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| Details |
| Author: | Athena |
| Summary: | During a lull of the fighting against the Nightmare in the Emerald Dream, Roper meets Celaven and Florande, and Colson speaks with fellow paladin Erixa. 4k-ish words. |
| Rating: | M for Mature 17+ |
As the throng of people and animals makes its way through the Nightmare, Celaven Evensong's gaze once again catches on a vaguely familiar figure. He touches Florande's shoulder briefly and leaves her, making his way over toward the front lines.
"Roper?" He calls, uncertain. "Is that you?"
Roper turns his head at the sound of his name. His left brow goes up in recognition, though he doesn't seem surprised to see the kaldorei man. "Celaven. Hey." His voice is clear toned, and he sounds relatively casual. The shadows streaming off his swords and gloves probably seem a little less so.
"You look… different," he says, glancing over the death knight's dreamform.
Celaven looks much like he does in the waking world, though maybe his skin is just a little clearer and there's a suffuse glow of light around him.
Roper looks down at himself. He has such a mobile, active face, the expressions flitting across, a little frown shrug of his mouth, another flicking arch of his brow, a pulling up of the right corner of his mouth. From what he can see, he has leather encased arms and hands. There's no sign at all of anything different, to him. It is, however, not his saronite armor, the SI:7 insignia obvious. "Yeah, well, old uniforms die hard," Roper drawls. "You look shiny." A beat, a consideration. "Shinier?"
"And you sound like Syarra's sister there," Celaven says dryly. "But I suppose I am. Is she here, Syarra?"
Roper's casualness vanishes into a flat, dark stare. "Yes." He turns his head slowly, his eyes cold and filled with a deep, dangerous rage as he looks in the direction from where the Nightmare's first offensive strike came from, the shadows darkening around his runeblades. "It took her." There's no echo to his voice, not here in the dream, and he still looks alive, but in many ways he hasn't sounded or looked more like a death knight since he arrived.
"Ah," Celaven says, his silver eyes shifting to look in the direction Roper indicates. "It took my sister as well - my mother was with her, before she came here. It was affecting Velrin, too, I think. She became obsessed with tracking down some demon hunter she counts as an enemy who got away. She was awake when she ran off into the forest, but… I do not know where she is. Then there was the call…"
Roper glances back at Celaven at that, his eyes dark and intent, measuring something about the kaldorei priest, his left hand tapping slowly against his hilt. "It took a friend of mine, too," he offers back, in some rule of equal exchange possibly, information for information. Some of that information might be that Roper has a friend. "I'm getting them back." It's hard to hear the motivation in the tone. Maybe it isn't exactly virtuous, maybe he isn't there on some grand scale heroic reason, but his actions still speak of something, someone who cares at least about his own enough to show up.
Celaven shifts to look back at him, his gaze unblinking. He nods slightly, perhaps in acknowledgment of the exchange. "We will succeed, if success is possible. If not, still we will remain with those we have lost, as we will all be lost to the Nightmare. At least, my family is here to help. All who are able."
Roper nods, a crooked smile pulling up his lips. "Yeah. That's the plan. I'm not leaving without them." He looks over Celaven's shoulder, as if his family might be there. "Your family?"
They are there, though not neatly arranged behind him. Anareline, who Roper might recognize, is somewhere in the mid of the pack, at the side of an ambulatory tree. Celaven nods, tilting his head in their direction. "My mother and her soulmate. If any understand what we are up against, it will be them. They were in the War of the Ancients." One of them was a child at the time, but ok Celaven. He then indicates closer by, a wide-eyed bear with some fragments of shadow still trailing from its claws. "My half-sister. I mentioned her to you, last time we spoke." There is a green dragon looming behind the bear, but the bear seems far more likely to be Celaven's half-sister than the dragon.
Roper can't tell which one is who between Ana and Cas, his eyes skimming dismissively over the tree. He might not realize that's a druid. His attention fixes on the bear. "I remember. The bear," he confirms. He up-nods at Florande. "Hey," he says, a little louder, that neutral all-purpose greeting.
The bear stares up at him for a long moment, and then at Celaven. Then, midstride, she shifts into the form of a young kaldorei woman, appearing more solid than the various dreamforms around them. Her hair is a tangle of green and her skin is pinkish. There are circles under her eyes, and the chaotic pattern of dirt on her face shows old tracks of tears.
She doesn't break stride, and continues to stare at Roper. "Why do you look evil?"
"Haven't showered in a fucking week," Roper drawls back, resting his weight on his back leg. He actually looks freshly bathed, clean shaven and tidy, his hair thick, healthy, and styled back from his face. "Also I'm a little dead."
