Tapestry: Threads of Fate
- --by Gospel Lightfaith
Author's Note
It should be noted that this prequel backstory is written in conjunction with the player of Corran the Lightsworn. It is as much his story as Gospel's and weaves an interesting tale of how Fate often acts long before anyone is aware.
Enjoy!
Chapter One: Arrival
The autumn afternoon was crisp as the coach passed through the rolling hills of Lordaeron. The young woman's pale green eyes looked out the window, the beauty of the day seemingly wasted as her gaze seemed far distant, a crease of thought between her brows.
"We should be there soon Miss 'Lina," her chaperone said as he sat across from her, "I pray you find Stratholme to your liking, though I wish you'd reconsider." The man looked at the young woman, a carefully cared for favorite of Northshire Abbey. She sat in a beam of sunlight that streamed in the window of the carriage, the pale blue of her dress only accentuating the luminous silver hair. Though the autumn light was warm, it only seemed to make her seem all the more fragile. She was a beauty to be sure, who had no place on the battlefield.
The brothers of Northshire Abbey had taken great care to see that she suffered no hardship since coming into their care. After the loss of her dear friend, Galen, 'Lina had been near-inconsolable. She'd been little more than a ghost, flitting through the abbey, scaring some of the parishoners half to death in the process. It took them a better part of a year to convince her to start living her life again, but even then she was a pale reflection of the bright, vibrant girl she'd been in her youth. They never imagined that a few years later she would be parting from them, to become a paladin of all things, "The Knighthood of the Silver Hand is no place for a lady of your breeding..."
Like a cloud's shadow passing through the light of the sun, her expression changed from distant thoughtfulness to quiet rebuke. Her gaze snapped to him, her lips compressing in a thin line of her displeasure, "I gave up that life long ago, Ontrand. I cannot sit idly by while the Plague ravages our land and our grain supplies dwindle." She reached out a delicate hand, placing it on the sill of the carriage window, "I cannot."
'Lina closed her eyes, still remembering those bygone days in the abbey. She could recall the steady stream of people; old and young, rich and poor, all became equal in the eyes of Mercy. She stood by, a silent silver ghost, listening to the softly murmured prayers of those who came and went. "Please, Light, let peace come to our ravaged world, let us see the rays of hope..." they all seemed to say.
One parishoner that 'Lina recalled with clarity was an older woman who came to the abbey each day, lighting a candle a candle with each visit to sit with it for hours. She would talk to it, as if she were speaking to someone else. 'Lina watched and listened to the curious woman for several days, finally managing to hear a snippet of conversation, "Oh, the harvest was so small this year, Sheena, Papa has not been himself since you died..." 'Lina had felt her face flush with embarassment, feeling as if she'd intruded on a very personal moment, but just as she stepped away, the woman looked up at her blinking her eyes in the dim light, "Sheena...?" There was such hope in the woman's voice, it brought tears to the young girl's eyes, "No, my lady..." 'Lina had said quietly.
The woman had risen from her place, crossing the distance between them. She reached out, turning 'Lina's face toward the light, "Oh...no, you are not my Sheena; you've such an innocent face, my Sheena had eyes that had seen too much in her young life," the woman smiled at her anyway, "But come, child, you seem like you need company just as much as I." From that moment on, whenever the woman had come to the abbey, she spent the day in 'Lina's company. They spoke of matters great and small; 'Lina learning much of the woman's life. She shared her own hardships and triumphs with this odd little peasant woman; the sort of person 'Lina would never have associated with in her old life. Such people had been beneath her back then, but talking to this woman, she came to realize that they were people with the same desires, loves, and feelings as she did.
"You remind me so much of my Sheena," the woman had said to her one day, "You seem so young and innocent now, but you have that same light within you. That same aura that you are meant for more than ghosting around this humble little abbey." The woman had looked at her intently, reaching out a hand to run her fingers through 'Lina's silver hair, "Never lose your gentle heart, Little One," she said, "That was my Sheena's mistake, she forgot what the suffering of the people is like, she began to fight for glory, for honor, for power..." She shook her head sadly, "She forgot things like Mercy, and Faith... and Love." The woman looked past her to one of the stained-glass windows, "Remember, my child, remember always that the Light is a symbol of Hope, to brighten our paths through the deepening night." Those words had rung true through 'Lina's heart and remained with her all these years. Not long after that, the woman ceased to return to the abbey, 'Lina had thought of her often, and asked of her, but no one seemed to know who she was. In fact, no one at the abbey had recalled seeing the woman at all.
