A short story series, based on the journey and history of character Maeriann Cromwell. First published in December, 2015 and expands upon the character's past and current whereabouts.
Chapter One[]
Our story begins months ago, before the Mother Maeriann vanished without a trace...
Randal smoking his pipe. Artwork by suburbbum
“I have a home here now. I have a new life… stop packing my things, Randal!” Maeriann shouted at the old man as he hurriedly stuffed random clothes and trinkets into a large rucksack. “We don’t have time to argue about this. You have to come back to Kalimdor. You must. There isn’t time to explain. I will tell you more on the boat!” said the old man, shouting back just as loudly.
He held up a small, gilded ball attached to a chain, looking puzzled. His eyes darted to Maeriann, blinking a few times. Maeriann let out a disheartened sigh, rubbing her temple.
“It’s a thurible. Put it down,” she said, appearing annoyed with the gentleman fumbling through her belongings. He shrugged his shoulders, tossing the shiny instrument behind him onto the floor. The sound of it crashing echoed off the stone walls.
“Hey! Now, that’s enough! You don’t just march into my life, start tossing my property around and demand that I sail with you across the world without any speck of explanation! I demand that you stop this instant and explain yourself! I won’t stand for this nonsense, Randal!” Maeriann proclaimed loudly as she slammed her hand onto a nearby table.
The old man slowed momentarily, giving out a sigh. He now looked as equally annoyed as Maeriann did. He managed to tie up the bulging rucksack and set it on the floor before he locked eyes with the woman.
“Look, Mae,” the old man said.
“That’s Mother Maeriann to you.” Maeriann said firmly as she pointed at him.
“Okay. Mother Maeriann. Look. I’m happy that you’ve made yourself a new life here after what happened in Theramore. I really am. But you must understand that there is something much larger going on here than the church. While you sit here, playing church politics and singing lovely songs about how wonderful the light is, there’s something from your past that wasn’t obliterated when that bomb fell on the bay.” Randal said as he resumed collecting other items from a nearby armoire.
Maeriann halted, blinking her eyes. She stood there for a moment, bewildered. “W-what?” she asked.
The old man shook his head, returning to his hastened packing of her belongings. He grabbed up the large rucksack, tossing it over his shoulder. “See? This is why I wanted to wait until we set sail. Because now it becomes more time wasted as you attempt to tweeze the details out of me… while I’m trying to hurry you along,” the old man sighed.
Maeriann rushed to Randal, stretching out her arms and grabbing him by the shoulders. She locked her eyes with his as a look of desperation spread across her face.
“Tell me! Tell me now! I demand to know!” she shouted as she shook him violently. Her eyes began to water as she felt her emotions take hold. The man swayed back and forth as she shook him, his lips tightened as he did not wish to speak. He shook his head in protest, trying to break free from her grip. This only led to Maeriann tightening her hands onto his tunic, shaking him more forcibly. A few stray tears began to run down her cheek and her knotted face eased into one of grief.
“T-tell me! Tell...” Maeriann cried out, whimpering.
“Your son! It’s your son!” he shouted back. “He’s still alive!”
Maeriann’s eyes widened and her grip on Randal’s shoulders loosened almost immediately. Her mouth went agape and she stared into his eyes, unblinking. She took a few steps backward, sitting onto the bed with her eyes still staring forward and her face expressionless.
Time seemed to stand still. Randal’s words were just muffled sounds as he continued to speak. Maeriann sat on the edge of her bed, her hand slowly making its way up to cover her mouth. Randal continued to speak, which undoubtedly fell upon deaf ears.
He eventually reached forward and grabbed at Maeriann’s arm, yanking her up. She was in such a state of shock she could barely hold herself up on her own two feet. After a few minutes, the muffled sounds of the old man shouting at her cleared up, and she heard the words “Let’s go!”
She didn’t have control over her body at this point. She willingly followed the old man, who was still tugging at her arm as they rushed out of the Cathedral.
“Mother Maeriann? Is everything alright?” a young sister of the church asked as they sped down the cathedral stairs. Maeriann didn’t respond, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.
The old man and the bishop made their way through the city, rushing towards the docks. The bags and collection of Maeriann’s belongings scrapped the cobblestone streets and wood planks as they haphazardly descended onto the pier.
“Two one-way tickets to Darnassus.” the old man barked at the crewman.
Chapter Two[]
Long before the Isle of Theramore was decimated by a mana-bomb, the city was the final bastion of the Alliance that remained in Kalimdor. It stood as a shining beacon in a region that was becoming overshadowed by the bloodlust of Garrosh Hellscream. In the final hours before Theramore took her last breath, Maeriann and her then husband, Sir Clint Cromwell, gathered in their home and planned for an escape.
“This doesn’t feel right,” the young man said, looking out of the window into the twilight sky.
