Gyran Stoutmantle could almost feel another of the last dark hairs atop his head turning grey as Áuratus stepped forward, sword proudly over her shoulder and positively beaming. He straightened his back, feeling a couple pops that hadn’t been there before. Quietly, he reminded himself of the honour he had been given in being provided the position at Sentinel Hill, Westfall’s bastion of Alliance strength. He hoped that prestige would provide him the seriousness not to snicker at another one of her quips. He’d made that mistake once, and never heard the end of it.
Áuratus was the kind of paladin that was everything Gyran Stoutmantle wasn’t. Where he was calm and methodical, she was quick-thinking and brash. Where he would exercise caution, she would throw it to the wind. While he was the embodiment of the stoic, serious paladin, she was of a new breed of adventuresome, joyous holy warrior. They carried the same title as paladin, occupied the same dry, unruly land, and hailed from the same city of Stormwind, but they could not be more different.
Yet, he had tremendous respect for the young lady. While sometimes her methods and manner of battle were… unorthodox… she was undeniably effective. While she strolled up the hill towards his post, a weathered old guard tower holding a vantage point over the flat farmlands of Westfall, he wholeheartedly expected her to be bringing tidings of success.
“Gyran!” she called out to him, holding both arms wide, sword included.
“Captain Stoutmantle would suffice,” he grumbled.
“Indeed it would. But where’s the fun in that?” Áuratus flashed him a big smile. He felt another hair on his head change colour. Next, they’ll start falling out. He hoped he would look passable as a bald man.
He fumbled with a number of papers he had. “I believe I tasked you with disrupting the Defias highwaymen to the south of Moonbrook, if I’m not mistaken. How’d you fare?”
“Well,” she said with a casual sigh, “they put up quite a fight, but… I was a little confused. They’re highwaymen, and they’re hiding in the hills where no trade-routes pass. They didn’t live up to their name, if I say so myself.”
“Hmpff. Good point. Nevertheless, I’m glad to hear it. That gives you yet another success in a long chain of them now. You dispatched the smugglers at Furlbrow’s pumpkin patch…”
“Of which I received no pumpkin-based goods, I will add.”
“...you disrupted the looters at Gold Coast Quarry…”
“Only bronze and tin down there. Who names these places?”
“...and you’ve provided a number of Defias masks as proof of your deeds.”
She inspected the blade of her sword. “I couldn’t keep them. Masks are more of a ‘rogue’ thing if you ask me.”
“Well, the people of Westfall would like to thank you again.” Gyran wondered if Áuratus was still paying attention as she closed one eye and stared down the blade of her weapon. “We… hope you like your new sword.”
“The Edge of the People’s Militia! It’s certainly sharper than most of the folks that thought harvest golems were a good idea.” Whatever she was looking for, it seemed to pass the test for her approval. She slung the sword over her shoulder again and stood up straight as if finally deciding she would more officially report for duty. “Ready for whatever comes next, cap’!”
Stoutmantle slightly bit his lip at the abbreviation of his title. Again, he reminded himself of how successful Áuratus - Aura, as she called herself - had been. Westfall had seen many hardships, and he could hardly fault one of his most hardworking, earnest paladins for being unconventional in speech. That said, he also wondered how he’d look with a full head of grey.
“Well, Áuratus, you’re in luck if you’re looking for more work. We’ve received reports that the Defias hideout is somewhere in the hills near where you disposed of the 'highwaymen'. We’ll need you to escort a prisoner who is willing to lead us right to it. I believe you may find him familiar.” He walked into the tower, out of the Westfall sun and into the old, dusty quarters of the old, dusty tower. Beckoning her to follow, he pointed to a man locked into a pillory.
A deeply balding man with long red hair running along the back and sides looked up from the wooden contraption holding him in place. She had indeed met him. He had been trying to rob the Saldeans of their wagon when she caught him red handed. Always willing to deliver justice before warfare, she gave him an ultimatum, telling him that he could let a judge throw the book at him or take a swing of her sword. It was his call. He chose the former. She thought it was a wise move.
“You’re to walk this prisoner to wherever the hideout is located,” Gyran explained. “You must be cautious, however. Moonbrook has been overrun by the Defias, and they’re likely not going to take kindly to the traitor in their midst.”
The prisoner overheard. He couldn’t make out the figure standing in the entryway, the daylight silhouetting Aura’s frame. “So Stoutmantle sends a scrawny-” Aura’s free hand, covered in a metal gauntlet, tapped the Stormwind guard legplates she had been gifted after besting the great gnoll Hogger in Elwynn, a habit that came through whenever she had the urge to swing her sword in anger. Tap tap tap, in rapid succession. Tap tap tap. “Oh, it’s you again,” the prisoner said knowingly. “Well, the People’s Militia must be puttin’ some faith in my words if they’re going to send the Woodpecker out with me.”
