24/07/2018 23:33Posted by Johnitori hope you dont mind me asking, but was this the event we stumbled across in brill today?
Probably Sunday. Given I was back on Monday
Probably Sunday. Given I was back on Monday
25/07/2018 00:51Posted by Brigante24/07/2018 23:33Posted by Johnitori hope you dont mind me asking, but was this the event we stumbled across in brill today?
Probably Sunday. Given I was back on Monday
Yep, slightly belated recap of Sunday, when the Alliance fleet arrived for Drums of War Part 2
The camp was settled, as well it could be, under continual bombardment from the Alliance, their shelling a sure precursor to their invasion, he had spoken to the Ground Forces Commander, and as Air Commodore he was certain that despite the vast Aerial Flotilla, no, Armada, that his Hawks could hold them off. With the addition of the Forsaken Echo Hunters, he was certain they had the tools to do the job. His smile faded as he looked to the horizon and saw Alliance Gunships slowly hove into view.
Soon they would ask him for his plans to take them down, and the only answer was the ‘Annihiliatrix’ munitions, and he did not want to let that genie out of the bottle..No, not yet. Please Gods not yet!
So it was a friendly face, as he span and danced, a grin and a twinkling eye for all that he showed as he danced through the Sepulchre. He twirled his cane and grinned at them all, because -everything- was going to be alright. And as long as he was being jolly, then so should they.
Truth was. They would lose this War. And he would have to sign off on great atrocities to make it even a slower War. And they would ask him to. They would ask him to….And it would not change a -Damned- thing!
He sat on a ledge, He didn’t know why the Warchief had invaded Darkshore, he didn’t know why Teldrassil burned. He remembered blistering his skin, screaming in pain and beseeching Kaldorei children to come to his Hawk to be lifted to safety...The Fire, the Smoke….
He remembered the looks in their eyes as they looked back to that falling city, seeing parents, loved ones…..He couldn’t give any of that back. He even took the childish pummelling of his back as one of the children lashed out, it was a -kid- he could take it, He was Horde, they needed someone to blame, he was happy to be that. They were children. They lived. That was the important thing. That was the main thing. It did not matter if they hated him. It mattered that they were alive to hate him. It mattered that they were alive.
He had to keep to his principles. He was a Good Man. Forced into a Bad War.
That was it, he was a Good Man.
He was a GOOD MAN!
Despite last night, where they had shot down Alliance Fliers into a sea of fire set by their own petroleum. But he...he had commanded that. He had...he had commanded that….
NO….-SHE- shook his head, her hair a thing of clouds and steam “I AM NOT DONE WITH YOU! WHEN I GET, WHAT I WANT!, AND NEVER WANT IT AGAIN!” she rattled his head as he sobbed
To an onlooker, his head merely shook as, as if trying to clear his head.
He stood and walked to the outskirts of the Sepulcher.
“I am so tired...so...damned tired….Please, just let me die…” He murmured, just as he looked up. He saw the glint,
An Alliance sniper, they knew who they had in their sights.
He paused, and spread his hands, they had him. “Just...please….end me, I can’t...do it myself….”
“I am so tired….Please. Please…” He muttered.
“Just FIRE!” he barked as a Handler rushed him and the rifle cracked.
The Red Death fell to the floor in Silverpine. Brigante Summerisles blood staining the ground.
Quote
Soon they would ask him for his plans to take them down, and the only answer was the ‘Annihiliatrix’ munitions, and he did not want to let that genie out of the bottle..No, not yet. Please Gods not yet!
So it was a friendly face, as he span and danced, a grin and a twinkling eye for all that he showed as he danced through the Sepulchre. He twirled his cane and grinned at them all, because -everything- was going to be alright. And as long as he was being jolly, then so should they.
Truth was. They would lose this War. And he would have to sign off on great atrocities to make it even a slower War. And they would ask him to. They would ask him to….And it would not change a -Damned- thing!
He sat on a ledge, He didn’t know why the Warchief had invaded Darkshore, he didn’t know why Teldrassil burned. He remembered blistering his skin, screaming in pain and beseeching Kaldorei children to come to his Hawk to be lifted to safety...The Fire, the Smoke….
He remembered the looks in their eyes as they looked back to that falling city, seeing parents, loved ones…..He couldn’t give any of that back. He even took the childish pummelling of his back as one of the children lashed out, it was a -kid- he could take it, He was Horde, they needed someone to blame, he was happy to be that. They were children. They lived. That was the important thing. That was the main thing. It did not matter if they hated him. It mattered that they were alive to hate him. It mattered that they were alive.
He had to keep to his principles. He was a Good Man. Forced into a Bad War.
That was it, he was a Good Man.
He was a GOOD MAN!
Despite last night, where they had shot down Alliance Fliers into a sea of fire set by their own petroleum. But he...he had commanded that. He had...he had commanded that….
NO….-SHE- shook his head, her hair a thing of clouds and steam “I AM NOT DONE WITH YOU! WHEN I GET, WHAT I WANT!, AND NEVER WANT IT AGAIN!” she rattled his head as he sobbed
To an onlooker, his head merely shook as, as if trying to clear his head.
He stood and walked to the outskirts of the Sepulcher.
“I am so tired...so...damned tired….Please, just let me die…” He murmured, just as he looked up. He saw the glint,
An Alliance sniper, they knew who they had in their sights.
He paused, and spread his hands, they had him. “Just...please….end me, I can’t...do it myself….”
“I am so tired….Please. Please…” He muttered.
“Just FIRE!” he barked as a Handler rushed him and the rifle cracked.
The Red Death fell to the floor in Silverpine. Brigante Summerisles blood staining the ground.
Quote
“You can't wear both.”
It was heavier than hers. Larger, of course, but more than that. It would not have surprised to her to learn that he'd had it enchanted specifically to carry some fraction of 'weight' it represented. The metal was duller, too, as if he'd spent many long hours caressing the slender band, in thrall to its seductive power even as he claimed to loathe it. In the flickering candlelight, if she turned it just so, the bloodstains almost looked like fragments of red crystal, like the rough-hammered signet her finger still found itself missing...
“Feth's sake, Yas, are you listening to me? You can't wear both. You saw what that did to him.”
“I am not Brigante Summerisle.”
“You're sounding a lot like him.” Aiechi retorted (his skin clammy and ashen, the Commandant's blood speckling his robes and staining his shaking hands; the war would make such ragged wraiths of them all sooner or later).
“Who else, if not...? Feth.” She pinched her brow; she didn't have to look, his gaze pointed enough to feel upon her. “Point taken. Is he going to...?”
“I don't know. Can't risk moving him yet, can't just sear the brain shut and throw him back in the fight. If he pulls through – and it's very definitely an if – then... You heard what Stormlight said.”
“He's hit the glass mountain, hasn't he?”
“It sounds that way.”
“They can't know that.”
“They have to know something.”
She sighed, pushing herself to stand, tight pink scar-tissue and purpling bruises both voicing their pained protests beneath the shining red-and-gold, dropping the second ring into his waiting palm. Sun's mercy, she was tired, but the Commander was supposed to be above such mortal concerns. The Commander did not tire, did not fear, did not bleed like lesser elves. It was easy to see how a swift shot to the temple might start to seem like a welcome reprieve...
No; Yasmyr Starglow was not Brigante Summerisle. The fires that had destroyed him would only serve to temper her. She pressed her fingers to her comms.
”All Hawks, be advised: this is Sun Hawk Actual....”
It was heavier than hers. Larger, of course, but more than that. It would not have surprised to her to learn that he'd had it enchanted specifically to carry some fraction of 'weight' it represented. The metal was duller, too, as if he'd spent many long hours caressing the slender band, in thrall to its seductive power even as he claimed to loathe it. In the flickering candlelight, if she turned it just so, the bloodstains almost looked like fragments of red crystal, like the rough-hammered signet her finger still found itself missing...
“Feth's sake, Yas, are you listening to me? You can't wear both. You saw what that did to him.”
“I am not Brigante Summerisle.”
“You're sounding a lot like him.” Aiechi retorted (his skin clammy and ashen, the Commandant's blood speckling his robes and staining his shaking hands; the war would make such ragged wraiths of them all sooner or later).
“Who else, if not...? Feth.” She pinched her brow; she didn't have to look, his gaze pointed enough to feel upon her. “Point taken. Is he going to...?”
“I don't know. Can't risk moving him yet, can't just sear the brain shut and throw him back in the fight. If he pulls through – and it's very definitely an if – then... You heard what Stormlight said.”
“He's hit the glass mountain, hasn't he?”
“It sounds that way.”
“They can't know that.”
“They have to know something.”
She sighed, pushing herself to stand, tight pink scar-tissue and purpling bruises both voicing their pained protests beneath the shining red-and-gold, dropping the second ring into his waiting palm. Sun's mercy, she was tired, but the Commander was supposed to be above such mortal concerns. The Commander did not tire, did not fear, did not bleed like lesser elves. It was easy to see how a swift shot to the temple might start to seem like a welcome reprieve...
No; Yasmyr Starglow was not Brigante Summerisle. The fires that had destroyed him would only serve to temper her. She pressed her fingers to her comms.
”All Hawks, be advised: this is Sun Hawk Actual....”
I wish people would stop turning their recruitment threads into their own little Argent Archives, there's a -actual- argent archives there you know, dropping a link there along with tidbits of information is way more productive.
Example;
Example;
Hey guys, we're back in Quel'thalas, trying to catch a few mages and and warriors to shore up our front-line and back-line support! Along with our newest adventure! <insert link>
28/07/2018 07:40Posted by DaeannethI apologise if this way of recruiting and keeping others updated with both our story and style of play bothers you unduly, in which case I advise avoiding reading in future and browse other recruitment threads at your leisure.
I'm not sure what stings more, being told off in a veiled and polite blood elven way or being told straight "Don't like it? Don't read it."
Meditate on this.
The light here is soft and golden, the breeze gentle, Quel'thalas' eternal spring at its most perfect and unchanging. The path she walks leads not through blackened earth and bleached bone, but looks as it must have done before the Fall; the garden is not her own sorry effort to reclaim the Scar, parched and choked with weeds in her long absence, but lush and green, vines heavy with ripe fruit (Lightwing's work, no doubt; hadn't he promised her a vineyard?). The gyrocopter on the lawn has not yet begun to moulder.
“Look here, minn'da, look at me. Stay with us”
Fingers thread through hers (trembling, weak, slick with her own blood). A hand strokes her cheek (deathly white, her eyes wide and staring, every breath a hideous clicking gurgle) white others work to seal the ragged wound in her neck.
The call had come - “Sun Hawks, we need air support!” - and she had answered. Danger Extremely Fething Close, too risky to drop munitions over the breach with so many allies in the fray, she'd passed low – too low, reckless, foolish – over the Alliance lines, relying on flame and talon and the occasional pot-shot to grant Tagahr and Bwim'toru some respite. Then came the whisper - “I don't want to kill you, but I can't let you keep flying” - and the explosion of pain, the softer kiss of a dagger drawn across her throat, even as she stared down in mute horror at the length of bloody blade projecting from her chest.
Aiechi's hands are inside that wound now, twisting and pushing, trying to sculpt the ruined mess of blood and bone and mangled flesh into some semblance of rib and lung. The priestess' shoulders are trembling as she prays, her touch warm and gentle. The boy keeps talking, though his voice quivers and his cheeks are wet with tears.
Aiechi grabs something and pulls; she screams through a newly-mended throat, rigid with pain. He laughs.
“That's it, girl, keep fighting; pain lets you know you're not dead yet”
She's at the door, the polished metal handle cool beneath her hand, the gentle breeze perfumed with the scent of tree and river, the light softly-dappled through the lost forests of the Blackened Woods.
There's panic in the boy's tone now, as her grip on his fingers begins to slip. “No! No, minn'da, look at me! Stay here! Please!”
If she strains, she can just about hear them, on the other side. Lightwing's laughter, babbling like a brook. Hawkspear's more restrained sardonic snort, as her father regales them with some anecdote or other. Io, predictably full of questions.
Aiechi looks up to the sun, as it dips behind Lordaeron's pines, and mutters a promise to climb up there and kick its eternal !@# if it doesn't help him.
The metal is uncomfortably warm now, like the first bare footstep on a summer pavement, or a pan straight from the fire. Hotter by the second, too hot to touch, searing the flesh from her fingers; brighter, too bright to look at, blazing white light flooding her vision even as she squeezes her eyes shut.
She screams, and darkness falls.
“Look here, minn'da, look at me. Stay with us”
Fingers thread through hers (trembling, weak, slick with her own blood). A hand strokes her cheek (deathly white, her eyes wide and staring, every breath a hideous clicking gurgle) white others work to seal the ragged wound in her neck.
The call had come - “Sun Hawks, we need air support!” - and she had answered. Danger Extremely Fething Close, too risky to drop munitions over the breach with so many allies in the fray, she'd passed low – too low, reckless, foolish – over the Alliance lines, relying on flame and talon and the occasional pot-shot to grant Tagahr and Bwim'toru some respite. Then came the whisper - “I don't want to kill you, but I can't let you keep flying” - and the explosion of pain, the softer kiss of a dagger drawn across her throat, even as she stared down in mute horror at the length of bloody blade projecting from her chest.
Aiechi's hands are inside that wound now, twisting and pushing, trying to sculpt the ruined mess of blood and bone and mangled flesh into some semblance of rib and lung. The priestess' shoulders are trembling as she prays, her touch warm and gentle. The boy keeps talking, though his voice quivers and his cheeks are wet with tears.
Aiechi grabs something and pulls; she screams through a newly-mended throat, rigid with pain. He laughs.
“That's it, girl, keep fighting; pain lets you know you're not dead yet”
She's at the door, the polished metal handle cool beneath her hand, the gentle breeze perfumed with the scent of tree and river, the light softly-dappled through the lost forests of the Blackened Woods.
There's panic in the boy's tone now, as her grip on his fingers begins to slip. “No! No, minn'da, look at me! Stay here! Please!”
If she strains, she can just about hear them, on the other side. Lightwing's laughter, babbling like a brook. Hawkspear's more restrained sardonic snort, as her father regales them with some anecdote or other. Io, predictably full of questions.
Aiechi looks up to the sun, as it dips behind Lordaeron's pines, and mutters a promise to climb up there and kick its eternal !@# if it doesn't help him.
The metal is uncomfortably warm now, like the first bare footstep on a summer pavement, or a pan straight from the fire. Hotter by the second, too hot to touch, searing the flesh from her fingers; brighter, too bright to look at, blazing white light flooding her vision even as she squeezes her eyes shut.
She screams, and darkness falls.
“Tie him up lad! The swine will speak soon enough! Ranger Summerisle did as told, he was only nineteen, what else did he know. He lashed the Trolls leg to the tied down tree. “Lieutenant Sir, there’s already a tree lashed down here”.
A pair of blue eyes glared at him “Do I have to spell it out boy, these animals don’t understand any language bar one, so we’ll get him to speak it.”
Something in the short ranger troubled him “Sir, if that tree comes loose from its ropes, it will tear his leg off!”
The older Farstriders laughed, and the Lieutenant turned to him. “Boy, are you simple? Thats the -Point-” The Ranger-Lieutenant barked over his shoulder, “Make sure this damned dirt worshipper can see them, might be his family, even if they keep track”. Bound Amani were thrust into the view of the Chieftain, younglings. The Troll children looked terrified. He was scared, he was young himself, he didn’t know what the hells was going on here, but he knew something had gone deeply, deeply wrong...this wasn’t war...this wasn’t what he had signed up for....
As the Lieutenant moved down the line, barking at another ranger to keep the Amani prisoner’s head pointed their way, he stood behind a screaming troll child. “Where are the attacks coming from?” The Troll uttered curses, the Lieutenant slit the throat of the child. Brigante had vomited. Another Ranger had propped him up “Its natural lad, but its all they understand, you saw what they did to the village” Brigante had. He had thought such terrible savagery the province of the Amani...not his own people, seems it could be both.... Again the question, the Amani screamed and shook his head, as much as he could, again, the throat was slit. Again “Where are the attacks coming from?” The Troll roared in anger. Young Brigante shook his head “No,No, Sir...They’re swiving Kids!”
The Lieutenant had turned his scarred face to him “They’re -Vermin- Summerisle, sooner you learn that, sooner you’ll be a useful contribution to this war, and not a liability, back to your post”.
Again, and again that question “Where are the attacks coming from?” With each time a wet sound, as a throat was slit, then a horrible dull thud as a body hit the floor.
“Alright, we’re getting nothing from him, Cut him Loose”
Brigante opened his eyes, he hadn’t even realised they were closed…
He was by one of the posts. He had seen what the Amani had done to the village, the gnawed bones, desecrated corpses, his nineteen year old mind, only a few months out of training tried to summon up that hatred. He barked “Cutting him loose Sir!” And sliced down at the rope with his hatchet. The Troll started screaming, Brigante did not understand why..He was being let free.. The Lieutenant blinked a moment “Alright, the Rookie has started it off, lets do this, all of you!” Hatchets cut ropes and the trees sprang back into their place, tearing the limbs from the Troll, the blood spraying down on the Elves. Brigante just stood as the blood rained down on him. “Thats...not what I meant to happen” he muttered, as he was clapped on the back by the other Rangers, congratulated for his part in murder and torture.
