Wildfire Riders

The fire was fading. It was imprisoned by its shallow pit and a watchful eye, crackling and spitting as it railed against its encroaching and inevitable demise. A pale, slender hand reached over and hovered above it as a whispered enchantment drifted past on the chill wind and the flames leapt up into life once more. The hand was pulled back with experienced efficiency, just in time to prevent it from being burnt.

Miahala Taborwynn sat beside the fire, perhaps closer than most people would dare but she felt a kinship to flames and did not fear them. She needed the light, besides, and the warmth was welcome.

Northrend was a cold place, and for more reasons than just the temperature.

She sat in her winter shift, with her cloak curled around her. Her dress was in her hands, torn and wounded from the day's work and only just now being mended by the dim light of moon and flame. Mia's hand was almost as skilled with a needle as with a flame. The work would need to be done before she went to sleep, and before the new day began, so she continued working. Besides, a few moments of quiet - a rare commodity of late - was nothing she would shun.

Not far from her, piled in thick furs from animals that had been alive and breathing not a day before, an ornery mountain slumbered. Sergeant Jolly - who was anything but - was bandaged and bloodied from the day's events, sleeping heavily much like the twelve remaining soldiers under his command, who were camped a small ways below where he and his wife now rested.

Jolstraer slept, but it was not rest. Nightmares plagued him. He could not get the images of the day out of his head; not the blood and gore. The brutality of battle had long since lost its impact upon him; living through three wars and the decimation of your homeland might do that to a person. What had disturbed him the most was not the merciless assault of the dead, but the restlessness of those who had once lived. He knew the lands they now called the Dragonblight from years ago, when he had come here on a fool's errand for the Prince. He remembered the ships burned in the harbor. The destruction of those who had been falsely accused of committing the act. To see the souls of his fallen comrades - men and dwarves he had know, had drunken with, had told stories and remembered friends with. To see them, still haunting the lands in which they had died...it had worn on him, far more than he knew.

The sound of shifting, a quiet rustling, followed by softer-sounding human-made noises - sighs, short grunts - brought Mia's attention swiftly from her work. Lifting her head, she looked around. She felt she knew what it was, but checked to make sure nothing else lurked.

All was silent... but for her husband.

Miahala set aside her sewing with no care for her place or setting it on the ground. She rose to her feet in a single, fluid motion and walked over to where Jolstraer lay. She knew the toll this land and this journey was taking on him, she saw it day by day, but they had no choice but to be here. Elsewise they would not have left their youngest daughter in her sister's care to come up here. She would've been home, with Tianna and Jolstraer, though Sadira was entrenched in her priest training.

"Jolstraer," Mia breathed his name as she knelt beside him. Her cloak drifted open and let the chill air in, but she ignored it. Her attention was wholly on him, gently resting her hands on his face. She was cautious, as she knew he did not always wake from nightmares... shall we say, 'calmly', but she was ready and otherwise intent to wake him.

The sergeant stirred heavily, with grunts and flailing. In an instant he sprang up, chest bare save for the dressings that covered his chest from the day's earlier battles. His fist came up and around in a hooking blow that would have staggered a bull, a roar coming up and out of his nightmarish state as he did so.

In the forefront of her mind drifted the idea that something like this could happen, and so the mage had been prepared - having sat on the balls of her feet, it was easy to propel herself back as she saw his swift movement. An instantment enchantment was called up from the frozen ground, ice spiking in a wall all around her, forming a perfect frozen protection.


Jolstraer's fist rebounded off the ice with a cracking blow, and he spit a foul string of epithets set to make any priest's face turn red and purple in turns. The horses at the picket line stirred and whinnied, and the soldiers came up out of their blankets with a shout of alarm.

Jolly shook his hand at the pain involved, figuring that the crack had been his bones and not the protective ice around his wife. "Git back tae yer blankets ye filthah mugs! Ye watch tha groun', not mah wife!" he yelled coarsely at those who were scrambling to investigate.

Ice that was not ice - not to her at least. A few moments later, when his shouting told her that he was conscious, she let the ice fall away and was no colder for it and was, over all, quite calm for a woman who had nearly been caught on the wrong end of a bad wake-up. Her chest heaved a little and her heart pounded, but outwardly, she was quiet as she moved forward. "How's your hand?" she asked quietly.

