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Post by Val on Dec 8, 2006 11:17:05 GMT -5
The stillness in the air as they tore down camp was unsatisfying, Sari had just wrapped the remains of the Noble Paladin in satin sheets and fastened his horse on to the makeshift wagon that Bloran and Biersal made, all was made of glass of course. Despite the obvious impracticality of a glass wagon that will be used to transport corpses through volcanic terrain, it was a beautiful wagon. It carried the massacred bodies of the families of Lakeshire, and their guilt with them.
Valand had asked Bloran for some water to wash his face and arms. Dordt packed up camp in silent, the caged man did nothing to hide his disgust with himself. Adaliah was recovered well; she had the strength in her to pack her belongings. More than once Dordt had made his way next to her and watched her carefully, Valand noted the curiosity through his helmed gaze.
Adaliah, as Valand noted, was often staring at him, she seemed as if she wanted to ask him something, and more than once did he consider approaching her, but every time he turned to her, she averted her gaze and looked to the side with a guilty sort of look on her dirty face. So, without much of a word, he continued the packing, and when they had all their belongings, they began the long, silent trip back. Dordt and Valand walked while Sari, Adaliah, Bloran and Biersal rode in the fragile wagon, and like he figured, on more than one occasion, they had to stop while Bloran and Biersal repaired the wagon, normally by pouring some sand on the location of the crack and with a beam of heat to melt it into glass.
They arrived in Redridge within two days. The evening of their arrival, they immediately set themselves on the eastern outskirts of the hamlet, trying to avoid any human contact if at all possible. Sitting quietly amongst the rocks near the lake, they looked westward to the village and saw the flicker of lights, soon as deep evening fell, the last of the lights went out other than the Tavern.
They sat and talked quietly amongst themselves, Murlocs could be heard from at a distance, and the aspect of attracting a pack of them wasn’t pleasant to say the least, so they maintained a dull roar.
Valand moved to the prone side of Adaliah, she rolled to her side and faced him; he was standing to the side of the wagon. He placed his elbows on the side of it and rested his chin; she smiled as he looked at her.
“You know we’re all going to be torched for what happened to the people here.” He said.
This wiped away her smile.
“I know.”
“We can’t do anything about it, but hope that our reputations and Gareg’s influence within the Stormwind Authorities.”
She nodded and turn away from him, with that, Sari was moving to the front of the wagon, her face was tired and solemn, she looked at Valand with a weary face.
“Are you ready?”
Valand nodded, he grabbed his pack and started walking the coastline up to the village, Sari followed behind.
They did not speak as they walked, for some reason Valand found it hard to even look at her, her melancholy was enough to buckle his knees. But, the question gnawed at his head, how did she know what he saw? How did she know about Durindana?
“Sari? I have a question.”
“Yes?”
“How did you know about Durindana, and about the power I had back at the camp?”
“Because, it was written all over you.”
“What was written?”
“Durindana is a minor Celestial, but one that the Vanguard of Ablution was keenly aware of, Gareg’s father; my Tutor is very educated in knowledge of Durindana.”
“But that doesn’t answer my question.”
“It’s something you need to see for yourself. If we ever get out of this mess, I’ll have you meet Baldurn.”
Valand slowed and walked beside the Elf.
“Was that Gareg’s father’s name then?”
“Yes, he was my mentor in my training in the ways of the light.” Valand looked forward without much thought before he spoke.
“Could he teach me the ways of the light?”
She slowed to a stop and looked at him for a moment.
“Why would you want to do that?”
Valand stopped and turned around; he shrugged and adjusted his pack.
“It feels like the right thing to do now.”
Sari cracked a well relieved smile and continued walking.
“You’ll have to travel to the Cathedral first, only they can start you in your knighthood.”
“Assuming we aren’t hung tonight?”
“Assuming that, yes.”
The rest of the walk was spent in the silence of the lake.
As they reached town, the smell of dead fish rose in their nostrils, it was subtle enough to allow easy breathing, but noticeable all the same. They entered the Town Hall, the entrance was silent, as was the waiting room, there were flickers of light in the main auditorium, they walked quietly in, there were two men standing at around the table, searching through maps and dossiers, one was obviously identified to be Magistrate Solomon, as Valand and he had seen each other on several occasions, the other was a taller, skinnier man. He wore the badges of a Deputy of Stormwind, but with none of the regalia, he was unarmed and rather innocent looking, but the dour look on his face related another story. The brushing of their feet alarmed the two men and their heads shot up to the entrance, the unknown man immediately called out.
“Halt!”
But when Solomon saw the face of Valand, he rested his hand on the guarded man.
“Hold it Terrence, this is a friend.”
Valand walked in slowly, without saying much of anything, Sari followed behind.
Solomon immediately gasped when he saw the patch of Valand’s eye, but chose to remain silent, the other man, Terrence, simply scowled at them both.
“What brings you here so late Valand, and who is your friend?”
