(2024-06-09) Worgen in Darnassus

Details

Author:	Alli
Summary:	The worgen Gabriella, Merelda, Thaniel, Apricity, Mrs. Underthorn, and Callyna are present at the Howling Oak for a social mixer, where they meet a collection of Alliance people: Linwel, Jocoza, Dane, Imrolane, Avrenne, and Velrin.
Rating:	T for Teen

The danger and urgency has passed, and the worgen have a new home in the Howling Oak of Darnassus. As all the political issues wind their way to conclusion, the worgen of Gilneas largely remain here, with the dark roots of the oak above their head and the lapping of water from the small decorative stream that winds its way through the enclosure.

Although many of the worgen in the Howling Oak are in their human forms, some retain their worgen forms. One of these is a grey-furred woman in a very dignified black dress, her age ambiguous in this shape. Her black mane is combed quite neatly. Mrs. Underthorn stands by one of the refreshments tables, watching the new arrivals.

Thaniel sits on a bench by the gazebo, looking out at the entrance to the tree. He appears human for the time being, dressed in a plain dark green robe, and he is quietly weaving a flower garland.

Merelda/Apricity/Gabriella/Linwel

In human form, Merelda sits on a bench near the kaldorei moonwell, her eyes distant in thought.

While Lord Graves is away attending to more political matters, Gabriella Thorne remains at the Howling Oak looking after her pack. As per usual, she keeps to her human form until it's practical to shapeshift. She strolls around the Oak in a patrol of sorts, quietly checking in on each packmate.

Apricity, in his human form, goes to sit on the bench with Merelda. "Lady Merelda, would I be the first to say the light of this moonwell reflects beautifully upon your skin?" He offers her a playful smile. "I hope I am, yet, I doubt it."

Merelda returns to the moment with an amused chuckle and a raised eyebrow. "Charming as ever, Apricity. Or should I still call you Piper?"

"In this form, Apricity will do just fine, Mary," he smiles, although his eyes show a very light trace of annoyance at the mix up between his two personas' names. He smiles at Gabby. "Nobody yet," he answers her, "But these brutes of Stormwind have not arrived yet."

When Gabby spots Apricity in Merelda's company, her steps quicken. She clears her throat as she approaches. "Is everything alright? Nobody bothering you?" One would imagine it is a plural 'you'…but she's looking at Merelda.

"It's fine," Merelda says to Gabriella, waving one hand in a vague gesture that doesn't exactly say she's not being bothered, but maybe more that she's used to it. To Apricity, she adds, "Oh, you can call me Merelda again, as well. Anyone who knew me before will recognize me like this, and I've… still not managed to locate certain people."

Gabriella gives Apricity a stern look (which is the face he is most accustomed to from her). "The time for disguising identities has passed. If we're to be accepted in this Alliance, we must be trusted. We'll not begin our relationship with duplicity…nor insults."

A moonkin waddles over to the moonwell. Their antlers are heavily-decorated with all sorts of trinkets. They chirp in a friendly way at Gabby and Apricity and Merelda.

Apricity laughs. "Please, Lieutenant, you know me. Duplicitous is hardly how anyone would describe me," he extends his hand towards Marea, because pointing is rude. "Just ask Merelda, she just described me as charm- what is that thing?" he interrupts himself, looking at the moonkin.

Merelda falls silent, staring at the moonkin with wide eyes. She's never seen anything quite like it.

The moonkin stares back. They tilt their head and bells jingle.

"Special Investigator," Gabriella corrects him. "And yes, I do know you. Far too well. You will refrain from referring to Stormwindians as 'brutes'. Understood?" Gabby turns her eyes to the moonkin, one brow slowly rising. What in the world is this?

"Lin-wel," says the moonkin.

"Are you a…" Merelda has no guess.

"Moon-kin," says the moonkin.

"I assure you, it was only a joke," Apricity shakes his head. "I have nothing against Stormwindians, some of my family members married Stormwindians." Apricity turns his gaze back to Linwel. "It… speaks. Which one of these two is your name?"

"Moonkin," Merelda repeats, blinking. "And your people also live here in Darnassus, Lin Wel?"

Gabriella examines Linwel for several seconds, finally nodding. "Linwel. Are you a druid? I believe one of the druids took a shape like yours at the Battle of Tal'doren."

"Lin-wel," they repeat for Apricity's benefit. They flap their feathered arms. "No. Live else-where. Guard sacred places. Of Elune."

Linwel nod nod nods and chirps affirmatively. Yes, they are a druid.

Dane/Imrolane

Sir Dane Atley arrives in Darnassus, summoned as a knight to represent Stormwind’s king and military specifically, though he’s also been drawn by his own curiosity.

He wears his royal golden armor with finely pressed blue cloth, and knight’s colors tabard, arriving in the Stormwind contingent with members of the nobility and fellow knights. His beard has been trimmed closer to his face, and hair cut at shoulder length, his mane smoothed back neatly with pomade.

