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| Details |
| Author: | Alli |
| Summary: | Anareline and Florande discuss current events and next steps while collecting flowers for the Argent Crusade. ~2000 words. |
| Rating: | T for Teen |
The fields of poppies in Zul’drak, usually menaced by water elementals and Drakkari guards, are quieter as of late. Whether this is due to the success of the allied efforts in the area, or simply because the trolls are drawing back to kill and consume their gods, the end result is the same. Anareline Evensong takes a deep breath of the cold, damp air, catching just a touch of the smoky scent of the analgesic flowers.
There’s still conflict, there are still wounded, and not everyone is seen promptly by a priest or other healer. Thus, she is harvesting these pain-relieving flowers. Anareline suspects there is another, darker reason in the need for these blooms - their self-proclaimed allies in the Ebon Blade, reveling in suffering. No one seems willing to say it out loud, but surely a death knight in a camp full of pain is likely to end in a truce broken. If any of them had the self-control to endure such a thing, perhaps they would not have needed a miracle to break free of the Lich King’s chains.
Anareline kneels, carefully severing a bloom from a larger flower. Then there’s a movement in the corner of her eye, a ripple of stalks, and she drops the flower, her hand moving to her sword hilt automatically. Perhaps these fields aren’t as abandoned as they seemed. Something low to the ground… a geist? A few moments later, the culprit comes clear and she lets out an irritated sigh. It’s a very familiar bear, a bundle of poppies held in its mouth.
“Florande, is that you?” Anareline asks, just to be certain. The bear nods its head in a very un-bear-like fashion. “You shouldn’t hold them in your mouth like that, little one.”
The bear cocks its head, drops the flowers, and shifts back into the form of a young, kaldorei woman with messy green hair.
“Whyyynoo…” Florande slurs, and then looks startled. She runs her tongue uneasily along the inside of her mouth. “Wha…poison?” There’s a shimmer of green as the girl tries to cleanse herself.
“No, it’s not poison, Wildbloom,” Anareline doesn’t smile, but there’s a little quirk at the corner of her lips. “They provide pain-relief… there’s a numbing effect. It should wear off, but didn’t the Argent captain explain all of this to you?”
Florande shrugs uneasily. “Wassa lotta words for get flowr.”
The quirk at the edge of her lips is a little more pronounced, as she says, “You’ll be fine. But you should listen when people talk to you.”
“I lissen,” Florande says, her eyes hurt, as she gathers up the flowers in her hand this time. The numbing already seems to be wearing off a little. “Jus’ only whennits inneresting.”
Anareline picks up her bloom and reaches out to take Florande’s bundle. The younger elf hands them over without hesitation. And checks through, counting, and then nods.
“I think we have enough here to head back,” Anareline says, reaching out one hand absently to tidy Florande’s hair. “We don’t want to over-harvest, after all.”
Florande looks faintly offended. “I’mma druid, I know about balance.”
“Of course you do,” Anareline says evenly. “Or at least, the summary.”
Florande at least has enough self-awareness to blush and duck her head. The girl has no focus half the time, but she means well. Anareline thinks that it’s probably for the best that the two of them only met after everything that happened in recent years. She can only imagine the frustration she might have felt if she had been the woman responsible for Florande’s short-lived attempt at sentinel training.
“I have been very diligent, past months,” Florande protests, the numbness in her tongue fading as she falls in step at Anareline’s side. They head back toward the camp. “Until I heard that there was success in Zul’drak, sort of? And maybe it was safe to come see how everyone was doing.” She turns big, luminous eyes up at Ana. “How are you doing? And Shan’do Silvershade?”
“Well enough,” Ana says, reaching over to brush a crumpled leaf off Florande’s arm. She tenses as she catches the scent of blood where the leaf was stuck. There’s a tear in Florande’s armor, and wetness coating the jagged edges of the leather armor. She can’t quite keep the teacher’s sternness out of her voice as she says, “Florande, are you injured? Have you not healed yourself?”
Florande shrugs. “It’s a small scratch. My body heals itself of small things. Just takes more time.”
“I suppose that’s true, but you may scar,” Ana says, reaching over to touch the tear. Florande doesn’t wince or pull away, so perhaps it truly is healing already. “There’s no reason not to use magic.”
Florande’s ears twitch and she shakes her head. “I am using nature magic. I am nature magic. That’s what the Kalu’ak say. In all of us, life, death, it’s all magic. Silap Inua.”
“Sila… what are you talking about?” Anareline’s brow draws down in puzzlement.
“A lesson I found interesting,” Florande says with a shy smile, skipping a few steps ahead and turning to look back at her. “That’s what they call magic, Silap Inua. The… greater soul of all thinking people. People who can think.”
“Sapients,” Ana supplies mildly.
“Sure,” Florande nods. “And that is magic.”
Anareline tilts her head, looking down at the younger woman. She remembers feeling that level of confidence and certainty in youth. She also remembers the Highborne, their own magic and decadence, and the death and chaos that followed.“I would not assume that your fisher friends know all there is to know about magic, little one.”
