(2023-04-30) A Part in the Clouds

Details

Author:	Vond
Summary:	While Cobalt is preparing to further investigate Dragonblight, Vond and Etone travel through the central field of the region and encounter some developing complications in the ongoing conflict among the dragons.
Rating:	M for Mature 17+

Dragonblight. Only a brief trudge into the snowfields out from the central temple, and already all recognizeable landmarks had grown obscured. The visibility that was already hindered by unremitting dark was further cut by sparse precipitation dusting every direction into a blurred horizon.

They had to stay close, lest the faint outlines of footsteps serve as the only constant notice of their linked destination. The wind is enough of a sharp howl to interfere with calls from too far out, though it is serviceable in garbling Vond's continued questioning of the wisdom of this course, setting out for Wintergarde on foot. Once Etone starts buoying them higher up on the drift with a slight levitation to make the going easier, even the outlines grow deceiving.

A part in the clouds presages a brief break in the snowfall. The teeth of the cold hold fixed, but now the northern lights can be seen snaking the inkspill night with their slow shimmer. Below, distant hills rise, wreathed with ice and stars. It is only a pure beauty, uncontaminated by promises of warmth or respite, and Vond stops in his tracks, arrested.

The weight of the view is not lost on Etone as he quickly presses close against Vond’s side. Pulling the paladin’s arm upward to duck himself under it, the redhead puffs hot breath into the icy night's air. They didn't have time to spare gawking at sights, the cold ever eager to freeze and claim two more for its collection, and he had to admit it was awe inspiring - though he wasn't sure, exactly, what awe it inspired.

They had to keep moving, the redhead puffs yet another hot breath before hoarsely offering, "We can't linger like this, my love and light - either make way to the next settlement or find shelter and make camp for a few hours - nnnf, I - it is rather, ah, hauntingly stunning though. Nmmf."

He is, however, rather reluctant to leave the other’s side and keep moving himself. Self aware, the priest scans the area for any sign of threat or shelter before urging Vond forward a single step. "Camp or march, Vond?"

During this brief pause, the snow appears to move behind them - Etone's frost saber nearly completely camouflaged offers a chittering kind of meow while nudging the pair from behind with its head. Though quite affectionate, it's unlikely the large cat is simply looking pets.

Vond, lightly geared for their travel, has gone stock still when the priest takes the first opportunity of a halted march to get personal, and it soon becomes apparent that it's not just his usual matter of caution with the pinching potential of ringmail, or his common reticence toward public display. There has been no sign of anyone else for some time, after all, unless one might count what the odd distant, circling shadow of a red drake, or perhaps a skittering snobold might think.

No, there is something surpassing the paladin's baseline of wary tension - and something in the way of his boot, it seems. The dusty squeaks of levitation-light steps on fresh snow do not answer the next step, and a testing tap of his boot returns a solid clink. It was some potential stumbling-stone, almost wholly concealed by its uniform color of near-white that let its outline meld into the snowdrift.

"No, you're right, we can't stop here," Vond finally answers, intent and alert, struggling to dampen his volume while still contending with the keening wind. He has the bristling posture Etone has come to recognize as the expectation of imminent trouble. A rough shove of his heel jars the obstacle from its surface cover, revealing the fine biotic slopes and sweeps of of a vertebra, approaching the breadth of an armspan. Disturbed, it leans from its cold nest with one wing up, eyeing the interlopers with its empty foramen.

Not especially trying to be amorous and more on the lines of keeping close to share warmth, Etone only briefly bristles at the paladin’s cool reception before fully investing his attentions as to why.

For all the good seeing and hearing ghosts might be, sensing undead was not high on the priest's ability list. They were always simply there and if they didn't want to make themselves known well, all the better. So when the huge spoke of bone sparks him to briefly imagine the snow drift erupting into a full blown frostwyrm, the redhead's reactionary response is to push himself in front of Vond with shocked, wide, eyes and mutter into the harsh winds.
"Ah fuck."