"AT-LEEEEE!" An excited yell fills the Oak. Moments later, a white-furred cat is bounding across the stepstones over the pond, charging straight at Sir Dane.

Sir Dane comes up short, perhaps initially expecting the shape to be one of these so-called ‘civilized’ worgen. Nevertheless, he holds his ground, and seems to settle. “Imrolane-?!”

Imrolane trills happily and runs a couple excited circles in front of Dane before shifting to her elven form. "Shai! Ishnu alah, At-lee! Come! Meet worgen!"

Atley scoffs with amusement at her chipper demeanor and nods with a grunt. "Very well. You've seem to have made friends with them." He glances around the inside of the tree, brow faintly knitting as he takes in these 'tame' worgen in their wolf forms, before he looks back to Imrolane.

Imrolane nods enthusiastically at Dane. "Shai. Yes. Friends. I care them. Teach. Come! Meet Gravehowl!" She reaches for his arm to try to physically drag him.

Atley doesn't pull away, though he is much harder for Imrolane to drag around in her elven form, he allows this too, marching along after her with an amused grunt. He stands out sharply in the night elven city, and even more so underneath this giant tree filled with worgen.

Jocoza/Callyna

A gnomish woman with dark hair tied up into twin buns walks into the Howling Oak enclosure with confidence, glancing around to see who might be in charge around here. Jo's wearing a rather elaborate battle mage dress, but it is largely covered by a blue tabard with white wings. When she spots Dane and Imrolane, her stern demeanor relaxes into a warm smile and she waves in their direction. Then, she turns to see which of these worgen might be open for conversation.

Callyna is actually pretty close to Jo when she arrives. The young woman, in her worgen form, was standing at the entrance of the tree, awaiting the people of the Alliance. She looks at the gnome, but tries not to stare. She nods at her, and looks down at the floor. Lower than gnome size.

Jo looks up at Callyna brightly. "Hello, there! I take it you're one of the worgen?" This is obvious, so it is probably a rhetorical question. "I'm Captain Sparkwire of Cobalt Company - we're rather well-known in the Alliance. I'm quite curious to make the acquaintance of some of your people."

"Hello, I'm… yeah, I'm a worgen," Callyna nods once more at Jo. She speaks a little blankly. "Please to meet you. I'm Callyna."

"I'm terribly sorry for your loss, of course," Jo nods. "Do you know what your people plan to do next, here in Darnassus? Or, well, perhaps not your people. I hope you're getting on well, Callyna?"

Callyna softly shakes her head. "I don't really know, I'm sorry. I heard some were helping in… Lor'danel, I think that is?" She scratches herself behind the ear. "I'm no leader or anything, so I'm not… really sure about whatever people are doing."

"Oh!" Jo brightens further, if that is possible. She's a bright gnome. "I have people working in Lor'danel. I'll have to let them know to keep an eye out!" Jo considers the implications of that, and then adds, "To be friendly, of course, not as a caution."

Callyna does throw an odd look at Jo at the 'keep an eye out thing'. "Thank you, that's nice," she says, a little blankly. "Cobalt Company, was it? I think I did hear that name, since we got here."

"Oh? We do have agents all over the world, so I hope you've only heard good things," Jo nods. "Or barring that, you can tell me what bad things you've heard so that I can fix the situation."

Callyna's eyes widen. "Oh, sorry, that's not…" She grabs her own arm. "I heard good things. Don't worry."

Merelda/Apricity/Gabriella/Linwel/Dane/Imrolane

Atley spots Linwel, recognizing the moonkin form, and tips his head from across the way.

Imrolane approaches the gathering at the moonwell, tugging along a very large man in golden armor. "Gravehowwwl! Meet At-leeeee!"

Atley continues trudging along. "Gravehowl. A surname—?" he growls quietly towards his eccentric night elven guide and hostess.

Linwel raises their arms up, a bit like a child going 'yay', as they see Imrolane and Dane.

Merelda looks over at Imrolane and raises a hand in greeting, she inclines her head at Dane. She rises to greet him politely, since this is an introduction. "Atlee? I am Lady Merelda Veyne, a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am a worgen."

An elder woman with stern, but striking features turns to give Dane a sharp nod of greeting. "A pack name. We are the Gravehowl Pack. I am Special Investigator Gabriella Thorne. Mister…Atlee?"

Apricity gets up from the bench when he sees Atley. He readjusts his shirt's collar.

"It is appreciated, Sir Dane." Gabriella clasps her hands behind her very straight back. "My regrets that our pack leader, Lord Lukas Rhenardt of House Graves, is not present to greet you. He is away on administrative matters. I can speak for him in his absence."

Merelda gives a formal curtsey and says, "Thank you for your welcome, Sir Atley. I do hope we will be able to settle soon."

Apricity joins Merelda and Gabriella in talking with Dane. "Sir Dane Atley, what an honor to meet you, and what a generous welcome it is of you to come here," he smiles at Dane, bowing politely. "I wonder, have you come true a portal or by boat? If there is anything we can for you, you only have to ask."

