(2023-01-30) There but for the Bloody Grace

Details

Author:	Vond
Summary:	Ben encounters Etone and Vond, who are following up around Valgarde about a certain tiny mishap, just a little oopsie-doodle. The two Argents promise to keep contact open with Cobalt Company as the Crusade presses inland, and Ben is left to speculate on what the what might be in store for him.
Rating:	M for Mature 17+

VALGARDE. The unpleasant clamor of vrykul and slavering wargs throwing themselves at the Alliance foothold’s make-do fortifications has subsided, presently, as the holding defenses and Cobalt’s forays into Wyrmskull and below have given Ymiron’s faithful cause to largely fall back to reinforce their lower catacombs and keep.

Two figures in fresh grey tabards of the new Argent Crusade emblem are coursing the main path of the premises as if looking for something. One is an annoyed-looking, smallish fellow with striking robes and tied red hair. The other is well-armored in serviceable grey plate, with glasses, a libram, and a wide-eyed harried look. An observant eye might note that neither of them were present with Irulon Trueblade’s crew, who seem to have moved on.

"Absolutely unacceptable. I can not, for the absolute life of me, understand why anyone would have thought this was a brilliant idea - I certainly argued against it." He gestures in utter displeasure flicked wrists, caged hands, "Multiple fucking times! But no, fuck me right?!"

(One might imagine the initial breaking of news caused a flock of nesting birds to take flight from the 'The fucking what is where?!?' that near deafened the carrier of said news.)

Full on annoyance and obscenities, the priest complains further in a mocking tone, "Leave the damned thing at the Sunwell they said. Paah! Nuts to that, the Killer Queen would have been perfectly suited for this!"

It's hard to say if he's more annoyed about his new toy having to be left behind or their current predicament.

Vond makes some valiant effort to placate the intemperate priest as they walk, palms out and pressing toward the ground in the universal plea for volume control. It is of questionable effectiveness: Etone has had a lot of practice in projecting that voice.

“Useful for asking around? You know there wasn’t enough room on the vessel, or fuel for a long land march. We can see about getting transport for the whole blasted construct once we get some mages to scope out the right location. How’s progress with Dalaran, anyway?” The two chatter while coming to a point where a turn must be chosen, with Vond attempting to at least distract Etone from ranting.

A tall, unshaven-looking fellow in work boots and rough canvas trousers, wearing a knit watch cap and a sheepskin jacket with the collar turned up, is standing in the narrow channel of sunlight currently run between the twin shadows of the inn and the rearing cliffs. He's got a rangy palomino gelding on a loose lead. The horse noses irritably at the scant, well-trampled grass; the man stands with his free hand in his jacket pocket and watches a pair of nearby wild turkeys speculatively.

He's wearing no particular emblem or sigil, neither armor nor weapon, and nothing about him declares paladin. (If anything about him suggested lord, one might assume it was being sarcastic.)

When the two Argents turn the corner of the path on their way around the inn and Vond catches sight of the tall fellow taking a breather, he briefly freezes and has a double-take. “Hoy, issat?” He nudges Etone perhaps a bit too sharply, seemingly having caught something to his interest.

The redhead knits his brow as he's jostled by the blond, "Nnnf- what?" he offers in an annoyed nasally huff before catching eyes on the man ahead taking his horse for a walk. There is a brief spark of recognition, but the who and why seem to be escaping him for the moment, something else clearly has the bulk of his mental focus as he vaguely swats back at Vond.

He holds a hand up in both greeting and intent, "Light's blessings." He offers in a loud, clear, voice, there was no doubt that the priest would throw down holy fire right there and then should the response be anything hostile - but that's exactly why they were here in the first place.

“Ease up, Confessor,” Vond quickly adds, seemingly with some kind of effort to put the priest less on the same level of readiness with which he might face down a bone construct, when all that is before them is apparently just some guy and his horse. He then quickly hedges on his tone, “Mn, what I mean to say’s I know this one. Cobalt ring familiar? They were out for the Sunwell, blue’n silvers.”

Aha, was that the connection?
"Cobalt Company - like the playhouse yea?" His mind still quite preoccupied with other business, Etone lowers guard enough to follow Vond's lead on this - for now.

