briggette-garabaldie - Tumblr blog

[briggette-garabaldie]

Bri by Akira_Raikou on twitter

[briggette-garabaldie]

Bri by the wonderful @mochimalha

[briggette-garabaldie]

Lenience

SWISH. THUMP. 

That arrogant, tosspot, laggard. 

HISS. THUMP. THUMP. 

Left them to die, all while pretending to gather forces. 

SWISH. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. 

CRACK.

Sword in hand, panting from the exertion, Bri frowned at the training dummy split in two. Her gauntlets creaked as she tightened her fists around her hilt. 

One. Two. Three. Breathe. 

On repeat as she fought to hold back a scream. 

With slick sound of her sword back in her scabbard, Bri looked out at the camp, her attention catching on one of the men who’d stepped forward at Spearshorn’s estate. He moved toward another, one of the veterans. When they headed towards the area, dawnsmen were already in morning training, Bri looked down at the wooden frame she’d split in two with her anger. 

Her hand went to her waist and the once ever present libram was a ghost. A frustrated sigh escaped the woman. Turning and stomping back to her tent, Roberts gave her wide berth until her voice gritted out an order to see to the broken dummy. 

“Yes, ma’am.” He made haste to where she had tried to work out her anger. 

Bri watched him go for a moment then huffed into her tent. The sight of the rest of her armor cleaned and shining in the sunlight the open tent flap let in, caused her to pause. It was not the set she had forged carefully at Blackstone, nor was it the armor she’d made from her father’s old silver hand set in Tyr’s. But it was black and gold. And it had served her well since the fire in Blacksands. 

It would serve her well until the Dark Horde was defeated. She let the flap fall closed, putting the tent into a shadowed grey. Her thoughts turned back to what she had found outside Spearshorn’s estate. 

They had needed those men. It would have more than assured victory. Especially if Hill’s people had not died unnecessarily. That was the root of her anger. The sight of all those drunken men, the waste of the potential. Lives they could have helped save were burning in a pyre now. 

Bri crossed the room and lifted a whetstone and cloth. The sword was pulled from her scabbard and she sat down to work at the damage she had done to the blade with her angry tirade. The sound and motion of sharpening the blade soothing her mind and allowing calm thoughts once more. 

All hope was not lost. She had more than half of her people out there, marching from Stonard. Well trained and experienced fighters all. Early runners reported they would arrive before the afternoon. The Kul Tirans a boon. Duskwood’s forces a boon. Even Stonard’s forces Ritelle had rallied were a boon. 

They would take the bridge. They would hold until Krol’s forces made their way through the blocked pass. The Dawn had fought tough battles before. This may be the toughest one yet, but she had no doubts that her people, all of the Dawn, would rise to the occasion and see the push by Ghorr’s forces stopped. 

Bri tested the blade. Then began to rub the cloth along the runes. This at least she still had. The carefully crafted steel. The runes for strength, for dexterity, and for holy fire were polished to a gleam. She held it before her. Eyes reflecting back at her in the metal. Lenience. It was her tool of mercy. A death from the blade would be swift and merciful. Better than those who sought to fight against it and end her life might deserve. 

Merciful and compassionate. Traits she strived to be as a paladin. But compassion didn’t mean letting people get away with things. Mercy did not mean one had to forgive the wrongs. Justice would come. 

Bri stood the swish of the sword through the air and then she was sliding it back within its scabbard. Her gaze went back to the armor. It would serve her well on the field and the Dawn would prevail. 

[briggette-garabaldie]

By Maewix on twitter

[briggette-garabaldie]

Bri by Minx on twitter

[briggette-garabaldie]

Broken

It had all been so fast. One moment she thought Draugayne was speaking of a squire gone astray and then next he was breaking apart before her. Tears flowed from the paladin’s blue eyes unhindered. Bri fell to her knees. Hands braced in front of her, as she tried desperately to catch her breath.  Tried to stop the lingering anguish from the death knight’s change from overwhelming her. Emotions weighing her down. 

A beacon of hope flashed through her thoughts. A refrain of hope. A prayer from the fallen Sunfury rose in her mind. In and out her breath came and went in time with the words from the booklet she had committed to memory. 

