#forthseventhrp

12-16 Sep 627

A low voice came out of the forest, from not far into the shadowed protection the woods offered, "Little human, you're all alone."

Her eyes came up, settling on the green figure in surprise. She almost flinched, realizing exactly who, or rather what addressed her. An older orc appeared grizzled, his skin leather-beaten from years outside as stared at her in a mixture of surprise and wariness. His eyes were oddly thoughtful, betraying an intelligence she knew instinctively not to challenge, not when she was this weakened. "I.. er. G'morning?" she murmured softly, her voice dulled by the weariness that ate away at her.

"Little human, you look unwell," the old orc growled at her. His tusks glinted in the morning light, as he regarded her quietly. Wearing no marker for the horde army, the group he was with appeared as simple civilians. He gestured to her, beckoning her closer to him. Beyond him in the woods was a small camp, she could see. The scent of frying meat reached her senses, but something within her told her to keep moving. Instincts practically screamed at her to move. Could she trust these people? No. NO. The armistice was in place -- they couldn't. Or could they. She couldn't trust them. Paranoia reared its ugly head as the thoughts raced through her, one after the other. No. Not after Kingsland. Not now. They would slice her throat if she dared closed her eyes, she knew. No, Keladry. Move. Keep moving. Do not stop, just go. Her stomach growled loudly at the scent, and in that moment, she almost gave in. Almost conceded to the weakness, exhaustion, hunger and trauma that chased her like the very hounds of hell.

"Come. Eat, rest with us. You might even sleep for a few hours before we move again." His voice was deeply gravelly, and his eyes wary as he watched her. She had never been this close to any member of the Horde, save for the Goblins of Booty Bay, and even then, Horde was the very last thing they would call themselves. A tendril of fear wound through her, breaking through the fevered delirium when he said continued speaking, "I said come along. There is meat and a lone bedroll in our camp for you to make use of for a few brief hours."

"Ah.. That is, I cannot," she murmured quietly, clutching her stick closer to her protectively. "I thank you for your hospitality truly.. but I must decline. Where I must go is not far, and I know the way."

"If that is your choice, human," he acknowledged, nodding his great head. "You will not get far, sickened as you are. Not in these lands."

This was also true. This was a harsh place, not quite known for survival.

"I-it is," she nodded, backing away from the orc slowly. Her eyes never left his, and she knew he more than sensed her nervousness. "I thank you for the offer of hospitality, truly I do. Your kindness is.. truly appreciated." Attempting a smile, she knew it probably didn't reach her face, much as she tried. She simply did not have the energy, much as she wished.

"Go with honor little human," the orc nodded, his voice a deep, gravelly rasp that followed her back through the trails of the forest.

"And you in the Light," she returned softly as she painfully ambled back.

She continued up into the foothills. She was close, she knew it in her soul. Desperate to reach the Aerie, she knew she was but a handful of miles from the road that lead down into the Hinterlands. Precious miles. She had ridden these roads so often as a member of the 57th, alongside Brock and the company, had ridden down them as a militant deputy in-command of the Militants division of the crown, and had ultimately fled down these roads when the Hollow had fallen.

One foot in front of the other, Kel, her thoughts whispered. Almost there. Just a few hours longer. Her body was parched; deprived of rest and sustenance, she teetered. The sun, despite the chillier temperatures of the North, seemed to beat down upon her back. Light above, she thought absently. It's just a little farther. A part of her was quite eager to get away from the orcs, feeling for sure that they absolutely could not have been trusted. Absolutely could not.

One foot in front of the other. Just one step after another. One after the other, she continued slowly down the well worn pathway that led towards the dwarven highlands of the Aerie, growing steadily slower. An hour passed. And then another. Her eyes drooped down to the ground after a time, following the dirt pathway.

The sound of a horse reached her, a sharp whinny against the silence she'd been surrounded by. Her head came up slowly as she drew closer to where the sound had originated. Voices sounded as the forest thinned out, barking orders in an almost otherworldly way. Not a sound that she heard often. But one she had heard. Cautiously, she approached, her eyes catching sight of the flapping blue and black fabric in the wind.

The Ebon Blade. This far south. The infestation of undead must truly be bad. She instinctively reached for the rank insignia on her shoulder, and ripped it from the cloth, tearing away the last vestige of her identity. Her tabard had long been shredded on the journey, and her armour was all but destroyed. Now, she was no one. Just another refugee on the roads leading to safety. The orcs may have given her some quarter, but the Ebon Blade were something entirely different. Her Light, normally in reach deep within typically prickled at the sight of them, but it barely flinched. She had to pass them by. Their camp blocked the road that led up to the Aerie. There was no way around.

