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| Details |
| Author: | Athena |
| Summary: | Roper follows the person trail to the nearest connection to Kaela he can get to, and manages to chat with a few people who might be able to help. They also might all be technically the same person. 4200-ish words. |
| Rating: | M for Mature 17+ |
Arc: Death Knight PR
The air is cool and calm outside the Amberpine Lodge in the Grizzly Hills, and a certain red haired paladin is taking full advantage of the decent weather. She sits at the edge of a cliff overlooking the river, her travel pack settled in her lap as she goes through the supplies contained within, checking to be sure she's prepared for an extended trip.
A young nobleman gets off the nearby gryphon, dressed in warm, expensive clothing, a suit of dark red and gray, with black gloves covering his hands, and a black cloak over him, drawn over his face as protection against the cold of Northrend, perhaps. There is something inherently soft about this man, an almost ethereal mistiness to him, like he's caught in a daydream even walking with purpose.
He speaks to a soldier in a pleasant, light-toned Stormwind accent, a faint lisp on some of the sibilants, and thanks the man after a brief conversation, turning to the red haired paladin and approaching with a mix of polite caution and gentle purpose.
"Do excuse me for interrupting your reverie, but do you happen to be a Miss Alynnra Mondragon?" There's nothing even remotely threatening about this young man — he seems delicate, as though even she might be able to snap him like a twig if she wanted to, as he holds out a slightly limp hand. "I'm Tibault Beringer, here on behalf of my great-aunt."
Alynnra perks up at the address, and looks up at him. "Oh, yes! I'm…" She catches sight of his clothing and trails off, her smile becoming awkward. "Are you…" her voice fades to a whisper as she timidly reaches for his hand, as if touching it is expected, but also forbidden. "Are you a lord?"
Tibault gives her hand a weak shake, letting go with a soft hesitation. He laughs a little, a breathy sound. "Who me? No, no, not really. We're merchants, my family. My family of two, I should say. It is only my great-aunt and I now, but we do associate with some of the upper echelon. We deal in quite a bit of estate sales and real estate. That is what I was hoping to speak to you about, if I might take up some of your time?" He gestures vaguely towards the wilderness. "If you have somewhere you were going, I would be glad to accompany you, miss."
He does have two swords at his belt, partially obscured by his cloak. Maybe he knows how to use them?
Alynnra pauses, then, "I'm not in any rush, I don't think." Her blue eyes assess him again, and her smile brightens. He's not a lord. "Um, are you trying to sell me a house?"
"Rather the other way around. I was hoping I might convince you of helping me buy one. My great-aunt and I are interested in a property, but we've come into a bit of a stumbling block." He gestures vaguely at a bench, drifting towards it, away from the main area of the lodge. "It seems that it belongs to one 'Kaela Mondragon,' but you see, we've had no success in contacting her to speak with her on it, but we did stumble across your name. I hope you'll forgive the presumption that you might know how to get in contact with her? I do realize not everyone is close with one's family." He sounds not only sympathetic, but strangely…near tears? He brushes a hand up into his cloak and sniffles discreetly.
Alynnra lifts her pack onto her shoulder, scrambles to her feet, and follows him to the bench. "Kaela? She's my sister. I didn't know she had her own house. Maybe you're sending mail to the wrong place? I always send it to our parents' house." She tilts her head, trying to follow the path of his hand. "Is…something wrong?"
"I hope not," Tibault says. He sniffs again. "It is always so tragic when family falls out with one another though, don't you think?" He reaches for Alynnra's hand again, this time to clasp it. "Do you hear back from her at all, or just from your parents?" He's maybe assuming they're alive. Maybe they are. To Alynnra, anyway.
Alynnra stares at his hand as though she wants to pull away, but also doesn't want to be rude. She seems a bit uncomfortable. "I didn't used to hear from anyone," she admits, "But I still wrote, and guess what? Recently, Kaela's been writing me back! I knew she would. She was probably just busy, before. I bet she'd write back to you, too, especially if it's important."
