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| Details |
| Author: | Athena |
| Summary: | Before they set out to Dark Iron Danger Mountain, Thalstan stops by Or…livia Stormliker's house, to find out how the dwarven hunter is doing with that whole waiting on if there's going to be any new consequences for that whole killing the husband of the Dark Iron Ruler, and if maybe some goodwill could go a long way. There might be some metaphors in there. Who knows. 4400k~ words. |
| Rating: | T for Teen |
Chain: Orastan
Oranna Stormbreaker's house in the Mystic Ward doesn't look abandoned; it does look somewhat forbidding. There are visible traps on the windows, obvious deterrents for those considering a break in, but so too are all the windows shut and bolted. There is no sign of activity or life from the exterior. The occupants — a dwarven hunter and an adult snow leopard — have not been seen in weeks except in quick, furtive door openings to take in baskets left at the doorstep.
That might have something to do with the fact that one of the current rulers of Ironforge who held the city under siege knows the name of that dwarven hunter, as one of those who murdered said ruler's husband. Ha ha any way.
The door itself at least does not seem actively trapped, even if it's missing a welcome mat.
Thalstan Stouthammer stops a few steps away from the heavily trapped house, considering it while he nervously smooths his beard. His proud nose is still just the slightest bit reddened from the lava and living fires of the Searing Gorge, though his luxurious hair, mustache and beard are well-groomed and he's wearing nice, casual clothes of leather and linen. It's almost like he's spruced himself up to visit the trapped house.
From what little he's seen, it's entirely possible the occupant may have left the city entirely. She had planned to trap the place when it was vacant, after all. But on the off-chance she's here, he moves forward and knocks firmly on the door.
After a moment, likely realizing the anxiety a firm knock might provoke, he calls, "Or…livia? It's me, Thal."
There is a potentially comical numbering amount of answering clicks as multiple bolts are unlocked, rapidly. What? It's not paranoia if someone is actually possibly out to get you.
The dwarven woman who answers is a familiar face, albeit by a different name. Or…livia Stormliker was probably not expecting company. She's dressed in a white summer dress that hits her knees, barefoot, and her hair is an overflowing cascade around her. Her dark brown eyes are wide, and soften slightly with relief as she does a quick once over on him, looking for wounds or signs of a skirmish.
"Thal? What is it? Has somethin' else happened? Are you alright? Ye look alrigh', well actually ye look a wee bit sunburnt, but that's no'…" She shakes her head, and stops. "I mean, come in, an'…" She steps backwards, opening the door wider.
"Aye, I'm alright," Thal says with a reassuring smile, stepping forward towards her and into the house. "Not caught in any more earthquakes. Jus' a bit singed here an' there by fire elementals, but other than tha' no problem. Better, now, seein' ye here an' safe. Are ye… keepin' alright? The Dark Iron guards no' givin' ye trouble?"
Oranna shuts the door behind him with a glance out once more to be sure it's only Thal. She shakes her head at the question, then frown, starts to nod, and gives up on that. "Oh, ach, mostly they've no' been seein' me, which is the keepin' well, by keepin' out of sight. I've no' had any, ah, calls from them at least. I'm fair certain I'm no' a priority, at the moment, an' if I'm lucky…never. Feels a bit dodgy tryin' ta rely on procrastination though," she says with a shrug.
Beneath the table of the room comes a feline growl, menacing.
"Hush, lass, it's jus' Thal, ye've smelled him on me afore," Oranna mutters to the table, waving a hand at her side as if to dissipate the growl from the air. "Come out proper, unless yer havin' a sulk."
Befound has a sulk. Oranna sighs.
The house interior reveals an intent, perhaps, of a family home. The main room is here on this ground floor, a large space that encompasses both a living area and a dining area that connects to an open kitchen. The space is clean, tidy, everything set into place, but there's a feeling of bareness to it, like there's a lot missing that hasn't been replaced. On the rectangular table is a gun — the sniper rifle Thal has seen her wield before, assembled now, but the cloth over the table and the faintly lingering unpleasant scent of gun oil suggests she had been cleaning it not long ago.
Thal smiles at the shape of the predatory cat under the table, wiggling his fingers in welcome, but subsides when the cat does not emerge. No housecat impression today, it seems.
"That's… well, that's some o' what I meant ta come talk to ye about," Thal admits, his gaze shifting from the cat to the sniper rifle. "I've no' had so much of a chance ta come by since our last exchange of letters. The Blade's been chasin' a bit in yer footsteps, o'er Azeroth, if what I read in the Cobalt records is right."