"G-good morning," she called quietly as she drew close to the closest knight. Undead.. creature. The man whirled upon her, drawing his sword. As quickly as she had spoken, the camp had come alive, buzzing with a paranoid excitement. And just as quickly, she was put into chains, interrogated about her whereabouts, her reasons for being there.

Her thoughts buzzed blearily. She could lie. Give another name. How safe was her own? Her own name could be found in government rosters. Were these knights hostile to the alliance armies? Would they let her through?

"I.. am.." she sighed, letting the full weight of her exhaustion through. She was a refugee whose village had been attacked. They needn't know any more than that. "I am Keladry Hawklight. I seek passage to the Aerie after my home was attacked a few days prior." Her married name would be the only one contained on any file now. Her maiden was less well-known, and might simply be enough to get her through. "I seek nothing but a safe passage to the Aerie to seek medical care and a safe haven to rest."

"You are denied," the nearest to her hissed. He towered over her, looming ominously as his eyes pinned her like prey on the spot."Our purpose is to prevent the taint from reaching the Peak. You are not permitted to pass until they give you permission to pass this checkpoint." He turned, and thundered, "Aldair!"

A second knight came darting up out of the ranks, one that looked.. junior to the first. "Sir," he acknowledged shortly.

"Ride to the Peak," the first knight spoke curtly. "Petition passage for our.. guest."

Aldair nodded. "Yes, Lord Bainscor. I shall return tomorrow with their decision."

01 Aug 627  

Cathedral District, Stormwind City

Kel groaned softly as her eyes opened and were immediately assaulted by the faint light trickling into their bedroom. Beside her, her husband lay, still sleeping off the copious amount of drink he had shared with them. Putting a hand to her face, she gently scrubbed her face as awareness began to set in. Sitting up was a chore she learned as her gaze drifted down the bed. Somehow, she had acquired a pair of gaudy sunglasses, and a wide-brimmed floppy hat at some point during their escapades the evening prior. Snoring gently beside her, the jaunty tophat Sandor had managed to pilfer hat lay abandoned on the pillow beside him. Even Duke was still completely out at the foot of their bed, snuffling away in his sleep. She would have laughed at the sight, if it didn't hurt to exist so much.

"Light, Toby. What on Azeroth did you get us into," she breathed, padding her way gingerly through their apartments. Thank the Gods someone had closed the shutters. On a nearby table, lay a small gnomish image capturing device. Maybe it had documented some of their evening, and could fill in the later gaps. The sounds and smell of strong miners coffee brewing soon filled the small kitchen, and it was not long after she found herself curled up on one of the chairs clutching a mug of the brew. A soft sigh of contentment escaped her as she sipped from it for a long few moments, before picking up the device, flicking through the it's memory device.

"Oh, no," she whispered, seeing the contents. "Oh damn."

☠ Booty Bay ☠ 

Dancing with my husband~ He really needs lessons, but we love him anyway!

☠ Everlook ☠

The 47th Infantry Regiment is about to release the hottest mixtape of the year. More info Here!

☠ Cenarion Refuge ☠ 

Digglesdeep seems to be making friends on our tour! 

Toby showing Dymphna and Duke how mages roll! 

☠ Moonglade ☠ 

We may have adopted someone in our travels. Absolutely no one tell the Marshall~! The Captain joined me for some dancing to celebrate!

☠ Gadgetzan ☠ 

The Captain made a friend, who joined us on our tour for the rest of the night! A lovely man named Jen! 

☠ Stormstout Brewery ☠ 

Whoever said it had a point! The recruits were on the floor by the 8th or 9th cup of drink! We must teach them resiliency! FOR THE CUP!

☠ Tavern in the Mists ☠ 

Where did everyone go? ((Lol phasing!))

☠ Ratchet  ☠ 

Yo, I’ll tell you what I want, what I really really want~  The girls showing the boys how to move!

☠ Worlds End ☠

Produced by Tinkertorch

When you assist with a career course for someone in your guild and get to act like unruly Privates without fear of consequences.

The clock ticked loudly, obliterating the silence of her office. Kos had been dead for a few days now, but the fiery burn of sorrow in her chest simply wouldn't let up. This office, normally a quiet haven from the chaotic bustle of hospital operations did not stand up to the pain of a loss this dear.

