(2025-04-21) Awfully Well Informed

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Author:	inkie
Summary:	At Siamus's instruction and on Lathrik's behalf, with the help of a mysterious stranger, Shine sets out to collect Fray Farrens. His strategy requires him to talk a lot, but these are the sacrifices he makes for friends.
Rating:	T for Teen

Arc: The Red String Game

Highbank at night cannot be called peaceful any more than any other warzone fortress. But in the relative sense, if one is accustomed to the distant, desultory sounds of artillery fire, the occasional faint drone of a zeppelin, the pacing of watchmen on towers and battlements and the rough laughter and conversation of soldiers gathered around fires in the yard — or if one can overlook these things — then yes. Highbank is relatively peaceful at night.

The most peaceful corner of it, at the moment, is the group of rocks at the northeastern corner of the island, just north of the dock and just outside of the wall, where a lone man stands and fishes. There is a basket behind him in which a number of fish are already stacked, dead scales glistening in the starlight, and an open bottle of ale stands by his foot. The one-eyed man seems entirely absorbed in his task; he casts his line in a long, graceful sideways arc, and watches the stars shiver on the water where it drops.

Another man approaches him at a casual walk, hands in the pockets of a neat jacket. Beneath he wears a crisp white shirt tucked into brown pants, with a hat to match, and impeccably shined boots. He looks like some sort of businessman. "Lookin' for a 'Shine,'" he says, stopping beside the fishing man. "That'd be you?"

The man's accent is almost violently Stormwindian, but for anyone with an ear for such things, there is another accent buried far behind it.

"Aye," says Shine, without looking around. "And I was told there'd be a man looking for me. So that'd be you." He reels his line in slowly, focused on it. "What's your name, friend?"

The man bows dramatically in a manner reminiscent of Count Amerith himself, removing his hat with a sweeping gesture. His hair, while mostly brown, contains a light dusting of orange as well. "Luqe Peregrine, at your service. Our man has ventured into civilization for the evening. How would you like to proceed?"

Gilnean. The accent in the background, nearly strangled by Stormwindian pronunciations, is faintly Gilnean.

"'Our man,'" Shine repeats, and now he turns his one-eyed gaze on the stranger. His expression is pleasantly mild. "Where's he ventured exactly?" He stoops to pick up his bottle of ale, has a swig, and then offers it out to Luqe.

"Thundermar, the locals call it," Luqe says, raising his hands in a polite declination of the ale. "Seems he got tired of camping in Twilight lands, and hiding from Dragonmaw orcs. Now he's set to mopin'."

"Thundermar," says Shine thoughtfully, and has another swig of beer. He nods and stoops to set the bottle at his foot again. "I know it, aye. Know the locals. How skittish is he, would ye say? Of strangers, of non-Wildhammers, so on?"

Luqe crosses one arm, making a show of stroking his smoothly shaven chin with his other hand. "Hmm," he says. "Extra skittish if you show up in full Alliance military dress, instantly on-guard if you call him by name, wary if you're a human, but we can work with the 'just a human' bit. Worst case he'll start a brawl."

"Ah," says Shine, and flashes a slightly wistful smile. "I like a brawl. Probably outside my directive, though." He steps back and begins to secure his fishing line and reel. "Fortunately for us, the locals in Thundermar will remember me fondly. My squad killed a whole crop of orcs and Twilights for 'em, and then arranged their clan leader's sister's wedding. So that'll vouch, I hope, at least enough to buy a conversation with the fellow."

"Cobalt Company, ever the impressive outfit," Luqe says with a smile. "Well then. Shall we?"

"Give me a moment to take these to the mess," Shine says, and bends to pick up the basket of fish. "And get my gear. I'll meet ye by the gryphon roost in five."

Luqe gives him an informal salute then strolls away, twirling his hat in a playful fashion.

A few minutes elapse in the firelit dark, and then Shine is there again strolling across the yard. He is not wearing either his Alliance armor or his blue-dyed Cobalt Company leathers, but instead some well-worn, age-faded and travel-softened dark leathers, and carrying a traveling pack slung over one shoulder. He wears two long knives in plain view, no other weapons in evidence.

As he approaches the roost, he glances upward; moments later a white gryphon drops from the eaves of the half-constructed inn to land beside him. Shine sets about adjusting the animal's harness, briskly stripping it of its Alliance insignia and blue-and-gold barding. He glances over at Luqe as he works. "Ready?"

"As ever." Luqe stands beside a dark-winged gryphon, and even in the shadows of the night it's clear that his own ensemble has changed. In fact it's a near mimicry of Shine's, daggers excluded; only the hat remains from his previous outfit.

