#zyandahl

[airagorncharda]

DAGGER GOES HERE do Dahl and Gnash at the same time it'll be funny

[x]

Dahl gets two, because it’s very different between when he HAD magic vs now when he doesn’t, so

Dahl with magic:

Raw power. ★★★★

Formal Training. ★★★★★

Combat experience. ★★ 

Willingness to kill. ★★ 

Previous victims. ★

Dahl without magic:

Raw power.  ★★

Formal Training.  ★

Combat experience.  ★★ 

Willingness to kill.  ★★★★ 

Previous victims.  ★★

Gnash:

Raw power.  ★★★★ 

Formal Training.  ★

Combat experience.  ★★★ 

Willingness to kill.  ★★★★★

Previous victims.  ★★

[zyandahl]

Everything Lately...

Dahl can’t make the mechanical pigeon fly. He can’t do it. It’s made of metal and he can’t use magic, and there’s no size to weight ratio he can manage with a metal mechanical pigeon to make it fly without magic. On the list of reasons he’d miss having magic, ‘flightless pigeon construct, highly disappointing to self and others’ was not one he’d anticipated. And he can say that with conviction, because he has an actual written list of reasons it’s awful to be without his magic. He’s going to add this one to the list, albeit grudgingly.

He sits at the table for hours, trying to figure out how to make it work, and he just can’t, and he feels like a student again.

Or maybe that’s because everything lately has been reminding him of school, of being a student– of how stupid he–

Of Langdon.

It all comes back to that, to him.

Dahl sits at the table leaning over the spread carcass of a pigeon construct he has yet to roll together into an activated mechanical creature. Is it a carcass if it’s in the process of being created? It certainly looks like an unravelled dead thing.

He feels a memory overtake him, of being seated like this over something nearly finished but not, head in his hands, and of a warm body standing behind him. He feels abruptly younger, both more and less insecure, feels the memories of hands on his hips, that solid body pressed flush against his back, hot breath against his sensitive ear as the man asks what he’s having trouble with.

“My little genius,” he remembers, alongside the thrill of being touched by the only person whose touch he’d wanted more of– remembers never getting more than this, but wanting it. The slow tease, flirting, seduction, the touching, all of which had felt like barely restrained desire at the time.

Or at least he’d hoped that’s what it was.

His mind, disjointed and tired, superimposes the memories of Langdon’s hands and warmth and breath over the reality of working on a metal construct at a table. The memory warms him, makes him feel teased and young all over again, which in turn makes him hate himself.

He wonders if there will ever be a time when he isn’t pathetic, wonders what he’d do if Langdon showed up now.

Would he hate the man who ruined his life? Would he be able to hate him in person the way he can from afar? Because he does. He hates Langdon. It’s a cold crystallizing hatred, ice cold fury that makes certain words and thoughts and actions freeze as they leave him. “Teacher,” he only ever spits before it freezes on his tongue. He can’t go to school, can’t take classes, take mentors, for fear of freezing solid on the spot.

He’d finally managed to return to Dalaran a few times after years of avoiding it, and he’d died there. Nothing to do with Langdon, he knows, but it feels related anyway. A lesson that he’s right to be wary, to avoid the things that hurt. Overcoming your fears gets you killed, his mind tells him, in the same breath it tells him that overcoming fears is the only way he’s gotten to where he is, to being happy, to feeling anything like free.

Being killed wasn’t so bad, he reminds himself, and dying is always an option. It’s always an option.

He shakes his head to clear that sticky clinging impulse from the forefront. Nothing he can do to rid it completely. It’s like a misbehaving pet inside his mind. “Dying would be easier than whatever it is you’re doing,” it says, every day, as he corrals it back into the mostly soundproof room he’s built at the back of his mind. “It sure would,” he says, every day, as he locks it away and returns to the difficult tasks that make up his life. Most of them, these days, are worth doing. Even if they’re hard.

A thought flits through his mind, not for the first time, that perhaps that little suicidal monster in his mind was weaker before Langdon. He knows it existed, but he wonders how much Langdon fed it, how much it grew, and if the time between then and now has fully reverted it to the level of power it had over him before, or if some part of its growth was permanent.

A thought: how much of that damage is permanent?

He’s been working through some things, finally, talking to Dyrihm and Nae and realizing the ways Langdon affected him. Realizing that Langdon’s faked seduction, his manipulation and secret hatred, has wrecked Dahl in ways he never wanted to consider. Realizing that he wasted years he could have been with Dyr thinking that no matter what it seemed like, no one was ever going to see him the way he wanted, and least of all a man Dahl was already interested in. Least of all a man who laughed with him, and worked with him, and touched him gently in simple but implying ways– a hand against his hip, a body pressed flush to his back as he showed Dahl how to fight, breath in his ear–

He feels like he shouldn’t enjoy those things anymore, like they should have been ruined by a man who warped them to use him, all to take his creations and sell them behind his back. Somehow they aren’t ruined, and Dahl feels strange about that, too, like maybe it all wasn’t so bad if it didn’t thoroughly traumatize him. Or like maybe he’s just that stupid, that even though Langdon pretended to want him, faked desire, touched him constantly and hated the whole of it, all for rights to mechanical designs– all for money– that even despite it all Dahl would still lean into the touch if it returned.

And when he’d caught Langdon doing it, the man had made an excuse– said he was going to tell Dahl– said it was meant to be a surprise, so, Surprise! He was able to sell them because his name was known. Dahl wouldn’t have had such luck selling his own creations. Doesn’t Dahl see? It was all for him.

And Dahl, well.

Dahl’s stupid.

He’d believed it.

That wasn’t the falling out. That wasn’t the end.

Langdon had put his hands on Dahl’s hips– not his shoulders like a normal person, but his hips– and bent down to look into Dahl’s eyes, and lied easily directly to his face. His eyes had crinkled with what Dahl thought was affection, what he now knew to be a different kind of joy. A delight not at Dahl’s presence but at how easy he was to convince, to manipulate.

And everything lately is reminding him.

The obvious reminders– Nae ran off to try to kill Langdon, failed, came home injured; Langdon’s name came up again, and again; the nightmare from Rey of Langdon’s face; one of Dahl’s constructs at the party, sold by Langdon, and the receipt they’d found that proved it; Dyrihm wanting to know more; Frost should know about it too; Thadric asking how Dahl wants Langdon to die, and offering to help. The less obvious ones too, like Thor’del constantly reminding him of teachers from that school; having to go to Thor’del to ask for help with something he desperately wants to be able to fix for himself but can’t; and Picklet– just… just Picklet. Picklet, whose mannerisms, or attitude, or maybe just his face reminds Dahl of Langdon, which isn’t fair to anyone, least of all Picklet.

Even the way he can’t seem to get this fucking pigeon right reminds him of school.

It’s hard to do metal work without a workshop. He’s adjusted his prosthetics so that his left elbow works like a bolt cutter, and his fingertips double as screwdrivers, and he can use his fingers as pliers or a makeshift socket wrench as needed. He owns a small goblin-made blow torch and hand drill, and a set of magical metal-cutting scissors that he knows he could design a better version of if he still had magic. But he doesn’t own a bandsaw, or a sander, or a drill press, or a hundred other things, and the lack of these tools makes the work harder.

There are things Langdon didn’t lie about.

He was fortunate to have access to the school’s workshop, and without Langdon’s approval he wouldn’t have been allowed to use it at his own discretion, on his own time table, for his own projects. The fact that Langdon’s approval was only given because Langdon benefitted from the arrangement at least as much as Dahl did… well.

The worst part–

That’s not true. It’s not the worst part. But it still stings, still feels raw to know that Langdon wasn’t even a very good liar. He certainly isn’t the best liar Dahl has ever met, nor even the best liar he’s fallen for.

Dyr is objectively a better liar than Langdon ever was.

In hindsight Dahl can see Langdon’s lies. His eyes crinkling could have been genuine affection– and Dahl tells himself no one would be able to tell the difference in the same breath he tells himself he’s the only one who was fooled by it– but in hindsight it was smug delight.

In stark contrast Dahl remembers the first time he truly witnessed Dyr lie, an easy story to a stranger to elicit a desired reaction. The story was perfectly fragmented, with laughter, facial expressions, body language all right and timed without feeling scripted or forced in any way, woven so there was no hint of untruth. No reason to doubt. Eyes crinkling at memories that weren’t real– not at the reaction he elicited, but by the memories fabricated on the spot. Dahl was as taken in by it as anyone, as the stranger, as Nae. Everyone believed it, and later Dahl asked Dyr for more information, to know more. Dyr blinked, laughed, shook his head. “Oh, no, that was bullshit,” he’d said, and Dahl had to sit down to process that.

And because Dahl is stupid, it changed nothing. He trusts Dyr still, though to his knowledge Dyr has never made him regret loving a better liar.

Once you’ve had certain types of people in your life, you’re supposed to know how to deal with them. You’re supposed to know not to trust them. But Dahl’s trust is everywhere and nowhere. Don’t trust the people you want to, only the people who’ve been vouched for. Only trust the people Dyrihm trusts. A better judge of character. A better, more complete person, with a better sense of who to trust. He wonders if liars can sense other liars, and know better than anyone to steer clear of them. He wonders if everyone is a liar, and if that word even means anything at this point.

Dyr’s not A Liar, he tells himself. Dyr’s just a person who knows how to lie better than anyone else he’s ever met. But he doesn’t lie for fun, for cruelty, for the things Langdon lied for. He lies easy, but careful.

“I don’t lie to you,” Dyr would surely say, and Dahl knows that. He knows that. Or he believes that– but that’s the thing. He always believes that. He’s always ready to believe that he’s the exception to the rule, despite knowing that that’s not how rules work.

He truly believes that Dyr is honest with him, which is unchanged by the knowledge that he truly believed the exact same thing of Langdon. And maybe he’s right this time– he certainly thinks he’s right this time– but how is anyone ever able to prove that subjective truth isn’t a lie? Especially when people lie to themselves as well. Dahl does it all the time– who’s to say Dyr doesn’t do it too?

At what point is it actually smarter to just admit you’re stupid and move on?

And is that the lesson he should take from this? Accept that Langdon was right, and he’s stupid, but take it one further and accept that it’s better to be stupid than to be like Langdon? Is that the lesson? Is there a lesson? Or is it all just bullshit. Is it all just cruelty, and he should be working to rid himself of the poison Langdon left in his mind, rather than simply accepting it as fact and slowly letting it kill him.

Langdon wanted Dahl’s ‘genius’– a term Dahl’s never been able to feel comfortable with or fully relate to himself, despite others using it to describe him. They don’t anymore, but they used to. Gifted, a prodigy, a genius, the smartest one in his class. His teachers hated him, apparently, because he was smarter than most of them.

Langdon wanted Dahl’s inventions, wanted to use his genius for his own gain, and everything about Dahl made it easy for him. When the other teachers were mostly stuffy high class elves, who resented his intellect and looked down their noses at his background, who treated him poorly and tried to make him “push his boundaries” in all the least helpful ways– it was easy for Langdon to be the nice one. It was easy to be the friendliest face.

Dahl wonders even now why he took it so far. He could have just been a mentor, a friend. He didn’t need to pretend to–

He didn’t need to.

Dahl was eager enough to please without the touching, without what he still can only call flirting. It was flirting, whether Langdon secretly hated doing it or not.

And he supposes maybe Langdon didn’t hate doing it; only hated the idea of going further with it. Only hated Dahl for enjoying it, for hoping it was real. Maybe manipulating him with touches and words and smiles had been as fun for him as it had been exciting for Dahl. Maybe that’s part of why he did it.

He can’t think on that for long before he starts to wonder if Langdon is somewhere in Dalaran right now, thinking of him, missing him even in some twisted, vile way.

He can’t think on that.

When he’d caught Langdon– not caught him selling Dahl’s work, but really truly caught him, months later. Caught him one evening speaking Thalassian with the other teachers, telling them how pathetic Dahl was, how strange, how stupid. That he was gullible and eager to please and desperate. “If I asked him to kneel for me, he’d open his mouth. Or maybe just skip it and spread his legs,” and “I just have to smile at the stupid fuck and he’ll do anything I want for a month.” And they were laughing. All of them, with the door wide open.

If they’d been speaking common, Dahl would never had known. He wonders now how many conversations about him he walked in on before that, and had no idea.

Dahl had confronted him then, only then, and to this day he has to think of it as their ‘falling out’, because it wasn’t a breakup, and it wasn’t an argument, and it wasn’t getting fired, or expelled. It was all of those, and none.

He’d confronted him, and Langdon hadn’t shown a shred of guilt, no remorse. Dahl grew up with Nae; he knows what that looks like on a person. Langdon didn’t think he’d done anything wrong, continued laughing right at Dahl’s face even when the other teachers had the grace to look embarrassed, nervous, upset.

Langdon showed none of those, instead turned nastier and meaner by the second, telling Dahl in detail how disgusting he’d found Dahl’s interest. It flowed out of him like he’d been holding it in, resisting for years the urge to lash out and strike Dahl to the core. It seemed a relief to finally say it all.

“–How can you be so smart and still so fucking stupid–”

Dahl had taken his things and left. Left the room, the school, Dalaran, Langdon. He hadn’t seen him since, nor heard from him.  

And the worst part–

Maybe it really is the worst part, that Dahl still doesn’t know what he’d do if Langdon showed up. Rey created a nightmare vision of Dahl’s own fears and anxieties for him to practice escaping from, and front and center was Langdon, disappointed in him. After all this time, that’s still so high on the list? Next to being in that house when it felt so empty after Dyr–? Next to his sister, bloody and dead or dying on the floor? Dahl hadn’t been able to move, to leave, to scream or rage against him.

He’d wanted to; wanted to hurt him, wanted to demand answers. But mostly he’d wanted to beg forgiveness, to cling and cry and apologize for leaving even if he’d been right to, even if Langdon was objectively in the wrong, and it’s been years, and it wasn’t even real.

The worst part is knowing that’s probably how he’d react, if Langdon showed up for real. Knowing he’d want to invite him in, want to ask if Langdon had missed him, hold himself at arm’s reach for fear of making the man uncomfortable as though such consideration had ever crossed Langdon’s mind. Knowing that while he wants Langdon to be dead, if he were present for the death, he might try to stop it.

Thadric asked him if he had fantasies of how Langdon would die, and Dahl had told the truth. “I imagine a world without him in it.” What a cheap way of not admitting that imagining Langdon’s last breath still makes his chest tighten.

Part of him wants to be the one to do it.

Part of him doesn’t want it to happen at all.

[simply-suggesting]

@airagorncharda

[daetur]

💖💜 for dyr~

💖- A memory that made them feel special

Froststrider had always seemed distant, like he was holding himself apart- whether it was because of his fears, or his dreams, or his blackouts, Dyrihm wasn’t sure, but it was so hard to get the big Tauren to open up.

The chill of Grizzly Hills still felt like it was set deep in his bones that night, though they had returned to Hearth’s Reach where they stood under the hazy Silverpine sky. Dyrihm wondered if he’d really helped Frost much after all- sure, he’d stopped him from harming anyone, had gotten him to start to work through the damage the Cult had done to him, but it had clearly pained Frost so to relive it all. Maybe he should have left it to someone Frost was closer with, knew better-

“I want to tell you something,” Froststrider said, then, as they watched the small town. “Tauren do not share this lightly. My name.”

Maybe he’d been the right person to help, after all.

💜- A memory about one of their loved ones, happy or sad 

Golden light streamed through the window of the Nae’thari family home in Quel’thalas, warming the skin of Dyrihm’s hands where it fell across the table.

“This one powers it,” Zyandahl explained, leaning over Dyrihm’s shoulder to point at an arcane rune etched into the carapace of a mechanical dragonhawk. “And this one gives it flight.” The elf’s finger moved to trace over another rune, closer to the head. “Do you see the difference in the shapes? The ‘flight’ rune directs energy, so the lines to make it go in the same direction.”

Dyrihm shook his spinning head. “I can see that they are different, but Dahl, they blur all together,” he replied, in careful Thalassian.

Zyandahl laughed, a light, happy sound. “You read Common, Elvish, Orcish- but you have trouble with runes! It’s not so different. You are smart. You can learn!” He smiled, pulling his chair up beside Dyrihm, robes shifting around him. “Besides. You’re teaching me Orcish, and fighting. I am only helping you with your Thalassian! I get to have one more thing.”

Dyrihm grinned. “Well,” he said, “I suppose we do have plenty of time.”

@kurai-no-bara

[zyandahl]

Haircut:

More sad Dahl trying to sort out some issues, and also Nae gets a haircut:

----

He’s trying to be present, trying to focus, to enjoy her company, to pay attention-- to at least seem like he’s paying attention. She sees right through him, though, like always, and thwacks him lightly on the ear with the hilt of her dagger.

He looks up.

She’s holding the knife by the blade, bouncing it as she eyes him, one brow raised, expression demanding an explanation.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, looking down at his lap.

He can feel her shrug through the way it jostles the mattress. The spare bedroom mattress she’s been staying on most nights of late. She’s leaned against the headboard, all relaxed confidence, lazy limbs everywhere. Any viewer would swear this were her bed, her room, her house.

He’s seated on the edge of the bed, all tight nervous fidgeting and averted eyes, prosthetics tap tapping against each other as he adjusts again, then again, chewed lips, quiet sighs.

“Don’t apologize,” she says, and he’s not looking at her but he knows she’s rolling her eyes. “Apologies mean fuck all when we both know you ain’t gonna stop. What’s wrong?”

Not ‘what’s wrong with you’-- she knows better. A pointedly gentle question instead, careful and soft only ever with him.

He sighs again, wrist taping his knee.

The door’s closed, it’s just them.

They could be any age like this, just the two of them. There was no age, no time, without each other. A constant.

‘My world revolves only ever with you in it.’ He remembers the words, the pained expression twisting her features, and he’s pretty sure he remembers the context. He’s pretty sure.

They could be anywhere in their lives when they’re like this. They could be kids, growing up side by side, in their childhood bedroom, identical twin girls except not. It could be before he hurt himself, or after. It could be while he was going to school in Dalaran, or when he left before finishing. It could be Silvermoon, before Dyrihm lived with them, or during that time, or in the aftermath. Or Pandaria. Or now. Or some future time, as the prospect of living (existing?) without moments like these with his sister is unfathomable to Dahl.

They followed each other through life, leapfrogging from one disaster to the next, and yet never doing what the other was doing. Never going through the same struggles, be they internal or external. Never the same, in any real way, he supposes now.

He never thought of it that way before.

He spent so long trying to look different-- never intentionally to not look like her, but to not look the way he had, to not look like a woman (whatever that means), which amounted to the same in the end. He tried so hard to look different. And now, he supposes, he really has succeeded.

“Wake up, frowny face,” she says, flicking him in the ear with her finger this time. “I know you’re getting laid, so this ain’t pining like it used to be. What’s wrong.”

He breathes in, deeply.

They tell him it’s unnecessary but not breathing still feels wrong, feels like panic, like dying without the big finish. All crescendo, no end.

He wants to start with ‘Did you know’, a casual opener, but it feels ridiculous. Of course she knows. Everyone knows. Every careful, casual set up feels wrong and foolish, reminds him he’s stupid--

‘--so fucking stupid--’

-- so he shakes his head and blurts out, “We look different now.”

He doesn’t look at her face, can feel her confusion from a few feet away. “Uh, yeah,” she says, like it’s obvious.

‘--so fucking stupid--’

“Wasn’t that kinda the whole point?” she adds, and she’s leaning over sideways, body angled over the edge of the bed so she can see his face, catch his eye, while he’s intently focused on his staring contest with the floor. “Nobody mistakes you for a girl anymore. That’s good, right?”

He nods.

It’s good.

That part is good.

“Then what’s the problem, bucko?” she asks, gentle-- careful and soft, only ever gentle with him.

“We don’t look like twins anymore,” he says finally, and the act of saying it stings his eyes, sharp and hot. He can feel color rising, splotchy, up his face.

She scoots closer, no longer leaning against the headboard, still tilted sideways trying to catch his gaze with her own. “Who told you that?” she asks, and he can’t tell if it’s meant to mean that someone lied to him, or that she didn’t think he’d ever notice on his own. And the worst part is that he wouldn’t have.

She knows him. Better than anyone, she knows him. She knows him inside and out better than anyone else has ever known him, himself included, and he thinks she probably knows him better than she knows anyone else as well-- herself included.

He shakes his head. “Met a few new people. They didn’t realize we were even siblings.”

That sting is back, behind his eyes.

How could their lives (existences?) have changed so much…? Dahl remembers being a child with Nae, making forts in their bedroom. She stole treats from the kitchen, and he made toys for her, and they were happy.

He knows that’s a lie. He wasn’t happy at that age in any situation other than hiding in their shared room with Nae, eating honey cakes by candlelight when they were supposed to be asleep. She was the only thing he had worth living for, and the only reason he’d lived at all.

He spirals in her silence, feeling stupid for not noticing, stupid for caring, stupid, stupid--

‘--How can you be so smart and still so fucking stupid--’

“Well, we can probably fix that,” she says.

He blinks until his vision isn’t blurry, trying to process her words, and turning to squint at her. “What-- what do you mean?”

She shrugs, giving him her gentlest smile, which is still sharp in so many ways. “There are ways to make us look more similar again. Like what clothes we wear--” She holds up her hands in mock defence when he frowns at the suggestion. “Though I know you’d never be caught dead in my form fitting leather,” she says, snickering visibly at ‘caught dead’ before adding, “And your fabric textures are important and all that. And obviously I wouldn’t be great at my job in flashy colors.”

His frown deepens.

She shrugs, a relenting gesture that says ‘you’re right, you’re right’, and continues with, “So probably not the clothes. But there’s other ways. Like hair.” He watches as the idea takes hold in her mind, can see it on her face when she’s decided. There’d be no stopping her now if he tried. “Yeah, fuck it, I’m getting a haircut.”

“You don’t have to--” he tries anyway, guilt eating at him.

She shoves his metal shoulder gently, and his body sways. “Shut up, I’m getting a haircut. Not the same as yours, but maybe, like, just one side shaved, you know?”

He tries to picture it.

“Right or left side?” she asks, all grinning and confidence, all gentle only ever for him. She’s off the bed already, moving to the door, and she opens it before he can ask her where she’s going. “DYRIHM!” she all but screams down the hall, grinning widely at her excuse to be disruptive.

“WHAT?” Dahl hears Dyr yell back, muffled from another room-- the kitchen, maybe?

There’s a throb of nostalgia in his chest for this, for living together with the both of them. He hopes, deeply, that Frost doesn’t mind too much. He wants to keep this as long as he can, to recreate that best year that he really does remember most of.