That was Him.
Operation Gravearrow...oh the intent was genius, if you had a dark mind, but it failed, five hundred Dragonhawk riders had flown at Deatholme, there were now around thirty left, and the second Sunspear was dying...He could feel it in the tug of the harness, she was spiralling down, and behind enemy lines. He was going to fall just next to Deatholme….he had to ...had to somehow get that last few...that last burst out of her… He leant forwards, so he could see her dulling eyes and speak via their Bond. “Sister, thou die, wouldst have me die with thee?” The Dragonhawk blinked her eyes milky as they opened again “Live, Wingless self, Live, Eldest of Clutch, name for me, do what thou must”. Brigante had grimaced “I will never forget thee, Winged self” and plunged a dagger into the neck of the Dragonhawk, spurring the adrenaline of pain, tattered wings raised and gave those last few moments of speed, just enough to carry him beyond the front line of the Scourge advance, or rather its vast body as it turned out, when they both tumbled from the skies, the sound of cracking was horrific. Brigante had tried to stand to go to Sunspear the second, to make things right, but he suddenly couldn’t, his leg collapsed, broken, his left arm also. He screamed to the skies! “SAVE ME!” His gambit had failed. Even Sunspear’s sacrifice had not saved them both. He crawled towards a pile of corpses, arranged for reanimation, and buried himself in them, the stench and stink horrific, but the sheer will of instinct to survive, drove him there.To live! To Live!
Three days, later, he was sick, mewling and half mad when they had found him, Rangers of the Sixth, on a Deep Patrol, they had heard him coughing, thankfully the Scourge had not, they had now penetrated far further into Quel’thalas. He, and all those who had actually died...a mere afterthought.
That was him.
He was in the Skies, a thing of fury, the Alliance had made use of Mana Weaponry, then so be it, so would -He-. His was the fire and the fury. An Alliance column of soldiery they would spell sure doom for the Horde forces in Redridge. He could stop it here, or could face it later. Answer had to be made, the Alliance had attacked…
He wheeled his Flight around “Make an attack run, use the bombs”
He tried not to look at the soldiers, their helms as they looked upwards in shock and horror, and a strange sort of relief. It was Dragonhawks, it was Blood Elves, surely they would not use….
Surely not…..
Blue powder. That was all that remained afterwards, even as Brigante’s Hawks wheeled away he was screaming and clutching at his head, memories of a son he had never seen imprinted in his face. His Handler later said he was still screaming as he landed.
That was him.
The Tree burned, his fliers coughed and choked, -Traitors- some named them later, for rescuing children, and picking civilians from the ruins. But they were -children-! If you have to stop and ask -whose- then you are an animal! They were shot at and pierced even as they rescued Kaldorei children and brought them to land. With each run, the golden Dragonhawk on crimson a sign of safety. Through misunderstanding Hippogryphs they dodged and wheeled, carrying children back , and then that final moment...as the tree cracked, and fell, and a choir sang,
A dreadful and horrible choir of the dead, as the screams of those still trapped on the tree saw their death.
“WE COULD HAVE SAVED MORE!” Brigante roared, “Quickly, to the-”
His Handler grabbed his arm “No you can’t lad, you did what what you could have, and you need to get these lads and lasses out of here, and if you wouldn’t mind, Us too. I don’t think the locals will be too friendly soon”
A city burned and fell to ash.
That was him.
He awoke into darkness, and that for a moment caused a whine in the back of his throat “I Can’t be Blind I Can’t be Blind, I can’t be blind…” His heartrate calming as he felt the bandaging over his head. He wasn’t blind...it was bandages...
Then the pain set in. It felt like he had been kicked in the left side of the head by a Hawkstrider. That area too, heavily bandaged, thickly, but it throbbed painfully.
He remembered ... The Alliance Sniper had had him bang to rights, targeted, He knew his number was up, happened to every flier, he just...never expected it to happen on the ground. He always expected to get shot down in flames, not taken out by a headshot…
Thats why, in the end, his shoulders had sagged, and he had just said “Go on...do it”.
He was skilled enough to unwind the bandaging around his eyes, whilst keeping it around the gunshot wound, tightening it. His eyes stung, tears came to them as light that had not been seen pierced his eyelids. He could hear the ‘Skreee-Dun!’ ‘Skreee-Dun!’ of Alliance artillery, that told him he was still in the field somewhere, The Flight Surgeon had clearly moved him to a place of recovery. He did not know where, it was not the Sepulchre, that was for sure. He suddenly felt nauseous and leant over the bed, vomiting.
This was it then...vengeance for Teldrassil, and the animals wouldn’t stop until they had done the job Arthas had started...He couldn’t lie abed whilst such happened… He couldn’t. He felt sweat starting beneath his bandages and on his cheeks.
“Perhaps a small lie down, just for a few minutes….” he thought, lying back, and falling into a slumber, even though the lullaby was Alliance Artillery..
But the world would not wait..
It never would.
It waits for none of us.
A pair of blue eyes glared at him “Do I have to spell it out boy, these animals don’t understand any language bar one, so we’ll get him to speak it.”
Something in the short ranger troubled him “Sir, if that tree comes loose from its ropes, it will tear his leg off!”
The older Farstriders laughed, and the Lieutenant turned to him. “Boy, are you simple? Thats the -Point-” The Ranger-Lieutenant barked over his shoulder, “Make sure this damned dirt worshipper can see them, might be his family, even if they keep track”. Bound Amani were thrust into the view of the Chieftain, younglings. The Troll children looked terrified. He was scared, he was young himself, he didn’t know what the hells was going on here, but he knew something had gone deeply, deeply wrong...this wasn’t war...this wasn’t what he had signed up for....
As the Lieutenant moved down the line, barking at another ranger to keep the Amani prisoner’s head pointed their way, he stood behind a screaming troll child. “Where are the attacks coming from?” The Troll uttered curses, the Lieutenant slit the throat of the child. Brigante had vomited. Another Ranger had propped him up “Its natural lad, but its all they understand, you saw what they did to the village” Brigante had. He had thought such terrible savagery the province of the Amani...not his own people, seems it could be both.... Again the question, the Amani screamed and shook his head, as much as he could, again, the throat was slit. Again “Where are the attacks coming from?” The Troll roared in anger. Young Brigante shook his head “No,No, Sir...They’re swiving Kids!”
The Lieutenant had turned his scarred face to him “They’re -Vermin- Summerisle, sooner you learn that, sooner you’ll be a useful contribution to this war, and not a liability, back to your post”.
Again, and again that question “Where are the attacks coming from?” With each time a wet sound, as a throat was slit, then a horrible dull thud as a body hit the floor.
“Alright, we’re getting nothing from him, Cut him Loose”
Brigante opened his eyes, he hadn’t even realised they were closed…
He was by one of the posts. He had seen what the Amani had done to the village, the gnawed bones, desecrated corpses, his nineteen year old mind, only a few months out of training tried to summon up that hatred. He barked “Cutting him loose Sir!” And sliced down at the rope with his hatchet. The Troll started screaming, Brigante did not understand why..He was being let free.. The Lieutenant blinked a moment “Alright, the Rookie has started it off, lets do this, all of you!” Hatchets cut ropes and the trees sprang back into their place, tearing the limbs from the Troll, the blood spraying down on the Elves. Brigante just stood as the blood rained down on him. “Thats...not what I meant to happen” he muttered, as he was clapped on the back by the other Rangers, congratulated for his part in murder and torture.
That was Him.
Operation Gravearrow...oh the intent was genius, if you had a dark mind, but it failed, five hundred Dragonhawk riders had flown at Deatholme, there were now around thirty left, and the second Sunspear was dying...He could feel it in the tug of the harness, she was spiralling down, and behind enemy lines. He was going to fall just next to Deatholme….he had to ...had to somehow get that last few...that last burst out of her… He leant forwards, so he could see her dulling eyes and speak via their Bond. “Sister, thou die, wouldst have me die with thee?” The Dragonhawk blinked her eyes milky as they opened again “Live, Wingless self, Live, Eldest of Clutch, name for me, do what thou must”. Brigante had grimaced “I will never forget thee, Winged self” and plunged a dagger into the neck of the Dragonhawk, spurring the adrenaline of pain, tattered wings raised and gave those last few moments of speed, just enough to carry him beyond the front line of the Scourge advance, or rather its vast body as it turned out, when they both tumbled from the skies, the sound of cracking was horrific. Brigante had tried to stand to go to Sunspear the second, to make things right, but he suddenly couldn’t, his leg collapsed, broken, his left arm also. He screamed to the skies! “SAVE ME!” His gambit had failed. Even Sunspear’s sacrifice had not saved them both. He crawled towards a pile of corpses, arranged for reanimation, and buried himself in them, the stench and stink horrific, but the sheer will of instinct to survive, drove him there.To live! To Live!
Three days, later, he was sick, mewling and half mad when they had found him, Rangers of the Sixth, on a Deep Patrol, they had heard him coughing, thankfully the Scourge had not, they had now penetrated far further into Quel’thalas. He, and all those who had actually died...a mere afterthought.
That was him.
He was in the Skies, a thing of fury, the Alliance had made use of Mana Weaponry, then so be it, so would -He-. His was the fire and the fury. An Alliance column of soldiery they would spell sure doom for the Horde forces in Redridge. He could stop it here, or could face it later. Answer had to be made, the Alliance had attacked…
He wheeled his Flight around “Make an attack run, use the bombs”
He tried not to look at the soldiers, their helms as they looked upwards in shock and horror, and a strange sort of relief. It was Dragonhawks, it was Blood Elves, surely they would not use….
Surely not…..
Blue powder. That was all that remained afterwards, even as Brigante’s Hawks wheeled away he was screaming and clutching at his head, memories of a son he had never seen imprinted in his face. His Handler later said he was still screaming as he landed.
That was him.
The Tree burned, his fliers coughed and choked, -Traitors- some named them later, for rescuing children, and picking civilians from the ruins. But they were -children-! If you have to stop and ask -whose- then you are an animal! They were shot at and pierced even as they rescued Kaldorei children and brought them to land. With each run, the golden Dragonhawk on crimson a sign of safety. Through misunderstanding Hippogryphs they dodged and wheeled, carrying children back , and then that final moment...as the tree cracked, and fell, and a choir sang,
A dreadful and horrible choir of the dead, as the screams of those still trapped on the tree saw their death.
“WE COULD HAVE SAVED MORE!” Brigante roared, “Quickly, to the-”
His Handler grabbed his arm “No you can’t lad, you did what what you could have, and you need to get these lads and lasses out of here, and if you wouldn’t mind, Us too. I don’t think the locals will be too friendly soon”
A city burned and fell to ash.
That was him.
He awoke into darkness, and that for a moment caused a whine in the back of his throat “I Can’t be Blind I Can’t be Blind, I can’t be blind…” His heartrate calming as he felt the bandaging over his head. He wasn’t blind...it was bandages...
Then the pain set in. It felt like he had been kicked in the left side of the head by a Hawkstrider. That area too, heavily bandaged, thickly, but it throbbed painfully.
He remembered ... The Alliance Sniper had had him bang to rights, targeted, He knew his number was up, happened to every flier, he just...never expected it to happen on the ground. He always expected to get shot down in flames, not taken out by a headshot…
Thats why, in the end, his shoulders had sagged, and he had just said “Go on...do it”.
He was skilled enough to unwind the bandaging around his eyes, whilst keeping it around the gunshot wound, tightening it. His eyes stung, tears came to them as light that had not been seen pierced his eyelids. He could hear the ‘Skreee-Dun!’ ‘Skreee-Dun!’ of Alliance artillery, that told him he was still in the field somewhere, The Flight Surgeon had clearly moved him to a place of recovery. He did not know where, it was not the Sepulchre, that was for sure. He suddenly felt nauseous and leant over the bed, vomiting.
This was it then...vengeance for Teldrassil, and the animals wouldn’t stop until they had done the job Arthas had started...He couldn’t lie abed whilst such happened… He couldn’t. He felt sweat starting beneath his bandages and on his cheeks.
“Perhaps a small lie down, just for a few minutes….” he thought, lying back, and falling into a slumber, even though the lullaby was Alliance Artillery..
But the world would not wait..
It never would.
It waits for none of us.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m7pXzeACwf8&list=RDm7pXzeACwf8&start_radio=1
They’d come for them all.
He knew they would.
Everyone knew they would.
The Alliance had come, in its full and monolithic fury.
This was the Fall again. Just in a perverse reorganisation of events, it was the Unliving being driven back by Life. And here he was defending it.
Dead didn’t mean -less- dead regardless of what tabard you wore.
His Fliers were stretched thin, he was, he knew that. By rights they should all have been sent home. The raids on Alliance Siege artillery, old voices, old foes, he had heard Thunderbraid yelling and exhorting his forces, and how they had fought….oh how they had fought. His arm ached still from the bullets taken that night, his shoulder from the arrows this night, from furious Kaldorei fliers, and why -shouldn’t they be furious!. Wasn’t -He- when Silvermoon fell? Was his words not those of hatred to the Humans who had -allowed- this monster to fester in their midst? He knew they had been.
The Ren’dorei, those new bosom brothers of the Alliance, a fact he still could not understand, still, of course spoke Thalassian and from them he learned the terrible truth.
There were actually Alliance who blamed his Hawks for the burning of Teldrassil, as if he could….as if he would…..as if…..as if he would order such atrocity!
He closed his eyes, tears running down his soot seared cheeks, from days of fighting, of flame and fury….
They had saved lives that day.Kaldorei children lived who would otherwise have died, and -that- kept him sane.
“That wasn’t me!” he growled.
But even worse in the Thalassian Warhost the words had been spoken as he passed…..”Butcher”......”Murderer”
Didn’t people -understand- It wasn’t -them!-
“What wasn’t you?” Said Yasmyr, her voice a rasp, her lung injuries twisting her voice, as she approached.
Brigante turned away from looking at the Alliance Siege Engines, their towers readied, their armies in full preparation, and smiled at the younger elf, his smile a sad one, he shook his head, She had taken on a lot of responsibility, and he realised now why she had had to.
Because he could not.
He could not allow that.
“An old man getting maudlin, thats all”
He pointed out to the massed Alliance Campfires, their huge Siege engines, bigger even than the ones they had faced.
“What do you see out there?”
Yasmyr looked, then cocked her head at him, her voice rasped “Same thing you do; Lordaeron’s fall” She uttered.
He looked at her and smiled again, rubbing his chin.
“He’s not your Son, you know” Brigante said, his words not intended to hurt, Yasmyr had shrugged them off, they both knew to whom he referred.
“They’re all our terrible children are they not?”
They were. The Sun Hawks were the children of a terrible mother and a terrible father, not biologically of course, but ideologically, Between Brigante’s horrible egotism and Yasmyr’s dread brand of pragmatism, were shaped by both…..
Brigante nodded painedly “But we can’t favour any, we simply can’t”
Brigante looked at the Alliance Siege towers then powered on with the words he would never say.
“We cannot make favourites. We cannot -have- favourites. Even….”
He sighed.
“Durovante died without a face to me at Theramore you know,. Asharion’s was twisted in hate, the Twins, too young yet, though they are hilarious when they roll around and giggle.”
Brigante watched the Alliance siege engines creep closer, the night yet quiet and still, he smiled bitterly.
“ We cannot have favourites...Even those we have come to see as a daughter”
Yasmyr looked at Brigante, wary and quizzical.
“I know why you did this, Yasmyr. It wasn’t Ambition. You were protecting me. You were protecting me from a Second Fall..’The Old Man can’t take a second Hit’, so you had to’
Brigante watched as the sky got lighter, and the Alliance started their preparations.
“You don’t have to do this anymore”
“I will ask you once more, and that will be an end to it, do you still want this?”
Yasmyr had nodded her head “We can’t always protect our children” Words laden with sorrow.
“We cannot” Brigante simply answered, unable to meet her gaze.
“All we can do...is pick them up when they fall” she continued.
Brigante smiled again, sadly, his lips curled sardonically.
“Even our Terrible Children?”
“Even them”..
The Sun Slowly Dawned, the Alliance forces moved onwards, implacable in their wrath.
Brigante just stared, a lifetime of centuries and so many things he wanted...needed to say to so many people, but was cheated of time…. How was this possible!
Yasmyr laid a hand on Brigante’s shoulder and smiled. “I Know, Ann’da” Using the Elven word for ‘father’.
He looked briefly at her in shock, before back at the towers and the forces that would surely bring doom.
“Life? It never gives us time….” He growled.
Yasmyr shook her head “No, ‘Old Man’ it’s not that Life never gives us time...Its that we don’t take the time to -live-”
She left him then, the elf watching a second Fall, as the towers came closer, and the massed armies in blue and gold.
His lids half closed he heaved in a breath.
“There will be nothing of grace in this battle”
He heard again the hissed words. “Butcher! Murderer” and closed his eyes even as the forces neared that would close many eyes…..
Forever.
They’d come for them all.