Gyran raised his eyebrows. So did Áuratus, for that matter. “The Woodpecker?” they asked in unison.
“Don’t even know your own moniker?” the prisoner said, chuckling. “The Defias know you well. That tapping always marks your arrival. After that, we’d always lose a few. Heard about it at Gold Coast, heard about it at Furlbrow’s… heard it myself at Saldean’s.”
“And here I thought they knew me for my charm,” Aura said, fluttering her eyelashes.
The prisoner scowled. “More for our dead.”
“I never once have swung my sword before offering surrender. Whether or not you accept is up to you.” She smiled. “Just look at you. You’re not cut to pieces. I’m as good as my word.”
“Lot of good it’s done me,” he said, shaking the pillory.
Gyran cleared his throat, through with the banter between the two. “The mission is clear, then? Escort the prisoner, report back with your findings. I can send the word out for recruits to accompany you, as well as formulate a battle plan in which to enter Moonbrook-”
Aura waved him off. “I can handle myself just fine. We can get started now.” She already started to loosen the bolts on the pillory. The prisoner stood up straight and shifted his neck and stretched his shoulders. Already, she was pushing him out the door and towards the southern path to Moonbrook. She was halfway to the path before Stoutmantle even had a chance to offer his best wishes or good luck.
“Don’t worry, cap’, I’ll be quick!” she called back to Gyran as she gave the prisoner another nudge to keep the pace.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
“Cap’, always cap’,” Gyran mumbled, shaking his head.
---
“They’re all cheats,” the prisoner said as they walked side by side along the dusty trail towards Moonbrook. “That’s why we’re still fighting. We got cheated by Stormwind, and we refused to bend the knee. We’d be put in chains the moment we surrendered anyway. They’ve left us no choice!”
“Oh, I agree,” Aura said. “At least about the chains… The law has this nasty habit of putting thieves and murders behind bars.”
“We wouldn’t be in that position if we weren’t treated so poorly. Rebuilt Stormwind, we did. And look what we get now! Hiding away in some dusty old backwater, dodging coyotes and gnolls.”
“Now, I brought you in because you get to stand trial and say your piece. That’s what justice is. If the king declares that what you’ve done is not worthy of being sent to jail, you’ll be set free.” She looked around. “Plus, the coyotes aren’t so bad. The goretusks make a good pie, too.”
“Might be right about the pie. But to think that the king would set us free?” The prisoner laughed obnoxiously.
Áuratus shot him a nasty look. “Listen, the lot of you have taken to doing plenty of unsavoury things after the whole affair with Stormwind. Your problem is with them, yet you’re still looting the houses of honest farmers. You've got a grievance with the king, so you think that gives you justification to head on over to old Verna Furlbrow and steal her stew?” Áuratus’ stomach turned. Knowing what went into it did not make it go down any easier. Murloc eyes, by the light...
The prisoner scoffed, but otherwise didn’t have an answer. “If I’m so untrustworthy, why am I not in chains now, then?” he asked, holding up his hands to show they were indeed free. “Maybe I’m hiding a dagger. We’re alone on this trail. What would stop me?”
Aura laughed. “Well, me, for one. You try to come at me with a dagger and I’ll be throwing you right in the way of a harvest golem. Nasty threshing hands on those things,” she said, scratching at her arm that had taken a few hits while putting a couple of the malfunctioning machines down. “Plus, the moment we walk into Moonbrook, I’m your best shot.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, walking with me will show you’re a traitor. I’m your only chance.”
He gulped. “I hope you’re as good as you think you are.”
She slapped him on the back. “Me too.”
--
They approached Moonbrook without much of a fight. A few broken down harvest golems stood next to a poorly kept farmer’s field. Signs warning that any sympathetic to Stormwind will be killed on sight were patched haphazardly onto the sides of worn down buildings. It was a decidedly unfriendly place, and Áuratus found herself much more at the ready than before. It would be a miracle to go through without drawing too much attention. Of course, what fun would there be in that anyway?
She walked right through the centre of the town, past the former mayor’s office and an old blacksmith shop. The town was populated by vagrants and ne’er-do-wells, their shifty gazes falling on the pair and watching as they passed. All the while, she would tap out the same old rhythm on her legplate, making the prisoner instinctively cringe. Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap. The Woodpecker’s warning. Perhaps, to those that thought they were strong enough, a challenge.
As they passed by a schoolhouse they were spotted by two men and a woman loitering on the steps. “Hey!” one of the men called out, the three of them standing up and pulling their red linen masks over their faces, demonstrating their allegiances to the Defias. “Don’t think you’re in the right spot, now, are you? And - oh, don’t tell me - Clark Barlow, in the flesh.”
