#Quin Adama

[lordaeronslost]

Lucky ones – Part 6

[See @isryael for part 5, @tenebreashember for part 4, @wynilthyrii for part 3, @graceintheshadows for part 2, and @lordaeronslost for part 1]

Several days ago…

“Adama! Where’s your CO?”

Quin pivoted toward the sound of the voice, her brow furrowing at the sight of the soldier who approached her, dressed in a mix of Alliance blue and gold with splashes of brown. The harbor at Stormwind was sheer bedlam, with soldiers and sailors everywhere, some collected into cohesive units that had been called up, some still being sorted. “Who’s asking?”

“Paranoid, are we?” The soldier flicked some hair from his face and for a moment, she thought he seemed familiar.

He knew my name. That accounts for something, doesn’t it? Then again, it wasn’t as if her face was unknown amongst at least a dozen military and auxiliary units across the Alliance and otherwise.

“She’s got enemies and so do I,” Quin said, her voice cool, controlled. “If you were us, you’d be paranoid, too. Who’s asking?”

The soldier grimaced and glanced around, then stepped closer. It wasn’t until he did that she recognized him as one of Shaw’s men. “Master Shaw needs a word with the Commander. Trying to get a small force in quickly to get the lay of the land and her name came up as maybe having an anchor point for a portal in.”

“Ah,” Quin crossed her arms, her Argent tabard bunching for a moment as she did. “She’s with the rest of the unit that was called up, over there by the Lady Grey. Surprised that Shaw is looking for an Argent unit for this.”

“He’s not,” the man—Riley, if she was remembering correctly—said, starting to move past her toward the dock where the brigandine Lady Grey lay at anchor. Quin fell in with him, her brow arching in invitation to continue. He glanced at her and made a face, but said, “You’re all still technically in Alliance service.”

“Technically,” she said crisply. “Now ask me how long it’s been since we acted as an Alliance auxiliary.”

He winced. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll admit that Shaw might’ve mentioned that he thought we could count on the support considering…”

“Considering it was Dalaran,” Quin said. “And up until recently, many of our families were there.”

“I won’t lie and say that the sudden departure of the Earl of Ware’s grandchildren and the scouring of his mercantile’s offices there wasn’t noticed by SI:7, Adama.”

“He would be a piss-poor intelligence service if that was missed.” Quin smirked. “You’re dying to ask, aren’t you?”

“I am,” Riley admitted. “But I won’t. I imagine someone already knows.”

“Likely,” she agreed. “Where does Shaw want to meet her?”

“I’m to escort her back to him.”

He stopped walking as Quin circled around to block his path, holding up a gloved finger. “Then wait here. I’ll bring her to you and I’ll brief the rest.”

He blinked. “Wait, brief? What do you mean?”

“Like you said. We’re still technically Alliance auxiliaries and what I heard was that if the commander can do what Shaw is going to ask, then we’re going ahead as an advance unit to get the lay of the land and do what we do.”

Riley started at her, some of the color draining from his face. “But—”

“No buts,” Quin said. “And Shaw thought anything other than that was going to happen, then we’ve been gone too long. Wait here. I’ll bring her to you.”

With that, she pivoted and walked into the controlled chaos that was the dock itself and the dozens of people preparing to ship out into the unknown.

[houseildanan]

The Calm

The scent of coffee soothed his ragged nerves, the steam rising from the mug wreathing his face.  The first light of sunrise was starting to paint the sky purple in the east, the wind off the harbor as bracing today as it had been three days ago and three days before that.  His ear twitched slightly at the slight sound of a boot against one of the cobbles.  He didn’t turn.

“How was it up there?”

“You heard me coming?”  Concern and amusement braided together in her voice as she finished her approach.  The ease with which the woman wore her armor belied both the weight of it and the relative slightness of her frame, reminding him briefly of another, miles away to the south.  Quin cradled a mug of coffee between her hands as she came to stand beside him, staring off over the harbor.  “I’ve gotten sloppy since regaining my sight.”

“Maybe,” the medic murmured, inclining his head.  “Or maybe I’ve just grown used to listening for every scrape of a boot, every whisper of something out of the ordinary.”  He glanced toward her, his brow arching slightly.  “You didn’t answer my question.”

Her gaze flicked up to need his, the wry smile she’d been sporting fading like mist burning away with the dawn.  “Are you sure you want to know?”

“I asked.”  His shoulders shifted slightly in a shrug and he suppressed a sigh, looking away, back to the harbor, the water, the sunrise.  “We don’t have enough numbers, do we?”

“The threat is much larger than anticipated,” Quin said softly.  “I don’t know what forces we’re going to be able to marshal against it.  That’s above my pay grade.”

“But not by much.”  One corner of his mouth twitched up into a smile that faded as quickly as it came.  “You know all of this better than most.”

“Both sides—at least, the other side in the before times.”  She exhaled, scrubbing a hand over her face.  One of her fingers twitched slightly, unconsciously, a reminder of torments long ago but not far away at all.  “What do you make of it, Tyr?  You must have theories.”

“As do you,” he said before he took a slow sip of coffee, gathering his thoughts.  “This is a threat that won’t be easily handled, no matter how much we wish it might be—and if it can be kept bottled here, then that’s what all the powers that be will try to do.  The world is weary of war.”

“The world is weary of world-threatening threats.”  Quin sighed softly.  “But that’s not something we get a vote in, is it?  The world has other plans.”

He nodded slowly.  “It does.  Will they be able to hold?”

“They’ve reinforced the grounds considerably,” she said.  “It should hold.  It has to.  That’s the better infrastructure and higher ground.”

“Of course, we assume the threat will be in Icecrown,” he murmured.

“You don’t think it will be?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore, Quin.”  For a second, he stared into his cup of coffee, trying to ignore the raw ache inside.  “Nothing has turned out the way any of us expected.  We shouldn’t be back here fighting a new war against the same enemy.”