His voice is nearly drowned out by the winds as he attempts to weave the beginnings of a spell ment to shackle undead. He seems hesitant to fully commit to the spell, unwilling to engage the ancitipated wyrm if at all possible. While confident in their ability and might as a team, Etone only had one encounter with such a creature before, deep within the major necropolis of the Eastern plague lands: Naxxramas - and it took over forty well armed soldiers to best the bones into brief retreat. Regardless this was bad - very, very bad.

The expected frostwyrm that fills Etone's mind with immediate alarm at the portent of trouble fails to manifest. Nothing rises, nothing further shakes free from the snowdrift. It is only a solitary vertebra. Perhaps its neighbors lie buried.

It is Vond's turn to reorient someone else's nerves, this time, gloved palms pressing inward at the half-elf's narrow shoulders and giving his head a shake to further free his voice from a tightly wound scarf. "Steady luv." His head turns, squinting through his protective goggles into the inky expanse. "There's something nearby, but not quite—"

A break in the aurora stands fixed in the far, far distance - a stretching spire of absolute pitch that cuts the heavenly curtain with jagged teeth and somehow drinks away its distant comfort. It is difficult to judge for lack of nearby objects of reference, and an unclear distance to the hills jutting before it, but from this vantage, it seems as if it could easily outstretch the towers of Dalaran.

A noticeable shiver rakes through the human, trepidation entering what had first been an attitude of ready caution.

Etone offers a rather dramatic crumple and sigh as the bones simply stay bones. "Thank the Light I thought we were dead - I er eheh…" Etone leans heavily back against Vond while quickly turning to face him, though it's mostly the redhead clinging to the sandy blond possessively.

"Light - Vond - fuck - have you seen one of these in action?! Haah - ?" His eyes follow Vond's and the priest offers an involuntary shudder. "That's… It, isn't it…?"

Snow freezes to his eyelashes as he stands mouth agape staring at the looming, black, jagged spires that pierce the northern most skies.

A stock-still silence hangs in the air, without even a frosty breath to accompany it, for longer than might be comfortable before Vond finds his voice. "That's really bloody it," he returns finally in a constricted hush, riveted on the sight.

As if the snowfield itself tired of the inaction, the forboding repose of the moment is thereafter shattered by a dull rumble like the distant treads of some house-heavy machine. Here, in the deepening snows? The sound coalesces into a long, abiding roar, laced with a ghastly keening, hollow.

The paladin's wide eyes turn on the priest, vaguely accusing. Far behind him in the now-visible plain, though much nearer than the skyshadow tower, a gradual cold light spreads from the top of a rolling high drift in a eerie frame.

"You had to go and bring it up!" Vond whisper-hisses, as if Etone might have manifested this circumstance by conceptualizing it. If the Confessor were so adept at sending the eventual into the universe, just imagine what he could do with a dream journal.

Etone offers a strangled groan in clear denial of the implied summoning. His earlier bravado seems to have taken a hit as he's tugged his leather cape tightly around the both of them letting his levitation spell fade while pulling Vond on top of him into the snow bank a good three feet deep.

"Get down-" urges the redhead in a demanding whisper - not that Vond had much choice as Mr. Meow quickly circles in to cover the dent in the snow the two had made with her exceptionally large body. Her thick fur, which had protected her from the snow and cold of Winterspring continued to serve her well here in Northrend, acts as both insulator and camouflage out in the barren snow field.

Finally opening his eyes from the brief fall, Etone offers a sheepish expression up to the sandy blond before unfastening his cloak to squirm onto his stomach and dig a thin lookout hole. With small success, he catches sight of a small plains critter and seizes the opportunity to obtain a better view, hopping vision from one critter to the next, careful to select ones unable to detect his brief voyeuristic presence. If the priest was singing, the paladin sure couldn't hear it.

Vond did not need much goading beyond the hurried directive to quickly hunker down into the drift they had just collapsed into, the dark folding over them both in the form of sifting loose snow and fuzzy frostsaber hide. The paladin domes his gloves above his nose in the effort to preserve an admittedly small breathing space should the powder further settle in, and sets to quieting his breath as much as he could manage.

