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*A tall, well-trimmed man, carrying the weight of what seemed to be thousands of pounds, plopped down in his chair in the highest room in the Council chambers, his gaze rested casually towards the dusty floor that had been trafficked by many noble knights just moment before. His rich hazel, almost blue, spheres would strain, his lids enveloping around them. The dim light of the parlor gave enough luminescence to ignite a few stray specks of dust traveling through the air; landing upon a few rust-colored tufts of the paladin's hair, almost seeming to rouse him, despite their insignificance. His voice was coarse from the night delegation, he'd let it escape for a few moments, its rattled tone bouncing about the circular room, "...And so, once more, we're faced with war?" Those words ricochetting off the walls and back at him. "He makes a compelling point. -Theramore is the last bastion on the far coasts of that barren world, a diamond in the rough." His voice would trail off along with the strength of his now sullen lids, but only for a moment as something stirred him, bringing him upright in his oaken chair, he recalled the council, and the support of such a movement to Kalimdor, he then also remembered his own words, "We paladins were enlisted to defend, never attack." He spoke firmly, as if there were other knights present. A creaking of wooden planks would pattered and moaned in response to footsteps, the paladin's monocled gaze snapping to the source of the noise; before he could determine the suspect, it spoke,
"Master Stromheart, you indeed speak of defense, but you must too realize there shall be nothing left to defend if we just sit around at this council and preach for peace with no action." The man was High Commander Kerdic Lothinil of the League of Lordaeron, his presence was at the council that night, his lips were silent for the most part, except the intel regarding Theramore Isle.
Stromheart smiled as best he could, a few pearly fangs slipping through the dense crimson forest around his maw, he then stood to match the Commander's height, "While that is true, Commander, we must not forget our vows and virtues, the very basis of this council and its affiliated order. -Light, if we charge off over the ocean to fight in this war -a war we don't even know will happen for certain- we will sacrifice all that we have come to hold as truth in regards to war and the conduct thereof. -If this council is to have a place at this war summit, then it shall listen, and as always, we -will- answer the call of duty, should that call be just and of noble merit." Tenevus exhales before seating himself again, clearly weary and not willing to exert more effort.
The High Commander would pause and nod, a smile of satisfaction across his face, "I shall see you there then?" He pauses once more, thinking if he wished to add anything to his inquiry, however rhetorical it may have been.
The seated paladin would raise his right plated gauntlet, etched with holy runes, an equal smile, albeit defeated one, seemingly strapped to his jaw, "You will have the council's ears. I shall send word to the council representatives on this matter. -You will have to convince us that this...war...has reason for -defense- of the Light and our Kingdom, High Commander. Do -that-, and I assure you, you'll have the full force of the Knights of the Silver Hand at your disposal." He lowered his hand before slinking back into his seat, "Light's Blessing, Commander. I do hope to hear from you."
Without a word Kerdic granted a nod and swiveled to an about face to march down the circular staircase. -Stromheart let forth a gentle sigh, the tone of the exhalation matching that of the room ambience. He then took out what seemed to be a tied pack of blank parchments and a quill, things a scholor and gentleman should have on him at all times, his father once told him.
He placed the end of the quill upon the first parchment and began to write: Dear Representatives of the Silver Hand Council,
This past Council has been one that has struck not only the interest of our respective orders, but the ever-watching eye of the Alliance Military. They claim to be holding a summit regarding the fate of Theramore Isle and its inhabitance, a claim that seems to defy what we paladins stand for; as they wish to enact war before the first enemy blade is drawn, a preemptive strike, if you will. Now, while it is in our nature as paladins to be defenders, not warriors (a line many of us have crossed) we too must also remember that there is, as always, a chance of Horde invasion, and if that's the situation, we would not be able to react defensively in time to travel across the ocean to defend accordingly. An impromptu council shall be held, should this war council wish to enlist our services in this Kalimdor effort. I shall keep in touch.
In the cold dark of the early morning cathedral, several monks lead by Father Moorwhelp processed through the nave of the church proper; they rendered their voices as if a sin-offering, calling for a day of peace in accordance with divine will.
"O Light, which is abundantly able to save us,
After this prayer, a monk tugged on the spiritual father's cloak and whispered something in his ear. Together the younger monk and the dwarven bishop recessed to the transept. With a strike of a match, the transept was illumined in a flick of light and fulfilled as a sacred candle was lit. The younger monk held this candle as father read his mail.
The first letter was marked blue wax and sealed in a closed fist.
Silver Hand correspondence, the elder priest thought before he allowed the wax to be softened by the candle the younger monk held. He sliced under the wax with a sharpened letter opener and let the single page fall out.
