03/03/2018 20:39Posted by WintershoreReds don't belong into the blue sky!
*Brigante stamps on models of Gyrocopters, Sky Corvettes, Gryphons and Hippogryphs*
"We Will Take these Skies, and paint them RED!"
*Brigante stamps on models of Gyrocopters, Sky Corvettes, Gryphons and Hippogryphs*
"We Will Take these Skies, and paint them RED!"
1 Like
The figure ran down the dune, falling and going with it, rifle clutched to his side, his Combat Assessment Targeter bounding down by his side, before he grounded himself, digging a boot in, his goggles tracking the targets, his rifle raising ...One...Two...Three.
The enemies dropped, one by one. Gunfire kicked into the dunes beside him, he slammed a hand to his belt, and his image shimmered,
Not enough for the attacker, they would have thermal tracking as well, after all, he did. He might be invisible to the naked eye now, but as he saw rockets deploy on the wing-stubs of the Gyrocopters, before they even launched he grabbed flares and threw them downhill, before he dived -uphill-, the opposite direction they would have expected, burrowing behind one of the corpses he had just made, dragging them over him as he squirmed his shoulders into the sand, just a couple of seconds, just a couple. His armour, normally matt black, shimmered and changed colour, becoming the drab sands around him. “I am a speck of sand” he intoned in his head . His C.A.T lay low allowing the blowing sands to cover him, he tapped a button on his goggles, to see what it saw, the automata’s sight linked to his, and saw the Gyrocopter land, two humans getting off, and stalking his way.
“Smart” he murmured, through a mouthful of sand.
He grinned ferally “Too bad for them”
He reached slowly up, the dead Orc had a knife...of course he had a knife, he was an Orc. He weighed it in his hand, in his cover...He could use this...it just had to distract…
The two humans advanced, he waited, then cricked his head twice to the left, activating his C.A.T again, as the humans turned to the Automata he hurled the dagger, not at them, that was not the intention, as it flashed between them, one turned too slow, he had leaped on their back, drawing his own blades across their neck, Blood sprayed on the sand, he allowed himself to fall beneath the dying human, who still grasped at his throat, he reloaded his gun, the attention was on them, not the C.A.T which set up a firing trajectory for him, updated in real time, as he moved. Bullets riddled the corpse of the dead human, an amateur would have used them as cover, as if any modern firearm did not penetrate human flesh and bore through?
Using the targetting of his goggles and the C.A.T he lined up his rifle and fired from a lying position, at just the same time the human let fly a shot, wild, desperate, but…..accurate.
He coughed and growled “Getting old man, getting old and slow”
Slowly, but with purpose, the Assassin, death of hundreds, the Tunnel Rat, the Gnome made his way towards Gadgetzan, blood marking his trail.
Once there, he painstakingly stapled closed his wounds, a yelp each time, but any ‘Rat’ worth their mention would yelp, anyone who said otherwise was a Lightside Liar who had never known a wound. To hells with what they thought!
He thought about what he had seen, how to couch it...did it involve them? Did they care?
It was above his paygrade, to a degree.
He lit a cigar and puffed on it as he typed on the ‘Conundrum’ machine.
“‘K’ Activity of ‘Cheeky Neighbour’ sighted, other forces interested, Say again, Other interested parties, Bolvar Elwynn, They have forces here but are in withdrawal, awaiting orders”
He Smoked anxiously. What had seemed to him like merely Blood Elves doing Blood Elf things seemed less so now, they were anxious, and angry, and if there was one thing he had learned, it was when Blood Elves got angry, they lashed out. He strongly suspected they had a common enemy. He had seen….things, things that looked like sabotage, they had seemed….angry, when they left...and there was the other thing….
There had been one less rider when they left, than when they came.
The Chatter type of the Conundrum machine rattled as the paper spewed “ ‘K’ to Agent King Rat, pursue leads on ‘Cheeky Neighbour’, Circumstantial approval for information sharing with Party Bolvar Elwynn is approved, we have affected such”
The Gnome lay back “you have got to be kidding me...I mean seriously boss… Well, hells, I might as well get some sleep, wait for the frakking Bolvar Elwynn’s to show up. Just great. Exactly how I planned on spending my weekend”
He angrily puffed on his cigar.
Perfect. Just damned perfect.
The enemies dropped, one by one. Gunfire kicked into the dunes beside him, he slammed a hand to his belt, and his image shimmered,
Not enough for the attacker, they would have thermal tracking as well, after all, he did. He might be invisible to the naked eye now, but as he saw rockets deploy on the wing-stubs of the Gyrocopters, before they even launched he grabbed flares and threw them downhill, before he dived -uphill-, the opposite direction they would have expected, burrowing behind one of the corpses he had just made, dragging them over him as he squirmed his shoulders into the sand, just a couple of seconds, just a couple. His armour, normally matt black, shimmered and changed colour, becoming the drab sands around him. “I am a speck of sand” he intoned in his head . His C.A.T lay low allowing the blowing sands to cover him, he tapped a button on his goggles, to see what it saw, the automata’s sight linked to his, and saw the Gyrocopter land, two humans getting off, and stalking his way.
“Smart” he murmured, through a mouthful of sand.
He grinned ferally “Too bad for them”
He reached slowly up, the dead Orc had a knife...of course he had a knife, he was an Orc. He weighed it in his hand, in his cover...He could use this...it just had to distract…
The two humans advanced, he waited, then cricked his head twice to the left, activating his C.A.T again, as the humans turned to the Automata he hurled the dagger, not at them, that was not the intention, as it flashed between them, one turned too slow, he had leaped on their back, drawing his own blades across their neck, Blood sprayed on the sand, he allowed himself to fall beneath the dying human, who still grasped at his throat, he reloaded his gun, the attention was on them, not the C.A.T which set up a firing trajectory for him, updated in real time, as he moved. Bullets riddled the corpse of the dead human, an amateur would have used them as cover, as if any modern firearm did not penetrate human flesh and bore through?
Using the targetting of his goggles and the C.A.T he lined up his rifle and fired from a lying position, at just the same time the human let fly a shot, wild, desperate, but…..accurate.
He coughed and growled “Getting old man, getting old and slow”
Slowly, but with purpose, the Assassin, death of hundreds, the Tunnel Rat, the Gnome made his way towards Gadgetzan, blood marking his trail.
Once there, he painstakingly stapled closed his wounds, a yelp each time, but any ‘Rat’ worth their mention would yelp, anyone who said otherwise was a Lightside Liar who had never known a wound. To hells with what they thought!
He thought about what he had seen, how to couch it...did it involve them? Did they care?
It was above his paygrade, to a degree.
He lit a cigar and puffed on it as he typed on the ‘Conundrum’ machine.
“‘K’ Activity of ‘Cheeky Neighbour’ sighted, other forces interested, Say again, Other interested parties, Bolvar Elwynn, They have forces here but are in withdrawal, awaiting orders”
He Smoked anxiously. What had seemed to him like merely Blood Elves doing Blood Elf things seemed less so now, they were anxious, and angry, and if there was one thing he had learned, it was when Blood Elves got angry, they lashed out. He strongly suspected they had a common enemy. He had seen….things, things that looked like sabotage, they had seemed….angry, when they left...and there was the other thing….
There had been one less rider when they left, than when they came.
The Chatter type of the Conundrum machine rattled as the paper spewed “ ‘K’ to Agent King Rat, pursue leads on ‘Cheeky Neighbour’, Circumstantial approval for information sharing with Party Bolvar Elwynn is approved, we have affected such”
The Gnome lay back “you have got to be kidding me...I mean seriously boss… Well, hells, I might as well get some sleep, wait for the frakking Bolvar Elwynn’s to show up. Just great. Exactly how I planned on spending my weekend”
He angrily puffed on his cigar.
Perfect. Just damned perfect.
1 Like
And still the Sun Hawks fight against monsters.
https://image.ibb.co/jD4F1c/Fireandpain.jpg
He finished painting the room, it needed doing, it had been skies and clouds, , Dragonhawks, riders and flames, and then he realised he had done the very thing his parents had tried to do to him, in reverse. From his infancy his books were of magical theory, practice and application. They had wanted to make their son a Magister.
He had wanted to make his son a flier.
He had..in a fashion.
Which then led to the horrible question, had he shaped him? Had he made him easier for Mikaneth to mold, to turn into a weapon against them? Paint dropped from the brush to the wooden floor, the walls a neutral yellow, Physicians, Priests, had all volunteered to tell him who it was in Tarrithael's belly, but she had screamed for them to be sent away, and it was her choice.
Not knowing gnawed at him, but he was happy to see her back to herself, angry at the world and everything in it. She was 'Red Seven' even if heavily pregnant with his child. She would take a pinch of salt and complain it was not two...It had always been this way, with him and women,
He needed someone to govern him. He needed stability to enact the chaos that was war, he needed...ultimately...something to come back to.
He needed someone to let him out to play...
He looked around the room, the last time he had allowed himself in here? He had raged, a fury, destroying the cot and crib, smashing it against walls, crying in incoherent rage, smashing and punching, until there was nothing left but flinders.
Brigante turned slowly, was this a child's bedroom?
The Cheery yellow walls said yes, the bright curtains, drifting slowly on the summer breeze that constantly warmed Quel'thalas, said yes. The murals, the pictures, the toys...all spoke of a happy child's playhouse.
Only one thing did not.
Brigante sighed grimly and walked from the room, closing it.
That 'thing' was him.
War had ruined him. He could be a soldier, a lover, but a father?
He sat, with a copy of 'Loerdaeron Lost', a journal about the Fall of that Kingdom, but his eyes were not on the pages...they were on the door, waiting for the knock. To tell him whether he was a father to a healthy elf child
...or to a monster.
He had wanted to make his son a flier.
He had..in a fashion.
Which then led to the horrible question, had he shaped him? Had he made him easier for Mikaneth to mold, to turn into a weapon against them? Paint dropped from the brush to the wooden floor, the walls a neutral yellow, Physicians, Priests, had all volunteered to tell him who it was in Tarrithael's belly, but she had screamed for them to be sent away, and it was her choice.
Not knowing gnawed at him, but he was happy to see her back to herself, angry at the world and everything in it. She was 'Red Seven' even if heavily pregnant with his child. She would take a pinch of salt and complain it was not two...It had always been this way, with him and women,
He needed someone to govern him. He needed stability to enact the chaos that was war, he needed...ultimately...something to come back to.
He needed someone to let him out to play...
He looked around the room, the last time he had allowed himself in here? He had raged, a fury, destroying the cot and crib, smashing it against walls, crying in incoherent rage, smashing and punching, until there was nothing left but flinders.
Brigante turned slowly, was this a child's bedroom?
The Cheery yellow walls said yes, the bright curtains, drifting slowly on the summer breeze that constantly warmed Quel'thalas, said yes. The murals, the pictures, the toys...all spoke of a happy child's playhouse.
Only one thing did not.
Brigante sighed grimly and walked from the room, closing it.
That 'thing' was him.
War had ruined him. He could be a soldier, a lover, but a father?
He sat, with a copy of 'Loerdaeron Lost', a journal about the Fall of that Kingdom, but his eyes were not on the pages...they were on the door, waiting for the knock. To tell him whether he was a father to a healthy elf child
...or to a monster.
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“Clack...Clack...Clack”.
The metal cap of the walking cane rapped out a staccato beat upon the tiles of the Sanitorium. The two Equerry’s by the door in their red and gold livery looked at the cane, a work of art really, part of the wingbone of one of Garrosh Hellscream’s protodrakes, downed by its wielder over the dusty and bloody skies of Orgrimmar. Polished and finely engraved with scenes of aerial combat. Battles for the Skies.
But not all Battles were so easily won.
The handle, the polished metal gearstick head of a downed Gnomish Gyrocopter, currently held in a strong hand, one that did not shake, but firmly set the cane down with purpose, for hours he had paced, banished from where his heart told him he should be. This one fight not his. He had been told to get out of the way.
He had never felt so helpless.
The Equerry’s looked at the Elf as he paced, positioned to carry any word or order from him at a moment’s notice. They could not meet his gaze however. There was nothing elven in that gaze. It wasn’t even ‘Fliers Eyes’. There was not a flicker, not a blink, as the howling screams roiled even through the thick door of the Sanitorium. When he did blink, it was swift, like a Gnomish Snap-O-Graph shutter, as if he was recording every moment, every last thing, for posterity, and would not tolerate such mortal frailties as the need to blink from preventing him from experiencing every moment.
One of the Equerry’s initially had made a motion to talk to the flier “Sir, we” The cane tip had swang to his neck, unerringly placed against the apple in his throat...not painfully, but holding him in place, “Close. Your. Mouth”.
The grim finality of the words were more shocking than the firm gesture. The Commandant was usually a solicitous superior, kindly even, yet in times of such fear, he suddenly seemed the millennia old creature that he was. His words clipped and brusque, redolent of absolute threat of consequences should his words be disobeyed. Archaic his accent, not the modern vernacular sometimes affected by younger Sin’dorei, like the Equerry’s themselves.
The screaming continued, the ‘Clack Clack Clack’ on the tiles continued.
Neither of the Equerry’s was themself a father, so could only imagine the torment behind the Commandant’s eyes as he paced. They had heard the rumours of course. His fiancee was a small woman, not frail by any means, far from it, she was a ‘Hood’, well used to a life of activity and hardship, but short in stature. The Child was early...very early….and of course there had been….
Complications.
The Commandant had not known, when she was assigned, to Aszuna, where mana was so dense in the skies, where Fel energies laced the very air. Where the assignment -he- had given her had taken her. Only later had a female flier let slip about Tarrithael’s morning sickness, the dread realisation hitting him.
She had been immediately recalled, of course. The Commandant’s rules were well entrenched. No woman with child serves in the field.
She had been out too long though. Exposed to too much.
What came back was a spiteful, shrieking hissing mess, all but Wretched. Her first months of pregnancy, her confinement, had been -literally- that. Confined in the Sanitorium, for her own safety, and others.
And now the day had come.
And it was too Soon.
The Far door opened, through it a clean and fastidious Elf marched with purpose, a surgical bag carried briskly at his side like a soldier clutched his sword. The cane stopped, Brigante span “Doctor...I am a trained Physician, and that is the woman who will be my wife...why am I kept outside to pace in ignorance?” The words started as a hiss and ended as a roar. The Doctor looked at him levelly. “You are a trained Field Combat surgeon Sir. How many babies have you delivered?”
The eyes closed briefly. “None”
The other nodded “Then your place is out here. Apologies for the delay, I was midway through Surgery." He glances to the door, behind which the screaming is evident, although now mingled with sobbing. "Through here?" Without waiting for answer or another word he brushed past the Commandant, and into the room.
Was this his reward? Brigante seethed. So many deaths on his conscience, What was one more...or fates forfend...two more?
The clacking, the pacing resumed. Was this his reward for so many centuries of service to his nation...for...daring to have the arrogance to assume that this world was any sort of place to bring children into. His face steeled itself as a piercing scream rang through the door, and then..
Silence.
His resolve and self assurance faltered, he became nothing more at that moment than what he was. A scared, terrified lover and expectant father. His speech became wild, he had not even realised he had been muttering to himself. “Something has went wrong! Something is wrong!” He started towards the door, bringing himself up short as the Nurse and midwife came through.
They were not holding a child.
Two.
They handed both infants over to him, and he looked down in wonder.
Bloodied, briefly washed, their eyes open in infant curiosity, tiny fuzz of white hair on their heads like their parents. But healthy. Light be praised. Healthy! Not Wretched! Not the abominations he had feared.
“A Boy and a Girl” the Midwife spoke, but her face did not show the happiness one would expect.
“And Tarrithael?”
The two elven women looked at each other. “It...is best you stay out here Sir, for now”
As they passed back inside he saw, just for a moment. The tiny form, so pale, lying on bloodsoaked sheets, Surgeon desperately working over her form, she had never looked so frail.
He could see no sign of breathing.
As the door clicked behind the nurses, the infants both started to howl. Cradling them their father fell to his knees, shock and horror on his face, as he held them tightly he raised his face to the roof, an almost incoherent roar of grief issuing from him.
The Equerry’s could never agree, afterwards. Between children and father…
Who screamed more?
The metal cap of the walking cane rapped out a staccato beat upon the tiles of the Sanitorium. The two Equerry’s by the door in their red and gold livery looked at the cane, a work of art really, part of the wingbone of one of Garrosh Hellscream’s protodrakes, downed by its wielder over the dusty and bloody skies of Orgrimmar. Polished and finely engraved with scenes of aerial combat. Battles for the Skies.
But not all Battles were so easily won.
The handle, the polished metal gearstick head of a downed Gnomish Gyrocopter, currently held in a strong hand, one that did not shake, but firmly set the cane down with purpose, for hours he had paced, banished from where his heart told him he should be. This one fight not his. He had been told to get out of the way.
He had never felt so helpless.
The Equerry’s looked at the Elf as he paced, positioned to carry any word or order from him at a moment’s notice. They could not meet his gaze however. There was nothing elven in that gaze. It wasn’t even ‘Fliers Eyes’. There was not a flicker, not a blink, as the howling screams roiled even through the thick door of the Sanitorium. When he did blink, it was swift, like a Gnomish Snap-O-Graph shutter, as if he was recording every moment, every last thing, for posterity, and would not tolerate such mortal frailties as the need to blink from preventing him from experiencing every moment.
One of the Equerry’s initially had made a motion to talk to the flier “Sir, we” The cane tip had swang to his neck, unerringly placed against the apple in his throat...not painfully, but holding him in place, “Close. Your. Mouth”.
