The Sun Hawks: Five Years on...

Argent Dawn
165

Meanwhile, in Pandaria

“…- and so you see, kin, why we had to evacuate.” Rogmasha sat on one of the many benches at Tian Monastery. Across from her sat four Blood Elves, each more enthralled than the last at her tale, one hastily scribbling notes and interjecting where needed for details.

A restless, not to mention scared Vivian trudged in circles nearby. From a device on her belt came a crackled, distant voice; “They’ve got him! They have Brigante Summerisle.”

The orc stilled then, for just a moment. Her heart sank in her chest. Hands clenched, knuckles paling underneath her gauntlets to keep her steady.

“As… I hope all of you can understand, I did not make my decision lightly. I did not wish to abandon the field, hence our relocation to a different campsite. I did not wish to fail my duties to the Horde. In the end, I hope you can understand I would’ve betrayed that duty, had we stayed.”

The four elves murmured amongst themselves a while, as dismayed as they were fascinated.

“I’m coming with you,” the warrior-soldier among them finally announced, as their meeting drew to a close, “to better understand what to report back to the High Kingdom, if nothing else.”

Though she forced a smile, a painful memory danced at the back of the orc’s mind. A warcry she’d often repeated alongside her people. Hearing herself repeat it only steeled her resolve. “Of course, friend. The Horde leave none behind.”

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Meanwhile, on Quel’danas
It was the first time Yasmyr had stood alone before the Aerie Council, and she had to admire the ludicrous theatricality of it all; the darkened room, the six council members (their features disguised beneath harsh shadow and ceremonial cowl) resembling nothing so much as a parliament of owls and she (fresh from the battlefield, skin and armour streaked with blood, sweat and ashes despite Reddawn’s attempts to render her presentable) spotlit before them, resembling nothing so much as prey.

One of the two middle ‘owls’ steepled their (her? It was hard to tell, their voices no doubt shrouded by magic as their bodies were shrouded by their garb) fingers. “Lieutenant.”

“Commandant.” Six sharp intakes of breath, like the firing of a rifle salvo; not a good start. Yasmyr straightened her back, despite the howl of protest from aching muscle and split flesh. “It’s Comman-”

“Lieutenant”

Another voice, this one to her left. On your nine, Bandit “I imagine you think yourself clever, Starglow. The council commend your ambition, if not your judgement. But this absurd coup-”

“With respect, Councillor, this is not a coup. Summerisle-”

“-is a decorated war veteran, and National Hero” the three-o’clock owl opined (did she imagine a venerable tremor to the voice? Their hands - spread wide - looked thin, and bony). “A flier with over a thousand years’ experience, and over three hundred kills.”

“Three hundred and sixty at last count.” Her voice was hoarse, the air in the council chamber stale and over-warm, so different from the bracing chill of the Fjords. “But that isn’t the point. He -”

“Please, enlighten us. What is your point, Lieutenant?”

She licked her lips, biting back the urge to tell them she’d reach it quicker with less interruptions, forcing herself to dip her head in gratitude and smile sweetly, to ignore the murmurs in the shadows around her.

(“Her score?” “Fifty nine.” “In a year? Queen Ace already. My, my”)

“I don’t believe Brigante would betray the High Kingdom willingly -”

“Then we are in agreement”

“- however, his actions have, whether through malice, incompetence or just pure fething stubbornness” - another salvo of hushed gasps; she inclined her head in brief apology but ploughed on regardless - “brought it harm. Possibly irreparably so. New Agamand is lost, giving Johnny Bl- giving the Alliance a perfect staging post from which to invade our shores.”

The figure at her eleven stroked their chin (bearded, or just a trick of the light?), their voice low and ponderous. “Our understanding, Lieutenant, is that it could never have been held with the numbers General Helmar deployed, given the forces arrayed against him.”

“Perhaps not, but we could have done something. If nothing else, we could have walked away heads held high, knowing we’d proven ourselves True to the Horde, trusting that when the assault came we’d have allies at our back. And instead he…”

She swallowed, her voice cracking. Why was it so damnably warm? The Council must have been roasting in their regalia, though they regarded her cooly. “Instead he what, Lieutenant?”