"After a bit of pageantry we'll be out of your hair," Dane growls with gruff wryness towards Merelda.

Atley grunts and nods once at Gabriella. "I'm certain he's been kept properly busy of late." He eyes Gabriella again before lightly shaking his head. "P'raps I don't understand, Special Investigator. The Gravehowl pack is a unit … within Gilneas?"

Dane looks to Apricity and returns the bow. "Portal, sir. We've actually come to see if there's anything for you that needs doing."

Gabriella barely resists rolling her eyes at Apricity, but keeps her composure to answer Dane's question. "We are all worgen now. That comes with certain new instincts, including the drive to find safety and companionship in packs. You might say we did serve as something of a unit of irregulars. Though several of our number, including myself, are members of the Gilnean army." She pauses to consider a moment, eyes drifting over her packmates. "I suppose we are better compared to a family."

Atley grunts, tonguing the inside of his cheek as he listens, alternating between looking at Gabriella and other members of the Gravehowl pack.

"Family! Yes, family!" Imrolane declares. "Like wolf pack. Big bond. Very impotent."

"Important, yes," Merelda repeats, as if that's what Imrolane said. "Though of course we retain our other affiliations."

"My, where are my manners, I forgot to introduce myself," he does seem genuinely embarassed about that. He shakes his head briefly, then returns his gaze on Dane. "I'm Apricity Hearthleigh, member of said beautiful Gravehowl family."

Atley extends a hand. "Mister Heartleigh," he growls politely. "How many are you, properly?" he asks of the Gravehowls, glancing around with a faint frown.

Apricity takes Dane's hand and shakes it. He lingers a little too long in this handshake, though. He refrains from answering Dane's question with a 'there's always room for one more'. "Let's just say, we've got a big family going on. Our pack leader was a little too keen on family reunions, back when the curse began."

Atley grips Apricity's hand with his regular strength, and doesn't seem to notice the prolonged gesture, or the refrained words, or if he does he doesn't show it. "That would be Lord Graves, then." he inquires carefully.

Gabriella gives Apricity a patient sigh. Okay, not so patient. "Yes, there was a period when all of us were 'feral'," she explains to Dane. "That is the term used to describe a worgen who has yet to regain their full mental faculties. Feral worgen act almost entirely on instinct, but with echoes of human thought and emotion. Lord Graves was the first turned, and he still had a powerful urge to protect all of us. In his feral state, the only way he knew to do that was to gather us all into a pack."

Avrenne/Merelda/Apricity/Gabriella/Linwel/Dane/Imrolane

Among those nobles is a woman who is either 5'1" or 7" tall, depending on if you are seeing her up close in actuality, or from afar and mostly by her aura of presence. Her blonde hair has been swept into an elegant chignon, and her expression on a narrow, sharp featured face is composed. The greater impact is of her dress — a decadent sweep of deep blue and rich gold, with an intricate embroidery, long sleeves, and a fitted bodice. At her throat is an enormous blue star sapphire on a gold chain, and on her left finger is a wedding ring of a diamond, sky sapphires, stormsilver and gold. There is absolutely no doubt that this is a woman of the Alliance, and a noblewoman.

Her Grace, Avrenne Esprit Fallon, Duchess Esprit, Baroness Fallon of the Stormwind Fallons, makes her way through Darnassus confidently; she has been here before, and she knows people assembled here. Her first greeting goes to some nobleman, a representative of Gilneas that she appears to know, and she engages in conversation with as her eyes flick around the clearing, her dark gaze landing briefly for a moment on several people.

Merelda scans the room and her gaze pauses briefly as she notes Lady Fallon, with her elaborate dress. She drops a hand to her own relatively simple blouse and pants, and seems embarrassed for a moment. She is, however, a recent refugee, so perhaps she should not be embarrassed.

Avrenne's circulation of the grove seems purposeful but natural, a movement from individual to individual without hesitation, and her words chosen precisely to each. Someone watching closely though might note that she seems to have zeroed in on the gathering of some of the Gravehowls and Sir Dane Atley, and at last, she is close enough within the range to enter into the social circle of it, and her stride catches at the name. There is, as it would seem, room for one more after all, Apricity.

"I beg your pardon for interrupting, but did I hear you correctly to mention Lord Graves? That would be Lord Lukas Rhenardt Graves?" The woman's accent is not Stormwind; that is Pure Lordaeron, through and through.

Atley fails to keep his brow from knitting upon Gabriella's summary of events as Avrenne arrives. He automatically swivels his broad shoulders to accompany her in the circle, offering a prolonged inclination of his head. He looks between Apricity, Merelda, and Gabriella for the response.

Gabriella offers a stiff bow to the obviously noble woman who has entered their company. "That is correct, ma'am."

"He's the leader of the Gravehowl pack," Merelda clarifies. "Of which the three of us are members."

Linwel looks at Avrenne and chirps politely.