He steps over towards the table. "There's ought that might make a good story, an' I'll tell it if ye like. But most recent is we've been doin' some diplomacy with th' Dark Irons. I reckon it might bear on makin' this whole situation… a bit more tenable for ye. If we play things right."
Oranna looks both interested and concerned, possibly in equal measures. "With th' Dark Irons? That's…aye. Diplomacy would be good." The worry line between her brows is a deep furrow now, and she bites at her lip for a moment, before a clear thought passes across her face — she has forgotten that they're at her home, and there are hostess things she should probably do.
She gestures rapidly and awkwardly at the table. "Ach, I forgot — do ye wan' tae sit? I can — I have — there are drinks of…water. An'…I could make hot water." Mmm, hot water with nothing added to it. Refreshing. "I can move…" She scurries to the side of the table to collect SUNBEAM from it, and set it to the side against the wall, packing up the cloth hurriedly. "It's no' loaded or anythin'. I was jus'…keepin' busy.
"So, ah, th' business an' story of it, ye say? There's somethin'?"
Thal abruptly seems to realize he also has responsibilities as a guest accepting hospitality. He quickly moves to settle in a chair at the table, carefully tucking his beard underneath, and looks up at her with a warm smile. "No need ta move th' firearm, I trust yer firearm safety. And aye, water, cold is fine. No need ta heat it."
He pauses, taking a breath, and maybe sorting out how to explain the story and the business. "We've been workin' in th' Searing Gorge lately, together wi' the Dark Irons that are friendly there. I guess Moira's not got 'em all unified yet, an' some of 'em are still friendly wi' the elementals and the Twilight's Hammer."
Oranna hesitates for a moment in setting SUNBEAM down, and then decides it's as good a place as any. She moves to the kitchen, opening a cabinet to get out two glasses to fill with water from the tap — a closer inspection would reveal that it seems to have been tinkered with extensively — and bring both to the table.
Under the table there is a disgruntled feline sound.
"Hush, lass," Oranna mutters at Befound, her attention on Thal, as she nods. She sets one water in front of him, and the other at the place opposite him, sitting down without looking away from him. "Twilight's Hammer again. We've tangled with them afore. No one's likely ta get them back under a banner that isn't somethin' ta do with the Old Gods, an' I'm not sure it doesnae speak well of Moira if she canna manage it, for not attractin' the wrong sort. They're no'…sensible people, those cultists. They're workin' with th' fire elementals again — or…still?"
"Still, aye," Thal nods, taking a sip of water and resting one elbow on the table. "We took down some kind o' fire naga the ones in the gorge had as a new elemental leader. Moira seems ta be honestly tryin' ta get her folk ta blend back in wi' the rest o' the dwarves, so I can imagine it's a trial to 'er. I've heard from my pals in the Guard that things're startin' ta get smoothed over with the ones she brought in. Finally startin' ta integrate. Bu tha's where business comes in. Our Captain's been talking with her, seein' what work Cobalt might do to smooth things over on our end. An' if that works, mayhap ye don't need ta worry about trappin' yer doors and windows so much in th' future."
Oranna's worry goes from general to concentrated and high as Thal speaks. "Jo's meetin' with Moira?" Oranna looks from the table to the door. "Is she — she's come back from the meetings? Have we checked? Or by letter? Is it… is it by letter? Tha' would be a lot safer. We… we were th' ones tha' King Magni got ta go in and…well." She sighs heavily. "You know. An' I'm still no' sure we didnae have the right of it, the way Thaussarian was managing things. We saw things in Blackrock tha' were nae jus' misunderstandings. They had golems with leper gnomes, an' cultists in the throne room. It was no' jumpin' ta conclusions ta think she was mind controlled ta stay.
"I dinnae want ta think th' worst, an' I want what we've got, a reunification of the dwarves. It's ne'er seemed right ta me for us ta be separated, an' I know that's… the Three Hammers wasnae my war. So I know there's still some who have those wounds an' keenly, but…" She shakes her head. "It's hard ta think o' trustin' Moira to not send us inta a trap."
"I do no' know if it's in-person or by letter, or…" Thal raises his hands, trying to soothe Oranna's concern. "Ta us it was a letter, but it sounded normal Cap Jo. I don't think she's under duress or any such. An' I've looked over the maps now, so I think we'll be able to make a good path through there. It'll be dangerous, but if it's a trap I do no' think it's of Moira's makin'. She's havin' a hard enough time keepin' communication and orders and all back to 'er own city. An' if it is a trap, our mutual friend Tadget's right good at slippin' out of 'em, and I bet she'll see us clear."
