Captain Olathia Windgrave

Rare is the sight of the brilliant paladin without her armor, rarer still to catch her standing in the dancing light cast from stained glass walls. Glistening golden tresses lacking their usual blue headdress. Reverent steps on cobbled stone carry her forward, vibrant colors dancing across the bare arms and face of the woman with every movement. Chilled fingers trailed along the ends of wooden pews, worn from years of kneeling and tears.

A pure devout to the light, lost and wandering when presented with a second chance at life. 

Jade eyes cast themselves down to the stonework beneath her footfalls.

Pure.

Was this a word she could even use to describe herself anymore? Most days she couldn't even recognize who she had been before...

Pain.

Unending and undeniable agony.

Ripped limb from limb as the rain pours down around downtrodden soil.

The clash of metal and cries of war echoed around her, roaring in her ears.

Ice Crown. She hadn’t been here in dream not waking world in a while. The bitter cold winds of Northrend tugged at golden tresses as she swung her hammer at a foe, which toppled to the ground in a heap of disgruntled pain. It seemed familiar, the cries of the fallen still ringing in her ears. Her own shouted orders echoing through the expanse as her soldiers, no her family, fought valiantly.

This was different. All were alive. All had made it to the gates. Nathmir was barreling through an enemy as though he’d never been injured.

Something is...

Forsetti ran in circles around the Paladin, his low playful rumbling sounding from his chest. The paper bag in Olathia’s hand must clearly be filled with treats and things for him right? The jade eyed mute rolled that gaze at him with a motion of her hands to encourage him to calm down, her free hand signing that yes there were treats if he behaved. The big lug settled into following his companion, curious wuffs from his nose as he tried to sniff out the delicious prize within the package. Hige joined in garnering a mildly annoyed look from the great lion but his focus only wavered until the paper crinkled in Olathia’s hands. 

For Forsetti she retrieved a large, durable toy laced in the felines favorite scent and a bag of treats he...

Gabriel swiped the rag across the bar, the sound of the bustling Dalaran streets tricking through the door behind each patron who entered, a brief nod from the bartender could sometimes be caught but for the most part he kept his head down, mixing drinks and cleaning.

Occasionally a regular customer would wander in and greet him warmly, Gabe joked that bartenders see their customers at their lowest, sometimes those would climb out of their sorrows while others remained in the pool of tears and alcohol they drowned their feelings in. Even fewer touched the staff in a lasting way, today one of those few stepped through the doorway.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her, an odd sight given her lack of armor and the soft smile gracing her...

It had been months since the blonde paladin has stepped foot in Tol Barad. The crisp fall air tugged at the loose strands of her hair as she and Forsetti made their way towards the village. 

The familiar tavern came into view as the pair rounded the corner, despite her usual feeling of home from this place Olathia couldn't help but linger on the apprehension in the pit of her stomach. Would they even recognize her? Jade eyes peered down at her new attire and a hand rested on the hilt of her new sword. Everything had changed, not just because of the war at hand, nor her still mending heart, everything seemed....odd.

Forsetti shook his mane and craned his neck to glance back at his companion upon his great back, the Captain peered ahead...

They counted on me. Every last one of them, and the only thing I could give was to ensure I was the last to fall.

No one told us that the march on the Citidel would end in far more bloodshed than even the rain could wash away.

The clash of metal against metal still rings in my ears as though it were a windchime on a blustery day, the sounds of war are not easily forgotten. The grunt of a nearby soldier as an enemy’s club strikes a blow to the temple and they crumple to a heap on the ground, armor and all. The guttural cry of a scourge as a sword splices through it with ease. The ringing in your ears as you hear your own voice screaming into the dark, until suddenly you are silenced, clinging to life and unable to cry any longer.

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