Valand nodded back to Sari.
“This is Sari Whitehammer, and we’ve probably got the answers you’ve been looking for.”
Solomon looked at Terrence, whose scowl immediately changed to a more accepting gaze.
“What answers would those be?”
“You’d better sit down. The story will take a while.”
After several hours of examination of their story, Solomon flopped down in a nearby chair, exhausted. Clearly dismayed by the story told.
“I know that what you say is true, but justice must be served, for the people of Lakeshire and the nation. We’ll have to take this to a higher authority. Until then, you’ll have to stay here in Lakeshire County; I can afford to put you all up in the Inn for your time here.”
Sari leaned forward and placed her hands on her knees.
“If I could, I’d ask to be allowed to head to the Capitol, I must escort my late husband’s body to the Cathedral and then to his Homeland to the North.”
Terrence, the man now identified as a Deputy investigating the murders and who was not as swayed by their testimony, stood up with a sudden outrage.
“There is no way you are leaving this Town, now on the basis of that half baked story! I have heard nothing of your “Vanguard of Ablution” or anything of the Iron Caste operating in the region! You have no proof, and I am insulted that you would even ask this after Solomon so generously allowed to stay in an Inn rather than the Stockades!”
Solomon raised his hand and stopped the ranting Deputy. “You may go, but you will go with two of my town’s watch, and they are permitted to drag you and the corpse of your late husband back here if necessary, do I make myself clear?”
She nodded.
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The trial was set sometime within the next few months. The next day, Solomon announced the news of the ill fated townspeople. Despite his urging of the possibly innocence of the group, consensus attitude of the general public was that Valand and the others were vile creatures and the townspeople subsequently made their stay a horrible one.
While they were permitted to leave the Inn and traverse Lakeshire County, they were all on strict watch. On more than one occasion when they had left the oppressive confines of Lakeshire they had found that their every moment was under a watchful eye. The weeks leading up to the trial had been the worst of all.
Valand woke up one evening to the sounds of harsh voices and movement from below, at the Inn’s main floor. He lifted his weary body off the cotton white sheets and glanced around him, the room was dark and everyone was gone. He heard then, above the murmurs, a single voice crying out in plea.
“I don’t want to have to make Biersal consume you! But he will! Get back!”
“Bloran.”
Valand shot up to his feet, and flew through the door, the window opposite of the door was open, and the crisp night air slammed against his chest, he turned and made haste down the stairs. Below he found a mob of bodies, all drunken farmers and fishmongers deep in rage. Adaliah was behind the group trying to find a way to get closer to Bloran and Biersal, whom Valand assumed were at the center of everyone’s attention. He walked up and placed his hand on Adaliah’s shoulder; she reacted defensively and turned sharply with her fists raised. Valand stepped back and placed his hands in the air. She saw the one-eyed warrior and dropped her fists.
“Val!”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know, I was outside relaxing by the lake when I heard shouts from inside the Inn, I came in to find and found this.”
Valand grabbed Adaliah by the wrist and started forcing his way through the drunken throng, upon entering the center he found a large burly man standing over the prone form of Bloran, with Biersal standing idly to the side with a jar in his hand, scrubbing away without a hint of his surroundings.
“What happened?” Valand shouted at the large man, he turned his attention from the prone gnome and looked at the two humans.
“You’re the leader of them aren’t you? You killed my brother while I was in Theramore you bastard!”
He reached for Valand’s head, Adaliah stepped to the side and Valand grabbed the large man by the wrists as he charged. Valand was not a notably large man, he was tall, but not a bulk like the man assailing him, but when he felt the man’s sweaty wrists as he clawed for Valand’s throat, he showed the crowd the deception in his form, he twisted the man’s arms and heaved him to the side. On his right, he heard Adaliah gasp as a couple of the drunks grabbed her, shouting slurs as they did. She stomped on of their feet, Valand heard a snap over the roar of the crowd and he knew that one of them now had a broken foot, the drunk fell to the side and the other slapped Adaliah in the face, and she returned the favor with a head butt and knocked him on his back. They both backed up against the wall, feeling that the situation would quickly become unstable unless they got away. Adaliah looked at Valand, frightened; Valand returned the glance with a similar look. Moments passed quickly and before they knew it, the murmur erupted into shouts of rage and the rallying cries of “Kill them!” came on everyone’s lips.
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Post by Val on Dec 23, 2006 3:49:05 GMT -5
(( Added a new beginning to the section, felt that it was necessary. ))
A loud crack sounded as a rifle went off from behind the crowd, Valand grabbed Adaliah’s hand and pulled her close, Bloran and Biersal shot behind the warrior and grabbed at his leg.
“Everyone DOWN ON THE FLOOR!”
The crowd murmured for a few moments, and then another shot went off.
“NOW!”
The crowd slowly fell to their knees, as they did, Terrence was seen at the doorway, and Dordt was behind him in shackles.