He knew they would.
Everyone knew they would.
The Alliance had come, in its full and monolithic fury.
This was the Fall again. Just in a perverse reorganisation of events, it was the Unliving being driven back by Life. And here he was defending it.
Dead didn’t mean -less- dead regardless of what tabard you wore.
His Fliers were stretched thin, he was, he knew that. By rights they should all have been sent home. The raids on Alliance Siege artillery, old voices, old foes, he had heard Thunderbraid yelling and exhorting his forces, and how they had fought….oh how they had fought. His arm ached still from the bullets taken that night, his shoulder from the arrows this night, from furious Kaldorei fliers, and why -shouldn’t they be furious!. Wasn’t -He- when Silvermoon fell? Was his words not those of hatred to the Humans who had -allowed- this monster to fester in their midst? He knew they had been.
The Ren’dorei, those new bosom brothers of the Alliance, a fact he still could not understand, still, of course spoke Thalassian and from them he learned the terrible truth.
There were actually Alliance who blamed his Hawks for the burning of Teldrassil, as if he could….as if he would…..as if…..as if he would order such atrocity!
He closed his eyes, tears running down his soot seared cheeks, from days of fighting, of flame and fury….
They had saved lives that day.Kaldorei children lived who would otherwise have died, and -that- kept him sane.
“That wasn’t me!” he growled.
But even worse in the Thalassian Warhost the words had been spoken as he passed…..”Butcher”......”Murderer”
Didn’t people -understand- It wasn’t -them!-
“What wasn’t you?” Said Yasmyr, her voice a rasp, her lung injuries twisting her voice, as she approached.
Brigante turned away from looking at the Alliance Siege Engines, their towers readied, their armies in full preparation, and smiled at the younger elf, his smile a sad one, he shook his head, She had taken on a lot of responsibility, and he realised now why she had had to.
Because he could not.
He could not allow that.
“An old man getting maudlin, thats all”
He pointed out to the massed Alliance Campfires, their huge Siege engines, bigger even than the ones they had faced.
“What do you see out there?”
Yasmyr looked, then cocked her head at him, her voice rasped “Same thing you do; Lordaeron’s fall” She uttered.
He looked at her and smiled again, rubbing his chin.
“He’s not your Son, you know” Brigante said, his words not intended to hurt, Yasmyr had shrugged them off, they both knew to whom he referred.
“They’re all our terrible children are they not?”
They were. The Sun Hawks were the children of a terrible mother and a terrible father, not biologically of course, but ideologically, Between Brigante’s horrible egotism and Yasmyr’s dread brand of pragmatism, were shaped by both…..
Brigante nodded painedly “But we can’t favour any, we simply can’t”
Brigante looked at the Alliance Siege towers then powered on with the words he would never say.
“We cannot make favourites. We cannot -have- favourites. Even….”
He sighed.
“Durovante died without a face to me at Theramore you know,. Asharion’s was twisted in hate, the Twins, too young yet, though they are hilarious when they roll around and giggle.”
Brigante watched the Alliance siege engines creep closer, the night yet quiet and still, he smiled bitterly.
“ We cannot have favourites...Even those we have come to see as a daughter”
Yasmyr looked at Brigante, wary and quizzical.
“I know why you did this, Yasmyr. It wasn’t Ambition. You were protecting me. You were protecting me from a Second Fall..’The Old Man can’t take a second Hit’, so you had to’
Brigante watched as the sky got lighter, and the Alliance started their preparations.
“You don’t have to do this anymore”
“I will ask you once more, and that will be an end to it, do you still want this?”
Yasmyr had nodded her head “We can’t always protect our children” Words laden with sorrow.
“We cannot” Brigante simply answered, unable to meet her gaze.
“All we can do...is pick them up when they fall” she continued.
Brigante smiled again, sadly, his lips curled sardonically.
“Even our Terrible Children?”
“Even them”..
The Sun Slowly Dawned, the Alliance forces moved onwards, implacable in their wrath.
Brigante just stared, a lifetime of centuries and so many things he wanted...needed to say to so many people, but was cheated of time…. How was this possible!
Yasmyr laid a hand on Brigante’s shoulder and smiled. “I Know, Ann’da” Using the Elven word for ‘father’.
He looked briefly at her in shock, before back at the towers and the forces that would surely bring doom.
“Life? It never gives us time….” He growled.
Yasmyr shook her head “No, ‘Old Man’ it’s not that Life never gives us time...Its that we don’t take the time to -live-”
She left him then, the elf watching a second Fall, as the towers came closer, and the massed armies in blue and gold.
His lids half closed he heaved in a breath.
“There will be nothing of grace in this battle”
He heard again the hissed words. “Butcher! Murderer” and closed his eyes even as the forces neared that would close many eyes…..
Forever.
I don't like sand. It's course and rough and irritating. And it gets everywhere.
"Champion! We're no use to you here - danger extremely fething close; bringing the Chaplain down to assist the groundpounders!"
"Understood Commander. Sun Guide"
Sunwing landed quickly, unfastening harnesses and sending Cloudkisser and Ignaeus back to the skies. Yasmyr looked to her husband. The past weeks weighed heavy on him, in burns half-healed and the sickly pallor of constant mana expenditure. She doubted they suited her any better, between the way her moon-seared scars twisted her shoulders and the wheeze the ren'dorei assassin's blade had left her with.
"You've got my five?"
"Always"
They joined the fray. She had never bought into the maxims concerning the 'purity' of war - they might have held true for knights atop shining steeds or brass fifty miles from the front, moving wooden men across a map, but in the thick of things there was only sweat and piss and blood - but there was a simplicity to it. In the weight of the dagger, in the press of bodies, in Aiechi's voice raised in defiant song. Above, Redwing clashed with Jolly Jack in delicate aerial ballet, but she could spare them not a moment's thought. No one here gave a feth how many rubies shone on her chest. No one tallied her kills. No one counted on her to see them home safe. It was as if the last decade had, in an instant, been erased.
There were far worse places to die.
"Understood Commander. Sun Guide"
Sunwing landed quickly, unfastening harnesses and sending Cloudkisser and Ignaeus back to the skies. Yasmyr looked to her husband. The past weeks weighed heavy on him, in burns half-healed and the sickly pallor of constant mana expenditure. She doubted they suited her any better, between the way her moon-seared scars twisted her shoulders and the wheeze the ren'dorei assassin's blade had left her with.
"You've got my five?"
"Always"
They joined the fray. She had never bought into the maxims concerning the 'purity' of war - they might have held true for knights atop shining steeds or brass fifty miles from the front, moving wooden men across a map, but in the thick of things there was only sweat and piss and blood - but there was a simplicity to it. In the weight of the dagger, in the press of bodies, in Aiechi's voice raised in defiant song. Above, Redwing clashed with Jolly Jack in delicate aerial ballet, but she could spare them not a moment's thought. No one here gave a feth how many rubies shone on her chest. No one tallied her kills. No one counted on her to see them home safe. It was as if the last decade had, in an instant, been erased.
There were far worse places to die.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zjupARl4QX0&start_radio=1&list=RDzjupARl4QX0
He was an elf. Not a butcher, not a murderer, his care was first to his children. They didn’t care. Tumbling and falling over each other, laughing and giggling. They were too young to see the bandages their father wore, the blood stains, the fact his face was soot stained from days flying Dragonhawks and their flame, the clear streaks where tears had washed them clean. The bulletwound that had almost killed him? A Funny headband papa was wearing. Less than a year old. Twins. Laindor and Kayrissa. He would die for them.
He looked down on them, and more tears slowly fell, How many children of that age had died on Teldrassil, ones his Hawks could not save. They had saved all they could, yet the world would blame them, and did he think the Warchief would disabuse them of that opinion? When the Alliance Warhosts called out for Sun Hawk blood, for the burning of Teldrassil? He buried his head in his hands at the thought of bringing harm to children of any race, such as his own two dear imps who rolled around and giggled, grabby hands reaching out to their father.
With a creak he heard his wife’s wheelchair, he steadied himself and turned.
She could see it in his face.
“Did we win?” She uttered.
She saw it in his face, and shook her head. “I have seen you many things, ‘Gante, but I have never seen you this way”
She held her arms out. “I have never seen you look so defeated”
He moved to her but could do nothing but bury his head in his wife’s lap, as she soothed him and stroked his hair. Behind them all was well, The Twins were playing a new game, one would climb the bars and the other would pull them down, and they would laugh, tumbling and finding it hilarious!
If Only all War was so amiable.
“I couldn’t save them….I couldn’t...Undercity Fell, they...I wasn’t in command, or I was, but I wasn’t”
“There have been rumours” Tarrithael murmured into his ear.
Brigante closed his eyes again and nodded.
“They called it a Coup”
Brigante shook his head “It wasn’t a Coup”
“Is that what they think, that it was a coup, that I was a petty potentate to be displaced?” He hissed.
They both smiled, for the same reason, and that was in itself terrible. They were as bad as each other, in their ego. She nodded as he rose. “Give them Hell”
He grabbed his bow and strapped on his Quiver.
It was a few moments walk, the two guards looked at him as he approached, he had not had a chance to bathe or wash the blood from his armour, they both moved but not in time to stop him kicking the doors open.
“This Council is in Session!” he roared.
Ten minutes of shouted dialogue from various parties later, the doors clicked open, and he walked out, the Council were intact, and unharmed but buried in the wall behind the two middle Councillors was an Arrow, planted in a portrait of the last Commandant of the Aerie, an elf who had betrayed them all... As if a reminder as to who, literally, called the shots.
“You want Tyranny, this is how you get Tyranny” he growled to himself. There was a last place he had to visit. And it would hurt..
They were turning him into Featherwing...And every instinct in his bones was telling him to just go back home, to his wife and Children, but he had to see. He had to….see.
It was worse.
It was worse than he had thought.
The Sanitorium. He was stopped by a Nurse, Doctor? Could be either, he looked at him “Sir, you shouldn’t”
“If Anyone should, its me”
The Stink was what reached him first, Putrefying flesh, poisons and potions. He looked across the beds, recognising the faces, before his hand touched his own, dropping his cane with a clatter.
“He was right”
“Everyone else has to burn for me to blaze brighter”
“My Fliers……”
“They’ll recover Sir, but for now they need rest”
“Damn you, I understand that, I’m a doctor but….”
“Sir, they’ve been put under stresses that no reasonable combat would place them under”
“Reasonable combat?”
“It’s a relative term Sir, I mean...you would never have put them under Unreasonable combat”
Brigante frowned to himself “Wouldn’t I?” he muttered.
His Entire unit in sickbeds, being tended, His Entire Unit! and -HE- wasn’t. He realised it then.
He smiled slowly “They were right” he muttered..”Everyone has to burn to make me fly higher”
A Year ago he would have blazed off and sought out a foe, in fire and fury. That would have been crazy. Mad. To somehow justify their fate as his…
Thats what Mikaneth would have wanted.
Part of him wanted that. So much. So So much, to just fly and thunder and rain down fire one last time and die gloriously!
So much death...so much, in Ashenvale, Darkshore, in Tirisfal.
Where would it end? Would it end? Would it -ever- end?
Bleak eyes regarded the elven wreckage laid before him. All his doing. He shook his head, he could pretend Starglow had led, he could let her take the Fall for this, That….would be the easiest thing in the world to do...to just....let someone else take the blame, She even -wanted- it, she’d said so.
He couldn’t. She didn’t bring them here, she didn’t cause this War, nor had he.
His eyes stared forwards, seeing a fire, a tree, his ears heard screams, entreaties for aid.
“We did what we could” he murmured…
“BUTCHER!” “MURDERER!” he heard, his hand involuntarily moving to his temple as if to quiet the voices, to stop up his ears, but instead finding the bandage with clotted blood.
And then part of him remembered watching two tiny children playing with each other in a cot, rolling and laughing.
Which was he? Soldier or Father? Could he be both?
He turned a horrorstruck look to the Sanitorium.
Could he truly be either anymore?
He was an elf. Not a butcher, not a murderer, his care was first to his children. They didn’t care. Tumbling and falling over each other, laughing and giggling. They were too young to see the bandages their father wore, the blood stains, the fact his face was soot stained from days flying Dragonhawks and their flame, the clear streaks where tears had washed them clean. The bulletwound that had almost killed him? A Funny headband papa was wearing. Less than a year old. Twins. Laindor and Kayrissa. He would die for them.
He looked down on them, and more tears slowly fell, How many children of that age had died on Teldrassil, ones his Hawks could not save. They had saved all they could, yet the world would blame them, and did he think the Warchief would disabuse them of that opinion? When the Alliance Warhosts called out for Sun Hawk blood, for the burning of Teldrassil? He buried his head in his hands at the thought of bringing harm to children of any race, such as his own two dear imps who rolled around and giggled, grabby hands reaching out to their father.
With a creak he heard his wife’s wheelchair, he steadied himself and turned.
She could see it in his face.
“Did we win?” She uttered.
She saw it in his face, and shook her head. “I have seen you many things, ‘Gante, but I have never seen you this way”
She held her arms out. “I have never seen you look so defeated”
He moved to her but could do nothing but bury his head in his wife’s lap, as she soothed him and stroked his hair. Behind them all was well, The Twins were playing a new game, one would climb the bars and the other would pull them down, and they would laugh, tumbling and finding it hilarious!
If Only all War was so amiable.
“I couldn’t save them….I couldn’t...Undercity Fell, they...I wasn’t in command, or I was, but I wasn’t”
“There have been rumours” Tarrithael murmured into his ear.
Brigante closed his eyes again and nodded.
“They called it a Coup”
Brigante shook his head “It wasn’t a Coup”
“Is that what they think, that it was a coup, that I was a petty potentate to be displaced?” He hissed.
They both smiled, for the same reason, and that was in itself terrible. They were as bad as each other, in their ego. She nodded as he rose. “Give them Hell”
He grabbed his bow and strapped on his Quiver.
It was a few moments walk, the two guards looked at him as he approached, he had not had a chance to bathe or wash the blood from his armour, they both moved but not in time to stop him kicking the doors open.
“This Council is in Session!” he roared.
Ten minutes of shouted dialogue from various parties later, the doors clicked open, and he walked out, the Council were intact, and unharmed but buried in the wall behind the two middle Councillors was an Arrow, planted in a portrait of the last Commandant of the Aerie, an elf who had betrayed them all... As if a reminder as to who, literally, called the shots.
“You want Tyranny, this is how you get Tyranny” he growled to himself. There was a last place he had to visit. And it would hurt..
They were turning him into Featherwing...And every instinct in his bones was telling him to just go back home, to his wife and Children, but he had to see. He had to….see.
It was worse.
It was worse than he had thought.
The Sanitorium. He was stopped by a Nurse, Doctor? Could be either, he looked at him “Sir, you shouldn’t”
“If Anyone should, its me”
The Stink was what reached him first, Putrefying flesh, poisons and potions. He looked across the beds, recognising the faces, before his hand touched his own, dropping his cane with a clatter.
“He was right”
“Everyone else has to burn for me to blaze brighter”
“My Fliers……”
“They’ll recover Sir, but for now they need rest”
“Damn you, I understand that, I’m a doctor but….”
“Sir, they’ve been put under stresses that no reasonable combat would place them under”
“Reasonable combat?”
“It’s a relative term Sir, I mean...you would never have put them under Unreasonable combat”
Brigante frowned to himself “Wouldn’t I?” he muttered.
His Entire unit in sickbeds, being tended, His Entire Unit! and -HE- wasn’t. He realised it then.
He smiled slowly “They were right” he muttered..”Everyone has to burn to make me fly higher”
A Year ago he would have blazed off and sought out a foe, in fire and fury. That would have been crazy. Mad. To somehow justify their fate as his…
Thats what Mikaneth would have wanted.
Part of him wanted that. So much. So So much, to just fly and thunder and rain down fire one last time and die gloriously!
So much death...so much, in Ashenvale, Darkshore, in Tirisfal.
Where would it end? Would it end? Would it -ever- end?
Bleak eyes regarded the elven wreckage laid before him. All his doing. He shook his head, he could pretend Starglow had led, he could let her take the Fall for this, That….would be the easiest thing in the world to do...to just....let someone else take the blame, She even -wanted- it, she’d said so.
He couldn’t. She didn’t bring them here, she didn’t cause this War, nor had he.
His eyes stared forwards, seeing a fire, a tree, his ears heard screams, entreaties for aid.
“We did what we could” he murmured…
“BUTCHER!” “MURDERER!” he heard, his hand involuntarily moving to his temple as if to quiet the voices, to stop up his ears, but instead finding the bandage with clotted blood.
And then part of him remembered watching two tiny children playing with each other in a cot, rolling and laughing.
Which was he? Soldier or Father? Could he be both?
He turned a horrorstruck look to the Sanitorium.
Could he truly be either anymore?
Reminiscence of a moonless night
D-1 before Ashenvale Invasion
« That’s not good. »
The huntress muttered a curse in Thalassian, as she hid next to her goblin colleague. Above the rain kept falling, drop after drop ticking on their head as they spied their prey.
