Ignore all the screams of the dead and dying, we are having a magical time down here!
3 Likes
"MOVE IT! MOVE IT! GET READY!"
Bellowed the Sergeant as the legionaries began getting into formation to board the Horde Flagship. Surely the Blightcaller could not escape the might of the Allianceâs Third Fleet.
Patricio glanced around briefly for a moment, examining the faces of his comrades. They seemed ready. Confident, even. He nodded to himself and looked out at the Horde ships ahead. The Alliance fleet was gaining on the Horde vessels rapidly⊠But then⊠It happened.
A bright beam of light suddenly shot up out of the sea and thus a the water started retreating toward both the Horde and Alliance ships.
Panic quickly spread throughout the ranks of the Sixth Cohort. Everyone rushed to grab onto something as the ships were seemingly being swallowed by the giant hole in the sea. The shipâs Captain bellowed orders to his crew.
âDrop the anchor! Drop the anchor! Cut the sails!â
Screams filled the air around him as the ship continued to make itâs way toward the vast hole. Patricio darted for the rigging of the ship, his arms wrapping around them tightly as he looked around horrified⊠Not knowing what to do⊠What to sayâŠ
The anchor was dropped and with it the ship jerked itself around, however, it was only mere moments before the chain shattered sending it back to whiplash across the deck and with it, striking Raiyen in the process and sending him flying overboard. He was gone. Lost in the vastness of the ocean.
As their impending doom loomed closer, the now sideways KulâTiran gunship teetered on the edge of the enourmous abyss in the middle of the vast ocean, tilting towards it.
Patricioâs feet now dangled overboard and over the nothingness below him. He grasped on tightly to the ship but alas⊠His strength would falter.
His hands slipped and thus he fell.
His eyes wide open. His heart beating at an incomprehensible speed. His arms and hands left stretched out as if still attempting to still hold onto the ship that was starting to seem like a distant memory. Panic. Horror. Fear. These filled the manâs heart as he descended into the depths below.
On his way down he attempted to grab onto various types of various vegetation in an attempt to slow his fall. His hand managed to find what it seemed to be a large plant that had sprouted out of the ocean floor, grasping onto it for as long as he could before his hand slipped again. He continued to fall, but at least he did manage to decrease the speed at which he did so.
He quickly turned his head to look down. He was coming dangerously close to the ground below. However, in his path were a cluster of large rocks into which he crashed several times before he finally hit the floor with a large thump.
The man slipped unconscious and there he laid. At the bottom of the ocean. Bruised and battered. His armour broken and dented. His leg dislocated.
4 Likes
The last thing Thodim could remember was the large Kul Tiran ship that had been his home for two days, plunging towards the ground. The fight had been tough and many of his friends and comrades had been flung over the side when the ocean opened and the ships began to fall into abyss.
He opens his eyes and looks around the splinters of wood. He attempts to move but something is pinning his arm. Thodim knows he has to move fast. He begins to free his arm from the remains of the deck, that had seemed to land where he had. The pain in his arm is unbearable. âWell thatâs not goodâ He says to himself after looking at his elbow bending the wrong way. Thodim was no stranger to battle injuries but this time it felt more serious.
A few hours pass and Thodim takes stock of his ruined kit, most of his Plate was damaged or missing, along with his sword and shield. He looks round to see what he can use to defend himself and help him survive, including a splint to hold his arm, made from a bit driftwood. His uniform is ruined and he is on his own. He makes his way to a cave, carefully avoiding Naga., cold, hungry and tired. He gets a fire going from driftwood and settles in for the night. Still not knowing the whereabouts of the rest of his unit.
In the early hours Thodim is awoken by something prodding him. He awakes and reaches for the bit of wood he had been using to defend himself. He hears the voices of several Naga. âHssst, do not resist Human!â He looks round to see several Naga weapons pointed at him. âSo are we off to the tavern?â he says as they lift him to his feet and begin to tie him up. Once tied he is led away towards the Naga stronghold to become their captive.
5 Likes
With a daring rescue mission the majority of the Seventh Legion have been freed from naga captivity, now they will attempt to link up with other elements of the Legion.
3 Likes
The Lieutenants ordered the Sergeant to move out and scout the ruins for any Horde targets that can be raided for supplies. The Horde so far has organized fairly well and itâs going to be hard to do anything.
First, was Newhome, the Horde basecamp- when the Sergeant got closer, he realized that thereâs not a lot of room for a group to move through, let alone take supplies without getting killed in the process of losing it all.
The Sergeant set off again, trying to locate any other Horde outposts and happened to spot one located just south-east of the Seventhâs current position in the Coral Forest, lightly guarded by a group of Grunts and Gilgoblin fighters, as well as a mob of Peons who survived the fall into Nazjatar to perform construction and scavenging. The Sergeant identified a location by which the Cohort can climb up undetected, he was unable to see if there were any supplies which could be looted, but they had no other options.
The Sergeant made his way back, using his looted trident to aide him in walking as he passed by the lair previously inhabited by Snapdragons which they had to clear out the day previously for supplies, he headed on inside to do a double-take of the area, to see if the Cohort had left anything behind they could still use.
Inside, where the bodies of the Snapdragons previously killed, their bodies exposed to the elements, with Rays having found them dead and leaving their half-ate carcasses to rot. The Sergeant waded past the carnage, something was moving in the shadows.
The Sergeant raised the trident and moved in to dispatch whatever threat was lurking, but instead found a Snapdragon hiding in the corner, distraught and trying to survive. It seems the lair that was cleared out contained younglings as well.
The Sergeant was interested, in one way the Snapdragon reminded him of a pup, the same pup that heâs had with him ever since he was on his own. Scared, cornered and alone.
The Sergeant went outside, killed a crab and lugged its body back to to the Snapdragon, which was still hiding out in the corner. He hoisted the crab carcass up ahead to let the Snapdragon devour it- it lasted a while before the youngling decided to come out of hiding, and the Sergeant isnât sure what drove it to, hunger, desperation, whatever it was- at least it was eating.
The Sergeant restrained the creature afterward, tied itâs mouth shut and lugged the creature back with him to camp, it was oddly compliant. He put it down by his wounded hound, and the two havenât left each otherâs side since.
4 Likes
At last Pat had fallen asleep. The last of her patients for the night. Grace knew all too well the misery and loneliness of a night spent awake through pain while all around you slept. And so she had stayed by his side, talking, reminiscing, until at last slumber had claimed him.
Laying him down carefully, she had slipped downstairs. Outside Hazel remained on watch, having relieved Thodim earlier in the night. Now he, alongside the rest of the cohort, got what little rest they could. The skies above the wall of ocean blotting out the horizon was turning from blue to indigo. To take a guess it was approaching the fifth bell. But even able to see the sky, time felt meaningless here.
Grace carefully went the the armor crates and sought cloaks or robes, choosing those of furs or heavier fabric. She climbed the stairs once more, lugging her burden with her. Carefully she went round what she had started to think of as âherâ medical ward, ensuring each had both a blanket and a pillow formed from rolled cloak or robes. One by one she worked her way around, silent as she had learned to be in the abbey.
Her mind wandered. In truth she had intended to rest, but she had always been a light sleeper. A skill that meant she could rest watching over the sick, ever alert for a pained cry, muffled movement, or the subtlty of a change in breathing. And while she valued this, that night she had been awoken as the conversation between the pair below had carried.
It had taken a moment to realise what had disturbed her, and whilst she had only been able to make out snippets, she had gleaned enough to understand their topic of choice. Her brow furrowed as she thought back over what had been said, concern running through her mind. Had others drawn the same conclusions? Where these whispered rumours just these two, or did others perceive differences just the same? She gathered up those makeshift blankets she hadnât required and carried them back down.
Gradually Grace picked her way through the sleeping cohort, covering those who slept far from their comrades or the fire, desperate not to disturb, not to show preference, but still she ensured enough were kept back for her remaining patient, one who had refused both care and observation upstairs.
