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20,000 Leagues Under the Sea	By : ShigeSato Category: +S through Z > World of Warcraft Views: 996 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: The locations and some of the spells and characters described herein belong to Activision Blizzard. I do not own World of Warcraft and I make no money from this work.

Chapter List
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Ever since he was younger, he had known.
The dark secret he held within himself; he knew it could not be revealed, lest his entire life come to nothing. He would be shunned, despised by his own, rejected from the holy order for the way he was. The lifestyle that had been thrust upon him by whatever Fates existed in the world – one that was not of his choice. And given the choice, he would shun it himself.
Farlin shuffled in his simple wooden bed, gazing at the ceiling in yet another sleepless vigil. He had been struggling with this problem for many years now; he knew it would never be resolved, unless he chose one path or the other. One of them he had no choice but to take, for he had been born for that very purpose. His father, a war general and renowned in the Cathedral, had raised his son proudly in the ways of the Light, and he had grown into a skilled paladin in his own right. The other path – the other he did not want to consider in his thoughts.
Growling involuntarily, he rolled over defiantly and pulled his thin sheets about him, desperately trying to defy his insomnia and get a decent night's sleep. He knew he would have to be awake early in the morning, for he was part of a scouting party sent on an expedition to investigate a new island that had emerged from the ocean a few miles from the coast of Westfall. The Horde had a vested interest in this new piece of land as it would provide an ideal launch pad for an aerial attack on Stormwind; he and the other men would be sent to view the Horde progress in construction and perhaps hack off a few Orc necks. That thought made him grin – there was at least one thing he knew he could do right. Killing the Horde was second nature by now.
But, even this thought could not coax his anxious mind into relaxing enough for sleep; reluctantly he sighed, turned onto his back and stared once more at his ceiling with glazed eyes. Then, suddenly, he threw the sheets off himself, revealing a muscular chest and broad shoulders, his legs covered only by thin pyjama bottoms made from old linen. If he was to be one of the order, he would wear only what was donated freely in the humility of the Light. Though the night was cold, he welcomed the feeling, as he felt it was fulfilling his pledge to the order and his duty as a paladin. Something he generally didn't do very well.
Slipping on a shirt that had been casually thrown over a chair, and some old leather trousers and boots that he wore occasionally for comfort, Farlin slipped silently from his room and stalked past those of his sleeping brothers, not really knowing where he was going. He just wanted to get out and get some air; breathing the smells in the city air was strangely freeing, especially at night when there were fewer people bustling about and obscuring the beautiful silence Stormwind offered in the witching hours. Sneaking past his father's room, Farlin came to the main passageway of the Cathedral, and headed for the grand entrance which led to the main city.
He encountered no-one on his walk to the Mages' Quarter. The streets were usually deserted at this hour; looking at the sky, the night was not young. Treading carefully on the lush, grassy pavements that lined the Mage Quarter, Farlin felt completely at peace, and he wondered why things in his life couldn't be simpler – right now it felt as if there were no disputes to speak of.
Stopping for a moment, Farlin looked into the doorway of his favourite bar, the Blue Recluse, a popular one amongst the magic population of Stormwind, and highly coveted for its specialties. There was nobody in there apart from the bartender, who was wiping down tables with a weary expression, and one highly intoxicated night elf who was slumped on a bar stool. Before he could move on, the bartender looked up and saw him, and waved him in with a cheery smile. Farlin, who was feeling hungry by this point, thought perhaps being in a bar wouldn't be all that bad, and so entered the small building through the wooden doorway.
"Good evening, Master Farlin, sir," the barkeep greeted him. "Another of your nightly wanderings, eh? They can't be good for you – a young paladin like you needs his rest, you know!"
"Oh, skip the lecture, Ted," Farlin grinned. "Can I put some manna cakes on a tab?"
"For you, anything," Ted winked, retreating behind the bar to fish out some snacks. "What's the trouble tonight then? Whatever it is, it can't be as bad as this poor bloke." At this, he nodded his head at the night elf, who Farlin could now see was semi-unconscious. "Bride-to-be left him at the altar this afternoon. Drinking away his sorrows, poor bastard."
At least he managed to entice a woman, thought Farlin privately, but out loud he merely said, "Pity. Still, bad things happen to the best of us, I suppose. He'll soon be right as rain."
"That'sh right!" a sudden voice emanated from the slumped figure, which raised his head groggily and stared with unfocused eyes at the two men. "Didn't need that bitch in the firsht place. She was...she..." At this, he tailed off and his head dropped back onto his arms.
