This was something that Gareth had dreamed about in his younger years. After Arthas had completely obliterated the old kingdom, he fought so harshly to reclaim what he had lost.
Then as decades passed, he slowly lost that hope, and only hoped to at least purge what infested the land. Then he met the Forsaken that decided to fight for their old kingdom, rather than for that Undead Queen. Time in Lordaeron and the Argent Dawn soon tempered him with the belief that all could have some manner of good. Truly, he believed this. As he years went on, he refused to take sides, knowing full well it'd go against his principles.
Somehow Gareth was able to justify that... only those who followed Sylvanas were pure evil. Truly. And so he kept to his principles, and considered the more erratic, radical-nationalist Forsaken as just another type of Scourge.
Adopted or not, the pain was real. And it spurred the old forge of hatred and anger. He considered his principles to be more than a weakness, but a self-justification that did harm to the world. He saw himself as a force of chaos in a world that demanded peace and unity.
So it was that force that Sir Gareth Davice, Knight of the Silver Hand, Son of Lordaeron, and Vassal to Harthfolde stood among the sea of blues. When his king charged the field, so did he, and how glorious was his holy crusade upon the scores of Horde.
Gareth slaughtered his old enemies, the Orcs and Trolls. He destroyed fresh ones, such as the Undead and their monstrosities. He culled old allies like the Blood Elves, and killed even what he considered peaceful additions to the Horde such as the Tauren and Pandaren.
It was on this field that he'd make his mark. The elder knight's threat grew red and spotted, his warcries lifting with every unceremonious kill upon his opponent. The large maul he held, tempered through every war and forged to bring justice, slaughtered all in his path.
It was here that he met an older Orc. The beast of a warrior swung his battle axe high then low, the Paladin just narrowly escaping a steely death. His azure pools, as young as they were in the beginning, shimmered with golden light. His features, old and aging, practically lit up as he sent golden flames into his opponent's side, searing steel to flesh in a matter of moments.
Another swing was deflected with a harsh guard from the shaft of his maul, before following through with a swift crack of the pommel sliding across the now broken jaw of the Orc. Gareth Davice raised his weapon, hoping to overpower the warrior with both the Light and holy steel, but was met with an extreme pain along his right.
His maul flew and fluttered, the head slamming into the familiar, yet burned earth. Gareth grabbed at his arm, the Orc's axe having torn through and sliding deep. With a roar did the elder lift his hand and unleash a torrent of holy fire, melting away the flesh of his enemy. Yet, almost as a last show of defiance, the old warrior dragged his axe down enough to totally remove the limb from the Paladin's body.
True, the Knight continued to fight. His wound was closed by the graciousness and warmth of the Light. He fought clumsily, and not at all like what he was. He'd see this through to the end, however. Yet, he was met with the same sight he had before when retreating to Lordaeron.
So many dead. So many Undead now roaming, and his city in total ruin.
Gareth collapsed, and everything went dark.
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