Lore/Background: Milton's Bow
“Higher!”
“Higher still!”
“Loose!”
These words had found a home in Milton Royworth’s farmstead. The old soldier had lost most of his right arm, it was torn off by a gargoyle whilst he was shooting from the walls of his hometown, valiantly fighting back the scourge as ordered by Arthas Menethil, the prince. Milton although now unable to serve the army, had decided he would continue to put his skills to use by teaching local commoners to use a bow, especially now that the scourge was strengthening.
“Fer an old man with a goat’s tail for a left arm, ya sure do shove us hard Milton” shouted a farmer. It was his first day learning how to draw a bow and he had heard for a while some soldier was holding free classes.
“You ain’t that much younger than me geezer. Only 65 more arrows to go everybody. You’ve been doing well, 100 feet shots never been easy with them short bows.” Milton shouted back at everybody and raised his left arm as they drew back their strings.
“Aim!”
“Higher!”
“Higher still!”
“Loose!” shouted Milton as he slammed his only arm downwards.
20 arrows launched, some fell almost immediately, some made it halfway, and some flew true all the way to their hay targets.
“Aim!”
“Higher!”
“Higher still!”
“Loose!” shouted Milton as he slammed his only arm downwards again.
A volley of arrows launched again, and a similar result followed.
“Undead boneheads aint gonna know what hit em!” Someone shouted.
“You gotta manage to hit em first Obbery…” replied a voice.
“Not my fault this bow is all janked and messed up!”
“The only thing that’s janked is whatever’s in that head of yours!”
The talking and shouting rose, and the commoners became more restless. The stress of having the undead knocking on your door every night has taken its toll. Many people have lost loved ones, homes, and crops worth the whole year.
“Calm! Calm down everyone. I think maybe we should take a break. Feel free to show up again after dinner tonight for our night shooting session. You are the defenders of this land. I know it is not easy, but to be holding those bows is a testament to your courage. The Prince is doing what he can to protect us, it is only right we show him that we stand with him! Stand tall, not hidden behind his stature, but shoulder to shoulder!” Milton did his best to calm and encourage the crowd before heading into his home.
“Almost 3 months strong Milty, you are doing a good job! Prince Arthas will be proud.” exclaimed his mother in a trembling and shaky voice, now firmly in her 80s.
“Oh mother, I don’t really know if this is helping. They come and shoot the hay now, but it is different in battle. It is different when… those things are in front of you.” Milton said as he visually sunk away in thought and memory.
Milton’s mother took a deep breath and with some struggle, stood up. With another bout of struggle, she leaned down to under Milton’s bed and dragged out a chest, now clearly out of breath.
“Mother! Not again.” Said Milton as he emerged back into reality.
“You… let me… be... your mother…” she said as she gasped for air.
She opened the chest and from within produced a fine bow. It was crafted from an Ashenvale oak tree that Milton had grown himself. The limbs were decorated in blue and gold and the grip was wrapped in lustrous steel and tanned leather. The sinew string was still taut. Some brown blood spatters still haunted the bow.
Milton’s mother caught her breath and slowly spoke with a soft flowing voice.
This bow once saw arrows notched
A hand drew its string and a man with it fought
We were safe and sound when the walls-men watched
The nights grew darker with the winter’s draught
A scourge then came with numbers no end
By moon-fall the wall was crumbled and bent
The dead outnumbered the living, but the walls-men stood without relent
Prince Arthas came with aid, supplies, praise, and good intent
The news travelled from shore to shore
Nothing quite like this had been seen before
Many were dead, 3 hundred, maybe 4
But Milton laid with an arm no more
Me trying to read the poem:
“Those folks out there might not seem like much, but they’ve got their whole lives to defend. Just like you. When the time comes, they will fight, just like you.” Milton’s mother said in a hushed tone. “You really shouldn’t hide this bow. If you get it cleaned and polished, I’m sure it would bring you more joy to look at it than sorrow.”
“This is the tenth time you’ve asked me mother. What kind of son would I be if I still said no?”
“What kind of son says no nine times?!” she lashed back, with a bit more humor and life in her voice.
“Well, you’ve got me there! I guess I’ll head to Stratholme and have it looked after. I need to get some new short bows too. The ones outside are getting a bit worn. You need something before I head out?”
“I need you to be happier, my son.” She replied with a small smile on her face. “You’ve done too much to be frowning all the time, and you’re only 50!”
“I’m trying ma! There ain’t no competing with you!” Milton replied before he grabbed his bow and some coins from his drawer and left.
