Lost Stories of Warcraft

Chapter 1: Vorioia

Legends in Azeroth are well-known—written in books, told in inns, and reenacted in plays. But history is written by the victors. What would have become of the Banshee Queen, Sylvanas Windrunner, if she hadn't liberated herself? Where would Varian Wrynn be if he had died in the sands of the arena? We, the survivors, are content to fade into the background of these heroes. Yet, our stories, though not filled with grand battles, are tales of survival.

My name is Vorioia Ace. I am married now, though I can only speak one word at a time. Writing is easier, so I write in hopes that someone will listen and understand. I've regained the ability to sing, but speaking is a challenge—forming words without stuttering takes immense effort. A cold, icy chill grips my throat, blocking sound from passing through my windpipe. To make my point, I take long pauses, connecting words through melody and harmony, as the banshees aboard the necropolis taught me. Without song, the chill threatens to choke me.

How did I come to this? To answer that, I must start from the beginning. This is a lost story of Warcraft.

I was born human, like most, into a life overprotected by my three older brothers. My father died before I was born, killed by savage troll tribes that roamed the northern forests. My brothers say he was a strong man, capable of matching any orc in strength. But his true asset was the people he fought alongside—warriors who fought as one, with heavy shields that could trap even the most skilled in blades. That's why we humans triumphed—not because we were stronger, faster, or more skilled, but because we knew how to fight as a single unit. Trolls, though, used different tactics. My father and his team were shot down with arrows during a patrol.

I grew up with the image of my father as a hero, and I wanted to be just like him. My brothers, too, shared this desire. As a child, I was strong, full of life, and tougher than most girls. I had few friends and a short temper. Then I met John—fragile, soft-spoken, and easily brought to tears. He was the opposite of what I imagined a boy should be, far from the image of my father.

John Ace had two sisters—Jandice, the older, and Ada, the younger. Jandice had a gift for the arcane, though she preferred to use it for tricks rather than combat. She entertained townsfolk with illusions, earning attention from the Barov family, who eventually adopted her, providing wealth to John's family.

John, however, remained shy and fearful, particularly of his parents. They claimed Jandice had all but disowned them, and they worried John would be taken by the Barov family if his powers developed. As children, I once helped John when he was bullied by a group of girls, but I told him I wouldn't help again if he didn't learn to stand up for himself. "Just get really mad and hit one of them as hard as you can," I told him.

Not long after, I saw him being bullied again. He looked at me, seeking help, but I shook my head in disapproval. The next thing I knew, one of the girls' hair was on fire. John ran, but I couldn't stop laughing. The bullies scrambled to douse the flames, and I chased after John. He was crying, not because of what he'd done, but because he feared he'd have to change schools or be sold to the Barov family if his magic was discovered. I convinced the girls to stay quiet, but in return, John had to show me his magic whenever I asked.

John could kindle sparks of fire and ice at a moment's notice. I had seen arcane magic before, but watching those elements form slowly in his hands was mesmerizing. I warned him that the other mages would eventually "feel" his magic.

Stratholme was a large town, and eventually, John's parents were told of his abilities. Fearing he'd share Jandice's fate, they sent him to South Shore Beach, where Kel'Thuzad, an acquaintance of the Barov family, would protect him.