O Holy Light, embrace me with your love. Let your warmth fill me. Light the Darkness before me. Aid me to disperse my fears. Hear me, please, in my hour of need. I am your instrument. I am your will. Fill my soul with your strength and hope. O Holy Light, bless your child. O Holy Light, embrace me with your love. 

Her prayers were interrupted by thoughts of the horrible offer she had made. Worry struck the paladin, could she have done it or would she too have failed him. The paladin bowed her head, eyes closed tight as the memory of Draugayne crawling towards the defeated Marshal, the cries of “finish it” echoing in her ears as the true horror of what he wanted was realized. 

Bri prayed again. Focus upon the words. Focus upon the Light. Focus, Bri. 

She stayed upon her knees. Looking toward where the gate had opened and the Ebon Blade had disappeared with Draugayne with unseeing eyes. Hands clasped in her lap as she tried to understand how things had gone so wrong.  What was she to tell Ritelle? Surely the councilor had heard of the return of her knight. And now it was Bri’s fault that he was gone again.  

O Holy Light, embrace me with your love. Let your warmth fill me. Light the Darkness before me. Aid me to disperse my fears. Hear me, please, in my hour of need. I am your instrument. I am your will. Fill my soul with your strength and hope. O Holy Light, bless your child. O Holy Light, embrace me with your love. 

And like the dawn coming over the horizon, the Light found her. It did not forsake her in this area of pain and suffering known as the Dead Scar. A sense of warmth and love brought calm to the paladin. Her prayer, her offer of song answered. The tears still fell but Bri was able to breathe without pain. Hours had passed. Darkness surrounded the paladin. Sounds of undead shuffling nearby drew her out of her self-imposed exile. It was slow and painful, pins and needles throughout her legs as she shakily regained her feet. “I’m sorry, Sir Kastillan.” Her voice cracking, a hushed whisper. No answer came but the groan of a shambling creature to her right. 

Bri turned toward the lights of Fairbreeze in the distance. One step, then two. One foot in front of the other. It felt as if she walked for hours, though it was only minutes.  Then the village was around her. The only thought in the paladin’s head was to find Ritelle. 

[briggette-garabaldie]

Back in One Piece

Fairbreeze Village was, once upon a time, crashed upon with the full force of the undead Scourge. So near to the Dead Scar, it has taken many years to return to a sense of normalcy. The entourage of Blood Knights were not the only of Ritelle's retinue to station there, however. Some rangers reported sightings of a black-clad knight who had appeared in the dead of the night some days earlier. Only this evening was his identity verified by a slightly shaken patrolman. Gossip of his presence was fleeting, though it persisted in murmurs about the Ebon Knight who stood vigil in the center of the Dead Scar, along the road just outside of Fairbreeze. And surely enough, as dusk closed in, there he would be again; midnight clad, towering, and statuesque. He stood imperiously, with his runeblade drawn, pointed down, and held lateral between two gauntleted hands. Frosted eyes licked the eternally spring air with frigid tongues of mist. Staring passively down the long march from Deatholme, Draugayne Kastillan stood in one piece.

The days in Fairbreeze had turned to routine for the Knight-Lord. Her mind was heavy though after her encounter with the former Sunfury member and she had seemed to become quieter than usual, found flipping through a booklet instead of writing in her libram and chatting with the locals. And so it was a few days before the rumor of the Ebon Knight standing guard in the middle of the Dead Scar reached her ears. One thought drove her from the village and down the path to where they said he stood guard. It was a hurried pace she set leaving without even a guard to accompany her. And then she stopped at the top of the hill. Staring at the restored Death Knight. Finally, she came closer and stopped a few feet behind him, sure he could feel her presence just as she could feel his icy one at the top of the hill. It was hope in her voice as she spoke, “Sir Kastillan?”

Whatever it was Briggette had hoped for, she was answered with a twist of his helmet to set cold eyes her way. His grip on his brutal, jagged quint reversed in his left hand, brought up to slide skillfully into its scabbard at his waist. With his right hand, he would bring his palm to his breast. His baroque, impossibly elaborate saronite had been cleaved through with a force unspeakable, and now, it bore that scar. The worksmanship of an immortal blacksmith, who held eldritch secrets to fashioning such steel back into one piece. His immaculate armor would never be as it was again. To even see the seam where he had been bisected was an ungodly reminder of his undeath. It was more than enough to be a killing blow, for any other man. "Knight Lord." he answered in monotonous greeting, as his right hand lowered, and his left fixed itself on the pommel of his weapon.

