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| Details |
| Author: | Alli |
| Summary: | The Lich King may be defeated, but the work of the Argent Crusade and the Ebon Blade continues. Briellen, Dara, Roper, Sophiette and Syarra meet up by chance at Light's Hope Chapel and discuss their recent experiences. ~3300 words |
| Rating: | M for Mature 17+ |
Chain: Light Guide Us
Light's Hope Chapel looks much different now than it did in the years before the Cataclysm, when the death knights were first freed from the grip of the Lich King by the power of the Light. More defenses have been built, as well as stone walls that enclose a larger space. Within those walls, the Argent Crusade stands strong, with many of the same familiar faces in the chapel, like Lord Max Tyrosus and Leonid Barthalomew.
One priestess, with an extremely short fuzz of dark hair on her head, moves towards the entrance of the chapel and out into the general courtyard. Dara smooths her still-new Argent Crusade tabard over her robe of blue and gold, which looks perhaps a little more expensive than the usual rank and file priests are wearing these days. Or okay, a lot more expensive. Dara looks for a particular familiar face.
Outside, by the bat and gryphon stand, a skeletal gryphon flaps in for a landing, the nearby dwarf glancing at it with unsurprised resignation. The Ebon Hold still stands, and this is their closest point of entry to the Plaguelands. A death knight in saronite armor and the dark blue tabard of the Ebon Blade, her helm tied at her side, dismounts from the undead creature. Syarra Sunstrike takes a deliberate breath, and moves away from the landing point, in the vague direction of the mailbox.
Dame Briellen Clay exits the chapel, armored but with her helm off, wearing her Argent Crusade tabard. She has seen battle against the scourge recently, based on abomination-typical residue on her armor and shield that she has not had the time to fully clean off.
Syarra pauses by the mailbox, her gaze fixing on Briellen. Her voice is low and echoing as she says, "Dame Clay, are you well?"
Dara startles as the death knight addresses the paladin, and she looks around to see where Sophiette might be.
Briellen approaches. "Syarra Sunstrike," she says politely. "I am, thank you. Have you and your husband been here long?"
Dara turns back to stare at the death knight and paladin, but she does join the conversation.
Syarra turns slightly toward her. "Not long, no. A month, since we returned from Northrend. And you? I know the Crusade was maintaining a presence in the Grizzly Hills."
At last, another gryphon soars into view. Even at a distance, the well-kept armor of its rider gleams and glints in the shrouded sunlight. As she draws nearer, the proud white tabard with the black and gold insignia of the Argent Crusade can be seen. She descends for a landing, dismounting the gryphon as soon as it is on the ground. Her helm comes off immediately, eyes searching the grounds. At first glance, she looks bald; an illusion of her light, butter-blonde hair which is little more than a layer of fuzz on her head, much like the priestess she seeks.
Sophiette's eyes light up with joy when she finds Dara also seeking her. She hurries across the grounds to embrace her, boldly pressing a kiss to her lips before remembering decorum. "Missed you," she smiles. "Hugo wanted me to say hello as well."
Dara happily returns the kiss, down with decorum! But then she steps back with a smile. "Hello to him, back. Does he remember much, in the end? Though I expect to a boy his age, it's all just a dragon adventure, even if he does remember."
Syarra glances over at the mention of dragons in the Plaguelands.
"I'm relieved to say he only remembers the sky turning red." Sophiette chuckles ruefully. "You know him too well. He's quite put out that he can't remember actually seeing Deathwing, and insisting he should be allowed to return to my service already."
Dara sighs. "I know we can't protect him from everything, if he's to be your squire. But still, a dragon Aspect is a little beyond his skills at the moment. And ours. Maybe you could invite him back out when we're stationed somewhere a little safer?"
That's enough to draw Syarra's attention, and she steps back slightly, subtly opening the circle of her conversation to include the two bald women. She looks at them both carefully. "Did I hear you say you saw Deathwing, here? And lived?"
