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This forum is used to post any stories following members of the Alliance, collaborative or otherwise. Horde characters can participate too. If you expect roughly equal posting from both sides, please post to the Cross-Faction forum instead. For stories taking place in the past, please post to the Backstories forum. For projects that might benefit from one, feel free to start an OOC companion thread in the Roleplaying forum.
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Re: Stories of a Man From Moonbrook

Postby Dashaun » December 10th, 2014, 4:10 pm

Lukar wrote:(( Well, welcome back, Dash! You've missed some crazy stuff! ))

I look forward to catching up.
"Service is its own reward." - taken from his father.

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Re: Stories of a Man From Moonbrook

Postby Myaka » December 10th, 2014, 4:15 pm

((It is great to see you again Dash! RH lost something special when you left, it's great to see it back!))
Battletag: Myaka#1873 feel free to add me! If your tag is different then your character name say you are from the sanctum.
Alliance: Myaka(Main), Mervic, Surina, Dundhane(Emerys Dundhane)
Horde: Fleetmane, Kirand.

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Re: Stories of a Man From Moonbrook

Postby Dashaun » December 10th, 2014, 4:36 pm

Myaka wrote:((It is great to see you again Dash! RH lost something special when you left, it's great to see it back!))

As a wise man once said, a few minutes ago,... it was "the mother of all retcons".

"Service is its own reward." - taken from his father.

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Re: Stories of a Man From Moonbrook

Postby Dinpik » December 10th, 2014, 5:22 pm

Dashaun wrote:
Aerana wrote:@ Stories of a Man From Moonbrook

I think that there were quite a few of us who were excited to see the thread pop up and even more excited to read the first true installment. I can't wait to see how Dashaun's return plays out. We've missed you!

I am eager to get the actual game installed, paid for (Subscriptions? Still? GDI, Blizzard!), and running so the RP can commence.

I'm glad you're coming back into the game. Otherwise.. what would be the point of posting?

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Re: Stories of a Man From Moonbrook

Postby Naunet » December 10th, 2014, 9:20 pm

Words can't describe how pleased I am to see you return! This new Sanctum feels a lot more like home now. ^^ Shame I won't be able to say hi in-game, but... yay!
"Song dogs barking at the break of dawn, lightning pushes the edges of a thunder storm. And these streets, quiet as a sleeping army, send their battered dreams to heaven."

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Re: Stories of a Man From Moonbrook

Postby Dashaun » December 11th, 2014, 5:30 am

Unsung - Story (PG)

It was cold.

The stone floor and walls did not offer any comfort. Winter had made the ground freeze around the Westbrook Garrison as it stood nestled up against the mountain foothills, and in the detention block under the main floor of the building the only source of sparse warmth was from the dimly burning torches.

Dashaun sat against the wall, shackled by his ankle to the floor by a short chain. Every part of his body that touched stone or steel had its warmth pulled from it, absorbed away without restraint. He wore a simple set of faded clothing provided to prisoners. The strange armor he had been wearing was taken from him.

No one had said much to him, including the medics. He was labed a maniac and murderer. He had given up trying to plea for someone to listen. But this was his fortress, and he built the organization that manned it from scratch. He knew what to expect.

What he expected, was right on time.

A young junior officer wearing the uniform of an investigator walked down the wooden steps. The young man had a detectible swager; a fresh, recently promoted lawman, still dripping from behind his ears. Dashaun slowly rose to his feet, respectfully, the short chain making metalic noises as he did so. He kept his bare hands to his sides, and simply looked at the junior officer in silence, waiting. This was not a City Guard officer, as the SCG had no juristiction outside Stormwind. This investrigator was from the regular army.

The investigator looked Dashuan over slowly, and smirked some for reason known only to him. He took out a parchment pad and a quill pen, holding it out in front of him and jotting down notes as he spoke in a confident pitch, “The time is 1522 hours. I am Second Lieutenant Mayland and I am here to interview you about the incident yesterday in Westfall.”

The man looked at the detainee, and asked the inevitable question, “What is your name?”

In his usual firm and clear, though calmed and low toned voice, he answered, “I am Dashaun Spero, sir.”

The 2LT was visibly amused, “Are you now? Well, we will get back to that later. Tell me what happened yesterday in Moonbrook.”

Dash did not seem bothered that the officer did not believe him. No one so far did. Not even the SCG soldiers.

Dashaun had been very surprised to learn how much time had passed when he found out the date in the sick-bay. The SCG had a high turn-over rate and experianced presistant trouble with retention, especially during times of war when they were stretched razor thin. The entire basic staff rotated out every few months on average, except for the upper ranks. So with all the time that had passed, Dash knew it would be normal to see all-new faces walking the halls of the garrison. None recognized him.

