Tobias Farnal

Perrinas Josephson took a deep breath.  He’d joined the regiment at the right time--it seemed a contest of skill was about to be starting.  He’d signed up immediately.  All those long hours of training in the sword and shield--it was time to show the proof of it.  

The standard-issue armor he’d obtained from Logistics still weighed on him.  It didn’t fit perfectly, and he’d never actually been able to afford full plate armor before, so it sat on his body uncomfortably.  The man in the referee position wore the uniform of an officer.  Tobias Farnal.  Perry had done his research, knew that this man was barely older than himself, and yet he’d risen to the post of Knight-Lieutenant so quickly.  

To be expected of nobility.  Every advantage went to the ones born in the right spot.  Perry bit his lower lip just slightly--he knew envy would get him nowhere.  He was who he was--the son of a cobbler from Westfall.  No noble ties, no name to speak of, just a long line of people making shoes. He knew himself destined for something greater.  And now--now was the time to prove it.  He gave a smart salute to the smug-looking Knight Lieutenant and then looked around, trying to see his opposition through the view slits in his new, standard-issue, ill-fitting helm. The Knight Lieutenant handed him a training bracer, and Perry put it on.  He’d heard about these--protection against damage from someone else wearing it.  A way to make sure he didn’t hurt his opponent too badly when he brought his sword down.   “Are you ready?” asked Lt. Farnal. “Sir?” said Perry.  “I don’t see my opponent, sir.” A burst of giggling suddenly erupted from roughly around his feet.  He shifted, trying to get his vision-slats to point downward, and saw a little gnomish woman, unarmored, wearing a number of strange devices.  

“Here I am, you silly-billy!” said the gnome.  “Corporal Mary Sparklecog!  I’m going to be your opponent, and we’re going to have all kinds of fun and the regiment is going to give the winner a UNICORN!” Perry frowned under his helmet at that. “That’s...no,” said Farnal.  “That’s not the prize, Sparklecog.” Mary made a pouty face, and sighed.  Then she looked back to Perry, still straining to get the right angle to see her.  “Oh well, we can still have all kinds of fun.  You’re new, I get to see what you can do, and I’m all excited about it so let’s have a good match!” Perry sighed, then turned to the Lieutenant.  “Sir?” he said.  “This...this hardly seems fair.  She’s so little, and unarmored.  Is it really OK to send me up against her? I mean...I don’t want to hurt her, but it seems unsportsmanlike to fight this way.” Farnal’s eyebrows raised.  “You’re a confident one,” he said, then scratched behind the back of his head.  What was that--nervousness?  From a Knight-Lieutenant?  These nobles--who’d put someone this wiffley-waffley in charge of anything?  Perry scoffed at the notion.   “Well,” said Farnal.  “This is how the matches drew.  And to be honest, if you actually do give Sparklecog a wallop or two, I’m not going to object.  But wait until the match is over before you comment on the strength of your opponent, and never underestimate the gnomes.  Light, if Champion Tinkertorch heard you talk like that...well...”  Lt. Farnal paused, then shook his head again.  “Regardless.  Are you ready?” Perry sighed.  A little gnome girl.  This was to be his first opponent.  How in the world was he supposed to demonstrate his prowess at arms with only this little, bouncy, cheerful thing opposed to him?  How could he show this regiment his true value when the only measuring stick they’d given him was this...short?   Still, once he won here, he’d face someone else.  That might be a better opportunity. “All right, then,” said Lt. Farnal.  “Begin.” Perry began to adopt his stance--that standard, Westfall militia stance he’d drilled in so long.  And just as he did, a cascade of bursting, shimmering light erupted from just in front of his visor, blinding him. Perry didn’t see what hit him next.  He flailed about a bit with his sword, but he could feel burst after burst of some kind of energy slamming into him.  By the time he managed to open his eyes, he was looking straight up into the blue sky with sunlight filtering down through the trees. “Recruit?” said Lt. Farnal.  “You all right?  Sparklecog, check him out.” Then his helmet was being removed, and the gnome was shining another light in his eyes.  “A little concussion,” she said.  “Whoopsy-doopsy.  I might have hit him a little too hard, but he was talking like he was going to be a big strong opponent so I put all my power into it only it seems he’s just a sweet kid and it hit him a little hard, so whoops.” “Never thought I’d say this, but it isn’t your fault Sparklecog.”  said Lt. Farnal.  “No reason to not go all-out in these fights.  We’ll get him off to the Cathedral, he can recover there.” Then the Lieutenant looked down to him.  “Nice fight, Recruit,” the man said.  Was he being mocked?  Even in his pain-filled haze, Perry grit his teeth as the privileged noble literally looked down on him.   That bastard.   But then Perry leaned his head back onto the soft grass.  He’d lost.  Completely.  To a gnomish girl.  Was this all his training was worth?  Is this all he was good for?  He clenched his fists and swore...he’d do better.  When it actually came down to a battle, he’d be ready.  And if that meant training day and night until then...that’s what he’d do.  

Private Mary Sparklecog sat on a small stool in the Oribos Idyllia happily eating a piece of sugar-encrusted fish and looking at the latest missive from her Knight and giggled a bit.

“PVT Sparklecog:

CDR Felmourn has issued the medical company a task; to ensure the well-being of KNT Farnal for the duration his attentions remain engrossed in his current magical project.. whatever that may be. I have decided that the responsibility of this task is to be placed on you. Please ensure that KNT Farnal does these four things; eat, hydrate, bathe and sleep to promote his well-being while his attentions are otherwise elsewhere. As his personal aide, and a medic no less, he will defer to you in matters pertaining to his health.

If you have questions, please return to the Enclave earliest. I shall expect a report on your work at the close of KNT Farnal's  project. If KNT Farnal has any questions, please show him this note. KNT Farnal, this serves as my direct order to PVT Sparklecog.

Respectfully,

 - K. Brightmaul, KNT

3A1 A/OIC”

 “Oooo,” the little gnomish medic said to herself.  “I get to give orders to a Knight!  Yay! Oh, this will be fun and Knight Farnal does sometimes get a little sleepy and bleary and sometimes stinky, so he does need someone to look after him.  Weird that Knight Brightmaul’s hand got all jumpy underlining that word ‘will.’ Something must have interrupted her.” She slid down off the stool – missing once again the Height Adjustment Module she’d scavenged in order to make Captain Tinkertorch’s radio equipment functional here.   Some fucking Knight can’t take a bath and you get put on the shit duty, said the Voice in the back of her head.  An entire medical ward full of wounded, our ass kicked so severely we had to run, and you’re confined to barracks, then made the babysitter of the snot-nosed kid.  If the little bastard can’t keep his shit together well enough to eat his lunch, then what the fuck is he doing anywhere near the field?

She ignored the Voice. She always ignored the Voice.  The Voice was a terrible, hurtful, bad, meany person.  The Voice thought that all there was to life was family melting away to radiation or friends falling behind enemy lines.  The Voice didn’t understand how good life could be if you just…looked at it right. So she pushed it down, like she always did, then put on her bestest, brightest smile and trundled off to find her new charge.