Sophiette nods in agreement with Dara. They are of like minds on the matter of Hugo's future squireship. She holds her response, though, at the sound of a voice bearing a now-familiar echo of death. She half-expected to recognize the face as well, but this death knight is different: an elf, for one thing. Sophiette nods, her demeanor turning solemn. "That's correct…in a manner of speaking. We were up north, pushing back the trolls' aggressive expansion. We'd just fought our way to their temple when…the sky went crimson." She shudders as she recounts the event. "I looked up and saw him. Light's mercy…he filled half the sky. Then he opened his jaws, and fire like no other poured from his gullet, engulfing the land as far as the eye could see. We…" She pauses, reaching for Dara's hand. "We were not spared. The flames took the both of us, my squire, and our death knight companion."
Dara takes Sophiette's hand, squeezing it for comfort as she tells the most harrowing part of the tale. She eyes the death knight warily, but seems somewhat mollified by the polite reception they received from the other obviously hardworking, Scourge-fighting paladin.
"Your death knight companion," Syarra repeats, a faint lilt of curiosity in her voice. Then she continues, "The Plaguelands are not always kind to the remains of followers of the Light. It is good to see that you were recovered by the right people."
"Light's mercy, what a harrowing experience that must have been," Briellen says with genuine sympathy. She raises a hand and casts a Blessing of Wisdom on Dara and Sophiette. Maybe that's the paladin version of a sympathetic Light pat on the back.
Dara smiles at Briellen a little more freely, her hand drifting to pat her own Argent Crusade tabard, and she says, "Very harrowing, yes. And I don't believe we've met? I'm Dara Tennerow, and this is Lady Sophiette Valonforth. We've only just joined the Argent Crusade, a little over a week ago."
Briellen gives the two of them a polite bow. "Dame Briellen Clay. Welcome." She does not offer to shake hands, probably because her gauntlets are not clean. "I'm only recently back in the Eastern Kingdoms myself," she says to Syarra in response to her earlier question. "I've just come from Chillwind Camp - one of our outposts to the far west of here," she adds, just in case the sin'dorei death knight doesn't recognize the location.
"Oh! Sophiette and I passed through there on the way here, a couple of weeks ago," Dara says brightly. "It seemed so much improved, but…" she eyes Briellen's armor with concern, "I suppose it must still have its share of problems. Is help needed there?"
"I've been keeping mostly to the east for now, near to the Ebon Hold, so I haven't seen much of the area myself," Syarra says, nodding to Briellen. She remains as polite as ever, but a faintly bleaker tone comes into her voice as she adds, "Being back here, it can seem almost as if the years have not even passed."
There's a fwoomph sound of magic bones hitting the air hard, but this at least is not some terrible risen dragon of the Plaguelands, just a regular bone gryphon from Archerus, and the individual exiting it a not unfamiliar sight — a human man in embellished saronite armor without a tabard and his helm over his face, who impatiently dismounts from the gryphon the moment it comes near the ground, before a full stop. If he takes notice of the people, it's difficult to tell from within his helm, his eyes shadowed, but his head turns towards Syarra, and he moves with a deceptive casualness towards her and the others.
"Hey," Roper says, and though he must be a death knight, there is curiously no echo to his voice, only a low-born Stormwind accent and a faint rasp. The way he moves to stand by Syarra, his right hand going to her lower back in a possessive touch, gives at least some sense of their relationship, if not who he is exactly.
There's very little sense of their relationship in Syarra's response, unless one were to note the very slight turn towards him and the fact that she does not pull away. It's a far cry from the exuberant greeting the living couple displayed not long ago.
Dara looks a little nervous.
"Roper Sunstrike," Briellen says in greeting, nodding to him.
Dara glances at him in faint surprise, but remains silent.
To Dara, Briellen explains, "There's a three-way conflict for Andorhal between the Alliance, Forsaken forces, and the Cult of the Damned's Scourge. A group from Cobalt Company and I did what we could to eliminate the Cult of the Damned from that equation, and drove them from Andorhal, but one of their leaders has retreated to Scholomance. Alliance and Forsaken troops have pulled back in a stalemate for the time being."
"You know the name of the leader?" Roper asks, the rasp vanished from his voice as if it had never been there.
"Darkmaster Gandling," Briellen says with clear distaste. "A powerful necromancer."
