Wildfire Riders

Aely sat in the staff lounge sipping her tenth cup of coffee and staring at the letter in her hand. Since Stormwind’s destruction, the University’s infirmary had seen its fair share of injured. Aely had taken the reins as the lead of the school’s triage with Brother Theodious Forgebuilder by her side. She’d never admit it to the dwarf, but he was a damned fine healer in his own right, even if his bedside manner left much to be desired.

She glanced at the time. Five in the morning. Arrens would be coming through soon, she thought as she glanced once more at the letter in hand. She’d been up for the past 12 hours redressing wounds and giving comfort where she could. Professor Vyree would come in for the morning shift and replace both she and Theo leaving the weary paladin and priest to get some much needed rest.

Arrens entered the lounge, sleep in his eyes yet.”Good morning, my love,” he said as he kissed her gently on the forehead.

“Mornin’.” Aely stifled a yawn. “Folks’ll be up an’ out ‘fore long. Mostly just some broken bones left ta mend.”

The headmaster nodded solemnly. “You look ragged, dear. Why don’t you go and get some sleep?”

Aely looked at the half-full cup of coffee before her. “Aye, I should.”

Arrens sipped his coffee and cocked his head towards the letter in her hand. “What’s that?” he asked.

“Nothin’, love. Jus’ a letter.” She folded it up and put it in her breast pocket.

Arrens shrugged, stood up and said, “I need to go prepare for my first class. Get to bed. I’ll be along as soon as I have a spare moment and check in on you, ok?”

Aely smiled wearily and nodded as Arrens bent down to give her a kiss. As he left, she removed the letter once more and read it for what felt like the hundredth time.

Crusader Larsdottir:
Please Stand By for announcement of Orders. The Crusade will be mobilizing healers shortly after the first of the year to aid with the influx of wounded from the recently developing wars.
In the Service of the Light,
Commander Rebekah Brightsong

*****

Within a few days, the following announcement was posted around Stormwind and the Argent Dawn headquarters – some making it as far as Dalaran and the Tournament grounds in Northrend.

Decorations, of a sort

"Pssst. Wot!"

Wot peered up and down the hallway of the University, blue eyes scanning warily for the source of his name.

"Wot! Over here!"

After a moment he spotted Ben, the other squire's sandy brown head poking out from the entrance to Arrens and Aely's apartment.

"How... how did you get in there?"

"I asked Aely for the key, told her there was something Bricu needed for the wedding. Get in here." Ben's lanky form disappeared into the apartment. The other side of the door rustled loudly.

"Are you sure... are you sure that's ok? Isn't that their private apartment?"

"Yeah, but I need the keys to his motorcycle shed!"

"You're going to steal his motorcycle?" Wot's eyebrows shot up, settling somewhere around his hairline, as he stood in the doorway.

"Of course not, why would I do that! Someday he might even let me drive it! I'm going to decorate it. You know, for the wedding!"

"Dec... decorate a motorcycle?" Wot stepped very tentatively into the apartment, leaving the door half open.

"Sure, haven't you ever heard of that? You fill the panniers full of rice and put streamers all over it and bells and a big sign that says JUST MARRIED so everyone that sees them can yell and celebrate too!" The rustling noises moved over to the bookcase, where Ben was pulling random books off the shelf, opening them, and then closing them again.

"No, I've never heard of that on a motorcycle. Though I think I saw it once on a horse buggy. Why are you ... what's in the books?"

"Looking for a spare key, I know he has one in here somewhere." Ben moved on to a row of variously sized canisters, finding in one a collection of bookmarks and paper clips, and in another, nothing but some dust and a dead silverfish. He crowed as he opened the third - "Finally! Ok, let's go."

"Go? Where are we..."

Wot followed after the exuberant Ben, who bounded down the stairs three (or maybe four) at a time, headed out to where the Professor kept his beloved motorcycle. By the time he caught up, the taller boy had managed to get the padlock unlatched.

