ONE
A Clash of Arms
Asoft, cool breeze blew through the upper branches of the mighty oak trees of the Hearthglen Woods.
A peaceful quiet had fallen over the tranquil forest, leaving Tirion Fordring alone with his thoughts. His
gray stallion, Mirador, trotted at an easy pace along the winding hunting path. Though game had been
strangely scarce for the past few weeks, Tirion came to hunt here whenever the opportunity presented
itself. He preferred the grandeur and crisp air of the open country to the musty, confining halls of his
keep. He had been hunting in these woods since he was a small boy and knew their numerous, winding
trails like the back of his hand. This was the one place he could always find refuge from the burdens and
bureaucratic pressures of his station. He mused that someday he would bring his young son, Taelan, to
hunt with him so that the boy could experience the rugged majesty of his homeland for himself.
Lord Paladin Tirion Fordring was a powerful man. He was strong in both mind and body, and was
counted as one of the greatest warriors of his day. Though he was slightly over fifty years of age, he still
looked as fit and dynamic as he had when a younger man. His signature bushy mustache and his neatly
trimmed brown hair were streaked with gray, but his piercing green eyes still shone with an energy that
belied his years.
Tirion was the governor of the prosperous Alliance principality of Hearthglen, a large forested region
nestled at the crossroads between the towering Alterac Mountains and the mist-shrouded shores of
Darrowmere Lake. He was respected as a just governor and his name and deeds were honored
throughout the kingdom of Lordaeron. His great keep, Mardenholde, was the center of commerce and
trade for the bustling region. The citizens of Hearthglen took great pride in the fact that the keep’s mighty
walls had never fallen to invaders, even during the darkest days of the orcish invasion of Lordaeron. Yet,
of late, Tirion was disgruntled to find a different kind of army scurrying worriedly through the halls of his
home.
In recent weeks the keep had been overrun with traveling dignitaries and representatives from the
various nations of the Alliance, who passed through Hearthglen on their secret diplomatic errands. He
had met with many of them in person, offering his hospitality and assistance wherever he could. Though
the dignitaries were appropriately appreciative of his efforts, Tirion could sense a growing tension within
all of them. He suspected that they were charged with carrying dire news directly to the Alliance High
Council. Try as he might, he could not discern the specifics behind their urgent communiqués. Yet Tirion
Fordring was no fool. After thirty years of serving the Alliance as a Paladin, he recognized that only one
thing could cause the otherwise stoic emissaries to be so troubled: War was returning to Lordaeron.
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