"It'll feckin' heal," he grumbled, nursing his sore hand. "Make heavin' tha axe ah lil' werk, but ah'll live." He knew well what she could do. He felt guilty for striking out, but it faded quickly. Remembering what had bothered him in sleep..."'Ow long ah been out?" he muttered, pulling the fur blankets up around his shoulders in the cold.

Drawing closer to him, she rested her hand on his chest - or where it was, under the furs. "A couple of hours," she said. "Not long, but a little while." She paused. "You were having a bad dream," she went on more queitly, "I could tell, so I woke you."

"Nae s'prise, bein' on tha crown o'tha worl' facin' unspeakable evils, tha unstoppable armies o'doom, an' tha Horde," he muttered, and fussed with throwing a fur blanket over her as well. "Ye should be sleepin' luv. Jes' cause yer me wife don' mean ah'll push ye annah less hard'n tha boahs down 'err."

"Honestly, I'd be surprised if you didn't push me harder because I'm closer and should know better," Mia replied with a wryly amused half-of-a-smirk. She prodded and pushed and nudged the furs until her body was perfectly curved along his in a way that the years before and during their marriage had taught her body to do. "And I was going to come to sleep soon, but my robes needed mending after the day. It's the only dress I have left, after all, and the wind will shear through it if I don't fix it before we move out. Tomorrow I'm sure I'll be mending at least half of everyone else's clothing, so tonight was for mine." She rested her head on his broad, scarred shoulder and looked up at him.

He nodded absent-mindedly, his eye lifting up to view the clouds that ravaged the peaks far off in the distance. Even in the depths of night, their skyward soar towards the Heavens was illuminated by the furious stabs of lightning that gave the mountains their name. The Storm Peaks.

"'Ere's ken wait. Ah wan' ye tae head Eas' tae Win'ergarde. From 'ere head tae Valiance 'er Valgarde, whichevah ye choose." There was a distant note in his voice as his gaze lingered northward.

"You want me to head there," she repeated. Mia frowned, and it was in her voice. "And where will you be going?" She feared for him here. Too many memories, too many ghosts. She immediately bristled at the idea of being separated from him while he was here... though she would save the sharper edge of her tongue until she knew for sure that's what he meant.

If he heard, he did not show it. His gaze never wavered from its far-off view. "'Ey say tha Titans 'emselves 'er up thurr, in tha Peaks. 'Ey say all tha stubborn heaps o'tha worl' 'ey couldnae forge when 'ey shape tha worl', 'ey cast 'em doen from tha highest pinnacle. Far an' hard 'ey threw tha unwrought stone, an' where it crashed in Lordaeron, us Northmen sprang up. Ah lon' fall from heah tae thurr. An' look whurr we en' up, ayeh?" He let out a grim chuckle.

Mia couldn't really say that she could share the amusement, but the somber outlook was shared. "Jolstraer," she said in a low voice, "speak to your wife and answer the question she asked: if you are sending me to Wintergarde, then where are you heading?" She reserved comment about Northmen coming from lumps of rock and the comparisons to their hard heads... for the time being. Answer first. Sarcasm later.

"Ah wan' tae see 'em. Jes' once, e'en if et kills mah - which ah doubt et will," he said tiredly. "One glimpse o'glory a'fore chipin' in fer tha las' gamble, ayeh?" He turned a tired look to her then, with a weathered smile. "Maight's well fine wun thang tae enjoy up 'ere, eh?"

"I'll try not to take that personally," she said dryly. "I don't want to be sent away like a disobedient child, though that's likely what you'll get if you try. I got you back and I don't want to lose you again." 'I don't want to lose you again to your own inner demons,' was the whole of that statement, but she didn't say it. She didn't think that it needed to be said.

Jolly looked back to the peaks with a sour turn to his lips, but he said nothing for a moment. "Ye ain' bein' sen' away like ah chil'. Yer bein' asked tae see 'at ah squadron o'men git tae thurr nex' assignmen' while ah go an' scout out tha Peaks," he growled stubbornly.

Narrowing her eyes slightly, she peered at him in female silence. It was the sort of silence that only a woman could make when she was trying to determine if a man was lying or not, and if she needed to be angry with him or not. In the course of most events: yes he was and yes she should, but the silence and consideration went before it to hold to precident and make certain before doing so.

"And when I'm done, I'll come to find you?" she said slowly, challenging his statement. If he said no, then he was lying and he was sending her away after all.

"Nae, 'cause ah'll be back a'fore ye ken spit," he lied.

