QElwynD
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Rebellion - 5
🕑 Added 2023-07-29 09:00:04 +0000 UTCSitting in my kitchen by the window, safe from the cold and the snow, I sipped away at my sweet tea and watched Vivi train while knitting more enchanted mittens for the soldiers. She'd gotten it into her head she needed to master all the elements – water, earth, air, and fire. For some reason I was tempted to call her an Avatar, but I'd resisted so far.
Making references no one got wasn't much fun when you were included in the number of people who didn't get it.
Vivi rested by a fire, which surged and guttered in unnatural ways beside her bare flesh. She wasn't naked by any means, but was barely wearing more than necessary for modesty either; the first day she'd come in with horrid shivers.
Now, after a week and a half, she was fluctuating between too hot and cold. Struggling to find a balance within the flames she could use.
It wasn't the most interesting training regimen she’d ever had, but it was one of the more extreme ones. And watching Vivi helped keep my mind off of the mind-numbing drudgery that was making the hundredth bloody kit for the soldiers; I had well and truly learned why magical gear was rarely mass-produced like this.
The problem wasn't the materials, or the effort involved, but simply because it was hard to care, to put my all into creating so many of the same items over and over again.
Without the raw magical dusts, essences, and shards, which offered potent power in and of themselves – rare commodities I'd never even seen – there wasn't an easy way to bypass the problem. It just came down to the truism of enchanting, that the quality of the item was about connection, skill, and how much a person put of themselves into their work.
At this point the kids were producing results as good as mine, and for the girls working with the sewing machine was a fun game. Something different and faster than what their mothers had taught them.
"Ah! Gwen, there you are." Frazzle said, slipping into the kitchen and lugging a bag half her size with her. "Vivianne out doing her thing again? I do think she should've accepted my offer, I would be quite happy to explain the matrices involved in fire conjuring."
"Different paradigm," I replied softly. Frazzle’s earnest desire to help was always pleasant to be around.
I might know what I'd done to earn her loyalty, her trust, but I wasn't sure it was an equal exchange. I'd told her the future, seen her send off more messages and reports to her family and never taken issue with it, but she just... never faltered in her support.
Even when she had to face her fears, face the Scourge, and fight for the survival of a country that wasn't her own.
"I know! But... ah, I suppose she doesn't have your mana sight." She sighed and shook her head. "Anyway! I finished up a gift for you, consider it a late Winter's Veil gift if you like. You're going to be out campaigning again, I know, and I thought you needed something–"
She fiddled with the bag and, in a rapid burst of fabric, a tent enveloped my table and erected itself in the centre of the room.
"–ah, whoops?" Frazzle giggled from somewhere on the other side. "Your tent! A place to sleep, warm, waterproof, one-way soundproof, self-collapsing, and self-erecting! Bit of hair trigger on that and, uh, it ate the table. Not supposed to do that... how did it even fit?"
Seeing just how genuinely puzzled, and curious myself, I got up to take a look. The two of us peered into the sheer white– wait, the cloth was changing colour? Matching the grey stone of my floor and the brown of the walls.
"The camouflage function works! Wonderful!"
Letting out a laugh at the useful absurdity of a self-camouflaging tent, I opened the flat. There, in the centre of the tent, was my table. Just... smaller than it should be. About one-fifth the size by the look of it.
"Did the world enlarger trigger backwards on the objects in the space it was occupying, or was it a glitch in the expansion matrix? I should probably fix that before I send one to the Explorer's League for evaluation, but it could be useful at times, carrying additional gear by shrinking it, but the array is never stable for long so it..."
Frazzle kept on rambling over technical details while I marvelled at the tent for a short while. "Frazzle, I love it." It was small enough to carry, even when turning into a raven – I had a decent limit of what would change with me, but it was a limit – and with the upcoming campaigns a good tent would be a godsend. "It's a bit much for a tent, but in ways that are actually useful." I knelt down and pulled her into a hug. "I really love it."
