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| Details |
| Author: | inkie |
| Summary: | Colson approaches Niris for advice on keeping Ralaea stocked with holy water on the far side of the Dark Portal. |
| Rating: | T for Teen |
Arc: Season 5
As the Ironforge gong goes off on the 8th hour of the evening, Colson Aspenwood knocks on the door of the Ference house in the Mystic Ward. It is a polite knock, a knock that almost seems to apologize for being a knock, but it's clearly loud enough to be difficult to ignore. He stands patiently at the door, still dressed in full armor, looking slightly less Paladin Daisy Fresh than usual, though his face is serene and calm.
There is a delay just long enough that he might consider knocking again, and then the door is unceremoniously yanked open. Niris stands within. For a given definition of “Niris.”
She is barefoot, wearing a plain, grey dress of soft wool, and has a man’s shirt on over the dress; the shirt is turned backwards, the button side hanging open at her back, and the loose sleeves have been rolled to her elbows, her own fitted grey sleeves showing from beneath. Her cropped hair is standing half on end, the way her nephew’s does when he’s been raking a hand through it in deep thought or frustration, and there are flecks of blood — no, no, not blood. Paint? Red paint? in it. Her hands are streaked with red and black, the backwards shirt is similarly spattered, and there is a broad black smudge across one of her cheeks.
“And I didn’t —” she begins in a tone of breathless outrage, and then catches herself short and blinks. “Oh. Oh, Colson. You’re not — oh.”
She takes another step forward and peers suspiciously behind Colson, as if someone else might be lying in wait in the shadows of the porch. With one hand she smooths her skirt, leaving a fresh, unfortunate streak of red down the front of the overlarge shirt. The curve of her pregnancy is just evident beneath. “Are you … looking for Elohad?”
Colson looks so bland and unruffled that he gives the strange impression that a not-very-well-traveled dwarf observing this might assume that this was Standard Door Opening procedure for humans. He gives Niris a shallow bow, correctly executed, but slightly hurried. "No," he says. "I came to speak with you. I need your help, and if you are willing, your advice."
Niris blinks again. The blink seems to reset her dignity, which gathers regally around her in a near-visible aura as her shoulders straighten and her chin lifts, despite her whole … whatever she’s got going on. “Of course,” she says crisply, and steps back from the door to admit him. “What do you need? Shall I make coffee?”
"Yes, please," Colson says to the offer of coffee and he steps inside. He unbuckles his weapons, setting them by the door as neatly as he can. As he walks inside, he removes his gloves, holding them in one hand until he reaches a table. "Forgive me for the late intrusion. I hope I have not interrupted anything important." He takes a long deep breath. "I have recently encountered a … concern that requires a supply of Holy Water, possibly while removed from access to the Cathedral, and I thought perhaps you would know best how to go about it."
Niris, who has already turned to move briskly toward the kitchen area, pauses and glances back over her shoulder, one formidable Eyebrow arched. “A … concern? A holy-water-requiring concern?” She does continue kitchenward, at a slower, distracted drift, but apparently coffee-making is a rote process because she begins this without taking her attention from Colson.
"Yes. I assume you've encountered The Plague up close before?" He shakes his head, dropping his gloves to the table. His voice returns to a tone most would associate with a doctor. "It was not The Plague. But, truly I've never felt anything quite like it before. Something less than a disease. Almost magic, but not quite. Not contagious either, but it spreads in its victim if left unchecked. The patient has found Holy Water to ease the symptoms and halt the spread, but it must be applied regularly to be effective. Patient reported that the Light when used in full force proves 'too strong.' It burned. Which, as you are undoubtedly aware, regardless of strength should not have occurred" He runs a hand through his hair. "I suspect it is not a matter of strength at all. Holy Water should not heal. My suspicion is that some curse or magic has forced a reversed reaction. However, until such a time we can determine what it is and how to heal it properly, the patient requires mitigation of symptoms and spread topically."
Niris knits her brows, her gaze going distant with distracted thought. “Not the — hm. Magic or a curse. I could … has the patient seen a druid? Nilunelle might be …” She trails off, frowns into space, and then blinks. “Holy water. Topical. Well, I can certainly get you some. How much would you need? You said … away from the Cathedral? For a time? It’s a simple enough matter to transport it these days, with mage portals and the like.” She pours black coffee into two mugs and carries these to where Colson sits, offering him one. In her abstraction, she does not think to offer cream or sugar.
Colson accepts the coffee, and takes a sip, his face giving nothing away as to whether or not he usually drinks his black. “Yes, in this case it is a combined matter of logistics and the patient’s wealth. Transportation has been a concern in the past, and the patient reports a maximum of three days in between treatment before the affliction resumes spreading. Several weeks supply would be ideal. A single, small vial per every two to three days is needed. I believe the patient goes through approximately one large bottle every two weeks, given the scope of the infection.”