                                                           ***

She didn’t have to look far.

She found him, clothes rumpled, staring at some weird set of arcane symbols on the wall of the Enclave, just next to the Idyllia.  The bags about his eyes told her all she needed to know about his state of sleep, though he didn’t have the odor he sometimes accrued.  

“Knight Farnal?” she asked from behind him.  

The Knight jumped a bit, clearly startled, though Mary had made no attempt at stealth.  Mary giggled at the reaction as this officer took a moment to compose himself before speaking.

Dumbass knows we’re not secure here, and he lets himself get taken by surprise that easily?  Doesn’t need a medic, he needs a bodyguard.  Or a fucking brain cell, that’d help.

Mary’s smile grew wider as she pushed the Voice back down.  “Sir?  I’ve been sent by Knight Brightmaul, because you’re being a silly-billy and not sleeping or eating or drinking or stuff and that’s not good for you and so I’m here and I’m going to help you and you’re going to feel sooo much better when we get you on—”

“—yes, Sparklecog,” said the Knight in a clipped tone, cutting her off.  “Thank you.  I was told to expect your presence.  We can have further discussions once I’m done ensuring this ward line is secure.  It’s the first time I’ve had our new allied mages do the work, and I need to make sure that it’s up to snuff.”

So we’ve got a half-awake moron double-checking wards set up by the Horde.  We’re all going to die here.  You get to watch everyone die again.  And again, and again, and…

The Voice kept on like that, but Mary stopped listening.  Instead, she gave Knight Farnal a giggle.  “Oooo, you’re working on super-cool wardy-safe stuff, right?  I was on Derrinar’s patrol, and so I like that there’s wards to make us all safe and stuff when we’re being all talky here, that’s a big yay, but don’t you think that it can wait for you to get some sleep because you’ve been up and awake even though you’d been putting together that meeting with our new allies and then you opened that portal and now you’ve been working all night just double-checking someone else’s work and maybe that can wait for eight hours while you—"

“—Shut up, Private,” said the Knight in a whip-crack order tone.  “I know your orders.  And I will sleep, I promise you, once I know these wards are secure.  I’m not risking another security lapse like FOB Indestructible. Am I understood?  That.  Will. Not—”

It wasn’t Mary that moved her hand.  It was the Voice.  The big meany-head in the back of her brain where she put all the bad stuff that had happened to her.  She knew she had to guard against it at all times, but every once in a while it slipped the leash and took control.  Like now.

Knight Farnal looked down at the hypodermic needle the Voice had ejected from Mary’s wrist-dispenser and into his thigh.  Then he looked at Mary, an expression of pure disbelief and shock on his face for just a moment before the sedative cocktail took effect and his body went slack.

The Voice wanted to just let him hit the stone floor of Oribos, but Mary had control again.  She tapped a couple of buttons on her other wrist, and her patient-moving units had deployed from her waist, levitating up to catch Knight Farnal as he crumpled and ensure that his fall into unconsciousness was safe. “That wasn’t very nice,” she said, more to herself than anything else.  “Maybe if I’d talked to him more he would have seen that he had to follow his orders and get some sleep and eat and bathe and stuff.”  As she spoke, she deployed her H4ND-EE unit to begin dragging Knight Farnal’s unconscious form back to the medical section of the Idyllia.

Fuck him, said the Voice.  Your orders are to make sure he sleeps.  Mission a-fucking-ccomplished.  

The cold, crisp Alteraci morning air whipped across Toby’s face and rose goosebumps across his skin as he stepped through his portal into the small town of Grafenwohr.  

He took a moment to lean his head back and breath in through his nostrils, free of the scent of the Stormwind canals or the general sense of rot that lurked in Duskwood.  The air dried and began to freeze the inside of his nose as he inhaled, but a small smile curved up the side of one face.

Home.

It felt strange, even now. He waved in passing to some of the people—his people, he corrected himself.  Thanks in large part to the actions of the 47th, the town had begun to thrive.  Construction had slowed; the small wooden houses largely put together, the inn half-finished, but the icy mountain winters of Alterac did not lend themselves well to construction.

That said, the curls of smoke rising from the chimneys, and the livestock in the yards, bespoke of a town well-fixed to survive the harsh winter and begin anew in the spring.  The largesse donated to the town by Lord Edain had supplemented the initial “anonymous” donation—true to his word to his brother-in-arms, Toby hadn’t even told his mother that the seed money for all this had come from Corporal Silvermoon absolutely pasting him in the dueling tournament, then turning around and sending his winnings to help the recovery.

The memories of that terrible night had begun to fade.  Every time he walked past the half-built inn, he heard the screams of the infected as they burned alive a little bit less.  He’d done it—had to do it—and he’d felt the pain of that since.  But those actions…had led to this, and the current state of Grafenwohr was starting to look like the old stories his father had once told him.

He approached the manor hall—the residence of Lord Farnal, and the center of business for the town. His home.  Repairs to the hall had been minimal; the stonework where the prior Lord Farnal had smashed through the wall as an undead abomination had long since been patched.  Toby and his mother had, at first, attempted to get the new townsfolk to ignore the Hall in favor of their own housing, but…they’d insisted.  

The only stone building in town, the manor hall flew the sigil of House Farnal once more, the bird-in-flight in red-on-orange.  Where once Toby had flinched away from his house sigil—the thing had stood for little more than arrogance and empty pride most of his life—he now smiled to see it flying, pronouncing to anyone who would look that this sleepy little mining town lived once more.

His smile was dashed as Frau Gutlein emerged from the Hall just as he approached.  The older woman froze as she saw Toby, her eyes fixed in frozen hatred for a moment.  “My lord,” she said, though her voice carried no joy at the words.  She bowed, and stepped to the side, but let her cold courtesy pronounce her true feelings more loudly than any verbal protestation.

Toby didn’t blame her. One of the only three survivors of the first wave of settlers, Frau Gutlein had been the only one to choose to return to Grafenwohr with the second wave.  She’d lost her husband and two children to the events of that October night—and while the plague of the Scourge had signed their death warrants, it was Toby’s own hand that had caused their deaths.  Deaths that, no doubt, had been filled with terror and panic as Toby’s conjured fire consumed the old inn and choked them in hot smoke and despair.

Shame.

Every time Toby looked at Frau Gutlein, he felt the shame of it.  He shouldn’t—all the arguments he’d made to Eastwind and Mac’aSionnach held true. But even so—those were his people, and he’d condemned them to a horrible death.  And he suspected that, to Frau Gutlein, none of the success that the town had seen since would ever override the fact that he’d personally burned her family alive.

So he simply nodded to the woman without comment.  No words could fix that gulf—and trying would be simply picking the scab off a wound, so he let it lie.  

Instead, he simply walked past the grief-hardened woman and into the warm, stone hall.  

“Tobias!” said his mother as he rounded the corner into the great hall.  The Lady Petra Farnal had lost some weight since leaving the small Stormwind apartment. She looked…healthy.  Vibrant.  Alive. As though she’d spent her time in Stormwind in a sort of torpor, and had only now awoken.