Apricity notices the lack of reaction from Atley. Okay. He tries another approach. Maybe he can make the other man jealous. He bows to Avrenne. "Lord Graves must consider himself lucky that a woman as beautiful as you seems to be looking for him. Please, give us your name, at least." He extends his hand towards her to kiss her's. "If your outward appearance is anything to go by, I'm certain it can only be as melodious as an hymn."

Atley's expression remains grim as his eyes flick from Apricity to Gabriella, perhaps observing dynamics present.

Avrenne gives an automatic dip of a curtsey back, including in her circle of acknowledgment with it the moonkin, who she regards with the same level of respect as the others in more familiar shapes. "I am pleased to hear of his continued well being. He was an acquaintance of my father's, quite some time ago," she says to Gabriella and Merelda both. Her eyes flick to Apricity, and her expression is cold enough to possibly give Dane some Northrend Icecrown flashbacks.

Her voice is frosty, but her words are polite as she extends her hand out to Apricity with a controlled elegance, palm down, like a lady. "I am Lady Avrenne Esprit Fallon, Duchess Esprit of Lordaeron, Baroness Fallon of the Stormwind Fallons, here as part of the Alliance to welcome Gilneas back into the rightful fold. A delight to make your acquaintance."

Gabriella's lips tighten at Apricity's boldness. She offers Avrenne another courteous bow. "Your Grace. I'm Special Investigator Gabriella Thorne…and I can speak for Lord Graves in his absence. Please excuse Mr. Hearthleigh. He is not entirely house-trained."

The mastiff at Gabby's side (that this writer definitely did not forget about until this moment) gives a little wruff as if to punctuate her point.

Atley looks down at the ever present mastiff. "It's been some time since I've come 'cross a proper Gilnean mastiff," he growls, distracted or possibly attempting to change the subject. He lowers slightly and extends a gauntlet towards the dog in greeting.

"And I'm Merelda of House Veyne," Merelda says, with a polite bow of her own. Curtsies are weird with pants. "And thank you for the welcome. We were not certain of it."

Apricity does notice Avrenne's coldness. He kisses her hand. "The delight is all ours, Lady Fallon. The Alliance could not have sent a warmer ambassador" he says, smiling. He turns to Gabriella, placing a hand on his own chest in shock. "My, how your words hurt me, Special Investigator. Or should I say, 'sister'?"

"You should not," Gabriella does not miss a beat with the curt response before turning her attention to Sir Dane and Cheddar. The dog sniffs at the knight's gauntlet, assessing him for a moment. But then seems to decide he's a good human, lowering his head in expectation of scritches.

Atley bends just a bit lower to scritch-scratch the dog on its head, keeping gentle with his heavily armored fingers. After a moment, he straightens up and looks back to the Gilneans.

Avrenne returns both the bows with that same automatic curtsey. She does not wipe her hand off, simply returning it to a clasp in front of her, left hand over right. "S.I. Thorne, I have heard your name spoken with admiration for your deeds. And Lady Merelda," she says, and if her voice is not warm, it is more pleasantly spring cool to the momentary glacial ice. "I regret to hear so, and I hope that we can put such uncertainty to rest. I am unfamiliar with the specifics of the pack concept for worgen, if you will excuse my ignorance. Might I ask, is it magical or practical in nature, or a little of both?"

"The argument could be made that it's both," Gabriella offers. "It's practical as a matter of safety and finding camaraderie among those in similar circumstances. It is also instinctive. But that instinct and those circumstances are the result of a magical curse."

Atley grunts as he listens. "Do you find this form more comfortable to occupy, Investigator?" He briefly looks to Merelda and Apricity.

Linwel wanders off to greet someone else. Mysterious.

Avrenne's attention briefly flicks to Linwel, watching as the moonkin wanders off. Mysterious.

"Some of us do, others don't," Apricity answer, although he wasn't asked. He looks at Linwel leaving. Mysterious. "Speaking of," he turns back to Dane and Avrenne. "It is only in an effort to show the trust we worgens have in our Alliance allies that I introduce myself to you as both a gilnean and a worgen. In my day to day life, I would like to keep those two identities separated, if you don't mind." Apricity smiles warmly. "There is no 'Apricity Hearthleigh' in the Gravehowl pack, is what I mean."

Atley looks to Apricity and peers at him as he speaks, nodding slowly. "I see," he growls. "Who are you within the Gravehowl Pack?" Atley inquires, a light shake of his head as he seeks to understand.

Gabriella openly glares at Apricity for his defiance. "Nonsense. You are who you are, and there will be no hidden identities in this pack, Hearthleigh."

Again, green eyes quietly flick between them, expression unchanged.

"Indeed, for myself, worgen or human form, I remain Merelda Veyne with everything that implies," Merelda nods. She does not really answer the question.

Avrenne regards the interaction between Gabriella and Apricity with an unreadable composure, observing silently.