Upon reading this, the bishop peered to the younger to make eye contact. Knowing that the younger monk had read his mail he says, "Alas, this congregation of Silver Hand does not feel the episcopate worthy to direct the affairs, nor the precepts. If our congregation of paladins are to be sent to battle, they must be sent according to our own precepts until this larger congregation can decide for themselves their own precepts."
The monk, who seemed less than interested in this political situation, intones in a youthful voice, "Let us pray then, Father, that the Light will shine onto the right path of peace in this time of immoral war."
Father Moorwhelp raised his brow briefly at this and intoned finally, as if impressed with a young student of his. "May it be so."
Edited by Moorwhelp on 3/26/2012 8:53 AM PDT
Auramis looked over the letter, having received it in the early morning from a courier who entered Mardenholde. He groaned once more, shaking his head at the letter, the recruit whom had been walking with blinked at the paladin's annoyance. The tauren looked down at Auramis, his rumbling voice speaking up at last. "Something troubles you, Master Lightbourne?"
Auramis shook his head, folding the letter over. As they walked by a brazier, he tossed the paper into it, appearing almost liberated by the action. "Nothing that concerns us, my friend..." With that, the paladin continued to walk with his newest friend, the topic shifting to a matter of the Tauren faith and the human's curiosity concerning it, a smile forming on his face at the peace offered from the simple conversation.
(( Miiigghhhht edit later... Not entirely satisfied with this post. Same scene, but the wording doesn't feel right. ))
Edited by Auramis on 3/26/2012 8:45 AM PDT
The wood of a target dummy creaked and cracked as the steel of greatsword collided against it. Splinters flew through the air, pelting the weathered face of Regg as he unleashed his fury upon his wooden adversary.
The fool wishes to stand by an' watch our kingdom burn. Always a reaction, never willing to seek justice.
The steel of the blade smashed against the dummy's wooden shield, splitting the wood in two. A chunk of the wood landed at the knight's feet, followed by another, and another, as the knight swung with reckless abandon. His training attracted a small crowd, looking upon Regg with suspicion as he obliterated the dummy.
Him an' that elven -!@#$%-, takin' the side of the sin'dorei time an' time again. Have they seen what they've done? Have they seen the ruins of churches, the dead and dying Alliance soldiers, left to rot in some foreign land, all because of the elves?
Steel continually cracked, nicked, and smashed wood, but the knight's mind was elsewhere. Stumbling upon Tenevus and Sunwhisper conspiring with an elf of the Dominion, then again in the city of Strom. Tenevus' reluctance to free Lord Bellorum, despite his imminent execution. Tenevus' honeyed words, responding to accusations of inaction with mere laughs and his patronizing words. Tenevus placing his hand on Regg's shoulder, and crushing any chance of equality between the two.
"You are still just an aspirant to me, Master Corinthal."
"To the hells wit' you!" shouted Regg, as he swung his blade with all his might, embedding it into the "neck" of the training dummy. The knight pulled his blade free, splitting whatever wood held the dummy's head to it's body. The wooden skull fell to the ground with a dull thud as Regg turned, only to be greeted by a crowd of bewildered onlookers.
"Uh, Sir Corinthal?"
The knight swiveled his head, staring down into the face of a courier no older than twelve. The boy held out a shaky hand, gripping a piece of correspondence. Regg sheathed his blade and quickly read over the letter with bloodshot eyes, before crumpling it up and tossing it back to the youth. The boy looked down upon the paper with a glimmer of sadness, until a gold coin bounced off his noggin, and onto the ground in front of him.
He started to thank Regg "Sir Corinth-" But the knight was already walking off, pacing through the alleys and streets of Old Town.
So he didn' back off after all. Very well, jus' the same. The Horde'll know justice for all they'll done, an' when we return...
The thought of Tenevus dying in Kalimdor crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed the vile thought.
...when we return, Quel'thalas will surrender, or burn in the flames of justice.
Korvock's gaze came down upon a courier carrying a crumpled up letter. The boy seemed
troubled, but did not stop his trot like walk, heading straight for Korvock. As the lad came closer,
he would reach out toward Korvock and hand him the letter. He'd look at the lad straight in the eye, and speak forth, "Greetings lad, what is this?" He looked down at the crumpled up letter moving to unfold it and read what its secrets held.
The boy looked at Korvock, as he was opening the now crumpled fine letter, and would answer his question, "Sir Stromheart has sent a letter to all representatives of the Silver Hand.." Korvock looked at him oddly with a hint of questioning... "And, why does this not go to Sir Corinthal, instead of myself?"
