Chapter 2, page 4: A day of sorrow.

The old man wakes up by his prison door opening, he doesnt know if it has been hours or minutes since his raw passion was fulfilled.

"Wake up!" the young males voice has returned, clearly angry.

The old man would think it would be for what he did to his daughter, he is a father himself, so he would know the rage.

"What is your name?" the voice spits out, confusing the old man..

"What?" he only asks, pussled, while putting his clothes back on.

"I asked you, WHAT IS YOUR NAME?!" the voice shouts out in the prison cell, suddenly the old man sees everything, at the wake of the shouting, the cell unfolds before him.

The cell isnt big, but the shapes of the young man clearly is above the average human.

"Why would I tell you my name, when you won't tell me yours?" the old man asks, bracing himself for an assault.

"You sleep with my daughter and DARE to show me, who saved your life, lack of manners?!" the voice shouts out in the cell again, and the old man can see him moving for something at his waist.

The young man takes up a club and smashes it downwards towards the old man. The young man would think his eyes betrayed him if he wasnt there, the club stops, barely before hitting the old man and refuses to budge.

"My name is none of your concern, I know you saved my life and I am grateful.. But my name is worth more in gold than my life." the old tells the young man, in a polite manner.

"You are an outlaw?! I sheltered you!" the young keeps on trying to wear down the shield, but with no avail, his strength is fading and soon enough he breathes heavier.

"I am grateful, but my name is more worth than sheltering my life." the old man stands strong, knowing his training has given him the edge in the current brawl.

The young brute tries to grab the old man, as a last stand with no intention of losing his face towards someone atleast twice his age.

The old man answers the attack by stepping to the side and ends it by delievering a bone breaking stomp on the brutes leg. He can feel it through his entire body, the bloodlust, the will to slaughter the attacker, but he fights it off and braces himself once more.

"Father!" the young womans voice lights up the room once more, he can see the heartbeat of her again and once more his raw, unpure passion for women lights up within him.

The old man steps away from the brute, making room for the woman to drag the wounded man out of the cell. He would have his chance of escape, but he knows that he has nowhere to go, nowhere to run, and the brute would surely know this place better than him.

"You.. You.. ANIMAL!" her screams tear through him like a blade, but he returns her words with nothing but sitting down on the bed once more.

"Slave! SLAVE! Your master needs help!" the young woman cries out and soon is answered by a pair of footsteps on the stone floor.

The old man looks up, but sees no shape, just a rushed heartbeat. "Joan?" he asks with a hidden feeling of being happy.

"You?" the only response he is given before the three move away, the coldness in her voice makes him remember the night he returned to Greldins house..

The rain struck the village like needles made of steel, the sadness was felt even in the damp air. Everyone was expecting the same pair of soldiers return, now only one came home alive and the other was carried lifeless on a horseback.

John carried both his own and Greldins sword, sheated. It was custom in their village to return the sword to the fallen soldiers family.

As he stood outside Greldins house, he felt like thunder had struck him, there was no courage or bravery left in his body to knock on the door. The news spread fast and such, she would already know about Greldins fate.

Only the last few words Greldin had uttered before his demise was ringing in Johns head, he removed his helmet and wiped away the tears and suddenly found himself knocking on the door.. Over and over again..

"Joan! Are you home?" Johns voice is filled with sadness, the soldiers that rescued him is carrying Greldins body to the church..

"Joan? Please.. Just open the door!" he didnt know how much more he could last before breaking out in tears.. He smashes at the door once more..

"Damnit Joan! Open up!" he yells now, he didnt care any longer.. This was his duty, his given task at the moment.

Joan rips open the door and slaps John across the face "Mind your language here!"

Her voice is filled with sadness, her blue piercing gaze had turned foggy from wiping her eyes..

Johns cheek pulsates in pain but he knows he earned it, he holds out Greldins sword to her, while looking straight down at his feet.

"I.. I.. Couldn't save him.." he barely utters to her while fighting back his tears.

She gently carresses his aching cheek "Im sorry.. But.. Greldin would have wanted you to keep that sword, John.. I have no right to claim it from you.."

John looks up at her, his eyes filled with tears, all he can do is gently nod in agreement.

There was nothing else to say that day, not for John or Joan nor from any of the village people..

A great hero had fallen, this would be a day of sadness and in two days, Anduin Lothar, Lion of Azeroth would come to the village, but there was no celebration preparations made, only a heavy sadness and tears in knowledge that all things perish soon enough.

The old man looks straight up at the roof, the sadness from that day could still be felt in his old heart.. He could still remember the things Greldin had taught him, about combat, women.. Laughter..

He never touches his food that night, he spends his time preparing, for he knows that he must escape this prison soon.. And take Joan with him..