"The sweet Lady Merelda stumbled upon the name of 'Piper'," Apricity smiles charmingly, putting a hand on Merelda's shoulder if she lets him. He then turns to Gabriella. "I apologize, sister, but it is for my family's reputation that I must ask that we keep my curse a secret. I will inherit my father's business one day, and a wolfman selling wool could have a negative impact on this." He looks at Gabriella like a wet puppy. "You would hurt my poor father's business like so, Gabriella? The one the Hearthleigh worked so hard to build?"

"Hearthleigh. A word. Now." Gabriella half turns to step away, eyes still locked on Apricity in expectation.

Avrenne's eyes flick to the young man, first to his face, and then to the flower garland in his arms, perhaps cataloging the flowers. She raises her brows at Apricity's assertion. "I would think that a better measure of progress would be to establish a society well advanced enough to not hold such undue prejudices of our allies, and I for one would be pleased to make a purchase from your father's business, when it is possible to." She inclines her head at Gabriella's words, turning slightly away from Apricity to lend support to SI Thorne's movement.

"Alas," Apricity says, looking at Avrenne and Dane, but his gaze is more insistent on the latter. "Duty calls, it seems. It would be my honor to follow you through your portal back to Stormwind, which means I have to gather a few of my belongings first. Please do wait for me as I do that and speak to our dear Special Investigator." He follows Gabriella who has a word for him. It's probably not a good or fun word.

Atley offers Apricity that same gruff expression and a nod of acknowledgement.

Gabriella might as well be dragging Apricity off by his ear (and might have, if not for the exalted company).

Avrenne/Merelda/Dane/Imrolane/Thaniel

Thaniel wanders over, his arms full of a flower garland - exclusively flowers native to Darnassus, selected for their availability rather than color, meaning, or magical significance.

Atley grunts quietly and looks to Thaniel, averting his gaze.

"My apologies," Merelda says to Dane and Avrenne, and then turns to Thaniel. "And I have every confidence that my own standing in my family will not be affected by my current circumstances. May I introduce another Gravehowl, Thaniel?"

"By all means," Atley growls, briefly locking eyes with Merelda and nodding.

"Precisely, Lady Merelda. A delight to make your acquaintance, Thaniel of the Gravehowls," Avrenne says in that same cool politeness.

Thaniel looks like he's trying to process what's happening and is just slow enough about it to make that obvious. "I'm Thaniel Clay. Hello. Do you know my sister?"

"What is your sister's name, if I might ask? I don't believe I am acquainted with another Clay, but if she has another name, I may," Avrenne says, and there's a slightly gentler tone to her voice.

"Briellen," Thaniel says, looking hopefully at Avrenne. "She left a long time ago. To become a paladin. In Lordaeron."

Atley looks to Thaniel and politely inclines his head, grunting in acknowledgement. He frowns, brow furrowing, jaw setting as he squints in thought, studying Thaniel's features. His eyes light up. "Your sister is Dame Briellen Clay?"

Thaniel gasps and looks up at Dane. "You do know her?" He hugs the garland tight to his chest, crushing some of the flowers a little.

Atley blinks once in surprise before he nods. "Aye. She lives," he immediately explains. "She's fresh from the Scourgewar, in Northrend. She's been knighted for some time."

Thaniel does a full-body wiggle of happiness that's a little more dog-like than human-like. "Bree's okay… I'm so glad. Thank you. Can you tell her I'm here? And our parents? I don't know where to write to her."

At some point, Imrolane resumed her cat form and is now curled at Dane's feet. She did her job, introducing them, and it's going swimmingly as far as she's concerned.

"Dame Briellen Clay," Avrenne repeats. "It should be no trouble to locate her, and reunite you both. I will ensure it, Mr. Clay." She looks to Dane, in case he has more information on Bree's current whereabouts.

Merelda's looks at Thaniel with a fond smile. "I'm so glad there's some good news today. We've worried for quite some time about what might be happening outside the walls."

Atley meets eyes with Avrenne and turns back to Thaniel. "Your sister's become a crusader. I warrant she's still with the Argents as we speak. I'll have word sent to her immediately," he bids with a solemn growl, briefly looking down at Imrolane with a blank expression before he lifts his head and peers at Merelda. "You'll find the world has grown far stranger than you'd believe in the time since Gilneas was with us, my lady."

Thaniel reaches down to pet Imrolane's kitty head. "A crusader? The Argents…? She was going to join the Silver Hand."

Avrenne diplomatically refrains from mentioning who was responsible for those walls that prevented lack of communication. "Yes, the evolution of the Light's crusaders against the Scourge has led to several name changes. There was first the Silver Hand, which was officially dissolved by the former Prince Arthas Menethil, with debatable authority." Her hands squeeze together slightly, but her expression does not alter as she speaks to Thaniel. "It was re-established years later by Sir Tirion Fordring, after many of the Light had gathered under another banner to serve the same purpose, the Argent Dawn. They merged, along with the reformed of those of another more extreme faction called the Scarlet Crusade, and are known now as the Argent Crusade, collectively. The name is only a signifier, but the cause has remained the same, as I understand the situation."