Grace approached the Sergeant cautiously. He had spoken of a propensity to lash out in his sleep, and she had no desire to be on the recieving end should she have startled him. He sat aside from the others, propped up, the ever-faithfull Hooch nearby. The hound looked up as she approached, the creatureâs sharp and beady eyes watched her every move.
Pausing out of reach, she studied Dureas carefully, checking to ensure bloodstains were old, not new, that KinâOrinâs crystallisation was holding.
Grace had never heard of such a method before, let alone seen it before these last weeks, and whilst it seemed effective, Grace didnât entirely trust it either, fearing for damage hidden unseen beneath the crystallised surface. Applied to humans, or even Azeroths other races, it somehow appeared even more alien and disconcerting than on the Draenai herself.
Resigning herself to checking later in the day, Grace carefully draped the cloak over the Sergeant and went to move on.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw a movement. Not significant, just, out of place.
Slowly she crept closer to Hooch, and stopped. There, nestled against the hound was a Snapdragon. Small, only a hatchling, itâs maw bound. Hooch shifted, hackles raising in defence of this new addition. Grace carefully held a hand out to the dog, keeping herself crouched low, frame small and unthreatening.
As moments ticked by she edged closer, only to gently scratch behind the hounds ears, whilst with her other hand she gently draped the blanketing robes over the unlikely pair, deciding if this youngling was to be kept, it should be looked after as such.
The dawn was beginning to break outside. Grace retreated back to the fire, adding some driftwood to keep it burning whilst she rummaged quietly through the supplies.
She picked up the armor that had been destroyed the night before. Carefully removing two of the larger steel plates, she cut free the strappings, and used part of the cloths she had taken to carrying, to clean them as best she could. Setting one then the other in the fire, the flames that had jumped with the fresh fuel settled. Going through the food she selected three ration packs, alongside one of the potion-vials of water, and her own rations of kelp and other plants.
As Grace set about preparing a simple breakfast, rations and water formed a stew within the now shallow pans of repurposed plate, she let her gaze wander over the cohort.
A raid upon a Horde camp. Whilst she was grateful for the supplies that had been retrieved, her fears had been met in turn. Retaliation from a Forsaken raiding party. Heavy injuries had been sustained, ones she knew too well they could ill afford. Almost half the cohort bore healing wounds, ranging from the more âminorâ flesh wounds, to the far more severe.
Not that any injury here was truly minor. The environment alone rendered the risk of infection far higher than usual. Limited supplies mean wounds, even if not healed by such, needed cleansing by magical means, by blessings of light or nature. But the healers were near worked to exhaustion.
Grace added the greens and last of the water. Letting them simmer to form a broth alongside the questionable ration based stew. With water she could stretch rations, buy them extra days where they at least felt they had been fed, but the precious liquid was harder and harder to come by.
Carefully Grace peeled her gloves down her forearms, only to stop swiftly and pull them back into place. She shunted herself to her feet and headed outside.
Grace sat, back against the wall, not far from the ruined tower, keeping her sights on the path ahead. She had relieved Hazel from her watch, sent her in for food, for rest. She hoped she would have chance for both once the others were roused.
Besides, here she at least had privacy for this task. She did not wish to drag morale down, to let others see what it cost her when the injured flooded in as they had the night before.
Grace peeled her gloves free, plunging the foul fabric into a pool of water that had gathered in amongst the shattered stones. As the light of morning reached down, now she could see what she had turned a blind eye to the night before. Skin and flesh, burned, raw and torn away where it had melted into the very fabric of her gloves. The light channeled far faster, far stronger than she had ever been able to sustain, or learned to protect herself from.
She closed her eyes and steadied her breathing. The cold caress of morning air was soothing, yet the salt carried upon the breeze stung anew. In her mind the night before played out. Blood pooled upon the stone, the cries and roars of battle. Orc, forsaken, water-goblins. Images of one wound melded into another. Deep lacerations, arrows that tore through armour and flesh alike, impaled injuries, screams and shouts of pain. Those that she sought to heal, alongside pain caused by her own hand. When speed and efficiency held the reigns, the careful delicate care, the task of numbing to ease suffering, these were the teachings that fell by the wayside. They never told acolytes that at the abbey, that you would face times where you would cause more harm, more trauma, in your efforts to save life, than may have been inflicted in the first place.
Carefully Grace cleansed her wounds, the astringent antiseptic burned and stung at the skinless flesh. Applying the salve she bound her hands and arms. From elbows to the very tips of fingers wrapped in the tattered red of the shredded horde tabard. The bandage supplies they had found could be used for the others. For her, the deep red would disguise her wounds. Turning the gloves inside out, she scraped the seared, necrotic detritus from within with her blade, before carefully gliding them back into place, hiding the bandages beneath.
As the sounds within the ruins spoke of the Cohort rising, Grace returned her focus to her watch.
Who knew how long they were safe here. Hounded by Horde, the Naga, even the light damned wildlife, she knew a point was coming, where holding this ground would come at too high a price in the blood of the Legion.
Silently she prayed. Prayed that they would be spared until the injured were safe to move.
That there would be warning.
That they would be ready.
A new site found.
Mostly, she prayed to live.
4 Likes
A ring in his head. His body was bruised and battered all over, an unbearable pain came from his ribcage. Water. Why was he covered in water?
Realising he was lying face down in a stream, Derrick pushed himself up onto all four, gasping for air. He started coughing up water that soon turned into blood. He looked down at the pool in front of him that was slowly turning a crimson red. âGreat. Just what I needâ, he thought. A shiver ran down his spine as he realised he felt lighter than usual. Too light. Patting himself down he realised he was missing his axe and the two daggers he kept at his lower back.
The sudden realisation that they might not be the only things missing hit him and he desperately reached for his neck, a sigh of release escaping his lips as he grasped the golden locket dangling over his chest. He closed his eyes with his hand still tightly wrapped around the locket and after allowing himself a moment to catch his breath, Derrick stood up and dusted himself off, looking around in an attempt to find out where he was.
His attempt at navigation was interrupted as voices started getting closer. He ducked down behind a rock and glanced over the top, spotting two elven scouts heading around the bend in his direction. His hands instinctively moved to grasp his weapons and he drew his boot knife, the polished steel glinting in the vague moonlight. Like a wolf stalking its prey, he moved through shadows and behind cliff formations, eyes fixed on the elves. Swift, silent, cunning and deadly, words hammered home since he had been a teenager. The hunt was on and to him there was no better killer in the kingdom.
Eventually the elves split up and Derrick moved in for the kill. He snuck through kelp and seaweed bushes without a sound, making his way to one of the elves. Without hesitating he wrapped his right arm around the elfs throat and braced it against his left bicep, putting her in a chokehold. He quickly swept the elf off her feet and dragged her into the bushes, applying pressure to her neck and once safely hidden again, he cleanly snapped her neck and dropped her now limp body to the ground. Not wanting to waste a moment, he swiftly moved up behind the second scout and readied his knife, slicing the male elfs achilles tendon and dropping down onto his knee, throwing the elf over his shoulder and slicing his throat open from side to side, blood spraying all over Derricks torso. He stood up, wiped the knife clean against the blood elfs tabard and shoved it back in the sheathe inside his boot.
Dazed and bloodied, Derrick made his way towards what he assumed were friendlies, opposite of where the elves had come from.
3 Likes
Cast adrift
The venerable Kul Tiran ship creaked and groaned, like a wounded beast in its death throes. The ocean has become a torrent of chaos all focused on what could only be described as a new maelstrom forming, the sea had parted, and the Alliance fleet was now thrashing against the torrent that was pulling them towards their doom.