The small clutter of elves huddled on the road, the Sentinels and the man circling the priestess; glowing eyes on the shadows. A worgen too, beast-creature that shouldn’t be able to be so discreet. There was no moonlight, nor stars this time. They were clouded by the rain but she had no doubt that in stories, it would be their actions this night that got the credit.
The evening hadn’t started so badly; they did their job, simply, professionally. Not a civilian’s hair touched, not one unnecessary cruelty. Perhaps the kid would have nightmares for a long time, dark memories of forms leaping from the shadows, of women he knew being downed by daggers and arrows, but you had to be alive to have nightmares, after all. The druid had escaped -curse those shapeshifters- and if it was a problem it wasn’t one they couldn’t deal with. They were, after all, professionals. They could handle a timer, before reinforcement came.
The slumbering druids inside died without a sound. Not one woke to the soft sound step of the Horde’s operatives, not one cried as they died drowning in their own blood.
The huntress kept looking above her shoulder, as if the Barrow Den was to fall on her head, or a corrupted spider emerge from the shadows. She couldn’t understand what elf would want to sleep underground. Which of the stars’ children could want to stay away from the sky they all loved?
How could the ones who claimed kinship with the moons themselves do so?
Dark and deep in the tunnels was the Priestess. Her song was a lament, sorrowful like elven songs often were. None of them ever really stopped mourning.
Perhaps she knew they were coming. Perhaps she had felt the druids die, the same way the huntress had felt the life in them extinct when the daggers pierced their brains.
The blessed of Elune are warrior through and through; the priestess was ready for them. It had been a dire fight, shadows of the tunnels cut through by the silver light she called, the white swirls of her dress and the sword she held. They fought in front of her lover, sounds of pain and clatter of metal braiding in with his calm breathing. Even as she died, blood pouring on the earth and her last gaze on him, he did not wake. Even as the assassins came to him, he did not wake. He never would.
That’s when they arrived, of course, for fate loves to be contrary. They were grouping up again, examining the relic they had come to take when their handler rushed in; time was up, the escaping druid had found reinforcement.
The tunnels of the Barrow Den were now a trap, for the two groups at once. The Horde rogues couldn’t escape without being seen, not while passing at a few feet away from Night Elves; but those same Night Elves didn’t know what was lurking in the shadows inside.
They had hidden, jumping from the dark rooks and corners in ambush when the elves were all the main room. The rest was a confusing following of fights, jumping back, hiding again.
They were a good team, professionals all of them. In the dark tunnels, away from the night sky, they lured the elves and picked prey easily. Not freely, of course. There were wounds, it was night elves after all. But it was going well, and reasonable expectations of succeeding in their missions were held.
That was, until more reinforcements came.
Knowing that someone else had botched the job wasn’t much of a consolation when their failure put their own mission and lives in jeopardy. If the other squad wasn’t dead already, the Blightcaller would have their heads. Perhaps it would occupy him long enough that he would forget her own. Because right now, it looked like the second objective was getting away and they were very badly outnumbered.
She glanced at the other shadowy forms hiding around her; another blood elf, her colleague and comrade; the boat-builder -she remembered that one from before-; two Deathstalkers -good shot that one-; the goblin -she too regretted to not have taken more time to know them better. If they survived that assault, perhaps-; two orcs, at least one Shattered Path -damn she missed Gorefang-.
They had made such a team, the two of them; Gorefang had renounced that life - or at least the part that involved crawling in the dark and cutting throats- but she missed being able to trust her back to him.
Still, it was a good team she was with. It had been long since she could work with other good scoundrels and rogues -not since Gorefang and Sun help her, was it that long ago?- and in a way, she was flattered to have been picked to work with them.
A soft touch on the goblin’s arm, and a glance to the other archer, before scouting among some of the giant roots on the side of the road.
Perhaps they couldn’t take back the Relic, too far, too numerous, but maybe they would be able to at least down some of them; finish the mission, and one elf less to fight tomorrow.
Emerging from the shadows of the wood, the Horde operatives attack.
The rain had finally stopped as the two elves stumbled back to the frontier of the Barrens, adrenaline holding them in one piece for at least one more step. One more bloody step until security and rest, for they left blood in their wake both purple and red.
It was a very sudden fall when they came to the rempart and just let go, sitting down or rather letting themselves crumble to the ground.
The panther turned around them, yellow eyes vigilant when her mistress could no longer be so.
“That… feth, that was something, wasn’t it?” Yasmyr was the first to talk, grey smoke clouding above her head. Narmë isn’t sure how many wounds she got but she can see her wince at her own laughter. ”I think you and I just started a war”
She’s wounded herself. Not as much, she was shooting when her comrade was in the melee, but that giant bear of an elf got her arm with one of his spears -and really who fight with two spears at once?-. “Not sure if it’s an honour or not.” she mumbles tiredly.
“Won’t know that until the end. If enough of the other teams feth up....”
“They'd better not”
“Blightcaller'll have their heads. And the rest of them, back on the front line before their corpses get cold.”
She didn’t answer, her gaze lost on the so traitorously calm forest.
The drums of war beats their rhythm in the south, and she can almost feel the steps of the Horde marching to Ashenvale.
Well, she never had started a war before.
D-1 before Ashenvale Invasion
« That’s not good. »
The huntress muttered a curse in Thalassian, as she hid next to her goblin colleague. Above the rain kept falling, drop after drop ticking on their head as they spied their prey.
The small clutter of elves huddled on the road, the Sentinels and the man circling the priestess; glowing eyes on the shadows. A worgen too, beast-creature that shouldn’t be able to be so discreet. There was no moonlight, nor stars this time. They were clouded by the rain but she had no doubt that in stories, it would be their actions this night that got the credit.
The evening hadn’t started so badly; they did their job, simply, professionally. Not a civilian’s hair touched, not one unnecessary cruelty. Perhaps the kid would have nightmares for a long time, dark memories of forms leaping from the shadows, of women he knew being downed by daggers and arrows, but you had to be alive to have nightmares, after all. The druid had escaped -curse those shapeshifters- and if it was a problem it wasn’t one they couldn’t deal with. They were, after all, professionals. They could handle a timer, before reinforcement came.
The slumbering druids inside died without a sound. Not one woke to the soft sound step of the Horde’s operatives, not one cried as they died drowning in their own blood.
The huntress kept looking above her shoulder, as if the Barrow Den was to fall on her head, or a corrupted spider emerge from the shadows. She couldn’t understand what elf would want to sleep underground. Which of the stars’ children could want to stay away from the sky they all loved?
How could the ones who claimed kinship with the moons themselves do so?
Dark and deep in the tunnels was the Priestess. Her song was a lament, sorrowful like elven songs often were. None of them ever really stopped mourning.
Perhaps she knew they were coming. Perhaps she had felt the druids die, the same way the huntress had felt the life in them extinct when the daggers pierced their brains.
The blessed of Elune are warrior through and through; the priestess was ready for them. It had been a dire fight, shadows of the tunnels cut through by the silver light she called, the white swirls of her dress and the sword she held. They fought in front of her lover, sounds of pain and clatter of metal braiding in with his calm breathing. Even as she died, blood pouring on the earth and her last gaze on him, he did not wake. Even as the assassins came to him, he did not wake. He never would.
That’s when they arrived, of course, for fate loves to be contrary. They were grouping up again, examining the relic they had come to take when their handler rushed in; time was up, the escaping druid had found reinforcement.
The tunnels of the Barrow Den were now a trap, for the two groups at once. The Horde rogues couldn’t escape without being seen, not while passing at a few feet away from Night Elves; but those same Night Elves didn’t know what was lurking in the shadows inside.
They had hidden, jumping from the dark rooks and corners in ambush when the elves were all the main room. The rest was a confusing following of fights, jumping back, hiding again.
They were a good team, professionals all of them. In the dark tunnels, away from the night sky, they lured the elves and picked prey easily. Not freely, of course. There were wounds, it was night elves after all. But it was going well, and reasonable expectations of succeeding in their missions were held.
That was, until more reinforcements came.
Knowing that someone else had botched the job wasn’t much of a consolation when their failure put their own mission and lives in jeopardy. If the other squad wasn’t dead already, the Blightcaller would have their heads. Perhaps it would occupy him long enough that he would forget her own. Because right now, it looked like the second objective was getting away and they were very badly outnumbered.
She glanced at the other shadowy forms hiding around her; another blood elf, her colleague and comrade; the boat-builder -she remembered that one from before-; two Deathstalkers -good shot that one-; the goblin -she too regretted to not have taken more time to know them better. If they survived that assault, perhaps-; two orcs, at least one Shattered Path -damn she missed Gorefang-.
They had made such a team, the two of them; Gorefang had renounced that life - or at least the part that involved crawling in the dark and cutting throats- but she missed being able to trust her back to him.
Still, it was a good team she was with. It had been long since she could work with other good scoundrels and rogues -not since Gorefang and Sun help her, was it that long ago?- and in a way, she was flattered to have been picked to work with them.
A soft touch on the goblin’s arm, and a glance to the other archer, before scouting among some of the giant roots on the side of the road.
Perhaps they couldn’t take back the Relic, too far, too numerous, but maybe they would be able to at least down some of them; finish the mission, and one elf less to fight tomorrow.
Emerging from the shadows of the wood, the Horde operatives attack.
The rain had finally stopped as the two elves stumbled back to the frontier of the Barrens, adrenaline holding them in one piece for at least one more step. One more bloody step until security and rest, for they left blood in their wake both purple and red.
It was a very sudden fall when they came to the rempart and just let go, sitting down or rather letting themselves crumble to the ground.
The panther turned around them, yellow eyes vigilant when her mistress could no longer be so.
“That… feth, that was something, wasn’t it?” Yasmyr was the first to talk, grey smoke clouding above her head. Narmë isn’t sure how many wounds she got but she can see her wince at her own laughter. ”I think you and I just started a war”
She’s wounded herself. Not as much, she was shooting when her comrade was in the melee, but that giant bear of an elf got her arm with one of his spears -and really who fight with two spears at once?-. “Not sure if it’s an honour or not.” she mumbles tiredly.
“Won’t know that until the end. If enough of the other teams feth up....”
“They'd better not”
“Blightcaller'll have their heads. And the rest of them, back on the front line before their corpses get cold.”
She didn’t answer, her gaze lost on the so traitorously calm forest.
The drums of war beats their rhythm in the south, and she can almost feel the steps of the Horde marching to Ashenvale.
Well, she never had started a war before.
The two Elves watched him approach, the cane clacking on the ground. Tiny, so small, both of them towered over him, and yet within him crackled power. Not Magical power, not that, nor physical might, but the sort of mad intensity that could when need be, drive a fist through a wall and not care if it broke. You could shoot him, stab him, but you would never turn your back, until you were damned sure he had stopped moving. Oh no, you could never turn your back on Summerisle, even accomplished murderers like these two. If he hadn’t stopped moving, and you turned your back, you could be sure you soon would. Something ‘Wasn’t right’ with that boy, but then, something wasn’t right about either of them either...
He raised his head, and huffed out a breath, looking at what were rumoured two be Two of the Three most Dangerous Elves in the Aerie. He held a slight small resentment that he was not one of the three. He adjusted the bandage on his head. “Chief Bhalneath?” He addressed the swarthy Elf, prison tattoos adorning his naked torso, barely covered by the leather duster, a steel rod with a golden inlaid Imps head on it in his hand. Weapon and status symbol. Ten miles of bad road. You’d cross the streets to avoid him, and Centuries ago you should have, Four hundred years for Mass murder. They said Mass, it was three people, and the last two hundred he’d served at the Armouries. His sentence now up, a free elf, he regarded his sentence as served, but not his service. Sworn to the Elf who had taken a chance. Petitioned to the authorities “I can use this Elf”. Thats how Summerisle got you. “I can use them”.
Forenth nodded, ancient, craggy faced, his hair more salt than pepper these days, short cut. A soldier of milennia, who had remembered Anasterian’s coronation, served the Aerie for centuries, before a cocky young Flier had been given into his care. A Scrap of a thing, but like a terrier, a tiny dog that you knew would take on the world, or anything it was put in the ring with. Even now, both of them so much older, he saw the same. “You owe me an apology boy” he growled. His hulking form clad in dark leathers, the only bright thing a cleanly polished military bugle at his hip. He looked sternly at Summerisle.
“I am sorry Forenth. I needed to make sure everyone made it home, and...you have great, great grandchildren who would have missed you, plus, Miss ‘“Chewing a wasp’”
Forenth snorted. “Anyone else boy, anyone else, would be picking up their teeth by now”
“You know me, I push my luck”
Forenth briefly looked at him with a paternal gaze, rather than as a Handler and nodded slowly “Aye...you always do, Boy”. He looked over the scarred face and bandages, his brow furrowed.
“Was it hard boy?”
Brigante swallowed and nodded slowly.
“The Hardest.”
Forenth nodded and clapped a hand on his shoulder “Then one day we will talk, and you will tell me”.
“Now if you don’t mind, assuming there wasn’t a pressing need, I need to go and see my wife and children” Brigante muttered.
Forenth shook his head “One thing before you do Boy” Bhalneath looked at Forenth who just nodded, and handed over a parchment to Summerisle.
Brigante read it, and slowly hissed.
Forenth remembered that later. He would have preferred an explosion of anger, but ‘His Boy’ had just hissed...as if he had expected it.
The eyes that looked up at them both blazed with anger, then faded, and his voice was calm as he spoke.
“Gentlemen, you are both off duty for twelve hours, enjoy your time off”
Forenth looked at Brigante’s eyes and kept a hand on his shoulder, he had not meant to lay this upon him so soon before having to be the doting husband and father he knew ‘His Boy’ wanted to be.
Needed to be.
Brigante just span, and something of that gentle man was gone, as if a darkness surrounded him, His face flashed forwards, and he growled, a dark and terrible sound that came from no elven throat... and there it was again, the fire, the burning behind the eyes. Had they done a terrible thing? How would he handle his children, his wife, with such fury. And then Forenth realised with a horrible smile, It wasn’t fury. It was Sunspear. Someone had put the hurt on him, and he would put the hurt on others..All the Fliers were like this, The Hawk took part of you into them, and you….
You took part of the Hawk into you.
“Find them” Brigante/Sunspear growled.
The door clicked closed.
Chief Bhalneath rolled his shoulders. “You Ready Old Man?”
Forenth tapped his two sheathes, where daggers rested, before looking back. “Reckon so”
“Twelve hours?”
“He Underestimates us”
Bhalneath looked at Forenth “Do you actually think it will hurt him, I mean its not true, right?”
Forenth blinked “Everything hurts him. But I know my Boy. None of it is true” He grunted “Maybe some of it, but the worst of it?”
“Not one damn word”.
He hurled the paper to the floor and looked at the Ex-convict to his side. “Twelve hours. Shall we?”
The two murderers stride down the hall, whilst the paper lay behind them…
“Be it known, that in the recent Conflict the War Criminal Brigante Summerisle did undertake or command the following actions, deemed inexcusable by all right thinking folk.
1.The Usage of Mana Weaponry, upon civilian populace.
2.The Use of Torture upon captured Alliance Prisoners of War
3.The Destruction of Moonwells
4.Endorsement of the Execution of Alliance Prisoners of War
5.Murder of Alliance Civilians in Ashenvale.
6.Personal involvement in the Execution of Alliance Prisoners of War
7.Undertaking Military operations with Mana weaponry to Destroy the entity known as Teldrassil.
8.Mass Murder due to said destruction of Teldrassil as a result of his Mana Bombing.
9. The Collection of Kaldorei children for sale as slaves to impartial markets or the Horde.
10. Genocide as a result of his actions over Teldrassil.
11. Issuing Thalassian Fliers with the orders to drop Blight and Mana Weaponry over Alliance forces in Lordaeron.
12.Issuing Thalassian Fliers with the orders to drop Blight upon Thalassian forces within Lordaeron.
His Co-defendant, Yasmyr Starglow is charged with;
1.The Usage of Mana Weaponry, upon civilian populace.
2.The Use of Torture upon captured Alliance Prisoners of War
3.The Destruction of Moonwells
4.Endorsement of the Execution of Alliance Prisoners of War
5.Murder of Alliance Civilians in Ashenvale.
6.Personal involvement in the Execution of Alliance Prisoners of War
7.Undertaking Military operations with Mana weaponry to Destroy the entity known as Teldrassil.
8.Mass Murder due to said destruction of Teldrassil as a result of his Mana Bombing.
9. The Collection of Kaldorei children for sale as slaves to impartial markets or the Horde.
10. Genocide as a result of his actions over Teldrassil.
11. Issuing Thalassian Fliers with the orders to drop Blight and Mana Weaponry over Alliance forces in Lordaeron.
12.Issuing Thalassian Fliers with the orders to drop Blight upon Thalassian forces within Lordaeron..