Exhale. Centre yourself. Don’t give them the satisfaction of seeing how deep the wound goes. “Instead he parlayed with Alliance Command, disavowing himself of the Horde’s actions -”

“Meaning the executions?”

A very slight nod. “- and deserted, with Alliance air support covering his retreat. When cornered, he chose to fight rather than surrender. He would have seen me unleash the Annihilatrix, Danger Close, before he yielded to the Executor’s men.”

“And you object?” came an incredulous voice. Three, or Five, or feth, maybe One? They were beginning to blur together, one vast gestalt entity with six hungry beaks. “Curious. I’ve heard your husband preach, Starglow. Til the last man falls, and all that. I had thought you an elf of greater conviction than -”

“For the High Kingdom? In a heartbeat. Nor for an Old Man’s wounded pride.”

“The duty of a soldier, Lieutenant, is to die for their Commander.”

“And the duty of a Commander, Councillor, is to make sure those lives aren’t wasted.”

“Do you think you’d make a better Commandant than him?”

it was a trap, all her instincts screamed as much, and yet one she entered willingly. What other choice was there? And besides, had she not proven herself a hundred times over? She could almost feel Targram’s hand on her shoulder, steadying her as he had the night she first stared down Brigante and refused to abandon her scouts, the orc’s voice telling her They picked the right Commander.

“Yes.”

Silence stretched for what seemed like an eternity.

“And in a Century or two, perhaps you will. But not yet. The Red Death remains too powerful a symbol, one that could fan the embers of rebellion into a raging inferno, and we cannot be seen to allow the Stygian Legion to dictate Aerie Policy by ratifying their choice of Wing Commander.” A pale hand lifted in the darkness, forestalling any protest. “You are here because they wish to remand the Commandant to your custody, so he may be punished In House; you intend to remind us this is a test of Silvermoon’s loyalty, as if we are debutantes in the world of politics and you some great sage, is that not so?”

She inclined her head, eyes blazing, shoulders trembling with silent, impotent rage.

“Debutantes we assuredly are not, Lieutenant. We remember as well as you the debt we owe the Forsaken; that you were born in the Blackened Woods affords you no special insight. Summerisle will not escape censure, but neither will his career end so ignominiously. He will resume his former position, and we will put this… unpleasantness behind us, and ready ourselves for the assault you are so certain is coming. Is that understood?”

A voice from the shadows, like a pistol being cocked; the Councillor sat on her seven. The Killing Angle, she thought ruefully. “Consider your response carefully, Lieutenant. A great many of the Traitor Prince’s supporters never faced punishment, as I understand it, and have since reintegrated into Thalassian society. It would be a terrible shame if the Spire decided to rectify that oversight. And while the grammatical intricacies of whatever dwarven dialect you are currently mouthing elude me, I can assure you none of our fathers were ever intimate with she-trolls. Do you accept our terms, or no?”

In the end, what choice did she have? Brigante would likely have ranted and railed and fallen on his own sword in protest, but if the past days had proven anything it was that she would never be Brigante Summerisle. She bit her tongue, and snapped a curt salute.

“Very well. Quel’thalas thanks you for your service, Lieutenant Starglow. You are dismissed.”

Outside the light was too bright, the Aerie corridors too noisy. Outside, she could allow her legs to crumple, her arms shielding her head as great shuddering sobs she hadn’t realised she was holding - sobs she’d been holding since Rash’in died on her watch, as her scout, for a handful of useless supplies - finally escaped.

And still the world turned.

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The Day the Whole World Went Away”

He Stalked to his office, his wrists free of chains, he had spoken to his Lieutenant, It had been awkward, lengthy, He wasn’t sure he had won her over, But at this time, these days, we didn’t have to win people over. They just had to do as they were told….The New World Order. They all had to do what they were Told.

He realised the irony of that…

He never had… Nor had she.

Two peas from the same pod.

He slammed his doors open wide, and glowered at the three figures “Who the Hells are you?”

“Commandant…Punishment has to be seen to be done.”

Brigante bristled, “good, then I can give you a list of names who behaved like Amani Savages, and worse, those of our own people who cheered to see such savagery, they need bringing to account and educating! But who the hells are you, in my office?”

The door clicked behind him.

