[introduction] Jean-Pierre arrives in Stormwind

((This thread will contain stories that take place before JP was created and released in game. I always try to write an intro for my characters, to define their attributes and style. This is the one of Pierre.))

It was a beautiful day for winter. The sun graced the roofs of the city with an orange glow, cloaking the houses in a warm shadow. A young man sat in the back of a kart as it crawled through the city streets, staring at the people in the street.
"How can so many people have such urgent work that they run around, not heeding each other", he wondered.
Two scarcely dressed women argued loudly as the kart passed by. Pierre was amazed by their attire for this time of the year. One women noticed his gaze and turned to him, shouting,
"What?! Never seen a woman before? Fifthy silver and I'll teach you everything you need to know!".
The other woman sneered and shouted,
"For one gold, we'll teach everything you to know about two women!". Both women laughed hard and openly as the boy hid himself in the kart in shame but nobody seemed to care.

The kart grinded to a halt. "Stop 'iding lad, ye'r ther'. The Catheedral's ove' ther', be-ind the woll." and the driver over the bridge. Half guessing the driver's words, Pierre climbed out of the kart.

He crossed the bridge, looking at the people and their strange attires as he passed. He only wore his simple farmer's clothes. He didn't have much else. In the middle of the bridge, he leaned over the edge and looked at the water below. It was dark and gurgling, and quite dirty. He shivered at the water's cold stare and quickly continued his path.

He arrived on a beautiful forum. Small stone benches were busied by more people he'd imagine able to sit on one bench. Each corner of the square had a well tended tree... that somehow kept its green leaves in winter. Behind the square, a large stairway covered with blue carpet led to the magnificent Cathedral. Its bright stones almost seemed to shed their own light. At the entrance he was met by woman in white robes,
"New visitor? You look like one. Welcome to the cathedral of the Light!" she bursted out enthusiastically. "Thank you madame..", said the young man and he bowed low, "ehm.. eh... light.. training. Wh-where can I get that?".
She smiled kindly pointed him to the alcove on the left.

The alcove was scarcely lit, only 3 candles burning on the candelabra. They gave the room a gloomy light and revealed dusty book cases on the walls. The middle of the room hosted a big desk, supporting parchments, a few books, a quill and a strongly build man with a long beard. He eyed the boy up and down.
"Ye seeking guidance? What's yer name?", he said.
"My name... is Jean-Pierre, Jean-Pierre d'Armagnac sir, or Pierre for friends and family.", Jean-Pierre replied and he dropped to his knee, kneeling before the table (almost hiding entirely behind the table).
"I have come to offer my service to the Church and I am looking for guidance and tutoring in the ways of the light".
The man smiled at this comical presentation.
"Fair enough lad, now get up before you give me a bad image. I'm brother Eric. Let me write your name in the registry." and Eric produced a big book from the right side of his table and opened it at an indexed page. Then he carefully wrote Jean-Pierre's name in the book and put back the feather in the bottle. He blew on the ink to dry it and lay the book aside, still open.

Jean-Pierre inspected the brother's movements intently and made a step forward, "You write with a trained hand and treat your book with great care, sir. I seem to have come to the right place!" and he smiled broadly.
"Not really the observation I was expecting", answered the priest. He inspected Jean-Pierre more closely. Jean-Pierre was dressed in warm woolen pants and a woolen vest covered his red shirt. Even the shirt seemed to wave a little around his frail torso. The sleeves of the woolen vest hanged over thin arms and were fastened at the wrists with small leather bands to keep the cold out. It also seemed to blow up the sleeves, increasing the contrast with his thin wrists. Despite the big warm cloak that covered his back, it was clear he was slightly bending over in his back giving him a slightly unsure and timid look. He had a brown leather shoulder bag that almost seemed to pull him down. He seemed out of place in the city.
"Not exactly paladin material are ye?"
"Oh no sir, I wish only to study the light. To read and write about it!"
"Well... we could have used a pair of strong arms, lad. But all followers are welcome as long as they help their fellow man."
Jean-Pierre didn't really know what to answer and the conversation fell into an awkward silence. Eric eyed Pierre's bag and looked at him intently.
"I will notify brother McGale of his newest... acquisition."

Jean-Pierre wandered among the people on the Cathedral square, feeling lost. Few people heeded him, a few shook their heads disapprovingly at his attire. He always believed that it took people to turn a cold place into a warm home. But it seemed so many people in one warm place made the people cold. He thought he might as well move on and visit a tailor. Brother Eric had scribbled him an address and borrowed a coin of gold. It was to be repayed urgently since Brother Eric saved it for a 'special lesson' he said.

There was a technical problem. Pierre had never seen an address before. His home town didn't need them. Everybody knew where everybody lived. They only ever used names. He asked a few citizens, holding the note forward but most people either ignored him or waved him away before he could talk. Reluctantly, he gathered the courage to ask a lone guard conveying the square.