My beloved brother. Simply... Gone.

The image of his body in pieces on their floor was something that would haunt her for the rest of her life. Thank the Light her mother and sister were not present to see what had happened to him. The image of him as he had been what they needed to preserve. Not the bloodied, brutal consequences of an assault on their family home.

A file lay before her on the desk, open to a handful of engineering plans. Her surgical plan lay beside it, currently abandoned. Nyla's file, her second or third prosthetic surgery under her hands, she couldn’t quite remember right this moment. This one was intensive; almost a full body replacement. Her gaze drifted down the pages, and while it didn’t seem like she was particularly focused on any thing  before her, she knew the plan by heart. She had to, for Nyla was counting on the confidence behind her blades to cut and stitch back together a form stronger than before.

The clock dinged one hour past noon. It was time. Shrugging into a surgical overcoat and mask, she made her way down the unfamiliar ward of the Cindervale hospital, and into the surgical wings. Nyla's prone form awaited her there, having been under a steadily increasing level of sedation for the last half hour or so. Coming into the room, she silently scrubbed in, mentally preparing herself for what was to come.

Light, please let this surgery be successful. There has already been so much loss, sorrow and anger this week. Please do not let me add to the burden on the Regiment. I could not bear to feel this pain magnified.

When she entered the room, Nyla lay on her back in her human form. Her short auburn hair shone under the gleam of the surgical lights. There was no tension in her body, something that was sad to note. She opened her Light, allowing it to flow freely around the room as she walked towards Nyla. Knowing the other woman wouldn’t necessarily be consciously aware of the Light, the unconscious being was who really mattered. The most vulnerable self was who needed to be comforted. Leaning down, she murmured softly into Nyla's ear, "I told you last time, Vermillion, that the journey wasn't over. This is but another step along the way, and we will see you through to the other side of this gulf."  

She straightened, calling, "Status check, please." "Ready and waiting," came the voice of Ivan, one of her trusted hands in Cindervale.

Her gaze went one last time over the surgical field, carefully examining everything. The selected tools and implements, but more importantly the medi-tech prosthetics that had been provided by Goldworks Technologies. A left arm and leg, right hand and right lower leg, all carefully crafted from the finest mithril produced in Ironforge. Each was paired with the bio-implants already established within Nyla's body, so it was more or less a matter of replacing pre-existing mechanics, or failing bone. Déjà vu took her for a moment. It was last year that she had stood in this very place, under the exact same lights, over the same body.

"Please begin recording. We will start on the left," she acknowledged quietly. "Our patient, designation N,  has given complete and full consent for this procedure. It is heavily invasive; we will be replacing her left arm from the shoulder down, her left leg from the hip down, her right hand from the wrist down, and her right leg from below the knee down. All of these modifications should pair with the neuromorphic chip implanted in her body over a year ago." The table began to raise Nyla's shoulders as she applied pressure to a foot pedal underneath the bed. Her scalpel began to cut, slicing through skin and muscle with ease as she made the first incision. Speaking as she worked, she continued to diligently document the procedure. "This technology, first introduced in Mechagon, was introduced to the Alliance almost three years ago after having been trialed successfully. Subject N has successfully undergone prosthetic enhancements in the past, and has had minimal issues integrating bio-mechanics."

As she opened Nyla's shoulder to the surgical suite, she began to systematically separate what was necessary from unnecessary biological parts. The muscles stripped from the joint would be surgically reattached to the new limb with bio-anchors. Her work was meticulous, with her focus narrowed on the small field. At the hour and a half mark, she took a breath and separated arm from body with a gentle tug.

"Limb successfully separated. The reattachment of Subject N's new limb will begin now," Kel explained quietly. As she worked through each step, each was described down to the last detail. "We are implementing a mithril joint that will support extended combat operations, and support biological integration. Fastened to the clavicle with a set of mithril screws, the ball joint is connected to the rest of the limb and speaks to the shoulder muscles via nerve signals and electric impulses. There is a neuromorphic chip contained within this prosthetic. Any nerve signals from the biological part of Subject N should re-transmit down the bio-mechanics to electrical impulses. Once Subject N has recovered, her range of motion, strength and dexterity should be no less than her previously known skill."

