World of Warcraft - Interbellum (IC Thread)

[MrAbdiel]

The sound of sailor's bells become more regular over the next few minutes as fishing boats muscle for position at the docks; and the inn begins to fill out with regulars. Humans, mainly; mostly sons and daughters of Lordaeron and Dalaran, after those grand cities were shattered and destroyed by the ravening Scourge. Dwarves take the demographic second, with a handful of high elves in tow. A barrel chested man with a blue bandana and mutton chops for days leads a gregarious group of sailors into the inn, flicks a pair of coppers to Durley, and gives him a friendly wink. The gnome pops up as if springloaded, snatches the money from the air, and begins playing his fiddle with jaunt and gusto sufficient that it provokes a halfhearted effort of folks in the bar clapping along before they attend again their conversations.

And then the mood of the tavern is split apart when an officer of the Theramore regiment comes thumping into the room in his slabby plate make. This is Captain Evencane, known in the city both for the quality of his martial instruction to the soldiers under his command, and for the precision with which he maintains his blond flat-top. The latter seems to be lapsing, a little; fraying at the edges with the weight of sweat and the effort of a long run.

"I need a team of non-enlisted men with good blades for an immediate assignment; there's silver on the other end of it!"

The use of good blades is understood to mean competent fighters just as men in this case means men and women. These are trivial interpretations for the room to hear; but what needs no interpretation is silver. Almost a score of sailors and brawny civilians start to stand up from their chairs with interest.

"There's four cadets wounded or dead, not a mile east of Brackenwall Village. We need rescue or recovery."

At the clarification, three quarters of the willing applicants settle back into their chairs in discomfort.

Brackenwall Village is well away into the swamp; and more importantly, it's Horde affiliated; a watchtower and lightly crewed outpost of orcs, darkspear trolls, and a handful of Stonemaul ogres up from the mount further south in the marsh. An official armistice was one thing; and a thing it was not was the assurance that you wouldn't be clubbed to death by savages for straying into their hunting ground.

Captain Evencane clenches his teeth at the melting valor of the volunteers, and gazes despairingly over those who remain upright.