She considered again. "Spitting on you has come to mind," she muttered. "I don't like this. I don't like this place, but I know we need to be here. I don't like the affect it has on you and I'm too afraid that it's trying to take you from me, and I won't let that happen no matter how much you grumble or curse at me, and no matter how many orders you give me. I'm not keen to listen to this one, matter of fact. Someone else can over-see the squadron to their assignment other than the *mage*."

"Yeh always s'damn stubborn, ain'tcha," he grumbled.

Mia smirked. "Aye, and you're stuck with me whether you like it or not. So get over it. You don't scare me."

Jolly grunted. "Ah'm nae wot ye should be scared 'bout, luv."

OOC: Jolly can't sleep before traveling, and as decided to subject you all to writing. MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. THREE. FEET. O'STEEL.

He was free.

The ever-charged storm clouds crackled and roiled above and below him, flashing with the violence of the Thunder King himself. Jolly clung to Soarer's saddle, unconsciously tightening the belt that kept him there. The gryphon let out a piercing cry that was lost in the dominance of the skies there in what was called the Storm Peaks. The rush of cold air whipped at him at these heights, making his cloak crack like a whip as it streamed behind him. Heeling the gryphon in its flanks, the gryphon rose briefly before nosing straight down. His stomach was left far behind as gryphon and man plummeted at speeds to raise fear to outright madness. Lightning crackled ahead, and the gryphon continued without fear; Jolstraer could feel the beast's massive heart thundering beneath him as the blackened clouds below them rushed up to meet him. Through it all, the muscle-bound Paladin let out a challenging roar.

Soarer broke through the clouds and unfurled his wings, catching a rising gust of warm air and letting his rider's stomach catch up with him. In a gush of adrenaline, Jolstraer hurled a triumphant shout against the Peaks. Titans had once ruled here, and now men soared amongst their home.

It was not that he was unhappy with his wife. He was defensive of her, and worried for her safety, much as he did many that had been called to the top of the world. But there had been times in his life he was not proud of, and times he had been proud of the wrong thing. There had been times where he had been beaten to his knees, unable to go on, but had been unwilling to stay down; those times he had stood back up to take more punishment, solely for the purpose of taking it on his feet. He had been through three wars. He had seen his wife and his daughter taken from this world, and had willingly helped to butcher his own friends and neighbors for the sake of stemming the tide of something unspeakably evil.

But he was alive. His arm was still strong enough to lift his hammer. His shield was still of one piece. He was as wrought iron, as steel tempered to be reliable and ready. Right here, right now, amongst the Peaks that legend told gave his people birth, he felt alive. He felt free. And in this land of undeath, of unholy magic brought about by the vengeful greed of a foolish boy, that freedom and that breath of life was more precious to him than anything in the world. From it he could build upon it with love, with family, with that tattered banner some called 'honor' that only he and a precious few could understand. His hands bore his age well; leathery skin that was the source of his resilience, the words 'Never' and 'Again' were written in blood and ink on each wrist. Ap Danwyrith had informed him of that motto when the old Paladin had agreed to hire on with the unlikeliest of companions. Jolly had taken it close to heart.

So what was he doing now? Remembering what it was all for.

He nudged Soarer's flanks, and the gryphon wheeled south. Playtime was over. It was time to finish the fight.

It was just a little after sundown when the sound of plate armor clanking against itself alerted the attention of the mage inside the Stormwind apartment that her husband was home... damn him. A horse's neigh, quiet though it was, confirmed this fact and was followed quickly by a "Hush, will yeh, yeh Laight-blas'ed animal!? At leas' 'till ah git yeh in tha stable, yeh ovahgrown mule!"

Mia tapped her fingernails on the table top, lips pursing as the ire rose... again... Well, let's be honest here: *still*.

Pushing herself up from the table, she walked to the back door of the first floor apart, the door that led to the stables and the door through which he would be coming through, if she so chose to let him. Folding her arms, she leaned against the door frame and glared at his shadowy form across the dusky, small courtyard, waiting until his attention turned to her.

Jolly did his level best not to clank as he came up the stone walkway, but it seemed every step rang like an anvil. He hunched his shoulders as he got closer to the door, and looked up from the bottom of the short set of steps in time to see his wife. His lovely wife. His lovely, beautiful, fiery... "Aw shite," he mumbled. His beautiful, lovely, fiery, very angry wife.

"Just head on to Wintergarde, he says," she began, fury just barely contained. "Just need someone to take the men back, and then I'll be raight theyah." She didn't care if he didn't like her mocking his accent.

