![](http://cobalt-company.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/writing:2024-02-17-a-story-in-progress/style="margin:/medium.jpg) |
| Details |
| Author: | Athena |
| Summary: | Once upon an Emerald Dream, Thalstan Stouthammer, looking like he sprang off the page of a popular novel, came to the defense of a dreamy sniper lass, Oranna Stormbreaker. *She's* definitely not just a dream girl, right? And *he's* not just a fictional character, right? One way or another, it's going to make a pretty good story. 9300-ish words. |
| Rating: | T for Teen |
Chain: Orastan
It's a day like any other in Ironforge. The Cobalt Blade is in a lull between missions, and Thalstan Stouthammer has been working on his leatherworking, making a new pair of long, black, bat-leather gloves for Vesyllah. They're only partly done, but it's getting on towards dinnertime and his stomach is rumbling. It's really past time to get back to the Thirsty Dragon for a nice bowl of his mom's mutton stew. He tucks up his belongings into his bag and heads out into the bustle of the mercantile district of his grand, cavernous hometown.
Thalstan gives a deep, musical hum under his breath as he strolls along in the vague direction of his mom's tavern, the vibration faintly rustling his beard. He glances over at the nearby shops, all the busy people moving in and out…
In particular, as a large group of young dwarves passes by on their way to the main gates with a picnic basket held between two of them, talking animatedly between themselves, and a wandering set of six guards passing in the other direction on their way to the Military District, a shop door to one of the munitions shops opens in just that perfect space of a beat between these two waves of people, and framed within the doorway is a dwarven woman, looking down for a moment longer at some list held in her hand.
She's not wearing armor, certainly not the sort that she's worn most often lately; she's in a dress, a light blue with a long skirt and short sleeves (it's February, after all, practically spring), cut appealing low over the sort of bust that makes someone liable to compliment her, her extremely long dark brown hair done in a loose braid, small pieces framing her face. There's nothing especially remarkable about her to single her out, except for when she raises her head up, there she is — that is Oranna, Oranna Stormbreaker, looking exactly the way she did in the Emerald Dream, soft brown eyes and heavy brows. She steps out, almost looking in the direction of Thalstan.
And then, the group of the picnic goers sweeps across her path, the guards in the other direction, and there's a blur of faces and clothing and bodies, and by the time it's begun to sort back out, Oranna is gone, possibly going in the direction of one of the groups, around a corner or into an alley.
Or maybe she was just a figment.
Thalstan had taken an uncertain step toward her before the convergence of so many people erased her from his sight, and now he stands, staring at the empty doorway of a munitions shop. He blinks, rubs one hand across his dark, bushy brows, and scans the area. Maybe the dream war was still getting to him.
"Oh, well, still mutton stew ahead," he rumbles, and carries on towards the tavern.
The Next Day
Thalstan's impressive strength is on full display today, but not in a martial sense. He's carrying crates of full of foodstuffs - sausages, bread, and there's a faint scent of something fishy and delicious wafting from the bottom. It's only a tram-ride away, and some of the pubs in the Dwarven District of Stormwind pride themselves on their authentic Ironforge fare. The Thirsty Dragon is happy to supply.
He makes his way through the crowd, which isn't too difficult given the way people tend to part in front of him. He hears a few nervous giggles that likely come from good-hearted dwarven lasses. Being a cover model does get all sorts of reactions. Then again, maybe they've not even seen the Arnathorn books. Maybe it's just the sturdy muscles and the lush hair that's catching the ladies' eyes.
He makes his way up to the tram car and waits patiently, opting not to set down the crates even though his arms are starting to strain. Then the car arrives, and he steps aboard, turning back toward the platform.
It's just a few seconds before the tram will start up again, heading to Stormwind, when through the tunnel comes another good-hearted dwarven lass. This one is wearing a blue dress — the same blue dress as before, as a matter of fact — her hair done in a loose braid, tendrils by her face; it's Oranna, Oranna Stormbreaker. Again. Possibly.
She's searching for someone it would seem, by the expression on her face, scanning around the way someone does when they have someone or something specific they're looking for. There's a worry line between her brows, as she frowns, not quite distressed but definitely concerned. The movement of the air circling around the platform pushes some of the hair across her face, and she absentmindedly sweeps it to the side with a hand. She almost looks in Thalstan's direction —
— and then whoosh, the tram is off, those on the platform nothing but a blur.
"No, wait!" Thal calls out, and the other passengers on the car give him a significant side-eye. The tram waits for no one. That would be inefficient.
There's nothing for it but to finish his errand and head back to Ironforge on the next tram. By the time he does, there is no blue-dressed lass scanning anything. Was she ever really there?
The Next Day
Thalstan strides heavily and surely toward the Mystic Ward, headed for Cobalt HQ. There might yet be news about the centaurs, or the Shadow Council, or the revival of Desolace.
There's a very determined gnome circling around the fountain: Bimble Longberry, indefatigable, and some might say weirdly pushy for someone selling fruit. She's a known hazard for those around the Cobalt Headquarters. Gotta time it just right to catch her on the other side of her route to make it into the HQ without an extra apple or banana on you, and so you can get into the building unaccosted.
Or in the case of one dwarven hunter, make it out of her house, and she's almost misses the window of it, lending a new layer of haste to her. She's still wearing that blue dress. Up close, it's made of some pretty, high-quality linen, well-dyed and made for her specifically, with details of soft embroidery on the edges of the neckline made with love and affection for the wearer. Her hair has been braided loosely, smelling of clove and sandalwood, and tendrils fall around her face in gentle caressing curves. She's fresh-faced, and there's a small faint dusting of freckles across her cheeks and nose, just barely visible in the light of Ironforge.
All of this is very apparent because as Thalstan strides forward, and Oranna dashes out from a corner, the two collide with enough force that they almost don't keep their feet on the ground.
