#durnholde

The two cantered off from Thoradin’s Wall towards the ruins of Durnholde. A short enough jaunt into the Hillsbrad region which, technically, fell under Stromgarde jurisdiction now. With the Fourth War over and done, and the Alliance firming up their hold in the region, it made sense for soldiers stationed in Arathi to help keep the peace up and around the entire northern region. At least, anything south of Quel’Thalas. That was a problem for another day. 

Wil was an experienced rider, learning early on in his youth how to keep himself from falling out of the saddle. His experience had only grown since. In part, that’s why he wanted to become a proper cavalier. And the war broke out just in time to make that goal a reality. He looked up to Alan Davis, who unofficially took on the role of young Wil’s mentor when they were stationed together. The five or so years of time in service Alan had over Wil had left him somewhat jaded and terse. But Wil didn’t mind. He happily rode beside Alan, grateful for the continued opportunity to learn how to be a better cavalier beneath his proverbial wing.

The two tugged the reins of their steeds, slowing and then halting them as they arrived. Alan dismounted first, grunting as his boots hit the dirt path. He eyed the Dark Iron, making little effort to hide his displeasure from her. Wil followed along, jogging a bit to catch up.

“Let me do the talking, yeah?” Alan instructed.

Wil nodded, apparently starting to comply right away. They approached, stopping just a few paces from the Dark Iron, who grinned up at the pair.

“Oi, lads. Glad y’ saw m’ flare.” she piped up, tone jovial. “Dahlyah Grimshatter. Bounty Hunter.”

The introduction came with no somatic additions; no handshake, no nod, nothing. Dahlyah simply eyed the two humans, looking fine and prim in their Alliance blue. Alan met Dahlyah’s standoffishness with his own, simply eyeing the dwarf with an almost judgmental expression. But that didn’t stop Wil from nodding to her, in a token etiquette. His mother raised him right, after all.

“Lieutenant Wil Demonte, Stromgarde’s Sixth. This is Captain Alan Davis of the same, Miss Grimshatter.” he rattled off, practiced and professionally - breaking Alan’s directive immediately.

“What’ve you got for us, Miss Freelancer?” Alan sighed, disregarding the offered name in favor of a more derogatory title, as he looked past her to the four Horde captives.

“Jus’ some folks wanderin’ ‘bout where they ought not, aye?” Dahlyah replied with a shrug.

It wasn’t anything Dahlyah wasn’t used to. Dark Iron Dwarves weren’t the most popular lot here on the surface. Gods, they weren’t even that popular under Blackrock. She’d endured her share of dirty looks and sneers from dwarves of other clans, humans, gnomes… even the elves, in all their diverse types, all unanimously seemed to turn up their noses to the Dark Iron. She shrugged it off, never letting it bother her. She had her own opinions of all the races; and her own wasn’t above her judgment, either. Thankfully, it hadn’t cost her too much business, with the Dark Irons formally joining the Alliance.

Her hunting companion ran up beside her, sniffing the two soldiers curiously. Like his mane, the dog’s eyes burned a bright red, making for a rather intimidating sight! Wil nearly took a step back as the canine approached him… but relaxed as the beast’s jaw relaxed to let out a friendly panting tongue. He sniffed Wil, curiously, before nuzzling up against his leg.

“--Oi, an’ this ‘ere’s Ridley.” Dahlyah added. “Seems ‘e likes yeh, lad.”

Wil smiled at that. He grew up with dogs, back home. None like this, though! He found himself fascinated by the animal’s fiery mane and burning red eyes. But aside from those unsettling features, a dog was a dog! He reached his hand out for Ridley to sniff at; smiling like a giddy child when the bloodhound licked it instead! His tongue was so warm, it was weird! He eyed the dog’s mane, wondering if it was safe to touch. He thought better than to try, though.

Alan wasn’t nearly as enamored by the beast. He stepped past Dahlyah, eyes affixed to the four Horde refugees. Forsaken, all of them. His lip curled, as if to snarl at the undead abominations. They read him well enough, huddling a bit closer as if in fear for their unlives. They remained quiet for the same reason. The Captain took it as a point of pride, that his presence alone seemed to terrify these vile creatures. He scanned over their faces once by one; two men, two women. One looked like she died young. 