All right thinking citizens should push for an arraignment and Imprisonment of these Officers who have clearly exceeded their Remit”
He raised his head, and huffed out a breath, looking at what were rumoured two be Two of the Three most Dangerous Elves in the Aerie. He held a slight small resentment that he was not one of the three. He adjusted the bandage on his head. “Chief Bhalneath?” He addressed the swarthy Elf, prison tattoos adorning his naked torso, barely covered by the leather duster, a steel rod with a golden inlaid Imps head on it in his hand. Weapon and status symbol. Ten miles of bad road. You’d cross the streets to avoid him, and Centuries ago you should have, Four hundred years for Mass murder. They said Mass, it was three people, and the last two hundred he’d served at the Armouries. His sentence now up, a free elf, he regarded his sentence as served, but not his service. Sworn to the Elf who had taken a chance. Petitioned to the authorities “I can use this Elf”. Thats how Summerisle got you. “I can use them”.
Forenth nodded, ancient, craggy faced, his hair more salt than pepper these days, short cut. A soldier of milennia, who had remembered Anasterian’s coronation, served the Aerie for centuries, before a cocky young Flier had been given into his care. A Scrap of a thing, but like a terrier, a tiny dog that you knew would take on the world, or anything it was put in the ring with. Even now, both of them so much older, he saw the same. “You owe me an apology boy” he growled. His hulking form clad in dark leathers, the only bright thing a cleanly polished military bugle at his hip. He looked sternly at Summerisle.
“I am sorry Forenth. I needed to make sure everyone made it home, and...you have great, great grandchildren who would have missed you, plus, Miss ‘“Chewing a wasp’”
Forenth snorted. “Anyone else boy, anyone else, would be picking up their teeth by now”
“You know me, I push my luck”
Forenth briefly looked at him with a paternal gaze, rather than as a Handler and nodded slowly “Aye...you always do, Boy”. He looked over the scarred face and bandages, his brow furrowed.
“Was it hard boy?”
Brigante swallowed and nodded slowly.
“The Hardest.”
Forenth nodded and clapped a hand on his shoulder “Then one day we will talk, and you will tell me”.
“Now if you don’t mind, assuming there wasn’t a pressing need, I need to go and see my wife and children” Brigante muttered.
Forenth shook his head “One thing before you do Boy” Bhalneath looked at Forenth who just nodded, and handed over a parchment to Summerisle.
Brigante read it, and slowly hissed.
Forenth remembered that later. He would have preferred an explosion of anger, but ‘His Boy’ had just hissed...as if he had expected it.
The eyes that looked up at them both blazed with anger, then faded, and his voice was calm as he spoke.
“Gentlemen, you are both off duty for twelve hours, enjoy your time off”
Forenth looked at Brigante’s eyes and kept a hand on his shoulder, he had not meant to lay this upon him so soon before having to be the doting husband and father he knew ‘His Boy’ wanted to be.
Needed to be.
Brigante just span, and something of that gentle man was gone, as if a darkness surrounded him, His face flashed forwards, and he growled, a dark and terrible sound that came from no elven throat... and there it was again, the fire, the burning behind the eyes. Had they done a terrible thing? How would he handle his children, his wife, with such fury. And then Forenth realised with a horrible smile, It wasn’t fury. It was Sunspear. Someone had put the hurt on him, and he would put the hurt on others..All the Fliers were like this, The Hawk took part of you into them, and you….
You took part of the Hawk into you.
“Find them” Brigante/Sunspear growled.
The door clicked closed.
Chief Bhalneath rolled his shoulders. “You Ready Old Man?”
Forenth tapped his two sheathes, where daggers rested, before looking back. “Reckon so”
“Twelve hours?”
“He Underestimates us”
Bhalneath looked at Forenth “Do you actually think it will hurt him, I mean its not true, right?”
Forenth blinked “Everything hurts him. But I know my Boy. None of it is true” He grunted “Maybe some of it, but the worst of it?”
“Not one damn word”.
He hurled the paper to the floor and looked at the Ex-convict to his side. “Twelve hours. Shall we?”
The two murderers stride down the hall, whilst the paper lay behind them…
“Be it known, that in the recent Conflict the War Criminal Brigante Summerisle did undertake or command the following actions, deemed inexcusable by all right thinking folk.
1.The Usage of Mana Weaponry, upon civilian populace.
2.The Use of Torture upon captured Alliance Prisoners of War
3.The Destruction of Moonwells
4.Endorsement of the Execution of Alliance Prisoners of War
5.Murder of Alliance Civilians in Ashenvale.
6.Personal involvement in the Execution of Alliance Prisoners of War
7.Undertaking Military operations with Mana weaponry to Destroy the entity known as Teldrassil.
8.Mass Murder due to said destruction of Teldrassil as a result of his Mana Bombing.
9. The Collection of Kaldorei children for sale as slaves to impartial markets or the Horde.
10. Genocide as a result of his actions over Teldrassil.
11. Issuing Thalassian Fliers with the orders to drop Blight and Mana Weaponry over Alliance forces in Lordaeron.
12.Issuing Thalassian Fliers with the orders to drop Blight upon Thalassian forces within Lordaeron.
His Co-defendant, Yasmyr Starglow is charged with;
1.The Usage of Mana Weaponry, upon civilian populace.
2.The Use of Torture upon captured Alliance Prisoners of War
3.The Destruction of Moonwells
4.Endorsement of the Execution of Alliance Prisoners of War
5.Murder of Alliance Civilians in Ashenvale.
6.Personal involvement in the Execution of Alliance Prisoners of War
7.Undertaking Military operations with Mana weaponry to Destroy the entity known as Teldrassil.
8.Mass Murder due to said destruction of Teldrassil as a result of his Mana Bombing.
9. The Collection of Kaldorei children for sale as slaves to impartial markets or the Horde.
10. Genocide as a result of his actions over Teldrassil.
11. Issuing Thalassian Fliers with the orders to drop Blight and Mana Weaponry over Alliance forces in Lordaeron.
12.Issuing Thalassian Fliers with the orders to drop Blight upon Thalassian forces within Lordaeron..
All right thinking citizens should push for an arraignment and Imprisonment of these Officers who have clearly exceeded their Remit”
The document was conspicuously not signed, It was however, a set of copies.
Copies that had started to appear around town.
In a Murder Row Tavern Forenth looked over at Bhalneath “We’ve got a contender” The Elf had been shooting their mouth off to another Elf and a Troll, A Satchel full of scrolls over their shoulder. “And what do our leaders do? Mana Bomb a City!”
The Troll nodded “Ai gat no care for de Kaldorei, but dat be Excessive, Yah know?, for sure” The Elf had looked sickened “Our Military did that?”
Forenth held up two fingers as the agitator moved to the tavern Latrines. Before following him.
He took up place at the side of the Elf, urinating into the same trough “That truth, what I heard?” Thats sick”
The young elf looked surprised “Its all true, its written down, they did it” Forenth nodded, as he finished his ablutions “You believe it? For real?”
The young elf hovered, as if they were only just questioning it themselves, before he scowled. “Read it yourself!” and held out a scroll that Forenth took. He continued “Everyone knows our Fliers are Swiving Savages, Look what they did to Teldrassil, why wouldn’t they blight Undercity? They’re animals! They used Mana Bombs on Children!”
Forenth nodded calmly “You help me with this bit boy, my eyes aren’t what they were”. He pointed “Whats that word?”
The younger elf nodded, leant close and uttered “Atrocity”
Forenth sighed and nodded. “Atrocity”, Then grabbed the nape of the boys neck and slammed it into the wall, not stopping with the spray of blood from the broken nose, but carrying on slamming and slamming, until the younger elf had stopped moving, before positioning them on a latrine seat and closing the door.
At just that point, Chief Bhalneath has entered and held up a finger for silence, then held up three fingers.
Forenth rolled his eyes, nodded, and drew his two daggers.
“They’ll be muscle, We don’t need them…. Just him”
Bhalneath sighed “Committing three murders got me sent to gaol for four hundred years, and I had better reason then.”
“Well if you’re squeamish Chief, leave it to the old man...Besides...We’re protected by the state”
Bhalneath frowned “Are we really though?”
Forenth frowned and flourished his daggers, as Chief Bhalneath did with his sceptre-mace as the doors were kicked in and three hefty elves moved in with clubs.
“Lets find out lad”.
What followed was a horrible symphony of wet sounding slices, and the cracks of bone..
Forenth nodded “now grab that one, and get him back, swive these guys, I’ll square that”
Bhalneath laughed “How will you square that?”
“How do you think you ended doing your final two centuries at the Armouries and not in a cell going crazy looking at the walls?”
“The Commandant?”
Forenth snorted , rubbed his fingers together as if gesturing about money. “Where do you think -he- gets his ideas from?”
Even Forenth knew that was not true, and that sometimes scared him, the ideas came from some primeval source, as if His Boy -was- an actual Dragonhawk. He tried not to think about that so much. His Boy was becoming more and more Sunspear by the day, but how did you address that? It happened to all the Fliers, they became used to being the apex predator and when anything challenged that...well, what did an apex predator do?
Two minutes later, as Bhalneath was dragging an unconscious elf from the tavern Forenth was pointing to two sets of coins in front of the tavern owner.
“Right, this is simple. This is the amount of coins that means that you will be tempted to tell people what happened here, there will be a lot of awkwardness, and myself and my friend may be incarcerated for a while, I can also guarantee you that no Farstrider will ever drink here again, for fear of a beating. That won’t concern you, you will likely be a statistic at that point, but whoever takes over this bar, will probably curse your name, They will eventually find pieces of your body Not your head though. They learned a lot from the Amani. They’ll never find your head..”
“Alternatively”
“This is the amount of money you get now, and stay quiet. It was some Rowdies, and what happened happened. You keep your bar, I keep my liberty, and you still get your clientele. You also keep your life. In case there was any element of doubt, Yes, that was a threat that you will die if you refuse. I don’t think there is a polite way of putting that, but yes, You sell me out, You are...well, don’t start reading any long books. I mean a Pamphlet would probably be too long. If I look scary, you have no idea...You ever seen an Elf with the eyes of a Predatory Animal?
I have, and he’ll come for you. They all will”
“Want to go up against all that?”
“No? Then thats the pile of coins you take” Forenth smiled and nodded, his grizzled face creasing a smile.
The Tavern owner took the ‘right’ set of coins. Forenth pocketed the rest and tapped the tavern owners cheeks “now who’s a clever boy”, before his friendly demeanour shifted to a savage growl “Even think of betraying me and I am the -least- scary thing that will come for you”
Chief Bhalneath dragged the unconscious elf out by his hair as Forenth spat “Now, lets get some answers”.
Copies that had started to appear around town.
In a Murder Row Tavern Forenth looked over at Bhalneath “We’ve got a contender” The Elf had been shooting their mouth off to another Elf and a Troll, A Satchel full of scrolls over their shoulder. “And what do our leaders do? Mana Bomb a City!”
The Troll nodded “Ai gat no care for de Kaldorei, but dat be Excessive, Yah know?, for sure” The Elf had looked sickened “Our Military did that?”
Forenth held up two fingers as the agitator moved to the tavern Latrines. Before following him.
He took up place at the side of the Elf, urinating into the same trough “That truth, what I heard?” Thats sick”
The young elf looked surprised “Its all true, its written down, they did it” Forenth nodded, as he finished his ablutions “You believe it? For real?”
The young elf hovered, as if they were only just questioning it themselves, before he scowled. “Read it yourself!” and held out a scroll that Forenth took. He continued “Everyone knows our Fliers are Swiving Savages, Look what they did to Teldrassil, why wouldn’t they blight Undercity? They’re animals! They used Mana Bombs on Children!”
Forenth nodded calmly “You help me with this bit boy, my eyes aren’t what they were”. He pointed “Whats that word?”
The younger elf nodded, leant close and uttered “Atrocity”
Forenth sighed and nodded. “Atrocity”, Then grabbed the nape of the boys neck and slammed it into the wall, not stopping with the spray of blood from the broken nose, but carrying on slamming and slamming, until the younger elf had stopped moving, before positioning them on a latrine seat and closing the door.
At just that point, Chief Bhalneath has entered and held up a finger for silence, then held up three fingers.
Forenth rolled his eyes, nodded, and drew his two daggers.
“They’ll be muscle, We don’t need them…. Just him”
Bhalneath sighed “Committing three murders got me sent to gaol for four hundred years, and I had better reason then.”
“Well if you’re squeamish Chief, leave it to the old man...Besides...We’re protected by the state”
Bhalneath frowned “Are we really though?”
Forenth frowned and flourished his daggers, as Chief Bhalneath did with his sceptre-mace as the doors were kicked in and three hefty elves moved in with clubs.
“Lets find out lad”.
What followed was a horrible symphony of wet sounding slices, and the cracks of bone..
Forenth nodded “now grab that one, and get him back, swive these guys, I’ll square that”
Bhalneath laughed “How will you square that?”
“How do you think you ended doing your final two centuries at the Armouries and not in a cell going crazy looking at the walls?”
“The Commandant?”
Forenth snorted , rubbed his fingers together as if gesturing about money. “Where do you think -he- gets his ideas from?”
Even Forenth knew that was not true, and that sometimes scared him, the ideas came from some primeval source, as if His Boy -was- an actual Dragonhawk. He tried not to think about that so much. His Boy was becoming more and more Sunspear by the day, but how did you address that? It happened to all the Fliers, they became used to being the apex predator and when anything challenged that...well, what did an apex predator do?
Two minutes later, as Bhalneath was dragging an unconscious elf from the tavern Forenth was pointing to two sets of coins in front of the tavern owner.
“Right, this is simple. This is the amount of coins that means that you will be tempted to tell people what happened here, there will be a lot of awkwardness, and myself and my friend may be incarcerated for a while, I can also guarantee you that no Farstrider will ever drink here again, for fear of a beating. That won’t concern you, you will likely be a statistic at that point, but whoever takes over this bar, will probably curse your name, They will eventually find pieces of your body Not your head though. They learned a lot from the Amani. They’ll never find your head..”
“Alternatively”
“This is the amount of money you get now, and stay quiet. It was some Rowdies, and what happened happened. You keep your bar, I keep my liberty, and you still get your clientele. You also keep your life. In case there was any element of doubt, Yes, that was a threat that you will die if you refuse. I don’t think there is a polite way of putting that, but yes, You sell me out, You are...well, don’t start reading any long books. I mean a Pamphlet would probably be too long. If I look scary, you have no idea...You ever seen an Elf with the eyes of a Predatory Animal?
I have, and he’ll come for you. They all will”
“Want to go up against all that?”
“No? Then thats the pile of coins you take” Forenth smiled and nodded, his grizzled face creasing a smile.
The Tavern owner took the ‘right’ set of coins. Forenth pocketed the rest and tapped the tavern owners cheeks “now who’s a clever boy”, before his friendly demeanour shifted to a savage growl “Even think of betraying me and I am the -least- scary thing that will come for you”
Chief Bhalneath dragged the unconscious elf out by his hair as Forenth spat “Now, lets get some answers”.
The Two Elves stayed to darkened corners as guards and Guardians walked past, the latter, their strident voices calling “Happiness is Mandatory”.
Chielf Bhalneath smiled wickedly at the elf being dragged “Stay Happy”.
“You’re enjoying this too much” Forenth growled.
“Tell me you don’t, tell me part of you became a soldier and not a villain for only one reason” Bhalneath hissed
Forenth glared at the streets before beckoning them forwards. Bhalneath dragging the terrified elf, who half wanted to shout, but knew they would never come in time, the murderous ex-convict and grizzled old man would kill him before….Hells why had he taken this job.
“Need him out of sight” Forenth muttered. “And quiet”
A series of thuds assured the latter, as he rapped on the door, hurriedly licking his knuckles to clean them, as a bleary eyed woman opened the door.
“I’d deeply sorry Madame Dawnfire, but as you know, there is a War on, I normally would not call so late, I never have before, but I need one of the carcass bags for the Aerie, the Dragonhawks are...well, I won’t lie, It has all gone to hell since this started, pardon my language, but they need feeding, we’ve a dead Lynx, I need a bag the right size and a signature.” He smiled, Forenth could be charming when he wanted to be.
“Just the one?” She asked.
“Yes Indeed Ma’am, just the one, sorry to trouble you so late at night, wouldn’t do it if there wasn’t a War on”
Forenth took the bag and smiled winsomely as the door closed, before tossing it around the corner
“Bag him”.
Two Labourers carried a meat carcass through the Shepherd’s gate. Forenth a regular sight, they barely even checked identification, and why would they.
“You never answered me” Bhalneath said, as they loaded the bag onto the ferry amidst many others labelled as ‘Carcass material for Dragonhawk feeding’. They sat on the deck as it started off.
“Why I never became a Villain?” Forenth rasped, starting up a cigar..
Chief Bhalneath shook his head “I know the answer to that already”.
“Oh You know me now? You know why I was a Soldier and never a Villain, an hour of wetwork gave you that insight did it?” Forenth snorted and puffed on his cigar and shook his head. Chief Bhalneath smiled and laid his sceptre over his shoulder.relaxing his body in the moonlight, his prison tattoos standing out all the bolder. “You’ll ask me”
Forenth laughed “I won’t”
They were sure to unload that carcass bag first, it had started to twitch a little, but Chief Bhalneanth put paid to that. They were both Aerie Staff, so no one looked askance as they entered, though they might have, had they known the contents of the burlap sack.