The grim finality of the words were more shocking than the firm gesture. The Commandant was usually a solicitous superior, kindly even, yet in times of such fear, he suddenly seemed the millennia old creature that he was. His words clipped and brusque, redolent of absolute threat of consequences should his words be disobeyed. Archaic his accent, not the modern vernacular sometimes affected by younger Sin’dorei, like the Equerry’s themselves.
The screaming continued, the ‘Clack Clack Clack’ on the tiles continued.
Neither of the Equerry’s was themself a father, so could only imagine the torment behind the Commandant’s eyes as he paced. They had heard the rumours of course. His fiancee was a small woman, not frail by any means, far from it, she was a ‘Hood’, well used to a life of activity and hardship, but short in stature. The Child was early...very early….and of course there had been….
Complications.
The Commandant had not known, when she was assigned, to Aszuna, where mana was so dense in the skies, where Fel energies laced the very air. Where the assignment -he- had given her had taken her. Only later had a female flier let slip about Tarrithael’s morning sickness, the dread realisation hitting him.
She had been immediately recalled, of course. The Commandant’s rules were well entrenched. No woman with child serves in the field.
She had been out too long though. Exposed to too much.
What came back was a spiteful, shrieking hissing mess, all but Wretched. Her first months of pregnancy, her confinement, had been -literally- that. Confined in the Sanitorium, for her own safety, and others.
And now the day had come.
And it was too Soon.
The Far door opened, through it a clean and fastidious Elf marched with purpose, a surgical bag carried briskly at his side like a soldier clutched his sword. The cane stopped, Brigante span “Doctor...I am a trained Physician, and that is the woman who will be my wife...why am I kept outside to pace in ignorance?” The words started as a hiss and ended as a roar. The Doctor looked at him levelly. “You are a trained Field Combat surgeon Sir. How many babies have you delivered?”
The eyes closed briefly. “None”
The other nodded “Then your place is out here. Apologies for the delay, I was midway through Surgery." He glances to the door, behind which the screaming is evident, although now mingled with sobbing. "Through here?" Without waiting for answer or another word he brushed past the Commandant, and into the room.
Was this his reward? Brigante seethed. So many deaths on his conscience, What was one more...or fates forfend...two more?
The clacking, the pacing resumed. Was this his reward for so many centuries of service to his nation...for...daring to have the arrogance to assume that this world was any sort of place to bring children into. His face steeled itself as a piercing scream rang through the door, and then..
Silence.
His resolve and self assurance faltered, he became nothing more at that moment than what he was. A scared, terrified lover and expectant father. His speech became wild, he had not even realised he had been muttering to himself. “Something has went wrong! Something is wrong!” He started towards the door, bringing himself up short as the Nurse and midwife came through.
They were not holding a child.
Two.
They handed both infants over to him, and he looked down in wonder.
Bloodied, briefly washed, their eyes open in infant curiosity, tiny fuzz of white hair on their heads like their parents. But healthy. Light be praised. Healthy! Not Wretched! Not the abominations he had feared.
“A Boy and a Girl” the Midwife spoke, but her face did not show the happiness one would expect.
“And Tarrithael?”
The two elven women looked at each other. “It...is best you stay out here Sir, for now”
As they passed back inside he saw, just for a moment. The tiny form, so pale, lying on bloodsoaked sheets, Surgeon desperately working over her form, she had never looked so frail.
He could see no sign of breathing.
As the door clicked behind the nurses, the infants both started to howl. Cradling them their father fell to his knees, shock and horror on his face, as he held them tightly he raised his face to the roof, an almost incoherent roar of grief issuing from him.
The Equerry’s could never agree, afterwards. Between children and father…
Who screamed more?
1 Like
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j97WR_slydY
“In an Isolated system. Entropy can...only Increase.”
‘Agent Maestro’s’ words, ‘The Witch’ as ever accurate in her summation. She had been speaking of Operation Nightmare Green, but she was right in this situation also, even if not present. Her plummy tones telling him what he knew, but did not want to admit.
The Elf sat at his desk in the Aerie, countless folders on his desk, the Legion vanquished, Operation Nightmare Green over and victorious. Argus gone from their skies.
They had won.
Yet they had not. His hands skittered over the reports, opening folders and scanning the wording, Scanning the words, reports from ‘Hoods’, from reconnaissance assets he could even remember paying, from third party Horde spies and agents he could.
One hand twirled a globe, pinpointing the places the reports came from. Arcane projections flying up as he touched its surface. Hotspots relating to the reports flaring under his touch, with each press of his finger, reports became audible, in a myriad of voices from the senders of the paper documents in front of him, he rifled through them, trying to find some meaning. ‘Rainmaker’ was the problem, but where -was- he?
“Only twenty blocks away from the Lodge, there is a significant increase of violence in Thalassian gang warfare”
“On Wednesday there was a hundred and forty nine events of racial violence linked to recent tensions”
“Stranglethorn is a mess, nobody knows what is going on here, do the Pirates hold it, does Booty Bay, do the Trolls? I think we have to assume a….a middle way”
“Known as the infamous line of Forsaken and Alliance tensions, it cannot be ignored”
“In the face of increased Alliance aggression, Horde forces have heightened alertness in the region, and are strongly requesting air support to combat this triumphant, yet monolithic opposition”
“So far three Rookie deaths due to poor harness discipline, apart from the physical assets, this has cost in the region of nine hundred gold, in expenses and reparations”
“More and more Alliance forces move towards Silithis, the Horde must respond in kind, or lose this asset!”
“All we see, is the world being painted blue, whilst we sit on our hands, the time to act is -Now!-.”
Brigante listened, he span the orb, the words jumbling into one, a continual sound of ‘need’ of demand…
He growled, his hand fastening around the hilt of his walking cane.
Everywhere called for attention, his eyes flickering over the globe that demanded his attention, each report supposedly ‘Most Urgent’. His head pounded and he rubbed his temples.
Entropy increased.
A Scream from the corner, normally a sound he would have been keyed for, followed by another, as the Twins started wailing in tandem. He hurriedly shoved a report into a folder and went to the crib...the right crib, the wrong folder. He gathered the infants up “Now, now, what’s this? We should talk to your mother” He looked grimly at the ceiling for a moment, “we should really talk to your mother….”
Shouldering the door open he limped out into the corridor, bearing his infant children, both wailing as he tried to soothe them.
The piece of misplaced paper?
That remained silent. And forever would.
He thundered through the corridors, ignoring the spasming pain in his left leg, the infants wailing becoming almost in tune, as an Equerry hurriedly opened the door to Tarri’s room.
In his Office? The report remained misfiled.
In an isolated system….Entropy can only increase.
“In an Isolated system. Entropy can...only Increase.”
‘Agent Maestro’s’ words, ‘The Witch’ as ever accurate in her summation. She had been speaking of Operation Nightmare Green, but she was right in this situation also, even if not present. Her plummy tones telling him what he knew, but did not want to admit.
The Elf sat at his desk in the Aerie, countless folders on his desk, the Legion vanquished, Operation Nightmare Green over and victorious. Argus gone from their skies.
They had won.
Yet they had not. His hands skittered over the reports, opening folders and scanning the wording, Scanning the words, reports from ‘Hoods’, from reconnaissance assets he could even remember paying, from third party Horde spies and agents he could.
One hand twirled a globe, pinpointing the places the reports came from. Arcane projections flying up as he touched its surface. Hotspots relating to the reports flaring under his touch, with each press of his finger, reports became audible, in a myriad of voices from the senders of the paper documents in front of him, he rifled through them, trying to find some meaning. ‘Rainmaker’ was the problem, but where -was- he?
“Only twenty blocks away from the Lodge, there is a significant increase of violence in Thalassian gang warfare”
“On Wednesday there was a hundred and forty nine events of racial violence linked to recent tensions”
“Stranglethorn is a mess, nobody knows what is going on here, do the Pirates hold it, does Booty Bay, do the Trolls? I think we have to assume a….a middle way”
“Known as the infamous line of Forsaken and Alliance tensions, it cannot be ignored”
“In the face of increased Alliance aggression, Horde forces have heightened alertness in the region, and are strongly requesting air support to combat this triumphant, yet monolithic opposition”
“So far three Rookie deaths due to poor harness discipline, apart from the physical assets, this has cost in the region of nine hundred gold, in expenses and reparations”
“More and more Alliance forces move towards Silithis, the Horde must respond in kind, or lose this asset!”
“All we see, is the world being painted blue, whilst we sit on our hands, the time to act is -Now!-.”
Brigante listened, he span the orb, the words jumbling into one, a continual sound of ‘need’ of demand…
He growled, his hand fastening around the hilt of his walking cane.
Everywhere called for attention, his eyes flickering over the globe that demanded his attention, each report supposedly ‘Most Urgent’. His head pounded and he rubbed his temples.
Entropy increased.
A Scream from the corner, normally a sound he would have been keyed for, followed by another, as the Twins started wailing in tandem. He hurriedly shoved a report into a folder and went to the crib...the right crib, the wrong folder. He gathered the infants up “Now, now, what’s this? We should talk to your mother” He looked grimly at the ceiling for a moment, “we should really talk to your mother….”
Shouldering the door open he limped out into the corridor, bearing his infant children, both wailing as he tried to soothe them.
The piece of misplaced paper?
That remained silent. And forever would.
He thundered through the corridors, ignoring the spasming pain in his left leg, the infants wailing becoming almost in tune, as an Equerry hurriedly opened the door to Tarri’s room.
In his Office? The report remained misfiled.
In an isolated system….Entropy can only increase.
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DftCIarV03o&list=RDMMDftCIarV03o
He cradled the infants in his arm, his left leg all but spasming, the pain from the Alliance Mana Weapon at Redridge last year, no fleeting friend visiting, no, now his constant companion. He had tried everything...drinking the pain away, he had even broken a lifetime rule, one he would never admit, for he forbade it his fliers, and tried smoking Bloodthistle. He had overindulged on Mana Crystals, the cheap, quick euphoria slowly fading into the twisting pain of muscle on badly set bone. His steps like walking on broken glass.
The real pain though...inside his head. Their faces. Invisible in reality, clad in silvered helms with blue plumes, but in his head they all had faces. As the Mark Fours had hurled down and his fliers banked. He had felt the pain then, in his leg, of course, it was the day after, but in that moment...that moment, like a ..a crystalline blue bullet to the brain, he had felt Peace. He had become Theramore. That...absolute destruction, in an instant, no time for pain, just sudden annihilation. An Alliance column...a vast weapon of war, in a second...just erased.
He should have realised then. In that moment. There was only one surcease from his own pain.
It had almost destroyed him. Almost. He had become drunk on power, his ability to kill...the sheer….destruction he had unleashed a year ago...he...had been able to forget his own pain, the sheer, almost exultant euphoria..
He recalled the words hurled in anger a year ago “You’re like an Acheran...a Death Knight, in fact you’re -worse-! They have an excuse! What is your excuse Summerisle?”
He shuddered, he was carrying his two newborn children, and his thoughts were of death...such was perverse beyond even the wildest dreams of murderers and devils, and perhaps he was both.
And here he was. To cause more pain, but it had to be done.
He limped to the window, the wan early light enough to encourage the early morning birds, the brave ones, to tweeter their song, before a tiny winged figure with a puff of flame snatched them from the railings, the Dragonhawk Hatchlings taking their toll...learning killing...early on…
Would his own hatchlings have to? Is that what he would make of them?
He looked down, two sets of curiously open green eyes examining his face as if trying to establish the secrets of the cosmos, of Gods, of the meaning of all.
He muttered to them, no lullaby, his singing voice harsh and ruined. It was a litany.
“Never be cruel when you don’t need to be”
He looked heavily at the bed behind him where Tarri still slept.
“Never Kill when you don’t need to.”
“Never break your word, if you have the courage of your convictions, stand to them”
“Torture is a tool of the weak, the weak, and those who could not withstand it. I know this, I was once weak”
“There are times you will win, and times you will lose, when you win, you are magnanimous, when you lose, you pick yourself up and carry on”
“Cruelty is for cats, hatchlings and cowards. You will be none of those things”
“You, Laindor, always treat women right, and don’t mess them about, and”
He knuckled away a tear from his eye “Never send them on missions when they might be pregnant but don’t know they are and nor do you.”
Brigante looked at Laindor’s Twin. “You Kayrissa, Never go on missions when you might be pregnant but don’t know you are and nor do they”
Brigante smiled weakly “Or Vice versa, depending on what you become...I mean that advice would be little use if you both become street sweepers.”
Brigante sighed, juggling the tears that were half unspent, yet half dried.
“I mean, that would be fine. Its respectable work, and safer than being a flier…
He grinned. “I could see you as a musical double act, wowing the crowds, Think of it, one on piano, the other singing”
He grinned again, desperately “Anything other than both of you being Fliers, I admit, we only planned for one of you, so you’ll share a cot till I can get another, but, you’ll like your room. Just...Not Fliers, I’d live long enough to command you...fates willing...and no...So please, be a cobbler and a ballerina, I don’t care in which way around..I’d be fine with that...Or a Sailor and a Tailor, that would be fine also, Milliner and City Guard?”
He held the children tight to him as he turned, tears dampening their fuzzy scalps. “Please not fliers...but please not…”
The Room darkened. The Twins both gurgled and reached out hands over his shoulders.
Brigante knew who was there. “Ice Cream salesmen, a couple of performing mime artists, Ratcatchers, Beggars, something, not Fliers. This is not a life I want for my children!”
He turned and there He was. His Battle Brother, The vast Draconic Creature perched on the railings, tail wrapped firmly around to keep himself in place. The Blue-Silver Hybrid craned his neck even as he settled his wings in a form of shroud, his eyes, blazing bright setting on Brigante, and Dragonhawks of course could not speak, but he heard the thoughts in his head, as if he was just reading the facial expression “Thee hold mine Hatchlings when they be born, my Wingless-Self, wouldst deny me now?”
Brigante stiffly limped towards the bay window, carrying his two newborn babes towards….
A vast creature, its head as long as an elf, its beak able to tear a person apart with one snap, ruffled feathers bulking it up, it's wingtips ended with bone talons, Bony spines rising from it, its body as thick around as an elf, one of the great snakes that could squash life from a person in seconds that were rumoured in Stranglethorn. Savage horns and worst still, it’s tail, that could whip around and had enough muscle to grab one and dash them from the platform.
The Scales and beak and body chitin of the creature bore scratches and scars showing hundreds of aerial battles, This creature, could unleash flame from its beak, that could incinerate all of them. Brigante, the Twins, the woman in the bed, and set it aflame.
He knew it would not….but...He wanted the Twins to make their own Destiny, and yet, Sunspear, this vast, terrifying creature, his Battle Brother, was right. Brigante and those like them had shaped his Hatchlings…. His Sons and daughters...This Sunspear was the Third of that name that he had rode…
Brigante stared into the red pits that were Sunspear’s eyes and concentrated, a fathers fear adding to his bond. “I Will show thee my Hatchlings Battle-Brother, I have never harmed thine, thee shall not harm mine”
Sunspear whickered, a deep rattling in his throat. He could feel a vague reaching from his Battle-Brother to his children “Overcome thy fear, Do not be afraid”
Both children reached out slowly, grabbing at Sunspear’s beak, laughing, the beak that could have rendered Brigante in two halves let alone his infants, their small pudgy hands stroking that scarred, deadly weapon of war that had sent how many to their deaths?
Laindor patted the beak, Kayrissa tested its edge with her fingers and Brigante’s heart sank. Sunspear’s eyes met his “Dost not trust me, Wingless-Self?”
“Trust thee, but have Sire’s fear” Brigante’s mental response replied.
Sunspear nodded his vast head “I shall not cause thee fear, Wingless-Self, thy Mate is sick, the Dam to thine Hatchlings, We fly again soon?”
Brigante nodded as he drew his children back “Aye, we do, have thine in order, tomorrow a Wingless-Self makes a bond”
Sunspear nodded, the beast turning from the infant children, and falling from the platform.
“Now Children!”Brigante said merrily, “Let us talk to your mama” He muttered “You haven’t a swiving idea what I am talking about have you, I’m good for killing, and thats it”
He sat heavily in the chair by the bed. The pale figure propped up on cushions, surgical shields still over those areas operated on. He stretched his leg out, the cracking and popping noises no stranger to him, in his arms the twins stretched out their arms towards their mother, and he smiled wryly. “Even they know Deaths herald and want to escape” he sighed. Tarrithael’s eyes opened, and she smiled. “Gante, and Laindor and Kayrissa, a pleasant surprise!” She must have heard something of his words, for her crooked eyebrow was a silent rebuke.
He smiled, “They missed their mother...listening to military strategy planning was not for them, we have become parents to -awful- spies, Tarri”
Tarrithael looked much more animated as she took the children from Brigante “But they are such beautiful awful spies, ‘Gante, and we made them”
“Thy mate is sick”.
Sunspear understood things that he could not.
He cradled the infants in his arm, his left leg all but spasming, the pain from the Alliance Mana Weapon at Redridge last year, no fleeting friend visiting, no, now his constant companion. He had tried everything...drinking the pain away, he had even broken a lifetime rule, one he would never admit, for he forbade it his fliers, and tried smoking Bloodthistle. He had overindulged on Mana Crystals, the cheap, quick euphoria slowly fading into the twisting pain of muscle on badly set bone. His steps like walking on broken glass.