He pauses, and taps a finger once against the table. “I understand it is a complex matter to make true Holy Water, but, perhaps, if you were willing to instruct me in the matter, I believe it would ease the patient’s mind if I could produce something similar at any given time. Even a less effective dose would still likely have some beneficial effect, I believe.” He takes another sip of the coffee. “My instinct tells me a druid might be the most helpful, and able to give the most insight. Unfortunately, personal prejudices mean the patient may be … reluctant to seek aid from that source.”
Colson leans back slightly in his chair, and there’s a strange change in the air around him, almost threatening, his eyes going colder as he stares into the middle distance. “However, as soon as other more immediate matters are dealt with, I am aware of the person who knows exactly what this is. And I will see to it, when time allows.” Colson clears his throat slightly, his polite lad mien resuming as he looks at Niris. “In the meantime, I would beg your aid to see that the patient is kept as comfortable as possible.”
“Well.” Niris sets her own coffee aside and tilts her head, the faraway look in her eyes again. “Certainly I can make you a few vials. When would you need them by? As to making something similar — I’m still not clear on why actual holy water won’t do, but it might be possible … no, no. Give me a minute.”
She gets up from the table and begins to pace. After a few back-and-forth circuits, she turns on her heel and leaves the room abruptly.
When she returns, she’s holding a battered leatherbound notebook, and paging through it fretfully. “If you had some … hm. That could reproduce — but where, is the question.” She glances up, Eyebrow arched again. “What is the patient’s nearest holy ground?”
“As soon as possible. Tomorrow would not be too soon,” Colson says, apologetically. He takes a long sip of coffee, placing it down gently on the table. “As for holy ground, that is indeed part of the patient’s dilemma. There have been times, including recently, where the closest was outside the bounds of the three day limitation. In the far south of Tanaris, for example, when a contract job went longer than expected, and the nearest possible location would have been at minimum a six day journey to Theramore. I believe that uncertainty is what causes the patient significant distress. Of course, an at hand supply has been acquired, but the possibility of running out while in uncertain supply lines for additional treatment, leading to a possible spread …” He trails off, waving a hand elegantly in the air. “Thus, I have wondered at the viability of emergency support.” His hand taps once on the table, before he gestures to himself.
“As you know, a paladin may temporarily consecrate a small area, for an admittedly brief period of time. I confess, I am not well versed enough in the theory behind Holy Water to know what that might entail in practical application. However, in the worst case scenario where a supply has been for one reason or another exhausted, do you think it possible if such a thing might allow for the creation of an equally temporary Holy Water? Hypothetically, it would — at best, I am sure — be only immediately useful, and even then I can not expect to have anything but a diminished effect leading to a slowing of the patient’s demise, but not enough to halt the progress entirely as true Holy Water might,” he says, his gaze somewhere along the wall of the house, his voice almost clinically far away.
“No, no,” says Niris, “let me think,” in a manner that suggests he’d interrupted her train of thought by answering her question. She returns to her chair and settles into it, frowning at her notebook. “You can consecrate — hm.” She glances up, her amber gaze sharp and shrewd. “Almost magic. Or a curse. Burned by Light. If it were an affliction of … shadow, or void — or kin to those, at least —” She tilts her head attentively at him: despite her actual phrasing and intonation, it seems this was also a question.
“Yes,” he agrees, to the implied question, after waiting several beats. “It felt strange on examination. I would have preferred a second opinion, or even a third if I am being frank, but the patient is, perhaps understandably, reluctant to seek help. That I was trusted at all is almost a miracle. A priestess has examined it before, but, again, I do not believe the nature of it was understood. Something is very wrong with it, and for all of my experience with various afflictions of the fel, and the Void, this was outside of it.” He rubs his thumb in a slow circle. “It felt … personal. As though the affliction had set down roots in the patient, and to rip them out would possibly cause as much harm to the person as leaving it be, and that it was intentionally designed as such.” He looks up at Niris, a frown of concentration on his face. “Have you ever encountered something of that like before? Something that felt almost … engineered?”
Niris purses her lips. She looks annoyed. Not with Colson, but perhaps with this information. “Engineered? I can’t say that I’ve — let me think.” She glances down at the notebook, rakes a hand through her hair, and mutters to herself. She pages back, then looks up again and gives Colson an Interrogatory Eyebrow. “And it would be distilled water, ordinarily, as a base. Pure. But your sister, perhaps, can provide … ?”