Oranna yelps, and grabs onto Thalstan's arm to halt a tumbling fall, brown eyes wide and startled — and the look only grows as she recognizes him, possibly first as the cover model for books, and then, more improbably, as someone from a Dream War. The shock to initial disbelief to extended surprise is an easy journey to track on her expression.
Thalstan's wide-eyed stare doesn't transition through anything. From the start to the end, it is sheer, startled amazement that the literal sniper of his dreams has suddenly and truly materialized in reality.
As soon as the first moment of shock passes, he swings around to stabilize her with his own weight, grabbing her wrist on his arm to ensure she doesn't slip away and fall.
"Miss Stormbreaker," he says, when the collision settles. "Yeh are… yeh are Miss Stormbreaker?"
There's an immediate wince of distaste at the name, and Oranna hurriedly attempts to explain it. Attempt might be the keyword as what comes out is, "No. I mean, no, aye, I - I am, that is — my clan name is Stormbreaker, and I'm a — well, it'd be miss, aye, but no' — Miss Stormbreaker was my aunt, and I wasna particularly…fond, an' the name…" She flushes and shakes her head, trying to etch-a-sketch this line of conversation. "Oranna. I'm — I'm Oranna." Whew, safer. "Yer — that's yer face. I mean, that's yer real — " Oranna herself might be still standing, but her babbling is getting dangerously close to a crash, so she just halts it and says, "Hullo. A-again. Arn — uh, Thalstan."
Nailed it.
"Thalstan, aye," he answers, his face softening in a smile as he makes sure she's stable on her feet. "And sorry, I'll call yeh Oranna. Mr. Stouthammer's m'father as well. Are yeh well? From… the fall, an' the dream… an'…" Thalstan stops babbling himself and just steps back, giving her time to answer.
Oranna smiles back, a warm if shy mirror of his own, as she lets go and opens her mouth to answer —
"Juicy fruits for sale!" The high pitched, slightly aggressively cheerful voice, pierces the air.
Oranna takes several hasty steps to Thalstan's side, beckoning him closer and out of line of sight of the fruit seller with a rapid flapping of a hand. She lowers her voice to a whisper. "Oh, aye. I'm well. I'm jus' — I've got twenty goldenbark apples already an' there's only one of me ta eat them. Befound — my lass, er, my snow leopard lass, she's no' a lass of, uh, she eats…fish. An' I canna afford another half dozen to jus'…sit on my table goin' bad afore I can eat them." This is probably more of an explanation than Thalstan was maybe prepared for, and Oranna winces again as that thought crosses her face. "No' that ye needed ta know…" She clears her throat. "How are ye? I mean. After…all that. Th', the nightmare, I mean, no'…any…apple inventory problems."
Thalstan looks a little dazed at all the unexpected information, but he follows the instructions to hide from the enterprising gnome.
"Yeh've got a snow leopard? Tha's a fierce lass," he might mean Befound, he might mean Oranna. "If yeh need ta get ridda fruits, yeh can pop round by my ma's place. She makes a mean apple tart, let me tell yeh, an' she'll share. I'm… doin' well enough. Have yeh.. have yeh been round town these past few days?"
Oranna is obviously curious who Thalstan's ma is, it's written bold across her face, question marks practically in the air. But she's even more surprised by the question. "Oh, ah. Aye? I've been, well, I'm one of Cobalt Company doin' some— Wait — Thalstan Stouthammer! I know ye!" She smiles wider, and ducks her chin a little, oddly shy about recognizing him now not as a cover model but someone she sorta, kinda knows. "Yer Cobalt Blade. I'm — I used ta run some of yer group's paychecks, working admin here, in Ironforge. I've been up in the North, workin' on the squad up there doing the diplomacy with the dwarves. I've been back fer a bit, gettin' the house settled again an'…" Again, this is not information Thalstan probably wants. She's rambling. "It's good ta meet ye, face ta face."
"Aye, good ta meet yeh out in the world, though a dreams no' a bad place for a first meet," Thal grins, rustling his mustache. "An' that's good ta hear, too. I thought I caught a glimpse o' yeh here an' there, past few days, and I was beginning ta right think I was jus' dreamstruck." He furrows his brow. "Somethin' happenin' wi' yer house? If yer movin, I could help."
At the mentioning that she's been Perceived over the past few days, Oranna gets the sort of expression that someone gets when they've told themselves, don't worry, no one is paying any attention to you, no one will even notice if you wear this dress for like, four or five days in a row, and now has been told, in fact, someone was noticing. She runs her hands very self-consciously along the front of her dress like maybe she can smooth it out enough to make the color change or something. Her eyes dart to behind Thalstan, where her house is.
"Ah — that's…that's verra kind of ye ta offer, but, no I'm no'…movin'. I'm jus', I'm no' …here." Something she probably shouldn't say in public, with the Forlorn Cavern a hop skip and pickpocket away. "I mean, I trap it. Well. I trap it well, when I'm gone. I'm good at that. Tha's what I do. Well, an' guns. I have guns." How did she get here? Right. "It's jus' I'm up north now, an' I have been fer about the year, an'…I jus' don't…" Her eyes slide to the right and hold there a moment, caught on a memory or thought, perhaps. "It's jus' too empty here."
Given the respectful appreciation with which Thalstan watches her smooth away the front of her dress, he was not terribly concerned with the color or repetition of the garment over several days. He looks a little startled at the revelation that her house is well-trapped, but then nods understanding about the guns. She was a sniper lass in his dreams, indeed.
"Ah, yer workin' in Northrend?" he asks, straightening up. "Mayhap I'll be helpin' there someday m'self, though these days I'm more about the lower continents. With a team an' all, ye know. An' yer… yer checkin' on yer house 'cause it's no' bein' looked after?"
"Aye, ta be sure it's no' fallin' apart or, someone's been…uh, settin' off the traps. It's — we bought it two years ago, after I took some time off the forward squad, but." Oranna takes a slow breath, and then in that sort of voice of someone who has rehearsed a phrasing, and hasn't managed to smooth it all the way out of an emotional hit yet says, "My fiance died a year ago."
