scene: a darkened stage, lit so only the front of is visible

enter narrator stage right. as he speaks, enter spectator stage left.

narrator: Witness, friends, this gathered…

spectator: What are you doing?

narrator: How does it appear? I am telling this tale.

spectator: Well, yes, I see that. but what’s up with this format?

narrator: The tale will be told through the lens of a play. ‘Tis a grand story; thus it deserves a grand stage.

spectator: The story isn’t that grand.

narrator: Forbear and exeunt, if you please. The audience awaits.

spectator: Fine

exit spectator stage left

narrator: Witness, friends, this gathered assemblage, peers of the realm all, each a hero in his or her own right. Through war and toil, quests without number, they have come to hear a tale of tragedy, of laughter, of kin and foe. Of history repeating, for the Blood of the Rose had returned.

exit narrator stage right.

The scene lights, revealing a small conference room decorated in medieval/fantasy style. There is a large table and several chairs. All the furniture looks new. A canvas tarpaulin covers one wall and occasionally flaps from a gust of wind. A varied group sits around the table. All eyes are on a stark white-haired blood elf in worn plate armor who stands at the end of the table closest to the tarp.

Maelstrome: I speak to you about the history of the Blood, but the truth of the matter is that you, yourselves, are living its history at this moment. For its path has been akin to a predator that dwells in a desert land – feast or famine. All or nothing. The Blood rises and falls as if on the whim of a capricious god.

What I tell you is but an abridged version of events. A truncated tale from mine own perspective, for the history of this company is not one elf’s tale, but the cumulative story of many. Mayhap some other venerable members will fill in the blanks I must needs leave.

To know the beginning of the order, one must first know of the Templars of the Rose. Think you it a coincidence that the names are similar? The Templars it was who reached out to some few trusted members of the Horde. In those days, before the world breaker, before the Lich King, when the portal to old Draenor opened, some few of members of both the Alliance and Horde recognized the wisdom of aligning against a common foe. And so the Blood were formed as a sort of sister-kin to the Templars, to uphold the same ideals; to prove that hostilities could be ceased, that all engaged might benefit from a whole Azeroth.

And now I must crave pardon, for I must speak of mine own story, but for a moment. For I was someone else in those times, and my memory is like a shredded tapestry; hither and thus I see glimpses of color, of people and faces, but names stick not, so I cannot tell you of what heroes they were that began this enterprise. Perhaps one of our venerable elders might recall; mayhap some in our very presence were there. I cannot say. The Blood existed, so much is certain, but I heard only rumors of contracts signed on the terraced steps of Orgrimmar; and those same might have been some other company.

For myself, I can speak clearly of two moments in the Blood�s history. The first was under Zadon, who found me wandering the frozen north and bade me join him.  Together with our small company � no bigger than our assemblage this day � we strove to fix what we could of the destruction following Deathwing�s upheaval.

The scant years between major conflicts saw the blossoming of the Blood into what may be considered, up to this point in time, its �glory days,� for the rolls were filled and much good work was accomplished. The Blood played perhaps the strongest part in building and maintaining Tranquility�s Watch, a beacon of hope and healing in the Plaguelands that was open to all species, races, and factions. Most of our number lived and thrived there, and I could spin tales for hours of the adventures of Lilliana the Fair, Falloneous the Insane, and the traiTOROUS CHEATING BASTARD NARONEL�

Maelstrome takes some deep breaths. Everyone else stares.

Maelstrome: Your pardon. As if cued by a particularly cruel conductor, the Pandarian crisis swept away the tenuous peace and with it many of the inhabitants of the Watch. And it was in Pandaria that another hole in my memory exists, for I was diverted from my path and downed by the Sha of Fear, and it was not until the war in that land was over that I recovered myself.

Everything had changed. Zadon, Lilliania, nearly everyone I knew was gone. I knew not whither, nor could others tell me. Nestarion led the Blood, and with him some few I did not recognize. Tranquility�s Watch was nearly abandoned, a shadow of its former thriving self. And another war was already at hand.

I followed Nestarion into new Draenor, and the Blood shone on the field of battle many a day. Until the fateful day when all was lost, and I woke to find the world once again without sign of those I once knew.

And that is my scant knowledge of the Blood. It has many gaping holes, and again I crave your pardon. Perhaps some few of those present might remember more and tell us what happenings filled those lost times.

Maelstrome sits.

Narrator: And so we end this moment when, in a great many words, very little actual information was instilled on the listeners. Thus endeth the worst play ever written. Truly, it is just one person talking. Not really a play at all. Sounded much better in my head. Action! It needs action!

The narrator blows up.


Author Sunscryer
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