But then again, when he saw a mirror for the first time, he hardly recognized himself either. All the many months in ‘Storage’ had caused him to lose weight and grow facial hair. He looked rather sickly and his skin was slightly grey-ish.

Dashaun answered, “The last thing I can recall before this all happened is this: I was leaving a training conference in Redridge and walking towards the griffon roost to fly back to Stormwind. I was alone and had just crossed the bridge, when I felt a sudden pain. It was instense, like a white hot flash, and it hit me all over at once. It must have blacked me out, because that is all I remmeber before I woke up.”

The investigator began to take notes when Dash first started speaking, but stopped around the time he mentioned the bridge, lowering the pen and pad. It was clear he felt the detainee was lying and that his words were not worth writing down. He asked, “All right then, what happened when you woke up?”

Dashaun continued, “I awoke wearing different armor, lying in a coffin without a helmet. I saw two scared looking Defias men standing over me, who must have kidnapped me in Redridge. One had a rock in his hand, the other had a blade. I was in pain, and felt weak, but I believed they were going to kill me with their weapons. I managed to grab one of them, the one with the blade, and take it from him. They seemed unprepared and extremely surprised, so I believe they were not expecting me to wake up at all. I stood up and they then began to fight me. In my condition, I would not have lived if it were not for the odd armor I had on. I do not know why I was wearing it, unless they wanted me to die in it for some dramatic, theatrical propaganda reason.” He then murmured something derogatory about the Defias in general.

The investigator grinned, “Do go on. You have a vivid imagination. Don’t stop yet. What happened next?”

Dashaun frowned, but did not speak his mind, instead continuing as he’d been asked, “In the process of defending myself, the two Defias sustained fatal injuries. I climbed out of the coffin and noticed that I was in a cemetery. I recognized it, because it is the same place my parents are laid to rest. I noticed the coffin was tied to a tree branch, and that there was a freshly dug, crude grave nearby. Right beside my parents’ graves. I saw muddy shovels laying by the coffin. It appeared they were prepared to lower my coffin into the grave and bury me, most likely still alive.”

The investigator shook his head, “Why would the Defias want to kill you in such a complicated way?”

Dashaun sighed some, knowing the answer would not get a positive response, “Because I am considered one of their top hated enemies.”

The younger man smirked, “And why is that?”

Dashaun eyed the man, and said, “Because I am the Captain of the Stormwind City Guard.”

Youthful laughter echoed back and forth against the heavy stone walls, “By the Light! You are a great story teller! Then again, most crazy men have the best things to say, I've found. But this really takes the cake!” He chuckled as bit more as Dashaun stood in deathly silence, watching. The second lieutenant added, “You do know that Captain Spero died like a year ago, right? So your story has a big hole in it.”

“Then you are looking at a dead man, sir.” The tall detainee curtly responded. It made the investigator stop smiling and clear his throat.

The officer said, more composed now, “I will give you points for trying, but the fact is that we have a pile of evidence on you showing us what really happened. I am only here as a formality really; the healers have you marked as mentally unsound. But hey, you might be unfit to stand trial, so instead of being hung at the gallows, you might end up in the asylum forever instead.”

Dashaun asked quietly, “What did happen then, sir?”

The lieutenant pondered a moment, trying to decide if he should tell the detainee about his case, or not. He shrugged his shoulders, “May as well say it, since it’s not like you have a prayer anyhow with that ridiculous story as your defense.”

Dash narrowed his eyes a bit and listened carefully as the investigator spoke, who said, “You are a Defias Brotherhood member. Vanessa Vancleef has taken over from her father, and has been trying to rally the vagrants and bums of Westfall to her cause. She sent you and two other Defias members to rob the grave of Dashaun Spero to boost morale and cause a stir. But, something happened during the grave robbery. Perhaps you were one of the crazy bums she gave a red mask to, and you snapped. Perhaps you found out one of the two were sleeping with your wife. You won’t confess, so who knows? But what we do know is that you killed the two men, and that is by your own admission just now. You put on his armor to carry it, perhaps, or because you are just stark raving mad.”

“They were not digging me up, they were burying me.” Dashaun stated very flatly, beginning to lose his patience with this young investigator.

“No. You still don’t get it, buddy. Captain Spero died. I watched the funeral. You and the other two dug his body up. In fact, this is the only part that we haven’t figured out yet - where is Spero’s body?”