It wasn’t torture. That was important. Chief Bhalneath had even smirked “I know exactly the point when you’ll ask”
Forenth snorted “No, you don’t boy.”
“Forenth...I know murderers, I -am- one remember, and you’re not one...and I think I know why.”
The sack was placed in the chair, the hood pulled down.
A Polite knocking on a door, an answer.
They both watched. This was torture, but...it wasn’t..
It was...what -was- it?
Forenth shook his head, “I can’t watch”
Bhalneath replied “He Hasn’t laid a hand on him”
Forenth Snarled “Go On then, Why did I become a soldier and not a Villain then eh? Some profound vision that I would be good at it?”
Bhalneath pointed to the next room. “Forenth! Its not that you would be good at it...its that you could…-Enjoy- it…!”
In that room a terrified elf shuddered and quivered as another elf did nothing more than look at them and judge. Slowly craning his head, with eyes that looked both vital and a thousand years dead at the same time, .
“Like he is!” Bhalneath exclaimed.
Chielf Bhalneath smiled wickedly at the elf being dragged “Stay Happy”.
“You’re enjoying this too much” Forenth growled.
“Tell me you don’t, tell me part of you became a soldier and not a villain for only one reason” Bhalneath hissed
Forenth glared at the streets before beckoning them forwards. Bhalneath dragging the terrified elf, who half wanted to shout, but knew they would never come in time, the murderous ex-convict and grizzled old man would kill him before….Hells why had he taken this job.
“Need him out of sight” Forenth muttered. “And quiet”
A series of thuds assured the latter, as he rapped on the door, hurriedly licking his knuckles to clean them, as a bleary eyed woman opened the door.
“I’d deeply sorry Madame Dawnfire, but as you know, there is a War on, I normally would not call so late, I never have before, but I need one of the carcass bags for the Aerie, the Dragonhawks are...well, I won’t lie, It has all gone to hell since this started, pardon my language, but they need feeding, we’ve a dead Lynx, I need a bag the right size and a signature.” He smiled, Forenth could be charming when he wanted to be.
“Just the one?” She asked.
“Yes Indeed Ma’am, just the one, sorry to trouble you so late at night, wouldn’t do it if there wasn’t a War on”
Forenth took the bag and smiled winsomely as the door closed, before tossing it around the corner
“Bag him”.
Two Labourers carried a meat carcass through the Shepherd’s gate. Forenth a regular sight, they barely even checked identification, and why would they.
“You never answered me” Bhalneath said, as they loaded the bag onto the ferry amidst many others labelled as ‘Carcass material for Dragonhawk feeding’. They sat on the deck as it started off.
“Why I never became a Villain?” Forenth rasped, starting up a cigar..
Chief Bhalneath shook his head “I know the answer to that already”.
“Oh You know me now? You know why I was a Soldier and never a Villain, an hour of wetwork gave you that insight did it?” Forenth snorted and puffed on his cigar and shook his head. Chief Bhalneath smiled and laid his sceptre over his shoulder.relaxing his body in the moonlight, his prison tattoos standing out all the bolder. “You’ll ask me”
Forenth laughed “I won’t”
They were sure to unload that carcass bag first, it had started to twitch a little, but Chief Bhalneanth put paid to that. They were both Aerie Staff, so no one looked askance as they entered, though they might have, had they known the contents of the burlap sack.
It wasn’t torture. That was important. Chief Bhalneath had even smirked “I know exactly the point when you’ll ask”
Forenth snorted “No, you don’t boy.”
“Forenth...I know murderers, I -am- one remember, and you’re not one...and I think I know why.”
The sack was placed in the chair, the hood pulled down.
A Polite knocking on a door, an answer.
They both watched. This was torture, but...it wasn’t..
It was...what -was- it?
Forenth shook his head, “I can’t watch”
Bhalneath replied “He Hasn’t laid a hand on him”
Forenth Snarled “Go On then, Why did I become a soldier and not a Villain then eh? Some profound vision that I would be good at it?”
Bhalneath pointed to the next room. “Forenth! Its not that you would be good at it...its that you could…-Enjoy- it…!”
In that room a terrified elf shuddered and quivered as another elf did nothing more than look at them and judge. Slowly craning his head, with eyes that looked both vital and a thousand years dead at the same time, .
“Like he is!” Bhalneath exclaimed.
Brigante smiled behind dead eyes, teeth bared in a smile, ‘Fliers Eyes’ fixed on his prey who could only wriggle and twist in their seat “You have my promise I will not torture you”, the mention of the word made the elf recoil back as far as he could “Just tell me, Where is the Rainmaker?”
A piece of parchment was held up “Where did these lies come from?”
The Elf just juddered back.
Forenth growled again “I cannot let him abandon his principles, he may hate me, but should not hate himself!
“Wait!...Forenth...wait...you need to…” Forenth turned around with a snarl and stormed over to Bhalneath, and the two elves, grizzled veteran soldier and tattooed ex-convict faced off. Bhalneath spoke first. “I’m getting something. For you to read, and then you do not go in there and kill that boy, I mean the one we abducted, not your boy.”
Forenth wrinkled his nose “You have no power to make such a demand, but I’m listening Chief.”
Bhalneath shook his head slowly. “Forenth...I’m not going to read it out to you. We’d fight. In a square fight, It’d be fair, If I read it to you, you’d win. I’d have at least one hand occupied holding it”
Forenth glowered, and thousands of years of war burned behind his eyes before he asked “Has my Boy read it?”
Forenth pinched his nose “Who bloody knows, all I know, give it two, three years, his children will.
Bhalneath sighed and handed the piece of paper over.
Upon one summer evening, to a place I did stray
Desolation and Destruction there, wrought by hand stained so Bold
Flying proud with banners, fluttering so Gay
Nothing like the horrors, brought by them in Red and Gold
A tree it burned, a city fell, children died, all in an ashen grave
And above them all, the Red Death Flew, encouraging them to slaughter
So they say, they Inherit the Skies, only those who are Brave!
But on that day I saw the death of many a son and daughter
So Hide away your children, keep son and daughter still
And Hide away those young ones, even those most newly born.
For if the Red Death does not take them, Starglow surely will
And if those two do not take them, they will surely fall to Reddawn
So let this tale hold resonance, let it all sound decry
Let it tell a story that all will in children instill
That when the Sunhawks take flight to hunt and fly
Their aim is naught to Hunt and Kill.
So Let is be known, no villain worse than Summerisle,
Do not be fooled by fair talk
Starglow is by far no less vile
Nor any who calls themself Sun Hawk.
Bhalneath shook his head “I know what you’re going to ask. No, none of the Sun Hawks have seen it” He frowned. “Not that I know of”.
Forenth nodded slowly “They never need to. We get my Boy out of there right now”
Bhalneath nodded slowly “I know why”
“You reckon so?” Forenth grunted.
Chief Bhalneath cracked his knuckles and took the mace from his shoulder.
“We both know why.He’ll kill without mercy in the skies, but down here? He relies on us.”
The Two Elves moved towards the door.
Brigante looked up. Forenth just smiled. “Past your bedtime Boy”
Chief Bhalneath piped up “To be fair, your wife will punch you if you don’t go home soon, The Twins are driving her crazy, well, crazier than she is anyway…”
It was a -considered- look that Brigante gave them both as he left, them both moving aside respectfully.
Bhalneath spoke first “Does he Kn-”
Forenth snapped “Of course he does.
Chief Bhalneath smiled, and rapped the sceptre across the table.
“Right! Lets start this properly….”
A piece of parchment was held up “Where did these lies come from?”
The Elf just juddered back.
Forenth growled again “I cannot let him abandon his principles, he may hate me, but should not hate himself!
“Wait!...Forenth...wait...you need to…” Forenth turned around with a snarl and stormed over to Bhalneath, and the two elves, grizzled veteran soldier and tattooed ex-convict faced off. Bhalneath spoke first. “I’m getting something. For you to read, and then you do not go in there and kill that boy, I mean the one we abducted, not your boy.”
Forenth wrinkled his nose “You have no power to make such a demand, but I’m listening Chief.”
Bhalneath shook his head slowly. “Forenth...I’m not going to read it out to you. We’d fight. In a square fight, It’d be fair, If I read it to you, you’d win. I’d have at least one hand occupied holding it”
Forenth glowered, and thousands of years of war burned behind his eyes before he asked “Has my Boy read it?”
Forenth pinched his nose “Who bloody knows, all I know, give it two, three years, his children will.
Bhalneath sighed and handed the piece of paper over.
Upon one summer evening, to a place I did stray
Desolation and Destruction there, wrought by hand stained so Bold
Flying proud with banners, fluttering so Gay
Nothing like the horrors, brought by them in Red and Gold
A tree it burned, a city fell, children died, all in an ashen grave
And above them all, the Red Death Flew, encouraging them to slaughter
So they say, they Inherit the Skies, only those who are Brave!
But on that day I saw the death of many a son and daughter
So Hide away your children, keep son and daughter still
And Hide away those young ones, even those most newly born.
For if the Red Death does not take them, Starglow surely will
And if those two do not take them, they will surely fall to Reddawn
So let this tale hold resonance, let it all sound decry
Let it tell a story that all will in children instill
That when the Sunhawks take flight to hunt and fly
Their aim is naught to Hunt and Kill.
So Let is be known, no villain worse than Summerisle,
Do not be fooled by fair talk
Starglow is by far no less vile
Nor any who calls themself Sun Hawk.
Bhalneath shook his head “I know what you’re going to ask. No, none of the Sun Hawks have seen it” He frowned. “Not that I know of”.
Forenth nodded slowly “They never need to. We get my Boy out of there right now”
Bhalneath nodded slowly “I know why”
“You reckon so?” Forenth grunted.
Chief Bhalneath cracked his knuckles and took the mace from his shoulder.
“We both know why.He’ll kill without mercy in the skies, but down here? He relies on us.”
The Two Elves moved towards the door.
Brigante looked up. Forenth just smiled. “Past your bedtime Boy”
Chief Bhalneath piped up “To be fair, your wife will punch you if you don’t go home soon, The Twins are driving her crazy, well, crazier than she is anyway…”
It was a -considered- look that Brigante gave them both as he left, them both moving aside respectfully.
Bhalneath spoke first “Does he Kn-”
Forenth snapped “Of course he does.
Chief Bhalneath smiled, and rapped the sceptre across the table.
“Right! Lets start this properly….”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CIrvSJwwJUE
He couldn’t sleep. The beating of wings, the dropping of the ‘Fireflies’.
The burning of a forest for no other reason than to make it burn.
The Civilians screaming as the illusions fell and the bombs killed them.
He sat up in his bed and poured brandy into a glass tumbler.
Tarrithael still slept, the twins too, the sleep of the innocent. He couldn’t sleep that anymore.
Tarri hadn't asked when he started to bring a bottle of Spirits to his bedside table. Hadn’t commented when sometimes she would awake and find him staring at the skies, a half drained glass in his hand.
She was a Hood. She Knew.
She thought she knew.
No one could. The Smoke, the fire, the civilians clinging desperately to their Dragonhawks, buildings collapsing around them, having to dodge, evade tumbling masonry, weighed down, as nimble as cattle carts, not the thoroughbred racestriders they were meant to be.
He sipped from his brandy and watched the dawn approach.
He heaved in a breath, and heard again the screams, but that wasn’t the worst of it…
The worst was watching the children lined up, ready to be carried away, as the flames licked around them. Looking back, and knowing this was the last rescue run they could make.
Seeing their faces, and not even being brave enough to say the words….
“We can’t come back for you”.
For sure, the Kaldorei were making their own efforts, As would be expected, who wouldn’t?
It was that last time, a Kaldorei child holding a kitten, “One More! One More!” Brigante had yelled in broken Darnassian, the language of his grandfather.
The child had ventured forwards, and held the kitten out to him “Her name is Starflower” and thrust the small creature into his hands. He took the small kitten and had looked at her. She looked back, and with that peculiar wisdom given to the young, she had answered “Where my city goes, I go”
“No” he had sobbed… And reached out to her, but she had returned to her family.
They would have burned together.
He swigged from the brandy viciously, as if trying to stave off a memory...Of course he was… Wasn’t every Horde soldier that wasn’t Forsaken? There were...Hells...The Forsaken had some work to do...a lot of work to do. The Damage was done.
Whilst they, his Hawks, and He, would do as the Regency bidded, the Forsaken -needed- to mend the bridges the Warchief had burned, lest she end up a second Garrosh. This time with less mercy.
Brigante rubbed his head as he mused “The Horde can’t end up this way again….What has she done?” He somewhat nullified the sensibility of that by draining the Brandy glass, and filling it again.
Drinking helped. Drinking never helped. It would help him sleep, or rather fall asleep but he would wake up tired, with an aching head and a horrible realisation that the world had all changed, had all gone insane.
He closed his eyes as the sun came up, he could not watch the orange light pervade the landscape. It reminded him too much of the blazing fires that engulfed Teldrassil.
He swigged from the brandy.
They had tried to return. Oh the Alliance had fired on them until they realised what precious young cargo they carried, and then they had cursed them, but they had tried. Oh they tried…
Hands raised in agony, screams, a dreadful cacophony as Darnassus burned. That line of children? Ash and half burned corpses.
This wasn’t what he had went there for. He had went there to win a War. A Clean War, a Good War.
Not for this….never for this…
There was of course, no such thing as a Good War. Never had been, never would be. We can only fool ourselves that there is.
And we are -so- good at fooling ourselves…
He looked at the Sun as it rose, and smiled bitterly, taking another sip. Some of his Fliers, the more devout in the Light, had started to see a shift in their eye colour, to Light’s Golden hue.. He snorted, What did that make him… His eyes still blazed with that malevolent fire, green as an emerald, piercing as a dagger to the heart.
Made him a soldier, nothing more, nothing less.
He’d wondered, in the years of Nightmare Green, whether he was insane. He’d wondered so long, since the Dark Portal, whether he was going mad, and then he realised with one bullet, he was not. He rubbed the scar across his temple where the sniper’s shot had hit him.
He wasn’t mad.
The World was.
What would a sane elf do, in a mad world, but think themself the mad one. So easy to submit to insanity, when around you was the undisputed proof that everything else was insane, so why should you not be? Why fight it? Why not try to be normal, in a world that was clearly insane?
To fight it would drive an elf Insane….
He sipped from his brandy and remembered a forest, a city, burning…
He limped from the window, to the Childrens crib, His world. His place of sanity, and grounding, the twins, his children, Laindor and Kayrissa, their faces, so small, so peaceful in sleep.
He sipped from his brandy. What world was he making for them?
A better one?
Would they grow up in a golden age of peace, or would they become Killers.
Like their father.
He had some hope. Both of the children had, in their sleep, laid a hand upon the third sharing their crib, also sleeping the sleep of the innocent, a kitten coiled between the two. “She is called Starflower” he muttered, gulping back more brandy.
He closed his eyes but still saw the burning city, and the young girl holding her out to him as her world burned to ash, knowing she would die.
And he had helped make it happen.
He set the empty glass down, head in his hands as he sat on the side of the bed, eyes closed but seeing fire and Dragonhawks flying over the burning forests behind them.
“What did I do?...What did I order them to do?”
He was still sat thus, two hours later, when Tarrithael awoke, touched his shoulder and he had just turned, his eyes full of horror.
As he had every day since.
She held him until the sobbing ceased.
As she had. Every day since.
He couldn’t sleep. The beating of wings, the dropping of the ‘Fireflies’.
The burning of a forest for no other reason than to make it burn.
The Civilians screaming as the illusions fell and the bombs killed them.
He sat up in his bed and poured brandy into a glass tumbler.
Tarrithael still slept, the twins too, the sleep of the innocent. He couldn’t sleep that anymore.
Tarri hadn't asked when he started to bring a bottle of Spirits to his bedside table. Hadn’t commented when sometimes she would awake and find him staring at the skies, a half drained glass in his hand.
She was a Hood. She Knew.
She thought she knew.
No one could. The Smoke, the fire, the civilians clinging desperately to their Dragonhawks, buildings collapsing around them, having to dodge, evade tumbling masonry, weighed down, as nimble as cattle carts, not the thoroughbred racestriders they were meant to be.
He sipped from his brandy and watched the dawn approach.
He heaved in a breath, and heard again the screams, but that wasn’t the worst of it…
The worst was watching the children lined up, ready to be carried away, as the flames licked around them. Looking back, and knowing this was the last rescue run they could make.
Seeing their faces, and not even being brave enough to say the words….
“We can’t come back for you”.
For sure, the Kaldorei were making their own efforts, As would be expected, who wouldn’t?
It was that last time, a Kaldorei child holding a kitten, “One More! One More!” Brigante had yelled in broken Darnassian, the language of his grandfather.
The child had ventured forwards, and held the kitten out to him “Her name is Starflower” and thrust the small creature into his hands. He took the small kitten and had looked at her. She looked back, and with that peculiar wisdom given to the young, she had answered “Where my city goes, I go”
“No” he had sobbed… And reached out to her, but she had returned to her family.
They would have burned together.