Captain Aberdeen dropped his anchor into ocean, attempting to perform one last ditched move to save the lives of those aboard his ship, the sound of the chain unraveling and grinding down almost drowned out the screams of those aboard the ship. The vessel jerked violently spinning so that the side of the ship was now facing the hole that has just opened, but it was too late. The current had her, leaving the ship dangling dangerously over the edge of the abyss, a twang broke the shocked silence that had fallen over the ship, snap. The anchor chain snapped, not being able to hold the weight of the ship any longer. Whipping across the deck of the ship like an enraged snake, it found a single victim. Slamming into Legionary Valadianâs chest, sending him flying off the edge of the ship into the foaming sea below.
Theon stood at the centre of the ship, barking for his men to hold onto something. He could do little else to lessen the blow that was about to fall upon them, their victory had looked so close, but now this chaos had claimed the day. Spotting Valadian falling from the edge of the ship he at last had a moment to act. Moving swiftly heâd slam his dagger into the mast of the ship, a curved dagger covered in light blue runes, before dashing towards Valadian. A shimmer of arcane forming around him as heâd jolted forward blinking through the ship and into the water with Valadian.
Wrapping an arm around Raiyen was all he could do as the current took hold of him, one arm around his Legionaryâs waist, Theon was slammed into the ship knocking the wind from his chest. Pinned to the underside of the ship now, the current dragged them both under the ship as it teetered on the edge, barnacles ground against his back like tiny blades they pushed and dented the plates of his armour inwards. Water rushed into his mouth as he screamed out in pain, blood filling the water now, his empty lungs began to fill with sea water. They were under the boat for only a few moments, but it felt like an eternity, Theon had to find a way out and quickly.
They would have to blink and quickly, the arcane marks left on his dagger would act as a waypoint. But by now the ship was almost vertical ready to plummet into the abyss. He counted to three in his head, and with as much energy as he could draw upon he shifted himself and Raiyen onto the ship as it fell. Falling through the air as they reappeared, Theon landed on the rigging of the ship, Raiyen slamming into him as they both plummeted with the rest of the ship towards the ocean floor.
Screams echoed through Theonâs mind as he fell, above him blue sails blotted out the sky, all tumbling down into the maw of the ocean, his eyes drifted to the Alliance lion adorning a ship falling above him, it was torn down the centre. Was this the end? Darkness filled him, his eyes shut as he fell unconscious.
A methodical dripping slowly roused Theon from his slumber, a slow trickle at first it slowly built. His senses slowly returned, the stench in the air was the first thing to hit him. The ocean floor had been uncovered the plantlife and animals left behind had left a distinctive stench, though a familiar smell carried on the air, death. His eyes flicked open for a moment, red liquid dripped down from above, the silhouette of a man hanging in some left over rigging dangled above, like some strange puppet hanging from a string. His eyelids still heavy fell closed once more.
It was cold, the icy water nipped at his numb skin. The pain is his right foot however kept his attention, a pain that could only be described as needle dragging against his bones, but something wasnât quite right. His foot was being tugged and pulled at, was he moving? Slowly he forced his eyes open, above the sun had been replaced by stars. Night had fallen already, however a dull glow lit the area around him. The landscape was like something from a nightmare, crevices and caves littered the moonlike landscape, strange plantlife clinging to the rocky surfaces, and below him the sand pressed into his back. He was being pulled by something.
Dazed he slowly turned his attention to the pain in his foot, a pair of orange eyes stared back at him. A deep growl filling the air, scaled skin and a lion like stature, this creature was like nothing Theon had seen before. Itâs stance was low and itâs fangs dug into Theonâs foot. It was pulling him towards what looked like a crack in the ground, but now he was awake the creature seemed almost startled. Theon returned the stare, his hand slowly reaching for his webbing. Numb fingers slid across leather towards the scabbard where his dagger should have been, it was empty. Left in the mast of the ship. He was unarmed.
A blur of movement, the beast suddenly lunged forward. Itâs needle like teeth retracting outwards, as it screeched. Fight or flight had kicked in, Theon launched himself forward his hand slamming to grab the creatures jaws. He felt a fang slide through the leather of his glove, pressing into his palm. However the plates on the top of his gloves protected the rest of his hand. The pair were locked in a duel, Theon fighting for his life kicked out at the creature to no avail. They wrestled for what felt like an age, the wet sand below them clinging to Theonâs blue armour, he refused to give in. He would not die like this.
A familiar growl could be heard from just behind Theon, followed by an agitated snort. Thanh pounced through the air, the two dagger like claws on his feet pressing into the side of the creature. The large ravarsaur made short work of the sea creature, itâs brutal jaws snapping the creatures neck in one swift move. Theon paused, heâd seen Thanh fight countless times, but this was the closest heâd been to it, he was shocked. Thanhâs huge nostrils flared as he sniffed down at Theon, causing the Commanderâs hair to be blown back from his face.
âGood to see you tooâŠâ
Theonâs voice croaked out in response, his mouth was dry. How long had he been out? Using Thanh as leverage he slowly pulled himself back onto his feet, his right foot sending shockwaves of pain up his leg, Theon snarled in pain leaning on Thanh. The scene around him was truly horrific. Bodies lay broken against the rocks, shards of bones littered the ground and scavengers picked away at the scraps. The sound of dying men filled the air, muffled only by the occasional scream as someone was picked off.
Theon had rested for several moments, leaning on Thanh for support the pair were both wounded and exhausted. It was a glimpse of blue that stirred Theon to move at last, among the wreckage of the ship, the edge of a Seventh Legion tabard stood out. It was moving, and faint whispers seemed to have drawn Thanhâs attention. No weapons to speak of, Theon looked around for anything he could use, stepping to the crack the beast had been dragging him too. It was a lair, somewhere the beast had been dragging bodies to store, crabs crawled over the mangled bodies inside, but the hilt of a blade stuck out from what had once been a manâs waist. Pulling it free, he was now at least armed.
The hushed whispers were getting louder now, and a groan of pain echoed through the wreck. Theon crept closer, not knowing what he would see as he moved closer. Thanh stuck close to his side, the veteran ravarsaur seeming just as on edge as Theon, they turned the corner as one ready to kill whatever stood in their way! Kneeling on the ground, Aspirant Arkin was desperately wrapping a bandage around Legionary Dawnsongâs thigh, Dawnsong wasnât conscious. The Aspirant spun suddenly raising his pistol, a dull click is heard, his eyes go wide as he realises what heâs done.
The powder was wet, and Theon was saved from his third brush with death for the day.
Just throwing this up as I too forgot to post this outside of Discord, this is Theonâs story of what he went through during the drop. As I was DMing it was left somewhat a mystery.
4 Likes
Chaos gives into Fear
The Chaos was building within him, with no where for it to go, no where for it to be channelled now that his orbs were broken, he had tried in vain to make new ones but the damp in this place had caused variables that he had not accounted for. Several of his attempts had resulted in rather horrid explosions from the instability. Frowning, the Legionary paced the entrance to the cave that Corporal Croft had led the wounded to. Chaos was known to be unstable, with no where for it to be released it was causing the Quelâdorei to become agitated quickly.
His gaze travelled over Valadian, he had been out of it for a while now, he hoped that he didnât awaken when the Commander was out trying to find the rest of the Legion. He hoped they would be successful as well, there were several missing⊠Would they find Dawnsong before Valadian woke up? He continued to pace. Footfalls came up behind him and he turned to see Corporal Croft, she gave him a soft smile and twiddled with her hands.
âDaeharice, do you think you could collect some more seaweed? It seems to be assisting with the wounds and can be dried out for eating.â
âOf course⊠â
âRemember we are heading towards the coral forest where you landed.â
âIndeed, I remember. Thank you.â
Swinging his bags carefully over his right shoulder, he made his way out of the cave, luckily this had been the very cave he had travelled to from the coral forest, so he knew the way back to where his section of the ship had made its rather destructive landing. Carefully he picked his way through the Naga camp, making sure to not draw attention to himself. When a second warhorn blew his ears flattened. The Naga all swarmed, shifting and slithering towards the cave.