The soft whirr of a surgical drill echoed throughout the room as she finished screwing the ball-joint into Nyla's shoulder. The limb itself wasn't particularly difficult to affix. It was just a matter of maneuvering the limb into it's affixed housing, and cementing it's place with a series of tiny, but very flexible joint screws.  

"All sats and vitals are holding steady," their anesthesiologist called. "Patient N has met all necessary requirements to move onto the next part of the surgery."

As she moved on, the support crew standing by in the surgical wing moved in to Nyla's shoulder to begin closing the open wound around the new ball joint. "Please ensure to swab the wound with the beeswax salve contained in the jars marked by the leaf etching," Kel requested quietly. "It will alleviate any residual bone pain throughout the patient's recovery and speed her recovery process. She does not have the privilege of a long recovery -- her chain of command has requested her presence at a training operation which is due to begin soon. As such, any additional support we can give her, magical or otherwise, will be used to promote a rapid-regeneration of self." This was only partially true. They had all been hurt, Nyla included. It had been her request to attend this operation, with the enhanced form she had wanted for so long. And with her brother one of the missing.. she had just as much right to be on the ground alongside them.

The next part of the surgery was a left leg replacement. As she had with her shoulder, Kel began with a series of cuts, methodically cutting away muscle and sinew to make room for mechanical enhancements. Because there was no joint removal, this one was considerably easier. Within the hour, Kel had the limb removed and prepped for the new housing. Similar to the last, mithril screws cemented bio-matter to mechanical-matter.

"Having elected a full left leg replacement, Subject N is receiving an additional replacement of a full above-the-knee mithril bionic leg replacement. The newer technology will provide additional support to a mecha-enhanced body. The neuromorphic chip for this prosthetic has been housed within deep within the framework. Subject N will be better able to endure the combat experience without loss of mobility on the combat field. A set of six micro-screws will fasten this limb to existing bone structure, with minimal impact on the patients long-term recovery." The clock ticked over the five hour mark as she began cementing piece to body. As she finished with the last of attachments on the left side, her gaze ran over all of Nyla's left side, meticulously examining every affix she'd made. Perfection was what she owed Nyla. Nyla had given so much to the Regiment; blood, mobility, a life or two. She stepped back from the limb and rolled her neck, moving around to the right side of Nyla's still form. Again, the support crew moved in to close and dress the new limb attachment.

"All sats and vitals are holding steady," their anesthesiologist called. "Patient N has met all necessary requirements to move onto the next part of the surgery."

"Subject N has selected a full below-the-knee bionic replacement as well. It is identical in nature to the left side; she will possess a stronger, more dexterous, more enduring set of limbs following this procedure. Her prosthetic will be affixed to her bones via a series of screws which cement a ball socket housing. All muscles will be connected via bio-implants; the neuromorphic chip will transmit to the upper leg muscles and nerves, via electrical impulses, and receive the nerve messages in kind."

This leg was an easier replacement. It was a surgery she had done too often for soldiers who had lost a foot or a limb in battle.

"All sats and vitals are holding steady," their anesthesiologist called as she moved to the last part of Nyla's body. "Patient N has met all necessary requirements to move onto the next part of the surgery."

The eighth hour of the surgery ticked over and she stepped away from the foot of the surgical table and moved to the last part of the surgery. The hand replacement was the easiest, and she knew it, but she couldn’t get lax with her work as long as it had been. At the ten hour mark, she hit the point where it was smooth sailing. This was it. The final step. She stepped back, and the support crew, long having swapped over at least once, stepped in to close the final wounds. Delicate lines crisscrossed Nyla's body, all ugly and red against fair skin. Most would heal, and leave faint marks for the eye to see, but none would be harshly visible.

7 Sep 629, 0230AM, Kel & Sandor's Apartment - Cathedral District

As Kel slept peacefully draped over Sandor, she knew nothing of what was to come. The last few days of their leave had been spent in idle pastime; Narakos, not one for the city had left the quiet sanctuary of Hawklight to visit Stormwind so that he could meet with the striking labourers in hopes that a deal could be brokered for Hawklight’s wares. The rolling strikes of late had reached even as far as Westfall, and those who remembered the strikes from years previous watched with bated breath to see how badly they would again be impacted.

While not her eldest brother, Narakos had been Lord of Hawklight since the time Solomon, her eldest brother, had passed on the mantle following the death of his wife Alurea and their unborn child some years prior. Solomon had fully retreated from the family, choosing to spend his time between Westfall and Icecrown in mostly solitude. Narakos, made Lord, was about three years older than Kel, and dark in looks; likened to the very devil, he had the temper to match when it was ignited. It was under his guidance that Hawklight had become a refuge within Westfall, and home to many a traveler seeking solitude from the storm that continued to ravage the dusty plains.