Atley grunts.

Merelda stares at her, lots of new information being clearly sorted and set in place in her mind.

Thaniel lays the garland down on the stone rim of the moonwell and returns to petting Imrolane. "The paladins changed names a lot… okay. I wanted to go to her initiation ceremony, but the wall…"

Atley grunts again. "I warrant we've all a great deal of catching up to do." he says. "I'll write to her as soon as I leave."

He works his jaw, and glances around at the other Gilneans, before settling back on Thaniel and Merelda. "I understand it took some hard fighting for your people to get here."

"Yes, against the Forsaken," Merelda says smoothly, but her smile fades. "Hard fighting, and not without cost."

There are strange reflections in Avrenne's eyes for a moment, as if someone had carried a torch closer and her eye caught the light, before she blinks her eyes, and they are gone. Her tone is composed. "Such is the unfortunate common experience of them. The Alliance has born a heavy cost of many lives against their recent attacks, both those officially disavowed by the Horde, and those that appear to have been condoned. It is an unforgiveable tragedy that they have set their eyes on Gilneas. You have my deepest sympathies, for the fate of Lordaeron's own losses is not one I would wish on anyone, and I hope we are not witnessing it once more."

Atley's quiet for a moment before he grunts.

"Stormwind and the Alliance welcomes you and your people," he adds with a growl, expression hard.

Thaniel sits down on the ground and gives Imrolane a hug. "My sister's still alive," he tells her, beaming.

Imrolane trills happily, nuzzling her cheek to Thaniel's.

"Indeed," Avrenne says, before turning more fully to Dane. "Sir Dane Atley the Red, if I do presume? If I recall correctly, you are acquainted with my husband, Vice Admiral Fallon. If you are able to notify Dame Briellen Clay and she is any need of assistance to travel here, please do not hesitate to give my name, and House Fallon shall see to all expenses. We fully support the reunification of those who have been caught on opposite sides of the wall." There is an undertone that suggests she means not only the literal families, but also the Alliance itself.

Atley looks to Avrenne and inclines his head with a grunt of confirmation as he's addressed, eyeing her with some newfound respect given her former words. "I shall make it my duty to pass along your offer, my lady." He, too, has an accent that's distinctly of Lordaeron, just several fathoms below Avrenne's social class.

"It is most appreciated," Avrenne says to Dane, and then directs her attention to Merelda. "Lady Merelda, if I might have a moment of your time?" She sweeps forward, offering out a companionable arm for Merelda.

"Gravehowl appreciates your consideration," Merelda says, nodding her head slightly. She moves forward to take Avrenne's arm. "And of course, I would be delighted to speak with you further."

Avrenne/Merelda

Some of the illusion of Avrenne's height is abruptly broken, as she secures Merelda's arm, revealing that she is, in fact, a good four inches shorter than the other woman. Her steering away from the group is not hurried, but it does move them out of the circle of other conversation. "I do apologize if it is a difficult subject, but might I inquire as to the health of your House as you are aware of it? I am not as familiar with House Veyne as I would like, but I am given to understand it is a noble house of Gilneas, and there has been great disruption of families in the evacuation. I know well how that can cause distress. I was separated from my own, when we fled the Fall of Lordaeron."

There's a flicker of uncertainty on Merelda's face, and she makes no attempt to disguise it, but there's confidence in her voice when she says, "Veyne is a long-established house in Gilneas. You mentioned your familiarity with Lord Graves - our lands are… were near his. As for our current state, I, at least, am alive, so our House will hold. I have not yet ascertained whether my parents or my brother have been successfully evacuated. Prior to the curse, we had naturally lost considerable assets, but not all. A good portion of our household remained with my parents, and may… remain with them still." Whether in life or death, one assumes.

Avrenne keeps them strolling along, taking a turn about the room tree, her attention more on Merelda than the path ahead of them, but the duchess walks with a decisive step all the same. She might have excellent peripheral vision. "If you will be so good as to give me their names, I assure you that every effort will be made to locate your family and household as soon as possible. I was unfortunate in that I was sole survivor of my own House, but we held in the end. I know personally the experience of fleeing the dead, and leaving behind many aspects of one's history and lineage. I arrived in Stormwind with next to nothing." There's a bit of a distancing her voice, like she's talking about someone else, rather than herself, and then it strengthens again. "You must know that the Alliance will fully recognize your House, regardless of the state of your assets or lands under attack by the Forsaken. Stormwind is not the only human kingdom of the Alliance. Gilneas is a fully realized part of that. House Veyne will be given all due respect."

"You have my sympathy for your loss, one survivor to another," Merelda says firmly, touching her hand lightly to Avrenne's arm. "And if you do hear word - Zura and Theo Veyne, and my elder brother Wallas. And if I might ask…" she pauses for a breath, and then forges ahead. "I had kin in Lordaeron as well, before the wall went up, on my mother's side, the Tyrrells. Have you any word what might have become of them?"