“No,” she agreed.  “We shouldn’t.  But here we are.”

“Aye,” he whispered.  “Here we are.”

She reached up to squeeze his shoulder.  His hand covered hers, fingers wrapping around her hand for a moment.

Then he sighed, gaze drifting back to the horizon.  The sky was turning bright pink over the water.  “A storm is coming,” he murmured.  “Can you feel it?”

“In every bone that was broken,” she said softly.  “You too?”

He nodded.  “In every bone and muscle, too.”

“Have you told her?”

“Not yet.”

“Should we?”

“You know her better.”

Quin sighed, nodding.  “I’ll tell her.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you going to stay out here?”

“A little longer.  I need some air.”

“All right.  Don’t stay out too long.”

One corner of his mouth twitched toward a smile.  Quin’s brow arched.

“What?”

“You sound like her.”

She stared up at him for a moment, then smiled wryly.  “I’ll take that as a compliment.  Don’t stay out too long.”

Tyr simply nodded.  Quin’s hand slipped from his shoulder as she turned to head back inside while he lingered there on the overlook above the harbor.  The clouds above were dark.  The wind was cold.

A storm was rising.

It was only a matter of time.

[steelshatter]

Home - Betrayal Pt. 8

Anthus awoke, alone in the barracks for the first time in what felt like ages.  After the whirlwind rescue by Quin and Skybrooke, he’d spent a couple days, tucked away and hidden within the Argent Tournament grounds.  How fitting, he thought, that he’d been broken twice over there.  Once before, mentally, when caught in a lie by M, and now, physically by the bastard who ruined his hand and tattoos.  He couldn’t help but chuckle as he looked down at his stump of a wrist.

Skybrooke amputated the useless lump of flesh and muscle while he was at the tournament, and the healers there were kind enough to heal over the wounds.  It wouldn’t be long before he spoke with M and devised some form of replacement.  As his mind drifted to the thought of the pint-sized woman, a small smile cracked across his face.

When Etharion had come to visit, the Commander had agreed that Anthus should be brought back home, much to the argument of Skybrooke and Quin.  Of course, they were looking out for their swordbrother, wanting to make sure no one would come after him, but his urge to return home was far too strong.  He agreed to go disguised, so M brought his alchemy project from the Keep: a longer lasting version of the Transmorphic Tincture would allow him to go as his alter-ego, Violet.

Once they’d returned to the Keep, Violet immediately went to the bunks, sorting out a bit of gear.  He looked into his armor case, with a hint of disdain at the purple armor and scythe within.  Though he’d never fully admit it, he was a little glad that the Light no longer answered his call.  It would make his upcoming plans far easier.  Digging around within, he pulled out a longsword, gripping it in his remaining hand.  He turned the blade over a few times, a wicked grin passing over his face, and a touch of Shadow licking out from under his feet.  He fully intended on making sure Darice, the source of all his strife, paid dearly for what she did to him.

As the Keep cleared out, and everyone else either retired or left for the evening, Violet and M spent a few moments just talking amongst themselves.  After a while, though, Anthus and M found themselves in a bunk together, curled up with one another.  As Anny drifted off to sleep, he was glad, so glad, to be home...

That was two days ago, though, and Anthus was restless.  As the Keep resumed its normal hustle and bustle, Anthus found himself more and more irritated at his current situation.  He couldn’t return to the field with only one hand, nor could he play his lute.  As such, he turned his attentions to his Alchemy.  After all, with various clamps and stands, he could at least do that in his current state.  He decided to devote his day to working on more transmutation potions, of various types and styles. The Transmorphic Tincture had been a success, after all.

Hours passed, and Anthus poured over his formula notes.  The scratched and scrawled notes were spotty and horribly written, thanks to his left hand being non-dominant, but they would suffice, he supposed.  He dug through his reagents, picking out what he thought he would need.  A touch of obsidian powder, a moonstalker claw, a bit of dreamfoil petals, and his Transmorphic Tincture as a base... but there was something missing.  He laid out his reagents, trying to do some calculations in his head.  As he pondered for a long moment, he finally snapped his fingers.  Digging once more, he extracted one of Aren’s feathers from his pouch, chuckling softly.  With this, surely he could finish his idea...

[lordaeronslost]

Lucky ones

The warning had saved their lives.

From his small desk in their shared office at Valiance, Arcavius watched his longtime commander turned mentor as she read the latest report for what was now the third time.  Outside, the wind keened with a storm that had swept in off the water, leaving the windows and exterior walls coated in ice.

Somehow, given the reports that kept coming in, Northrend’s gales seemed far preferable to the fate that had come to so many who’d been in Dalaran instead.  Grimstryke’s warning had saved them to be certain, though the chill that crept down Arcavius’s spine had nothing to do with the cold.

Two more days and they’d have been back in Dalaran.  Half of them had been due to go and meet with some colleagues there ahead of their next duty rotation.  He had no doubt that whatever the plan had originally been for that, it was about to change.

He cleared his throat.  “Is there anything new in that one, Commander, or is it the same as the rest?”

“No,” she growled.  “No, not really.  No one seems to—blast it all.  No one seems to know anything beyond something apparently going terribly wrong just after the teleportation.  Some kind of attack.  This one at least suggests that more information could be forthcoming but I’ll be damned if—”

“Jude.”  Quin stood in the doorway, fully armored and cheeks ruddy from the cold.  Some of the snow and ice from outside was melting into her short-cropped hair in the warmth from the stove in the corner.  In her hand was an envelope bearing an Argent seal and she held it out toward the red-haired mage.  “Another report.  Orders were for your eyes first.”

Brow furrowing slightly, Jude came around the desk to take the letter from the paladin.  “Who delivered it?”

“You sure you want to know?”

