Salutation: a welcome of sorts

Part 1 - Revelations
Part 2 - Kings

Girl.

How that word rankled. Anselma drew herself up in her saddle and lifted her chin with pride.

“My name is Anselma Penhaligan, sir, and I would know yours.”

The elderly knight chuckled deep in his chest and nudged his warhorse forward with his armoured knees so that Anselma had to hurry Brock along after him.

“Pride, youngling, is a sin before the Light.” Flushing with an awkwardness which she had despised in her teenage years but thought herself long past, Anselma forced herself into a measure of composure. The court manners taught to her by her high-born mother came flooding back to her and she gave a short bow in her saddle, dipping her head with reluctant respect. The paladin glanced at her for a moment, a flash of compassion darting across his wrinkled face. “Still,” he continued, “It is a sin we all commit now and then. I am Vaknor Stonehearth, Chaplain of the Order. Our heraldry will become familiar to you if you stay in Stormwind long.”

“I intend to,” Anselma declared. “Only this morning I sent a letter ahead to your Lord-Militant, requesting that he consider me for entry into the Order.”

“A bold move,” Stonehearth responded cryptically, “But one which I fear will come to naught.”

“Are your standards so high?” Anselma asked, already disappointed. Perhaps Anholt’s fondness for her had led him to overestimate her skills.

“They are that,” agreed the chaplain and the young woman bit her lip for a moment, hands faltering on her horse’s reins.

“Perhaps I should speak with the Captain of the Guard,” she mused. “I have no doubt that they would offer me work.”

“Haste, girl, makes waste. Your letter will go unanswered chiefly because our Lord-Militant is currently… indisposed.”

“Indisposed?” Anselma asked with an unseemly curiosity.

“That is the business of the Order,” Stonehearth told her severely.

“I will not enquire further then. But might I ask a favour?”

“Ask.”

“Would you perhaps let the appropriate officer know of my application? I have made a promise to my confessor and would not have it broken.”

The paladin rubbed a hand over his beard in a way which suggested he was hiding a smile.

“Yes, we must all be diligent in keeping weighty promises.”

“You are toying with me, sir,” protested Anselma. “If you do not care to help, you have only to say and I will pursue my business alone.” She gathered her reins ready to spur Brock forward but the paladin laid a heavy, gauntleted hand on her elbow to stay her.

“Be calm, my hot-headed young friend. I will see to it that your letter is passed on. In the meantime, might I advise you to look up?”

“Up?” Anselma asked, exasperated, but she cast her gaze in the direction indicated by the paladin and suddenly, all her frustrations and aches were forgotten.

Stormwind.

Its blue-grey walls rose ponderously into the morning sky, pennants snapping in the light breeze. Behind its arched gates, Anselma saw towering statues, impossibly engineered and crafted. The people streaming in and out were ant-like against its massive structure and the clouds of dust they kicked up scarcely reached halfway up the walls. Her hands clutched at her reins and Brock whinnied and side-stepped in protest as his rider stared like the country girl she was at true, civilised splendour. Her abbey would almost fit through the gates; her father’s house was only a fraction taller and wider. Humbled, she sat and drank in the sight, forgetting for those minutes her reservations about the city and all that it might contain.

Anselma had not realised she had come to a halt in the middle of the busy road until a sweating, red-faced woman with two crying children in tow thumped her on the chausses with a clenched fist.

“Get a move on, my fancy young lady, I’ll not wait behind you all day while you gawp like a Light-blinded fool!”

Starting at the woman’s shrill voice and harsh Elwynn accent, Anselma jerked Brock into a walk. Next to her, Stonehearth grinned to himself.

“Do not be offended by some of our earthier citizens,” he advised. “In every orchard there are always some crab-apples.”

“I am not offended,” Anselma told him. “I am a woman grown. She merely startled me.”

“I have no doubt,” replied her companion, sounding infinitely amused in the tiresome way of old men. “And now, since you are new to our fair City, might I show you some of its landmarks and sights?”

Anselma gave him a quick, grateful smile. She had wondered how she would ever find a place to stay and was wary of city folk after Perryn had regaled her with stories to make any mother weep for their offspring. But the company and advice of a chaplain would be appropriate, she decided, and so nodded her assent.

“I would be pleased to accept,” she said politely. “I hear that Stormwind boasts a particularly beautiful cathedral and I am anxious to find someone to hear my confession.”

“Regrettably I can only hear confessions from within my Order,” he told her, “Although one of the Cathedral priests will be able to absolve you. I will show you there a little later, but there is much more to see.”