"Oh, Scholomance," Dara says knowingly, shooting a glance to Sophiette. "One of my friends is an escapee from that dreadful place. I do hope clearing it out entirely is on the agenda. As for fighting the Forsaken, if you need further military assistance I could speak to my brother." She does not name the leader. She does not know the name of the leader.
Roper clicks his tongue against his teeth. "And in a place like that, a couple of days is all he'd need for a fucking army. Sounds fun." He tilts his head at Dara. "Your brother…we talking Devon pulling strings in the House, or has Leric risen up far enough in the ranks for commander?" It's delivered so casually, like he was just part of an extended conversation they were having, that the implications that he knows exactly who Dara is on sight, knows her family in some detail, might go unnoticed for a beat or two.
"Oh, Leric's rising, but he's hardly in control of the military. I rather meant Devon, that he might…" Dara blinks. It has been a beat or two. She blushes a little, and moves her hand up as if to tuck back her nonexistent hair. Then she blushes more. She clears her throat, and says back to Briellen, "I could send him a letter, ask him to bring it up in the House of Nobles. If that might help."
"Thassarian is in charge of the operation, it seems. We reported to him." Briellen just throws that out there.
"Wouldn't hurt for the House to mark it off officially though, right?" There's an amused touch of drawl in Roper's voice. "Thassarian's got a working reputation with everyone from Alliance to Cobalt Company, but making sure it's sanctioned with dotted Is and crossed Ts keeps it all nice and allied." The sharp smile behind his voice is audible.
Syarra raises an eyebrow. "It seems many of our people are looking for their place here after Northrend. Thassarian with the Alliance, the companion of these two young women, and Roper and myself. Did you see Koltira as well?"
"I did," Briellen says. "He seems to be leading the Forsaken in their operation. I had not known him before."
"Ah," Syarra says, her expression darkening. "The Ebon Blade aims for neutrality, but it seems not all of us follow that. He was in Icecrown as well, but mostly liaised with the Horde. This, it seems, follows on that."
"Well, perhaps you could remind him to be neutral, and then they'll be out a leader," Dara says lightly. She does not seem to notice the Alliance would be out one as well, in that scenario.
"Or better yet, convince him that the Alliance is the more worthy cause," Sophiette chimes in. Then she adds a thought as it strikes her, "Though I suppose the Argent Crusade attempts to remain neutral as well. The true worthy cause is peace and the restoration of the land. Somehow I don't see the Forsaken making either of those a priority."
"Not much in it for them, no," Roper says. "Survival comes first, and when your territory is only granted to you from fucking death and decay…" He spreads free arm out in an open gesture. "Wrong incentive to fight for the living to get their own back. One of the differences between the Ebon Blade and the Forsaken, and why you won't see us pulling the same shit." He jerks his head in the direction of the floating necropolis, taking up no land space at all, and relatively plague-free.
"I suppose you've no interest in leaving your… necropolis, then?" Dara asks, glancing up at it. "Though that doesn't seem entirely healthy, from what I've seen. So many people all cooped up with the same… um, sorts of thoughts."
Roper turns his helm to make his attention on Dara more obvious, a sense of someone staring intently from behind the helm. "You got a piece of real estate you wanna sell or rent to a couple of knights in your pocket?" The drawl is stronger. "Most of us don't need anything at all. We don't have to eat, don't have to sleep, don't have to store shit. But some of us have rented spaces out among the living. My wife and I spent a year in Kaskala in Northrend, providing protection to the kalu'ak there in trade for a home. We haven't found the same willingness here, and that's not entirely a bad thing. Not all of the Ebon Blade should be around the living like that, not even on the outskirts, and we won't lie to you about that. We'll just make sure they don't do it."
Briellen looks thoughtful, but says nothing.
Dara shifts a little bit closer to Sophiette, close enough that their shoulders touch. "I suppose I'll take your word for that, then. Anyway, I wasn't suggesting anything. Though…" Dara considers. "I suppose there are pieces of real estate that might suit. Like the northern border of Redridge, they're always short of people to defend against the orcs from the Steppes. Probably here is the best place for everyone, though. Until we reclaim Stratholme." Dara shoots a little smile at Sophiette on that last.