"Well! If you're happy." She said, returning the embrace. "Now, should I tell you about the emergency raft feature and how to turn it into one?"
My mind stuttered for a moment. Of course–
She was laughing. I pulled back and narrowed my eyes at her.
"Got you! I didn't add that, strict feature limit. I was good!" She smiled and rocked from side to side happily. "It's a tent, a special tent, but just a tent. And I think the dwarves will love it."
"Yeah, I can see–"
"Gwen!" Vivi's screamed from outside. "Look north! Smoke!"
Reacting immediately I rushed to the door and pushed my way outside, ignoring the cold air I looked northward across the river. A great plume of black smoke was rising over the trees and filling the sky.
"Vivi, catch up." I said, pausing only to grab her hand and give it a squeeze before shifting into a raven and taking to the air.
Whatever bastard was burning villages under my care was going to regret it.
-oOoOo-
Flying over Roningham, a village I knew well from frequent visits, I looked on with anger boiling in my chest. The villagers had been driven and corralled into the village green, a dozen men and women on watch with rifles and spears keeping them penned up while others broke into the houses.
Sacks full of grain, store chests, jars of preserves, blankets, bedding, or even just firewood were carried out continuously. The food, the necessities for surviving winter were all thrown onto the fire.
Some things – pouches of coins, guns, swords, and other weapons – were loaded onto the soldiers’ horses instead, clearly being stolen for use in their next raid.
Even from above, even though they weren't being directly threatened, the distress of the villagers was plain as day. Parents clutched at their children, holding them close. A few had fallen to their knees in tears. Some threw back accusations, insults, hatred, and curses at the soldiers despite the risk to themselves.
So far, they hadn't responded, letting the reckless ones have their words. But, even if the soldiers were being merciful – as if this was mercy – there was still blood in the snow.
Trailing across the grounds, into the pub – the Merry Weather – which stood proudly on the green and was guarded by half a dozen of the soldiers. Landing on a rooftop opposite the pub I looked inside, and–
A throaty croak, resonating with utter fury and a bubbling urge to kill burst forth. My feathers bristled and all my attention fixated on a single man, standing over a girl I knew oh so well. The reason I came to Roningham, the person who I'd found here and taken in, my student, my loyalist little girl.
Marigold, half named as a joke for the pub her father owned, was kneeling beside a man and trying to heal him.
And behind her, gun held at the ready and aimed at her head, was one of the soldiers.
Uncaring that the soldiers had startled at my cry, I leapt into the air, wings beating furiously. I would pluck out her eyes, I was going to tear her throat apart, the woman was going to die for daring to threaten one of–
The crack of a rifle split the air, followed immediately by another. A sense of danger – they would know ravens work for witches – flooded me and I swerved out of my mad dive, sliding between two buildings and crashing into the snow as I failed to control my flight.
Biting cold finished what the gunfire had begun, snapping me out of the single-minded rage I had felt. I was a witch, not a raven, and so long as I acted sensibly there was no chance any of the soldiers posed a threat to anyone.
Rushing in without any kind of plan except murder... was so very tempting, something that woman so rightly deserved for daring to threaten Marigold, but it wasn't the right thing to do. I needed to prepare properly and act against all of them, a larger working, to stop them from taking hostages.
Otherwise I'd just cause...
My head quirked in the snow as I heard a familiar cry. Donovan, they weren't shooting at me, they were shooting at Donovan.
Dragging myself out of the snow I scrabbled my way back into the air, seeing Donovan diving through the gunfire towards the ground. Nor was it just him and Lorna alone; a golden shell of Light and faith surrounded him, and as he approached the ground a heavily armoured figure jumped from his back.
Sir Magroth slammed into snow on the ground, kicking up a cloud of fine powder. Without a care he strode out towards those guarding the civilians, with his hammer hefted over his shoulder.