“Hello, mader,” said Toby. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Come, come, sit down.” She waved off a couple of assistants who’d been huddling about her, examining plans for…something.  Toby couldn’t tell from where he stood.

He chuckled, then shook his head.  “Can’t stay long,” he says.  “The regiment is still on alert back in Stormwind…there’s things happening back in Duskwood, and we’re working on…well, stuff.  I’ve been promoted, though.  I’m commissioned as an Knight, now.”

“Oh!” said Petra.  “Oh, my Tobias—a Knight at last.  Your father, so proud would he be, he always wanted—”

“I…know what he always wanted,” said Toby quietly.  “And likely he’d just find some new way to be disappointed in me now.”

His mother frowned.  “You—do not know the whole truth of your father, Tobias.  All of this—all because of him.  A good man, he was, and I am not wishing to hear you speak ill of him, regardless of the way he ended.”

“I killed him, Mom.  That’s how he ended.”

“That is not I read the report, Tobias.  He was dead before your army was fighting him, yes?  You…you killed the thing that killed him.  You were not his murderer, Tobias; you were his rachsucher.”

Toby chuckled, then nodded. “I…suppose, Mom,” he said, then opened his mouth to speak.

“Ah!” said Petra before he could speak.  “Come, come, I have gifts for to give you.”  She bustled past him, grabbing his hand before he could get a word in or share any of his news.  “So many Winterveils, with only a sweater and an orange!  Do you remember, Tobias, when you were nine and begged and begged for your father and I to gift you a puppy?”

“Um…” said Toby, not entirely sure where she was going.  “Yeah? I mean, it seemed like a good idea at the time…” “Well!” said the Lady Regent of Grafenwohr. “I knitted you a sweater like normal, of course, but finally I am able to be fulfilling this wish.” “Mom, that was twelve years ago,” Toby said, following his mother out of the Hall and to the right, passing behind the large buildings to a fenced-in area with a small shelter built into it.  Petra swung open a gate.  “I don’t reall---oof,”

A rather large mass of fur, muscle, and tongue launched from the shelter, catching Toby in the upperlegs with a unexpected, meaty shoulder-block and sending him sprawling. The massive beast immediately positioned himself over Toby and lay atop him, then bathed his face with a big, swabbing tongue.

“Toby, this is Rolf,” said his mother in an amused voice.  “I think he likes you.”

“He’s heavy,” Toby said.  “Where did you find this monster?” Rolf gave a little whurf, almost a half-bark, then settled his giant head down atop Toby’s.

“He’s an Alteraci rescue dog,” said Lady Farnal.  “If stranded you are in the snow, he’s your best bet at staying warm.  When he’s sent out on a rescue mission, or at formal occasions, it’s traditional to put a cask of mulled brandy about his neck.”

Toby chuckled as best he could under the mass of dog.  “Well,” he says. “He is warm, I’ll give him that.”  He reached up to scratch behind Rolf’s ear, and the dog pressed his massive head against Toby’s hand in grateful appreciation.  “Nice to meet you, Rolf.  Though I think you’ll have to stay here, mostly; I can’t exactly deploy with a massive dog in tow.”

“Ah, happy I would be for the company,” said Petra.  “Since I am without my son.”

Toby chuckled again. “So…how do I get him to…”

“Rolf!  Aufstehen!” said Petra in a sharp, commanding tone. The big dog obligingly stood and rumbled to the side, allowing Toby to stand…and then immediately leaned his massive weight against Toby’s leg.  

“All right,” said Toby with a little smile at all the canine affection.  “All right, I like him.  Good boy, Rolf,” he says.  

“Yes.  Now, next question—when am I going to meet this freundin of yours?” asked Petra.

“Well, actually—” Toby said, but couldn’t get a word in edgewise with his mother.

“You’ve been seeing this girl for months, now, and you do not bring her for to meet your mader? Are you ashamed of me?”

“I—” Toby said, but his Mom was on a roll.

“Oh, woe!  That my own son would keep his mother locked away from his lady.  Is she not to be bearing my grandchildren?  Am I not to know them, either?  Just keep me shut up in the mountains, away from my family?”

“Mom, you know I—”

“Good, then.  It’s settled.  I will cook for her, and you will bring her for dinner.  Will she like Schweinshaxe?  Ah, what am I saying, everyone is liking Schweinshaxe.  Bring her, let me meet her for Winterveil. Friday, yes?  You will bring her on Friday.”

“Friday?” Toby said, absently scratching Rolf’s head some more.  “I don’t…that is, I’ve other plans on Friday.  Keledry--Knight Brightmaul—and I are portalling some of the regiment out to Winterspring for a little celebration.”

“Oh!  All of your friends in one place, for me to be meeting and hearing stories of my Tobias.  I will be cooking the Scheinshaxe for all of them, then.  You come and help your mother with the cooking. I know those Pandarens taught you something, but learn real Alteraci cooking with your mother, yes?”

“Mom, I—”

“Embarrased, he is!” said Petra with a glint in her eye.  “Does your Lady Regent disappoint you so, Lord Farnal?” she asked, then, shifting subtely into a more serious tone.  “And…I wish to thank your Lord Edain, as Lady Farnal myself.  His gift…it was more than generous, and it’s made what could have been a hard, hard winter comfortable.  Bring me along, my Lord.  Let me say thank you in my own way.”

Toby opened his mouth, then closed it.  A request from his mother…that he could laugh off.  Wave off.  Deny and still smile.  A request like that from the Lady Regent of Grafenwohr—Lord Farnal couldn’t deny.  “Very well, Lady Petra,” he said, responding to her formal tone with one of his own.  “I will come get you.”

“Oh good!” said his mother. “And while we’re there, I can—”

The magical warmth of the tent Toby shared with Corporal Silvermoon only made stepping into the crisp, early-morning air of the Alterac Mountains the greater shock.  The goosebumps rippling across his skin urged him to return to his bedroll, but the weight of his bladder objected rather firmly to that idea.  He laced up his boots and exited, watching the steam of his breath.

The clean, cold scent of the morning air almost—almost—replaced the remembered smell of last night’s burning corpses.  

Toby stretched his back, then walked towards the edge of camp to make water.  He splashed behind a rock, then began to walk back when movement caught his eye to the North.  For a moment, his combat reflexes—honed and sharpened to a whipcrack reflex by now—came up, and fire danced on his fingers, the magic of flame still coming more easily to him than the arcane, even now.

Then he recognized his father, the Beggar Lord, Lord Reinhold Farnal of Grafenwohr, striding towards the regiment’s camp once more.  The fire didn’t exactly die immediately after the recognition, but Toby bit his lower lip and suppressed the warring emotions in him.

Toby saw him moving towards the picket line, then looked back at the camp, hoping he could catch one of the officers near enough to summon, but no such luck.  

Dammit.