Nae calls, “COME CUT MY HAIR!” and gives Dahl a toothy smirk over her shoulder, delighted, he suspects, in the same nostalgia he’s feeling. Of course she doesn’t process it as an aching soft warmth like he does; more likely it feels like a shot of hard liquor to her, burns all the way down and makes her brain buzz.

There is silence, and then footsteps, and then Dyr is in the doorway looking at Nae, bewildered and trying not to laugh as he wipes his hands on a towel. There are scissors in his pocket.

“Did someone die?” Dyrihm asks, lightly, and Dahl can’t blame him. He’s never known Nae to change, frankly, anything about her appearance. She’s always loved the way she looks, calls herself perfect and means it.

Instead she shrugs and says, “Nah, I just want us--” she gestures between herself and Dahl, “-- to match again. Been too long.”

Dyrihm's sass is cut abruptly short. "Oh," is all he says at first, obviously surprised, then he softens into something fond. "Hmm... I think I can manage that." 

Nae grabs the desk chair and settles herself on it backwards so she can lean on the back, facing Dahl. “Just one side,” she says.

“Left side,” Dahl blurts.

Her grin is pleased as she nods and says, “Left side it is.”

Dyrihm steps up behind her and gestures for Dahl to readjust in front of her, and he slides behind her with his scissors, a small smile on his face, which Dahl can never resist returning. "All right, handsome," he says to Dahl, playful. "You wanna model that for me?"

[zyandahl]

After a Week:

[Follow-up scene to this]

It’s a week before Nae returns, a week of Dahl worrying. She comes in through the door to the Undercity, throws her lock picks on the table like keys, and avoids making eye contact as he takes in her bloodied appearance.

“What happened?” he cries in Thalassian, jumping to his feet, “Where they fuck have you been? Why do you look like-- like--” He gestures at her, at the blood on her arm, the darkened bloodied leather of her top over her ribs, the way her face isn’t bruised anymore but it’s still swollen and has now-useless scabs that haven’t finished flaking off-- “And who healed you? How much worse was this, Nae?”

“Nice to see you, too,” she mutters, and Dahl throws his book on the table with a loud bang.

“Don’t give me that crap!” he yells, “If you wanted to see me, I’ve been right fucking here! All week!”

She throws her hands up in surrender, though she’s rolling her eyes at him. “Fine, fine,” she says, sounding exasperated and not sorry at all. “Stopped by Thad’s place, he healed me up. And where I’ve been? Uh, I was doing my job, so... all over the place.” She starts ticking off answers on her fingers like she’s accommodating him, and he grits his teeth. “Crossed off a bunch of big names. Then I went to Dalaran, since I figured, you know, people are distracted right now. Maybe an opportunity for, you know...”

All the fight leaves Dahl and he sits back down on the couch. “Oh, Nae,” he sighs, closing his eyes and shaking his head. He wants to ask if she succeeded, but he knows she didn’t. She wouldn’t have cleaned herself up and tried to avoid talking about it if she’d succeeded. She’d have stumbled in with broken ribs and champagne.

She steps around the low table and drops onto the couch next to him with a frustrated sigh.

Dahl wants to ask a lot of things, suddenly. Did you injure him? Is he at least in pain, even if he’s not dead? Who hurt you? How did he seem-- did he seem okay?

-

“Light, how can you be so smart and still so fucking stupid.”

-

He shakes his head, and rests his face in his hands.

Nae sighs again, draping her limbs everywhere. “The fucker was practically waiting for me.”

“You can let this go,” Dahl offers, muffled, through his hands.

Nae scoffs.

He shakes his head and turns to look at her more directly. “I mean it, I won’t be angry. I’d rather have you than lose you just to know he’s dead.”

She scoffs again. “I’m fine. He ruined your fucking life, I’m not going to stop trying to kill him. You know I’m not.”

It’s true, he does know that.

“Plus, Thad might help me get him alone,” she says with a sharp delighted grin.

Dahl’s long eyebrows raise and he blinks at her. “Thadric is going to help you murder my professor?” He still can’t quite say that word without a bite to it, but he’s trying.

She shrugs. “He offered. Not to kill the guy, but to help me get him alone so I can do it.”

“And he’s aware who you’re trying to kill?”

“A respected professor of the arcane arts in Dalaran,” she confirms in a mocking tone, nodding.

Dahl levels her with a flat stare. “Are you manipulating Thadric into helping you kill people?” he asks, squinting at her.

“He offered!” she insists. “I name-dropped ‘Langdon’ and he didn’t seem to know the bastard. He was mostly worried you’d be upset, honestly.”

Dahl continues squinting at her, not comprehending.

“That I’m trying to kill your ex-teacher,” she elaborates, gesturing vaguely with one hand and picking at the scabs on her face with the other. “Seems to think you’re too good and pure and nice to condone murder, or something.”

Dahl leans against the back of the couch and inhales deeply, mulling that over.

Well.

That’s a can or worms that he just might not have the energy to open at the moment.

“I condone the murder of Prewitt Langdon,” he says finally.

“I know you do,” she says, reaching over to pat him on the shoulder.

He wants to ask so many questions. He glances over at her again and asks, “What happened?”

Another dismissive gesture. “Bastard’s paranoid as fuck, and might have been expecting me.” She looks briefly sheepish about that. “He had a bunch of guards-- more than last time, even.” She looks like she wants to say something else, but changes her mind, and says only, “And you know he’s a powerhouse mage.”

He hates how true that is, hates the implications of that statement in this context. He reaches over to her and runs a metal finger over the slightly swollen skin of her cheekbone, surprising her with the contact. “He did this to you?” he asks, quietly.

She reaches up and rests her hand on his mechanical forearm, and something about the gentleness of it-- only ever for him-- makes him think she’s trying not to scare him off. He didn’t used to like touching, used to get too easily overwhelmed by stimulus. With metal prosthetic limbs, that’s much less of a problem nowadays.

“I’m fine,” she says again, quieter, matching his tone as gently as she can. “He threw some spells at me, mostly did property damage when I dodged. I had to escape like six guards trying to dog-pile me, but I’m fine. I’m here, aren’t I?”

He nods and lets his hand drop to his lap.

She sits up, grabs his face, and presses their foreheads together. “Stop being so fucking worried about me,” she says. “I’ll be fine.”

He knows she believes it, too.

“Don’t go after him again for a while,” he says. Her face is so close it makes his eyes cross to look at her, so he looks down at his lap instead.

She pulls back, presses a loud kiss to his forehead, and nods. “I know. After last time, he’d expect me to try again right away. I’ll set it aside for now.”

He breathes a sigh of relief or disappointment, he’s not entirely sure which.

She reaches into a her leather top and pulls a small thin notebook out of what he assumes must be a pocket in her bra. “You wanna see how many big names I crossed off this week before I went after him?” she asks, sly and conspiratorial and proud.

He smiles, suddenly exhausted but mostly just glad she’s home, and settles back against the couch again. “Sure.”

[zyandahl]

Memories and Mind Control

Dahl’s having a hard time reconciling past and present.

(In case it’s confusing, the two remembered quotes are from different people)

----

“Is he even trying?”

The words only filter in later, only later registering their meaning, only later caring to interpret them at all. Dahl knows Dyrihm isn’t judging him (probably), knows Dyrihm sounded amused and Dyrihm is too kind and too… too… what’s that word again? Anyway, it’s Dyrihm. Dyrihm doesn’t mock him, doesn’t think poorly of him.

(Probably.)

He shakes his head, tinkering with a mechanical toy bird for Thordel.

Stop it.

He’s in the guest bedroom again, metal parts strewn across the floor. It’s easier to think in here, with a door that closes. It’s too easy to think.

Frost is terrified of mind control, so the three of them went to Rey and Rey tried to help them learn to resist it. Rey projected scenery onto their senses, and they were meant to break out of that unreality and find their way back to this (real?) reality. Dyrihm, Dahl discovered later, is very good at resisting it. Frost is improving. Dahl is… not.

First a pleasant relaxing meadow, then a beautiful crystalline forest. They said it was a place in Northrend, though all he cared about was how much magic he could almost (almost) feel.

“Is he even trying?”

No, not really.

He hadn’t meant not to try. He had known beforehand that he would be meant to try, but then… then it happened, and he forgot. And of course he didn’t remember how he’d gotten to the meadow, but that wasn’t so strange for Dahl.

Just pretend.

You don’t know where you are, you don’t know how you got here, you don’t know what’s going on. Just pretend, and no one will notice how much you don’t know. You have friends now, right?

“Light, how can you be so smart and still so fucking stupid.”

Dahl shakes his head, trying to focus on the toy in his hands, using the tip of his finger as a screwdriver, tightening a small bolt, checking that the hook attached properly to the plate, so he can clasp the leg into place, and loop the wire tendons through it.

He’s good at this.

This is what he’s good at.

“Is he even trying?”

To escape a place he doesn’t know isn’t real? No, he wasn’t really trying. Not the second time either. Gullible, trusting, easily lied to-- and now Rey knows it. Now Frost and Dyrihm likely know it more than they did before.

Dahl isn’t afraid of mind control. He doesn’t think much of his own mind.

He was considered a prodigy at one point, some sort of young genius who thought about arcane magics and runes and their applications onto mechanical designs (also of his own making) in a way that made money (big money, apparently) and people were impressed (or so he’d heard). His mind was useful, once upon a time.

Not many experiences worth stealing even if they were easily decipherable, not many thoughts or ideas that others could decipher even if they were stolen. That someone might try to read his mind for their own gain was laughable. Good luck with that. He could hardly keep up with his own mind, and half of it was garbage, and chunks of it were missing.

“Is he even trying?”

Generally, yes. Dahl is constantly trying. Trying to create mechanical toys and prosthetics, trying to learn Orcish (and Taurahe now), trying to make friends and keep track of who his friends are, trying to handle his sister, trying to be a partner, trying, trying. Trying to do magic. Trying to hide how much he doesn’t know at any given time. How much he’s forgotten.

He doesn’t know how much he’s forgotten.

“How can you be so smart and still so fucking stupid.”

He doesn’t know.

He’s pretty sure he didn’t have these problems before he died. Or maybe he did, but he’s (almost) certain he didn’t have them before he went down under a pack of ghouls.

So he was stupid before that. What does that make him now?

He shakes his head again, focuses on flexing the wing, making sure it fully extends, he’s gotten the length of the wires right, the balance of the weighted pulleys.

What would his teacher think of him now, half made of his own creations, dead and back and a murderer. If he was stupid before, what does that make him now?

[zyandahl]

A Letter of Apology

@simply-suggesting

Dear Thadric Willbender,

I do not remember the details of last night as clearly as I would like, but I do remember that you left feeling very hurt. I am truly sorry for whatever part I might have played in that. I would never intentionally mock someone for their appearance, as my own appearance has caused me such pain and insecurity. I am, however, known to be oblivious about social cues, and sometimes not realize how my words sound. I do have difficulty with orcish as well, which often contributes.

To explain further what I believe I said: I do not like to be touched by anyone, with only perhaps three exceptions. The game question was, I believe, which form of being touched I would prefer, and for reasons unrelated to you I answered with an emphatic ‘neither’.

I also know that the entire group was being rude, but for whatever it is worth, I do not believe it was the group intention to single you out. In my experience there is a lot of teasing within this group, and I think it is usually a form of respect rather than disrespect. It is an expression of companionship, and I have always assumed it is not meant to be cruel.  

I apologize, however, if we were cruel to you. I know that I did not intend to be, and I hope you can forgive me.

I also remember my question about blindfolding being met with some hostility, and I wanted to clarify that as well. My sister implied to me that you were expressing interest in her, and also curiosity about how your mind-reading and memory-altering works. She was hesitant to take you up on your offer, unless she could ensure you were unable to access her mind. The blindfold was her idea—I was simply trying to determine for her whether it would work. She does not date, but perhaps the two of you could still have fun together.

I apologize if my question caused concern.

--Zyandahl Nae’thaeari

[airagorncharda]

Guestroom

In the theme of people writing up their RP characters reactions to the recent RP events, here’s Dahl’s:

It’s been a few days since the trip down remembering death lane, and Zyandahl still feels like he got off easy. He wonders if this is guilt he’s feeling, for being forced to relive a death so much less traumatizing than everyone else. He’s barely spoken to the rest of them, has nothing to say.

He’s staying in Dyr and Frost’s guest bedroom again.

Imposing, his mind screams at him.

He knows Dyr doesn’t think like that, but that doesn’t make it untrue. It’s not like it used to be, not like when they lived together back in Silvermoon. It’s just not.

This isn’t his room, it’s a guest bedroom. His toothbrush isn’t in the bathroom, it’s in his bag. The room is only half furnished, the bed made, and he has no idea if anyone else has been in it since the last time he was here. He was planning on staying at an inn again, but Dyr offered the room (again) and he’d accepted (again) and then the happy couple excused themselves to their bedroom and Dahl was back in here.

Maybe he should have gone to an inn.

But who would that have helped, really? And he can never say no to Dyr’s offer, or Frost’s either at this point, if he’s being honest. It’s not the same, but it’s growing more similar with time, and he refuses to think about that either. No good would come of that. No good has ever come of that, and it would never be the right time.

He wonders if this is the mattress Dyr and Frost used before they got their better one, and resists the urge to smell the sheets.

His bag is on the floor by the foot of the bed. He’s wearing his pants and sleeves to keep his prosthetics from ripping the sheets. His body a mess of scars and missing pieces, and he didn’t have to relive a second of it. Just a thump in the back that knocked him to the ground, the shock that kept him from feeling the pain as he tried to turn over to see his sister. He still wonders if the arrow hitting its mark is what actually killed him, or if the act of turning over had sliced it sideways into his heart somehow.

His death had been mostly confusion, not comprehending what was happening, where Nae had run off to, why she looked at him with such a strained expression when she came back, and whose blood was splattered on her face this time.

He hadn’t had time to feel pain or loss or fear, and then he woke up somewhere else, with Nae bribing some Death Knight he’d never met into raising him for her.  

He runs a gloved metal hand down his chest, noting that at least the scars that cover most of it have also hidden the precise surgical scars he’d had before. He could probably even go topless now without drawing stares. And at least with his arms completely missing and replaced, people will stop asking him about those scars too.

Dahl is very good at finding the silver lining.

He’s also very good at dwelling on the stuff that hurts, but he’s learned how to claw himself out of that depressive hole by finding the silver lining afterwards.

Sure, he was mostly eaten alive by ghouls, but it’s not as though he died. Sure, he died later, but he didn’t stay dead. And sure, being dead had ruined most of the remaining relationships he’d had in Silvermoon, and he’d nearly killed a lot of people accidentally, and been kicked out of the city, and could probably never return to his childhood home full of memories of his dead parents and living with Nae and Dyrihm and of being alive, but… well.

He lies down on top of the covers. It’s going to be another long night of remembering. In his old house at least most of the memories were good ones.

Here his mind circles back to dying, to being dead, to eating raw flesh that makes him nauseous. He remembers Nae asking him what that was like, eating people, in the sort of fascinated tone that makes him think for the hundredth time that she would have made a better forsaken than he does. He definitely wouldn’t have been able to get Norberon those gruesome gifts himself, but Nae had done it with no problem.

She said she wanted him to fit in here.

She’d said that about Dalaran too, but look how that had gone. Still, she was trying to help, which was about as compassionate as Nae ever got, and he wanted to encourage it.

Not that he doesn’t want to fit in for himself too.

He likes Dyrihm’s friends. He likes pretty much all of them. A little part of him feels like they make Dyr happier than he ever had, or at least than he does now, but he’s trying to ignore that. A few years apart from each other, with all the change that had happened to each of them—the loss of so much—was bound to make things different.

He wants to be friends with Dyr’s friends. He wants to connect with them. He’s never really sure if he’s succeeded at that, and after this most recent situation he feels like he’s been confided in and given nothing of substance in return. Should he try to talk to any of them about it? Or is it better to ignore it altogether, since their confidence was forced to begin with?

His mind circles with memories.

Waking up after nearly dying and finding out that Dyrihm was dead, had died trying to protect him, and Nae was sure he was dead—she’d checked, she assured Dahl that she’d checked. Half his body gone, his friend gone, in agonizing pain, wishing he hadn’t woken up at all.

It was true what he’d said to Dyr; if he’d had to relive the ghouls devouring him, he’s almost certain he would have lost his mind. Maybe it would be easier the second time, but he doubts it.

Still, others relived agonizing pains of their own. Being betrayed, being murdered by loved ones, comrades, friends. Dahl had relived falling on his face and being confused for a bit. It’s oddly embarrassing to have died in such a bullshit way, and he doesn’t know what to do with that emotion either.

He sighs. Maybe a book would be better than sleeping tonight.

[simply-suggesting]

Journal 02 – The Nandos Got Too Cheeky

[One page of the journal is covered in the illegible scrawl of a drunken man. The paper is flecked with little droplets of liquid that dried ever-so-slightly green. Appletini, or plague tears? Either way, whatever emotional rant Thadric went on last night is largely indecipherable except for a few standout words bolded and underlined with an angry application of too much ink. Someone had a Bad Night Out.

The following page is much more legible...]

I can’t read what I wrote last night, but I know what I felt. Foolish. I wouldn’t have been hurt if I hadn’t wrongly convinced myself that this was going to be different, but this station is just like the rest: The Charnel Corps are going to use me for my talents, then distrust me and mock me and show me no respect. I’m not one of them and I will never be one of them. I got carried away last night believing that could ever be the case. 

At least I can respect Atlas. He had the honor to make no qualms about disliking me from the start. The rest of them pretended to be on friendly terms with me until it was convenient and ‘hilarious’ to have a laugh at my expense. 

I know how I look. I know I’m disgusting and undesirable and the concept of anything otherwise is laughable at best and nauseating at worst, even to Forsaken who live in filth and depravity. They don’t have to remind me of it.

More than anything, though, I’m disappointed in myself. I should have stood up for myself. I should have been cruel to Executor Maulfalcon for making jokes at my expense, but even after everything I couldn’t do it. Even after all this time, I still don’t know how to be cruel to certain people. I almost called him something I would have regretted – not even on his behalf. I almost called him an embarrassing halfie bastard, but I couldn’t. 

I thought about Dean for the first time in a long time last night. We were playing drinking games and she kept coming to my mind. I mentioned her out loud for the first time in years, though not by name. Of course they were incredulous I could have ever been married. I wasn’t always hideous. How could other undead forget that? But I thought of Dean last night, and I thought of her when I failed to insult the Executor. 

Executor Maulfalcon is exactly the reason she and I never had children. I couldn’t bring a child into this world knowing they’d be called what I nearly called him. As much as I loved her, and as much as I wanted it, I couldn’t let a child be tormented all their life the way he must have been. I couldn’t let an innocent heart turn cruel like his because the world is horrible. But I’m not going to admit that to any of these people. I regret that Executor Maulfalcon’s life and unlife must have gone so wrong to make him so detestable, but I don’t pity him. What we are and what we do aren’t under our control, but who we are and how we act are. Of all people he should know not to be unkind to others for how they look. 

Still. I want an apology. None of them would have been drinking and celebrating last night if it weren’t for me. They look at me with suspicion out of the corners of their eyes and disrespect me right to my face, and Zyandahl even had the audacity to conspiratorially talk about blindfolding me – as if I didn’t know he was asking for future reference, for the inevitable day that they’ll all incapacitate me and brutalize me. But the fact remains, if I hadn’t done what I did to that Windi woman they wouldn’t have uncovered what they uncovered at the Sunwell. 

I want an apology. I want to be respected. For once in my unlife. They don’t have to like me, but they are going to respect me. I don’t care about the consequences or how long it takes – I’ll hear Executor Maulfalcon apologize to me eventually. Either he’ll do it when I ask him nicely, or he’ll do it when I ask him less-than-nicely, but he’ll do it. 

I am keeping my word to Mr. Atlas, though. I’m not going to let them call me a liar on top of it all. No mind control. No ‘invalidation of free will.’ Not hard. It just means I’m going to have to be more creative. 

Before I forget, Harborym was as sweet as ever. I don’t know how he manages to be so kind. He gave me his cloak when my shirt and vest were ruined (Goruul) and I felt like I had a shred of dignity walking home in it. He’s a very nice young man. I’m sure people are unduly cruel to him about his appearance, too. I wish I could stay as positive as he does or be as selfless as he is. I want to talk to him about what happened at the Sunwell, about the third trial we underwent, but I don’t want to overstep my bounds. I only hope he didn’t make the choice he made for the same reason I did. 

PS – Who am I kidding? I can’t even fantasize about comeuppance without shame and worrying over the consequences. No wonder I’ve never avenged myself for a single thing that’s gone wrong in my life.

[simply-suggesting]

Journal 01

On first meetings and the casual mention of fighting dreadlords. Charnel Corps namedrops, implications that Atlas is up to no good, and the merits of sexing demons.

Two days into my assignment with the Charnel Corps, and it’s been eventful. The very first day I arrived in casual clothes not expecting to be fighting any dreadlords.

Needless to say, we fought a dreadlord.

Maybe more accurate to say the Corps fought the dreadlord and I wrestled with an inability to control my magic and my form. The demon’s mastery of shadows must have been disrupting my ability to cast. I’ve never had such an issue, spells fizzling like I was an amateur. It was embarrassing. The demon did quite a bit of damage to us, but nobody died and I was able to heal a few of them despite the disruptions.

Executor Maulfalcon took a hit for me despite the fact that I’m sure he dislikes me. I brought it up to a few of the Corps and none of them seemed surprised at all. I won’t expect any more of it going forward, but it was a surprise to me. Pleasant? Not pleasant because he was wounded for his troubles, but not a negative surprise. I’d also like to note he’s a very brave person, and organized enough in combat. He ordered his team with confidence and physically threw himself at the demon to stop it. Though his attitude out of combat is repugnant, I think he’s going to be a better leader than reports suggest. This may be a decent assignment after all.

Arcanist Thor’del did not show any grace or gratefulness for me healing him. I should have expected it. Not sure why I didn’t. I’d like to say I won’t heal him again, but I know I will. Wish I wasn’t like this.

The man who introduced himself to me as ‘Zyandahl’ seemed friendly, I’m making a note to meet with him as soon as possible. Know nothing about him aside from that. Likewise, the deathstalker, the tauren, the death knight with the runic jaw.