"Don't you think he'll be... upset? When he sees it?"

"Nah, he'll be too happy to be married. Haven't you seen them together?"

Ben opened the door to the shed with a whoop and disappeared inside. Wot stood looking at the door suspiciously. A few moments later Ben poked his head back out again.

"Well? Are you going to help me or not?"

Wot hesitated. "You're sure he won't be mad?"

"Of course he won't be mad. We're not going to hurt it. Just make it all festive for when they leave from the party tonight."

He glanced around the University green, making sure nobody else was around. "All... alright. Sure."

Wot followed Ben into the shed, looking admiringly at Arrens' blue and gold motorcycle. He'd obviously had it cleaned for that evening's getaway. Mr. Bricu had a motorcycle too. Maybe someday even he would have a motorcycle. Some paladins did drive them...

"WOT!"

Ben's voice startled him out of his momentary daydream. "WHAT?"

"What's something that'll make lots of noise if we tie it to the bike. These stupid bells are too quiet. That goblin said they'd be great for a Festive Winter Holiday, but I don't think he planned on a gas engine." He was carefully tying a sign to the back of the bike; it was painted with the words "JUST MARRIED" in bright red.

"Noisy... Uh." Wot thought for a moment. "What about... Didn't Mrs. Reynolds make soup last night?"

"Yeah, so what? What does soup have to do with anything?"

"Broth cans. Tin cans, I mean. Will that work? It should be really noisy on the cobble streets." Wot shrugged.

"Hah! Tin cans. Perfect! Go see if she'll give you any. If she asks, tell her we're working on a project for the Crusade."

"But... for the Crusade?"

"Just go, it'll be fine." Ben went back to attaching the sign.

Ten minutes later, Wot returned, carefully carrying an armload of lidless tin cans. The motorcycle was almost unrecognizable, decked out in white streamers with red and green tinsel. Ben had found some kind of soap to write on the windshield and had drawn little lopsided hearts all around the edges.

He was visibly pleased with Wot's delivery just long enough to pick up a can and look at it. "Ooh! These are great. Ok. Uhh... how do we get them on the bikes?"

Wot grabbed a pair of hammers off of the workbench, handing one to Ben.

"What's this for?"

"Take a big nail," he pointed at the neatly labeled jars of nails on a shelf, "and put a hole in the top of each can. Like... like this." Wot punched a hole in the first can. "When we get a bunch, we can... can tie them together like a ... a ...."

"A tin can bouquet?" Ben grinned.

Wot grinned back. "Yeah. A really noisy tin can bouquet."

Arrens ran into his private quarters, hurriedly shutting the door behind him with a thud. He quickly stripped off his shirt and replaced his pants with a pair made of the finest embersilk. Opening his closet, he found the robes he had worn in his youth when he would accompany his parents to church in Dalaran. He’d had to make a few minor alterations – he hated to admit he was not nearly as thin as he once was – but the robe fit him perfectly. Finally, he donned his finest cloth slippers and headed out the door. Mounting Inigo in his Sunday best, he couldn’t help but chuckle to himself at the irony that he, a warlock, was headed to a pub for meditation. “I thought asking Madam Lorelli to be my best man was unconventional,” he thought to himself. “But Master Bricu takes the pie for unconventionality.” Even in his head he knew that didn’t sound right. Still, he spurred Inigo on and raced from the University grounds to the Pig and Whistle.

Upon arrival, he dismissed his demonic steed with a flick of the wrist and a minor mental command. As he approached the door, he saw the sign. “Closed. Private Party Inside.” He gently pushed the door open and was greeted with sheer darkness. “Hello?” he called.

“Oi! Perfessor.” Bricu grabbed him by the arm and walked him down the stairs he could not see.

“Master Bricu, what is the meaning of this darkness?”

“It’s a reflection of yer soul, Prof. Th’ Light’s th’ only thing that’ll make ya see clearly.”

