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| Details |
| Author: | Athena |
| Summary: | Having achieved at least a trio, the Death Knights of the Ebon Blade PR Team take on their first challenge from Dame Briellen Clay of the Argent Crusade: get into Stratholme and retrieve Holy Water, once again removing the never-ending Scourge from the cursed city. 5100-ish words. |
| Rating: | M for Mature 17+ |
Arc: Death Knight PR
Outside Light’s Hope Chapel.
Syarra nods at Theris and Roper as they land by the gryphon master.
Theris dismounts from his skeletal gryphon.
Roper's hood is fully over his face as he steps off the gryphon. He seems on high alert though.
"We should head out immediately," Syarra says, glancing at the living dwarf nearby. "To Stratholme."
Theris nods and starts walking… on foot.
Syarra gives him a look.
Roper summons his Death Charger. "Hey. You're with me."
"You do… you did subdue a Death Charger, didn't you?" Syarra asks.
"No. He didn't."
Theris pauses. "I did not." He goes to ride with Roper.
Roper moves up in the saddle. This is fine. The Deathcharger might have been uncomfortable. If it were alive.
"How did you manage to miss that part?"
Theris just says, "The battle began. They needed someone to use the Eye of Acherus, to observe."
Syarra shoots Roper a worried glance. "They didn't even train you?"
"They began to. There was no time."
Roper spreads his hands in a shrug, holding onto the Deathcharger with his legs. "Welcome to Death Knighting 101, then," he drawls. "I'd say try to stay alive, but…well."
"I shall endeavor to not get any more dead," Theris says, his voice dry.
Roper snorts.
"You seemed comfortable enough with a sword. Was that from life?" Syarra draws her horse up at the entrance to Stratholme.
As they get near Stratholme, Roper twists his wrist, and Deep Shadows rise up to grab the Deathcharger, dragging it down below as Roper hits the ground easily.
Theris, who was not expecting his horse to drop out from under him, actually manages to catch himself and land on his feet. "Yes, from life. Although I preferred lighter blades."
They enter Stratholme. Stratholme slams shut behind them, as it does.
As the gate slams behind them, Roper unsheathes both swords. "What the fuck."
Syarra glances back, unperturbed. "We have our death gates."
Roper mutters several things at the gate, kicking it once before he walks to the main corridor.
Syarra turns back to Theris. "A nobleman's pursuit of swords, or were you a soldier?"
Theris tilts his head a little under the hood. "The former. I could not have been a soldier."
"What, not noble enough for you?" Roper's voice is a dark drawl.
Theris draws his sword. He reaches out a hand and yanks a skeleton to him. "That is not it, no."
Roper holds up a hand, as he moves forward. "Wait, why the fuck is it still on fire?"
"This place is cursed," Syarra says.
"No shit." Roper looks around and pushes back his hood. "Fuck. No wonder they were willing to fucking send us in."
"They used to send people here, over and over, trying to push back the tide." Syarra looks ahead at the burning street.
Theris flicks a severed hand off the end of his blade. "In life, I had a heart defect that hindered me in battle. This is no longer the case. I will not slow you down." Theris steps on the skeletal hand, crushing it under a plated boot.
Roper gestures to the orphanage. "Well. One on fire orphanage, as ordered," he drawls. "Doubt that there's anything left to save."
"We'll have to find one that still has living children in it," Syarra nods.
"I was not made aware of an orphanage in our requests?" Theris says uncertainly.
Roper gives her a lopsided grin, before ducking his head again, looking at the undead. "No, not this time," he says over his shoulder to Theris.
Syarra looks at him, her face completely serious. "It was a joke."
"I see."
"Oh, shit." Roper looks up at the tavern sign. "Fuck, I think I've been here." He frowns. "Or…I was supposed to have been here?"
"You remember it?"
Roper squints at the windows. "Something like that. I know the exact layout of this place. I know it."
Theris watches a patrolling patchwork horror.
"I think that's one memory you can safely discard," Syarra says, glancing back at the burning tavern.
Theris looks around. "I've been here before. But I was young."
"How young?" Roper asks.
"I don't… remember. Ten? Younger?"