The real pain though...inside his head. Their faces. Invisible in reality, clad in silvered helms with blue plumes, but in his head they all had faces. As the Mark Fours had hurled down and his fliers banked. He had felt the pain then, in his leg, of course, it was the day after, but in that moment...that moment, like a ..a crystalline blue bullet to the brain, he had felt Peace. He had become Theramore. That...absolute destruction, in an instant, no time for pain, just sudden annihilation. An Alliance column...a vast weapon of war, in a second...just erased.
He should have realised then. In that moment. There was only one surcease from his own pain.
It had almost destroyed him. Almost. He had become drunk on power, his ability to kill...the sheer….destruction he had unleashed a year ago...he...had been able to forget his own pain, the sheer, almost exultant euphoria..
He recalled the words hurled in anger a year ago “You’re like an Acheran...a Death Knight, in fact you’re -worse-! They have an excuse! What is your excuse Summerisle?”
He shuddered, he was carrying his two newborn children, and his thoughts were of death...such was perverse beyond even the wildest dreams of murderers and devils, and perhaps he was both.
And here he was. To cause more pain, but it had to be done.
He limped to the window, the wan early light enough to encourage the early morning birds, the brave ones, to tweeter their song, before a tiny winged figure with a puff of flame snatched them from the railings, the Dragonhawk Hatchlings taking their toll...learning killing...early on…
Would his own hatchlings have to? Is that what he would make of them?
He looked down, two sets of curiously open green eyes examining his face as if trying to establish the secrets of the cosmos, of Gods, of the meaning of all.
He muttered to them, no lullaby, his singing voice harsh and ruined. It was a litany.
“Never be cruel when you don’t need to be”
He looked heavily at the bed behind him where Tarri still slept.
“Never Kill when you don’t need to.”
“Never break your word, if you have the courage of your convictions, stand to them”
“Torture is a tool of the weak, the weak, and those who could not withstand it. I know this, I was once weak”
“There are times you will win, and times you will lose, when you win, you are magnanimous, when you lose, you pick yourself up and carry on”
“Cruelty is for cats, hatchlings and cowards. You will be none of those things”
“You, Laindor, always treat women right, and don’t mess them about, and”
He knuckled away a tear from his eye “Never send them on missions when they might be pregnant but don’t know they are and nor do you.”
Brigante looked at Laindor’s Twin. “You Kayrissa, Never go on missions when you might be pregnant but don’t know you are and nor do they”
Brigante smiled weakly “Or Vice versa, depending on what you become...I mean that advice would be little use if you both become street sweepers.”
Brigante sighed, juggling the tears that were half unspent, yet half dried.
“I mean, that would be fine. Its respectable work, and safer than being a flier…
He grinned. “I could see you as a musical double act, wowing the crowds, Think of it, one on piano, the other singing”
He grinned again, desperately “Anything other than both of you being Fliers, I admit, we only planned for one of you, so you’ll share a cot till I can get another, but, you’ll like your room. Just...Not Fliers, I’d live long enough to command you...fates willing...and no...So please, be a cobbler and a ballerina, I don’t care in which way around..I’d be fine with that...Or a Sailor and a Tailor, that would be fine also, Milliner and City Guard?”
He held the children tight to him as he turned, tears dampening their fuzzy scalps. “Please not fliers...but please not…”
The Room darkened. The Twins both gurgled and reached out hands over his shoulders.
Brigante knew who was there. “Ice Cream salesmen, a couple of performing mime artists, Ratcatchers, Beggars, something, not Fliers. This is not a life I want for my children!”
He turned and there He was. His Battle Brother, The vast Draconic Creature perched on the railings, tail wrapped firmly around to keep himself in place. The Blue-Silver Hybrid craned his neck even as he settled his wings in a form of shroud, his eyes, blazing bright setting on Brigante, and Dragonhawks of course could not speak, but he heard the thoughts in his head, as if he was just reading the facial expression “Thee hold mine Hatchlings when they be born, my Wingless-Self, wouldst deny me now?”
Brigante stiffly limped towards the bay window, carrying his two newborn babes towards….
A vast creature, its head as long as an elf, its beak able to tear a person apart with one snap, ruffled feathers bulking it up, it's wingtips ended with bone talons, Bony spines rising from it, its body as thick around as an elf, one of the great snakes that could squash life from a person in seconds that were rumoured in Stranglethorn. Savage horns and worst still, it’s tail, that could whip around and had enough muscle to grab one and dash them from the platform.
The Scales and beak and body chitin of the creature bore scratches and scars showing hundreds of aerial battles, This creature, could unleash flame from its beak, that could incinerate all of them. Brigante, the Twins, the woman in the bed, and set it aflame.
He knew it would not….but...He wanted the Twins to make their own Destiny, and yet, Sunspear, this vast, terrifying creature, his Battle Brother, was right. Brigante and those like them had shaped his Hatchlings…. His Sons and daughters...This Sunspear was the Third of that name that he had rode…
Brigante stared into the red pits that were Sunspear’s eyes and concentrated, a fathers fear adding to his bond. “I Will show thee my Hatchlings Battle-Brother, I have never harmed thine, thee shall not harm mine”
Sunspear whickered, a deep rattling in his throat. He could feel a vague reaching from his Battle-Brother to his children “Overcome thy fear, Do not be afraid”
Both children reached out slowly, grabbing at Sunspear’s beak, laughing, the beak that could have rendered Brigante in two halves let alone his infants, their small pudgy hands stroking that scarred, deadly weapon of war that had sent how many to their deaths?
Laindor patted the beak, Kayrissa tested its edge with her fingers and Brigante’s heart sank. Sunspear’s eyes met his “Dost not trust me, Wingless-Self?”
“Trust thee, but have Sire’s fear” Brigante’s mental response replied.
Sunspear nodded his vast head “I shall not cause thee fear, Wingless-Self, thy Mate is sick, the Dam to thine Hatchlings, We fly again soon?”
Brigante nodded as he drew his children back “Aye, we do, have thine in order, tomorrow a Wingless-Self makes a bond”
Sunspear nodded, the beast turning from the infant children, and falling from the platform.
“Now Children!”Brigante said merrily, “Let us talk to your mama” He muttered “You haven’t a swiving idea what I am talking about have you, I’m good for killing, and thats it”
He sat heavily in the chair by the bed. The pale figure propped up on cushions, surgical shields still over those areas operated on. He stretched his leg out, the cracking and popping noises no stranger to him, in his arms the twins stretched out their arms towards their mother, and he smiled wryly. “Even they know Deaths herald and want to escape” he sighed. Tarrithael’s eyes opened, and she smiled. “Gante, and Laindor and Kayrissa, a pleasant surprise!” She must have heard something of his words, for her crooked eyebrow was a silent rebuke.
He smiled, “They missed their mother...listening to military strategy planning was not for them, we have become parents to -awful- spies, Tarri”
Tarrithael looked much more animated as she took the children from Brigante “But they are such beautiful awful spies, ‘Gante, and we made them”
“Thy mate is sick”.
Sunspear understood things that he could not.
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Considerably less fluffy than Gryphons.
“I’d get up, but...my legs are still a little..”
“Don’t!” Brigante called out, a little too loudly…
The Twins looked at him, as did Tarri, the sharp tone in his voice commanding attention, he smiled and ducked his head “ I mean please don’t...rest your self, Tarri...you have...everything you need?” He crooked a grin and nodded.
He was looking at the water carafe, the food on the shelf, he was looking at everything apart from Tarrithael’s legs under the blanket.
The Twins gurgled and made happy noises in Tarri’s arms. Brigante turned away, looking angrily outside the windows.
“He Came last night”?
Statement and question, she knew the answer. She was a ‘Hood’, she knew about the bond between Fliers and their Dragonhawks. It would be more odd if Sunspear had -not- come.
She heaved in a breath, and held the twins tighter “I’m dying then?”
Brigante whirled, limped across the floor and buried his face in her hair “No! No, that is not what is happening….”
Tarri stiffened “But?”
Brigante bristled “No! But…”
Tarrithael laughed bitterly “But”
Brigante sighed “You...the surgery...the...it was...you have lost the feeling in your feet...your legs”
Tarrithael hissed and lashed her head back against the pillow, before looking up “Twins...who would have expected it? So how many weeks am I off my feet for?”
Brigante could not even form an expression, what -was- the expression? How -did- you even tell someone this...but..no one else was going to do it...Ultimately...who else -should-?
He laid a hand on the bed. “Tarri..You..You might never-”
“STOP!” She screamed.
He listened, he sighed, he looked upon the face that he loved, he shook his head.
“You may never recover. You may, no, you -will- never carry children again, they had to operate, to save you...you and them.” He gestured as if carelessly, to the twins she held.
Carelessly, as if it cost him nothing, he saw the dawning horror in her eyes, and drove on, determined to get the words out, though they clogged in his throat;
“You are paralysed. From the waist down, that too. May be permanent”
He grabbed her hand as it clasped tight, she glanced at him “Is that...certain?”
He rested his head a moment on her hand, trying, yearning, seeking some comfort, before the word came from his lips that made it all real.
“Almost Certain”
He had expected anger, wrath, but nothing like what came next.
She shuddered “What use am I to you...to them?”
He whirled, his leg almost buckling under him. “To them, a Mother, who will love them and rear them, protect them and guide them.”
He sighed “As Commandant, your pension will be paid in full, for your service to Quel’thalas”
She looked at Brigante levelly “And as a Fiancee?”
Brigante sighed “Nothing changes, Tarri. If I have to wheel you down the aisle, I will, I...I..Nothing changes I… I still Love you.”
Tarri snorted bitterly “My Legs don’t work and you tell me that means that nothing changes?”
Brigante picked up his cane. “Did you turn away from me when the Alliance crippled me with their Mana Weapon? I mean you were there, you dragged me from the rubble…”
“Back then, I was broken and all but dead. You dragged me out Tarri. This time?”
Brigante smiled. “I’m dragging you out of the rubble. I’m not going to turn away…”
Brigante turned to the windows, a pleasant enough view, but in his eyes he saw Mana Bombs detonating over the horizon. He huffed.
“Tarri, until worlds end, I will be here, with you..In here!” He tapped his chest. “Yours”.
“Don’t!” Brigante called out, a little too loudly…
The Twins looked at him, as did Tarri, the sharp tone in his voice commanding attention, he smiled and ducked his head “ I mean please don’t...rest your self, Tarri...you have...everything you need?” He crooked a grin and nodded.
He was looking at the water carafe, the food on the shelf, he was looking at everything apart from Tarrithael’s legs under the blanket.
The Twins gurgled and made happy noises in Tarri’s arms. Brigante turned away, looking angrily outside the windows.
“He Came last night”?
Statement and question, she knew the answer. She was a ‘Hood’, she knew about the bond between Fliers and their Dragonhawks. It would be more odd if Sunspear had -not- come.
She heaved in a breath, and held the twins tighter “I’m dying then?”
Brigante whirled, limped across the floor and buried his face in her hair “No! No, that is not what is happening….”
Tarri stiffened “But?”
Brigante bristled “No! But…”
Tarrithael laughed bitterly “But”
Brigante sighed “You...the surgery...the...it was...you have lost the feeling in your feet...your legs”
Tarrithael hissed and lashed her head back against the pillow, before looking up “Twins...who would have expected it? So how many weeks am I off my feet for?”
Brigante could not even form an expression, what -was- the expression? How -did- you even tell someone this...but..no one else was going to do it...Ultimately...who else -should-?
He laid a hand on the bed. “Tarri..You..You might never-”
“STOP!” She screamed.
He listened, he sighed, he looked upon the face that he loved, he shook his head.
“You may never recover. You may, no, you -will- never carry children again, they had to operate, to save you...you and them.” He gestured as if carelessly, to the twins she held.
Carelessly, as if it cost him nothing, he saw the dawning horror in her eyes, and drove on, determined to get the words out, though they clogged in his throat;
“You are paralysed. From the waist down, that too. May be permanent”
He grabbed her hand as it clasped tight, she glanced at him “Is that...certain?”
He rested his head a moment on her hand, trying, yearning, seeking some comfort, before the word came from his lips that made it all real.
“Almost Certain”
He had expected anger, wrath, but nothing like what came next.
She shuddered “What use am I to you...to them?”
He whirled, his leg almost buckling under him. “To them, a Mother, who will love them and rear them, protect them and guide them.”
He sighed “As Commandant, your pension will be paid in full, for your service to Quel’thalas”
She looked at Brigante levelly “And as a Fiancee?”
Brigante sighed “Nothing changes, Tarri. If I have to wheel you down the aisle, I will, I...I..Nothing changes I… I still Love you.”
Tarri snorted bitterly “My Legs don’t work and you tell me that means that nothing changes?”
Brigante picked up his cane. “Did you turn away from me when the Alliance crippled me with their Mana Weapon? I mean you were there, you dragged me from the rubble…”
“Back then, I was broken and all but dead. You dragged me out Tarri. This time?”
Brigante smiled. “I’m dragging you out of the rubble. I’m not going to turn away…”
Brigante turned to the windows, a pleasant enough view, but in his eyes he saw Mana Bombs detonating over the horizon. He huffed.
“Tarri, until worlds end, I will be here, with you..In here!” He tapped his chest. “Yours”.
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The Elf walked into the chamber in Sunfury Spire. He was quietly optimistic, with the addition of the new Councillor, whoever she was, for they were all cowled for anonymity, these meetings had become less of a trial, hopefully this would be the case, he had had to make an unorthodox decision in the field, but not, he thought, that contentious a one given the political climate. The robed Councillors stood as he entered, before all took their seats, as whilst the Aerie Council was part that, Council, part Oversight committee, he was still it’s titular head, indeed, it was at his insistence that it had been formed, so that the Commandant did not have sole executive power. He had seen what such power had done to his predecessor, the elf who once he had called friend, ‘Ann’da’ even, for in truth he had been more a father to Brigante than his own, distant, judgmental parent.
He did not want to go down that path, and Sun help him, he recently almost had. He was not a fool, he knew what his Hawks had been thinking, and they had been right. He needed others around him to keep him on the right path. He had heard it muttered that he was so determined to be ‘A Good Man’, that he was capable of any ‘Bad’ act to make himself so, so determined to be the world’s Doctor and put things ‘right’ that he did not count the cost, to others, and most of all, to himself.
No one watched Brigante Summerisle like a hawk, moreso than himself.
He steepled his hands, his ceremonial armour creaking as he sat back. “This Council is in Session” He intoned, the words echoing through the chamber. Behind him the doors were closed, Spire guards outside.
One of the elderly elves spoke, somewhat reedy his voice, yet no less firm. “Before we move onto Official matters, on behalf of the Council I would like to offer our congratulations, Commandant, on the gift of life bestowed upon you and your affianced, the birth of not just one child, but twins. A rare occurrence. Have you both agreed on names for the children?”
Brigante dipped his head then nodded “We have. As Tarrithael is to marry me soon, they will take Summerisle as their family name, We have chosen names carefully, to remind us of loved ones lost. My son is Laindor Thanoril Summerisle, and my daughter is Kayrissa Sovanra Summerisle, they are healthy young sprites, who drive their parents to distraction, albeit lovingly” He grins.
“And Tarrithael, is there...any change?”
Brigante closed his eyes briefly before continuing “The Paralysis still seems to afflict her lower body, the Flight Surgeon warned me to prepare for the fact that this may be permanent, though there remains hope she may partially recover”
“Do send her our best regards for a speedy recovery, Commandant”
“Thank you Councillor, I shall”
Another Councillor, female spoke up “You called this meeting, which means something did not go as per usual on your recent mission”
“When does it ever?” another grumbled.
Brigante nodded briskly “So, the details you know, even if it was a ‘white paper’ operation for obvious reasons.”
It would have seemed an odd term to humans, who have almost the exact opposite term, referring to such things as ‘Black’ Operations. ‘White paper’ made more sense to Brigante though, it referred to the fact that the orders in terms of scope and ‘official’ order, and national accountability could be seen written on a single sheet of White paper. As in Blank. As in there -were- no written records. Given their current foe, whose spies seemed almost pervasive wherever they went, it was a sensible precaution.
“We flew from the Carrier The Bloodied Spear after receiving information from one of our Hoods, ‘Green Eight’, that Automata had been sighted around Hillsbrad and the Hinterlands. For those of you unaware of what we mean by Automata they are aerial constructs, if you think of a small Fel Reaver, the size and fairly similar in shape of a Dragonhawk. The ‘Rainmaker’ discovered how to create these by reverse engineering Legion technology found all over Azeroth in the wake of the recent War. They are powered using Legion methods, basically bound souls, so they require skilled technicians and also a skilled Warlock to create them. Sadly, Rainmaker has access to both”
Brigante smiled wolfishly. “Or perhaps I should say, -‘had’-. Also sighted in the area was a wanted Criminal to the Alliance, a Warlock named Gerard Worthing. Nominally a hero, something went wrong for him at the Initial Broken Shores, and fittingly, he became a Broken man, despair and pain making him a perfect target for ‘Rainmaker’ to recruit. We later discovered that he had lost his spouse at that battle, and like some mistaken fools in the Alliance, believed the Horde had intentionally betrayed the Alliance that day. I could sympathise with the man under normal circumstances, however his actions since reduce any sympathy I had for him to dust and ash”
He did not want to go down that path, and Sun help him, he recently almost had. He was not a fool, he knew what his Hawks had been thinking, and they had been right. He needed others around him to keep him on the right path. He had heard it muttered that he was so determined to be ‘A Good Man’, that he was capable of any ‘Bad’ act to make himself so, so determined to be the world’s Doctor and put things ‘right’ that he did not count the cost, to others, and most of all, to himself.