Dashaun replied coldly, “Standing right in front of you, sir.”

The lieutenant grunted and turned away, heading back to the stairs, “We got you pinned for double homicide, pretending to be Captain Spero, and disturbing his corpse. You might want to confess, depending on whether you want to rot in the asylum or get it over with on the gallows. Your call.”

Dashaun did not say anything more as the uniformed man walked back up the steps. Dash stood there, and looked at the ground, his mind trying to process everything. It was not easy to accept any of it. Much of it made no sense.

When he sat back down after a while, alone, the cold stone made him involuntarily shiver.
"Service is its own reward." - taken from his father.

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Re: Stories of a Man From Moonbrook

Postby LEGION » December 11th, 2014, 6:39 pm

(( since you keep moving everyone's comments back here,I'll just save us a step. "Ooo, somebody gonna be in trouble." Must catch up over the weekend so Leslie-cat can come to inspect ImpostorDash.))

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Re: Stories of a Man From Moonbrook

Postby LEGION » December 17th, 2014, 12:03 am

((Apologies in advance. This is super long. Also, cross posted to my 'Dresser' -- Legion))

|Alliance| Oh, Captain! My Captain! Pt. 2
Dixon, Spero, SCG.

Leslie Dixon, acting Captain for the Stormwind City Guard, arrived at the Westbrook Garrison in the dark hours of the morning, hours before her expected shift. She couldn't put her finger on what had disturbed her. The dreams, no doubt evoked from her confessions to Captain Landreth, seemed all-too clear to her waking mind. Memories, she corrected herself. But the theme was what perplexed her. "Got Captain on the brain, I guess," she muttered to no one in particular. As she approached the gates, the two guards at the entrance recognized and saluted her. It made her feel almost embarrassed, as if she were a child dressed up in her mother's clothes, pretending to be some grand lady. "Evening, gentlemen," she grated. "Anything interesting going on?"

The guards relaxed, sensing that she really wasn't interested in protocols at the moment.

"It's been quiet so far, ma'am," replied Private Wellsman. The guard across from him nodded in agreement.

"Aye, Captain. Unless you consider the nutjob we have in the tank, claimin' to be old Cpt. Spero."

Leslie froze in place. "What? Why haven't I heard about this?"

Private Wellsman answered. "He was picked up by the Moonbrook Brigade. Regular military handled the report after the medics declared the guy crazy. It's off our plate."

Leslie ground her teeth in frustration. It wasn't required that she be notified of things like that. But she really wished someone had thought she would want to know what was happening pretty much under her own roof. "Thank you," she replied. "I'll go take a looksee for myself." I would've known about something like this the moment it crossed our threshold, a few days ago, she thought sourly as she headed towards the detention block. For the moment, it couldn't be helped.

She had almost reached the door to the stairs leading down to the detention center when she paused. When the guard at the door saluted, she nodded and gave a half-hearted salute in return. "Shelby, I want you to let the cat downstairs in a few minutes," she said. "And be ready to let her back out." The odd request barely earned her a batted eye.

"Yes, ma'am," replied Shelby. "Do we need to escort?" It wasn't quite a joke.

"Nah," Leslie answered, as she turned towards barracks area. "She can manage her business on her own." A minute or two later, a small, black cat rounded the corner and looked at Shelby expectantly.

Shelby made a slightly mocking bow. "Your sandbox awaits, Your Majesty."

The cat stared at him with half-lidded annoyance until he finally opened the door. At which point, the cat gave him one last flick of her tail before darting down the stairs.

Once downstairs, the cat wove her way through the labyrinth of hallways which lead to the detention area. At several cross hallways, posted guards would spy the cat and actually challenge her for a 'password'. For each one, she would perform a precise and complicated series of paw movements and meows, all of which matched the weekly pass codes sent down from the Captain's office. The guards had dealt with the bizarre, overly-sentient cat for so long that they ceased to wonder about the peculiar animal or what her actual purpose was. They had simply come to regard her as a 'working animal' much like the guard and tracking animals used by other divisions.

Finally, outside the only occupied cell, the cat stopped, her little nose testing the air. Then she dipped and sniffed along the crack beneath the door. Her ears swiveled back and forth with growing excitement. She paced along the door, looking for an entry into the cell. Finally, she leapt towards the small, barred view-port high up on the door. She managed to get her front paws onto the opening, but not far enough to allow her to gain a foot hold. Instead, she scrabbled with her back claws for a few moments before dropping back onto the floor. The second try got the cat enough purchase to allow her to squeeze through the bars and onto the floor of the cell.

