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| Details |
| Author: | Alli |
| Summary: | The second week of the war against the denizens of the Firelands. Logs include Anareline, Celaven, Atley, Auralind, Caspis, Tyrrell, Colson, Cressidha, Mordecai, Ralaea, Sintha, and Velrin. |
| Rating: | T for Teen |
Monday
Anareline flies the now-familiar path for the daily tasks of the defense of Hyjal.
Caspis shadows her in stormcrow form, jumping in to help when needed. It is not often needed. Anareline is kind of badass.
They're assisted by a group of druids, as well as a Tauren sailor and a mage of the kirin tor.
As molten behemoths fall, Ana carefully takes their wrappings to use as bandages, as Mordecai often does.
Caspis flies around the head of a pyrelord in frantic circles, distracting it. As always, Cas is nonverbal in stormcrow form, but by now Anareline can sense how tuned in he is to her attacks and feints, and the way he complements them.
"Mordecai was here yesterday," Anareline comments. "It seems Kalecgos is somewhere in the area, and there is an urgent message for him." Anareline speaks without expecting a response from the stormcrow, simply that she shares her thoughts with him.
Cas's head tilts in a jerky way that reads clearly to Anareline as dismay.
"I have not seen any blue dragons…" Anareline pauses to fight a behemoth. "If you do, please tell me."
Caspis soars high for a moment, circling, scouting, and then returns, seeming to have nothing to report.
"He is… one of the ones we can trust," Ana says, looking up at the sky. "He sided against Malygos, during the Nexus War."
"Now to the front in the Firelands," Anareline says, her manner calm and steady. "I find myself falling into this easily, fighting each day. It is better, when you are with me."
Caspis settles on her shoulder for a moment.
Ana reaches up with a hand to almost touch the stormcrow, a shadow of a caress. Ana surveys the battlefield. "Charhounds today, I see."
Caspis caws.
Anareline and Caspis do their usual rounds of the battlefield, fighting charred combatants and helping up the fallen as they can.
Anareline turns to the stormcrow. "Back home, love?"
The stormcrow takes off in that direction by way of answer.
Tuesday
Celaven nods at his teammates, Fallon and Tyrrell. "I am prepared to continue the fight."
"I am always ready," Tyrrell says gravely.
"Excellent. Because it looks like the ones I said are probably not fun at parties are being no fun. We're going to… cull them." Sintha checks the knives at her hips.
"That I can do," Tyrell agrees.
Celaven nods. "I will ensure all of your safety, and do what I can to burn them as well."
"Your healing talents are greatly appreciated," Tyrrell says solemnly to Celaven.
"I feel as though the teamwork training was beneficial," Celaven says, stretching long fingers awash with Light. "I feel as though we work well together."
"If you could say as much to the Powers That Be, I would greatly appreciate it," Tyrrell says.
"They will see you remain the man you were," Celaven says calmly. "All of us change, with time."
"I…" Zath seems to have some sort of response in him to what Celaven said, but seems to decide not to share it.
"Is this enough culling, Sgt. Fallon?" Celaven asks mildly. "Or is there more, before we go through the portal?"
"Master Sergeant Fallon," Tyrrell corrects.
Celaven nods, accepting the correction.
"To be honest I don't think it will ever be enough culling. But I want to have a look at that shelf to the west again before we cross over." Sintha blows a lock of hair out of her face. She does not comment on the title or correction.
"Well this is exasperating," Sintha observes. "They will not take hints, will they?"
"This war would be over much quickly if they would," Celaven murmurs, looking at the fire denizens.
"I believe the ones we kill here just return to the elemental plane, yes? Or am I confused with demons?" Zath asks mildly.
"I think wars are often about people not taking hints," says Sintha. "And Sgt. Tyrrell is correct. They go to the elemental plane, and then re-invite themselves here."
"For this reason I rather prefer the fights on that side," Zath admits.
"The ones we kill through the portal, however, I believe are gone for good," Celaven observes. "And yes, conflict can often be averted if both sides are willing to communicate. In this case, I feel it would not help, as what Ragnaros seems likely to communicate is that he desires our death."
"Hey," pipes up Bizpep suddenly. "You're not thinking of paying a visit to the Tw—-" The imp does not get to finish. Zath slowly clenches a fist and murmurs something in Demonic, and the little imp makes a strangled sound, then quiets.
"Someone forgot the rules," Zath says coolly.
"It's certainly more satisfying to kill them where one knows they won't come back," Sintha agrees. "But meanwhile one does have to keep the undesirables from this side somehow. Then we can go and thin them out at home."
Zath nods in agreement.
"Now to kill them at home?" Celaven asks.
Zath smiles a very Zathy smile.