Farlin glanced at Ted, who shook his head in sympathy and went back to cleaning the bar. While munching pensively on his manna cakes, the paladin studied the poor elf. He appeared to be fairly young by immortal standards, his hair growing thick and green. His eyes, which usually glowed bright yellow like all their kind, were dimmed by the alcohol and, most probably by the pain. He wore robes of deepest black, probably indicating magical powers of some sort; though whether he was a mage or a priest Farlin couldn't tell. Watching him in such a helpless state, Farlin couldn't help but feel sorry for him, and so muttered a quick prayer under his breath.
"Don't think the poor bugger's got anywhere to go," said Ted with a hint of sadness. "He came in here around sunset and hasn't stopped drinking since. I haven't the heart to throw him out; I have no idea if he has a home to go to or if he plans to live out his life on this stool."
"Have you tried asking him?" Farlin questioned, looking dubiously at the inanimate figure.
"Pfft," Ted replied, "you try getting a comprehensible sentence out of him. He's been on Whiskey Slim's Grog since sundown."
Farlin gently reached over and shook the man's arm, trying to wake him from his stupor. When he did not respond, the paladin glanced at Ted, then back at the elf again, and said loudly, "What's your name?"
The elf didn't even move.
Farlin sighed. "I'll take him with me. You need to close up."
Ted smiled. "Always doing your holy duty, even at a time like this. Hospitality to the homeless in the twilight hours! You're a good paladin, you are."
If only you knew, Farlin thought. Ted couldn't possibly know that every day he was plagued by thoughts that in fact made him a very bad paladin, and he felt he had to make up for it in the night by doing such duties to the public, even at detriment to his own health. Hoisting the elf's arm over his shoulder, he took the full weight of his body and pulled him away from the bar. Waking slightly, the elf stumbled and unsteadily put his feet on the floor, though his eyes were closed in a half-unconscious state.
"Come on. I'm taking you somewhere comfortable," Farlin muttered and, bidding his farewell to Ted, exited the bar with the elf following unsteadily and leaning almost all his weight on the young human's back.
The trek back to the Cathedral of Light was surprisingly difficult for Farlin with such a weight on his shoulders, but eventually he passed through the great doors and was able to manouevre the night elf into a visitor's bedroom on the other side of the hallway. Placing the elf carefully on the bed and drawing the sheet around him, Farlin left the room quietly, just as the man shifted and said drowsily, "Thanks."
That was all the confirmation Farlin needed. Convinced that he had done good, he was now sufficiently at peace to relax and sleep in preparation for his mission the next day. He crossed quickly back over the hallway and past the elders' rooms, and upon reaching his own bedroom collapsed upon his small bed, now exhausted, and closed his eyes.
The crashing waves broke on the sultry white sand, forming a beautiful cascade of water and shimmering light. The entire surface of the sea glimmered in the scorching sunlight for miles around, causing Farlin to shield his eyes against the glare. Turning, he saw behind him a long strip of beach, bare and red hot from the heat of the unforgiving sunlight. A figure stood at the end of the island, his back to the paladin. Farlin began to walk slowly towards him, and as his feet burned on the sandy surface he realised he was wearing only his leather hunting pants. The figure turned towards him, and as he did so the sun began to set, so Farlin could not catch a glimpse of the other's face. He squinted, but the harder he tried to see, the lower the sun sank, and soon it was pitch black and he could not even see the outline of the figure. A voice called to him through the darkness, a voice he recognised. "Farlin..."
"Farlin!"
The paladin jerked his eyes open and sat up, alarmed, his hand already on the blade at his bedside. His eyes were blurry and unfocused from his sudden awakening, and it took him a moment to make conscious sense of his surroundings. He relaxed slightly as he turned to the door and saw that the man who had called to him was Jared, another of the order and his good friend. He was fully armoured and peering anxiously in at him, motioning out of the door. "You've got twenty minutes before the boat leaves, you'd better get a move on!"
"Shit!" Farlin jumped out of his bed in a panic, luckily still wearing the attire he had donned during the night, and hastily began to fit his armour. Jared, with a worried glance down the hallway, entered his room and grabbed his bracers from the floor, helping fit them to Farlin's forearms.
