"Disgraceful," the old man growled at the muddy pair before him. He was pacing, as he often did when berating recruits. "Fighting. Again. Both of you. And besotted by drink. Again."
The younger of the pair had the presence of mind to look to the stones in shame. But the other still stared up defiantly, unbowed by shame. Bolstered by dwarvish pride and anger. Her one good eye blazing with indignant rage. Her other eye too swollen, or no doubt it would be blazing too.
"What are you looking at, Stelhamor?" he barked at that one, glowering. Grudgingly she looked away, turned her gaze to the stone floor as well.
"We're not training you louts to beat yourselves silly in barroom brawls! We're training you idiots to serve and protect the good citizens of Menethil. That does NOT include you lot assaulting the citizenry..."
"Tha' Dun Modr scum, he was nae o' Menethil..."
"SILENCE!" Bernhardt barked, making Stelhamor wince. "Now, as I was saying, that does NOT include you lot assaulting the citizenry OR the traveling merchant folk who pass through our gates. Do you two understand?"
The guilty pair nodded slowly.
"Now then, if I had my way, I would be throwing you both out those gates, and seeing what a few weeks of living with the murlocs did for your dispositions. Sadly, we are short-handed, and I do not have that luxury. Instead, the only choice I have is to make good soldiers out of the both of you."
He stopped directly before them and peered directly into their bleary eyes. Even Stelhamor shivered at the coldness in that gaze.
"And that's exactly what I intend to do."
Outside, the thunder rumbled the promise of rain.
"Get some sleep. Dawn is in four hours. You'll be up before then." He walked out and slammed the cell door behind him.
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