There is a playfulness to his smile as he says, "Might have trouble seeing us in the dark. Meet me there?"

"Aye," says Shine, still attending to his gryphon. "Meet you there."

A Short While Later

Luqe alights at the gryphon roost, which sits atop a hill in the center of the dwarven village of Thundermar. It's a hard place to miss, set aglow by the light spilling from stone buildings, many set into the earth itself, numerous lanterns, and the fires of a working forge, still seeing action even in these evening hours.

After seeing his gryphon into the care of the Wildhammer dwarf on duty, and a brief exchanging of coin, he settles by one of the lanterns to wait.

A few moments later, the white gryphon lands like a phantom from the darkness. "Talonheart," Shine greets the gryphon master quietly as he hands over his coin and the reins, and the red-bearded dwarf gives him a grin and a nod.

Shine crosses the packed-earth landing before the roost toward Luqe and nods. "We ready, then?"

"What's the plan, boss?" Luqe asks. "Stroll up, feel him out, go from there? I'll follow your lead."

"Aye," says Shine. "Something like. He'll be in the tavern?"

Luqe grins, green eyes gleaming from beneath his hat. "How'd you know? Was it the mopin' clue?" He starts down the path to the tavern.

Shine ambles along with him. "Does he know you? Ye've spoken with him? Or he's seen ye before? Or no?"

"Yes and yes, but not like this," Luqe replies. "Why? Were you hopin' I could make the introduction? I could… if you like."

"No," says Shine. "Was hoping the opposite. Make a fresh impression on the man. Will he recognize ye as you are now, is what I mean, I suppose." He does not ask about not like this.

Luqe chuckles. "He won't know me," he says with confidence.

The tavern is warmly lit and crowded with dwarves, leaving the human man at the bar looking like a giant among them. He's wearing nondescript plate armor, a large broadsword slung across his back, and his hair, a messy grey brown that falls to his shoulders, is missing a few fibers on top. (Not unlike a certain reporter.) He has a mug in front of him, and he drinks from it in somber silence.

Shine doesn't cross to the bar straightaway. Instead, he pauses by a table en route. "Shaman Blundy," he greets the sandy-bearded dwarf seated there. "Any more trouble?"

The dwarf, his face ruddy with drink, grins up at the one-eyed man. "Mr. Shine! Nae a bit of it, no! Well, the orcs up t' a bit o' nonsense in the ruins, but nothin' we couldn't handle oursel's since the lot of ye ran 'em off the last time."

"Good." Shine nods mildly. "No more from the cult?"

"Nae," says the dwarf cheerfully, and waves his tankard of ale, sloshing it over his hand and the table's surface with a splatter. "Not since the weddin'!"

A little cheer goes up at the mention of the wedding, and Shine glances around the room with a faint, wry smile. "Aye, good. Fanny's having her honeymoon?"

A couple of nearby red-haired dwarves hoot and pound on their tables, and a couple of others laugh. Shaman Blundy grins. "She's havin' somethin', I expect. But what're you havin', lad? Sit an' drink!"

"Aye, all right," says Shine amiably. "Give me a minute."

Now he proceeds to the bar. He leans by the solemn, armored stranger and addresses the barkeep. "Whiskey, if ye please. Two." He jerks a thumb at Luqe.

As he waits for the bustling bartender, he glances sidelong at the stranger, surveys him mildly, and nods. "Shine," he says.

Luqe follows Shine at a casual distance as he addresses the dwarves, only pulling up beside him as they arrive at the bar. "Luqe," he adds to the introduction.

The ex-soldier gives the two men a once-over, then returns the nod. "Fray," he says. He does not give a surname. "Hero of the Wildhammers, mm?"

Shine laughs quietly. "Not hard to be, these days, if you're willing to lend a hand. Highlands are infested, people're overrun." He nods at the sword on Fray's back. "Another merc, then?"

"Something like that." Fray takes a drink. "Self-employed. You?"

"Merc most of the time, aye," Shine says. He accepts the drink the bartender sets in front of him and nods courteously to the man, laying a coin — where did it come from? it simply slips from between his fingers — on the bar. "Cheers," he tells the bartender, then turns and raises his glass briefly to Luqe. "Cheers."

Luqe mirrors the cheers, settling in to drink after paying his share. He looks like he's only half listening, the way his gaze roams the room and the smile as he greets dwarven ladies in particular. Maybe the man has a type.

Shine turns his attention back to Fray. "At the moment, on a bit of leave, doing a favor for a friend."

Fray huffs a couple notes of a low chuckle. "Must be a close friend if they've got you out here for your leave."