She moves her hand to her right arm, forming something of a half-self-hug. "An' it was jus' the two of us, so now it's…jus'… me. Alone." She shakes her head in almost immediate negation. "No' like, all alone in the world. I have friends. An'….well. I have friends. Jus' no' here the same way. No' since Niris and Elo moved ta Stormwind. An' Ben's gone ta Southshore. An' Ivri and Dane ta Eastvale. Cress an' Jo are up north. So it's…" She trails off awkwardly, wincing with that look of someone aware that she's probably oversharing and if she just stops now maybe it just counts as…sharing?
"Ach, that's a rough place," Thalstan says with sympathy, but he doesn't quite reach to give her a hug. They only just met in reality, even if they did fight a battle together. "My sorrow for your loss. I've no' met a lot of those people, but Elo… Elohad, the Cobalt one? He's a right good sort and no mistake. If ye ever have a need of fillin' up the empty, I live here in Ironforge. The Blade comes through at times, a'swell, though they're no' native ta th' place. An' my ma, like I said before. She's a good heart and always happy ta put a kettle on for a friend. If ye… if ye want more friends, I mean ta say. Not that ye've not got friends, o' course."
"There's no limit, right?" Oranna says with a grin of a warm smile that turns rapidly to a look of mild alarm. "Right? There's no limit? That's no' some sort of secret…friend thing of ye can have only so many afore it's…" What, illegal? That makes no sense. Who would even check that?She waves a hand in the air. "Ne'ermind, that's…of course there's no limit. That wouldn't make any sense fer — "
Quick, change the subject. Awkwardly. "I do know one of yers, Cobalt Blade, I mean, no' yer ma one of yers. Lord Springblade. I hope she's well. We were…" Oranna bobs her head a little as she searches for the right terms. Thalstan might be filling in the blank. It's probably not the right blank. "I guess ye could say, she was a friend o' mine, but I wasna a friend o' hers? Somethin' like tha'."
"Lord Springblade?" It takes Thalstan a moment to even start the process of filling in that blank. "There's one who said she knew ye, when I mentioned yer name, but the one I know's a Sharpgear? I call 'er Mayhem. It's like… a code name. Except no' so secret, so ye can know it. Mine's Valor. Is it Mayhem ye know? Little gnome wi' brown hair and a lot o' knives?"
Oranna blinks, and then blushes. He…mentioned her name? Another self-conscious movement, this time a hand smoothing down her braid, as if this will help with an impression she's already given prior to this.
"Aye, tha's…tha's her, I think. As far as I know ye've only th' one gnome on yer team. I — did ye, tha' is, do ye want ta be called 'Thalstan' or 'Valor'? I'll call ye whate'er ye like." Which has some real potential for getting into lascivious implications, but Oranna doesn't seem to be aware of them. Then again, she just said Lord Springblade with a straight face. "I mean, I'm assumin' — tha' when, er, if, or …see ye again."
It's very possibly increasingly clear to Thalstan that Oranna might be a lot more graceful and decisive in lining up her literal shots than social interactions and sentences.
Thalstan notices the movement, and his brow furrows a little. Was it wrong to talk about her? But… sniper dream lass. How could he not? He tries to smooth his brow and keep the friendly smile, trying to put her more at ease.
"Oh, Thalstan is fine, or Thal if ye like," Thal says, waving that away. He respectfully assumes she meant nothing lascivious. "Is there anythin' ye like better than Oranna? An' I hope ta see ye again, but… are ye sayin'… am I keepin' ye from yer work? I didnae mean ta be a bother, if tha's yer way of askin' ta get by."
Oranna gives an awkward start of a laugh, shaking her head. "No, I…if I'd wanted ye ta be off, or hope ta get around ye ta wha' I was doing, ye'd know. I've…got one of those faces, my brothers always used ta say. E'ery thought, plain as day." That does seem to be the case. "'Oranna' is fine, really." Is she though?
And then, in an odd turn about of reading as well as being read she adds, "An' it's alrigh' tha' ye talked about me. I jus'…I wasna really thinkin' at the time of makin' an impression. I'm no'…at my best in those kinds of battles, e'eryone all around on the same level, an' the chaos of it comin' at every angle. It's difficult, with the way I learned how ta shoot." She colors a little further, but there's a stronger smile at him.
"I — I did mean ta say, thank ye, fer wha' ye did, in th' Emerald Dream battle, when ye helped, an' stayed close after. I canna look far out an' close in at the same time, an' it's easy fer things ta get inta too close range fer a good shot, an'…I'm no' so good with tha' sort of fightin'. Well. Ye saw."
Thal nods. "I thought somethin' like that. When yer a good shot with a long eye, ye can get caught out if yer not protected. I'm a fair hand with a gun m'self, but no sniper. I'm best at the close in, axes an' swords. It's… well, I was workin' wi' the Ironforge guard till the Cobalt Blade job came along, so… no' so much ranged fightin'. Mostly dealin' wi' mutant rats in th' tram tunnel an' th' odd thief or whatnot. An' then I trained with a Wildhammer, after joinin' up wi' Cobalt, which was mostly axe." Thalstan pauses, maybe realizing she did not need all that information herself. He finishes weakly, "Aye, I could tell you were in a zone, with th' shootin'."
If it helps, Oranna looks genuinely interested in the information, particularly at the mention of a gun, nodding along. "Aye, it's…part o' the trouble with battles like tha'. In the field, with Cobalt, I'm usually behind someone like Dane or Ben on a squad, but I lost track of them early. Too many tall folk e'erywhere. An' then they were out on the front line of it, an' I'm no' much good there, better back for a longer range." She gives Thal another smile. "A Wildhammer, though as a Cobalt trainer…would tha' be Lireen Cloudskimmer, by any chance?"
