Naiara also allows for an interesting flash-back/flash-forward kind of fiction. Personally, I found it easier to figure out Wildfire Riders role in killing the Lich King by using Naiara.

Naiara ran as fast as she could, away from the University and the bastards that could not keep their gobs shut. She dodged the guards–the one her parents paid to keep her in school–and cut straight to the Canals. It was the long way back home, she knew, but also the least likely way for people to follow.

Half way through the streets, Naiara knew that someone–maybe even the Headmaster himself–would look for her at home. So cut towards Old Town, and took the route her parents taught her. Through Costra territory–flashing enough cant to show she was a Rider–and right to the back alley of the Pig and Whistle.

She meant to run head on to the back door and hide in her uncle’s office. She also meant to be more careful running the streets. Naiara was crying, so she could barely see a few inches past her face. She could barely hear with the blood rushing in her ears. She ran on instinct, counting the steps from her school to her second home.

Naiara thought she was five steps away from the back door of the Pig and Whistle, so she was taken by surprise when she ran head first into a wall. Naiara landed on her arse, then somersaulted backward, just to keep herself safe. As she started to pick herself up, someone grabbed her. She screamed a string of obscenities sure to grab someone’s attention.
“Gitoffme you filthy fuckin’ c–”

“Naiara Bittertongue,” her father said sternly. “Watch yer mouth.”

“Da!” She yelped. Naiara stopped struggling and threw her arms around her father.

“What the hell are yeh doin wee girl? Why aren’t yeh at school?”

Naiara hugged Bricu harder in answer to his question. Bricu shifted the sleeping infant on his shoulder and tried to soothe both children at once.

“Yeh nearly knocked me an’ yer brother inta the canals, love. Now then, yeh ready ta say what’s on yer mind then?”

Naiara, her face burried into her father’s leg, shook her head slightly.

“Did yeh want ta go inside.” Naiara shook again, this time wiping her nose on his pants. Naiara pulled away slowly, her hair covering half of her face. “No, Da,” she whispered. She sat down at the edge of the canal and dangled her feet over the edge. Then Naiara put her head in her hands, and refused to look up.

Bricu sat next to her, still rocking Padraig. He watched Naiara, noting the tell-tale cuts on her knuckles, and waited for her to say what had happened.

“Da, why do yeh call the Lich King the Bwoody Prince?”

“That’s what Northmen call ‘em. Yeh…want ta know ‘bout all that?”

“Because Araduin an’ Catherine an’ Stephen were sayin’ I was a barmy girl fer talkin’ like that. Then they said their da’s were the ones that killed the Lich King. Not the Riders.”

“So yeh ran from school ‘cause someone said somethin’ yeh didn’t like.”

“No.” Naiara said softly.

“Why’d yeh run from school?”

“Because I didn’t want to get yelled at.”

“Who was gonna yell?”

“The Headmaster.”

“Why was Headmaster Caltrains gonna yell?” Bricu asked.

“Because I hit them. Hard. I hurted my hand doing it.” Naiara showed Bricu the cuts on her knuckles. Bricu took her hands and kissed near the cuts. He saw that Naiara had not just hit someone straight in the mouth. Her tiny hands were covered in bruises and cuts, the kind that would have been absorbed by traditional gloves. She took to boxing a little too well.

“I can see that love. Who’d yeh hit?”

“Araduin, Catherin and Stephen. I kicked Stephen too.”

Bricu nodded. “Yer goin’ back ta apologize ta each o’them t’morrow. An’ yer gonna write letters ta them. An’ yer not gettin’ dessert tanight fer yer cursin’.”

“DA!” Naiara said. She pulled her head up from her hands to complain.

“OI.” Bricu said, cutting Naiara off. “Now yer gonna listen ta the truth o’the matter on the Bloody Prince.”

“Did you kill him?” Naiara asked, no longer complaining. She focused on her father, eyes as wide a saucers, and waited to hear the story.

“Love… First, yeh need ta understand somethin’. He was our prince. He was our Chief. Like Uncle Tarq.”

“HE was like Uncle TARK?!”

“A chief like Tarq. A boss. Yeh ken that?”