"Yes, time to pay a house call, I believe." Sintha says brightly.
"As you wish, Master Sergeant," Zath says.
Celaven tosses scorching holy fire at a flame druid near the breach.
"Is Captain Hall's team doing all right, do you know?" Tyrrell asks very casually.
"Yes, quite well, I understand." Sintha eyes Zath.
Zath is very casual and fine. He simply nods.
Celaven gets a few more Hyjal Defenders back to their feet.
"These flame druids," Celaven observes. "They attempted to recruit my half-sister."
One of Zath's brows skyrockets.
"No." Sintha looks genuinely startled for once. "Did they? Awful. She's all right?"
"Yes, the word 'attempted' is reassuring at least," Zath says.
"Yes, it's…" Celaven pauses, choosing his words carefully. "It was her father who made the attempt. She was with her teacher, though, so she was safe." Celaven does not comment on what side his sister is 'half' on.
"Gosh," says Sintha. It is a singularly expressive 'gosh'.
"I wonder if they would attempt to recruit my cousin… or if they are only interested in kaldorei," Zath muses. "Not that I am worried that this lot would hold any temptation whatsoever for Lady Merelda Veyne, daughter of my father's sister."
"Nor would they have any hope of strongarming such a woman," he muses.
"I honestly do not know," Celaven says, frowning. "The cases we have seen so far are reaching out to relatives. No one, however, has attempted to recruit me. Is your cousin a druid?"
"She is," Zath says. There is something of pride in his voice.
"Oh, Lady Merelda's lovely. No, I don't think they'd ever," Sintha agrees, blithely stabbing a fire elemental.
"She is also responsible for keeping Keiley Boles' sister in good health and in shoes all these years. I owe her a great deal," Zath says.
Sintha nods solemnly. "A brilliant lady, honestly."
Zath gives a slight, inquisitive brow raise at that.
Celaven glances at Zath with a brief and then hidden look of sympathy. "It may be they only target kaldorei, in any case."
"Yes, thus far I have only seen kaldorei in their ranks," Zath observes.
"You might warn her, in any case, if she's nearby," Celaven nods.
"Mm, couldn't hurt," Zath says.
Wednesday
Anareline is fighting along the southern border with a group of druids, when she sees Velrin approaching with her own team.
"Velrin," Ana says in greeting. "It's good you're here. They simply will not let up."
"Shan'do." Velrin bows, "I know what you mean. It's as if our efforts do nothing to halt them from attacking."
"We must continue, though," Anareline says, grim-faced. "Hyjal will not burn. It is very important."
Velrin nods, "Indeed. The forest shall not fall under our watch."
Ana glances over at Velrin. "Have you seen much of Ven, up here? He's been fighting with his unit."
"Fighting here?" Vel asks.
Anareline nods. "They are typically not fighting at the same time my team is…" Ana climbs on her gryphon. "Next is the turtles. They always menace the turtles."
"Elune save me, I didn't even know. I-I-I've just been so busy, I…" Velrin sounds a little guilty.
Ana raises an eyebrow. "Perhaps he did not know you were here as well. The both of you have been busy, you with your Watchers, him with his 7th Legion."
"M-maybe… I've missed him…" Velrin mutters.
"You both take your positions seriously," Ana says mildly, dropping a turtle in the water.
Velrin nods, "I would take Nylarria with me, but she isn't able to keep up the pace for long periods of time."
"She does seem more of a solo fighter," Ana observes, "Than one for an open battlefield."
"She's not used to fighting in large groups." Velrin notes.
Ana nods. "There is no shame in fighting alone. Now, though, I think it is the breach for us."
Velrin nods.
Ana surveys the battlefield. "Druids of the Flame are attacking today. I say we slay every one we see."
"Agreed." Velrin snarls and draws her weapons.
Ana pauses, and glances at Velrin in concern. "However… should you see one that looks… similar to Celaven… tell me."
Velrin gets a sober look on her face but nods again.
"I hope, if he is among those who attack," Ana says, as a wisp closes a portal, "That it is we who encounter him, and not my son."
"I hope so too…" Vel says quietly. "I would like to protect him from that fate if possible. Just another reason to keep fighting." Velrin swings her crescent.
Anareline nods. "He need not learn what it is like, to find someone you might have loved, on the wrong side of the lines of battle."
"Elune willing I won't have to learn either." Velrin says.
Anareline smiles tightly at Velrin. "Elune willing."
Friday
Anareline looks around at those gathered for the daily fight at the Molten Front.
Tyrrell notes the tabards and wanders over. "Ah, Cobalts. Need any assistance?"
Mordecai is speaking to Dorda'en Nightweaver about salve made from fire elemental hearts.
