I don’t know much about my family’s origins beyond my mother and father. The Sepher family included several prominent figures from what I was told, though my grandfather, Ciganis Sepher, was the last of the great names before the Orcish Horde came to Azeroth. I learned later in my life that my father, Almendor Sepher, grew up in a wonderful mansion and lived the good life. My grandfather had been a mage of Stormwind and knew the cultural elites. My father had no such gift, but was still a brave man. When the First War came, we lost it all. My grandfather was killed in battle and my father barely escaped as Stormwind was sacked by the Orc armies.
In a strange sense, I might not have existed but for that destruction. After all, my father met my mother, Lilia, on a ship as they were fleeing to Lordaeron. The two of them fell in love and I was born not long after my father used his leftover wealth to buy a small farm near the edge of the Hillsbrad Foothills.
When I was only five, the Second War was coming to Azeroth. My father had known the fighting would return. Our farm had been highly profitable selling crops to the growing armies of the Lordaeron Alliance. My mother didn’t care for my father’s rhetoric about the Orcs. She too had lost her land and family in the First War, but she felt that provoking another fight would only cause more suffering. I, of course, couldn’t care less. I was just a weak child at the time.
When the Second War began, we lost it all again.
I can’t imagine what it was ike for my mother. My father went off to fight, no doubt slain in one of the many Orcish offenses that pushed ever farther into Lordaeron, but my mother was left with a young boy and a farmland that needed tending. She hired some older boys to harvest the crops and things seemed normal for a few months. Then, the war came to the foothills. We fled, running away from everything we knew just as my mother had been forced to do six years before.
She very nearly made it too. Perhaps, if we had not been slowed down, she would have survived. She had grouped up with some other survivors, slower folks who had children or injured or elderly. They were fleeing to Dalaran where they could find shelter from the powerful magic that they controlled.
One night before arriving at the city gates our group was ambushed. My mother was stabbed right in front of me. Despite my best attempts to recall my childhood, only one memory really springs to mind. My mother, standing there with a large knife in her gut. She looked terrified for a moment, but her face became determined and she grabbed me by the shoulder.
“I love you, Sionis. Run!”
Those were her last words to me. I listened to them and I obeyed them. I cried as I ran, but I ran as she instructed. I didn’t have any hope of escaping. I was just a boy and these were massive creatures here to kill anyone that they could. I made it about fifty feet before one of them caught me across the neck and sent me rolling to the ground.
He grumbled something, gave a deep guttural laugh, and then pulled back a long sword to run me through. I screamed at him in a mixture of my own terror and rage. I don’t really recall what happened exactly, but it’s possible the Orc was caught off guard by my yell. He didn’t take much time to recover, however, and I was still just waiting to die.
The sudden arrival of the Kirin Tor is what saved me and the few others that had not already been killed by the Orcs. These powerful magi, riding on white horses, swept in and destroyed the attacking Horde forces.
They gathered us up and quickly moved us to Dalaran’s safety. As the others were given food and wine, I was ushered off to another part of the city. It was here that I was introduced to Antonidas and the Council of Six. I was wearing my grandfather’s necklace as we traveled, a magical relic that one of the Kirin Tor recognized. When they finally figured out who I was, the grandson of Ciganis Sepher, they knew I would be a perfect fit for Dalaran.
The truth be told, even what I share with you now is only speculation. Aside from the clear image in my memory of my mother’s last moments, I have no true recollection of any events that I have described to you here. It’s all pieced together from what others have told me over the years.
As a result, the early days of my life that I just fleshed out stands more on testimony than facts. I choose to believe this history because I like the picture it paints of my parents and the legacy that they protected by ensuring my safety. From here we can move on to the things I do remember… magic and wonder… friends and early foes… striving to become a mage…