Vond very momentarily squints sidelong at Etone, as if he wasn’t quite following his question, then shifts his focus toward Ben when they reach a reasonably conversational range. “Hazan!” There’s a bright sportive stress on it, the cheer of a pleasant surprise in swamped circumstances. “Of all the faces–oh!”

He raises his hand in pause before he can get a reply, and gives a short, over-pantomimed jog a couple paces right then left in his armor, while throwing Ben a pointed look. How’s that? Eh? Eeeh? Just in time to run out into any number of potential quagmires.

Ben glances up sharply, brows raised, as he’s hailed. His expression lights with a grin and he takes a step in that direction and starts to call back, but catches whatever he’d been about to say when he sees Vond’s companion is talking. He waits, politely, his expression bright and keen with interest.

Etone gawks at Vond’s display, “What are you doing?” he asks dully. Finally a look of recognition as he gets a better look at the person they were approaching. “Oh -! It’s the cutie from the playhouse -” Here Vond makes a fairly peculiar face at the term while Etone tries to clarify. “In Ironforge - d’you know each other then? Fan of the theater?”

Etone hums before offering an exasperated sigh, “I didn’t catch too many names to faces during that - too much going on - regardless -” He makes a stupid face as he sways back and forth mimicking the paladin, “Did you doubt my skills enough to complain about it? Hmm?” It’s difficult to tell on the surface, but he’s quite proud of himself for the work that went into the other’s recovery. “Of course you’re full range again - stop showing off.”

He says that, but there’s the faintest of curls on the corners of his lips as he watches the continued spectacle.

Vond deflates a little, comes to a stop, and makes a quizzical face as he appears to somewhat but not completely put together all of what Etone might be talking about. This looks to be some kind of pattern. “Theater? This is Brother Ben Hazan, surely you don’t know each other or you’d be aware he’s in growin’. You know, nice farm near Southshore. And a wife.”

Vond gives Etone a meaningful stare, then looks a little distant.

Etone huffs loudly and shakes a finger at Vond, “Yes, yes, I would watch the stories his Pa was in when I were a young thing. One of the highlights of an otherwise dull experience. Theater Vond - with /actors/ and costumes ‘n shaite. Sometimes they sing out a story - usually some kind of bad romance.” He gestures toward Ben as if somehow he might back the priest up here.

“Why’s his -” the redhead points to Ben, again “- wife got any stake in ‘f his Pa were an actor in his younger days?” It’s entirely possible that Etone has no idea what Vond might be implying. “I got one ‘f my favorite bills signed by ‘im not that…” He pauses and makes a face, “some time ago. - It’s one of my treasures! I’m sure I could pull it out of storage for you-”

Vond sputters a bit. “You walked up to th’man and called ‘im a cutie, and I am trying to head off you getting decked. Not that Brother Ben is the type, but just in general. You ever make some connection between your approach and how often you’ve hadda reset a tooth?” Vond is not seeing any irony in his accusation, a bit keyed up and animated. Perhaps energized by getting his mobility back, or just the flurry of activity and newness after being cooped up on a long voyage.

He blinks after a quick pause. “Are you talking about Sir Ference? Wait. No. Focus. We are here for a reason, and I am not showin’ off nothing other than being fit for purpose, given as I have been observed by present comp’ny in a sorry condition.”

Finding a brief moment to press a palm on Vond’s shoulder, Etone murmurs quietly, “You done fixed up handsomely, yes, yes.” The gesture rather gentle compared to the rest of his coarse mannerisms and speech. “So then, what’er we doing mmn?”

Ben has been attending to this entire exchange with the air of a man at a playhouse himself, watching perhaps a surrealist farce in a foreign language: presumably hilarious but also substantially inscrutable.

Even the horse has lifted his head to stare.

When the redhead seems to have paused — perhaps in expectation of an actual exchange, even — Ben clears his throat. “Satterly,” he says. “Brother Vond. You are lookin’ fit as hell, I’m glad to see. Glad to see you in general.” His manner is boyishly buoyant and warm.

He slides his gaze to Etone and sobers with such a quickness he might have slipped on a mask. He inclines his head respectfully, though his gaze is a dubious scrutiny. “And I do recollect you, sir, from that time in Ironforge. I believe also I saw you at Light’s Hope. And the Sunwell?” He pauses and looks between the pair. His ears are very pink. (But it’s cold out here, so who knows?)