“You’re all coming with me, the Trial starts in the morning.”
The four of them inched through the crowd to Terrence, he held a rifle in his hand, and a glinting enchanted blade was sheathed at his hip. Two guardsmen clasped the shackles on their wrists, except for Biersal who was shoved into a tiny cage. The Kobold grumbled, but as he lied down, the sounds of his snores echoed. They all were set in the back of a wagon, and promptly asked to sit quietly, Terrence and the guardsmen all piled on the front, the one guardsman sat, staring at them.
They we’re for the most part all still riled up from the incident at the Tavern, Dordt sat and listening to them talk figured out almost all of what happened, but one question remained to Valand, how did it start?
Valand looked at Bloran, who was in turn, looking at the passed out Biersal.
“What happened Bloran?”
The gnome looked slowly up at Valand; his face was in a sort of strange awe.
“Shhh, he’s sleeping!”
Bloran leaned back and closed his eyes.
“Bloran, how did that riot start?”
His eyes popped back open.
“Oh that! Biersal and I were just minding our own business, cleaning glasses and fixing the broken ones. When Biersal went for a dirty glass on the bar, when a large man suddenly grabbed him by the arms and threw him, screaming about his beer being ruined because the filthy kobold touched it. Then they said something about us being villains, I wasn’t paying attention though, he broke the glass in his fit. Did I ever tell you about how I started making glasses in the first place, well, I was at my home in Stormwind when…”
“I think we got it.”
Adaliah sat across from Valand, she looked at him.
“That went fast, I’m nervous about the trial.”
“Solomon will help assure a fair trial, I’m sure things will turn out.”
She smiled.
“I believe you.”
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Post by Val on Jan 23, 2007 0:23:17 GMT -5
The ride was shorter than expected, with no armed assaults from Defias interlopers, they made Stormwind by sunrise. Bloran had fallen asleep in the vigil; Dordt had nodded off more than once. Adaliah sat up in silence and watched her surroundings intently. Valand simply stared at the shackles on his wrists without much emotion or care it seemed; so far, he had been beaten, downtrodden and left with more questions than answers. The guilt of leaving the Halls once more during their time of need had given him grief enough, but now that he was going to be tried for the massacre near Draco’dar, he didn’t know how he was going to take it. The bizarre visions, the strange power he felt. Was he a Paladin? No… he’s not a Paladin yet, he’s an anomaly of sorts, he shows the aptitude of harnessing the light, but it is not his own. It is Durindana, or is it?
The cart rolled to a halt before the stone gates outside Stormwind, Terrence moved from the passenger’s seat and signaled two of the nearby gate guards to his side. The men shuffled quickly up to the tall man’s side.
“Take these to the Stockades.”
One of the guards stammered.
“But… but sir… the Stockades, they aren’t safe yet.”
Terrence turned with a quick glare, then spat on the ground and cursed.
“Thelwater still hasn’t managed to clean that mess up… “
He turned back to the prisoners and sighed.
“Take them to the Park District; hold them in the abandoned Fest Hall. If anyone gives you any grief, tell them The Shackle sent you.”
The two guards nodded and helped Terrence move the prisoners off the cart, they paid special attention to Adaliah, making sure that she had the utmost “support” when reaching the ground, where as Valand managed to slip and land with his chin in the dirt.
“Get up you one eyed slob!”
They hastily pushed them through the busy Trade District, as they proceeded through the mobs of busy people, the sound of harsh voices and jeers followed. Bloran looked up at Dordt and asked him.
“Do they jeer at us, or the guards?”
Dordt snorted and ignored the Gnome. He looked at Biersal, the Kobold simply shrugged. Adaliah spoke up.
“The guards Bloran, we’re heroes.” The sarcasm was evident enough, but it seemed to be lost on Bloran as he beamed happily as he marched.
They reached the park district; the sounds of the elves far ahead did nothing to cheer the dim mood of the four of them. To their right was the abandoned fest hall, the guards hurried them inside, as they entered, Dordt showed a measure of hesitance as he entered, and much like a bull, he shoved back against the guard as he pushed the large man in. The other joined in and they heaved him in the door, he fell with a thud on the wooden planks.
“I WANT TO SEE MY WIFE!”
The guards ignored the ravings of the flayed warrior, the other three entered with little resistance. As they all entered, one guard stood outside the doorway, while the other disappeared from view. The four of them sat there on the floor of the abandoned fest hall, and then, again, the waiting ensued. Soon, however, Terrence the Shackle was seen walking up the path. The guards stood in salute as the guard made his way past them; he entered the Fest Hall and began speaking before he even got inside.
“The trial is in an hour, get cleaned up and be ready for transport to the keep.”