Anareline looks him up and down appraisingly, and then nods. "7th Legion. Yes, we will welcome your help."
Ralaea eyes Tyrrell. "Are you flammable?"
"Sgt. Zath Tyrrell. And I've managed not to burn to death thus far."
Ralaea nods her approval.
Atley marches up alongside Rae, sipping from a waterskin. He stares at Zath. "Of Redridge?"
A little imp scampers over to Zath and tugs at the hem of his black robe. He nudges it further away with his foot. "That's right. Drakewatch, up in the mountains." He eyes Atley.
Atley's gaze falls to Bizpep with visible disgust and disdain before he consciously shifts his attention back to Zath, marching forward. "Dane Atley. I'm familiar with your work with the orphans."
"Ah." Tyrrell looks momentarily awkward, but puts out a gloved hand to shake.
Atley shakes his hand. "I am a Stormwind orphan. You're engaged in honorable work. I trust you'll call upon me if I can ever visit or provide help to the little ones."
Tyrrell blinks in surprise. "Of course, sir. I'll send a letter to my wife; she is more aware of the current needs than I."
"Our usual route is to defend the borders here, and then push forward in the Firelands," Ana says, looking around at the others. "I am told today we will also be rallying the birds."
Atley grunts and quiets down, turning to Anareline.
Colson dismounts from his white gryphon with grace, if a bit of necessary speed as she hops immediately back up into the skies. "Good afternoon, everyone. I was informed of the need of a healer for additional support."
"I'll see what I can do," Mordecai says softly to Dorda'en, and turns with a smile. "Colson. Oh! E-everyone."
Anareline looks over at Colson with a flash of recognition, and a smile. She inclines her head. "An additional healer is always welcome, Colson Aspenwood."
Colson smiles gently at Mordecai, coming to stand by his husband.
"We're doing what with birds?" Ralaea asks.
Tyrrell also turns to Anareline, seeming willing to follow her orders.
"Rallying them," Ana repeats, glancing to Ralaea. "They will be fighting at our side, as the Ancient Aviana does."
"How do we do that?" Mordecai asks. "Is there a whistle?"
Ralaea blinks. "Okay, how big are they? Do we need to dump water on them so they don't catch on fire?"
"Ah, a feather," Anareline says, pulling them out of her bag. "I was entrusted… here, everyone take a feather. And I do not think the water is necessary."
Atley lifts a brow inside his helm and accepts the feather, examining it shrewdly.
Colson takes a feather.
Mordecai takes a feather, looking at it in fascination.
Tyrrell takes the feather with the air of one who Knows the Drill Around Here.
"It is to attune yourself to Aviana, as the howling did for Goldrinn," Anareline says, and looks around as if hoping this is enough explanation.
Atley nods slowly.
"Do we have to make bird… calls?" Mordecai checks.
"In a manner of speaking," Auralind explains unhelpfully.
"You may need to," Ana says, considering. "If so, I am confident Aviana will boost their authenticity."
"Ah. I see." Colson blesses the others as he calls down his gryphon once more.
"To Sethria's Roost," Ana says, calling her gryphon. "First, we fight at the border."
They fly to Sethria's roost.
"Not really a bird call person… can my gryphon do the calling?" Ralaea asks.
Atley deadpans Budd.
"We will see," Ana says, considering. "It may well be a group effort."
Once the fight begins, Sgt. Tyrrell turns from a pale, black-haired gentleman into a jet-black worgen with a silver beard.
Atley narrows his eyes at Zath in surprise.
Ana glances at him once, in mild surprise, but does not address it.
Colson's mild surprise at the worgen transformation shows only briefly on the paladin's face.
"Um, when we fight the fire elementals… " Mordecai clears his throat. "Dorda'en wants their hearts for a salve. Be careful not to damage them."
"Ah, I will take care," Ana nods to Mordecai.
Mordecai pulls his hat down to cover his eyebrows.
Mordecai watches the trajectory of the boulders the giants throw and Shields anyone who is in danger of being crushed, giving them a burst of speed to move out of the way.
Atley stands at the ready and looks to Anareline.
Ana surveys the cleared border. "Now, to the birds."
Mordecai mounts up on his hippogryph. As they fly, he concentrates on the feather. "Aviana… um, hello. We, um…"
Atley stands next to Auralind as he examines his own feather with a frown.
Colson addresses his feather politely. "If I may ask for your blessing to assist you, Aviana."
Auralind clutches the father, "Aviana, we beseech you, give us your blessing that we may call upon your children."
"We're here to rally your flock," Mordecai ends up saying. "Will you help us?"
Mordecai floats into the air and takes the form of a gryphon. This is new.