Hesitating for a moment he wondered if he should go back, but he had been given a task by the Corporal, he had to continue on right? He stood still for just a moment before he finally nodded and carried on through the path he had taken previously. As he entered the coral forest, his gaze flicked over the ancients, they were stationary as they had been on his route in the opposite direction. Picking his way through the large corals, Tathe made sure he was not seen by the Rays that were in the skies above.
Following the rivers that had formed, Tathe carefully pulled the seaweed free and draped it over his right shoulder, his arm might have been broken but it didnât stop his shoulder being used. Up to the water wall and back down, collecting as he went. When his shoulder started to become uncomfortable from his own bags and the seaweed, he stopped collecting and made his way back to what could only be considered the main path.
Pausing as he got closer, Tatheâs unusual eyes locked onto three large coral ancients standing on the path between where he had come from and where he was going, he furrowed his brow a little, âThey werenât there earlierâŠâ he muttered to himself as he took in the whole scene before him. Not only were the ancients moving but there were also several dead Naga at their feet. Staring at the Naga he noticed something else⊠footprints. Tilting his head, he followed them. Carefully.
Passing the wreckage of where he had landed, he noticed it had been raided. From the size of the footprints that were coming and going from that direction, it was likely the Horde that had taken the supplies from there. Swallowing he pressed on with more care in each step, his senses on high alert as he listened for any slight noise, following the smaller footprints from between the ancients feet.
Another Naga body lay at the crossroads, the footprints stopped here for a moment and paced around before a very distinctive set of footprints travelled away from the group, followed by the others. Thanh. Smiling a little, Tathe was about to set off again when he suddenly heard a slight shifting of the sands. Tension rose in his body, he unhooked his staff in his left hand, aiming to look like he was drawing in the sand as he erased the footprints.
Sand to his right shifted, taking on his bad side⊠a fair but unkind move, spinning he aimed to slam the head of his staff, which was Naga made and crawling with jellyfish like tendrils, stingy little gits on their own but as a whole they were crippling. Which his unseen foe was about to find out. The tendrils and the would be assassin collided, the Sinâdorei grunted, spasmed and fell to the floor. Tathe peered at the tendrils, âWellâŠ. They havenât done -that- beforeâŠâ
Wondering if the staff acted out the will of the wielder⊠a groan from the floor made him jump as he was pulled from his thoughts and zapped the poor Sinâdorei again with the opposite end of his staff where the stronger tendrils lay. âOh⊠erâŠâ peering around he sighed slightly before he swung his staff back into place on his back, taking his bags in his left hand, he attached the seaweed and pulled the creation across the sand slightly. Grinning he nodded, the path it made was reminiscent of a Nagaâs âfootprintâ.
Leaving the Sinâdorei where they were, he erased the footprints he was following, before coming back, making several paths from the Naga body outwards in all directions, aiming to make it appear that the Naga had come and left a few times. Then he moved back in the direction of what he hoped was the Legionâs footprints. Hiding all of the prints from his path and the one he was following as he went with his makeshift Naga like trail.
The surface beneath his feet became more solid as the sand gave way to ruins and stone. Tatheâs gaze flicked over the old Highborne city? it must have been a city, given the number of buildings and how grand they were. Tilting his head a little he mumbled to himself; âWhere are weâŠ. The Highborne Empire was impressive in Azsharaâs timeâŠâ racking his mind for everything he had learnt, had read about the world before the Sundering he tried to remember major settlements of the empire.
âEldarath is above land⊠Dire Maul holds the Shenâdralar and Ogres⊠Eldreâthar is within Stonetalon, Isildien is within Feralas further south than Dire Maul but there all the same⊠Where else⊠â
Pausing he bends to run his left hand fingertips across the stone ruins.
âAh⊠KelâTherilâŠ. Winterspring. Zoram is in Ashenvale, LorethâAran on the Bloodmyst Isle⊠More Naga there too.â
He lets out a slight sigh as he gets to his feet. He knew there were more, he was trying to think of them all, his feet carrying him as his mind worked to remember details he had read.
âMathystra⊠Darkshore. MorlosâAran⊠Felwood. Oh! of course there is Narâthalas, that is where one of the Pillars of Creation were found. That was used against the Legion. Suramar, obviously but that one isnât a ruin⊠and Shandaral is in Crystalsong Forest⊠its past is rather⊠darkâŠâ
With a mutter he walked up the stairs, his gaze was skywards towards the rest of the buildings. Their roofs and such caught his attention and he tilted his head a little.
âBelow the waves⊠is Vashjâir⊠QuelâDormir is there⊠No one knows where Hajiri, Zin Azshari orâŠâ
Suddenly a huff of warm air yanked his attention back to his surroundings, he yelped a little he was aware of the presence that stood at his side, turning slowly he came face to face with Thanh the Lieutenants Ravasaurs red eyes were staring at him. It was as if the large Ravasaur was calling him out for being stuck in his thoughts.
âEr⊠Thanh⊠EveningâŠâ
The green and blue Ravasaur snorted again before leading Tathe towards one of the buildings like a lost puppy. As he got closer he spotted the members of the Sixth Cohort, his gaze travelled over them. He paused in his movements, making Thanh snort at him before the large Ravasaur moved inside the building.
Carefully, Tathe added the seaweed he had collected to the rest of the supplies the Legion had brought down from the previous camp. Then he swung his alchemical kit off his shoulders and moved to one of the small pools next to the new camp, setting up his distiller once more. It was a short enough distance away that it would not hinder the camps movements, but not too far so that it was dangerous to collect the small amount of water it would provide.
After setting up, he moved back to the building that Thanh had been trying to lead him to, his gaze travelled over the members of the Sixth Cohort, but one face was missing. His heart thundered within his chest as he stepped inside and peered around. His attention instantly drawn to Lieutenant Dawnstrider who looked worried. The Lieutenant inclined her head in welcome slightly before she indicated towards the stairs with a slight tip of her chin. Tathe looked confused for a moment before he followed her nod, making his way up the stairs.
As he got to the top, he found the face he had been looking for, crossing the space between them he flopped on the floor next to his Commander, his gaze travelling over body, checking his injuries and the repairs that had been done. Carefully brushing a few hairs out of Theonâs face, Tathe felt the Chaos energies rise within him at an alarming rate, mixed with a sickness in his stomach. It was so unlike the Commander to ever stay still that seeing him lying on the makeshift bed, injured was rather difficult to swallow.
Left hand clenching, Tathe threw himself back to his feet rather swiftly, the Chaos was build and swirling and he knew what was about to happen, he couldnât let it happen in here. It could bring the whole building down. Fleeing down the stairs. Lieutenant Dawnstrider pushed herself away from the wall she had been leaning on to move towards the Legionary. However Tathe had other ideas and left the building he broke out into a slightly lopsided run with his right arm in his makeshift sling.
The sickness in his stomach spread through his body, coiling with his Chaos energy as he made it to the pool of water he had found earlier. Suddenly all at once everything hit him. The overwhelming fear of not only having his Commander down but the Seventh Legion being stuck at the bottom of an ocean surrounded by Highborne ruins that crawled with not only Naga but other creatures. The fear of the water wall giving in and crashing in around them, probably killing them on impact if not slowly drowning them.
Letting out a cry of pain, Tathe felt his Chaos coil, it erupted from his person and exploded around him much like it had in Bloodmyst but without his orbs it was more volatile, glass shattered near him as the distiller he had only just set up was destroyed in a very cataclysmic manner. He collapsed to the floor, luckily avoiding his right arm in the fall. Panting on the floor for a moment before he gave into the tiredness that now tugged at every muscle of his body, dragging his eyes closed as he fell into a deep sleep a few inches from the pool of water and broken glass on its surrounding.
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Shadows loomed.
Grace turned, panic etched into her features. She didnât know where she was. Around her shapes shifted, horrors without form that words could not begin to describe swirled around her.