Tibault releases her to set his hand dramatically to his chest with a delighted gasp. "Oh, I'm sure. I was dreadful with my own correspondence for years when we were abroad in Kalimdor. Very exotic place." He sounds wistful, but then gives a bit of a shiver, huddling a little more in his cloak. "Would you be willing to give your parents' house address? I should be ever so grateful. And I promise you, on Beringer Honor, we make only the most generous and fair of offers. We have no intention of swindling. Her property is worth quite a bit, and we will make certain she gets exactly what she deserves in exchange for having held onto it so long." There's a dreamy sort of sincerity in his voice, the lisp slightly more pronounced.
Alynnra looks relieved as he lets go, and sets her bag on the bench to poke through it for something to write with and on. She comes up with a small notebook, from which she tears a page. "Don't worry, I believe you," she says, scribbling the address down. "Nobody's silly enough to cheat a Mondragon. My father can be real scary. He was a soldier, you know. He fought against orcs. My sister was trained by him personally, so she's super strong too." She beams at him and hands him the paper. It is a Tirisfal address, though somewhere outside of the Capitol itself.
Tibault takes the paper, reading off the address. "Oh, Tirisfal? That's a lovely place, isn't it? The waters are simply…exquisite. The sunrises…" He sounds choked up for a moment, sighing like he might cry again. "Have you ever seen anything so desperately beautiful as one of the gulls flying through the clouds when it's just breaking? 'The dew freshly coats the waiting ground / With kisses from the loving sky. / As the orchestra of creation sounds, / It's choir of birds sings their lullaby.'" Not that the screeching of gulls at 5am evokes that kind of feeling in most people, but #okTibault.
Alynnra's eyes get a bit misty. "That's beautiful," she says. "Are you a poet? I used to write poems, too. I…" She pauses. "I don't remember why I stopped…"
"Oh, I'm…I'm just an amateur myself, I've never have more than a little publishing here and there in the local paper," Tibault says humbly, dismissing it with a wobbly fluttering of his fingers back and forth, as though swatting at a very poorly coordinated fly. "But I do love poetry. I found that travel can simply inspire one to all manner of beauty around. I wasn't the adventurous one, before, though. That-th-that was my great-aunt," he stutters out, his hands clasping together in his lap. "She doesn't travel anymore, since her illness. Are you the, uh, the adventurous, traveling one? Or is that your sister?"
Alynnra squeezes her lips together, offering a look of sympathy at mention of his great-aunt's illness. "I'm definitely the adventurous one of the two of us," she says. "Kaela is a city guard in Lordaeron's Capitol. I'm the one who set out from home to see the world and help people in need. I was just about to set out again. This place is so pretty, it'd be a shame not to see it, since I'm here."
"Oh, please," Tibault says, standing hastily with a bit of a bow, offering up his hand to her to stand. "You shouldn't let me keep you from it. I could use a walk amongst the trees myself. There's something so very…picturesque about it here, something untouched and old in ways that Elywnn simply isn't. It reminds me of that poem, 'They shut the road through the woods / Seventy years ago. / Weather and rain have undone it again, / And now you would never know / There was once a road through the woods / Before they planted the trees. / It is underneath the coppice and heath, / And the thin anemones. / Only the keeper sees / That, where the ring-dove broods, / And the badgers roll at ease, / There was once a road through the woods.'" He shifts his cloak a little. "Come, there is indeed a road through the woods, and I couldn't possibly pass it up now. Perhaps you might find inspiration once more for your own poetic pursuits?"
Alynnra stares at him, seeming to have lost her words entirely. She reaches for his hand and freezes, horror spreading across her face as her own hand enters her line of sight. Touching her face and finding it, too, exposed, she all but dives into her pack, pulling out garments. Robes, gloves, a hooded cloak, all dark in color. Without any explanation, she devotes all of her attention to hastily dressing, sliding everything on over her armor until only her eyes peek out at him.
Then softly, as if speaking with a different voice entirely, one with a haunted quality to it, she says, "The road might be dangerous, but come if you will."
Collecting her pack, she drifts to her feet on her own, and begins her walk — slowly — from Amberpine.
If there is anything going on in that mind of "Tibault's," it doesn't show, not in any way that can be seen or felt at least. By his body language and voice, he sounds exactly the same. And hey, now they're both gloved and hooded, so he looks even less strange next to her. Or with them matching, maybe they're in a cult together?— Er, or possibly more strange. Who can say in Azeroth?