"Stand down, good men of Gilneas." He spoke firmly. "And I shall forgive your transgressions against these innocents."
One of the riders lowered his rifle and spurred his horse to face Sir Magroth. "Transgressions? I give what kindness I may, Paladin!" He shouted angrily, and with the distraction firmly in place, I found a place to land atop the pub's roof. "They yet live, their homes shall be spared, and none despoil them!"
Lifting his hammer from his shoulder Sir Magroth shook his head. "You burn all they have worked to achieve."
Shifting back into a human I waved to Lorna in the air as she kept avoiding rifle fire, but otherwise kept myself as low and unobtrusive as I could. Time was being bought for me and I was going to use it.
The wood of the pub was long, long dead, but that had never been a true impediment. More of a minor inconvenience at worst...
"That is the nature of war." The commander returned dismissively. "With his stores burnt, his people needing aid, Crowley's foul machinations shall be delayed." He inclined his head. "It is curious that a great champion such as you could be swayed to such a dark cause, I beg of you, good paladin, turn to the righteous side of this war."
As if Genn's side, the side of the Worgen, of murdering civilians, of starting this war, was the righteous one.
"Lord Crowley is a good man with a generous heart, his cause is true and one that has saved many innocents from a truly dark fate." Sir Magroth replied calmly, holding a gauntleted fist to his chest. "I swear upon the Light, upon my honour as a Knight of the Silver Hand, that Calia Menethil's arrival in Gilneas was through no machination of Lord Crowley and merely the kindness of those able to offer it."
"I knew he couldn't have done it!" One of the villagers yelled. "Damn you, Rutherford! You betrayed our lord!"
"Lord Crowley!" "Northgate!" "Down with the king!" "Revenge for Arevass!"
Rutherford frowned deeply, his horse fidgeting nervously as the crowd started to chant. "If there was no ill intent, why would he not reveal the princess to the king? Present her as he ought?"
"Such a thing was planned, but my own–"
"It matters not. Men!" Rutherford snapped, raising his rifle and his men – gathered during the speech so helpfully – taking aim at Sir Magroth. "For your faith and order, Paladin, I offer you this chance to surrender. Fifty men stand against you, and you stand alone."
Sir Magroth eyes shone brightly, a serene smile on his face, as he lifted his hammer from his shoulder. "So long as I have faith, I am never alone."
The opportunity was too perfect, and though it could have been more complete, I acted at his word. Roots tore from the ground, curling around legs and yanking half of the soldiers from their feet in a moment. Those with their weapons ready to hold back the villagers, threatening them, were treated more roughly.
Bones broke as snapping branches tore the guns from their hands, the oak tree at the centre of the green striking at those who threatened its people.
And below, the one who had threatened Marigold, was squeezed. I could almost feel the pulsing of her blood in her veins as the winding wood pressed down on her throat; my student was safe.
"Witchcraft!" Rutherford screamed, dropping his rifle and slashing his sword at the roots that reached past his horse for him. "Damn it all, the girl lied!"
"You mean the child whom you threatened?" I growled, standing tall atop the roof. I spied one of the soldiers who I'd missed lining up a shot at me, but a lance of Astral magic–
Missed. He dove to the side and his gun barked.
Fuck.
Even though I knew it was coming, could see him turning his rifle towards me, I didn't get back behind cover in time. The shot ripped into my leg. Good news, my skirt wasn't pierced; bad news, my skirt was embedded in my leg.
Drawing on the lingering rays of starlight again, I called on its power to numb my wound and strike back. No precise lance to remove his weapon this time, instead a beam of Astral magic fell from the sky and struck true – and struck him well and truly dead.
In moments another fell, Sir Magroth not hesitant to rush forward and strike with his hammer at a woman who'd had the awareness to avoid the worst of my trap; her panicked shot at him went wide, and her scream of defiance and fear was silenced by a meaty crunch as her chest was caved in.