Oranna nods, and it's obvious she's trying to think positively — and not succeeding. "Aye, an' I know yer all capable. An' it's not tha' Moira wouldnae be feelin' the pressure of things now, more than ever. No matter wha' some people say about the Dark Irons, they're no' bad, and they're no' monsters. They're jus' people, an' sometimes when yer trapped, ye make choices ta survive tha' seem right, and they change ye." She reaches across with her left hand to squeeze her right arm.
"Sometimes ye cannae come back from those changes. An' that place…" A thought occurs to her, a memory perhaps, and she leaves off her own arm to lean over the table imploringly. "Traps. There were — there traps down there, ah…fire cannons, near the throne room. Deep embedded inta the walls, so they're probably still there, an' if ye go tha' deep in… there's a clear pattern to it though. Predictable. It's a deterrent only if ye rush it."
Thal leans towards her in reflection, but not so much that their foreheads will bump. He nods seriously. "Tha' sort o' thing is great ta know, from someone who's been there before. I'll warn th' others, and watch for the cannons. From what I heard, I expect we'll be wandering all through the place, tryin' to weed out th' Twilight's Hammer and their supporters. But…" he reaches a hand to clap on Oranna's shoulder, in a friendly way. "I'll no' be changin', Oranna. I know th' Dark Irons can be jus' as good or jus' as bad as anyone else. I just spent weeks workin' together with some real right sorts, for all their skin was grey an' their names sounded strange to a Bronzebeard's ears. Whatever ye did in tha' place, I trust ye made the best decision ye could at the time, with what ye knew. An' we'll see to it tha' Moira understands that as well, if we can."
Oranna doesn't flinch or move away from the touch to her shoulder, although she does follow the trajectory of his hand in a way that a wary animal might.
Oranna nods at his words, and then shakes her head a little. "It's no' you changin' I'm worried about. But ye seem like the kind of man who'd reach out a hand in help, rather than striking out at someone, an' ye jus'… don't hesitate too much in there if ye can tell there's something wrong with them. Tha' mountain…" She shakes her head more emphatically. "There's somethin' wrong with that place. Somethin' more than jus' bad decisions. They act unnatural down there. I cannae explain it better than that, I'm sorry."
"Maybe it's fer the best, then, that some of them 'ave come over to Ironforge," Thal says, his heavy brow furrowing in worry. "Gets 'em out of that place. But I'll be careful, an' we won't linger any longer than we have to. But if it can buy some goodwill, it's worth it, aye?"
The immediate look of distress on her face is only a split second faster than her saying, "No' if ye get hurt or worse gettin' it." She sighs, a heavy sound. "No' that I think ye will, I'm sure ye'll be fine." She is definitely not sure he will be, but she doesn't want to say that, even if her face sort of gives it away. "I want ta believe ye'll be fine. Jus'…if it comes down ta it, goodwill or good getaway, promise me ye'll pick the getaway?"
"Aye, Oranna, I'll pick the getaway," Thal says, meeting her gaze with dark, serious eyes. "Ye've my word on it. But I'll no' be alone. I know ye've met Tadget, and she'll be there. The others - a draenei shaman lass, a mage fella, and a kaldorei night priestess - are talented in their ways as well. I'll have people watchin' my back."
Oranna looks away to the right for a long beat, ghosts of expressions crossing her face, before she looks back to Thal, and she reaches up cautiously to touch his hand on her shoulder. "Sometimes, it happens tha' ta get everyone else out, someone's got ta hold the line." There's a personal note in her voice, of someone who has seen it. "An' ye don't strike me as the sort o' person who's first out in a crisis."
She bites her lower lip and nods at him a little. "So, I jus' want ye to remember that. If it comes down ta it. Goodwill fer me — I mean, fer Cobalt Company, no' that ye'd be doing it fer me, a'course — or a good getaway for all of ye, that ye'll pick that getaway and we'll sort out th' goodwill some other way." Don't die in the creepy mountain, Thal.