Toby made his way to the picket line at a half-jog, but he didn’t make it there before a pair of Privates Toby didn’t know well had Lord Farnal stopped, their spears half-lowered—not quite pointed at Lord Farnal, but certainly in a readied state.

Toby gritted his teeth. “Lord Farnal,” he said in a voice as cold as the mountains around him.  “How can I help you, this morning?”

Reinhold’s eyes fixed on his son, and he raised his voice.  “Oh!” he said.  “Now you are wanting to help?  Now my son Tobias is asking me how he can be of assistance?  He marches an entire regiment of Alliance soldiers here, helps them dig up and burn his own ancestors!  And now he asks me how he can help?  What a dutiful son I have, to ask me so!”

Toby sighed.  “Lord Farnal,” he said, then shook his head.  Formality wasn’t going to work here.  “Dad.  I’m a Master Sergeant—a rank I earned, by the way, and a promoted one since last we talked. But I’m not yet an officer, and I’ve no authority to make the 47th Infantry do anything it’s not ordered to. And you know that.”

“And yet you are here,” spat Reinhold back.  “You and your 47th Infantry are here, digging up and burning your graves. Were you worried about all the rolling over they were doing at you, boy?  I was loyal—loyal—to the Alliance, and yet when the Second War ended was I allowed to return?  No! No!  I was a refugee—the Alliance had no interest in retaking Alteraci territory, because Perenolde gave it away, to their mind.  Well, I did not!  I gave nothing, but it was all taken, and my loyalty bought me that stinking apartment you grew up in, years of Stormwinders looking down their nose at me, and an impudent whelp as a son.”

“But now I—I—have reclaimed Grafenwohr. I am rebuilding it.  Not the Alliance.  House Farnal.  And as soon as I do, my son marches his regiment here to take the credit and the town.”

Toby took a deep breath. “Nevertheless,” he said.  “I’m here.  We’re here.  And we’re here not on my orders, or persuasion—I was surprised to find we were coming here.  You spoke to the Lord Marshal Edain yesterday, and whether we stay or go is his decision—not yours, and not mine.  I’m here because it is my duty to be.”

“It is your duty to serve your father.  Already failed in one duty,” Reinhold said, his face growing red and his hand shaking as he pointed an accusing finger at Toby.  “Why are you so intent on following this one?  To spite your father, yes?  You may as well admit it, boy.  Here to stick a finger in my eye, to disrespect your ancestors, your family, your town.”

“Not everything is about you, father,” Toby said, attempting to soften his voice.  “There _was _a pack of ghouls in the graveyard.  They would have caused you problems…and if you’re honest they’ve caused you problems before we got here.  We’re here to help, if you’d only just—"

“Just WHAT?  Just admitted I was helpless?  I will never make such an admission to the Alliance again! Grafenwohr stands on its own and with its own, boy.”

Toby looked at his father for a moment.  In the reddened, maddened face of the man he still saw the smiling face of his dad, passing a ball to him.  In the snarling voice still rang the baritone sounds of the man who’d sung him old Alteraci lullabies.  Those wrinkled, shaking hands had once guided his as the two of them built a model ship together.  All of those memories—memories of a father who’d raised him, who’d cared for him, struck Toby as his father screamed at him.

Then Toby closed his eyes and lowered them.  When he looked back, his face had resumed its professional, stoic demeanor.  “Lord Farnal,” he said in the same whipcrack voice he used on those who stepped out of line with him.  “You would be well-advised to address me as ‘Master Sergeant Farnal,’ or, for brevity, simply ‘Sergeant Farnal.’  You will not be so discourteous as to address me as ‘boy,’ again. Any complaints you have can be registered with Lord Marshal Edain, and not myself.  If you are here merely to complain about our presence, I will inform my superiors that you have issued another complaint.  I see no other reason for you to infiltrate our camp.”  

Reinhold Farnal spluttered in anger, his jaw working, but no words came to the man’s mouth.  He shook with apoplexy as he stared at his son.

Toby, for his part, simply looked to the pickets on duty.  “Lord Farnal is to be considered a security risk unless and until I am countermanded by a higher authority,” he said.  He paused for a moment, almost as though considering something, then added as an afterthought,  “Non-lethal measures are preferred to prevent his entrance if possible.”

Lord Farnal blanched white, and for a moment stepped forward—but before he could reach Toby he found himself chest-to-tip with the Privates’ spears.

The warm-green smell of stewed cabbage seeped through the cracks in the rickety door before him.  Carved into the wood was a crude version of the rampant stag crest of Grafenwohr, and Toby shook his head as he raised his hand and knocked on the rickety wood of his childhood home. It opened within a couple of seconds, and standing on the other side was the Lady Petra Farnal, just over five feet in height, with a frock of curly, grey hair.  Her weathered, haggard face lit into a smile behind a pair of round spectacles. “Tobias!” she said, reaching forward with both arms to embrace him where he stood.  “Licht des Lebens!  Reinhold!  Reinhold!  Tobias is here.” Toby smiled and returned his mother’s hug.  “Hi, Mom,” he said, embracing her back, then looked up into the little one-room flat beyond the door to see his father rising from a small desk in the corner.  “Tobias, is it?” asked Lord Reinhold Farnal, once twelfth Lord of Grafenwohr.  His bald head turned toward the door, wisps of grey lining the sides and framing his sheening pate as he stared at his son.  His well-groomed beard remained almost stationary as he spoke.  His eyes stayed on Toby even as his words addressed his wife.  “Tell me, Petra.  Has he decided to stop playing at being soldier?” Toby sighed, taking a deep breath.  He knew this conversation had been coming from the moment he decided to visit home. “No, father,” he said, keeping his voice calm and level.  “I’m on leave, but that probably won’t last much longer.  I’ve been promoted, though--I’m a Sergeant, now.  Lead my own squad.” “Oh, Tobias,” said his mother with a big smile.  “That’s wonderf--” “Your own squad!” barked Lord Reinhold, cutting off his own wife’s reaction.  “You are given your own squad.  You are my heir, heir to Grafenwohr and all its holdings.  You are to be the thirteenth Lord Farnal of Grafenwohr, and you take pride in being a sergeant? They should have granted you a commission as Knight-Lieutenant at least as soon as they learned of your lineage! But, I suppose, I am to congratulate you on this squad.  Now there are a small handful of men who report to you, and this is a thing which I am supposed to celebrate.” “Dad,” said Toby, “No.”  He kept his voice patient and calm, belying the rage he felt.  He wanted to scream at his father, at the ignorant clinging to a title from a country that simply was no more.  “I’m not a Lord, and there is no Grafenwohr.  But I’ve earned this rank--and I’ve earned it the hard way.” “No Grafenwohr!” shouted Lord Reinhold Farnal.  “These words, to come from my son.  No Grafenwohr.”  The old man reached next to his corner table and held up a hand-and-a-half style bastard sword in its sheathe.  Its hilt and pommel were pocked with sockets where once elaborate gems had lain, but no longer.  “This is Grafenwohr.  It is still there, Tobias.  It is only that we should go and take it.  As is our right.” “Your right, perhaps,” said Toby.  “I’ve sworn oaths to the Alliance that I’ve no intent on breaking.  And...I’ve enjoyed my service.  I have friends.  I have people who I care for, and people who care for me...I’m happy, where I am.  I’m happy with who I am.  And...I wanted to come home, to let you and Mom know that, before I deployed again.” Toby looked at his mother as he spoke, and saw her nod and smile to him.  He saw that quiet pillar of support, the woman who’d always loved him, and for a moment felt the warmth of coming home.  But only for a moment.   “Happy?  HAPPY?” shouted his father.  Toby watched his mother wince at the loud shout in the small little flat the three of them once shared.  She turned away and went back to her cabbage soup as Lord Reinhold Farnal stood, marching to the door, shouting and growing red in the face as he pointed at his son.  “So nice that you’re happy.  I am trying to resurrect a county, maybe a kingdom, from the ashes Perenolde left,” he says, and then feigned spitting into the corner before returning his anger to Toby.  “I am here, trying to preserve your legacy for you, as all the great Lords of Stormwind mock me, as though they were never refugees needing help.” “Dad, I think it’s more that when they -were- refugees, Alterac didn’t do much to--”