Colson nods. “Cressidha knows her water well enough to summon anything as needed.” There’s a flicker of a smile at the statement, but his face returns to seriousness all too quickly.
Niris nods and rises again to pace. “All right. Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll get you some holy water. I’ll get it, rather than make it. For speed. I’ll go to High Priest Rohan tomo— no, tonight. He knows I’ll be able to assist in resupplying the Temple of Mysteries, so the old goat can part with it. As much as can — I think reasonably be carried for now.” She eyes Colson shrewdly. “I assume this patient is someone going through the Portal with all of you, hm?” Again, the Eyebrow. She doesn’t wait for his answer but resumes pacing. “And then — not proper holy water, precisely, but I think we can have you prepare something … call it sanctified water, perhaps. You can consecrate a small area, for a time, and you’ll know the prayers. You’ll have the water — and salt, of course — and then we’ll give it — without the full Church blessing, we’ll give it something like … a restorative potion. Something between full holy water and a restorative potion, hm? Less Light, but charged with alchemy?”
She stops pacing to look at him expectantly.
Colson inclines his head. “That would be most appreciated, Lady Ference, and you have my eternal gratitude for it.” He does not explicitly confirm her guess as to the patient’s identity, but he does not deny it either. “I believe even knowing that it might be an option would ease the patient’s mind that should something untoward befall the collected Holy Water, not all would be immediately lost.” There is a sense in his words that ‘the patient’ might not be the only one put more at ease. He gathers up his gloves, but does not put them on yet.
“Please, if you would, bill any supplies that the endeavor costs to the Aspenwood estate. There is no limitation on the budget, and you have full discretion to compensate the High Priest as is appropriate.” His eyes zero in on his gloves and he stares at them like maybe they’ve been inscribed with the proper prayers for Holy Water. “I shall endeavor to ensure it does not come to it, but I thank you for the efforts to create as best a safety net as we might do on such short notice.”
Niris snorts and waves a hand at the mention of cost and compensation. “Right. Here’s what I’ll do. I’ll go and have a word with the High Priest, and I’ll write you down a formula for the … sanctified water. I can supply — I’ll provide you a packet of the herbs and salt, your sister will provide the water, you’ll provide the Light. I’ll have it sent over … hm. Shall I just leave it for you in Headquarters? That might be most efficient.”
She cants her head and her gaze sharpens again. “If you would like to compensate me, Colson … well. Ben’s already had my opinion, and made clear he doesn’t want any more of it. What you can owe me is that nothing will befall my son out there. Do you understand? Nothing. If this … patient is one of you, it’s in my interest as well to see they’re kept — well. If they should endanger Ben, or any of you …” She draws herself up, ferocious and queenly with dignity again, despite the paint in her tousled hair and on her cheek, her eyes fierce and bright.
Colson holds for a moment, letting the moment settle before he speaks, his voice soft and low. A paladin’s voice. “At the moment, the only one in danger is the patient, no one else. Should that change, you have my word that no matter the cost, I will see Ben and Cressidha both safe. I would never forgive myself if either were harmed.” He holds up a hand and turns it back and forth in the light of the house, a faint glow of the Light forming just under the skin. “There is nothing I would not be willing to sacrifice personally to keep them alive and well, Lady Ference. That I may offer to you without reservation.” He drops the hand to the table, the Light fading. “As for myself, I am well aware that if anything should befall me, it would leave White Squad without a healer on hand, and that I already know is an option that I will not entertain as viable if there is any other recourse possible. If that brings you any reassurance at all Lady Ference,” he says softly. “I will not go easily into martyrdom should any other possible option remain, but I know what I would be willing to pay for those I love to remain safe.”
Niris holds his gaze levelly. At last she nods, once. “Good,” she says crisply. “That will do. I’ll have everything ready for you in Headquarters by … shall we say midnight? Was that the eight o’clock bell?”
Colson tugs on his gloves, and stands. “Yes, it was.” He bows, gracefully as always, although Niris might yet catch the slight weariness to the motion at the end. “I will wait in Headquarters. Thank you for the coffee. It was … enlivening. I shall take your leave, Lady Ference,” he says as he gathers up his weapons, and secures them with a precise speed, almost as though his body could move by itself completely independent of his brain from years of repeated motion, and that no amount of exhaustion could stop him from continuing on.
Later that evening, a small crate is borne by a young Temple messenger to the Cobalt Company Headquarters. It contains a dozen wax-sealed vials of holy water packed carefully in lambswool. Tucked in among them is a little stoppered jar, also sealed with wax, containing a fine grey-green powder; a small, silver spoon has been tied to the jar with a silk cord.
Atop all of these is laid a notecard, penned in a neat, precise hand:
The formula.