"I don't know if I was actually here, or someone I was was supposed to have been here. I can't tell. Hey, was 'Tibault' from Stratholme?" Roper asks, as he looks around again.
"No, of course not. You were from Elwynn. Weren't you?" Theris sounds confused.
Roper laughs, throwing back his head. "No. Tibault was, probably though," Roper says, his voice a husky rasp of amusement.
Theris' hood turns to watch Roper. "I see."
Roper looks at Theris with a dark amusement.
"… You were one of my sister's friends from work, weren't you," Theris concludes.
Syarra gives Theris an incredulous look, but stays silent.
"Oh yes, we were work colleagues," Roper says, in Tibault's voice. It's a soft sort of voice, a slight lisp on the 's'.
Theris nods. "That… makes sense."
"The fuck is with these people and the fucking mail." Roper tries to kick over one of the bodies. His boot goes through them now.
"Was there a real Tibault?" Theris asks mildly.
There's a hesitation. "Probably not," Roper says. "At least not like you're asking. On paper? Sure fucking was. Anywhere else? Doubtful."
Theris nods.
"I don't remember you," Roper says. "At all." He shrugs. "As anyone."
Theris crouches down. "I see. This crate's intact. How are we transporting the holy water?"
"Carefully,” Syarra says.
Roper holds out the Imbued Netherweave bag. "This." It doesn't look like it's going to hold a crate.
Theris opens up the crate and checks the packaging of the flasks. "If this breaks in there…"
"It's enchanted. We could hold a fucking party in here," Roper says. He sounds mildly impressed by the fact. "It held water inside it without leaking. It's the best thing we've got."
"Ah." Theris shuts the crate, lifts it up easily, and goes to put it in the bag.
Roper holds the bag open as it stretches to accommodate the crate in a way that doesn't look like it should be able to do.
"Refreshments for the party," Theris says, deadpan.
"There better be some fucking cheese in there, or I'm not fucking staying for the party," Roper drawls back.
"Sounds safe enough," Syarra says. "And if it leaks… we would live. I would not recommend drinking it. Well, we wouldn't live… manner of speaking."
Theris nods and continues on.
"Hey, if alcohol doesn't fucking do it anymore, and you still want that fucking terrible whiskey burn…" Roper lets that suggestion trail off as the gate slams down in front and behind them. Roper growls at the gate, kicking it repeatedly.
The gate reopens.
Roper seems mildly surprised that kicking the gate worked.
"Dame Clay asked us to find the holy water, and to clear out the undead in here. Simple mission,” Syarra says.
"I do appreciate the way paladins do simple," Roper says.
"Maybe we can get something more interesting next time."
Roper snorts. "Yeah, Clay, fighting an undead cursed city? Come on. A challenge at least."
"More party supplies," Theris says, picking up a crate.
"Music? Table settings?" Roper drawls, holding open the bag.
Theris pulls open the lid to check. "Holy water. Cheese in this one." He secures the lid and puts it in the bag.
"Something more suited to our skill set, then?" Syarra sighs. "Though I am a soldier, Theris. Have been, for decades."
Theris nods to Syarra.
Roper's brows go up, as he looks at the crate. Roper hesitates, then says in a husky voice, "I was a soldier. For a bit."
"For a part?" Syarra asks.
Roper's jaw works back and forth. "Yeah. Last year I was alive. I was a soldier, undercover."
Theris keeps his mouth shut. He's probably listening, though.
"Ah," Syarra says, as if this makes sense.
Attack of the postmen. They’re surprisingly hardy.
"Seriously, what the fuck is with this place and the mail? You'd think we're violating their fucking graves." Roper glares at the mailbox.
"Some people take it very seriously…" Syarra says.
Roper mutters under his breath about mail scammers.
"Ah, here's more." Syarra lifts the crate to add to the netherweave bag.
Roper holds open the bag, looking around.
Syarra slides the crate in.
Theris looks warily up at the gate.
The gate remains up.
"Not a trap this time,” Syarra says.
Roper watches it behind them.
"I don't think I appreciated how little you know about us, Theris," Syarra says, kicking one of the ghouls' bodies to the side.