"I do suppose danger and adventure go a little hand in hand. After all, if there's no danger…that is, you-you wouldn't say that trip down a country lane is an adventure, not when you know it perfectly safe," Tibault says softly, drifting after the woman.
The hooded woman lets silence drag on until Amberpine is well behind them and out of sight. Then, still watching the road ahead and not Tibault himself, she murmurs, "You haven't come about a house."
"Oh, no, no, I can assure you, I am very interested in Kaela's house," Tibault says, that softness in his voice, in his mannerisms, as he drifts along. "She has more than one property that I'm interested in acquiring from her, in fact. And she's just been, tsk, such a difficult person to meet with to discuss it."
"I may have heard," the woman says, seeming concerned only with the path ahead, "About this property. But it is not her house. If her house is truly what you seek, it is in Icecrown."
"That must be a most dreadful commute," Tibault answers, sounding genuinely concerned. "I'm afraid I couldn't possibly get a carriage to convey me there. Isn't there somewhere a little less, hm, fraught with life ending danger that she might be found to discuss a bit of an exchange of currency for property she's recently acquired? I'm not above a spot of travel," he adds, puffing up his chest as though it's not especially impressive, but he's putting a brave face on it. "Although, I'm not much one for adventure, I do make exceptions."
"She travels, here and there, difficult to pin down, unless you're lucky." She turns to face Tibault. "Are you lucky?"
"Exceptionally." Tibault's head moves to face her in return, although it's still obscured fully by the hood drawn over him. "Although, you might say that it's not because the universe favors me, but because I do make my own luck. When one manufacturers it deliberately, hm, one gets to decide how much one has of it. You seem to be a lucky woman yourself, but could one say that you have made it yourself? Or is this the work of someone else who has made luck for you?"
"Me? Lucky?" Her eyes practically glow with sorrow. "I am far from it. My family is dead, my sister a walking corpse, two men I loved abandoned me, and I am alone. You have a strange definition of luck." She gestures widely with her hand at the surrounding trees. "But I will give you the same hint I am working with myself. Kaela is presently…somewhere out here. As is her property."
Tibault looks at the trees in a way that might be speculative. "Such a hint as that, and you do not find yourself a lucky woman? Why, the rest of us might have had to wait for ever so long in hoping for a clear road to Icecrown, but here you simply wander in a forest filled with danger and lurking death, unmolested by either, and think yourself not the luckiest of women. And should you not think that if you were to find more of where she is out here, and I with you in such a happenstance, that we might be both of us quite lucky? 'Luck is not chance — / It's Toil — / Fortune's expensive smile / Is earned — / The Father of the Mine / Is that old-fashioned Coin / We spurned,'" Tibault recites as he moves his right hand in a fluid motion, a silver coin appearing as if by magic across his gloved fingers.
The woman watches the coin in silence, absorbing the poem as though it is sunlight, and she, a flower. A prickling sensation follows, as if someone has appeared to watch them. She glances to the side, but doesn't move, waiting to see if Tibault has noticed, too.
Has he noticed? It's virtually impossible to tell. He seems to be nothing more than a soft young merchant, out of his depth in a woods of worgen and giant bears, but putting a brave face on it. He walks the coin over his fingers in a way though that is a little at odds with the rest of him, an agility that doesn't quite match the man, as if his hand is possessed and he doesn't quite realize it. "So you see, miss, I'm very willing to follow a trail if it will get me to what I do seek with such earnestness, as you can surely understand?"
"I do wonder why a man from a wealthy merchant family would be interested in Kaela Mondragon, and her property." The woman drifts back a step.
"That's my aunt!" exclaims a bush.
We might never know the answer to what Tibault and his family would be interested in, because at the exclamation, more for the content of it rather than the sound — because it is not the first noise that does it, but the final word that declares kinship with Kaela, that Tibault vanishes.
Roper is nothing but a blur of motion, as he reaches out a gloved hand to seize the man who spoke in an implacable, ice-cold grip, frost and ice coating the death knight in a layer of armor. "Hey," he says conversationally, in a low born Stormwind accent, not a trace of the soft sounds of Tibault in his voice.