The Trial was nothing but a passive walk through a crowded room and a stop before a large parchment inked out before them. The parchment was lying on the back wall, Terrence led them to it. The ink was still wet, but the author was nowhere in sight. It seemed to them, the court had already come to a decision, Terrence stood in front of the parchment with a scowl, and it seemed he wasn’t thrilled about being left without a chance to prosecute as much as they weren’t thrilled about being able to defend themselves. Terrence muttered out the parchment to himself as a guard approached him with four envelopes.
The five are equally sentenced to a different measure; each will receive their own punishment as it is detailed in the sealed envelopes that you are being given.
Terrence took the envelopes and handed them out to each of the four prisoners, Valand looked down; the seal was that of Lakeshire County. He broke the seal and removed the letter.
Valandur Arkenett, Sergeant Major,
We respect your values when returning to Lakeshire bearing the ill news of the dead, however, the lack of evidence supporting you and your company’s claims forces us to hold you directly responsible for the ritual murders of the citizens of Lakeshire, we do so not out of mal content, but as our duty to serve the families’ of the fallen a manner of closure. Due to the extreme nature of the incident, we are inclined to send out a warrant, calling for your head immediately, but, in lieu of your stellar record with the Stormwind Military and your continued efforts in supporting the agents of the Cathedral of Light, as well as the strenuous nature of events in Azeroth as of the moment, we are allowing you a chance at redeeming your honor amongst your peers. You will once again serve the Alliance in their continued efforts on the many battlefields fought against the Horde and the nefarious threats elsewhere. After your two year term is up, you are effectively free of service until you are called upon again to serve your people. We feel this is a fair judgment and expect that you will treat this as if it was a direct order from King Anduin Wrynn himself.
Signed
Magistrate Solomon of Lakeshire, Justiciar Marko Stillwater of the Stormwind Army
Valand looked up to the others; they all had the similar looks of dismay on their faces. Terrence had moved away for a moment, he was arguing with a rather portly looking man standing behind a table nearby. Adaliah sighed to herself and she looked at Valand.
“I don’t suppose they decided to put you in the garrison at Nethergarde?”
Valand shook his head, Adaliah sighed again and slouched. Bloran and Biersal stood silently, well, almost; Bloran took a great deal of effort in opening his envelope, which invariably tore the entire thing to shreds. He sprawled out on the floor, trying to read the scattered pieces, he was muttering to himself under his breath.
“Report... Mage’s Tower… Expulsion… Bottles…”
Dordt however, just crumpled up his paper and threw it on the ground without so much as a word. Adaliah looked over at Dordt and through his metal veil he looked back.
“What’d you get Dordt?”
He looked straight forward.
“I’ve got three months to spend with Anah while she recovers, after that I’m shipping out to Northrend on another scouting run.”
Adaliah put her hand on the scarred man’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Terrence saw the mess Bloran was making and hastened back, and with a typical screaming demeanor, he reprimanded the Gnome and the Kobold as if they were children. Terrence looked back up at Valand; Valand was staring at the man, trying to form a question on his tongue.
“What? What are you looking at murderer?”
Valand’s face remained impassive, but the blow was effective on the inside.
“What happened to Sari?”
Terrence sneered and looked at a guard for a moment; he looked back to Valand with a strange smile on his face.
“I don’t know, or care, you’ve got more things to worry about than her.”
“What about Gareg’s funeral?”
Terrence spit.
“I couldn’t give two inklings of garbage about his funeral!”
Valand’s face darkened.
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Post by Val on Mar 16, 2007 18:25:04 GMT -5
There they stood, that evening, all four standing silently amongst the thinning crowds near the canals north of Old Town. Dordt and Adaliah chatted idly to themselves to the side, Bloran and Biersal played some sort of strange game, where Biersal just stood there, near half drunk and Bloran jumped in circles around him.
Valand leaned up against the stone rail and looked quietly at the setting sun behind the Cathedral of Light. Soon, Valand would be heading north, to Alterac, near the home of his father’s family. He remembered Gareg’s death then…
Before he could be called too far into the depths of his memory, he felt a tug on his pant leg; he looked down and saw Bloran and Biersal standing in front of him.
“Hello Mr. Arkenett, I do believe Biersal and I have a meeting to attend at the Mage’s Tower! We hope to see you again; you are a quiet, but kind man. Here’s this, we made it for you!”
Bloran held out his hand, in his tiny palm there was a little glass charm attached to a silver chain.
“What’s this Bloran?”
Bloran looked back at Biersal and snickered.
“It’s a charm! I we made it just for you!”
Valand smiled and took it in his hand.
“Thank you Bloran, you too Biersal.”
Bloran beamed, Biersal burped.
“It’s got magic!”
Biersal poked Bloran on the shoulder, the gnome turned around to look at his intoxicated companion, Biersal shook his head.
”Oh! It’s made so that whenever you are cold, you can have a little fire of your own!”
Valand smiled once more, this time the smile remained.
Biersal tugged Bloran’s red cape.
”Oh yes, we go now! It was good to meet you Mr. Arkenett, we shall meet again!”