Throwing out a second, more accurate, lance of Astral magic I disabled one of the riflemen still warding away Donovan and sent the others diving for cover. One was stupid enough to use the roots trapping his fellows, which he quickly regretted.
With no one taking potshots at him, keeping him from landing safely, Donovan crashed down in front of Rutherford and let out an overpowering screech.
His horse bellowed in fear, bucking and throwing him from its back to fall into the waiting roots and vines.
More of his men fell as Lorna advanced on him with murderous intent; my magic and Sir Magroth's hammer dispatching and disabling them swiftly. Another few bullets whizzed past me, but none came close to hitting me.
"Die you cunts!" One of the villagers roared, snatching up a rifle and shooting a soldier held up in my trap. "Light damned knobgobblers!" She tossed the gun away, going for another.
Just as I was about to strike down a soldier making their way free of the vines, Rutherford bellowed out across the field. "Stop! Damn it all, stand down!" He struggled in the roots, finding himself trapped as they closed around him tighter. "Damn it all. Don't waste your lives! Stand down!"
He glared up at me, deep frustration plain in his gaze. "We've lost."
-oOoOo-
Interrogating Rutherford yielded nothing in the way of useful information, the young baron merely choosing to side with the king over Crowley. I had a great number of choice words for his stupidity, his disregard for Darius' character which he should know in believing Genn's misleading narrative, but he was serving the king. The Greymanes. He wouldn't be the only one.
Just, if we were lucky, the only one close enough to marshal a raiding party in the depths of winter. It wasn't even a terrible plan, burn and pillage the village stores, melt away, do it again until it felt dangerous, then use what they pilfered to head to the capital.
Glorious 'heroes' for bringing the fight to the rebels before anyone else could. So long as one ignored the human cost of it all.
"Do you want me to take over, Mari?" I asked, kneeling down beside my student as she kept healing her fellow villagers.
I didn't spare the man who I'd squeezed the life out of a second glance, no remorse for that kill forming in my mind. He'd threatened a child, a healer while she was at work, a... kid, one of my kids, my students.
He deserved it.
The others, outside, the one I'd missed and killed rather than disabled, I was less content with. They could have waited out the war, rejoined society and been productive, aided us in future wars for the safety of Azeroth and Gilneas, just... lived.
But I hadn't been good enough to spare them without risking myself. No Gilnean, whether loyalist or rebel, was deserving of death simply because of the side they chose.
I wasn't going to shy away from it, this was war, but that didn't mean I wanted it to happen.
"No." Marigold shook her head. "I can do it. It's not so... you're hurt!" She exclaimed, staring at my leg with a look of shock and horror on her face.
Looking down I saw the red staining my leg. It really did look rather bad, but my skirt had already sloughed off all of the blood that'd tried to soak into it; it wasn't even scratched. And, after a bit of healing, neither was I. "Eh, just a flesh wound." I waved a hand dismissively. "It's gone by now anyway."
"Lady Arevin," Marigold's father offered, walking up with clasped hands and a bowed head. "Might I implore you to–"
"Marigold and I will be refilling your larders, once she is done with healing." I told him, knowing his fears. "I'm afraid it will likely be simple fare, but you won't starve. Lord Crowley would never let that happen."
"Light's blessings, on both you and our lord." He said, bowing his head.
Marigold ducked her head down, getting back to work without a word.
After a few minutes, noticing a clear aura of... tension in those near me, I slipped out. That talking started up again quickly, discussions of what I might be offering, how they might trade for other items they needed to replace, I knew they saw me as too important to bother.
Different from before, when I'd been a go-to helper around the villages.
I wasn't sure I liked the change. Was it the Harvest Miracle, stories from the wall, or saving them that had done it? It didn't matter. It couldn't be undone.
And I didn't have time to serve as the helpful village witch anymore anyway.
"Nether blasted Genn sodding Greymane." I cursed, my hands clenching as I glared at the fire which had consumed the village’s stores. "How many people are going to suffer because he started this? How many lives will be ruined because he's an arrogant bastard?"