In the years afterward, 'Lina became a steadfast emblem of faith in the abbey. She moved among those who came to pray, kneeling with them as they went before the Light with their supplications. She held those who wept in arms that were warm and comforting, her heart aching for their loss and their sorrow. She spoke of faith to those who came with anger in their hearts, thirsting for vengeance, soothing their tortured spirits, sending them back into the world with brighter outlooks. Many of them would remember her years later, a silver-haired angel who tended them in their hour of need, who turned them from the shadows of darkness and set them to the paths of Light.
As she tended the many who came to the abbey, 'Lina came to realize the state of the world. So much pain, so much sorrow. It was almost enough to break her innocent heart. It was then she knew, she had to do something, she could no longer sit on the sidelines and watch as Darkness consumed the world.
"As you wish, my lady," the man replied quietly, but inwardly he cursed himself. He'd spent the entire journey here from Northshire Abbey trying to dissuade her, but she would have none of it. It was her 'Calling', she would tell them, she was meant to do this. Ontrand wept for her in the dark of night, when the fair creature slept, dreaming her innocent dreams of saving the world. He was no stranger to war, he knew exactly what would happen. She would die; a flower such as her would never survive the rigors of war. Secretly, it was his hope that perhaps, in a few weeks, she might return to the Abbey, ready to take on the mantle of a Priestess. Light knew that calling was far better suited to her than the life of a paladin. He could only hope that the rigors of training would deter her from this path, show her that a lady of her stature was never meant to wield arms and armor. He could only hope.
Oblivious to the ruminations of her travelling companion, 'Lina continued to look out the window as the magnificent city of Stratholme came into view. As the current stronghold of the Knights of the Silver Hand, it was resplendent with their pennants and banners; each one representing the many families who gave their sons and support to the cause of the paladins and Uther the Lightbringer. Guards on the ramparts hailed them as the gates swung open to admit them. The coach clattered through the streets of Stratholme, finally reaching the inner Bastion, where they passed through another gate. Once they rolled into that yard, however, stablehands came rushing forward to take the reins of the horses, slowing them and unharnessing them with a professional ease.
As the coach came to a stop, Ontrand rose first, exiting the carriage and turning to assist her out. She extended one of those elegant hands to him, her grip firm but sure as she stepped down; it seemed as if every eye in the courtyard went to her as she stepped into the full light of the sun. Ontrand couldn't help but give her a proud smile. Beautiful as she was, so well-tended and protected, she was here in the midst of chaos, bright and courageous to lend her aid where she could. Light, please protect her, the brother thought sincerely.
'Lina's gaze swept the courtyard, only too aware of how out of place she must seem. She inclined her chin proudly, however, determined to show them all that she was more than the innocent waif she appeared. Across the yard, out of the keep, three men in armor came striding toward her, so 'Lina drew a slow breath, keeping herself straight like a silver arrow in the midst of the yard. It was now or never; was she truly committed to this decision? She could still leap into the carriage and forget she'd ever thought to come here. Internally, she shook her head, resolute. Gospelina Katja-Syranelle uth Kestrodullin, the pampered debutante of a noble caste would be no more beginning today. Yet, who would she become? Even she could not answer that now, only time would tell. If she was worthy.
Lordaeron, The City of Stratholme
The dying light of the sun set in the west, painting the horizon in colors of gold and crimson. The faded amber light bathed the city of Stratholme, accentuating the two silhouettes that walked the battlements side-by-side. Those on guard duty stood aside respectfully for the two men as they walked, some of them shooting envious glances to the younger of the two. Ever since taking the mantle of leadership, Uther the Lightbringer had made it a personal endeavour to get to know each of the men in his command; it was something that endeared him to his soldiers, made them fight for him with all their hearts. Uther told himself it was to upkeep morale, but in truth, he learned as much about himself in these brief times with his men as he learned about them. Today, he walked with a thoughtful young man, whose courage in the field was touted among his peers. Yet, as Uther walked with him, he saw there was a hardness to his soul, like one who had built strong walls around his heart.
"I've been told of your courage in the recent excursion against those blasted orcs, Corran," Uther said casually as they walked, his armor clanking softly with each step. Yet, it was oddly a sound that brought the men comfort, knowing that he walked among them as an equal, "You are a credit to our Order."