No one watched Brigante Summerisle like a hawk, moreso than himself.
He steepled his hands, his ceremonial armour creaking as he sat back. “This Council is in Session” He intoned, the words echoing through the chamber. Behind him the doors were closed, Spire guards outside.
One of the elderly elves spoke, somewhat reedy his voice, yet no less firm. “Before we move onto Official matters, on behalf of the Council I would like to offer our congratulations, Commandant, on the gift of life bestowed upon you and your affianced, the birth of not just one child, but twins. A rare occurrence. Have you both agreed on names for the children?”
Brigante dipped his head then nodded “We have. As Tarrithael is to marry me soon, they will take Summerisle as their family name, We have chosen names carefully, to remind us of loved ones lost. My son is Laindor Thanoril Summerisle, and my daughter is Kayrissa Sovanra Summerisle, they are healthy young sprites, who drive their parents to distraction, albeit lovingly” He grins.
“And Tarrithael, is there...any change?”
Brigante closed his eyes briefly before continuing “The Paralysis still seems to afflict her lower body, the Flight Surgeon warned me to prepare for the fact that this may be permanent, though there remains hope she may partially recover”
“Do send her our best regards for a speedy recovery, Commandant”
“Thank you Councillor, I shall”
Another Councillor, female spoke up “You called this meeting, which means something did not go as per usual on your recent mission”
“When does it ever?” another grumbled.
Brigante nodded briskly “So, the details you know, even if it was a ‘white paper’ operation for obvious reasons.”
It would have seemed an odd term to humans, who have almost the exact opposite term, referring to such things as ‘Black’ Operations. ‘White paper’ made more sense to Brigante though, it referred to the fact that the orders in terms of scope and ‘official’ order, and national accountability could be seen written on a single sheet of White paper. As in Blank. As in there -were- no written records. Given their current foe, whose spies seemed almost pervasive wherever they went, it was a sensible precaution.
“We flew from the Carrier The Bloodied Spear after receiving information from one of our Hoods, ‘Green Eight’, that Automata had been sighted around Hillsbrad and the Hinterlands. For those of you unaware of what we mean by Automata they are aerial constructs, if you think of a small Fel Reaver, the size and fairly similar in shape of a Dragonhawk. The ‘Rainmaker’ discovered how to create these by reverse engineering Legion technology found all over Azeroth in the wake of the recent War. They are powered using Legion methods, basically bound souls, so they require skilled technicians and also a skilled Warlock to create them. Sadly, Rainmaker has access to both”
Brigante smiled wolfishly. “Or perhaps I should say, -‘had’-. Also sighted in the area was a wanted Criminal to the Alliance, a Warlock named Gerard Worthing. Nominally a hero, something went wrong for him at the Initial Broken Shores, and fittingly, he became a Broken man, despair and pain making him a perfect target for ‘Rainmaker’ to recruit. We later discovered that he had lost his spouse at that battle, and like some mistaken fools in the Alliance, believed the Horde had intentionally betrayed the Alliance that day. I could sympathise with the man under normal circumstances, however his actions since reduce any sympathy I had for him to dust and ash”
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Brigante paused, pouring himself a glass of water from the carafe on the table, sipping carefully as he chose his words.
“The Automata are not just powered by a soul, it seems that souls have been shredded, spliced, all that is left is a thing of misery and torment. We don’t know if this was intentional as a psychological warfare weapon, or just a horrific side effect, but when they attack you can hear tormented, distorted human voices, all screaming expressions of regret and sadness, things with little relevance to the battle. They don’t know us, they don’t even hate us, they are just hollow things of life’s bad choices and mistakes.
They are….chilling”
He huffs out a breath, trying to forget the metallic, twisted parodies of human voices issuing from those ...things... as they had dived into combat “It was an accident, I didn’t mean it!” “What do we tell the children?” “Why me, I had so much to give!” “I was drunk, it will never happen again I swear!” “I Love you, why can’t you Love Me!”
Chilling was not the word. All the more horrific for being just about understandable. Things of tatters, despair, self loathing and regret. No, he had no sympathy, no pity for the Warlock who had made such torment, his pity lay only with those poor souls so twisted.
He set down the water glass and continued. “We established the ‘Mist and Cloud’ protocol, and headed inland. Whilst the enemy cannot accurately target, they do seem to be aware of this capability now. Two Thunderhammers flashed down, narrowly missing our Flight Surgeon, this did however betray their location, and we headed to attack. It was paramount that our presence was not detected, or enemy forces from Aerie Peak could have made life….difficult.”
He coughed. “We never relied on that capability to utterly shroud us, but to make targeting difficult, and in the dark of night, impossible. Sadly we did not have time to wait for a night time attack, and had to move out at dusk. The Two Wildhammer, a random, standing patrol, were shot down in seconds. They were skilled, but heavily outnumbered. From that moment however, the clock was ticking. Their absence would be noted. Success relied upon our presence going unremarked.”
One of the councillors coughed, themselves taking a sip of water “And I imagine you are about to tell us that your presence did not go unremarked?”
Brigante smiled wryly, and met that gazeless stare from behind the cowl.
“You are correct, it did not.”
He unrolled a paper map, not like the etched metal plates he kept in a leather wallet for actual mission briefings. He jabbed a finger between Agol’watha and Quel’Danil, at a small symbol denoting a settlement. “Here was the last target. I wanted us to land, to assure that our hunt was not in vain. Upon approach it was plain the place had been attacked, from the angles and damage it was clearly aerial strafing, from the effects, it was clearly….Fel. We were either looking at some Aerial Legion holdout, or one of the Automata. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, hence this meeting, we were not the only ones investigating. A Unit of Gryphonriders, ones we have encountered before, had also been looking into these attacks. They had however reached a different conclusion.”
One of the Councillors sat back in her chair, an elderly voice remarking “Oh dear….”
Brigante nodded “Oh Dear indeed. They had concluded that this was an attack on Hinterlands civilian settlements by Thalassian aerial forces, a not unreasonable assumption given the similarity in appearance of the Automata to our own Dragonhawks. In lieu of the time to persuade them otherwise, aerial combat ensued, again our aim was to down them swiftly, for now the clock was not only ticking, but rapidly cycling ahead. These are however no aerial parvenues, but rather a cadre of Knights, with a quaint but solid chivalric attitude. Backed with Druidic powers, this was not a battle as soon dealt with as we had hoped.”
One of the Councillors coughed and leant forwards “Are you telling us the Alliance has a unit to counter our own Aerial supremacy?”
Brigante tapped his chin with a forefinger, a habit of his, when in thought. “Combat, Yes. Counter, No. We still have skill on our side. They are gifted amateurs, we are -soldiers-, that is the essential difference. They have however added a new element to future equations in terms of air superiority.”
“How did this battle end?”
“A somewhat forced cessation of hostilities. Both our parties were attacked by a force of Automata. The Alliance were surprised, I think to hear my order to address the actual foe at hand, and they replied in kind, we both fought off and shot down the attacking Automata”
“And then?” a female voice demanded, one of steel and surety.
“And then I called a parley”
“You called a Parley?”
Brigante nodded “I was ranking Horde Officer in the field, they had information we did not, information we needed, and if they had flown back home without some assurances, we would have been swarmed by Wildhammer and our mission would have failed. Better to get them on side, as it were. We have combatted these ones before, unlike many of the Alliance, they have honour, and will keep promises made in earnest. I invoked my right, as the elf in the field, with the rightful authority. So we talked”
“What came of this?”
Brigante nodded and sipped from his glass of water.
“Much as I expected. This was not the first such attack, but simply the most recent of many that they were investigating. The evidence that they had gathered, suggested a Thalassian aerial campaign. We managed to disabuse them of this opinion. During this time I received a report from ‘Green Eight’. I did not wish to share that information with them, at that time, so I agreed we would meet, a day hence, and our combined forces would destroy the foe”
“You worked with the Alliance?”
“I have made no secret of such, and we are not currently at a state of War with the Alliance. I was the Elf in the Field. I made the Decision. You can criticise, but you cannot declaim. We got the job done. This War we fight is a tattered one of patches, in some places there is peace, in others there is open aggression. It is down to the Commander in the field to best adjudge the situation, and render a decision. That is what I did. The Warchief has not declared open warfare upon the Alliance. The Regent Lord has not declared open warfare upon the Alliance. They can judge me, you can not”
One of the robed figures sighed, and smoothed his robes “You need to stop being so defensive, if ever you seek to become a political figure, Commandant”
Brigante looked up, meeting a gaze he could not of course, see. “There is nothing I want less in this life, than to be a ‘politician’, Councillor.”
The figure nodded, a slow, rich laugh coming from behind the cowl “I wonder….I wonder if those words are true...You might think they are...but…..I remain unconvinced”
“What happened in that span of time?” the woman asked.
“I received the report from ‘Green Eight’, Revantusk was not attacked by Wildhammer. The Parley had worked, the Alliance had kept their word. The base we needed to assail was identified. On the Friday we flew to that ruined village and met with the Alliance again, this time with information, they would fly by our direction, and together, we would assault the hangar where the Automata had flown from.”
“And you thought you could trust them?”
Brigante frowned to himself, tapping his chin before nodding “Yes. I actually thought I could trust them. They ventured information. Not information that would make of them traitors, or treasonous to their Boy King, but information nonetheless that was not sought, but was of interest. I wayed it up, to see if it was an attempt to curry favour, but it profited them nothing to volunteer it, and benefited only us. In the end they gave us nothing that was of strategic importance, only...personal importance, and I have always been counselled in these sessions to make a distinction between the Personal and the Strategic, have I not?”
“This is close to the time when...the child was killed, is it not, just last year?”
Brigante ignored the question.
“I thought I could trust them and they did not betray that trust. My Fliers obeyed their orders, several need elevating from ‘Rookie’ status, but that is for me to oversee, my purview. The Sun Hawks dove into the first wave of Automata, scattering them, that the Gryphon Knights could follow on, and make for themselves solid advantage of our initial onslaught, above us they had a Druid, circling, as a bird, lancing down fire from the skies.”
“Did you take injuries?”
“We took injuries, we dealt more.”
The Councillor nodded, “Please, go on, Commandant”
“The Automata are not just powered by a soul, it seems that souls have been shredded, spliced, all that is left is a thing of misery and torment. We don’t know if this was intentional as a psychological warfare weapon, or just a horrific side effect, but when they attack you can hear tormented, distorted human voices, all screaming expressions of regret and sadness, things with little relevance to the battle. They don’t know us, they don’t even hate us, they are just hollow things of life’s bad choices and mistakes.
They are….chilling”
He huffs out a breath, trying to forget the metallic, twisted parodies of human voices issuing from those ...things... as they had dived into combat “It was an accident, I didn’t mean it!” “What do we tell the children?” “Why me, I had so much to give!” “I was drunk, it will never happen again I swear!” “I Love you, why can’t you Love Me!”
Chilling was not the word. All the more horrific for being just about understandable. Things of tatters, despair, self loathing and regret. No, he had no sympathy, no pity for the Warlock who had made such torment, his pity lay only with those poor souls so twisted.
He set down the water glass and continued. “We established the ‘Mist and Cloud’ protocol, and headed inland. Whilst the enemy cannot accurately target, they do seem to be aware of this capability now. Two Thunderhammers flashed down, narrowly missing our Flight Surgeon, this did however betray their location, and we headed to attack. It was paramount that our presence was not detected, or enemy forces from Aerie Peak could have made life….difficult.”
He coughed. “We never relied on that capability to utterly shroud us, but to make targeting difficult, and in the dark of night, impossible. Sadly we did not have time to wait for a night time attack, and had to move out at dusk. The Two Wildhammer, a random, standing patrol, were shot down in seconds. They were skilled, but heavily outnumbered. From that moment however, the clock was ticking. Their absence would be noted. Success relied upon our presence going unremarked.”
One of the councillors coughed, themselves taking a sip of water “And I imagine you are about to tell us that your presence did not go unremarked?”
Brigante smiled wryly, and met that gazeless stare from behind the cowl.
“You are correct, it did not.”
He unrolled a paper map, not like the etched metal plates he kept in a leather wallet for actual mission briefings. He jabbed a finger between Agol’watha and Quel’Danil, at a small symbol denoting a settlement. “Here was the last target. I wanted us to land, to assure that our hunt was not in vain. Upon approach it was plain the place had been attacked, from the angles and damage it was clearly aerial strafing, from the effects, it was clearly….Fel. We were either looking at some Aerial Legion holdout, or one of the Automata. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, hence this meeting, we were not the only ones investigating. A Unit of Gryphonriders, ones we have encountered before, had also been looking into these attacks. They had however reached a different conclusion.”
One of the Councillors sat back in her chair, an elderly voice remarking “Oh dear….”
Brigante nodded “Oh Dear indeed. They had concluded that this was an attack on Hinterlands civilian settlements by Thalassian aerial forces, a not unreasonable assumption given the similarity in appearance of the Automata to our own Dragonhawks. In lieu of the time to persuade them otherwise, aerial combat ensued, again our aim was to down them swiftly, for now the clock was not only ticking, but rapidly cycling ahead. These are however no aerial parvenues, but rather a cadre of Knights, with a quaint but solid chivalric attitude. Backed with Druidic powers, this was not a battle as soon dealt with as we had hoped.”
One of the Councillors coughed and leant forwards “Are you telling us the Alliance has a unit to counter our own Aerial supremacy?”
Brigante tapped his chin with a forefinger, a habit of his, when in thought. “Combat, Yes. Counter, No. We still have skill on our side. They are gifted amateurs, we are -soldiers-, that is the essential difference. They have however added a new element to future equations in terms of air superiority.”
“How did this battle end?”
“A somewhat forced cessation of hostilities. Both our parties were attacked by a force of Automata. The Alliance were surprised, I think to hear my order to address the actual foe at hand, and they replied in kind, we both fought off and shot down the attacking Automata”
“And then?” a female voice demanded, one of steel and surety.
“And then I called a parley”
“You called a Parley?”
Brigante nodded “I was ranking Horde Officer in the field, they had information we did not, information we needed, and if they had flown back home without some assurances, we would have been swarmed by Wildhammer and our mission would have failed. Better to get them on side, as it were. We have combatted these ones before, unlike many of the Alliance, they have honour, and will keep promises made in earnest. I invoked my right, as the elf in the field, with the rightful authority. So we talked”
“What came of this?”
Brigante nodded and sipped from his glass of water.
“Much as I expected. This was not the first such attack, but simply the most recent of many that they were investigating. The evidence that they had gathered, suggested a Thalassian aerial campaign. We managed to disabuse them of this opinion. During this time I received a report from ‘Green Eight’. I did not wish to share that information with them, at that time, so I agreed we would meet, a day hence, and our combined forces would destroy the foe”
“You worked with the Alliance?”
“I have made no secret of such, and we are not currently at a state of War with the Alliance. I was the Elf in the Field. I made the Decision. You can criticise, but you cannot declaim. We got the job done. This War we fight is a tattered one of patches, in some places there is peace, in others there is open aggression. It is down to the Commander in the field to best adjudge the situation, and render a decision. That is what I did. The Warchief has not declared open warfare upon the Alliance. The Regent Lord has not declared open warfare upon the Alliance. They can judge me, you can not”
One of the robed figures sighed, and smoothed his robes “You need to stop being so defensive, if ever you seek to become a political figure, Commandant”
Brigante looked up, meeting a gaze he could not of course, see. “There is nothing I want less in this life, than to be a ‘politician’, Councillor.”
The figure nodded, a slow, rich laugh coming from behind the cowl “I wonder….I wonder if those words are true...You might think they are...but…..I remain unconvinced”
“What happened in that span of time?” the woman asked.
“I received the report from ‘Green Eight’, Revantusk was not attacked by Wildhammer. The Parley had worked, the Alliance had kept their word. The base we needed to assail was identified. On the Friday we flew to that ruined village and met with the Alliance again, this time with information, they would fly by our direction, and together, we would assault the hangar where the Automata had flown from.”
“And you thought you could trust them?”
Brigante frowned to himself, tapping his chin before nodding “Yes. I actually thought I could trust them. They ventured information. Not information that would make of them traitors, or treasonous to their Boy King, but information nonetheless that was not sought, but was of interest. I wayed it up, to see if it was an attempt to curry favour, but it profited them nothing to volunteer it, and benefited only us. In the end they gave us nothing that was of strategic importance, only...personal importance, and I have always been counselled in these sessions to make a distinction between the Personal and the Strategic, have I not?”
“This is close to the time when...the child was killed, is it not, just last year?”
Brigante ignored the question.
“I thought I could trust them and they did not betray that trust. My Fliers obeyed their orders, several need elevating from ‘Rookie’ status, but that is for me to oversee, my purview. The Sun Hawks dove into the first wave of Automata, scattering them, that the Gryphon Knights could follow on, and make for themselves solid advantage of our initial onslaught, above us they had a Druid, circling, as a bird, lancing down fire from the skies.”
“Did you take injuries?”
“We took injuries, we dealt more.”
The Councillor nodded, “Please, go on, Commandant”
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“We arrived at the bunker, we had to dismount, I spoke to the Alliance Commander of his Knights, ‘Sir Jack Asheton’ His dossier of information here”. Brigante slid a slender document across the table. “Jolly Jack’ we call him, as is our fliers way. They went left, we went right. We could hear their fight, they were not slacking, the sounds of combat echoed throughout those ancient chambers, once a Dwarven stronghold, now a Factory of the Forbidden.I ...think there was an Automata that attacked them...I know there was one that attacked us...it was….unfinished…. It seems they have….an organic element”
Brigante paused, he tried not to think of the pulsating fleshy membrane from the side of the Automata’s head that screamed with the voice of a child. ‘That was not me!’ he thought as he remembered the order “All or Nothing! Blood for Blood!” But it had been him. It had. He had screamed it as he leapt with his spear to attack the creature.