“Aye. He gave orders and people did their jobs.” Naiara nodded for added emphasis.

“That’s me clever wee girl. Exactly. He did many bad things love. He hurt people. He ruined the Old North. Made it so the flowers couldn’t grow. He hurt the people, the animals an’….” Bricu paused and studied Naiara.

Naiara looked up at her Da, listening to his every word. She filled his pause with a question. “Is it story time, da?”

Story-time, the only sure-fire way to keep Naiara entertained for more than half a minute. He smiled before he continued. “Aye love, its story time.”

“The Bloody Prince was a bad man, a Royal from the Old North. Do yeh ken what that means.”

“He was a Northman. And a shitebird.” Naiara said.

“Exactly. He was the biggest shitebird Azeroth has e’er seen.”

“Worse than…”

Bricu cut her off. “Much worse, love.”

Bricu glanced down at Naiara and looked through her. “The King called the banners fer an assault, led by a good man. Yer mum an’ I decided ta go North, even though yer mum had yeh in her belly. Like yer brother was.”

Naiara shook her head in understanding.

“So we went North ta make sure yeh didn’t have ta grow up in a world with such a bad man in it. It took a year o’fightin’ ‘im ta finally bring him down. An’ we did it, yer family was there. Yer mum. Yer. All yer aunts a’n uncles. The Kings Men were there…”

“Ballacks ta them.” Naiara said.

Bricu held up a finger. “Oi, this was their fight ta love. Even the Horde was there, fightin’ their way ta kill ‘im. When the end came…”

The Val’kyr picked up Threnn in mid prayer. The Light sputtered and failed as she was lifted into the air. She struggled and kicked, but Bricu knew she was held fast. Tarquin was no where near her. White feathered arrows peppered the valkyr, but it hadn’t slowed. Ulthanon kept firing. Bricu called on the Light to stun Arthas’ handmaiden. It slowed enough for him to catch up and slam a mace into its wing, but it was so close to the edge….

“When the end came, we fought his best an’ scariest monsters love. We nearly lost a lot o good people, but we fought as hard as we could.”

“Mum too?”

“Yer Mum fought as hard as any Northman. Yer Uncle Jak would trade off with Uncle Uthas ta keep the Bloody Prince from cu–hurtin’ yer Auntie Yva an’ Annalea. Uncle Shad was in the thick o’the fightin’ ta, helpin’ everyone stand up. That night, Bloody Prince’s throne room was as full as the Pig on a Saturday night.”

“Was Elly there?” Naiara asked.

“No love, Elly wasn’t there. But lots were. Maybe Anduin’s da or Catherine’s mum was there. There were a lot o’people there.”

Another Val’kyr fell from the sky, this time grabbing Bricu under the shoulders. He cursed and swung his mace, called on the Light and the Fox to keep him from harm, but the ledge grew closer. He tried to swing his legs up and over to free himself, but the Val’kyr was too strong. Just at the ledge, the Val’kyr shuddered, stunned by the Light, and was peppered with magic, arrows and bullets. Bricu fell to the ground and slid forward. He watched another body fall of the ledge before turning around and rejoining the fight...

“Da?” Naiara asked.

Bricu came back to the story. “Lots o’us where there. I figured yeh’d be older when yeh wanted ta talk ‘bout what happened that day. In the end…”

…The world went dark. Bricu felt himself pulled in two directions. Towards the warmth of the Light or the cold of Shadow. One beckoned, one pulled and Bricu fought both to stay on Azeroth, with his daughter. Then the Light pushed him back to consciousness. He heard Tirion’s voice…

“Da, is story time o’er?” Naiara asked.

“No love. It’s still story time. In the end, with the Highlord Tirion’s help, we all put him down. It took all o’us ta do it. Riders, Roses, Professor Caltrain’s folk. Orcs, Trolls, Tauren… It was the last time we actually stood shoulder ta shoulder .”

“So why did Araduin say the Riders weren’t there?”

“Sometimes love, folk make up fake stories. Yeh know that. Right?”

“Stephen said that his da had a piece from the Bwoody Prince’s throne room. Is that true?”