Thal blinks, surprised. "Ye know her? Aye, she was trainin' me up til she went up ta Northrend. The style's a bit dif'rent between guard duty an' leadin' a squad. I think our squad's doin' well, though. We're inta some survey work fer the mages in Theramore most recent."
"Oh, aye. I was the, ah, reason Lireen went up north. We thought tha'…" Oranna halts that, and she seems to shrink slightly, the thumb of her hand on her arm picking up a nervous rapid tap before she halts it by squeezing her arm a little more. Her tone has that sound of someone saying a phrase that has been practiced, maybe something she's written down before and read out loud, trying to get it normal. "I wanted to believe my fiance, who died at sea, was still alive, so we went ta look fer him."
She exhales and looks away, the practiced speech falling away to her regular tone, of someone who doesn't really do guile or think out her sentences fully before she's saying them. "Lireen was there ta make sure I was well. I'm sorry if it was…if it cut yer trainin' shorter than it should ha' been, but…" She tries to look back at Thalstan with something of a smile. "Ye seemed well skilled, ta me, anyway, in defendin'. I, ah. Theramore? I've been afore. It's…" She casts around for an adjective. "Salty." Her face scrunches up. That was probably not the best choice, it was just the first one that came to mind.
"Ye can taste it on the air, aye," Thal says, but his mind doesn't seem very focused on the saltiness of Theramore. He doesn't seem to have much in the way of guile himself, either, and the friendly concern on his face is obvious. "I think I was trained well enough, so there's no need ta worry on tha' account. Would ye like to go somewhere ta sit a while an' talk? The fruitseller's bound to find us sooner or later, hangin' round here. We could go by my ma's pub."
Oranna looks for a moment like she's tempted to look around the corner to check where the fruit seller is, has she found Oranna's hiding place, but no, Bimble's far enough away that her advertisement about the fruit being fresh from Elwynn is only barely audible. But, Thal's right; she is coming around again.
"Oh, ah. A pub. I, uh…I wouldna mind sittin' a spell, it's jus'…I don't drink." She shakes her head a little. "I mean, I drink things, obviously, I don't jus'…air…or… I mean, I drink water. Mostly water. Sometimes tea. I dinna like coffee, though. I havena wanted any milk since tastin' this…seal whey thing up north, it's…pungent." Thalstan does not need the whole list, her face says. Sorry, it's the nerves. "If that would be…alrigh'. I wouldna want ta take up a table or somewhat an' no' buy somethin'."
"It's a fam'ly place, so if yer a friend o' the fam'ly ye can take up a table as long's ye like," Thal says with an encouraging smile. His eyes are still curious, but he doesn't linger on the question. "Water she'll have, an' likely tea? Probably no' seal whey, so yer safe there."
Thal looks over in the general direction of the fruitseller, and then gestures to Oranna. "Come on, then? We can cut through the Forlorn, dodge the apples entire. Maybe I can tell ye about the place on the way. The Thirsty Dragon, it's called, after a long-passed-down story my ma will swear is honest-to-goodness history."
Oranna is very obviously curious about this particular detail, as she moves to follow Thal. There's a touch of nervousness at the thought of the Forlorn Cavern, a glancing at it, but she shakes it off, and she smiles back, tucking some hair back behind an ear. "Alrigh'. What's the story, or, uh, history-story legend…thing?"
Thal strides through the cavern with the confidence of an Ironforge guard, who expects the unsavory elements to flee rather than attack. He keeps careful pace with Oranna, though after noting her nervousness.
"It's a tale of long, long ago, hundreds o' years before the Three Hammers," Thal starts the story. "Back when our pub was first founded. It had some other name then, now lost to time. It was a humble place, local fare fer local folk, tha' sort o' thing. People watch out fer each other. So one day, when a raggedy lookin' dwarf came in lookin' fer a drink wi' no coin to 'is name, folk looked after 'im. Drink an' meal an' a warm place ta sleep fer the poor fella, who said he'd fallen on hard times."
Oranna nods, and she sticks closer to Thal. Her body language is, unfortunately, projecting more like nervous potential victim who has realized she left her gun and her attack leopard at home, please don't rob her, she needs the money for groceries beyond apples, but also she keeps her money in this bag she's now touching more than she should, but Thal's Ironforge Guard aura is probably strong enough to make it clear this is not a good time to try to take advantage of the dwarven hunter.
"Sure," she says, although it sounds more like shore in that Bronzebeard accent. Long, long ago like, grandparent era, classic dwarven hospitality.
"Fella didnae seem ta have a clan, but he was quiet, polite, started helpin' round the pub. Stuck around fer weeks, no' an official worker but jus' a fella folk get used ta seein' around. Ne'er even gave his name, but folk felt like he had a good heart."
Oranna seems puzzled, frowning in thought. "Oh, aye? No one asked his name then of lack of curiosity, or…was he jus' sorta…'ach, dinna fash about it, I like hey you well 'nuff'?" Oranna does a terrible impression of being someone else, weirdly stilted like she's maybe trying to mimic someone she knows and not even remotely nailing it. She is clearly not meant to be an actress.
Thalstan gives a warm, low laugh, clearly in appreciation of Oranna's impression and not in mockery of it. "Dif'rent folk have said dif'rent things. My ma says what she got from my da's ma is tha' he did give a name at first, but a dif'rent name each day. So folk figured he was jus' pickin' a thing ta be called fer the moment, but it weren't his proper name, ye know?"
Oranna nods at this. "Oh, aye, I've known folk a bit like tha'. Like Lord Springblade. She's had a lot o' names tried out. Makes her paperwork a bit difficult. But, aye, nothin' wrong about someone's heart of who they are who might feel like a different name day ta day." Or maybe Oranna is just really generous with what she's willing to call someone of whatever they want, even if it's something new every day.
