I kicked a rock loose and off the cliff. I peered over the ledge, and watched as the stone fell. It became smaller and smaller until it vanished. A speck in a sea of brown and orange colors. It was a long way down from where I stood. I imagined times like this, if I fell, would I too vanish like that pebble? An insignificant event in the midst of a vast universe. Just one step.

There was no danger of course. Alamere, our mage and fellow patrolman, had provided us with a slow-fall feather. If we ever found ourselves falling from some great weight, we would fall at the speed of a feather and land roughly with the force of one.

There were several other items on my person. Standard-issue Alliance plate armor. By virtue of being a Knight-Lieutenant, mine was made of mithril versus the usual steel. It made it lighter, sturdier, and less prone to being warped by sudden pressure which made it far more durable against warhammers and axes. Tied to my back was a simple shield, in a convex shape designed to redirect the force of blows away from the wearer, and a sword. On the hilt was emblazoned the iron fist of the Knights of the Silver Hand. The Holy order that all paladins to include myself were aligned to.

It was noon on a mid-summer day. Something that I was very physically aware of at that moment. Drops of sweat slithered down the confines of my armor. The sun’s rays reflected off my visor, blinding me every time I moved. There was no wind to ease my suffering atop the plateau where I stood. Heat in and of itself was unfortunately ailment that the holy magic wielded by Paladins could not cure. I let out a soft sigh of frustration. I was vaguely aware this was contrary to the blind stoicism that the Knight’s Academy attempted to brand into me. A technique done through years and years of thoughtless physical drills and mind-numbing ceremonies. How my old instructor would have blanched at this sign of weakness. Oh well. I guess the last three years of warfare did a lot to wear away those old markings, albeit with scars of their own.

I scanned the horizon again. It was mostly barren, cracked, baked yellow land for as far as the eye could see. The only notable features were the occasional buzzards that flew by, pillars of rock that sprouted out of the ground, and the mountain ranges separating the “good” lands such as Loch Modan, Dun Morogh, and the Kingdoms of the Alliance from the “bad” lands where I was dutifully on patrol. For the Alliance, I guess.

Satisfied that nothing had changed since the fifteenth or was it sixteenth time I looked, I turned around towards my patrol partner.

“Bluebeard, how are you not sweating in this heat?” I asked.

“Dwarven constitution lad,” he said “Why you ask? Is the weather bothering yeh?”

I narrowed my brows. The dwarf was sitting in the shade under a rock, a smile on his face. His boots were perched up on a boulder and his mithril-mail shirt was undone, exposing a massive beer belly. His hands were running through the massive blue beard (dyed hair being permissible for dwarves and gnomes in accordance with Alliance regulations).

“Dwarven-constitution my asshole,” I shot back.

“Now, now, that ain’t how a Knight-Errant should be talking now ain’t he? Didn’t they teach yeh all those curtsies and corstoms in that fancy school for little whelpings?”

“It is customs and courtesies Bluebeard,” I said. I didn’t broach the topic of the knight’s academy. I learned years ago not to try and debate the merits of formal education with someone who had 150 years of life-experience on me. Also didn’t help that four years later, I had a hard time convincing myself there were a whole lot of merit either. To this day, I still debate how memorizing the fifth tenant of the will of the Light helped in actual combat. It certainly, didn’t help the first time I stared down a growling axe-wielding 7 foot tall green-skinned savage looking to turn my scalp into a belt ornament, or when the friendly-looking old man that always sat by the well suddenly lunged at me with a shiv.

“Careful, lad,” Bluebeard called out. “I don’t think there is a whole lot we can do if you go tumbling down the rockside. I don’t think I have any of them feathers to spare.”

Another trickle of sweat simpered down my eye. I blinked and realized the moment the irritation set in that it collected several grains of sand on the way down.

“Damn it,” I muttered. I undid the clasps on my helmet and one of my gauntlets. I tried to rub out the grains of sand in my eyelash. The sudden breeze was refreshing and my hair pillowed out. A reminder that I was horribly out of regulations as far as grooming standards and would need a haircut once the patrol ended.

“Got something in your eye Errant?” Bluebeard asked. It was another one of his friendly jabs. The proper rank was Knight-Errant.

“Yea…” I said trying to rub the irritation out while only making it worse.

“Hey! Come over here, you’re gonna end up blind, you should do that thing those light-wielders can d-,” he started but snapped shut. “Sorry, forgot you didn’t like being reminded.”

“It is okay,” I replied. About a year ago I lost the ability to heal. I had a firm understanding of the events surrounding that handicap and didn’t like being reminded of it. My commanding officer at the time didn’t seem understanding either. I couldn’t blame him. Paladins were expected foremost to be the front-line healers. Not as effective but durable enough to not get chopped up like our priestly brethren. Granted we were able to do more than just heal but the point didn’t make it past my commanding officer who had me transferred out. Which is how I ended up with my current group.

“Here I got just the thing,” Bluebeard said and began ruffling through one of his several knapsacks.

I stood up, walked over, and sat next to him in the shade. He offered me a clean silk trauma bandage.

“Thanks,” I replied. I took the bandage and began to rub the irritation away.

“No problem. Now just relax in the shade. You know very well that I have an eye on things,” he said pointing to his right eye. It flickered green, a hunter ability known as Eyes of the Beast. Somewhere in the far distance was Bluebeard’s hawk, and it was observing everything that was happening within our designated area of interest.

I nodded and joined him in the shade.

“Well,” I said. “It is nice to have nothing happen on our last patrol together.”