The boy winced and answered but another question, "I did... Sir Corinthal is the result of that letters new stature." The lad looked about again and said forth, "I figured... One of his Aspirants would like to know." He nodded.
Korvock just grunted, opening the paper after the mild talk with the boy, and reading it. After a few moments, he'd smile somewhat and hand it back to the boy, along with a few coins. "Thank you lad... Pass this letter on to Sir Corinthal's other Aspirant aswell, Aderaine Steele." He nodded, then spoke out, "Light bless you." The lad nodded, running off.
Looking on to the streets of the Mage Quarter, enjoying the sight of the green grass and lush trees he'd smile somewhat. "So... Perhaps we will go to war after all... Light save us." He walked away, heading to the Cathedral of Light to say his prayers.
Edited by Korvock on 3/26/2012 11:48 AM PDT
Laney was in her study when the courier arrived. She read the formal note and responded in a less formal manner.
Thoughts of the Alterac valleys filled the dwarfs mind with memories of his homeland. The sweet smell of dew on the lush valley grasses. Sweet bread and pork belly aroma lingering in the air throughout the morning. Familiar faced dwarves going about their daily tasks. His recent venture home had been just what he needed after his long tenure with The Stormwind’s First Regiment. From serving in the Thane’s Vanguard to his orders to serve and aide in the First’s deployments, Reginald Hienstad was content to pursue new opportunities.
Reginald Hienstad’s mind soon returned to his current surroundings. The small room he rented in the loft of The Pig ‘N Whistle was small, even for a dwarf. Dust covered the crudely carved wooden furniture and hung on the curtains of the small corner window. A lumpy bed was placed in the far corner and was covered by a brown comforter patched in multiple spots with red linen.
Reginald sat in a rocking chair positioned opposite from the bed, smoking his pipe and sipping a luke warm ale. Thoughts of the previous night’s council meeting weighed heavy on his mind. Theramore, the last bastion of hope in western Kalimdor, could soon fall victim to an amassing Horde military force. The threat would prove devastating if followed through with. Paladins of the Silver Hand brought up reason to enter into engagement with the force and reasons why the council and its members should wait and stay the course of letting foes strike first before engagement. In Reginald’s mind, “staying the course” and letting the enemy strike first would end with Theramore in ruins; its population destroyed and displaced.
A Paladin of The Silver Hand he was and would always be. In his squiring years, Reginald was trained under the wing of his master to protect the morals and values of the order. At times he strayed from the politics of the order, focusing only on the religion of the Light; leaving the politics to those who were better versed in it. With the threat of an Alliance city-state falling under siege, which would destroy any hope of civilizing western Kalimdor, his faith lied in the fact that the council and its members would put politics aside and defend the followers of the faith in Theramore by making a preemptive strike.
Reginald Hienstad’s thoughts returned once more to his tiny, dusty room. His eyes drifted to a crate at the end of the bed. Raising himself from the rocking chair, he made his way over and unlatched the cover to the crate. Within, bronze plate covered in dust resided. He swiped a finger across the cool surface and raised it to eye level. With a grunt and a sigh, he grabbed a cloth rag from a nearby dresser and carried a plate piece back over to the rocking chair to begin the cleaning process.
Reginald knew where he would be in the coming months, feet firmly planted in Theramore soil.
Edited by Hienstad on 3/26/2012 12:53 PM PDT
The blind gaze of the old paladin would seem to slowly scan the parchment. With a slight furrow of his brow he would fold the letter in two, holding his hands behind his back calmly while he roamed the open dirt road of the village Kirthaven. Pondering as he walked about the fountain at the center of town, he would think to himself...
This is where many students will go astray... I understand the paranoia of a defender.. a watchman.. a guardian... What the High Commander of the League feels is not uncommon. It is because of this that I fear how my students will be affected by this... TO join them in the rush of battle... To lose yourself in times of war... It is something that I believe many of my students are not ready for.. But then again, this war would be an ultimate test of the Ardent Code.. But is it a test worth risking everything?
The Paladin would then stop, turning himself to face the fountain once more as he brought back up the parchment to look upon it with an unfocused gaze. He spoke aloud, yet to himself with the faint presence of doubt in his tone, "All Ardent Knights hold duty to the Alliance... Though we are not truly knights of the Silver Hand, we will render aid for we are able... May it be.. May it be."
