Conclusion
chapter two
The heart of the Gilneas academy was in its military wing. For years, retired service General Bale Morrow had slaved at constructing a proper scholastic framework for the program, and under the heavy rule of Greymane, it had thrived. General Morrow had been an enlisted officer under the king, thus receiving both his endorsement and his funding.
That was almost fifteen years ago; now, the retired soldier sat at his desk shuffling through papers and reports. He had long ago been convinced that the Fates were ironic by nature, and that the creatures bore some kind of grudge against him. Imagine, he often thought to himself, the infallible general teaching schoolchildren. It was disgusting.
The life of a soldier was one of hardship, and Morrow enjoyed showing haughty students how unfit they were to become one. Male, female… it didn't matter. As long as he was able to break them, he would accept their class applications. And many applications he would receive; being the largest program on campus brought the class renown, even though most students barely stayed the entire year.
Paperwork… more paperwork… the large stacks of files and loose-leaf papers on his desk reminded Morrow of his glory days, when he would make a proud stand for his country and race. He recalled the feel of a sword in his hand… how right it had always been… the thrust-and-give sensation it created while slipping through a green-skinned infidel's chest…
Two loud knocks at his wooden office door alerted him to his lieutenant's presence outside.
"Come," he replied deeply.
The lieutenant turned the knob to peek only his head inside. "Sir, there's a class transfer notice from the schoolmaster here waiting for your approval."
Morrow held out his hand palm-up to indicate that he wanted the file brought to him. The lower-ranking officer complied, darting in and out of the room with the same timid nature of a mouse.
"Whose is it?" Morrow rumbled, catching the lieutenant boy before he could reach the doorway again.
The young man shifted his weight to his left foot, eyes darting around nervously. "It's, erm, a female's, Sir. I don't recall her name."
Morrow frowned at the boy and gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "Begone." He spoke the word like some kind of spell, allowing it to linger in the eerily silent office air long after the lieutenant had scurried away.
Without giving much of a thought to the sealed package itself, Morrow ripped it open to reach the papers nestled inside. He kicked back in his wooden seat and read the file out loud. He projected his voice so any passerby outside could clearly understand his words.
"Sylvia Mackna'ar," he began.
Twenty minutes later, when he had finished scanning her sources, her condensed history, and past class progress reports, he let out a mighty sigh. The general sat up in his chair and allowed the papers to flop lifelessly in front of him. With a smirk, he rubbed his hands together.
This would be fun.
On the other side of the academy campus, Sylvia was waiting (rather impatiently) for Yaddic to return from his weekly visit to the orcish internment camps. Once again, he had denied her request to come along, leaving her in the mess hall to do nothing but nibble on whatever midday meal they were serving.
Clouds had been gathering overhead all morning, and now they began to pour forth their bounty. To avoid dealing with wet clothing, Sylvia remained in the large building. She mulled around with anyone who looked interesting, and managed to find a sympathetic soul of whom she could voice her problems to.
She was planning to meet Yaddic at the Great Hall building once the rain stopped, and now she waited at the large open windows for the opportunity to dash across the grassy mall. Sylvia directed her angry glares skyward, as if they had the mystical power to make the sun shine through the clouds.
A commotion near the mess hall doors caught her attention, and the black-haired female tore her eyes away from the weather. A burly, hunched-over figure tore through the rain and into the hall's foyer. "Sylvia Mackna'ar?" the man's deep voice boomed.
Sylvia jolted upright. "Eh?" she breathed, confused.
A smaller man tapped the larger male on his shoulder and jerked his head in the young woman's direction. Sylvia watched as the pair made their way through the sparse crowd and towards her.
Upon reaching their destination, the larger of the two threw back his dark cloak to reveal a graying head of hair and proud facial features. Sylvia didn't bother to hide the look of confusion that crept across her face, and allowed her dark eyebrows to furrow and her gray eyes to stare.
A/N: I wrote this one somewhere in Ontario during vacation, so my deepest apolgies if it's weak. xD You know, after completely forgetting that you had a fanfiction going on for almost six months, it was kind of a memory trip trying to get myself back into the "Warcraft" mindset. Considering, however, that I was only two installments into "Conclusion", it wasn't exactly the most difficult thing in the world.
And as for the required disclaimer: "I don't own nuthin'." EXCEPT, perhaps, certain characters here and there. I want a nickel ever time you mentions their names.