Out in the distance, amid hapless hares and buzzards none the wiser to being surveiled, Etone's disembodied perceptions vault along the local food web until it finds a bird confident or foolish enough to remain circling high above the reanimation site. It is just in time to catch a full view of the fleshless bones of a drake - thankfully not the full grown frame the size of Sapphiron rattling around in memory - as they stretch and go through the motions of the kind of flight they once enjoyed in life, questionable in necessity for a frame now propelled by seething dark magics.

It shoots into the sky while glaring, frosty light coalesces among its ribs, then barrels up and eastward, leaving a small cluster of shadowy figures below. The central shadow is almost certainly a decrepit necromancer, bent in their curse-stamped robes and with channeling stave still raised. Two taller silhouettes flank the death-mage - quite tall. This is either a small drake or exceptionally large guards.

A few ghouls or something similar mill nearby, aimlessly picking at unclaimed bones and other detritus. More alarming, perhaps, are several further inanimate dragon skeletons that looked closer to a state of completion, unearthed on mounds of cleared earth in shabby piles. Some are smaller than the just-risen drake, and some larger, but what is abundantly clear is that this is an ongoing operation.

The peal of the ascending roar sparks a quick-darting scan of Vond's eyes from the vague glimmer from Etone's makeshift viewport to the priest's face, struggling to get a glimpse of what he was following or some other signal. A hint of frustration mounts when the seconds stretch on, and Etone remains locked in some kind of intent, distant stare, seemingly not focused on anything in particular.

"Etty?" He finally hisspers back, and jostles the Confessor's elbow.

The redhead jerks backward at the sensation of external touch and call of a sweet name. "Nnmf! Ah- thank the Light-"

His eyes take a moment to register Vond as the spell fizzles out, " - I nearly thought something caught me there - Light bless, relieved it were you!"
There is a breath of warmth in his tone - the impromptu nickname causing a hitch of happy surprise in his chest - as he shifts to face Vond, though it's quickly tempered as the priest reports the necromantic assembly line ritual he'd seen through bird's eyes.

"I couldn't make too much in the way of precise detail - there are piles of bones - necromancer- ghouls- Light - " His eyes fix on Vond’s with a tight wrinkled brow as he murmurs, "- do the others know yet - no how would they? I - nngf - Vondy?"

The redhead sputters trying to keep calm and quiet and eventually settles into staring stupidly at Vond. It takes a good moment before he's able to choke out, "We need to find the main contingent, immediately."

Vond gives the priest a sidelong peer through the darkened cover, likely mostly invisible save a few dim glints from his lenses, as Etone begins to recount sights he'd observed far out of current vision - taking a moment to register what he seemed to be implying he had been up to.

"You… saw all of that? But it stands to reason, right? They hadda been coming from somewhere." A few shifting clicks and rustles of Vond's gear betray the increasing sense of restlessness, followed by a thin shower of loose powder displaced by the movement. "It sounded like it was heading in the way of Wintergarde. That's gotta be where we head on the way back. P'raps they can in turn get word back to the dragons?" The hope in the suggestion is strained with a hint of the frustration in knowing they cannot head both directions at once.

A heavy hand grips Etone's shoulder sharply, causing the stream of falling snow to become a shifting wall of imminent collapse and provoking a rumble from the guarding cat. "How far out? And can we take 'em?" Even when the heightened state of Vond's nerves is made visible by the widening opening in the cover permitting a cast of starlight on a tense face, it is clear by his direct tone what kind of answer he is already switching into a preparatory mode for.

Etone pauses to consider the numbers. Sure, between the two of them they could easily deal with a mindless mess of ghouls, but adding several intelligent undead who probably hand command of the lot? Maybe? Though if any - even one - of them were a lich - would they have their phylactery present? If not how long would it take for them to reanimate - one was clearly a necromancer - if one of them fell how fast would the other be looking into icy blue —?

