Tales of Lordaeron

The Stolen Pennies
One day the father was sitting with his wife and children, and they were having their noonday meal by their little house on the shores of Lordamere Lake. A good friend, who had come to visit, was also eating with them. As they were sitting there the clock struck twelve, and the visitor saw the door open and a little child enters. He was very pale and clad in snow white cloths. He neither looked around nor said anything but went straight into the next room. Soon he returned and went out the door just as quietly as he had entered. The second and third day the child came and went in the exact same way. Finally, the visitor asked the father who the beautiful child was that went into the room every day at noon.

“I didn’t see it,” he answered, “I have no idea at all whose child it might be.”

On the next day, when the child came again, the visitor pointed it out to the father, but he did not see it. Neither did the mother and the children. Then the visitor stood up, went to the door of the room, opened it a little, and looked inside. There he saw the child sitting on the floor, busily digging and rummaging through the cracks of the boards. However as soon as the child noticed the visitor, he disappeared. Now, the visitor told the family what he had seen and given an exact description of the child. The mother was then able to recognize the child and said, “Alas, it’s my own dear child who died four weeks ago.”

The ripped up the boards of the floor and found two pennies the child had received from his mother at one time. The child had thought to himself, you can buy yourself a biscuit for that. He had kept the pennies and had hidden them in the cracks of the floor. However, he had not been able to rest in his grave and had come back every day at noon to look for the pennies. So the parents took the money, then brought it before the grave of the child buried on an island a little to the north of the house. Then the child bothered the family no more.

The little house south of Lordamere Lake. Locate two silver coins hidden under the floorboards. Bring to the grave in Fenris Isle (?). The grave slides away to reveal a beautiful painting of a noblewoman of old. Dressed in fine silk and furs, a large crystal amulet shining on her bosom like a brilliant star. Behind the painting was named: Lady Agatha De Mure; Countess of Silvershore.

The Three Sisters
Once upon a time, there were three sisters, each a beautiful in her own right, each with a different skill. The three sisters lived happily, each honing her craft until it reached its zenith. Upon reaching adulthood, their father bestowed upon them each a gift.

The eldest who tended the fields received a golden sickle, Polished til it shone like the sun. Adorned with the finest jewels.

The second who was a weaver was given a collection of silver threads, enchanted so they could stretch for miles.

The third was a huntress and received a set of golden claws. Each ornately etched and adorned with jewels.

The gifts were great. When put together they make a great sound that moved the mountains. Yet the sisters were old, and it was time they parted to each their own fortune. So the sisters took their gifts and set out into the world.

The first sister ventured far to the west. Passing through two great obelisks, she went deep into north, far into broken and Desolate lands... Standing upon a ashen-grey earth, she settled down and tilled the earth. Beneath earth life sprung forth, fields of green and full of life. There, she found her home.

The second sister traveled to the north. Through the Howling winds and into the great green field. There she found like-minded folk, weavers of their own right. And so she settled among them, forever weaving the silver silk that entranced and ensnared all who passed.

The third was restless and scoured for game. She traveled the lands, forever thirsty for the thrill of the hunt. Yet her reputation preceded her, and wherever she went, prey fled. Gradually she tired and lost interest. Settling in a Dead valley, the third sister closed her eyes and slept, forever resting among the dead.

The Price of Greed
A young man was in love with a beautiful woman from a nearby village. To show his love, he skimped and saved every copper he could get a hold of until he had enough to buy her an expensive necklace, which would show to all that she was his. He was so overcome with excitement over the gift that he resolved to give it to his beloved that very day. By the time the purchase was completed, however, the hour was late, and the river Anduin lay between him and the woman he loved. The nearest bridge was half a day’s travel away, so the majority of travel between the two villages was accomplished by use of a ferry. The young man set off for the ferry immediately but did not arrive until well after dark. By this time the ferry master had gone to sleep. The young man pounded on the door, waking the master, who was angry over being awoken so rudely and refused to ferry the young man across. The young man asked to use the boat on his own, but the ferry master pointed out that if he did that, the boat would be stuck on the far side of the river. The young man promised to return the boat in the morning, but the master was not willing to trust the young man and refused this as well.