“Please release us, sir.” one of the men spoke up, his voice hoarse. “We’re not soldiers. And we’ve no allegiances to the Banshee Queen. We just want to get to Quel’Thalas to--”

He was cut off quickly when Alan slammed his boot into his hunched back, knocking him forward into the others. 

“--I didn’t say you could speak, deader!” he shouted.

Dahlyah glanced over her shoulder at that, her grin diminishing as she pulled her rifle from her shoulder to instead hold it ready in her hands. She watched Alan and his interactions with the refugees carefully. Wil did the same, peeling his attention from Ridley long enough to watch his senior counterpart work. His expression was… attentive. It spoke well enough of his conflicted feelings. Alan straightened his tabard, as he turned back to the bounty huntress - giving one final warning glare to the once again silent dead.

“Alright, let’s wrap this up, yeah?” he cleared his throat. “How much were you promised a head, Gun-for-Hire?”

Her smirk returned, as she shook her head. Her finger slipped down the side of her rifle, resting gently at the trigger.

“... Oi, think yer mistaken, Cap’n Davis. I ain’t ‘ere t’ collect on these ‘ere deaders,” she explained, “I’m ‘ere fer you.”

Before Alan could even blink, he found himself staring down the dwarf’s rifle, his nose close enough to sniff the gunpowder. He took a step back, gasping-- reaching for his sword, then not, all in an instant. He was confident bullets flew faster than he could unsheath it, anyway. Wil was equally caught off guard, hand grasping the hilt of his blade in Alan’s stead.

“--Dunnae, lad.” Dahlyah barked at Wil, eyes and rifle still trained on Alan. “Ridley still likes yeh, aye? Best t’ keep it that way.”

Wil looked down-- sure enough, Ridley was right there in front of him, eyes piercing as he looked up at the human. His demeanor was much less friendly - nearly snarling at poor Wil now, with ears perked and mane glowing just a bit brighter. Wil couldn’t so much as scratch his nose before Ridley would set on him, close as he was. Slowly, he took his hand off his weapon, blood draining from his face.

“W-What’s the meaning of this!?” Alan demanded, scowling at the dwarf. “I’m an officer of the Alliance military, and I--”

“--Y’know damn well why I’m ‘ere, Alan Davis!” she cut him off, proving she could shout a lot louder.

Her eyes practically burned into the Captain’s, a noticeable heat brimming off the metallic bits of her armor. Even her breath was hotter, like a dragon spewing fire. Smoke billowed out from her nostrils-- or so it seemed, anyway. Her fury set quickly, a far cry from her relaxed and casual demeanor just moments prior. She turned, slipping the barrel of her rifle up her arm to keep it trained on her target, while freeing her hand to tug a folded slip of paper from beneath her pauldron.

“But ‘m guessin’ yer partner ‘ere dunnae. Seems too nice t’ git int’a th’ shite yer doin’.” she grumbled a bit, holding the paper out for Wil to relieve from her.

He did so slowly, mindful of the blazing bloodhound practically attached to his leg at this point. He stepped forward, looking for an opening to maybe help Alan out of this predicament-- but a sharp growl from Ridley urged him to reconsider. He retreated with the paper a few paces back from the dwarf, and slowly unfolded it.

“Wil, it’s a fake! It’s obviously a--”

“--Let ‘im read, hotshot.”

It made no difference; Wil was far too curious now what the paper was, even without Alan trying to talk him out of reading it before it was even unfolded. He straightened the page, and looked it over.

WANTED

For crimes during times of war, including; - Maltreatment of prisoners - Dereliction of duty - Conduct unbecoming an Officer - Treason

A bounty of one thousand five hundred gold has been placed on;

ALAN DAVIS CAPTAIN, STROMGARDE’S SIXTH CALVARY DIVISION

In the name of his Majesty, King Anduin Wrynn

The bottom was stamped with a seal familiar insignia of Stormwind Intelligence, and signed with a scribble that read well enough as ‘M. Shaw’. 

“... Alan, what does this mean?” Wil asked, still re-reading the words over and over again. “Maltreatment? Dereliction? Fucking T-Treason, Alan!? What is this!?”

Alan didn’t respond. He didn’t see the point, now. Denying it, downplaying it… Wil was smart. He’d see right through it.