They passed through the gates. Anselma tipped her head back to look up as they rode underneath the arch, far enough that her pixane threatened to choke her. The height made her dizzy and she shook her head to clear it, letting the chaplain’s horse lead the way over a narrow bridge.

“This,” he told her with an expansive gesture of his right arm, “Is the trade quarter. Now, it was built several centuries ago but much of the bank and neighbouring buildings were destroyed in the…”

His voice took on a lecturing tone, but it receded into the background noise of the busy city as Anselma automatically followed him, gazing about her at the sculpted buildings and richly-dressed inhabitants of all races and professions bustling about. A saffron-robed draenei with biceps as big round as Anselma’s waist made his stately way through the crowd, a head and shoulders above even the tallest elves with their elongated ears. Two children shoved through, a boy laughing and his younger sister running desperately after him with hands outstretched.

“Give it back, give it back, give it back!”

They processed onward through the canals; there was the Stockades, Stonehearth told her, where many a young paladin had been thrown to cool his heels after a rowdy night in Stormwind’s taverns.

“Your Order permits drinking?” Anselma asked, wide-eyed and a little naively. Stonehearth gave a rumbling laugh.

“The Order permits anything, child, which does not hinder service to the Light. You may well imagine that some of our younger members consider this an invitation to drink and fight and whore; we do, however, have our own extensive series of penances.”

“Ah, yes, I know about penances,” Anselma said with a grimace verging on the comedic. “At my old abbey they generally involved mucking out the stables. The pastor seemed to think that all sins were soluble in enough horse dung.”

“Ours are not always so easily borne,” replied the chaplain ominously. “In service to the Light we are sometimes required to journey into spiritual darkness. Mortification of the flesh is the easiest to endure, child, a fact which you will learn through bitter experience.” He glanced across at Anselma’s face, deep in thought and a touch of worry and once again had mercy. “But look, here we come to Cathedral Square, and there is the heart of the Light in Stormwind, our lovely cathedral.”

Anselma smiled excitedly at its tapering spires and wide, sweeping staircase. Built from a pale grey stone, it soared upward with an elegance that the city walls lacked, for all their impressive bulk.

“It is as beautiful as I had heard,” she said in a rush. “And is it true that there is a whole library wing?”

“The Library resides in the Keep,” corrected Stonehearth with an indulgent smile. “But it is open to all those who wish to read, which from your expression I assume you do?”

“My previous abbey had only a few shelves of books, and I was there for seven years. I am eager to read history books written in my lifetime, on parchment which does not disintegrate at a sneeze.” She gave a wry smile and the paladin snorted, horse-like.

“I doubt the poor scholars could compile a history in such a short time,” he said cantankerously. “You might find it of benefit to study more established tomes.”

“Perhaps,” Anselma said, more for the sake of polite response than through any particular agreement. “At any rate, I think we part ways here, Chaplain. I must find a priest and I am sure you have business elsewhere.”

“Such as bandying your illustrious name about the upper echelons of the Order?”

Anselma flushed; twice in one day, curse it all.

“I had not meant that exactly, only that you must be busy.” She slipped down from her horse and tied the reins firmly around a hitching post. “Will Brock be safe here?”

“Quite safe, you see that there are guards all around the City.”

Removing her coif and mace and stowing them in her saddlebags, Anselma brushed the worst of the dust from her armour and turned to face the aging knight on his warhorse.

“In which case, sir, I am glad to have made your acquaintance and bid you farewell.”

Stonehearth waved dismissively at her.

“Yes, yes, farewell for now, girl.” With that abrupt leave-taking, he was gone and Anselma turned to the carpeted steps and looked up at the empty cathedral doorway. It was strange how she had not felt truly alone on her journey until she reached a city full of more people than she had ever seen in her life. She glanced behind her for reassurance, but Vaknor Stonehearth had already left the square. With a sigh, she began to climb towards the cathedral entrance and towards her absolution.

brilliant, I love your writings

AH, I'm indisposed! hehe.

Great story so far, I like the way it's coming togeter.

Balamir wrote:brilliant, I love your writings

Cheers m'dears

Macloren wrote:AH, I'm indisposed! hehe.

Great story so far, I like the way it's coming togeter.

Yeah I really couldn't think of a better word. Glad you've enjoyed it, this was only a three-part intro so it's all from Anselma for a while until I think of where to take her next

you portrait a well rounded character, naive country girl eager to learn with a spark of wisdom but kinda impetuous due to young age

there are times vak has been easier on the youngsters though =)

Really like what you doing and cant wait to here moor

Balamir wrote: there are times vak has been easier on the youngsters though =)

The world has changed, as too has my patience for the addled minded young.

Old man Vak has alwais had a soft spot for a pretty young face.

I really like it! Hope to read more of you soon.