She stumbled blindly forwards, pain lanced through her very veins, burning like fire. Each breath became harder, laboured as if drowning. Ahead of her she sees an archway. She staggers inside, collapsing to her knees.
A rancid stench fills her nose, her eyes slowly begin to adjust. She cries out in horror, trying to flee back out of the arch only to find solid wall behind her. Laid out before her are rotting and disembowled corpses.
YouâŠfailedâŠthemâŠ
Her gaze moves from one body to the next. In unison all heads turn, dead glossy eyes staring at her. A cold sweat forms over her skin, her cohortâŠher friends⊠every last one of them silently staring in death. She crawled through them, all turning to watch as she made her way through the massacre. Finally she reaches one in particular. She rested a hand on their chest. Sorrow. Loss. All began to overwhelm her. She reached for the light, pleading for it to aid her, to spare them.
Nothing happened.
Screaming out she tried again. Shadow erupted from her hand, obliterating the body. Bone and flesh disintegrated in an instant. As the darkness faded a figure stood before her.
His armor gleamed like the setting sun. Golden hair held in a dishevelled tail, chiselled features so unlike her own. But his eyes, eyes that could have been her twins in life, now glared down at her with malice and hatred.
You failed all of themâŠyou failed meâŠour blood is on your hands Grace, donât you see?
Around her bones cracked, metal dragged across the stone floor.
Around her the corpses of the Seventh Legion rose as one. Entrails tumbled onto the floor, sickly gleaming eyes glowered down at her.
Matthew reached down, grasping her by the chin he forced her to look up into his face. His flesh began to rot, falling and peeling away, voice cracking.
They never cared for you⊠Why would they? Pathetic creature⊠Donât you see, you destroy those you care for Give inâŠLet goâŠ
A sharp pain drove through her waist. She doubled forwards, shadows pouring from a wound she could not see.
The voices that whispered rose, a cacophonous roar, screaming in protest. Grace screamed as the shadows consumed her, tearing through flesh, burning beneath skin.
The visions vanished.
Everything went darkâŠ
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Emergency evac for one
The Legionaries breathing changed, becoming more laboured as he stirred slightly in his sleep. Face contorting from the pain caused by the infection running rampant in his body, the Commander closed the small distance between them and removed his gauntlet, carefully he pressed the back of his hand against the Legionaries skin, it was colder than it had been an hour ago. Clammy and cold, the Commanders gaze flicked to the alchemy kit and then back to his Legionary.
âCome on Daeharice⊠stay with us.â
Eyes fluttering open slightly Tathe stared up at the Commander and gave him a very weak smile; âIâllâŠ. TryâŠâ he muttered. Trying to sit up, Tathe was held down gently by the Commander who simply stated; âWe cannot have you walking aroundâŠâ before getting up, moving to the alchemy kit that belonged to the Legionary and carrying it over. He opened the kit and pulled out the vial of shimmering liquid, Tatheâs earlier description of it had been very accurate, it was just like bottled moonlight, he placed it next to Tathe.
Tathe gasped from his pain as he tried to shift to his left side, his broken right arm was not making this easier, as the pain ripped from his chest and throughout his body his breathing became more ragged before he glazed over for a moment. The Commander rested a hand on Tatheâs shoulder trying to get his attention, âFocus on me.â
It took a few moments but finally Tatheâs gaze focused and settled on the Commanderâs face. Giving him a weak attempt of a reassuring smile. With a slight flicker of a frown, the Commander peered over his shoulder to see which medics were awake. Corporal Croft and Legionary Bridgewell were sat talking in a low tone. âYou two, come here.â
Glancing up at the Commander as one they moved, Bridgewell placing the standard just behind Tatheâs head, resting it against the wall, he had had it closeby since they had retrieved it from the Naga and Horde, as ordered. He wasnât letting it out of his sight. Shifting to one side so that they could check Tathe over, the Commander kept himself in the injured Legionaries line of sight. It wouldnât do to tell him to focus on him and then disappear.
The duo set to work, as Tatheâs colours had already been cut up the side for easier access to his wounds, they simply moved it to one side, carefully unwrapping his clammy bandages and inspecting the damage. A slight gasp came from Hazel as she revealed the area, she had tried to heal it with Light the previous day and it seemed to have been working, but now⊠her gaze flicked up to the Commander and then back to Tatheâs torso. His skin was paler than normal, so pale in fact that where his pigmentless patches lay was hard to decipher now.
The two medics exchanged a look, that made the Commander frown. Tatheâs eyes fluttered and the Commanderâs attention was drawn back to his injured Legionary. âTathe. Talk to me, tell me what you want to do when you get home.â As the duo carefully inspected Tathe, seeing how much they could do to slow the infection, they both agreed with one another in a low tone and began their work, a gentle flow of Light flowed from their fingertips across the more recent scars on the Legionary, from the surgery, it would not cure him fully, not here, not now but it would buy him time. Tathe finally replied as his attention focused once more upon the Commander.
â⊠drink fresh cold water.â
âWhat else?â
âEat⊠non MREâs
âHahâŠ. I think we would all like that as well. What else do you want to do?â
Suddenly Tatheâs gaze went from slightly unfocused to wide, fear swept across his face, his breathing became erratic and his left arm flew up to grasp the Commanderâs hand, the coldness of his skin caused the Commander to jump ever so slightly. He was colder. Gaze shifting to the shimmering liquid in the vial and back to Tathe, the Commander yanked his other gauntlet off by stuffing his hand under his own arm and pulling, when his hand was free he rested it on top of the Quelâdoreiâs.
âIâm scared⊠I donât want to die. Not like this.â Tatheâs voice shook as he spoke, slurring slightly as he continued, âIâm sorry⊠Iâm sorry I got hurt, that I might die⊠IâmâŠ. IâŠ. Theon⊠the vial⊠it needs to be now. Iâm⊠I canât hold on much longer, it all hurts, it hurts so much.â his eyelids fluttered again as he swam in and out of consciousness. âStay with us Tathe.â all three of them had said it as one, removing his hand from the top of Tatheâs, Theon grasped the vial of shimmering liquid, just as Tatheâs breathing was becoming more ragged, uncorking it he helped Tathe drink it.
What felt like an eternity was nothing but a few seconds as the liquid made its way into Tatheâs system, a small smile caught at the side of his lips, curling them ever so slightly before the potion took effect and placed Tathe into a deep sleep of stasis. Hopefully it would work as intended and keep him in his current state long enough to get him help, to get him out. Rising, Theon moved across the camp and made it to the radio system that Aspirant Coggrind had helped set up.
âMorningstar here. We need emergency evac for one. Now.â
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Grace sat with the silvered pocket watch in her lap. Still awestruck that she had been trusted with something so valuable. And that the man sheâd met just a few hours before had thrown it to her to catch, as if it was nothing, as if it wasnât the most valuable possession sheâd ever been handed, outside of her uniform and equipment.
She carefully counted the numbers around the side. Three bells to seven bells, or nine bells past six bells. She knew that wasnât right. The watch was, but how she read it wasnât. Despite best efforts to teach her sheâd always struggled with numbers. She still counted on her fingers (and if alone and necessary, on her toes as well), coins were a mystery, beyond knowing that a silver one was worth a whole heap of copper ones, even if she preferred the colours and how they changed and faded with age, turning green around the edges, faces worn away by the touch of a cityâs worth of hands.
Faces.
Now faces she did know. Faces, body language, the way a person stood, or moved, the narrowing of eyes, the flickered gaze of an untruth, a nervous twitch, a quiet smile, the way expressions softened for a friend, a loved one, a mimicked gesture, an ingrained habit performed without notice. These were as clear to her as sunlight in a cloudless sky, pointers and signposts that showed a path into thoughts into secrets. She had a knack for reading people, she always had. Even as a child she had noticed these little things, learned to look past what others presented, to see, instinctively almost, what they tried to hide in plain sight.
