In the dim glow of a bachelor pad, a young man sat hunched over his computer, lost in the world of Azeroth. His fingers danced across the keyboard and mouse, guiding his digital avatar through a virtual battlefield. On screen, his character clashed with a formidable humanoid boss, clad in striking red and white armor.
After a prolonged and intense digital struggle, the young man finally stilled his hands. The computer screen displayed the triumphant words: "You have slain Prince Galen Trollbane, and looted the Trollbane Signet."
A satisfied grin spread across his face. He clicked the Hearthstone icon, preparing his character's magical return to town to complete the associated quest. As the casting animation began, a flicker caught his eye. He could have sworn the screen momentarily flashed: "Four Signets have been collected. Conditions met. Initiating activation."
Before he could fully process this strange message, a blinding white light erupted from the computer screen, engulfing the young man entirely.
Across the vast expanse of the shining planet Azeroth, in the southern reaches of the Arathi Highlands within the continent of Lordaeron, a majestic city stood like a formidable, gray-white sentinel. This was Stromgarde, an ancient and heavily fortified city, the heart of a kingdom steeped in centuries of history.
Though the celestial dance of 'White Lady' (morning) and 'Blue Boy' (night) had run its course, the day was still young. A hazy gray lingered in the sky, yet the ancient city pulsed with a vibrant energy, the streets already bustling with activity. Under the steadfast leadership of the Trollbane family, Stromgarde flourished, its prosperity steadily increasing.
At the city's highest point, in its very center, stood a formidable military fortress. Within the expansive training grounds before its imposing walls, two figures, one towering and the other younger, engaged in a spirited duel. Each wielded a weapon of war: one a broadsword, the other a two-handed great axe. They moved with practiced agility, their weapons flashing in the dim morning light, the clang of steel echoing across the training grounds.
Though the exchange appeared fierce, the advantage clearly lay with the larger of the two, a rugged man easily exceeding two meters in height. His arms bulged with raw power, testament to his incredible strength, his frame broad and solid.
His opponent, a teenager who appeared no older than seventeen, possessed a youthful, almost naive countenance. He barely reached the man's chin, yet his own height was an impressive one meter seventy-eight. The resemblance between the two was striking, a seven or eight-tenths match, sharing the same resolute gaze and a similarly robust, powerfully built physique, as strong as a young bull.
They parried and struck, a whirlwind of motion. Suddenly, the teenager, finding his direct attacks ineffective, a mischievous glint sparked in his eyes. "Father, take this!" he exclaimed, his greatsword sweeping upwards in a cunningly angled strike aimed at the man's waist.
"Well executed!" The man's eyes lit up, a flicker of genuine admiration crossing his face, clearly impressed by the teenager's swordsmanship. He swiftly turned his giant axe, using the weapon's hooked barb to expertly block the incoming blade. "Galen, it seems your combat prowess has significantly improved since your promotion to high-ranking warrior yesterday."
"That is due to my father's excellent tutelage, and of course," the teenager declared with a grin, "my own extraordinary talent, hahaha." As he spoke, he followed up with a diagonal slash of his sword.
"You little rascal, always boasting," the man chuckled, easily deflecting the teenager's blade once more. After a few more exchanges, the man ended the practice session with a decisive chop, forcing the teenager to step back. "Alright, that's enough for now. Clean yourself up and meet me in the council hall in an hour." With that, he handed the giant axe to a waiting guard, straightened his clothes, ruffled slightly from the sparring, and turned to leave the training grounds.
"Father, am I going to attend the kingdom's meeting?" Galen asked, placing his broadsword on the weapon rack, his gaze fixed on his departing father.
"No, your cousin Danath has returned, and I have matters to discuss with him. Besides," the man continued, his eyes filled with admiration and a hint of pride, "you have already achieved the rank of a high-level professional. You are only twelve years old this year, a talent I certainly didn't possess at your age. I have witnessed your dedication and sweat, and I am now ready to grant your request to travel abroad." This was his only son.
"Go now, change your clothes. I'll see you in the council hall." He turned and strode away, his pace steady, unaffected by the strenuous exercise.