”Hazan,” Vond repeats with a mildly apologetic tone as he shoos Etone’s hand and reorients. Ben has been waiting so patiently for the discussion–about him and various related tangents, no less–happening in speaking distance to actually address him. “Pray pardon, there’s a thousand things all at once happening and–

“Wait– There is…? There are?” Vond’s eyes take a faroff glaze for a scant moment as he is passingly discombobulated by grammar in a way no one would have otherwise noticed. This may count for a recreational reprieve from getting discombobulated by normal Argent things, but this is not a vacation. He taps the side of his head with the butt of his palm lightly, mutters aside, “Quit it,” presumably to himself, then carries on.

Ben watches this internal grammatical wrestling sympathetically. Who ain’t been there? Who has not?

“We are facing down a thousand concurrent concerns and chief among them for us is finding out a little more’ve what we can about a tiny bit of a mishap.” Vond squints and narrows his thumb and finger together in tandem, voice lowering with an accordion-wheeze of a pressed tenor. “A little oops of sorts. So while I would ample prefer a chummier catch up, we’re told your people– who I am pleased to have made the way safely– may have had a hand or witness in the incident of interest, and we’d have a word if you’re fair on it.

“This is the Confessor I mentioned, name of Etone Greennote, who’s bidden oft to inq–” Vond briefly frowns at something again with one finger raised, but shakes it off. “—to inquire in the event of something going, mn, a mite awry, on behalf of all’f us. Of the Crusade.” He mutters as a low aside, “Light but that sounds odd to say.”

Ben turns his attention back to Etone and offers a second respectful nod. He volunteers no information, mildly awaiting more specific inquiry.

Etone raises an eyebrow, opens his mouth to speak, but instantly thinks better of it - for once.
Eventually he clears his throat and moves right the hell along, “I’m one for speaking plainly: someone seriously done fucked up. I’m hoping to catch any remnants- but ‘f you’re all here then… Mmn, is there anything left?” Etone side eyes Vond with a look of disbelief, it wasn’t a secret by any stretch of the imagination, the half-elf had quite the curriculum vitae, and recent events at the Sunwell proved reason for his ego being so well stoked. Turning his attention back on Ben, the redhead continues, “Hmhm, what all d’you find down this dusty arsed well mmn?”
He KNOWS.

Ben looks at Vond as if waiting for his okay, but speaks all the same. “We found a dead — a dyin’, and then dead — Crusader, sir. And a certain… artifact of the Crusade we was– we were asked to recover, by a Lord Trueblade.” He pauses here a moment; there may be a comment on offer regarding Argent naming conventions, but he lets the moment pass. “We recovered it, and burned the body, as the place was full of ghouls an’ whatnot, and it did not seem priority to cart a corpse as well as the… artifact out’ve that place. Our priest did try raisin’ him again but it was no dice, so.”

“Perhaps I oughtta explain.” Vond glances around a bit tensely with his face frozen forward in exactly the sort of manner that someone who is overly suspicious of others might in turn make others suspicious of them. He angles his stance a bit, overtly shifting to provide more coverage of the path with his back turned toward the avenue of approach. This walkway is occupied.

Vond continues, “The story we’ve, mn, picked up is that Brother Ares took off on his own with the artifact into a necromancers’ den and got himself killed. We wanna get your appraisal, if that sounds right to you based on what you saw when you found ‘im.”

Ben looks around too, whether in genuine suspicion of his own or a sympathetic suspicion mirroring the other man’s. Are we being suspicious now? Yes, all right, let’s. He lowers his voice.

"I'm not as a habit inclined to blame a dead fellow — it does occur that a dead fellow's a pretty handy place to set any spare blame you got goin' around. But I will also say the story checks. We got told he hared off with… the artifact on his own and didn't come back. When we found him he was down in there — in the catacombs, that is to say — on his own, sayin' the… artifact got away from him down to the ghoul pit. Which is where we found it. How exactly it got away, he was not real specific.”

The pause is for conspicuous consideration.

Vond takes the opportunity to consider, blanching.

