#crysenjackson

“Dismissed”, it was all he could hear in his head. He was angry, sent away like a disobedient child. For what? Discharging a firearm indoors, it wasn’t the first time he had done it. It certainly wasn’t the worst thing to happen in that place by any means. He frowned.

“Dismissed”, again it rang in his head. He spat on the cobblestone as he trudged through Stormwind. Sent away by “children”, he thought. They could play diplomat all they wanted, when push came to shove he would do his duty. He was a soldier, he took an order even if he didn’t agree.

The thought didn’t make him any less pissed. He nearly knocked some random passerby into the canals as he ignored everything around him. He chewed on his cigar and drummed his fingers around the dagger at his waist.

“Dismissed”, he wanted to stab Arethel for that. It was all his fault anyway, destroying a perfectly good cigar. Then “She” punished HIM for it. Bulshwynn growled low. He shook his head, he didn’t really think that way about them, but his anger took hold.

He stormed his way out the front gates and into Elwynn, he made his way through the forest until he came across several soft prints in the dirt. His eyes narrowed as he focused on the hunt. He crossed several rises and ducked under low branches. He slowed to a crawl as he noted more and more prints ahead.

He looked over a bush and saw a small hole, with several plump rabbits darting in and about it. He pulled his rifle from his back and ticked off the safety. He took aim and imagined Arethel’s face on the poor creatures.

Bulshwynn walked into Command, he walked to his “usual” spot on the back wall by the bookcase. He chewed on his cigar and looked around at all that were in attendance. 

Miller made the announcement, they were to move out. He hefted his rifle over his shoulder and walked out to the portals waiting for them. He stepped through and was immediately assaulted by the heat. He frowned, he would rather had been in Frostfire, at least the snow made it feel a bit like he was near to home.

The elves in the fort offered everyone room in the inn. Bulshwynn walked in and grabbed a spare canteen from a rather lithe elf by a water basin. He nodded to her and walked back out. Miller announced they needed to go investigate some ruins or some-such. He wasn’t fully paying attention, the destination or the reason didn’t mean a thing to him, just that people came back alive.

He was offered a camel by the elves of the hold, he climbed up on it’s back and growled low, by the Light it stank. He kicked his heels in and lead it behind Miller, as they rushed off to their destination.

The ruins of some elf city lay before them, he begin scanning the broken buildings, obviously infested with insects. When suddenly the stupid camel bucked and he lost his grip. He hit the ground hard, wasn’t sand supposed to be soft? He snarled, ready to gut the beast, when it ran off back to the hold. Bulshwynn got to his feet, brushed sand off himself and shook his head. He unslung his rifle, ready to shoot something now, and waited for Miller to give the go ahead.

They entered the ruins and immediately, bugs, bugs everywhere. He frowned and blew a puff of smoke from his cigar at the ones nearest him, the smoke acting as a barrier. He was sure his breath had nothing to do with it. The party spread out to investigate some anomaly Miller said was there. 

Bulshwynn stood before a tower in the ruins, inside were some Silithid that seemed to be moving extremely slow, probably from the anomaly Miller was talking about, Bulshwynn didn’t care. They needed to die, he hated bugs. He aimed his rifle and fired. The bullet soared towards the nearest insect. As it was about to strike, it slowed to a crawl, then hit the insect squarely in it’s chitinous head. The bug practically exploded, in slow motion.

Chaos ensued.

The ground moved under everyone, bugs appeared everywhere. The Conclave fought valiantly, some anyway, others were overwhelmed by the noise, or their own fears of the kind of creatures that crawled up your skin and nibbled on you.

They fought valiantly, some insects moving super slow, others faster than they should have been able to. After deciding that they had observed enough of this anomaly the retreat was ordered. They fought their way out of the hold. As Bulshwynn was defending their retreat, a Silithid rose up from the ground beneath him and sunk it’s mandibles in his right leg. He let out an oath and fell back, the weight of the dwarf too much for the foul insect, a loud crunching was heard and ichor spewed all around him.

Blood flowed from the fresh wound, mixing with the green ichor. Ollanius helped Bulshwynn up, and he climbed atop the man’s shoulders, he fired round after round, covering their escape.

Back at the hold, Bulshwynn sat upon a bench upstairs, waiting to have his knee looked at. He dug out a shard of a mandible from the right hole in his knee, rather painfully. He was accosted by Gwen, a woman he had yet to meet officially, but one whom was going to preside over his recovery.

She worked her harvest magic stuff on his knee, he wasn’t quite sure what she did, something with salves. He eyed her curiously as the holes patched up a bit. She was cute, that he knew. Not his usual, but nice. He smiled as she gave him some random object to eat, something about it helping. He popped it in his mouth and swallowed it, he slowly eased himself off his arse onto his good leg.

Bulshwynn stood slowly onto his injured leg, it hurt, but not as bad as before. He could walk, with effort. He hobbled passed Gwen as she spoke with Echo, he gave her rump a right good pat as he passed, a job well done from a pretty lass, he thought. 

Tuesday, the 25th of November, mid-day

“I wonder what Kari is up to, and if he’s thinking of me.”

He had heard they were reassigned. He was excited to get out of Stormwind, the constant politics and would-be assassins starting to wear his patience. But when he found out where they were going his heart sank.

He hadn’t been back in years. He couldn’t even go back for the funerals. His home was in ruins and he was too afraid to set his gaze upon it. He couldn’t help them, he couldn’t face them, he was a failure.

He ran as a child. He ran as an adult. That’s what he always seemed to do. His brother would tell him that it wasn’t his fault. That he was doing great works when it all happened. He always felt different. He felt that since he hadn’t helped that it was his fault. He could have saved them. He should have.

He chewed the end of his pipe nervously as he stepped through the portal. Apprehensive and tense. The nether swarmed around him. His gut felt like it was stretched then twisted as he was spirited away to this place that felt strange yet should not have.

He stepped out of the portal and walked out of the courtyard and onto the island the keep was housed on. Highbank, they called it. He snorted at the name as he thought it. It was neither high up, nor an embankment. He looked out across the water in the direction of his former home and sighed.