Bri took in a sharp breath, as he turned and confirmed it was in fact the Death Knight she’d hoped it was. The damage evident on his armor had the blacksmith in her eyeing the craftsmanship with a critical eye before she lifted her gaze up to meet the cold stare. “It is you.” Almost to herself but then, the most silly question came out of her lips, “Why are you here?”

"My presence offends the locals." he answered bluntly. Simply, even. Perhaps missing the point of her inquiry. It was never quite easy to tell if he was being evasive, or obtuse. That much, at least, seemed to be the same. He stared at her vacantly, adding no further extrapolation.

Bri seemed to still not be sure she was actually seeing the cleaved in half Death Knight whole. But if anything could solidify that it was in fact the knight it was his direct and literal answer. She smiled then, “It is you.” This time with more assuredness and her composure regained, curiosity and a bit of concern had her asking, “They will not let you into the village? Or do you just avoid it out of consideration?”

 "I am permitted. I am less distracting without, than within." With every word, the opening of his exposed teeth blasted visible gusts of blueish white ice into the perennially warm air. Nowhere were the contours and designs elaborately molded into the surfaces of his armor more visible, than here; the frost clinging to his panoply starkly visible in the golden light of the land of eternal spring. "How may I assist you, Knight-Lord?" The question was spoken as if rehearsed - as was any semblance of chivalry he displayed.

The paladin nodded at the answer, “Ever the knight.” She did not answer straight away, instead contemplating him. “I have a million questions, but all of them seem sillier than the last truth be told.” A sigh went out and she started to take a step closer but then recalling their previous conversation halted. “I was worried that you would not return. It is good to see you whole.” There was sincerity and compassion in her tone, even if it seemed he might be an unlikely target for the later from her. “Do you travel with Songsear to Northrend when Doth’remos’s business is done?”

Draugayne was unresponsive. In any one else, it would be obvious that he was considering his words carefully. With Draugayne, it was practically buffering. "I go where the General commands me; if the time comes that she orders me to Northrend, then I shall go thusly."  Mechanical; predictable. Though, a flicker in the lights of his eyes preceded an umprompted reverie from the Death Knight; "What has become of Ser Raymond Marshal?"

Bri shifted slightly where she stood, but glanced back toward where Fairbreeze stood as if she could spy Ritelle from here. “She will be relieved to have you at her back once more.” She turned back and looked uneasy at his question. The truth warred with not wanting the man that once was to be angry or upset. There was a hint of something, distress or anger, in her answer when she finally spit it out. “He serves his sentence on Dawncall. Hard labor for his crimes.”

The Death Knight's head tipped back slowly, eyelids shutting slowly as his neck rolled his helmeted skull forward and downward in an unsettlingly fluid, yet strained, stammering motion. Draugayne was a Death Knight - to be in his presence was to feel the chill of death creep into one's marrow. To a Paladin, to one who could so finely be in tune with emotion, one who exuded hope - to stand in Draugayne's presence in that moment was to feel palpable hatred. Anger withered the air and made spring into winter. A blank stood before her; a spot of absolute void in Eversong's warmth. There was more - more than fury and spite, there was agony. Anguish enough to bring a mortal to screeching tears and gurgled cries for release. 'Finish it. Finish it. Finish it.' flashed through his mind, and a spasm brought his head back to an upright position. He was as he had been - static; and yet, the overwhelming sense of dread and suffering loomed over Draugayne like a storm cloud hanging over a tumultuous maelstrom. Another twist of his neck, and Draugayne -turned away- from Briggette. A mannerism completely out of character for the Knight. He said nothing.

She felt it immediately. The wall of emotion: anger, fury, spite, agony. All of it felt like a cold slap to the compassionate paladin’s face. So much so that she took a step back. A gasp and her hand flying over her heart as if those emotions were daggers stabbing at her. She too remembered the moment she’d seen him last, crawling to try to end Marshal’s life. A single tear rolled down Bri’s face. And she too looked away, “I’m sorry, Sir Kastillan.” She stood frozen, her own anguish at not being able to give him that peace aching through the paladin.