Last night met with Mr. Atlas. He has the emotional range of a teenager, which makes sense, because he looks 17 or 18. No clue on how long he’s been dead, but I imagine it hasn’t helped him mature. Speaking with him was an extreme exercise in restraint, as he was incredibly opinionated. He doesn’t like mentalism. I promised him that I won’t ‘scramble any brains’ on the team (I did clarify on the team) and he flippantly promised “If he remembers” to not cast the Light on me unless it’s life or death. I’ll say this much: If he conveniently ‘forgets,’ the deal is off. Not that I was ever going to mind control any of these people, except for the moment when the Arcanist and the Executor told me I ought to. (They were joking. Potentially?) If I have to rearrange anyone’s thoughts it will only be at the Executor’s orders, and then I can completely shift the blame onto him. Still, I haven’t seen any evidence that anyone here needs to be retrained in any way. They’re all very sincere and tried their hardest. It was good to see.

Interestingly, Mr. Atlas became incredibly upset when I suggested that I can do helpful things with my abilities, such as returning memories to people. He immediately demanded I not do so. Red flag. I’ll be keeping an eye on the situation. Strongly believe he has already tampered with their thoughts and does not want me to see evidence of such. Hesitant to put that into any official report without proper evidence, but recording here for posterity. Could explain why he dislikes me so much. (Note self: He did not find humor in my joke that if I were here to mind control people I would have made him less obstinate. What wasn’t funny about that?...)

Harborym, Rey, and the associate Mr. Ironsol: All very good people. Mr. Ironsol has a wealth of knowledge, and I wouldn’t mind learning more about what he knows. And he lived in Dalaran before the bubble! Very exciting. Pleasant to talk with him about it, if only for a moment. We will have to get together again soon and reminisce. Light-caster. Do not touch him. (As an aside, and if I might be so bold, I think he’s a sexually inexperienced young man, because he was absolutely incredulous at the notion that people would have sex with demons for the thrill and with no care to the ‘health hazards.’ Then again, aren’t I the one who was scandalized when Harborym mimed oral sex? Though it was very funny in hindsight...)

The death knight ‘Rey’ was very quiet, well-mannered, mostly listened. I learned that he has another ‘entity’(?) inside of him, which he calls ‘Reya’ and describes as more friendly than himself. Another soul? Another mind? Unsure. He told me that he does not want me to enter his mind, so I might never know. Said that Reya might take me up on violin lessons, which is exciting! Next time I come around I’m bringing my violin to play for the Corps.

Harborym, the Illidari, is probably my favorite – not that I would ever choose favorites. Sincere, forthright, slow to anger or offend, casual, calm. However, did burp in my ear as goodbye. Did not appreciate and did not mean to smile. He taught me quite a bit about the Illidari and being a demon hunter, which was very interesting. They consider themselves predators of demons. Very different from warlocks, I think. I thought he seemed a very selfless man despite his humility and insistence that he was not. He touched my claw without my permission, but after being so open about himself I couldn’t begrudge him his curiosity. I did not mean to scratch his head after, make note not to do so again in public – or ever.

I think the greatest part about meeting with those three was... Joking. Humor. I feel like I haven’t heard a joke that wasn’t at my expense in ages. It felt so normal. I didn’t know how much my soul missed a little laughter, a little friendly conversation. Thinking about it is making me embarrassingly emotional. I think I’ve written enough tonight.

[daetur]

Luck in the Shadows (Dyrihm Personal Event Log, Part 11)

Reya brings backup in the form of Haelstein and Nob when he returns to Solis’s Plaguelands shack uninvited to ferret out whatever he can about what’s been done to Dyrihm- and the news he gets surprises them all. Dyrihm is being held as a traitor in the Ebon Hold- and is being moved to Icecrown in the morning. Frost, Reya,  Zyandahl, and Nob have one chance to sneak in and find him before he’s taken away.

Featuring some of the strongest rolls Dahl and Nob have ever had, making them come out of this looking like badasses, and quite a bit of sappy reunions and farewells.

Solis doesn't have a soul shipment today- he seems to simply be tinkering with constructs at his little shack in the Plaguelands. Half-completed ghouls and gargoyles lay around, and one gargoyle is currently on his table. He seems to be making some repairs.

Reya adjusts his scarf nervously some way down the slope, making sure it covered his face. Light, alright, he can do this. It'll be FINE. With a deep breath, he marches on up to Solis' shack. Light Light Light--"OI, SOLIS." He barks in his Best Maul impression. "Guess who’s here." It's him. He's Here.

Jackdaw sure as hell wasn't going to be left behind for this, but he's being almost excessively cautious slinking around this place.

Haelstein crouches down slowly from where he manages to get himself at, resting his hand down carefully as he watches the proceedings.

Solis jumps a little- he wasn't expecting company. He abandons his work on the gargoyle, turning around. "Wh- Oh! Kion? What brings you back so soon?"

Reya shrugs a shoulder, "Was gonna send ya a letter, but thought it'd just be easier ta come on down myself."

Solis looks a little puzzled. "Is everything all right with the birds?"

Reya almost breathes a SIGH of relief.  A conversation starter, yes, good. "Doin' good, actually.  Made a couple adjustments."

[Reya]: Thinkin' once a couple weeks pass they'll be more comfortable apart, ya know.

Solis nods. "Yes, some time for adjustment. Separate them slowly- what did you change?"

Reya fidgets with his tabard, "Some of the shadow work.  Made it less blunt." And less FEAR.  But he wasn't about to say that.

Solis scratches his chin, considering. He certainly seems to take this answer well. "You are the expert on that particular method of shadow work, after all- I'll have to get your opinion on the next batch, see how my friends up north are improving."

Reya blesses whatever stars are in his favor. "I'll look forward to that then.  Ah, speakin' of ya next batch--ya manage to get whatever knight ya was hopin' to get the other day?"

[Reya]: Main reason I'm swingin' by is cause that whole mess at Light's Hope caused quite the stir.

Reya shrugs. "Thought I'd warn ya so ya can tell ya people that City's on alert." True. He guesses, he doesn't REALLY know.

Solis smiles. "Yes, actually- everything went rather well! Trevarde was absolutely right- making sure Ackerman got the orders for this one was the perfect opportunity to close his case, so to speak. He should be in Icecrown in a day or two, and we can see how he turns out!" He waves his hand, dismissive. "As to the City- well, that's why I'm touching up these fellows." He gestures to the gargoyles and ghouls. "Just in case."

Haelstein glares from his spot.

Reya eyes the gargoyles. "Wow, thought ya get 'em up North sooner.  Ya holdin' 'em somewhere else then?"  He takes a step towards the ghouls to inspect, not bothering to fake curiosity.

Reya is actually interested in the constructs.  Do not touch them, Reya.

Solis clicks his tongue. "Usually takes a few days- protocol would be to hold the traitors in Acherus, and it takes some time to pull the right strings to get them moved. Mograine doesn't like to let them go." The ghouls are clearly Solis's own design, with exaggerated teeth and claws, more deliberately shaped than your standard shambling corpse.

Reya stoops down to eyes those exaggerated features.  Ooooh. "Ah well, orders are orders after all, Blade's still stingy about followin' things to the tee." Archerus, fucking Light.

Reya almost pokes a ghoul but he RESTRAINS HIMSELF.

[Reya]: These are neat though, ya usin' em to protect ya self just in case then?

Reya almoooost touches. No, restraint.  But....touch...

Solis nods. "I do! A lot of the experimental ones go back up to Icecrown after I'm done with them, but these don't use the souls I get from Nachtigal, so- easy to make as many as I need. Not quite as strong, but they do."

Jackdaw stares at Reya, trying to somehow PSYCHICALLY KEEP HIM FROM BEING A LITTLE SHIT.

Haelstein is good at being very fucking still but he wants to SIGH.

[Reya]: Mind if look at 'em more closely?  They ain't animated right now, are they?

Reya | Hey.  At least, he's ASKING first.

Haelstein | Reya...Oh..my god.

Solis doesn't seem to be making any move to stop Reya from touching his ghouls. He simply watches with a touch of amusement. "Be my guest- I can activate them at a moment's notice, but they won't harm you."

Reya | Well, that's GOOD TO KNOW.

|| Varun and Nob can likely count three ghouls and two gargoyles, including the one on the table.

Reya touches the ghouls, tapping on their teeth and opening their mouths to inspect them.  "Ya modifications to 'em are pretty good, damn." He tries to keep the petulance out of his voice.

Solis puffs up a little with the praise. "I find, no matter what you do with ghouls, they're always fairly fragile- so I decided to accentuate their strengths. Maximum damage can be done during a short window, even to someone swinging Light around- that'll bring down even the sturdiest ghoul, but if one of these gets a hold of them?" He grins.

Haelstein shifts his gaze to all the constructs. A mental note. In case there were things like this elsewhere.

Jackdaw eyes those ghouls himself, making a cautious mental note to ask the Doc some things.

Reya automatically dislikes these because Light, if something awful happens he doesn't want to be on the OPPOSING END.  They are a nasty piece of work though, which he grudgingly admires. "They're a damn menace, wouldn't wanna be under their claws."

Solis returns to his gargoyle as he continues with their conversation. "Absolutely! Now- you say the City's in an uproar? I assume just over the Blade's move on Light's Hope- Trevarde said that, although Ackerman had a small, loyal team, his relationship with the Undercity was strained as of late."

[Solis]: Or are they actually worried about one missing Forsaken Knight?

Reya doesn't wANT TO GIVE THIS FUCK INFORMATION.

[Reya]: Well it ain't like I’m a part of their team, or anythin'.  Ya see a Kion on their roster?  Man, fuck that, I'm glad I even got a tabard.

Haelstein just...stares at Reya.

Reya is lying off his ass, send help.

Solis shrugs, but his lips purse. "I figured you might have heard something, since you've said you could look into the Knights coming and going from the City."

[Solis]: And since you came out here to warn me about the City's unrest.

Haelstein would have even...facepalmed.

Reya crosses his arms stiffly. "What, ya said it ya self.  They're a loyal team, even if with strained relations.  Ya honestly think that NONE of them would be unhappy about 'em disappearin'?"

Haelstein grips the ground, tightly.

Solis's brows furrow at Reya's crossed arms. "Unless you know something I don't, Kion, they've no idea anyone but the Blade as an organization is behind this. Ackerman IS a traitor, now, I simply helped move things along, and am taking the Knight from here."

[Solis]: He turned his blades on his fellow Knights at Light's Hope, you know. Hard to talk your way out of that one.

23:27:26 Reya | Dyrihm, you Idiot.  He WARNED you.

Reya is so shit at this Clandestine stuff, yall. Clearing his throat, Reya tries to keep from fidgeting. "What I was tryin' ta say was that, this Knight sounds really fuckin' amiable. Friends and shit he's made. I dunno if any of 'em will fuckin' do anything cause they aren't FUCKIN' STUPID about goin' after the Blade but. Fuckin' friendship and bullshit, ya know? Hard to think none of 'em are upset."

Reya really should just...stop...talking...

Haelstein has been sorely tempted to stick his head out and mouth the words 'STOP'. But he doesn't.

Jackdaw literally does the thing.  He veeery slowly, somewhere behind Solis, leans out until Reya can see his spectral head poking out of cover.  He shakes his head, eyes wide.  Stop going further down the rabbit hole buddy.

Solis shrugs. "I'm sure they are, but what are they going to do? Break into Acherus? He won't even be there if they wait more than a day, and even then- a bunch of banner-toting Forsaken aren't going to be able to stroll into the Ebon Hold and retrieve him. Trevarde was leaving the City last night- they'll be hard pressed to find either him or myself."

Reya sees Nob in the corner of his eye.  Light, is he fucking up that badly?  Ughhh. He just raises his hands placatingly. "Alright, alright." He says, defeated.

Haelstein | That is what you think, bitch.

Jackdaw REALLY wishes he'd managed to make time for those signing lessons about now.  

Solis frowns a little at this odd turn of conversation. "Well. Regardless, it's done. Once I get them all going, even a small team would have trouble getting through my constructs. But I appreciate the concern. He certainly was a riskier target- more connections."

Haelstein makes a note of all that, shifting ever so carefully so he can gaze at the constructs.

|| The gargoyles, unlike the ghouls, don't look obviously modified- but considering the state of Solis's ghouls, it's a distinct possibility.

Reya shrugs. "Yeah, mate, whatever.  I think I'll just stick to my guns and watch the rest of the fuckin' Knights in the City. Lot fuckin' easier than touting about some Knight whose already 'een taken."

Solis looks a little put out by Reya's chilly change in demeanor, returning his focus to his gargoyle. "Ah- yes, well, keep your head down for now, if the City IS getting jumpy. Though, it might be a good time to start after the other Knights there, if they think they've found enough friendly ears with recent events. Let me know if you hear anything."

[Solis]: And I'll write you when the new souls come in. Might have some as soon as next week, though it depends, of course, on how easy they break.

Reya nods, "Sounds good to me." Light, he wishes Rey was here.  Surely he'd know what to do. "Ya know how ta reach me as always, and I'll be lookin' forward to ya letter!"

Reya tries to sound a bit more chipper, he's Trying so hard.

Jackdaw makes a discreet little 'end it' gesture at Reya- that's good info, time to get the fuck out of here.

Solis scratches his chin again. Why does this little Knight always sound so different when he arrives, compared to when he leaves? But he nods. "The usual mailbox, yes."

Haelstein looks at Nob. He shakes his head.

Reya nods and retreats. "Ya know it!" He scoots on out, taking his leave with a jaunty little wave.

Solis, just a little too late, considers that there might be more to this Knight than he's letting on.

Jackdaw slinks back into full cover, giving Varun a look of, likely mutual, exasperation.

Haelstein gestures for Nob to get the fuck out first, he is going to follow after Nob.

Solis turns his attention fully back to that gargoyle.

Jackdaw follows orders, he's a Good Employee he swears.  He lurks his way around the back side of the shack and away, out of Solis' sightline.

Haelstein follows after quietly.

||Once again, Reya makes haste back to Dyrihm’s house- but this time, Dyrihm won’t be home.

Reya , with a dark glower on his face, and jittering nerves slides right on up to the door and KNOCKS.

Jackdaw honestly isn't so sure about this, but he's following Reya anyway, his own private paranoia fueling this decision.

Froststrider 's ears perk at the knock then he instantly frowns looking over to Dahl in the dining room, "Did you call someone over?" He doesn't appreciate their home being known to the wide public.

Zyandahl looks up from his work at the table, still hesitant to act like this is his home as much as there’s and just answer the door. He shakes his head, but stands. "I did not."

[Reya]: Open ya FUCKIN' DOOR, FROSTY.

Reya KNOCKS.

Froststrider blinks and gets up to answer the door finally and stares down at Reya. "...What?"

Reya STANDS TALL on the other side of the hatch. "Oh good, ya home?" He tries to just scoot on past inside.

Froststrider huffs at Reya just INSISTING to come in without invite, but he doesn't really fight it either and steps back, "Yes? Is this something urgent? You could have called on the comm." Well not really but.

[Reya]: C'mon, Nob!

Jackdaw slips in behind Reya.

Reya BEAMS at seeing Dahl.

Jackdaw seems lost in thought, fairly quiet ever since Solis.

Froststrider blinks as he sees a little blob go past, "Nob? Why are--" Huffs and closes the hatch before ANYONE ELSE can get in. "What is going on?"

[Reya]: Oh--Yes, it's urgent.

Zyandahl reattaches a few small parts in the wrist of his prosthetic he'd been tinkering with, shifts it to double check that it moves well, and then just carries it with him into the hall. One arm held, detached, in the other. He smiles weakly at Reya. "Nice to see you," he says, though he's clearly tired enough to take the enthusiasm out of it.

Reya sobers quickly. "Nice to see ya two are here." He glances to where Nob is then back to the other knights. "We know where Dyrihm's bein' held momentarily. Got less than a day before they move him.  We need ta figure out what ta do."

Zyandahl stands up straighter at that. "Can we get to him?"

Jackdaw rasps, "Not fuckin' likely.  He's still in Acherus."

Jackdaw is Aware that this unit attracts only Shady Fucks.

Froststrider growls, "Seems the priest is out of luck. We move now."

[Reya]: Goin' to Archerus is a fuckin' death sentence for anyone the Blade doesn't fuckin' trust.

Zyandahl cocks his head to the side. "Oh. Hmm." He swings his detached arm up into place and fiddles with the should for a moment before it comes to life. He stretches and flexes it, saying, "I think they have no reason to distrust me..."

Reya eyes Dahl. "They shouldn't.  Is why I'm real fuckin' glad ta see ya.  Out of the four of us, ya and Nob have the best chance of gettin' aboard unharmed."

Froststrider has a face that clearly says, he don’t give a fuck about being harmed.

Jackdaw nods, standing up a little straighter.  Frankly he's fucking shocked someone else was having that thought too.

Zyandahl nods. Makes sense. "Can I help you both get in somehow undetected?"

Reya sideeyes Frost. Moo..no....

[Reya]: I dunno, Dahl.

Reya falters.

Froststrider huffs, "I can get in just fine." He seems rather convinced of this.

Reya hadn't thought this VERY FAR.  But he's had time to think on the way back here.  "Maybe...there should be a balcony or somethin' that ya can find once inside that Frosty and I can use."

[Reya]: No ya fuckin' can't, Frosty.

Reya snaps a glare at the moo.  

Jackdaw watches Frost warily, and reaches under his tabard, fishing around a moment.

Froststrider glares back at Reya but doesn't comment on the balcony idea.

[Reya]: Point is--No one's goin' inta fuckin' ARCHERUS on their own.

Zyandahl squints between Reya and Frost. "I do not know the politics here, if I am honest. I was only ever there briefly." He turns a bit toward Frost and says quietly, "Please do not do anything too reckless. We WILL get him back."

Froststrider grumbles something then glances at Dahl, "Either bring the bag or hide it somewhere. I'm not going to have that priest breaking in while we're gone."

Froststrider then glances over to Nob on that note, "And you, turn over the book you took."

Reya looks over at Nob with a look that says Ignore the Moo.

Jackdaw is baffled. "What?"

Froststrider do not ignore the moo. "You heard me."

Zyandahl nods. "I left the bag with my sister, actually."

[Reya]: Nob, ya know some Knights might be able to sense ya.  Do ya have a back up plan for like..a disguise or somethin'?

Jackdaw , who has NO IDEA that these nerds are talking about Trevarde, just stares at Frost in utter confusion for a second before Reya addresses him.

Froststrider glances to Dahl and nods. Good.

[Jackdaw]: Reya, I'm all but a ghoul anyway.  I take me colors off and roll around in a puddle, I'll pass fer someone's shambler jes fine.

Zyandahl shrugs at that. Sure. That'll work.

Reya stares and snorts out a laugh. "Light--!  Alright then. Well if ya and Dahl go in first, ya can be Dahl's ghoul maybe."

Jackdaw nods. "Makes me wish I ain't tossed my old armor, but seems t'me it oughta work."

Froststrider snorts, "And I was talking about the book you took from the priest, Trevarde, Nob."

Jackdaw pulls a face, not that Frost can really see it.  "Why the hell you care 'bout him havin' his journal back?"

Froststrider shrugs, "I don't. But if it will make him shut up and cooperate long enough to get Dyrihm then just do it. We have to have some sort of back up."

Zyandahl grinds his teeth a little at the mention of Trevarde. "Frost and I went to see Trevarde. I have stolen all his books, and am ransoming them for his assistance."

[Reya]: Copy the notes first.

Reya blurts out.

Jackdaw barks a laugh.

[Jackdaw]: Holy shit all've- wait.  Yeah. Write that shit down.

Jackdaw rasps, "He's a crusty, paranoid fuck but he's smart."

Froststrider folds arms, "Would have taken the bird too... Or killed it." something says he still might.

[Reya]: Just, copy everythin'.

[Reya]: Every single fuckin' thing.  Pass it our way after.

[Reya]: Then ya can ransom all ya want.

Zyandahl sighs. "I told him I would let him keep his privacy as an added incentive unless he crossed us." He sounds like he's been regretting that actually

[Reya]: Well, lie then.

Reya looks incredulously at Dahl.

Jackdaw groans the groan of an inveterate creeper.  "he don't gotta KNOW ya did it..."

Zyandahl blinks. Like that hadn't occurred to him. "Oh." He starts chewing on his thumb. "That... I suppose I could do that."

[Reya]: Ya don't even gotta say anythin'.  He asks if ya looked?  Well just shake ya head.

[Reya]: Or like, give it to us and WE'LL copy it, and then ya REALLY didn't look.

[Jackdaw]: Look, what's it fuckin' matter anyway?  What use is that asshole gonna be to us NOW?  He's jes a goddamn scab.

Zyandahl nods. "I could do that." He really doesn't seem to have thought of this at all

Reya shakes his head roughly. "Anyway, we need..well a plan once we get into Archerus.  And when comin' out."

Zyandahl shakes his head at Nob though, "No, he has a backup plan to get Dyrihm in a week, and information about how to help if things go wrong. We need him in case."

Froststrider nods to what Dahl said then glances to Reya, "Then let's plan already. We're wasting time."

[Reya]: I ain't the one who started goin' off about Trevarde.

Reya mumbles to himself.

Jackdaw looks nervously at Reya.  "A week? That fuck Solis made it sound like- well, like Dyr's only GOT about a week, 'fore... whatever they're... roundin' up these folks fer."  Do they know WHAT is being done?  Nob doesn't want to elaborate.

Reya shakes his head at Nob slightly.  Sh.

Froststrider narrows eye at Nob.

[Reya]: Well, once Dahl and Nob get in.....somehow....and find a way for Frost and I to get in.  We gotta find Dyr.

Zyandahl nods. "Trevarde implied that what they are doing may be reversible, but only with the right information. Which he may have. No killing him until we know we do not need him."

Reya Distracts.

[Reya]: Ah well then. No killing Trevarde.

[Froststrider]: Yet.

[Reya]: Frosty.  Ya and I might need some small disguise.

[Reya]: Kill 'em after we get Dyrihm back safe.

Reya SIGHS.

Zyandahl nods at that too. "I will need to know how I am supposed to lie beforehand. I do not lie well when surprised with a need to lie."

Reya nods, biting his cheek again.

Jackdaw eyes Reya. yeah, Dahl's not the only one.

Froststrider is very aware Dahl does not lie well considering how the first trip to Trevarde went.

Reya sees Nob's glance and grimaces.

[Reya]: Alright.  Say ya're gettin' a runeblade or somethin'. Need use of the forges.  They should still let Knights go up there.

Zyandahl is at least self aware. His rogue sister has made him very aware of how annoying his issues with lying are.

[Reya]: Or..I dunno, I'm shit at this stuff.

Reya huffs.

Zyandahl nods, looking very serious. Which is totally scrapped by Reya's second statement. "Wha-- You don't know?"

[Froststrider]: Just do not lose nerve and do not let them give you shit. You're there to carry on whatever business they do not need to butt in on.

[Reya]: Nob, ya can help Dahl, can't ya?  Ya'll be with 'em and ya both got comms.