"He also was in no real shape to speak for himself, mind, and did not exactly have time to tell his side. And them back here at the fort seemed pretty embarrassed and not just pissed off. But I could also be lookin' at the thing too hard tryin' to see it from all sides. Sometimes one damn fool is just one damn fool."

Another pause, and then looks between them, ducks his chin a little, and drawls, "Beggin' your pardons," in a glint-eyed way that says he's doing no such thing but he's willing to trot out the Manners Show even for an audience that he doesn't expect to require it.

Vond winces a bit as he listens, then takes to pacing a step here and there, with a look caught somewhere between mournful and agitated. "No, don't worry on it. It's only… who wouldn't have been susceptible to some fool notion with that kind of thing in hand? Like there but for the bloody grace, right?"

He seems to both have sidestepped catching on to Manners and oddly sympathetic to the fate of Ares.

Ben studies him. After another spell of thought he nods, a little softer with sympathy. “I mean — maybe, I reckon. I carried the thing no more’n ten, fifteen minutes and I got pretty pleased with myself in the time anyway.” He waits a beat, perhaps to see if anyone caught that: He carried it. The pride may not quite have dissipated.

Etone tactically remains silent, though he definitely raises an eyebrow. Interesting.

The bespectacled paladin pauses his meandering, voice still low. “No, Ares is not to blame for this, after a point. There should have been more failsafes in place, and he should have been on a team or assigned a partner. I will save further speculation for the Confessor’s consideration.”

Etone seems indifferent in regards to the dead man’s fate. If anything he seems disinterested all together, his attention tied to polishing the lens of his monocle.

“Thank you, for relating your impression, Hazan,” Vond carries on despite Etone’s lack of attentiveness. “I’ve got a sneaking suspicion the Confessor’ll want us to see if we can make our way onsite for one last lookaround, at least ensure there aren’t significant traces of anything that would further compromise security.”

Vond leans in a bit more, deeply serious. “In that vein I know we would all appreciate continued caution and, uh, discretion around these events. This is… this is not how we do things, as a rule, and we cannot risk harming confidence this far into the downswing. Rest assured that we are continuing to pursue the matter, and will get to the bottom of what went wrong. Losing anyone at this juncture to carelessness is unconscionable.

Ben nods, his expression flat and serious. “You ai– do not have to worry on our account. We were asked to keep it tight and we don’t got to be asked again. Cobalt Company does its job an’ keeps its word.”

“For the rest of it, if your people can bear it after having to witness such a misstep, further cooperation with your company would be highly invited. I know I cannot be the only one to remember the presence at the chapel, and we also saw much of the contribution at the Sunwell. There is much to be gained toward our odds at the gates, and in turn we would keep the flow of knowledge open as we advance. I want us all to get safely in place for the real fight, and in turn any info coming the other way would be graciously received.”

The severity of his manner is undiminished, but Ben has begun unconsciously to straighten from the slight slouch with which confidences were imparted; his spine is now military-correct, and the faint sheen of pride he’d worn when he mentioned carrying the Ashbringer has rekindled to a glow: He is being asked to cooperate with the Argent Crusade.

Well, Cobalt Company is. Same diff.

Etone offers a low chuckle as Vond and Ben exchange valuable information. “So, to that end, I expect to see more of you-” he adds as if it were an afterthought, though it clearly wasn’t, “- and your company - in the near future.” He pauses briefly to readjust the monocle over his left eye and offer a pointed stare at the young Cobalt. “I’m glad to hear you didn’t touch the relic bare handed. Good of you to wrap the thing before taking it as far as you did. I’ll be sure to mention that in my report.”
Wait what?

Ben blinks, and his ears go pink. He glances down — just an eye-flick, no movement of his chin — in the direction of his hand. He flexes his fingers cautiously and looks back up again.

If either of the two paladins squint hard enough at the right angle, they might have sworn they saw a wisp of something shadowy at the priest’s feet. Probably nothing, move along. “WE have already lost one to damn foolishness, and misplaced ego. Why it wasn’t transported along with it’s caretaker - I’ll never know. I told ‘m - to his face - it was stupid - risky - and completely unnecessary. Annnnd here we are. One dead, Light knows how many influenced. What an utter shitshow, - damned old man should’ve been tied to the front of the Light forsaken boat that brought us here holding the fucking relic high as a guiding beacon into this frozen hellscape.”

