Within the dark and dusty walls of the Manor, Marshal John Wilcox sat more or less like a statue in his wooden chair, legs pulled under his seat but with a sprawled appearance. His face was a painting of annoyance with a artist's touch of thoughtfulness, brooding eyes crossing the floorboards towards his sword and shield, they looked filthy - clean.
It has been a while since their victory at the Sepulcher which was meant to be glorious but the damned bones and rot infested creations of the after life had also treated it as a victory, it felt like they had stolen his prize and hogged it to themselves as he could hear their scouting units taunting them when they felt safe enough to approach the mounts. Of course, the lieutenant or one of the other reconnaissance members would quickly take them out if they could, they had snatched some but they would always return like rats.
The Brigade, his charge, were muttering and buzzing around the manor and its outsides to keep themselves occupied till the next mission. The storage was brilliantly accounted for by Finch, as well as the troops kept in check by the lieutenant as she would bark out to keep them in check - you didn't always need to be a worgen to come out like a strong authority. It was a commended trait that he only enforced more on her.
John's eyes watched over Ms. Blackweald and Mr. Turner as they stood leaned over the command table, talking over a few mission statements and categorizing the maps for the Brigade's missions. They were restless as well. ‘We're stuck here in these damn hills, waitin' for the right moment, the right words' he growled deeply to himself as he got up from his seat. The mass of worgen muscle would have the seat creak in relief as its burden was lessened.
With a moment to compose himself, he adjusted his armor and posture to that of what he used to display to his people, one can only show their humane faults for a limited amount of time before causing questions to roam. His paws thumped along the floorboards in a steady stride towards the command table, offering respectful nods to the two already perched at the parchments and records of the scouting parties.
As the large clawed hands of the Marshal settled to rest at the command table, sending the wooden surface creaking under his weight till it was contempt and balanced once more. The heavy oak table were almost decorated by their mission papers and maps - John was a little weary about this, after all, Ravenholt manor wasn't really fully committed to the Gilnean, or even the Alliance choices.
The marshal leaned over one of the maps, trailing his clawed index finger along the shoreline behind the Alterac Mountains, another long lost kingdom but this one crumbled due to greed. The once Lord, Perenolde had chosen to betray the Lordaeron Alliances, sending the neighbouring kingdoms into a fury - a problem that was dealt with with an iron fist.
There, this'll be a good p- ...
, John's voice was torn from his mouth as silence blanketed the room before igniting an explosion of light that bathed every surface and dark corner in a symphony of colour as a tear in the air appeared, within the middle one could just spot the golden sands of desert dunes in the background as a humanoid form stepped out of the light.
A small figure formed within the core of colour fluctuating light, his body was first wrapped in the golden sands before torn from the picture to be in the open space of the manor, sending the light dispersing behind him as the portal snuffed out - leaving darkness and shadows feeling a bit darker than before.
Beyond another table over by the wall came a cacophony of profanity and death threats as a clawed fist pulled up a tangled shape draped in a table cloth and what looked to be some of his lunch. Furrows were dug into the wooden surface by his sharp claws as Thorne pulled himself to his feet with a deep growl. What was once a delightful sandwich were now a shoulder pad of bread, a slice of ham along his cheek and different sauces and other content splattered along his chest and the table cloth draped along.
Who ever was the bright light to do this bloody stunt in ‘ere is going to get a talkin' with my fist!
Thorne snarled as he was trying to make his way around the table without much luck. He was quickly hauled back into the other seat by another member of the Brigade, with a stern stare, she had set herself to clean of the rest of the sandwich before Thorne ended up looking more like a goof - you can't appear threatening with ham on your face
, she softly chided. HAM IS THE LAST ON MY MIND!
the Worgen snarled as he struggled to get to his feet.
The colours looked to dimmed and bland in the dark of the room but the people within were quite sure that in the right light, this mage would be adorning some bright colours for they could be noticed in flakes of light and enchanted thread. He was rather scrawny for a mage and it didn't take the Marshal more than a approaching glance to take the understanding that the young trembling man was no more a mage than Thorne was a serving tray for his own sandwich; an apprentice.
What are you doing here, kid?
John snarled as he was going through his armor straps to keep himself ready for anything from this stranger, or what he was going to bring to the table.
The poor apprentice that was chosen for this task stood trembling, leaving a trail of golden sand on the floor as he was trying to recompose himself. Stuttering and humming, opening and closing of his tome just to end up pulling in what he saw within the room. Before they were just a little handful but these people were increasing in numbers after his little entrance. He softly prayed to himself before he spoken in a silken soft voice.
I bring grave news from the fractured fronts of Uldum. They sent me here to bring a message, a-and to return fast with your answer! Y- you and your people are needed. N- now!
The young mage flinched as if he was expecting a terrifying outcry from the worgen in front of him, knowing his furious nature of the worgen curse, he wasn't willing to know what they were to do if they were suddenly met with demands of other forces.
The Nightfall Brigade will send a small unit
he smiled mischievously at the young apprentice, bearing a sight of his yellowing fangs
G-great! I will tell them that the N-Nightfall Brigade is crossing over to assist us!
The young mage spoke more relaxed as he coursed through a set of movements to form up another portal before he was halted in his motion by a heavy set hand. It felt like all the charge of his body had just fizzled out as the nails slowly dug into his robes of scholarly.
... And you will take us there, messenger
.
His voice was seething with a blood craving as well as the grasp having an authoritarian demand of the nature that couldn't be disputed even if commands were for the apprentice to return right away with the answer. The Nightfall Brigade was planning to tear through the portal and pour out across the desert sands.
The Marshal blinked as he was grabbed by his arm rather firmly by his Lieutenant, halting his reach for his shield. The eyes he was met with was that of seriousness, there was no calm within the vortex of fury that was brewing within. Her grasp was leading him towards the command table to not permit him much action until after their talk.
Messenger! Don't you dare wander of. The Nightfall Brigade will be ready to leave... After my second in command has been briefed
.