The man seated on the floor on the other side took no notice of the cat. He was thin and unkempt, with long hair and a straggly beard. She cautiously approached the man and mewed. The man continued to ignore her, either bereft of his wits as the doctors claimed, or simply too exhausted by his ordeal to recognize her. The cat continued to become agitated until she climbed partway into his lap, putting her face near his and crying again.

Still no response.

The cat then leapt up to the view-port and squeezed through the bars. She rocketed down the hallways, little claws scrabbling for purchase on the hard floors before racing up to the doorway leading into the main Garrison. She cried loudly and began clawing frantically at the door. Shelby barely opened the portal when the cat burst past him and into the Barracks. He had barely managed to re-lock the door and resume his post, when he heard the purposeful stride of Captain Dixon rounding the corner. Shelby blinked. The Captain was soaking wet, and dressed in hastily-donned, utterly mismatched clothes.

Leslie preempted his question. "Cat dragged me out of the shower," she said, curtly. "Get me a three-man detail. I need to get downstairs."

Shelby stowed whatever other questions he had, and immediately relayed the Captain's orders into his communicator. Then, he opened the door. "Detail should be here in about a minute-half, ma'am."

"That's fine," replied Leslie. "Just send them down after me -- I'm going to the detention center. Have sick bay on alert. I'm bringing our detainee up."

Shelby looked a little uncertain, but snapped a salute. "Yes, ma'am!"

Leslie descended the stairs almost at a run. She passed each of the cross-guards, informing them in turn that a detail was behind her, and to expect prisoner transport. She reached the cell, and stood on tiptoe to peer through the barred view-port. "Captain?" The man remained quiet on the floor, leaning back against the wall, eyes closed. Finally, the detail arrived. "Open up," Leslie ordered.

She watched as one of the soldiers opened the heavy, iron door. In response, the man slowly stood up and faced the wall without instruction. Only an officer or a career criminal would know to do that, thought Leslie. She stepped into the cell, followed automatically by one of the detail. "Dash?" she said, quietly. Silently, the man raised his hands and placed them flat-palmed on the wall. Her escort, Corporal Samhurst, wasn't a green recruit by any means. But he also wasn't known for keen observation. Hence his relegation to serve primarily as muscle and a meat-shield. He moved to interpose himself between Leslie and the prisoner.

"Captain, the prisoner has been very uncooperative. Medics already tagged him as insane." Beside him, the man against the wall coughed quietly. Samhurst gave the man a look between pity and disgust. "I don't think you'll get any information from him."

Leslie glared at the guard. "Has he been violent?" Samhurst shook his head.

"No ma'am. Just stubborn and completely convinced he's Captain Spero."

"That's because he IS," snapped Leslie. "Get him unshackled. He's going up to sick bay." When Samhurst opened his mouth to protest, Leslie cut him off. "NOW!"

Dashaun blinked and turned his head to look behind him. Dim, tired green eyes met Leslie's concerned, hazel gaze.

"Dash, it's me, Leslie," she said. "We're going to move you upstairs."

Dashaun turned fully, his gaunt face impassive. After several moments, he replied in a thin, even voice, "What in the Light took you so long to come down here?"

It still rankled her that she had found out so late, but she tried to keep the annoyance from her voice. "No one wanted to 'bother' me with the crazy guy in lockup. I came down as soon as the grapevine worked its way around."

"Too long," stated Dashaun, deadpan. "I'm demoting you." He smirked ever so slightly before a cough erased it.

Leslie shook her head incredulously and gave a short bark of laughter. "Well I guess that answers that!" She watched as Samhurst unshackled Dashaun. "Let's get you upstairs." She started to walk to one side of Dash to help steady him, though thought better of the gesture. Even though he had broken past is phobia of all things female, she knew that proximity still made him uncomfortable. Instead, she instructed Samhurst and one of the other detail to ensure that Dash stayed steady on his feet, while she walked just ahead on their way up to the sick bay. "I'm sure the Old Man will be tickled to see you, if he makes it back."

Dashaun thought for a moment. "What Old Man? Juls?"

Leslie shook her head. "Captain Landreth, sir" she replied.

"Landreth," echoed Dashaun. "Good man."

"He's a bit of a hardass, but yes he is. I just hope he makes it back. I've been hearing that the forces sent through the Dark Portal may not." As they entered the sick bay, they were intercepted by one of the medics. Leslie squared off with him. "Dr. Avery... who processed this man?" she said, indicating Dashaun. She folded her arms as the doctor looked past her head to the man in question.