The redhead pulls at his hair in frustration while giving an audible groan, "Uugh! I don't know, too many variables - I think we'd be even match for one or two 'f the bigguns but adding in the ghouls - the necromancer - whatever other frostwyrms might be within earshot - not to mention that rogue faction of Scarlets could be anywhere - "

The priest sputters conflicted, before offering in a defeated tone, "I - don't think -" he pinches the bridge of his nose and continues, "The odds would not be in our favor should we move just the two of us… I have no way of knowing how many they've raised - I - " He offers a truly apologetic look as he pulls his hand down from his face. "I'm sorry m'love… We'd need backup - I think we should get back to the main camp as soon as possible -" He cuts off looking sorely disappointed in his inability to commit action.

"Yes, Confessor." If the slight slump of Vond's shoulders is obscured by the dimness, the accelerated collapse of the loose snow driven by the shifting is apparent enough. Their inability to cut off this operation before it conducted what seemed to be a whole assemblage of imminent raisings is an acrid sting on the tongue. It couldn't entirely be called a change of heart since Quel'danas - there they were largely supporting the Shattered Sun regulars - but still there was something going unasked.

The restless question the paladin had been containing finally spills out in a quick blurt, "You're not going on reluctance to put me out there, right? I had your avowal that this would nurture no hesitation." The gloved hand at Etone's shoulder shifts to his jaw, less tender than intensively focused, and jars him to meet a boring stare. "Swear to me that isn't it. If there were a chance we could keep more of those things outta the sky where they're like to kill dozens…"

Of course that couldn't be it. Neither of them could know for certain the scope of what was going on out in the snowfields, how many further Scourge clusters there might be waiting to continue their efforts - not to mention the Crusade needing paladins more than it needs martyrs. But that was not going to keep the frustrated guard from straying to the obvious question.

Etone bites back as he swats at Vond's accusatory hand, "I can't kill a Lich on my own - if you fell and were raised do you see anyone around for quite literal miles that could back me up while I try taking you and a Lich on?" His temper flaring, "I want to put those bones back in the ground where they belong - Light if we had one more person - where the hell 's that damned prodigy when I —" Etone's eyes wide as he fumes, "- and you! You swore -"

A low growl fills the snow hide, kitty isn't impressed with their bickering, figure it out guys but don't get us caught, seems to be the general vibe. However, when another low vocalization from Mr.Meow - it seems to cut the redhead off completely as he quickly presses his hand over Vond's mouth with a single index finger held up over his own lips. Eyes narrowed the redhead points to his ear before jerking two fingers toward the steadily degrading view hole. Mr.Meow seems to have been alerted to something, the debate to be put on hold for the moment as the redhead cocks his head in an attempt to discern what might have the caught the cat's attention.

The top half of Vond's face frowns up a storm while Etone stifles his general inclination toward protest with the clamping palm. Vond's eyes quickly dart up to the grumbling frostsaber and past her in the direction of her attention, before nearly immediately growing wide and saucery.

The pinpoint of cold necromantic light from the departing frostbrood drake is rapidly growing in size again. Had it sensed the hushed dispute between them from that far in the distance? No, the approach is too fast, too drastic. An unearthly screech that buzzes against one's bones begins to peal from the recently raised creature as it careens toward the Argents' position at a sharp downward angle like a boney missile.

"Mphields uph!" Is all the paladin has time to explain against Etone's hand while in the process of tackling him down into the snow pile and reflexively turning his shield-braced back to what seems like a potentialy imminent impact, bodily blocking off the Confessor from its direct line.

Etone barely manages to encase both of them in holy light with a Power word: Shield before having the breath knocked right out of him.

The provision is, fortunately, extraneous, when the barreling skeleton sails narrowly above and aside, and while its animating magics gutter and dim, seems accompanied by strangely more shadow than its fleshless frame might warrant. Just before striking the snows, its spiny silhouette bursts with renewed brilliance - not that frosty dead glow, but a billowing gout of lively red flame.