“DON’T tell me what we did or did not do, boy.  You were not there, when Perenolde sold the Alliance out.  It was not you who ran away from very fine estates, knowing that both the Horde and the Alliance had condemned your people.  Do not tell me of these things, sitting there in your blue and gold uniform.” 

Dymphna ran towards the cliffs pursued by the hulking orc and lumbering drunk human, she hurled her bleeding body down into the ocean, the only thought that escaped her was the hope that everyone else made it out alive.  She only knew those she’d seen step through (or were tossed into) Toby’s portal.

As the wind flew past her face, her now red hair billowed behind her as the water grew ever closer.

“I’m sorry Toby, I’m going to be missing our date” she thought, having no way of knowing that Toby laid unconscious and broken as she hit the surface; cold and shocking despite the warm air, her own world growing black as the waves enveloped her.

***

“What ya fishin’ up there Tigule?”

“Dunno, Foror...looks like a body.”

“Lots of bodies round here, why you pullin’ that one up?”

“Looks fresh, might still have stuff in its pockets, gonna check, then chuck it back” the goblin chuckled as he pulled Dyn up onto the skiff, looking down into her face, putting his ear over her mouth.  “Ey…EY! This one’s still breathin’” he panicked as he turned her over, smacking her on the back to get her to start coughing up the water she’d ingested.   “Get a bird out to the Speedbarge, this one needs a medic stat!”

Tigule raised an eyebrow at that, scratching inside of his big green ear, “Why you care, just a human...an a female.”

“Don’ let yer old lady know you said jus a female, she’ll smack youse upside one ways and down anotha. Sides, could be one of the fella’s up from the cliffs, they might pay well to get their people back”

“Ain’ onna the PMC people, she don’ look so dirty, could be new, they broke ‘er threw ‘er away. Look at those wounds.  Eitha way, lets get her to the medics, Fizzle should be able to speak Common to her to find out who she is, if she makes it” he grumbled sending a seagull off to fly to the Speedbarge before turning their skiff along behind it.

***

Toby didn't come to until the morning sun breaks and begins to cook him in his cage.  He blinks a couple of times, then moans with the pain of his shattered ribs, the orc's great maul having smashed into him once, twice.

He replayed the last nights' events over in his head, and looked around at the other cages.  No Iorune.  No Digglesdeep.  No Dyn. Did they escape?  Were they dead?  He'd no way to know.  

He sat back in the cage, unable to stand or lie down in the cramped confines, and tried to summon his magic to teleport out--but it didn’t come.  No magic surged through him, none of his arcane power.  He looked down at the manacles clapped across his wrists and sighs at their warding pattern.  No magic. No mage.  Just…Toby, here to get beaten by the bullies one, last time.

"Oy.  The pink one's awake," comes a call from the tower above him, and soon an orc and a troll in Bull's Horn colors approach the cage.

 "Hello, mage," said the orc in a nasty snarl, unlocking the cage.  "Time for us to talk."

Toby's eyes glazed, and he remembered the state of the Bull's Horn prisoners he'd helped save. He tried to swallow, but his throat was already dry and parched...not a good sign.  He closed his eyes, remembering an old technique.

Getting beaten was Toby's forte.  He'd spent his life growing up in the slums of Old Town, and the Alteraci-faced boy had been a common target for sport.  He'd learned, then, how not to be present in himself.  A part of him took the boot to the stomach, screaming and crying out, but the rest of him...simply watched the horror, looked on as though it were someone else's body, and not his.  In this way, he examined the pain clinically, disinterestedly, and even though he screamed and cried out it never affected that core part of his thoughts.

He hadn't known, then, how handy that skill would be, but he used it now.  The part of him that thought, that remembered, talked, laughed, and was human--that part of him simply looked on as the big orc pulled a hot iron from the fire.  That part of him watched the animal pieces of him in his body scream as his flesh burned, and that part of him spoke not a word about the Forty-Seventh and those few people who had risked themselves to bring these animals to justice.  He clinically noted the way his flesh reeked as is burned to a char, passively felt his voice crack when the screams ripped through his parched throat.

But he knew that, whatever the orc did to the flesh-lump that contained him, he'd already won.  So he sat, and he watched himself be tortured. Then he watched himself be thrown back in the cage, untreated, without food or water, into a pile of his filth and others.  He was dead, of course.  This was the end of Tobias Farnal.  But he'd always accepted that--always known that's where military service led.  And he'd end in pain and filth, unsung--but he'd end in victory, nonetheless.

Which explained the small smile that creeped across his face as the pain dragged him back down into unconsciousness.

***

“Hey kid, wake up” a gnome’s voice suddenly in her ears, cool hands gently shaking her awake.

Dymphna gasped, trying to jolt herself out of the cot but she seemed to be restrained.  Blinking in the dim light she tried to focus on the source of the voice. “W…where am I?” she asked quietly as she relaxed herself, knowing fighting would probably not be a good option at this point until she assessed her situation.

“Speedbarge, you’re safe for the moment” he smiled as he looked her over.  “You were in a pretty rough state there missy, little bit longer and you’d have been lost, oh dear yes.  Good thing I keep more than a few healers on the payroll, cause, you know, pirates” Fizzle sat back on his stool, giving her a warm smile.

“Why am I tied down then?” she asked quietly “May I have some water?”

The gnome motioned to one of his employees nearby who promptly brought her some water, but also checked her bonds.  “Safe side, really.  Cause, Pirates”

 Dyn chuckled at that and nodded her thanks to both of them.  “Makes sense, I’m no pirate, I assure you,” she said.  Her fingertips gently touched the edge of the bonds, but she still did not try them.

“Maybe you are, maybe you aren’t.  What’s your name kid?” he grinned at her.

“Regina,” she smiled back, relaxing once more, using the moniker she had assumed a few nights earlier. “Regina Cantswell”

“Well, Regina, how’d you end up in the deep?  You looked like you came out of the wrong end of a cat fight.”