"You don't look like a spirit, you look like a dreamform," Florande says, eyeing him critically. She's been in the Emerald Dream one (1) time before, she's an expert now. "Anyway you don't get shadows like that from not bathing." From the dirt on her face, one might guess she knows from experience.
"He's a death knight," Celaven says gently.
Florande might be able to change from one form to another without breaking stride, but at that she stumbles, grabbing onto Celaven's arm to not fall. She turns away from Roper, like maybe she's going to make a break for it. Celaven puts a hand over hers, holding her gently in place.
The green dragon takes a small step closer, but holds a certain distance, watching.
There's a dangerous glint in his eyes for a moment, but he shifts his weight, moves his body a little, covering some of it. "Yeah. A little dead, a little knight." He tilts his head. "Roper. Of Karkut," he adds. He probably means his name.
Florande's shoulders tense visibly, but she straightens and walks at Celaven's side, jerking her arm away. Still not looking at Roper, she says skeptically, "Of Karkut. He guides the souls of the dead, so they do not lose their way. Is that what you do?"
Roper seems to be considering this. He shrugs, a roll of his shoulders that lifts his runeblades up and down slightly, shadows swirling around them. "Might depend on where you think they should go. But yeah, I guess sometimes. I make sure those who got fucking stuck where they shouldn't be go back to where they should, like the Scourge. And I make sure some don't go where they're not supposed to, like into death gates. And I stop those who would shove a soul back into a broken corpse, and make sure that soul goes wherever the fuck they're going."
Florande darts a quick glance at him, frowning. "So you follow Karkut by handling the undead. And preventing the undead from happening. Did the Kalu'ak tell you this is a good thing?"
"They called us that, and told us we could live among them. I live in Kaskala, with my wife. We've been holding the line against the gods fucking forsaken kvaldir trying to take it, since March. I've got my own fishing pole and string to barter with and everything." Roper moves his arms in an open sort of gesture. "You can ask anyone in Moa'ki to Unu'pe to Kamagua. Oh, if you do see Qannick before I do, tell him Roper's got a lead on that heavier cleaver for his fish. It just got fucked with everything going sideways into this bullshit."
"I've been in Moa'ki since spring," Florande says, perking up a little. "I haven't seen you. But… I was in Indu'le a lot, too. Qannick is fine, he just likes to complain. But I'll say, if I see him. Why do you like the Kalu'ak?"
Roper tilts his head to the side, his right brow going up. "What's not to like? They mind their own business, but they take no shit. They don't treat death like it's automatically the enemy. And they'll talk to you for hours about the best way to fillet something to remove its spine." The tuskarr probably mean that information for fish. Roper might mean something else. Yeah. He might look alive, but that is still definitely a death knight.
Celaven makes a small disapproving sound, but Florande doesn't flinch. She's probably spent a lot of time fileting fish, and isn't thinking of other possible contexts.
"Well, okay, but I don't think death… I am not close to Karkut. More like Oacha'noa, really. She is a good goddess," Florande says warming to the subject.
Roper shifts in place, idly rotating his wrists, moving his blades without threat, more like a man who is incapable of remaining still this long (as in, longer than thirty seconds). "Yeah, that ocean goddess one? Wouldn't have thought she'd have much appeal to druid, but I guess…" Roper shrugs, a lift up and down of only his right shoulder. "For a bear, no reason to bite the hand that feeds you fish, right?"
Florande shrugs, turning away, and says in a casual tone, "Mostly she's the one I met in person."
Roper's brows both go up now, and there's a keener look of interest to his eyes, sharper and maybe more dangerous, depending on one's point of view. "Oh, yeah?" He doesn't sound disbelieving. This is an opening of, go on then, tell me more. Tell me how maybe this death knight could have a connection of an asset to an ocean goddess.
"She was a little scary, but I think probably goddesses are," Florande says easily. "That and now I think she was a little worried we might be like trolls, trying to come eat her. I would never eat a goddess."
Celaven is trying to keep a straight face through this, but he does add, "Perhaps goddesses are more frightening to outsiders. Elune can be terrifying, but not to her own."
Roper rolls his wrists again, and he doesn't keep a straight face, that crooked grin popping in, and a deep laugh that sounds all too human here in the Emerald Dream. He has his drawl back, if no rasp to his voice. "I don't think I'd eat a goddess, mine or otherwise. I don't have a lot in common with fucking trolls." A beat, a flick of his brows up and down in consideration. "I'm more likely to eat a troll." And he has. Many times. Their pain, anyway.
"Oh, ew," Florande says reflexively, with a nervous giggle."Really? But… I guess it's not too weird of an idea, at least when I'm an animal. Though I bet they wouldn't taste good, and I don't like the idea of eating sapient creatures. Anyway, you can't turn into a bear or even a panther, so how would you?"