"It jes' don' suit yeh, Firebloom. If'n yeh gonna try an' speak common like ah civ'lized puhson--"

Her fists clenched, digging fingernails into her palm. "Oh, I'll tell you what suits you, Jolstraer Taborwynn." She seethed. "I swear to the light that if you pull this stunt on me again, I'll shove a wand so far up your-"

"Hey nae, nae wan's gonna be--"

"SO FAR UP YOUR ASS!"

Jolly swallowed the lump of curses and appropriately chosen adjectives that might turn him into a pile of ashes right that moment. He had faced own demons, dragons, deaders and dwarves, but none held a candle to Miahala Taborwynn. "Ken we a'leas' talk in tha 'ouse? Ah'll make us some--"

Mia shifted her body, standing more fully in the door frame. "Oh, you are not coming in this house. Not after that. You can go spend time with your friends down at the Pig and Whistle and beg one of them for a cot to sleep on, because you are not coming into my apartment." As he continued his movement forward none the less, she held out a hand and a circle of ice rose around his feet, holding him in place.

He chanced to look down at the frost and ice creeping up around his boots, his fee growing cold and all his forward movement halted. "Lass, we been t'rough 'is b'foah, yeh knae ah kin' git meself outta 'is."

"Try it," she said flatly.

Dumbly, he did.

The Light came to him - Light only knew why it still did, these days - and the cleansing touch of it freed him from the ice locking him into place. Stubbornly, he kept coming right on up the steps.

She was ready for him, because she did know he was capable of it, and she shoved a fireball towards him... because she also knew he could repel it, but it would get him away from the door.

Aw shite.

The thought came to him about as fast as his eye widened in the sudden, surprising light. Reflexes drew on the light and surrounded him in an ethereal glow, and the combined force of the fireball impacting with the light sent him flyig backwards across the small yard. A tremendous crash echoed through the district as Jol Taborwynn was propelled through the stone wall of the stables, landing in the empty stall with a heavy thud. Getting up, the ethereal light faded and Jol groaned, dusting himself off. In the next stall Daeric, his Charger, lifted his head and whickered at him. Jol let out a tired sigh.

"Shet up, yeh ol' mule," he grumbled, trudging back out of the stables and towards the door yet again. With a grim look on his face, he just kept coming after her. Tromping up the steps he watched as she raised her hands to do him in yet again. For his safety, he latched onto her wrists with gauntleted hands, lifting them up to distract her. He was a dead man either way, but at least this way she had to think about her options first.

So a small mis-estimation on that one, Mia realized as he reached her quicker than she expected him to, and she glared at him as he was suddenly in front of her with his gauntleted hands at her wrists. Her hands became encased in flames as she continued to glare, her ire unabated.

His teeth grit, and his own hands started to glow with an infusion of the Light. The armor smoldered orange in the rising heat coming from her, and Jolly grit his teeth at the heat. Ow. Ow. Och, flamin' 'ell, ah'm ne'er gonna make 'is'un up tae 'er. Through it all, he just grit his teeth and bore it, hunching his shoulders a little bit with the pain and all the while staring her right in her green eye.

"Light, you just never give up, do you?" she muttered. Flames reflected in her eyes and would've made the heat unbearable, had she not spent years of training around fire and been far more accustomed to it than the average person.

"If'n ah had," he grunted through clenched teeth, "Ah'd've been ah deader lon' a'foah nae." Grunting with the effort, he stepped forward to the top step, gaining nearly a foot in height on her and closing the distance even more. His breastplate was beginning to warm at the close proximity.

Unblinking, Mia felt her heart pounding hard inside her chest and her breathing came heavily. As often was the case, something changed over in her mind and the moment was changed in an instant. A blast of icy wind blew around them, cooling his armor in a hiss of steam just as she pulled herself forward by the leverage of his hands, pressing her mouth hard against his.

Jolly wasted no time, and lifted her up into his arms. This was all to familiar - each and every bit of it. He kissed her roughly, just like everything else he did in life.

Mia pulled back for a moment, and used her now-free hand to grab his pony tail and yank his head back. "Never do that to me again," she growled. "Do you hear me Taborwynn?"

"Yeh reallah thank ah'm gonna change?" he growled.

Unable to help herself, she smirked. "No," she said. "But neither will I, so you better bring a whole lot more of the Light next time, because next time, I *will* light you on fire."

"Yeh always do," he grunted, carrying her through the threshold and kicking the door closed.