Thal watches the feelings flit over her face, his brow still furrowed in concern. "I'll no' leave my people behind, yer right on that, but I don't think it'll come down ta one or the other gettin' out. An' Zaara's a right good healer, for all that she's blind," Thal says, and from the tone of his voice he seems confident that this is a reassuring statement. Then he smiles a little, and adds, "And fer me, it is fer you, at least in part. I'd like ye not to have to trap yer house an' hide in here. And I bet yer cat is gettin' a little stir-crazy these days, too."
Befound makes a plaintive chirp of a mew. See, this guy gets it, Oranna. Take pity on the poor, uh, house cat who wants…out of the house. Look, it's a cat thing. It makes sense in cat logic.
Oranna starts something of a shy smile, a touch of a blush to her cheeks, and then huffs out an exasperated sigh, rolling her eyes. "Oh, don't give me that, lass, yer jus' cranky about the fish. Ye know it's near summer out there, an' we could end up going south ta th' jungle or the desert," Oranna threatens. She is not bluffing.
Befound makes a near identical huff, laying her head down on Thal's boot. Back her up, new buddy guy. And maybe add in no deserts or jungles.
"I do appreciate it. I jus'… it's been a rough month. Lot more dwarves dead an' gone than I'd ever want ta see again." Oranna sighs, nods several times, and puts on a braver sort of smile. "Do ye need anythin'? I have…" She glances back into the house. "Ah. Guns. Mostly…guns. An' ammo. A lot o' ammo."
Thal almost reaches down to pat the leopard on the head, before he seems to remember this is probably another kind of trap. He smiles down at the cat reassuringly, and tucks his beard to the side, just in case it looks like a fun toy.
"Oh, aye, I know it," Thal says, a sadness sparkling in his eyes even though he's still smiling. "The earthquakes, and then all th' mess wi' havin' three clans here in th' same city. Part o' me thinks we ought to send a bunch o' Bronzebeards up to th' Hinterlands, or down to Blackrock to… aye, no, maybe no' there, ye've the right of that one. But down to th' Searing Gorge, mayhap, ta live fer a while. Really mingle all three of us and no' jus' here where they're all like guests o' Bronzebeard. We can't stop natural disasters, but we can stop th' ones we make, sometimes. But to yer question…"
Thal rustles his mustache in thought, and then continues, "Ye mentioned that in yer letter, while back. That mayhap we could try out each other's guns? Not in th' house, I don't think, but I did bring mine, if ye'd like to see. I'm no sniper meself, so might be ye could give me some tips on gettin' better performance? I've got mine in m'pack, but…" he looks down at the cat, entrapping his boot.
Oranna's own expression grows softer, and sadder in reflection of his own, and she nods along as he mentions the dwarf exchange program. It could work, maybe. It'd do something at least, right?
At the mention of the gun, there is at least some confirmation that she probably did mean, actually, guns and not a euphemism for another type of dwarf exchange program, because she lights up and nods avidly. "Oh, aye, tha' would be — " She stops, following his line of sight with a frown, and then making an exasperated noise before turning completely sideways to look under the table, her hair flowing over and around her, draping across the ground. "Befound! Lass, get offa him."
There's an accompanying loud sound of a leopard yawning, showing a truly dangerous set of sharp teeth, as Befound just happens to stretch a little and settles down somewhere else, because she felt like it, obviously.
Oranna makes a mmmmmmnngh sound at the snow leopard, and a hand gesture of some sort that seems to have meaning. "Leave off. I dinnae care how bored ye are, he's no' ta be played with." Her tone is no-nonsense, serious and sharp. She returns back upright, looking apologetic, and her tone matching her expression. "Sorry about tha'. She's…she's jus' looking fer attention." She clears her throat as stands up, brushing her hands self-consciously over her clothes. "I've, ah, well there's what's left of…" Her eyes dart to the right, a ghost of an expression crossing her face, before she looks to Thalstan. "Bargrimm's workshop. It's. Downstairs. I dinna really use it, but it's got space an' we could take firearms out without worryin' about…" She waves a hand at the house. "It's also got all the others of mine. I could show ye."
"I don't mind th' cat," Thalstan says with a smile, standing up. "Jus' so long as she does no' decide I look too tasty. I'm rightly cautious with wild creatures, but doesn't mean I don't like 'em. An' if it would no' trouble ye, the workshop, I'd be happy ta follow."
Thalstan gathers up his pack, which does have a proper gun case attached to it, and turns back to Oranna. "I hope ye'll no' be disappointed wi' simplicity."