Jude winced at that before she slid her thumb beneath the seal.  “Of course I don’t.  Do you think that—”

“I think that everything is coming at us very quickly and that every side is going to need every level-headed commander that they have at the ready,” Quin said, folding her hands behind her in a parade rest.  “Present company included.”

Jude winced again, reading the report once, then again.  Lips thinning, she handed it back to Quin.

“What is it?” Arcavius asked.

“We’re to leave a skeleton garrison here and immediately report to Stormwind for imminent deployment,” Jude said quietly.  “Alert the others, Cavandar.”

“Of course,” Arcavius murmured, feeling his heart start to crawl up into his throat.  “But why is the Argent Da—Crusade sending us to Stormwind for deployment?  Where are we going?”

“Seems that the attack on Dalaran involved nerubians,” Quin said, folding the report.  “Curious, that.”

“Very curious,” Jude agreed.  “But it does explain why they want us.”

“Yup,” Quin sighed.  “Because if there’s one thing that we’re as good at dealing with as undead…”

Arcavius winced.  “…it’s nerubians.”

“Spread the word, Arcavius,” Jude said again.  “Portals up at dawn.”

[lordaeronslost]

(( I am unfamiliar with your characters -- tell me a little about them, please!))

All four hailing, ultimately, from Lordaeron. All four formerly of the Retribution of Arathor, two of the Servitors of Lothar, one of the Golden Veil. All four currently in service of the Argent Crusade, stationed near the wall in Hallowfall with the 58th Argent Crusade.

Jude Auroran, Commander Frost, Viscountess Greymantle - eldest surviving child of Sam Auroran, Earl of Ware, and his wife, the half-elven Mina Greymantle. Mage of the Kirin Tor, raised between Dalaran and Lordaeron, she has given her service to the Alliance, the Kirin Tor, and the Argent Dawn and Argent Crusade throughout her adult life. These days, she leads a remnant of her former Alliance auxiliary command under the banner of the Argent Crusade—not a terribly far calling from the one her unit started with decades before her joining. Mother of three, wife of a man many would call a barbarian given his origin and upbringing, she is approaching middle age but no less sharp or spry as she was when she first entered Alliance service nearly twenty years ago.

Karinlyyn Auroran Steelshatter - youngest child of Sam Auroran, Earl of Ware, and his wife, the half-elven Mina Greymantle. Lyyn has spent most of her adult life in the service of SI:7, in part at the suggestion of her father. After the fall of Theramore, her friends and family thought her dead for years as she worked deep cover for the organization. She resurfaced after several years of the work and made herself known to a pair of old friends, who kept her secret until she was ready to reveal herself again to her family. She’s still an active agent for the organization, though up until recently made her home base in Dalaran, where she lived with her husband Anthus and their daughter, Sky. A warning from a distant cousin sent the family elsewhere just in time, leading both to fresh service in Hallowfall with the 58th Argent Crusade under Lyyn’s sister, Jude.

Quin Adama - one of the few survivors of an expedition sent in support of Prince Arthas’s mission, returning to the shores of the Eastern Kingdoms after years trapped in Northrend. A former mage turned paladin, Quin gave her service to the Argents after she began to physically recover from the suffering she’d experienced in Northrend before the fresh campaigns in the north. She was raised as part of the Earl of Ware’s household, trained as a mage by Lady Mina, and was the lover of the late Tanitharil Auroran, former heir to the title. She, Jude, and Lyyn are as close as sisters, and Quin was among those that kept Lyyn’s secret when she revealed herself but wasn’t yet ready to approach their family. She and her husband, Connar, have spent a great deal of time in Northrend working for the Argent Crusade in the years since the end of the war with the Lich King, mopping up remnant forces and investigating rumors of problems. Rumor has it she, like Lyyn, also works for SI:7, but she rarely admits such. She is also assigned to Hallowfall with the 58th Argent Crusade.

Arcavius Cavandar - paladin training as a mage, clerk, secretary, assistant and apprentice to the Viscountess Greymantle, Arcavius has served with the Argents almost since their founding. He was among those assigned to Northrend very early on, suffering a serious injury during his service there which ultimately led to his assignment to Jude’s command. A curious bookworm and researcher, he is well-suited to the role of clerk for first the Retribution and now for the 58th Argent Crusade.

[lordaeronslost]

Lucky ones - Part 7

[Part 6 is here.]

Several days ago.

“Master Shaw.  I understand that you have a problem that you’re hoping I can solve for you?”

For some reason, her robes felt heavier than usual as she pushed back her hood, letting red hair cascade free to fall across her shoulders.  Shaw glanced at her, then murmured something to the SI:7 agent at his side.  The agent nodded and slipped past her and out the door.

The lock clicked.  She crossed her arms.

“Was that necessary?” she asked.

“I don’t want to be interrupted,” Stormwind’s spymaster said, dropping heavily into a wood and leather folding chair.  Everything about the room’s furnishings screamed that this arrangement was temporary, that it was meant to be packed up and loaded onto a ship at a moment’s notice.  The building itself was an old warehouse, long fallen from use since the collapse of a few mercantile companies in the wake of the death of Theramore, now nearly a decade ago.  That the spymaster had set up shop here, near the docks, suggested that matters were just as serious as she’d started to suspect they were the night before when word had finally come of what they’d feared.

Shaw waved a hand toward another camp chair like the one he’d settled in.  “Have a seat if you’d like.”

“Will this take long enough to warrant that?”  She crossed to the offered chair anyway, smoothing her robes as she sat.  The emblems of the Argent Crusade and the Kirin Tor were embroidered on the breast, two points of a triangle where the last, on the bottom, was the emblem of the old Retribution—her unit of Alliance irregulars, the one all but wiped out when Theramore died.  They’d tried to reactivate them since but never succeeded.

