魔兽世界官方领袖短篇英文版—GennGreymane-LordofHisPack.doc

Genn Greymane: Lord of His Pack “Never take a man’s hand, Son…” King Archibald Greymane said, his strong frame now a muddied silhouette against the fading glow of twilight. “’Tis always better to stand tall on your own. It is what separates the great from the meek.” His son, Genn, all of seven years old, pulled his outstretched hand back. He was sitting cross-legged on the cool stones of the recently built fortifications. The ramparts were impressive testaments to the power of the nation, but to Genn, perhaps not nearly as impressive as the man standing in front of him. “Do you think all of this was built by asking the other kingdoms to lift us up?” The industrial towers of Gilneas City loomed below. It was a magnificent sight, for sure: large tiled roofs poised over cobblestone streets; shops, factories, and billowing smoke; it was truly a city with an eye toward the future, toward the potential of its people. “When I was a young prince, as you are today, my father would not have dreamed of this! But I did dream, and I struck out on my own, and look at us now…. All of it done without taking the hands of those in Stormwind or begging for aid from those in Lordaeron. And we certainly did not grovel to the long-eared arrogance of those demi-humans in Quel’Thalas.” Genn had heard the stories of Gilneas in the time before Archibald had taken the crown. It certainly was a nation of nowhere near the power it would rise to. “Now get up, boy. Get up, and don’t ask me to help you again. Because all of this will be yours, and when it is, you must be ready.” “’Tis yours, Father. Gilneas will always be yours.” Archibald smiled, his tone softening. “No, Son. Princes grow into kings, and days fade into nights. This is the way of things. Come now, I daresay I can feel a chill in the air. We should feast. I do believe it is roast boar tonight.” Genn quickly pulled himself to his feet. Succulent swiftthistle boar, made by who Genn believed was the finest chef in all of Azeroth, was