Azeroth Trail of Light

Flame always brings warmth to people.

In this sinister ghost place, it is the happiest thing to have a small house sheltered from wind and rain, a fireplace with burning fire, and a cup of hot tea.

Now that I have these three things, I think I should be happy.

Although this thing does not belong to me.

"Ahem... I rarely see strangers now, in this horrible place."

The old man sitting across from me smiled and filled my cup with tea. This action made me a little heartwarming, especially after a long time of being alone, this kind of interpersonal care is irresistible.

And this old man is also a talkative person. It can be seen that he may have been a real big man. This can be seen from his bearing. An ordinary old man would not allow a stalker with a weapon to walk into him. In the hut.

Because of the old man's friendly attitude, I decided to finish listening to his story.

Any old man has endless stories, you and I know this.

So I took the call,

"Yes, Eastern Plaguelands is not a good retreat, old gentleman, why don't you go to Arathi Highlands or Hillsbrad Hills? There are human settlements there, and people like you should live. There, this place is too dangerous for you."

"Danger? No, it's not dangerous here!"

The old man smiled and glanced at me, and pointed to the weapon he had placed in the corner. I followed his finger and looked at it. Hey, good fellow, there is a shovel and a mattock. Warhammer.

It’s not the kind of tattered guy made of stone. It’s a real steel warhammer. Judging from the pattern, it should be a standard warhammer produced by the army when the Kingdom of Lordaeron was still in existence, with the Kingdom of Lordaeron engraved on it. In general, being able to wield such a heavy weapon at least means that the old man in front of him can kill 3 ghouls head-on.

This fighting power...no wonder he can survive here, as long as he doesn't risk rushing into the undead pile, he can live here until he grows old.

I chatted with this old man very happily, until half an hour later, I felt it was almost time and it was time to go.

After all, I have a task to deliver that **** letter to the Holy Light’s Hope Chapel, the last fortress that is still standing on the most dangerous front in this dark period, and hand it over to a guy named Nicholas.

I don't want to drive at night. At that time, the undead of the entire Plaguelands would treat me as a piece of walking meat, and rushed to bite me fiercely.

But just as I was about to leave, the old man suddenly asked,

"You are going to the Holy Light's Hope Chapel, right?"

"Well, yes... Is there anything I can help?"

I asked subconsciously, and then I expected him to not need my help.

But the old man thought for a while and still spoke.

"If you are going to the Light’s Wish Chapel, I hope you can do me a favor. At Zul Masha, which is northeast of the Light’s Wishes Chapel, I used to fight those moss trolls there. A battle, that was my last battle as a soldier. I remember that a battle flag was lost there. Can you bring it back for me? Just as an old man’s nostalgia for the past."

Seeing this old man pretending not to care, he actually had a pleading expression. What I had planned to refuse was finally unable to say it, but the stalker’s instinct to explore secrets still made me ask.

"It can be, but can I know the reason?"

Without waiting for him to speak, I stretched out a finger and shook in front of my eyes, "Don’t lie to me saying that it’s the old man’s memory of memories. If you are 10 years younger, I may not be able to beat you. The devil is not good anymore, so tell me the real reason, and then I will help you get back that banner."

The old man hesitated for a moment. I could see the struggle and pain on his face. I even wanted to take back what I said before, but before I could speak, the old man made a "please sit down" gesture.

"Well, if you have time, come and listen to an old man's past story."

I sat in a chair and told me instinctively that this would be a wonderful story. For the night elves, there is nothing better than collecting stories. I will record these stories and take them back to the Darkshore. Go and share with my people. In the long time, these stories will eventually become part of our history, and will be passed on forever along with the evergreen world tree.

"My name is Tirion, Tirion Fording, and I used to be a Paladin."

The old man was plunged into memories. I have seen the look of memories on the faces of many old people, but even so, I was still shocked by the beginning of the story.

It was a wonderful story, I knew it, but I didn't expect that I would meet this living legend in a house in this ghost place.

Even in the society of night elves, many people know the name Tirion Fording. This is due to our battle with the barbaric orcs in Ashenvale on another continent. We know the leaders of those orcs. Our stories include an orc wise man named Treyger, and I can believe that Old Fording’s story is definitely related to Treyger.

Because Treyger told the same story to the orc soldiers more than once.

"I was born in Lordaeron, Hearthglen. It is a beautiful place, a small town that was once peaceful. I grew up there. Then I went to study in Stormwind Kingdom and became a priest. My mentor was named Alonthos Faor is the Archbishop of the Holy Light Church."

"I know, under the crown of Faor, the great man who established the Knights of the Silver Hand!"

I put in a word, and the old man glanced at me and showed a kind smile.

"Yes, the instructor is a real wise man. I followed him to study in the Northshire Abbey for several years, and then we waited for the bad news that the orcs invaded, you know? Those green-skinned orcs, they destroyed the entire Stormwind Kingdom, Even the mentor and Wrynn’s royal family were forced to take their citizens and migrate to Lordaeron, also in my hometown. The mentor gave me and my companions, Uther, Gavinrad, Dathrohan and Turalyon, gave us five opportunities to become Paladins, and we succeeded."

"Holy light is surging in our bodies, and we also have the physique of a warrior. With this power, more paladins appeared, and when the orcs were besieging Lordaeron, we defeated those orcs. That is War, cruel war, we finally won, but we also lost our great commander, Lothar. In the Burning Plains, I witnessed the end of a hero."

"I thought I would hate those orcs, but when I returned to my hometown as a nobleman, in my fief, Hearthglen, and the road in my hometown, my 12-year-old son asked me, "Father, all orcs are bad people." ? "I thought of the orc mothers who used their lives to protect their children, the Frostwolf orcs who hid in the mountains and did not want to fight, and the historical documents of the orcs we captured, so I told him."

When the old man talked about this, he couldn't help but puff up his chest, and the warrior breath returned to him. I can even guess the proud look he had when he answered his son at the time.

"I told my son "race does not speak of glory. People should not make judgments about beings different from themselves."

Old Fording stopped, then shook his head, his face was full of loneliness.

"I thought that was my life motto, but I didn't expect that after the war, I would really face the test of fate. The period after the war was the happiest day in my life. Look at me His son grows up day by day. I think it’s my responsibility to guide him on the right path. I did the same until Treyge appeared in front of me.”

I couldn't help but drank. In the beating of the fire in the fireplace, I knew that the most exciting part of the story was coming.