[Reya]: Whisper in his ear if need be or somethin'.

Zyandahl looks very concerned. "It is not that I cannot lie, just that I am bad at making up lies, and worse at making them up on the spot. Should I say the runeblade thing? Should I say nothing?"

Jackdaw is Thinking. "D'you lot know where they got... cells, wherever they'd keep folks penned up?  We give Dahl business that's as close as we can get without bein' suspicious ta where we gotta get."

Jackdaw sounds Dubious at best but it's a start.

Reya glances to Frost. "How much ya know of Archerus, Frosty?"

Zyandahl closes his eyes in what looks like a suppressed cringe of anticipated failure. "And how-- how do we get him out? We are getting him out, yes? That is what we are going for? Or just to find him?"

Jackdaw makes a little noise.  It sounds like he's not really sold on all this.

Reya sighs and throws up his hands.

Reya finds a chair and SITS.

Zyandahl looks distressed and also sits.

[Jackdaw]: All right- look. I feel like chargin' in there after 'im as much as the rest've ya, but- let's sit back an' fuckin' think a moment, before we ALL wind up gettin' shipped off as spare parts.

[Jackdaw]: I got a notion.

Reya gestures for Nob to go on.

Froststrider huffs, "Last I remember of Archerus is that they lock prisoners and ghouls down in the bottom level. Pit them against the Knights in training back then.

Zyandahl looks toward Nob. Tell me your notion.

[Jackdaw]: If they're movin' him soon, well- they ain't movin' the whole bloody fortress around him. He'll be OUT.  Guarded, sure, but a hell've a lot less than in a fuckin' Scourge fortress.

Reya snickers to himself. "Scourge fortress..."

[Jackdaw]: We got a better chance've doin' this right if we stake out their fuckin' movements an' catch him when he's on the outside.  Like-“

Jackdaw rasps almost angrily, "Like the piece'a shit MacGlynn got the drop on Varun."

Froststrider 's ears pin as he feels very uncomfortable with letting them get that far. There's so much chance of them getting away.

[Reya]: I just--I dunno, Nob.  I dunno what we should do.

Zyandahl closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "I do not... forsee breaking him out of Acherus going... well. We could perhaps break in to SPEAK with him, but I have no idea how we would get him out."

[Jackdaw]: Now... ain't a TERRIBLE idea sneakin' in there quiet-like, if we think we can, an' seein' if we can't at least talk ta Dyr.  Even if it'd be fuckin' suicide ta get him out, if he KNOWS when we're comin for 'im, we got a better chance've gettin' him later.

Jackdaw nods at Dahl, not that it's a helpful gesture.

Froststrider grunts, rather wanting to risk everything to break Dyrihm out but... what he would give to just speak to him too right now...

[Reya]: Then we break in to speak with Dyr.  Keep it short, keep it simple.

Zyandahl nods also. "And I know we would all like to see him. To know he is alive and at least somewhat well."

Reya taps his fingers together, looking thoughtful.

Jackdaw adds, "We could even plan on tryin' ta pass him somethin', if I can get in close enough. Potions, a weapon, somethin'."

Reya nods at Nob.  He has something he can contribute to in that regard.

Jackdaw looks back at Reya and shakes the- invisible to these other fucks, still within Nob's shadow-aura- thing he pulled out of his abdomen a while back.  A potion vial.  He tips his head at Frost and waggles it slightly, mouthing, <Frost will get us killed.>

Zyandahl looks very serious again, trying to think of what would be helpful to bring him.

Reya lowkey eyes that vial.

Froststrider narrows eye at Nob once again, he sees that blob moving but the fact he can't hear anything. Suspicious!!!

Reya | But how the fuck would they get the moo to drink it.  And when?

[Reya]: So, are we just gonna try and find an opening?  Or we sendin' someone in to find an entrance.  And risk all the lyin'.

Zyandahl turns to Reya. "How will you and Frost get up over a balcony, even if I find one?"

[Reya]: That's easy, don't worry about that.  That's what flyin' and shadows are for.

Jackdaw sighs. "It don't make any sense, you lot goin'."

[Froststrider]: That seems to answer the question then. Let's go.

[Reya]: Nob, ya ain't goin' inta Archerus ALONE.

[Reya]: So. Dahl and Nob find an entranceway.  Comm Frosty and me.  Sneak in to the lower levels.  Talk ta Dyr. Sneak out.

[Reya]: And.  No violence.

Reya EYES Frost.

Froststrider stares at Reya. He making no promises.

[Jackdaw]: Well I got a lot better chance've gettin' OUT alone an' I do with a buncha fucks who can't lie ta save yer hides, at least one'a who is APPARENTLY kill on sight.

Jackdaw gives Reya A Look.

Reya wilts.

Zyandahl looks alarmed. "This... is this a worse plan than I thought? Are you going to be murdered for trying to talk to Dyrihm?"

[Reya]: Only if I get caught bein' ME.

[Froststrider]: Nob if I am being forced to work in a team, then you will as well, or do not come.

[Reya]: And Frosty, I FUCKIN' mean it.  Don't attack anyone unless we HAVE TO.

[Reya]: Ya hurt any Knights and they associate it with Dyrihm?  Ya just signed his death sentence.

[Reya]: Ya want 'em alive? Stay in fuckin' line.

Froststrider 's ears pin again as Reya adds the last statement and he just looks away snarling.

[Jackdaw]: Frost, fucksake yer a huge bloody bull!  We ain't gettin ya in there without half the place seein' ya!  YOU got any fuckin' bounties on yer head we oughta know about 'fore we do this stupid shit?

[Reya]: He killed some Knights.

Reya crosses his arms, looking at Frost.

Jackdaw throws up his hands in disgust.  SEE???

Zyandahl looks distressed.

Froststrider just folds his arms, he's not going to bother bringing up his Longwalker background. He just glances back to Dahl instead, "Just stick to the plan then. Get in, make sure Nob doesn't wander off. And we'll meet you at this bloody balcony."

Jackdaw is Personally Fucking Offended excuse you?

Reya glares at Frost.

Jackdaw storms up to Frost, glaring up at him nearly chest to... well, not chest, that's for sure, but he's close.  "Don't think I'll pull my fuckin' weight?"

Jackdaw discreetly uncorks the potion he's been hanging onto.

Froststrider squints at the shadowy form before him, "Considering how that trip with Trevarde went and I spent HALF my energy trying to drag your ass back... No I don't at the moment. Prove me wrong and let's get going."

[Reya]: Fuck off, Frosty.

Reya snaps.

Jackdaw waits for Frosty to have his mouth nice and wide and TOSSES THE FUCKING VIAL UP IN THERE.

Zyandahl startles, alarmed. This plan is garbage and just getting progressively worse.

[Zyandahl]: What! What was that?

Reya SIGHS.

Froststrider CHOKES and stumbles back, coughing up the vial but its empty. "YOU LITTLE---" Cuts off as he starts stumbling about and blinking rapidly. It's not long before he falls over and struggles with trying to get back up.

Jackdaw gets the fuck out of dodge, jumping away before frosty can GRAB HIM OR SMTH.  Hopefully.

Reya stands up, slowly.

[Reya]: Well.

[Reya]: This is a fuckin' disaster, are we goin'?

Jackdaw crosses his arms and isn't sorry at all.  "That oughta knock him on his ass all bloody night."  He looks up at Reya.  "Still think I got a better chance alone."

Zyandahl looks utterly and completely scandalized. "What IS that? What did you do?"

[Reya]: Ya ain't goin' alone, Nob.

Reya states.  Simple fact.

[Jackdaw]: Ah don't worry about it- it's sleepin' potion.  He oughta wake up good an' refreshed, even.

[Jackdaw]: But there ain't no way we can let him go in there.  Gonna lose his temper an' get hisself slaughtered like a steer.

Zyandahl snaps, "Stop calling him a cow!" And turns to Frost. "Should I stay, or go with them? Lie down on your side. Are you okay?"

Jackdaw rolls his shoulders and looks entirely unimpressed.

Reya looks at Nob. Like...are we going...?  Should we just Not Go?

01:38:21 Jackdaw lowers his voice a little, aside to Reya.  "Me an' Dahl got a shot, if we got a good enough cover story.  Give him a lie he can manage, get us close ta the cells, I oughta be able ta go the rest've the way."

[Jackdaw]: You... fuck, Reya, you really shouldn't be goin' in there.

Froststrider is slurring heavily between orcish and taurahe, "You are not... Leaving me you fucks..." Glares at Reya and where he assumes Nob is. He already has a hard time seeing him now he really can't figure out where he is. Instead of listening to Dahl he tries to get up again, rolling to all fours, shaking and struggling against the potion.

Reya frowns at Nob. "I gotta give somethin' to Dyr.  I wanna strengthen the.." He sighs. "Need to keep my promise."

Froststrider 's ears perk about a so called promise but he can't be bothered to put two thoughts together at the moment.

Jackdaw hollers at Frost, "Look, ya wanna talk to 'im!?  I'll take a fuckin' comm with me!"  He pauses and looks at Reya oddly.  "He tol' me ya..."

Jackdaw frowns.  Nods at Reya.

[Reya]: I got some...some armor set aside.  Don't look like much and I can use anythin' to disguise myself.  Won't talk at all.  Won't even bring my runeblade if I think it'll make trouble.

Zyandahl places a hand on Frost's shoulder. "Please lay on your side. We will bring a comm. I am sorry, I do not want to leave like this. I am not sure they can go alone safely, however, and I think they will go regardless." He knows Frost probably isn't listening but just in case

Jackdaw makes a face. "Light- no, don't bring yer Blade."

[Reya]: Ya two--

Reya looks at Dahl and back to Nob.  "Ya two get goin' to Archerus.  We're wastin' time."

Froststrider stands up, wobbly, but he's up. "I am. Going." Claims once more, sounding calmer. Or maybe he's just still slammed by the drug and he's spending energy fighting it instead of putting his anger where he wants.

[Reya]: Disguise ya selves if ya must, I know I will.

Reya looks at Frost.

[Reya]: Fine, ya're with me. Can't bloody well walk in, now can we?

[Froststrider]: We're not anyway last I knew...

Reya sighs.

[Reya]: We're all on comm. We're in and we're out.  No one knows we're there.  

Jackdaw is more than a little horrified that Frost just Stood Up.  Light's sake.  Fucking bloody void.  

Reya hates taking charge. Reminds him of Icecrown.

Zyandahl nods. "I will say I am using the forge for a runeblade if I am asked."

[Reya]: Yes.

[Reya]: Nob's with ya, so if ya're in dire need to say somethin', Nob just whisper somethin' on comm to Dahl to repeat.

Jackdaw is just disgusted. And still eyeing Frost.  He's not sure he CAN increase the concentration any more.  Double dosage?  Fuck's sake mate.  

Zyandahl smiles weakly at Reya. "Thank you for coming to us with this. This is... a disaster, but I am glad to be a part of it. I appreciate it."

Froststrider nods, looking dazed.

Reya smiles briefly. "Gonna help Dyrihm.  We -will-."

[Reya]: Alright, team of absolutely having no fuckin' clue what we're doin'.  Let's fuckin' do this.

Reya slips on out. He's going to change Later.

|| The group doesn’t waste time finding a mage in the Undercity to portal them to the Broken Isles- no questions asked, with the amount of travel to and from Dalaran these days. All told, it takes them about an hour to prepare, portal, and fly out to the floating Ebon Hold- through he was able to shrug off the full effects of Nob’s potion, Froststrider is still groggy, but Dyrihm’s frostwyrm carriers her rider with utmost care.

|| Acherus looms on the skyline, Knights coming and going from the yawning, mouthlike main balcony. Fortunately, though Dahl’s red metal construct sticks out like a sore thumb, a Frostwyrm and a bone construct circling outside the Hold shouldn’t arouse much suspicion while Frost and Reya wait for Nob and Dahl to find them a way inside.

Jackdaw , who must surely have needed to ride with Reya on the way there, mutters something along the way about "Varun's gonna kill us."

Reya 's lips twitch at that. But...he's not wrong.....

Reya reaches for his comm.

[Reya]: "Alright. Dahl, Nob.  Are ya two ready?"

[Zyandahl]: "Yes. Nob?"

[Jackdaw]: "'Course."

[Reya]: "Best of luck. Keep us posted."

Froststrider just holds onto Astara, trying to keep himself from laying down against her bony neck.

Jackdaw mutters to Dahl before they land, just to be Sure the guy has this straight: "Right. Remember.  I'm not talkin' in there 'less ya need help.  I'm yer construct.  I'm half stupid an' jes here ta run errands."

Zyandahl turns to look at Nob, expression incredulous as though he's about to try to reassure Nob of Nob's worth as a person, and then comprehension dawns. "Oh. Yes, I understand." You're talking about your fake identity, got it.

[Jackdaw]: I'll stay outta sight, but there's bound ta be folks in there can spot me.  Anyone asks- I'm an experiment.  It ain't even a lie.  Shadow infused construct.

Zyandahl nods. "It would be fine to lie. I just need to know what to say. This is helpful, thank you."

|| The landing is a bustle with Knights and constructs, coming and going, carrying weapons and supplies. Things seem fairly chaotic, and a harried-looking Knight waves Dahl and his metal steed down to land, with a furrowed brow. "That's a piece of hardware I ain't seen before." He squints, but doesn't seem... suspicious, yet, just curious.

Zyandahl hops off and nods. "I would be surprised if you had, since I made it."

|| The Knight tilts his head. "One of a kind, then? You new out here? Little late to be getting into the Legion fight, son."

Jackdaw stays out of sight, but he's not going to slouch on the acting, not around a citadel full of folks who can move through the Shadowrealms at ease.  He slouches behind Dahl with his arms tucked tight to his abdomen, keeping eyes on the floor.

Zyandahl shrugs a bit, but smiles. "Newer than most, but that was not exactly by choice. I did not die until recently."

|| The Knight looks even more curious at that, but as yet another Knight wings in for a landing, he's forced to break off the conversation. "Well, just- move it off to the side, collect it when your business is done! Outta the way, now!" He shoos Dahl off.

Jackdaw fidgets mindlessly, and discreetly arranges to bump Dahl just a little with his elbow, in the small of his back.  He doesn't need your death story, mate, the less info the better.

Zyandahl nods and moves his mount to the side as instructed. No relevant questions so far. He keeps his back straight, looking forward, and imagines that he's just looking for his sister in a crowd in Silvermoon. Instead of infiltrating Acherus.

|| Absolutely no one thinks anything of the elven Knight striding through Acherus, looking to all the world like a man who knows exactly what he's doing. Once within the Hold itself, Dahl sees the teleporter to the levels above, and what appears to be a seldom-used stairwell leading down to the left.

Zyandahl takes a breath and walks over to the stairs that lead down. He hopes there's a balcony down there, but he figures, the fewer backtracks they need to do the better.

Jackdaw is following silently- honestly, Dahl will simply have to trust that the little bastard is still there.

Zyandahl has a twin sister who is a rogue. He's used to that.

|| As Dahl reaches the stairwell, he encounters another Knight ascending from below- bad luck. The woman looks at him curiously, from a heavily scarred face, and frowns. "Training ring is the top floor," she gruffs, stopping in Dahl's path. Rude.

Zyandahl cocks his head to the side. "And the holding cells? Are they not below?"

|| The woman frowns. "What in the world is a little slip of a thing like you doing going down to the holding cells?"

Jackdaw makes a violent shuddering gesture, silent but something that would draw the eye- and carefully watches the Knight's gaze from beneath his cowl.  Can THIS one see him?

|| The Knight does not react to Nob.

Zyandahl shakes his head, "Just delivering a letter."

Zyandahl adds "To a guard."

Jackdaw doesn't disapprove, though he's concerned about Dahl going off script.  He's staying quiet, and discreetly moving himself, with his skulking ghoul-walk, closer to those stairs.  Just in case.

|| She looks... confused. "You must be new here. We use constructs as guards down there. Who's your delivery to?" Seems Dahl is fresh-faced enough that she thinks he's just simple, not suspicious.

|| For now.

Zyandahl feigns confusion. "Oh, my apologies, I must have misunderstood where he was stationed. It is for a 'Carver' I believe?"

Jackdaw is rapidly reevaluating his opinion of Dahl.  Apparently a handsome face and a politely confused expression gets you Everywhere.

|| The woman clicks her tongue. "Carver? He's out- routine patrol." She points back towards the landing. "Should be another few hours, guess you can wait it out, or just give it to Halston back there." By her pointing finger, she must be referring to the Knight that greeted them on the landing.

Zyandahl nods, letting his ears bob in a way his sister has told him is endearing. "Thank you very much! I will wait."

|| She shrugs, pushing past him with a none-too polite shoulder check, but at least her voice is a little kinder. "Suit yourself. Stay out of trouble." And with that... she's off to her business. The stairwell is clear.

Zyandahl makes a show of looking around for a place to wait until she's out of sight, then makes another attempt with the stairwell.

Jackdaw touches Dahl lightly on the back again- honestly, he's not sure if the guy can feel anything in his extremities.  He really doubts it.  "Me first," he rasps barely audibly, "An' I can warn ya if someone's comin' up."

Zyandahl nods almost imperceptivity. And he CAN actually feel with his prosthetics, just not quite the same, and not pain.

|| Seems like that severe woman was the only Knight down below. The long, circular hallway is patrolled by a single, dim-looking abomination, and lined with locked windows and doors. Another staircase extends further down, into the base of Acherus.

Zyandahl follows Nob. He can't see him, but he can basically tell where stealthed people are after living with his sister his whole life.

Jackdaw peers into a few windows suspiciously, curious what they're going to find down here.  Higher levels, lower priority prisoners?  Either way, he's doing his best to keep up his act.

|| The windows and doors appear to lead to unused landings!

|| Presumably, these have been closed off with tightened security.

Jackdaw would be tempted to NOT pass this along if Dahl weren't likely to notice himself in short order.  He sighs and checks over a likely door.  One ASSUMES they would lock or possibly even alarm doors so close to their prison.

|| Well, it's sure locked.

Zyandahl hears Nob fiddling with the lock and comes over, pulling a lock picking set out of his bag and holding it out. "If you need...?" Why does he have that?

Jackdaw snorts. "I got better.  Watch fer that abomination and cross yer fingers this ain't trapped."  He fishes around in his wrappings and produces THE BEST SKELETON KEY A GUY COULD ASK FOR.

Zyandahl does as instructed.

|| Lucky gents. The abomination's slow circuit has yet to carry it back into sight, and the locks CLICKS under Nob's key. The door swings outwards with a faint creeaak. It doesn't immediately appear as though any traps- or alarms- were tripped.

Jackdaw holds the door for Dahl and chuckles faintly.  Light, he loves that key.

|| They step out onto a slim balcony, its lip chipped by the claws of many perched gargoyles, though for the moment, it's empty.

[Jackdaw]: "Gents, we have a landing pad.  Fly 'round the south, I'll watch fer ya an' flahs visible when yer in view."

[Reya]: "Hear ya loud and clear."

Zyandahl is glad Nob used the comm because he wouldn't know what to say. 'We're on a balcony' is all that was coming to mind...

Reya , as instructed, flies around south, watching for trouble in the airborne patrols before ghosting down to where Nob had indicated.

Jackdaw stands out at the edge and waits until he catches sight of the other two, flickering into normal visibility and waving just long enough to catch their attention.

Reya sees the signal! His bone beast wings in that direction to land on the balcony.

|| Thanks to their fairly inconspicuous mounts, Frost and Reya make it to the balcony with no one seeming to pay them any mind.

Reya adjusts his odd skull of a helmet, testing his disguise briefly before hopping down on solid ground and quickly moving to the doorway.

Jackdaw goes back to check the corridor, slipping out to figure out where that Abom is.  He'll make sure it's past their alcove back upward toward the higher level before ushering everyone down.

Zyandahl quietly says, "There is only one abomination down here, but we must stay quiet."

Froststrider rolls his shoulders and stretches, trying to work off the last big of grogginess.

Reya nods, glancing to the bone beast. Stay out of sight.  It chitters and promptly does so.

Reya rolls a shoulder. "Alright," He whispers. "Let's do this."

|| The abomination slowly plods its way past their doorway, noticing nothing amiss and continuing with its patrol... it turns out of sight beyond the stairwell down.

Zyandahl nods and follows, glad to no longer be even pretending to be in control of this

Jackdaw sticks an arm back through the doorway and gestures for everyone to follow, silent himself. Reya can see him, he doesn't even bother going visible.

Jackdaw is a scout, it's ostensibly what he was hired for, right?  He Scouts.  He's slipping downstairs ahead of the rest.

Zyandahl hangs back by Frost, and puts a hand briefly on Frost's arm, just gently, paired with a small smile that says 'I'm glad you're here'

|| Nob slips down the stairwell- but finds it blocked at the bottom by the ass-end of a massive abomination. It doesn't seem like it intends to move any time soon, at least not on its own.

Froststrider glances down to Dahl, it taking him an extra minute to react with a little smile. Then looks ahead once more just following along quietly and pauses when there seems to be a hold up. He leans to see what it is.

Jackdaw has seen worse. He once got basically sat on for a half hour by Picklet he can handle this.  He slips back up the stairs and flickers visible for the barest second to let them know he's THERE before rasping, "Hall's blocked ahead. Abomination."

[Jackdaw]: It ain't noticed me, but it's... really blocking the whole fuckin' way.

Reya frowns. "Damn."

Zyandahl chews on his thumb again. Hmmmm.

Zyandahl whispers "Distract with shadows?"

Reya looks to Dahl. "Ya think ya can get it to move? Talk to it or somethin'?"  

Reya blinks.

[Reya]: Or that too.

Zyandahl cringes a little. "I have no ideas what to say. My plans were all to get down here."

Jackdaw makes a little 'tch' noise.  "It's an Abom, it's dumber an' a bag'a bricks."

|| The footsteps of the abomination on this level are very, very faint... but approaching. It's continuing its circuit.

[Reya]: Either way, we gotta move.

Froststrider 's ears perk and starts to back up. "As in now. Move."

Reya looks around. "Just..get in the stairwell, down by its fuckin' ass if we have ta."

Jackdaw nods, and his faint voice gets fainter as he moves back downward.

Reya hisses at the top of the stairwell. "Frost this way."

Zyandahl nods, steps into the stairwell and moves down toward the abomination below. He taps the abomination on the shoulder. "Excuse me."

Reya grabs Frost's wrist and PULLS.  Into the stairwell we go.

|| The abomination on the upper level passes by the stairwell, not stopping.

Jackdaw facepalms. It's an Abomination.

|| The abomination below turns around at Dahl's tap. It blinks slowly at him. It gurgles.