"Alysson, you idiot!" On the other side of a tree stands a young woman in armor green as the surrounding forest. Her eyes flash angrily at Roper, and there is a knife in her hand. "Hey, let him go, corpse!"
Alysson himself raises his hands in a sign of peace, a slightly nervous grin on his face. "Hey, hey, easy fella. We're all friends here. Uh, probably?"
The moment Tibault disappears in favor of Roper, the dark hooded woman pulls a potion from the pocket of her robe. "Let us see where your luck will take you," she murmurs, pulling the stopper and raising it to her lips.
Roper's left hand shoots out, a twisting of shadow stretching and reaching for the hooded woman — it seizes her and drags her to him, his hand closing over her cloak in a way to hold her tightly, a shimmer of chains of ice and shadow hovering just out of the corner of the eye, ready to hold her in another way. "Ah, ah, ah," he chides. He tilts his head from one to both, held seemingly effortlessly, and then looks at the young woman in green. "I'm as friendly as anyone. Just a concerned citizen looking for a couple of people kidnapped by this one's sister, and apparently," he says, still oddly conversationally, a drawl to his voice, "This one's aunt, who just happens to be here. Lucky me."
The hooded woman sighs, having lost the potion in the sudden grab and drag. Her eyes fix almost regretfully on Alysson. "I see…" She does not elaborate.
"Looks like you've met my Ma," Alysson says, keeping his hands where they can be seen. "Ada, this here's…Gloomy Ma."
Ada, the girl in green, glances hesitantly between the three of them, dagger still gripped tightly in her hand. "Okay, can someone explain what is actually going on here?"
"Sure, well, there's Ma, who's the sweet one, Axe Ma who's the violent one, an' Gloomy Ma who likes stories an' mopin'." Alysson offers helpfully.
Roper makes a tsch sound, holding onto both Mondragons.
"Let me make it as simple as I fucking can: Five days ago, Kaela Mondragon and her band of merry fucking Scourge cronies of death knights kidnapped a priestess of the Light named Jenzelle Halveris and a soldier of the Argent Crusade named Brendol Westwind from outside Fort Wildervar. Jenzelle also happens to be a member of Cobalt Company, which this one," Roper shakes Alysson just enough to demonstrate. It seems to have been calculated to not cause pain. For now. "Is also a member of. Captain Sparkwire's asked for the Ebon Blade's cooperation, and we're giving it. I'm here following a trail to where Kaela's possibly keeping the living.
"So, if anyone…" This time Roper's head swivels from the hooded woman to Alysson, and then back to Ada, and there's a darkness to his voice, not yet a threat, but a sheathed dagger set down on a table. "Knows anything about that, or where they might have taken them, I'm gonna want that information. I get that information, then I'll walk away. I don't need anything else from anyone here…for now, assuming no one's gonna go crying to Kaela about what they know. But I should say, I'm not exactly a patient guy, and every second I waste here means one less for how long the living stay that way." He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Tick tock."
"Someone's missin' from Cobalt?" Alysson asks. He probably knows less than Roper. "Aw, is aunt Kaela up to no good again?"
Alynnra's eyes flash with cold anger. "Are we bargaining? Then release my son and we'll talk." Maybe she has a maternal instinct after all. Maybe she is also no longer dressed appropriately.
"I'm… I'm sure whatever's going on, Alysson has nothing to do with it," Ada says, not at all confidently.
Roper turns his attention to Alynnra, ignoring Alysson's question for the moment, tipping his head back enough that the bottom half of his face is more visible in the light of the woods — grayish skin, covered in frost, and a lopsided smile. It's unclear how friendly the smile really is, without his eyes, but he drops Alysson with an ease that suggests how easy it would be for him to grab the man a second time, even as he keeps the hand up in a gesture almost like surrender, palm open and visibly without a weapon in it.
"Sure. Let's talk." The drawl is gone, and his voice is clear. He sounds almost friendly, but the inherent menace of a death knight that surrounds him is like a chill in the air.
Alysson looks genuinely surprised by Alynnra's sudden protectiveness. So surprised, in fact, that he does nothing but gape at the two of them, while Ada stays where she is, trying not to escalate the already tense situation.
