Three Weeks after the Battle for Light's Hope Chapel.
Six days of being at sea had worn off the novelty of ship life and Ryndan Firesworn, Knight-Captain of the Argent-Dawn-now-Crusade, middle child in a set of five and only son of the Firesworn bloodline was ready to land at any moment.
Luckily he didn't suffer the same sea-nausea that afflicted a minority of his brethren. Leaning against the bulwark rail of the quarterdeck gave him a good scope of the goings on. Some of it amused him, others impressed him (mainly those up in the masts-he will never understand how all those ropes work) and other antics displeased him- namely the vomitting.
"Gid tae see yi've still goat yer sea-legs there, lad." Ryndan allowed a small smile in spite of himself before straightening his face to greet his distinct company. A barrel was rolled up beside him and a figure clambered to sit atop it.
"After my first voyage, I made a vow to never travel by sea without them," he retorted back to the sea-faring dwarf. He was met with a booming laugh and fond punch to the shoulder.
"Aye, many years ago noo, wasn't it? Ah still remember the wee welpling that you were, all legs 'n' arms, wobblier than a newboarn calf!" A strip of white emerged from beneath a full bush of black hair. Suppressing a grin back, Ryndan favoured a grimace at the age-old memory of his first voyage, aged sixteen, still a 'whelpling' indeed. Grim, his dwarven companion on both- and many other- journeys, currently sat atop a barrel next to him peeling an orange. His shirt had long-since given up any semblance of pretending to be white and now settled for a faded parchment colour. A full head and beard of black hair was separated into two braids- 'wan fur the frunt 'n' wan fur the back, makes the drunken human-keelhauls a bit easier if the crew have summat tae hold on to.' Apparantly. Ryndan just took his word for it, never wanting to experience a 'drunken keelhaul'.
"Aye, though, it's no the worst 'hing that's happened to me. Thanks tae this beauty," Grim fondly patted the barrel he sat upon with one rough hand and gave a dramatic sigh, orange juice spluttering out of his mouth and soaking into his beard. "Tis yer best friend oot at sea. An' sometimes yer wurst enemy. In fact, wan time a few years back, ah woke up hangin' fae the top mast, rope wrapped aroun' me gullet- dressed in nuhin' but mah birthday suit wi' mah privates swingin' freer than a man at t' gallows and all mah hair shaved aff!" he pointed one stumpy finger at his head in mock horror. Ryndan found himself snorting at the unpleasant image.
"It took me months-naw, years tae grow this back!" he stroked the long black braid resting on his chest almost as gently as one might a newborn. He laughed at the boatswain, never tiring of hearing such antics as those out at sea. It certainly took his mind off the more menial tasks that needed doing- like drills, exercises and partaking in Prayer services (all difficult to do on a busy deck). The deckhands had been very accommodating, declining offer of help to run the ship from the contingents on board, happy to sit and laugh with his men and women come nightfall exchanging tales and rum.
Ryndan kept mostly to his bunk at night, not favouring the cooler air, content to listen to the joyful noises above him. He knew that soon, such fun times would be far and few between- and that a number of his charges won't come back alive; a grim fact he was all too aware of, much like his only two superiors on the ship.
Looking across the deck, he saw Commander Ashwood and Commander-Lieutenant McGreaves deep in conversation. Despite being his next-in-line superiors on the ship, and also having a great respect for both of them, the Captain couldn't help but find the image comical.
Tall, slender and violet-skinned, Commander Nhuada Ashwood was a veteran of the Argent Dawn. She had been involved in many battles for the Alliance in her time- including a successful period (months, or so the stories go) overseeing and defending the long fought-over Lumber Camp in Ashenvale. Ryndan had been her subordinate for three years now and admired the Kaldorei woman greatly. Her current conversation partner however…A greying-dwarf, he scarce reached the top of her hips. Admittedly, she was tall for even a Kaldorei woman, but she never seemed like she was talking down at you. McGreaves appeared to be very severe. A Paladin for coming on forty-years, he had been around, experiencing and witnessing much. Even so, Ryndan wasn't sure that Commander Ashwood was younger than him by any means, no matter how youthful she appeared.
Almost as if he knew he was being observed McGreaves looked to Ryndan across the deck when the Commander's eyes wandered and threw him a rude gesture paired with a bold grin. Ryndan couldn't contain the snort that escaped at his superior's antics.