“Yer buddy ‘ere likes beatin’ on prisoners. Killin’ ‘em, too. Dunnae care wot they are. Orcs, deaders, taurens.” Dahlyah elaborated, eyes still narrowly focused on her mark. “Ain’t all y’ pretty blue Alliance brass th’ hero-types, aye?”

Wil found himself speechless, simply looking at Alan, then back to the parchment. The words seemed to cut him, deeper and deeper each time he read them. He knew Alan had no love for the Horde, and had heard him say some pretty terrible things about them. But until now, he figured it was just talk.A bit of roughing them up, but not crippling them. Not killing them.

“... What’s the treason, then?” Wil finally asked, addressing Dahlyah-- as if he couldn’t handle even speaking to Alan at the moment.

“Prisoner exchange, in Arathi. Cap’n Davis ‘ere killed two elves wot were supposed t’ be handed back t’ th’ Horde. Gutted ‘em, left ‘em fer th’ raptors.” Dahlyah explained. “Thought ‘e covered up ‘is tracks well ‘nough. Cost two o’ yer own when th’ exchanged dinnae go down. But Alan ‘ere dinnae care, aye? Got ‘is vengeance. Ain’t that right, lad?”

“Is that… true?” Wil looked to Alan, eyes misting and brow furrowed.

Again, silence. But it said it all. Alan kept his gaze on Dahlyah, lip quivering on the verge of a snarl. His hand tensed, opening and closing in a steady, nervous rhythm. A tell. One not lost on the Dark Iron.

“--Easy, there, Cap’n. Ask yer buddy there if’n that poster mentions bringin’ yeh in alive anywhere.” she warned. “Poor lad’s read it ‘nough times now t’ know it by heart.”

“... Shut up. Shut UP!” Alan snapped! “You fucking sellsword! You think you know what it’s like to be a soldier? To fight an enemy, and watch them take everything you love away from you? You have no idea! All you care about, all you fight for, is gold! You’re a greedy goblin with a license and a rifle! Not a real soldier! Not a real hero!”

It was then that, all riled up, Alan made his last mistake. He was backed into a corner, antagonized by this uppity Dark Iron nuisance! He acted without thinking, making one last ditch effort to get out of this impossible situation! Wil barely got a breath out to try and stop him, before Alan Davis, Captain of Stromgarde’s Sixth Calvary Division, took hold of the hilt of his blade to draw it. Before Dahlyah Grimshatter, greedy goblin with a license and a rifle, pulled her trigger.

~*~

Back in Stormwind, two Royal Guards hefted the bagged corpse up onto a cart, before spurring on the horse to start hauling it off. Dahlyah watched just a moment longer, as the clerk - a gnome, coming up no higher than Dahlyah’s chin -  finished counting up the gold pieces. One by one, as he slipped them into a small burlap sack. The Dark Iron’s hand idly scratched Ridley’s mane, fingers running through it to send embers floating off in the air. She sighed.

“... And fifteen-hundred.” the clerk finished counting aloud, dropping the final coin into the bag with a clink. “Looks like he gave you some trouble, hm?”

“Nah, nae too much.” Dahlyah replied, taking the sack from the Gnome, with a nod. “Nae as much as ‘e gave yer lot, seems.”

She offered a forced smile, and a final nod to the clerk, before turning to depart. 

Payouts weren’t always this sad. But this one felt tainted. Cursed. Perhaps if Wil hadn’t have been there, things would’ve gone differently? No, Alan was plenty eager to fight with him present, just the same. Still, she couldn’t get him out of her mind; the way his voice wavered, that heavy betrayal hitting the poor kid hard. It made her feel like the bad guy after all, robbing poor Wil of someone he clearly trusted and looked up to. 

No, she wasn’t the bad guy, she told herself. Alan Davis had his job, and didn’t do it well enough. And she was just doing her job-- and clearly, did it better than he did his. This was just how it was, sometimes. He wasn’t wrong when he said she wasn’t a real hero. But she never said she was. Never set out to be. Work was work. Running bounties put “kibble in the bowl and bullets in the chamber” she always said. And today’s payout would make for plenty of both. 

And that was the point of it. That was the intent. No, she wasn’t a hero.