Sgt. Tyrell holds up his feather and then is drawn up into the sky, transforming into a spirit-harpy. He seems unsurprised by this.
Anareline holds her feather and ascends into the air with the spirit of Aviana. Anareline transforms into a harpy as well. She does not seem to mind.
Stormcrow Atley screeches and flies off.
Colson transforms into an uncommonly large dove, as he flaps serenely around gathering up more birds.
Ralaea abandons her bird form as soon as she's able. "Is it an elf thing, transforming all the time?" she asks.
Atley grunts.
When Mordecai transforms back, he's beaming. "I was a gryphon!"
Colson, back to the paladin he always is, smiles at Mordecai. "You were a very beautiful gryphon," he tells his husband unashamedly biased.
"It is indeed an elf thing," Anareline confirms. "Though I have not done it so often myself, until recently. Mordecai, you were a noble gryphon."
Mordecai presses his hands to his cheeks. Gosh.
Bunny descends with an indignant screech. HEY. WHAT'S NEXT, COLSON. EVERYONE IS A GRYPHON??
Sgt. Tyrrell remains silent on the subject of involuntary transformations.
"Is everyone prepared to head to the front in the Firelands?" Anareline asks.
Atley says, "Aye."
"I am," Colson agrees.
"I'll drop off these fire elemental hearts and meet you there," Mordecai says.
"We typically leave the gryphons here in Hyjal," Anareline explains. Ana sets her gryphon loose before she passes through the fire portal.
Atley dismounts Thoras and gives him a firm pat.
Mordecai drops off the fire elemental hearts as promised and meets the others at the portal.
"Here," Mordecai says, offering Anareline the feather back.
Anareline accepts it with a bowed head. "I feel Aviana must be proud of all of us."
Atley grunts. "She fights with us."
Sgt. Tyrrell looks surprisingly casual about being in a fiery hellscape. Or as casual as a giant black wolf-man in a black robe can look.
On the other side of the portal, Ana looks across the battlefield and grits her teeth. "The traitors. The Druids of the Flame are at the breach today."
"Let's cut them down," Atley 'suggests.'
Colson is a calm bastion of a healer standing by in the massive battle.
Anareline nods. But still, she seems to look carefully at every druid they encounter.
Mordecai is not a cutting-down type. He seeks out injured to heal.
Atley leaps in to where it's thickest, cleaving elemental foes with Thunderfury.
When Thaeru'kal manifests again after the bird-gathering, she looks decidedly different, taking the form of a spectral bird.
Ralaea dumps water on a flaming druid cat to see what happens. It erupts into scalding steam, forcing her to flee.
Sgt. Tyrrell's flaming spells almost disappear into the general chaos, except for the occasional flicker of fel green.
"These were men and women who once stood beside us," Ana says, glancing especially to Ralaea, Auralind and Mordecai. "I underestimated them once, and I will not again."
Atley says, "They've chosen their path. We've chosen ours!"
Mordecai seems to truly notice Bird Thaeru'kal and Worgen Tyrrell at about the same time.
Colson bounces his heals through the battlefield, a [Beacon of Light] on Dane as he targets emergency healing for the defenders on their last legs.
Atley raises his boot high and stomps on the top of a Firekin, utterly flattening it into the ashy ground beneath their feet.
"We still have only a small hold on this land," Ana says, as she falls back to the breach. "But we are pushing forward."
"And we don't break," Atley adds in support.
"Everyone all right?" Tyrrell asks, eyes scanning his current comrades in arms.
"Dumping water around here is a bad idea," Ralaea reports.
"None escape the rage of the Firelands!" Yes, yes, Prophet, we've heard it before.
Anareline nods to Tyrrell, and then flinches as the Prophet of the Flame does his usual shouting. "I imagine it would simply steam," Ana says to Rae.
"Hot steam," Ralaea corrects.
Mordecai channels a Prayer of Healing for the group and the druids they rescued.
"Steam usually is," Anareline says, with a tone of agreement. "Also, I have heard the Shadow Wardens may be making a move soon."
Sgt. Tyrrell surreptitiously looks over everyone to make sure everyone is accounted for and whole, even though it is in no way his responsibility.
Atley snaps his gaze to Anareline. "Here?"
Colson bathes the recovering druids in a [Holy Radiance], as he looks over the team.
"Who're they?" Ralaea asks.
"Wardens… like, um, Velrin?" Mordecai checks.
Anareline nods. "Part of the Watchers, the jailers of the kaldorei. I expect they have been re-evaluating, after the loss of Staghelm and the other Druids of the Flame."
"Well, yeah, if they're going to be bad at jail, they should rethink things," Ralaea says.