"Kelben and Richards," he replied. "Why is he back up here?"

Leslie glared again. "For one thing, he's clearly sick, and for another he's ff-f-flippin' Captain Spero, THAT's why!"

Behind her, Dashaun coughed again, though it sounded suspiciously like a chuckle. In front of her, the doctor sputtered.

"That's... that's impossible!"

"The proof that it is NOT is standing right in front of you," replied Leslie acidly. "Can we please start seeing to his care?!"

The doctor muttered under his breath, but set about getting Dashaun into one of the beds and taking basic vital signs. Dashaun tolerated the impersonal examination with aplomb. "People have kept saying I was dead. It is not the first time," he observed.

Leslie stood nearby until Dash was settled. "Really sorry about your welcome home. What happened out there?"

Dashaun looked at her, wearily. "I am not up to doing a lot of talking at the moment. I advise you to read the report. I was given the chance to do a written supplement, and it should be there." He then glanced over to the small iron stove nearby. "To whomever adds more wood to the fire, I will remember your name." Dash watched as Leslie grinned and then went to add some more wood.

Recalling their conversation on the way to the sick bay, Dash struggled to sit up, looking concerned. "The Dark Portal to the Horde's broken homeworld -- I have been there and come back. What are our forces up against that could wipe them out?"

Leslie turned from the stove, and blinked at him. "You... haven't heard about the invasion?"

"Yes, of course," answered Dash. "The Horde invasion of Pandaria. But why would they send the SCG Captain through The Dark Portal? That is the jurisdiction of the Nethergarde Fortress."

Leslie briefly dropped her head into her hand. "Makers! Where to start..." She looked at Dashaun. "I don't know where you've been, but clearly 'in the loop on basic world events' wasn't part of the tour." She sat at Dashaun's bedside. "For starters, we finally sieged Orgrimmar and won. We captured Garrosh and they were holding a trial for him in Pandaria. But some Light's-damned Bronze dragon broke him out and did...something... to The Dark Portal. Some kind of time thing." She gestured vaguely. "Sarkell could explain it better, but they've snagged him at the Nethergarde front to help try to keep what portals we can make, open. They rotate mages back pretty often though." She shrugged. "Trying not to burn them all out, I guess. So, he should be back in-Garrison soon." She paused for a breath. "Anyway. Garrosh came back with a vanguard for a HUGE army through The Dark Portal. We managed to repel their initial advance, but the King has sent armies through to set up forward-garrisons on the other side. They attached Landreth to the 8th Legion. Wanted him to be Provost Marshal for their outposts, or something."

Dashaun looked thoughtful as Leslie finally wound-down. "Did you say that we razed Orgrimmar?"

Leslie nodded, then hedged. "Well... maybe not completely razed it. But we beat back Garrosh's troops. Actually, it was a joint effort. Seems that many of the Horde races were unhappy about what Garrosh did. Vol'jin is their new leader."

Dashaun smiled. "That is all I needed to hear, Clerk Dixon. We bested Garrosh." He lay back, looking contented. "If I may make a request? Something rich to eat, and the garrison barber with his portable shave kit?"

Leslie cleared her throat as she stood up again. "Actually... sir... I'm ah. I'm the acting-Captain while Landreth is away. Though I'll be happy to arrange both."

Dashaun suddenly glanced over at her, "You... you said what, now?"

Leslie looked at the ceiling as she rocked back and forth on her heels. "I'm, the -- y'know -- the, ah, acting Captain. For the Guard," she answered, trying to pass the information off as inconsequential. "Technically only a 1st LT... but Captain needed to declare a second in case he doesn't make it back."

Dashaun lay in a long silence. Finally, he said, "Congratulations on your commission, First Lieutenant."

Uncertain whether Dash approved or not, she replied, "Ah... thank you? Not exactly what I would have wanted for myself. But some good things have come out of it." She paused. "I think."

Changing the subject, Dash said, "So what is all this I hear about my own funeral?"

"You fell from a Gryphon. You were dead... the inspection showed a worn harness strap had snapped. So, there was no formal autopsy or further investigation." Leslie sighed. "It was a nice funeral though -- if there can be such a thing. Captain Landreth put on his 'Church' hat, and said some really heartfelt words over you. Then, you were buried... well something was buried... near Moonbrook."

A shadow passed over Dashaun's features. "I think it was me." He frowned. "That investigator may have been right. I was not being buried at the time -- they may have been digging me up."

"Really?" Leslie squinted at him. "Now, I'm wishing I'd had a chance to see that report, big time."

Dash pondered quietly, looking at the ceiling. "So... I am dead."