Thal nods. "Folk can be odd about such a thing, an' it mean nothin' about their heart. This fella stuck around long enough till folk got used ta him, saw him as a fixture. Then one day, there was a riot. Problems between th' Dark Irons an' the Bronzebeards, they say, but who knows, so long ago? I've no idea what started it, but there was lootin' an' damagin' through the district. Our pub let in everybody they could, and closed th' door. Fella stood by it, one hand on th' post, and no one even tried ta enter."
By now they're passing out of the cavern, toward the military district and the nearby pubs.
There's a look of chagrin at the mention of the dwarf vs dwarf conflict, but there's obviously no distaste inherent in the Dark Irons, just a soft sigh for the trouble of people. Oranna relaxes as they get out of the Forlorn Cavern, glancing back obviously just once. "Just himself, as he was though? No weapon or traps or…ah…real shouty voice?"
"No, real soft spoken 'e was. Kind o' sadness to 'im." Thal says nodding forward to indicate the direction they're headed. "But jus' like, no one seemed ta see th' pub, like he made 'em invisible or some such."
"Oh, like an illusion? Tha's a bit o' cleverness," she says, as she follows his nod, looking ahead.
"When evry'thing had settled, he stepped back an' opened th' door," Thal continues, pointing out a pub in the near distance, a stylized dragon in black on the hanging sign. "The barkeep thanked him for 'is help, an' he looked a' the barkeep an' said, 'ye showed such kindness to a lonesome stranger, an' this is only a small retun. Ye deserve more. Have m' blessing on this place ferever after, ta be a place o' peace an' rest'. An' then he wandered out, and folk said there was ought odd about his shadow, like it looked as if 'e had wings. Like a dragon. He walked off, an' was ne'er seen again."
Oranna nods. Perhaps surprisingly, she doesn't look even remotely skeptical. If anything, there's a bit of rueful sympathy to her expression. "Oh, aye, they do tha'. Helped one of them once, a dragon I mean, in Kalimdor, looked like a human man of some…ah, age of some sort, and well. He asked fer some help with a ritual of his after he'd been locked up, ta help us as well, place was o'er tha' cult, Twilight Hammer an' undead quillboar like ye wouldna believe, and turned out it was Scourged. Verra nice as a fellow, complimentary like, but, ach. He had some real speed on him, an' soon as he was done with th' helpin, whoosh off he went, with hardly a goodbye. Did somethin' with his voice through a brazier though, an' left us some presents, so tha' was nice o' him. Name o' Belnistrasz. He…well, he did introduce himself."
"Belnistrasz," Thal says thoughtfully. "Wonder if he was our dragon too. There are no' so many o' them, are there? And they live a right long time, so might be he's still around somewhere. Anyhow, tha's how it's got the name it has now. Givin' a drink to a thirsty dragon. An' I do think it's been a place o' peace and rest, so maybe there was somethin' to th' blessin'."
"An' it's good tha' yer family's kept it up on their side, too. A blessin' is all well an' good, but without people doin' their own best ta hold ta it…well…" Oranna trails off awkwardly, frowning in some thought on that general track.
Thal reaches out to clap her shoulder reassuringly, but then hesitates before touching her. Does she want a shoulder-clap? Is she really a dream, and if he tries to touch her she'll vanish? He drops his hand, too many potential bad outcomes. If she's not a dream, there's time for shoulder-claps later.
"We try," Thal says instead. "Tha's why my da went ta Silithus, ta protect th' peace. An' my ma does her part here. An' me, with the guard, and now the Blade…"
Oranna does not help this indecision by sort of watching his hand not at all unlike a stray cat who isn't sure if she's about to get smacked or pet, and is trying not to react badly — she doesn't flinch away, but there's something very vulnerable about the way she tenses that suggests someone who has internalized a sudden hand coming out towards them might be a hit, not a gentle touch, and hasn't quite managed to shake off that wariness with someone she's just met, or a natural inclination to freeze up rather than defend herself. It's the sort of look that someone gets when they've been hurt, often, and long enough that it's ingrained in a response, even when they're trying not to have it.
She does smile softly at his words, and is obviously attempting to relax again; she doesn't seem scared of Thal at all, not moving away, and there's something underneath that might read as faint embarrassment for something she's told herself is an overreaction. "I think it's real good of ye. All of ye, I mean, well an'…an' you, also, specifically, obviously." A throat clear. "Real good yer family," she says. Smooth. "Silithus? Tha's…ah, tha's…" South? East? West? "…a direction somewhere thereabouts o' Tanaris, isn't it? Th' place with th' Old God problem, wasn't it?"
"Oh aye, tha' was… tha' was a bad business," Thal watches her wariness with dark eyes, and tucks his thumb into his belt. No shoulder-pats today. And maybe no more Silithus talk. "Maybe no' good fer tea talk. On that note, might I invite you in fer a glass o' water or a spot o' tea, Oranna? If we're lucky, maybe there'll even be apple tart."
Oranna looks slightly alarmed. "Ahh… There's…yer no' supposed ta — there's tea talk?" Has she been doing tea wrong all this time? "Should I — should I no' get tea, or am I…would ye rather tea talk with…tea?"
"Oh, the talk's no' mandatory," Thal says with a resonant chuckle, and he sweeps forward to open the door and gesture her in, "Though I'd like ta talk with ye, tea or water. Welcome t' the Thirsty Dragon, Oranna."
Inside, the pub is quiet and well-kept, and an older dwarven woman with dark hair tied back in a slightly frizzy bun, and a wide face with smile lines showing a life of long good humor. She looks a little tired around the eyes, but she still smiles when she sees Thalstan and then looks past him to Oranna with obvious curiosity.
The woman might look… a little familiar to Oranna. Almost like a spirit insisting that Thal had abandoned her…
Oranna's smiling back at Thal, almost a laugh coming up from it, so it's very obvious when Oranna recognizes the woman, in no small part because Oranna pales, freezes, and winces out a, "Ohhh no, tha's — I shot her in the face in th' — " Internal screaming is almost audible, but at least Oranna's not talking very loudly. "Tha's yer ma. Tha' I…I'm sorry, I — th' …ye…" It's just a tram wreck of sentences started and abandoned, because what do you say to someone who watched you shoot his ma in the eye. Twice. Ha ha any way.
