Preparing for War

Preparing for War

The moon hung low in the cold night’s sky, this great silver orb casting a reflection of it's self on the calm surface of the sea. All that separated the two was a thin line of fog creeping across the water. There was a soft slow pattern to the waves that slid along the gray sand, each small wave bringing a white foam and an assortment of small perfectly rounded stones further up the beach line.

Macloren continued to watch the sea curl up and down the river edge and then looked back at the huge shape of the sea fortress. Valiance Keep's high towers provided good range for the archers and a defensible drawbridge made it a formidable building to siege especially as local recourses would not allow for any kind of tower to be built. There was a narrow passage through the city that acted like a dock protecting the valuable sea vessels that would bring supplies and reinforcements.

But still the corpses of many of Stormwinds' troops were being prepared to be cast out to sea with prayers and candles. Many were held together in bandage and cloth due to the horrific injuries they had taken. Then there were the creatures that had been assaulting the walls, a strange insect-like beast that moved as if it were a puppet, no free will just feral instinct and barely controlled purpose. Macloren had ordered Vaknor to dissect and examine one of the creatures that had forced its way from the sink-holes into a unit of the defending soldiers. They had managed to use the defensive stakes to impale the beast and capture it, but not without adding three of their men to the death-toll.

Macloren could taste the bitter ash that fell from the sky. He knew it was all that was left of the dead creatures on the shore. The soldiers had told him of the first evening after battle with the creatures. Valiance keep had celebrated it's victory leaving the monsters dead outside, only to see them return to life once more and continue the assault. Since that time the fires have become the only way to guarantee safety.

Once the preparations for the day ahead were taken care of Macloren wandered along the coast to a nearby fireplace next to some defensive stakes. It was a small ditch dug in the sand lined with what looked like old timber from a ship in defensive spikes. A small fire pit and firewood wrapped in oiled leather lay nearby. He unwrapped a sparing amount of the old wood and laid out a fire, disturbing the charcoal remains of the last fire and pushing a small piece of parchment that he no longer needed in to the heart of it. He glanced over at his Ram's saddle bags and decided the day had been long enough without having to work hard with flint and steel to get the fire going. He drew a small wooden box from out of his backpack. Inside the box were nine small splinters of wood with strange black heads on top.

Macloren had purchased the alchemist sticks from a Gnome in Ironforge, the silly little devil was young and had called herself Matches. She said she wished to sell her tinder-sticks to the world and make a fortune. Macloren had scoffed at the idea and asked what she was going to call them, she had told him she was lost for a name but he had brought them out of curiosity. It seemed they were in fact quite useful once he had understood the basics of using them without breaking the things. He took one from its packaging and ran the small black bead across his stubbled chin. The stick produced a gnome-sized flicker of fire and as the fire started, Macloren wondered how on earth Brother Evangelist would have managed to light the thing with his boyish looks.

Time stood still for the Lord of Illumination as he sat thinking about the road ahead. He stared in to the fire with his remaining eye watching its almost dance like movements. He had drawn a map of the route they would take on the morrow with his boot dagger in the sand and he kept going over it to see if there was a better way.

“I never had you down for an artist my lord“
Macloren knew the playful tone of Kaylaruana and turned to answer.
“Sister I did not know you owned a dress“.

She wore a long cotton gown of pale blue which revealed only the smallest amount of cleavage through the top seashell button. The hard cold wind had revealed her athletic build through its tight pull against her body. Unfortunately the cold also revealed her lack of under-garments.

“Sister, here please take my cloak. It appears the cold has taken you by surprise and I would not wish you the attention of the whole port of Valiance. If Evangelist did not travel with Azeem, I do believe he would have been a target of the local sailors”.
His smile met her surprised blushing stare as she grasped the long rich purple cloak and rushed to conceal her body.
“I'm sorry my Lord I did not notice.“
“Nonsense girl do not worry yourself. You are not the first Paladin in my presence to have a malfunction of wardrobe.”

With that reassuring comment he pointed out to the shore where Azeem and Evangelist were sparing in only leather trousers and swords, each trying to take advantage of the rolling tide to secure victory over one another. Kaylaruana looked at the two Templar’s, both men had killed more in their lifetime then any unit of soldiers in Stormwind. Azeem was perhaps the largest man she had ever seen with dark skin and a fierce gaze, every inch of him was covered in thick swollen muscle and a tattoo ran up his back in black ink. It was similar to a family tree in design but was in a language she had never heard with exception to the occasional curse uttered when Azeem would hurt himself cooking.