"As individuals, or as Death Knights?" Theris asks mildly.
Roper makes a sound like a laugh. "Yeah."
"Either," Syarra answers. "I see you didn't have much of a choice, regarding trust, when you came to Acherus."
Theris nods. "I did not. Ah…"
"Okay though, because I'm fucking curious." Roper adjusts his grips on his swords. "Why fucking fish." It doesn't sound like a question, but it probably is.
"It seemed like they would be easy to get on a regular basis, as far as live animals."
Roper does not look less annoyed at that answer. "You actually thought that fish would suffer enough to feed the fucking Hunger?"
"Yes," Theris says mildly. "Clearly I was wrong."
"Clearly," Roper drawls, in a mimicry of Theris' accent.
More gates are in their way.
Roper kicks the gates, repeatedly.
It seems to work. Maybe the Death Knight is just annoyed enough.
"You had not… hurt anyone, before you went home?" Syarra asks.
"During the battle, I did."
"In battle, then. Not for the hunger."
Theris thinks about it. "There was one. In training. A fellow initiate."
"So then you should have fucking knew the difference," Roper says, shaking his head, as he glares at the Scourge. "Fucking fish."
"Well, now you know," Syarra says, scanning the city street. "But I realize you must have thought of my people as the enemy, before."
Theris tilts his head. "And allies before that."
"Hey, last I knew, we were buddies," Roper says.
"Politics," Syarra says, spreading one hand.
"Then you have no difficulty with the idea of working together now?"
"Are you asking me? I do not." Theris shrugs.
"We're all fucking Ebon Blade now. Horde and Alliance means fucking nothing," Roper says, his voice clear and hard.
"I wanted to make sure it would not cause problems, later on,” Syarra says.
Roper smiles. "Hey." Roper jerks his head at the necromancers. "Living."
Syarra brightens.
"I understand. I will not cause problems." Theris blinks at the necromancers.
Roper sighs. "Where do they keep fucking getting these suckers? It's worse than fucking Kaldorei prince scams." Roper doesn't seem torn up about the poor necromancers falling into the Cult.
Theris shrugs and pulls one of them to him with unholy energy, just like the rest of the undead.
"We don't really have time…" There's something a little too eager in Syarra's expression. "I think we just have to kill them."
Roper grins, a lopsided one. "Mm. Still good."
Theris' mouth twitches.
Syarra nods, a faint smile on her face.
Theris looks around, blinking.
"Syarra." Roper nods at the box, holding out his bag.
Syarra checks the contents, and then slides it in.
Theris waits, hand outstretched, ready to pull an undead nerubian.
"Music? Or just more fucking – "
"Cheese, juice…" Syarra says. "Picnics must have been popular here, before. Picnics that were prone to attack by the undead."
"Hey," Roper drawls. "It's still a place for a picnic."
Theris blinks rapidly, looking down at the corpses of the necromancers. He looks around, possibly more alert than before.
Roper gestures to the living necromancers. "Picnic."
Syarra pushes one of the necromancers off her blade. "Not a bad picnic spot, indeed."
Roper gives Syarra a lopsided grin. "See. We go to all the best places."
Theris' mouth twitches.
A thick coat of frost covers Roper.
"These, they do suffer. More than fish,” Syarra says.
"They do," Theris agrees. His voice sounds a little less mild, a little more pleased, but it isn't much of a difference.
Roper tilts his head as he approaches the awning of the ziggurat. "Chanting. Cultists."
There are, indeed, cultists in the ziggurat.
"Hey," Roper says to the cultists.
"Bye," Syarra says to the cultists, with a dry chuckle.
“An Ash'ari Crystal has fallen! Stay true to the Lich King, my brethren, and attempt to resummon it,” the last of the living Thuzadin Acolyte yells.
Roper scowls at the yelling acolyte. "The fuck does he find these fucking people," Roper mutters.
Theris shrugs.
"Wherever there are people, there are people to fool…" Syarra says.
"If I find out there's been mail order cultists this whole time, and I just haven't found them, I'm gonna be real fucking pissed," Roper drawls.