The woman Oranna may have shot in the face in a dream continues to look over at the two of them, puzzled at the sudden commotion.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Thal says, raising his hand in a kind of placating gesture, like you might try to calm a frightened ram. "Tha' was a dream, it was nae her. Th' Nightmare had 'er, and it was tryin' ta hurt me, an' you stopped it. She'll no' blame ye for it, more thank ye fer lookin' after me, aye?"
"I mean, I know ye didna really axe Bran, but it's — ye still — ye saw me — " Oranna, perhaps very belatedly? attempts to correct this seeing of her by covering her face with her hands, taking in an oddly measured breath and letting it out, before she peeks out in between her fingers at Thal's ma as she moans, "Ach, I shoulda brought th' apples. Or…somethin'. I dinna…wha' do ye bring someone ta say, 'sorry I made yer son watch me shoot somethin' tha' looked like ye in the eye. Twice. It was fer a good cause?' Is tha' apples or…"
"Tha' might be a pear thing," Thal says, taking another step into the pub, smiling at her encouragingly. "To say 'I'm sorry tha' things went pear-shaped'. An' ye did nae do nothin' wrong. Come on an' meet my real ma, no' the fake nightmare version."
Oranna, either from nerves or maybe just an easy laugh, bursts out into a loud — admittedly kinda dorky, in maybe a cute way — laugh, lowering her hands from her face to beam a little at Thal, trailing off into something of an awkward giggle. "I …alrigh'."
The older dwarven woman relaxes at the sound of the laugh, and beckons the pair into the room. Thal leads Oranna into the room, over to where she waits by the bar, next to the door to the kitchen.
"Thal, I see ye've brought home a friend?" she asks in solid, cheerful tone.
"Aye, this here's Oranna Stormbreaker," Thal says, waving his hands to present her proudly. "I met 'er when I went inta th' dream world, an' we ran inta each other in th' Mystic Ward. She helped save ye and all th'others as were caught in dreams. I was hopin' ta bring her in fer tea, or water, but ta meet ye."
"Oh, aye, thank ye, lass," she says with a warm smile, her gaze traveling up and down Oranna. "Are ye hungry? Ye look a wee bit peckish. D'ye like apples or cherries best?"
Oranna smiles, and laughs a little. "Oh, ah. I like both." Her stomach makes an audible sound. It sounds like a rumble of a snow leopard, and Oranna colors a little. "I'm no'…I - I could drink some tea?" That's not exactly saying she isn't hungry, because she could definitely not pass that one off, but there might be something of a concern about if she could buy a meal out at a pub. Money might be tight.
"Sure, black tea, I'll get th' two of ye a pot. An' if yer no' sure which I'll jus' bring ye a bit o' both." She winks at Thal as she turns and bustles off into the kitchen.
Thal laughs, shaking his head as he smiles affectionately after her. "Ye best watch out, because she does like feedin' folk. It'll be a feast, soon enough, if we don't stop 'er. She jus' thinks the world o' Cobalt, too."
Oranna looks nervous, trying to force something of a smile back. Oh no, from one fruit inventory problem to possibly another. "Oh, ah. It sounds real lovely, really, an' I'd…she seems kind, an' I would like some — it's no' — It's jus', I dinna think… I won't be able to pay fer tha' sort of…thing," she finishes weakly, flushing a little harder. "I'm no' on the forward squad a' the moment, an' the house it was…" Meant for two incomes. And now, there's just one.
Thal looks at her in confusion for a long moment, and then something seems to come clear in his mind. "Oh, no, I didnae bring ye here ta pay my ma. I jus' thought… it's a comfortable place to talk. I do no' pay my ma for food an' drink, an' she would no' expect a guest to either. It's her pub, she's no' required to account ta any higher up."
"Oh." Oranna's relief is obvious, a deep sigh out, and sagging shoulders. There's mysterious tea and guest rules, but in this case, she's landed in a safe zone. Whew. "Thank ye. An' yer ma. Fer the…guesting." That's awkwardly phrased but he probably knows what she means. "So I should…sit. Then? Is there…do ye have a…" Are there table rules? Oranna doesn't know. Send help.
"Anywhere ye like that's free," Thal gestures at the mostly empty room with its tidy tables and chairs. There's only a few people there currently, dwarves who look to be catching a late lunch. "Nothin's reserved or anything. An' before ye start thinking, this place must no' be any good, the crowds pick up round dinner an' after."
Oranna wasn't thinking that, but she was thinking she was glad it wasn't too crowded. "Oh, I wasna thinkin' tha', but I am glad it's no' too crowded. I'm no'…much one fer crowds." She looks for a table that shows her a clear line of sight to the exit, choosing the chair facing the door. Despite the choice of it, she seems less nervous now than before, but she's chatting again. "I, ah. I dinna go ta pubs or taverns much. I dinna drink an' I dinna eat meat, so it tends ta be a wee bit…awkward, comin' asking fer like water an' if they've got somewhat else asides meat-on-meat sandwiches, which is a real thing out in Menethil.
"But, I - I dinna think there's anythin' wrong with them. Th' pubs an' the like," Oranna adds hastily, waving two hands out in front of her like she can scare this possible implication away. "It's no' tha'. I like tha' they…people have 'em. An' I was in a tavern, ah, out in Kharanos, on my way ta Ironforge, an' no' really sure what I was really doin' there, when I got my way ta Cobalt Company. I saw the flyer — ah, tha's…Elo advertised with flyers, back at the start of things, afore the Company was really started up."
Wait, so she's not just Cobalt, she might be…Original Cobalt?
Thalstan takes a seat across from her, his back to the door. He meets Oranna's eyes with a grin, and says, "I trust ye'll keep an eye on th'ingress fer me. But ye were one o' the first in Cobalt? I joined up only a little over a year past, all told. One o' the newcomers, as it were. Has Cobalt changed much, do ye think, since the early days?"