“It reaches this far then? He slumped briefly, picking up his ashtray.

“The Horde expects loyalty” the voice behind him spoke.

“It used to be Family!” He span and hurled the metal ashtray, seeing it bisect the Forsaken face.

“Let us stand down! Listen” He held his hands out. The Forsaken was downed, not dead, but injured. Lucky to be so… The two Mages by his side were not.

“Is this about Northrend? You should be punishing those animals and traitors! Not here, not me!” He said, both hands outstretched, and both spellcasters knew why.

They circled him warily, like cats, they knew the first to strike, would be nullified, and likely slain by the Ranger’s superior skills. Brigante chuckled “ Did not turn out as you had expected…” He carried on turning, keeping them both in sight until another entered “This has to be done…The Council has ordered it”

“I was lied to…She did send you?”

They used his moment of doubt to rush him, one dropped, his magics dispelled and the Ranger Slamming his face into his kneecap, with a swift grab, as the Elf fell he bared his teeth and the small ranger leapt at them, just the other magics sent him into a torporific sleep.

“We could just…Kill him?” One of the two remaining assassins grumbled. “And thats why you don’t understand anything. He was a Ranger, Two Mages left, two rangers unconscious or downed. He has to be taught a -Lesson- and frankly, he’s too much use alive!

The lead Magi nodded, “The Same lesson that was our point from the very start… We do have a job to do, so if you wouldn’t mind swiving off, we have this covered…

The Elegant tracery started placing itself over Brigante who opened his eyes the instant it did….

“No…I know this magic, I was born and raised to be a Magister, You can’t do this to me! Why!”

“You betrayed the Horde”

“No! I Upheld the Horde, I have been dragged down by traitors!

“An example has to be made…”

“Then let it be of the Witch who burned Prisoners alive!”

“You don’t understand, Summerisle…

“I think…I think I do… It doesn’t matter if I am right or wrong, does it?

Physical pain wracked his body and he shuddered on the floor, A Summoned Demon listened to his gasps of pain, and reported them back to a Forsaken stenographer.

“I can’t….Come closer”

The Inquisitor leant over, their face one of concern.

“I can’t believe I’d have been able to spit so far!”

The Phlegm hit the elf in the face, she stood up angrily, wiping her face.

“Clever, but we will have the last laugh, oh we will…”

“A Bargain was made for your life, Summerisle. Your Subordinates have more love for you than you can imagine”

“You’re in my swiving Office! This isn’t a bargain…Get Out! Stop this!”

The Magic traced itself over his entire frame.

“I am of Magisterial Blood, I know what you are doing! Who ordered this! Who was it, Yasmyr? She’s not ready for command, I can supercede her Orders, Perroy? The Forsaken hold the whip hand now, assuredly, but these things change, they -always change! You cannot do this to me! I have Done -Nothing- Wrong!”

The Inquisitor leaned down, her face cleaned of his spittle. “But thats that point Summerisle….You haven’t done anything wrong…you haven’t betrayed the Horde, so we can’t set your pretty head on an executioners box, or set a noose around your neck, but then you were never smart enough to actually play the Political game, were you?”

“What was the Phrase in that War? True to the Warchief, True to the Horde?”

The elven woman leant back. “What was your own phrase? “If you stand for nothing, you will fall for anything”

“Welcome to the world where your words have Meaning. And you are Bound magically by them. Anything of duty…you keep, anything else, you are marked as False. Truth with a cross drawn through it, visible on your magic to any Blood Elf, Shal’dorei or Magi of any race. They will know you as a Betrayer! As False!”

“I Did nothing wron-”

He arced, tossing on the timbers like a grounded fish, a soundless scream emitting as he was so marked.

The Convulsions lasted for about half an hour, he guessed. When he woke, wiped his own drool from his lips, the clock seemed to suggest so, he was alone…

His head stung like a hundred bees had attacked it. One of those attacks that sometimes happened…Time to get back to the kids…

Clambering to his feet, he needed to get things in hand, So much to do…So much to organise…

They had just fought in -SPIKE- he crashed to the ground, something had not…Alright, Clearly there were some painful memories, It was rough…approach it slow, They had fought, they had done they all could, and then the Tauren woman had -SPIKE- He awoke on the floor “She had done something terrible” he murmured, he searched, but his brain hurt so much, so very much, like…Fire….
“Oh Gods…She had set someone on fire….”

