![](http://cobalt-company.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/writing:2022-12-01-a-meeting-of-blue-frost-flame-orbs/style="margin:/medium.jpg) |
| Details |
| Author: | Athena |
| Summary: | Kiekel Niftywire returns from Outland with a new specimen for the growing ghoul army of the Ebon Blade in preparation for Northrend, and Roper makes his pitch for the other growing army within the Ebon Blade. 1700-ish words. |
| Rating: | M for Mature 17+ |
Arc: Death Knight PR
Acherus is comforting in its own way — the comfort of stability in an unchanging, undead sort of way. The ghouls are hard at work managing the general nonsense of the Knights of the Ebon Blade, picking up discarded, inert weapons that were once Runeblades, now cast aside for a newer, shinier, better Runeblade. The abominations are making their rounds of food and drink that the undead don't actually need, even if it's unclear why the abominations even want to exchange these goods for money to presumably spend on something else (it is not fashion, clearly). Everything is as it usually is, this time of day, even if the exact details are not exactly the same.
And there is a particular Death Knight, lurking in the shadows, his arms crossed over his chest, his left hand tapping a rapid beat, watching and waiting for his prey target potential new companion.
This is where the Death Knight gnome has been coming, to "play" with the ghouls to be raised for amusement and the strange productivity of Acherus that runs on ghoul labor. It's fine, they're dead. Well. Extra dead. Don't worry about it.
The gnome in question appears in Acherus through a conjured door, accompanied by his own ghoul companion. It struggles to keep balance as it holds the heavy body of a Fel orc. Together they make their way toward the ghoul raising corner of the fortress. Kiekel’s stare is almost completely blank, if not for the way his mouth curves into a slight smirk, as his thirst has been quenched. For now.
The gnome walks with a purpose as he puts the engineering goggles that were on his forehead back on his eyes, their blue smoke coming out of the side of the goggles. He shakes his head, pulls out a comb safely tucked into his belt and makes sure they haven't ruined his perfectly coiffed bright pink hair.
Now at the raising-the-dead playground, Kiekel commands his ghoul to drop the body. He pulls on his gloves and gets ready to raise a new servant for Acherus.
Fucking finally. The words are almost visible above Roper's head as he uncrosses his arms and moves forward, his hood pulled over his face leaving it in dark shadows that obscure his features. He moves with purpose until he's close enough to drawl at Kiekel, "Oh good, the ghoul population was just dipping under 'swarm' into 'crowd,' and we can't have that. What would we do if the moaning fucking dropped by a few decibels?"
Kiekel turns around as he hears Roper's voice. "Hey, I'm sorry, I thought we were raising an army to help us, around here," he says looking up (way up) at the human standing close to him. He smiles in a friendly manner. "It's called recycling, I know humans have a hard time understanding that concept. Can't let a perfectly strong body like this one go to waste." His smile fades and he turns back to the body. "Now move, I don't have time for this."
Roper steps around to the other side, his hands up in a classic gesture of surrender. "Hey, I'm not complaining. If I came back and the moaning wasn't at normal levels, how would I know I was back in Acherus?" Roper drawls.
"With your blue, frost flame orb eyes?" Kiekel says, a green glow appearing around his hands as he begins tracing runes in the air.
Roper studies the body. "Fel orc from Hellfire Peninsula. One of the fucked up blood ones?" His voice has a faint husky rasp to it.
"Yup. They can be a little unstable." Kiekel up-nods some of the dead ghouls laying around. "That's what the goggles are for."
"Somehow I think my blue, frost flame orbs will be okay," Roper deep drawls. "So, you've been in Outland for awhile, then? Not a lot of Scourge there, at least not directly. The Legion on the other hand, the fucking hand behind it…it's not a bad idea, to go to some of the source. Or did you just get bored?"
The green glow disappears from Kiekel's hands, struggling to keep concentrating on his ritual. Instead, he runs his gloved fingers through his long, puffy beard. "That's not really about being bored, no. I keep getting recognized in Azeroth, it's annoying. I'm trying to start a new unlife, here," he raises his goggles off his face and winks at Roper, a smile on his face.
Roper's expression is difficult to read even from the angle with the much shorter gnome, as the former spy stands carefully just out of easy sight, but there's an amused snort and a tilt of his head. "If only there was something you could do to avoid having people fucking recognize you. Something that obscured your face, for example," the Death Knight says from beneath a hood that obscures his face. "But, is it anonymity you're looking for, or do you just want to move on from your past?"
