To Serve the Light (Part 3)

The rains came - an unending torrent of unforgiving water, falling on the miserable heads of any unfortunate enough to be caught outside. It rained for weeks, flooding the swamps and bringing the murlocs dangerously close to the city walls. The greybeards, safe indoors with their mugs of ale, their cozy chairs by a cheery fireplace, would later remember it as one of the worst winters Menethil had ever seen.

And one foolish, angry dwarf would forever remember it as the most important, most significant winter of her life.

But not at that particular moment.
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"AGAIN!" he shouted mercilessly at the rain-drenched pair.

Wearily, they once again went through the drill, attacking the wooden figures with their "axe" and "sword." They had been out all morning, every morning, for the past three days, drilling in the rain and mud and muck. In full battle dress. The heavy mail creaked, weighing down their already-exhausted limbs, but still they pressed on, doing their best to ignore the misery and pain.

As they continued to drill, as the sheets of rain poured down, it never occurred to either of them that none of the other volunteers had been subjected to such harsh discipline and training. Then again, most of the others had "real" jobs in and around Menethil. The elder Stelhamor, for example, was the primary weaponsmith for the town. While the younger Stelhamor was a competent apprentice-classed blacksmith herself, there were others in town just as gifted, yet less capable in fighting. Thus, she and a handful of others militia volunteers found themselves more and more often at practice, training, or even patrolling the town.

And honestly, Sir Bernhardt kept them too busy to speculate much. As he intended, really. After all, he had plans for some of them. Especially these two. And it wouldn't do at all for them to learn of those plans too soon.

Menethil has enough able-bodied volunteers for the militia, for now. We have the means and the resources to defend ourselves against most casual attacks, and can hold our own long enough for reinforcements to arrive from Ironforge. But in the conflict to come, we will need more than just competent sword-swingers to keep our families safe. What we will need are trained, disciplined warriors, dedicated to a just cause, one greater than themselves. We will need defenders, willing to face the horrors and dangers that normal civilians should never have to face.

We will need true champions, true of heart, mind, and soul.

Too many were lost in the past war. Those brave souls are gone, never to return. Today, true stalwarts are few and far between. The only thing we can do is forge them anew; new heroes to stand tall against the coming tide.

He watched the pair struggling in the mud and rain, as they worked themselves into exhaustion and beyond. They had promise, these two - the dwarf stubborn as a badger, and the human with a streak of mischief wider than the doors on a barn. He had high hopes for them. If they didn't break first.

"PICK UP THE PACE! YOU'RE GETTING SLUGGISH THERE!"

The rain continued to pour down mercilessly, as the pair struggled on.