Vond is now staring at Etone, openly agog. It’s the sort of silent gape that says something like, ‘How are you this appalling?’ with maybe a touch of ‘Am I going to get in as much trouble as you are?’ He does not actually say these things, because some people have compunctions, and possibly because there is not enough damage control in the world. It’s beginning to look conceivable that Etone could have done something at least in the vicinity of what he claimed.

Ben shifts his weight. He looks like he isn’t sure whether he’s expected to be impressed or cowed, so he’s just going to look vaguely uncomfortable.

The redhead has feelings on the matter and doesn’t seem too worried about how his manner of speech could be perceived - or if it would invite corrective discipline for openly talking shit about the Highlord. “Light preserve me.” he sighs in complete and utter annoyance with the entire situation. “I mean fuck! –” Sucking in a sharp breath and forcing a rather fake smile, the priest corrects course and continues, “That is to say: I need to inspect the site personally - assess what kind of damage control we’re looking at here - and mop up the mess - as always. Speaking of - didn’t we - nnf- the Dawn contract out with Cobalt to investigate the Blightcaller? Quite a few new faces that day - I meant to reach out after the fact - dogs got me good before I could torch the sonbitch though…” He jerks his thumb toward Vond, “Can’t afford to run solo much anymore, an’ this one’s proved quite useful.” He peers over his shoulder and elbows Vond as if prompting the paladin to continue for him, “Tell ‘im the other bit we’ve run into.”

“There is…” Vond presses the bunched fingertips of both hands to his temples once Etone’s long foulmouthed tangent draws to a close, then jars them forward “So much to cover there that I do not even know where to start, Confessor. The Blightcaller debacle, really? Light hamercy and I’m grateful that these good folk have seen you step up to that heinous void beast. I am praying actions speak louder than words.”

Etone simply stands there with his arms crossed with a confused expression plastered across his face. An unspoken what? tugs at his lips.

Looking a bit frazzled, Vond presses on. “Right. I will speak for his credentials, for what that might be worth, and hopefully being the one with the instruction to investigate might say something as well. To actually get at the point, there are a few things you oughtta pass along: There’s another keep, better situated than this landing, out noreast of here, if you haven’t yet been properly apprised. 7th Legion established, it’s full built and not as heavy hit as here, but I want to make certain your people have at least a little bit o’ heads up about what we’re getting wind of as the push will not be stopping.

“These vrykul, there are more of them all throughout the region we’ve seen so far. Attempts at contact with any of their villages have been met with hostility, and more’n that, we’re getting word from the 7th that there is a significant fortress at the western pass ‘round the mountain range that borders us up there.”

Ben nods, serious and sharply attentive. The horse, meanwhile, is bored and pulls at the lead, insisting on more range to browse. Ben slips the rope another foot or so absently without looking at the animal, focused wholly on Vond.

Vond turns out to, indeed, have even more to relay. “The character of the rumors falls in line with what you’ve already encountered: that the vrykul are heavily leaning in to necromancy of some form–possibly newer developments in their activity, possibly a corruption or intensification of an older funerary culture. Either way, Scourge collaboration is a given.

Vond: “We definitely have some work to do around this whole incident, but the Confessor’ll be personally looking into the scope of the dead being raised there. I expect we will be soon able to pass further word. Looking into the mountainside site is next on our agenda while the rest keep pushing.”

“There is something, mn, additional to consider. How much have the Valiance Expedition let on about the Horde landing point?” Vond narrows his eyes with a slight sidelong tilt of his head while eyeing Ben. It’s difficult to tell whether he is more uneasy about discussing this, or whether he might be suspected of prying for information in the other direction.

“The Horde?” Ben raises his eyebrows and looks around. “No one here’s said a word on the Horde. It’s been ‘oh, shit, giants!’ about since we stepped off the ship. An’ Scourge, of course.” He mirrors Vond again, this time that narrow-eyed head-tilt — perhaps unconsciously, perhaps not. “Why? What do we ought to know?”

Vond now stares back full to the eye, mouth the thinlined press of someone preparing to impart something unpleasant but necessary. “You didn’t hear this from me, not even when you pass it up the line. I do not know the location of the landing, but you should be aware that they are also cooperating on the push, and what I can tell you to expect in this neck of the woods is the Deathguard and whatever else’s sailed out from Undercity.