Plated boots pressed down in the snow behind me, quiet but not silent. "While the king's actions are irreconcilable with my beliefs," Sir Magroth said, his tone chiding, "I must remind you that this war is not his fault alone."
I whirled around. "He's the one who–!"
"Did you not conspire with Lord Crowley, preparing for this eventuality?" He interrupted, a gauntleted hand pressing down on my shoulder as he peered into my eyes. There was a hymn there, calling for calm and contemplation. "Did you not invite my entry months ago, before this rebellion had begun? Or am I mistaken?"
Shaking his head, Sir Magroth didn't give me a chance to reply. "No, though the king's reasoning was flawed, he hit upon a truth. Treason was plotted and planned. Of which we have both taken part – of which you have inspired."
"But..."
The words fell away, a rebuttal for what he said not coming to mind. I could scream and shout about Genn, what he had done, but it wouldn't make what Sir Magroth said untrue.
"We fight this war because it is just," he said, releasing my shoulder and the hymn falling away, "But do not place the blame for its occurrence solely upon our foes."
More so than most, and my actions influenced so many others. Darius, Calia, this entire rebellion...
Were Genn a better person, a better king, someone who wasn’t renowned in my mind for his endless streak of mistakes and bungling errors… I could have gone to him. Trusted that he, the one who should have had the influence I needed, could handle events.
But I hadn’t, I chose Darius knowing full well about the rebellion. Because of my thoughts on Genn as well as the opportunity – overthrowing him, removing Genn from play, never once seemed like a downside.
Was it worth the cost? Looking out at the burning stores, the lost possessions that I couldn’t replace, the aggrieved people of the village, I had to wonder. Had I asked Darius to bring me to Genn, to warn him of his future folly, of the danger that came, would he have listened? I could have done the same as I did with Darius, laid out a prediction and waited. Tried to earn trust.
Used my connection through Lorna to reach higher than just Darius.
Genn… Keepers, what did he think? I was a prophet, I stayed away from him, only encountered him to challenge him, and then I was found to have brought a foreign princess into the country…
I grimaced. “Buggering hell...” It looked bad, there was no denying that.
He was capable of listening. He was letting Krennan and Arugal work, he hadn’t stopped us from taking people through the wall for the longest time – he wasn’t an unthinking monster, though he acted one at times such as with the refugees. And I’d run around him again, and again, and again. Even when he’d let me on his damn war council I kept him at arm's length.
Because I didn’t trust him. Because, for what I ‘knew’ he’d do to my homeland, I hated him.
Meeting Magroth’s gaze I felt the weight of my actions bearing down on me, all of which had felt like the most logical I could take, but had costs attached to them. I should have at least tried.
But I hadn’t, and I couldn’t change that. And part of me didn’t even want to if I could. “I still hate him.”
He snorted softly, though he remained silent. Waiting for more from me.
“Even if I hate him, you’re right. This is… my responsibility, as much as it is his. As much as it could be anyone’s.” I didn’t look away as his eyes bore into mine, taking my measure. “I could’ve tried to work with him, reached out when he brought me into his council. Gone through Prince Liam, Darius, or some other way to try and gain his trust.”
“It’s not as if I’d have to reveal this to him, that we were planning a rebellion.” I lowered my gaze and shook my head. “I shouldn’t have focused on one, single, plan. Not when the costs are as high as they are.”
Magroth hummed approvingly. “With great power one may wield it for greater good, but one must remember that one’s failings and mistakes become greater also.” He reached out and rested a hand lightly on my shoulder, squeezing it remarkably gently through his gauntlet, and then a grin flickered onto his face. “Or so I was told by Archbishop Alonsus Faol himself when I was still in training. May the lesson serve you well.”
Releasing me he turned away. “Will you join me in healing those we injured in battle? Friend or foe, they need aid.”