Draugayne all but trembled, like the earth before bursting and vomiting forth an eruption. For Draugayne, the eruption never came; it never could come. Not that he restrained himself, but that he could not release his agony. Incapable. His head swung from side to side in another roll, teeth opening and closing with a single light 'tap'. When his skull straightened again, the metallic echo of words left is maw with a chilled hiss; "A Squire to a failure, could never be more than a failure." His teeth closed again, and gritted together. His hands twitched in vibration before going still again.

Bri‘s eyes snapped to Draugayne at those words, “He was your squire?”

The Death Knight's head twisted, face lowered, neck popping as his fingers curled - but did not close. "Weak." He growled in a voice that crunched like the gears of a war machine rusting to a halt. "He is -weak-. He did not finish it." His teeth grit together and his eyes stared wide, and wild into the black soil. "He could not finish it."

The answer surprised her. Again a million questions sprung and Bri took a step closer then, her aura clashing with the cold of the knight. Curiosity for the full story drove her to ask “Why? What happened?”

His voice was low - forcefully so, and it carried inflection behind ground teeth; "He made a vow." he said, as if only lips, that no longer existed, moved. "He swore a vow to me." His head snapped to the right, and there was... something more to him. Something in his eyes was... present. Aware. Conscious. Alive. He turned and his feet brought him toward Briggette with lethal speed - towering over her. "He swore me a vow!" he all but shouted in Briggette's face. Now he was so close, it was almost too obvious. Draugayne was animated, driven to being, like so many Forsaken. He slammed a heavy, gauntleted hand down onto Bri's shoulder and TUGGED, threatening to lift her from her feet, but doing little more than jostle her. "HE SWORE A VOW TO ME!" He roared in her face, his skull mostly hidden, and devoid of emotion - but it was there. The suffering he embodied - it was there; in his eyes. Swelling, and unable to weep with sorrow, nor rage. The bodily functions that cried out in his eyes denied, now, not by his nature, but by the nature of his rotten flesh. It was as if another soul entirely was before Briggette, now.

There was no time. A blink and all the stories about monsters flashed before Bri’s eyes. Fear. Genuine fear gripped the paladin as she was manhandled by the towering Knight of Death. Her breath came heavy as she fought for control over that fear. An image of the gentle face in the book he’d gifted her, she clung to it in her mind. One, two, three breaths. Compassion won over the fear and she pushed at his chest as if to get the attention of that soul and four words slipped from her lips. “He was a fool.”

His mannerisms were erratic and unpredictable; a flawed, and yet accurate simulacrum of a living man. But when Briggette spoke, Draugayne was silent again. He simply stared down into Briggette's eyes. For the first time, she would see a man staring back; not merely a weapon. His hostile stature receded, but only so far as he was no longer hovering above her. He was silent, still. As if awaiting more words to follow, entranced with a mortal's anticipation.

Bri looked up into those eyes, compassion like an aura around her. She tapped his chest again, metal against metal echoing over the field like a bell. She saw the awareness and she spoke to it, “It was his failure, not yours. His weakness, not yours. If you start with flawed ore, you will never have a strong blade. Even the most skilled cannot hone what is not there.”

A range of emotion passed through nothing more than the Death Knight's eyes, and his pantomime. For a moment, Draugayne may as well have been of flesh and blood, again. Like any Forsaken Briggette had seen in Andorhal.  This was a man who felt, and cared. His head shook, and his lids came closer together with shame all but screaming in the cold orbs behind them. His hand let go of the Knight-Lord's spaulder in a sluggish, exhausted drop. He took a pace back. It was only a skull's jaw that swung open, but it -was- a man, speaking; "He avowed to end this." His posture dropped. For the first time, the giant suit of armor felt as though truly worn. "He should have ended this." His head bobbed up and down somewhat, and his eyes darted downward into a nameless distance. "He should have finished it." Not words repeated like a robot - words that were utterly meant. What terrors did Draugayne know of himself that Briggette simply could not know of. How damned he truly was. His eyes came back up - it may as well have been the ghost of the young man in the portrait, before her.