An hour walks later, Milton arrived at the “Strath Bow and Bath” bowyer shop in Stratholme. A dwarvish voice boomed as he entered.
“It’s the lad Milton!! Did yer mudder get through that skull or ya here to get new short bows for the kids?!”
“Evening to you too Dmir. Both, actually. People still gettin sick around here?” Milton replied with some color in his face.
“The more coin for me the better!! Lemme have a look at the beaut you been hiding from me. And... yes. Some folk still turning green.”
"Thats a shame." Milton pulled the bow from over his shoulder and placed it gently on the table.
“Wowza! It’s held on to it’s color still, why did you never wipe the blood off it ya lanker?!” Exclaimed Dmir, the stout red bearded, seemingly hot-tempered dwarf.
“Well, the blood is kind of… a memory I guess? Not sure. But I won’t be needing it anymore. The blood I mean…” spoke Milton.
As the conversation was unfolding, some noise and ruckus started seeping into the store.
“I think that’s the prince making his way in!! Let’s have a gander lad.” The dwarf said as he dropped from his stool and made for the door.
Drim and Milton took a step outside to see a crowd of people surrounding the one and only prince Arthas! What a sight it was to see him in person. His aura brought courage and confidence to the people, but Milton noticed something strange. He seemed quite distressed, or troubled. His smile was off, and his eyes were shooting left and right. Dmir quickly ran off to join the crowd. Milton tried to grab his shoulder before he could run off, but before he could raise his only arm out far enough, he felt something in his chest.
Milton looked down and saw a sword pierce through the centre of his chest. Blood filled his lungs as time screeched to a halt. The Culling of Stratholme had begun. He saw the Prince raise his mace up and then down on the crowd around him. He felt the serrated edge of the knight’s sword leave his body, as his legs gave way.
He thought about whether he could muster enough strength to speak. No.
He thought about his service to the land, to Lordaeron, to the King.
He thought about his loyalty to the people, their laws and rules.
He thought about death, and if it would be a blankess forever.
He thought about how his mother had said "Be happier, my son".
There was no anger in his thoughts, there simply wasn’t enough room.
And finally, his head hit the ground.
Boss Location:
Milton Royworth can be found as a skeletal boss in Stratholme (with only a left arm). He carries his bow around his shoulder and is found wandering, constantly crying about finding a way out so he can return to his mother with his bow.
Boss Quotes:
Battle Start:
“The scourge are invading! Quickly! Man the walls! Show no mercy!”
At 50% HP:
“Make Prince Arthas Proud! We will LIVE!” WE ARE STRONG!”
Death:
“My mother… Finally… We can meet again...”
The Bow Quotes:
When a new person wields and aims using the bow, Milton’s voice whispers into your head, correcting your shot.
“Higher!”
“Higher still!”
And just before the arrow is shot, the voice whispers:
“Loose!”
If the player enters Stratholme with the bow equipped, the player hears a twisted version of the poem his mother wrote (female voice):
An army came with numbers no end
By moon-fall the city was crumbled and bent
The dead outnumbered the living, and the walls-man laid spent
Prince Arthas came with bladed men and only ill intent
The news travelled from shore to shore
Nothing quite like this had been seen before
Many were dead, 23 thousand, maybe 24
And Kuranny Royworth wept for a son no more
Me trying to read the twisted version of the poem:
Developer Commentary:
So I thought about this story involving Strath, and the problem I had was that I didnt want to make the weapon crazy super end game strong. It just wouldnt make sense as Milton was basically a mostly average soldier. He was a good one yes, but he was not on the level of Lordaeron's "Heroes". It wouldnt make sense if his item competed with something dropping from ICC. Hence the lower level item. But the buff it provides is still very significant and with no doubt could still be used in today's ICC raids to provide a very substantial DPS and heal boost.
The model was the hardest part for me. I am not an artist. I suck at drawing. So in typical Blizzard fashion, I tried recoloring an existing model to try and match what I had in my head.
Some mechanic clarifications about the buff: The buff will remain if the bow is unequipped after use BUT the bow must stay in your inventory. If you put the Bow in your bank or something or mail it away, you will lose the buff. Basically, you keep the buff as long as the bow is physically on you're character. If you put it away, everyone also loses the buff.
Note about the videos: I don't have the best mic, voice or editing skills (non existent actually), but I think they came out fairly well! I think they get the idea across. Voiced by me. Art used referenced in description.