“Of course,” I replied, trying to fix his words in my mind as I followed after him.
Krennan Aranas had been more right than he knew when he said I was handling Genn wrong. The question now was how do I do better in the future? I… was lost on that, for now. And, for now, there was a rebellion we had to win; I’d make my choices and would have to live with them, for good or ill.
-oOoOo-
A raven croaked loudly overhead, calling out as she looked for her targets and grumbling about the mass of humans she needed to pick them out from. I could tell she was somewhat miffed that the ones she was after weren't at home in the warm.
But her calls mostly told me our reinforcements were here, and, as I stood up from my growing patch of raspberries on the green that the villagers were picking eagerly, I saw Vivi was with them.
Though at their head was Lady Tulvan, and she was glaring quite sourly.
"What are you doing helping these ingrates?" Lady Tulvan demanded as she rode up, her eyes narrowing further as she looked down at Sir Magroth and the woman he was healing. "And to spend your time healing the enemy rather than guarding them – Hah! Did you choose to let them escape?"
"Lady Tulvan, though we are thankful for the reinforcements, they are unnecessary." Sir Magroth replied, not looking up from his work. The woman he'd first struck with his hammer had lived, barely, slowly drowning in her own blood as everyone left her for dead, and was resultantly taking a lot of effort for him to heal. "Baron Rutherford has surrendered himself to me and agreed to Lady Crowley's terms."
Vivi slipped offer her horse beside Lady Tulvan, darting around her to reach me. "You okay?" She asked, wrapping one arm around me protectively while the other patted my leg. "There's–"
"Right as rain, healed it up without a problem." I said, leaning into her happily.
I didn't stop my work, there was only so much daylight that I could spend on filling the village's larders. But it was definitely nice to have her here after the battle.
"And?" Lady Tulvan demanded, derision clear as she sneered down at Sir Magroth. "He turned against his lord. His word is mud."
"He is honourable, seeking to minimise the harm he inflicted on the villagers." Sir Magroth spoke, though on that front I didn't truly agree with him. "He will keep his word; his men will not take part in the war, remaining to mind their homes, their fields, and their families." His voice lowered. "Or would you take their heads, for the crime of being true to their oaths?"
"Though I did indeed turn against Lord Crowley, I stood for the king!" Rutherford added proudly from where he sat. "It is you, not I, that courts treason."
"Better a rebel than a loyalist to the faithless and murderous cunt that calls himself a Greymane." Lady Tulvan hissed, spitting on him before kicking her horse forward. "Do as you will, Paladin. I always knew your kind was soft. Move up!" She ordered, and the column behind her started to follow. "These bandits will be taken into custody and Crowley will decide their fate; these are his lands and his word is law."
"And my word is his, Tulvan." Lorna said, hesitating slightly as a raven croaked out a demand. She held out her arm for it to land and took a letter from its outstretched leg, eyes widening for a moment before returning to the duchess. "It was my agreement, not the Defender's, which granted them clemency."
Lady Tulvan snorted dismissively as she kept on. "Very well. Continue with your... charity. I will see to other matters."
Freed from one of its burdens, the raven took flight again and sped on to us, taking up roost on my shoulder and snuggling up to my head with a disgruntled squawk.
She regretted agreeing to take both letters that the witch gave her, they were heavy.
After a moment, almost as an afterthought, she stuck her leg out with the second letter towards Vivi, giving me a gimlet eye as she did so.
"You'll come back with me and spend the night, I'll have a pouch of grains for you to take and a proper meal this evening and in the morning." I replied, rolling my eyes back at her. "If we have replies it'll be a day or two."
Croaking in approval the raven settled herself in on my shoulder, and I resigned myself to having a bird bigger than my head weighing me down for the time being.
At least I had Vivi to lean on. She tucked the letter away, just holding me tight and helping keep me warm as I worked.
Comments
Quinn
Civil wars always are.
Bat
Ya this is going to get ugly.
