Harrigan

((Just a brief encounter when Harri first came to the Valley, I felt like writing a short bit on it with the chatlog.))

Liathan stood near the Pang Farmstead House looking out across the valley, the soft rolling hills with the sharp Spire like inclines dotting the landscape was a rather breathtaking sight. It reminded her of the barrens in a way, but the Barrens were quite simply put rather barren and uninteresting. This Valley of the Four Winds as the Pandaren called it was verdant and beautiful to simply lose ones gaze in.

As she took in the scenery the tall blue skinned night elf noticed a dark skinned graying man cross her field of vision bearing a Theramore tabard. There was something about him that stood out against the serene background. That grim look across his face, it spoke of years of grizzled experience and only served to make him stand out even more.

The battle for Theramore seemed to be going well for us. The Horde seemed to be retreating, the defenders were rallying themselves, and most of the refugees and the injured had been evacuated. I was ran through the city, my halberd ready to fight and my energy ready to heal. I saw Delphiee near one of the portals, making sure everyone got through nice and safe.

“Move people, quickly,” I heard her say, her eyes having a hopeful look as she looked around. Then an orc started to charge up the hill toward them, making the civvies freeze like deer. I saw Del tense up to fend him off, but I leapt forward and used the back of my halberd to impale the orc while my back still faced him. In one swift motion, I yanked my weapon out of him, spun around, then brought the ax part to the area between his neck and shoulder, bringing him to the ground.

A red-haird girl sat at the side of a grave, silent with staring eyes wide but unseeing, and trails of tears running down her cheeks.

Safe.

It seemed impossible, huddled in this little outpost tower north of the ruins. Arcane radiation interfered with the guild stone communications, but many Dragoons were making their check-ins and heading to the rendezvous.

Nore watched Wes sleep next to the solid ghost of his worg. She still wasn’t sure that the ghost wasn’t a temporary construct from the excessive energies still crackling through the air, a shared hallucination formed into a symbol of shared loss and pain.

She hoped that Reave was back permanently. It would break Wes’ heart to lose the worg again. Especially since they still weren’t sure of Skipper’s fate; the foul-mouthed parrot hadn’t been seen since Northwatch.

There was a satisfying rush of air as Harrigan’s fist met the man’s stomach.  A right to the jaw took him to the floor.

“You about finished, Harri?” the barkeeper asked.  Harrigan’s opponent nodded weakly from the ground.

{{ These events would have happened somewhere around the beginning of August.  }}

“Hellfire Harrigan.  There’s a face I never thought I’d see again,” Danath Trollbane smiled and offered his hand.  “You look a hell of a lot better than the last time I saw you.”

Harrigan shook hands with the commander of Honor Hold.  “The Dragoons have the best damn healers in the known worlds.  Kept me alive and working until they found a cure.  How’ve you been, Danath?”

“It used to be ‘sir’, you bastard.  Your cushy job made you soft.” 

Somewhere in the pre-dawn light, Alynore found the moment of quiet she’d been craving since that awful evening. She took a swig of Haalani whiskey as she leaned on her footlockers. She’d been saving the potent Draenic brew for a special occasion; this seemed to count.

Ten hours ago she called the Dragoons to attention. They’d stood in front of judges and a prosecutor who called into question all of their decisions and actions, individually and as a unit.

Eight hours ago the Silver Dragoons ceased to be a part of the Stormwind military.

Trask walked slowly from the Keep, pensive about what he had just witnessed.  The trial, if it could even be called such, had not been easy to watch.  Even with his hood pulled low, his scowl was obvious.  Passersby took special care to walk on the far sides of the halls, avoiding the behemoth draenei's agitated glare.

Her head felt like it was stuffed to overflowing with wool.  Everything sounded muted, distant and she couldn't form a clear thought.  It was well past midnight when she crept into Staroda's home and she fought a mix of disappointment and relief that he'd already gone to bed.  She laid her small pack of possesions on the floor and drifted to a deep-seated chair next to the window.  Her mind wandered back to the events of the evening, struggling to process what had happened but her thoughts were flighty, disjointed.

The room couldn’t possibly hold any more people.  They were crowded on every available seat and standing when none could be found.  Voices murmured as they observed.

Harrigan looked at their eyes, all of them focused on him.  Some glowed with hatred, a few with sympathy, most with understanding.  And there was one pair, as unique in their emotions as the owner was in this crowd of humans, dwarves, gnomes, draenei and elves.

“Ignore them, Harri.  Don’t do this to yourself.”

“It’s my fault and my blame.  They know it, I know it, and every damn person in this kingdom knows it.  I’m going to pay for my mistakes.  Who knows?  Maybe I’ll finally get that rest everyone says I need.”  Harrigan couldn’t look away from that one pair of eyes, so distinct and singular.