"Oh, hey," Roper crouches by the ground. "Pawn shop." Roper looks at the blacksmithing plans.
He’s temporarily interrupted by an undead. Very temporarily.
Roper frowns at the Baroness. "She looks familiar to you?"
Theris peers at her from underneath his hood, blinking. "No."
Syarra shrugs. "Banshee. I saw plenty of those in life. Did you know her, do you think?"
Roper moves his tongue over his teeth. "I don't know. She feels real fucking familiar. Which means I either really didn't fucking like her, or I had to know her face for….some reason."
Theris tilts his head a little.
"Are you sure you don't recognize her, Syarra?" Roper asks.
Theris reaches out a hand rippling with unholy energy, ready to pull her over.
Syarra peers at her. "The way she is now, it is hard to say. I did not make a deep study of the aristocracy. Possibly someone who fell with the city?"
Roper scoffs. "That would probably be why I don't like her," Roper drawls.
Theris shrugs and yanks his fist back.
The Baroness Anastari takes over Syarra mid-fight.
"The fuck?!” Roper yells it.
The Baroness is cordially invited to please, get the fuck out of Syarra. And then she is crushed.
Syarra staggers back from the baroness.
"Hey," Roper moves to Syarra, staring hard at her. "You okay?"
"Syarra?" Theris sounds faintly concerned.
"It's her,” Roper says, and there’s relief in his voice.
"I…" Syarra swallows. "Yes, I remember her now."
Roper inhales and exhales a harsh breath. "The fuck."
"Possession?" Theris shakes his head. "Are you feeling alright?"
Roper kicks the scattered remains.
Syarra's hand is shaking. She tightens it on the grip of her sword. "That shouldn't have been so easy. I'm sorry."
"I didn't fucking see it until it was too late," Roper grits his teeth, kicking more bones. "Fucking banshees."
"No permanent harm done," Theris says, his mouth twitching a little.
Roper shakes his head. "Wasn't your fault. Who was she?"
"She was… not well-loved, in life. A noblewoman. Selfish, cruel, the usual,” Syarra says.
"Oh," Roper drawls. "You could have just stopped at 'noblewoman.'" He's run out of things to kick, so he moves back to the others. "Well, she's fucking gone. For now."
"Unless she can be brought back again. Banshees are hard to kill. In my mind," Syarra mutters, scuffing a boot over where the banshee's corpse dematerialized.
Theris gestures to the ziggurat. "If you're hungry after that, Syarra, there may be more living cultists inside."
Roper steps a little closer to Syarra, and his hand goes out, before he drops it down. "Yeah."
Syarra nods. "Let's."
They mow down the cultists.
Thuzadin Acolyte yells, as he dies, “One of the Ash'ari Crystals has been destroyed! Slay the intruders!”
"Better?" Roper asks, as they get back into the streets.
Syarra takes a breath and lets it out slowly. "Yes, much. If they bring her back, we just kill to kill her again someday." She shifts over closer to Roper.
"Good," Theris says, and continues on.
"Damn fucking right," Roper agrees, sparing a glance back at the remains.
"Speaking of nobles…" Syarra says, pausing to swing at a ghoul.
Roper raises his brows.
Theris glances at her, blinking.
"I think I may have made a connection," Syarra says, lowering her sword. "In Silvermoon."
Roper grins. "Oh yeah?"
"Nothing for you two to worry about yet, I think," Syarra pauses, moving on to the next banshee.
Roper makes a sound like a laugh. "That sounds almost ominous. Do I get to worry about this noble…later?" Roper drawls. "I gotta know when to pick up the party supplies."
Syarra's lips twitch slightly. "If you insist. I only meant, let's see if I can give her what she wants."
"You think you know what she wants, though?" Roper asks.
"She wants me to track someone down and kill them," Syarra says, with a slight smile. "So yes, I think I do."
Theris keeps quiet.
Roper laughs. "Awww, she sounds nice."
Theris kicks his way out of a block of ice.
The cold never bothered Roper anyway.
Thuzadin Acolyte yells just before the Death Knights kill her, “The Ash'ari Crystals have been destroyed! The Slaughterhouse is vulnerable!”
