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Lirriel's picture

Charging into combat to bring the Light’s justice on enemies wasn’t hard. Heart-pounding and scary at times, but not hard to make herself do. Sometimes it was terrifyingly too easy a solution.

Reacting to an enemy threat or a danger, or someone bringing harm to her friends, that wasn’t hard, either. Nore could lash out too quickly, when her temper ignited. She fit the redhead stereotype that way.

Two years ago, she watched with the rest of unit while Harrigan flogged Nelenna. Ten strikes at a post. The lash had cut deep; Nel had taken it as well as could be expected.

Nore remembered the tightness in her shoulders, the pounding of her heart, the roaring in her head as she’d watched a fellow Dragoon stand bound while the Commander struck again and again. When it was over, Nel was hurried to the infirmary, while Nore, Wes, and Cassion burned the lash and post.

“Nothing, and I mean nothing, touches the blood of my people and lives,” Harrigan had said. He’d needed a new uniform afterwards.

Alynore threw her gloves into the fire. She found flecks on her tabard, shirt, and pants as well, so into the flames they went.

Harrigan offered to do the job; Goeffrey as well. Wes said he would hate it, but he would if needed—to spare her.

Alynore was the Commander. It was her duty.

She had stood there, lash in hand, staring at Jörmund’s back. Then she struck, 5 times with a nine-tailed whip. She watched as his skin sliced open, the involuntary reactions of his flesh and muscles, the blood running down his back and spattering her, even as he locked his jaw and simply took it. He was a paladin, and this was just another form of pain to endure, to make up for his gross error.

Nore was a paladin too, a Vindicator of Shattrath, and that violently reactive part of her screamed inside the entire time. She was a protector, a healer. She was a soldier. It was a punishment, it had to be done, and once it was over it was over but that didn’t help the disgusted feeling about being the one to willingly, deliberately, inflict such injury and pain on her comrade.

She dropped the whip after the final lash. She had hid her wince—hadn’t she?—when Jörmund asked her to wait a moment before beginning healing. Pinapple and Anwyna took away the whip for burning. Nore knew she’d responded to Wesley’s formal queries about the punishment, Jörmund’s fitness for duty once he’d healed, and filing the matter as complete, but she didn’t actually remember her responses. All she could hear was the rushing in her head, Light and blood threatening to overwhelm her. She left as soon as she could.

Alynore didn’t have Harrigan’s stoicism yet.

She leaned on Avalanche all the way home. Whether the direhorn had been sent or just decided to follow, Nore wasn’t sure. She was grateful for Wes just holding her later when the tears finally rolled out of her eyes.

That made twice in two months. She was getting downright weepy.

The flames finished consuming the uniform, scraps and ash all that remained. She would call on Lirriel tomorrow for a new one. The little priest might serve fresh-baked cookies and hot cocoa, drop the baby in Nore’s lap without preamble, and natter about the Hallow’s End celebrations while she tailored a uniform to fit the Commander. Lirri would probably recommend Nore toss a few torches at the Wickerman. The visit would be useful as well as comforting.

It could wait.


Seler's picture

(( Poor Nore. Ivi heard about

(( Poor Nore. Ivi heard about this from Anwyna last night and was confused, angry, and a bit disappointed. She just never thought Nore would do this to anyone, much less do it publicly. I really regret missing last night's meeting.))

Lirriel's picture

((I have a longer reply on

((I have a longer reply on the crosspost to Haven, but if Ivinara wants to confront Nore about it any time soon, go for it! ;) She'll probably get riled pretty easy, though.))