Zyandahl gestures in a 'may I pass?' kind of way, looking expectantly at it.

|| The abomination eyes Dahl for a long, tense moment. It looks past him at Reya and Frost, then back to Dahl. It grunts, and steps aside, turning around again and going back to... whatever it is abominations do when they just stand there and chill.

Zyandahl smiles, nods, says "Thank you" and just strolls on by. He's not infiltrating Acherus, he's just taking a stroll.

|| Gurgle.

Reya can't believe this but he just..walks after Dahl.

Reya looks at Frost and motions.  C'mon groggy moo.

Jackdaw has seen some bullshit in his short existence but THAT was BULLSHIT.

Jackdaw sighs and pushes forward again.

|| They’ve finally reached the cells in the belly of Acherus- for the most part, empty. Seems like prisoners must not be kept for long- makes sense, considering how small the space is. The small cells line the circular corridor, windowless, with strong, thick bars about 3 inches apart. The cells immediately visible, to the left and right of the stairwell, seem to contain piles of armor, clothing, weapons, and other personal effects.

Jackdaw holds up a hand, palm facing the crew- a 'stop' that Reya will hopefully pass on, and slinks cautiously forward to start assessing what or who is in the rest of the cells.

Reya stops, motioning to the others to do the same.

Froststrider seems to start becoming more alert as he notices where they are now and he looks around. Increasingly anxious as he searches for some sign of Dyrihm in here. He almost doesn't notice the motion to stop.

Reya grabs Frost's arm pre-emptively.

Zyandahl notices Frost starting to tense and places a hand on his other arm, gently again

|| Empty. Empty. Empty. Empty. Nob passes bare cell after bare cell, until, about three-quarters of the way down the hall- he finds an occupied one. A familiar man sits inside, legs stretched out in front of him, leaning against the far stone wall. Dyrihm's armor is gone, down to his boots, and his shirt is badly stained with blood and ichor. The Knight is very still, but as Nob watches, Dyrihm blinks- he's alive.

Jackdaw all but melts with relief. He looks back down the hall, relief evident to the one who can clearly see his features, and waves the others forward.

Reya lets go of Frost's arm, ushering the moo forward.

Jackdaw rasps quietly, "Good t'see you mostly in one piece, mate."

Froststrider is instantly moving and his pace only picks up as he catches Dyr's scent. Along with ichor. He looks panicked and yes he might almost run Nob over if the little man doesn't move. "Dyrihm." grips the bars so tightly he might try to break them.

Zyandahl darts forward to stand right up next to the bars. "Dyr!" His exclamation is whispered but emotional.

Reya doesn't go over there right away, instead electing to look through the piles of armor for any of Dyrihm's stuff.

Reya also, lowkey, keeps an eye fixed on the door.

Dyrihm 's eyes open, and he blinks a few more times, then shakes his head, as if to clear it of something he's not sure he heard- but then Frost rounds the corner. "Wh- Frost!? Nob- you're- what are you all DOING!?" The Knight pushes himself to his feet, and hobbles over to the bars, doing his best to grasp Frost's hands through them.

Jackdaw moves,  He's not THAT stupid.  Let the cow win.

|| The abomination grunts a warning.

Reya shoots them all a look. "Keep it quick ya lot." He snaps out.

Froststrider takes up Dyrihm's hands, shaking, "The fuck do you mean, we're here for you, what else?"

Zyandahl takes a shaky breath, looking like he might literally start crying. "Technically we are here to give you things and speak to you and check on you. Breaking you out would be suicide-- we know." He nudges Frost.

Dyrihm laughs, softly. "It's not that I'm not glad to see you- I am- but, are you-" He looks at Dahl with a sigh. "Yeah. It would be."

[Dyrihm]: And is that -Reya- I hear? How the hell did you two even get -in- here?

Froststrider throws a slight glare at Dahl. They got in so damn easy. How could they not try to break him out now? It would be a cake walk. They could just. If he could just break these bars. One of his hands slip away from Dyr's to grip the bars and he gives them a shake.

Reya glances around, noting how the others are around the bend.  Alright.  He sends tiny little shadows to quest for Dyrihm's stuff in the piles.

Jackdaw doesn't see a Reya here.  He frowns, and slinks back up the corridor to figure out where the hell Trouble went.

|| Reya's shadows find Dyr's belt! That's a good start. This time, the abomination seems unthreatened.

Reya quietly grabs the belt, glancing to Nob and then to the abomination.

Dyrihm looks back at Frost, worried. "There's no way you get me out of here, Frost. That thing's going to alert the whole damn place if you try! And you and Reya won't stand a chance if they catch you."

Zyandahl resists the urge to reach through the bars and touch Dyr. "If we make too much noise, they'll sound the alarm. The only reason any of this was easy is because no one here knows I am not here as an ally. As soon as that changes, this gets hard fast. But we have plans, Dyrihm. Multiple plans. We are going to get you back."

Reya offers the belt to Nob as his shadows start searching again.

Jackdaw thinks this'd be a damn great time for him to be able to walk through solid shit, now wouldn't it.  Cursing himself silently, he moves closer to Reya and watches that Abomination.

|| Reya's shadows return with a runeblade- one of Dyr's all right.

Jackdaw takes the belt- it flickers out of sight as he touches it.

Reya lowkey puts that sword on his belt.  His now.

Dyrihm smiles at Dahl. "I know. I've prepared a few things myself." He tilts his head to look up the hallway. "Are they getting my stuff?"

Reya feels like he's tempting fate, but Light, he wants both blades safe in his hands.

Reya quests some more.

Froststrider lets out a sound Reya has maybe heard once when Frost was most upset while pressing his head to the bars. "I'm not leaving you. You can't ask me to do that now that I'm here... I won't let them harm you any further..."

|| The shadows return with the second runeblade.

Reya puts both on his belt. There.  He glances towards Frost at the noise, frowning deeply.

Dyrihm makes a soft noise, and reaches up to run his fingers through what he can reach of Frost's mane. "You're going to have to- I'm gonna need you later. You know that."

Reya looks at Nob then look at the pile of Shit and Armor.  Alright........technically armor was in there somewhere.....Let's do this.

|| The shadows return with Dyrihm's tabard- his comm is still pinned to it.

Jackdaw is increasingly on edge, watching that Abomination like a goddamn hawk while Reya fishes around.

Zyandahl closes his eyes tightly, tearing up. "Can we ambush your transport? Do you know? We blackmailed Trevarde-- he will help us get you back."

Reya picks up the tabard, and after a moment's thought, plucks off the comm.  He'll give that to Dyrihm.  Okay...

Reya whispers to Nob, "Think that's enough or should I try for the rest?"

Dyrihm shakes his head. "Not a chance. Transport's via portal- some mage or something up in Icecrown. There's no outside transport to ambush- heard them talking about it."

Jackdaw murmurs back anxiously, "We're pushin' it."

Reya nods.  He'll try once they're ready to leave.  Then it won't really matter.

Jackdaw angles his head back down toward Dyr's cell and looks at Reya like 'get moving.'

Zyandahl nods. "Good to know. We have other plans too."

Reya nods again and slips on over to the cell where Dahl and Frost are congregating at.

Reya is very smol.

[Froststrider]:  E towa rah halo chi no towa E towa lo ishamuhale no zhi chi shte shte E tihikea

"...I will not fail you my love. I will do everything to get you back home, I promise..."

Dyrihm reaches for Dahl through the bars, too. One hand on metal, one on fur. "I know," he says, and it seems to be to both of them. "I believe you."

Reya looks at Frost and Dahl. "We're running out of time." He says quietly.

Reya peers around Dahl to see Dyrihm, expression falling.

Zyandahl grabs at Dyr with the hand Dyr reached for, and leans his forehead on the bars and lets a few tears leak out. He nods. He hates this. He flails his other hand at Reya and says "Give him-- whatever you were going to" in a choked voice.

Dyrihm takes a deep breath and pulls back, trying to be more businesslike, but he smiles as he sees Reya. "All right. What do we do with what we've got?"

Reya first presses the comm between the bars.  "Hide that on you."

Jackdaw rasps after the comm, "Dyr.  How much ya think ya can hide on yerself.  I got throwin' daggers, if ya can't get a regular one down yer boot."

Reya swallows down his own emotions, neatly packaging them away so he can do this.  He's doing what he can without Rey.

Froststrider makes that sound again, not wanting to pull away, but he starts to slowly get up and move back after giving Dyrihm's hand one more squeeze.

Dyrihm 's eyes look calculating- like he's thinking a mile a minute. He takes the comm. "No boots," he says. "Doubt I can hide much of anything on me- where's the tracking rune? Did you get my belt?"

Jackdaw snorts. "Wait, ya KNEW?"

Jackdaw offers Dyr his belt- who knows what else the guy might have stashed in there.

Reya glances behind them, just in case.  He's on edge, and paranoid.

Reya whispers, "Dahl, Frost.  One of ya watch the door."

Dyrihm chuckles. "Not for a while- found it while going through my things the morning of the mission."

Dyrihm takes the belt, and fishes out the rune. He hands the belt back, and leaves his open hand near the bars. "Knife."

[Jackdaw]: Figured it'd be hard ta get it past ya.  Glad ya got enough sense not t'fuss about it.  

Jackdaw hands over a smallish dagger.

[Dyrihm]: Reya, you got enough juice for a little healing?

Dyrihm takes the dagger, rolling the rune and the comm around his his other hand.

Reya nods, and he tries squeezing past Dahl to get closer to the cell.

Jackdaw knows where this is going.

[Reya]: Put the comm or somethin' under ya tongue if ya have to.

[Reya]: Or..fuck, maybe just swallow the rune.

Zyandahl takes a shaky breath, nodding, pulling his collar up to wipe his face with, since his hands won't help much. He takes a step back, releasing Dyr's hand, and moves farther away to watch for the abomination.

Reya moves into the vacated space, hands going to the bars.

Froststrider can't get himself to budge much further.

Dyrihm nods back. "Yeah. That I've got to hide where I can reach. If I keep it, great, if not, oh well. The rune, though, I want the best shot at keeping." He absently points the dagger towards Reya. "Shitty question, I know, but I think you know best- If I get tortured in Icecrown, where are they least likely to injure?"

Reya 's brows furrow as he thinks.  Light, what a question.  "Any of your limbs is not a good idea." He says carefully, "The deeper it is, the less likely.  Physical torture goes for limbs and non-vital organs."

Jackdaw called it.

Dyrihm nods. "Great." He takes a deep breath, and slides Nob's dagger neatly into his side, tilting it to wedge the flesh open. He forces the rune in as deep as he can manage with a clench of teeth and a harsh sound through his nose. He draws the dagger back and motions to Reya. "Seal it," he grits out.

Froststrider 's mane starts to puff.

Reya quickly moves, blood and ichor warping into the fresh injury to seal it shut.

Reya grits his teeth, making sure no drop of blood is left.  No mark and they won't check, that's the idea.

Zyandahl turns at the small sound, eyes going wide when he sees Dyr's hand inside his own side. He looks away again. NnnOPE!

Zyandahl might be dissociating now, yikes. He's still keeping watch, but the hallway feels like it's spinning like he's in Inception.

Dyrihm inspects the area as carefully as Reya, scrubbing it down with his dirty shirt to make the skin look uniform. "Thanks." The comm, for now, gets clipped to the inside of the waistband of his pants. "All right," he says, largely for Dahl's benefit. "Done."

Reya frowns even more.

Jackdaw stores all his worldly possessions inside his chest cavity like a demented squirrel, he's not especially phased.

Dyrihm hands the dagger back through the bars.

Jackdaw puts a hand out for the dagger, but waggles it at Dyrihm invitingly.  "Are ya sure.  I got some little fellas aren't much longer an' a finger."

Dyrihm sighs, looking at the blade a little wistfully. "Honestly not sure it'd be worth the trouble. I'm not going to take out an armed Knight or whatever mage is in Icecrown with something that small."

[Dyrihm]: The comm at least looks like a brooch. But if I get found with a weapon on me...

Reya leans his head onto the bars, looking over Dyrihm quietly. "They won't take lightly with ya with a weapon.."

Jackdaw nods, and with a hint of regret, flips that dagger and makes it disappear.  Literally.

[Reya]: Dyrihm..?

Reya says quietly, reaching through to try and touch Dyrihm.

[Dyrihm]: Reya?

Reya | C'mere, you.

Zyandahl wipes more tears away. This is awful. He hates this.

Dyrihm reaches back, perfectly happy to complete the contact. His mouth tightens as he sees Dahl cry.

Reya breathes out, "We're coming for you, Dyrihm." He says and when he looks up there's a small fire in his eyes.  "Remember that."

Reya silently feeds shadow into that barrier Rey has there, filling it up to the brim.  

Dyrihm squeezes Reya's hand. "I know," he says, once more. He straightens, just a little, as Reya pours on the shadow. "I'll hold out til you get me back. Don't worry."

Reya | Well, shadow and soul/spectral energy, for those who could sense it.

Reya nods, squeezing Dyr's hand tightly before he slowly retreats, pulling his arms back.

Jackdaw feels fucking Weird, and eyes Reya with- to Reya, at least- open discomfort.

Zyandahl takes a deep shaky breath and gets ready to go back to the bars when Reya's done.

Dyrihm gives them all a long look. "Usually pretty empty down here. I'll keep the line open as long as its safe." He taps the comm hidden under his clothes.

Reya looks between Dahl, Frost, and Dyrihm.  "Good." He breathes out. "We have to go, the longer we stay here, the harder we're making this on ourselves."

Froststrider 's ears are pinned back, tears flowing without him fully realizing it. He's still heavily rooted to the spot, not wanting to leave.

Jackdaw rasps, guilt threading into a voice that's otherwise been bucking up pretty well so far, "Light keep ya, Dyrihm."

[Reya]: And may the Void protect ya if ya fall.

Dyrihm nods, reaching up to Frost again. Tears are pricking the corners of his eyes now, but he holds them back. "Thank you," he says, and then his mouth quirks up at the corner. "Luck in the shadows," he says, as if recalling something from long ago. "Frost," he says, "You have to go. I need you with everyone else, okay? I'll see you soon."

Froststrider blinks and takes a step back then starts moving stiffly but moving at least.

Zyandahl steps around Reya to the bars again, wiping his face. "Dyrihm, we are going to get you back, so this is silly of me. But the last time we were forced separated was when we both lost everything, and I had no chance to say anything. I just want to say something this time, and--" his voice breaks, "Now I can't even think of anything." He reaches through and pulls Dyr forward to kiss his cheek. "Be well. You matter to me. I would burn down the world for you."

Froststrider looks back at Dahl, something crossing his features before it's replaced with the frozen stiffness of trying to keep his emotions in check.

Jackdaw 's spectral eyebrows raise about an inch.  He didn't Know.  Light bless, Dahl.

Dyrihm 's hand closes on air, as if he wasn't actually expecting Frost to back away so quickly. He slowly lets it fall back to his side. A muscle spasms at the edge of his jaw- and then Dahl pulls him forward. He blinks, surprised, and a few tears escape as he sucks in a breath. He reaches out a hand to Dahl's cheek, hesitating. "Ah, fuck it," he mutters, and moves his hand to Dahl's chin, turning the elf's face to catch him in a real kiss. "I should have said something back then, too. I wanted to. I wished I had." He clears his throat. "Frost," he calls, quietly. "Get you ass back here. Leave me with a kiss from you, too."

Dyrihm 's ears have taken quite a bit of color at their tips as he Does Not Look At Reya. Or anywhere but Frost, actually, Light forbid he makes eye contact accidentally with Nob.

Froststrider blinks then comes back over, doing his best with the damn bars in the way.

Reya politely looks away. And is lowkey keeping an eye on the doorway.

Jackdaw , unseen by the majority, suddenly looks terribly uncomfortable.  He drags his gaze away and slips further up the corridor.

Dyrihm grabs a horn to pull Frost down a little more, and gives Frost a kiss that he lets linger as long as he feels safe- not long, alas. He pulls back with a determined noise and a look of fresh courage. "I'll see you in Icecrown," he says, and smiles.

Froststrider nods a bit more determined as well then pulls back, this time lightly taking Dahl's arm while at it to pull him back and give comfort at the same time.

Zyandahl startles, going full-body stiff at the kiss, though his mouth is willing and soft, and he lets out the most genuine, sweet gasp. He doesn't try to pull Dyr in for another kiss, but he presses against the bars, and slides his fingers through Dyr's messy hair, all signs that this was good and reciprocated and yes please. Finally, as Frost takes his arm, he pulls away with a watery smile and a nod, wiping his face again.

Reya looks between the three of them, then sighs faintly.  "Time to go." He quietly reminds them.

Dyrihm nods. "Time to go," he agrees. "Be safe."

Zyandahl nods, letting go of the bars. "We will bring you home. You will be okay," he says, then turns to leave, wiping his face one last time and this time NOT crying anymore to make the action pointless

Reya nods at Dyrihm determinedly, and for a split second it's someone else, not Quite Rey but the feeling's there.  And that person nods, too, a cold promise.  We're getting you back, Dyrihm.  The next second, Reya shifts back and follows after the others.

Jackdaw has already slunk up to watch the abomination.  Goodbye, Dyrihm.  He'll pray for you.

Dyrihm turns away from the bars, returning to the back wall of the cell. He sits down with a quiet sniff, and scrubs his eyes, now that his friends are out of sight. He pulls the communicator from his waistband and holds it tightly to his chest.

Reya eyes the abomination, the armor then the abomination again.  "Alright.  Unless there's anything else you think needs grabbing we need to get out of here."

[Zyandahl]: No more grabbing. Let us go.

Reya nods, following after.

Reya decidedly brings up the rear.

|| The abomination stands, still, to the side of the door. It watches their approach with bulging eyes sunk deep into bloated flesh, and growls once, then gurgles. It makes no move to stop the group.

Reya sideeyes it, murmuring quickly. "Let's go."

Froststrider keeps moving, half distracted and just walking automatically.

Jackdaw edges around the creature- trips on a stair a bit while doing so evidently, but scoots up past it quickly.

Zyandahl walks past the abomination with the same straight backed posture of someone who belongs where he is. His face is a little puffy but it's not terribly noticeable, especially with all his scars. He says, "Thank you" to the abomination as they pass.

Jackdaw is paying attention to that second Abom, higher up the corridor.  Where are you, you fuck.

|| The abomination comes lumbering down the hall, en route to the stairwell, blocking their path.

|| The abomination... stops, looking down the stairs, past Nob, to the rest of the group. It doesn't remember them coming in- but if they were downstairs, the other construct must have let them pass. It carries on with its patrol.

Reya waits until it's passed, "Frost and I will go to the balcony for our mounts.  Unless Dahl, ya think can summon ya's off the platform, ya and Nob continue on ahead."

Jackdaw would like to thank not only the Light and the Shadow but possibly some sort of heathen Troll gods for the stupidity of Abominations.

Jackdaw glances back when he hears his name, nods.

Froststrider nods numbly to Reya.

Zyandahl thinks on this. "Can I ride with one of you? I can call my mount to me but I am concerned it may attempt the stairs, rather than flying around. If I ride with you I can have it follow us."

Reya bites back an unbidden laugh.  "Alright then.  Nob with me. Dahl, with Frost.  Let's get the fuck outta 'ere."

Reya gestures towards the door to the balcony.  After you.

Froststrider starts to speak in taurahe but then clears his throat and thickly changes to orcish, "With me Dahl."

Zyandahl nods and follows Frost.

Jackdaw falls in line. He says nothing, but Reya can tell he's there plenty easily.

Reya makes sure Everyone's out on the balcony before closing the door.  "Nob, ya know how to lock this?"

Reya wants no indicators they were Ever There.

Jackdaw rasps, "If there were any magic in the lock, it won't put it back, but- I got it."

|| A problem- it seems the lock can only be locked from the inside- AND while the door is closed.

[Jackdaw]: Ain't no mechanism on this side.  Gotta be done from the hallway.

[Reya]: Leave it then. Not leavin' anyone behind.

Reya | It isn't a CHOICE in Reya's head.

Zyandahl sighs. "I could go up to my mount if it is important. Otherwise we leave it unlocked."

Jackdaw winces. "Ain't Dahl's weird horse takin' off all on its own gonna raise some eyebrows though?"

Froststrider shakes head, "Just. Go." He was going to march all the way back to Dyrihm's cell if they stay here any longer.

[Reya]: It's a weird horse.

Jackdaw hates to say it. He isn't keen to go through the upper levels.  But...

Zyandahl points at Nob. "That may be true."

Reya grits his teeth. He doesn't like it.

[Reya]: Fine, if ya guys gotta go, go.  But if anythin' comes up, comm IMMEDIATELY.  I got a distraction planned if we absolutely need it.

Jackdaw has been a bit mopey, but he gives Reya a sharp look at that last bit.  Oh, really.

Reya | Yep, really.

Froststrider reaches for Dahl and grips his arm, shaky, protective. He doesn't like this idea.

[Reya]: Quickly, now, that creature's gonna come around again soon.

Zyandahl sighs and nods. "This is either more or less wise, and we shall soon find out. You two go, we will meet you." He gives Frost a weak smile.

Reya calls to his bone beast, who steps out of its hiding place.  Moving out of the doorway, he climbs up on top.  "Comm if there's trouble.  No one's gettin' left behind."

Zyandahl nods.

Jackdaw nods, and slips into the hall.

Froststrider slowly lets go and reaches out for Astara who seems in tune to keep her rider steady through his wavering emotions.

Reya makes to circle back around in the regular unobtrusive formation.

|| The abom is fucking GONE, man.

|| Once more, Reya and Frost's inconspicuous mounts keep them unnoticed.

Zyandahl 's face is less splotchy and he looks basically normal now, back straight, acting like he belongs here.

Jackdaw paces ahead of Dahl all the way to the top, ready to warn him if anything seems to be coming their way.

|| No one stops them at the top of the stairs- they're almost to the landing.

Zyandahl starts shuffling through his bag so he looks busy walking toward the landing.

|| Halston flags Dahl down as the elf approaches- seems he's a little less busy, now. "You leaving already, son?"

Zyandahl gives the man a smile and a nod. "I was just here briefly today."

Jackdaw falls in beside Dahl, still silent and hidden, but going back to his minion-slouch once they hit open spaces.

|| The man crosses his arms, looking over to Dahl's constructed horse. "You said you were new- we pick you off one of the battlefields out here? How're you holding up?"

Jackdaw can't believe he's cursing a Knight for being -chatty.-

Zyandahl shrugged. "I am doing alright. It is all still new. I plan to return again soon for a longer stay."

|| Halston nods- he seems to take this as an 'I need to go' dismissal, and waves Dahl towards his horse. "Well, you let me know if you need anything to help you adjust, when you come back. Just ask for Halston." He reaches over to clap Dahl on the shoulder, then turns to wave down another arriving Knight.