Jean-Pierre looked at the guard feeling feeling ill at ease and let his eyes glide over the pauldrons, the shield and then the impressive weapons the guard was wearing. The guard noticed Jean-Pierre's looks and did not think well of how he stared at his weapons and readied his sword and shield. "Beat it scum!". Frightened like cat Jean-Pierre jumped back, apologizing but to little avail. The guard kept his stance, throwing such an angry glare at Jean-Pierre it could be felt through the harness. Seeing no manner to resolve this, Jean-Pierre turned and fled in panic.

He stopped running at bridge. He noticed a sign with a thread and needle across the canal. "The light shows the way to those who follow it!" he said aloud with a hopeful smile and a few odd looks from bystanders.

The shop was small, hosting many shelves and closets but brightly lit by scented candles. In the back of the room was a large working table being busied by a woman, staring at him in surprise.
"Well?"
"Excuse me madame, I'm looking for a tailor. Are you ehm", and he looked closely at the note, " El-ehm-wyn?".
"Elwyn, yes. And how may I be of service to you?"
Jean-Pierre sighed in relief.
"Ahh well, I require a robe for the Church, an acolyte robe. Brother Eric directed me to you."
"Acolyte?" she looked up in wonder and added softly to herself "so much for standards..".
"So, an acolyte robe", she sighed, "Not my proudest work. I'll get your measures in a moment. You can stop by next week to fit it and for the final touches. It will cost five gold, with two gold payed in advance."
"But... they only gave one gold.. I thought that would be more than required. Brother Eric sent me off with only one gold. How can clothes be so expensive?"
Elwyn turned red in fury. She dropped her work on the table and stepped towards Jean-Pierre, stomping her feet angrily on the floor.
"Only one gold?! No! That will not do! Not for this cloth!" Elwyn pointed impatiently at some rolls with delicate white cloth.
"-My- tailoring is a form of art." She stomped her feet as she continued stepping towards Jean-Pierre, her armed stretched backwards with balded fists.
"It deserves the time, patience and -wage- that comes with this divine skill."
Jean-Pierre backed with every step she came closer.
"I have made robes for many high officials and if they come to -me- it is because they expect the -best-!"
Jean-Pierre could feel the edge of the doorway under his heels.
"I. Will. Not. Settle. For. Anything. Less!" and she wildly waved her right hand in a gesture of rejection. Jean-Pierre stumbled down doorstep and landed on the the street. Elwyn sneered and slammed the door shut. Bypassers seemed embarrassed at Pierre's presence.

He took from his pocket the gold coin he had been given by Eric. He never had held such a fortune in his life. They traded back at he farm town except perhaps, with other towns. And now that he was given this immense fortune, it couldn't buy him the basics.
"What a terrible place", he thought. He got up and walked the streets, not sure where he was heading.

"Some spare silver for a blind man?"
"Uh, what?" Jean-Pierre looked up from his thoughts and saw a beggar sitting on a wooden box. The beggar eyed JP's clothes.
"You're not from around here, are you? Don't worry! Your silver coins bless me equally!", the beggar smiled warmly.
"You really don't look so blind to me."
"Huh? You're right! I can see! Bless the light, I can see! Will you bless that miracle with a silver?"
Jean-Pierre looked at the beggar, feeling ashamed. Such a poor man and there he had a golden coin in his pocket! He thought about the coin and wondered what he should do. Apparently only the beggar deemed a gold coin worth something. The beggar noticed the internal struggle and tried to push him into action.
"Look, I can do a trick! I can do a handstand on my feet. See? Oh don't tell me visitors have no sense of humor? Look, it's winter, I'm cold and hungry. Give me anything, will you?"
"Do you, ehm, live here?"
"Born and raised in the city and this is my glorious palace, also known as 'the box'." The man patted a wooden box.

Jean-Pierre needed the money for himself but he couldn't just leave the man in need. The man was in a worse situation than he was.
"I cannot give you the one coin I possess but perhaps, I can share some of its wealth. I could use someone to guide me around. I need a cheap place to stay and I'll spare what little food I have left, or can afford. I'll make sure you have a full meal."
A rat came creeping out of the box on the side. The beggar turned around and pointed at it.
"You keep the house locked and safe. Stay away from strangers my love. I'll be back tonight."
The rat ran back into the box.
"What's your name?" the beggar asked.
"Jean-Pierre d'Armagnac"
"What a mouthful! I'm Martin."

Martin showed him the districts and their main roads, talked about the different races and their usual places. For cheap human-sized rooms, they went to the Gilded Rose. Jean-Pierre turned to Martin, giving him the food he had left in his shoulderbag: a lump of bread and a piece of dried meat. Martin welcomed it like a feast and took off.