"Yes, she has joined their number," Ana says, turning slightly to Mordecai. "And there is 'bad at jail' and there is treachery. One must determine if the problem is one or the other."
Atley slowly glances over his shoulder to give Rae a silent, frank expression.
"Whatever you do, do not encourage them to seek advice from the Kirin Tor," Tyrrell says dryly.
Mordecai looks at Tyrrell. He looks at Thaeru'kal. He fidgets.
Anareline glances at Tyrrell, equally dryly.
"Or Stormwind, I heard the Stockades are a mess a lot of the time," Ralaea adds.
"Your criticism is not invalid, Westwind," Ana says, surveying the battlefield again. "As for the Wardens, their last leader was a murderer. I believe they have much improved their order since."
Mordecai's eyes flick to Ralaea, and he frowns.
"I think it more realistic to simply state that jailing powerful beings is always going to be difficult," Auralind says flatly.
Atley grunts at Auralind.
Colson adjusts his gauntlets, a grim look in his eyes at the reminder that some of Stormwind's prisons are not as secure as they can be. He has at least one (1) person he needs that to be true for.
"That as well," Anareline agrees. "And their help will be welcome here, against the Druids of the Flame."
"Indeed. Quite a formidable lot, the Wardens." Atley says.
"As long as we're killing, not jailing, this time," Ralaea says with a shrug.
Sgt. Tyrrell, settling back into human form, looks very much as though he has Opinions he is keeping to himself.
Anareline nods. "This time, we are killing. The time for jailing has passed." Anareline glances over at Tyrrell, with a faint look of curiosity.
"It encourages me to see Cobalt Company here in such numbers," Sgt. Tyrell says.
Mordecai looks at Thaeru'kal again. "Is… Aviana's blessing permanent, Auralind?" he finally asks.
Auralind looks (yes, looks) at Thaeru'kal. "She tells me it is not. But with the Wild God's blessing, she can enjoy a new shape, and for now she chooses to honor what Aviana has gifted her with."
Atley looks to Auralind.
Mordecai smiles gently. "I see."
Anareline nods at Thaeru'kal. Good catbird.
"I wonder if we'll get to be turtles," Mordecai says quietly.
For some reason, Tyrrell smiles very faintly at the mention of turtles.
Atley cranes his head in a nod. "With the magic we're dealing with, I wouldn't be surprised." He turns to squint at Ragnaros' fortress in the distance.
Anareline follows Atley's gaze. "We'll get there. This is simply a long fight."
Tyrrell gazes at Ragnaros's fortress as well, his glacial blue eyes distant.
"Why's a firelord need a castle? It kind of feels like he is the castle?" Ralaea says.
Atley shakes his head. "Pride, I warrant. Regardless, we've pushed the front into his realm, now. They are on the back foot."
A blonde woman in full armor calls out to Sgt. Tyrrell. He salutes crisply, then gives the Cobalts a bow. "Good luck," he says.
"Hm. The usual reasons for a castle often imply that there is something else to protect within the walls," Colson answers. "In terms of military strategy, it ensures a foothold and fortress."
Anareline nods to the departing Tyrrell.
Mordecai bows to Tyrrell. "Light grant you Fortitude."
"Then we will see what his pride guards, when we storm it," Anareline says.
"Looking forward to seeing what he's hiding, then," Ralaea says.
Colson inclines his head. "Light be with us all," he says.
Saturday
Sgt. Tyrrell broods on the steps of the Sanctuary of Malorne, the rest of his unit nowhere to be seen. Probably sleeping, like people with a sense of self preservation.
Velrin is standing nearby. She's inspecting all of her gear to make sure it's in order. She is not thinking about sleeping because it's the middle of the night and she only woke up a few hours ago.
Tyrrell's glacial gaze slides over toward Velrin, then away, then abruptly back. "I know you, don't I?" he inquires politely.
"O-oh…" Velrin has to think for a second, "You are that 7th Legion captain, correct? I believe we spoke briefly in Northrend."
"Not a captain any longer," he says crisply. "It's Sergeant Tyrrell, now. How peculiar that you appear just when I'm having trouble sleeping again. I half wondered if you were a hallucination."
"Peacebloom tea," Auralind says. "It is very soothing."
"O-oh…" Velrin isn't quite sure how to respond and pauses, "Would you like more medicine?"
Tyrrell's gaze flicks over toward Auralind, and he inclines his head in acknowledgment. Unhelpfully.
Zath laughs sharply at Velrin's comment, then clears his throat. "Ah, no. Do excuse me if I seemed to be begging. I suppose I was expressing my appreciation for your earlier help, in a roundabout way." Tyrrell only ever does anything in a roundabout way.