‘All or Nothing!’
Brigante sipped from his glass of water and looked at the Councillors.
“It was destroyed with due expediency.”
They met his cool gaze, and for a moment the question unanswered went so.
“And then?”
“And then we fought a rather corpulent Warlock, and his Wrathguard. We stopped the manufacture of such misery, The Alliance aided in that. I would go further. The Decision I made was critical to the success of this enterprise, and without their collaboration, would not have happened.”
The Councillor nodded “You came seeking approval for your working with the Alliance?”
Brigante stood, setting the glass down.
“I did”
“You...have it, Commandant, it was the correct choice”
“Thank you Councillors. I will go, as I am sure you can understand, I have matters to attend to”
As he reached the doors, a female voice asked. “Just one last question Commandant, that you did not answer?”
Brigante paused, his hand on the door handle, he could open it, golden talons seizing open the handle, and he would walk through and ignore the words. Sure, he could. And then he would be no better than -Him-.
“I am listening” He said, turning slowly, his cloak falling around him as he stood in the doorway.
The robed and cowled figure nodded solicitously “Why was this so important?”
Brigante scowled “Is that not obvious? They seek to provoke a war between the Horde and Alliance, they are a scoundrel and a bastard, they have killed, and will kill again! The young and the innocent!”
The figure nodded “It was a year ago that they killed Iolanthe Starglow, was it not?”
Brigante bristled and looked about to stalk across the chamber, before the voice rang out again.
“Was this a victory -you- needed for her?”
Brigante halted slowly and sighed, his shoulders in their ceremonial pauldrons briefly dipping.
He spoke lowly “No. Not for me. Not for her. In a few weeks a mother and father must remember her death, and how it was championed as a cause for war in Redridge by swiving mistake!. I didn’t need this for me, or for her. I needed this for -them-, to show that I keep my promises! They Needed a VICTORY!”
One of the Councillors just looked, “You would kill people to keep your promises?”
“Brigante, son of Durovante, I tell you this...you can run, you can hide, but you -are- a politician”.
“I DID IT FOR THEM! NOT ME!”
The Doors slammed as the Commandant stormed through them.
One of the Councillors turned to another, before they left through separate doors “Know the worst thing?”
“That he believes it?
“Hells no. Thats -why- he does it. He just knows history will judge him unkindly”
“But Who makes history?”
The robed figure laughed drily.
“Why my dear fellow, -we do-.”
The Figure stalked through the spire, cane in hand, all the while certain that somewhere, someone, was laughing at him….
Brigante paused, he tried not to think of the pulsating fleshy membrane from the side of the Automata’s head that screamed with the voice of a child. ‘That was not me!’ he thought as he remembered the order “All or Nothing! Blood for Blood!” But it had been him. It had. He had screamed it as he leapt with his spear to attack the creature.
‘All or Nothing!’
Brigante sipped from his glass of water and looked at the Councillors.
“It was destroyed with due expediency.”
They met his cool gaze, and for a moment the question unanswered went so.
“And then?”
“And then we fought a rather corpulent Warlock, and his Wrathguard. We stopped the manufacture of such misery, The Alliance aided in that. I would go further. The Decision I made was critical to the success of this enterprise, and without their collaboration, would not have happened.”
The Councillor nodded “You came seeking approval for your working with the Alliance?”
Brigante stood, setting the glass down.
“I did”
“You...have it, Commandant, it was the correct choice”
“Thank you Councillors. I will go, as I am sure you can understand, I have matters to attend to”
As he reached the doors, a female voice asked. “Just one last question Commandant, that you did not answer?”
Brigante paused, his hand on the door handle, he could open it, golden talons seizing open the handle, and he would walk through and ignore the words. Sure, he could. And then he would be no better than -Him-.
“I am listening” He said, turning slowly, his cloak falling around him as he stood in the doorway.
The robed and cowled figure nodded solicitously “Why was this so important?”
Brigante scowled “Is that not obvious? They seek to provoke a war between the Horde and Alliance, they are a scoundrel and a bastard, they have killed, and will kill again! The young and the innocent!”
The figure nodded “It was a year ago that they killed Iolanthe Starglow, was it not?”
Brigante bristled and looked about to stalk across the chamber, before the voice rang out again.
“Was this a victory -you- needed for her?”
Brigante halted slowly and sighed, his shoulders in their ceremonial pauldrons briefly dipping.
He spoke lowly “No. Not for me. Not for her. In a few weeks a mother and father must remember her death, and how it was championed as a cause for war in Redridge by swiving mistake!. I didn’t need this for me, or for her. I needed this for -them-, to show that I keep my promises! They Needed a VICTORY!”
One of the Councillors just looked, “You would kill people to keep your promises?”
“Brigante, son of Durovante, I tell you this...you can run, you can hide, but you -are- a politician”.
“I DID IT FOR THEM! NOT ME!”
The Doors slammed as the Commandant stormed through them.
One of the Councillors turned to another, before they left through separate doors “Know the worst thing?”
“That he believes it?
“Hells no. Thats -why- he does it. He just knows history will judge him unkindly”
“But Who makes history?”
The robed figure laughed drily.
“Why my dear fellow, -we do-.”
The Figure stalked through the spire, cane in hand, all the while certain that somewhere, someone, was laughing at him….
The Elf sat, twirling the golden arrow upon his finger, he was ignoring the carnival next door, ignoring the fracas of preparation and things that ‘he should not know about’. His Equerries commandeered, his whole office it seemed, repurposed, he sat, a stupid smile upon his face. Red Seven was happy. Tarrithael was happy, and that made him, too happy.
The Arrow span on his finger, its golden head coming to rest pointing at him. Every time he span it, perfectly balanced upon his finger, the arrowhead continued to rest, pointing at his head.
The Invitation? Threat? Still in his hand. “The Twenty First of the Month, I will be in Gilneas City, be you there, Ernesto Salamanca”
One of Azeroths greatest assassins some said.
He smiled sadly, he knew what would happen if he did not. It would be her sweet temple that was pierced, or worse, the twins. He could not allow that. He would die first. He -would- die first.
He span the arrow….again the arrowhead pointed at his skull. The Invitation that was not an invitation held in his hand.
He had played his hand, and his luck had run out. Whoever was paying him, and he had a good idea, was paying them enough. If he and Tarri married, she would at least get his military pension. ‘Happiest day of one’s life?’ Brigante remarked.
The Twins would be well cared for. The Hawks would be well served by new Officers, probably better than his aggressive stance. Tarri would get his pension. All he had to do was smile and look happy, until a few days later he had a golden arrow through his head. Hopefully they would make Silverflare Commandant, That could work. Why was he even caring about this? Why was he planning for it?
He should be planning for one thing, and one thing alone.
He set his shoulders to rest, took parchment and paper.
There was nothing but this...this was life...anyone who said otherwise was a liar and a fool.
“No matter where I roam
I will return to my Elven rose
For no bonds can ever tempt me from she
I've sailed the seven seas,
Flown the whole blue sky.
But I've returned with haste to where my
Love does lie.
No matter where I go I will come back to my Elven Rose
For nothing, "could" ever "keep" me from she.
I've searched the secret mists -
I've climbed the highest peaks
Caught the wild wind home
To hear her soft voice speak
No matter where I roam
I will return to my Elven Rose
For no bonds can ever keep me from she.
I've been to ancient worlds
I've scoured the whole world wide
And caught the first ship home
To be at your side.
No matter where I roam
I will return to my Elven Rose
For no bonds, can ever keep me from she"
He laid pen down.
Next door, the preparations continued, He had a different appointment to keep.
He span the golden arrow on his fingertip, again, the arrowhead span to face his head.
Marriage first. See his family right first, then…
Then the other.
The Arrow span on his finger, its golden head coming to rest pointing at him. Every time he span it, perfectly balanced upon his finger, the arrowhead continued to rest, pointing at his head.
The Invitation? Threat? Still in his hand. “The Twenty First of the Month, I will be in Gilneas City, be you there, Ernesto Salamanca”
One of Azeroths greatest assassins some said.
He smiled sadly, he knew what would happen if he did not. It would be her sweet temple that was pierced, or worse, the twins. He could not allow that. He would die first. He -would- die first.
He span the arrow….again the arrowhead pointed at his skull. The Invitation that was not an invitation held in his hand.
He had played his hand, and his luck had run out. Whoever was paying him, and he had a good idea, was paying them enough. If he and Tarri married, she would at least get his military pension. ‘Happiest day of one’s life?’ Brigante remarked.
The Twins would be well cared for. The Hawks would be well served by new Officers, probably better than his aggressive stance. Tarri would get his pension. All he had to do was smile and look happy, until a few days later he had a golden arrow through his head. Hopefully they would make Silverflare Commandant, That could work. Why was he even caring about this? Why was he planning for it?
He should be planning for one thing, and one thing alone.
He set his shoulders to rest, took parchment and paper.
There was nothing but this...this was life...anyone who said otherwise was a liar and a fool.
“No matter where I roam
I will return to my Elven rose
For no bonds can ever tempt me from she
I've sailed the seven seas,
Flown the whole blue sky.
But I've returned with haste to where my
Love does lie.
No matter where I go I will come back to my Elven Rose
For nothing, "could" ever "keep" me from she.
I've searched the secret mists -
I've climbed the highest peaks
Caught the wild wind home
To hear her soft voice speak
No matter where I roam
I will return to my Elven Rose
For no bonds can ever keep me from she.
I've been to ancient worlds
I've scoured the whole world wide
And caught the first ship home
To be at your side.
No matter where I roam
I will return to my Elven Rose
For no bonds, can ever keep me from she"
He laid pen down.
Next door, the preparations continued, He had a different appointment to keep.
He span the golden arrow on his fingertip, again, the arrowhead span to face his head.
Marriage first. See his family right first, then…
Then the other.
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Perhaps they were right. The Starglows. The Fighting Starglows. He had once again done the thing he thought right, that had turned them against him. He sat, pen in hand. Next door he could hear Tarrithael’s barked orders at the things that were to be put in place for their wedding, she was a terror to the organisers, and he had left this in her hands, because….he knew she needed this. Because it -was- something she could control. She could affect, control, and see through. It was not like her legs, that still would not bear her, it was not like her desire to protect, to -be- Red Seven, which she could not. Those were things she could not affect... One day, Brigante would have to tell her that. But not now, not today. To tell her that now would destroy her. Would finish the job.
Just the same as to tell her of their next mission, and what it meant...could mean.
He had not told the Starglows. He told Silverflare, he would understand. If Brigante did not go. Salamanca would come for Tarrithael, for Laindar and Kayrissa. This was the only way he could protect his family…Could Tarri, in a wheelchair, protect her infant children, as the assassin planted golden arrows into their heads? Did he hate her that much that he would wish that screaming impotence upon her as their hopes and dreams and tomorrows died in her arms? He did not care. Let them hate him, he would do his best...to his last...to protect his family...
And Sun Knew, but that he had failed at that enough times.
He couldn’t fail this time. Though it dimmed his eyes with tears as he thought of their reaction. He signed the documents.
They would be cared for. Protected.
He folded the papers, the header being “This being my last Will and Testament”, as the door opened and Tarri wheeled herself in, he turned, a smile fixed on his face….
“Dear Heart”
Tarri’s face was lit with joy, the scar upon her cheek twisting as her smile did “And as usual, you laze about in the Spire all day, only returning when the actual work is done!”
Brigante grinned lightly “Well I do still pay you a wage to sit on your backside all day”
He bit his tongue as he said it, that was...no, too far.
Tarri looked at him levelly a moment ” You do recall how good I am with throwing knives? How quick precisely -do- you think you can run?”
Brigante smiled “Fair point, I will not test that”
Tarrithael nodded softly “I am headed to bed, I have sent them away. I can get -myself- into bed, are you sleeping soon?”
Brigante smiled in a brittle nature. “I will smoke first, then join you.”
Brigante paused...there were words he wanted to say, things of yesterdays and todays and tomorrows that may never be, but instead, his faltering words were “I will be with you soon, Dear Heart”
Outside he smoked, he paced, he could not find the...no. The Starglows were -wrong-, he could not do this to her now. No, not now...the ancient song came back to him “I’ve been run to ground...so sad for a Ranger...You made me safe and sound..but I -needed- the Danger”
And as he smoked the last of his cigarillo, he realised that is what it was that kept him alive. What would bring him back to her.
Why he would always come back, to his Elven Rose.
He -needed- the Danger.
They all did. Every last Hawk.
Every last damned one of them, from here until world’s end.
Every one of them.
They needed the Danger.
Just the same as to tell her of their next mission, and what it meant...could mean.
He had not told the Starglows. He told Silverflare, he would understand. If Brigante did not go. Salamanca would come for Tarrithael, for Laindar and Kayrissa. This was the only way he could protect his family…Could Tarri, in a wheelchair, protect her infant children, as the assassin planted golden arrows into their heads? Did he hate her that much that he would wish that screaming impotence upon her as their hopes and dreams and tomorrows died in her arms? He did not care. Let them hate him, he would do his best...to his last...to protect his family...
And Sun Knew, but that he had failed at that enough times.
He couldn’t fail this time. Though it dimmed his eyes with tears as he thought of their reaction. He signed the documents.
They would be cared for. Protected.
He folded the papers, the header being “This being my last Will and Testament”, as the door opened and Tarri wheeled herself in, he turned, a smile fixed on his face….
“Dear Heart”
Tarri’s face was lit with joy, the scar upon her cheek twisting as her smile did “And as usual, you laze about in the Spire all day, only returning when the actual work is done!”
Brigante grinned lightly “Well I do still pay you a wage to sit on your backside all day”
He bit his tongue as he said it, that was...no, too far.
Tarri looked at him levelly a moment ” You do recall how good I am with throwing knives? How quick precisely -do- you think you can run?”
Brigante smiled “Fair point, I will not test that”
Tarrithael nodded softly “I am headed to bed, I have sent them away. I can get -myself- into bed, are you sleeping soon?”
Brigante smiled in a brittle nature. “I will smoke first, then join you.”
Brigante paused...there were words he wanted to say, things of yesterdays and todays and tomorrows that may never be, but instead, his faltering words were “I will be with you soon, Dear Heart”
Outside he smoked, he paced, he could not find the...no. The Starglows were -wrong-, he could not do this to her now. No, not now...the ancient song came back to him “I’ve been run to ground...so sad for a Ranger...You made me safe and sound..but I -needed- the Danger”
And as he smoked the last of his cigarillo, he realised that is what it was that kept him alive. What would bring him back to her.
Why he would always come back, to his Elven Rose.
He -needed- the Danger.
They all did. Every last Hawk.
Every last damned one of them, from here until world’s end.
Every one of them.
They needed the Danger.
1 Like
Brigante was wrong.
That, in itself, was unremarkable. Brigante was often wrong, especially where the subject of treating Tarrithael like a wife rather than a subordinate was concerned. And, though it smarted, hauling Yasmyr over the coals for calling him out on it (first having Dae'anneth drag her from the inn to berate her over the importance of the Rookies seeing their Lieutenant and Commandant as a united front, then making she and Aiechi sit like naughty apprentices as the Wing Commander himself pontificated as to how they, some 1300 years his junior, couldn't possibly understand his situation) was not exactly unexpected. Such 'heated debates' – as she was sure the Official Record would consider their screaming matches – were a regular feature of her time in service to the Escadrille; indeed, she had come to suspect Brigante of deliberately provoking one or both of the Fighting Starglows whenever he faced a moral quandary, hoping either to be talked out of whatever stupid action he'd set upon or, if not, then at least be left more angry at them than disgusted with himself.
Business as usual, then. That being the case, she should have spent her impotent rage hurling knives at empty bottles, or else in her workshop concocting instruments of death the Aerie would never dream of sanctioning, before sinking into fitful, drunken sleep. Instead she sat, an open bottle in her lap, the cigarette balanced on a discarded empty one smouldering, forgotten, as dawn began to bleed into the rich deep blues and purples of night.
Yasmyr glanced over at the bed, at the tangle of limbs occupying it. Aiechi's indignation had burned as bright as hers – brighter, with the mantle of Chaplain granting him tenuous custody of the Commandant's moral compass – but no trace of that fury remained now, his repose almost mockingly blissful, his fingers wound through Dae'anneth's braids. The three of them – this strange, broken little family she'd built in the ashes of a respectable civilian life – were under no more illusions than Brigante and Tarrithael as to the dangers of active service; Dae'anneth had joked that very evening (Yasmyr nestled in his lap, the Escadrille celebrating his surviving another year, before Brigante arrived to ruin everything) that she was over halfway through the average flier's lifespan – had, more than once, teased that she was doing a long, slow striptease for death, one limb at a time. And yet, had either of Her Boys decided to keep from her that they were off into a Blight-soaked ruin to face Rainmaker's top assassin – an assassin cocky enough to send personal invitations and calling cards to the Aerie itself? They should have prayed he did his job, rather than leaving them to face her on their return.
Brigante, of course, would claim his situation was Not The Same, and fall back as always on Rank and Propriety and The Need To Not Treat Tarrithael Differently To Any Other Hood. Arguments that had seen him send her into suicide mission after suicide mission as if desperate to prove how little special care she received. That had lead directly to her current predicament, after nine wretched months one bad day from withering entirely. That – as Yasmyr had told him, and would no doubt tell him again – only reared their head when he needed an excuse to justify hurting her.