“What doesn’t feel right?” Maeriann replied, turning from the basinet on the floor, looking upward.
“We should be getting on the boats with the others, Maer. You know that I stand for duty and honor in the face of those that threaten our way of life, but we...” he gestured to the basinet, shaking his head. “…we have a responsibility as parents to protect our child. He’s but a year upon this earth. How could we ever forgive ourselves if something were to happen to him?” said Clint, holding his hand to his head.
Maeriann smiled once more at the baby that lay in the small, rocking crib before bringing up the covers and tucking him in. She stood up and turned to face Clint, the smile on her face replaced with one of contempt.
“You stand for honor? You stand for duty? You would let these orcs run us from our home? A home that we put our own blood, sweat and tears into?” she snapped. Her pointed finger made its way to the front of his face. She glared at him, continuing in her scornful tone, but keeping her voice lowered as not to upset the baby.
“What kind of example are we setting for our son if we run when faced with fear? What cowardice you have for a supposed Knight of the Silver Hand. You dishonor those who have died to keep this city safe. If you wish to flee back to the east, Clint, tuck your tail between your legs and make all haste, please.”
Maeriann huffed, glaring at Clint as she grabbed for a leather jacket, helmet and goggles. Clint stood by the window, seemingly conflicted by his feelings and shame. He managed to bark out to Maeriann “Don’t you dare call me a coward! You believe yourself so damn meritorious by charging into death? That isn’t commendable. It’s ignorant!”
She rolled her eyes, quickly fastening her jacket and placing her helmet on. She was deciding on whether to respond or ignore him altogether, so she kept her attention focused on putting her pilot gear as quickly as she could.
“Oh! I see. The great pilot Maeriann Cromwell is going to flush the orcs out of the swamp by getting in her flyer and dropping pebbles on their heads. Fantastic! I’m sure Rhonin, in his infinite wisdom, will surely be impressed!” Clint said sarcastically, mocking applause as he watched her dress.
Maeriann pulled her gloves over her hands, stretching out her fingers as she tightened the fit.
“I’m not going to be dropping pebbles. I’m going to be dropping steel. Very fast, pointy steel pebbles,” she replied, in a matter-of-fact tone.
“The rig isn’t fitted with that kind of firepower,” Clint snapped.
“It is now,” she replied.
“Oh yeah?” he said, crossing his arms. “How did you manage that?”
Maeriann shrugged, taking a seat to put her boots on. “Randal helped me acquire the parts. Baldruc helped me mount them to the body.”
Clint appeared furious, blinking his eyes rapidly. “You let Randal, that old codger, sell you parts? Have you lost your mind, woman? He’s nothing but an old vagabond that makes his living by ripping people off! And Baldruc? Really? You did all of this without telling me?”
“It’s my flyer. I can do what I damn well please with it,” she chortled back, still pretending to ignore him.
Clint threw his hands up in the air, outraged by Maeriann. He stood there for a moment and shook his head, leaning closer to her as she finished dressing. “So, Ace… what’s your plan?” he asked sarcastically.
“You going to fly into the marshes and try to find an orc to pump full of steel? What then? Come back home, throw his bloodied head on the kitchen table and say ‘I told you so’?”
Maeriann slammed her fist onto the nearby table, incapable of ignoring Clint any longer. She stood up, raced over to Clint and stood close to his face. He stood about six inches taller than her, but her attitude could have fooled any onlooker that she was twice his size.
“You want to stay here? Fine! Stay at home and look after our son. I’m going out there to defend our home against these vile beasts. We can’t expect the Kirin Tor to take the lead here. We have to do it ourselves. So, go back to bed and hide under the covers while your wife keep us safe,” she spat, pointing her finger in his face.
At this point, their voices had become loud enough to bother the child in the crib. As the baby started to cry out, Clint walked away from Maeriann and gently picked up the child, rocking him in his arms. Clint stared at Maeriann, saying nothing but shaking his head.
“I’ll be back after dawn,” Maeriann said, snapping her goggles onto her face and opening the front door. She looked back at Clint momentarily. He gave a saddened look, still rocking the baby in
his arms.
The bombing of Theramore. Artwork by MullinstheGreat
“I love you,” he said softly.
Maeriann hesitated, but decided not to respond, and crossed the threshold, closing the door behind her. This would be the last time she laid eyes on her family or her home.
Maeriann decided to fly on a solo patrol into the Dustwallow Marshes that early morning. While she did gather intelligence regarding Horde troop activity, her efforts would be in vain. She watched from afar as the city erupted into battle and the mana-bomb was eventually detonated, leveling Theramore. This event would set in motion the events that led her back to the Eastern Kingdoms and to the Church.
Chapter Three[]
(This third and conclusion to this series is currently in the works. It will bring closure to the events leading to Maeriann's return to Stormwind and explain her long absence from the church.)