“Watch yourselves. From what I can tell the Kor’kron have eyes on the prize, but I shouldn’t have to explain that there is possibly an unpredictable element here. Scout where you’re headed if you can. Steer clear.”

Ben nods slowly, grim now. “Undercity. Right, well. Trust ‘em to toss more undead into the problem.”

Vond: “Last bit of heads up for now as to the lay of it, I’m hearing there’s some kinda peculiar ravine out somewhere between Westguard and vrykul fortress. People talk on it like something out a campfire tale but I’ve no special reason to find that they’re foolin’. Disappearances, spooked animals, all sorts. Wouldna be surprised if something cursed lie in it.”

Vond: “And Hazan.” He shakes his head. “I can’t imagine what you must have seen down past the void beast, at the seat of the well. That your folk are here for the push, with hardly a rest– it’s more than should be asked of any, and a credit to you and yours.”

“Should be proud ‘f the work yea all do, if it /had/ to be found by anyone, glad it were you and yours. T’ say it could have been a fair deal worse would be an incredible understatement. D’you need anything on our end? Supplies, an’ all that?”

There go the red ears again. Ben nods heavily, gravely. “It was —” He gazes into the distance, draws in a breath. “I mean. Suffice it we have seen some shit this last year. All of us done.” A respectful nod tipped at both of the other two. “But that was… I do not expect to see the like again. I mean, hope not. Even with the —” A wistful reverence draws over his expression and he continues gazing absently.

He gives himself an abrupt shake and focuses on the here and now again. “Cobalt’s here now, and fit as we ever are. We’re obliged to lend a hand however we’re needed.”

Etone rolls his shoulders and tightens his posture, looking much more the role he’s claimed to be in than before. “Rest while you can; this is but the beginning. I wish I could say that’d be the last or worst of what you’ll find but we both know that’d be a disastrous lie. Light preserve, Brother Hazan. We’ll meet again soon I’m sure - perhaps under slightly less dire of perils.” He pauses to draw geometry in the air, a soft note of song in his blessing.

As soon as Etone raises a hand toward a ritual gesture, Vond’s footing shifts toward a readiness to move, a gauntleted hand straying toward his hammer. He seems suddenly more keyed in to the priest’s gestures, anticipating something.

“Right, pleasure ‘s always Hazan, sadly we’ve pressing matters, as I’m sure you do as well.” Turning to Vond, the priest jerks his hand in a vague gesture toward the catacombs, and wanders off leaving the two paladins behind to wrap up. A few paces in he calls back, “Oh, and there’s a fair pasture for grazin’ bit more north. Run your horse a bit, ‘seems bored.” One might hear a faint chuckle as he waves his hand high in the air, his back to the paladins.

For all of Etone’s blasé demeanor, his defender has taken on a keen hone. Vond takes one last momentarily lingering glance toward the crisp blue skies, which predictably force him to squint, then drops his stance a hair, with a short sharp twist, at the turn of the peculiar Confessor’s hand. A brief sheen of coursing light scatters across his armor, and his shoulder angles as if to drop his shield at a moment’s notice. He looks spurred to run, alert— a far cry from the somber cast he wore at the chapel yards.

“Think keeping an eye on your folk might be one of his, uh, assignments.” And aren’t you all lucky for it. Vond gives one last upward jerk of his chin toward Ben, a faintly apologetic smile attending a vague shrug. “That’s my signal then. Let’s reconnect shortish.”

Ben looks from Vond to Etone’s retreating form, plainly a little disconcerted again. “Is he always — uh. Yeah, Satter– Brother Vond. Good as hell to see you again, and to see you lookin’ so fit finally. You’ll — we’ll keep in touch? Cobalt will, I mean. With the Crusade. Well, and us too, I mean. I hope. Be safe?”

“We will be. The Light is our shield and assurance, and yours.” There is a decisive flicker of harsh conviction in the parting glance, the question of whether he Is Always sidestepped, then Vond is tearing off in the direction of Wyrmskull, at the ready.

Ben continues to stare after the pair for a bit, until the horse tugs impatiently at the lead again and his attention is diverted.