Her own wedding made for a poor comparison – they had been civilians then, the soft swell that would become Cadet Lieutenant Iolanthe barely visible beneath a third-hand gown, few enough of their friends and family left alive the witnesses had been press-ganged strangers who mistook the tremors of blood crystal withdrawal for nerves. But Aiechi had officiated enough ceremonies before, on the eve of such-and-such a final push, between lovers who didn't expect to survive the next day. Each soldier developed their own means of coping with knowing their days where numbered, their own Elegant Fiction as to how those left behind would cope, somehow, when the moment came. Aiechi couched Death in the rosy glow of Patriotism and Duty. Yasmyr consoled herself that Her Boys were under no illusion that she intended returning from any deployment, no matter how mundane, and would either bleed out beside her or piece each other back together after. If this was Brigante's stratagem – not inviting the spectre to his wedding feast, and citing snatches of hackneyed love song as proof of his eternal devotion – then maybe...
No. He was wrong. Tarrithael deserved to know.
Brigante was wrong. This, in itself, was unremarkable. But the new rubies on her chest, and the weight settled around her right ring finger – cold metal laced with arcane enchantments, still unfamiliar enough she often caught herself fiddling with it – reminded her quite how much hung on her ability to, when necessary, convince him of his errors. She drained the dregs from the bottle, washing the taste of bile from her tongue. The forgotten cigarette, now naught by a cylinder of ash, collapsed and crumbled away.
That, in itself, was unremarkable. Brigante was often wrong, especially where the subject of treating Tarrithael like a wife rather than a subordinate was concerned. And, though it smarted, hauling Yasmyr over the coals for calling him out on it (first having Dae'anneth drag her from the inn to berate her over the importance of the Rookies seeing their Lieutenant and Commandant as a united front, then making she and Aiechi sit like naughty apprentices as the Wing Commander himself pontificated as to how they, some 1300 years his junior, couldn't possibly understand his situation) was not exactly unexpected. Such 'heated debates' – as she was sure the Official Record would consider their screaming matches – were a regular feature of her time in service to the Escadrille; indeed, she had come to suspect Brigante of deliberately provoking one or both of the Fighting Starglows whenever he faced a moral quandary, hoping either to be talked out of whatever stupid action he'd set upon or, if not, then at least be left more angry at them than disgusted with himself.
Business as usual, then. That being the case, she should have spent her impotent rage hurling knives at empty bottles, or else in her workshop concocting instruments of death the Aerie would never dream of sanctioning, before sinking into fitful, drunken sleep. Instead she sat, an open bottle in her lap, the cigarette balanced on a discarded empty one smouldering, forgotten, as dawn began to bleed into the rich deep blues and purples of night.
Yasmyr glanced over at the bed, at the tangle of limbs occupying it. Aiechi's indignation had burned as bright as hers – brighter, with the mantle of Chaplain granting him tenuous custody of the Commandant's moral compass – but no trace of that fury remained now, his repose almost mockingly blissful, his fingers wound through Dae'anneth's braids. The three of them – this strange, broken little family she'd built in the ashes of a respectable civilian life – were under no more illusions than Brigante and Tarrithael as to the dangers of active service; Dae'anneth had joked that very evening (Yasmyr nestled in his lap, the Escadrille celebrating his surviving another year, before Brigante arrived to ruin everything) that she was over halfway through the average flier's lifespan – had, more than once, teased that she was doing a long, slow striptease for death, one limb at a time. And yet, had either of Her Boys decided to keep from her that they were off into a Blight-soaked ruin to face Rainmaker's top assassin – an assassin cocky enough to send personal invitations and calling cards to the Aerie itself? They should have prayed he did his job, rather than leaving them to face her on their return.
Brigante, of course, would claim his situation was Not The Same, and fall back as always on Rank and Propriety and The Need To Not Treat Tarrithael Differently To Any Other Hood. Arguments that had seen him send her into suicide mission after suicide mission as if desperate to prove how little special care she received. That had lead directly to her current predicament, after nine wretched months one bad day from withering entirely. That – as Yasmyr had told him, and would no doubt tell him again – only reared their head when he needed an excuse to justify hurting her.
Her own wedding made for a poor comparison – they had been civilians then, the soft swell that would become Cadet Lieutenant Iolanthe barely visible beneath a third-hand gown, few enough of their friends and family left alive the witnesses had been press-ganged strangers who mistook the tremors of blood crystal withdrawal for nerves. But Aiechi had officiated enough ceremonies before, on the eve of such-and-such a final push, between lovers who didn't expect to survive the next day. Each soldier developed their own means of coping with knowing their days where numbered, their own Elegant Fiction as to how those left behind would cope, somehow, when the moment came. Aiechi couched Death in the rosy glow of Patriotism and Duty. Yasmyr consoled herself that Her Boys were under no illusion that she intended returning from any deployment, no matter how mundane, and would either bleed out beside her or piece each other back together after. If this was Brigante's stratagem – not inviting the spectre to his wedding feast, and citing snatches of hackneyed love song as proof of his eternal devotion – then maybe...
No. He was wrong. Tarrithael deserved to know.
Brigante was wrong. This, in itself, was unremarkable. But the new rubies on her chest, and the weight settled around her right ring finger – cold metal laced with arcane enchantments, still unfamiliar enough she often caught herself fiddling with it – reminded her quite how much hung on her ability to, when necessary, convince him of his errors. She drained the dregs from the bottle, washing the taste of bile from her tongue. The forgotten cigarette, now naught by a cylinder of ash, collapsed and crumbled away.
1 Like
The elf stood, in front of the mirror, carefully dressing, he had bathed, and oiled his braided hair, so that it shone, re-adjusting his top-knot and binding it tighter, so that it stood proudly up from his height, he joked about having the style due to being self conscious about his height, not really a joke as such, being based in truth. The feathers woven into his hair carefully cleaned, both the dragonhawk ones, and the brown one he had received as a gift from the Highmountain Tauren some time ago. Every one of the silver miniature arrowheads tied into his braids carefully polished, so that they glittered in the reflected sunlight that made its way through the balcony window.
He had paused, as doing so, seeing the name etched on one of the arrowheads.
Ensoria Summerisle.
His late wife. Was it appropriate to wear this on today of all days? Would she have approved?
He tried to conjure an image of her, to many, she was a plain, bookish, acerbic scribe, somewhat aloof. But she had made him happy. There were hidden depths there, much of the adult literature in population in Silvermoon and beyond penned by her, under a pseudonym of course, He had never read a single one...was that so terrible of him? He looked in the mirror, his haunted eyes seeing her for a moment sat at the table behind him, writing. She stopped, pushed her glasses up her nose and huffed at the stray streak of hair that always fell out of her bun and across her eyes. “Do what makes you happy, you lovely idiot” he heard her voice as clearly as if she were actually sat behind him, and not dead these years gone.
Tarrithael was no fool, and it would show transitory affection if he removed the arrowhead, on a day when transitory affection was -not- what he wanted to show. She knew he had been married before.
The Arrowhead stayed.
So garbed he started to buckle on his ceremonial armour, making especial care that it was done up correctly, even the hated winged pauldrons his rank demanded he wore. Normally sloppy to show his inherent distaste for the impractical fripperies that they were, especially to the Aerie Council, today instead tightly fastened, framing his shoulders and head, the Dragonhawk head and wings polished till they shone like the sun itself. He laughed ruefully, in his early days he used to keep ‘accidentally’ losing or breaking them, until the higher ups grew wise to the fact it was because he disliked the ‘tacky impracticality’ and was doing so on purpose, and had started charging him for replacement ones. He turned, ensuring his mantle and cloak were set right, before facing the mirror. To the pectoral on his armour, one by one, he affixed the medals he had earned, both those as a soldier of the Alliance, and a soldier of the Horde, for he was not ashamed of his record. He cared not who knew he had earned honours in the Alliance, after all, they were all grown elves, and would have served in those armies themselves. Pride of place took a simple medal, red ribboned, a simple Golden disc, curving rays stretching from it. ‘Dath’remar’s Sun’. The Highest award a Flier could earn, and one recently gained after the destruction of the Legion Aerial commander, Mikaneth, the self proclaimed ‘King of All Skies’.. Around his neck he affixed the ribbon of his ‘Saronite Cross’ medal, and ensured the cross itself hung outside his armour.
He turned his head, looking for any sign of stubble, there was none, he could never grow a proper beard anyway, so no surprise there. He calmly oiled his brow, both for the scent, and to ensure that the lengthy eyebrows that were a trait of his people were neat, and slick, before taking up the ceremonial sword from the dresser and buckling it to his belt. He would have preferred his usual twin sabres, or even his bow and quiver, but ceremony was ceremony, and even the Commandant of the Aerie had to obey such, he supposed.
He gave a last look, should he have worn rouge, to try and cover the scarring around his right eye, or that on his neck?
No, Tarri was a ‘Hood’, a professional soldier, spy and if needs be, assassin. She had seen him at his worst, she was no shrinking violet to be put off by war wounds. It would be an affront to her, to pretend he had not taken his share of wounds in battle. Especially as she had. So very much.
The Scars stayed.
The door clicked open behind him, and similarly attired, walked in Dae’anneth Silverflare, his Groomsman, he too had elected to keep his scars, though in fairness, he was not the one being wed that day. “Looking good boss” He said with a smile “But you getter get a move on, bad form to turn up after the bride”
Brigante smiled sadly “Who said I wasn’t having second thoughts? I still haven’t told her about the next mission”
Silverflare shook his head. “No, and I’m probably the only one who understands why...You’re not, are you?”
Brigante quirked a brow “Not what? Oh, second thoughts?, no. No, I am ready, let us go” He turned, and stalked towards the door, picking up his cane, and leaning as he walked to the Aerie’s chapel “The Target in sight, ‘Drake’?” He said lightly, perhaps to calm his nerves. “Target sighted, ‘Magni’” Silverflare replied, both fliers using their ‘Ace’ names. “Well then, let us engage” Brigante smiled wryly.
“Think you already did that part Sir, now is the bit where you seal the deal”.
Both fliers chuckled as they crossed the courtyard, it was a small affair, private, and they both knew the reason why. The bride to be was...inconvenienced, her wheelchair making travel impractical, and because of their next mission, if it were a public affair, then not all eyes who watched may have been...friendly, some may have even been behind a sniper’s scope. One set of eyes in particular, but that was a problem for tomorrow, or rather, tomorrows tomorrow.
As they approached the chapel, they both, as experienced rangers, and one of them with a fair amount of experience in the darker side of political coercion, could feel the unseen eyes of ‘Hoods’ on them, Security was tight, ‘tighter than a goblin accountant’ as some would say.
“Now remember what they say about new brides, ‘Gante” Silverflare said as they neared the doors, “They’ll see three things in order, they’ll see the Aisle, they’ll see the Altar, and then they’ll see You, and that forms their mission in life”
Brigante looked briefly confused, before barking a laugh and said the words phonetically “I’ll Alter You”
“Thats why you get paid the big money, ‘Gante, smarter than you look”. Silverflare shook his head and steered Brigante away from the chapel. “What?” Brigante commented. Silverflare shook his head, “She has something else planned, Security is -there-, to make it look like it is there, Security is also...”.
His Groomsman ushered him to the pier, where a small flotilla of boats awaited, one, the one Silverflare gestured them towards, a small boat with a sail fluttering in the air, of course, no breeze kept it so, glories of a Magical based kingdom, but the crimson sail bore the golden crest of the Sun Hawks upon it, and from it also trailed two red streamers, identical to the ones that flew from ‘Sunspear’ when they flew against the Alliance, one, with his current ‘Kill’ Tally on it, another with the name the Alliance had given him, written in white on red,in both Thalassian and Common. “Brigante Summerisle, the Red Death”.
He looked at them and winced slightly…
The crash site had stank of petrol, the fumes of the engine, the low crackle of flames burning it away, the Gyrocopter a thing of ruin, in shattered pieces, one of which, a rotor, had pierced the abdomen of its pilot, a human woman, her goggles pushed back, revealing two white spaces around her eyes even now dulling with pain, as opposed to the smut and the smoke that covered the rest of her face. “Come to gloat, Red Death?”
Brigante had frowned “No, I came to...I can fetch healers, we can try to mend the damage that happened to you?”
“-You- happened to me Red Death..” The woman let her hand fall from her side, swathed in blood. Brigante knew, that though he was a skilled surgeon, this was beyond his arts, and would need The Light.
“Wait there, I will fetch a Healer” Brigante started picking his way through the wreckage. “Don’t bother, Red Death”. He remembered whirling angrily “Stop Calling me that!”
The Woman whispered, in pain “It’s what you are”. Brigante had examined the edges of the wound, the metal shaft sticking from the women’s chest, he muttered “It doesn’t have to be”, he realised where the metal had struck the woman, and knew that her wound was mortal, and even a Healer found in the next minute would be too late.
He sat, and took her hand “You must hate me very much”, he could feel the heat already leeching from her hands, as the blood stopped rushing to extremities, as the body stopped….working…
The Woman lolled her head towards him “I don’t hate you...Red Death…”...her head fell upon his shoulder, her words a whisper in his ear. “I Pity you…”. He had raised her head “What do you mean?” Why do you pity me?”
But they were sightless and dead.
He smiled anyway, and enjoyed the sails as the small boat made its way to the vast Barquentine moored off the harbour.
He had paused, as doing so, seeing the name etched on one of the arrowheads.
Ensoria Summerisle.
His late wife. Was it appropriate to wear this on today of all days? Would she have approved?
He tried to conjure an image of her, to many, she was a plain, bookish, acerbic scribe, somewhat aloof. But she had made him happy. There were hidden depths there, much of the adult literature in population in Silvermoon and beyond penned by her, under a pseudonym of course, He had never read a single one...was that so terrible of him? He looked in the mirror, his haunted eyes seeing her for a moment sat at the table behind him, writing. She stopped, pushed her glasses up her nose and huffed at the stray streak of hair that always fell out of her bun and across her eyes. “Do what makes you happy, you lovely idiot” he heard her voice as clearly as if she were actually sat behind him, and not dead these years gone.
Tarrithael was no fool, and it would show transitory affection if he removed the arrowhead, on a day when transitory affection was -not- what he wanted to show. She knew he had been married before.
The Arrowhead stayed.
So garbed he started to buckle on his ceremonial armour, making especial care that it was done up correctly, even the hated winged pauldrons his rank demanded he wore. Normally sloppy to show his inherent distaste for the impractical fripperies that they were, especially to the Aerie Council, today instead tightly fastened, framing his shoulders and head, the Dragonhawk head and wings polished till they shone like the sun itself. He laughed ruefully, in his early days he used to keep ‘accidentally’ losing or breaking them, until the higher ups grew wise to the fact it was because he disliked the ‘tacky impracticality’ and was doing so on purpose, and had started charging him for replacement ones. He turned, ensuring his mantle and cloak were set right, before facing the mirror. To the pectoral on his armour, one by one, he affixed the medals he had earned, both those as a soldier of the Alliance, and a soldier of the Horde, for he was not ashamed of his record. He cared not who knew he had earned honours in the Alliance, after all, they were all grown elves, and would have served in those armies themselves. Pride of place took a simple medal, red ribboned, a simple Golden disc, curving rays stretching from it. ‘Dath’remar’s Sun’. The Highest award a Flier could earn, and one recently gained after the destruction of the Legion Aerial commander, Mikaneth, the self proclaimed ‘King of All Skies’.. Around his neck he affixed the ribbon of his ‘Saronite Cross’ medal, and ensured the cross itself hung outside his armour.
He turned his head, looking for any sign of stubble, there was none, he could never grow a proper beard anyway, so no surprise there. He calmly oiled his brow, both for the scent, and to ensure that the lengthy eyebrows that were a trait of his people were neat, and slick, before taking up the ceremonial sword from the dresser and buckling it to his belt. He would have preferred his usual twin sabres, or even his bow and quiver, but ceremony was ceremony, and even the Commandant of the Aerie had to obey such, he supposed.
He gave a last look, should he have worn rouge, to try and cover the scarring around his right eye, or that on his neck?
No, Tarri was a ‘Hood’, a professional soldier, spy and if needs be, assassin. She had seen him at his worst, she was no shrinking violet to be put off by war wounds. It would be an affront to her, to pretend he had not taken his share of wounds in battle. Especially as she had. So very much.
The Scars stayed.
The door clicked open behind him, and similarly attired, walked in Dae’anneth Silverflare, his Groomsman, he too had elected to keep his scars, though in fairness, he was not the one being wed that day. “Looking good boss” He said with a smile “But you getter get a move on, bad form to turn up after the bride”
Brigante smiled sadly “Who said I wasn’t having second thoughts? I still haven’t told her about the next mission”
Silverflare shook his head. “No, and I’m probably the only one who understands why...You’re not, are you?”
Brigante quirked a brow “Not what? Oh, second thoughts?, no. No, I am ready, let us go” He turned, and stalked towards the door, picking up his cane, and leaning as he walked to the Aerie’s chapel “The Target in sight, ‘Drake’?” He said lightly, perhaps to calm his nerves. “Target sighted, ‘Magni’” Silverflare replied, both fliers using their ‘Ace’ names. “Well then, let us engage” Brigante smiled wryly.
“Think you already did that part Sir, now is the bit where you seal the deal”.
