Originally Posted by
Crusader Jorny the Deified
Dear friends,
I feel my time is short and I wish for you to remember me and what I stood for . . . what we stood for.
20 years ago I, Jorn, joined the Order of the Silver Hand. I faced many trials during my stay with the Order and eventually completed my training. Although my mastery of protection spells was haphazard at best, and my abilities in melee combat were so tragically flawed that I earned the nickname of Jorny, my healing powers were undeniably great. Upon the completion of my training, I remained as a scholar and instructor in the ways of the Light, offering my pupils every opportunity to prove themselves. In this respect my students gave me the affectionate title of Jorn the Redeemer. Those however who knew me best were never able to let go of my nickname and only know do I accept the name as my own.
Years passed with nothing but small squabbles and mundane politics. Of the many foes ever present in the world even then, the Blackrock clan was both the most dangerous and a threat. It is regrettable that this was the beginning of my end, but with the rise of young Arthas, my life gained a purpose it should never have. As Arthas grew more corrupt, I aided the Order in maintaining peace, until the young prince slaughtered his own father. For weeks the whole of Eastern Kingdoms wept; Arthas returned to reclaim his father's ashes and in his wake he shattered our Holy Order.
We recovered from the havoc bore down by the treacherous prince and I guided the remnants of our shattered Order. A new Order had to be established.
I was wise enough then to know that I could not lead this Body without tyranny. I therefore assisted in the formation of the Argent Crusade and remained a valuable asset to it's new leader. I found myself in my old role as tutor and trained many of the Argent Crusade's new members. We fled to the stronghold now called Lights Hope where it rested at the base of a mountain range. When the invasion came it seemed that all hope was lost, and it was just when our need was most dire, that the demons stopped falling from the sky. A great victory was achieved that day, but not by us or anyone in the Eastern Kingdoms. Still, Hope seemed to dwell once more in the only surviving building of our stronghold, the chapel.
Tired though we were, there was still work to be done; it seemed like the whole of Azeroth required cleansing. Yet again, there was a period of strange calm. A season or two passed and we heard rumors of elves and orcs and humans working together towards a common goal. More rumors poured in of strange fish-like creatures roaming the land. I found it hard to believe in any of it, and for a time I did not. However, catastrophe seems to open ones eyes.
The ground itself trembled and groaned as though it were threatening to rend the land asunder. I never truly learned just how long the quaking lasted, but in that moment it felt like a lifetime. We all lived in fear of a coming doom, we feared that something was happening in the world and that we could not partake in it's outcome. But no doom ever came.
We were finally reclaiming land and making contact with friends from around the continent. We learned the truth of our allies from none other than Jaina Proudmoore and an orcish liaison. As a neutral force against a greater evil, the Argent Crusade accepted the news with reverence. During the same visit however, Jaina enlightened us about events that had taken place on Northrend; she informed us of the Lich King.
Unfortunately, my part in this tale ends here. I remained in the Eastern Kingdoms when the remainder of our forces joined Bolvar at the Frozen Gate. I do know one thing for certain. The time of the Lich King has ended.