"I mean there's the obvious one, tha'…well, there were only eleven of us, in the start o' it. So, we all knew each other, an' some were friends of Elo. Like Jo, an' Niris, an' Auralind. It was a bit more like a family, o' sorts. An' now it's…" Oranna shrugs. "It's a Company. A business, an' ye get the things like, well, I mean, like this." She gestures between the both of them with a sheepish smile. "No' havin' met people ye're workin' along with in the scheme o' things fer upwards o' a year or more.
"But, the idea of it. Tha'…tha' was always tha' people needed help. Tha' things had gotten ta a place where folks would get inta trouble, when the army wasna there, when they needed a real hero, an' where were they supposed ta go? Cobalt offered tha' up, an' we still do, all o'er. We've jus' got a lot more heroes than we used ta," Oranna says, looking over a little shyly at Thalstan, who it might be obvious Oranna thinks looks a lot more like a Hero than she thinks she does.
"Glad to join th' group o' you," Thal says, smiling back at the hero with more adventures to her name. "An' that was part o' the goal for Cobalt Blade, too. It was back when ye were workin' in Outland, and then there was Northrend, an' th' idea was ta have a group doin' stuff down here. 'Round Ironforge, Stormwind, and… well, Theramore an' yonder now a'swell. Been spendin' time in Desolace lately."
Thal's mother walks back in carrying what a very generous Stormwind noble might call a tea tray. Someone of average generosity might identify a standard dinner tray bearing a black cast-iron teapot, two study blue ceramic mugs, and two plates of sweets. On each plate is a slice of apple tart, still steaming - either fresh or heated - and of a cherry pie with a latticework of dough on top.
Either Befound is really, really sneaky and growling from right under Oranna's chair, or Oranna is hungry. She's not quite drooling physically, but it's obvious she is mentally doing so, and that she thinks it looks fantastic, a dreamy expression on her face as she inhales deeply not entirely unlike a pig snorting for truffles.
"Tha' looks fantastic," she tells Thal's ma. "An' smells e'en better. No' tha' — I mean, it smells an' looks fantastic, both, no' that it doesna looks as fantastic, an' I'm sure it'll taste…" Oranna's voice trails off into a quieter, slightly embarrassed mumbled, "Fantastic."
"Thanks, ma," Thal says cheerfully, seeming unconcerned by Oranna's fumbling of compliments. He starts to hand out the plates and cups. "An' will ye join us?"
"Oh, I'd best be gettin' the food on fer dinner," she says, shaking her head with a warm smile. "But it's lovely ta meet ye, lass. An' think ye fer lookin' after my li'l Thal." She rustles his hair, and he shakes her off, laughing good-naturedly. "Give a call if ye need anythin' else."
Thal's ma waves and heads back toward the kitchen, shooting Thal one last encouraging glance before she slides through the door.
Oranna is spared from trying to explain who is looking after who, or if everyone's looking a bit, and all the potential awkwardness of that business by taking her plate and cup, with the dedication of someone who is using this motion to give her a reason to not say anything for a bit. Whew.
So she has her tea and her tart, and in this space of quiet she realizes she probably should say something, and steer away from talking about anyone looking after, at, around, etc, so she says, "Desolace, aye? Tha's, ah…" North? West? "A…direction out from Theramore, righ'? I've ne'er been out tha' way direct. I heard it was…desolate?"
"Aye, verra much so, but they say it should be healin'," Thal says, tucking into his own tart. "There was an earth element thing there that was hurtin' the place, but it got killed a while back. Still, it's desolate. Full o' centaurs an' cultists at th' moment."
"Oh, aye, cultists," Oranna says, nodding with the blasé attitude of an Azerothian Adventurer. "Lotta cults out there. Does make ye start ta wonder if there's someone's started doin' some sorta…cult discount on uniforms, ye know, 20% off if ye buy everyone's machin' sets in bulk. We get discounts like tha' on the tabards, on account of buying them…in bulk…" She shakes her head hastily, suddenly realizing the implications of the discount. "No', a'course, tha' we get a cult discount, I mean, jus' a - a regular discount. We're no' a cult. We're a Company." Except when you have to specifically say that, it makes it sound bad. Also, Thal probably knows that. "Which…ye know…already."
"We've fought cults, Cobalt's nothin' like," Thal nods firmly, but then furrows his brow. " 'Course I have pretended ta be a cultist, but tha' was jus' fer gettin' information. They're all… let's end the world, an' all that. We're in the business o' protectin' it."
Oranna nods again, eating some tart to buy herself a reprieve of what her face is up to while Thal speaks. "Oh, aye, there's no doubt o' it. No' e'en if there was a cult tha' was about protectin', it's no' th' same," she says. "Are ye…ye said ye were a guard, afore? Were ye also an actor? I mean, with yer face — an' obviously th' rest of ye, no' just…a face." Disembodied face imagery, whoops. Maybe eat more tart, Oranna.
Thal enjoys a bit more tart himself before answering that one. There's a faint line in the center of his forehead, maybe the slightest worry about how the answer might be received. Then it smooths, and he says easily, "No' an actor, though tha' would fit nice with Cobalt history. I do modelin', like fer book covers an' such. Tha's… what ye first called me? Arnathorn? Tha's my likeness. Damn good books, too, by my reckonin'."
Oranna grins back. "Oh, aye, I know them. I've read them all, have most of them still, at the house. I have th' next one on order already. I always do. They're fun. I like them.
"It's jus' a little uncanny — no' in a bad way! It's a good way! But, talkin' with ye, it's like talkin' ta a protagonist straight out o' a book. Tha's what Elo called us, back then, at the start o' Cobalt, afore it was squads an' all. Protagonists. I liked it better than hero, because I wasnae sure I had it in me ta be a hero. Heroes, they've got a certain kind of perfection, ta be valiant and brave and good at everything. But a protagonist, that's different, in books. Protagonists, all they have ta do is try, an' move the plot along."