And yet, here she was, settling into a chair across from Mathias Shaw who was either about to make a clandestine case for the same or appeal to her as a former officer of the Alliance in the hopes that she’d help.

Quin had told her what she’d managed to learn from the SI:7 agent that had been waiting to escort her here.  The idea had merit and left her wondering if Shaw had been paying a hell of a lot more attention whenever a mage was around than anyone had ever realized or if he’d consulted someone on the matter.  The way she saw it, there were equal odds for both.  Shaw watched as she settled, leaned back in her chair.  Jude Auroran met his gaze with a steady one of her own.

“So.”

He took a breath.  “Do you prefer Commander or Viscountess these days?”

“Commander is fine,” she said.  “It’s the title that matters in our current scenario, isn’t it?”

He hitched one shoulder in a slight shrug, canting his head momentarily to one side.  “Maybe.  Maybe not.  That depends on how you decide to look at it.”

“Are you appealing to me as the Viscountess Greymantle, then?  Because I’m not sure how far that will get you.  I know that you didn’t call me here to talk about my father or my family.  Did you?  Because if you did, that will take us into a very long conversation about how you hid the fact that my sister didn’t die from me and mine for several years while SI:7 used her for every deep cover operation it could.”

His brows lifted for a moment and he shifted in his chair to sit forward slightly.  “Your point is taken.”

“Good.”  She crossed her arms.  “Quin said this is about potentially being able to open a portal.  What’s the ask?”

“Would I be way off-base to assume that your family had some kind of anchor at your residence in Dalaran?  One that you used to make it easier to portal in and out?”

She watched him for a few seconds, then shrugged.  “You wouldn’t be.  Go on.”

“Would it still work?”

A chill crept through her.  “Would what still work?”

“Do you think you could still hone in on the anchor?  Open a portal to wherever it is now?”

She stared at him for a few seconds, letting the silence linger as she weighed her response.  “Probably.  Do I need to lay out all the reasons that could be incredibly hazardous given what the reports are saying?”

“You mean the fact that the anchor could have been vaporized or possibly be at the bottom of the sea.”

Jude nodded slowly.  “Those are distinct possibilities.”

Shaw exhaled, leaning forward with elbows against his knees.  “I had.  Clearly.  But would you know that before you opened the portal?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” she admitted.  “Depends on how we go about it.  If it’s been vaporized, obviously we won’t be able to locate it.  If it’s at the bottom of the sea, well.  That’s a different can of worms.”

“But if it’s not?  If it’s neither of those things?”

“Then it should be doable,” she said.  “To open it.  I’ll need a few mana stones so I can hold it open long enough for my forces to get through.”

Both of his brows went up.  “Your forces?”

“Shaw.  You don’t get to ask me to do this without it being my people going through and me with them.”  She held his gaze steadily, expression growing grim.  “But you’re not a fool.  You already knew that.  What’s the other part of the ask?”

“You already know what it is.”

She nodded slowly.  “And if I’m unwilling to bend knee to the High Exarch?  What then?”

Shaw paused, studying her for a few moments.  “Who would you answer to, then?”

“Master Shaw.  This isn’t our first dance and I sincerely doubt that it will be our last.  Who would I bend knee to?”

Her regarded her a few moments more, then leaned back in his chair.  “And if I can find a way to make that happen?  Somehow?”

“Then you’ll have us, such as we are, under all the old rules.  Assuming that’s acceptable.”

“What do you think?”

“I think you need us, Mathias,” she said, standing.  “I’ll figure out if there are any surviving anchors I can lock a portal onto.  Send a messenger if you’re able to make the arrangements.  You’ve got five hours before my people are on a boat under the Crusade’s banner.”

“Something tells me that’s a banner you’ll fly regardless of the arrangements made.”

She smirked.  “That’s because you’re a very astute spymaster.”

“Thank you for noticing.”  He stood and moved to unlock the door with a small key from the cuff of his sleeve.  She drifted behind him, waiting as he unlocked the door, his hand on the knob as he caught her gaze one more time.  “You are allowed to say no, Commander.  I’m not an idiot.  I know the price you and your people have paid over the years.”

“Someone just destroyed a place we called home for a very long time in many different ways, Master Shaw,” she said quietly.  “In this world, in this life, the paying never stops.  I’ll talk to the rest, but I imagine whether you can make it happen or not, we’ll still do it—just not under the official banner the Alliance would probably prefer.  Send the messenger to tell me either way.  I’d like to know which way the wind is blowing.”

He nodded and opened the door.  “Thank you, Commander.  For your time and discretion.”

“The pleasure was mine, Master Shaw.  I look forward to hearing from you.”

She walked out of the warehouse with her head held high, ignoring the looks and whispers that she caught from the corner of her eye as she made her way back to the docks, to the others.  Whatever happened, whatever word Shaw sent, if she could find an anchor, they’d go.  Damn the man, though, he’d known that already.

They’d played each other, but she had the feeling that somehow, he’d gotten the better end of the deal.

[houseildanan]

Visions and Nightmares - Dream not Memory

The cold was enough to numb to the core, to make bones ache and skin burn.  Frost rimed scarves, the chill stiffening fingers and limbs.  In those days, frostbite and the cold had been a greater threat than the enemy—at least, a greater threat than the Alliance.

That was what many of the Horde he’d treated in those days believed, anyway.  There had been a few that hadn’t agreed, but many had just been dismissed as grumbling warmongers.  The only threat that mattered here beyond the cold was the Scourge, was the Lich King.

This was familiar territory by now, the snows of Northrend.  The chill was almost welcome sometimes—sometimes.  At others, it made the pain worse.

Still, a little relief was always appreciated.