Valand watched the two make their way off, in a storm of quiet shouts. He saw from his side as Dordt approached him, the scarred man wasn’t in the least bit apprehensive for the first time since he met him.
”Valand.”
Valand turned back.
”Dordt?”
The scarred man held out his left hand, Valand stared at his outstretched hand for a moment before grasping it.
”It was a pleasure to work with you Valand; you’re a better man than I thought you were.”
Valand nodded, the scarred man took that as his cue to leave, and he walked over to Adaliah and grabbed his pack. As he watched the warrior head off down the Canal, he saw Adaliah approach. He noticed how her hips swayed as she walked now. She had a warm smile on her face. She placed her hand on his forearm and stood close to his side.
”I’m leaving to Nethergarde Keep, Garrison work is boring.”
Valand quickly responded.
”It’s safe.”
She smiled.
”You should care more for your own safety; you’re heading into a war zone.”
Valand shrugged.
”Wouldn’t be the first time, nor the last I suspect.”
She leaned in even closer to his side; the fire of the sun was finally disappearing, leaving a golden halo from around the Cathedral’s spire. He watched it in silence; she laid her head on his shoulder, he liked it there, he’d never admit it though.
”Why are you worried about my safety?”
He remained impassive.
”I’m a warrior by trade; I worry for others before myself at all costs.”
She removed her head from his shoulder and looked him in his eye.
”How hard is it for you to admit that you’re in love with me.”
He looked down at her now; his face was etched in a slight scowl.
”I’m not.”
She looked into his lone green eye.
”You’re a liar.”
She leaned up.
They kissed.
Valand had been with women before in his life; he had kissed a woman before and had felt love before. But never the feeling he had that autumn evening.
She removed the dirty cloth he had used as a patch from his face, revealing his ugly scar. She rubbed her fingers around the scar itself and smiled.
”For me?”
Valand stared back at her; she wrapped her hair up with that dirty cloth.
”I’ll have this forever, Val. To remember. You take this.”
She fiddled through her pockets and pulled out a wrapped up sheet of parchment. Valand went to open the note but she placed a hand on his.
”Not yet, wait until you miss me.”
She smiled at him; he returned the smile with a dire look.
”I already do.”
She smiled again.
They kissed once more.
Two years later.
Ice, Sleet, Blood, cold fires ripping the winds. Cannon fire, the roar of those green skinned bastards. Hate, bloodlust. All for what?
He sit there that night, knee deep in the snow, his cloak long gone, it was the victim of flaming arrows. They had capped the garrison in one fateful charge after a wasteful three month campaign. It didn’t matter to Valand much right now. Thrumand’s blood was covering his hands and chest. The old dwarf was nearly cleaved in half.
Galvanger was no easy kill.
Thrumand coughed another hacking cough and his eyes went dead.
The rest of the Platoon had gone about setting fires to the towers and the Garrison itself. Iceblood was gone. But so was Stonehearth, Captain Balinda had been slaughtered, Valand’s platoon was to be the cavalry to reinforce her position and force the Frostwolf forces back, they were late. Valand took the remnants of Stonehearth’s battered garrison and led the charge across the Fields of Strife right up to Galvanger’s gate.
The victory was theirs of course, but they had lost the momentum to push forward and would be forced to retreat back to Dun Baldar, they had to or bear witness to utter destruction by the Horde’s counterstrike. Valand stood now, his plate armor glistening with condensation and blood. He was in his most hated homeland now, on the constant battlefield.
Thunder roared in the distant, war drums.
“The counter strike.”
He looked one last time to his friend before taking off in full sprint to his mount.
”Retreat! Fall back to the ruins of Stonehearth! Hear me!”
One by one they fell, a green wave washed from the southern hills.
Valand grabbed onto the reigns on his grizzled ram, Stouthorn, a gift from Vanndar himself.
“Retreat! Everyone! Regroup at Stonehearth! Move!”
He grabbed a broken banner and waved it high above his head, the corner of it was still aflame.
”Move! Move! Move!”
Their forces started to move back, the Horde counter attack did not halt in its chase. Back north, across the Fields of Strife. More than once did Valand feel the sting of an Arrow as it slammed into his plated back. He felt a slight pang in his neck. He turned then and watched in horror as one Dwarf was drug from his mount by two Tauren warriors. Valand reeled his mount and charged back, those two had strayed far from their lines to attack the dwarf. He sped full speed with his ram lowered into a gore, he took the first one with the charge, but the bulk of the Tauren tripped up the charging ram, sending Valand like a missile into the side of the next Tauren. Quickly wrestling to the top of the giant bull, he crushed its head in with his mace. The dwarf he tried to rescue had been bludgeoned to near death, he lifted the stout dwarf over his shoulder and made for his recovering Ram, he laid the dwarf over the Ram’s back and Valand hopped up. He made full haste before the rest of the charging horde made an easy kill out of him.