As sheâd got older, sheâd learned to hide this understanding, been told it was annoying, irritations, presumptuous to consider that these thoughts or feelings, ones she could see so plainly displayed were welcome topics of discussion. Sheâd become quieter, gentler. Her years at the abbey had taught her how to speak, how to act, and how best to encourage trust, opened, to offer to hear when others so needed to speak. But despite this she often felt apart from others. Struggling to discern these false fronts presented, what they meant, when mockeries of emotions, of signals came layered over those beneath, yet influenced by them, how could she know how to act, to approach? If someone was upset, in pain, yet smothered it with anger and frustration, and vented at another, easier target, how could she even begin to unpick how to help?
In time she had learned, at personal cost, that help, understanding, even conversation could not so much as be offered until someone wanted to share. It had been a harsh and frustrating lesson, leaving her open to accusations of prying, gossiping and even lying.
In truth that was what she found almost laughable. Grace couldnât lie, or at least not well. Too aware of her own tells, fearing others saw as she did, she would become stiff and awkward, her tone flat or words jumbled. It wasnât even that she found it difficult, but outright uncomfortable. The closest she could get were lies by omission, but even then the complexities of skirting around a subject, whilst answering enough to spare her further questions left her struggling to find words. As such, she had arrived at honesty as default, finding even the hardest truths easier than the easiest lie.
Grace dragged the pan onto the fire to make the morning breakfast.
Well, all except for one lie. A secret so devastating she had held it inside for years. She talked around it, of course. Conversations practiced until a few choice words would stop all other enquiries.
It tied into so many things. The loss of her Faith, why she classed herself as healer, not priestess, never a priestess, her faith in the light and how it answered the call so long as you -believed- you were right, regardless of how objectively true that may be. She suspected it was also why using the light came to her with such a steep price, often exacting its toll upon her very flesh, and why she could not weild it to heal her own injuries.
The lie pulled at family ties, left relationships strained, home tainted. It had eaten away at her until she was lost and unmoored. Desperate enough to strike out towards the only source of constancy she could see. A life so different, so distant. New faces, where the lie would not be noticed, for they had not known her before it, had not known her as an acolyte, where her wry smile was once warm, her laugh genuine and not tainted with a bitter edge, before frustrations and anger that still roiled within her had reared their twin heads, now put aside as nothing more than the strain of this path.
Here she could talk of distant memories, those she had been forced to keep beneath lock and key, closed away from prying eyes, too hard to see pain in faces she cared for that when she had spoken of them, that the truth of the lie lept from the pit of her stomach and caught in her throat, choking her.
As breakfast simmered her mind wandered further still. Not yet dulled by sleep the night stayed fresh in her thoughts. Moore telling her she was so positive, how refreshing it was to see someone what not yet jaded. How he and the Sergeant spoke that it would change her, that she would be broken down and left worn and wearied by this life. That was some comfort at least, to know the worst of her could not be glimpsed beneath the person suit she had constructed to keep her only secret. How they had been found by a survivor, rousing the Sergeant, not entirely believing she had not fallen to slumber and dreamt of this unexpected visitor, yet the things they spoke of she could not have begun to create herself.
Serving her own portion she left the rest to simmer, for others to help themselves to as they woke.
She thought on the conversation she did not have. How she had dared to reveal that part of her that saw the little details. How she had spoken only of that which she was certain, though her suspicion ran far deeper. She kept that to herself. The offence that was risked by speaking too openly, by prying, or worse, to speak her thoughts and instead be wrong, was not a risk she was willing to take. For now she was satisfied.
After all, it had been said when the conversation that had not happened, would be continued.
Not if.
When.
Grace crawled over to the wall. Her bedroll loaned to their unexpected guest, she sat and leaned back into the crook between pillar and wall. Cloak wrapped around her, her head rolled forwards. As slumber dragged her down the whispered nightmares rose to catch her.
In the depths of her mind, the screaming began.
3 Likes
Our last week under the sea! And an uneasy ceasefire has been put into effect between the Horde and the Alliance. Now the Seventh must focus on the Naga threat, and support the assault against her palace.
We will be aiming to be home for the 28th, and as such recruitment will be open for three days when we return, lasting until the 31st, at which point we deploy for our next RP-PvP campaign!
5 Likes
Third Watch
Felix was shaken awake suddenly in the night, a pair of hands grasping his shoulder. It was cold in Najzatar especially at night and peeling himself from his makeshift bed was proving more difficult than Felix would have liked. The naga building the Legion had captured however did prove to be the best shelter thus far, slowly Felix pulled off his blue cloak and rose to his feet.
âHurry up.â
A voice came from the darkness. Felix grumbled his muscles straining from exhaustion, but out of instinct he stood up and began pulling on his sword belt. As soon as he moved the man who woke him rushed into his bunk, enjoying the warm spot left by Felix. It was the norm at this point, the Cohort was in survival mode and any notion of personal space and privacy had long been abandoned.
It was pitch black at night here and with a storm lingering overhead not even the stars would offer any relief from that tonight. Thankfully a guide rope ran from the bedding area up to the picket at the edge of the camp, with numb fingers Felix used the rope to push forward to the makeshift barricade at the edge of the camp. The barricade overlooked one of three ways up to the building the Cohort had captured. And by the looks of things it had already seen some action, bullet casings crunched under foot and outlined by a small brazer the corpse of a naga warrior was strewn across the ground, itâs blood reflecting the light from the fire.
Felix had oddly grown used to the infantry life rather quickly, having served as a marine in the Thallasian and Stormwind navy adapting to his new life in the Legion seemed like the next step. But he couldnât have foreseen ending up here of all places, stuck at the bottom of the ocean. His line of thought however was broken as his partner for the watch arrived. A young Kul Tiran the cohort had pulled from the jaws of death only a few days earlier, Felix gave him a nod in welcome.
âTwo hours on stagâŠSergeant is feeling particularly nasty tonight, eh?â
The young Kul Tiran let out a short chuckle in response, simply shrugging. Now begun to look painful wait. Most watches would have nothing to do but simply fight of fatigue for two hours, and to try and find some warmth from the tiny fires dotted along the barricade. Felixâs plate rustled slightly as he kneeled down behind the barricade, the pair settled in for the long haul.
An hour and a half had passed, Felix drifted in and out of sleep. His eyes heavy and with the cold biting at his exposed skin it was easy to drift off, only the cracking of the wet wood on the fire kept him awake. His Kul Tiran companion was fast asleep, resting on the backpack heâd been issued. Felix didnât bother to wake him, their watch would be over soon enough.
Suddenly something moved ahead the sound of sand shifting was easy to pick up over the silence, Felix slowly pulled the gladius from his hip holding it close to him as he peered over the barricade. A naga with a huge bow lingered in the shadows itâs outline only just noticeable, itâs orange eyes looked towards the barricade. Felix shook awake the Kul Tiran sailor speaking in a hushed panicked voice.
âOli, Oli wake up!â
The boy eventually stirred letting out a complaint in response. As he looked up at Felix an arrow slammed into the wooden barricade, piercing through it with surprising ease it lodged into the Kul Tiransâ shoulder. Oli let out a scream in pain waking up the camp and alerting the other sentries along the barricade. Rifle fire rippled along the line and shouts and yells began to fill the air, less sleep for the already tired soldiers.
Felix acted instantly jumping onto the Kul Tiran to stop him squirming, the arrow had gone right through thankfully. He moved a hand to rest over Oliâs mouth as he inspected the wound, nodding to himself he spoke down softly to the boy. Doing his best to reassure him.