“You’re certain this is the best way to – ouch!” Arrens stubbed his toe on the leg of a chair. His eyes were taking a bit longer to adjust to the darkness than he would have cared for.

“Trust me,” Bricu said as he began applying a blindfold over Arrens’ eyes. “Stand still. Don’t move.”

“W-why are you putting a blindfold on me? It’s already pitch black in here.”

“Yeh wanted tradition, didn’t yeh? Now put this on an make sure yeh don’t peek. We need ta be extra cagey round yeh seein Aely.”

Arrens stood stock still listening to his surroundings. He could hear Bricu a few feet away. He also thought he could hear stifled laughter on the other side of the bar. “Who else is here, Master Bricu?”

“Perfessor, you can’t be askin’ questions of th’ Light. You can only answer them if you want yer soul cleansed and yer vows to be worth a damn. Now here. Drink this.” Bricu thrust a small glass into Arrens’ hands.

“What is it?” he asked.

Bricu tsked. “No questions. Jus’ drink it.” Arrens did.

As the liquid swirled in his mouth, it had a sweetness to it he had never before tasted. But as he swallowed it, a burning sensation caused him to start coughing uncontrollably. “What in the Nether /is/ this?” he demanded.

“It’s yer sins, Perfessor. Yer coughin’ them up. Now here. Ya gotta lot more sins worth coughin’ up.” He thrust another glass in Arrens’ hand. This process repeated itself three more times. As Arrens drank more of the Allerian Gold, he found himself coughing less and less until all he felt was a little heady and flush in the face. His tongue felt like it was growing slightly in his mouth as he started to slur a bit. “That, initiate, was the Light itself preparin’ yeh fer the ordeal for which yeh must go through. Lucky fer yeh Aely decided against the traditional kindappin’-an-rescue scenario that the Northern Church encourages.”

“Kidnapping..”

“Professor, quiet!” Bricu said. Arrens could hear another muted giggle. He felt a light hand on his shoulder. It wasn’t nearly as heavy as Bricu’s.

“Madam Lorelli?” The hand squeezed his shoulder in agreement.

“Strewth brother, yer gonna be feelin’ the Light in the mornin’ if yeh don’t keep quiet. Now then, there are three Tenet’s o’the Holy Light: Respect, Tenacity an’ Compassion. When we move from these tenets, we venture towards Sin.” Arrens could hear the corks being pulled from three separate bottles. Lore gently pulled Arrens towards the sounds of liquor and helped him sit gently in a chair. ”The first tenet, Respect, is of’en the easiest ta give lip service. Respect is more than just sweet words. Sometimes it incorporates bitter truths.” Bricu pushed another glass into Arrens’ hand. ”Drink up, boyo, then answer the questions posed ta yeh. Be truthful. Be respectful.”

Juniper berries, honey and basil–basil?–filled Arren’s nostrils as he pulled the drink to his lips. “Master Bricu, you’re sure this is the proper way to begin the wedding?”

“Brother, I’m a holy man. I’m positive this is the way ta a proper marriage. Now drink the damn drink.”

He did. The bitterness took him by surprise as it contrasted mightily with the Allerian Gold that lingered in his mouth. “Reshpect,” he slurred. “Got it. What’sh next? And can I have some more?”

Bricu cuffed him lightly on the back of the head. “Yer askin’ more of the Light?!” he exclaimed. “Oi! This is gonna be a long night fer us.” He placed another, smaller glass into Arrens’ hand. “The second tenet is Tenacity. This one takes the longest ta teach, but ya ain’t got the time fer it right now. Only through tenacity can ya hope ta change the world, boyo. Now drink.”

Once more, Arrens drank the proffered liquor. If the warlock thought the Allerian Gold burned his throat, there was no apt description he could give to what this drink was doing to his mouth. The strong taste of cinammon burned his tongue and cheeks. When he swallowed it, he felt the warmth spread from the pit of his stomach to his skin as he began to sweat lightly. He shook his head to clear it the way one does when drinking a strong alcohol that does not agree with one’s delicate taste buds. “Ok, no more of that one…hic!”