Bricu shrugged his shoulders, careful not to disturb the still sleeping Padraig. “Maybe it is love. Maybe it isn’t. Most o’us couldn’t bare ta touch anything there. The Highlord’s soldiers kept a close on folk ta make sure no one stole somethin’ dangerous. Did he say he was gonna bring it in?”

“He said he goin’ ta. Can I bring a sword to school and show them what you killed him with?”

Bricu shook his. “Love, wasn’t just me…an’ yer too young ta have a blade that big. But…” Bricu sighed. “If yeh go inside an’ work on yer apologies an’ take a nap, I’ll give yeh somethin’ yeh can take ta class t’morrow.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, love.”

Naiara scooted back from the edge and hugged Bricu, throwing her arms around his chest to keep Padraig asleep. She kissed him on the cheek and walked to the back door of the Pig and Whistle.

“Yeh comin’ in, Da?” Naiara asked.

“Right behind yeh, love,” Bricu said. He watched over his shoulder as Naiara walked into the Pig. Confident she was inside–and not doubling back to spy, as she was wont to do–he reached into his pocket and pulled out a jagged piece of metal, still cool to the touch these years later. It was covered in runes and wards, set in a mithril filigree that was also covered in protective magic, even though the Crusade promised him that this piece was inert.

“Just ta be safe, then, we’ll keep it in holy water ta.”

With that, Padraig stirred. He was not crying, but he was starting to mew and coo. Bricu stood slowly and hummed a lullaby, to keep Padraig soothed for a few minutes more.

–

Naiara snuck out of bed four times–once without the even the hint of a pretext–to pester Bricu about school. During her fourth and final time, she announced that “Good da’s don’t break promises.” To which he responded, “Good girls let da’s finish their promises.”

It was well into the night when he finally finished the charm. Set in a crystal vial, surrounded in holy water, was the inert piece of armor. Even surrounded by the wards, the vial was cool to the touch. He showed to to Threnn, who said it seemed safe enough if she didn’t wear it as a charm. Satisfied it was safe enough, he brought it to Naiara’s room.

He handled the vial and the candle in the same hand as he opened the door to her room. Naiara was sitting straight up in bed, staring right at him.

“I thought I told yeh ta get ta bed,” Bricu said.

“Yeh said yeh’d have somethin’ fer class.” she retorted.

“Oi. Watch it wee girl. I can still add more punishments on ta yer list if yer gonna be mouthy.”

“Da, I want ta see it!” she exclaimed. “Lemme see it.”

“Yeh can see it. T’morrow, when I walk yeh ta school, I’m gonna hand it ta Miss Arliece. She’s gonna hold on ta it till yer teacher lets yeh show it off. Alright?”

“Okay. Can I see it now?” She shifted anxiously, holding a hand out for the vial.

“Here, love. Look at it carefully then give it back.” Bricu handed the vial to her. Naiara nearly snatched it from his hands.

“Thank yeh da, thank yeh thank yeh thank…” As her hands closed around the vial, Naiara’s eyes grew wide. She stopped talking. Bricu set the candle by her bed and sat on her bed.

“Love? Wee Girl? Oi, Naiara!” He said. Naiara said nothing, but he could hear Threnn, with a wailing Padraig, getting closer.

“What is it?” Threnn said.

“She took the vial, then she just stopped…”

“Mum, Da.” Naiara said. Tears filled her eyes, and the vial dropped out of her hand.

“What is it love?” Threnn asked. She sat next to her, holding her close and stroking her hair. Bricu scooped up the vial and sat on the other side of her. He wrapped his arms around Threnn, Naiara and Padraig.

“He’s not going to send the White Ladies with Wings after me? Is he?”

Bricu and Threnn looked at each, as if to comfort each other at what their daughter had seen. They both spoke at once.

“No love.”

“No wee girl. No.”

“I saw them take mum an’ da…an’ I saw the fightin’… He’s gone, isn’t he? Really gone?” The tears came in a torrent.

“Aye love. There’s no more Bloody Prince. We made sure o’that. “

“Your da and I won’t let any monsters get to you. Ever.” Threnn said.

“Puh-puh-promise?” Naiara said.

“Promise.” Her parents said.

