He had lost her, some where back there. It all happened so fast... His armored boot snared in a tangle of root and sent him tilting into a near by stump. His shoulder took the brunt of the impact, a shot of white hot pain as result. Blood ran down his face, steadily cascading from a gash running from brow to ear. Mixing with his sweat in flowed freely. He could smell it, taste it, as it pooled on the corners of his mouth. It's warm rusty aroma, it's salty copper-like taste, was all to bitter to him.
His chin raised and he turned in a slow, painful arc. He had to find her, he had to keep her safe. He had to. His seemingly lanky form straightened, as much as could be managed, and he began to move once more.
The sun's rays slanted through the trees, soon to set. And it was by chance he saw the small stream. The one beset with streaks of vibrant, rosy, blood. His eyes shot upstream to where she lay. His feet splashed violently through the waters until he reached her side. Her gentle, rounded face was pale and expressionless, eyelids closed. Dropping to his knees he raised her head with his one good arm and cradled her. Her flowing, mahogany hair was matted with blood and dirt, and her leather armor soaked through with the same. But as the sun's amber light fell on her face he still found her as beautiful as ever. The tears burst forth as he brought his face to hers. Sobbing as he kissed her one last time. He knew she was dead. Dead because he was to weak to protect her. His raw emotions were as such that he could feel her stir next to him. Grasp and hold onto him like she had so often in their lives together.
His rage and despair taunted him once more, allowing him to watch as her eyes blink slowly open. Throwing his head back he clenched his eyes tight, closing out the false images, closing out his deceptive sorrow.
A shadow fell over his face and slowly he opened his eyes. There, silhouetted by the suns fading light, the form stood. Blinking against the tears he's eyes could just barely make out the tracings of the massive war hammer. It was then, and there, having already lost his darling wife, Larethean Silverlaine died...


I was bored at work. I had to do something!

beautifully written, but I worry that Gavdon is killing Lare and myself off for some nefarious purpose...

mildly disturbing.

I'd respond but it seems that I've had my head smashed in by a giant hammer...

*haunts Gavdon*

Oh noes! I've written more. At least I don't kill anyone else off.