Snow kicks skyward in a hissing spray at the shock of the heavy bones crunching into the ground. Some powder throws high as a tower while some frizzles into steam in the heat of the clouding fires. Lit by the spectacle of their own making, the figure of a second, very-much alive drake belts their flamelicked roar of triumph, claws still hooked in the splintering remains of their own kind twice-deceased.

Overhead, the stars find respite from being admired, gradual but swift cloudcover rolling in to finish the job started by the obscuring smoke that rose from the red drake's quarry. Vond pops upright and puts the (possibly sputtering) priest on his feet as well. "Does that swerve the odds a mite?" The alert tension is focused to a somewhat-rattled point, not even attempting to hide the hint of exhiliration in the wake of what first appeared to be a close call. He is unquestionably ready to pounce on this potential for changing conditions.

Etone blinks stupidly as the red dragon puffs its victory. "I - probably??" He quickly calls out to the red dragon "Mind lending us a bit more 'f a hand with the lot piecing your kin back together by any chance?"

Mr.Meow has checked right out, she's no where to be seen at the moment. "There's a mess 'f 'm down yonder we could use some help with…?" The redhead does his best as he tries to demonstrate some kind of appeal to the huge beast.

Vond's enthusiasm quails a bit when the drake - far from fully grown but still easily outsizing both of them and the disappearing saber combined - rapidly swivels their toothy head on its snaking neck to fix the men with a slit-pupiled stare, evaluating. They emit a steady creaking rumble and held a distinct lack of readable expression.

"We are far from mother's tower," the enormous creature finally rasps, dimmer now in the light of waning embers, "and I must bring news that yet another enemy draws near. We do what we must to defend against the brood of Malygos… only for the bodies to be so profaned. Them and the others in this resting place." The drake spreads their wings, seemingly prepared to lift off again.

Vond struggles to suppress a grimace, stepping forward in the snow with palms opened forward, insistant. "He's seen the Scourge necromancer over the ridge. I can sense the dead there still. They have more bones. We can stop the raisings with your help before you go, and if your fire's hot enough, burn the remains enough to stop more of this, at least presently."

The drake paced in the snow, lightly buoying their stride with heavy flaps. "It is our way to leave the bones undisturbed," they insist, slowly circling the splintered carcass as it smolders, "but that was before this became a battleground." The red drake raises their head, smoke spiraling from between their teeth as the newly falling snow drapes all of them in a thickening haze. "Show me where you sense the nearby dead."

Vond twists to face Etone and gives a sharp nod, eyes alight with intent readiness - perhaps a bit too ready for the sort of demands his keyed up sort of energy seems to be perpetually preparing for, and doubly riled for nearly getting flattened hardly a minute ago. "Hot iron, Confessor. This weather may keep the Light from being picked up by pryin' eyes." He searches the priest's face for his assent. "Ya got me?"

"Of course I've got you! - Ah I saw groups of bones an' one main raising 'im." The redhead offers a vague jerk of this hand pointing toward the necrofactory. "We've our own skills 's well, you won't be doing all the work - I promise you that friend!"

Turning back to Vond, Etone confirms, "You have me. Can you tell if they are still grouped up past that ridge?"

Vond's gaze goes distant for a moment of shifting focus, and he slowly nods. "They haven't shifted far. And I don't think it's a lich. Just maybe a few of something, mn, on the large side. Maybe Scourged vrykul." He flicks a glance aside to the drake. "Thank you, dragon. Light willing, we will report what's happening out here to Wintergarde and further, when you are getting word back to Wyrmrest. Let's move."

Still shimmering with remants of the power word's protection, Vond begins wading out into the deep fresh snow, provoking an impatient rumble from the red drake. "You are slow. Mother is waiting." They take one immense bound to cross the distance to the human and snap their teeth securely around Vond's mailbound middle, hoisting him into the air while he yelps and kicks his feet a bit. In the blink of an eye, a scything talon hooks Etone's robes.

Mr. Meow was wise to hide.