"Technically?... Legally?... Yeah." Leslie winced, as Dashaun coughed and sniffled. "You look pretty good for a walking dead guy," she quipped. "But there's going to be a lot of paperwork over this. I can feel it. Plus, I haven't met with the Oversight Committee yet. Or with Shaw. Landreth warned me that would be coming."

Dash's expression was unreadable. "Send in a Priest when you can. I may be dead, after all. I may have Plague, or whatever the Forsaken carry."

Leslie made a face at the mention of Forsaken. She wasn't sure if Dash were joking or not. But a priest actually was a good idea, given the peculiarity of Dashaun's re-emergence from the grave. The last thing she needed was him suddenly breathing fire or claiming to be the Herald for the Burning Legion's "We-Were-Just-Joking-The-Last-Time Tour" or something. She nodded, "I'll get on that next. Though I imagine we'd already know by now if you were only sorta-dead."

Dashaun shrugged. "Defias were involved. That alone makes all possibilities possible."

"Yeah, I'll need to go get that report. I have a feeling that we're going to have some work to do because of that."

Once again, Dashaun was pensive. "I am a civilian now." He said it as if having trouble believing the words.

"I ... guess? Technically?" replied Leslie, unsure. "I'll have to find out if there's a process for becoming un...dead. Anti-dead? Retro...dead." She gave up trying to find the best term for it. "We'll get it sorted out. I assume you... wouldn't want to be a civilian, would you?"

Dash shook his head. "No."

"Didn't think so. Like I said... we'll get it sorted out." She tried to sound confident, even though she had no idea where to start. "Besides, I can't imagine they'd want me to continue functioning as Captain if they could clear you...." She rolled her eyes and made a sign to ward off evil. "Though Makers forbid they try to throw you at the Draenor War."

Stoically, Dashaun replied, "I will go where needed."

Leslie grimaced. "Don't be too eager. They just might. They're snapping up every able body they can it seems. Anyway, I should go get them to send in the barber and get you something to eat. Let you rest a bit."

Dashaun looked at her, offering a rare smile, "Thank you, Leslie."

At first, her expression was unreadable, but the answering smile that blossomed on her lips soon after was sincere. "It's good to have you back, Dash."

As she moved to leave the sick bay, she beckoned the doctor to follow her. Once they were outside and out of earshot, she turned to him. "We are placing the man in there under quarantine. Furthermore, no one, and I mean NO ONE is to discuss this man's identity. Until we understand what has brought him to us in this state -- whatever that state may be -- I don't want anyone outside the few of us who have handled him today to even entertain the idea that he is who he says he is. Are we clear on this?"

Alarmed, the doctor nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good," stated Leslie, flatly. "I'll go secure the others. Call in a priest ASAP to conduct an inspection of our subject. Make sure that the priest speaks with me before his or her examination."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Thank you," replied Leslie. "Dismissed." Her mind was churning as she left to speak to the other guards who may have some inkling that Dash had returned from the dead. In some ways, she really hoped that whatever happened to the erstwhile Captain was supernatural. Because the other possibilities raised a lot of ugly questions like "Who would do this?" and "Why?" Leslie started down the hallway towards the mess hall. The least she could do was get Dashaun something to eat.

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Re: Stories of a Man From Moonbrook

Postby LEGION » December 22nd, 2014, 11:00 pm

((Cross-posting per Dash's request.))

|Alliance| Oh, What Tangled Webs
Dixon, Shaw, SCG.

Leslie turned a slow circle in the open waiting area outside Master Shaw's office. Various weapons adorned the walls, all of which were small and designed for extremely close-quarters combat. A few, she had been trained to use, herself, courtesy of Galley Nalley or Stephen's friends. Most, she recalled as preferred by the wetworkers who took passage on The Moonlit. Leslie fought to keep her lip from curling as she prowled the waiting room. What little that Captain Landreth had conveyed to her about Master Shaw left her feeling that she was going to dislike the man, intensely. All the 'cloak and dagger' bullshit, on the walls was just icing on the cake.

"Admiring my collection?"

Leslie felt the jolt of adrenaline, but schooled herself into appearing unsurprised at the silent arrival of Master Shaw beside her. He flashed her an amused smile. The adrenaline quickly soured into annoyance. Showoff jackwagon. "Yes," she replied, unsmiling. "Could use a flower arrangement or two, though." The amused smile faltered a little, as her host tried to examine the quip for unstated compliment or insult. He seemed to settle on a 'wait and see' position, as he extended his hand towards the entry into his office.