The wagon creaked and rattled across a hardened crust of snow, slow going at the northern edge of the Dragonblight.  The objective had been to reach the Wrathgate in time to support the coming assault, but they’d lost valuable time dodging Scarlets and a particularly irate pod of giant ice wyrms—he knew the name of them, but he still couldn’t wrap his mind or tongue around the sound of what must have been some kind of corrupted vyrkul name for the monstrous things.  They’d lost two to the Scarlets, one to the wyrms.  Not the best day for the Argent Crusade, but far from the worst.

The sound of metal against metal, the shouts and cries of soldiers and volunteers at war, echoed across the slopes as they crested a rise, already tapering away, already fading.

Are we too late? He thought, half rising from his spot in one of the lead wagons, straining to see.

One of his companions reached to pull him back down into his seat.

“You’ll fall right out of the damn wagon, Grimstryke.  Sit down.”

“Think we’re too late?” he asked as he dropped heavily back to his seat next to the driver.  The girl behind him in the wagon’s box shrugged, sorting through their supplies—a nervous tic, he’d noticed.

“Damned if I know,” she answered, following his gaze toward the sound of combat.  “Goddess willing?  No.  They’ll need us.”

“Aye,” he murmured as they crested the last rise.  The sounds of combat had tapered away, replaced by the sound of a great creaking sound, like doors on rusted hinges.

As if the gates had finally opened.

His breath caught. “They—”

Time compressed.  They could barely see Arthas, could see Saurfang and Fordragon, could see them confronting the Lich King for his crimes. New dead began to rise.

Creak.

Creak.

Rumble.

Boom.

The sound jarred him and the sudden stench clogged his throat.  He gagged, gaze flicking to the east, toward the sickly green plume rising. His stomach dropped.

“We need to—”

The girl jerked on his arm, pointing toward the field.  “Look!”

He didn’t want to, but he did.  That same sickly green, glowing with corruption and malice, a promise of agonizing, terrifying death—and perhaps something worse beyond—flowing from wagons above the pass before the gates.  It slid like an oil slick, billowed like fog.

He gagged, pressing his sleeve across his mouth and nose, eyes wide.  At this distance, they were safe—at least for now.

But down in that field—

His gaze lit on a familiar helm, attached to a familiar figure.  He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t shout.  He reached for the Light and it didn’t come, panic setting in as he realized that somehow, someway, it was out of his reach—in a way it never had been before.

That familiar helm oriented toward him and somehow, he knew that their gazes had connected.

A hand lifted.

Then the fog rolled over Corey Dawnchild and swallowed him whole.

At Dawn’s Reach, nearly a decade after that awful day when the Forsaken betrayed the world at Wrathgate, Tyrvarden Kindaer Grimstryke pitched awake, sending Mourne’s skulls scattering.  He hunched forward, breathing hard, feeling sick as he buried his face in his hands.

Just a dream.  Just a dream.

It has to be.  What else could it be?

Imi settled on his shoulder, burrowing against his neck, as if the tiny skull could sense his distress. He reached up to pat it gently, swallowing bile and trying to master himself.

It’s only a dream.

It has to be.

[lordaeronslost]

The morning after

Everything hurts when I wake up, tucked securely into an unfamiliar bed.  I try to remember what happened, try to figure out where I could be, why everything hurt so damn much.  I can feel the fading effects of healing.  The smell of incense hits my nose and I begin to sort it out.

The Cathedral.  It has to be. I was in Stormwind.

I’d come to lay flowers at the memorial.  I’d come to remember.

I squeeze my eyes shut. None of this should have happened. I should have been more careful, listened to my instincts sooner when they’d begun to scream that something wasn’t right.

How many of them had there been?

Six, I think?

The face of the one with the star tattoo and the scar on his jaw will never leave my memory, though I know I will someday try to forget.  I won’t forget his leer, though, the cold smile, like ice on the glaciers of Northrend.

“You’re the one.  Nice that the Scourge left you something.  Tell them you’ve forgotten what you saw when they ask.”

I remember saying I didn’t understand—what the hell was he talking about?  The expression on his face had turned grim.

“You’ll know when they ask.”

I’d pressed.  They decided I was too mouthy.  I decided they were too handsy and broke one’s jaw.

That was when the blows started falling.

I squeeze my eyes more tightly shut and roll onto my side, clutching the covers around me.  The covers are warm, comforting.

What the hell was he talking about?

What did I see that’s got someone frightened enough for all of that?

I have no answers and still don’t when sleep takes me again.

[lordaeronslost]

Carrying the news

Gripping the small scrying crystal tight in one first, Quin chewed her lip, letting it guide her toward her friend’s location.  She tried not to dwell on the question that kept echoing through her skull.

How, exactly, was she going to explain to Anthus that Skybrooke wasn’t dead after all?

Anthus sat in Ironforge, nursing a mug of Greatfather Winter’s Ale.  Every time the festival rolled around, the roguish man went to the tavern there to drink deeply of the delicious brew.  He’d no idea what’d happened, having been entrenched around the Broken Isles at the behest of the Uncrowned.

Oblivious as he was, he had no clue that he was being sought out, nor what news his seeker brought.

The fact that he was so close had left her a slightly unnerved, since she’d just left Aekatrine’s house in the Hall of Explorers on her hunt for him with the news.  There was a chance--however small--that he’d see her before she did.  Quin hoped that wouldn’t be the case, based on her conversation with Sky that evening at the little Winter Veil gathering that had taken place in lieu of the planned snowball fights and celebration on the mountain--weather had been the enemy tonight, nothing else.

They just didn’t know how he would handle it after everything else and Sky--and Quin, too--thought it might be best that she tell him first and let him decide what he might do from there.

Still, Quin reflected, the idea of doing it was easier when she thought he was still out in the field.

She slipped inside the tavern, a small, quiet human figure among the revelers, still dressed in red and white and black, a gown reminiscent of days long gone for both of them--it was something she’d have worn at the Veil once upon a time, when they were both working for Fiammeta Castleton as Companions.  She spotted him before he spotted her--at least she thought she had--and quietly threaded through the tables and patrons to where he sat.