"Like a brother," Shine agrees. "But the cause is a good one as well, and an urgent one."

"Urgent," Fray comments. "That'd be why you're in a tavern."

"Aye," Shine agrees, unperturbed. "It's a hell of a story, in fact." He has another sip of his drink and then lowers his voice; he's audible to the men immediately beside him, but not to the raucous taproom at their backs. "There's a third gent, y'see. Friend of my friend's. As fine a man as ye could know. In his prime: Got himself a lovely girl, new house, plans for his life. Only he's dying. Dying fast. Of a curse."

Shine has another sip, then gazes into his glass. "He and his brother — they're told the only person can undo the curse is the one who laid it on him to begin with. So they turned to my friend as a man wi' resources to help them search. The person who laid the curse is a Twilight. But that's a grain of sand on the shore these days, aye? The only lead they do have is that their father might know where to find the lady. As she's their mother."

Shine sips again and then sets his glass on the bar and rolls it idly between his palms. "So that is why I'm in a tavern. Because you are, and I'm sent to plead your son's case."

Fray's fingers twitch on the mug as the last sentence rolls around. He takes a long drink, before setting the mug back down on the bar, his jaw working in silence. "Quite a story," he says at last. "What makes you think I'm your man?"

"You're Fray Farrens," Shine says. "Ye even have the look of the older one, a bit. Peril. Lathrik's the one dying. They went to a deal of trouble to find ye, sir."

"Aye, I'm sure they did," Fray says bitterly. "Mean to lock me up, put an end to their mother, and everything'll be as it should be."

He sighs, staring into his mug. "Some parents we turned out to be."

Shine tilts his head. "I know for a fact they don't mean to lock ye up. Lathrik wouldn't say a word to my friend about ye, even with his life hanging, until he was satisfied my friend wouldn't see it done either. Which he won't. On his word and mine. No one's after ye to make trouble, Farrens. Only for help."

"An idealist, is he?" A wistful smile appears on Fray's face. "Like his mother."

He turns to look at Shine more fully, properly sizing him up. "Welp. You got an army?"

"Close enough," says Shine. "Armies are full of noise and dead weight. Myself and four other people have been cleaning orcs and Twilights and dragons up for weeks around here. And we're bringing a good deal more than five for this."

"Five of you, maybe even ten won't get you into that Citadel of theirs," Fray says. "You know the one? There's no getting near it as it is now. Not unless something drastic changes. But if you're bringing capable sorts out here, don't let me stop you, and if the boys should happen to be among them, I'll answer what questions they may have."

"I do know the Citadel." Shine nods thoughtfully. "And I reckon we can make some drastic changes. Your lads will be coming, I can tell ye that for certain. Where are ye staying right now, Farrens?"

"Found a ruined building that's still structurally sound, at least enough to squat in for a few nights," Fray replies. "Twilights did a number on this area. She was… one of the ones calling them up, those twisted spires."

"Ye laid eyes on her there, then? I'm sorry for it. That place isn't right." Shine shakes his head and has another sip of his drink, his one-eyed gaze still directed straight ahead rather than at Fray. "Ye want company? Or security? I promise ye I don't talk half this bloody much most of the time."

Fray shrugs. "As you like," he says. "I patrol regularly, to keep an eye on things. Make sure she doesn't drift too far. Got a feeling she won't, now. Last time I saw her there was a man with her. Hard to tell these days, but she didn't seem happy about him. He's the one took her to that Citadel." He finishes his drink.

That gets Shine's attention again. "Man? With a scar?"

"Aye, that's the one, somebody's grandfather if he ever had children," Fray says. "Awfully well informed, aren't you?"

Shine shrugs. "My friend's the kind of man who can collect information when it's wanted. Got one of those faces. Which is lucky for your lads, aye?" He tosses back the rest of his drink and looks to Luqe. "Ye coming along, or ye needed elsewhere?"

Luqe looks up from an illustration of a lady dwarf with blonde pigtails that he is drawing on a sketchbook. His eyes gleam as he grins. "I think you gentlemen have everything here well in hand," he says. "If you have no imminent need of me, I will take my leave."

Shine reaches over to offer a handshake. "Pleasure. Thank ye kindly."

Luqe shakes his hand with enthusiasm. "Until the men at the top set us workin' together again," he says. He tucks his pencil and sketchbook away, drains the last of his drink, and heads for the exit.

Shine watches him go with a faint smile, then turns back to Fray. "Ye need another for the road? Or are we heading out?"

Fray pays his tab and rises. "Got a feeling I'll be needing my sleep," he says wryly.