"The Slaughterhouse? Hey," Roper drawls. "Who wants to find out what the 'Slaughterhouse' is?"
Theris shrugs.
"Now that sounds like a perfect picnic spot." Syarra says, expression deadpan.
Roper laughs, grinning at Syarra, something cold in his eyes.
"I'll take a tour," Theris agrees.
Roper nods at the box. Roper holds out the bag of holding imbued netherweave. If it's getting any heavier with the crates, there's no way to tell from the bag or the way he's holding it.
"Theris, I do not really have any contacts in human nobility," Syarra turns to him after sliding the next crate in. "I likely knew some in the Second War, but I was a soldier not a politician."
Theris nods. If there's an implied question in there, Theris doesn't respond to it.
"How well do you know the Aspenwoods?" Roper asks Theris, his voice colder.
"I know of them. Personally, I do not know them at all."
Roper taps his left hand against his sword.
"This one's intact," Theris says, picking up another crate. He stacks it on the others.
Roper holds open the bag. The crates are starting to stack up in there.
"This is going to be the most bizarre return, when the undead come back to Light's Hope carrying endless crates of holy water,” Syarra says.
Another gate slams down behind them.
Roper turns around again as the gate slams down. "Fucking…This whole fucking place," Roper mutters. Roper stares at the Bayberry Inn for a long moment. "Why do I know all the fucking inns," Roper mutters.
"It doesn't matter. We can't be trapped anymore." Syarra says, moving past Roper.
"I'm just not keen on any city that's fucking sentient, or someone is fucking watching us knowing when to slam those down," Roper says, almost absently, as he stares at the inn. "Something is making those slam down behind us."
Theris doesn't comment. He's cutting down stitched-together monstrosities with focus.
"It doesn't need to be intelligence," Syarra says, glancing back at the gate. "The brooms in Silvermoon don't run people over, but they don't have minds."
"Exactly. I don't fucking like those brooms either," Roper drawls.
Syarra gives a brief exhale of a laugh. "It's a power thing. To be able to ignore the service being done for you. Could be the same principle here."
"Incoming." Theris moves to intercept.
"Fuck." Roper purges the area of heat, and slams a howling wind into the mob of undead. "Fucking cannon fodder. Where's the real fuckers," Roper grits out, glaring at the building.
Theris moves closer, sword at the ready.
“Who dares disturb our master?” A guard of huge skeletons charge the Death Knights. That was probably a mistake for them.
“Time to take matters into my own hands. Come. Enter my domain and challenge the might of the Scourge!” The Master yells.
"Nothing left but the fucking master," Roper says.
The Master goes down quickly, leaving an undead horse behind on the ground, the ghostly remnants still wisps of energy on it.
Theris looks thoughtfully down at the skeletal horse.
Roper follows Theris' line of sight, and then frowns. "I know the saying is don't beat a dead horse, but. Hey. You think you can make this one get up again?" Roper asks Theris.
"I'm not sure if you can still get a death charger," Syarra says, following Theris's gaze. "But maybe you can take someone else's…"
Theris thinks about it. He grabs the skeletal jaw of the horse and wrenches it upwards.
Roper sheathes his blades.
Theris holds the skull in one hand. Blue flares in his eyes, then in the eye sockets of the skeletal horse. "You're mine now," Theris says in a low growl, reaching into a bag for a pinch of corpse dust.
Roper crosses his arms, watching Theris with a cold, calculating expression.
"You will obey my commands," Theris tells the horse, casting the corpse dust onto it with a flick of his wrist. There's a creaking of bones as the undead horse gets to its feet.
There's a sound from a cage in a corner that sounds like a whimper. A very frightened whimper that doesn't belong.
Roper's head swivels to the sound, runeblades back out instantly.
Syarra turns to the cage eagerly.
Theris breaks from his staring contest with the horse. "Go," he tells it. "Wait for me outside the building." The horse trots off obediently.
"Please." The voice sounds like it belongs to a young man, barely out of adulthood. "A-are you…"
"Who are you?" Theris steps forward.