"Please, make yourself comfortable. I'm Shaw, as you probably figured out."

Leslie scanned the room as she entered. "I'm Dixon, as announced." She hadn't actually seen or heard anyone announce her arrival, but she was sure her identity and appointment had been relayed long before her introduction. The look that Master Shaw rewarded her with was one of re-appraisal.

"Captain Landreth has spoken very highly of you."

Thanks, he says you're a wolf in weasel's clothing, was what she wanted to say. "Thank you. I hope that his faith in me isn't wholly misplaced," was what actually made it past her teeth.

Once Leslie had sat in the offered chair, Shaw settled himself in the chair on the other side of his desk. The amused smile was back. "Yes, I imagine your commission came as a bit of a surprise."

Leslie didn't bother being coy. "That's a damned understatement!" She was about to mention the return of Dashaun Spero, when Shaw leaned forward on his desk a bit.

"I think I can imagine what your primary concerns are, at the moment -- and believe me they're foremost in my mind as well."

So, he knew about Dash already. Leslie supposed she shouldn't be surprised. "Yeah, I was definitely wondering what our next steps were."

Shaw sat back. "We've managed to expunge the smuggling from your record. But we're having a small problem with the other matter."

Leslie blinked as her mind tried to switch gears. "W-what? What problem?"

Shaw's expression was serious-but-kindly. "Unfortunately, during the war with Garrosh, all our bases between Ratchet and Theramore were severely damaged, if not utterly eradicated. Other than your testimony and confession, we've been unable to verify the charges against you."

Leslie's expression shifted to one of narrow-eyed confusion. "Why is that a problem? Wouldn't that just make things easier? So far as anyone knows there were NEVER any charges against me!"

Shaw toyed with a divet on his desk. "Well, yes, that might be one way to look at it. However, you must understand our situation. You've been placed into a position of significant public trust. Hanging is a very serious sentence for a relatively trivial offense." Shaw gave her a piercing look. "What if the charges had actually been more appropriate for the sentence?"

Leslie felt her heart start racing. "But... I told Landreth the truth! There has to be a record... SOMEwhere?"

Shaw gave her a little shrug. "And perhaps there is. But nothing that made it back to Stormwind. So, I have to cover my bases. I'm sure you understand." "I have to cover my bases...." Shaw's words replayed in her mind. Realization that Shaw was fully in control of the situation dawned iron-heavy on Leslie. This is what he wants. He wants you scared, Liz. He wants you scrabbling for any hope he feels like offering. He wants strings.

Shaw read the realization in Leslie's expression. "I see you're quick. I should have guessed that Landreth wasn't exaggerating in that regard." He folded his arms across his chest as he leaned back in this chair. "So, indulge my curiosity a moment -- are you sleeping with your latest Captain as well?"

Leslie shot out of her chair, face flushed with anger. "I...." Wasn't even sleeping with the first one you goblin-plugger! Once again, her self-censor was on high-alert. Shaw didn't need to know that tidbit. The fact that he appeared not to, gratified her. She sat back down, expression closed. "...don't believe that's any of your business, Master Shaw." She couldn't tell whether he was vexed by her refusal to rise to his bait, or not.

"I might beg to disagree on that, but since you weren't actually a direct subordinate until your commission a few days ago, I suppose it wouldn't be considered inappropriate even if you were." He went back to idly exploring the damage to his desk with his index finger. Leslie hoped that someone had forcibly introduced Shaw's face to his desktop sometime in the past.

She sat back in her chair and glared at the spymaster. "So. I'm not real strong in the 'play nice with people I'd rather feed to an orc' game. Maybe we can get around to what exactly you think I can do for you?"

Shaw smirked. "Landreth also said you had a temper."

"Let's just say I don't have a lot of patience for a great many things," Leslie growled. Shaw regarded her with narrow-eyed speculation.

"I confess, I hadn't really considered you as a potential resource before your, ah, somewhat checkered past came to light. Now, of course, I see there may be a great many ways in which you could assist me, beyond being a means to reach your elvish Shapeshifter friend."

So, there it was. That's why Shaw was so eager to get his paws on her: He wanted Nariath.

Leslie shrugged. "He's gone," she stated, flatly. "Once Landreth told him to skeedaddle, he did. Probably back in Glitter-town or Moon-moon or wherever his kind like to make rainbows and two-headed unicorns."

Shaw steepled his fingers. "Perhaps. But I suspect given the extraordinary lengths he went to just to keep you safe, he would come back if you were in trouble."