Watching his father's retreating figure, Galen smiled. He was finally going to be able to leave. The knowledge of the Warcraft universe had been a weighty presence in his mind for far too long.
It hadn't been easy. Galen had been anticipating this day since his transmigration to Azeroth, reborn as the very character he had last vanquished in the game. He had been patiently waiting for an opportunity to alter his destiny and the fate of those around him. Today, King Thoras, his father, had finally given his consent.
Thoras Trollbane, the Grand Lord of Stromgarde, ruler of the ancient kingdom spanning millennia, King of Stromgarde, one of the seven human kingdoms, sovereign of the Arathi Highlands, a king renowned throughout the human world for his courage.
And Galen was Thoras Trollbane's only son. When the realization of his transmigration to the world of Azeroth had first struck him, Galen had been filled with apprehension. Despite being a hardcore World of Warcraft player in his previous life, from the early days of The9's launch, through over a decade of on-and-off play, from guild main force to lore enthusiast and casual player, he hadn't missed a single expansion.
But it was precisely this deep understanding that made him acutely aware of Azeroth's calamitous future. Though the world-soul of Azeroth lay dormant, its eventual awakening would eclipse even the Titans of the Pantheon, having already repelled the Burning Legion's invasion ten thousand years prior.
Yet, Azeroth's slumber was the crux of the problem. This powerful entity, though a native of the world he now inhabited, was an unreliable ally in the immediate future.
Galen was twelve years old this year. Prince Varian Wrynn of Stormwind was nine, three years his junior. Varian's birth preceded the opening of the Dark Portal by ten years, making the following year Year Zero. Orcs from Draenor would then flood into Azeroth through the Dark Portal like an unstoppable tide, and the southern kingdom of Stormwind would begin its desperate resistance. King Llane Wrynn would be assassinated in the fourth year of the Dark Portal, and Stormwind would fall.
In the fifth year, Anduin Lothar would lead the Stormwind refugees and the young prince across the sea to Southshore, seeking aid from the other six human kingdoms. Finally, under the leadership of King Terenas Menethil of Lordaeron, the Alliance would be forged.
Immediately following this alliance, the Second Orcish War would erupt, lasting two brutal years before the Human Alliance would ultimately triumph.
It was during these two years of conflict that Galen's kingdom of Stromgarde, serving as a crucial bridgehead against the orcs, would lose nearly two-thirds of its elite forces. The subsequent construction and maintenance of orc internment camps would drain the kingdom's resources, overwhelming its people. National strength would be severely depleted, making even the suppression of orc slave revolts within the camps a difficult task.
This excessive loss of national power and manpower would erode the people's confidence in the royal family. It was no wonder that a large number of Stromgarde citizens would abandon their homes after the outbreak of the undead Scourge, following Jaina Proudmoore to Kalimdor, leaving only a meager three thousand souls to eke out an existence in Refuge Pointe.
The future held the specter of national ruin and the potential demise of his family.
Alas, Galen sighed inwardly, as a prince, the weight of the future is heavy. He strolled into the courtyard, intending to change clothes before heading to the council hall.
In truth, after twelve years, Galen had come to terms with his current identity. Transmigration was an irreversible fact. Instead of dwelling on what was lost, he resolved to embrace his new reality, seek opportunities to alter the grim future he knew, change his destiny, and perhaps, along the way, save Azeroth – a rather grand ambition.
With this goal firmly in mind, Galen dedicated himself to rigorous training. From the age of five, he had followed his brave father, honing his combat skills. Thoras Trollbane, a warrior of epic hero rank, stood as one of Stromgarde's most formidable fighters, arguably the most skilled among the Seven Kings. Even King Genn Greymane of Gilneas and Admiral Daelin Proudmoore were considered slightly less proficient than Thoras in direct combat.
Witnessing his only son's diligence and unwavering commitment to the path of the warrior, Thoras spared no effort in guiding Galen during his free time. Even amidst the demands of his royal duties, he ensured his captain of the palace guard instructed Galen in the mastery of rage energy. Galen proved a worthy student, his strength and skill advancing at an astonishing pace. By the age of twelve, he had surpassed the intermediate level, becoming a warrior in the early stages of the high level.