The young man is huddled into a corner. He's filthy, but the Argent Dawn tabard can still be made out under the caked dirt.
"Fuck," Roper mutters, sheating the swords. "Argent."
"C-conrad. Conrad Thornton. Please," the young man stumbles up to a stand.
When she sees the human man and his tabard, Syarra drops her expression entirely, face going blank. Syarra sheathes her runeblade and kneels a few feet away from the man. "We're here to… help."
Theris' mouth twitches. "You're going to be alright," he says, his voice oddly gentle. "Stand back from the lock," Theris warns him, drawing his runeblade. Is there a key somewhere? Maybe. Is Theris looking for it? No.
Roper examines the lock on the cage. "Ugh," he says, as he removes his gauntlets. "Barely even worth the fucking…give me a second."
Theris steps back. "Go ahead," he says, and lets Roper handle it.
Syarra rises as the young man does, watching him intently.
Roper's hands are barely out long enough to be visible in the dark light. "Hey, Conrad. When this comes off," Roper says, and it's clear from how fast he's working that it isn't going to be long. "You don't fucking run. We're here on behalf of the Argent Crusade."
Pushing his hood back, Theris says to Conrad, "My name is Theris. We're with the Knights of the Ebon Blade. We'll see that you make it back to Light's Hope."
The lock opens, and Roper throws it to the side before he yanks his gauntlets back on. "Fucking pathetic," he says, to the lock apparently.
Syarra holds out a hand for the young man to take. Hopefully, he'll avoid the spikes.
Conrad, for his part, seems to be looking between the three Death Knights with a terrified expression, settling finally on Theris.
"Can you walk?" Theris asks. "How long were you in there?"
"I…" Conrad shakes his head. "I don't know. I'm thirsty. Do you have…anything?" He looks at Syarra's hand, and hesitates before he takes it to get out of the cage.
Syarra moves with him, very carefully. She isn't breathing.
Roper scoffs and opens up the Imbued Netherweave bag. "I've got fucking picnic supplies," he drawls. Roper holds open the bag. "Someone get the fucking juice."
Conrad seems oddly intact, if filthy, and most of the pain coming off him seems to be hunger pains. Relatable.
Theris moves obediently to open the topmost crate. "Is this still good? There's cheese in here as well."
Conrad looks almost faint with relief. "I-I'll take it. If we're going to the Chapel…" He looks at Syarra, then back to Theris. "Please. I just….I need to get out of here."
Theris removes his gauntlets before handling any of the food. It's been a messy fight.
Roper closes the bag, and tugs up his hood. It's too late to not be perceived, but here he is.
Theris passes him a cheese wheel and a bottle of some kind of juice that might have expired a long time ago.
Conrad chugs the juice, then spits some of it out. "Darnation," he sputters. He grimaces and drinks some more of it. "It's-it's okay. There are priests at the chapel," he says, possibly to himself.
Roper dodges the spray. It was probably an accident it was aimed in his direction. "Darnation," Roper drawls back.
Theris gestures towards the exit. "This way," he says calmly, and puts his gauntlets back on as he walks for the door.
Conrad starts following Theris immediately. Safe person?
Roper falls behind, watching.
The skeletal horse waits outside.
Syarra follows, still unusually expressionless.
"Can you ride, Conrad?" Theris asks, gesturing to the horse.
Roper frowns, looking ahead. "Gate's open."
"Doesn't mean it knows," Syarra mutters.
Conrad nods. "Yes. I…I help with the horses," he says, staring at the undead charger. "This is fine."
Theris' mouth twitches. "It will behave," he says with confidence. The skeletal horse is holding quite still.
Conrad seems more comfortable with the undead horse than he did with the Death Knights, climbing aboard with clear relief to not be walking.
Theris takes the horse's reins and begins leading it towards the exit.
"There's gonna be a smaller gate on the side of the city. We might be able to lift that one open," Roper says, with confidence.
Theris nods, walking with purpose.
Back at Light's Hope Chapel
One of the stablehands watches the three Death Knights approach. Holy shit. It's that guy again. It's the guy whose horse gets eaten by the ground.