She was the only orc that haunted him.

((This is...a lot of text. I really did think about just flashbacking it, or using excerpts of it, but in the end there were too many good lines from people and I couldn't just yank out a couple of them. So, here's the whole deal in all its glory. Hope you enjoy!))

Giulietta approaches Harrigan quietly, hands clasped behind her back. He’s sitting quietly in the window by the gardens, the one that overlooks the lake, and he’s working on something in his lap. “Commander.”

“Corporal.  Shomething I can do for you?” Harrigan takes a drink from the flask beside him.

Giulietta winces at the slurred speech, but makes no comment. "A word, please."

“Have a seat.”

Giulietta comes over to the window, but remains standing. She looks down at Harrigan for a few long moments, not saying anything, just looking him over. He looks much the same as he always does, drunk or no – he looks like her Commander, the man that she’s supposed to trust to tell her right from wrong.

Harrigan sets the jewelry he was working on aside. “What's on your mind, Corporal?”

Giulietta lifts her chin and looks away from him, staring firmly at the opposing wall. "They found Timothy, sir."

Humbled Service and Old Soldiers

“Harri, you can’t let her get to you.”

“She already hash and she knowsh it!”  Harrigan ignored the glass on the table and took a swallow from the bottle.  “I can’t play theshe damn gamesh!   Give me a shtraight-up up fight, damn it!!”

“She did that once, Harri.  She’ll never make that mistake again.”

10. Sleepy
    A tired soldier is a danger to the team. Asking for stimulants to keep going when one’s already dangerously close to falling asleep during the weekly unit briefing is plain stupid. There was no way the Angels would have granted the request—not with the Judiciary in the Infirmary. Nore simply put her foot down, and ignored the amused look on Harrigan’s face when she ordered Corporal Brennan to delegate the investigation and get a full night’s sleep.

After the commander departed, Nelenna slumped down against a wall like she’d been shot. She simply stared blankly at her door mind racing even as a brooding depression started to sink in. The commander had been a lot calmer than Nelenna had expected. Even then she was left with the feeling like she’d said something terribly wrong in admitting her guilt freely and the stupidity of her actions. And the pit in her stomach only grew.

((Following Flirting with Death))

Alynore returned to her quarters after a very long first day as a lieutenant. There was a lot of administrative work to do, making sure everything ran smoothly and everyone did their new job; too many promotions in a short a time could do that, but the Commander trusted they could do it together.

“Hope the others don't mind; I'm younger than many in the unit.”

Harrigan signed and blotted the letter.

To: Mary Jinkwicket

Larosa advanced with unsteady legs, her arms lifting her short sword to attack the target dummy infront of her.  She could barely see the wood and armor plated contraption through the beads of sweat and tears in her eyes as she lunged forward, weapon sharp and gleaming in the soft gnomish electrical lighting.  What should have been a healthy war cry was a strangled croak as the Night Elf weakly followed through the swing of the short sword.  Her battle blade bounced of the armor of the target, there was barely any power behind what should have a devastating neck wound.

"Blame the rum, the past few hours in the morgue ..." Larosa thought to herself as the target blurred out entirely and she began taking quick hiccuping breathes, "Blame the fact you just spent all night closing out ... No lying through my teeth about what happened from the moment I left the Keep to answer a dead woman's summons."

To Commander B.H.


Reservist Application form 89-56a

Applicant's name: Kae Wynn
Race: humanoid looking, robotic base
Sex: Female (parts are no longer interchangeable.)
Age: looks adult age due to robotic base, was activated with in the last year.

"A note from the Chamberlain sir."

"He'd like to remind the Dragoons that a certain level of decorum should be maintained in public areas, lest we...distract the servants and guards from their duties.  Specifically, when it comes to how people dress in public. Apparently, someone was scandalized by Night Elf legs."

“Nooo!!!  Stay away!!!”  The broken man tried to squeeze himself into the corner even more, his face pale and eyes wide in terror.  “STOP HAUNTING ME!!!”

The children giggled as the one in front, an orc, spread his arms and stood on his toes to seem bigger.  “OoooooOOOOOooooo!  I have come for you, old man!  I’m here for your soul!  OOOOOOoooooooooOOOOOOO!”

“NO!”  the man screamed and squeezed his eyes shut, hiding his face against the stone wall and eliciting a round of laughter from his tormentors.

Two suddenly left the ground, only to smash into each other in mid air.  They fell, gasping as the dark man released them and reached for the leader.