Zyandahl gives Halston an actual genuine smile and a "Thank you," because, hey, at least the guy seems to mean well, and walks over to his horse. He climbs on carefully and slowly enough so as not to possibly accidentally gore Nob if Nob decided to get on first, then waits for Nob to climb on after him before taking off.

Jackdaw hops on as soon as Dahl seems settled- one of the perks of Dahl's weird horse is surely that metal makes it that much harder to see him climbing on.  

|| You're free.

[daetur]

The Soul Harvester (Dyrihm Personal Event Log, Part 13)

Only able to retrieve Dyrihm’s empty corpse, Froststrider and Zyandahl must face the reality that they were too late- and will need Trevarde’s help in order to track down the leader of Solis’s Cult of the Damned contacts to find Dyrihm’s soul.

With her twin brother Zyandahl crippled by grief, Sinronae Nae’thari arrives in their courtyard one evening, ready to help Frost follow Trevarde to his meeting with the Cultist leader- and she’s certainly more than the Tauren bargained for, especially knowing her usually mild, reserved brother.

|| After a few days of... processing, grieving, and heavy silences- along with equally heavy conversations- a small, shadowy, violet raven alights in the courtyard and waits for some sign of activity.

Froststrider is out tending to their Kodo and giving Astara some horn scritches. He can only hope the drake is oblivious to Dyr's condition. He doesn't seem to notice the raven.

|| The bird flits into Frost's line of sight, a few feet away from the skeletal drake. It crows once, a strange, echoy sound, and tilts its head, regarding the tauren with a beady eye. It puffs up its ethereal chest feathers. "Message," it says, in Trevarde's voice.

Froststrider whips his head around, tensing as some strands of his mane raises at the crow. "...Give it." He says slowly after taking some breaths to not attempt snatching the bird.

|| It fluffs its feathers again, shifting its wings and feet. "My meeting, tonight," it continues, still in the voice of the priest. "Leaving from my home. Meet me there. As agreed."

Sinronae || An elven woman steps out of the shadows atop the courtyard wall and hops down to the ground. Striding over toward Frost with a leisurely gait, she gestures at the bird. "You going?" she asks. If Frost were to look closely, he might notice a resemblance to Zyandahl, though she lacks all of his scars and damage.

Froststrider notices the resemblance and it’s the only thing keeping him from picking the elf up and throwing her back over the wall. "...You are... Dahl's sister?" He asks lightly then glares back at the bird then back to the woman.

|| That seems to be all, as it ruffles its feathers once more, and pushes off, darting quickly out of reach and back towards Trevarde's city abode.

Sinronae nods, watching the bird fly away. Thar he go. "Yeup, that's me. And you're the Tauren who's been tumbling Dyr. Nice to meet you." She offers him a wave that is somehow sarcastic.

Froststrider blinks a bit flustered, "T-tumbling?" then he shakes his head with a huff starts to walk toward Trevarde's place, making an indication to walk and talk. While she's here... He might as well get some questions answered. He paused to glance at the hatch then continued. Best to let Dahl rest and not find out about this. Just yet.

Sinronae shrugs and says, "Tumbling," she repeats, then, "Boning, bedding, fucking, fondling, you get it. I didn't guess him for being into big beefy guys, but congrats. Nice score."

Froststrider | On the way to Trevarde's home, he of course tries to ask Nae some questions about Dahl. Like the recent incident, instead of talking about sex with Dyrihm. "A-ahem... Yes well... Back to the question--" pauses realizing they reached the door. Oh.

Sinronae sighs, saying, "Yeah, my brother ain't doing so hot right now. He'll be fine once Dyr's back up and kicking, so I'm helping make that happen." She notices the door and immediately raps on it with her knuckles, hard.

Trevarde 's answer comes quickly this time, and the knob turns slightly as he calls out, expectant- "Who's there?"

Sinronae calls, "Stripper-gram, open up."

Froststrider chokes a bit.

Trevarde turns the knob back. "I- what? Who are you? I was expecting- I am expecting... company!" He G R I T S out that last word.

Sinronae snickers quietly and then mocks whines, "Come on Trevvv, don't be like that. Girl's gotta make a living."

Froststrider grunts, "It's me, priest." looks down at Nae, wondering how this woman is related to Dahl but then again him and Dyr have both been telling him things. He should not be surprised.

Sinronae huffs, fun squelched.

Trevarde is silent for a long moment, then sighs, loud enough to be heard through the door, as Frost speaks. He turns the knob once more, pushing the door open. His face loses all expression upon seeing the elf. "I should have known. It's been a long time, Sinronae," he delivers, dryly.

Sinronae scoots past him like she owns the place and sits her butt on his dining table. "So it has. I have heard some naughty things about you, buddy. Bad things." She tuts at him.

Froststrider draws in a long sigh.

[Froststrider]: You are going to a meeting then...?

Trevarde doesn't seem certain if he should be more afraid of the elf or the Tauren. He settles for backing into his home and putting a chair firmly between him and the two of them, clutching the back of it, and looking rather like he swallowed a bug. "Yes- I am leaving to Northrend. Tonight, to meet with the man responsible for this whole..." He waves a hand dismissively, "... Soul-collecting operation."

Sinronae eyes him. "Meeting with the head of the whole operation, huh? Movin’ up in the world." Nothing she says sounds wholly serious or wholly like a joke. Everything is both.

[Froststrider]: Then we must be there. Or you are to bring a comm with you and have it on for the whole thing.

Trevarde looks aghast. "A- a comm? Some enchanted communications device? He'd sense that on me from a hundred paces." He aims a glare at Nae. "Yes, it is a sizeable opportunity- what I was offered for my... assistance." He sighs. "No, no comm. And you can't BE there, he expects me alone."

[Trevarde]: The best I can do- and what I agreed to- was to lead you TO him.

Sinronae gives Trevarde a look that, for the first time since Frost met her this evening, does not look amused. It's unreadable. "You realize," she says, and her tone, too, is flat, "that you helped basically murder Dyrihm, right? Like, I get that it's temporary and he's comin' back, but you had no willing hand in that, dude. This whole thing is on you. You realize that, I hope?"

Froststrider folds his arms, ears pinning slightly in obvious displeasure, "And how do you expect this if you insist we can't be there?" glances to Nae when she speaks and grunts, "We have his things held hostage for the moment. He knows what all is at risk here."

Trevarde 's grip tightens on the back of that chair. "I owe him no loyalty," Trevarde hisses, "And I was offered a great reward. If I truly had a stake in KEEPING him dead, I would not be helping you now!" A few wisps of shadow creep along his shoulders. "You will follow me to my meeting. You will have the location of their current operations, the entrance, perhaps even the face of the one in command. That is what I can offer."

Froststrider taps his arm in thought, tail giving a twitch or two.

Sinronae chuckles a bit at Frost's words. "He ain't coming back for his BOOKS if he thinks it might get him killed. He'll only come back if he thinks running AWAY'll get him killed." She levels Trevarde with a pointed stare. The threat is not subtle. Then she sighs and hops off the table. "I'm not on your case for not giving a shit about Dyrihm, Trev. I don't give a fuck about who you give a fuck about. But if you didn't think fucking with Dyrihm was a bad idea, that's clearly your mistake. Own it, bitch."

Trevarde 's eyes stick on Nae, a little fearful. "My understanding... was that I give them the location of Dyrihm's soul, and never show my face to them again, and that's the end of it."

Froststrider doesn't stop Nae cause honestly he still needs some form of venting. But he does wait for her to finish before stating, "Fine. I will bring it up with my comrades and see what they think of this plan."

[Trevarde]: Comrad- no! What part of 'I am leaving tonight' was unclear? I don't have time for you to gather the opinions of your whole merry band!

Sinronae clicks her tongue. "My understanding is that if Dyrihm stays dead, you die for good. If your help actually, you know, helps, then that's great!" She does a peppy little hop, batting her eyelashes at him, then gets serious again. "If not, well, you're still not off the hook then, buddy."

Trevarde holds out a hand towards Nae. "It will help! Nachtigall has multiple workshops across Icecrown, and he moves each week! If you don't want to waste time, and find Dyrihm shambling about the frozen wastes as a will-less CONSTRUCT, you need my help!"

Froststrider grits his teeth slightly. "Fine. We will follow you." He hoped to get Dahl at least and maybe Nob. He was still not happy with the shit for knocking him on his ass but he can do his shit.

Sinronae shrugs. "Great," she says. "Just remember: You're only in this mess because of you. If it ends up not being fixable, you pay for it."

Trevarde grumbles, "Solis would have had him eventually without my help, you know. Dyrihm betrayed the Blade on his own, I just helped point some noses towards it."

Sinronae laughs. "I literally don't care."

Froststrider grunts again, "Let's get going then."

Trevarde clears his throat. "Yes, I- ..... let's." With that, he takes his bird in hand, and walks out of the home, past Frost, with no further preparation. They stole all of his stuff, anyway.

Froststrider lets Trevarde past then starts to follow him with a glance back toward Nae.

Sinronae follows, somehow managing to keep up while appearing leisurely.

Trevarde leads them to the upper ruins, where he anxiously checks a small pocketwatch. "We have a few moments," he says, then falls quiet, waiting.

Froststrider folds his arms, looking around for a place to hide away.

Sinronae raises an eyebrow. "Til what, you turn back into a pumpkin?"

Trevarde shoots them both a withering glare. "No, you fools- I said we were going to Northrend. My... benefactor is a powerful mag- Ah!" A portal rips itself open in front of them. "This will be approximate at this distance- even he has limits- you will have time to hide away before we approach them."

Sinronae eyes the portal appreciatively. "Your sugar daddy delivers. That makes things nice and easy."

[Froststrider]: Sugar... Daddy?

[Trevarde]: Please, no.

Sinronae gives Frost a toothy grin over her shoulder and makes lewd gestures with her hands behind Trevarde's back.

Froststrider makes a face, once more wondering how Dahl and Nae are siblings.

Trevarde shoots Nae an utterly ineffectual withering glare as they step through the portal- and into the icy chill of Northrend once more. Above them looms a runed cathedral- one of the old holdouts of the Cult of the Damned in Northrend. "This is it," he says.

Trevarde "The Cathedral where Nachtigall is doing his work, for the time being- all of his materials should be stored here, with him. That means his collection of souls."

Sinronae rolls her eyes at Trevarde and leans toward Frost, mock whispering, "I'm kidding. I don't think Trev's gotten laid possibly ever."

Trevarde grinds his teeth audibly.

Froststrider holds back a snort of laughter while looking around instead. Part of his is... very tempted to run in and try finding Dyr's soul.

[Froststrider]: How often does he move?

[Trevarde]: Every week or so- he just made the shift to this location today, which is why we are meeting now. More time before he leaves again for us to work together.

Froststrider makes a disgusted sound at that.

Sinronae purses her lips for a moment, then asks, "And you're sure I'd be sensed? You know I'm relatively decent at staying hidden." The sarcastic delivery makes her sound boastful.

Trevarde scoffs. "Quite certain. He has wards, traps, and a keen magical sense of his own. You are a Death Knight and a Sin'dorei- enough magic runs through both of you for him to feel you if you got close enough."

[Trevarde]: Now, I must go- he will be expecting me.

Froststrider 's muzzle wrinkles, suddenly having doubts. What if Trevarde warns this shit... "...Go before I change my mind." Grits through his teeth.

Sinronae shrugs. "Just checking." Then as he prepares to leave, she flicks him in the ear and says, "Remember what I said, Trevarde. If Dyrihm doesn't come back to life, my brother is going to want your head. And I'm going to get it for him. I don't care where you hide."

Trevarde flinches away. "I believe you," he hisses, and stalks off towards the Cathedral entrance.

Sinronae calls "Doesn't matter if you believe me, dude! It's true either way!"

Froststrider sighs, "Enough. Let's just go, I need to report this as soon as possible."

Trevarde approaches the towering metal gates of the Cathedral, with a nervous glance back, hoping they are smart enough to hide themselves. Two hooded figured step forth, draped in black and purple robes. Between them... floats a taller, slender figure. Trevarde bows deeply, and it extends a clawlike hand above his head.

|| Its skeletal grin marks it for what it is- a Lich.

[Trevarde]: Lord Nachtigall. I have anxiously awaited this opportunity.

|| The Lich smiles wider, lowering those long, pointed fingers to hover inches above Trevarde's head. "Come, priest," it says, in a hollow voice, "We have much to prepare, and little time. My own work and yours, and so few days to complete it."

Trevarde nods, and straightens from his bow. "A week only, yes, my Lord?" he asks- what an incredible sense of self-preservation, for their benefit.

|| Nachtigall nods slowly, and reaches to sweep Trevarde inside with one of those too-long arms. "Yes, priest," he answers. "Seven days, and you will be a new man. Come." The Lich drifts back inside the entrance of the Cathedral, pulling Trevarde along, flanked by the two hooded cultists.

|| The runed doors shut behind them, leaving their unseen visitors alone with nothing but the wind and cold.

Froststrider 's ears are perked and he's doing everything to not growl or anything to give himself away. "Fucking little scum. We need to go." He states since Nae disappeared from his sight.

Sinronae stares at the closed door for a minute, then shakes her head. "Whelp, he's fucked. I'd never trust ANY damn thing that looked like that nasty ass monster."

[Sinronae]: And yeah, we can go.

Froststrider nods then heads off to find the closest zep that could take them back.

Sinronae follows.

[daetur]

Father Trevarde (Dyrihm Personal Event Log, Part 7)

Worried about the lack of activity from Solis and Trevarde, Froststrider, Zyandahl, and Nob take it upon themselves to pay the priest a personal visit- hoping to get an idea of who the man really is, and what he wants.

 Not the most subtle or silver-tongued team, what was intended to be a calm chat, without revealing their identities, quickly becomes violent- and what they discover concerns them greatly.

Dyrihm’s time is growing short- Solis and Trevarde are nearly ready to spring their trap.

Jackdaw must have been nearby, because after his affirmative over the comm, he's knocking on the hatch within fifteen minutes.

Dyrihm 's arms are crossed, and he seems a little nervous as he looks between Frost and Dahl. "It's open!" he calls up to Nob. "Are you two really sure about this? I don't want- I don't know, it's Trevarde, how much trouble can he be, but still-"

Jackdaw all but slides down the ladder from the hatch- he's invisible as he opens it and does so, so it's a little odd hearing the thump of him landing on the floor.

Zyandahl makes an effort not to roll his eyes at the prospect of Trevarde being too dangerous for them. "It is true that he has had the same amount of time to improve his skills that we have," he says, trying to convince himself to be cautious. "Still. Trevarde. I suspect the real issue is those he is answering to.”

Froststrider glances over as Nob comes in then looks back to Dyrihm while making sure his prosthetic is fitted in place, "I don't know this man like you two do. But we will be cautious regardless Dyrihm."

[Dyrihm]: I'd just rather be safe than sorry- Nob's been in his house, and says he's been playing with... well, a lot of shadow magic. Weird soul shit.

Jackdaw nods, uselessly.  "Yeah. Necromancer shit, I dunno.  LICH shit."

Zyandahl looks a bit more serious at that. "Perhaps he has changed more than expected. We will be cautious."

Dyrihm wrings his hands. "All right, well- find out what you can. Why he's doing this, any more he knows about who he's answering to- anything you think will be useful. I... I don't really know what I'm hoping for, honestly."

Jackdaw rasps dryly, "Somethin' in this fuckin' world ta make sense, I assume."

Dyrihm can't help but bark a laugh. "Yeah, that.:"

Froststrider reaches over, nuzzling the top of Dyrihm's head to get him to calm down. "We'll do what we can. If you must, try to find something else to do for distraction, our kodo could use some exercise."

Dyrihm nods. "... A ride might not be a bad idea. I'll have my comm, anyway, and- well, Nob remembers the address?"

Zyandahl nods. "Answers to 'Why' seem to be what you want to know. The rest is important to possibly helping you out of this."

Jackdaw nods again, then remembers himself a beat too late.  "Yeah."

[Dyrihm]: Stay safe, please. And... good luck, I suppose.

Zyandahl gives Dyr an affectionate smile that is maybe a little amused. "There are three of us, Dyrihm. And only one Trevarde. We will be alright."

Jackdaw rasps a semi-amused but benevolent, "Thanks mate, before he hops back onto the ladder and starts heading up top.

Froststrider glances to Nob as they arrive, "This it?" asks quietly.

Jackdaw rasps quietly, "Yeah.  Looks like he's home this time.  Or someone, any rate, but I got the impression he lived alone."

Zyandahl asks, "Should I knock?" He doesn't know how to interrogate people in their own home

Jackdaw snorts a laugh.  "Guess I don't see why we can't... start OFF polite."

[Jackdaw]: Anyway, I din't see any other doors, so... Frost, you jes... make sure you're the last one in and he ain't goin' anywhere.

Zyandahl nods, and raises a hand to knock. He pauses for a moment, takes a breath, then knocks gently, so as not to mark up the door.

Jackdaw positions himself just to the side of the door, on the side it opens on.  Still invisible, he keeps his weapons out of his hands and acts casual- just, you know, in case this guy turns out to be the type of fuck who can see him.

Froststrider just hangs back and waits for the door to be answered. Glancing off to where he thinks Nob is, sorta.

Trevarde || From inside the home, there is a shuffle of paper, and a hoarse, crackly squawk, as if from a bird. The door handle turns... but stays shut. "Who's there?" comes a surprisingly pleasant voice, carrying a touch of what sounds like fear.

Froststrider instantly looks at Nob the Dahl, confused.

Jackdaw stays quiet.  Dahl will have to handle this one- Nob prefers to keep his presence a Surprise.

Zyandahl frowns. He didn't think this far ahead. He's just remembered that he's garbage at social interactions and Why Did Dyr Send Him For This Again???? "Answering your letter," he blurts out eventually.

Trevarde || The door doesn't move. ".... I've sent quite a few letters with no response. Which one are you?" the voice asks through the door.

Zyandahl whispers "Did either of you actually GET a letter?"

Froststrider clears throat, "We're Ebon and know that you're looking into one of ours. Are you going to let us in or not?" subtle Frost, subtle. The annoyance in his voice is probably real though.

Jackdaw sighs faintly.

Trevarde 's voice takes on an irritated tone of its own, a dangerous edge to his pleasant tenor. "... I am ‘looking into’ one of yours on the orders of the Ebon Blade." The door opens just a sliver- enough for one foggy yellow eye to peer out. "What do you want?"

Jackdaw slips the tip of an invisible boot into the crack in the door.

Trevarde 's eye seems to shift to the movement of shadow, but trails back to the tauren and elf in his doorway. He seems to think nothing unusual of it.

Froststrider snorts unfazed, or at least doing a good job of acting, "Just as I said. Checking in to see what you've found out. Orders."

Zyandahl sighs. "May we come in?

Trevarde creaks the door open a little wider, robes of rusty purple and white apparent beneath a long curtain of raven hair. "This is- highly unusual," he says. "All of my reports have been going to Knight Solis, as usual- though I suppose... the timeline has moved up?" His eyes linger on Zyandahl for a long moment, and he frowns.

Trevarde 's eyes narrow. For the moment, he says nothing more.

Zyandahl says nothing. Frost got them into a mess where they have to lie but he's bad at lying, fukc

Jackdaw grins cheekily at the man from mere feet away, giving a little finger-waggling wave and tracking Trevarde's eyes.  

Froststrider nods, a tad worried now but still keeping a stoic expression. "We were sent on behalf of Solis."

Zyandahl tries to just Not. React. because he knows he's gonna fuck this up if he tries to lie

Trevarde 's eyes flick away from Dahl to the movement of Nob's fingers. His nervousness seems to increase, and he takes a step back. "I- Ah. Were you, now? Well. I doubt that. Unless, of course, you're feeling as spurned by Dyrihm's death as the rest of us, Zyandahl? But, again. I doubt that."

Zyandahl crosses his arms, trying not to look too unfriendly though he's definitely feeling it. "My apologies for the deception. We did not think you would speak to us as we are." Or Frost did, but Dahl's not gonna throw him under the bus, "And for the record I have no idea what you are talking about, about his death."

Jackdaw notes the recognition- hard to say HOW the man is experiencing his presence, but he's definitely got a bead on him somehow.

Trevarde clicks his tongue. "I suppose he went back to you, then, once he'd returned. Can't say the same of all of us. How long do you think he's going to stay with you? Can't be long. The man's a fickle, traitorous one, mark me."

Zyandahl stares. His expression says 'Ex-fucking-scuse me??' but he manages not to say it out loud. "May we come inside to discuss it? You seem eager to talk."

Jackdaw 's ghostly-self, somewhere under those shadows, glares daggers at Trevarde.  

Froststrider snorts, gesturing between Dahl and Trevarde, "So you know each other? And traitorous how?" looks down to Dahl again at the request to go inside then looks back to Trevarde like, well?

Trevarde raises an eye at Dahl. "You don't seem like you'll give me a choice. I imagine you're here for a reason." He sighs, and opens the door, but hesitates before moving aside. He points vaguely at Nob. "Is... this yours?" he asks, squinting.

[Froststrider]: Is what ours?

Zyandahl closes his eyes in an almost pained way at Frost's denial.

Jackdaw rasps, "Well that's a rude way t'say hello."

Zyandahl keeps his eyes closed, expression now definitely pained.

Trevarde squints at Nob a moment longer. "Thi-" Trevarde fairly RETREATS into his home as Nob speaks. "This shadow thing! It's with you? What is it?"

Zyandahl exhales. "He is with us, and he is a person."

Froststrider takes a LOT of willpower to not glare in Nob's direction.

Trevarde frowns. "Ah. Another ‘friend’ of Dyrihm's, then." He turns, shuffling deeper into his home, to take a seat at a messy table, over which hangs a metal birdcage. Something stirs within. "Make yourselves at home," he says, voice sarcastic and sweet, like a razor lurking in an apple.

[Jackdaw]: We're here 'bout the letter ya sent ME, matter of fact, mate.  Wanna have a little chat, since ya ain't ever replied.

Jackdaw casually waltzes in after Trevarde like he owns the place.

Jackdaw is keeping an eye on the bitter fuck though, you better believe it.

[Trevarde]: I had no need to reply. I simply report to Solis with my findings.

Froststrider waits for Dahl to go in since the only plan was for him to stay by the door apparently.

Zyandahl follows Nob and says, "Have you recognized me this whole time? Is that why you did not care to send a letter asking what I think of Dyrihm? You have decided that I will not give the answer you want to hear?"

Trevarde casts a baleful eye over Zyandahl. "No. I did not know it was YOU." Poison drips from that word. "But you- and the Tauren- have been staying with him. I can't very well send a letter to Dyrihm's own address, can I?"