The rest of the details–picking up the shirt and pants, having a laugh at, or with Del (Bricu wasn’t exactly sure which)–was as immaterial as the last of his cigarette. What mattered was that he was smartly dressed with someplace to go. He crushed the cigarette underneath his boot and smoothed out the front of his shirt before he knocked on the door to Threnn’s apartment. Nerves aside, he flashed the best grin he could muster.

Bricu picked through the bouquet while waiting for Mrs. Stone, the land lady, to open the front door. Threnn explained that Mr. and Mrs. Stone were fixtures in Old Town, even more beloved than the vaunted Pig and Whistle. When Mr. Stone passed away, she converted the top of her house into apartments. Mrs. Stone did this more for the company and comfort of others, rather than a source of income. The Stones had done quite well for themselves after the Sacking, but they never moved from their family home. Threnn and Annalea treated Mrs. Stone like she was their grandmother, and for good reason. She rented her apartment to the Al’Cair girls well below its going rate, had dinner waiting for them on certain nights and always invited them down for cookies or cake. Mrs. Stone even gave Bricu cookies, after he helped her move a new bed frame into her house.

Eventually, he found one rose whose petals were not yet completely open, and held it out for in front of him. By the time she had opened the door, Bricu had the rest of the bouquet behind his back.

“Bricu, don’t you look dapper!” Mrs. Stone said cordially. She took the flower he offered and said, “Oh dearie, how sweet of you! Roses are my favorite!”

“Mrs. Stone,” Bricu said. He bowed at the waist, as per current court fashion. “I’m just here ta escort the lovely Threnn Al’Cair ta the Longwell’s Harvest ball, an truth be told, I’m just tryin’ ta match her. Although, now I’m havin’ second thoughts…..”

Mrs. Stone’s face fell. “What do you mean?”

“Why, Mrs. Stone.” Bricu said with a grin, “Say the word an’ I’ll take yeh in me Threnny’s place.”

As quickly as her face had fallen, Mrs. Stone burst into laughter.

“Master Bittertongue that is quite enough. Now go on upstairs! Threnn and Annalea are waiting for you”

“Thank yeh Mrs. Stone. Cheers!”

Bricu bounded up the stairs for Threnn’s apartment like a boy half his age. When he reached her door he smoothed out his shirt and pants with his palms. He ran a hand through his hair, either to fix the part in his hair or to calm his nerves. Steady yer self yeh fuckin’ wanker. He though to himself. This isn’t your first lady friend nor is it yer first ball. He rapped on her door gently, chastising himself for still having nerves about her.

It was Annalea who answered the door. It was clear from her modest attire that she was not attending the Longwell’s ball. She was dressed in a plain robes of a Darnassian initiate, and her hair was braided down her back. She did her best to look serious and somber. Even dressed like an initiate, she failed miserably.

“Bricu.” Annie said. Her eyes darted to the bouquet he held in his hands.

“Annie.” He said with a nod.

“Were you being chased upstairs?”

“Strewth, was I that loud?”

“Blessed Elune, we thought the Watch was coming to kick the bloody door down!” She said.

“What were doin’ that yeh feared the Watch?”

“Oh, fear had nothing to do with it. You know Pomeroy has a bit of a crush on Threnny…”

“No, I didn’t.” Bricu said. He paused, momentarily taken aback by this news. “It’s a good thing yeh opened the door then.”

“Really, why is that?”

“Cause otherwise, I’d have ta knock the door in meself. So, who’d yeh piss off ta get prayer duty tanight?” Bricu asked.

“I haven’t pissed anyone off, but I am hoping to practice my Darnassian,” Anna said with a grin that screamed mischief. She moved out of the doorway and let Bricu into the apartment. As he walked in, she looked back at the flowers.

“If you give me just one flower,” she said with the same grin, “I’ll tell you which are her favorites.”

“Sorry Annie, I gave the spare ta Mrs. Stone.”

“So you can’t even give me one flower?”

Bricu looked over his bouquet. “I’ve got some baby’s breath fer yeh.” Bricu said.

“Information like this is extremely important, and here you go offering me a weed? I’m insulted.”