“OooooooOOOOO- ACK!”  The orc felt the hand on his shirt, jerking him around and into the air.  The man on the ground opened one eye and gasped.  The sun was behind his savior, making it seem as if he was wreathed in flame.

“Hellfire?!?!”

"I said I can't spare Brightsteel, Major.  We have reports of a massive Horde invasion that same night."  Sterling said he waved said reports in the air, " I need him incase we have to move the Royal family to the safe house"

"I'm not requesting that he follows my people to Uldum, Sterling."  Larosa held up her copy of the same report," I just need him to meet my people in the Garden and to stay alert incase my people need to be pulled out."

The paladin snorted and crossed his arms. Larosa sighed and dropped the papers to rub her temples.

{{ Explict gore and mild language.  You have been warned. }}

Trapped.  Caged.  Chained.  I’ve felt that way for years.  Trapped in a body that wouldn’t heal and could never fight again.  Caged in this job because there is nowhere else to go.  Chained by all these laws and rules and regulations.

And someone is poking me.  The chained beast.

{{ Mature for language.  Happens previous to the Dragoons' meeting April 20th. }}

She blew out a last breath of smoke and dropped the cigarette, crushing it out with her toe.  “Why are you bothering me, Ben?” she asked, turning toward the crunch of snow.

The shield flying through the air caught her in the midsection, driving the air from her lungs and knocking her from her feet.  He was on her in a second, one hand around her throat and a fist smashing into the side of her face.

“WHERE ARE THEY?” Harrigan roared, the sound making the ringing in her head worse.  She smiled.

She’d come a long way from the quiet forest creature looking for a new pack.

“Lieutenant Delphiee?”  The redhead stopped and turned at her name.  “You have my knife?”

Larosa laid a purple hand gently upon the smooth wood of the door.   The other hand reached for the handle as the Kaldorei stood in the doorway for the last time.  The morning bells began tolling and as the seventh reverberating note died in the air, Larosa glanced around the room.  The bed was regulation made, the walls bare of maps and hangings, and the desk and wardrobe were clean and empty, waiting for another to settle themselves into the room.  Only the faint smell of tea, silverleaf, and jasmine in the air and the faint scrotch marks to the desk were a clue that the Elf had ever stayed in the room.  Sadness rose in her gut as the blue haired Elf turned to shut the door firmly, remembering the good and the bad that had happened within those four stone walls. 

Larosa didn't realize just how much this room had become her home, until she had to move once again.  She lingered on the memories of early evening meetings with Del as they went over squads and training, drinking beers and joking.  How she would read when the sun rose and she couldn't sleep, how she had smiled proudly when she first was assigned this room, and how it felt to put her uniforms in the wardrobe for the first time.  Even the bitter memories of writting all those condolence letters and disarming the bomb at the desk with Reggie floated to the front of her mind.  She remembered that first night she had spent in the Hall and it still seemed like only yesterday to the Elf.  Two duffle bags in her hands, her bow on one shoulder, her swords on her belt, and Pittch at her side, making her way through the crush of other Dragoons and recruits to her first bunk a floor below that was just large enough for her and her saber.

{{ From several weeks? Months? ago. }}

“You sure know how to show a lady a good time,” the dark haired woman smiled grimly as the remaining Defias chose flight as the better part of valor.

“Your party, Sam,” Harrigan replied.  “I just came along for the ride.”  They wiped their blades off carefully before returning them to their sheaths.

"No one-  I repeat: no one decks a guard while he's on duty no matter what he says about a Dragoon."

'What happens in a bar when he's off-duty is no concern of mine."

I joined this server a few months after it opened as Sowelu, a sweet and naïve priestess whose player knew nothing of online RPGs or the communities that develop in them.  Only a few, short months later I lost a very good and dear friend whose four year battle with a brain tumor came to an end.  He was an excellent roleplayer and enjoyed hearing about my adventures in game even though he could never join in them.  I made my first OOC post on the forums and asked the people here to raise a glass with me in his memory.  The response was overwhelming, even though no one knew me, the player.

Memories turn and reflect back on this day, set aside just for the two of us; a day that almost didn't happen...

Dalaran, Late Afternoon, One year ago:
The Sunreavers glared as Vereesa Windrunner proclaimed to the city that Drauglos was the new bearer of the restored dragon blade. The Half-Elf didn't even notice them, as he strode across the Violet Citadel to the petite, pale blond priestess and her companions.

Lirriel beamed in delight. “I knew you could do this.” Cerwis slowly clapped for her friend, smirking. Mag smiled slightly, observing quietly with hands clasped behind her back.

Drauglos grinned down at the sword, and then reverently sheathed it on his back. "If I spend the rest of my life trying to atone for what I did...Will you forgive me?"

Lirriel smiled. “Already done.”