The entrance door rang a small bell as they opened it. A moment later a women came into the room.
"Good afternoon sir. How can I be of service?" She spoke with trained politeness.
"I require a room, but unfortunately," Jean-Pierre looked at the ground in shame, "I'm not a wealthy man. May I ask how much you charge for a room?"
"The small room right above here is charged for only 30 silver a night."
Jean-Pierre thought about the offer. He wouldn't be able to stay very long at this rate, not to mention he still didn't have proper clothes.
"I would gladly take that room. And have a supper."
"That's 40 silver then. May I invite the gentleman to a bath?". It didn't sound like a question.

It proved a small room indeed, but it was little less than the church room were he had lived for so long in his hometown. He dropped his bag and headed downstairs.
As left the room he heard some loud voices in the common-room. He cautiously approached the common-room to check the source of the noise and noticed the. He saw a very well dressed man, with a big hat and a feather on his hat arguing loudly with Allison. The conversation turned ill and the man took off, rather angrily. Allison grunted and slammed the door after him, a tear of frustration rolling of her cheek. She turned around and saw Jean-Pierre looking. He hesitantly entered the room.
"Is everything alright?"
"My overpaid accountant just left."
"That sounds bad." Allison raised an eyebrow and awkward silence followed. Jean-Pierre stammered and tried to break the silence.
"What does an accountant do?".
Allison threw her arms in the air in frustration.
"The city officials require special forms to track my business and taxes. I keep track of my business in books, but I hardly have the time for all the paperwork the city asks of me. The trouble is, there aren't many accountants around and they all stick together like rats, protecting each other. If one doubles his wage, so will the rest."
"So.. hm.. he makes an inventory and copies numbers and such? I used to keep track of the library and the housing of our church. Perhaps I could help?"
"Can you read, write and count?" Her tone softened.
"Quite fluently. Writing is my passion, you see, and I can count without a problem. All te way up to a thousand and back! And I did some sp-" She interrupted him.
"And how much payment do you ask?".
"Ahh, ehm.. well... I don't know. How much did your old accountant asked?"
"I will not pay some young rookie the same I paid him, understood?". Jean-Pierre took a step back at tone change in her voice. Trying to find a quick resolution, a thought dawned upon him.
"I may be required to stay here for a while. Perhaps we could help eachother?"
Allison looked at him intently, with a raised eyebrow.
"Keep the small room for two weeks, no meals included."

Allison was very pleased with the reports and thanked Jean-Pierre the next day with a luxurious breakfast,'on the house'. There was a lot of work left but the reports were of high quality by her own standards. Jean-Pierre stole an apple, some cheese and a piece of bread from his breakfast and headed out to the Martin. Martin seemed mighty pleased with seeing Jean-Pierre, and the food he brought with him.
"Can I buy your guidance once more, Martin?"
"Of course" Martin mumbled while eating.
"I need an acolyte robe, and a cheap one if possible."
"Hmm... the orphanage trades second hand clothes... keeping for the children what they can and hoping to make some money with what the children can't use." Martin blurted through his mouthfull. He took a small bit of cheese which he gave to his rat. Jean-Pierre took some distance from the rat, despite being touched by this scene. He nodded and took off.

---
"Greetings young man. Interested in helping the orphanage?" The sturdy woman sounded gentle. She looked at Jean-Pierre's clothes and raised an eyebrow.
"Greetings madame, I, ehm, well.." he stammered. "Well, I'm looking for an acolyte robe. I was told you could help me with one? Ehm.. I'm willing to pay for it. It's just that.. well.. I don't have much money. Ehm, one gold only", he sighed.
"Come, let's see if we can find something of your size." She disappeared among a few closets and soon returned with 2 robes in her hands. She held them up, one by one, measuring the size of the robe with his shoulders.
"The big one seems a fit... despite being a size for children. Here."
Jean-Pierre quickly accepted the robe and gave her the one golden coin he had. It was all he had. He was glad to see it 'well spent' but doubted if that choice would feed him. He almost regretted giving part of his breakfast away but quickly corrected that thought.
"You have naught more to give to the children, Sir? Books? Herbs? Anything? We need the help."
"I'm sorry madame. I don't have anything else on me. I will return, promised." And he slowly walked away. In the doorway he stopped and turned around.
"Madame.. I was told there was a big library in Stormwind. Can you not borrow these books?"
"The priests don't entrust the books to children and we can't afford the writers to copy them. It makes it hard to teach them to read. Our children already work with four per tablet and chalk, while cheap, is quickly spent. Reading and writing can give an important advantage in this city. Considering what little they have, we hope at least that will help them in their future."
Jean-Pierre thought about it for a second. He found something strange...
"Writers are expensive?"
"Well yes. What isn't in this city? The craft itself takes time to master. Few priests invest time in copying books for other people than themselves. And writers ask a heavy wage."
"Hmm.. I'm not a bad writer myself. Perhaps I could do some work that way and come back to pay my debts. Where would I work as a writer?"
"There is an scription shop at the canals. People order their copies there. If the shop keeper likes you, perhaps he can offer you some work. Do wear that robe though... it will give you more credit than those ridiculous clothes."
He turned red in the face. "Th.. Thank you ma.. madame. I will remember."