He swigged from the brandy viciously, as if trying to stave off a memory...Of course he was… Wasn’t every Horde soldier that wasn’t Forsaken? There were...Hells...The Forsaken had some work to do...a lot of work to do. The Damage was done.
Whilst they, his Hawks, and He, would do as the Regency bidded, the Forsaken -needed- to mend the bridges the Warchief had burned, lest she end up a second Garrosh. This time with less mercy.
Brigante rubbed his head as he mused “The Horde can’t end up this way again….What has she done?” He somewhat nullified the sensibility of that by draining the Brandy glass, and filling it again.
Drinking helped. Drinking never helped. It would help him sleep, or rather fall asleep but he would wake up tired, with an aching head and a horrible realisation that the world had all changed, had all gone insane.
He closed his eyes as the sun came up, he could not watch the orange light pervade the landscape. It reminded him too much of the blazing fires that engulfed Teldrassil.
He swigged from the brandy.
They had tried to return. Oh the Alliance had fired on them until they realised what precious young cargo they carried, and then they had cursed them, but they had tried. Oh they tried…
Hands raised in agony, screams, a dreadful cacophony as Darnassus burned. That line of children? Ash and half burned corpses.
This wasn’t what he had went there for. He had went there to win a War. A Clean War, a Good War.
Not for this….never for this…
There was of course, no such thing as a Good War. Never had been, never would be. We can only fool ourselves that there is.
And we are -so- good at fooling ourselves…
He looked at the Sun as it rose, and smiled bitterly, taking another sip. Some of his Fliers, the more devout in the Light, had started to see a shift in their eye colour, to Light’s Golden hue.. He snorted, What did that make him… His eyes still blazed with that malevolent fire, green as an emerald, piercing as a dagger to the heart.
Made him a soldier, nothing more, nothing less.
He’d wondered, in the years of Nightmare Green, whether he was insane. He’d wondered so long, since the Dark Portal, whether he was going mad, and then he realised with one bullet, he was not. He rubbed the scar across his temple where the sniper’s shot had hit him.
He wasn’t mad.
The World was.
What would a sane elf do, in a mad world, but think themself the mad one. So easy to submit to insanity, when around you was the undisputed proof that everything else was insane, so why should you not be? Why fight it? Why not try to be normal, in a world that was clearly insane?
To fight it would drive an elf Insane….
He sipped from his brandy and remembered a forest, a city, burning…
He limped from the window, to the Childrens crib, His world. His place of sanity, and grounding, the twins, his children, Laindor and Kayrissa, their faces, so small, so peaceful in sleep.
He sipped from his brandy. What world was he making for them?
A better one?
Would they grow up in a golden age of peace, or would they become Killers.
Like their father.
He had some hope. Both of the children had, in their sleep, laid a hand upon the third sharing their crib, also sleeping the sleep of the innocent, a kitten coiled between the two. “She is called Starflower” he muttered, gulping back more brandy.
He closed his eyes but still saw the burning city, and the young girl holding her out to him as her world burned to ash, knowing she would die.
And he had helped make it happen.
He set the empty glass down, head in his hands as he sat on the side of the bed, eyes closed but seeing fire and Dragonhawks flying over the burning forests behind them.
“What did I do?...What did I order them to do?”
He was still sat thus, two hours later, when Tarrithael awoke, touched his shoulder and he had just turned, his eyes full of horror.
As he had every day since.
She held him until the sobbing ceased.
As she had. Every day since.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C4CUvZF2YO8&start_radio=1&list=RDC4CUvZF2YO8
It looked good. That was the main thing. The singer looked good. Sounded good. Swarthy in colour, yet his face rapt in his singing, a smart suit, long clean black hair falling over his shoulders, a wink for the ladies and knowing glance for the men, nothing too flirtatious, nothing too threatening, There was something primal, something animal about him. No one could take their eyes off him. The old man beside him, likewise smartly dressed, playing a pristine silver bugle, a twinkle in his eye, the sort a certain type of woman would refer to as ‘a silver fox’, especially as muscles clearly strained against the suit jacket as he played the bugle, coaxing softer tunes from a military instrument, the third part of their band a hired pianist, she too in a suit, her figure almost boyish, an incongruous black hat crammed low over her head, a paper rose tucked behind her ear, her fingers dancing skillfully over the keys. You’d have to look close to see the scars on her fingertips.
It was a busy night in the Booty Bay Tavern, tobacco smoke heavy in the air, the smell of drink strong.
Most of the clientele had no idea what they were singing, it could have been a string of curse words, as it was all in Thalassian, and such language sounds poetic even at its worst.
It didn’t matter, anything sung in a foreign tongue generally sounded exotic and appealing, several couples were already dancing in the tavern, with varying degrees of sobriety, and the trio were clearly playing to the crowd, hamming it up, winks, waves of a hand, the raising of a hat to make eye contact and a slight grin.
A den of sin and iniquity, and yet nothing more dangerous than the musicians.
The Pianist muttered “We’ve got a candidate”.
The Trumpet player didn’t speak, but dipped his head close to to the pianist, as if in affirmation. The Singer just stepped from the stage, his hands spread, The world’s friend, everyone’s friend, pointing at everyone with a smile, singing his sweet voice, kissing the hand of the lady who was on the arm of the target that had been mentioned, both his fellow musicians managed to keep tune, whilst nodding, just as he did whilst singing. Two hundred years...fifty in solitary, you had to learn to love the sound of your own voice, or you would go insane….
He walked back to the stage, swirling, his elegant suit spinning around him. Spun back up on stage in time to hit the crescendo of the song…
As he swayed in tune to the song he muttered “She should be feeling drowsy soon”
Between a flourish the Trumpeter muttered “Like you didn’t enjoy it”
The Pianist muttered “Really restoring my faith in men...What is this, the -last-last- job I have to do for you people?”
The Trumpeter smirked between blasts “You thought any of us were getting paid for this?”
The Singer tossed his long sable locks and looked towards the door, where a woozy woman was being led out by a human male.
The Pianist grumbled and snarled at the piano ”About time, this thing is a piece of sh-”
“Thank you ladies and gentlemen, we have been your entertainment for the evening, enjoy your night.” The singer said, as he flamboyantly led his fellow performers out of the tavern.
The woman turned her hat up “Are you for real? You want this to look right and a band leave without getting payment?”
The older elf nodded, “She’s got a really good point”
“Wasn’t the only reason.” The woman said, fingers to her lips, then pointed. “I’m guessing he’s had what he wanted and doesn’t want it again” She gestured as the ‘target’ dragged the semi-conscious woman to the pier.
Forenth sighed. “Can you do you do anything about that or not?”
Agent Maestro looked at him “You Know I can...You going to square it with your boss?”
“First thing I can do.”
Chief Bhalneath emerged to see Tessarin dragging a circle in blood and ash on the floor, talking in a demonic tongue, Forenth just shaking his head in a ‘don’t ask’ expression.
Eddie Royaume had a good life ahead of him. He was paid well, by people who paid them well. He just needed to get rid of….he had no idea what had happened to Clarissa, she was boring him anyway…
Eddie Royaume did not need what happened next. The cobbles cracking and from them a huge demonic entity rising, Purple skinned, both arms wielding mighty swords, his face one of anger and torment, he turned the full expression of that fury on Eddie…
Eddie soiled himself and skidded backwards, then turned back, and saw the three musicians advancing upon him in their suits, one with a wand in hand, one with two daggers, one with a sceptre with a golden Imp’s head. They all had lazy smiles on their faces, and that...that was worse than the Demonic fury behind him...wasn’t it?
He didn’t have a chance to think. His head was grabbed, by a Demon, and turned to face them as they leisurely made their advance.
He then realised. They had always thought of Elves as beautiful…
They were not.
As he now realised...
Elves were -horrible-.
The three suited Elves advanced on him slowly, cruel smiles on their lips.
Behind them the tavern started up, replacement artists starting up the similar tunes the Elves had just finished.
They paused and watched him. The Woman looked at the Demon and glared, that Nether creature growled but obeyed, tossing the human to their feet.
The music reached a crescendo.
The Singer smiled and stepped forwards, taking up a sceptre with a gold inlaid Imp skull on it.
“Amateurs start with threats, we won’t start with those, There is no point.”
The knee crunched as the sceptre landed and the human squirmed back, dragging their ruined leg. “Please! I’ll tell you anything! Stop!”
The Old man, the Trumpeter puffed on his pipe “Lets start, where is the Rainmaker?”
“I don’t know who you mean!” the human crawled. “Please!”
The old man sighed, the woman shook her head “Boy, you lied to the wrong two men here”
A Second crack, a scream drowned out by music. Only on his hands could he try to drag himself away from the trio of elves, one examining his sceptre that had broken his other kneecap. He felt himself grabbed by the Wrathguard and hurled like a wet dishrag over their heads, skidding to a halt in agony.
Forenth and Bhalneath both looked at Tessarin “Excessive” Forenth grumbled.
“Effective” she muttered back as the trio turned and advanced on the human. He was trying to crawl away. “Please...No…”
Chief Bhalneath waited for for the peak of the music, before driving the Sceptre down again, this time smashing the timbers of Booty Bay as it smashed the human’s arm at the elbow..
Forenth sighed “This loyalty is impressive, but boy, it is just going to get you killed, This is a Mass Murderer” He pointed at Chief Bhalneath, “And She is a War Criminal” he pointed at the grinning Tessarin, Wrathguard stood in attendance behind her.
The human turned himself over and looked up through agonised eyes. “And...what...are you?”
Forenth grinned, leant close and patted the human’s cheek. “Depends on whether you try to play me false”
He turned, as if having no interest in the scenario, and started to urinate over the edge of the pier
“Aren’t! Aren’t you going to ask me questions!” the Human gurgled.
Forenth finished, did up his breeches and returned.
“Alright, let us start. Our leads have led us here, we know the Rainmaker’s people are deserting him….Where is he?”
“I Don’t -”
He got no further, Chief Bhalneath’s Sceptre smashed his remaining elbow, and whilst he howled that ex convict grabbed his face up “Where is he?” he growled
The human’s face was downcast “Northrend. Borean Tundra. Thats all I know!”.
Bhalneath let the humans head fall.
“Time to leave” he muttered, “nothing left here but the Sea”.
The Human screamed “you can’t leave me alone! Like this!”
Chief Bhalneath turned and looked over his shoulder, “We’re not leaving you alone...we’re leaving you with her” He turned, he and Forenth walked away, Forenth paying off the Booty Bay Bruisers who had taken convenient breaks, as the questioning happened.
The woman advanced, a smile on her face, but not a smile with anything of love or care in it.
“Lets talk about a sailor, you won’t remember him, but he meant everything to me…” As the band picked up the crescendo inside the tavern he screamed, as he finally realised that Hell really -is- other people, or the wreckage we leave behind….
It looked good. That was the main thing. The singer looked good. Sounded good. Swarthy in colour, yet his face rapt in his singing, a smart suit, long clean black hair falling over his shoulders, a wink for the ladies and knowing glance for the men, nothing too flirtatious, nothing too threatening, There was something primal, something animal about him. No one could take their eyes off him. The old man beside him, likewise smartly dressed, playing a pristine silver bugle, a twinkle in his eye, the sort a certain type of woman would refer to as ‘a silver fox’, especially as muscles clearly strained against the suit jacket as he played the bugle, coaxing softer tunes from a military instrument, the third part of their band a hired pianist, she too in a suit, her figure almost boyish, an incongruous black hat crammed low over her head, a paper rose tucked behind her ear, her fingers dancing skillfully over the keys. You’d have to look close to see the scars on her fingertips.
It was a busy night in the Booty Bay Tavern, tobacco smoke heavy in the air, the smell of drink strong.
Most of the clientele had no idea what they were singing, it could have been a string of curse words, as it was all in Thalassian, and such language sounds poetic even at its worst.
It didn’t matter, anything sung in a foreign tongue generally sounded exotic and appealing, several couples were already dancing in the tavern, with varying degrees of sobriety, and the trio were clearly playing to the crowd, hamming it up, winks, waves of a hand, the raising of a hat to make eye contact and a slight grin.
A den of sin and iniquity, and yet nothing more dangerous than the musicians.
The Pianist muttered “We’ve got a candidate”.
The Trumpet player didn’t speak, but dipped his head close to to the pianist, as if in affirmation. The Singer just stepped from the stage, his hands spread, The world’s friend, everyone’s friend, pointing at everyone with a smile, singing his sweet voice, kissing the hand of the lady who was on the arm of the target that had been mentioned, both his fellow musicians managed to keep tune, whilst nodding, just as he did whilst singing. Two hundred years...fifty in solitary, you had to learn to love the sound of your own voice, or you would go insane….
He walked back to the stage, swirling, his elegant suit spinning around him. Spun back up on stage in time to hit the crescendo of the song…
As he swayed in tune to the song he muttered “She should be feeling drowsy soon”
Between a flourish the Trumpeter muttered “Like you didn’t enjoy it”
The Pianist muttered “Really restoring my faith in men...What is this, the -last-last- job I have to do for you people?”
The Trumpeter smirked between blasts “You thought any of us were getting paid for this?”
The Singer tossed his long sable locks and looked towards the door, where a woozy woman was being led out by a human male.
The Pianist grumbled and snarled at the piano ”About time, this thing is a piece of sh-”
“Thank you ladies and gentlemen, we have been your entertainment for the evening, enjoy your night.” The singer said, as he flamboyantly led his fellow performers out of the tavern.
The woman turned her hat up “Are you for real? You want this to look right and a band leave without getting payment?”
The older elf nodded, “She’s got a really good point”
“Wasn’t the only reason.” The woman said, fingers to her lips, then pointed. “I’m guessing he’s had what he wanted and doesn’t want it again” She gestured as the ‘target’ dragged the semi-conscious woman to the pier.
Forenth sighed. “Can you do you do anything about that or not?”
Agent Maestro looked at him “You Know I can...You going to square it with your boss?”
“First thing I can do.”
Chief Bhalneath emerged to see Tessarin dragging a circle in blood and ash on the floor, talking in a demonic tongue, Forenth just shaking his head in a ‘don’t ask’ expression.
Eddie Royaume had a good life ahead of him. He was paid well, by people who paid them well. He just needed to get rid of….he had no idea what had happened to Clarissa, she was boring him anyway…
Eddie Royaume did not need what happened next. The cobbles cracking and from them a huge demonic entity rising, Purple skinned, both arms wielding mighty swords, his face one of anger and torment, he turned the full expression of that fury on Eddie…
Eddie soiled himself and skidded backwards, then turned back, and saw the three musicians advancing upon him in their suits, one with a wand in hand, one with two daggers, one with a sceptre with a golden Imp’s head. They all had lazy smiles on their faces, and that...that was worse than the Demonic fury behind him...wasn’t it?
He didn’t have a chance to think. His head was grabbed, by a Demon, and turned to face them as they leisurely made their advance.
He then realised. They had always thought of Elves as beautiful…
They were not.
As he now realised...
Elves were -horrible-.
The three suited Elves advanced on him slowly, cruel smiles on their lips.
Behind them the tavern started up, replacement artists starting up the similar tunes the Elves had just finished.
They paused and watched him. The Woman looked at the Demon and glared, that Nether creature growled but obeyed, tossing the human to their feet.
The music reached a crescendo.
The Singer smiled and stepped forwards, taking up a sceptre with a gold inlaid Imp skull on it.
“Amateurs start with threats, we won’t start with those, There is no point.”
The knee crunched as the sceptre landed and the human squirmed back, dragging their ruined leg. “Please! I’ll tell you anything! Stop!”
The Old man, the Trumpeter puffed on his pipe “Lets start, where is the Rainmaker?”
“I don’t know who you mean!” the human crawled. “Please!”
The old man sighed, the woman shook her head “Boy, you lied to the wrong two men here”
A Second crack, a scream drowned out by music. Only on his hands could he try to drag himself away from the trio of elves, one examining his sceptre that had broken his other kneecap. He felt himself grabbed by the Wrathguard and hurled like a wet dishrag over their heads, skidding to a halt in agony.
Forenth and Bhalneath both looked at Tessarin “Excessive” Forenth grumbled.
“Effective” she muttered back as the trio turned and advanced on the human. He was trying to crawl away. “Please...No…”
Chief Bhalneath waited for for the peak of the music, before driving the Sceptre down again, this time smashing the timbers of Booty Bay as it smashed the human’s arm at the elbow..
Forenth sighed “This loyalty is impressive, but boy, it is just going to get you killed, This is a Mass Murderer” He pointed at Chief Bhalneath, “And She is a War Criminal” he pointed at the grinning Tessarin, Wrathguard stood in attendance behind her.
The human turned himself over and looked up through agonised eyes. “And...what...are you?”
Forenth grinned, leant close and patted the human’s cheek. “Depends on whether you try to play me false”
He turned, as if having no interest in the scenario, and started to urinate over the edge of the pier
“Aren’t! Aren’t you going to ask me questions!” the Human gurgled.
Forenth finished, did up his breeches and returned.
“Alright, let us start. Our leads have led us here, we know the Rainmaker’s people are deserting him….Where is he?”