Again, Bricu cuffed him. “Tenacity, Prof. Don’t ferget it.” He thrust yet another glass into Arrens’ hand, this one much larger than the last two. The large goblet that held the liquor and the long stem of the glass led Arrens to believe it was a wine glass. “The last tenet is Compassion. If ya help another ta increase their hapiness, yer connection ta the Light gets stronger.”

Arrens nodded. “I can do that.” He was cuffed again and a small amount of his drink spilled upon his silken robes.

“But remember – If ya give help that’s not wanted, yer a poncy git that won’t be serving the Light. Now drink up. All of it.”

Arrens raised the glass to his lips and sniffed it appreciatively. He knew the scent well and relished it. “Mashter Bricu, thish ish Dalaran Red, the finesht wine created in my home. One doesh not shimply chug -”

“Yer questioning the damned Light again, Perfessor,” Bricu interrupted. Arrens sighed and tilted his head back drinking what he could while some spilled out around the corners of his lips and landed upon the collar of his robe. “Right. Now then. Ya got the three tenets or are we doin’ it again?”

Arrens’ head fell forward as he shook it as vigorously as he was able. “No. No, I’ve got it. Reshpect, Tenashity and…um…” He faltered for a moment before raising his head and exclaiming, “Compassion!” Several people he could not see tried in vein to stifle their laughter.

“Right. Well done, lad.” Bricu walked behind Arrens and removed the blindfold. The lights had been turned on in the Pig and Whistle as Arrens’ eyes took a long time to adjust. He looked around and saw Lorelli, the only woman in the room, and a dozen other men, most wearing the Black and Red of the Wildfire RIders, and a few members of his staff from Stormwind University. He waved meekly at each of them, oftentimes once for each of the three people standing where he was certain only one should be. “Now then. We’ve got some special guests comin’. Yer gonna have ta put this newfound knowledge ta the test. Ya ready, Perfessor?”

Arrens nodded and blinked in a vein attempt to clear his eyes and regain some focus. “Tests. Yesh. I’m good at test, Mashter Bricu.”

“Good.” Bricu looked back at the bar towards Reese Langston and snapped his fingers. Reese disappeared into the back room and ushered out four dwarven women clad in full plate armor. Each of them carried a sword that seemed impossibly large for women of such small stature. They formed the four corners of a square and bowed to one another. Bricu handed Arrens another glass of wine. “They’re gonna perform a ritual dance fer ya. Remember the tenets.” He nodded to the women to begin.

Arrens watched as they danced in an obviously well choreographed number. The women twirled and swung their swords, each attack deftly parried by their opposite. The clash of metal on metal rang loudly in the enclosed tavern. As it seemed the ritual dance was nearing an end, Arrens took a sip of his wine. Just then, each woman placed her sword on the clasp of the woman opposite her. With a flick of their wrists, their plate garments fell with a crash to the floor leaving each woman wearing nothing more than plated gauntlets and boots. Arrens choked on his wine. The clapping, laughter and catcalls from the others present in the tavern could not prevent the look of shocked horror Arrens gave to Bricu. “Remember the tenets, lad. And drink up.”

Arrens took one last look at the naked dwarven women before him and swallowed his wine in one fell swoop. When he was finished, his arms dangled at his sides. He slumped forward as his head rested heavily upon the table. His wine glass slipped from his fingers, but Lorelli snatched it in midair before it shattered upon the floor. She looked from the passed out headmaster to Bricu. “You’re going to make me carry the big lug home, aren’t you?”

Bricu grinned mischeviously. “That’s the price fer bein’ the best man, Lore.”

Lorelli flipped him the bird and downed her shot of whiskey. “You’re a right bastard, Bittertongue.”