Twelve days after arriving in Northrend
Depositing his armour in his tent for later polishing and setting his sword on his cot for cleaning, clad in his woollen underclothes, Ryndan allowed himself a long stretch before exiting and walking towards the bathhouse. The cold air filtered through the cloth and hit his sweat-ridden skin with a relieving delight. His limbs struggled against the cold without frequent exercise and his own age-old wounds tended to play up a little if the weather became too overcast or stormy. Today his body ached for different reasons.
Today's raid had been small. Eight Vrykul and four rabid wolves had sounded their horn in an attempt to demoralise the troops. It only fuelled them further, giving their own shouts and calls of aggression, showing the enemy that their efforts were for naught. The cannons fired first, unable to vitally injure before they had entered the field. The skirmish lasted perhaps a quarter of an hour, all eight giants falling one after another- but not without casualties. Two Defenders had died in the line of duty and one Crusader was critically wounded. Others merely added to their growing collection of scars and war trophies to show those at home. Healers did what they could from the back of the lines, but as soon as the coast was clear, they flooded the front of the gates checking each fallen and kneeling person.
Wolf meat was on the menu tonight.
It had been three hours since the onslaught, his group of Crusaders now recovering and tending their wounds-Ryndan making sure each of those under his care was fit or in need of attention. Most of the younger men tended to underplay their wounds; especially in front of their friends or female equivalents trying to boast invulnerability. He himself used to be guilty of it as a Private but most, as they experience it's dangerous to underestimate injuries, realise eventually that quick treatment is the best course of action.
In a strategy agreed on by Guard-Captain Zorek and himself, the Defenders and Crusaders were sorted into several groups with numbers ranging from twenty to thirty-five depending on skill levels. Each group was on standby for a few hours each or until an attack had taken place, allowing the rest to sleep, eat, train and care for their equipment. This then allowed for a constant cycle, day and night, of fighters at the ready for any surprise attack by their threat beyond the woods. There wasn't much they could do about the harpoons across the bay, however, merely deal with the aftermath of any hits. With a group of eight, only the group on call was needed, the next on the rota sitting ready in the event of a surprise follow on attack. Had the attackers had four or five more, the next troupe on call would have joined the fray.
His current overview of these large creatures gave Ryndan the idea that they weren't militarily experienced. They seemed to act on rage, anger and blood lust. This suited him fine- an angry enemy was a stupid one; their only advantage being their size. They threw their warriors at them like pebbles- throw them one at a time, it makes them easy to dodge and deflect. Throw a lot at once or a boulder, it makes it harder to avoid. If indeed they ever did try to attack the port with their entire 'army', Valgarde would certainly struggle, even with the presence of the Crusaders. Picking them off one-by-one was certainly doing a better job, less casualties on his and his ally's side too.
"- do you think she'd be interested?"
"Well, I didn't see any trinket or jewellery indicating marriage, so maybe she's available…"
Two voices, belonging to Corporal Jason and Sergeant Edrikson respectively filtered into his thoughts. Exiting from the bathhouse, he saw three figures, two young men and a lanky looking draenei, walking slowly towards him. The third- Corporal Danila- chimed in.
"Like she would sleep with a sap like you!" his Common was accented but the insult wasn't missed.
"Hey! I'm a good-looking guy!" Shoulder-length, fair hair, bright green eyes and freckles rounded up into 'good-looking' in this soldier's opinion. Ryndan would call it 'boyish', personally.
"Sure, if she's doped up on ale and rum, then maybe she'd consider you" They continued walking up the hill towards the tavern, hair still wet from washing, ragged towels over their shoulders and cloaks on their backs, oblivious to their commanding officer standing a few feet away.
"Besides, it's not like you'd be allowed anyway if, and I say if in the barest sense of the word, she'd come within ten feet o' you," Edrikson laughed, hitting his friend on the shoulder.
"Ohhh but did you see those legs? I'd risk a telling off from Ashwood for those thighs to be wrapped around me," Jason sighed, his expression clearly fantasising just a scenario. His two friends merely laughed and jested.
"I wouldn't, but then again it wasn't exactly her legs that drew my attention," Edrikson vaunted with a smirk. His dark hair sat flat while wet; it was normally curly- something that his fellow soldiers never failed to let him forget, fondly calling him 'Curls' out with official situations. Ryndan found it amusing, his own name being simplified to 'Dan' by those near and dear to him. Most of the Crusaders had a nickname or two, some pleasant, some so insulting one's own mother may blanch at hearing them.
They drew closer, snickering amongst themselves.
"Yes, I'd risk a court-martial for all of that-" he drew the outline of a woman in the cold air with two hands, savouring the curves and perhaps exaggerating the indent of the waist.
"Oh really? Then perhaps you'd like to tell me more about this escapade of yours while running laps around the camp stark naked, Corporal Jason?" Ryndan stepped forward in front of the trio, earning three very quick, and very startled salutes.