He watched as the remnants of his force took up arms behind broken fortifications, more fire and blood.
He sped past them to Stonehearth Circle, Lieutenant Spencer was shouting to runners as Valand approached. Valand pulled the dwarf off of his Ram and laid him down near the graveyard. A few nearby soldiers grabbed him and moved him farther back near the graveyard.
”He’s not dead!”
Spencer waved his hand at Valand.
”There are more wounded there, we’re sending for transports to take them back to the Stormpike Aid Station.”
Valand pointed back to the Fields of Strife.
“Are there any reinforcements on their way?”
Spencer followed Valand’s outstretched hand and saw the counter attack bearing down.
”By the light….”
Spencer looked now at Valand.
”Go to Dun Baldar, tell them to send troops!”
Valand stammered.
”But… I can fight!”
Spencer shook his head.
”Move Soldier!”
Valand grabbed the reins of Stouthorn and flung himself into the saddle, he kicked the ram into motion. The winds were blowing southward, effectively making whatever eyesight Valand had in his remaining eye useless as he rode. He followed the path northward, across the bridge spanning the chasm defining Dun Baldar. Commander Mortimer was mounted near the forge works, Valand sped up next to him and let out a cough, blood started to trail from his mouth.
”Wha’ in the hell is goin on out there! I jus got three runners screaming for transports for the wounded! What’s happening at Stonehearth!”
Valand was still coughing when he started to talk.
”…. Reinforcements! Stonehearth is under attack again!”
Mortimer spat at the ground.
”By Bronzebeard’s bloody damned axe, this is getting too hectic!”
He turned and raised his arms, a number of soldiers near Dun Baldar’s south bunker came running.
”We charge boys!”
Valand stopped and raised his hands.
”I can lead them! Let me go!”
The dwarf looked at the man with a confused glare.
”You’ve got a damned arrow sticking outta yer neck an you think yer in fightin’ condition!”
Valand’s head tilted to this side when the dwarf said responded, he felt his head brush against something, followed by a sharp pain from his neck. He reached his hand back and felt the blood rushing from the arrow wound in his trapezius. He broke the arrow off and threw it down.
”I’m ready!”
The dwarf smiled.
”Good spirit, but yer as pale as the ram yer ridin’ on. You’d die before you even made it there.”
He was right, Valand started to slump a little in his saddle, the reality of his wound was setting in.
”I’ve got no more time to jar on about with ye, get to tha Aid Station or die, I’ve got a mess ta clean up!”
Valand chose the former option and strode up to the Aid Station as Mortimer charged across the bridge to the battle in the valley to the south.
He slid off Stouthorn and started walking to the nearest physician, his knee almost buckled under his own weight. Soon he felt the strong grasp of a Dwarf on his arm.
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Post by Val on Jul 28, 2007 21:46:29 GMT -5
He leaned on the dwarf as he walked to the nearest bench, there was a tired looking woman unpacking a medical crate as he walked up. The dwarf sat him gingerly down in the chair and turned and looked for anyone else who needed help. Valand looked back to the young woman; she was wrapped in a heavy woolen coat. She had definite perspiration dripping from her brow, lining the top of her glasses. She grabbed a pack of bandages and a pair of clippers. She turned to Valand and quickly inspected his wound.
”Got one in your back? Ok, this’ll hurt, a lot.”
She broke the largest remainder of the shaft off.
”Someone help him peel that armor off.”
A nearby Night Elf walked up, he had his shoulders and arms bandaged up.
”I’ve got you.”
Valand and he struggled to remove the cumbersome plates.
”Here you are.” The Elf said as he propped the dented back plate up against the bench.
Val tried pulling his shirt off with one arm, but before he could really try the medic had grabbed a pair of pliers and returned to him. Valand looked at the pliers, then back to her.
”What’re you doing?” Valand asked.
She sighed and looked at him.
”Are you a big boy?” she asked.
Valand noticed the elf snicker.
”No, look at me, are you a big boy?” she repeated.
“What?”
She made the motion as if she was about to walk away.
”Yeah, fine, sure.”
She nodded to the elf; he got up and grabbed a nearby iron rod that was heating to a red hot glow. He took his place behind Valand.
”Give me your dagger.” She said.
”It’s on my back.” Valand replied.
He felt her pull the steel blade out of the sheath. She used the finely honed blade to cut his shirt right off his back.
”You’ve seen your share of wounds haven’t you?”
”Yeah.”
“Well, you’re about to add another to your collection.”
He felt the arrow being yanked out of his back; simultaneously he felt the press of a red hot iron cauterize the bleeding wound. He wretched forward as the corded elf pressed the rod into his flesh.
”AHHH! DAMMIT!”
”That should be it Tiern” the woman said. She hustled past Valand and made note of another Dwarf, coming into the tent.
The elf made his way around him.
”Let’s get you to your bunk, where are you stationed?”