"I could take you to her right now," Alynnra — but more likely the Watcher — says. "I would advise against that, in your case. You would be outnumbered. Your goal is to kill her, isn't it?"
"My mission parameters are to prioritize the retrieval and extraction of the two living, and if they're not living any longer, eradicate them. After that what I do," Roper makes a little tsk sound. "That's not really your fucking problem to worry about, is it? I want to know where Kaela is, and I want to know where she's keeping the living — same place or different." Roper rotates his free hand in a suggestion of a shrugging gesture. "I'm not a fucking amateur about to set off from a recon mission for information into a rescue or an assault unprepared. I'm a reasonable guy. You point me to what you know with good information, I'll go and bring in enough of a force to pull it off, and we continue on our way with our mission parameters satisfied. You send us into bad information, then I'll be back with more poetry, among other things." There's another smile. Somehow, it doesn't seem like this one's friendly. Just a hunch, maybe.
"Coincidentally, pawn," the Watcher says, "I am on the same mission. I'll tell you what you want to know… And maybe I'll see you there. Have a map handy?"
"Well hold on now," Alysson says. "If you're both tryin' to rescue the same fellows, why are you fightin'?"
"I do," Roper answers the Watcher. He lets Alynnra go with that same slow ease, that faint sense that although he's letting go now, he could grab her once more all too easily. He reaches into the cloak, and within a second, pulls out a map of Northrend, unrolling it partially. For those with sharp eyes, it seems awfully comprehensive, even for a member of the Ebon Blade, as if he's gotten significant detail from both sides of the factions, Horde and Alliance both. Amberpine is easy to find, and well marked with enough landmarks. He flicks his hand, and a pencil is there between his fingers, as he waits for the Watcher to provide the information.
He finally addresses Alysson, although he keeps his eyes on the Watcher. "If we were fighting, someone would be screaming," he drawls. "We're just getting our ground rules, that's all. I may be a monster, but I'm an ally to those against the fucking Scourge. If the undead came down on us right now, I'd be the one keeping them from killing the rest of you. Like I said, I can be real friendly, if you're on this side of that line."
The Watcher points to a spot just south of Amberpine, and across the river from the Horde settlement of Conquest Hold. "Vrykul camp here, by the name of Voldrune. She's set up there, but she's in and out often enough. Prisoners are almost certainly there."
"If we're rescuin' Cobalts, can I come?" Alysson asks. "I still owe 'em for the whole spyin' business for Miss 'meiria, y'know? An' they saved me back when Aunt Kaela decided to attack Miss 'meiria an' I stepped in."
"You should have left her to die," the Watcher growls.
"Aw, I can't do that! Miss 'meiria might be scary, but she's 'Randy's Ma." Alysson looks at Roper hopefully. "So can I?"
Ada wears a look of pure terror at the thought. Is she the only one afraid of Roper? She shakes her head at Alysson, but can't seem to find her voice.
Roper marks the map exactly where the Watcher indicates. The pencil vanishes in a roll of his hand, and the map is put back in his cloak. "You want in on a team, you talk to Captain Sparkwire. You're her problem, not mine," Roper directs to Alysson, his voice sharp and cold. "But, you go near that camp on your own, spook 'em into running or moving the targets and we lose them, then you're my fucking problem. And no one wants that. You fucking coordinate with your Company, or you stay the fuck out of our way."
He takes a deep breath as if savoring something on the wind, a scent caught like an outdoor barbecue, and there's a softer smile on his face, as he directs a moment's pause of a look at Ada. But he shifts his attention back to The Watcher. "As for your passenger in there, it's gonna be smoother for everyone if I was never here. No loose ends for me to worry about." If she knows what he means. "Don't want her writing Dearest Undead Sister about any real estate deals. I'm just a fucking ghost."
The death knight reaches out his left hand and twists it, shadows drawing towards him, shifting and elongating until they rise up silently into something like a horse — of shadow and death, the air going colder and colder around them. He mounts up in a single agile movement, and pushes the horse into a gallop from a full stop, riding hard along the path at a terrifyingly reckless speed.