The traitor looked down sheepishly, afraid to meet the man’s gaze. He was a big one, a foot taller than the other two, and even under the mask one could tell he had a wicked smile. Sometimes a smirk doesn’t have to be seen, just felt. The other man was slender, skittish, more of a follower than a leader. The woman at their side was dressed in a long robe, likely a mage.
“Sounds like you know the man I’m escorting,” Aura said as they surrounded the pair. “But… Clark, is it? Never asked your name. He’s with me. And while I would love to -” She paused for just a moment. “You were hanging outside a schoolhouse, weren’t you? Oh, that’s just too easy. Oh, fine, fine, I’ll indulge myself. I’d hate to have to ‘teach you a lesson.’”
“Ahh, we’ve got a smart one here, do we?” the woman said, her voice smooth and confident. “We’ll see if you still feel that way once we’re through.”
That was as clear of a challenge enough for Aura. As it always did before a fight, she found her fingers nervously tapping out that same quick rhythm on her legplates.
“Oh,” the big one said, grinning wide beneath his mask. “Looks like the Woodpecker has paid us a visit.” He pulled out two daggers large enough to almost qualify as swords. “You’ve sent a lot of my friends to the stockades. Or the dirt.”
“Well,” she said, smiling, glancing again at the schoolhouse. “I guess I ‘taught’ them a thing or two.”
The big man roared in anger and lunged for the paladin, finding his clumsy attack easily deflected. She kicked out at his knee as he stumbled, sending him tumbling into the road. The heavy plated boots she wore were surely enough to crack a bone. “The first lesson would be not to run with knives,” Aura said.
The mage was next, crafting a bolt of frost from thin air. She was unable to release it, however, as Aura called upon the light to knock the caster temporarily woozy, causing her to lose her concentration. A quick jab with the pommel was enough to cause her to double over in pain. “Lesson two! Don’t play with fire.” Aura thought for a moment. “Or frost… Ah, the hell with it, it’s close enough.”
She didn’t have time to make a better remark as the thin man made a half-hearted attempt to attack her himself, mostly trying to protect himself but save some face with his wounded friends. She used the hilt of her sword to hit him square in the nose as he lunged slowly, causing him to fall backwards clutching his face. His eyes watered from the hit.
“Blinded by the light!” she called out. “Ha! I’m back on track. Hear that one?” she asked Clark, who was shaking like a leaf. “Ah, my wit is wasted once again. You and Stoutmantle, you just don’t appreciate good humour,” she said pretending to pout. “As for the three of you! It’s your lucky day. I just have the time for one prisoner. Back to class, then!”
She left the three with their broken bones and shattered pride as they walked the rest of the way through Moonbrook, Áuratus tapping all the way.
--
Soon, they came to an old mine shaft. Just past the outskirts of Moonbrook, it looked mostly abandoned. “That’s it,” Clark said. “The Defias hideout. Now, can we please get back before more of them find us, or the ones you hurt find their friends?”
“You mean to tell me that the great kingpin of the Defias, Edwin VanCleef, is sitting at the bottom of that mine?” Áuratus asked, incredulous.
“With a whole bloody army.”
Aura put her ear up to the hideout. Distantly, she heard the clanging of mining picks and the cursing of guards. Very distantly, however. The musty, mostly empty place must have reached deep into the earth to be housing as many as he said. It wasn’t a job for today. As strong as she was, she wouldn’t be able to take on the full force of the Defias alone, even setting aside VanCleef.
“Well, you’ve done your duty it seems,” she said. “I suppose we should head back. Can’t keep Gyran waiting. He’ll miss me.”
---
“And you’re certain that the whole Defias force is in that mine?” Stoutmantle asked, hardly believing it himself.
“I’m sure!” Clark responded.
“I’m not asking you, you- Áuratus, are you certain?”
“Sure seems that way. I’m ready to take them on whenever you’re willing to find the courage to send me.” She gave a quick salute, one that never looked quite right if you asked Gyran.
“This’ll take time, young paladin,” Stoutmantle urged, cautious as ever. “We must gather our forces, and send a small tactical team to take out the head of the operation. Unfortunately, we can’t afford to dedicate too many, supplies such as they are. It could take weeks to gather the proper group. Be patient. This is not something we should rush.”
Two other adventurers came up the hill the same way Aura had prior to escorting the prisoner. One, a human wearing the robes of a priest. The other, a night elf druid, choosing to walk in the form of a great bear. Each had a number of red linen bandanas; the bear had hers wrapped around her legs and neck, a walking sign of triumph over the Defias.
“Hi,” Áuratus said with a quick wave. “Are you two busy? Got a task that needs doing.” Her hand fell to her side.
Tap tap tap.