Valand, still gasping for breath, wanted nothing more to throttle the damned elf, but, discretion once again proves that it is the better part of Valor. Valand did, however, stomp on his foot, proving that it is not the only side of Valor.
He finally was left alone in his bunker, alone as he could be, his cot was a bunk style, fortunately for him, and most of his troop was on field duty, counteracting the Horde wave. He had the utmost confidence that the counterattack would die down. He was wrapped up now, and sore, he hadn’t noticed most of the other wounds, he did now. He looked down to his rucksack, he remembered the day that he had it sewn up, it used to be in pristine condition, crafted out of the toughest kodo hide that he could afford at the time., but now that it had itself patched up with all manner of different fabrics, all of which had their original colors faded to the same dull grey shade. He reached inside and pulled out a worn piece of parchment, which, despite its surroundings, still maintained a nearly immaculate condition. He had read it so many times, and it never ceased to make him remember her.
”Valand, I know that you and I have only known each other for a short time, but I have filled a place in my heart that I thought never could, I know when I look into your eyes that you feel the same way, regardless of what you say. I can only hope that when you return, and we are allowed to be together, and that you will admit this. In two years time, on the drawing of the New Year, meet me in Kharanos, at the Thunderbrew Distillery. I will be there, I hope you will too.
Adaliah Greymark”
He gingerly replaced the parchment back into his rucksack. He lay back down on his cot; he could hear the battle cries in the far distance, echoing off the canyon walls. He closed his eyes, and for an instant, he was with her, the woman he barely knew.
”GET UP! GET UP!”
Valand shook from his pleasant dream, back to the weary reality of war. He looked at the doorway, there was a crier running from room to room, alarming the slumbering soldiers.
“Grab your gear! The Horde has broken our defenses at Stormpike! In a mere four hours they have started taking the Bridge to Dun Baldar!”
Valand hoped up, he looked about him; his armor was left at the medical tent. He winced as he felt the aches come back full force, but adrenaline kicked in and he felt the pain subside. Outside, he was reminded by the cold wind that he hadn’t put another shirt on. He looked forward, men were hurrying past to the bridge, he looked east, and he saw the wall of horns and fangs that represented the Horde.
They were teetering on the edge of disaster, he heard a booming shout resounding from Dun Baldar’s main Bunker, he recognized the voice, and it was Vanndar himself.
”These here lands are ours! The Stormpike will not fall in their own land! Fight! Push these slavering mongrels off tha bridge and out of tha valley!”
All at once it hit him, the rage, the bloodlust, the fury. The heroic inspiration that Vanndar had given himself and the rest of the valley. He didn’t know what he was thinking when he charged, nor where he found the broken spear that he now held in front of himself, all he knew was that he would be bloody.
The overhead swing of a giant club was hardly dodged, but dodged nonetheless; he almost teetered off the bridge just from the draft of wind that the giant Tauren kicked up from the deadly attack. He spun underneath the cumbersome attack and drove the spear up into the lightly armored midsection of the giant. He shoved forward to move the Tauren further back, but it was like walking into a mountain, he felt the grasp of the Tauren grab at the back of his neck, Valand reacted by twisting the spear in further. The Tauren let out a wretch and released his grip for a brief second, which was enough Valand had hoped for, he thought at least. He move out and threw a hard right hand into the Tauren’s head, his knuckle nicked the horn, and he felt the bone chip. The Tauren seemed relatively un-phased, but it was still reeling a bit from the spear. Valand moved to grab the spear once more, but was caught by the soaring attack of a raging Orc from the left, he the Tauren and the enraged Orc flew off the southern side of the bridge, they caught the side of the canyon as they fell, and they bounced and rolled to a sudden and unforgiving stop in the red snow below. The Orc was the first one up, Valand saw him shake off the snow from his face, then raise his dagger above his head and start charging through the snow toward Valand’s still prone body. Valand, barely able to stumble to his feet managed to misdirect the attacking arm of the Orc past him and follow the twist of his own body along with the Orc’s and drive an elbow into his face.
The Orc fell to the ground and relinquished control of the Dagger, Valand grabbed it and moved to stab the Orc in the chest, but the massive leather-bound feet of the Orc caught him in the chest and sent him sprawling back into his back. The Orc rebounded and stood above Valand, breathing heavily, his boot planting his hand carrying the Dagger into the snow. Valand shook the daze off in time to see his opening; he drove his fist into the Orc’s groin, sending a howl of pain out into the canyon walls. He doubled over, holding himself and wincing in agony. Valand took the dagger and drove it into the Orc’s foot, then quickly pulling it back along the opposite leg’s Achilles tendon, the Orc fell quickly, he shook a bit as he lied on the ground. Valand stood and turned to see the Tauren, still dazed a bit, rushing toward him, favoring his right leg, the bloody spear had been left in the snow a few feet behind him. Valand moved quickly into striking distance of the Tauren and evaded the grasp of the raging beast man; he drove the Orc’s dagger into the Tauren’s chest, signing his death with the Mortal Blow. He felt the grasp of the Tauren, shockingly strong, he looked and felt the deep brown eyes of the mammoth creature bore into him; they were not filled with anger, hatred or disgust, but a deep understanding. Valand felt the Tauren’s strength wane and he slid down to his knee; he looked at Valand and spoke.