"I see…" Velrin turns, "Hello Miss Auralind."
Cressidha climbs up the stairs and nods. "Good evening, everyone."
Tyrrell's face can't be said to light up exactly, but for a moment he looks less broody. "Ah, Lady Cressidha." He bows. "What a pleasure to see you here."
Cressidha smiles faintly and nods to the others. She begins tracing sigils in the air to conjure water.
Auralind inclines her head to Cressidha. "Ishnu alah." Accepting water from Cressidha, she bows her head again, "Shaha lor'ma dula Luvas'alith."
"You're welcome," Cressidha says, nodding solemnly.
Anareline walks into the Sanctuary, her armor showing evidence of the weeks of combat.
Atley marches up to the assembled group, helmet tucked under a meaty bicep. "Evening."
Velrin stands a bit awkwardly and clears her throat.
Tyrrell looks from Anareline to Cressidha to Atley. "Ah, Cobalt Company again? Would you like some assistance?"
"Dane, Anareline Evensong, good afternoon." Cressidha passes water out to them as well.
"I imagine we should appreciate it, if you're available." Cressidha smiles faintly at Tyrrell.
Vel's ears droop a bit, but she tightens her grip on Rul'Serrar and gets ready for WAR.
"We can do worse than a 7th Legionnaire," Atley growls with gruff fondness.
"Thank you for the gift of water," Anareline says to Cressidha, and then turns to Tyrrell. "Yes, we would welcome your assistance again."
"You're welcome." Cressidha bows her head politely to Anareline.
Atley automatically holds a hand out to Velrin for shaking.
Vel gives him a firm handshake, "It's good to see you here again, Sir Dane. I'll have to join you in Tol Barad one of these days."
Atley grunts. "Still plenty to do there. Though the Molten Front makes it look like a holiday island."
Tyrrell falls in line behind the big warrior guy. He knows the drill.
Auralind approaches Anareline and salutes her respectfully. "Elune adore."
Anareline pauses for just a moment, and then returns the salute. "Elune Adore, Mistwalker. It is good to see you."
Auralind nods. "And you, Evensong. Please send my love to Caspis when you see him next."
Anareline's looks at Auralind more seriously than that comment may seem to merit, and nods. "I will. He will value it highly, I expect. In any case, It’s time for our usual rounds. The southern border, and collecting bandages there as we can. And channeling Goldrinn's spirit today."
Tyrrell adjusts his gloves.
"Goldrinn… ah, which one is that? I don't recall." Cressidha unrolls her carpet and climbs on.
"The wolf," Atley explains.
Tyrrell frowns for some reason.
"I see. Very well." Cressidha takes this in stride. Nobody has yet told Cressidha that she's going to need to howl.
"Will you be leading us, Shan'do?" Vel asks Ana.
"Yes," Anarleine says to Velrin. "If you will all follow, I will not lead you astray. And yes, Goldrinn the wolf. We welcome his patronage by howling over our defeated foes."
"Channeling Goldrinn…" Auralind also frowns.
Atley frowns with faint confusion. "He's an ally, innee'?"
"He is, Dane," Aura says. "But…his rage is volatile."
"He is. The gods are here to help us fight." Vel says confidently.
Atley looks out over the burned land. "Warrant we can use a bit of that at present."
"Just be careful. Do not let his fury take hold of you." Auralind says.
Atley nods to Anareline. "At your command."
Vel nods.
Cressidha blinks. "Very well." She has done stranger things.
Tyrrell looks very cross at all this talk of howling.
"To the southern border, then," Ana nods.
"I hope you won't mind if I leave the howling to the rest of you," Tyrrell says icily.
Atley briefly glances at him says nothing
The moment the battle starts, his issue about howling either becomes more or less clear, as he turns into a giant jet-black wolfman.
"Ah," Cressidha says. "No, we can howl, it is fine."
"Are you and Goldrinn not on good terms, then?" Ana asks Zath mildly.
Wolf-zath just stares at Ana with ice blue eyes.
Ana stares back with calm silver ones, and then turns back to the fight.
Cressidha steps up to the body of a Seething Pyrelord, throws her head back, and howls without a hint of self-consciousness.
Tyrrell stares at Cressidha.
Atley bites back a scoff of amusement and looks away, clearing his throat.
Ana howls over the next behemoth to fall. Anareline pauses after the next to carefully unwind its wrappings and tuck them away. "Mordecai usually does this part, but we make do with what supplies we can find."
Thaeru'kal pads up to one of the fallen invaders, throws her head back and howls, her body rippling and transfoming into a spectral wolf!
Vel howls over the body of a behemoth.
Cressidha glances at Thaeru'kal, but says nothing.