Two olive eyes kept watch from the other side of the training grounds, observing the fuming knight as he vented his frustration. A part of the woman spying upon the man wanted to offer him some comfort, sympathy and kind words. She knew him better, though. A man of action with a burning heart that the Light had ignited where the Army had not. He needed this time, and so did she; to think on what'd happened earlier that night. She lamented the sudden arrival of the courier that drew her from the Council's chambers but did not blame him; it was pointless to beat upon the bearer of bad news.
Theramore... was whispered under the breath of the observer. Tactically she couldn't deny the significance of the port. Well-fortified, easily defended, and their best means of moving troops into Kalimdor by a long shot. Losing the city-state would result in a theater of war they couldn't hope to win. She'd much rather watch Durotar burn than Elwynn. Surely the Council wouldn't leave Lady Proudmoore to rot, and all of those people.
Thoughts came to the cleric's mind of years past, when the elementals raided Stormwind and other cities. She was a guardswoman then, and had the privilege of fighting right alongside Lady Proudmoore outside the Mage Tower. Her leadership and uncanny talent at magic kept them from losing the entire quarter, that much she was certain of. Loyal to her own virtures first, however. Did many still blame her for what happened to Admiral Proudmoore? She dwelled on it, curious how many would refuse to aid her because of this.
Her train of thought came to a crashing halt as the thundering snap of steel on wood caught the woman's attention. The Knight, having 'beheaded' the poor wooden dummy, turned to a crowd that'd assembled and received some letter from a courier. She kept a close eye on the proceedings, observing the man swiftly read the letter before tossing it back and storming off. The cleric sighed, removing herself from the spot she'd been using to watch the knight and walking down to the crowd. The townsfolk started to disperse as the man left, the courier having knelt to scoop up the letter and gold coin before a hand reached down to tussle his blonde hair. Suprised, he turned to look up to the cleric standing over him; a grey tabard bearing a white round shield filled with three interlocking links proudly worn over her breastplate. Greeting him with a smile she extended her hand down, palm open.
May I have that, please? she asked in a kind, patient tone. The youth, either recognizing or immediately trusting her, handed it over. She unfurled the balled up parchment to read over the text; a brow piqued in interest. So Tenevus does see the importance of this? Good. the cleric murmured before trying to fold the damaged missive as best she could and handing it back to the lad. Thank you very much. she added with a smile before turning to leave as well. The youth waved after her, glad for the tip and kind words.
You're welcome, Miss Seltara!
((How was the same letter delivered to Korvock earlier in the thread and Seltara now? Please keep in mind I have not slept in over 24 hours and might have definitely missed something. ))
Edited by Barrancas on 3/26/2012 5:11 PM PDT
A soft humming came drifting on the wind over the sloping rooftops of the great city of Stormwind. Situated in a dusty little gem of the city, right off Trade Distract was a happy little balcony with a wide array of plant life just waiting to bloom and thrive after a long winter's chill.
Salley knelt over a particular plant in a wooden pot, probing a drooping leave and giving just as pathetic a pout at it's limpness. "Oi, you, wake up," the young woman said to the tea bush, poking it again. She looked left, then right, then gave a wicked little grin. When she poked the plant again her finger lit up with a bit of Light. It seeped into the plant and it brightened in green color and began to rise upright to flourish.
But the spell broke quickly as a small huff of a bark came from behind. Salley jumped, giving a little yelp, and stood to see a war hound giving her a rather disproving look.
The blonde waved her hands at the dog dramatically, feigning innocent. "What? What?! I swear, I wasn't misusing the Holy Teachings!" At that, the tea behind her drooped once more with comical timing.
Julia huffed again and turned back to her spot at the end of the balcony to lay in the sun.
Plant and human both mirrored each other in their sorry defeat, shoulders slumped, leaves weakened... what a sorry duo.
Salley turned back to the tea plant with a grumble under her breath when her tracker's ears caught a sound that bounced over the roof tops. "Hm?" she turned from the foliage and come to stand next to Julia to strain her ears.
It sounded like it was coming from the training grounds. Someone was wailing on a practice dummy. Before Salley had a time to put more thought into this overly vivacious warrior's sounds the wind picked up through the canals and whipped her robes around her feet.
"I'm worried, Julia," Salley began, speaking to the sunbathing dog, her bronze eyes set off to the distance. "This battle's discord is ripping the paladins to the core, and we haven't even drawn blades yet."
((Salley wouldn't've gotten a letter, but I was bored. Hope you don't mind the flowery nothingness!))