“Lillies. Threnny likes Stargazer Lilies.” Bricu said, “Theresa said they were out o’season, so she gave me a deal for this one.”

Annie’s grin fell slightly, letting Bricu know he was right on the mark. He bit back his customary gloat and smiled. Annalea, slightly crestfallen, asked, “Did you figure that out or did she tell you?”

“A wee bit o’both. I saw her eyin’ some a few weeks back, so I asked ‘er bout ‘em.”

“That’s clever of you.” Annie said.

“I know. ”

“Threnn has a weakness for clever, but she does not approve of cocky..”

“Annie, lass, that ain’t cocky. That’s confident. Confident an’ clever, that’s she’s with me.” Bricu said.

Annalea grinned again. “That’s not the only reason why she’s with you. I’ll go get her, she was having a hell of a time with her hair…”

“You’re not flirting with my paladin, are you?” Threnn shouted from the back room. “You said you had your eyes on that priest…”

Annie rolled her eyes, then shouted back, “He’s not my type. He’s too clever by half.”

Bricu didn’t answer Threnn either. Instead, he tried to look down the hallway, towards the sound of her voice. When he finally saw her, he held his breath for just a moment. She was wearing a deceptively simple blue and white checker patterned homespun dress. The neckline was a tad more revealing than she would normally wear on one of their outings.

“Threnny” Bricu finally said, “yer brilliant.”

“I helped get her ready…” Annie said, but Bricu had already started to move past her. “Her hair…”

“You’re looking quite handsome tonight.” Threnn said

“I also helped with her make-up” Annie said.

“Och, its nothin’ that Delion didn’t fret o’er fer hours on end.” Bricu said.

“Well he did a fine job. It’s perfect for tonight’s party.” Threnn turned her attention to the flowers, “More flowers, for me?”

“Aye. Well, all but one. I did give Mrs. Stone a rose.”

“You didn’t give me any flowers.” Annie quipped.

“Anna.” Threnn said, handing Annalea the bouquet, “Why don’t you be a dear and put these in some water.”

“Sister-mine, are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Yes. And I’m doing it nicely. Now put those flowers in some water, unless you want to watch me thank my gallant paladin for being so thoughtful.”

Annalea grabbed the flowers from Threnn–pausing to take a brilliant, long stemmed yellow rose for herself–and stormed off down the hallway.

“You could have at least included me in the conversation!” She shouted back at her sister.

“Sorry Annie!” Bricu shouted back. “Yer black hearted villain’ o’a sister seduced the manners straight outta me.”

Threnn took a few steps towards Bricu, eyes cast downward. “Do you really think I’m a black hearted villan?” She asked.

“That depends, love, on how yer plannin’ on thankin’ me fer those flowers.”

In response, Threnn closed the distance to Bricu, standing close enough that Bricu could smell the perfume she had in her hair. Threnn, smiling like her sister, draped her arms around his shoulders. He wrapped his arms around her waist. Bricu leaned slightly, just close enough to whisper.

“This is typically where the villain does somethin’ ta distract our noble hero.”

“Oh, I know what the villain would do, and I could even tell you what this particular villian wants to do.” Threnn whispered back. She nibbled at his ear and kissed down his cheek till she reached his lips. Bricu started to kiss her back, but Threnn pulled her arms off of his shoulders and pushed him away.

“Now that’s black-hearted villainy right there, love.” He said.

“Of course it is. And its all part of my plan. You wouldnt’ to ruin my plans this early, would you?” She asked, grinning wildly.

“That depends.” Bricu said. Threnn was standing at the door, waiting for Bricu to compose himself. He took Threnn’s cloak off its hook and draped it over her shoulders.

“Depends on what?” Threnn asked.

“Depends on how devious yer plans are gonna get.”

Threnn continued walk down the hallway, chuckling all the while. When Bricu caught up with her, just outside the door, she was facing the door way, still smiling.

“Love,” Threnn said, “my plans involve throwing our hapless hero to the villain’s favorite henchmen. You aren’t not afraid of the Bells, are you?”

“I’ve only heard stories on how clever they are. I’m not afraid o’clever blokes.”

“Then my plan is going fantastically.” Threnn said.