There is genuine surprise on the duchess' face at the mention of the Tyrrells, before it is controlled once more, and she allows a small smile. "As a matter of fact, House Fallon is well connected to House Tyrrell," she says, although she uses the Stormwind pronunciation of the House, a subtle distinction that seems potentially significant. "My husband, Vice Admiral Fallon, is a friend of Count Zath Tyrrell, who I regret to inform you is the sole survivor of his house of Lordaeron, but who has since taken up the title of Count of Stormwind, bestowed upon him for great deeds of service on behalf of the Alliance in service in the 7th Legion of the army. He is the Captain of the 6th E.U., and recently married to Miss Halliday Bristow, now Lady Halliday Tyrrell. They reside in Drakewatch, in Redridge, east of Elwynn."

It's Merelda's turn to look surprised, and then relieved, and then a little guilty. The feelings follow one after the other, clearly visible on her face. "My cousin lives, then, and it sounds like he's thriving. For all I never knew him well, I confess he has been in my thoughts." For reasons she does not seem inclined to explain right now.

Avrenne's smile goes a little wry. "No one knows him well; that's just as he likes it," she says, her tone dry and despite her best efforts a trickle of what sounds like fondness makes its way into her cool voice, as she pats Merelda's arm lightly. "But yes, he is thriving. In fact, I expect him to possibly willingly attend a social event soon, which would be nigh upon a miracle." That almost sounds like she's teasing him, but surely not, this is a very serious duchess. Ahem. "My friend Lady Priscilla Moore is soon to be married to the second son of Duchess and Duke Aspenwood of Stormwind, Lord Bertrand Aspenwood, who is another friend of Captain Tyrrell's. I am here on Priscilla's behalf as her Matron of Honor with permission to extend that invitation to those of Gilneas who would wish to attend, as a gesture of our goodwill, and opportunity to meet the social sphere of Stormwind. I would be most pleased if you will say you will be there even on such short notice, Lady Merelda."

Merelda looks curiously at Avrenne as she discusses cousin Zath, and then nods at the invitation. "Thank you, for the invitation. I confess I have had little opportunity to make long-term social plans in recent years, so short notice is not a problem. I will check with Lord Graves, in case anything may be needed for the Gravehowls, before I confirm my acceptance."

"Naturally," Avrenne says. "I know of a tailor whose shop was not damaged excessively in the recent attack by a black dragon in Stormwind City: Mrs. Cruishank, a modiste of exceptional talent and reasonable prices. I would be pleased to offer her your name to be prioritized for a fitting, and should cost come into the factor of choice of dress while assets are sorted, you may have her put it on my account of House Fallon."

"Thank you for the the recommendation. I pray that will not be necessary, but I appreciate the generosity nonetheless," Merelda nods with confidence, her assets will be sorted, thank you very much. Then another thought strikes her, in regards to assets, and she adds, "I confess I am unfamiliar with the recent… dragon attack?… in Stormwind, but should someone require the services of an architect I would be grateful if you would pass on my name. My portfolio is… unfortunately unreachable, but I do not believe any future clients would be disappointed."

"An architect, really?" Avrenne's brows raise, and there is interest in her voice. "It is exceptional timing. There was a series of disasters as of late, in both the Eastern Kingdoms and Kalimdor. Stormwind City suffered a tidal wave, and an attack by a black dragon that damaged large parts of the city. House Fallon lost." There's a hitch, not entirely smoothly covered. "Our townhouse there, and those within it. We were blessedly able to preserve our house on the coast of Elwynn, but there was damage there as well that we are in the process of rebuilding. I would be pleased to further discuss your particular talents and styles much more in depth at another time, Lady Merelda, and perhaps I might know where best to recommend you and reestablish your portfolio. I am well versed in the materials of both Azeroth and Outland, the world connected to this one by the Dark Portal, and I would be delighted to assist you in establishing a broader arrangement for your work."

Merelda smiles with genuine warmth. "I have, naturally, worked primarily with Gilnean materials and in the Gilnean style, so I would certainly value information on the differences I'm likely to find this side of the wall. I'll need to see Stormwind, of course, to acclimate to the local traditions, but… I would be delighted to help in the rebuilding."

"We shall be glad to have you, your knowledge, and your perspective, Lady Merelda," Avrenne says, with another small smile. "The Alliance's greatest strength is in our collective abilities growing together, respected for our unique approaches, and benefitted from our pooled resources. If you need any assistance in securing a method of travel to Stormwind, please let me know. We have portals well established between here and Darnassus." Her head turns slightly, her eyes flicking immediately to another person. She gently disengages her arm from Merelda's. "You will excuse me, I see someone I must speak with. I am very glad to have made your acquaintance, and I look forward to working with you, Lady Merelda." She gives Merelda only a beat to react, before she starts sweeping onwards to her next target meeting.