Syarra remains quiet for now, but also looks thoughtful.
"Are the two of you looking for a more local residence?" Briellen asks. This seems to be directed at the death knights, not the living couple.
Roper's attention shifts from Dara to Briellen. He shrugs his left shoulder in a roll up and drop. "Not looking for anything, just keeping an open mind and an open eye for where we might be needed, useful to the living. We're looking to serve a fucking purpose, not settle down in a cottage to play at idleness. We're just not the stand in a corner like dolls when we're not fighting type. A place to come back to is worth a trade."
"Exactly so. We intend to be useful to the living," Syarra says, with a faint nod. "Though I hope not in a partisan fight like the ones that nearly derailed Icecrown. As the Lady Sophiette has said, a worthy cause over state loyalty." She pauses, tilting her head. "I have fought in Stratholme once before. It was not… in a good state. Is there a plan now to reclaim it?"
Dara brightens. "Oh, yes. The Brotherhood of the Light is making a plan."
Sophiette nods vehemently. "It would make a mighty stronghold. Just imagine, being able to strike out at the Scourge from both Stratholme and Light's Hope. Oh, and…" She looks up into the sky toward the floating necropolis, "…Acherus, of course."
"Of course," Syarra repeats, turning her attention to Sophiette. "And the Scourge is fighting a losing battle here, now. With the Lich King…" just the slightest pause, "…defeated, they will not be as organized or driven. We may be able to eradicate them from this region entirely one day."
"Plans are good," Roper says, up-nodding Dara. "Hope they're remembering one of their best fucking weapons against an unending tireless undead." His voice has a dry sound to it. "But the way I hear it you've been seeing that first hand with one of ours. 'Mercy.' We can be useful when it comes to long term stalemates to hold a line and buy time for a plan, or push comes to shove to stay in a hell pit long enough to hold back the dead to cleanse a city. If Stratholme, or that fucked up torture house of Scholomance even can be cleansed."
"That's right." Sophiette peers curiously at the foul-mouthed death knight. "Mercy traveled with us through the Eastweald on the caravan we were guarding. You know her?"
"Yeah," Roper answers, in a tone that implies, I know everyone. "Worked with her on the ship on the way over to Northrend. She's good. Stable, for one of us, and keeps her head in a crisis. Hasn't had much to do with the living until recently, but…" He gives a twitch of a shrug. "It's not like any of us were gonna pick up fucking knitting as a way to pass the time after Icecrown."
"I've heard the name, though we've not met," Briellen says. "I believe she's one of Brother Sevastyn's…" A pause. "Protégées?"
Syarra turns to Briellen curiously. "My sister has mentioned that name, though I've never met him. A well-regarded man in the Argent Crusade?"
Dara adds in, from her side, "Mercy thinks very highly of him. She didn't seem to think the Ebon Blade would think well of her, though."
The smile shows more in Briellen's eyes than on her lips as her mouth twitches. "Yes, he is."
"Why wouldn't we think well of her?" Roper asks, that lightly lazy drawl in his voice, a hint of an echo not of the undead but of Dara's own cultured accent in his return question. "She might not be 'Ebon Blade' officially from her own choice from what I hear, but doesn't mean she isn't still one of us. She's doing good work fucking up the Scourge, and working with our allies in the Crusade, isn't she? What's not to like about that."
"I suppose Mercy has certain thoughts about acceptance and forgiveness," Dara says, shrugging. "But yes, she's been a reliable ally, even if… well, anyway, I haven't met Brother Black either, but after all of this I certainly would like to."
"I've never met him either, but his reputation speaks for itself. He's an inspiration to us all." Sophiette's reverence for the heroic Sevastyn Black is just as evident in her tone as in her words. "And his influence on Mercy is clear to me. Her sense of duty is admirable."
"Then I approve of her as well, whether she chooses to call herself Ebon Blade or not," Syarra says, with a slight nod. "And you may tell her so, whether she believes it or not. Forgiveness or acceptance aside, I think you will find duty is something most of us can understand."