Even as she reached him, she wasn’t certain what she was going to say.

Anthus simply stared down into his mug, quietly peering into the brew, as if searching for answers.  He certainly didn't notice as Quin slipped up behind him, too lost in his own head to really notice anything.  He exhaled a soft sigh, the faintest grin crossing his lips.

“Anny?  You okay?”  Quin sank down into the chair next to him, her brow furrowing in concern.  “Or are you just--” she broke off, frowning.

“Hrm?”  He turned and faced her, still grinning slightly.  “Quin!”  He raised his mug of ale, a bright smile crossing his face.  “Looking lovely as always.  And I'm fine.  Home for the holidays, which is lovely.”  He feigned slightly, the slightest twinge of doubt in his smile.

Her brows knit even further, but she nodded slightly.  “Lovely is a good word for it.  Did you just come from the Broken Isles, then?  I kind of expected you might linger in Dalaran for the season, since Jude and Lyyn and…”  She stopped and took a deep breath.

“Though I guess they’ll probably come here.  Sorry.  Silly of me.  How long have you been back?”

“What time is it?”  He pondered.  “...maybe… two hours?  I’m only on my second mug of ale.”  He chuckled softly, leaning over and putting his head on her shoulder.  “I’m glad you’re the first person I’ve seen since I came back, though, Sis.”  He beamed, relaxed for the first time in a long while.  

“I’ll likely head back to Dalaran tomorrow, but I figure I should stop by the keep at some point.”

“Probably,” she admitted.  “Furlough starts tomorrow, so make sure you stay out of trouble.”  Quin smiled crookedly.  “Maybe your wife can help with that, since M ordered her to stay out of combat zones and take it easy.”

She went quiet for a moment, reaching up to ruffle his hair as she tried to gather her thoughts.  “Roiya cooked tonight,” she said softly.  “It was supposed to be for the games and celebration, but with the weather out there right now, it seemed safer to cancel.  We were at Aekatrine’s.”

“Yeah, the weather’s been too nasty to fly.  Hence why I’m here instead of the keep.  Took a portal from Dalaran to Stormwind, then the Deeprun here.  Gryphon Masters have been loathe to let their mounts in and around Dun Morogh.  And Aren’s still in Dalaran, so it looks like I’m probably going to bed down here for the night, emergency notwithstanding.”  He smiled brightly as she ruffled his hair, letting out a small happy noise.

“Sad that I missed the festivities, but it’s okay.  At this point, I feel like I work more for other groups than I do for the Servitors.”  He looped his arms around Quin, hugging her tightly for a moment.

“What’s that for?” she asked softly, peering at him.

“What, I can’t hug my Sister?”  He grinned.

“No, in all truth, I’ve missed you all.  It’s been rough staying away from everyone.”  He shrugged slightly.  “It’s just one of those things I have to deal with, but it doesn’t mean I like it.  I miss you, Lammy, M, Eth, Roiya, everyone.”

A slight, crooked smile appeared.  “We miss you, too, Anny.  There have been a few times lately where we probably could have used your help.  I’ve been sticking to the Keep most of the time myself, trying to keep the infirmary in working order.”

“I know.”  He exhaled softly.  “The issues on the Isles keep me busy, but I’m going to try to be around more often than I have been.”  He hummed softly, picking up his mug and taking a deep drink from it.  “Though I suppose seeing you would put me at ‘more often than I have been’ right off the bat.”  He snickered.

She choked on a laugh.  “There is that.  I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been worried even though Lyyn kept saying you were okay that I shouldn’t but I think she knows by now that even when she says I shouldn’t, I do, because dammit, I know you too well and I know her and neither of you like it when I worry.”

Anthus smirked a little, setting his mug down.  “I know you worry because you care, so in that regard, I’m glad you’re worried about me.  Shows that you give a damn.”  He laughs softly.  “That said, I’m not happy that I’m the source of your worries and woes.”  He reached up to ruffle her hair in turn.  “I’ll try and be around so you can worry less, okay?  Though obviously, I’ve gotta keep close to Lyyn, just to be safe.  Since, y’know… with child and all.”

Quin nodded, exhaling quietly.  “I think everyone would like that.”  She stared down at her hands for a few long moments, then cleared her throat quietly.  “We got a surprise tonight.  One of those Winter Veil surprises that you don’t expect and don’t know what to do with sometimes.”

Anthus paused.  “...who’s pregnant?”  He asked, chuckling softly.

She burst out laughing and shook her head.  “No, no, nothing like that.  I wish it was something that simple.  No.”  She sobered after a moment, then swallowed hard, looking at him.  Her voice got very quiet, very gentle.  “Sky’s alive.”

Anthus’s face went blank for a moment, as he attempted to process that information.  “...no, that’s… I saw her dead… she…”  He pursed his lips for a moment as he thought, closing his eyes for a moment.  “...this must be a trick.”

“It sure as hell seemed like her to me,” Quin said quietly.  “Fro and the Commander and Roiya and Jo seemed to think so, too.  I guess M found her with some survivors when she was off...doing whatever the hell M does.”  She took a ragged breath. “I offered to tell you and to tell Cere.  She only wanted me to tell you.  I guess she realizes that she needs to be the one to talk to Cere.”

Anthus pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes tightly.  “...I’m skeptical. I’m REALLY skeptical.  I suppose I should go find ‘her’ and see with my own eyes…”  He exhaled slowly.  “Where?”  He asked, his speech becoming much more clipped and short.

“When I left, she was at Aekatrine’s with Roiya and everyone else.  Seems like folks were getting ready to leave, though, so I don’t know if she’s still there or what.”  Quin sighed.  “Don’t do anything rash, okay?  If this is real--and I want to believe that it is because we’ve lost way too much already--then she’s been through hell and it shows.  Don’t--” She stopped, took a deep breath, then started again.  “Don’t take out any pain on her, okay?”