"Protagonists," Thal says, trying out the word. "Aye, I like tha'. And I'm no' Arnathorn, fer all he uses my face. Jus' 'fore ye get disappointed if I do no' defeat a whole pirate clan ta rescue ye from walkin' the plank. Not that I would no' try."
Oranna laughs, and it fades out into a series of amused giggles. "Oh, aye, well, I'm no' sure I'd fit well enough fer a heroine in those ones anyway. No 'sunset colored eyes in a perfect heart shaped face' or 'indescribably lush curves' here." She's right on the first one; her eyes are brown, and the heart shape isn't perfect, her chin a little squared off rather than a point. The second one, however, is debatable. Or maybe the lush curves are just describable. "Tha' makes ye a protagonist, aye? An'…well, if ye did try, an' ye bought enough time, I migh' be able to charm th' sharks in th' water, I've always got fish treats on me — " Yes, probably even right now. Hunter problems. "An' we could escape off th' side o' the ship, ride the sharks ta th' shore dramatically. Live off th' royalties o' tellin' th' adventure ta Rosa Knack."
"Oh, now tha's a nice story," Thal smiles, gesturing one hand like waves in the air. "Thalstan - no' Arnathorn - ridin' off inta the sunset aback a shark, together with a quiet an' mysterious lass with eyes like deep, dark pools of knowledge an' th' irresistible charm to win over th' heart of any predator. We do no' have ta mention about the fish treats." Thal winks at Oranna.
Oranna laughs again, warming to the topic. "An' if she's ta be mysterious, she could no' talk a' all th' whole novel, until th' moment when she charms th' sharks with a single word. Tha's dramatic an' mysterious." She shakes her head a little though, as she cuts into more of her tart, eating and covering her mouth while talking. "No' realistic, truth be told. Sharks like a lotta animals aren't much fer auditory commands. They can recognize shapes an' colors though, an' they're smart enough fer a positive reinforcement o' a training behavior if ye keep it consistent an' clear. But tha's…tha's really no' novel sort o' things."
Thal nods agreeably, taking a gulp of tea. He might not ordinarily be a tea drinker. "Ye got to break some rules o' reality to tell a story. Some folks might like a story about the hero an the heroine gettin' stranded on an island after fleein' the pirates, and trainin' sharks as mounts o'er a period o' months. But most would go fer the mysterious maiden who charms 'em with a single word. People like magic, 'specially the type tha's no' possible." Thal chuckles, and adds, "Almost sounds like we should write a book t'gether."
Oranna's beaming a smile at him as she asks, "Oh, do ye write at all?" And then, clearly a thought occurs to her because her eyes widen, the smile drops into a look of worry, and she leans forward, dropping her voice down to a whisper. "Yer no'…yer no' Rosa Knack are ye?" The author widely believed to be a man using a pseudonym, though no one's ever proven anything. "Because if ye are an' ye dinna want people ta know, do not tell me," she tells him. "I'm no' — secrets are no' safe with me, no' matter how I try, my face says them loud enough I migh' as well jus' be a foghorn."
Thal laughs. "I like tha' in a person. Straightforward and no secrets. As fer me, no, I'm no' Rosa Knack. I s'pose I'd say tha' even if I were, but I'm no'. I don't think I have it in me ta live such a double-life, an' then wi' the modelin'. No… only things I've writ are silly stories, what comes inta my head, nothin' on th' level of Knack."
Oranna looks relieved, as she leans back with a sigh, reaching for her tea. Whew. That was almost as bad as when Elo told her about him and Niris getting together and then said it was a secret from everyone else. Ha ha any way.
She gives Thal another smile. "Well, if ye e'er want a reader, I like silly stories. All kinds an' levels really. No' tha' I'm no' aware of some sense o' differences between writers, it's jus'…they're stories. An' those are nice…" She stares a little into her tea and her eyes slide to the right, some of the brightness dimming in an obvious way of getting lost in a thought, or memory. "Stories are the places where things go the way they should. An' everything can happen fer a reason, an' not jus'…random chance, an' horrible coincidences. It can all be part o' somethin' and lead a protagonist ta where they're meant ta be."
"If I write somethin' I think's worth reading, I'll send it yer way," Thal frowns slightly, and raises a hand to brush a crumb out of his mustache. "I try… to make things fit. E'en when they don't go to plan. Like wi' my da in Silithus, an' not comin' back home after. Sometimes it's jus' no' the story ye'd want, if ye had ta choose. But all the stories I've ever written are full o' adventure an' no sadness at all." He shakes his head, rustling his beard. "How d'ye like the tart?"
Oranna smiles, and if her eyes are still caught in some of the sadness, she's still trying. "Good — fantastic, really, as the smell advertised." She reaches a hand out a little bit across the table, like she'd pat him, but her arms are not comically stretchy. Her reservations about touch might be more one way with people she doesn't know well, and not just disinclined to touching in general.
"I'm sorry ta hear about yer da. Tha's somethin'…Elo talked about once. Tha' sometimes…ye still have ta tell the story, yer story, an' it migh' not be a perfect one, like a book or play, with all the pieces where you wish they could be, but that doesna mean it's not still a good one, and still yers." She keeps the smile on, but it's held there, a more obvious grief still below it. "Sometimes it's jus' harder ta see that than other times.”
"Yeah, tha's maybe what I was gettin' at, a good way o' puttin' it," Thal nods, and sets his own hand on the table, not touching hers. "Eventually, ye figure out what ta do with th' pieces ye've got, how ta make it all fit t'gether. And I… I figure tha's always a work in progress. Because life is, aye?" He grabs his mug, lifting it up as if in a toast toward Oranna.
Oranna's smile warms again, fewer shadows lingering so obviously on the edges of it, and raises her mug to his. "Ta life bein' a work an' story in progress."