âItâs alright, itâs gone through we can fix this no problem. Just keep still, and put pressure on it.-â
Felix was interrupted as suddenly a brave naga forced its way forward, slamming into the barricade next to the pair it loomed over trident in hand! It slammed the weapon down into the dirt between them barely missing Felixâs head. Felix fell onto his back looking up in horror as the naga slithered over the barricade between him and his patient. He had to act quickly, flinging himself towards the naga he slammed the point of his gladius deep into the creatures side, the point gliding through the creatures muscle and fat. It fell to the ground as Felix was left covered in yet more blood. Climbing over the naga he covered up the young Kul Tiran ready to protect him from any more naga that broke through.
âStay still. Weâll hold them, we have too.â
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âDo I LOOK like a Magister?!?â
Grace snapped, tone far shorter than she meant, but with her mind racing she couldnât spare the effort for blind reassurance. The clamouring of the cohort to âfix itâ, whilst the lingering spirits of highborn long since lost chipped in their assurances that it was pointless so they may as well give up and die.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, a little voice piped up.
ââŠyou just yelled at the SergeantâŠâ
Above the roar of the ocean wall continued unabated. It was closer than she remembered. As she approached, its surface stilled, reflecting in the faded moonlight.
Her reflection was haggard. her face, while never classically beautiful by any means had been scored deeply, the flesh misshapen and scarred. She stared transfixed, this ethereal figure moving as she did, and yet there was a creeping since if wrongness.
The image of the ruins began to fade, the dying light if the moon lost behind clouds overhead⊠Yet the figure remained clear and bright.
Grace remained rooted to the spot, her heart hammering, a bird with her chest that threatened to dash itself against the bars of its cage in its desperate bid for freedom, and yet she could not fathom why.
Around her highborn walked in slow procession, not even pausing as they reached the wall, they stepped inside, visible for a moment as their forms twisted into that of the Naga, and vanished.
Her reflection smiled. A twisted mockery of her own features hitched into a grotesque grimace, no mirth, only malice.
âYou still donât understand do you? You. Cannot. Save them.â the figure Wales to the edge of the barrier, hands pressed to the water, âHow can you win against this?â
There wasnât even a change. The reflected figure watched as realisation dawned.
âFinally⊠You pride yourself on seeing the small details⊠But thisâŠyou could not seeâŠâ
Grace could feel her body fighting to flee, lungs crushing the air within, yet voice nor scream could escape both caught in her throat. She stared up at the water, so dark nothing reflected, nothing but the mockery of herself. Beneath the surface, it began to writhe.
Not lack of light, nor broken surface had obscured the ruins behind her, but the presence had. As tall as the falls themselves, impossibly wide it stretched in both directions.
Grace screamed, the piercing cry shattering from her. Ten thousand whispered voices began to laugh. The roar of the water rose above the cacophony, and the spell was broken, rushing forwards to fill her lungs.
In that moment, time stood still.
The shouts and roars of fury, orders to attack, to move, to run, were of no consequence, little more than muffled sound.
Light wrapped around her so fiercely she felt the burns. Searing electrified scores in jagged lines across her skin, up both arms, over her shoulders, coating her torso, creeping up towards her throat and tearing at her very core.
It wasnât enough. A ragged scream ripped from her throat as she burned like the heart of the sun, light pouring from her skin. But the weapon was already raised, there wasnât time. As it swung down, hit struck the barrier around her, as she was pushed down into the sand, for a split second she thought it had saved her.
With a sound akin to a wineglass singing, only to be smashed, itâs ringing chiming scattered, the barrier shattered, the light, the life, she had poured into it, skittered away as the sea-giantâs club of unyielding coral dashed her into the sand.
As darkness flooded in, a quiet, hollow echo replayed in her head.
âI donât want to die tomorrowâŠâ
She woke, screaming. A far too common occurrence since the venom had scored through her mind. Whispered nightmares haunted her each night until she had started forgoing sleep. Trading rum, late nights, and exhausted days, for peace from the worst her mind conjured when her body collapsed demanding rest.
When it wasnât the nightmares it was lingering injuries that stirred her, scarring flesh and battered stitches. She dreaded the day she saw herself, she suspected what she had seen these last few weeks had rendered her barely recognisable.
But today, today was something else. The agony exquisite, she woke to find her head resting upon something soft, button eyes tangled in her hair. Her hands balled into fists grasped at the furs keeping her warm. Each breath was torture, her skin aflame, Grace turned her head, muffling her cries into the warm furs.
A soft purring hum, somewhere between comfort and amusement rumbled through her. Blinking through blurred vision she came face to face with the vast tiger that leaned against her.
Grace jolted backwards causing a spasm of pain to tear through her ribs, and with eyes widened in fear, she slipped from conciousnesss once more.
2 Likes
Well time to chalk Najzatar up on the units banner, after a three week campaign the Legion is heading home. Probably the most challenging campaign Iâve had to run, but thank you to our DM team for pulling together and seeing us through!
With events almost nightly and the real sense of desperation as we worked to find food and water. Great fun, and a great finale.
'https:/ /media.discordapp.net/attachments/464795243473010688/605124136003567729/unknown.png?width=1194&height=672
'https:/ /media.discordapp.net/attachments/464795243473010688/605124070618562561/unknown.png?width=1194&height=672
'https:/ /media.discordapp.net/attachments/464795243473010688/605123294357618729/unknown.png?width=1194&height=672
Second to none, the Legion are recruiting for the next two days before being pushed off to deal with some RP-PvP in Kalimdor. Get in contact if youâre looking to join!
(One day I will unlock the super power of uploading pictures)
3 Likes
Iâm here until then.
https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/464795243473010688/605124136003567729/unknown.png?width=1194&height=672
https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/464795243473010688/605123294357618729/unknown.png?width=1194&height=672
Also, the symbol which you should use for links is ` not any other similar symbols like â
Good luck. 
3 Likes
Thank you kindly Kump!
2 Likes
âŠit will not be long until they deploy again.
The squeaking wheels of the gurney echoed out across the deck of the airship before the sound of the gyrocopter approached, carefully they moved the Legionary from the back of the gyrocopter to the gurney, strapping him in and rushing him towards the medical bay. As they arrived, the menders were ready. Surgeons and magic users alike. Shifting the Quelâdorei from the gurney to the operating table they cut through his attire, exposing his torso and setting to work.
Cutting into the soft tissue just beneath the Legionaryâs ribs, caused it to erupt with pus and dark black blood, swiftly they cleaned the incision. Holding it open at the sides, they carefully cut away at the infected tissue, removing it and tossing it to the tray. They prized open the wound further to inspect deeper, checking they were not missing anything vital.
The druidess stepped forward, resting her hands to hover just over the Legionaryâs torso. Channeling their nature magic deep into the Quelâdoreiâs body, seeking any further damage and tending to his cracked ribs. Stepping backwards, she notified the surgeons that he had fluid building in his lungs as well. Carefully they pierced in between his ribs, into the lung and began to drain the fluid that had built up there, by the time it had begun to run clearer they had managed to remove over a pint of pus from his lung, strapping the tube to his side, they left it to drain as they continued to tend the rest of his body.
Carefully they stitched the incision below his ribs back up before the Light users stepped forward, they carefully tended the area, infusing it with the Light, allowing it to glow a little as the incision was cleansed, hopefully preventing further build up of infection. When they had done this, the druidess stepped back in and tended to the Legionaryâs arm, fixing the broken bones before covering the Quelâdorei in a cocoon of nature magic, it blossomed with flowers and coiled around him like roots, aiming to bathe the Legionary in nature magic to help speed up his recovery. Only his head and the tube from his drain was visible.
The Legionary remained in a state of sleep within the cocoon, being monitored on an hourly basis for six days, as they lowered the cocoon from his form, they carefully removed the now clear drain. A priestess, closed his wound removing the need for more stitches and they carefully cleaned the Legionary down, washing his body from head to toe before dressing him in pale blue pyjamas before laying him one of the more comfortable beds, leaving him to rest now that he was clear of danger.