Dyn knew whatever story she came up with, would be crucial to whether she would be released from the bonds.  “I was traveling from the Barrens, trying to visit a friend in Feralas, Quillboar shot down my griffon when I flew too low to avoid the thorns, it knocked me off and they started attacking me, I escaped, but, it was dark, I fell over the cliff into the canyon, I don’t remember much after that”  she sighed, faking a sad face  “I’m going to miss that griffon, raised her from a hatchling, I hope she made it out”

The gnome looked her over, seeming satisfied with that response, “Yeah, you’re lucky, don’t see many people fight with the Quillboar and win, you should be more careful” he smiled, releasing her bonds and patting her arm.  “My healers say you should be recovered in a day or so if they keep on you. Then we can get you a griffon back home. I wouldn’t linger too long though, there are some unsavory types around the Needles lately.  I’ll send you some food up in the meantime”

“Thank you, sir,” she smiled sweetly as the gnome shuffled out, his assistant following behind him. When the two were out of sight she rose, the pain of fighting a familiar memory after her many times during the campaign.   “Waking up in the infirmary again, Hempstead. Tinkertorch is right, as always,” she muttered to herself. “And yet, I still keep going” she grinned as she went to the porthole, assessing her situation. She could see the cliffs where the PMC Camp still stood. “At least I’m not too far away” she whispered under her breath looking towards the camp, plotting her next move.  

***

Toby's cracked lips managed a little smile as he watched the hurried movements of the PMC around him, unpacking and leaving.  He'd no clue where they were going, what was in their boxes, or how they were getting anywhere...but it was clear that the Bull's Horn was de-assing their base camp with the quickness, and that was all he could ask for.

They'd stopped torturing him, though Toby suspected that had more to do with their partial evacuation than any real change of heart.  He also suspected they had no need--the info had done its job, the regimental mission was complete, and these bastards already knew they'd been had.

 He had no illusions that he'd live.  That he'd be some prisoner in a camp for Alliance troops to rescue, like those poor bastards he'd helped pull out of the jungle.  He looked up as the sun beat down on him and squinted, then looked back at the scurry.  His legs cramped and bucked with dehydration and inability to stretch, and he barely paid attention to it.

It was strange, really. The torture had almost been preferable to this casual neglect he experienced now.  The torture, at the very least, was nteresting—if in a terrible way.  Now, he could but sit in this caged box, rotting in his own filth, and slowly bake to death--and be bored while doing it.  

He closed his eyes and began to run through mental drills, student exercises designed to prep the mind for wielding immense arcane magics.  Each breath came hot and dry through his parched throat, but he focused that mind of his.

He was going to die, slowly and painfully.  His energy drained, and the beginnings of a fever from infected wounds beginning. But he was bound and determined to die a mage, and not a gibbering Lunatic.  

Please, he thought. Light, please give me that much. I'm not going to die well...let me at least die me.

***

As the day faded into evening, Dyn played nice with the various healers that would come and visit, be they goblin or gnome. They brought her food, water, or offering healing when she needed. She smiled, played innocent, made herself out to only being a simple girl who ran afoul of the quillboars, nothing more.  As the night wore on, the barge grew rowdy with the various patrons of the bar either fighting, yelling, or just singing bawdy songs together.

The little gnome woman who had been watching after her allowed her to go downstairs for but a few moments to stretch her legs. She was just a human after all, one of many visitors to the barge stopping on their way to somewhere else. Using this opportunity, Dymphna was able to slip around, finding herself a few daggers, a couple skins of water, and, being a ship with both gnomish and goblin inhabitants, plenty of incendiary items for her to stash in a rucksack in her quarters, waiting for the right moment.

As the watch called midnight, the ship seemed to settle.  She pretended to be soundly sleeping as the nurse made her rounds, checking her vitals, giving her another dose of healing to her deeper wounds before calling it a night.  When the woman padded away, and the ship grew silent to all but the sound of the waves lapping at the sides of the barge, Dyn made her way out of her room, slipping past dozing guards to find a small rowboat.  Jumping inside, she waited for the sound of anyone coming behind her, yet nobody came.  "Good" she muttered before making her way back towards the cliffs.

***

The days had blurred together--had it been a week?  Two? Toby couldn't tell, and didn't care. Each day, each night, the same, sitting in his iron cage.  He could tell that his burns were festering, infected by the neglect of leaving him in his own waste, but there was naught to do about it.  The Bull's Hord paid little attention to him, now, leaving him in the cage without consideration as their skeletal crew finished packing whatever it was that needed packing.  Where they were headed, and in what form they'd next be seen, Toby didn't know and, idly, didn't care.

 He regretted not talking to his parents, the last couple of times there'd been leave.  Oh, he'd had letters, but he hadn't summoned the courage to actually go see them.  His mother would be heartbroken as he simply...disappeared from the earth. Rosa--he'd made a promise there, to the strange young worgen, and he wasn't going to keep it--one more person in her tally-book on that score.  And Dyn.

“You still have that date,” he heard her say.  Prior to the mission, their running promise throughout Friendly Neighbour.  He owed her a date, something nice.  Something private.  He remembered the weight of her head, leaning on his shoulder as the regiment sat around the table.  Yet another promise he wouldn't be able to keep.

For the hundredth time, he tried to find that well of magic within him, only to find the wards on his manacles blocking him from using it.  Not that he'd much strength left to use it with, anyways, but if he could only summon some water.  Just...just a drop or two of water for his paper-dry throat.  But he'd no chance of it, and no chance of life, and he leaned back in his crate and continued his long, slow wait for death.

***

When Dyn finally made it to shore after what felt like agonizing hours she began the ascent towards the cliffs, thankful she had chose a landing spot where she could stow the boat, as well as having a convenient path that ran towards the mountains. “Thank the Light for that” she smiled as she hefted the backpack over her shoulders.  Glancing up towards the sky she checked the position of the moon. “Few hours until daylight, gives me time to get in” she spoke to herself in the darkness as she made her way towards the base.

Remembering the layout of the camp she found her way around the wooden walls, beams not unlike what they had erected in and around Kingsland, yet, she could see the hustle of activity, people rushing from building to building, “What’s going on, I imagine” she smirked as she found a safe place to stash her pack in the dark. She quickly pulled her hair up into a fierce bun, pulled up her hood and found some dirt to rub on her face and neck, giving her somewhat of a more weathered look before she quickly moved to try to blend in with the various people moving about.

She grabbed boxes and bags from people, loading them into carts to be hauled down to the ships, noting somewhat what was inside, tools, ammunition, paperwork.  Most people barely speaking to each other, merely keeping to the task at hand, evacuation.  She looked around for signs of her companions, but thankfully, did not see any bodies, at least not out in the open.

“You there!”  a gruff Orc voice snarled towards her.  “Come here!”

She turned, biting her lip as she obeyed and moved towards the man she recognized as one of the ones she fled from mere nights prior.