“What did they do to my head?” He shook his head briefly.

“Hnnngh” he growled and set off back to his home.

He… was home… It was Silvermoon…or Quel’danas.

The door opened easily enough and locked behind him. He hung his cloak on his rack, then entered his sleeping room.

His Wife Screamed to see him “Get Out! Get Out Get Out!” “Tarri, our Children! Whatever You think I have done, I haven’t, let us talk!” The two Infants were clambering over themselves, not in joy to be held by their Ann’da, but in Fear…trying to escape him, as desperate as they could, in their cot. Brigante sank to his knees, head in his hands, the screams of his children and his wife loud in his ears…

They had branded him. Oh they had. And the worst was, it wouldn’t affect anyone in his professional career, he could still be their perfect little soldier, but any emotion he felt, any care….thats when they saw the Arcane Brand and revolted against it.

Well Played. He thought…

I’m your Soldier Boy until I find a way to free my family….

You’ve got me…Until they can see me without screaming…

And then…I won’t be the one doing the screaming…trust me.

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How can the whole world go away when I’m still here? :thinking:

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Pah, as anyone in my Guild could tell you, I have a ‘thing’ for dramatic titles for things, like stories or DM’d events. I usually pinch them from literature or music, That one just happens to be a Nine Inch Nails song title.

I’m not happy with that story, in its wording, or execution in text form, I was going for something sparse and visceral, but I think it gets the basic point across. Boy’s been punished in a horrible way.

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I love the story, but it can get a bit confusing who is talking at times.

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Brigante rubbed off the stains and blood, let traitors strike blows, let their Alliance confederates aid them. He had seen the lies with his own eyes. supposedly exiled Alliance criminals, yet strangely not, None of the Alliance had taken action against him, so yet again, proof that the boys in blue never spoke true…

Brigante wiped the blood from his forehead and chin.

He spat out blood. Proof that his own side spoke no truth either…

No one did…

He rubbed the blood from his bruises, the traitors ran free, and the people of good standing had to hide small.

Well…it was not as if the Horde not had been here before….

His fury, his absolute rage? The betrayal of the Stygians. They could have kept on -fighting- the Alliance instead of this craven act…He was not sure where his anger came from, but part of it was fury at making a name, then cowering! They -hampered- Horde War Efforts!

They could have stood, they could have fought,Why did they run!

Brigante rubbed his bruises, He didn’t doubt that Philip had his reasons to flee, that the Baron also had a rationale for what Brigante could not help as see but abject cowardice…Pullo, Zeep, Horkim? Hangart! Damned Hangart! Why Him, of all People! What reasons did they have for fleeing the field and letting the sons and daughters of Quel’thalas have to take their wounds in their stead?

Was this the plan all along? That Quel’thalas had to take the hit for the Horde…Everyone knew what the ‘reason’ was. So it make sense. This was the idea then? Soften us up for the idea of being the ones who have to take the punch when it comes?

He rubbed the bruises behind his neck and tried to soothe movement into his shoulder.

He shook his head “Not happening” he muttered.

He ran his hair back “But sensible…Its probably why…They wanted to toughen us up for this…Mother of all Hells…they think -we- of all people needed toughening up for this?”

Brigante glared at the ceiling “They…Don’t understand us at all do they!” “I expected our Allies to Keep Fighting!” he growled meaninglessly at the window as if it would care. He clenched his fists in anger, but only the walls would care….

“Its Time Sire, to come and see them” Brigante frowned, but this had to be done, this parade of his ‘punishment’ for disagreeing with the new Regime…. He opened the door and clicked it behind him.

He glared ahead of him and fixed a firm stare on each of the faces “Well, Get it out of your system, wretches!”

The Elven magister looked at him…”You don’t…understand it yet do you, Ranger Captain?”

Brigante growled “Indulge me, you’re only a Magister, I outrank you, you piece of…”

“Wait till I have finished…” the Magister smiled broadly

The Elf continued, “You see we like to keep track of people, and we know your wife, she is not…the most mobile of people right now”

Brigante paled, if such was even possible for him, his blackened, bruised eyes looking even more pronounced. “No, thats….thats not how we work, that’s not what you mean, you didn’t mean to say that….”