Both fliers chuckled as they crossed the courtyard, it was a small affair, private, and they both knew the reason why. The bride to be was...inconvenienced, her wheelchair making travel impractical, and because of their next mission, if it were a public affair, then not all eyes who watched may have been...friendly, some may have even been behind a sniper’s scope. One set of eyes in particular, but that was a problem for tomorrow, or rather, tomorrows tomorrow.
As they approached the chapel, they both, as experienced rangers, and one of them with a fair amount of experience in the darker side of political coercion, could feel the unseen eyes of ‘Hoods’ on them, Security was tight, ‘tighter than a goblin accountant’ as some would say.
“Now remember what they say about new brides, ‘Gante” Silverflare said as they neared the doors, “They’ll see three things in order, they’ll see the Aisle, they’ll see the Altar, and then they’ll see You, and that forms their mission in life”
Brigante looked briefly confused, before barking a laugh and said the words phonetically “I’ll Alter You”
“Thats why you get paid the big money, ‘Gante, smarter than you look”. Silverflare shook his head and steered Brigante away from the chapel. “What?” Brigante commented. Silverflare shook his head, “She has something else planned, Security is -there-, to make it look like it is there, Security is also...”.
His Groomsman ushered him to the pier, where a small flotilla of boats awaited, one, the one Silverflare gestured them towards, a small boat with a sail fluttering in the air, of course, no breeze kept it so, glories of a Magical based kingdom, but the crimson sail bore the golden crest of the Sun Hawks upon it, and from it also trailed two red streamers, identical to the ones that flew from ‘Sunspear’ when they flew against the Alliance, one, with his current ‘Kill’ Tally on it, another with the name the Alliance had given him, written in white on red,in both Thalassian and Common. “Brigante Summerisle, the Red Death”.
He looked at them and winced slightly…
The crash site had stank of petrol, the fumes of the engine, the low crackle of flames burning it away, the Gyrocopter a thing of ruin, in shattered pieces, one of which, a rotor, had pierced the abdomen of its pilot, a human woman, her goggles pushed back, revealing two white spaces around her eyes even now dulling with pain, as opposed to the smut and the smoke that covered the rest of her face. “Come to gloat, Red Death?”
Brigante had frowned “No, I came to...I can fetch healers, we can try to mend the damage that happened to you?”
“-You- happened to me Red Death..” The woman let her hand fall from her side, swathed in blood. Brigante knew, that though he was a skilled surgeon, this was beyond his arts, and would need The Light.
“Wait there, I will fetch a Healer” Brigante started picking his way through the wreckage. “Don’t bother, Red Death”. He remembered whirling angrily “Stop Calling me that!”
The Woman whispered, in pain “It’s what you are”. Brigante had examined the edges of the wound, the metal shaft sticking from the women’s chest, he muttered “It doesn’t have to be”, he realised where the metal had struck the woman, and knew that her wound was mortal, and even a Healer found in the next minute would be too late.
He sat, and took her hand “You must hate me very much”, he could feel the heat already leeching from her hands, as the blood stopped rushing to extremities, as the body stopped….working…
The Woman lolled her head towards him “I don’t hate you...Red Death…”...her head fell upon his shoulder, her words a whisper in his ear. “I Pity you…”. He had raised her head “What do you mean?” Why do you pity me?”
But they were sightless and dead.
He smiled anyway, and enjoyed the sails as the small boat made its way to the vast Barquentine moored off the harbour.
Upon the deck, a Marquee, within it as they approached a Brass and strings section of musicians started playing ‘The Wounded Skies Lament’, the Aerie’s theme, as he made his way down the aisle, Silverflare at his side, the host was small, mainly fliers, the heads of Aerie departments, he spared a small wave at the Twins, though both infants looked nonplussed and stunned at what went on around them, and a nod for his own brothers, Trinovante in his robes of state as a Magister of the Spire, and Maladante in his perfectly cleaned and lacquered armour as a Blood Knight, both taller than their middle brother, but it was plain to see them, which led a more studious life, and which a more physical one.
As the swelling refrain of the martial anthem of the Aerie built, Brigante looked in askance at the aisle, The Ships captain stood, not a face known to him, and Brigante looked askance at Dae'anneth, “Why is there a- Can they even do that? Do -I- have the legal right to do that?” Silverflare shook his head as he paced alongside Brigante. “Never question these things, that way leads madness”.
He was pleased to see that in the brass section was his Handler, Forenth Whitehaze, playing the army bugle that had been Forenth’s grandson’s during the Scourge invasion as an army trumpeteer. He stood, and suddenly it hit him. Tarrithael would have to wheel herself down the aisle, on this boat, It hit him like a punch to the soul, and in that moment he realised the powerful strength of the woman he was to marry, and her determination. She was shorter than he anyway, and that was saying something, but her injuries had left her unable to walk, and she would not have him look down upon her on this day, that was not her, not Red Seven. And so he steeled his gaze forwards as the crowd stilled, He would not turn, he would not cheapen her moment, though unbidden tears at her sheer strength were in his eyes, they were tears of happiness. It was not until a chair was placed by his side, and Chief Bhalneath had just looked at him, flowers braided in his hair with a “We never talk of this again” expression, and he heard the rustle of her dress falling around the stool beside him, that he allowed himself to turn, and look at her face, at the same level it always had been before she could not walk, the dress radiant upon her, and flowing around the stool, now invisible. It was just as if she was standing.
He tried not to think of the dark times ahead, and just smiled at her as the Ship's Captain began his speech.
Sometimes there really is a ‘Happy ever After’
At least….for now.
As the swelling refrain of the martial anthem of the Aerie built, Brigante looked in askance at the aisle, The Ships captain stood, not a face known to him, and Brigante looked askance at Dae'anneth, “Why is there a- Can they even do that? Do -I- have the legal right to do that?” Silverflare shook his head as he paced alongside Brigante. “Never question these things, that way leads madness”.
He was pleased to see that in the brass section was his Handler, Forenth Whitehaze, playing the army bugle that had been Forenth’s grandson’s during the Scourge invasion as an army trumpeteer. He stood, and suddenly it hit him. Tarrithael would have to wheel herself down the aisle, on this boat, It hit him like a punch to the soul, and in that moment he realised the powerful strength of the woman he was to marry, and her determination. She was shorter than he anyway, and that was saying something, but her injuries had left her unable to walk, and she would not have him look down upon her on this day, that was not her, not Red Seven. And so he steeled his gaze forwards as the crowd stilled, He would not turn, he would not cheapen her moment, though unbidden tears at her sheer strength were in his eyes, they were tears of happiness. It was not until a chair was placed by his side, and Chief Bhalneath had just looked at him, flowers braided in his hair with a “We never talk of this again” expression, and he heard the rustle of her dress falling around the stool beside him, that he allowed himself to turn, and look at her face, at the same level it always had been before she could not walk, the dress radiant upon her, and flowing around the stool, now invisible. It was just as if she was standing.
He tried not to think of the dark times ahead, and just smiled at her as the Ship's Captain began his speech.
Sometimes there really is a ‘Happy ever After’
At least….for now.
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The younger elf held the older ones hand, corded muscle and withered flesh entwined. “You were there for me, at the end, when it went so wrong….” Brigante nodded bitterly, “Let me tell you how it went so wrong..”
The Younger elf leant his head back, leaving a blood trail on the wall.
“We had flown, but quickly learned that the air was too dangerous for our Dragonhawks, so took a boat from ‘Captain Wavesunder’s vessel, whatever her true name be” Upon landing we swept and cleared the houses of Keel Harbour, but there was one issue, a vast and tainted bear, it burst forth, Telestra and Starglow tried to block its path, but….
They could not, as the rain fell around us, and grew more dangerous, it charged, several of us loosed arrows into it, it charged Telestra down, slamming him to the floor, clawing at Starglow, who thankfully dodged out of its way, It screamed, it actually screamed, not roared, and that was most horrific of all, for it sounded like a woman’s tormented scream of panic and terror, it reared up upon Telestra, at which point our arrows struck home, and the creature finally was at peace, albeit, slamming down upon Telestra’s armour. It took us some minutes to free him, his armour was cracked, and he was bruised and battered, I have no doubts that he was worse hurt than he let on.
We pressed on, along the road, the Flight Lieutenant’s gauge showing that we were approaching strong elements of Blight, and must circle around, so we did, it was not long until we found others…”
“We’re going to be Okay, Okay?” the father spoke to his son, as they pushed the cart along
“Okay”
“Nothing bad is going to happen to you, not as long as I am here, Okay?”
“Okay” the boy answered.
“Anything bad happens, you pick up the pistol, and you just put it in your mouth, you don’t stop and think, you just pull the trigger, Okay?”
“Okay”
“You’re not Okay with it are you?”
“No”
“Thats Okay, I’ll always be here to do it for you, It will be Okay”
“Okay Papa”.
The two shuffled along in their rags, until one day ‘They’ came.
Silently, like spirits of mist and nightmare, the elves, their eyes glowing green with malice had seen them. He quickly hushed the boy, and they moved to one side of the road, in the hope that they would not notice, but they did.
Lambent eyes glowing through the mist, slender, angular, cruelly pinched the Elves regarded them. The worst of Elves, Blood Elves, they moved like fluid ghosts, almost like creatures of mist and nightmare themselves, before they came to rest, they had clearly seen the two, the man despaired, it was said they drained the living, he would not...could not allow that to happen...
The man put his pistol to his boys temple “ I promised”
“I know Papa”
“Wait” The voice accented in common, a clear Thalassian tint to it.
“We’re not here to hurt you or your boy” The voice said, though the masks were all nightmarish, clearly protection against the blight still in some areas.
“We haven’t got anything worth stealing” the man said, and the elf waved her hands “We’re not here to steal from you, just, have you seen anyone else on the road?”
The man shook his head. Like Ghosts, the Elves moved on. Like smoke, like things that were never really there….
The Boy never moved, the pistol still at his temple “Would you have shot me papa?”
“Only to stop them eating you”
“Would they have eaten me?”
“They’re Elves...they’re not...the same as us….”
“Would they have eaten us?”
“I don’t know, I don’t think so”
“Are...they going to hurt people Papa?”
The man frowned and looked at the pistol at his sons head and grimaced.
“Yes. They’re going to hurt people”
“Bad People?”
The man looked at his son, his dirty blonde hair blow in the night breeze, and he could not lie.
“Probably?”
“They’re probably going to hurt them, or they’re going to hurt people who are probably bad?”
The man considered the stares of the Elves, green, feral, predatory, as if he was a mouse under the gaze of a cat, or a germ to be cleansed.
“I don’t know”
“Okay”
“You can take the gun away now, they’re not here anymore”
The man relaxed, and did so, he wished he shared his son’s enthusiasm.
The Elves eyed the settlement ahead, Brigante spoke, his voice muffled through his gasmask “Stormglen, we would be well advised to watch out for LAMOA’s, we should…
The riflecrack rang out, dropping the Flight Surgeon, his blood pooling in the gathering rain.
“Alright” Brigante said”Gather hi-” He paused as the Flight Lieutenant tapped his shoulder and pointed at the meter on her gauge. Soon, outside would not be a good place to be...not good at all, as the rain started to drive down all the Blight it had picked up through the natural osmosis between plant and cloud and rain….
He watched approvingly as Reddawn stemmed the entry and exit wounds. The Rain grew heavier, Yasmyr pointed to the dial on her meter, it was in the red. They would die if out here much longer, gasmasks or no. “Reddawn, Heartforge, drag him with us, the rest! We go in there!”
“The Resident Sir?”
Brigante gritted his teeth “We Kill him”
So they had...They dived in, he had fired, and the bullet had slammed into the floorboards, but as they rushed in, and saw the surroundings, and how this man had survived, there was no regret, Telestra had rushed him, slamming him against the pillars, before Brigante had loosed an arrow into his head.
The disgust was loud “Hells, he -ate- people?” “People do desperate things… Get the Flight Surgeon up here, if I don’t operate, he’ll lose that arm, or..well...just get him up here”
Brigante sighed as he scrubbed up his arms for surgery. “Close the doors, keep noise discipline, keep watches, we should be fine” He waved his hands free of the hot water, before working on the units only Healer.
“Should be fine” he muttered.
The Younger elf leant his head back, leaving a blood trail on the wall.
“We had flown, but quickly learned that the air was too dangerous for our Dragonhawks, so took a boat from ‘Captain Wavesunder’s vessel, whatever her true name be” Upon landing we swept and cleared the houses of Keel Harbour, but there was one issue, a vast and tainted bear, it burst forth, Telestra and Starglow tried to block its path, but….
They could not, as the rain fell around us, and grew more dangerous, it charged, several of us loosed arrows into it, it charged Telestra down, slamming him to the floor, clawing at Starglow, who thankfully dodged out of its way, It screamed, it actually screamed, not roared, and that was most horrific of all, for it sounded like a woman’s tormented scream of panic and terror, it reared up upon Telestra, at which point our arrows struck home, and the creature finally was at peace, albeit, slamming down upon Telestra’s armour. It took us some minutes to free him, his armour was cracked, and he was bruised and battered, I have no doubts that he was worse hurt than he let on.
We pressed on, along the road, the Flight Lieutenant’s gauge showing that we were approaching strong elements of Blight, and must circle around, so we did, it was not long until we found others…”
“We’re going to be Okay, Okay?” the father spoke to his son, as they pushed the cart along
“Okay”
“Nothing bad is going to happen to you, not as long as I am here, Okay?”
“Okay” the boy answered.
“Anything bad happens, you pick up the pistol, and you just put it in your mouth, you don’t stop and think, you just pull the trigger, Okay?”
“Okay”
“You’re not Okay with it are you?”
“No”
“Thats Okay, I’ll always be here to do it for you, It will be Okay”
“Okay Papa”.
The two shuffled along in their rags, until one day ‘They’ came.
Silently, like spirits of mist and nightmare, the elves, their eyes glowing green with malice had seen them. He quickly hushed the boy, and they moved to one side of the road, in the hope that they would not notice, but they did.
Lambent eyes glowing through the mist, slender, angular, cruelly pinched the Elves regarded them. The worst of Elves, Blood Elves, they moved like fluid ghosts, almost like creatures of mist and nightmare themselves, before they came to rest, they had clearly seen the two, the man despaired, it was said they drained the living, he would not...could not allow that to happen...
The man put his pistol to his boys temple “ I promised”
“I know Papa”
“Wait” The voice accented in common, a clear Thalassian tint to it.
“We’re not here to hurt you or your boy” The voice said, though the masks were all nightmarish, clearly protection against the blight still in some areas.
“We haven’t got anything worth stealing” the man said, and the elf waved her hands “We’re not here to steal from you, just, have you seen anyone else on the road?”
The man shook his head. Like Ghosts, the Elves moved on. Like smoke, like things that were never really there….
The Boy never moved, the pistol still at his temple “Would you have shot me papa?”
“Only to stop them eating you”
“Would they have eaten me?”
“They’re Elves...they’re not...the same as us….”
“Would they have eaten us?”
“I don’t know, I don’t think so”
“Are...they going to hurt people Papa?”
The man frowned and looked at the pistol at his sons head and grimaced.
“Yes. They’re going to hurt people”
“Bad People?”
The man looked at his son, his dirty blonde hair blow in the night breeze, and he could not lie.
“Probably?”
“They’re probably going to hurt them, or they’re going to hurt people who are probably bad?”
The man considered the stares of the Elves, green, feral, predatory, as if he was a mouse under the gaze of a cat, or a germ to be cleansed.
“I don’t know”
“Okay”
“You can take the gun away now, they’re not here anymore”
The man relaxed, and did so, he wished he shared his son’s enthusiasm.
The Elves eyed the settlement ahead, Brigante spoke, his voice muffled through his gasmask “Stormglen, we would be well advised to watch out for LAMOA’s, we should…
The riflecrack rang out, dropping the Flight Surgeon, his blood pooling in the gathering rain.
“Alright” Brigante said”Gather hi-” He paused as the Flight Lieutenant tapped his shoulder and pointed at the meter on her gauge. Soon, outside would not be a good place to be...not good at all, as the rain started to drive down all the Blight it had picked up through the natural osmosis between plant and cloud and rain….
He watched approvingly as Reddawn stemmed the entry and exit wounds. The Rain grew heavier, Yasmyr pointed to the dial on her meter, it was in the red. They would die if out here much longer, gasmasks or no. “Reddawn, Heartforge, drag him with us, the rest! We go in there!”
“The Resident Sir?”
Brigante gritted his teeth “We Kill him”
So they had...They dived in, he had fired, and the bullet had slammed into the floorboards, but as they rushed in, and saw the surroundings, and how this man had survived, there was no regret, Telestra had rushed him, slamming him against the pillars, before Brigante had loosed an arrow into his head.
The disgust was loud “Hells, he -ate- people?” “People do desperate things… Get the Flight Surgeon up here, if I don’t operate, he’ll lose that arm, or..well...just get him up here”
Brigante sighed as he scrubbed up his arms for surgery. “Close the doors, keep noise discipline, keep watches, we should be fine” He waved his hands free of the hot water, before working on the units only Healer.
“Should be fine” he muttered.
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j97WR_slydY
It had started early, the rain was still too bad for them to move, nonetheless, the doorways were watched. Highflame had called it in first, a stampede of deer running past his scouting post, then he heard what they had ran from, he turned, rain soaking from his hood, like all of them he had tried to minimize exposure, but how -could- you, when keeping eyes out?
“Undead Sir”
Brigante looked down from the stairwell, he’d had two hours sleep and blinked wearily “Forsaken?”
“No Sir, they look mindless and….”
“And?”