The mid-morning’s light filled the main chamber of the cathedral. It came streaming in through the great stained glass windows, falling down from the parapets, laying its self across those gathered. The myriad of colors danced their way along his finely polished armor. The lustrous golden and silver plates, of finest metals, hued from one shade to the next. The light flaring brightly off the cast golden wings, rising like towers from his shoulders. The scales binding the armor together made a soft chinking sound as he made his way down the aisle. He bore no weapon, nor shield.
Lord Grayson Shadowbreaker’s armor, on the other hand, was a subtle, near brooding, contrast. It’s time worn gold now glimmering dully like kempt brass, the silver plates tarnished and pitted from years of service. He stood near the front of the room, flanked to each side by a dozen of the order. He was the only one in the room with a weapon, his two handed hammer fastened ceremoniously to his back.
Today, was a heavy day for the young paladin. Although he had been officially accepted into the order nearly a week prior, today was the day he would receive his title, and first charge. Ceremonies like this were always held. It was a grand thing, after all, becoming a Lawbringer. The officials would gather, Lords and Ladies of the surrounding townships, come out like the first flowers of spring, dressed in one gaudy outfit or another. Displayed as such equally for their own vanities as in respect of the honored.
Before the altar stood two men. The shorter of the two, the Bishop DeLavey wore a broad smile, despite the weight of the matter. His toothy grin flashed of ivory adding to the glow of his robes. A long set of layered fabrics flowing from a high necked collar all the way down to his heels. The sleeves were cut long, falling over the backs of his hands, which were raised to his chest, palms pressed together as in prayer. His hair, black as night, was unusually pulled back to raise it off his shoulders.
Today was a proud day for him, more so than for any gathered, save one. The young boy he had taken as his ward. Fathered since late boyhood, was being sworn to the church. Becoming not just a Paladin of the Holy Light, not just another in the ranks of the Lawbringers. But the first Paladin of Theramore. The one to act as Marshal under the Lady Proudemore . Carrying the strength of the Light from the Eastern Kingdoms to the heart of Kalimdor.
The man to his left spoke. His voice a soothing command.
“Come forth and kneel, Knight.”
The young Paladin continued his way up to the altar. Stopping just short and dropping to one knee in front of the Archbishop Benedictus. His armor made a dull clank as it hit the polished, white stone floor. His flowing cape draping onto the back of his leg. Small amounts of sweat began to bead on his brow, slowly starting to roll down from his tightly groomed hair, coming to rest in his well trimmed goatee. Being a descendant from the charcoaled haired highlanders, his mixed shadings of brown and auburn set him apart from the rest of the Paladins gathered, who’s more southlander traits bore them mostly blonde tones. Save Lord Shadowbreaker, who was also a highlander of pure heritage.
The Archbishop stood before him holding open large tome. His voice was as a great wind, compelling and comforting as he spoke.
“Do you vow to uphold the honor and codes of the order? Do you vow to walk in the grace of the Light and spread it’s wisdom to your fellow man?”
“I do.” Came the reply, the young man’s gaze shifted to DeLavey. His step-father was standing more proudly than he had ever seen him.
“So you vow to vanquish evil wherever it be found, and protect the weak and innocent with your very life?” the Archbishop asked ritualistically.
“By the Light, I do.”
“Recite then the ethos of the order.”
“I am the enforcer of the Law,
I serve the most Holy Light,
I will protect it,
I will defend it,
I will save it,
I am it’s shield,
For the Light, I am always willing,
I am a Paladin,
I am a Lawbringer.” The words came easily. He has rehearsed them many times aloud. But never had they seemed so powerful.
“As testament to the Light’s faith in you…” Benedictus continued. “…you are hereby charged with carrying the standard of the church under direct command of Lady Jaina Proudemore.”
And at that the Bishop DeLavey withdrew from one sleeve a gold chain, from which hung a pendant in the likeness of the lion’s head of Stormwind, crossed by an anchor of Theramore, and an axe of Arathor. He bent down and placed it around the Paladin’s neck.
“Take this as a symbol. So that it may always remind you of where you came from, where you are going, and how you got there.” He whispered.
The Archbishop began speaking once more and DeLavey straightened and step back.
“Arise now, and be named.”
Rising from his knee, he turned to face the onlookers. Benedictus’ voice raised to a boom.
“Hence forth you shall be known, Gavdon Thel-DeLavey, as a Paladin of the Light, Marshal of Theramore. You are now Gavdon Dawnhammer, Lawbringer!”
And with the last word Lord Grayson Shadowbreaker let out a mighty “Huzzah!” and was joined by the rest of the Lawbringers gathered. The room lit up with cheers and applause, if only half-heartedly from the nobles. Gavdon Dawnhammer he though to himself. The name echoed in his mind as he reached down to grasp the pendant hanging from his neck. He held it up eye level. Admiring the gift from his step-father.
Dawnhammer…