Atley looks to Thaeru'kal. "That's a bit new, innit'?" he inquires casually as the giants fall.
Auralind blinks at Thaeru'kal. "Thaeru…are you certain that is safe?"
Despite his sulking about the howling business, Tyrrell proves to be an exemplary team player, moving with the group and backing them up seamlessly.
Auralind sighs reluctantly at whatever the spirit's response was, and nods to Atley. "She has been taking on new forms, with the blessings of the Wild Gods."
Atley grunts.
"That sounds like quite the honor." Vel says reverently.
Auralind nods to Velrin. "I imagine so. I cannot say I fully understand Thaeru'kal's relationship with the Wild Gods."
"Cut from the same cloth. In a sense," Atley says.
Auralind tilts her head. "A metaphor?"
"Referring to clothing?" Ana asks.
Atley nods once. "Aye. Means they're similar in origin. Cut from the same wood."
Vel nods in agreement with Dane.
"I see. Yes, that might be the case." Auralind agrees.
Tyrrell stubbornly refuses to howl, but he does watch others' backs as they do so.
Auralind throws her head back in a glorious howl. Maybe she's making up for Zath.
Cressidha howls loudly. It sounds pretty good. She tucks a stray strand of hair from her bun back.
Atley gives her a nod of appraisal.
"I haven't done that since I was a child," Cressidha says with a faint chuckle.
"Howled much, then?" Atley asks.
Tyrrell looks utterly baffled.
Velrin howls savagely. She's really getting into things with all the Wild Gods out and about recently.
"It's a common children's game, isn't it?" Ana asks, looking between them. "Making animal noises."
"I wouldn't know," Tyrrell says.
"Oh, yes," Cressidha says. "I lived on a farm with a bunch of Varley boys who were easily spooked by the idea of wolves."
"S'bit cheeky, innit'." Atley growls.
One corner of Tyrrell's mouth quirks slightly.
Ana nods at Cressidha. "Frightening boys. A good use of a children's game, as long as it was all in fun."
"Indeed." Cressidha nods.
Ana drops off the bandages at the Sanctuary, before heading into the Firelands. She leaves her gryphon in Hyjal.
Cressidha rolls her carpet up before entering the portal. She looks around at the Firelands with wide eyes. "Well, it's no Deepholm or Skywall," she says.
Atley looks over to her and studies her expression with some faint surprise, himself. "First time, then?"
Cressidha nods. She seems fascinated.
"Find your way into the Abyssal Maw and you'll have collected the whole set," Tyrrell says to Cress.
"If hell's a place, one may want to vacation there after a tour through this," Atley remarks casually, gesturing over the Firelands.
"Indeed." Cressidha smiles. "I should like to see the Abyssal Maw as well."
Atley visibly resists the urge to punt Bizpep off the cliff.
Ana shields her eyes and looks out. "Seems to be lava bursters today. The smothervines will help with that, if we plant them."
"I've a mind to see it, myself," Atley says.
"And as usual, fight foes and heal friends as you find them," Ana adds.
Atley nods and grunts. "Right!"
Cressidha accepts a packet of seeds and a jar of salve. "Very well."
Tyrrell reevaluates the chain of command upon observing the interaction between Atley and Ana, and falls behind Ana instead.
Cressidha plants a seed in a mound of dirt and leans back as the smothervine grows supernaturally rapidly. "Ah!"
Atley grunts.
"Don't worry, they'll ignore you," Tyrrell advises Cress re: the vines.
"As long as I keep my head out of the way." Cressidha says, nodding to Tyrrell.
Velrin smirks a little seeing Cress's surprise at the druidic magic.
"Right, I hadn't thought about the hair situation," Tyrell says, eyeing the thorns and Cressidha's bun…
Ana notices the interaction between Zath and Dane, and explains, "Sir Atley and I both lead in the field. His primary field is in the Twilight Highlands right now, and mine is here."
"Thank you for the clarification," Tyrrell says, and salutes Ana crisply.
Atley nods. "I defer to her experience in the country here, and her assigned command."
Ana returns the salute.
Atley punches a seed into a mound of ash.
"Ah look, they're falling back a bit," Tyrrell says with crisp satisfaction. "Well done."
Cressidha maintains her ice barrier, although it seems to be melting a little more quickly out here in the Firelands.
Atley leaps in towards a group of fire elementals, cleaving them with Thunderfury.
"Everyone all right?"
Atley returns to the muster, teeth clenched with aggressive satisfaction. "This blade was the enemy of the Firelord and his minion for thousands of years. So it is again."
Auralind looses a barrage of arrows all around Atley into the elementals he is engaged with. Not even a nick to Dane's armor.