“Hungry”
Brigante swallowed, “Block the doors, barricade them, we’ll head out of the other doorway, Reddawn, open it.”
Brigante limped down as Narme Reddawn opened the second door and he saw the cannibalistic horde descending upon it. “No We won’t” he muttered. “Barricade both doors! Man the barricades! Chaplain, someone! Take my hatchet and cut out some of the stairs!”
“Why?”
“Because these barricades won’t last forever. Pile paper and fabric against the barricades, because they too won’t last forever”
Brigante snarled and watched as the first of the door panels was slammed through, his arrow sending the Undead back to its grave, then the howling and screaming began all around the building, It was horrifying, and he could see the effect it was having on his elves, that sound, the increasing howl of unremitting desire, He knew it...oh he knew it, because he felt it!
Both doorways were assaulted, slowly chewed through, the Elven defenders acting as one would expect, What could one do.
Brigante fell back upon the horrible lessons of the scourge invasion of Quel’thalas.
“We make...a middle ground, we trade time for land, Fall back to the stairwell, set alight the barricades!”
The elves retreated upstairs, avoiding the traps Aiechi had hacked into them. Loosing fire arrows and fire cocktails. Oh they burned. They burned so bright, the floor was turned to a furnace, even more so when the Flight Surgeon with a furious roar exerted his full strength and tossed over the burning bed unto the floor, and the entire lower floor became a cauldron.
Brigante and Narme stood, loosing arrows into those screaming flaming abominations that rushed the stairs. Finally, after her work of hurling grenades, Lieutenant Starglow shouted up “Trace Elements only, its safe!”. With not a second to spare, a Hawk kicked the window out, and grappling hooks were hauled out. The Hawks were battered, smoke stained, coughing but...alive, as they descended. Brigante felt guilt at having ordered Reddawn, a Rookie, to be the tail, and last out, but as it transpired, she wasn’t, Yasmyr had been the last, tears streaming from her eyes due to the smoke.
Brigante understood why. This whole war, it was a war to them, to Yasmyr and Aiechi Starglow however, it was personal.
It had started early, the rain was still too bad for them to move, nonetheless, the doorways were watched. Highflame had called it in first, a stampede of deer running past his scouting post, then he heard what they had ran from, he turned, rain soaking from his hood, like all of them he had tried to minimize exposure, but how -could- you, when keeping eyes out?
“Undead Sir”
Brigante looked down from the stairwell, he’d had two hours sleep and blinked wearily “Forsaken?”
“No Sir, they look mindless and….”
“And?”
“Hungry”
Brigante swallowed, “Block the doors, barricade them, we’ll head out of the other doorway, Reddawn, open it.”
Brigante limped down as Narme Reddawn opened the second door and he saw the cannibalistic horde descending upon it. “No We won’t” he muttered. “Barricade both doors! Man the barricades! Chaplain, someone! Take my hatchet and cut out some of the stairs!”
“Why?”
“Because these barricades won’t last forever. Pile paper and fabric against the barricades, because they too won’t last forever”
Brigante snarled and watched as the first of the door panels was slammed through, his arrow sending the Undead back to its grave, then the howling and screaming began all around the building, It was horrifying, and he could see the effect it was having on his elves, that sound, the increasing howl of unremitting desire, He knew it...oh he knew it, because he felt it!
Both doorways were assaulted, slowly chewed through, the Elven defenders acting as one would expect, What could one do.
Brigante fell back upon the horrible lessons of the scourge invasion of Quel’thalas.
“We make...a middle ground, we trade time for land, Fall back to the stairwell, set alight the barricades!”
The elves retreated upstairs, avoiding the traps Aiechi had hacked into them. Loosing fire arrows and fire cocktails. Oh they burned. They burned so bright, the floor was turned to a furnace, even more so when the Flight Surgeon with a furious roar exerted his full strength and tossed over the burning bed unto the floor, and the entire lower floor became a cauldron.
Brigante and Narme stood, loosing arrows into those screaming flaming abominations that rushed the stairs. Finally, after her work of hurling grenades, Lieutenant Starglow shouted up “Trace Elements only, its safe!”. With not a second to spare, a Hawk kicked the window out, and grappling hooks were hauled out. The Hawks were battered, smoke stained, coughing but...alive, as they descended. Brigante felt guilt at having ordered Reddawn, a Rookie, to be the tail, and last out, but as it transpired, she wasn’t, Yasmyr had been the last, tears streaming from her eyes due to the smoke.
Brigante understood why. This whole war, it was a war to them, to Yasmyr and Aiechi Starglow however, it was personal.
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Behind them, as they landed, the building collapsed on itself.
Brigante watched as the building fell to burning ruin, the howls of mindless undead trapped within it dying as fire cleansed all sins.
His usual grim phrase revisited his lips.
“We press on”.
They ran through the rain, until he could run no more, the old wound from Redridge, from the Alliance mana attack having ruined his left leg, he growled as he skidded to a halt. Was it really a year since then?
“I Need to stop….”
He flickered a hand to either side, and Lieutenant Starglow was on it, Elves watching both sides of the path of their approach and the area they had left.
“Think they’ll follow us?” She ventured, after the dispositions were made.
“What can we do if they do? You guys were pretty effective at stopping any pursuit, you’re turning into a pretty handy piece of kit Flight Lieutenant”
The female elf nodded “We need to push on”. She smiled thinly, invisible behind the gasmask she wore, that they all wore. “This rain is pleasant for now, but….”
Brigante grabbed at his knee as if to coax it into life “But we need to press on”
Brigante raised a hand and twirled a finger, instantly the Elves paid heed, he grimly pointed north.
Like shadowed phantoms they headed towards Gilneas city. Brigante paused as he saw a sight he had dreaded, but secretly expected.
Through the fog they stood brazenly, silver armour, blue tabards, a golden lion boldly emblazoned upon it.
Alliance Footmen. Behind him, his keen vision made out other figures, stealthier, in browns, hiding, yet elven vision was so much more keener than human sight, he saw them, human Rangers. They had not seen him, though they had formed a picket, defending the area, Lion shields and rifles pointed their way, he cursed, checking through the etched metal plate maps he had in a leather wallet. There. Tempest Reach. Between them and Gilneas City. Lieutenant Starglow had told him the blight was heavy to one side, and to the other, cliffs and sea.
He slowly traced his steps backwards.
“Yas?”
In a heartbeat his Lieutenant was next to him, her gas mask muffling her voice “Brigs?”
“We have a problem, Alliance up ahead, they’ve blockaded the road.”
Yasmyr Starglow shook her head “We can’t go west Sir, Blight is too strong” She tapped the gauges on the equipment she held.
“I know, and we can’t go East, we lost the grapples at Stormglen, we have two choices, we go -through them….”
“Or?”
“We -talk- through them”.
Even through her gasmask he could hear Yasmyr’s sigh of disapproval. She had -views- on the Alliance, ever since the atrocities preceding Redridge, and in fairness, in her place, so would Brigante.
“We’re not at war with the Alliance now. Brushfire conflicts, yes, but the factions are at peace, hopefully they will see that, and if I can explain our quarrel is not with them….”
“You’re too easy to make Peace boss, not everyone in the world is reasonable. Alright, you want me to-”
Brigante chopped a hand. “If this goes wrong, it goes wrong on me, back me up, support me, get the elves seperated and ready to take down the humans if it goes wrong. If it goes -really- wrong, then after you’ve killed the humans, move on to Gilneas city and kill Salamanca, then exfiltrate north, you’ll be bound to reach Forsaken forces at some point, and then...Tell...Tarrithael I’m sorry.”
“I still think you’re fething stupid boss” She muttered, but turned to make the dispositions. Brigante walked through the mists, hands outstretched, bow in his left hand, no arrow nocked, he wondered as he approached, who commanded these soldiers? Were they just men and women far from home, were they commanded by an Officer who had personal hatred for the Horde? Had they even fell afoul of an attack by his countrymen themselves? What would be his greeting? Cautious dialogue, or a bullet from one of those rifles?
He paused, a vague birdsong trill telling him that his Lieutenant had the Elves in place to unleash their wrath, should the Alliance attack. He tilted his head slowly and advanced, only to hear the shouts from before him. “Its an Elf! One of Theirs!”
“No Closer! Horde!”
He nodded and ceased walking forwards. Hands still outstretched, as the rain pounded down through the mist. He heard the click of rifles being cocked, and the slam of shields being brought into place. He looked up and down the stern line of silver and blue, but those helms were designed for one purpose only, to make an army, to make them seem like a force implacable, he could make out no facial features, there was naught to talk to, just a wave of silver, blue and gold.
He cleared his throat, speaking with what to him was contemporary Common, albeit, with a most Gilnean Accent.
“Hail, doughty soldiery of the Alliance, I come with no stern quarrel with thee, nor intent to harm a single one of you, I would fain not war upon you, yet have the measure to do so if necessary”
The response was a terse bark, humans spoke so quickly; “State your purpose Blood Elf”
Brigante paused, the rain pattering off his helm and gas mask, he slowly took it off, and clipped it to his belt.
“As I say, we come with no quarrel with thee, and I put myself to mortal hazard by addressing you such, to show good earnest intention. We would pass through, doing harm to none, for our Quarrel is with a knave who is most rightly hated by our folk, and by yours alike, we have no reason to war here with thee, in this blasted place”.
A Figure, presumably an officer, though the Alliance host looked faceless, in their matching armour, their similar poses. Had it only been ten years he thought? Only ten years since he had fought alongside such units, What a difference a minute can make, a day, a year, only a decade, so short, and yet he saw them as a faceless wall of steel. How did it come to this?
He was glad he had forbidden the wearing of tabards for this mission, the Alliance had little reason to love his Sun Hawks, he knew there was a price on his head, and others of his unit, for actions carried out by both Horde and Alliance units yet laid at their door. Oh he knew alright, the lies were still spoken as truths at Conclave, and the arbitrators did -nothing-. A problem for a different day…
“Disarm yourself!”
Brigante shook his head slowly “That will not happen, let me be bold with the truth and then you may decide how this day unfolds. We would pass through this place, harming none, and thence thee shall hear naught more from us, have I assurance in this matter?”
One of the faceless silver figures, like so many statues given life turned his helm from side to side, before a voice echoed “You have that assurance”
“Then I call my Elves forwards, and we will advance, we will not bring war upon thee if thee will not upon us”
The Human barked “Just get it done, Elf”
Brigante slowly folded his arms back, setting his bow upon his armour,and turning “Fall in Lieutenant, we pass through”
A low hiss his answer “And if they start anything?”
Brigante smiled, before putting his mask on again “Then kill them all”
And so it was, that the Farstriders passed through the human barricade, suspicious eyes watching them every step of the way. As they passed through, Brigante keenly eyed the human soldiery, with his medical expertise, and realised why the negotiations had went so smoothly.
Both Elves and Humans had wounded, and did not -want- a fight. In terms of Poker?
Both sides had bet on a pair of fives, and the bluff had worked. Both ways.
And so the Sun Hawks passed into Gilneas city, for their rendevouz with Ernesto Salamanca, the Man with the Golden Bow.
Brigante watched as the building fell to burning ruin, the howls of mindless undead trapped within it dying as fire cleansed all sins.
His usual grim phrase revisited his lips.
“We press on”.
They ran through the rain, until he could run no more, the old wound from Redridge, from the Alliance mana attack having ruined his left leg, he growled as he skidded to a halt. Was it really a year since then?
“I Need to stop….”
He flickered a hand to either side, and Lieutenant Starglow was on it, Elves watching both sides of the path of their approach and the area they had left.
“Think they’ll follow us?” She ventured, after the dispositions were made.
“What can we do if they do? You guys were pretty effective at stopping any pursuit, you’re turning into a pretty handy piece of kit Flight Lieutenant”
The female elf nodded “We need to push on”. She smiled thinly, invisible behind the gasmask she wore, that they all wore. “This rain is pleasant for now, but….”
Brigante grabbed at his knee as if to coax it into life “But we need to press on”
Brigante raised a hand and twirled a finger, instantly the Elves paid heed, he grimly pointed north.
Like shadowed phantoms they headed towards Gilneas city. Brigante paused as he saw a sight he had dreaded, but secretly expected.
Through the fog they stood brazenly, silver armour, blue tabards, a golden lion boldly emblazoned upon it.
Alliance Footmen. Behind him, his keen vision made out other figures, stealthier, in browns, hiding, yet elven vision was so much more keener than human sight, he saw them, human Rangers. They had not seen him, though they had formed a picket, defending the area, Lion shields and rifles pointed their way, he cursed, checking through the etched metal plate maps he had in a leather wallet. There. Tempest Reach. Between them and Gilneas City. Lieutenant Starglow had told him the blight was heavy to one side, and to the other, cliffs and sea.
He slowly traced his steps backwards.
“Yas?”
In a heartbeat his Lieutenant was next to him, her gas mask muffling her voice “Brigs?”
“We have a problem, Alliance up ahead, they’ve blockaded the road.”
Yasmyr Starglow shook her head “We can’t go west Sir, Blight is too strong” She tapped the gauges on the equipment she held.
“I know, and we can’t go East, we lost the grapples at Stormglen, we have two choices, we go -through them….”
“Or?”
“We -talk- through them”.
Even through her gasmask he could hear Yasmyr’s sigh of disapproval. She had -views- on the Alliance, ever since the atrocities preceding Redridge, and in fairness, in her place, so would Brigante.
“We’re not at war with the Alliance now. Brushfire conflicts, yes, but the factions are at peace, hopefully they will see that, and if I can explain our quarrel is not with them….”
“You’re too easy to make Peace boss, not everyone in the world is reasonable. Alright, you want me to-”
Brigante chopped a hand. “If this goes wrong, it goes wrong on me, back me up, support me, get the elves seperated and ready to take down the humans if it goes wrong. If it goes -really- wrong, then after you’ve killed the humans, move on to Gilneas city and kill Salamanca, then exfiltrate north, you’ll be bound to reach Forsaken forces at some point, and then...Tell...Tarrithael I’m sorry.”
“I still think you’re fething stupid boss” She muttered, but turned to make the dispositions. Brigante walked through the mists, hands outstretched, bow in his left hand, no arrow nocked, he wondered as he approached, who commanded these soldiers? Were they just men and women far from home, were they commanded by an Officer who had personal hatred for the Horde? Had they even fell afoul of an attack by his countrymen themselves? What would be his greeting? Cautious dialogue, or a bullet from one of those rifles?
He paused, a vague birdsong trill telling him that his Lieutenant had the Elves in place to unleash their wrath, should the Alliance attack. He tilted his head slowly and advanced, only to hear the shouts from before him. “Its an Elf! One of Theirs!”
“No Closer! Horde!”
He nodded and ceased walking forwards. Hands still outstretched, as the rain pounded down through the mist. He heard the click of rifles being cocked, and the slam of shields being brought into place. He looked up and down the stern line of silver and blue, but those helms were designed for one purpose only, to make an army, to make them seem like a force implacable, he could make out no facial features, there was naught to talk to, just a wave of silver, blue and gold.
He cleared his throat, speaking with what to him was contemporary Common, albeit, with a most Gilnean Accent.
“Hail, doughty soldiery of the Alliance, I come with no stern quarrel with thee, nor intent to harm a single one of you, I would fain not war upon you, yet have the measure to do so if necessary”
The response was a terse bark, humans spoke so quickly; “State your purpose Blood Elf”
Brigante paused, the rain pattering off his helm and gas mask, he slowly took it off, and clipped it to his belt.
“As I say, we come with no quarrel with thee, and I put myself to mortal hazard by addressing you such, to show good earnest intention. We would pass through, doing harm to none, for our Quarrel is with a knave who is most rightly hated by our folk, and by yours alike, we have no reason to war here with thee, in this blasted place”.
A Figure, presumably an officer, though the Alliance host looked faceless, in their matching armour, their similar poses. Had it only been ten years he thought? Only ten years since he had fought alongside such units, What a difference a minute can make, a day, a year, only a decade, so short, and yet he saw them as a faceless wall of steel. How did it come to this?
He was glad he had forbidden the wearing of tabards for this mission, the Alliance had little reason to love his Sun Hawks, he knew there was a price on his head, and others of his unit, for actions carried out by both Horde and Alliance units yet laid at their door. Oh he knew alright, the lies were still spoken as truths at Conclave, and the arbitrators did -nothing-. A problem for a different day…
“Disarm yourself!”
Brigante shook his head slowly “That will not happen, let me be bold with the truth and then you may decide how this day unfolds. We would pass through this place, harming none, and thence thee shall hear naught more from us, have I assurance in this matter?”
One of the faceless silver figures, like so many statues given life turned his helm from side to side, before a voice echoed “You have that assurance”
“Then I call my Elves forwards, and we will advance, we will not bring war upon thee if thee will not upon us”
The Human barked “Just get it done, Elf”
Brigante slowly folded his arms back, setting his bow upon his armour,and turning “Fall in Lieutenant, we pass through”
A low hiss his answer “And if they start anything?”
Brigante smiled, before putting his mask on again “Then kill them all”
And so it was, that the Farstriders passed through the human barricade, suspicious eyes watching them every step of the way. As they passed through, Brigante keenly eyed the human soldiery, with his medical expertise, and realised why the negotiations had went so smoothly.
Both Elves and Humans had wounded, and did not -want- a fight. In terms of Poker?
Both sides had bet on a pair of fives, and the bluff had worked. Both ways.
And so the Sun Hawks passed into Gilneas city, for their rendevouz with Ernesto Salamanca, the Man with the Golden Bow.
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