“We have reason to fear your mental stability right now, Lieutenant,” said Commander Hayworth. He drummed his fingers on his metal helm; it rested atop the maple table. His face was cleanly shaven, so much so Wellson could see his pores, red and irritated. When he breathed, his crewcut black hair moved with his chest. The Gilnean continued, his faint accent tinging individuals words: “As such you will not be commanding your own unit.”
Wellson ran his hands over his leathers. He was looking for holes. His ankle was throbbing — he had twisted it the night before — but he was otherwise fit for duty. “Sir?” he asked.
Hayworth snapped his callused fingers. Two footmen brought a young gnome through the door. The Commander gestured for him to approach. He did so, wiping his tiny sweaty palms on his ill-fitting military coveralls.
The Commander placed both fists on the table, spaced widely apart. “Second Lieutenant Brian Wellson. You are to take Mechanic Milton Sparkleworthington to Lordæron’s rear wall. He will blow a hole in the wall. You will protect him with your life. This mission cannot fail. Come back here when you have finished. Understood?”
“Sir,” said Wellson. A faint ‘Sir’ was echoed by Milton. The little gnome adjusted his small round spectacles. He couldn’t have been more than … well, he couldn’t have been any older than Zailene would be right now. Wellson pat the Mechanic on the shoulder, escorting him outside the command tent.
“Sparkleworthington,” he said. Wellson scratched his forehead. “I am unfamiliar with that name.”
The little gnome looked at him and spoke, voice squeaking, “Sparkwire, sir,” he replied. He wiped his greasy fingers on his coveralls.
“I’m sorry?”
“Milton Sparkwire, son of Justice and Celestial Sparkwire,” he said. Wellson stopped, looking down at the boy in disbelief. Milton stopped, too. “You’ve heard of my family? We’re the best wire makers in all of Gnomeregan!”
Wellson shook his head. “Your parents’ names just reminded me of a couple friends, is all.” For a moment, he wondered if he was losing his mind — Justice and Celestial!? — and decided to press the boy further. He cleared his throat, starting for the armoury once more. “Been in the service long? A marksman, by chance?”
Sparkwire followed close behind, gesticulating wildly as he spoke. “Oh, no, sir! I was conscripted after the Witch set fire to that tree. Gosh! Think of it! All of this over a tree and a mineral.” The mechanic ran his fingers through his bright pink hair. “Don’t understand it.”
“It was more than a tree,” Wellson started, tone harsh. The gnome looked embarrassed. He walked the statement back, taking a more gentle tack. “The tree had been created by one of the dragon aspects — so they say. And the mineral… do you know what it is?” The gnome shook his head. Of course he didn’t. Wellson sighed. “Azerite. The blood of this planet.”
Sparkwire looked mystified. “But this is a world!” he squeaked.
“A world at war,” he corrected the gnome. They walked in silence until they reached the armoury. “Besides, all worlds are alive — they breathe, they reproduce, they dream. Tell me, what are you qualified in?”
“Oh!” he chirruped as he surveyed the vast armoury. “Well, I’m just an apprentice, so heating and cooling units, mechano—”
Wellson winced: “What do you use to fight?”
Milton laughed nervously. He didn’t respond.
“Right, then.” He dug through his field pack and pulled out Justine’s sidearm, the same weapon Selene had also kept on her, yet never fired. He strapped the leg holster to the gnome. It hung past his knee. Wellson adjusted it. Soon, it fit perfectly. “Today,” he said, “you are qualified — for this day, only — to fire a handgun.”
The gnome’s eyes widened. He looked simultaneously excited and horrified. “Gee, lieutenant…”
“Call me Wellson,” he said.
“Gee, Mister Wellson,” he tried again. Sparkwire drew the sidearm, a standard 9mm semi-automatic. Flat black. He tested its weight. “…thanks.”
Wellson cleared his throat. “Yeah. I want it back,” he said. He surveyed the armoury. So much hardware… “You know what you need here?”
Milton nodded, holstered the firearm, and rushed toward the explosives. Like a kid at Winter Veil, so he had been told. He wondered if his own kids actually rushed toward the Winter Veil tree like that, if Venifica even bought them presents. As he thought, the gnome picked out several shaped explosive charges, some smoke bombs, and a couple of grenades, the likes of which Wellson had never seen before. The rogue looked for the signal corps section, and found a bright orange flare gun. It all felt too familiar, like when they had been in portage this time last year — when the sin’dorei were reluctant partners against the Legion.
Soon, they were both equipped. Wellson showed Milton how to secure his gear. And how to operate the sidearm’s safety. After a quick stop at the dispensary, they were underway, slipping through the predawn silence. The sky was lightening gradually. The moment was coming; the battle, soon to start.
(( Mentioned: @heyzailene ; Relevant: [ @blackbay-wra ]: @quai-mason @killerkyara @ephriza-dawnblade @mycoronervinny @vohganthedirtman ))