Realization of what the vow was struck the paladin like another slap to the face. She gasped and stepped back too. All the anguish in those words felt like cuts across her soul. Another tear escaped for the man trapped in the monster. The smiling face in her book again in her mind made the pain for what was even worse. “I’ll do it.” She offered it because how could she not. “I’ll do it.” She spoke the words again, taking that step back towards him. She swallowed, “I can’t ask you to serve, not like this. Not as this.” There was compassion oozing from the paladin fighting to break through the cold that surrounded the Death Knight. “Ask. And I will do it.”

Draugayne 's eyes came back up to meet hers. Another step back. He peered into her very soul; not with the baleful ire, but with something nearly treading on compassion. "When I am finally destroyed, my soul is damned to the blackest pits of hell, never to be in the arms of my wife and daughter again, in the Light's paradise. And I accept this. I deserve to suffer for all eternity, and so I shall. I embrace my torment happily. For what I have done, for what I have become. I relish that in this universe, there is a punishment for the wicked. And that my wife and daughter now have eternal peace, is all that I had left to cling to. Raymond Marhsal lives. Perhaps one day, he will be true to his vow." He looked down and up again in full measure of Briggette. "You are kind, Knight-Lord Garabaldie. But the agony I endure on this earth is a part of the price I pay. I do not get to choose to end this suffering. I do not deserve such mercy." His eyes blinked once. The paladin that once was. The beacon of faith, and of wisdom. The thing locked so securely, and buried so deeply. The man in the portrait. It was not meant to last. Pale white bone seemed to darken - a line, dark and moving, running down his eye socket. And another, a black blotch of what seemed to be liquid dripping down between his teeth. Saronite armor frozen over seemed to sweat, as the frost on its intricate features melted.

Bri ‘s face was streaked with tears. They fell unheeded as she stood ready to do the unthinkable as a kindness to the man that was. And then they slid down her cheeks a little faster as he pardoned her from that task. “You do deserve it.” It was a hushed whisper even as the soul retreated once more. She stared at the armor before her. A sigh and she stepped back as ice crystals formed on her cheeks. Still she did not look away. “I am sorry, Sir Kastillan. Death would be too easy for Marshal. Would that you could stand on Dawncall and he could see that you are whole. A reminder of his failure and of his mortality. And that he will find no peace when death finally does take him.”

His head tilted only so slightly. His teeth parted again, a visibly slush of black liquid spilling out into his gorget. "Lady Garabaldie-- "A gagged choke as the melting ice on his saronite began to darken from beneath; reddening like blow in snow. His eyes, still holding their mortal glint, went wide with indiscernible pain and dismay. He raised his right hand, which had started dripping with the same black substance that filled his mouth and sloughed onto his chest. It was unmistakable as blood. Seen, it would run out of his eyelids, clashing dark violet in contrast to their blue glow. He looked down, and up again as the blood gushed more strongly. He dropped to a knee, "Briggette--" he choked out between hyperventilations as his steel entire ran with an impossible flow of blood. Hyperventilations started growing into gasps and winces, and then shouts. The mortal man that was so composed but moments earlier was now shrieking in abject horror and anguish. Wide eyes staring into Briggette’s soul as his skull stained red, then black with many more flowing coats. The mortal man began to fade, but only so far as it was still the -true- Draugayne who felt this change in presence. His eyes flickered on and off, like lights at the mercy of a switch. Soon, smoke arose off of his collapsed silhouette and the screaming grew more mindless. A black shadow appeared behind him, and spread wide like wings as three figures walked from the abyss. Two on either side of the vision of horror before Bri, and one behind him, staring at the Paladin as they pulled him back into the Death Gate, Leaving the woman in the silence of the Dead Scar; alone,  without so much as an explanation.

She stood in shock, her instinct to heal kicking in but the reminder that the Light would not help him paralyzing the paladin. Her eyes were wide once more in terror as the ichor seeped from the knight in front of her. The scream making her cry out as well. The death gate’s opening had her reaching out with a “Help him!” even as they took Draugayne away. The silence was deafening. And she wept.

(written with a guild member)

[briggette-garabaldie]

Summer wishes

by Veelpo

[briggette-garabaldie]

Within the City of Living and Dead

Andorhal was freed. Weeks of oppressive occupation was finally lifted through the efforts of the citizens and the Dawn. Now the real work would begin once more. The city of the living and the dead would have to navigate the intricacies of existing side by side on a day to day basis. The sounds and smells of a city coming back to normal were all around. 