The Magister smiled sweetly “Your children, what, not yet one yet? They’re awful vulnerable at such an age…Very easy for accidents to happen…children have all kinds of accidents at those times…

Brigante went very still.

“Whatever you are saying…whatever we both think we are saying…” he started.

“Its not about what -we- think we are saying…it is about what -you- say next” The Magister replied comfortably

Brigante sagged, his bruised face hanging low… He was beaten. They had won… “Whatever you say you want… Not my wife…not my children….”

The Magister nodded “Excellent. Then you will be our Good little Soldier then”

Brigante thought of Tarrithael, Laindor and Kayrissa, the latter two, squealing little bundles enjoying just being alive not even a year old, just taking sheer joy in being alive… He started weeping…, There was no…There was nothing

He hung his head.

“I’ll be your good little soldier…just leave my family alone”

The Magister even had the decency to look a little sympathetic as they looked at Brigante, and said “Then for the good of your Family….”

“Be our good little Soldier”

It took a long time for the Farstrider to stop weeping….

He would be a good little soldier…

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Question mark in ten characters, though this could have been asked easier and less transparently So a Character has a Subjective Opinion that may or may not be correct… What was your question? I mean…There was not a question, did you have a question?

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Hmm looks like an IC story from Brigante’s point of view…

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That’s completely what it was…

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I keep being tempted to make a Belf because of this, and still have no damn idea what I would make xD curse you!

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Some suggestions:

  • Graduate of the 7th Escadrille (the cadet wing), to join our gaggle of naive young rookies who want to be heroes

  • Transfer in from another division of the Farstriders

  • Veteran who’s been enjoying their retirement but with the escalating war wants to Do Their Part

… that’s just off the top of my head; as we’re mostly made up of volunteers pretty much any background can work with the exception of “warlock who currently works with demons”, “death knight” or “demon hunter”. if you want to talk through ideas feel free to whisper me when I’m on Yasmyr and we can spitball concepts :slight_smile:

Our next deployment (event chain) is running Thursday to Sunday, so now is a very good time to come aboard!

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Yes, hello. Have you seen the beasts? They would rekt your little birds down with ease.

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Much though I enjoy veteran characters, as opposed to the younger characters I have mostly at the moment, my understanding of Helf/Belf lore is rather lacking.
We shall see, although they’d probably get on with my cranky old Orc shaman who is biding his time at the moment :stuck_out_tongue:

Edit: Also, I think Id struggle to balance my main guild with any more, as much as Id love to join ALL the guilds I admire :laughing:

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I’ll go and put my Blood Elf mask on.

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I’ve already forewarned Brigante that my very tall and green cousin Targthemar is transferring into the unit, I think we might just get away with this Incredibly Cunning Plan to keep the bromance alive :rofl:

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wears an elven mask and sits on his flying machine which has a dragonhawk mask stapled to it
Quel’arthas fellow lo- chin’dorei, i am hawkrider… notan orcstrider from the ghostland tribe, i am here to st- help.

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Oi! Sun Hawks! You rock!

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So, because ideas wont leave me alone, where would a possible Holydin medic/archivist fit in? I’ve got my glut of combat competent characters, but no characters that are supportive or rear echelon, heh.

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I’ll summon our Flight Surgeon (and my partner in crime) to give a more coherent answer, but in summary: fliers are always a degree of Combat Capable in as much as they are expected to participate in Aerial Combat Deployments, but that degree varies from “literally never flown before and learning it all by doing” through to “veteran of millenia of combat” with pretty much everything inbetween. Our current Flight Surgeon is very much in the thick of things; his predecessor was something more of a pacifist by nature and tended to adopt a purely supportive role.

The Aerie does have Support Staff (handlers who look after the Hawks and fliers, staff working in the Sanatorium, Equerries and such like) but they tend to be NPCs or officer alts used for scene setting and info-dumping; I would not recommend playing a non-flier as 9/10 of our actual Plot Events are geared around the Aces, not the Ground Staff.

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