Oranna's confusion is obvious as she walks around the table lasting right until she picks up SUNBEAM, an extremely over-engineered gun, and then it clicks. The thought, not the gun, which would probably be bad if it started clicking. "Wha — no? Oh! Because o' Sunbeam here?" She laughs a little, an awkward sort of sound, shaking her head. "No, no, this is…ah." She looks down at the gun in her hands, rolling her lips in a little before blowing out a breath. "This was…" She stops, starts again, another sentence, looking over at Thalstan. "I had this other gun, Boomstick, fer…decades. Family gun. Antique, ye know, passed down, an' I had it repaired somethin' beyond reasonable, really. It was simple, but it was family an' solid an' I thought that was wha' I should have, no matter how broken it was, no matter how much it hadn't been made for me." She shrugs, and sets a hand over SUNBEAM's complex barrel.
"This was Bargrimm's gift. It let me…let go of the past. An' even this one…ye know, it could do all sorts of things Boomstick ne'er could. An' it was made for me, this time. It was such a relief sometimes, it jus'…not breakin' all the time, an' not having to learn how ta fire it in all weathers an' accountin' fer the barrel an' old parts an' ammo. It's a good gun, a sniper rifle, well fit. But I still …" There's a pause where she takes a strangely rhythmic breath before continuing. "It wasn't perfect. It was a gun made for me, but no' by me, ye know. I didna even know wha' I would like, or didna want. My experience was so limited, tha' all I could do was describe what had been wrong with Boomstick, an' do the opposite, ye ken? It took me time ta see tha', too. An' then I did, and I realized I didna have ta only base it all off of her, Boomstick. I could try other things, other guns, an' find out what I really wanted. What was right fer me. No' just fixin' what had been wrong."
She clears her throat again, meeting Thal's eyes. "So tha's where I am. Simple's no' a disappointment. It's knowing what's out there, an' tryin' that matters."
Thalstan listens to all of this with a kind of bemused expression, doing his best to keep up with all the gun talk that might be literal and might be metaphorical. Or both? Either way, it's clearly important. He nods along with the story, as Oranna progresses from Boomstick to Sunbeam to whatever the future may hold.
"It's good ta learn ta make things fer yerself," Thal nods at the end. "Ta figure out fer yerself what ye like an' what ye don't. Fer me, things may have been a bit easier, but I think I'm comin' to the same place. My first gun was from the Ironforge Guard, an' it was no' anything special at all. Just a standard issue, same as everybody else's. Still, it worked well enough fer me, and I did no' mind so much at first that it did no' fit perfect. It was after I lost my pa in Silithus that I started ta wonder if maybe 'well enough' wasn't…. well… enough. Tha' was when I left th' guard an' joined Cobalt."
Thal walks around the table to Oranna, ready to follow her to the workshop. "Since then, I've tried a number o' ranged weapons. The one I've got now I had the Thorium Brotherhood work on, while I was up at Thorium Point. They're no' fighters, really, more smiths an' artisans, but they know their way around a firearm. So maybe my gun's simple right now, but it's well-made, an' it's what I thought I'd need. An' if it turns out it isn't, maybe I can try somethin' else entirely, or make this one a bit more complex. I've no' known enough guns ta know what I really like yet, but I'm lookin' forward ta learnin' more."
Oranna frowns in thought, and you can see the quizzical expression like she's also wondering if they're still talking about guns, or…something else? Is she talking about guns? In the end, she laughs awkwardly, sweeps a hand over her hair — and is apparently startled to realize that it's completely down, and immediately beings gathering it up one handed to pull over to the side — as she nods. "Right. Yes, tha'. Wait, I know tha' name, don't I? Thorium Brotherhood… Ah, tha's it — Dane worked with them a lot," she says, in that way that people do when they're sure you know who they're talking about. There can be only one (1) Dane (even though there is, in fact, at least several Danes in the greater Stormwind area). "Bargrimm didna work so closely with them, more on the engineerin' side than the blacksmithin' side, but I can show you some things that I think are from their designs."
She moves through the house comfortably, leading the way downstairs. To the right of the stairs is a door, left open, that leads into a bedroom. From the hallways, the only visible thing is part of the bed, made neatly, of a dark red color. There doesn't seem to be much other decoration. To the left is another door, initially closed and locked, and very heavy, to judge by how Oranna has to turn the handle and use her shoulder to push it open. As she does, there's a sharp smell of a workshop full of metal and various oils and reagents that blows in, along with the telltale scent of dust. Oranna only hesitates a little before she pushes through the doorway, turning on the light for the first time in a long, long time.