Homecoming
Posted: Thu Nov 12, 2009 8:27 pm
The gates of Stormwind stood open and welcoming, the widespread arms of a friendly embrace to all travelers. In the short years since they'd been hung on the great hinges, they'd closed but a few times - the Longest Night, the attack of Kelthuzad's ziggurats, a few other like incidents. Day after day they watched over the endless flow of traffic and trade that rolled in from the Goldshire road up through the Valley of Heroes and into the city proper. The fresh paint laid on the great doors was fading from the autumn rains, giving them a kind of weeping look in the afternoon light. The sun was bright and the sky was clear, and General Marcus Jonathan thought it was probably going to be the last good day until spring.
Correspondingly, the bridge over the valley lake was crowded with the slow moving traffic of the day. A few enterprising hawkers were crying out their wares from the base of the great statues, extorting the great value of their candle tallow or the last true piece of Uther's cloak. Normally Jonathan would have dispatched some men to clear the riffraff off of the huge stone carvings, but he was feeling generous and relaxed today, so he let them stay.
When he'd been promoted to General it had not been in his mind that he would spend his days watching the trade routes in and out of Stormwind. He'd had more of an active role in mind - perhaps leading contingents of men against the Forsaken in the North. The king had other ideas in mind for him, though, and far be it for a simple soldier to argue with his king. "Jonathan, you have a gift for fighting in a city. I need that, when those damn orcs come to burn us out again. I know that they're coming, and I want you to be waiting for them." It had been years, and he was still waiting.
A commotion at the end of the bridge shook him out of his brief reverie. Or rather, a lack of commotion. A sort of stillness had gripped the crowd passing through the great gates, and it had stopped moving. Traffic was beginning to build along the stone span, and people near Jonathan were grumbling. The General turned to one of his men. "Rickard, go see what's the holdup." A mail clad hand clashed against a breastplate and the man was off. Jonathan watching as the blue plume on his helmet bobbed along above the crowd. The citizens of Stormwind respected the guard that kept them safe at night, and made way for them without much fuss when they were about their business. Well, most of the citizenry, anyway. There was never any accounting for Old Town. Still, Jonathan had heard that the arrest warrant for ap Danwyrith had finally come down, and the man was on the run. With one of the major crime bosses of the underside of Stormwind out of commission, things were sure to improve in the oldest surviving section of the city. The General looked up at the sun and smiled. It WAS a good day. Thus he missed the rapid return of that bobbing blue plume.
"General, sir! I . . .I think you'd better come see this, sir. He's asking for you." The soldier's face was pale behind his faceplate. The General could see sweat running in rivulets down his cheeks, and Rickard was puffing as if he'd run back across the bridge. Jonathan's eyebrows raised as he realized that the drops running down the soldier's cheeks were not sweat in fact, but tears. "Lieutenant, get ahold of yourself man. Who is asking for me?" Rickard wordlessly raised an arm and pointed back across the bridge.
The silence that had begun at the gates now engulfed the entirety of the stone span. The watchful eyes of the statues flanking the way seemed to gaze with apprehension down at the bridge and at the single rider who still moved upon it. Black armor with hints of red and blue light playing around its dark edges gave way to the pure white fur of the great bear upon which the rider was mounted. As he passed the people fell silent and staring, faces frozen in horror, anguish, and shock. Upon reaching the end of the bridge, the bear made straight for the General, stopping a few feet in front of him, where the armored figure dismounted.
"General Marcus Jonathan." It was a statement, rather than a question. The voice was soft, but demanded that the listener turn all of his attention to it. "My name is Uthas, once called Wordweaver. I have come to submit to the justice of the crown." Overhead a cloud swept over the sun, shrouding the bridge in darkness.
Correspondingly, the bridge over the valley lake was crowded with the slow moving traffic of the day. A few enterprising hawkers were crying out their wares from the base of the great statues, extorting the great value of their candle tallow or the last true piece of Uther's cloak. Normally Jonathan would have dispatched some men to clear the riffraff off of the huge stone carvings, but he was feeling generous and relaxed today, so he let them stay.
When he'd been promoted to General it had not been in his mind that he would spend his days watching the trade routes in and out of Stormwind. He'd had more of an active role in mind - perhaps leading contingents of men against the Forsaken in the North. The king had other ideas in mind for him, though, and far be it for a simple soldier to argue with his king. "Jonathan, you have a gift for fighting in a city. I need that, when those damn orcs come to burn us out again. I know that they're coming, and I want you to be waiting for them." It had been years, and he was still waiting.
A commotion at the end of the bridge shook him out of his brief reverie. Or rather, a lack of commotion. A sort of stillness had gripped the crowd passing through the great gates, and it had stopped moving. Traffic was beginning to build along the stone span, and people near Jonathan were grumbling. The General turned to one of his men. "Rickard, go see what's the holdup." A mail clad hand clashed against a breastplate and the man was off. Jonathan watching as the blue plume on his helmet bobbed along above the crowd. The citizens of Stormwind respected the guard that kept them safe at night, and made way for them without much fuss when they were about their business. Well, most of the citizenry, anyway. There was never any accounting for Old Town. Still, Jonathan had heard that the arrest warrant for ap Danwyrith had finally come down, and the man was on the run. With one of the major crime bosses of the underside of Stormwind out of commission, things were sure to improve in the oldest surviving section of the city. The General looked up at the sun and smiled. It WAS a good day. Thus he missed the rapid return of that bobbing blue plume.
"General, sir! I . . .I think you'd better come see this, sir. He's asking for you." The soldier's face was pale behind his faceplate. The General could see sweat running in rivulets down his cheeks, and Rickard was puffing as if he'd run back across the bridge. Jonathan's eyebrows raised as he realized that the drops running down the soldier's cheeks were not sweat in fact, but tears. "Lieutenant, get ahold of yourself man. Who is asking for me?" Rickard wordlessly raised an arm and pointed back across the bridge.
The silence that had begun at the gates now engulfed the entirety of the stone span. The watchful eyes of the statues flanking the way seemed to gaze with apprehension down at the bridge and at the single rider who still moved upon it. Black armor with hints of red and blue light playing around its dark edges gave way to the pure white fur of the great bear upon which the rider was mounted. As he passed the people fell silent and staring, faces frozen in horror, anguish, and shock. Upon reaching the end of the bridge, the bear made straight for the General, stopping a few feet in front of him, where the armored figure dismounted.
"General Marcus Jonathan." It was a statement, rather than a question. The voice was soft, but demanded that the listener turn all of his attention to it. "My name is Uthas, once called Wordweaver. I have come to submit to the justice of the crown." Overhead a cloud swept over the sun, shrouding the bridge in darkness.
