Marshal Mason finished signing off on the most recent shipment of arms and armor that entered the Keep.  It had been a long, cold day under Northrend skies, but it was work that had to be done to accomplish the insurmountable goal they set their sights on; bringing down Deathwing the Destroyer.

“Marshal, your presence is requested in the courtyard.”

Jarrick looked up to the Courier that stood before him.  “Thank you James.  I will be down shortly.”

The Courier nodded before stepping towards the door.

“James.”  The Marshal said.

“Yes, sir?”

The Marshal exhaled, his hands planted heavily upon the table before him.  “Please relay to the troops that we will continue with preparations at dawns break.  We have done enough for one day.”

The Courier nodded once more.  “As you wish, Marshal.”

Jarrick raised a plated gauntlet and rubbed his forehead.  It was one thing to marshal the forces of the Rose, but to marshal forces of the Alliance in tandem was a completely different beast.  His mind retraced the events of the day; meetings with commanders, with magisters, with platoon leaders.  It had been nonstop since the day began and he was ready to retire for the evening.

He rolled the maps and papers before him, dropping them in the barrel next to the table.  He made his way down to the courtyard to find the Justicar and Marshal Emberstone addressing fresh faces he was not familiar with.  As he approached, he studied the faces of the parties involved, all clearly showing signs of weariness from the days events.

The meeting in the courtyard was brief.  The Justicar spoke in a matter-of-fact manner to the newcomers, laying the groundwork for the upcoming weeks and explaining what was required of them to earn their keep at Wintergarde.  Jarrick provided information where necessary, mostly regarding guard duty and patrols, adding in bits of important information where necessary.  Though he did not recognize the most recent arrivals, names such as the 5th Legion, the Zephyr Trading Company, and the Steel Talons quickly spread throughout Wintergarde.

After the most recent arrivals departed the Wintergarde courtyard, Jarrick spoke briefly with the Justicar and Marshal Emberstone, catching up on the days events and planning the next days plan of attack.  Though it was difficult to tell under the northern borealis, the hour was late and the time to retire for the evening was near.

After a brief discussion with the Justicar and the Marshal, Jarrick made his way through Wintergarde and entered the inn.  It was here that a majority of the troops stationed themselves when off duty, drinking ale, playing dice, and generally shooting good conversation in front of the hearth.

As he turned and made his way to the bar he recognized a familiar grinning face raising a mug his way.  Sigmar Vaughan was parked near the edge of the bar, an extra mug waiting next to him.

“I knew you’d be in eventually.”  he said as he passed the mug to Jarrick.

He took the mug and nodded.  “Aye.  Sorry to have held you up, it has been a long day.”

“Worry not, friend.  The threat we face is real and it will take every ounce of coordination we have to win this war.  Waiting to share an ale is the least of my worries.” Sigmar said, clinking his mug against Jarrick’s.

Though the threat was real, so was the camaraderie that bloomed within Wintergarde.  From best friends to acquaintances, those that made the journey north to fight the dragon knew the risks and wasted no time enjoying themselves in what could very well be the final days of their life.

Jarrick clinked his mug against Sigmar’s and smiled, nodding in agreement.  “One of many, old friend.  We will end this threat.”

“Tonight, however..”  Jarrick turned his attention to a corner table and raised his mug in acknowledgement to his good friend Sielic, receiving a raised mug in return. “…we celebrate the lives of those that are here with us, right here, right now.”

Sigmar cheered.  “To those that walk among us.  Let us see their safe turn home!”

The inn only grew busier throughout the night as patrols shifted and workers ended their shifts.  In due time, the inn was packed to the brim and he found himself separated from Sigmar and the other Templars.

Jarrick wandered back up to the bar and motioned to the barkeep.  “The usual.” he said, once he had the barkeeps attention.  As he reached into his pouch to pull out some coin he felt a bump from behind, dropping some coin.  He turned his attention to find a young, platinum blonde woman.

“Oh my gosh!  I’m so sorry!  Let me get that for you.  I’m so sorry.”

Clearly it wasn’t a big deal but he couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm to help.

“No worries, Miss.  Accidents happen.”

Before he had a moment to object she was already bent down and gathering the coins on the ground.  When she finally looked up, her face was bright red and the coins he had dropped were cupped in her hands.

“This is everything you dropped, I think.”

He smiled at her, holding his hands out.  She dropped the coins into his hand and smiled.

“By the way.. My name’s Sarah.”

Author Jarrick
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