"That man's in charge o' how many on this ship?" Grim asked, not having missed the quick exchange. Observing deckhands as they scurried around deck and up the rigging, Ryndan did a mental headcount.
"Fifty-three for him including myself. Fifty-two for me and then fifty-four for Commander Ashwood including me and McGreaves." He had memorised the rosters for his ship, wanting to know exactly who he was in charge of back at Light's Hope. He also knew the exact whereabouts of those two. Darksworn and the girl were currently aboard the ship closest starboard. In a reflex he turned to view said ship behind him.
Early afternoon placed the sun overhead as it made its way to the horizon for night, meaning no glare hindered his view of the three ships spaced out to the right. A few figures were seen moving in the distance atop the closest sister vessel. His mind wandered to the girl occasionally, mainly due to Walden. Before departing for the Undercity some ten days ago, the Forsaken had pleaded to his friend to look out for her; something that he was less than stellar about doing. But even so, there had been something in Walden's crooked voice that Ryndan couldn't simply ignore. The image of her at the campfire- dead and cold- was also haunting his waking hours when idle. Unable to explain the strange grief he felt at the memory, the Blood Elf found himself curious as to her life before –
"Land, HO!"
Mirroring all heads on deck, Ryndan's turned to view the front of the ship. Sure enough, a long, misty shape was emerging from the North; a weary welcoming overshadowing their arrival.
For all the stories and tales of what lay on that continent, for now, Ryndan could only view it as earth, a large island that sat in the middle of entire ocean. It didn't seem quite so scary, sitting far away, looking towards it. Some cheered, others stared silent, the deckhands the only ones moving still. Land was in sight, and nervous apprehension didn't taste well with sea spray. Overall the overwhelming feeling of relief should have been the ultimate mood. But on that landmass lay the deadliest enemy and tyrant known to Azerothian history. And they were headed straight for it.
"Listen, Dan." Grim dropped his voice to a deep whisper, his normally laugh-lined face falling serious. "There're creatures in the Fjords that are nothing like ye've ever seen. They'll put the fear o' death in most men, and women" he nodded his head to a Sin'dorei woman who walked past, "and make ye wish ye'd never set foot upon them lands. I've seen them fae a long distance, they're huge. Ye need tae be careful, alreet? Promise me you'll no do ony'hin stupit." His mouth was a hard line, bushy eyebrows drawn to a furrow. Ryndan nodded.
"Alright, I'll promise. Thank you, friend." He clapped his hand on the dwarf's shoulder and regretted it as his palm was coated with sweat. Grim boomed a laugh and slid off the barrel. "See you aboot, Dan, got work needin' dae'in'" he called, rolling the barrel across the deck. Wiping his hand on his leather breeches, he stretched his long legs and stood, working a kink out in his lower back. Shading his eyes again, he looked to the ships to his right. They were far enough that only black silhouettes were seen moving on board unidentifiable, too far to carry a shouting conversation, but even so, the mass of white hair blowing at the side nearest was not unnoticed.
Nor were the small shapes in the far distance making their way towards them from the direction of Northrend.
A few hours later found them all up close and personal with Northrend. The Fjords cliff faces were in clear, visible sight. They loomed over, a challenge to the sea to break them down. The sea crashed and fought, but made barely a difference. The sea is patient, ye ken, it might take months, years, decades or more, but in the end, land always succumbs to her, Grim had once told him. The chill had been evident for some time, most donning thick cloaks now, regardless of the afternoon sun bearing over in the west. Icy breath was visible everywhere. Fish were jumping, some small, some large, and once, even though he'd missed it personally, others claimed to have seen an enormous fish -it was bigger than the ship!-splashing in the sea. Even with the knowledge that they'd be landing soon, even if they were seeing this strange new world for the first time, no one was taking note of it as they drew nearer. In fact, the ships in line, all seven, had ground to a halt, anchored down.
Captain Firesworn currently sat below deck, seated around a large table in the Chartroom with three others, discussing the news just received; the projected landing site was no longer accessible.
