(2024-05-06) Despite My Many Faults

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Author:	teensy
Summary:	Ace Stormhammer meets Lireen's son, Donnall, to show him around Ironforge and to talk to him about being able to hear rocks.
Rating:	T for Teen

Ace is on her way to greet Lireen's son Donnall, dressed in town clothes with the Cobalt Company tabard belted overtop. Her freshly cleaned and pressed tabard, though some of the various blood and ichor stains aren't quite completely vanished.

She's toting a small keg of Rhapsody Malt on one shoulder, and her greathammer is slung on her back. But she keeps looking up at the roof of the cavern, and she stays well away from the grated vents that keep the inside of the mountain toasty warm.

Maybe Donnall would prefer fresh mountain air. She will suggest it as soon as they meet.

The description Lireen gave is more than enough to identify the young Wildhammer shaman who stands gawking at the Great Forge like the tourist he is. His coily dark brown hair and beard are styled into ropy locks adorned with feathers and beads, and his light brown skin is marked with blue tattoos. He wears rustic, rough-sewn leathers that reveal further tattoos on chest and arms, baring a bit more than is customary in Ironforge.

When he manages to tear his eyes from the forge and look around, his gaze snags on Ace’s tabard and he points right to her.

“Ace Stormhammer!” he announces, as though he is informing her of this fact, rather than asking or confirming. “Cobalt Company!” His voice is a little on the raspy side, as though he’s just spent time in a smoky room.

"Aye, that's me," Ace says. "An' you're Donnall. Are ye keen to see all around the city, or would ye rather open this tun out in the fresh air?"

She leans in close. "Something's amiss." she glances significantly upward. "I can't say what for certain."

“Ye canna say, or ye dinna ken?” he asks. “Never mind, I suppose either way it works out the same. I suppose I should’ve expected it’d be no better here than in the Highlands.” He follows her gaze upward, as though fully expecting the cavern to collapse on them both. “I don’t suppose there’s anywhere safe in the city to drink? Colder’n a yeti’s nethers out there and I only just got the feelin back in me toes.”

"There's a tavern not far off from the tram," Ace says. "Cobalt haunts it pretty regular. It's this way."
Ace leads him along the curving road to Bruuk's and diplomatically delivers the tun of beer she carries to the owner. "For you. Rhapsody Malt. And if you'd pour me a mug I'd be obliged. What ale are ye after, Donnall?"

“I’d drink steam tank fuel at this point,” Donnall says. “Been at least a fortnight since I had anything but river water or a handful of pissed-on snow.”

The owner just stares at him from behind the bar; this is not an order.

“Rhapsody Malt then,” Donnall concedes, then turns to Ace, leaning his elbow on the bar. “So. Hearin’ rocks, are ye?” He says this in the same perhaps-slightly-too-loud conversational tone he’s said everything else.

"Aye." Ace hides her expression in a tipped up mug and hearty swallow. "Uncle had high hopes that I'd take to the smithy, because I could point at a seam once I got in twenty yards of it, same as him. But I could only find it. Then as I got older it wasn't just ore, it was stone, the ground, even. Like a vibration, almost a mood. Until…"

She smothers the end of that sentence in another draught.

Donnall lets out a sort of affirmative grunt that somehow manages to convey a sense of dread. “And here I thought all the shamans got kicked out o’ the mountain centuries ago,” he muses.

He accepts his own mug of ale and tips it back for a long guzzle before he wipes his moustache on the back of his hand and lets out a soft belch. He considers Ace for a moment, not even attempting to disguise his appraisal of her face and figure. But it’s the look of someone at a bakery without a copper in his pocket - just enjoying a little daydream since it’s not against the law to look.

“So I imagine yer scared shiteless,” he observes. “And ye oughta be. The world’s comin’ to an end an’ yer one o’ those few who’re unlucky enough to feel it comin’ at ye through both ears an’ maybe a few other bits.” He takes another drink, then thunks down the mug and points right at her nose as though accusing her of a crime. “This Cobalt Company o’ yers, though. Ma’s new outfit. From what I hear they’re as good a pile o’ bastards as any to handle the end o’ the world. So let’s nae beat around the bush - I’ll make ye a deal. Ye make sure I get into the Company despite me many, many faults an’ I’ll teach ye what ye need to know about workin’ wi’ the elemental spirits. Or put another way, I’ll show ye how to talk to earth, fire, water, an’ air without pissin’ em off, if ye’ll show me how to do the same to Cobalts.”

He then exposes very large, white teeth in a fierce grin that seems to take up most of his face, and puts out his hand toward her for a shake.

Ace takes his hand and shakes. Firm grip, but not aggressively so. "I think the best thing for you to do is—I don't have time to clean up the rough side of your tongue unless ye want to delay a bit before joining. So! First aid is this: when you appreciate something, say that as readily as the rest of it. It'll stretch your credit while you get a little softer sentiment. Some'a the Cobalts are genteel, y'see. Good fighters, but proper."

She sets her mug down and pays for the next round, even though it's coming out of the keg she brought. "One thing. If Atley says something, ye mind him. If Ben says something, ye mind him. If Anchorite Paluuva says something…she's our ambassador, and she can talk a situation right, but do your best not to make her demonstrate. Sir Elohad's a good 'un. Pleased with himself a bit, but fair and kind. And if Cap'n Jo says jump, yer a frog. She's the captain, and everyone in this outfit loves her. Make her frown, and it'll be cold as winter. Ye ken?"

“Ach,” says Donnall. “So many names. An’ ‘genteel’ folk. I’m gonna cock this up fer sure.” He tugs at the thin braids of his beard, which are all bound together at the end with a strip of leather. “Deal’s still a deal, though - I’ll help ye with the spirits even if I canna make good use of yer charm school. Not yer fault me ma got busy with a mule. Anyway, let’s start a’ the top with the Cap’n, yer - Jo, was it? How do I keep from gettin’ too far on her bad side?

"Wi' Jo, honestly, ask her questions if you want to know things. She's not gonna turn you into a sheep. Least, I never seen her do that. She's real clever, a mage and an engineer. Loves makin' stuff. If you have an idea how to do something differently, you can tell her, but make sure you're wonderin' about an idea ye had."

“An engineer, hm?” Donnall scratches at his beard. “She need any materials in particular, ye think? Metals, rocks? Maybe I could bring her somethin’. As far as ideas, she’s in no danger of me bringin’ her any o’ those. Pure skull-shite, most o’ the stuff up here. I’d nae wish it on a trogg.”

Ace laughs at that. "I think just askin' if she needs anythin' will do. I think ye'll be fine, after a minute or two."

“All righ’.” He grunts and takes a long drink, then sets down his mug. “So regardin’ the spirits. There’s no shortcut, but I’m thinkin we could maybe kill two birds, here. I get some work from the Cobalts, somethin’ outdoors. You come along with me and I show you shaman stuff. You put it into practice right away. I make money, you learn things. If you end up bein’ any decent help maybe I even split what I make on the job. Whatcha think?”

"It's worth a try," Ace says. "When d'ye want ta start? I can figure out if we have anythin' social happenin'. Usually there is, but everyone's busy tryin' ta make sense of it all right now. There might be something on the bulletin board already."

“Bulletin board, eh? Sounds too good to be true. Where is it? Buried under rubble somewhere, I imagine.”

"Over where the paladins and priests train. Headquarters is there. Let's go have a look."