“Touche love, Touche. So are yeh gonna tell me ’bout ‘em on the carriage ride then?”

“Only if we have time love,” Threnn said with a wink, “Only if we have time.”

“More o’yer devious plan?”

“You’ll have to escort me to the carriage to find out.” Threnn replied.

Threnn held her arm out for Bricu. He bowed low, in the southron style and said, “Miss Al’Cair, would yeh do me the honor o’hurryin’ t’the carriage? Seems we have a lot ta accomplish in a painfully short time.”

“Master Bittertongue, it would be my pleasure.”

The two paladins walked through the streets of Stormwind, arm in arm, all the while smiling at Threnn’s devious plans.

–

Fifteen minutes in Ironforge was all that kept Bricu from being an out right liar to Threnn. It took him five minutes to navigate to the sooty center of Ironforge, two minutes to get a smith’s attention, three to negotiate with her and five more to wait for the right gryphon to Hillsbarad. The three minute negotiation was as simple as waiting for the gryphon.

“Oi” Bricu said to the dwarven woman in front of him, “Yer Kavandra Stoneborn, right?”

The woman didn’t look up for the forge to answer. She get her head turned towards the fire. Bricu could see the light of the forge playing off her shaved head. It was as smooth as the pommel on his service dagger.

“That I am. Now what yeh need lad? Lessons?”

“Nah. I need a forge. Word is yeh good at buildin’ ‘em.”

Kavandra set her tools on the anvil to her side. She regarded Bricu for a few moments, running figures and costs through her head. Her eyes betrayed her as she looked to his coin purse.

“What’s yer name lad?”

“Bricu Bittertongue.” He answered.

Kavandra clucked, the sound of the gears on an adding machine doing complicated sums.

“It’ll cost.” Kavandra said.

“I can pay.”

“Where at?”

“Grizzly Hills.” Bricu answered.

“That’ll cost more. When?”

“Within a month.”

“That’ll be a small fortune. Yeh can pay that?”

Bricu slung his pack to the floor and handed Kavandra a sack of gems.

“Spoils from the north. Each one o’those was hard fought. Each one worth even more t’the right folk. We got a deal?”

Kavandra peered at the contents of the sack. The rubies, amertines and emeralds glittered from the light of the forge. “How many o’these are mine?” She asked.

“All o’them.”

“Aye, we got a deal.” She took off the heavy leather glove on her right hand. Bricu grasped Kavandra’s forearm, in the Dwarven fashion, as she said an oath. Her grip on his arm was strong, as he expected. But her hands were not as rough as he thought they would be.

“Yeh can take me crew out there in a week. Sound like a plan?”

“Aye. I’ll be here, bright an’ early. I’ll meet yeh an’ yers in Menethil. I got lodgin’ all set up fer yer lot too. That’s a perk fer yeh.”

Kavandra simply grunted. “Don’t matter t’me. All I taste is ash from the forge.” She turned back to her work, pulling her gloves back on.

“Know the feelin’.” He said as he walked back to the gryphons. “Too much grief t’taste more than ash.”

–

Bricu rode his charger North, from South Shore, to where Jolstraer’s farm was supposed to be. He saw the smoke on the horizon when he was still leagues away. Jolly’s farm house, a small, but traditional Lordaeron style homestead, was still smoldering. His barn was intact. One lone scarecrow stood watch over the ripe fields. Jolly had dressed the Orc in scavenged mail. Bricu could hear the jingle of the mail as the wind whiped around the Scare-Orc; he couldn’t see it over because Jolly had placed a tattered Horde banner over the mail. It held on to a wicked cresent of a battle axe, still fearsome despite the terrible state of repair. This piecemeal terror loomed over Jolly’s what was left of jolly’s fields.

Bricu tied off his charger to a fence post and wandered through what was left to be tilled over. He saw the stunted and wilted crops that did not survive the season. When he reached the sandy patch of ground where Jolly had planted leeks–Bricu’s favorite of the local greens–he knelt in the fields.