“I Don’t -”
He got no further, Chief Bhalneath’s Sceptre smashed his remaining elbow, and whilst he howled that ex convict grabbed his face up “Where is he?” he growled
The human’s face was downcast “Northrend. Borean Tundra. Thats all I know!”.
Bhalneath let the humans head fall.
“Time to leave” he muttered, “nothing left here but the Sea”.
The Human screamed “you can’t leave me alone! Like this!”
Chief Bhalneath turned and looked over his shoulder, “We’re not leaving you alone...we’re leaving you with her” He turned, he and Forenth walked away, Forenth paying off the Booty Bay Bruisers who had taken convenient breaks, as the questioning happened.
The woman advanced, a smile on her face, but not a smile with anything of love or care in it.
“Lets talk about a sailor, you won’t remember him, but he meant everything to me…” As the band picked up the crescendo inside the tavern he screamed, as he finally realised that Hell really -is- other people, or the wreckage we leave behind….
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SdDrXlczTgU&t=106s
He hated these sort of exercises, and yet they had become more and more common, since the fall of Lordaeron. The Enemy would not ignore Quel’thalas forever. Could not. It would forever be a dagger at the back, and unresolved. With other commanders, randomly picked from the aerial, naval and land forces, they were given an arcane projection of Quel’thalas, that would occasionally zoom into hotspots.
The air was heavy with cigarillo smoke, and the smell of brandy, Brigante’s tumbler just full of water. Did they think this was a -game-?
Of course it was..
A Game of Armageddon.
"The news from Lordaeron is very bad, and We grieve for the gallant Forsaken people who have fallen into this terrible misfortune.
"Nothing will alter our feelings towards them, or our faith that the genius of Lordaeron will rise again."
"What has happened in Lordaeron makes no difference to Thalassian faith and purpose.
"We have become the sole champions now in arms to defend the Eastern Kingdoms cause. We shall do our best to be worthy of that high honour. We shall defend our land, and, with the Horde around us, we shall fight on unconquerable until the curse of Alliance Imperialism is lifted from the brows of All.
"We are sure that in the end all will be well."
Every damned exercise started with the same speech. As if they needed reminding how parlous the situation was.
Brigante turned his scarred face looking at some of the others, jingoistically clapping each other on the backs at a cunning troop movement “Johnny Blue will never see that coming”, “Hold the High ground, smart”
He exchanged a glance with Ranger-Captain Redsun and Knight-Master Bloodhewer, both veterans like himself. He could not help but notice that their units had been placed in good order, he was about to speak, when a dig in his ribs got his attention. “Not placing yours Summerisle? You’ve only got two fliers up over each location?”
“It is called reconnaissance. I do not want to commit twelve fliers to where twelve enemy fliers are not.”
“You’ve got Six Escadrilles man! Six Wings, Live a little!”
Brigante wrinkled his nose “Lord Sunflare, has the brandy been generous this day?”
“Nonsense, It isn’t the Scourge my Boy, they won’t fight the same You know?”
Brigante let ‘My Boy’ go, he was reasonably sure he was two centuries older than this mustachioed inbred dilettante playing at soldier, however he was the Exercise commander for this….
This Game.
“No, Lord Sunflare, they will fight with more cunning, because their commander will value their lives more.”
“A lesson some commanders could take to heart” Knight-Master Bloodhewer muttered, looking at the planners.
“WHAT have you got them all the way down there for man, block our ports!”
A Glum looking naval commander, half his face burned and seared shook his head and said “No”.
Brigante vaguely recognised him, from the Horde Civil War, the attack on the traitor Warchief, he was pretty sure he had taken his burning Destroyer into Bladefist Bay, crashing it into the bay and made sure he got every soldier onto shore before allowing a corpsman tend his wounds. A Good Elf. “We need to protect shores they can land on, that is what they did in Lordaeron, to deadly effect, once they have boots on the land, we’re in trouble.”
“There is arable land near those ports.”
Ranger-Captain Redsun yawned “Yes, Vinyards I believe you own, Lord Sunflare”
A waved hand, a puff on a cigarillo.
The Military commanders looked at each other “Is this...does he think this is a hypothetical thing, not our current place in the world?”
The Spire Official overseeing the exercise extended a wand and blue icons appeared in the skies. Brigante looked at them and the units he had in place. He reached out a hand and touched the icon representing the Third Escadrille, moving them into an intercept position, drawing the Sixth Escadrille forwards into their place.
The Wand flashed again and blue unit markers started crossing through the Thalassian Pass.
Ranger-Captain Redsun touched the icons that were the Farstrider units and pointed them, from both sides, at the Blue units entering Thalassian soil, the units visibly decreased in size as that attention continued. Behind them, others continued. The numbers staggering...surely...surely the Horde Reinforcements would arrive soon….
As he watched, Bloodhewer drew her Blood Knights into a charge, well placed, the Alliance first echelon shrank in number, buckling and running, but the second kept on coming.
“First wave sent packing” She intoned.
Lord Sunflare nodded and growled, “Keep them there”
“I’m sorry? They’re heavy assault cavalry, Shock troops, not line infantry, I mean we...can but…”
Lord Sunflare gestured with his cigar “forwards! Forwards!”.
Redsun growled “You have to touch the magic symbol and drag them, Force-Commander”.
Slowly, too slowly, the Thalassian regular army units moved south, as the Alliance poured through the Thalassian gap, their numbers harrowed and thinned by Farstrider arrows, and repeat charges by the Blood Knights, thinner in number each time.
Brigante scowled “No, look, we can pin them, give me authorisation to use the Mark I Annihilatrix and we can pin them!”
“Third Escadrille has been eliminated, Enemy Gunship is in play” The Spire Official intoned.
“Whats that when it is at home then?”
“Tactical Mana Bombs, we can stop them in the pass, we can-”
“ABSOLUTELY NOT!”
Brigante persisted “My Lord, we can….”
“No.”
“First Fleet is annihilated, enemy is landing at Sunsail Anchorage, reports of King Greymane and King Mekkatorque landing troops” The Naval commander uttered morosely. “I’m dead too by the way, they got my flagship”
Lord Sunflare glowered around the Map. “Summerisle, Bomb those ships!”
“Why? They’ve landed the troops! Whats the Point?”
Bloodhewer ran a hand over her shaven scalp “Lord Sunflare, where are the Horde reinforcements?”
Redsun called out “Farstriders pulling back, fighting war at depth”
“Where are the Horde Reinforcements?”
Lord Sunflare looked over the map and glowered “We don’t need them”
The Military commanders heaved in a breath even as Brigante swiped the Second and Fourth to attack the ships, though fates knew why.
“Lord Sunflare, We...quite clearly do?” Redsun stated.
“You don’t want me to do anything about that Gunship?” Brigante growled as he swiped the First, Fifth and Sixth towards Duskwither. Sunflare might be an incompetent, but he would not be. He wasn’t going to wait for orders.
“Are we getting Horde Reinforcements or Not?” He barked.
Bloodhewer called up “Well done, Blood Knights exhausted down to small tiny hit and run units living off the land, no longer a coherent military force, being driven before Alliance units, carrying out hit and run tactics.”
Redsun nodded “Same with the Farstriders, nice, Good luck”
Lord Sunflare bustled “I Deemed Thalassian skill at arms alone capable of dealing with them! Seems I was wrong.”
It took Brigante, Bloodhewer and Redsun to hold the Naval Captain back. Brigante just shouted in his face “You are a Swiving Idiot!”
“Enemy Gunship at Duskwither, along with a ground fleet, No Horde Reinforcements visible” the Spire Official intoned.
Brigante growled “if this was real, I would knock you out and assume command” Redsun nodded “If this was real, I’d hold his coat”
“Fifth escadrille is down, as is the Sixth, First is down but its officers.”
Lord Sunflare looked at the map, a vast swathe of blue, bordering Silvermoon.
“I think...I think now perhaps the ...the Annihilatrix bombs, all the enemies at our gates, make them stop, pause and negotiate”
Brigante looked wide eyed at the Force-Commander, “Don’t you get it, you’ve used everything”
“No, no, there is still one Escadrille left, they can drop the Annihilatrix bombs”
Brigante frowned “No, no, there really isn’t?”
Lord Sunflare pointed at the remaining marker on Quel’danas, the -Seventh- Escadrille.
“Them”
Brigante calmed, very calm. Too Calm. Way too Calm.
“Lets assume, I can give them the weapons, lets assume we can activate them”
He swiped the icon over the enemy at the gates.
A vast amount disappeared.
Lord Sunflare laughed “See! Enemy at a standstill, confused, holding…”
Brigante’s eyes just looked at how much the icon had shrank by, to show losses..losses of the Seventh...
“They’re soldiers, Wing Commander, you grow soft…”
Lord Sunflare clearly grew nervous, “they will probably get medals, rewards for their service”
Brigante spat in Sunflare’s face. “They are children, its a cadet Squadron, they’d probably value Sweets rather than medals you inbred streak of p iss!
The Spire Official intoned “This simulation is over. Fates forend this outcome occur, but I am sure Quel’thalas rests happier knowing it has such guardians.”
The Official looked to one side “Put him down and stop hitting him Summerisle before I have you arrested..”
He hated these sort of exercises, and yet they had become more and more common, since the fall of Lordaeron. The Enemy would not ignore Quel’thalas forever. Could not. It would forever be a dagger at the back, and unresolved. With other commanders, randomly picked from the aerial, naval and land forces, they were given an arcane projection of Quel’thalas, that would occasionally zoom into hotspots.
The air was heavy with cigarillo smoke, and the smell of brandy, Brigante’s tumbler just full of water. Did they think this was a -game-?
Of course it was..
A Game of Armageddon.
"The news from Lordaeron is very bad, and We grieve for the gallant Forsaken people who have fallen into this terrible misfortune.
"Nothing will alter our feelings towards them, or our faith that the genius of Lordaeron will rise again."
"What has happened in Lordaeron makes no difference to Thalassian faith and purpose.
"We have become the sole champions now in arms to defend the Eastern Kingdoms cause. We shall do our best to be worthy of that high honour. We shall defend our land, and, with the Horde around us, we shall fight on unconquerable until the curse of Alliance Imperialism is lifted from the brows of All.
"We are sure that in the end all will be well."
Every damned exercise started with the same speech. As if they needed reminding how parlous the situation was.
Brigante turned his scarred face looking at some of the others, jingoistically clapping each other on the backs at a cunning troop movement “Johnny Blue will never see that coming”, “Hold the High ground, smart”
He exchanged a glance with Ranger-Captain Redsun and Knight-Master Bloodhewer, both veterans like himself. He could not help but notice that their units had been placed in good order, he was about to speak, when a dig in his ribs got his attention. “Not placing yours Summerisle? You’ve only got two fliers up over each location?”
“It is called reconnaissance. I do not want to commit twelve fliers to where twelve enemy fliers are not.”
“You’ve got Six Escadrilles man! Six Wings, Live a little!”
Brigante wrinkled his nose “Lord Sunflare, has the brandy been generous this day?”
“Nonsense, It isn’t the Scourge my Boy, they won’t fight the same You know?”
Brigante let ‘My Boy’ go, he was reasonably sure he was two centuries older than this mustachioed inbred dilettante playing at soldier, however he was the Exercise commander for this….
This Game.
“No, Lord Sunflare, they will fight with more cunning, because their commander will value their lives more.”
“A lesson some commanders could take to heart” Knight-Master Bloodhewer muttered, looking at the planners.
“WHAT have you got them all the way down there for man, block our ports!”
A Glum looking naval commander, half his face burned and seared shook his head and said “No”.
Brigante vaguely recognised him, from the Horde Civil War, the attack on the traitor Warchief, he was pretty sure he had taken his burning Destroyer into Bladefist Bay, crashing it into the bay and made sure he got every soldier onto shore before allowing a corpsman tend his wounds. A Good Elf. “We need to protect shores they can land on, that is what they did in Lordaeron, to deadly effect, once they have boots on the land, we’re in trouble.”
“There is arable land near those ports.”
Ranger-Captain Redsun yawned “Yes, Vinyards I believe you own, Lord Sunflare”
A waved hand, a puff on a cigarillo.
The Military commanders looked at each other “Is this...does he think this is a hypothetical thing, not our current place in the world?”
The Spire Official overseeing the exercise extended a wand and blue icons appeared in the skies. Brigante looked at them and the units he had in place. He reached out a hand and touched the icon representing the Third Escadrille, moving them into an intercept position, drawing the Sixth Escadrille forwards into their place.
The Wand flashed again and blue unit markers started crossing through the Thalassian Pass.
Ranger-Captain Redsun touched the icons that were the Farstrider units and pointed them, from both sides, at the Blue units entering Thalassian soil, the units visibly decreased in size as that attention continued. Behind them, others continued. The numbers staggering...surely...surely the Horde Reinforcements would arrive soon….
As he watched, Bloodhewer drew her Blood Knights into a charge, well placed, the Alliance first echelon shrank in number, buckling and running, but the second kept on coming.
“First wave sent packing” She intoned.
Lord Sunflare nodded and growled, “Keep them there”
“I’m sorry? They’re heavy assault cavalry, Shock troops, not line infantry, I mean we...can but…”
Lord Sunflare gestured with his cigar “forwards! Forwards!”.
Redsun growled “You have to touch the magic symbol and drag them, Force-Commander”.
Slowly, too slowly, the Thalassian regular army units moved south, as the Alliance poured through the Thalassian gap, their numbers harrowed and thinned by Farstrider arrows, and repeat charges by the Blood Knights, thinner in number each time.
Brigante scowled “No, look, we can pin them, give me authorisation to use the Mark I Annihilatrix and we can pin them!”
“Third Escadrille has been eliminated, Enemy Gunship is in play” The Spire Official intoned.
“Whats that when it is at home then?”
“Tactical Mana Bombs, we can stop them in the pass, we can-”
“ABSOLUTELY NOT!”
Brigante persisted “My Lord, we can….”
“No.”
“First Fleet is annihilated, enemy is landing at Sunsail Anchorage, reports of King Greymane and King Mekkatorque landing troops” The Naval commander uttered morosely. “I’m dead too by the way, they got my flagship”
Lord Sunflare glowered around the Map. “Summerisle, Bomb those ships!”
“Why? They’ve landed the troops! Whats the Point?”
Bloodhewer ran a hand over her shaven scalp “Lord Sunflare, where are the Horde reinforcements?”
Redsun called out “Farstriders pulling back, fighting war at depth”
“Where are the Horde Reinforcements?”
Lord Sunflare looked over the map and glowered “We don’t need them”
The Military commanders heaved in a breath even as Brigante swiped the Second and Fourth to attack the ships, though fates knew why.
“Lord Sunflare, We...quite clearly do?” Redsun stated.
“You don’t want me to do anything about that Gunship?” Brigante growled as he swiped the First, Fifth and Sixth towards Duskwither. Sunflare might be an incompetent, but he would not be. He wasn’t going to wait for orders.
“Are we getting Horde Reinforcements or Not?” He barked.
Bloodhewer called up “Well done, Blood Knights exhausted down to small tiny hit and run units living off the land, no longer a coherent military force, being driven before Alliance units, carrying out hit and run tactics.”
Redsun nodded “Same with the Farstriders, nice, Good luck”
Lord Sunflare bustled “I Deemed Thalassian skill at arms alone capable of dealing with them! Seems I was wrong.”
It took Brigante, Bloodhewer and Redsun to hold the Naval Captain back. Brigante just shouted in his face “You are a Swiving Idiot!”
“Enemy Gunship at Duskwither, along with a ground fleet, No Horde Reinforcements visible” the Spire Official intoned.
Brigante growled “if this was real, I would knock you out and assume command” Redsun nodded “If this was real, I’d hold his coat”
“Fifth escadrille is down, as is the Sixth, First is down but its officers.”
Lord Sunflare looked at the map, a vast swathe of blue, bordering Silvermoon.
“I think...I think now perhaps the ...the Annihilatrix bombs, all the enemies at our gates, make them stop, pause and negotiate”
Brigante looked wide eyed at the Force-Commander, “Don’t you get it, you’ve used everything”
“No, no, there is still one Escadrille left, they can drop the Annihilatrix bombs”
Brigante frowned “No, no, there really isn’t?”
Lord Sunflare pointed at the remaining marker on Quel’danas, the -Seventh- Escadrille.
“Them”
Brigante calmed, very calm. Too Calm. Way too Calm.
“Lets assume, I can give them the weapons, lets assume we can activate them”
He swiped the icon over the enemy at the gates.
A vast amount disappeared.
Lord Sunflare laughed “See! Enemy at a standstill, confused, holding…”
Brigante’s eyes just looked at how much the icon had shrank by, to show losses..losses of the Seventh...
“They’re soldiers, Wing Commander, you grow soft…”
Lord Sunflare clearly grew nervous, “they will probably get medals, rewards for their service”
Brigante spat in Sunflare’s face. “They are children, its a cadet Squadron, they’d probably value Sweets rather than medals you inbred streak of p iss!
The Spire Official intoned “This simulation is over. Fates forend this outcome occur, but I am sure Quel’thalas rests happier knowing it has such guardians.”
The Official looked to one side “Put him down and stop hitting him Summerisle before I have you arrested..”