"C-Captain! Sir! I – that is, I was only-" The poor boy stuttered. Barely twenty, if his memory recalled correctly, was now blushing crimson to the roots of his fair hair at being caught talking so vulgarly. Ryndan didn't blame him his desires, of course, but there were other ways to deal with them.
"At ease, soldiers. I hear we have a stew that doesn't involve Shoveltusk tonight so go get your fill." He dismissed them with a non-verbal warning. Scaring them was enough to make them think twice about their actions. They were good kids, most of them were, with only a few minor indiscretion's throughout the year. Ryndan was both glad and perturbed by having so many novices in his own particular contingent here. If they were here he could train them to their potential and beyond while getting mild combat experience in the shape of the Vrykul. However, they were indeed novices for a reason and small mistakes were costly on the real battlefield. Limitations and extents of power are learned in those times.
Such was war.
Light-hearted after shocking his underlings, he continued his journey. Entering the wooden longhouse serving as the bathhouse he was greeted by a rush of steam and warmth, instantly causing a sheen on his exposed skin. Several low-level cubicles lined the opposing walls, a long bench in the middle and a bubbling cauldron of warm water stood at the far end over an ever-burning fire. This was the men's bathhouse, the women's situated next door, though Ryndan found himself questioning that when he saw such a creature standing up in the far end cubicle, clothed and dismantling something.
The Knight Captain stood for a near minute, puzzled at this sight. His brow was furrowed while he retraced his exterior route in his mind before she noticed him. Giving a small 'oh' of surprise (or he assumed it was an 'oh', she had some sort of metal instrument in her mouth), she waved a hammer and mumbled something incoherent.
"Spanner out of your mouth, Luci," voiced someone unknown. Looking to his right he saw the outline of a kaldorei seated in a cubicle, naked shoulders visible above the door. His hair hung loose down his back, wet and dark.
"Sorry 'bout that! Ignore me up here, I'm just working on a wee project to improve bathing. Continue," said the woman breaking into a large smile, waving in his direction. In a barely lit place such as this- it only possessed four small windows- her carrot-coloured hair was very bright. Tied in a long plait down her back, many strands had come loose and became what he could only describe as frizzy in the heat of the house. Nodding his thanks, he walked up to the cauldron; picking up one of the few stacked wooden buckets and filled it. He passed her on his way back down the hut. The cubicle door, off its hinges, sat against the wall while a large toolbox of bizarre looking items sat open at its entrance. The woman stood atop a crate, installing some sort of pipe or metal cylinders. Her sleeveless shirt was soaked with sweat down the back and her long arms were shining. Dark braces held up red leather breeches and he could now see exactly what his three subordinates had been discussing earlier. The indent in the figure's outline was not exaggerated, it seemed. Indeed she was an attractive woman.
Choosing a spare cubicle directly across from the other Elf (and coincidentally about six stalls away from the woman), Ryndan divested of his shirt and breeches, taking great relief in relishing in the freedom that only air could offer. Several sores had developed over the course of the past two weeks from his armour rubbing through the padding. The cold of Northrend chapped his skin, making it far worse and painful. Sitting on the wooden stool in the cubicle, his clothes and towel hanging over the wooden partition and washed himself with the warm water, taking great care with his patches of raw skin. Talia was known to keep salves stocked up to treat these, but as she was currently situated west somewhere, it was unlikely that he could receive such a blessing here. A thought presented itself- Perhaps he could ask Yazmina?
"Son of a Quillboar!" echoed the only feminine voice in the vicinity.
"Language, Luciya, we have company," admonished her Elven friend.
"But Bart, this damned thing won't work!" and she swiftly kicked the metal cylinder, earning an even cruder oath to be omitted. "If Zorek would just let me spend more time designing this rather than that stupid piece of crap for the launcher, then perhaps we could actually enjoy bathing!" Ryndan was reminded of a child in a strop, an interesting contrast for the twenty-something woman. He was used to bathing alongside fellow men, but the presence of a woman did offend his sensibilities a little. She couldn't see anything from her standpoint (he hoped) but even if she did, he had nothing to hide; simply his manners felt unsettled being naked in front of a lady.
"May I enquire as to what you are installing?" Ryndan asked, genuinely curious. Her face lit up much like his sisters' would at being given new clothes.
"Well, it's a S.H.O.W.E.r, that's a Super Heat-Operated Water Effuser- that I'm hoping to revolutionise bathing with." It's quick, efficient and so much more pleasant. But Zorek assigned me to trying to engineer a missing part for the harpoon gun they've acquired. They don't have the manual that my Chief Engineer wrote when he found the gun and he refuses to retrieve it. It would simplify the process so much!" Ryndan had heard about this from the Guard-Captain, Zorek only saying that 'he had people working on it'. He also questioned the legitimacy of the word 'Effuser', but as Common wasn't his first language, he deferred to her potentially greater vocabulary.
"Where's the Chief Engineer?"
