Where Was I When…

Da Doctas School of Medicine is a large campus located in the heart of Sen’Jin Village. Clearly not my favorite place to be, being so close to so many Trolls. Bloody refugees can’t even fend for themselves, so they leach on to the gregariousness of the warchief, Thrall. However, the campus itself is large and, as most schools, has row upon row of old dusty tomes that chronicle not only the history of the school itself, but the world of Azeroth at large.

Sitting within the Commons Room, many of the students and faculty were discussing where we were when certain important events happened. Evidently, this discussion was spurred by a Gnome and, through the messengers of AAMS (the All Azeroth Messenger Service), made its way to the denizens of the Horde. Many of the students and faculty remember them all very well, particularly the elves, since their lifespan is quite long. Myself, I remember a few key events, but being only around 32 years of age (I’m uncertain of my exact age, since being under the influence of the Lich King is a lost bit of history for me), I wasn’t even a twinkle in my parents’ eyes.

The Battle of Mount Hyjal

This occurred so long ago that only the Blood Elves distinctly recall anything about it, and even then, those on campus had virtually nothing to do with it.

The Opening of the Dark Portal

Keep in mind that I was a sailor during my living  years. News was slow to reach us on the open seas, so I’m fairly certain I was somewhere off the coast of northern Lordaeron, or perhaps northeastern Kalimdor. I do, however, recall meeting the first Orc I had ever seen. Such fury and blood rage! A more worthy opponent I have yet to meet.

The Naxxramas Event

This is something that undoubtedly happened when I was a mindless member of the Scourge as I have no memory of it whatsoever. Hearing about a floating citadel after my “awakening” was cause for more than a little concern, particularly considering I may very well have been a part of it since I was so close to the area.

The Sundering

Again, this was so long ago that only the Blood Elves have any kind of remembrance of the event. Humans don’t live that long and we Forsaken haven’t been around that long either.

The Crashing of the Exodar

I had recently been freed of my ties to Arthas and was only a week or so into my training with Shadow Priest Sarvis when word reached Deathknell of a new race from the Great Dark Beyond. It naturally caused much concern due to their proximity to the Kaldorei of Darnassus. While hindsight allows us to see they would not have fit well with the mentality of the Horde, many among its members had hoped to lure them into our fold. Once learning of their history with the Orcs after Gul’Dan’s treachery upon Draenor, the members of the Horde gave up hopes.

I find this type of history lesson intersting and am curious as to where other races were during such times. I will have to research these things in my travels and, time permitting, question various associates to see if they recall where they were.

A Young Study

I had made several trips back to the meeting of the Black Hand Society. None were quite as exciting as the first, since members of the group were called away to do various sundry duties in the name of the Horde. Da Doctas school and its faculty had heard rumors of my affiliation but were never able to confirm my attendance. If asked, I merely claimed it as pure happenstance. They knew I did some work for the Assassin’s League. How could it be helped if I was there at the same time as the Society?

Over time and under guise of niceties, I had done some work for Da Doctas. Weekly clinics held in the Crossroads to provide healing needs for the various members of the Horde were headed by the school’s trained healers. Due to a number of Alliance fools attempting to attack the city and its denizens, guards were called upon to provide security. Knowing I couldn’t heal worth a fel, I joined the ranks and was promoted to Protecta. While the title gave me more responsibilities on campus, it also provided greater freedom of movement without needing to discuss my location with the faculty. Free of the “student” label, my whereabouts were rarely an issue and I was free to come and go as I chose.

The school was in the process of initiating new students into the campus when a young elven girl approached. She was dirty and her clothes were of poor design, something quite atypical of a Sin’Dorei. She approached the Dean of Admissions, Docta Vanim and meekly asked to be admitted. From her looks, it would appear she was no more than 12 years of age in human years. How that translates into elven age is beyond me. She told Vanim that she had spent most of her life in the orphanage in Shatrath city before she broke free and portaled to Orgrimmar.

Her name was Laetitya.

From the start, she was a tempestuous elf, getting into trouble at every opportunity and full of youthful questions. For some reason, most of her questions were directed at me.

Even in life, I had little use for children. In my mind, they were selfish little brats suckling at the teat of humanity. Until they had been properly disciplined and taught how to fend for themselves, they were something to be avoided at any and all costs.

Laetitya, however, would have none of my avoidance. She asked how I came to be Undead. She asked of my past. She asked if I was a bad person.

I cannot explain why, but I took her questions and answered as best I could. She would test my patience at times, as children are wont to do with any adult, alive or undead. Yet I found it nearly impossible to be truly angry with her. For unknown reasons, she looked up to me. I could see in her eyes many of the qualities that would one day make for a fine rogue like myself. And though her adviser at the school was the Head Protecta, Nephytus, she would frequently consult me in the ways of the blade.

In time, she became adept at the art of poisons. I taught the young one all the tricks that I could, everything from applying them to one’s blades to applying them to one’s foes. She was taught first aid by the Doctas of the school in the event that she inadvertantly poisoned herself, which happened more times than I care to recall. I believe she is now immune to such things due to the nature of a person’s body rejecting foreign substances or becoming used to them, much the same way a body will reject a bacteria once an immunity has been built to it.

She had grown before my eyes. Though the tempestuousness was still there, so too was a willingness to fight in the name of the Horde. Atypical of most Sin’Dorei, she had no desire to learn of her lineage. She cared not for any trust fund left for her by forgotten and unknown relatives. Her sole desire was to protect the lands that rightfully belonged to the Horde, but were frequently contested by those Alliance fools.