“...I only want to make sure it is, indeed, her, and not some Dreadlord in her skin or something worse.”  He rose from his seat.  “...I’m going to go talk to her.”  He pushed himself back from the barstool, entirely focused on what he needed to do.

“Be careful, okay?”

“Always, Quin.”  He patted the firearm on his hip as he turned, heading for the door.

Quin swallowed hard, watching after him for a brief moment before she downed what was left in his mug and rose to follow him out the door.

[Written with @steelshatter; mentions: @etharion, @josilverwright, @mindspanner, @silverglaives, @graceintheshadows,and Frovelos (who I don’t think has a tumblr) and Skybrooke (who may have a tumblr but I don’t remember what it is).]

[lordaeronslost]

A slender tome - 18 October

Cere is worried about the Commander, and truth be known, I am, too.  I can see the threads starting to fray at the edges, the glue starting to disintegrate.  It’s like watching Jude all over again at the end, in those last few months before I left with Connar, before Theramore happened, in those last few months when she would talk about how tired she was, how much the Retribution’s command was weighing on her, but only in private and only to her sister and I—to the two of us, because who knew her mind better than the sister who would sometimes wear her face when it grew to be too much and the almost-sister who would have taken her place if things had gone differently.

 I thank Elune and the Light that it didn’t turn out that way, but I wish it hadn’t been the way it was, too.

 I hope that’s not what I’m watching all over again.  I hope it’s not.  I hope whatever Cere tells him when they have tea helps, that it fixes what’s started to break, what’s already broken.

 I just hope it helps. He’s one of the finest men I’ve had the pleasure of knowing, and I’ve known many in my time.  They call him “Unbroken” and I pray he continues to live up to the moniker that I suspect Mena gave him years ago.

 Goddess knows, though, he deserves to be happy after all he’s been through.  I know I’ve only heard a fraction of his story, but I’ve heard enough to know in my heart of hearts that he’s gone through enough and deserves whatever happiness he can scrape together—with his children, with his husband, whatever and whoever he chooses.

[Mentions: @etharion; @silverglaives]

[lordaeronslost]

A slender tome - 25 August, first year of the Legion invasion

[A few tears stain the page, smearing the ink on this page.]

I sit and I watch them all deal with loss different ways--not just losing Masana and Sky, but others.  Lovers.  Brothers.  Fathers.  Children.  Family.  Friends.  Some of them are handling it in more healthy ways than others--not that I should honestly be one to judge, and I don't.  Not really.

I miss them, too--I'll always miss them.  I just wish they weren't just more names on the list of people I've buried since I was a teenager.

My parents.  Joshua Merovingae.  The expedition.  Andry Moreau, who died on my sword, his blood staining the deck of that airship that brought us home.

Ser Asteris and his little girl.

The Retribution at Theramore.

Tanith Auroran.

Now Masana and Skybrooke Shadewhisper, M's daughter Thira, Sky's father, Bey's brother Rhodge.  There will be more, I know.

There always are.  It's a war, and I've learned the lessons of war already.

At least Anny came home alive.  That's something, right?  Lyyn said she saw Garmir in Stormwind, Jude is "safe" in Dalaran, the kids are here.

If I'd heard from Connar, I'd be a little more secure, but I'm sure he's fine--when has he ever not been?

Just once, when we had that fight on Jude's birthday and he went all one-man army in southern Lordaeron.  I'm glad I didn't lose him then.  I don't know what I would have done.

I should go give Cere a hug.

[lordaeronslost]

A slender tome - 11 August, First Year of the Legion invasion

There’s a part of me that’s glad that I buried this thing in my field kit.  I’d almost forgotten about it, as evidenced by my last update–and the time between them.

I’m rambling because I don’t want to think.  I don’t want to think about what I heard over the old Retribution comm, beneath the static and crackling.

I have to tell Mindspanner.  I have to tell Sky.  I just–

I can’t.

How could I?

Maybe I imagined it.

Dammit, he’s my best friend.  He’s my brother.  This can’t be happening.

He was supposed to be the only one of us that was actually safe, at sea, far away from all of this.

For the moment he’s alive.  More than we can say for Bromm’s cousin and his family.  More than we can say for a lot.

They’re alive up there.  I know they are.  The Keep wouldn’t fall in one might, in one moment.  Not with the people there, the preparations that were made.

They’ll be there when we get there.

If we get there.

When we get there.

Dammit.  Dammit.  Dammit.

I don’t want to think.  I can’t think.

I’m going to drink some whiskey and go to sleep.  Hopefully, I won’t dream.

I’m afraid that I will.

[lordaeronslost]

The news

She sat on her bedroll, staring blankly at the old COMM she still carried from her time in the Retribution. It still worked—sometimes—but mostly she carried it because she’d set up separate bands on it—a private one for she and her husband and another for the Argent Crusade.

The transmission across the latter band had been staticy, but clear enough.  Her throat felt tight.  It was hard to breathe.

She stood up from her bedroll.  She’d slept in her boots, prepared to have to move quickly, in case they were in danger of being overrun here or worse.  Now, in her state of shock, she was vaguely glad that she had.

Quin walked out into the dim light of pre-dawn, sick to her stomach.  She cleared her throat.  “Advisor? Masana?  It’s Adama, stepping out.  I need some air.”

At least she’d had the presence of mind to announce herself.

Tirion Fordring was dead. Varian Wrynn was dead.

Tirion was dead.

A sob tore at her throat. She stuffed a linen-wrapped fist against her mouth, stifling the sound.

I can’t do this here, I can’t do this now.  Not here.  Not now. There will be time later.

Later, if we survive this.

Tirion was dead.

Varian Wrynn was dead.

Tirion Fordring was dead.