Merelda nods politely, looking more at ease now than she did at the beginning of the afternoon. She opens her mouth to respond, but Lady Fallon is already moving away. Instead, Merelda turns back to Thaniel, Imrolane and Sir Atley, who seem to have been joined by a new kaldorei.

Dane/Imrolane/Thaniel/Velrin/Merelda

Atley looks down at Thaniel and Imrolane with a grunt of acknowledgement. "Seems you two've become friends. I hadn't known Imrolane was of the contingent sent to Gilneas, but I ought to have known."

Thaniel nods. "She came to the tree to meet us," he explains.

Imrolane lifts her head, looking up at Atley and speaking for the second time in her cat form. "Secret."

Atley scoffs with amusement at Imrolane before he grunts and nods slowly, gaze lingering on Thaniel. He squints faintly in confusion and sets his jaw, before just bluntly asking, "You're worgen?"

"Yes," Thaniel says simply. "You can tell Bree. It's not a secret. My parents weren't bitten. But I was."

Atley grunts and slowly nods, examining Thaniel for a moment. "I'll be certain to pass that along, as well." He raises his gaze and looks around at other worgen present.

Velrin strides into the Howling Oak and glances around to take stock of the situation and see if there’s anyone she recognizes already socializing.

Atley stands in the center, near Imrolane and Thaniel, wearing his ceremonial knight raiment. He spots Velrin and slowly upnods.

Velrin smiles and makes her way over. She’s dressed in her usual Watcher style armor. “Sir Dane.” She returns his nod, “Apologies for my tardiness. I intercepted some Horde forces on my way back to Darnassus.”

Atley's expression falls, and hardens. He sets his hand on his sword. Though ceremonial, it has been sharpened and maintained to an obsessive level of detail. "Horde?" he growls, voice tactfully lowered. "Where?"

"Ashenvale. We seem able to cooperate well enough through the Emerald Circle in Felwood, but the same can't be said for outside of there." Velrin finishes with a frown.

Atley grunts, and glares over her shoulder for a moment, thoughtful, before he turns to incline his head as Merelda returns.

"May I introduce you to the newcomers," he growls, after a clearing of of his throat. "Lady Merelda, of House Veyne and mister Thaniel Clay." He sets his jaw and shoots Imrolane a discreetly fond look, nudging her on the ground with his boot. "And you know this one, I warrant."

Thaniel, still seated on the floor, tilts his head way back to look up at Velrin. "Hello," he says mildly. "I'm Thaniel."

"It's a pleasure to meet you all." Velrin smiles brightly and bows, "My name is Velrin Silverbloom."

"She is a longtime comrade, and former sentinel. She's currently a member of Cobalt Company." Atley explains with a growl.

"Pleasure to meet you," Merelda says. "The kaldorei have all been very welcoming. And what's Cobalt Company?"

Velrin's ears twitch cheerfully, "I'm happy to hear it. I for one am just glad we were able to help people in need. And Cobalt Company is a respected mercenary organization in the Alliance."

Atley nods once. "I'm also a member. Have been from the start. Proud to say the Company's accomplished much, and has grown in scope over the years. It's been the arrow flown 'fore even the tip of the spear on many occasions."

"Then I shall be delighted to hear more of it in the days to come," Merelda says with a polite smile.

He grunts. "In time, once you've settled. There's a great wild world with many affairs to get into. You Gravehowls have the look of a capable lot."

He cranes his head in a gruff nod. "The Alliance can put that to use."

“But of course don’t feel too rushed to join the fray. You need to look after your own wellbeings if you wish to help others.” Velrin says with the tone of someone who knows that the hard way, “Take as much time as you like settling in here. In fact, if any of you would like a tour of the tree, I’d be happy to provide one when I get a spare moment.”

Merelda nods. "I may take you up on that later. This is all very different from our home. Though the oak - I appreciate the effort to make us feel welcome. I can't imagine how this was constructed. Grown?"

Velrin nods, “The wisps and Druids helped it along, but yes this was grown. This whole great tree was not a few years ago. I helped where I could.”

"A few years," Merelda says, raising her eyebrows. "It feels ancient. Perhaps it is merely the size. I imagine it must be easy for people assume it has been here always, if they don't know better."

Velrin giggles, “I can understand that. I’ve been to Gilneas myself a long long time ago too. It’s a lovely country. I’m sure you’ll see it again someday.

Atley grunts. "Truly a sight, Teldrassil. Doesn't properly look real," he growls politely. "I've set eyes upon most of the kingdoms of humans, but I've yet to ever see Gilneas for my own."

"I hope you may see it one day, but…" Merelda sighs. "Not soon, I fear."

"Maybe not soon, but it will happen. I'm sure of it." Velrin says reassuringly, trying to stand tall and strong to make her impressive stature lend credence to her words.

Atley grunts and inclines his head. "If you'll pardon me, ladies, I'm to roam about. Good speaking with you." he growls, before he does as he warned, and wanders off to familiarize himself with other Gilneans, and inspect their worgen forms.