Out of options, but still unwilling to wait until morning, the young man elected to swim across the river. This was during the spring, however, and the river was swollen with runoff from the winter’s snow melting in the nearby hills. As the man attempted to swim across, he was swept away by the current and drowned. His body was found lodged in a fallen tree two days later, but the necklace was lost.

A year later, a fisherman saw something glitter from the bottom of the river. Knowing the story of the young man and the necklace, and how much the necklace was worth, he said to himself that should he retrieve it, he could sell it and buy a new home for his family. He dove into the water, but never returned to the surface.

The following summer, piers were being sunk into the river for the construction of a new bridge. The dredge being used to dig the holes came up, and sitting atop the silt in the claw was the missing necklace. Seeing this, one of the workers climbed onto the claw to retrieve it, but one of the chains broke, and the claw fell into the river, taking the worker and the necklace with it. Trapped by the claw, the worker was drug to the bottom of the river, and drowned.

Word spread that the necklace was cursed, and the souls of the three men were bound to it. From then on it was taught to children to never go for anything shiny in the water, lest their souls become bound to the necklace as well.

The Songstress
There once was a songstress whose voice moved the very mountains itself. When she sang the mountains moved, souls stirred, and clouds shifted and danced. The news of her voice went far and wide, and many came to listen to her song. Those her music touched found peace and comfort, and she was praised in the lands throughout.

Yet the woman was unkind, proud and boastful. She reveled in the praises and looked down upon those with lesser voices, belittling and ridiculing them of their imperfections. Yet because of her voice, she was adored by many, and few dared to speak out against her and her admirers.

One day she settled by the seaside and met another fair maiden who was singing. The maiden’s song was clear and haunting. As she sang, the fish in the water danced and the waves lapped rhythmically to her tune. Jealousy bubbled within the songstress - for as enchanting her own voice was, it had no sway over the waves and the fish. She approached the maiden, beseeching her of the magic in her voice. The maiden obliged and told the songstress if she would let the maiden borrow her voice, the maiden would imbue it with power. Hungry for the magic, the Songstress agreed and gave her voice willingly. Yet it was not meant to be, for the maiden was in truth a witch. She took the Songstress’ voice and fled deep into the waters.

Realizing that she has been tricked, the Songstress cried for aid. Yet without her voice, her admirers turned upon her. Those she had scorned ridiculed her openly. Distraught, the Songstress fled into the woods, never to be seen again.

The witch took her voice and placed it on a lyre. She brought the lyre deep into the sea where with its song, she lulled a great one to sleep. As it slumbered, she hid within the Great One her treasures, then disappeared into the depths.

The Song of Brave Sir Duncan
Brave Sir Duncan rode off for adventure

Brave, brave Sir Duncan

To far away lands, to shores and strands,

Brave, brave Sir Duncan

Upon his trusty steed, he rode

Into the sunset, for adventures untold

Brave, brave Sir Duncan

Into the Forest of Terror, he rode

Brave, brave Sir Duncan

Birdmen he slew and spiders he stewed

Brave, brave Sir Duncan

Down to the Ring of Death, he rode

Brave, Brave Sir Duncan

Spirits he cleansed and souls he mends

Brave, brave Sir Duncan

Into the verdant plains, he rode

Brave, brave Sir Duncan

The winds he calmed and fire he doused

Brave, brave Sir Duncan

Three times around a diamond he rode

Brave, brave Sir Duncan

Where he met his end under a gronn’s big toe

Poor, poor Sir Duncan!

His head smashed in

His eyes popped out

His limbs devoured

His bowels all about

His soul no more

His body all gone

‘Ere on the fields in the great dark beyond.

Poor, poor Sir Duncan!

End Pages
''At the back of the book, etched into the thick leather back. Coded: Written in ink that is easily distinguishable as fresher and newer than the rest of the book.''

if you are reading this. the Light smile upon you.

in this book are stored the locations.

Of the fragments of my beloved Lordaeron.

Tomes, scrolls, and relics of old.

Preserved and stored away from the eyes of the banshee.

Scattered and hidden into the winds.

May their knowledge and power be preserved for the generations to come

May these items find their way into those who still hold the Light in their hearts.

Even as the shadows sweep our land, Light still stands in the furthest of corners.

Scollkeeper Reth’orai May her soul rest in peace within the Light Clergy of Lordaeron