“What are you doing? I don’t recognize you!”

“I’m new, Sir…. signed on a couple weeks ago…helping move stuff” she kept her face down, lifting her box up to show him as she motioned again to the path that lead to the dock.

 “Why haven’t I seen you before now?”

She shrugged, “New blood, I got latrine and cookhouse scullery duty, do you recognize every shit hauler?” she smirked, giving him a look.

The Orc laughed, then slapped her, “No insolence, grunt” he grinned as she reeled slightly, dropping her box.  “Now get that down to the shore and get on the boat with the rest of them, we’re almost done here, and stay where we can see you, no wandering, we’re almost free of this rock” he retorted, casting what was probably an unintentional sidelong glance towards the prison cells, where she had callously dispatched one if its inhabitants only nights prior.

“Yes Sir, of course Sir” she nodded and headed back down to the ship before slipping her way back up, this time moving towards the watch towers, carefully avoiding the pile of shit underneath as she moved towards the cages.

“GRUNTS, PEONS, ON THE BOATS!”  a harsh Kal’dorei voice yelled.  “UNESSENTIAL PERSONELL TO THE BOATS”.

As she moved towards her hiding spot behind some boulders, she watched the flood of bodies rushing down to the docks finally, leaving everything else behind, only a handful remaining as the boats pulled away, lingering around a campfire.

“Five….” She counted the remaining men, pondering why they just didn’t all evacuate at the same time. She pulled her spyglass out of her bag, surveying around the camp  then towards the cells before seeing a blonde lump, with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach she let out a soft exclamation  "Toby!"

She pulled herself back into hiding, into cover, while her mind raced.  He lived…and was a captive.  What had been a suicide mission to burn this place to the ground changed, suddenly, into a new set of objectives.  She looked at her bag of timed incendiaries and two daggers.  Would this be enough?  Could she pull it off?  She rolled back into position, deploying her spyglass and waiting for the chance to strike. A long while passed before it came, but came it did.  Narrowing her eyes, she watched the human soldier stumble behind the now-empty building, hands fumbling at the front of his trousers.

She slipped forward through the night and drew one of the knives she’d stolen from the barge from her boot. The man, inebriated and singing some slurred drinking song, lumbered against the building drunkenly, coating it with his urine, and never saw her coming before he slumped down onto the sands, his throat cut from end to end.

“Three, that’s good enough I suppose” she chuckled before opening the door of the building, placing a small bundle just inside the doorway, setting a timed charge.  “Gives me enough time to get away”

“Talon, Talon, what’s taking you so long?”

She froze as the Night Elf’s voice suddenly was heard coming closer.  Shit shit shit! she thought as she dove under the building.  

“Ey Talon! You fell down drunk again while pissing, damn human.” The man laughed slightly as he bent down to try to bring his friend up, only to come away with warm bloody hands.

 “What the…Talon…GU….” His cry out to his compatriots cut short as Dyn brought a rock down to the back of his head, the Kal’dorei falling like a lump over his friend.

“Well, that’s two” she sighed, backing away from the scene and rushing back to pick up her backpack, placing another timed explosive near one of the guard towers before moving off to the cages, the way now cleared to… No Toby.  Instead of the young, sandy-blonde mage, all she saw was an open cage and a set of drag marks.  

***

Toby barely registered the sound of the lock being opened.  "Alright, pinky," said the gruff, orcish voice he'd heard during his sessions with torture.  "You're with me."

The orc reached in and dragged him by the manacles out of the cage.  In his fugue of fever and dissociation, he felt the motion, registered the pain of it.  The orc tried to make him stand, but he'd no strength in his legs to hold his weight. Disease, starvation, dehydration, and trauma prevented him from the basic act of carrying his own weight.

"Damned weakling," his orcish captor muttered to himself, then simply began dragging the young mage over the sand.  "Higher-ups want you to die elsewhere, so we're going to take a little trip.  I voted for leaving you to rot, but you're lucky...I've been ordered to make sure."  He gave a low chuckle.  "Wasn't ordered to make it too quick, though," he says as he dragged Toby out of the compound and away from the final evacuation of the Bull's Horn PMC. Toby had no energy to fight, no ability to move himself--the end had finally come, and he could but wait patiently as his orcish executioner dragged him into the high desert in the moutains between Tanaris and the Thousand Needles...and to his final, unmarked resting place, wherever that would be.

He’d no clue how long it took before he felt his body flop onto the sand, the impact of it registering through his ravaged body.  He expected the orc's axe to follow shortly, but it didn't.  Instead, the Orc took a long draught off his canteen, polishing it off then chucking the empty container over his shoulder.

"None of this is personal, Pinky," the orc said.  "You folks worked us over, and good.  Whole PMC is disbanding, organization's filing for bankruptcy.  Us grunts are going to have to find a new place to sign on...though chances are we'll just re-form under a different name, transfer our contracts, and go on with our lives.  Heard you're the one that got your people free."

The big orc pulled his axe free, and began sharpening it with his whetstone.  "But word has to get around.  You screwed us, and there's got to be a price to that.  I'm not gonna tell you I'm sorry for this, because I'm not sorry at all.  But I want you to know...still respect you, warrior that you are."

With that, the orc raised his axe above his head, aiming first at Toby's legs.  "Doesn't mean this isn't going to be painful."

***

Dymphna followed the pair through the desert, her leather booted feet silent. The Orc seeming to not know or even fathom that anyone could be following him. As she watched him unceremoniously plop Toby down and draw his axe, she felt a cold rush over her, a focus she had rarely felt before.  This was her friend, someone she cared deeply for, to see him bloody and broken, she knew what had to be done.

But how?  She’d faced Orcs all her life, from the Blackrock who would perpetually raid the family farm, to most recently against the PMC. Their hubris was their weakness, she knew this; the thought that they could not be bested. She had to resort to thought and motion together to be able to at least get him to focus on her and move away from Toby, especially with the sound of the whetstone grinding against the axe.

Drawing up everything inside of her she took a step towards the Orc, “Now or never” she thought, knowing that things needed to happen quickly to change his focus before he brought that axe down.  “Hey!” she yelled.

“OH my god, another person, Oh...you’re an Orc…do you even speak common? I’m so lost” she sighed, once again giving him the appearance of a damsel in distress. “WHERE……IS……HERE?......”  she gesticulated wildly, pretending not to notice the lump before him in the lightning darkness of the dunes.

The orc looked up briefly, then his axe flashed down, neatly cleaving through Toby’s tibia and fibia and severing the young mage's foot and ankle cleanly from his body.  His back arched with the sudden, new pain, and his parched throat opened in a scream he could not voice--and then slumped, fainting from the pain, his blood leaking onto the sand of the desert below him.

Dyn gasped at the sight of Toby’s foot, then swallowed—she’d a wall that needed to be taken down first, and she told herself she’d die trying.