Froststrider comes in but stays by the door way, leaning on the wall somewhat. "What better way to get information about him than from people close to him? Is that not your whole point?"

Jackdaw starts wandering around the room.  He picks things up.  They float.

Zyandahl 's arms are still crossed. That's... a valid point, fuck. He gestures at Frost though. That.

Trevarde rolls his eyes. "It was a fair guarantee that you'd warn him. I hoped not to affect the way he conducted himself during missions for the Blade." He watches those floating objects with apprehension. "Put those DOWN," he hisses.

Zyandahl does not make himself at home, thank you very much. "What was that about you feeling 'spurned' by him? You think him a traitor, and you are trying to prove it. Why?"

Jackdaw , pulling a one of the journals off of Trevarde's main-room shelf, rasps neutrally, "Why you got such a problem with Dyrihm anyway?  Seems like a decent bloke."

Froststrider snorts, "The way you've been moving about tipped him off well enough. He's not an idiot." gestures then to Dahl and Nob's questions.

Trevarde glares daggers at Dahl, and fairly spits them, too. "How dare you! He abandoned us all, and for YOU! His only loyalty is to whomever seems to hold his..." Trevarde sneers. "Heart. He'll find someone to choose over all of you eventually! He'll only cause you trouble."

Jackdaw rasps, opening the journal and casually flipping through it, "He break your heart, Trevarde?"

Zyandahl 's eyes go wide and he uncrosses his arms. "Excuse me?" He snaps (out loud this time), "He 'ABANDONED' you? You weren't in DANGER! He left to try to save a FRIEND, you selfish--" The last insults are in Thalassian but the point is clear.

Froststrider hesitates to answer to this but then at Dahl's outburst he reaches and lightly nudges the elf's shoulder. Calm. "Just when was this abandonment you are speaking of?"

Trevarde 's sneer deepens. "No, you idiot. Tell me- does he ever talk about us? Annalise! Tira! Stal! Colt! Has he ever ONCE given us a moment's thought? We were a TEAM." Trevarde levels a finger at Dahl. "He left his post! We spent years learning to fight with him at our sides, and he LEFT us!"

Jackdaw scoffs, "I'm jes sayin- sounds real personal. It was a military unit, weren't it? Folks leave all the time.  Folks get stationed someplace else. Why you gots such a bug up yer ass about one man leavin'?"

Zyandahl squints at Trevarde. He gets himself a little more together after Frost's nudge but... they might be swapping good/bad cop. "Dyrihm thought I was dead until earlier this year. He also lost his jaw and spent most of that time ALONE. He has not spoken OF anyone TO anyone, and it has nothing to do with betrayal."

Jackdaw continues to browse Trevarde's notes.  He's actually quite interested in them.

Trevarde 's hand comes down on the table, with a resounding SLAM that sends the creature in the birdcage into a flurry of flapping and screeching. Purple, shadowy wisps of feathers rain down. "He was not REASSIGNED. If he had been REASSIGNED, we would have been

Trevarde fitted with a proper replacement before losing him! But no! He ran off on his own, and he died! And now, I am the only one left! We needed him, and he abandoned us!" He growls once more at Nob. "Put. That. DOWN!"

Froststrider frowns as things are being pieced together, he is damn sure Dyr also "died" that day before being res again as a Knight. His ears come up in alarm at the slam, "To save Dahl and if he could have he would have likely returned to you with Dahl in tow. But

[Froststrider]: as you just claimed, he died and then was raised again as a Death Knight. You really believe under the influence of the Lich King we could do anything else but his bidding?

Froststrider snarls deeply, ears pinned.

Zyandahl scowls at Trevarde, not even a little bit intimidated by his tantrum. He nods at Frost. "You were not in danger, Trevarde. My sister and I were. He intended to return to you, but he DIED. And now you are trying to harm him in petty revenge because he DIED

Zyandahl INCONVENIENTLY?"

Jackdaw hums faintly.  Ah- so it's revenge, then. He utterly fails to put down the journal, though rather than reading it, he watches Trevarde like a hawk.

Trevarde waves a hand. "He would have been freed at Light's Hope, or, at the latest, after the Lich King fell! It has been nearly TEN YEARS and not a WORD. So yes, I think a traitor- to his faction, to his friends- whose habits I know, is an EXCELLENT target for

Trevarde my work with the Blade."

[Trevarde]: And he's getting in plenty of trouble on his own. I'm just helping him along.

[Froststrider]: You act like he was suppose to know your whereabouts. Did you reach out to him at all?

[Froststrider]: Many knights lost memory under Artha's rule.

Jackdaw rasps, "Did ya ever try an' see him yerself, Trevarde?  He shove ya off then?  Fine how-do-ya-do?"  he sounds a bit sarcastic.  He sincerely doubts it.

Trevarde rasps, "He vanished, after Icecrown fell. Did he never mention that? Utterly disappeared. Like a ghost. Only resurfaced again when the Blade sent him to that project town."

Zyandahl frowned. "It has not been ten years. It has been less than that, but I doubt you care. You care very much for the details you find convenient to sustain your self righteousness, while YOU betray an old friend, who never once meant you harm."

Trevarde waves a hand. "Time is- malleable. Regardless. This is not petty revenge! I made a deal with the Blade, and Dyrihm is simply the best way to fulfill that. But you protect a man who knows no loyalty. Remember that. He thinks nothing of treason, so long as his actions serve his own heart!"

Jackdaw , who knows quite a bit himself about vanishing (and being a ghost), scoffs faintly and he... well now.  He stops watching Trevarde quite so carefully as he turns another page.

Trevarde flicks open a latch on the birdcage. "I said put that down! Ash! Fetch!"

Trevarde 's shadowy bird flits out of the cage, making a dive for the book with its little talons.

Jackdaw makes a 'tch' noise and, divebombed, WHACKS that fucking featherduster midair with the very journal he's holding.

Froststrider snorts, cause this will go well, but he focuses on the conversation, unable to argue the treason part cause... well what recently happened. "I say he is perfectly normal. Why be loyal to someone who means to hurt you or makes you question things?"

Zyandahl squints at Trevarde again, lip curling. "Just because his loyalties do not lie where you want them to, that does not make him disloyal. If the situation were reversed, he would have done what he did for me for you, though clearly you do not deserve it.

Trevarde nearly upends the table, rushing forward to scoop up the bird. "HOW. DARE. YOU?" He snarls, and suddenly, shadows surround him. He clutches his bird to his chest, and strikes out at Nob with a burst of dark energy. "OUT! OUT!"

Froststrider realizes Nob is being attacked and growls, the air around him chilling.

[Trevarde]: You invade my home! Paw at my things! Hurt my bird!

Zyandahl sighs at the ceiling. They didn't really... get the information they needed...

Jackdaw 's shadows intercept that energy, and lash it BACK at Trevarde like a whip. Nob just sneers at the man, and keeps a hold of his journal.  "I'm s'poseta feel sorry fer yer fuckin' bird when ya sic'd it on me?  I think fuckin' not!"

Zyandahl turns to Nob's general direction and snaps, "We came for answers, stop antagonizing him, please."

[Trevarde]: I TOLD YOU MORE THAN ONCE TO PUT. MY. BOOKS. DOWN.

Jackdaw drops it theatrically on the table.  "There ya go."

Trevarde is still cradling his bird to his chest, shadows swirling around him. "You get nothing more from me," he grouses, inspecting Ash's small head. "It doesn't matter anyway. It's too late now."

[Zyandahl]: What is?

Froststrider snorts, "Oh, then there's no use for you to be around is there?" says as he marches in and makes a grab to haul Trevarde by the collar of his robes.

Zyandahl throws an arm out toward Frost in alarm, "Frost, wait!"

Jackdaw rasps in tandem with Dahl, "That fuckin' bird's not normal, Frost-"

Trevarde frankly... disappears into a tight ball of shadow energy, and Frost's hands find no purchase whatsoever. Ash flutters back into its cage.

Jackdaw scowls, looking around angrily.  "And neither is HE apparently!"  He grabs that journal back up out of spite and stuffs it under his tabard, trying to figure out what the hell kind of spell the priest just used.

Trevarde 's room suddenly fills with a forceful wave of darkness. "LEAVE. MY. HOUSE." The three feel a sense of deep fear grip their chests.

Froststrider snarls and tries to freeze the shadow energy as he does to his own shadow magic.

Zyandahl runs a hand down his face. Really, guys? "I meant wait, as to say, do not attack the person we are trying to talk to. Because he may be persuadable. But now he is not." He'd never seen Trevarde do THAT before though, and he takes a combat stance in case this gets serious.

Jackdaw 's shadows once again move around him to intercept that priest's chosen form of magic- but the wave of dread hits him, even if it doesn't shake him badly enough to put him out of commission.  Nob shudders, and attempts to slip Underneath.

Trevarde 's form shifts again, and he stands before them, man-shaped, backing away. "The Blade would take him anyway! The fool will never stop resisting their new orders!"

Zyandahl feels fear gripping at his chest, mind going to dark places he tries to avoid. Panic rises like bile in his throat, and he clutches at his chest with metal fingers, trying to calm down.

[Froststrider]: That's because the Ebon is fucked in the head!!

[Trevarde]: Who cares! That doesn't change his fate!

[Trevarde]: If he resists them, he dies. I may as well get something for it.

Jackdaw goes under but- too fucking FAR under, slipping deep into the shadowlands. Trevarde, though- soaked in Shadow magic, Trevarde he can still see, though Frost and Dahl are nothing more than a distant haze.

Zyandahl fights through the fear enough to hear Trevarde's words, and spits "Hypocrite" at him. Nothing else though.

Froststrider looks back at Dahl, then bellows at Trevarde, "Not before you die!" a shard of ice forms with shadow lacing it and he launches it at Trevarde.

Trevarde diverts Frost's ice with a wall of shadow, and Ash exits its cage once more with a screech, pecking at the Tauren's head, trying to defend its master.

Jackdaw | The link between the Shadow and this place is strong.  Nob watches Trevarde's shadows a moment, moving as though his body is casting, and moves in close to the man.  Cautious, curious, he releases his hold on the shadow magic that protects him.

Jackdaw 's shadows will try to do what they like best- feed.  On Trevarde's magic.  Straight from the source.

Trevarde 's shadows respond with absolute FURY as Nob's touch them. Tendrils lash out at the rogue, and Trevarde shifts away.

Trevarde hisses, "Don't you think killing an Ebon contact will make it WORSE for him?"

Zyandahl gets himself together and makes a frustrated sound in his throat-- frustrated at his own susceptibility to fear and dark thoughts, and frustration that they're fighting the person they need information from, and frustration that that person is TREVARDE of all people. He makes an annoyed growl and steps around Frost, aiming a punch for Trevarde's gut.

Trevarde 's shadows swirl, and Dahl's fist seems to slide right off. The priest continues to back away.

Froststrider is pecked by birdy which he swats at, "I don't give a damn about the Ebon. I would see all of Archerus BURN!"

Zyandahl snaps, "We are not necessarily going to kill you. You could always just answer our questions and stop being a bitch."

Jackdaw is hurt- properly fucking HURT, he FELT that- and he dives at the priest Underneath. His arms may go THROUGH the man, but- the sensation is something terrible.

Trevarde 's shadowy tendrils snap Frost across the face as the Tauren aggresses. "The little void CREATURE tried to kill my BIRD and now the Tauren is trying to kill ME! WE WERE TALKING BEFORE!" The shadows lash Nob with fury once more. It seems more like they're reacting to attackers than actually following the priest's commands...

Zyandahl growls, but snaps, "That is true, and WE WILL STOP-" This part is clearly directed at Nob and Frost, not Trevarde, "-if you agree to go back to talking!"

Trevarde 's hands are up, defensively. " Then STOP!" He shouts, radiating a wave of fear again- much of which, it seems, is coming FROM him.

Jackdaw , the poor broken little soul, is struck dumb by the force of that wave of magic. He staggers, unseen.

Zyandahl puts his hands up too, and steps in front of Frost. Truce.

[Zyandahl]: I came here to talk, not to fight.

Froststrider is about to shout something else after being smacked but is instead gripped in fear. A fear he hasn't felt in a good while. His body stiffens before his breath quickens like he's shivering.

Trevarde eyes Dahl warily. "You stay away from me," he says, taking another step back. He calls Ash back to his hand with a gesture. "And fine. Talk. But make it quick. I want you all out of my house."

Zyandahl is hoping that being between Trevarde and Frost will stop the two of them from considering the other a threat for the moment but he's aware he might just get sandwiched in combat

Zyandahl nods. "That is fair. We will go. We know now why you are against him. What did you mean when you said 'it is too late'?"

Trevarde cups a hand around his bird. "The Blade moves again in a few days, and the orders won't be to Dyrihm's liking. I know Solis intends to make certain that Dyrihm is present. He expects this will seal his fate."

Trevarde jolts, suddenly, seemingly unprovoked, and glances around nervously. After a moment, he calms, and looks back to Dahl.

Froststrider seems to be coming out of his trance and he instantly has death in his gaze toward Trevarde. Don't fuck with his mind. "You little shit......" Snarls as another shard of ice starts to form in his hand.

[Trevarde]: YOU. ATTACKED. ME!

Jackdaw , who mind you FUCKED UP earlier and slipped far further into the Shadowrealms than he intended, cannot hear Dahl and Frost right now.  Only the distant echo of the man steeped to his soul in Shadow magic.  He... has a theory.

[Froststrider]: YOU ATTACKED OUR FRIEND AND WE ACTED IN DEFENSE!! YOU HAVE PUT DYRIHM IN DANGER FOR PETTINESS! DO NOT COME TO ME AS IF YOU DESERVE LESS!!!!

Jackdaw | Nob backs away slightly from Trevarde and begins to look for- something.  A tether.  An anchor the likes of which Nob himself has to the corpse he inhabits.  Have you been successful in making your phylactery, you treacherous piece of shit?

Zyandahl frowns. He doesn't know what that means but it sounds important and bad. "Fine. I... appreciate this information." It's not REALLY a lie...? He does appreciate the info. Just not Trevarde. "You used to be a decent person. It is odd how little and how much you have changed, to be so much the same, yet so much less of a decent person."

Trevarde | Nob sees... no such thing.

Trevarde | Perhaps Trevarde still has work to do.

Trevarde hisses back at Frost. "I do what I must to survive! The Blade can get me what I want, and I can get them what they want! Killing me will do NOTHING to save Dyrihm!"

[Froststrider]: Perhaps not. It will sure make me feel better, however.

Trevarde | Nob does feel... a pull. The priest is, perhaps... close.

Zyandahl half turns to Frost and says, "Killing you would upset Dyrihm, actually. And you are not wrong that harming you will look worse for Dyrihm." He looks around. "Do you... know how to contact Nob when Nob is like this?"

Trevarde scowls. "What brutes he surrounds himself with, now. I'm sure he'd be proud. You going to bring his old friend's head back to him?"

Jackdaw shudders. A pull is- not good.  He edges away from that feeling, still unaware for a good proportion of the conversation happening somewhere Above.

Zyandahl snaps, "Dyrihm does not want that. As for his company, it is not so different from the type of company he had before. You know, before he was murdered and you blamed him for it."

Froststrider looks down at Dahl then around for a trace of Nob, the shard disappearing. He grunts lightly then kneels, letting out some shadow. He seen Reya do this so... he doesn't know if it will work but better to try.

Trevarde watches Frost with undisguised interest.

[Trevarde]: Is there... a problem, with your shadowy friend?

Zyandahl sighs. "I do not know how to contact him when he is like this. My apologies." Apologizing to Trevarde seems to physically pain Dahl.

Jackdaw considers that feeling, that... draw.  And he cautiously follows it.

Trevarde | The pull leads... beyond the back wall of Trevarde's home. Wherever the pull is coming from, it's not in the house, and it may be some distance away.

Trevarde |It does seem to go.... North.

[Zyandahl]: I think it unwise to leave while he is gone, since I do not know what his conclusions will be when he returns. Clearly I am the least inclined to outright attack you, so my presence is in your best interest. And since that seems to be the only thing you care about, I assume that is fine with you.

Froststrider doesn't answer Trevarde other than a glare like 'shut up' and he continues to try sensing and probe around for Nob with his shadows. He winces as some of it is getting affected by his ice magic, never being strong in shadow compared to Rey.

Trevarde crosses his arms. "I certainly don't want you leaving that thin- that MAN- in my home."

Zyandahl mutters, "I do not actually know if Nob is a man, but Nob is a person, not a thing."

Jackdaw follows that tugging as far as it will let him inside the building.  His shadows, however, send out little tendrils to what Frost is offering- and when they connect with Frosts' magic, trying to gently siphon from it, Frost can begin to make out a trail.

Jackdaw | For some reason, the little wight is moving AWAY from this conversation.

Froststrider 's ears flick up, "Nob." He calls firmly but just tries to increase his shadow magic in case Nob can't hear him for some reason.

Trevarde | Nob follows the pull to the far wall of Trevarde's bedroom, past his hung-up robes. Frankly, the pull doesn't feel like it's getting any stronger- whatever the connection is to, it might be a ways off.

Jackdaw encounters that back wall- rather abruptly, actually.  The boundaries of the physical world do not always translate well to the shadowlands, and Nob's PHSYICAL BODY is down there with him.

Jackdaw literally hits a wall.

Jackdaw cusses.

Froststrider gets up and goes to that wall with a snort, "Nob."

[Trevarde]: Hey!

Jackdaw moves back quickly- he looks vaguely in Frost's direction at his name, startled, not quite seeing.

Trevarde reaches out to grab at Frost's arm. "That is my private chamber!" He hisses.

Jackdaw darts back through the main living space, apparently startled by Frost, and attempts to find the front door.  Things are... strange, down here, and whether he'll FIND it is even a question, never mind OPEN it in this state.

Zyandahl sighs. It's at least obvious that he knows they're all being rude. "I do not recommend touching him, Trevarde." he says with an ice cold tone. Then, softer,  "Frost, please..."

Jackdaw finds the fucking door!!!

Froststrider glares threateningly at Trevarde like if he doesn't let go he's gonna punt him. "Do you want me to recover Nob or leave him here to snoop some more?" looks back to where he notices Nob move. "Nob, are you able to---" And he's gone. Shit. "Damn it Nob."

Jackdaw opens the fucking door!!!!!  He's so proud of himself.  And there he goes.  He's leaving.

Trevarde removes his hand as though he's been burned. "Now, out! All of you!"

Zyandahl watches Frost's reactions. "Is Nob gone?"

Froststrider grunts, "Yes and we might as well go after him before we lose him completely."

Zyandahl nods, tiredly. To Trevarde he nods again. "Thank you for your information and I do apologize for them attacking you. I did not intend that."

Zyandahl does a sort of stuttered bow of sort of respect before he turns to leave

Trevarde blinks at Dahl. Then, he simply SLAMS the door behind them, with a final, spat "The Blade will hear about this," as the sound of a heavy latch clicks into place.

Zyandahl mutters some choice insults in Thalassian as they walk away.

Froststrider PUSHES EVEN MORE EFFORT into reaching out for wherever Nob went, he's starting to get exhausted with this. Hopefully he just out right latches onto the little ghost and drags him back here.

Zyandahl turns to Frost and asks, "Should I return and tell Dyrihm what happened?"

Jackdaw seems incredibly intent on whatever it is he's doing.  The little wight slips out of Frost's grip and continues up and out.

Froststrider gasps and drops to his knee, fuck. "...Just...We will have to hope that he comes back or I'm going to have a hell of a time explaining to the others." This whole thing already went to shit as it is. He groans.

|| Well, that could have gone better. Could have gone worse, too- Frost and Dahl have time to mull their worries over as they make their way home, through the winding tunnels of the Undercity, up into the upper ruins, to their familiar, welcoming courtyard.

Froststrider | Dyrihm likely hears the latch of the courtyard door coming open and heavy steps, letting him know who was coming in but the sound is also telling how exhausted the owner is.

Dyrihm whirls upon hearing Frost's steps. "You're back!" He hurries down the hall to where the ladder lets down. "Are you all right?"

Froststrider grunts, unable to look Dyrihm in the eye. "Yes but you won't be." he admits bitterly.

Dyrihm looks SEVERELY concerned by that, face twisting up. "What- what does that mean? What happened?"

Zyandahl comes down the ladder too. "Trevarde wants petty revenge on you for 'abandoning' them to save me and then dying, it appears," he says, tone disgusted. "And the Blade is doing something dangerous that you are not going to like, but he did not specify what. And Nob disappeared."

[Dyrihm]: Nob- disappeare- oh, Light, guys, Trevarde is a shadow mender, you didn't-

Froststrider looks away even more, "I just... The fact he's trying to hurt you... maybe even kill you. He is counting on you to not follow whatever order the Ebon has next and I... I attacked him. I tried to find Nob after but I couldn't reach him."

Froststrider lets out an exhausted breath and leans on the wall.

Zyandahl sighs. "Nob clearly left the premises. Trevarde did not want him there, and kicked us out after Nob left, but now we do not know where Nob is."

Dyrihm sighs. "He- he thinks I abandoned the troop?" Dyrihm looks, frankly, confused. "Well, I- I did, I suppose." His eyes flick to Dahl. "I chose you over my duty. But I didn't think they'd- that any of them would react like this."

[Dyrihm]: And, as for the Blade-  if the next order is as shitty as the last ones have been... then he's probably right.

Zyandahl looks away. "I do not know how many of them still live. I think maybe he blames the event of you leaving for everything that happened after."

Froststrider huffs irritated, "He feels that you overall will abandon us and anybody for what you did. That you have no loyalty because you never sought them out after being freed from Arthas."

Dyrihm loses some color. "What? What do you mean, Dahl, I- I couldn't have gone back, I disobeyed a direct Forsaken order, I WAS a traitor."

Froststrider sighs, "He also spoke that he made some sort of deal with the Ebon Blade and that you are simply the perfect target for whatever they want in return because of the fact he wants revenge."

Zyandahl sighs. "To be honest, Dyrihm, I think he is unstable. And also just a nasty person, now. And he thinks you are going to betray us all or something."

Dyrihm rubs the back of his neck. "I mean... I did commit an act of treason not three days ago, so he may... have a point there." He sighs. "I guess- he said that the others- they were dead?"

[Zyandahl]: He said 'I am the only one left'.

[Zyandahl]: Maybe they all 'abandoned' him too, but I got the impression they died.

Froststrider nods lightly.

Dyrihm finds a seat, collapsing into it. He puts his head in his hands. "I suppose, maybe- whatever happened, drove him to this. That doesn't sound like the man I remember."