Not an hour ago, the small shapes had evolved into a group of four rowboats, each containing not even a third of its capacity. Each person- whether they were sailor, Crusader or trader- were all shaken, exhausted and injured and bearing the same dire news. Apparently the Horde had taken control of the strand where the Argent Crusade had aimed to set up port on the northeast coast- thus resulting in them sinking two of the three forward ships; the flagship included.
The report from the escapees was a grim one. Shrouded in a low lying mist, the coast had been near invisible, and so two were anchored, awaiting its clearing before proceeding to unloading. And then they had attacked. Identified as Horde and hostile, the enemy tore into them. The third ship was bound for Port Valgarde and had broken earlier that morning from the group, unbeknownst of the tragedy befalling its sister ships. Upon reaching the seven still travelling, Captain Taylor immediately apprehended all of the survivors and insisted they see the medics on board- partially due to the injuries and beginnings of frostbite beginning to form and partially to stop panic spreading amongst the crew. Safely nestled in his quarters, they had received the news.
"There are survivors, you say?" Taylor asked, surprisingly calm. He was leaning forward, hands clasped in front of him on the table. Commander Ashwood was similar, with her long hands resting beneath her chin.
"Aye, sir, on the Strand. The officers forbade us to return, we had to come warn ye and the others." A gnome spoke, clearly holding back tears. "Sir, we can't leave them! The Horde will destroy them-"
"Calm yourself, seaman, they will not be forgotten. However, two of our ships, one being the Flagship have been brought down and there are eleven more on the way north, including these seven. You did well rowing out this far to warn us, go join your comrades in the bunks below deck. Oh, and keep this information among yourselves only, I have a fleet to handle and don't need cause for restlessness among the crews." The gnome and a draenei woman, who had remained silent throughout, nodded and left only having joined the Officers as they were the only two who were seemingly capable of talking at the time. Captain Taylor turned to the Officers.
"I must speak with the other Captains; alternative arrangements need to be made." He steepled his hands. "Word has been signalled to each ship to ask each Captain to come aboard to discuss this trouble. I wonder if they would have stood more or less of a chance had the third ship stayed…" He tightened his jaw, deep in thought. The Argent Crusaders merely observed, deferring to the Captain's knowledge in all things naval. From here on out, it was Taylor's call to organise the fleet as the most senior of the seven Captains currently travelling together. Ryndan guessed the man to be in his forties- a dark pinstriped grey beard was cleanly resting atop his chin, his face hard with lines and tanned skin. The Captain looked up sternly, small blue eyes nearly as deep as the sea they sailed on.
"The presence of the Horde is a surprise," he started, "we had information that their naval forces were near non-existent, never mind ahead of us and already established on land." He gave a pointed look to the Dawn representatives. "If they've captured the third ship or worse…" Commander Ashwood leaned forward, posture straight and strong. Her sabres sat sheathed across the back of her chair, never straying far from her person.
"The Dawn only passed on what information we had; it was not- is not- our duty to spy on the Horde for the Alliance. We were not aware they were travelling north anytime soon, especially not to our proposed landing site. The ship descriptions however, match those of the Forsaken boats, specifically." Ryndan sucked in his breath. "The war being brought to Northrend is no secret, Captain Taylor. It is not a surprise that the Horde have jumped on this as quickly as the Alliance has. As a neutral faction, we maintain peace with both. However, sailing under Alliance colours, even if for transport purposes only, without passing word to the Horde to hold fire, is a costly mistake on the Dawn's part. Nobody anticipated the Horde being a problem it would seem; a poor underestimation. None were seemingly prepared for this." She paused, letting her bright eyes look to each of the men. "Our task lies in advancing against Arthas and Arthas alone. It is extremely likely that both sides will be called upon when marching to The Lich King's fortress; we will need what numbers both factions can supply. The hatred between the Horde and Alliance is not of our concern. Do not make it so when rescuing these stranded men and women. Are we understood, Captain Taylor?" her voice was steady and calm, but Ryndan knew through word-of-mouth that Commander Ashwood was not someone to defy or mess with. Her tone was quiet and dangerous.
"If a Horde dog stands in the way of saving my men, I will not hesitate to kill him, regardless of whether the Argent Dawn needs numbers or not. Those people are my priority over your request, Commander." He replied brusquely, hard eyes bearing into her own.