This time he's got yet another person with him, too. Maybe this guy just gets lucky with people who need saving in the Plaguelands. Maybe it's Maybelline.
"Conrad?!" Edwin yells, rushing towards the trio and their rescued prisoner.
Roper does not help his reputation by once again having the shadows eat his Deathcharger as he gets closer. There's a horrible, pained scream as the horse is dragged back under.
Edwin stumbles a little. "Whoa."
Syarra's horse disappears into a twist of shadow, like a normal undead horse.
"Edwin?!" Conrad attempts to scramble off the dead horse. He's only partially successful. He gets caught on a bone, and tumbles to the ground, landing hard enough to bruise his arm and scrape his hands where he tries to catch himself.
Theris dismounts after Conrad. "He needs water," he says, keeping a hand on the back of the skeletal horse.
Roper inhales deeply, his expression hidden in the shadows of his hood.
Syarra drags her eyes away from Conrad to Edwin with some effort.
Edwin offers Conrad a hand up. "Hey. Hey! Dame Briellen!" he calls towards one of the tents.
Conrad scrambles back up to his feet, ignoring the scrapes as he holds on to Edwin. Actual Safety Person.
Roper looks away from Conrad, focusing on something on the ground.
"We found him in Stratholme," Syarra says, and something in her voice sounds like an apology.
Briellen rushes out of the tent. "Edwin, what is it? Conrad?" She looks between him and the three Death Knights.
"If you teach them to pick the fucking easiest lock to fucking pick, he wouldn't have been in there," Roper mutters, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Dame Clay!" Conrad is almost sobbing with relief. His hands are bleeding a little.
"We didn't hurt him," Syarra says, looking to Dame Clay. "He might be poisoned, though. Also not our fault."
Briellen's hand glows with Light as she raises it, healing the more visible of Conrad's wounds. "You're going to be fine," she says firmly. "Go have a seat." At Syarra's addition, she passes a quick Cleanse over Conrad as well.
Roper unhooks the Imbued Netherweave bag. "We brought the crates of stuff. Some of them had juice. We didn't have any fucking water, so." Roper shrugs as he holds the bag open for someone to take the crates out of it.
Edwin follows Conrad into the healer's tent, chatting animatedly to his friend.
Conrad sags with relief, walking with Edwin to the tent. He already looks markedly better.
"You were successful, then?" Briellen looks at her potential patient. "Get him water," she calls towards the tent, and approaches the Death Knights.
Theris obediently begins unloading the crates.
There are so many crates coming out of this bag. It's getting comical.
"Yes," Syarra confirms. "Everything went well. No problems to report."
"And one fucking bonus lost lamb," Roper drawls. "You didn't know he was in there?"
"Glad to hear it. Well done. Thank you for finding Conrad." Briellen shakes her head. "No, we didn't know where he was, or I certainly would have mentioned it."
Theris finishes stacking crates into a neat crate pyramid.
Roper's expression is unreadable in the shadows. He secures the bag again when the last of the crates are in it.
"Better than success, then," Syarra says, and forces a smile.
"Yes," Briellen agrees. "I'll have someone unpack these. Thank you, Syarra. Roper." She pauses, looking at Theris.
Theris blinks back at her.
After a short pause, Briellen says, "I'm Dame Briellen Clay. May I ask your name?"
Theris blinks and gives her a formal bow of exacting politeness. "Theris Lysander."
"Please let us know, Dame Clay, when you could next use our assistance," Syarra says carefully.
"A pleasure to meet you," Briellen says politely to Theris, and nods to Syarra. "With something specific, you mean, beyond routine patrols?"
Syarra nods. "Specific is always better, though we are… happy… to help. In general."
Roper spreads his arms in a show of helpfulness. "I'll keep bringing in the lost fucking lambs, but if you know what you'd need almost a small army to take down….there are three of us."
"Three of you. Of course." Briellen nods. "If you'll excuse me, I must see to Conrad. Miranda! Please see to the crates."
Roper reaches out and twists the deep shadows.
Syarra steps through immediately.
Theris takes his horse's reins and leads it through the death gate.
Roper goes in last, the gate turning to a wisp behind him.