A cacophony of growls and barks rent the night.

Yenafur scrambled off the bed with a low, garbled hiss and hid herself in the shadows of their room. Kel’s head came up off of Sandor’s chest, and a soft noise of confusion escaped her.

“What on Azeroth is wrong with your dog,” Kel mumbled quietly. “My love h-“

The screaming yelp of Duke’s pain and Narakos’ raised voice had her rolling off of Sandor immediately. Grabbing her sword from its place on a nearby table, her feet beat against the floor as she ran to the door and yanked it open.

Her eyes flew to Narakos, and widened as she gasped, “Brother!” “Sister,” he whispered, his voice quiet with mortal fear.

His own dark eyes focused on her for a split-second before the spark of life faded from them. A flash of light from a Broker’s hand-cannon lit up the darkness of their home. A trio of Brokers was visible for the duration of a blink before they vanished through a portal of their own making.

A scream of sorrow and fury rent the air and her Light lit up the walls of their apartment. Blood soaked everything in the hallway, as if someone had taken a bucket of paint and simply lobbed it. Narakos, her elder brother, lay in pieces on their floor; his torso was gone. He simply was a head with shoulders, and his legs. Duke was also a casualty, but his tiny black eyes were filled with pain. One of his legs was gone, presumably in the same blast that had taken Narakos. Her eyes flamed with a furious, righteous fire, and her head swung towards the door of their daughter's bedroom.

Clean-up progressed on a regular basis throughout the region, aided by the assistance of refugee, Alliance, and Horde forces alike. Buildings remained saturated but cleansed of the oil residue that had contaminated the small town. The pattering of hammers against wood was commonplace; the Cinderfall Grove had started to produce, and mill lumber faster than ever before to assist with the rebuild. No person had been left out of the process – every man, woman, child, mechanical being and other being had a part to play in the rejuvenation of Lor’danel.

They had about five days of peaceful work before the inklings of calamity began to strike again

Between Lor’danel and the Ruins of Auberdine, Coastline

Swathed in light armour and a white shroud overtop that, Kel paused to wipe the sweat from her brow. It was outrageously hot for the garb they wore, but it was a necessity for their own protection. A low, rattled moan sounded at her elbow, but there was nothing she could do for the soul suffering. The woman would pass soon, she knew from experience. The sounds she made were the final sounds of life before death would come and claim her for the Shadowlands. They were in sore need of medicines to be made to assist with the catastrophe that had struck hard and fast. “I shall be right back,” she nodded to another medic working nearby.

Her boots crunched on the tightly packed dirt as she strode from a recently erected medical tent out into the clean and fresh air. The sun was high overhead, beating down upon their secluded site. Nearby, a handful of fires crackled, as pots of water continued to bubble non-stop. Reaching up, she swiped the sweat-drenched mask off her face. A low sigh of relief escaped her as she inhaled the much cooler, fresher air

The sounds of soldiers at work nearby caught her attention. Through the trees she could see a gathering of weary soldiers at work digging a trench in the earth. Shrouds of blue and red at work together, digging graves for the ones not lucky enough to survive. This disease had no prejudice when it came to who it struck, and no prejudice to those that it took in its wake. Yes, catastrophe had struck hard and fast. An aspiration pneumonia had struck the populace of their small region, no doubt from constantly inhaling the combination of salt water and bacteria.

25JAN629

The night had been awesome. When the tank had first rolled out of the foliage, they had thought the worst. Had thought. But then, her gaze had whipped around to Marsulu. “O u r tank, Goldmane?” she had laughed. But then they had made it happen, between the two of them, commandeering a tank from right underneath the eyes of the enemies.

The low rumble of a large tank echoed up the beach, followed by the high pitched mechanical creaking of tank treads flowing one after another, sand flying every which way as she gunned it, with personnel hanging onto the side. It ripped down the beach, obliterating the enemies shored up sand dunes, as they made their way back to camp.

“Let’s keep this girl going as long as we can,” she called to Marsulu. She yelled to be heard over the sound of engines within the cavernous enclosure. “She’s got weapons, and enough gas for at least one patrol. After that, she’s our spare parts for Light only knows what. But we’ll do what we can with her.”