Within the section of the city where the forsaken set their homes, stood the Knight-Lord Garabaldie.  A picture of a Dawnsman, still in black and gold armor, hammer on her back. Her tabard fluttered in the breeze. She stood at the gate. Up the path, behind that gate, stood a house that she had never known in person. Influence of the forsaken on this area of town was everywhere. Even in this house before her. But still she knew it was the one.

A painting hung in her father’s study in Elwynn. That roof, the pillars on the entryway, the fountain and tree out front. She had sat in his lap and listened to stories while looking at that painting. Tales of his days here, of meeting her mother, of the time before. Crusades, battles, and building a life in Andorhal.  She had seen this house captured in its glory days but even with the forsaken changes it still was unmistakable. Here was the house she had been born in. 

She must have seemed strange standing here unmoving, staring up at the building. Thoughts rolled through her mind. The stories she’d heard playing like music through her head. She had lived there only for three months. She could not remember it. The contrast of how the stories made her feel and what she felt now that she was here made the paladin ache. She thought she’d have felt a connection. It surprised her that she did not. It was just a building. 

Disappointment at herself had the woman frowning. She was about to turn and head back to the inn on the living side of the city when a gasp drew her attention. A forsaken woman had come from the neighboring house and stood in her yard. 

“Melissa?” the forsaken started then subtly shook her head in dismay. Then a realization that was not possible with the youthful appearance of the paladin, “You look just like her.” 

The voice was raspy like sandpaper being rubbed together. For a forsaken, Bri noted she seemed to be well cared for, the signs of decay were minimal on the woman. Soft blue velvet fabric of a simple yet new looking dress covered a shrunken feminine form. A silver ring on her left hand stood out against deteriorating flesh. Stringy dark hair left to hang along her back. But bright blue eyes stared out of the sunken cheeks at the paladin.

Bri moved toward where the forsaken stood, interest lighting up her face and tone. “Melissa Garabaldie was my mother. Did you know her?”  Questioning politely yet with a sense of urgency if this forsaken had truly known her mother. The forsaken woman did not take her eyes off Briggette. She listened and studied the human woman as much as Bri studied the forsaken. 

“Was?” That was the first word. Then “Briggette? Yes, you must be the baby.” 

 “I am.” Bri agreed to the last as she took a step closer, “Did you know them?” She asked again, gesturing to the house next door. 

The forsaken spoke again with her raspy tone, “Yes, I was Abagail Caldrone”. Surprise lit across the paladin’s face. She had seen that name written in a family book once. The question held on Bri’s lips as the forsaken wiped at nothing on her cheek. The raspy breath was uneven, as if she had been trying to run and now just was catching her breath. The “yes” carrying weight that hung in the air between them.  Bri went quiet letting the forsaken continue or not, though curiosity was evident on her features. 

A shaky breath and then the woman spoke again, “Do you have time? I could make you some tea.” The benign offer was sincere as she gestured toward her house behind her. 

Knowledge of her family was like a beacon to the paladin. “You don’t have to trouble yourself, but I would be happy to chat with you.” And so she followed the well-dressed forsaken into the house next door.

They spoke for two hours. What she learned had Bri in tears both of joy and sorrow. Family had always been precious to the paladin. Even more so since their untimely deaths. She spoke of them to Abagail, tears on the human, more raspy breath from the forsaken. Bri found solace in the scratchy voice and she found someone who loved them just as much. A tale of woe on both sides was shared along with laughter and love of these people they had both cared for. 

Bri asked what the Dawn could do to help to aid with building Andorhal up for both the living and the dead. There was no easy answer but simple suggestions that the paladin took to heart. A promise to return was given. A promise for a future of more shared stories for both of them to keep that memory of those they had loved alive. 

When the sun was fully gone and darkness had descended upon Andorhal, Bri left the house. Any who might be watching would see the frail forsaken being embraced by the paladin in a delicate manner. The forsaken again wiped at her dry cheeks before waving when Bri turned back to wave her goodbye at the gate. 