Evangelist on the other hand was of strong build and thick muscle which allowed for strong strikes, but with a movement and dexterity she had not seen many display in full plate armour. When he was in combat it was like watching an artist, he knew every move the larger man was going to make before he would swing and would make each attack with a grace that could even catch Azeem off-guard. Both of the men were in amazing condition and showed no sign of fatigue or the cold. Both were unstoppable yet had the skill to avoid each others blows, many of which could have killed an ogre in a single strike.

“Are they mad my Lord? The water will surely kill them if their vicious attacks do not first!”
Macloren raised his eyebrow.
“Kayla they are both Weapons of the Light. They are tempering their skills in the freezing cold so that they are ready for what lies ahead.”
Macloren's gaze once again looks inwards. hHe is no longer watching the sparing but looking into his soul for answers to questions too painful to share. Kaylaruana studied the Lord Militant for sometime. He was short for a Templar but with a build similar to the Saracen Azeem, squat and almost dwarfish in dimentions. She never saw him out of his plate except on rare occasions in the Cathedral of Light. In fact, she was starting to wonder if he slept in it. She looked at the ornate Plate and could see seals of power etched into it's design and noted the military precision of each leather strap, bound tight against the underleathers and securing the chain mail to still allow for optimal movement. Each of the leather straps neatly tucked under the buckles to complete the affect of precision and she could see the liquid grease in the joints to ward off rust and the elements.

“My Brother, perhaps you should stick to preparing food. Since the feast you made us earlier, I feel like a new man. Put down the sword, I can see you are getting tired “
With that remark Evanglist only just manages to move aside from the falling blade.
“Really?“ sneered Azeem, aiming an out-stretched hand at the water below his brother’s feet and using a small motion similar to push a wave of light through the water that almost toppled the smaller man. A rare smile crosses the Scion's face.
“You’ve been holding back.”
Azeem readies another stance.
“Yes Brother, more than you know”
The two resume combat with increased vigor, spears of light parry and counter oblivious to the freezing waters.

Kaylaruana crouched down next to Macloren, the folds of her gown rustle on the damp cold sand and she watched her Lord feed a few more pieces of wood into the fire. As he disturbs the glowing embers she can see the twisted scar beneath his eye patch highlighted. She knew he wore that scar like a trophy. Brother Vaknor, the most venerable member of the Order and a healer without equal had told her that he could remove the scar and perhaps even return sight to the Lord Militant. But he would not be parted from it, it was his to carry and no one would cheat him of his pain. She went to speak but Macloren had already sensed the change in mood and knows she will only ask questions he does not yet have the answers to. He stood and walked over to his War-Ram that was patiently waiting to be unsaddled. He began to dismantle the plate barding one strap at a time, neatly folding the leather straps at equal intervals for neatness. Under all the professional obsession Kaylaruana could see the pain coiling round Macloren's heart and she wentto speak to him.

“My Lord..”
Macloren could feel her reaching out to speak to him before the dreaded words hit his ears and put up a northern shield of abuse.
“I hope your not planning on bringing that pretty little frock wit'cha, there will be no need for it unless you plan on entertaining all the other Templar’s on our journey. As for me, if you think you're flirting with me, you are going to be disappointed. Ah prefer a woman who can fill their corset.”
The redness returned to her face and her eyes grew downcast. Her face showed her visible upset. Letting the warm cloak fall to the sand, she let out a breath of frustration into the cold night air as she turned and ran back to the keep.

Macloren stared into the saddle of his ram looking in to the hardworn leather for an infinite amount of answers. He wants to cry, he needs to release this pain but not a tear will come. He punched the saddle in frustration almost toppling the trusting beast with his strength. Realizing his mistake instantly Macloren moves back only just avoiding an angry shunt from his agitated ram.
“Im sorry old friend, I mean you no harm”

“A fine apology Brother, a shame you could not spare the same concern for our Sister.”
The ever neutral voice of Brother Vaknor came floating over Macloren's right shoulder,
“How long have you been standing there old man?“ there was a hint of menace in the Lord Millitants voice.
“Long enough to see you hurt that poor beast.“ Vaknor continued in the same neutral tone, ignoring Macloren's visible anger. A smile played across Maclorens face.
“Im sure she will get over it “
Vaknor did not rise to the Lord Militants humor, only continued to speak.
“My Lord are you sure you are ready for your destiny? Are you sure you're ready to lead this army? You hurt others to shield your own pain and you seek comfort in a matted ram. I think you need to look inside and confront the daemons of your past Brother, then Arthas will be easy in comparison”.