"Florande," Celaven says, and it sounds like a warning. "They're our allies today, the trolls."
Roper snorts. "If they're the Amani, then it's really just for fucking today. But yeah, fine, today, everyone's an ally, down to the fucking kobolds." He doesn't answer Florande's question, not at this time anyway, but that may be because his attention is being pulled forward, his eyes scanning the edges of the Nightmare.
"They aren't, are they?" Florande says glancing back at the kobolds in surprise. "No, no, they look ready for fighting. There's no time for that sort of thing."
At that, Celaven does chuckle, and then shakes his head. "In any case, we are allies. I know you're here for her, Roper, but we will watch your back in this place. I hope you will ours, as well."
"I heard what he said. All in. I've got as many backs as it fucking takes to get this done. This may surprise you, but I'm not really a lone wolf kind of guy." Roper's drawl is gone again, the shadows darker around his hands, ice glittering across the blades. Well, you have at least part of an answer there, Florande. He isn't a wolf.
"Good, because that spirit is dangerous, so you should not," Florande nods. "Though also wolves are not lone. They travel in packs. Which we are, sort of, but not a wolf pack. Anyway…" Florande blushes, and in the next moment she's a panther, fading halfway into the shadows.
"Florande, you can't just…" Celaven glances over at Roper. "I hope you don't take it personally. She does that when she's feeling nervous. She'll change back if you ask, I'm nearly certain."
Roper laughs, but it's a little hollow, something in his expression — yearning, maybe? — before he shrugs it away with a twitch of his shoulders. "What's there to take personal? I used to know the shadows like that. They used to fucking know me." There it is, that touch of something, envy, but then it's gone, and the drawl is called back. He tips his head in Florande's general direction, not looking at her, his eyes still on the edges of the Nightmare. "Say hi to the vanishing shadows for me, will ya, Florande?" That she's also a panther really doesn't seem to bother him. Maybe he was a cat guy. Or maybe he's just not bothered by silent, dangerous female predators in general.
There's a faint hint of a feline nod, a flash of luminous eyes, and then Florande is lost in the throng.
"And now you know her," Celaven says quietly. "In case you need to follow up about druids, about healing. Assuming, of course, that we ever leave this place. I would ask you, though, to be careful of her. To be kind, as you can."
"Hey, when am I ever fucking not?" Roper drawls. Yeah, he's a nice guy, ask anyone. Don't think too hard about the survivor bias of that sample population though.
"As you can," Celaven repeats, not answering that one. "It's probably best that she met you here, as an ally, where you look less… startling." He pauses, his own gaze tracking into the nightmare mist. "This is a place I never expected to be, and she knows it better than either of us. If you run into difficulty, you can trust her to help."
"I'm flattered you think I could tell apart a bear or cat or whatever in this fucking crowd, but assuming she'd come if her name was called, I'll keep it in mind." Roper twirls his swords again, ice and shadow twisting in the air. "Whatever you might think about me, I am a fucking ally here. If you run into trouble, and you do call my name, I will help you, if I can. It's not like it'd kill me," he drawls, but there's no smile on his face. He's serious.
"I think she would. And I will," Celaven says simply, taking a step back behind Roper. "There's no telling what we'll face next in this place."
Colson holds his place in the mid-field. There are flashes of Light and holy shocks of healing lightning cast from his hands, emergency reliefs to halt a wound in place while others cast longer waves of healing. Once the urgency has passed, he lowers his hands, breathing slowly and deeply, calm despite the innate chaos of a battlefield in the middle of a lull. This is not his first or even second rodeo.
As he scans the throng of people, he nods or raises a hand in greeting to those he knows or recognizes. One such is a draenei paladin woman, who Colson hails as she comes within reasonable speaking range. "Erixa. Good evening," he says, with a friendly smile.
Erixa pauses for a moment, and then smiles brightly back. She looks much like she does in the waking world, though maybe just a slight bit taller and more solidly built. She makes her way over to his side.
"Paladin Colson!" Erixa says by way of greeting. "You seem happy today. Is a good fight?"
"I am glad to see you, and I am grateful and awed to witness once more the power of the unity of Azeroth working as one for our common cause," Colson says. He looks over the crowd, and there is open faith and deep belief on his face, easy to read and see here in the Emerald Dream. "I saw this once before at Mt. Hyjal years ago, and I know how powerful we are together, to overcome even the most dire of threats. I believe we will succeed." He turns to Erixa, facing her directly, and he is obviously doing a small check up on her, a field medic's habit of checking for any lingering wounds a fighter might be walking with.
Erixa pats her breastplate as if to demonstrate that she's hale. "I understood almost all of that. I have been practicing listening to fancy paladin words. Yes, everyone here working to common goal, it is amazing that even the ones you would expect to stab in back are here and fighting together with us! Though maybe stab-in-backers would not answer a call from a kaldorei man, so they are not here. That is also good. How are you? I have not seen you much in Northrend lately."