Once more, the paladin stopped in front of the house where she’d been born. She stood looking up at it as the conversation played back in her mind.  For a moment she could see them, her mother calling to her brother and sister as her Father walked up the path. A tear for what was and what could have been. Still,even with the new information, Bri could not find the connection to this building behind the gate. There was no sense of home here. Sadness mingled with hope as she glanced back at Abagail’s house. Bri turned away, determination wiping the sadness from her features as her steps took her back to the living side of Andorhal. 

[briggette-garabaldie]

Thank you again for this!!

Paladin Briggette World of Warcraft artwork.

[briggette-garabaldie]

A last prayer before battle

The stars twinkled brightly in the clear sky above the cathedral as the paladin made her way from the keep. Her breath came in little puffs of white fluff as she pulled her coat tighter. The soft leather boots she wore made no sound on the cleared cobblestone path. One last pause to appreciate the beauty before her as the lights from the cathedral made it seem even more ethereal. 

A sense of peace radiated from the building as the paladin ascended the steps into the holy building. She was unsurprised to see the small crowd of faithful at prayer inside. Orders had gone out late and now as the midnight bells rang throughout Tyr, the major preparations for the morning’s march were complete. Many now found themselves here seeking a last blessing before the Dawn’s forces took to the field of battle. 

Bri joined those in line for a blessing, slipping the coat from her shoulders and pushing up the loose sleeve of the blouse she wore as she waited her turn. The information from the evening’s meeting rolled through her head. The horror of the reality of the Scarlet’s plans had kept her quiet for most of the Highlord’s meeting. Now she held court to the rational meaning behind such abomination, a sense of true purpose to stop the Scarlets rang in her soul. 

The knight-lord had left the meeting with orders to those Captains and Lieutenants under her. She spent an hour moving among the gathering troops, speaking quietly of what was to come and delivering words of encouragement and faith to many of them individually or in small groups. The extra warning that any youths encountered were to be given the chance to lay down their weapons with a promise of a chance to be returned to their families unharmed. The Dawn would not slay the Eastweald’s hope for the future if they could help it. The electric charge of pre-battle energy was almost tangible. With a last order mirroring the Highlords to prepare for the morning’s departure in whatever way they needed, Bri had made her way to her room. 

A quick bath and change of clothes found the paladin here. She stepped forward as the line did until she knelt before a priestess of the Dawn. The warmth of the light was strongest here next to one so drenched in the Light. The holy of holiest places in Tyr adding to that sense of righteousness.  The golden paint was applied to her arm by the priestes, words of comfort and blessing uttered over the symbol drawn. Bri uttered a quiet “Dawn bless” in response before moving to an empty row and leaning forward to pray. 

“Light bless my shield, that it may protect the weak, the innocent, and all of my fellow brothers and sisters of the Dawn against the cruelty of the Scarlets. May the Dawn strike true against the fear, terror, and dread these evil men seek to bring against those who just wish to live in peace in these lands. Light bless the suffering, like that sweet child Mary, bless the fields of all the farmers in these lands,  that they might survive to see the brighter future we fight to ensure they will have. May the grace of the Light be present in all of us and may it lead the Dawn on the just and righteous path.” 

She stayed head bent letting the feeling of comfort and peace the holy building emanated wash over her. Bri cleared her worries and fears for the coming battle from her brain. A promise to see those like the Hawthornes in a better state than they were in currently. 

The ever present libram found its way to her lap as she sat back. Pages flipped with no destination in mind until she came upon a passage. The words leapt from the page striking the paladin with their meaning.

In all things, paladins must reflect the Light, which supplements our strength. To strive to be divine for one of our kind does not mean we strive for godhood--we strive to be good in all actions.  Although called upon to smite evil in these harsh times, you must always remember that it's aiding others that will truly set you apart from the other citizens. Compassion, patience, bravery--these things mean as much to a paladin as strength in battle.

The Dawn embodied this and more and strengthened by those thoughts, Bri eased from the pew. One last look at the symbol of the Dawn hanging over the altar surrounded by the stained glass depicting heroes of these lands. We fear no evil, evil shall fear us echoed in her mind as she turned to leave. The paladin made her way to find sleep in the few hours left before dawn.

