The sun dimmed just across the darkened sea, slicing through the mist and dreary clouds before finishing its descend into the night. The waves softly sloshed against the wooden pylons of the small dock, echoing with the silence of the small village of Surwich. Below the blanket of darkened clouds, around the bend of a cursed forest and in the heart of new lives, this place is serving as a home for weary Gilneans seeking their own land -and at a protective grasp, the Nightfall Brigade holds above them.
With only shelters of wooden and stone, the three houses looms in around the small windmill, sharing the close connection with the stable as well. Hooked between the quaint houses are tents pitched, serving as home for soldiers and refugees. A home is where you are welcomed, and Surwich welcomed the ones of the broken kingdom. The lands of Gilneas fell to threats within as well as the looming threats of the walking dead.
A cold gust of wind threatened to almost topple the light of Surwich, sending the lanterns struggling to keep their flames blazing. In moments of the night, the lanterns would be tended to by a caretaker of the brigade, making sure the oil and wick is safe, so the light can keep going through the night.
Beyond a few steps lies the path towards the dreadful lands of many chaotic events, Blasted lands. The Gilnean people were never truly part of those events until the portal glared at the land. Not in its previous green colour but red, red as fire. It bid destruction and murder welcome with the appearance of the Iron Horde. A foe that was struck back from within and beyond the portal by numerous armies of the Alliance, and even the Horde.
The floorboards of the little dock creaked beneath the weight of plated boots, and an armor to go with it. Slumped against a post, a soldier stood, embracing as the rain slowly started to carpet across Surwich, creating melodies along the various surfaces. Wood, steel, plant life and even the complaints of his people, they all cause a notice at his side. All part of his symphony. The night fall lullaby eased many to rest. Dreary their home might seem to many but after all, this was their home, and soon they would depart once more.
He smiled softly as he outstretched his hand to watch the rain dance across the gauntlet's surface. The keen ear of a worgen making sure that there were none around to take notice at his moment of peace - a peace that would seen be broken as their true home calls. His ears twitched for a moment before his turned rigid and attentive to the lurking in the dark.
Ah, Finch. All settled for our departure?
his voice was calm and authoritarian at his enquiry.
For a moment Callemy Finch was startled as she was pretty sure the marshal was not able to take notice of her with his back turned towards the courtyard, and the weather beating down to cover the sound and scents - but that is after all why he stood at the front of the Nightfall Brigade.
All's settled for the trip, sir
Finch spoke with certainty, trying to gesture to the packed up things from behind her commanding officer.