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Brightwood Grove flickered with the lights of torches, it was a forlorn sight like stubborn blooms in a long abandoned flowerbed. A company of Night Watch, the local militia, scoured the preternatural forest for feral worgen and venomous spiders, creatures that thrived in the darkly veiled lands of Duskwood. The blasts of gunfire rang through the shadowy trees in beautiful chorus, their flashes illuminated the lithe forms skulking around. It declared the human's presence and steadied them, emboldening and encouraging their plight in the haunting woods crawling with real and imagined dangers.

Distractions, thought Cimera as she rode past. Ferals and spiders weren't worth the time, not when undead stalked the land and the very air one breathed under these cursed oaks was a malady of its own. All of western Duskwood was overrun with the reeking, mindless undead, Darkshire was the only town still standing and not for long. Whatever was raising the fiends at the cemetery would soon enslave them and come for the town, already Raven Hill had fallen. When would humans learn?

Duskwood was the last frontier, once it fell there was nothing stopping the Horde from taking the Kingdom of Stormwind again. Orcs already encroached from the east, shrinking Lakeshire to an eighth of its former glory. Tainted fog, worgs, undead and Dark Riders from Karazhan devoured Duskwood, and Westfall was overrun with every problem imaginable including organized unrest. History would not repeat itself - not on her watch. She rode into Darkshire, heading straight for Town Hall, her plan to save the region was in motion and nothing as trivial as politics would stand in her way.

Destriers amongst the peasant's sumpters and rouncies in the paddock drew her eye and persuaded her to stop at the livery stable instead. She directed her bay courser to the corral fence and studied the darkly glowing hides and wavy crest of manes on the warhorses. Could it be the Scarlet Crusaders had landed here, could she be so fortunate? She swiveled her cowled head to better survey town square and spied red insignias in the grey, Gilnean drab. Perhaps she wouldn't have to do everything herself. Tossing me a bone, finally? she asked fate.

Cimera dismounted at the Town Hall's hitching post and handed her rented reins to a groom standing by for that purpose. "He's a rental, Stormwind," she relayed, taking a good look at the young man's face incase he failed her, she'd take the steep fines out of his skin. His 'right away, miss' made her smirk. A mastiff met her in the entrance room, the giant dog resembled a lion with his large frame and tawny coat. She unwillingly let it sniff her before turning her hand over, palms aglow like fire pokers, when he went for her crotch.

"Bore, lay off." The errant command saved the dog's frothing cheeks, Cimera met the man's monocled gaze. "Were you about to burn my dog, Cimera?"

"I brand any male's unwelcomed advance for the next girl." She smirked at Lord Ello, ruler of Darkshire. His brows furrowed as he went to speak but changed his mind and gestured her into the hall instead.

"Cimera's here, Althea," he annouced to the militia commander, pouring over a map.

Not in the mood to mince words Cimera cut to the heart of the matter, "I've guaranteed a force of three hundred strong."

"Only? That'll har-"

"Seasoned," she supplied, dismissing the raven-locked woman's scoffing.

"Still," Lord Ello muttered, pulling on the end of his black beard.

"I can't believe you went all the way to Ironforge and only managed three hundred soldiers," Althea said scathingly. "We should have sent you to Darnassus-"

"No one sent me. This is my plan, remember? And three hundred Wildhammer dwarves is more than we had before," Cimera pointed out, curling her fingers to stay her fiery compulsion. She felt keenly this is how pyromaniac mages must feel constantly.

"And what are they asking in return?" Althea asked before her father could.

"Food." Cimera started with the most common of the terms first. She crossed her arms and cocked a hip, the picture of ease when in fact she was achingly sore and tired.

"We don't have it," Althea said through her teeth. Lord Ello's face was troubled, he pulled on his beard again as he ran through calculations.

"Three hundred is generous, to be honest. We'll figure out the food for Light's sake! I'll send our thanks to the Council." Lord Ello strode to a table briskly, as if to write it up that second.

"Thank me instead." Cimera paused, waiting for both Ebonlocke to look at her, "the Council didn't send them."

"What?"

"You said soldiers were coming. What do you mean the Council didn't send them?" Althea's pastel face was growing red with annoyance.

"The Bronzebeard and Wildhammers don't like warlocks much and aren't suffering the Dark Iron clan much better. I persuaded the most intolerant to come fight here," she explained.

"...With food?" Lord Ello was skeptical.

"With food," Cimera agreed with a coy smile, "and land rights to the basin in the west. Land you don't own anyway." She raised her voice over Althea's enraged response. "Since it's overrun with thousands of ogres I figured you wouldn't mind and if you do," she paused for effect, "too bad. You couldn't keep it, it's lost to the ogres, keep considering it lost."

"Hold on...just hold." He leaned a hand on the table, the other outstretched to halt his daughter's words too. Cimera walked to a bench and sat down, feeling fatigued from the day of riding. The gelding had a smooth canter but the saddle had been hard and unforgiving. "That's not ours to give..." He seemed to consider something before finishing. "I see your point. None of this will be ours soon if we don't get reinforcements. If they can take the basin, they can have it," he said reasonably, "but if we are providing the food their first priority is Darkshire."

"Hm, that won't work. I was thinking of serving the whole of Duskwood with a dwarven base watching the road to Stranglethorn Vale. I thought that, and liberating Raven Hill from undead occupation would be enough. Leaving you only the eastern roads and feral worgen, things the Night Watch and a handful of adventurers could keep at bay."

"You're not-" Althea started.

"That could work. We'll take whatever help we can get...but we can't provide the sustenance, we just don't have the resources."

"...Then we'll get what we get," Cimera replied, biting back heated words and walking out before her emotions boiled over.

How would she support three hundred hungry dwarves? She'd spent the little she had on inscription lessons, it's one of the reasons it had taken her all summer to return. She still struggled with magic, was unable to execute anything other than fire spells and mage trainers were no help. They said the same things, "magic manifests itself differently for everyone," or "you just need more practice," or "all mages are different, you may not ever cast more than fire."

The last one was the worst and most likely, which meant no detecting magic, no 'sustenance' conjuring, no teleporting...no Battle Mage status. It wasn't until a warlock tipped her off to glyphs that she learned the power of magical pigments. It soon became clear how helpful training as a scribe would be to her fledgling firepower, and she already knew about herbs - she'd grown up a Hillsbrad peasant after all.

Cimera imagined the dwarves would bring food with them and hunt and gather when they got here but they would need stores laid away, otherwise they'd spend their force trying to feed themselves throughout the winter instead of fighting. Besides that was the deal...food, rights to the basin...and healers for the raid, the Crusaders had given her ideas about that last one. She headed for the Scarlet Raven Tavern with a brewing headache and a parched throat, could she even afford a drink? She couldn't remember but either way that's where her bags would be.

The tavern was decently patronized just after dusk by weary travelers and lonely townfolk but everyone avoided sitting near the Scarlet Crusaders. Cimera walked up to the bar to ask after her belongings and to get an eyeful of the soldiers. Their presence alone settled her despite their radical reputation, no one need fear an attack with them around. If you didn't arouse their suspicion of course. Scarlet Crusaders were famous for wading into battle with unmatched fervor to annihilate opposing forces or die fighting. These berserkers specialized in eradicating undead and like bleach to mold, they were exactly what was needed here.