Northshire Abbey

I had finally turned 22. With a lean and muscular physique, blond hair and a handsome face, I felt like I was a perfect fit for the Paladin Order. Having finally scrounged up just enough to buy a basic mail shirt, some mail leggings, a dull iron sword and a small buckler, I headed up to Northshire Abbey where I heard trouble had been brewing.

The word on the street was that Stormwind’s militia had been stretched thin. Despite our victory against the Lich King, our defenses were weaker than ever and a contingency of Blackrock orcs had started taking advantage of that. They had gathered in the east side of the Northshire valley and had begun burning our precious vineyards... Those bastards!

Marshal McBride was the commander of the garrison in the Abbey and the person I first spoke to when I arrived there.

He didn’t seem... impressed when he was me.

“Branford, is it?”, he said, looking at my papers.
“Yes, sir, that is my name! I have come to help with your orc problem.”, I replied confidently.
“Is that so?”, was his reply as he eyed me from head to toe. “Your equipment is... lacking, Branford.”
“It was all I could gather, sir. I hope that won’t be a problem, would it?”
“Not exactly... if you plan on being felled down by a single strike.”
“Sir, I can fight! I’ve been training my whole life to join the Paladin Order, I am a capable warrior. Please, give me this one chance!”
“The Paladins, ey?”, he paused. “Fine, go ahead. However... be careful, young man. Those orcs are vicious in more ways than you know. Keep your wits about you!”