Edited by Salleypoe on 3/27/2012 1:54 AM PDT
The sound of hooves on grass echoed throughout the night. Korvock's gaze shifted about looking at the wide areas of Loch Modan. The splendid green trees, the lush green grass, the golden and blue flowers masked by the cover of darkness. By his side, only but a few paces infront of him, road Sir Regg Corinthal. They had both set out on a small journey, and left from Stormwind a few hours ago. They had made some good time, which showed that the journey was to be short.
Korvock couldn't help but remember the crumpled up paper he found from the courier, and how that supposedly Regg had done it. He wondered what he was doing at the time, but he knew Regg to the extent of knowing that when he is mad, angry, or frustrated its better not to ask. He'd see the golden lights of Thelsamar, where they were to make their home for tonight. As they began to slow down, what towns folk were out at this time of night looked at them in wonder.
Korvock couldn't help but imagine what they thought of them. To large armored men, on two large armored horses isn't something they see everyday. They made their way to the inn, and ordered a few drinks. Regg himself had a mug of ale, while Korvock had his splendid melon juice.
For awhile they just talked, until eventually Regg asked Korvock about his love life. He only told him a little. Showed him the locket he was given by his once fiance, when he was but a Scarlet. And that the locket was given to him the day she died... He never could of saved her. This darkened the mood quite the bit.
Regg looked to Korvock and grunted, "Ya' don' have to bring up the Scarlets lad. Go sharpen yer blade outside. When you are ready to retire, please don' go making a loud entrance and what not... I want my sleep." He nodded before getting up and leaving to rest. Korvock took his wet-stone and blade and went out into the cool midnight air.
When he began sharpening his blade he could only begin to think. Why does the Council even begin to think that they shouldn't go on the offensive? He could understand that if this was folly, they should not go out to Theramore, but if it was... They would have to -debate- about going there to defend? Stromheart said, "We are, and always have been defensive. We do not act, but react." He just grunted, saying it in a mild gilnean tone just to mock the words. He was glad that they were probably going out to war either way... But to even have it cross our minds on considering not helping?! We are bloody paladins! If we are to defend, then let us defend Theramore! It is no different.
He muttered, trying to calm his mind. He'd begin to sing an old sailors song to calm him down... What was ahead is going to decide much of a fate he thought. "And I'll be damned if I don't see it through." He said out a bit loud, but quiet enough to not disturb anyone.
((Got a little bored so decided to post this. Ayup.))
Edited by Korvock on 3/27/2012 10:15 AM PDT
The oak floor boards outside the door to Reginald’s room released a unique squeaking noise when the hefty female dwarf known as Dalilah approached to bring him his meal and ale. Dalilah always brought him his meals at the exact same time every day. Reginald usually left the door slightly cracked so she could enter without knocking. Words were rarely exchanged; instead she entered and left the meals on his counter, then exited just as quickly.
Today was different. Reginald Hienstad sat polishing a bronze plate piece in his rocking chair. Carefully and meticulously wiping the open surfaces in circular patterns and scrubbing the ridges. He had always taken great pride in his armor, but had began neglecting it since his leave from the military life.
Dalilah entered the room carrying a small plate in one hand and a cast iron mug in the other. Approaching the counter where she normally left his meals, she eyed him up and down. “What duh’ ye’ got there Reg?” She placed the plate and mug on the counter and eyed him over closely. “Plannin’ on given up yer’ room soon? Plenty o’ folk waitin’ teh’ stay at The Pig N’ Whistle.” She released a slight sarcastic chuckle.
Reginald Hienstad looked up from his shining and chuckled along with Dalilah. “Aye, in a week or so’s time I’ll be takin’ meh’ leave. Feel free teh’ book the room, if ye’ like. I’ll beh’ sure to give the curtains a dustin’ before I depart.” They both released belly laughs upon the final remark. She looked at Reginald and questioned him with her eyes. “Any particular plans?” He pondered the question a moment, knowing he shouldn’t release any information from the council meeting he had attended the evening before. “Plan is to head to Kalimdor. Theramore to be exact, to visit an ole’ friend.” With a smile and a nod she turned and headed for the door. But, before exiting, she turned back to the dwarf with a queried look on her face. “Why shine the armor then?” Reginald Hienstad took in a few deep gulps from the mug on the nearby stand. Looking up, he smiled at Dalilah and ran a callused hand across the now shinning plate piece that lay in his lap. She turned and exited the room without another word. Her duties called her back to the taverns kitchens and his morals called him to his “friend” in Theramore.
((Got bored in-game so I decided to make another post. Not the most creative writer, but it passes the time lol.
((To clarify on your question, Laney, Seltara did not receive one; she picked up the one Regg crumpled up and threw on the ground. I tried to keep the correlation subtle, to see who read carefully and would recognize the references.))
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