The unnamed orcish grunt raises his Axe from his bloody work and looks back to Dyn.  "Brave of you, coming back for him like this," he said, gesturing at the mage now bleeding out into the sand.  "We've got descriptions of all of you that fled, lass--you're the one that jumped the cliff.  I had two gold riding with Duffy that you hadn't made it--looks like I owe him. And looks like I'm killing two little mice out here, instead of one."

Dyn cocked her head to the side and smirked, letting the wild feeling of combat wash fear from her. “Good,” she said in a clear, cool voice. “I was never good at the pretext anyways. Maybe I can save you the gold by killing you”

Drawing her daggers once more she dug her ankles into the sand before leaping towards the Orc, aiming to get to get blades into him before he could swing that massive axe into her once more.

Her foe eased back into his stance, waiting, and as Dyn rushed him he timed it perfectly, pivoting away from her charge.  He was too close to get a swing with his axe, but her momentum carries her past him, and as it does he brings his knee up into her gut, knocking the wind from her. The woman coughed, trying to recover, as the big axe swung it in a screaming arc downwards toward her head.

Dym tried to step to the side, and managed to avoid taking a lethal blow to her head. But she didn’t avoid the axe entirely, and her shoulder and back erupted in pain as the axe sank in deep.  Fighting through the pain, she reached down and grabbed the sand, red with sprays of her own blood as she threw it into his face.  

Her orcish opponent stepped back, blinking, trying to clear his eyes as Dym drove hard at his side with a dagger.  At the last moment, he twisted a bit, stepping back; Dyn's dagger bit into flesh, then pulled out quickly.  Blood flew from the orc's side, but he stayed on his feet and chuckled as he looked at Dyn, panting and bleeding.

"Was telling Pinky, here," he said, gesturing to Toby.  "Nothing personal in any of this--got a lot of respect for the both of you. Warriors. Killin' you's an honor."  He nodded to her in a little salute, then took a step toward her, his axe in motion, ready to deliver the killing blow at last.

Dym grimaced, the pain in her shoulder beginning to sap her strength.  The Orc before her became the embodiment of everything that had happened in these past months, the snipers, the bombings, the camp full of the dead and the dying, Nyla, Novo, everything.  Her own wounds cried out for vengeance as she fixated upon her foe, but she knew he had the advantage.  Less wounded. Well fed.  Longer-ranged weapon.  Better armor.  More training.  She raised her dagger, ready to fight to the death…but she grasped no illusions as to her chance of success.

And that's when the explosions began.

It started with a single blast, but two more follow in quick succession, and the pre-dawn light flares with orange fire as Dyn's incendiaries detonate within the camp. The orc reacted in a basic, completely instinctive manner by stopping his step and turning his head.  His voice came out low and curious as he watches the flames licking at the dry wood of the PMC's building.

"What the--"

Dym launched herself in a white hot rage at him once more, blood pouring out of her shoulder as she plunged her dagger deep into the Orc’s throat, sawing at it to be sure the artery was cut, never for him to hurt another person again.

The Orc tried to fight, but it didn’t last long as he fell, nearly toppling over onto her as she drew away, unsteady as she turned to look at the base, slowly becoming engulfed. "I'm no mouse you piece of shit, I'm a Lion" She turned and bolted towards Toby, her hands cradling his as she sobbed, holding him close.

“Toby…can you hear me?” she looked towards his severed foot, rushing to grab something, anything, to stop the bleeding. Rummaging through her pack she found some cloth where she could tie a tourniquet.  “We need to get out of here” she whispered, ignoring her own wounds for now, sights focused only on him.

"B-Brooks?" he murmered in a cracked voice barely above a whisper, then leans his head back struggling to swallow. "How...where..."

She almost laughed at the absurdity, remembering her dyed-dark hair as she tied off the tourniquet.  She saw his chapped lips and mouth, rushing back to her pack to get the waterskin, lightly wetting his lips, not wanting to give him too much too soon. "Shh...no, its me, Dyn.....I'm here....we need to get out of here."

"Dyn?" he asked, his voice a bit restored from the gulp of water. "You're...you're alive," he says, and a small smile crept up his face.  "But leave…no.  Can't. No leg," he says.  "No magic," he adds, then wiggles the manacles at her, indicating them.  He leans his head back on the pillowing sand for a moment.

"For now" she replied as she looked back towards the camp, not seeing any figures heading their direction. She gave him a bit more water to drink before searching over the corpse of her fallen foe, finding a small ring of keys.

"We're going to get out of here, and Brooks, Brightmaul..someone is going to put your foot back,"  she said, her voice far more confident than she felt.  But the key turned smoothly, and a moment later the lock popped off.

Toby closed his eyes as the manacles fell from his wrist.  The pain of his fever-ridden body, slipping into shock from the trauma of losing his leg, racked with burn scars and disease, faded as he reached for his power.

He felt that arcane torrent, and coughed as he mustered what little reserves he has left. "Can't...hold this...long..." he says, and a portal began to form.  It flickered and flashed as he struggled to hold it, and

Dym couldn’t help but remember his warnings about the risks of using a portal in an altered mental state. She also remembered that he'd managed to pull it off once.  Toby's eyes began to flicker, and she knew the effort this cost him, this one, last-ditch attempt to go home.  She knew she had but a moment’s chance. She grabbed his foot, wrapping it loosely and putting it into her backpack, slipping it in front of her.  

Dear Mom:

Dear Mom:

You will be happy to know that I am largely healed from the injuries I mentioned in my previous letter.  We are setting off again...I won’t tell you where or how, because everything like that is very secretive.  But I’ll be heading back into the fight shortly, and I wanted to write home again to let you know that I love you and dad, no matter what.

I’m not sure what else to tell you, really.  I’ve taken up fishing as a hobby...the base at Sri’la has a lot of that around, and the local Pandarens are really quite good at preparing the most delicious meals.  I’m eating quite healthily, I assure you; I know you worry.

Dear Mom: It was really good to see you and Dad this last weekend.  I wasn’t expecting a 48-hour leave so soon after enlisting, but there it was, and being able to see you two again put a smile on my face.

You can tell Dad I wore his Alteraci-orange shirt to the wedding.  I know I complain alot, but I needed something higher-quality that what I had, and it worked.  The regiment has actually been very accepting of my background, and not a single one of them has called me a traitor or beaten me up.

After the wedding, a couple of the other enlisteds took me out for a night on the town.  I didn’t stop by afterwards, I know, but...it was nice, begin able to hang out and get to know some of the other soldiers informally.  I didn’t think I’d make friends with worgen this easily--but a great many of them are really quite nice people.  There’s one that...well, there’s one in particular that’s been very kind, and who has gotten me out of my shell and making friends.  She’s--she’s been very nice.

The point is, I had a very lovely evening.

When we returned home, we deployed back on patrol immediately.  I’m...I don’t want you to freak out, Mom.  It’s fine.  I’m fine.  But you’re probably going to see my name on the wounded lists and don’t tell me you don’t scan them all the time.  I’m there.  I’m actually writing this to you from our medical facility at our base.  I got grazed by one of the mantid.  It’s no big deal, I’ll be back into action before you know it.  The healers here are very, very skilled.