"There's a story with the blade, then?" Tyrrell eyes it with interest.
Atley grunts. "This is Thunderfury, Blessed Blade of the Windseeker. It was once carried by Thunderaan, who was waylaid and imprisoned by two of Ragnaros' chief lieutenants."
Tyrrell looks genuinely interested, shifting back into human form now that he's not in battle.
Atley glances down at his sword. "This weapon has seen its fair share of combat against the elements of fire."
"I imagine it's quite the morale booster as well," Tyrrell observes.
Cressidha finishes planting her seeds as the fighting dies down - at least this close to the portal. She retreats to the others.
Atley grunts. "With respect, this facker' wields itself. I sought to obtain it for this very purpose."
"I wouldn't be quick to discount the wielder either." Vel winks at Dane.
Atley inclines his head in gratitude towards Velrin.
Tyrrell nods toward Velrin. "Yes, he's a bit overmodest, isn't he?"
Auralind nods to Tyrrell. "Every time I see Dane wielding Thunderfury, I am overwhelmed with inspiration," she says dryly.
Anareline raises an eyebrow at Auralind, which she doesn't see.
Vel giggles.
Atley actually growls with with amusement and almost grins.
Cressidha covers her mouth to hide a smile.
Tyrrell doesn't even know why that's weird.
Not that Auralind would have been able to see it anyway.
Auralind's mouth quirks into the tiniest smirk.
"Thank you for your leadership, Shan'do." Vel bows to Ana.
Atley defers to Anareline, "Orders?"
Ana falls back behind the breach and looks around to confirm the others are well. "I think the work that can be done today has been done." She pauses. "Good work everyone."
Tyrrell continues to watch the others with interest.
"I plan to conjure and distribute more water," Cressidha says, gesturing to the fighters on this side of the portal.
"Mages are Light's own mercy out here," Tyrrell agrees, somewhat wistfully. When not in battle, his imp vanishes. Is it dismissed? Phase-shifted? Who can say.
"I expect the Shadow Wardens will join the fight any day now, and I will send word when that happens,” Anareline says.
Atley looks to Velrin at that, indiscreetly.
Tyrrell looks like he's about to say something about the shadow wardens, then glances between the three kaldorei and shuts his mouth.
Atley grunts. "Seen much Horde come through this way, yet?" he asks, looking over the crowd, as if searching for someone in particular.
Vel grins knowingly at Dane, flashing her fangs.
"Light be with you all," Cressidha says. "Elune adore. Ah, Goldrinn too, today."
Auralind opens her mouth, but quickly shuts it. Too soon for another "seeing" joke.
"I should return to my unit and attempt once again to take advantage of our down time," Tyrrell says.
"Elune adore," Anareline responds. "They will value the water — they have been drinking from blueroot. I will also head back to the Sanctuary."
Tyrrell bows to the group.
Cressidha traces a water-conjuring sigil in the air and moves off to begin passing out water.
"O-oh! Before you go Sergant Tyrrell. How are the orphans doing?" Vel asks.
Atley looks up and over at that.
Auralind falls in after Cressidha to help her distribute her water, doing so reverently.
Tyrrell doubles back, looking at Velrin in surprise. "They were well, last I was home," Tyrrell says. "I suspect Lady Tyrrell is taking good care of them in my absence, or ensuring that our staff does, at any rate."
"Word has spread far and wide of your generosity towards the little ones," Atley says.
Velrin smiles softly, "That's good to hear." Her ears wiggle at Dane's comment as well.
Tyrrell inclines his head gratefully to Atley, then turns back to Velrin. "Were you interested in adoption, perhaps?"
"O-oh, n-not now I don't think. I just… I donate what I can to the orphanage in Stormwind and to the one in Redridge as well. I didn't put together who you were right away."
Atley looks between them with guarded curiosity.
Tyrrell gives Velrin a slight smile. "My apologies for pressing the matter. You just seemed to me a caregiving sort, so I wondered."
Vel blushes, "I do want to be a mother someday." Vel admits.
"She'll be a fine mother, when it's time," Atley growls.
"I think you'll be a natural at it," Tyrrell says with a little bow toward Velrin. "But no rush, of course. You have the luxury of time, hm?"
Atley cinches his thumbs in his belt.
Velrin's cheeks are bright purple by now, "I hope you're all right…" She's not used to all the praise and attention.
Atley clears his throat and says, "Until next time, Lord Tyrell."
"Yes, take care, all of you," says Tyrrell, and then heads for hte portal.
Atley looks back to Velrin. "How are you, then?"
"I should be going now too. I have a bit more work to do yet." Vel bows.
Atley grunts. "Watch yourself."
"Del nah'dris."
Atley grunts.