The rest of the morning, although busy, was mostly uneventful. The ceremony was ended and each of the Lawbringers present gave their welcomes and congratulations in turn. Through handshakes and the occasional embrace, accompanied by laughter and bits of advice voiced jokingly. Most of the nobles had drifted off into their cliques to discuss different and new ways to gain further wealth, or otherwise raise their standings amongst the others. Lord Grayson was the last to approach.
“You’ve more than earned this, Lawbringer.” The grin on his face helped to emphasize the fact that he was no longer the teacher but instead the peer. “You’ve over come much. And made more than a few people proud.”
“Thank you Lord Shadowbreaker.” Gavdon replied, hesitant to accept himself as the man’s equal.
“It’s just Grayson. Remember you are a Lawbringer now. Walk in the Light and you are without equal in the land. Even these so called ‘nobles’…” He motioned to the others loitering around. “…have no authority over you.” He counseled.
“I’ve been taught as much, but the idea may take some getting used to.”
There was a pause then Grayson placed one gloved handed on Gavdon’s shoulder.
“I’ve got something for you to take with you. But it would be best kept out of sight for today. Come.”
He guided the Paladin out of the main chamber into a side room and down a small flight of steps. There were no more stained glass windows here, just portholes to let in a small amount of air. The light was provided mostly by a scattering of torches and the occasionally brazier. Gavdon knew the path to the catacombs that lay under the cathedral, so there were no problems navigating the steps in the soft glow. A melodious chanting could be heard ahead. Coming form the monks who wandered the catacombs in a state of trance-like prayer, ever mournful of the ones laid to rest within.
Gavdon wanted to ask what it is that he could possibly take with him from down here, but thought better of it. Grayson had been his teacher long enough that he knew a little bit of patience would yield abundant fruit. At last they stopped by one of the empty coffers. Strange, it seemed, that while this one had no lit candles, prayer plaques, or other inscriptions, it did have a bulky lock latched tightly in place. And even more strange was the lock it’s self. There seemed to be no place for a key, just what appeared to be a dial and three switches.
Seeing the look on the young Paladin’s face, Grayson spoke up.
“It’s gnomish. Supposedly unpick able. And certainly more dependable than any mage ward.” He scoffed at the thought of accursed.
He fidgeted briefly with the lock and it popped open after a series of internal clicks and whirs. Lifting the lid slowly, as in reverence, Grayson stepped back and motioned Gavdon to approach it.
Stepping forward he reached in and grasped the handle of a large war hammer. The trademark weapon of the Paladins. Drawing it out of the coffer it felt amazingly light despite it’s size, yet solid as granite. The handle and rod were short, indicating it was intended to be wielded in one hand. But the head of the weapon spoke a different story. Cast of mithril and runed with iron, it was easily the size of a small child. On the side of the head was a likeness of a half risen sun accented by two jointed lightning bolts, cast out of polished iron. The only other decoration upon the weapon was the leather wrapping the handle, dyed a deep cobalt color.
“What you hold in your hand is Ironfoe.” Grayson said. “Crafted by the, now corrupted, dwarves of Uldum. It was brought to Stormwind three years ago, on the very day you came into the care of the Bishop.”
“Why keep such a talisman locked away down here for three years?” Gavdon asked.
“When the hammer came to Stormwind, it was entrusted to me. And while at first I thought to claim the weapon as my own, I had a vision. The same vision every night, in my dreams, until I locked it down here.”
“I do not understand Lord Shadowbre…Grayson. If the weapon is cursed then why give it to me?” Gavdon questioned as he held the weapon further from his body.
“I do not believe the dreams a curse, Gavdon, no. The vision I had was of this mace rising over the lands in the east. Like a new dawn. Glowing brilliant with light, casting it’s rays as bolts of lighting toward the west, as it traveled across the great sea. And much like the sun adorning it, I felt it was a beacon of hope for a new day. A brighter day. Finally the vision ends with the mace setting, just as it had risen. Sinking down into the heart of Kalimdor.” Grayson let his voice trial off.
There was a moment of silence between the two Paladins before Gavdon finally asked if Grayson had anything to do with the naming ceremony.
“No Gavdon, nor have I told anyone of this vision I had witnessed. And it was only two days ago that I had been told that you were to be the ‘Dawnhammer’. But when I heard, the memory of the vision flooded back in. This weapon was meant to be yours, Gavdon. As you are, so it shall be the Dawnhammer.”
Gavdon didn’t know what to say. He looked down at the massive war hammer. His mind tried to understand what it could mean, but there was just too many possibilities.
Why me? He thought. Dawnhammer…



More to come...maybe.