Slowly the dull candle lit room swam into focus, the Legionary stirred and carefully rose to a sitting position, a dull ache pulling through his torso, inspecting the area he nodded at the fresh scars, at least he was not dying he thought to himself. Slowly he swung his legs around resting his feet on the floor, he could feel the dull vibrations of the airships large propellers. With quivering muscles he carefully pushes himself to his feet. Making his way out of the small room, he finds one of the airship crew;
âOh you are awake at last! A pleasure to see you on your feet again Legionary Daeharice.â
âT-thanksâŠ. How long have I been out?â
âSix days, you were bordering on Seven!â
âBy the gods⊠No wonder I am hungry.â
He gave a weak smile towards the crewman and they chuckled;
âCome Iâll take you to the mess hall.â
They moved through the airship, Tathe still dressed in pale blue pyjamas before arriving in the small eating area for the crew. Upon arrival, he is offered warm porridge and a soft smile as well as a glass of water. Remembering that he has to eat slowly, Tathe would carefully spoon the food into his mouth, eating it carefully as he mutters some form of thanks through happy content noises.
Spending some time amongst the crewman, Tathe learns about how the Sixth Cohort of the Seventh Legion have held so far, how they have brought time for the rest of the Alliance and Horde forces to push into the Palace of Queen Azshara and he listens to the tales of the crews other adventures. However, the stories end sooner than expected.
A horn blasts across the airship, the crew springing to action as they get the signal to descend, they fly towards the beam of light from Commander Morningstar and get ready, the airship unloads shells aimed for the Naga swarm that encircle the Cohort and their Kul Tiran allies. The Legionary, unfortunately is told to go back to the medical bay, heading down he waits silently as the noises around the ship occur.
Finally, those injured of the Seventh Legionâs Sixth Cohort enter the medical bay, they are tended to by the crew and by the Legionâs own menders. Tathe smiles a little as he sees them all arrive, none have died. They have made it out of the depths and are on their way back home, to Stormwind. Although, as every Legionary knows, it will not be long until they deploy again.
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Dawn was just breaking. The familiar sting of good drinks and too little sleep pulled at the corners of her mind. As hangovers went, it was little more than a minor irritation. As she left the city gates the great forests of Elwynn spread out before her, the leaves of the canopy pooling dappled light upon the road. It was a good hour or two walk back to Eastvale, and though she dreaded what awaited her, Nazjatar had made one thing exceptionally clear.
This time, she needed to say goodbye.
A young girl, hair flowing behind her, chased a boy who ran too fast. Bow and arrow on his back, his golden hair tied at the nape of his neck. Already well into his teens, though he ran ahead, he always turned to see her follow. As the sunlight caught him, his deep blue eyes danced, a ghost of laughter died on his face.
He darted forwards, the girl had stopped to retrieve her shoe. There was a roar of a shout, the scream of horses. She cried out as she was lifted into his arms, carried to the side of the road. The military convoy rumbled past.
âDid you not hear them little bird?â
The girl curled into his arms, her face buried in his neck. She shook her head softly.
âMm sorryâŠâ
He hushed her gently and hoisted her onto his shoulders.
âMatthew?â
âWill you always look after me?â
The boy laughed, tilting his head to look up into his sisterâs eyes, hers a winterâs morn to his own summer skies.
âAlways, Gracie. Always.â
Ghosts of memories flickered before her as she walked. A thousand summers days, every autumnal evening, the sping showers and the long winterâs nights.
The girl sat on the fencepost, twirling a fallen leaf between her fingers, as rich and red as the blood hued sky. Her long hair braided to her waist, her acolytes robes already muddy and grass stained, hoisted up and held by a belt, far too large for her thin, underfed frame. Keeping her balance she rocked her feet back and forth, wrapped in fur lined boots.
âMatthew?â
The man leaned on the fence, bow and arrow long since gone, replaced by greataxe strapped across his back. Toned shoulders and arms spoke of long hours worked with the Jackâs.
âYes little bird?â
âAre you going to marry Molly?â
âWould you like that?â
The girl nodded, resting the leaf on her lap. âShe nice. Sheâs pretty. And she cooks better than Ma.â
The man laughed, wrapping his arms around the girl. âGracie, murlocs cook better than Ma.â
âSo are you going to marry her? Iâll be flower girl, oh oh! Maybe Iâll be finished my training and be a real priestess then I can marry you! Have you asked her? You need to ask her Paw, have you? What did he say-mmmmph!â
Matthew held his hand over her mouth.
âHush little bird. If I tell you a secret, do you promise not to sing it?â
Hand still clamped over her mouth she nodded.
âI did ask him. He said I have to build a home for us first.â
The girls brow furrowed.
âButâŠyou canât afford that?â
âI know Gracie, but itâs my birthday in three weeks-â
âYouâre not getting a house for your birthday! Thatâs not fair! I only got boots for - ow!â
Matthew laughed as he cuffed her around the back of the head.
âDo you want to know or not?â
âYes.â
âWell then. Itâs my birthday in three weeks. I spoke to a recruiter yesterday. Iâm going to enlist. If I save my wages for two years, Iâll be able to build us a home. Iâve told Molly, but -you- canât tell anyone. Itâs going to be a surprise., Promise?â
âI promise.â
Grace stopped at the bridge. The whine of the saw mill cut sharply through the air. From here she could see the small township. Pulling her hood up to hide her features she crossed the bridge and walked along the path.
Outside the women were going about their daily tasks. Mrs Chiltern on her knees scrubbing the laundry, whilst her daughter Molly stood with a child on her hip. Sheâd married three years after Matthew was lost, she didnât begrudge the woman her happiness, but it still stung.
âHave you seen Wainwright?â
Grace turned, to see Molly speak.
âNo. Heâs still shut indoors. Thatâs the same cart thatâs been out there a threeweek now without him doing a damned thing with it.â
âNot surprising to be fair. I mean, I know young Gracie was getting tired of the Mill, but I never thought sheâd take off like that, especially not with that lad Jamie doting on her-â
The elder of the pair hissed sharply and Molly fell silent. Glancing at Grace she lowered her tone.
âJust you guard your tongue Moll. Them folk been through enough without you wittering on in front of strangers.â
Grace stumbled, not realising sheâd stopped to listen.
Strangers
Grace pulled her cloak close despite the warmth and continued on. Sheâd known the Chilterns since before she could walk, and they didnât recognise her.
Eventually she reached the house. Cart outside, tools downed. All the curtains drawn. Raising her hand she knocked.
Grace opened the door.
A man she didnât know stood there. All polished silvers, his black hair swept back. In his hands a folded flag.
âMiss, is your mother in?â
Grace nodded. âMA! THERES SOME SOLDIER SELLING FLAGS!â
Her mother swept into the room, pointing to the kitchen. âOut Grace, now!â
Grace crouched, peering through the crack in the door.
She watched as her mother sank to a chair, head in her hands. The soldier stood head bowed.
âThe Alliance thanks you for your sacrifice.â
No sound came from within, lifting her fist again she hammered on the door once more.
The sound of a chair scraping, heavy footfalls and bolts being drawn.
Bolts.
The door was never locked.
Her eyes widened as the door was torn open.
âI ainât takinâ customers!â
Paw Wainwright bellowed, standing just over six foot, broad shouldered with a shock of white hair he always cut an intimidating presence. Sheâd seen him irritated, sheâd seen him angry, but never like this.
Shoulders slouched, skin grey he stank of stale smoke. As he continued his tone had softened to defeat.
âIf yer need to be movin, see the stables or walk. Now shove off.â
Grace had simply stared, it wasnât until heâd moved back inside to close the door she jolted forward, pressing her hand to the wood. He glowered at her.
âWhat?â
She peered up at him.
âThree weeks and you donât recognise your own daughter?â
The stinging slap sent her reeling. Her arm grasped he dragged her to the perimeter, hurling her past the gate.
âMy Daughterâs Dead, Gracie. She was the moment she left. Go. Go back to the damned army, thereâs nothing for you here.â
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