In short order, she was designated a Scout of the Horde by Thrall himself. And thus, the student became the teacher.

Trite Introductions

I had completed the first of the Dark Lady’s missions and more than a dozen others in a relatively short period of time. A few were openly known throughout the Horde. Others were kept secret due to the high profile of the victim the Dark Lady wished dead. I was fine with those. I did not seek fame, only money and power, so keeping my accomplishments quiet suited me well.

I had also been contacted by the Assassin’s League by a Goblin messenger. It seems they had gotten wind of my misdeeds and requested my services. Having heard of their lot through various sources throughout the Horde’s major cities, I traveled at once to Tarren Mill and made my way to the secluded castle known as Ravenholdt Manor.

Lord Ravenholdt was an imposing figure despite his apparent age. His large abode was furnished with large tapestries, expensive wares and more than a few priceless baubles. The structure itself appeared to have been crafted by the hands of the finest Dwarven craftsmen. And if rumors were to be believed, paid for in blood and outright thievery.

I had done the odd job for them, earning their respect and gaining a reputation amongst the other unsavory cutthroats and sell-swords that frequented the manor. As such, my trips there became more and more frequent as the services of my blades earned a higher price with each death they wrought.

After a few weeks of studies at Da Doctas School of Medicine, I returned once again to Ravenholdt Manor to see about earning a few more gold pieces or to hear the latest scuttlebutt regarding affairs between the Horde and the Alliance. The tenuous peace agreement between the two factions was largely held together by bloodshed. Ironic, no?

I rode my large, armored undead steed towards the entrance of the manor and saw an unfamiliar group gathered. Numbering ten strong, this group emanated power, the likes of which I had not seen in quite some time. As I neared them, they turned towards me, hands upon the hilts of their weapons. Some of them had demons under their control, waiting for me to make a wrong move or say the wrong word.

“Greetings,” I said to the female Orc that appeared to be leading the proceedings. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

She looked me up and down and noticed my tabard. “You’re with Da Doctas.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Aye,” I replied. “Is that a problem?” My hands inched towards my blades. Da Doctas had a history with certain internal factions of the Horde. Seems a few people weren’t fond of their healing practices.

The Orc responded, “Not off hand, no. But know this: Should any of your group find that you are here, they’ll likely be none too pleased.”

“I go where I wish. I am but a student at the school and my studies are now complete. They do not contol where I go or with whom I consort.” My hands now openly rested on the hilts of my dagger and sword.

The Orc made a motion with her hands and the rest of the group relaxed, including the demons. “Who are you?”

“I am Arrens Caltrains, formerly Master Chief under command of Captain John Barrows, now assassin-for-hire. Who are you?” I asked.

“I am Illasera Gorelust, Claviger of the Modas il Toralar and you have walked in on a meeting of the Black Hand Society. Welcome and join us.”

The Modas il Toralar? I had heard of this association before, though never the Black Hand Society. The Toralites, as they were known on campus, were considered enemies of many of the Professas and Doctas within the school. Apparently the two groups had a history, one that led to open warfare and bloodshed on more than a few occasions. I didn’t know much about them, only whispered rumors amongst the students and quiet discussions within the faculty that were hushed when students approached. I decided to stick around and see what type of power they could wield. Just because I wasn’t on the school campus didn’t mean I couldn’t learn a few things from this lot.

Much of the conversation was jovial, though there were hints of anger and resentment that poisoned words shared between comrades. Drinks flowed in the name of one Aziel V’Ghera. I would have to remember that name and learn more about him. I assumed from the discussions that he was dead, but his name was spoken with reverence. And every time it was mentioned, the group would look towards me and my tabard and sneer. Interesting, I thought to myself.

As the wine flowed and inhibitions lowered, Illasera spoke up. “Members of the Black Hand Society! I propose we make haste to the Human village of Southshore. Let’s show them the power of the Horde!”

Cheers broke from some of the inebriated members of the group. Fortunately, I had not partaken in the celebration. Since I was still unsure of the group, I wanted to make sure they wouldn’t poison the drink and ensure a steady hand on my blades if they were required.

We mounted our steeds at once and headed to the village of Southshore. As we approached, guards began to attack and the citizens fled in terror. The guards were summarily dealt with and the straggling citizens were left as reminders of the strength of the Horde. We sat upon the docks overlooking the carnage we had wrought when a Gnome appeared. Either she had not noticed the bloodshed we had caused or bravery and stupidity reared its ugly head because she walked right up to me, head down. Then she attacked. She was a warlock, her demon at her side. Her magic was easily avoidable by someone that trained as hard as I did, though her demon tried hard to protect his mistress. Either way, her demise was quick. She lay upon the docks, her blood spilling into the waters below. I feasted. The familiar feeling of learning who she was and where she was from began to fill my senses and I openly relished the taste of her flesh upon my palate. Most of the group was disgusted by the act as I was the only Forsaken amongst them. Most of the group, save one.

Illasera approached me and said, “I may have mistaken your abilities, rogue. Though your affiliation with Da Doctas gives me pause, you have proven yourself in my eyes. As such, you have proven yourself in the eyes of the Modas il Toralar and the Black Hand Society. You are welcome to join us any time. Though, again, I caution you: There are many within your school that would have your head if they found out you associated with us. Take caution. Now, we must be off. Farewell, Mr. Caltrains. May the shadows protect you.”