"I knew you were shattered from the other night, so I didn't want to wake you." Jared was referring to a raid that himself and Farlin had participated in four nights previously, a mission from the King himself to intercept some Twilight forces in the Highlands. It was, of course, an incredibly important quest, both diplomatically in favour of their Wildhammer allies and in the sheer number of interlopers they had been forced to dispatch – close to two hundred with an Alliance army of only forty people. Many had died on the raid, and those who returned had been pummelled and exhausted, though they returned victorious. Farlin, of course, was getting barely any sleep either, which had reduced him to a complete wreck for the following two days.
"How long have we got?" Farlin asked, hurriedly strapping his boots on.
"Fifteen minutes. You might want to put your breastplate on before you try and do that," Jared observed, watching Farlin shift his heavy platemail helm over his head. Farlin cursed again and levered the helm off, throwing it on the bed and searching for his chest armour.
"I met an elf last night," Farlin said, rummaging under his bed. "He was almost passed out from drinking; I brought him back here. Have you heard anything about his condition?"
"Actually, yes," Jared replied. "It was you who found him, was it? His name is Tamri, he was supposed to be coming with us on the ship today. He's our live-in mage. Unfortunately, his wedding yesterday didn't go quite as planned, so I've heard, and he disappeared off the map. Not a hide nor hair of him till he showed up in one of our guest rooms in the middle of the night."
"Well I'm glad my good deed did the order a service, then," Farlin replied, checking the clock on his table and cursing his lack of organisation. I swear, when I get back from this trip, I am going to sort this room out, he thought irritatedly. Finally locating his right gauntlet in a corner behind his wardrobe, he shoved it on, snatched up his pack and loaded it onto his back. "Right."
"We'd better hurry. Your father wouldn't want you to be late," Jared observed. They rushed down to the harbor, faces flushed and panting when they finally drew up by the pier. A stern-looking officer with a clipboard stared at them disapprovingly and motioned them onto the jetty with the rest of the paladins, who were all crowded around one of the war generals, who appeared to be coming to the end of his speech.
"You fight for glory. You fight for Stormwind and you fight for your King. But this time, the stakes are real. You are not only fighting for the things you believe in, you are fighting for your lives, and the lives of all of the citizens of this city. The mothers, wives and children of this city are all depending on you. And you, the soldiers of the Light, will not fail their hopes!" With that, the crowd of men cheered raucously and applauded as he stepped solemnly down from the crate he had been using as a podium and stalked over to the two latecomers at the back.
"Farlin, Jared," he said courteously.
"General Greystorm," Jared inclined his head deeply, this gesture almost becoming a bow.
"Father," muttered Farlin, his eyes on the floor. Seeing his father brought back the thoughts of his secret and his guilt, which made him unable to meet the man's eyes for fear he would discover it.
"Look at me," Greystorm said to his son. "It might be the last time you ever do."
Unwillingly Farlin lifted his head and locked eyes with his battle-scarred father. He was a man of fifty-eight, scars wreathing his features and a direct grey gaze burning Farlin as he studied him. He smiled, though it did not reach his eyes, and clasped his son on the shoulder. "I chose you for this mission because I knew you could pull through it. Something has been different about you, always has been, from the moment you were born; something that separates you from the average."
Farlin froze, his muscles tensed, ready to draw his blade or run. Had his father discovered...no, surely not...?
But then Greystorm continued. "You were born to be a paladin, Farlin. You have such natural skill and belief in the Light that I am sure you will be protected from whatever grisly fate may await those that travel to the island." At that, Jared visibly baulked, clearly aware that Greystorm did not exclude him from the "grisly fate."
Just then, a roar rose up from the gathered crowd on the docks, and the trio looked up to see a mercenary ship visible on the horizon. Greystorm glanced once more over at Jared, then down at his son, before releasing his shoulder and whisking past them with all the authority he carried on his battle-hardened mantle. Watching him fade into the distance and eventually disappear amongst the smoke and bustle of the city, Farlin swallowed nervously and shook his head to clear it.
What his father had said was true – he knew he had always been intended to follow the path of the Light. His talent was unmatched in battle prowess, the healing of his allies and striking retribution on those of his foes who were traitors to the gods and the true path of glory. His more personal matters, though, that not even Jared knew of, had led him to believe that though he intended to follow the Light and become who his father wanted him to be, his faith in his path was not strong enough, as Fate had decided to play a cruel trick on him.
"Come on," Jared urged, grabbing Farlin's arm. "We'd better get going." Farlin, still wrapped up in his thoughts, felt only the exciting, tingling sensation as his best friend touched his arm, and allowed himself to be dragged towards the waiting vessel by the eager paladin.
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20,000 Leagues Under the Sea