“Nechi ich towateke ki hale chi, Pawene ichnee pawene.”
He fell then, and Valand didn’t feel all that happy with himself in that moment. He quickly dismissed the moment of introspection and looked for the nearest weapon. He saw the Tauren’s giant totem-like club. He bent down to grab it by the massive sides, and realized that attempting to kill someone with a tree should be left to the giants that wield them. He scavenged the dead Tauren’s belongings and found a smaller weapon, a hammer with some strange carvings in the handle and along the side of the head.
He grabbed the hammer and charged up the hill he saw the Horde retreating back down the pass, a unified charge of valiant defenders chasing them out of the pass. A lone undead was standing on the pass, his soiled robes billowing in the winds as he spewed forth arcane phrases from his lipless mouth. Magical energy burst from his empty lids and he struck down defender after defender, Valand noted that he was nearing exhaustion. He ran up behind the spell weaving corpse and he flung the hammer right into the back of the undead’s bare skull. His beautiful display of magic halted at once and his corpse went lithe and fell to the earth. Valand ran forward to continue the chase that the other defenders had rallied. He looked down to the undead to grab the hammer, he noted that it was strangely absent, he then took that he was now carrying something in his right hand, it was the hammer.
”Nice enchantment.”
He felt bad for looting the corpse of a fallen warrior, but, he reminded himself that times were dire. But now, he was feeling a bit more secure in his decision.
”From one warrior to another.” He thought. “Better here on the battlefield than buried in snow.”
He looked up to see the defenders shouting in joy as the deadly counter attack was repulsed, but Valand kept his celebrations at a minimum, the Horde had successfully reached our last defenses, and we had barely scratched theirs. We would rebuild, yes, but they now have the confidence needed to shatter our forces and remove the Stormpike from Alterac Valley once and for all.
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Twelve months later
“You’re finished Sergeant Major, your time is up.”
For two years in this frozen battlefield, he had wanted to hear nothing more than those words to come from Vanndar’s mouth. But today, it was different; today he wanted nothing more than to see things through, to the end. They had pushed, bombed and murdered their way to the front gates of Frostwolf Keep. He was recalled earlier that day, he had lost complete track of time in the last 3 months, he had actively taken a role in leading small groups of soldiers around the flanks of the Horde Defenses, so far it had worked perfectly, and he had been instrumental in the destruction and capture of Frostwolf Village. They had set up camp near Frostwolf Graveyard and had successfully defended it from many skirmishes on it. But now, he was standing back at Dun Baldar in front of the stout Stormpike Dwarf.
“All due respect sir, but I would like to remain to see this out through the end.” Valand replied.
Vanndar chuckled a bit to himself.
“This ain’t tha end… nor will it ever be tha end. I’m ’fraid this be a reoccurring happenin’ here in the valley, somehow Drek’thar manages ta push us back north. No, me boy, this ain’t ending, take yer opportunity when ye get it. Go, tha war will still be here.”
Vanndar was right, Valand knew it now, and he also had a date to make as well.
“When do I ship out then?”
Vanndar walked over to a glass case nearby, he pulled out a beautiful medallion.
“As soon as ye can, boy, but before ye leave, I want ta award ye with this ‘ere trinket. It’s called tha Eye o’ Command, and I only give it to ma best commanders her in tha valley. Take it, and use it in yer travels.”
Valand took the badge and placed it in his pack. He looked inside and saw the returning hammer. He pulled the hammer out and handed it to Vanndar; Vanndar looked curiously at the hammer, then back to the one eyed warrior.
“No need ta return tha favor, jus’ take it.”
Valand insisted.
“I found this hammer here on this battlefield, I have a feeling that it belongs here, and nowhere else.”
Vanndar looked at the hammer once more.
“Well… it is a nice hammer, looks ta ‘ave some sort of an enchantment on it.”
Valand quickly answered.
“It returns to the wielder when it is thrown.”
Vanndar chuckled.
“Didn’t notice that one, I was paying attention to the lightning enchantment on the hammerhead, but that’s interesting.”
Valand smiled.
“Didn’t notice that one.”
Vanndar added.
“Ye dun throw hammers, do ye?”
Valand smirked.
“Not often.”
Vanndar walked escorted him outside to the middle of the base.
“Good luck to ye.”
Valand turned to the fiery blond hair dwarf.
“You too Vanndar, good luck.”
That was the last time he saw Vanndar, or the cold ravaged Valley that the races of Azeroth desired so much.
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