The fire had left Leslie's expression. In its place was something flat and dangerous. "Am I in trouble?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that exactly." Shaw smiled again. "However, things do have a way taking unexpected turns. But we can work through them, you and I."

"And my elvish friend."

"Yes, well his ... assistance certainly wouldn't hurt."

"Got it."

Shaw patted his desktop lightly. "Good. I think that our little introduction has been very insightful. A little rocky perhaps at the start -- But I look forward to working with you, Captain Dixon."

Leslie's expression hadn't changed. She got up from her chair slowly, her eyes fixed upon the spymaster. "Uh-huh," she muttered. "I'm sure you'll be in touch."

"Yes, most definitely. I hope you won't mind if I don't see you out."

"Nope." Leslie eased backwards a few steps, still glaring at Shaw, before turning and leaving his office. One thought bubbled to the surface past all the outrage. He doesn't know about Dash! If Shaw didn't know about Dash, then Leslie needed to work quickly to make sure that Shaw couldn't hold up whatever was needed to reinstate the former Captain's legal status. She could only imagine that Shaw would not want to have the stubborn and largely unassailable former Captain preventing his governance of the SCG by proxy.

Leslie began removing the badge and insignia's from her uniform. Her brisk walk quickly turned into a jog as she headed for City Hall.

Posts: 14
Joined: December 5th, 2014, 6:26 pm

Re: Stories of a Man From Moonbrook

Postby Dashaun » December 27th, 2014, 3:28 pm

Directed Ambition (Story - G)

It was a fine afternoon in Stormwind, and The Park was the grassy, quiet destination for many of the region's more artistic types who conversed, danced, and played by the large moonwell. However, in another part of the city, a group of armored men were speaking in excited pitches about the King's most recent special military division.

"Dashaun? I am selecting YOU to be an administrator of the City Guard's Law Enforcement Division. Are you hearing me?" Feleth, commander of the newly formed Stormwind City Guard, asked as he stated his intentions to promote Dashaun Spero from raw recruit to commissioned officer.

Julius Hyle was there with them, standing outside the Command Center, watching quietly as usual. He was wise and calculated, which not only gave heavy meaning to his words, but also to his silence.

After a few tense seconds, in a firm tone Dash answered, "No. I will not accept the rank of lieutenant." All the men there, in fresh, brand new SCG tabards balked at the refusal to be so grandly elevated.

Dashaun continued before the balking turned into commenting, "I am just a vigilante from Moonbrook. My combat experience comes solely from picking fights with the Defias. I have never held any sort of position of authority, much less been in a leadership role of any kind. I have no formal training whatsoever, except what my father taught me." He grimaced at his own words, then added, "I will not take a position simply because of who my father was."

"Then you will be my sergeant. I have faith in you as being loyal and dedicated already." Feleth told him in return, in a voice that communicated that the matter was not up for any more debate.

Dash considered it a moment, then nodded, "Very well. I will start my enlistment in the Guard as a sergeant, but understand that I do so under protest. I came into the city and signed up with the recruiter to become a proper soldier. Not to seek glory."

Feleth stated, "As far as I'm concerned, you're a fine soldier as is. It's a noble thing to admit you're not ready to move up, and pass on it. Now, study up! I am making you responsible for training the new patrollers we get. We will make the Commander Center our headquarters until a better location is arranged." He would begin telling them his plans for the structure of the Guard and picking out others for promotion to positions vital to his plans.

As the commander spoke, Dashaun unconsciously raised his hand to his chest to touch his tabard, underneath which was hanging from a chain his father's Mookbrook Marshal rank badge. Before he was born, his father fought against the Defias invasion of Moonbrook, but was overrun. Injured, he and his wife fled into the Dagger Hills, where they lived as refugees. The wife become a mother not long after, and Dashaun entered the world in the cliffs overlooking the occupied town.

"Got that, Sergeant Spero?" Feleth asked in a raised voice. Apparently he caught the tall man lost in his thoughts, to which Dash replied without hesitation, "Yes sir. Begin patrolling with the new Guards for hands-on training as soon as they get their uniforms and have read the Law books cover to cover."

Feleth blinked, "That's not what I said but I like it! I leave it in your capable hands, Sergeant."

Dashaun eyed the man a bit, "Yes sir, I will do my best."

The commander did not speak again as he walked away with the other newly promoted officers to tour the Command Center.

Dash looked up and to the northeast at the ramparts of the city walls, towards Westfall. He knew he would not get far against the Defias as he was, and needed to improve himself. But he was not sure joining the City Guard was the right way to do it.

Time would tell.
"Service is its own reward." - taken from his father.


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