The crusader squeezed her eyes shut against the tears she couldn’t stop.  They rolled down her cheeks, stinging, hot.

Then cold.

Then ice.

Quin Adama stood on the steps outside Algaz Station, weeping tears of ice that dropped like crystals to the bare ground beneath her feet.

[Mentions: @mindspanner, @etharion (for Masana)]

[lordaeronslost]

Quin's journal - 9 March

Patrol last night, my first official one as a Servitor.  I kind of knew that it wouldn’t be entirely quiet when the lead said something about it being “just a patrol.”

Famous last words.

Something’s killing in the Hinterlands, tearing things apart and sucking the marrow from the bones of its kills.  We tracked it to at least one of its lairs.

I burned the body we found in the foothills.  It was the first time in a while.

At least I didn’t set anyone or anything else on fire.

Went to Hearthglen and Light’s Hope after, made arrangements for some anti-plague vaccinations and agents to be shipped down.  The Forsaken are active in the Hinterlands and that’s typically not a good thing.  It certainly bears watching.

I didn’t mention that to Connar.  It’d only make him worry and he worries enough as it is.

He was there when I got home last night and I was glad of it.  I’d gotten a good scrubbing in while I was in Hearthglen--for as much as I’ve smelled stenches like that before, that doesn’t mean I like smelling it on me when I don’t have to.  He had a fire going and the bed warmed up quickly after I joined him in it.  We got to talking and talking led to his worrying about what sort of price I’d be willing to pay if it meant we’d be able to reverse the process that made him into a Death Knight, if we were somehow able to find a way to bring him back...

There are prices I wouldn’t pay, though there aren’t many.  I love him.  You do things for love, crazy things.

I should talk to the Servitors about it.  Maybe they’d have ideas that I haven’t come up with yet...

[steelshatter]

Libram of Ages - Dec. 22

These past few days have been a whirlwind nightmare of absolutely horrible thoughts and feelings, and yet I’ve emerged intact, and I think better than I was before.  This time of year is always rough on me, what with my parents’ deaths at the hands of Trolls weighing on my mind.  Of course, Aren, my Gryphon, legacy of my father’s own mount, getting injured did not help things.  Damnable Forsaken... when this furlough is over, I fully intend on discussing their continued existence with the Commander.

On top of that, the letter I had received from Wyn was a bit more than I could handle.  I had truly hoped that there was still room in her heart for me, as she will always have a place in mine.  It seems, however, that while she does still have a whit of care about me, her heart belongs to another.  I cannot fault her for this, as it’s been years since we’d seen each other before our surprising rendezvous in Icecrown.  While I do wish her well, and will surely need to send her a reply, it could not have come at a worse moment.  

On top of that, the knowledge that Jude readily employs spies throughout Azeroth was more than a tad disconcerting.  I understand that it comes with the territory of her position, but I’ve never been one for that style of subterfuge.  If you’re going to stab someone in the back, it’s easier to do it under the cover of dark, rather than prolonging it.

What was worse was when I removed my shirt while exiting the forge.  My scars were fully visible, which set Jude into a slight... panic.  I assured her that I had no intention of committing the same mistake.  A lie, but a kind lie, the sweetest reassurance that everything was okay.

However, the mistake I made was speaking with Lucy about the same, I had thought in private, while readily admitting that it was is something I still struggle with.  Apparently, M had been privy to the conversation, and called me out for my lie.  Amidst my panic, I ran from both M and Jude, running to Northrend as fast as my Hearthstone and legs would carry me.  I had hopped the first gryphon out of Dalaran, but...

Unfortunately, it put me right in Valiance Harbor.  Which is the home of Quin.  Not wanting to deal with that, I got a second gryphon to the Argent Tournament.  Climbing the tower near the main command tent of the Crusade, I stood at the edge for a long moment...

I sincerely considered jumping off, I readily admit that.  It would have been so easy to just throw myself off the tower, and no longer deal with anything.  I chose instead to turn and walk away... and that would be when Icecrown truly earned its name with me.  I slipped on ice, and smacked my crown on the edge of the platform as I tumbled off the tower.

I awoke to Quin healing me as best she could.  Jude sent her to check up on me. (Note to self, send both flowers.)  After a long... depressing conversation, Quin said something that broke me down, and left me hurt.  Another long conversation later, and I finally slept.

The following day was the Party for the Servitors, and I was still unsure of what I was going to do.  I sat on the roof of Misty Pine and played my lute for a while, to entertain the guests below.  I’m going to bulletpoint the following events.

- Got the look of disdain from M.

- Had a brief conversation with Roiya.

- Had a long conversation with the Commander, regarding my use of Hand of Sacrifice.

- Had a longer conversation with the Commander, giving him a full report of my activities over the past week.

- Was assured that I would not be punished for my actions.

- Finally went to the party.

- Received Automated Pitch Pipe from M. (Note to self, don’t forget to sharpen sword and dagger for practice with her.)

- Got permission from both M and Roiya to use their sigils for something important.

- Got permission from both Jude and Quin for the same.

It is well past time to let go of the sins of the past.  I met with Marlowe, a wondrous tattoo artist.  Roiya, Quin, Jude, and M’s sigils now cover the scars of my right arm, as a reminder to keep strong, to not forget that there are people who expect the best out of me.  I fully intend to do so.

[lordaeronslost]

Quin's notebook

Stormwind again. Still strange, though it's starting to feel like a normal kind of strange.

Druids hassling dwarves. Death knight marrying a draenei priestess, gnome doing the ceremony.

No murders yet, but the evening is young, of course.  Plenty of time for blood to splash down onto the stones.

Guards trying to arrest folk, folk resisting.  Business as usual.

My, my, that druid's angry at the gnome I met the other night.  What was her name?  She seemed all right as gnomes go.

This could be an interesting evening after all...