Hey everybody! Thanks for visiting my Warcraft fanfiction! This fic has recently been revised and updated pretty extensively, adding some and removing some where necessary.

Chapter 1: Who I was.

Who are you? If you are asked that question and simply give your name, you are missing the point of the question. Who you are is much more than your name, or a title, or a description, it is the most personal of questions a person can ask another sentient creature. You might think you know who you are, but in your most private of moments, think about that question. Who are you? Are you simply a baker, or a carpenter, or a poor farm boy? Statistically speaking, it is likely you are something as mundane as this, with no real ambition to ascend to do something more. I thought I knew who I was until a chance meeting on the streets of my home changed everything.

I struggled to remember many of the things from my life, but they came in waves the more I thought. The more that came back to me; I wasn't sure what I felt, anger, sadness? Emotions became so much harder, besides apathy. I simply wanted to close my eyes and rest, given the circumstances. My apologies, I seem to have digressed past the point of my story. Where was I? Oh, yes, right.

It was just the very beginning of summer. I remember because the cherry trees were just beginning to bear their fruit, and it would soon become time to harvest them. The smell of the pies would waft through the streets of the town, and the little children would beg and plead the missus of the houses for a little sliver of pie. Beg your pardon, my home town? Oh, yes, it was a little hamlet called Hearthglen. It was a quaint little town, complete with everything we'd need to survive on our own, just on the northern border of Lordaeron and the ocean. We were not in the lap of luxury like the people of Stratholme or the Capital City, but we managed.

My family lived just outside the town, at a small plot of land we called home. We survived by trading goods we had on hand; food, chicken eggs, cow milk, things you'd normally find on a farm, in exchange for goods or services we needed to survive during the harsh winters. It was a simple existence, but most would have preferred it that way. I worked the fields and did whatever it was my mother and father told me needed to be done. It was particularly warm that fateful day; I was in the loft of the barn we had erected several months ago. It was my favorite spot to relax and rest.

"Matthew," mother's voice rang out from the house, "Matthew, come here!"

I was up quickly and climbing down the ladder and rushing out the barn. She was standing on the porch, drying her hands on that dirty apron she always wore. Ah, mother. She was beautiful, with curly auburn hair, that she kept short. She was a small, mousy woman, very plain, but I thought she was beautiful, as did father. I went up to her like the dutiful little boy I was to see if I was in trouble or if there were errands that needed to be ran.

For a moment, she rifled around inside of her dress and offered me a small satchel. The way it jingled, I knew it was coin, what little we had left from the previous year's harvest, and probably of some of what mother called her rainy day fund. "Matthew, your father is busy catching dinner. I need you to run into town and buy some things for dinner. This year's harvest won't be ready for another couple of months, so run along now, and be home in time for dinner."

"Yes, mama," I dutifully replied and took the little satchel. Now, most boys would have run into town and spent the coin on sweet rolls or candy or whatever other sweets he could get his hands on. I listened carefully to what mother required, and I would return with just that. With all of the energy of a ten year old boy, I scampered off towards the town, clutching the small satchel. It was just about late afternoon, and the town was busying itself in one way or another, and I spotted the vendor and his cart of fruits and vegetables, spotting my destination near the center of town. What I did not spot was the group of school children running an intercept course.

I was no brick house, just a small farm boy who ate little, and wanted for less. These boys were practically the size of small castles. I was sent sprawling into the dirt with a yelp as they surrounded me. I held onto the bag of coin from mother for dear life as I laid in the mud, my white shirt and blue shorts becoming stained something fierce, and I could see the muddy water beneath me sink into my plain work boots and made my socks squishy and felt that altogether unpleasant feeling settle in.

"What do you got there, stupid?" Said what I assumed was their ring leader, a tall burly boy, who was a head taller than the rest of his little gang, and a few heads taller than I, and twice as muscular. I tried to scramble away to be able to escape and return home, or alert the guards to my plight, not that the situation of a ten year old farm boy was something they regularly involved themselves in.

"I-I'm just running e-errands." I squeaked pathetically. They laughed uproariously at my reply, clearly being far too embroiled in my torture to be worried for my tardiness with mother. Beg your pardon? Oh, why did they call me stupid? Oh, that. Yes, well, schooling was not something that was easy to come by in that town. There was a tuition that needed to be paid, and my parents simply did not have the coin required for it, and I was needed at the farm. As such, I was not permitted to attend school. I could not read nor write, or do much in the way of academia. They knew this, as this was not the first time I'd run into these boys, and it would not be the last. I was the stupid farm boy who couldn't count coin or read signs. I simply found my way with landmarks and mother and father always counted out the exact number of coins for my purchase.

"Whatcha got there?" said the leader reaching for my satchel of coin. It was then that my fight or flight response finally kicked in and it had chosen flight for me to escape, but they would not be having any of it. I was grabbed by one and shoved back into the mud. I'm not sure how many times I was punched, but I could feel my body and head rocking with pain as they had their way with me, tossing me about and shoving my face into the mud. They jerked and pulled at the satchel I clutched for dear life, but it would not be my fate to hold onto it as it left my grasp and I cried out, pleading for them to return my stolen property, but they would not be having it. I tried to fight back, but they were bigger and my form constantly met with a sudden impact from the muddy ground.

"He's loaded! How much will this buy us?" Shouted one of the children in victory as they counted my coin, and began to talk about how many sweets they would purchase with their ill gotten gains. It was then I found my voice and tried to stand. I found my feet and I clasped my hands in front of myself, stretching my arms.

"P-please," I spoke through a broken lip and a bruised face. "I n-need that for d-dinner! My mama sent me with it."

This caused them to laugh harder, the leader tossing my satchel from hand to hand as he approached. "Your mama gave you this? Tell your mama thanks for us."

"N-no, you c-can't take it! It's not yours!" I begged and pleaded with them, as tears peeked under my eyelids. "Please, I'll g-go home with less f-food and I'll buy you all some s-sweets!"

A fist came in contact with my mouth, teeth leaving my jaw as I was sent to the mud once more. They were ruthless in their assault and I sobbed openly now, knowing they would not be returning the stolen money as they began to walk away with it, going for the bakery and the general story to buy their sweets with my money. That was my money, and they were going to use it to be glorified sugar. I shouted in anger as I stood up and headed into town, tripping over my own two feet as I headed towards the only place I knew to go for help; the barracks to alert the guard. Foolish I know, but they would be my only hope in returning my stolen money to me.

Or so I thought.