Colson inclines his head in equitable acknowledgment that those who are not trustworthy themselves may not so easily trust the word of a kaldorei druid speaking into their minds to join in a fight against a nightmare. He speaks slowly, and clearly, if still in Fancy Paladin Words. "I am well, thank you. I have been in Stormwind assisting with a person I once served with in the army. They have needed care after the battle of Angrathar the Wrathgate." Despite the formality of his words, he seems fond of this person, still a little worried, but hopeful. "They are here. I saw them earlier, though I have lost sight of them at the moment." He scans the battlefield again, but he doesn't seem concerned at this particular loss of immediate sight of the person, as if he expects this level of uncertainty. Callum's around somewhere, he's sure. "And you? I understand you have been working with Cressidha and Dane in Northrend."
"Ah, many have needed care after that battle," Erixa nods her head forward slightly in solemn acknowledgement. "It is good to look after friends when they need it. Or fighting colleagues. And yes! I have been working with your sister. She was very polite, quiet mage, but very powerful. It was… an unusual mission in Storm Peaks."
Colson's brows dip down, a look of concern and chagrin mixed, and even he, a man who has won several awards from the Understatement of the Year Committee in various rankings for efforts, seems to find some sense of understatement in the choice of terms for that particular mission. "It is not the first time Cressidha has been obliged to work in disguise, or in trust that all will be well. Even so, it was not an easy mission for her, and I am glad that it appears to be over for the time being." He looks gentler, more concerned and compassionate both. "I understand that such things can be difficult as well for one who follows the Light, to be forced into situations that do not have simple, clear paths to walk."
Erixa tilts her head, thinking, raising one dream hand to a tentacle. "I do not think I questioned the path, but it did twist and turn. We trained bears, and Velrin fought in a tournament to win the hand of a giant. Then we stopped a war, and had to kill a titan keeper. There was… corruption there." She blinks luminous eyes, watching Colson's unusually expressive face. "Your sister keeps most of her thoughts to herself. I hope it was not too troubling."
"Ah, well," Colson says with an understanding smile, and affection in his tone. "It is true she is careful with her opinions in voice, but often clear in action, and not unwilling to speak her mind when she believes she must. Though, I confess it may be different for me, for Cressidha's mind has ever seemed clear to me, and her opinions and feelings both readily apparent, but we are twins." His eyes sparkle with good humor, something of a joke perhaps, not because they're not twins, but because that might not be much of an explanation really.
"Do human twins have some kind of connection in the mind?" Erixa asks, with a genuine curiosity that assumes this very well might be the case. "My brother Savun's mind was never fully clear to me, though I understood him well. We were not twins, though, and had as many differences as likenesses. He was an anchorite, a bit like your husband in that."
Colson's expression goes soft with love, and the ring on his left hand glows brighter, a beacon of the Light. "I remember you speaking of him, your brother. I would be glad to know more of him someday, if you would like to share the memories of him. Cressidha and I do not share a connection of the mind so directly, but you might consider us linked in spirit, in our hearts, reflections of each other. I have always felt her in my heart, known her as I know myself, all of my life."
"That is a lovely picture, to have someone who understands you so well and loves you still," Erixa's smile is gentler than usual, and there's a touch of wistfulness to her expression. "And yes, I can speak more of Savun with you sometime - it has been years, so it does not bother me to…" Erixa cuts off, tightening her hand on the tentacle into a fist as something bleak and angry steals over her features. She glances over at the cluster of orcs, her anger sharpening, and then she deliberately fixes her gaze forward. "I find it harder to lie in this place, I do not know why. But yes, perhaps we talk more of Savun when we are not among enemies." Does she mean the shadow creatures or the orcs?
Colson nods, sympathy in the softness of his eyes, no anger in him, though he glances at the orcs as well. There's only that gentle compassion, and he turns the same look on Erixa. "I understand. It can be difficult to think of memories of love when anger grips at the heart. Another time." There's a world of faith in that phrase, that belief that there will be another time, another place, that this is not where either of them end, and not the end of the world. He truly believes it.
"I try to focus on the now, but there is so much in the then that I… I miss," Erixa says, her voice breaking a little on the last word. She shakes her head. "But we are here now, and whatever this battle is, we will fight it. I will not see others suffer while I stand aside, not this time."
Colson doesn't reach out physically at least, but there's a sense of a [Greater Blessing of Kings] that touches on Erixa as Colson nods. When he speaks, it lacks the impassioned fervor of the earlier shouts, replaced instead with a gentle conviction, but not necessarily weaker for the difference. "For Savun. For Erixa. For Azeroth."