(indented part from here )

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Helen Snowcloud

commission

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Bri by guild member

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Ready for Winter Veil by @Zombiecat on twitter

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Bri and Bubbles by SZ_Draws on Twitter

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A Hard Lesson

Heavy. She just felt heavy. From her head to the tips of her toes, each step was weighted on the trip down the stairs and through the Citadel.  She paused at the entrance to the hallway that would take her back to the table, half a step toward that room before she spun and hurried the rest of the way out. She held the books tight against her chest as if they could hold back all the feelings churning in the paladin’s heart and soul. 

“Your horse, my lady.” 

The words lifted her momentarily from the storm of thoughts. She shoved the books into Bubbles saddlebags and mounted in one graceful pull up and into the pink saddle. Reins in hand she gave a quiet thanks to the stablehand and spun the charger out to the road back to her estate. 

The horse picked up on her rider’s agitation and for a while, Bri let Bubbles run, easing both of them. The moon glistened on the lake at the center of Dawncall, in the distance ships huddled along the shore with the buildings of the city behind them. She pulled the reins slowing her faithful horse to a gentler pace. The Sacred City glowed like a jewel in the night. Lanterns lit along the streets and in individual houses making it sparkle in the darkness. 

Her thoughts turned to the trial the Highlord had put her through. It was as if any knowledge she’d gained in her years had fled in that moment of challenge. That was a point to discuss next they met. The books would help. She knew having more knowledge always did.  Ritelle’s point about it being imperfect echoed in her thoughts.  She pulled Bubbles to a halt. The knight’s gaze shifted to the waters at her left. 

What had she said that set the paladin against her? Her thoughts on the Highlord? Or that she thought it was okay to take new people into the Dawn with an oath not quite understood?   

Bri didn’t think that though. That was and had been a contention for the Knight since she had any kind of power within the Dawn. It was what her original paper had been about. The need for more in both the interview process and the first days of a Dawnsman on Dawncall. But then she’d left. Her fingers tightened on the reins and Bubble’s head shifted in protest. 

If she could go back to that moment, would she change it? No. Even though it hurt she’d done what she felt was needed. She had been stifled under Basteala. The force of the other’s personality drowned out Bri to the point she couldn’t even push back. That was not love. That was obsession and possession. 

Bubbles snorted and pawed at the ground drawing Bri’s attention. Another rider approached and Bri maneuvered her horse out of the way. A quiet “Dawn guide” offered as they passed. Bri’s gaze lit upon the Citadel behind her. The last words from Ritelle made her vision snap to one of the towers. 

Yes, she was young in terms of all those she respected. Raseri, Saray, Aidan, Ritelle, Iferhi, even Arlon … all were older than her. But it did not mean she wasn’t right. The Dawn was a force for good. The Dawn was necessary for Azeroth. But the Dawn wasn’t perfect. That last thought drew a sigh from the paladin. 

Her gaze shifted across to the mountain that held Aegis Pointe even if it wasn’t visible. She’d started training new recruits there when Basteala had been knighted. Part of it was because the other knight had wanted Bri close, but most of the reason was because she believed if she could set the foundation for the newest Dawnsmen, that would lead them to the knighthood classes offered in the building proper. Her fingers gripped the pommel of the saddle causing Bubbles to shift and neigh, the horse’s breath visible in the cold night air. “Home.” came Bri’s soft voice as she tapped the sides of the charger. 

The rest of the ride, Bri contemplated Ritelle’s silence and what it meant. As she crossed the gate into her estate and approached the small stable, her thoughts turned back to the wargame. The lessons learned playing back in her mind. Patience, better assessment of what she faced, knowing her people’s strengths and weaknesses, using those advantageously rather than squandering their talents. All points she would keep in mind for her next attempt whether that be in the field or at that table. Bri pulled the books from the saddlebags and let the stablehand take Bubbles from her after she patted the loyal beast’s side and gave her a quiet thanks. 

A quiet sigh as she entered her home, that wasn’t quite home yet. She went straight to her room, waving off servants until she was behind closed doors. The room ready for her, fire burning and a lantern lit by her bedside. Her servants were nothing if not efficient when she was known to be on Dawncall. Pulling the rest of her armor from her form, Bri flung herself on the bed and cracked the first of the books open. Her anguished thoughts pushed to the side as she read the words of battle and strategy the Highlord had assigned. 

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Briggette by @wawtman