"Understandable. I would not ask you to risk your men to save someone who is causing direct harm, but, take caution, more casualties for the Horde and Alliance is less force against Arthas." She pressed. A knock at the door interrupted whatever retort Captain Taylor was preparing to give-
"Scuse me sir! T'other Cap'ns hiv arrived tae talk" Grim popped his head round the door, black beard visible before his face. "They're lookin' worried, sir."
Taylor nodded, "Thank you Boatswain, send them down."
All four stood up, Taylor remaining, unrolling a large vellum map onto the table while the Dawn took leave- McGreaves had been mysteriously quiet throughout the ordeal. They stood quietly atop the deck, watching the cabin door as tensely as the rest of the crew. Difference was, the crew were kept in ignorance for the time being about the situation, only the Officers and those who escaped the Horde onslaught knew current circumstance. Nearly an hour had passed, the sun was low in the sky, the chill turning to a frosty cold. The rowboats the other Captains had arrived on sat afloat either side of the ship, swaying on the waves in such a lulling way that as Ryndan leaned over the bulwark to watch them, he didn't notice that the Captains had finally exited the cabin until Taylor spoke from the centre of the quarterdeck.
"There's been an accident involving the Flagship, crew. Our initial landing site is no longer of use. Due to this, the current fleet shall split up. We're going to make port at Valgarde alongside The Maid of the Sea." He nodded to a stern looking woman on his right. "Two of the other ships will head west, to the Tundra," A couple of the Captains nodded in affirmative, "two shall sail to the Dragonblight coastline and one will remain out at sea to report to the remaining fleet upon their arrival over the following days. There is nothing to be alarmed about, we shall carry on as intended." Collectively, the crew seemed to deflate, happy that there was no cause for worry and set out back to work in preparation for sailing once more.
"What about the crew of the other three ships sir? Are they safe?" a voice called out from the back. Everyone present turned to the Captain, but he did not falter. He looked amongst the crowd. There were murmurs of worry and concern for their fellow seamen and women.
"There are casualties, and some are unable to travel." He paused, letting the information sink in. "It is unknown if any are dead. We shall plan further once we reach Valgarde, making sure we have extensive knowledge of the surrounding areas before we rescue them. They can survive until then, for they are of the Alliance! And when we have found them, we shall treat them to fine rum and a warm meal in their bellies!" The crew cheered in agreement, excitement and optimism in the air. A good speech, Ryndan thought, though he was certain that there were Argent Dawn members aboard them also. Still, a little morale boost went in long favour to settle the crew. A few of the Dawn moved below deck and others headed to the kitchen area for stew. The Captains shook hands and muttered amongst themselves before departing and setting off to their respective vessels. Captain Taylor went to stand aloft.
Commander Ashwood muttered, "Well, I'll be damned"
"What's that, Commander?" McGreaves asked, tugging his braided beard.
She released a breath and ran a hand through her short, violet hair, bending an ear as she did. "He left out the part about the Horde, I was sure for certain he would mention it to rile the crew into thinking they had to mount a rescue mission immediately. He's actually playing it smart."
"With any luck then, the other Captains either talked him out of it or he simply made the decision to take care of this ship and its passengers first." Ryndan supplied, crossing his arms. He looked to the man in question, standing above them all at the wheel. A frown was evident on his face, it wasn't an easy thing to do; lying to those who put their lives in his trust, but that was what war was about- hard, uneasy decisions that had to be made every day. Sometimes they involved lies and pain, sometimes it's because it's 'in their best interests', and sometimes, there's just a lack of choice to do otherwise.
Thinking of Walden, who had travelled to the dark Undercity only two weeks before, Ryndan felt this more keenly than he'd liked. Even after years of friendship, would Walden have hidden any knowledge of a Forsaken expedition from him? And if so, were the intentions for the best, or for the Undercity?
Ryndan's mood felt as dark as the clouds now shading Northrend.
A/N- Two chapters today as I had fallen behind in my writing schedule. I've written about six chapters (and other bits and pieces) ahead in the story and am working backwards to join it all up and make sure it still makes sense! It's all wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey.
Thank you for taking the time to read this far, I wasn't joking when I said it was a long story, but fear not, we have finally arrived in Northrend and now the going is starting to get tough. Much appreciations to those who have favourited/followed this- it's such a huge morale boost! Thank you :D