Bluebeard sat down next to me. “Heh. Got your taste for fighting sated lad?”

“I don’t think I ever had a taste for it in the first place.” I wiped the sweat off my face with the bandage.

“Well then,” he said. “I daresay you learned something. In 125 years, I can tell you fighting is all I’ve ever done and it ain’t pretty. Never has been, never will be. Folk will sing songs, write books, and do all sorts of things praising it, but that just hides the rot and stink. Three dwarves with their heads up their arses decide they don’t want to share. They start fightin. Fightin gets worse and next thing you know one of them summons a fire devil from hell itself that turns half the kingdom into charcoal.”

“That was quite the apt description of the War of the Three Hammers Bluebeard.”

“Bah, More like the War of the Three Bumbling Fools.”

I had read about the war in question. The largest dwarven civil war in history. Estimated casualties were that it wiped out a quarter of the dwarven population and half the Dark Iron Kingdom. It also resulted in the summoning of the fire elemental “Ragnaros” who subsequently enslaved the Dark Iron Kingdom and caused the eruption of Blackrock mountain turning entire farmlands into soot and ash. The war was so devastating nobody remembers why it started in the first place.

I sighed. “Fools they were indeed.”

The dwarf shuffled through his knapsack again. He whipped out a pipe and made a few Hunter gestures. It was a lesser version of a spell they called Flare. A small spark flashed and lit the pipe. He made a few puffs to feed the flame before taking a long breath and letting loose a smoke ring.

“You want a pinch lad?” Bluebeard raised the pipe to me.

I waved the pipe away with my hand. “No thanks. I can’t stand the smell of the stuff. Reminds me of the laborers back home.”

“Eh suit yourself,” the dwarf shrugged and resumed smoking.

“Tell me lad,” he asked. “Why on earth are you going back to that little cubbyhole you call Northshire?”

“Weather is nice. People are friendly. Food is decent. It is quiet too and I have to help my aunt with her shop.

Bluebeard coughed, “Lad that right there sounds as dull as a sword that’s been sitting in the rain too long. There ain’t nothing over there. The only humans I know who talk like that are the old, and I’d say it’s all because they are about to die soon so they ain’t have much to look forward to. You ain’t planning on dying anytime soon are you lad?” he asked.

“Absolutely not!” I exclaimed.

“Well then you should live a little! You’re young and I didn’t see you piss away coin like every other two-bit soldier out there. Why not go to the city. You’re good with words so you should easily be able to find a decent job there. You could be a courier like my old cousin. Fly around. See things.”

“Look,” I said. “I’m sure there are plenty of people out there. But I can tell you that the last four years have convinced me that there is great joy to be found in a peaceful life. Besides my aunt needs help running the shop. She says it is doing well in the letters but I know how busy it can get at times.”

“Bah. I can tell you that within a month you’ll be itching to get out. Now I never met your aunt but she is a grown woman and can handle herself. Why, even her words prove that she is doing fine on her own. Are you trying to make a liar out of your Aunt? She is probably more worried about you finding some nice lady to shag with. Which brings me to the next point. You’ve seen Lady Shadowmere and her entourage back at camp eh?”

I did indeed know, and so probably did every man, dwarf, elf, and quite possibly gnome in our encampment. Lady Shadowmere was the head human mage for the region. What was special about her was her unnaturally striking beauty, almost to the level of female elves. It wasn’t simply due to a lack of female companionship. There was plenty of that in the traveling merchant caravans that stopped by, knowing where the demand would be highest. There was however definitely some magical augmentation that occurred, not that anyone cared about such a taboo. Her personality was incredibly sweet. Rumors were abound that there were several fights that among the soldiers and even officers in her name.

“I can tell by the look on your face that you know what I mean. Now I’ve got me own reservations about abusing our gifts for looks but you have to admit she is one fine dame. That being said, I hear all mages nowadays tweak their looks, and that a new mage college just opened in Stormwind. I’m just saying you ain’t gonna find something like that anywhere else besides the city.”

“Look Bluebeard… Lady Shadowmere is well, she is an attractive lady.” Attractive was by far an understatement to describe her and even I had to admit that. “She just isn’t my type. Besides I have Katrina waiting for me ba-,”

“Katrina? You mean that rich farmer’s whelp you haven’t talked to in seven years? You’d best get over her. By now she’d already tied the knot with another lad that her father had arranged,” Bluebeard balked.

I didn’t say anything. The same thought has been bugging me for the last few years.

“Lad,” he said. “I’ve lived long enough and fought enough soldiers to see the same story unfold. Especially for you humans. Boy leaves girl. Boy fights in some forsaken conflict for half a decade. Boy comes home. Boy finds out girl married another lad, one that happened to be around while he was gone fighting. Boy gets heartbroken and drowns his sorrows in spirits till he runs out of money and goes fighting again.”

“Bluebeard she-,” I said. “Well she is different…. I just know it.”

“Faithful!? You haven’t even gotten engaged or married her before joining, so what does she got to be faithful to? So be it lad, but don’t come crying to me if its true. Just remember, when you come home to find another rooster in your den that you shoulda listened to this old dwarf.”

“I promise you I-,” our argument was cut off as Bluebeard suddenly held up his hand. His right eye flared green and his expression turned dark. The skin on my back crawled up and the tension in the air became palpable.

The only times Bluebeard got serious was when something was about to go bad or something had already gone bad.

“Is something out there?” I asked.

“Yep. I see-em alright. No good. That’s a lot too. Sorry lad, it looks like your last patrol won’t go so quietly. We got orcs. A lot of em.”