"Dead, I think. Or I hope. I've heard about what they did to the archaeologists out there- I'd hate to think he's pinned to a tree dying slowly." Her voice dropped and he could now see the outline of a scar evident on the left half of her face, disappearing to below her shirt. He had simply thought it to be a shadow first.
"I see." This was news to Ryndan, Zorek not mentioning that the Chief Engineer was missing. The woman, 'Luciya', as the man across him had called her, sighed heavily.
She mumbled, "stupid man, he's just mad because I turned him down for a night of -,"
"Tell him the truth, Luci." rebuked the Night Elf. Ryndan found it entertaining that the few words the Kaldorei spoke were only to chide this mature woman. She huffed at her friend, the pair seemingly unbothered by his state of undress, even if he was censored behind a cubicle door.
"Fine. He overheard me commenting on his body odour months back and it's been downhill with our relationship since then." Ryndan laughed throatily, the man did have a distinct aura about him that indicated a lack of bathing. A decent man and caring Captain at heart, he felt, but his stench was rather overwhelming, even if they were on a 'chunk of frozen hell', as Keller had described it.
"And then some- you two are worse than cat and dog," the Night Elf said. He turned his attention to Ryndan, "Bartheleus Bluewind, Chief Tailor in these forsaken parts."
"Captain Ryndan Firesworn of the Argent Crusade," he offered to his elven cousin, feeling that perhaps mutual nudity should at least be shared with knowledge of the other's name.
"Whoa, quite a mouthful there, Cap'n," Luciya chuckled, giving him a mock salute. He smirked at her attempts to make him comfortable.
"Luciya Green; master engineer and pleasurable night time companion for all of your needs." She mockingly bowed, offering a wicked grin, all thoughts of comfort evaporating with the steam of the room, leaving Ryndan at a loss for words.
"Or you can have Bartheleus over there, if you are more inclined for male company," she was taking an inordinate amount of glee from this.
"Hush, Luciya. Ignore her, please; she's a terrible child, truly." 'Child' wasn't perhaps the word Ryndan would use to describe the woman leaning on the cubicle at the end of his row-that view indeed indicated anything but infancy. His subordinates would probably be pleased to hear she did indeed offer company to the likes of them- not that he would tell them. Bartheleus continued speaking, "and anyway, I haven't been with a man since I moved here from Stormwind. Forgive me Captain, I mean you no offense, you are not in any way unattractive. But given I'm now able to choose my clientele, I'm rather inclined to wipe that particular slate clean."
"No problem," the Captain offered weakly, not entirely sure what to say in this situation. Luciya's laughter was ringing out through the hut, her eyes crinkled shut in joy. Ryndan was tense.
"Apologies, Ryndan, I was merely teasing. I know you Crusade lot aren't so inclined as to intimate encounters." Not strictly true-many were in fact married, but he wasn't going to correct her in fear of more 'teasing'.
"Oh dear, it's been long since I laughed like that," she wiped away tears, presumably, from her scarred face. Bartheleus was also laughing deeply across the room, standing now so that his torso and hips were visible, towelling himself dry. Luciya started packing away her tools, her work evidently concluded for today. Lathering up the crude soap bar in the stall, Ryndan washed his short hair and drowned it in the remaining water from his bucket. As the floorboards of the hut were specifically sloped, the water ran out the underside of the cubicle into a drain running the length in the centre under the bench. Rubbing his stubble he surmised that a shave would be in order soon.
Dabbing himself dry, he quickly threw on his shirt and breeches, exiting the cubicle to nearly bump into Luciya as she made to exit also. Bart was carrying her toolbox.
"May I ask about your scar?" It was out before he could think about it, simply being up close to her he could see the fierce purple of it clearer, evidently a burn rather than a birthmark or blademark. It covered one side of her nose, part of her inner eye socket and lid and most of her left cheek. It dipped to under her chin and followed down past her collarbone to who-knew-where in her shirt. Ugly as it was, he could still see the symmetry in what she used to look like.
In all of this musing he had failed to notice until it was too late that her form had tensed- as did Bartheleus'- and her hands clenched. All trace of mirth had disappeared. He had overstepped the boundary, forgetting that she wasn't one of his soldiers.
"Engineering accident." Was all she muttered before hanging her head low and walking deliberately out into the ice-cold in nought but trousers and a thin shirt, the tall Kaldorei close and steady in her wake, watching over her.
"Anar'alah," He muttered, returning the bucket and exiting the hut. The odd pair walked away towards the forges, their colouring much brighter in the daylight. He sighed. Clever and brilliant he was at military strategizing, he was an idiot when it came down to interacting with actual people. With a mental berating he stalked up towards to behind the inn, along the row of tents erected for the Argent Crusade's use and made his way to his own, preparing to thoroughly tell himself off in a long hour of polishing his armour and hammering out the kinks it had received from today's battering.
Only that would have to wait as a letter demanded his attention, the envelope decorated in familiar handwriting, sitting upon his cot, unopened.
Walden was requesting a parley.