“They know a lot of things,” Florande argues, walking backward in front of Anareline. “And the things they believe in are true. I talked to their sea goddess Oacha’noa, she’s real. A big sea creature, like a kraken.”
“A big sea creature,” Ana blinks, and stops in her tracks, resting one hand on a crumbling Drakkari-carved wall. “Like a… loa? Or some kind of wild god?”
“A spirit. A sea goddess,” Florande insists, then hesitates, uncertainty creeping into her expression. “Maybe? I didn’t think of it at the time, but then… Ursoc is like a bear. Maybe Shan’do Silvershade would know.”
Anareline considers her evenly for a moment, her open, innocent expression. There had been plenty of information in the Cobalt newsletters, but… “Have you heard what troubles Zul’drak?”
“Trolls? Scourge?” Florande shrugs.
“Specifically, the trolls have been killing their own gods,” Anareline says carefully, watching the druid for signs of alarm. She does not have to watch very carefully. Florande raises her hands to cover her mouth in shock and her eyes widen. “They’ve been taking their power to fight against the Scourge.”
“That’s what Oacha’noa meant?” Florande asks, for all the world as if Ana might know the answer.
“…meant by what?” Ana asks, and then the sternness creeps into her voice again as she says, “Florande Wildbloom, I am not a mind reader. I will insist you speak in complete thoughts.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Florande gives a nervous laugh, but her expression is still serious. “She asked if we were working with the trolls, planning to kill her and take her power for our own. We said no, of course, because we weren’t, we were there to help the Kalu’ak.”
“Hm,” Ana says thoughtfully. “That does sound like something a wild god would say, but I’m no expert. Perhaps you should speak with the others, the ones who’ve had more contact with the wild gods here.”
“I’ll stick around a little longer then,” Florande says, impulsively reaching out to grab Anareline’s hand and pull her along towards the camp. Ana raises one long eyebrow in amusement, but allows herself to be hurried along. “I can’t stay too long, because the Kalu’ak in Indu’le Village need me.”
“The… what?” Ana says, feeling left behind once again. These young people, always flitting from one topic to the next. “Indu’le is the village that was destroyed by the Blue Dragonflight, is it not?”
“Well, there’s destroyed and destroyed,” Florande says ambiguously, letting her hand drop. Then she seems to remember Anareline’s request, and adds, “There are still some Kalu’ak living there, and the ley line focus in the lake seems to have calmed down. But they are not… healthy. They don’t recognize friends.” Florande’s ears droop. “I noticed they eat fish from the contaminated lake, and I thought it must be poisoning them with more arcane power. I’ve been fishing in a safer place, replacing their fish with mine. I think, over time, it might help?”
Anareline glances over at Florande in surprise. “Has someone asked you to do this?”
“Not exactly?” Florande says, shuffling her feet shyly as she walks. “Rissa and I went to the village with Dane, Nunuzac, and Ace. Ace helped us learn to be like stone, to talk to the stone elder. Dane fought the spirits of the dead, and Nunuzac helped them find peace. But the elder said the living might recover in time. We were very careful not to hurt them.”
“That is… very kind,” Anareline says slowly, and then continues on in thought. She had not thought to see such initiative from the scattered druid, but she had noticed the impulse to aid in the past… the girl did her best to assist the people of Farshire, back in the tundra.
Perhaps she is beginning to mature. It reminds her a little of when Larawen began to find her own feet, walk her own path. Elune knew she hadn’t made it easy for her own daughter. It might be that both girls inherited something from their father - a tendency to want to be of service. For all his flaws, he had that. She only hopes that the girls are wiser in choosing where to serve.
The stone structure of the Argent camps comes into view as they leave the fields behind, and Anareline adds, “Seeing to their food is one thing, but what next?”
“Next?” Florande asks. “Patience, I think. It’s hard to do, but patience.”
“Were there not… other places?” Anareline asks, one ear twitching. “Other areas where the ley lines were manipulated. You might check if some places heal faster than others. Like the Moonrest Gardens, if I recall.”
“Moonrest Gardens,” Florande repeats, frowning. “That was the old elvish ruins? The Highborne?”
“Mm,” Anareline nods, stepping past the barricades into the camp. Her eyes go distant as her mind goes back in memory, a faint look of distaste on her face. “There must be more ruins. This place was part of Kalimdor before the sundering. There would have been elves isolated here, without any Well of Eternity or Sunwell. A terrible fate for the Highborne, I would assume.”
“Because… they were mages?” Florande asks, following into the camp.
“Because… look what happened to the blood elves, after the Sunwell was tainted,” Anareline says, holding out the flowers to Florande. “I don’t think they would do well without an arcane power source. Perhaps there is something of note near their ruins? Or more ley foci?”
Florande takes the blooms gingerly, careful not to let the milk touch her skin. “I can ask the Tuskarr. They’ve been here ages, they would know where the ruins are.”
“Perhaps so,” Anareline nods. “For now, why don’t you go turn these in and impress the Captain? Be a diligent young druid here in Zul’drak as well.”
“But you helped…” Florande looks back at her.
“I don’t need any credit,” Anareline says, with a trace of amusement in her tone. “My reputation is likely set, for good or ill. You go. Make your Shan’do proud.”