"Shit, who raised you?" Kiekel says, frowning at that last question. "Was it the Lich King or the Ebon Blade who thought we needed a therapist with a sword?" He sighs. "And no hood for me, thank you, I need to let my scalp breathe. I can't risk losing that pink shade or I'll really look undead."
The sense of amusement drops from the other Death Knight, the air around them dropping a degree or two as he raises his head slightly to look at Kiekel. There's an almost cruel twist of a smile visible in the gloom. "No. It's because if you're not trying to do some bullshit like 'go home,' and you're ready to commit to what the Ebon Blade is and could be, then you're useful to those of us who are building what that fucking is." A dangerous look in his eyes, his body language relaxed and loose. "But if you've been trying to remain fucking anonymous or avoid being recognized — then given how easily I was able to track you from the fucking Hellfire Peninsula to here, following exactly what you've been up to and who you fucking are Kiekel Niftywire, then you're fucking incompetent and that makes you useless. Which is why I ask," Roper says, in a hard, midnight voice without even a touch of drawl to it. "Because I'm not here to talk about your fucking feelings. I want to know what I'm dealing with for our team."
Kiekel raises his eyebrows. They go higher and higher the longer Roper talks, and by the end they're about to fly off his face. Thankfully, they were reset to an angry frown at the mention of his real name before they started moving up again. He answers blandly, only picking what interests him in the information. "Wait a second. Our team? What team? What are you even building, as you said?"
Roper gestures with a hand to the general direction of the Plaguelands. "We're building the fucking Ebon Blade. Not just as a concept, but a reality. Right now, we're in a literal fucking grace period with that paladin standing between us and the rest of the world that wants to see a fucking Scourge monstrosity. Varian in the Alliance and Thrall in the Horde have both put in their fucking chips on that bet, but if you've been out there you know exactly how little that fucking matters. Our reputation is shit, and if we don't start working on it, there's no reason why they won't eventually realize the living outnumber us thousands to one and come to destroy us before we've had a chance to prove that they want these monsters around because we're the best fucking monsters to fight the Scourge. So."
Roper tilts his head up slightly more, his expression visible under the hood, an intense look in his eyes. "Syarra Sunstrike is leading those of us who know fucking better what we need to do. I heard about you in Hellfire. You've been leaving a trail and so far, it's been positive enough, even if you weren't thinking long term. We want to bring you in, where we can work for the same fucking goal without stepping on each other's fucking undead toes."
"Hm," Kiekel says, placing his fists on his waist. "I do like the idea of not having the Horde and Alliance turn their backs on us. Being half-dead is better than just being plain dead, at least for now." The gnome looks up as if in thought, then he nods. "I'm in." He turns around, ready to go back to his ritual. He did the accepting. He is in.
"Then Syarra will be in contact with you," Roper says, the husky note of his voice just barely a hint. He tugs his hood down lower as he tilts his head down once more. "Oh, and Kiekel?"
"Yes, um…" Kiekel turns back to look at Roper, shaking his head. "I don't actually know your name? I know your leader's name, but not yours. Maybe I should have started with that before joining your team."
"Roper."
Kiekel nods. "Okay, thanks." He goes back to his ritual-ready position as if the last few sentences hadn't happened. He slowly turns around, a grave look on his face, and answers as if the human had just uttered the gnome's name in an interrogative tone. "Yes, Roper?"
There's a sense of amusement in the posture of the other Death Knight. "How good of a tailor are you still?" Roper asks as he makes a vague gesture with his right hand. "Are you good enough to fix the fit of some clothes, re-dye some, that sort of thing."
"I hung up the sewing needles and scissors when I died," Kiekel says, sighing. "So no 'fixing the fit', sorry. I can mend a thing or two, but you'll have to find another undead tailor for our team, I'm afraid."
Roper nods. "If you change your mind about what skills you've left behind, let me know. You never know who might come in with shit that just doesn't go with our new blue, frost flame orbs, and we may be monsters but that doesn't mean we're going to be committing fashion crimes. We have a reputation to think about," Roper drawls as he starts walking away, without any parting pleasantries.
Kiekel looks down at his own outfit. Is he committing fashion crimes right now? It's not as elaborate as the high-fashion outfits he used to make which included moving gears, and intricate engineering, but it's not supposed to be. It's a black and blue armor. It's a killing orcs with a sword kind of outfit. "I'll think about it," he says watching Roper leaves, not bothering with saying goodbye either.
He'll think about it negatively, but he'll think about it. He turns back around to the Fel orc, and notices him twitching slightly.
Apparently, Kiekel didn't handle him properly earlier.
The gnome approaches him and raises his runeblade.