Reynald is a character from World of Warcraft. This is his life story.
I"Reynald, it is time."
The boy came out of the doorway, looking uncertain, alone.
The careworn lady in the frayed dress smiled slightly, walked over to him and took his hand, leading him away from the cottage and towards the awaiting wagon. The driver sat, looking at the boy sadly.
When the two of them reached the wagon, the lady bent down and kissed the boy's cheek.
"I'll miss you, dear. But you will be cared for in Stormwind- you'll even be within walking distance of the Cathedral of Light!"
The boy said in a quiet voice: "did they know my father there?"
The lady's eyes softened.
"You know he was a fine carpenter. Someone working for the Cathedral bought a piece of furniture your father made, and admired his work. This man says there is a place for you to help around the household of Light there...he sounds like a fine man."
The boy had heard this before, but nodded, wanting to be reassured.
The next thing he said burned right through the lady's heart;
"Can I come and visit Pa and Mother's graves? And you, Elora?"
Her eyes brimming with tears, the lady knelt down and hugged the boy tightly, and spoke.
"Yes, when you grow up into a fine man, you can come visit me, and we can visit them as long as you like."
She let the boy go, and stepped away from him. The wagoner, taking goods into the capital city, helped the boy up into the bed of the wagon, sitting upon bags of vegetables and grain.
Elora waved as the wagon slowly drove off, the boy waving back at her.
Sometimes, the kindness of one person can change a life. Elora, a poor farmer's wife, had spoken up for the boy who had been orphaned by the Plague. Instead of making him an adopted farmhand as others wanted, she pushed so that he could get away from the poverty of the tiny hamlet. She had known the boy was different; she had seen him telling stories to the other children. And so when the request for another piece of furniture had come, she had written back to say that the good carpenter was dead, but that his young son, who had promise, had survived the Plague that had carried off his family. The man, a minor official with the Cathedral, asked the household steward if there was room for a pot-boy or a floor-scrubber. The answer was yes.
Elora had planted the seed.
II
Steward Aldon looked up from his ledger; the noon bells pealed
outside.
He got up from his beautifully carved desk in his office in Cathedral
Square and walked to the window and looked outside. The Brothers
walked by in their somber robes while the City Patrol, resplendent in
their silver and blue plate, watched the square. A few servants of the
Light came and went from the Cathedral. Orphans played next to the
fountain.
Aldon was nearing the end of his career. Many years he had
been in charge of the buildings in the square, keeping them clean and
provisioned; he was proud of his job, though few really noted him or
felt him part of the Cathedral. He never really cared about that; service
to the Light came in many forms. What he did care about was the
dilemma he faced currently- his son.
His son worked under him with quite a few others. He had got him a
job as a minor clerk, but showed him no favoritism. "Tom," he had
said on the day he had given him the job, "I've helped you all I can. It
is up to you now how you fare." Young Tom had always saw himself as
becoming a mighty Paladin, fighting the Horde in the name of the Light.
Truth be told, Aldon knew, he was more suited to figuring sums, like
he was. And now he had a decision to make.
Every year, the Steward, by tradition, was able to name one of his workers to attend the Cathedral as a student Priest or Paladin. The fact his son worked for him- an expected thing- made speculation about who would be named to go to the Cathedral rather short. The Steward would name his son, gossip said.
But Aldon knew it would not be the best choice to make. He loved his son, but understood he would not make it through the Cathedral's training. His son had a future, but a different one than he expected.
He had overheard his son speaking one day to another, boasting that he would be a Paladin soon. It troubled him. He had talked to Duthorian Rall, a Paladin who had seen long service in the Cathedral. Duthorian had looked sympathetic, and told him that he must pray to the Light on it.
Aldon had gone that eve to pray in the Cathedral. When he had arrived there, he saw a boy standing in the dim candlelight- and recognized the orphan whom he had employed, the son of the man who had made the finest desk in Stormwind for the Stweard. The boy had his eyes closed, head bowed. He backed slowly out of the Cathedral and went back to his bed.
Reynald had been assigned as a cleaning-boy, scrubbing the flagstones, washing the stonework, sweeping the dirt from the concourses. The boy was quiet but dedicated to his duties. Aldon remembered the day that the Horde Rogue had been slain upon the Cathedral steps- while the others talked excitedly about what had happened, Reynald had been scrubbing the stains of death off of the stones.
Aldon returned to his desk and found the paper he had already signed. He wrote the name that he knew he must write upon it. He then called a messenger-boy in and had it taken to Lord Grayson.
He knew his son would never understand, that his wife, a good woman, would be angered. But he couldn't in good conscience keep one from what they deserved for the doomed chance of another, even if the other was his son. He would speak with the boy this eve, and tell him he was welcome to stay as a clerk, and that perhaps he would be Assistant Steward soon. He would tell him he loved him, and that one day he would understand why a young man with a lame leg must have courage of a different kind than most, a harder courage to face.
He looked forward to retiring.
III
Reynald learned many things at the Cathedral; not all of what he learned was taught on purpose.
He grew up, being trained in the Way of the Light. He got along with most of his fellow students. Very few of them were from the same commoner's background as he. Many were the sons and daughters of servants of the Light, city officials, or well-off merchants. Some of the highborn students looked down their noses at those of common stock. He hardly noticed, because that was not important to him.
He did note that while his teachers taught him respect, there was not always respect for those not of the Light. Often the guards would send people on their way who did not belong in the Square.
Reynald often spoke to Duthorian Rall, a Paladin whose duties frequently brought him to the Cathedral. He was a smiling, friendly man that Reynald looked up to.
"Duthorian...why are people sent away from the Square by the guards?"
Duthorian thought. "Lad, people can come see the Cathedral when the Brothers open it up on holy days."
"But...if we are serving the Light, shouldn't we serve the people as well?"
Rall chuckled. "Well young lad, to be properly trained, you need to follow your instructors, not have every hedge-Mage that wanders the City performing simple tricks for coin filling your heads with distractions! And also...the Way of the Light is not easy for everyone. Mayhaps the Brothers don't want you thinking of other things, before you've been trained well."
Reynald thought that over, and decided Duthorian Rall had a point. Perhaps it was his commoner roots, but he still felt that the Light would serve better being closer to everyone, hedge-Mages or farmers included.
One day his class spent the day at Lake Everstill in Redridge; they had hiked out to the lake from the City, it was a grand adventure. As they were sitting upon the docks, watching the fishermen, he heard a shout from the shore.
"She's gone under! Help!"
Reynald kicked off his shoes and dove in the water, without a thought. He had learned to swim in the Canals in Stormwind, when the weather was hot and the waters cool. The lake was colder still; it was a shock to his body.
He saw the girl sinking in the water ahead of him, thrashing blindly. He grabbed her, still struggling, and swam for the surface.
She was his age, with fiery-red hair, dressed in commoners clothing. She coughed up water as he watched her, concerned. She looked up at him.
"Good job, lad," said Brother Sarno, laying a hand upon his shoulder. His classmates teased him as he strode back to the dock, putting his shoes back on.
"Catch a fish, Reynald?"
"Just a wharf raggamuffin by the looks of it!"
Reynald blushed and laced his shoes up. When he had walked back to the shore, the girl was gone. He was curious about her- why had she been in the lake if she couldn't swim? Was she a local fisherman's daughter? Did she run off for some reason?
Years later, he would meet her again. And he would remember Duthorian Rall's words.