“Yeh fuckin’ tosser.” He whispered, “Yeh planted leeks. Yeh really planted the fuckin’ leeks.” He pulled out a stunted stalk–one that was no where near ready for market–and examined it from tips to roots. At first, Bricu thought that this particular leek probably took too late in the season to grow to a proper size. Then he noticed the blackened root tips. Peeling back a layer of the leek, he saw a sickly pale green, not the healthy whites and deep greens it should have been. It was sick to the core. Still on his knees, Bricu turned the diseased leek over in his hands.

“Sick t’the core.” Bricu said, staring at the leek. “Yeh could’ve gotten Sky or Shad t’look at yer fields. Yer fuckin’ Northman pride, isn’t it? Yeh could’ve told us the fuckin’ ritual wasn’ workin’ or yeh wanted somethin’ else. Couldn’t yeh?”

Bricu stood up slowly, still holding on to the leek.

“So many bloody things yeh should have fuckin’ done,” Bricu shouted, “But yeh decided t’save us what? Pain? Time? Worry? Fuck all that. We still got the brunt o’this. An’ no proper way t’really mourn yeh.”

Bricu threw the leek at the orc. It smacked like a wet rag against the back of the tabard. A few links of mail clinked, but the leek slide off the Scare-Orc and landed on the ground.

“Yer a selfish fuckin’ bastard! Fuckin’ thick skulled arsehole!” He screamed at the Scare Orc. “We would’ve been here too! We would’ve helped yeh through it! Yeh fuckin’ coward. All that’ talk ’bout the north, ’bout carryin’ on. It was all shite! Yeh giant fuckin’ GOBSHITE!”

Walked towards the scare Orc, his boots leaving deep impressions in the sandy soil. He shook the pole while the mail sang and the axe fell to his feet. He picked up the rusty axe with both hands, spinning the haft once for good measure, and hacked away at the pole.

“Let’s do it right then!” Bricu yelled as he hacked a deep gouge into the pole.

“Yer gonna pass on inta the Light.” Another chunk of wood flew off from pole.

“Yer gonna leave the rest o’us here!” The mail, straw and tabard fell to the ground as the pole snapped.

“Yeh want t’pass off so we can’t say goodbye! Then let’s do it fuckin’ right!”

Bricu brought the axe down on the scare orc, scattering bits of mail, cloth and straw across the field.

“Fuck yerself Taborwynn. I can’t share a drink with yeh, can’t say good bye properly an’ I can’t even tear your house down. FUCK YEH!”

Bricu slammed the axe into the ground, with one last shower of sparks and mail to mark the utter destruction of the Scare Orc. He slumped down, again onto his knees, and looked at the remains of Jolly’s orc.

“All I wanted was t’say goodbye yeh. Uther wept mate….so did I.” Bricu rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I wept in front o’the entire fuckin’ pig cause I couldnt’ have one last drink with the only bastard left from Stratholme. Was that too much t’ask fer, yeh crusty o’git? Our kind ain’t gonna come back again. Ain’t like our holy ghosts are gonna show up like Uther’s.”

Bricu shifted his legs and leaned against the remains of the pole.

“This is what I’m gonna do yeh ol’bastard. I’m gonna sit here, in what’s left o’yer fuckin’ farm, an’ smoke two cigarettes. One fer me, one fer yer blessed corpse. Then I’m gonna clean up me mess here an’ say a prayer fer yeh. One with flowery words an’ vivid imagery from back home. Then I’m gonna head home t’me wife an’ wee one. If yer inclined t’haunt me fer speakin’ ill, I’d welcome it. I’ll miss yeh mate. I will really miss yeh.”

Bricu sat and smoked the last of his Northern leaf. He stayed with the ruin till the sun set over the ruins of Jolstaer Taborwynn’s little house.

The Bloodelf couple in the stands kept to themselves, whispering in their language. They screeched with joy when a Sindoeri rider dehorsed a human flying the colors of Stormwind. Bricu stood nearby watching the match. What caught Bricu’s attention as he mounted his horse was the ribbon–braided white, blue and black–that all the riders for Lordaeron attached to their lance. It was a detail that did not escape the couple either.

The flight master handed Bricu the reins of the hippogryph. She ran briefly, building up speed to take off into the air. Bricu had her buzz the grounds. He saluted the fellow from Lordaeron before soaring back to Dalaran.