*As you lean down to hear the clip, you are greeted with the dull whirring of the tram system and the distant sound of many gnomish voices. It becomes apparent that this was recorded near Tinker Town under Ironforge.*
Hello? Is this working?
Ah.. ahem. Dear gnomish contraption:
I “found” an access card to this station when a rather sagely looking old man dropped it in the Deeprun Tram systems, and, being so close to a terminal, I have decided to look into what this whole thing is about. After playing with it for awhile, I think I am ready to record a story. But this is a special story. It’s my story.
*At this point he begins to read from his journal and the narration takes over as what you hear over the course of the next half hour. The following is not Tethin’s personal account, but what you take away from the story as it’s being told.*
In his youth, Tethin Androm was the sort of trash you'd see welling up from the depths of Booty Bay, having the reputation of a master swindler and landing the most-wanted spot on many a bounty list for several months in Northern Lordaeron. He was a professional con-artist if such a profession would be granted acknowledgement and could masquerade as many different types of characters to swindle his way into keeping his stomach full and a roof over his head. He was most known to travel amongst alliance villages posing as a heroic paladin; Tethin took on the false title of Zecroda Revenant, a chaste and just crusader of the light. Tethin would use this guise to net in gifts and taxes on behalf of the church of Azeroth many times without being caught. After all, war against the horde had made the smaller towns of the alliance predictably generous towards their esteemed knights in shining armor.
And so Tethin continued his life of petty crime for many seasons before coming to the area of this story’s particular interest. On the border of the northern elven lands lay the isolated village of Altora. Tethin had hit this perfect location at the worst time, when the undead plague was working towards the village just as he was working it over under his paladin alias. With no visible undead on the horizon, the town was just close enough to panic and far away from danger to really benefit Tethin and his gold pouch.
Mawgut, an abomination of horrid size that had been sewn from the flesh of demons, was sent to deal with this unprotected land first. His stomach had been wrought into a massive, plague spewing jaw, and alone it would lay waste to many of the human villages before it's infamous penchant for destruction would promote it to lead an undead army into the northern lands of the elves. It was this abomination that found it's way to Altora as Tethin masqueraded into his third week as Zecroda. Calling out to be saved by the false savior as the monstrous horde approached, the villagers watched in horror as he instead dove into the town's well while the undead scourge ravaged the city.
Blood and tears stained the land. Tethin awoke months later in the center of his lost paradise. He clambered out of the well, which had dried up years prior, into the hell had that become the countryside. Struck with a massive head wound from the dive into the dry well, Tethin had a shift in persona. Zecroda Revenant, his paladin alias that had raked in such a profit, was all that he could recall about himself. As much a hero as Tethin forged him to be, and imbued with faith in the light, Zecroda stumbled out into the world. His body was filled with the divine, cleansing his hair into the long, flowing white of paladins before him. In a mere matter of moments, Tethin had been transformed into the holy crusader Zecroda, with no training other than that of his self-persuasion. Surveying the damage around him, Zecroda swore revenge on the evil Mawgut, and set out on a journey to reclaim the honor of the small village in the name of the light.
He trudged for days to reach the menace, following a torn and angry forest road. And then, after many miles, Mawgut's army lay ahead of him. Zecroda had the will and courage of any paladin, but Tethin's body was weak and inexperienced. Zecroda ultimately lost against Mawgut, and left to better himself before returning to finish his duties. His travels brought him into the company of a man called Netami, and he became a lackey of sorts to him in exchange for his knowledge on demons and the undead. Netami would soon form a guild in the hopes of furthering his own goals, and Zecroda would follow him, becoming his right hand.
Zecroda would also become good friends with not only Netami, but also the rogue Bulzeeb, his esteemed counterpart within the guild. With their aid, Zecroda went about the known world, aiding his people wherever he could. He became wise in the art of war, and the workings of the factions he worked with. The passage of time had sculpted Tethin into the able bodied Paladin his mind had thought itself to be. And when he had learnt enough, he left his guild mates without so much as a word to them, heading once more into the oft forgotten lands of the northeast.
His final march into the lands of the dead would bring Zecroda to the grave of Uther; The Light-bringer, the First, the Betrayed. A final prayer was spoken softly upon a light drenched statue... A request for strength for a land lost, a people scattered. Zecroda held up the mark of Uther from his grave, a palm sized pendant in the shape of a cross, and took flight towards his final destination. With his body, mind, and spirit ready, Zecroda descended into the land he wandered long ago.
The plague raged on, unhindered, in this closed valley so distant from any that would get in it’s way. Mawgut, foul and massive in his gluttony for flesh, spew a cataclysmic miasma across this land and no longer would any plant grow upon it. Zecroda's steps became heavy, his breathing difficult... The painful aura that seeped from the crevices of the beast had subdued even the undead scourge around him and he alone sat in flitted hunger, tearing at the diseased remains of his legion. Zecroda found him there and beckoned unto him, “Arise great beast, your end has come for you!”
The two battled for many hours until dusk came to the darkened land of the north, both combatants waning in their power. Zecroda had come a far way since his first encounter with Mawgut, but the beast had grown considerably as well. At last the point would come when Mawgut reared upon itself and blasted forth a foul and concentrate blast of it’s miasma at Zecroda. The foul wind threatened to overwhelm Zecroda in his weakened state, but the paladin would prevail. Lifting himself from the knees, he stood and began to tread slowly towards the foul demon. His arm outstretched, Zecroda pressed on with the symbol of Uther clasped in his palm. Inch by inch, foot by foot, the champion made his way to the beast as the torrent of hell came forth. And just as the last rays of light fled from the land, they shone brightest in the amulet held by Zecroda, he thrust the amulet into the face of Mawgut and it burst into a million pieces as the beast was stunned in agony. Taking no time to retort to the pain in his tattered right hand, Zecroda mustered all that was left within him to pierce his sword deep into the demon’s flank until it exploded out the back of the midsection, cleaving the beast in twain.
But even as it fell to the ground in a sickening heap of limbs, Zecroda threw off his helmet in utter shock, a wave of memories washing over him. As the helm touched down, Tethin was one again with himself, his hair reverting to a black hue as the light faded from his being. Staring down at his hands covered in the sticky purple blood of demons, Tethin wept openly at that which had transgressed. In the short span of a few months he had risen to greatness a just and noble man. And now that his quest was done, the light had gone back over the horizon and left Tethin with nothing but the starry night and the wind's chill.
The conman sat there long and he thought there deeply, sitting on the edge of the well where he had fallen many months before. Was it a dream? Was it another scam? The night had no answers for him and the moon waned into the distance. As dawn approached, Tethin stood and made his way from that place in hopes of finding the answers in the people he had met.
It is said by those that have traveled through there since that a mighty battle can be heard echoing off the fallen walls when the eve is just right. And on that spot in the town of Altora, where a small dry well reflects the light from it’s stone, the last rays of light shine especially so… for Zecroda the Just.
Posted by Netami at 04:05 AM 17 May 2005