Corran's steps faltered a moment, the tawny-haired young man looking up at his superior with piercing emerald eyes. His gaze held the utmost reverence for Uther, betraying the awe he felt at having been called into the paladin's august presence. It had been both a pleasure and a shock when Uther's retainer had come to him, presenting him with the invitation to join Uther on the battlements after dinner. Corran knew that Uther spent time amongst the men, he never thought that his day would come quite so quickly. However, while humbled by Uther's praise, Corran inclined his chin proudly, "It is nothing you yourself would not have done, my lord."
Beneath his flowing moustaches, Uther smiled before he reached up to stroke them thoughtfully, "Perhaps," he commented, "But you have shown yourself to be an honorable man, even in the heat of battle." The head of the Knights of the Silver hand turned toward the inner courtyard, placing his gauntleted hands upon the waist high rampart. Corran stood to Uther's left in respectful silence, letting him gather his thoughts. He followed his superior's gaze down to the yard below, but unlike Uther, Corran frowned slightly at the scene beneath him.
He watched as the lithe young woman exited the carriage, standing in the center of the yard. Corran listened as the yard came to a standstill; the trainees stopped at their bladework, the smiths stopped at their anvils, patrolmen paused on the battlements. The Knight-Captain frowned in disapproval. What was -she- doing here? This was no place for a highborn lady! He grimaced to himself, his jaw setting into a firm line as he made a mental note to find out which knight she was here visiting and severely reprimand that man. A battle-ready city was no place to bring a sweetheart, the distraction alone...! Just look at the mess she'd already made of the courtyard!
"...prophecy," Uther was saying as Corran's attention suddenly snapped back with a stomach-turning lurch. Blast! He inwardly flogged himself for his attention being elsewhere. He glanced down to that silver-haired form below, silently cursing. Distraction! Giving himself a mental shake, however, Corran turned his attention back to his superior, "My lord?"
Uther looked to him thoughtfully, a faint smile coming to his war-weary features. He shook his head, stroking his moustaches yet again, "Nothing, my boy, just the musings of an old man..." Inwardly, Corran seethed at having missed whatever Uther had been mulling over, almost in accusation he glared back at the young woman below. Damnable women! He supressed a sigh of irritation, crossing his arms over his chest as he stood resolutely at Uther's side.
Uther's voice was soft, contemplative when next he spoke, "I'm sure she'll be a fine addition to the ranks. They say she has a healer's touch..." He stirred next to Corran, leaning a bit farther forward, watching the girl below wih a look in his eye that Corran knew well. Uther had an uncanny knack for getting the length and breadth of a person's character, knowing instantly those who would benefit the Order and those who were better off in other professions. He was seriously appraising this girl for the Order...
If Uther had raised his mighty warhammer, Spesar, and clouted Corran on the back of the head, the reaction would have been much the same, "H-Her, my lord?" he blurted without thinking, his green eyes wide with surprise. Corran once more looked at the girl below; she was young, maybe barely twenty. Average height, slight build, silver hair that would make her stand out in any battlefield. It seemed completely ludicrous, she belonged in some mansion in the city, being waited on hand and foot. Not here among armored men, the smell of sweat, horses, and steel. Corran looked helplessly to Uther, confused.
The older paladin straightened, once more resting his gauntleted hands on the ramparts. The look he gave Corran was one of light amusement, "Indeed, Knight-Captain, we'll need ones like her in the coming days ahead." Uther shifted his gaze out to the distant horizon, now painted with the early colors of twilight. A heavy sigh escaped him, "Perhaps we'll need ones like her too much..."
Disquieted by Uther's sudden change in demeanor, Corran shifted in his armor. Vainly, he tried to reassure Uther, "We are doing everything we can, my lord, even now Arthas is tracking down that blasted Demon..." Yet, even that thought did not seem to bring much comfort to the elder paladin.
"There is more going on in the world, Corran... I feel it," the old campaigner said hesitantly as he shook his head, "Our Order will need every faithful heart in the dark time to come," his gaze once more went down to the courtyard where the silver-haired girl stood in the center, awaiting his retainers who were just exiting the Bastion. He placed a hand on Corran's shoulder, watching out of the corner of his eye as the young man followed his gaze to the girl, "Hearts like hers that will remember what peace and devotion are truly like."
Corran looked to the silver-haired young woman, wondering what it was about her that seemed to inspire even Uther himself. There had to be something. He wouldn't rest till he found out what. His mind made up, Corran looked to Uther as he resumed their walk, the older paladin discussing the various fortifications of the city. Even as they walked, however, Corran felt his gaze invariably drawn to that blue-clad, silver-haired dryad in the courtyard below, until she entered the Bastion with Uther's retainers. Yes, there was something special about her... He would take it upon himself to find out what.