Dyrihm shakes his head. "They're all dead?" He says, softly. It's not... truly a question.

Zyandahl kneels down near Dyr, putting a hand on his knee. "Experiences change people. He has had years’ worth of experiences that have changed him. I do not know if they are dead, but he seemed to believe so."

[Zyandahl]: I am sorry.

Froststrider forces himself off the wall to come over to Dyrihm for his support as well.

Dyrihm leans into their touch. "I- thank you. I guess there's nothing else to it but to... wait and see what the Blade has planned."

[Froststrider]: We'll be there for you. Face against whatever shit the Ebon tries...

Zyandahl nods.

Froststrider pauses lightly, "...You ought to... I know Maulfalcon is probably still pissed at you but you should bring this up. To Thor'del as well. Everyone. So we can all be there for you."

Dyrihm nods. "I know. I need to talk to him... soon. I will, I promise. I'm sure Nob will inform Rey and Varun, when he returns."

[Dyrihm]: Do you- should we go look for him? Is he all right?

Froststrider grunts, "I think so. He seemed coordinated enough to get out of Trevarde's place. I just don't know where he went."

Zyandahl nods again.

Dyrihm seems somewhat convinced. "All right. He knows well enough to get himself home, anyway, I'm sure." Dyrihm pinches the bridge of his nose. "I suppose, we just need to be... ready, then. If they think we can't stop this."

Zyandahl moves and sits in a chair, exhaling dramatically. "Trevarde is exhausting now. He is so... petty. And very convinced you will betray everyone who cares about you. Meanwhile he sells you out to the Blade in the same breath."

[Froststrider]: ...Which he is going to report our being there.

Froststrider sighs heavily at this.

Dyrihm raises a brow at Dahl. "You know, not everyone cares about being good- even if he thinks my actions are worth... punishment, he may just be willing to do something he thinks is bad to get what he wants."

Dyrihm shrugs. "As long as the trouble from the Blade is still mine, I don't much care what he tells them. Sounds like their minds about me are fairly close to made up."

[Zyandahl]: He makes me so angry.

[Zyandahl]: I do not care if he wants to be good. He is not good.

[Froststrider]: He is looking out for himself and throwing you under to step on.

Froststrider glares angrily at Dahl suddenly, "You should have just let me kill him."

Zyandahl stares up at the ceiling. He's very used to arguing about murder. This is so normal to him. "He was right that that would make things worse for Dyr."

Dyrihm sighs. "I' m sorry. I should have- just accepted he'd changed, I gue- No! No killing him, he-!" Dyrihm catches himself. "What if he is the only one left? I- I don't know. He's TREVARDE."

Dyrihm seems to still be having trouble imagining how much the man has changed.

Zyandahl points at Dyr. "I told you he would not want that."

Dyrihm sighs. "I'm not sure it gets 'worse' at this point, though. Maybe he'll know something that could... be useful, at some point, but..."

Froststrider snarls, "The man has no care for you, Dyrihm! He attacked Nob, got into my mi--" Closes his eye tightly, shuddering, then just growls at the both of them, wandering off to the bedroom and slamming the door close. At least it wasn't out for a hunt again?

Dyrihm turns, looking after Frost with worry. "Mind? He's using mind magic now!? Trevarde!?" Dyrihm sounds... angry.

Zyandahl watches Frost go, sadly. "I am... sorry. Trevarde used some spells that caused, well, it was like forced fear. It got to both of us. I think that is why Frost is upset, but..." He stares at the closed bedroom door. "Does he get upset like that when I am not here, or do I make things worse?"

Dyrihm gives Dahl a small smile. "I don't think you make it worse, no, although- sometimes I can get him not to seek privacy when I'm alone. Frost's always had a temper, and... he especially doesn't like anything that messes with his head."

Zyandahl nods, looking at the floor. "Please let me know if I do make it worse. You know I can never tell when I ruin things."

Dyrihm reaches out to lay a hand on Dahl's shoulder. "I know," he says "It's okay- I know I need to let you know, and trust me, you haven't been making things worse."

Zyandahl nods again, with a little smile. Then he sighs. "Dyr, Trevarde is... different. Than he used to be. He is the same person, but very changed."

Dyrihm crosses his arms. He seems to be coming around to this, yes. "If he's using mental magics... then yes. He is very different. And not for the better."

Zyandahl nods again. "He definitely used mental magics. And he is definitely changed for the worse. His tone, his posture, the things he said. He is not... the person he was, and he is not a good person anymore. Or at least, it did not seem like it to me.”

Dyrihm nods. "I- I believe you. I do. It's just... very different from how I remember him."

Dyrihm claps Dahl on the shoulder. "C'mon," he says, leading Dahl to the closed bedroom door. "Frost?" He calls as he opens it. "Frost, you know I don't condone that shit, no matter how old friends I am with the person."

Zyandahl follows Dyr, getting slower and slower as they approach the bedroom door. This is... not... his territory... waht

Froststrider is sitting on the bed with his hands over his head but he slowly looks up at Dyrihm then at Dahl.

Dyrihm moves to sit over on the bed, beckoning Dahl to follow. "Are you okay?" He asks, softly. "I know how this stuff hits you."

Zyandahl is frankly trying to be invisible in the doorway. He very much feels like he's not supposed to be in this room and is intruding. Frost did not invite him. He is pretty certain he is Being Rude

Froststrider sighs heavily, about to answer but then notices Dahl is just hanging there at the door and he gestures for the elf to come in. "I'm sorry. I... will be fine. It wasn't the worst thing I've been through but..."

Zyandahl sees the inviting gesture and exhales, relaxing. He walks over, still not sure where or if to sit. "It... got to me, too," he says quietly. "I hate that feeling."

Dyrihm puts his hand on Frost's knee. "You're all right, Frost. You're here, with us, for real, and it's safe."

Zyandahl nods, not sure how to help.

Froststrider sighs a little more, wrapping an arm around Dyrihm. Then he reaches a bit more and pulls Dahl in as well. He just looks at the both of them apologetic for snapping at them. He nuzzles Dyr but keeps his arm wrapped around the two.

Zyandahl flushes goes very rigid, but it's hard to tell without looking because he's half made of metal. He doesn't look uncomfortable, just startled, and very unsure how to react. He swallows, closes his eyes for a moment, and then leans his forehead gently against Frost's furry shoulder with a soft sigh. Actual skin contact with soft floof.

Dyrihm leans in with a smile. "Might be time for some rest," he says, kicking off his boots. "I- thank you both, for tonight. For trying to put my mind at ease. I mean, it worked- somewhat."

Zyandahl sighs into Frost's shoulder, pressing more of his face into the soft fur without realizing it. "I don't know, Dyrihm. Maybe we are wrong about him, and he is just... different, and a little bit worse. Maybe he is not as far gone as I think. But I do think. I am sorry."

Froststrider rumbles lightly at Dahl--Dyr of course would know it’s a good sound--then starts to move away to let the two go free, "A rest would be... appreciated." He mutters, still out of it from the attempt to hook Nob as well.

Zyandahl startles and steps back. "Yes, I--" his voice is WAY more awake than is was a second ago before Frost pulled away. "--I will leave you both to that."

Dyrihm lightly ruffles Frost's mane, and moves to settle into the bed. He noticed that sound from Frost, and let it lead to his next suggestion. "Do you-" He clasped his hands together in front of him. "Dahl, would you stay? All this shit with the Blade is- it's so ominous. I'd feel... I'd like you both here." His voice grows quieter and quieter, as if he's regretting asking something so ridiculous.

Dyrihm glances at Frost, as if to ask, 'would this be all right?'

Froststrider sees that glance and nods before getting up to get his prosthetic and armor off. Plus, to let the two figure out sleeping arrangements before he gets back in. Good thing they got a giant bed.

Zyandahl is a deer in headlights. He literally did not expect this question with ANY fiber of his being. He wants to immediately say yes, because of course he wants to and he can't so no to Dyr, but... He glances at Frost. This is Frost's bed too. Frost... nods.

Zyandahl Which is NOT what Dahl was expecting.

Zyandahl stammers, "I-- yes. Yes of course-- if you would like me too--" He looks down at his metal fucking arms and then hugs himself a bit. "I can, ah, go get my sleeves for these, for bed. I... usually sleep in pants over my legs, but-- I suppose I can remove the legs...? I do not imagine they would be comfortable-- though I suppose none of me is probably very comfortable-- for sleeping next to, that is, I meant." Hooo boy he's nervous.

Dyrihm blinks. He hadn't considered this either. "Oh. I hadn't considered- you don't have to take your legs off. And I have an old shirt, if you want?"

Froststrider is stripped down to his pants but he glances over to Dahl, comes over, picks him up bridal style and dumps him on the bed. He grunts about Dyr's shirt option, go with that yeah.

Zyandahl makes a noise that is very high pitched and for which there is no name, eyes wide as they get. "I--!" He looks at Dyr like 'wtf just happened' and then says "I may rip your shirt. And maybe the sheets. My sleeves are tougher fabric? But if you do not mind?" His voice is higher than usual and he's too startled by all of this to notice enough to care.

Dyrihm actually laughs. "I'll grab the shirt."

[daetur]

A Bargain (Dyrihm Personal Event Log, Part 10)

Dyrihm... is gone. And, if Oliver MacGlynn is to be believed, the unfortunate Knight has been taken to Icecrown Citadel- the worst case scenario. Furious, desperate, and not entirely willing to simply take MacGlynn at his word, Froststrider and Zyandahl make haste to the home of Father Trevarde, where they hope to force some answers out of the troublesome priest.

Trevarde's door has at least two new, heavy locks. Seems your last visit left the priest nervous. From inside, movement can be heard, as if someone is shifting objects from one place to another.

Froststrider stares at the locks then just sets his hand over it, coating the locks in ice.

Zyandahl raises a metal hand, ready to punch the lock if Frost wants him to.

|| The locks freeze under Frost's touch, metal icing over. The faint shimmer of magic on the locks doesn't appear to be strong enough to resist the ice.

Froststrider glances at Dahl, "Just be ready to grab him." is all he says before lifting a hoof and kicking the door.

Zyandahl nods, expression ice cold.

|| The sounds from within stop abruptly as Frost SLAMS the heavy door with a hoof. The wood cracks, but doesn't give, and a suddenly SCRAMBLE starts inside the house.

Zyandahl punches the frozen metal lock with a Not Frozen metal fist. Fuck you, door.

|| The lock shatters.

Froststrider busts in completely with a snarl, "TREVARDE!"

Zyandahl follows. He is ready to grab Trevarde.

Trevarde isn't in the front room- the priest is out of sight, and the place looks far more bare than last time- a large pack is on the table, stuffed with books, and the birdcage is empty.

Zyandahl grabs the pack off the table and hoists it over his shoulder. Ransom this shit.

Froststrider's ears pin back as he storms in, heading for the room that Nob tried to get into before.

Zyandahl follows Frost, but stays within sight of the front door just in case Trevarde is hiding somehow.

Trevarde || As Frost approaches the far room, Trevarde's voice calls out, resigned- it seems he doesn't have an emergency exit. He appears in the doorway, already wreathed in shadow. "News travelled... faster than I expected," he says.

Zyandahl sees him and darts forward, aiming to grab him by the arm.

Froststrider draws his sword, a chill surrounding him, "I can freeze you even like this, you spiteful coward! The fact you thought you could get away with this..."

Trevarde's form flickers, Dahl's hand sliding through the shadows. "Wait, wait!," he barks, backing up. "What do you want? You want something, surely!"

Zyandahl says, "Where is Dyrihm?" in a tone that sounds as cold and dangerous as Frost's magic.

Trevarde clicks his tongue. "I don't know! I don't care! Beyond this point, my work for Solis is done!"

Froststrider growls, "Then you're useless. That's all I wanted. Along with your death." He lifts his sword to bring it down on Trevarde.

Zyandahl laughs a little at Trevarde's words, but it's an unsettling sound. He holds out a hand toward Frost, though. "His corpse will not help us to get Dyrihm back, Frost. Alive, however, he might be useful." He turns back to Trevarde. "Can you be useful?" he asks in that same cold tone.

Trevarde throws his hands out, and his little shadow bird shrieks. "Wait, wait! Yes- I- I don't know where he is NOW, but I- I'm sure I can get you something."

Froststrider is still growling but he slowly lowers his sword looking between Dahl and Trevarde, "Talk."

Zyandahl snaps "I do not trust you without a hand ‘round your throat, Trevarde. Give me a reason to believe you will return. Give me..." Dahl looks around, not convinced that his bag of books is enough for Trev to come back for. His eyes land on the bird, and halt there. "... something you will not leave behind."

Trevarde takes another step back. "Absolutely fucking not. Your little shadow friend tried to kill him once already!"

Froststrider holds out his sword again, "Are you going to be useful or do we have no reason to keep you alive. Hand the damn bird over."

[Trevarde]: I can BE useful, but you CANNOT have my bird!

Zyandahl 's cold expression is not moved by this. "You do not have much bargaining power here. Dyrihm is gone and you had a hand in it. Both of us wish you great ill, and your only usefulness is theoretical and based on trust we do not have. If not the bird, then something else you will not leave behind. Something of great value. Figure it out quickly."

Trevarde scowls, and gestures at the bag. "Is not the entirety of a decade of research enough for you?"

[Trevarde]: Some of those notes are from when I was still a priest of the Light!

Froststrider sneers, "And look at you now." He points his sword at the bag, "This will be destroyed, in front of your very eyes, if you so much as cross me more than you already have."

Zyandahl scowls right back, and his voice is gaining a bit more volume now. "How do I know anything you say is true? How do I know you will not run as soon as you are out of our sight, never to be seen again.”

Trevarde pales. "Do not destroy the books! Honestly, your friend already made off with one of them!"

Froststrider glances at Dahl before realizing the priest must mean Nob. Well that works out too then.

Zyandahl takes in Trevarde's expression of alarm at Frost's threat. That... is pretty convincing actually. He nods once. "I will neither damage nor destroy these for as long as you help us find him. If we do not get him back, will burn them all."

Trevarde gulps, and tries to calm his tone, wheedling. "Very well. Now, what say we put down our weapons- leave them by the door, perhaps? And I tell my shadows to quiet down, and we have a chat?"

Zyandahl shakes his head. "Our weapons stay. We can chat just fine while holding them."

Froststrider snorts, not budging.

Trevarde raises a brow. "I wasn't exactly asking you to remove those deadly limbs of yours. Just- the blades. I'm rather attached to my head."

Froststrider glances to Dahl then back to Trevarde, "I don't need my blades to end you priest." He goes to set his blades by the door then comes back with his arms folded.

Zyandahl does not look impressed. "Your magic is available to you in an instant. So too is his."

Trevarde ... actually lets his shadows fall away, leaving him much more solid. Although he eyes the chain, he seems satisfied with the distance. "I trust you as little as you trust me. A little civility is all I want."

Zyandahl grinds his teeth and DOESN'T go on an angry rant about what HE WANTS or what DYR WANTS. Yet anyway.

[Trevarde]: Now. I do not know where Dyrihm is- Solis handles those details. However- what I can give you, perhaps... is the man Solis answers to. Does that interest you?

[Zyandahl]: Yes.

[Froststrider]: Maybe.

[Froststrider]: I will not stand being sent on a goose chase when we are short on time as it is.

Trevarde holds up a hand. "Then I will be direct- this man will not get you to Dyrihm. That is, assuming you can all find Dyrihm in time."

Zyandahl closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them and says, "I agree. I want the heads of everyone involved in this, but the priority is getting Dyrihm BACK."

[Trevarde]: That said- he will be your ONLY way to get to Dyrihm if you do not find him in time.

Trevarde smiles.

[Zyandahl]: I am not giving you your books back until we get Dyrihm back.

[Trevarde]: You made that QUITE clear, yes.

Zyandahl says "Then stop being--" he searches for the right word in orcish, doesn't find it, and gestures at Trevarde instead. "Stop. Think about this as if you want it to work. As if it were not Dyrihm but yourself on the line. Because I assure you, his survival is directly linked to your own."

Trevarde sighs. "I have no reason to lie to you- I have fulfilled my end of my work with Solis, and my reward is already in the works. It doesn't affect me in the slightest whether Dyrihm is rescued or not, frankly. I was interested in getting TO this point, I have no great stake in what comes next."

[Trevarde]: Aside from the stakes you have placed on me. Of course.

Froststrider shifts, rather impatient. You bet your ass you will be affected his expression says, "Stop side tracking."

Zyandahl sighs. "I am not concerned that you are lying, I am concerned that you mean Dyrihm harm, and that you are not giving this issue your all."

Trevarde laces his fingers together. "If I were to attempt a rescue... I would start with Solis. He would know where Dyrihm is being held, and where and when he will be moved. Ultimately, I know that Solis works with a group in Icecrown- I would imagine that Dyrihm will eventually end up there."

Zyandahl nods. "Do you have information about Solis that would be useful?"

Trevarde shrugs. "I have an address, where he has me deliver correspondence. He specializes in undead constructs. I recommend bringing many friends if you approach him with the same hostility you show me."

[Trevarde]: You two alone would be torn apart before you ever reached him.

Zyandahl smiles. It's not a reassuring expression. "Dyrihm has many friends. That will not be a problem."

[Froststrider]: Suppose we would just need to toss you in first do not we?

Trevarde snorts. "You are not very forward thinking."

[Trevarde]: Do you want to know why you will keep me alive?

[Trevarde]: I am meeting with the leader of Solis's cult contacts in a week. This leader moves to a new location in Icecrown every few days- and he brings his collection of souls with him.

Zyandahl pulls a notebook out of a pocket and starts writing this shit down.

[Trevarde]: If you kill me, and you are too late to save Dyrihm before his soul is harvested for use? You will never find him before he is bound to a construct. Keep me alive, and I will lead you right to him, with him none the wiser.

Froststrider growls then just turns his attention back to Dahl to make sure he's got that all written down.

Zyandahl nods. "You will do that for us, should we need it." He looks Trevarde directly in the eyes, and if possible his voice goes even colder. "I want you to know-- truly KNOW, in your bones-- that not a single threat we make is empty. Dyrihm has more friends than you realize, who are more loyal than you can comprehend, and each of us will take a piece of you, slowly. And if you run, my sister will find you."

Trevarde remembers Zyandahl's sister from the old days. He clears his throat. "I understand. I will... I will send Ash to alert you when I am due for my meeting. I imagine you'd be interested in destroying the head of the cult regardless?"

Zyandahl glances at Frost. Honestly Dahl doesn't really give a fuck as long as they get Dyr back but beating some people up would probably help them all feel better

[Froststrider]: If I had my way everyone involved in this would be dead.

Zyandahl nods.

Froststrider glares at Trevarde, very clear that he means him too. "But I want Dyrihm back, safe, and then I can worry about hunting down every bastard that tried to harm him."

Trevarde sure doesn't look comforted by that. "... But I have your word that I may- that you will return my things, and I may leave unharmed, if you are able to recover him?"

Zyandahl glares. "If we get Dyrihm back-- not just his body, not just his soul, but ALL of him-- you get one free pass, Trevarde. One. If you cross us again it is worthless."

Froststrider nods to what Dahl said.

Trevarde nods. "That's fair," he says. "Good luck with Solis. He is... gullible, you know. I'd recommend a friendlier approach if you want information."

Zyandahl notes that as well. He considers Trevarde. "I suppose a carrot could be afforded here as well as a the aforementioned very sharp stick. As long as you are willingly helpful, and make this as easy as you can, I will leave you with your privacy as well as your head" he says, patting the bag at his side. "The more helpful you are, the longer this stays closed."

Froststrider snorts at Trevarde. It's unclear if he's going to heed that advice or not. But he starts to take his leave.

Zyandahl nods and turns to take his leave as well. He's done talking unless provokes.

[Trevarde]: He's really worth all this trouble to you? You think he'd do the same?

Trevarde sounds... as curious as he is nettling.

Froststrider rounds on Trevarde, "I think it is best you keep whatever shit you think of Dyrihm to yourself if you know what's good for you."

Zyandahl 's hands and wrists creak with force of how hard he clenches them. He whirls on Trevarde, "Have I been in any way unclear? Your perception of Dyrihm is based on false logic and warped memories. He would not only do the same for me, and for any of us, but if he heard you were in danger he would risk himself for YOU, you--" he slips back into Thalassian to swear a lot. Then takes a breath. "And even if that were not the case, I care not. He matters that much to ME. He always has."

Trevarde falls silent. He looks rather like he's swallowed a bug.

Zyandahl glowers at Trevarde a few more seconds, then turns again to leave.

Trevarde stays shut the fuck up this time.

Zyandahl steps out into the street and prepares to close the damaged door behind Frost

Trevarde, unseen, raises a shaking hand to stroke Ash's feathers.

[daetur]

ravager, boar, shoveltusk for dyr!

Ravager - Has your character gone through any significant physical changes recently? And tattoos, scars, or body modifications? 

Dyrihm’s most recent physical changes are the scars from his torture, magic-draining, and soul-removal at the hands of the Lich, Nachtigall. Though he’s well-recovered, he has a number of new scars on his arms and chest.

Otherwise- Dyrihm has a small smattering of scars from over the years, but nothing especially noticeable besides the death wound in his back- a ropy line behind his heart. There are a few places, over bony ridges, where his skin has split during undeath, and these he’s stitched up with dark blue thread. Most noticeably, there is a small line of such stitching over his right eyebrow.

And, of course, his runic jaw- when he was raised as a Knight, his flesh and bone jaw was forcibly removed, and he only had it restored this past year, at the suggestion of Maulfalcon, and through the talents of Norberon Thor’del.

Boar - What smell brings about pleasant memories for your character? Unpleasant memories?

Dyrihm finds the smells of spices and baking to be very comforting, reminding him of the coziest times of his childhood.

Nothing disturbs Dyrihm more than the smell of poorly-kept undead- that heavy, cloying scent of filth and rot and bile that has heralded both of his deaths.

Shoveltusk - Is there a talent your character has that not many people know about?

Dyrihm has a few unusual talents, and depending on what context people know him in, they may be more surprised by some than others.

Dyrihm, over the past several years, has been teaching himself to sketch with pencils and charcoal. Originally, this was a way for him to deal with his grief at Zyandahl’s supposed death, and his sense of purposelessness after the end of the Icecrown campaign, but has since become a hobby he uses to pass the time, and a way of keeping a ‘journal’ of sorts. Looking into his sketchbook would reveal a lot about what is bothering him, frightening him, or making him happy- things he wants to either process, get out of his head, or wants to remember clearly for a long time. He’s gotten quite good over time- sadly, much better than his player, which is a damn shame.

He also is familiar enough with herb lore to be able to make his own inks and scented oils, which he uses regularly for personal grooming.